#or doing a business / marketing degree to help with my writing
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culmaer-sideblog · 6 months ago
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please forgive me, but I need to complain and over-share or my brain is going to explode please feel free to ignore
#I'm not doing well.#the last two places I worked (in a tourism-adjacent sector) closed. broadly speaking due to post-lockdown financial issues#for the past year at my current job I've been earning less than half what I used to. this was the only offer I got at the time and#I haven't found anything better since. this is not sustainable I'm barely making it each month...#I live with my parents and cancelled my health insurance I don't know how else to reduce my budget. it's depressing tbh#the solution is obviously to find a better job but that's just not happening and I'm beginning to feel discouraged.#I hate being negative it's a very unattractive character trait but I just feel myself slipping and spiraling#I know I should be taking short courses or volunteering to boost my cv but like when ! and how !#I can't afford to work less but I get home at 20h so even evening courses are tricky. I work every other saturday too so weekends are out#and like I do need to rest at some point you can't be depressed and burnt out that's a terrible combo#was looking at a dtp/typesetting short course and 1) I'll need a new computer that can actually run design programs#and 2) the course itself is like 2 month's salaries which I cannot realistically save right now#and yet I'm still ''over-qualified'' for entry level positions because I went to uni. well maybe that's just a polite excuse#because as interesting as my humanities degrees were they didn't equip me with any practical or marketable skills#besides being good at reading and writing. but AI can do that for free now so that's not helpful#I always thought I was reasonably intelligent but I cannot solve this puzzle. there must be a creative solution that I'm missing#but i feel so stuck and trapped#and at least once a week some poor soul stumbles in to the office practically begging for a job so I feel bad for complaining#a little truly is better than nothing#but thank god we elected more pro-business capitalists into government that really is going to be great for us workers (sarcasm)#also I should acknowledge#I am getting some déjà vu. I feel like I've vented about this topic before#the difference is. back then it was a potential concern. now the concern has materialised into reality and rendered the situation desperate
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thebenjiblackwoodexpress · 6 months ago
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Delicate part.1
Description: As a young knight, Ser Gwayne Hightower journeys to King's Landing to take part in his first tourney. Eager to see his beloved sister Alicent and prove himself to his distant father, Gwayne finds himself enamoured by Alicent's friend.
Part 2
Writer's note: Elizabeth here. I thought I would try my hand at writing a story for the icon that is Gwayne Hightower. The reader/Y/N of the story will be on the asexual spectrum.
Warnings: Female reader/Y/N, but I won't be going into details about their appearance. Team Green sentiments. Positive sentiments towards Alicent (I can't help it, I love her).
The sun shone over King’s Landing, a gentle breeze carrying the scent of salt and spice from the port and markets of Fleabottom across the air, as a young knight rode towards the Red Keep. As the imposing structure of the Red Keep came into view, Ser Gwayne Hightower struggled to fully suppress the trepidation he felt as he approached the entrance and was hailed by two guards.
“Who goes there?”
Pushing his nervousness as a young knight of but ten and seven years aside, he schooled his expression into one conveying the confidence of a knight far beyond his years. Arriving at the King’s stronghold to compete in his first tournament against other knights, not just bannermen of the Hightowers from Oldtown, he attempted to conceal any signs of apprehension from his features.
“You may announce the arrival of Ser Gwayne Hightower, son of the Hand of the King, my good man, and do make haste about it. The journey has been long, and I would benefit from the illustrious hospitality of your King.” He addressed the guards before him, with not a small degree of arrogance, a smirk on his face.
Presenting his patent of nobility, illustrated with the green and black sigil of his House, with a flourish, he nodded respectfully towards the guards as they granted him admittance to the Red Keep. Riding forth with an air of confidence he did not fully feel, an illusion he was no stranger to assuming, he surveyed the vastness of the King’s stronghold. Meeting the gaze of any knight’s he encountered on his progress with a jaunty smirk and nod in their direction, he dismounted from his horse gracefully, before entrusting it to the care of a stable boy, ruffling the boy’s hair as he did so.
His first order of business was to locate his dear sister, who he had not seen for many months now, but who he sorely missed, living so far away from her as he did in his father’s seat in Oldtown.
Gwayne made his way through the Keep, familiar with the route to the courtyard where he expected to find his dear sister, knowing from her letters and his previous visits it to be the place she often sought repose from the pressures of Court. 
Striding along the balustrade overhanging the courtyard, he knew he was right when he heard the sweet sound of his sister's laughter, accompanied by that of another's. He promptly increased the pace of his strides in anticipation of their happy reunion after months apart. His Lord father's decision to take Alicent with him to King's Landing, leaving him to preside over their seat in Oldtown, had been a source of pain for them both. Two years her senior, Gwayne doted on his sister, even more so after the untimely death of their beloved mother when Alicent was but ten and twelve years old. Gwayne had always sought to compensate for the loss of their mother's loving presence with his attentive care and love towards his sister, something his own father was unwilling or unable to provide them with. Alicent had clung to him and wept when she was leaving High Tower and he was scarcely able to suppress his own emotions, as he tried to comfort her, promising to write to her everyday and to visit when he could.
Alicent had written to Gwayne immediately to inform him that the King was to hold a tourney, asking him to arrive at the Keep a few weeks before the event, so that they could extend their time together. Gwayne had sent his acquiescence to her request by raven the next day, rejoicing at the thought of reuniting with his beloved sister and escaping the suffocating halls of his ancestral home. In the absence of the warmth of his late mother's love and his sister's laugh, as he chased her through the halls, his home had the ominous feeling of being haunted by shadows of long past happiness. 
Hearing more laughter, he looked over the balustrade onto the courtyard below, expecting to call out in greeting to Alicent. He paused, however, when instead of Alicent, he saw another young lady standing in the middle of the courtyard by the white trunk of a tree. Her eyes were closed and she smiled as she counted down from ten, before opening them rapidly and looking about her.
"I'm coming to get you, Alicent!" 
He was arrested in his movements by the sight of her, struck by her pretty features. A smile grew on his own face as he watched their game continue. His heart was warmed to see that his sister had not been without friendship in King's Landing, and this warm feeling extended to the lady searching for his sister below. 
He quietly chuckled in amusement as he saw the girl search this way and that for Alicent, and he slowly made his descent to the courtyard, careful not to make too much noise, and alert her to his presence. 
Approaching the lady, who now searched for Alicent behind the trunk of the tree, with careful steps he bent his torso to lower his head next to hers and whisper conspiratorially near her ear.
"I do believe, my dear Lady, that my sister is to be found yonder, by that bushel." 
Surprised by his presence, the lady let out a high pitched shriek and stumbled back a step, tripping over a raised stump of the tree. 
His eyes widening in alarm, not having truly intended to frighten her, he swiftly reached his arm out to encircle her waist and prevent her from falling. Holding her hand in his free hand, he looked into her eyes with concern.
"Are you well, my Lady? I apologise for startling you."
A brief look of confusion passed over the lady's expression before she processed what had happened, and it was was replaced by a stern one. Holding onto his elbows to right herself, she responded with a chastising tone, promptly removing herself from his hold
"I don't know what you mean by sneaking up behind me, Ser."
Seeing that she was unharmed by his fumble, and seeking to restore himself to her good opinion, he rallied himself.
With a charming grin, he elegantly bowed before her, one hand on his heart and the other taking hers confidently in his to plant a gentle kiss on it. 
"Please accept this Knight's humble apologies, my dear Lady. I had only meant to aid you in your game." 
He frowned slightly as the lady quickly withdrew her hand from his, fearing he had really offended her.
"Spoil it, more likely" Alicent laughed, emerging from behind the bushel Gwayne had indicated a moment ago. 
Pulling his eyes away from those of the beautiful lady before him to meet his sister's sally, Gwayne opened his arms out to her, "sister!"
Alicent needed no further invitation before she ran into his arms and he lifted her up, spinning her half a turn, before returning her to the ground and wrapping his arm around her shoulders.
Once again turning with what he hoped was a winning smile to the lady before them, Gwayne sought to invest as much charm as he could into his voice.
"I have yet to be introduced to your lovely friend, sister."
Looking up at him with her own stern look, Alicent playfully swiped at his shoulder.
"You have already made a mess of that, brother. You half frightened Lady Y/N to death when you rudely interrupted." 
With an exaggerated sigh, Gwayne responded to his sister's accusation.
"I know I am the basest of villains and I will put myself to the sword forthwith if the Lady Y/N will not forgive me my crime." He rejoined, solemnly, bending his head in mock dejection, even as he really did feel contrite to have frightend the young lady.
Slapping him on the back of the head, which had Gwayne holding his neck in mock pain, Alicent pressed her index finger to his chest and warned him.
"Y/N won't be charmed by your antics, Gwayne. I have warned her of them beforehand."
Smiling indulgently down at his sister before looking over at the lady Y/N once again, who he rejoiced to see smiling in amusement at the two siblings, he held his hand to his heart dramatically, as if her words were an arrow through it.
"You wound me sister. I was under the impression you had asked me here to be your champion at the upcoming tourney, precisely because I am the most charming of knights. I hadn't realised I needed to be good with the lance too. An unfortunate oversight. I had thought my charming smile would be enough to fend the other knights off."
The laughter of the ladies at his antics sounded like the delicate chime of bells to him, and he was elated to have entertained them both and, hopefully, returned himself to the good favour of the pretty lady before him. 
Meeting her gaze with his own, a softened expression on it, which communicated his contrition for having startled her, despite his jesting, his heart fluttered as she met his gaze with an amused smile.
"I'm afraid you are to meet a swift and brutal defeat, Ser, if your charm is the only weapon in your arsenal."
Laughing heartily at her wit, he winked in response.
"Fear not, sweet ladies, I have a few tricks up my sleeve, should my smile not be enough to blind the other knights. Although I am convinced that it will be."
As introductions were made, the three sat together underneath the russett foliage of the tree above them, exchanging recollections from their childhoods and talking excitedly of the plans they had to make the most of their time together before the tourney.
After an hour or so had passed of Gwayne delighting in amusing the ladies with his, admittedly, embellished tales of gallantry and heroism, his face fell slightly.
The sparkle in his eye diminishing, he turned to Alicent.
"With regret, my dear ladies, I have tarried too long in your sweet company and must present myself to my father."
Alicent looked commiseratingly at her brother, knowing as she did how little her Lord Father cared for his son's presence. 
"I'm sure father will be most pleased to see you. In any case, I certainly am." 
Looking up at his sister from his somewhat reclined position along the grass, in front of the two ladies, his expression softened and he squeezed her hand affectionately before jumping up. 
Bowing before the ladies respectfully, he wished them a good afternoon before turning on his heel in the direction of his father's apartments, little expecting a happy reunion. 
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Otto Hightower's reception of his son was as cold as he had expected it to be but, mercifully, short. He had only expressed his expectation that his son would perform to the honour of their House at the upcoming tourney, and shown him his living quarters, which were along the hall from Alicent's.
At dinner, Gwayne and Alicent had only been able to exchange glances at one another in solidarity. He had sought her out in her own apartments afterwards to catch up on the events they had missed in each other's lives over the course of months of separation.
With a boyish timidity, Gwayne asked Alicent if he might join her in her activities the following day, outside of his own training schedule. Looking indulgently at her brother and taking his hand in hers, she responded in a light, jesting tone.
"Why on earth do you think I asked you here, if not to spend time with me, you fool?"
Smiling at her in earnest now, Gwayne playfully tapped his chin.
"As I said, sister, my charming smile and dashing manner will be your champions at the tourney." 
Gwayne allowed himself to fall backwards against the chaise he was sitting on as his sister playfully pushed him in the chest and rolled her eyes at him. 
Smirking at his sister, Gwayne posed his next question with a similarly jesting tone, which he hoped concealed his vested interest in her answer.
"And will your lovely friend be joining us?" He asked, a glint in his eye. 
Alicent swatted him on the shoulder.
"Y/N has been a good friend to me. The days have not been half so long or lonely since I met her. I do hope you two will be good friends. I’ve told her so much about you."
"Nothing good, I hope," he smirked. "I have a reputation as a shameless charmer to maintain."
"Be good, Gwayne. She won't fall for your charm."
Rising to bid Gwayne good night as she left the room, Alicent did not hear Gwayne murmur quietly, "we'll see about that."
Part 2 up
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@liafiction @ambrosia-v-black @darknessinside11 @just-some-random-blogger
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bucketbueckers · 17 days ago
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LAYUPS & LAYOVERS
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pairing: paige bueckers x fem!reader wc: 2.9k content warnings: language, fluff, author is southern and doesn't understand how snow or marketing works, plot where there doesn’t need to be plot synopsis: It’s Christmas Eve and you’re in Connecticut, exhausted and just trying to get to Minnesota for a work conference. You could cry when it’s announced that all flights are being halted due to the incoming blizzard. Irritated, tired, and overworked, you pray for a miracle, although it takes an unnatural shape in the form of a six foot blonde athlete who’s just trying to make it home, too. Late night airport conversations lead to something more. notes: merry christmas eve from my delusions to yours! the last chapter of irp was super heavy so here's my apology and christmas gift (do i drop another one tmr...i really dont wanna write chapter 8 😩). i hope you all enjoy this short n sweet lil ramble i threw together and happy holidays 🫶
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This can not be your life right now.
It’s actually kind of impressive how all of the stars aligned on this one particular night to fuck you over. You’re not a terrible person. You hold the doors for everyone, give up your seat on the bus for sweet old ladies, and you always allocate a portion of your paychecks to donate to Wikipedia. By all accounts, you should be overwhelmed with good karma, although it seems your luck has depleted on this night and this night alone.
It all started on the 20th when you flew out to Connecticut. You work a cushy job as a marketing consultant for the WNBA, which means you spend a lot of time in the air and across the country trying to unfuck – sorry, trying to optimize and rejuvenate – the state of the league and its teams. It’s a task easier said than done. Nobody seems to want to listen to you until they realize that your master’s degrees in marketing and business analytics actually mean something and aren’t just really expensive pieces of paper that you hang in your office. You spend a couple of days in Uncasville talking strategies to boost ticket sales and to gain more traction; they’re the only professional team the state has – it should not be hard to get people to show up if you can market it right, but here you are.
Connecticut is nearly a bust. It’s cold and you spend two full days in meetings getting talked over by men who think they understand numbers and branding. Then, on the third day, the front office suddenly realizes what you’ve been talking about (this shit was covered in your sophomore year intro to marketing class, but hey, the less people know, the more you get paid, so who’s really complaining?) and the trajectory of your trip makes a sudden turnaround. On the 23rd and early on the 24th, you help the Sun roll out the new optimizations, and what do you know? Ticket sales surge by 17%, including some season tickets, all is well in the world and it’s a goddamn Christmas miracle.
Then, all is suddenly not well and you remember that Christmas miracles are for people not surrounded by idiots. Your boss emails you just before you leave for the airport: The Lynx need your help. I’ve sent you tickets for the first flight out of Connecticut. Meet with them on the 26th. Said “flight” departs from Connecticut at 8:30pm on Christmas Eve, which means you’re not even in Minnesota until 12am if you’re lucky, which means you have to figure out hotel arrangements so you can take a nap because you’ve barely slept in five days, which means you have to figure out how to be nice to people again because the Sun front office has you pissed all the way the fuck off.
So, you’re tired, overworked, extremely irritated, and hungry, although that last problem is solved by airport Subway. You just hope that doesn’t come back to bite you in the ass, either – you firmly believed that you were better off betting all of your money on black rather than taking the chance on airport food, but you didn’t have much of a choice and your stomach was growling. You eat, settling in a chair at your gate, and patiently await for your plane to arrive.
Then, the overhead PA clicks on with some static noise, announcing, “Flight 932 to Minneapolis and all other flights exiting Hartford will be delayed due to inclement weather. I repeat–”
The blood rushes to your head. Your eye twitches. There’s a crying baby somewhere in the airport and you can’t take it anymore. Honestly, what’s stopping you? Flying a plane cannot be that difficult. You’re pretty persuasive. You can tell TSA you’re just young for a pilot and you’re not wearing a pilot’s uniform because it’s Christmas Eve and what are you, the feds? All you’re really asking for at this point is a nap but there’s no way in hell you’re making it to a hotel in these conditions and the chances of you sleeping in an airport with all of your belongings out for someone to grab are even lower.
A commotion towards the check in counter commands your attention. You turn, dreading the eventual crash out of an airport Karen, but it’s better than the crying baby who still hasn’t shut the fuck up.
“Please, there’s gotta be something else you can do,” a tall, broad-shouldered blonde is begging, her hair pulled into a loose ponytail. “It’s Christmas Eve, I have to get home.”
The lady at the check in counter sounds sympathetic when she responds. “I’m sorry, ma’am, but our hands are tied. We can’t send our planes out in this weather, but if it eases up, the next flight out should have you arriving in Minneapolis by tomorrow afternoon.”
You hear the blonde groan, her tone sounding something like, I can’t fucking believe this is my life, which is a sentiment you whole-heartedly agree with. “Can you please lemme know if there’s anything earlier?” she pleads. “Like, if by the grace of God this weather clears and we can leave sooner.”
“Of course, ma’am. All updates will be announced.”
The response is almost robotical, but you can tell the receptionist is trying her best, too, and the last place she wants to be is hanging out at the airport on Christmas Eve. The blonde sighs, thanking her, and from the corner of your eye, you watch her hike her bag up over her shoulder and she moves to sit directly in front of you. That’s when you truly get a good look at her, at the dejected blue of her eyes, the chisel of her jaw, the logo on her hoodie. Paige Bueckers is no stranger to you. You grew up watching ball, so obviously you’re familiar with her game – any self-respecting basketball fan is. But by virtue of your job, Paige Bueckers is a name that makes your marketing heart beat just a little faster. Ever since Dallas won the lottery, you’ve been all over their marketing team. Paige’s entire existence and the chance she gets drafted to Dallas is the sole reason the Wings’ tickets are flying off the shelves. She’s the most marketable college athlete there is right now, one of the top rookie prospects for the league, but one look at her face in person and you’re forgetting all about your job. Her jaw is tight with a simmering anger, and honestly, you feel terrible for her – she already spends so much time away from her family and here she is trying to get out of Bumfuck, Connecticut, so she can be home in time for Christmas.
You find a little bit of bravery when you raise your voice slightly to ask her, “No luck?”
She looks up, glancing at you and taking in your features, and laughing slightly when she realizes you’re genuinely just trying to make conversation and not trying to get a soundbite out of her. “You heard that?” she asks sheepishly, sinking a little in her seat to get comfortable. You pretend to not notice her manspread.
“Well,” you begin, glancing over at the receptionist. “The desk is like, ten feet away.” She laughs again and nods, murmuring touche under her breath. “932 Minneapolis?” you ask, referring to your flight.
Paige nods again, quirking a smile. “You stalking me or sum’?”
You shrug your shoulders, a coy smile on your face. “Just observant,” you quip.
Paige grins fully. “What about you?” she asks. “You work for the league?”
At that, you can’t help your surprise, raising a brow. “How’d you know that?”
“Just observant,” she throws your words back at you. You laugh. “Kidding. I see your ID pokin’ out of your bag. You from here, or they got you workin’ on the holidays?”
“Work,” you respond. Paige whistles lowly. “I’m a marketing consultant. Been up here for a few days working with the Sun, then I’m heading to Minnesota to fix the Lynx’s bullshit.” You blink, registering your words, blushing as Paige laughs. “You did not hear that. I’m usually nicer to my employers.”
“They got you workin’ and flyin’ out on Christmas Eve,” Paige points out. “You should be meaner.”
You incline your head in a nod, huffing. “All of this for office potlucks and dental coverage,” you joke. “Don’t quit basketball.” Paige grins again and you’re suddenly reminded of your manners. “Sorry, I didn’t even introduce myself.” You do as such, only mildly surprised when she stands to shake your hand and introduces herself, too, which is honestly kind of endearing. Then, she plops into the empty seat next to yours, smiling widely.
“So, marketing consultant,” she says, her tone nonchalant as she gets comfortable next to you, extending her long legs across her suitcase. “How often will I get to see you?”
You glance at her, raising a wry eyebrow. “Are you flirting with me?” you ask.
Paige shrugs a shoulder, smirking. “A little. Is it working?”
“Maybe a little,” you admit. You can see the pride that shines in her eyes. You roll your eyes in amusement, still in slight disbelief, but you redirect back to her question. “Honestly, probably a lot. The league is super messy from a business perspective and their actual marketing sphere isn’t that great, either. As soon as you get drafted I’ll probably have to fly down to whichever poverty team you land at and teach them how to market you.”
“Yeah?” she asks, and despite the tease in her tone, she does seem interested. “How would you market me?”
“How much time do you have?”
“Well…” Paige glances down to her watch, then out the windows where snow falls in heavy sheets. “Looks like a lot.”
You snicker. “Alright. Bear with me, okay?” Paige nods in earnest, her attention fully on you as you begin to ramble. Truthfully, you did like your job when you were able to do it. The issue is and always will be the idiots you have to work with who overlook your credentials. “So, I’m not thinking about your personal brand at all. Like, that one’s already incredible. Your PR team did their big one with you. But the issue with athletes like you, wide-eyed and fresh out of college with an insane resume of endorsements, followers, deals, whatever – the issue is that whatever team you get drafted to is gonna want to rebuild their entire image around you. Think Clark, Brink, Reese, Jackson, Cardoso. It’s textbook – you advertise the person who’s gonna get you the most clicks, the most sales. So, how can we use that to actually grow the game, the league? I’m talking about longevity. There’s so many people tuning in for you that don’t know shit about basketball, and honestly, they’re gonna be scared to ask questions.
“So we push something corny. Social media segments with a catchy name like Ball With Bueckers or some shit where you break down basketball plays, rules, the stuff you’re gonna see and hear when you watch a game. What’s a pick and roll? A screen? Why is she getting fouled for blocking that shot, isn’t that what she’s supposed to do? Education, interest, loyalty, and competition sells. Stories sell, too, which is why the league is still trying to push the Clark/Reese rivalry. That’s old news, though. A more compelling story would have been the Fever/Sun rivalry, especially after the Sun beat the Fever and the Fever hired their coach. Or Fever/Wings, for reasons I’m not gonna ruin your night with.” Paige laughs at that, and you smile, clearing your throat and trying to find your train of thought. “So, when I’m undoubtedly called in to fix your team’s mess, that’s what I’d be suggesting. People already love you. Using that connection to get them to love ball, too, is my goal.”
“You’re really passionate about this,” Paige comments, her lips quirking into a slight smile. You can’t help but preen a little, flushing. “Like, about basketball. You really care about the sport. Feels like that’s harder to find lately.”
“Well, I was too short to play it, so gotta settle for something, right?” you joke.
Paige looks you up and down. You’re wearing sweatpants and a baggy sweatshirt from college, but her gaze is shameless, appreciative despite your casual airport wear. She chuckles, a disbelieving noise building in the back of her throat. “Nah. You’re what, 6’5?”
You laugh, rolling your eyes. “Try a foot less. But I appreciate you for believing in me.”
Paige smiles, nudging you a little. “I was serious, though. You’re super passionate. I like that.”
“Still flirting?”
“S’not everyday you get snowed in at the airport with a pretty girl,” Paige says, her gaze warm, and you can’t help but blush again. “Gotta shoot my shot, you know?” She mimes throwing a ball, her wrist bent, and you shake your head fondly. Admittedly, she did have you – hook, line, and sinker. You enjoyed the conversation, her company. There were certainly worse people to be stuck with, but you’re glad it was with her.
You shrug your shoulders. “Shoot away,” you say. Her subsequent grin is wide and you find yourself drawn in just a little further.
She asks you virtually everything under the sun – where you grew up, where you went to college, the team you were rooting for, and you answer. You tell her you’re an Atlanta native, born and raised, although you moved up north to study at Columbia. You were 8 when the Dream was founded and that was your team, no ifs, ands, or buts about it. At 10, you watched them win the eastern conference finals on your birthday and that was easily the moment your life changed. Basketball was your future and that much was certain. She asks how you landed the league job (connections, a thick resume, and lots of persuading), how you adjusted to the constant traveling (lots of caffeine and really good concealer), and the hard-hitting question of, are you satisfied?
For that, you really had no answer. Sure, you’re always busy, and that’s better than the alternative of sitting in your office and watching the seconds tick by. You’re good at what you do and your job makes a positive impact on the league. Your colleagues will be who they are; your work speaks for itself and that’s what you pride yourself on. But there’s always going to be a small part of you that yearns for something more, like someone else to share your life with. Someone who sits, and listens, and engages with you; someone who loves basketball just as much as you do (even if it’s a different type of love), someone who’s steady and spontaneous and adaptable.
Then Paige is smiling at you, her gaze warm and soft despite the below freezing temperatures outside; she’s listening, and engaging, steady, spontaneous, adaptable, and probably the only person in the world whose love for basketball could rival your own. You’ve known Paige for all of three hours and it’s nearing midnight in an airport in Connecticut, but it’s Christmas Eve and she feels so right. You would really like to see where this goes, and judging by the way her fingertips brush your knuckles, you think she might like to see that, too.
The two of you talk all through the night, waiting for the weather to ease up. The conversation never slows and you’re certain you’ve never smiled or laughed this much in a long time. It takes you twelve hours of delirious conversation to realize that your luck never depleted. Paige was your overwhelming karma, sent by some sort of Christmas miracle to answer all of the wishes you’d kept to yourself for years. The stars aligned not to fuck you over, but to trap you in an airport with Paige Bueckers, and you find that she’s possibly the best Christmas gift you could have ever gotten.
When the weather finally clears and your plane arrives, you find that your seats are right next to each other – and, well, fate works in funny ways, doesn’t it? You’re both exhausted, but when she lowers the armrest and wraps her arm around your shoulders, pulling you into your side, you can’t help your relieved sigh, leaning into her chest. You and Paige sleep through the entire flight. You dream of soft blue eyes, the lingering scent of her cologne, the promise of how this could last.
You land in Minneapolis and you eventually have to go your separate ways. The two of you exchange numbers, saying your goodbyes, although Paige doesn’t let you get anymore than three feet away from her before she’s catching you by the wrist and pulling you into her. Her hands are cold against your cheeks as she kisses you gently, something deep and lingering and a confirmation that tastes like ‘you and I aren’t done here.’ The falling snow lands gently on your cheeks, melting under the heat of your blush, and you can’t help your smile, interrupting your kiss as the both of you dissolve into laughter. Paige kisses you again, something softer that leaves you feeling warm all over despite the chill, and you thank your Christmas miracle for leading you here.
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atomicami · 1 year ago
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cami would you write a sub abby? like maybe where she needs your help to get off?🤭🩷
my sweet dani, that mind of yours truly is incredible…i wrote this one just for you querida 🤍
close call
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contractor!abby anderson x joel’s daughter!reader
- summary: it’s the night before the annual bake sale, and abby needs your touch now more than ever.
- content: smut MDNI, no outbreak/modern au, contractor/engineer!abby, texas living, no sarah, joel & jerry are still alive (jerry is not a doctor in this), reader has a business degree, abby gets needy, sneaking out, oral & fingering (a!receiving), masturbation (r), abby whimpering and begging?? and i think that’s it but lmk if i missed anything
- author’s note: well if i’m being honest i really did not expect to be writing another contractor!abby fic so soon, but this request gives so much desperate contractor!abby energy that i just had to do it. however i do have to clarify that this is not a part 3. i’ve stated this before in one of my asks, but part 3 is going to be more about the bake sale…this is just more of a little bonus chapter i guess.
anyways, this one’s for you dani, and for all of my contractor!abby fans out there that need a little pick me up rn. i hope y’all enjoy it 🫶🏻
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You didn’t expect to be doing it again so soon.
After you had snuck your way out of work to go see Abby at her father’s contracting site, you have to admit that the rest of this week flew by surprisingly fast for you.
You had been keeping yourself occupied in the meantime, between doing customer calls at work and preparing for the bake sale, you’ve been quite patient with yourself and didn’t feel the need to have to sneak out again until the next time you’d plan to see Abby. It was almost as if you simply had just been sick that day, and Abby’s touch was the remedy that cured you.
Although…there might be a feeling that you’ve jinxed yourself in saying so when you receive a phone call the night before.
You spent the morning on your work shift as usual, and your dad was generous enough to let you go before lunchtime so you could start baking for the sale tomorrow. After spending the rest of your day prepping, mixing, baking, and decorating, you were left with a variety of fresh pastries by sundown, ready to sell the next morning.
By the time you finished cleaning up the kitchen and getting ready for bed, the clock struck 10 p.m. Normally you’d stay up a little longer, but after the exhausting day you’ve had today, you genuinely needed to rest for tomorrow. You had to be downtown by 7 a.m. to set up at the farmer’s market for the bake sale. Given how weary you were, it didn’t take long for you to fall asleep.
However, you were only able to get a few hours of sleep in before your phone began to ring.
The sound of your ringtone startles you awake. Letting out a tired groan, you muster up the energy to reach over to your nightstand to turn on your light and pick up your phone to see who was calling you.
“Abby?” you whisper to yourself, rubbing your eyes to get a better look at the screen. Once you do, the phone call disappears and your lock screen shows with the missed notification, giving you a chance to look at the time.
It was barely past 1 a.m. Why the hell was she calling you this late?
Her contact name shows up once again in a second call, and this time you swipe to answer.
“Abby…what is it?” you answer groggily to her.
“Hey…are you awake?” she asks shyly.
You roll your eyes before responding. “I am now.”
“Look, I’m sorry if I did wake you up, but I really need you right now…”
Her words start to replay in your head. The tone she had in her voice…she didn’t sound like her usual, cocky self. She sounded desperate…kind of like how you were the last time you saw her.
“Abby, it’s one in the morning…what is it that can’t wait until later?”
You knew what she was asking for, you just needed to make her say it. Kind of like how she made you tell her last time.
“I um…I can’t get myself off,” she muttered back. It was quiet, but not quiet enough to where you couldn’t hear her.
You simply nod, soon remembering that she couldn’t see you right now. “Alright, um…do you have your boxers on, then?”
“No—I mean, yes I do, but I don’t mean this…I need you to come over.”
You scoff at her through the phone. She truly can’t be serious. Having to do this over the phone would already be difficult enough for you. But to sneak yourself out in the middle of the night to do so? It was going to be too much.
“Abby, you can’t be serious right now—“
“Come on, baby, don’t be like that…My dad isn’t even home right now, please?”
“Okay, but my dad is.” You reply to her instantly. “There’s no way I’m gonna be able to get out of my house without waking him up.”
You keep trying to tell her that it’s not going to work out, but Abby continues to beg about it. As much as you wanted to, it clearly wasn't the right time to do so. But eventually, you just had to give in.
“Okay, fine! I’ll come over…” you said, quickly lowering your voice down. “Just…just give me five minutes.”
After hanging up the phone, you get up from your bed, taking the time to stretch in the process. Grabbing the first pair of shoes you find, you quickly slip them on before grabbing your phone and keys and exiting your room.
Once you’ve shut the door, you begin to tiptoe down the hall as to not wake up your father. The door of Joel’s bedroom was slightly cracked open, and you could see that he was fast asleep. You quietly pass by his bedroom and make your way down the stairs, praying that the wood doesn't start creaking from the weight of your footsteps.
Before you know it, you’ve successfully made it out the door, and you begin to cross the street to Abby’s place. Once you’ve made it to her front door, your phone buzzes again.
“Abby: there’s a spare key under the mat.”
Jesus. The least she could’ve done was to have let you in her own house, especially since you had to do most of the work sneaking yourself out.
You reach down and slide your hand under the doormat, quickly finding the key that was hidden underneath before unlocking the door and letting yourself in. It’s the first time you’ve been inside Abby’s house, and you’re not bothered to even get a good look at it, you just needed to find her right now.
After wandering throughout her house for what feels like forever, you finally find her bedroom. Not even bothering to knock, you simply walk in to see Abby lying in the center of her bed, her long blonde locks draped over her shoulders, and her muscle tank covering her top half while the rest of her body was covered with her duvet from the waist down.
“Hey,” she pants out, propping herself up on her bed to get a better look at you. “I’m so sorry I had to—“
“Sit up,” you tell her, cutting off her sentence.
“What?”
“You heard me. Sit up.”
You then walk your way over to the left side of her bed and kneel on the ground, causing Abby to scramble around and sit up from her bed. Once you’re settled on the ground, she’s got her legs hanging off the bed, and you can see that she doesn’t have anything on underneath.
“Thought you said you had your boxers on,” you told her.
“I-I did…I just couldn’t wait for you to get here…” she replies, looking away from you as she does so.
“And you say I’m the needy one…” you mutter to yourself. You then spread Abby’s legs open, revealing her pussy to you. Despite how truly annoyed you were that she made you have to sneak out in the middle of the night, you’d be lying if you said you didn’t want to be touching her like this right now…because your mouth was practically watering at the sight of her wet pussy.
Without hesitation, you insert two of your fingers inside her. Her body jerks back for a moment at the sudden touch, before soon settling down, letting her pussy relax around your fingers.
It seemed like Abby was trying to compose herself right now because you could hear how hard she was trying to hold back her whimpers and whines as you kept slowly pumping your fingers in and out of her.
“M-More…” she whispers out to you, trying her best to not sound needy.
“I’m sorry, what was that?” You asked, eyes still fixated on her pussy.
“I-I need more, please…” she responds, her voice just a little louder this time.
You look up at her as your fingers continue to move inside her pussy, your movements not stopping as you maintained eye contact with her. “I’m gonna need you to be more specific than that, Abigail, or else I’m not giving you what you want,” you tell her sternly.
You can easily see her trying to hold back her frustration right now, and you were honestly enjoying it. The fact that you’ve put her in this state of submission outside of her usual cocky persona truly has you beaming with pride.
“I—fuck—I need your mouth, p-please…” she whines out to you, hands gripping onto the sheets as your fingers curl into her g spot.
“See, there you go…That wasn’t so hard now, was it?” you tease back at her before leaning in and attaching your mouth to her clit as you continued to finger her.
It didn’t take long for the speed of your fingers to increase inside her pussy and for your mouth to suck harder on her throbbing clit. Between the pleasure you were giving her and the whimpers and moans that were escaping from her mouth, you can’t help but feel the need to take care of yourself down there.
As you continue to eat Abby out, your non-dominant hand begins to trail its way down into your shorts and slide below your underwear. You instantly feel a sense of relief once your fingertips reach your clit, rubbing it gently as you continued to give Abby the pleasure she needed.
You began to whimper and moan into her pussy, the vibrations from your mouth causing chills to rush through Abby’s body as she tried to chase her orgasm.
Her pussy soon began to clench around your fingers more than usual, indicating that she was close. You briefly removed your mouth from her pussy to speak to her, quickly replacing it with your thumb in the meantime. “You’re getting close, aren’t you?” you asked, looking up at her.
Abby nodded quickly in response. “Y-yes, fuck, p-please don’t stop…” she whined out, quickly grabbing your head with one hand and pushing it back into her pussy while her other hand grips onto the edge of her bed.
You were practically being suffocated in between her strong thighs right now, but you could honestly care less. You weren’t stopping until she finished. You continued to desperately moan and whine into her pussy as you kept rubbing your needy clit with your other hand, trying to chase your orgasm as well.
“Oh fuck, baby, right there, I’m gonna—Fuck!”
Abby tried her best to warn you, she really did, but before you both knew it, her release was already spilling out of her pussy and onto your fingers and mouth, causing you to greedily drink up every last drop of her before slowly removing your mouth and fingers out of her.
Once Abby had recovered from her orgasm, she looked down at you just in time to see you take your other hand out of your shorts. She kept her eyes on your fingers, admiring how they were covered in your release as a result of the pleasure you just gave to her.
She brings her hand down to your chin and lifts it to meet her eyes with yours. The deja vu feeling was hitting her now the second she saw your pupils blown out once again, just like how you were not even a week ago when you went down on her under her desk while she was sitting across from her father.
You hesitate for a moment before soon making the effort to stand up to her height, bringing your two fingers that were coated in your slick up to her lips.
“Clean them up,” you commanded.
Abby nodded as she held the hand that was put to her mouth before parting her lips and sucking your fingers clean. Her eyes were trained on yours, maintaining eye contact as she did so.
“There you go, just like that…” you mutter out to her quietly.
Once they were clean, Abby removed your fingers from her mouth, making a slight pop sound as she did so. You lean in to plant a kiss on her lips, tasting a bit of yourself from her lips and vice versa. You then reach down to grab your phone and keys before walking towards her bedroom door to leave.
However, you pause in your tracks for one moment and turn your head around to look at her fucked out self one more time.
“I’ll see you at the bake sale.” you reminded her, that same smirk appearing now on both of your faces before you turned back around and exited her bedroom, now leaving her by herself.
Well, it’s safe to say that Abby was going to have to return the favor for you real soon.
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- a/n: i have to admit this one’s not my best work, it was my first time writing sub abby y’all believe me i tried my best 🙏🏻
also, i don’t usually self promote my fics but i did post my first dina fic the other day, it’s called overnight sensation and it’s a smau series. i’ve spent a lot of time and effort in making that fic so far so it’ll truly mean a lot to me if you guys could check it out 🤍
but other than that, i’ll see you guys in part 3!
tags 🏷️: @abbyscherry @whore4abby @zombholic @aouiaa @uraesthete @lia-winther @gaptoothedlesbo @deadbolted @abbysfavewh0rx @echostinn @mochiivqi @floptron @totallyghostdgirl @swtsuna @bellaramslover @naomis-daydream @ur-fav-pixi @sirenbxby @paprikahoernchen @thesevi0lentdelights @mostlyhornyandsad @tohoko
(^ i think that’s everyone?? let me know if i missed anyone/if you’d like to be tagged in the real part 3 LOL)
2023 © atomicami | all rights reserved. do not copy, modify, or translate any of my works.
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yamumsyadadd · 14 days ago
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different
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Part of the Marquita universe. Others can be found here:
Marquita, mama and mami, accident
A/N: talks of homophobia, bullying. this was fun to write! If you have any more questions for Marquita or if I should make another universe let me know!
It was hard growing up with parents like Alexia Putellas and Jenni Hermoso. Both were incredibly talented footballers, attractive and smart, add Olga into the mix and it felt like you’d never reach the same level. 
Olga went to university, graduated top of her class and then went on to her masters, Alexia got a degree in business, and Jenni in economics. There were a lot of high expectations, in school, in football, in life in general. 
To be the daughter of two of spains best players in history, well it was back breaking work. Football was not a sport you enjoyed, at all. You weren’t horrible at it, but you weren’t at the same level as your parents or Tia’s. It was to be expected since you were only twelve. There was time to get better, to showcase your skills. Skills you didn’t have, nor did you really want. 
School wasn’t much better. You weren’t horrible but you were a dreamer, the teachers complained you were always off with the fairies but in honesty, you couldn’t care less. Maths was the only subject you cared about, you’d need it if you wanted to study engineering at university. 
The kids at school often picked on you for being that way, but you didn’t care that much. It was same with the football team. It was almost like the universe was conspiring against you. 
It was mid week, right before Christmas when you finally had enough. Your Mami was away for the UWCL game in Sweden, mama had just gone back to Mexico after spending her break with you. Olga’s work had died down a bit due to the holidays. 
Your relationship was still a bit strained since the accident but it was slowly repairing itself. 
“How do you do it?” You asked Olga as she closed her laptop for the night. 
“Do what?”
“Everything? Work in Madrid, Manuela’s, your relationship with Mami and your friends. It’s a lot to juggle.” 
“It is. It’s a bit easier now I’m in the routine but essentially my life is split in two. One half in Madrid, the other, more important half here, in Barcelona.” 
“You went to university, spent six years studying to do what? No offence but don’t you want more?” 
“In what way?”
“You have a degree in communications, you could be a journalist, a public relations person or I don’t know, in marketing but instead you work in social media?” 
“You don’t think I’m doing enough?” 
“Why social media Olga? Why not something more interesting, more meaningful?” 
“Why do your Mami and mama play football? Why do you? Because you all love it. Sure, I could be doing something else, stuck at a desk for nine hours a day, unhappy and bored. But by doing what I do, I get to travel the world with my clients, get introduced to people I’d never imagined meeting, help people became what they want.” 
You nodded your head, content with the answer, then stood up and packed up your homework, heading towards your room but not before turning to Olga, “I don’t love football. Not like Mami and mama. I am not like them and that’s okay.” You gave her a sad smile before turning out. 
“Mari-“ Olga started before hearing your door close. She let out a sigh, wondering where she went wrong this time. You had asked a question, slightly rudely, but she had answered. Given appropriate reasoning and yet, you seem sad about it all. It was truly baffling. 
Going to school the next day was hard. You were stuck in your head all day, wanting nothing more than to climb into bed and cry alone. But that wouldn’t happen, not when it was this close to Christmas and it seemed that every other day there was a Christmas event to be attended. 
When Pedro Diaz continuously threw his rubber at you in Spanish class, you ignored him. When Maria Santiago called you a freak in gym class because you could run the 3km, you ignored her. But when Diego Cruz said your Mami and mama were going to hell, you lost it. 
You weren’t dumb, everyone around you had talked about what it was like for them being gay, the good, the bad, the ugly. You heard it all, but the stories were from when they were kids, not from now. Now is supposed to be more welcoming, more accepting, but people like Diego and his parents exist. 
Alexia, Jenni and Olga had all received the same phone call. There had been an incident at school and they were needed as soon as possible. Obviously Jenni wasn’t able to make it, but both Olga and Alexia raced there. 
Unfortunately or fortunately, depending on how you looked at it, your Mami had bought two of her younger teammates. She was supposed to take Vicky and Jana home after they got to the training centre but she didn’t have time and they didn’t mind. 
Alexia and Olga arrived at the office at the same time. You were sitting there, hair a mess, a soon to be black eye and a bite mark on your arm. 
“Mari? What happened?” Alexia crouched down in front of you, hands on your knees. Just as you were about to reply, Diego and his parents walked out of the office. He looked a lot worse than you did. A blood nose that had dripped down onto his shirt, scratch’s around his jaw and neck, not one but two bruising eyes. 
“Ms Putellas, Ms Rios, please come in. Y/n, wait out here.” 
The tension in the office was palpable. Alexia was fuming, Olga was slightly confused but also mad, Diego’s parents look like they were ready to fight themselves. 
“There was an incident during afternoon break between your daughter and another student, Diego.” 
“An incident? That’s what you’re calling this? She’s sitting out there with a black eye, and a bite mark on her!” Alexia blew up. 
“Ale.” Olga put her hand on alexia’s forearm, trying to calm her down. 
“Diego was the instigator, however, your daughter threw him up against a locker, punching him repeatedly until she was pulled off him by two teachers.” The principal let it sink in for a moment before he continued on, “I am aware of a few issues that y/n has been facing, the bullying that other-“
“I’m sorry, bullying? You’re telling me my daughter, our daughter, has been getting bullied here and you haven’t been bothered to call one of us? That’s ridiculous!” Alexia said. 
“We were told by y/n that she had spoken to you. We have sent letters home, tried to call you and Jennifer. I must tell you, school isn’t the only place she’s been getting bullied. Y/n told the guidance councillor that at football she gets bullied too.“ 
When the words registered in Alexia’s head, she felt like she failed. Failed you as a mother, a person. You were getting bullied at school and football and she didn’t notice. 
“Where do we go from here?” Olga spoke up, noticing the battle her girlfriend was currently going through. 
“The school has a zero tolerance for violence, while Diego has been bullying her, and he will be dealt with, y/n was also apart of this fight so unfortunately I have no choice but to suspend her for the rest of the week.” 
“A suspension! No that’s not fair on her!” 
“I’m sorry. My hands are tied. I suggest you take her home, and have a conversation with her. We can’t do much more than what we are already doing. If you get anymore names, or it’s via social media, we can take further action but for now this is the only option.” 
When Alexia walked straight out of the office without saying anything to you, you knew you were in trouble. Olga gave you a sympathetic smile before motioning for you to get up. 
The car ride home was quiet. Your Mami hadn’t arrived back yet since she had to drop the girls off. 
“Do you want to tell me what happened?” 
“Not really.”
“Your Mami is going to ask, probably in a not nice way.” 
“She’ll be mad. Mad that I didn’t tell her, that I’m not strong like her.” 
“Mari, you’re strong. You’re so strong!” 
“No im not! Otherwise this wouldn’t have happened! I’m not like them, like you!” You yelled. Trying to get her to understand. “Mami and mama are world class athletes, you’re smart and pretty but I’m- I’m just me.” 
“You’re smart, you’re pretty. Sure they are world class athletes but it took them a while to get there, it doesn’t happen over night. You need to train-“
“I don’t want to train! I don’t want to play. I do it because of them Olga. Because of who they are. Everybody tells me how different I am, how I won’t be as good or amount to them. I just want to be enough!”
Olga pulled you into a hug, holding you tightly as you cried into her. Alexia could be obvious to some things, and this was clearly one of those things. 
After a while she coaxed you out of the hug, putting her hands on your cheeks and wiping away the tears, “can you tell me what he said to you? I know you, and I know you wouldn’t just hit someone for no reason.” 
“Him and his friends say stuff all the time. I don’t usually respond, and today I didn’t. I guess it just made him angrier. He said.” You took a deep breath, knowing that it would hurt Olga’s feelings as much as it hurt yours, “he said you, Mami and mama were going to hell because you were filthy lesbians, he said something else and so did all his friends. I ignored him and when I went past he pulled my ponytail. I just lost it.” 
You heard Olga have a sharp inhale of breath and then pull you towards the couch. For a while you both just sat there, Oga never letting up on the hold she had. When the front door sounded from Alexia getting home, Olga pulled you up and told you to go shower, needing to have a conversation with alexia. 
“Amor? Mari? I’m back.” Alexia kicked her shoes off, throwing her keys into the bowl. She knew a conversation was needed but to be honest, she didn’t have the energy. 
“Ale.” Olga all but threw herself into her girlfriend’s arms. 
“Woah, what happened?” 
“They say horrible things to her ale and she doesn’t even do anything.” 
“What are you talking about?” 
“She told me all about it. Everything they say at football, at school, everything.” 
Alexia pulled Olga through to her room, wanting to know everything that was said. It took a while for alexia to understand why Olga was upset but once she did, she was equally upset. 
You had showered, thrown your clothes in the hamper and unpacked your bag. You looked towards your mami and Olga’s room for what felt like the hundredth time in the last hour. You knew what you did was wrong, incredibly wrong but after spending the last year being constantly picked on, it got to you. 
It was dark by the time they emerged from their room. Both in different clothes and with damp hair. 
“I’m going to order dinner.” Olga said as she headed toward the kitchen. 
“Marquita, I need to talk to you.” You nodded, tucking your legs into your chest, scared about the outcome of what is to come. “Olga told me what you said. Do you have anything to add?” 
“I’m sorry?”
“You’re sorry?” 
“Yeah I’m sorry. I thought, I thought I could handle it, that I was strong enough like you and mama but when he pulled my hair I just got so angry. They always say things about you and mama but this time they were talking about Olga too.”
“Olga also said you didn’t like football, why don’t you tell me? Or mama? We wouldn’t have forced you to play.” 
“Because you’re the Alexia Putellas. Imagine what people would say and think if I didn’t play.” 
“I don’t care about what people think or say, what I care about is your happiness, you aren’t happy at school or at football. I’ve spoken to your mama, we will change your school and remove you from football.” 
“Are you mad at me?” 
“No! I’m sad for you, I’m sad you didn’t tell me what was going on, I’m mad at those boys and their parents, and at the principal.” 
“I was embarrassed. You and mama are able to ignore everything negative people say and I thought I could do the same.” 
“But we can’t.” You gave her a confused look, “since the World Cup, mama has been getting extra mean comments and messages on social media, I have too but not to the same extent. It affects her, it affects me, Olga gets them too. The way we get through it is because we know they are wrong. If two girls want to love each then they can, if two boys want to they can, a boy and a girl? They can. If Jenni and I want to have a family, we can and we did. If Olga and I want too, we can. No one is allowed to tell you or anyone else who they can and can’t love.” 
“You and Olga are going to have a baby?” 
“That’s all you got out of that?” Alexia laughed, “maybe, do you want a baby brother or sister?” 
You launched yourself at your mami, “yes! Both! Twins!” 
You were grateful for Olga, the act of telling you mami what had happened seemed like a ginormous task, she made it easier. The more you thought about it, Olga made a lot of things easier. When she was home things ran smoothly, but when she was gone it was like a missing puzzle piece. 
As the night drew to a close, you had to call your mama in Mexico. Mami had already told her everything that had happened, so when you two spoke over FaceTime she promised she also wasn’t mad, when the next school holidays were on, you’d fly to Mexico and spend the week with her. 
Over the course of the winter break, you and Olga were able to spend more time together. She shared her life story, including the times as a rowdy teenager. She took you shopping for your new school uniform and even bought your first set of makeup. 
While you were sad to be leaving the friends you had made, you were glad to be in a new school, a school where you would hopefully be okay. 
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thetriumphantpanda · 2 years ago
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Cruel Summer | Javier Peña (Chapter Five)
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Series Summary | Javier Peña is back in Laredo, this time for good. He hadn’t banked on you still being there, especially not with a wedding ring on your finger. A complicated shared history and plenty of unresolved feelings between the two of you should make for an interesting summer.
Pairing | Javier Peña x Female Reader
Word Count | 5.2K (oooops, I got carried away)
Warnings | Descriptions of domestic abuse (not from our boi Javi), talk of injuries, infidelity, cheating, SMUT, oral (f receiving) and unprotected PiV sex (please don't do this, be smart and safe), mentions of alcohol, cigarettes, and pregnancy.
Authors Note | Thank you all for being so patience with me whilst I got my head back into writing this. This took me ages to figure out in my mind but I'm so proud of what I've managed to produce. I really appreciate hearing what y'all think of this series, comments and reblogs really do make my day with this - so if you enjoy it, let me know!
Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist
Ethan is furious. You don’t think you’ve ever seen him so angry before. He’d arrived home late last night from his business trip, falling into bed sometime past midnight. He’d tossed and turned for a while as you pretended to be asleep next to him before he turned over, pulled at your arm to turn you onto your back and then crowded on top of you. You’d let him because it was easier than denying him, but when he pushed himself inside of you all you could think about was Javier. 
What would he do in this situation? You’d like to think he’d at least take some time to make sure you were enjoying yourself. Was he the type of man who would spend hours with his head between your thighs just because he liked the way his name fell from your mouth? You think he would be. Would he whisper sweet nothing’s into your ear in Spanish whilst he was buried deep inside you? God, you hoped so. By the time Ethan was spilling himself inside of you and rolling over, leaving you, as he always did, completely unsatisfied and feeling completely used, all your brain could focus on was the animalistic need to know exactly what Javier would do to you in bed. 
Now, as Ethan stands in the kitchen, fuming after he found the wads of cash from your farmer’s market sale, all you wanted to do was run. Run from this pathetic life and into whatever it was that Javier could give you. 
“I fucking told you I would get around to sorting it out!” He shouts at you, “And you had to go and completely disobey me! How does this make me look?” 
You resist the urge to roll your eyes, “Ethan, it’s been pushing one hundred degrees the entire time you’ve been away, I need that new AC unit because otherwise I’m going to die in that shop, and I think a little bit of embarrassment is better than admitting to the town that I’m dead because you couldn’t be bothered to fix it.” 
“Don’t be so fucking dramatic,” He fumes, his skin flushing red, “I bet that asshole Peña had something to do with this.” 
“Because now every time I do something you don’t like it has to involve him?” You raged, “Newsflash Ethan, I’ve been doing things you don’t like since before we got married, and that certainly had nothing to do with Javier and everything to do with the fact you can’t stand me.” 
“Did he have anything to do with it?” 
You don’t know why you don’t lie in this moment. Maybe it would have been easier, less of an argument to deal with, but you can’t help yourself, “Maybe he did.” 
“I fucking knew it!” Ethan slams his fist down on the kitchen counter, “That asshole, trying to worm his way into my family, walking around this fucking town like he’s some sort of king because he took down Escobar,” You can’t help yourself but think that you might actually be able to see steam coming out of his ears soon, “And you!” He’s pointing a finger at you as he rounds the counter, “How many times do I have to tell you to stay the hell away from him, or are you just too fucking stupid to understand me?” 
It all happens at once. You’ve slapped him hard across the face and in this moment, you can’t tell which of you is more surprised. He’s stood inches away from your face with a look in his eyes that has panic settling in your stomach. He could kill you if he wanted to. It’s the first time you’ve thought he might, with his chest heaving and his eyes like daggers. You’re scared. 
“How. Fucking. Dare. You.” He spits out into your face, he’s got wide hands placed around the tops of your arms and before you know it your back is pressed against the wall, he’s squeezing the skin so hard that you’re crying out, “Someone needs to teach you some fucking respect.” 
If you weren’t so frightened, you’d have some stupid retort about the fact that it certainly couldn’t be him, because even with a ring around your finger you could never respect this man in front of you, but you keep your mouth shut. 
“Ethan please,” You whimper, “Please let me go, you’re hurting me.” 
“Oh, I’m hurting you, am I?” He jeers into your face, squeezing his hands around your arms even harder, “You should have thought about that before you fucking slapped me, stupid girl.”  
He pulls you back from the wall slightly before slamming you backwards again, the force of it causing the back of your head to hit the wall behind you, “You better lose the attitude or I will take us so far away from this place you’ll never see your stupid friends or your precious Javier Peña again, do you understand me?” 
You nod, sniveling through your tears, then he finally lets your arms go and steps away from you, “Get out of my fucking sight.” 
You don’t waste any time in doing just that, stopping just long enough to grab a thin cardigan and your car keys before your hurtling to your car with nowhere really to go. Your immediate thought is Javier, but it’s the middle of the day and he’ll be out helping Chucho on the ranch. You don’t think you can bare the heat of the shop, or the fact that you might have to interact with a customer, so that’s out too. There’s only one person left – Gabriela. There’s an internal battle you’re having with yourself, she’s so close to having her baby that you don’t want to intrude on her, but she’s the only person you can think of who will know what to do right now. 
You’re not really sure how you manage to make it to her house unscathed with the amount of tears that are dropping from your eyes and the way your hands are shaking, but you’re pulling up in front of her house in no time. 
“Good God alive, what on earth is the matter?!” She exclaims when she opens the door, pulling you into a hug, protruding belly crushed between you. 
“Oh Gabriela everything’s gone so wrong and I don’t know what to do.” You cry, sniffing into her shoulder, you pull away and briefly apologise for getting her shirt wet, to which she gives you a look that says ‘don’t be so fucking stupid’ before she’s ushering you inside. 
She waddles in front of you, clearly uncomfortable, and sternly tells you to sit at the breakfast bar whilst she boils some water to make tea. In no time at all there’s a steaming mug placed in front of you, and she’s sat herself down on the chair next to you with her own mug. 
“So, where do we start?” She’s coaxing you, hand holding your own. 
“I’m fucking miserable Gabs,” You speak softly, “And I don’t know what to do.” 
“Tell me something I don’t know,” She scoffs, “What’s he done this time?” 
“He found the money,” You’re looking into the amber liquid of the green tea in front of you, “Lost his mind that I’d done it without him, got cross because it was Javi’s idea and then told me to get out and leave him alone.” 
“Did he hurt you?” She asks, “And I swear if you lie to me once more about this, I’m actually going to lose my mind.” 
You nod, it’s small, but she catches it, and you can hear the inhalation of breath, “But it was my fault, I slapped him first.” 
“Did you slap him first all the other times he’s clearly hurt you?” You shake your head this time, “Show me.” She’s asking. 
You slowly slip the cardigan off your arms. You look down and there are perfect red welts on your skin where Ethan’s fingers had been digging into your arm earlier. No doubt in time they’d bruise, “Jesus fucking Christ.” Is Gabriela’s response. 
“I’m sorry Gabs, I didn’t wanna burden you with this I promise, but I didn’t know where else to go.” 
“You think this is a burden to me?” She’s imploring, catching your eyeline when you try to look away, “Cielito, this is nothing like a burden, it’s a bloody relief, I’ve been wanting you to tell me this for years.”
“You knew?”
“Of course I knew, dumbass, all those times you cancelled on me last minute and disappeared for days? You had to be hiding something, and the longer you’ve been with him the longer I’ve known he’s a horrible man – doesn’t take a genius to put two and two together.” 
“What do I do, Gabs?” 
“Only you can answer that question, but that,” She points to your arms, “That’s assault, so you can go to the police, and then there’s always divorce.” 
“I don’t want to be with him anymore, but I can’t do this on my own Gabriela, I’m so fucking scared, he’s got everything, he’s going to take everything, I won’t have my shop anymore, I’ll be homeless, where do I even start?” 
Gabriela bites at her lip whilst she thinks, “You won’t have to do this alone, I promise you,” She’s got your hand clutched in hers again, “Can you give me a few weeks?” She’s asking, “I know it’s a lot to ask, but let me get this gremlin out of me first, and then I promise we’ll get you out, okay?” 
You nod in agreement because it’s more than you thought you’d get. The idea of freedom could surely see you through the next couple of weeks, “If it gets too bad then you let me know and we’ll sort something out, I promise, okay?” 
She’s hugging you then, the kind of bone crushing hug that only she would be capable of, and you can feel yourself crying again. What on earth had you done to deserve her? 
“I’ll get out of your hair soon, but can I borrow your phone really quickly?” You ask. 
“Of course, I need to use the bathroom again anyway, so I’ll give you some space.” 
Once she’s out of earshot, you’re dialing the number that you’d had memorized since high school, even with his years of absence. After a few rings someone picks up on the other end. 
“Hi, Chucho, it’s me.” 
“Ahhh Mija, how are you today?” 
“I’m well thank you, how about you?” 
“Not too bad thank you, just come inside to beat the midday heat for a while.” 
“Ah yes,” You smile, you’ve always loved the sound of Chucho’s voice, calm and stoic, reminding you of your own father, which is probably why you like it so much, “I hope you’ve got plenty of ice-cold lemonade,” You bite at the side of your thumbnail, “Is Javi there?” You ask, hoping it doesn’t sound like you’re trying to get rid of him too soon. 
“He is, let me just pass you over.” 
There’s the sound of shuffling on the other end of the phone and you can hear Chucho telling Javi it’s you on the other end, then there’s silence before he’s speaking. 
“Hola querida,” God his voice is like butter, “Are you okay?” 
“I’m fine,” You reply quietly, “I just wanted to hear your voice, I hope you don’t mind me calling in the middle of the day.” 
“I wouldn’t mind you calling in the middle of the night, querida, don’t worry,” You can hear him drinking someone on the other end of the phone, “You sure you’re okay?” He asks again. 
“I was wondering if I could see you tonight?” You ask meekly, not wanting to make yourself a burden to another person today. 
“You can,” He’s replying, “Where?” 
“Can I come to you?” 
You can hear him shuffling a little on the other end of the phone, you can hear the shifting of paper, he must be looking at the calendar that’s hanging near the phone – his mother had insisted on it when she was still alive, and Chucho makes sure there’s a new one there every January 1st. 
“Yes,” He replies softly, “Pops has a poker game in town tonight according to the calendar, he should be gone by seven, is that okay?” 
“Yeah, of course, I’m happy with whatever is best for you, I’ll see you then.” 
“Alright, querida, take care and I’ll see you later.” 
“See you later, Javi.” You whisper softly before you’re hanging up the phone. 
You put the phone back on the receiver and rub your hands over your face, trying to ignore the pooling of nerves in your tummy. If Gabriela could sense all these years that something was off, then there’s no doubt that Javi will know as well. He’s the most perceptive man you’ve ever met. The dull ache of Ethan’s fingerprints on your arms were ever-present now, there was no way you’d be able to hide them from him. 
“You can stay here for a while if you want,” Gabriela’s voice calls from the living room, “I would only be folding baby clothes on my own.” 
You spend the rest of the afternoon helping Gabriela like she suggested, folding baby clothes, setting out diapers and toiletries in the bathroom and eating her famous enchiladas for dinner. Diego comes home sometime after five, giving you a hug, before he’s pulling out two beers which you enjoy with your friends in their back garden. The sun is setting and it’s nearing six in the evening when you bid them both farewell. 
“Please let me know if you need us, okay?” Gabriela whispers into your hair as she hugs you goodbye, “There’s isn’t a thing in this world that would stop us from helping you.” 
You bite back tears before you nod your head, giving Diego a similar hug, before you’re hopping in your car and driving out of town towards the Peña ranch. 
It doesn’t take as long as you’d anticipated but when you drive up you can see there’s only one truck parked outside which means Chucho must have already left for the evening. Javier is stood on the porch before you’ve stepped down from the truck. You make sure the cardigan you’d worn was buttoned up before you head over to him. 
“Evening, querida.” He speaks softly, dipping his head to kiss you on the cheek. 
Before he can fully pull away, you’ve got a hand on the back of his neck, pulling his lips to yours. His hands weave around your waist and you wrap your other arm around his neck to press your body more firmly to his own before you’re pulling away from him, breathless. 
“Evening to you too.” You smile, and it’s genuine. This man has done nothing but make you happy since he came back. 
“You want a drink?” He asks, giving your waist a squeeze, “I bought that wine you used to like drinking, although thinking about it now we were young so your tastebuds have probably matured.” 
You giggle and follow him inside, “They definitely haven’t, is it the white one that we used to drink out of the bottle against the tree?” 
He nods as he leads you to the kitchen, dipping into the fridge to pull it out. It is indeed the exact same brand of wine you’d get drunk on together when he was still around, “You want a glass, or shall we drink it like old times?” 
“Old times,” You reply with a smile as he undoes the screw top, “Can we sit outside?” 
He’s taking the first swig from the wine, pulling the same face he used to all those years ago, as he motions for you to head out to the back porch. You always loved this ranch at dusk. The way the sun set and bathed everything in gentle orange light, the fact there was no noise from the town to distract you, the sound of the crickets chirping. It was peaceful. 
Javi settles onto the bench, and you sit across from him, he leans his arm across the back of the bench and moves his head to tell you he wants you closer, so you shift your body to lean against his chest, head placed on his shoulder. You hope he doesn’t catch the discomfort when you lean too hard onto your arm and shift slightly, but if he does, he’s not mentioned it, instead, he’s passing you the wine which you take a drink from. 
“You sounded upset on the phone, querida, are you sure you’re okay?” 
You take another drink before you pass it back to him, “Ethan came home last night,” You’re speaking as you look into the distance, “Guess I just realized how much I enjoy it when he’s away.” 
“I’m sorry,” He says softly, bringing his hand to your arm to squeeze him into his side, it’s stings as he grips to the sore skin from earlier, but you think you manage to play it off, “What can I do to help?” 
He takes a long drink of the wine and then hands it back to you, watching intently as you do the same before you place the half-empty bottle on the floor, “Just kiss me Javi,” You speak, “Make me forget about it for a while.”  
“You want me to just kiss you, querida?” He asks, his voice dropping to a husky whisper, “Or do you want more?” 
You shift to look him in the eye, “I want it all Javi,” You lean up to press a chaste kiss to his lips pulling away before he can take more, “I’ve waited long enough, don’t you think?” 
He untangles himself from you and stands up before he stretches out his hand for you take, he must see the confusion on your face because he’s talking again, “If you’ve been waiting then I’m not going to fuck you on the porch, querida, come on.” 
You slip your hand into his and then he’s dragging you through the house and up the stairs. He opens the door to his room, which you don’t really take in, he’s motioning his hand for you to sit on the bed, which you do. 
He walks over to you and pushes your chin up with one of his fingers. He’s looming over you and if this was anyone else it would make you feel uncomfortable, but he’s looking at you like you were about to give him the world, before he’s leaning down and pressing his lips softly to your own. In the back of your mind you can feel him unbuttoning the front of your cardigan, it’s a relief because it’s so fucking warm in here, he’s pulling back from your mouth to push it off and then he stops. He’s not pulled it all the way off, the material bunching in the crook of your elbow because he’s seen. He’s seen the marks on your arms. Perfect red indentations of fingertips. 
He's kneeling in front of you now, between your thighs, as he takes one arm in his hand, “Did he do this to you?”  
“Javi please…” You beg him. 
“Did he do this to you?” He asks again, slower and with a register that tells you he isn’t messing around, you nod at him, “I’m gonna fucking kill him.” 
He’s standing like he’s going to get in his car and do it. You grab at his wrist, “Javi please, don’t,” You pull him back to you, “It was my fault.” You say softly, just like you had to Gabriela. 
“This?!” He’s back on his knees again, clutching at your arm, “This is never your fault, do you understand me?” He’s looking into your eyes again, then he softens, “It doesn’t matter what you did, you don’t deserve this.” 
“Please, will you just come back to me,” You plead, taking his face in your hands, “I need to forget him, just for tonight.” 
In the back of his mind he knows it’s not right, it’s just a distraction, and all he really wants is to know what’s going on, but the way your eyes are pleading with him, he can’t say no, “Only if you promise to talk to me after?” 
“I promise.” You reply almost immediately, and then he’s crowding you, he’s settling between your thighs but this time his lips are on yours and it’s overwhelming. 
You widen your legs as your mouth opens to him, tongues mixing together. You can taste the cheap wine and the cigarettes he swears he’s trying to give up on. He can taste a sweetness he’s never felt before when he’s kissed a woman. It fast and it’s messy, and you don’t understand why you’re moaning into his mouth when he’s not really touched you. Without breaking the kiss, he’s moving, you’re pushed back onto the bed and he’s settled between your thighs, and then he’s pulling his mouth from yours to trail hot, wet kisses over your throat. 
God, he wants to sink his teeth into your skin. Wants to mark you so that when you go home, he knows, knows that there’s someone out there who’s going to cherish you until his dying breath, going to protect you from men like him. He knows better, knows that you’ll be going home alone and any mark on your body would mean more marks from him, and Javi doesn’t think he can bare the fact that it’ll be his fault, so he sticks to kisses. He can feel your hands on his shoulders, sinking in through the material of his shirt and he wants more. 
He's pushing himself back from you, taking a moment to take his shirt off before his attention is back at you. You’re spread out on his bed, hair splayed out underneath you and the look in your eyes almost makes him cry. It’s admiration, that he’s sure of, but there’s something else in your eyes too, maybe it’s lust, maybe it’s happiness, he doesn’t know, but he isn’t sure a woman has ever looked at him like that. 
“God you’re beautiful, Javi.” You whisper as he leans back down to you. 
The feeling of your cool hands on his hot skin electrifies him, and he can feel his hands working your tank top up to expose the skin of your tummy. You lift yourself up a little so he can take it all the way off before he continues the trail of his lips over your collarbone and down between the dip in your breasts. He’s gently moving the straps of your bra down and takes the opportunity to undo the clasp at the back when you arch up into him. It’s discarded to the floor without a second thought and then his mouth is on you again. 
He uses the flat of his tongue to run hot stripes over your peaked nipple, whilst his fingers take the other peaked bud and starts rolling it between them. A whine drops from your lips, and you can feel him smiling into your skin and you arch up into him. He’s taking your nipple into his mouth, sucking and then using the tip of his tongue to run circle around it and all your head can think is how much you want his mouth doing just this further down your body. 
“You tell me what you like, querida,” He mumbles into your skin, “Wanna make you feel good.” 
“Your mouth,” You breathe out, head thrown back as he’s sucking your nipple into his mouth, “I need… fuck… I need it lower, Javi.” 
He’s lifted his lips from your tits and you’re moving your head to meet his eyes and he genuinely looks hungry. Like a man starved, with a smirk splayed across his lips, “You want me to eat your pussy, hmm?” 
He’s pushed himself back on his knees and for a split second before he’s pulling at your shorts to take them off, you can see he’s half-hard under his own denim. You’ve barely touched him, and this is how he is? It’s got pride swelling in your chest. 
He makes quick work of your shorts, throwing them to the ground along with your underwear. He takes a second to look at you, spread out and bare for him, and he thinks that if he died right now, he would die a happy man having seen you like this. He takes his thumb and runs it gently along the seam of your pussy, watching as your eyes close and you let out a breath. 
Javi stands briefly before he’s dropping to his knees on his floor. His hands are on either side of your hips, dragging you forward. He pulls you with such force that you bump your thigh into his face, but he’s not complaining. You expect him to tease you, but it turns out that he’s been waiting just as long as you have for this. He wastes no time in using the entire flat of his tongue to lick a hot, wet stripe from the bottom of your pussy to the top, which has an obscene moan dropping from your lips. He could listen to you make those noises for him all fucking day. 
One of his hands moves from your hips, he uses it to spread your pussy before he makes the same motion with his tongue as before but focusing its entirety on your clit. You think you might see stars. Once he’d started, he doesn’t stop. Spurred on by the obscenity dropping from your lips like, fuckjavi that’s so fucking good, and please don’t stop, he’s eating your pussy like it’s his death row meal. He’s lapping at the slick that gathers at your entrance, he’s suckling on your clit, or flicking it with the tip of his tongue, but it’s when he pushes two of his thick fingers inside you that you’re truly coming undone. 
You’re bucking your hips up into his mouth, grinding down on his fingers and then it’s all coming undone with that bright burst of pleasure you hadn’t felt in years. You can feel your pussy clenching around his fingers, and you can hear him suckling your clit through the aftershocks as your legs shake around his head. He slips his fingers out of you and finishes with one chaste kiss to your clit before he’s pulling at your arm to sit you up. 
You’re jelly until he kisses you. You can taste yourself on his mouth, sweet and sour with the mix of his cigarettes and it’s intoxicating. You can feel his slick fingers on your thigh as he uses it as a crutch to push himself off the floor. When he stands, his groin is right in your eyeline and now he’s not half-hard. Fuck, he’s bulging. You watch as his hands undo his belt and tear it through the loops of his jeans before he’s unbuttoning and unzipping his jeans right in front of your face. He steps back a little to let the remainder of his clothes pool on the floor, but then he’s stepping out of them and back towards you and you can’t help but reach out and take his cock in your hand. 
You look up at him, head thrown back with his eyes closed in pleasure. Your name drops from his lips as you continue working him with your hand, you’re just about to take him into your mouth when he speaks, “How do you want me?” 
It’s a crime that he’s making you choose because fuck, you want him in every way. You want him to fold you in half and pound into you, you want him to take you from behind whilst he uses his fingers on your clit, you want him to wake you up in the morning with kisses to your neck whilst he buries himself inside you from the side. 
“Can I ride you?” You ask quietly. 
“Querida, there’s a gun downstairs,” He speaks, settling himself down on his bed on his back, before he’s guiding you to straddle his hips, “If I ever say no to that, I want you to use it on me, okay?” 
You’re laughing, because it’s dramatic, but it cuts the tension with a knife. You’re both still laughing to each other when you’re shifting your hips and using your hand to line him up with your tight heat. He’s big, there’s no beating around the bush here, and as you sink down slowly onto him, his hands on your hips to guide you, you don’t think you’ve ever felt so full. 
You’re throwing your head back and breathing out his name as he bottoms out, hearing a similar moan from him as you start grinding your hips. He’s using his hands on your hips to guide you and the friction inside of you in addictive. You think if you could spend the rest of your days like this then you would give up everything to do so. 
“Fuck, hermosa, you look fucking incredible like this.” Javi purrs from underneath you, it makes your heart swell because no-one ever said things like this to you before. 
You continue to grind against him until he’s holding your hips still and bringing his knees up, settling them against your backside. He lifts you up a little off his cock, with a strength you’d never witnessed before, and then he’s fucking up into you, cock punching as deep into you as you think you can take it, his balls slapping against your ass. 
“Ohmygod, fuck Javi,” You’re squealing, putting your hands on top of his knees to keep you steady, “I think you’re… oh god… I think you’re gonna make me cum again.” 
You look down and he’s looking up at you, grinning like a devil, because he’s got you so close to the edge, cock hitting a spot within you that feels like heaven and hell mixed into one, “Go on, querida, come for me.” 
His husky voice is what does it. You’re clenching down on him as you call out his name. His hands on your hips keeping you upright as dark spots cloud your vision, “God, what I wouldn’t give to hear that every second of the day.” He groans as he flips you onto your back in one smooth move. 
He’s still buried deep inside you, one hand brushing sweat-soaked hair from you face, the other gripping to your ass as he lifts your hips to meet him. He’s slowed but you can tell from the way his hips stutter into your own that he’s close. 
“Where do you want me?” He whispers into your ear. 
Everywhere, is what you want to say. Paint me, cover me, mark me as yours, is all you can think. What you say is, “Wherever you want.” 
You think you see his mouth open to answer you, but it’s too late. He’s pulling out of you, fisting his cock two, three times, and then he’s painting your skin with his spend. Thick ropes of cum cover your tummy as he's growling into your ear, collapsing next to you when he’s given you everything he’s got. 
When you lie there next to him, his cum drying on your abdomen, his mouth still kissing at the skin of your neck, you think you should feel guilty. Guilty that you broke your vows, guilty that you’ve let a man other than your husband touch you. Guilty that you did so without a second thought. Guilty that he didn't once cross your mind. There isn’t an ounce of guilt within you. You lean into his kisses and thank the Lord for bringing him back, for bringing him back to you, because you know this right here? This is happiness. 
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solarpunkani · 1 year ago
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this is a personal vent but its a somewhat anti-capitalist/anti-grind culture vent so its going here but like
I wish I could have one (1) hobby that just stays a hobby and remains a fun lil heehee hobby without one or both parents desperately trying to get me to monetize it.
Like I am JUST learning crochet. I have been crocheting for less than a MONTH. I have ONE finished project. And my mom is ALREADY sending me lil instagram reels like 'heehee this is how much I made from my ~crocheting business~ in the month of October' and sending me a bunch of eyes emojis and dollarsign eyes emojis like, first off my beloved mother that woman has been crocheting for YEARS maybe even DECADES and I just picked it up three tuesdays ago, but second of all I don't necessarily wanna just make a buncha shit and then sell it online!!! I wanna make stuff for me and maybe friends and family if they ask really nicely, but nooooo now mom wants me to Perfect the Craft so I can sell on etsy and instagram and whatever.
This would be a Mild Annoyance if this wasn't simply the first in a long string of 'what if you monetized this hobby.' Which, granted, sometimes I do it to myself, but I'm really trying to stop.
Oh you like gardening? What if you monetized it! Sell vegetables at the farmers market! Sell cut flowers at the farmers market! Start your own small business! What do you mean, you mostly do it for personal enjoyment and environmental reasons? Just grow a bigass plot of zinnias, forget about your other stuff, and sell sell sell!!!
Oh, you like creative writing? You like writing novels and short stories and fanfics?? Go be a copywriter! Go be an adjunct professor, because you're totally qualified! What? You don't wanna write manuals and advertisements? But you're such a good writer, go make money off of it!
Oh you wanna learn sewing?! Learn sewing!! Quickly!! Not for your own personal enjoyment of the craft, I'm gonna start a business selling bags and YOU"RE gonna help me!!! I'm not asking permission btw this is me telling you--
Don't even get me started on the absolute slog that has been trying to become an animator and selling art commissions because I like drawing and animating and how that's been going for me, or the fact that my mom seems to think Masters Degree in Animation = Qualified Graphic Designer, which is not the same thing.
It's just exhausting. I would like to be allowed to have one hobby that doesn't immediately read as dollar signs in my parents eyes, yknow?
anyways capitalism grind culture is a hell scape thank you for coming to my tedtalk.
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coyoteprince · 1 year ago
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I am really, really going Through It right now, but... in the best way possible? Like, really good things? It's just a lot to juggle at once so I'm absolutely wore out from a massive growth spurt
I deserve to be joyous about this so:
-New house! All our own! We're even moving during October (date was pushed back due to philly market), very spiritually important time for me
-Getting married next Fall once things calm down, finally, after being engaged for a few years
-Came to terms with Widderwood being an important purpose in my life, an art that feeds my soul- even if the result remains small, all this work isn't a waste, because the process enriches my life and brings me joy. The many years of dedication I've had for it is a sign that it's the right choice for me to continue following, and am super looking forward to the years of doing the actual page layouts. I've been setting realistic expectations to maintain my happiness with production, am working it into my new schedule, and I get to ink the pages at my antique writing desk in the sunroom as I look out at our back garden once we move... waow
-Learning a ton of important things about myself- my fears, roots of problems and behaviors thanks to trauma and ego that I didn't notice. I'm being kinder to myself, less judgemental of others, and letting go of other's projections rather than continuing to internalize them. I know what I am, how to be empathetic and accept my missteps, but also what isn't worth my time and energy.
-Learning how to adjust my desire for perfection in myself to much more healthy & reasonable level, and being more willing to delegate
-Rebuilding my business internally from the ground up for success, seeking continuous education for business & science, and after years of struggling and testing, FINALLY figuring out a work-life method that works for my messed up desires-varience autism brain. Balance!
-Similarly, figuring out how to balance cooking for two autistic people who have greatly different cravings & stims
-Realizing what a hard working, loyal, and loving person I am with an unrivaled, firey dedication to change and self improvement. Capricorn to an eerie degree.
Overall I feel like I'm in the transitional period between continuing to be poisoned by the aftermath of prolonged abuse and illness, and finding peace while blossoming far beyond what happened to me. Something I've strived for, but wasn't sure I'd ever have. In a way, it's obtaining independence and finding out who I really am as a person, unclouded by other's words and fearful what-ifs.
20 something years of being locked away. About 8 more years of new experiences, perspectives, professional help, love, and grueling work to dismantle things in myself. I guess this is what real healing and responsibility looks like- at least in my case. I'll never stop growing, but I am at a pivotal point of change.
What I've experience is important to me because it set the projectile for my life. I want to be somewhat open because I want others to be aware of what autistic children often experience and how it affects them long term... but I also know I have more to me and don't have to be haunted anymore. Turning an unpleasant experience into a tool I can control is a lovely reward and I can now whole heartedly say: I love being alive.
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topazadine · 5 months ago
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Good Motivations for Continuing to Write
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I think it's so important that we be realistic about what we are aiming to achieve when we write. This motivation is what makes it possible to continue when things get hard and we're feeling stuck, and it needs to be something that deeply, instinctively drives you or it won't stick.
But I need to put a huge, important red flag warning here.
Fame and fortune cannot be your primary motivator.
Yes, it's possible to make six figures a year with writing, even if you self-publish.
You really shouldn't listen to someone who says this never happens and that all writers are broke pathetic losers. Rather than being "brutally honest," it's more likely that said advice-giver has not been able to achieve any success and is bitter about their lack of sales, so they project and insist no one can succeed. Crab in bucket mentality.
However, making a steady income from creative writing takes a certain kind of person.
Rich authors have skills that are completely outside of writing. This includes marketing and promotion, networking, and consumer research; ie, a lot of business skills.
Yes, even tradpub authors need to do a lot of their own marketing; getting with a publishing house isn't an excuse to coast. From speaking to tradpub authors, I have learned that marketing teams don't do anywhere near as much as you think they do to help you.
It is of course possible to learn all of these skills. There are tons of excellent free resources out there, as well as books and manuals by successful writers. You can also take courses at your local community college in marketing or business. This is both way more affordable than a four-year university, and they are often more accommodating. Plus, you're supporting your community with your tuition!
But you have to have the desire to learn that, which takes a lot of work. You have to be the special kind of author who enjoys both the business side and the writing side.
In some cases, you have to be willing to shell out a ton of money to contract ghostwriters. (Which I think is lazy tbh.) Quantity is the name of the game in writing, so you have to keep pushing yourself to produce more. Most of us do not have ghostwriting money. And you'd still need all the other skills or you're just throwing money away.
So, if you are not willing to do some or all of these ...
Develop and pay a marketing team
Teach yourself those skills
Take business classes
Network with everyone
Get a degree in publishing
... then yes, you are likely not going to make a lot of money from your writing. You need to decide if you are okay with that.
Personally, I look at it this way: it's wonderful if I do make a ton of money from my writing or get famous or whatever. Of course I'd never turn down cash.
BUT if those things did not happen, and I was a nobody forever, I'd still be happy with my work, because I am proud of it and enjoyed the process. I am motivated by a few different things, which I will explain after I share a list of motivators.
Now that we understand that, here are some of the most positive reasons to motivate you to keep going when you feel trapped by the narrative.
Hold them close and don't let them go!
Improving your skills
Building community
Meeting like-minded people
Expressing your innermost thoughts
Satisfying the human urge to create
Learning and growing as a person
Trying out new things (for the research!)
Working through your own problems
Escaping from the real world for a while
Examining real-world issues through art
Looking at yourself and others in a new way
Understanding complex problems
Teaching others what you've learned
Creating imaginary friends
Making others happy
Many writers are motivated by multiple of these, or even all of them to different degrees. Sometimes, it's not clear what your primary motivator, and that's okay; as long as something is pushing you to keep going, it's not always necessary to psychoanalyze it.
For me, I'm motivated primarily by these factors:
Improving my skills
Satisfying my urge to create
Examining real-world issues through art
Working through my own problems
Applying my education by teaching others
Making others happy
Honestly, even one person enjoying my work makes it worthwhile. I was especially proud that my mom liked my book because she's my favorite person, and getting her approval is very important to me.
Knowing that I gave someone a few hours of relief from their problems is incredibly gratifying. I have spent a large portion of my life escaping into other worlds through books; they've gotten me through difficult times and given me comfort. Being able to pay it forward by doing that for someone else makes me feel like I've made the world a better place, if only in the most miniscule way.
It's nice to get royalties, and one day, I hope to break even on the money I've spent on self-publishing (yes, you do have to invest funds in self-pub if you want to do it right). But ultimately, selling just one or two books is great, as long as the consumer enjoyed it and felt they got their money's worth.
Also, as I've mentioned in previous posts, writing has helped to break me out of my shell because I'm one of those writers who craves verisimilitude. Wrong details can really break immersion, and I don't want that.
In a fantasy world, I get to bullshit a lot, but any time there is anything analogous to reality, I need it to pass the sniff test. That has led me to take up new hobbies and research things I'd never cared about otherwise. Like, did you know that there are 128 grasshopper species in Mongolia?! Holy shit! There are over 10,000 different grasshopper species worldwide! That's insane!
Anyway, maybe you don't really know why you write, just that you do.
These questions might help you find your motivator.
What kinds of reactions give you the most pleasure? Someone liking the plot, or the characters, or the worldbuilding? What are the best compliments you've received about your work? If you died and people were talking about your writing, what would you want them to say? When you're really struggling with writer's block, what gets you out of it? What is your favorite part of writing? Is it the research, the wordplay, the character building? Would you be okay if no one ever read your writing? Why or why not? What's your worst-case scenario for writing (other than never selling anything)? Is it someone saying that your writing is unrealistic, or that it's melodramatic, or that the characters feel undeveloped and flat? Why did you begin writing in the first place? Was it to express yourself, share stories for other people, work through personal issues, get attention? What would be the greatest award you could achieve for your writing? Don't just think about literary awards but anything. What if your book won the Nobel Peace Prize? Or got you an honorary degree from a university you like? Or recognition from an organization you admire, like NASA? If you think about it carefully, that can give you an understanding of what you really care about deep down. If you were interviewed about your work, what would you want the interviewer to ask?
It's so important to have something to drive you, and I hope you find it.
If you enjoyed this, consider picking up a copy of my debut book, 9 Years Yearning.
9 Years Yearning is a gay coming-of-age story set in a realistic fantasy world with poetry magic, featuring fistfights, horses, and a battle scene at the end!
It'd be the greatest honor to me if you were able to pass a few happy hours reading about dumb oblivious gay men.
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cranberrymoons · 2 months ago
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Hey hi hello!!! First off, I absolutely adore your writing, you're easily one of my fave buddie authors and there's like no contest. Quick question cause I'm curious: do you have any alternative career au's for Buddie? Like, not even for a specific fic (but if you have a fic idea, I'd love to hear that too!!) but more like, if they weren't firefighters, what jobs do you think buddie would have?
hi!! omg thank you so much 🥺🥰
and yes I have actually thought about this a lot!!! I don't know if I'll ever write a fic for it because au's aren't really my strong area (I get too caught up in the details/worldbuilding tbh) but okay based on their canon backgrounds/personalites – I don't know if this is really the answer you're looking for but it's the one in my heart :)
eddie we know grew up relatively well-off (middle or upper middle class) in a biggish city in a historically very blue part of texas. not to make it Political on today of all days but it does definitely influence you to grow up in a blue part of a red state! and I think to be honest he probably did not really put a ton of thought into what he wanted to Be When He Grew Up but just based on his background, I think he was probably in high school assuming he would eventually end up at like UT Austin or something, where he'd spend 4 years partying and half-assed studying until he skated through a degree in like. business or marketing or communications or something, and then he would have had a desk job for 5-10 years until he burned out and realized he hated it, and then would have had his Moment of like okay what do I ACTUALLY want from my life, which maybe would have also involved him reckoning with his queer identity but would have ultimately led him to EMT or Paramedic school in his late 20s or early 30s, and he would have found his way to firefighting as a career changer. basically I think his identity is less tied up in the job than buck's, but I think it's ultimately the right thing for him because he's a Healer but ultimately wanting something more hands on than being a doctor
and then there's buck who grew up probably upper middle class? in a fairly conservative surburb, and we know he did Not get along with his parents for obvious reasons. he tried community college and dropped out, not because he wasn't smart enough to do it but because he was restless and impulsive and didn't want to be there. he traveled for a while and hopped around jobs and I do think he belongs where he landed, but if we're trying to be less boring and just say :) they'd be the same <3 I could also see him doing well in something like teaching (which I know is cliche, but he would be every kid's favorite teacher and would get made fun of by 12 year olds for his Lame Clothes). or this one is kind of out there but I also think he would be earth's most dedicated and enthusiastic beekeeper or worm farmer or something, like I don't think he would have had the patience to get a whole degree in entomology but I think he would absolutely crush at a commercial/wholesale farming supply store/nursery where his job was just to breed and take care of some kind of weird bug that is needed by the Southern California Vegetable Farmers to make sure their crops turn out. buck buckley, helping to feed america with his bug business 💪
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scarfacemarston · 5 months ago
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Hiii ☺️
I’ve never sent you anything before because I’m not great at trying to meet new people but one of the reasons I followed you was because of your love for RDR! It’s one of my favourite games of all time, I’m a sucker for Abigail thou 🤭
Do you have any headcannons with Abigail x Fem! Reader? (Totally okay if not!) & if not, is there anything you would like to share about her?
Hey! So good to hear from you! I've followed your blog for awhile! :) I'm a sucker for Abigail, too. It's a problem. I have actually lots written for Abigail! If you look at my Abigail Roberts x reader tab, you'll find a lot of things. There are some prompts that you'll have to scroll through to get to the writing, but it's there! So, I decided to do something I've never done before and go with Modern AU! Abigail. I've never done that before and I thought it would be fun to try out. If you would prefer I write new hc's with canon, Abigail, that's fine, too! (Note: Lauren Cohan is my fc for Abigail in rp, so that's why she's here.)
Background: She grew up in the foster system after her parents passed away. She was an overachiever in high school and wanted to claw her way past the girl she was in the foster system. However, her dreams for college were put on hold when she became pregnant with Jack, and even more so once she became a single mother. She did underwear modeling and worked in a dive bar for extra money. (It seemed more likely FOR HER than her becoming an escort or a cam girl, but those are valid hc's.)
Four years later, she is amicably co-parenting with John and has an associate's degree in agriculture and business. Now, she has a small farm with fresh organic produce, animal goods like milk and eggs, flowers, and the occasional candle. She is happily in a relationship with the F!reader.
* You insist on helping her at the farmers' markets on the weekends, which is her busiest time selling products. She always attempts to talk you out of it, but you find it rewarding. You watch in awe as the businesswoman in her truly blossoms and the passion she has for her work. 
* You surprise her with wanting to visit other farmer's markets. Sometimes, it's "secret shopper" missions, but a lot of time, it's just holding hands, picking out products, and eating samples. 
* Lots of baths together! She loves to cuddle and the intimacy it can bring.
* You help her cook and bake a lot. She has a huge passion for it, but she just can't get the hang of it. I think she is better with cooking and baking in the modern AU than in canon, but she could still use some help. However, she can make a great chili! It's canonically her favorite food besides chocolate. 
* She can make a mean cocktail. She doesn't drink a lot anymore, but she loves wine, rum, and whisky. However, she worked at a bar while caring for Jack to help put her through school and learned a lot while waiting tables. 
* She is always so thankful for any time you spend with Jack. Liking Jack is a requirement. He comes first in any relationship. However, she does NOT expect you to babysit him, but she is incredibly thankful and falls in love with you a bit more each time you do something with him. 
* With you, she is used to being the big spoon, but she loves to be surprised with being the little spoon sometimes. 
* Blankets everywhere! Big chunky ones are her favorite. Example here: Her goal is to make her own! She is not really into the pillow craze. 
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*She canonically loves chocolate. Bonus if the chocolate has a bit of liquor in it. It's her guilty pleasure, but she has to keep it far from Jack.  * Don't play a card game against her; you WILL lose. Especially poker. She's also great at board games. It was the only type of games the foster homes had. However, she doesn't play as many video games. You've been slowly introducing her to games. Right now, she likes to relax with Stardew Valley and Animal Crossing. She'll also play with Jack or watch you play games. 
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isbahstudio · 6 months ago
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Hey! I’m starting my education in the paralegal field this fall, any tips or advice? Your blog is gorgeous! Hope you’re having a good day :)
Hi! Thank you! I do have a few tips I often like to give:
1) Be a self motivated learner! Alot of the law is researching and learning on the way. You will not know every statute or every filing software. You just google and learn along the way.
2) Legal writing is very different from normal writing, even different from academic writing. Legal writing is very cut, dry, and to the point. It usually follows the IRAC format. Issue, Ruling, Analysis, Conclusion. Basically, state the relevant laws and explain the case.
3) Keep a notebook solely for paralegal tasks! I have a leather diary designated for this. I write down all the little things I learn, like steps for filing motions, steps for serving discovery, jot down important deadlines, jot down legal jargon and commonly used statutes, jot down examples of legal citations to refer to, etc. This really comes in handy!
4) Understand your attorney! Eventually, when you do work with an attorney, identify the type of personality and the type of work environment you like. Some people have a bad experience as a paralegal because they're paired to an insufferable attorney. Some people have a great time, because their attorney is chill, collaborative, and a good mentor. Understand how your attorney likes to do things. How they like to organize tasks, organize files, maintain correspondence, etc. Basically, take their work style, improve on it, and make it more efficient.
5) Network! Alot of times lawyers and law firms are not posting jobs on the internet. It's more word of mouth. So try to network and do legal internships to get your foot in the door.
6) Portfolio! I have a digital and physical portfolio of my work with sample legal documents I drafted, sample case briefs, sample indictments, etc. In today's impossible job market, a portfolio can really help you stand out!
Finally, just have an open mind. When you are in your paralegal classes, it can take a second to get a hang of things. You may also find some patches to be dull and boring. But, the law is very diverse and there are many niches you can go into after graduation. If in the future you want to pivot away from being a paralegal, your experience in law firms or legal offices, can help you enter other fields like business, public policy, etc. A paralegal certificate is truly what you make of it. I kind of see it as a DIY degree!
Hope this helps! Good luck!
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young-royals-confessions · 1 year ago
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Responses to my job ask!
Thanks to all who wrote in, and thank you to the anon who suggested doing this—I found it so interesting to read the responses!
Occupations of Young Royals Confessions readers:
I'm an esthetician
I'm a videogame localization tester 😊
I am a teacher at a private school, and the history class I teach focuses primarily on revolutions and decolonization movements around the world. Working at a private school (but not being the same social class as most of my students) gives me a lot insights into the frightening soft power world of Hillerska.
I work in higher ed communications.
I used to be a civil servant, but got fed up with politics (and my bosses) and quitted. Now I currently don't work anywhere - keep my household, take care of my family and of myself.
I'm disabled. Was a teacher before.
I‘m a Marketing Manager :)
I am a teacher, I teach English at a secondary school in Europe.
I’m a graphic designer
Social worker :)
I have an engineer degree but now I work in the social field as a project manager.
Marketing manager by day, fic writer by night 🦸🏼‍♀️
I'm a train planner (shout out I've you've never heard of it before) and a freelance interpreter.
I’m an accounts administrator 📊
I'm an analytical chemist
Stay at home parent! 👶🏻
I work in a public university, writing grant applications and funding proposals, to persuade philanthropic organisations and individuals to fund our research and scholarships.
Casual retail worker, also meant to be a student but not currently at school lol
I’m a small business owner, selling handmade crafts and illustrations ☺️
I’m working as a Laboratory manager in a Biotech Company but I’m a pro in doing all things yr instead
I’m currently a full time student at uni but in my free time I help kids/teens with their homework
I’m a preschool teacher, work with kids aged 1-3. Sadly can’t read fanfic under the desk.
I work in a municipality where I help politicians and officials (no clue if that's the correct translation) with everything they need to keep the town and people happy. It's really interesting to sit behind the scenes and watch big decisions being made.
I'm a History of Latin America professor in an university and I'm also a second time PhD student. I also give surprise tests to my students to deal with my Young Royals feelings lmao
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oukabarsburgblr · 7 months ago
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sometimes I forget that ppl who post fics on tumblr have a life and don't just sit in their room writing and being silly, regardless I think it's very interesting and cool to know you study chemical engineering like woah
This is my exact reaction to finding out my fav writers are taking a medical degree and the other is in film writing like wow wdym ure cooler irl
But tq haha im currently in my second year, writing had always been a passion for me. (I love it when ppl ask abt the course im taking🫶🏻)
Like at this moment rn im doing two lab reports due tomorrow, but i also have two marketing proposals (sponsorship business) due this weekend and i also have to go to another state this weekend as well to present an innovation project my team got landed in top four for!
Altho the innovation leans more towards electrical engineering so i couldnt help as much. Im sorry for my little rant haha currently taking a break on my bed.
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Im a very active person in my university (club wise) and im struggling to maintain my gpa. I am not shy at all regarding my study life so feel free to ask! (Id love to take more pictures if ud like)
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fcble · 10 months ago
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Inwang jesaekdo, Jeong Seon (1751)
OUTTAKES — A collection of bits and pieces of ideas I had and posts I was going to make that never made it to completion
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TRIVIA
I wanted to do posts of miscellaneous trivia and headcanons around certain themes. The only one of these I completed was one on their names. I forced the explanations of Mingeun and Andrew(‘s stage) names into “Double A-Side,” but I do have the rest of them HERE.  
I also have some other trivia facts that I think more people should know.
Mingeun keeps a diary in French. He was very strongly encouraged to start one when he was a trainee, and he’s stuck with it ever since. Except he doesn’t want anyone else reading it, which is why he writes in French. It’s also made him a lot better at the language.
The worst-kept Fable secret is that Jaeseop has been in a relationship with his girlfriend since 2016. The best-kept Fable secret is that Jaeseop moved out at the end of 2022 to live with said girlfriend. I am hoping this will have bearing on the story soon other than mentions that Jaeseop doesn’t live with them anymore.
Solidifying the degrees for once because I feel like I’ve said Jaeseop has three different degrees. He does not. His degree is in marketing. Kiyoung’s is in political science, and Andrew’s is in music. Haksu dropped out halfway through but he was studying business administration. His heart was not in it at all.
On the topic of education, Intak went to a technical high school and is a decently qualified fake civil engineer. Eunsu attended SOPA in the Department of Practical Music. Mingeun is the only member without a high school diploma.
The lore-relevant reason for the education is that Taein believes in back-up plans. It’s part of the reason he doesn’t like Mingeun very much. On a tangential note, Neon Nights was the backup if Fable’s debut fell through.
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FANSERVICE MOMENTS THAT CAUSE SECOND-HAND EMBARRASSMENT / 2024 WHITE DAY SPECIAL
Exactly what it sounds like. Also the failed post that inspired this one. It was so cringe I couldn’t go through with it. I wanted to write this like a script. Thinking of the dialogue did me in completely. HERE are the only two scenes I finished.
Other things I had planned on were Haksu’s constant enabling of the boyfriend stans (signing fake marriage certificates at in-person fansigns, barking/meowing/whatever in fan calls), Jaeseop chivalry moment (didn’t think farther than that), and an extra terrible group Imagine Your Korea ad.
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OOPS ALL HAKSU CONFESSIONS
This is the title of “Great Things” in my docs. When I made the doc, I was going to write it as moments in a confessional booth. The problem with that is that he’s rationalizing all his actions in his head and he would not have confessed at the level of honesty I needed for the piece. So the other half of the piece was going to be entries in Mingeun’s diary because he’s the only one that works like that, and it would have been two perspectives on the same events. There were two problems with that. One, I wanted to die writing first person. Two, he didn’t know the extent of Haksu’s actions. 
The last scene of this piece is also a couple of days before the Haksu segment of “Form is Emptiness.” One of the first iterations of this was actually from Andrew’s perspective. It was part of a different Haksu piece which was perspectives on Haksu.
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OTHER DOC TITLES (PUBLISHED)
the eunsu departure novella (but mingeun is also everywhere???) — “Form is Emptiness.” Mingeun is everywhere. I can’t explain it. I guess in this context it makes sense because they’re besties.
mingeun wooseok era (probably not he’s not even flopping) — The Shooting Stars drafts doc. You can find it HERE.
andrew han moment — The write-up of In Full Bloom, the YouTube documentary accompanying their second full album. This helped me realize he’s a main character more than I would like to admit.
andrew mingeun parallels (emotionally constipated man discovers talking about your feelings helps) — The working title of “Not Enough.” In hindsight this is funny because they don’t even work through anything here. They were supposed to. Also I spelled impostor correctly once and incorrectly once in the same sentence 👍.
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byeonghwi time!!! (how he became a trainee) — “First Love.” Exactly what it sounds like. 
mingeun hwajung bi4bi — “Live Wire.” They don’t talk about it in the piece but they are both bisexual. 
intak anniversary piece that is actually andrew's identity crisis in disguise — “Double A-Side” was originally going to be from Intak’s perspective because he thinks about a lot of things but doesn’t say a lot of things. I realized pretty early on that this had to be an Andrew piece and so that changed.
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OTHER DOC TITLES (UNPUBLISHED)
walk the line — The perspectives on Haksu piece. This was also going to do the same event from multiple perspectives thing. I got as far as three paragraphs into Mingeun’s 2019 Mass experience, which is canon and did happen.
jaeseop at the shareholders meeting! what will happen to him? — Jaeseop attending his first meeting as a Zenith Entertainment stakeholder <3. Since the Fable concept scandal happened, I have to mess with the timeline. This is a thousand words long but I’m going to revisit parts of it in another piece I think so I’m not posting any of those words.
fable! but i don't know where i'm going — A rewrite of one of the very early Fable pieces where Taein told Mingeun to lie about his identity but I never finished it. Actually kind of important now that I think about it. It’s how he ended up the way he was in “Not Enough.” He should know that it’s Taein’s fault. But he was young and angry and desperate and just moved across the world and it was a lot easier for him to take his anger out on Andrew rather than his boss. This was also going to be accompanied by the interlude in which Jaeseop fights for Mingeun’s life, which is what changes Taein’s mind. This is very much missing from just Mingeun’s perspective. Maybe I’ll finish this one. It’s got some great bits like
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and also
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:(.
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BONUS:
What was the main conflict for every Fable member in November 2021?
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thehiddenbaroness · 14 days ago
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Entry 3: What is Certain
12/28/24
It’s been a few days now that I’ve woken up early (even after going to bed late) thinking about what to look into next, and I hope everyone, when they get to this stage, feels the same way. I mostly say this because there’s a lot to figure out if you’re on your own and aren’t immersed in the business already, so you’ll need your stamina, haha.
Of course there’s the adage that you really need to dig in to find out what you don’t know as much as what you do know, but right now I can say one thing for absolute certain: Start early.
If you have even the faintest thought about potentially getting published one day – independently or traditionally – then the best thing you can do for yourself is to keep it in the back of your brain and start making minor contributions to that end. If you change your mind, you haven't wasted your time.
What I’m not talking about: writing explicitly for a certain audience, or changing things in your writing based on trends, or solely create or do what garners the most profit. While these things aren’t inherently bad in of themselves, things change too quickly for it to be a viable strategy and, moreover, I’m confident they will suck the joy out of the proceedings.
What I am talking about: working on the things that take time to build, such as self-editing skills, just writing the damn thing, building a network, setting aside some savings, researching how the self-publication process works, reading similar books, etc. There’s nothing wrong with starting all of that only after your first draft is done and you think “hey, this isn’t half bad”, but it’ll save you some time and effort to not have to do everything from scratch so you can focus on writing the next thing. It also potentially has a big impact if you’re looking to be a career writer, or your finances are otherwise something of concern.
My biggest strengths right now are the fact that my book is already written and polished, and my degree, which set my expectations early and gave me some background in how it all works. My biggest weaknesses are budget, a shrunken social and professional network, and being less well-read in my intended genre. (While we’re on the subject: it’s been helpful to me to jot down an honest appraisal of not only what I want / am willing to do in terms of self-publishing, but my strengths and weaknesses; I recommend doing it for yourself, so you have something to keep your plan realistic.)
Finally, if you’ve read all this and thought to yourself “well, I don’t know if I should bother prepping early – my book may not be good enough / it may not work out for me / [similar self-deprecating sentiments]”, I’m telling you to do it anyway. You can’t improve a blank page, and likewise you can’t excel in a skill you never tried to learn. If you haven’t seen it for yourself, we are living in a land of literary opportunity – for better or worse – and there is room for everyone. Compared with even ten years ago, not only is the self-publication process easier and more accessible, but the stakes are lower and the affiliate network of marketers, editors, designers and artists much larger. Don’t quit your day job just yet, but definitely take a shot.
+++++ Baroness' Self-Publication Journal Masterpost I'm journaling what I uncover as I do more research for self-publication of my novel! I'll be using the tag "#sp journal". All of this will eventually wind up as part of a larger, more detailed guide I'm making notes for.
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