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trashmouth-richie · 3 months

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𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐞𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐥𝐨𝐰

its absolutely miserable here rn but i enjoy writing these little winter stories so have another,

“why? why do we live here?”eddie grumbles, rubbing his red chapped hands together and blowing on them.

the indiana wind blew hard against the windows, rattling the screen door and creating a draft that seemed to keep the trailer at a crisp 65°.

wool socks and long johns weren’t enough to keep him warm, the thick flannel he’d had since forever was threaded to the very top, his throat tight against the suffocating button.

“ ‘t’s where the horses died, i guess.” wayne chuckled, cricketing his feet together as he lounged back in his squeaky worn recliner.

the small space heater glowed angry red, drawing more electricity from the trailer.

“get that van started up?” wayne asks around the mouth of a pabst.

eddie flicks his lighter open and shut in a habitual manner, “didn’t want to, but finally gave in,” plopping down next to the heater to warm the apples of his cheeks, he lets out a small sigh of relief from his chattering teeth.

wayne grunts in approval and they sit in comfortable silence. the howling wind keeping melody with the lonesome whistling of the ceiling vents, the garfield wall clock adding a chimed staccato.

every business in town was closed. the gas stations, the diner— the weather man called for people to stay home: no travel advised. but healthcare didn’t operate around the weather.

his watch beeped at 9:45PM and he figured the van would be good and warm by now.

“alright, i’m headin’ out,” he called to wayne as he shoved his arms through the cool leather and begrudgingly shoved a stocking cap on his head.

wayne gave him a solemn look, “you be damn careful.”

eddie grinned his cheshire pearls, “always.”

the steel door by the back entrance had a small window facing the parking lot. your co workers all had gone once the other shift had shown up to start their nightly duties of rounding on patients and stocking supplies.

trisha asked if you needed a ride but you waved her off, “he’ll be comin’”

you worried the snow might have been too deep for his van to handle, maybe it didn’t start at all? maybe the electricity went out in the trailer park?

the nails on your hand suffered between your teeth as your brain concocted more and more things to worry about. things that could go wrong.

but not long after a single headlight broke through the tree line and there he was, lining up with the sidewalk as close as he could without actually driving onto it.

with one deep and ragged warm breath, you braved the weather. the snow scraping against your face in icy claws of unforgiving cold. wind whipping the starchy fabric of your nursing assistant scrubs this way and that.

the dome light brightens as he climbs out from the van opening your door before you could reach for it yourself. a winced smile on his lips when he sees your chilled face.

“get in baby,”

he shuts your door and your fingers begin to thaw against the vents in eddie’s van, the warm comforting smell of rich tobacco and hints of weed engulf your senses. the smell of him singing a song to your soul.

his door opens and shuts tight and he’s chattering his teeth loudly before grabbing your hands and kissing heat into them.

“missed you,” he murmurs, “how was work?”

“long…busy,” a barking cough creeps from your lungs and tightens your chest, “glad it’s over,” you say weakly, reaching for his hand and threading it between yours, “i switched shifts with diane so i have to be back at six.”

eddie’s eyebrows furrow into worry but he hides his concern. that place worked you like a mule, they didn’t care how bad the weather was or if you were sick… and he hated them for it. you looked exhausted, the normal glow to your skin was dusted over with whatever virus you were currently fighting.. but eddie knew there was no use trying to tell you to take it easy for once.

“alright sweetheart, i can take you, wanna stay at mine tonight or go back to your place?”

the small home you rented with your childhood best friend jonathan and his girlfriend, leah was on the outskirts of hawkins. and since your landlord was jonathan’s mom the rent was dirt ass cheap. the hopper’s residing in a desolate cabin owned by the chief.

winter was rough this year and between eddie’s long hours at the factory that didn’t seem to slow down, and your irregular shifts at the nursing home, you didn’t get to see much of your boyfriend, “stay with me?”

the tv was blue when your key finally busted through the locks and you wedged your way inside. leah and jonathan both asleep, curled into one another on the oversized couch.

tracking snow in, you and eddie toe off your shoes gingerly trying to avoid the unwelcome surprise of wet snow on your socks.

“i fucking hate snow,” eddie mutters hanging up both of your coats.

“oh cmon, mr grinch, “ you tease with a small smile after hacking up another cough, “you don’t like how pretty it makes everything look?”

“hard to look cool in this damn thing,” he says tossing the black stocking cap onto your counter, his hair a mess of kinky curls, frizzing into oblivion.

“well,” you say, running your hands up his chest and around his neck, “i think you look cute.”

eddie rolls his eyes and you scoff before he dives into your lips and kisses you loud and obnoxious. erupting giggles from you as his icy hands work themselves beneath the hem of your shirt.

the laughing as your cough acting up again and eddie places a palm to your forehead worry etched into his eyes, you look back at him, “would the heat miser like a hot toddy?”

eddie rubs his thumb into a circle pattern on your back. fuck he adores you.

“i’ll make ‘em, you go take a hot shower, alright? you feel sick.”

you roll your eyes, “i’m not sick,” you garble through a coughing fit, “’m just sleepy.”

“sure, sure, whatever you think.”

—

when you’re dressed into pajamas and a long robe, eddie is stripped down to his long johns and the band shirt you liked to hold hostage at your house. your room is set up like a picnic, pb&’s and a twinkie to wash down the hot liquor.

“pretty much a gourmet chef,” eddie says, licking peanut butter from his thumb, “i even ate your crusts for you.”

“my knight in shining armor,” you muse and eddie takes an exaggerated bow.

he sits crossed legged on your bed, “let’s eat i know your hungry,”

eddie’s idea of a hot toddy is warm tea with double the amount of whiskey. yours he made sweet with some honey but his is kept straight and burning with whiskey.

a light buzz clouds your head by the time you finish your drink and the exhaustion settles into your bones, the cough loosened a bit with your hot shower but now your sinuses were filled and you were only breathing from your mouth.

“lay down baby, i’ll be right back.”

eddie flicks off the light and sets the plate into the sink, jonathan is standing in the kitchen warming a a pot of milk on the stove.

“that you coughing munson or her?”

eddie finds the crinkly pack of cigarettes in the pocket of his jacket and pulls one out for himself and jonathan.

“me? nah, she’s sicker than a dog.”

jonathan stirs the milk and takes the cigarette from eddie’s offering hand, “leah and i had something like that last week, probably just something going around”

the two smoke openly in the kitchen, both deciding it’s too cold to go outside. jonathan stirs the hot milk into the waiting mugs with chocolate powder, cigarette and spoon swirling in a dance of smoke and clanking ceramic.

“there’s some vicks in the bathroom if you need it,” jonathan says, stubbing out his cigarette into the nearest ashtray, balancing the mugs in each fist, “ tell her to take a day off for christ sakes.”

“yeah that’ll go over well.”

they both chuckle knowing just how stubborn you are and jonathan disappears into his bedroom. flicking out the lights, eddie follows the hall to your room and sneaks inside, laying down next to your burning up body and sweat slicked forehead.

he pulls you into him and you groan with the uncomfortable delirium from your fever.

“eddie?” you whisper into his chest, fisting his shirt into your palms, “it doesn’t snow in arizona.”

“you’re right princess,” eddie says pressing his lips to your fevered head, “it doesn’t.”

you snuggle deeper into him, and speak a barely audible “let’s move there.” before you fall into a deep sleep.

when morning comes and the wind hasn’t died down, you sigh a little relief when his van doesn’t start, and don’t object when eddie hands you the phone so you can call your job and tell them you won’t be making it.

here is the actual temp from my weather app— 🥲 also tagging @eiightysixbaby bc jonathan’s girlfriend is her, duh.

#eddie blurb #eddie munson blurb #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson #eddie x fem!reader #eddie x you #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fluff #stranger things

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opossumloverr · 7 months

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✪TURTLE BROS X SNOW LEOPARD YOKAI READER✪

Summary:

Turtle bros with a snow leopard yokai reader ♡

Warning(s):

None! Maybe some swearing?

A/N:

I posted the one with the ask so I had to delete it cause it wasn't finished yet 💀 I'M SO SORRY, this is the person who requested this @saltydoesstuff TY FOR THE REQUEST! (Gender-neutral reader, can be platonic or romantic)

《RAPH》

Raph loves cats

He probably shields cats with an umbrella from the rain

So, to him, you're just a really big kitty cat who deserves a bunch of praises and pats

Loves to just cuddle with you

Scratching your sweets spot while churring in your ear

And for fun, he likes to count all of your spots

gets mad when he loses count though,

"64, 65…" Raph murmured in silence,

You chuckled in between sentences, "Big red, what are you doing?" Raph replied with a huff.

"Shh, I'm trying to count all of ya spots"

You questioned, "For what?" Raph groans in response

"Ugh! I lost track!" He huffed as he laid his head on your stomach, you looked at him in confusion,

"I'm sorry Raph, would you like some chin scratches as an apology?" you asked,

"Yes that would be very much appreciated, thank you sweets"

He can't stay angry at you for long, you're his weak spot

《LEO》

Beware, this man is a nose booper

So whenever you're around, expect him to get close to you, lift his finger up, and touch your nose while making a 'boop' sound

It's an obsession, he can't help it

So you've grown into the habit of hiding from him whenever you sense him approaching

Fun fact; Snow leopards can jump really high, one leap can send them almost 50 feet in the air

So you take this skill to your advantage

Jumping into high places so he can't find you/reach you

But he will always find a way

"C'mon [NAME], come out! I swear I won't boop you again" You hear Leo's voice all the way in the movie room, You're currently hiding in the kitchen, on top of one of the high shelves, You hear his footsteps walking away, You sigh in relief but it was short-lived as you feel your tail bump into a plastic cup causing it to fall down to the hard concrete floor,

"Damn it!" You whispered to yourself

"Oh, so you're hiding in the kitchen?" Leo says, you can practically taste the grin he has on his face, almost instantly you see a blue portal next to you, with Leo's hand sticking out of it to grab you by the scruff of your neck and pull you into said portal,

You were then met with his face, a victory smirk plastered all over it. He raised his hand with his index finger out and pressed your nose.

"Boop"

Damn it, Leo, you lovable jackass

《DONNIE》

He wants to be around you and hangs out with you a lot

Just let him unwind around you

Will occasionally indulge in 'play time' with you

Messing with you by pointing a laser pointer at random objects

He once pointed the laser at Leo's face and watched in amusement as you pounced on him

He actually has a box full of cat toys just for you

Finds it absolutely adorable when you eye down that plastic mouse

Spends hours playing with you even if it means ignoring his brothers for a while,

Donnie watches you run for the red-beaming laser as he rapidly slides it to the floor while grinning amusedly. Just then, he hears loud footsteps and voices outside the room.

One of the voices yells, "DONNIE!"

"DONNIE, WE NEED YOUR HELP!" the second one claims

The door swings open, revealing Donnie's brothers, Leo and Mikey, frantically flailing their hands about in some terrified manner, he groans.

"DONNIE PLEASE HELP, I WAS HELPING LEO MAKE SOUP FOR DINNER, I TURN AROUND FOR ONE SECOND AND HE MAGICALLY BURNED THE WATER AND NOW THE STOVE IS ON FIRE," the turtle exclaimed, Leo gasped dramatically,

"IT'S NOT MY FAULT, I NEVER KNEW THAT WATER COULD BURN"

Mikey responds, "I DIDN'T ETHIER-" before being cut off.

"Enough! Can't you see I'm spending quality time with [NAME]?" Donnie states, they all look at you, still trying to catch the laser that has moved from the floor to the wall,

"Don, the kitchen is literally catching on fire as we speak." Leo says,

"Not my problem" Donnie retorts.

Oopsies I made this a little too long, not that y'all mind, right? Anyways the kitchen caught on fire and Raph had to lecture everybody while putting it out

《MIKEY》

'COME HERE PSPSPSPSPS'

Does that ALL the time to get your attention

Yes, it does get annoying, but you'll get used to it, don't worry

Likes to hang out and just chill with you like Donnie,

One of the perks of being a snow leopard is your coat. It keeps you warm during the winter,

So, throughout winter, you'll always stop by the lair to help Mikey stay warm

Using your tail as some sort of blanket, and holding you close

"[NAME]! You're here!" Mikey greeted you with his signature goofy smile, running up to you and tackling you in a tight hug,

"Of course I'm here Mikey, it's the winter. You'll practically die if I hadn't," you return the hug, wrapping your warm tail around his torso, Mikey hummed

"Hmm, so warm!" He sighed in delight, nuzzling his snout into your cozy neck.

I LOVE MIKEY SM YALL DON'T EVEN KNOW

He finds it extremely calming, some sort of stress relief

IRL heated blanket

Call me Coryxkenshin at this point, I'm so sorry for the wait! YK, I'm just dealing with life, and also, writer's block is currently kicking me in the ass rn, I'm the embodiment of never back down... NEVER GIVE UP

Me when no one is around:

#donnatello rottmnt #raphael rottmnt #leonardo rottmnt #michelangelo rottmnt #rottmnt x reader #x reader #rottmnt #rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles #tmnt #tmnt x reader

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zeciex · 3 months

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A Vow of Blood - 65

Warnings: This fic includes noncon, dubcon, manipulation, violence and inc3st. Tags will be added as the fic goes on. This is a dark!fic. 18+ only. Read at your own discretion. Please read the warnings before continuing.

Summary: “You will be trapped by the obligations of love and duty, unable to escape the web of expectations others have woven around you,“ the witch said….

Chapter 65: A Fool with a Fool's Honor

AO3 - Masterlist

Alerted by the distinctive sound of a cane tapping on stone and the shuffle of footsteps, Daenera’s senses heightened. She pressed herself deeper into the shadows, her heart pounding in her chest, her palms clammy. Despite the tense situation, she felt an overwhelming sense of coldness, as if no amount of warmth could penetrate her current state of shock and apprehension.

The doors creaked open, and Lord Larys Strong entered the room, leaning heavily on his cane. His voice was calm and soft-spoken, belying the gravity of the situation happening within the Red Keep.

“...Lord Caswell,” he finished his sentence.

“M’ lord,” another voice responded, followed by the distinct sounds of footsteps.

Concealed behind the curtains, Daenera peered through a narrow gap. She watched cautiously as Larys shut the door and moved across the room, the rhythmic tapping of his cane punctuating his every move. He settled into a chair, his back to her, and began to pour himself a cup of tea.

Seizing the moment, Daenera stepped out from her hiding place, her movements silent as she approached him. Her grip on the dagger’s hilt was firm, despite the sweat on her palm. Her heart raced as she positioned the blade against his neck, feeling him freeze under its cold touch.

“Where do your allegiances lie?” She demanded, slowly moving to where Larys could see her, all the while keeping the dagger pressed against his skin.

Surprise flickered across Larys’ face as his icy gaze took in her disheveled appearance and the dagger in her hand. “Princess…”

“Where do your allegiances lie?” Daenera repeated her question, her voice unwavering.

“Are you hurt?” Larys’ eyes scanned her, concern evident as they traveled from her bloodstained hand to her bodice.

Daenera glanced down at herself, noting for the first time the extent of the blood stains on her dress. The fabric of her dress, meant to mimic the modest attire of a servant, was starkly contrasted by the deep red stains that marred its surface. The spots, a grim reminder of the bloodshed she had witnessed, were particularly prominent on her skirts and bodice, where she had instinctively wiped her bloodied hands. She shook her head slightly, her voice wavering. “The blood isn’t mine.”

Daenera felt the acidic sting of bile threatening to rise in her stomach again, but she managed to suppress it. The last thing she needed was to lose her composure in front of Larys Strong, especially by vomiting on him.

Reflecting back on their past encounters, Daenera recalled Larys’ words in the Godswood and his counsel during the time she was advised to go to Storm's End. These memories brought a faint flicker of hope, despite her understanding that Larys was under no obligation to assist her now. Her voice was hoarse and strained as she spoke, the dryness of her lips making it difficult to articulate her words.

“You once told me to seek you out if I were ever in need of a friend,” she began, her thoughts momentarily drifting to the little girl she once was, who had lost her father and yearned for a connection to the man long gone. This man before her was her uncle, albeit only in blood and forever kept in secret. In her heart, she clung to the hope that this familial tie might still hold some meaning, some bond that could be called upon in her hour of need. “I am in need of a friend now.”

Larys regarded her with a measuring expression.

“So it appears,” he replied, gesturing stiffly towards the opposing chair. “Why don’t you take a seat, and we can discuss this matter.”

Daenera hesitated, her eyes betraying a hint of unease as she contemplated Larys’ invitation to sit. After a brief moment, she cautiously lowered herself into the seat, slowly withdrawing the dagger from his neck. Yet, she maintained a firm grip on the weapon, resting her hand on the table, letting the blade remain threateningly in the air.

Her gaze remained intently focused on Larys, observing his every move as he calmly poured her a cup of tea. The steam wafted up, carrying the distinct aroma of rooibos–a sweet, herbal scent that contrasted sharply with the scent of cobber that clung to her. Out of the corner of her eye, she watched the gentle swirl of steam rise from the cup, her senses heightened and alert, ready to react to any sudden movement or sign of betrayal.

Larys observed Daenera with an air of composure, his gray eyes sharp and calculating. They held a cold, analytical quality, as if he were meticulously assessing every aspect of the situation unfolding before him, even as he presented her with a gentle, sympathetic smile.

“Viserys is dead,” Daenera declared, her voice raw with resignation.

“Indeed,” Larys acknowledged, his response laced with an undertone of intrigue, suggesting a deeper awareness of the events transpiring.

“And the Hightowers are seizing power,” she added, her voice sharpening with evident contempt for the unfolding power play.

“It certainly appears so,” Larys concurred, maintaining a tone that was deliberately vague, his face betraying little of his inner thoughts. His gaze remained fixed on her, observing her reactions closely, a vague sense of amusement to his eyes.

Daenera’s frustration became more pronounced as she echoed his words, her eyebrows knitting together in vexation. “Is that not what’s unfolding? Was that not the reason behind me being made a prisoner? Or the reason for your summoning to a secret council meeting in the dead of night?”

Tears threatened to spill from Daenera’s eyes, and she blinked rapidly to stave them off, her body shifting restlessly in the chair. Despite all her preparations for such a scenario, she realized she had always imagined it would occur in the clarity of daylight, with her fully awake and prepared. Instead, she had found herself grappling with these harrowing revelations in a state of exhaustion, jarred awake in the late hours of night.

“The council, where do they stand?” Daenera asked, her voice wivering with a mix of fear and urgency. Larys was the gatekeeper to the answers she desperately sought, and the uncertainty of the entire situation was eating away at her. She hated the feeling of being left in the unknown.

“It seems that the King had a change of heart regarding the succession in his final moments,” he said, delivering the news with a calculated calmness. Larys’ response was measured, yet it struck Daenera with the force of a physical slap. Her skin seemed to prickle with the sting of it.

Her expression darkened, a frown etching itself deeply across her face. The grip on her dagger tightening, her knuckles turning white under the strain as anger began to burn within her chest.

“He declared Aegon his rightful heir,” Larys added, the gravity of his words hanging heavily in the air.

Daenera grappled with the implausibility of Larys’s revelation. It simply did not align with everything she knew about her grandfather and his steadfast support of her mother.

She thought about how Viserys had reaffirmed her mother’s position as his heir, especially during the recent succession dispute over Driftmark. She recalled the effort it took for the ailing king to have navigated the Red Keep, the physical toll it took on him to climb the stairs to the Iron Throne to personally sit in judgment. Most tellingly, she remembered his decisive action in calling for Vaemond’s tongue to be removed, punishing him for his insult against her mother.

In every instance, King Viserys had demonstrated a clear, unwavering commitment to his decision regarding the succession. The idea that he would suddenly change his mind and name Aegon as his heir was inconceivable.

“Who told you this?” Daenera managed to ask, her voice barely more than a whisper.

“The Queen,” Larys answered succinctly, confirming the source of this pivotal information with a simple statement.

Daenera scoffed, her response laced with a mix of frustration and disbelief. “Of course she would say that. She’s always wanted her son on the throne. But Viserys… he would never have chosen Aegon as his successor.”

Larys regarded her with a steady, solemn gaze, imparting the gravity of the situation. “The council, however, has accepted this claim. They now stand behind Aegon as the rightful king.”

Daenera closed her eyes briefly, a gesture of weariness and disbelief, feeling a wave of fatigue wash over her, her head throbbing. She reopened them, her expression one of incredulity.

“Lord Beesbury was a staunch supporter of Viserys and his decision to name my mother as heir. It is unthinkable that he would forsake his commitment based solely on Alicent’s assertion,” Daenera said.

A somber expression settled on Larys face, almost pitiful as he delivered the news. “I’m afraid Lord Beesbury is no longer with us.”

Her eyes widened in shock as she absorbed the implication of his words. “He’s dead? How? What happened?”

Larys hesitated slightly before responding, as if searching for the words. “He had a… minor accident.”

“No,” Daenera cut in, her voice rising with a blend of anger and realization. “They killed him, didn’t they? They’re prepared to silence anyone who stands in their way. Deep within, they recognize my mother is the legitimate heir.”

Daenera fixed Larys with a sharp look. “You were present at the council meeting, as Lord Confessor.”

“I was,” Larys confirmed with a nod. He took a calm sip of his tea, his casual demeanor almost jarring.

“And where do you stand in all of this?” Daenera pressed, her voice firm with both inquiry and accusation. Her grip on the dagger tightened again, her palms sweaty. “You didn’t challenge their claim.”

“As you rightly pointed out, they are prepared to silence dissenters,” he responded, setting the tea cup down with deliberate calmness. “The council’s decision was unanimous, except for Lord Beesbury, to honor the supposed final wishes of the King.”

Daenera felt a tremor in her heart, a mix of disappointment and realization. “So, you stand with them. You’re supporting their usurpation of my mother.”

“I had no choice but to comply,” Larys stated. “The decision had already been made before I could influence it.”

A heavy silence fell between them. Daenera’s eyes stayed locked on Larys, searching his expression for any clue, any hint of his true intentions. Was he an ally in this dire situation, or yet another enemy?

In the dimly lit room, where the hearth’s flames cast a flickering glow, the light caught the intricately embedded gemstones on Larys’ cane, making them sparkle like elusive fireflies. Daenera’s eyes momentarily lingered on the finely carved silver firefly that adorned the handle, stirring within her a sense of wariness and foreboding.

“House Strong has been esteemed for its unwavering loyalty to the crown,” Daenera began, her tone deliberate and measured. “If you maintain your allegiance to the true Queen, your loyalty will surely be acknowledged and rewarded.”

She carefully navigated her words, aware of the implications they carried. “Your brother and father were men of honor, and I believe you possess the same integrity.”

As she looked at Larys, Daenera saw little resemblance to the man she remembered, sharing nothing but the dark hue of his hair. In his demeanor and presence, she found scant traces of the heritage and characteristics that she associated with House Strong–associated with his brother Ser Harwin Strong.

She paused for a moment, weighing her next words. “I ask of you, as a friend, help me.”

Daenera leaned in, her movements purposeful as she placed the hastily written note on the table before Larys, pushing it across the surface before withdrawing her hand. “It’s imperative that I inform my mother about the Hightowers’ betrayal. You have the capability to dispatch a raven. It’s crucial that she’s informed about the current situation.”

Larys nodded in acknowledgement and picked up the note. He studied it briefly, his gray eyes scanning the words with a careful gaze. After reading it, he refolded the note with precision and tucked it securely into his belt.

Daenera continued, her voice laced with determination, “I’m certain of the Hightowers intent to use me as leverage against my mother. I must leave King’s Landing. Reaching Dragonstone discreetly isn’t feasible, but I could head for Harrenhal or Duskendale and seek sanctuary there until Daemon can come for me.”

Larys offered a cautionary note to her plans, “Traveling the Kingsroad alone is perilous, especially for a woman in your position.”

“Then arrange for me to leave by sea,” Daenera responded firmly.

Daenera was acutely aware that her continued presence in King’s Landing played into the Hightowers’ hands. It was imperative for her to escape and alert her family, especially her mother, about the unfolding betrayal.

What allies she had within the Red Keep were in the same position she was in. The only person who appeared able to help her was Lord Larys Strong. He was her best chance of getting out.

“I understand the gravity of what I’m requesting, my lord,” Daenera began, her voice carrying a careful mix of resolve and humility. “To send ravens is one thing, but aiding my disappearance is quite another. Yet, you are the only person I can turn to. I have allies within the city who could assist me beyond the city gates if you cannot.”

She swallowed, before continuing. “Help me, I beg of you.”

An uneasy light flickered in Larys’ eyes, carrying a hint of something unsettling. Daenera couldn’t shake the feeling that he was deriving a perverse sense of satisfaction from the position she was in–having to beg for his help.

“I place my trust in you, my lord,” Daenera said, hoping that he would prove himself worthy of that trust. “Should you assist me in this matter, I will remain indebted to you.”

A subtle smile emerged on Larys’ face as he rose from his chair, his hand gripping the head of his cane a bit more firmly. “Allow me a moment to make the necessary arrangements, and I will secure your escape.”

Daenera watched him with a mixture of hope and trepidation.

Left alone in the room, Daenera felt a wave of anxiety wash over her. She felt the weight of each passing minute as she anticipated his return. The dagger was sheathed again at her waist, her fingers peeling off the hilt. She cautiously tasted the tea he had left for her, ensuring it wasn’t poisoned. Finding it safe, she drank deeply, soothing her dry throat.

Drawn to the windows, Daenera observed the early morning light breaking into day. The sky was painted in shades of crimson, eerily echoing the bloodshed of the night, as if the heavens mourned the fallen–a bled for them.

Daenera’s fingers danced nervously on the hilt of her dagger, echoing the anxious beat of her heart. Doubts clouded her mind about seeking Larys’s aid, yet her options were distressingly limited. The allies she might have counted on within the Red Keep – Lord Caswell and his daughter, Tris, Lady Fell, and Kaylys Beesbury – were essentially captives in their own right, likely confined to their chambers and unable to offer any assistance. And Ser Finan, her trusted confidant within the City Watch, was either patrolling the city’s labyrinthine streets, or inaccessible somewhere within the Red Keep’s walls, far beyond her reach. The thought of combing through the Keep to find him seemed a venture doomed to futility–a venture that would get her caught.

With a tight swallow, Daenera’s gaze swept over the horizon, contemplating if a solitary escape through the tunnels would have been preferable, despite the risk of getting lost and the even greater risk of encountering guards stationed at every exit. If she succeeded in escaping the Red Keep, the challenge of fleeing the city loomed large before her. She would have to leave the city before the Hightower’s discovered her absence and ordered the city’s gates sealed and its harbor closely watched. Mysaria might offer sanctuary and aid in her escape, but even then, Daenera would find herself pursued relentlessly–like the young fox leaping through the forest as the hunters chased after it.

Larys represented her most viable escape route. His past assistance and warnings against the Queen, coupled with his advice to leave King’s Landing and bring her husband to Storm’s End, lingered in her memory. It could have been a trap, but it wasn’t.

Her heart continued its restless thumping, a sense of ominous foreboding weighing heavily within her. The uncertainty of her choice twisted her stomach into knots as time inexorably marched forward, each moment amplifying her unease.

Daenera’s reliance on Larys was not grounded in definitive trust but rather in hope, a fragile and capricious ally in uncertain times.

Upon his return, Larys presented her with a new cloak. It was a welcome sight, free from the grim reminders of violence. She removed her own cloak and draped the new one over her shoulders, noting its generous length that trailed behind her as she moved. The cloak carried a scent of smoke and an intangible warmth, offering a small comfort amidst the chaos.

“Is everything arranged?” Daenera asked, her gaze intently fixed on Larys.

“Yes,” Larys responded succinctly, his steps hastening towards the door, his cane echoing rhythmically against the stone floor. “I’ve arranged for a transport to Harrenhal where you will be safe. I will lead you to the exit where my man is waiting for you. He will escort you on your way.”

Daenera gave a terse nod, feeling a surge of apprehension within her.

Pulling the hood of the cloak over her head to conceal her identity, she followed Larys into the eerily silent corridors of the Red Keep. Her gaze remained lowered, vigilantly following Larys while maintaining a cautious distance. Her hands clutched the cloak’s edges tightly, using the garment as a shield to cover the grim display of her dress.

She was acutely aware of every sound, listening for the slightest hint of movement or the approach of footsteps, which were almost drowned out by the loud thumping of her own heart as it beat rapidly within her chest.

As they moved through the normally bustling halls of the Red Keep, the absence of activity was once again unsettling. The corridors remained desolate, the morning light spilling in through the windows, as they turned down another hall and further into the depths of the Keep.

Daenera closely followed Larys as he guided her through a rarely frequented wing of the Red Keep. This section, typically only used during grand celebrations and tournaments, lay just as deserted as the rest of the Keep.

Larys stopped in his tracks, holding up a hand for her to be quiet. He stopped so unexpectedly that Daenera nearly bumped into him.

In the quiet, she could hear the distant but distinct sound of heavy footsteps echoing down the hallway. A surge of fear rushed through her, her heart pounding loudly in her chest as she tried to steady her breath.

Seeming to recognize the imminent danger, Larys acted swiftly. He moved to one of the chamber doors and opened it with haste, gesturing urgently for Daenera to enter.

Daenera quickly entered the dim chamber, where the absence of windows left the room shrouded in shadows and the air thick with a stale, musty scent. The space, haunting in its stillness, was filled with furniture draped in white sheets to ward off dust, creating an eerie semblance of silent watchers. Her gaze was drawn to the small hearth where newly lit fire flickered, its flames seeming to mock her.

The sight struck her as odd. Why would there be a fire in an unused room?

A chilling wave of unease washed over her as she pieced together the truth. Her throat tightened, and she spun around to confront Larys, her eyes wide with a sense of betrayal.

Larys stood in the doorway, exuding a calm, collected demeanor as he delivered his words, his tone devoid of genuine remorse. “I am sorry, Princess.”

A heavy feeling of dread descended upon Daenera, the gravity of her situation becoming painfully clear. The air seemed to escape her lungs as she faced the grim reality.

“I couldn’t allow you to leave,” Larys stated, his voice resonating with a chilling finality. His declaration was underscored by the entrance of two guards who took their positions on either side of the door, effectively sealing her fate.

Daenera felt the sting of tears in her eyes, and she swallowed thickly as she stared at him in outrage. The harsh truth of Larys’ loyalty became undeniably evident.

“Why?” Daenera demanded, her voice thick as she tried to contain her emotions. “I thought you were my friend.”

“I am your friend,” Larys insisted, his tone unwavering. “However, I serve the Queen. I am familiar with her ways, and I know she will reward me for my loyalty.”

Daenera’s response was a sneer, “My mother would have shown you gratitude.”

“Regrettably, your mother offers nothing I desire,” Larys replied coldly, his gaze briefly shifting to one of the guards, signaling him to advance.

As one guard firmly grasped Daenera’s arm, the other began a systematic search. Her cloak was removed, exposing the bloodstained fabric of her dress and revealing the dagger fastened at her waist. Daenera clenched her jaw in frustration and helplessness as her only means of defense and her pouch containing valuables were removed.

While they searched her, Daenera observed the guards’ attire – worn leather and cloaks of blue, distinct from the Kingsguard, the City Watch, or the Red Keep’s own guards. She surmised they were Larys’ men, a suspicion confirmed by the small firefly pins adorning their chests.

Her breath hitched as she felt the laces of her dress being undone. She turned to Larys, who watched impassively as she was stripped down to her underdress. The servant’s dress pooled cruelly at her feet, a puddle of crimson fabric. The coin that had been hidden within her bodice clinked loudly as it hit the floor.

Daenera wrapped her arms around herself, seeking to preserve some semblance of dignity.

There, clothed only in the sheer fabric of her underdress, Daenera was painfully aware of her defenselessness. The penetrating gazes upon her evoked a surge of deep humiliation, constricting her chest and sending shivers across her skin. Goosebumps dotted her flesh as the room’s chill cut through the slender fabric of her garment. It strangely reminded her of the night her husband had ripped her dress from her body–the fire crackled nearby, causing her to jump, its heat barely reaching her, doing little to chase away the icy dread that had settled deep within her bones.

The guard gathered her clothes and presented the coin to Larys. He examined it with a hint of curiosity before his gaze returned to Daenera. She looked back at him pointedly, lips pressed in a firm line.

She watched as Larys tapped his way towards the hearth with his cane. Holding the note she had written earlier, he locked eyes with her, a silent message in his gaze, before he callously fed the parchment to the flames, destroying her last hope of warning her mother.

“You have no honor.” Daenera’s anger flared as she faced Larys fully, her words seething through clenched teeth. “Your father and brother would be ashamed of what you’ve become. A traitor to the realm.”

“I do not concern myself with ghosts,” Larys dismissed her words with the wave of his hand. “And they should not concern you either.”

Her glare intensified as Larys stepped closer, resting both hands on the head of his cane, her coin hidden within one of his palms. Her spine straightened, refusing to cower before him.

“The dead are gone, Princess. And with them, they take their honor.”

Daenera ground her teeth, felt a surge of rage pulse through her, her fingers itching with the desire to grab Larys’ cane and pummel him to death with it.

Larys continued, a hint of disdain finding its way into his voice. “I loved my brother, but he was a fool to think no one would question his devotion to Princess Rhaenyra. A fool with a fool's honor. And my father, while well-meaning, lacked ambition to elevate and assert our House.”

Daenera glared at Larys. “Ser Harwin was a good man. He was honorable and loyal.”

For an instant, Daenera’s mind conjured the haunting image of Ser Harwin’s lifeless body, suspended by a noose, his face gruesomely disfigured by burns, making him almost unrecognizable, and around him, fireflies glowed eerily.

A dark thought flickered through her mind – would Larys’ face be similarly disfigured if she were to thrust him into the flames?

Larys’ voice, devoid of any emotion, broke through her thoughts. “He was a good man, indeed. Good and foolish and dead.”

As Larys gave a subtle nod, the guards obediently filed out the room, their departure closely followed by Larys himself. The tapping of his cane echoed through the room, each click resonating like a shard of ice piercing Daenera’s back.

Shivering with cold in the vast, empty chamber, she was surprised not to see her breath hanging in the frigid air. A bitter taste lingered in her mouth, and the heavy, suffocating staleness of the air clawed at the back of her throat.

“Do not mistake my actions for a lack of concern, Princess,” Larys spoke with a cold, measured tone, his voice serving as a stark reminder of his detachment from his brother’s warmth. “I did care for my brother, and in the same vein, I believe it’s necessary to shield you from your own foolishness.”

Daenera’s response was a mixture of scorn and incredulity. “You call this protection?”

“The Hightowers will not harm you, you’re far too valuable for that,” Larys said as though it offered some sort of comfort. “If war breaks out, this is the safest place for you to be. Take solace in knowing that here, at least, you’re out of harm's way.”

His hollow assurance left her feeling more isolated than ever.

“Let me keep the coin,” Daenera demanded, her voice betraying her as it waned into a desperate thing. “Please.”

Larys briefly considered the coin, seeming to weigh the option of taking it, then nonchalantly flicked it towards her, letting it clatter to the floor near her feet.

As the door closed with a definitive click and the sound of the lock sealing her fate, Daenera felt her strength wane. Her legs gave way, and she found herself collapsing to her knees before the hearth.

Daenera stared at her hands, where the blood had transformed into a dark, crackled brown, stubbornly lodged beneath her nails and smeared over her skin. Stains the same somber hue had seeped through her underdress, marking her knees with the haunting reminder–Joyce was gone. Dead.

The coppery tang of blood filled her nostrils, the smell making her stomach turn. Once again she felt the rise of bile, but there was nothing left in her stomach to spill and she swallowed thickly against the feel of it.

Shivers rippled through Daenera’s frame, her entire being shaking as tears spilled freely from her eyes, dripping onto her quivering hands and the cold stone beneath her. A choked sob broke from her lips, followed by another and another until there was no stopping it.

A weak, almost inaudible noise escaped her throat, a sound of grief as reality came crashing in around her. Her mind raced with thoughts–how many more dead? Was Fenrick still alive? What of Patrick and Jelissa?

The chill from the stone floor beneath her seemed to pierce her very bones, amplifying the numbing coldness of her situation. By the time she left this room, would her family be dead? The uncertainty of their fates added a deeper layer of dread to her sorrow.

She found herself trapped and utterly alone.

Daenera wrapped herself in the cloak that had been left to her, and stained the fabric with her tears.

Aemond found Ser Criston Cole at the foot of the imposing, grand staircase of Maegor’s Holdfast. The newly appointed Commander of the Kingsguard was dressed uncharacteristically in civilian clothes, a stark departure from his usual armor. His normally gleaming, intricately designed plate was nowhere to be seen, replaced instead by a plain tunic of unremarkable brown. The famous white cloak of the Kingsguard was substituted for a nondescript brown one, and atop his head sat a simple hat, the sort one might expect to see on an ordinary townsman.

Without the grandeur of the Kingsguard attire, Ser Criston Cole looked like the stewards son he was born as.

In sharp contrast to Ser Criston’s humble garb, Aemond presented himself in a black training doublet that had seen many days of use. The fabric was coarse and tough, designed to withstand the rigors of combat, held together with straps of worn leather. A cloak, long enough to reach his ankles, was fastened at his throat with a chain of simple iron. The belt around his waist, though utilitarian, cradled a sword and a dagger, both of which were of exquisite craftsmanship, their luxurious details a silent testament to his status.

Upon descending the last step, Aemond was met with a curt nod from Ser Criston. The greeting, though brief, carried the weight of formality and respect due a prince.

Aemond’s attention was captured by a grim but expected scene on the ground–a dried, dark brownish stain of blood, an implication of the violence that had occurred and had not yet been erased. Close by, another stain disrupted the stone’s integrity, its smear suggesting a violent draggin, leaving behind a woeful trail.

He spared no questions for the sight; the recent events were clear in his mind. Ser Criston and the Red Keep guards had apprehended Daenera amidst her bid for freedom, a confrontation that undoubtedly did not end without resistance. Ser Criston’s earlier discussions with his mother had confirmed Daenera’s current confinement within her chambers.

He would have guarded her himself, did his mother not need him.

Following Ser Criston, Aemond stepped into the sunlit inner courtyard of Maegor’s Holdfast. His eye briefly met those of the Lord Confessor, deep in conversation with his men, who were similarly dressed in the muted garb of discretion, their expressions rigid with purpose.

As they moved past this assembly, Lord Lary’s voice reached out, distinct and authoritative. “Lord Commander…”

Ser Criston came to a halt and turned to face Lord Larys, whose approach was underlined by the distinctive sound of his cane tapping against the stone. Larys’s demeanor was one of calculated composure, his expression carrying that all-too-familiar hint of cunning that seemed to be a permanent fixture of his face.

“It’s been quite a chaotic morning,” he observed, his fingers nonchalantly wrapped around his cane’s handle, his keen eyes reflecting a penetrating intelligence. “It appears the Princess resisted capture, evidenced by the bloodshed. Yet, it seems you failed to detain her.”

Ser Criston, with a demeanor as stoic as tone, replied, “The Princess’s guards were rather… resistant to disarming and following quietly–”

“My remarks were not about the guards,” Larys clarified, his attention shifting between Ser Criston and Aemond. “It seems the Princess has managed to slip past her guards and out of her confinements. As we speak, she’s in my quarters, eagerly awaiting a chance to flee the Keep.”

Aemond maintained a composed facade, yet beneath it, apprehension surged at the notion of Daenera’s flight. He clenched his jaw, attempting to conceal his disquiet. The prospect of both Aegon lost within the city’s expanse and Daenera slipping away to alert her mother, all before they could put the crown of Aegon’s head, was a complication they could ill afford.

Ser Criston, with a furrowed brow and a defensive edge to his voice, asserted, “I personally oversaw her confinement and stationed guards outside her chambers. She couldn’t have escaped.”

Aemond’s thoughts raced, filled with an understanding that those around him lacked. He knew Daenera. He knew she was cunning, resourceful, and above all, spiteful. It shouldn’t have come as a surprise that she made another attempt at escape–nevertheless, it aggravated him.

He exhaled sharply in frustration, his attention momentarily diverted by a commotion. From the corner of his eye, he saw the two guards on the second level of the cloister, manhandling a bulky item before unceremoniously letting it fall to the floor. The object hit the ground with a solid thump. Then, they set about fastening a rope around the bannister, trading sharp quips as they quarreled over the correct method to tie the knot and determine the length of the rope.

“The castle’s walls offer more secrets for escape than merely the front doors,” Larys answered, bringing Aemond’s attention back to him.

The sudden awareness of the hidden passages struck Aemond with an intensity akin to a blot of lightning. Amidst the chaos of the day, this critical detail had eluded him, a lapse that now festered within him as annoyance for not considering it earlier. It was a glaring mistake; he ought to have ensured there were no avenues for escape, that she remained protected–safe within her chambers.

“Is she safe–secured?” Aemond asked, his voice steady, not betraying the underlying worry that wretched through him.

“She remains unharmed,” Larys responded, a hint of self-satisfaction tinging his smirk, which only served to aggravate Aemond further. “And she will be secured.”

“You left her alone, you did not think to call the guards?” Ser Criston asked sharply.

“I intend to relocate her to a more secure chamber myself, one without the means to escape,” Larys answered, unconcerned in the slightest of having left her alone. “Furthermore, I’ll ensure any weapons are removed, as well as her bloodstained attire.”

Aemond turned a sharp look towards Ser Criston Cole, his irritation brewing into a potent mix of concern and ire. “Did she suffer any harm during this ordeal?”

“The blood isn’t hers,” Ser Criston stated, his words slicing through Aemond’s rising alarm, providing a momentary solace in the storm of his frustration.

Aemond’s attention shifted back to Larys as he methodically began to divest himself of his cloak. With careful movements, he peeled the heavy, textured fabric from his shoulders, offering it to Larys. “She must be kept safe and unharmed. We cannot afford to lose her.”

“Understood, my Prince. Her safekeeping is paramount,” Larys responded, his expression unmoved, his hands remaining on the head of his cane, showing no intention to take the cloak. Aemond, however, remained firm, keeping the cloak extended towards Larys with a determined glare.

With a hint of reluctance, Larys finally took it, folding it over his arm with a nod of acknowledgement.

“It’s time we moved on,” Ser Criston interjected, his expression etched with concern.

As Aemond and Ser Criston Cole made their way out of the towering shadow of Maegor’s Holdfast, walking towards the expansive outer yard, Aemond felt a sense of agitation linger beneath his skin.

“What transpired when you apprehended Daenera?” Aemond asked, his tone measured, betraying none of the tumultuous emotions that churned beneath his stoic exterior. The prince felt the weight of Ser Criston’s gaze, sharp and discerning, as it swept over him, probing the layers of his seemingly indifferent inquiry for hidden depths.

Ser Criston, with a visible strain of frustration creasing his brow, recounted the events that followed the council’s gathering. “When the council adjourned, I dispatched the twins to secure the gates and ensure the stables were under our control. Simultaneously, orders were given to confine Princesses Rhaenys and Daenera within their chambers.”

His voice was tinged with wariness as he continued. “It appears the Princess was forewarned of the King’s condition, for the guards encountered resistance in the corridor. Her escorts were subdued and brought to the dungeons, yet Princess Daenera managed to evade their capture. When I found her near the grand staircase, I implored her to return to her chambers willingly. However, she chose resistance over compliance.”

In Ser Criston’s account, Aemond detected the subtle notes of vexation at Daenera’s defiance.

Aemond absorbed the details with a nod, his mind weaving through the implications of Ser Criston’s words, and his query about the aftermath took on a sharper edge, his irritation simmering just below the surface, “And what of the bloodshed?”

Ser Criston’s response was stark, devoid of any attempt to soften the blunt reality of his actions, though it held a certain amount of deflection, “I was forced to kill one of her guards–the elder handmaiden was given a chance to step aside, but she drew a weapon. Had she not resisted, I would not have taken her life. Their deaths were a direct consequence of the Princess’s resistance. Had she heeded my command, this unfortunate outcome could have been averted. Their death’s lie with her.”

As they approached the formidable gates of the Red Keep, Aemond paused, allowing the gravity of their conversation to settle just as the guards labored to open the massive doors, their hinges groaning under the weight. Aemond faced Ser Criston squarely, the morning light casting long shadows behind them. “You should have sent for me.”

Ser Criston’s rebuttal was immediate, his expression darkening with exasperation, “And why should I have done that? The situation was under control.”

“Evidently not, given you killed the elderly handmaiden,” Aemond responded shortly, his voice laced with both a conviction born of frustration and a keen sense of what might have been. “Had I been apprised, I could have ensured her secure detention–a measure from which she could not have found escape.”

He would have escorted her to his chambers, taking it upon himself to ensure her safety. There, he would have kept a close watch over her. Aemond was under no delusion about her reaction; fury would have been her immediate response. She would have unleashed her anger in a torrent of accusations, her threats echoing off the walls. Her frustration would have made her cruel, her words would have become a blade aimed to slip beneath his armor and breach his defenses–and they would have been venomous, meant to poison him. And he, in turn, would have endured it, knowing the necessity of it all.

Ser Criston stood his ground, his voice firm, yet tinged with defensiveness. “I escorted her back to her chambers myself and stationed guards at her door. If I had been aware of alternate exits, those too would have been secured.”

His stance was clear; he refused to shoulder the blame alone for the oversight.

Leaving the confines of Maegor’s Holdfast, they proceeded towards the castle gates. Impatience overtaking him, Aemond reclaimed a cloak from a nearby guard and swiftly wrapped himself in it, pulling the hood forward to shield his distinctively Targaryen hair.

As they embarked on their mission through the city to find his brother, Aemond forced his concerns for Daenera to the back of his mind, concentrating solely on the immediate challenge before them.

#aemond targaryen #a vow of blood #house of the dragon #aemond fanfiction #hotd aemond #hotd #aemond x reader #aemond smut #aemond x oc

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rowanraven08 · 9 days

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Unsolicited tmagp rant no one asked for part 3 (hang in there guys this is a very all over the place one):

So. Idea. We know someone, presumably the OIAR, is listening. They’re able to tap cellphones and things too, not just listening through the office computers. It definitely could be the OIRA, they do seem like a likely suspect, they’re a government branch, they’d have the power, but what if it’s not them?

It’s not unreasonable to say the OIAR is connected to the eye, if the fears work the same in this universe (I’m running on the assumption they do) the it makes sense. Cataloging supernatural statements, sounds familiar. But we don’t know how long the recordings been going on. My thinking is that it’s Jon, maybe Martin? And Jonah, who is the most likely Augustus. So we’ve got two eye avatars in these computers, how do we know it’s not them listening in and tapping the phones and everything? We don’t know how much autonomy they have currently, I don’t think Jon (Chester) would choose to listen in, but maybe he’s making an exception since it’s a new universe? Or it’s involuntary, that he’s not able to control it, just needs to watch.

There’s also the case of Colin. He knows something for sure, whether that’s mainly paranoid driven conspiracy theories or actual information is yet to be seen. But it’s not hard to figure out whatever is going on is connected in some way to FR3-D1. Now the fact that Colin is sneaking some time on the computer in episode 10 is pretty telling. He knows he’s that messing with them could raise suspicion, seeing as he asks Celia to not tell Lena. He was using the work computers specifically so he needs to access something in FR3-D1’s program presumably. If he’s poking around in that code, digging through stuff he knows he shouldn’t, it makes me wonder if he knows about Jon, Martin, and Jonah(?). Because this man is thoroughly obsessed with this system, has spent nearly two years trying to figure out how it works. The voices have been reading out statements for a year.

I think the big thing about how much he’s noticed has to do with whether or not Jon and friends are actually coded in. Ofc with eldritch powers and stuff it’s possible they’re just there, consciouses stuck in there by spooky magic stuff. But to me at least, having their brains coded into this computer on its own is scarier. Think back to tma 65. About how you just couldn’t code someone’s mind into a computer, how the one story of a man who tried ended up stuck and awful and in pain. “The angles cut me when I think.” And I’m terrified that’s what’s happening to my boys right now, that they were somehow coded into this, and in pain because of it.

So if that’s the case and they have actual code there’s no doubt in my mind that Colin has seen that. And of course he’d know it’s not right, even if he doesn’t know for sure what it is. He also said that a YEAR ago (around the same time the voices would have started) he figured out it was “written with some kind of propriety German source code,” further supporting the idea that Augustus is Jonah. I also find it interesting the use of “propriety” here, maybe I’m looking into it too much, but a code isn’t something I’d describe like that. But the thoughts or brain of Jonah Magnus or something? I’d describe that as propriety. But if that is why it was in German, then they can affect the code in some sense, again, likely written in. He read what that code said, and if it said anything about Jonah, he would have seen it. He’d combed through this whole system enough to see something was written in German for god’s sake, IF THEY’RE CODED IN HES SEEN IT AND HE KNOWS.

I also find the interaction with Sam a bit weird, obviously, but I don’t mean the paranoia about being watched. When Sam brings up the email, he brushes it off. “If you’re going to get this worked up over a weird email, you’re going to freak when you see the real stuff.” I initially assumed he meant the statements by “real stuff.” But he doesn’t actually deal with statements. He could definitely mean the OIAR and how they’re (maybe) surveying them all. But just because the branch they work for is terrible and spies on them, that’s not really a good reason to brush off a weird INTERNAL email so quickly. Okay.

The OIAR is probably awful and evil. But they’re not gonna start sending emails from their servers from people who don’t officially exist. If I (someone who knows next to nothing about computers so don’t take my word for it) heard that there were internal emails being sent by someone not apart of the company, my rational assumption would be hacking, or some sort of security fault. But that’s not even a possibility to Colin, he accepts it’s weird without even thinking, and just says that there’s worse things. So if he’s not worried about it being hacking, I’m ready to guess he knows the emails are coming from the little computer men. So this isn’t a new thing. And I wonder if Jon tried sending Colin something before. So if a weird email is normal to Colin, and he knows where it’s from, then that’s probably what he’s referring to as “the real stuff.” Because the real stuff to him is computers, nothing else, to the point he dumps therapists cause they’re not tech savvy enough.

The bit in episode 1 is clearly suspicious too, “Best Colin can figure, something broke and whichever genius made the program ran some redundancy through the sound card.” BUT THATS NOT HOW IT WORKS. It was such a bad reason, that even Alice and Sam (who don’t have much knowledge of computers as far as I know) saw through it. Knowing Colin there’s no way in hell he’d come up with that theory and just be content to leave it be, and not spend all his time trying to figure out WHY. It was a lie, it has to be.

Now that was a very long and chaotic ramble, so uhh, to sum it up for folks who are smart enough not to read this, I think It’s Jon, Martin, and Jonah listening in and tapping phones, not the OIAR. And I think Colin knows they’re stuck in the computer, and is choosing not to tell anyone.

#jonathan sims #the archivist #the magnus protocol #tmagp #tmapg spoilers #rambles #tmagp theory #chester tmagp #norris tmagp #augustus tmagp #colin becher #oiar #guys i think i have a problem #I’ve finally gone off the deep end #either that or #connected all the dots /j

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retrievablememories · 1 year

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out loud | seulgi (m)

pairing: chauffeur!seulgi x celebrity!fem!reader genre: fluff, fwb to lovers, hurt/comfort, smut word count: 6k warnings: cursing, injury (ankle sprain), crying, oral sex (female receiving), fingering, some thigh-riding song inspos: out loud - syd ft kehlani | for the night - chloe | touch me - victoria monet ft kehlani | losing - h.e.r. a/n: this is a sequel to lady cab driver!

all this “day in the life of a celebrity” stuff is way out of my range of knowledge, so i’m not sure how much of this realistic, but hey...shrug!

the MC is a singer but not a kpop idol or in the k-industry. i’m not gonna stop if you imagine it that way though lmao

you could never deny me

to the eyes of the strangers that watch us when we walk by

so what's with all the silence?

“...so, are you sure you aren’t currently in a relationship?” genie, the podcast host sitting across from you, asks this while twirling her pen a mile a minute and smiling nervously. she innately knows that she’s going to annoy you with this inquiry, but she asks anyway.

you sit up straighter in your seat, giving her an exasperated look. “what do you mean ‘am i sure’? you think i wouldn’t know that or not?”

“okay, calm the attitude!” she cries out, laughing to mask her own annoyance with the way you responded. “i just want to know because you’ve really been different lately.”

“i would if you hadn’t just asked me the exact same question earlier,” you deadpan, completely ignoring her second statement.

amanda, who is your friend-but-not-really and serves as the main host of this podcast, laughs and places her hand on your shoulder. “it’s not that serious, y/n.” she’s also probably wondering where the hell your media training has gone, but you’ve never had much patience for entertaining ridiculous, rude, or annoying remarks even in the public eye. for many people, that quality has made you a bit unpalatable, but you figure the ones who really matter will stick around regardless.

you sigh and try to mockingly roll your eyes, though you think it probably comes off more genuine than playful.

“genie has a point anyway, it’s not hard to tell when you’re having more fun in life, you know…specifically with another person, i mean. your overall demeanor shifts,” amanda says, raising a finger as if you can’t dispute her hot take on it. “and also, there are a few more romantic-slash-sensual songs than usual on your recent EP, so…”

despite yourself, you smile crookedly as you think about the tracks she’s mentioned; it’s more of a smirk now. genie observes your expression and throws her hands up as if to say see what i mean? “does everything have to be from personal experience?” you argue.

“does every song have to be fictional?” amanda shoots back, leaning closer to the microphone in front of her. “or will we all finally realize that there is a fundamental truth in almost every song there is in the universe, no matter how off-the-wall it may be…yes, that even includes eiffel 65’s blue.” you close your eyes and put your forehead in your hand, which means you hear rather than see genie choke on her drink in her laughter.

“don’t start getting all existential on me now, or whatever the fuck it is that you do,” you mutter. “also, you two should be praising your own smarts each and every day for making this an independent podcast, because this silly shit would get you kicked off any actual network. girl.”

it’s a matching pantsuit today, and a little more casual than the ones seulgi usually wears. great for your eyes, not so great for your concentration. at least you’re not the one who has to drive.

you almost regret your decision to get in the front of the car, but then again, that outfit is the very reason why you’re sitting up here with her now.

seulgi blinks at you like you’ve just landed from a spaceship as you climb into the passenger seat beside her. it’s not the limo today, which is really only saved for more luxurious outings or when you want to show off in front of a fellow celebrity you’re not too fond of, but the mercedes-benz—which you admit is still show-offy but not as impractical.

“you’re getting in the front seat?” she asks, but turns the engine on anyway and is already backing out of the parking space.

“yes, why not?”

“kind of defeats the purpose of having all those amenities in the back, but okay.”

“i’ve had my fill of ice water and little andes mints for today, seulgi. just let me sit up here with you, please?”

seulgi arches an eyebrow. “well, you don’t have to ask me. even if you never drive it, it’s your car. remember?”

“true…and i know you prefer being told what to do, so…”

there’s an awkward little silence where seulgi makes a sound like a laugh and reddens, which you take as a win for today. it’s become surprisingly more easy to get her flustered ever since you two began your arrangement, when you used to be on the receiving end of it more often than not.

“so how’d it go?” she asks, regaining her composure by changing the subject.

“same as it always is with those damn girls,” you say, chuckling as you think back to one of the many ridiculous things amanda had said during the interview. “they’re fun, though. even if i find something to complain about every time i go on their podcast.”

“what’s your complaint for today, then?”

you hesitate, scratching the back of your head with a sudden awkward air. “they asked me about any ‘current relationships.’ just the kind of gossipy stuff fans always want to know.”

seulgi nods, still keeping her eyes on the road. “so i’m sure you gave some cryptic answer or something? since you don’t like people prying in your business.”

“uh, basically.” that wasn’t the answer you expected, though now you aren’t sure what you were expecting. you two aren’t in a relationship, so why would seulgi act any certain way about interviewers asking you that question?

the rest of the car ride back to your house is filled with sporadic conversation, which also involves seulgi reminding you of your weekly schedule for what feels like the 50th time. transporting you everywhere means she needs to know your entire itinerary at all times, which also means she essentially plays the roles of both chauffeur and personal assistant. the convenience of it is perfect, but occasionally, it also serves to make you feel more confused about your “involvement.”

the lines between personal and professional have blurred so much that you no longer know what’s wrong and what’s right.

and now that you’re in it, it feels odd to field relationship questions, write romantic songs while telling yourself you have no particular subject in mind, and keep your arrangement a secret so that no one in the public world knows about seulgi’s connection to you as anything other than your chauffeur. it feels odd to have her drive you around the city to important work events or interviews and accompany you across the country on professional business trips, only to see her again several nights a week in your bed.

within the small bubble consisting of your personal team and close friends, everyone knows about what you and seulgi have going on. they don’t comment on it, which you prefer, though you can’t rid yourself of the slight paranoia of what they must say when neither of you are around. especially danika…a backup dancer and friend of yours who you were involved with in a similar way before seulgi ever came along.

but as long as no one opens their mouth to you about it, you’ll be fine. even if you’re beginning to feel a little confused about the nature of all this. maybe you’re just overthinking it.

seulgi’s hand on yours is warm and familiar as she helps you out of the car. it makes you feel weirdly sappy for a moment, so you don’t think twice as you lean forward to kiss her on the corner of the mouth, like a preview of the real thing. just a teaser. you chuckle at the lipstick print that’s left there when you pull away.

“will i see you tonight?” you ask, though it feels more like a confirmation of something you both already know.

she nods and rubs her thumb over the back of your hand with a smile. “tonight.”

a music festival in europe, a week later...

you’re in your dressing room with some of your dancers and other team members, mentally preparing yourself to get on stage in just a few minutes. danika plops onto the soft gray couch beside you, purposely taking up the rest of the space on it so that her head is in your lap, hair fanning across your legs. you look down at her face, sighing at being disturbed out of your routine.

“well, hello. now what brings you over here?” you ask.

"nothing special," she replies, though you know that isn't true just by the expression on her face. "you must be excited to be performing your new songs for the first time with a live audience." her eyes are alight with the thrill of performing again after a while.

“i’ll stay excited as long as all you guys keep it together and make me look good.”

she rolls her eyes. “of course we will. you and i didn’t spend like 5 years dancing at every possible event to not look good together.” the stress she puts on together makes your ears perk up.

scoffing, you shove her shoulder in a way that you both know isn’t serious. “okay girl, i didn’t even say all that and you know it, so don’t start.”

“i’m just joking,” danika shrugs, and then speaks lower so no one else can eavesdrop; though they’re all preoccupied with their phones and conversations. “though, i’m always open if you are. for old time’s sake, or whatever.” her voice and posture are as casual as can be, one of her hands behind her head, but your eyes widen a little. you’re not entirely sure how to respond to that knowing you’re regularly having sex with seulgi—which danika surely also knows.

you and seulgi never really discussed the terms of your arrangement. instead, you just…decided you really liked that day in the limo, wanted to do it again, and continued falling into bed together. whether sleeping with other people is okay is unbeknownst to you, though you suddenly realize you have no desire to do so.

you shove danika again, trying to play off your surprise and uncertainty. “where’s that even coming from all of a sudden?” she interlocks her hands with yours as you try to pull away, and the both of you end up scrabbling on the couch, your question left unanswered. “if you mess up my outfit before i have to go on stage—”

seulgi walks into the room casually sipping from a smoothie cup alongside your manager sherry, and as engrossed as you are with play-fighting danika in your lap and trying to untangle yourself from her, you don’t notice seulgi glancing over in your direction. her eyes squint and her whole body pauses for a second, but she does nothing to make her presence known to you. just as quickly, seulgi brings her attention back to your manager, only catching the tail-end of what the woman was saying.

“sorry, can you say that again? it’s a little loud in here.”

seulgi focuses fully on sherry now, but there’s still something itching in the back of her mind. there’s no reason for her to feel weird about you and danika acting as friends do. it’s not that kind of relationship, she reminds herself, though deep down, she can’t help feeling a bit bothered at that level of closeness between the two of you.

before long, it’s time for you to go out on stage and perform.

there are so many different things to think about whenever you’re on stage, but every time, it all comes together like a type of second nature to you. there’s little time to dwell in your nervousness when interacting with fans and making sure you’re hitting every note and dance move. out of all the nonsense that comes with notoriety and the entertainment industry, these moments when you actually get to live and breathe in your talent and share it with others are what makes everything else worth dealing with.

even when you get to the last song in your set, you’re not yet ready for the night to end, having fed off the crowd’s energy and used it to fuel your own adrenaline.

things shift drastically halfway through the first chorus, though, when you twist around a little too harshly during a spin and your heel goes out from under you. you feel a sharp pain burst in your ankle, and it’s intense enough to send you stumbling to the ground. for a few seconds, your mind spins from the shock until you realize you’re no longer standing.

“shit, y/n!” someone grabs your arm from the side, and you realize it’s danika. there’s a wave of concern from the crowd in the form of panicked screams and shouts. seeing everyone’s shocked faces makes your heart beat faster; you can’t help feeling like you need to defuse the situation, reassure the fans, and salvage what you can.

grinding your teeth together from the pain, you bring the microphone back up to your mouth with one hand while wrestling your heels off with the other. “i’m okay...the show ain’t over yet!” there are many cheers at that statement, though the aura of concern still persists. moving the mic away, you tell danika, “it’s fine, go back to your spot.” the rest of your dancers are still keeping with the choreography for the sake of professionalism; danika looks at you like you’ve lost it, but you shoo her away, so she rushes back to her place amongst the others.

now without your heels, you push yourself back to your feet and limp through the rest of the choreography, making a concerted effort to keep your voice steady through the pain.

as the last notes of the instrumental fizzle out, your dancers gather at your sides as they’re meant to do for the ending of this song, but a couple of them—including danika—sling their arms around you so they can support your weight. they lead you off the stage to the tune of thousands of screams, yet all you can hear is the blood rushing in your ears. you’re so distracted you even forget to say your regular thank yous and goodbyes to the crowd.

you are able to keep yourself together until you get backstage and sherry wrangles you down into a chair and scolds you for still trying to dance on your injured foot—at which point you put your face in your hands and burst into tears.

“that was so stupid. i looked so stupid out there. what the fuck is wrong with me? everyone probably hates me now!”

“that’s not even true.” sherry sighs, now regretting how she immediately complained instead of trying to reassure you.

“no they don’t!” danika says at the same time. “you’re overthinking it. look, we just need to get you to the hospital.”

you shake your head, your eyes burning with tears and face still hidden by your hands. “this is why i hate heels.”

seulgi isn’t surprised at your injured state when you’re helped into the car, having already been alerted by your manager. she is startled by how much you’re crying over it, though she doesn’t show it. she’s never seen you shed one sad tear before this.

seulgi drives you to the nearest hospital with sherry, danika, and a couple other essential members of the entourage in tow. she doesn’t go in with you and the others, as it’s her job to have the car ready to swoop you away from any prying fans or paparazzi whenever you get done. instead, she spends most of her time in the car drumming her fingers against the wheel and fidgeting in her seat. the other percentage is spent resisting the urge to take her gloves off so she can bite her nails.

it feels like hours before sherry texts to update seulgi and you’re in her sights again, brought out in a wheelchair and your big sunglasses firmly covering your eyes. seulgi is a little taken aback at her own relief but doesn’t dwell on it long, as her main focus is getting you out of the parking lot in one piece amid the photographers trying to crowd the car.

sherry rolls down the window to growl at them, “get the fuck out of the way! we’re not paying for your hospital bills if you get run the fuck over!” this seems to be enough to back them down, though they’re clearly not happy about being spoken to in such a way.

the rest of the ride to the hotel manages to be fairly calm, and you are whisked up to your room by the others. seulgi parks the car in the parking garage and finally unclenches her hands from around the steering wheel. she yanks her chauffeur’s gloves off and runs her hands through her hair, feeling like one weight has lifted while another simultaneously settles itself down on her shoulders.

seulgi has barely stepped foot into her own room when she gets a text, and she sighs—doesn’t look like she’ll be clocking out for the night now. but after receiving texts from sherry all night, she doesn’t expect the message to be directly from you when she checks her phone.

2:03 a.m. y/n: can you come up to my room?

there’s no explanation. it’s just those seven words. seulgi’s heartbeat speeds up anyway.

within minutes, she’s being let into your room by sherry, who appears to be on her way out.

“you know what to do if you need anything,” sherry calls over her shoulder.

“yeah, i got it mom!” you reply, which earns you an eye roll from her.

sherry nods to seulgi as she slides past her, patting her on the shoulder. “you know she’s injured, so—take it easy, yeah?”

seulgi only scoffs at that, her ears reddening at the implication. she closes the door after her and walks to your bed, where you’re lying with your injured foot propped on a pillow and wrapped in a bandage. the TV is on a random station that seulgi knows you’re not even watching, the volume so low it might as well be muted.

“how are you doing? is your foot okay?”

you shrug, looking tired and disappointed with the world. “it’ll live, i guess. it’s a sprain, so it’ll heal eventually…good thing it’s not a damn fracture.”

“i’m glad it’s not serious,” seulgi says, allowing herself to breathe easier.

you sigh and recline further against the pillows. “feels kinda like the end of the world, though.”

“i know. i’m sorry. you were really good today, though, and i hope that counts for something.” seulgi absentmindedly scratches her thumbnail against one of the pillows on your bed. “you already know i thought the only girl was great,” she adds, referring to one of your new songs.

you lean your head on your hand, your face warming at her compliment. you think back to the night you’d invited a handful of close friends—including seulgi—to listen to that track and a couple other completed ones. “i don’t know why i released that song to the public. it seems too personal. and then i performed that tonight before falling flat on my ass in front of thousands? shit!”

seulgi gives a lopsided smirk. “has anybody ever told you how dramatic you are?”

you shake your head fiercely, pretending not to know. “no, never, i think?” before the conversation can continue down that road, you blurt out, “could you stay with me?”

“you want me to stay the night?” it certainly wouldn’t be the first time seulgi has stayed over with you, but she’s kind of surprised you want her around while you’re in this state.

in this context, you’re a little embarrassed to admit it, but you nod. “you just saw me have a complete meltdown over a fucking ankle that will heal anyway. we go together now.”

seulgi is even more dumbstruck by that statement, and her heart starts full-on hammering against her ribcage. she can’t tell if your tone is joking or not, which makes it harder to decipher if you’re actually claiming a relationship with her in this moment or just talking shit like you always do.

it doesn’t help that she’s still feeling a bit confused over your earlier interaction with danika and how it bothered her more than she anticipated. like you, she has begun wondering a little more deeply about where the boundaries of this arrangement end and begin.

at this point, she’s too afraid to ask. the opportunity seems to have passed as you peel back the comforter on the unoccupied side of the bed and pat it impatiently with an imploring look.

“i haven’t even showered since this morning,” seulgi says weakly.

“can’t you shower now?”

“i–yeah, i guess. but i’ll have to go back to my room to get clothes.”

“do you have to go? you can just wear the hotel robe here.” you gesture vaguely to the door of your closet, which is currently closed, but seulgi presumes the said garment must be there.

“and sneak out of the room like that in the morning?” seulgi looks at you in mock horror, and you laugh nervously.

“come on, i can just get sherry to run to the store and get you a new outfit—” you’re about to say something else but stop yourself. “or…maybe you’d rather just sleep in your own bed tonight? uh, that’s fine, i don’t want to—”

“no, i do!” seulgi starts hurriedly pulling her suit jacket off as if to prove to you her desire to stay. “seriously, stop overthinking it!” she calls out as she heads to the bathroom, though she’s also addressing herself.

and so you wait for seulgi to get finished while flipping through channels that don’t offer much to watch. the analog clock on the wall by the TV edges towards 3 a.m. with every minute, but a regular sleep schedule has been foreign to you for years now. your body feels the exhaustion, but your mind is too awake to allow sleep.

seulgi crawls into the bed beside you after she gets out of the bathroom, draped in the hotel robe as you suggested, her hair damp against her cheeks and face bare of makeup. she notices your restless demeanor and asks, “what are you thinking of?”

“i don’t want to think about anything right now,” you reply, which isn’t really an answer, but it’s better than having the awkward what are we? discussion that keeps plaguing your mind.

“what do you want to do instead, then?” seulgi asks, trying to probe your mind.

“you.”

seulgi sits up, knowing the tone of your voice and what it signifies. “you’re injured, y/n,” she murmurs, but she can guess how you’ll respond—which is why she shifts closer anyway. “at least let me do all the work.”

seulgi leans closer to kiss you on the lips, so sweetly that it makes you grin into the embrace. her damp hair tickles your face as you kiss, getting tiny drops of water on your skin. the droplets spread as her lips move to your neck and you slide one of your hands to the back of her head, feeling the strands slip between your fingers.

she remains careful of your injured right foot as she situates herself halfway between your legs, straddling your left thigh and letting you feel her bare against your skin from where your shorts have ridden up. one of her hands slips beneath your tank top, her fingers grasping your breast, thumb grazing across your hardening nipple, and it’s not long before the other hand joins to caress both of your breasts beneath the fabric. each moan that comes out of your mouth is greeted with a kiss from seulgi’s lips as your mouths remain enmeshed.

your hands settle on seulgi’s hips, and you can’t resist the urge to flex your thigh a bit and make the muscle shift against her. at your motion, her lips part in a moan similar to your own. “y/n, seriously…” her words dissolve into a chuckle as you make the motion again and drag her hips forward in tandem.

“sure you don’t want me to handle this?” you ask lowly, flexing your thigh again in reference to the aforementioned this making a wet mess on your skin.

“no, let me before you try to take over as usual.”

she slides down and tugs at the waistband of your shorts, and you carefully lift your hips up to aid her in getting them halfway down your legs. she’s hardly surprised to see your lack of underwear, which you have often cited as being “too restricting.”

her hands grasp both of your thighs as she kisses the skin above your navel, around it, across your hips, and down to your inner thighs, her tongue coming out to trace a path down your pubic mound until it meets the glistening pearl it’s looking for.

“seulgi…” you sigh, shifting your hips to get closer. she answers your call of her name with a wet swipe over your clit and several more after, closing her lips gently around the sensitive bud to heighten your pleasure. never able to keep still for long, she slides one hand off your thigh to spread your lips apart for more access, fitting her tongue inside you after she’s gotten you sufficiently worked up to where your clit is throbbing on her lips. her soft mouth on you has you forgetting the pain of your sprained ankle and the embarrassment of the day’s earlier events as your head sinks back against the headboard, every nerve in your body trembling with the anticipation of release.

she separates her tongue from you to tease two of her fingers at your entrance, stimulating the ultra-sensitive nerve endings there, and that move makes you nearly scratch at her arms to get her to bring her mouth back into play. “y/n, be patient…” she chuckles, her breath warm between your thighs. her fingers reach that spot inside you repeatedly only to flutter against it as she pleases, constantly shifting away and leaving you wanting just that much more.

“shit, i-i can’t take it,” you cry out, your voice breaking on the last word when her fingers stroke that spot and the tip of her tongue circles your clit at the same time. “you seriously expect me to be p-patient right now?”

“only for a little while longer,” she answers, looking at you from beneath her lashes, her skin the color of rose petals. “could you do that for me? i just don’t want this to end so soon.” you are so wet by now that the sounds of your slick occupy the pauses between her words, the sheets beneath you damp from your own wetness and your sweat.

your eyes slide closed after you regard her entreaty, and you offer no intelligible response besides a low, almost stifled moan. you’ve already made up your mind that you’ll make no promises anyway, because you can’t last much longer like this. the way her fingers move against your walls now, assuredly grazingthat spot every time and no longer purposely missing it, has your mind spinning out of control with the need for climax.

your jaw slackens when her mouth returns to you fully again, sucking up your wetness like it’s much-needed water and her tongue stroking across the most sensitive parts of you. the tension in your body tightens until the snapping point, a shaking and high-pitched gasp escaping your mouth.

you flex your legs so intensely that it makes your ankle hurt, but that pain gets lost somewhere in the rush of your orgasm, which spills forth and fills up every corner of your body simultaneously. your voice stutters out of you so that it sounds like you’re sobbing, and you think you might actually be when a tear or two slips from your eye. still deep inside you, seulgi keeps prolonging your climax until you are spent, sighing and slumping against the headboard at an uncomfortable angle.

seulgi rests her head upon your left leg and listens to your gradually slowing breathing, grinning to herself at being the cause of it.

“come on.” eventually, you pull on seulgi’s arms to bring her closer, and she follows. you taste yourself in the ensuing kiss, but you are more focused on sneaking your hand between her thighs, your fingers sliding in the slick and circling her clit before nudging lower to push inside her. her thighs tense around your hand, and she releases a pleasured moan. she requires no coaxing to rock against your hand, though you provide it anyway because you know she likes to hear you talk her through it. “such a good girl for me, aren’t you? i can’t get enough of you, seul.”

“for you,” she repeats, her head lolling on her shoulders as you crook your fingers into the spot she loves—and that you might possibly love even more, for the way she responds when you do it. one of her hands clenches in your shirt while the other goes to circle her clit as you continue fingering her.

“you’re the prettiest when you touch yourself,” you murmur, your own arousal pooling again even as you focus on her. your lips go to her neck and you nibble the skin gently there, causing her to shudder, the robe falling down her shoulders. the taste of her skin right out of the shower is one of your favorite things, you think.

seulgi‘s orgasm is as sweet as the kiss you share while she squeezes around your fingers. you shift your mouth so you can kiss the sweat beads off the side of her face, her jawline. you laugh quietly, perhaps from how much you enjoyed the pleasure you just shared, and she follows suit after catching her breath. it feels like only you two exist in the world right now, laughing for hardly any reason at all.

although tonight turned into possibly the shittiest night of your career, you think it couldn’t have ended any better than this.

you wake up with some of seulgi’s hair in your face, and the sheer familiarity of it has you momentarily forgetting that you’re in another country. you are uncomfortable from sleeping on your back all night due to your foot, but you feel better from having her by your side first thing in the morning. you try not to think too deeply about how your heart throbs just from looking at her sleeping face—how cliche it all feels and yet you aren’t even together.

for some reason, that bothers you this morning more than it has any other morning.

more time passes before seulgi begins stirring against you; the sun has risen higher above the horizon and is now brightening the room considerably even through the curtains. seulgi covers her mouth as she yawns. somehow, this one simple action out of everything else is so endearing to you that it has you speaking before you can reconsider.

“uh, i meant what i said last night, you know,” you say, averting your eyes to the ceiling. maybe it will potentially hurt less if you don’t look.

“which part?” seulgi is still half-asleep as she moves flyaway hairs out of her eyes.

“that we…that we go together, actually. maybe we should do more than just have sex.”

seulgi blinks.

“the songs really all were written with you in mind,” you blurt out, as if it must be said now or never. “not really any relationship i had years ago.”

“you’re serious?” seulgi sits up now, becoming more conscious with each second and her surprise mounting.

“i’m very serious….and feeling a little dumb right now,” you answer, rubbing your hand across your forehead in a nervous gesture. you hadn’t planned for just how nerve-wracking the actual “feelings” part would be; the sex had always been easy.

“but what about danika?” seulgi rushes out, then startles like she hadn’t meant to say that at all.

“danika?”

“i just thought—you two are still close.”

“yes, but that’s been over for years.” at first, you assume that seulgi must be thinking the songs you wrote are actually about danika; but after considering what the other woman proposed to you yesterday, you realize it’s likely deeper than that. you make a move to sit up, and seulgi helps you up when she notices. “there’s nothing between me and danika, and i don’t want there to be. we are close and we play-fight and do stupid shit because that’s how we’ve always been, but i don’t want to do anything that’d make you uncomfortable.”

despite your words, seulgi pulls the robe tight around her shoulders in a self-conscious move. “but i don’t want to, like…intrude. or stop you from having fun with your friends. i’m the new person around here anyway. i mean, what if…i don’t know, i just—”

seulgi’s worries are interrupted when you grab her hands and bring them up to your face, pressing your lips to her knuckles. you keep them there for a few long moments before you lean forward to kiss her, and she responds in kind.

“you don’t have to worry about anything like that, okay? if i say it’s me and you, then it’s me and you. everybody else knows not to fuck with me on that,” you insist, and that pulls a laugh out of her as she shakes her head.

“fine,” she relents with a sigh and a smile, and though it’s just one word, you can tell you’ve eased her thoughts.

“could you trust me?” you ask quietly, still holding her hands. you press them to your chin, if only to feel her on as many places of your body as you can.

“yes. i can.”

the two of you sit like that for a few blissful minutes, simply breathing each other’s air and enjoying each other‘s company, before your phone starts ringing and doesn’t stop. sighing, you see that it’s a call from sherry and know you have to answer or she’ll never stop calling.

“what’s up, sherry?” you ask, leaving one hand free so that you can keep playing with seulgi’s fingers.

“i hate to break up all the fun for you guys, but you’re aware that we’re checking out today, yes?” there’s movement and talking in the background, so you figure the others must be in the room with her. “i’ll be up there for you soon, so don’t even think about complaining. and make sure you have some damn clothes on!”

“of course, mother dearest. anything else i should know?” you quip, giggling.

“anything you should know? yeah: i’m not playing. i’ll carry you outta there if i have to.”

“okay okay, i got it. loud and clear. let me get dressed now, bye!” you hang up the phone before sherry can say anything else and almost go to leap off the bed like you usually would before remembering your ankle is injured.

“y/n!” seulgi exclaims, grasping your arm tight so you don’t slide off the bed. she rolls her eyes before you both laugh at your silly mistake. “looks like i’ll have no choice but to stick around…if only to keep you safe.”

#seulgi fic #seulgi smut #seulgi imagine #red velvet smut #red velvet imagine #red velvet fic #red velvet reactions #seulgi reactions

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gvfgal · 2 months

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3. Debts & Destiny

Barbarian. Biker!Jake

18+, Minors DNI!

A/n: Back like we never left!!! Make sure to go back and read the prologue & first two chapters for a refresh!! Since it’s been awhile, I’ll be starting a brand new tag list for the story, so if you’d like to be added, let me know!! Pease remember that this story is a little gritty, and has a lot of darker themes, so please read at your own discretion. There will always be warning at the beginning of each chapter per usual! Thanks for sticking with me and I’m looking forward to taking this ride ;)

Content Warnings: Explicit language, explicit sexual content, smoking, drinking, Jake being a dick, dark themes throughout.

Word Count: 3.4K

2: Our Old Friend, Death

Jake spent the remainder of the weekend holed up in your trailer. It was by no means a romantic scene, he’d slept the majority of the time, as the stress of the last few days had finally set in. He only woke up every several hours to eat, have you change his bandage, or to have sex with you, only to crash back out shortly afterwards. When you left for work, Jake was there in your bed, and when you returned well after two in the morning, you’d find him almost in the exact same spot. Snoring lightly, his limbs weaving in and out of the thin quilt, hair; a disaster.

You’d strip out of your work clothes and climb in beside him, curling yourself into his warm naked body. Sometimes he’d wake up and throw an arm around you, sometimes he’d sleep through it, but either way, you enjoyed him being there.

There had been odder things happen in your life than having a stranger you met at the bar only a few days ago all but move into your house. But to you, Jake was no stranger at all. You’d gotten pretty close to the Barbarians during your time in Genoa, and you took a special liking to Ace. And since Ace seemed to be like family to Jake, he was alright in your book.

On top of that, you felt an odd sense of comfort and security having Jake around. Your days in that trailer had been lonely, and it was nice having his company, that was, when he was actually conscious. And you knew he appreciated your company too.

But the weekend had come and gone. It was now Monday, back to business as usual for the Barbarians after days of mourning. Their meetings were held in a small room in the back of the Tavern, all 65 members packed in like Sardines, dressed in their leather jackets adorned with the Barbarian emblem.

Jake’s eyes scanned the room’s walls that were adorned with faded photographs of fallen brothers, his eyes lingering on Jaxon’s photo before looking at the large empty spot that was reserved for Rex’s. Nicky came trudging into the room, his face turned up into a scowl and littered with bruises. Jake had a couple of scrapes of his own, but a side by side comparison would show that Jake had clearly been the victor. Jake watched as he slouched down into his seat and folded his arms across his chest, still clearly upset about the brawl.

At the front of the room, Ace called the attention of all the men, and many of them began taking seats, others opted for standing along the walls.

“Alright, listen up fellas,” his gravelly voice cut through the murmurs and clinks of beer bottles, “we've had a rough last few days, but we made it through, now we’ve gotta get back to business, We have two current situations that demand our attention.”

The room fell silent as everyone listened closely to Ace, including Jake, all too curious about the fate of the Barbarians now that Rex was gone.

“For starters,” Ace continued, his tone serious, “Bobby Thompson, that scumbag of a casino owner, has been dodging our payments. We’re out half a million dollars because of him.”

Murmurs of frustration rippled through the room. The Barbarians relied on those payments to fund their operations, and a betrayal like that was unacceptable to all of them.

Jake was very familiar with Bobby Thompson. He was some low life fraudster from Genoa who asked the Barbarians for a loan to build a casino a hundred miles north some years back. This request was made with the promise that in just a few short years, the club would be able to recoup all their earnings, and become official stockholders in the company. They’d be raking in over a quarter of a million every year for the first few years, and upwards of half a million as the years rolled on.

Jake was only 17 when the deal was made, but he knew even then that Bobby couldn’t be trusted. He’d tried warning his father about doing business with someone of his character, but Rex never paid him any mind.

So in the end, the casino went up, and Bobby Thompson, true to his nature, began lying about the amount of money the casino had been pulling in, therefore shorting the payments he owed the Barbarians, leaving them in the cuurrent predicament.

Ace’s gaze shifted, locking onto Jake’s hardened expression, “and secondly, the EDS wants their million dollars. We owe it to them after that arms deal incident we had back in December.”

EDS. El Dorado Syndicate, Jake was also very familiar with them. The Barbarians had been working for them as long as he could remember, smuggling drugs, weapons, and dirty money all up and down Route 95.

The EDS was run by two ruthless twin brothers, Alejandro and Antonio Ortiz-Fuentes (they felt the need to carry on their mother’s maiden name). The last Jake had heard of them, the much more sane twin Antonio was scentenced to prison for attempted murder, leaving the crazier twin Alejandro in charge of operations.

“Now since Rex is gone, and I’m standing vice president, I will reach out to Alejandro and set up a meeting. So be prepared for a trip to New Mexico in the near future,” Ace looked around the room, “any questions? Concerns?”

A single hand went up near the back of the room.

“Barbarian rules say that a vice president can automatically assume presidential position in the death of the leader. Are you gonna step in?” Ski Ball questioned, and a few others nodded in aggreance, waiting for Ace to respond.

“I have no intentions on stepping up as president, lord knows I’m getting too damn old,” the guys chuckled, “so the next step is to have a vote, which I plan on doing, but not yet. While we try to settle these situations, I’ll be in charge just as Rex would be, I just wont take the official title,” his eyes found Jake’s again, “I’ll pick three men for us to vote for, and that will be based off of everyone’s performance over these next few months.”

Jake blinked at Ace before turning towards Nicky, who was already staring him down, his right eye almost swollen shut. But he could still see the furious determination in his eyes, a silent warning of sorts that he had every intention on taking the title.

A few more pressing matters were addressed before the meeting was adjourned, and the Barbarians poured out of the small room and into the much more spacious area of the Tavern, where they spent the remainder of the afternoon drinking and playing rounds of pool and darts.

You were busy behind the bar, making sure that the libations kept flowing, but that didn’t stop you from stealing glances at Jake every so often. You watched as he won round after round of billiards, placing bets and collecting money from other Barbarians left and right. When his glass was empty, he’d make his way to you for a refill.

“Thanks Cherry,” he’d say every time, giving you a cash tip and a wink before returning to the men.

By ten o’clock, the crowd was much more tame, and Jake came to sit across from you while you continued to work.

“I have a question for you,” you spoke to Jake as you served Ace his drink. Jake lit the cigarette he’d retrieved and puffed it once, “talk to me Cherry.”

When Ace walked away, you leaned across the bar, lowering your voice to ensure no one else could here you, “is there a reason that you’re avoiding going to Rex’s place?”

Jake took another long drag as he stared at you cautiously, “what do you mean?”

You shrugged, picking up the rag that was on the counter and began wiping, “I mean you’ve been here for what, three nights now? And you’ve spent every last one of them tangled up in my sheets. Why?”

Jake placed his cigarette in the ashtray and smiled, “maybe I just like you.”

He was being smug, but you knew there was a lot more to the situation. You could see right past the mask he was putting on, all too familiar with that act.

You stopped wiping the counter to look at him again, “you don’t like me, Jake. You don’t know me. You just like how I fuck.”

Jake’s smile grew wider, “well that may be true. But I think you’re wrong,” he picked up his cigarette and placed it back between his lips, leaning back in his chair with his eyes still on your face, “I think I do know you.”

You tossed the rag into the sink, “oh yeah? Who am I, Jake?”

He was quiet for a moment as he assessed you, taking a long slow drag before blowing the smoke out in your direction.

“I think you’re a girl that’s running from her past.”

Your heart sank into your stomach and your face went blank. How accurate he was scared you, it was as if he could see it written all over your body. His face was smug again, knowing that he’d struck a nerve, and he picked up his glass of whiskey to take a sip.

There was no way you were letting him have it. “You know what, I think I know you, too,” you offered, placing your elbows on the damp counter top.

He nodded his head at you, “who am I, Cherry?”

A smirk crept it’s way onto your face, but it wasn’t a devious one. In fact, it was almost sympathetic, “a man running from his future.”

Jake’s face scrunched up as a sudden tension filled the air, his defensive walls rising, “what’s that supposed to mean?”

Your voice was steady as you continued to hold his gaze, “I mean, I think you know you’re better than this life, better than your father. But deep down, you’re too scared to leave it all behind because you’re afraid that maybe this is… all that there is for you.”

Your words hung in he air, sinking into Jake’s consciousness. The weight of your observation struck him harder than his had done to you, ad he coudln’t deny the truth behind your words, even if he hadn’t fully admitted it to himself yet.

By the way his face began contorting in anger, you knew you must’ve been on to something. He slammed his glass down on the counter, spilling whisky over the spots you’d just wiped down. He stood from his chair, glowering at you as he stubbed out his cigarette, “I stick my dick in you a few times and you think you have me all figured out.”

You watched motionlessly as he stormed out the front door, and once he was gone, you snatched the discarded rag and began wiping again with a heavy sigh.

After a few minutes, Nicky came snaking his way up to the bar, sitting where Jake had been previously.

“Trouble in paradise?” He sneered.

You rolled your eyes at him, “Nicky, fuck off.”

He raised his hands in mock defense, “I just wanted a drink, that’s all.” You paused, waiting for him to give you his order, “Miller Lite, from the tap.”

You grabbed a tall glass and began pouring his drink, trying your hardest to ignore the way his eyes were burning holes into your ass.

“What do you even see in him, anyways?” He pressed on. From the two weeks you spent with Nicky, you knew there was no way he would drop the conversation, but you hoped that if you ignored him, he’d get the hint.

Oh how wrong you were.

“I mean really, Jake isn’t the guy you think he is baby. You and me, we were good together.”

You turned around and sat his beer on the counter, not caring that some of it spilled and you’d have to clean it again, “Nicky, we were never good together. Nothing involving you could ever be good no matter how you package it, you know why? Because you’re not good.”

A sly grin curled onto Nicky’s face as he raised his glass to his mouth, “and you are?”

An unsettling chill ran up your spine at his words. You hadn’t told Nicky about your twisted past, but the way he’d spoken those words, it seemed as if he had glimpsed the cracks in your armor.

You were growing quickly tired of the men around you doing their best to pick you apart. You’d spent years running from your past, from the choices you made that led you to this point, and how Jake and Nicky managed to ruffle your feathers all in a matter of minutes was infuriating. They didn’t know you, none of them did, and you'd never let them get the chance to.

But still, as your gaze met Nicky’s, a whirlwind of emotions surged through you. Anger mixed with self doubt, the weight of your mistakes growing heavier by the second. You wondered if maybe he was right, if your actions had forever tainted your capacity for goodness. Could you ever be truly deserving of good things after what you’d done?

But deep in the recesses of your being, a flicker of defiance burned. Summoning your resolve, you narrowed your eyes at Nicky, crossing your arms over your chest, “how’s that black eye healing up for you?”

The smug look on his face was wiped clean, replaced with malice, “fuck you.”

“Never again,” you scoffed, “on to bigger and better. Or however that saying goes.”

You gave Jake enough time to cool off before going to find him. He was still out in the parking lot, sitting on his bike and lighting a new cigarette. Truthfully, you hadn’t meant to get under his skin the way you did, and you felt sort of bad for setting him off that way. The moonlight that illuminated half of his face showed that he was looking directly at you, his face still contorted into a frown.

But it did little to deter you. With slow steps, you made your way over to him, positioning yourself between his legs and placing your hands on his thighs.

“I didn’t mean to upset you,” you whispered, gently kissing him on the cheek, “I’m sorry.”

You took the cigarette from his mouth and situated it between your lips, and his expression immediately softened. His hands began rubbing small circles on the back of your legs as he looked at you wit those tired eyes.

“I’m sorry for what I said back there, I didn’t mean it.”

Your fingers began rubbing over one of the small bruises on his face, your features the softest Jake had ever seen them.

“I know you didn't. We all say and do things we don’t mean sometimes.”

Jake found himself studying you again, as he did so often. The pull he felt towards you was undeniable, but what you’d said back in the bar was true, he didnt know you. Not like he wanted to. He knew that you held unspoken secrets and depths, just like most people did. But that only furthered his allure, that air of mystery that followed you around was all too enticing.

Yet still, he wanted to unravel that enigma, he wanted to know those depths like he knew his own. He wanted to know your story, understand it, nothing but a genuine yearning to uncover the truths that lay hidden within you.

Jake put his cigarette out and tucked it behind his ear, his hands returning to your legs, “can you get out of here yet?”

You smiled at him, kissing him softly and tasting the tobacco and liquor on his breath, “let m go get my things.”

“God Cherry,” Jake groaned out, his sweaty body pinning yours to the mattress as he fucked into you. He lifted his head to smile down at you and the way your lips were puckered and swollen, tiny spurts of noises escaping from them with every thrust.

“I love when you do that,” he shuddered, bending down to kiss your forehead. The action sent you reeling, it felt so intimate, too intimate for two people in your position. You wrapped your legs tighter around his torso and he grunted.

“Fuck, so good, Cherry… You’re so good.”

His head was tucked in the crook of your neck now, so he couldn’t see the way you reacted to his words.

You’re so good…

You moaned as he dug into you once more, “you think I’m good, Jake?”

His hair tickled the side of your face as he nodded, “God yes. I do baby,” he kissed your shoulder sloppily, “I really do.”

“Say it again,” you urged, nudging him to look at you again.

When he did, you traced a finger along the cut on the round of his lip, causing him to sow his place briefly, his eyes holding confusion and the rest of his lust.

“Please… say it again.”

He’d almost slowed to a complete stop, trying his best to decode the cryptic moment. But your eyes were pleading with him, both to hear those words again and for sweet release.

Jake hitched your right leg higher up on his body before thrusting into you faster and faster, causing your mouth to fall open.

“Cherry,” his voice faltered only slightly, “you’re good. You’re so fucking good.”

With that you crescendoed, falling over a steep edge as you constricted around Jake, both of you wailing out in pleasure.

“So good, so good,” he repeated to you, thrusting a few more times before pulling out and spilling himself onto your stomach. You watched his face as he did so, completely enraptured with him in that moment, for telling you exactly what you needed to hear, even if it wasn’t in the exact context that you needed it in.

Once you both had calmed, Jake made his way into the bathroom, returning shortly with a warm damp cloth. You both were silent as he wiped you clean, then himself.

He wanted to ask you something he wasn’t sure how to ask. He wasn’t exactly sure what to ask. So instead, he laced down beside you, wrapping an arm around you as you cuddled into him, his stare fixed on the ceiling.

“I’m gonna go,” he said after a few minutes of silence, you turned to look at him.

“Tomorrow,” Jake continued, “I’m gonna go to Rex’s tomorrow. Start going through some of his things.”

You began rubbing small circles on his chest, “okay. Do you want me to come with you?”

Jake thought for a moment before shaking his head, “nah. I’ll be good. I’ll be good.”

Silence found the room again, both of you laying there, but in two completely different worlds.

“I’m gonna go smoke,” you stated, “wanna come?”

“I’ll come out in a bit.”

You pulled yourself from the bed, putting on a pair of sweats that were discarded in a corner and stealing Jake’s shirt from the floor.

“I’ll be back.”

As you made your way to the back door, you scooped up a pack of cigarettes from the counter and a lighter from the coffee table.

Standing on the back porch, you looked out to the main road that ran from one end of Genoa to the other. You remember the day you first came driving up that road a couple years ago; twenty dollars in your pocket and two bags worth of belongings. Scared, no plan, no idea what to expect. You had no idea back then that this would be your home for the next two years, and though it wasn’t paradise, you were grateful for it. This was better than the alternative.

You thought back to your less than civil conversation with Nicky earlier.

“…you’re not good.”

“…and you are?”

Then, just moments earlier with Jake.

“You’re so fucking good…”

You wondered if Jake could see through you the way Nicky did, but if that were the case, would he still be so willing to say those words to you. Maybe he was clueless, or maybe he wasn’t, and simply didn’t care.

None of that mattered though. In your own mind, you weren’t good, far from it. You did good things often, but. You’d also done very awful things, things you felt eclipsed all the good.

And you didn’t deserve good things. You believed that too.

But hearing Jake say it so adamantly back there, even if it was more than likely about the sex you were having, it made you think different, if only for a moment. One fleeting, blissful moment.

4. Star-Crossed Strangers

#greta van fleet #gvf #greta van fic #greta van fleet smut #jake kiszka #jake kiszka fic #jake kiszka smut #jake greta van fleet #jake gvf #greta van angst #greta van fleet fic #greta van fleet fan fiction #greta van smut #gvf fanfiction

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quackquackcey · 1 year

Text

How Stiles Almost Became a Fitness Diet Nutritionist

Fic written for @sterekweekly’s prompt ‘bacon’. Rated E, 2.8k words. Tags: pining, fluff, smut, & bacon lol. Read on AO3.

Summary:

Stiles somehow lands a date with the ripped, hot guy from the gym that he’s been crushing on for months by praising bacon, but accidentally digs a hole he can’t get out of in the process. Can he keep up the lie or will it all fall apart?~ 🥓🐷

“Why don’t you just ask him out?”

Stiles smacked Scott’s shoulder. “Keep your voice down!” he hissed. “What if he hears you? I can’t just go up to him! I’m just a random stranger; he’d be so creeped.”

“Stiles, he’s literally on the other side of the gym.” Scott huffed out a laugh as he put down his weights. “Besides, you drool over him so much he’s probably long noticed you. Just say hi and that you’ve seen him around, and ask if he’d want to go out on a date with you.”

“I don’t watch him that much!”

Except he did, and he knew it—he even changed his weekly grocery shopping from Mondays to Fridays because he noticed Derek at the store a few times when picking up ice cream on movie night Fridays.

He wasn’t a stalker.

He wasn’t. It was just the grocery store, and it wasn’t like he followed Derek around.

He just…peeked over sometimes.

That was it.

It was hardly his fault that Derek was practically a walking god.

So he continued living his life sneaking glances at Derek sometimes, until one Friday when he saw Derek shopping at the grocery store with a dark-haired woman. Usually, he’d jump to conclusions and assume she was his girlfriend, but they looked similar and bickered as siblings did—(no, relief did not fill Stiles’ chest at that realization).

Currently, the woman was berating Derek for only putting meat and a plethora of bacon in the shopping cart, which Stiles had noticed seemed to be Derek’s favorite food item by far.

Stiles pushed his cart beside them to get himself some bacon, too—what did he need bacon for again?—and then took a step towards the eggs section when—

“Hey, tell my brother that this is not healthy!”

Stiles looked around, but no one was there.

A beat of silence.

He pointed at himself. “Me?”

“Look at all this bacon!” the woman forged on as Derek stood there pinching the bridge of his nose. “Do you think this is healthy? Derek won’t listen to me!”

Stiles just sort of stood there, mouth opening and closing like a fish. “U-Uh, well, uh, maybe some, er…variety could be good…?”

It only took him at least a minute to say that garbage line, and he wanted to dig a hole.

The woman nodded approvingly. “See? He agrees!”

Stiles thought that’d be the end of his first not-really-a-conversation-but-maybe-it-counted-indirectly with Derek, but then the woman introduced herself as Laura and Derek as, well, Derek.

Stiles nearly tripped saying his own name.

“Yeah, I’ve seen you at the gym,” said Derek with a casual, blinding smile that rendered Stiles speechless now that he was on the receiving end of it. “We work out on the same days, I think.”

Stiles acted like he had no idea. “Oh, really? Huh. Small world.”

Small world, his ass.

And then Derek laughed, and Stiles’ brain simultaneously short-circuited from the heavenly sound and spiraled, because why was Derek laughing? Was he laughing because he thought Stiles was funny?

Or was it because he knew Stiles was full of shit and had been subtly and discreetly staring stealing glances at him at the gym for who knew how long now?

Whichever one it was, Stiles didn’t have the time to parse it out, because Laura started telling Derek that eating different types of bacon wasn’t any nutritionally better than eating one type of bacon, and Stiles, being the fountain of random knowledge no one gave a shit about that he was, opened his big mouth to defend Derek’s cartful of bacon and proceeded to spiel about how regular cured bacon had 30% protein and 70% fat per serving while back bacon had 65% protein and turkey bacon had 53% protein, so actually, Derek’s selection of bacon did make sense to an extent, and—

“Oh my god, are you a fitness nut, too?” asked Laura. She squinted at him. “No, wait, are you studying nutrition? I have a friend who’s studying that and they spout off random facts all the time when they’re preparing for exams.”

And that was when it all started going wrong.

Continue on AO3!

#sterekweeklybacon #sterek #sterek fic #sterekweekly #sterek fanfic #sterek fanfiction #sterek is eternal #derek x stiles #derek/stiles #derek hale #stiles stilinski

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atlafan · 2 months

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Ill never forget the time at my previous job when we were all going around saying what our dream jobs are, and when it got to me, I said, “I don’t dream of work” and everyone was stunned. STUNNED. One person said, “nothing at all? If you could do anything you wanted.” I said, “if I had the money to do whatever I wanted, I wouldn’t be wasting my life working 8-5 in an office five days a week, wasting my YOUTH, when I could be traveling and writing and taking better care of my body. Are you telling me you dream of being CEO of a company at some point?” And she said, “I think I’d own a brewery.” And I said, “so you agree, you’re a slave to capitalism”. I know they all must have been thinking “she’s young she doesn’t want to work”. I’m 28. I’ve been working for a legitimate paycheck since I was 14. And before that, I babysat for cash, among other things. I’m tired. I got a job to feed myself because my father literally wouldn’t buy food because he didn’t want to buy food for his four kids anymore. And he would yell at my mother if she went grocery shopping. I have watched both of my parents work their entire lives. My father was able to retire and lives comfortably and takes himself on vacations. And because my mother wised up and left, she’s still working. They both worked in the trades. I see how tired they are, and I don’t want to be like that. I don’t want to be almost 65, still working, and still not being able to travel or keep my body going.

I love my job, but I don’t love working. If I didn’t have to work, I simply wouldn’t. Believe me, I’d find plenty of worth while things to do to fill my time. I work out of necessity, to keep a roof over my head and food in my fridge.

When I dream, I do not think of performing a service so someone higher up than myself can continue filling their pockets.

Don’t ask me what my dream job is or what I’d be doing if I could do anything in the world, because it sure as shit will have nothing to do with the place I’m currently working at.

I do not dream of work. I do not dream to work.

What would I be doing? Bitch I’m laying out in the sun at the amalfi coast, reading an outrageously smutty book, and sipping on cocktails!

#rant #idk why I just wrote all this #personal #capitalism #work

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sam-blackbird · 1 year

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Hi! If you’re a foreigner looking at France right now (march 2023), you could wonder: “WTF is happening there?!”

I’m French, so let me explain (from what I understood, thanks to friends’ explanation and researches on my own, the government things are not very clear, perhaps on purpose).

If you have no clues, there are currently a lot of demonstrations (and some riots) and strikes. Some are violents and some are peaceful, depending, but I’ll come to that later. First of all: why? Because of a reform on the retirement, basically.

You may think, well, going from 62 to 64 years old don’t seem excessive, right? But that’s only the visible part of the iceberg actually. First, that move was explain by the government by saying it will avoid the collapsing of the system (of retirement). HOWEVER, the minimal age of retirement, 64, can only be 64 if you have: -- a full career (without any unemployed time, and/or part-time work) -- began to work early (like 16/18 years old) -- your 43 annuities (basically, it means that you have to work 43 years, if I understood clearly)

With all being wrote, it means that for a majority of French ppl, counts don’t had up: most of the ppl will have to work until around their 65-67 years.

Moreover, if you leave before the minimal age of retirement (which will be 64), you will not receive entirely your retirement money.

We were told that that reform will allow to save the French pension system --as it will allow to augment the retirement money up to 1200€ (euros). But the money can be took somewhere else, like in the super riches pockets for example, by taking them up to something like 2%, for the system to be fiable. Furthermore, only a minority of French people will obtain these 1200€, as you need a full career without any stop in it to gain it. So that reform penalizes everybody, especially precarious people and women.

That’s why a lot of people are angry right now in France.

On top of that, Elizabeth Born, the French Prime Minister (she is just under the French president in the power ladder in France), pass that reform against the Parlement agreement, using the 49th article of the constitution, paragraph 3 (we call it “49.3″).

That’s why we are angry. That’s why we demonstrate. That’s why there are strikes.

Most of them are non-violent, or at least, the violence don’t come from the demonstrators, but rather from the police officers --who seems to think they have all the rights because they wear the uniform. There are some police brutality (and if some French see that and needs some advices in case of police arrestations, I can provide them). There are also some riots and some thugs who breaks windows and/or stole things and/or deteriorates things / urban furnitures, but it’s not the majority of it (despite what BFM TV claims) (btw, be careful of what you’re watching, some images show the demonstrations as riots).

A lot of young people participates in these demonstrations, because it’s our future that’s at stake. We’re angry. We’ve had enough. All our life (I take my case as an example, for context, I’ll be 20 this year), we’ve been told our planet is dying, that we won’t be able to own a house (after the 2008 economic crisis), and now that we’ll have to work until our old age? We say: that’s enough. So we’re revolting. (some of us even say it’s time to guillotine Macron, to do a remake of 1789)

Some of us use the energy of the desperation, because they have nothing to lose, which make them unpredictable (and maybe dangerous). That’s what’s happening, basically.

#france #what's happening #réforme des retraites #french retirement reform #french pension reform #french pension reform explained #french #french demonstrating #french strikes #french revolting #young revolting #genz had enough of old politicians shit #manifestations françaises #mars 2023 #réformes des retraites #gen z revolting #sam covers french news

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redmyeyes · 5 months

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hey friend! spotify fic meme: let's say 65 and the fellow travelers dudes? i might not be qualified to judge, but i'd love to see you write for a current obsession <3

If this is what I want / Look at what it did to me If this is what you want / This is what you get instead

It would have been so easy to stay. To let you take charge, take care, like you were always so good at. I wanted to. You don't know how I wanted to. A bus ticket after fourteen years and I was right back there. We were right back there. Except of course how we weren't.

I wanted a taste of who you are now—a father, husband. I wanted to know the twelve-year-old version of you that lived on in your son. I watched through the window as you danced in golden light, and in that moment felt such a vicious stab of jealousy I thought I deserved nothing good to ever happen to me again. How was that love, to deny you an obvious source of joy and comfort, just because the source was not me nor mine? When I realized that they, too, were only allowed slivers of you, I didn't know who I felt sorry for more—them or you or me or the whole sorry lot of us together. It put things in perspective. How embarrassing, to be competing with a twelve-year-old for your affection. No matter how much we wanted to pretend that you had room enough for both.

You probably think this was a drastic measure to take, even for me. Lock myself up for the next decade, just to keep myself away from you. Let me assuage your guilt and ego both: yes, but only in part. You don't want me to martyr myself to a cause? This is the greatest cause I can think of. I can't be around you without losing myself. I won't be responsible for causing that kind of pain in someone else.

I'm sorry for not saying goodbye in person.

I'm sorry for saying it wasn't real.

Yours,

#flownwrong #alinaaaaa T.T you are a true friend thank you for asking me for a pairing you know nothing about just so i could write them T.T #fellow travelers

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bratshaws · 1 year

Text

through the hourglass 68. brb x oc

a/n: there's nothing I love writing more than these two being so in love. ugh

pairing: plus size!oc x rooster

warnings: fluff, a smidge of suggestive

goodness gracious (pls read this one to know more what this fic is about!!)

chapter

1/2/3/4/5/6/7/8/9/10/11/12/13/14/15/16/17/18/19/20/21/22/23/24/

25/26/27/28/29/30/31/32/33/34/35/36/37/38/39/40/41/42/43/44

45/46/47/48/49/50/51/52/53/54/55/56/57/58/59/60/61/62/63/64

/65/66/67

(pls let me know if you want to be added to the taglist!! )

taglist: @mirandastuckinthe80s @roosterschanelslut @wiipes @lcahwriter @shrimping-for-all @gretagerwigsmuse @frenchtoastix

@lizzie-rdj @fanboyluvr @atarmychick007 @comebacktoearthpls

@peachiicherries @mak-32 @lizziespidiepridie @roosterswifey @ollyoxenfrees @piceous21 @sqrlgrl22 @hofficoffi @lexhalstead3 @lorilane33 @legendarydreamersharkparty @luckyladycreator2

@emilybradshaw @j-6o @louisahale @leobabbyyy @kulicny @winter-run @ktjmac @graciereads @bigpoppajes @taytaylala12

@caitsymichelle13 @becks-things @caatheeriinee07 @dhwanishah09 @jesfreedark @katiemcrae @lilmonstrjedi @hobiismyhopeu @teacupsandtopgun @insominac23

She hears him before she feels his arms around her waist,his lips pressing gentle kisses to the side of her neck as she busies herself with their lunch, “Smells good.” he comments, “The food too.”

Beatrice laughs quietly, “I thought you’d like it, it’s spaghetti with meatballs, nothing too fancy.” she says, leaning back into his hold to press her upper back to his chest, his arms tightening around her waist, “And I even added extra cheese.”

“You know how to get me,don’t you?”

“I do have my moments.”

Rooster chuckles against her neck, inhaling that delicious lavender scent that stayed with him during the time of his deployment, it was like his nostrils refused to let go, “I missed you.”

Beatrice looks back at him, seeing his cheeks flexing as he smiles against her neck, “I missed you too,Roos.” she whispered, one of her hands coming up to gently brush his scalp, which in turn made him shudder and sigh happily against her neck, “I’m glad you are home.”

“I’m glad too.” he says, closing his eyes and leaning his head into her touch, like a giant cat would and Beatrice loved how she could almost hear the purring coming out of him. Rooster knew that holding her wouldn’t prevent Bea from doing anything, so he stayed there, with his arms around her hearing her soft singing and humming as she prepared their lunch.

Not to mention she looked really good.

His lips travel back up her neck and he touches something that’s currently wrapped around it. He was probably too tired before to notice but the cold of the necklace’s chain touching his lips made him lean his head back, “Hey, the necklace I got you.”

She blinked, looking back at him in surprise, “You just noticed?”

“Yeah,” he says, gently sliding his index finger under the delicate chain to run it back and forth in his hold, “I guess I was too tired to notice then…can you turn around?”

Beatrice smiles, checking their lunch one last time before she turns around. His eyes follow the golden chain as it tapered because of the weight of the amethyst pendant, the pendant that rested between her breasts, right where her cleavage began. He watched the gem twinkle under the light everytime she breathed in and out, seeing the purple reflections against her skin, “It looks great on you.”

“I was going to wear the earrings too but…I thought I could use some other time.”

“Oh I don’t mind.” his eyes are still on her chest, “I like what I see.” cue to the subtle red flushing down her chest, making the purple pop out even more atop her skin, her soft laugh breaking his intense gazing, “But I’m serious, you look really good.”

“I wanted to look good for you.”

“You always do.” he says, “But I do love this dress a whole lot…brings me so many memories.”

“Mhm.” she narrows her eyes playfully at him, “Sure.”

Rooster meets her unamused eyes and chuckles, “I mean, it was the first time I saw you wearing a dress,gorgeous. And it was flowy,” his hands touch the skirt, “And nice,” then he grips the fabric to tug her forward, “And made me think ‘wow is she a fairy?’ because you probably put a spell on me.” and he drops his forehead to hers, smiling when those green eyes twinkled with happiness and her already red cheeks got redder.

“Well,” she begins, wrapping her arms around his neck,”Considering you call me a fairy…would you say I put a spell on you?”

Rooster considers a bit, humming low in his throat as his hands slide down to the curve of her asscheeks, “If you did I wouldn’t complain.” he smirks, pressing their noses together, “Because you are just magical like that, gorgeous.”

They stay together like that for a few seconds, gently kissing and laughing into each other’s mouths like two teenagers in love. Beatrice adored this, she adored how Rooster still made her feel stepping on clouds no matter what he did or said…maybe he was the one who put a spell on her, “Hm, Roos,” she mumbles against his lips, pulling back with some difficulty, “I have to…continue our lunch…” her voice falters as his lips drag down to her jawline and neck, “A-And,I…”

His hands lift the back of her dress to cup her ass cheeks, feeling the elastic of her underwear touch his thumbs, “Am I distracting you?”

“W-Well, normally I-I wouldn’t mind but,” she looks back at the oven, “There’s water boiling milimeters from us…so.”

“...Good point.” he drags out, lifting his head from her neck to kiss her forehead, “I’m going to let you go, for now, but I’ll be close by if you need help.” of course he didn’t let her go until he gave her left ass cheek a soft slap, not enough to hurt but enough to make her jump in his grasp. He fixed the skirt on her lower back, kissing her forehead one more time and finally stepping back, “What do you need me to do?”

“Oh um…” she runs her hands down her dress, “Can you set the table for us?”

“Can do,gorgeous.”

He avoided the dogs, well, dog since the twins usually stayed with Nicole when she was asleep and only their mother remained close to Rooster and Beatrice. The pittie followed him about for a bit, wagging her tail as she watched him grab plates and glasses to set on the table, “So, besides missing me.” he chuckles, “Did something else happened? How’s everything with Marcus?”

“Oh he’s fine,” she says with her focus now back on their lunch, “He’s really nice,I mean…he sewed that shirt for Nikki because I asked while he’s so busy with work and…yeah, everything has been going great.”

“That’s good.”

“Oh! I also met Hannah!”

Rooster looked back at Beatrice with his brows furrowed, then his jaw clenched, “Hannah? Your former bully?”

“Well,yes but…we talked about it Roos and we resolved everything.” she says as she turns the stove off once the pasta was done boiling,”And it was nice to talk to her, she met Nikki too and I invited her to come to the Hard Deck.” her husband however still appeared suspicious, “It’ll be fine Roos.”

“Huh…I guess…what did you two talk about?”

Beatrice is busy scooping some of the hot pasta water into the tomato sauce, “Oh you know, a little bit of this a little bit of that and-” Eric, they were talking about Eric. She stops talking, the ladle that had the water hovered above the sauce with Beatrice’s eyes looking at nothing. She completely forgot that was why they saw each other that day, she completely forgot that he appeared again.

And she completely forgot to tell Rooster about it.

“Ah!” she yelps suddenly, some of the hot water landed on her hand and she drops everything to hiss in pain, “Shit!”

“Bea?” hurried footsteps made their way over to her, immediately holding her hand to check, “C’mere.” he takes her to the sink, opens the faucet and places her hand under the running water, paying close attention to her expressions as he waited. Beatrice’s furrowed brows relaxed after a while and she nodded at him, so he shut the faucet off to check on her skin.

It was red but it wouldn’t blister, he gently prodded the skin only for her to hiss again, “Sorry,just checking.”

“It’s okay.”

“We can put some ice there if it gets too bad,” he begins, “It doesn’t seem bad now, but it’s up to you.” Beatrice just says it’s fine, with a little smile on her face, “You got distracted there for a moment.”

One thing about Beatrice was that her emotions were always clear on her face, he always,always knew - especially considering how long they’ve been together - when she was hiding something from him, “Oh, it was nothing.”

“Mhm.” he isn’t convinced, “...you can tell me after lunch.”

“Wh-But-”

He stops her sentence by kissing her forehead, “After lunch, okay? Then you can tell me what’s bothering you.”

Beatrice didn’t know how to tell Rooster once they were done having lunch and honestly she was glad they were both in bed with his hand moving up and down her back as her head rested on his chest. He had his eyes closed but wasn’t sleeping, he was just enjoying the silence with his wife next to him.

If only he knew how noisy her mind was right now.

Beatrice chewed her lower lip, nuzzling closer to his shirt almsot wishing to glue herself into him since she was so nervous about opening up why she was distracted. She dared to peek up at Rooster to check if he was awake, only to see one of his own eyes open up and meet her own, a little smirk on his face, “Gotcha lookin’.”

“You did.” she smiles, pushing herself higher up his body, “You got me.”

“Do you wanna keep looking or do you wanna tell me what’s bothering you?”

Beatrice’s smile dropped the second he asked, avoiding his eyes and choosing to look at her hand instead, more specifically at the red oval shaped burn on the back of her hand, frowning at the accidental bruise, “...I…” she licks her lips, then chews the inside of her mouth, “I think it’s better to just open up about it.”

“I’d like that.”

She takes a deep breath for courage, “...Eric has been asking about me. And…um he has been contacting people and asking about me, I think he doesn’t get that I’m no longer single now and that I have a husband and a daughter - although I blocked him everywhere so it’s not like he knows about it…but….that’s why Hannah asked me to meet her…and Shells told me about it too and…and yeah…”

She almost feared looking up at him, the hand on her back stopped moving the second her ex’s name was mentioned and she could feel how tense Rooster got. Beatrice slowly moved her gaze to his, seeing those brown eyes with a mix of fury and astonishment, his jaw clenched as tightly as the first time she mentioned Hannah, “...so let me get this straight.” he begins, “Your ex, the one you punched on your birthday, the one who saw you walk out with me, the one who hasn’t spoke to you in years is now suddenly back?”

“...well…yes…?”

“He’s stupider than I thought.” he grounds out, clearly not liking this conversation, “Bea,I don’t like this.”

“I know-”

Rooster is annoyed, with reason, pushing himself to his elbows to keep his eyes on Bea, “Did he try contacting you?” she shakes her head negatively, “Good. Good…does he not know what a ‘no’ means?”

Beatrice licks her lips, then looks down at her hands again, “Not really.” she whispers, clearly feeling the eyes of her husband on her face, waiting for her to continue, “It was always his way. Always the right way because I obviously didn’t know what I was doing…just like now, he doesn’t think I’d be able to pull someone like you off.”

Rooster sighed out in anger, rolling his tongue inside his cheek and shaking his head, “That’s…so fucked Bea. Fuck, what the fuck.”

“I’m sorry for bringing it up, I–”

“No,no,” he shakes his head, bringing her close to him so he could kiss her head, “It wasn’t your fault, I was the one who asked why you were acting strangely.” he whispers against her scalp, brushing the side of her face with his thumb, feeling her body relax in his hold, “...what do you think he’s planning?”

“Probably trying to send me flowers or something.” she mutters, “I don’t know,Roos. I don’t…want to think about it.”

“As much as you don’t want, gorgeous, it has to be thought.” he replies, holding Beatrice against his chest as his own blood cease to boil, “Bea,I swear if he shows up–”

“Roos-”

“All I can say is that it won’t be your hand breaking his face.”

Beatrice blinked, then sputtered out a soft laugh, resting her cheek on his shoulder, inhaling his cologne that was always embedded in his shirts no matter what, “Can I hope it doesn’t get to that? Not because of him but because of you?”

“I’ll be fine.” he says, “At worst we can set Shells loose on him.”

As much as they were joking about it, hearing about Eric again after so long was strange and awful at the same time. He really thought that he’d leave Bea alone after she broke his nose on her birthday, hell she was married to him. He didn’t like it one bit, he was flabbergasted by Eric’s boldness on asking people about Beatrice, choosing to not believe that she was capable of finding someone who wasn’t him.

Again with the doubts.

Again with people thinking Beatrice wasn’t worth it.

He hadn’t even noticed his hand curled into a fist but Beatrice did, staring at the perfect lines of tendons stretching on the back of it as he curled his fingers tight, “Roos.” her soft voice was enough for him to turn to meet her eyes, “...I don’t want you getting angry.”

He looks at her as if she grew three heads, “I can’t not be angry,Bea.” he says, “Your ex is trying to get you back after you said no, after you broke his nose just because he doesn’t believe what we have is real?” he scoffs, shaking his head, “You don’t deserve this,Bea. You don’t-” he was tense again and he didn’t want to meet Beatrice’s eyes because he knew those green irises would make all the anger melt away.

But he wanted to be angry at Eric.

“Roos,” she tries again, this time touching the side of his face to make him face her, brown eyes filled with fury, “Roos,please, don’t waste your time.”

“Bea-”

“He’s not worth it.” she says with more firmness in her voice, “Whatever Eric is doing is pointless…does he really think he can get something out of me? No, of course not. Whatever he does is his problem, he won’t succeed.”

“...I know but the fact he’s still trying…it’s worrisome,gorgeous.”

“I know.”

“Which is why I’m so pissed right now.”

Beatrice sighed, letting her hands drop to his chest so she could push him down back on the bed and climb his lap. As usual his hands immediately went to her thighs, clasping the thick flesh in his huge palms and eyes meeting hers, “Don’t.” she says, “You just got back home…please don’t let him of all people make you feel like this,Roos.”

“...well,what do you want me to do?” he asks genuinely, his blood still boiling, “I can’t let that go so easily…I worry about you.”

And his voice softens, the anger in his tone gone and replaced with adoration within every syllable. Beatrice smiles down at him, cupping his face between her hands, leaning down to kiss his lips slowly. From the way he exhaled through his nose and how his grip on her thighs tightened, he appreciated that. She kisses the corner of his mouth, then drags her lips to his jawline, over the large scar there. “...are you trying to distract me?” he asks while offering more room for her lips to explore, “Because it’s not going to work.”

“I’m not,” she mumbles against her skin, “Not necessarily.”

“Mhm.”

Beatrice lifts her head from his neck, brushing her thumb over those plump lips of his before pecking them again, “I’m not…but I want you to forget about him for a while. I don’t want your first thoughts when you got home be of my stupid ex.”

“He is pretty stupid.”

“And his head is huge.”

It was so nice to see how the angry furl of his brows melted into a more relaxed expression, his lips curling into a smile as he laughs, chest shaking under her body, “Okay,I got it.” he tells her while still caressing her thighs, “I won’t get too hooked up on it.”

“Promise?”

“Yes.”

Beatrice narrow her eyes, meeting his forehead with hers and then holding out her pinky, “Promise?” Rooster flicked his eyes from her face to her small pinky, chuckling and hooking his own to hers, lifting his head to kiss the tip of her nose, “Good…now!” she straightens a little bit on top of him still, “What do you wanna do? Take a shower? Nap?”

Rooster, whose anger was slowly dissipating into nothing, just smiled at her, “I like the idea of a nap…only if you join me.” Beatrice just smiles down at him, slowly climbing off his lap onto the bed, her cheek returning to rest against his pectoral and her eyes looking up at him. Bradley sighs quietly through his nose, kissing her scalp a few more times, holding her tighter against him out of habit, out of protection.

He knew she could take care of herself, she had proven that many times, but he was going to keep an eye out for anything out of the ordinary. If Eric wanted to reach Beatrice he had to go through him first.

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