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lllivia · 1 month

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"I kinda knew you had a thing for me"

Shauna Shipman x f!reader

summary: Shauna comforts you after you and your boyfriend break up

Warnings: not proofread, slowburn, prb cringy and cliche

"Shauna!" you call as you knock on her front door for what feels like the 100th time.

"Shauna are you home?"

Sighing you stand up on the tip of your toes to look through the window of her door and into the hallway for any sign of her, nothing.

With your red, puffy eyes you scan around for just one more second before giving up and sitting down on the stairs in front of your best friend's house, feeling too sad and exhausted to go home.

"Y/n?? What are you doing here? You said you were going to Tom's house today"

Shauna asks as she jogs up towards her yard, still clad in her well known yellowjackets uniform with a worried frown on her face as she sees you sitting with your knees drawn up towards your chest and the hood of your jacket pulled up over your hair.

"He broke up with me" was the quiet response she got in a low and broken voice as you look up from your lap. "I went over to his house earlier this morning and the only thing he said was that he didn't see our relationship going on any further and that he has found a girl that makes him happier than I ever have" you continue and sniffle as you try to hold in the inevitable crocodile tears.

"Oh sweetie" Shauna said and pulls you up, embracing you tightly into her arms and gently leading your head into the crook of her neck as you cry.

Despite just coming back from soccer practice she still managed to smell like her signature vanilla perfume comforted you.

"I don't know what I'm going to do, we've been together since 8th grade and I've practically surrounded all my life around him ever since then!" You squeeze her tightly and sob, finally letting all your emotions out after holding them in check since you left his house.

Shauna rubs your back and lets you cry into her shoulder for a couple of minutes before softly speaking up and turning your head to meet her eyes by taking a hold of your tearsoaked chin. "Y/n, baby?... How about we go to the diner down by the old bowling alley and get something to eat, maybe it'll make you feel better with some food in your system"

"Mm yeah.. yeah that sounds good" you sigh and step back, wiping your eyes on the sleeve of your jacket and directing a wavering smile up at Shauna.

"Let me just quickly take a shower and get changed first"

You sit in silence the first half hour, slowly eating your food as you listen to the 80s music silently jamming in the background.

You're not even completely sure why you're feeling this way, you and Chris had been fading away from each other for months now, and you knew that it was only a matter of time until you finally broke up your stereotypical high school relationship.

Other than that you were also starting to feel like the romantic emotions you had for him hadn't even been sincere for a while, the only thing keeping you from leaving was the emptyness you would be left with after so many years with a boyfriend.

"...are you feeling any better yet y/n?" Shauna speaks up after a while, breaking the tense silence as she notices how your gaze had drifted off into space.

"Hm? Oh yeah, thanks Shauny, I really needed this" you say, smiling up at your friend and blushing slightly in embarrassment as you get back from your thoughts.

She nods pitifully. "Of course sweetie, I know how hard this must have been for you" She says and reaches over the table for your hand, running her thumb over the softness of your flesh. Her own thoughts running wild as she thinks of all the times she secretly wrote in her journal about how she wished for this to happen.

Your smile widens. "I'm really happy to have you in my life Shauna, you're the best friend anyone could ever wish for"

"Of course y/n, yk I would do anything for you, anything" She says still smiling sweetly as she tightens her grip on your hand almost possessively, not noticing herself do so.

All you can do at the gesture is look away, slightly flustered as you try to think nothing of it.. You didn't want to admit it, even to yourself, but the last couple of months while your feelings were fading for Tom, they were embarrassingly growing for Shauna, everything she does - every lingering touch she leaves on your arm or when you catch her staring in your direction before she turns away, saying you had something on your face, they all make you feel all tingly and warm inside, you knew that you'd somehow managed to obtain a crush on her, but that didn't mean she had to know, you weren't even sure she liked girls, and if she did then the first person she would go for was probably her teammate Jackie.

"Fuuck, you know exactly how to get me in a better mood Shauny, I love this place above anything else!" you say, mouth still full of the sweet buttery dough and eyes filled with laughter at something Shauna just said.

You'd already been at the diner for a little over an hour now and your plates were starting to empty.

"Of course" She giggles, she'd quickly turned your mood from a 0 to a 100 real quick.

"Wanna get out of here? I'll pay the bill for us m'lady" she says and jokingly winks before almost knocking over her water glass. "Oh shit!"

You only start to laugh again, the thoughts of your now ex dissipating into thin air.

"Ok, follow me home?" You ask after your breath slowly returns to your lungs. "Yeah, sure" Shauna smiles back before paying the bill and grabbing her jacket as you head outside.

"So, you think you'll be okay? He meant a lot to you, didn't he" She says from her spot on the sidewalk beside you, her fingers anxiously playing in the pockets of her flannel as she tries to sound like she wasn't slightly bitter about your relationship.

You guys had always been super close, having been friends since the first day of elementary school, but one thing you never really spoke about was relationships, it had become a sort of unspoken rule that you guys had after Shauna once got unreasonably angry when you tried to tell her about the first time you made out with Tom.

"I'll be fine.. I think I'm mostly just kind of surprised, I always thought I would be the one to break up with him" you joke awkwardly and glance down at your shoes.

"And I think this was actually a good thing in the long run, we both had very different views on everything and I think I deserve to be with someone who loves me for who I actually am and not who I'm pretending to be."

Shauna quickly glances over at you, her mouth opening slightly to say something before she closes it again, deciding against whatever it was.

As the minutes go by in what feels like mere seconds, you eventually reach your house.

"Thanks again Shauny, you really helped me take my mind off of things" you say.

"I wouldn't have done anything less" she responds, her eyes flickering down onto the lower part of your face and she seems to hesitate for what she wants to say next. "I.. I want to tell you something" she finally continues after a painful couple of moments.

"Are you feeling alright Shauna-" You start to say, a crease forming between your eyebrows as you notice her shuffling around.

"I like you"

Silence.

She tucks a strand of dark hair behind her ear nervously. "I'm sorry that I'm suddenly saying this now but I really like you, like as more than a friend" she rambles "I've liked you for so long now, and I just can't go around pretending like I don't anymore. I know this is selfish of me to admit on the same day you got broken up with and I'm sure this is really confusing but I just had to tell you how I feel before some other stupid guy decides to see what I see in you and swoop you of your feet before I even get a chance to say something" She finishes slightly out of breath and considers running for it when you don't immediately respond.

"I like you too"

She looks up to meet your eyes once more, not believing what she just heard had come out of your mouth.

"What? But-"

This time it was your turn to interrupt her as you grin up at her. "Just kiss me"

Giggling you start leaning towards her, poking her arm when she just continues to stand still, seemingly shell shocked.

Her attention immediately gets drawn back to you before she pulls you towards her, arms quickly wrapping themselves around your waist as she not so carefully slams her lips onto yours, making you both stumble slightly. Her lips slightly chapped against yours as her teeth catch onto your lower lip.

You continue kissing outside your front door until you have to pull away for air feeling starstruck and dizzy.

"Well.. I kinda knew you had a thing for me" Shauna says, her arms still wrapped tightly around you as she smirks in a cocky manner, seemingly forgetting that she was about to start sobbing on your doorstep just a couple of minutes ago.

"Shut up dumbass"

a/n: please tell me if there's anything I can improve with my writing as I haven't written anything in a year.

This was all written at 1 in the morning so if anything is kinda confusing it's probably bcs I'm about to fall asleep 😭

Also if you liked this feel free to send requests, I really don't know what to write about 😍🙏

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whiskeyapologist · 4 months

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was looking through my camera roll & realized i never posted about this?? but i did a check please theme in my bullet journal back in april & i am still beyond obsessed with how it turned out!

task list & cover page

april was all about finishing my fucking thesis (i earned my mfa in stage automation in may) & i used the task list to break down each section of my thesis & make it less intimidating. i still pulled a bitty & had to marathon write most of my thesis within a like 36 hour period. i slept so good once that draft was finished!

when i started planning this theme, i flipped through the comic & decided pretty quickly i wanted the cover to be this view of faber from 4.25 "faber". i filled the outside with some of my favorite details from throughout the comic, including (clockwise from top left) the "text from chowder: i'm shouting!" from 4.2 "nonstop celly", jack's "oh" moment from 2.17 "graduation", the jack lego (?) figure from 3.1 "wag", dex & nursey's background roach & house bubbles & (i think it's) ransom's "et tu lardo?" bubble from 2.12 "post i: roadie", one of my fave senor bun appearances that didn't make it into a weekly from 1.16 "linemates", & bitty's phone (i don't think there's a specific appearance of bitty's phone that looks like this, at least not that i'm finding in the flip-throughs i've done to write this post. i think i did a lil freehand moment with it, but if anyone happens to find it in the comic, let me know!), as well as my usual little calendar & monthly focuses section

monthly calendar & habit tracker

the monthly calendar & playlist is inspired by the smh team roster hanging on the bulletin board in the haus at the beginning of year 2

the habit tracker features a few other details from 2.1 “moved in”, namely the “haus sweet haus” rug & the sock pinned to the bulletin board. the shopping list bubble is a callback to the “jizz!” speech bubble also pinned to the bulletin board next to the sock

meal & time trackers

the breakfast, lunch, & dinner headers are a callback to the hockey puck taped to the bulletin board

not much to add here, but it’s a great time to mention the “it’s tough but you’re tougher” speech bubble from 4.20 “spotlight on eric bittle” which was the quote i used to decorate my grad cap ❤️

weekly #1 is modeled after y1 & features my favorite y1 senor bun appearance (1.18 “playoffs - i”) & line (1.8 “checking clinic”)

weekly #2 is modeled after y2 & features my favorite y2 senor bun (2.10 "shinny") & line (2.4 "hazeapalooza")

weekly #3 is modeled after y3 & features my favorite y3 senor bun (3.3 "meet the falconers") & line (3.26 "cup v - post")

weekly #4 is modeled after y4 (the layout of the top panel specifically is modeled after the first panel of 4.16 "christmas in madison - iii" which shows a bunch of the christmas pics/posts from the rest of smh & tater) & features my favorite y4 senor bun (4.17 "senior thesis") & line (also 4.17 "senior thesis"). i has some extra space, so i included some excerpts from bitty's y4 tweets

camp nanowrimo tracker, before the pen. the left is just a table for tracking time spent on & words written for my thesis & the novel i've been working on forever. my camp nanowrimo goal was to write 1 hour every weekend day & 2 hours every week day, for a grand total of 50 hours, which i am proud to say i achieved! the right is a visual tracker, where each pie was equal to an hour of writing. i included 50 pies for my 50 hour goal. the bubble near the top is from 1.4 "the haus" with 2 footnotes i added; one on "kitchens" that says "word docs", & one on "pies" that says "words". clearly i think i'm very clever lol

visual tracker, filled in. i surpassed my 50 hour goal with about a week left in the month, & i wanted to include that additional progress on my tracker. once the month was done & i knew how much i needed to add, i made a tip-in (although this might just be a fold-out lol) to tape in. on one side, i included the dialogue bubbles from a panel of 3.19 "keagster"

on the other side of the tip-in/flip-out, i included jam jars for the additional 10.25 hours of writing i did, plus "it's gonna be two trips" also from 3.19 "keagster"

& that's all the spreads! spreads were done in an archer & olive b5 notebook. supplies include: mildliners in the colors vermillion, dark blue, beige, & gray; a black papermate flair, a white gellyroll pen in size 08, and stabilo pens in gray and brown. oh, & a piece of masking tape, bc i couldn't find any clear tape lol

#omgcp #bullet journal #i did so many good themes in my b5 journal but i'm pretty sure this one's my favorite

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babyhedonistt · 3 months

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TOO CLOSE TO TOUCH - EIGHT

WARNING // Angst, sexual advances

February 2022

“Is he ever going to come out?” Folio asks, approaching Noah’s bedroom door as Jolly rests his shoulder against the doorframe. “How long has it been?” Folio asks.

Jolly pulls his hoodie sleeve up slightly, as he checks his watch. “Going on 71 hours?” Jolly scoffs. “What the hell happened after he left Y/N’s?” Folio throws his arms up in confusion.

Jolly shrugs. Jolly knew what happened, but for the time being Folio was better off not knowing. “They got into an argument.” He says. “So? They’ve gotten into arguments before, did she cut his hair off or something as a joke?” Folio chuckles.

Jolly shakes his head. “Whatever it was about, fucked him up I guess.”

“I’m texting Y/N. She’ll tell me.” Folio takes out his phone before Noah opens the door looking horrible. His long hair was messy, he had dark blue bags under his eyes before clearing his throat, his eyes squinting at the bright light radiating from the hallway.

“I gotta pee.” He grunts before pushing his way past Folio into the bathroom. Folio makes a grossed out look on his face before Jolly peered into his room and nearly gagged. “Dudes been pissing into bottles.”

Ruffilos bedroom door closed as he made his way down the hallway to the group. “He finally came out?”

Jolly and Folio nodded before Ruffilo walks into Noah’s room up to his computer. “You’re fucking kidding me.”

Folio and Jolly pour into Noah’s room as Ruffilo stands in front of the screen.

Noah’s desk was cluttered with piss filled water bottles, open journals and scribbled pages filled with lyrics and editing. The three peered at the screen to 3 song files they had been working on that had now been marked ‘completed’.

“No fucking way dude.” Jolly gasps. “He finished them?” Folio added on as Ruffilo cleared his throat.

“Yeah.” A raspy voice calls from the doorway. Noah stood in the doorway with his hands shoved in his pant pockets. “That’s what you’ve been doing in here for like three days?” Ruffilo asks, pointing at the computer.

“yeah.” Noah simply says. “What the fuck did you and Y/N argue about to make you lock you in your bedroom for three days?” Ruffilo squints at him.

“Nothing. I don’t want to talk about her right now.”

“I would think now is a good time.” Ruffilo shrugs with a scoff. Noah approaches his computer and unplugs the flash drive from the monitor. “I gotta get this to Matt.”

“Noah. Come on dude. You tell me everything.” Ruffilo places a hand on Noah’s shoulder which he just shakes off and walks out of the room.

Nick Ruffilo never admitted it, but that hurt him a lot deeper than he would ever tell anyone from that day on.

Present day

You helped Noah off the ground and took a harsh look at the bruising on his face. You bring your hand up and he stops it before your finger tips manage to touch his face.

“Don’t.”

“You need to be cleaned up before the show.” You focus on aiding him. You couldn’t bear to look at his damaged face, knowing you were the cause of it.

“Y/N, I’m sorry I didn’t tell you.” He tries and you hold up a finger to him. “Noah I don’t have the energy to deal with this right now. You have a show in a half an hour and you look like you got hit by a car.” You turned your back to him and started walking back to the others.

“I can’t do the show if you’re mad at me.” He shook his head grabbing your wrist. “Noah let me go.” you warn him. He shook his head and tried to go for your other one before you start getting angrier. So many lies, so many things he didn’t tell you. Now his best friend hates him and he got hurt because of you.

“Nick is already mad at you, so maybe take that and put it towards your performance.”

You shake your hand from him and start walking back to the rest of the boys, wiping the tears from your cheeks.

Noah didn’t even try to overpower you, make you stay, make you hear him out like he usually does.

No.

He fucked up.

He knows he fucked up.

And this time you weren’t the only one who got hurt.

February 2022

"Are you sure you want to cut it all off?" Jolly asks, sitting across Noah who sat, all tied up in the salon chair. Noah nods. "I think it's needed with the new album."

Folio turned his phone sideways and pressed the record button. "Damnnnn, man this is gonna be good." He chuckles. Ruffilo sat quietly to himself, his leg laying on top of the other with his arms crossed.

"You didn't wanna wait until Y/N got here?" Folio asks.

"She's not coming." Noah and Jolly said at the same time, eerily at the same time. Folio nods, slightly confused before the hairdresser returns, clapping his hands together in an excited manner. "All right! New year new hair!"

Present Day

"10 minutes till sound check!" Matt peeks his head into the dressing room with a nod. The tech support came in and hooked a microphone pack on the back of Noah's belt. You quietly put clear bandages by his eye as he held the ice upon the bruising. You put antibiotic ointment on his lip to stop it from bleeding.

He looked like shit.

"Will you say something? Anything?" He asks. He has been staring into your eyes since you started aiding him and it took every ounce of willpower you had remaining in you to not lock eyes with this man. He knew how to make you forgive him. It was always a game between the two of you. You're not even sure you had something to be mad at him about.

He wrote a song about you. So what?

No. That's not it.

It was the fact he didn't talk to you for almost a year. He mailed you an NDA without any warning or apology. He wanted you to be viewed as the bad guy so he didn't have to put up with his own ego in having feelings for his best friend's sister. He did all this shit, and then turned around, telling you he suddenly wanted you and that nothing else mattered and no one else needed to know?

"Ow. Y/N, you're hurting me." He winces gently as you realized you were pushing to hard on his face after putting on the bandaid.

"Sorry." You grunt.

Noah Sebastian has made shit decisions.

Noah Sebastian has done you more harm than good.

Noah Sebastian makes you cry.

But...

You look up to him as your gaze finally meets his soft, raw expression.

Noah Sebastian was damaged.

Noah Sebastian was hurt

Noah Sebastian was hiding his pain.

Noah Sebastian denied having sex with you to protect your feelings.

Noah Sebastian was protecting you from himself.

So why was it that you still wanted him anyways?

To be continued...

Authors Note : I've been sick with mono y'all. My body feels like doo doo. This story is still progressing I do apologize it took a minute for this chapter to come out! As always I hope you enjoyed and please leave your lovely comments <3

Comment if you want to be added to the tag list for this story!

@lizzyanthony3 @darkmxgician @blackveilomens @jilliemiw86 @flowery-mess @skulliecadaver-blog @sammyjoeee @kingdxmxfcxrds

#bad omens #jolly karlsson #nick folio #nick ruffilo #noah sebastian #bad omens fanfiction #badomenscult #concert #too close to touch

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nevernonline · 5 months

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✧.* grow as we go; svt smau.

entry #09 seeing red.

synopsis: over the past ten years you’ve fallen in love many times. one day someone happens to stumble across your journal sitting out on your nightstand and started posting your entries online. after all of your secrets are leaked it’s clear things would ever be the same again.

𐦍 paring: svt members x afab! reader.

𐦍 feat: non-idol! svt, (g)-idle minnie&soyeon, oc’s

𐦍 genre/s: reader is super angsty low-key, fluffy, sexual themes.

𐦍 content: swearing, bullying, crazy ex’s, mentions of sexual relations, some drinking& mary jane 🍃

word count: 2.7k

masterlist ▸ 008 not the bath mat. ▸ 010 coming soon

“You okay?”

Seokmin’s voice rang through y/n’s ears as she drove her car away from of Vernon’s white apartment building.

“Yeah, I think so. I’m just nervous for some reason like I can’t put into words why, but my gut is telling me something is weird.”

“Gut instincts are rarely ever wrong, but I’ll be by your side until you tell me you don’t need me to be. Okay?”

Pulling up into the parking lot of the glass framed building just on the edge of the city overlooking the water, y/n felt her nervous sweating start to begin, almost begging for air conditioning to surround her like a chilled hug.

“Want to hold my hand?”

“Yes please, they’re clammy I’m sorry.”

Gripping onto Vernon’s firm hand the three boys almost looking like her bodyguards bypassed the frenzy of people outside waiting to get their own peak at Minghaos installation themselves and walked through the door.

The room was filled with small tables, made by hand as a final touch to Minghaos work, adorned with dainty black table clothes and bottles of champagne placed in ice buckets.

The room was softly lit with yellow and white lighting making everyone have a glow that bounced off of them almost as if they weren’t real.

“Would you guys like a drink? We have champagne and two signature cocktails, one is a gin based drink called ‘delicate’ and the other is a whiskey ginger based drink called ‘storm cloud.”

The beautiful waitress signaled at y/n’s small group and pointed out the drinks on the table.

“I think two storm clouds and one delicate one for sure. Y/n? What would you like?”

You spun to look into Junhui’s big eyes, skating your head saying anything is alright with you so he made the conclusion to just order you the same as Seokmin to be safe.

“Thank you.”

Y/N placed a tip in the small bartenders jar and bid her a smile knowing she’ll be back for more later in the night

“Should we look around now and try to find Minghao? Or wait a bit?”

“Seok lets just wait here, it doesn’t seem like anyone is looking around yet, I'm trying to spy for Minnie and Mingyu.”

“And Mimi.”

“Yeah. Her too.”

“Guys, Vernon and I are going to go find Vernon’s friend Seungkwan. We'll be back in a second.”

“No problem.”

Y/n and Seokmin waved the cute couple off into the crowd.

“So y/n.”

“Seoky.”

“How are we feeling now? What was going on in the car?”

“I don’t know. I told you I’m alright.”

“Yeah but you don’t have to lie to me about that.”

“I promise you I would never lie to you, we basically took an unintentional blood oath as kids it stays”

“Okay. I love you, you know that right? But I rarely see you nervous like this so I can’t help but feel concerned.”

“Shut up. Yes I do and I love you too. I promise im alright.”

Averting her gaze back to the front door she watched as Minnie and Mingyu walked hand and hand, strutting past a very devious looking Mimi standing to the right, chit chatting with someone who was unrecognizable to y/n.

“They look good together.”

“Yeah, they do.”

“Do you think this fake dating is going to lead to them.. you know.”

“Well. If I can be honest with you y/n which I'm sure I can, I think it already has.”

“Yeah.”

“Are you alright with that?”

“I am actually. Any other time it would’ve killed me I think, but now.. I don’t know? I’m content. They make sense.”

“You shine too bright to have someone who shades you.”

“What does that even mean?”

“I don’t know actually, I think im drunk already.”

Y/n placed a small kiss on Seokmin’s temple laughing at his flushed cheeks before a familiar yet irritating voice cut through their ears.

“Y/n, Seokmin. Hi! You both look absolutely gorgeous. Mind if I sit?”

“Hi, Mimi. Sure.”

“How are you guys? This is so beautiful and we haven’t even seen his art yet, how crazy. He’s so talented.”

“Yeah it’s nice. You look great, I love your bag.”

“Thank you. You look nice. I see you didn’t go with the outfit you picked out the other day.”

“Hao told us to come in black so it just didn’t feel right.”

“Mimi, can I ask you how you know Minghao again?”

“Oh wow, well it’s a long story. We met a few years ago, I haven’t seen him in a while actually.”

“Ah, I see. Did you go to school together or?”

“Wow Seokmin, someone’s nosey.”

“Oh, sorry no, not nosy just curious is all. I didn’t know you knew him.”

“It’s okay. Our parents actually work together.”

“Nice.”

“Do you know if he arrived yet? I’m sure he’d love to see you in this gorgeous outfit. Leaving everything to the imagination, he likes conservative girls.”

“No we haven’t seen him, we're just waiting for Junhui actually.”

“Aw, cutie. His boyfriend seems so nice, I stalked them online today. Dumb and dumber vibes, you know? I’m more curious though did you see Minnie and Mingyu? How trashy getting with your friends hook up? Maybe she truly has it out for you. You’re too pretty to never be the one to end up with the guy. But actually you should just date Seokmin, everyone knows how much you guys love each other, it could work out well.”

“Oh I-

“Well, I have to get going and find my way to the girls room. I’ll see you later. Toodles.”

“Toodles”

Seokmin’s voice gained a depth that you haven't heard since someone pushed him in the fountain at your high school during senior prank week.

“What the fuck was that?”

“Fucking weird is what that was.”

Seokmin’s tone turned quickly into a quiet mocking of Mimi’s.

“Dumb and Dumber vibes.”

The two of them laughed as they shrugged off the interesting encounter with a former foe.

A bartender came over to the pair and handed them both a flute of champagne, as the rest of the patrons erupted into a roar when Minghao made his way into the building, Wonwoo walking beside him, smiling at his friend who was receiving praise from his acquaintances, hugging and high fiving him for his success, some chanting for him to make a speech.

Minghao walked straight past Mimi who was stealthily placed behind a tall gentleman the star of the night was not paying any attention to her whatsoever, almost like she was invisible. He strode over to the small table where y/n and Seokmin were awkwardly standing clutching the glass flutes, wrapping his arms around the both of them at the same time.

“You guys look.. amazing, thank you for coming.”

Minghao took a deep breath and looked up and down at the girl he had his arm around.

“Seriously. Thank you.”

“Our pleasure.”

“I’ll be back after I say some thank yous, maybe we can all walk through together okay?”

“Cool.”

The intimate crowd surrounded Minghao and Wonwoo handed him the matching glass of sparkling wine and he held it up as a small cheers.

Y/n peaked through the crowd and spotted Minnie and Mingyu to her right, still looking as loving as ever, Vernon and Jun to her left with an unrecognizable boy, who threw a small wave in her direction that she could only pass off as Seungkwan the only one she couldn’t place was Mimi.

“Hey guys. I just wanted to say thank you for coming tonight to the opening of my show. It’s been about a two year process to finally get through to this night. Many of you have been around much longer than that, so thank you for supporting me even when I was up late at night calling you upset about how it wasn’t going to work out. Vernon, Wonwoo, Seungkwan, and Mingyu, you guys truly were the only reason I didn’t jump ship many times from achieving this goal. It’s nice to see old faces like yours mixed into a group of new friends. So thank you, everyone, really. We’re going to take a peek through the gallery now, feel free to bring your drinks and grab some more along the way. And yeah, just enjoy yourselves. Thank you.”

The clapping dwindled down as the group followed Minghao through the journey he went through over the past two years starting from just a week ago up until the beginning.

Y/N stopped Seokmin to look at a very small white canvas decorated with various pastel water color paints mixed with an oil that looked almost the color of fresh blood.

“Do you know when I did that?”

“This?”

Minghaos voice spoke up behind them quietly, not wanting the room to echo as the group was admiring the work during their part one journey. Seokmin smiled down at his female friend and decided to take the opportunity to wander off on his own like any good wingman would do.

“Yeah.”

“Uh, no. Is this a trick question?”

“No it’s not, but it was that night I found you on your floor, looking at those pictures of you and your friends.”

“I- You got inspired by that? How?”

“Not sure I have time to explain it right now, but look at the title.”

‘About you’ was written on the plaque to the right side of the artwork.

“Wow. Thank you.”

“No thank you, I couldn’t have finished any of this without you actually.”

The art curator swooped Minghao away from your side moving the group into the second room, where the energy was colder, the lighting was turned down slightly, causing the fading colors the feel cold and dark and full of sadness especially coming from the front of the house that was bright and full of life.

y/n was on her own now, sitting near the back of the group losing her sight of all her comfort blankets that were her friends.

She spotted the red lip of Mimi directly across the room, also slipping to the back, trying to blend into the crowd as she looked around.

After spending a good ten minutes looking around the group was led through a vinyl curtain into a room full of dark red lights, the canvases on the wall now sunk to the floor of the room and scattered themselves alongside ripped and tattered papers on the concrete floors.

Something in y/n’s stomach had told her she should leave now, the growing anxiety of the light and coldness of the room, with near to no talking as the faint look of paint splatter sunk into her eyes on the walls almost like old blood.

She tried to turn around and make her exit through the same vinyl door when a hand came up to her wrist.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

“Oh, Mimi hi, shit you scared me. I actually don’t feel well. I was going to dip out for a second.”

“Aw, come on y/n you can’t leave Minghao now. Not before the big finale.”

“Right..”

“Be right back, I’ll find Seokmin for you.”

“Thank you.”

All of the sudden as Mimi walked away a projector screen hit the wall, various old videos shot on a cam recorder.

Y/n had recognized the faint pink colored walls, her own childhood room.

“Let’s go fucking crazy.”

The words came from lips that were set behind the camera only y/n knowing it was the sound of Mimi’s voice as she was being filmed sitting on the bed of her old room, a bottle of cheap vodka in her hands.

“Okay, y/n I want you to see how pretty you are. We can send this to Joshua as a birthday gift. Should I turn the lights off more?”

She watched herself as she nodded awkwardly giggling on top of the zebra sheets, her hands pushing the red bottle of liquor to her lips, dribbling the liquid down her chin, the sight of tears welling up in her round eyes.

“Y/nnie don’t be sad, nobody will ever find out we accidentally hurt anyone, okay? My dad said she’ll be okay, just a broken leg. Just let loose.”

The lights flickered off the screen straight into her soul pushing down the memories of Mimi stealing her dads car while intoxicated to go and buy more alcohol before this very moment played out.

Suddenly she saw red. All of this had been a set up to embarrass her. Another nail in her coffin.

Her eyes filled with tears as she watched Mimi turn the people in the room to sit and stare at her face. Watching the scene play on as Mimi told a very naive twenty year old girl to strip herself of her own clothes to impress the boy she liked and forget about the worst day of her life.

The people in the room sized her up and down, some turning back to the screen, others reading a small handout that was stuffed into a map of the museum while giggling at the journal entries she wrote about her once crush and the man she had fallen for now before she even made the connection of who he was to her all of those years ago.

Y/n’s legs felt like jello, yet something in her built up the strength to bolt through the vinyl curtain, her heels echoing through the white walls like bullets hitting a glass window.

She heard a voice cutting through the sound of her heels behind her calling out, but she decided she couldn’t stop to turn around and face anyone. It was a secret that couldn’t be shared, something that Mimi used as a final dagger to cut everyone out of her life the same way she cut the girl out of her own.

As she reached the fresh air of the front doors, the same cute bartender was sitting out on the curb smoking a cigarette looking concerned for y/n’s well being.

“Are you alright?”

“No.”

“Want a cigarette?”

“A ride maybe? If it’s not too much to ask. I dropped my phone somewhere, I have cash I can pay you. I just need to get out of here now.”

“I don’t need your money, it’s okay. Let me help you get a cab okay?”

“Thank you, really. What’s your name?”

“Rena. Yours?”

“Y/n”

Rena walked quickly with y/n to the outside cab pickup on the corner of the art museum, quickly hailing you a cab and shutting you tightly inside, leaving you with the last four cigarettes stuffed inside her metal case. As you drove off with a wink from her, meaning she had a feeling she’d see you again.

“55 Miles Avenue, please”

The driver sped through the night lights avoiding cars like it was a game. Pulling up outside the familiar front of Joshua’s building.

Basically throwing money at him and whispering a quick thank you, y/n ran her way up to his elevator, finally reaching his floor, and knocking heavily on the door.

In the few seconds he took to come unlock his apartment to her, she realized how desperate and deschevled she must look.

“Y/n? It’s still early, are you okay?”

“No.”

“Come in, come in.”

Her tears suddenly grew stronger, sinking down to his wooden floor, feeling his hands grab her shoulders and sink down with her.

“What happened?”

Words couldn’t form in her mouth correctly, she managed to spill a couple of sentences that made a way to fill him in.

“Fuck. Y/n come on, let’s get you a shower and some fresh clothes.”

Joshua’s arms picked the girl off the floor and led her into his black marble bathroom, which suddenly felt like an oasis to her.

The water ran hot, scorching her body of the sins and embarrassment she had just gone through, spending more time scrubbing away at her skin and hair, feeling like it would help if she rubbed her skin nearly raw.

Stepping out of the shower she grabbed the gray hoodie and soft sweatpants Joshua had laid out for her, taking her time to step into her clothes and walk out into her reality.

“I ordered you some food. Come on.”

As she finished eating in her daze, the boy to her left carefully rolled the thin paper over the green flower and lit the end, handing her a relief from her stress.

“Thank you.”

“Want to talk about it?”

“Not right now.”

“Okay. But im sorry I made you befriend her again, I should’ve known better y/n. I really thought she had changed.”

“Stop. Please, I really don’t want to talk about her right now.”

“Okay, just one last thing. Why do you think she did it?”

“I honestly have no idea.”

“But do you think Minghao had something to do with it I mean she basically ruined his whole night just for her own revenge. Seems weird that he-“

“Josh.”

“Okay. okay.”

Joshua and y/n sat in the haze of their shared joint, not talking until she finally had enough of a high to fall asleep next to him on the couch and chose to deal with her problems the next day.

bonus:

note/s: part one of y/n’s wild ride fr. i feel like yall all know we can trust seok/bernon/wonu/junhui for sure 😌✊🏻 but for everyone else the jury (me) is still out lmao. IK MY ASS USED THE WRONG YOUR ok thank u lets just chalk it up to seokmin being drunk and silly lmao <3 i kept telling myself this is too rushed but i also didn’t want to overwhelm and put more of the drama here so lol. def prob typos etc etc bc i was editing at night which i def shouldn’t do anymore lmao. ok ttyl ily.

tag list: @sun-daddy-yoriichi,@hipsdofangirl@kissesfrmwonwoo, @minhui896, @wonwooz1, porridgesblog,, jasssy051, @soonyoungblr, @saucegirlreads, @musingsofananxiouspotato, @young-adult-summer, @punkhazardlaw, @bibs-world@the-swageyama-tobiyolo@wonuulvr@woozixo @k-drama-adict

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celerydays · 9 months

Note

could you walk us through what notebooks & journals & pens /etc you use - they look so good!

I would be SO happy to, you have no idea!!

Alright, let's fucking GOOOO~

Starting off with my current "workhorse" pens - I have like *checks notes* 36 fountain pens and a bit too many inked up atm, but these are just the ones I'm currently reaching for or have inked up more often than not:

TWSBI Go (F): Kinda ugly! But also kinda cute! It's cheap and works great (I friggin love TWSBI pens tbh) and it has a little hole on the cap where you can attach a lanyard or charms, like I did! Makes it cuter imo and it's kind of my emotional support pen these days.

Opus88 Pocket (EF): This 2022 edition has a little Moon tarot design on the cap so it's pretty much the pen I use exclusively for my witchy/tarot practice journals! A lil bummed the cap doesn't post, especially since its a shorter pocket-sized pen, but not a deal breaker and I still love it.

Pilot Custom 823 (F): My grail pen that I've literally coveted for years and just recently acquired at the DC Pen Show this weekend! It's only been a day but I think it could potentially become my favorite pen. Ever.

Pilot Prera (CM): This is my third Prera lol. I just think they're great and really underrated pens! Also a recent acquisition from the DC Pen Show and this cursive M nib is suuuuper fun to write with.

Pilot Vanishing Point (EF): My favorite pen for planning! Super fine-tipped for writing task lists and schedules and love that it's so convenient/quick-draw with the click mechanism.

(I'm totally a Pilot pen ho, can you tell? asdjflaglsg)

Journals/Planners/Notebooks under cut–

Sterling Ink B6 Common Planner: For a good chunk of this year, I was in this planner because I honestly love the size and all the layouts. Super practical and flexible as a system. 10/10 would go back. I've used it to plan, as a reading journal, as a tarot log...

But I get the itch to move around so it's been sitting a little unused since like June, oop.

Leuchtturm A6: I started craving something tiny and minimal so I've been bullet journaling in this pocket notebook for the last month or two and I'm really enjoying it!

Standard-sized Tomoe River Paper notebook: This is pretty consistent in that I don't change up the system itself, but I'm in and out of it for memory keeping/scrapbook journaling! It's almost always a Tomoe River paper notebook of SOME kind that I usually buy in A5 size to go to FedEx and get it cut down to standard. Though I'm thinking of getting a blank Midori MD A5 to have cut down next time - I've been liking the freedom of blank pages for journaling instead of anything lined or gridded.

I really need to catch up with it tbh, but I love sitting in an explosion of printed photos, stickers, and washi and going ham with the pages.

(I do have a flip through of my January-March 2022 pages on YouTube)

Midori MD Cotton B6 Slim: I also have this sketchbook that sorta turned into a visual sketch diary of sorts. I fell off a while ago but want to get back into it because it's super fun to work in and to look back on!

Wide-sized Cosmo Air Light notebook & A5 Filofax Malden: These are my tarot/witchy journals. Grimoires I guess? One is for journaling and all my messier notes while the other is more for reference and ease of organization.

A5 Leuchtturm: I didn't know if I should include this guy, but I've been writing it in a lot recently so I guess I will lol. This is like truuuly a miscellaneous™ notebook.

I got this A5 notebook back in 2017 to use as my very first bullet journal, then found out that this size is personally waaaay too big for me to use as a bullet journal so I hopped off of it pretty quick. It now sits on my desk because since it's mostly blank I'll just pick it up to use it to write literally A N Y T H I N G.

Most recently, I wrote like 5 pages in one night on notes for a fanfiction piece I was working on (I'm not a writer, this fic is never gonna see the light of day by anyone but me lololol. Hyperfixation is so wild; I've put 80k+ words within just 10 days into it so far and it's been hella therapeutic.)

That's all, I think!?

It's funny because I actually have a NEW notebook arriving tomorrow that I'm going to try out as a bujo/commonplace/omni journal of sorts?? I might write an update post after I've set that up and see how I like it <3

#journal #journaling #bullet journal #memory keeping #notebooks #fountain pen #grimoire #sketchbook #commonplace book #tarot journal #cel journals #anon #ask #celerydays

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inthedayswhenlandswerefew · 1 year

Text

North To The Future [Chapter 6: Self Esteem]

The year is 1999. You are just beginning your veterinary practice in Juneau, Alaska. Aegon is a mysterious, troubled newcomer to town. You kind of hate him. You are also kind of obsessed with him. Falling for him might legitimately ruin your life…but can you help it? Oh, and there’s a serial killer on the loose known only as the Ice Fisher.

Chapter warnings: Language, alcoholism, addiction, murder, discussions of sex, mild violence, ominous foreshadowing.

Word count: 5.5k.

Link to chapter list (and all my writing): HERE.

Taglist: @elsolario @meadowofsinfulthoughts @ladylannisterxo @doingfondue @tclegane @quartzs-posts @liathelioness @aemcndtargaryen @thelittleswanao3 @burningcoffeetimetravel @b1gb3anz @hinata7346 @poohxlove @borikenlove @myspotofcraziness @travelingmypassion @graykageyama @skythighs @lauraneedstochill @darlingimafangirl @charenlie @thewew @eddies-bat-tattoos @minttea07 @joliettes @trifoliumviridi

Please let me know if you’d like to be added to the taglist! 💜

For the past two decades, there has been someone living just above your family’s heads—someone as real as any of you, someone with ideas and dreams and idiosyncratic jokes—waiting to be freed from that dusty and unspoken-of cardboard box. Yet in a sense, he was with you all along: a whisper in the walls, a ghost who only roams once everyone else is asleep, a shadow that nudges open doors and leaves cold pockets of air to be stumbled unsuspectingly into. Your mom makes chocolate chip cookies with the same recipe he taught her twenty-five years ago. You’ve always liked Queen’s A Night At The Opera because he used to dance with you around the living room while the album played; it was also the first cassette tape you bought when you started driving. He carved the little wooden bears on the shelf in the study, the umbrella stand by the front door, the salad servers your mom only uses on special occasions. You learn all of this and more as you read the journals of the man who gave you twenty-three chromosomes, pieces of your eyes, skin, hair, voice, blood, fingerprints.

Jesse doesn’t feel anything like a parent—your dad is your dad and always will be, nothing can change that—but he does feel like a friend, someone you’ve known for so long you can no longer unravel where their memories end and yours begin. You can picture things exactly as he describes them. You laugh at his sharp, sardonic humor. And you can feel, in some impossible and yet unmistakable way, mourning when he recedes for a while like low tide. He will make routine notes for weeks, months, and then disappear for just as long. There are gaps that swallow up summers, winters, Thanksgivings, Christmases, New Year’s Eves; there are black holes that your mom’s faith must have drowned in. Sometimes his entries are mere reminders: Deb’s birthday next week, car needs new transmission, agreed to anniversary trip to Anchorage, dinner w/ Dale on Thursday. He did not scrawl these on the kitchen calendar where they could be seen by his family or his friends. He did not want anyone to know how little he could trust himself to remember.

You have no one to share these revelations with. Your parents could not bear it. Your friends would not understand. You can’t even fathom trying to explain the journals to Trent, what they are, what they mean. Bewilderingly, the only person you can imagine sharing them with is Aegon. But you don’t talk to him anymore. You can’t talk to him anymore.

A fourth body is found, this time in Moose Lake: Brandon Knight, thirty-one, a hydrologist, married with a toddler and another baby on the way. The Juneau Police Department is increasingly desperate for tips. They reveal that footprints left in the vicinity of the crime scenes indicate that the killer might wear size 12 L.L.Bean boots, although it’s difficult to know for sure since park rangers, hikers, hunters, and ice fishers of the non-homicidal variety frequent the lakes as well. It hardly matters. Practically half the men in Juneau wear size 12 L.L.Bean boots.

November dissolves into December, the snow falls, the nights grow long and treacherous like fangs.

~~~~~~~~~~

“Babe, babe, can we get Godzilla?” Trent pleads. You’re standing in the middle of the Action aisle at Juneau’s sole Blockbuster. “Babe, can we please get Godzilla?!”

“Okay,” you concede, but with a condition. “Can we get The Mummy too?”

“Ohhhhh.” Trent grins suggestively. His arms snake around your waist. “Two movies, one night, huh? You don’t want to get rid of me.”

“Maybe I just really like The Mummy.” You’re half-joking, but that means you’re half-serious too. In truth, you aren’t sure exactly how you feel about Trent. Sometimes you think he’s sweet and supportive and refreshingly uncomplicated (that’s a polite way of saying not very bright), sometimes he annoys you with his boisterousness and his immaturity, sometimes he’s useful to have around when heavy objects need to be lifted, sometimes he’s just there. On balance, he is a relatively pleasant distraction. Trent has an apartment on the other side of town—a much nicer apartment than Aegon’s, though you try not to compare them, what a catastrophic error that would be—but you usually invite him to your parents’ house instead. They like Trent, they’ve known him your whole life…and you like the idea of your parents always being just a few rooms away, of having an eternal and effortless excuse to send Trent home when you decide he’s overstayed his welcome.

“Yes,” Trent agrees enthusiastically. “Godzilla and The Mummy.” He grabs the Godzilla VHS in the plain blue-and-white Blockbuster box from behind the display case: green, scaley, mindlessly reptilian, a large nuclear-blast red eye. You peek behind The Mummy’s display case. There’s nothing there. All the copies have been taken.

“No!” you groan in defeat.

“They’re all gone?” Trent checks the surrounding movies in case someone restocked The Mummy in the incorrect spot. “Damn, sorry babe. Guess your taste in movies is just too good. Someone else had the same idea.”

In the next aisle over, there is a shrill and familiar sound. It’s Kimmie giggling. You round the corner to find her and Aegon wrestling over a VHS box. It’s playful, it’s adorable, it’s honestly pretty nauseating.

“Oh, hi!” Kimmie cries when she spots you, grinning. She tries to yank the VHS out of Aegon’s grasp but fails. He’s wearing a green flannel shirt, light-wash Levi’s, his gifted parka, and black Converses (far from a size 12, you note). He has also frozen completely. He’s gawking at you and Trent, dismayed and speechless. You’re an unwelcome intrusion. You’re a nightmare he can’t wake up from.

“Hey, guys!” Trent says obliviously. “Sup?”

Kimmie points to the VHS. “I’m trying to convince Aegon to put that back and get Titanic instead.”

“You poor bastard,” Trent tells Aegon, smiling. “What is it?”

Now Aegon is determined not to look at you. He stares down at his Converses instead, kicking at the dull blue carpet, running his free hand through his messy white-blond hair. “The Mummy.”

“No way! That’s what we were searching for!” Trent turns to you. “You should fight him for it, babe. Arm wrestle or thumb war or something. Trial by combat. Pokémon card battle.”

“Rock paper scissors,” Kimmie suggests. “Or, better yet, you can just have it.”

“Do you want The Mummy?” Aegon asks you, holding up the VHS. Your eyes lock; it’s the first time you’ve spoken directly since Thanksgiving, the first time you’ve really seen each other. And it’s the most unnerving feeling, because he’s a stranger and yet so familiar: the deep oceanic blue of his irises, the pale slopes of his cheekbones, the way his hair is forever falling into his face. You think of how few times you ever got to touch him. You think of how Kimmie can touch him always, anywhere.

“No.”

“Seriously,” Aegon says. “You can have it.”

“Trent wants to watch Godzilla anyway,” you say, much more dismally than you intend to, and then quickly add: “I’m okay with that, it has Matthew Broderick, he’s a stud.”

“Just take the movie,” Aegon snaps, offering it, his outstretched arm bridging the gap between you.

Your voice turns sharp, cutting. “I couldn’t possibly deprive you of your ideal date night.”

“No, really, I can get Office Space instead. I love that movie.”

“I don’t want your pity VHS!” you explode.

“Well then I don’t want your pity parka!” He rips it off and throws it on the floor. You glare at each other across a laden silence, surrounded by Romance movies that you wouldn’t mind tossing into an open flame. Trent and Kimmie are dumbfounded. A Blockbuster employee peeps tentatively into the aisle and then scurries away.

“Aww,” Trent says sorrowfully, breaking the quiet like glass, like ice. “Are you guys not friends anymore? Are you actually fighting?”

“No,” you and Aegon say almost simultaneously. You grudgingly accept The Mummy. He puts the parka back on. You pretend everything is fine, badly, like a soon-to-be-divorced couple does in front of their children. Then Aegon grabs a copy of Titanic off the shelf and slings an arm around Kimmie; and if any part of her was suspicious, it evaporates into a rose-gold haze of triumph and infatuation. They mosey away together towards the Comedy aisle, presumably to locate Office Space.

Trent chuckles and, ever horse-like, flips his hair out of his eyes. “You two are definitely fighting.”

“No, we’re not.”

“Look, I get it. Aegon’s a mess. But he’s a very talented mess, so you’ll have to learn to tolerate him. You can’t run him out of Juneau. He’s Boat #27’s frontman. How would I replace him?”

“Resurrect Kurt Cobain,” you murmur bitterly.

“Huh?”

“Never mind.” And then you ask with curiosity that you wish you didn’t have: “When’s your band’s next performance?”

Trent beams, proud like a good father. “This Thursday.”

“And what’s the song selection?”

“Can’t tell you.”

“Seriously?”

“Seriously.”

“You are not loyal,” you say, climbing onto your tiptoes to link your hands around the back of his neck. Strands of his hair—mane?—catch between your fingers. You smile up at him, feeling very very little. Vanishingly little. Excruciatingly little. The irony of you calling him disloyal hits you with alarming force. “Why can’t you tell me?”

“Because I genuinely forgot the name of it. I’m learning the drum part before the lyrics. It’s something by The Offspring, I remember that. Aegon picked it, he usually picks the songs.”

“The Offspring…” Punk rock, angry, unpolished, chaotic. Yeah, that sounds like Aegon. “Interesting. I can’t wait.”

Trent plants a kiss on your forehead. When he touches you, you are never struck by his gentleness, his carefulness, any illusions of ethereal liberation. He’s just flesh. He’s just weight. “I can’t wait to get back to your house and watch Godzilla.”

You check out your movies at the front counter, adding a bag of popcorn and a box of Buncha Crunch. Through the Blockbuster’s windows, you watch Kimmie and Aegon walk out to her custom-painted pink Land Cruiser: illuminated by murky streetlights, cold wind in their hair, their fingers intertwined.

And an hour later, when you’re sitting on your bed in pajamas watching Godzilla and Trent tries out resting his palm on your thigh for the first time…you let him.

~~~~~~~~~~

“He’s a freak,” Kimmie says, blushing behind her Miller Lite. She’s watching Aegon as the band finishes setting up; she’s a little spellbound, a little shocked…and Kimmie is not easily shocked. “A total freak. Like every position imaginable.”

“Okay, thanks for sharing,” Heather replies, glancing anxiously at you. “Anyway—”

“Like, it’s unreal. Very enlightening. I did not know my legs could bend that way.”

“Kimmie, please,” you beg, flinching away from her. You ply yourself with apple-flavored Bacardi Breezers like antivenom. Dale has officially switched over the soundtrack from Shania Twain to holiday music. Wham!’s Last Christmas booms from the speakers.

“Boundaries, Kimmie,” Heather says. Joyce—who tragically miscalculated the number of pages left in her latest fantasy novel and has therefore resorted to purchasing a newspaper from the vending machine just outside Ursa Minor—shakes her head with disapproval but no surprise.

“I always tell you guys about my boyfriends!” Kimmie whines. “Always, always, going all the way back to kindergarten when I kissed that kid Jason under the monkey bars! And then Ms. Butler told my mom that if she didn’t get me under control I was going to end up pregnant by eighth grade. Yet here I am, proudly not impregnated.”

“And we’re all very relieved about that,” Joyce quips from behind her newspaper.

Kimmie appears to be sincerely distressed. “You’re the people I vent to, you’re the people I want to share things with!”

Heather raises her eyebrows, exasperated. “Yes, well, you don’t need to share everything.”

“He’s exactly what I needed,” Kimmie says, undaunted, gazing at Aegon again. “Nothing serious, nothing complicated, lots of orgasms. And now that my mind is more clear, I can figure out things with Brad. I think I might miss him. I’ve heard he’s super jealous, maybe I’ll call him in a few weeks. You know, once the Aegon situation runs its course.”

Because Kimmie’s life is just one long line of men waiting to get their turn to take her to dinners, movies, scenic hiking trails, Blockbusters, bedrooms. That’s what it’s always like for main characters, right? You don’t want a long line of men. You only want one. The wrong one. “Cool,” you mutter, little more than a whisper. You wonder if in the litany of details that Kimmie feels compelled to share she will mention the track marks on Aegon’s arms. Maybe he told her not to talk about them; maybe she didn’t notice them at all. They’re not really something that would fit into her worldview. They’re serious. They’re lethal.

Kimmie continues: “And thank God we’re compatible sexually because otherwise, he’s honestly kind of depressing. All he wants to do is drink and watch the X-Files. It’s soooo boring.”

“Wow,” Heather contributes tonelessly.

The band is almost ready. Like a gazelle, Kimmie skitters off to the bar to buy another Miller Lite. She’s wearing an extremely cute pink satin dress and matching heels. You can’t hate her. She’s myopic and frivolous and oftentimes frustrating, but she’s also one of your best friends. She has been for as long as you can remember. It’s hard to cut something like that out of you; it’s like excavating a vertebrae or a rib.

“You okay?” Heather asks sympathetically.

“I’m going to jump off a roof.”

“No, you aren’t.”

“Yes I am. I’m going to climb those steps and go up to the patio and jump off right now.”

“This bar is a single-story building. I think you’d live.”

Lyrics from The Distance come back like daylight, recurrent and inevitable: She’s hoping in time that her memories will fade. “Maybe I can hit my head hard enough to give myself amnesia.”

Heather pivots. “How are things with Trent?”

“It’s fine. Trent’s fine. Nothing more, nothing less.”

“You don’t feel the compulsion to regale me with completely disturbing and unnecessary details of your sex life? Not that I’m complaining. I really don’t want to know about my brother’s mattress skills. Or lack of mattress skills. I’m not sure which would be worse, honestly. Is he hung like a horse? He looks like he would be. Wait, don’t answer that. I don’t want to know.”

You drain your third Bacardi Breezer. “I can truthfully say that I have nothing to report.”

“You haven’t…?”

“Nope. Not even close.” You look over at Trent, who is warming up at his drumkit and banging blissfully on the toms. He waves, drumstick in hand. You raise your empty glass bottle in reply. Aegon notices this, narrows his deep blue eyes, glowers at you. He has certainly embraced the punk rock aesthetic: white T-shirt, black leather jacket and pants, combat boots, his hair gelled back off his forehead. He has a safety pin pierced through the lobe of his right ear. It does not look professionally done. “He never even tried anything with me,” you tell Heather. She knows you’re not talking about Trent anymore. “We kissed once. Literally once. And it wasn’t even a hot sloppy kiss, it was like…like…I don’t know how to describe it. Quiet. Calm. He never asked for more than that from me. And now he’s spending five nights a week twisting Kimmie into a goddamn Auntie Anne’s pretzel.”

“That doesn’t mean he never wanted you,” Heather says softly.

“Really? Because it definitely feels like he never wanted me. Not in the same way, at least.” Not as badly. Not as hungrily. Not enough to let me fix him.

Bar patrons are gathering around the band: Kimmie, Gary, Matt, more of Trent’s meatheaded friends, a sprinkling of University of Alaska students, dreary middle-aged locals. That will be me someday, you think. Sitting in this same place with these same people watching the same meaningless events transpire day after day after day until I’m six feet underground. Dale is observing the band from the bar, washing pint glasses.

“We should go up there too,” Joyce says, displaying an iota of interest that is bafflingly out of character. She folds up her newspaper and stuffs it inside her sensible messenger bag. You and Heather accompany her and join the audience; when Rob spies Joyce, he stops plucking his bass and smiles. She smiles back, rather shy and secretive.

“Fascinating,” Heather says, and Joyce elbows her in the side. “Ow!”

Aegon takes one last swig of his rum and Coke and then taps the mic. “Test, test.” He sways drunkenly. His eyes scan the room, sharpening when they pass over you. He’s more jagged and angular with his hair slicked back; he looks ready for a fight. Kimmie squeals and claps. There are more applause from the crowd. You and Heather cheer for Trent. Aegon roll his eyes, so quickly most people would miss it. “Hi, I’m Aegon, and we are Boat #27. Tonight we’ll be performing one of my favorite songs. It’s called Self Esteem, a synonym for self-respect or dignity, which are things that certain people present this evening could use more of.”

“Oh, burn!” Trent says. He plays a ba dum tss on his drumkit, eliciting laughter. He is entirely unaware that Aegon is looking at you. No one else seems aware of it aside from Heather and Joyce.

“Fight, fight, fight!” Matt shouts. More tipsy laughter, more clinking glasses. Kimmie whoops and jumps up and down in her pink heels. When the band starts playing, she whips out a lighter from her purse and waves it around in the air. Rob is more animated than usual; he’s enjoying the feisty bassline. You try to keep your eyes on Trent—who is flipping his hair around more or less constantly, ready to run the Kentucky Derby—but they wander back to Aegon. He’s strumming his jade green electric guitar frenetically. He’s more than just channeling the requisite angst and aggression of punk rock. He’s pissed, he’s furious.

Aegon half-sings, half-screams the post-chorus, glaring right at you: “When she’s saying, oh, that she wants only me, then I wonder why she sleeps with my friends!”

“Oh, he’s dead,” Heather growls.

“When she’s saying, oh, that I’m like a disease, then I wonder how much more I can spend…”

You flee to the bar to get another apple-flavored Bacardi Breezer. They don’t even taste that great; you wish you didn’t crave them. “You okay, kid?” Dale asks, peering down at you from beneath bushy eyebrows. He sets another glass bottle on the counter and pops off the lid.

“I’m fantastic.”

“Not impressed with the talent of our local rock band?”

“Not impressed with one of them in particular.”

Dale chuckles, content to stay out of the drama, and ambles away to restock the pint glasses. You gather up courage like roses pulled from a garden thick with thorns. When Boat #27 has finished their song and accepted high-fives and back slaps from the audience, you go to confront Aegon. He sees you and whirls towards the front door, plotting his escape. Heather is standing there with her arms crossed, face fearsome. Aegon bolts up the staircase that leads to the rooftop patio. You follow after him, rage and hot blood pounding in your ears. You sprint out onto the snow-covered roof and slam the door behind you. Aegon leans unsteadily over the side of the building, contemplates jumping, thinks better of it.

“What’s wrong with you?!” you shout at him, your words turning to fog in the air. It’s freezing outside, and neither of you have your parkas. The sky is dark, clouded, starless. The full moon is a blur of dim silver light.

“Nothing, I’m amazing, I’m having the best two weeks of my life, obviously.”

“Why would you do that?” you demand. You’re trembling all over, and not just from the cold.

He shrugs, infuriatingly flippant. He shoves his hands into the pockets of his leather jacket. “Do what?”

“The song, Aegon, why would you harass me with that song?! You know, the one about me being such a slut despite the fact that you’re literally sleeping with my friend—”

“Who says the song was my idea?”

“Oh, shut up! I know you picked it. Trent told me you almost always pick the songs.”

He sighs dramatically, cynically. “Well, if Trent told you…”

“Why are you suddenly so obsessed with Trent?!”

“I’m not obsessed, I’m just understandably a little confused because you were so adamant that you didn’t like him romantically and that he wasn’t your type—”

“He’s not!”

“—And then the second I’m out of the picture you’re, like, all over him, all the time, and you’re here together, and you’re inviting him to your house, and you’re showing him off to your parents who from what I’ve heard freaking adore him, and you’re having these cute little movie date nights, and he’s calling you babe, and, oh by the way, I hope you enjoyed fucking while watching The Mummy, that was my congratulations gift to you both, you’re welcome, thanks for ruining that movie for me forever.”

“I haven’t fucked Trent!” you yell at Aegon.

“What?” He blinks a few times, letting it sink in. “Really?”

“Really.”

“Wait, wait, wait.” He looks like he’s trying to do math in his head; he looks like he’s realizing that he made a grave miscalculation. “You and Trent…you’re not…like…you’re not serious?”

“Nowhere close to it.”

“…Why?”

“Because I don’t like him enough.” And then you add, because you feel like you should: “Yet.”

“Oh.” Aegon is stunned; but more than that, you think, he is pleased.

“But I guess you like Kimmie plenty.”

“Oh,” he says again, less pleased this time. He stares down at his combat boots and stomps on icy clumps of snow, avoiding your eyes. His mouth twists into an odd, introspective frown. “Yeah, Kimmie’s fine. She’s fun. She’s…she’s more similar to my usual type.”

“Wonderful,” you pitch at him. “Great. I’m super happy for you.”

“Well you don’t have to be a bitch—”

“And guess what? Even if I was sleeping with Trent, that’s not something you get to have an opinion about. Because you spend your entire life crawling from one random girl’s bed to the next, so you’re not exactly Mother fucking Teresa and I’m using every shred of my self-control to not hold that against you. I think the absolute least you can do in return is refrain from trying to publicly humiliate me.”

He nods, chewing his lower lip. He waits a while before he replies, collecting his thoughts, slowing his breathing. “You’re right. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that, you didn’t deserve it, I’m sorry.”

“I sort of accept your apology.”

The wind roars, clawing cruelly through your hair. It even tears a few strands of Aegon’s loose. He looks at you, all over, starting with your boots. When he gets to your face, he turns away. “It’s a compliment, you know.”

“How is you screaming at me and calling me a slut a compliment?”

“Forget it.”

“You still owe me $300 for fixing your dog.”

“Okay! I’ll sell a kidney!” He storms by you and disappears back inside Ursa Minor.

Downstairs, Heather is pacing the floor and eagerly waiting for you to return. Back at the booth, Joyce is deep in conversation with Rob. Trent is sitting at the bar and chatting with Dale about his bygone days in the Forest Service. And for a second, it feels like you’re seeing double, that Dale is just Trent in twenty or thirty years: brawny, rugged, straightforward, with his glory days long behind him and no thoughts for the world outside Juneau. There’s a jolting feeling, like hitting the brakes so hard the line of the seatbelt leaves a bruise. I’m trapped here. I really, really am.

“Oh, hallelujah,” Heather says. “I was about to come up there. I was worried the Greek boy had strangled you and was dragging your lifeless body into the wilderness.”

You shake your head, distracted. “He wouldn’t hurt me.”

“Maybe not physically.”

You shouldn’t have reminded him about the money; now you regret that. It was low, it was motivated by spite. You don’t really care about the money. You don’t want to deprive Aegon or Sunfyre of anything. “I think I need a change of scenery.”

“Want to walk over to Taco Bell?”

“I was thinking more broadly, but that will work for now. Should I invite Trent?”

“I mean, yeah, obviously,” Heather says. “He’s sort of your boyfriend. Right?”

Right? You suppose he is. You fetch Trent from the bar. Heather collects Joyce and Rob from the booth. Then Kimmie trots over to the amassing expedition, her heels clicking on the hardwood floor, her crimped hair beginning to fall flat, a fresh Miller Lite in hand.

“Want to go to Taco Bell with us?” you ask her. “I know it’s not your favorite, but I figured it would be rude not to invite you. You could probably bring your beer. I don’t think the employees get paid enough to try to stop you.”

“Ugh. Yeah, I guess I’ll go if everyone else is.” She spins around and shouts to Aegon, who is guzzling down another rum and Coke: “Hey, babe, want to go to Taco Bell?”

“Um,” Aegon begins. You glare at him. Joyce glares at him. Heather really glares at him.

“Yeah, totally, come with us!” Rob says, shattering the awkward lull.

“Bro, you have to come to Taco Bell!” Trent agrees from where he stands behind you. And then he squeezes your shoulders; be nice, he means. His hands are so large, so powerful. He clamps down on your flesh more roughly than he aims to, maybe even hard enough to bruise. You have to smother a reflex to step away from him. A shudder rocks down your spine.

Where did THAT come from?

Aegon sees this. It’s only an instant, but it seems to stretch on forever: he studies you, something moving under the blue of his eyes, wreckage beneath waves, shadows behind frosted glass. “I’ll go.”

“Yay!” Kimmie trills, joyful and tipsy, hobbling over to wrap him in a blundering hug.

The seven of you bundle up in your parkas, hats, and mittens and venture over to Taco Bell. You give Trent your order and then go with Joyce and Kimmie to shove some of the tables together and furnish them with plentiful napkins, plastic forks, straws, and packs of hot sauce.

You can hear Trent up at the counter: “Hi, can I get six steak tacos, a Nachos Supreme, a Gordita…uh…oh yeah, two large Mountain Dews, and…uhhhh…I think that’s it.”

“You want Cinnamon Twists,” Aegon tells him quietly.

“Oh yeah! Thanks, bro. I totally forgot. And two orders of Cinnamon Twists.” He pulls his wallet out of his back pocket to pay. Aegon starts ordering next. Heather is still glaring at him.

It takes all three Taco Bell employees to bring the trays of food out to the rearranged tables. You’re sitting next to Trent, of course, with Heather on your right. Aegon and Kimmie are directly across from you; Kimmie has indeed smuggled her Miller Lite into the Taco Bell. Rob is merrily eating his way through a small mountain of 7-Layer Burritos. Joyce has laid her newspaper flat on the table and is reading the Entertainment section while taking occasional, dainty nibbles of a Fiesta Taco Salad.

“Why don’t you guys have a fourth band member?” Heather says as she bites into a quesadilla. “Who am I supposed to enjoy a sizzling, doomed romance with?”

“Gary is single,” Kimmie offers.

“I can’t fuck Gary. He looks like Paul Giamatti.”

“Babe, babe!” Trent complains to you. “Stop hogging all the nacho cheese!”

“Sorry,” you say. You abandon the nachos and focus on your Cinnamon Twists instead. Aegon sighs moodily, looking around the Taco Bell dining room for something to occupy himself with. The last time the two of you were here, you were reading each other’s palms; he was telling you that you wanted him so badly it was eating you alive. It still is, you realize with horror. Oh my god, when will this end? How does this end?

Livin’ La Vida Loca comes on the Taco Bell speakers. “Hey, it’s Ricky Martin!” Trent announces cheerfully. “Just like your posters, babe.” He points to you. “She has, no lie, probably eight different Ricky Martin posters on her bedroom wall. It’s an addiction.”

Rob grins. “Yeah, that’s probably who she’s really thinking about every time you come over.”

Trent laughs, polishing off the Nachos Supreme. Kimmie tells everyone about how you used to cover your high school notebooks with celebrity photos cut out of magazines: Prince, Tom Cruise, Jon Bon Jovi, Cyndi Lauper, George Michael, Madonna, Sigourney Weaver, Princess Diana. More laughter, pure-intentioned yet unwittingly cruel. Aegon is the only one who doesn’t join in.

“It wasn’t about them,” you object. “It was about something, anything, beyond Alaska. It was about having some connection the outside world.”

“And look where you ended up,” Kimmie says with a bubbly, tipsy smile. “Back where you belong, with all your best friends. And we’ll do everything together. We’ll be at each other’s weddings, our babies will grow up together, one day we’ll be those old people at Ursa Minor yapping about the good old days.”

Trent beams and rests an arm across the back of your chair. Aegon sighs again. Joyce buries her face behind her newspaper. The front-page article is about how Microsoft has just hit a market capitalization of over $600 billion and is therefore the most valuable company in human history.

“Hey,” Aegon says suddenly, reaching across the table. “Can I have that?”

Joyce is confused. “What, the newspaper?”

“Just the front page. Yeah, that one. Thanks.” He takes it and loudly crumbles it into a ball. “Anyone got a lighter?”

“Um…” Kimmie roots around in her purse and produces one. She flicks it to life, the pink glitter on her fingernails sparkling. Aegon holds the paper ball over the flame to ignite it. Once it catches, he sets it on the table and watches it burn.

A Taco Bell employee, maybe seventeen years old, tentatively approaches. “Sir, you can’t start fires in here.”

Aegon picks up his large Mountain Dew and—making unflinching eye contact with the employee—dumps the entire cup onto the charred remnants of the newspaper page, extinguishing the blaze.

“Thanks,” the employee mumbles before retreating back behind the counter.

Everyone gapes at Aegon, mystified…everyone except Trent. He’s busy unwrapping his six tacos. He takes a bite of one and then lobs it away. “Goddammit, these are chicken, not steak! Didn’t I say steak?!” He brings his fist down on the corner of the table. The whole edge snaps off, a section of laminate about six by three inches. You don’t realize that you’ve yelped out loud until your six companions whirl to look at you.

The person you look at, strangely enough, is Aegon. There is no anger on his face, no annoyance; you could almost forget that Thanksgiving ever happened. You’re the only two people in the room, in the world. It’s an infinite second in which you understand each other perfectly. The expression on his face is not just shock, not just revulsion…it’s fear. And then he swallows it: whatever he’s thinking, whatever he’s feeling. With effort, he pulls his eyes—wide and darting, rattling with panic—down to the damaged table. He covers his mouth with both hands.

“Oh shit.” Trent chuckles nervously. “I’m sorry, guys.”

“Jesus Christ, you’re the Hulk,” Rob jokes, his voice shaky.

“We’re definitely going to get banned from Taco Bell,” Heather moans, rubbing her temples; and only then does everyone truly laugh.

Once you’ve all finished eating—and Trent has given his most profound apology to the three wretched employees of the Taco Bell, grim like Victorian orphans—you walk back to Ursa Minor’s parking lot together. Trent has one arm tight around you. Aegon keeps glancing at you like he wants to say something; you can see him out of the corner of your eye. You are careful not to look at him again. You don’t want Trent to notice. You don’t want him to catch on to what has already happened, what you undeniably want more of.

“Watch out for the ice,” Heather warns everyone, a true mom friend.

“I’m going to break my neck,” Kimmie says, wobbling in her pink heels, clutching Aegon’s forearm. “I’ll just try to step in Trent’s footprints. I’ll follow them all the way to the bar. They’re big enough.”

Trent grins at her, then announces smugly: “Size 12.”

#aegon x you #aegon targaryen x reader #aegon ii targaryen #aegon targaryen #aegon ii #aegon targaryen x you #aegon targaryen ii x reader #aegon targaryen ii #aegon x y/n #aegon x reader

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sassydiamondgrl · 4 months

Text

Giving yourself peace🎀

Living at peace is one of the most enjoyable lifestyles ! When you give yourself the time to be alone and really self reflect, you find yourself being more productive, a better mood, and just relaxation. Don’t know where to start? Let me guide you!

Black Barbie’s tips for living at peace🎀

1. Block anyone that you don’t like/ have issues with or unfollow any account that brings you the wrong energy/mindset.

Once you stop associating with someone, why would you want to keep their number? Or even their social media. That should be an immediate no. For all you know, they could be stalking your page just to find something to use against you! Blocked & deleted. Also unfollow any toxic accounts on platforms. (Instagram, Tiktok, X) etc. Once you start finding peace, you wanna watch videos or listen to advice that is actually useful and will help you in the long run. Follow motivation accounts, iconic quotes, even pinterest can bring you peace just with their visualization.

2. Avoid arguing and drama!

Some may feel the need to argue or step up as soon as someone says something about them & charge. Yes we all might have that feeling (I get it too sometimes) but once you become cool, calm, & collected, (the 3 C’s!) you are unstoppable! Without a reaction people will tell that you don’t care about what they have to say about you because you already know your worth as a pretty girl. So ignoring can go a good way. However, if you find it hard to ignore, just tell that someone (or group of people) that you don’t care & don’t say anything more. If you do need to control your anger when stuff like this happens, listening to meditation videos & music really helps. Most importantly, STAY OUTTA DRAMA. Once you develop this habit, you don’t have to worry about who to defend or even getting yourself involved in a situation that has nothing to do with you, you can get yourself in trouble. If someone is constantly bringing you into drama, consider distancing yourself from them.

3. Drop any fake friends

This kind of refers to step 1. but please drop fake friends! These people just come into your life to make you miserable and look down on yourself. I have had my fair share of fake friends and it’s not pretty. It can even be guy friends, not just jealous envious girls. Sometimes it could be hard to identify who is a fake friend in your life but if you connect the dots, you may have one. Here are signs to watch out for:

• Talks bad about you “jokingly”

• Doesn’t compliment your success/your pics

• Takes it to heart when you have something that they don’t

• Never defends your name

• Doesn’t invite you anywhere

• Uses you (for $$, talking to a guy, schoolwork) etc.

• Always comes to you asking for advice (you end up feeling used)

Of course there could be more signs but just please watch out for them & if they are fake drop them immediately. Once you do, you won’t regret it. Instead surround yourself with more positive friends.

4. Spending time off your phone

(ofc don’t throw out your phone like serena, lol you’re gonna need it sooner or later)

When you spend less time on your phone you won’t believe the things you could get done.

• Studying

• Everything showers

• Cleaning

• Reading

• Baking/ cooking

• Putting outfits together

• Spending time with family & friends

• Working out

5. Writing in a diary/journal

At the end of the day, I just love to write down what i’m feeling and my plans for the next days ahead in my comfy pjs and pink pen (or my notes app) it relaxes me & also helps when i have nobody to talk to about how im feeling because im naturally shy (trying to break this habit lol). But when i do this i always feel 10x better & sometimes i listen to good music too.

But I hope you guys loved reading this helpful advice on how to live at peace!

xoxo, Black Barbie💋

#itgirl tips #it girl #divine feminine #pink aesthetic #becoming that girl #be that girl #self concept #self care #pretty girls #aura

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commaclear · 4 months

Note

Holy crap???????

I very recently started reading (most?) of the stories you have wrote on Ao3 and I'm in love. Marry me?? I'll give you a plastic spider ring I got for 25 cents.

Anyways, I aspire to be an author and was mostly wanting to know, how do you continue??

I have so many little ideas that float in my mind and I don't know how to keep writing after getting through one paragraph.

-Turtle-shell anon.

Oh dear, unfortunately I'm sworn to only marry Danny Devito...

Okay, I've got a lot to say abt this apparently. I was originally just gonna write some quick tips and it somehow turned into a full essay lol

#5 is my top suggestion for anyone who's feeling uninspired or stuck. Stories are driven by their characters, so let them lead the way!

1. Write your ideas down as soon as you have them

I've got about five or six tiny notebooks stowed away in different places (purse, desk, bedside table, etc.), and as soon as I have any kind of story idea, I start writing it down as soon as I can, otherwise I tend to lose it or lose my enthusiasm abt it, and it's harder to keep steam later on. I do this with ideas for future stories, ideas for dialogue five chapters from now, random descriptions of scenes, just literally anything that pops into my head.

Like dream journaling makes your dreams more vivid, the more you write down your ideas, the more ideas you'll start having! It's like unclogging a dam.

Also, physical writing is always better for me than typing when I get stuck because kinetic movement engages the brain more, so I have a few full size journals too to write longer ideas in.

2. Start stories even if you know you won't finish them

Writing is like a muscle. The more you use it, the more stamina you build up. So starting on stories, even if you don't know where you're going or know you won't finish is still productive because you're exercising that muscle and making it stronger. And who knows? Maybe you'll come back years later and finish this story brilliantly!

3. Download WriteorDie2

Write or Die is a horrific torture device for writers, but it is genuinely helpful for me to power through pointless writer's block or procrastination stints. Even when I feel completely uninspired, suddenly I find I'm full of ideas when threatened with screeching violin spiders.

4. Get a hype man

A big reason writers lose steam on projects is you start listening too much to the internal critic, and you end up hating your own project when you've barely even started. The best way to combat this is to get a non-writer friend to read your stuff and tell you everything they like about it. Ask them to say specific things they liked, not just vague "Yeah, it's good!" because specific positive feedback is always more encouraging than generic platitudes.

5. Do free form character PoV word-dumps

Get out a journal. Set a seven-minute timer and start writing in the voice of your main character (or whatever character is most relevant), like they're making a diary entry or giving a soliloquy. Your pencil cannot stop moving until the timer ends. Just keep writing and ignore any spelling or grammar mistakes.

Have your character dump out all their thoughts and feelings and insecurities, have them rant and cry, have them giggle and blush and kick their feet, or maybe they're still masking their feelings and trying to be strong. Just write in their voice, and you'll be surprised by what they have to say.

6. Explain your story to a rubber ducky

If you're stuck in a plot and don't know where to go, explain your whole plot to a rubber ducky. Make sure you go into all the intricacies and details, explain all the side characters and background lore, tell that ducky where you want your story to go next and why you're stuck.

8 times out of 10, simply talking out loud through your plot will get you thinking differently, and you'll unstick yourself. And it doesn't have to be a rubber ducky; it can be literally anything with a face, but trust me, it is important that is has a face, and you need to be talking out loud, even if it's just a whisper.

#anons my beloved #comma gives advice #writing advice

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spooky-luvur · 2 years

Text

Oh, Arthur

_______________

“How much we got?”

“Less than a rabbit.”

“The hells that mean?”

“It means, we need somethin’ else or we’ll have to start eatin’ each other!”

Pearson laughs, and (M/n) starts too as well but a sharp look from Miss Grimshaw quickly turns it into a cough.

He clears his throat, “someone ‘otta go out and hunt. I’ll do it.”

A heavy hand lays itself on the man’s shoulder, and he turns his head to meet his husbands disapproving look.

“Naw, you ain’t. There ain’t a rabbit or a deer left in this forest. I’ll go to town and buy somethin’ from the butcher.”

(M/n) snorts and pats Arthurs hand, “Thought you was against wastin’ money.”

“It ain’t wasting if it means we eat.”

“It’s wastin’ if I can just go out a few extra miles and bring back a deer or two, free of charge,” (M/n) waves his hand at the tree line.

“That’ll take days.”

“I’ve been gone longer.”

Arthur sighs and rubs a hand down his face. His husband, bless him, is very stubborn. And very eager to help his family. Even if that means running straight into gunfire to grab a sack of vegetables (yes that actually happened. Arthur wouldn’t even let him go to town for days after that).

But he supposed (M/n) was right. Not that he could have said no to him in the first place, he admits that taking a few days to bring back food that’ll last them weeks would be worth it. Especially if it’s still in this region, and not out in the deserts of New Austin or something else real far away.

He would do the same. He has done the same. Plenty of times.

So, looking into his expectant eyes, Arthur nods. “Okay.”

It’s quiet, showing he doesn’t like the idea of (M/n) going into potentially dangerous territory. He didn’t know what he would do if he lost the love of his life to a rival gang.

By god, Colm would have hell to pay.

“Great. I’ll talk to Dutch about it. Meet me by the horses in a few.” (M/n) pats Arthur’s chest before tipping his hat at Grimshaw and starting off in the direction of Dutch’s tent.

———

“I don’ know, darlin’. What if there’s a bear?”

(M/n) rolls his eyes but smiles as he fastens his horses saddle.

“Then I’ll pretend I’m you. All big and mean and scary.” He moves his hands to the straps over Arthur’s shoulders, lightly tugging at them. The man huffs softly.

“I ain’t that scary.”

“No,” he takes his face in his hands and presses a kiss to his bearded cheek, “you ain’t.” He pulls back and looks into Arthur’s sea-green eyes. He loves those darn eyes.

“I love you, Mr. Morgan. I’ll be back before you know it. Keep the bed warm for me.”

Arthur’s eyes soften as he pulls his husband close. He brings the hand with the gold wedding band up to his lips, kissing the warm metal.

“Of course, Mr. Morgan.”

——

Everyone in the camp is buzzed with excitement; the thought of fresh, warm deer (or other) meat is enough to make them push through a day without eating. The second day is a bit harder, especially on little Jack, but Charles finds some berries for the boy to have.

Arthur sits on his cot as he thumbs through his journal. His fingers brush over the newest page, from yesterday.

(M/n) has gone several miles out to hunt. I do not like him being out in a foreign forest for that long. But, being the stubborn fool he is, did not let anyone have second thoughts on the matter. He would not have listened to them anyway

In the corner of the page is a soft doodle of the man’s hat. Arthur brushes over it, and the edges smudge just a bit. He sighs and stands, shutting the book.

“Arthur,”

the man pauses in his tracks.

“if you are coming to tell me how worried you are once again, son, I must ask you to bring your worries to someone like Hosea.”

“Dutch, I just-“ Arthur wipes his hand on his arm, though it’s clean. “I just-“

Dutch sighs and sets down the antique he was examining. He approaches Arthur and sets a hand on the man’s shoulder.

“Arthur. Your husband, my brother, is a very capable man.”

“I know that, Dutch.”

“So you must have faith in him that he will return soon and safe. (M/n) wouldn’t let anything happen to himself.”

But Arthur knows Dutch. He sees the creases in the man’s forehead, the pinch in his face. He’s worried too.

“It’s only been a day and a half, Arthur. Give him some more time. He would ask it of you as well, I’m sure.”

He’s right. (M/n) would.

He nods. “Alright. Couple more days.”

Dutch pats him on the back. “Good man.”

———

They gave it a couple more days. And then a few more. And when it reached four days of (M/n) being gone, Dutch was the one to come to Arthur and tell him he had sent Charles out to see if he could find him.

“Just let me-“

Dutch holds his hands up before he can finish.

“Arthur, I know you want to go out and look for him but right now I need you here. Charles is the best tracker we’ve got. If (M/n) is in the area, he will be found- I can promise you that.”

Javier tugs on Arthur’s arm.

“C’mon compadre, come sit by the fire.”

Arthur relents and follows him, taking his hat off as he sits on the log and runs a hand through his hair. It’s silent for a few moments before Bills scoffs, a scowl on his face.

“There ain’t no way the man’s gotten himself in trouble. I’ve seen him wrestle a cougar!”

“You sure it wasn’t just a really big cat?” Javier snickers, getting a mean look from Bill.

“Ain’t that what a cougar is?” Arthur raises a brow.

“I reckon he’s in a ditch with a hole in his head.”

The chatter stops and all attention turns to the man whittling a hunk of wood at the end of the log. Micah glances up at Arthur and smirks, spreading his arms wide.

“Might want to get on your horse and go get some food, cowpoke.”

Arthur’s jaw clenches, but he can’t hardly do anything about Micah at the moment.

But Grimshaw can, given she grabs the blond man by the back of the coat and drags him away from the fire, spitting curses at him all the while.

Arthur sighs and Javier sends him a sympathetic nod.

“He’ll be back. He always comes back.”

———

Javier’s words run through Arthur’s head even three months later as he stands in the forest a long ways away from camp, rifle clutched in his trembling hands.

His husbands sweet golden horse, Lasso, lays dead at his feet. The once shiny coat is matted and almost brown with dirt and mud.

And caked in dry blood. It covers the entire side of the horse, along with some of its rear. There’s a smear on its neck that Arthur can make out as a hand.

Charles slowly stands from his crouched position by the poor creature. He rubs his face after wiping his hands off.

“Arthur-“

“It his?”

Charles stands as still as possible, keeping his eyes on the rifle in the other man’s hands.

“The horse starved, Arthur. The blood is (M/n)‘s.”

Arthur can’t even nod. His shoulders shake after a moment, and his grip loosens enough for Charles to carefully take the gun from him, hanging it over his own shoulder.

Arthur heaves, bending over and bracing himself against a nearby tree.

Charles shakes his head before taking a step away to search the nearby area for a body.

Arthur sags against the tree, hand covering his eyes, heavy breaths making his chest hurt.

The presence of the horse covered in his husbands blood is heavy, and even thinking about it drains him so much that he stumbles when he straightens back up.

Arthur doesn’t know how long he stands there against the tree, but eventually Charles returns. He’s silent, standing there a moment before meeting Arthur’s wet eyes.

“I didn’t find him.”

He doesn’t dare reassure Arthur that (M/n) might be alive. He wouldn’t ever forgive himself if he gave his friend that kind of hope if it turned out to be false.

Charles closes his eyes as Arthur begins to sob.

———

He has not had to lay in a cold bed in a long time.

Usually, (M/n) would make sure the blankets are up to their chins on cold nights, and around their ankles on hot ones. Either way, Arthur would still be warm because of him.

But now, although it’s humid, Arthur feels the chilly absence of him. And not just in the bed. It’s apparent around the camp, too.

Arthur had not seen Dutch in anything but simple pants and his union suit in weeks. His hair was hardly slicked back, and instead was tousled from him constantly running his hands through it. He spends most of his time in his tent, now. Never enjoying a moment or two on the edge of the camp enjoying the view.

Arthur isn’t any better. If anything, he’s worse.

He doesn’t eat unless one of the ladies begs him to. Even then, he can’t hardly keep anything down. He’s lost so much weight that he feels ashamed of it. (M/n) loved his belly, and now if he presses lightly he can feel his ribs.

He only “shaves” by chopping a few inches off his hair and beard every several weeks. It gets itchy, but he can’t muster up enough energy to actually do anything about it.

He’s awful.

And he doesn’t know how much longer he can keep doing this without him.

———

-nine months later-

“Mornin’ Arthur.”

“Mornin’ John.”

John yawns, the scars on his face stretching with the movement, and pours himself a cup of coffee.

“Dutch call you over yet?”

Arthur rubs his chin. “Naw. What’s he want?”

“Somethin’ about a map Javier found,” he takes a swig of the bitter drink, “was too damn tired to listen to much of anything else.”

After a few more minutes of standing there by the pot, Dutch calls Arthur over to his tent. The man is bent over the table, a dirty parchment spread out on it.

“Map?” Arthur asks.

Dutch nods, making another mark on it with an ink pen.

“Damn O’Driscoll’s slipped and left it behind. It marks their hideouts, Arthur. Their safe houses. Do you understand the edge this could give us?”

Arthur nods smoothly. “Sure. We goin’ to take a look?”

“Yes. You and John will go to this one,” he taps a place on the map as Arthur leans over to look, “outside of Strawberry.”

Dutch, as most of the rest of the gang, had eventually kind of recovered from the death of (M/n).

Kind of, because he had gotten harder on everyone. More tired, and less willing to deal with things he would have put up with before his brother had disappeared. But he still loves the gang, even if he doesn’t express it as much as he used to.

It had been a year, after all.

The two men ride silently beside one another. They had been riding all day, and there was nothing else to talk about at the moment, so they somehow settled with silence.

Arthur wasn’t too fond of it.

He’s looking down at his hands which are loosely holding onto the horses reigns. His thumb rubs over the bare spot on his ring finger.

After a while, it had become far too painful to look down at his hands so many times a day for so many things and see the golden band. He had wrapped it in a soft cloth and tucked it into a small pocket in his satchel. He hasn’t even looked at it since.

They’re coming up to the shack as the sun is coming down, taking its glow with it. John lights a torch after he gets down off his horse, since the moon was covered by the tall trees and provided little to no light. He holds it a ways in front of him, and if the two men squint, they can make out a couple guards casually sitting on crates in the front yard. Rifles are propped up against the sides.

“Alright. I’ll go up, distract ‘em. Then you can come in and take ‘em out quick.”

Arthur snorts quietly. “Distract ‘em how? With your naturally good looks?”

“Please,” John scoffs. “I’m not (M/n).”

Arthur had time to heal, of course. Had time to warm the bed by himself again, to relearn how to wrap his hands after he messes them up too bad, to stop grabbing two cups instead of one out of habit.

But it stings when he still thinks about it. About him. Brings tears to his eyes more often then not, but he can see the regret on Johns face quicker than they can spring up and begin blurring his vision. Neither of the two say anything for a moment before John nods and straightens up. He heads into the clearing without another word.

Arthur rubs the back of his neck, sighing deeply. Then he grabs his gun and follows him.

The two guards are taken out quickly enough, thanks to John blabbering off a distracting story about losing his gimpy horse. ‘Silver as gold, you see him?’ ‘Um-‘

The ruckus causes the front door to bust open, a few more guards spilling out. John’s hat is shot off his head but that’s as close as either of them get to having an injury.

Sighing, Arthur keeps his pistol in his hand and pushes open the broken door, peering inside. All he can see from this angle is a dirty table with trash on it, so he pushes it open all the way and steps inside. John grabs his hat, grumbling about the hole in it, and takes the torch he had stuck in the ground before the shooting started.

“I’ll check up,” he nods toward the rafters and hands Arthur the torch before grabbing onto the latter, hoisting himself up.

Meanwhile, Arthur examines the room he’s in. It’s single, given that it’s only a small shack, and has nothing but a torn cot in the corner and a table with some chairs. He wipes a finger on the table and it comes back caked in dust which he wipes off on his pants. He takes a step forward to look at the cot when his shoe catches on something.

Looking down, he sees a tiny rug barley covering what is obviously a hatch in the floor. He moves the rug aside with his foot and crouches down. Tugging on the latch, he can see that it’s unlocked and he can pull it right open. He can’t see anything besides a foot or two past his face thanks to the darkness, so he knocks on the wooden floor to get the attention of anyone that might be hiding.

He hears some shuffling, so he frowns and carefully descends down the short latter, keeping a tight grip on his gun with his other hand.

Now that Arthur is in the cellar, he can hear soft noises which he can only describe as someone crying. Hell, did the O’Driscoll’s have some kind of hostage? Bastards. The scar in his shoulder aches with memories.

The light of the torch allows him to make out a pitiful shape of someone huddled in the corner of the cellar, pressed so close to the wall you’d think they’re trying to melt into it. Their side is facing Arthur, and he can see that their head is tucked tightly into their arms which are shackled to the wall.

“Damn-“

As soon as the word leaves his mouth, the person flinches so harshly it makes Arthur jump too.

“Please!”

The voice trembles so badly that the word is barely there.

Arthur looks at them, sees their bare chest and back, their ripped canvas pants stained in old blood, their dirty hands clenched into fists, and he halts.

“No more, please!”

The man sobs, pressing himself tighter into the corner if possible.

The word is heavy in Arthur’s mouth, and it tingles on the tip of his tongue. But he forces himself to utter it. So quietly he can hardly hear it himself.

“(M/n).”

The man doesn’t stop trembling, but his face is now more visible to the point where Arthur can see a cloth tied around his head to cover his eyes. He’s breathing so heavily Arthur fears he might pass out, so he sticks the torch in a pile of rocks and takes slow steps forward.

“Hey- shhh. It’s okay.”

(M/n) pauses, and his breathing hitches, but that might just be a hiccup in his crying. He shakes his head as Arthur comes closer.

“No, don’t touch me!”

He thrashes once he realizes Arthur is in touching distance, and it isn’t until he reaches forward to tear off the blindfold that he freezes, eyes as wide as a does.

He blinks.

Once.

Twice.

Then his face twists into the most painful expression Arthur has ever seen on him and he starts sobbing again.

“Oh, Arthur…”

The man manages to pull (M/n)’s bony wrists from the heavy iron cuffs, and pulls him to his chest as he sits back against the dirt wall of the cellar. He holds his dear husband as close as physically possible while they both cry.

“Arthur, I-“

(M/n) takes a deep breath to steady his voice.

“I was only a few days in when they got me and Lasso. Brought me to one of their safe houses. I tried to escape after a while, but…we didn’t make it very long. My poor girl.” He moans in sorrow, burying his face in Arthur’s chest.

“I know, darlin’, I know. I’m so sorry.”

Arthur’s voice is gruff with emotion as he leans to kiss his hair.

(M/n) sighs shakily. “I missed you, Arthur,” he pulls back enough to look his husband in the eye, smiling for the first time in a long time, “did you miss me?”

Arthur smiles back, smoothing a thumb across a dirt-covered cheek.

“More than you think, darlin.’”

#rdr2 arthur x male reader #rdr2 #red dead redemption 2 #red dead redemption 2 x male reader

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tea-with-evan-and-me · 1 year

Text

Anonymously Yours: The Rise & Fall Of A Real-Life Tumblr Mystery Girl

A TWEAM Investigative Journalism Exclusive

Dolls, make yourself comfortable and settle in because I am about to tell you the true story of Tumblr Girl, or Mystery Girl as she is alternately known. Today, we will call her Tumblr Mystery Girl.

The past several months have seen a resurgence in interest in Evan Peters’ love life, mostly due to Evan’s star rising once again with the success of Netflix's Dahmer, the fact that he is very elusive and not on any social media platforms, and his most recent girlfriend, Frances Mairead, was and still is a controversial figure in the Evan Peters fandom.

I’m not sure who the first blogger was to receive the ‘’Tumblr Mystery Girl’’ story, but it wasn’t me, because I hadn’t started my blog yet! Still a humble lurker, nary a blog post to my name. Well, at least not since about... 2015. Who knew anyone still used Tumblr? Not me! Unlike many other things from that era, such as nautical themed clothing and accessories, finger mustaches, and Anastacia Beverly Hills brow pomade, Evan Peters has stood the test of time. Yes, us nostalgic millennials still love us some Evan Peters. We'll never forget the way parts of our bodies tingled when we saw Tate Langdon on our screens for the very first time. Countless Lana Del Rey songs were passionately sung in dedication to this both average looking and somehow also intensely sexy and desirable, pale-skinned, dark-eyed man with a heart of gold and an ass that just won't quit. Ah, yes. Even Ryan Murphy himself couldn't keep from pointing a lustful camera on that bare behind. Gratuitous? Maybe, but we're not complaining.

Tell me I'm your national anthem.

Anyway, let's get down to it.

All I know for sure is that somebody received this anonymous ask, because it was posted on the EvanPetersLovers subreddit February 7 (https://www.reddit.com/r/EvanPetersLovers/)

One thing immediately stands out to the reader, which is that the asker writes without proper punctuation.

Once this ask was received, the information seemed to quickly circulate within the community, and over the course of the next several days, it's believability would become a re-occurring debate. By the time this blog was created on February 12, the story had been passed around from tea account to tea account, with many details getting muddled along the way. There were now major discrepancies across these asks, with details like hair color, eye color and weight varying as curious people went off memory to retell the story they heard and search for answers.

Within days of opening this blog, I began to receive ''tips'' about the Tumblr Mystery Girl myself. On February 18, another sighting was reported; this time, Evan was allegedly seen with her at a night club in Burbank, California.

As multiple users began to rapid-fire discuss this anonymous message, one asker seemed to return time and time again to build the case. One with a very recognizable typing style.

And soon after, we would come to see this screenshot of the blog that was said to belong to Tumblr Mystery Girl herself, groovyheartland:

We all wondered, how did someone find the Tumblr page for a girl whose name we did not know, whose face we had never seen? How did a rumored sighting with no photographic evidence lead to the discovery of an otherwise unknown and unremarkable Tumblr blog? It seemed highly unlikely, nearly impossible. Even more unlikely were the odds that enough people had found this unknown's page, having associated it with Evan's possible romantic interest, and sent her taunting asks about them dating. The anonymous messages alleged to have been received by ''groovyheartland'' also bare the same lack of punctuation seen in the previous asks about this subject. This is the part where I tell you I believe that our anonymous asker does not speak English as her native language. French, perhaps? But let me not get ahead of myself...

By February 20th, after much back and forth, I felt confident that I was being used as a pawn to build out a story crafted by the very ANON I was speaking to! I hadn't yet put all of the pieces together, but I knew that I couldn't in good faith keep posting about this story. I decided then that I would pause the discussion, and purposefully end engagement with the pro-Tumblr Mystery Girl anonymous askers. I regret to say I didn't screenshot the last couple of anonymous messages I received and deleted without posting, however, it was more of the same: someone claiming that they had followed the now-deleted Tumblr blog, describing her physically, speculating that she was probably French, etc.

Here is my Tumblr post from February 20th when I decided to begin filtering out the Tumblr Mystery Girl asks:

After this, many readers joined me in my assumption that it had all been a scam. Still, I would occasionally receive asks about Tumblr Mystery Girl, either referencing her as a past sighting indicating that Evan was dating, or as the butt of a joke.

Fast forward to February 26. Evan Peters attends the SAG awards solo, with no mystery woman in sight. However, he arrives at the after party with Haley Lu Richardson, where the two are said to be flirting and enjoying each others' company. In the following days, a hookup rumor courtesy of Deuxmoi is the new hot topic of discussion. But one anonymous asker wasn't willing to let go of Tumblr Mystery Girl just yet.

By this point, the Tumblr Mystery Girl had become more of a running joke to those involved, with many asking where she was during the alleged hook up between Haley and Evan.

The day that Deuxmoi released their Sunday Spotted stories including Haley and Evan's burrito date, I joked with another reader about the situation. You can see I have adopted the now familiar typing style we've come to associate with this anon.

Our stubborn anon did not like this joke. I received a long, angry message defending the existence of Tumblr Mystery Girl. This time, the writer is taking on yet another identity: friend to the Tumblr Mystery Girl. Yes, this anon is defending her friend and the secret relationship she had with Evan Peters!

Now, I have to admit that I had a little chuckle as I read this message, but I had long ago decided that this story was a hoax. I screenshotted for good measure, deleted it from my ask box, and moved on to the next. This is it, I thought. The last of the Tumblr Mystery Girl - she's officially been ''killed off'' in this story of Evan Peters' rumored love-life, the final blow delivered by Haley Lu Richardson.

But then, a spark of hope emerged that her story was not yet finished. As Natasha Bedingfield once sang, the rest is still unwritten. So it seemed.

The week of March 6th brought a Twitter spotting of our favorite cave-dwelling actor and professional Amazon Product Reviewer, Evan Thomas Peters. He was on the move, headed for Missouri and the loving embrace of his family and hometown friends. Realizing he had arrived solo, any (rumored) Haley Lu lovin' would have to wait until he returned to his love-cave, his domain: the blandly furnished Burbank condo where the American Horror Story and Dahmer - Monster: The Jeffrey Dahmer Story actor relaxes and enjoys a nightly ritual of blocking pseudo-fans from his Spotify account, eventually22. These persistent, Gen-Z Twitter edgelords are a different breed of ''fans'' who feel a sadistic thrill imagining a defeated Evan Peters trying in vain to free himself and his multiple public playlists from the intrusive and speculative gaze of unemployed young adults on their parents' internet connection. Every night, the struggle begins anew.

At approximately 6:00pm EST on March 9, an anonymous ask was received.

The anon sent in two nearly identical asks, however, only one was published. The Twitter link lead to a post sharing a purported sighting.

The tweet had a very familiar feel, referencing a brunette girl. I decided to take a thorough look at the Twitter profile the tweet came from to determine it's authenticity. With a March 2023 join date, random, seemingly unrelated retweets, and no other original tweets from the account owner besides the Evan Peters/Brunette sighting, I quickly recognized that this was a burner account. Alas, I myself am a bit of a Twitter burner account aficionado, and it would take a much more well-orchestrated lie to fool me. I had a feeling, but wasn't yet 100% sure that this Twitter account was created and shared for the sole purpose of reigniting the Tumblr Mystery Girl rumor. But I felt sure the anon was not to be trusted.

Shot through the heart: The crestfallen anon retreats as she realizes the jig is up.

All anon could do was deny that she is the ''Tweeter post creator'' and leave with one final insidious blow to my (astonishingly large) ego: comparing the behavior on my blog - a premier gossip and discussion juggernaut, with that of the disgraced Frances Mairead archivist slash anti, legal adviser to herself and secretkeeperlove, and mistress of the IP address: goneforteawithdad, or gftwd, for short.

Moments later, the Twitter account disappeared. A near confession that the Tumblr anon and Twitter burner account were operated by the same person, who had faced defeat at the hands of logic and sound reasoning, and seemingly decided to disappear back into the shadows.

And so, that's where the story ends. It seems that one anon was responsible for peddling all the lies and folklore we've come to associate with Tumblr Mystery Girl. From the groovyheartland Tumblr page itself, to the "anonymous" Evan Peters girlfriend asks groovyheartland received, to the Twitter post about the burger joint brunette - the signature writing style remains consistent in this one-woman show.

We all still have questions. What was the endgame for this anonymous false witness? Was the groovyheartland Tumblr meant to ultimately play a bigger role by returning once interest was at it's peak? This would have given the perpetrator a chance to actually introduce a character into the story: a face. And a name, eventually. We'll likely never know the answer to these questions, unless the anonymous asker emerges from the shadows to give us a satisfactory explanation, with or without proper punctuation.

It should be noted that it was an average Thursday night on Tumblr; a weekday like any other, when truth rang out across the app and gossip-lovers rejoiced that we'd untangled one anonymous asker's web of lies. In real life, mysteries aren't solved in 60 minutes and wrapped up all tidy in a bow so you can sleep sound tonight, like on TV. In real life, solving mysteries can take weeks, months, even years. Without so many anonymous and nosy Evan Peters fans willing to think critically and ask important questions, we may never have learned the truth about Tumblr Mystery Girl.

#evan peters #TWEAM investigative journalism #exclusive #tea #evan peters tea #deuxmoi

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