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inthedayswhenlandswerefew · 7 months

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When The World Is Crashing Down [Chapter 5: Turn Off The Lights And Turn Off The Shyness]

Series summary: Your family is House Celtigar, one of Rhaenyra’s wealthiest allies. In the aftermath of Rook’s Rest, Aemond unknowingly conscripts you to save his brother’s life. Now you are in the liar of the enemy, but your loyalties are quickly shifting…

Chapter warnings: Language, warfare, Otto being the worst (per usual), violence, serious injury, cryptic Helaena prophecies, alcoholism/addiction, references to sexual content including noncon (18+), dragons, demented flirting, a late-night surprise, Larys Strong returns. 😞

Series title is a lyric from: “7 Minutes In Heaven” by Fall Out Boy.

Chapter title is a lyric from: “Of All The Gin Joints In All The World” by Fall Out Boy.

Word count: 6.3k.

Link to chapter list: HERE.

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The sun would burn him, but moonlight is kind. You’re on the balcony of Aegon’s bedchamber, two chairs, two cups of wine, another full pitcher on the table between you, a glass bottle of warm rose oil like amber, like gold, freckled with curled ruby petals. You’re dressed in your usual attire, simple designs and neutral colors, greys and creams and dusky pinks; tonight your gown is a flat, inky blue that matches the night sky. Aegon is wearing his unpretentious cotton trousers—stained with splotches of pomegranate juice, his recompense before you allowed him the wine—and a tiny braid in his shaggy, silver hair.

“I look like your house’s sigil,” Aegon says as he massages rose oil onto his forearms, his palms moving in large sloppy circles over a patchwork of scar tissue; you would do a better job, but he says he wants to learn how to care for his wounds on his own. His dragon ring—gold wings, jade eyes—gleams in the cool, ghostly moonshine. His words are teasing, but his tone is dark, troubled, weary. “Some red, some white. All ugly.”

You smile. You aren’t agreeing, just playing along. “Our motto is better than our flag.”

“I might have been inebriated during that lesson.”

“Perpetual Resurrection.”

Aegon looks at you, confounded. “Quite the mouthful.”

“Crabs molt throughout their lifetime. They crack their own skins open and climb out. If they get stuck, they die. If they get attacked before their new shell hardens, they die. But if they live…they’re a brand new version of themselves. Larger, wiser, more powerful.”

“Spiders,” Aegon says. “You’re trying to placate me with some rousing metaphor about what are essentially aquatic spiders.”

“They’re tasty too,” you say, grinning. “Especially when their shells are still soft. The cooks would serve them fried and us kids would sit around the table ripping the legs free and throwing them at each other.”

“What, you can eat the crab whole?!”

“Yes. Once the faces are cut off and the organs scooped out.”

He pretends to be repulsed by you. “Harrowing. Revolting. This is why Targaryens have always refused to breed with your kind.”

It’s funny, but it isn’t, because it’s a little too close to what you’re both thinking. Under the moonlight, you watch Aegon with the words caged behind your teeth: What do you want most? Who are you in your bones? Where would we be if the world wasn’t crashing down around us?

He slathers rose oil on his scarred right cheek—carelessly, distractedly—and accidentally pokes himself in the eye. “Ow.”

You ask: “Why do you want to do that yourself now?”

“To prove I can. To feel ever so slightly less like an invalid.” He takes a swig of his wine and gazes out over the nightscape ocean, stars in the sky, stars reflected on waves. “I am a study in irony. I spent my whole life waiting for it to be over. I poisoned myself, wasted years, resisted any semblance of usefulness. And now I finally have things I want to accomplish, I finally have reasons to live…and I’m trapped in the flesh of some pathetic, deformed, calamitously weak stranger.” He shakes his head, despondent, still not looking at you. “I can have a body that works. I can have a soul. But I can’t have both at the same time. It’s so fucking unfair.”

“I like you exactly as you are. Body and soul.”

“Everything I own, everything I’m given…” He stares down at his palms, open and empty. “It is destroyed, gets killed, goes mad. I ruin causes. I ruin people. I couldn’t do that to you.”

“I think I’m going to be ruined either way. I’d rather you be the one responsible.”

“Angel,” he says, low and serious. And now his gaze comes back to meet yours. “Who are you supposed to marry?”

You don’t want to tell him. You don’t want it to be true. Your voice is a whisper, almost lost in the night wind. “Cregan Stark.”

His eyes shoot wide, not just startled but terrified. “Stark?!”

You nod miserably. “My father took me and my sisters to Winterfell as part of a trade mission. Cregan decided he wanted me. I never encouraged it, I never desired it, I swear I didn’t—”

“No, I believe you,” Aegon says. He swallows a gulp of wine noisily, his hand shaking. “You were right. I can’t touch him. I can’t stop it. Not unless I win.”

“You don’t want the Iron Throne,” you tell Aegon, already knowing it’s true.

He snorts, a harsh derisive sound. “Who would?”

“Lots of people, I think. But not you or Rhaenyra.”

This intrigues him. “She doesn’t want it either?”

“Not from what I’ve seen and heard. Or, at least, she didn’t until Luke was killed. It changed her. I’m still not convinced she wants to be the queen, but she wants vengeance. And absolute power is a sure path to it.” And so the suffering continues, it goes around and around like a wheel, it is a debt that is never satisfied but only spread like plague.

“I don’t understand why Aemond did that,” Aegon says. His words are hushed, like he’s never spoken them to anyone but you and never will. “When he returned from Storm’s End, I held a feast for him. I had to, someone had to, someone had to pretend it was a victory instead of a murder. But it didn’t make any sense. Arrax was an inconvenience, not a threat. Luke was far more valuable as a hostage than a corpse. Aemond has always been the disciplined brother, the strategic one. I won’t claim to be clever. But I can’t find any strategy in what happened there.”

“Aemond has a temper. He is haunted, I believe. He is not above reckless fury.”

“No, evidently not.” Aegon sighs and rakes his fingers through his hair; again, his dragon ring glints under the moonlight, silver reflected off gold. “I’ll try to win,” he says. “For my family. For you.” Then he smirks, a grim attempt at humor. “Though I pity Cregan Stark for the paradise I will deprive him of.”

You do not return Aegon’s smile. “Don’t have too much pity for him. I have no expertise and I’m scared to death of it. I’d probably end up hiding under his bed, gripping the legs for dear life. He’d have to drag me out and tie me down.”

Aegon is alarmed; his storm-blue eyes are now focused, seeking. He is aware that he has wandered into a quagmire. He treads carefully. “When you say no expertise, you mean…none at all?”

“None.”

“But what about all of those anatomically-correct cock illustrations in your medical books?”

Another joke you can’t bring yourself to laugh at. You drink your wine to stop your lips from quivering, smooth the silk of your gown with a trembling hand. You see it no matter where you look: the pool of red on Theodora’s bedsheets, the dawning and inescapable realization on her face. This is her life now. This will always be her life.

Aegon says gently: “You have no expectation of pleasure.”

“It seems…inherently violent. For the woman. Even if it isn’t meant to be. Being overpowered, being invaded. The man decides when and how it happens. The woman endures.”

Aegon stares at you—biting his full lower lip, deeply somber—but doesn’t speak. He gives you the impression of someone with so many thoughts swimming around in his skull he is struggling to choose just one.

You smile dimly. “I’m sorry. I’ve made you sad.”

“I’m, um…” Aegon pauses to collect himself; he drains his wine cup and sets it back on the table. He is uncharacteristically cautious, like he thinks one unwise word will break the spell of whatever exists between you, this temptation, this need. “I’m saddened by the fact that you think of it that way. Because it doesn’t have to be…distasteful. Frightening. Coerced. It shouldn’t be, in fact.”

“I suppose I’ll find out if the Blacks win this war and Cregan Stark comes to claim me.”

Again, Aegon is exceptionally circumspect. “You’ve never wanted any man?”

“No. Never. Not in that way. Until…” You look at him, willing him to understand. I want you, but I’m so goddamn afraid to. I’m afraid of this world, I’m afraid there’s no hope left in it.

Slowly, Aegon smiles, soft and warm. And without any grasping, animalistic greed, he reaches over to rest a palm on your thigh, night-dark silk draped over skin that doesn’t flinch away from him, doesn’t even have to fight the instinct to. You place a hand on his. Your fingertips trace the gold wings of the green-eyed dragon ring he never takes off. And it is sealed like a covenant under the stars, this allegiance that neither of you could begin to explain to anyone else.

Footsteps are coming through Aegon’s bedchamber, heavy and purposeful. Otto Hightower appears in the balcony doorway. He fills the space like storm clouds flood a clear sky, like blood saturates linen. “You’re getting fat,” he tells Aegon gruffly.

“You’re getting ever more wrinkly and close to the afterlife.”

Otto glances to where Aegon’s hand still rests on your thigh and snaps: “If you’re well enough for that, perhaps you would deign to join us in the council chamber. You could shock everyone by actually acting like a king.”

Then he’s gone, taking those last echoes of the moment with him.

~~~~~~~~~~

“They know she’s here,” Larys Strong says. His audience is gathered around the table: Otto, Criston, Daeron, Grand Maester Orwyle, Tyland Lannister, Jasper Wylde, the knights of the Kingsguard, Aegon slumped way down in his seat and you beside him feeling his forehead worriedly for fever. Because Aegon and Daeron are in attendance, the council chamber is one chair short. Aemond has elected to be the person to stand; he lurks, severe and silent, in a corner of the room half-lit by torchlight. Daeron is dressed in a vibrant teal, Aegon in black; Aemond wears green, dark and brooding like envy.

Criston Cole asks: “How is that possible?”

Otto sighs irritably, rubbing his forehead. “We have spies. I’m sure Rhaenyra does as well.”

“Someone apparently glimpsed the prince regent…um…” Larys searches for the diplomatic word. “Escorting her through the streets of King’s Landing.”

“Dragging is what he did,” Aegon says, glaring at Aemond. “Abducting. Attacking. Imprisoning.” Aemond, arms crossed over his chest, studies his boots and pretends not to have heard him.

Larys continues: “The Blacks don’t believe that she is here of her own volition.”

Otto’s eyes narrow. “What, they think we’ve detained her as some sort of…healer? Hostage?”

“No, my lord,” Larys says, hesitantly, awkwardly. “They don’t imagine the king’s motivations to be that honorable.”

Otto is losing his patience. “Meaning?”

Larys toys with his restless, rodentlike hands. “They think she is being…violated.”

A stilted, scandalized hush falls over the table. “Good,” Aegon says, invoking gasps and gapes. “If Green supporters believe her to be my captive, they won’t harm her. And if the Blacks think she is being held here against her will, she would be safe with them as well. No matter who wins, she is not in danger.”

“That is hardly beneficial for your own reputation, Your Grace,” Tyland Lannister says.

Aegon grins beneath cold eyes; he shows his teeth like a wolf, like a dragon. “Was my reputation so pristine to begin with, Lord Lannister?”

“No, perhaps not,” Tyland mumbles. Still, he should not have said it aloud. Otto huffs another sigh and rolls his eyes.

“So you intend to keep a Celtigar daughter in your service?” Otto says to Aegon.

“I have no doubts concerning her loyalty.”

Larys adds: “My lord, I must say, I cannot see a tactical advantage in her saving the king’s life if she retains any loyalty to Rhaenyra’s cause.”

“Then why save him at all? Why bother? He was lying there half-dead, soon to be properly dead, and she brought him back practically singlehandedly. Why?”

“Mercy,” Aemond says quietly from the corner, and everyone turns to look at him. “Many people have none of it. She perhaps has too much. And now they have grown…” He gestures vaguely, perhaps bashfully. “Attached to each other.”

Jasper Wylde is dismayed. “But the king has a wife.”

Daeron snickers. “Yes, and that has always proved to be such a deterrent in the past.”

“Daeron,” Aegon cautions mildly.

The youngest Targaryen brother obediently sobers and shows the palms of his hands in contrition. “My apologies.” He hides his face with a slurp of his wine cup.

“And what about Cregan Stark?!” Otto exclaims. “You’d encourage his outrage, his Northerner savagery? Seven hells, he thinks you’re spending your days raping his betrothed, do you imagine that will not invoke fiercer wrath, put all of us at greater risk?!”

“Lord Stark was never a reachable ally to our cause, in my estimation,” Larys says calmly.

“That’s not the point, Larys! The point is—!”

“I can offer you something in return for the heightened danger you have assumed,” you interrupt, and these men stare at you as if suddenly remembering that you are here in the room with them, not a phantom or a myth or a cautionary tale but someone real. Aegon glances over, one eyebrow raised on his drawn, perspiring face. He doesn’t know what you’re going to say either.

Otto peers menacingly across the table. “What could you possibly have to barter with? The king is well enough now. He will live with or without you.”

“I have information. I know the workings of Rhaenyra’s council in the leadup to Rook’s Rest.”

“You attended her council meetings?”

“No, but I spent evenings with my father and brothers as they discussed them.”

Otto sits back in his chair, pondering you. After a moment, he nods. “Go on then.”

“I want one concession before I reveal what I know.”

“Besides being permitted indefinite room and board in the Red Keep, which you are in no way entitled to?”

“Not negotiable,” Aegon says.

Otto chuckles, humorless, incredulous, shaking his head. “Fucking insane. Alright. What is it you want, girl?”

“If any member of House Celtigar is taken captive, I want them to be given the opportunity to swear fealty to King Aegon and receive a full pardon for their sins. If they refuse, they are to go to the Night’s Watch, not the scaffold.”

“That’s your price? That’s it?”

“Yes.”

Otto is amused. “Nothing for you? No gold, no land?”

“No.” The prospect hadn’t even occurred to you.

“Not very self-serving. So unlike a Celtigar.” Otto grins, not kindly at all. “Your terms are accepted.”

You begin. “The Greens possess great wealth, now split for safekeeping between Oldtown, Casterly Rock, and the Iron Bank of Braavos. But Rhaenyra’s funds are far more finite. My father has enriched her coffers in part with taxes placed upon houses of the Crownlands. You are always seeking new allies, people you can turn from her side to yours, Corlys Velaryon, the Dragonseeds. Thus far, you have been unsuccessful.” Otto frowns, but he is listening. “I know there are families who have compelling grievances concerning my father’s taxes. Families who have become disenchanted with Rhaenyra’s leadership…or lack thereof, they might say. Rosby, Stokeworth, Cave, Langward, Bourney, Boggs, Hardy, Chyttering. Probably others as well now. They occupy a tactically significant position, being so near to Dragonstone and Driftmark. And I believe if you wrote to them, they would answer.”

“I’ll send ravens,” Otto says. He marvels at you, like a puzzlingly strange creature, a luminescent fang-toothed fish from the depths of the ocean, a direwolf from beyond the Wall. “You don’t want your side to win this war?”

“I want the killing to stop. For both sides.”

“Well, you won’t get that. The bitch will never surrender. That hope died with little Luke Strong.” Otto glowers bitterly at where Aemond stands in the shadowy corner, but he addresses you. “That is your impression as well? She was entertaining the possibility of a truce before he died at Storm’s End?”

You steal a glimpse of Aemond, and you are struck by an unexpected stab of sympathy for him, compassion that feels like a betrayal of your knowledge of the torture he had planned for you. But what is there to say but the truth? “Rhaenyra was considering it very seriously. She and Daemon quarreled over the subject.”

“Of course they did.” Otto looks at Criston, then back to Aemond. “When are you leaving?”

“Soon,” Criston answers for the prince regent. “Very soon.”

“Not soon enough,” Otto spits like venom, and everyone else averts their eyes.

“My lord,” Larys intercedes. “There is one more matter to discuss, and I believe it will be of great interest to His Grace the king.”

Aegon is struggling to concentrate. He blinks groggily at the Master of Whisperers, his brow creased with pain. You smooth his damp, white-blond hair back from his face, threading his braid through your fingertips; you refill his wine cup and give it to him. When Aegon lifts it to his lips, his hands shake so badly he spills scarlet beads like blood down his chin. He wipes them away with his sleeve. Grand Maester Orwyle offers him a small glass bottle of milk of the poppy, but Aegon refuses it.

“Is he alright?” Daeron mutters to you.

“He’s fine. He’s tired, that’s all.”

“Waste no time, Lord Larys,” Aegon says. “I fear Grandsire’s ire has exhausted me. He’s more ferocious than a dragon. We should find a saddle that fits, perhaps Criston could ride him to the Riverlands.”

“Keep guzzling wine, I’m sure that will improve your condition,” Otto bites back.

Larys continues: “It concerns Rook’s Rest.”

Now he has everyone’s attention. “What about Rook’s Rest?” Aegon says. Instinctively, he’s begun twisting the golden dragon ring on his left hand.

“I received word one hour ago that the Blacks have retaken it.”

“What?!” Otto shouts; the rest of the table is in uproar. Criston stands and goes to conspire with Aemond in the corner of the council chamber, urgent indecipherable whispers.

“Sunfyre,” Aegon says frantically. “I have to go to him, I have to get him out—”

“He is already gone, Your Grace,” Larys replies.

“Gone…?”

“Lord Walys Mooton went down to the beach to slay the dragon once his men had taken the castle. He was burned alive.”

“Perfect,” Daeron says, beaming radiantly.

“Lord Mooton’s men fled for their lives, and when they returned, Sunfyre had disappeared. He could not be found anywhere in the vicinity of Rook’s Rest. Moreover, his footprints in the sand stopped abruptly. Which means he must have departed—”

“Into the water…?” Tyland Lannister says, perplexed.

“No,” Larys corrects him. “Into the sky.”

“Sunfyre is flying again?” Aegon asks, his face childlike, astonished.

“That’s impossible,” Criston says. “His wing was broken, I saw it.”

Larys drums his fingers on the tabletop. “I cannot conceive of any other explanation.”

“Then he’ll find me.” Aegon smiles. Sweat snakes down his temples; his face is white, bloodless, barren like the moon. “When Sunfyre is ready, he’ll find me and we’ll be together again.”

“Oh, thank the gods,” Otto exhales. “The Old, the New, that ghastly Drowned one…” He waves a hand at you. “And do you have any to add, Lady Celtigar? Some crab deity your traitorous people worship?”

“I regret to disappoint you, my lord. To my knowledge we have none.”

“Three useable dragons,” Otto says, mostly to himself. “Three is good. With three, we have a chance. And if I can recruit Vermithor or Silverwing…”

“I should go with you when you and Criston march north,” Daeron tells Aemond.

“No,” Aemond returns immediately.

“If you’re going after Daemon, you could use me,” Daeron insists. “Tessarion and I can help.”

“You are needed in the Reach with Lord Ormund Hightower.”

“You just want him all to yourself,” Daeron realizes, exasperated. “You want to be able to say that you were the person to neutralize the Blacks’ greatest asset, that you won the war—!”

Criston says: “He’s not going on some suicide mission chasing Daemon and Caraxes all over the Riverlands. He’s staying with me and the army. He’s using Vhagar logically, responsibly. Right, Aemond?”

“Of course,” Aemond answers, entirely toneless.

Otto whirls to Aegon. “And when will you be able to fight again? Soon, I hope. Surely the culmination of your existence is not one single instance of utility before lapsing back into being some drunken, idiot degenerate.”

In reply, Aegon moans and crumples to the floor. Grand Maester Orwyle and the men of the Kingsguard rush to him, but Criston gets there first; when you cannot rouse the king, Criston throws him over one shoulder—increasingly difficult with each pound Aegon gains, softness and health that you consider a great victory—and ferries him back to bed. As you follow after them, you hesitate in the doorway of the council chamber. Now that Criston is gone, Otto has crossed the room and pinned Aemond to the wall. His large hands, heavy with rings, are pressed to Aemond’s chest; his face is snarling, wicked, callous.

“You have to fix this. You have to end it.”

“I know,” Aemond replies softly.

“Everything that’s happened is your fault.”

“I know,” Aemond says again, then rips free from Otto’s grasp and flees the room.

~~~~~~~~~~

Two days later, Criston leads his army out of the city. They will meet reinforcements on the road between the capital and the Riverlands. There is infantry on foot and cavalry on horses; above them in a blue sky cluttered with vast, cottony clouds are Aemond and Vhagar. As they head north, Daeron and Tessarion fly south towards the Reach to rejoin Ormund Hightower and his men. In Winterfell, Cregan Stark is receiving word of where (and with whom) his betrothed currently resides. At Harrenhal, Daemon and Nettles are kindling rumors like dry wood in a fire. On Dragonstone, Rhaenyra is nursing her rage and paranoia like a hungry child, like a wounded man who has milk of the poppy poured down his throat. And you remain static here in King’s Landing, anchored, steadfast, something immoveable like the ocean or the shore it meets.

You can see Aegon’s bedchamber windows from the beach. You keep glancing up at them, though you know he won’t be there; the sunlight is too harsh today, the potential damage to his skin too great. In a month, he may be able to venture outside as he used to. In two or three, he might be able to fight again. He might be able to kill more than just one errant Norcross boy who dared to touch you.

“Helaena wouldn’t come down to join us?” you ask Autumn. You’re walking with her in the surf, the hems of your held aloft so the froth of the waves can wash over your ankles. Perhaps ten yards away and out of earshot, Alicent is kneeling in the sand and playing with Jaehaera and Maelor. They are her great comfort now; they are not the only purpose she has left, but they are the kindest. Their tiny hands are preoccupied with building a sandcastle and adorning it with seashells, pebbles, shards of driftwood, strings of seaweed like green ribbons. You’ve started to notice how much Jaehaera resembles Aegon, his murky blue eyes and his high cheekbones and his gentleness that no one else seems to recognize. You’ve started to see him everywhere you look.

Autumn shrugs, her face apologetic. Her hair is more than just copper in the afternoon daylight; it is fire, it is blood. “I really tried. You know how she is.”

“I’ll visit her afterwards.”

“She unnerves me,” Autumn says, stroking her round belly and shuddering. She earns her keep here by helping to look after Helaena, Jaehaera, and Maelor. Aegon treats Autumn the same way he treats his wife and children, which is to say he generally ignores her; on the rare occasion he is subjected to her presence for more than a fleeting moment, he becomes uneasy, irritable. Autumn does not appear to be offended. She says this is the best job she’s ever had. “She’s always muttering the strangest things. Caterpillars and crabs and dragons and only the gods know what else. Yesterday she told me not to dance with the half-year queen. What the fuck does that mean?”

“Helaena’s a bit different,” you admit.

“She’s inbred, that’s what she is. I can’t imagine what those kids are going to grow up to be like. A brother and sister for parents? It’s a wonder they don’t have feathers or tails.” Autumn taps the swell of her belly. “At least this one—if it’s a Targaryen after all—has had its bloodline thoroughly diluted.”

You watch her standing there in the fiery late-afternoon light, this body that has comforted, consoled, satisfied, suffered, known so many men. “What does it feel like?” you ask quietly.

“What? Being with child?”

“No, the…um…the act that led to it.”

“Oh, yes.” Autumn stretches with her hands on the small of her back and smiles vaguely, nostalgically. “That’s the strange thing. It can feel like heaven or hell or nothing at all. If the man knows what he’s doing, and cares enough to try, he can make it better for you.”

“Better how?”

She furrows her brow, shoots you a skeptical sideways glance. She is aware that you are inexperienced, but the extent of your blind spots continuously shock her. It occurs to you that perhaps naivety is a privilege; some cannot recall a time before they were acquainted with truths of the world that others consider forbidden. “You know. He’ll use his hands or his mouth to get you ready. Or better yet, both at once.”

“Ready,” you repeat, not understanding.

“Well, you see…” Autumn takes a moment to decide how best to explain. “Men change when they are aroused, yes? Women do the same. It takes longer, and it is not always so obvious. But it is vital. The more ready you are, the more comfortably he will fit inside you.”

“And what if he doesn’t get you ready? If he doesn’t have the skill, or he doesn’t believe it’s necessary, or he doesn’t even know that’s something women require?” Or he just wants to hurt you. He just wants to watch you bleed like something he goes into the woods to kill and gut and devour.

Autumn smirks cynically. “That depends.”

“On what?”

“The sizes involved. Some men are bigger than others, and women have different dimensions as well. Couples can be well-matched or not. Sometimes it isn’t too bad. Sometimes it feels like you’re being ripped apart. And that doesn’t necessarily stop after the first time either.”

“And you can’t say no.”

“You can say no all you want. But he doesn’t have to listen.”

You peer out over Blackwater Bay, sunbeams flashing on wave crests and gulls swooping in the reddening sky. But you don’t really see it. What you see are fingerprints of dirt or ash on your thighs, snow in your hair, books laden with dust, fur coats and evergreen trees, rust-stains of blood on bedsheets.

“I’ve heard that Lord Stark is a very large man,” Autumn nudges. She knows, everyone knows.

“He’s massive,” you say forlornly. “He’s taller than Aemond and twice as broad.”

“The king isn’t so big,” she says, pretending that the thought has just popped into her mind, as if she hasn’t noticed the way you and Aegon look at each other, speak to each other, find excuses to touch each other.

“No,” you agree in a whisper.

“And he’s not a brute. I can’t fairly speak to his skill, I never had him anywhere close to sober. But he has no appetite for women’s pain. That’s a valuable gem in a man, it’s like stumbling across a ruby or a pearl.”

You nod; but you don’t want to think about Autumn lying with Aegon. You don’t want to think about the child they might share. In a world so dark, it seems cruel to begrudge people creating life where none existed before. But when you picture Aegon touching someone else, that darkness seeps in through your skin like rain soaks the earth and can’t find its way out. “We’re going to the library together tomorrow, aren’t we?”

Autumn groans. “Did I agree to that? I don’t believe I did.”

She did not, this is true; you badgered, she deflected. “You’ll enjoy it.”

“I am illiterate.”

“I told you. I’ll teach you how to read.”

“Why would I want to stare at ink marks in a book all day when I could be outside in the sunshine listening to the ocean and herding inbred little freaks like sheep?”

“Because books can take you anywhere,” you say.

“I like where I am. I’ve never seen anyplace better.”

“Okay, Autumn,” you concede, smiling. “I’ll ask again tomorrow. Hopefully you’ll change your mind.”

“Say hello to Helaena for me,” she says, meandering back towards Alicent and the children. Her footprints in the sand are erased when the gurgling waves roll over them. “Maybe one of those fancy books can help you translate lunacy into the Common Tongue.”

Upstairs in her bedchamber, Helaena is standing in front of an open window. It doesn’t offer a view of the ocean; it is positioned over a courtyard of sandstone and chatting courtiers. Helaena does not seem to hear them. She gazes out into the sunset, celestial rage on her impassive face.

“He’s leaving soon,” she says, not turning to look at you.

“Who, Helaena? Aemond? He left days ago. He’s already gone, he’s on his way to the Riverlands. But he’ll be back soon.” You don’t know if that’s true—it probably isn’t, in fact—but you’re certain that Helaena misses him. Her children do too; he is more of a father to them than Aegon has ever been, not in body but in soul.

She only repeats: “He’s leaving soon.”

“Helaena, what—?”

“He’ll leave you. Then you’ll leave him. He’ll make you.”

At last, and very slowly, she revolves like the stripe of shadow across a sundial. In her cupped palms is a butterfly, shimmering gold wings and spiderlike black legs. It takes flight, flutters aimlessly through the vermillion air, escapes out the open window.

~~~~~~~~~~

A peculiar twist of fate: his palm on your forehead, his whispers through your hair. Now he is the one who has stolen into your bed when the moon and stars hang high in the darkness outside. There is a noise somewhere beyond him, disembodied and hazy, that reminds you of torrential rain: omnipresent, thunderous.

“Angel,” Aegon is saying. “Wake up. Please wake up. I have to go.”

Go? Go where? You murmur, still half-asleep: “You can’t leave.” He isn’t strong enough yet. He can’t fight, he can’t run.

“I have to. They’re here.”

“Who…?”

The answer comes from the sounds that you are only now awake enough to understand: screaming, pounding boots, slamming doors, the ravenous crackling of fire, the shrieking of dragons. You have learned all of their unearthly voices. That’s not Vhagar or Tessarion or Sunfyre or Dreamfyre… It flashes by your windows, a comet of gold and flames.

You bolt out of bed. “Rhaenyra—?!”

“Rhaenyra, Syrax, Daemon, Caraxes.”

Daemon shouldn’t be here. He should be losing battles to Aemond and Criston. “But he’s at Harrenhal!”

“Not anymore.” Aegon takes your hand and pulls you out into the hallway, the hem of your nightgown billowing around your legs, his short silver hair flying behind him. There are servants and guards rushing by you, weeping, shouting, searching for places to hide. Grand Maester Orwyle ambles towards the rookery to send out ravens. Several rooms away, you can hear Helaena wailing and Autumn trying to soothe her. Larys Strong intercepts Aegon and gives him a hooded cloak; Aegon yanks it over his bare, mutilated chest, whimpering as the rapid movement strains the red-and-ivory disarray of scar tissue that used to be his skin. “You have everything?” he asks Larys hoarsely. You notice now that the Master of Whisperers has a satchel slung over one shoulder.

“Yes, Your Grace. Milk of the poppy, rose oil, the crown.”

“Wine?”

Larys produces a bottle. Aegon gulps down half of it, then passes the rest to you. You hesitate before finishing the wine, red like the sigil of House Celtigar, like fire, like blood. “They are closing all roads out of the city,” Larys tells Aegon, speaking swiftly. “King’s Landing will be taken. We will surrender. We cannot fight a dragon, let alone two.”

“Aemond and Criston—?”

“Daemon must have outflanked them.”

Aegon grabs your hand again and does not let go as he trails Larys through corridors and down claustrophobically tight spiral staircases. “The roads are blocked,” Aegon explains to you breathlessly. “But there are secret passageways beneath the castle. I know them. Larys knows them. Daemon probably knows them too, but he has other places to be.”

And through a window of a staircase, you see him: Caraxes spiraled around the apex of the Tower of the Hand, screaming fire into the sky before descending the length of the tower towards the hoards of hysterical courtiers fleeing below, his claws jostling loose bricks that rain down on them.

The bottom of the stairwell opens up into a large, dusty, dirt-floored chamber with stone tunnels leading in every direction like spokes of a wheel. Alicent is there, sobbing wildly, and so is Otto. Otto is telling Jaehaera that she must be a brave little girl and go with Sir Willis Fell. Alicent is giving little Maelor over to Sir Rickard Thorne, your once-alleged-kinfolk. The child is panicked and crying, flushed face and white hair. Aegon glances at the scene and then keeps moving, towing you along with him.

“Princess Jaehaera will go to Storm’s End,” Larys says. “Prince Maelor will go to Oldtown. They face execution if they stay. We must risk smuggling them out of the city.”

“What about Aegon?” you ask as the three of you hasten into a corridor thick with cobwebs and illuminated by torchlight. The stone ceiling is arched and perhaps seven feet tall; faintly, you can still hear the muffled turmoil of King’s Landing falling to Rhaenyra and Daemon.

“I’m going Dragonstone.” And it does not elude you that he didn’t say we. “If Rhaenyra is here, that likely means Dragonstone is vacant. I will go to the Crownlands families that you believe to be willing to betray her and beg them for support. I will take Dragonstone and prepare a counterassault from there. Hopefully Sunfyre will find me. Hopefully I’m not killed on the way.”

“Okay,” you say. “I’m going too.”

“You’re staying in King’s Landing.”

“No.” You stop dead, wrenching your hand out of Aegon’s. “No, what if you get hurt, or sick, or what if you get really bad again—?!”

“Listen!” he shouts with dire intensity, his eyes wide and pleading in the torchlight. “I can’t protect you. I can’t even protect myself. There could be bandits on the road, there could be Black soldiers, there could be animals, there could be fucking anything. I can’t take you with me. I don’t know if I’ll be able to get to Dragonstone. But I know if I stay here Rhaenyra will murder me. I don’t have a choice. I have one option, and it’s not good. But you’ll be safe in King’s Landing.”

“Aegon, no—”

“The Blacks don’t think you’re here by choice. They think I’ve imprisoned you. Tell them that’s what happened and they will welcome you back. Your family will protect you.”

“Aegon, please don’t—”

His palm on your cheek, his braid coming unraveled in his hair. “You will wait out the war with them. And when it’s over I’ll find you.” Tears glistening in his eyes, his voice going soft and tender. “If I’m still alive, I’ll find you. I swear to all the gods I will.”

He’s leaving. He’s really leaving. “What can I do?” you ask, your words strangled; your throat is burning, your eyes wet. “What can I do to help you?”

And you expect him to say things you already know: Don’t tell anyone where I’ve gone. Don’t tell anyone what you’ve heard in the Greens’ council meetings. Instead, Aegon grins as he says: “Try to get one of your three superfluous sisters to seduce Cregan Stark.”

You laugh, the sound echoing off ancient, filthy stones.

“My mother and Otto are waiting for you. You will be with them when they are taken to Rhaenyra. They are high-ranking prisoners of war, they will be spared the brutality of the Black soldiers and so will you. They will corroborate that you were my captive.”

“I understand.”

“I have to go now,” Aegon says like an apology, swiping tears from your face with his thumbs. He breaks away from you and follows Larys Strong down the tunnel. They are shadows under the torchlight, cloaks and whispers.

“Aegon,” you call after him, and he stops. I never told you what I wanted. I never told you what I feel for you. “What if I never see you again?”

You don’t know what you want him to do or say. There’s nothing that could make this right. But he soars back to you, takes you roughly and desperately, buries his hands in your hair and kisses you deeply, tasting like wine and heat and the smoke filling the world outside. He means for it to be quick, but he can’t stop. His tongue darts between your lips, his hips press to yours, you arch into him wanting more, infinitely more.

What was I so afraid of? you think dizzily. How could I be afraid of anything with him?

“Your Grace,” Larys appeals regretfully. “Please. We don’t have much time.”

Aegon twists off his dragon ring—gold wings, jade eyes—and slips it onto your left hand. And you’re still staring down at it, mystified, as Aegon disentangles himself from you and vanishes into the darkness.

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

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silverthehedgehoganalysis · 13 days

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Here is a list of traits Silver has shown in the games, Sonic Channel and other Sonic Team made content:

Righteous, has a strong sense of justice and is driven to make things right

Kind-hearted, puts other people’s happiness before his own and will drop his mission to help others, is motivated by his desire to protect smiles, wants to use his powers not for himself, but to help others.

Extremely Determined

Optimistic and Hopeful, believes there’s always a chance as long as you don’t give up, inspires hope in the people he works with in Forces, the final story of Sonic 06 and when he helps Elise through her performance anxiety

Pure, has a “sincere, unpretentious and kind” demeanor and wears his heart on his sleeve, this genuineness and purity gives him an “enduring charm” that is one of the biggest things his friends, particularly Blaze, enjoy about him and makes others want to support him

Forthright, is very direct and frank with people and has a straight to the point mentality, is straightforward in his actions and thinking

Earnest and blunt to the point of naivety, expects people to believe and cooperate with him when he says he’s from the future, hides very little and is so honest that he announces himself when attacking Sonic

Not trusting post 06, doesn’t give Sonic a Chaos Emerald until he proves he’s real in Sonic Generations and is the most suspicious of Dodon Pa

Snide and Sarcastic, sneers at Eggman’s theme park in Sonic Colors and has a snotty attitude towards anyone he can one up, remarks “What am I doing?” when going with Amy

Brash, has rude/informal mannerisms and can be abrasive, particularly to people who are not his allies

Juvenile, described as young and immature by his creator Shun Nakamura, this immaturity ties into many aspects of his character as well as his purity but is also the source of his snotty attitude and rude behavior, supposedly he doesn’t like green peppers which is the Japanese equivalent of children not liking broccoli

Focused, proactive and practical mindset, seen particularly throughout Sonic Forces

Focused on his goals, Does not care what the plan is called in Forces, only that it works and when asked about his favorite race item he says that he likes Jade Ghost because “It lets him disappear and focus on the race”

Inquisitive and proactive, questioned others about how the world was destroyed in the Iblis future his whole life, fought Iblis to try and clear the sky himself, spent most of Team Sonic Racing cracking down on Dodon Pa and Eggman, reads into “Ancient Wisdom” in the good future

Sharp and intuitive, Figures out how to revive Sonic in 06, sees through Eggman Nega's disguises by noticing small details, does successful detective work in Sonic 06 and Team Sonic Racing, intuits Blaze trying to control great powers when seeing them for the first time, has solved various puzzles and mysteries by himself, “knows a lot” according to Sonic in Silver’s Sonic Channel introduction story

Skilled and Crafty, skillfully accomplishes various tasks during his Town Missions in Sonic 06, turns his fight with Sonic into a race to collect Chao in Sonic Rivals 2, Vector refers to him and Blaze as professionals in the Team Vector Nintendo Dream interview, has had jobs as a delivery boy, a figure skater, a “genius” skating coach and a butler

Trains off-screen and makes steady efforts to improve his abilities, seems to be self-taught in his skills

Sometimes takes everything on himself

Warrior with a warrior mentality, described as a warrior, enjoys fighting and will fight his friends for fun, fought and struggled for half his life in the Iblis future, values bravery and facing things head on, dislikes cowardice and indirect tactics, can endure “pain beyond description” and is undeterred by injuries (Shadow’s infamous kick to the head only made him mad)

Competitive and proud/confident in his abilities, has a smug attitude about his abilities and can get competitive over something as simple as handling Orbot and Cubot, clashes with Blaze the first time(s) they meet because of this

Headstrong and Confrontational, confronts Infinite alone because of this, gets offended when Blaze she calls him “weak” and treats him like an amateur

Very Emotional, tends to rush in and deal with things too head-on because of the strength of his feelings and start confrontations because he gets heated, his passion drives him forward but this same passion can cause him to be rash as his actions are dominated by his feelings

Hot Tempered and impatient, can be easily angered and gets frustrated or indignant when things don’t go his way, can get annoyed at things that get in the way or impatient with things that aren’t to the point, his sense of justice causes righteous indignation at great injustices, his temper can be quite similar to Blaze’s

Has Aggressive energy in both his demeanor and body language, generally has confident or determined expressions, often makes fists, punches things when he's frustrated and gets up by punching the ground

Can be Ruthless, has resorted to playing possum, sneaking past Soleanna guards, robbing people and killing to accomplish his goals

Courageous to the point of being Reckless, puts other’s safety before his own, instantly reacts to protect those around him when attacked in Sonic Comic, Instantly battle ready when surprised in Generations, fought against Iblis and its monsters from a very young age growing up in an extremely hazardous devastated future, both values bravery and dislikes cowardice, recklessly went off to face Infinite on his own and is noted to not back down even in the face of his mighty power, will sacrifice himself without a second thought if necessary

His way of life inspires others and makes them want to cheer him on, this even extends to real life as the illustration at the top this post inspired everyone in the office to give him a high five that day

Cannot lie but can change the subject

Doesn’t know how to explain/express himself at times

Scratches his head with his index finger when processing his thoughts

Feels joy and anger loudly but is quiet in sadness and contemplation

Gets rowdy, riled up and puts his all into things he’s feeling but is very low and quiet when something is on his mind or he’s feeling down(He’s totally autistic, this is autistic volume)

Has a mischievous side

Like apples, ate apple flavored rations in the Iblis future

Deeply appreciates peace, prosperity and people‘s smiles, beautiful vistas and people living peacefully leave him breathless

His desire for peace is seemingly driven by strong empathy for both the people and environment around him, blue skies make him feel at peace, natural beauty and people living prosperously takes his breath away, desolate or destroyed areas sadden and upset him, he can’t help but smile when he makes others smile and can’t stand to see the suffering in his destroyed futures

Has a very quiet, introspective and empathetic side (he deeply and quietly reflects on the morality of his mission throughout 06 and quietly takes in everything about Elise’s past)

AB blood type meaning that he's dual natured and adaptable based on the situation

Is a Taurus

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the-90s-music-colosseum · 6 months

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Round 2 Group C Match 2

ATTENTION VOTERS WE ARE TRYING TO ACHIEVE A TIE ON THIS POLL. MARGIN OF 0.2% OR SMALLER WILL MEAN JONNY AND MIKE MOVE ON TO THE NEXT ROUND TOGETHER.

expand for propaganda ↓ (major wall of text warning + videos. very.)

Jonny Greenwood:

"Every art girl's (and boy's) wet dream"

"He wrote the tourist. That's all you need."

"Repeat from my Thom propaganda but he was a part of it so anyways. I had a dream once where I met him and Thom on the street and asked them to sign my Pablo Honey CD, so Thom pushed me into open traffic and I got hit by a car and died and Jonny laughed his ass off. 10/10, my last sight before death was his beautiful face laughing."

"I could probably snap him like a twig but I want to marry him and have 3 children with him before I do that"

"Choose Life. Choose a job. Choose 1/5 of Radiohead. Choose 1/5 of In Rainbows. Choose the man who wrote weird fishes, both Greenwood sisters ,the man in South Park, his telecaster and the stickers on it. Choose the bug Jacqueline Kennedy, his love for literature and poetry, and his lovely lisp. Choose his sublime score for Phantom Thread and his husband Paul Thomas Anderson. Choose the weird amount of straight men who thirst over him in the YouTube comment section. Choose his jawbone. Choose the most pretentious, unpretentious member of the band. Choose his silky hair and his (probably) Dove shampoo. Choose his great knowledge of music theory and how he often disregards it. Choose Astroboy's biggest fanboy (minus maybe Thom. Choose a very hot Alex James who eloped with a fish. Choose Jonny Greenwood. Choose your future. Choose life… Involuntary Trainspotting reference but please vote Jonny over Wario. Oh, and( even though Jonny lives in Italy at the moment), I live in Oxford and if I meet him, I'll tell him that he won."

"He keeps chickens guys, CHICKENS"

"I'm a straight guy but no joke Jonny is hot tbh maybe it's cuz he looks like a chick but like damnnnn"

"He's so gorgeous....kinda like an ant 😍😍😍😍"

Mike Patton:

"Mike didn't consistently wear BDSM masks matched with boiler suits and lick Trevor Dunn on stage just to lose this bracket. Also, if you don't think he's hot in every which way, you clearly haven't seen this: https://youtu.be/gjEbHBafvm0 or this: https://youtu.be/i9_hCjcFNO0 or this: https://youtu.be/Kfq7wHJu21c"

youtube

"Mike Patton collaborated with basically everyone who's anyone in music, and he speaks Italian too. He's great in a live show. And Mr. Bungle is unmatched and unparalleled, full stop."

"HEE HEE HOO HOO HA HA FUNNY WHITE MAN SCREAMS IN MY EAR AND BUSTS IT DOWN SEXUAL STYLE"

"I'm a lesbian but I find him insanely attractive which I think says a lot"

"whenever mike arches his back and screams a part of my soul leaves my body and is shattered by the soundwaves."

"all you need to do to love mike is watch this: https://youtu.be/0gq_Jn41iMM&t=1375 the fact that he blurts that out and then super casually goes into the song leaves me crying with rage and hormones every time I see it"

youtube

#most attractive 90s musician #poll #polls #90s music #tournament #jonny greenwood #radiohead #mike patton #mr bungle #faith no more

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pascaloverx · 3 months

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OUR SECRET — MYG

chapter five

Summary: You and Yoongi are having an affair. No, you are not being his lover. But the world is not ready to know that an idol is dating someone. So you two were doing your best to make sure no one found out. Until he breaks up with you. His mistake.

Author's note: This fanfic will contain inappropriate language and intimate moments between some characters. Be warned. I will let you know if anything becomes inappropriate. Please enjoy this Yoongi fanfic.

PREVIOUS NEXT

"That's exactly why I said I didn't want to tell you about the ultrasound. What's the point of going into the office for two seconds and leaving?" You almost scream, taking Yoongi’s hands off of you. This idiot.

"The group's album is coming out soon and the boss needed to know some last details. What's my fault?" Yoongi asks, trying to hold you back, so you don't get run over in the middle of the street. But now the anger it's getting the best of you.

"Your only son is growing inside me. All I ask of you, daddy of the year, is that you be there. But you're too busy." You walk away, enraged. The first taxi that appears in front of you, you get inside leaving Yoongi talking to himself.

You ignore Yoongi's calls on your cell phone while holding your baby ultrasound in your hands. Or rather, as the doctor said, your daughter. But even that, her father doesn't know, because he was talking to who knows who in the back of the hospital. You get out of the taxi with some difficulty, as you are now appearing pregnant. You take the elevator, hoping to get home and get some sleep.

"How did you get here so fast?" You say looking at Yoongi sitting in front of your door.

"I'm a bad man. A terrible ex-boyfriend and I was probably a mediocre boyfriend. But I don't want to be a good father to our baby." He talks like he's out of breath, it almost makes you want to laugh. Thinking about him running after you.

"Did you run here?" You ask looking for the apartment keys in your bag. However, you feel a strange sensation in your stomach.

"Hey. Come here, I think our daughter is kicking." You speak, drawing the attention of Yoongi, who is wearing a cap and mask so as not to be easily recognized. He runs over, placing his hand on your stomach, very gently as if he's afraid to touch it. Then you hold his hand where you are feeling the baby's kicks.

"Our daughter?" Yoongi asks. You nod your head in confirmation. He looks happy but you can barely see because of the mask.

"If you want to be a present father, be present. Don't go to a doctor's appointment and be on your cell phone. Listen to what the doctor will say. Worry like I worry about our baby's health. Could it be?” You ask almost in a whisper, not wanting to turn this into a fight but rather wanting the best to you all.

"I promise I'll try my best to take care of you two." He speaks confidently, as if he were affirming himself. You smile and hug him tightly. Pregnancy has made you incredibly emotional apparently.

"Want to come in and make some coffee?" You ask unpretentiously. However, Yoongi ends up shaking his head.

"I have a date... But if you want, I can cancel it." He says and you laugh feeling like a fool.

"Funny how things are? Two months ago you wanted to marry me. Now you're going on a date and two hours ago you didn't have time to pay attention to the obstetrician." You get angry, trying to get into the apartment and failing miserably.

"Hey, honey. Don't be like that, I thought we were getting along." Yoongi says trying to help your apartment. You however move away from him.

"And we were getting along fine. Then you have a date and you want me to react like you do to all this shit." You speak changing the tone of your voice. What a pain.

"I stay here with you. You will always be more important than anything ever." Do you want to believe what he is saying. But who would believe that, right?

"Just today you showed me that I'm not more important than your job and a new romantic conquest. Yoongi, maybe you should figure out what your priorities are." You get very close to Yoongi when you say this, almost as if you were going to kiss him. His eyes are steady on you as you look at him, analyzing what you can of his face.

"My priority is my family. It always will be." Yoongi says this, lowering the mask and holding your hands.

"So you should understand who your family is. The boys are your family, your relatives are your family but definitely the new album and a new girlfriend are not your family." You speak by establishing a certain line of reasoning. So you finally managed to get into the apartment. To your and Yoongi's surprise, all of his group members are in the living room. In the living room that is decorated. They're throwing a baby shower for you and the baby.

"I think my family and I are going to celebrate our daughter's arrival into this world and you can go on your date." You said, closing the door in Yoongi's face, which made the boys a little shocked. You then enter your baby shower to celebrate with your family.

#bts fanfic #yoongi fanfic #yoongi x reader #min yoongi fanfic #min yoongi x you #min yoongi #min yoongi x reader #reader insert #kim namjoon #kim seokjin #jung hoseok #park jimin #kim taehyung #jeon jungkook #Spotify

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jmdbjk · 6 months

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Golden

Kookie had a runny nose. He said when he's just hanging out with nothing to do he's fine but as soon as things start ramping up and getting hectic, the cold that won't go away comes back. Jimin was on to something when he said he was concerned about Jungkook staying healthy with such a busy schedule.

As usual he has stayed true to himself and I admire that a person of his age can be so honest about himself.

He was trying to keep it real and said things to lower everyone's expectations: About writing songs, he said he can't really write songs. He said he just doesn't have it in him. He said when he tries it always ends up being about Army.

He wondered if it was because he was so simple. This is what makes me love him as just a human being: he says things about himself that WE might not agree with but that he feels about himself. He's just so honest and unpretentious, and he doesn't even try to be that, he just is himself.

He said he thinks he doesn't have the intellect and that he doesn't have anything to write about, and if he HAD things to write about, he couldn't say them prettily and that there are so many other talented creators that he would just fall short. He mentioned RM, Yoongi, Hobi... they are so talented.

It is understandable that Kookie, being last, he saw what the other members did, and truly, it had to be intimidating. He may never feel confident enough but I bet if he gives it a try he’ll do great.

All of what he said adds another nuance as to why he said “something amazing" is coming when he did that live back in March and Set Me Free Pt 2 was about to drop. He saw how hard Jimin worked through that process and the end result WAS amazing. Intimidating indeed.

Perhaps he still needs to live some life before he can have enough emotional baggage to pour out some lyrics (lol). Give it time, Kookie, life will throw some shit at you. Or maybe expressing whatever is inside of him will never come out in words to a song. And its ok. Not everyone is a songwriter or poet.

I can accept this album as "this is where he is in his life right now". He said they worked fast. That's a lot to accomplish in the amount of time from start to finish.

My thoughts on the songs...

The lyrics to several of these songs are a little ... meh..., sort of disconnected. THAT BEING SAID... I can see some lyrics that probably did resonate with him.

But I am not going to focus so much on the lyrics but more on JK's vocal work and think about how he was trying to sing and pronounce well. THAT is what he was trying to do. He said lyrics are lyrics and images are images... they are not meant to be autobiographical so the lyrics will be secondary to the vocal production for me.

Jungkook explained that the pronunciation was a challenge. The producers each had their own idea of how the lyrics should be delivered to achieve the color of the song. English not being JK's first language, he was coached on what to do in the studio. He said especially pronouncing the "EEE" sound was a challenge.

I recognize some sounds that seem trendy. Some of the songs remind me of other songs I've heard in the past by other artists.

Closer has that flute and Afro beat that reminds me of another song but I just can't remember it right now.

Standing Next to You is giving me Michael Jackson Rock With You from his Off the Wall album or Remember the Time off his Dangerous album. A rockin' groove... "... when it's deep like DNA..." and "leave your body golden like the sun and the moon..." yes, those lyrics definitely resonate.

Yes or No, I can definitely hear the Ed Sheeran throughout that song. A nice song about that first thrill of love. Ed Sheeran is a great song writer. I've always liked his work.

Please Don't Change would probably be the song that comes closest to expressing how Jungkook feels about his fans. Though his life has been spent on camera, things might change and if he's no longer on camera, he'll still be the same but he hopes we please don't change. This song also has the same little flute sound as Closer.

Hate You. This is the Shawn Mendes song. It is one of those angsty relationship songs that are popular now like what Olivia Rodrigo and her ilk does. If Jungkook had not gotten this song, I could see it easily going to a female artist. It's quite painful. Kookie does a great job expressing the tragic drama of it all with his vocals.

Somebody is where he really lets loose with his range. Its a sad song. Like many, his opening lines had me doing a double take. I don't think we've ever heard Jungkook sing in this tone before? Very nice.

Too Sad To Dance. This is the kind of song I think Jungkook could write. It is simple and straightforward. The song is cute and poignant at the same time. He was able to keep his tone simple to match the vibe, he didn’t try to make it over the top… I love this song especially the very last line: "...you don't need no one to dance..." Stand on your own and be yourself, just like Kookie is doing.

Shot Glass Full of Tears is the best song on the album. There, I said it. He really reached down and brought JUST enough edge into his voice to pull it off. I could actually get emotional over this song. I will repeat, this is the best song on the album.

Well done, Jungkook.

Overall, Kookie is relieved the pressure is off. Now he can get out there and do what he’s knows he can do and that’s performing

And then he said it again: BTS is the most important thing to him.

Kookie knew he had to do this album. And now he's done it and ready to move forward.

When he finally realized Tae had commented:

The panic over his house not being clean hahahahahah!

Because he wasn't sure what kind of chaos they were going to bring to his house, Kookie ended the live in a stress-clean panic.

My, what a turn of events... not long ago he was laying in bed naked causing mayhem trying to convince Jimin to let him come over and take a shower and now here they come to his house bringing trouble LMAO!

I hope they had a great evening together. I loved seeing Tae and Jimin out and about, it really hits a spot in my heart.

A little while ago, I picked up a copy of Golden at Target, I don't know which photo card is the Target exclusive but this is what I got:

It's a nice package with a hard cover photo book and a case it slides into. The stickers are nice. Jungkook was wearing an earring with the that motif so I suppose it will show up as merch on the Weverse shop soon.

Anyway, that's my review of Golden.

#jungkook golden #vmin #vminkook #jimin #taehyung

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yakuly · 10 months

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Lego Love | C. S

¡NonIdolSan! x ¡FemaleReader! (Feat. ¡NonIdolSeonghwa!)

Palavras:

Avisos: Jealousy and pouty San, and a lot of a boyfriend material vibes!

🪐🪐🪐🪐🪐🪐🪐🪐🪐🪐🪐🪐🪐🪐🪐🪐

Anyone who saw her with San would see the way her eyes sparkle whenever she sees him, how their cheeks turn slightly pink whenever he smiles, laughs... and sometimes gets more intense when he touches her.

But to San, you were simply a great friend. A dear friend. The best friend... Of course it wasn't her favorite situation, but if that was what it took to stay close to him, so be it. So when San found out that you needed to renovate your entire bathroom due to a leak, he didn't see a problem offering not only a bathroom, but his entire apartment, because the guy didn't see the point in making you come and go, if you could spend a season with him.

The point is that you accepted the invitation without even thinking twice. When your friends found out, everyone without exception looked at you like you were someone worthy of a madhouse "Are you going to live with him?!"

No, they weren't wrong when they warned that it would probably be your biggest challenge so far. San is the perfect kind of boyfriend: he wakes up every morning and cooks you breakfast, or helps you, when you're the one who wakes up first; he always leaves cute little notes around the house, whether it's to let you know something's over, someone helped buy or organize something, or... just a note of how much he cares for you.

San, also never leaves the house without a goodbye hug, and never comes back without a drink, food, or chocolate...

Oh! And if that wasn't enough, San makes a point of hearing about your day, and watching your favorite things when you're sad...

You swear that you can survive with this San, just a friend, but whenever your apart, your heart hurts, because you know that one day you will not only have to leave, but also he doesn't love you the same, and all that affection one day, it will be for another lucky girl, who you already hate.

One day, Seonghwa, one of the mutual friends he has with San, stopped by the apartment they now share, to talk, but also have fun, assembling his new lego set. The two were then sitting comfortably next to each other with light music playing in the background. Both focused on what they were doing, talking distractedly about their lives. Taking advantage of the fact that her other friend wasn't home, Seonghwa asked about how he was doing. After telling, unpretentiously about how she felt, she changed the subject, since she didn't want to think too much about the situation, that usually made her worse.

As always, being the caring friend that he is, Seonghwa looked at you like a caring brother, and then changed the subject, telling you something about wooyoung that made you laugh.

San, who was outdoors, arrives and is graced with his loud laugh, and he automatically smiles. Leaving the dinner bags he brought in the kitchen, he followed one of his favorite sounds. Arriving in the room he'd given her, his expression as well as his heart dropped. Choi saw her laughing desperately at Seonghwa, who was kindly looking at her, while you two looked very comfortable on some sort of... date?!

"Hyung! I didn't know you were coming..." The brunette comment trying to hide his confusion, then he smiles. "I managed to find the lego that y/n wanted to assemble and I thought it was fair to come assemble with her" the oldest replies simply, and you show him the small piece you were still assembling. San looks at her with affection in his eyes, and gives a sincere and loving smile.

"Want dinner? I brought street food, but I don't know if it's enough for the three of us" San says, again, trying to hide his frustration. Before arriving home, he was sure the two were going to eat, while they watched together on the couch (probably hugging), another episode of the series they watched together.

"We just ate, sannie, but you should have dinner, you must be hungry" the punch he received in the belly, made the brunette doubt if it was because of your words, or because you didn't even look at him. Just nodding, and with his typical pissed off pout, he left the room.

"I think he didn't like that very much, y/n" Seonghwa calls your attention, and you look at him confused. The elder's eyebrows were raised as he tried to suggest something. Something absurd. So she just laughed at him, turning her attention back to the toy. A few minutes later, the two were still talking soothingly, riding very focused, and ignoring San, who was huffing every five minutes downstairs, trying to focus on the television, but being constantly interrupted by the sound of their murmuring voices, and laughter. .

Seonghwa was never this funny, why did you laugh so hard? And what the hell could a piece of plastic have that he doesn't? A more comfortable hug? Random affectionate kisses that made you blush adorably? Please...and Seonghwa also have arms that hug, and a pair of lips that kiss...

Without thinking twice, San is back in the room (relieved when he sees that the two of you barely looking at each other). Picking up his computer chair, Choi positions it beside you, and watches her closely. You are so beautiful concentrating, zooming in and out of the object, your eyebrows knit together as you try to guess why the pieces don't fit...

"You're staring. What did we already talk about staring?" Her voice is calm, but she still doesn't look at him. My God, what's your problem today?!

"You're beautiful. What we've already said about you being beautiful" San says softly, seeing her cheeks color. Seonghwa laughs lightly, forgotten in her corner. "And you didn't welcome me right today, I miss you." He responds, bringing his fingers to your chin, and turning your face, making you look at him.

He had an adorable face, and that pout he hides earlier. Swallowing hard, you try to respond as if you weren't intimately affected by it. "But you saw me this morning"

"Yes, many hours ago, I miss your pretty face when I'm away. And then when I come back, I want to see it all the time"

The air disappears from your lungs, and there's no way you can pretend you don't feel anything for him, much less that it was nothing.

Seonghwa, who already understood the whole situation, calmly got up picking up his legos, carefully, of course.

"I think it's better to leave the two lovebirds alone, good night" he left the room. You want to walk him to the door, but not only do you not trust your legs, San is still in front of you, holding you in place.

The two stare at each other for a few very long seconds, until the older one breaks the silence:

"Do I finally have you all to myself?" One of his eyebrows goes up as he studies her face. Without the courage to say anything, you just nods your head.

San opens the smile, which he knows can melt anyone, victim of his affection, and mutters a "great", before reaching out and leaving a quick peck on your lips before standing up, and pulling you by the hand into the living room, where he would put his series, while you pretended that your heart wasn't beating like a tachycardia.

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happyely2 · 7 months

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Pairing: Portuguese D. Ace x Fem!Reader

Rating: 18+ | The rating will be red this time, so if you are a minor skip this reading or highlight your age in your bio.| sex scenes, cuddles, and much more very explicit.

Summary: 31 prompts for 31 days of October. Life on Moby Dick is always hectic and has become more so since Ace boarded this ship and became part of the family.

✒️Prompts taken from the contest (even if I don't participate) organized by the Italian Fanwriter page. I only translated the prompts into English, I hope you like it.✒️

🌊Writober PumpSea🌊 #day 1 - Ace

Ace is simply Ace.

Since you’ve known him, there hasn’t been a day when you haven’t discovered a new side to his character. Of course at first he was very wary, angry and wanted to kill Santa, but then you began to know him and since then you have not been able to help but be attracted to his light, just like a moth.

There are no terms to describe or re-enter it, Ace is funny, playful, carefree, strong, charismatic, warm, if it were a flower you would say it is a sunflower or a Hibiscus.

Despite his moments no Ace is sunny, loyal and ready to get involved when someone cares.

Ace is a whirlwind of emotions that burn your soul.

You wouldn’t have imagined all this coming from one guy.

Your love story started by chance, spending your free time together (or rather Barbabianca had asked you to keep an eye on him and maybe talk to him, since the girls have a good influence on the boys according to him and so it had been). Somehow you managed to penetrate that armor of distrust that Ace had wanted to erect, you began to talk to him unassuming - but he was never rude to you - and slowly made you get closer. A chat every now and then, a stolen laugh here and there, an exchange of jokes and a few attacks of narcolepsy that made him end up in the sea or on you and suddenly you found each other near the heart of the other, small, unpretentious gestures.

Ace became calmer and calmer, less quarrelsome and also very friendly with the whole crew, he was understanding that he could find in your wacky crew a family that would embrace him for what he was.

So when he joined the family you were over the moon, you didn’t believe he’d agreed - even though Dad was sure he would eventually.

You were the first person he said it to and out of emotion you hugged him hard, jumping around his neck, turning red the second after. But you started spending more time together talking about yourselves, sharing some missions together here and there, and fighting side by side.

Nothing to say that immediately after the betting started on the two of you, and Satch’s comment was what triggered it all: "God lose a room! That you’re undressing with your eyes." The commander of the fourth division was always direct and a gossip to death - even if you loved him very much - and maybe he did it to help you or just to spite you but the situation that created itself was unreal.

Dad laughed with taste - he was the worst gossip - the others who began to argue and point how long you would get together and Ace chased Satch all over the ship while you took refuge behind Marco to try to calm the beat of your heart. Luckily your big brother understood the situation and took you out with an excuse by glaring at anyone who dared to say something - although then the gossip is resumed once you went out - and told you not to worry, that everyone would be happy if you got together.

You didn’t sleep that night because of your heartbeat, and you were sure, even Ace wasn’t sleeping.

But Ace did not stray from you, indeed maybe you seemed to be even closer, more caring, more protective and with a more casual flirtation.

And you didn’t deny yourself all this, no. You wanted to live it slowly, savoring every single moment of that slow, silent courtship you started.

"Come to watch with me tonight?" A silent invitation to be close. Being a lookout was a task for you every now and then (although most of your siblings preferred to know that you were warm and safe, even though you knew how to defend yourself well) and Ace was always ready to keep you company. So the watch area was full of blankets (because the night was cold), thermos full of coffee to fight sleep, a good book to read in two and a pair of binoculars to look at the horizon. The nights on guard you spent chatting, reading and looking at the horizon, until the first rays of the sun, when Marco arrives to check if you were awake, a couple of times he caught you sleeping together, You wrapped in blankets and Ace hugging you to keep you warm. At least Marco was discreet in waking you, on the contrary Satch was tremendous (Izo had filmed him not a few times for this).

"You should know that our little sister is just starting out." Satch was too serious, so serious Ace had never seen him and did not expect such a conversation at that time at four in the morning inside Marco’s cabin.

He had been taken by the commander of the fourth division while on guard.

Izo had struck himself on the forehead with the exasperation of being involved in such a situation, Marco had raised his eyes to the sky because he did not even want to imagine the situation that would be created by them little and Ace had swallowed almost choking with his own saliva. He knew they were very protective of you, but not to that extent.

"So don’t you dare even think about getting your hands on her Ace! Do you understand?" Satch had become too apprehensive and protective as an older brother, as demonstrated by his iron grip on poor Ace. So he caught you guys hugging each other, it was just a simple hug. He was trying to explain it to Ace, trying not to choke.

"Just leave them alone." Said Izo as he hit him on the head and Ace nor take advantage to escape from the three, he was not ready for that kind of discussion, not with all three older brothers together.

Ace was running along the deck of the ship, Satch was on his tail, and to lose him he would have to come up with something soon.

"Ace, what’s all the fuss?" You asked seeing him come running and thinking the worst when he picked you up and put the turbo on. Only then did you see Satch running after you and you realized what had happened: "Quick turn right there is a closet that’s right for us." You told him to hold on tighter so you wouldn’t feel the sudden turn. You crawled into a closet and locked it up behind you.

"What did Satch tell you?!" You turned red, damn his big mouth, Ace held you tight to him, you were sitting on the ground, you between his legs. He told you what happened.

"I’m sorry, Ace." You said leaning more on him, you could feel his heartbeat, it was accelerating.

"So I’m your first experience?" He said it to break the tension that had created, Ace stroked your hair to give you a little 'peace of mind, he liked to caress your hair and play with it to make braids and hairstyles.

You nodded, leaning better against his chest, you couldn’t look him in the eye out of embarrassment, you would have preferred to tell him in person a little further, maybe and Satch had ruined everything.

Ace laughed softly and squeezed you in, whispering in your ear, "You are also my first experience." You opened your eyes wide in surprise, starting to stutter nonsense. It was impossible, no girl or woman could resist a boy like him.

And yet Ace has repeatedly confirmed it to you by smiling softly.

"You’re the only girl I’m interested in, but I don’t want to run and ruin anything." He told you to calm you down, and Ace was sincere enough to make your heart beat painfully.

"Really?" You asked timidly, to say you were red was to say little.

"Really." he replied, looking at you and smiling with that grin that made him even more adorable.

"So you want to move on?" That was a simple question, but knowing the answer would silence the buzzing in your ears.

"Only if you give me permission, Honey." Ace replied, becoming serious and staring into the eyes. He was really waiting for your permission before he did anything.

"Then you should kiss me." You said while leaning against her forearms to have a firmer position. You approached him slowly, almost afraid of doing something wrong, and it was Ace who filled the gap between you by putting his lips on yours.

It was a chaste and simple kiss, nothing more, no running. Just the two of you clinging to each other with hearts beating at the same time.

Then the closet suddenly opened and Ace fell backwards and you fell on him.

"Ace, what are you doing to our sister?" Satch was furious.

"What happened?" Izo stood next to you and helped you get up as Marco stared at your red cheeks.

You didn’t answer, you knew they’d figure it out eventually, and you ran to your room.

You left very early that day, White Beard had assigned you a fairly delicate task, spying and in case you destroy a Navy ship that seemed to have requisitioned a treasure that was on your own island.

So you packed a very fast backpack and left at dawn on Ace’s Striker. The navigation fortunately did not last long, you arrived in a few hours on the island and after hiding your boat you started looking for the marines and using the element of surprise you managed to knock them out and make them run away with their ship.

Fortunately, the treasure was still in place.

"What are you doing?" Ace had finished lighting the fire in your makeshift camp.

"I warn Dad and others that the mission was successful." You answered as you dialed the channel through which to communicate.

"Let’s do it later." Ace kindly took your transmitter and after making sure it wasn’t working he put it in your bag.

At first you didn’t understand, then you put together the pieces of the puzzle. You had a night to yourself, without having to worry about your intrusive companions.

"So what do we eat for dinner?" asked Ace ready to go and look into the food in the jungle.

"The marines have left their supplies ashore, look at the meat." You answered by taking him by the arm and dragging him into the shed, there were so many things you could cook.

"Satch taught you to cook well." Ace was lying on the sand you were sitting between him and the fire you had lit, the tent was not far from you.

"He’s a good big brother." You said playing with sand and making little circles on it. Suddenly the voice had died in your throat and you didn’t know what to say or what to talk about.

"Well, you took the Marines out with your Haki." You said turning to Ace, the guy got up, and now he was inches from your face.

A look, a grin and your lips are again resting on each other.

Ace had soft and warm lips and you almost instinctively tasted them moderating them a little, and he let you do it, taking advantage of it to taste you in turn. His big hands slipped on your hips to hold him and you jumped in place when you felt something hard near your groin.

"Is everything okay?" Ace sincerely worried about you and only after he realized he had gone a little too fast.

"Yes Ace is all right, just... I mean..." You stuttered and that was not the time to stutter, you took a deep breath: "Continue." You said with a thread of voice taking his hat and moving it on the sand.

Ace brought your hands back to your hips and brought you closer to him again, creating a friction between your groins that made you sigh to both of you. Both of you were red in your face and you felt your heart so strong that it looked like it was coming out of your chest.

You scratched his shoulder with your fingernails when the kiss you exchanged became more enterprising. His tongue was looking for yours and caressing it with a need you couldn’t describe. You feel like you’re burning up, which is why you’re holding on to him a little bit more by pulling on his black hair.

Ace smiled inside your kiss and his fingers left deeper marks on your hips.

You went away just to breathe.

Ace leaned against your forehead, shortness of breath, and his eyes fixed on yours.

A mute question to ask to continue.

You nodded as you detached a little from him to help him take off your top and bra. Ace struggled with the hook of the latter did not want to tear it from you and you laughed to then help him open.

"Wow." You bit your lip for that statement and you made a small groan when his hand cup closed on one of your breasts.

"Ace..." Your moan of pleasure made him go on tilt for a moment and then he began to touch you and taste you with his mouth. He bit one of your nipples gently, then started sucking on it, then saw that you liked it.

To say you felt warm was little, you were burning inside.

You scratched his shoulders as Ace continued down his kissing descent to your belly button. Ace bit you in that spot leaving a visible mark with his teeth and you pulled his hair.

He smiled at you and continued to kiss you as his hands tinkered with your skirt.

"If you want to stop, you have to tell me, Honey." You lost a heartbeat, it was so sweet and thoughtful.

"That’s okay, Ace, I trust you." You responded by stroking his freckled face.

One time you found yourself naked under him.

"You’re perfect." He said giving you a quick kiss on the side before crawling between your legs.

"Ace... wait I want..." The voice died in your throat when he separated your legs and kissed your center.

"Time to time Honey, let me do it for now." Ace gave you another kiss at that point that hurt you so much and they remain staring at you, he continued.

If before it was just a stroke now you could feel his hand going up and down between the lips of your sex, rubbing insistently your clitoris, you tried to plug your mouth to avoid screaming, but Ace prevented it.

His tongue crept into you as his hands harpooned at your hips to keep you from escaping.

And Ace was voracious, so voracious, he wouldn’t let you breathe.

And all that heat you were accumulating and bursting in one second when your body tensed like a violin string leaving you without energy while Ace tasted everything about you.

"You are so good." He told you while he was stroking your cheek, his face was still dirty you blushed but you kissed him again by flipping the positions.

"It’s up to me." And Ace let you do it, enjoying every inexperienced touch you made. You took off his red pearl necklace, and you kissed his neck.

The hips were his touchstone you noticed as you went down with your lips to his pelvis and so you had left a bite while your fingers traced the grooves of his muscles.

Then it was time for that damn vintage belt. You lost a few minutes, but in the end you succeeded and you almost died of embarrassment at the bulge you found waiting for you.

"Oh my God..." You sighed over his boxers.

"Second thoughts?" Ace stroked your face to look you in the eye.

"No one." You answered by removing the tissue from his boxers and letting his penis get hit by the fresh night air. His pants and boxers had reached your clothing.

"Don’t run and do what you feel like doing." He said as he pulled your hair out of your face.

The light of fire shone on her sculpted body creating intriguing plays of light and shadow that invited you to move on.

You took it in your hand, squeezing slowly and starting to feel the texture. It was hard, you observed Ace’s reactions to understand the movements and the speed to use and his moans pushed you to continue and try something else, so you didn’t think twice to lower yourself to taste it.

It was just a little licking, but Ace’s body tensed up like you did. The muscles in his abdomen tensed while you kept tasting it and then you took it all in one breath.

Ace called you by your name and squeezed your hair to get you back up.

"I was wrong..." You couldn’t even say the last word that Ace eagerly kissed you.

"No, no, you’re doing great, but I don’t want to end it now." He responded shortly after by bringing you under him and sticking a finger inside you.

"Ah... ah... Ace...." You held on to him as the speed at which he crept in increased.

He then kissed you to distract you as he aligned with your center. The world around you stopped existing when it stopped kissing and looked you in the eye.

You nodded with breathlessness.

The first impression was something that burned, burned so much and you closed your eyes and pointed your feet on the sand to look for something to anchor yourself to. Then Ace met resistance and fermented to try to calm his heart and his instincts, did not want to hurt you.

"Hold on a little longer, Love." He never called you that, and you nodded and shook his hand while he shook your side with the other.

Then he started pushing back into you slowly trying to stop himself from getting into one push and hurting you.

You both felt it the moment something inside you broke and your hips joined at one point. You cried out in pain, and Ace kissed you, and he wiped the tears in your eyes, and he kissed you distracted as he started to move inside you.

Push after push you started to respond, feeling that the pain left room for something new.

You were close to each other, the breaths labored and the looks charged with a new feeling.

"I love you." Two simple words you didn’t expect to hear.

"I love you too, Ace." You kissed him back.

Ace picked you up and took you to a hot spring you’d discovered in the day.

He brought you down and entered the water first: "It’s perfect come!" He told you by reaching out, you came up and sat at the edge on the smooth rocks dipping your legs, you still felt disoriented.

Ace approached you and kissed you again, then saw the blood between your legs, and his eyes kind of frowned.

"Ace..." You called him and gently taking his face in your hands and rubbing your noses: "Whatever you’re thinking, stop immediately." You said with a smile, your eyes were still shiny and you felt a little bit of pain in your groin, but you were fine, you were happy and you told him straight.

Ace calmed down a little and picked you up to get you into the hot spring.

Maybe it was the heat of the water, maybe it was Ace’s heartbeat but you fell asleep in his arms, happy, a little sore but immensely happy to be there with him.

"But where are those two ends!" That voice was too familiar to you.

"Ace..." You said in your sleep clutching at him, and in response, you received a grunt and two arms clutching you even more.

"I found the tent! Satch come here!" The figure of Izo had appeared above you two.

"What happened in here?!" Satch had arrived in no time and without wasting time had opened the tent without even the slightest warning.

The sunlight hit you both forcing you to wake up, you shook the blanket with one arm as Ace stood up before you and rubbing your eyes he asked, "What’s going on guys is too soon."

"Too soon?! It’s past noon and you two haven’t given us any news since yesterday! Wretches!" Satch was furious.

"We went down to find out what you were doing." Marco had appeared next to Satch and was looking at you from head to toe.

You got up shortly afterwards, holding the blanket tightly to your breast and only then did you realize what was going to happen.

"Is that a hickey?"

"Where are your clothes?"

"What are those scratches?"

"What did you do last night?"

You had suddenly turned red and hoped that no one would understand the situation. But it was your older brothers you were talking about. You had no hope.

Izo sat next to you and grabbed you by the back, he’d already figured it out.

Marco and Satch made a few seconds later and Ace realized he had to run if he didn’t want to be killed at that moment. And then the chase started, Ace in boxer shorts running along the beach to outrun the two men.

"So how was it?" Izo’s question threw you.

"IZO!" You said while you were looking for a change to go help Ace.

"Don’t worry, they won’t kill him... maybe, but I want the details."

#one piece #portgas ace smut #ace smut #one piece x reader #portgas d ace #portugas d ace #ace x reader #portgas d ace x reader #one piece ace #ace x oc #portgas ace x you #smut #portgas d ace smut #Happy_Ely🪷#ace op #happy_ely🪷#writober2023 #PumpSea

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aconflagrationofmyown · 11 months

Text

Three Way Script

A Sarge and lil Mama fic

Warnings: rather angsty and with some strong language -but with a load of gentleness and love thrown in as is typical with this universe, please note the subjects covered here relate to infidelity and the death of an infant. Everyone herein is coping and not in a very tidy way but they’re tryin’.

Note: this is written in experimental first person view from Ann-Margret’s perspective. I’ve zero intention to vilify anyone and even had a little bit of qualms regarding using her in this at all. As is, I’m creating more of a character for her in the form of “Thumper” and her dynamic with the fictional Presley’s than any true resemblance to the lady herself. Cheers 💋

Dedicated to sweet @ab4eva who loves her hot tamale

Circa: summer of ‘63 on the set of Viva Las Vegas

It was a dark and deathly quiet quarter to four in the morning. I’d just been decked in the face by a sleepwalking Elvis Presley for trying to wake him up. Face throbbing, nerves strained from our undefined tryst, I clumsily chased him as he wandered outside, strangely stubborn in his unconscious quest for air, or space, or -her.

I didn’t know the etiquette for this, for any of it. I’d told him just that as he, a married man of such notoriety, pressed his lips against mine and told me that we had a connection.

He and I.

As if I couldn't feel it thrumming and seething and tugging between us during every scene and more concerning still, in the lulls between, in the quiet and unpretentious moments of rest when it wasn’t our characters, when it was just us. When he admitted to being gutted by the loss of his child, estranged from his ever-ebullient wife in her own bereavement, envious of his son, not even four years old, who occupied his space in her bed and took comfort from her body while he was obliged to dance and sing his way to another hit as if he wasn’t fragmented by the grief of it all.

“I thought you’d be all tough n’shit, a real firecracker.” he’d breathed with immense relief after uncovering that gooey, soft, vulnerable place inside of me that something about his grief and his hollow smirk and his lonesomeness had almost immediately unleashed in my soul. That urge to comfort, to assure him he wasn’t going out on a limb, it had me spending my days making a fool of myself for him.

Yet it seemed the price for such misplaced loyalty and pleasure was about to be extracted as I trailed him, calling out to him in vain, ignoring my aching jaw in an attempt to stall his sleepwalking, quelling the panic I felt at what must be done.

His guys didn’t know he was here with me and I wasn’t sure if I should tell them anyway, though I would have at this crucial point if I could have found or telephoned any of them. Tell them he was about to wander bare as the Lord made him into the studio lot.

I had to spare her that at least.

I had to call Graceland.

When I had entered my studio apartment earlier that evening Elvis had been sat in the kitchenette chair, twirling the landline cord around his finger, feet propped up on the Formica table, perfectly at home in my space, saying his goodbyes to a child or four. He gave me a dazzling smile as I stepped over my own threshold yet held up his finger for silence in my own space as he finished speaking with his family.

“Your phone ain’t bugged like mine is.” he had said casually by way of explanation for his entitlement to my rented room and then took me in his arms. I’d forgotten to press my point regarding privacy and rumors after that.

Now I fumbled the receiver off its hook and with all the cold, dreading heroism of a soldier launching a nuclear missile, I pushed redial.

One of the Presley cousins answered, I calculated the truth would get me where I needed fastest, so I said outright “Elvis is sleep walking on the lot and no one knows how to wake him”.

I was asked to hold and about twenty seconds later the receiver picks up again and this woman’s soft drawl comes over,

“Thumper? Is that you? Is he with you?”

Elaine was anxious. I could feel the strength of it through the phone, a visceral connection with a total stranger just by the waiver of her voice. So very anxious in that way that people who’ve been in a rash of losing things start to freak over the slightest possibility of another blow. It was the first time we’d ever spoken and yet I told her the situation as it stood, clear and concise. She knew of me -not just of Ann-Margret but of Thumper- and god knows I knew of her.

Elaine gained strength with details, demanded how long he’d been asleep and if he had his eyes open at all. With the first question I thought she was trying to trap me and get me to admit something I was more than ready to own up to. But then I realized she was just trying to triage. I gave her all the details I could tell and she gave me some suggestions.

“Make sure you duck away when you touch him or he’ll wallop you in the face, Thumper.” she warned with the surety of a veteran and her tone was so kind it took me ten whole minutes later to process the fact she had anticipated everything that had occurred and would occur. Despite that she was kind.

She was still kind after she suggested I let the dream run its course and maybe try to steer him from the gates or keep the outer door locked, and I had to tell her sheepishly he wasn’t wearing anything. Again, instead of what I was expecting she just let out a little huff and said

“Why didn’t you say? That makes things easier, you’ve got an ice pail, don’t you?”

So I ended up tossing ice at Elvis Presley’s chilled skin till he woke up and startled. Then led him back inside and when he saw the phone off the hook he got spooked and yelled at me that it wasn’t something to call the police for.

I said it was his wife instead. It was like he turned into a little boy then, he just yanked a sheet off the bed and curled into a chair at the kitchenette table and picked up the receiver.

I heard him whisper,

“Tink?”

before he waved me away and off as if this wasn’t my place that he had crashed in. But they were still softly chattin’ in a foreign sort of gibberish on the line by the time I gave up and fell asleep with the lamp on and him mumbling to his wife about his dream and asking to talk to a kid if one was awake.

He was gone when I woke up, so were his clothes.

Next I saw him, he was on set looking chipper, full face of pancake makeup disguising his exhaustion, playing cards with the boys waiting for the director to show. A quart’s worth of makeup was lathered to my own face, meticulously plastered on my left cheek five layers deep to disguise the purpling bruise he’d given me.

He acted like nothing, and I do mean nothing of any sort, had happened the night before. It was puzzling and I began to realize just how well he could compartmentalize everything. Lines and paces and dances and duets, he moved through them all that day with ease, belying the man who told me the night before he didn’t think he could keep going on like this.

‘This’ being the continuing of the smiling and dancing and grinding for all the nation to applaud, anything to market his resilience, once again having to rebound from his unsellable grief. But a child buried comes back in a man’s dreams.

“They made me choose, Annie,” he’d wept to me, “came out in their coats and said ‘which would ya like us to save, Mr. Presley?’ What was I s’posed to say to that, Thumper?” he begged me for an answer like I had an opinion on such a horrific conundrum. It’s times like these when a twenty three year old starlet isn’t sure what to say. “I can’t live without her! Can’t keep ‘em all well and happy without her, chose her. Now my baby girl’s dead.”

Her was always Elaine. And baby girl had been named Joe.

Josephine Belleaza, though her daddy couldn’t say her name, the name he’d lovingly chosen in happier times, couldn’t say it aloud without sounding strangled.

“It wouldn’t have changed a thing.” I kept insisting, I didn’t know what else to say except the truth of it, “They just ask those things to put it back on the -the- the patient.” The victim, the father, the parents. Putting those sleepless nights about choices back on his shoulders. As if a child drowned in the amniotic fluid that had once been its home and haven could be revived if the mother was cut apart to take it out. It was cruel, there never was a choice that god hadn't already made. “Wouldn’t have changed a thing. She doesn’t blame you, does she?”

“No, no never.” he’d sighed bitterly.

We talked a lot about her for a young co-star and her married leading man, laying in those twisted sheets he laid me out on, reveling in the fact I had no old memories etched on my skin, yet was soft and giving in all the ways to mimic the familiar one. It was an unfair usage, but when you’re in love you take a married man happily even if he seems as if he’s looking for more and less than your unstoried body could ever give him. A respite from things associated with dreams gone wrong, turned dark and twisted. He made me feel like a lifeline, he made me feel indispensable for him getting up each new day, he made my body rejoice and thrum from even the smallest of child play beneath the sheets, he made me fall in love with him.

And then he railed at me for calling her. I was the lifeline to get him back to her alive, sane and somewhat devoted. I was never his wife and according to him I should never have made his wife listen to his passing dalliance recount our tryst. It was unfair, I had done it to protect him but the minute the cameras stopped rolling he had cornered me and cut me down for the night before.

“You told her about us!” I accused him right back, righteous and misled all at once.

“There ain’t no us!” and he said it so easily.

That was true, I’d never met a fully grown man with such drive who found a way to make love in every possible way except the typical insertion method. I had not pressed it before, thinking it connected to his fear of pregnancy. “You told her about me being Thumper!” I clarified my complaint.

“Course I did!” he acted like I’d cracked up, “I tell her ‘bout all of ‘em, she’s accommodatin’ like that. Don’t mean she should have to have salt rubbed in the wound by talkin’ to ya. Ain’t fittin. She’s my wife!”

That stung, the categorization. There was little ole me, one of an apparent host of good time girls, and then there was her. And the fact she was his wife, that he really had his priorities straight despite his wandering eye, was a virtue lost on my love sick heart.

I was just furious and hurt.

“Did she put you up to this?” I seethed and he said no, no she hadn’t but this was just the way of things. He told Elaine about all his friends, which he considered me one, and on the flip side he kept them separated from his family life. It was traditional and tidy and archaic and we fought bitterly over it and made up in my bed.

He was gone again when I woke the next morning. But across the room in his stead was a large spray of roses he must’ve allowed in, shaped in a heart like a valentine, though the month was July. I anticipated conciliatory words in his childish scribble on the note. Instead, there in a delicate cursive was a quote, from Anna Karenina, I recognized,

“There are as many kinds of loves as there are hearts”

and down below in tiny, achingly gentle words was the sentiment:

“to a very tender young lady, for her pains and kindness to us, hope the cheek heals by the time I come and kiss it, all my thanks, -Elaine.”

———————————————————

I so hope I can crank out another of these or one for Gigi before too long, and a happier one at that, but for now I hope y’all enjoyed and thanks for all the love and questions flooding into my inbox for this make-believe family, it makes me so soft 🥹

Hope y’all enjoyed xoxo, lemme know below if you’d like to added to the taglist

@paradsol000

@eliseinmemphis

@prompted-wordsmith

@ab4eva

@foreverdolly

@powerofelvis

@butlersxbirdy

@crash-and-cure

@elvisabutler

@heartbrake-hotel

@stylespresleyhearted

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@myradiaz

@ash-omalley

@whatstruthgottadowithit

@arianatheangelgirl

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@burningloverdoll

@angelface-555

@lookingforrainbows

@missmaywemeetagain

@coolgirl462

@kingdomforapony

@18lkpeters

@richardslady121

@from-memphis-with-love

@lillypink

@artlover8992

@pennyroyalcreep

@notstefaniepresley

@ellie-24

@renaissingle

@waiting4brucewayne2adoptme

@presleyenterprise

@marriedtopresley

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kallikrein · 1 year

Text

[ 21:23 ] — this is a fem!reader timestamp.

The first time Wakasa had seen you on all fours, it was a matter-of-fact undreamed of.

Your hair was loose and unruly, far from the modest look you were aiming for. Leaves and soil covered your skin, and your knees were hurting and nearly bruising. Your eyes were close to tears yet you refused to let a single one fall on your cheeks.

“No,” you sniffled, hands reaching forward and desperately grasping at anything around you. “Please, please…”

You felt dirty. Improper. You lost all the decorum you humbly claimed you had. Even what’s left of your dignity was nowhere to be found.

Snap.

You slowly turned around, and if your eyes weren’t bleary with tears, you’d probably recognize the newcomer’s face.

“Hello..?” You said, timid.

Silence.

You got up from your position, slowly. Careful you might offend them from suddenly moving. Nope, still silent. You gulped.

Time passed by between you two, and you suddenly felt as if you’re a novel microorganism under a microscope. Their gaze felt heavy on your skin, as if they’re scrutinizing you. And that fueled the humiliation to jumpstart and roar loudly in your veins.

You moved to run — to escape to where you thought the exit from this school clearing was, but alas, you ended up tripping on your numbing left foot. “Owwie!” You hollered in pain.

And then there you were, back once more to your former position. Landing inelegantly on your hands and knees. Only this time, you’re facing this person upfront.

“Very graceful,” he murmured. A hint of amusement in his words, and you lowly hung your head out of embarrassment. Was that really necessary? You thought. “Are you hurt?” He asked.

You couldn’t help it this time. You’ve been meaning to stay capable for the last half hour of being powerless, and probably would have been for another hour if this person didn’t find you, and yet you’ve had enough of it.

You abruptly dissolved into tears.

“I- I lost my glasses,” you cried, leaning back now to sit on the balls of your feet as you hid your face in your dirt-covered hands. “And I can’t find them… I’ve crawled and searched and crawled everywhere, and I still can’t find them…”

To say Wakasa wasn’t humored by this all was an understatement. How unusual was it to see a lone girl crying and it wasn’t his doing? Still, it was unfair of him to laugh at someone’s expense. More so, at a girl’s expense.

At that moment, you uncovered your face to wipe off the snot from your nose — in an unladylike manner at that — did Wakasa fully realize how distressed and helpless you had looked.

A smudge of dirt was apparent on your cheek, and your hair was loose and unruly. As if you’ve been pulling at it out of frustration. Your knees had open wounds on them, and Wakasa had to hold himself back from tending to it.

He’s seen far worse injuries. On him and on his friends. But to see one decorating a girl was one thing he couldn’t take well. His once grinning mouth formed a thin line.

Your eyelashes were wet, and your eyes themselves were glassy from trying to hold back any more tears. Although, a few had already cascaded and now mixed with grime.

It was, truth be damned, a cute look on you, and Wakasa oddly reveled in the fact that he’s there to save you.

He looked away, quickly. Not wanting to stare too much at your suddenly growing appeal on him. When he did, he then noticed your pair of glasses haphazardly sitting a few meters away.

He walked towards it, as sluggishly as he could, buying this alone time more with you. Your eyes squinting in the corners as you followed him with your blurry gaze. “What… Imaushi-san?”

“I found it,” he murmured, picking up the flimsy spectacles. “Your glasses, I mean.”

“Oh! Oh! Thank you!” You beamed at him, clasping your hands together in utmost gratitude. A smile like that, free and unpretentious looks good on you, Wakasa’s brain chimed in again.

Or maybe it’s because you weren’t wearing the obstructive thing that was in his hands?

He realized then that you were more beautiful than what you make yourself out to be. Not hiding. Just honest and pure.

He walked back towards you and kneeled down. “Say, what do I get for helping you?”

Now, you were back again on being all fours. You groaned and stuck your hand out. He really thought it’s funny to sneak and hide under the bed. “Give it back, mister,” you grunted.

He grumbled. “No!”

“Hmm,” Wakasa called out, magically appearing from behind you, “this somehow brings me back.”

Turning around, still on your hands and knees, you threw blurry glares at your devilishly grinning husband.

“This definitely brings me back,” he lowly chuckled. Stroking your sides as he made his way to you, and smirking even more when you yelped. Then, he crouched down right beside you, and said in that deep, honeyed voice of his, “Come on, boy. Give back your mom’s glasses.”

lmaooo this was kinda fun to write! not sure tho if i wrote it the way i imagined it… but, but wakasa with a megane?! COUNT ME IN. also, excuse any errors as per usual!

taglist. @mochi-coffee, @baji-san and @gwynsapphire.

#[ ⌨️ ] — writings #東京リベンジャーズ #tokyo revengers #tokyo revengers imagine #tokyo revengers fluff #tokyo revengers x reader #tokyo revengers imaushi wakasa #imaushi wakasa fluff #imaushi wakasa x reader

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just-barrow · 2 months

Text

Interview below the cut:

‘I learned on the job’: Ben Mendelsohn’s new look

By Michael Idato

FEBRUARY 16, 2024

Captured by the lens of cinematographer Jaime Reynoso, Ben Mendelsohn’s Christian Dior cuts a slender, stylish figure in Apple TV’s The New Look. Mendelsohn delivers a luminous performance, played with nuance and subcutaneous emotion. What is not immediately apparent is that it all started in the most unpretentious of places: footy games and pizza nights.

Behind the new series sits an important friendship between Mendelsohn and writer/director Todd A. Kessler, formed in 2015 when Kessler cast Mendelsohn as family black sheep Danny Rayburn in his critically acclaimed Netflix thriller Bloodlines. Since then, the 54-year-old Melbourne-born actor says, an enduring friendship has formed.

“Todd is the easiest person, the most unstressed, unpretentious sort of person to be around,” Mendelsohn says. “I’ve taken him to meet everyone. I’ve taken him to the footy with all my mates. He’s one of those kind of guys. It was definitely the Roosters, but I can’t remember who they were playing,” adding with a grin: “I wish it was a Storm game because obviously, we’re better.”

The New Look sprang into being one night when Kessler “was at my joint, and he was knocking up a pizza from scratch,” Mendelsohn says. Kessler, who is a passionate reader of biographies, had started talking about the renowned French fashion designer Christian Dior, and about Dior’s “personal self, like an authentic self, if you like, and this other self, which he hates. He hates himself for not being able to be his authentic self while he conducts his business.”

“I just turned to him and said, well, when can we do this? Because I didn’t need any more than that,” Mendelsohn adds. “That’s such a universal kind of starting place. And I just went, well, when can we do it? Because after Bloodline, I’d do anything to try and work with him again on something where we’ve got a shot.”

In its final form, The New Look has more than a shot. It comes with a brilliant cast: Mendelsohn as Dior, French star Juliette Binoche as designer Coco Chanel, John Malkovich as Lucien Lelong, the French couturier in whose workroom Dior’s career began, and Game of Thrones star Maisie Williams as Dior’s sister Catherine, a French resistance fighter.

Written by Kessler with Jason and David Rabe, Amanda Coe, Carter Harris, Dani Vetere and Ning Zhou, the series explores the rise of Dior, his creation of “the New Look”, which revolutionised French fashion, his rivalry with Chanel and his close connection to his sister Catherine. Featured among the supporting cast: Cristobal Balenciaga, Hubert de Givenchy, Pierre Cardin and others. In terms of modern fashion history, it is an A-list lineup.

That “the New Look” was transformational for the Christian Dior brand speaks for itself. Founded in 1947, it took just seven years for Dior to account for half of Paris’s fashion export industry. It is owned today by the luxury conglomerate LVMH Moët Hennessy Louis Vuitton, headed by Bernard Arnault.

For Ben Mendelsohn, a boy who was raised on the outskirts of Melbourne, however, that’s a lot of haute couture history to take in. What does the starting point for researching a role like this look like? I ask Mendelsohn. “It looks bare,” he replies, smiling.

As an actor, he explains, he began with the man more than the world he inhabited. “When you’re coming at it, from my point of view, it looks like you want to build a frame, just a frame, and you don’t want to concern yourself where everything’s going to go and get all wound up in that because that’s not where the action is,” he says. “The action is this little field where you can try and surf.”

Mendelsohn took in “a sense of curiosity, unsureness, and I wanted to make sure I could hear the other person. That’s what I wanted to do. To try to get the mechanics of the accent, a sense of what the fabric world is like, what this is like, the family life, that kind of stuff. And that’s it. That’s it.”

Why? “Because I got taught by [Anthony] Hopkins something very, very important, and it changed the way I worked,” he says, declining to go into the details of what was contained in Hopkins’ acting tutorial. [The pair worked together on Spotswood in 1991, when Mendelsohn was just 22.] “I learned along the way,” he adds. “I learned on the job, talking to people.”

Perhaps the most striking revelation in the scripts themselves is not so much that life in World War II-era Paris was complicated – it was, as the history books attest to – but that not everyone’s loyalties lay where you might assume. Louis Vuitton, for example, had ties to the French [pro-Nazi] Vichy regime. Hugo Boss designed Nazi uniforms. Chanel was, for all intents and purposes, a Nazi spy. Cristobal Balenciaga was close to Spain’s Hitler-ally, General Franco. The list goes on.

Mendelsohn refrains from weighing in with an opinion except to say, essentially, that the historical record is there for examination. “I think as Aussies, we have a really strong sense of certainty about certain things; we have a high barrier for what’s good and what’s not,” he says.

What is in the series, he adds, is “the journey of that and the journey of how do you be in the world when you have this self that you don’t necessarily feel an overwhelming greatness about? How do you interact with it with values, integrity that meets reality and [situations where] you must adjust or fall off the side″⁣.

“In the modern world, that’s got a really beautiful message because [Dior] is a very sensitive person, he’s a person with a lot of insecurities, a lot of doubt. He doesn’t feel good about himself in many, many ways,” Mendelsohn says. “And yet he steps forward.”

Kessler, speaking in a separate conversation, attributes what many might feel is a free pass for a brand like Chanel, to the slow exposure of the extent of Coco Chanel’s interactions with the Nazis. Much of the detail was kept in government archives which were not released until years after the war, “and by then, many of the people spoken about had passed away, and it didn’t make much news at the time”, Kessler says.

A few days before our interview, speaking at a press event, Mendelsohn articulated the struggle to position the work of artists in the wider spectrum of both their personal politics and, in Chanel’s case, events taking place around her.

“I think that you can admire the work, you can be moved by the creation, and you can have a sense of that person behind it or not,” Mendelsohn said. “It doesn’t stop the power of the creation and as to how one feels about the person, well, that’s dependent on any number of things.

“We’re not trying to paint sort of a moral story here, we’re just really trying to look at the circumstances and people that are trying to find their way through it and how they do it, coming from where they come from,” Mendelsohn added.

To some extent, Dior himself comes out of The New Look historically unscathed. At the same time, Caroline Bongrand, the fashion historian and former editor-in-chief of the fashion magazine L’Officiel, has described Dior as a man who suffered a lifetime of heartbreaks, including the painful secret of his sexuality.

That secret, coupled with his professional commitment to the creation of objects of beauty, created a kind of binary, the idea of a man divided by his pain and his joy. As an actor, I ask Mendelsohn, does he understand that conflict, as an authentic self himself with a library of performed false selves; as a man of a thousand faces, does he understand a man with two?

“I would think that Christian had a lot more than two,” Mendelsohn replies, with a wry smile. “I think I’m more interested in trying to just bring to life a sense of this particular narrative about him. In terms of the stuff about sexuality, I just felt like culturally we’d already won that space.

“Going back into that would be diverting what we were hoping to do,” Mendelsohn says. “I don’t think the same in such a binary sense, but I don’t know as much as [Caroline Bongrand] does, and that’s a very deliberate choice. I want to know enough that I can get a resonant sense, a vibe if you like, and then I want to dream into whatever it is to do the scene in the moment.”

The series’ costume designer Karen Muller Serreau was another critical relationship, not just because she dressed Mendelsohn in duplicates of Dior’s clothes, but because she also created the duplicate Dior collections that feature in the series. To be clear, the series used no vintage pieces; Muller Serreau was granted access to Dior’s heritage archives, where the original collections are stored, in order to create the duplicates.

“She’s incredible, and it’s an incredible achievement,” Mendelsohn says. Muller Serreau’s knowledge, he says, was critical in filling the gaps in his own. “I try as much as I can to swim in my lane and [depend on] those who are expert to tell me what it’s going to be. I approach it much more like a kelpie, than I do as a guy that stands at the top with a sense of solid knowing.

“And when I go and do it on the floor, I’m not giving you a certainty, I’m just giving a proposition,” Mendelsohn adds. “It’s just a proposition every time. And I’m standing well beneath an audience, trying to offer it up, imagining you as much more able to read and understand things than I am, but giving it my best and trying to do so with sort of a love letter vibe.”

In one sense, Mendelsohn doesn’t give himself enough credit. His performance in The New Look is remarkable, the confirmation of an actor whose career has taken him from Danny Clarke in The Big Steal (1990) and Dazey in Metal Skin (1994), to Pope in Animal Kingdom (2010) and Henry IV in David Michod’s The King (2019), with a thrilling stopover in Rogue One, as Orson Krennic, in an unforgettable face-to-mask meeting with Darth Vader.

“They are all there, [but] it’s very easy to confuse the piece that an audience takes to be the thing that it was [because] what you carry with you is the whole history of working those long, long days in those long, long things.” Mendelsohn adds that much of the time he was “not necessarily feeling very confident about anything, or while demonstrating this sort of pose of like, yeah, I can do it all.”

When he looks in the mirror, even in costume, he still sees himself, not the character he is playing. “When I was younger, it bothered me a lot more; the real thing I lament about [the face] is its pathways are very, very set. I used to wish that I could somehow train the face to do completely different things, But what happened is that I’ve become less concerned with trying to control it or trying to manoeuvre it for effect.”

But, he adds, there are echoes of all them – Danny, Dazey, Pope, Orson Krennic and Henry IV – still with him. “They’re all there. And the ones that are the most important end up being the ones that people love, and Babyteeth, for instance, will remain incredibly important, whether or not it’s taken up,” he says.

“When people love them, they stay in you,” he says. “Danny, Trevor [from 1987’s The Year My Voice Broke], there’s a lot of them ... just moments, moments and moments. And I’ve got 40 years of them, mate. I wasn’t looking to become an actor. I really wasn’t. I wouldn’t have dreamed of it. I wouldn’t have dreamed of it.”

The New Look is on Apple TV.

#ben mendelsohn #the new look

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so-mordorit-is · 2 years

Text

Where did the butterflies go?

Pairing - Eddie Munson x F!reader Henderson

Summary - Eddie is your best friend and you have a little thing for him. What would happen if you saw him kissing another girl while he left you waiting at the parking lot?

Warnings - 18+ please, fingering, smoking cigars and joints, swearing, eddie munson fingering his best friend, little bit angst, smut eddie, praise kink, pet names (baby girl, princess, sweatheart), Eddie vs Billy rivalry

tags - Friends to Lovers, a little bit angst, smut

Y/N POV

It was just another hot night in Hawkins, Nancy and Robin was sitting by Steve's pool, just close enough to put their feet on the cold water, Eddie and Steve was smoking a joint while they talk and I was sitting near the pool, talking to the girls whilst i tapped my pockets looking for my cigs but i don't found my lighter.

— "Hey, Munson!" - he turned quick when heard my voice and shoot me with his stupid beautiful smile, i smiled back and before i noticed, he was walking towards me.

— "What do you need, sweetheart?" - he said while a smirk grow between his lips — "I know, i know.. you can't be far from me for to long." — I chuckle while getting up on my feet and standing in front of the boy, he was absolutely taller than me, what made me have to looked up to see his face.

He hold my chin between his index finger and thumb — "Gosh Henderson, you are a pretty little thing, aren't you?" — it is like this every other day since you meet Eddie, he is a flirty and I think he IS a good one, since the butterflies on my stomach become alive when he is near me. But, I've learned that is a game made for two to play.

I leaned my lips closer to his, he don't move any inch and started my chin to let go, he stroke his callouses finger into my cheek and it was the first time that I literally felt one of those butterflies trying to escape from my mouth. He move his lips almost to touch mine, when i tapped his pocket and grab the lighter, i open a wide smile and showed him what i got — "Yeah, I am pretty! Now stop drooling on me, Edward, you look like a freak" — I said with a sweet smile in my lips as I walked away back to the girls and lit my cigarette.

— "That is low sw...Henderson, even for you" — He said while he walk to seat with us by the pool. He sat by me side, and took my cig from my mouth and took a long drag, turning to look at me — "You know i love you, right?" — Putting his arms around my neck. — "Love you too Eds, you are my best fried." — i respond immediately with a shyly smile. "ouch" I listened to Steve while he was burst in laughing, i think he had too many beers but... ouch? really? it's that bad being my best friend?

— "You had to saw his face, y/n", — Steve said — "it looks like a baby dear who lost himself on the forest." Eddie threw an empty can at Steve trying to make him shut up — "Mind your business Harrington"— while he is laughing too.

— Soooo, who's gonna give me a ride? — I said whilst i check my clock — My mother it's going to kill me, and that's not even the bad part... Eddie look at me and his eyes are wider than they normally are — "FUCKK, I totally forgot to pick up the little shit at the arcade, I mean... you lil' brother baby. So, if you wanna go, we can pick your bother up and I let you guys home, if is okay for you... "— he said while shrugging his shoulders unpretentiously, I nod while take my stuff from Steve’s deck.

— "Sure Munson, you can use some alone time with Y/n, right?" — Robin said so low that just Eddie heard, and he give the girl a little smirk, bringing his finger to his mouth, as he mimic to her be quiet.

I was saying good bye to Nancy and Steve (who was completely wipe out), the girl was rolling her eyes, she and Robin was have to stay and take care of drunk Steve. — "Be safe, ok? And… If you see Mike, can you drop him at our house? I do not know when this dork is gonna wake...

—" Yeah, of course, I know Eddie it is not mind, don't worry, and be safe ok? Love you guys" — I gave Robin a big hug and turned myself to Eddie, who held out his hand, I held Eddie's hand and he fit his fingers into my fingers. — "Shall we, princess?" — I nod and we start to walk to his old van.

Eddie jogged to the van's door, open it to you (as he ALWAYS did), he held my hand until the last very minute, pull to his mouth and gave it a little kiss. He went to driver’s side, and started the van. I could feel him look at me by the corner of his eyes, we are listening to Dio (rainbow in the dark), and Eddie was drumming his finger on the steering wheel with the biggest dork smile that I have seen.

The night was colder now than when we leave Steve’s house, but it was so beautiful anyway. We barely need the light of the road, the full moon enlighten almost all the way. The silver light that came from the window, contoured the face of my best friend, I suddenly felt one of the butterflies giving a sign of life in my stomach. He was without a doubt one of the most handsome dudes you've ever seen. His eyes were beautiful, that messy hair, that easy smile and his light laugh. — "FUCK" — you sighed.

Eddie noticed that I was looking at every part of his face, and he couldn't help but smile, turning his face just a little to me, "Was that for, sweetheart?" he said unpretentiously as I slid my body across the van seat to sit closer to him. Automatically the boy rested his hand on my thigh, the feel of Eddie's warm fingertips on my cold skin made me shiver, I let a small laugh escape my nose.

—"What was that Steve was talking about?" don't you like to be... to be my best friend?" I fiddled with the boy's rings and looked in every direction except his, because I knew he was staring at me. Eddie kept looking back and forth between the road and my eyes, which made me extremely uncomfortable — "Eyes on the road, Munson, I want to make it home alive.” . The boy took his hand off my leg and placed it on the steering wheel again, the little way it took was silent, and I kind of missed the warmth of his hand on my leg.

Arriving at the arcade, he parked away from the front door and turned his body towards me. — "What in the HELL are you taking about?, I've been your best friend since... since we were kids, I love you, you know that. I love being whatever you choose me to be, as long as I'm still close to you, that's fine by me."— He smiled and stroked my cheek with his index finger. — "But you really did look like a baby dear lost in the woods," — I said while chuckling.

— “Yeah, I know"— He rolled his eyes — "but don't let Steve get inside your head, okay? In addition, please, I beg you, don't ask me that kind of pointless thing EVER AGAIN. You just broke a little piece of my heart right now, you know?" He said placing his hands over his heart.

— "Anyway, I'm going to go get Dustin—"and Mike, I added". — “And Mike,”— he repeated after me, —"and after we have dropped them off at home, we can finish this conversation if you want, baby. I am all yours tonight." I could see the tip of his tongue skimming his bottom lip as he finished the last sentence.

I climb out of the van to smoke another cigarette, lean against the body of the van as I lie on it a little so I can better see the moon, but suddenly my gaze is drawn to the arcade window. Eddie was talking to a girl who was much more his style than I was, the chains, and the leather mini skirt and… apparently, she was a lot older than I was too. She was holding the boy with both hands by the hem of his leather jacket, pulling him where my gaze could no longer reach.

I felt a pang in my stomach. "Here lies a butterfly," I said softly, feeling like I was going to throw up at any moment. I took a long drag on the cigarette and stubbed it out on the sole of my sneakers, tossing the butt under Eddie's van.

I walked into the arcade looking for any familiar faces, god, even Jason Carver would be better than being alone right now. My intuition told me to turn my back or close my eyes but reaching a dark corner I saw Eddie and the woman kissing, no, they were almost swallowing each other. I turned my back and walked slowly outside, the lights and noise from the arcade making my head hurt.

It's ok, he's single he can go out kissing any ugly girl that comes around, I don't care, but... it was the first time he left me alone, in a parking lot, AT NIGHT. What the fuck? I opened the van door so angrily I swore I was going to rip the handle off, grabbed my backpack and was heading towards my house.

I paused for a moment to adjust my Walkman's headphones and put the cassette tape on rewind while I picked up another of my menthol cigarettes. As I passed through the parking lot, I felt someone's gaze following me; I rolled my eyes and continued my walk since it was going to be a long one.

— "Well, well, well... Is this William Hargrove? Jesus, I haven't seen you in ages. You're all grown up now, with muscles and a Camaro... Well done Hargrove" — I gave him a smirk, which made the boy come closer. I lick my lips as I look at his, the boy obviously noticed my sudden interest.

He opened his arms and I fit my body between them, and the boy gave me a long hug. — "I miss you Henderson, look at you, I never thought you'd look prettier than you already were."

— "Shut up Hargrove, you really do not get tired, do you?" - I replied still trapped in his hug, which now rested his head on top of mine, he whispered - "I think your boyfriend didn't like seeing you with me."

— "He is not my boyfriend… And anyway, he must be pretty busy right now.” I let out an awkward laugh.

— “Yeah, I know, I saw… I'm sorry… are you okay?” — I shrugged, letting me out from the hug — “Since that goof is so busy, do you want a ride home? I can take you. Max can go home with Eddie, we live in the same trailer park anyway”. — You nod, taking of our headphones.

Eddie was looking at everything through the glass window, he knew he had no right to say anything, but Hargrove? Seriously, this guy is trouble… IS A LOT OF TROU-BLE. He picked up Dustin and Mike and quickened his steps to the parking lot, giving Max a shout out to join them. Upon arriving there, everyone stopped in front of the Camaro, facing the two who were talking.

Dustin never liked Billy so he went straight to the van, followed by Mike. Max was opening the car door but Billy closed it again.

— “Hey… Munson, right? Can you take Max home today?” he said without breaking our gazes. “I need to take a pretty girl home, if you know what I mean.” — breaking our gazes at the end of the sentence to stare at Eddie

— “Nope, no fucking way Dude, nothing against you red, but I have an important conversation with Y/N, and we've arranged to” —I interrupted him mid-sentence.

— “Max, get in the van, take my Walkman to Dustin and let him know that I don't know what time I arrive, ok? Can you do me this big favor?" The girl just nodded and went to meet her friends.

Eddie kept looking at me without understanding anything.

— “You lost the right to take me home when you left me alone in the middle of the parking lot to do… I don't even know what you were doing there.”— I huffed and turned to Billy.— "Can we go now?" Billy opened the door for me and as I got in the car, I saw Eddie's sad look.

— "I'll see you tomorrow, Edward." Closing the door, Billy waved at Eddie sternly and started the car. I watched Munson standing alone in the parking lot in the rearview mirror, just as he had left me. I was going to feel better about the attitude, but god, I felt awful. I felt like Eddie's butterfly had died too, and I felt an uncontrollable urge to cry.

The blonde next to me squeezed my shoulder lightly — "you know, he doesn't deserve you, you're amazing." He said — "And he's just an asshole, changing you…" — Billy's gaze seemed to devour you — "For anyone else, in fact, is bullshit. I know, I did it once. I learned my lesson."

The boy's hand caresses my face lightly, while putting some strands of my hair behind my ear. He turned my face gently bringing his pink lips to mine, I was so confused that I sealed my lips on his, they were soft, I had forgotten what Billy's touch did to me. And before my eyes had closed completely, the boy had already pulled me into his lap, where the kiss became hotter. His tongue explored my mouth as I let low moans escape the boy's mouth as he brought his hands to my neck. —“Jesus Y/N, you taste even better now,”— he said, going back to kissing me even harder.

His hands roamed my body, while I lowered my lips to his neck, distributing small kisses along his entire length, I returned my lips to his jaw, taking a forceless bite that made Billy shiver. In a lapse of sanity, you sat back down on the cabin bench and laughed.

—“What are we doing Billy? - I said - "I'm not your girlfriend anymore, forgot?"

— "Right, you're right".- The boy went back to driving with a malicious smile on his lips — "But you kissed me back, you know right?."

— “Shut up Billy,” — I said as I felt all the blood in my body rush to my cheeks.

The trip to my house was normal, we didn't talk about our old relationship or the kiss that happened, in fact, although the blonde's company was all I wanted at that moment. Seeing Eddie's van parked in front of my house, my heart pounded in my chest, I'm sure Billy can hear it.

Hearing the noise of the car, Max opened the door to the house, I got confused and turned my gaze to Billy, who had a serious look on his face. — “Is everything okay?” — I asked as I grabbed my things from the backseat of the car, I sat down again and looked at the boy who didn't move, I gave him a light kiss on the cheek. He held me and gave me a long kiss on the corner of my mouth. — "Can I come see you tomorrow?" asked the boy.

— “Of course, my mother will love to see you again. Can you call me before you come? - I said as I got out of the car, he smiled and I headed towards home. Seeing Eddie leaning against the doorframe, the blonde yelled at me — “Sleep tight my princess, I'll stop by tomorrow”. I rolled my eyes, knowing the reason for this was to annoy Eddie, who by the look of him wasn't very happy with me AT ALL.

EDDIE'S POV

It's been over 40 minutes and I refuse to go back to my house without seeing Y/N, without talking to her, damn it.

—"Why would your sister go out with Billy? this guy is crazy, you know right?" I said to Dustin, "Sorry Max, but..." The girl interrupted me mid-sentence—"Oh! no, you're absolutely right, he's crazy." She said as I rubbed my hands down my face “FUCKKKKKK” I growled.

We heard car noise, the redhead went to the door and when she opened it, she saw the two of them talking, she waited until y/n got out of the car to give me a positive nod. As the little one walked towards her brother's car, I leaned against the doorframe, watching my best friend's face, she didn't look happy to see me, but she didn't look sad either.

I almost managed a smile when that asshole called she from "my princess", his princess? I felt like I was out of breath as y/n passed without making eye contact or saying anything, heading straight upstairs to her room. I walked to the bottom of the stairs and raised my arms in the air in surrender. — “Can we talk?” — I asked, noting the expression on the girl's face. She wrinkled her nose and signaled with her head that it was to follow her, each step I climbed felt my heart beating faster inside my chest.

Upon entering her room, y/n was already sitting at the window smoking one of her terrible menthol cigarettes. I walked over and sat down on the chair that was nearby. —“How was the ride?”— I asked as I adjusted myself in the chair. As she raised her gaze to mine, I noticed her eyes shining more than usual, when I got closer I noticed that they were shining because of the tears forming.

— “What happened, sweatheart?” — I got up and walked towards her, ready to hug her, but she reached out and kept me away. — “Okay, this is new. what's going on?."

— “I saw you at the arcade,”— she whispered, —“with the ugly girl. You guys gulping down in the dark corner, but before you say anything Eddie”— she sighed so sadly I felt my heart crack a little— tears started to run down hers cheeks and I panicked.

I wrapped her in my arms and without hesitation, she buried her face in my chest. I could feel her sobbing and when I let out a sigh she pushed me away again — "Let me go Munson, I don't want you near me, you left me alone, alone... and for what? How can you forget me there alone? you can kiss whoever you want Edward Munson, I have nothing to do with it, but you are a traitor. You..you"—” “I'm sorry, sweatheart.”— I interrupted her mid-sentence. — "I'm really, really sorry. But you know. You left me alone, you got in that asshole's car, and I was waiting there… stopped and you drove away.” Now I was the one who had raised my voice.

She looked up at me and stood up, staying just a few steps away from me — "What did you want me to do Eddie, spend the night with you? after you've done who knows what with that Woman? I think I'm missing the point here.”

She was right, shit!!, she was right.

— “Y/n listen to me, please! I'm begging you,”— I said,— “it wasn't at all what…” —I sighed and sat on her bed, letting my body fall backwards —“It wasn't at all what I had planned for us today,”— letting a faint laugh escape. – “Listen, if you want me to leave now, I will. Whatever makes you feel better, baby.

She didn't answer me, she kept her face to the window the entire time. I got up slowly from the bed, I walked to the door and when I touched the handle I felt her little hand holding the hem of my shirt – Thanks God – I thought to myself.

— “I don't want you to go” – she told me with her voice still choked – “can you spend the night? I'm not feeling well to be alone today.”

— “Whatever it takes to make you feel better,” I said as I hugged her.

Y/N'S POV

I was stuck in that hug longer than I wanted to, I was still mad at Eddie but let's face it, better with him than without. I got rid of the hug and with a weak laugh

— "I need a shower, I'm feeling gross" I said as I headed towards my bathroom — "You're already home, so... make yourself home."

— “You are my home,” he said with a sad smile.

— Oh Eddie! Shut the fuck up.” I laughed out loud and covered my mouth to muffle the sound so I wouldn't wake anyone up. — “Stay quiet and don't make too much noise, okay? 10 minutes and I'll be back, I promise."

I went into the bathroom and took off my clothes, turned on the shower and when I felt the hot water on my shoulders it felt like half the weight on my back was gone, I closed the white plastic curtain and took a deep breath. My peace of mind is short-lived when Eddie enters the bathroom and sits on the toilet — You took too long, I missed you."— I heard him laugh and then I turned around.

— “I could use some privacy now, you know?

Eddie seemed to ignore me. — "So you're the jealous type?"— I could hear the malice in his voice. — "When Steve told me you had like... a crush on me I couldn't believe it, but man..."

— "I don't have a crush on you, Steve was drunk," I said while I brought my hand to my mouth and bit down lightly.

— "The curtain is kind of transparent, you know?" Eddie said pulling back the curtain and stepping into the shower, clothes and all.

— "Eddie, get out of here, are you crazy?" He put his hand over my mouth and stared straight into my eyes, it felt like no other part of my body mattered.

— "Listen to me," he said, “I know I'm not quite the guy you expected or deserved, let's face it, you deserve a lot more, a lot more than Billy or I, whatever, but the fact is, I'm completely in love with you and what happened at the arcade today was my fault, I couldn't stand to look at you anymore, feel your skin, your smell and not be able to… you know"

I took his hand from my mouth and pressed my lips to his, the kiss started slow, he slowly explored my mouth with his tongue, taking his hands to the back of my neck. I felt my legs sway under his touch, causing him to grab me around the waist with his free hand. I tried to lift his shirt, but because it was wet I couldn't. He leaned his forehead against mine and smiled broadly. —"You're crazy Eddie," — I said. while he picked me up and walked me to my bed. I cringed a little, out of embarrassment and out of cold.

Eddie started to remove his wet clothes and then made his way over my body, leaning into his arms. “Hi,” I said, as I pulled him in for a kiss again. The kiss was more violent, he lay down on my side and pulled me on top of him, his hands exploring every part of my body — "Fuck y/n, I've imagined this so many times" — his lips now traced my neck, down to mine colar bone —"you're so hot"—his hand now cups my breasts, moving his lips down close to my nipple. I felt my whole body tingle and I let out a slight moan — "You need to tell me what you want baby" — "You, I want you." — I said between sighs.

Eddie put my little friend in his mouth, sucking without putting too much pressure on him as he took my other nipple between his fingers. I moaned with the wet sensation of his mouth, while his hand, minutes before on my nipple, was going down my body, tracing my curves, until it reached my thighs, he lightly scratched the inside of them and up his fingers to my sweet spot

— “Damn baby, you're dripping, is this all for me?”

— "Eddie, stop teasing, I need you.

" — “What do you need me to do, my love? use your words" he whispered in my ear.

— "I want to feel your fingers inside me, I need you inside me."

—"Fuck"— he moaned as he traced his fingers through my pussy, his mouth was stroking my neck, he ran his fingers over my entrance. I felt light pressure as he introduced a finger inside me. He and I let out a moan.

—"Shh, it's okay, just relax, okay baby girl?" — he gave me a kiss on my temple while increasing the movement in and out with his finger — "more, please" — you cried.

— "As you wish my princess" — Eddie added another finger, causing it to tighten around them. — “God, baby, you're so tight, are you sure you're okay?”

—"Fingers Eddie, fuck me, please."

As he fucked me deliciously, his thumb came up against my clit, which had me moaning loudly and letting my head drop to the pillow.

— “Oh Eddie, I can't, I can't take it anymore, I'm going to…”

— "Let go baby, I want to feel you cum on my fingers”.

As soon as he finished speaking, my back was arched

— “FUCKK!!”

I didn't know that was going to moan so loud, Eddie covered my mouth for the fourth time that night, I let a long breath out of my chest and looked at the boy next to me, who was taking his fingers just inside me to his mouth

— “you are The best thing I've ever tasted ,Henderson! God, I love you.!”

— “I can get used to this Munson, be careful. — I gave him a small kiss on the lips and smiled.

— “God, if you exist, please get her used to it. - He laughed sarcastically, as he hugged you around the waist bringing you closer, laying down with a spoon. —"You still haven't said you love me."

— "Are you the needy type, Munson?"

— Touché.

Author's Note - Hi guys, this is my first fanfic, like everyone else I'm also obsessed with Eddie Munson! Sorry if it was a little longer than I thought, English is not my first language so sorry for the mistakes.

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson x you #eddie munson smut #eddie munson fic #eddie munson one shot #stranger things #stranger things fic #eddie munson x reader smut #billy hargrove #billy hargove smut #billy hargove x reader #billy hargove imagine #steddie

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istanmyman · 11 months

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Imagine Medieval AU Prince!Soap & knight!Ghost

I love this AU so this might be a story idea I'll eventually write.

What if Soap was the heir, next in line to receive his throne from his father, king Price. Trusted advisor Shepherd betrays king Price and tries to kill both him and Soap. Some of the corrupt knights, like Graves’s and his shadowknight unit, kill the king and try to assassinate Soap as well under Shepherd's orders. Ghost prevents it, taking his prince to safety and trying to stay under the radar with him while they both have to pretend to be travelers.

They wander around, hiding, plotting for a way to get Soap on his fathers throne while having to watch Shepherd lie and betray his way to power from a safe distance. Soap grieves his fathers death and learns from Ghost ways to survive their new situation; stealing, working hard, lying, hiding their faces. It’s grueling, but Soap manages to enjoy some small things, like the new places they visit, living a rule free and unpretentious lifestyle and connecting with Ghost over their time spent together. Helping each other survive, sharing rooms at inns and telling tales over campfires and under starry nights gives them plenty of opportunity to open up.

Maybe Soap had been interested in Ghost from the first time they met, when his father had assigned the man as his personal guard. Soap would’ve been so curious about why he is the only knight hiding his face, why he went by Ghost and not his given name. Soap would be told all he wanted to know about the man during their time on the run. Ghost would slowly open up about his mercenary past and how Price had saved him from such a cruel lifestyle. How he had sworn to become a knight to thank the man and would protect his son as a way to pay back this kindness.

Soap would question if he isn’t ever fed up with being on the run because of him, with being hunted down and having to go back to such a similar lifestyle again. Ghost says he doesn’t mind, that he could’ve left if he wanted to, yes, but he’s grown fond of a certain prince, so he wouldn’t mind staying with him a bit longer.

#john soap mactavish #soap mw2 #ghost x soap #simon ghost riley #ghost mw2 #doki writes #ghostsoap #mw2 fanfic

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donnerpartyofone · 10 months

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I can't believe I'm about to do this. I mean don't get too excited, it's not interesting, I'm just forced to talk about it because that's the only power I have in this stupid situation.

A couple weeks ago I was prescribed this new asthma medication, even though my problem is almost definitely from muscular-skeletal pressure but nobody can figure that out yet, so for now I just have this inhaler so I'm not constantly suffocating. The first time I took it at the recommended dosage I had a bad panic attack that took me out for an entire day. I reduced the dosage so I didn't feel dangerously insane anymore, but it still causes my fucking rosacea to go completely out of control, which is not really something I can just ignore; it drives me crazy that insurance companies just treat rosacea like it's some fancy cosmetic issue, as if it doesn't affect your entire life when your skin is visibly deteriorating at an escalating rate, but that's another story... So anyway I have a giant bag of medications that either didn't work at all or actively harmed me (my typical experience with everything) that I haven't disposed of yet, so I dug around in there for a tube of Rhofade that like I don't even know how I got it because it's the premiere celebrity-endorsed thing and it's psychotically expensive, but anyway I decided to give it another shot because I'm desperate. First couple days it worked great. I thought all my problems were solved, except that I'd have to find a way to keep paying for it. Then it seemed not so great for a couple days. Then things started to get pretty rocky. I wondered if it had to do with not being careful enough in the sun or what, but I started to worry about the medication, so I did something that will sound insane, but oh well.

Months ago I complained to my GP that I was having a hard time finding a "real dermatologist" in the city, as opposed to a salesperson for predatory beauty treatments. I've been treated pretty badly by a variety of dermos over 15 years, I often had the feeling that I was neglected because I had a medical concern as opposed to like an expensive anti-aging concern or something. Sometimes a dermo advertises themselves as a medical professional, but when you get there you realize they're a glorified beautician and you're fucked. I went to a well-reviewed practice that's now called The Dermatology Specialists several times, and every time there was a mad rush to get rid of me. The actual head of the clinic saw me a couple times, and both times he came running at me with a needle without telling me what he was doing, to try to lance a mole that I wasn't there to discuss. One of these was right over my eye and you can imagine how scary this was. I eventually realized I didn't have to take that shit and swore him off. Years later when I decided to look for a dermo in my new neighborhood, I made an appointment at a "new" place that I realized too late was the same guy; he had rebranded and expanded his thing into a giant chain that's all over the city, like half or more of the dermos in my searches are attached to his practice and it's not always obvious until the appointment is made. Fuck. I thought, maybe things will be different at this location, I'm seeing a new person and I'm the only one in the waiting room, seems pretty chill. I actually had to get a mole removed that time. I sat down with the new doctor who frantically explained what she was going to do to me before saying "OK BYE!!!" and racing out the door, which she had almost closed all the way behind her before she remembered that she still had to actually do the procedure. I couldn't believe I'd fallen for this clinic's bullshit yet again!

So that's when I talked to my GP and she wrote me a referral for what I took to be a real doctor. His office was clean, simple, and unpretentious. When I got there, an exiting patient was thanking the doctor profusely for something, like from the depths of his soul. We sat down together and he calmly denounced all the lasers and other expensive snake oil that had been upsold to me over the years. He told me to scale back to just a basic Aveeno face wash and moisturizer, and I was so relieved that he wasn't some greedy hipster asshole...however. He also told me that the active ingredient in Afrin, an OTC decongestant nasal spray, has the same effects as the top of the line rosacea medication Rhofade, and many of his patients have success just applying it to their skin. I was so impressed that he wasn't trying to sell me anything, and that he was empowering me to just take care of my own shit at home, that I believed him.

So flashing forward to the past week: I use this new inhaler that I need if I want to breathe, my face blows up like a bomb, I try Rhofade and it seems to make things worse...and then I buy some Afrin and put it on. It pretty much burned my face off my skull. My skin was purple and my face completely changed shape for more than 24 hours. I thought, at least I have this cold pack that's made for faces, for swelling from dental surgery and shit (it was recommended to me by my TMJ specialist who is also fucking with me right now but that's another story). I applied it, and it made everything a thousand times worse than it had ever been. I had to cancel all my plans. I took Tylenol, antihistamines, drank tons of water, whatever I thought would help. A colloidal oatmeal-based moisturizer kind of did something for me, but not remotely enough. It's a couple days later, now, and I'm still not completely over it, and I'm having random intense and painful flareups. I've never had exactly this problem before. And by the way "just using a moisturizer" has not helped anything at all this entire time, even though it's the advice I always get (sometimes VERY rudely) no matter what I say. Dry skin is not my problem, someone could tell just from touching it. Just being mindful of the sun and trigger foods and shit is not the answer. I know there's something else going on and like nobody cares to find out.

So anyway I'm having a followup appointment with my GP to explain all this...and in the meantime I'm going back to the fucking snake oil clinic. I just absolutely need something for right now, I don't know if it will be an antibiotic or what. I've spent years looking for a real medical dermatologist and I know I'm not going to just find one overnight, so I'm subjecting myself to more humiliation at the most convenient place, and I'll deserve whatever I get I guess. At least my appointment is with a guy I haven't seen before. Cross your fingers for me that he doesn't give me something else that just melts my face off of my face.

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homenecromancer · 1 month

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regarding this post, and the Dune sequels by Brian Herbert & Kevin J. Anderson

So I haven’t picked up any of these Dune followups in about twenty years, and for all I know, the books released in the intervening time are much better. And I’m operating off memory here.

But the main reason I’m content not going back is that… they’re not all that good. At best they’re about equal to some of the fanfiction I’ve read lately. At worst, there’s some deeply goofy worldbuilding and plot decisions. I should back up and give a little context.

The books I’m talking about here are written by a team of Brian Herbert (Frank’s son) and Kevin J. Anderson, who has written a lot of spinoff novels. I went to go check out his other work — he did a few Star Wars novels and three X Files novels, among others, and here is a very telling quote from his website, describing one of his original novels:

Unpretentious, unapologetic storytelling that transports busy readers to other worlds for a quick escape and fast-paced entertainment

Which… is both a perfect description of his writing and the absolute opposite of the Dune novels that Frank Herbert wrote. I’ll get back to this in a moment, because there’s another important detail: the Herbert+Anderson team, according to them, work from outlines and notes left by Frank Herbert before he died. So far they’ve gotten seventeen books out of these outlines and notes — Frank wrote six Dune novels.

OK. So. I do not envy the H+A team the effort required to imitate Frank Herbert and live up to his legacy — Dune and its sequels are dense books that interweave science fiction storytelling with politics and philosophy, all in a prose style that’s hard to mimic. I think they’re legitimately trying their best, and working on a compressed timeline compared to Frank. (The original six books were published over the course of twenty years — H+A have put out seventeen books in the 25 years since 1999, and they are not short.)

The problem is that, unless they’ve really switched things up, the H+A team put way heavier emphasis on the storytelling, and almost none on the politics and philosophy. So their Dune novels are much quicker reads than the originals! In my paperback edition, Dune takes about 150 pages of small type until the “action” begins — Herbert really takes his time setting up his characters and setting, and begins to explore his main theme of the risks of political power. And then the main characters find themselves in nonstop life-threatening peril.

I… do not recall the H+A Dune novels having themes in the same way. A lot happens, but like. Dune is constantly saying things to the reader about how, say, carefully-orchestrated plans can easily go awry in tragic fashion, and also there are dozens of memorable setpieces. The H+A Dune novels have memorable moments, but they all feel rather shallow. The deepest thing they’re asking you to consider is gonna be, like, “wouldn’t it be fucked up if weird robots ruled over people?” And yeah, that would be fucked up, but it doesn’t have the staying power of some of the weird ideas in Dune.

Anyway I don’t bear either Brian Herbert or Kevin J. Anderson any personal ill-will. Their Dune books just don’t do it for me the same way as the Frank Herbert originals.

Also Anderson’s writing process is interesting — I can’t seem to make this a proper link no matter what I do (????) but he discusses it on his blog at kjablog.com/dictating-writing-hiking . And that method explains a lot, to me — I don’t know about him, but I would not be able to imitate Frank Herbert’s prose style by dictation while hiking, even if I had the ability to revise later. Makes sense that the text of the H+A Dune novels sounds like Kevin J. Anderson more than it sounds like Frank Herbert.

Oh and fun fact I learned writing this: Kevin J. Anderson lives in my state. Wild.

#marlowe talks dune #long post #replies #missanthropicprinciple #dune

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arverst-aegnar · 1 year

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I finished something (!!) based on an old Zutara week prompt, and i wanted to post it on AO3, but i had ... problems with that idea. Mainly because this is a sort-of prequel to a longer, much more complicated AU that i've written maybe 0.05% of, 90% of which is just unnecessary backstory and details about minor characters that will probably never even be mentioned. The other problem is, while this is definitely about Zuko and Katara, they don't know they're Zuko and Katara (said AU involves Dai Li brainwashing, of course), so it's effectively a story about two random people living in the Earth Kingdom.

In the end, i decided posting on Tumblr was the middle ground between my very sensible objections and my craving for displaying my creative works and (ideally) getting showered with praise for my writing prowess.

prompt: first kiss

Tiarniq is sixteen, and has never been kissed.

It’s fine. She knows she’s young, that she has plenty of time, that many women don’t get their first kiss until they’re older. And while she’s annoyed by the sly looks and smug comments she gets from the other girls, when they’re gossiping about boyfriends and dates and kisses that lead to things they giggle instead of talk about, it doesn’t really bother her that she doesn’t have any stories to share. She’s too young to get married, and she can’t imagine wanting to talk about a boyfriend like the other girls do, at least not in so much detail.

But the thing is, there’s a boy.

A tall, strong, determined boy who’s light on his feet and good with a sword, who knows both those things but never boasts about them, who never, ever gives up.

An obnoxious, irritating, hot-tempered boy who won’t let her leave the estate on her own even though he knows she can take care of herself (but she doesn’t actually mind), who can’t tell a joke without ruining it (she laughs anyway half the time) or make tea without scalding it (he keeps trying), who gets mad at her sometimes when she’s just trying to help and she has no idea why (she keeps trying).

A kind, honest, beautiful boy with golden eyes and gentle hands and a quiet way who helps without being asked and never pushes her to talk if she doesn’t want to and is probably the best friend she’s ever had.

Tiarniq isn’t sure when she first started wanting Ryuji to kiss her, but she does, and it’s becoming a problem. They’ll be gathering herbs for Yukiko and talking, and in the middle of a sentence she’ll forget what she’s saying because of the way he’s looking at her, his eyes suddenly looking like molten sunlight. Or he’ll be “escorting” her to a farm adjacent to the estate and give her a hand over a fallen tree or steady her on a narrow bridge and she has to find some reason to avoid looking at him until her face stops burning.

When she almost spills a whole pot of tea because she made some silly joke about “can’t we all get oolong” and Ryuji laughed -- Ryuji never laughs, she’s never heard him chuckle, he hardly even smiles -- and the sound made her heart jump and her stomach flutter and her breath stop all at once, she finally admits to herself she should probably talk to Lady Baome.

*~*~*

The colonel and his wife are exceptionally unpretentious for Earth Kingdom nobility. Even Yukiko, the grumpy elderly apothecary that serves the region, agrees. Colonel Baome can regularly be seen working alongside the laborers on the estate, and Lady Baome invites every girl in the area, regardless of status, to tea at least once a month. Tiarniq, by virtue of living on the estate in an odd position between “ward” and “employee”, gets invited more frequently.

They meet in Lady Baome’s favorite parlor, an airy green room with windows that look out on the gardens. She greets Tiarniq with a warm smile and a slight bow, only a little shallower than Tiarniq’s own. As always, she dismisses the servants as soon as they bring the tea trays in, invites Tiarniq to take her usual seat, and pours the tea for them both.

“How have you been?” Lady Baome asks, offering her the honey.

Tiarniq smiles tightly as she takes it. “How do you get a boy to kiss you?”

Her face instantly heats up. She wishes an earthbender would walk by and bend her into the ground for all eternity.

Lady Baome is, if not the perfect Earth Kingdom lady, as close as Tiarniq thinks it’s possible to be: lovely, elegant, gracious, genteel, and poised in all situations. Tiarniq’s blurted question only makes her raise her eyebrows a fraction. “I assume you’re asking about a particular boy?”

Tiarniq’s face is still red. She shifts in her seat, as if her embarrassment is something she can escape if she just shifts over a few inches. “Just boys in general,” she says, not meeting Lady Baome’s eyes. “I know I’m only sixteen, and it’s not a big deal that I’ve never been kissed, and I’m okay with that. I don’t even really want to kiss him -- anyone, I mean! But what if I do, someday, but he never even looks like he wants to kiss me? What do I do?”

She forces herself to look up at Lady Baome, whose only response is a quiet hum. She looks thoughtful, and a little distant, like her thoughts have taken her far from the estate. “I’m afraid I don’t have much experience,” the lady admits, her smile a little sad, and Tiarniq is suddenly reminded Lady Baome is not even ten years older than her. “There’s only been one boy -- man -- I ever wanted to kiss, and the circumstances were never right.”

“Oh,” Tiarniq says softly. She knew the Colonel and Lady Baome married for more practical reasons than romance, though they seem to be good friends.

“One thing I can recommend,” Lady Baome says after a moment, more present and assured. “The gardener tells me the fire lilies should be blooming in a few weeks. I’m sure the garden will be just as beautiful if you pick one for yourself.” She catches sight of Tiarniq’s expression, and smiles. “They’re a symbol of romantic love,” she explains. “Giving one as a gift is often an opening to a relationship, but if a girl has no one to give a flower to, she can wear it in her hair as a sign she’s looking for love.”

Tiarniq frowns. “Will that work? I’ve never heard of that tradition.”

“Oh, it’s very common in certain parts of the world,” Lady Baome assures her. Then, with a look in her eyes too knowing to be unintentional, she adds nonchalantly, “Like the Fire Nation.”

Tiarniq’s face goes red again.

*~*~*

Though Ryuji continues to hold an alarmingly large place in her thoughts, Tiarniq nearly forgets the fire lilies for the next two weeks. A wave of marsh fever passes through the area, and over a dozen children come down with it. No one’s died of marsh fever in living memory, but nevertheless Yukiko keeps them busy making and distributing tonics for fever and salves for rashes. Ryuji accompanies her on every trip off the estate, but they walk too fast for easy conversation. Her evenings are spent gathering herbs with Yukiko, and every night she crawls into bed hours past midnight, too tired to think.

When the fever finally passes and she remembers Lady Baome's advice, the gardener tells her the season for fire lilies is over. It doesn’t last long, especially in this region of the Earth Kingdom where the climate is just barely enough to grow them in the first place. The best ones were picked and sold, a few were taken to the estate to be pressed or used for decoration, and the rest have all died.

She tells herself she isn't disappointed, that she wouldn't have picked one anyway, that it’s a silly tradition that she didn’t need to follow anyway because she has more important things to think about than a boy. She repeats that to herself as she trudges back to the cabin she shares with the housekeeper, but it isn't any more convincing with repetition.

It takes Tiarniq longer than it should to notice someone sitting by the door to the cabin, staring down at something he's twisting between his hands. Fortunately, seeing who it is sufficiently distracts her from embarrassment at her own distraction.

“Ryuji?”

His head snaps up, and his golden eyes widen in surprise. He opens his mouth, then closes it without a sound. He stands, rubbing the back of his neck with his right hand. In his left, he holds a fire lily. “Hey.”

Don’t look at the flower, Tiarniq tells herself. Stop looking at the flower. She tries for casual. “What are you doing here?”

“Um … “ He looks down at the flower in his hand and seems to come to a decision. He straightens his shoulders, and meeting her gaze with a staggering openness, he holds the flower forward. “This is for you,” he says, his voice raspier than usual.

Tiarniq looks from the fire lily, to him, then back, then back again. “Me?” It comes out in a squeak, but she’s too relieved it came out at all to care.

He nods. “You --” He stops, looks away. “You never leave me alone. No matter how many times I get mad and stomp off or yell at you, you still try to get me to talk to you, or do stuff with you. I don’t know how I haven’t chased you off, but … I’ve realized I don’t want to.” He looks back at her, smiling crookedly in a way that sets off a flock of sparrowkeets in her stomach. “And I don’t know why you would choose me,” he says softly, “when you could have anyone else if you wanted, but--”

She accepts the flower and slides it into her hair, just above her right ear, and smiles shakily up at him. Ryuji smiles back at her, a small, unsure one at first that grows and grows to match her own. He cups her cheek in one hand, and, hesitantly, starts to move in closer, but she’s done waiting. She stands up on her toes to meet him.

Tiarniq is sixteen when she has the best first kiss of her life.

#and i hit 'post' by accident #welp here goes nothing #zutara #zuko x katara #zuko #katara #a:tla #avatar: the last airbender #avatar the last airbender #s: eight #fanfic #my writing #a rare original post #fun fact: the Baomes are based on Jane Austen characters #lmk if the English Regency tone to Lady Baome's dialogue is as Very Obvious as it is in my head

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