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#but at the same time part of the point is we’re all performing all of the time and relentlessly curating everything
missjomarch · 3 days
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Josephine - Luke Hughes
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A/N: This is the longest thing I have ever written. Like actually. I heard the song Josephine by Pony Bradshaw and my brain was begging me to do something creative with it, so I wrote this. But I'm on my period so it turned very sad and angsty quickly. So now you all get to suffer along with me! With that said please please read the warnings and if at any point you feel uncomfortable click away.
Word Count: 3.7k 😳
Warnings: Grief and angst with no real happy ending or comfort. Cursing, crying, mentions of blood and pain. A half second on 18+ content but no explicit details.
(Portions in italics are flash backs. Enjoy, lovelies. 🫶)
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Luke Hughes sat sprawled in one of the cushioned armchairs spaced across the rooftop bar the New Jersey Devils currently resided on. His view of the New York skyline was fuzzy, but he wasn’t sure if it was because of the beer in his left hand or the smoke from the joint in his right. The one thing he was sure of was that he didn’t want to be here, and he damn sure didn’t want to be sober. Luke could feel the pitying looks from his brother and captain all the way across the bar, but at least they hadn’t made any comments tonight. 
The team had won the game earlier in the day by a large margin and Luke wasn’t beating himself up over minuscule mistakes like he used to. No, that wasn’t the issue. In fact, Luke was playing some of the best hockey he had in years. His on-ice performance was probably the only reason he was even still on the team, considering that he had been skipping most morning skates and all public appearances for the past few weeks. 
He had seen the therapist the team provided and taken the weeks off that the trainers had suggested, so he isn’t sure why they insist on continually doing mental checkups on him. It was irritating. Especially when he didn’t give them the answers they wanted, so they sent Jack to pester him instead. All it did was remind him of you. 
“Luke.” 
His head snapped towards where you sat in the passenger seat of his car, eyes shining and a soft smile on your lips. 
“The light has been green for like 30 seconds, babe. What’s going on in that pretty head, hm?” 
Luke always swore that your sweet voice could melt 20 feet of snow in the dead of winter. It was like coming home from a long day to a warm house. It was one of his favorite things about you. So, because he knew you’d ask the question again, he simply shrugged his shoulders in response. He fully planned to keep his troubles to himself in an attempt not to worry you, but then your manicured hand was running through the curls at the nape of his neck.
“Tell me about it, Lu. What’s wrong?” 
With your use of the nickname, he was gone. Suddenly all the world’s problems were spilling from his lips, and he couldn’t stop them even if he wanted to. You tended to have that effect on people. You were just so damn easy to talk to. And the best part? You almost always knew how to make it better. A quick kiss and a Band-Aid, and Luke was back on his way with a smile. 
“Luke,” you mumbled, “Luke…” 
“Luke.” 
Jack stood in front of his brother, shaking his shoulder to break him from his trance. 
“You okay?” Jack questioned, not missing the shine in Luke’s eyes as they were torn from the skyline view. He watched as Luke took a deep drag from the joint in his hand, exhaling the smoke as he attempted to clear the lump from his throat. 
“Fine, Jack.” 
“Bullshit,” Jack couldn’t help the scoff he let out, “Get up, we’re going home.” 
Luke didn’t have it in him to argue. Not that he would have, anyway. He never wanted to leave the house in the first place, especially after the situation Jack got him into the last time they had gone out. 2 months ago, his brother had dragged him to this same rooftop bar insisting that it’d be good for him to get out there again. It took all of 30 minutes before Jack was pushing Luke in the direction of a random girl. “A good fuck will fix you right up”, Jack had claimed. 
“Luuuuke,” the girl below him moaned as he kissed down her neck. He didn’t know her name, didn’t particularly care to either. He was a bit too busy resenting his brother for setting him up with this random girl in the first place. 
He tried to ignore the hot anger flowing through him, tried to focus on the heavy breathing of the blonde and the way her nails were raking down his back. Luke’s hands dipped under her shirt, quickly finding her bra and giving it a harsh tug downwards. His fingers fumbled deftly until they gripped her tits, drawing a sharp gasp from the girl. 
“Oh! Lu, please,” she whined. When he didn’t respond, she went to pull his face to hers. But Luke had froze, brain short circuiting at the nickname he hadn’t heard in over 8 months. 
His throat was burning. His breath turned ragged as he yanked his hands from beneath her shirt. He stared at her with wild eyes, chest heaving. 
“Get out,” he ground out. His heart was pounding. What was wrong with him? 
“Are you okay?” The blond started back at him with a horrified expression, and Luke had to bite his tongue to keep from spitting out any malicious words. The metallic taste of blood filled his mouth as he squeezed his eyes shut. 
“Leave, please.” He begged, unable to look her in the face.
“Luke, I don’t understand,” she tried to reason, “Luke…” 
“Luke.” 
Jack was looking at him expectantly from the driver’s side of his sleek BMW as he navigated the late-night New Jersey traffic. Luke blinked slowly, trying to clear the bitter memory from his foggy mind. 
“Sorry, what’d you say?” Luke questioned, choosing to ignore the concern blaring in his brother’s eyes. Jack seemingly decided to let it be, instead jumping back into whatever he originally asked. 
“I was asking if you thought the stadium series would be a good time to introduce Sydney to mom and dad? I know it’s only been a few months, but I don’t know when they’ll be in town again.” 
Luke nodded, “Are you just going to do it at dinner? Or the hotel?” 
Jack hesitated, clearly contemplating the options before lighting up, “What if I brought her to the family skate? She’s been wanting to learn anyways! It be just like when you brought jo-” Jack choked on his words, immediately recognizing his mistake. He turned towards his brother, attempting to get a read on his face in the dim light of the passing streetlamps. But Luke had already shut down, face turned to stare blankly out the window. 
Jack reached over to give a comforting squeezing to Luke’s left shoulder, “Luke.” 
“LUKE!” you squealed as your hands white knuckled his sweatshirt. He giggled at your skating stance before pulling you to his chest. 
“You alright there, Bambi?” He smirked down at you as you sent him a glare. 
“I’m new to this, asshole. It’s not my fault my teacher is no good,” you threw back at him. It was your turn to smirk as Luke’s mouth hung open in mock offense. 
“I’ll have you know that I’ve taught hundreds of kids across the state of New Jersey how to properly skate.” 
“Those poor kids,” you quickly retorted, sticking your tongue out as he scowled at you. However, that scowl quickly faded into a look of mischief and your face dropped as his arms loosened around you.
“Fine. Suit yourself, Bambi.” Luke let you go, giving you the lightest of shoves backwards. Then you were stranded. Forced to watch as your boyfriend skated backwards away from you, leaving you wide eyed and terrified as you froze on the ice. Your fear quickly turned to anger, and Luke marked the shift in your demeanor with a laugh. 
“Luke Warren Hughes, you come back here and get me right now.” 
“Nope. Come and get me, baby.” Luke winked at you as he skated past, only serving to further frustrate you. You’d never admit that his plan was working, but the anger was motivating. You let out a strangled groan before starting to shuffle forward, sliding your skates like Luke taught you. You were doing well for a while, slowly making your way towards where Luke was taunting you from the boards behind the net. That was until two kids flew past you, knocking you off balance and sending you scrambling to regain it. 
“Luke! Luke, Luke, Luke,” you called, too focused on your slipping feet to notice if your boyfriend was coming to your aid. Then you lost balance completely, tumbling down towards the ice. You closed your eyes as you avoided flinging your arms out to catch yourself, still heeding Luke’s warnings even as he got you in this mess in the first place. You prepared yourself for the cold hard burn of your backside hitting the ice, but it never came. Instead you landed in a pair of unfamiliar arms, barely recognizing that you weren’t on the ground before being hauled to a standing position. You carefully turned around and were met with Jack’s smiling face. 
“Knight in shining armor, at your service,” Jack grinned, adding a small salute for effect. You rolled your eyes, scanning the ice for Luke. 
“How long have you been following behind me?” 
“Ever since Luke pretended to leave you stranded. He planned the whole thing, I was behind you the entire time to save you from your inevitable demise,” Jack poked you, smile growing impossibly wider at the annoyed look gracing your face. 
“Big words for someone who never went to college,” you shot at him, needing anything to level the playing field between you. It was then that Luke finally returned, skating to a smooth stop to your left. 
“What’d I miss?” 
“Your girlfriend was insulting my intelligence after I graciously saved her precious be-hind,” Jack spoke, adding a bit more than his usual sassiness into the bit. Luke turned to tsk at you. 
“Now, now baby. We can’t make fun of people just because they’re less fortunate than us. It’s not Jacky’s fault he’s stupid,” Luke joked, loving the way your eyes lit up when you realized that he was joining your side. Jack, however, stood slack jawed across from you. 
“Now what the hell, Luke? I went along with your little plan, and this is how you repay me?” You and Luke just blinked at him, silly little grins sitting on your face. “Go to hell, both of you,” Jack scoffed before skating off. Once he was gone, you turned towards your boyfriend. Your pout returned, but it was quickly kissed away. 
“I promised you I’d never let you fall, baby. I just never said it’d be me who caught you.” 
You scowled, “you’re such a smart ass.” 
“Love you too, Princess,” Luke grinned. You begrudgingly allowed him to pull you into his chest, the warmth he radiated melting the glare right off your face. 
You turned your head to press a kiss into his jacket-clad chest, right over his heart. A warm smile graced your lips, “I love you, Lukey.” 
“Lukey!”
John Marino stood before him on the ice, stick poised to do the defensive drill coach had instructed them on. 
“You’re out of it today, kid. Are we going to do this drill or not?” 
“Yeah, my bad. Let’s go,” Luke nodded his head, once again trying to shake the thoughts of you from his mind. He had just barely cleared his vision before the puck was dropped, and John was racing towards him. Practice continued like that, Luke losing focus periodically until one of his teammates pulled him back into the moment. 
When he trudged into the locker room an hour later, he was more than ready to go home. These were usually the days he would most appreciate having you to come home to. Leaving a hard practice and coming home to fall asleep in your arms was the best feeling. He tried not to think too much about the gaping hole that memory left in his chest as he untied his skates. 
Once he was dressed in his sweats he rushed from the locker room, hoping to escape the arena before anyone could question his mental wellbeing. Luke made it to the car without any hounding from the guys or trainers, but he had to wait for what felt like an eternity before Jack finally made his way into the parking garage. 
“What the hell took you so long?” Luke questioned, hopping into the passenger seat as Jack unlocked the car doors. 
“Coach wanted to talk to me for a second. You could’ve gotten the keys from my bag, yknow.”
“Yeah, but then I would’ve been tempted to leave you here,” Luke smirked at his brother. 
Jack only rolled his eyes, all too familiar with Luke’s teasing. His mind swirled with the reminders his coach had left him with after their brief post-practice discussion. Coach was getting extremely concerned about Luke and the lack of focus he displayed at practice and games. Jack was also concerned, and so was most of the team. He knew he should bring it up, but the joy in Luke’s eyes was so rare these days that Jack couldn’t bring himself to disturb it. He just wanted to support his brother the best he could, but Luke wouldn’t open up to him. Or anyone, for that matter. Not his mom, not Quinn, not even his old teammates from Michigan. Luke wouldn’t talk to anyone about you.  So Jack took what Luke gave him. Watching late night hockey, Door Dashing dinner, or playing video games for hours on end. Anything to keep his brother occupied, and make him realize that he wasn’t alone. 
Luke finally made his way into his room at 11 pm later that night, feeling relatively okay after eating dinner and watching a Canucks game with Jack. He had felt so unlike himself lately that any small reprieve from reality was a welcomed gift. He also knew that it helped Jack worry about him just a little bit less. 
Luke had just turned out his bathroom light after brushing his teeth when his door creaked open, revealing Jack standing in the doorway. It wasn’t unusual for Jack to check on him before bed, but it had recently become more frequent. 
“You good to leave for practice at 8 tomorrow?” Jack questioned. 
Luke nodded, “Yeah, I’ll be up.” 
“Better be. I’m not in the mood to drag your ass out of bed in the morning.”
Luke rolled his eyes, but the wary look on Jack’s face made him hold his tongue on the snarky response he was about to shoot back. 
“Promise, I’ll be good to go at 8.”       
Jack deemed that a good enough answer, and went to shut the door.
“Alright. Night, Luke.” 
“Luke…” you shakily whispered on the phone. Your voice was wobbly and high pitched, the tears streaming down your face evident in your tone. 
“Baby?” Luke spoke into the phone, “What’s wrong?” 
It was an hour and a half until puck drop, and you should’ve been on your way to the stadium by now. Luke’s furrowed brows caught the attention of Jack in the next stall over, stopping his movements from where he was lacing up his skates. 
“I was on my way to the arena, and I…” a broken sob escaped your mouth, startling Luke as he tried to fathom what could’ve possibly happened after he left the house. 
 “Someone hit me.” 
Luke jumped to his feet, “What do you mean hit you? What happened?” 
“I don’t know. Someone ran a red light or something and they hit my car. I think I spun into a pole,” your breath was growing ragged as you recited the wreck. 
“Are you okay? Where are you? I’m coming to get you,” Luke rushed out as he began grabbing his clothes back out of his bag. Half the locker room was staring now, all with varying looks of concern. 
“I don’t know what to do. I’m bleeding,” you squeaked. “Lukey, there’s so much blood.”              
This sent Luke into a panic. He was stripping his gear as fast as humanly possible while simultaneously yelling at Jack to give him to car keys. Jack’s concerns fell on deaf ears as Luke undressed, and he finally decided that following Luke was the safest option. 
“No. You’re okay, baby. I just need you to tell me where you are, okay? I’ll be there so soon, just tell me where,” Luke begged. He knew logically that the cops would arrive before he could, but he needed to be there with you. 
“Don’t know. But my head hurts so bad,” you whimpered out. Luke tried to ignore the way he could hear your voice weakening as you spoke. 
“Just stay on the phone with me, love. I’m on my way to come get you, yeah?”
Luke tried to reassure you as he shoved his feet into his shoes and rushed from the locker room. Jack was hot on his tail, car keys in hand. 
“ ‘m sorry, Lu,” your whisper was barely heard by Luke as he sprinted down the hallways of Prudential Center. 
“For what, love?” 
“I wanted to be at your game tonight,” you mumbled. 
“It’s fine, baby. There’ll be a million more games for you to come to, yeah?” 
Luke attempted to comfort you as he searched for your location, plugging it into the GPS as Jack pulled out of the parking garage. Luke could only hope the pregame traffic wouldn’t get in the way. 
“Mhmm. Lukey?” 
“Yeah, baby?” 
Your voice was barely a whisper, “I love you.” 
Luke swore he could feel his heart shatter at the crack in your voice. There were tears streaming from his face as he pushed Jack to drive faster. 
“I love you too, princess. So much. Jacky and I are going to be there so soon. I just need you to hang on for a few minutes. Can you do that for me?” 
Luke’s voice was frantic and only grew more so when he heard your phone tumbling out of your hand. 
“Baby? You’ve gotta stay awake, okay?” Luke pleaded, as tears streamed down his face. His hands shook where he held the phone to his ear. 
“Baby? Please tell me you’re okay. I just need you to say something.” 
Luke’s begging continued until the line went dead. 
“Fuck,” Luke muttered, sobs beginning to wrack his body. Jack looked at him frantically as he continued to navigate the streets of New Jersey. 
“Luke? What the hell happened?” Jack kept spitting questions, but he might as well have been talking to a brick wall. “Snap out of it, Luke.” 
“Luke.” 
Luke awoke to Jack shaking him violently, and he tasted the salty tears streaming down his face before he felt them. ‘No. Not again,’  Luke thought. He shot up in bed, sending Jack scrambling backwards to avoid knocking heads. Luke’s head whipped back and forth wildly as his eyes searched the room. ‘Please, please, please,’ he begged the universe. He ignored the way his brain reminded him of the truth, ignored his brother’s pitying look, ignored the cold bed beside him where you should’ve been. It was if the whole world was pointing and laughing at his grieving heart. ‘Look at this idiot,’ they all seemed to say, ‘He still thinks he can save her.’ 
“Fuck,” Luke exhaled, finally giving up his futile attempts at disproving what he knew was his reality. 
Jack stared as his younger brother lost himself to grief once again. Watching as Luke’s hands disappeared into his curls, head bowed as sob after sob wracked his body. Jack felt helpless knowing he couldn’t take this pain from his little brother. All he could do was hold him and promise to be there through it all. 
“I can’t keep doing this,” Luke whispered into Jack’s shoulder. “Every time I wake up, I lose her all over again, and I can’t do it anymore.” 
Jack hesitates, unsure exactly what to say in this situation. You were always the one with the best advice, the one who could handle anything. 
“We’re going to get you through this, okay? You’re not alone in fighting this,” Jack paused, contemplating how to suggest his next thought. “I know you think you’re fine, but I really think you need help Luke. She would want you to get help.” 
Luke nodded, knowing his brother was right. You would hate to see him like this. Ever the caretaker, you had always been the first person to chastise him for not taking proper care of his mental health during hockey season. If you saw him like this, you’d pull him into your arms and then absolutely rip him a new one until he promised to take care of himself. 
“I know,” Luke mumbled, “I’ll start seeing a therapist. I think I need to step away from hockey for a bit too. It’s not fair to the guys that my mental health is affecting the team performance.” 
“I think that’s smart,” Jack agreed. “The guys might not understand what you’re going through, but they know it’s not your fault Luke. They want you to get better too.” 
Luke could only nod, trying to accept Jack’s words as the truth and fight the part of his brain that was saying this was all his fault. Luke was so tired, but he wasn’t willing to go back to sleep when he knew memories of you was what awaited him. 
“I’ll call the trainers tomorrow. I don’t really want to go back to sleep, can we watch a movie or something?” 
“Of course,” Jack agreed, despite the exhaustion weighing him down. “I’ll even let you pick.” 
A slow, knowing grin spread across Luke’s features, “Even Secretariat?” 
Jack’s sigh could be heard all the way in New York, but he smiled nonetheless. Just happy to see that Luke was making small steps towards returning to himself. 
“Even Secretariat.” 
So that’s how Luke and Jack spent their evening, watching movies and eating obscene amounts of popcorn. Luke had smiled to himself for most of the night, feeling a weight lifted off his shoulders. He knew the process would be slow and that he might never truly get back to ‘normal’. But admitting his pain and asking for help, that was enough for now. 
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glitteredrry · 1 year
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GQ couples quiz
summary: Y/N quizzes Harry to test if he’s truly been paying attention during their relationship.
warnings: fluff
wc: 700+
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“Greetings, I’m Y/N.”
“And my name’s Harry,” He cut in, eyeing the camera with a bright smile.
“Today we’re doing,” I said looking over to Harry to get our timing correct.
“The GQ couples quiz,” we said at the same time. We held up our hands in the air, silently cheering that we got it right.
“Are you ready?” I asked him pretending to be being more serious than I could ever possibly be around him.
“Hit me with all the questions, bunny.” He said confidently while adjusting himself in the seat.
Clearing my throat, I looked at the cards that GQ prepared for us trying to get ready to speak. “Mr. Styles, what is my full name?”
Harry pondered and teasingly hit his head as if he could not remember, “I think your name is Y/N Y/L/N. You weren’t given a middle name like us common folk.” I let out a laugh throwing the card in the air moving to the next one.
“What was the name of my first pet? For bonus points, what kind of animal was it?” I squinted my eyes at him because truthfully I believe that I’ve only mentioned it once. The time that I did mention it, we were at the beginning of our relationship.
“It was a cheeky name, I can’t think of the name. But I’m positive that it was a guinea pig.” My eyebrows shot up in surprise while I smiled. I can’t believe he remembered the animal.
“I’m shocked you remembered good job baby-”
“Sargent tater tot!” He interrupted excitingly remembering the silly name I picked out at six years old.
“GQ give him all the points you can, I told you that like the first month of our relationship. How did you remember?” He shrugged his shoulders confidently.
“I’ve just got better memory skills than your average person. Next question, bunny.” He said while giving me a small laugh.
“How did we first meet?”
“Easy. You went to a show of mine with a dear friend of mine. We got acquainted backstage, you fell madly in love with me. The rest is history.” I turned my head to the camera, giving it a moment of silence.
“That is how we met, Y/N.” He called out, breaking the silence.
“No, it’s not! You just don’t remember, but we met when you were performing at the Victoria Secret fashion show. I was an invited guest.”
“Oh, that doesn’t count. I didn’t even get the chance to speak to you! We only said hi.” He was right, that night he was the center of attention and we didn’t get a proper greeting. It still counted to me.
“I say let’s give him a half a point.”
“Deal.” He agreed to it, even though I could tell the competitive part of him wanted the full point.
“How many years have we’ve been together?”
“Three long, long, long,” he said looking at the camera as I laughed at his theatrics. “Loving years.” He ended up saying; causing everyone in the studio to awe. He shook his head nodding with a small smile, soaking in the attention his answer was getting him.
“Let’s go to the next question, you little attention seeker.” Harry bursted out in a cackle at me calling him out in-front of everyone.
We ran through the questions, making everyone in the room fawn over our relationship. Harry’s eyes never left mine, and him getting all the correct answers caused a bright blush to never leave my cheeks. Laughs went across the room as we told some antidotes that were behind each answer. The room calmed down as we approached the final question of the video.
“So far, you’ve had a winning streak,” I said to him, causing Harry to give himself a slight pat on the back.
“Are you ready for the final question, babe?”
“This is a lot of pressure, give me a moment.” He took a dramatic, drawn out deep breath as if he was meditating. “I’m ready.”
“What was the very first, and I do mean the first professional gig I had?” My career as an actor began before I could even count to three. My first acting gig was different from my first professional gig in the industry.
“You’ve been acting your whole life…but when you were six months old?” He said questioning the age. “Yes, six months you modeled for Gap?” He said still unsure of his answer.
“Ladies and gentlemen, we have ourselves a winner! Harry Styles, come on up and claim your prize.” Harry shot up celebrating as he walked over to my directors chair to plant a kiss on my lips.
“My man knows me well,” I said to the room, causing them to laugh. Harry began to hug me, not caring about the cameras being there.
“GQ, we are Harry and Y/N. Thanks for having us.”
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books · 2 years
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Writer Spotlight: Tamsyn Muir
Tamsyn Muir probably doesn’t need a lot of introduction here on Tumblr, but for those who aren’t yet familiar with her work: Tamsyn Muir is the bestselling author of the Locked Tomb Series. Her fiction has won the Locus and Crawford awards. It has been nominated for the Hugo Award, the Nebula Award, the Shirley Jackson Award, the World Fantasy Award, the Dragon Award, and the Eugie Foster Memorial Award. A Kiwi, she has spent most of her life in Howick, New Zealand, with time living in Waiuku and central Wellington. She currently lives and works in Oxford, in the United Kingdom. 
We asked Tamsyn some questions about Nona the Ninth, the next installment of the Locked Tomb series, which comes out on September 13. (Mild spoilers ahead. You have been warned!)
Can you tell us about Nona the Ninth? How would you contextualize it alongside the previous Gideon the Ninth and Harrow the Ninth?
The Locked Tomb has always followed a concrete set of rules about whose point of view we’re in—there’s a priority list and a hard if-and-else-if set of codes about who is telling the tale. The priority character is always Gideon Nav herself, but after Gideon the Ninth, in many ways, she gets knocked out of the ring.
Nona is the next rule on the priority list—the next storyteller. Except there are also a bunch of other storytellers popping up in the priority list as she lets her guard down. That’s kind of one curtain I wanted to pull back on The Locked Tomb as a whole. Who’s telling this story? What is the truth as someone else understands it? Which is why, where the last two books have been told very much from the perspectives of the Nine Houses, we’re finally in a setting where the Houses have pulled back, and the truth told is completely different.
You have a knack for approaching the next part of the story from a completely different vantage point, which is deliciously frustrating for the reader. Why do you think this works so well (when really, it sort of shouldn’t)?
Oh, but it does, and it’s been proved to work—just play an RPG! One thing I passionately loved in Final Fantasy IX, my very favourite Final Fantasy at the end of the day, is that one moment you’re with the thief-turned-thespian Zidane and a wonderfully dashing attempt to kidnap a princess in the middle of a theater performance—then you’re with…some very bizarre kid called Vivi…who has lost his ticket and is getting negged by a horrifying rat child. You’re given a completely different lens on a completely different situation in what’s basically a completely different genre. In the same game! There’s a risk of getting too comfortable in someone’s truth—you might want to settle down in a character whom you have learned to understand. But then you have to practice a very radical empathy in settling down in Nona, who just absolutely does not give a shit about swords or empire and, at her worst, can be quite an irritating, materialistic babe in the woods who is WAY too into dogs. Of course it’s alienating. If the experience of being in Gideon’s head was the same as being in Harrow’s as being in Nona’s, there wouldn’t be any point. If different vantage points didn’t work, A Song of Ice and Fire would never have gotten off the ground. Hell, neither would The Iliad. I just sit longer with my vantage point.
After writing foul-mouthed and horny Gideon and acerbic, memory-challenged, and also horny Harrow, how did you approach writing Nona’s character, and what did you enjoy most about the process?
Harrow would hate that you described her as horny. Gideon would be fine with being described as horny. Nona would love to sit you down and talk about all the things that make her horny, at the end of which you are 50% worried that she doesn’t honestly understand ‘horny,’ and 50% worried that she DOES understand ‘horny.’
Nona is my character who doesn’t give a fuck. Gideon and Harrow both give too many. It was fun to write a character who sincerely seeks out love as she understands it, who has a large collection of friends and interests, and has no ambition. And yet what I really enjoyed is that Nona is easily also the most terrifying POV character of the series. 
We meet some old friends in a new place in Nona. What aspect of the familiar characters meeting the unfamiliar world was the most fun to write?
Honestly, the fact that they’re in such a different milieu was fun enough. One is a woman completely out of time, trying to find something to live for; two are dyed-in-the-wool Housers forced to re-examine values they’ve always taken for granted and what the next part of life after death is going to look like for them. All three are fish out of water. And then there’s actually the reader meeting the familiar after two long books about the unfamiliar, and all the ways I hope that’s entirely weird and recontextualizing. And then, for Nona, what’s familiar to us is entirely unfamiliar to her. Writing Nona was like one long experiment with jamais vu.
When Lyctorhood goes south or gets experimented with, we get someone’s mind in someone else’s body. What is it that drew you to writing this Cartesian mechanism into the universe of the Nine Houses?
Oh my God, please do not spring words like Cartesian on me, I have not had lunch yet.
My understanding is that Descartes thought mind and matter were two completely different things and then got stuck trying to explain why they don’t feel like two completely different things. So if someone kicks you in the goolies and your mind forms the thought ‘yowch, my goolies,’ how is that mind-matter gulf being bridged? Minds in The Locked Tomb lose to matter nine times out of ten. (This is linked, not coincidentally, to my experience of psychosis.) Gideon’s mind is constantly in danger of being sucked away into the storm drain of Harrow’s matter. Revenants are minds that have temporarily anchored themselves to foreign matter, but over time the matter exerts itself, and the mind starts to fall apart. So when you get a mind that’s big enough not only to resist the matter it’s attached to but actually to start burning that matter up…well, what kind of mind could possibly be so powerful?? (Significant looks at camera.)
You’ve previously headcanoned the often affectionately named “Jod” as Taika Waititi (which offers up the potential for some delightful space-god-gay-pirate crossover fic, thank you). Do you have any casting headcanons for the other characters?
I have recently admitted to loving Erana James as Harrow, except I don’t think Harrowhark is quite that good-looking.
By the way, I wish I had come up with Jod. Whoever did, well done you. 
We know you’re not allowed to read fanfic for legal reasons, but who would you find intriguing as a ship proposition and why?
I find all ships intriguing. I’ve spent too long in these mines. No ship is too problematic or cracky for me. My only hope is to out-fandom fandom by presenting them with ships more problematic and crack-filled than they do (I will not; fandom always wins). In these tiresome days where ship wars have been taking on airs, as is my understanding, of virtue versus sin (I don’t even know what Bakudeku is and yet I feel sorry for anyone who ships it; I didn’t ship Reylo because it wasn’t messed-up enough and feel the same), I hope the Locked Tomb fandom is just accepting that all shipping is batshit and every ship is just as bad as the next. Gideon x Harrow is just as bad as Teacher x Crux is as bad as Hot Sauce x Cytherea the First is as bad as Camilla x Juno Zeta is as bad as Silas x Every Asht Brother (actually, I wrote the Asht brothers in an unrelated piece that’ll never see the light of day and imo they’ve suffered enough, but). 
I was in the Kingdom Hearts fandom briefly. We shipped people with Goofy. Actually, let’s go with that. Naberius Tern x Goofy. On second thought, please don’t go with that. Goofy had a happy marriage and would know better.
This question has sparked some debate among the editorial team here because we absolutely can’t agree on one. Do you have a favorite character?
Yes. As of twenty seconds ago, it’s Naberius because I can’t enthuse enough over how he and Goofy’s relationship would break down because Babs spends so much money on silk pillowcases to avoid hair frizz. He only needs two, max, but has twenty. I hope Goofy goes on longer and longer adventures with Sora and Donald to try to ignore how his love life is breaking down over Naberius leaving the wedding they were just attending because he saw some other dude wearing the same shirt. Leave him, Goofy!!!
If Nona had a Tumblr, what would it be called, and what would she post?
It would just be a single text post with ‘hi,’ and she didn’t even write it. She dictated to Camilla, then ran out of ideas. Her profile just says ‘nona,’ and it’s a default layout. Nona just wouldn’t see the point of Tumblr, even if you told her there were pictures of dogs: why would you want to see a picture of a dog when you could be near a dog in real life? (I told you Nona was scary.)
Which house would you belong to, and do you see yourself more as an adept or cavalier?
I belong to No House. I’ve never been able to belong to a House. I’ve never been able to sort myself into anything really; I’ve tried, and nothing sticks. I can’t be an adept or a cavalier either, I’m just sitting in the corner glumly eating hot dogs. I guess I’m Hot Dog House.
The Locked Tomb fanart is strong here on Tumblr. Do you have a favorite piece you’ve seen recently?
Every piece I have seen recently is my most favorite piece! I was just in Spain for the Celsius convention, and the most intensely wonderful thing was that I came away with fan art that the fans have done. I don’t know what they’re feeding them there in Spain, but pretty much every fan was just nonchalantly like, ‘I drew this,’ and presented me with the goddamn Sistine Chapel. Someone had, while they were waiting in a queue, just filled a sketchbook with the most incredible work on the fly. Special shout-out to a marvelous flipbook I got where Harrow and Gideon are ducks.
The plan was for Alecto the Ninth to be the third and last book. Here we are with Nona the Ninth and Alecto still set to appear (we are not complaining). How has that process been?
AWFUL!!!!
It took me a long time to let go of the fact that it wasn’t going to be a trilogy; it was four books. I want the story to be done now! For one thing, because I’m really excited about the ending, and for another thing, the longer this goes on, the more of a terrible gremlin I become. The Locked Tomb is very special to me, but also I have five million other stories to write and only so long in a lifetime. I’ve been with this world since 2018, and I am wildly excited to get to all the other places. My editor and I will, I think, shed a sentimental tear on the final page, but also, you haven’t even met Teresa Santos yet, who has kept every gun she has ever loved.
What kind of writer are you? A plotter? A pantser? Do you have any morning rituals that set you up for a day of writing?
Plotter. I envy pantsers and gardeners. This is why Nona being unexpected got to me so much. I don’t actually have any rituals or exercises or anything—it’s important for me to have a specific writing space and a good breakfast. But every book is different. Like, what helped with Harrow was breaking every so often to die in Donkey Kong Country.
Do you have any writing or publishing or life advice for any budding queer sci-fi writers reading this?
I see so many writers—and this may also have something to do with being a queer writer—giving themselves SUCH a goddamned hard time. If I could give any advice to them, it would be to stop beating themselves up so much. I’m really dubious at how there’s this perceived glamorous youthquake to writing— like, that if you haven’t been published by 25 and don’t have BookTok at your feet, you’re a failure—it is so much more important to live your life. I’m so grateful I lived in an era where I could write fanfiction, for instance, and not have the sense that it ought to be my side hustle. You don’t have to have published the world’s most important and meaningful queer SFF story by the time you are 29. You don’t need to have done jack shit. 
I do have one piece of practical life advice because if I have any regrets, it is that for a large portion of my early twenties, I used to consume like six cans of Mountain Dew a day. I don’t think this sparked queer joy. I think it stripped away all my tooth enamel. You will LOVE having tooth enamel in your old age, so stop.
The Locked Tomb is seriously good and gloriously queer, and its continued success will hopefully encourage more publishers to publish more queer sci-fi, all of the time. Do you have any queer sci-fi reading recs to tide us over while we await Alecto? 
Some Desperate Glory by Emily Tesh is coming soon. It should really be called Problematic Gays I Have Loved (this is why they don’t let me title things).
Thank you so much to Tamsyn for taking the time to answer our questions! We’re so excited to see everyone’s reactions to Nona the Ninth when she arrives on September 13!! In the meantime, head over to the #the locked tomb tag for fan theories, fics, and art (remember to filter for spoilers)!
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astranva · 1 year
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Harry Styles talking about his girlfriend for 16 minutes video
Word Count: 1.3k Category: pure fluff Summary: A fan makes a compilation video of Harry talking about you during his LOT shows. A/N: i had tiktok!yn in mind while writing this but you don't need to imagine so! x
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There were a lot of things fans looked forward to at Harry’s shows.
The outfits, the performance, the fan projects, these were all parts of what made the fan experience fun even if they weren’t present at the shows.
But it was Harry talking about you that had everyone in a chokehold.
Harry Styles talking about his girlfriend at his concerts for 16 minutes
The 16-minute video started with a clip of Harry from Manchester, blue overalls on a black and white polka-dotted t-shirt.
With his mic in his hand, he pumped his fist in the air as he barked into the mic, thousands of people copying him.
“Ho! Ho! Ho! Ho!” He giggled, walking across the stage as his fans barked back at him, “I’ve never done that before. First time. I like it, makes me feel quite manly,” he joked before making the same noise again and pausing, waiting for the fans to copy him, “Ha!” He grinned, opening his hand before giggling and walking across the stage again, his eyes falling on one section before he let out a laugh, closing his eyes as he did.
He adjusted his earpiece, still giggling before bringing the microphone up to his mouth, “My girlfriend is looking me like,” he dramatically shook his head with one hand at his hip, “She’s like, what have I done to myself?” He said, giggling before raising a hand towards your section, “Sorry. I won’t take it back home,” he said before laughing, “She said ‘you better not’.”
The clip then moved to him in Oslo, microphone in his hand as he walked across the stage, pointing at a distance.
“There’s a sign here,” he began, “Can I read your sign?” He asked, getting approval from the shaking and excited fan, “Your sign says ‘I’m only here for Y/N’,” he read, smirking as everyone cheered before he turned back, laughing with the rest of the band before looking back at the fan, “Well, she’s not here tonight, mate!” He exclaimed, “You’re here for me!” He joked, pointing at himself, laughing as everyone cheered, before he raised his hand up, “She’s sadly not here tonight but I know she follows a lot of you on TikTok so I know she’ll see this,” he smiled, “For the rest of the show, you’ll have to put up with me. I’m sorry my girlfriend has a career she’d rather tend to than to watch me bark,” he joked, laughing to himself before coughing into his hand like it wasn’t the most disgusting and unhygienic thing that a person can do; an action that you had told him before gave you “the ick” despite your love for him, to which led to Harry making you explain what an ick was.
The clip then played another, being one from the One Night Only in London show.
“I had never thought I’d say cocaine, side boob, choke her with a seaview, wait,” he held his hand out before reaching out, “with my mother in the audience,” he laughed, the camera moving from him to Anne in the balcony section, waving with a grin, “Y/N almost didn’t come tonight,” Harry said, “Almost,” he brought his pointer and thumb together, squinting as he looked up, the camera then moving again, this time showing Anne with her arm around you as you laughed and shook your head, “I’m sorry!” He exclaimed.
The clip then moved on to show Harry in his yellow and blue suit in Glasgow, pointing at someone in the crowd.
“What’s your name?”
Through the cheer, the fan’s answer wasn’t heard but Harry’s face beamed, lighting up as his eyebrows were raised.
“Y/N?” He repeated, fans cheering more, “That’s a fantastic name!” He perked, giggling to himself before coughing into his elbow, “When’s your birthday? Today. Okay, we got there. It’s today!” He announced, walking back and forth on the stage, “You have an Ibrox stadium full of people, would you like them to sing happy birthday to you?” He asked her, “Okay, she would love that,” he said, “Well, that’s a shame because we’re not gonna do it,” Harry joked, “I’m kidding! We are! We are! My girlfriend would have my head if we didn’t sing happy birthday to someone who shares her name,” he giggled, “I have to make sure,” he stood closer to the edge, “Is it actually Y/N? Okay, it is. Fantastic, fantastic name.”
The clip then moved to his show in Dublin, striped green and white jumpsuit on as a fan was telling him a joke.
“Why does a duck have tail feathers?” He repeated, “Tell me,” he paused before a disappointed expression was on his face, walking away on the stage with his wireless microphone, “To cover its buttquack,” he rolled his eyes before chuckling, “Thank you for that. Appreciate it,” he sarcastically said, walking closer to where you were, looking at you before laughing, “Y/N just told me that I can’t do better,” he held his hand out, “She thinks my sense of humor is broken,” he pointed at himself, “Then she shows me absolutely chaotic TikToks with tears on her face from laughing and she’s like, ‘babe, it’s the unhinged behavior’,” he mimicked, “You just laughed at a buttquack joke!” He jokingly shouted at you.
The video moved to show another clip from his last MSG garden, Harry in his colorful jumpsuit filmed after his sign was raised in the arena, tearful eyes on the big screen as his gaze moved from the banner and toward where you stood, putting a hand to his heart as he mouthed “Thank you, I love you” to your direction before looking back up at the banner, “Shit!” He exclaimed with a grin, “It’s just blue, you win,” he said, looking back at you, “Sorry everyone, Y/N and I had a bet about the text color,” he said, walking across the stage, “I know better than to win a bit against my girlfriend.”
Another clip then played of Harry at his Cologne show, holding a folded t-shirt in his hands with his microphone, showing it to the audience as he unfolded it, beaming when he saw what was written on it.
‘I ❤️ Y/N’ was written on the chest area in bold, a printed picture of your smiling face right under it.
The fans cheered as Harry giggled, turning around to show the rest of the band before looking back at the fans, then gazing down at the t-shirt again and raising it above his head, making everyone get louder.
“Thank you,” he said into his mic, bringing the shirt back down and gazing at it before looking at the fan who gave it to him, “I love it and I’m sure I’ll embarrass my girlfriend by wearing it,” he said, “Which is exactly what I love to do.”
The video then moved to the last clip, being one from Harryween with Harry in his Danny Zuko costume, looking up at the big screen before pointing, “Is that what you’re screaming for?” He asked the audience, “Sorry,” he said, looking at Chris Olsen whom Harry had no clue who he was, “How are you, sir?” He asked.
The fan-recorded video moved to show Chris with his “DADDY?” sign up, nodding with a grin.
With a casual stride, Harry took his time before he stood, pointing at the sign, “Yes?” He answered to it, the crowd losing it before he repeated, “Yeees?” He answered before chuckling, “I fear that there may be a communication breakdown from this distance,” he joked before pointing somewhere else, “And I have a girlfriend,” he teased, laughing to himself at the wild reaction the fans gave him, “Sorry, sir, I only answer to one person, and she’s right there,” he pointed. The fan recorded the big screen as it showed you, wide eyes and mouth open in shock as you looked at your boyfriend who was too busy giggling at your reaction.
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yoonavii · 7 months
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Never popped a request to anyone via tumblr before but ahhh I loved your most recent Sanji fic so much. You're so talented ❤️
If you ever feel inspired, what about something where Sanji joins the crew, and sees how close reader and Zoro are (whether or not Zoro actually does have feelings for reader, idk!), and he gets jealous, until some event or fight and the reader shows how she cares for him and it all comes out in the open
(love me a bit of angst!)
Thank you!!🥺 and Welp, I’m inspired!! I tried my best with this one cause I’ve been a little dusty with angst lately so I apologize in advance. Hope you still enjoy it though!
Jealous
OPLA! Sanji x Reader
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After the tumultuous events at the Baratie, Sanji officially joined the Straw Hat Pirates as their skilled cook. Initially, he was thrilled to be part of the crew, living his dream of sailing the Grand Line with an extraordinary group of individuals. However, as the days turned into weeks, he couldn’t help but notice something that gnawed at his heart – your growing closeness to Zoro.
On the surface, it was an inseparable bond formed through countless adventures, battles, and shared moments. You and Zoro seemed like kindred spirits, and it was clear to everyone that you had each other’s backs. They trained together, sparred together, and sometimes, they even spent hours talking about their dreams late into the night.
For Sanji, it was painful to watch. He had harbored deep feelings for you but never found the courage to express them. Instead, he masked his emotions with jealousy, believing that you and Zoro shared a connection that he could never hope to replicate.
As the crew continued their journey, heading toward the tumultuous waters of the conomi islands to save Nami, the tension between Sanji and Zoro escalated. Their arguments, once subtle jabs, had evolved into full-blown conflicts, often ending in physical confrontations. The crew couldn’t ignore the rift growing between them, and their division was affecting their performance in battles.
One day, as the crew faced off against the Fish-Men on the foreboding Arlong Park, the simmering animosity between Sanji and Zoro reached its boiling point. The battlefield became a stage for their pent-up anger to explode. Swords clashed against kicks, and fists met with blades in a cacophony of violence. You, exhausted from fighting alongside your bickering crewmates, couldn’t take it any longer. With adrenaline coursing through your veins, you stepped boldly between Sanji and Zoro, ignoring the danger of the ongoing battle. “Enough!” you roared, your voice cutting through the chaos. “We can’t afford to be divided like this, especially in a battle like this one!”
Sanji and Zoro froze, their faces flushed with anger, but they both turned their attention to you. Your presence had an immediate calming effect. You took a deep breath, then continued, “Sanji, Zoro, we’re a crew. We’re a family. And I can’t stand to see you two at odds like this.” Sanji’s expression softened as he listened intently to your words. You took a step closer to him, your voice quivering slightly with vulnerability. “Sanji, you should know that I care about you deeply. It’s not just about Zoro and me. I want us all to be close and support each other. If it’s causing you pain, then let’s find a way to work through it.”
Sanji’s heart raced as he absorbed your confession. He never expected to hear those words from you. Slowly, he nodded, a faint smile playing at the corners of his lips. “I… I feel the same way y/n. I was just being stupidly jealous.” You reached out and placed a hand on his cheek, your touch gentle and reassuring. “Let’s put this behind us, Sanji. We can be together as a crew, as friends, and as something more, if you want.”
With the tension diffused, Sanji and Zoro exchanged a begrudging nod of understanding. The three of you returned to the battle, but this time, there was a newfound unity among the Straw Hat Pirates. While they hadn’t completely resolved their differences, they had taken the first steps toward mutual respect, recognizing that they each had their unique strengths and weaknesses. The bonds of the crew were stronger than ever, and as you fought side by side, you couldn’t help but smile, knowing that you had mended a broken heart and solidified the crew’s unbreakable spirit.
As the sun set on Arlong Park, a feeling of hope and reconciliation washed over the crew. Sanji and Zoro had begun to understand that their differences could be complementary rather than divisive, and with your support, they would continue to grow and adapt as a unified crew. The journey continued, marked by a deeper sense of camaraderie, love, and acceptance, proving that even in the face of jealousy and conflict, the bonds of friendship could prevail and grow stronger.
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©𝐘𝐎𝐎𝐍𝐀𝐕𝐈𝐈— Any sign/evidence of plagiarism made from outside this name will be dealt with by whatever means necessary. Legal action may occur if non fanfiction works are plagiarized.
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neveragainfools · 3 months
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It’s fascinating to me how real-play shows easily slot into the metamodern movement so effortlessly, and without sacrificing the sincerity or quality of the story. By my understanding, metamodern stories are ones that are aware that they are stories, acknowledge the viewer and the absurdity of narrative itself (like Everything Everywhere All At Once, Into the Spiderverse, etc).
Personally, metamodernity meets the audience where we are now. When there is SO MUCH literature and film to build on, and nearly everyone knows the hero’s journey, it feels like something’s missing unless the story is exceptional, different, or more self-aware. Metamodern works can be great, but I think a lot of films that fit into the metamodern style lack heart. The style breeds a lot of “we’ll make fun of ourselves before you do, because we know you will. We’d rather disrespect our own story than let you feel smugly better than us if we’re sincere.” This is accelerated and compounded by the fact that many major releases these days capitalize on the nostalgia that drives sales for familiar IPs in reboot, rework, spin-off or the dreaded “cinematic universe” (the marvelization of it all).
But the difference with real-play shows is that the winking, fourth-wall breaking, the acknowledgement of tropes, the audience and absurdity of the universe lives on a separate layer of reality from the story being told. The characters aren’t joking about the worlds, their players are. The players (including the GM) are audience, writer and performer all at the same time. Instead of the edifice of narrative being an invisible force pointed out by its cracks, separate from the audience reaction, it is made explicit and woven into audience instead of narrative. Real play shows declare “these are people playing characters. Some plot and character choices are based on what was written beforehand, but most are made by dice and improvised in the moment. The reactions to those choices are made by both the player and the character. Of course these tropes exist, we’ve chosen a setting that supports them.”
Real-play shows are almost as if every film always had the director’s commentary on in the theatre, but the director's commentary shaped the plot, and made space for audience reaction to shape it too. We the audience understand that the commentary isn’t part of the story. What’s left untouched then, is the narrative itself. By acknowledging the edifice, the mechanisms of storytelling on the “commentary” layer, the in-story moments become totally sincere and embrace the story, unworried by the way in which it’s shaped.
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julessymphonies · 9 months
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Viper // Part 9 // MAX VERSTAPPEN – N.01 (N.033)
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Author’s Note: Here’s the long awaited ninth part for Viper! Gosh this one took a lot more time to put together than I wanted it to, but things have been so flipping busy. Thank you so much for being patient with me (and for checking in, the messages have been super sweet 😊) Buckle up you guys, we’re in for a roller coaster ride of a time.
Also side note, I’ve decided to give names to both of Y/N’s brothers, seeing as the older one is going to be playing a more prominent role throughout 2020+ and writing your oldest brother was getting on my nerves. Sooooo, Liam is the oldest brother, and Connor is the middle brother, Y/N being the youngest.
Find the previous 8 parts on my masterlist, here.
Summary: Y/N fills the vacant Red Bull seat at the beginning of the 2019 season, craziness ensues.
Characters: Max Verstappen / Driver Reader, Daniel Ricciardo x Driver Reader (besties).
Word Count: 14.3k
Warnings: Fluff, Comfort, Drama, Angst. All the good stuff. Mentions of sex, Mature content, language, etc. Google Translate for Dutch words.
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><> 
You woke up the morning after the Prize Giving feeling like a whole new person.
Your mind was clear, for the first time in months. Your first thought wasn’t about how out of control things had gotten in your life, but rather what you could do to win. You weren’t wracked with the guilt that had been weighing down on your shoulders since Abu Dhabi, or heartbroken over what could’ve been. You felt nothing, and that was like coming up for a breath of fresh air after being held underwater for far too long.
It was clear now, how distracted you’d become over the last few months, letting your emotions get the best of you. You knew, deep down, that you had what it takes to win the whole fucking thing. At some point, that had stopped being the priority. It was time to focus, and get back to doing everything you possibly could to win. If that meant staying on this medication that helped you deal with your shit and not get distracted by pesky emotions, then so be it.
Jos Verstappen had no idea what was coming for him. You might hate him more than anyone else for taking your choice over how the situation with Max was handled away, but in the end, he’d done you a massive favour.
Max wasn’t going to stop you from winning either.
You’d make this all worth it.
Fuck em all.
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><> 
If Daniel was surprised by your announcement later that morning that you’d changed your entire holiday plans on a whim (again) and decided that going to Perth with the rest of your family was back on the table, he didn’t show it. He simply kept working through his carb-loaded breakfast, before making a comment about a hike that he thought your brothers would enjoy that wasn’t too difficult for non-high-performance-athletes.
You’d boarded the same flight as Daniel in the afternoon, sweet talking the person next to him in first class to switch seats with you a couple rows down so you could attempt to keep one another awake if possible and beat the jetlag that would surely be waiting for you in Australia. Daniel never once commented on your complete mental 180 from the day before, rolling with it as he flipped through a playlist on his phone and shared some of his recent musical discoveries with you to pass the time.
You’d come to the conclusion about 5 minutes after landing in Perth that coming to Australia for the holidays was the best thing you could’ve done. Daniel was practically vibrating with excitement as you made your way through customs, somehow patient enough to wait for you as you had to make your way through the longer, non-Australian citizen customs line. Grace and Joe were waiting for the two of you at baggage claim in the arrivals section of the airport, pulling you both into tight hugs. You hugged them back just as tightly, Grace’s hug in particular working some kind of magic that really helped you forget all your (medically non-existant) worries.
It felt like coming home.
Grace and Joe had driven the pair of you out to Daniel’s farm, on the outskirts of town. For the next week, you and Dan would be staying there, and then your families would be joining for the actual holidays. The Ricciardos would be staying in the main house, whereas your side of the family took up residence in the guest house. You’d been doing this for years, except for the one time the Ricciardos had made the trip to Canada for a white Christmas.
Your first week in Australia was filled with lots of sunshine, making the most out of the warm weather and doing whatever the heck you felt like on that day. You’d dragged Daniel and Michael on hikes, swam in the ocean alone (while Daniel kicked a football back and forth with Michael on the beach cause he was too chicken shit to get in the water, still deathly afraid of sharks), drove around the farm on some of Daniel’s dirt bikes, spent a day hanging out with the animals, even gone karting with some of your old friends at the track where it had all begun for you. You hadn’t even been that bothered when one of your friends had won the race, because you and Danny were just a bit too competitive and kept knocking each other offline, much to the displeasure of the owners.
Australia was magic, this extra time in Perth leaving you relaxed in a way you hadn’t been in years. You completely reset. It was the perfect way to chill, after the craziness of the last season. It gave you a chance to appreciate how crazy the year had been, looking at your accomplishments and actually taking them in. You didn’t think about your teammate, focusing solely on yourself for the first time in forever. It was important to do this, so you’d be fresh and ready to accomplish even more when things inevitably picked back up. It was the perfect recharge.
Things only got better when the rest of your family landed in Perth, feeling like you were 14 again. It was nightly barbecues at the farm or the beach with friends and family, falling back into old traditions. There was the traditional Home Alone 1 & 2 movie night, the now adult children still laughing through all of the corny jokes and unrealistic moments. You went with the boys to the shops on Christmas Eve, unimpressed by the fact that all three of them still had some last minute shopping to do (like you hadn’t shipped all your gifts to the farm months ago, everything already wrapped and under the tree in the main house). Christmas was a big party, lots of friends and some of the extended Ricciardo family coming around to celebrate together. It felt good to be surrounded by your people, where nothing outside of this happy little bubble mattered.
Daniel had stopped looking at you like you were going to break after the first 24 hours in Perth, also concluding that coming to Australia had been good for you. He hadn’t asked about Red Bull, or the night of the prize giving, or your teammate. He saw you, smiling and happy to be home and let it be. It made you even more thankful for his presence in your life, knowing you so well that he trusted you and didn’t push. You didn’t know what you’d do without him.
And, you’d barely touched the medication since landing in Perth, the air here significantly less suffocating since you were so far removed from everything else.
It was all under control.
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><> 
The morning of New Year’s Eve was exactly the same as every other year before. A family brunch with mimosas and lots of laughter, where Grace would make her ‘special occasion’ pancakes (which had blueberries or chocolate chips placed within them to make little smiley faces; some things never changed). It was a time together before the kids and adults split for the night, both groups set to attend very different parties. You guys were heading over to one of Daniel’s friends’ place who had a massive house right on the coast and a private fireworks display, and the parents were going to a smaller gathering in town.
You were all sitting around the table, overstuffed with syrupy pancakes and a little buzzed from the mimosas that had a way higher prosecco percentage than orange juice. Your dad was smiling, watching all the kids shooting the shit like nothing had changed since you were all actually kids.
“What are everyone’s resolutions this year?” He asked, leaning back into his chair and sipping on his third mug of coffee. He asked the same question every year, a silly little tradition meant to generally talk about what you hoped to accomplish throughout the upcoming year. The past few years, yours had been about making it to the next step in your racing career. Last year, you wanted to prove that you belonged in Formula 1. It wasn’t hard to figure out what you were going to say when it came around to being your turn to share your resolution.
 Michelle started off the round, sipping on her plain orange juice (side effect of being pregnant). “Easy, surviving the next few weeks before my maternity leaves kicks in… then inhaling as much of that fresh baby smell while I still can.”
“That’s not creepy at all.” Daniel made a face, earning a round of laughs and an eye roll from his older sister.
“There’s nothing else like it, Dan.” Grace chided him. “You’ll get it one day.”
“Unlikely.” Daniel mumbled under his breath, earning a hidden smirk from yourself as you sat beside him.
“What’s yours, smart ass?” Michelle shot back, but didn’t actually look that bothered. Everyone knew that Daniel was content with his ‘cool uncle’ role in this family. He’d actually have to settle down and date someone for longer than a handful of nights for anything more.
“Also easy.” Dan smirked, and you braced yourself for whatever wild thing was about to come out of his mouth. “Podium, preferably here in Melbourne. With this one-” he bumped your shoulder “a step below so she can get the full podium experience.”  You nodded along, a real smile spreading on your face. You’d love to share a podium with him, even if it meant you would be forced into doing a very disgusting shoey in front of the whole world.
Grace went next, saying how she couldn’t wait to spend even more time with her grandbabies, eagerly awaiting the newest addition to the family. Joe talked about this maybe being the year that he would step away from his business and retire, letting someone else take the reins, even though everyone around the table knew that it wasn’t likely. Your dad talked about wanting to spend as much time as possible with his own kids, including coming out to quite a few more Grand Prix’s this coming season. The thought brought another smile to your face.
Connor, your older brother talked about his students and the goals he wanted to accomplish with his students before they went off and graduated this year. He talked about settling in with his girlfriend, and the life they’d been talking about starting lately. Very small town, but he loved it. You wanted that for him.
Liam, your oldest brother, went next. “I want to make the most of this new opportunity.” He started, shooting a soft smile your way from across the table, obviously referring to the fact that he was going to be joining the F1 circus this coming season. “Try something new in every country, experience success with M-my driver, while getting to celebrate Y/N’s success too. And set a date with Monica, for the wedding. Get to it with all those plans.”
Then the attention in the room turned towards you, the only one at the table who hadn’t shared their resolutions yet. Good thing yours was easy. “Oh, uh. I’m going to win the WDC.”
“Lame!” Connor rolled his eyes at you.
“You didn’t say that when Dan said he wanted to be on the podium.” You snipped back. “That’s my goal for the year.”
“What about something other than racing? It’s what you say every fucking year.” He challenged, a shit eating grin taking residence on his face. “You know, like maybe go on a date or something instead of making your whole life about racing.”
“I go on dates, ask Dan.” Now you were the one rolling your eyes at Connor. Daniel was quick to hold his hands up in a neutral manner, as if to say nope, not getting in the middle of this one.  
“That’s not what I mean.” Connor grumbled, making a face. “Don’t you want to settle down at some point?”
“No?” You said slowly, shaking your head at him, wondering where this was coming from… “Did you miss the part where I said I wanted to win? I don’t have the mental capacity to ‘settle down and build a life’ and still be the best driver on the grid. This job is all or nothing, no room for distractions. I want to win, Connor.”
“Is winning really the most important thing though?”
“Yes!” You answered easily, then winced at how it sounded. “I mean, I’ve literally been working towards this my whole life. I’m not giving up because things might get a little lonely sometimes. I have a good support system to help with all of that… I don’t want the whole family thing like you do.”
You thought it would be enough to get your brother you’re your back, but that didn’t seem to be the case. “You’re a shit liar.”
“Excuse me?” You couldn’t bite your irritation back. You should’ve been able to, with the help of the meds. But there was also something about your annoying older brother pushing your buttons that couldn’t be helped. “What the fuck Connor?!”
Connor didn’t seem aware of the minefield he was walking into, not hesitating to push further. “We all saw what was going on between you and Max in Austin.”
Daniel tensed next to you, as you dragged in a long calming breath. Within a few seconds, it felt like most of the air had been sucked out of the room, the atmosphere instantly becoming supremely uncomfortable for everyone still sat at the table.
The only reason you didn’t immediately tear into your brother was the medication. Your rage was muted, dwindled down to a slightly more manageable irritation. Joe, Michelle and Grace quietly excused themselves to start clearing the table, giving you a little bit more privacy so this conversation wouldn’t have to happen in front of everyone. Daniel and your father stayed firmly planted in their seats, Dan putting a comforting hand on your arm, which you immediately shook off.
“Fuck off.” You said tonelessly. “Max is my teammate.”
“We’re your family, Y/N!” Connor seemed to be just as annoyed for no fucking reason, knowing exactly what to say to get the biggest reaction. “You don’t have to hide your relationship from us, no one’s going to run to the media to tell them what’s going on. We want you to be happy.”
“Dude…” Liam mumbled, warning your brother that he was going too far. Connor breezed past the warning, standing his ground with his challenging gaze set on you.
You’d never been one to back down from a fight.
“You know what’s going to make me happy Connor? To win the World Driver’s Championship and for you to kindly fuck off when you have no idea what you’re talking about.” You spoke dryly, meeting Connor’s gaze head on. You didn’t raise your voice, but you were going to make yourself very clear because you were sick and tired of this shit and didn’t want to have to deal with it anymore. “I’m going to say this once more, slowly enough for you to understand this time.”
“I’m not fucking my teammate.” Your dad, Liam and Daniel visibly cringed at your choice of words, but you didn’t care. “I’m not looking for a relationship, or to settle down in a stupid small-town life like you. That’s not what I want for myself. I don’t have the luxury to dating around like a normal person, or even any of the boys that I drive alongside. I wouldn’t be stupid enough to give the media anymore shit to use against me, it’s already fucking hard enough as it is.”
“You don’t have any fucking clue what it’s like to walk into work every week, and have reporters ask you questions about a boy you were seen out in public with, or whether or not Dan and I are dating because we’re friends. You don’t know what it’s like to have headlines written about you, week after week saying that your last win was a fluke because your teammate is too soft for you, or you smiled at a driver when you were on the podium so obviously the two of you are sleeping together, or that a bad race result is because you’re too distracted and have no place in this sport. It fucking sucks.”
Connor looked about ready to say something else, but you didn’t let him, carrying on with your rant. He’d chosen push you, so he could wait his fucking turn. “What’s worse than that are those people who are constantly asking me when I’m going to give up and do what they think I should be doing. Settle down, get married, pop out some kids. No one thinks I have what it takes to win. You’ll never get how that fucking feels, or how badly it makes me want to prove every single one of them wrong. So, when I say my stupid New Year’s resolution is to win the title, I mean it. There’s nothing else. I couldn’t give a flying fuck about dating or what you think is going on between me and Max. I care about winning.”
Your brother had a stubborn pout in his face as you told him off, shaking his head at you in disbelief. “You know, you sound just like mom. Winning over everything else.”
You froze, irritation dissipating instantly.
“Connor!” Your dad shouted, startling everyone else who remained at the table with a tone he rarely used, intervening a moment too late now that it was clear that this argument had gone too far. Connor seemed to realize only after the words had left his mouth how fucked up that had been to say.
“Fucking fantastic…” You mumbled, but it no longer had any bite. You pushed yourself up, ignoring the way your hands were shaking and you started to lose focus of the room around you. “I’m going for a run.” You whispered, already making your way to the side door of the kitchen that led out to the guest house.
“Do you want-”
“Nope.” You said, cutting off what you assumed was going to be Daniel’s offer to join you. You ignored Liam telling Connor that he was being an asshole, and that it was your life so you were allowed to want whatever the fuck you wanted. You couldn’t get out of there fast enough, letting that side door slam shut behind you as you jogged across the space separating the two homes.
Once inside the guesthouse, you rushed up to your room on the second floor to change into something more suitable for this impromptu run. Athletic shorts, a sports bra, your redbull cap and a shitload of sunscreen. You laced up your running shoes faster than you ever had before, rushing through the space to collect your phone, airpods and a water bottle before bolting. You didn’t ask, grabbing the keys to Daniel’s jeep and using it to get the fuck out of there.
You didn’t drive very far, just to a trail that you often ran with Daniel and Michael because it was basically a giant circle in nature with good view of both the ocean at certain points and a nice shaded path under the cover of trees. You should’ve stretched, but didn’t bother, instead hiding the keys to the car behind the gas flap, putting your headphones on and putting on the loudest/angriest music you had on your phone and took off.
You couldn’t believe that Connor had gone there. Everyone in your family was aware of your issues when it came to your mother, and how just the thought of her was enough to send you into a panic. For as long as you could remember, you’d wanted nothing to do with the legacy she’d left behind. You’d done everything you could to erase her. Your brother had never understood why you went to such an extreme, but to you it was the only thing that made sense.
Your mother was a calculated, cold woman who’d used your father to get what she wanted. And when she couldn’t have the thing she wanted the most in the world, she’d turned to destroying herself rather than even trying to give a shit about you and your brothers. She’d rather pretend to be on top of the world thanks to the drugs she overdosed on, then try to be a mother. Her desire to win, to chase that irreplicable feeling was what killed her.
The thing that terrified you the most was ending up exactly like her. And you’d thought that forgetting about her, erasing every trace of her in your life, chasing your dream the right way would be enough to stop that from happening. You’d worked so hard to do that, making sure that no one asked questions or ever mentioned her around you. You’d made it very clear from the get-go that it wasn’t a topic you were ever going to discuss. Most people didn’t even know her name, showing just how far you’d gone to disassociate from her memory.
Apparently, that hadn’t been enough.
Because Connor was right… you were becoming just like her.
That thought alone was enough to keep you running until you legs felt like they were about to give out from beneath you. You didn’t have everything under control. Shit was so much more complicated than just running away from stupid feelings. You were trying to outrun her legacy, and it was only getting closer and closer. No matter how hard you fucking tried, it didn’t matter.
You didn’t have a choice but to take another one of those anxiety pills when you eventually made it back to the guesthouse, hours later. It was the only way you’d be able to bury this and move on without it completely taking over your life. You couldn’t afford to be a mess for 2 weeks again, not when you had to go back to Europe in a few days to get a proper start on your training. If this meant taking slightly stronger doses to get through everything, then so be it.
You needed to be fine, and right now being fine meant not being able to feel much at all. At least, that’s what you told yourself so you wouldn’t believe that other voice in your head repeating that you were just like your mother…
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><> 
One of the warnings on those prescription bottles were that you weren’t supposed to mix the medication you were taking with alcohol. It could completely fuck you up and was actually rather dangerous. You’d done so in the past, only to discovered that your tolerance completely disappeared and you turned into the lightest of lightweights. Like one drink tipsy, two drinks gone kind of lightweight.
Going to a party on New Years hadn’t been your best plan, but to make amends with Connor (who’d apologized profusely over dinner, long after the medicine had kicked in and insisted that everyone still went out tonight to start the new year on the right foot.) You should’ve known you wouldn’t get away with having just one drink, not with these psycho Aussies.
You knew it was bad, because you didn’t remember much about that night. You remembered chatting around a bonfire when you’d first arrived, laughing and talking over a great 00’s throwback playlist. You remembered Connor begging you to be his beer pong teammate, knowing that your competitiveness wouldn’t let you lose. You remembered dancing in the house, singing along to some Blink 182 song at the top of your lungs. You remembered someone walking around with tequila shots, and knocking one back with Daniel and Michael.
Then, the night was a blur.
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><> 
You woke up in the bathroom that was attached to your room at the guesthouse on the farm. There was a blanket wrapped around your legs, and you were propped up against the wall across from the toilet. Your head was pounding with one of the worst headaches you’d had in a long time, and you felt like absolutely garbage. Your stomach turned, the realization that you couldn’t even remember getting home unsettling it further until you dashed to hunch over the toilet and empty out whatever was left in your system from the night before.
Turns out it wasn’t much, bile burning its way up your throat.
You sat back against the wall, catching your breath and feeling like death warmed over for longer than you cared to admit. Once it felt like you wouldn’t immediately throw up again when you moved, you pushed yourself up onto shaky legs and started making your way out of the bathroom, fully intent on curling up into bed and sleeping the day away. You were in no shape to do much of anything else.
You froze when you caught a glimpse of another person in your bed, stomach sinking again. Fuck… had you really brough someone back to the farm? If you were in this horrible of a state this morning, there’s no way you could’ve… you’d remember that right?
But then the person shifted, almost as though they sensed they were being watched. And then you realized that they were still fully dressed in their clothes from yesterday, and that wait… you knew those bulky shoulders… it was Michael. You weren’t sure if that made it better or worse, finding out that it was one of your close friends in your bed rather than a complete stranger. You stomach continued to sink, knowing that sleeping with Michael would make things… weird. He was practically a brother to you too.
Michael turned onto his back, slowly waking up. He blinked a handful of times, before his gaze settled on you and he startled wide awake. “Jesus Christ, Y/N. Lurking much?!”
You ignored his remark, taking a deep breath as you steeled yourself up for the response to the mumbled question you threw his way. “Did we… why are you in my bed?”
Michael’s eyes went wide. “Absolutely not.” He shuddered rather dramatically. “Y/N, you’re practically a little sister to me…. That’s… No offence but ew.”
Relief washed over you, and you quite literally sagged into the doorway, leaning against it. “Oh thank god.”
Michael was up on his feet and right in front of you before you could blink, hands grabbing onto your arms to hold you up before you could completely fall over. “You were out of it, last night. I brought you home before things could get out of hand. You got sick, so I stuck around to make sure you’d be alright.” He explained as he helped you back over to your bed.
“Oh.”
He carefully sat you down on the edge, sitting back on his heels so he could look you in the eye. “Care to talk about why you got into that state last night?”
“Not really.” You bit at your lip, avoiding Michael’s gaze.
“Y/N.” He said firmly, letting you know that he wasn’t going to let this slide. He was well aware how unlike you last night had been. “You couldn’t walk, barely able to talk. You were sick at the party… Freaked me out. I know you didn’t have more than three drinks. We were out of there before midnight.”
A frown made its way onto your face as Michael provided a quick recap of his night. You felt bad, clearly having unintentionally ruined his evening. “I don’t know Mike…”
“Y/N…”
You made the mistake of looking at him again, and the concern on his face was enough to bring tears to your eyes. You knew you’d fucked up. “I took something yesterday afternoon, to get past a panic attack. I forgot I wasn’t supposed to mix it with alcohol and well…” You trailed off, tears silently rolling down your cheeks. “I just wanted to not deal with it for one night.”
Michael’s face remained neutral as he processed this information. “What did you take?”
You shrugged a shoulder, ignoring the guilt building in the pit of your stomach. “Something they gave me after the crash in Austin for panic attacks, I think.”
You couldn’t tell him the truth. Michael was one of the few people in the world who knew about your first experience with the meds, and he wouldn’t just let it go if he knew you’d started taking the same medication this time around. You really didn’t want him to think that this was like last time, because it wasn’t. The concern on his face right now was enough to convince yourself that you’d made the right decision. You had it under control.
“How long?”
“It’s not like last time.” You mumbled, shame washing over you. “I’ve only taken them after the prize giving and yesterday. Only for when it’s really bad and I need to turn off my brain.” You justified your decision, struggling not to turn away from him. “I promise… It’s not like last time. Please don’t tell them, they’ll freak out for no reason.”
Michael blinked, hesitation clear as day across his face. He didn’t like keeping secrets, especially not ones like this. These kinds of secrets were dangerous. Especially when taking your history into account. It had been hell for everyone involved. It was a lot to put onto his shoulders, Michael thinking that he’d have to keep an eye on you to make sure you were okay. People would be hurt if they’d found out he’d known and not told them about it. But at the same time, he also knew that your promises didn’t come lightly.
“Is this because of Verstappen?” He asked, before making his decision on whether or not he could keep your secret.
“It’s not Max’s fault.” You were very careful with your words. “It’s the same shit that I just… can’t deal with. I want to win, Mike. I just need a bit of help sometimes keeping my overthinking under control and not complete self-destruct. I swear.”
Michael held your gaze for what felt like years, before eventually letting out a long breath. “Ok. But-” he paused at the relieved breath you let out “you need to tell me, or someone you trust, when you take anything. What happened last night is too fucking dangerous.”
“Ok.” You said, because at this point you’d agree to just about anything so long as no one else found out. You could do that, every once in a while. Hell, Michael could probably help you get people off your back when you didn’t want to drink in the future to not have that happen again. Besides, it wasn’t like last time. Things wouldn’t be this way forever. Only until you won.
It was all under control.
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><> 
Train. Eat. Sleep. Repeat.
Your mantra since returning to Europe.
You spent two weeks in Austria, using the high-end Red Bull athlete training facility for all that it was worth. You brought in a second performance coach, dialed in your focus and put everything you had into getting yourself ready for the season ahead. Your personal team knew that the goal this year was to win the championship, and they helped you get in the best shape you possibly could achieve that. You were putting in the work and doing your part, everything else would come down to Red Bull and the car they would be delivering in a few weeks. No distractions, no feelings. Just pure focus and determination to win.
After your sort of training camp in Austria, you made your way to Milton Keynes to spend as much time as possible with your team to learn about the car they were building and run as many tests on the sim as they wanted. It was clear, the shift from last season into this one. They saw that how much you wanted to win. And from the talks and meetings you’d had over the past few weeks with Christian and your engineering team, they thought they would be able to provide the car you needed in order to do that.
This newfound focus also meant that the anxiety medication became a regular thing, helping to regulate your emotional state. No worrying, only focus. It was even cleared by the Red Bull physician, though you’d lied about your reasoning and history. You should’ve been doing this all along… maybe you could’ve avoided all the drama from the previous season. It also helped that you somehow managed to get away with doing the seat fit and promo shoots on your own, successfully avoiding your teammate as you focused on yourself.
That is, until the car launch.
You’d taken a dose first thing in the morning, gone to the factory showroom where the press was waiting, put on your new race suit and smiled through it all. You didn’t feel like your world was ending when you inevitably came face to face with your teammate, keeping that same press ready smile on your face the whole time. You didn’t feel good, but you also didn’t feel bad. You were still numb, smiling through it all like nothing was out of place. It was a relief in itself, no matter how temporary it would be (because you were only doing this until you could handle it all on your own again.)
It seemed he didn’t want much to do with you that day, still hurt and angry about how everything had gone down. It was better this way. Train. Eat. Sleep. Repeat.
The only time you took away from training was to go for dinner in London with Daniel and Michael on your birthday, the Aussies refusing the let the day go by unacknowledged even though you had no interest in celebrating the fact that you were turning 27. You’d stuck to a small glass of wine with your food, determined not to have a repeat of New Year’s eve and raise their suspicions again. You had an easy excuse anyways; with all the training you were doing.
The following weeks at the factory were a slightly different story. The more you focused on training and learning everything you could about the car ahead of the season, the more annoyed Max seemed to get. He was there too, doing the work, but didn’t seem to be coping quite as easily. He’d get frustrated with your short answers (or the non-responses if it wasn’t work related), or at the praise you were receiving from Christian for your attitude refresh this year. If only he knew the lengths you were going through to just be fine. And if the team had picked up on the major shift between you and your teammate, they hadn’t commented on it.
He'd tracked you down, about a week before the first testing sessions in Barcelona. You’d gone to the factory again for the morning simulator session, aware that Max was booked in for the afternoon and fully intending to get the heck out of there before he showed up. But, your session had run long because of a glitch with the system that had cause a very painstakingly long reboot, where you’d had no choice but to sit around waiting and delay your sim runs.
Once they had gathered all the data they wanted from you, you pushed yourself out of the stiff seat, stretching your arms up above your head. You nearly jumped out of your skin when you found Max standing behind the simulator seat, having been watching your run for an unknown amount of time. You caught his gaze, watching as he filtered between looking frustrated, disappointed and eventually blank faced as he got control of his emotions.
“Max, we’re going to need a bit of time to switch to your set up and program in the changes for you. You can hang around the lounge if you want, and we’ll send someone for you when we’re ready.” One of the sim engineers interrupted the silent staring contest.
“Actually-” Someone from the PR team popped up out of nowhere, “we were hoping to get some social media content while the two of you are here at the same time. It’s been pretty difficult, with how your schedules haven’t lined up until now.”
Max made a sound that was somewhere between a dry chuckle and a scoff, knowing that the whole opposing schedule thing was fully down to you.
You let out a long breath, turning to face the nervous looking PR intern. “Yeah, sure…” You agreed, knowing that you didn’t really have a choice. This was part of the job too. You’d filmed plenty of videos with Max long before the two of you really started getting along last year. You could both be professional when you had to. At least, you hoped so. That was before you’d broken his heart.
At least you didn’t feel like you were about to dive headfirst into another panic attack, so that’s good.
You followed the nervous intern out of the sim room throughout the facility, ignoring the feeling of Max’s gaze on you as he walked a few steps behind. You were led into the showroom with all the older car models stacked one on top of the other, making a rather impressive backdrop. They’d already set out the sofa and lighting rigs, multiple cameras at different angles ready to catch your reactions to whatever Red Bull wanted from you.
Someone handed you one of the new caps with your number on it, for you to wear along with the new Red Bull polo you already had on. Then, a microphone was attached to your shirt collar, the battery pack looped through the back of your shirt and clipped to the waistband of your jeans. You settled on the same side of the couch you always did for these videos, offering a tight smile to another intern who shoved a Red Bull can into your hands. You hadn’t missed that over the break, needing to consumed your least favourite energy drink in front of the cameras at all times…
After making sure that you and Max were ready to start shooting, a red light flickered on top of the camera and they gave a signal that they were rolling.
“It’s been a couple of months since the last time we sat you guys down on the couch. Would you mind giving the fans a little recap of what you’ve been up to over winter break?” The content director asked from behind the camera.
Max gave a quick generic recap of his holidays with his family, spending more time with his mother and sister than he would get to during the season. Then, he talked offhandedly about spending some time in the sun on holiday with his friends from back home, before settling in and getting ready for the new season.
“Lots of training.” You answered through an easy, practised smile when it was your turn. “Spent the holidays with my family in Australia, we go back every year. But like Max, I’ve spent a lot of my off-season getting ready for the next one. I did a training camp of sorts with my new personal team in Austria and have been spending a lot of time here at the factory getting ready. I think we’re both itching to get this car on track, seeing how promising it looks in the sim.”
Then they talked you through a very similar video concept to the first one you’d filmed together last year, where the interviewer would ask you questions about the each other and you had to answer what you thought the other person would say. They asked some of the same questions as last year, to see if you remembered. Racing numbers, hometowns, basic things.
“Max, how many languages can Y/N speak?”
“She’s up to 4 and a half now, since she’s pretty much fluent in Italian now, on top of the English, French and Spanish.” He answered, feeling confident about it.
“What the other half this time?” The interviewer followed up.
“Dutch.” Max said with a smirk, purposely looking over to you to catch your reaction. “I taught her a few words, but it’s still a work in progress.”
Heerlijk.
Thank fuck you were able to keep your expression mainly neutral, placing a small smile on your face so you wouldn’t look like a reactionless zombie. He’d taught you one word, if you didn’t count the jokey video you’d filmed ahead of Spa last season. “A couple of words isn’t enough to carry a conversation. We’ll stick to 4 this time.” You directed the conversation back into safer territory. After that, you found that Max’s answers were carefully crafted to get any kind of reaction out of you when he could, and you flat out refused to give it to him.
Then a question was asked about bad habits.
“Running.” Max said easily, pointing out what was supposed to be one of yours. You knew right away he wasn’t talking about the cardio kind of running. He meant running away.
You physically bit your tongue to stop a remark about how much of an idiot he was being. Instead, you shrugged your shoulders. “That’s hardly a bad habit. Running helps me stay focused on what’s important, on top of meeting the cardio criteria for my training.”
Your response didn’t seem to faze Max, the Dutch driver digging his heels in and pushing further. “There are far more enjoyable ways to get your cardio in if you ask me. Running is exhausting, can’t do it forever.”
“Oh, fuck that.” You muttered, pointedly looking at the content director who was watching the interaction with widened eyes. “That better not make the cut. Everyone already thinks that I’m sleeping with half the grid. Those kinds of comments don’t fucking help.”
“Right.” The content director agreed. “We’ll cut that question from the final edit. Let’s keep things positive, alright… Ready to carry on with the next question?”
She received two stiff nods in return.
Filming wasn’t any better for the rest of the shoot, the content director eventually giving up and sending a moody Max off to do his simulator session now that the set up was ready for him. You didn’t doubt that they’d scrap the whole video in the end, it becoming rather clear that the two teammates didn’t have the same dynamic between them as the season before.
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><> 
Finally getting to drive the car around the track in Barcelona for pre-season testing only solidified your resolve.
You knew from your first out lap that Red Bull had designed a good car, one that could keep up with the Mercs when it was pushed to its limits. You found those limits within minutes, trading fastest lap with Lewis throughout your entire first morning session, knowing that you weren’t even doing the light fuel runs yet. You could barely keep the smile off of your face under your helmet, having missed this feeling. You didn’t even care that you finished that session a few thousandth behind Hamilton, knowing that there was still so much untapped potential with your car.
Daniel found you after your morning session, having just wrapped up his own while both of your teammates took to the track for their afternoon sessions. He made his way over to the Red Bull pit wall, pulling you from a chat with your engineer where you’d been comparing your initial few laps to Max’s. So far, you were ahead.
“Lunch?” He asked, knowing that you’d probably been sitting here talking since you’d gotten out of the car over an hour ago.
“Go ahead.” Your engineer spoke up before you could turn down Dan’s offer. “I’m going to pull more data and figure out where we can improve for tomorrow.” He added, kindly asking you to fuck off so he could get back to his job.
“I see how it is.” You chuckled but pushed yourself up regardless. You took off your headset, leaving it on the pit wall for later.
“Renault or Red Bull hospitality?” You asked, turning your attention back to Daniel.
“Red Bull obviously. Everyone knows you have the best catering in the paddock.” Daniel didn’t even have to think about it, following you through your garage and out the other side towards the chosen hospitality motorhome.  Daniel didn’t even wait until he was out of earshot of your team, already diving into his recap of the morning and how much he was looking forward to racing in this year’s car because it already felt like it had so much more potential than the one from the year before. You were glad to see him excited about it, and he’d managed to finish a few tenths behind you after all.
The pair of you settled in a warmer corner inside of hospitality, ordering food that would fit within both your meal plans.
“Feeling good about your car?” Daniel asked, also aware of how much you’d been looking forward to today.
You didn’t answer out loud, the smirk on your face enough of an answer to his question. Yeah, you felt fucking good.
“Think the Mercs are sandbagging?”
You shrugged. It didn’t matter if they were. You hadn’t run your car to its full potential yet either. “Who isn’t?”
Daniel eyed you incredulously, forcing a forkful of roasted broccoli into his mouth, mumbling his words as he spoke. “I really fucking hate you.”
Your smirk only widened as you took a bite of your own vegetables.
You got to talking about non-racing things, seeing as you hadn’t actually seen one another in a couple of weeks, considering all the work you’d been doing with your teams at the factory to get ready for the season. It was also your first time seeing a bunch of the other drivers on the grid, not that surprised when Alex, Charles and Lando snuck into your hospitality and joined you and Dan for lunch. It was nice, catching up with the people you hadn’t seen since Abu Dhabi.
It also wasn’t super overwhelming when you kept talking late into the afternoon and were joined by a frustrated looking Max who’s had to end his session early because of a glitch with the gearshift towards the end of his session. Daniel had sparred you a glance, and you’d caught the way his brow had furrowed when you hadn’t reacted in the way he thought you would. You just didn’t react at all, pretending that Max wasn’t even there.
“You weren’t kidding.” Daniel pointed out quietly, when the group had started to disperse for the end of day debriefs.
“About what?”
“Winning.” He said simply. He’d picked up on your newfound complete indifference to your teammate, which was the complete opposite from the last time he’d seen the two of you in the same space.
You shot him a half smile. “No, I wasn’t.”
Daniel was quiet for a few moments after that, his assessing gaze on you. He knew you better than anyone else and knew that this attitude didn’t come easily to you. You could try to say you didn’t care all you wanted, but knew how much sleep you lost when you couldn’t turn off your mind. He knew you too well, including your distraction habits. Throwing yourself into racing was only a fraction of it, and he was aware without it having to be said.
“Should I be worried?” His question would have caught you off guard, had you not been so focused on winning.
“No.” You told him honestly. “I’ve got it all under control.”
You really thought that you did.
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On the second day of testing, the second season of Drive to Survive was released. It covered the 2019 season, running the viewers through the various highs and lows of the season. You hadn’t watched any of the footage that Red Bull had sent over, trusting the team to make sure you didn’t look like an idiot on TV.
You vaguely remembered the sit-down interviews in dark hotel conference rooms around the world, usually after a race when emotions where still running high. You’d always been accompanied by one of the Red Bull PO’s to the interviews, assuming that they would make sure you didn’t say anything you weren’t supposed to. Therefore, it’s safe to say you were rather surprised when you turned up to the paddock midway through the first testing session, only to be surrounded by journalists the second you’d walked through those turnstiles.
You quickly found out that there was a whole episode dedicated to the German GP, reporters hounding you for comments on the altercation between you and Max that had been captured with sound by the Netflix Team. Before you could comment a not so kind “Fuck off” to the journalists that kept getting progressively rowdy when you didn’t give them the reaction they were hoping for, a group of people from the Red Bull PR team surrounded you and pulled you away.
“What the actual fuck?!” You hissed once you were safely away from them all. “How the fuck did that make it through!? A little heads up would’ve been nice.”
“The episodes have only been live for a few hours. It wasn’t in the approval package they sent us. Legal is already on it… but we don’t think there’s much that can be done now that it’s out there.” The communications lead was the first to answer you. “There are better moments in the series… They frame the constructors win as a big reconciliation for you and Max… and of course everything in Austin when you were being taken to the hospital. Enemies to Lovers is trending on twitter with your names.”
“Please tell me we’ve put out a statement informing everyone that that’s a load of crap.”
“We’re working on it… There’s a lot to cover.” The communications lead looked beyond stressed at the moment. This was not what anyone wanted to deal with this morning. You’d wanted the focus to be on your outstanding driving in these initial testing sessions, not some fabricated and enhanced drama based on a stupid reality show. “We’re going to have a meeting once Max’s session wraps up to come up with a game plan.”
You bug your nails into your palms, thankful for the meds that were the only thing stopping you from diving headfirst into a panic. “Show me what I have to deal with.”
You were led into the conference room that was usually reserved for the debrief after sessions. Except, instead of being filled to the brim with the engineers and lead mechanics, it was full of fidgeting PR people. You settled in at your usual seat, keeping your expression neutral as someone handed you a headset. Instead of the usual telemetry and data on your screen, it was a video player with all the references towards you in the series cued up.
“Tell us what’s not true, we’ll deal with it.” The PR lead said, putting on her own headset and cueing up the video.
You picked at the skin around your nails, already cringing at the first clip you had to watch of yourself.
You were sat on the mini-interview set that Netflix had set up in the conference room, staring down the lens of a way too fancy camera. It was your first time doing something with such a big production, and you couldn’t help the excitement that buzzed within you ahead of your first race weekend.
“Alright Y/N, you ready?” The interviewer asked. You nodded once in response with a small smile as they clapped the marker board and started rolling. “So we’ll start with something easy. Can you tell us your name and what you do?”
“My name is Y/N Y/L/N, and this season I’ll be driving for Aston Martin Red Bull Racing.” You couldn’t help the way your smile widened as you spoke, still in a slight disbelief that this was your life now.
“How does it feel to say that out loud?”
“Part of me won’t believe it until I’m sitting on the grid waiting for those Red Lights to go out on Sunday afternoon.” You shrugged a shoulder. “But at the same time, not to be overly cheesy about it or anything but… it’s a dream come true to be racing in Formula One.”
“Are you in any way worried about the big shoes you’ll have to fill, taking the place of your good friend Daniel Ricciardo?”
“Nah.” You shrugged again with a cheeky smile. “Dan knows I’m going to do everything in my power to show that I was the right pick for the team and try to do what he hasn’t be able to yet.”
“Which is?”
“Win the Championship.”
The clip cut out, before going through a few random clips of your first few days in the paddock in Australia. Some journalists talked about the fact that your joining the sport was a big deal because of the fact that you where the first woman to compete in the modern age. Others talked about whether or not you would be able to withstand the pressure of representing an entire gender. Will Buxton was extra dramatic in his analysis of you and your potential dynamic with Max.
You were on the stage with Max and Christian in the fan zone in Melbourne, answering a bunch of questions from the crowd. The camera caught the way your shoulders tensed when a question was directed towards your younger teammate.
“Max, are you worried at all about being beaten by a girl in the races?”
Max to his credit, remained stone-faced as he answered. “I’m as worried as I would be being beaten by anyone else on the grid. I want to win, regardless of who I’m competing against. If they beat me, it’s because they were the better drivers that race, not because of their gender.”
Your shoulders relaxed, the smallest of smiles taking place residence on your face. Christian went on to talk about how he was positive this was going to be the best driver pairing in recent years and how he couldn’t wait to see both of his drivers do what they do best on track.
They showed one of your nicer looking overtakes from that first Australia race, along with one of your hyped up radio messages afterwards showing that you were having the time of your life and doing what you had been brought in to do. That was essentially it for the first episode, with Will Buxton ending it off saying you would definitely be one of the drivers to keep an eye on throughout the season.
The second and third episode didn’t feature much up you, other than a couple of moments in the paddock and a clip of you and Daniel pulling a prank on Charles in the paddock the weekend of the China race. You were featured in the 4th episode rather heavily, as this one had the most footage around Monaco. Before getting into it, they showed a couple of clips of your first podium in Baku and the one that followed in China, journalists already saying that you were blowing away any and all expectations that had been set upon you.
“Her results for the first few races speak for themselves.” Will Buxton spoke again as they ran through your highlights leading into Monaco. “She’s earning everyone’s respect and solidifying her place as one of the greats in the sport… and it’s only been a handful of races.”
The next clips were a summary of your Monaco weekend, including the radio message when you’d asked to be let past Max when he was experiencing a loss of power because you knew you were the faster car and wouldn’t be able to hold Hamilton behind you if things stayed the way they were. They showed clips from the last few laps, with your engineer keeping you informed of the lap times of those behind you. Then, you saw the checkered flag and heard your screaming celebratory messages with the team.
“To everyone who doubted whether or not Y/N deserved a place in this sport, she only went and proved every single one of them wrong by winning her debut Monaco Grand Prix. The most coveted race on the calendar.” Will Buxton explained to the viewers with a cheeky little smile on his face. “Red Bull once again found themselves with two drivers that could handle the pressure of being number one.”
The camera showed you smiling widely on the podium and singing along as your national anthem was played, celebrating with Seb and Lewis and spraying each other with champagne. You flinched when it subsequently cut to the moment before the podium in the cool down room after you’d been chatting happily with Max only to learn that your teammate was getting kicked off the podium because of a time penalty that was delivered after the fact. It then cut to a clip of Max storming through the garage, throwing his helmet and denting the wall, in an attempt to showcase his frustration with your success. It would’ve thrown you, if not for the fact that you knew that this clip wasn’t even from the same race.
“That.” You called out to the PR Team. “That was from Japan, after Max DNF’d. Had nothing to do with what they’re talking about. We talked it out after Monaco, there was none of this artificial drama.”
The PR team lead nodded, making a note, before resuming the video. It was another clip of you sitting down for one of those Netflix interviews.
“So, Monaco.” The interviewer prompted.
“Yeah, Monaco.” You were smiling widely at the camera. “It was a good weekend.”
“Three back-to-back podiums and your first race win. How did it feel?”
Your smile remained on your face, and it was a genuine one. “I don’t think there are words to describe the feeling of being on the top step. It was… everything I’d ever wanted it to be and more. Knowing that I was the best that day and out drove the others. But at the same time, it only made me hungry for more, you know? I know that I can do it, so obviously I want to do it again.”
“It’s a shame Max couldn’t be up there with you.”
“These things happen.” You shrugged.
The clip cut to the next scene, and you gaped at the screen. “Wait! I said so much more about Max and the team and how it was really bad luck. They cut it out to make me look like an entitled bitch.” Again, the PR lead nodded and noted it down. She pressed play, and you had to listen to some bullshit coming out of the reporters mouths about how the tension was rising within the team after Monaco. If only they’d known about how Monaco was the race where you and Max had first agreed to be civil with one another, and he’d made you some grilled cheese in the middle of the afterparty after you’d had a little bit too much to drink. How would they spin that?
You were regretting ever agreeing to be on this stupid wannabe documentary series.
The next time you were featured was in the 6th episode, and this one was leading into Germany and how close you and Max were in the points. They were really building up the tension, regardless of the fact that you and Max had hung out with your family in Canada, or the your DNF in France had been completely unrelated to anything. They put in a clip of you rolling your eyes in the press conference in Austria after Max had spoken, even though it had been from a completely different point in the conference when you’d been asked yet another sexist question and Sebastian Vettel had come to your defence.
“And as these things tend to do, tensions seemed to reach their breaking point over the course of the German Grand Prix, which saw one of the biggest paddock altercations in recent years.” Will Buxton ominously narrated.
You dug your nails into your palm as they gave a recap of first few days of the German Grand Prix, which saw you and Max at the top of the timesheets throughout most of the sessions, trading those fastest laps between the two of you. More people made up some bullshit about rising tension between the team because they refused to pick a number one driver and wanted to let the drivers figure it out for themselves.
They were very dramatic about the fact that it was raining at the start of the race and how that had the potential to change everything. You were starting on pole, and fully intended to see it through. They showed the first few chaotic laps, with different driver points of view and how a whole bunch of people kept spinning out. The race had been chaotic from start to finish.
“And then, the inevitable happened.”
You saw the crash, muscles in your shoulders tensing as you watched your own car spinning out in the video replay. You still stood by your original assessment that it had been a dick move from your teammate, but the show was really drawing it out. They milked the radio messages from both sides of the incident, including your fired up reaction. They almost immediately cut to Max standing on the top step of the podium, with some more bullshit commentary over it about how it had only been a matter of time before something like this happened.
Then, they showed the whole uncut altercation in the Red Bull garage, from the moment you’d knocked the champagne bottle out of Max’s hands to the moment Christian had to hold you back before you tried to slap your teammate across the face again. They didn’t cut out a single word, curse, or insult. You were well aware that there wasn’t much you could do to defend your behavior, because it was all caught crystal clear on camera. It was a very bad look. It didn’t help that everyone seemed to be driving the narrative, or that they didn’t bother showing your public apology after the fact.
“Fuck.” You mumbled, the skin you’d been picking at around your nails starting to bleed.
“Anything of note here?” The PR lead asked.
“We all know what fucking happened that weekend, but they’re making it look so much worse. Also, the amount of swearing… how is that even allowed in the show?”
It was only made worse when they showed you standing on the top step of the podium at the following race, looking down at Max and making a comment about how he’d been right and the champagne tasting sweet at the top. You wished you could go back in time and tell yourself to shut up, because people were going to rip you apart for this.
“Red Bull had better think of something quick, before this partnership turns into something we haven’t seen since the Multi-21 Vettel and Webber days. I’m sure they don’t want a repeat of that.”
Obviously fucking not, Will.
By the time they had showed your apology two episodes later, it was already too late. They talked about some big turnaround within the team over the summer break where the drivers had been forced to sort out their issues (which had never actually happened) and the turnaround for the season. You watched numbly as they seemed to create this whole redemption narrative around you after it became clear that you weren’t going to win the WDC and doing everything you could to secure the constructors championship.
It all started with Singapore, when you’d shown up at the track around the same time and were just chatting and joking around together after months of steely silence between the pair of you. The show was making it obvious that people had noticed your stupid little cease fire. They started showing your podiums and hugs in parc fermé, randomly, things all out of order to fit their stupid narrative.
Then came the US Grand Prix. You’d figured Austin would come up, it was one of the bigger crashes of the season. Again, you cringed watching the crash unfold, but what you hadn’t expected to hear was all the other radio messages of other drivers being concerned for you after the crash. The one from Daniel just about broke your heart, the fear evident in his voice. And then, Netflix had managed to find footage of Daniel, your father and Max in the paddock, all looking fucking grim as they waited for news.
“Incidents like this serve as a reminder to both the drivers, and the viewers… just how dangerous the sport is. Something you never want to see in Formula One is a quiet paddock… because you know it’s not good news.”
“Fucking hell they’re making it sound like I died.” You couldn’t help your comment, because it was easier to focus on that then the continuous shots of your concerned teammate. They cut after milking the drama of the moment for everything it was worth to you back in your interview seat, ahead of the Brazil race. They asked you a few questions about the incident and to recap it from your point of view, as well as how it felt to come out of it on the other side. You talked about being glad that you’d be able to race this coming weekend, thankful for the safety of these cars and itching to get back to it.
The last episode was all about the constructor fight, and the two back-to-back 1-2s that Red Bull had gotten. There was a brief mention of that Mercedes rumour at the press conference before Abu Dhabi, but they more-so focused on the Red Bull comeback angle of it all. The thing that was more so a kick in the teeth was the interviews that both you and Max had done immediately after the race, before going to the victory party.
“Constructor’s Champions, how does it feel Max?”
Max gave one of his rare, genuine smiles. “It’s lovely. We did what we set out to do. It just goes to show that Red Bull is on the right track, and it should be a better fight for the Driver’s title next season.”
“Must help to have a teammate who pushes you to be your best.”
The smile remained, and he nodded. “Yeah, Y/N’s a great teammate. I think we proved together that we can work well as a team. We get along great off track as well, so it’s been nice.” Then a knowing little smirk lit his face. “Doesn’t mean I won’t work even harder to beat her next season.”
It was clear that you were biting back a grin as you settled into the interview seat. You fixed your wet hair under your Red Bull cap as they clapped the scene marker in front of you.
“Tell us about the Abu Dhabi Grand Prix.”
Your smile widened. “We won.”
The screen flashed with quick cut scenes of the two Red Bull drivers crossing the finish line one after the other, jumping out of their car and immediately embracing one another, and celebrating together on the podium.
“It was definitely the best possible end to the season, showed just how hard the team has worked to catch up and develop the car. After the 1-2 in Brazil, everyone was on the same page and well… we just knew we could do it. I can’t wait to see what they do with our car next season, if the ending of this one is anything to base ourselves off of.”
“Not bad for your rookie season?”
“Not bad at all.” Your head shook slightly in disbelief, the smile never wavering from your face. Then you jokingly raised your arm in front of the camera, making a show of pinching the skin on display. “Just making sure that it actually happened. We really won.”
“It also seems that your partnership with your teammate is at an all time best. Care to comment on that?”
“When it became clear that we weren’t going to win the drivers’ championship, it made more sense to work together than against each other. I guess you could say that things just… clicked. We got over our egos and did what was best for the team.”
“Do you see this newfound dynamic carrying on once the points reset, and next season starts?”
You shrugged a shoulder, a small smile remaining on your face. “I guess we’ll just have to wait and see.”
And that was it.
You stared at the black screen far longer than you should’ve, processing everything you’d just seen. As much as you’d hated every second of that, you were grateful to the medication for holding back any panic that surely would’ve ensued without it. Instead, you’d kept it contained to demolished nail beds and crescent shaped marks in the palms of your hands. This whole situation was out of your control, but you were still able to handle it without having a complete mental breakdown. Progress.
“How bad is it, overall?” You asked, biting at your bottom lip more so out of habit than as a nervous tendency.
“It’s not great.” The PR team lead stated bluntly. “All the work we put into getting the public to move past Germany has been erased. Sponsors aren’t taking kindly to you calling your teammate an uh, fucking reckless, egotistical, hot-headed cunt now that they actually know what was said instead of just seeing a shove and heated exchange on a sport broadcast. It’s not something we can just brush off anymo-” She paused at the sound of the conference room door opening.
Christian Horner waltzed in, already looking like there was a million other things he’d rather be dealing with today. He was followed closely by Helmut Marko, his personal assistant who was tapping furiously at her phone, and then Max and Jos Verstappen.
Your gaze was caught by Max as he wandered into his usual spot at the conference table, directly across from you, looking pissed. He'd clearly just gotten out of the car, race suit half undone with the sleeves wrapped around his waist as he gripped his drinks bottle so tightly his knuckles were white. Jos settled in right beside his son, steely glare already settled upon you. Christian settled into his usual seat at the front, the rest of the PR people settling into seats around the table. The air in the room was absolutely suffocating, as you waited for someone to speak up.
“Couldn’t make it through testing without causing a scandal this season?” Christian broke the ice dryly, snapping your attention back towards the dead of the table. “How the fuck did this even happen? We’d never have let any of this… fabricated drama slide.”
“The approval package didn’t contain any of… that. There was a whole part about Y/N settling into her seat that was cut. Seems it got replaced by Germany.” 
“Can we have it taken down?” Helmut asked, leaning way too far back for it to be comfortable in his chair.
“Unfortunately, it’s not that easy.” The PR lead answered with a sigh. “We can send legal after them… but it won’t matter. It’s already out there, being talked about. The damage is already done.”
She was right, there was nothing you could do to stop people from seeing it. Netflix had released the show, people had watched it. Even if it got taken down, you were sure by now there where millions of copies of your words all over the internet, being misinterpreted and misconstrued as you sat here. People were going to talk about it, whether you wanted them to or not. They already were.
So much for focusing solely on winning the championship.
“Well then, what’s the plan?” Christian asked the question that was on everyone’s mind.
“Seems rather clear to me.” Jos spoke for the first time, glare still trained directly on you. “Get rid of the problem.” A flurry of protest arose around the room from both the PR team and the leaders. You simply raised a brow at the senior Verstappen, as if to say Really? That’s the best you could do? He took the gesture as a challenge. “This all could have been avoided if you’d listened to reason and given the second seat to the Gasly boy. She was brought in to boost the teams image, and is only bringing everyone, my son included, down.”
“Remind me who got the most points for the team last season, Jos?” You asked calmly, refusing to let this get to you. “Wasn’t your son. It was the ‘girl’.”
The veins on Jos’s forehead looked like they were about to pop. “Listen here, little girl. We had a fucking d-”
“Enough!” Christian snapped, just as your eyes went wide. “Jos, out! You were never needed in this room to begin with. This is between my drivers and the PR Team about a current issue. Not your own personal delusions.”
“Don’t be a fool, Horner.” Jos turned his attention to the team principle. “You know I’m right.”
“Out.”
“Max?” Jos turned his attention towards his son.
Max stayed silent, hardened gaze focused so intently on the blank screen in front of him. He was hunched in on himself, clearly uncomfortable with this whole situation, with an embarrassed pink twinge to his cheeks. As though he could feel you watching him, his gaze shifted towards you, and you were quick to avert your own gaze back towards Jos. You couldn’t look at him, watch him try to decode the amped up hostility between you and Jos. He couldn’t figure it out.
Max didn’t speak up in defence of his father.
You just starred in shock as Jos slammed his chair back, looking ready to throw it across the room (very likely in your direction, maybe Christian’s too, but you were sure he hated you the most right now.) You knew exactly what he had been about to say before Christian first interrupted him, about your conversation in Abu Dhabi and how he still had the power to take your career away from you if he really wanted to. Antagonising him hadn’t been the smartest move on your part, but he’d also been adamant about not wanting his son to find out at the time. And yet, here he’d been ready to drop that bomb in front of everyone because of one comment you’d made when he’d called you worthless in front of the team.
You could definitely go for another dose of your meds, the last few moments rattling you more than they should have.
Your nails dug into your palms under the table as you cast your gaze downward, ignoring the fuss that Jos was making as he stormed out of the room and very obnoxiously slammed the door behind him. You closed your eyes, counting in your head as you took some calming breaths.
“Alright, Y/N?”
You forced your head back up towards Christian, keeping your face neutral as you nodded. “It’s nothing I haven’t heard before.”
Christian nodded in return, letting out a breath. “Well, let’s get a move on. Y/N’s session starts soon and she needs to attend the brief beforehand. What are we doing to make this go away so we can all focus on the racing?”
He turned the meeting over to the head of the PR team, to talk about plans and strategies to deal with this situation. They were very clear in saying that they wouldn’t just magically be able to make it go away. Things were taking a life of their own on twitter and other social media platforms, fans of the show falling on both sides of the argument. Some were calling for your head, and others were enraged with Max for the argument he’d made against women in the sport in the heat of the moment in Germany. You knew now that he didn’t actually feel that way, only lashing out after you’d pushed and called him worse.
 Apparently, the fix involved a lot of transparency and letting people in. A joint statement from you and Max clearing up any possible rumours. A lot of focus on your excellent team dynamic towards the end of next year and how you planned to make the most of it this year. Because, there was no denying that as teammates, you and Max pushed one another to your limits. You just had to make sure that it all remained friendly, and not something that could be miss-interpreted.
Great.
More time with the person you wanted nothing to do with for your own sanity.
“Fine.” You agreed with everything the PR team wanted you to do, knowing that these people were good at their jobs. “But I want nothing to do with Netflix going forward. I’m not trusting those two-faced idiots again only for this to happen all over again next year.”
“Me neither.” Max chimmed in for himself. “They did the same shit with me last year, building up a rivalry with Daniel that didn’t exist. We never should have agreed to a second season after that.”
“We can’t be the only team not to participate now…” The PR lead looked troubled.
“I’ll still do my part with the other team principles.” Christian shrugged, figuring that would be enough. “They need to face the consequence for burning the bridge with both of my drivers.”
The PR lead still looked weary, but nodded along to the plan. “Alright. I’ll send you both the statement for your social media channel to post later tonight, and well film a video to post on the Red Bull main accounts after Y/N’s session this afternoon. Full damage control mode. No comment to the press until then, understood?”
Both drivers nodded, itching for this meeting to be done.
You were soon dismissed, all the PR people instantly filtering out of the room so they could get to work. They had a long afternoon ahead of them.
You stood as well, making your way out of the conference room as quickly as you could. You almost bumped into your trainer and Liam, who’d been waiting anxiously out in the hall. You ignored them both, heading for your driver room for a moment to yourself so you could get back into the right headspace for your testing session that was supposed to start shortly.
The moment you were alone, you made your way over to your bag and bug around until you found the little prescription bottle you wanted. Now was not the time to be having another meltdown, not when you had a job to do. So, you popped two tablets into your mouth and swallowed them down with some Red Bull. The relief was almost instant, knowing that you’d get an extra boost in apathy to get you through this afternoon. You mechanically changed into your new race suit, taking the time to braid your hair back, lace up your yellow boots and stretch as you waited for this extra dose to make you numb.
A few minutes later, there was a knock at your door. Time to drive. You grabbed your drinks bottle, pulling the door open. Max was standing behind your trainer, clearly he’d been waiting to talk to you.
His brow furrowed when he caught the blank look on your face. “Can we talk for a minute, before your session.”
“About the car?��
A twitch of annoyance flickered over Max’s face. “No.”
“Then no.” You stated bluntly, walking past him to follow your trainer down to the garage. You didn’t think that Max would reach out to grab your wrist and stop you, the action turning you around to face him. You tugged at your arm trying to pull it free, but Max wasn’t budging. So, you sighed, telling your trainer that you’d be down in a minute. “What?!”
“What was my dad going to say?”
Thankfully, you were too numb to react. “How would I know? He’s your dad.”
Max’s frustration was clear across his face. “Don’t bullshit me. You looked scared of whatever he was going to say. He’s never rattled you like that before.”
“Do I fucking look rattled to you? I couldn’t give two shits about whatever your dickhead of a dad was going to say. Like I said to Christian, it’s nothing I haven’t already heard.” You muttered, snapping your wrist out of his grasp and narrowing your gaze slightly. “Do me a favour and fuck off, yeah? My session’s about to start and I have time chart to top.”
You turned on your heel and walked away before Max could say anything about it.
You had a job to do, and you needed to be focused. No distractions. Nothing outside of your car mattered, and you were going to prove that you could still perform even when the whole fucking world seemed to be against you. You couldn’t control what people thought, but you could control your driving.
You kept your promise, placing your name at the top of the timing chart by the end of the day.
Fuck em’ all.
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Before you knew it, testing was over.
Even though you’d managed to top the times for the second day, the third had once again gone to Lewis. In all three of the days, Max had finished a few tenths behind the pair of you, frustrating him to no end if the glares he sent you anytime you were in the same room where any indication. You were counting down the hours until the first race, so you could finally show what you were capable of doing in this car. God, you couldn’t wait to fucking race.
After testing, you’d spent a few days unwinding in Monaco. Daniel and Michael had gone to Australia as soon as testing had wrapped up to spend a bit more time in Perth, and you’d stayed behind this time to keep up with your training. You felt amazing these last few days, and it really felt like everything was coming together. It was your year, you just knew it. It had to be.
The night before your flight to Melbourne, only 6 days away from the race, you’d hung out with your brother Liam. He’d been in town too, seeing as he was working with Max this year, staying in Daniel’s guest room because he was going to leave the apartment hunting until after Melbourne. He was on FaceTime with his fiancée as you were making your way around your room, slowly packing everything you’d need for the next two weeks into your suitcase.
“Are you worried about this corona virus thing?” Monica asked.
“It’s only in China, right? I’m sure the FIA will take the proper precautions by the time we get there and bring like, extra hand sanitizer for everyone.” He answered with a shrug.
“People are trying to get out of there… Apparently it’s getting bad.”
“Well, they haven’t said anything yet, right Y/N.”
“Yeah, Christian didn’t seem that bothered about it when I had the call with the team earlier.” You agreed, pushing it to the back of your mind. It was just another flu. Things like that went around every year, it would be fine.
“Just… be careful.” Monica said, before asking about their travel plans for tomorrow. Liam seemed rather excited to tell her that he was going to be flying privately with Romain Grosjean and a bunch of the other drivers who lived in Monaco tomorrow. Monica couldn’t care less about the names he was dropping, indulging him with a sweet “That’s nice, love.”
You couldn’t help but laugh quietly to yourself as you zipped up your massive suitcase.
“Y/N, are you looking forward to finally starting the season?” She asked when you plopped yourself down on the bed next to your brother.
“You bet.” You smiled. “Are you going to watch? They’ll be showing Liam lots on the TV when they do the garage shots. Hell, you’ll probably see him after I win in parc fermé.”
“Confident, I like it.”
Your smile didn’t falter. “I have a good feeling about this year.”
“Can’t wait to see it!” Monica answered with a matching smile, always having your back for as long as you’d known her. She’d made it very clear that even though Liam was working for Max, she’d still be cheering for you during each of the races.
You left your brother to wrap up his call after that, finishing up your packing so that you could head off to sleep. You had a long day of flights tomorrow and the sooner you could get to bed the more rested you’d be for the long-haul flights.
God, you couldn’t wait for the season to finally start. It was going to be good.
It had to be.
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valeskafics · 5 months
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"Dance Of The Dragons" Chapter Two: Wish You Were Here - Modern!Aemond Targaryen x Reader (Rocker AU)
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Summary: Aemond sees you perform for the first time.
TW: profanity, innuendo, afab reader, she/her pronouns, mentions of addiction/getting sober, alcohol consumption, mentions of toxic relationships, mentions of character deaths, tobacco consumption, marijuana consumption
Word Count: 3,300 words
Rating: 18+, MDNI
SPOTIFY PLAYLIST HERE 💕
Songs Used In This Chapter: "Bad Reputation" by Joan Jett (here by The Doom Of Old Valyria), "Barracuda" by Heart (here written by Baela), "The Edge of Seventeen" by Stevie Nicks (here written by Helaena), "Wish You Were Here" by Avril Lavigne (here by The Doom Of Old Valyria), "Cherry Bomb" by The Runaways (here written by Rhaena), "I Don't Wanna Be In Love" by Good Charlotte (here by The Direwolves), "Voodoo Doll" by 5 Seconds of Summer (here being written by Aemond), "Perfect" by Simple Plan (here by The Dance of The Dragons), "Leaves From The Vine" (from "Avatar: The Last Airbender", here played as a cover)
Disclaimer: I do not own any of the House of The Dragon/Fire & Blood characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the songs listed in this chapter nor do I claim to own them.
Comments, likes, and reblogs are never required but are immensely appreciated ❤️
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When you enter the green room, you pay no mind to Aemond’s intense blue-eyed gaze that is trained on you, nor do you pay any attention to Jace and Aegon looking between the two of you like you’re a couple of lab rats, because who the fuck knows what that’s all about? You pull out your pack of Marlboro’s, scowling when you see it’s empty.
“Anyone got a cig?”
Baela gives you a look, “I thought you quit. Bad for the vocal cords and lungs?”
You think for a minute before throwing your head back and laughing, “Oh yeah. Fuck, I totally forgot.”
It’s the first time Aemond has even seen you smile, he realizes, and he stares at you, absolutely mesmerized. His tongue darts out to mess with his lip ring before he decides to speak up.
“So how did you guys meet again?”
“College,” Helaena replies, “We were on the same floor freshman year.”
Aemond looks at you curiously, “What’s your major?”
“Dropping out with a minor in disappointing my parents,” you respond dryly, “I work full time at the record store now. I don’t have time for school.” He frowns and opens his mouth but you cut him off archly, “And I missed the part where I asked for your opinion on it, blondie.”
Aegon and Jace snicker at his dumbfounded expression as he stutters, “I- uh-”
You ignore him and turn to Jace, giving him a lazy smile, “Those strings are working out great, by the way. Thanks for that.”
He gives you a big cheesy grin in response as he messes with his curls, “Awesome! I’m glad I could help!”
“Hey,” Rhaena looks at her stepbrother and cousins, “Are you guys coming to our show tomorrow? You never RSVP’d to the Facebook invite.”
You look at her, snickering as you pat her head, “Baby, people don’t use Facebook anymore.”
She whines and slaps your hand away, “Damn it, not the hair!”
You laugh as Rhaena gets up to go get a soda from the vending machine. 
Aegon looks at you, grinning, “So, your gig is playing that Battle of the Bands qualifier tomorrow, right?”
You nod, a self-satisfied grin on your face, “Yeah. Pretty sure we’re going to win our spot.”
“That’s awesome, good luck!” Aegon says, clapping you on the shoulder, “You girls are going to do amazing.”
You smile before turning away from him to ask Helaena if she’s going to roll a joint.
“Weed is bad for you, whether you think it or not,” Jace informs you, grinning slightly as you take a hit off of one the joints Helaena had already rolled.
“Better than tobacco. Anyway, everything that’s fun is bad for you,” you shrug nonchalantly, “What’s the point in living like that?”
Aemond stares at you in admiration as you take a deep inhale, letting the herb fill your lungs, your ruby red lips wrap around the paper, imagining them leaving a red stain on something else.
“If you still have tickets available, we’d love to see your show, Helaena,” he clears his throat and looks at his sister, who smiles happily.
“I’ll have them put you three on the list!”
Aemond looks at you for a minute, not speaking, before finally asking, moving to fix his bandana that’s sliding down his face, “So, um, are you working tomorrow?”
You nod hesitantly, “Yeah, why?”
“I was going to pass by and buy some new-”
“Never mind, I’m not working tomorrow.”
Baela snorts out a laugh at Aemond’s shocked face.
“She is working,” Helaena mutters under her breath to her brother, “Shift is from 8 to 4.”
He gives her a nearly imperceptible nod of thanks. Helaena knows both of you recently got out of bad relationships, well rather Aemond is about to get out of one, and is mildly interested to see how you would mesh together. Aemond is the smartest guy she knows and you’re a total badass. And it’s obvious that there’s an attraction there. She notices the way your eyes find his pretty boy face when he’s not looking, admiring that gorgeous head of hair.
Closing time rolls around sooner than later and Jace runs up to hug you again, “Thank you so much for coming,” he grins, “Let’s exchange numbers! We should all do something soon!”
You shrug, “Yeah, why not. Remind me tomorrow at the show,” you turn to the other two, giving them a two finger salute, “Blondie one. Blondie two.”
Aemond stares after you as you walk away, already rehearsing in his head what he’s going to say when he sees you tomorrow.
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Aemond doesn’t end up coming to the record store that day, too tied up in yet another argument with Alys, but he makes sure to dress his damn best to your show that night, putting on his favorite Metallica shirt, leather pants, and one of his signature bandanas. Jace and Aegon tease him, asking why he’s so dressed up, but he just grumbles and climbs in the back of the Uber, crossing his arms, bouncing his knee up and down in anticipation as they head to the venue.
In the green room, you and the girls huddle up.
“Okay, guys,” you say, “If we make it through tonight, we’re in the semis. We have to play our fucking asses off. Show them that girls can fuckin’ rock, alright?”
“Damn straight, baby,” Rhaena grins.
“We got this!” Helaena agrees.
“Hands in,” Baela demands, “One, two three, rock on, bitches!”
When you all walk out onto the stage to set up, your set being in twenty minutes, you can’t help but notice the three goons in the front row. Aemond, Aegon, and Jace are standing there. You move toward your mic stand, right above where they’re standing. You kneel down and set your water bottle on the ground before fiddling with the stand itself.
You’re wearing an oversized Misfits shirt and leather jacket with ripped fishnets and combat boots. Your hair is open and messy and wild, red lipstick on as always, and your eyeliner slightly smudged.
Aemond is about ninety percent sure he’s in love.
“You look great,” Jace compliments, leaning against the stage, “I can’t wait to finally see you guys perform. Been meaning to catch a show.”
Helaena and Rhaena move toward the front of the stage, both of them greeting their respective brothers while Baela waves from her stool by the drums. The boys quickly wish all four of you luck.
“We don’t need luck,” Helaena grins, wrapping an arm around you, “We have the best front woman in King’s Landing.”
“Notice she said ‘front woman',” Aegon states cheekily, “Cuz I’m the best frontman.”
“Whatever helps you sleep at night, bud,” you tease him.
And the lights go down and the crowd starts screaming you and your bandmates names. You’ve built a solid, loyal following on the local scene and you have fans who come out to every one of your shows. You and the girls grin at each other, proud of what you’ve built and are continuing to build.
You yell out to the crowd, “Good evening, King’s Landing, we are The Doom of Old Valyria!”
You start with your band’s first single, “Bad Reputation”. You glance down and see the boys rocking out to it, feeling mildly smug considering you wrote it. Next up is another one of your more popular ones, “Barracuda”, written by Baela, followed by your absolute favorite song Helaena has ever written, “Edge of Seventeen”.
For the next song, as always, you go acoustic. Rhaena and Helaena move back to grab their water bottles and let you shine.
“Okay, you guys have been an amazing audience tonight. I can’t thank you guys enough. And, uh,” you pause, smiling out at the crowd, “This next song is kinda personal to me. We’re gonna get a little raw here,” the audience screams in response, making you smile, “I hope you enjoy it.”
You strum your guitar, voice ridden with angst as you begin to sing. 
“I can be tough. I can be strong. But with you it’s not like that at all. There’s a girl that gives a shit. Behind this wall, you just walk through it,” you blink back the tears that threaten to spill from your eyes every time you play this goddamn song, “And I remember all those crazy things you said. You left them running through my head, you’re always there, you’re everywhere. But right now I wish you were here.”
Helaena and Rhaena come up next to you, knowing how personal this song is to you. The boys stare up at you, wondering who the song is about, but in awe of how good you sound even when it’s just you and your old guitar.
“All those crazy things we did, didn’t think about it, just went with it. You’re always there. You’re everywhere, but right now I wish you were here.”
“She sounds even better on acoustic,” Aegon comments - Jace nods in agreement while Aemond shushes the pair of them, listening to you intently.
“Damn, damn, damn,” you take a shuddering breath, thinking of the person who this song is about, “What I’d do to have you here, here, here. I wish you were here,” Aemond hears the hint of a waver in your voice as you continue, “Damn, damn, damn, what I’d do to have you near, near, near,” you pause, “I wish you were here.”
He notices one solitary tear sliding down your eye, leaving a trail of mascara in its wake. This song must be very personal to you. The three boys are transfixed as you continue strumming, Rhaena and Baela each resting their heads on your shoulders.
The crowd goes insane at the end of the song. You smile out at them, taking a quick bow.
“That’s enough sad shit for now, right?” you grin, “Let’s have some fuckin’ fun for this last one.”
Baela starts pounding her drum set again, segueing into your second most popular song, “Cherry Bomb”, written by Rhaena during one of her “I fucking hate school, let me drop out and tour with my band” moments. Rhaena shreds her guitar and you nod your head to the beat, grabbing the mic stand and swinging your hips.
Aemond is quite literally almost swooning over you, Aegon and Jace realize. He’s leaning against the stage, staring up at you with heart eyes. He seems to notice their amused expressions and quickly tries to change his expression to a more impassive one, feeling like a complete jackass. 
“Thank you, King’s Landing, and good night!”
Rhaena hands you her guitar pick, in your ritual for the end of every show. You press a kiss to it and toss it into the crowd, Aemond catching it with a wide grin on his face.
The boys then head back to meet you all in the green room and wait for the results from the judges.
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You wait backstage, seated on one of the stools, tapping your foot incessantly as you wait for the results to be announced. You’re gnawing at your lower lip, fiddling with your hair.
Every nervous habit you think you’ve kicked is coming back full force.
“Seven Hells, you’ve been such a mess since you quit smoking,” Helaena laughs, “If we make it, we make it. If we don’t, there’s always next year.”
“Yeah, but how many next years do we have, Hel?” you point out, “We’re not getting any younger,” you pause, looking at the girls, “Who says all four of us are even gonna be here next year? Life isn’t guaranteed. Hell, tomorrow isn’t guaranteed. You can’t sit around and wait for something big to happen, skipping out on opportunities and shit. You gotta make it happen here and now. You gotta take your shot and you gotta make sure you don’t fuckin’ miss.”
Helaena realizes what you’re talking about. What’s got you in this messy frame of mind. She comes over and embraces you.
“We’ve got this. Don’t worry.”
“I’m sure we’ll make it, babe,” Baela grins, slapping your back, “We were the baddest bitches out there tonight.”
The four of you each receive a text just as Aemond, Aegon, and Jace enter the room.
Rhaena shrieks, “We’re in!”
“Holy fuck,” you whisper before stand up and screaming, “We’re in the fucking semifinals!”
“You guys are in?” Aemond nods, “Good, you were the best band out there tonight. No one deserves this more than you girls.”
You quickly excuse yourself, wanting nothing more than to get a drink from the bar and calm your nerves. The others remain in the green room, lounging around.
Baela frowns, not bothering to glance up from her phone as she swipes on Tinder, drawling, “Damn, why are all the bitches in King’s Landing so boring?”
Rhaena sighs, “The men are worse, trust.”
Helaena nods, “I’ll drink to that.”
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The next day, you sit at the checkout counter at work, bobbing your head along with the new Direwolves single, singing along since no one else is in the store.
Well, at least, until Aemond walks in. He stays quiet, walking over to the section you usually lead him to, wanting to hear your voice a while longer.
“He calls her up, he’s trippin’ on the phone now, he doesn’t want her out there and alone now.”
Aemond ends up humming along as well.
When the song ends, you notice him and walk up, “Back so soon, blondie?”
He smirks slightly, following after you to the alternative rock section, “I just wanted to say your set was great. Your voice is even better live.”
You give him a look, “Are you trying to butter me up to get me to give you a discount? Cuz it’s not happening.”
“You clearly find me attractive, is there a pretty privilege discount?”
You roll your eyes, “Fuck’s sake, man.”
He sighs, “Sorry. I’m not trying to be an asshole. It just kind of happens.”
You shrug, “Hey, I’ve been told I have the same problem,” you toss him a copy of Vaes Dothrak’s new album, “Here. You might like this. It’s not in English, but it’s got a great sound.”
He looks at you and nods in thanks as he follows you to the register, “Can I ask you a question?”
“You just did,” he exhales sharply in annoyance, making you laugh, “Yeah, man, whatever. Just ask.”
“That song you wrote. The acoustic one. Who was it about?”
You freeze before shaking your head, “I’m not answering that. Shit’s too personal.”
He frowns slightly but nods in understanding, “Sure,” he turns back to you before leaving, “I guess I’ll see you at the semifinals?”
Your headphones are already back on. He sighs and turns on his heel.
Sometimes, it’s like you’re about to open up to him. But then others?
You’re just so fucking far out of reach.
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At band practice that night, Aemond tunes his bass, frowning slightly. Thinking of you.
Fucking hell.
He starts playing a random riff, “I don’t even like you, why’d you want to go and make me feel this way? I don’t understand what’s happened, I keep saying things I never say.”
“Ooh, who inspired that?” Jace grins, “I think I know!”
“Shut up,” Aemond grumbles, giving up on writing it in front of his bandmates.
“I was thinking,” Jace looks at the others, “Most of our songs are really upbeat, ya know? Why don’t we try writing something more personal,” he pauses, “Like that song the girls did.”
“Why the fuck do we keep talking about her?” Aemond grouches, “She’s not that great.”
Aegon and Jace exchange a smirk, the former speaking, “What about that one? The one you wrote back in high school?”
“The one about Dad?”
Aegon nods, “I think it could be really badass. Not acoustic, but a slower, almost punk ballad.”
Aemond thinks for a minute before starting to play the intro. Jace and Aegon join in.
“Hey, Dad, look at me. Think back and talk to me, did I grow up according to plan?”
The lyrics speak to Aegon too. He remembers the way Viserys ignored them. The way he neglected them.
“And do you think I’m wasting my time doing things I want to do? But it hurts when you disapprove all along.”
The song is cathartic for Aemond, he feels himself releasing years of rage, resentment, sadness as he plays, “And now I try hard to make it, I just want to make you proud,” he strums even harder, “I’m never gonna be good enough for you, can’t pretend that I’m alright.”
“And you can’t change me,” the brothers sing together, “Cause we lost it all. Nothin’ lasts forever, I’m sorry I can’t be perfect.”
Aegon continues, “Now it’s just too late and we can’t go back, I’m sorry I can’t be perfect.”
The boys stop and look at each other, Jace speaking, “That sounds amazing, you guys. We should put it in our set for the semis.”
The brothers nod, looking at each other.
“You should go to his grave today,” Aegon says quietly, “You haven’t been in a while. Sometimes I go and just scream. Sometimes I just talk to him. It helps more than you think.”
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“Uh, hey, you,” you speak, your voice cracking slightly, “Sorry, it’s been a while since we talked. Um, I just. I really fucking miss you. I played that song I wrote about you and people really liked it,” you bite back a sob, “It’s just really hard being here without you and I just wish,” you shake your head, “I don’t know. But I love you. So fucking much.”
You let out a sharp exhale, letting a few tears fall. You quickly wipe your eyes.
“Remember when we were kids and we used to play ‘Avatar’? And we’d say that you were Aang and I was Katara cuz you were the happy one and I was always kinda an angry little asshole? Um,” you bite the inside of your cheek, “I brought my guitar. I know you always loved it when I used to play. And this song. I was rewatching it on Netflix and that episode came on. The one that always made us cry. And it just fuckin’ reminds me of you now.”
You sit down and start playing, singing softly, quietly, “Leaves from the vine falling so slow, like fragile tiny shells drifting in the foam,” your voice breaks as you continue playing, refusing to stop, “Little soldier boy, come marching home. Brave soldier boy, comes marching,” you pause, whispering the last word, “Home.” You wipe your eyes, crying again, “I wish I could’ve told you how I felt. How I really felt. You always said I was the bravest person you knew, but I was such a coward. And now it’s too late. And I’m so fucking sorry.”
Aemond watches from his father’s grave only a few feet away, remaining out of sight as you pick up your guitar and get off the ground. You were within his earshot the whole time.  He didn’t mean to listen in. But the song you played, he’d recognized it from that show he and his brother and sister used to watch when they were kids. He heard everything you said.
The song you wrote wasn’t about someone who broke your heart, he realizes. It was about someone you loved, who you had lost. Who you were never able to admit your feelings to. That’s why you were crying while singing it.
You leave a single rose on the tombstone you were beside and kiss it before walking away.
Once you’re out of sight, he goes to see who you were visiting. Who that song was about.
His fingers trace the granite, where your lips were only a few moments before as he reads the inscription.
In Loving Memory,
Cerelle Lannister
Beloved Daughter and Friend
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Between the bars (Coriolanus Snow x reader)
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AUTHORS NOTE 📝 : yall im so proud of this one i think its my best one yet would you want a part two bc i would be interested please comment and o worked Really really hard on this one especially a little longer than normal got a little carried away.
WARNINGS: pining, my post concussion writing, suggestive but no lemon, hardcore making out, fluff and slight angst w/ coryo family, tried my best for snow to be in character, were basically Lucy gray
My hands wrapped around the cold metal bars of the monkey house where I was enclosed in. I couldn’t sleep no, not a wink so I decided to watch over my district parter. It was cold at night, they didn’t give us any blankets. It’s barbaric the way they treat us, just because we’re district doesn’t mean we’re not human. And just since most of us are going to our death you’d think that we’d be entitled to a least a little dignity.
you’d think….
Suddenly I hear footsteps and peer out the bars of the monkey cage into the empty zoo. Well…..not empty anymore. There approaching me is the one person who has treated me fairly since coming here. He handles me like I was a true lady of the capital.
Coriolanus snow walked up to the bars where I was.
“hello y/n….I’ve brought you something” he hands me an intricate compact “it was my mothers I thought it would remind you of me in the arena and…….” He pauses and looks around though no one is there “there’s poison in it. I know, but only in self defense in that arena your going to things you’re not proud of”
I nod “I understand” I say knowing I’ll have to use it at some point “it’s beautiful…thank you” I run my fingers over the delicate and fancy design.
he smiles. That smile that stupid smirk. When I first met Coriolanus I had to admit I was struck by how attractive he was. Paired with holding out a rose for me to take from his hand and saying that he would take care of me….well it’s enough to have any girl blushing like a fool. I tried my best to keep it together but I knew some of the blush was showing on my face when he held out the rose. Whenever I look at him I get butterflies in my stomach. Little did I know at the time he felt almost the exact same way about me and my appearance when he first saw me. But it was my spirit at the reaping and going foreward that truly made him fall for her. In fact the was one of the things that prompted him to arrive with the rose at the train station. When I was reaped I didn’t cry or scream or anything but….well I sung. I’ve always been a performer at heart and though my song was very short it showed that they couldn’t break my spirit.
now he leans down and brings his face close to mine. Closer than ever before.
“Coryo, I don’t know if I’ll ever see you again…but I wanted to thank you, you’ve treated me well like an equal and that’s rare. If I die in that arena it won’t be your fault-“
“I’m going you out of there y/n. You’re not just a tribute to me. You’re going to survive”he shocks even himself by saying it. He had never spoken about his feelings to y/n. Not even to Tigris. But with the games tomorrow there was no chance other than now. He was enchanted by her beauty and her charm when they first met, her realness. And though it was hard to admit her survival in that arena now meant much more to him than just getting the plinthe prize. He cared about her. Love was a feeling that was all too foreign to the young Coriolanus snow. He had only ever possibly experimented with a girl or two and that was nothing special just a fling. He was an orphan he never knew love from his parents all he had was Tigris, the grandma’m and now y/n.
I let my fingers slip in between the the bars that separated us and caress the side of his soft cheek. Letting myself give in to the temptation that has plagued me ever since we met. His eyes lock onto mine and me gaze at each other for a while lost in our own thoughts. as I stroke his cheek he leans into my touch so heavily as though he has never felt real love in his life. My other hand goes to cup his other cheek from the side so I’m holding his head in my hands now. He looks up at me and I slide one of my hands down to his neck. He was so clearly touch starved, I could see the desperation and hunger in his eyes.
and we’re both wondering the same thing. is this it? Is this the last time l’ll ever see them?
“Y/n l/n” he breathed like it was a desperate plea.
“coryo…”
and then he leans in close and we are in between the bars. He kisses me at first gently, soft and pure like driven snow. I can smell the roses on him a sweet scent that fills my lungs and takes me away. And we both forget about everything. The arena, the tributes, the fact I might be facing my death tomorrow. Because all I can feel is his lips upon mine. His lips are warm and soft, unlike the cold crisp air around us. We’re almost gasping for air. The kiss turns hot and heavy. More rough as it goes on. Like he was holding back before, now he had given up the fight with control. I gasp as I feel his hand snake around to the back off my head and pulling impossibly closer to him in the kiss. When I gasp he takes advantage of that and and deepens the kiss even further if possible. It was never a fight for dominance he took control. A small groan of pleasure escapes Coriolanus’s lips. I hum in response showing that I’m enjoying it as much as he is. Eventually we break and put our foreheads together.
And there stands Coriolanus snow one of the finest men in the capital, panting uniform messed up, and face as red as a beet. All because of the tribute y/n l/n from district 12. She had more than just affect on him. That was an understatement
not that she was any better…
Our foreheads touching both of us panting for our lives, tomato faced. I gaze once again into those beautiful blue irises that remind me of crystals
“Coryo…I won’t let you down in that arena I’ll survive for us…you’ve given me something to fight for” I breathe out
”and you’ve given me someone to root for. I’ll be waiting for you y/n” he almost whispers the last sentence
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tenebris-lux · 5 months
Text
You know, while we’re waiting for something to happen in Varna, I wanna gush (and I do mean gush) about an earlier entry and its performance in Re: Dracula: Seward’s diary, October 1, 4am.
First, a note on a detail in Re: Dracula. The part where all the guys said one after another that they all wanted to meet Renfield….
“May I come also?” asked Lord Godalming.
“Me too?” said Quincey Morris. “May I come?” said Harker.
The way Seward said “said Harker”, he sounds so annoyed! Like, “Ugh, FINE, everybody come. All of a sudden my patient is the most popular guy around.” The delivery for just that little line in Re: Dracula made me grin.
But onto to the meat of the entry.
Renfield pulled out ALL the stops in trying to convince Seward to take him out of the asylum. He did everything he could to impress on Seward that he was on the same page as any other guy, even ahead a little—intelligence, reasonability, culture, diplomacy, you name it. He took full advantage of the entourage that followed Seward. The pointed way Trench said the line, “By the way, you have not introduced me,” had the emphasis meant to put Seward on the spot—‘who appears less civilized here? In company?’ He then shows respect for everyone in the room named, displaying knowledge, grace, courtesy, charm, what have you. He was probably not expecting everybody to show up, so he had to improvise. But right off the top of his head, he was able to impress on each of them that he’s not “lesser”.
The pure charisma he displayed made a slight impression on Seward, kind of a knee-jerk reaction to go, “Yeah, sure, you seem perfectly fine, I’ll draw up the paperwork…” But then Seward catches himself. Unfortunately. Still, if Seward had been at all professional about Renfield in his treatment of him so far, him saying he’d talk to him more about it in the morning might not have been unreasonable. And if Renfield didn’t have an ulterior motive to leave the asylum right then, he could’ve possibly taken the opportunity to try to impress him more; not play Seward’s twisted mind games. Unfortunately, he could not afford to wait. At all. So he insists that time is of the essence and he has to go now.
“He looked at me keenly, and seeing the negative in my face, turned to the others, and scrutinized them closely. Not meeting any sufficient response, he went on:—
‘Is it possible that I have erred in my supposition?’
‘You have,’ I said frankly, but at the same time, as I felt, brutally. There was a considerable pause, and then he said slowly:—
‘Then I suppose I must only shift my ground of request….’”
“Brutally” is right. Jack’s voice was very blunt and short in Re: Dracula, and it was audible in Renfield’s voice that the wheels were turning; like, ‘how can I get through to this guy? I thought I was onto something there, but … Plan B then.’ His Plan B is a little more direct, less certain, and involves more crossing one’s fingers: appeal to Seward’s compassion, and try to tell him why he wants out so soon, which … ugh, isn’t much. That’s why he threw his all into plan A; plan B was extremely uncertain at best.
Still reasonably, he says he has reasons for wanting out, that it’s for the sake of others. But he can’t tell him why. Just … please trust him on this?
Unexpectedly, he just loses ground with Seward, but he’s got Van Helsing’s interest, and Van Helsing’s the type who tries to make a practice of giving the benefit of the doubt.
“He said to Renfield in a tone which did not surprise me at the time, but only when I thought of it afterwards—for it was as of one addressing an equal:—“
Which Jack found weird when reflecting on it later. Because why would Jack even consider Renfield being equal? But anyway, Van Helsing takes the initiative and overrides Jack’s authority by saying, ‘If you can state clearly why you want to go and convince me, he’ll let you and take responsibility.’ Which is kind of a weird gamble, if you ask me. Like, yeah, Seward would probably do it, because it’s Van Helsing, but it still seems odd to me. Van Helsing says later that he knows a lot less of “madmen” than Seward does (should we tell him?), so it’s a risk. But he was much closer to believing Renfield than Seward was. Whatever the case, Renfield couldn’t tell them anything. Van Helsing tried to persuade him to change his mind, because then he’d make so much more progress, rather than if he just kept secrets, right? But he wasn’t picking up that it wasn’t that Renfield didn’t want to say something, or was afraid to.
He literally couldn’t tell them.
“Dr. Van Helsing, I have nothing to say. Your argument is complete, and if I were free to speak I should not hesitate a moment; but I am not my own master in the matter. I can only ask you to trust me. If I am refused, the responsibility does not rest with me.”
The helpless way he says ‘I have nothing to tell you.’ And he’s DROPPING HINTS. He hears and understands Van Helsing’s arguments and if he WERE FREE TO SPEAK … but he is not his own MASTER…. Come onnn, Jack, you’ve heard that word before, right? I think somehow Renfield knows the guys are heading next door, so come on, Jack, put two and two together. Where else has Renfield used that word? And again, I love the added emphasis Felix Trench put on the word “master”. Like, come on, man, take a hint. Yes, Renfield’s addressing Van Helsing, but Seward’s hearing this. Seward’s the one here who knows his habits, his patterns.
Right?
No go.
“Come, my friends, we have work to do. Good-night.”
Renfield’s only chance is heading out the door. Reason and trust have both failed. Last ditch effort: pure desperation. Pleading, begging, on his knees, crying. Saying he’ll go under ANY circumstance Seward picks out, even if it comes to torture. Anything. Anything.
And Trench’s performance … oh god, the tears coming, the breathlessness, the way words warp when you talk while crying….
“Can’t you hear me, man? Can’t you understand? Will you never learn? Don’t you know that I am sane and earnest now; that I am no lunatic in a mad fit, but a sane man fighting for his soul? Oh, hear me! hear me! Let me go! let me go! let me go!”
GOD. He’s just so desperate to get ANYTHING from Seward. Is there anything in that man he can reach?
Still no. The way Jonathan Sims said Seward’s next lines—“Come, no more of this; we have quite enough already. Get to your bed and try to behave more discreetly.”—were PERFECT. Sternly chiding a lesser person who’s misbehaving, in tone, but with cold unfeeling words. Absolutely no warmth. No connection.
“He suddenly stopped and looked at me intently for several moments.”
The last check. Is there anything there? Anything in there at all he can reach or connect with?
“Then, without a word, he rose and moving over, sat down on the side of the bed.”
Just … the way he gives up. He’s out of options. Absolutely nothing will get through to the guy he needs to understand him. Or his friends, even the “open-minded” one. They all think he’s crazy and apart from them. He just needed one of them—preferably Seward, but any of them would do—to stand in his corner, and just relocate him somewhere. They can pick any conditions they want, just so long as he leaves now.
But Seward has never understood him. He made it a hobby to “try to understand him” and “know how he works”. And now when he actually needs to, he’s completely off-base. I won’t go so far as to say that if it weren’t for Seward, the attacks on Mina wouldn’t have happened, because it ultimately comes down to Dracula being the attacker. Still, it’s frustrating.
The final thing Renfield says to Seward as the doctor heads out the door—“You will, I trust, Dr. Seward, do me the justice to bear in mind, later on, that I did what I could to convince you to-night.”—was described as said “in a quiet, well-bred voice,” and it certainly was that in Re: Dracula, but it also came across as drained and defeated and … done. Just … ‘I tried.’
And he really did try.
He knows he has a weakness and is susceptible. There’s no telling when his mental fortitude might weaken next. But if/when it does, it wouldn’t be just him that suffers consequences.
….. anyways, that’s my gush.
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twstgarden · 8 months
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❀ ❝ 𝘁𝗼 𝗺𝘆 𝗱𝗲𝗮𝗿𝗲𝘀𝘁 𝗽𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗰𝗲 ❞
━ malleus draconia x fae! gn! reader ━ part 2 of so close yet so far. unable to find the strength to let the prince know of your true feelings, you decided to pen down your thoughts every night. unfortunately, you failed to safeguard those letters properly, which caused the prince to receive those letters and reply back to you with a surprise announcement. 
may include a few spoilers for chapter 7! f/n stands for first name.
do not steal or translate without my permission.
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‘to his royal highness prince malleus draconia,
this is another of the unsent letters that i’ll write to you. we have known one another for a century or so, and i have always thought this job of mine would be mediocre, but i often find myself waking up in the morning filled with motivation to guard you properly and to be around you. 
though inexperienced, i am no fool for i immediately knew i held romantic feelings for you. however, i do not have the intention to make you aware of it. you’re a prince and i’m your guard, that’s all we’re destined to be. 
it is enough for me to stand by your side in regard to your safety. it is enough for me to see you sit in the lounge with the rest as you sip on your drink and zone out from time to time. it is enough for me to be around you. 
with how sappy and emotional this letter sounds, i am, quite frankly, relieved that i do not need to send this letter to you. 
forever yours, f/n l/n’
you sighed to yourself as you placed the pen down and folded the paper, tossing it into the treasure chest box by your study table along with the other unsent letters you wrote for the prince. your working hours were done a few hours ago, so you found yourself seated alone in your room as you stared at the disorganized stack of folded letters in the treasure chest.
after a while, you stood up and stretched your limbs before crashing onto your bed to get a good night’s sleep and forget about your worries for a moment. 
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another day to persevere and hold back your feelings for the young master.
you were currently in the courtyard with the young master and the other two retainers. it was minutes after class dismissals and malleus wanted to sit in the courtyard for a while, possibly to relax. it was quiet, at least for you since you were zoning out. silver and malleus were both talking about the black coffee they drank this morning before class and sebek, once again, seemed rather upset at not being able to spend some quality time drinking the same drink as malleus due to his dislike towards the beverage.
at some point in their conversation, malleus told the two of them to go ahead and train since the courtyard did not have a lot of people around, leaving you and malleus to sit together on the bench. despite the blank expression on your face, your heart was beating really fast at the slightly close proximity. 
well, you need to calm down because he’s only sitting. 
your eyes stayed on silver and sebek as you observed their combat moves, unaware that you were already evaluating their performance and felt proud at how they’ve improved over the years. after their combat training, sebek looked at you with a rather proud smile and even the usually reserved silver was smiling at you too.
“lieutenant! i did better than silver, right?! have you seen how i blocked his last attack?!” exclaimed sebek in excitement as you smiled at them. you hummed with a nod as you responded back, “mhm, you two did great. you’ve improved a lot! keep at it, you two.” silver thanked you politely as you continued conversing with the three about their swordsmanship and combat skills.
with your attention focused on your juniors, you failed to notice the way his sharp eyes stayed on you for a long while. though his expression was blank, it was evident that he is impressed with your skills as he always has been and will continue to hold you in high regard. 
later on, you got back to your dorm room as it was already late at night. you sat by the window as you stared out at the dark backyard of diasomnia in silence, spacing out and falling into your daydreams with a small smile on your face.
however, your little delusional moment was interrupted by a bird flying right into your window and settling on the windowsill with an envelope in its beak. you raised a brow in confusion as you noticed the words ‘to l/n’, “for me…? thanks.”
you grabbed the letter from the bird as it flew away from your window, leaving you alone with the letter and opened it to read the contents with an intrigued and confused expression because who sends letters at 2 in the morning? especially to you of all people?
‘to my dearest,
this letter may arrive to you in the dead hours of the night and you may find yourself wondering who or why this was sent to you. i have received one of your “unsent”, as you claimed, letters. perhaps it ended up on my desk by accident, but i recognized your handwriting immediately. 
to know that you’ve held such deep feelings for me leaves me astounded. it is a surprise, but a wonderful one. 
you may remember the conversation a few days ago in the lounge about lilia announcing my grandmother’s wish to aid me in my search for a spouse. i have no need for the aid as i had already found the person i wish to marry and i, as well as my grandmother, have spoken to your family yesterday to request your hand. 
you say we are destined to only be the prince and the guard, but perhaps a proposal from me will make you change your mind about this ‘destiny’ that you speak of. 
meet me in the dorm garden 30 minutes after the bird sent you this letter.
i shall see you then.
eternally yours, m.d.’
you blinked your eyes several times as thoughts started running through your mind. ‘m.d.? m.d.??? as in malleus draconia? as in my master? his royal highness? the man i’ve been crushing on?’ 
“holy fuck,” you mumbled in surprise as you stared at the letter. he claimed to have already spoken to your family yesterday, so it seemed your father was made aware of the young master’s interest in having you as his spouse. your mind started to drift back to that night when you heard the announcement from lilia, and thought that there was something you might have missed that made you not realize it was you all along.
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"so, i've heard queen maleficia wishes to help you find your significant other, malleus... what do you think of it?" asked lilia, which broke you out of your trance, suddenly interested in the conversation but remained silent, as usual. 
"hmm..." 
a hum escaped malleus' lips, setting down his teacup on its saucer as his sharp green eyes stared at his beverage in deep thought. your eyes were glued on his figure, taking in his features as you awaited for him to share his response. he had always looked strikingly beautiful, malleus was one attractive man and you would never deny that.
you loved everything about him - those striking green eyes of his, his beautiful horns, the adorable child-like smile he would display every time he was happy, his commanding presence, his voice, his powerful skills and abilities, and so on. 
there was something about this man that you promise to serve with your whole life, so it was not a surprise that you had fallen for him over the course of your time together. 
you snapped out of your thoughts as soon as malleus cleared his throat, preparing to share his response with a smile, "that's fine... i already have someone in mind..."
ah... 
stupid.
delusional. 
you were stupid enough, delusional even, to think that the feelings you hold for the man you're serving will be reciprocated.
what a joke. 
despite the smiles on lilia, silver, and sebek's faces, you remained indifferent as you felt your heart slightly crack. you didn't want to ruin the happy atmosphere as much as you wanted to sigh out in despair and run up to your room, you didn't want them to suddenly be concerned if you decided to storm out.
so you sat there silently, tuning out the conversation as you were no longer interested to listen to something that you knew will hurt your feelings even more. 
with such thoughts in mind, you failed to notice the way malleus was staring at you. he had his eyes on you for a while now after the announcement, but frowned a little as he noticed your silence. lilia, silver, and sebek looked at you as well, noticing that indifferent expression as you cast your gaze on the coffee table before you. lilia then glanced at malleus as he asked in a soft tone, “do they know?” the latter shook his head in response, making it clear that you were not aware of any of this and it may seem that you’re plunging your mind with negative thoughts. 
“f/n?”
silver called out to you softly, but you didn’t respond. maybe to you, you believe none of the four would ever address you by your name in such a familiar way, but little do you know about the several missed calls of your name and not your title due to your spacing-out habits. sebek continued to look at you as he called out this time, “mx. f/n?” 
a soft sigh left lilia’s lips as he mumbled, “they’re spacing out again…” he continued to stare at you for a bit before calling out to you a little louder than those two did, “lieutenant?” you snapped out of your trance as soon as you heard lilia's voice calling out to you, addressing you in your official title and not your name. 
because you were spacing out.
"yes...?"
you replied softly, finding no energy to speak after feeling so downhearted. you noticed the hint of concern in your comrades' eyes whilst your future king looked over at you with curiosity as lilia spoke, "you haven't said a word ever since we started sitting on the lounge. is there something on your mind? we've been calling out to you for a while now, but you didn't respond."
"oh... um..."
you couldn't think of a proper excuse as silver asked, "are you tired, lieutenant? you can retire for the night..." you hummed in response as you shook your head, "i'm not tired yet. my apologies for being in a trance and spacing out." 
"hmm... well, that's fine since you're with us, but you must remain vigilant when on guard duty. it is troubling to think that you might not be paying attention to malleus or your own safety if you're in a daze," reprimanded lilia as he leaned back on the chair. he may have already been retired, but he was still your mentor, he taught you all the sword-fighting skills that you practice today as well as combat tips that are useful in the field. 
you meekly nodded as you mumbled, "yes, sir. my deepest apologies." 
you went silent once again as the conversation between them continued, but malleus was also silent. his gaze stayed on you as he thought to himself, ‘i wonder what keeps their mind busy… i shall inform them of my interest soon, then…’ 
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and so, you found yourself in the garden of your dormitory as you found the tall man standing by the bushes, eyeing the dark scenery as he waited for your presence. once you arrived, you gave him a polite bow as you spoke softly, “my apologies for making you wait, young master.”
malleus turned to look at you and shook his head in a dismissive manner, replying back to you in that attractive voice of his, “no need for an apology. i simply came earlier than needed. i assume you have received my letter, then?” 
there was a small smile on his face as his expression seemed more lighthearted and softer than usual. you couldn’t help but nod in response as you tried to keep your blank expression on, “yes, sir…” 
“perfect… and just call me by my name. there is no need for formalities between us, f/n.”
oh my, he addressed you by your name this time. you nodded your head once again as you spoke calmly, “as you wish, malleus.” you then continued to converse with him for a while until he turned his head to look at you with a smile. his smile looked beautiful as it always was and you find yourself smiling back at him.
the prince then handed you a rose, speaking in a tender tone as his eyes stayed fixated on you. 
“i would be happy to have you as my spouse if you’d let me.”
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© twstgarden 2023 || please do not steal, translate without my permission, or use this to train a.i.
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ur-boyfiend · 6 months
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hai , here's some chan x reader fluffy domestic stuff, if anyone wants to see a continuation lemme know ^^
you’re lying in bed on your back, eyes closed and earbuds in.  your skills at zoning out are strong, so you’re not very aware of your surroundings. you don’t have any plans for today, but your friends and boyfriend like to stop by unannounced, so you don’t particularly expect to be left alone all day. 
that’s why you’re not that surprised when you feel someone's weight drop on top of you. you pause your music and pull out your earbuds, looking up slightly to see a mop of curly blond hair. laughing quietly, you gently run your fingers through your boyfriend’s hair, and he leans into your touch. 
“what’s goin’ on channie?” he seems more tired than usual, which is saying something. he mumbles something in response, but his face is still buried in your chest so you can’t actually tell what he’s saying. 
“love, i can’t hear you.” 
he lifts his head up to look at you, and his expression almost reminds you of an upset puppy, “people don’t know how to do their jobs. i came in and nobody had finished their part of the project, you could tell they all expected me to finish it for them. so now i’m doing the entire project myself.”
you frown, knowing that being one of the best students in the music department meant people assumed chan would do their work for them if they asked. you’ve given plenty of students deadly side-eye when they tried to bother chan, but most of them just try again when you’re not there. 
“can you tell your professor?” 
chan just shakes his head, “i don’t wanna tell the professor because that’d give them the chance to get their shit together. i’ll just do the project myself and leave their names off of it, their loss.”
you laugh quietly, appreciating the pettiness. you were probably a bad influence, but because of chan’s default sweetheart personality, you were glad he wasn’t letting people take advantage of him anymore. 
“if there’s any way i can help let me know, alright?” 
“you have your own classes to work on, i don’t wanna use up your work time.” 
you shake your head, “the biggest assignment i have right now is my end of semester project for my visual arts class, my team for the year end fashion show is actually ahead of where we need to be since we’re all prone to hyperfocusing on the work.” 
chan grumbled slightly, “imagine having a team that do their work, what a concept.” 
you gently scratch at his scalp, still running your fingers through his hair, “is there anyone else in your class you could team up with? maybe not for this project, but for future ones?” 
chan shrugs, “i try not to interact with people unless they interact with me first, i don’t need to prompt people to bug me.” 
you snort, knowing how he feels. people used to treat you the same way, the difference is you’re just a lot more intimidating than him, and people figured out pretty quickly that you weren’t gonna do their work for them. 
“i think one of my friends was talking about his boyfriend needing a new team for his assignment, i’m pretty sure another one of our friends is in a similar situation… lemme ask real quick.” 
he hums in confirmation and you grab your phone from where it sat abandoned on the low shelf next to your bed, quickly putting in your passcode and opening the ‘dance hoes’ groupchat. you know each other because of how often the performance and fashion departments work together, everyone in the chat had done modeling for you at some point. 
you send a quick text, ‘hey can the catboys get online?’
quickly you get responses from two of the other chat members, both asking what was going on, one much more kindly than the other. you’re pretty sure chan has fallen asleep on you, but you keep playing with his hair as you ask the pair about what they’d mentioned earlier. 
they both give quick confirmation, and you explain your idea. both disappear for a second, before confirming that their boyfriends were down to meet up with everyone. you decide to work out a meeting time later, so you set aside your phone and curl up with chan, tugging a blanket over both of you and closing your eyes, falling asleep in your boyfriend’s arms.
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zynart · 2 years
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“book lovers” don’t love anything about books and it’s weird (or, defending classic novels)
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kevin durant is talking about basketball fans but you’ll understand exactly what he means in a much broader sense if you’re on the basketball side of twitter and immediately recognize the mindset he’s describing — that it’s a sentiment that isn’t really about basketball fans at all, but about how we engage with all sorts of things especially in the social media era. but this tweet is just table-setting. the important thing here is that the rest of this post, about many writers and english teachers and book bloggers and overall people who describe themselves as book-lovers on the internet, can be summed up as a caption to this screenshot that just says “same energy”.
same energy. many writers and supposed booklovers on the internet actively dislike and disparage most literature. and actively dislike and disparage the entire literary tradition of the novel, and the novel as a form, and all the tools or frames of engaging with art, and many of the writers or novels known for beautiful writing, and the books that made up the history and development of the medium and inspired so many more of its writers and inspired stylistic shifts, so much fundamental context for any kind of novel… i’m losing my thread here but the point is, many people who describe themselves as book-lovers, many of them authors themselves or english teachers, will proudly and vocally announce their dislike and hatred of so many classic novels. often what seems like almost all of them.
and will not just proudly say so, but won’t shut up about it. and will bring it up constantly among themselves. it’s not a one-off thing either, this comes up con-fucking-stantly in what feels like almost any conversation about literature. often fully unprompted. and will somehow pretend it's an original insight and that they're being bold and brave and controversial and starting a conversation for saying it, when it's all been discourse every two months for as long as an online commons has existed, and when we all know they got that take from endless cycles of online discourse, and when the reason they say it is because they know people will agree with them, because we've seen how that plays out a million times already, b e c a u s e so many other people who like to imagine themselves as brave bold original thinkers for having picked up that opinion in a previous online cycle themselves will respond enthusiastically through some kind of collective pretense that it's a new conversation.
that's part of it too, everyone involved in that discussion collectively performs some kind of amnesia where this is a take they're hearing for the very first time, and speaking a truth they've always thought but never felt like it was socially acceptable to say. because that way, you get to feel like an original critical thinker without having to do any critical thinking, or to feel like you have a superior understanding of a piece of media without having any media literacy. and you get to feel some self-flattery about your superior insight for having the originality and courage to believe what is now a pretty mainstream view — maybe not mainstream among literati, but absolutely mainstream in the online commons, enough that you know many people agree with you already because you've seen the same agreement and mutual self-congratulation play out in a million online cycles already.
(it feels very disingenuous. maybe it's not consciously and intentionally disingenuous, maybe it's just a lack of self-awareness, but it's like.. you know how we could say a great joke at a family function that we once read on the internet, and they wouldn't know and would just think you're just that witty for coming up wiht it? like that, except we're all on the same internet and we'd all read the same joke already but we all have to pretend we'd never heard it before so we don't break kayfabe, because that way you can convince yourself that nobody else had seen it before and they all thought you were witty. everyone just performs the exact same roles every time discourse about any given book happens every 2-6 months on the internet. next time, can we all at least not pretend like this isn't the 26th time we've seen this conversation and spare all the "FINALLY someone said it!" "someone needed to start this conversation!" schtick? is that too harsh?)
but anyway. the thing is, alright. if you think jane austen is boring. and that the great gatsby is overrated. and also that the bronte sisters' books were super problematic (bc heathcliff and rochester with mad wife in the attic are both kinda misogynistic). and also that hemingway is boring posturing. and catcher in the rye is overrated (because the abused kid processing his brother's death is "annoying"). and that shakespeare is too old english style to be worth reading.
and that only pretentious wannabes read tolstoy or dostoevsky. and as for ursula k le guin or isaac asimov or philip k dick, sci-fi is a boring genre. and that nabokov is weird and kinda suss, and kundera seems like he has an ego and philosophizes too much (will claim to have liked one hundred years of solitude tho bc that’s still seen as fashionable). and only pretentious hipsters read david foster wallace or pynchon or franzen. none of them seem to remember that edith wharton exists. some quote george eliot as another white man, or just don’t mention her at all.
and never even mention chinua achebe or toni morrison or james baldwin or arundhati roy. and — this is something i actually saw being said on twitter in conversations between english teachers, authors, and people who call themselves book bloggers — say "kazuo ishiguro is only read by white people who want to feel smart but is actually full of weird stuff" while including a screenshot from a haruki murakami novel. even though ishiguro and murakami write very different books in very different styles, one has lived in the uk his whole life and his best known books are all set in the uk while the other is a japanese pop writer, and they have very little in common aside from a kinda sparse prose style and being ethnically asian…
at that point, do you even like literature?
having a few or couple of those opinions is one thing, people’s tastes vary and i don’t expect everyone to love every supposed literary classic, i’ll admit to not enjoying ‘a separate peace’ at all — but so many writers online proudly announce pretty much all of this. and it’s usually not even with specific justification about the specific author or book, just broad strokes commentary. a lot of it seems to be half-remembered from bored high school years, books where they barely remember what even happened during them but retained their opinions on them with full unwavering confidence, a lot of the comments that sound like someone who’s only vaguely heard of the book and not even to the level of reading the wikipedia page to check, who misunderstood the main themes and seems to not have tried to critically engage with it at all.
honestly, i know most people online's clever opinions about books are just regurgitated from the internet. i’m pretty convinced this applies to 80% of all mentions of the catcher in the rye online, for example. fuck it, here’s the screenshot of the ishiguro/murakami incident i mentioned a couple paragraphs back:
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how is this not, really, just the hardcore marvel-only fan types of the book world? people who aren’t happy with their movies basically being so dominant they’ve outcompeted every other kind of movie in cinemas and make a trillion dollars, but also demand they get the critical appraisal of the godfather, and that martin scorsese praises them without reservation as high art, and also that they should get the same kind of respect and cachet among film artsy types as people who love all the classics of cinema or whatever. it’s the exact same mindset.
in a way, i feel like a lot of how gen x-millennial-zoomers are about art is like a relatively harmless version of how maga boomers are about society, in the sense of.. having the smallest expectation made of you or the smallest amount of effort/inconvenience asked or anything that isn’t super familiar exactly the way things were unchallenging or anyone not praising you for all of it is some kind of horrific thing that shouldn’t be allowed. i think this is a pretty terrible cultural development, as those go. its some kind of social collective self-infantilizing, all propped up by a whole circle of mutual reflexive defensiveness at any criticism of this way of being. and it’s a bit stressful saying all this knowing that there’s a pretty good chance that if the shoe fits, the response is likely not going to be a careful consideration — i mean, why would this somewhat incoherent and sloppily edited rant by some random on the internet warrant a level of careful consideration that people are proud of denying f scott fitzgerald or toni morrison?
its normal to have to put in a little tiny bit of effort and accommodation to access great things, like good art or a functional society. it’s good, even. it’s part of what makes life beautiful. there’s so much beauty to be found in art that you have to sit with and dwell on and read criticism of and analyze to find more and more layers of beauty, to find complexity, to develop a personal relationship between yourself and the art that’s so much deeper than just superficial infatuation because it’s something you built. you cant be mad about that expectation and demand praise for not following it. it’s fine to enjoy art on a simple and escapist level, but that’s not all that art is meant to be. insisting that it’s all that art has to be, or that expecting art to also be more is somehow morally wrong or elitist, is just philistinism and i’m only being a little bit hyperbolic when i say the normalization of that understanding of art is detrimental to society.
art is also meant to be something where you understand and respect the amount of craft and learning and attention to detail and thought and transcendent talent goes into making beautiful things, and you want to engage with it to the level that it deserves, to peel through the layers. to see how you interpret and find meaning and emotion in it based on the person you are at that moment in time, the most salient experiences and thoughts as you encountered that piece of art, the setting, the memories, an understanding that you can look back on and see change as you yourself change. to create an emotional correspondence with a mind you’ve never met, one that might have died decades ago and that lived in a world unimaginably different from your own but shared so many familiar thoughts and feelings and hopes and fears.
that carried the torch of a beautiful tradition of the form — the novel from miguel de cervantes through flaubert and tolstoy into the novels of the lost generation, the development of internal life as an art form in a way that’s unique to the medium and that can’t be shown in a play or film, the transition from novels as storytelling similar to a play in its earliest days to novels coming into its own as a unique art form that allows the reader to truly inhabit someone else’s mind, to think their thoughts and feel their feelings, in a way you can’t get from anything else. not from visual mediums, where you can see the action but can’t inhabit the inner minds of characters, only infer it. not from short stories, which even at their most introspective and internally oriented still don’t give you enough time.
i'll quote milan kundera from the art of the novel here, about what i mean when i talk about the development and tradition of the novel, and what only the novel can do: "Since its very beginnings, the novel has always tried to escape the unilinear, to open rifts in the continuous narration of a story ... Through its own logic, the novel discovered the various dimensions of existence one by one: with Cervantes and his contemporaries, it inquires into the nature of adventure; with Richardson, it begins to examine "what happens inside," to unmask the secret life of the feelings; with Balzac, it discovers man's rootedness in history; with Flaubert, it explores the terra previously incognita of the everyday; with Tolstoy, it focuses on the intrusion of the irrational in human behavior and decisions. It probes time: the elusive past with Proust, the elusive present with Joyce. With Thomas Mann, it examines the role of the myths from the remote past that control our present actions. Et cetera ..."
[my note: interrupting kundera here to note that all that's just up to pre-war early 20th century. there's still novels by the lost generation shaped by world wars and the great depression attending gertrude stein's salons in paris, the influence of fitzgerald and hemingway as branches of prose style, william faulkner and southern gothic, stream-of-consciousness and feminism with virginia woolf, chinua achebe and jean rhys with postcolonial inversions of older classics, magical realism with gabriel garcia marquez and salman rushdie and the like, big self-referential playful intertextual postmodern novels like david foster wallace through the weirdness of the 1990s, to this day there's still evolutions in form like jennifer egan with 'a visit from the goon squad', which such a great book by the way but i digress.. all that came after what kundera described here! and so much more that i'm likely forgetting right now]
but anyway, continuing kundera: "The characters in my novels are my own unrealized possibilities. The novel is not the author’s confession; it is an investigation of human life in the trap the world has become ... The novel has an extraordinary power of incorporation: whereas neither poetry nor philosophy can incorporate the novel, the novel can incorporate both poetry and philosophy without losing anything of its identity ... it can blend philosophy, narrative, and dream into one music ... it has [the ability to] marshall all intellectual means and all poetic forms to illuminate “what the novel alone can discover”: man’s being. ... I’ll never tire of repeating: The novel’s sole raison d’être is to say what only the novel can say."
i think that's very cool. i love thinking about what the novel can do and all the possibilities offered to me by its presence and what only the novel can do. when you’re reading a novel, the same little voice in your head that speaks out your own thoughts are speaking out someone else’s thoughts; the same body where you feel sadness or tension or excitement at events in your life, through the power of imagination, replicates those same feelings in you as you read someone else experience them. you get to understand situations and develop insights that you never could’ve if you’d only had your own experiences to rely on, because you could briefly borrow the direct experiences and emotional responses and realizations of others. having that lightbulb moment as you piece together some insight that the writer had laid out the breadcrumbs and guided you to discover. where things that wouldn’t have gotten through if you’d just been told it in bullet points become things you understand intimately because on some mini scale, in that brain-in-a-vat that’s your mind inside your skull inside your body, a book gave you the same experiential stimuli as being someone else and living a different life. that shit is fucking magical. learning about the journey, tracing that development, witnessing writers over the year gradually understand the full power and capabilities of the novel as a medium and experiment in finding ways to use the medium, is just fascinating to me.
reading classic novels to me is discovering a whole parallel history. not just events, not just ideas, but the way we think about stories. aren’t you interested in that? if you’re an english teacher, don’t your students deserve to experience that with your guidance? if you’re a writer, doesn’t taking your work seriously call for a more intimate knowledge of the clay you’re molding?
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i think people give a lot of excuses for their reading choices where they can’t just admit it’s a simple choice with trade-offs, or a preference where what you value in the moment is just different. that’s fine. there’s no need to be ashamed of that and to try to make it out to be anything deeper than that. nobody has to act like a certain type of book is the only kind that’s sufficiently accessible or that has characters of a relevant age or certain background. i mean, there's just straight up books. all kinds of books, a whole wide world of them. i understand being unable to read out of attention span or language level or whatever, but if you can read and its just about needing the book to be unchallenging, there's many many books. relatively short books, readable books, even books with characters in their 20s.
and i would argue that even if there aren’t, its still valuable to read about people with different lives and experiences. marshall mcluhan has a point about how what we call narcissism is a misunderstanding of the actual myth of narcissus from which we get the word. i'll include the quote here first: "The Greek myth of Narcissus is directly concerned with a fact of human experi­ence, as the word Narcissus indicates. It is from the Greek word narcosis, or numb­ness. The youth Narcissus mistook his own reflection in the water for another person. Now the point of this myth is the fact that men at once become fascinated by any extension of themselves in any ma­terial other than themselves... the wisdom of the Narcissus myth does not convey any idea that Narcissus fell in love with anything he regarded as himself. Obviously he would have had very different feelings about the image had he known it was [literally] himself. It is indicative of the bias of our intensely technological and, therefore, narcotic culture that we have long interpreted the Narcissus story to mean that he fell in love with himself, that he imagined the reflection to be Narcissus."
and i think this was really prescient about the state of a lot of modern online criticism and discussion of art. the organizing principle of how some "book lover" communities, whether on YA twitter or fandom tumblr or at your local library reading group, judge the value of media: by their "relatability", whether you can see yourself within the book and setting and characters being the ultimate arbiter of whether a piece of fiction is good or bad. i don't want to call it narcissistic per se, but it does mirror (pun intended...) the myth of narcissus, in that falling in love with a piece of fiction is about whether it's relatable, whether you can see yourself in it.
i'm going to head off a likely response here by emphasizing that this is different from the broader phrase of "feeling seen", which conflates "relatability" and "representation". i'm not here to quell the power of feeling seen, especially for people who have traditionally been surrounded by media where they haven't felt seen, but i think it'd be disingenuous to claim what mcluhan says here is referring to representation. representation is about seeing people *like* you, finding a sense of community in seeing someone who experiences the world in similar ways and would understand how you experience the world as a result. where the myth of narcissus would be applicable is about falling in love with media, even judging the objective value of media and whether it's good or bad as a work of art, based on how much you see yourself in it.
in much of online, the idea that any book or piece of media that isn't personally relatable would naturally be boring and impossible to connect with is so widely accepted that it's never even really a point of dispute. i want to say it should be, and that we should start disputing it. because i think the magic of books and fiction in general is that it's a way for you to exercise your empathy muscles. the characters or settings don't have to be "relatable" for you to be able to relate to it: it's just about stretching your capacity for empathy a little bit, inhabiting someone different from you with a life different from yours, seeing the world through their eyes, and ultimately learning something about yourself, the world, and humanity as a result. i think it's important to make this argument forcefully and not let this narcotic view of art — that it's natural and expected for us to only be able to enjoy art that is relatable, that relatability is a merit and unrelatability is a flaw in itself — not become even more hegemonic.
but ultimately, prioritizing enjoyment or relatability is fine. there's no harm to the preference. life is short and exhausting, free time is limited, and what we do for leisure can just be about having a fun time, or about getting a guaranteed emotional hit from a genre or medium that you know will fill whatever you need emotionally from reading right now. it's fine to read romance because it's fun or sexy, or fanfic because it'll make you cry. even "narcotic" isn't an inherently bad thing to be: even in a very literal sense, we all accept that it's perfectly normal to unwind with a glass of wine or a joint. it’s fine to prioritize other things. but for people who make their whole brand being about books specifically, i think it deserves far more harsh criticism that so many are so wilfully against engaging with the majority of books. a lot of it is an echo chamber where everyone else in the same circles feels the same way, i guess, but society in general has given this obviously ridiculous state of affairs a free pass for so long.
maybe the internet just isn’t real life and i’m seeing an unrepresentative subset of people. but at least going from “book lover” twitter, which is a loose amalgam of authors and english teachers and people who run wordpress blogs with book reviews, it feels like a lot of it is a whole generation of people who got into writing through fanfic and exclusively read YA or fanfic and felt embarrassed about it being seen as dorky, so they made their whole identity and personality and mission to be about validating kids like their imagined younger selves, without ever really growing up in that aspect of their personalities, and without doing any further developing/exploration of their tastes.
you know what i really don’t understand coming from an author, or even an amateur writer? having zero interest in reading the classics, even just to see if there's anything worth learning from great prose stylists to improve your own craft. i mean, if you think there's nothing in classic novels worth learning from, not even like 5% of it to try find what details or specifics you might find from widely respected prose stylists or lauded writing, like that its not worth reading it even to find just a few points you can use to develop your own writing — let alone that whole thing about all that art has to teach us about the human experience, which is so much more than the ground covered by contemporary YA and fanfiction, and what value that could add to the actual lives of yourself or your students —
if you're blinkered enough to think that your subset of writing is all there is to take value from, and you're basically just doing the reverse of all your "people who respect the classics don’t bother to see that there is insight and value and quality to be found and learnt from within pop fiction like YA and fanfic!", and arrogant enough to believe that you don’t need any more than that —
clearly you don’t actually love writing, or language, in that case. and that’s the truth. none of it was ever about a love for literature or writing or language as much as it was about validating the child version of themselves by coddling it and saying it’s actually fine to feel superior about it. what’s missing is any process of validating what does bring them out further, for getting into writing/reading in the first place being a starting point for growing and branching out and discovering how much more there is to art, rather than using it as a reason to just double down and shut out anything else.
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i may not be able to do some critical meta-analysis of all new literature but look, a generation of writers filling a whole genre not actually wanting to learn from all the lauded writers before them to improve their prose style or get ideas or insights isn’t going to be doing the best job they can. it’s a mindset that is actively damaging to the genres you claim to love, one that’s going to lead to stagnancy and decay, and one that disrespects an audience of voracious readers who want to get the best art they can. i don’t think this should be all that controversial. people might try to argue with me about whether old books are better than new books or whatever, but that’s not a point i’m interested in arguing — survival bias does mean that often only the very best from the past is what makes it through the decades to still be widely known to us, and i’m not qualified to compare the absolute very best of modern literature to that of the past and i’m not even sure that’s possible — but that’s not a point i’m interested in arguing.
thing is, it doesn’t matter which were better, what matters is that there’s definitely unquestionably indisputably a lot to be learned from books that have connected with millions across generations, and inspired movements and moved critics, and led literature lovers to their spark of love, and that passing up all of that is a cynical, nihilistically arrogant, aggressively anti-intellectual approach to art.  if i tried to build a plane engine without ever really studying, i might wing something that gets you off the ground by watching some youtube videos, but it's likely not going to run a plane as well as something built by engineers who've spent years learning from the lessons of masters and geniuses before them honed through the mistakes of thousands before them.
and if i respected the craft, i’d bother learning. and when i pick up those textbooks, they’re going to be boring or hard if i never bother doing much study, or doing any complementary readings, or doing the exercises or discussions of the material, or even doing any close reading at all. i can’t slack on all of that and then say the textbooks or lectures are just impenetrable and too hard to bother with. that would be an asinine way to approach any other craft or skill. and i think authors and english teachers and people who love books should respect the art enough to take it seriously, and not just blow it off as “who needs to study or learn or read up on it? anyone can write, it’s just putting some words down!”. we shouldn’t be saying that. that’s for my parents to say
work with me here. at least try put aside your prejudices about some of those classics, or what you vaguely remember as your first impressions, and actually engage with them in good faith. reading commentary or discussions and critics' views on them, paying attention to spot the metaphors and turns of phrase and motifs and how the sentences are structured to make something sound beautiful or how something is set up to come together later. you don’t have to love it, but you can at least engage with it in good faith first, with an approach of respect and seriousness. it’s a fun way of socializing with like-minded people when you can make it an identity signifier thing, where you have an imagined view of classic novel lovers as aloof opponents making fun of you in class and you stake out an identity as being anti-that and pro-ya or fanfic, like a fanfic or YA protagonist who learns to embrace their differences and acknowledge their specialness against the world or whatever.
where it genuinely depresses me is to see it coming from english teachers. from anyone who influences what young people get to read, really, but especially coming from english teachers who take pride in denying their students the opportunity to learn many of the great novels that they could be learning, and that they could be finding beauty in and enjoying if you could bring that same passion and approach to teaching them instead of letting your dislike show. i understand that the way those english teachers may have initially been introduced to the classics in their high school years was probably not pedagogically ideal, but it's really not an excuse for an adult making a career out of it. at that point you have a responsibility to your students and sometimes that responsibility requires you to get over yourself and do right by your students. no copouts here. no avoiding responsibility. it's an understandable excuse for why any random adult might not be a fan of the classics. if that same random adult claims to be a book lover literature fan i may find them a bit of a fraud for it, but they aren't doing wrong by anyone. an author who does it should think their readers deserve better. an english teacher doing it is self-centered and malpractice.
if what you’re modeling for your students is that they should also feel comfortable or even empowered flippantly dismissing the books they’ve been told make up part of a great education, you’re not all that far removed from the people in school telling kids that books are lame and for nerds and that they should just watch a movie. it’s only different in degree, but it still communicates the exact same concept to students. what an english teacher is meant to do is to at least try inculcate a love of books in students, a sense of awe and respect for the power of the written word. that books are amazing and that there’s so many kinds of books out there that they should give a real chance to and that they’ll find some book they love and that it’ll open up whole new worlds. don’t you think that out of all your students, the book which makes some of your students fall in love with reading might be one of those great novels of history?
i’m not saying that assigning books that kids will find easier to read and engage with isn’t a perfectly fine approach to involving students, especially if other approaches aren’t getting them as involved. but anyone reading this essay in good faith already knows that thinking that’s what i’m criticizing is defensively propping up a strawman, because i’m not talking about the english teacher who clearly loves novels and goes with a book at the class’s overall level while still encouraging students to go seek out more and pointing them toward the wide world of great novels out there that they can try read and engage with in their own time if they want. i’m talking about this very common attitude and phenomenon of people disparaging most novels, this often being english teachers who discuss this mindset informing how they teach their students. who proudly tweet about how they shut down some kid’s curious question about the catcher in the rye or the great gatsby or the grapes of wrath with some soundbite from the internet detritus that’d do great for clout, telling their students something like “ugh, those books are so boring”. which i think is something that an english teacher should feel embarrassed to admit.
at that point, it’s not really about those kids’ education at all, its about the teacher themselves. or it’s not about their young readers, it’s about the author’s need for personal validation in their tastes and choices, and seeking that validation from people who are influenced by and take cues from them in the first place because that’s a way to receive uncritical validation without much pushback. it's just a kind of self-laudatory narcissism that claims to be supporting kids, when it’s really just about those teachers or authors themselves in some ways never having moved on from childhood. not saying they're immature or childish as a whole in their lives but in this specific aspect, it is absolutely an immature and childish approach that casts themselves and their students/readers as characters in a high school setting fanfiction or YA story. just people congratulating themselves for teaching their students that a lot of reading is lame and uncool and boring and elitist beyond an entertaining subset of it. which, to clarify, is something which i think should be considered malpractice for an english teacher.
that’s just doing the kids they're teaching (or writing for) a disservice. it’s basically making them just a prop in your exercise of validating your aggrieved younger self, while dismissing the possibility of actual real kids' intelligence or interest in expanding their tastes or intellectual curiosity — a perspective where you can look down on everyone else, including those other kids who want more from class, as somehow being snobby villains in your life story or in the life story of an imagined self-insert high school version of yourself that you're projecting on some poor kids you identify with in class. i think this is something people who do this to their students need to sit with and be introspective about, because personal psychodrama shouldn’t be taken out on students.
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you can’t dismiss the classic novel or literary canon like that. that dismissal is either a bad-faith argument or an unserious and ignorant one. there is so much literature that has so much to say about actual cultural evolution from gender repression in victorian times (jane austen, bronte sisters) or the force of tradition in 19th century russia (tolstoy) to the world wars (elie wiesel, erich maria remarque) to the despair of the lost generation after the world wars (fitzgerald, hemingway) to 60s counterculture (hunter thompson, kerouac, ginsberg) to life through postcolonial revolutions (achebe, rushdie, camus) to socialist republics and revolutions (kundera) and latin american corporatist coups (gabriel garcia marquez) and indian caste conflict (arundhati roy) and postmodern disillusionment and absurdism (david foster wallace, delillo, pynchon, etc) and warnings of futures like theocratic conservatism or authoritarianism or classifications (atwood, orwell, huxley, ishiguro, philip k dick)…
and i do think calling the overall literary canon of classic novels "straight white male" (notably, a claim often made by straight white people) is often just a crutch to moralize their own personal dislike of something for aesthetic reasons. and i often find that just fundamentally dishonest, because its not like they're replacing hemingway with chinua achebe or james baldwin or allen ginsberg or ralph ellison or toni morrison or edith wharton or arundhati roy or gabriel garcia marquez or salman rushdie or kazuo ishiguro or ursula k le guin or margaret atwood, all of whom are either people of color or gay or women or some combination of the three. they're dumping all of those out too as distaste of classic novels and replacing it with diverse YA novels.
the real truth is that it’s not about straight white maleness at all. there’s plenty of novels universally considered ‘great novels’, ranked in lists of the great novels, available for teaching in schools, subject of plenty of critical praise, with huge legacies in the development of the medium and of culture as a whole. it’s not about that. its about genre and about the idea that literature should just be a rollicking read that is nice for the imagination and feels fun, and this continued idea that any art being challenging is bad.
and thing is, ironically enough, this is actually erasing the contributions of those famous and respected and influential non-white/straight/male literary figures, and the art that they created engaging with and in reaction to their circumstances, while doing so. because discarding the classic novel or literary fiction or whatever you want to call it, swapping out influential classic novels for ya, is just throwing out all of their work and their legacies. you can’t pretend that that recognizing diversity is your actual justification when you're throwing out the study of classic novels alongside their historical and cultural context, which includes a ton of the contributions of non-white/straight/male people.
and the charitable interpretation of that for me is that it’s just a bullshit excuse and lying to themselves. that a lot of it is just people working out their own personal insecurities about not being taken seriously, by digging in the trenches real pre-emptively and casting themselves in the role of righteous rebels overturning an establishment that propped up bad things while suppressing the good things they liked. none of this is to be dismissive of either the young adult genre or fanfiction, which i’m fully sympathetic to as genres that have put out a lot of great art that shouldn’t be summarily dismissed but often have been. but at this point, all of it begins to feels like a whole psychological mess that's making childhood resentments and aggrieved persecution complex about not having your tastes be universally praised no matter how mainstream or popular or successful they become.
i compared it to maga boomers or marvel fans before. to paraphrase dril, i’m not going to “hand it to” maga boomers and have no reason to. but at least marvel fans who act like that have much less weird psychodrama going on, because most of them don’t go on to become filmmakers or film studies teachers themselves and aren’t producing art where they imagine themselves in the position of the superhero. they're just occasionally annoying fans, who don’t really have much negative impact beyond their dollars dictating what gets made. which i don’t really blame ppl for because its individual tastes driving their individual ticket purchases that adds up to a lot of money and makes it profitable. but your average marvel fan doesn’t themselves either teach or create content where they can perpetuate it within culture. and at least marvel fans just call themselves marvel fans, they don’t insist they're the true actual film fans while shitting on the godfather and proudly announcing how they won’t watch anything from before 2008. many “book lovers” and “literature fans” who actually hate pretty much most literature and great novels could do with that level of specificity, without trying to take on the mantle of being so in love with books and the english language and the written word. it’s not true. it’s denial. it’s a cope.
and that’s the charitable interpretation. because the alternative is just being too ignorant of the presence of all those writers and their contributions within the canon in the first place. in which case, why do people talk so confidently disparaging classic novels if they don’t actually know anything about them beyond recognizing maybe the great gatsby and moby dick, and don’t actually know enough to even know about all these non-straight/white/male writers of classic novels and their role in the evolution of the novel as a medium? it’s just a fully unjustified level of confidence in that situation. and neither one of ignorance about their subject or uninformed confidence, let alone both, paints a great picture of people who've supposedly made a career out of writing or literature or the english language.
i don’t love getting into neat little psychological explanations for things but then again, fuck it. all the “essays” on here are just ruminations on culture and whatever psychology it feels like is driving that culture, after all. it’s not like that’s out of the overall scope of what’s going on here so why not. the reason i hesitate here is because there’s a lot of reflexive thin-skinned defensiveness that seems to be part and parcel with this attitude, given that i think a lot of it is birthed in a sort of understandable insecurity anyway — and i don’t say insecurity as an insult, i think insecurity is a very understandable and pretty universal aspect of being human — but the rest of this is going to be pretty harsh. and maybe that harshness isn’t the right approach to persuade people who i’d hope would be persuaded, but i don’t know, honestly i think we’re long overdue to start being harsh about it and i’m going to give that a little nudge. at this point, my visceral reaction to seeing this is just thinking “grow up”, and that they've been indulged and welcomed and catered to enough already now.
that’s my screed. me to classic novels, the most dickish love letter in the world
update, now that people have discovered this post and are actually reading it: i don't mind any of this being shared or reprinted anywhere if it's with attribution. whatever gets people to read it to change the conversation works for me. i hope it reaches enough of an audience to make the right people mad, to be honest.
if you liked this, feel free to check out my other 'essays' on internet/pop culture stuff on my homepage. here's a selection:
· humanity is worth loving, humans are worth saving
· there are things we owe to each other
· i trained a neural net on 10,000 irony-poisoned tweets and it just gave me cringe?
· what makes someone good, bad, cancelled, or redeemed? i don't know either!
· please tell me if you have a definitive answer on what makes someone a bad person
· ok, fine, my social justice politics feel a bit like religion sometimes and that’s ok
· after the deluge (short story) (dispatch from an island state post climate apocalypse)
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huskystar77 · 5 months
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catalyst - chigiri h.
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chapter 4 of 7 in the blue lock band series. chapter 1. chapter 2. chapter 3. chapter 5. chapter 6. chapter 7.
synopsis: chigiri arrives to pre-show early, running into y/n, and decides to finally take his chance with her, providing her with a distraction from his bandmate she can't seem to stop crushing on. and for some reason, y/n is extra desperate for those guitarist fingers.
warnings: smut; penetration; unprotected sex; degradation; praise; teasing; multiple orgasms; overstimulation; rough sex; dominant!chigiri; submissive!reader; fem reader; minors DNI
disclaimer: all songs referenced are credited to THE DEEP END
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w.c. 3.6k
A night with Sae was all she needed to get more information out of him, to understand him better, to the point where y/n finds herself working on a Sae-specific article. After “talking to” Sae, y/n barged into Reo’s office the next morning to tell him her idea- to make a series diving into each of the band members- including their history, their likes, their favorite parts of being in the band- anything a potential fan would be interested to know about them. 
For example, Sae remains insistent on “Look at the Mess You Made” being in the setlist, something y/n didn’t understand before, but now she knows that Sae feels proud that he wrote it and likes to show it off to the crowd. Though he doesn’t act emotional, Sae has talent, and he enjoys when people recognize it. 
So now y/n sits, working diligently on her writing while she waits for the boys to arrive to begin preparing for tonight’s show. 
“Hey, y/n.” 
She looks up, met with a familiar pair of pink eyes that always seem to have a glint of mischievousness in them. Today is no different.
“Hyooooooma~” She sings, earning a bright smile from the pretty lead guitarist. 
Chigiri’s always been a difficult one to pin down, he’s so flirty and cute, but she can never tell when- or if- he’s joking. Back before the band got famous and y/n developed a close friendship with Isagi, he always acted like he was jealous, but it was always followed up with laughs. Regardless, y/n has adapted to Chigiri’s cutesy, funny personality, and honestly, he’s insanely enjoyable to be around. 
Since y/n started working for Blue Lock, she’s actually been the closest with Chigiri. They hang out a lot, joke and laugh together, always grabbing food or hanging out after practice, and he’s always the first to high five her after a performance. 
“Why are you here early?” Chigiri asks, settling into the beanbag chair opposite y/n, taking his acoustic guitar out of its case. 
“I could ask the same for you.” Y/n replies. 
“Uh, well I asked, so you first.” He grins.
“Fine. I’m working on an article.” She admits, turning her laptop around to show him. 
“‘Bout what?” 
“I’ll tell you after you tell me why you’re here.” 
“Fine.” He strums a few chords on his guitar. “I wanted to practice a new song. I know we’re still on tour, but I’m really excited about this one. We’ve been working on it here and there- but I finished it and wanted to practice.” 
“Can I hear it?” 
“Ah ah ah~ your turn. Tell me what you’re writing about.” 
She sighs dramatically, as if it’s exhausting and impossible to meet his demand. “It’s about Sae.” 
Chigiri tilts his head. “Why?” He asks, sounding slightly annoyed. 
“I’m doing an article about each of you and publishing it to your social media. You know, helping the fans get to know each of you. You didn’t see the Isagi one?” 
“No, guess I didn’t. That’s cool though.” He pauses. “When’s mine?” 
She shrugs. “Gotta like, get to know you better I guess. Spend some time with you or do an interview I dunno.” It’s not entirely true, considering she knows Chigiri more than well enough to write an article about him. But after her recent interaction with the band’s drummer, she was particularly excited to work on this one.
“When did you spend time with Sae?” He chuckles, though it’s clear there’s a hint of nervousness. 
She stops, peeking up at him from her laptop. “Um, I dunno the other day- why don’t you play me that song you wrote.”
“It’s just that you and Sae don’t seem to be that close.” 
“We’re not. What’s the song called?” 
“What did you guys even do?” 
“Just like vibed. Is it an acoustic song?” 
“Y/n.” 
“Hyoma.” She breathes. Maybe she should have approached it better. It’s not like she has a way out of this now, but she would have much preferred never speaking of her encounter with Itoshi Sae ever again. Not because it was bad, obviously, but because it probably shouldn’t have happened. 
“Did you hook up with Sae?” He asks, an eyebrow raised. 
“Why would that be the first thing you jump to?” She scoffs, as if she’s offended. 
“Because I’m right, aren’t I?” He twirls a strand of his long pink hair around his finger. 
She sighs. 
“So you’re writing an article about him because you guys fucked?” 
“No, I’m writing an article about him because that’s the plan Reo and I discussed.” She lowers her voice. “And we also happen to have fucked.” She says through the corner of her mouth. 
“I knew it!” 
“Can you just not say anything about it, please? It just kinda happened. But I got to learn more about him, so it was helpful for this task, in a way.” She pauses. “Now play me your song.” 
Chigiri chuckles. “Alright, whatever. But just know I’m sure I could do better than Sae. If an Isagi distraction is what you’re looking for.”
Y/n groans. “Nooooo that’s not itttttt.” She drags out her words. But to be fair, fucking Sae did help a lot with her Isagi problem. Same with Bachira. For a few days or so, she hardly thought about Isagi at all. 
Also, after fucking Sae, it’s become more apparent that there’s no way Isagi would want to date her, considering she seems to be making her way through his entire band. 
“Whatever.” He says with a light shrug, beginning to strum some chords on his guitar. 
Chigiri Hyoma is the epitome of a good guitarist, exactly what a rock band would be looking for. He’s got the long hair, the sarcastic attitude, and those fast fingers that never seem to miss a note. Come to think of it, as y/n watches his expert fingers pluck the strings so delicately yet so dominantly- she can’t help but shift a bit in her seat. 
“So it goes like- all I am is a catalyst, all I am is a way back home~” He sings it, though doesn’t use his actual singing voice, more like humming without trying. 
“You’re not actually singing?” She chuckles, but still can’t take her eyes off how those damn fingers move. Would they be better than Isagi’s? They both play guitar, after all, but somehow it just looks different when Chigiri’s playing. 
“Huh? I’m not just gonna sing at you. Cringe.” 
Y/n laughs. “You’re literally in a band? You sing for a living?” 
“Not really, I do backup vocals. My singing voice is just okay. Plus, even if you have a good singing voice it’s still cringe as hell to sing at someone.” He points his index finger at her, as if he’s accusing her of something. 
And y/n watches that finger, intently, her eyes dazed as she slips deeper into her forbidden daydream about him- Chigiri Hyoma, the lead guitarist of Blue Lock, known for his speed on the guitar and his amazing live guitar solos. She wonders how many girls have gotten to experience him like that, with those fingers. 
“Uh? Y/n?” He waves his hand in front of her, forcing her back to reality. An unfortunate reality where he’s not fucking her. Maybe hooking up with Sae wasn’t enough to calm her insatiable horniness.
“Oh, sorry.” She chuckles. “Zoned out.” 
“Uh. Huh.” He says, raising an eyebrow as he watches her cheeks become dusted in pink. She nervously looks away from him, her eyes darting to the ceiling. “What were ya thinking about? Hm?” 
Y/n just shrugs, becoming more heated by the second. She doesn’t understand why it’s suddenly like this, why she feels like she could pounce on him at any time. Sure, he’s hot, she’s always thought so, but she’s never felt like a cat in heat around him. Maybe it’s what he said about being an Isagi distraction, or how he played the guitar, or how he looked at her-
“Nothing.” She replies quietly, as if she’s not so sure. 
His voice is softer now too, quieter, more intense than usual. “I dunno y/n.” A smirk begins to dance at the corners of his lips, a smirk y/n can’t see since she’s so adamant about looking anywhere but his face. “Remember the other night when you told me to take a chance if I saw it?”
She reflects, taking a moment to process the context he’s referring to- back in the bar, when he was drunk off his ass and she was rushing to find an excuse to leave. She doesn’t know exactly why she said that to Chigiri. She could have said anything else. But she chose to give him a reason to chase her. 
“Oh. Yeah, um. I remember.” 
Chigiri places his guitar to the side, leaning forward to grasp y/n’s wrist. She doesn’t fight it.
“Well the chance is here, and I’m taking it.” He says, swiftly pulling her forward so she stumbles, collapsing onto the beanbag chair he sits on. He grabs her hips so she lands in his lap facing him, catching her completely off guard. 
“You want this, yeah?” He stops himself, leaning forward but maintaining distance between their lips.
“Mhm.” She finds herself nodding, hoping he’ll close that gap, hoping he’ll just take her. 
“You always coulda come asked, you know I’ve always wanted you.” He places a finger under her chin, still holding her face just inches from his. It’s almost painful how he’s refusing to take the leap, it’s making her shift in his lap, making her want to just grab him and force it. 
“No- um, you were always just joking- I thought.” She leans forward slightly, but he leans back. 
“Maybe I was saying it jokingly, but I was never actually joking.” He chuckles, looking down at her as she grows more desperate by the second. 
“Okay-“ She attempts to close the gap again, but again is met with resistance. He smirks, as if it’s all a game to him. 
“Why the pouty face?” He asks, taunting her. 
“Why won’t you kiss me?” She whines.
“Oh you wanna kiss me? I couldn’t tell.” He teases her more, which leads y/n to quickly realize that he’s likely getting turned on watching her suffer like this. “You actually want me, y/n?” 
“Yes I want you.” She sighs, attempting to lean forward once more. 
He blocks her, holding his finger to her lips. She nearly bites it out of frustration, but the teasing little prick would probably like that. 
“Okay. Beg.” He smirks, his eyes lit with a new flame, a sadistic pink fire, a strand of his gorgeous soft hair falling between his eyes.
Y/n can’t help but squeeze her legs together at his words, the pressure becoming more unbearable the more he holds out on her. It would feel pathetic to beg, which is exactly what he wants. On the other hand, if someone walks in and it forces an end to their encounter before she gets what she needs, that’s even worse. She’d rather feel pathetic than get nothing. 
“Please kiss me.” She whines.
“I don’t think you want it enough.” 
She balls her fists together, feeling her knuckles whiten from the frustration. “I do want it, fuck, I want you to kiss me and then kiss me more, then use those pretty fingers and fuck me please~” She sings, praying her pathetic attempt at pleasing his sadistic nature is enough. 
She doesn’t have time to break down the context around Chigiri’s approach to the situation, frankly she doesn’t care. It doesn’t matter what his kink is, she wants it so bad right now she’d do nearly anything to have him. She doesn’t know what’s come over her, Chigiri Hyoma just has that effect. 
And all he does is chuckle. He’s acting like he doesn’t even want her. And it’s making her more aroused with every passing second, she can practically feel her pussy dripping through the thin fabric of her clothes, her clit pulsing as it begs for some relief. 
“You were the one who told me you’re taking the chance.” She pouts, her voice coming out whiny and desperate. She doesn’t even care how she sounds anymore. 
“I’m sorry beautiful, I just can’t help but love seeing you so pathetic.” He glides a gorgeous finger through her soft silky hair. Even just the lightest touch is enough to make her shift, clasping her legs tighter together. 
“I am pathetic, Hyoma.” She sighs. “I can’t leave here without feeling you inside me.” 
“And it’s me you want? Right pretty girl?” He caresses the side of her face delicately, yet it almost feels like he’ll snap and break her. At least she hopes he does. 
“Just you, Hyoma, fuck. Please just do something, anything, or let me go so I can go think about you when I fuck mys-”
Finally, the switch that Chigiri Hyoma’s been grasping onto this entire time, through all his jokes and innuendos, through the way he watched her look at Isagi Yoichi, flips. His delicate touch turns lethal as his thumb presses into the skin of her neck, his other hand moving to grip the back of her hair with a forceful tug. And he kisses her, his lips immediately rough, wasting no time shoving his tongue between her lips like he’s splitting them apart. 
She submits entirely, letting her body go limp as the pressure from his thumb on her neck makes her vision blurry and her brain foggy. He’s only kissing her, yet she has no fight left. He’s already won, already forced her into submission before she can even think to fight. 
The only thing she can do is beg and plead, ask him for more, whine into his mouth and let him swallow every single one of her noises until his fingers press at her clothed area, clothes that are wet enough to feel like she bathed in them. 
“Please, please take them off, please Hyoma.” She whines, her jaw slack and her tongue almost hanging out, desperate to continue tasting his pretty pink lips. 
But Chigiri Hyoma- evidently- gets off more to teasing her than he would if he actually fucked her. 
“Ah, but do you deserve it?” He snickers, his face disappearing into her neck. His tongue slurps and sucks at her skin, his teeth grazing her like he’s threatening to suck her blood. The others held back with leaving visible marks, even if they did leave a few hickeys only to be seen under her clothes, but Chigiri clearly has a point to prove. He ruins her neck with dark purple marks, littering them on every part of her exposed skin as his fingers dance across her clothed entrance. 
“I do~ I do deserve it~” She whines, the pain of his teeth on her skin melting away from the short bursts of pleasure she gets when his fingers only lightly touch her clit through her soaked panties. 
“I wonder how fast you’ll cum~” He whispers into her ear, biting and sucking on the lobe. 
“Please.” She whispers, her desperate attempts at begging proving not to be as effective as she’d like. 
He finally slips a finger under her panties, gathering her arousal on the pads of his two fingers as he plays with her soggy lower lips.
“Ah~” She gasps, her breath stuck in the back of her throat and her mouth parted as her eyes blur with a layer of frustrated tears. 
He teases, slipping the tip of a single finger into her hole, inciting a short whine before removing it just as quickly as he started it. Instead, he moves it to press on her clit, rubbing light circles as she bites her lip, all while he still attacks her neck, making no attempts to end his assault. 
“Fuck~” She feels her muscles tense up, a roaring flame hurdling through her body at top speed. And she cums, just from him pressing her clit a few times, unable to handle the teasing anymore. 
“Ah, babygirl, you came just from that? Poor thing, can’t handle me.” He rasps into her ear, refusing to let her come down from her orgasm before finally separating her dripping pussy lips and forcing two fingers inside until they physically can’t go in further. 
“Hyoma~” She sings it like a lullaby, her vision completely clouded as his fingers provide her with nothing short of pure ecstasy, fucking her hard and fast, swishing around between her gummy walls, exposing her to the magic fingers she’s been desperately begging for this entire time. 
It only takes a moment before she’s cumming around his fingers again, performing a feat she didn’t think was possible. She’s never cum back to back like that in her entire life. 
“Fuck, Hyoma~ I-” Her orgasm rips through her used body like a sword cutting her in half, the fluids rushing to coat his already soaking fingers. 
“Fuccckkk~ I love those pretty sounds babygirl.” He coaxes her through her high before removing his fingers, moving his lips back to connect with her tired ones. “I think I’m ready to fuck the shit outta you~” 
She can only whine, a bead of drool dripping from the corner of her mouth as he pulls away from her, focusing his attention on unzipping his pants to free his bulging cock. He’s been teasing her, sure, but teasing himself as well. 
“Yes, yes, whatever you have~ I can take it~”
Before she can process it, her panties are discarded, and his cock is ramming into her dripping walls relentlessly, bullying into her like he attempts to break her. 
“Ah, fuck~ That’s a good girl. I can handle a little more than you can, though.” He chuckles, placing his thumb over her neck once again, enough to make her gasp. “I won’t cum just from a simple touch, unlike you.” He degrades her, but praises her at the same time. Such a tease. Y/n doesn’t know if she’s been more turned on in her entire life. 
He holds her in his lap, pounding upward into her, every thrust forcing ungodly noises from deep within her throat. 
“Look at you, that pretty cunt taking me so well~” 
“Mhm~” She groans, his cock ramming her g-spot as he turns her inside out. She didn’t think it was possible for her to cum so much and so quickly, but it seems like Chigiri Hyoma unlocked a teasing kink y/n didn’t know she had. “G’na, g’na cum, mmm, again~” She whines, overstimulation tears dribbling down her face. 
“That’s a good girl~” He hums, holding her limp body as she cums for a third time, sucking in his cock like she desperately needs it to survive the stimulation. 
He doesn’t let up, though, forcing his cock into her over and over again, somehow reaching deeper when y/n thought it wasn’t possible. But she needs it, she needs his cock to destroy her and tell her she can take it, she needs his cum to fill every inch of her needy cunt. 
“That’s it, getting close babygirl~ fuck~” He groans, flipping her over in the beanbag chair so she’s on her back, never letting his dick slip from her slick hole, his long hair falling in front of his face. He holds her limp body like he owns it, ramming into her even harder and faster than he was before. 
“Cumming~ agh~ gonna fill you up, fuck~” He finally finishes, releasing his thick load inside her until she’s dripping, sliding his cock out of her and watching his milky cum slide out with it. 
Y/n’s head falls back, her jaw slack and her vision still blurry. She can only whine every time he says anything. If she still has to work during this show, she might just get fired. 
“Oh, you poor thing. No more. Don’t worry.” He chuckles, sliding her panties up her legs and under her skirt, lightly ruffling her already messy hair. 
“Um, did I interrupt something?” Another voice is heard from the door, causing y/n to suddenly force herself back into reality and snap her head toward the entrance to the dressing room. 
“Nah Isagi, was just finishing up. You can have her back now, if you need her.” Chigiri taunts, zipping up his pants and standing up from where y/n still lays almost lifeless. 
“Yoichi…” She manages, watching Isagi awkwardly scratch behind his head. Her gaze shifts to Chigiri, who seems to have no issue talking about her like she’s an object to be passed around. 
“I, uh, it’s not like she was necessarily mine anyway…” He says with a light chuckle, his cheeks still flushed from catching the tail end of her and Chigiri’s interaction. 
“Hear that y/n? You deserve better anyway.” 
“Let’s not do that-” Isagi starts, but y/n interrupts, almost like the post nut clarity finally forces her to think logically. 
“No, no. I’ll do what I want. If I’m a slut being used by the whole band, then so be it.” She sits up with a smirk. “I kind of like it that way anyway.” 
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arent-i-the-fairest · 2 years
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𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐠𝐡-𝐡𝐨, 𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐠𝐡-𝐡𝐨~
what’s it like with neige leblanche having a crush on you?
author’s note : uuuu i’m such a simp for him… (´;ω;`)
part 2 here!
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i’ll preface this by saying— he can’t hide his feelings for the life of him. he thinks he’s doing well keeping it a secret, but probably everyone knows about his crush on you. you included.
whenever you two are in the same vicinity, he tends to stare at you. not creepily, but like— it’s cute, it’s in an admiring kind of way! you’ll just be minding your own business and doing the most mundane of things, but he’ll be looking at you with hearts in his eyes.
with vdc up and coming, everyone was supposed to be practicing. but what was neige doing? daydreaming and staring at you, of course.
you were getting bored of standing around and watching the boys’ practice performances. their singing and dancing is amazing, no doubt, but you’ve seen and heard it for probably the hundredth time now. one more listen and you might just overblot.
aimlessly looking around to see if there was anything interesting happening, you caught neige looking right at you. now, that’s definitely interesting, isn’t it?
deciding to be a bit cheeky, you winked at him— you were sure it would fluster him, but didn’t expect for it to make him freak out as much as he did.
the boy squealed, clutching his heart. he was absolutely giddy, resisting the urge to spin and jump around from pure thrill. he grabbed onto his classmate’s sleeve and shook it excitedly. “t-they just winked at me!”
↑ overreacts at anything even slightly flirtatious ^ ^
you get to be good friends with all the dwarfs! well, all except for one. gran. the guy’s highly suspicious of you, which greatly saddens neige. no worries though! he’s sure to come around at some point after realizing you have no malicious intent (and with all the other dwarves nagging him).
you looked down at gran, who was glaring at you. you cleared your throat and gave him a smile. “hi there.. hmm, gran, was it? is there anything i can help you with?”
“no— just came to say i’ve got my eye on you!
neige came rushing to your side, apologizing for the dwarf’s behavior. “oh, gran, why are you like this towards them?” neige frowned, gently nudging him. “what will it take for you to see they’re a good person?”
“right~ y/n’s so nice~!” toby grinned. the others pitched in, expressing their agreement. except for shelpy, who was fast asleep. “they don’t look like they wanna hurt neige, or any of us for that matter, do they?” dominic asked, holding his hand out towards you.
you laughed, wrapping an arm around neige’s waist and pulling him towards you. “really, gran! you don’t have to worry! i’d never do a thing to hurt him— i love him!” neige’s heart skipped a beat. “we’re best friends!”
he shows up at ramshackle a minimum of three times a week, random days, random times, and no warning. he gets all sad when he hasn’t seen you in a while, and you don’t want a sad neige, so these visits are absolutely mandatory!
“Y/N~! GOOD EVENING~!”
you’d recognize that cheerful voice anywhere. “hah! told’ya he’d show up today! you owe me a can of tuna!” “yeah, yeah.” after letting grim inside the dorm, you ran down to the gates to greet neige, who was carrying a bag of sweets.
“neige! back for another visit? you’ve been here nearly every day of the week!”
he giggled. “i can’t help it, i was just missing you so much! but anyways, here, i made these on my own! they’re just for you!” you took the bag from his hands and opened it, leaning in to smell them. “these look and smell incredible, you’ve really outdone yourself this time! how do i repay you?”
“oh, there’s no need!” he flashed an ever so precious smile at you. “c’mon~ i insist! you’ve been doing so much for me lately, i’d feel guilty if i didn’t do anything in return.”
“well in that case..” you watched as he played around with his hands. “how about giving me a hug? that should suffice, hehe!”
you get to read all the jealous, sometimes even angry comments towards you from his more.. obsessed fans whenever he posts a picture with you or even mentions you. funnily, neige is more bothered by them than you are.
“gyah! these are harsh!” grim flicked his tail around, annoyed. “how are you so unbothered by these, henchman?”
“i’ve been wondering the same thing, actually.” neige sighed as he removed the cruel comments one by one. “it’s admirable that you’re so calm about it, but…” you gently smiled at his part sad-part frustrated expression.
“i’m able to stay so cool cause neige is being upset on my behalf~” you teased. “jokes aside, i’m not sure— i guess i just find it better to laugh it off rather than be all mad over them.”
neige looked up at you when you ruffled his hair. “look. there’s, like, basically nothing we can do to stop these comments, so just laugh and brush ‘em off, okay? i hate seeing you so concerned over something as dumb as this.” he gave you a nod.
“just how am i gonna confess to them?” neige sighed. he looked down at all the scratched out options on his notebook. he was nearly at his wits end.
whenever he came up with an idea, there was something wrong with it— and him, wanting to give you a picture perfect romantic confession, rejected it.
“oh, this is all so difficult..” his grip on his pencil tightened and he went back to brainstorming.
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mabelstone · 9 months
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Teachers Pet
matt stone x reader
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summary: part four of Professor Stone.
words: 2144
note: i’m not sure if this is what you wanted, but i felt like writing some angst for this one. minor warnings of explicit content. minor humiliation kink and consensual choking.
my absolute fav, mean!dom matt.
here's my masterlist for the previous chapters.
enjoy <3
The way he looked at you that lesson made you feel sick. You walked in and sat at your usual spot, your professor entering just on time as always. Instead of chirping his usual, “morning,” to the class, he dropped his things onto his desk and sighed. He glanced in your direction briefly and you smiled at him. He quickly looked away, expression not changing at all. Okay, maybe he had a bad morning? You knew he had a good night, so what changed in the last 12 hours?
“I’ll wait,” he sighed grumpily, waiting for the class’ murmurs to die down. He looked down and fiddled with his pen as you shifted uncomfortably in your seat. The class eventually got the hint, the room quickly growing silent. “Great. Today we’re revising chapter 30. Your exam is in two weeks, so I want there to be no talking, and everyone is to pay attention.”
His tone was flat and his face was expressionless. He grabbed out a whiteboard marker and began writing equations on the board. Your classmates looked at each other in confusion, raising their eyebrows, mouthing, “I don’t know?” at one another. The class listened, nobody even whispering to their friends.
You were so confused as to why he was acting this way, but you decided that you didn’t want to make it worse. Yet, on the other hand… You could have some fun with this.
“Alright. Let’s see who studied.” He mischievously smirked, turning to face the silent class. “Who can explain this equation to me?”
Some students raised their hands unconfidently, the professor pointing to a random student. They explained the equation in a voice slightly too soft for his liking.
“Speak up,” he huffed, leaning on the edge of his desk. You knew it was fucked up, but there was something so sexy about him being so pissed. The student cleared their throat before perfectly explaining the equation, you of course barely understood as your tutoring sessions didn’t consist of much tutoring.
“Good. That’s one of you that actually listens,” he chuckled to himself dryly, continuing to scribble more scenarios onto the board. Everyone nervously copied down what he was writing, but you couldn’t seem to take your eyes off him.
You sat forward on your elbows, admiring the way he used his hands a little too much when he explained things, the way he absentmindedly ran a hand through his hair or trailed his fingers over his stubble.
He rolled his eyes when he saw you were the only one not doing your work, quietly walking over to your desk. “This is why you don’t perform well,” he seethed, eyes dark and angry. He spoke only loud enough so you could hear.
“I’m sorry sir, I-“
“Save it,” he cut you off, angrily opening your book for you and roughly placing your pen in your hand. “You need to try, Y/N, or I won’t help you anymore.” He threatened as he began to walk away.
“Oh please, we both know you don’t wanna give that up.” You retorted back like a smart ass, making him stop in his tracks. You really shouldn’t have said that. He turned back to glare at you, the anger inside him only growing fiercer when he saw the cocky smirk on your lips.
He shook his head and walked back up to the front to write a new equation on the board. “Okay!” He clapped his hands together loudly, startling the entire class. “Hmmm..” He pretended to scan the class to ‘randomly’ pick a student, finger pressed to his lip. “Y/N, can you come up and complete this please?”
Your heart dropped when he fired the same cocky smirk your way, waiting expectantly for you to get out of your seat. You did, your legs nearly giving out on the short walk to the whiteboard. He handed you the marker with a deadpan stare, motioning to the board.
Your face was hot, you couldn’t believe he would do this to you. You picked the wrong day to give him attitude. You took a deep breath and uncapped the marker, shaky hands travelling to the board. You filled in the equation to the best of your ability, your professors' stare boring holes into peripheries. “I-I’m stuck,” you spoke to him hushed, giving him a pleading look.
“What was that?” He asked loudly, eyes gleaming meaner than before.
You closed your eyes and sighed before repeating yourself slightly louder, “I’m not sure what comes next.”
“Maybe you should ask a classmate,” he feigned sympathy, his lips quirking up into a condescending grin.
You turned to the class, fighting hard to not tear up from embarrassment. You opened your mouth but no words came out. The whole class felt bad for you, shocked at your professors' unprofessionalism.
He sighed for what seemed like the millionth time that lesson and turned to the other students. “Can anyone please help her?”
“I will,” one of the nice boys you’d interacted with a few times spoke up, walking up to you with apologetic eyes. He took the marker and explained to you and the class what came next and how he got the answer.
He was quite cute, bleached blonde hair and piercing blue eyes. You knew he was doing a film degree and also taking this class for the extra credits. You couldn’t remember his name for the life of you, though. He turned to you and smiled once finishing, placing the pen back in your hands.
“Thank you,” you blushed, smiling wide at his kind gesture. “That was so sweet.”
You both walked back to your seats, exchanging another smile before sitting back down. Matt’s plan to humiliate you had worked, and then backfired on him completely.
As the class ended, you grabbed your things and began heading out; a big change from staying back after every lesson. You looked back at your professor who’s eyes were locked on you, following you to the nice boy from earlier.
“Um, thank you again for that,” you smiled sweetly, gently placing your hand on his arm. “You really saved me there, I owe you one.”
“Oh, it’s no problem at all,” he chuckled, leaning in to whisper, “I don’t know why he did that, he’s an asshole.”
You laughed in agreement, unaware of the jealousy boiling in Matt’s stomach.
“If you ever need a hand with studying, I’m happy to help.” He offered with a genuine smile.
“Thank you! Here, give me your number,” you handed your phone to him, Matt’s hands balling into fists at his side. Trey was his name. You texted a smiley face to his number and thanked him again before saying your goodbyes.
Before you were able to reach the door, your professor spoke up. “Y/N.”
You turned around to face him, letting the door shut behind you. “Yes?” You grumbled, arms folding in front of you.
“Come here,” he commanded, pulling a chair up by his desk.
You cursed your legs for obediently dragging you to the front of the hall, stopping yourself in front of his desk.
“Care to explain what the fuck that was?” He growled, his stance mirroring yours but somehow... angrier?
“What do you mean,” you laughed exasperatedly, “you mad your little stunt to embarrass me didn’t work?”
“You really need to watch that mouth of yours,” he warned, stepping toward you. You felt intimidated, but tried not to show any sign of it. “It’s gonna get you in trouble some day.”
“Well maybe I’ll just get help from Trey from now on,” you spat back, legs weakening as he stepped even closer, face only inches from yours now.
“Don’t forget who marks your papers.”
You scoffed in disbelief, taking a step back from him. Amusement painted your face when you realised, “you’re jealous!”
“I’m not jealous,” he rolled his eyes, leaning back against his desk. “But I’m not gonna fuck you while somebody else is.”
As toxic as it may be, this new side of Matt turned you on like crazy. Seeing him all riled up over exchanging numbers with someone… you couldn’t imagine how he’d react if you did something actually worth being jealous over.
“Why do you even care?” You laughed in his face, trying to ignore the arousal forming between your hips. You stepped toward him again, close enough that you could feel his breath on your lips. “You act like you don’t even like me. I think you just want to fulfil your sick fantasies with me.”
He didn’t like that. He grabbed your throat and flipped you around, the back of your hips roughly slamming into the desk behind you. A strangled moan escaped your lips as he towered over you with rage.
“Don’t you dare speak to me like that,” he growled, pushing your back onto the desk and separating your legs before stepping between them.
You whimpered under his grip, wrapping your legs around his waist. You grabbed the back of his neck and pulled him down to capture him in a heated kiss. “So desperate,” he tsked, pulling away.
He let go of your throat and pulled your shorts down, revealing white lace panties with a pink bow stitched into them. He prodded at the wet patch forming in the front, pulling them to the side and licking a stripe up your clit without warning. You gasped at the feeling, lifting yourself up on your elbows to watch him. He looked breathtaking. his eyelashes fluttering as he focused on making you feel good. You weren’t gonna last long, not with a sight like that. He moved his head down slightly to thrust his skilled tongue inside of you, his nose brushing your clit in just the right way. Once he added his fingers, it was over for you.
You felt your breathing pick up, your whines growing higher in pitch. “Professor,” you moaned, thighs trembling as they barricaded his skull in place. Just as you were about to finish, he removed his fingers and that godly tongue, stepping back.
You whined in frustration, on the verge of tears for the second time. He simply shushed you with a smirk, beginning to unbuckle his belt.
He pulled out his cock and you went limp. You’d been imaging how he’d feel for a while, and now you were getting impatient. He spat on his hand, stroking himself before lining his cock up with your hole, a hand forcefully gripping your hip. You roughly gripped his shoulders, begging, “please, sir, please.”
With a grin, he slowly pushed himself in, letting out a low groan at the feeling of your wet, tight entrance. He slowly thrusted for a moment, picking up his pace once you’d both adjusted.
Your eyes began rolling back, screaming obscenities. He was quick to place a hand over your lips, mouthing shut up with a stern look. You whimpered under his touch, rhythmically moving your hips with his. Hand still over your mouth, he laid his body forward, practically on top of you as he annunciated with every thrust, “don’t… you… dare… disrespect me… again.”
He was so thick, stretching you wonderfully as a tear rolled down your cheek, the ecstasy becoming overwhelming. He thought you looked beautiful like this, eyebrows knitted together, switching between wide eyed when he’d hit your g spot, and eyes screwed tightly shut when the pleasure became too intense.
He uncovered your mouth, demanding, “apologise.”
If he wasn’t balls deep in you right now, you would’ve laughed in his face and told him to shut it. But, you were too worried he’d pull out and end this pleasure train you were on.
“I’m sorry,” you whimpered through tears, nails digging deep into his biceps.
“Say it like you mean it, pretty girl,” he commanded, thrusting into you deeper, biting his finger to stop himself from cumming right then and there.
You felt the familiar heat pooling in your stomach, and you were close to losing yourself all over him.
“I’m sorry,” you cried, his hand reaching down to your clit, tracing small circles into it, pushing you over the edge. You came undone around him, your pussy pulsating hard as you continued whimpering through your orgasm, eyes screwed shut as you chanted, “I’m sorry, sir, I’m sorry.”
Without thinking, he came inside you, burrying his face into your shoulder, biting down as he did. You were both seeing stars, trying hard to steady your breathing.
He pulled out slowly, watching the mixture of his cum and your slick drip out of you deliciously.
“And that shit you said earlier,” he began, voice deep and husky, “about me not liking you,” he pulled his pants back up and redid his belt. You sat up, cheeks flushed, pulling your underwear back on. “You’ve always been my favourite.”
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