#posting this here so everyone can read this insane article
Text
Lovejoy, The Twisted New British Boy Band
Wilbur is mentioned in this article!
It was a December night, and as finals’ hush fell across campus, we fled north to the Aragon Ballroom for their Twisted Xmas. Little did we know just how sick and twisted it would be. (Although there was no punk-Christmas music played, thank God). We went for Lovejoy, an up-and-coming band in the pop-punk scene whom we had found by misremembering the name of Grouplove.
Under the Ballroom’s eaves, nestled in a crowd of teenage girls and their mothers, we caught sight of a woman’s lock screen next to me: “I’m nothing without you” scrawled in gothic handwriting. We weren’t sure what we had gotten ourselves into. Were we joining some kind of cult? Something that might continue to fill us with stories and motivation long after the concert, long after the holidays, through this winter and into the coming years? Then, lead singer Wilbur Soot, a teenage girl’s dream, stepped on stage with tousled hair. His toothy smile put me at ease and his mellifluous British accent calmed and enthralled us as the music came on.
While Soot was the center of the show, what’s a boy band without its boys? Bassist Ash Kabosu stood to Soot’s left, rocking shoulder-length hair and dark shades, in front of drummer Mark Boardman. Lead guitarist Joe Goldsmith flanked Soot to his right, performing in front of Alan Osmundson, the band’s touring trumpeter and keyboard player (who’s also an MIT Aerospace Engineering grad).
Lovejoy opened with a rolling drum beat, a groovy bass line, and an upbeat guitar melody. “Concrete” displayed all their charms. Soot counted his friends into the jam session before recalling a perhaps-fictional night out at 3 a.m. Someone, barely described, is making quite a commotion over Soot’s late-night kiss, enough that both our charming British boy and the bar’s bouncer is upset. Is this just a jealous fan? A long-term girlfriend? Someone a little too invested in that lovely accent? Soot recommends they “sleep on the concrete.” This tall, lanky boy, thin enough to be blown over by a small gust of wind, has a naughty streak in him! Soot’s music plays into emo and punk tendencies, writing about the dark sides of relationships and fighting the system, yet nastiness also comes from within him, giving him power and control.
And yet, somehow all the twisting only adds to this British boy’s allure. Soot’s songwriting is unconventional. It does not hold individual lines of lyrics like many other artists but instead rambles like prose, where one line is only understood by the context of the three lines before and after. With every song, the band publishes a short story. These short stories are just as much musical and emotional as they are lyrical. You would be forgiven for not knowing the names of “Concrete” or “It’s Golden Hour Somewhere” while they played. The refrains are so much less punctuated in his style, and it is hard to hear Soot sing those words over the sound of the entire crowd. Those of us at the concert experienced his stories collectively, uniting in these twisted and tousled emotions. Maybe this is a cult. We chose to join it by buying a hoodie, and they rewarded us with a trading card. What a great souvenir for my night with Wilbur the Hero.
763 notes
·
View notes
Text
party on you (explicit)
genre: SMUT SMUT SMUT with an extremely small side of fluff lol
pairing: hoseok x reader
summary: the only thing stronger than your social anxiety is your big dumb crush on hoseok - and you're certainly not expecting it when he tells you the real reason he threw this album release party.
word count: 9.8k
contains: explicit sexual content aka PORN !!!! idol-verse, literally takes place at the JITB album release party, friends to lovers, erotic hand holding, they're both cute and dumb, a studio hookup 👀 dirty talk, thigh riding, cunnilingus, a single pussy slap lol, taint touching (?), HOBI EATS ASS, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, throat fucking, reader gets a facial, and a lil bit of cum eating, it's cute 😌
A/N: so, hi, i went to hobipalooza lmao. this is actually lowkey a songfic ??? charli xcx was one of the earlier acts on hobi's stage and. my god. seeing her live was a religious experience, and when she performed party 4 u i was like hnnnhghg this should be a fic. and now it is !!!! and i hope u enjoy 🥺🥺 i tried some new stuff in here, both soft and freaky lmao so i'm nervy to share!!! as always your support and feedback means the world to meeeee ok ilysomuch bye~
read on AO3 !
~*~
You collapse back against the cushions of your couch with a soft whine of distress.
The whole thing is really so ridiculous. You told yourself when this started that you could be chill about it. People get crushes every day. It doesn’t have to be a huge fucking deal. You’re a sane, rational adult, perfectly capable of admiring a man quietly from afar while doing your best to be a good friend to him.
And, yes, maybe also obsessing a little too much over what to wear when you hang out, and what to post on Instagram in case he might see it, and dear god, how long his hair is getting. All normal crush things.
But now, as you press your phone to your chest with both hands and sigh forlornly, you wonder if it might actually be possible to yearn yourself to death. To like somebody so much that your heart just fucking explodes. If anyone could be capable of inciting spontaneous combustion, it is absolutely Jung Hoseok.
And he wants you to come to his big fancy party– has specifically sent a day-of reminder text, like you didn’t already receive a formal invitation weeks ago.
You purse your lips, fighting to keep a smile off your face despite being alone in your apartment where no one can perceive you. Hoseok is always so good at keeping in touch, even when he’s in an insanely busy season of his life. You can picture him now, probably bustling around his place in a robe, getting ready while simultaneously sending everyone their own personalized message.
Everyone– when you last chatted about the party, he rattled off enough of the guest list for you to know that easily half the industry will be there tonight. And even Lizzo has gushed about how great of a texter he is. You try to ease yourself off the ledge with the comforting thought that this has to be just one courtesy text of dozens, his pretty painted thumbnails working overtime to send gratuitous emojis out to every idol in the city.
And somehow also to you. Because your big fat crush made you stupid enough to say yes to what is arguably your worst nightmare: A party full of cool famous people, where you will know no one except the guest of honor.
Skipping the party is not an option becomes your internal refrain as the hours tick by. You have to remind yourself of this even more emphatically when you wind up on the floor of your bedroom, having tried on every article of clothing in your closet and having decisively hated it all.
Skipping the party is not an option, you think again, grabbing your phone to check the clock. Your heart sinks when you realize how much time you’ve wasted being an anxious wreck– you had planned to be ready to leave five minutes ago, not laying half-naked on the floor, hair and makeup still undone.
But skipping the party is not an option. A pre-party cry, however, might be on the table.
Pushing yourself up to sit on your heels, you force the tears back while you aimlessly sort through a pile of clothes. You’re barely looking at what’s in front of you, but you pause to do a double-take as your hand passes over a particularly enjoyable texture.
When you manage to extract the item, you realize it’s a dress you’d forgotten about entirely– something a friend made you buy a lifetime ago that you’ve never worn because you’ve always been uncomfortable with how short it is. But it’s smooth baby pink satin, and as different from your usual as it may be, you recall not being mad about the way it stuck to your curves like water.
Fuck it. You’re already late, and if there’s ever a party where you can take a fashion risk, it’s one thrown by Hoseok. You can only imagine what he might have on tonight; it honestly wouldn’t surprise you if he showed up in the same fucking dress.
The thought of seeing him is enough to make your heart leap in your chest, and you do your best to speed through your usual makeup and hair routine despite the way your hands are starting to tremble. By the time you grab your purse and make it out the door, you’re thirty minutes late. That thirty minutes quickly stretches into a full hour before you’re stepping off the elevator onto the 19th floor of HYBE headquarters, feeling like an asshole.
Gorgeous idols and various other famous people stream in around you, dressed in clothes that appear casual but you’re sure cost double your monthly rent payment, looking less than unbothered about showing up late. You do your best to slip in unnoticed and stick to the perimeter of the massive room, feeling like an absolute fraud.
Thankfully it’s only a few steps before you find a table taken up entirely by pre-filled flutes of champagne, and you eagerly grab one, mostly just grateful for something to do with your hands.
It occurs to you how little you know about celebrity culture, because the party doesn’t even seem to have started yet: early 2000s R&B is bumping through the speakers, and it feels like every few minutes the elevator chimes to let another group of people trickle into the space. You find an unoccupied section of wall to lean against as you sip your drink slowly, hoping that if you try hard enough, you might actually manage to become one with the wallpaper.
Tipping your head back for another sip of champagne, you nearly choke at an unexpected voice from over your shoulder.
“You look like you hate parties as much as I do.”
You manage to not inhale your drink, instead giving a polite smile as your eyes drift across the crowded room. You’re too nervous to immediately steal a glance at whoever is speaking to you, though you’re sure it just makes you seem rude. “Hate isn’t exactly it.” You have nothing against parties, or people who enjoy them. “I just… haven’t figured out what I’m supposed to be doing, exactly.”
“I think talking to people is generally expected,” the voice quips. “So, hey, you’re doing great already. Keep it up and they might even think you’re an extrovert.”
You exhale a soft laugh, a slight heat of embarrassment creeping up your neck.
“But Hobi said I didn’t have to meet and greet if I didn't want to. So I’m taking that as full permission to enjoy free alcohol and read webtoons on my phone.”
Your gaze snaps over at the familiar nickname, and your mouth goes dry as you realize you’ve been casually conversing with none other than Kim Seokjin, who is absentmindedly fiddling with the thin green strap of the bag slung over his shoulder.
Fuck. Embarrassing yourself in front of random famous people was exactly what you were trying to avoid when you picked this wall to lean against. You’d figured the other members would all be out mingling in the center of things, not hiding in a corner. Who knew celebrities were just like you?
“I-I’m sorry,” you stammer, immediately dropping your gaze to avoid making eye contact when Jin looks up. He probably assumed you’d sidled up next to him on purpose, like some kind of creepy fan. “I’ll leave you alone, I actually really didn’t mean to–”
You glance up again only to realize Jin is laughing, shoulders shaking slightly.
“Wow, I’m so bad at this. That wasn’t me telling you to fuck off. I was just trying to sympathize.” He gestures lazily towards the stage at the front of the room. “Thankfully it looks like you don’t have to suffer my conversation any longer.”
A Jack in the Box graphic has started to flash, projected onto the screen. After a few seconds, the image stills, and a spotlight clicks on, following Hoseok as he emerges from backstage. You lean forward to set your drink on the closest table so you can join in the applause for him.
Hoseok looks as effortlessly cool as he always does, but even more so tonight, like someone has cranked his charisma up to the max setting. A real fucking popstar, a rockstar, even: baggy clothes, multiple layers of necklaces, chunky black boots, dark hair pushed back with a few strands falling into his eyes. He somehow even manages to make wearing sunglasses indoors look cool– probably because they’re immediately offset by the wide, sweet grin of his mouth as he addresses the crowd. You can hear that he’s nervous by how hard he’s trying to keep his voice even, and it’s enough to make you feel the flutter of butterfly wings in your throat.
As you pick your drink back up for another sip, you can’t help but wonder if Jin can literally see the hearts in your eyes, or a nervous little teardrop floating above your head like an anime character. You do your best to hide your smile behind your glass.
“J-Hope is pretty cool, huh?”
You bite down on your bottom lip, answering Jin’s question with a shy nod.
Hoseok descends the stage as the lights lower, and then the album intro is starting and there’s no more time for conversation. You watch from across the room as he drops down on the large built-in stairs next to Jungkook, who immediately wraps a supportive arm around his waist while Hoseok laughs like he’s embarrassed. You’ve always been in total awe of the way Hoseok can light up and command the energy of a room easily, then squirm away from it at the next second.
Jin gets waved over and gives you a small nod as he departs, and then you’re alone again with the champagne in your hand and the wall against your back and Hoseok’s music thrumming through your nervous system.
The album is nothing like you expected– you didn’t know what to expect, really– and you absolutely love it. You’ve always felt like you have a stupidly limited vocabulary when it comes to talking about music, particularly around Hoseok, but even you can manage to string together the thought that these songs are fucking special.
But then again, so is he.
In what feels like the blink of an eye Hoseok is taking the stage again to giggle through his thanks, bent slightly at the waist in overwhelmed appreciation, and then the pop playlist is switched back on and the lights are dimmed and you suddenly feel your palms start to slick up against your champagne flute.
You can’t help but wonder what the fuck you’re supposed to do now.
The obvious choice would be to finally go talk to Hoseok, but of course, he’s the man of the hour, so every other person in the room seems to have the same idea. You choose to hang back and watch as he weaves through the growing crowd, putting on a bored expression to pose for pictures, laughing excitedly as people shake his hand and speak to him in hushed tones, and flashing thumbs ups and peace signs left, right and center.
It looks exhausting, you think to yourself with a small smile. And this is why you’re not famous.
For the second time tonight someone manages to sneak up on you, and this time it’s accompanied with a gentle call of your name. You nearly drop your drink as you whip around.
When you find yourself face-to-face with Park Jimin, it takes a few seconds for you to remember how to close your mouth. What is going on?
“I thought that was you.”
You double-blink, unable to find any words at all. You have never met this man before in your life. Seen him dozens of times on your TV screen, sure, but certainly never formally introduced.
“I’m Jimin,” he says, and you have to swallow the urge to giggle in his face because, yeah, no shit.
“Hi, Jimin.”
“Hoseok is going to be excited that you’re here.” Jimin scrunches his face up a little, like he knows he shouldn’t be telling you this. “He kept asking me if I thought you would show or not. He really wouldn’t shut up about it.”
You find yourself stammering again, trying to figure out how the hell to respond. Why, out of everyone on the guest list, would Hoseok be concerned about you? And he’s talked to Jimin about you enough for him to know who you are, that he can recognize you on sight alone? Your head starts to spin, despite the fact that you’re only halfway through your glass of champagne.
“Since you don’t like parties,” Jimin says, like it’s common knowledge, as if it’s totally normal for this very busy and famous kpop idol to keep tabs on your socialization preferences.
You nod dumbly. “I, yeah. I’m just not very good at them.”
Jimin nods, pushing up the sleeves of his white Chanel sweater. “You just have to get comfortable with talking to people about boring shit. Did you try the food?”
You shake your head– the very thought is enough to make you feel a little sick. “I get, like, a nervous stomach?” You hate that it comes out like a question when it clearly isn’t.
“Aish, you and Hoseok are so alike,” Jimin rolls his eyes, hands on hips, but you can see he’s smiling a little. “I haven’t been able to get him to eat anything all day. And we ordered so much food, I don’t even know why. Like half the people in this room aren’t on fucking diets.”
“Jimin-ah!”
Both of your heads snap up at the sound of Namjoon’s voice from the other side of the room, distorted slightly by the thudding bass.
“Ahh, they’re doing pictures,” Jimin says with an exaggerated sigh, like it’s just so hard being desirable and photogenic. “Do you want to get a photo?”
You shake your head as emphatically as possible. “No, nope, absolutely not.”
Jimin pauses, squinting at you for a second in a way that makes you think that if you were closer friends, he’d be dragging you across the room regardless of your answer to the question. You watch as he clearly attempts to restrain himself.
“Well, don’t drink too much on an empty stomach, okay? I’ll make you a to-go plate of food before you leave.” He starts to walk backwards away from you, raising his voice a little so you can still hear him. “And please talk to Hoseokie when we’re done! Maybe then he’ll calm the fuck down!”
You can’t hide the smile that blooms across your face, and Jimin wiggles his eyebrows for emphasis before turning around and pressing his way through the crowd to the photo wall.
The members take turns passing Hoseok around, punctuated by the snap of the camera: pinching his cheeks, leaning into him, clinging to his shoulders, wrapping an arm around his neck. You laugh out loud when Taehyung hikes a leg up high on Hoseok’s hip and tips back, a hand draped across his forehead, eyes shut, so fucking dramatic.
Hoseok stares down the camera like a professional, only to immediately dissolve into giggles between shots, tongue poking out between his teeth like he can’t quite handle all the attention. It’s enough to have you nearly fighting for your life.
The members crowd in for a few group shots, posing cutely until Jimin finally waves everyone back off to the dancefloor. He keeps Hoseok behind with one hand gripping his bicep, and your heart drops into your stomach when Jimin leans in to whisper something in Hoseok’s ear.
Oh, fuck.
You try to calm yourself down, reasoning that he could be talking about any number of important things, but then Jimin pulls Hoseok’s sunglasses off his face, turns him unmistakably in your direction, and gives his shoulders a hard push. It’s clear Hoseok doesn’t quite know where he’s going as he stumbles forward and squints at the party lights, so you throw back the last of your champagne for some assistance, set the empty flute on a table, and force yourself to be brave.
You run your palms nervously over the sides of your dress, trying to focus on the feeling of smooth satin as you cross the room to meet him.
“Hobi.” His eyes find yours and you watch as his face, still in party mode— all perfect straight lines and severe grace and supermodel apathy— softens, brightens.
“Oh thank god, you made it,” Hoseok huffs a disbelieving laugh. “Come here.”
He pulls you in for a hug, not the lazy one-armed greetings you’ve seen celebrities give each other all night but a real, solid embrace, both arms crossed firmly over the small of your back. You press your nose into the crook of his neck, the thin fabric of his tank top brushing against your skin. Heat radiates off of him in waves, and he smells so good, like expensive cologne. It’s dizzying.
“Hi,” you murmur, and it’s punctuated with a soft giggle when you realize you’re speaking directly into his collarbone. You move to extract yourself, but his grip tightens.
“Five more seconds,” Hoseok says with another half-laugh, and you gladly allow yourself to melt back into his arms.
He sounds slightly hoarse, you notice, probably from talking all night. You think for easily the millionth time that you have no idea how he does it, but this moment of softness makes you wonder if being the life of the party is a little more difficult than he lets on.
Hoseok hums a little, and the feeling rumbles through your chest, buzzing all the way down to your fingertips like an electric current. When he finally releases you, it’s with a soft sigh, something that almost sounds like reluctance. Your heart backflips at the thought.
The lights flash waves of rainbow color over his face, each one painting his perfect features with a slightly different energy: pink, blue, orange, green. You momentarily forget how to talk, but Hoseok doesn’t miss a beat.
“Are you having fun?”
You nod as decisively as you can. “I’m just awkward, but that’s not your party’s fault.” He giggles, gaze flitting nervously around the room, as you continue. “Seriously, it’s a great party. And I’m not just saying that because you have free booze.”
“Did you want more?” He asks quickly, then seems to think better of it. “Or, well, how much have you had? Do you need water?”
You smile a little despite yourself. “I’m fine, Hobi, thank you. You have better things to do tonight than look after me because I nursed a single glass of champagne. And besides, Jimin already tried to mother hen me earlier.”
A look of serious anguish crosses Hoseok’s face, and he glances back over his shoulder, but Jimin has evaporated into the crowd of beautiful people. “God, I specifically told him to leave you alone.”
You shrug. “It’s not a big deal. He was sweet.”
Hoseok’s gaze lands back on you, and it feels like your chest lights up from the inside out. You almost can’t look directly at him– it’s not unlike staring into the sun. You blink up at him once, twice, more than dazed, and then he laughs again, nose scrunching slightly as if to cringe at himself.
“Agh, I feel awkward. I don’t know what to say.”
You’re smiling, too. “That’s okay,” you say, because it is. You’re perfectly content to just stand here with him, unconcerned with the chaos of the party around you.
“I’m really glad you’re here.”
“Me too.”
“And– well, I guess you’ve never been here before, right? Can I give you a tour? I can take you downstairs and show you my studio.”
Your cheeks start to burn from all the questions, from how fixed his gaze is on you. It’s overwhelming. “Hobi, this is literally your party. You should stay here. I was doing fine holding up the wall over there.”
“Come on, I really want to. Please?” He leans in towards you slightly, glancing around as if to make sure he’s not being overheard. When he speaks into your ear, his voice drops to a lower register for privacy, and you can’t ignore the chills that dot up your spine. “I can’t talk to one more person that isn’t you right now.”
You nod, every nerve ending in your body now hyper-aware of how very close he is to you. “If you’re sure. I’d like that.”
“Thank you,” he says softly, and you breathe a soft giggle at how ridiculous it is that he’s the one thanking you at this moment. Before you even realize what he’s doing, his hand finds your hand, delicate fingers intertwining with yours. The skin of his palm is soft and warm. “Let’s go.” He chases the words with a gentle squeeze.
Hoseok leads you into the elevator and presses the button for a lower floor. You’re a little surprised when he slumps back against the wall with a heavy sigh as the doors close, still holding your hand.
“Oh, I’m tired.” He says quietly, almost like he’s talking to himself rather than to you. “It just hit me now. That was a lot.”
You squeeze his hand back, and his eyes flutter open to look at you. You press yourself up against the wall next to him. “You sound like me after any social event. And here I was thinking all night that you made it look so easy.”
Hoseok smiles. “I’m good at faking it. But I always collapse after stuff like this.” His eyes drift away from you and he stares into the empty space in front of him, his expression darkening slightly. “I just really hope they liked it. It’s so hard to tell what people think, or who’s only bullshitting you when they tell you it’s good. I’d rather they be honest with me.”
“Well, if it means anything, I loved it.” You say softly, your eyes searching his face. “And I’m not a bullshitter.”
Hoseok blinks, then nods once, his eyes not meeting yours. “You’re not. I appreciate that.”
The chime of the elevator seems to snap him somewhat out of his headspace, and he tugs on your joined hands to pull you through the doors as they slide open. “It’s just at the end of the hall.”
There’s something about Hoseok that comforts you all the way to your core, laps gently at the edges of your shyness until it recedes a bit. He just makes you feel like you can say anything without fear of judgment. Conversation comes easier with him, like this.
“How do you feel about it?”
“The album?” He asks.
You shrug. “Everything.”
“I’m very nervous,” Hoseok answers immediately with a bright peal of laughter, squeezing your hand again for emphasis. “I’m working really hard but… it all feels like uncharted territory. It’s so different to do it alone.”
His eyes jump from studio door to studio door as he leads you down the hallway. “I don’t know if people are going to like this side of me or the things I have to say. I don’t know if anyone will still care now that it’s just me. And ugh, I’m so unsure about the music festival. I’ve never done a whole show on my own before. I practice so much every day and I still don’t know if I can do it. Or if it will be any good.”
When he stops you outside of the final door at the end of the hallway, he seems to remember himself. “Wow, look at me. You were probably only being polite and I threw so much at you. This is just what goes around in my head. Every day and every night.”
“You sound stressed,” you say softly.
Hoseok purses his lips for a second. “I guess. I just really want to do well. I don’t want to disappoint anyone. I would– what?”
It isn’t until he asks the question, regarding you with a confused expression, that you realize you’re shaking your head. The smile that has crept across your face is a mixture of disbelief and appreciation.
“I’m sorry,” you’re practically laughing. “Please, keep going.”
“No, no, what is that face?”
You chew on the corner of your lip, trying to figure out the best way to word it. “I just… I don’t want to dismiss your concerns, because I absolutely understand all of them. And I would be shitting a brick, no question. But you…” Hoseok’s eyes widen a little as you pause, drinking him in, the way concern tugs down the corners of his mouth. “You just have no idea. No idea what it’s like to watch you from out here. And I wish you could see yourself the way I do.”
He pauses as if to consider your words. “What do you see?”
You don’t even have to think about the answer. It feels as steady and honest as the beat of your heart behind your ribs. “I see a fucking star. I see somebody who was born to do exactly what he’s doing. And, I mean, I think being nervous is a good thing, and I don’t say this to try and invalidate how you’re feeling at all. But I don’t see any possible future where you don’t succeed, Hoseok. It’s just... not an option. You’re going to get up there and kill it, I know you are. Because it’s you.”
Hoseok’s hand slips out of yours, and you can feel the warmth of his palms as he presses them to your waist to pull you close. Anticipation sparks through you. His eyes search yours intently, like he’s looking for something. “You really feel that way?”
“Completely. There’s no doubt in my mind.” Your gaze drops to his mouth, the way his full lips are parted slightly, and it occurs to you that maybe you’re talking about more than one thing now. “It feels predestined, to me… I don’t know. Inevitable.”
Hoseok makes a soft noise as he continues to close the distance between you. “Inevitable?” You tilt your chin up towards him, every cell in your body humming. “Like this?”
The way he kisses you is so gentle and sweet, you swear your heart leaps into your throat. You allow a second, maybe two, to move your mouth against his and get lost in it, and then you force yourself to break away, your mind reeling.
“I’m sorry,” he says automatically. “I’ve been wanting to do that all night.”
“Hoseok,” you murmur, eyes squeezing shut as you attempt to navigate the discomfort of being vulnerable. “I– you should know that I really, really like you.”
“Really?”
The shock in his voice makes your eyes snap open again, and you can’t help but make a face of utter disbelief. “I thought it was obvious.”
“Looks like I’m not the only one who doesn’t realize how other people see me. You’re actually very hard to read.” Hoseok slips one hand off of your waist to push down on the door handle behind you, then gestures for you to step through. He keeps talking as he follows in after you, letting the door shut behind him. “I second-guess myself all the time with you. Jimin is so fucking tired of hearing about it.”
“Wow,” you say dumbly. “I had no idea.”
“You didn’t even text me back about tonight! I had no idea if you were coming.”
You start to laugh as the realization washes over you: you’d been so busy sighing forlornly and stressing about what to wear, you’d forgotten to actually reply to his messages.
“Okay, this time was actually an accident. But…” You sweep your gaze over his studio, trying to think. “I don’t know, I just always feel like I’m bothering you. Your life is so big and important. Even now: you should be upstairs being the star of your own party. Not down here with me.”
Hoseok shakes his head immediately. “I don’t want to talk to anyone up there the way I want to talk to you. I was such a wreck today when you didn’t answer.”
You can’t believe what he’s saying, even as he takes a step in towards you, his mouth invitingly close to yours again. “Why? I am quite literally the least important person on the guestlist.”
“Because,” Hoseok pauses for a second, then sighs. “I like you, and I was scared that you’d decided not to come, when I…” He’s practically grinning, and the tell of his scrunched up nose makes you realize– he’s embarrassed. “I threw this whole party just to have an excuse to see you.”
Your jaw drops open. “You what?”
“Please don’t make me say it again.”
“Hobi.” You both start to laugh as you stare in disbelief, trying to process the most ridiculous statement you’ve ever heard in your life. “You could have just called me.”
“I tend to overthink these things.”
He’s close enough that you barely have to move to slide your hands up his chest and grip the lapels of his white button-down.
“I think I can help with that,” you murmur, and then you tug him back down into a kiss that makes your head spin.
The sweet nervousness of your first kiss has been replaced with urgency now, Hoseok’s mouth moving over yours like he’s hungry for it. You tug gently on your fistfuls of his shirt to move him towards you, stumbling backwards until you find purchase against the door of the studio.
Hoseok moves skillfully, tongue licking into your mouth while one of his strong thighs shifts to tease your legs apart and press between them. The quick succession of the two is enough to make your breath hitch, and it seems to encourage him more. The rough denim of his jeans grinds into your center, and your already-short dress has ridden up enough that the pressure drags hot sparks right over your core.
Your jaw goes slack as your focus slips, and you tip your head back against the door with a soft whine, circling your hips for more friction. “Fuck, Hoseok.”
His lips drop down to the exposed skin of your neck. The warmth of his mouth has your back arching, your nipples rubbed into stiff peaks under the thin fabric you couldn’t wear a bra with.
“You look so fucking good tonight,” Hoseok groans. “Driving me crazy in this little dress.”
There’s the soft brush of a hand on your thigh, and he teases the hem of your dress up higher and higher as your hips keep moving; his tongue darts out to lick a languid stripe over your collarbone. His other hand slides up from your waist to cup your breast over satin, deftly rolling the bud of your nipple between his long fingers, pinching with just enough pressure to coax a moan out of you.
“I like the sounds you make. Don’t want you to be shy with me.” Hoseok murmurs over your skin before he starts to suck deliberately at your neck, right on your pulse point. You couldn’t stifle the sound his mouth pulls from you even if you wanted to.
With all your attention drawn to grinding your clit against his leg and the warmth of his palm cupping your breast, your grip on the fabric of his shirt has loosened. Moving in a haze of pleasure, your hands fumble at his denim jacket, attempting to push it down his shoulders. Hoseok pulls back slightly when he realizes what you’re doing, though his fingers still lazily squeeze at your nipple.
“Let me just– hang on–” Hoseok untangles himself from you entirely with a sheepish grin, and you take the moment to collect yourself, your chest heaving in shallow breaths. You can feel the way your panties are soaked through as you press your thighs together, desperate for continued friction.
He’s moving quickly as he slips out of his oversized jacket and button down beneath it. You can clearly see the wheels in his head turning as he lays the pieces over the back of his desk chair, then immediately scrunches his face up as if to think better of it.
“Agh, sorry, sorry, one second–” Hoseok shakes out the jacket, then the shirt, folding both in quick yet precise succession before stacking the neat rectangles together and gently setting them on the small couch next to his desk.
Even in the dim studio lighting you can see his face is flushed pink with embarrassment as he returns to press you back against the door.
“I just– I don’t want wrinkles,” he says softly, and you’re very grateful that you no longer have to suppress the urge to take his face in your hands and kiss him.
“I like you so much,” you giggle into his mouth, and it’s punctuated with a squeak when his hands slide down to firmly grab your ass. The fabric of your dress is so thin that it hardly feels like it’s there at all.
Hoseok must have the same thought, because he releases his grip only for as long as it takes to push the skirt of your dress up over your ass; now there’s nothing separating his fingers from your skin when he squeezes you again.
“Like you,” he agrees, his voice husky. “Want to taste you.” Your core aches for his touch, clenches around nothing when he releases his grip and cracks a hand over the soft flesh of your asscheek.
“Please, Hobi.”
You find his mouth with yours again for a needy taste of a kiss, tongues sliding together. Your arms wrap around his shoulders in an attempt to pull him impossibly closer.
In one swift move he presses you flush against the door, and his hands slip to hitch your legs over his waist before moving back to your ass, hoisting your hips up to properly straddle him. You whimper at the grind of his erection through his jeans, right over your rubbed-sensitive center, and at the thought that he could fuck you just like this, up against this door.
Hoseok’s mouth doesn’t leave yours as he turns and carries you the short distance across the room, hands sliding to your hips so he can set you down on the desk. His lips are full and kiss-bitten red when he pulls back to look at you, pupils blown dark with lust.
“Sure this is okay?”
You meet his gaze, reaching up to dust strands of hair out of his eyes. His mouth chases the heel of your hand so he can press those soft lips into the center of your palm, chaste and sweet.
“It’s so much more than okay,” you murmur.
He’s smiling as he leans forward for another kiss, only pulling back to press his forehead to yours once you’re both breathless. “I have wanted to do this for so fucking long. You have no idea.”
His hands hook under the backs of your thighs to scoot you gently forward until you’re perched at the very edge of his desk, and then he sinks to his knees. Your legs that were slipped around his waist find new purchase thrown over his shoulders and you tense a little when your high heels scrape over his back.
“I can take these off,” you start, but he’s already shaking his head as his palms encourage your thighs apart.
“I like it.”
You’re nearly gasping for breath with anticipation as his long fingers slip under the band of your panties and you lift your hips up so he can pull them down. You manage to extract one leg to drape back over his shoulders, leaving the lacy fabric to dangle off the other as you open up for him.
Hoseok’s thumbs press to either side of your pussy, gently spreading your lips apart to admire how soaked you already are. Anyone else examining you like this would have you squirming away self-consciously, but there’s just something about Hoseok that’s different. You want him to know every part of you fully, intimately.
“God, you are so gorgeous.” His breath is hot over your skin, makes your cunt tighten needily as if to beckon him closer.
You lean back to brace your forearms on the desk behind you and Hoseok’s gaze jumps up to meet yours. He doesn’t drop eye contact as he leans forward to press an open-mouthed kiss to your slit, both of you groaning at the contact.
His mouth moves just as it did against yours, and you let your eyes flutter closed as pleasure sears through you like a hot knife. Hoseok grunts a little, low in his throat when he adds tongue to his kisses, licking softly but deliberately to part your slick folds.
“Hobi,” you whine, rolling your hips up into him as he starts to apply more pressure with his tongue. “Fuck, ah, feels so good.”
Hoseok pulls off of you with a throaty gasp, like maybe he was so focused on eating you out that he didn’t quite remember to keep breathing. When you look down at him, his lips are wet and glossy, spread in a wide smile. “You taste so fucking good.”
You don’t even have time to ask for more before he’s hooking his biceps around your thighs and tugging your hips towards him, pulling you even closer to bury his face between your legs. This time he licks a stripe straight up to your swollen clit, pulling the bud into his mouth to suck on.
“Oh my god,” you gasp, digging your nails into the desk beneath you as sparks shoot through you and your clit twitches in his mouth.
Hoseok hums steadily around you, as if to once again encourage you to be vocal. He starts to nod his head as he sucks, his nose pressed flush against your pubic bone. Your hips fall in time with his rhythm, grinding back down on him.
“Yes, yes, yes,” you whimper. “Shit, Hobi.” Your voice catches on a dazed, disbelieving laugh. “You’re gonna make me come if you keep doing that.”
He doesn’t let up, squeezing his grip on your thighs that much tighter when you start to quiver beneath him. Your arousal coils tight and hot in your core as he works more not-so-shy noises out of you, breathy moans, needy whines.
You cling desperately to the edge of his desk, teetering equally on the edge of your own release. The wet slick wash of his tongue is lush, decadent, lapping at your clit between pulses of suction, and it’s all too fucking much.
“Yes, Hoseok, fuck!”
You cry out, your heels digging into the hard plane of Hoseok’s back as he works an intense, shuddering orgasm out of you. Your cunt throbs over and over as you come, a rush of arousal painting the crux of your thighs.
When you catch your breath it’s in uneven, shaky gasps, and the movement of your hips sharpens into jolts as you become hypersensitive to Hoseok’s mouth. He releases you almost reluctantly, still hovering close, continuing to dart his tongue out to gently lick up your folds.
“I don’t want to stop,” he says with a shy, blossoming laugh, the light catching the shine of his lips and chin when he glances up at you.
You’re dazed, beyond blissed out, unable to believe that any of this is real. You like him so much.
“Can I keep going?”
Just that sentence is enough to make you tighten all over again with anticipation. “I–” you laugh a little too despite yourself. “I want that. But I think my clit needs a second.”
Hoseok’s touch is featherlight as he circles a digit lower, over your entrance, as if to ask permission. “What about here?” Your pussy lips twitch even under so gentle a touch, but you ache for more; you like that it’s overwhelming.
“Yeah, yes. There, please, fuck,” you babble. He’s added a second finger to tease now, and you whimper when they finally press together into your sensitive cunt.
Hoseok is watching his fingers intently, and you can hear the way your pussy squelches as he pumps them slowly, can feel the tremors of your orgasm still shuddering through you, causing slick to drip from your center. You can only imagine what his view must be like, how you must look: dripping, needy, trembling for him, fingers gripping the desk and head lolling back.
“So pretty,” he murmurs, his voice low and soft, and then he dips his head down to lap below your entrance, tasting the juices that have leaked out of you. He pulls back to smack his other hand over your whole cunt, light enough that you barely feel the tap, but just the visual of it makes you squirm beneath him.
“So cute,” he smiles. His fingers rub circles into your front wall, becoming more insistent, and you breathe in shaky waves as you start to grip tightly around him.
“Hoseok,” you breathe, letting your eyes drop closed. Arousal blossoms through you like a heavy weight, your second climax already building, when you feel his other hand cup the join of your ass and thigh.
A soft whimper spills out of you as Hoseok starts to massage below your entrance, thumb working at a new bundle of nerves, like nothing you’ve ever felt. It’s pleasure that makes you hot all over, makes the muscles in your legs shiver and tense when it’s paired with the crook of his fingers still working your pussy.
“Fuck,” you pant, “Hobi, what are– that feels so–” You’re starting to lose a grip on your words, sentences going incoherent as your head spins. It’s hard to think over all the sensation, the way your body is lit up like a live wire, and the sound of your cunt gushing around him as he fucks into your g-spot.
“Has anyone touched you here before?” He asks softly, thumb tapping at the thin bridge of skin between your pussy and your ass. His head dips down for a chaste kiss there, then a second, adding a languid lap of tongue.
“N-no,” you whimper, toes curling in your shoes as he continues to drag his tongue over this delicate, sensitive place. “Keep going.”
Hoseok pulls back, a string of saliva still connecting him to you, and he lets it loose with a swipe of his hand over his mouth. His fingers slip out of you as he pairs a question with a smile. “Turn over for me?”
Your legs would be shaking even if you weren’t in fancy party heels, and you do your best to be graceful as you unsteadily spin, one arm keeping the fabric of your dress hiked up over your hips.
“Brace yourself on the desk,” Hoseok instructs, and you do, leaning forward until your stomach and forearms are flush with the wood, your bare ass hanging off the desk, presented for him. You spread your legs apart again and can feel the way your pussy drools arousal down your thighs. “That’s it,” he coaxes.
His fingers massage firmly into the flesh of your asscheeks, and your back arches up as you groan at the feeling. He spreads you just a little, enough for cool air to tease at your slick center; your hips wiggle towards him on instinct.
“Pretty back here, too,” he murmurs. “Tell me how it feels, okay? Won’t do it if you don’t like it.”
You clench for him in both places, even your fists grip tight in the fabric of your dress. “I’ll like it. Please, baby.”
“Baby,” Hoseok repeats back with a shy exhale. “I like that. I like you.” He leaves a sweet kiss pressed halfway up your thigh.
“Hobi–” you choke out a whine of his name as his breath ghosts over you, hands still firmly keeping you spread. His tongue returns to your perineum again, licking a hot, slow stripe that keeps moving up, up, until you feel the tease of warmth and wetness over your ass. “Oh, fuck.”
You’re so sensitive here, just the lightest drag of his tongue over your rim makes you moan, feet kicking listlessly as pleasure shudders through you.
“It’s good–” you manage to whimper, voice muffled slightly as your forehead drops against the desk, too, your whole body pinned down by his mouth. “–ngh, really good, Hobi.” Your cunt throbs when he does it again, as he falls into a consistent pace of long, steady laps that set off fireworks behind your eyes.
The ache in your core begs for touch, friction, and you oblige needily, tucking a hand under the weight of your hips pressed into the desk, a sweat-slicked palm for your mouth-wet clit.
Hoseok doesn’t miss a thing. It’s only for a second that he pulls off of you, but you whine at the loss of his tongue, sated slightly by the gentle brush of his lips over the small of your back. “Gonna get yourself off while I eat you out?”
You grind a circle down with your hips, hissing at the white-hot pulse against your hand. “Yes, baby, please.”
He doesn’t need any more encouragement to dive back in, fingers gripping harder to spread you and tongue licking deliberately, tracing patterns that work more arousal out of your pussy. You’re unraveling fast from humping against your palm, hips jolting forward to make your clit twitch and backwards to press towards Hoseok’s mouth.
You’re already wound so tight that you’re too desperate for words, reduced instead to little breathless gasps– “ah, ahh”– as you speed up the rub of your hand, your hips. Hoseok’s tongue never falters, firm pressure laved over and over your sensitive, flexing ass.
With a soft hum of effort, you feel him press a little harder, tongue barely dipping in past your tight ring of muscle, and the sweet stretch of it is the final push you need.
You roll your clit just right over your palm a final time and then you’re shaking and moaning as everything starts to pulse. The all-over clench pushes a fresh wave of fluid from your cunt, rolling down the backs of your thighs, fat droplets of arousal that Hoseok chases with sloppy kisses as the waves of your orgasm shudder through you.
It takes a moment before you can say anything, do anything, limbs too heavy and brain too fucked-out dumb. You do your best to slide gracefully off the desk, but your legs shake with aftershocks that betray you, and you stumble.
Hoseok is quick to wrap his arms around you and guide your hips down to the floor next to him. You collapse in a heap of giggles, him tangled over your waist, the skirt of your dress still pushed up, your bare ass on his studio carpet.
“Are you okay?” Hoseok laughs, and you bury your face in the fabric of his tank top as an answer, not convinced your coherency has returned to you yet.
“Too good,” you murmur, words slurring. “Fucked me too good.”
“You’re so hot.” You can tell he’s blushing just by the tone of his voice, and you start to come to a little, slow-blinking back to reality and rolling over to look up at him. His dark eyes shine as he smiles. You don’t want to come all the way down from this dazed, happy place yet, you realize, and you curl a finger into the loop of his jeans, tugging him closer.
“My turn.” Your hands start to fumble to undo his belt buckle. His jeans are oversized, but not enough to obscure the print of his hard cock pressed against his thigh.
“Let me take you home,” he says softly, running a fingertip along your jaw. “This should be– I want you to be comfortable. I want it to feel good.”
“It all feels good,” you say earnestly, sitting up to tug at the button of his jeans, undeterred. “And you can take me home. But you’ve been so good to me, Hobi.” You manage to work his fly open, and you lift your gaze to meet him. “Let me be good to you.”
You resume your work, wriggling Hoseok’s jeans down his thighs until his hands cover yours and he takes over, stripping himself of his shoes as well. He reaches back between his shoulder blades to pull his tank top over his head, and your eyes sweep over his body, taking in his lithe figure and smooth, hard muscles. You trail the tips of your fingers down the defined lines of his chest.
“Fuck,” Hoseok starts to smile self-consciously, one hand drifting over his dick straining against tight black briefs with a slightly darker spot in the center where he’s left a kiss of precum on the fabric. “I don’t have any condoms here.”
You sit up on your knees in front of him, considering this. “Use my mouth.” The high of your orgasm has subsided enough now that you’re not quite shameless anymore, and heat blooms in your face as you continue. “Like, fuck my throat.”
He tries and fails to suppress a groan, and his delicate hands reach to cup either side of your face, thumbs rubbing circles into the hinge of your jaw. “You–” he laughs softly. “You can’t just say things like that.”
“I mean it,” you say simply.
“But you really want to?”
You nod, half play-acting your shyness now, letting your lashes flutter as you blink up at him. “I’ve done it before. I like it.”
“Fuck,” Hoseok breathes. “I want to do everything you like.”
“Please?” You ask sweetly, and Hoseok is already getting to his feet, one hand still cupping your jaw.
“Pretty,” he murmurs, tongue darting out to wet his lips. “So pretty when you beg to suck my cock.” You’re smiling, your fingers slipping under his waistband to slide his briefs down his legs.
“Take your dress off, baby,” Hoseok instructs as he steps back to finish pulling off his underwear. “Don’t wanna ruin it.”
You do as you’re told, staying on your knees to pull it over your head, your heart squeezing again when he takes it from you and treats it as gently as his own clothes. It’s oddly domestic to watch him fold the smooth fabric with shaking hands, naked except for his jewelry, his hard dick leaking against his stomach.
When he turns back to you, you take the opportunity to properly admire him. His cock is as flushed and gorgeous as the rest of him, thick and dripping wet from his tip. You duck down to press a kiss to the sensitive spot under his head, then slide your lips up to gloss over his slit, slicking your mouth with his precum.
You look up at him, hands gripping the backs of his thighs; Hoseok’s eyelids are heavy with lust as he watches you work, tongue toying at the corner of his mouth. He groans a little as you pop just the head into your mouth and swirl your tongue over it, tasting the salt of him.
His hand slides to the back of your head, tangling in the hair at the nape of your neck, and his adam’s apple jerks in his throat as he swallows.
“Tap my foot if you need to stop.” Hoseok’s voice is quiet but firm, and his socked toes wiggle, brushing against your knee pressed into the carpet. “Okay?”
You hum your acknowledgement and maintain eye contact as he holds you still and slides his cock into your mouth. He starts off at a gentle pace, and you hollow your cheeks around him, pressing your tongue flat so it drags over his shaft as he starts to pump in and out of you.
As much as you want him in control, there’s a part of you that can’t help yourself– you lean forward, eyes fluttering closed, wanting to prove to him how much you can take. The head of his cock starts to stretch down your throat and you focus on breathing steady through your nose, your muscles jumping around him in a half-swallow.
“Fuck,” Hoseok groans, his voice dark and rough-edged. You can feel drool starting to leak out of your mouth, and the mess just makes it better. “You take it so well.”
His hips keep rolling, withdrawing his cock into the heat of your mouth only to push it back down the tight clutch of your throat. It gets easier as he starts to move faster, the weight of him pressing bright on your gag reflex in shorter and shorter bursts. It’s just enough to make tears well up in your eyes. They eventually spill over, staining your cheeks until your face is slick and wet, like the sounds of him hitting the back of your throat, all of it obscene and hot.
The hand in your hair tightens as he pulls you all the way down on his shaft until your nose is flush with his abdomen and your throat bulges, filled with him. He holds you there, eyes roaming hungrily over your face.
“You look so sweet with my cock down your throat, baby.”
The hum of agreement you try makes you gag a little, and he quickly releases, pulling out to let you gasp for air. Your tongue lolls out of your mouth as you smile up at him, dazed, and catch your breath.
“Was that too much?” His brows pinch together slightly with concern. You wipe a hand over your nose and shake your head.
“I want more, Hobi,” you purr, moving your face back towards his dick. You lean forward to lazily drag your tongue up his shaft for emphasis. “Want you to come on my face,” you admit as you fix your gaze on him.
You swear you feel his knees almost buckle when you take him in your mouth again.
“You are so fucking sexy,” Hoseok practically growls, hand returning to the nape of your neck. He pushes himself back down your throat and starts to pick up the pace. You want him all and take it easily now, drool slicking your neck and chest when you swallow around his length.
“Oh my god,” he gasps, and you can feel his cock twitch on your tongue as he fucks roughly into your mouth, chasing his orgasm. “Oh my god.”
Hoseok’s grip on your hair goes slack and he pulls out, hand pumping fast over his drool-glossed cock. He tips his head back, exposing the column of his throat with a heady whine when he starts to come. You’re up on your knees and ready for it, nose bumping his fist, face presented for him to paint. Warm spurts of cum hit your cheeks, tongue, lips, and you giggle a little as you try to hold still, as he makes another throaty grunt of effort and release.
“Shit,” he hisses as the movements of his hand slow, as he works out the last of it, stray drips already trailing down your neck, between the valley of your breasts. “Fuuuck.” His breathing is ragged, and you press a wet kiss to the tip of his dick as he recovers.
He’s clearly already focused on the mess he’s made of you, spinning in a dazed semi-circle before reaching to grab a box of tissues off of the desk. His bare knees thud on the carpet as he sinks down next to you.
You’re surprised when he leans in to kiss you, humming softly against your mouth, tongue even darting out to lick at the cum that drips off your lips. You smile into it, teeth gently grazing over his bottom lip.
“Hi,” he huffs a laugh as he leans back. “Was that okay? Not too much?”
You shake your head. “I liked it,” you say again, though your voice comes out a little hoarse. “Wouldn’t have asked for it if I didn’t. I like you. I–” your breath hitches slightly with nerves, and it’s funny to you, that it’s easy to ask him to fuck your throat, but hard to talk about the bigger feelings underneath. It’s more intimate, somehow, to be earnest. “You always worry so much about everyone else. I just want to take care of you.”
“You can.” Hoseok’s voice is gentle and warm. “We both can.” He pulls a tissue loose from the box, hovering close to you. “Let me clean you up.”
You’re too blissed out to stop yourself from giggling. “You have a whole party to get back to.” You nod dumbly at the verity of your own statement as he uses tissues to wipe cum and drool off your face, tear stains and smudged makeup from your cheeks.
“This,” he swipes a thumb down over your bottom lip, chases it with another quick kiss, “was so much better than a fucking party.” He adds the last of the dampened tissues to the small pile he’s made on the floor, tilting your jaw with his hand to inspect his work, to ensure perfection as he does with everything. “But I probably don’t have much longer before people start looking for me.”
“You should go,” you say quietly, trying to ignore the drop in your stomach.
His hand slips into yours for the second time tonight. “Will you come with me? I know it’s not really your thing.”
You falter momentarily– not because you don’t want to, but you can’t shake your own self-consciousness, this sense that you don’t belong here, rubbing elbows with all these famous people. But it’s hard to feel like any of that matters with the way Hoseok is looking at you, the soft turn of his lips in a barely-there smile.
“Are you sure?”
“Very.” He gives your hand an affirming squeeze. “Do I need to remind you that this entire party is literally for you?”
You shake your head, rolling your eyes at his antics despite the laugh that bubbles up in your throat. “I still can’t believe you. What is this, The Great Gatsby?”
His laugh is high and sweet, hand untangling from yours to wrap both arms around your waist, and he pulls you into his chest, bare skin on bare skin, hearts beating together. “Is that a yes?”
“Yes, Hobi,” you relent. “I’ll go back with you. Besides, Jimin promised to feed me.”
You can feel Hoseok’s smile as he presses a kiss to your temple. “Come on, then. I promise it’ll be fun. If we get Jungkook drunk enough he’ll probably start dancing on the stage.”
“Now that I have to see.”
6K notes
·
View notes
Text
Rockstar Girlfriend VI. | Hazel Callahan
Rockstar! Hazel Callahan x Popstar! Reader
Summary: Hazel Callahan and Y/n L/n have to be in a pr relationship, but both of them can stand each other.
Warnings: Enemies to lovers! Enemies to lovers! Enemies to lovers! Angst, Fight (not physical) Not proof read. Sorry for any mistakes, English isn't my main language.
a/n: I’m back after a while!! Sorry for being MIA. I don't know how to feel about this but I'm really thankful for all the support. Lots of new things coming soon. love you guys.
part one. part two. part three. part four. part five.
The tour was canceled.
Everything Y/n had worked for went down the drain. Not only had she lost the tour she risked everything for, but she had lost her bandmates' trust. They were losing followers by the minute and receiving hate left and right. All that success she had gained because of Hazel was almost gone.
The moment everyone found out about Hazel's outburst, the show was canceled with a blink of an eye. They could hear the cries and screams of fans outside. Y/n couldn’t bear to listen, she felt bad, guilty even. Management said that her band couldn’t perform because they were only the openers, so karma was biting her ass quickly.
But after one show became two and then two became five, management canceled the whole tour, every single date. They claimed that they couldn’t do anything without Hazel, their star. Y/n tried to be positive that maybe Hazel was joking around and that she was going to come back but when management canceled the tour, her feet finally hit the floor. The tour was over before it even started. The hop of the wave of success both bands were having was cut short. The most anticipated tour of the year was canceled due to mental health issues from one of the band members. That was what got posted on the band's page and every news article.
But Hazel made it her job for people to know that, that wasn’t the case. If the tour was canceled she wanted people to know the real reason, no more tricks, no more lies and no more fake love. Y/n felt her heart stop when her phone started to blow up with notifications and her eyes landed on a video Hazel had posted on instagram after being MIA for two weeks.
That was when “Mean” was born.
“Hi guys! I know I’ve been gone for a while and all of a sudden the tour got canceled. But I’m here to tell you guys that we are currently working to get your back running again. This time we decided it was best to get new openers. Anyways, on my little break I decided to write this song I really hope you guys enjoy!” Hazel said to the camera starting to strum her guitar. Y/n felt her heart drop every second that passed by. If she was already losing everything with a blink of an eye it wouldn’t surprise Y/n if what was left of her career ended just because of that song.
hazel.callahan via instagram
liked by bottomstheband, y/nnn, and others
hazel.callahan rehearsals for tour are the shit! I missed this a lot, can't wait for tour to start <3
view all 1,550 comments
hazelsbottoms she's backkkkkkkk
user101 mother is back, hope tour doesn't get cancelled this time.
pjandhazeparis sorry to disappoint but I'll be a groupie for life
bottomsupdates why is y/n lurking in the likes? hasn't she done enough
| ynloveshazel please leave y/n alone
| bottomsupdates she's the one lurking her comments
Hazel had uploaded an acoustic version of a song she had written through her break in an attempt for people to understand what she was going through. It was something new, different from the songs she was used to writing for herself and other people. The song quickly took the world by storm gaining everyone’s attention. Fans had caught up quickly with who the song was written for, making it their job to make Y/n’s life a living hell. Her band's account was barely existent by the minute and management was going insane.
Y/n couldn’t let things slide. She had three options, let her pr team do everything for her, clap back and deny the allegations, or attempt to do a song just like Hazel did. The thing was, Y/n was already used to Hazel’s constant help writing songs and honestly she kinda missed spending midnights with her writing songs. She missed how Hazel would slowly touch her skin in an attempt to get her attention or how she got lost in her blue eyes while she tried to explain the chorus of the song. Y/n missed Hazel. She hated herself for running things with her. Things were finally different, this time Y/n didn’t hate Hazel, Hazel just hated Y/n.
She was going to make things right, possibly ending her career. But it was worth it. If Hazel heard the song, she could lose everything and she wouldn’t care.
Y/n propped her camera hitting record while sitting in front of it, letting out a sigh. She slowly strummed the guitar she barely knew how to play but all she could think of was all the times Hazel had attempted to teach her how to play it.
“This song is for someone special in my life that I treated so badly. I know I fucked up and I wished I could go back to december, they day I met you and start all over”
y/n's instagram
liked by bottomstheband, ynnnn, and others
y/nnn but if we loved again, I swear I’d love you right
comments have been deactivated
Y/nnn let out a sigh as she looked at her phone flooding with notifications. At least if she was gone for social media, she was certain Hazel had heard the song. Maybe she could get another chance or another life where they could get together with no mistakes. Y/n’s thoughts got interrupted by a harsh knock on her door. She quickly walked towards it, ready to face her neighbor. But she felt her heart drop when she noticed the familiar blue eyes she had fallen in love with. Y/n’s eyes wandered all over her trying to tell if she was real or an act of her imagination due to the lack of sleep. But as the words slipped out of her mouth she knew it was all reality.
“My guitar.” Hazel replied, playing with her feet. Y/n furrowed her eyebrows and looked at her confused.
“What do you mean, my guitar? How do you know where I live?” Y/n responded leaning against the doorframe trying to get a better look at Hazel.
“My guitar. You have my lucky guitar, I saw it in the video you posted. Now, can you please give it back”
“No.”
“What do you mean no? It’s mine, L/n.”
“You don’t speak to me, drop a diss track on my name and expect me to give you back you guitar” Y/n exclaimed while looking at Hazel with a surprised look on her face.
“Are you insane? You do know that all of this is not my fault, right? I was willing to do anything for you but you preferred the fame over me. You fucked up your own career and you fucked up with me. Yet, I came here, to your apartment and you still want to act like the victim instead of saying your sorry. You know what stays with the stupid guitar. I don’t want it anyway. You want to play a game that I’m really tired of playing. I really don't understand why are you like this.” Hazel exclaimed loudly pulling on her hairs.
"I like you Hazel and I'm like this because I know I screwed up the only good thing in my life" Y/n said loudly leaving Hazel with her mouth wide open not knowing what say.
At least he got the chance he desperately needed.
thank you for reading
previous part.
#hazel bottoms#hazel callahan reader insert#hazel x reader#hazel callahan#hazel callahan x reader#kit tanthalos#kit tanthalos x reader#ruby cruz x reader#ruby cruz#hazel callahan bottoms#bottoms movie
286 notes
·
View notes
Text
THE NEWSPAPER - PEDRI
summary: you let the hate get to you
warnings: none
Breakups can be bitter.
Walking past a person you used to hug, kiss, and touch freely, is a surreal feeling.
Suddenly what was once natural is now weird. If Pedri would walk over to you now and kiss your forehead, everyone would look at him like he's insane.
5 months ago, he walked over to you, kissed you on your lips and everyone would look at the two of you.
"How sweet they are" Some people would say. They were jealous and their only goal was to make you two break up.
Some of them loved your relationship, some of them didn't.
You didn't care much about what the media said,
or did you?
3 months earlier
"She's my girlfriend and I'm happy that she's here and I don't have to hide her anymore." Pedri said as he looked at the interviewer in front of him.
"Will she always come to support you or was this just a one-time thing to show her off?" The interviewer asked him again and he laughed a bit while he scratched his jawline.
"She supports me from home too, not only from here, I have a better feeling already when I know that she thinks of me. It wasn't just a one-time thing tho." Pedri answered again and the interviewer nodded her head.
"Gracias Pedri, have a nice night." She said and Pedri nodded his head as he flashed her a smile.
You looked at him while your whole face was covered in a wide grin. "You're so sweet." You opened up your arms for him and he walked into them. He wrapped his arms around your waist and pulled you closer.
"Gotta take every opportunity to show off my amazing girlfriend no?" Pedri asked as he pulled away to look at you and then leaned in for a kiss.
"You're right, now go change so we can go home." Pedri laughed as soon as you pushed him towards the tunnel.
"That was sweet, I've never seen him like this." Sira came over to you and wrapped her arm around your shoulders to pull you closer.
"Really?" You asked, not really wanting to believe her. It was too good to be true.
"Yeah, he's a completely different person ever since, it's incredible," Sira said fascinated, the two of you began walking towards the exit as the stadium started to get empty.
As you waited for Pedri patiently in your car, you were scrolling through instagram until you saw a post from the spanish newspaper.
"Hey, I'm sorry I took so long, I just had to talk to Luis-" Pedri began as he sat into the car but then stopped immediately after he saw how focused you were on your phone.
"What are you reading?" He snatched the phone away from you and you tried to grab it but he held you back.
After he read everything he immediately blockdd the account from your phone. "Don't read this shit, you know they'll use everything against me and you. But I love you you're no distraction to me, remember that, I love you." Pedri gave you back your phone and leaned closer to you.
"Yeah, don't worry about it, I don't care." You mumbled and he gave you a reassuring look before leaning in to kiss you.
The kiss was long and passionate and for a moment you forgot what you just read 20 seconds ago.
Pedri had that magic where he'd make you forget things that were on your mind. He had that special aura which you could feel even if you just looked at him.
His presence was noticeable in every room he stepped foot in. He showed you what true love really is and how it feels like.
In the end you knew that you loved to love him.
For Pedri it was the same, he adored every single thing you did. When you'd fall asleep first he'd stay up for hours just watching you sleep.
Every single detail about you when you sleep is engraved into his brain. The way your breathing slows down, the way your eyes twitch sometimes, and the way you move when you're uncomfortable.
However, it didn't stop, that wasn't the only article written about you, Pedri always told you: "It's the press, they'll find something else in a couple of days, don't worry" But it didn't stop.
"Pedri's girlfriend is a bad influence for his playing style"
"Could the youngster be too distracted to play football?"
"Teenage love for footballers is the most dangerous thing."
You tried so hard to ignore everything but it just seemed to follow you, when you scrolled on instagram, trying to take your mind off of some things, it was there.
"Pedri's girlfriend" Without anyone really knowing you, they judged you. After spain has been eliminated from the world cup the noise just calmed down a bit. That was until you posted on your Instagram to let everyone know that you supported Pedri and will forever support him.
The comments were filled with hate and accusations towards you, that it was your fault that Pedri wasn't playing at his top level.
Pedri spoke about it with Xavi and he reassured his coach that he wasn't distracted. "Just stay calm, it'll pass." Pedri hugged you and you shook your head.
"It has been going on for two months. Why would people accuse me of something I never even spoke about?" You asked him, at this point tears in your eyes.
You didn't understand why people were hating you.
You then looked at a tiktok from a fan of Pedri and read the comments below it. "If I was her, I'd break up with him, no way that she's getting this much hate for being in love."
You turned off your phone and stared into the nothingness for 5 minutes after you read that. If you would break up with him, you'd be free from the press, it wouldn't be your fault anymore if Pedri made a bad pass.
So the following day when Pedri came home from an away game you sat down with him.
"Pedri, we need to talk." Pedris head shot up immediately and he looked at you, waiting patiently for you to speak up.
"I think it's better if we part ways." You told him, your hands shaking a bit as his eyes widen.
"Amor, How would that be better?" Pedri asked as he took your hand in his.
"It's just so overwhelming that everyone always blames me for every bad pass you make. It's like everyone waited for someone to blame." You told him and he looked at the floor, he seemed zoned out.
"I can talk to a reporter about it, that they should stop, I can make it stop. Just please don't-" You cut him off.
"No, don't, I don't want you to talk about it because then everyone would get mad at you, so just- let's just part ways. I can't do this any longer, I'm sorry seriously." You told him and he shook his head.
"No, we're gonna find a solution, please, Amor don't panic now, stay calm and we're gonna find a solution." Pedri held your hand in his and drew circles on the back of your hand.
"Pedri, I can't please, just- I don't want to." Your breathing started to speed up and he noticed. He immediately pulled you into a hug and then kisses your cheek.
"I wont let you break up with me, we're gonna find a solution. I promise." Pedri whispered in your ear and you felt your breathing calm down and your eyes stopped watering.
"Please, please find a solution."
3 days later
"It's really ashaming of what the press is doing, if I play a wrong pass are you gonna blame my girlfriend? How would she have anything to do with that? If I make a mistake it was because I kept looking at her? Whoever says that has never stepped foot into a filled stadium with people. You spin around and walk around so much that in the end you forget where the bench even is." Pedri inhaled sharply. "I'd just like to kindly request everyone to stop writing about my girlfriend. I take all responsibility for my bad playstyle the last few weeks and it's entirely my fault. Just please stop the messages because if you keep going, I wont respect you as a football fan. Thank you."
You smiled as you looked at your boyfriend stand up from the table and walk away from the press conference.
After all, he promised.
#barca#gavi#pablo gavi#fc barcelona#football#futbol#fanfic#mustread#espana#gavi x reader#pedri#pedri/gavi#pedri smut#pedri x reader#pedri gonzalez#pedrito
161 notes
·
View notes
Text
Okay fuck it I'm making my own post even tho I'm not in the like, Watcher circle or whatever I just have something to say that I'm not seeing a lot of people saying yet
I don't think we can be too mad at people on here "spreading misinformation" regarding the idea that Watcher WAS going to delete old videos since in the Goodbye YouTube video, they said
"The beta will be a transitional period where you'll still be able to access content on YouTube, but beginning May 31st, you'll need to become a member of our streaming service to access full seasons and new releases."
Like idk maybe I'm just too autistic or it was phrased incorrectly and horribly, but me and a LOT of people clearly interpreted this as meaning "You'll still be able to watch our videos on YouTube, but beginning May 31st, you'll need to become a member to watch both new AND old content." I think it's the inclusion of the phrase "full seasons" to the statement. If they only said "beginning May 31st blah blah blah to access new releases" and THAT'S IT, then sure okay that clearly means that new content is exclusive to the streaming service. But "full seasons" makes it seem like- that would include both new AND old seasons.
And if you try to be like "well that's on YOU for misunderstanding them", idk man I'm not a content creator but if I was making this big huge announcement, I would've made it CRYSTAL FUCKING CLEAR that don't worry, we're not deleting old videos!! We're just making a platform where we're gonna be posting new stuff and also the classic stuff will be there too. Like I would use very obvious wording and phrasing to say this.
Also in the Variety article that everyone is linking to prove that "see see! they're not deleting old videos omg y'all are so stupid for believing and spreading this misinformation and these lies" THE LINE DIRECTLY BEFORE IT SAYS THAT RYAN SAID THEY'D KEEP VIDEOS UP SAYS
"The company originally told Variety that Watcher would eventually remove all of its videos from YouTube, where it currently has 2.9 million subscribers."
LIKE?????? THEY ORIGINALLY SAID "Yeah we're eventually gonna delete all the old stuff" but they either realized what an insane idea that would be and/or they saw all the backlash and backpedaled like crazy.
Like listen- I am happy that they aren't deleting old videos, but I'm kinda annoyed that so many people are using the fact that not everyone read this Variety article and are y'know........believing what they originally said in their video as a way to like....idk undermine or dismiss any criticism and/or grief people have about this news.
This doesn't change the fact that a lot of fans (and from the looks of it, mostly international fans) will not be able to watch new content they enjoy. It's important for creators to be paid obviously, but I cannot blame people from being upset.
107 notes
·
View notes
Text
01/21/2024 Crew Recap
Well holy shit all.
We finally fucking did it! We hit 75,000 signatures! That's crazy! The next goal line is literally twice that, and I know it seems daunting but don't give up, the more we get the more we show how much people want OFMD picked back up! We don't have to make that goal to show how passionate we are, we already have!
I know it feels like we've been doing this forever (12 days can you believe it?) but the scuttlebutt around deck is that we are making waves, and it's good to keep up the engagements so studio execs can see just how much we care!
We've been kicking ass on the #AdoptOurCrew hashtag on twitter and other platforms
===Articles===
I'm starting with articles tonight because this first one is phenomenal so please read it, it's by our very own @celluloidbroomcloset who if you follow them, you know their analysis is top notch. If it doesn't give you hope I don't know what will!
Our Flag Means Death And The Fight For Queer Joy
Cancelled Max Show Fans Utilize Netflix Billboard Trend, Creator Responds to Campaign Efforts
=== CREW KUDOS ===
We've had SO MUCH to be proud of about the last almost 2 weeks (oh my god I still cant believe it's been that long). Our efforts have been coming to fruition in a thousand different ways! Here's a couple more!
=First up, is the Fandom Project!=
As always thank you to @renewasacrew and in this case @tealknives and everyone else involved in this particular project for all your hard work!
Twitter / Tumblr
CW: FLASHING LIGHTS/ COLORS
tumblr
=Next up, Cool Descriptions of all of you=
Thanks to @aproperpirate on Twitter for putting this together:
Just some cool descriptions of how unhinged we've all been, and I think you should be incredibly proud!
==How To Help==
Since this section has gotten to be a bit long, I'm separating it out into a separate post -- please go here for the details of the day that will be kept updated whenever I'm awake.
Here's the HOW TO HELP SECTION please visit it!
=Cast and Crew News=
Samba had a baby!
Also, Errol Shand (Ricky) has just been promoting the crap out of SaveOFMD Stuff on his IG so I just had to shout out to him here. What a guy.
=Cross Fandom Watch Party!=
Looks like there's gonna be some cross fandom watch parties on twitter you're welcome to tune in for Jan 23-26 on twitter. They'll be watching good omens in an effort to try and get engagement up with PrimeVideo. It sounds like it'll be similar to the LubeAsACrew but with Good Omens fans! Thank you to @Dandeebakes on Twitter for getting these organised!
Hashtags to use: #PirateOmens #AdoptOurCrew #SaveOFMD, and helps to @PrimeVideo
=== Contests ===
Looks like there's a contest for 2023 Reader's Choice Performer Of the Year, and you can go vote over here:
=Other Platform Recaps!=
It's been brought to my attention there are some other recaps going on on various platforms, feel free to check them out!
Twitter: @Mytabsclosed
Website: omfd-crew.com
These lovely folks have a full week wrap up if you wanna check it out here!
---------------------------------------------------------
A wonderful note from @RedsiesWorld on Twitter, something to remember is we are in fact fighting for our crews jobs as well (not just s3) and you're kicking ass!
---------------------------------------------------------
So all in all, 12 days of Polite Menacing has been BAT SHIT INSANE and every one of you should feel super fucking proud of all the hard work. This is a break checkpoint however ---PLEASE TAKE A BREAK IF YOU NEED IT (or even if you don't think you do). It's super important you take care of yourself! No one on the crew is going to be upset or disappointed that you took a break! We all are contributing in our own ways, so no need to worry if you're not doing the same as someone else! You are doing plenty!
Remember:
Drink Plenty of Water (Hydrate!)
Eat something good for you!
Get Some Sleep!
Do something Creative that makes you happy!
Go outside for a few minutes! (weather permitting)
Shit is hard, life's a dick, but you are stronger and more capable than you can possibly imagine, and you've got 10's of thousands of people out here rooting for you. All the love folks, wherever you are, whatever you're doing. You are wonderful and you are enough <3
---------------------------------------------------------
Tonight's random Rhys picture is what I can only assume is Murray getting a leaf blower blown in his face. You're welcome.
#ofmd#our flag means death#save ofmd#renew as a crew#save our flag means death#rhys darby#renew ofmd#hoist the ads#finish our stories#adopt our crew#ofmd fandom#ofmd daily recap#ofmd daily recaps
136 notes
·
View notes
Text
NEW TO THE BLOG? READ ME!
Enchantée, my loves! Welcome to the blog! <3
Just to let you know that this is a story based blog, with an alternative style of story telling. The plot is revealed mostly through the lens of different types of technology. From Sinstagram posts to security camera footage, this Hellaverse AU centres around my OC Vesper:
Vesper is a popular popstar and sinner operating within the Pride Ring. She is soul contracted to Vox, and was designed around the idea of a 'hypeman' for the Vees. Her outfit is loosely based around a cheerleader, and her abilities are based off a Siren.
The story is told through a bunch of different mediums - mostly images, but I do have some audio files on here along with some music! I did not expect to be writing music for this, but here we are! So if you'd like to stick around, I'd scroll right to the bottom of the blog and explore the story!
SPOILERS BELOW - If you haven't looked through the posts thus far and don't want to be spoiled, come back after!
THE PLOT THUS FAR:
(I didn't just wanna write the plot point blank, so I wrote it like POV: Your at a movie night and your best friend is telling you the plot to the prequel movie so you have *context*)
We're diving into the wild world of Vanessa LaBlanc, this mega-popstar who goes by the stage name Vesper in the Pride Ring. But here's the kicker: her climb to stardom? It's only been about seven years! Insane, right?
So, her smash hit 'The Devil You Know' rockets to the top of 'Hell's Hottest Hits'. It's like her big breakout moment, and suddenly, everyone's got their eyes on her.
But here's where it gets interesting: turns out, she's been hanging out at the Hazbin Hotel, but not just for kicks. Nope, she's on this super-secret spy mission, keeping tabs on things. And her deal with Vox? Let's just say their whole working relationship is one big question mark.
Then there's this whole issue about her being under some soul contract with Vox, so it's not all rainbows and sunshine. But Charlie, being the sweetheart she is, rallies everyone to support Vesper at this major award ceremony, and guess what? She totally wins and takes home the prize!
But after that, Vesper goes MIA, ghosting everyone's texts and calls. Finally, when she resurfaces, it's because she's been tied up shooting some ad campaign. Turns out, her and Vox had this major fallout over the ad's ethics.
And get this: the product of the ad? Love Potions! Vesper's kinda backed into a corner she doesn't think its right - but Vox makes her do it anyway! You can see the strain it puts on her and Vox's relationship. It's messy, to say the least.
Then there's this whole backstory between Vesper and Angel Dust, like they used to hate each other and Valentino admits to being the reason behind it. But now that she's staying at the Hotel, they seem to have made up! Val's flipping out, convinced Vesper's up to something, but Vox is tells Val to calm down, because 'it's not like before' that she's 'under contract now'.
Things really hit the fan when Vesper and Vox have this big blow up over some news article about her going public with staying at the Hazbin Hotel. But in the middle of all the drama, you can see there's this genuine care between them, buried beneath all the chaos.
And then there's the bombshell about Vesper's new album, 'Absolution', which Vox drops on her out of nowhere. She's not thrilled, especially when she finds out the album cover's shot in Val's flooded studio, and she has a deep-rooted fear of water.
Things get tense between Vesper and Angel, too. He's worried sick about her, but she's not having any of it. And then after the album shoot, her relationship with Vox starts unravelling big time.
And that's pretty much it thus far!
#hazbin hotel#hazbin hotel oc#hellaverse#oc#hazbin hotel fanart#the vees#vox hazbin hotel#hazbin art#hazbin hotel art#hazbin hotel fandom
34 notes
·
View notes
Text
Wish You Were Here [2] | Bradley ‘Rooster’ Bradshaw
Summary | Some things you’d rather not face alone.
Pairing | Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw x fem!reader / Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw x fem!oc (no use of y/n)
Warnings | swearing, explicit smut / 18+ only
Words | 9.4k
Note | Can be read as part of One For The History Books (takes place post-epilogue—chronologically the final part) but also works as a standalone. Read part 1 here.
Library
He shouldn’t be here.
For years, Bradley simply accepted that being shipped around the globe was part of the job and never complained. But now, the one time he really didn’t want to be away from home, he received special orders. The Navy required him, him in particular, to lead specialized training on low-altitude maneuvers. And when you get orders like that, directly from an Admiral, you can’t really say no.
Standing at parade rest, staring straight ahead, Bradley can’t help but notice it’s annoyingly hot in vice-admiral Beau Simpson’s Florida office, despite it being late January and not at all that warm in Pensacola. Bradley is itching to get out of there, but the admiral is taking his sweet time leafing through his file. It’s bordering on the absurd.
“You know I like to get to know the aviators under my command, lieutenant commander. Understand what makes them tick.” He begins, without looking up from Bradley’s file. “It’s important for team building and trust, even if it’s just a temporary assignment.”
“Yes, sir.” Bradley replies out of obligation rather than interest.
“I see you finally got hitched?” Admiral Simpson finally looks up from the file, smile on his face. Bradley, however, is in no mood to discuss his private life with Simpson. His home life with you is off limits as far as he’s concerned—especially since that’s where he should be, and not here at the behest of Simpson no less, hundreds of miles away.
He still likes keeping some aspects of his life private. Bradley proudly wears his wedding band everywhere he can, only slipping it on the chain with his dog tags when he’s out on the tarmac or in the air. But that doesn’t mean he wants to talk about everything that is going on the home front with everyone.
“Yes, sir.”
“It’s been a while since I saw you at TOPGUN - how long are you married now?” Simpson continues conversationally.
“Just over a year now, sir.”
The admiral nods, studying the page with Bradley’s personal information.
“Spouse: Mrs. D. Bradshaw - Williams, Ph.D.” He mutters, before looking up again. “That wouldn’t be the Miss Williams that was at TOPGUN then, is it?”
“Yes, sir.” There’s no reason to hide it, although Bradley has to strongly fight the urge to roll his eyes.
“I remember her fondly, she did great work.” Simpson nods, and Bradley just about stops himself from shifting on his feet uncomfortably. “And I’ve read some of her articles from the senate committee—fascinating stuff—but is it true she hasn’t published anything lately?”
“That’s possible, sir.” You hadn’t mentioned writing new articles in a while, working on smaller projects instead.
“Miss Wil - that is, Mrs. Bradshaw hasn’t left her position at the DoD, has she?”
“No, Dr. Bradshaw still works in the Pentagon archives, sir.” That might be too petty.
“Of course.” Simpson just smiles, probably happy he got more than a two-word answer out of Bradley. “I’ve been thinking about putting my thoughts about leadership and strategy to paper for a while now,” He leans back in his chair, pressing his hands together. “For the next generation of officers, you understand, lieutenant commander?”
What the fuck?
“Anyway, I’d like to ask mrs- Dr. Bradshaw if she would look over some of my drafts.”
“You’d have to ask her directly, sir.” If this conversation was absurd before, it’s straight-up insane now. “But she won’t be available for the coming months.”
“Oh, how so, lieutenant commander?”
“She’s on maternity leave.”
Simpson narrows his eyes, before turning his gaze back at the file. Bradley already knows what’s coming: there is no mention of children, which means Simpson will put two and two together pretty quickly.
“How far along is Dr. Bradshaw?” Simpson’s tone conveys not casual interest, but purely a request for information —personal chat is over.
“38 weeks.”
“Will that pose a problem for your focus during these two weeks?”
Bradley’s fingers flex behind his back out of frustration, but he keeps his features neutral. He shared with his commanding officer he was not keen on leaving so close to your due date, but was told Simpson requested him personally, and not going was pretty much not an option.
Still.
He shouldn’t be here.
“No, sir.”
“Good. You have singular experience in low-altitude maneuvers, which is why you were selected.”
Bradley doesn’t say anything, but Phoenix and Bob, Payback and Fanboy—hell even Hangman—all have similar experience. Minus being shot down over enemy territory, he thinks bitterly. However, he is under strict instruction from his CO not to bring that up to Simpson. Part of him is itching to do it anyway and get sent home for it.
But that would be veritable career suicide.
“I appreciate it, sir.”
“Anyway, I suppose congratulations are in order, lieutenant commander.” Simpsons grins up at him. “To the next generation of TOPGUN candidates.”
Bradley has to actively stop himself from cringing. It’s probably meant well by Simpson, but can’t shake the intrusiveness of it all. He’s here to train recruits for two weeks, and that’s it. He’ll be on the first flight home, back to you, as soon as this assignment is over. In the meantime, he has zero interest in discussing this—if only for the guilt weighing on him for having to leave you and Bug now.
You took it well. Of course you did. You smiled up at him and said you would invite your sister to keep you company, so you wouldn’t be alone. But your smile didn’t quite reach your eyes. This was the one thing you admitted actually terrified you. But you put on a brave face for him. And Bradley so desperately wished he didn’t have to leave you now.
“Thank you, sir.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
You are alone. Again.
Your sister left for a day out in D.C. with her family. Bradley is gone. Hell, if you could leave you, you would probably do so too.
Miserable doesn’t even begin to describe it. Irritable. Anxious. Fucking furious.
Your body barely feels like it’s yours anymore; it’s unwieldy and everything hurts. You don’t fit into any of your clothes, and your feet are so swollen you are relegated to wearing slippers most of the time.
The worst thing is since you’re on maternity leave, you are bored out of your skull. You thought it would be nice to actually relax, and catch up on your nonwork reading, all the shows on your to-watch list, but you had enough of it after one long weekend. Years of having your brain constantly engaged has worn you out—do you even know how to take it easy?
You have every checklist memorized, a birth plan written up, an overnight bag packed, baby clothes, and diapers by the stack. Baby nail clippers, snot suction thingamajig, stroller, car seat, and an assortment of stuff your sister convinced you were essential. Bradley wisely didn’t comment on the parade of delivery people dropping off packages almost every day, tacitly accepting that this is just who you are. You have everything. You think.
Even if you wanted to do more research, double, triple check anything, every time you sit down at your laptop, Bug quite literally kicks up a fuss.
Your poor ribs and bladder usually bear the brunt of the assault.
You smile despite yourself as you grab a handful of honey-nut Cheerios. Bug.
That sunny Monday in May, the night after Bradley made you throw up (which he never stopped bringing up), you promise you will call the doctor first thing. But when Bradley brews coffee for you both that morning, and you throw up from it again, he practically threatens he’ll call you in sick and drag you to the clinic if he has to, despite you insisting you are fine.
You insist it’s a stomach bug. You insist it all the way up to the doctor’s office.
“Do you think…?” Bradley is leaning against the door frame of the bathroom, watching over you as you brush your teeth.
“Nah.” You practically cut him off, knowing exactly where he’s going with that question. You’re absolutely refusing to even start to entertain alternatives because if you let yourself believe for one second that it might be something else, you will be utterly crushed if it isn’t. You rinse out your mouth. “It’s just a stomach bug.”
You’ll probably get some antibiotics or something, a few days of prescribed rest and you’ll be right as rain. But Bradley is looking at you penesivly, like he’s trying to figure the meaning behind your reaction. Except there’s no meaning. It’s just a stomach bug, and it’s really nothing to get bent out of shape about.
But because even brushing your teeth doesn’t help settle the queasy, churning feeling in your stomach, you decide to call in sick. Bradley leaves you on the couch with a mint tea and a kiss.
“Let me know when you have the appointment.” He pulls the fleece blanket over you as you lie back. You nod. First you just want to close your eyes for a few minutes. Just to rest. You feel like you haven’t slept in days, even though you got up just an hour ago.
No. Call the doctor first.
Bradley doesn’t get annoyed easily with you, but you know you have the tendency to push his limits with your rather blasé attitude to things you don’t like—like doctor appointments—and cruising along on the insistence it’s fine. You’re fine.
As someone who takes health quite seriously, he has admitted it grates on him because he worries about you, and doesn’t quite understand how you can worry about so many things in your life, sometimes to the point of tears, but when it comes to your health you take it all in stride.
Embarrassingly, you don’t really have an answer for him either.
Pushing yourself back up, you dial the doctor’s office—they can squeeze you in at 3 in the afternoon that day, which gives you plenty of time to rest. You text Bradley that you have the appointment, knowing it matters to him.
That afternoon you walk out of the doctor's office, thunderstruck and with a stack of papers and pamphlets in your hand. Bradley calls you shortly after. He mentioned he would try to check in with you if he had a moment after your appointment. It shouldn’t still give you butterflies when you think about how Bradley prioritizes you even on busy days, and you feel a little bit guilty again as it’s your fault in the first place he’s worried.
“So, what did the doctor say?” You can hear by the cadence in his voice he is walking somewhere, and he sounds hurried.
You open your mouth, thinking of how to explain it, how to somehow bring this life-changing news gently, in a way that reflects the gravity of it, the strangeness of it, the joy. Or should you wait until he gets home?
“Darlin’? Are you okay?” Bradley’s voice is urgent.
Shit.
“I’m pregnant.” You blurt out sheepishly. So much for subtlety.
“Come again?” Bradley has stopped dead in his tracks. He must have misheard you. Yes, he did seriously consider it an option, it made sense in his head, but you seemed so adamant that he never really allowed the thought, the dream, to fully take hold.
“I’m pregnant.” You repeat, more self-assured this time. “They’ve timed it around six weeks.”
“Wha- I mean, fuck -” Bradley is stumbling over his words, but you can hear the smile in his voice. “That’s great! Amazing even. Fucking hell, I’m so happy right now.”
You laugh, although you feel like you’ve barely had time to actually grasp that you’re pregnant now. But Bradley accepts it so readily, making it sound like the most obvious thing in the world, that—yeah, of course. It’s what you both wanted, what you talked about, and you agreed on doing. And now it’s happening.
“Me too.” You smile.
“So really not a stomach bug?” Bradley can’t help but tease you.
You laugh again, despite yourself. He’s never going to let you live this down. “No, very much not.”
“Just Bug then.” He says fondly.
“Just Bug.” You agree, not even questioning that it took Bradley less than 5 minutes to come up with a nickname for your unborn child. You feel giddy, strangely light, as a warm feeling spreads through you. Is this what it feels like to be pregnant?
If only. You shove another handful of honey-nut Cheerios in your mouth. Nothing and no one quite prepared you for the perpetual discomfort of pregnancy—it comes in many forms, but there’s always a new goddamn thing aching, a new way to feel sick, or just the plethora of tears you’ve been shedding because you feel like you’ve been losing your sanity at times, barely having a hold on your emotions.
Bug is especially restless today, like he’s picking up on your mood. You want Bug to be born already, but you don’t want to go into labor without Bradley by your side. Of the many things you accept, you’ll have probably to face alone in having a naval aviator for a husband, giving birth is just one thing you desperately don’t want to go through alone. It terrifies you beyond belief, almost irrationally so.
Music usually helps calm Bug down. While you try to stop yourself from building up unnecessary expectations in your head of what your child will be like (god knows you know what it’s like to grow up like that), you do allow yourself that Bug might take after Bradley that way. It would bring him a lot of joy, you know that for sure.
Scrolling through your Spotify, you rub your belly. “What would make you happy today, Bug?” You wince as Bug squirms. “Some Rolling Stones?”
Quickly selecting She’s a Rainbow and connecting to the sound system Bradley had painstakingly installed, you gently sway to the music and start walking around. You smile to yourself as you think back about how Bradley had explained all the details and exact science behind the music setup he was getting, and how he measured every angle and talked excitedly about every aspect. You love him, but goddamn, you cannot tell the difference. It all sounds great to you, so you happily nod along and agree, enjoying his absolute passion for the subject more than anything coming from the speakers.
Bug is finally chilling out too. Closing your eyes, hands resting on your stomach, you feel the anger and anxiety finally ebb away. This is not so bad. It’s just you and Bug for now, and you’ll be fine. In a week Bradley will be back, your sister will be back in Colorado, and you can welcome Bug together, just as you planned before he was ordered to Florida.
You love your sister, you really do, but if she drains the blood from you under normal circumstances, she's insufferable now. Or you have become insufferable. It’s honestly a toss-up at this point, but you’ve been at each other’s throats even more than usual. You feel sorry for her husband, who probably thought he was coming over to Fredericksburg for a nice break, but instead has been trying to run interference between you two.
But they’re out for today.
You get to enjoy some peace.
Of course, it could never last long. The music cuts out harshly as your phone starts ringing.
Well fuck.
When you see the number, and you recognize it as coming from the Pentagon, you strongly consider just not picking up. But. You are also curious. Who is looking for you? What do they want? Did someone fuck up? Your brain is itching. Maybe it’s something you can kill time with. But you really shouldn't—you’re on maternity leave.
Against what is your better judgment, you pick up.
“Darcy Bradshaw-Williams speaking.”
“Good morning, Dr. Bradshaw,” A nervous voice starts at the other end. “I’m calling from Birch’s office.”
Why isn’t he calling you himself? Since when does Birch contact you through an assistant?
“Uh, okay.” You reply, not unkindly. “What is this concerning, as I am currently on maternity leave?”
“It’s uumh - well, there are some papers that you need to sign before the senate committee report can get archived.” The poor girl on the other end sounds terrified. You don’t think you’re particularly intimidating, but you don’t recognize her voice, so you surmise she must be new.
Patience. You were once the new girl doing the shitty jobs no one else wanted. Like calling the pissy pregnant lady on leave.
“Oh, well, email them to me, and I will sign digitally,” You reply easily. “That’s not a big deal.”
“It, uhm, can’t be signed digitally, it needs to be done by hand.”
“Then… what are you suggesting exactly?” You keep your voice light, but quite frankly, you are gobsmacked. Out of all the bureaucratic bullshit…
“So I’ve been asked to- well, ask you,” Her voice wavers. “If you’re willing to come in to sign those papers.”
Really?
“No.” You can’t keep the annoyance out of your voice. “Look here, miss…?”
“Brown.” The reply comes in a half-whisper.
“Look here Miss Brown, I know you are only relaying the message, so please put Birch on the phone, I know he’s there.” Keeping your voice level and professional is becoming harder by the second.
“He can’t come to the phone.” Miss Brown supplies hurriedly.
Coward.
“I’m 39 weeks pregnant, are you actually suggesting I come down all the way to the Pentagon?” You ask much louder than is probably necessary.
“We-, I suppose, we could also fax you the papers?” Miss Brown tries.
“Where the fuck do you think I live? 1992?” The words come out of your mouth faster than you can bite your tongue. Oh no, you didn’t mean to have an outburst like that at the poor assistant. It’s all just so fucking absurd because of course, what does the digital era mean in the DoD? Showing up in person. Jesus Christ.
“I’m sorry Miss Brown,” You apologize, cringing at yourself. “That was not meant for you.”
“It’s okay.” A small voice on the other end replies.
“By when do you need this?” The wheels of the DoD turn slowly, after all. Maybe you can push it back until Bradley is at least back so he can drive you. Worst case scenario until your sister is back. But right now, you are standing in your living room dressed in Bradley’s old Navy shirt covered in Cheerios crumbs and a pair of old sweatpants. You’re really not wanting to go out today.
“Today,” Miss Brown informs you. “As soon as possible, really.”
“Today!?” You yell, knuckles white as you clutch your phone. “You have got to be kidding me!”
You take a deep breath. You have to keep your cool. Be professional about this.
“Put Birch on the phone.” You grind out, fist balled at your side.
“He - he says he can’t come to the phone…”
“Then I’ll come to see him in person.” You bite out, acid dripping from your words,, hanging up angrily. They want to play like that? Fine. You’ll play along, you fume as you stomp through the house up to the bedroom. You’ll go to the Pentagon, you’ll sign the stupid papers, and you’ll lob the whole packet at Birch’s head while you’re there.
Shit. Do you even have anything nice to wear to the office? Maybe you should just show up like this—although funny, you’re too self-conscious for that. Also, you still want to have a job to return to eventually.
Bug is mercifully calm, unlike you, as you dig out a knee-lenght skirt with an elastic waist. Shimmying it on, you’re glad to find out it still sort of fits, the waistband rest comfortably under your stomach. You end up slipping on a pair of nylons with it, not quite convinced you be able to pull up a pair of tights and afraid they might be too tight anyway.
Now for a top. You won’t try one of your regular button-up shirts, even as a joke. Even the loose-fitting ones won’t close over your stomach anymore.
That leaves Bradley’s closet.
You rifle through the shirts he neatly hung up on clothes hangers, taking care not to pick one that belongs to one of his uniforms. Settling on a soft dark blue one, you feel a pang of sadness when you slip it on. It smells of him. He’s only been gone for a week and will be back so soon again, but that doesn’t take away that you are alone right now.
“Daddy will be back soon, Bug,” You whisper softly as you button the shirt up, feeling the baby move. “We just have both hold out a little longer.”
Fixing your hair and doing minimal makeup, you quickly text your sister you have to run an errand and you’ll be back later, just in case she beats you home. You doubt she will reply to you any time soon though, she’s probably busy taking pictures or videos. For as much as you don’t understand how much your sister shares online, you are happy she’s doing something she enjoys and she’s good at it. Sometimes she even takes a nice picture of you.
You don’t text Bradley. For one, he’s probably busy, and two—you have a nagging feeling in the back of your head—you shouldn’t be doing this. Bradley would be rightly unhappy if you were driving yourself an hour up north, by yourself. But you don’t want to argue right now—you’ll argue with anyone, but you desperately don’t want to lose your temper with Bradley.
You said you were fine when he told you he had to leave. He was so unhappy, the pain in his eyes was burning a hole in your heart. So of course you said you would be fine. But you aren’t. And right now you are terrified that if you argue with him, that your stupid mouth will say something horrible, something you can’t take back, something like “well, you left again” because he did, and he’ll look at you again with that crushing guilt overshadowing him—and it’ll be because of you because and because you don’t actually deserve him. You hiccup as tears fill your eyes.
Shit.
Get it together.
The quicker you leave, the quicker you’ll be home and there won’t be anything to argue about.
Now. Is it a horrible idea to wear ballerinas in the middle of D.C. winter? Yes. But no other shoe will fit you, and your fluffy slippers are arguably an even worse choice. God, you can’t even button up your nice coat anymore either. Better wrap up thick with a good scarf.
You heave yourself into Bradley’s Bronco—you promised you would only use his car if you really needed to go somewhere—but it’s so goddamn high.
“I can’t wait until you can climb in yourself, Bug.” You joke. Adjusting the rearview mirror, you catch sight of the baby carrier affixed in the back seat, and your heart jumps. You pestered Bradley so much to put it in already.
“I fly million-dollar fighter jets for a living, darlin’,” He told you smugly. “Don’t you think I’ll be able to figure out a car seat?”
“Do it then.” You smiled back, handing him the manual, knowing he won’t back down from you goading him.
It took him a good twenty minutes and a lot of colorful swears to figure out how to affix the base properly, so it wouldn’t move. You didn’t say anything, just smiled sweetly and kissed his cheek as he shot you a venomous look when he was finally done.
Pulling out of the driveway, you turn on a calming playlist, hoping Bug will not decide to tap dance on your bladder while you’re driving.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
“This is all then, boss?” You groan as you sign the last of the papers. They could have really mentioned on the phone you had to initial about 50 pages too. Your hand is cramped, and the chair is uncomfortable and making your lower back hurt—you don’t even have the energy to give Birch a piece of your mind. You just really want to go back home now.
“Yes, Dr. Bradshaw.” Your boss nods curtly. “And thanks again for coming in on such short notice in your… condition.” He adds carefully, avoiding looking at you.
You wonder if your hardened former marine boss is scared you’re going to go into labor on his watch, because you have never seen him so awkward.
“Yeah, of course.” You reply, trying your best to conjure up a polite smile, but wincing slightly as you get up. “I’ll be taking my leave now.” You joke poorly, waving your hand trying to get the cramp out.
You bid goodbye to your boss and a few of your colleagues, but your prime motivation is to get out of the Pentagon right now and get home. You’re starting to feel weird, not in your stomach, but in your gut.
You shouldn’t be here.
As fast as you can, which is not very fast all things considered, you try to make your way back to the car. The pain in your back is getting worse, shooting down your sides. You need to sit down comfortably, you tell yourself, and then it will get better.
Why is the parking lot so far away? You waddle miserably. Your feet are hurting too now, your soles burning at every step in your too-tight shoes. Finally, you reach the car, panting by now. With a grunt, you clamber into the driver’s seat.
Finally you can relax. Bug is not having a good time anymore, squirming, probably as uncomfortable as you are currently. It’s making your stomach hurt.
“We’re going home.” You mumble, pinching the bridge of your nose. “Just let me catch my breath, Bug.”
After a few minutes of sitting in the comfortable seat, the pain finally starts to subside. Starting the car, you hum to yourself to keep calm. Just get home.
You barely make it out of the city before you realize you need to pee urgently. There’s a mall just off the main street, as you remember, so you’ll just take an early exit there. You are nearly shaking in your seat as you park and snatch your purse out of the car.
You really think you’re about to burst, and it doesn’t help your feeling increasingly anxious.
You shouldn’t be here.
You need to get home.
Coming out of the bathroom, your back hurts worse than before, and it’s starting to spread to your stomach. Fuck. fuckfuckfuck. You try not to swear out loud and grimace too much as you wash your hands next to an elderly lady.
“Are you alright, sweetie?” The lady asks, her pearl necklace glimmering in the stark artificial light of the bathroom. Her light gray hair has a faint purple sheen that you are not sure you are imagining. From the corner of your eye, you can see your reflection—you look pallid.
“Ye- yeah, all good.” You force a smile on your face. At that moment, pain suddenly shoots through your abdomen with such severity, you nearly double over. It’s not even the worst of your problems, you realize quickly, as you feel a trickle run down your leg.
No.
Absolutely fucking not.
This is not happening.
Breathing rapidly, you grind your teeth helplessly.
“Oh dear,” The lady immediately grabs you by the elbow, helping you upright again. “I think the baby is about ready, sweetie.”
“No.” You utter softly as tears spring in your eyes. “Not yet.”
“Come, let's find you a place to sit and clean up.” She probably didn’t hear you as she starts leading you outside to a bench by the bathroom entrance. “Where’s your husband, sweetie? He should come get you now.”
At the mentions of husbands, you just start pathetically sobbing. “H-he’s not here.”
“Oh dear.” The kindly lady hands you a tissue to dry your eyes.
“He’s in the navy, and he’s in fuck-fucking Florida until next week.” Your words are coming out punctuated by sobs. “S- so the baby can’t come yet.” You add, urgently, trying to dry your eyes.
“Who can I call for you?” She asks gently, as she rubs your back. You wince as another wave of pain shoots through you.
“My sister.” You say weakly, reaching into your pocket to dig out your phone. No matter how much you want to call Bradley right this minute, you also know that there is very little he can do all the way from Pensacola. Beth needs to come to get you. So she better pick up.
Every time the phone rings and Beth is not picking up, your anxiety ramps up further. The bench you’re sitting on is uncomfortable, the wooden slats digging into your sore back and you’re having trouble catching your breath as your shaking fingers nervously pluck at your unbuttoned coat.
“Why isn’t she picking up?” You breathe, bending your head forward. Black spots are appearing in your vision.
“You need to calm down.” A kind voice is telling you. You know. But you can’t control it. There is one thought permeating over everything else.
Not yet.
The lady’s voice sounds far away, as you clutch your head, trying to desperately not have your vision go completely black on you. But you don’t know how to reason yourself back from the edge at this point, not seeing a solution to your predicament or grounding yourself in logic and pragmatism to deal with the problem at hand.
You need Bradley.
“Sweetie, I’m calling you an ambulance.” The voice sounds like it’s on the other end of a bad connection. But you manage to nod.
You only sort of remember flashes of everything after that. Another person talking to you, laying down on a stretcher, clutching your bag, more voices, and then a silent room.
Bug is okay. That’s all you really remember, and it’s all you really care to remember right now.
If you just lay here, and wait, Bradley will come for you. You hope he won’t be mad at you for going to work so close to your due date, and then having a panic attack when your water broke. You’re already mad enough at yourself.
You asked to nurses to try and call him, but they keep telling you no one is picking up. They reached your sister at least. Oh, joy.
Beth of course comes in all guns blazing. You see her husband scurry away with little Emma in his arms after he says hi to you. Smart man. You wish you could hide under the bed.
“What the actual fuck is wrong with you?” Beth seethes. Jesus, why is she so angry? You sit up, sending her a withering look.
“What?” You reply curtly. The nurse implored you to stay calm so your blood pressure wouldn’t rise too much.
“What? What?” Beth stalks up to the foot end of your bed, pointing her finger at you accusingly. “Darcy, have you gone completely insane? Can you not be left unsupervised for one afternoon? Seriously, who are you, and what have you done to my sensible sister? Does Bradley get custody of your brain cells when he is deployed or something? Jesus Christ.”
You’re not going to get in a word edgewise right now, so you don’t even try.
“You nearly gave me a goddamn heart attack. What the hell am I supposed to think when the hospital is trying to urgently reach me? But what a fucking surprise! It’s a hospital in D.C.! A place my dear darling sister has no business being.”
Still not saying anything, you avert your eyes.
“What were you doing in D.C.? And I swear to fuck, Darce, if you say it has anything to do with work, I will not hesitate and burn your book collection.”
At that, you choke back a sob. You feel so guilty, it’s starting to consume you. If you had stayed home and relaxed like you were supposed to, you probably wouldn’t have gone into labor yet. Beth is right to be angry with you. Bradley will probably be. You promised you’d be careful, you promised you’d take it easy, you promised yourself you would hold out until he would be back.
“No, but seriously, have you lost all common sense? Do you need a -” Beth finally stops her tirade short as she sees you cry silently, not even bothering to defend yourself. She’s seen you cry plenty of times before, hell, she’s made you cry a lot of those times. But never like this. Never like you’ve given up. You always fight back, you are always doing something. Usually, it’s Beth who tries to stop you from completely overdoing things. But now you’re just sitting there crying.
“Darcy- Darce, what the hell?” She walks around the bed and sits down next to you. “You are freaking me out now.” She tells you seriously, as she grabs your hand. You just shake your head as tears stream down your face. “Have you reached Bradley yet?” She asks, her voice a lot softer.
You shake your head. “He’s still not picking up”
“And?”
“And what?” You sob softly.
“Since when have you ever given up at the first hurdle?” Beth pushes. “Really, you got married, knocked up and now you’re going to sit pretty? I’m disappointed, honestly.”
Something dangerous flashes in your eyes as you turn to look at her, drawing a shuddering breath. Gotcha. She’s going for the jugular now.
“No, really, I mean—you’re just going to wait around for your husband like this? I’m sure he’s appreciating all your efforts to get in touch with him as soon as possible.” Beth sneers at you.
“What the fuck, Beth?!” You suddenly screech, ripping your hand from hers. Fuck staying calm. You need to urgently throttle your younger sister. “You’re supposed to be on my side here! Can you for once in your life not antagonize the ever-loving shit out of me? I’m in pain, I already feel like shit, and I’m alone here! I know—I fucking know—it’s my screw-up.” Your voice is raw from crying. “Why are you so fucking hell-bent on kicking me when I’m down? Can’t you just be here for me, for once—just this fucking once?”
“Because you are being ridiculous, and no one but me will tell you that!” Beth matches your volume easily. “You don’t sit here just because Bradley’s not picking up his phone. Do what you always do. Do what do best, you dumb bitch. Organize a fucking solution.”
With that, she snatches your phone from the table next to the bed and pushes it into your chest. “I’m going to get a coffee. Let me know if you need help.” Beth cuts at you with an eerie calmness as she gets up and walks out the door without as much as a look back at you.
You sigh heavily, rubbing your stomach. “Let’s figure out a way to let daddy know you’re early, Bug.”
There are many things you didn’t anticipate about going into labor. How long it would take, how painful it would be, to name a few. But mostly, you didn’t anticipate having to argue and beg your way up your husband’s chain of command before you reach someone that could actually reliably relay the message to him, urgently.
For the last ten minutes, you’ve been arguing with Simpson’s assistant, who seems deeply unwilling to either put you through or to confirm he will forward the message to the admiral.
“He’s supervising training maneuvers now.” He tells you in a bored tone. “So it will have to wait.”
You push yourself off the bed, and start pacing. “Lister here -” you stop yourself before you call him a little shit. “Lieutenant.” You add after a suspiciously long pause. “I know he’s supervising the maneuvers. My husband is the one flying them.”
“Well, I can’t patch you through to the jet, not from a civilian phone.” He replies in the same bored tone.
“I’m not asking for that, am I?” You grind out as a contraction stops you dead in your tracks. Your face twists in pain and anger. “Tell admiral Simpson Dr. Bradshaw needs to speak to him urgently. He knows who I am.”
You are banking on Simpson actually taking the call based on what Bradley told you. If he actually gives Bradley the message, you will willingly edit any brain fart Simpson puts to paper for publication. You swear under your breath.
Finally you hear the hold tone. You let out a deep breath as much to steel yourself for hopefully the last leg of this telephone journey, as well as to help abate some of the shooting pain.
“Dr. Bradshaw!” Simpson is entirely too jovial for the current situation. Calm. You need to stay calm.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
“Rooster, Rooster—this is tower, come in.”
“Come in, tower.”
It’s been an absolutely grueling day of flying. Bradley is tired and in pain and glad to be on the way back. He wants a shower, bed, and you on the phone.
Cyclone better not have him on paperwork or other stupid errands today.
“Rooster, this is Cyclone from tower.”
Fuck. Cyclone only calls in to complain or heap on additional bullshit to his day.
“Copy, Cyclone.” Bradley tries to keep the annoyance out of his voice.
“Your wife called, Rooster. She’s in labor.” Cyclone’s message is wholly unemotional like he’s simply updating Bradley on changing weather conditions.
“Copy that.” It’s almost comical that that’s the only thing Bradley can come up with to say, more because it’s second nature, rather than him acutally parsing what was just said to him. But how do you react in a moment like this?
He needs to call you.
He needs to talk to you.
If he can’t be there physically, which pains him more than he cares to admit right now as his hands tighten around the steering, he wants to at least to be able to talk to you.
Shit.
This wasn’t supposed to happen. He is supposed to be there with you. Bradley knows how scared you are and how much you tried to hide it.
He is not supposed to be here.
“Rooster, return to base urgently.” Cyclone orders him. Bradley replies affirmative, breaking formation and speeding up. He has no idea what is going on right now. A million things are running through his head, but most of all he wants to turn his jet around and blast north toward Virginia. Rationally, he knows that it’s out of the range a fully fueled F18 can fly, and his tanks are running near empty.
That feeling of powerlessness is creeping up on him again. You are almost a 1000 miles away, and he has no manner of reaching you, despite sitting in a fighter jet. The clock is running, you are alone, and he can’t do anything.
When Bradley touches down, he’s a good ten minutes ahead of the rest of the squadron, who were ordered to stay on speed and formation. As he taxis into the bay, he notices, to his utter confusion, Cyclone jogging across the tarmac followed by his sour-faced assistant.
Bradley has a sinking feeling in his stomach. This can only mean Cyclone is pissed about something that happened in the training, and Bradley is about to be dragged into a painfully long debrief. It’s just his luck today.
He shouldn’t be here.
“Rooster!” Cyclone is hollering at him and waving his arm frantically the moment the canopy lifts.
Bradley starts climbing out of the cockpit, bracing himself for the inevitable dressing down. The moment his feet reach the ground, he hasn’t even unclipped his helmet yet, Cyclone is yelling at him to hurry up as he is making a beeline towards him. Hurry up? For what?
Is there something wrong with you? Is that why he was ordered to land? Is that why Cyclone is running across the tarmac yelling? Is it something he absolutely could not be told in while in the air?
Bradley stands rooted to the ground as he watches Cyclone approach, who is now gesturing wildly at him to also start running.
“Rooster, move your ass already!” Cyclone yells so loudly, that several engineers look up in surprise.
Almost automatically, Bradley starts running in the same direction as Cyclone and his assistant, his muscles protesting heavily against the sudden motion.
“What the fuck is going on?” He blurts out, adrenaline rushing through his body, every sense in overdrive.
“There’s a transporter leaving for D.C. in -” Cyclone quickly looks at his watch as he tries to catch his breath. “Two minutes.”
The assistant trusts a paper in Bradley’s hands. “Emergency 48-hour leave.” He deadpans.
“Wha- what is going on?!” Bradley exclaims angrily, clutching the paper forcibly as he slows down his run. Emergency leave? A plane to D.C.? However, instead of answering, Cyclone grabs him by the elbow and practically starts dragging him along to the second taxiway.
“Your wife is in labor. You’re getting emergency leave.” Cyclone grinds out. “And a “thank you sir” would be nice.”
“Is she okay? Is the baby okay?” Bradley asks hurriedly instead, completely ignoring Cyclone’s comment about showing respect, because his need to know that you are both okay is really the only thing he really cares about right now.
“She sounded fine.” The assistant butts in.
Cyclone is now practically pushing him up the ramp of the transporter plane. The loader is waving at Bradley with hurried motions to get in.
Over the sound of the roaring engines, he hears Cyclone yell: “She’s at The Virginia Hospital Centerl!”
Bradley puts up his thumb. “Thank you, sir!” He yells back.
“And kindly remind Dr. Bradshaw she owes me one!” Cyclone adds, grinning, as the ramp is closing.
Owe him one? What? Bradley is even more confused than he was less than a minute ago. Why are you not at the hospital you had picked together in the first place? Isn’t VHC in D.C.? It doesn’t really matter right now. At least he knows you and Bug are okay, and he’s on his way to you.
However.
He doesn’t have his phone, he doesn’t even have his wallet. All he has on him right now is his military ID. How the fuck is he supposed to get to the hospital from the air base?
As he straps in, Bradley can’t help but wonder: did he just get washed up by the Cyclone?
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
You shuffle around your hospital room miserably, while your sister chills in one of the chairs playing with her phone. The nurses have been checking up on you regularly, but your blood pressure is pretty steady now and everything seems to be progressing normally. A particularly strict-looking nurse reprimanded both you and your sister quite harshly for making such a scene in the maternity ward. Honestly, she was right to do so.
The contractions are coming more often and more severely. Your lower back is killing you, but you’ve been told it’s still too early to give you any medication.
After you managed to get through Simpson, he was quick to promise to inform Bradley about your condition, but then promptly went on to ignore you were in labor and talked your ear of about something he wanted to publish.
Exasperated and in pain, you promised you would look over his writings at the earliest convenience, spelled out your email address between gritted teeth as a contraction thundered through your lower body. At this point, you would have probably promised your firstborn—well, no, not that, but anything else—so you could at least talk to Bradley.
So now you are desperately waiting for Bradley to call you. It’s been almost two hours since you’ve spoken to Simpson, surely he’s not still flying? When you try to call him, his phone just rings and rings before switching over to voice mail, like it’s been doing all day. Where is Bradley?
Unhappily, you push yourself to accept he won’t be here with you, but that you won’t even be able to talk to him? That’s cruel.
Waddling back to your bed, you slide in, pulling the cover over yourself. The nurse mentioned she would get you a hospital gown soon, since you had absolutely nothing with you. There are so many things you have to think about, but your brain is not cooperating anymore. All you can think about is how miserable you are—in pain and lonely. Beth keeps telling you to suck it up, but you don’t want to. You get to be sad if you want to.
Of course you are happy that Bug is coming. That’s not the point. But there are so many things running through your head, it’s hard to focus on the positive side of it all. You should ask your brother-in-law to drive down to your house and get your overnight bag. You need to figure out how to get back to the Bronco too, as that’s the only car with a baby seat. Personally, you think your brother-in-law is kind of a shit driver, so you’d rather not resort to him picking the Bronco up. Then there’s paperwork. Forms, informed consent, insurance—if you have to sign one more fucking thing today you will scream.
It’s too much.
Pulling the blanket over your head, you curl up, trying to stave off the pain in your lower body. Bradley’s shirt still smells like him. Sadly you consider if this is the closest he is going to be here today.
“Beth?” You mumble from under the blanket, voice thick with tears.
“Yeah?” Beth finally looks up from her phone. It’s concerning her how much you seem to be suffering from Bradley not being here—you were always independent, on top of everything, and you sure as hell didn’t mope around this much. You told her you were scared of going into labor alone, and Beth understands that. And she feels sorry for you, but never has she seen you behave like this, and it’s actually kind of freaking her out.
“Can you please ask Erik to get my overnight bag from home?” Your voice is quivering. “Everything is in there, it’s right by the door.”
“Yeah, of course.” Beth gets up and walks up to the bed. She gently lifts the cover to look at you. Your bloodshot eyes look back at her. “Do you need anything else, Darce?” She asks as she squats down, so she’s at eye level with you. You shake your head.
“We’re in this together, okay? I know I’m not the person you want here.” Beth tells you gently, her fingers brushing a strand of hair from your forehead. “But you can do this, I know you do. And I’m here for you.”
“Thank you.” You whisper. “And you are a close second, don’t worry.” You try to joke through your tears. Beth laughs softly.
“It’s okay, I’d pick your hot husband over you too.” She winks at you. You groan in disgust.
“I’m telling Erik you said that.”
“Too late, I already texted him to go get your bag.” Beth waves her hand dismissively. “He’s taking Emma with him, hopefully she falls asleep in the car for a while.”
It’s getting dark outside already. You sigh. This morning at home feels like a distant memory already.
Still wrapped in your blanket cocoon, Beth continues stroking your forehead and talking you through breathing exercises. It’s helping you relax finally. You close your eyes and just focus on Beth’s gentle voice. It feels like you're falling in and out microsleep, Beth’s voice becoming so distant at moments you cannot make out the words before a contraction pulls you back to the present. As the pain ebbs away, so does your consciousness.
It must be the third or fourth cycle of micro sleep you fall into, Beth softly humming now, when you swear you can hear Bradley’s voice. You cannot make out what he is saying, because it sounds like he’s in a different room, but it’s unmistakably him.
A warmth fills you. You missed his voice, and he sounds so close, like he can come in at any moment. Soon, another contraction will pull you away from his voice. You try to direct your sleepy brain to focus on Bradley to bring him closer. It’s working. His voice is becoming louder—he’s talking to someone. He sounds annoyed. There’s no reason to be annoyed, babe, you think. It’s all good. You’re here. Come here. I need you.
The door clicks open. It’s like the floodgates open. You can hear Bradley’s voice clear as day now—and he’s really annoyed. Seriously, the best your brain can come up with when you miss your husband is him being annoyed? Sad.
“What the shit?” Beth utters in disbelief, as she suddenly gets up, waking you up fully. You finally open your eyes, only to see Beth staring at the door behind you.
You can still hear Bradley talk, although you are now sure you are awake.
Shooting up, arms flailing, the covers slide onto the floor. Beth grabs your arm to steady you.
You’ve lost your mind.
Your brain is 100% broken now.
Did they give you morphine anyway? Are you fucking hallucinating?
Because in the doorway is Bradley, still in full flight gear—g-suit still zipped over his flight suit and helmet in his hand. His hair is messy and flattened at weird angles, like he only just pulled the helmet off. He’s towering over the strict nurse and arguing with her. She’s not giving him an inch.
“She needs rest! You can’t just barge in like that.” She’s admonishing him, pointing her finger in your general direction. “And only one visitor in the room!”
“I know she needs rest—that’s why I’m here.” Bradley bites back. “And I’m not a visitor, I’m her husband, and that’s my child.”
“What the fuck.” You don’t realize you say it so loudly, every falls silent and looks at you.
“I’ll wait in the hall.” Beth says hurriedly as she scurries away to the door, followed by the strict nurse, that throws one final venomous look at Bradley who is completely ignoring her now.
So others clearly can see him too, right?
You start clambering out of the bed as fast as you can, padding over to him barefoot, needing some sort of confirmation Bradley is really, actually here, and you’ve not finally and definitively cracked.
Your arms snake around his neck as you pull him close to you. He feels so real, he smells like jet fuel and winter air, but his skin is just as warm as you remember. Bradley doesn’t say anything, just wrapping you in his arms and pressing kisses along your jaw.
“What are you doing here?”
Bradley stops dead in his tracks. Not the question he was expecting. He pulls back, so he can see your face, but you cling to him, your fingers digging into his arms like you’re scared he’s going to turn to smoke in your arms.
“Didn’t Cyclone tell you he gave me 48-hour emergency leave and practically threw me onto a transporter headed to D.C.?” Bradley asks with a slight chuckle. “I had to pull rank on some poor private to drive me here from Anacostia-Bolling airbase—I don’t have my phone, wallet, nothing.”
You’re looking at him completely slack-jawed, blinking rapidly. Finally, the neurons in your brain start firing again.
Fucking Simpson. Figures.
“You know what?” You sigh, before smiling up at him. “Tell me another time. I’m just glad you’re really here. I need you.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Bug is born just after midnight. A healthy baby boy with all ten fingers and ten toes.
Bradley doesn’t think he’s ever been so happy to hear a baby cry. And he’s never been so goddamn proud in his life: of you, of the little life you both created, and again of you because you did all the hard work. He’s half-sitting next to you on the bed when you collapse back on the pillows behind you, and he whispers to you how much he loves you, how proud he is, and how well you did.
You open your tired eyes for a moment. “I couldn’t have done it without you.” You breathe.
“Yes, you could have, darlin’.” He counters with a smile as he wipes the fresh sweat off your forehead.
“And here’s baby boy Bradshaw!” The nurse announces happily, as she gently pulls the top of your gown down and puts the baby against your skin before covering you with the baby blanket you and Bradley bought months ago.
You feel your heart soar. So small, so warm, and finally here. You tear your eyes away from your little Bug just for a second to see Bradley’s reaction. He looks completely awestruck, tears forming in his eyes. Tears spring in your eyes too as you watch his index finger run over your son’s cheek in a feather-light touch.
“Hey Bug.” He whispers. You never felt like your life was incomplete. But in a certain way, it feels like it’s naturally more complete now than it was before, like more puzzle pieces are sliding into place around you. “I’m so glad to see you.” You add softly.
It’s hours later when you are sitting up in bed, across from your sister, sharing a pile of snacks from the vending machine. Only the bedside lamp is on. You are not only starving, but also wide awake, hyper-aware of every sound and move Bug is making. Bradley is getting some much-needed shut-eye in the recliner with Bug sleeping on his bare chest.
You honestly didn’t think you could fall in love any more with that man, but the way he is gently cradling your son in his large arms, the way he looks at him like he’s the most special little thing in the whole wide world and how he keeps repeating how you made him and how proud he is of you is honestly messing with your head in the best kind of way. You feel like you’ve fallen in love with him for the first time, over and over again today.
“So, do you think all these nurses coming to check up on you all night are here because of your fancy insurance,” Beth asks, grinning as she pops an M&M in her mouth. “Or they’re just coming to gawk at him?” She jerks her head to the side where Bradley just fell asleep.
Bug is under his blanket, sleeping on Bradley’s bare chest, his fight suit tied around his waist. The blanket that had been draped over them has fallen off one of Bradley’s shoulders, revealing his muscular chest and the subtle movement of his abdomen as he breathes.
You snort.
“Well, he’s a good-looking daddy.” You shrug as you take a sip from your Fanta.
“Jesus Christ, Darce - TMI.” Beth guffaws. You shush her, unable to keep yourself from laughing too. There is something strange about having a girl’s night with your sister in a hospital bed when you’ve given birth just hours ago. But here you are, giggling like teenagers.
Bug starts squirming and softly crying, and while you both quiet down, Bradley wakes up right away. He starts shushing and rocking Bug, who’s not having it.
“He’s probably hungry, babe.” You say, wiping your hands on a tissue before reaching out to him. Carefully Bradley places Bug in your arms.
“How are you two not tired?” He asks, rubbing his eyes. You shrug, you are too full of wonder, too full of love—and actually just way too wired—to go to sleep.
“I have a toddler.” Beth laughs as she gets up from the bed to give you some privacy. “Do you really think I’ve had a full night’s sleep in the last three years?”
“Now’s not the time to regale us with your horror stories with Emma.” You warn Beth, still laughing lightly as you try Bug to latch onto your breast. Bradley sits down close to you on the bed.
“You want anything else from the vending machine?” Beth asks from the doorway.
“Nah, we’re good.” You reply absentmindedly, still focussed on Bug.
“We’re good, right?” You ask fondly, meeting Bradley’s eyes. You’re not even really asking about the snacks anymore.
“I think we’re great.” He agrees, pressing a kiss against your forehead.
note | oh damn, it's actually really done now :( I have no more stories to tell for these two. I hope you enjoyed this adventure, and that the ending didn't disappoint! (I tell myself it had to age a bit like a wine). If you'd like to read more of my stories, I'm currently working on a WWII AU called Of All The Stars In The Sky.
taglist | @ponyboys-sunsets | @thatchickwiththecamera | @littlewhiterose | @katieshook02 | @straightforwardly | @zazzysseoul | @rororo06 | @datingbtr | @notalxx | @fresh-new-yoik-watah | @gretagerwigsmuse | @swthxrry | @joshkiskasbunion | @caelipartem | @blackbrownie | @yanak324 | @unluckymonaghan | @letusbewildflowers | @ticklish-leafy-plant | @alana4610 | @eg-dr3amer3 | @turningtoclown | @mell-bell | @mak-32 | @avis15 | @helplesslydevoted | @benhardysdrumstick | @chaoticversion | @cherrycola27 | @roosterschanelslut
#bradley rooster bradshaw#bradley bradshaw#bradley bradshaw fanfiction#bradley bradshaw x female reader#rooster bradshaw#top gun maverick#rooster fanfic#rooster top gun#rooster x oc#bradley rooster bradshaw x reader#rooster x reader#rooster x you#rooster x female reader#top gun fanfiction#bradley bradshaw imagine#bradley bradshaw x reader#rooster bradshaw x female reader#rooster bradshaw x reader
127 notes
·
View notes
Text
I've seen this article posted by others, it's pretty alright and it avoids the trap so many of these sort of essays fall into, a reductive thesis of "smartphone bad" and expands into just how dystopian the perverse incentives of "teaching to the test" have become and the fecklessness of "vibes based literacy". I just wanted to share it because this part was a real "what the fuck" moment for me:
As a college educator, I am confronted daily with the results of that conspiracy-without-conspirators. I have been teaching in small liberal arts colleges for over 15 years now, and in the past five years, it’s as though someone flipped a switch. For most of my career, I assigned around 30 pages of reading per class meeting as a baseline expectation—sometimes scaling up for purely expository readings or pulling back for more difficult texts. (No human being can read 30 pages of Hegel in one sitting, for example.) Now students are intimidated by anything over 10 pages and seem to walk away from readings of as little as 20 pages with no real understanding. Even smart and motivated students struggle to do more with written texts than extract decontextualized take-aways. Considerable class time is taken up simply establishing what happened in a story or the basic steps of an argument—skills I used to be able to take for granted.
This is absolutely wild to me. Completely alien and opposite to what my experience in undergraduate was like. Here are excerpts from a syllabus for a class I took in 2014:
There are between eighty and one hundred fifty pages of reading here each week. I don't have the actual syllabus on hand (it's in a file-box in a closet at my parents) but here's the reading for a class I took the year before:
We read the entirety of these books. Well over 1750 pages of reading in eleven weeks, or roughly 160 pages a week. This was one class, and I had reading in Greek and Latin to do on top of all that. This was undergraduate level.
Now I know that Classics isn't a field you go into unless you're insane, and it's generally more intense than other humanities majors but things can't have gotten so bad that ten pages is considered intimidating, can they? Jesus, maybe it's a good thing I became too disabled to stay in academia.
13 notes
·
View notes
Note
got inspired by the awesome dilf post, so please: la squadra as milfs???
I'M SOBBING, here we go I guess!! I'm dialing this one to eleven!!
Risotto: She's giant in every way so everyone else appears quite small next to her. She's usually in the kitchen or her kitchen garden, picking fruit from her trees without needing so much as a stool to reach most of them. Rumor has it she once slapped a wild bear in the face with her chancla to defend her family, and if asked about it, she will modestly look away and murmur, "Anyone else would have done the same." (The bear never came back, by the way.)
Formaggio: You can tell she used to be a hardcore punk: she still sports a buzz cut, with red lipstick and golden hoop earrings to add some bright colors. She's top heavy and proud of it, so she makes sure to show ample cleavage and likes to wear leather jackets. She loves to go out and constantly organizes outings for her friends and family; has never missed an event, and has never left an event without drinking something. A dangerous flirt.
Prosciutto: She's extremely overcommitted, and how she hasn't gone insane yet from micromanaging everything from work to her entire family's smallest concerns is a mystery. Her children are still affected by her leaning in and papping their cheeks, and the impression is even stronger on covetous strangers. Only ever lets her curly hair down for evening parties, at which point she basically transforms into into a femme fatale. Pegs like a battering ram.
Pesci: Always overcome by severe gender dysphoria whenever she compares herself to her more feminine peers, but she makes do with cute and novel ways of styling her scant hair, nice patterned tops and trouser skirts. She's often shy, but sometimes has her bold moments that suggest she could be a real firecracker if properly encouraged. Does a lot of heavy lifting that reveals ridiculous core strength and flexibility. Loves dancing and rhythm games.
Ghiaccio: The only one in yoga class who wishes you were allowed to scream out loud, and the only parent who, if their child takes up a sport, will take up that sport herself both as a form of support and as a means of bonding with her child and people her age. Is a health freak and makes kale smoothies, but since her legs look great in tight pants and her tits are rock hard, she's clearly winning. Has probably never had an orgasm, so there's a good challenge.
Melone: How is she still alive, and why does she still look like a barely aged scene girl? Nobody knows, not even her, but she's happy to lounge on her designated bean bag chair in cute pajamas and her laptop always on. Be careful around her: her brain is oversaturated with niche Wikipedia articles and she'll tell you all about them as soon as you're near enough to hear, and you might in ten minutes find yourself painting her toenails while she's reading your horoscope.
Illuso: Oh, she is the ultimate Karen. Luscious hair styles, immaculate manicures, the latest mom fashions, and a holier-than-thou smirk that instantly makes the manager homicidal. Knows her coupons and discounts more than the Bible but she's dressed to the nines every Sunday flashing that mass stipend to let everyone know she's more generous of heart than they could ever be, then whines at the barista about her order. Teases her children mercilessly.
Sorbet: That one esoteric plant witch who loves her orchids more than her own children, and would become a certified hermit if she could. Since she's stuck with her family, however, she stalks around her home like she's embodying Morticia Addams, and talks to everyone in a dry and ominous tone. Watches too many murder mysteries and cooks mushroom stew right after. You are welcome to indulge her obscure opera obsession, but watch out.
Gelato: The whimsical happy-go lucky mom that every fanciful child dreams of, the type who builds blanket forts in the living room, thinks that everyone deserves a little treat always, and actively assists whenever anyone around her wants to try something new and possibly dangerous. Has nearly burned down her house a dozen times but she keeps toasting marshmallows in bed with a blowtorch. Hope you have insurance if you decide to engage.
#jjba#la squadra#risotto nero#formaggio#prosciutto#pesci#ghiaccio#melone#illuso#sorbet#gelato#squadrah headcanons#squadrah original#still crying at this ask i hope yall like it!!!
32 notes
·
View notes
Note
i actually don't play disney magic kingdoms myself, it's just not really my type of game, but i've seen some gameplay of it and read a lot of the little dialogue from it online and it's always seemed really charming and cute! so it really is too bad we might never get to see tarzan characters added to it. i do play disney dreamlight valley on the switch, which is sort of a life sim game like animal crossing but with disney/pixar characters all living together, and a lot more of a story to it with quests you get to do for everyone. it's a lot newer and doesn't have nearly as many characters in it, but a recent update added a jungle biome that would've been perfect for tarzan and jane. i know they'll probably never be added, but if they were then they could live together in the treehouse and we could see how tarzan would feel about living in the valley among so many other humans! there would be so many new things that jane could teach him about.
i recently started collecting lorcana cards after seeing one of rapunzel wearing a green dress, which i found really cool because that was what she had in so much of her concept art! i was also pretty excited to be able to get cards from the emperor's new groove, the great mouse detective, treasure planet, and hercules. i bet they could make some beautiful cards for tarzan... but yeah, that copyright issue is incredibly frustrating. some of my favorite movies may be a bit overlooked or underrepresented by disney, but at least they don't have the legal problem that tarzan has.
i guess with once upon a studio they must've wanted to really go all out to make sure every single walt disney animation studios feature could be included! i'm grateful they did, because it would've been a huge shame to see tarzan not even allowed into the special 100th anniversary short. the new movie "wish" also has a tribute to past WDAS films during the credits, where gold-colored drawings of characters from each movie appeared across the screen in chronological order. strangely they actually left out a handful of movies including the black cauldron, but they did include tarzan!
also, i'm sure you already knew about this haha, but just the other day i came across an article from a few years ago where several of the people who worked on tarzan were interviewed and talked about the production. and i learned for the first time that it was originally planned as a direct-to-video movie which would stick closer to the source material with tarzan going to england. i'm obviously very glad that that didn't happen and we got the movie we have now instead.
-🌟
Sorry, was out of town for the weekend visiting family.
That's fair about Magic Kingdoms not being your type of game. I think the only real reason I play it is because it's something I can play casually and more of less keep up with, with out it taking too much time.
What I've seen of Dreamlight Valley looks like so much fun! And that would be amazing to see Tarzan and Jane in that game. Probably will never happen, but we can dream!
Ooo, I haven't seen that Rapunzel one, will have to look it up. I've always loved the concept art. So insane to think there's actually even Treasure Planet art in them!!!
Sadly we may never get Tarzan in Lorcana, but I found this artist during the Disemeber challenge on instagram, and he's actually done art for Lorcana. Looks like it was just the one card, Chief Bogo (which he's posted if you go though his stuff). May not be official, but at least here's a Christmas themed idea of what could be if they included Tarzan
instagram
OMG, I never expected any reference to Tarzan in Wish!! I haven't seen it yet (live in a small town, starting to think we may not even get it in our theatre), but now I'm even more excited to see it!
Oh wow, I actually didn't know that! That's so interesting (definitely so grateful they didn't go that route though). Would have been interesting to see how close Disney would get to the source material… don't know if you've ever read the books, but there's a lot of not so family friendly stuff. Also would have been such a waste, given the quality of D2V animation, would have been such a shame to only get Tarzan & Jane quality animation.
7 notes
·
View notes
Text
A discussion on ableism in AI: The Somnium Files
Happy Disability Pride Month! I hope everyone's July is starting out well, despite the loud fireworks of the fourth.
For this month i thought it would be fitting to discuss a major problem in the game AI: The Somnium Files: ableism. There will be major spoilers for the game's plot described, and there will be one singular mention of Nirvana Initiative that isn't really a spoiler but I'm just putting a warning here. The reason there's only one mention of it is because I have not finished that game yet, and don't even know if it has any ableism in it. Working on that while writing this post, actually.
Don't get me wrong, I love this game a lot, but obviously everything has its issues, and you've gotta be critical of that. That's the whole reason I'm making this post- so people can learn to be aware of this so they can avoid being ableist themselves, and understand the issues behind it.
I very strongly encourage abled fans to reblog. Even if you know all of this, I want more people to hear.
First of all, the usage of psychopathy(and other similar terms) in a derogatory way. Countless times the game refers to the culprit of the New Cyclops Serial Killings as a psychopath. I do not experience psychosis myself, but I have studied a bit before making this post (reading various articles written by people who have been diagnosed with psychosis) Not only that, but by now it should be wildly known that calling people psychotic when they are acting "crazy" or "insane" is very ableist, even if you don't experience it yourself.
Unrelated to anything that happens in AITSF, but this can also be said for bipolar disorder and OCD when it comes to talking about yourself when you do something unrelated to it at all, and more aligned with the stereotypes of said disorder. For example, saying "im so bipolar haha" in response to a "sudden" change in how you're feeling, or "omg it triggers my ocd!!" when you see something terribly unorganized, something Most People Hate To See, OCD diagnosis or not.
The rest, and majority of the post is under a read more. This is a final warning for major plot spoilers, as the true culprit of the New Cyclops Serial Killings will be namedropped, and talked about in-depth, as well as other major spoilers, including the biggest plot twist in the game.
Key points, parentheses, and the beginnings of paragraphs will be in bold to make it hopefully a bit easier to read.
Back on topic, the treatment of Saito is odd- especially when Date doesn't have any of this happen to him- y'know, being in Saito's body. It is implied in the bad end of annihilation route that Date does reach this "reward system" of killing people for pleasure, but it's still odd. Would Date not have, I don't know, killed a bug or something and then been like Oh shit. Because clearly even though Aiba supplies oxytocin for Date, the implications in that bad ending still happen. It's also odd that within the time he went without Aiba before she was created, that he was fine. Though since most of this relies on a loose implication, I won't stay focused on it for that long. So, I'll move on.
Saito being called a psychopath is especially worrying considering the reason he is called this is because of a physical brain disability. This part I can actually speak from my own experience, as I am missing my own pituitary gland. I have a health condition called Panhypopituitarism. It can be shortened to Panhypopit, or PHP. You can study it more if you'd like, if not, here's a short definition from a google search: "A rare condition in which the pituitary gland stops making most or all hormones."
It is so rare, when typing the condition's name in it gives it a red squiggly line, implying I either misspelled or typed in a word that doesn't exist! And for the nerds out there, specifically about 4 in 100,000 people are diagnosed with it in a year. For a somewhat silly comparison, the chance of having Panhypopituitarism is lower than the chance of getting a shiny Pokemon. (meaning i can have a pokesona that's shiny for an actual reason other than "shinies are cool, idc if they're rare" /j)
People can have this condition at birth, or if the gland is damaged at all throughout their life. I was born with my pituitary gland LITERALLY MISSING. The doctors couldn't find it. And since this condition is rare, it is a very hard condition to deal with. I will not go into too much detail, but I have had a doctor for most of my life who clearly didn't know what he was doing in relation to the condition, and that affected my life in more ways than one. Not only that, but some people suffer from it more than others. It depends on how severe the case is.
In Saito's case, his body cannot properly produce oxytocin. I don't know the specifics of everything the pituitary gland is supposed to secrete and produce but I can tell you I have it from somewhere else in my body because I do not take medicine to supply it, and I frequently experience feelings of love and comfort and trust and????? You get it. I do have depression, which might be because of this?? But like, I still fucking feel love and shit. Most importantly though.
I do not have an urge to kill things so I can experience love and joy. I do not have an inability to feel love.
As someone with such a rare condition, I've NEVER found any representation for Panhypopit before. I'm not too surprised or sad about it, but when the only time a character DOES have something similar to it, it's extremely unrealistic, it causes them to only feel love when murdering, and they're called a psychopath for it, I'm obviously gonna be a bit upset.
When Pewter deliberately explained Saito's brain dysfunction that I can relate to in such a harrowing way; describing that because of said dysfunction he can only feel pleasure by killing things, I felt very distraught. At the time though, friends around joked about it, saying "haha, just like Memo!" Because I was young and ignorant, and a kid who very much depended on others to seem normal and find interests, I nodded along, and started laughing too, ignoring i was distressed about the scene at all.
Later on though, when my group of friends changed drastically because I didn't want to talk to people who are now ex-friends (for reasons you can probably guess, lmao), a different friend happened to start playing AITSF.
I was very excited, because like I said, it was one of my favorite games, and one of the only instances of bodyswaps that didn't trigger me (i know this is a silly trigger, and its silly that there are exceptions, but thats just how my brain works, and also its disability pride month so you cant be mean to me /hj) and I love to talk about my interests with others, whether I'm currently hyperfixating on them or not.
When said friend, who I'll call S from now on (hi S if you're reading this. leaving you in the anonymity zone out of my own choice actually which is why i didnt ask you if you wanted me to mention you by name or not) finished AITSF, and started thinking about everything, connecting everything, y'know, the usual process after you finish a Uchikoshi game, we ended up talking about Saito's problems. I mentioned my ex-friends said that, and he made me realize, Hey. That Was Fucked Up, Actually.
In general, I never really considered it ableist until he mentioned it. Which is kinda why I'm making this post- so people CAN know that these things are ableist. People should be aware that doing things like what my old friends did- no matter the commonness or rarity of the disability in the scenario, is ableist. Specifically the parts where they didn't acknowledge the ableism of giving the disability to the villain, and instead began to compare said villain (who fucking MURDERS PEOPLE) to someone they knew that had the same, or similar disability.
Sorry for the long portion about Panhypopit, I meant it. Seriously, I'm betting everyone reading this except for my friends had no idea it existed, so of course I'm gonna explain it in detail so they do know. Anyway, let's move on from Saito.
(ID in alt text)
WHAT IS THIS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Hitomi Sagan, as we all know AS IT IS LITERALLY A HUGE PLOT POINT, is shot in the right shoulder, which paralyzes that arm.
Paralyzes.
WHY IS IT MOVING.
Now, yes, perhaps this was an oversight, but there's also the possibility they didn't want to change the animation just a bit just for one character. I don't know the complications of just.. yknow, making the arm stay still, but either way, it's still fucked up.
If it was this hard, though, why not omit her from the scene entirely? Or even just, don't have her dance? Mayumi is seen standing still next to Ota during his segment of the song, why not Hitomi? It's possible I'm just being very nitpicky, but I feel like this could have easily been avoided. You could say perhaps she got surgery the same way Iris did to help her arm, but wouldn't that have been mentioned as well? And if it for some reason wasn't, we visit the Sagan Residence in the epilogue. Her arm is still paralyzed. There's no reason for her to hide she had surgery done. In fact, wouldn't she tell Date as soon as possible? Tell him not to worry he shot her cause it's alright now? But that wouldn't matter anyway- her arm is still paralyzed even in AITSF nirvanA Initiative.
Well I don't know. That one I'm not as upset about as... [gesturing] Saito. But, as bad as Saito is, the game does have other disabled characters that aren't treated as badly. Say, Iris's brain condition, or Mayumi's dementia. But that still doesn't make up for how badly Saito was handled. That'll be it, really. Can't think of anything else on this specific topic. If you wanna add on at all please feel free! I could've missed something, or not have explained stuff that well.
Happy Disability Pride Month!
#aitsf#ai the somnium files#aitsf spoilers#memo's ted talk#ai: the somnium files#ai:tsf#long post#sorry if i misworded anything#i feel kinda embarrassed posting this cause its so long but like. sometimes you gotta say fuck it I Guess.#saito sejima#hitomi sagan#man idfk what to put in the tags#posting this and dying
134 notes
·
View notes
Text
Just finished rewatching SMG4 What-if? and now im having feelings
aka Fuzzy Meggy au based on that fucked up Fuzzy Desti au @duckapus made where Mr. Grizz found Desti's body in the ocean and decided to do the trial runs for the fuzzy ooze which brought her back to life but fucked her up BIG TIME but like its Meggy instead (here)
(Long post ahead)
a few things before I start explaining away
Since Meggy's death each member of the gang have started wearing an article of orange in they're usually outfits (Saiko's twin tail ribbons are orange, Tari has an orange arm band on her hoodie, Mario has an orange Inkling patch stitched onto his overalls etc.) as a way to commemorate her
The three pieces of Meggy's head gear went to Luigi (beanie), Mario (headphones) and Tari (goggles) all three of them guard these pieces with they're lives
So many people blame themselves for Meggy's death that it can give someone chronic depression (read: me) but here's a few people of note
Axol: Despite the reassurances of the gang (including that of Desti's) Axol deeply blames himself for not knowing that Francis had made another Sephiroth and being able to erase it before it went and killed someone
Paige: Since their older sisters death they have double down on being the NSS's Captain and have worked harder than ever before much to the other agent's worry and concern, they have sever survivor's guilt an a guilt complex and as much as the other agents and cuttle fish try to help they either outright refuse or avoid them however that may change soon during the NSS's exploration of the ancient human settlement known as Altera
Tari: having lost her best friend and in the throws of grief she decided to learn to be stronger earlier than in canon with the help of Saiko surprisingly out of everyone she seems to have gotten a control over her grief, she still deeply wishes Meggy were still here with them but she knows that's not possible however she's been having strange dreams lately of her late friend but surely those are just that, dreams... Or are they?
Luigi: Since Meggy's death he has learned to not be as much of a scaredy cat and to pull his weight around in the team he still deeply misses her but he also acts as a rock for whenever the grief of the others gets too much for them, Especially for Mario however he like the others misses her greatly and often tries to 'think like Meggy' as he puts it when stuck in a pickle
Mario: Out of everyone he has the most grief over the lost of his best friend and sister, because of this it was like a switch was flipped and now he acts more subdued and not as chaotic (think of him as a mix between his memey self and pre-smg4 self) (which deeply disturbs everyone, even Peach surprisingly enough) however he is still the Avatar of the universe so he still gets dragged into insane adventures because of it only with a more subdued attitude and more responsible and smart (again deeply disturbs everyone) he often wonders that if he didn't instigate the anime challenge would none of this have happened? Luigi tries to assist him in processing the grief and guilt and help with his depression but it doesn't seem to be quite working
Desti: she is currently on the hunt for Sephiroths head and to get revenge so she has too much anger right now to process her guilt and grief which can rival even Mario's if not surpass it
Peach: since the fiasco of the anime arc Peach has become more thoughtful to others and careful in her decisions regarding Mario's antics and feels responsible for this mess having happened (she WAS the one responsible placing the ban in the first place) she acts much like her canon self here, everyone has mixed feelings over her however, Saiko especially who personally blames Peach for what she sees as causing the death of her friend Saiko hasn't really expressed this as not to aggravate the others but Peach sorta knows with how often Saiko shoots the Stink Eye at her
And that's about it now onto the au itself
During Splatoon 3's story mode (or at least this universe's version of it) the NSS find themselves stalked by a cat-like creature covered in scars and brown fur
(honestly they wouldn't really have noticed if not for Captain 3 halting everyone from moving pointing out that they were being watched by something and ironically enough the thing showed itself) shockingly though it began to smother Captain 3 with affection and purring like crazy much to Paige's annoyance and confusion and Callie and Marie's amusement
Callie: hehehe, it looks like it likes you captain
Paige being smothered with affection furiously by a purring cat creature: I am aware of that agent 1- HEY NO LICKING!!
Anyways now the NSS has this weird ass cat thing that's very clingy to their captain (the amount of black mail Andi has now is insane) and seems to have grown a liking to Andi as well ironically enough and ends up helping in the space battle quite a lot
Meanwhile as this is happening harbor and 8 end up helping Desti who was on the back ropes to defeat Sephiroth (much to her reluctance and stubbornness) and ends up taking her back to homebase cause 1. Cuttlefish were worried sick about her and 2. They ain't letting her disappear for several months again and it's here where they find out about the giant cat monster thing that the NSS have came to call Fuzzball instead of Subject 001 (which was the codename Mr. Grizz gave her) who takes an extreme liking to Desti MUCH to her confusion
Desti being cuddled to death by Fuzzball: what the fu-
Paige covered in orangey brown fur: you get used to it
Anyways something something the NSS and the smg4 crew have they're monthly meet up with a giant fuzzy cat thing in tow and because of E. Gadd shenanigans they find out that Fuzzball is actually Meggy *insert moment of disbelief and tear it filled moment here along with a bunch of reactions*
So anyways thanks to a combination of E. Gadd, the NSS, some help from Marina's memeverse and memery fuckery cause why tf not, they are able to find a cure for fuzzification for both the affected octarians and Meggy
But because of how long she's been trapped in Grizzco. and how long she's been experimented they weren't able to cure her all the way so now she's a cat bear squid human thing but that's just fine by the gang because they'll always love Meggy no matter what and BOY did they miss her
Bonus Megdesti:
#what-if fuzz au#fuzzy meggy au#fuzzy meggy#meggy smg4#meggy spletzer#smg4 mario#smg4 luigi#smg4 tari#smg4 desti#the anime arc#smg4 what if#the glitchy gang#mr. grizz#fuzzy ooze#grizzco#paige spletzer#new squidbeak splatoon#andi finn#megdesti#meggy x desti#desti x meggy
6 notes
·
View notes
Text
About Me
This is my feminism sideblog. I have always been a feminist although there have definitely been times where I had feminist awakenings by discovering just how evil men are. I was raised by conservative Christian parents. My mother was a stay at home mother and loved criticising other women for not doing that, for working instead of taking care of their children. Even as a child I thought she was insane and sexist. I saw that women couldn't live lives the way men could if they had children. At dinner we would all sit in silence while my father monologued about his day at work and whatever else he wanted to talk about.
My first feminist awakening was reading the Bible when I was about 19 and 20. There was so much woman hating in there that I just couldn't take it anymore. Non Christians may know about the Ten Commandments given to Moses, but they are just a small section of many rules. One of the rules was that if a woman is raped and she is not married, she must marry her rapist. (May update this later when I can be bothered to find it.) I saw then that men do not see rape as assault, but theft of another man's property. The Bible is split into two sections. The Old Testament, which is before Jesus, and the New Testament, during and after Jesus. Christians tend to worship the New Testament and pick and choose which bits of the Old Testament they want to follow, which I never understood. For example, they will agree with the bits that condemn homosexuality, but when presented with stuff like "marry your rapist", they will say, yeah, that's bad, but don't worry, you don't have to do that anymore. I didn't understand why they were picking and choosing which rules to follow. As a Christian, I thought shouldn't we follow all the rules? But I didn't agree with the rules, or with Christians picking and choosing their own rules, so I stopped being a Christian.
My second was joining tumblr and seeing the misogyny of the trans rights movement. I'm straight, and I wanted to be a good ally to LGBT people, so at first I just thought it was fine, everyone has the right to respect. But I soon found out just how insane they were. My "peak trans" moment was reading this article in buzzfeed about the author Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie. She was asked in an interview about trans women, and I saw nothing wrong with her response. Reading the article I realised that transgender people don't live in the world of reality. I learned that trans women really believe they are actually women, and to say that they were once men is not only wrong, but hate speech. I didn't understand this at all. Surely that's why they were trans women? Also, annoying sjw (for lack of a better phrase) types on the internet love to bang on about intersectional feminism, demonizing the straight white man, and supporting people with marginalized identities, the more marginalized, the better. Yet here was a black women talking about feminism, and hordes of white men (I refused to see them as women anymore) were telling her to shut up. I saw how fake people who bang on about straight white men really are. She didn't say anything offensive, but they were acting like she'd called for their extinction. It didn't make sense.
After that I started following feminist blogs on tumblr. Most of them were lesbians, and I discovered that not only was the trans movement sexist, but it was also homophobic. I tried reblogging their posts, because hey, people on tumblr hate homophobia, right? They love gay people? Wrong. I couldn't believe how many people blocked and unfollowed me for suggesting that lesbians shouldn't have to be attracted to trans women. Eventually I got tired and deleted tumblr. I have a new fandom blog now, completely free of any feminism. I decided to start a feminism blog to post any thoughts I have. I reblog other people's posts at https://www.tumblr.com/blog/snow-and-shadow-fairy-archive.
I believe that sex is the most important part of feminism. Men want sex from women. They want women to be sexually available at all times. Pornography and prostitution abolition should be the main focus of feminism. Women not having to have sex with men if they don't want to should be the main focus of feminism.
Feminists who love to talk about intersectional feminsim love talking about race but never talk about sexuality. Lesbians face the most discrimination due to not wanting to have sex with men. I always knew how creepy men were about lesbians but finding out about the trans rights movement and hearing the phrase "cotton ceiling" really disgusted me even more. It's really sad that "intersectional" feminists don't talk about the intersection of sexism and homophobia. The right pretend that it is only disadvantaged men who assault women. Meanwhile the left pretends that it is only advantaged men who assault women, and do not care when disadvantaged men do it. It's disgusting to see the left completely ignore the misogyny, homophobia and lesbophobia of the trans movement.
Even though I am attracted to men I have never been in a relationship with one and never will. I am genuinely scared of men. I can't even imagine loving one. I'm happy being single. I was delighted when I found out about the South Korean 4B movement. I think that's exactly what women need everywhere.
2 notes
·
View notes
Text
In an article titled “Joe Biden Risks A Major Middle East War If He Makes The Wrong Choices,” The Huffington Post cites anonymous US officials who fear the careless and chaotic behavior of their commander-in-chief is going to embroil the US in a hot war between Israel and Lebanon.
HuffPost’s Akbar Shahid Ahmed writes the following:
“American officials say the Biden administration is not doing all it can to reduce tensions, despite public commitments from senior officials to avoid a regional blow-up.
“ ‘I’ve been trying to keep an avalanche from falling on Lebanon and so have a lot of people,’ one official told HuffPost, saying many national security personnel fear unchecked U.S. support for Israel will make it overly confident about expanding operations into Lebanon. ‘The problem is no one can rein in Biden, and if Biden has a policy, he’s the commander-in-chief ― we have to carry it out. That’s what it comes down to, very, very, very unfortunately.’ ”
Listening to the way people on the inside have been talking about Biden’s bull-in-a-China-shop behavior regarding middle east policy lately, one can’t help being reminded of the way the liberal press used to talk about the erratic and irresponsible behavior of Donald Trump when he was in office. The mood and tone feels like when Trump was exchanging verbal hostilities with North Korea in the first year of his term, which comedian John Mulaney famously likened to the disorder and discomfort of having a horse loose in the hospital.
We’re all just standing here praying that this lunatic doesn’t ignite yet another horrific war in the middle east while watching him unapologetically sponsor a genocide in Gaza, and we’re still a ways off from emerging safely from the world-threatening nuclear brinkmanship his administration dragged everyone into with Russia in Ukraine. And it’s hard not to notice that this all sure looks an awful lot like what liberals were terrified would happen when Trump got into office.
The lead-up to Trump winning the 2016 election and taking office was rife with some of the most vitriolic and emotionally intense rhetoric in the history of American politics, featuring frequent fears that Trump would start a nuclear war, that minorities would be fleeing in terror from violent persecution, that he’d be another Hitler and launch another holocaust, that he’d facilitate ethnic persecution and racist attacks.
In the end Trump turned out to be a fairly standard evil Republican president. He sanctioned Venezuelans into starvation, vetoed attempts to save Yemen from the US-backed atrocities of Saudi Arabia, assassinated Iranian general Qassem Soleimani, imprisoned Julian Assange, and, despite the incredibly virulent mass delusion that he was a secret agent of Moscow, spent his entire term ramping up cold war hostilities against Russia with extreme aggression.
All of which were monstrous. But none of those crimes rise to the level of single-handedly facilitating a genocide in Gaza or taking the world closer to nuclear war than at any time since the Cuban Missile Crisis with his peace-killing efforts in Ukraine.
Biden has turned out to be everything we were warned Trump would be: a genocidal monster fueling racist violence and crimes against humanity while imperiling the world with insanely reckless foreign policy decisions.
None of this is to suggest that Trump would have handled Gaza any differently than Biden, or even that he’d have handled Ukraine any differently. It’s likely that the main reason Biden’s administration has been more warlike than Trump’s is by sheer timing and coincidence; the US empire tends to trudge onward in more or less the same direction regardless of who’s in office, with wars occurring not because of who happens to be president in any given instance but because of whatever the empire’s needs happen to be at that time.
The lesson of Joe Biden’s depravity is not that it would be better to have Donald Trump in the White House, it’s that it doesn’t matter which one gets in, because only murderous monsters are allowed to play that role in the management of the US-centralized empire. The globe-spanning power structure which loosely revolves around Washington is held together by nonstop violence and abuse, and nobody who isn’t willing to inflict copious amounts of violence and abuse on human beings around the world will ever make it past the gatekeeping measures that have been placed between that office and the illusion of democracy that the American people have been deceived into believing is real.
The atrocities will continue for as long as that empire exists. Humanity won’t ever have a chance at a healthy and peaceful world until that world is freed from the tyranny of a planet-dominating power structure that is fueled by human blood.
3 notes
·
View notes
Text
2022 book wrap up
I got a couple messages about what i was reading in 2022 and thought the Storygraph Wrap up feature might be a good chance to post about it.
If anyone is interested in adding me on storygraph, my account username is socialfauxpas
I read a total 36 books and graphic novels this year! I was aiming to read 22 books in 2022 and overshot that goal. Most of the graphic novels were re-reads of Saga catching up for the new issues this year (i am completely caught up as of yesterday). And yes Harrow the ninth is on here twice, i read it twice this year. Also nothing but love for Martha Wells's Murder bot diaries those six books slay.
I'll post some detailed thoughts about my 5 star reads under the cut below.
My 5 Star Reads
Last night at the Telegraph Club by Malinda Lo
Listed under books that made me lose my mind. I read this in January 2022 and its discussions of discovering and belonging to queer community and acceptance of butchness had me legit sobbing at times. And all that is being paralleled with 1950's Red-Scare paranoia ! Malinda Lo was insane for this and I recommenced it to everyone interested in historical queer fiction because it has been rattling around my head for literally a year.
The Starless Sea By Erin Morgenstern
I Love Erin Morgenstern, her novel the Night Circus is one of my all-time favourite love stories ever. Starless sea is a banger too. It comes out swinging with her beautiful prose fantastic protagonists and a novel about the nature of stories and storytellers? Insane. Her wold building and interweaving of timelines is so incredible. I also listened to this as an audio book and the reader was so good at the different characters voices and delivery of the stories it really added a lot of depth to an already rich story.
The Priory of the Orange Tree By Samantha Shannon
Talk about a win for the High fantasy gays, this ones got it all. Dragons, romance, magic, RICH world building. It's what i wish game of thrones was-> a entire cast of characters and interconnected storylines across continents that 1) made sense to its own story and 2) no homophobia lol. I literally couldn't put this brick of a 850+ page novel down and read it in exactly 10 days according to storygrpah.
The Unbroken by C.L. Clark
The review on the cover says something like" this book wil grab you by the collar, break your heart over its knee, then mend it" and Yeah.jpeg. It does that. I love Touraine and Luca, their dynamic is incredible. Adele voice "Its about the devotion babes, devotion".I found this book through a Tordotcom article about The Butch Martyr in SFF, where it talked about 2 of my other favourite queer fantasy series (Gideon the Ninth and The Traitor Baru Cormorant) and i figured anything that is mentioned in the same breath as those two must be a banger, and BOy howdy is it. And ill tell you if i had nickle for every book I've read that features heavy themes of colonialism, of dealing with the grief of a love lost, and loving a culture that will never see you as one of its own, id have about 15cents. Which isn't a lot but it was the hot new trend for books i read in 2022 (2021 was lobotomy).
She Who Became the Sun by Shelly Parker-Chan
Another one i could not put down. I listened to this one as an audio book as well and i was plugged the fuck in. Absolute banger of historical fiction and an incredible GNC protagonist. I feel like ive seen this book mentioned a lot along side Xiran Jay Zhao's Iron Widow (which i also read and liked a lot this year) because these authors have taken real people from Chinese history are playing around with them like dolls. But the way this book talked about fate and how the life you live is an active choice really hit. And talk about a book that is gender, JESUS. You know how sometimes you read something and you can just tell it was written by someone who GETS it, Shelly Parker-Chan gets gender in a way that i haven't seen in a long time.
Nona the Ninth by Tamsyn Muir
Can't talk about books that are so gender without talking about Nona. Yall know my love for the locked tomb series and this torch is still being carried. I've been thinking about the "It’s finished, it’s done. You can’t take loved away." line for uhhhhhh 5 months straight. I can not say enough good things about this series, I could talk about it for literally years (and i have).
#my posts#books#nona the ninth#the priory of the orange tree#she who became the sun#the unbroken#the starless sea#last night at the telegraph club
12 notes
·
View notes
Last Seen Blogs
terceirapessoaposts-blog
Terceira Pessoa
amandaswork
creative chaos
chogisss
“all is well”
iblamejordan
I BLAME JORDAN
freethingartisan-blog
drawingdrems