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meditativedeer · 4 months

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winter rules

late for this one but the hard half of winter is staring me in the face and I need these for myself.

write. clear all the shit from your desk and write like you're an insane tortured playwright because you are.

stay up late and sleep in when you want to.

wake up early and sit on the porch with a coffee and observe the morning mist and coldness. the solid chill of the concrete beneath your ass will ground you. wear the slippers Santa brought.

go on a run and don't worry about endurance. walk to warm up then sprint as if you're being chased by a bear/dinosaur/demented serial killer until you can't anymore. walk for a bit then do it again. so much more fun than jogging.

cold sea swim with friends because now you have friends that actually want to do it with you so never ever ever take that for granted. that's special.

wear all black and enjoy the contrast of your hair. feel like an elegant and mysterious student.

relearn German. yes on duolingo but also get romantic with it. handwrite, watch German movies, sing along to German music and listen to podcasts.

conserve your energy. you don't have to be talkative if you don't want to be, just make sure to be kind anyway.

wear soft jumpers and big jeans. mess with your hair all the time.

flirt boldly with the women in your dating apps, to celebrate being comfortable in your sexuality at last. and the practice is useful.

read scripts online. there's so many and they're all free.

go on walks and enjoy having to wear four layers and a scarf and gloves and hat. doesn't happen all year round.

when on these walks, pay attention to the heavy clouds and cool tones of the trees. listen to bon iver. look at the clouds of breath you can create.

when home from said walk, make a ritual out of peeling off each layer, putting your slippers on, making a hot drink and putting the tv on.

mothering is on hold grandmothering is taking over.

stretch so your body doesn't turn brittle from the cold.

mulled wine and cider isn't just for Christmas make that shit at home we all need it.

keep the Christmas lights up for as long as you want.

go to tk maxx with your mum. get some cheap shit and try not to argue too much

let yourself have little luxuries. I work in a coffee shop but I ordered a pour over kit so I can make my own fancy coffee at home.

you don't have to go clubbing if you don't want to. you don't have to drink if you don't want to. you don't actually have to do anything you don't want to do, you must follow your hearts desire.

with that in mind, don't let seasonal depression convince you that you don't want to see your friends. you do.

yes comfort food is necessary at this time of year but try to find comfort in hot soups and baked salads and oatmeal and fruit because your body needs good whole foods so you have the energy to get out of bed in the morning and don't want to throw yourself out of the window.

meditate in the shower

yes listen to music dance and boogie

silence is also good sometimes you need to turn off every device and go and do something simple with your brain

fill up the sink with water and ice cubes and stick your face in it for an instant hit of dopamine. one of many ways to hack into your happy hormones.

another, less fun way, is to do the dishes or change your bedsheets. make a game out of it because you'll be happy when it's done.

read poetry get real pretentious with it oh yeah baby I love u

everything will be so much more than fine everything is here just for you don't be afraid.

#web weaving #writing #love #poetry #wlw #writers and poets #poem #meditation #love poem #sotce #list #wintering

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shit1975 · 1 year

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all men do is lie

#matty healy #the 1975 #adam hann #george daniel #matty the 1975 #ross mcdonald #the1975 #wintering

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octobersociety · 1 year

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I’m totally down with this, but try getting the World of Work to go along with it.

#wintering #hibernate #winter

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lovingsylvia · 1 year

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The bees are flying. They taste the spring.

Sylvia Plath, from “Wintering”, 9 October 1962

#sylvia plath #the bee poems #sylviaplath #wintering #sylvia plath quotes #sylvia plath poems #ariel: the restored edition #poetry #bees

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awkwardstandinglewiskennedy · 1 year

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Being Funny in a Foreign Language - A Summary

The 1975: Evidence in LCD Soundsystem's copyright suit against The 1975

Happiness: Nominative determinism. The title is how I feel when I listen to the song

Looking For Somebody (To Love): Move over Pumped Up Kicks, there's a new absolute banger about school shootings in town

Part of the Band: Please listen to Japanese Breakfast she's fucking great

Oh Caroline: Closest to contemporary pop they've ever come. Anyone could have released this, and yet they've still nailed it

I'm In Love With You: Everywhere - Fleetwood Mac (2022 Version)

All I Need To Hear: This isn't half as cutesy as it initially appears. If most of the songs on here are about one relationship, this is the point where it starts to go wrong

Wintering: The best Christmas song released in the last 15 years

Human Too: "Maybe I'm an idiot, but maybe you are too"

About You: Shoegaze lullaby about a long forgotten love. This genuinely makes me feel like I'm floating

When We Are Together: Cows wearing sweaters. Oh, and the relationship is over now.

#the 1975 #being funny in a foreign language #bfiafl #matty healy #adam hann #george daniel #ross mcdonald #truman black #bedford danes #happiness #looking for somebody (to love)#part of the band #oh caroline #i'm in love with you #all i need to hear #wintering #human too #about you #when we are together

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freshlybrewedbookreviews · 1 year

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Life meanders like a path through the woods. We have seasons when we flourish and seasons when the leaves fall from us, revealing our bare bones. Given time, they grow again.

Katherine May (Wintering)

#Wintering #Katherine May

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godzilla-reads · 1 year

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I have definitely been there; the horrible ordeal of being exhausted after small activities and feeling like you need to explain yourself for just existing.

📖 Wintering: The Power of Rest and Retreat in Difficult Times by Katherine May

#godzilla reads #wintering #Katherine May #book excerpts #book quotes #the power of rest and retreat in difficult times #reading #reads #bookworm #bookish #book blog #quotes #booklover #bibliophile

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silvirub · 1 year

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Snowy days and Mondays

#recycled #teabag #art #recycledart #artdaily #tea #journal #drawing #artwithoutwaste #watercolor #363daysoftea #wintering #snowday

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64yrsold · 4 months

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WINTERING 3. under the mistletoe

twelve days of christmas writing prompts by @abiiors wintering masterlist previous (2)

“Alright, Matty?” I nodded, watching him shoulder through a few aunts, uncles, and friends to find my quiet corner of the room.

“I need something to drink,” he huffed, glancing at my glass longingly, “Your Aunt Mary is trying to convince me the Earth is flat.”

“Ah,” I shrugged with a wince, “She’s just bored.”

He choked on a laugh, “Wonder if Aristotle was bored, too.” The low light of the room slipped through the threads of his hair, a few tinsel greys at his temple.

“Probably,” I raised an eyebrow, “There was no TV back then.”

“Maybe no Christmas gatherings either,” he noted, popping his mouth open in an excited gasp.

I giggled, “And who forced you to be here?”

He smirked, “That bottle right over there.” His head tipped towards the wine on the counter. He shuffled to the kitchen, vaguely following the rhythm of the twinkling Christmas music in the background. I bit my cheek at the way his body moved, always dancing as if nobody was around.

“Oh, you need a bit more, don’t you?” He took my glass, pouring generously.

“Alright, alright!” I laughed, pushing his hand as my glass nearly overfilled, “Matty.” His name fell from my mouth like a curse. His tongue poked into his cheek, filling his glass the same.

“Haven’t heard that in a while,” he looked at me from under the shadow of his brow, twisting the cap on the bottle.

“What?” I asked, sipping from my heavy glass.

“Matty,” he imitated the snap of my voice, “You always scolded me like a child.”

I rolled my eyes.

“I probably deserved it,” he muttered into his glass, searching my face with his honey-sweet eyes.

I pressed my lips together, pushing down the slippery memories of our fights. The guilt seemed to creep over my skin, needle-like and slithering.

“Don’t feel bad,” he frowned, his chest heaving from a sigh, “Really.”

“I do feel bad,” I said to my feet.

“I’m just glad we can be friends,” his voice choked through the word, “It’s nice.”

“Always nice,” I smiled.

“Now I’ve ruined the mood,” he pushed a hand through his hair, scratching at the back of his head. His nose was a pretty, soft pink, seeping into the tops of his cheeks as he gulped from his glass.

“Always do,” I quipped, and he set his glass down with narrowed eyes.

His face lit up, “Hear that?”

I blinked.

“Hear those jingling bells, darling?” He giggled, reaching for my wrist. The music seemed to grow louder as his head swung to the rhythm. I stepped out of reach, a bit of wine spilling onto my hand. “Oh, come on!”

“I’m not dancing with you,” I pointed at his chest, taking another few quick steps backwards.

“God,” he groaned, “I see why you’re still single.”

My face flushed, “Fuck you.”

“I’m joking, I’m–” he called after me, scrabbling behind me as I stormed out of the room. I grabbed my coat off the wall, pushing my way out the door.

“Don’t follow me,” I spat, hearing him slam the door closed.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that,” he sighed, “You know I was joking.”

I turned to him, “I don’t like your jokes.” The wind bit at my cheeks. His breath billowed into the air in front of him as he huffed.

“I know,” he rubbed his forehead.

“You’re mean,” I said, swallowing roughly. I had to look down, at my feet in the snow. I knew his face would be cracking, splitting open in front of me from my words. The seam down his forehead unzipping, showing me how he was sweet and innocent, the honey spilling down his face.

“Sometimes,” he whispered. I could see his hands, twisting into each other as he held his tongue.

“I’m just going to go home, okay?” I muttered, “I don’t have to fight with you anymore.”

“No,” he said quietly, “you don’t.”

I took a step back, trying not to catch his eyes.

“But I’m sorry,” he said, catching the sleeve of my coat. “I could at least be someone you can trust. If you don’t want to be friends.”

I pulled my sleeve from his grasp, “I never wanted to be friends.”

He bit his lip, “Alright.” He put his hands in his pockets, and turned back to the house. He opened the door, mistletoe peeking from the door frame above him. I walked home with wet cheeks, listening for his footsteps.

-> next (4)

#matty healy #christmas75 #12 days of christmas #wintering #the 1975 #the 1975 fanfic #matty healy fanfiction #matty the 1975 #matty x reader #matty healy x reader #64matty

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garagesesh · 4 months

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wintering

③ The Battlefields of Good and Evil, Love and Hate, and Husbands and Wives

gif: aemondtargaryensource ↸

pairing(s): aegon ii targaryen & (f!)reader

summary: fire and desolation, love and hate

warning(s): swearing, blood, descriptions of injuries, death, weapons, war

a/n: !!!this story will not be told in chronological order!!! this story is not written as a reader insert but as an OC on my ao3 if you find that format more enjoyable, it's linked below! please be kind, I'm trying to get back into writing after a long sabbatical. I would love to hear your thoughts. Enjoy!

wrote this in an hour, i was probably possessed.

␛ to masterlist | ⎗ wintering masterlist

go to previous chapter ⎗ | go to next chapter ⎘ (coming soon!)

˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　　 . ✦　　　　˚　　　　 . ★⋆. ࿐࿔ 　　　. 　　˚　　　　*　　　　✦　　　.　　.　　　✦　˚ 　　　　 ˚　.˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　　　　　　　 ੈ✧̣̇˳·˖✶ ✦　　

The Stark army waited patiently over the side of the hill, hidden from the rest of the raging battle. Eight hundred archers, six hundred calvary, and four thousand foot soldiers waited patiently for the beacon from Lord Stauton and Princess Rhaenys. There were more men waiting, hidden, then there was fighting on the battlefield.

Dragons danced above the smoke covered battlefield that was hidden from Cregan Stark and his men’s view. Red and green intertwined with each other, breathing fire from within their stomachs, aiming to kill.

Since dawn, the greens and blacks had been in battle. The fighting had started a week ago. Ser Criston Cole had mobilized Stokeworth troops after Lord Staunton had refused to bend the knee to the greens. Cole and his men laid siege to the surrounding fields of Rooks Rest, hoping that the elderly lord would surrender.

A raven with the sigil of house Staunton had flown north and east. Cregan and you were already mobilized in Maidenpool, awaiting orders and you had finally received them. Only did you come to find the battle at Rook’s Rest had taken a turn. The Princess Rhaenys had joined the clash on top of Meleys. It was at first, a clear black win. Meleys had obliterated almost half of the greens men, until Aemond and Vhagar had swooped in from out of the smoke.

The Stark army had been given different orders, told to wait and hide from the skirmish to ensure the numbers were stabilized. Rhaenyra Targaryen did not want to be wasteful.

They were now on day three of waiting in the adjacent forest, hidden from aerial view.

Sitting on the horse next to your brother Cregan, working out possible battle strategies if the Stark army were to be called into battle. You had little hope for the Princess and her battalion considering the turn of events with the greens and the length of the battle.

Pouring over maps and strategy meetings fulfilled the seemingly endless days of which you waited.

But this morning felt different.

A horse not belonging to their guards sidled up to Cregan’s. “Lord Stark.”

“Lord Dustin.” He nodded. “Any word from Stauton?”

The older man shook his head. “None.”

Cregan hummed, turning back to the field of ash and smoke. “Anything else?”

“Yes, my Lord.” Lord Roderick Dustin inhaled sharply, a pregnant pause as he looked to the skies then back at them. “A third dragon is flying to join the fray.”

“Is it one of ours?” It was your turn to speak. Vhagar and Meleys had been fighting since the dawn, the larger dragon beginning to gain an advantage over the red queen. Princess Rhaenys was to lose this fight if no help was to show soon. Hoping that it would be Daemon or Jacaerys to support.

“No, my Queen.” Queen. You inhaled, your hands tightening around the reins and your heart fluttering with annoyance at the title. Adamant that you were a Stark to your brother and peers, not a Targaryen, Queen Consort of the Seven Kingdoms.

You were back in furs, blues, and greys, relinquished of the greens, blacks, and golds. Looking down at the embroidered Direwolf upon your glove, “I’m not a Queen, Lord Dustin.”

“Forgive me, my Lady.”

“It’s quite alright.” You bowed your head.

“The dragon is not one of our own.” He swallowed, the lump in his throat proving hard to get down with his nerves in disarray from the news. He adverted his eyes from you. “They’re saying it’s the green King.”

“What?” Aegon? Aegon was coming? You frowned, looking back at the battlefield then to the blackened sky. “That can’t be true.”

“The scouts have said so.” Lord Dustin was no liar, but he wish he was lying then. For the girl still clearly cared about the mummers King.

“Sister.” Cregan turned. His grey eyes full of care as he searched your usual stoic face now riddled with panic. “We need to ready our men.”

The elder lord looked between the two siblings with worry, before asking for the elders attention again. “There is more, my Lord.”

As Lord Dustin continued with his report of the churning waters of war, you went deaf to his words and Cregan's orders, the sounds of the erupting battle beyond the pines had engulfed you. Your eyes trained towards the skies, waiting for the glint of gold to peek through. Hoping, praying that the scouts report wouldn’t be so.

Then you heard the screech.

The black clouds parted, the wisps of smoke fused into swirls and there he was.

Sunfyre, diving into the dance.

Fucking idiot.

Brash, arrogant, moronic.

The golden dragon entered the battle. Vhagar and Sunfyre commanded by the brothers, breathing fire onto the men and snapping their jaws at Meleys.

A hand rested upon yours. Covering the Direwolf on the dorsal side of your own. “Y/n.”

You were gripping the reins tighter than you had beforehand, your back was bent over the steed in anticipation of cantering towards the ashen fields. The tight, waiting muscles were not able to relax as fire spewed from the dragons. Meleys and Sunfyre dove for each other, wings and talons narrowly missing each other.

Dragon fire seized the forest. The trees ablaze in plumes of orange and yellow. Hissing from the release of moisture.

Cregan begged you to ride away from the edge. “Y/n, we’re heading back to camp.”

That’s when Meleys fired at Sunfyre. Flames engulfed the smaller dragon, the red dragon's talons shredding the golden skin upon its wing, sending it spiraling. Down and down from far beyond the borders of the smoke to the battle below.

Aegon.

Without another beat, you set off. The horse gunned down the hill and in the muddy field heading for the emblazoned forest.

“Lysara!”, Cregan went after you but you were a woman possessed.

You charged forward. Gripping the reins, coaxing the horse faster. Into the pines that were now smoldering with fire. Embers stung your face and the heat burned your eyes as you navigated the steed through the burning forest.

Aegon.

You hurdled over fallen trees, stripped bushes, and steaming creeks. You could see the battlefield, the barbaric clash of men in their respective colors. Greens meshed with black. The golden tint of Sunfyre’s wing came into view, peaking just below the tree line-

The ferocity of the wind from the crashing dragon sent trees barreling down in front of you. The horse jumped up in fear, You gripped the reins, wrapping your arms around the animal's neck in fear, but its force was too much. You went backward, into a smoldering pile of embers. Your hair coated in black ash and your face burning from the fire.

The horse ran off into the flames, you would have to do the rest on foot. Hauling your body, heavy with armor off the ground, you grabbed your bow and quiver that flew off your person.

And ran.

You ran under fallen trees, around the bushes that had become bonfires. The smoke clouded your lungs and your vision became foggy. But you were almost there.

Sunfyre hit the ground with a roar. The dragon was alive but was he?

Aegon.

Your throat burned and tasted of ash as you ran and tripped in the mud. Sunfyre had created a cocoon in the center of the bloody field. Dirt piled in a circle, meters high.

You forgot you wore the Direwolf sigil as you cleared the pines and into the fray.

Aegon.

Your mind had been so entrenched in him that the adrenaline pumping through your veins had made you completely blind to the fact that men came after you with swords, daggers, and spears. A green cavalry soldier took out the black soldier with his spear. One of Staunton’s men threw an axe at the head of a green. Back and forth these exchanges went.

The Gods were on your side it seemed.

You slid down in Sunfyre’s crater. Discarding the bow and quiver. Stumbling over rock and dirt. You tripped and cut your knee on a rock protruding from the ground. Clawing your way to him. He was cradled by Sunfyre underneath a shredded wing.

“Sunfyre-“ You breathed and the dragon complied, revealing him.

“Aegon.” You climbed up the injured dragon and towards your husband.

You ripped off the gloves with your teeth. Soot and dirt covered your face, your singed hair out of its braid. The first thing you noticed was the smell.

Burnt barbecued flesh.

Then his face.

His flesh was discolored and charred on the right side, his silver hair had been burned away to his scalp. He had no brow and the skin began to pucker around his indigo eye that held no white eyelashes. His right ear had become blackened and bubbled at the top. The extent of his burns didn’t end there, they went down his neck and to where his doublet should’ve been. His armor was burnt into the skin on his bicep.

“Aegon.” You whispered, clutching at your chest. Tears spilled from your eyes, stinging from the ash and heat. “Aegon, please. Please don’t die, don't die, please don’t do this to me!”

Ser Criston Cole jumped off his horse, but made no move. Watching from the top of the crater as you ripped off pieces of your half burnt cloak, wrapping the scraps around his mangled arm. Your sobs louder than the battle that still raged on.

“Help!” Your guttural scream through your sobs, had wracked Ser Criston’s core. Your body wailed over Aegon’s. Tears splattered on his burns, smoke rising from where they hit. “Help him!”

“Someone get the medic!” Ser Criston barked at the soldier nearest to him. “Save your King!”

You searched your husband’s face for any sign of life, but Aegon laid still with his eyes closed and mouth ajar. “Don’t you dare do this to me you imbecile!”

Ser Criston was confused at how the woman who had run away from the King was now begging for him to live, but he supposed love worked in mysterious ways.

“My Queen.” He kneeled beside you, his gloves hand reaching for your shoulder.

“Is he dead?! Did I lose him?! Did I lose him?!” You wailed, your eyes bloodshot and glassy. “Did I lose him?”

Ser Criston had no answer but pulled you into his chest, your hands clawing at his collar. Your sobs wracked your entire being, over and over you repeatedly asked if he was gone.

Then the Red Queen fell and with her, Princess Rhaenys.

The Green’s calvary chased after the dragon just beyond Rook’s Rest, no doubt to take the prizes of the first victory. Lord Staunton’s men had been captured, unable to traverse where you had run from. No hope for the black army to retreat to the hidden Stark army. Rook’s Rest itself met fire and desolation, turning it into mere ash.

The medics took Aegon away.

“My Queen.” Ser Criston Cole gently raised your head off of his chest. “Come.”

They operated on Aegon all night. He was alive, they told you, but barely. It wasn’t until dawn when you, who had spent the evening pacing back and forth through the rain in front of the medic tent, was allowed inside.

With tepid steps and an uneasy stomach, you approached your husband.

Afraid to wake him.

His entire right side was wrapped in bandages that were once white. His chest rose and fell with a murmur. You wanted to cry at the sight of him.

Careful, as to not wake him, you reached out slowly and gingerly brushed his hair away from the untouched side of his face. “Aegon.”

His hood brow twitched under your fingers, but he did not wake.

Aegon wouldn’t wake for two weeks.

You had been recaptured by the Greens. Placed under house arrest for the remainder of the war. Whenever that would be.

You spent most of your time in the past two weeks pacing. Back and forth for hours. Sleep never came easy or if at all.

There was no news of the war. No news of Aegon.

You no longer had the ever faithful Ser Marbrand to protect you. Two unknown guards were placed in front of your locked doors. The only ones in and out were the guards and the maids.

You wished Helaena then, to comfort you. She was always good at that. Last you heard she was now on Dragonstone, pregnant with another babe.

Then there was your brother.

What were you thinking?

You had finally escaped only a few moons before. Finally reunited with your brother and Northmen. Relinquished from your mummer’s crown. To be free felt so sweet.

But you let that freedom slip through your own hands. Willingly back in the talons of dragon’s.

The chamber door opened. A face other than a guard or maid peeked through for the first time in a fortnight. “My Queen.”

You scoffed. “Ser Criston.”

“I am here to inform you of the King’s status.”

Your mind went to the worst. Aegon is dead. Succumbed.

“He is awake.” Criston Cole cleared his throat. “He’s been asking for you.”

The weight of the war and constant back and forth of pressure from the two sides. Your abandonment, whether it be back to where you first left, didn’t feel in vain anymore.

He was alive.

“May I see him?” You crossed the room. Taking a deep breath, turning away from the Hand.

“You may.”

You spun, now wide eyed. “When?”

“After you meet with the small council.”

“But you are the Hand!” You could feel your anger rise within.

“And you are a prisoner!” He seethed. “You abandoned your crown. Your husband.”

“You broke oathes! Promises!” You countered. “And now mean to slaughter my family!”

“Your family is slaughtering us!” He slammed his hand on the desk. The sound echoing in the dark chamber. “Your brother has eradicated almost half of our men in the Riverlands!”

You had no answer. Standing lifelessly with your arms by your side.

Rhaenyra is the rightful ruler of Westeros. That was undisputable. Cregan had chosen a side, your father had chosen a side, bending the knee to Rhaenyra. Now his son was fighting for the blacks to uphold the promise.

So many promises.

“One flesh, one heart, one soul, now and forever”

“You are promised to Prince Aegon.”

“I’ll never leave you.”

“We will come for you in the morrow. Prepare your argument, My Queen.”

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⌘ you can find this on my ao3 account!

#wintering #aegon ii targaryen x reader #hotd #house of the dragon #aegon ii targaryen #aegon ii x reader #aegon targaryen #aegon ii x you #aegon ii fic #aegon x reader #asoiaf #fanfic #fic

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