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giorno-plays-piano · 1 year

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Metamorph

Part I

Pairing: art teacher!Aemond Targaryen x reader (Horror AU)

Warnings: dark!Aemond, obsessive behavior, murder, horror, yandere, kidnapping, misanthropy, general creepy stuff.

Words: 1.5k

Summary: Drawn to the artworks of one of the most esteemed artists in the city, you wish to learn from him and find out what inspires him to create his masterpieces. You have no idea how much his secrets will cost you.

P.S. Unhinged Aemond, my dear Ewan nation! No physical harm done to the heroine, though.

___________

"Are you ready?" He asks you calmly, but you can see his impatience, the way he restlessly looks at you and back at the door leading to one of the smaller studios he always keeps locked at all times. Aemond can't wait to show you something, some other paintings of his he prefers to hide from others, and you feel both intrigued and disturbed by what you will find.

He is a genius, no doubt. One of the best artists of the century, the critics say, and while your city literally consists of art studios and galleries, people speak of Aemond Targaryen with a weird reverence, and his name is constantly on the ear.

His drawings caught your attention the moment you saw them online, mindlessly looking through your feed. It was hard to explain what exactly made you stop and look at them - even after months of attending his course you still couldn't quite put your finger on it - but you saved the pictures, printed them out, and then was staring at them hanging from the wall for days like you had been hypnotized. The ones you stumbled upon first depicted all sorts of buildings, always only in black and white, overgrown with... something. Flowers, vines, some greenery that looked like flesh and bones, painted in vivid red, of course. It was sort of scary... but also sort of not. It was a work of art, not some background picture from a cheap horror movie. The architecture he chose, they way he drew it as if he was recording his own perception onto the paper, each stroke written with his style, perhaps his very soul embedded in it... It was impossible to describe it with words. One had to see it to understand.

So, you had visited a gallery where his works had been exhibited, and since then you were fully supportive of city's infatuation with Aemond Targaryen. There was no way you could stay indifferent to his art, especially considering your own desperate attempts to get better at drawing.

How could he be so expressive while mostly using just black, white and red paint? Most of the time, he wasn't even painting but drawing, making sketches, that sort of thing. And yet you were obsessively saving and printing all of his artworks you were able to spot online. Some you hang on the walls of your apartment, some - the ones that made you held your breath - you kept in a drawer like you were a dragon guarding your treasure chest. One time when your mom accidentally spotted them you literally wanted to fall through the floor. It was... too intimate for sharing with anyone. Despite the paintings and drawings showcased openly in the galleries for everyone to see, they felt like they were your great secret, your own hoard, too precious to even talk about it, less let people see printed artworks you kept hidden in the bottom drawer of your cabinet.

Who was he, the man who brought these breathtaking paintings to life, you had often wondered. How had he done it? How did he make the red paint so vivid, so expressive and yet not vulgar? How could he lay strokes with such precision, but not the same way most artists did? How did he build his compositions that they felt real and surreal at the same time? What sort of magic was that? Everyone around joked he must have sold his soul to the Devil.

When you saw Aemond for the first time, you thought the same thing because he scared the Hell out of you. First, he wore an eyepatch and had a long, ugly scar crossing half of his face. An incident from his childhood, someone whispered to you. Someone had stabbed him in the eye.

This felt disturbing and surreal, too. Stabbed a child in the eye? What the Hell? Wasn't he from some wealthy, upper-class sort of family?

Perhaps, it was one of the reasons why Aemond seemed so sullen and chilly, his only presence making the temperature in the room drop a couple degrees. Despite his obvious attractiveness, it felt like he was an alligator waiting in front of a crowd of stupid bunnies who came to admire his teeth. Didn't help he was dressed in all black, and both his skin and hair were alarmingly white like he wasn't really a human being.

A stupid suggestion, really.

He'd been through some serious shit, someone kept murmuring you in the ear as you stared at the artist, open-mouthed and frozen in place. His dad was really wealthy, but rumors had it he didn't really care about him or his siblings, and his mother was constantly on antidepressants. Then the incident with the eye-stabbing happened, but it was still shrouded in mystery even with journalists trying to dig up the truth for years. After he grew up, Aemond went to study business and started working under his grandfather. Rumours had it he made some crazy money but started hating his life, ended up having serious issues with drinking, and at one point, he suddenly left everything and disappeared.

Whatever happened then was a mystery, too, and the artists never spoke about it in any of his interviews expect for saying that drawing has saved him. Although nothing suggests he is a former alcoholic and had once been homeless thanks to the immaculate way he dresses, you thought there was something in his face that made you wonder if he actually got better. Aemond seemed... very hostile.

But he'a an artist, too, and you've found all of them weird in one way or the other.

Of course, despite the fact that you've been drawing for years, you've never thought yourself an artist. No, no, you just enjoy it as a hobby, and you're nowhere near people like Aemond Targaryen.

But when you heard he opened a drawing course for the general public, you were so frantic about getting in you swore to yourself, regardless how much it costs, you would get in. Even if you wouldn't be eating for the next few years.

Seriously, it was Aemond freaking Targaryen you were talking about. A literal King! He had been the talk of a month even in the capital thanks to his recent dragon paintings collection that was sold in an auction for a ridiculous sum of money. So what if he's scary and had this chilling-to-the-bone stare? Most successful people you knew seemed at least a little frightening. Besides, if anything, you could just drop out of class.

But if you were brave enough to apply, you could have a chance to actually see him at work.

How did his studio look? What sort of routine did he have? What kind of paint and pencils did he use? How had he gotten that amazing crimson color you were trying to replicate for months without any success? What did he use for inspiration?

Clearly, you just couldn't let this opportunity slip away. You had to try to get in.

Surprisingly, the course wasn't even that expensive, sold at nearly the same price as most other art courses as if Aemond was just like any other artist in the city. The problem laid in his way of choosing the students: he requested to see the artworks of applicants to determine whether he'd take them or not.

It nearly put a stop to the whole thing because you were terrified of him seeing your drawings. What would he think about an amateur like you? How could you even dream about coming to him instead of improving your technique first with some other, way less known artists? He was Aemond Targaryen, for God's sake.

But you knew he might never take other students again. He might even move to the capital that would give him much more than your city ever could. What if he just disappeared? It could have been your only chance to see him work.

When he accepted you along with 9 other students out of more than two hundred participants, you thought you were dreaming. How? Why would he? You were far from professional. Goodness, you weren't even planning on becoming a true artist, and it felt like you were cheating on people who did. So, how could he take you, knowing that?

Not that you were going to drop out before the start of the course. Over your dead body. You literally spent the entire week shopping for new materials even though you knew he would give you suggestions later. But how could you show him your pencils and brushes that looked like your dog chewed, ate, and then threw them back up? You'd rather jump from the roof.

___________

Alas, on the first day of the course, you stood there among other students, holding your breath as you watched the door of the studio open. Aemond Targaryen was going to teach you his art.

Part II

Tags: @heavenly1927 @yazzzmints @devils-blackrose @lost-and-founds @kennafild

#aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen #aemond #aemond x reader #ewan nation #hotd #house of the dragon #the house of the dragon #yandere

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mrmethadone · 1 month

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Ofdrykkja interview 2014 (c9h13ns other band and now goes by pessimisten for thoughs who dont know)

1. When and how were you formed?

Drabbad: In autumn 2011. I was contacted by Obehag from Apati's page on MySpace, he wanted some help with getting Subutex and pills. Back then, I was - and I still am - living at an institution for the mentally ill, after an incident with Bödeln, and I had lost most contacts. So I couldn't help him, and when I replied his mail, C9H13N (Pessimisten) replied and told me Obehag had recently died. Somehow we started speaking about his band Apati and my old band Lepra, and after some months speaking, we decided to start a band. I contacted my old friend and brother The Associate and told him to join. He's a great musician and we have played together in the past, and known each other since childhood. Pessimisten contacted his old friend Arkomann who also joined, and after a while I also recruited my friend Bödeln who stole a drum-set right away. Me and Pessimisten chose the name Ofdrykkja, and so the band was formed.

2. What band inspired you to make the kind of music that you do today?

Drabbad: For me, personally, it's the old Norwegian black metal scene, with bands like Burzum, Ulver, Dödheimsgard, Mysticum and Mayhem. Even if we don't play black metal, this is my source of inspiration. Associate: Me and Drabbad have had our different black metal projects together for the last 15 years. Source of inspiration has always been the depressive black metal you could find during the mid 90's, when we started making music together (for example Burzum and Ved buens). I have broadened my inspiration register along the years, and I'm no longer as bound to a band or genre as before. Instead I'm attracted to and inspired by any dark or sad tones, no matter where they're from.

Bödeln: For me it's DSBM, a genre I assume we all listen to. But also ambiance and other kinds of black metal. I'm also listening to bands unrelated to DSBM.

3. How does the creation process look like?

The Associate: Some kind of melancholic mood tends to help, and is almost necessary for the music not to feel completely forced. I also tend to compose alone with benzodiazepines, sometimes in combination with speed. Benzo makes you really creative.

Drabbad: For lyrics, it's during the night I get my inspiration and ideas, and I write a few sentences from which I later make lyrics out of. What I write about is kinda dark things such as mental illness, homelessness, drugs, alcohol, misanthropy and hate against society.

Bödeln: The Associate kind of writes all the music, and the recordings of the drums haven't really been as planned. We are all kinda free to write lyrics. I have rarely had any bad critics about what I've seen or heard.

4. Describe your sound for those who haven't yet listened to you.

Drabbad: It's depressive rock music with influences from black metal. The lyrics are poetic and personally I take some inspiration from Grioa when I write. We use speech in some songs and also clean vocals. We've found our own style which we feel comfortable with. The music is kinda easy to listen to, and depressive.

5. Most bands usually have an annoying fuck who wish to control, in other words a band leader. Do you have a Hitler in the band?

Drabbad: Hahaha! Pessimisten... yeah, if someone's a Hitler, it's him. He can say a song or a riff just completely sucks. Haha, but we never fight in, we go with democracy. We others thinks it's good he says what he thinks. I prefer that than some ass licker who agrees on everything and lies about what he thinks. We all go along well together, even though we all suffer from different mental illnesses.

Pessimisten: Haha! I'm definitely our Hitler! I'm really a perfectionist and can't be easy to deal with all the time. But no one has more to say than anyone else in the band, and if we all disagree about something - we'll just vote. We never had any fights. The rest of the band members are really easy to deal with, and we mostly share the same view on things and are satisfied with the music we make.

Bödeln: I don't think we have any Adolf at all, but I can feel it's sad I haven't been able to contribute much in the creation process.

6. Tell us a bit about the purpose of your music!

Drabbad: A part of the purpose is to enlighten people about the dark side of society. The mentally sick addicts who many people don't know. I think I speak for everyone here when I say I turned myself away from society. We aren't normal, we are affected. We do not function socially, and we fail to fit into society. We want to show you the asocial and sometimes depraved reality of ours. Personally, I'm pro suicide and I don't care if people die.

Bödeln: I find it important to share my view of social exclusion and mental illness, in my lyrics. My purpose has so far been to play drums and contribute with lyrics about the life I live.

7. The video for 'Västerås' is nice and original, how important is the visual aspect for you?

The Associate: What's important is that what we portray feels honest and right. If it ends up like shit, we can still rely on that we did what felt right for us. Of course everyone wants to public beautiful things, so it's an important aspect. What's difficult is to find your own touch to it, and I can now think that the 'Västerås' video is a bit out of Ofdrykkja's style, yet it has a message I still feel for. My idea to the concept with a stray dog in focus came after a conversation with Drabbad, when he described the situation when he was homeless. I can also relate to this distanced relation to what is seen as normal, but in a whole different level than someone with a home.

The fact that the video was shot around the worthless ugly concrete which was built during the 60's includes some kind of love-hate relationship.

Bödeln: Visual parts are good for the listeners. There is an unwritten rule that you can't have pretentious videos within black metal. I think that's sad, because I love videos in which people have put a lot of time and money, as long as there's a message and something mystical about it.

8. We visited Västerås during a festival and afterwards we were forced to wait for hours before the night bus would arrive, and we don't feel like returning. How do you experience Västerås? You don't seem very happy about the place?

Pessimisten: Västerås used to be a kinda big industrial town, some decades ago, but most of it has now been shut down, and the town consists of offsprings from the lower working class. There's nothing about this place that would make anyone want to go here. It was once called "powder city", and sure, amphetamine is still consumed a lot here on our grey streets, but quality is something that belongs from the past. These days it's more known as "MDPV city". No one is happy about this place.

9. Not every city gets a bad nickname like that, but how comes Västerås is called MDPV city? Except the general dissatisfaction. Is it because you consume unusual amounts of MDPV in Västerås, or is the town unusually psychosis inducing compared to other cities you have had personal experience of?

Pessimisten: Lately it has gotten better, but one or two years ago MDPV was consumed a lot, and it was mixed with amphetamine (you can mix out the amphetamine a lot and just add a tiny bit of MDPV to make it strong again). It really sucks when you expect an amphetamine rush and instead you get a psychosis.

Bödeln: There are drugs in every city, small or big. I can't tell if there are more drugs in Västerås than in other cities. Here in Hudiksvall/Gävle we have a wide spread addiction of mostly amphetamine, prescribed opiates and benzo. Not much heroin, though. It's easier to see the addiction in smaller towns, than it is in bigger ones.

10. Which band would you preferably do a split with?

Drabbad: Ved Buens Ende, while they existed, or todays Virus would have been nice to have a split with. Abyssic hate as well. It would have been a big difference in music styles though.

Pessimisten: If disbanded bands counts, I would definitely say Woods of Infinity. They have self distance and a humor I like, and they make it fit well together with the dark music they make. Other bands in the scene takes themselves too seriously.

11. Do you have enough material to release a full length or EP through a label?

Pessimisten: Yes, actually we do, but we want to make two more songs before we see the album as completed.

The Associate: We already have contact with a few labels and things are looking bright.

12. Except a CD release, we would like to see a DVD release with your music videos, and which maybe also could include some exciting bonus material. What are your thought about that?

The Associate: Yeah, we've had discussions about this matter, and it's not impossible. We do like to express ourselves in different ways and it would absolutely be a possible alternative for us, if there is interest.

Bödeln: About music videos, there are a lot to put energy on. A lot of spaced ideas I hope to express and talk about with the members.

13. Thanks for your time, and for doing this interview. Now we're just curious about what will happen next?

The Associate: I thank you too! What's remaining is the recording of two more songs, and we're working on it right now.

We are looking forward to release our first album as soon as possible.

#apati #swedish dsbm #dsbm #ofdrykkja #pessimisten #c9h13n #lifelover #black metal

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desirepathzine · 3 months

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Placebo's Vision of the Present

Placebo are a band that I feel don't get enough credit for describing exactly how it feels to live in our modern age: the paranoia, the anxiety, the hedonism, the big fears and big loves that dominate this moment in time. And they've been exorcising those demons for a while. Headed up by Brian Molko and Stefan Olsdal, the group has been an authentic voice in music since their debut in 1997.

Maybe it's my American perspective, seeing as Placebo are largely known and celebrated in the UK, but I find their insight to the current era shockingly prescient. This isn't surprising for their 2022 album Never Let. Me Go but even beyond their most recent entries, Molko and co.'s vision of what it's like to be alive is shockingly in tune with the struggles folks of all ages are experiencing.

I was a latecomer to Placebo's catalog, again, not knowing much of them thanks to being based in the United States. Their late 90s debut was a little after my primary era of interest growing up and it wasn't until a few years ago that friends recommended I listen to them. I immediately connected. Their music still feels so fresh and vital, even earlier releases. And it's rare that a band that have been going for so long still have those vital and fresh things to say, their newest record a perfect addition to the catalog.

There probably isn't a better band than Placebo to talk about our relationship to medication, the internet, the climate crisis, and our deteriorating inner lives thanks to the pressures of modern social mores. Those themes are omnipresent in their music, and have been for some time. Always on the outside of society's limitations, especially in their debut era, who better to talk about isolation and alienation than Brian Molko, wearing skirts and makeup whilst Britpop's machismo swagger dominated their homeland's music charts?

Brian has described Placebo as "by outsiders, for outsiders" and that pretty much nails it. There's a deep loneliness in so much of their music, on the personal scale. But even more than loneliness, isolation from a world that feels like it has absolutely derailed, but that music also never quite falls fully into total misanthropy. There's a real beating heart at the center of a Placebo record, however bruised it might be.

Especially recently, I find Placebo's antagonistic fascination with technology particularly apt. When I saw the band in 2023 in Chicago, I knew that Brian had previously been vocally adamant that no phones be used during the show, a request mostly followed by our crowd that night in April. But the band has an Instagram presence, and were early adopters of the internet in order to promote back in the day. Their lives shows also feature a fantastic live glitching video setup that lends a surreal tone to the evening.

This is perhaps best exemplified in their song "Too Many Friends", a fan favorite meditation on how the internet spreads a human too thin, living a life of consumption in order to be consumed. Starting with the absolutely banger line "my computer thinks I'm gay", the song can occasionally inspire laughs, especially if you're not expecting it (I admittedly did this on first listen), but it is a genuine, heartfelt, and morose exploration of the digital era of relationships being defined by the screen. In this age of connection, we are all increasingly isolated. Brian laments that he'll never be there personally for all of the people who he might have otherwise called a friend online. It's something I think we've all faced. Someone you don't actually know well enough, or someone so far away that you can't really do anything for them, or have the in-person element of that relationship. It also deals with how the internet defines us, our boxes that we tick for it, the demographics and information that it collects from our true identities and commodifies for capitalistic gains. In response to that banger opening line, Molko later answers "what's the difference anyway?" How do you even engage with the machine anymore? The answer might be "just don't".

The paranoia aspect that I can relate to feels most vital to their latest release, Never Let Me Go. Surrounded by Spies and Sad White Reggae are two of the standout tracks on the record, and describe an onslaught of tragedies, ailments, and fears that can compound simply by existing in a world with a 24 hour news cycle, along with cryptic personal missives from the band. They also revisit their climate anxieties on Chemtrails and Try Better Next Time, the plastic islands starting to pile up on the cover of the record made manifest in the music.

The hard stance for outsiders made in their early work sees its result in these later releases. Did anything change by making these stands? Maybe. Did the world actively get worse? Maybe. Are Brian and Stefan still here trying to dissect these ideas, albeit with more lived experience, sobriety, and the increasingly ominpresent internet linked them to more and more people? Absolutely. I appreciate their vulnerability, musicality, rage, anxiety, and ultimate willingness to write how they feel. In expressing their isolation, Placebo brings the outsiders together, a last rebellion in a shrinking world.

#placebo #collapse into never #never let me go #brian molko #stefan olsdal

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districtscare · 1 month

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2, 3, 4, 12, 18, 21, 22, 23, 25 for character ask game for both Katniss & Haymich >:) (putting them in your microwave and pressing my face to window)

cooking them up!

2 . my favorite thing about katniss canonically is that despite being deemed resilient, mysterious and independent, she's literally the most awkward character in the series. she's got 2 friends minimum and can’t small talk for anything! and for someone who eventually becomes the symbol of rebellion, she's an equally bad actor.

my favorite thing about haymitch canonically is forever his intelligence. his outside persona does not reflect the inside at all, and it shows within his experience in the arena, along with his several interactions he has with other people. his addiction allows for a crutch that enables him to be deemed weak to others, when that is another world of wrong.

3 . my least favorite thing about katniss is her ability to jump to conclusions, which often gives the people around her a bad light and therefore makes it harder for her to trust them (despite having often good intentions,) such as peeta.

my least favorite thing about haymitch is his dismissiveness of people, and how his misanthropy can make him seem cold-hearted. i would say that the walls he puts up makes him prone to this permanent loneliness, when so many people want to climb over, and he flat-out rebuilds them to scaffold higher.

4 . media i would put katniss in other than the hunger games would be horror games such as resident evil or the last of us. i think with her hunting skills and awareness, she'd do well in any environment where she would have to survive/fight against the odds.

media i would put haymitch in other than the hunger games would be anything detective-based or mystery solving esque, prime examples being disco elysium, the wolf among us or even danganronpa. i think his intellect and ability to figure out things before they happen would serve him well when up against something like crime investigation.

12 . one of the headcanons i associate katniss with is that she wouldn't enjoy learning how to bake or cook. the multiple steps and waiting times would aggravate her, and the mess would send her spiraling. she'd much rather eat meals that other people have cooked, with minimum effort on her part.

one of the headcanons i associate haymitch with is he enjoys journaling and keeping a record of his thoughts and memory. keeping a log of events is what helps him when plotting for the rebellion, and i like to think he has notebooks full of rambles and thinking.

18 . something about haymitch & katniss’ relationship i admire is their parallels. such as their rebellion in the arena, (haymitch and the forcefield + katniss and the berries,) along with the both of them representing what ifs within their own lives. with their stark similarities, i enjoy that they can eventually become tight-knit and tolerant towards those traits.

21 . my favorite thing when writing katniss’ character would be her stubbornness, and how it effects the people around her. one of her classic traits is being hard-headed, and going against anything traditional, so keeping to that is something i like to see.

my favorite when writing haymitch’s character would be his snark and wit, not only is it one of his most prominent traits, but it's extremely funny to write his rebuttals/harsh jokes.

22 . in fics, something i like about katniss’ characterization is when a fic writer will stay true to both her strengths and vulnerability. yes, she is perfectly capable of many things, but at the end of the day she is a child and keeping that in mind is important to being canon compliant. something i don't enjoy in fics is when she's made to seem entitled/and or completely uncaring of other's feelings.

in fics, something i like about haymitch’s characterization is when he's able to put down his front for the purpose of comfort, in other words, when people correctly present his loving nature in that still very stubborn way. i don't enjoy when people make him seem dominant and in control romance-wise, when truthfully he's likely to be incredibly hesitant and apprehensive due to trauma. of course, he definitely could be, but it's unrealistic to make him seem so passionate and salacious when he's so ouch-starved and lacking in care and simple intimacy canonically.

23 . my favorite picture of katniss is this fanart by @/plasticlamb on here & ig!

my favorite pictures of haymitch are these fanarts made by @/dippy-ecks on here! seeing these when i first joined thg tumblr made me so happy that people were actually drawing book-accurate haymitch.

25 . my first impression of katniss was that she seemed extremely hardworking, and i admired her hunting skills. nowadays, i don't like katniss for her personality, but i do admire how suzanne collins creates a dislikeable, flawed, protective but unreliable narrator in which you have to find out for yourself after a few reads.

my first impression of haymitch was honestly distaste, i thought he was unkind and lacked any care for anyone else within his drunken stupor. now? i am stupidly shaking that guy around like a crystal ball and have a blog themed after him. things change!

#wooo this was a lot to write #thank you for the ask!#haymitch abernathy #katniss everdeen #the hunger games #thg #catching fire #mockingjay #the hunger games trilogy

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ampd · 1 year

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<1995.10> Ved Buens Ende... - Written in Waters

2002 CD, Candlelight Records USA - CANUS0038CD | Misanthropy Records

Photography, artwork & design by Kim Solve

#1995 #1990s #Ved Buens Ende #album #prog metal #avant garde metal #Candlelight Records USA #Misanthropy Records #Kim Solve

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burningvelvet · 8 months

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So anyway I've been reading about Restoration era writers & also learned that in Jane Eyre, Mr. Rochester may have been partly inspired by the Restoration era poet John Wilmot Earl of Rochester, rambunctious sex legend & asshole extraordinaire. I totally support this theory & may include a reference to it in my Jane Eyre fic if I ever update it.

Interesting finds from John Wilmot and Mr. Rochester by Murray G. H. Pittock:

"Mr. Rochester is to an as yet unappreciated degree based upon the character and reputation of his namesake, John Wilmot, the second Earl of Rochester, whose career as it was popularly recorded is the model for the rakehell and penitent phases underlying the development of Mr. Rochester's character." (P 462)

"the Earl's mother 'was a daughter of Sir John St. John, an ancient family of Wiltshire.' The coincidence of the name with that of the alter hero of Jane Eyre is of course striking. This tract also contains an extended passage concerning Wilmot's propensity for disguise, a common feature of the religious Lives." (P 464)

"In both the real man and the fictional character, cynicism and misanthropy turn to faith. As early as Etherege, then, John Wilmot had become a literary archetype, the "devil-angel" of the wicked rake. But he was also, in the alternative tradition of the religious tracts, an archetype of the repentant sinner. Wilmot's pious end made him respectable, and he was in every sense an ideal figure on which to model his fictional namesake." (P 469)

"It is Mr. Rochester who characteristically uses Christian imagery to describe erotic feelings [..]" (P 462)

"Mr. Rochester associates himself with the devil. Quoting from Paradise Lost, he asks Jane 'not to attribute to me any such bad eminence' (p. 166)." (P 463)

i didn't know this but i mention paradise lost in my fic! even tho in her novel shirley, charlotte disses milton's depiction of eve (which i 100% agree with; my last semester i took an english renaissance class wherein i wrote about paradise lost & eve's oppression lol). heathcliff is also miltonian as i acknowledged in a prior post!!!

"Such talk of heaven and hell in the interests of passion are echoes in fact of Mr. Rochester's famous namesake." (P 463)

"The material that Bronte would use in creating the hero of Jane Eyre from his namesake was freely available at the time, and not only through the means of pious hearsay. Burnet's own account is based on interviews with the dying Earl, and because Wilmot's death was finally a pious one, the less risqué of his poems were often found in print. So thoroughly was Wilmot's profligate life associated in the late eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries with his deathbed conversion, that it comes as no surprise to find his poems published in 1821 alongside those of Dr. Spratt, the Bishop of Rochester, in a one-volume collection enticingly titled The Cabinet of Love? Moreover, Burnet's Life was long popular, as its several editions testify, even in the "best" literary circles. Both Horace Walpole and Samuel Johnson wrote critiques which were incorporated into the edition issued in 1820. Such widely disseminated tales of reformed rakes and deathbed conversions were an important part of the literary culture of Brontes youth, reinforced by the Methodism introduced into the family circle by Aunt Branwell. It was not at all unusual, then, that Bronte should turn to John Wilmot in creating her own Mr. Rochester." (P 464)

"Passion untamed by religion until the moment of crisis is a mark of Charlotte Brontes fiction, and to make that mark, who better than a famous rake and a famous convert, John Wilmot, Earl of Rochester?" (P 469)

From John Wilmot, Mr Rochester and William Harrison Ainsworth by Robert Dingley:

"it is also possible that she drew hints from the Earl's depiction in William Harrison Ainsworth's bestselling novel Old St. Paul's (1841), where the Restoration rake displays a chameleon-like facility in disguise and twice attempts to entrap the woman by whom he is obsessed (and who in turn loves him) in spurious wedding ceremonies."

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aemondslefteyeball · 1 year

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In the Flat Field (1)

[Future!Aemond x Fem!Reader]

[Warnings: Spooky shit]

[Summary: The year is 2864, and mankind has spread to the stars. You and your partner are a part of the Exoarchaeologist's Guild, exploring the known universe on the USS Vhagar. When the two of you enter a new frontier you make a discovery that will either make or destroy both of your careers at the Guild. If you can make your way back to it, that is.]

Word Count: 4.3K

Chapter One

A gut pull drag on me

Into the chasm gaping, we.

Vhagar’s engines thrummed softly in the background while you set the plates down on the little table in the dining room. After they were arranged and the replicator was shut off, you expanded the hologram that sat confined in your watch. Pulling up the menu, you clicked on the ship’s comms and sent your best friend a ping that the food was ready. A few minutes later Aemond arrived in the kitchen, sweat coating his brow from where he had been overhauling the backup wiring in the lateral thrusters. “Hey, love.” A wide grin pulled across his face, his eyes widening at the Arrysian stir-fry before him. “This is why we’re partners.” His face softened for a second, and your heartbeat quickened in your chest. He went to the wash station, dipping his hands into the electrostatic fog before settling down at the table.

“The reports on the Milner vase came back, it’s from approximately 2146, sometime in the spring but the carbon atoms aren’t stable enough to tell precisely when it was made.” Aemond nodded as you briefed him. The two of you had been hoping it was made in the 2060s when the Carythian empire had been in its golden era. Nonetheless, the guild would want it when you two returned to Valyretos so into the storage lockers it would go. “I was thinking maybe we could push further into Juliet Quadrant, I looked through the Guild database and couldn’t find many records of archaeologists coming here.”

“I couldn’t agree more, Hotel Quadrant has been overrun since they found that temple.” Aemond had always leaned towards misanthropy, which was pretty funny considering he devoted his life to rummaging through dead peoples’ shit. As the two of you talked about your plans and input the vectors into Vhagar’s nav system, Aemond grabbed your plates and placed them back into the replicator, where it dematerialized them.

You two fell into a comfortable silence as you thinned out the scrubbers. The plants had been growing a bit too thick, and it posed a risk of clogging up the dioxide filters. The pair of you dictated the report on the Milner vase together, bickering like an old married couple as to whether it portrayed Nienna or Valeich. Despite your back-and-forths, you two had always been two peas in a pod. You remembered when you first met Aemond back at the Academy. Long, silver hair draped over a handsome face. On the left side of it, a cybernetic implant sat. Valyrian steel laced into his cheek, a crystalline transceiver sitting where an eye normally would. His demeanor intimidated you back then, and you had the same classes for months before Aemond finally approached you and asked if you would study for the preliminaries with him. The more you got to know him the more shocked you became, as you had assumed his family pulled strings to get him into the academy. You had friends at Telmar IV and none of them had any good stories about his older brother, and even less about his father. Studying his face for a moment, you reflected on how the years had changed it. The minuscule amount of baby fat that had clung to his face as a fifteen-year-old had faded, and you couldn’t deny he was quite the handsome man. But Aemond was… well, Aemond. You couldn’t think of any time he seemed more interested in any one person over his work. That being said, it seemed it was the reason you two fit so well together. Both of you refused to ever stop pushing, and it led to you being valedictorian, and Aemond the salutatorian. It was a miracle you beat him out, but the final exam tripped him up just enough that you edged in a victory. To your surprise, he didn’t seem jealous at all. When your final GPAs were announced he just pulled you into a hug and tentatively asked if you two could be partners after graduation. Eight years later, the two of you were sailing off into Juliet Quadrant on the USS Vhagar. It was Aemond’s pride and joy, a smile dancing across your face at the memory of the hours spent in his hangar. He had never grown out of tinkering with her, you supposed.

“Something on your mind?” Aemond’s right eyebrow was quirked, amusement glimmering in his violet eyes.

“Remember when you were building her?”

An easy grin pulled across Aemond’s face as he pulled another plant from the wall. You swore you saw a blush on his cheeks for a second before he turned towards the compost bin. “I remember warbling on about her engine schematics for hours.” He turned back to you, something unidentifiable in the back of his eye. “I don’t think anybody had ever really sat and listened to me like that before.” There was a comfort to the admission, an easiness that only came with eleven years of companionship. When the two of you finished, the plant matter was deconstructed by the bin before being spread over the mycelium racks in a fine mist.

Nebulas of magenta and sea-foam green spread out before your eyes, the viewscreen set to record the star system as you two settled into the cockpit. Aemond sunk into his crash couch with a groan, pausing for a moment before he followed your line of sight. “Gods that’s beautiful,” he muttered.

“You’re beautiful.” When Aemond turned to look at you, he was met with your raised middle finger.

He chuckled before shaking his head, looking down at the controls. “It remains a great mystery as to why you’re single.”

“A great tragedy.” You teased, clasping your hands for dramatic effect.

“Mmm,” Aemond replied, something shifting in his gaze as he leaned closer toward you. You smiled at him coyly, one leg crossed over the other.

Suddenly the proximity klaxon sounded, the view screen flashing red. Vhagar’s point defense cannons were locked onto an asteroid 437 kilometers in diameter. You looked to Aemond, engaging the railguns and cutting minor paths through it before Aemond finally launched a PDC round into the asteroid that sent it shattering out into the frontier. The two of you breathed a sigh of relief. No pieces of the asteroid were large enough to cause actual damage to Vhagar. As soon as the two of you started to relax, the ship was hit by a small rumble. You looked to Aemond in confusion, and he looked to you in worry. Whatever jostled Vhagar had to be something particularly nasty, and it would be better to get the hell out of dodge time now. Sensors were reading that a nearby star had started a coronal mass ejection registering off the Gerardys Scale. As you engaged the joysticks, the ship was hit by a wave that sent it tumbling through the vacuum. Aemond’s arm snapped across your chest as if he was going to hold you in, and you shot him a strange look. You were both literally strapped into your couches. Despite the futility of the gesture, your heart rate increased. Another wave wracked the ship, and it froze suddenly. The system had entirely changed. Literally. You and Aemond looked at each other in confusion for a moment, pulling up your vitals. Both of you were sober and all was were clear, which only left the impossible. You two were somewhere else, in a dimensional freefall before your surroundings shifted again.

The ship solidified in the goldilocks atmosphere of a thus unidentified planet. You braced yourself for another few minutes, expecting to find yourself in yet another strange new system. When no shift happened, you and Aemond stared at each other. “What the fuck?” You whispered as he let out an ‘Mmm’ of agreement. “Should we land?”

Aemond’s brow furrowed for a minute, and you saw the light on the side of his implant flicker. Another thing you loved about Aemond, he ran almost every major decision through that implant of his. “Yes.” He stated simply, as you nodded. While Aemond had always been able to destroy you in engineering, you were the pilot. Autopilot was engaged until the stratosphere was breached, from there you set the controls to manual and landed Vhagar in a vegetated field. The two of you opened the comms before sending out an emergency message to the guild. When the ping sounded your heart dropped into your stomach. For the first time ever, Vhagar was unable to transmit. Your wary gaze met Aemonds again, and you shot him a smile you hoped was comforting. He had designed Vhagar so she synchronized with his implant, and the expression on his face told you he was just as lost. Environmental sensors showed nothing of note, while cobalt-blue vines spread out as far as the eye could see. No signs of sentient life read from the field, but the two of you had another hope in mind. Two klicks off into the distance stood the only artificially constructed building you had seen in this hemisphere. You and Aemond took another glance at each other. Periwinkle stucco rippled into basalt before it shifted to plastic siding. Wherever the two of you had landed, it was a far cry from anything you ever had seen before. Really read, heard, or thought about even. In short summary, you guys were up shit creek with no paddle.

“Well,” Aemond said flatly, his voice revealing the slightest waver. “We’ve definitely found something new.” You nodded as your boots crunched into the vines beneath your feet.

You let the silence hang for a second longer before it dawned on you. “The asteroid.” When your gaze turned to Aemond, his brow was knit together with the steel implant. You stopped for a moment, Aemond following in tandem. Pulling up the hologram screen from your watch, you expanded it into view mode. Aemond’s hand came to rest on your waist as he stepped closer towards you, eyes fixed on the screen. Clicking on the recording of the flight data, you pull the asteroid’s hologram out, setting it into a field of its own before programming Vhagar to run a simulation of its flight path.

“What in the seven hells?” Aemond whispered, your mouth going dry as the two of you watched the path of the asteroid. It was moving as if on a track, with a constant velocity. The vector was straight, clear-cut, and too mathematically neat to be natural. Aemond reached into the hologram as well, overlaying the simulation onto the schematic of the system. When he pressed play, you brought your thumbnail to your mouth, resting it on your teeth for a moment. That was it, this was something nobody in the guild had ever discovered before. Your heart sank at the realization that the two of you had unknowingly destroyed a priceless artifact.

“It’s a…” Aemond looked at you for a second, his lilac eye narrowing at you as he tried to follow your train of thought. “Aem, I think it’s a cosmic-scale Rube Goldberg machine.”

“Who could have built it?” He murmured, talking more to himself than you. “And why?” His right fist clenched as the light flashed in Valyrian steel. “Implant’s got nothing.” He finally concluded. Nothing of this scale had ever been done before, though to be fair this was just a theory as of right now. Maybe there was some psychoactive chemical in the atmosphere that Vhagar’s sensors didn’t pick up. It would certainly make more sense than either a machine spanning an entire solar system or an asteroid that seemed to move in the weirdest orbit you had ever seen.

“After we destroyed it, the ion storm started.” You reflected out loud, your finger tracing over the light blue flashes of the hologram as the world shifted around the two of you. Cerulean skies melted into emerald and rose, but the two of you quickly found the bigger mystery. “After that is when things started getting… weird.” You said simply, wishing there was a word that more accurately described stumbling across a space oddity.

“Before we were thrown into the singularity…” Aemond picked up. You nodded, fidgeting with your hands. Aemond’s thumb rubbed little circles into your waist before he gently massaged the spot that always bothered you. Worry dissipated, as your gaze shifted to your best friend. If nothing else, you were relieved he was here. You leaned into him, inhaling the scent of leather and pine. Aemond pressed a kiss to the top of your head. “It’s going to be alright, love.” He murmured. As he said that, your boots sank into bubblegum-colored sand. You pulled away and shot each other a look of mutual understanding. The environment was changing rapidly, but a building still stood. A queer patina shimmered over the roof tiles as they morphed into thatch, less than half a kilometer away now. You pulled your boot out of the sand, going to place it before you until a patch of ice rippled beneath your foot and you lost your balance. Aemond, thankfully, had quicker reflexes than most humans due to his implant. His arm snaked out to grab you before steadying you on your feet.

“Thanks.” You prayed that you weren’t blushing. Aemond just wasn’t interested in you like that. Aemond wasn’t really interested in anybody like that.

After a quarter-kilometer trek that thrust you into six different biomes, the two of you finally came to the ever-changing sight of the house before you. Grand French doors were adorned with stained glass that seemed to produce its own light. The images danced across the panes, but when Aemond scanned it he found no power source. Glass figurines revelled, read, and leaped as the glass changed colors. “I know this is probably a stupid question,” Aemond furrowed his brow, a gentle look in his eye as he glanced toward you. “But you’re recording all of this, right?”

Aemond smiled at you, ruffling your hair suddenly as you batted his hands away. “You don’t ask stupid questions, that’s why we’ve been together for so long.” Been together. Sometimes you wondered if he did it on purpose. If he knew and was just rubbing salt into the wound. But his eye held no indication of mockery, and an easy look rested across his chiseled features. Like when you two first met. The years had hardened his face, but the remnants of the dorky teenager reemerged. Your dork. After a moment, he reached to open the door, the knob shifting to a beautiful ivory as he opened it. While the house seemed to be more fixed than the outside was, a foyer flashed in and out of existence, staircases moving throughout the belly of the beast. Hair raised on your neck, animal instincts screaming at the uncanny nature of the morphing environment. The two of you stepped through doorways into rooms that flashed in and out of existence, often finding yourself in new parts of the house. Decor flashed in and out of different cultures, times, and places. One minute Veltruvian lamps cast their plum glow across the walls. Others, class candles burned into your retinas. Walls of ebony stretched out across the basement the two of you had stepped into, and you traced your fingers along it, taking in the sight. Aemond beelined towards a desk, his gaze focused. Picking up the piece of metal, he turned it over in his hands before his gaze panned over to you. Holding it up, he laughed. “A sextant!” Blue light flickered out of the implant as he ran his fingers over the bronze. “18th century Earth.” A happy grin overtook his features as he unzipped his backpack, placing it in. Technically it was supposed to go to the guild, but you could pretend you didn’t see it in his room. Ebony walls shifted into cherry as you two stepped into a bedroom. A large, soft bed took up most of the space, but your gaze flickered to the closet.

“Jackpot.” You said, throwing the doors open before tutting disappointedly. All men’s clothes, and way too large for you from the looks of it. You flipped through the hangers, finding a long black trench coat. Pulling it off the rack, you held it up to Aemond’s shoulders, giving him a look. Aemond humored you, shrugging off his coat and tossing it onto the bed before pulling the trench coat over himself. The sleeves were a touch too short, but Aemond cut quite the strapping figure in it. You pulled your fingers up to your mouth and let out a wolf whistle. Raising your finger to spin it, Aemond shook his head as he chuckled. “C’mon CoverGirl.” You cheered. He pulled the coat off before tossing it over his shoulder and strutting across the room. When he reached you, he paused for a second, his face twisting as if he was thinking. When it continued on for another second, a nervous smile flashed across your face. “I’m starting to smell smoke.” You teased, taking the coat and putting it back on the hanger. You paused for a second after placing it back on the rack, shoving the coats off to one side and dropping to your knees. Before you, a small door stayed in place, the trim melting between shades of eggshell. You turned back to Aemond, and the blue light flickered before he nodded. Taking a deep breath, you opened the latch to Pandora’s door. The tiny door opened up to a full-length hallway and you started to poke your head in before Aemond lunged to grab you.

His leather jacket was back on him, expression serious as he turned the light in his implant on. Brick and stone flashed across the walls, an oil spill of different materials swirling before your eyes. Stepping into it, he gestured for you to follow before putting an arm out in front of you protectively. While his arm unfortunately was not singularity-proof, the sweetness of the gesture was appreciated. Exposed pipes of different metals lined the ceiling, the ripples easing the further along you traveled. The two of you came to a halt before the large iron door and you swallowed harshly. There was no sign of a spindle on the door, but it was cracked. A glimpse of light peeked out. You wracked your brain trying to remember any time that you had seen a safe that didn’t close from the outside. “Stay behind me,” Aemond muttered, with you nodding and moving to the opposite side of the frame. Aemond pressed the door open, ancient hinges creaking in protest. You peeked in to see Aemond staring at the room in shock. Light shone in through a bowed window, dust floating through the sunbeams as it bounced off one of the mirrors and right into your eyes. Flinching and holding a hand up, you came to Aemond’s side. “There can’t be a window here.” He muttered. “There’s solid brick around the entire room.” His head shook in disbelief, staring out into the yellow sky. “We’re in the basement.”

“Aemond.” He was pulled out of his train of thought before you gestured to the rest of the room. Dust stirred in the air, tickling at the back of your nostrils. Sunlight shone onto a neatly made, though clearly neglected bed. The walls were a solid beige color, with an armoire and a little kitchenette stacked into the small space.

“Did you hear me? There cannot be a window here.”

“I heard you.” You snapped. On the table, an old journal disappeared, and a radio appeared in its place. Aside from that, the room was still. The walls remained as they were, and whatever plagued the rest of the house seemed mitigated here. The eye of the singularity. Realization dawned on Aemond as he shot you a look. The emotion was unreadable for a second before you finally recognized it. Fear. You couldn’t remember the last time you had seen Aemond truly scared. You wondered if you ever had. Aemond paced around the room, stalking about with an anxious expression on his face. “I’m going to get a reading on that door.” Pulling at the straps of your backpack, you stepped out of the iron door, and into the largest room you had ever seen.

Columns of shelves reached as high as you could see, the musk of the ancient room pervasive. Stepping down a row, you pressed yourself against a shelf and took a deep breath in. Okay. You and Aemond had been separated. It would be alright, you told yourself. Thus far you returned back to the same general area within the singularity itself. Your position in spacetime seemed fixed, but it shifted around you like a kaleidoscope. After you regained your head, you continued to creep down the rows. Strange bottles lined the walls, filled with different colored mists. You couldn’t articulate what it was, but every instinct screamed at you.

In the presence of something that was ancient when man was still fish, something stirred off in the distance. That’s when it sounded again. Heavy footfalls grew closer while you skirted around the wooden shelves, taking advantage of every blind spot around the bottles. A myriad of swirling colors spun within the glass, hypnotizing. You edged along the row slowly, checking your surroundings before making a dash to the next one. Upon getting there, you pinched your nose and exhaled through your mouth silently. When your heart rate slowed and your mind cleared, you snapped back to the task at hand. Escape. That’s when you caught sight of it through the reflection on the bottle. Ducking back behind the panel of wood, you looked at the bottles on the opposite shelf through the corner of your eye. Whatever it was, it was large. Stretched abnormally tall, the creature was broad, visual static flickering through the body. Ink seemed to stretch over the skin in a shifting calico pattern, blinking in and out as the creature let out a low wheeze. Two massive, gray pits swirling in what you could only assume were its eyes. A clicking rang out through the silent rows, and you took extra care to maintain your cover. Thuds fell onto stone floors at an uneasy tempo. Inhuman. An uncharacteristically long pause between one footfall and the next. Purples and greens spilled into the shifting skin pattern, your eyes intermittently flicking to the bottles. Something between a gurgle and a click emerged as the creature stalked about, dragging its spindly fingers along the dusty shelves. Suddenly it came to a pause, the colors in it shifting as it stopped to examine the shelf. The spot where you had braced yourself after first seeing the thing. Fuck. The speed of the clicking increased, and you felt a strange sort of joy radiating off of the being. It canvassed the room carefully, prowling towards the row you had previously been at. Your heart pounded in your chest as you pressed yourself against a new row, eyes trained on the bottles. Keeping your hands at your side so as to not leave another breadcrumb for whatever the fuck that thing was, you continued down the row. The creature ambled around as if it had all the time in the world, happy gurgles emerging from its abdomen. A soft peach glow shone around it, your eyes drawn in. It was strangely beautiful in contrast to the grotesque nature of the being. Something pure and celestial, mesmerizing. A dreamy smile passed across your face as you stumbled onto the shelf closest to you. Fuck. If the thud from your contact wasn’t enough, a bottle fell off the shelf and shattered before you had the chance to grab it. A flat voice emerged from the shattered glass as an ancient recitation sounded in a language you couldn’t identify. You slapped your watch, having it record a sample of the language to analyze later. A much, much bigger fish to fry had clambered over to the end of the row. The ecstatic clicking picked up in tempo, and your eyes widened in horror before you scrambled onto your feet to sprint as fast as humanly possible. The eerie gurgling emerged as the creature stalked behind you. You didn’t spare a look behind you, propelling your legs under you as quickly as you could. The dank room seemed to expand ever larger around you, but you weren’t sure if it was moving or whether it had always been this large. Rows tall as skyscrapers flickered in your field of vision for a second before bricks flashed through. Clicking sounded behind you until you were stumbling over smooth concrete on the outside of the bedroom. You fell to your knees and vomited on the cement. Your vision blurred and your head pounded. Each individual cell of your body felt as if it had been individually beaten, and you dry heaved after everything was out of your stomach.

Aemond came to pull your hair back, worry pulled across his face as one arm patted you gently on the back. When you finally finished, you turned your bloodshot gaze to meet his. The fear was still palpable in Aemond’s eyes, but you could see relief dawning in them too as he pulled you in for a hug. “Nice to see you too, Y/N.” He teased. Your arms shook as you wrapped them around his midsection, inhaling the scent of leather and soap.

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Ahh! Second series starting!!!! Let me know what you all think, this one will probably be a bit sparser in updates than STGM but shouldn't be less frequent than every other week. Love y'all have a good weekend drink water

#aemond x reader #hotd x reader #aemond x you #hotd imagine #aemond fic #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen x you #aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen imagine #aemond fanfiction #prince aemond #house of the dragon aemond #aemond x y/n #prince aemond targaryen

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clownboybebop · 5 months

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god dammit! I had such a good track record of being a haterly lesbian adjacent music snob. I was like mmmm Hayley kiyoko might be into girls but it’s going to take more than lesbianism to actually convince me it’s a good song. And I was allll fucking ready to write off Chappell roan as a mediocre fem4fem tiktok gimmick musician. but You know Lads it’s really hard to be a total asshole about music that fucking sparkly. Any time I start getting bitchy about something really minor in a song, the meager part of my brain that hasn’t been calcified by a decade of tumblrina misanthropy is like “shut the fuck up!! It’s literally a femininominon what’s your problem” and then I get just a little less worse :)

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hostilemuppet · 7 months

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Seeing the Floyd perspective on the relationship makes me want to see the Creek perspective, especially the period where they were divorced. But also: Goddamn. This relationship really is the happiest either could get huh. I mean, Floyd could and CAN do better if he wanted, but I think it’s sweet how they chose each other.

okay heres my thoughts on creeks side of the situation, again keep in mind its just MY thoughts and not "canon" to the au

After Trolls 1 (a brief summary for the non-trolls fans following along at home: he was almost eaten by King Gristle so he sold (what he thought was) his entire species to save himself. He gets eaten by a BIGGER monster but he makes it out, somehow. Don’t think about it too hard) he lives alone in the woods for several months, before returning to Troll Village. People do NOT want him around, because, you know. Do I need to explain it? But Poppy let him back in, because she “feels bad for him” or whatever, and also they used to date so she thinks she has to. So he has a home, he’s back in his old pod, he even has his old job back! But no one wants to be around him, and he’s got only himself to blame.

Creek does NOT blame himself. He’s NEVER at fault, it’s always someone else’s. He devolves further into misanthropy, while still keeping up his at peace, Zen facade. He hates everyone. He hates Poppy. He hates Branch.

He tries to get back to how he was, establish himself as a musician, on top of teaching yoga. He gets a lot of fans, but he’s still pretty... controversial, to say the least. How could he not be? He was almost responsible for hundreds of deaths. But worse things haven’t stopped people from stanning. Look at your real life Twitter trending tab if you don’t believe me!

After all tribes are at peace, he makes an off colour comment about how rowdy and loud Rock trolls are when someone stops by his yoga class and disrupts it for his much more well behaved Pop students. Obviously, canon typical racism is a pretty big no-no, so he gets a lot of flack. Hence, the collab with Riff, which doesn’t actually help his reputation at all because Riff immediately took to Twitter to call Creek an asshole.

Then, Creek decides he’s been going at this all wrong. he doesn’t need to bend over backwards to make himself look better; he just needs to make the people he HATES look WORSE! As much as he hates to admit it, Branch is actually pretty spotless (and is, you know, dating the Queen, so...). But, he has FOUR brothers, two of which are single and one of which is infamous for whoring himself out. The adoring public are more willing to crucify their idols for victimless sex scandals than they are for genuine atrocities. This is when Creek pays someone (several someones, actually, but only one of them was successful) to seduce Floyd, record it without his knowledge, and send Creek the footage so he can leak it and tank Brozone’s reputation. We’ve been over how this didn’t work out for him in the way he wanted, but that doesn’t mean it was entirely a waste of time. He broke Floyd a little more.

A couple months pass. Creek continues to get in controversies that he could easily avoid if he simply stepped out of the spotlight, but he can’t, because he is addicted to clout and still believes he is never at fault. He finds out Riff has collabed with Floyd, and since Riff is one of the many, many trolls who are dead to Creek, he throws his little adult man tantrum and decides it’s personal, and he needs to take matters into his own hands. If you want it done right, you should just do it yourself. He starts frequenting Floyd’s favourite gay bar until by some miracle they’re in the same place at the same time. You know how things go.

Creek wakes up the next morning sore. Y'know, because of the drugs. Mostly. He’s alone. He’s mad, that his plan didn’t work. But he can still save it, and next time they run into each other he asks for Floyd’s number, saying how he really wants this to go further, he felt a connection. He did not feel a connection. Creek is not attracted to other men. They start dating, and he couldn’t be happier; not because he likes Floyd, obviously, but because he’s sure Branch is dying inside. I mean, yeah, Branch barely reacts any more past the first week, but he’s probably just really good at faking tranquillity. Creek knows how to fake tranquillity, too.

The relationship lasts, a lot longer than he thought it would, honestly. He thought it’d last a couple weeks at most, before Branch tried to kill him. But no such luck, instead, he’s stuck being couple-y, doing couple-y things, with a man he feels nothing for. They engage in a lot of PDA, and Creek buys Floyd a lot of gifts (that he insists were HIS ideas, NOT Floyd’s), they’re basically attached at the hip! And Creek genuinely thinks he’s on top of the situation. Poor, sweet, innocent Floyd, or whatever. He’s The Sensitive One! There’s no way Floyd knows what’s going on. He's be inconsolable if he did.

So when Floyd pushes him to prove how much Creek loves him, when he doesn’t, the only thing he can think of is to propose. He wasn’t sure what he was thinking. Honestly, he was pretty sure Floyd would say no, since they’d only been going out about half a year, and if that’s the end of the relationship, at least he could peddle it for sympathy points from the public. Unfortunately, Floyd is fucking crazy, and said yes.

Now Creek has a husband. He is still not into men, but he has a husband. He moves out of his pod and into Floyd’s mansion. This is it, he thinks. This is the rest of his life. He still keeps up the act, of course. He can’t have Floyd catching on. But he’s kinda bummed about his fate as a trophy husband for someone he feels nothing for.

He gets his first egg a month or two later, and is surprised to find that Floyd had a matching one. Creek might not care for Floyd, but he never thought he’d be a dad, and he gets. Emotional? He didn’t think he was CAPABLE of crying happy tears any more! Not that he’d let Floyd know, of course. The eggs hatch a month later (Floyd insisted on their names) and Creek is actually, genuinely happy. For a bit.

A month after that, four months into their marriage, everything falls into the open. Creek finds out that Floyd knew he never loved him, but he was playing Creek like 3D chess. And he’s mad, of course, but what is he gonna do, divorce Floyd? They have kids! Plus, you know, Floyd’s blackmailing him. “Tricking a man into marrying you and having kids with him” wouldn’t exactly be good for Creek’s reputation, not to mention how Floyd knows a lot of his personal embarrassing secrets now. From that point, things ramp up a couple notches.

No longer having to pretend everything is hunky dory in the privacy of their own homes, things escalate into all out warfare. And Creek can’t lie, it’s kind of an adrenaline rush, having to sleep next to the guy who you hate more than anything. Which is another thing that freaks Creek out! He actually hates Floyd more than Poppy, or even Branch! Don’t get him wrong, thinking about either of them for too long still fills him with white hot rage, but he doesn’t get the opportunity when Floyd’s wrapping his arms around him and acting all sappy in public, knowing they’re gonna go home and choke each other. Non sexually. Okay, maybe a little sexually. He’s still not into boys.

Then, they get comfortable. And things become too “real” for Floyd, who leaves, and divorces him, and doesn’t even try to get PARTIAL custody. Creek is shocked, at first, but then decides this is the best possible outcome. They’re no longer together, it’s NOT Creek’s fault, and he has sole custody of the kids he loves so dearly! Plus, he’s back on the market, baby! He can get back to cruising for fit GIRLS. He doesn’t have much luck. Partly because most Pop trolls still hate him (even if at this point it has dialled back to levels of the Azealia Banks Chicken Fiasco), partly because, at this point? He has no idea how to form genuine romantic relationships with other trolls that aren’t built on psychological warfare. He doesn’t even realise he’s doing it! Several relationships end in him getting dumped, with her friends and family encouraging her to leave him for “emotional abuse”, or whatever. He didn’t even mean it this time, honest! He just wanted to win, you know? He forgot the point of a romantic relationship is not actually to seek victory. But it’s so hard not to! He spent 18 months doing exactly that! Even when he “lost”, which was most of the time, he still got a sick thrill out of the hunt. A sick thrill he is now missing. He understands why Floyd couldn’t quit the coke, now. He tries not to think about Floyd any more.

Meanwhile, their fraternal twins, Brad and Angelina, wait patiently for their parents to get back together. Even though Brad was only 8 months old at the time of divorce, that’s like, 6 years for a troll, and he knew there’s no way in Hell they could stay apart. He just has to wait a bit for his Pops to come back home. Angelina, while having no opinions on whether they will or even should get back together, has already started reaping the benefits of having recently divorced parents at school. She’d be looking forward to having two Giftmases and two birthdays, if she knew what either of those were yet.

Then comes the reunion. We know what happens. They run into each other at a charity event for orphans, not that Floyd remembers what it’s for, since he’s been violently depressed for several months and is only there because Brozone (not specifically Floyd) were asked to make an appearance. They reminisce on their whirlwind romance, they get drunk, Floyd forces JD to remarry them. Creek wakes up the next morning with a brand new ring on his finger.

Creek’s first thought is that the rings look cheap, like they were the only ones they could get on such short notice, and he’s glad he never sold their original rings that he still has back in the mansion. Then, it sinks in that he has Floyd back. He means, that he’s back with Floyd. Which he feels totally neutral on. Negative, even. He’s definitely NOT thrilled that he’s got his perfect match back, and can stop trying to pretend to be someone he’s not. He hates Floyd. Grr! He gives up the act the second Floyd wakes up, and he sees Creek, and starts crying.

At first Creek thinks, aw shit, this was a mistake, we’re getting divorced again. He’s gonna be twice divorced before he’s 30, which is NOT a good look for him. Then they talk, for a while, until they’re on the same page. This IS what they both want. They want to be together. They want to constantly be at each others’ throats, sometimes literally. They want to always have to think, and plan, and make sure the other won’t come out on top. It’s more enriching for them than any other relationship could ever be. This is the first and probably only time they have ever been fully 100% honest with each other.

Except for the sex tape thing, obviously. Creek’s taking that to the grave.

They return to the mansion and Brad greets Floyd casually, as if it hadn’t been 3 1/2 months since they’ve seen each other. Angelina asks if this means they get to eat junk food again. Floyd arranges for a moving van to bring all his stuff back to the mansion that week, and Creek arranges for Brangelina to visit friends for the day.

Things settle down and after a week or two and you’d never even guess they divorced, if not for how they’re back in their honeymoon phase, and Creek has gone from insisting he feels nothing for Floyd to admitting he is psychosexually obsessed with him. He still says he’s straight, though. And Floyd is more than happy to live with that.

#ask #tdau

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