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toournextadventure · 10 months

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our little secret iii

Summary: All four of you lost the bet, and now it's time to pay up. Thankfully, Maxine and Bobby-Lynn know just how to make sure Lorraine has to pay up too.

Word Count: 8.9k Warnings: swearing, smut 18+, religious talk (typical of southern states), religious trauma, period-typical homophobia Pairing: Lorraine Day x Fem!Reader (Masterlist)

“This ain’t sittin’ right with me,” you whispered to Beau as you tried, once again, to get comfortable in the back of RJ’s van.

Despite your best attempts, you, Beau, and Huck were currently sitting with Lorraine’s crew on the way to a location. It had been agreed by everyone - except you, obviously - that you had all lost the bet, so you should all have to own up. Although you still found it profoundly unfair that Lorraine somehow got out unscathed from the entire thing that she had agreed to.

And now you were stuck in the back of a hot, sweaty van with a bunch of hot, sweaty people that were one camera away from having relations for pay.

“We all lost, we all pay up,” Beau whispered back even as he smiled at Maxine. You rolled your eyes; he was such a suck up.

“Lorraine ain’t gotta pay up,” you grumbled, but settled back in your spot anyway.

Admittedly, you were being rather rude. You had barely said hello to any of them, and you hadn’t talked to them since the trip had started. It wasn’t their fault though, it was entirely on you. You just… didn’t know what to say to them. This wasn’t your world, and it was completely overwhelming. You didn’t care what any of them did for a living, but you hadn’t expected to be a part of it.

And if Jackson didn’t quit staring at you, you were going to lose your mind.

“You look awful familiar,” Jackson said with the slightest tilt of his head. He never stopped rubbing Bobby-Lynn’s thighs.

“Ever been a few hours south of Houston?” You asked, shifting in your spot to bring your knees up to your chest.

“Don’t believe I have,” he said with a shrug.

“Must just be a resemblance, then,” you answered.

“Leave her be,” Bobby-Lynn said as she playfully smacked Jackson’s chest. “Can’t you see you’re making her uncomfortable?”

“Do we make you uncomfortable, sweetheart?” Jackson asked.

Oh. Oh, yeah, that was very uncomfortable.

“You were in ‘Nam, right?” Beau asked, thankfully pulling the attention away from you. You supposed he was good for something.

“Yes sir,” Jackson said with a smile, pulling his dog tags out from under his shirt. “Two tours.”

“North or South?” Beau continued. Okay, maybe you didn’t want to hear so much about this anymore.

“South.”

“Y/N’s brother was in South Vietnam,” Huck chimed in. “Maybe that’s where you recognise her.”

Oh, you wanted them both to shut up. You wanted them both to hush right that instant. You looked up and instantly met Lorraine’s eyes from across the van. She was still sitting beside RJ, going over the script and whatever else she usually did. But there was the smallest tug at the corner of her mouth when she looked at you.

I hate you, you mouthed, to which her smile grew before she went back to the script.

“What’s your brother’s name, sweetheart?” Jackson asked, pulling you back into the conversation that you desperately wished would end.

Although you liked the adorable little frown Lorraine sent Jackson’s way at the use of the little nickname. Maybe you were okay with talking with Jackson. If it could get Lorraine’s feathers ruffled, then it was worth it. It was about time the tables were turned.

“Roy,” you said. “Roy Y/L/N.”

“No shit,” Jackson said. “I served with that son of a bitch.”

“Seriously?” You pulled your knees up to your chest and leaned forward. “Which tour?”

“My first,” he said with a smile.

You smiled back. “So you knew him before he…” your voice trailed off into nothing as your eyes slowly lowered to the floor of the van and your smile fell.

Before he went crazy. But you couldn’t say that out loud, could you? Your daddy had done his best to make sure you all knew not to mention Roy’s “affliction.” A test from God, he had called it. He used it as nothing more than a piss poor excuse to remind everyone that that’s what happens when you fall from faith. What would he say about you?

You just kept your mouth shut and rested your chin on your knees.

“He caught the combat trauma,” Huck said in a far softer tone than Beau ever could have managed.

“Now that’s a shame,” Jackson said with a shake of his head.

“Heard it happens more than you think,” Maxine called out from the front seat. It was probably the first thing you had heard from her since… Well, it was the first thing you had heard. “They all come home different.”

Oh, you weren’t so sure you liked this.

“You can’t come back different,” Bobby-Lynn said with a humourless chuckle. “Besides, it ain’t even real, is it?”

“They said it is,” Maxine continued, finally turning around to face everyone. “Put it in their little book last year, called it PTSD or somethin’ like that.”

You didn’t like this topic at all. The hair on the back of your neck stood up and your grip around your knees tightened. They didn’t get to talk about this like it was nothing of impact to you. Hadn’t they just heard Huck say Roy had this… this combat trauma? And they were going to act like nothing was wrong?

Everyone around you continued to talk about this new PTSD thing that was starting to make its rounds. It felt like someone was watching you. Without lifting your head, you looked up and were instantly met with Lorraine staring at you with that look that she had never grown out of. A look that she gave you every time you would be forced to talk about Beau as if he were the love of your life. A look of pity.

And you hated pity.

“Hey,” Jackson said, a little softer than everyone else’s ongoing conversation. He nudged your foot with his to get you to look over. “If you want me to talk to him, man to man, just let me know.”

His smile was more genuine than you had seen from a stranger in a long time. But there was no comfort in it because his offer was empty. You had no doubt he was being genuine, but how were you going to invite him over and have him talk to Roy without Daddy figuring out? The times were changing, but Jackson was a… certain type of man that you knew Daddy would never happily allow in his home. You and Roy were already scourges upon his land - though he still didn’t know your secret - so how could you possibly invite Jackson over with a clear conscience?

“Thank you,” you said instead, your smile far more convincing than your own thoughts.

The rest of the trip was, by all accounts, uneventful. That blasphemous talk of trauma and war had changed when Lorraine decided it was time to talk about the script. And even as she and RJ went over everything with their stars, and you were faced with the reality that you were truly, painfully alone, you still felt some sort of peace.

You would almost go so far as to say you felt comfortable.

Until you got to the shooting location.

“Are you serious?” You whisper-yelled at Lorraine when you both got out of the van. “You should have told me.”

“Would you have come?” She shot back, quickly shooting a fake smile to Beau and Huck when they passed. “Besides, we’re usin’ the building beside it.”

“You’re full of shit,” you mumbled as you looked up at the steeple of the small chapel.

By all accounts, it was a splendid little church. With a single steeple at the front of the roof and an elevated cross in the back, it almost reminded you of the one at home. Double doors that doubtlessly opened into a small worship room that held eight pews at most before ascending into the podium. A setup not unlike your own church back home, except this one didn’t house the guilt you couldn’t shed.

Beside the church was the parsonage, looking just as you knew them to look. Small, a little run down, painted a white that felt forced upon the environment. The paint was chipped and the window shutters were slightly askew, but it seemed to fit the rather bleak landscape behind it. Not ugly, but not exactly pretty either.

“Whatcha think?” Wayne asked. You jumped, but quickly regained composure. “Ain’t she pretty?”

“It looks cozy,” you said with a shrug. “You’re filmin’ in the parsonage, right? Not the church?”

Wayne laughed. A big hearty laugh that reminded you of all the sweet older men out at the rodeos. The ones that told you you were being ridiculous, but they were going to do their best not to openly tell you. It was a joyous laugh that was both humiliating and comforting simultaneously.

“I nearly forgot Church Mouse said you were a preacher,” he said once his laughter had subsided enough for him to talk.

“Church Mouse?” You asked.

“We’re usin’ the parsonage,” he continued, practically ignoring your question. “We’re not intendin’ to disrespect you.”

He clapped you on the shoulder and cocked his hip. You could see why Lorraine liked him. Overconfident, cocky as hell, but his smile always seemed genuine. Somehow, some way, he had seemed to be in a good mood the entire trip and even now. Optimism at its finest. You wished you could match it.

��Although I do have a favour to ask you,” Wayne said, his voice carrying a lilt that had your stomach churning.

“Yes?” You asked even though you weren’t entirely sure you wanted to know.

“Think you can pray over this little set of ours?” He asked. “Help us break this bad streak we got goin’ on?”

“Oh,” you said with a huff, followed by a nervous chuckle. “Oh, I can do that then.”

Wayne smiled with his teeth and tipped his hat. “Thank ya kindly.”

You kept your eyes trained on the doors of the chapel while Wayne walked away, presumably to help set up whatever it was he was needing to set up. You could pray over the set. It was a little blasphemous to use prayer for something so… risque, but you weren’t a prude. After all, Daddy had always said everyone could use a little prayer.

The handle on the door was a beautiful polished silver; spare no expense for a house of God, of course. Hypocrites, the lot of them. But it was nice to open the doors without even the slightest resistance. Nothing was more terrifying than a run down church with creaky doors. It was like walking into a horror movie.

Your boots echoed off the empty wooden walls of the chapel as you walked down the center aisle, taking in everything about the building. It was a rather beautiful church, you wouldn’t try to deny it. A single, small stained glass window hung above the podium. It would cast a beautiful coloured light where the preacher would be standing on Sunday mornings.

There were three steps up to the podium before you stood behind the lectern and looked out onto the ghostly congregation. Not a single soul was inside the building, but from your spot above the room, you could feel the eyes on you. Momma, Roy, Jimmy. Granma and Granpa were in the back, followed by friends, family, everyone in the congregation that knew you excruciatingly well.

Then there was Daddy, sitting in the aisle of the front pew, watching you with that judgmental look. The one that he gave when he was condemning someone to hell for their sins. And he was looking at you, like he could see through your physical form, all the way to the filthy soul you hid underneath it all.

“You can’t wash away sin,” Daddy said.

You couldn’t breathe.

“I don’t-”

“-There you are.”

The entire congregation disappeared as soon as you saw Lorraine standing in the doorway. Light from the setting sun illuminated her outline, almost a perfect copy of the angel painted above the doorway. And she was. She was an angel, one that you would worship even as you were cast into the pits of hell.

“Thought we lost you,” Lorraine said as she walked down the aisle with far more confidence than she had at home.

Your breath caught in your throat when she finally stepped out of the light in a startling white dress. It looked far too close to a wedding dress. It didn’t make sense, but you couldn’t quit staring. She looked so beautiful. Her smile was illuminating; it left your palms sweaty and your chest hurt-

-you gasped and pulled your hand away from the wooden lectern. The smallest splinter was stuck in your right index finger. It was easy enough to pull out, leaving behind a scarlet drop of blood that grew until dripping down your finger.

“Are you alright?”

You opened your mouth to answer, but when you looked back up Lorraine was in normal clothes. The very same ones she had worn on the trip over. The one she had never changed out of. Right. Maybe you really were crazy.

“I’m fine,” you said with a simple nod. “Just-” you sighed “-doin’ what Wayne asked.”

“Didn’t think he was a praying man,” she said with a frown. “Want some company?”

“Yeah,” you said with a soft smile. “Yeah, I do.”

As you walked down to the bottom of the three steps to meet Lorraine, the blood from your finger smeared across the finely polished wood. You left a stain on that church, same as your own. A stain that, as your Daddy constantly preached, you could never wash away.

—---

“You’re lookin’ a little green, sweetheart,” Huck whispered as he walked up to where you were standing in the back of the room.

“I’m not green,” you whispered back even as you continued to watch the scene unfold before you. “I just- I didn’t know the body could do that.”

“You’re such a preacher’s kid,” he said with a teasing lilt. Thankfully that was all he said before he crossed his arms over his chest and looked forward.

It wasn’t your first time seeing people having sex. You weren’t a complete fool, you had seen it before. Kind of. Okay, maybe it was the most tame sex in the world, but you had seen it! And you weren’t some sort of virgin either, so you weren’t totally in the dark. But you certainly hadn’t seen this before and it was… fascinating.

And a little concerning. Your head tilted. How did it even fit? Did Bobby-Lynn even genuinely find it enjoyable? Well, okay, after that noise you could believe that maybe she did. But all that other stuff, there was no way. No way at all- wait, that actually looked interesting. You wondered if Lorraine would like that.

"You're starin'," Huck whispered.

"I can't help it," you shot back. "It's like when you pass a car wreck. You can't look away."

"I think they would die if they heard you compare watchin' smut to a car wreck," he laughed. It was a little loud, you hoped the boom mic wouldn't pick it up.

"Where's your little boy toy?" You asked, hoping to take the awkward attention away from yourself. Even though you still couldn't look away from the scene. God, you hoped it was over soon.

"Your boyfriend," he said pointedly, "is downstairs talkin' with Maxine."

Oh Maxine. You had only known her for a few days, but you were starting to think she enjoyed stirring up trouble. Within moments of getting set up in the parsonage, she had made friendly with Huck and Beau. A little too friendly. You would have laughed about the whole situation if you hadn’t been attempting to act jealous to keep up the facade.

“Reckon I should go act the part of the jealous girlfriend, huh?” You asked.

“Yeah you should,” he whispered. “Though I doubt anyone will believe it with the way you’re watching your dear Rainey over there.”

You hated him for even bringing it up. So what if you had stopped watching Bobby-Lynn and instead watched Lorraine? The way she gently blew a few strands of hair out of her face while she held the boom mic as steady as you had ever seen. She wasn’t muscular by any means, but you could still see the tone in her shoulders. Or the… the little crinkle between her brows when she focused…

Okay, Huck was right, you needed to leave.

“Told you,” he said as you backed out of the room with a hellish heat in your cheeks.

As soon as the door closed behind you and the pornographic sounds muted, you could finally breathe again. Your mind was clear and you could walk down the stairs without a thought in your head. Well… maybe you had one or two thoughts, but it was okay. You could repent later at the chapel.

Maxine’s laughter was… almost adorable, if she wasn’t trying so hard to seduce Beau. Her nails lazily scratched up and down his bicep, and her face was embarrassingly close to his ear. If you had loved him the way you were supposed to, you would’ve been furious. Should have been furious.

You pictured Lorraine in Beau’s position. Sitting there with Maxine all over her, laughing at the unfunny jokes, leaning a little too close. It made your stomach turn. Your skin was hot and clammy and something pounded inside your head, screaming to be let out. There would have been no shame in your body for grabbing her and dragging her away.

Okay, there you go. Now you had the right feelings.

Your mind had already forgotten Lorraine wasn’t there when you sat in Beau’s lap. Like a good girlfriend should do, you wrapped your arms around his neck and held him close, inhaling his scent. Sawdust. Something you supposed other women liked, which made him a downright tease.

“How’s your first smut viewin’ goin’?” Maxine asked, which instinctively had your nose scrunch before you regained composure. “That good, huh?”

“It ain’t bad,” you said. “Don’t think I really understand the appeal, though.”

“What part is… unappealing to you?” She asked, her voice far softer than necessary.

The way she leaned in closer, trailing her eyes over every inch of you… and maybe you could see the appeal. It was something about her hand that had moved from Beau’s arm to yours. Soft. Almost too soft, but you didn’t want it to stop. And she held eye contact like it was an art-

-oh, Maxine was dangerous.

“Oh,” Maxine said with a small smile, “so that’s what it is.”

What was that supposed to mean? You opened your mouth to ask, but the stairs started creaking from the heavy footsteps. The skin underneath Maxine’s fingers felt terribly cold when she pulled back. Unfortunately for her, she didn’t pull back before Lorraine appeared, her brows furrowed and eyes glued to her coworker.

Maxine just smiled.

“Am I interrupting somethin’?” Lorraine asked. Anyone that didn’t know her well would have missed the slight elevation in her tone. A dangerous tone.

“Just learnin’ a bit about each other,” Maxine said. Her hand rested on your arm again and you felt a heat in your cheeks. “Since we’re stuck here together and all.”

Like the dutiful girlfriend, you hid your head in Beau’s neck and tried to ignore his slight shake of silent laughter.

That tension didn’t end even as the sun set and stars came out to play. Everyone relaxed and had their fun and it reminded you of nights with just the four of you. Laughing, teasing, seeing Huck and Beau get closer than when they were at your house. Not too close, but it was still enough. Hell, it was almost enough to ease the usual anger from Lorraine being with R.J.

Until a few days later when it was time for everyone to start paying up on their lost bets.

The days had already started off miserably. Since you were “officially” Beau’s girlfriend, you were set to share a bed with him. But when Huck snuck in and you all tried to fit three people on a twin size mattress? Well, that was just borderline impossible. Clearly it wasn’t fully impossible, seeing as how you all made it work, but that didn’t mean you actually slept at all through the night.

Tack onto that Lorraine and R.J. coming down at the same time each morning, and you realised that you were horribly, terribly alone? You would have killed someone to get even just a single blanket and a big empty spot on the floor. Let you lie like a dog while everyone else became stars.

The first to suffer was, of course, you. Now, you would admit, you had offered to pay up first. In your convoluted train of thought, the sooner you watched Lorraine’s scene, the sooner you could forget it. At least that was what you believed would happen. You hoped that’s what would happen.

But in the moment, as you watched Lorraine getting ready, you knew it wouldn’t be quite that simple. You had to watch her move, see the look on her face, listen to her moans. She certainly never sounded like that when you were with her. Was this something that she genuinely enjoyed? Were you nothing more than a pleasant distraction when she was practically forced to go back home?

“I can’t do this,” you whispered to yourself.

The hair on the back of your neck stood up as everyone watched you back out of the room, practically tripping over your own feet in your haste. Each step felt like the ground was rushing up to meet you, even as you stayed perfectly upright. You wished you would just trip down the stairs, maybe then it would ease the spiraling of your thoughts.

Downstairs wasn’t much better when you were still aware of exactly what was going on upstairs. Did you mean anything to her? Really, truly? Surely you did, Lorraine was hardheaded, she wouldn’t entertain your presence if she didn’t want you there. On the other hand, she kept RJ around for nothing, so maybe you were on the same level.

You picked up one of the books you had found the other day; some book called The Dead Sea Scriptures. It wasn’t all that fantastic, your daddy actually had a copy in his office at the church. But at least it was a distraction. Just like you. Okay, that certainly wasn’t helpful. Maybe you needed a stiff drink too.

The Hollywood grade acting you did was enough to convince everyone you were just peachy. No one batted an eye when RJ, Wayne, and Jackson left the parsonage after finishing Lorraine’s scene. To get some more groceries, they had said. You didn’t care, it really didn’t matter one way or another where they went.

“So,” Maxine said as she sat down beside you on the couch. Well, she practically sat on you. “You’ve got some explainin’ to do.”

“I’m not explainin’ the book of Job,” you said without looking up from your book. “Jackson already believes there’s a dragon in it and I can’t have that argument again.”

“Not about that, silly,” she said; her hand was hot on your knee. “About you bein’ a third wheel.”

Oh you were not getting into that kind of conversation with Maxine. The past few days had been wonderful, and truthfully you had enjoyed it. They were all a bit… extravagant, but they were kind. As odd as it sounded to you, they felt more like family than most of your own family. You could see why Lorraine spent so much time with them even when she didn’t have to.

But you enjoying their company did not mean you wanted to get into the whole relationship conversation with Maxine.

“Your boys are some of those queers, huh?” She asked. “That’s why they’re up there filmin’ some fake scene while you’re down here.” Her hand squeezed right above your knee. “Readin’ some nerdy little book.”

“It was a bet,” you said. “We’ve always paid up, ever since we were little.” She smirked. “And my book ain’t nerdy.”

“It bother you that you gotta share your man?” She asked, as if you hadn’t even said anything in the first place.

“I-”

“-did you really start without me?” Bobby-Lynn asked when she appeared in the downstairs living room.

You did your best to conceal your displeasure when Bobby-Lynn practically ran over to sit on the other side of you. Her legs were bare, her denim shorts barely covering any part of her. She swung them over your own legs quickly, leaving you officially trapped underneath the both of them. You would’ve been lying if you said it didn’t make your stomach flip.

“How far did ya get?” Bobby-Lynn asked. She was practically bouncing in excitement.

“We just started,” Maxine answered with a smile that would have made you squirm if you weren’t so focused on trying to figure out what was going on.

“Don’t y’all have scenes to shoot?” You asked in a desperate attempt to get them to leave you alone before they really got started.

“Don’t you have someone you should be thinkin’ about?” Maxine asked.

You opened your mouth instinctively, ready to argue, especially when Bobby-Lynn continued to lean closer. They both had some nerve to believe they could catch you off guard with their interrogation that was only just beginning. They had known you for, what, all of a few days? And still they thought they could get something like this out of you? They were pornstars, not detectives.

“Of course I’m thinkin’ about her-”

-maybe they were detectives.

You threw your head back against the couch, a groan leaving your lips. On either side of you, both women practically cheered, giving each other a high-five. It was disgusting, were you nothing more than a pawn in whatever game they were playing? Your daddy was right; couldn’t trust sinners.

You actively ignored the fact that you were one of them.

“Why the long face, sweetheart?” Bobby-Lynn asked.

“It’s not like we couldn’t tell,” Maxine said.

What was that supposed to mean? How did they even notice? As far as you could remember, you hadn’t even spent hardly any time in the same room as Lorraine. How could they get some sort of scandal out of that? Let alone the fact you thought you had said maybe three words to her after she had helped you pray over set on that first day. No, none of that made sense.

“I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about,” you said as you finally pulled yourself back upright, ignoring that Maxine’s and Bobby-Lynn’s faces were so close to yours they could kiss your cheeks if they wanted.

“You think every girl is fine with their boyfriend hookin’ up with another guy?” Bobby-Lynn asked.

You knew that would be the issue. You knew it, and you had told all three of them that it was shady at best. There was no logical reason for it, even if it was from some stupid bet. It may have been the 80s, but not everyone was as easy going as the four of you were. Not everyone was as understanding, and though that wasn’t the current issue, it still played its part.

“Not to mention all the lookin’ you’ve been doin’,” Bobby-Lynn chimed in. “You certainly ain’t lookin’ at Beau that way.”

“I-” you closed your mouth just as quickly as you had opened it. What were you going to say to argue? What could you say?

“Honey, we ain’t judgin’,” Maxine said. Her hand felt warm on your neck. She was far too close for comfort. “But this whole thing is pretty sad.”

“It ain’t that sad,” you pitifully attempted to argue.

“Darlin’, it’s downright painful,” Bobby-Lynn said. Her going back and forth with Maxine was giving you whiplash. “Ain’t never seen anyone pine like that.”

“It’s a bit pathetic,” Maxine said.

“Hey,” you said, your eyebrows instantly furrowing. “Hold your horses, that’s unnecessary.”

“Don’t be gettin’ so defensive,” Bobby-Lynn said with a smile that was to die for. “We’re here to help.”

“By throwin’ my self-esteem out the window?” You asked.

“Oh no,” Maxine said with a slowly growing smile, “it’s much better than that.”

This time, when your stomach twisted into knots again, you didn’t feel quite so dreadful about the upcoming plans.

—---

After Bobby-Lynn and Maxine had told you about their sneaky little plan, the parsonage had felt a little less like a prison. When all the guys got back and everyone finished upstairs, you almost felt at peace. There was still the lingering tension when both Lorraine and RJ were in the room, but you could work with it. And for once, you didn’t feel quite so bad when you met Lorraine’s eyes.

“How many scenes we got left?” Wayne asked when everyone settled downstairs for supper.

In a very selfless move, you had offered to cook. It certainly wasn’t because you didn’t want to have to look at anyone while Bobby-Lynn and Maxine got to work on their plan. That would have been selfish, and you were nothing if not a good, selfless, Christian girl.

“Only two or three, we can finish them tomorrow,” RJ said from his spot beside Lorraine on the couch.

“Me and Maxine have an addition to make,” Bobby-Lynn said.

“An addition?” Wayne asked. “What kind?”

“Well,” Maxine said, drawing out the word for longer than necessary, “we were thinkin’ our little Preacher would look awful pretty on her knees.”

“Excuse me?” Lorraine asked.

Suddenly, the food you were cooking required the utmost attention. It would be quite the shame if you burned something. After all, everyone back there was working rather hard on their scenes, they deserved a good meal, didn’t they? And if it gave you an excuse to not see the look on Lorraine’s face then, well, that’s just an added bonus.

“Fitting, ain’t it?” Bobby-Lynn asked.

“And we’d take good care of her,” Maxine drawled. Oh, they were really testing the waters.

It seemed to be working.

“She’s not part of this,” Lorraine said.

“Wouldn’t be such a bad idea,” RJ said. “Might draw more attention to the film.”

“It’s smut, RJ,” she continued, “it draws enough attention on its own.”

“Well hold on now, let’s talk this out,” Wayne said.

Everyone started talking - except, you noticed, for Maxine - and you almost wanted to laugh. If you had known this was all it would take to get Lorraine on edge, you would’ve said something like this ages ago. It sounded like she didn’t even care that RJ was in the room. It was… a nice feeling.

“Did you plan this?” Beau asked, suddenly appearing beside you.

“I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about,” you said softly with a shrug. “Everyone here has a mind of their own.”

“Well keep it up,” he said as he rested his hand on the small of your back, “because I think it’s workin’.”

“The answer’s no,” Lorraine said.

“Well why don’t we ask her?” Bobby-Lynn said.

Silence fell over the room quickly; it was suffocating. If you could have, you would have slunk away to the room you shared with the boys. Even before turning around you could feel everyone’s eyes on you. Maybe, if you were really lucky, you could get away without actually answering the question.

That possibility was struck down the moment you turned your head to look out into the room.

Lorraine was looking at you expectantly, most likely believing she knew what you were going to say. In any other situation, she would have been right. You wanted no one but her, and everyone was more than aware of it. Well, everyone but Wayne, RJ, and potentially Jackson. Though judging by the way Jackson was looking at you, he knew too.

“Might be fun,” you said with a shrug and turned back around. “I can always repent next door.”

“Are you serious?” Lorraine asked.

At that you turned back around and leaned your hip against the counter. Was she really going to question you? After what she did for a living? Not once had you ever judged her for it, you had even helped her make light of it when she felt guilt creeping in. She had the nerve to question you?

“Like a heart attack, honey,” you said with far more confidence than you felt.

The look Lorraine gave you was deadly.

“Seems we got our answer,” Maxine said.

Lorraine missed the look she gave Bobby-Lynn.

—---

You hadn’t been asleep for long when the door of your room creaked open. Part of you wished it would have stayed closed; it was the first night you weren’t sleeping on the floor while Huck and Beau took the bed. Maxine was becoming a godsend; she’s the one who had convinced the boys to sleep in the van outside.

“Are you asleep?” Lorraine asked quietly after the door had clicked shut.

“Yes,” you said even as you sat up and looked at her.

She was in the nightgown you remembered getting her for her birthday. Her other one had been so old, there was no way it had even been comfy anymore. Not to mention she had made sure to let you know at every opportunity how badly she needed a new one. Clearly RJ hadn’t listened, so you had gotten it yourself. It was mighty cute, if you did say so yourself.

Lorraine tip-toed her way to the bed, whispering a quick “scoot over” before crawling underneath the covers with you. Even though the temperature outside was mild, her feet were freezing. Which she made sure to make you aware of when she stuck them against your legs, her smile taking over when you yelped and shivered.

“Were you serious about doin’ a scene with Bobby-Lynn and Max?” She asked as she reached out to force her folded hands between yours. She was freezing all over.

“Depends,” you said even as you started trying to warm up her hands. “Were you bein’ serious about tellin’ me no?”

“Of course I was,” she said indignantly.

“Then so was I,” you said.

Lorraine groaned. “You can’t be serious.”

“As a heart attack,” you said just as quickly.

Even though you weren’t serious at all. That was never the actual plan. The plan was simply to get Lorraine jealous enough to come into the room and, what would you know, that’s exactly what she had done. Even if absolutely nothing else happened, you would be happy. At least you got to spend a night with her without having to keep it a total secret.

“Why would you want to do this?” She asked. “It’s not like you don’t know how it works.”

“Maybe I want to learn a few things,” you said with as much of a shrug as you could do lying on your side.

“What could you possibly learn from smut?” Lorraine asked. “It’s all fake.”

“Were all those noises you made fake?” You asked. “Cause you never do that with me.”

The look on her face was almost offensive. Her eyes lit up like she was in on some little secret. Was she really going to laugh at you? She never laughed at you, not even when she rightfully should. Her hand now cupping your jaw was not enough to distract from the fact she was laughing.

“Is that what you’re worried about?” She asked. “You think I don’t like havin’ sex with you?”

“Not that you don’t like it,” you said quickly. “Just that,” you sighed, “you don’t like it as much.”

Her thumb brushed against your bottom lip. “You make me feel things none of those guys could even dream of.”

“Well you have to say that now,” you said as you leaned further into her hand. “Otherwise I wouldn’t let you put your cold feet on me.”

Her smile slipped to something a little different, a bit more seductive. You didn’t put up any resistance as she used her elbow to push your shoulder until you were laying on the bed. With the same ease as you had seen numerous times, she followed, her legs on either side of you and her weight resting comfortable on top of you. A position you very much loved, even without the arousal that came with it.

“Is there any way I can convince you not to film tomorrow?” Lorraine asked, lowering her tone in such a way that had you squirming underneath her. “What can I do?”

God you were pathetic, she hadn’t even touched you yet.

It was supposed to be a simple question, but you took it to heart. Of course she could convince you, you weren’t planning on filming anyway, but what could you get out of this arrangement? There had to be something you truly wanted, especially now that you had some sort of leverage.

Ah. That was it.

“Somethin’ we haven’t done before,” you said. “Somethin’ you like.”

Her smile slowly grew as she thought of what she wanted. The weight on top of you shifted until her hands pressed your shoulders further into the mattress. You felt her breath on your lips before you felt her kiss, quick and soft and eager. It was enough to get your heart racing even when she pulled away. She was off you in a moment, practically running out of the room.

You sat up on your elbows and watched the open door. What was she doing? Surely she wasn’t going to just leave, right? No, she wouldn’t do that. Right? That had been one of her more mischievous smiles, and she was absolutely one for payback. But you also knew Lorraine was nothing if not eternally aroused, so surely she wouldn’t just leave.

At least she better not, because if she teased you like that only to go and get back in bed with RJ, you were going to lose your mind. You weren’t usually one to make a scene, but you could always make an exception. The wrath of God, and all that good preacher nonsense.

You’re in a house of sin.

Yes you were, and you were going to partake in it for the night. Repentance was only 50 feet and a few hours away. If Lorraine could remove her cross necklace during scenes, surely you could remove the guilt from your chest for a few hours. God may have been in the walls, watching your every move, but He could look away for the time. You were far past the point of caring.

By the time Lorraine came back into the room, you were already jittery. Her hands were behind her back as she closed the door quietly, the click almost inaudible. that mischievous smile was back, but you noticed the way she tapped her foot against the floor, still in the same spot.

“You promise you wanna try somethin’ new?” She asked, her voice uncertain, carrying over the thick air.

“I’m sure,” you said, “just get over here.”

Her steps were slow, methodical on the straight path to the bed. The whole way her hands stayed behind her back. You wondered what she had, but you couldn’t think too hard. Hell, the sway of her hips could have made you forget your own name.

That familiar weight settled on you again as Lorraine straddled you, placing whatever was in her hands off to the side, just out of your sight. When you tried to twist and look at it, she pressed down against your shoulders again, her lips instantly finding yours.

Her nightgown rested high on her thighs, and you were never one to keep your hands to yourself. She sighed when you slid your hands under her nightgown, resting on her hips. Her breath tickled on your cheek. You couldn’t hold back your quiet chuckle, which Lorraine returned, smiling into the kiss.

“Don’t tickle,” she mumbled against your lips.

“What,” you said just as softly, “that ain't romantic?”

She laughed again, eliciting the same sound out of you as your hands continued up. Your knuckles brushed against the underside of her breasts, transforming her laugh into something a little more breathy but no less joyful. A sound that, you decided, was much better than anything you had heard during her scene.

“Take it off, Raine,” you said.

“What's the magic word?” She said before sitting up straight.

“Please,” you said breathlessly.

She barely waited for the word to leave your mouth before she pulled the nightgown over her head. Every time you saw her undress was like the first time. Your heart raced as she uncovered every inch of skin, from her thighs to her hips to her breasts. Not a single space had been neglected by you in your times together, and you weren't going to start that night.

You sat up, keeping a hand on Lorraine's back to keep her in your lap. She didn't hesitate to grab your face and pull you into a kiss. It immediately shot a wave of arousal down your spine, pooling in your lower abdomen. And for once, that usual spark of guilt was absent.

“Yours too,” she barely managed to say between kisses.

You couldn't speak, simply nodded as you fumbled around like a teenager. Or course the hem of your shirt would hide from you on the one night you not only had Lorraine, but a bed. She laughed again and pulled away. You tried to chase her - you would always try to chase her - but she pulled back again and placed a finger to your lips.

“Let me help,” she said.

Her fingers were so light against your skin that it tickled. She found the hem of your shirt quickly but took her sweet time pulling it up. Those delectable nails of hers scratched against your skin the entire time. Over your sides, the sides of your breasts, the underside of your arms as you held them up for her to finish pulling the shirt off.

“Is this Beau’s?” She asked.

“It’s comfy,” you said meekly.

She tossed the shirt to the side. “You should wear one of mine sometime.”

“I thought you liked me better shirtless,” you teased.

“Maxine has a word for people like you,” Lorraine said when she pulled you back in for a kiss. “She'd call you a minx.”

“I like it,” you said, kissing her back and running your knuckles over her nipples. Her shiver was delightful. “Sounds downright sinful.”

“Stop talking,” she said.

And oh god you did. How could you even consider doing anything else when you were enveloped by her? Her scent, her taste, the feel of her skin, warm against yours. If kissing her was the final nail in your coffin, you would accept death gracefully and with no regrets.

She nipped your lip when you lightly pinched her nipples. Never hard enough to hurt, no, but just enough to draw the most perfect little yelp from her lips. In return, her hands fell to your ribs, pushing against you until you were laying on the bed again.

You shifted, pulling your knee up until you pressed against her. She let out a breathy sigh, but otherwise kept kissing you. There was just something mesmerizing about the way she tasted. An ambrosia not for the gods, but for you alone. A sustenance for your very mind, body, and soul.

“Take these off,” Lorraine said, pulling lightly against the pants that you had also stolen from Beau.

In your defense, he was your fake boyfriend.

“Will you take yours off?” You asked even though you had already started trying to take your pants off.

She nodded hastily. “I want to feel you for a moment.”

You would've happily let her feel you for as long as she wished. All she had to do was give you the smile she was giving you in that moment. The one she had before the accident, the one she saved exclusively for the times she was alone with you. If she looked at you like that for the rest of eternity, you would be in heaven.

Her skin was hot against yours as she laid completely on top of you. On instinct, you wrapped your arms around her shoulders and back as she tucked her head into your neck. Her breath tickled your collar bone, but you couldn't have been happier.

How could such peace be a sin? Such pure love, something that would not only be applauded but praised if you had but been born a man? What difference could there truly be, aside from the shape of your body. The guilt sparked in your chest once again, but this time, you quickly stomped it out.

You would not be shamed for loving Lorraine. Not that night.

The position you were both in was comfortable and, quite frankly, innocent. But that didn't ease the inferno that was still raging inside you. If you had the ability to have Lorraine to yourself more than once in a blue moon, you would have been satisfied. But the “lust of the flesh,” as daddy called it, was as present and angry as always.

Thankfully, Lorraine seemed to feel the same when you felt her hips move and you felt her arousal on your thigh.

“Wanna try somethin’ new?” She asked, placing a seemingly innocuous kiss behind your ear.

“With you?” You asked. You placed your finger under her chin and lifted her face until you could see her eyes. “Always.”

She smiled and kissed you quickly before sitting up. You tried to sit up with her, but she used her bad hand to push you back down with ease. Not that it stopped you from trying to look around her to see the thing she had brought into the room. Her smile turned nervous, but no less excited as she finally turned back around.

“Is that-”

“-Maxine and Bobby-Lynn used one like it a few times,” Lorraine started to explain while she started pulling straps around your hips and thighs. “I asked ‘em to get me one not too long ago.”

“Jesus, Raine,” you said as she pulled the straps tighter.

“It works the same as-”

“-I can guess how it works,” you interrupted.

Her hands slowed to a stop as she finished securing the… phallic toy in place. “Are you sure you’re okay with this?”

“Lorraine,” you said as softly as you could, finally sitting up - as best you could without feeling too awkward - and placing your hand on the scarred side of her jaw. “I’m more than okay with it.” She leaned further into your hand. “If you asked me to wear only my boots and spurs, I would do it.”

“Oh yeah?” She asked, her teasing smile coming back in full force.

“Don’t push your luck, Day,” you said before leaning forward to kiss her again.

She moaned softly into the kiss. “If I did it right, you should feel it too,” she said as she lifted herself onto her knees, hovering over you. “So let me know.”

You nodded and pulled her into a kiss. As curious as you were to watch, you wanted to feel her lips against yours. You knew the moment she lowered herself onto the toy; her gasp was to die for. Shorty, breathy, almost inaudible if you hadn’t been kissing her already. The sound alone was enough to leave you soaking and needy.

But then you felt the toy press against you, and you knew you were a goner. Lorraine stayed still in your lap, catching her breath, and you would have been more than happy to keep her there. If she moved, you swore you would cum on the spot. It wasn’t a feeling that was so much better than everything else, but simply the knowledge that you were both feeling something together.

“I guess it works,” Lorraine teased even though she could barely keep herself in control.

“It does,” you said through clenched teeth as you tried to stay strong when she started moving again.

She didn’t have to move for long before you pulled her into a kiss, holding her tight against you. You did your best to move your hips with her. It was awkward and clumsy, and you both laughed a little when, more than once, you moved wrong and the toy slipped out. But you were okay with that, because it meant you got to hear her little gasp again.

As wrong as it felt, you had to picture Jackson to get a good rhythm going, or at least to get started. Specifically, you thought of the way his hips had moved with each thrust. You knew you got it right when Lorraine moaned, her head falling to your shoulder. If you hadn’t been so focused on not cumming or losing your rhythm, you would’ve moaned just the same.

“Baby,” she mumbled against your neck. Her nails dug into your shoulders; you would have to cover the marks up in the morning.

You knew what she wanted; she only ever truly called you “baby” when she was almost ready to cum. And you were more than happy to oblige. You kept one arm wrapped tight around her waist, holding her in place while your free hand slid down her stomach. Past the almost unnoticeable scatter of scars and through that small patch of hair.

Her hips jolted against your hand when you brushed against her clit. It was sloppy work; you would need to get used to the unusual angle later. But clearly it didn’t matter, because while her moans stayed quiet, they got higher in pitch until she bit down on your shoulder.

You used that as your sign to follow her, not even needing three more thrusts before you tipped over the edge along with her. You held her tight, hyper aware of every inch of her skin against yours. Of the slick sweat that coated both your bodies. Of the sting of her teeth and nails, but you would rather die than have her stop. Of your breaths intermingling between you until you were of one breath, one heartbeat, one soul.

Heaven existed, and it was right in that moment with Lorraine.

“You’re bleedin’,” she said softly. You didn’t have to look to know what she meant.

“It’s alright,” you said, pressing a light kiss to the side of her head. “You can nurse me back to health later.”

Lorraine giggled. A light sound that reminded you of when you were all kids and you would do anything to get that sound out of her. It was a reminder of simpler times, back when you were too young to understand that everyone believed what you felt for each other was wrong. A sin. Back when love was just that; love.

You let yourself fall back onto the bed, pulling Lorraine with you. She made a small noise when the toy moved inside her, but quickly settled back onto your chest. Her nails felt good scratching lightly against your skin, more comforting than ticklish. A nervous habit of hers.

“Did you learn all that from Jackson?” She asked.

“Don’t remind me,” you said; she chuckled. “I ain’t proud to say I had to picture him there for a minute.”

“Well, you gave him a run for his money,” she said.

“Think so?” You asked; you felt her nod against your chest. “Cause you still didn’t make the same noises.”

“Because these were real,” she said. Her voice grew quiet. “Everything with you is real.”

You wished she wouldn’t say things like that. That she could just let you both lie there, comfortable in the silence. Everyone was aware of the situation, but just once you wanted to pretend it wasn’t happening. That you actually did get to love her without feeling shame or guilt.

You just pulled her closer.

“I love you,” you said.

“I love you,” she repeated.

It wasn’t enough, but for the moment, you were going to pretend it was. For the moment, you could pretend this was your daily life. Being in the same bed as Lorraine, showing her just how much you loved her, how much she truly meant to you. Holding her tight until you were of the same body and spirit, because no matter what the world thought, you were.

It wasn’t enough. But it would do.

“Are you really goin’ to film a scene tomorrow?” Lorraine asked.

“Absolutely not,” you said. “Bobby-Lynn and Maxine just wanted to getcha all riled up.”

Lorraine lifted her head from your chest and lowered her brows.

“Are you serious?”

“As a heart attack,” you said with a smile.

“Sometimes I hate all of y’all,” she mumbled, quickly ducking her head back underneath your jaw. You still managed to catch the smile on her lips.

“I love you too, darlin’,” you said, pressing a lingering kiss to the top of her head.

Now this. This was enough.

#lorraine day x reader #lorraine x reader #lorraine day #jenna ortega x reader

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victoriadallonfan · 20 days

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Let's Talk About the Alien vs Predator Films

Talk about wasted potential, am I right?

I'm struggling to format this in an interesting way, since so much has been covered over the past 20 years since the first film was released. You can read my thoughts on Aliens Franchise and the Predator Franchise as well.

Note that it doesn't include Alien: Romulus, but suffice to say it was a good movie!

I think the best place to start is with covering the themes of Alien and Predator, and the history before these films were created (and the failure of Fox).

My fellow AvP enjoyer @agendergorgon has already posted some thoughts on the topic, giving me a lot to think about, so check out their blog too!

For the purposes of this review, I am not going to include Alien 3, Alien: Resurrection, Prometheus, nor Alien: Covenant.... mostly. The AvP films really don't take much of anything beyond the first two films, though I will touch on Prometheus when it comes to religion.

Ditto for the Predator films, but that's because Predator wouldn't get a third film until 2010, 3 years after the AvP duo.

The themes of Alien Franchise:

I'm sure the first thing to come to mind is that the Alien series is about sexual assault, and you'd be correct. The xenomorph is designed to be extremely phallic, the facehuggers quite literally rape their victims, Burke locks his victims (including a child) in a room to be raped, Ash tries to murder Ripley by thrusting a rolled up porn magazine down her throat etc etc.

Some of you might also remember how Aliens was noted by James Cameron to be a criticism of the Vietnam War, Corporate Greed, and the callous arrogance of the US Military. The xenomorphs represented the innumerable "faceless" soldiers that could overwhelm more advanced enemies with ambush tactics and numbers, Burke thinks only in "goddamn percentages" and how this could benefit himself and the company, and the Colonial Marines are not only woefully mismanaged a newly brought on commander but also completely delusional with their own sense of invulnerability, only to break and panic under pressure once they meet a foe who is determined to fight to the death.

(I will NOT be tackling the fucked-upness of comparing people fighting for their independence vs a fucking Xenomorph, because holy fucking shit, it is literally the opposite AND worse counterpart to having the Predators be colonizers)

But, in the broader scope of the series, Alien - and the xenomorph - represent the uncontrollable, unfathomable, unknown. What are they? Why were they there? What are their motives? How did they end up in that ship? Were they built? How do they 'see'? Why did the xenomorph spare Jonesy the Cat? Are they intelligent life? How on earth do they function with their bizarre biology?

We don't get any real answers to these questions in the original films. The whole point of these movies is that there are things that mankind does not understand, and the horrors of space are vast. And equally terrifying is the arrogance of man (and synth kind) to think they can harness this horror for profit at the expense of human lives.

The themes of the Predator Franchise:

There's been tons of articles on how Predator is either a reconstruction or deconstruction (depending on who you ask) of the 80's action hero flick. A team of muscle laden, big gun toting, sweaty men spouting off one-liners as they mow down their enemies in a secret CIA led operation during the Cold War, interrupted by the presence of an intergalactic hunter than treats these badasses like mere toys. The massive Arnold Schwarzenegger is smacked out like a mouse facing off against a particularly cruel cat, needing to rely on tricks - not his brawns or guns - to stay alive and eventually defeat the Predator.

Others might point to its related take down of machismo. The opening scene is rife with characters testing each other's physical strength against each other such as with Dillon and Dutch, Ventura and Dutch have a small face-off in the helicopter as they try to make a pecking order, Ventura makes a whole speech about being a "sexual tyrannosaurus" and then mocked about sticking a gun up his "sore-ass", Hawkins repeatedly tries to make pussy and sex jokes, and they end up with a single woman in the group who is treated more like an object and baggage than a person for much of the movie. All of these men are emasculated by the Predator, some of them not even lasting a single second to its predations (both in tech and physicality), all of them losing any sense of quips and confidence, and the sole woman of the group survives because she didn't fit the movie's (and Predator's) mold of "tough as nails". When Arnold/Dutch is rescued by helicopter, it's not a cheerful one; he's haunted by what he endured and remains silent as the film pans into his thousand-yard stare.

All of this applies to Predator 2 as well, amping up the violence, dick measuring, and rules of the Predator targeting anyone who thinks they are tough shit for carrying a gun or knife. Even Danny Glover's victory is bittersweet, because he is now left in the middle of dozens of officer deaths, and entire subway car filled with corpses, and an antique flintlock pistol that promises the return of the Predators to Earth.

In a much broader sense, the Predator films are about the oversaturation of violence and lack of care for human life. Predator 1's main plot before he arrives is the CIA using Green Berets and then Dutch's special ops team to clean up their dirty work, giving them false information and not even reporting the Berets being MIA in furtherance of their Cold War goals (slaughtering guerrillas who were working with Soviet Russia). In Predator 2, the police are seen as being ineffective because they trample on each other's jurisdiction, with the Federal task force being willing to kill their own cops to keep the Predator existence a secret and letting it hunt people down for a better chance at capture and experimentation.

The Predator creatures are the epitome of such greed and arrogance. They are the General Zaroffs of The Most Dangerous Game, taken to a new height by showing that human lives literally mean nothing to them beyond a trophy hunt. They care nothing about our social lives, our politics, our loved ones, because for them this is nothing more than the equivalent of posh British Elite going on a Fox Hunt: cruel and sadistic, just to placate their egos. They will violate the corpses of the dead and taunt those in mourning, for the thrill of the game. And in that sense, the Predators are very human antagonists: they are not unfathomable nor are their goals beyond our understanding. The horror of the Predators is that they are creatures we can understand, communicate with, and even see similarities in their culture to ours... and that culture is putting us on a trophy rack alongside other skulls of creatures they felt a thrill to hunt.

So, did the Alien vs Predator films cover even half of these topics?

Well... kinda? Just... not well.

Not well at all.

The Build Up

Alien and Predator have a connected history dating back to the creation of the Predator itself. Stan Winston was on a flight with James Cameron some time after the famous director had finished with Aliens, and the director made a comment about wanting to see a monster with mandibles, which eventually led to the creature we know and love today.

Predator's debut on screen was also often compared to Aliens due to the superficially similar premise of a team of commandos going on a mission and fighting an unknown alien threat.

Despite what some people think, the AvP series wasn't started by the films.

Yes, there was a particularly memorable scene in Predator 2, where the City Hunter is admiring his trophy room and a xenomorph skull can be seen mounted on the wall (though, fun fact, it's actually an inaccurate depiction as xenomorph skulls look more humanoid facing), but that wasn't the first time the duo met in media.

And I'm not referring to the 1993 Arcade Game either (since that only came out a year after Predator 2).

The Alien vs Predator comic first appeared in 1989. And there were publications continuing ever since.

Think about that going forward. There was 25 years of content to choose from, storylines they could adapt, interesting forays into the cosmology and interactions between Yaujta, Xenomorphs, and Humanity.

The movies used exactly none of it (barring 1 thing: the Predalien).

Alien vs Predator (2004)

The plot of this movie is that Weyland-Yutani corporation detects a heat bloom under the ice in Antartica that reveals an underground pyramid, and in a race against his competitors, Weyland rounds up a team of elite experts led by Lex Woods to investigate the ruins (and find that the Predators have left them a convenient tunnel to enter the deep ice). Only to find out that this was a trap, as the pyramid comes to life activates a Xenomorph Queen, unleashing a brood of facehuggers on the helpless crew, all the while the Predators hunt them down. After a spectacular shitshow and release of the Xenomorph Queen, Lex and the last Predator (Scar) have to reluctantly team up to escape the pyramid and blow up the xenomorphs, ending in a final battle with the Xenomorph Queen. Scar perishes in the fight, but Lex manages to send the Queen into the depth of the artic ocean, and is rewarded by the watching Eldar Predator with a spear for her troubles. A post-credit scene reveals that Scar had a chest-burster inside of him, birthing the Predalien!

Rewatching this movie, I'm surprised at how good it looks. The opening scene of the satellite in space, several shots of the ship (and spaceship), the frozen tundra, the set pieces like the Xenomorph Queen Prison, and the CGI!

The CGI! Of 2004! I was shocked that they looked so good for something that is 20 years old now, but they did really well for themselves.

But it was the practical effects that blew me away the most. The shifting Pyramid is absolutely iconic and the abandoned whaling station is suitably creepy. The face-huggers look amazing and the xenomorphs are just *chefs kiss*. It's so funny seeing these Xenomorph effects compared to that of Alien:Covenant, and seeing how much work bodysuit and puppetry can do to make a monster look so much more terrifying than a CGI creature.

I know a lot of people didn't like the Predator's bulky appearance in this movie, but honestly... I dig it? It makes sense that not all Predators are literally built the same, and that the ones who would choose to go hunting in the artic would be the bigger ones who could hold more body heat. And the movie does a really great fucking job of making these Predators look badass and distinct from each other, with Celtic having the coolest mask of the whole group.

And the way the movie is shot is really fantastic! There are a lot of wide and tracking shots where the movie lets the atmosphere do the work instead of badgering us with words, taking its time to build up tension and soak up the visuals. One of my favorites shots they did was slow roam through the Predator ship as the systems come to life and we get to see holograms come on-line, feeding information directly into their masks. Equally good was when the Xenomorph Queen is awakened to cackling electricity and ominous lighting, showing us how vast this chamber is and how huge this Queen is in comparison to the one Ripley faces.

The same goes for most of the actions scenes, with a decent amount of cool slow-mo shots for things like Face-huggles launching themselves, Predators leaping across chasms, and showing Scar's impressive athleticism when he leaps 10 meters into the air and stabs a spear through the Queens skull.

And I can always rewatch the first time Alien Meets Predator Fight. God, that score! The music is just so damn good!!! You really feel like you are watching two massive horrors from space finally finding themselves sharing a space together.

Honestly, the Predators using the Xenomorphs as some kind of fucked up exotic pet for hunting trials and training fits the lore PERFECTLY. It’s actually a literal fox hunt not just metaphorical (and of course, in typical Alien fashion, it all went to shit).

Aliens vs Predator: Requiem (2007)

"Wait, Ridtom/VictoriaDallonFan, are you about to say something nice about AvP:R?!"

Well, after turning up the brightness and hanging blankets over my windows and then watching the movie underneath more blankets... yes!

For one thing, the Alien and Predator effects are spectacular! Some of the best work I've seen in the franchises! The fight scenes are creative and use really cool set-pieces like the sewer and power plant, where we get to see Wolf (the name of the Predator of this movie) absolutely kick ass and slaughter his way through hordes of Xenomorphs. Not that the xenos are left in the dust, as they get plenty of murders on screen and even outsmart Wolf on occasion.

I actually like the Predalien design and the idea that it’s more intelligent than the average Xeno, including holding personal grudges and understanding Predator behavior.

And the Predator tech is really cool too! We got laser grids, land mines, power fists, converting the plasma caster into a plasma pistol And I love the moment where Wolf kidnaps one of the human protags to use as live bait. Such a dick thing to do but so in-character.

Even the bits we get of Wolf mourning his fellow dead hunters was a neat addition.

And to be honest, I didn’t mind the idea of seeing an actual xenomorph infestation in real time, in a small town. I think that sort of setting would be really fun for a one-shot story.

And… that’s it. That’s all the good stuff.

What Went Wrong?

I compiled a list of sources where I got a lot of information on the AvP production: Source 1, Source 2, Source 3, Source 4

Note that a lot of these are 20 years old so I apologize for the outdated and honestly abhorrent word use that some articles and videos may use. And another apology for using the Xenopedia wiki, it was just a good shorthand for other information.

In short: Fox fucking sucks. They will absolutely self-sabotage themselves in order to make a (perceived) profit. Tom Rothman is the most well known (and he’s gone to Sony as of now), but Fox has had a looong history of being stingy and terrified of any risks for their films.

The sheer amount of drama involving Alien 3 and Alien Resurrection is an insane rollercoaster.

AvP removed pretty much any sense of horror and purposely had the design of the Predators to be more “human” and “heroic” (hence the weird human eyes and bulky physique), with a PG-13 rating for more audience numbers. While the human characters aren’t bad, they are not unique or even memorable (barring the fandom romantic tension between Lexi and the final Predator). Also, it was very weird that the Predators couldn’t kill a single Xenomorph, meanwhile the Colonial Marines couldn’t trip without blasting apart swarms of them. It felt like they really wanted to save money on the film in that regard.

AvP:R was even worse, with it being filmed with such a lack of lighting that people could not actually see any of the movie, and even modern advancements in color grading make it a strain. The human characters are awful, just absolutely boring and unremarkable beyond being veiled callbacks to characters from Alien, and we get a bunch of stupid Dawson’s Creek drama involving teenagers who look like they are 30 years old fighting over a girl who has no personality because she was written to just be “hot girl”.

If the story had focused entirely on the wife coming home from the war and dealing with the fact that her own daughter doesn’t feel close or comfortable with her after years of being gone, there could have been focus and themes and yadda yadda yadda.

Also, while this movie at least has horror aspects, did we REALLY need to see the Xenomorphs eating the fetuses and belly bursting out of still screaming mothers? Like, there is horror and then there is just being gross.

Final Thoughts

I often wonder if AvP took the wind out of the sails of Prometheus. Both play with the idea of humans worshiping aliens as gods, because Ancient Aliens is fucking everywhere, but it’s really hard to take Prometheus seriously when you remember AvP did basically the same setup (with arguably smarter characters).

And these movies have really soiled the idea of the AvP franchise barring the video games and comics. There’s apparently an AvP anime locked up in Disney Vaults and so far, both franchises have kept their respectful distances from each other.

However, with the recent successes of Alien: Romulus and Prey, there’s been a bit of a stir with some comments hinting at a potential AvP future.

Who knows. It’s been 17 years, perhaps 3rd time is the charm.

#avp #avp:r #avp: requiem #alien vs predator #alien vs predator: requiem #alien vs predator requiem #alien franchise #xenomorph #predator franchise #the predator #yautja #yaujta #film analysis #prey 2022 #alien: romulus

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inthedayswhenlandswerefew · 6 months

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1968 [Chapter 3: Hermes, God Of Thieves]

Series Summary: Aemond is embroiled in a fierce battle to secure the Democratic Party nomination and defeat his archnemesis, Richard Nixon, in the presidential election. You are his wife of two years and wholeheartedly indoctrinated into the Targaryen political dynasty. But you have an archnemesis of your own: Aemond’s chronically delinquent brother Aegon.

Series Warnings: Language, sexual content (18+ readers only), violence, bodily injury, character deaths, New Jersey, age-gap relationships, drinking, smoking, drugs, pregnancy and childbirth, kids with weird Greek names, historical topics including war and discrimination, math.

Word Count: 4.5k

Tagging: @arcielee @huramuna @glasscandlegrenades @gemmagirlss1 @humanpurposes @mariahossain @marvelescvpe @darkenchantress @aemondssapphirebussy @haslysl @bearwithegg @beautifulsweetschaos @travelingmypassion @althea-tavalas @chucklefak @serving-targaryen-realness @chaoticallywriting @moonfllowerr @rafeism @burningcoffeetimetravel-fics @herfantasyworldd @mangosmootji @sunnysideaeggs

💜 All of my writing can be found HERE! 💜

They say it’s the most dangerous job in Vietnam. That’s why I wanted to do it.

Chinooks transport men and equipment, Cobras are gunships, Jolly Green Giants are used in search-and-rescue missions. But the Loach—Light Observation Helicopter—is a scout. We have to fly low enough to spot fresh footprints in mud, glints of sunlit metal, blooms of firelight from smoldering cigarettes in the primordial maze of the jungle. And when you go looking for the enemy, sometimes that’s exactly who you find. U.S. Army regulations decree that each Loach must be inspected after 300 hours of flight time, but they rarely make it that long. I’ve been shot down twice already. You roll out of the wreckage, grab your buddies, and book it out of the area before the Vietcong kill you, or worse: drag you back to the Hanoi Hilton so you can die slow.

Currently we’re just north of Pleiku, coasting close enough to the treetops that I could reach out and touch them. I’m in the back seat with my M16, no door between me and the outside world, my hair tied back with a green bandana, the wind hot and sticky. It’s so fucking humid here. Why can’t the communists be trying to take over Malta or Sweden or Monterey Bay, California?

It was the old men who suggested I might be of greatest service to the family by enlisting. I was 25, newly graduated from Columbia Law—a family tradition—and dreading the desk job that awaited me at the Department of Justice. Some people are born to type their lives away in some leather-upholstered office with a view of Pennsylvania Avenue, but not me, and I know this like I know the sun or the stars, ancient truths that can never be changed. And so when Otto and Viserys sat me down—my father had only had one stroke by that point, and was still relatively involved in the day-to-day minutia of putting a Targaryen in the White House—and said Aemond having a brother in Vietnam would make him more relatable, more sympathetic, more noble, not an observer to the carnage of the war but a fellow victim of it…I told them I’d go.

Everyone needs a project. If you don’t have something to distract you from the futility of human existence, it’ll break you in half. I have the Loach. Otto and Viserys, both immigrants ineligible to serve as president of the United States, have their shared ambition of getting their bloodlines in the Oval Office. Aemond has his legacy. My mother has her children, and Criston has my mother. Helaena has her gardens, her bugs, quiet gentle things that she tends with her own thorn-pricked hands. Aegon doesn’t have a project, he never really has, and it’s driven him to the cliff’s edge of insanity. See what I mean?

Anyway, let me tell you something about Vietnam. The Army gives us all the steak, beer, and cigarettes we can handle, but I’d kill for a lemon-lime Mr. Misty—

“Daeron, get down!” the guy to my left screams over the noise of the rotors. His name is Richie Swindell, and he’s from Omaha, Nebraska, and now he’s plummeting out of the helicopter as bullets riddle his chest. I duck low and cover my head as we spiral sideways into the trees, snapping branches, shredding leaves like confetti. I can hear the pilot yelling something, but I can’t tell what. When we hit the earth, the lightweight aluminum skin of the Loach does exactly what it’s supposed to, crumpling to absorb the shock of the collision and reduce trauma to us mortals inside. I scramble out of the rubble on my hands and knees and go to check on the pilot, but it’s too late. He’s already being hauled out by the Vietcong and gets a bullet to the brain. I reach back into the ruins of the Loach to grab my M16, but there are hands around my ankles yanking me out. And now I’m next, and there’s nowhere left to run, and I’m hoping Criston will be there to hold my mother when she gets the Western Union telegram.

One of the soldiers shouts and stops the others, shoving them aside to get a better look at me. With the barrel of his AK-47, supplied by either China or the Russians, he prods at the patch displaying my last name: Targaryen. His compatriots don’t seem impressed. Again, he batters my nametag, speaking to them in Vietnamese.

He knows who I am, I realize. He knows Aemond is running for president.

Now there is a hell of a lot of excitement. The men are talking rapidly amongst themselves, marveling at me, poking and examining me. Then two of them grab me by the arms. I look to the soldier who knows English, at least enough of it to read those nine fated letters. He smiles at me, not like a friend. Like a wolf baring its teeth.

He says: “It is okay, Targaryen boy. We just have some questions for you.”

Guess I’ll be checking into the Hanoi Hilton after all.

~~~~~~~~~~

You wake up to Aegon strumming an acoustic guitar and singing Johnny Cash. The guitar must be new. The one he left at Asteria is plain maple wood and covered in stickers; this unfamiliar instrument is a vivid, Caribbean blue and has Gibson written across the headstock.

“I hear the train a-comin’, it’s rolling ‘round the bend

And I ain’t seen the sunshine since I don’t know when

I’m stuck in Folsom Prison, and time keeps draggin’ on…”

“Let me die. I’m ready to go.”

Aegon laughs, setting his new guitar aside.

“Is Ari okay?”

“Yeah, he’s doing great. And I got the stuff you asked for.”

Sure enough, there are three roomy sundresses hanging from the coatrack—you wanted to have options in case you had trouble finding one that fit correctly, though you gave Aegon a general neighborhood for sizes—as well as an array of cosmetics on the nightstand, including a bottle of shimmering champagne-colored nail polish. “I’m really impressed. You barely forgot anything. Though I will look odd with blush but no foundation.”

“Ohhhhh. Fuck.”

“And this isn’t human shampoo. It’s for dogs. That’s why it has a mastiff on the label.”

“I thought it looked like you,” Aegon says, smirking mischievously.

“Well, thanks for trying.”

“And I found this at the gift shop.” He tosses a card at you like a frisbee. You open the envelope to see a cartoon cow on the front, black and white and wearing a huge copper bell and a party hat. Inside is printed: May your graduation be legenDAIRY! Aegon has crossed it out and written instead I thought this was blank…congrats on the new calf! followed by his illegible scribble of a signature.

“A cow,” you say, smiling despite yourself. “Because I’m Io.”

“You’ve got about a million of those pouring in from all over the country. Congratulations cards, get well soon cards, we really hope your husband gets elected so we aren’t consumed by nuclear Armageddon cards. And then Richard Nixon sent a pipe bomb.”

You set Aegon’s card on your nightstand, half-open so it will stay standing upright. Then you drink the apple juice from the tray the nurses left for you. “Aemond’s not here yet?”

“Uh, no, not yet,” Aegon says vaguely, kicking his feet up on the ottoman. He’s been shopping for himself too. He’s wearing a denim jacket over a black The Kinks t-shirt, ripped jeans, moccasins. He uses the remote to turn on the television: The Dating Game. “So, what did you study in college? You went to Manhattanville, right?”

You chuckle, shaking your head. “You really don’t listen when I talk, do you?”

“I try not to.”

“Yes, I went to Manhattanville. And I studied math.”

“No way. You didn’t major in math.”

“Women can’t do math?” you tease. “That’s sexist.”

“I didn’t say women can’t do math. I’m saying there’s no way your parents sent you to a housewife factory like Manhattanville College of the Sacred Heart to get a math degree.”

“They didn’t, which is why my bachelor’s is in math education. So half-math, half-kid stuff. Makes it a little more…domestic.”

“Cool. Teach me math.”

“What, really?”

“Yeah. Really.” He digs around in the pockets of his jeans until he finds a receipt, then locates a pen in the nightstand drawer. He hands both to you and then stands so he can watch over your shoulder as you work. You can smell him: cigarette smoke, rum, the cool grey rain that is falling outside. It drips off his hair, carelessly slicked back from his face.

“What’s something you don’t know how to do?” you ask, expecting to get an answer like exponents or calculating the volume of a pyramid.

“Uh. Long division.”

You raise your eyebrows. “Going all the way back to 4th grade. Alright then.” You begin writing. “So let’s take a large number—this year, 1968—and divide it by…hm…how many kids you have. So five.”

Aegon whistles. “Five kids. Goddamn.”

“Yes, and you probably couldn’t name them, but there are indeed five. Trust me, I’ve counted.”

“Okay, this is the part I don’t get. Five goes into 19 almost four times. But there’s no way to say almost four.”

“There certainly is not. Five goes into 19 three times, so we put a three up top and then subtract 15 from 19. We get four, drop down the six from 1968, and now we’re dividing 46 by five.”

“Nine.”

“Right. Five times nine is 45. So the nine goes up top and we subtract 45 from 46.”

“45 is basically 46. Let’s call it a day. Close enough.”

“No,” you insist. “We get one, then drop down the eight from 1968, which makes 18.”

“And five goes into 18 three times.”

“Where’s the three go?”

“Up top,” Aegon says, observing fixedly.

“And then we subtract…”

“15 from 18, which is three. So the answer is 393.3.”

“Wrong. Loser.”

“What! How am I wrong?!”

“You don’t just put the three after the decimal,” you say. “You drop down a zero—”

“A zero?! Where the fuck did a zero come from?”

“From the fact that 1968 is a whole number, so it’s actually 1968.0.”

“Oh.” Aegon blinks a few times. “Gotcha.”

“Add the zero after the three to get 30—”

“And 30 divided by five is six. So the answer is 393.6.”

“I am so proud. You are officially as smart as an average nine-year-old.”

He takes the receipt from you and studies it. “This was super enlightening.”

“You want to try calculus now?”

He cackles and sinks back into his plush salmon pink armchair, his miniature dominion in your hospital room kingdom. “You like teaching?”

“I love it,” you admit. “I had to do a semester of student teaching the spring before I graduated, and at first I was kind of petrified. But the kids are so hilarious and interesting and full of excitement about everything, and they’re sweet in totally unexpected ways. They’d chatter all through a lesson and make me want to jump out a five-story window, and then bring me some of their Easter candy. That’s when I realized they weren’t trying to torture me. They’re just kids.”

Aegon is meditative. “Yeah, kids are fun.”

“I wasn’t aware you had much interest in them.”

“No, I do.” And something about the way he says it makes you feel bad for taking the shot. He runs his fingers through his hair, perhaps debating how much he wants to share. “You know Viserys made us all do these little missions after college so we could learn about the real world, right?”

“Right.” Daeron spent his on lobster boats up in Maine, Helaena learned horticulture in France, Aemond helped register voters in Mississippi and Alabama. You can’t recall ever hearing about Aegon’s.

“I got sent to Yuma, Arizona to teach on the reservation there. When I stepped off the bus, I thought it was hell on earth. And then when my time was up I didn’t want to leave.”

“What did you teach?” And then you add: “Hopefully not math.”

“No, definitely not math,” he says, smiling but distant, remembering. “English. Books, poems, all that. But my favorite thing to do was take a song and break it down line by line, really get them curious about what the author was thinking. And then of course we’d all sing it together. I’d play guitar, they’d run around jumping on the furniture, it was a good time.”

“But you couldn’t stay.”

“No,” he sighs. “I had to come back here so I could get dragged kicking and screaming through law school and then married off.”

“And elected mayor of Trenton,” you say, trying to make him laugh. It works.

“Oh God, we are not talking about that. Most miserable two years of my life.”

“So far.”

“Yeah. If Aemond wins and makes me the attorney general, that might be worse.”

“Knock knock!” comes a cheerful trill from the doorway, and then Alicent and Mimi rush in. They descend upon your hospital bed, cooing and soothing, squeezing your hands and trying to smooth your untamed hair.

“What did it feel like?” Mimi is morbidly fascinated, swaying a little, eyes bleary with gin. “When they were digging around in there?”

“Well, obviously she was sedated, hon,” Aegon says, a bit impatiently. He and Mimi share a nod in greeting, no warmth, no depth. You wonder what it must be like for someone you spent so much time tangled up with to become a stranger.

“Oh, darling, I barely recognize you!” Alicent says. “You poor thing, you must be in such awful pain. I’ve never seen you like this before. Your face, your hair…”

Aegon gives her a quick, disapproving look and then lights a cigarette of the traditional variety. He puffs on it as he gazes at the window, like he’s counting the raindrops on the glass.

“I’m feeling a lot better now,” you assure Alicent.

Her eyes flick down to your belly, still swollen beneath your blankets. “Will it scar terribly, do you think?”

You shrug; you haven’t thought much about that part yet. “It’s a battle scar. Aemond gets them in the real world, I get them in here. Same war, different arenas.” You peek out into the hallway. “Is Aemond…is he with you…?”

“He wanted to be,” Alicent says, like it’s a consolation. “But, Washington, you know…the primary there is so close. So, so close. He kept saying that he and Humphrey were neck and neck, and they still are, I believe. Every vote counts, and he’s campaigning all over the Puget Sound.”

“He’s still in Washington?” Your voice is flat with disbelief, with disapproval.

“He wishes he could be here with you and the baby,” Alicent insists, stroking your hair. “I’m sure he’ll fly back as soon as he’s able. But he’s thinking of you so, so much. That’s why he let me and Mimi leave this morning.”

“Right,” you reply numbly. And then you remember what you’re supposed to say. “The election is important. It affects everyone, our son included. For the greater good, personal sacrifices are necessary.”

“We saw him,” Alicent tells you, radiant with joy. “Aristos Apollo.”

“So precious,” Mimi says. “But so small! And trapped in that hideous machine! We could only see him through those little round windows.”

Aegon casts her a violent glare. You are alarmed. “He’s not in an incubator?”

“They have him in a…what was it called, Mimi?” Alicent asks. Mimi has nothing useful to contribute. “A hyperbaric chamber, I think. To help him get more oxygen.”

“But he’s fine,” Aegon says firmly, giving his wife and mother a warning. “Didn’t the doctor say it was a precaution?”

“He did, he did,” Alicent promises you. “Yes, just a precaution, that’s what we were told. The doctor has been trying to reach Aemond, apparently, but since he landed in Washington, he’s never in one place for long…”

“We should buy gifts for the baby,” Mimi says excitedly. “Adorable hats and shirts and trousers. Although even the tiniest clothes might be too big for him right now.”

“Yes, gifts! We must shop for gifts. Oh, it’s all been such a whirlwind. We hurried off the plane to come straight here, love,” Alicent tells you. “Can Mimi and I get you something for dinner?”

“Sure, sure.” You are distracted, still thinking of Ari. “Anything is fine. Wherever you end up.”

“Would you like me to bring a priest to pray with you? Saint Nicholas Church is right around the corner.”

You smile. “That’s very kind, but I think I’d prefer some books.”

“Baby clothes, dinner, and books. We can do that. Can’t we, Mimi?”

“We absolutely can,” Mimi agrees with tipsy, girlish enthusiasm.

As an afterthought, Alicent says: “Aegon, have you been here all this time? You must be exhausted. We’re going to book a suite at the Plaza, there will be plenty of room for you too. We can drop you off there on our way to go shopping, if you’d like.”

“I’ll stay,” he says softly, watching the rain again.

Alicent’s brow furrows; her dark doe-like eyes are puzzled. “Alright, dear.” Then she and Mimi disappear into the hall.

“Is he really okay?” you ask Aegon when they’re gone.

“Yes. That’s exactly what the doctor told me, just a precaution. I wouldn’t lie to you.”

“Aegon,” you say, and don’t continue until he meets your eyes. “Why are you still here?”

He lights a fresh cigarette. “I don’t think you should be alone.”

“I’m not alone anymore. Alicent visits me, Mimi visits me.”

“Yeah, but you feel like you have to put on a show for them. Play the perfect Targaryen wife with all that stoic, dignified, unshakable faith. You hate me, so there isn’t as much pressure.”

“I don’t hate you, Aegon.”

“Yes you do. You always have. You don’t have to be polite about it.”

“Well…I have valid reasons to hate you.”

He smiles, exhaling smoke. “Right.”

“And you hate me too.”

Now he shrugs, avoiding your gaze. “Everybody worships you, everybody thinks I’m a waste of chromosomes, is it really that hard to psychoanalyze?”

“No one worships me. They worship Aemond.”

“But you’re a package deal. Jack and Jackie, Franklin and Eleanor.”

You trace the lines in your palm with a fingertip, not knowing what to say. You’re so close to Aemond, so inseparable, and yet so vastly far. “Will you wheel me downstairs to see Ari after dinner?” It’s best to go at night when there are less staff around to try to stop you.

“Sure. You want a Mr. Misty?”

“Yeah. Lemon-lime.” That’s what he brought you last time, and it wasn’t bad for a cardboard cup of florescent green sugar water.

“Got it,” Aegon says, and leaves you alone.

You look at the phone on your nightstand. You’ve tried to call Aemond to no avail, though you spoke to Criston twice; on both occasions he said Aemond was in the middle of an interview. It’s understandable that you would have difficulty getting ahold of your husband while he’s off campaigning, leaping from town to town like an electric current. There’s nothing unusual about it at all. But Aemond could call you anytime he likes. You haven’t moved; he knows exactly where you are.

You keep staring at the phone. It doesn’t ring.

~~~~~~~~~~

It’s night again, and you swim up from morphine-soft dreams into your hospital room, dark except for the flashing color of the television, low volume, NBC news. Aegon is curled up in the chair he’s claimed, snoring and half-covered with a cheap, pale blue hospital blanket. And it’s a strange feeling—a foreign language, a new religion—to realize that you’re relieved to see he’s still here, that there’s a comfort in it, a safety.

Suddenly, Aemond is on the television screen. You sit up in bed as gingerly as you can, leaning in, listening close. He’s rarely looked better: blue suit, prosthetic eye, rested and measured and sharp. He’s giving a speech at the Hotel Sorrento in Seattle, three hours behind the time you’re living in on the East Coast. Flanking him on the stage are Criston, Otto, Helaena, Fosco, the eight charming children. Five-year-old Cosmo keeps waving at the camera.

“Right now, my wife and newborn son are at Mount Sinai Hospital in New York City,” Aemond says, beaming, and the audience whistles and cheers. You should smile, but you can’t. He’s not supposed to be there. He’s supposed to be on his way home. “But tonight I’m here with all of you, fighting with everything I’m made of to win the great state of Washington. And I won’t leave until the job is done, because I know the greatest act of devotion that any of us can show our children is to ensure they grow up in a better America than the one we find ourselves in today…”

You look over at Aegon and see that his glassy eyes are open, watching the television just like you are. You don’t know how long he’s been awake. The two of you exchange a glance, and there is a silent, shared recognition of what won’t be said. You can’t criticize your husband. Aegon isn’t going to kick you while you’re down. You are grateful for this. It is a conviction he has only recently acquired.

Aegon pulls his blanket up to his chin and rolls over, turning away from you. You close your eyes and dream of being a child back in Tarpon Springs, mesmerized as you watch Greek sponge divers emerge from the bubbling depths in their suits of rubber armor.

~~~~~~~~~~

It’s the afternoon of the 13th. The Washington State Democratic Convention is being held tonight, and so win or lose Aemond will be walking into Mount Sinai Hospital tomorrow. He has to, he doesn’t have a choice. He’ll have no excuse to be anywhere else, and journalists will be swarming at the entranceway like bull sharks in the Gulf of Mexico.

It’s raining again. You’re reading one of the books that Alicent brought you, Dr. Spock’s Baby and Child Care. You had been meaning to get a copy before you were consumed by Aemond’s campaign and then his near-assassination, his maiming, his fleeting brush with oblivion. Aegon is cross-legged in the salmon pink armchair and plucking lazily at his guitar, singing so low no one outside the room would be able to hear him. It’s a Rolling Stones song, slow and mournful.

“You don’t know what’s going on

You’ve been away for far too long

You can’t come back and think you are still mine.”

As you flip a page and raindrops patter gently against the window, you find yourself thinking how easy this is, your hair undone and your feet bare, no photos to take or lines to remember, no practiced smiles, no overwrought itineraries, only compassion that is quiet and small and real.

“Well, baby, baby, baby, you’re out of time

I said, baby, baby, baby, you’re out of time…”

Aegon abruptly stops playing, cutting off with a twang. You look up at him. He’s gazing back with eyes that are filling up his face, glistening with horror. You turn to find out what he’s seen. There’s a doctor standing in the doorway, but he’s not alone. There’s a Greek Orthodox priest with him.

“Mrs. Targaryen,” the doctor begins, then glances to the priest. The holy man—black robes, gold chains, clasping a komboskini like the one Aemond keeps in a box on his writing desk at Asteria, stained with his own blood—gives an encouraging nod. “We’ve tried to reach your husband. We’ve called his hotel in Tacoma several times, but the senator must be out campaigning, and…” Again, he looks to the priest. Aegon is setting his guitar on the floor, covering his mouth with his hands.

Ari. Too early, too fragile, too defenseless in a world full of wolves.

Your words come out in a whisper. “He’s gone, isn’t he?”

“We must remember, child,” the priest tells you, vague patronizing pity. “That the Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away, but what is lost to us in this life is never truly gone. Those we love wait for us on the other side in paradise—”

“Please leave. I don’t want to talk to a priest. I don’t want to talk to anyone.”

I just gave birth to him. I just started to believe he was mine.

The doctor begins: “Ma’am, I’m so sorry to have to deliver this news—”

“I don’t want to talk to anyone, I want to be alone. So please leave,” you beg, your voice breaking. “I want to be alone. Please leave me alone.”

The doctor looks to Aegon. A man’s permission is sought. “Go,” Aegon manages, raspy and strangled, and the doctor obeys.

“God bless you and your husband, Mrs. Targaryen,” the priest says as he departs with a swift bow. You can’t reply. You’re biting back sobs as the tears begin to slither down your cheeks, scalding and furious, not just grief but the bottomless rage of Nemesis.

Aegon is watching you, not knowing what to do, not knowing what you need.

Aemond would want you to be stoic. Aemond would want you to have faith, forbearance, grace. “It is God’s will.”

“Hey.” Aegon reaches across the space between you, grabs your hand, holds it so tightly your bones ache. Still, you wouldn’t want him to let go. “You’re allowed to be fucked up about this. I am too.”

When your eyes drift to him, they are glaring and heartsick and poisonous. “Where’s Aemond?” Why isn’t he here?

Aegon sighs deeply and picks up the phone with his free hand. He spins the rotary dial with his index finger and then holds the handset to his ear. He waits as it rings. “Pantages Theater, Tacoma, Washington,” he tells the operator. A minute or more crawls by. “I need to speak to Senator Targaryen immediately. Yes, I know there’s a convention underway there, that’s why I’m calling you. Go get him.” More minutes, eternal, terrible beyond description. “What do you mean you can’t find him?!” Aegon snaps. “Okay, give me someone else. Anyone travelling with him. Criston Cole, Fosco Viviani, Otto Hightower, Helaena Targaryen. Hurry up. Let’s go.”

Outside the rain grows heavy and loud; it falls in sheets against the misty windows. In the distance, thunder growls.

“Hi, Criston, it’s me. He needs to come home now. Right now.”

Aegon closes his eyes. Criston must be arguing with him.

“No, you don’t understand,” Aegon says, forcing the words to leave his lips and ride the wires to the West Coast, to where the sun sets, to where the future is dawning. He’s still holding your hand. “Aemond doesn’t have a son anymore.”

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

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thebreakfastgenie · 2 months

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This is what Vietnam War discourse would actually look like if there was tumblr in the 60s/70s:

That scene in Mad Men where Glenn tells Sally if he doesn't go to Vietnam some poor Black kid will get drafted instead

Draft dodging privilege

Failing the draft board physical on purpose is ableist

Trying to get a psychological deferment is ablesit/sanist

Pretending to be gay to dodge the draft is homophobic

If you're pretending to be gay to dodge the draft you can reclaim slurs

Trigger tags for topics related to Vietnam because it might trigger veterans, people getting screamed at for not using them, discourse about whether they're racist

Can Asian Americans reclaim "Charlie?" (Yes. No. Only if you're Vietnamese. Only if you're literally a member of the Vietcong.)

Lists of celebrities that are canceled for supporting Vietnam ranging from people who actually support the war to people who shared a post about supporting families of POWs

Someone posts about being happy their POW cousin got released, gets anon hate for supporting the war

Excuses not to boycott Dow Chemical, "there is no ethical consumption under capitalism"

Women and people of color get anon hate for talking about misogyny and racism in the anti-war movement

Women shouldn't go to college/law school/med school/grad school because men need those slots so they can get a deferment

The draft proves misandry is real

Anti-electoral leftists opposing the 26th amendment because both sides are the same

"Voting for LBJ is the lesser of two evils!!!!"

"At least Barry Goldwater wanted to end the forever war in Vietnam!"

The students murdered at Kent State get "canceled" for failing some moral purity test

Post about how Jackson State got less attention than Kent State because the students were Black which is actually but in the most bad faith, accusatory tone possible

Feminism and Civil Rights are distractions

Black bloggers get hate for publicly mourning MLK because "thousands are killed in Vietnam every day!!!!"

White American mixes up Vietnam, Cambodia, and Laos because they don't know they're three separate countries

Working class people support the war so opposing it is classist actually

"The movement isn't about your fave I hate stan culture!!!!!"

#the law school deferment one is real men told hillary rodham clinton that when she was taking the lsat

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writingwithcolor · 9 months

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[Running Commentary] Zombies are Zombies: Cultural Relativism, Folklore, and Foreign Perspectives

She obviously started getting into media in Japan, and (from my research into Japanese media and culture), Japan’s movies about zombies are mostly comedic, since due to traditional funerary practices the idea of zombies bringing down society is ridiculous to a lot of Japanese people.

Rina: OP, this you? https://www.tofugu.com/japan/japanese-zombies/

Marika: Counterpoint: Parasite Eve. Resident Evil. The Evil Within.

Rina: Literally all the grody horror game franchises that people forget were developed and written by Japanese people because the characters have names like “Leon Kennedy” and “Sebastian Castellanos”

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Based on the reception we received the last time we did one of these, the Japanese moderator team returns with another running commentary. (They’re easier to answer this way) (Several of Marika’s answers may be troll answers)

Our question today pertains to foreign perspectives on folklore—that is, how people view folklore and stories that aren’t a part of their culture. CW: for anything you’d associate with zombies and a zombie apocalypse, really.

Keep reading for necromancy, horror games, debunking the Sapir-Whorf hypothesis, Hong Kong jiangshi films, Japanese disaster prep videos, and Vietnamese idol pop...

Essentially, in my story there’s an organization who wants to end the world. They think this one woman in particular, a woman of mixed Vietnamese (irreligious, Kinh) and Japanese descent who spent her formative years in Japan, is the person to do it because she’s (for lack of a better term) a necromancer; powers are semi-normal in this world. She prefers not to use her powers overall, but when she does she mostly talks to ghosts and spirits that are giving people issues. She could technically reanimate a corpse but she wouldn’t because she feels that would be morally wrong, not to mention she couldn’t start a zombie apocalypse in the traditional sense (plague, virus, etc.) in the first place.

(Marika (M): Your local public health officials would like to assure necromancers that reviving the dead will not provoke a zombie apocalypse. This is because necromancy is a reanimation technique, and not a pathogenic vector. Assuming that the technique does not release spores, airborne viruses, gasses, or other related physical matter that can affect neighboring corpses in a similar way, there should be no issue. However, necromancers should comply with local regulations w/r to permitting and only raise the dead with the approval of the local municipality and surviving family.)

M: I think it makes sense for most people of E. Asian descent, including Japanese and Vietnamese people, to find it culturally reprehensible to reanimate the dead. I imagine the religious background of your character matters as well. What religion(s) are her family members from? How do they each regard death and the treatment of human remains? Depending on where she grew up, I’m curious on how she got opportunities to practice outside specialized settings like morgues.

M: It’s true, space in Japan is at a premium, even for the dead. You note that most of Japan cremates, but, surely, it must have occurred to you that if there aren’t that many bodies in Japan to raise…she doesn’t exactly have much opportunity to practice with her powers, does she? I yield to our Vietnamese followers on funerary customs in Vietnam, but you may want to better flesh out your world-building logic on how necromancy operates in your story (And maybe distinguish between necromancy v. channeling v. summoning v. exorcisms).

Rina (R): OP, this you? https://www.tofugu.com/japan/japanese-zombies/

M: Counterpoint: Parasite Eve. Resident Evil. The Evil Within.

R: Literally all the grody horror game franchises that people forget were developed and written by Japanese people because the characters have names like “Leon Kennedy” and “Sebastian Castellanos”

R: And yes, the Tofugu article uses Resident Evil and those games to support its theory, with the reason that they are set in the West. But that only suggests that Japanese people consider zombies a Western thing, not that Japanese people consider zombies nonthreatening if they were to exist.

M: Same with vampires - series like Castlevania also use Western/ European settings and not “Vampires in Japan '' because vampires just aren't part of our folklore.

(M: Also, realistically, these series deal with individuals who quickly perish after their bodies are used as hosts for the pathogen in question, rather than the pathogen reanimating a corpse. Although the victims are initially alive, they soon succumb to the pathogen/ parasite and their organic matter then becomes an infectious vector for the disease. It should be noted, infecting ordinary, living humans with viruses to grant them elevated powers, is not only a major violation of consent and defies all recommendations made by the Belmont Report (in addition to a number of articles in the Hague Convention w/r to the use of WMDs) and is unlikely to be approved by any reputable university’s IRB committee. This is why the Umbrella Corporation are naughty, naughty little children, and honestly, someone should have assassinated Wesker for the grant money.)

R: wwww

From what I know Vietnam didn’t have a zombie movie until 2022.

R: Do you mean a domestically produced zombie movie? Because Vietnamese people have most certainly had access to zombie movies for a long time. The Hong Kong film Mr. Vampire (1985) was a gigantic hit in Southeast Asia; you can find a gazillion copies of this movie online with Viet subs, with people commenting on how nostalgic this movie is or how they loved it as a kid.

M: “Didn’t have a [domestic] zombie movie” is not necessarily the same thing as “Would not have made one if the opportunity had arisen.” None of us here are personifications of the Vietnamese film industry, I think it’s safe to say we couldn’t know. Correlation is not causation. It’s important to do your research thoroughly, and not use minor facts to craft a narrative based on your own assumptions.

(R: …Also, I did find a 2017 music video for “Game Over” by the Vietnamese idol Thanh Duy which features… a zombie apocalypse.)

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(R: The MV has a very campy horror aesthetic and zombie backup dancers (which I love, everyone please watch this lol). But the scenes at the beginning and end where people are biting their fingers watching a threatening news report clearly establish that the zombies are considered a threat.)

So at one point, she laughs about the idea and remarks how ridiculous it is to think zombies could end the world. What I’m struggling with are other ways to show her attitude on the issue because I’d assume most non-Japanese readers wouldn’t get why she thinks like that. Are there any other ways to show why she thinks this way, especially ones that might resonate more with a Japanese reader?

R: The problem is this does not resonate in the first place. Your line of thinking is too Sapir-Whorf-adjacent. The Sapir-Whorf hypothesis, otherwise known as linguistic relativity theory, claims that language shapes cognition—that you can’t conceive of something if you can’t express it in your language. This is a very weak theory that you can easily bring evidence against: think of the last time you felt an emotion you had a hard time putting into words; just because you didn’t have the language for it doesn’t mean that you didn’t feel it, nor does it mean that you won’t be able to understand or recognize it if you feel it again. Similarly, it’s not a sound assumption to say that if some kind of subject matter does not exist in a culture, then people of that culture couldn't possibly conceive of it. This excerpt from linguist Laura Bailey sums it up quite well.

M: Just because ghosts may be more culturally relevant doesn’t mean that zombies (or vampires, or whatever) are nonexistent in a Japanese or Vietnamese person’s imagination when it comes to horror and disaster.

R: Really, if anything, Japanese people are much more attuned to how easily a society’s infrastructure can be destroyed by a disruptive force without adequate preparation. Japan is natural disaster central. A Japanese person would know better than anyone that if you aren’t prepared for a zombie epidemic—yeah it’s gonna be bad.

M: Earthquakes, tsunami, typhoon, floods: Japan has robust disaster infrastructure out of necessity. 防災 or bousai, meaning disaster preparedness is a common part of daily life, including drills at workplaces, schools, and community organizations. Local government and community agencies are always looking for ways to make disaster and pandemic preparedness relevant to the public.

M: Might “zombie apocalypse prep as a proxy for disaster prep” be humorous in an ironic, self-deprecating way? Sure, but it’s not like Japanese people are innately different from non-Japanese people. Rather, by being a relatively well-off country practiced at disaster preparation with more experience than most parts of the world with many different types of disasters (and the accompanying infrastructure), it likely would seem more odd to most Japanese people within Japan to not handle a zombie apocalypse rather like might one handle a combination of a WMD/ chemical disaster+pandemic+civil unrest (all of which at least some part of Japan has experienced). Enjoy this very long, slightly dry video on COVID-19 safety procedures and preparedness using the framing device of surviving a zombie apocalypse.

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M: Living in Los Angeles, I’ve often experienced similar tactics. We do a fair amount of advance and rehearsed disaster prep here as well. In elementary school, the first and last days of class were always for packing and unpacking home-made disaster packs, and “zombie apocalypse” simulations have been around since I was in middle school for all kinds of drills, including active shooter drills, like the one shown in this LAT article. The line between “prepper” and “well prepared” really comes down to degree of anxiety and zeal. So, it wouldn’t be just Japanese people who might not be able to resonate with your scene. The same could be said for anyone who lives somewhere with a robust disaster prevention culture.

M: A zombie apocalypse is not “real” in the sense of being a tangible threat that the majority of the world lives in fear of waking up to (At least, for the mental health of most people, I hope so). Rather, zombie apocalypse narratives are compelling to people because of the feelings of vague, existential dread they provoke: of isolation, paranoia, dwindling resources, and a definite end to everything familiar. I encourage you to stop thinking of the way Japanese people and non-Japanese people think about vague, existential dread as incomprehensible to each other. What would you think about zombies if they actually had a chance of existing in your world? That’s probably how most Japanese people would feel about them, too.

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