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always-just-red · 23 days

Note

I loved the Drunked Call with Sylus scenario you made! I like the way you write it and I see you accepting request hehe. Can I request about... Sylus, Zayne and Caleb reaction meeting fem!reader, dates or accidentally met (you name it) and they noticed her long hair has been attached with chewed bubblegum? some kid pulled a prank on her before and she didn't even aware of it

Aw thank you so much!! 💕 I did different pranks for each of the boys just to keep things interesting- I hope you don't mind! They're all equally silly haha, and I had SO much fun writing them. Added Xavier and Raf for good measure, too!

It's Just Not Your Day...

LADS Boys (& Caleb!) x Reader

Summary: It's you against the kids of Linkon City, and guess what? The kids are winning.

Genre: Humour + fluff!

Warnings/Additional tags: gn!reader, established relationship, swearing, canon pet names, reader gets a little stressed (and with some of these boys you can understand why 🙃)

| Word count: 4k | Masterlist |

Disclaimer: Characters belong to Love and Deepspace. All work is my own, so please don't repost or plagiarise!

Xavier ⭐

One of the perks of being a Deepspace Hunter is the way people look at you. You’re used to respect: appreciative nods and gestures, wide-eyed admiration. You’re out in Linkon almost every day, putting your life on the line for everyone in the city. You’re a hero, right?

So why is everyone looking at you so… funny?

“Xavier,” you speak in a hushed whisper, tugging at the sleeve of your partner’s uniform. “I don’t like this. Something weird is going on.”

He yawns. “What do you mean?”

Can he really not see it? Sure enough, a businessman strolls past you, his eyes locked on you as he frowns, mid-telephone call. You think he even stumbles on his words. “Just look around,” you whisper again. Someone is watching you from across the street, their head cocked.

Xavier is already looking around. You’re on patrol; that’s sort of the point. But he trusts you, so he follows your instruction: casting his sky-blue eyes around a little more carefully. They narrow. “Sorry,” he says, because you’re usually on the same page, “what are you talking about exactly?”

You fold your arms impatiently. “People are looking at us, Xavier.”

“Oh, I…” he seems to hesitate, “I think they’re just looking at you.”

The words could be romantic, but you don’t get the impression they’re intended to be. He’s implying something. He’s uncertain. “What makes you say that?” you ask, hands moving to your hips.

He shifts awkwardly on his feet. “I think it’s your, you know—” his finger waggles in front of his mouth.

You don’t know. “My what?”

“Your moustache.”

“What?”

Your hand shoots to your upper lip, but you don’t feel anything out of the ordinary. Xavier is staring, though, so you reach for your phone and turn the camera on yourself.

A black, cartoon-villain moustache has been sketched onto your face.

You gape at your reflection. “H— how…?” you stutter, tracing your new feature. Then a memory of this morning flashes through your mind: how you’d fallen asleep on the train to work. How there were those two schoolkids, sniggering, when you’d woken up just in time for your stop. Ugh. Really?

Wait— this morning?!

“Xavier!” you exclaim, turning to him like you’d just found his sword in your back. “Why didn’t you say something?”

It’s just gone three in the afternoon, and he’s been with you for hours. “I thought you knew,” he mumbles, rubbing his neck gingerly.

“You thought I…” You’re too bewildered, too betrayed to repeat it fully. Worst of all you feel guilty; how the hell can he look so freaking innocent? You turn back to your phone, desperately trying to rub the ink from your skin. It doesn’t budge. It doesn’t fade.

“Are you ok?” Xavier asks.

Of course you’re not ok, you feel like an idiot. Your cheeks are hot and the redness is spreading to the rest of your face as you fail to reclaim any of your dignity. “No,” you spit back, “honestly, Xavier, how could you just let me walk around like I’m some kind of—”

You glance up to discover he’s no longer listening. He’s not even here; he’s over there, talking to an old man who’s sat completing a sudoku. Great. Wonderful. Why not? At least one of you is making a good impression on the citizens of Linkon City.

With your eyes close to watering, you have one last, futile attempt at wiping the moustache from your upper lip. It’s not working. Gods, you’re gonna be stuck like this, aren’t you?

Someone taps you on the shoulder, and you look up to see Xavier, back at your side. He smiles reassuringly, sporting a drawn-on moustache of his own. The ends of it are curled even more theatrically than yours.

“Xavier…” you half-laugh in surprise, your eyes watering even more. “Why would you—? Now we both look stupid.”

“I look stupid,” he corrects, running a thumb over your wet cheek. “You look really pretty, moustache or not.”

Zayne ❄

“What… happened?”

You sit across from Zayne on a picturesque park bench, like something from a postcard: blue sky stretched above, wildflowers sprouting from the grass below. Birds are singing, butterflies are flittering about, and even the doctor looks perfect— unmarred by the first half of his work day, no matter how stressful it’s been.

It’s a fairy tale you covet: a little reunion with the man you love, on the odd occasion where your lunchbreaks match up and he isn’t drowning in paperwork. And it would be a fairy tale, if it wasn’t for you. You— your uniform soaked and your hair dripping wet. The wooden bench has gone damp beneath you; you’ve literally only just sat down.

“Gee, I don’t know, Zayne,” you hiss, face almost buried in your phone, “what do you think?”

Not too far away from you, some kids are locked in a water-gun battle, their shrieks of laughter loud and infuriating. Zayne glances between you and them, making his deductions. “Why—” he starts.

“Doesn’t matter,” you sniff, wiping your forehead with the back of your sleeve. “They messed with the wrong person, and we’re gonna make sure they know it.”

“We’re going to?”

“Yeah. Me and you. That a problem?”

You shoot him a glare that sends a shiver down even his spine. “No,” he answers quickly— a survival instinct, uncharacteristically submissive— but his composure returns as you turn back to your phone. “Haven’t you got—”

Another dark look.

“Haven’t we got better things to do than start a war with some children in the park?”

“Not really. Justice is justice.” You shrug before pointing a finger at yourself. “Deepspace hunter.” Then at him. “Cardiac surgeon. Precision is kind of our thing, right? They really don’t stand a chance.” You’re laughing, now: “Gods, I almost feel sorry for them.”

Zayne has been watching your descent into madness with a calmness that does him credit. When he interrupts, it’s gentle. “I don’t think—”

Too gentle; you don’t hear him. “Pick your poison, Dr. Zayne!” Your phone is angled at him to reveal the all-too accessible armoury of an online store. “You’ve got your standard water pistols. Your water blasters.” You’re scrolling and indicating his choices as though you’re the salesman. “This one has two options, single shot or power shot, and— ooh! Look at this one! The AquaJet3000!”

With a soft laugh, Zayne pushes your phone out of his face. He would buy anything you’re selling, although— having seen the prices on your screen— he knows he’d be bankrupt within a week. “Linkon City is fortunate to have you defending it, and whilst I would be honoured, as always, to fight at your side, I was hoping we could… relax. You’re on a break, remember?”

You pout as he peels a wet strand of hair from your cheek. “Justice doesn’t take breaks.”

“Well, justice is going to have to on this occasion, because I said so.”

“Really?”

“Yes,” he chuckles. “Besides, you shouldn’t fight fire with fire, or water with water. A lot of people look up to you, you know. Me included. So, set a better example. Save violence for the Wanderers.”

It ought to be patronising: him, lecturing you on right and wrong when you’ve already added three types of water-gun to your virtual cart. He’s always so righteous. So collected. So moral. You want to be mad at him, but how can you be when he’s looking at you like that? Like he thinks the world of you, even when you’re plotting revenge against ten-year-olds.

You have a point to make, so you fold your arms and turn your back on him, even though he’s making your heart feel so frustratingly warm and fuzzy.

“I have something for you,” he says quietly.

To hell with the point. “What is it?” you ask, spinning eagerly around.

He smiles as he retrieves something he’d concealed behind him. It’s a small-ish box, pale pink, with patterns printed to emulate white lace. There’s a logo in the centre and you recognise it at once. “No way,” you enthuse, “that new bakery finally opened?”

You’ve both been waiting for months. “I couldn’t resist when I saw it,” he confirms, lifting the lid. Inside sit two unbelievably pretty cupcakes, buttercream icing spiralled high and adorned with sprinkles of gold leaf. Zayne plucks one from the box. “Perhaps—” he offers it to you— “perhaps this can make you feel better? Without us needing to, well… attack children.”

You giggle; it does sound pretty stupid when he puts it like that. “Thanks, Zayne,” you grin, reaching out for your reward. You’re glad one of you is vaguely sensible— those water-guns were expensive.

The cake is an inch from your fingers when a jet of water sends it flying from Zayne’s hand. It lands at your feet with an unceremonious splat, and from somewhere behind you, laughter roars.

The doctor blinks down at it in disbelief, his hand still hovering beside yours. He grieves for a long moment, then looks to you solemnly like you’re a colleague and he’s about to ask for a scalpel:

“The AquaJet3000,” he says.

Rafayel 🎨

“Rafayel, call me stupid one more time, and I’ll—”

You’ll… you’ll… what? He’s looking back at you with wide eyes, his hands frozen when they had just a moment ago been drying the plate you’d handed him. He has some nerve, pretending he’s the victim when he’s spent the entire evening insulting you. This is supposed to be a wholesome moment of domesticity— doing the dishes together before he has to disappear to a late-night gala— so why is he ruining it? Ever since you got home, it’s been: so how was your day, stupid? Hey, stupid, want a hand washing up?

He said he was fine with you sitting out the gala tonight, but maybe he’s not.

“I’ll do this,” you finish, lifting a palmful of suds from the sink and raising them to your lips, ready to blow.

“Puh-lease, you bought me this suit. You really think I can’t tell when you’re bluff— hey, wait! Stop!”

You do blow the bubbles at him, and he recoils, holding the plate and dishcloth up to defend himself. He blocks some of them, but not all of them. “Honestly, Raf, if you’re not ok with me skipping out on tonight then you can just say so.”

He puts the plate gently aside. “I mean, of course I’m sad you’re not coming,” he thinks aloud as he sets about sweeping bubbles from his suit, “but I’m ok with it, really. You’ve had, like, a crazy week at work. You deserve a quiet night in.”

Compassion? Really? After you just—? Ugh. “So why were you being so mean, then?” you sigh, taking the cloth from him and dabbing away the bubbles he’s missed.

“Mean?”

“You’ve called me ‘stupid’ like fifty times in the span of, what— three hours?”

“Yeah,” he shrugs innocently. “Because you told me to.”

Huh? You stop what you’re doing. “Since when did I—”

He reaches over your shoulder and you feel fingers on your back. “See?” he answers, bringing a piece of paper in front of you. It looks like it’s been torn hastily from a notebook, and it says, in bold, capital letters: ‘CALL ME STUPID!!’

You take the note from Rafayel sheepishly, your lips parted in surprise. How did it—? Wait. “Those kids!” you exclaim, thinking back on your walk home from work. “Oh I knew they were spouting bullshit when they said they saw a Wanderer!”

Your dish-washing companion doesn’t seem impressed by your lightbulb moment. He’s watching you, confusion etched across his face, but you can see right through it. “Rafayel!” you slap a soapy hand to his chest, “you had to call me stupid that many times before telling me?”

“I thought you wrote it. Pet names can be weird sometimes— I don’t know what you’re into.”

He’s still acting. Still lying. Fine, two can play at that game.

You fall deathly silent, turning back to the sink to retrieve the bowl you’d dropped in there the last time he’d called you your new ‘pet name’. “I guess it suits me,” you mumble, half to yourself.

“What d’you mean, cutie?”

He can call you cutie as many times as he wants; you’re out for blood. You give the bowl another once-over with a sponge. “Some hunter I am. Can’t even tell when some kids are messing with me.”

Rafayel frowns. “Hey, it’s been a long week, yeah? You’re just tired.”

“Tired,” you echo, and you drop the bowl back into the water with a dramatic plop. “Tired? No. I’m exhausted. No matter what I do, no matter how hard I work, there’s always… something. To make me feel like an idiot. To make me feel… stupid.”

“Hey,” Rafayel tries again, and his voice is fraught with worry. “Don’t say stuff like that. You’re not stupid. I’m stupid. I’m supposed to make you feel better and instead I was just screwing around. I’m sorry, ok? Don’t be sad. Please?”

He wraps his arms around you and pulls you close, resting his chin on the top of your head. You don’t give in, not at first, but then you hug him back. “Thanks, Raf. I’m ok— really.” You hear his phone buzz from where he’s left it on the counter. “You should go. Thomas will kill you if you’re late.”

“Nah, he needs me,” the artist chuckles. “You get first dibs, though. You sure you don’t want me to stay?”

“Yeah,” you laugh quietly back; your heart not quite in it. “Quiet night in, remember? Go on. Go.”

He steps away from you, though not before planting a light kiss on your cheek. “I’ll make it up to you when I get home,” he says, collecting his phone and the rest of his things. He gives you another kiss when he’s done, dodging your efforts to shoo him away. “Miss you already, cutie.”

“Go!”

And he does as he’s told this time, no matter how listlessly. It’s sweet he wants to stay and make things better, but he already has— he just doesn’t know it yet. It wasn’t the hug. It wasn’t the apology. You lean back against the counter with a smirk, savouring the view as he leaves.

It might have something to do with the note you’ve stuck on his back.

…

Rafayel retrieves the note the moment he closes the door behind him, stuffing it smugly into his pocket. He’ll have a story ready for you, by the time he gets home, about just how much you humiliated him. About how he walked around for a good hour before Thomas spotted the note and gave him a lecture about his ‘image’.

He smiles to himself; he’s a really good boyfriend.

Sylus 🩸

“You should know better than to keep me waiting, sweetie.”

Oh, great. This is just what you need.

You peek over the saddle of your motorcycle from where you’re crouched behind it. “Hey, Sylus,” you greet. The man is watching you, his arms folded. “Yeah, sorry.”

“Sorry?” he repeats, an eyebrow raised sceptically. “What— no ‘patience is a virtue, Sylus,’ no ‘oh please, Sylus, we both know you’ve nothing better to do?’”

You had disappeared behind your bike again, but you steal another glance at him. “Wow,” you marvel, “is this what you did before we met? Have arguments with yourself?”

“More or less,” he smiles dryly, then shrugs: “I’m not bad, as far as sparring partners go. You of all people can vouch for that. Besides, what were my other options? Mephisto?” He laughs. “Luke and Kieran?” He laughs harder.

“I’d rate Mephisto above you,” you add distractedly, no longer looking at him.

“Is that right?” he purrs, and it’s very obvious he doesn’t believe you.

He sounds close— too close— so you stand, re-entering his eyeline so he doesn’t come closer. Gods, this is embarrassing. Those stupid kids; he’s gonna have a field day if he finds out. “Yeah.” You wipe your hands slowly with a cloth, disguising the fact that your mind is scrambling. “The things that bird comes up with, just… scathing, honestly. Emotionally devastating.”

“Oh really?” Sylus tuts. “That’s awful. I can’t imagine where he gets it from.”

You smile back at him, resting your hands on your hips. You do feel bad, actually; you’d completely forgotten you were supposed to meet him this morning for breakfast before work. He’d received no texts to cancel. No calls. How long was he waiting at that sweet little café you’d picked out?

Then again, this morning isn’t really going to your plan, either.

“Something wrong with your bike?” he asks, because he’s already figured out that much. “Besides the usual, I mean.”

Your smile drops. Your whole act drops. “It’s nothing, Sylus.”

“You’ve already stood me up this morning, sweetie. Are you really going to lie to me, too?”

You let out an exasperated sigh. Fine. “Some kids graffitied it, ok?”

“This piece of junk? Really?” He toes the front wheel of it, then catches onto the withering look you’re sending him. “Oh no,” he tries again, with absolutely no enthusiasm, “what a dreadful crime against such an advanced, state-of-the-art vehicle.”

Prick. You keep the label behind tight lips as he wanders around the motorcycle to join you, assessing the damage. You’re stood by a bucket of water and the litany of rags you’ve used to try to scrub it clean— each one a testament to your failure. The sight alone makes you want to burst into tears. The skin of your hands is pink. Raw.

You feel cheated; you wish you were at that café right now.

Sylus taps a finger against his cheek, eyes narrowed pensively. They’re spoiled for choice of what to look at: misspelt obscenities, a generous number of crude symbols. All in permanent marker, naturally. “An improvement, wouldn’t you say?”

“I wouldn’t say. No.”

“Art is subjective.”

“Yeah? So is your face.” Not your best effort. Sylus glances up at you, amused. “Shut up,” you dismiss proactively. “Besides, this is my work vehicle. I can’t ride around Linkon on this. It would be—”

“Too staggering a blow to your professional reputation,” he finishes like he’s bored.

“This isn’t funny, Sylus.”

He points at a particularly chaotic drawing of a penis. “It is.”

You smack his hand away. “It’s not.” Your voice wobbles, ever so slightly betraying you. This is serious; you could get in trouble. You stare down at the graffiti, despair setting in.

Keys dangle in front of your eyes. “Here. Borrow my bike.”

“You’re joking, right?” You swat at them. “You really think that’s gonna help? Me— rolling up to work on a bike that costs twice my annual salary?”

“Twice? That’s cute, kitten.”

You glare at him, any guilt you felt about standing him up long gone. “Can you just stop? Being you? For like, two seconds? Please? This is the last thing I need today, Sylus. I’m gonna be late. I’m gonna embarrass myself in front of everyone. And worst of all? I was actually looking forward to seeing you this morning. Before all of this—” you gesture dejectedly at your bike— “all of this shit happened.”

Sylus is looking back at you, his arms crossed again. He does nothing for a few, slow seconds, and it’s just long enough to make you feel like you’re overreacting. Then he leans over, running a hand across your bike, and you watch as the graffiti flakes and lifts, turning to ash under the influence of his Evol.

He brushes his hands together when he’s done, straightening with a hmph and a self-satisfied smirk. Content (more than content— thoroughly impressed with himself) he turns back to you. Your bottom lip has dropped in surprise and he chuckles, reaching a finger to lift your chin. “You can thank me later, sweetie, and I intend to spend the entire day thinking about how you might. Don’t disappoint me, hmm?”

You’re still silent, and it takes him a moment to realise you’re bristling with something other than awe and adoration. He frowns. “Sweetie?”

The second ‘sweetie’ breaks you, and not in the way he wants. You slap his chest, hard; he doesn’t really feel it.

“Sylus! You could have done that the whole time?!”

Caleb 🍎

“Sit still, dear.”

Sit still? How are you supposed to sit still when you’re brimming with rage? Every inch of your body is tense, waiting, yearning for you to spring into action. It wants you to retaliate. It wants revenge.

“I can’t, Grandma,” you whine, crossing your arms as if to hold yourself back. You’re still fidgeting on the chair as she navigates your hair with her scissors. “This sucks. Everything sucks. The only thing that could make this worse is if—”

You hear the front door swing open, then closed. Why couldn’t you keep your mouth shut?

Sure enough, Caleb strolls into the kitchen mere moments later. “What’s happenin’ here?” he asks, dropping a bag of groceries onto the countertop.

“Nothing,” you mumble. “Grandma’s giving me a haircut, that’s all.”

“Ok. So what’s actually happening here?” he tries again. He’s known you forever, after all; he can tell when you’re lying.

You swing a foot out at his shin as he tries to step closer. Nuh-uh. No investigating. No sticking his nose where it doesn’t belong. “Nothing,” you hiss again. “Gods, Caleb. What’s your problem?”

“You’re my problem, pipsqueak.” He uses his foot to push yours away. “At least Gran’s on my side—” his amethyst eyes seek her— “can you tell me what’s going on? Please? Pretty please?”

A hand breaks their eye contact. “You don’t have to answer that, Grandma.” You glare Caleb down. “The DAA has no authority here.”

“It does.”

“It doesn’t.”

“It does.”

“It doesn’t.”

Grandma sighs; she’s had far too many years of this. “You know Mr and Mrs. Lee’s children? Down the road? Well, they—”

“Grandma!” You round on her. How long did she last— all of three seconds? You bitterly regard Caleb, your voice dark with resentment: “They put gum in my hair, ok?”

“Really?”

“Yeah." He wanted the truth, didn’t he? “They lured me in with some nonsense about a Wanderer. I didn’t realise until, well, until…” You wave at your hair. “Too late.”

He considers the story, then shrugs. It’s clearly not as thrilling as he was anticipating, because he disappears from the kitchen, leaving you and Grandma in peace once more. The silence is as uncomfortable as it is sudden. You’d expected laughter— a lot of laughter. Teasing. Maybe even a shot at how gullible you are.

You release an uneasy breath, resting your head back on the chair.

“Sit still,” Grandma repeats, nudging you, prompting you to sit up straight. “I’ve almost got it. Just one more… here!” There’s a decisive snip.

“Thanks, Grandma.” You slump again, staring up at the ceiling.

You’re not sure what you’re waiting for. Maybe for the blush of your cheeks to cool, or for a Wanderer to spring out of the floor, killing you, so you can be dead and not so embarrassed. You hear heavy footsteps— Caleb returning— and you really wish the Wanderer would hurry up.

“Caleb…” Grandma’s tone is wary. “What are you doing?”

“What does it look like?”

You readjust your head so you can look at him. He’s clutching what must be a dozen rolls of toilet paper; they’re piled up to just below his chin, almost spilling out over his arms. “How about it, pipsqueak?” he asks as he struggles to balance them. “A little team-up between the DAA and The Association— wanna do your part in reclaiming your neighbourhood?”

Now that’s more like it. “Fuck yes! Sorry, Grandma.”

You’re really as bad as each-other. She tuts reproachfully as you leap out of your chair, and she's disappointed, but not surprised.

#🖋rach is actually writing #xavier x reader #zayne x reader #rafayel x reader #sylus x reader #caleb x reader #love and deepspace #lads x reader #lads x mc #shen xinghui #li shen #qi yu #qin che #xia yizhou #lads #lnds #l&ds

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randomfoggytiger · 2 months

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CHRIS CARTER'S MISCOMMUNICATION: "Platonic", "Cerebral and Sexy", and the Romantic Dynamic of The X-Files

(Credit to: Melissa Walker)

**Disclaimer**: This writeup won't focus on character flaws, only on delving a little bit deeper to understand a perspective.

In this post, I explore Chris Carter's "cerebral" use of the word "platonic", and parcel out his MSR opinions during the first six seasons of The X-Files.

PART I: WILL-THEY-WON'T-THEY OR PLATONIC?

In August 1993, Chris Carter conducted his first promotional interview of The X-Files. Amongst other inspirations for the show, he drew namely from The Avengers's John Steed and Emma Peel as the cornerstones of the "Fox and Dana" partnership. “David and Gillian are very bright,” Carter said. “They truly are the characters. Their relationship is cerebral and subtly sexy. Fox and Dana remind me of John Steed and Emma Peel in ‘The Avengers.’”

To a generation who grew up watching one of the (then) most widely known will-they-won't-they in television, that comparison signaled allure, attraction, and simmering sexual tension. As @observeroftheuniverse's post here highlights, The Avengers often blatantly played with the romantic pull between Mr. Steed and Mrs. Peel. This article particularly articulates how freely the writers and actors discussed the indisputable fact of "something" going on between them: Peel’s verbal interactions with Steed range from witty banter to thinly disguised innuendo. Regarding the constant question of whether they had a sexual relationship at any time, Patrick Macnee [Steed's actor] thought the characters went to bed on a very regular basis (just not in view of the camera). However, Rigg [Peel's actress] thought they were most likely engaging in an enjoyable extended flirtation that ultimately went nowhere. Writer/producer Brian Clemens said he wrote them with the idea that they had an affair before Emma’s first appearance in the series,[6] and they certainly appear to already know each other very well when Emma is first introduced. And my own post here draws descriptions and quotes straight from each characters' Wikipedia page (and notes the similarities between Scully and Peel.)

However, after years of mixed responses, one clever reporter was able to get a clearer answer out of Carter in 1997:

RS: I’ve always wondered if you watched a show called “The Avengers.”

CC: Sure. Loved it. Mulder and Scully come from those characters, Emma Peel and what’s-his-name — Patrick MacNee. He was older than she was, so it was a sort of May-September, whatever you call it, relationship. It lacked sexual tension because of that quality. But I loved that sort of platonic thing.

And now you must be wondering: how? How did he not notice Steed and Peel's dynamic while remaining a big fan of the show, especially when he described their dynamic as "cerebral and sexy"?

Chris Carter, I posit, uses "platonic" when he means to say "sexual tension without decisive follow-through."

A bold claim. I'll prove it, too.

PART II: PLATONIC DOESN'T MEAN WHAT WE THINK IT MEANS

For the longest time, I assumed this double speak of Carter's was a form of outright lying. Don't get me wrong, he has and will lie when ego becomes involved, or when he wants to bait the "mystery" longer but can't think up a cleverer sleight of hand in the moment. But the truth, from the 1990s to the 2020s, is much simpler: he is telling the truth when he refers to Mulder and Scully as platonic.

Because "platonic", to Chris Carter, means "intellectually driven, sexually interested, non-sexually equal" all rolled into one. And, since he can't find a word that means "sexual without involving sex", he settles for one that strays from making a definitive either way.

In his interviews from 1993 to 1997 (which I explore in Part IV, see below~), he insisted that Mulder and Scully were friends, yet also stipulated they wouldn't end up together "on-screen"; and when comparing them to other sexually-charged partnerships, he repeatedly underscored his preferences for relationships that weren't "overtly sexual."

The nail in the coffin was a 1995 interview for Season 3--

AD: When you first explained Scully and Mulder to FOX, was it a point of sale that this was going to be purely working relationship, no love interest.

CC: I wanted it to be that way from the get-go, although I did want there to be sort of an underlying tension between the two of them because my feeling is when you put two smart people, a man and a woman, in a room, I don’t care whether or not they’re passionate about their life and their work, you’re going to get sexual tension out of that naturally.

AD: Yeah, the sort of Harry-met-Sally-with-brains-scenario.

--and its follow-up in January 1996--

Interviewer: How important is the sexual tension between the characters?

CC: I never wanted them to jump in the sack together because it was uninteresting to me. To me, the most sexual relationships are often the ones that are never realized, consummated or even spoken about. So I wanted this to be two smart people who work together, who happen to get along very well. Through their shared passion in their work, there is a natural chemical sexual tension that comes out of that, that doesn’t ever have to be spoken about, but it works.

Well then, why the double-speak and general lack of clarity?

Chris Carter often claimed he quite literally trusted no one, a self-protective measure that sprung from two alcoholic parents. One was sometimes-abusive, the other "ditzy" and detrimentally loose-lipped; and together, they always held rank, never backing down or apologizing for their wrongs. Humor and obfuscation, then, became his primary tool-- one minute he'd proclaim, “We can’t prove that it [abductions or paranormal activity] happened, but we can’t prove it didn’t”, and the next he'd seriously aver, "I’m a natural skeptic...."

The key to the truth lies in the repeatability of his claims: his oft-voiced skepticism in the paranormal far outweighed his infrequent, one-off jokes.

PART III: WHAT CC MEANS WHEN HE SAYS "PLATONIC"

The most telling piece of information-- the dirt on top of the coffin, if you will-- was a surprisingly open interview promoting Millennium.

Chris Carter's sincerest answer to the question of the "platonic" dichotomy was also his most vulnerable; and, upon realizing this blunder, he swiftly abandoned reflection and escaped through the realms of exaggeration-- a sign that his clarity was mixed with a little too much vulnerability.

February 20, 1997:

Interviewer: In both shows, I noticed, the male-female relationship is central and idealized. In “The X-Files,” it’s platonic. In “Millennium,” there’s a sort of idealized marriage between Frank Black and his wife.

CC: My feeling is that the most powerful relationships you have in life are … not sexual. You haven’t seen Lance Henriksen and Megan Gallagher in a sexual situation on Millennium. Between them, love is understood. Love is gesture and feeling and trust, and all those things, and it’s not necessarily a physical thing.

Interviewer: And the relationship between Scully and Mulder?

CC: It’s also like my kind of idealized romantic relationship. It’s two smart people in a room, arguing something when each one has a valid point of view. It’s like good dinner-party conversation. It’s what makes me feel alive — and good about myself. And I think there’s too little of it in most of our lives and particularly in romantic situations.

Here, the interviewer turned his questions from philosophy to possibility, leading Carter to quickly disengage and strike up hyperbole:

Interviewer: You were talking a second ago about gesture, and how Gallagher and Henriksen don’t really hug and kiss. What would happen if Scully and Mulder were to hug and kiss?

CC: They have hugged. They’ve never kissed. They could kiss if it was the right time for it. They could never give big French kisses. People say, “Will Mulder and Scully ever go to bed?” And I say, “You really don’t want them to.” Because the minute they do, then, basically, when they’re in that motel on their assignment, you know, investigating the appearance of extraterrestrial life somewhere, and they decide they’re finally going to get it on, they’re going to lie there sort of googly eyed in the morning, and those aliens are just going to be running amok. They will become more interested in themselves than in the things that they need to be doing.

He wasn't entirely wrong, either: their partnership and relationship would require-- in 1997, at least-- a lot of communication to get anywhere close to romantically stable. Fight the Future's "But you saved me" hadn't been uttered canonically; and neither character had the downtime of Season 6 yet to sort through and shift their priorities. As easy as it would be to slough off his exaggeration as another example of how little he understood the characters, Chris Carter's statement-- in truth-- pointed to how well he knew their dynamic.

Still, there remained a grain of truth to Chris's drama. He viewed (views) Mulder and Scully as two characters whose sexual attraction served to aid their quest, not detract from it; and feared that anything overtly sexual or "changed" between them would inevitably distract them from saving the world.

A challenging dynamic to understand until I realized it was one he shared it with his wife, Dori.

February 13, 1996:

But the demands of his work wear on his private life. “This is the first time Chris has seen me vertical in a few weeks,” said his wife, Dori, an elegant former screenwriter who flew up from Los Angeles to squeeze in a little private time with her husband.

August 2, 1998:

I work until at least 9.30 and I always work weekends. My wife’s staying in Santa Barbara is nothing to do with any kind of marital break-up. We’ve been together 16 years. It’s more that she’d rather be there and not see me than here and not see me. We speak all the time and its actually very romantic: I’d suggest it to anybody as a way of creating connection and desire.

She would like it if I were home more often, but she knows that I tend to feel a little obsessive and understands that I would probably be miserable if I had to live my life any differently right now. I’m not a workaholic, but when something hits and it’s good, you have to obey its demands.

For Chris Carter, obsessive focus-- as confirmed and reiterated by everyone in his life during The X-Files's run-- was lived without distraction.

During another 1997 interview, he doubled down (humorously, then solemnly) on the pathos of Mulder and Scully's situation.

1997:

Question from Dublin, OH (Sunil Karve): Hi Chris. On that terrible day when the series comes to an end, are you planning on having Mulder and Scully finally get to the “truth” (and more importantly, be able to prove it?)

Carter: They’ll be too busy jumping each others’ bones.

Question from Los Angeles, CA (meredith): Recently you likened M & S’s relationship to the one in the movie “Remains of the Day”. For those of us who didn’t see that movie, what did you mean? Thanks.

Carter: I just meant, I thought it was more powerful that those two characters didn’t get together....

Question from North Syracuse, NY (Ellis): Will a romantic relationship develop between Mulder and Scully?

Carter: No romance.

PEOPLE: Ah the QUESTION…Why not?

Carter: More alien stuff is coming soon.

And yet, he took care to hint (blatantly at times) that Mulder and Scully would end up together after the nebulous, victorious conclusion. Not only as a possibility-- an inevitability.

PART IV: DESCRIBING MSR THROUGH CARTER'S EYES

Carter's descriptions of Mulder and Scully's partnership through the years didn't change... in substance, at least. His answers shifted depending on his devilish mood; but the underpinnings remained the same, all pointing to a similar, looming conclusion.

To illustrate this point, I've included as many statements as possible, barring repetition, dating from 1993 to 1997.

WRITING AND CASTING THE PILOT

"The Truth About Season One", post The Truth:

"It was very easy to cut Ethan out because he just slowed down the scenes where you would see Mulder and Scully together, which is where all the heat really was."

September 23, 1994:

I loved both David and Gillian from the start. And, yes, I chose them from hundreds of other actors who auditioned. The chemistry between them is just pure luck.

February 20, 1997:

[On casting Gillian Anderson] "You knew the chemistry was there with Dave and Gillian. That’s something you pray for, because you can’t manufacture it."

June 14, 1998:

“At the original auditions, I saw dozens of people but the moment David and Gillian walked in the room, I knew I’d found my Mulder and Scully. It was as if the skins I’d created fit these two people like gloves.”

SEASON 1

August 18, 1993:

“David and Gillian are very bright,” Carter said. “They truly are the characters. Their relationship is cerebral and subtly sexy. Fox and Dana remind me of John Steed and Emma Peel in ‘The Avengers.’”

November 30, 1993:

The relationship between Mulder and Scully is particularly promising. So far, it’s a low-voltage attraction. If it gets stronger, it won’t be because that’s the standard TV formula.

“It’s a relationship I’m not seeing on television,” says Carter. “It’s based on mutual respect, not something overtly sexual.”

SEASON 2

September 23, 1994:

LANGER: Chris, You brought back Tooms. Are there any plans to bring back the Eves or that guy who starts fires?

CARTER: Again, anything can happen. Except that Mulder and Scully sex scene.

MOONFERRET: Chris, We all know that the Mulder / Scully thing isn’t going to happen. I’m curious though– why exactly are you so opposed to this? You and the rest of the crew are great storytellers- I’m sure you could pull it off exceptionally. Why so opposed? (Do you get the feeling I’m one of the few that would love for it to happen? Call me vicarious…)

CARTER: Oh, Moonferret. If I could only make your dreams come true.

October 28, 1994:

“I had decided sometime after learning that she was pregnant (last winter) to shoot around Gillian’s pregnancy,” Carter said....

Carter considered making Scully a single mother, but he resisted domesticating the show. “I have chosen not to make the show about the characters’ lives,” he said. “The show works best as two FBI agents investigating paranormal or unexplained phenomena, and that’s what drives the show. If the stories don’t drive the show, then we’re working backward.”

December 1994:

Another source of praise for the show has been the unique relationship shared by the two main characters. Though there is chemistry between Anderson and Duchovny, the writers and actors take pains to maintain a tender but nonsexual relationship.

...As far as the sexual tension between the two goes, everyone involved in the series seems to agree that a full-blown romance is out of the question.

December 1994:

How close will Scully and Mulder get to the final truth in the current season of X-Files? Carter’s answer is as nebulous as any of last season’s answers. ‘I don’t think there is a final truth,” he says with a laugh. “There are problem final truths. We’ll just keep pushing."

SEASON 3

1995:

AD: When you first explained Scully and Mulder to FOX, was it a point of sale that this was going to be purely working relationship, no love interest.

AD: Yeah, the sort of Harry-met-Sally-with-brains-scenario.

1995:

Q. Did you always have in mind a two-person cast, male and female?

A. The Mulder-Scully idea was there from the start. And I wanted to flip the gender types, so that Mulder, the male, would be the believer, the intuitive one, and Scully the skeptic, which is the more traditional male role. It was also important that Scully be Mulder’s equal in rank, intelligence, and ability–because in real life the FBI is a boy’s club–and I didn’t want her to take a back seat.

October 1995:

**Note**: Carter teases a lot during this interview, but his last answer is serious enough.

Melissa: The chemistry between Mulder and Scully is great. Will their relationship ever develop into more than just being partners and friends?

Chris Carter: They’ll find out they’re actually third cousins, four times removed.

Naber: With Mulder getting a girl [a topical Season 3 rumor], will we be seeing Scully having more of a personal life or a date?

Chris Carter: Scully will join a nunnery when she learns that Mulder has strayed.

Mary Paster: Rumors about a girlfriend for Agent Mulder have a lot of fans worried that this will ruin the “sexual tension” between him and Agent Scully — can you tell us anything about it to calm our fears?

Chris Carter: ...About Mulder’s girlfriend… don’t worry, I won’t let anything “ruin” Mulder and Scully.

December 24, 1995:

Q: As you know, there has been a lot of speculation that Scully is Samantha. [Agent Mulder’s sister, Samantha, was abducted by aliens when she was a child and never seen again, causing Mulder to become obsessed with UFO’s. If she were alive, she would be the same age as his partner, Dana Scully.]

A: [Chuckles] People with too much time on their hands.

Q: Can you tell fans that is definitely not the case?

A: That is not the case.

Q: There’s also speculation that Scully is a lesbian and that’s why there have been only fleeting mentions of past romance for her. Is Scully gay?

A: That is not the case either. I hate to answer anything definitely. But Scully is heterosexual.

January 1996:

Interviewer: How close to your original vision is what we get?

CC: I have to say that it’s extremely close to what I imagined. Of course, when I was sitting and writing the pilot, I never imagined episode 73, which is where we’ll be this year. Anyone who creates a show, I don’t think, can look that far down the road. But I did, indeed, have an idea about how the Mulder and Scully relationship would progress.

Interviewer: How important is the sexual tension between the characters?

May 13, 1996:

Since the very first episode, the slow-burn chemistry between Mulder and Scully has had fans in a delicious torment, debating the pros and cons of a romantic/sexual relationship, analyzing the details of each gesture, each word spoken by the characters.

On this subject Chris Carter is adamant. In numerous interviews, he has stated that there will be a relationship between the two main characters “when hell freezes over,” as he recently said in USA Today.

May 16, 1996:

Interviewer: Do chat types want romance between Mulder and Scully?

CC: They do and they don’t. They want elements of it without them jumping into the sack. There are these “relationshippers” who kind of dominate the online chats. I’m a little dismayed because I don’t want to do a show about fuzzy warm Mulder and Scully. Never.

SEASON 4 - SEASON 5

1997:

Carter: They’ll be too busy jumping each others’ bones.

Question from North Syracuse, NY (Ellis): Will a romantic relationship develop between Mulder and Scully?

Carter: No romance.

PEOPLE: Ah the QUESTION…Why not?

Carter: More alien stuff is coming soon.

February 20, 1997:

Interviewer: If the show is ever in trouble, don’t you think Fox would push you to have a romance?

CC: Oh, sure.

Interviewer: And how strong do you think you’ll be when that call comes?

CC: As I say, I may not be here by then, so I don’t know. But I would resist it, as I think the characters would. Or the actors that play them. That’s what The X-Files movies are going to be for.

FIGHT THE FUTURE

March 14, 1998:

[John Shiban] "Chris Carter has said that Mulder and Scully, in a way, are having a romance. Even though it’s not a sexual romance, this is a relationship and it is complicated. And sometimes they are at odds, sometimes they don’t agree, sometimes they are concerned for each other, they are worried that one is going to endanger themselves, etc. Sometimes those things aren’t resolved and we like to leave it lie(?) because it makes them more real to us and more interesting people if they have that kind of long-term up and down that you go through in a relationship like this."

May 1998:

TVG: There has also been a lot of buzz in the press about a scene in which Mulder and Scully kiss. You’ve often said you wouldn’t play that card, that they will never really take their professional relationship to an intimate, romantic level.

CC: Nor should they. I’m not saying it would never happen, but I think the characters, if they’re being true to themselves, would be careful about finding themselves in that entanglement.

June 1998:

Y’know, like do Mulder and Scully kiss?

“I think it would ruin the show,” Carter says, then adds, “I think it would wreck the X-Files if they had a relationship.”

Anderson chuckles: “What? Before we spot an alien, what are we going to do? Smooch?”

Reports Duchovny: “There is way too much history to be developed for them to have a carnal meeting.”

Besides, says Duchovny, smirking, “America wouldn’t stand for it.”

SEASON 6

October 1998:

[Talking about FTF's almost-kiss]:

“I think it’s a natural expression of the love these two people obviously have for one another. And that was an expression of that love, it’s not necessarily a perfectly…” Carter drifts off for a moment, stumbling for the right words to describe his thoughts on the matter. “It’s not a sexual expression. That they almost kiss isn’t stepping over a line that I think that neither of them are quite prepared to step over. But it’s a quite believable one,” Carter insists. “That it doesn’t happen, that’s part of the fun.”

Although Carter says Mulder and Scully’s relationship will be dealt with in Season Six, he does stick firm to one of his former proclamations: “I don’t see Mulder and Scully getting in the sack.”

December 1998:

“They are VERY complex characters. We played with Mulder and Scully’s belief systems in the fifth season. They’re both unmarried. They’ve both lost parents, and they’ve both lost them in a tragic way. Mulder and Scully have a lot to learn about life, I think, and they’re things that people have to learn as they move through their 30s and on into their 40s,” CC observes. “So, I really do think we’ve got a lot more to learn about our characters and about the conspiracy. I don’t think we’ll run out of ideas anytime soon.”

CONCLUSION

I started this exercise as a way to understand Chris Carter's thinking. Seeing the early days of his vision-- poking around in the limitations of his verbiage, finding that a deeper relationship was always in the cards (even if kept back from the table)-- was informative and intriguing.

(What really interested me-- which I couldn't include here-- was the revelation that Gillian Anderson was of the same mind concerning Mulder and Scully's partnership. It was actually David Duchovny who later became curious to explore a more personal relationship between the two. Which explains The Unnatural, I'd bet.)

And that's where we leave off on this platonic miscommunication.

Thanks for reading~

Enjoy!

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lowkeyrobin · 5 months

Note

can we get a phoebe spengler dating and/or friendship hcs please im starving out here 🫶🏼🫶🏼

oooo yeah sure!! I apologize if this ends up being kinda short 😔🙏 ; thanks for requesting and I hope you enjoy!!

PHOEBE SPENGLER ; dating hcs

summary ; dating stuff with phoebe

warnings ; language

disclaimers ; I'm not a professional when it comes to autism (because it's like 50/50 canon) so please give me feedback if any of the traits or anything in general is wrong for phoebe and if I should change it!! the sources I used don't seem like they're written by autistic people themselves but I'm putting my trust into these psychologists

word count ; 471

masterlist

she caught your eye with those horrible dad jokes of hers

it was the effort and thought that counted

tried using a science fact to reel you in but you were already head over heels 😭😭

you were just like "can I please take you out to do something fun? just us? please?"

she's like "...sure?" like she hasn't had a crush on you for the past solid 15 minutes from across the room

she talks about it to her mom, and she's all excited for her and she just doesn't understand the hype

baby's first date because trevor lives a double life around callie 💯

callie actually takes pictures 😭 and phoebe is just wearing a casual outfit like?? this isn't a fancy occasion mom

she's literally so scared but doesn't really know how to feel

you find it cute and endearing 💔

once you actually start dating, she's still very nervous around you because she's not trying to drive you away

she's obsessed with you though, you're actually perfect in her eyes and she'll do anything to prove that to you (vice versa as well 🫶)

she just stares at you sometimes and it's the cutest thing ever, like whole ass loses focus on whatever she's doing just to look at you. whether you're just chilling across the room or laughing and talking with podcast, she can't take her eyes off of you

she'll ramble about whatever she's fixated on / her special interest at the most random times, it's adorable

trevor will just see her staring at you while you're busy fixing something and be there like "stop staring" and without loosening her gaze on you, will reply "I can't help it"

he's mad she found actual love before him 😭 /hj

she'll hang on to anything and everything you seem to have an interest in

she seems like the type to make one of those pages long essays about how much she l-words you and mail it to you because she's too scared to give it to you herself

she's genuinley head over heels, there is no honeymoon phase that is just how she is

will proudly ramble about her ghostbuster duties to you whenever she can

loves taking walks with you even if it's just in silence

will 100% show you how everything in the proton packs and traps work

she'll have late night theories and scientific ideas and text you to not forget and just to let you know, even if you're asleep

"y/n I have an idea" "hit me"

you're her biggest fan

you made her a little "I got arrested" pin after she did actually get in trouble with stuff LMAO

she got you a little ghostbuster patch because you didn't want to really join them, but she can't help but wanna make you feel included

you, her, and Podcast are seriously an unbreakable trio

#lowkeyrobin #ghostbusters frozen empire #ghostbusters afterlife #ghostbusters x reader #phoebe spengler x reader #phoebe spengler #gender neutral reader #gn reader #they/them reader #gn! reader #dating headcanons

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lilyveselka · 7 months

Text

On Jack Bright (An Exhaustive Perspective) [Edited 2/19/2024 w/ additional evidence!]

A couple disclaimers before I start: First, this isn't an "official stance." It's an explanation of my personal views; I speak for myself alone. Second, I'm not setting out to change people's minds or moralize to them; I just want to explain & respond to some common arguments in the fan space.

Third & finally, massive content warning for explicit discussions of grooming & sexual abuse. This includes screenshots. (I assume everyone is aware of this going in, but better safe than sorry!!)

Q: Why do you care so much, anyway?

A: Not your business, but I was groomed as a teenager in a very similar manner to the whole AB situation. Ok, on to the actual questions.

Q: First things first: Was AB/Duckman a groomer?

A: Yes, pretty definitively. First of all, DMs from one of their victims (who was underage while they were in contact; AB was aware of this fact).

[ID in alt text]

Maybe anonymous allegations aren't solid proof -- of course, there are public victims, but there are also screenshots of AB themself "joking" about being a sexual predator.

Straight up saying they want nudes from 14 year olds.

With the context of the first message -- the punchline is molesting/"corrupting" people who are underage (which they've publicly stated is a fetish of theirs)

This one just kind of... speaks for itself, I think?

[And again, ID in alt text for all these.]

These aren't the only examples, by the way -- just the most blatant. AB also explicitly wrote their interest in underage girls into tales on the actual wiki. Examples include the famed list, which implied Bright shouldn't be around people underage because he would come onto them (and that's without mentioning the blatant racism on there), as well as a now-deleted tale called 'Money, Money, Money' that involved in-depth description of a 13-year-old's breasts.

[Correction: my mistake, the tale was called 'Doctor, Doctor, Doctor.' You can find it here without the overtly sexual description of a child's body — it took 8 years (!!) for AB to remove these passages. Here's the original:

Highlighted in blue is the original edit history showing the article's content. Additionally, here's AB defending this on the talk page:

In addition to this, there's also AB requesting an artist draw incestuous rape porn — personally I find this far less heinous than a lot of the other stuff they've done, but I figure it deserves a place here too.

(iamnotadamnedmonkey is AB's old Tumblr handle, sorry for the poor quality screenshot!)

All new images also have alt text.]

Q: But AB is just the author. Why is the character bad?

A: A couple reasons. First of all, the character reflects a lot of AB's sexual proclivities, including towards underage characters, as I already mentioned in the previous point.

Second, Bright's popularity gave AB their social standing within the community. There are a few chat logs where they brag about people wanting to have sexual relations with them because of their work on the SCP wiki; also, it's pretty clear that creating something popular gives you access to a lot more people who are interested in talking to you.

When you manipulate fans wanting to talk to you into sexual relationships, it's pretty clear that you have the ability to access victims because your name is out there.

Thirdly, AB used Bright's amulet as a possession kink thing and would ask for nudes that had it visible. (And, you know, they solicited a lot of regular nudes too. What a great guy, who would totally never use their platform for their own sexual pleasure...)

Q: Right, but AB's not on the wiki anymore...

A: AB's publicly-spoken victims have politely requested that the character not be used anymore. Bright was used as a tool to access, manipulate, and engage in sexual contact with fans who were young and in some cases under the age of majority. Therefore, continuing to use Bright is disrespectful to their victims. Personally speaking, I also consider it to be disrespectful towards victims of grooming and/or sexual abuse as a whole.

Q: So you think people who still use Bright are bad people?

A: No, I don't.

Like I said, I think they're being pretty blatantly disrespectful. But I'm not the arbiter of morality or the censorship bureau. People can do what they want as long as it is appropriately tagged for.

However, the fact is this: if someone is publicly continuing to use Jack Bright, then they are doing something that goes against my values -- because my values involve supporting and respecting victims of sexual abuse.

I, personally, will not be comfortable speaking to them or seeing them in my internet space, and I'll probably lose a lot of respect for them if I had any in the first place. And since I consider my community to be a group of people who reflect my personal values and beliefs, I also do not and will never consider people who use Bright to be "part of my community."

You don't have to be a bad person to be doing something wrong, and I'll level with you: yes, I think promoting a known sexual offender & ignoring the requests of their victims is, in fact, doing something wrong. That's fine! You're allowed to do stuff that's 'wrong,' I'm not your mommy and I'm not going to call the thought police on you. But you should be comfortable with the fact that you're doing something that is going to upset other people. Using Bright will and does hurt other people, and that is not something that you can ignore.

I don't think anyone should be harassed. Obviously. I've received plenty of harassment for heading the rewrite project, and it sucks no matter who you are.

But I think people should get a little more comfortable with owning their decisions, instead of trying to argue that those decisions don't actually have any weight or consequences.

Q: But I can't control using Bright! [I have an introject of Bright/I have a DA to Bright] and it's not fair to act like I'm doing something wrong!

A: Sorry. Mental illness doesn't make you exempt from your actions having an impact on the people around you. I'll probably be more understanding if it's related to a mental health issue, but, y'know.

You don't have to do it in public. If you genuinely don't want to be hurting or upsetting other people, then you should keep your discussion of the Jack Bright character to private spaces, because otherwise you're still doing the thing you were respectfully asked not to do.

(I'm a system, just for reference. I understand. It doesn't absolve you of consequences.)

Q: I don't actually care about [your feelings/the victims' feelings], so this doesn't apply to me.

A: Cool. You can very easily block me, AB's victims, and anyone else who is vocally against using Bright. That's, uh, the point of the block button.

Q: I have something else to say that you didn't put in this post.

A: If you feel like being respectful or you have a genuine question, please direct yourself to the replies/reblogs/my inbox. If you don't, then please refer to my previous response. If you're blocked so you can't contact me, then, uh... don't contact me?

Ok, that's all my points made. Have the day you deserve, and hopefully it's a good one ❤️

#scp 963 #jack bright #talkin #cw grooming

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idesofrevolution · 2 years

Text

Never Enough

I wanted so badly to be like him. I’d stare at him from afar every day I commuted home from work. He was tall, he was stacked, he was dark, he was fuckin perfect. Each time I saw those arms, twice the size of my head, I had to stifle til the little moan I knew would escape my lips. I didn’t know his name, I didn’t know anything about him except he must have lived nearby, since he was jogging nearly every day down the main strip. No shirt, beadlets of sweat glistening on that ebony skin, trailing down a set of washboard abs into a soaked pair of black shorts.

He was everything I knew I could never be. Surely a couple roid rages helped him along the way, but there’s something to be said about genetics. He had the genes I wouldn’t ever have. So I would sit there like creepy voyeurist every day and drool over this sweaty lug of a man I’d never met but so heavily admired.

I couldn’t tell you what the catalyst was for my google search that day. Maybe it was the fact I was bored out of my mind at work, or maybe that angst just kept compiling subconsciously until I finally did something about it. Either way, I found myself seeing what could be done about the way I looked, about who I was. A few pages down the line, well past 20 or so, I saw one result which piqued my curiosity.

“MelaSculpt” was the product. The little snippet of description on the search page described a fitness supplement for black men. I didn’t really think as I clicked the page that I would find anything of use to myself. After all, a black man I am not- but male is male right? And health supplements aren’t discriminative to my knowledge. The page for some company named VitaCorp opened quickly, and the page did take me back a bit. A studly mocha skinned man smirked back at me, flexing his vascular biceps while shoving a small orange pill into the foreground.

“MelaSculpt is the newest addition to VitaCorp’s growing list of nutritional supplements, which is aimed at improving the wellness and physique of men of color. Specially balanced for peak performance and quick results, this supplement will help YOU get the body of your dreams.” I scrolled past the ingredients list and disclaimers, much more interested in seeing the before and after photos of previous clients. The results were staggering. One man was easily 300 pounds overweight in his before picture, and after one treatment he was cut, lean, and healthy. Another was the opposite: gangly and paper thin before, ripped and bulked after. I kept swiping the pictures, before realizing the gallery was almost 200 photos. Before I could stop myself I had already purchased the bottle.

The rest of the day went by as normal, the draining, soul sucking grind of a day working had made me forget entirely that I had bought the supplements. So imagine my surprise upon arriving home when I saw a nondescript black package in my mailbox with a bright orange VitaCorp logo on it. It wasn’t possible! I looked, the company was out of Australia, I wasn’t even close. Unless they had a fulfillment center here in town, this couldn’t be it. Though, sure enough, as I ripped the plastic open, the matte black bottle rolled out into the palm of my hand.

I booked it inside, immediately rushing to my bathroom to examine the contents further. The futuristic font glistened the MelaSculpt name, teasing me as I ripped the plastic ring off the cap and twisted it open. The inside was full of cotton, and after pulling out what seemed like an inordinate amount of it, I saw two large orange pills in the bottom of the bottle. For a moment I was beyond pissed. What kind of rip off scheme did I buy into this time? I grabbed the package, shaking it upside down, hoping for a set of written instructions or a receipt. Luckily, a small card labeled “USER GUIDE” toppled onto the cold tile floor. I picked it up and began to read.

“Thank you for your purchase! We sincerely hope your experience with MelaSculpt enhances your life in every way you might hope. To begin your journey, take a test amount of a 1/4 pill to ascertain tolerance. Do not exceed 2 pills per person in totality.

WARNING: MelaSculpt is designed for use in men of color only. Side effects may include…”

I tossed the card aside, eager to get started. The orange pill glistened in my palm, presegmented into four doses. I broke off the first portion and swallowed it, washing it down with water from the tap. I stood a front the mirror, preparing myself to say goodbye to this corporeal prison and hello to a hunky Adonis like the jogger. It didn’t take long.

It had been merely second before I doubled over. I could hear the bubbling and groaning of my stomach, feeling it gurgle and pulsate. Immediately, I was convinced I was poisoned. Some random website I had found on Google supplied me Arsenic or Ricin… and I was dumb enough to take it. The first burp escaped my mouth, and I could feel instant relief. I stumbled into the bedroom, leaning on the dresser before actually looking down at my midriff. Beneath my shirt, which once was ill fitting and awkward, my stomach seemed to strain against the fabric. I ripped the shirt from my torso, buttons flying off it.

Beneath that cheap polyester were six little bumps vaguely protruding from my former gut. Another belch, and my swollen love handles seemed to collapse in on themselves. I was shocked, no, thrilled to see my waistline shift and bulk as two cumgutters started to balloon out. That was all fine and good, until my head began to spin. Yet another belch. I grasped onto the dresser, trying desperately to balance myself. But just as the world began to warp and blur, I thought I saw the slightest pinpricks of dark skin begin to cascade down my fingertips before it all went black.

I woke up on the ground. My head throbbed with a migraine straight from hell, rubbing my pulsating temples. Light streamed through the blinds, it was the next day for certain. As my throbbing eyes finally began to adjust, the world around me became clearer. Immediately, I saw them. Toes. My toes. BLACK toes. I wriggled my big toe, just to make sure they were in fact mine, before looking down at my hands. They were a dark ebony, tattoos sprinkled on my wrists and up my thick forearms. I scrambled to my feet and looked in the mirror.

What met my gaze were two meaty pecs, cobblestone abs, arms the size of a cantaloupe… a snaking bulge creeping further and further down my shorts. I hadn’t even looked at my face, I was too scared to look. No, scared wasn’t the right word, it was the mounting anticipation of just who I now was. I looked up, and my breath was taken away. My hair was a wild jumble of black curly locks radiating out into an afro. My chiseled jawline had a light stubble, the only two places on my entire body where I had hair. Every single inch of this sculpted, godlike body was smooth, chiseled, and powerful.

Taking a breath, the light scent of sweat emanated from my pits and feet. Just one whiff gave me a head rush as if I’d taken a hit of poppers. I panicked in the moment, refusing to believe this was who I now was. I pulled and prodded my face as if I were wearing a mask, but alas, this was my face. This was real. And a devilish smirk crept onto my face.

————

That was seven months ago. Truthfully, I’d adjusted pretty naturally into being Jabari. After a day or two of no showing at work, when the boss called the apartment I just explained I was the new tenant. I have no idea what happened to the guy before me. I was Jabari Jefferson, I’d just moved to town from Baltimore and was looking for a gig in personal training. The landlord just kinda accepted I was the new tenant, as long as the rent was paid she didn’t really care.

I started to get more comfortable going out in my new body, appreciating the winks and stares of those who passed. That kind of admiration changes a guy, you start to kind of believe it. I found my own new style, I found a gym to work at down the street from the house. I hit up the bars and happily took home any sexy adult I could find. They couldn’t get enough of that subtle, salty funk which seemed to linger around me; that testosterone laden musk which, admittedly got me and my 9 inch cock off after nearly every session on the basketball court. I made a name for myself around the neighborhood for being “that guy.” The one everyone wanted to be, the guy I always dreamed I’d become. That however, leads us to todays events.

The sun was beaming down on me, as I contently shot some hoops before I hit up my date at a bar down the street. The energy I felt every single day. It was so strong and powerful. That virility, that libido, that strength… it was addictive. I plopped down onto the bench, prying my size 13 LeBron 19’s from my damp, socked foot. Taking a not so guilty whiff of that sharp, satisfying scent of a damn good game, just as I did after every hoop sesh. I tossed the sneakers into the bag and pulled out my slides, only for something to roll right out of the bag as I did.

I looked down at my wet feet on the pavement to see the black bottle of MelaSculpt had fallen out of my bag. Truthfully, I’d forgotten where I put it months ago: out of sight, out of mind. But as I looked down at it, that little nagging voice in the back of my head began to pick at me. Those feelings I felt that day, that euphoric rush. The power of my flexing muscles, the taste of my sweat, the touch of my skin… it all came back to me at once.

I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. That sensation, that lust for power and strength more than ever before is as enticing as it sounds even now. I opened my eyes, and delicately grabbed the bottle. The pill and 3/4 rattled around the bottom of the black container, teasing me even further. I looked down at my glistening muscles, slick with sweat, and imagined just how much more I wanted. It wasn’t enough to be sexy and strong, I had to be the strongest. I had to be the one.

In that moment of irrevocable weakness, I twisted the cap off and swallowed the remainder of the pill I’d used the first time. I didn’t remember the instructions, I didn’t remember the warnings, I remembered that feeling. It was the only thing in my mind as a triple dose made its way down my throat. Just as the first time, I doubled over on the bench, my stomach rumbling audibly to even passersby. I groaned and let out a cacophonous belch, one that even surprised myself. My chest ballooned out almost comically as a cartoon. Veins bulged prominently out of my thinning skin as my necklace burst from the base of my throat, too fragile for the force of my widening neck.

I scampered and stumbled blindly into the locker room, fortunately empty at the time. I let out another cavernous burp, which echoed throughout the room. My thighs bubbled outward in grotesque disproportion to the rest of my musculature. I crawled on the floor toward a shower stall, making it in before just as the time before the world began to spin. I got one final glimpse of my biceps contort and spasm before it all went dark.

I awoke in that shower stall in agony. Every muscle felt stiff and stone like in the cramped stall. I couldn’t even fit my entire body in the stall, my feet stuck out from beneath the door. The smell, it was strong. I enjoyed that savory, delectable scent of masculine musk before, but this was different. The only word I could describe it with is pungent. Like high quality Gorgonzola, and it was pouring out of every crevice of my body. I pushed the stall door open, which nearly came off from the force of my strength.

Getting to my feet, I crept slowly toward the sink, feeling every contraction of every muscle, thinly veiled behind my hairless skin. I got to the mirror. I had tripled in size. Muscles bulged from every direction, built far past the natural threshold I even knew existed. My dreads had all but fallen off, leaving a buzzed hair which exposed veins protruding from even my own scalp. I could feel my heart pumping every single beat, and the blood flowing across my entire body. The power was incomprehensible, it was incredible. It was… far too much for me. I scrambled back to my bag, tossing my favorite sneakers across the room, never to fit my rank size 17 feet ever again.

The bottle seemed tiny in my massive hand, I strained to see the instructions printed on the card I’d left inside. The only thing I could make out was the final words at the bottom of the paper: “Effects permanent. Use with caution.” My heart skipped a beat, I looked at myself in the mirror, a roid-inflated version of the Jabari I had built, nurtured, valued, loved… this wasn’t me. It felt wrong. I looked down at my phone desperately trying to look up the VitaCorp webpage to no avail. I screamed and punched the wall, my fist going straight through the tile and plaster.

My breathing labored, heavy, and hard, I looked down at the bottle again, chucking it into the bin. I looked at myself in the mirror, accepting there in that moment that Jabari was gone. This walking muscle was who I now was. I now had to concoct an entirely new persona yet again. But the only thing I could think of, was how much I wanted what I had lost.

#male transformation #body transformation #original #transformation #jockification #musk #musky #bodybuilder #racial change #racial transformation #basketball #VitaCorp #muscle inflation

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obsessedvibee · 1 year

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Glowing Embers

Pairing: Benny!austin & Kathy/reader in the bikeriders universe

Disclaimer: I know nothing about biker gangs. I read a wikepidia page about them to give me a bit of knowledge but that's literally it. I just wanted to write a story/smut involving Austin's character Benny. This fiction has nothing to do with the actual movie story line. I got this entire story idea from the Bikeriders trailer. But if you pay attention you'll notice some lines & short scenes I tied into here from it. (Obviously smut is not in the trailer, nor do I know if any will be in the movie involving him....but I sure wont complain if there is..!!)

Summary: Benny and Kathy find themselves caught off guard when members from a different biker gang show up at their home. And Benny keeping Kathy in the dark about what's truly going on leads her to accusing him of cheating. Smut ensues.

Word count: 4.2k

Warnings: 18+ smut, overstimulation, squirting, cream pie, unprotected sex, a little bit of orgasm denial, light roughness, smoking, drinking, guns...I think that's all of it?

The breeze of the humid night air filtered in through the open window next to me, making my skin clammy. The leaves rustled in the trees nearby, a few crickets singing in the distance. It’d be a relaxing night if only Benny were here.

The sun set hours ago. Benny only told me he had some business to take care of before he left in a rush, the roar of his harley fading off into the countryside. I lost interest in the television three sit-com episodes ago. Now a book sat in my lap as I reread the same page over and over again, trying to will my mind to let go of the worry that grew by the hour.

My ears perked when I heard a rumble in the distance.

Benny.

Relief flooded through me.

He’s safe.

I left the book on the couch, quickly padding over to the front door, peeking through the side window watching for the single headlight coming down the driveway; but my excitement was short lived. Through the trees there were two bikes already waiting at the end for him. I held my breath as I watched Benny stop his bike. The other two men proceeded to get off their bikes and began approaching him.

Something wasn’t right.

In a panic I tore open the front door, “hey!” I hollered, running down the steps of the front porch. The gravel tore at the soles of my feet with every step. I had absolutely no plan as to what I was going to do to stop them, but distracting them was the first thing that came to mind.

One of the men glanced over, noticing me, grabbing the attention of his friend. They paused their approach on Benny. “The young pup’s ol’ lady was waiting up for him,” the larger man spoke. “Ain’t that sweet of her?”

My skin crawled as his eyes followed me.

“She has nothing to do with this,” the warning was clear in Benny’s voice as the shorter man continued his prowl towards me. “Kathy, get back inside.”

“And that's where you're wrong,” the larger man corrected. “You got hitched, so she’s a part of you now, boy.” He took the cigarette that was hanging from between his lips, and tossed it into the gavel. “You play around on our territory, we play around with yours.”

“That was never yours to begin with!” Benny snarled.

My arm was suddenly grabbed from behind, the shorter man's fingers digging into my flesh, making a pained sound escape my throat.

Benny lunged forward, “get the fuck off of her!”

In the blink of an eye, there was a slight nod from the bigger guy and immediately I was released. I quickly put space between him and myself. Benny shot past me going right for the other guy, a sickening crack was heard as his fist came in contact with his jaw. He stumbled back falling to the ground as Benny continued to swing time and time again.

“Benny,” I cautioned, stepping back, trying to snap him out of his rage.

The screeching of metal on metal caught both of our attentions. The other man had a knife lodged into the side of the gas tank on Benny’s bike. With a turn of his wrist gasoline began to trickle out onto the ground below.

Benny shoved the beaten man aside, quickly putting his body between them and I. “Get inside, Kathy.”

I stood frozen in shock.

“Now!” he growled.

I flinched, snapping out of my frozen state, making my way back to the house. I climbed the steps, and as I reached for the knob of the front door a gunshot split through the night air. My heart leapt into my throat as I spun around, my blood running cold.

Benny was holding a pistol to the sky, a cloud of smoke still coming out of the barrel.

I put my hand to my chest, relieved he was the one making the shot. The two men got a pep in their step, hurriedly getting on their bikes and roaring off into the night.

He reached behind him shoving his pistol back into the waistband of his jeans before making his way to his bike to survey the damage. Shaking his head to himself, he pushed his bike up the drive, putting down the kickstand to let it rest for the night beside the house.

He walked back to meet me, the porch light finally illuminating his face. He had a small nick on his forehead just above his eyebrow, a trail of blood slowly running down his face. His hands reached out to cradle my arm tilting it this way and that. Seeing I was injury free, he let go to cradle my face between his strong hands. He gently brushed the few stray hairs that were caught on my lips. His eyes were clouded with what almost felt like sadness. Disappointment maybe?

“Benny, I’m fine.”

The brooding look on his face only darkened further, “those mother fuckers are lucky they didn’t leave a mark on you, or I’d have ‘em surrounded right now.” He let go of my face, turning away clenching his fists, as the rage inside of him grew. “They come here to my house,” he walked over to the side of his truck, “and come terrorize my wife!?”

I flinched as his fist collided with the side mirror, bits of glass falling into the gravel. That alone hardly made a dent in calming his frustrations. He continued pummeling the driver's side window.

My patience thinned with every hit.

When he finally got the window to crack, I decided I had seen enough.

“Benny, that’s enough.” I had seen a copious amount of violence for one night.

His wild eyes met mine, anger still boiling under the surface.

I sat on the stoop, holding my hand out to him, “c’mere.”

He closed his eyes with his head tilted back, taking a few breaths before allowing himself to come over. He slowly placed himself next to me, his fingers fumbling in his pocket for a cigarette and his lighter. With a few swipes of his thumb a flame appeared casting an orange glow onto his face as he cupped his hand around it to light the stick between his lips.

I stayed quiet watching him as he took each drag, the end glowing as he inhaled the smoke into his lungs before exhaling. With each breath I could visibly see him relaxing, as if he were exhaling more than just smoke. Like every breath released a stressor into the air.

I leaned back against the railing, my eyes looking out down the driveway, where the one single street light shined, casting everything into a yellow haze. The events kept replaying in my head, their words circling over and over again. What could he have possibly done to instigate them coming to our property and adding me to the equation?

He tossed the small remaining end of his cigarette onto the ground, crushing it with the toe of his boot. “I’m sorry.”

I looked over at him, watching his eyes staring off into the distance only glancing down as I placed my hand over his. I waited patiently for him to continue, but he remained silent. I sighed trying to keep my own frustration in check as he chose to keep me in the dark. I stood up, pulling him with me up the stairs, through the living room and into the bathroom. I closed the toilet lid motioning for him to sit as I pulled a few things out of the closet to patch him up. I put myself to work cleaning his forehead and hands as best as I could letting the silence linger. I knew the destructive rage was sedated in him for now, but I could still feel something was off with him. His boot squeaked against the tiled floor as his knee bounced, and his eyes kept flitting around the room, looking everywhere but at me.

“Benny, what happened?”

He bit his bottom lip shaking his head, getting up to slip past me.

I sighed in frustration at his silence. I put away the items scattered on the counter, and followed his footsteps into the bedroom. He was in the middle of shucking his jacket off, pulling his white t-shirt over his head. Quietly, I padded over to him pressing my front to his back. He was hot to the touch, the tension still rolling off of him. I reached for the handle of his gun, pulling it from his jeans.

He turned to me, his eyes flicking from the gun in my hands to my face and back again. I knew he trusted me, but I’ve never touched any of his weapons before. I never had a reason to. I rotated the gun in my hands, the light from above glinting off the metal barrel.

“Is this what this club is turning to now?” I looked up at him, my brows furrowed.

He ran a hand over his face taking a deep breath, “no.”

I dropped my hands to my sides, “we’re not going to get anywhere if you’re going to lie.” I reached over, placing the gun gently on the dresser.

“Wha-? I’m not lying, Kathy. This thing keeps getting bigger by the day! It’s bigger than me or Johnny ever expected it to become. Some of these guys just think they own the whole goddamn world, and they need to be put back in their place!”

“So it’s your job to start waving a gun around?”

He chucked his boot down to the floor with more force than necessary, “it got the job done didn’t it?” he stalked over to his dresser opening a drawer. “I needed to protect my territory.” He reached in pulling out some clean underwear. He shoved it shut, looking back to me before he walked back into the bathroom. “I needed it to protect you.”

I rolled my eyes following him to the doorframe, “oh don’t go making this my fault!”

He reached into the shower turning the water on before popping the button open on his jeans pushing them down and stepping out of them, “I know you wanna say it.” His blue eyes burned into me across the small room.

I crossed my arms.

“Since you have the answer to everything else, you have to have the answer to this too, right?” he sneered.

“I want you to quit riding!”

“Don’t ask that,” he snapped, throwing his finger towards me before discarding the last of his clothing and stepping into the shower.

I felt like I’d just been scolded, and quite frankly I didn’t appreciate it. I slammed the door announcing my departure before making my way to the kitchen and pouring myself a small glass of whiskey. I walked the house making sure each and every door had been locked and turned the tv off in the living room. I downed the rest of the glass, welcoming the heated burn down my throat. Leaving it in the sink for the following morning, I made my way back to the bedroom.

He was already out of the shower, his hair wet, standing in just his briefs. “I failed you tonight,” he said quietly, tossing his dirty clothes into the hamper.

I knew my mind jumped too far and too fast, but I couldn’t control it. Confusion suddenly filled my brain when the words from earlier resurfaced in my head. You play around on our territory, we play around with yours. They couldn’t possibly be talking about catching Benny with one of their women, could they? It almost started to make too much sense.

He turned to face me, and upon seeing the look on my face he quickly defended himself, “not like that! Fucking hell woman why the hell would you even think that of me?”

“Well you’re not exactly giving me a whole lot to work with, now are you?” It was low of me to go there. Deep down I knew he wouldn’t, but the added shock and stress from earlier and quietness from him shortened my fuse.

He stepped forward towering over me, “you are the only girl for me.”

“I know- I know, I’m sorry, I- I- don’t know-,” My heart thudded beneath my chest as I stuttered at the close proximity, his damp skin and aftershave was starting to get to me.

“I promise baby, it has nothing to do with another woman.” He held my face with both hands, tilting me to meet his gaze, “you own my cock.”

Heat flushed through my body.

“You need me to remind you?”

It took all I had to resist him, but I was determined to at least get one answer out of him.

“How did you fail me?”

He sighed, getting agitated as I ignored his advances, “I need to protect you, and I failed to do that tonight.” He ran a hand through his hair. “They got their hands on you, and I swear to god, I could have shot that fucker that touched you.”

His masculine ego was bruised, being completely blindsided by being approached at our own home. Watching another man rough house me.

He needed something to make him feel back in control again. He still had all that tension coiled up in him. I finally took the bait.

“There's no other woman?”

A sly smile crept across his mouth and his eyes darkened, sparkling from the bedside lamp. “Get over here, you little brat.” He snaked his fingers in the hair at the back of my head giving it a tug forcing me to look up at him. “One more smart comment out of you and I’ll give you something to fill your mouth with.”

With that, he slotted his mouth over my own, his tongue entering my mouth quickly dominating. He pulled away with a little smirk bringing his thumb up to my lips pressing it inside. I swirled my tongue around his digit giving it a gentle suck before popping off of him. A growl resounded in his chest as he watched me. His hands reached down to the hem of my shirt and began tugging it up, exposing my bare abdomen to him. I helped him pull my shirt over my head, and my shorts hit the floor soon after.

He quickly pushed me back onto the bed and pulled my hips to the edge. He pulled my panties aside and dove in head first. I closed my eyes, letting him go to town. His mouth continued to work at my soft flesh, his tongue lapping hungrily.

Far too soon, he pulled away, and I whimpered at the loss. He yanked my panties off and discarded them to the floor. I anticipated the return of his warm mouth on me, but it never came. I propped myself up on my elbows looking down, only to see him with a little smirk, knowing and waiting. His arm flexed as he palmed himself over his jeans.

“Benny,” I whined, as I attempted to use my legs to pull him closer.

He hummed deviously, “I don’t think you deserve to cum just yet.”

Oh. Butterflies erupted in my stomach. It was one of those kinda nights.

“Scoot back,” he instructed.

As I shuffled back, he stripped down, his cock hanging hard and heavy between his thighs. He made his way to me, placing my head between his thighs. “Open up baby girl.”

I opened my mouth as he lowered his hips down slipping his cock into my waiting mouth. His salty precum flooded my tongue as I swiped at the head. I tongued at every inch wanting to work him up the way he did me. His own mouth found its way back to my area focusing on my clit, flicking over and over quickly bringing me back to the brink. I lifted my hips searching for something more, trying to tell him I wanted something more, something faster, but he backed off again instead.

I groaned in frustration around his shaft, the vibration earning a blurt of precum from him.

He started to piston his hips, his cock nudging the back of my throat. I gagged a bit, pulling a grunt from him.

I reached down, unable to resist the urge and began rubbing myself, craving a good release.

His hips faltered, never having seen me touch myself in front of him before. “Fuck.” I felt his breath on my hand. “Look at you, so desperate for me.”

He quickly became jealous of my own hand and pushed mine aside and his fingers went to work. He rubbed vigorously, and it was only a moment later I finally reached my peak.

Feeling a bit of compassion towards me he pulled himself out of my mouth letting me voice my pleasure. I cried out as I rode the peak, my body convulsing with the waves of rapture.

I eventually came back down to earth when I felt his hands at my hips flipping me over and lifting my ass up. “Time to fuck some sense into you baby,” he ran his hands up my waist and toyed with my bra strap, snapping it against my skin. “I hope you’re ready for a long night.”

I could only moan in response as he pushed into me. My wetness eased his entry and the tightness from my still-fizzling orgasm held his cock snuggly.

He cursed under his breath and stilled for his own sake. “You were made for me,” he murmured, before pulling his hips back and pushing himself back in.

He made work with his hands pinching the clasp of my bra, pulling the straps down my arms. It fell to the bed, but I too blissed out to even care to pull my arms out.

Draping his body over mine he reached around and cupped my breasts as they shook with every thrust of his hips.

I arched my back pushing into his hips to meet each of his thrusts, encouraging him to go harder. He quickly took the cue, his pace increasing. The sound of skin hitting skin filled the room, and his breaths became heavier. He mouthed at the shell of my ear, “you like it a little rough, don’t you?”

I already felt another coil tightening in my stomach. Goosebumps covered every inch of me as I felt his teeth gently graze my shoulder. One of his hands reached under me and started toying with my clit, making me gasp. “Gimme another one baby, I know you cum harder when you're sensitive.”

In the midst of dominance, he still managed to pay attention to the details.

I fell into the throngs of passion again.

He growled, as he felt my body squeeze around him. His hand suddenly came in contact with my ass, a quick bite to my flesh as the slap resounded in the room.

I shrieked, the bed sheets clenched tightly in my fists. I shook with every tremor, while he continued his assault on my pussy as I rode out the euphoria, my core clenching down on him like a vice.

“Atta girl,” he praised, running his hand soothingly over the newly reddened skin on my cheek, moving to my back when I finally tipped the peak and started to come back down. His hand left my clit alone and pulled himself out of me making me groan from the sensitivity.

I collapsed rolling onto my back as I caught my breath, my whole body tingling. Cracking my eyes open, I saw him sitting back lightly stroking his cock as he watched me. His cock was an angry red; his fingers lightly grazing his tip and coming back down again. “You haven’t cum yet?” I breathed.

He chuckled, letting himself go, laying himself over me. I instinctively spread my legs open for him. He nudged at my folds as he spoke, “I’m saving the best for last.”

My toes curled as he pushed into me again. He quickly began an unforgiving pace, his thrusts getting harder as his animalistic side began to surface. He began to grunt as the force of his thrusts grew. “Only you, baby,” he assured between his groans.

Moments later he rolled us over placing me above him. “Think you can finish us off?”

I bit my lip, trying to stop my smile. I sat myself up and began to rock my hips, shifting his cock deliciously inside of me. All my cares were thrown out the window as I moaned out into the room not giving a single damn of how much I voiced my pleasure. I could feel a new sense of euphoria building in me, and I was desperate to get us both there.

I pulled out every trick I knew. I reached back and fondled his sac for a bit, I leaned forward and let him mouth at my tits for a while. I could feel the sweat beading at my brow and my legs were starting to burn as both of us started getting desperate but neither of us wanted to be the one to let go first. I leaned back placing my hands on his thighs letting him watch my pussy grip his cock. I shifted my legs, getting a better position to bounce on him.

“God, you are too fucking good to me,” he whispered stroking my waist.

Pride swirled in my chest. I leaned my body over him pressing my mouth to his as I rocked my hips. Every tilt forward pressed his pubic bone into my clit making me moan. I suddenly felt something different begin to build. I sat up with a small gasp.

“What is it baby?”

I reached for his hand, “just touch me.”

I placed his fingers on my clit and he began to gently rub but it wasn’t doing it. I touched his hand, “harder and faster,” I breathed. He obliged willingly.

“Something's different this time.”

A smirk began to play on his lips, “a good different?”

I was almost heaving for breath as my peak continued to grow, “yea.”

He bit his lip shifting his legs to get some more leverage to help thrust at a better angle. “Just tell me what you need.”

A different kind of pressure was beginning to grow in my pelvis as I continued to ride him, his cock nudging a sweet spot deep inside me.

“Just don’t stop.”

He kept rubbing and kept pushing his hips up into me when the overwhelming sudden urge to push came about.

I let my body do what felt right.

I squeezed my eyes shut and my jaw dropped as liquid suddenly spread between us and my head felt like it was higher than the clouds. A strangled cry clawed its way out my throat and I felt Bennys hands grip my thighs as he was catapulted into his own release.

My hand rushed to replace his hand on my now neglected clit as we both gripped each other for dear life. The pleasure tore through us simultaneously, both of us grinding our hips into each other prolonging the bliss.

I slowly came back to earth when I felt Benny’s fingers digging painfully into my thighs.

“Kathy- baby, baby- you gotta- hold on,” he moaned.

I stopped moving and he fell back laying flat on the bed, his abdomen heaving with his breaths. “Fucking shit,” he breathed. “I didn’t mean to cut you short but-” he swallowed thickly, “just give me a minute.” He laid there for a moment with his eyes shut letting his body come back down. “Also, did I miss something, or did you just squirt?”

I half laughed, a little embarrassed by the wetness between us, “I honestly didn’t really know I could do that, I’ve never done that before.”

A groan escaped his throat as I gently pulled myself off of him, his release quickly running back out of me. “Benny,” I whined.

“Yep,” he replied, slipping out from under me, to grab a towel from the bathroom, “on it.”

Soon after we were both cleaned up, sheets changed, and we were both snuggled underneath.

He had me pulled into his chest, our legs intertwined, his fingers gently carding themselves through my hair.

“I’m sorry I accused you of being with another woman,” I murmured softly.

He let the silence beat for a few moments before replying, “I’m sorry I even gave you a reason to think that.”

The fan in the corner blew a cool breeze over us, and the sound of his steady breaths soothed me.

“It’s just so hard when I have nothing but time to think when you're gone, and then when you’re here, you hardly tell me anything that's going on.” He stayed quiet, listening to me. “You know how my mind works,” I added more quietly.

“I promise I’m working on getting things back under control, baby. Once Johnny hears of this, you won't have to worry anymore.”

He pressed a kiss to my hair. “Ain’t nothing going to happen to either of us, I’ll make sure of it.”

Need more? Check out my other works! > masterlist

#austin butler #austin butler smut #austin x reader #austin benny smut #austin bikeriders #austin bikeriders smut

143 notes · View notes

fanficapologist · 5 months

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Of Dragons and Maelstroms: Aemond POV

Themes and Warnings: slow burn, enemies to lovers, blood, violence, explicit language, sexual violence, period-typical misogyny, sexual themes, smut, tension, marriage, jealousy, pregnancy, childbirth, miscarriage, attempted sexual assault, breastfeeding, major character death, divergent timelines

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the House of The Dragon/Fire & Blood/Game of Thrones characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used nor do I claim to own them.

Chapter Seven

“It appears your suspicions were not unfounded, my Prince.”

Within a day, the Master of Whispers had answers for the One-Eyed Prince. In truth, he attempted to avoid Lord Larys as much as he could. Not only did Aemond find the Lord’s looks towards his mother distasteful, but he did not trust the Lord as far as he could throw him. Larys was a powerful ally but could also make a powerful enemy, if displeased. Clubbed foot or not, the man was dangerous. Even Aemond could admit that.

The room exuded an air of secrecy and intrigue, with shelves lined with dusty tomes and scrolls, their faded spines bearing witness to years of accumulated knowledge and clandestine dealings. The walls were adorned with maps and charts, depicting the intricate web of alliances and rivalries that defined the realm. A solitary candle flickered on the desk, casting eerie shadows across the room and illuminating the scattered parchments and scrolls that littered its surface.

Seated opposite Larys, Aemond surveyed the table between them, strewn with parchments, scrolls, and journals. The documents were meticulously arranged, yet the sheer volume of information hinted at the depth of Larys’s knowledge and the scope of his network. The Master of Whispers was engrossed in the journal he held, his wavy brown hair falling in loose strands around his face. His piercing eyes, framed by dark lashes, held an air of mystery and unease, hinting at the secrets he harbored within.

“Ser Reginald Penrose started the allegations I believe, after the Lady Maera and her father rejected his proposal of marriage,” the Lord of House Strong revealed, a twinkle in his eye. “He claimed a guard in Lord Jasper’s service, Ser Olyver Trant, was her lover and took her maidenhead shortly before the proposal.”

Aemond‘s fingers drummed impatiently on the armrest of his chair as he awaited the moment when Larys would get to the point. The Prince already knew this information; about Ser Reginald starting the rumours, about the Trant knight who supposedly took Maera’s virginity in the stables. What he needed to know was how to disprove them! The tension in the room was palpable, each passing moment stretching the anticipation to its limits. Finally, Larys leaned forward, the journal in hand, and presented it to Aemond.

“But there was no way of him knowing that. According to the ship’s records, Ser Olyver was long gone to Essos before Penrose even arrived at Rain House,” Larys explained, causing Aemond to study the page before him with his single violet eye. There, in black and white, was the name of the Trant knight and the date he boarded the ship. The revelation the Prince had been seeking was now before him, and procured by a trusted source.

Yet Aemond furrowed his brown in confusion. “Then why would Penrose name Trant specifically?”

“My guess was to make the rumours more believable,” the Lord replied with a shrug. “The right information can be purchased for the right price. Ser Reginald was looking for a male close enough to the family that the rumour would have truth to it. And no one spent more time with Lady Maera or her brothers than Ser Olyver.”

Aemond leaned back in his chair with a contemplative hum. “And if I were to challenge these false accusations about Lady Maera in front of the court, would I have your support?”

The Master of Whispers took a moment to reply, no doubt perplexed as to why Aemond had taken such an interest in his own enemy. Nevertheless, Larys agreed. “I could hardly dispute it, my Prince. The information here is clear.”

The one-eyed Prince thanked the Master of Whispers sincerely before retiring to his own chambers, a smile on his sharp-edged face. She remained a maiden, and would now be seen as more eligible for marriage. And to make it all the more sweeter, Aemond could not wait to tell her that he knew she was a liar. That despite her attempts to lead him astray, he knew better and relished the opportunity to show her.

The next day, Aemond waited at dawn in the courtyard, ready to spar with Maera as no doubt she had heard of his return, and their routine would return to normal. He anticipated proving himself more intelligent than her once again, and in the process, become one step closer to the great prophecy being fulfilled. However, as the sun rose higher into the sky, conveying the morning time, Maera failed to show. Nor did she appear the day following.

Aemond was furious, the knot of anger in his chest tightening with each passing moment, fueled by the belief that she was purposefully avoiding him. He felt betrayed by her absence, interpreting it as a deliberate snub. Seeking answers, Aemond turned to his sister, Helaena, hoping to glean some insight into Maera’s whereabouts. However, the Queen’s explanation that Maera was sick and not accepting visitors only served to further enrage him.

The sense of betrayal gnawed at Aemond’s insides, exacerbating his frustration and anger. When they were young, Maera had always made time for him when she was sick. She had even said that his presence made her better. The fact that she was now shunning him fueled his resentment, the walls around his heart slowly rebuilding and his view on the world turning even more grey. He harbored the urge to storm into her room, demanding answers for her perceived insult to a Prince of the Realm. The lack of communication from her, even through a servant, left him feeling slighted and disregarded.

After three days Maera finally appeared in courtyard at dawn, clad in her sparring leathers and her brown and silver-streaked hair braided out of her face; clearly she had not been that ill, or else she would not have come. As she drew closer, Aemond scrutinised her further; there were dark circles under her eyes and her skin was paler than usual, yet her green eyes were fixed on him, glowing with an equal amount of anger.

"I see you decided not to give up," Aemond remarked as she finally stood before him.

Maera's response was quick, laced with an equal amount of agitation. "I'm in no mood for pleasantries.”

Aemond smirked. "Neither am I."

As they began sparring, Aemond couldn't help but notice a distinct change in Maera's fighting style. Gone was the calculated logic and strategy he had grown accustomed to; instead, her attacks were fueled by pure, unbridled fury. Despite the intensity of their confrontation, Aemond found himself strangely drawn to this raw display of emotion, a side of Maera she rarely showed to the court.

Their swords clashed violently, each strike echoing their escalating tension. In the heat of the moment, Aemond decided to reveal what he had discovered: Maera's purported indiscretions were nothing but rumors, and she remained a virgin. With each word, he could see her anger mounting, and he took a perverse delight in stoking the flames. As their duel continued, Aemond relished in Maera's loss of control, feeling a sense of vindication for what he perceived as payback for all she had put him through.

The Lady’s fury drove her to launch a ferocious strike aimed at his face, and Aemond recognized the opening she unwittingly created. Seizing the opportunity, he swiftly moved to capitalize on her lapse in defense. With his height giving him a distinct advantage, Aemond deftly intercepted her attack, his hand closing firmly around her wrist. In one fluid motion, he twisted her arm back over her head and behind her back, using the momentum to pull her close to him. The sudden movement brought them chest to chest, their bodies pressed tightly together in an intimate, albeit confrontational, embrace.

She screamed. Not a frustrated growl, or a defeated cry. It was a scream. A scream of pain. Maera had never screamed like that, not as a child when her hair was pulled, certainly not when they had sparred before. Aemond’s grip was firm, yes, but it was not so much that it would cause her to yelp like that. Releasing her arm, he watched in bewilderment as her dagger clattered to the ground. Maera held her right arm with her left hand, her face contorted with agony as she attempted to soothe the pain.

Frustration and confusion reached a crescendo within Aemond as he pulled her close once more, determination etched on his features. With a swift motion, he rolled up her sleeves, his heart sinking as he beheld the sight before him. The deep purple and blue bruises on Maera's arm formed distinct handprints, a stark testament to the violence inflicted upon her. Fury surged like a tidal wave within the Prince, eclipsing any semblance of control he had managed to maintain. Someone had hurt her.

Attempting to steady himself, Aemond took deep breaths, but the rage continued to simmer beneath the surface, refusing to be quelled. His single violet eye flicked up to meet Maera's gaze, only to find her avoiding his stare, her expression a tumultuous mix of anger and shame. It was a moment he wished he could erase from existence, but the reality of the situation loomed heavily over them both.

Finally, Aemond's voice broke through the quiet. "Who did this to you?" he demanded, his tone intense.

Maera pulled her arm from his grasp, her expression a mixture of defiance and frustration. She let her sleeve fall, concealing the evidence of her ordeal. "It doesn't matter," she replied curtly.

The Prince’s instincts sharpened, sensing that something was amiss. In the past, she would have regaled him with tales of valor and triumph, but her silence now spoke volumes. Aemond’s mind raced, trying to piece together the puzzle of what had transpired.

Observing Maera’s movements across the courtyard, Aemond couldn’t shake the nagging feeling that noblewomen like her were often surrounded by guards, making an attack seem unlikely. Yet, if someone had targeted her, the guards would have intervened—unless the perpetrator held a position of power that superseded that of a mere lord. The pieces of the puzzle began to fall into place in Aemond’s mind, hinting at a sinister truth lurking beneath the surface.

"Was it Aegon?" he asked, his voice low. Aemond’s heart was hammering in his chest, fearing the worst as Maera avoided his gaze, which in turn gave him his answer. Aegon had once again succumbed to his urges and had attempted to force himself on her. But she was no mere servant or noblewoman. Maera was Aemond’s friend, the woman he was bound to through prophecy. She was his.

Summoning courage, he pressed the matter again. "Did…did he violate you?"

Maera's reply was sharp, her voice laced with venom, "He did not get as far as he wished."

There was a fleeting sense of relief when Maera admitted that Aegon hadn't succeeded in his despicable intentions. However, any semblance of comfort was quickly overshadowed by the gravity of the situation. Watching Maera express her frustration at being unable to defend herself against the King's advances, Aemond realized that the extent of Aegon's actions didn't diminish the severity of the violation. The mere fact that he had dared to lay hands on her was an unforgivable transgression.

As Maera stormed away from the courtyard, leaving behind a trail of frustration and anger, Aemond took a moment to collect himself, his emotions roiling within him like a tempest ready to unleash its fury. With every step towards the Red Keep, his resolve solidified, his anger simmering just beneath the surface.

Upon entering Aegon's chambers, Aemond's gaze fell upon his elder brother, resplendent in his regal attire, the Valyrian steel and ruby crown atop his silver head gleaming under the flickering candlelight. Aegon seemed utterly unperturbed, engrossed in conversation with their grandfather, Lord Otto Hightower. Yet, as Aemond crossed the threshold, both men turned to regard him. Aegon even had the gall to smile at his younger brother, the audacity of the expression only fueling Aemond further.

“Ahh, brother, how goes—” The King’swords were cut short as Aemond’s fist connected with his face, the force of the blow causing Aegon to stagger backward, clutching his injured cheek. The suddenness of the attack silenced the room, the servants halting their tasks to witness the confrontation unfold.

Lord Otto’s voice broke the tension, his tone laced with shock and disapproval. “Are you mad? You have just struck your King,” he admonished Aemond, his gaze piercing.

Aemond’s response was defiant, his expression hardened. “He would be no king without the backing of me and my dragon,” he retorted, his voice dripping with contempt.

In a swift motion, Aemond closed the distance between himself and Aegon once more, seizing his brother by the collar and pulling him close, their faces mere inches apart. “You do not fucking touch her, am I clear?” he growled, his eyes blazing with a fierce intensity.

Even as Aemond's grip tightened, Aegon's demeanor remained infuriatingly nonchalant, his snickering ringing out in the tense silence. "Sounds like someone is jealous," he mocked, his tone dripping with condescension.

Aemond's nostrils flared with anger at his brother's dismissive attitude. "Have you no honor or integrity? She is the companion of your wife. She is the only person who can get through to Helaena!" His words were laced with frustration as he turned to their grandfather, seeking validation. "Did you know about this? About how he attempted to defile her?"

Lord Otto's gaze swept over the room, his expression unreadable, before finally settling on Aegon. "Is this true?"

Aegon, unfazed by the scrutiny, freed himself from Aemond's grasp with a swift movement, smoothing his rumpled doublet with exaggerated nonchalance. "What does it matter? I am the King!" he declared arrogantly, his smirk widening.

With a mocking gesture, Aegon placed his hand on Aemond's shoulder, taunting him further. "My little brother simply does not wish to share his toys."

Aemond shook off Aegon's hand, his eyes flashing with a mixture of anger and determination. "Touch her again and I am gone. You won’t be a King for long without me."

A flicker of realization crossed Aegon's face, his expression momentarily sobered by the gravity of Aemond's threat. Before he could respond, however, Aemond turned on his heel and stormed out of the room, leaving the King to ponder the weight of his brother's words.

Despite his seething resentment towards Aegon for his despicable actions towards Maera, Aemond understood the political implications of a divided House Targaryen. Thus, he begrudgingly attended the organized hunt a few days later, albeit with a heavy heart and a mind consumed by thoughts of retribution. Tasked with the responsibility of locating Lords and Ladies missing from the dinner table at camp, Aemond delegated most of the search to the guards. However, when it came to searching for Lady Maera, he took it upon himself to venture into the dense expanse of the Kingswood.

With each step through the shadowed forest, he scanned the dense undergrowth and towering trees, his senses alert for any sign of movement or sound that might lead him to the missing Lady. After a while, his single violet eye caught sight of Ser Arryk Cargyll, one of his brother’s esteemed Kingsguard, standing vigil beneath a towering tree, his armor glinting in the dappled sunlight filtering through the foliage.

Curiosity piqued, Aemond’s gaze then ascended to the branches above, where he beheld a breathtaking sight. Lady Maera perched gracefully on a sturdy limb, her curvaceous figure outlined against the verdant canopy. Clad in brown riding leathers, her hair intricately braided, she exuded an air of wild beauty, reminiscent of a wood nymph from the pages of a fairytale. With a bow in hand and an arrow notched, she appeared both serene and poised, a vision of untamed elegance amidst the tranquil forest setting.

Upon seeing the prince, the young woman released the tension on her bowstring and sighed in relief. "Gods, Aemond," she called down, her voice tinged with exasperation, "I nearly shot you."

The Prince chortled to himself. Whilst his own skill with the sword was unmatched, Maera had already proven her aim from a distance to be incredible, demonstrated the very first time she had sparred with him this year. She agreed to come down after hearing the summons for dinner at camp and for a while, they walked side-by-side through the undergrowth, Ser Arryk a few paces behind them. The silence between them hung heavy, laden with unspoken tension and unresolved issues.

With a subtle shift in demeanor, Aemond broke the uneasy silence, prompting a hesitant conversation to unfurl between them. Maera was not receptive, understandably so from the Prince’s perspective, the pair exchanging unfriendly retorts and subtle jabs. This caused Aemond to be even more concerned, and he couldn’t shake the lingering concern for Maera’s well-being that gnawed at the edges of his mind.

After a pregnant pause filled with tension, Maera skilfully guided the conversation toward nostalgic reminiscence. Aemond found himself drawn into the comforting embrace of shared memories from their childhood, a time when life seemed simpler and their bond was unburdened by the weight of prophecy and politics. As they walked through the whispering woods, exchanging anecdotes and laughter, Aemond felt a sense of warmth and familiarity wash over his cold exterior.

"I miss who we were as children," she said meekly, her green eyes filled with sadness, "I miss our old friendship."

Aemond's pulse skipped a beat at her words, his own longing echoing hers. The admission stirred something within him, a yearning to reclaim the camaraderie and closeness they once shared. Despite the complexities of their current circumstances, he found solace in the thought of finding his way back to her, bound by fate or not. In Maera's presence, amidst the dappled sunlight filtering through the canopy above, Aemond felt a sense of peace settle over his soul—a welcome respite from the turmoil that often plagued his heart and mind.

As they continued their stroll, the dense trees gradually thinned, revealing the edge of the camp—a sprawling collection of tents nestled amidst the verdant woods. The scent of pine mingled with the faint aroma of cooking fires, creating an atmosphere of rustic tranquility.

Finally, the Prince worked up the courage to ask what had been on his mind. "Why didn't you tell me you were a maiden?" he asked, his tone inquisitive. "And why not refute those rumors?"

Maera's response was both measured and sincere. "I didn't want to breathe life into them," she explained, her voice firm. "I was protecting my family, as I always have."

In that moment, as they stood at the camp’s perimeter, Aemond couldn’t help but marvel at Maera’s resilience. Though she did not explain further, he believed her. It was a testament to her kindness, loyalty, and unwavering determination—a stark reminder that, despite her Wylde lineage, Maera was every inch a Targaryen, just like her mother. Just like him.

"Besides," she said, her sarcastic voice bringing the Prince’s attention back to the present, "what could you have done, even if I had told you?"

Aemond merely shrugged, smirking as he responded."Oh, I would have made Ser Penrose sorely regret his actions." She only blinked in response, seemingly confused as to what he was getting at. As she was about to question him, Aemond leaned down, inhaling that tantalising scent of vanilla and rain water as he whispered into her ear. "Just like I've made Aegon regret touching you,” he purred before strolling away, a smirk on his face.

The dinner table in the tent set up for the hunt was an impressive sight. A long, sturdy oak table dominated the center of the space, draped with a rich crimson tablecloth adorned with the sigil of House Targaryen. Candelabras cast a warm, flickering glow across the scene, illuminating the array of delicacies laid out before the guests. Platters of roasted game birds, succulent venison, and fresh fruits and vegetables adorned the table, their enticing aromas filling the air.

As the guests took their seats, Aemond found himself seated to the left of his brother. The Conqueror's crown sat atop Aegon's silver hair, a symbol of his authority and power. However, there was a new addition to Aegon's regal appearance—a purple bruise marring his cheek, a silent testament to the altercation that had taken place between the two brothers. Aegon cast a sideways glance at Aemond, his expression a curious blend of annoyance and amusement.

“Is all in order?” The King asked his brother shortly. Though irked by the fact that his younger brother had dared to strike him the day before, he was seemingly not going to address the matter further.

“Yes, your Grace,” Aemond replied respectfully with a nod.

“Good. Let the games begin,” Aegon replied ominously, focusing his attention on Maera entering the tent with her loyal protector. A sly smile was posted across the King’s face and Aemond was unsure what it meant, causing him to feel unsettled.

It became evident quite quickly, as when the final few seats were filled, Maera began spluttering over her wine, the look of shock on her face at the man opposite her caused Aegon to giggle to himself. Aemond clenched his jaw as he set his violet eye on the Lord who had made the Wylde’s understandably uncomfortable- Ser Reginald Penrose. Tensing at the unfolding chaos orchestrated by his brother, the King, Aemond shook his head in silent frustration. It was clear that Aegon was reveling in the spectacle, using Ser Reginald's presence to provoke Maera.

As the knight brazenly insulted Maera's virtue in front of the assembled guests, Aemond felt his anger simmering beneath the surface. The audacity of the man, and the King's apparent enjoyment of the situation, fueled Aemond's growing rage. Watching Maera, a woman of undeniable strength and spirit, being silenced by the oppressive atmosphere of the gathering, Aemond felt a surge of indignation. She was being forced to play the part of a meek and submissive Lady, a role that chafed against her true nature. Unable to tolerate the injustice any longer, Aemond made a decision to intervene. Clearing his throat, he inserted himself into the conversation, prepared to confront Ser Reginald and defend Maera's honor with every ounce of his being.

The One-Eyed Prince addressed the knight directly, his tone demanding answers. "Who, Ser Reginald, in your learned opinion, took Lady Maera's Maidenhead?" he inquired, his voice carrying a weight of authority.

Ser Reginald looked Aemond up and down for a moment, seemingly confused by the younger Prince’s interest in the matter. However the grey-eyed man responded swiftly, his tone mocking and filled with malice. "It was Ser Olyver Trant," he retorted, his words dripping with disdain. "He clung to Lady Maera as if she were a bitch in heat.”

The laughter of some of the men around him filled the air, and Aemond glanced sideways to see the Lady Maera visibly shaking with anger, tears brimming in her eyes from sheer frustration. She needed to remain in control- at least for the moment. Slowly, almost imperceptibly, Aemond reached out for Maera’s hand beneath the table, away from prying eyes. His fingers found hers, and he gently squeezed her hand in her lap, offering a silent gesture of support and solidarity.

As he held her hand, Aemond felt a rush of emotions coursing through him. His pulse quickened, and he was acutely aware of the warmth of her skin against his own. It had been years since they had been this close, and yet this moment felt different, charged with a newfound connection. Hearing her taking a deep breath, it appeared the Lady trusted the Prince, and did not move away from his touch.

In that fleeting moment, Aemond sensed a burgeoning sense of care and protectiveness for Maera, mingled with a stirring of something deeper, something he couldn’t quite define. It was a sensation both unfamiliar and exhilarating, leaving him grappling with a myriad of conflicting emotions as the conversation with Ser Reginald continued.

The Prince, with assistance from Lord Larys, began to publicly dismantle the lies spun by Ser Reginald, the tension in the air began to grow palpable. With each piece of information Aemond cited, it became increasingly evident that Maera remained pure, untouched by the scandalous claims hurled against her. The revelation left Ser Reginald visibly squirming in his seat, his cheeks flushing with embarrassment as his deceit was laid bare for all to see. The knight's discomfort was a gratifying sight, a small measure of justice served in defense of Maera's honor.

Beside him, Aemond sensed Maera lacing her fingers with his, her touch a silent acknowledgment of their solidarity in the face of adversity. Sipping her wine with a sly smile, she watched with satisfaction as the lies being told about her were disproven one by one. The look on her face was captivating, a mixture of defiance and amusement that Aemond found irresistibly alluring. In that moment, he couldn't help but feel a surge of anticipation, eager for the chance to stand by her side again and witness her indomitable spirit in action.

"It appears that there might be some discrepancies in your story, Ser,” Aemond remarked coolly, his tone dripping with disdain. The knight fumbled over his words, attempting to concoct a response, only to be swiftly cut off by Aemond's piercing question. "Are you either a simpleton, muddled in your own tale, or so embittered by your rejection that you've woven lies to harm a decent Lady’s prospects?"

The Prince couldn't help but chuckle softly to himself as Ser Reginald lost control, rising from his seat in a fit of belligerence that threatened to escalate into a confrontation. The air crackled with anticipation as the Kingsguard surrounding the table braced themselves, hands on their sword hilts, ready to intervene if necessary. Yet, to Aemond's satisfaction, the knight relented, yielding to the authority of the royal family and retreating to his seat, defeated by the weight of his own lies.

The public humiliation had shifted the tide of the court's opinion firmly in Lady Maera's favor, and Aemond watched with anticipation as Maera's father turned to her, seeking her judgment on how to handle Ser Reginald's transgressions. As Maera squeezed his hand briefly, Aemond felt a surge of solidarity between them, a silent acknowledgment of their shared victory.

With a graceful poise that belied the intensity of the moment, Maera released her hand from Aemond's grasp and leaned forward, propping her elbows on the table and fixing Ser Reginald with a steely gaze. Her chin resting in her hands, she regarded him with a mixture of confidence and amusement, her smirk a silent challenge to the knight who had dared to besmirch her honor.

Yet in a surprising turn of events, the Lady chose to publicly forgive the knight for his transgressions against her, citing the war effort and her late Mother’s tutelage to act with compassion. Maera declared that she would put her duty of serving the crown above her own desires, allowing the traitorous knight to fight on behalf of his King. It was a political move that Aemond admired wholeheartedly. She acted like a Lady. Like a Queen. His Queen.

Aemond observed his brother, the King, rise from his seat with a mixture of annoyance and amusement as Aegon made a grandiose gesture of toasting Lady Maera and her father, Lord Jasper. Despite his inward eye-roll at Aegon's theatrical display, Aemond couldn't help but acknowledge the potential opportunity presented by his brother's decree.

As Aegon declared that Maera would remain in the Capital, Aemond felt a quiet satisfaction wash over him. This decision offered him the chance to mend his relationship with Maera, while also fulfilling his duties to his brother's wishes with diligence. However, Aemond saw beyond mere obedience to Aegon's command.

He envisioned leveraging his efforts in the war effort as a bargaining chip, proposing to his brother that his reward for loyal service would be the hand of Lord Jasper's daughter. With this strategic move, Aemond aimed to not only secure Maera's hand in marriage but also to bring to fruition the prophecy foretold by Alys—the birth of the King of Kings.

But Aegon had not finished, as he had one more proclamation to share with the crowd. “To encourage her future husband to allow Lady Maera to fulfill her duties to the crown, and as thanks to you as well, Lord Wylde, for your many years of service, the suitor who wins her hand in marriage shall also earn a seat on my small council as the Master of Coin.”

Watching Maera’s jaw drop in astonishment, Aemond felt a surge of conflicting emotions coursing through him. He couldn’t help but feel a pang of jealousy at the thought of Maera marrying another, and recognized the potential consequences this decree could have on their shared destiny.

With anger bubbling beneath the surface, Aemond clenched his fists, his mind racing with thoughts of the Gods’ vision being desecrated and Maera being torn from him. The realization that Maera would now have her pick of suitors, and that she might not choose him, ignited a fire within him. He couldn’t bear the thought of losing her, not when their fates were intertwined by prophecy.

They flocked to her like vultures to a carcass, that much was plain to see. He himself could not tear his violet eye away from her on the night of the Harvest Moon Ball. She looked ethereal entering the hall, holding her father’s arm. With each graceful step Maera took down the staircase, Aemond’s drank in her striking appearance.

She was adorned in an off-shoulder long-sleeved dress, the turquoise fabric adorned with intricate golden swirl detailing that seemed to shimmer in the light of the chandeliers. The low-cut bodice of the gown showcased more of her ample chest, accentuating her natural curves. Her attire was further embellished with golden jewelry, adorned with dazzling diamonds and sapphires that added to her regal allure.

When Lord Jasper and his daughter approached the royal table and greeted the King and Queen, Aemond hated to admit it, but the depraved words Aegon uttered aloud were too swirling around in his own head. And clearly in the head of every other single fucking man in the room, Aemond thought. He was briefly granted a reprieve when Maera approached the table to dance with his sister. However, his respite was short-lived as he watched Maera step back onto the dance floor, where she was promptly approached by a man.

Seething with frustration, Aemond clenched his fists tightly, feeling as though he were enduring a form of brutal torture. It pained him to witness the Lord, Warren of House Tully, touching her. Her hands, her waist, her face so intimately, guiding her through the steps of the dance. The way they looked at each other filled Aemond with a mix of jealousy and resentment. Unable to bear the sight any longer, Aemond rose abruptly from his seat, the need for fresh air overwhelming him.

He stood alone on the balcony, his gaze fixed upon the starry expanse above. In the distance, he could hear the faint call of his dragon, Vhagar, a comforting presence amidst his inner turmoil. With a steadying breath, Aemond closed his eyes briefly, offering a silent prayer to the Gods. He couldn't help but wonder why they seemed to test him so relentlessly, making the path to the destiny fraught with obstacles and heartache. The anguish he felt seemed like a cruel punishment for merely following the path they had set out for him.

As he re-entered the grand hall, his eyes sought out Maera, who stood at the edge of the dance floor, her gaze distant as she observed the swirling nobles. Aemond approached her with a sarcastic remark, and to his delight, she responded in kind, effortlessly falling into their familiar banter. The ease of their interaction felt natural and comforting to the Prince amidst the grandeur of the ball.

As their conversation turned towards the attending nobles, Aemond couldn't resist making cutting remarks and jests about the lords Maera inquired about, eliciting genuine laughter from her. The sound of her laughter was like music to his ears, stirring something warm and tender within him.

“And what of Lord Warren Tully?” She directed her gaze across the hall which Aemond followed, spying the young lord chatting with Maera’s father. Despite her casual tone, he couldn't ignore the subtle blush that tinted her cheeks at the mention of the lord's name. A surge of agitation washed over Aemond, his jaw clenching with a mix of jealousy and frustration at the thought of Maera with another man.

"You can't be seriously considering him as a prospect, can you, Maera?" He asked shortly.

She met his gaze evenly and replied, "Even you, my prince, couldn't argue that it would be an advantageous match for House Wylde." Their conversation hung in the air, a subtle challenge between them as the ball continued around them.

After an awkward few moments, Aemond placed himself in front of Maera before finally sneering, "Se zaldrīzes se klios gaomagon daor rholagon.” The fish and the dragon do not mix

And they didn’t, not in this instance, for the Gods had another plan for her. Aemond's hand extended towards Maera's necklace, the atmosphere between them shifting instantly as his fingers brushed against her skin, warm and soft beneath is calloused fingertips. He noticed how her breath had hitched at the contact, but that she made not attempt to stop him. His touch lingered, trailing down to brush against a stray strand of her hair, just above her breast, his boldness evident in the daring gesture. As he met her intense gaze, Aemond felt a rush of desire course through him, his heart pounding in his chest.

In that moment, something within Aemond shifted. Despite their tumultuous history, regardless of their current dynamic, he couldn't deny that he wanted her. He did not care if this was divine intervention from the Gods, or sinful lust, or just an inner longing for connection. He wanted her. It consumed him, a burning longing that pulsed through every fiber of his being, leaving him yearning for more.

Returning to the royal table, Aemond’s encounter with Maera lingered in his thoughts like a haunting melody. As his grandfather, Lord Otto, addressed the crowd, Aemond was reminded of another obstacle he had to overcome in order to fulfill his destiny; his betrothal to Floris Baratheon, who was in attendance that night.

As he reached for his goblet, the cool metal against his fingertips served as a brief distraction from his tumultuous thoughts. His gaze swept across the room until it found Maera once more, her features etched with concern and perhaps a hint of confusion. Despite the distance between them, their eyes met, and Aemond felt a familiar pull, a silent conversation unfolding between them without a word spoken.

The hours dragged on, and Aemond remained seated, engaging in polite conversation with the nobles who approached him. Despite his outward participation, his mind was preoccupied, causing him to simply observe the grand hall quietly, like a hunter. After a few hours, he watched Maera crossing the room to join his sister and mother. Whatever exchange occurred between them seemed to have significance, as Helaena eagerly nodded in response to Maera's words, and they departed arm in arm.

The ball came to life around him with dancers and beautiful music, yet Aemond sat in contemplation. He knew he needed to speak with Maera candidly, to express his desires and perhaps even discuss the prophetic vision he had received from the witch. He wondered if she would be receptive to such discussions, if she believed in such things at all.

As the Prince rose from his seat, he felt a gentle hand on his shoulder, and turned to see his mother, smiling down at him. The dowager queen’s presence exuded grace and authority, dressed in her signature green attire tailored especially for the ball.

"Mayhaps you could speak with your future bride?" Alicent's voice held a soft plea, tempered with maternal warmth.

Aemond grumbled inwardly, feeling the weight of his obligations pressing down on him. "I have a lifetime for that," he replied dismissively.

"Aemond," Alicent's voice took on a firmer edge, but her smile remained gentle, the kind only a mother could offer. Reluctantly, Aemond rose from his seat, acquiescing to his mother's request, and followed her to greet his betrothed.

Lord Borros and his daughter, Lady Floris, stood before them, both adorned in the traditional colors of House Baratheon - yellow and black. As Alicent made the introductions, Lord Borros bowed respectfully, while Lady Floris curtsied with a hint of apprehension in her demeanor.

"My Prince," Lady Floris greeted him, her voice tinged with uncertainty. Aemond nodded politely in response, but inwardly, his thoughts were elsewhere. The Prince couldn't deny the young woman's youth and beauty. Yet, his original reason for choosing her as a betrothed—her ability to bear children a give him an heir quickly—held little interest for him now.

He had no desire to get to know Lady Floris any better, nor did he have any interest in going through with a marriage solely for the sake of his brother’s claim to the throne. He felt he deserved to be honored as a warrior, not merely a pawn in political machinations.

All his life, he had dutifully followed the expectations placed upon him, but now, standing before Lady Floris, he couldn’t shake the overwhelming desire for the one person he truly desired, the one he was bound to by the Gods– Maera. He deserved that much. Aemond knew he had to act decisively to ensure that the Gods’ vision would come to pass, no matter the cost. And the witch was going to help him.

Notes: Todays been a productive day! Next thing I upload will be original ODAM

Tags: @0eessirk8 @magicseahorse @blue-serendipity @abecerra611 @saltedcaramelpretzel @marvelescvpe @watercolorskyy @shesjustanothergeek @thelastemzy

Thank you so much for reading! Comments, feedback, likes, and reblogs are greatly appreciated 🖤

#maera wylde #aemond targaryen #aemond x oc #aemond fanfiction #chapters #hotd aemond #hotd fanfic #house targaryen #house wylde #hotd helaena #aemond fanfic #aemond fic #aemond targaryen fanfiction #house of the dragon season 2 #house of the dragon #hotd x reader #hotd season 2 #hotd

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wind-it-up-p21 · 2 months

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PSA this is going to be very long and I would post it on my own blog but I am not ready to talk about this without being anonymous yet since a few of you know who I am in “real life.”

As someone who grew up in a sport very similar to dance and had what seems to be a very similar experience to Dyllan here’s what I have to say (disclaimer my experience obviously was not exactly the same but I will explain how they overlap).

I was a part of a team that was and is still known to be one of the top teams in the country. If you wanted to make a name for yourself in this world my team was one of the places you would go to do that. Girls travel from all over the country to compete with them.

On my said team I was one of the “favorites” though I never thought of myself as one until I got older and I realized it again when I walked away and looked back on my experience and it became more obvious to me.

To start, my coach made it very clear to the rest of our team that me and 3 other girls were “the hardest workers” and that we had special relationships with her. Just to name a few things she did to validate this with me: She told me consistently that she loved me and that I was special, I was one of four students invited to her wedding, and she would put me and the other 3 favorites in groupchats or have meetings with us to basically tell us we needed to lead the team to victory and it fell on us to be the examples for the team. I could go on and on but you probably get the point.

I was apart of this team for the same amount of time that Dyllan spent with Molly. My last year on the team I was in high school and wanted to enjoy my social life as well as competition life. I was dedicated to the team, but I also wanted to maybe you know go to a school football game or two. The minute that my team wasn’t tunnel vision in my eyes my coach started to put such intense amounts of pressure on me, take away “privileges” I had, and threatened what I now realize was my status on the team in order to get me to forget my social life and eat/sleep/breathe our sport and team. She had done this before, but it was now on another level. My mental health was at an all time low and nobody but my parents knew. People would say that because I was one of the team stars there was no way I could possibly feel like a victim in this situation. I felt trapped and didn’t know what to do because this team was my everything and everyone knew how big of a role it played in my life, but I needed to get out.

It has now been many, many years since all of this went down. I have taken time to process what I went through and I still am impacted by the trauma of it all. When I finally decided to walk away after that last year, a ton of my teammates ended up following me. It was an exodus like the one p21 had. Meanwhile, one of the other favorites now works for the organization, but clearly suffers from anger issues and anxiety now. At least one of the other favorites has openly regretted not leaving at the right time.

All in all, everyone is gonna have different experiences on a team like mine or project 21s. However, if it’s a toxic environment for so many people it’s toxic for everyone. Some people may just not realize it. They have drank the kool aid and they’re knee deep in it. We can’t control who stays and who goes, so what we can do is support the girls who are there while continuing to validate the emotions of those who left. If Dyllan and so many other girls were so clearly negatively impacted by Molly and P21 there’s obviously some truth to it. With that being said it doesn’t mean we can’t root for the success of girls like Gracyn and Regan. They’re children, and they’re individuals. They are not the reason so many people have struggled at P21. I have a lot more on my mind regarding our support to them and P21 but I’ll spare you all of it considering this is already a 400 page novel.

This was so interesting to read and I really agree with everything you said! It really puts into perspective how someone might seem really successful at their dance studio or any sport but actually be really struggling mentally

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physalian · 11 months

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Writing with Executive Dysfunction (or how to lower the barrier of entry)

So you want to write a book, but all you have is a cool one-liner, a niche super power you want to explore, and the blurry image of a love interest with a two-syllable kind of name. You don’t know where to start, what to tackle first, how to jump in the deep end.

Can you write the ending first? What if you want this really cool gimmick in a fight scene but can’t write action to save your life? Do you start in media res or with a prologue, or with the character starting their daily routine? Do you write the villain’s POV first?

Or do you start with an outline, character sheets, a title, summary, your themes and motifs? How many pages and pages of worldbuilding notes should you have built up before you’re good to tackle the first page? You’ve heard time and again the critical importance of the first three sentences. The first chapter if your audience is generous.

The pressure mounts to be unique, but not try-hard, descriptive but not flowery, intriguing, but not confusing, all in the first hundred or so words. You sit there staring at the little blinking black line on your blank page… and the idea gets shelved for another day. It collects virtual dust in the backlogs of your computer, forgotten until you have to clear out space on your hard drive and stumble across unspent potential.

Everyone and their dog has their own bits of writing advice and I’m sure I’m about to echo tips that have been around the block once or twice, but there are a few I don’t see talked about enough.

Whether you suffer from severe procrastination, fear of failure before you even begin, the overwhelming limitlessness of choice, or just can’t sit down and dedicate any time to see what happens, this list might be for you.

1. Write Every Day

This is nothing new, but I’m going to tackle the implementation of such a habit over why it’s important. You already know why it’s important. Writing every day doesn’t demand a full page of a Word doc, or 200 words before you can get up and do something else. Sometime a witty dialogue exchange comes to mind while you’re doing dishes – write that down.

Or you saw a cool name for a character in a commercial – write that down.

Or you had a dream about your characters in a high-octane street chase – write down the synopsis.

Personally, I use Apple Notes. It’s free, I can log-in to iCloud through a browser and keep writing, and my phone is always with me. I have dedicated folders to sort which notes belong to which concepts.

Disclaimer: Apple Notes is meant for exactly that: Note taking. I take it to the extremes, but it’s not a word processer. It’s not meant for anything more strenuous than putting virtual pen to virtual paper.

I build up so many variations of scene ideas and concepts for character arcs that my ‘notes’ for any given book can be as long as a full-length novel. Most of the time, admittedly, those ideas get outdated fast as I move on to bigger and better things, but the point is this: I never would move on to better things if I didn’t have somewhere to start.

I have a personal grudge against OneDrive for a sync failure losing 20k words of a WIP, so most of my writing is done through Google Docs and saved to Google Drive. It’s not the most powerful word processor, but you don’t have to worry about formatting until the very end and can export later. It’s free, like Apple Notes (assuming you have an iPhone), and the smart phone app for Google programs works phenomenally better than the MS Word app – so once again, the barrier for being within reach of places to jot down ideas is lowered. My phone is always with me.

It doesn’t have to be digital – carry around a journal or a notebook or a legal pad if you want. Whatever gets your creative juices flowing. The point is to have somewhere to take all the ideas you have in your head and get them onto paper the moment inspiration strikes.

2. Writing is Supposed to be Fun

The dreaded writer’s block, scourge of authors everywhere. You’ve reached the point in your manuscript where you’ve caught up to the epic adventure you’ve written in your head. The little writer in your brain has gone on strike and you’re left in the doldrums of how to transition from one chapter to the next. One idea to the next. One scene, one line of dialogue.

Answer: Skip it.

Unless you have a hard deadline to make, writing is supposed to be fun. Your best work comes when you’re passionate about doing it, not when you’re holding your fingers hostage to put something on the page or else.

When you start getting frustrated, walk away. When you get stressed, walk away. The manuscript will still be there once you’ve slept on it for a day or two and you’ll be glad for it. Or, write a different scene. Write a hypothetical scene (more on this point later). Write anything you want and come back to the hard parts later. The gaps will fill eventually, and if they don’t—consider what about that transition or scene is so hard and consider axing it entirely. If it’s frustrating for you, it’s probably boring or unimportant to the reader.

3. Script it

My favorite writer’s crutch is to make a skeleton of the scene I want to have, fill it with dialogue, and move on. The pretty thematic narrative can come later. It’s halfway between an outline and a first draft and, for me, someone to whom dialogue comes easier than narrative, this is another barrier removed to letting creativity flow.

I don’t have to think about dialogue tags or movement of a scene or how exactly I want to structure a sentence or describe the setting. Scripting lets me sus out the pacing of a given scene, test run a conversation I have in my head to see if it might really work before investing all the time and effort of a fully fleshed out first draft, only to erase it all later.

You can do this mid-narrative, too. If you just want to skip over a couple lines that aren’t coming naturally to you, script a vague sense of stage directions until you get to easier narrative and come back later.

When I say scripting, mine look something like this:

Character A (ChA): [position within the setting, tone of voice, any notable gesture or action that enhances the dialogue] “Dialogue.” [specific dialogue tag, if necessary] … (often a paragraph break) … “Dialogue.” Character B (ChB): “Dialogue.” [emotion, reaction, details about the setting that are now important, new revelations by the narrating POV] … “Dialogue,” [action. Tonal shift. Movement] ChA: “Dialogue.” [action] … (scene continues)

In practice:

… ChA: [kicks back against the wall of the room, arms crossed. Annoyed, waiting for ChB to speak first, but they don’t] “Why didn’t you tell me you wanted to leave?” [head tilts, still waiting on an answer ChB isn’t giving] “All you had to do was ask.” ChB: “You were having fun,” [quiet, wringing their hands in their lap on the edge of the bed] “You wanted me there. So I was there.” [huffs, flips their hair back. Not sure how many times they’ve had this conversation. Will always hate parties, not going to suddenly like them just because ChA is there] “You can either have me there, or make sure I’m comfortable. You can’t have both.” ChA: “So now I’m the bad guy.” [foot thumps on the floor like a judge’s gavel] …

Scripting also lets you fill a scene with multiple new characters before you figure out their names or descriptions, tagging their lines with the bare minimum. I often test out entire action scenes (which I loathe writing) in script form, so I know I’m satisfied with the pacing, blocking, and amount of movement before I lock it in and write the first draft of actual narrative. It also forces you to make sure your characters are taking actions and not just sitting at a table like talking mannequins.

Transitioning from script to narrative can be mighty tedious sometimes if you try to fit in chunks of narrative in the exact places you left on your initial pass. Fictional prose is organic, so let it breathe.

Maybe you let a character monologue for too long, or they have too much movement in a scene that becomes unnatural and clunky. Or the entire scene ran away from you because the conversation was just that good. Whatever the case, a script, bare minimum, gets your foot in the door.

4. Write Fanfic

I like sci-fi and fantasy. I also like taking my sci-fi and fantasy characters and throwing them into ‘fanfics’ to test out relationships and start to get a feel for what makes them unique from the rest of the cast.

Sometimes the setting changes to something mundane, sometimes it’s a hypothetical scene that the current pacing of the narrative just doesn’t have room for, or it’s a flashback you’ll never include but want to have written so it’s concrete when you reference it in the present.

It also helps you fall in love with your characters when you can write them without consequence, doing whatever, doing whoever, saying whatever, going wherever. In fanfic, their personalities can start to write themselves and you discover them as you write them. And, hey, sometimes you come up with a concept so good, you change the entire real narrative around to fit it.

All your attention doesn’t have to be on the story you’re actually writing.

5. Keep All of Your Deleted Scenes

I keep so many of mine, the ‘deleted scenes’ doc of one book is 40k words longer than the actual manuscript, filled with numerous variations of the same scene written over and over again in vain trying to keep something that no longer works.

Keep them for several reasons:

It reminds you of how far you’ve come.

You can pick through the bones for bits of dialogue and setting descriptors even if the majority is trashed.

You remind yourself of what didn’t work before, so you don’t fall in that same trap again.

If you change your mind, all you have to do is copy-paste it back in.

6. Remember First Drafts are First Drafts

Let the word spew flow forth from your fingers and don’t look back and start questioning every decision and all its flaws until your creativity tank starts sputtering on empty. It’s supposed to be messy, it’s supposed to have plot holes and typos and inconsistencies and things to fact-check. If you start hyper-fixating on making sure your manuscript has absolutely no errors before moving on to the next chapter, it will never get written, and you’ll convince yourself you’re a terrible writer.

Writing is easy. Revisions are hard. Just as storytelling doesn’t have to be linear, neither does the writing process. If that critical first line just won’t come to you, stuff a mediocre one in its place and move on. Write the ending first. Write all the romantic entanglements first. Write the big climactic argument first and figure out how the rest falls into place around your beautiful centerpiece.

But remember: You do, at some point, have to write the hard stuff. Hopefully, when the time comes, you look at all the rest you’ve written and are proud enough of your progress that those daunting scenes that looked impossible before become much more approachable now. Do it for your future readers who want to know how it ends. Do it for your characters. Do it for you.

#writing advice #writing a book

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shoyoist · 2 years

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— 𝟎𝟏:𝟒𝟒 𝐀𝐌 : hanma shuji.

thinking of shuji being an ardent lover of classic lit ♡ ~

on some nights, when he arrives at meetings a little earlier than scheduled — or on nights where he has to remain at headquarters long after meetings are over, hanma likes to head up to the top floor's longue, a hard cover copy of fyodor dostoevsky's crime and punishment in one hand.

he takes a seat on the sofa placed at the corner of the room, crossing one leg over the other and glancing out at the view provided by the glass office wall. the city blinks down at him, gradually getting darker, as the hours tick by and the lights start to go out.

the warm lighting of the room is sufficient for him to read easily, and sometimes, kisaki will have already turned the record on, leaving a disk from Queen's platinum collection playing in the background.

the atmosphere is quiet, relaxing and peaceful. hanma likes it, just as much as he enjoys clamour, chaos and catastrophe.

he opens the book, the cover and pages smooth between his large hands, and flips over to where he's placed the bookmark, and starts to read.

and really, he looks so elegant — poised and handsome, in his pinstriped suit that shows of his tall, muscled frame, with his coiffed hair and his gold-framed glasses that sit on the bridge of his nose as his eyes follow each word, narrowing in interest despite the fact that he's read the book about seven times already.

on some other nights, it's pride and prejudice, by jane austen. or les miserables, by victor hugo. even wuthering heights, by emily brontë.

but on nights like these when he's been away from you, his sweet little lover, for too long — when he misses you, when he yearns for your touch or to hear your voice over the phone, but knows that you're asleep at this time; he picks up crime and punishment.

why? because the first time he'd read this book, it was after you had gifted him a copy of it for his 24th birthday.

though hanma has always been interested in classic lit, it was on the outskirts, when he was younger.

he had read a few of the most popular novels, like little women, the great gatsby, and he even owned a paperback of american psycho (despite how the shopkeeper at the bookstore had warned him not to purchase it, thinking him just a young teen looking to find something dark to read).

he wasnt really one to care about his image, but he didnt exactly let many people know that he spent evenings and nights sitting around with his eyes glued to books about love, war and all that lies in between. it was a little secret, of sorts.

until he met you.

now, he has multiple collections of hardbacks of all his favourite novels, shelved in both his office and in his home that he shares with you. he buys the publications that come in the prettiest covers, collects audio books, and owns copies of every good movie adaptation.

and the hardback of crime and punishment he's reading right now? with the time ticking towards 01:30 in the middle of the night, as he waits for kisaki to be done with whatever unfinished business he's got before he can drive them back to their hotel — he's reading the book you'd gifted him.

when you'd discovered that he liked reading, and when you'd found out that despite it he had missed out on reading fyodor's famous novel, you'd sought out to get it for him.

on the second page, the one where only the title is printed out in bold letters at the center, after the page where the disclaimers and publication information are printed — there's a lipstick kiss on the top left corner.

happy birthday, my shuji. i love you!! written under the kiss, signed off with your name, in red pen.

the sin and punishment tattoos on his hands weren't influenced by the book, not really.

but you'd made that connection, knowing that he had the tattoos and knowing that he read classic eng lit, and when you'd gifted him the book, it was enough for him to favourite the story and have every line from it memorized, reading them over and over again.

and he's already highlighted, with a pen that came in a pale shade of red, the lines — "yet in their absence, i seemed to love them so much."

it's not the right context, and hanma knows that — but each time he passes the line, when reading through part 3 of chapter 3, he thinks of you.

he loves you so much, his heart aches. especially on nights like these, when he's bored out of his mind after a long day, tired but still held up in the office till the moon peaks and sinks down the sky, as the hours go by.

nights where he would do anything to be asleep, under the covers with your bare skin flush with his, your warmth melding with his own. his arms around you, your scent in his lungs, his lips against the back of your neck.

but he cant, so he sits on the sofa at the corner of the top floor's lounge and reads, until kisaki comes looking for him.

he's absorbed into the pages, dismissing the footsteps as they approach because he knows who it is without paying attention to them — and he only looks up, when his partner in crime switches off the music and clears his throat.

"oh hey, tetta." hanma grins, looking up, amber eyes glinting softly in the light. "time to go?"

"yes." kisaki answers, eyes skirting over to read the title of the book hanma holds, before he turns around to leave. hanma stands up, switches off the lamp on the desk beside the sofa, and follows.

the faint lights of the nighttime city outside pool into the now-dark room, throwing gentle shadows onto the floor as they walk across it.

kisaki is smart, but he doesnt need to be to figure this one out. he's picked up on hanma's little habit of resorting back to that same copy of crime and punishment, when he starts to miss you too much.

it's one of the only predictable things hanma ever does.

so he says, nonchalantly, as they wait for the elevator to make it up to their floor. "hanma. i think you'll be able to take some time off, soon."

"oh, really?" hanma turns his head to look down at kisaki, as his boss looks straight ahead, one hand in his pocket, the other holding his regular briefcase. "we're nearly done with this one?"

"yeah." kisaki says. "you'll get to go home next week."

and hanma smiles. he knows you're asleep, and that you probably fell asleep with your phone close to you as you lay on your side of the bed, scrolling aimlessly through it till your weariness overtook you — he knows there's a chance you would wake up, disturbed by the notification, if he sends you a message.

but he feels warm inside, and he cant help it. he slips his phone out of his pocket, as the elevator dings and opens up, and he follows kisaki inside.

contrary to his worries, your phone is on the nightstand tonight.

you'll only see it when you wake up the next morning, but your phone lights up in the darkness of your bedroom, signalling a new message.

⠀⠀⠀— [01:44 AM] shuji : miss you, babydoll. i'll be home soon ♡

#☆༉ rekha™#☆༉ dulciloqui.#hanma fluff #tokyo revengers fluff #hanma x reader #tokyo revengers x reader #hanma shuji fluff #hanma shuji x reader #tr x reader #tr fluff #tokyo revengers headcanons #tokyo revengers drabbles #hanma drabbles #hanma headcanons

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tarotnoob · 18 days

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JK (belated) bday reading - 9/2

I'm doing this on September 2nd. I think I did read for him on his actual birthday but I wasn't going to post anything. However I was thinking of him this morning because I was working on scheduling a tattoo appointment.

btw - sorry for typos in these; I voice to text my readings and since they're so long... I really don't go back and edit them. I'm more like a tarot therapist, I like to talk my way through a reading.

disclaimer: entertainment purposes only; tarot is not fact, so please don't use tarot readings as a means of proof about anything.

Going back to the readings I did in June for a sec (feel free to skip the next few paragraphs if you didnt read those):

Two things that stood out for predictions that were interesting to me because they so specifically came out as something: The first was Jin, and I didn't think it made sense at all for right after he got out of the military service, he would go camping and be doing these activities and stuff and then they announced that he had that show where the first one he was camping and hiking lol. Take that with a grain of salt but that was kind of you know a little specific. The second is about Tae. When I did his reading, I specifically mentioned that I wasn't picking up the word lonely, I was picking up the word alone. And then on are you sure, he literally plays Jimins song “alone” and says that this is the song that he relates to the most and anybody who likes it best on the album would get him.

I really really like to do predictions so when I can validate something actually happened without somebody really reaching hard to try and say oh yeah that came true. But I thought those were two very specific examples of something I talked about and then much later it kind of comes up. Come on, Tae's is... interesting.

Jungkook's birthday reading:

For reference, I looked at the photo of JK that Jhope had uploaded to his IG (which is interesting as Jhope will come up a lot in this).

I'm sitting down to look at his spread but I thought it was kind of remarkable that he got so many court cards, all of them cup cards. And then when I did the clarifications using another deck again I got court cards but with the pentacles. Usually when there's a lot of court cards, people say that can mean multiple people are around or involved or whatever and that could be the case. I find court cards strange so I like to clarify them. And then when I see the seven of swords I always like to clarify it. I get that card a lot for him and sometimes Jimin. You know besides being a card about lie or gossip, it's a card about secrets or I also sometimes see it as a card where somebody's carrying a lot of painful things on their own or trying to do too much on their own. It can also be if you want to read it in a positive light being resourceful I guess but it still has that sneaky undertone.

Also the back of the deck for the clarification card was the hierophant and that came out in the first deck. Point being when that happens it's creepy and it means there's some consistency.

So let's look at the original deck and then we'll look at the oracles. We have page of cups, seven of swords, King of cups, hierophant. Back of deck is the night of cups plus the fool. Oracle cards are listen, dream, and communication at the back of the deck with an invitation behind it.

You know what's funny is on the service this is the perfect combination for somebody who just eloped lol. We do have a theme set by the oracles, we have listen, communication, and dream. So there is already some sense of listening and talking and those conversations being about some type of wish or goal or dream. It's also giving a lot of water vibes in the sense of Pisces. The cups are a creative, sensitive, artistic energy. It could be that he is talking about music or working on music or thinking about music or having conversations with certain people about music and what he wants to do in the future. The fact that he has seven of swords could also be symbolic of BTS. The members tend to get a lot of sevens when I read for them.

Honestly the first thing that comes to my mind when I look at the hierophant and the clarifiers even on kind of jumping ahead, is you know hierophant can also stand in for certain institutions whether it's a college or government. And the fact that it's being clarified by nine of cups which is that wish fulfillment or dream card or gold, and 10 of sores is an end to a cycle or something that's even a little bit difficult or painful. It would make me think that maybe this is conversations and thoughts about what's going to happen with the music after service. Maybe because it was his birthday, depending on if they stayed where they serve or if they got together with friends and family somewhere else or even if somebody like J-Hope was actually able to visit, they had these types of conversations briefly so that could be on his mind

Another way to interpret that hierophant stuff could be you know I also see this card as a set of organized beliefs. It doesn't have to be religious or spiritual specifically, it can be just like a creed or you know principles or whatever beliefs you have as an individual. So it could be maybe like an end to a self-defeating belief or almost like if you had the tower card or the devil card I guess. And like some of those thoughts were getting in the way of a goal. It does make me wonder if it feels more like literally as in a real roadblock. Not necessarily a mental roadblock. But as in like yeah if you couldn't do something right now based on legality or procedure or a government body standing in the way. It could also be about conformity I suppose. But this card at least as I'm interpreting it now gives a sense of rigidity. Like a wall. And it's just in the way of some type of dream. It does feel temporary. It's kind of annoying. It feels like an obligation. But let's keep looking

So page of cups, usually about communication or some type of offer, it could be a romantic offer. You could certainly interpret that from the amount of cups cards here. I don't really see it when I look into the clarification but that doesn't mean that there aren't conversations here happening about emotional commitment to something or someone.

But I mean another interpretation because of the seven of swords could definitely feel like this person is keeping something hidden from somebody in their life or has a secret or is keeping a secret from someone that they're committed to. But I mean again because BTS is so attached to the number seven this could also simply be okay we know this is about communication, there are seven swords involved, so this could be carrying communication related to seven people. It is interesting that the person is carrying five and then there are two on the ground. So it could be about two people of the seven. It doesn't really matter. My overall impression is like literally people got together and started talking about the future and what BTS was going to do in terms of music lol. That would just be a guess. And if he was just hanging out with other members or hearing from them at this moment then that would make perfect sense right

I also wonder if literally there was a conversation that happened recently where somebody was talking about a literal dream. Like it wouldn't surprise me if they could do a live, that JK would be like you know I had this dream and I was telling so-and-so the other day or this other member was telling me about a dream they had. Kind of like those conception dreams. It feels like you know even if it wasn't a dream, this person is visualizing something in the future so clearly that it feels like it could have been a dream, because it's being imagined so clearly like a movie. Or I guess like a painting I don't know what you want to say. So it's almost like an omen or prophecy. That's how they might have talked about it. I mean if J-Hope is getting out of the military soon, maybe they talked about his plans and some music ideas, I don't know if they can actually work on things while they are in service. Even in private to release later, so maybe JK might be collabing with J-Hope or was helping him write something. I did use the photo J-Hope put on his Instagram so it wouldn't surprise me if some connection comes through like that

Having the king of cups too is definitely somebody who is very level-headed in their emotions and very sensitive very calm and cool and collected and could be extremely creative and emotionally mature. I think that some advice was given as well. Either somebody seeking advice about a music project or being given advice. Yeah definitely some type of conversation was had and then that was taken away somewhere like look at the seven of swords and it's almost like okay somebody gave advice and then maybe a person with secretly listening in or is just quietly taking in that advice or that conversation to use in the future or taking note. It just depends because seven of swords typically has a negative connotation but with BTS it's just so hard to tell what these damn seven cards. None of the other cards are negative except a 10 of swords later on.

and plus you never know what they're doing that needs to be hidden or in secret because spoilers or other things. But some type of conversation was had and something was taken away from it. I guess maybe there's even a little bit of bitterness that happened because he can't work on something right away. Maybe there is some impatience. Which doesn't really match with the cups cards but seven of swords can be bitterness and carrying guilt even.

And then the back of the deck was knight of cups which is you know slow action or progress being made toward a creative project or something related to love feelings relationships. Maybe there are a lot of new relationships happening, people he's meeting in the military, because it does seem like there are a lot of people around or more interactions and conversations happening. The fool behind it, can be like fun, innocent, adventurous, and pulsive, risk-taking. So there could be a sense of newness to whatever this conversation is. It doesn't feel like an old conversation like hey we're reminiscing about the past and what we used to do. It feels like reinventing. It would be like totally new projects and new music and thinking about new concepts. Really looking forward instead of backward

Right so clarifications let's tie them and maybe that will help out too. Page of cups is clarified by the king of pentacles. This could be his energy because he has a fair amount of water and pentacles in his chart. It would make me think of a person who literally creates creative communication or somebody who's offering words as a form of commitment or sincerity, there's something very reliable and what is being said or done or produced.

It does kind of feel a little bit too like an offering of a gift. Like a material gift, something that cost money. It could be a gift that he received. It could be I mean sure it could be like a material gift but it honestly feels like somebody gave him a song. Or somebody giving a song to somebody else as a gift. Because in the king of pentacles I feel like you know this is somebody who can literally create something physical but the thing that was given is a little bit of communication, a little bit of feelings, a little bit of creativity. So a combination would definitely seem like giving somebody your feelings but you happen to make it yourself so yes it feels like giving somebody a song or a really sincere piece of advice as an offering or gift

To have the knight of pentacles come out to clarify the seven of swords. So the knight of pentacles is that earnest, slow, methodical progress toward something tangible usually. The fact that it's seven of swords could be a couple of different things. Such as slow progress on working on something by yourself, something that's been a bit difficult, or working on it in secret, the fact that it's seven could be that it's tied to a secret or hidden projects being worked on related to BTS. But more it's just a sense of doing some type of work or project but it's being hidden or it's not being revealed yet. I think. I might think something different once I read the other two cards because another negative option would be some type of communication about the work that they do being talked about but related to gossip or secrets. I'm not really getting anything negative from it so let's just keep it in the back of our minds

The king of cups is clarified by 10 of pentacles. It's almost like the first king with the page of cups feeling. But somebody who is very stable emotionally or it's talking about emotional health because 10 of pentacles can be about physical health. So it's like somebody gave advice to somebody that's very coming from a place of being extremely emotionally mature or is trying to advise somebody on how to get to that place of feeling more solid emotionally

Again it could also be related to making money off of creativity. Being not productive but someone who definitely makes money off of creative ventures, and not just that you can tell it's a creative field that involves communication and feelings which just brings it back to music for me

The final card the hierophant, this is 10 of swords and nine of cups. I talked about this and I just think there's a cycle that will come to an end, it could be a belief, or it could even be that okay again I'm getting that somebody gave him advice or I mean he could be the one giving advice but I just get the sense somebody received advice right and it helped to end worries about something related to a future goal

I'm still kind of confused about the seven of swords so I'm going to clarify again. You know this is the Taurus card it can also be related to financial things or domestic things. But I think they're all tied into one The idea of people who work in a creative industry that is also run by like money and business methods. And the people who are involved in that industry. I don't think this is something that usually comes up when you are serving or even with his cards since he's been serving so it definitely feels triggered by somebody that he was talking to recently. Whether that is J-Hope or another member or anybody else in the industry that he could have spoken with about a project. I'm not getting the sense that it's Jimin.

We know that they're serving together but I'm not really getting that they had this intense conversation about it maybe he was a part of it but I feel like somebody older came in and spoke to him and gave him hope. And the only person that makes sense to me would be j-hope if he was there because he's so close to the end of his service that he would be talking about the goals and things he wants to do and also giving advice to them about what it's going to be like for the next 9 months or whatever you know to get through it. And I think that conversation gave JK and anybody else that would have been there some hope because maybe they had some worries. So it feels like a very hopeful conversation.

A very intellectual, mature, productive, logical, realistic conversation. Like as if J-Hope let's just say as an example he was able to visit them and hang out then just a voice of grounding and caring and empathizing but still a very mature I've been there and done that and this is how you deal with it.

I could probably literally flip a card and ask you know who was hanging around and if the star card comes out we can all piss ourselves

Lol I s*** you not I'll show you

Yes you could probably say something like somebody he's really close to oh probably an Aquarius oh somebody he works and collaborates with lol

The star card is also affiliated with dreams and hopes and communication. So again we know that it's somebody that he has a close connection to and they were talking about something that they want to build a future goal etc

Well if the cards are going to be super accurate today then I'm going to ask for another clarification card on the seven of swords. Also if this were to be about a romantic relationship which how would he even have time but it definitely about further building an intimate relationship together, and talking about their plans for the future. You could definitely read it that way, I'm interpreting it as work based on the other cards but there's also a lot of room for feelings and romance. But I just see this more as a conversation about people's dreams and what they can build for the future related to creative action and business

But I guess you could also be talking about other relationships in the life related to that and intertwined into all of that as well and that would account for the secrets. You know stuff that we don't really need to know about because it's related to their personal lives

I clarified the seven of swords and got 10 of swords and back of deck returned to Knight of cups and the fool

That's interesting because well we saw the ten of swords before so there is something difficult that is taking a while to cycle out and of course this can be military service

I mean it's just a weird combination of things so it could also be something that somebody has been working on for a long time or working through for a long time, there's a sense of guilt or bitterness, it seems to be connected to the hierophant issues as well since we saw the ten of swords there too.

I want to say I'm feeling like a four of pentacles vibe like holding on to something but that's not quite right.

If I had to take a guess it just feels like a sigh of relief because this feels like something somebody was holding on to that was kind of eating them up on the inside or worrying them and it was impeding progress toward something. That or like somebody was making slow progress and it was painful but the reason why it was slow progress feels more like there are exterior things happening. Like those blocks. Like paperwork or legalities. But I guess I just don't know what it is because maybe it's really specific

It doesn't feel like an emotional hang up like an eight of swords. It feels like a frustration. Like you know if you go to the DMV in the US and they want 80 million different documentation things to get through this. There's a sense of obligation and procedure here. But I think that was a topic of a conversation and somebody with mature experienced advice came in and said well this is how you deal with it or you just have to get through this and then you can focus on this but this is just something you have to do for now.

It's funny because I keep getting these moments of the feeling and want to describe a situation or example. But I just hear JK sighing and like this keeps coming up and it's getting in the way of this. But it's not something long like the entirety of service it's something specific. Like I keep trying to apply for this thing but then they come back and they say on top of that I need to submit this other thing. So it's like weird but this person is very persistent. He's not giving up on it because it's difficult. It's just annoying

It could even be something as simple as let's say you're working on a project, and you mostly know what you're doing with it but then you keep getting caught on one part of it. Say you're recording a song. And there's this one part of the song and you just can't get your voice right or you just can't get the right music together at that part. And you keep going back to it like day in and day out to try to fix it. Almost you know what it feels like lol this is exactly what I'm feeling like when you edit a video. It's a very tedious experience where you have to like stop and redo and look at it and then go over this

I wonder if that's maybe the creative gift that's being given. Like somebody is editing a video. And then somebody gave advice on how to edit that video or they're talking through something like that. I can't think of anything else that would be as frustrating but you just have to like go through the process

So I guess if I had to take a random guess anything related back to somebody creating a creative gift for somebody. It would be an edited video of something lol whether it's a music video or a travel video but or like GCF style things. So yeah it feels like a video project somebody's working on together. Could it be a song sure? But there's a level of technology involved. That of course could be about recording song but to me I'm really strongly feeling editing a video frustration. I used to edit AMVs when I was really young so I remember what that was like or even trying to put together social media videos. I it's interesting that the star comes out I'm just telling you. There could be something happening now in Aquarius but it makes me wonder if related to the edited video it's J-Hope. Although maybe it's being cheeky and like well you used a photo from jhopes Instagram

It could even be that that little picture is going to be part of a video or was part of a video that somebody edited. For example hear me out whether it was J-Hope or Jimin because we know at least two of those people were there or were aware of what was going on for JK's birthday. Somebody edited a video and sent it to j Hope and then he kind of took that clip out of it. I'm just saying

If it is something that's not personal and actually coming out, the only timing here that I see is related to next April or early May during taurus season. That timing came out twice, so did Aquarius. Because it's the star and I relate that back to online communication this could be another travel log or travel situation

Maybe J-Hope was like I also want something like are you sure. It seems like when the members come out of military service they're going to produce their own show type content

So maybe they shared advice on how that works. So my prediction would be something like maybe something related to J-Hope in terms of creative content will come out around Aquarius to Taurus season give or take. It would likely be a music video or a vlog. And JK might have given advice on editing or just a conversation that they had.

I am very positive that this was J-Hope but I could be biased because I know he posted. But the two of cups and this three of pentacles together that came out with the star. There is such affection here that it's just like gross lol

This is exactly how I would imagine any of the younger members to feel about J-Hope. It's just like complete admiration and trusts and optimism even but like very business-like. I'm not surprised because this is also how I feel about J-Hope

So overall yeah I mean I think if he talked to or met with any of the members over his birthday, they had a pretty intense or serious or productive conversation about an upcoming project related to music and or editing a video or a travel series or whatever. It feels very focused. Sometimes I get his cards and he's all like play play let's have a good time and live in the moment but this feels very focused on work and producing something that also has a creative element. There was some advice exchanged in the conversation, very level-headed, very experienced in this type of thing. There's also a feeling of newness as in if it's a music video or an album there's a really interesting and modern concept which is something I also associate with J-Hope. Like his last album to me had music I had never even heard of so he's very innovative in the sounds that he comes up with or the looks so I am pretty sure this would be a project that he's working on. I don't think it's possible for him to collab on a song with JK by then but that doesn't mean that JK didn't help. I don't know if he can even provide his voice for songs in the background but he definitely helped with something in relation to that. Like describing how something should be song or helping with lyrics

You might find that the project could relate to words like dream or something about the future, being innovative, how something new is being tried, like something completely different

Very serious birthday topics. Maybe they got drunk afterward but mostly it just feels like people talking shop

And I imagine if they did talk about work in projects like that that JK would have gotten excited and inspired and thought about his own ideas for a while but mostly overall this just seems to describe a conversation and interaction specifically with in my mind it's absolutely jhope lol

But could it be somebody else? Sure. Could it not be about J-Hope at all and be about a romantic relationship. That's a possibility but when I look at the three of pentacles and all these pentacles I am relating it more to work relationships very close work relationships. I mean sure you can interpret three of pentacles as building a romantic relationship with somebody like you talk about living together or something. That doesn't really feel like a conversation to be had at this moment in time but sure. I'm not saying that. To me it's sensitive emotionally mature advice that probably relates to creative projects and how to accomplish them.

The only thing that comes to mind in terms of past projects is on. I know the members seem to really gravitate toward that song and so did fans. And I'm not saying on is particularly innovative or something anybody is trying to recreate but I feel like in that conversation somebody could have gone oh you mean like on.

That could mean that the project particularly relates to dancing.

I guess it could even be related to the past where I think Jhope's series came out and he was with that other dancer and they talked. I don't remember when that came out. But anyway so I am getting flashes of a creative project that requires a lot of editing and dancing elements and innovation, maybe colors as well especially blues pinks greens yellows. Like graffiti, fashion

Anyway that's all I got. If I have my cards, I will try to do a Jimin birthday reading but… lol.

I'll actually be in Busan that day heh

#tarot reading #jungkook #birthday reading #bts #tarot #predictions #jhope #taehyung #jimin #jin

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doubleedgemode · 2 months

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that post u made about A.B.A regarding her classic GG quotes is so interesting I had no idea she said that! I haven’t played the earlier games, would u happen to have screenshots of where she says that or where I might be able to see some of her classic/unused quotes ? I just like having that stuff on hand lol. Thank you!

Thanks to you, anon, for making me revisit the screenshots, and sure thing! I'm gonna link the page, keep in mind it's super meaty and covers a lot of characters so ctrl F search will be your best friend to find specific character/quotes :)

I found them in this big quote compilation in guiltygear.ru, click the sentence to go there. (Kudos to @/solradguy's big gg neo.cities archival efforts making me find the page)... BUT before anything, important DISCLAIMERS❗:

1. Some of the quotes in general can get kind of explicit or with double entendres so uh keep that in mind.

2. Something I just learnt after going to find you the translations, it's to keep in mind their author: See, this is better explained in the aforementioned ne.ocities archival, but a lot of the site's translations were made by someone who, without going too much into detail, is... a controversial member of the community, who is known for putting a good bunch of misconceptions and mistakes into their translations. (Also they have, in my opinion, unsavory and even problematic takes about the franchise. Don't try to argue with them, just block, per proper net etiquette) I don't know japanese so I don't know if this quote index suffers from that so in the end, we'll have to take all this quote info with a huge grain of salt.

Keeping all this in mind, this is already probably a wordier answer than you expected BUT since we are at it, I'll ramble about some A.B.A quotes (in no order) that I found interesting about the topic under the cut, if you want to read that.

First and third quotes in this picture are pretty self explanatory about this part of her character. The vs Faust intro... Man, that looks straight out of her strive song. Dunno if they pulled inspiration from that, but it seems even in the classic days they had a pretty clear idea of part of A.B.A's story being existing and thriving in her own unique way.. Which makes me kind of emotional for some reason ;_;

These were NOT unused as far as I can tell, but obviously do correct me if wrong!

I find it fascinating how much of clear glimpses these are are into her law obsession (more on that specific one later) and believing herself to be a high class person and looking above "lower classes" shoulders.

Some of these aren't exclusively about the aforementioned topics but they mention her cooking god knows what creatures (like in that one infamous xxac ending) and just.. being a scared, pathetic individual at heart. Sigh.

There are probably more examples of all this but this post needs to end sometime today.😭 So, returning to her law thing being an obsession in capital letters, look at her ingame overdrives:

But before that, the elephant in the room: People's observations of her instakill looking pretty taxing to her to perform and even making a berserk Paracelsus look like even he thinks this goes too far are not far from the truth. "I might not recover this time... Dying!!!" What else can I say, that's just sad.. and very interesting lorewise about the toll of this kind of summonings. Yeah, people noticed that in strive, she can summon the same exact door as in her insta with no struggle (or at least not the same level for sure) indicates her power or skill have improved which is so so fascinating.. Anyways. Back to the law thing. We've always had a huge sign under our noses: Her saying Evidence in her overdrives. While sure it can be evidence in a more general meaning, like proving facts or something, it does call to LEGAL evidence, too

...Maybe that was super obvious for everybodh but I'm afraid to admit I didn't connect the dots til now haha 😅

I cannot access my xxacp copy right now to see if her saying shouko during her overdrives is correct, but were we to take this as truth and also trust a japanese language study site as solid because. Again I have zero knowledge of japanese... According to Nihongoclassroom..

It can be used in a legal setting.

And with this we can neatly wrap this up... Tdlr I guess she's living up to her creator being a mansion owner (which isn't precisely cheap) and it gets so interesting and double edged (HAH) if you believe her classic games was as self aware while doing this and fooling herself as strive A.B.A is.

AND she has or had a HUGE interest in law (and if u allow me to reach mayyybe morality too?). While probably not as core to her as her key thing, she sure has told the audience almost as much as it.

#Making this post unrebloggable for now cause of what's covered/that might be wrong/the links too heavy n end up in wrong places (sorry my #own a.b.a-esque morality doubts jumped out. 😅) but might make it rebloggable if a lot of ppl rly want n stuff. hope u understand. I'm not #good at wording this part lmao #LONG post #thank u for asking and whoever reads . this took an hour or two to type aaaahjfhk #the texts feature #repetition #stuff abt her dying and some other stuff.. let me know if you need anything else tagged #a.b.a #text tag2b named #there's also an used intro I missed with her just.. talking abt 100 or so men being imprisioned and stuff. it's in the page but I forgot to #highlight here lol #anon #ask tag2b named

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doctor-badadvice · 10 months

Text

This man has not updated his wardrobe since 1947

There's already a few posts discussing outfits and symbolism and while I found them very interesting, I'm a person of strong opinions now writing two characters with chess related names. So here's my two cents (or should I say, nickels) about Bishop's appearance throughout the 2003 show and what tells us about the specific moment of his life that's being portrayed. The focus will be mainly on the palette, but also on whatever influences are behind the designs.

So let's get started!

1815 — Battle of New Orleans

Here's the first disclaimer. I know next to nothing about US history past what little school required me to learn and generically speaking, I've never been interested in the nuances of how people come together to kill each other. History classes were far more interesting to me when we talked about society and culture. So take what I'll say with a grain of salt. My military expertise here is a couple Wikipedia pages.

As far as Bishop's uniform goes, I have no idea what's going on. I read that uniforms were supposedly mainly blue with whatever color corresponded to what the unit's duty was, with the exception of musicians who had their colors swapped. If that's true, Bishop here could have been a musician having a not so great day at work. But the field medics later in the flashback are wearing the same color so it's probably just a choice to keep the color palette consistent.

Other than that, the belt would suggest he had some kind of rank. Though I don't think they were trying to be accurate past the bare minimum. I'm not going to guess what Bishop was up to in his mortal days.

Also, a special mention goes to Bishop's facial hair. He must have been popular in his time.

1870 — Creation of EPF

This is where colors start being relevant but first, another disclaimer. I appreciate the work wiki editors do, but it would be nice to have sources to whatever's stated on a given page, especially if you're providing estimated dates. I can't say I disagree, but it'd be nice to know where the information comes from.

So the wiki says that Bishop was supposedly born in 1776. It means that at the time of EPF's foundation he was nearing his hundredth birthday. No wonder he's dressing in all black. The average life expectancy at the time was about 40 years old. It's very possible Bishop had already outlived most, if not everyone he knew and it's probably something one would struggle to come to terms with.

Design wise, turtlenecks were nothing new at the time. Medieval knights wore garments in a similar shape under their armors well before the 15th century. And yes, I guess that's more of a coat than the average tactical turtleneck, but it still gives him a hitman, or even hunter vibe which is more or less what he was up to at the time.

1947 Roswell. New Mexico/present times

I can finally explain the title now. But first, let’s take a step back!

Bishop’s default outfit is the secret agent outfit™ we’re all well accustomed to. Specifically, I think the closest he takes inspiration from is Agent Smith from the Matrix movies (as I previously mentioned here). Guy in a black suit with shades, apparently impeccable self control and a distinctive way of talking that compels you to listen to him.

There’s so much to say about motivations and themes these two share, but let's focus on the aesthetic side.

These two fools are men in black. Yes, like the movies. The whole trope originates from some old conspiracy theories about the US government hiding aliens. These theories date all the way back to 1947 from some guy named Harold Dahl claiming a man in a dark suit told him not to tell anyone about some UFO sightings. Various fellow ufologists made similar claims over the years, making it a staple of their general paranoia.

Because of the second flashback, it’s possible that Bishop himself was one of these men in black, if not the one the rumors started from. It's a funny thought and I feel like Bishop would also find it amusing to watch people lose their minds about his fashion choices for decades.

Color wise, white has been added to the mix. It’s been a while now since the creation of EPF and Bishop has found some kind of balance in his life. He’s still dead set in his hatred for aliens and clearly enjoys inflicting pain on creatures he sees as undeserving of basic human decency, but he now has some purpose other than looking at the sky for something to shoot down. He leads an elite task force with men and funding devoted to developing a proper defense of the planet. He’s a foe not to be underestimated and a formidable fighter who can and will take on multiple opponents. But he’s also a very scared man who doesn’t wish what happened to him on anyone.

I often praise the show because Bishop can survive getting impaled but he still remains human. He will react with sheer violence to aggression and reform his ways when shown kindness. He will happily stick his hands in turtle soup for some DNA, but also be the best man at his friend's wedding and even attempt dressing up for the occasion despite having been deprived of normal human interactions for more than a century.

(I know it's a little cluttered in this point but I can't just leave out Casual Friday Bishop)

Design wise, I like just how an otherwise elegant attire works during the fight scenes and this detail specifically.

This man’s power is stored in the leggy.

Interlude

So this pic above is me right now.

For context, I usually consider the episodes of the staged alien invasion to the outbreak as part of the same arc. The entire situation is absolutely absurd from Bishop dragging the president into his fanfiction in response to budget cuts, to Baxter's bodily misadventures, to Bishop making a deal with a random ghost over the phone while New York is turning into yet another Umbrella Corp mishap.

But anyways we're here to judge this man's fashion taste and we have two outfits to talk about.

First off, a special mention goes to the catsuit and this pose specifically.

The sass is off the charts.

Though I find this one kind of depressing. There isn't a lot to read in it either other than Baxter grabbing the most generic tactical turtleneck for the sake of keeping Bishop from walking around bare chested (and the scene before this pic clearly shows Bishop isn't afraid to show some titty). But seeing him in all black right after moving to a new body kinda points out that Agent Bishop, leader of the EPF, is kinda on par with a piece of military equipment (and the president probably sees him as much to an extent). He's the mold for an army of supersoldiers for crying out loud.

But he switches back to the usual suit afterwards and what matters here is the supersuit.

S3 onward

Imagine being an alien, member of the starfleet of your planet and senior officer of the invading force tasked with taking over Earth. You have trained hard, wargamed the whole operation a bunch of times and concluded that it will be piss easy to conquer this underdeveloped planet.

You reach the surface, get into formation and then this nerd rolls up.

The best way to describe this suit is "hostile". It's hostile to the animators and to whoever has to stare at this eyesore before Bishop shoots at them.

And I love it. There's nothing quite like a black and red suit of armor with various cybernetics and lights to say that you mean business. It goes very well with how the stakes just start steadily rising from this point of the show onwards and seeing as the suit was ready during the staged invasion, we know that Bishop never really planned to retire after unleashing his army of clones.

It adds that extra bit of cyberpunk that I like to see and it shows that Bishop never truly gives up on anything since we have actually seen this design before.

Bishop was so proud of his Slayer he just stuck with him in spirit.

Couple that with a new coat to take off for extra dramatic effect and— maybe the president was right about not trusting him with unlimited budget.

2105 — New York apparently

Another century has passed and Bishop is still alive and kicking. Well, he doesn't kick as much anymore as it would be unbecoming if the beloved president of the Pan-Galactic Alliance were to go around kicking alien butt.

Jokes aside, you can disagree with Bishop's portrayal in Fast Forward, but they were still trying to do something meaningful with him. The idea of the turtles having to work with him when they were trying to kill each other just the other day is surprisingly deep for a season that felt the need to have the most unfunny robobutler ever.

They were clearly attempting a chess joke switching the palette to white with black streaks. Bishop has completely turned his life around and it even shows in the way he presents himself. It's nice to see just how much he managed to accomplish as well, even though it would have been very interesting to see him have a gradual change of mind, rather than selling us the concept through timeskip magic.

Does the design still hold up then?

Well, Bishop is clearly making an effort to look the least intimidating. He is fairly more patient when others don't immediately do as he says, even asking for help rather than blackmailing, and is still commendably dedicated to his job. He still asserts dominance by showing leggy (seriously, Mr President, that slit doesn't have to go this hard) and he's still deep down, at all times, ready to throw hands.

That's Bishop alright and it's no coincidence that he starts running around shooting aliens the second Baxter shows up in his life again. I'm not much of a fan of his new armor though. I think they were going for a futuristic design but it's the blandest they could think of. It reminds me of Obi-Wan Kenobi's armor in The Clone Wars but it just kinda comes out of nowhere. It would have been cooler if his tunic turned into a set of armor kinda like what the turtles got.

In any case, if you really want to see reformed Bishop really shine, you should check out @adenthemage / @violetvulpini 's art. You will not be disappointed.

#tmnt 2003 #agent bishop #oof #this was one hell of a ride #I haven't discussed anything in this length since uni #Tumblr also decided to complain about the number of pics I was adding #hopefully it won't be as much of a pain when I come around to talk about his fighting style

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bl3upi3 · 2 years

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Don't play with fire (chapter 2)

[Lo'ak x OC]

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DISCLAIMER: This Avatar fan fiction is made only with the help of my imagination. I wanted to imagine a story that would take place in Avatar 3 so after "the way of water". I read that this movie would be about fire people, so I tried to imagine this clan with the information found on interenet. In this fan fiction Lo'ak is 18 years old and everything that is said about "The Ash People" in this book was invented and was not certified by James Cameron. English is not my first language so sorry if I don't know some of the words, please be indulgent, I might edit this story once I finish. I still hope you will like it.

Summary: One year after the events in the Reefs, the Sully family decides to move again, to a new clan said to be able to bring the dead back to life. What happens when Lo'ak meets the princess of the volcanoes? Him who was already promised to the Metkayina princess finds himself in a strange situation when he falls for another girl.

Lo’ak's POV

The arrival at the volcano was not easy, after this long trip and the bad reception we received I did not think we would stay there, but my parents were determined to have an answer to their question.

The morning after our arrival I decided to go out of the crater to explore. I walked to a watering hole but as I approached it I saw a figure in the water. It was Äära the daughter of the chief, the one who as soon as we arrived let us know that we were not welcome. I looked at her in the distance, hiding behind a tree, she looked so peaceful right away, not the same girl I met yesterday. She was sitting on a rock, her feet in the water lost in her thoughts writing in what seemed to be a journal, she knew I was there because as soon as I approached the tree her ears perked up and she raised her head looking in my direction, I had time to hide my face before she saw me but it wasn't enough.

"Get out of there Lo'ak and stop stalking me" I hear her say, I close my eyes and sigh before coming out of my hiding place with both hands in the air.

"You got me" I say with an embarrassed smile.

"You're loud" she stood up as walked towards me, I was ready to have a conversation similar to yesterday's "You and your family are wasting your time here" she continued brushing past me.

I followed her with my eyes, "My mother wants to think that there is hope of seeing my brother again" I spoke.

She stopped walking and turned to face me "It's hard but she has to move on".

"How can you say that? You don't know how hard it is for her".

"It's hard for everyone Lo'ak" she said curtly, I don't know why but my name coming out of her mouth was like music to my ears.

I blinked hard, bringing me out of my thoughts, "You don't know what you're talking about," I returned to the subject.

I saw her clench her fist then take a deep breath before releasing the tension in her hand " The world doesn't revolve around you " she said before turning and walking away " I'll come get you and Spider for training later "

I watched her walk away before turning back to the pond, I walked to the rock where she was sitting and found the notebook she was writing in just before, I looked back in the direction she had gone to make sure she wasn't coming back for it before opening it and reading a few pages.

She was talking about her life in general and what she was experiencing, not much of interest, I think it was a new diary and there were many before because this one started to be written on her last birthday. I flipped through it until I came across the page that talked about us "demon blood is among us, are they really that bad? Eywa wouldn't accept this if it was bad would she? They think they can bring Neteyam back and I'm afraid they won't accept to hear the truth" Neteyam? How does she know his name?

I went back to the camp and waited for her to come and get us.

"Hey bro I'm not coming, Jake asked me to help him prepare the offering for the party" said Spider punching me in the arm

"Are you serious?" I grumble

"Sorry" he mutters as he walks away.

He's so fucking annoying, he wants to live like us but the only thing he knows is to lick our father's boots.

"Mmh Mmh" I looked up and found Äära with her arms crossed "lets go"

"Spider is not coming" I followed her.

"I know I heard him" she answered without turning around

"Were you hiding?" I chuckled.

"Hiding from what?" she sighed

"I don't know, but anyway, why is everyone preparing an offering? What's the big deal?"

"Every month we celebrate my mother's pregnancy," we started to go deeper into the forest, "and we make offerings to thank Eywa".

"Why? Isn't it supposed to be something ordinary?"

"Don't open your mouth when you don't know what you're talking about" she turned around with a cut showing her teeth. I jumped and took a step back. "My mother has a hard time having children, that's why I'm an only child, well not for much longer" her attitude dropped.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said that" she turned and continued walking to the training place.

"You must already be a good hunter but here we hunt with knives, which is more difficult than arrows especially when the target is moving" she took out three small knives from behind the bushes "Try your best to aim at the center" she gave them to me.

"It will be a piece of cake, give me a real target" I teased.

She squinted her eyes and put her head to the side without saying anything. I threw the knives and only one of them hit the target on the area but none in the center of it.

"You're a skxawng" she rolled her eyes and retrieved the knives, she moved closer to me and I reached out my hand to get the knives back. But she stares at my hand and especially my fingers, she takes my hand and traces my palm and then my fingers delicately. Shivers go through me when I feel her skin against mine but then she becomes cold again and lets go of my hand.

"What do you want me to do? Cut them?" I say with irritation.

"You have 5 so use them all" she says before putting a knife in my hand. I tried my luck again but still none in the center of the target.

I heard a laugh and when I looked towards Äära someone was standing next to her with an arm around her neck, she looked irritated too.

"Who are you?" I asked.

"Who am I? You must be kidding, you're looking at the future Olo'eyktan" the man answered with a haughty look.

"Lo'ak this is Aysär" she lowered her eyes, she looked ashamed.

"Monsters like you don't deserve to live" the man came closer and started to turn around and analyze me "We should exterminate your whole family" he touched my tail.

"Please Aysär go I will join you" she said with a worried look.

" Everything you ask princess " he moved back the arms in the air as if to surrender " I'll wait for you " he finished before disappearing into the forest.

"Who is he?" I asked.

"My soon-to-be husband" she walked towards me without looking me in the eyes.

"This guy is going to be Olo'eyktan?

"Tsahik." she cut me off "He's going to be Tsahik, but I haven't told him yet. My father wants to name me Olo'eyktan" she put her hand on my shoulder still refusing to look at me "See you tonight" she said before she also walked away.

Anger built up inside me and I threw the knife, which came to the center of the target for the first time.

After hours of training alone I returned to our tent.

"Where have you been? Mom and dad are waiting for us, the party has started" Kiri said hurriedly and took me by the hand to lead me back outside. On the way out I grabbed Äära's diary and put it on the back of my waistband. "You need to see this, it's beautiful" she pulled me down the stairs and we joined our family.

"Lo'ak! Where have you been?" my mother asked, putting her hand on my cheek and scanning me to make sure I wasn't hurt. Since Neteyam's death she was much more caring and careful than before, sometimes I just wish that everything was a dream and that my brother was still here with me. I looked towards the crowd of people around the fire, Äära was dancing with other women. I watched as she moved her body to the sound of the drums and I couldn't resist tracing my gaze along it, her hips following the rhythm too.

"Stop checking her out" Spider spoke bumping me in the stomach.

" I'm not doing it" I looked at him and my cheeks became hot with embarrassment.

I looked at the other side seeing my mother, Kiri and Tuk being taken away by the Tsahik with the other women. Kiri tried to run away but was caught by mom while Tuk was happy to go dancing.

"I think that now she is the one who is checking you out" Spider said making me turn my attention back to the girl who was looking at me and for the first time I saw her smile which automatically placed a smile on my lips. "I know someone who is going to hit it tonight" he added.

"Shut up, she's got someone" I slammed the back of his head and the smile I was wearing disappeared right away.

I haven't really had a chance to talk to Äära since that afternoon. The party was divided into two parts, the women were with each other and the men too, no one was mixing. I heard other men say that this party was to thank Eywa but also served to most of them to find a mate. I find this a bit disgusting knowing that this party is dedicated to Ìhari and her pregnancy.

I needed to talk to Äära about Neteyam, I needed an answer. She walked towards me and I noticed the white marks on her belly.

"It's a stupid ritual" she laughed as she passed me and I started to follow her. "It's supposed to wish for fertility. Look at your mother" I turned and looked as she said and my mother also had handprints on her belly.

"We don't need a second Tuk" I laughed. We moved away from the festivities and I found the courage to talk about what I had read this morning. "How do you know Neteyam?" I began.

She stopped and turned back to me "I don't know who that is" she scoffed. I handed her the diary and her eyes widened, "What the fuck, are you serious?" she ripped the notebook out of my hands, "I was beginning to trust you and you read my diary. Do you know what privacy is?" She was about to leave but I grabbed her arm stopping her in her tracks.

"Wait, I shouldn't have done that but I couldn't help myself. I need to know." she looked into my eyes and her gaze softened.

"Eywa told me through the fire," she said softly.

"Fire?" I raised my eyebrow.

"Yeah, that's one thing I can do, I can read through fire".

"So you can talk to him?"

"No it doesn't work like that Lo'ak" the same feeling as this morning appeared in the pit of my stomach at the sound of my name coming from her mouth "I need to get closer to where he was returned to Eywa"

"The spirit tree in the Cove of the Ancestors, I can take you there!

"If that's what you want" she smiled sympathetically as she nodded, "Sleep well," she said before walking away.

A/N: Happy New Year! I kind of like this chapter and I have a lot of inspiration for this fanfic. Don't forget to like and reblog. And don’t hesitate to give me ideas in the comments.This book is also on my Wattpad @_bl3upi3

*tag list*

@sakura-onesan @maraudersrry @honestlyka @max-xie @lovergirl-3000 @mushroomlover13 i can't tag some people idk why !

#avatar twow #avatar the way of water #atwow #avatar #avatar 2 #avatar 3 #lo'ak fanfiction #lo'ak x reader #lo'ak imagine #sully family #neteyam #neytiri #tuktirey #jake sully #fanfic #fanfiction

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