#imagine what will happen when i actually start writing that scene down

[lorneytunes]

Beginner Mindset

Recently while doing a tarot reading for myself about my shifting journey, I drew a card that said I needed to "embrace a beginner mindset". I've been thinking a lot about what that means, and as a results I've begun the process of starting my shifting journey from scratch. Coincidentally, I’ve also seen a lot of posts from others about going back to that baby shifter feeling, when it's all about being IN your DR not GETTING TO your DR; thinking about the end result, not the way of getting there.

In that vein, today I saw a YouTube video about training your brain to lucid dream after years of failure, and re-capturing the feeling of excitement around it. I’ve decided I'm going to apply the techniques outlined there to shifting.

These were the main points:

List out all the things you're excited to do in a lucid dream and highlight your top three

Think throughout the day, “This is a dream” and then imagine if this was a dream, what you would do to take control and achieve one of your top three things.

Keep lucid dreaming at the forefront of your mind throughout the day

There were other points too, but these are the ones I think are most applicable to shifting. So from now on I'm going to focus on one DR, and start keeping that at the front of my mind and think about all the things I'm excited to do while shifting there.

I’ve already started by writing the list of 20 things and highlighted my top three (let me know if you want to see a follow-up post with my list). From here, throughout the day, rather than tell myself I’m dreaming, I’m going to go, “Oh, I’ve shifted!” and then imagine that instead of being wherever I am, that I’m currently experiencing something from that list. Preferably the top three, but it was very hard to pick just three things so I don’t see why I can’t expand it to more. The idea was to increase my desire to go to/excitement over that DR anyway, and that has definitely happened.

I’ve been thinking for a while that the reason some people might be having more success than me, is that for a very long time now I’ve found it really hard to daydream. I don’t know why, given I used to do it every night to help me sleep, but for years now it’s like I keep stopping myself, like it's silly or something. Being a writer I often get too caught up in what’s realistic or a good plot/scene rather than just enjoying the process, so I can absolutely see how I could get in my own way like that.

My hope is that giving myself these parameters like, “Imagine you’re actually having lunch in [x] right now!” or “Imagine what it would be like to learn [y]!” will help make daydreaming more achievable. Rather than imagining bigger stories, I’m just living through those tiny everyday moments. And from what I’ve heard from some of the bigger experienced shifters, imagining those everyday moments can really help your subconscious start to see your DR as a real place rather than a fantasy.

At the very least I’m going to try and do it every day for a week. Given I find it really hard to build habits, I’m not expecting to remember to do this very often in the first few days, so I’ll definitely be extending the experiment to up to three weeks if necessary.

Anyway, thanks for reading my first post and another Big Brave Step for me into the shifting community after two years of mostly lurking. Please send love and encouragement so I can do more of these. I'd definitely be down to blog how the experiment goes from day to day, or answer asks about my DRs (I have so many 😅).

[whatlovelybones-if]

Hi! I hope this isn't a stupid question but how will mc hide the bodies? Won't the general public be too suspicious if it ends up in a particular area or if there's a bunch of bodies turning out in random places? Also what happened to the girl in the prologue and chapter one, what did mc do with her and the officer?

a lot of questions there, dear bonnie, but i’ll try to answer them satisfactorily.

MC has a kiln in their basement which connects directly to the chimney system in their manor. it blends in nicely there and doesn’t catch too much attention but it’s big enough to fit several bodies in it at once. since the manor is also located in a more remote location and conveniently surrounded by the woods, it’s very unlikely that they have many visitors and they can go ahead with their thrillingly morbid business with ease.

since most bodies will be burnt to ashes and further turned into ceramics or dumped in a river nearby, it’s next to impossible for those ones to be found. however, in the event that MC does, let’s say, starts mailing body parts for shits and giggles to members of the group they’re targetting, it’s a possibility that the killer will be dancing along the lines of almost being caught since post-mortem may reveal something evidential to the investigation, e.g. skin underneath nails, hair samples, fingerprints, and so on.

both the woman and the police officer’s bodies were burned to ashes. while the woman’s ashes were thrown into the nearby river, officer wilson’s ashes were fashioned into some kind of ceramic. i can’t tell you any further information on that since it’s gonna be spoilers but you will be meeting the other ROs soon, and i’m particularly excited about MC and the detective meeting 🤭

[arolesbianism]

Thinking abt Sif Odile duo looping au again and I wanna be able to plot everything out more coherently but act 5 eternally looms overhead and boy I do not wanna look up

[thewriteadviceforwriters]

The Telling Truth: When 'Show, Don't Tell' Doesn't Apply (You Don't Always Have To Show, Don't Tell.)

Hey there, fellow writers and beloved members of the writeblr community! 📝✨

Today, I want to talk about something that's been on my mind lately, and I have a feeling it might resonate with many of you too. It's about that age-old writing advice we've all heard a million times: "Show, don't tell." Now, don't get me wrong – it's great advice, and it has its place in our writing toolbox. But here's the thing: it's not the be-all and end-all of good writing. In fact, I'd argue that sometimes, it's perfectly okay – even necessary – to tell rather than show.

First things first, let's address the elephant in the room. The "show, don't tell" rule has been drilled into our heads since we first picked up a pen (or opened a Word document) with the intention of writing creatively. It's been repeated in writing workshops, creative writing classes, and countless craft books. And for good reason! Showing can create vivid, immersive experiences for readers, allowing them to feel like they're right there in the story.

But here's where things get a bit tricky: like any rule in writing (or in life, for that matter), it's not absolute. There are times when telling is not just acceptable, but actually preferable. And that's what you all will explore today in this hopefully understandable blog post.

Let's start by breaking down why "show, don't tell" is so popular. When we show instead of tell, we're engaging the reader's senses and emotions. We're painting a picture with words, allowing the reader to draw their own conclusions based on the details we provide. It's a powerful technique that can make our writing more engaging and memorable.

For example, instead of saying "Sarah was angry," we might write, "Sarah's fists clenched at her sides, her jaw tight as she glared at the broken vase." This gives the reader a clearer image and allows them to infer Sarah's emotional state.

But here's the thing: sometimes, we don't need or want that level of detail. Sometimes, efficiency in storytelling is more important than painting an elaborate picture. And that's where telling comes in handy.

Imagine if every single emotion, action, or piece of information in your story was shown rather than told. Your novel would probably be thousands of pages long, and your readers might get lost in the sea of details, losing sight of the main plot or character arcs.

So, when might telling be more appropriate? Let's explore some scenarios:

Summarizing less important events: If you're writing a story that spans a long period, you don't need to show every single day or event. Telling can help you summarize periods of time or less crucial events quickly, allowing you to focus on the more important parts of your story.

For instance: "The next few weeks passed in a blur of exams and late-night study sessions." This sentence tells us what happened without going into unnecessary detail about each day.

Providing necessary background information: Sometimes, you need to give your readers some context or backstory. While you can certainly weave this information into scenes, there are times when a straightforward telling of facts is more efficient.

Example: "The war had been raging for three years before Sarah's village was attacked." This quickly gives us important context without needing to show the entire history of the war.

Establishing pace and rhythm: Alternating between showing and telling can help you control the pace of your story. Showing tends to slow things down, allowing readers to immerse themselves in a moment. Telling can speed things up, moving the story along more quickly when needed.

Clarifying complex ideas or emotions: Some concepts or feelings are abstract or complex enough that showing alone might not suffice. In these cases, a bit of telling can help ensure your readers understand what's happening.

For example: "The quantum entanglement theory had always fascinated John, but explaining it to others often left him feeling frustrated and misunderstood." Here, we're telling the reader about John's relationship with this complex scientific concept, which might be difficult to show effectively.

Maintaining your narrative voice: Sometimes, telling is simply more in line with your narrative voice or the tone of your story. This is especially true if you're writing in a more direct or conversational style.

Now, I can almost hear some of you saying, "But wait! I've always been told that showing is always better!" And I completely get it. I'm a writer myself and prioritize "Show, Don't tell." in my writing all the time. We've been conditioned to believe that showing is superior in all cases. But we can take a moment to challenge that notion.

Think about some of your favorite books. Chances are, they use a mix of showing and telling. Even the most critically acclaimed authors don't adhere strictly to "show, don't tell" all the time. They understand that good writing is about balance and knowing when to use each technique effectively.

Take, for instance, the opening line of George Orwell's "1984": "It was a bright cold day in April, and the clocks were striking thirteen." This is a perfect blend of showing and telling. Orwell shows us it's a bright, cold day (we can imagine the crisp air and clear sky), but he tells us about the clocks striking thirteen. This immediate telling gives us crucial information about the world we're entering – it's not quite like our own.

Or consider this passage from Jane Austen's "Pride and Prejudice": "Mr. Bennet was so odd a mixture of quick parts, sarcastic humour, reserve, and caprice, that the experience of three-and-twenty years had been insufficient to make his wife understand his character." Here, Austen is clearly telling us about Mr. Bennet's character rather than showing it through his actions. And yet, it works beautifully, giving us a quick, clear insight into both Mr. Bennet and his wife.

The key is to use both techniques strategically. So, how can you decide when to show and when to tell? Here are some tips:

Consider the importance of the information: Is this a crucial moment in your story, a pivotal emotion, or a key piece of character development? If so, it might be worth showing. If it's more of a transitional moment or background information, telling might be more appropriate.

Think about pacing: If you want to slow down and really immerse your reader in a moment, show it. If you need to move things along more quickly, tell it.

Evaluate the complexity: If you're dealing with a complex emotion or concept, consider whether showing alone will be enough to convey it clearly. Sometimes, a combination of showing and telling works best for complex ideas.

Consider your word count: If you're working with strict word count limitations (like in short stories or flash fiction), telling can help you convey necessary information more concisely.

Trust your instincts (Important): As you write more, you'll develop a feel for when showing or telling works better. Trust your gut, and don't be afraid to experiment.

Now, let's talk about how to tell effectively when you do choose to use it. Because here's the thing: telling doesn't have to be boring or flat. It can be just as engaging and stylish as showing when done well. Here are some tips for effective telling:

Use strong, specific language: Instead of using vague or generic words, opt for more specific, evocative language. For example, instead of "She was sad," you might write, "A profound melancholy settled over her."

Incorporate sensory details: Even when telling, you can include sensory information to make it more vivid. "The room was cold" becomes more engaging as "A bone-chilling cold permeated the room."

Use metaphors and similes: These can help make your telling more colorful and memorable. "His anger was like a volcano ready to erupt" paints a vivid picture without showing the anger in action.

Keep it concise: One of the advantages of telling is its efficiency. Don't negate that by being overly wordy. Get to the point, but do it with style.

Vary your sentence structure: Mix short, punchy sentences with longer, more flowing ones to create rhythm and maintain interest.

Remember, the goal is to create a seamless narrative that engages your reader. Sometimes that means showing, sometimes it means telling, and often it means a artful blend of both.

It's also worth noting that different genres and styles of writing may lean more heavily on one technique or the other. Literary fiction often employs more showing, delving deep into characters' psyches and painting elaborate scenes. Genre fiction, on the other hand, might use more telling to keep the plot moving at a brisker pace. Neither approach is inherently better – it all depends on what works best for your story and your style.

Now, I want to address something that I think many of us struggle with: the guilt or anxiety we might feel when we catch ourselves telling instead of showing. It's easy to fall into the trap of second-guessing every sentence, wondering if we should be showing more. But here's the truth: that kind of constant self-doubt can be paralyzing and ultimately detrimental to your writing process.

So, I want you to understand and think: It's okay to tell sometimes. You're not a bad writer for using telling in your work. In fact, knowing when and how to use telling effectively is a sign of a skilled writer.

Here's some practical ways to incorporate this mindset into your writing process:

First Draft Freedom: When you're writing your first draft, give yourself permission to write however it comes out. If that means more telling than showing, that's absolutely fine. The important thing is to get the story down. You can always revise and add more "showing" elements later if needed.

Revision with Purpose: When you're revising, don't automatically change every instance of telling to showing. Instead, ask yourself: Does this serve the story better as telling or showing? Consider the pacing, the importance of the information, and how it fits into the overall narrative.

Beta Readers and Feedback: When you're getting feedback on your work, pay attention to how readers respond to different sections. If they're engaged and understanding the story, then your balance of showing and telling is probably working well, regardless of which technique you're using more.

Study Your Favorite Authors: Take some time to analyze how your favorite writers use showing and telling. You might be surprised to find more instances of effective telling than you expected.

Practice Both Techniques (Important): Set aside some time to practice both showing and telling. Write the same scene twice, once focusing on showing and once on telling. This can help you develop a feel for when each technique is most effective.

Now, let's address another important point: the evolution of writing styles and reader preferences. The "show, don't tell" rule gained popularity in the early 20th century with the rise of modernist literature. But writing styles and reader tastes have continued to evolve since then.

In our current fast-paced world, where people are often reading on devices and in shorter bursts, there's sometimes a preference for more direct, efficient storytelling. This doesn't mean that showing is out of style, but it does mean that there's often room for more telling than strict adherence to "show, don't tell" would allow.

Moreover, diverse voices in literature are challenging traditional Western writing norms, including the emphasis on showing over telling. Some cultures have strong storytelling traditions that lean more heavily on telling, and as the literary world becomes more inclusive, we're seeing a beautiful variety of styles that blend showing and telling in new and exciting ways.

This brings me to an important point: your voice matters. Your unique way of telling stories is valuable. Don't let rigid adherence to any writing rule, including "show, don't tell," stifle your natural voice or the story you want to tell.

Remember, rules in writing are more like guidelines. They're tools to help us improve our craft, not unbreakable laws. The most important rule is to engage your reader and tell your story effectively. If that means more telling than the conventional wisdom suggests, then so be it.

As I wrap up this discussion, I want to leave you with a challenge: In your next writing session, consciously use both showing and telling. Pay attention to how each technique feels, how it serves your story, and how it affects the rhythm of your writing. You might discover new ways to blend these techniques that work perfectly for your unique style.

Writing is an art, not a science. There's no perfect formula, no one-size-fits-all approach. It's about finding what works for you, your story, and your readers. So embrace both showing and telling. Use them as the powerful tools they are, and don't be afraid to break the "rules" when your instincts tell you to.

Remember, every great writer started where you are now, learning the rules and then figuring out when and how to break them effectively. You're part of a long, proud tradition of storytellers, each finding their own path through the winding forest of words.

Keep writing, keep growing, and keep believing in yourself. You've got this!

Happy writing! 💖✍️ - Rin T.

Before you go, why not join us at The Write Right Society? We're a supportive Tumblr community where writers lift each other up. Whether you're a newbie or a pro, we'd love to have you! Share your work, get feedback, and connect with fellow wordsmiths, writers and aspiring authors. 

[iz-star]

Zayne: Hidden Motive - The hidden meaning behind these two images and other thoughts about this card.

Warnings: NSFW talk, personal interpretation about this card, some analysis (probably overanalyzing lol).

I've already mentioned this quickly over twitter, tho I have to admit that I hate to write down my thoughts over there cause it's already difficult for me to put my ideas in order, let alone writing them in threads (and not even in my native language, my brain can't do so much). So I'm going to try to explain this here better, especially cause I've seen a lot of people not so sure of what happened in this card, if what Zayne and MC did was straight up dry humping or if it was all just the movement of the chair without actually touching each other.

Of course, this card was wild just for the already suggestive (let alone, stimulating?) work of the camera when MC is on top of Zayne, but this game is not even rated +18 so they have to be careful about what they show. Sex isn't anything new to this game, however it all depends on the way it is portrayed and showcased. Most of the times, sex is always implied; there are spicy moments but it has never been anything overly explicit, most cases the sexy scenes are more like foreplay, what leads to actual intercourse/sex, the last part being left to the imagination. If they were going to be wild with this card, they had to be soft at portraying it, unironically. In order to do that, they had to resort to certain storytelling resources, in this case: the rocking chair, the leaf and the fabric over the couch.

The rocking chair's purpose I think it's quite obvious and it was to not to blatantly show MC and Zayne rocking against each other, it was like the perfect excuse to put them on such a situation without the characters doing it willingly, or so so cause it's already too much to know that MC is sitting on top of Zayne, however this is not new to the game, right? MC sitting on top of Zayne's lap is actually quite normal, she's done it several times; here they just had to give them an excuse to move and when Zayne pulled MC towars him, everything started. I seriously praise the masterminds behind this scene cause they literally gave us Zayne and MC starting to dry hump in front of our very eyes in a very subtle way.

Again, the camera direction is the most risky thing they had done to showcase a sexual act so far, and I'm not mentioning this to downplay any other sexy scenes from Zayne or the other LIs, it's simply bc the bouncing movement it's too explicit and induces quite strong sexual ideas related to it, to go further seemed to be impossible at this point, however it also looked like they wanted us to be sure of what was happening here somehow, that it wasn't only the rocking chair making us seeing things, so in order to confirm what our minds were thinking and it wasn't only the sound of Zayne's kisses filling the room, they resorted to metaphors: the leaf and the fabric over the couch.

Maybe this is my dirty mind speaking, but is so suggestive the way this image was showed right after Zayne asked MC "Do I look like I can work right now?" with all the movement of the camera going wild and he resuming to kiss/suck MC's neck. It literally started to rain in this very moment, and the drop running down the leaf seems to be a metaphor of MC's arousal. Yes, she was getting wet down there. For this one, I think that the reference is quite easy to understand and there's no need to explain more, except to say that I actually loved the subtle yet beautiful/elegant way to refer to her arousal.

But what about the fabric over the couch?

If the image of the leaf was a reference to MC, then this one is a reference of Zayne's own arousal. What this image has is a disheveled fabric that's hanging from the edge of the couch, so there's two things:

The couch → Zayne's thighs/legs (isn't it a common joke within the fandom that Zayne is MC's favorite chair due to all the times she sits on his lap, anyway?)

The fabric → Zayne's robe.

Did you notice that among the four LIs, it was Zayne's robe the only one with the loosest tie and both sides of his robe do not even cross? like this thing it's barely keeping together somehow.

Which is genuinely surprising coming from Zayne, the Zayne whose towel outfit has the safest tie, the Zayne whose workout outfit covers his body from head to toe, the same Zayne who has dressed five (or was it six?) layers of clothes in the past (Master of Fate), the same Zayne who is always wearing long coats and suits and literally the one who makes us feel like victorian man seeing a woman's ankles for the first time lol.

I definitely think they did this on purpose. Give him easier access? Hell yeah. What this image is intending to say is that he was already opening his robe down there, making the contact with MC's wetness closer? Maybe that's why after this, she told him not to be too intense? Hmm...

Now, this probably is my overanalysis, it's up to you if you choose to believe this or not. For some people, media is about what is explicitly told, but narrative resources say a lot most part of the time, it helps the writers to give the readers hints about certain foreshadowing or, in this case, to reference to certain things that are impossible to address due to censorship.

Personally, I loved this card so much, but at the same time, it leaves me with a sense of dread. Did you notice how emotional, bittersweet or even sad/nostalgic was Zayne's bgm during his kindle? I saw some people uploaded the recording of his kindle without the bgm just to appreciate the naughty sounds (no blame here cause I did too ngl ahaha), but it made me want to listen to the music alone and good lord, the music made me so emotional. After watching the kindle with the music on again, I realized of how emotional this moment becomes when the bgm is playing. It gives vibes of something so intense yet so fragile. Go listen and appreciate it alone, you'll see what I'm talking about:

I noticed that they used two new songs for these cards, one was this one and the other was used in Rafayel's kindle, for Xavier and Sylus' kindles, they used bgm that was previously used in other memories. It's also interesting that the art direction of Zayne and Rafayel's kindles has a bit of a somber mood to them, like even their scenarios make sure to use cold colors and emotional backgrounds, while Xavier and Sylus' use more warm and romantic colors, (tho at least Xaviers bgm music was also intense even if the song is not new).

I feel like the bgm wanted to give a sensual yet emotional feeling to most scenes (except Sylus' since this one was the most chill, which is normal considering that he's new), however, we can't deny that Zayne's song feels like something is about to break somehow, idk how to explain. Someone in the comments section of the video said that it was angsty and beautiful just like Zayne is...

I've been feeling like Zayne's latest cards have been really emotional an intense. In Snowy Serenity is Zayne the one who is in danger, in Hidden Motive, it's MC the one in danger and both cards showcase how far are they willing to get in order to secure each other's safety (and also how much they lie to each other about their own safety lol).

In Snowy Serenity, Zayne and MC get emotionally closer, in Hidden Motive they get physically closer and yet both cards have a bit of both themes too, emotional and physical intimacy on another level.

In Snowy Serenity, Zayne knew that he might not be back so he asked MC to see him off the airport and gave her a hug, even if he never said goodbye, and in Hidden Motive, he tells her that she's not allowed to leave him without saying goodbye. Then he tells her he'll like her as long as she's alive and well. We also have the Adventure above the clouds chapters where they talk about ther lifes in 50 years in the future and how they'll be together still relying on each other. In Dawnbreaker's anecdotes, MC gets to celebrate Zayne's birthday with him and tells him that from now on, she'll always celebrate his birthday with him.

It feels like they're starting to look into the future a little too much, like making promises too soon, it feels too perfect... as if something bad is about to happen and rob us from that bright future, you know?

Do you know who made promises before a tragedy?

I've been thinking about this since I finished Hidden Motive cause... my first thought was... Now what can top this? A lot of us got really surprised by Zayne's card cause the spice was unexpected and I think it's needless to say this, but even the kindle felt a bit different from what we are used to see normally, even some ppl said the kindle was a bit longer than normal. Why would they feed us so much good/emotional/intense content of Zayne lately? And how are they going to keep it up? My brain tells me that something sexual being released too soon after this might feel repetitive so in order to create a bigger impact after this they'll resort to angst. I don't think they'll make Zayne's bday event sad, however, they also announced that more main story branches are going to be added from September to December and Zayne's probably gonna be the first to return, since he was the first one to disappear from the main story.

I just can't help thinking about this, I have this bad feeling that I hope is just my stupid brain overthinking and that we will have happy sweet memories with Zayne from now on even tho the story seems to keep hinting that something bad is going to happen, ugh.

Anyway, sorry for my rant, I actually have a lot of thoughts about this card that I don't know if I'll get to write cause I've been really busy with work lately, however I wanted to at least get this out of my chest.

[gloomwitchwrites]

What If 141...

You gave us that amazing chase scene in Dangerous Pursuit....how about for the other 141? You can include Price again of course :) I'd only ask that it be consensual. Thanks!

Oh, the chase scene from Dangerous Pursuit. That was a fun one to write. If any of y'all are interested in that one, you can find it HERE. Let's just say that it involved mud, Price dragging Reader back to the safehouse, and then forcing her into the shower with him. Things...happen. (hehe)

To be fair, there are actual chase scenes with lots of running, and simply walking very fast to maybe escape. Three of the four are more fast walking, while the fourth is more "traditional." Kyle's is the mildest. Simon's is straight up CNC and involves more of a "stalking" aspect. Price's is all about stubborn, bratty Reader and is a Bodyguard AU, and Johnny's is the only genuine "chase" through the woods.

For the masterlist and how to submit your own request, click HERE

Task Force 141 x Female Reader

Content & Warnings: CNC, Primal, Stalking, knifeplay, brief pussy slapping, unprotected piv (wrap it up irl), creampie, swearing, Bodyguard AU, arguments, rough sex, semi-public sex, established relationship, secret relationship, spanking, rough kissing, light breeding, possessive behavior

Word Count: 4.7k

ao3 // main masterlist // imagines & what if masterlist

John Price

“I told your father that I’d take you home.”

“And I want to stay, John.” He sternly stares back, unamused. “What’s the issue?” you shrug. “Why can’t I stay?”

“You know I don’t ask questions.”

“No,” you reply. “You just do as your told.”

John grimaces. “And you do as I tell you.”

“That only works in the bedroom, John,” you hiss, lowering your voice.

“Fucking hell,” he mutters, rolling his eyes.

You’re being stubborn, but this event is fun. Most of the time, your father doesn’t bring you along to work banquets or charity parties. When he does, you’re briefly shown about, and then quickly whisked away. This time, you were allowed to stay.

“I’m staying.”

John shakes his head. “Can’t do that. Can’t disobey direct orders from your father.”

The two of you stand in a small side hallway directly left of the main banquet hall. Only a few people loiter about, but they are closer to the main foyer. None of them are giving either of you any attention.

“No,” you retort.

“No?” asks John, slowly.

“I’m. Staying.” You emphasize each word, and when John doesn’t reply, you start to turn away to head back into the banquet hall.

But John has other plans. Grabbing your wrist, he pulls, returning you to the stop you just occupied. He takes a single step into your space, staring intently into your eyes.

“We. Are. Leaving,” he says in the exact same way.

A sharp reply forms on your tongue, ready to be unleashed. John knows you, though, and continues on, interrupting before you can even begin. “Now, be a good girl, and let’s go.”

“Fuck you,” you mutter, yanking your arm out of his grasp.

Pushing past John, you purposefully shoulder-check him before storming down the long hall. There is an emergency exit at the other end. Bursting through it, you nearly trip on the top step, but manage to right yourself at the last second.

John calls your name but you ignore him. It is your only defense. It’s not like you can make it far with him on your tail.

Passing the second landing, you head for the next short flight of stairs, but John is already on you, grabbing your upper arm.

“Wait,” he commands, but you blatantly disregard the order. “Stop!”

Keeping your back to him does nothing. John gives your arm another tug, and this time he puts his strength behind it, shoving you up against the concrete wall. His hips press against yours, his large hand coming to rest beside your head.

“Don’t make this hard. Don’t run.” His voice is sweet, and that stirs a need in your belly.

You do soften, lips parting to receive his. John goes in for the claiming, meeting you with equal softness. Heat rushes to your core. With a hand between your bodies, you palm John through his pants. Rubbing his erection, he groans softly. The sound of it sends a bolt of pleasure straight to your pussy.

Then, you squeeze. A little bit harder than you usually would.

“Fuck,” he mutters, breaking the kiss.

It’s enough to slip away—enough for you to break out of his grasp and flee down the stairs. John follows. It isn’t until you’re at the bottom floor and exiting into the parking garage that he catches up.

“Let go of me,” you bite, but John ignores you, grasping your upper arm in a vice grip.

He guides you toward the black SUV the two of you arrived in. John retrieves the key fob and unlocks it, the car’s headlights coming on.

“Get in,” he mutters, opening the rear passenger door.

He unceremoniously shoves you into the backseat.

But he doesn’t shut the door. He doesn’t walk around to the front to get in the driver side.

Instead, John follows in after you, slamming the car door shut behind him.

Your next words are lost as his hand wraps around your throat and he pushes you onto your back. John’s kisses are not sweet. They are rough. Claiming. You open for him, taking each one, your need for him spiking ever higher.

“Told you to behave,” he mutters, hand coming down hard on the inside of your thigh.

You yelp, and then you’re yanked upright into his lap. John adjusts your position, spreading you wide over his thighs.

The front of his pants is open, belt to the side, everything shoved down enough to reveal this thick cock. “You’re going to sit on my cock, and fuck yourself on it. Yeah?”

You stare him down. Unmoving. It’s not that you don’t want to—because you’d fucking love to—but you’re irritated with him. You want to be a bit stubborn in this.

Gripping your thighs, John lifts just enough to push your thong to the side, line you up, and bring you down on his cock. You’re immediately impaled, and you both groan loudly. His hand grabs the back of your neck, fingers lightly digging into your skin.

“Fucking do it, love. Or we’ll sit like this all fucking night.”

Planting your hands against the back of the seat, you start to rock and roll, lifting and coming down again.

“Too slow,” he murmurs. “Fuck yourself.”

Fingers digging into the rough fabric, you angle forward a bit, engage the correct muscles, lightly bouncing on his cock.

“That’s it, love,” groans John. “Just like that.”

You set a steady rhythm, and John releases his hold, placing his hands off to the side, deliberately not touching you. But you notice his fingers flexing, like he itches to do it.

“You can follow direction,” he murmurs.

“Shut the fuck up, John,” you moan, your own pleasure building with every second.

But you need more. It simply isn’t enough. Reaching down, you seek your clit.

“No.” John snags your wrist and raises your hand to eye-level. He brings it to his mouth, sucking your slickness off your fingers. “Not until I fill you with my cum.”

“John,” you whimper.

“After,” he repeats, and you return your hand to the seat behind him.

You want your end, but to find it, you have to give John what he wants. With each upward tilt of your hips, you lightly engage your pelvic floor, squeezing him.

“Fuck,” he groans, elongated the vowel.

You repeat it a few more times until John’s eyelids become slightly heavy. Then, you’re frantic. Desperate. The car might be rocking erratically but you’d hardly care. The need to come is driving you on.

John’s hands go to your thighs, and then they squeeze—hard. Guiding, he meets you thrust for thrust, until all of the control is his, and John has you sealed to him, taking every drop.

The two of you pant in the dark car. There is sweat on your brow and on the back of your neck.

Pushing your dress out of the way, John reveals your pussy and how his cock sits inside you. He’s not looking at where your bodies meet. He’s staring into your eyes, thumb poised at your clit.

“You followed my orders,” he murmurs with the first stroke of his thumb. The one touch sends a rocket of pleasure up your spine. You’ll be gone in seconds. “That’s how it should always be, yeah?” He rubs little circles. Your hips twitch, rocking into his touch.

John is still inside you, and you watch as his cum-slicked cock appears and disappears with each soft rock of your hips.

“My good girl. My good fucking girl.”

Another stroke, and then your fingers dig into his shoulder, back arching, head lolling as the orgasm grips you.

When you come down, John sticks his thumb in his mouth, sucking it clean. The next second, he’s lifting you off his cock, placing you into the seat next to him. The car down opens, and he slides out, adjusting his clothes and smoothing his suit jacket.

“Out,” he says.

“What?”

“Out.”

You do and he shuts the door behind you only to open the front passenger door. “Get in.”

The moment you’re in, he shuts it and goes around the front of the car. He hops in, and turns the key in the ignition, bringing the car to life. John backs out, and then the two of you are off.

The moment he clears the parking garage and the first stoplight, he glances in your direction.

“Punishment isn’t over.” He briefly nods toward your dress. “Hike it up. Play with yourself. Use my cum to do it.”

Simon "Ghost" Riley

The sky above Manchester is slightly overcast and grey.

It might be chilly, but that doesn’t appear to dampen anyone’s mood. The festival clogging the streets is packed full of people. Everyone’s attention is completely absorbed in what is happening around them.

Food and drink stalls line the street, interrupted here and there with stalls selling wares and crafts. There are activities for all ages, and live music on each corner. Everyone around you is enjoying themselves, and yet you are on alert.

A shadow is at your back. He is one with the crowd, moving amongst them like he’s simply one of them.

But you know him for who he is. There is no balaclava. No tactical gear. Just civilian clothes and a cigarette hanging from his mouth.

He comes to a stop one stall over, observing some art, admiring the brushstrokes like he’s actually there to shop and not stalking you.

Simon isn’t here for any of it. Not the food or beer stalls. Not for the trinkets or live music. He is there for you.

And the game is good.

It thrills your blood, churns your heart, makes every nerve fire erratically.

Casually turning away from the flowers you were inspecting, you pretend not to notice Simon. Yet, every time you glance over your shoulder, he appears to have grown a bit closer, matching you almost step for step.

Stepping around a giggling couple, you curve to the right, popping between two stalls and reappearing on the other street. You glance left, seeing no sign of him, and then glance to the right.

As if from nowhere, Simon appears. His arms are crossed over his chest, head tilted slightly to the side in a mocking gesture.

“Fuck,” you whisper, turning around to seek another escape.

If you can make it to the checkpoint without Simon grabbing you, you win.

If not…

You feel the brush of an arm against your own. Stepping to the side, you glance over, only to find Simon. He is standing right there, his body angled in your direction. Every limb and muscle freezes, solidifying you like stone.

It is a temporary paralysis.

You twist away, moving into the crowd.

Simon casually pivots with you, following as you weave through the crowd. He strolls, each movement slow and calculated, as if he knows there is no rush in catching you.

But then again, Simon always wins.

Even with the rules.

With each step, you glance over your shoulder. Simon holds the same distance, still casually strolling with indifference. You pick up the pace, intending to escape, only for you to knock into someone’s shoulder.

“So sorry,” you say quickly.

The older man you’ve run into shrugs, smiling. “No harm done.”

Giving him your best smile, you quickly glance away, seeking Simon.

But Simon is gone. A disappearing phantom.

You spin, gaze scanning the crowd, but you don’t see him. Simon is absent. Or hidden. He could be anywhere.

Taking off, you slip between two stalls to cut through a side street. There are people around but no one is hanging about. They keep moving, minding their own business.

The side street is completely empty.

You keep glancing back, expecting Simon to come up behind you, turning into the alley to pursue.

But he doesn’t come from behind.

He doesn’t come from the front, either.

A hand closes over your mouth, and you’re tugged from the side, dragged beneath a garage door and into a loading area. Simon pushes you against the wall.

“You lose,” he murmurs.

The cigarette is gone, and there is a mischievous glint in his eye. The rules say that if Simon catches you, he can do whatever he wants.

With his body trapping you, Simon withdraws a knife from his boot. He taps the flat edge against your cheek.

“If you scream. I cut. Got it?”

You nod frantically.

The knife disappears, and his hand falls from your mouth. He grabs you by your upper arms, hauling you away from the wall, only to push you down onto a nearby stacks of crates. You’re not bent over completely. Just shoved forward. At Simon’s mercy.

“Spread your legs.” You obediently do so. Simon’s hand roam over your jeans, gliding over ass and thigh. “Take them off.”

Reaching with one hand, you undo the button, and then you’re shoving your jeans down as best you can. When they stick, Simon grabs hold, yanking them down to the floor. You whimper, and Simon lightly slaps your pussy through your underwear.

The knife comes next, slipping underneath the fabric. Simon tugs, and you hear the rip before you feel the bare air against your slick pussy.

“Open your mouth.” You obey, and Simon shoves your underwear into your mouth.

Grabbing your wrists, Simon locks your arms at your back, keeping you stationary. From your advantage points, all you can see are his boots between your legs.

Simon’s thumb parts your pussy, the wet squelch of your arousal loud in the air. He teases your entrance—moves to your clit. Toying with it has you clenching on nothing.

“You love it when I hunt you.” Simon’s thumb disappears, replaced with the head of his cock. He rubs that through your slickness, coating the tip. “Do you feel that?”

The head of his cock starts to push in, and you moan around your underwear.

Simon chuckles, and then he’s shoving forward, forcing every inch of him inside. It is tight, the stretch a little daunting. It always is with him. With the next thrust, your foot slips against the floor, but Simon holds your firmly.

That thrust was just a tease. Using his weight to keep you pinned, Simon fucks you in earnest, skin slapping against skin. You are his toy. To do with as he wishes. To be his in whatever ways he wants.

Those are the rules after all. You’ve been caught. Simon is the one in control.

He grunts above you, not speaking. You’re unable to see him, but you feel the harsh grip of his hands. There are no people around, just the distant sound of music slipping in from underneath the garage door.

The warehouse is completely empty, and knowing Simon, he likely scoped this place out before the two of you arrived here. He enjoys planning ahead. If anything, he was probably herding you to this very spot on purpose.

The fucking bastard.

His thrusts increase—become more erratic. As the winner, your pleasure doesn’t matter. This is about him. Simon stifles a moan, and then he’s grinding forward, pressing himself full against you.

Simon shivers as his release floods him and enters into you. Your pussy clenches around him, squeezing, telling him to fill you until you’re dripping.

In the silence of the warehouse, Simon’s labored breathing starts to even out. He doesn’t release your wrists. Instead, he thrusts shallowly a few times, spreading his cum around before withdrawing.

“You did good,” he murmurs. Using the grip on your arms, Simon brings you up to standing, his softening cock pressing against your ass. “Behaved nicely.” He lightly kisses the side of your throat.

Releasing your wrists, his fingers find your lips. You open for him, and Simon removes your underwear from your mouth. It disappears into his pocket.

“Get dressed. And then you’re going to follow me out of here. Calmly. And without fuss.” Your only answer is nod. “You’ll get yours when we leave.”

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

"You're being difficult," growls Kyle.

"I'm being difficult?" you snap. "How inconvenient for you."

Kyle rolls his eyes and throws his hands up in the air. "I'm not arguing with you about this," he sighs.

"Great,” you reply, shrugging your shoulders like you’re not bothered at all. “Not that interested either."

It earns you a sharp glare that you blatantly ignore.

"We need to cool off," murmurs Kyle, his demeanor softening.

"I agree," you say automatically, starting to turn away from him.

You’re being bratty. It’s not right, but it feels fucking good. Irritation simmers beneath your skin, and you’re itching for an argument.

“Where are you going?” asks Kyle.

"Away from you.”

Kyle mutters something you don’t quite catch, but you don’t turn around. You keep walking, trudging ahead, even when he tries to stop you.

“What are you going?” he asks again.

"You just asked me that. And I answered you.”

“We’re not at home. Where do you think you’re going?”

You shrug. “Why does that matter? You just said we need to cool off.”

“I don't feel comfortable leaving you alone in a public space.”

"And I don't feel like being in your presence at the moment."

Kyle mutters a curse, but you’re already walking away again, aiming for anywhere but beside him.

"No," he says, reaching out to grab your wrist. You pull back at the last second and continue on.

Kyle says your name.

You ignore him.

People are starting to stare—to glance in your direction. It only makes you want to run fast—to move swiftly away from the situation. It’s not that you want to fight. You hate fighting with Kyle. But you’re annoyed, and sometimes having it out in the moment isn’t the best time to sort through an issue.

Kyle moves out in front of you, coming to a stop directly in your path. You side-step, but Kyle matches the movement.

“I swear to God, Kyle,” you growl.

“You’re not leaving my sight,” he replies, voice husky and harsh. “Don’t care how mad you are.”

Your hand rises in a gesture for silence. Biting your own tongue, you swallow back a retort.

Taking a deep breath, you try again. “Move.”

"No."

As you shove past him, Kyle grabs your upper arm, haltering all forward momentum.

“Is this bloke bothering you?”

Putting on your best smile, you turn toward the stranger, intending to reassure him that everything is fine.

"We're good," says Kyle before you even get a word out.

Nope. Now you're beyond annoyed.

The stranger doesn't address Kyle. He doesn’t look at him at all. “I was asking the lady.”

"I'm fine,” you reply slowly. “Thank you."

Kyle’s back straightens, shoulders broadening. “She said she’s fine.”

All you irritation is melting away, pooling at your feet like a rainy puddle. You adore like this. Protective. Assertive. Slightly possessive.

The stranger inclines his head and backs away. Kyle watches him go, his mouth a thin line of annoyance.

Rolling his shoulders like he’s shaking off stress, Kyle pivots in your direction, his grim expression switching to a puzzled one.

“I know that look,” he says, crossing his arms over his chest.

"What look?" you ask, all innocence.

Whatever Kyle felt before is gone. There is a knowing—nearly sly—smirk twisting at the corner of his mouth.

He takes a small breath, and then leans in a bit, lowering his voice. “You want to do this here?”

"Not here," you shrug. "But it would help work off some this," you gesture vaguely, "irritation."

Kyle’s gaze sweeps up and down your body, admiring every angle. He is not subtle. Each pass of his gaze is deliberate, like you are a shiny gold necklace he wants to purchase.

“You think you deserve it?” he asks, slightly arching an eyebrow. “After running away from me?”

“Oh, fuck off,” you groan.

Your arm rises, hand poised to push at him, but Kyle knows all your moves. His hand grips your wrist and squeezes, drawing you close.

“Don’t run, love. I’ll always chase you.”

He promptly releases your wrist and you spin on your heel, the irritation rising again, boiling hot in your blood.

It is just you, and your footsteps moving toward escape. People pass by you—but his presence is there, sitting on your heels. A weight you cannot shake off.

The moment you step into a side hall that exits into the main parking garage; Kyle is grabbing your waist. It doesn’t matter that the door he pushes you through says “Employees Only.”

You’re shoved against the wall, his hands roaming, tugging at your clothes. There is nothing soft about this. He is hungry. Wanton. Kyle loves the chase. You resist—but it’s pretend. You enjoy Kyle like this. You enjoy this attention.

Kyle’s lips press to yours, but you do not kiss him back. It earns you the reaction you desire. With an annoyed, grunt, Kyle turns you around and shoves you back against the wall. Your cheek flattens, the cold stone almost biting as Kyle shoves his hand down your pants to play with your pussy.

His finger slides through your slickness, seeking your clit, teasing a bit before retreating.

“I told you I’d always chase you.” He nips at your ear, and then with his other hand, slaps your ass.

You yelp, but all that earns you is Kyle’s hand. Not returning to your ass but to venture into your mouth. Fingers push in, and then your lips suck his digits, tasting your wetness.

“You need to fucking behave or—”

“Excuse me.”

Kyle freezes. He waits a beat, and then turns his head enough to look over his shoulder. With your position, you only see the vague shape of a person.

“You’re not supposed to be back here.”

Kyle clears his throat. “Sorry,” he laughs. “Got a bit turned around. Right, love?”

His fingers are gone, as is his hand.

“Yes,” you answer with a giggle. “Took the wrong door!”

The employee is unimpressed, but only steps to the side next to the open door, lightly extending their arm in a gesture to leave. Kyle promptly places his hand on the small of your back, ushering you forward.

He guides out into the parking garage, and you whirl on him, but Kyle is faster.

“We’re going home,” he murmurs.

“Kyle—”

“Behave,” he coos. “You won’t like your punishment.”

John "Soap" MacTavish

The moon glows high in the sky, casting white light across the tree line in front of you. Johnny is in nothing but a kilt and boots. There is a cheery, almost cheeky grin on his face. You have no idea how the man isn’t cold or even chilly. The cool night air doesn’t appear to bother him at all.

It is just the two of you. No one else is out. The farm is completely asleep.

“I’m gonna show you a piece of my history.”

“Your history?” you ask, shivering.

Johnny instructed you to bring a thin nightdress with you when you came to visit his family farm. Tonight, you’re in it, barefoot and seconds away from shivering. The material is almost translucent, and it clings to your body, hugging every curve and dip. It’s for sleeping. Not for frolicking in the Scottish Highlands at night.

“Aye,” shrugs Johnny. “Family history. Clan, specifically.”

Your cross your arms over your chest to hide your pebbled nipples. “It has to do with the forest?”

He nods. “You know what’s coming up?”

You frown. Shake your head.

“Beltane,” he answers. “It’s all about…coming together in fruitful union.”

“Fruitful union?” you deadpan.

“It’s a time to celebrate,” he replies, turning his back on the dark forest to address you directly. “Passion. Abundance. Vitality.” He pauses. “Conception.”

The back of your neck warms at the word.

“Why are we out here exactly?” you ask, pushing the conversation on. It’s not like it doesn’t intrigue you, but it is chilly.

“All the families in the area would gather their marriable sons and daughters, bring them to this very forest, and they’d…have a race.”

“A race?”

“The men in kilts.” Johnny gestures to himself. “Every bonnie lass in robes.” He gestures to you.

“I’d hardly call this a robe, Johnny.”

He takes a step closer. The heat at the back of your neck intensifies, running up to your cheeks and scorching down your back to pool in your core.

“Women were sent first into the wood with the goal to come out untouched on the other side. The men would be sent in a few minutes after. Chase them down.”

“And what was the purpose of this?” you ask, voice nearly a whisper.

Johnny steps forward. “Marriage.” His gaze drops to your lips.

"I see. And what happened in the woods, exactly?"

Johnny grins, gaze returning to your eyes. "I think you know."

You do know. It isn’t hard to connect the dots.

“Am I to be chased?”

Johnny’s thumb lightly brushes the underside of your bottom lip. “Would you like that?”

You nod.

He leans in, lightly pressing his lips to yours. “Then run.”

You don’t run. You don’t really jog, either. It’s more of a quick walk with an occasional skip into the dark forest. And it is that. Dark. The moment you slip beyond the exterior tree line, you’re swallowed up. The sky is clear with no clouds, and yet only a few slivers of moonlight break the canopy overhead.

You are not made for this. Especially barefoot.

The only thing you can do is to take it slow. And the other side? You didn’t even ask how far it is or in what direction you need to go. But it’s not like you want to be successful. Johnny is somewhere behind you, hunting you down, watching you in the dark.

You are the deer. And he the hunter.

An owl hoots. A twig snaps. Like a startled animal, you spin around, head on a swivel as you scan the darkness. There is nothing. Only you. And the intense hammering of your heart.

You take one step back, the soft ground melting under your foot.

Reaching out, your fingers brush against bark. It is rough and coarse beneath your fingertips. Splaying your hand flat, you press your palm against the trunk of tree beside you.

Its outline is hardly visible.

Just a shape in the dark.

“Found you.”

Johnny’s voice comes as a whisper just over your shoulder. You start, body lurching forward as the adrenaline spikes. His arms grab at your waist, and then the tree is at your back, biting into your skin through the slim fabric.

Johnny’s hand cradles the side of your neck as he goes in for a kiss. It is claiming. Deep. Intense. You open for him eagerly, tasting him, and sucking on his tongue.

He groans in response, his pelvis grinding against you. Even with the kilt you feel his hardness. It is pressing. Insistent.

“You’re mine now,” he murmurs, breaking the kiss, giving breath before stealing it again.

One hand slips underneath the hem of your nightdress. You’re not wearing underwear, and that hand—Johnny’s hand—pushes between your thighs, seeking your wetness. He finds it, moaning softly into your mouth as he glides his fingers back and forth over your pussy, teasing your clit in slow circles.

The cold is distant now. Fuzzy. There is only heat, and your legs part for him, wanting more.

Johnny’s grip tightens, and then he’s drawing back, turning you around and pressing you against the tree again. You brace yourself against the bark. Johnny shoves the nightdress up, exposing your ass to the chilly air.

But then the cold is gone, replaced by his heat.

Johnny cages you in, and then you’re the one who fills the wood with your moan. The head of his cock pushes in, and then Johnny is thrusting. With his hands on your hips to keep you in place, Johnny ruts into you, teeth grazing along your exposed shoulder.

You are unable to move. Unable to do anything but take it.

Each stroke hits deep, sending waves of sensation up to cloud your head. There is a hazy settling over you. Your pussy clenches, and Johnny shivers, his thrusts stuttering slightly. Once it relaxes again, Johnny is right back at it, grunting.

“Tell me you’re mine,” he groans, pace quickening.

It’s slurred a bit.

Reaching behind you, you grasp the back of Johnny’s neck. Turning your head just enough, you find his mouth, seeking your own claiming.

“I’m yours.”

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[alexanderwales]

There's a beautiful model of time travel called hypertime, which so far as I know was invented by qntm. You can read about it here.

The general idea is that there's an infinite stack of universes, possibly with a "prime" universe, each temporally offset from each other by some small amount (or just being continuous). You can imagine all of time on a chart where a properly sloped diagonal defines a specific time (e.g. January 1st, 2001), every horizontal line defines a single universe from its past to present, and every vertical line defines multiple universes that are "initially" arranged so that they're equivalent to "down" being backward in time and "up" being forward in time.

My plan was to write a fanfic of the NBC show Timeless using this model, rather than the one they use in the show. I see now that this was hugely more ambitious than Timeless ever deserved.

The big thing that keeps drawing me to this idea like a moth to flame is that there are cool things you can do with it. Here's one of them: a person goes to what they think of as "back in time", which is actually "down" on the time sheet, and ends up in a past that's different from the one they remember. How cool is that??

You intend to go to the past to see what's on Nixon's missing 18 minutes, and instead find yourself in a universe where the Nazis won WWII. And if you're operating under the assumption your time machine works like the one in Back to the Future, you're suddenly extremely confused. So you go back in time again, heading to just before the outbreak of WWII, and ... it's completely normal, with no sign that anyone has been monkeying around.

This is my white whale of a scene: the revelation that it all actually does make sense, the unfolding implications, the machinations of all the major time traveling factions and their goals.

I'm not actually sure that such a scene can be written in such a way that the majority of the audience would get it. Hypertime is hellish. Diagrams would help, but I'm not sure how much, especially because one of the things that (this subset of) hypertime assumes is some level of determinism and the inability to talk about "when" things happen except using reference frames.

As an added bonus, hypertime makes it possible to have diverse scenarios such that you can be wrong about how time travel works multiple times. You start out thinking that it's a stable time loop, you eventually see that contradicted and realize that it must be branching timelines, you see that contradicted and decide that it's ripple effect, and you see that contradicted and end up realizing that you're in this stupidly complicated hypertime setup. It has the potential to be the most complicated time travel story of all time. It has the potential to have the greatest number of explanations of time travel in a story, many of them incorrect.

I am at the point where I have an almost intuitive understanding of hypertime, but it took me drawing a lot of diagrams to get there, and I'm not sure I possess the writerly ability to explain it properly, especially if there are misdirects built into it.

A man can dream though.

[maybeiwasjustjade]

This is the last time I’m gonna talk about this topic, mostly because it’s hiatus era and I would like to be able to write fics without outrightly bashing s2 Alicent, but I do think it needs to be said.

There’s nothing defendable in what Alicent did when she gave up her entire family on a silver platter for Rhaenyra.

So many takes about how we—the ones who found that scene abominable and abhorrent—misread the scene, or purposefully misinterpreted just to hate her; that what Alicent did was a good thing because it would have spared her entire family if only she let Aegon die. Giving up Criston and Gwayne’s location to be slaughtered (in what is most likely going to be Butcher’s Ball) wasn’t the intention; Alicent would never do that to her family and this was the only way to ensure survival en yada yada yada.

Yet the only person she said anything about saving was Helaena and Jaehaera, the latter of which is still continued to be dehumanized by no one referring to her as anything but ‘child’. Alicent put no thought towards Daeron—her innocent 16 year old son, who has done nothing—who was now joining a war that she started by declaring his brother king. Daeron, who’s flying alongside the Hightower army, in a war that will not end just because the Dowager Queen decided enough was enough. Who might die, and actually will die, before he ever sees his family again.

And even if she believes Rhaenyra executing Aegon would end the war (which it won’t), what made s2 Alicent think that the deaths would stop there?

A son for a son? Rhaenyra didn’t even remember that Jaehaerys had already been murdered for Luke. What made Alicent think that Rhaenyra would spare fucking Aemond of all people??? Aemond, who killed Luke and Rhaenys, who’s now Prince Regent because Aegon’s heir is dead? Who rides Vhagar, and would rather burn the world down than cleave to Rhaenyra? Who’s committed the majority of the crimes that make up Team Green? No, Aemond will have to die.

Daeron will have to die.

Jaehaerys, had he lived, would have to die anyway.

Maelor if he existed too.

Otto, Criston, Gwayne—all dead by virtue of being active participants and commanders in TG.

The only way Rhaenyra can claim that throne and ensure she can hold it is by eliminating the rival claimants, down to the youngest son.

That was something s1 Alicent knew, had raised her son on the belief they would die if their sister ascended, before the writers butchered her to a million pieces and left a caricature in her place. The claims go down son to son before it reaches daughters, which meant killing Aegon wouldn’t stop Rhaenyra’s troubles. She’d have to go after his sons and brothers too before the throne is legally hers.

There is no version of this story, where war has already started and a king crowned, that would end with little bloodshed beyond the death of said king.

In a different world, an argument could be made to spare some of them. If Rhaenyra had ascended untouched, then perhaps deals could’ve been made. Aegon would still have to die, I’d imagine. Take the Black at minimum, with Jaehaerys following in his footsteps as an adult or perhaps the Citadel. As long as Aegon’s line persisted, there would always be a chance of rebellion happening once Jace becomes king. So that whole line would have to be removed.

Aemond and Daeron would be less dangerous, but there would be little chance they’d be spared. The Black for Aemond, because I can’t see him agreeing to be a Kingsguard. Daeron would go to the Citadel without question. Jaehaera would either be married into the main line via Aegon III like in canon, or Rhaenyra would arrange for her to marry Jace to solidify his claim. He’d have a better claim through Jaehaera than Baela, after all.

And even then, that was still best case scenario. Worst case they’re all executed to protect Jace. Because Rhaenyra’s reign might somehow be mediocre and peaceful (really she has no makings of a great queen), but Jace’s will be a landmine. Between two legitimate brothers and no sisters to marry them to and trueborn cousins and uncles, Jace’s ascension was going to be a massive clusterfuck that would make the Dance look like a play.

[dantakeyoman]

I would reallyy love if you could write about how when the Sully family reaches the new tribe all of the Metkayina girls are trying really hard to get Neteyam to notice them (Cause you know he's the oldest, a good warrior and is gonna be a leader soon) but they dont know he already has a mate and the reader gets jealous. So neteyam has to comfort her and when she realizes she is being silly and has nothing to worry about...this one metkayina girl really pushes it....(im talking getting touchy with neteyam, always finding ways to get him alone and is rude to the reader) and she loses her absolute shit and you can decide what she does but i want it to be very possessive like behavior😏 sorry this is long😅

Metkayina Girls Start Falling At Neteyam's Feet and You, His Mate, Get Jealous (SFW)

Reader is Fem! Omaticaya

CW: a story of jealousy with aa twist, these girls are really shameless, Kiri and Lo'ak duo, sorry im posting so late, my stomach actually really hurts rn, but not writing for so long has been driving me crazy, anyway, enjoy <3 ( i barfed in my mouth a little bit writing some of this cringey shit )

"Humans?! That must've been so scary for you! What happened next?" Leyelu asked as she stretched, laying herself stomach-down in the sand in front of Neteyam, batting her eyelashes.

"Yeah, did you fight them? I'm sure you did, since you are such a strong warrior," Nayat smiled, scooching her seat closer to the boy.

"Um...well, I didn't-." "Impossible. I can imagine you swooping in and saving your family. All heroic-like," Srraza smirked, openly raking her eyes up and down Neteyam's body, not caring how uncomfortable he looked.

Their shameless display made you want to vomit, and possibly scream, at the same time.

There were a total of three girls. Leyelu, Nayat, and Srraza. And all were practically throwing themselves at Neteyam.

It had been about a week and some change since you and the Sullys arrived at Awa'atlu. And every day, without fail, these girls managed to tail Neteyam, following him and showering him in praise whenever they could.

You hadn't had not two seconds alone with him before one of them, or all three, came barging in with some fake excuse of a heavy basket they needed help lifting or a boat they needed help loading.

You knew Neteyam never entertained their advances, and were thankful for it.

But being his mate, you couldn't help but feel frustrated. (and maybe a little jealous)

"If you scowl any harder, it's going to become permanent," Kiri playfully warned, your face amusing her.

"Are you alright?"

"I'm fine," you curtly answered, tearing your eyes away from the scene angrily.

"Yes. I'm fine is stretched tightly across your face right now," Lo'ak smirked from his spot in the sand, hands behind his head as he subathed.

"(y/n), I hope you know that Neteyam would never-." "I know," you sighed, already guessing what Kiri was going to say.

"I trust Neteyam completely. It's just-."

You couldn't finish the sentence. It was embarrassing.

"Just what?" Lo'ak asked, ears perking in intrigue.

"Give her a minute," Kiri shushed, smacking him in the arm, earning an annoyed ow! from the boy.

"It's not that I'm scared Neteyam will leave me. It is just...I don't see why he won't," you started, staring down at your feet in shame.

Kiri and Lo'ak both whipped their heads towards you in disbelief, their expressions contorting into ones of confusion.

"What the hell are you talking about?" Lo'ak asked, confused.

"Lo'ak!" Kiri scolded.

She was thinking the same thing, but he could've been a little easier on the delivery.

"Look at them," you sighed, holding out your hand to the girls, who were still fake listening to Neteyam's story.

"Leyelu's father is one of the best hunters in the clan, only second to Tonowari. Nayat's mother is incredibly skilled on the loom, who is now teaching Nayat everthing she knows. For Eywa's sake, Srraza is studying under Ronal to be a healer."

The brother ans sister's expressions slowly softened, the meaning behind your words now coming to light.

"You are the best dancer the Omaticaya have ever seen. And the best the Metkayina have seen, as well," Kiri tried to comfort, a warm smile on her face.

"Oh, yes, because dancing can help me hunt for food. And dancing can help me make clothes. Let's not forget, it can help me heal as well," you sarcastically agreed, snippy.

Kiri sighed.

She didn't take it to heart, not one bit. She understood your frustration.

"They all have spent their years learning skills that can be of use, be important. All I have to show for mine are a couple of dance moves."

Lo'ak looked like he wanted to say something, but decided against it until you were finished.

"And the best part of it is they are all gorgeous, the most sought after girls in this village. And I'm just...me."

Kiri felt her heart ache.

She had no idea you had been feeling this way this whole time.

She thought it was just a small case of jealousy. But it seemed to be much deeper than that.

"So, no. I'm not frustrated or scared of Neteyam leaving me. I am frustrated and scared because he has every reason to."

You turned back to the scene, only to see Leyelu resting her hands on Neteyam's chest, leaning into his face.

"Hey, Neteyam. Have you ever given thought to who could possibly be your mate?" she asked with a smirk, peering up at him through her beautiful eyelashes.

It was as if you didn't even exist.

"(y/n), wai-." But you ignored Kiri, abruptly standing up, not wanting to watch the scene any longer.

"Dammit, (y/n)! Sit down and look," Lo'ak groaned, roughly pulling you back down and turning your face to watch Neteyam.

"Do not touch me," Neteyam sternly ordered, grabbing the girl's wrists and pulling her hands of him, harshly.

"I know that you know I already have a mate. And you trying to make advances on me while knowing that is incredibly disrespectful."

The girls were giving him puppy dog eyes, as if that would guilt him into stopping.

It made you gag.

"I do not appreciate how you've been disregarding (y/n) this entire week. Especially when she has done nothing to you."

"That's exactly the point. She does nothing. She is just there with you. You two do not even act like mates," Srraza scoffed, rolling her eyes.

"That is true. I never see you two hug, or kiss, or embrace each other romantically at all," Nayat agreed.

"Because any time I get alone with her is interrupted by you three!" Neteyam exclaimed, annoyed.

His sudden burst shocked you.

You didn't know he felt this.

"I only get time to myself every once in a while, and I like to spend it with (y/n). But ever since I've gotten here, you three have used every mean under the sun to keep that from happening. For Eywa's sake, that was what I was on my way to do now before you all came along!"

"But why? She doesn't hunt, she doesn't loom, she doesn't heal, she can't even carry a tune. She's boring, plain. Why would you willingly want to spend time with her?" Leyelu asked, cocking an eyebrow s she crossed her arms.

Ouch.

"That's why you look like a dead fish, bitch!" Lo'ak loudly called, making you and Kiri die in snickers.

The girl whipped around, glaring daggers at the boy.

"Lo'ak!" Kiri tried to scold, but couldn't through her laughter.

"It's true! If her eyes were any farther apart, she'd be able to see the back of her head," he huffed.

You were his friend. And he didn't like people talking shit about you.

Meanwhile, Neteyam was using every ounce of his strength to not bare his teeth at the girl.

"I don't care about what she can't do. I love what she can. She's a phenomenal dancer, and has forgotten more moves than you three will ever learn. She's funny, she's kind, she's caring, the farthest thing from boring. And her beauty makes the three of you look like a patch wet sand. I am lucky to call her my mate, and if you all would excuse me, I'm going to spend the rest of the day with her," Neteyam angrily corrected, pushing past them and walking towards you.

And as he drew closer, you smiled, wider than you had in a while.

You felt foolish for thinking he could do better than you.

Especially after he just confessed that he believed he could do no better than you.

It made you feel happy, and loved, and secure in your relationship.

There was no one that could take your place because you were the place, and the only one who could ever be it.

And now knowing that fact, sent you over the moon.

…

taglist !!

@vane28282, @remutoast, @p1nkprint, @ladyorchidia, @anthonys-viscountess, @karmz-7319, @cantbuysophialove, @scarabruhs, @an0th3rsss, @deloe18, @mariiyoushi, @av1xar, @alexxcorona113, @may-and-lay, @overlyfancybreakfastfoods, @harshita-hiranyamayi, @qui-02, @myheartfollower, @morks-watermelon, @bangtanxberm, @adavenus, @sweetdayme4427, @lilac13, @torchbearerkyle, @dazedshoon, @rovckwell, @wonieee, @0710khj, @multifandomreader73, @kadu-5607, @la-cey, @roseazura, @sophiejiro, @angelbeari, @bludyl

[jsprnt]

Americano PT. 16 | Jude Bellingham x Reader

What happens if two individuals who absolutely despise each other are forced to interact after unforeseen events occur?

A/N: hello loves!! I can’t believe we’ve already come to the end of this series😭 thank you guys so so much for all the love you’ve sent my work and efforts!! Love y’all so much, enjoy reading- and stay tuned for my future fics 🤍🩷

W/C: 4.025

part fifteen

I sigh for the millionth time today, leaning back against the backrest of my chair. I rub my wrists, massaging my fingers and knuckles, groaning in relief when I hear some of them pop.

There were only a handful of matches left in the league, along with the Champions League final. The entire PR and marketing department had been working overtime for a couple days now, wanting to end the season on a high note.

I was so tired and stressed out, internally debating whether to call in sick tomorrow, but there was no way the team could finish all of this without my help.

Since my role in the department has gotten much more important this season, I needed to attend more meetings and calls with a lot of different people.

Never in my life, had I exercised my social skills this much, and it was only a matter of time before my social battery ran so low that I couldn't take interacting with people anymore, without looking like a total jerk.

Though, the generous paycheck that dropped into my back account every month, motivated me to work harder, well, sometimes..

I shift from my position, grabbing a single pen from its holder. Looking back up to my laptop to write down some refreshing and creative questions for the upcoming, very important and widely viewed interviews.

Winning both the national league and the Champions League in the exact same season would be absolutely insane to witness.

I had experienced the feeling in my first season working at the club. After almost three years of getting to know the team and the players who had come and gone, this year would feel even more special.

I had grown closer to the club, not just as an employee but as a supporter as well. I had multiple personal and dear connections with the club.

My father had just renewed his contract with the club. A topic that everyone working for respective companies joked about was the possibility of the agreement not being renewed.

After all these years, both companies had become synonymous with each other.

I had also gotten closer to my colleagues, much closer than I would've ever imagined. Starting this job as an eighteen-year-old, I was incredibly intimidated by the sheer size of the operations behind the scenes.

Of course, juggling both working here and studying for my law degree was hard at first. Work in the morning had switched to the evening when attending the matches.

Study breaks consisting of trying to figure out what interview questions were rubbish and needed to be scrapped, and packing my little suitcase for another trip, only to overpack again.

Thankfully, I had gotten all of my results back from this school year, and I was absolutely over the moon knowing I'd be going for my next year of my degree after summer break.

All my hard work had finally paid off when I saw my grades, and I had celebrated it that night- with working…

The biggest change in my life?

That was the fact that I had actually found love.

Going from hating each other to loving each other was a weird feeling. Even so, Jude and I had been together for almost six months now, and honestly speaking; I had never felt so loved by anyone in the entire world before.

We supported each other wholeheartedly, and it was definitely easier to do than other couples.

Mostly, because we worked together.

Living together for the first few weeks of our relationship, definitely sped up the process of actually getting to know each other. It bonded us faster than I would’ve ever expected.

Looking back, it's difficult to even imagine a world where Jude never moved into my place..

Jude had moved out of my house in the middle of March. He had changed houses following everything that had happened the last few months.

The new house is quite far away from the old, temporary house he lived in, that got broken into. The home was spacious and modern, just like I'd expected before visiting for the first time.

My father and his partners at his firm, had finally built up a proper case to take the intruder to court. I didn't know the specifics because, for some reason I wasn’t allowed to, by both my own father and Jude.

I already knew that the man who had caused so much chaos wasn't getting off the hook easily, and that was enough for me. Knowing any more details about the situation, would probably cause me more stress and anxiety, so I had just learnt to let it go.

I couldn't even lie, lately I had spent more time at Jude’s place than my own. There was something so comforting about it, maybe it was how inviting and cozy it felt.

His friends from England and Germany would always be over, for the simplest of reasons.

Playing games, both board and video ones, watching new movies in the unnecessary, huge cinema room. It created a very fun and friendly atmosphere and made me feel more comfortable than ever.

Jude’s parent’s presence, especially his mother’s- was very much appreciated. I loved chatting to her, from the most mundane things, to the things that I was worried about.

Just like the other women in my life, she gave me guidance and encouragement to keep on going and be even better at anything I wanted to accomplish.

Obviously, there was no way we could keep on hiding our relationship from certain teammates Jude was very close with. We'd decided to be open with them, because keeping a 'secret' from them wouldn't exactly give us peace of mind in the long run.

Scratching what I've written down so far, I drop my pen onto the desk. Glancing up at the clock to check the time, and gasping softly when I remember I have a meeting that starts in a minute.

I quickly grab the necessary paperwork, and dash out of the office. Into the meeting room, already full of my coworkers, sat waiting only for me..

"Okay, I'm really confused. Do I have something on my face? Like sauce from lunch or something?" The puzzled y/n asks, turning around in her office chair, only to glance at the busy Lina.

"Uh.." The older woman begins, looking up from her monitor and shaking her head.

"Nope, no sauce. Why?" Lina takes her hand off the computer mouse, sighing before leaning back.

"Everyone has been looking at me, like since- this morning.." y/n rolls her chair forward, holding out her foot, to stop herself from violently slamming into Lina's desk.

"You think? I thought it was because your dress looked cute.."

Lina smirks at her own words, her hand reaching over to grab her purple water bottle, swiftly taking the top off and chugging a couple gulps.

y/n scoffs, glancing down at the dress she's wearing. Yes, of course the dress is cute, that's why she wore it today. But the stares she got were definitely not in appreciation of the cream-colored dress.

"Are you serious? I don't think-"

She's cut off by a loud knock. Both women break eye contact, looking up at the glass doors where someone is standing in front of.

"Jude?" y/n perks up, standing up from her chair and making a beeline towards him. Ignoring the unnecessarily loud and teasing whistle leaving Lina's mouth.

Stepping outside, she furrows her brows, looking around for anyone who could eavesdrop on their conversation.

"Follow me.." Jude can only say, immediately starting to walk down the stairs without sparing another second.

"What are you-" She trails off, sighing in defeat, before following him down, into one of the empty meditation rooms.

She looks at Jude as he locks the door behind them, his hand immediately reaching to wrap around her waist. He pulls her closer than ever, planting a kiss on her lips.

"Something wrong?" She asks, picking up on his stressed out demeanor. Pulling back, she scans his face once again.

"I have to show you something, but don't freak out, yeah? I called your dad already, and he said he'll see what he can do.."

This only sends her into a panic, his warning going over her head as she watches him pull his phone out of his pocket. Arms flexing underneath his training jacket as he moves.

She looks at him with a confused frown on her face, her eyes almost popping out of her head when Jude shows what was so important.

Grabbing the phone out of his hand without thinking, she brings the device closer to her face. A small noise of annoyance leaving her mouth.

It's all photos of the couple, outside during various times they had been on dates for the past- six months.

"This one's from Valencia, and this one's from that night in Mallorca?!" y/n exclaims, hands shaking as she tries to scroll through the other photos. All off guard pictures of them, taken while they were out together, after matches, and even on dates in Madrid.

Noticing how distressed the photos make his girlfriend, Jude grabs his phone out of her hand. Setting it down on the table next to him, he grabs onto her shoulders, making her look up at him.

"It's okay, we prepared for this, remember? I won't let my team put out a statement, apart from legal action. Your dad's handling it with my team, okay?" He brings her frazzled form into a reassuring hug, planting kisses on her cheeks and the tip of her nose.

Of course, just like her boyfriend explains- they knew their relationship couldn't be kept secret for much longer. Jude, being the high profile football player he is, couldn't exactly keep people from prying into his private life.

She knew that the media had caught a whiff of her, even back when they despised each other. The night at Wembley Stadium months ago, had caused a little commotion back then.

The gossip pages and newspapers loved a story containing love, a successful and beloved young man, and not to forget- her having actual connections to the club in both work, and her father's partnership with the club.

To the couple, when they entered the training center or the stadium, they would work at that particular day- it was about work and work only.

When they clocked in, they prioritized working. It would've obviously been very difficult for them to keep their relationship on the low- if they glanced at each other every damn second, while in the same room.

During working hours, they'd greet each other like their other colleagues, acting like they didn't make out the night before in his room.

Unavoidably, the players who knew about them dating, would try their best to sneak little jokes and teases in. The couple would successfully brush off the comments.

Practicing all these months made the perfect facade, but sometimes the jokes were too good not to chuckle, at least very discreetly.

"Okay, I trust you.." She mutters, pressing her face into her chest, a soft hum leaving her mouth. Thoughts and worries swirling through her mind.

"Baby! I'm ready!" I shout, almost falling flat on my face while pulling on my new heels.

These red bottoms were absolute hell to wear, especially since I had just gotten them as a gift, from Jude.

It would take some time before I could break them in, but with how stunning they looked paired with this dress, it was worth the pain, at least tonight.

To celebrate winning the league, Jude and I were finally going on a date. It had been a while since we had been on a proper date night, mostly due to how busy we both have been lately.

Jude with training and I with preparing everything, from interviews to social media posts, and even some press releases that needed to be out before the Champions League final that was in a couple days.

"I'm here.." I walk out of his bedroom, chuckling at the sheer amount of my clothes stuffed in his closet.

We had been staying over at each other's place on and off, but looking at both our closets, you'd think we'd been living together again.

Considering how important the past few weeks had been, Jude had been training a lot. I was especially worried about him and his health, mainly thinking of his shoulder injury.

His doctor and the team's physiotherapist had reassured me personally, but still, I could help but wince every time he touched his shoulder and grunted. Or seeing the multiple, pain-stopping injections, he had to take to play a full ninety minutes.

"You look handsome.." I mutter when reaching the front door, pressing a kiss onto his plump lips, my hands reaching to fix the collar of his button down. My lipgloss leaving a sheen of glitter on his lips, it making me chuckle as he gave me a dumbfounded look.

We’re fairly young, and early in our relationship, we realized that fancy dates weren't really our thing. But tonight was one of the few occasions we'd go all out, and dress up very nicely.

"You look absolutely stunning, love.." He smiles, his hand circling around my waist and down my back, fingers digging into the fabric of my dress.

"Thank you, baby.." I hum, giving him a small wink. A loud chuckle leaves my lips as he attempts to wink back, though, just like every time, it looks like he's got something in his eyes, instead of being cheeky.

"What's so funny, hm?" Jude questions, hands trailing down to grip at my bum, squeezing slightly.

"Mhm, nothing.." I say, reaching up to fix his hair a little. "Should we leave? It's getting late.."

He agrees instantly, and I wrap my arm around his as we walk out of his house. The sun hadn't set yet, mostly because summer was coming soon, and I couldn't wait to enjoy the weather this year, yet again.

"Wait- I didn't grab my keys.." I gasp, eyes going wide as I watch him pull the door shut.

"Oh, you're definitely not driving missy, especially not in those heels.." Jude says, giving me a cheeky smile, and I can immediately sense that he is hiding something.

"You got your license?!" I beam, eyes glistening in happiness. Though, my excitement is cut short when he shakes his head, an embarrassed look on his face.

"No, I did not get my license.."

"Oh.." I say, the corners of my mouth twitching as I hold back a menacing laugh.

"So, you'll be my passenger prince forever?" I bring my hand up to grab onto his bicep, squeezing the muscles as my body leans against his.

"Will you ever stop saying that?" I watch his lips move, eyes glimmering when his lips pull into a slight pout.

"When you get your license, sir. I'll stop calling you my passenger prince..."

"I'm sure you would like a break from it then.." Jude says, his expression changing to a smug one within a split-second, and I follow his lead without thinking.

My uncomfortable heels click against the concrete as Jude leads me outside the gates of the house, a sleek black Rolls Royce parked right in front of the driveway.

"You got a driver for tonight?" I ask, eyes fixated on the, admittedly sexy car.

"Going all out for my lovey tonight. I've got to spoil my girl, always.."

I grin at his sweet words, warmth reaching my face, and I suddenly feel shyness creeping up on me. I shift my gaze for a second, avoiding eye contact with him and staring at the concrete.

"Aw, is my pretty girl shy now? You weren't like this a moment ago, huh?" A soft noise of protest leaves my mouth at the loving words. My breath hitching as he presses a kiss on my neck, right against my jugular.

"Come on, love. We'll be very late to our reservation if I keep you here longer.." Jude gives me a charming smile, grabbing onto my hand and pulling me towards the car, making me forget whatever my thoughts were before he'd made my heart flutter.

"I'm sweating literal buckets. I can't even breathe properly right now.." My eyes immediately shift to Luis, my right eye twitching, just like it has been on and off this entire day. The stress and anxiety of this all had been building up in us both, causing actual physical symptoms to show.

"Ask me about it, I went peeing two times already, and we're just seventy minutes into this match.." I say, wiping my sweaty hands down my black jeans. The laptop and phone on my lap shaking, as I bounce my knee up and down in anticipation.

My heart also leaped in my throat every time Jude got fouled. Checking the stats confirmed my suspicion, he currently is the most fouled player on the pitch.

I obviously knew it was a part of the game, but considering his injury- I couldn't help but be worried.

"Fuck, I swear if we score, I'm going to lose my shit." Luis says, running a hand through his curly hair, and I can almost feel the nerves radiating off of him.

Well, all 90.000 people in Wembley Stadium feel the exact same way right now. From supporters to chairmen of both respective clubs, sitting on the edge of their seats as we all watched the Champions League final between Real Madrid and Borussia Dortmund unfold, live in front of our own two eyes.

My breath hitches in my throat as we're given a corner. The grip on my phone getting tighter as Luis glances at me.

"Okay, we got this, Toni's so experienced-"

"Shut up, I'm trying to focus.." I exclaim, grabbing onto Luis' shoulder to calm him down.

"You can't exactly focus with 90,000 people screaming.." He replies, glancing at me.

I open my mouth to speak, but decide to spare my breath, and stop breathing in anticipation.

Right, at that moment, Toni kicks the ball from the corner flag, it flies upwards as we watch both our players and Dortmund players scramble in front of the goal.

Finally, Dani jumps up and GOALLLL!!

The entire Madridista side jumps up in celebration, my devices almost slipping out of my hand and onto the floor as we jump up to cheer as loud as we can.

"I'm going to kiss Dani's forehead after this!" Luis screams, making me choke on my laughter. I hurry up and return my attention back to my devices, as happy as we were, we still had our job to do and execute.

I close my eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath to calm down, before we both go back to doing our jobs.

Our wishes and prayers for a second goal aren't that far away, time-wise. Dortmund player Maatsen tries passing the ball, due to a wrong estimation, Jude gets the ball instead, shooting to Vini.

He goes on to score the second banger of the night. The stadium erupts in both cheers of happiness and screams of protest.

It's even louder than after the first goal, and we know it's only a matter of five minutes before our boys secure the victory over this season's Champions League..

y/n fixes her shirt for the nth time, trying to fidget with something before she loses her mind. Standing in the tunnel, she glances at Luis. Both of their eyes glimmering, as they wait for the families of the players to enter the pitch to celebrate the win.

They were insanely busy with handling their work, channelling their emotions into doing their job, to make sure it's all taken care of before they were done for the night. The automated system, consisting of already edited work, would take care of the rest from now on...

"Dude, what just happened?.." Luis whispers, glancing at the equally mesmerized girl next to him.

"We won!" She squeals, letting her excitement and happiness show as she hugs Luis. "Fuck, I don't even know what I would do if we lost. I'd actually be having a breakdown right now.."

Luis hugs her back, patting her head affectionately.

"You've worked very hard, y/n. Thank you for being my best friend and best colleague.." He says, giving her a brotherly smile.

"Thank you too, older brother.." She laughs, voice slightly teasing, as she pats his shoulder.

"Oh, I think we can join the celebrations.." He says, pointing to the families they’ve gotten very close with over the years.

The familiar faces joining their loved one on the pitch to celebrate this huge milestone in their careers.

"Come on.." Luis says, dragging her along and onto the pitch.

She looks around, a permanent smile plastered on her face as she's overwhelmed by the emotions running through her body.

"Dani!" Luis shouts, and y/n watches him run up to the goal scorer, just like his promise- Luis plants a fat kiss on the athlete's head.

y/n laughs loudly at the interaction, making eye contact with Dani’s wife, and laughing even harder at her confused expression.

She shakes her head at her best friend’s antics. Realizing she's alone now, she freezes. Cameras were absolutely everywhere at the moment, and she was absolutely sure at least one was pointed towards her.

The weeks following the photos of their dates being leaked were quite turbulent, with a lot of support, but also criticism- it was very difficult to ignore the reactions.

She wasn't anywhere close to wanting to be a public figure of some sort, so the attention was putting a lot of pressure on her.

But loving a star athlete, like Jude meant having to sacrifice some part of her privacy. If it meant she could run up to him now, and kiss his face a couple of times.

Then screw privacy, she'd throw that all away to get to him right now.

Her eyes darting to the rest of the enormous pitch again, frowning when she can't find the boy she's so desperately looking for.

Finally, after squinting a whole lot, and definitely causing damage to her eye muscles, she finally makes eye contact with the equally lost looking Jude.

He's standing in between both his parents, arms around them as he looks around wearily.

Jude's eyes immediately light up in relief when he spots y/n, mumbling something to his smiley parents before he makes a run for it.

Within seconds, he's by his girlfriend's side, and she jumps up to wrap her legs around his waist in greeting. He pulls her flush against him in a tight embrace. y/n cups his jaw tenderly to place multiple kisses on his face.

"I'm so fucking proud of you, baby.." She breathes out, cut off as he presses his lips onto hers, exhilarating kiss that makes them forget other people are around, and especially the hundreds of cameras and phones filming the pitch.

He catches her lips, plump lips sucking onto her bottom lip before they're forced to pull back for air. They pant, faces warm, and cheeks hurting from how much they'd smiled within the past couple minutes.

"I'm proud of you too, baby. Come on, you're my family too. Forget about work and the cameras here for me, yeah?”

She plants her shoes back onto the grass when he lowers back on the floor. She looks down as he grabs onto her hand. Playing with her fingers as he makes eye contact with her.

Reaching up, she swipes at a piece of grass stuck on his temple, probably from being fouled earlier, she chuckles at the sight, biting her lip.

“Come on, then. Your parents are waiting..” She says, turning and dragging him along the pitch. Skipping towards his awaiting, happy parents. Who look at them with an infinite amount of joy and proudness in their eyes.

“He’s a winner! Jude’s our winner!!”

[onlycosmere]

LURKER_GALORE: Can't you just picture Sanderson giving himself a good chuckle placing that dialogue in here?

Arcanniel: Oh definitely, especially considering that he said that the scene where Kaladin falls down the Tower trying to save Lirin was one of the first ones he imagined for Stormlight Archive. dalinar__:  That's crazy. I honestly don't understand how he's able to plant easter eggs and hints that won't come to fruition for years to come. It's like he already has the entire series in his head, he's just gotta write it down. That's absolutely wild.

Brandon Sanderson: Ones like this are a little easier than you might expect.

Foreshadowing happens in three general ways for me. There are the obvious planned scenes, like the death rattles or the clues to what was happening with Elhokar in book one. Those are put in at the actual outlining process, when I'm planning my work to make sure that the flow is correct and the pieces fit together.

The second type of foreshadowing is during revisions, as I turn up or down the dial on certain elements depending on what alpha/beta figure out and when--whether they find it satisfying or not, whether they are confused. This can generally only be done for what is coming to fruition for the given book, so for multi-book foreshadowing, I have to rely on the first and final type.

That final type, like this post's line, is me writing along and realizing off-the-cuff there's a place to insert a nugget that will improve re-reads. This is probably the largest batch of foreshadowing pieces, and it's not hard to insert them if you know where you are going in the series. HOWEVER, the challenge to them is REMEMBERING they're there. Because I put them in off-the-cuff, I don't often track these well. That can be a problem because I could very well forget and put the same kind of foreshadowing in several places, to the point that people will be like, "Okay, we get it. Something is going to happen with the roof and Kaladin and his dad."

I think these are what lead to some problems for long series, as you do this often enough with these little inserts, and readers pick up and start to assume "Well, this has been mentioned so much, it's too obvious, so it can't happen." I've tried to watch that closely with the Stormlight Archive as I watched how it influenced the progress of the Wheel of Time.

Anyway, glad you spotted this one, /u/LURKER_GALORE . It does give me a smile when these pop up on the subreddit.

[ineffable-suffering]

Why Aziraphale is an unreliable narrator

Part 2: The Story of wee Morag

This is Part 2 of 3 total metas. Here are:

Part 1, in case you want to read about my analysis of the Story of Job first

and Part 3, in case you're impatient and want to jump ahead.

Fair warning though, for the sake of understanding some of the references, you're probably better off reading this chaptered meta chronologically. However, every part should work just as well as a standalone! I'll do my very best to make it so.

Alright, off or on you go beyond the cutty cut!

I'll start this second part off with a very brief summary of the main take aways and points from Part 1, which go as such:

Memory, as opposed to a third party's narration, is not a factual, objective retelling of a story or event. It's mingled and mangled with emotions, imaginations and exaggerations, projecting both the feelings and impressions you had back then as well as those you might have now in the present time back on whatever it is you are remembering. (Which is why we need to put everything that Aziraphale is remembering into the context of what he might have felt in the past, as well as what he's feeling right now.)

While this doesn't mean his (or anyone's) memories are lies, it does mean they're a very subjective and sometimes factually distorted representation of what actually happened, which, in our case, gives us a lot of subtext and a lot of not-there furniture to figure out and look at.

So, let's continue with S2E3 and the Story of wee Morag. We start our flashback with a scene of Aziraphale writing his diary entry on the 10th of November, 1827. Immediately, it's firmly established that this is once again not an outside-point-of-view narration, but rather what Aziraphale remembers and wrote down.

One thing that immediately stuck out to me here, is how helpful and kind Crowley is to Elspeth, pretty much from the very beginning when they meet her in the graveyard. Not only does he take on a Scottish accent so she won't perceive him as English (as she does with Aziraphale), but he also helps her drag the barrel that has the fresh body in it and, in the end, even pulls it all by himself while Elspeth simply follows behind them. Here's a rather poor-quality picture, for reference:

Now, we know that despite not showing it very often, Crowley has always been very fond of the humans and never really put himself on a pedestal simply because he's an immortal being himself. He likes humans, just like Aziraphale does. But, just like this story will tell us, Crowley knows that on top of liking humans, you can't just put them into boxes of good and evil and expect them to always do what is supposedly the "right" or "divinely good" thing to do. (Which is what differentiates him from Aziraphale in the way he understands and treats them, as we're shown in this minisode).

Him immediately and unspokenly helping Elspeth with dragging the barrel therefore might also be a first sign of a tiny projection from present day Aziraphale, as opposed to what Crowley might have actually done (probably just walked beside her, like Aziraphale) because he has the knowledge that Crowley really was so very kind to her in the end, wasn't he? And that he's kind to humans in general. ("Not kind! Off my head on Laudanum!" Sure, babe.)

Most of this minisode, in my opinion, is actually there to establish how Aziraphale's view of morality and good vs. evil used to be quite flawed and elitist –– and how Crowley has always been there to gently nudge him towards questioning his black and white view of heavenly right and hellishly wrong. That's why I think there's not as many hints in this minisode about Aziraphale's memories not being an accurate portrayal of what happened, as there are in the Story of Job or the magic show in 1941. (And, fear not, the latter will definitely be the most hint-heavy one). Alas, there's still a few bits and bobs in the Story of wee Morag that stuck out to me, that make a brief yet good case of the whole unreliable narration thing.

First of all: The way Aziraphale describes all of it in his diary is so different from the way we see him actually remembering it. It's almost like he tried to write this entry (and possibly all of his diary) as a bit of a thrilling short story, with himself as the main character. Which makes sense, given the fact that he adores books and would certainly be keen on dabbling in the art of capital-w Writing himself. It's yet again hinting at the fact that sometimes people (and angels) try to polish and bedazzle stories (and memories) to make them seem more exciting and adventurous, often to distract from the not-so-fun parts of it.

Like when Aziraphale's diary narrates:

"It was with heavy heart we arrived at Elspeth's destination. I was determined to thwart her monstrous plan!"

... and yet we see Crowley and Elspeth casually walking down the alleyway, very obviously not heavy-hearted in the slightest, while Aziraphale nervously scurries on behind them, very obviously not determined to thwart. (Timestamp-wise, it's around 17:38 in S2E3, in case you want to see for yourself.)

We get another cinematographic/auditory hint at the fact that Aziraphale's memory is heavily influenced by what he's feeling that very moment, when Dr. Mister Dalrymple –– FRCSE, thank you very much –– shows him the tumor he removed from the seven year old boy. You can see the shock and horror on Aziraphale's face once he learns of this child's cruel fate. We then proceed to hear Mr. Dalrymple's voice grow sort of echo-y and far away as the sad music swells up and drowns out his voice almost completely. It's awfully similar to what it feels like when really horrible news are broken to you and you dissociate and drift into a state of shock. Here's the clip of it, so you may listen for yourself:

It's clear that this is a very subjective portrayal of what Aziraphale is going through during this part of the memory. He's deeply horrified and saddened about the little boy having passed away so early in life – and we hear and feel this shock with him. Through him, because this is his memory. Whatever it is he's feeling and thinking, we're feeling and thinking it too because we're seeing it through his lense.

Another (less sad) hint at a possible exaggeration is the abnormally deep hole Crowley makes the two graveyard watch keepers fall into. I'm pretty sure he's very much in charge of his miracles, making this random slip-up seem a little silly – which is why I'm also pretty sure the "Might have slightly overdone it on that hole" is a wee bit of a meta hint at this just being another one of Aziraphale's dramatic bedazzlements of this story. For the *flings feather boa around neck* drama!

You know what else might be exaggerated? Hm, I dunno, maybe Crowley growing into the size of a tree for no apparent reason. Sure, yes, he's pretty high on Laudanum which is making him a bit loopy. But apart from that, it does seem an awfully big cinematographic euphemism for him being the metaphorical (and, once again, for the drama of it) literal bigger person in this scenario. He's the one who ends up saving Elspeth and who manages to secure a safe life without poverty and grave robbing for her. While Aziraphale was so tangled up in his own moral journey and main character-ism, missing that wee Morag was seconds away from death already, Crowley is the one who actually ends up growing stepping up for the human in need and saving them for good (pun intended).

In a way, it might just be Aziraphale's view of/feelings for Crowley in this very moment. Watching the demon outgrow what, according to Aziraphale's heavenly logic, is supposed to be a foul fiend, bestowing evil upon humanity – and growing into someone who does the exact opposite and saves Elspeth instead. Another larger-than-life character development, in Aziraphale's eyes. Literally.

Let's switch back to the topic of the diary entry one last time, so I can make my final point of the this minisode's unreliable and a smidge over-dramatic narration of Dr. McFell. If you pay close attention, Aziraphale starts the entry we're all getting to experience with: "Last month, Crowley and I both happened to be in Edinburgh." Which means it didn't actually happen on the 10th of November, but rather at some point in October, 1827. Once we see Crowley get hydro-pumped back to Hell after rescuing Elspeth, the minisode ends with, presumably, the last sentence of Aziraphale's diary entry: "And that was the last I would see of Crowley for quite some time."

Take my hand and let's look at where the furniture isn't: This very clearly means that Crowley couldn't have been gone for more than a month, at best. Read again: "It happened last month and that was the last I would see of him for quite some time." This, albeit indirectly, clearly implies that when Aziraphale had sat down to write the diary entry, he had already run into Crowley again. Otherwise his phrasing would have probably been more along the lines of "... and I haven't seen Crowley since" or "... and Crowley has yet to return from wherever it is Hell's currently keeping him".

What's the point I'm trying to make? Good question. I guess my main point of storyteller Aziraphale being a bit over-dramatic in his narration is simply backed up by this, since A Single Month would barely pass as "quite some time" for an immortal being like him. And yet that's how he puts it, in his little Confidential Journals of A.Z. Fell, Vol. 603.

And another point that has absolutely nothing to do with the topic of this meta (but I'm still gonna make it 'cause this is my memory post): The meeting at St. Jame's Park in 1862 that so many, post-S2, took to be their first run-in after the Story of wee Morag, actually wasn't that at all. They saw each other at least once only a month later, as Aziraphale's diary lets us know. Which explains why he wasn't very surprised or concerned when he met Crowley in London, 1862. If there really had been 35 years in between those two events, the first one ending with Crowley being sucked back Downstairs to receive more than three decades worth of hellish punishment, wouldn't Aziraphale have been at least a tiny bit worried or more interested than:

Just saying.

Alright, let's string this inflated hot air balloon of a post back together so we can outline some invisible furniture. This time with only two humble points:

Crowley through Aziraphale's lense Backed up by how we are introduced to Bildad the Shuhite in the Job minisode (suave, cheeky, smart, passionate in shoemaking and obstetrics), it's growing quite clear that Aziraphale's memories and impressions of Crowley are very fond and impressed ones. He sees him as someone who's not only witty, funny and cool, but also as someone who has figured out way sooner and faster than him that nothing's ever black and white. Not God's plans and not the human's choices either.

Aziraphale as a bit of an exaggerating adventure author With the direct parallel we get of inkslinger journalist!Aziraphale in the present day, it's quite apparent after this minisode that Aziraphale's memory is not only deeply influenced by his emotions, but that he also tends to have a bit of a dramatic touch to him. Although, you gotta give it to the guy: A month without seeing the love of your life, even if said life is eternal, can indeed seem like "quite some time".

Well, would you lookie here, we've reached the end of Part 2! What a journey it was. I hope you forgive me for the fact that I drifted off-course a few times. I just can't seem to reel in my silly little observations, even if they've got nothing to do with the point I'm trying to make. But hey, doesn't that just make me a little bit like Aziraphale's storytelling, in a way?

I'll let you be the judge of that.

See you in Part 3! And in case you haven't snuck a peak yet: here's Part 1 again.

Ta!

[helpallthenamesaretaken]

Songs I Need to Hear in Future PJO Seasons (ft. me being very intense for no reason)

Angel with a Shotgun by the Cab - SEASON 👏 FIVE 👏 TRAILER 👏 it's literally about stepping up as a hero and fighting a war for what you love without caring what the gods would think, BANGER OF A SONG also so percy in tlo coded

Welcome to New York by Taylor Swift (Sad acoustic version) - Hear me out. It's a panoramic shot of New York during the war, and what the song describes as a city of new beginnings and dreams is now a city of the end of a lot of lives and crushed souls. And it won't ruin the sad vibe because it's a sad acoustic version

Labyrinth by Taylor Swift - Do I need to explain? S4, a slow-mo shot of annabeth staring numbly at the volcano exploding with tears down her face and her mouth opening to a scream as the lyrics "I'll be getting over you my whole life" echo, it's not a want, it's a need.

The Freaks by Jordan Clarke - The most camp half blood song to ever camp half blood, I need this song in an introductory shot of camp or at a campfire sing along scene

I Wanna Be Yours by The Arctic Monkeys - Okay, this is more of a vibe related song suggestion than a lyrics based song, but a scene with percy and annabeth pining over each other with this song in the background? would be chefs kiss. (also rick loves vintage songs in his books and this is a very vintage sounding song sooo)

Brutal by Olivia Rodrigo - Self explanatory, I just need the song, no matter what scene or character

literally any imagine dragons song

Riptide by Vance Joy (Cover) - the same song, the same cover except SON OF NEPTUNE TRAILER COME ON NOW

Not going to happen, but at least an instrumental of Good Kid when annabeth talks to piper in the lost hero season about how everybody had been searching for percy for weeks

The Prophecy by Taylor Swift - You know what a TLO adaptation means, right? It means a proper rewrite of the book to make it better, right? Which means we can write percy being actually depressed because of the prophecy, not just him ignoring it like how he did in the book, right? So imagine: when the whole "If I have to die, I have to die" dialogue comes around during the revealing of the prophecy, this song starts playing as percy storms out the room in anger and disbelief. He just goes to his rooms and buries his face in the pillow and starts sobbing with this song in the background. Also the 'just want someone who wants my company' lyric also expresses his feelings towards the rachel and annabeth drama.

Add on in the reblogs and comments of your ideas hehe😁

[sansaorgana]

— NEW MEMORIES

PAIRING — Erik Lehnsherr x fem!Mutant!Reader

SUMMARY — You're excited to celebrate holidays for the first time in a long time and you prepare the school for Christmas and Hanukkah but your husband's attitude differs, which leads to an argument. You accidentally reveal too soon that you're expecting, which ruins a surprise.

AUTHOR’S NOTE — As usual, Reader’s mutation is NOT specified. I checked online Hanukkah's date for 1973 and I hope it showed me right that it started December 19th, which means it would overlap with Christmas. I also tried not to specify if Reader would celebrate only Hanukkah with Erik or Christmas, too, so I hope it's not very exclusive, because I imagine that even if she is not a Christian or Jewish, she would still want to celebrate Hanukkah because of her husband. In this fic, Erik and Reader are both teachers at Xavier's School, probably after Days of Future Past happened but with less shitty ending for Erik 😂 I also wanted to write a part when the baby is born but I decided the time difference between the scenes would be too big so I'll just write another fic 😁

WARNINGS — mentions of parents' death (Reader's backstory is similar to Jean Grey's)

WORD COUNT — 2,220

ENGLISH IS MY SECOND LANGUAGE.

NEW MEMORIES

December has never been your favourite time of the year. Most of the time it was a reminder that you weren’t normal, that your life wasn’t usual and that whatever all these people in Christmas commercials had was out of your reach.

But in 1973, for the first time in your life, you were actually excited. And since Xavier’s School for Gifted Youngsters was open again, you had plenty of people to share your excitement with. Lots of students volunteered to help you with decorating the place for the upcoming Christmas and Hanukkah celebrations. That year was one of those when the two of them overlapped.

After all your classes on Friday, you worked on yet another room of the house with the help of a few students. When you finished it was almost ten pm so you told them goodnight and went straight to your bedroom. Erik was already there, reading a history book and making notes.

“What is it about?” you asked him with a smile as you began to take off your clothes. You were so tired that you decided to take a shower in the morning and now just change into pajamas.

“Napoleonic wars,” your husband answered without looking up. “I have a feeling he might have been one of us.”

“Aren’t we, like, a product of this century?” you asked and put a nightgown on. “Come on, it’s late, let’s go to sleep,” you stood behind him and placed your hands on his shoulders.

“I’ve only just begun,” he explained. “I need these notes for Monday.”

When you managed to convince Erik to join you at school and teach history, he was unsure about it but he promised to give it a try. Just like you promised you would leave with him to live in peace somewhere else if he wouldn’t like the life at Charles’ school. But one semester later he was already very engaged in his work. Students respected him although you could see that they were also a bit scared of him, which was understandable.

“You’ve just begun?” you laughed a little.

“I was playing chess with Charles earlier,” Erik answered with a nod and hummed after underlining a line in the book.

“Is this why you’re so tense?” you asked as you slightly squeezed his stiff shoulders. “Did you lose?”

“I’m not tense,” he tried to shake you off.

“Talk to me, Erik. It’s not gonna work if you refuse to talk to me,” you reminded him sternly and he sighed before putting the pencil down and closing the book. “We need to be open about what is bothering us, you promised me we’d make it work this time,” you added.

“Yes, I know. But I don’t want to hurt your feelings,” Erik turned his head around to look at your face. You took a step back and furrowed your brows.

“What do you mean, Erik?” you asked.

He hesitated before saying anything and a million of possible scenarios started to come up to your mind.

“You don’t like it here?” You inquired. “You want us to move out?”

“No, it’s not about that… But…” Erik swallowed thickly and took a deep breath in. “I don’t like what you’re currently doing. I’m sorry. I don’t want to take your happiness out of it.”

“What am I currently doing?” you couldn’t understand what he was saying.

“Christmas and Hanukkah preparations,” he explained and you blinked a few times as your brain needed to process that information.

“Wait, what?!” you raised your voice a little. You didn’t want to scold him for expressing his feelings but you just couldn’t understand his reaction. “We’re going to celebrate for the first time in such a long time, and what’s more important, we’re not gonna be alone in this. We have our friends and students here. For the first time December is a positive time of the year to me… to us,” you tried to explain your point of view nervously. Erik was only looking at you and blinking slowly, patiently waiting for you to finish. “But I don’t do it for myself. I mostly am doing it for you, Erik. I wanted you to be happy, too. I wanted you to enjoy something that had been taken away from you a long time ago.”

“It reminds me of Hanukkahs with my parents,” he finally spoke up and you pursed your lips for a moment before opening your mouth again.

“So you don’t want to ever celebrate again?” you asked to be sure.

“No, I don’t think so,” he shook his head.

“Why can’t you let yourself be happy, why are you torturing yourself further? I don’t get it, I’m sorry,” you tried not to be irritated but you felt utterly disappointed. You sat on the edge of your bed and hid your face in your hands.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t want to be a killjoy.”

“Too late,” you murmured, fighting your tears back.

“I know that most of the students will be celebrating. I think I’ll just leave for a week somewhere. I have already discussed it with Charles and he said there are a few things I can do for him at that time,” Erik’s voice sounded casual like he was discussing business for you.

“You want to leave us during Christmas time?” you moved the hands off of your face and looked up at him angrily.

“(Y/N), please, I don’t want to fight about it…” Erik sighed. “Why can’t you just understand that I don’t want to…” he clenched his jaw and looked away. “I don’t want to create new memories like this because it would remove the ones I already have… with my mother.”

“And you think she wouldn’t want you to celebrate holidays with your new family? You don’t think she’d want you to be happy?” you stood up and looked down at him. You felt like a bitch but his explanation made you even angrier.

“I don’t know what she’d want because she’s dead!” He stood up and raised his voice.

“So, I won’t be able to celebrate ever?! Because you don’t want to create new memories?” you put your hands on your hips.

“I’m not forbidding you to celebrate.”

“I don’t want to celebrate without you, don’t you understand?!” you yelled and rolled your eyes. “And when our child is born, you won’t celebrate Hanukkah with them either?” you asked and then you closed your mouth quickly. Your anger made you reveal a few things too early.

“What child?” you could see Erik’s face becoming pale within a second. “(Y/N)?”

“It was supposed to be a Christmas surprise… But since you won’t even be here, I guess I can tell you now,” you shrugged your arms. “I’m pregnant,” you announced and turned around to avoid looking at his face. You were scared of his reaction.

You didn’t know how long it took him to finally do something. Was it a very long minute or was it ten minutes of a heavy silence between you two…?

“(Y/N), I’m sorry,” he finally whispered. Apologizing wasn’t his strong trait. You sensed him standing behind you and putting his hand on your shoulder shyly. You didn’t push him away but you didn’t lean back towards him as usual either. “For how long do you know?”

“Two weeks. It’s the second month,” you answered, your eyes focused on the wall in front of you as you tried to fight the tears back. “Are you even happy?” you dared to ask and your lower lip trembled because asking it out loud made your heart break.

You were trying to give him a normal life, to give him family and happiness, joy around Christmas time and all that. But he seemed to prefer to dwell on his past. You didn’t expect him to forget about his mother or about the pain, of course not. Your past wasn’t exactly pleasant either. But you wanted to be happy despite that, you wanted to have a family, you wanted a new start in life, another chance.

“Of course I am,” Erik answered and gently turned your body around so you would face him. However, you tried to avoid his eyes. “But I’m terrified,” he confessed.

“And you think I am not?” you looked up eventually as a few tears rolled down your cheeks. “I’m a monster, Erik. You think I’m not scared of hurting them by accident?” you asked.

When you were about twelve years old, you caused your parents’ death after having an argument with them. Your powers were out of control and you were locked in a mental institution for underage girls by people who didn’t understand that you weren’t crazy nor really dangerous. That was where you met the person who made you realize who you were and who was the only person there who wouldn’t treat you like a monster; although that was the word you could easily call him with. His name was Sebastian Shaw – but he introduced himself as Doctor John Smith. He was experimenting on you for a few years and although it had been a traumatic experience, you learnt how to control your mutation thanks to him. That was also how you met Erik – he found you not so long after you turned eighteen years old and left the institution. You started to work as a waitress and he was hunting for the man who had used your pain and suffering to perform experiments on you to deepen his knowledge about the various mutations. You decided to join Erik because your life didn’t seem to have any purpose anyway.

“You’re not a monster,” he sighed and pulled you closer to wrap his arms around you. With one of his hands he held the back of your head and caressed your hair. “You were just a child and now you’re older, you can control your powers. You’re extraordinary,” he whispered the words of comfort and kissed your forehead. “I’m not scared about you hurting our baby, I would never. I trust you with my life,” he assured you and it was comforting to hear that.

“Creating new memories doesn’t wipe out the old ones,” you cried out and pressed your face deeper into his chest. “Believe me, I wish it worked this way. I wish I could forget. I begged Charles to make me forget but he refused to do it to me,” you confessed and Erik raised your chin to make you look at him again. He hadn’t known about that before.

“You haven’t told me that,” his face was full of pain and worry.

“It was when you were in jail. I begged Charles to remove all the pain, the memory of my parents, the memory of Shaw… Even you. I begged him to even remove you from my head. But he told me I wouldn’t be myself any longer. He was right and I hate that. I hate that what I am is made of pain and suffering,” you sniffled. “That’s why I want to make good memories so badly, do you understand? I want to celebrate with you like we never have before. I want to laugh and feel safe. Like I belong somewhere, surrounded with friends and students, with my husband by my side and my baby growing inside of me. Do you understand my point of view now, Erik?” you bit on your trembling lip.

“Yes, my liebling, I do,” he nodded and leaned in to kiss your forehead and then the tip of your nose, which made you giggle through the tears, until eventually he pecked your lips.

“But I don’t want to force you either,” you sighed. Now, when all your emotions were finally out and you calmed yourself down, you decided there was no point in pushing him into something that would make him feel uncomfortable. “If you don’t want to celebrate, it’s alright. We both have our right to deal with whatever that has happened to us in our own ways. I’ll still have fun with all the rest, don’t worry about me,” you assured him.

“No, you were right. About me choosing to torture myself instead of allowing myself to enjoy my life,” Erik caressed your cheek and you cracked a smile. “And I can’t miss my child’s first Hanukkah either.”

“I want them to have a happy childhood,” you told him. “Like we never had.”

“I know. I do, too,” Erik placed his hand on your belly and caressed it gently, like it was made of glass. “I will protect them from everything, I promise. No human will hurt our baby.”

You smiled at him and cupped his face before leaning in to give him a proper kiss this time.

But you didn’t tell him that what you feared more than humans hurting your child was actually the child turning out to be perfectly normal. You were afraid that a man so prejudiced towards humans as your husband wouldn’t love his child fully if they weren’t a mutant. You couldn’t tell him that, though. You didn’t want to fight with him anymore that night. Instead, you just kissed him. After all, you’d still have a few years before you’d find out if the baby was a mutant or not.

MASTERLIST

[trappedinafantasy37]

I'm currently writing up a rather lengthy essay analyzing all of Minthara's endings now that Patch 7 has dropped. There was a particular point that I wanted to make about one of her endings, but I think I need to discuss it separately. A discussion I fear is going to make a lot of you 'good only' players hate me.

During her romance scene after the grove raid, Minthara will want to have a little heart to heart with you. She will explain to you that the Absolute owns her mind and her body. She will also say that she does not know herself, as for the entire time she was unable to determine where the Absolute's will ended and where hers began. She also says that everything she has experienced since leaving the Underdark seems like a dream of somebody else's life.

Now, that is a really hard thing to picture or even imagine. Most of us only ever dream about ourselves. So, what is it like to dream of somebody else's? In Minthara's instance, she was dreaming of herself. More, she was dreaming of a bastardized and broken version of herself, doing things that she would not do. A version that she fails to find any reason or rational behind what they were doing. A version that amplified all of her worst qualities to their extreme as those were the qualities that the Absolute needed. And one of the new evil endings gives us a little bit of insight into what this dream looked like.

Look at this. What a beautiful day! A marvelous day! A great day! Going out to the market. Picking up some fresh, sweet, and delicious apples. Meeting and greeting your fellow denizens. Talking, laughing, just enjoying life because life is marvelous. You feel so carefree and at peace, that you just might start whistling and singing. Everything you do is the right choice, the best choice. And you just can't resist. Why would you? What is there to fight? Life couldn't be more perfect!

But this is what is actually happening the entire time.

This person is not even aware of what they are being forced to do. They think they are living the best day imaginable. But in reality, their body and their mind has been stolen from them, forced to do things that they otherwise would not do. Seems horrible and awful right? A nightmare!

This was Minthara's reality for who knows how long. She was living a completely different life in her own mind, a life that did not align with the reality of what her body was doing. And because there was a lack of awareness of her own actions, she did not have the capability to refuse whatever order that the Absolute, or Ketheric, or Orin gave her. She was denied that choice, she was denied her autonomy. She could not fight back because she was not aware that anything was wrong.

And when you free her from the Absolute, memories slowly trickle in, each of them disturbing in their own right. But she also has a line where she says that she barely remembers the grove as she was not herself. So there is a good chance that she only has a vague understanding of the things that she did while under the Absolute, but does not fully remember them. Meaning that these disturbing memories that are returning to her that are clear and vivid, are the ones that happened to her before being enthralled. Of Orin slaughtering her men, of Ketheric holding her down, of Orin torturing her in the colony, of Orin enthralling her.

We also know that the Absolute gave her false memories, ones that paint a completely different picture of how she was recruited. False memories that seemed so good, that they made Minthara worship and adore Orin. And who knows what Minthara and Orin did together when they were alone. All that is important to know is that if they did anything intimate, Minthara was not capable of recognizing it, nor refusing. To make it even worse, she probably perceived all of Orin's actions as being pleasant, when the reality was much more grim. All I can do is hope that she doesn't remember them. But considering how terrified she is of Orin, some of those memories probably did trickle through.

Listen, I am not trying to tell you that Minthara is a good person or that you have to like her. What I am saying is that it is wrong of you to blame her for the grove raid when she quite literally was not in control of her actions. And it is wrong of you to cast judgment onto her for something she was not even aware that she was doing, something that she was denied the right to refuse. And it is wrong of you to hold her morally responsible for something that she never chose to do. All of these companions are victims in their own way and it is wrong of you to act like Minthara is the only one who isn't (she already blames herself enough for what happened to her).

I do not ever want to hear another person claim that Minthara is a "genocidal lunatic" again.

[rallamajoop]

On Mia Winters, misogyny, and abuse

As should be pretty obvious by now, I love Mia Winters. I honestly think she’s one of the most compelling characters in this whole damn franchise.

But let me make clear: you don’t have to love her. Mia’s canonically done a lot of shady shit in her time, and her relationship with Ethan has real problems. There are perfectly viable interpretations where the only thing really holding it together is his own denial. Only I never seem to get to read any of those takes, because the most common characterisations Mia gets in fic are an irredeemable monster, or a cardboard cutout who exists only to be written out as quickly as possible. And to write Mia out to that degree doesn’t just do her character a disservice, it does Ethan a disservice, and a big one.

The amount of Mia-bashing I see out there in this fandom turns my stomach. It’s not just the slash fans who’d rather ship Ethan with another dude. I have seen Mia loudly bashed in tags on het or gen fic in which she does not even appear. I have seen male fans reviewing these games on youtube who treat her the exact same way. But it’s never more frustrating than when that hate comes from the same fans who’ll turn around and talk about characters like Chris or even Lady Dimitrescu (she who canonically abuses her and murders her servants, and, y’know, eats people without a shred of remorse) like they’re perfectly forgivable and have done no real wrong. And don’t get me wrong: I love Lady D, but I love her because she’s magnificently evil. Mia? Mia’s a whole lot more complicated.

But to really explain why this hate makes me so uncomfortable, I’m going to have to start with the start of Resident Evil 7, and Mia’s very first scenes in this whole franchise.

Let me quickly summarise the opening of that game. A man whose wife disappeared without explanation suddenly gets a message about her whereabouts. He travels to an isolated location, breaks in, and finds her. She denies ever sending him that message, and seems incredibly distressed that he’s there at all. They fight. It ends with him sinking an axe into her neck and shooting her several times with a handgun. But see, he didn’t do anything wrong! It was all self-defence! She started it! She was acting crazy!

If you didn’t spot it, the whole opening of RE7 reads uncomfortably like a story about a woman escaping an abusive relationship, then being tracked down and murdered by her ex.

Obviously, I am not here to tell you Ethan’s abusive. He’s not, we’ve got no reason to imagine he is. He was legitimately acting in self-defence.

But the fact the first thing Ethan has to do in this game is find the balls to kill his own wife ‒ that a whole new era of Resi games has opened with a sequence so easily read as a sympathetic justification for how a man might perfectly innocently track down his missing spouse and "have" to kill her – that made those opening minutes into by far the most uncomfortable part of this whole franchise for me. Shit like this really happens. I mean it, I will track down the fucking statistics on women who are murdered after trying to leave an abusive partner if I have to.

What happens to ‘Mia’ in the opening to RE8 isn’t much better: it's as textbook a fridging as any I’ve ever seen. Yes, it’s a fridging that gets retconned away later when she turns up alive, but the fact that’s even possible speaks to just how awful and confusing her death is. The game opens with Mia’s violent murder at the hands of this series’ longest running ‘hero’, and the event is framed entirely in terms of how awful it is for her husband. That's as frigid as a fridging gets.

The eventual reveal that the real Mia was just trapped alone in a cell being experimented on by a madwoman for god knows how long doesn’t actually make it better. The horror Mia goes through in both these games is a footnote, barely explored.

I bring these events up not to condemn the RE franchise, not to say that including these sequences was unconscionable, or that violence against women can never be shown in a horror title. A quick glance at my tumblr should demonstrate how much I adore these games. Tropes like fridging become problems only because they’re so ubiquitous they can come to define almost the only roles women get to play, not because any individual example is necessarily grounds for outrage. If anything, there’s just as much to analyse in all the hate thrown at characters like Ethan Winters (or his predecessor, Jonathan Harker) as a archtypical examples of sexism against men – backlash against the very idea of a male character in the disempowered role of horror victim, usually reserved for women.

But with this context in mind, my god is it uncomfortable to see people talk about Mia as irredeemable monster who deserves to suffer more. People who will valorise the likes of Chris Redfield, who didn’t even bother to stop to tell Ethan that’s not Mia, yet talk about Mia like being shot to death in her own living room was only what she deserved. That is just a whole load of yikes.

And given that both games open with Mia being violently killed by a male protagonist (twice in RE7, with the player in control), it sure is convenient how so many people have managed to ‘find’ the evidence that proves she’s the real villain. You don’t have to think too hard about Chris Redfield as a violent maniac or Ethan Winters being forced to kill his own wife if it’s okay to inflict violence on this woman. “Yes, but she shouldn’t have done [X]…” or even “But what if she’s the real abuser” is a narrative that gets thrown at real women in abusive relationships all the time – especially when the man is a friend of whoever’s casting judgement, or even a celebrity. Real world examples of this shit in the wild run the gamut from wild fan-takes on The Shining ‘proving’ that actually the abused wife was the ‘real’ abuser all along, right up to the ongoing hate campaign against Amber Heard. People don’t want to have to think badly of someone they admire, and will take any excuse to shift the blame. The stakes are infinitely lower when we’re talking about fictional characters, but the same pattern plays out.

And look, I do get it. It’s easy to go into these games and come out with a negative opinion of Mia. She’s the one who lures you into danger in RE7, acts all innocent, and then comes at Ethan with a chainsaw – and when you finally find out her big secret at the end, it turns out she was working for the people who created Eveline from the start! You’re really not given a lot of reasons to invest in Ethan and Mia’s relationship before she’s suddenly coming at him with a knife, and the fact she never does get to come clean to him in canon leaves a bad taste in the mouth.

It’s really easy to go into RE8, note all the glaring signs that Ethan’s relationship with Mia isn’t healthy, and draw your own conclusions about a woman we don’t hardly even see again for most of the runtime of the game. Half this goddamn fandom still seems to think Heisenberg is actually a lycan, ffs – most of what people think they know about Mia is more meme than fact, and the rest is pretty surface level. Basic media literacy is not exactly high out there in the tumblrweeds (let alone the rest of the internet).

But as for the idea that Mia’s responsible for all the horrors Ethan went through, people seem to forget that Mia herself went through so much worse. Ethan spent a day in the Bakers’ property, and a day in the village. Mia spent years trapped in the Bakers’ property, and days at least imprisoned in Miranda’s lab, knowing exactly how much danger her family were in, helpless to save them. She’s no innocent herself, but ye gods has she already suffered for her crimes.

So with all that out of the way, well, what’s the actual ‘evidence’ that Mia herself was abusive? No-one's coming into this one without some bias, but let’s at least give it a fair shake.

Right upfront, I want to recognise that in both fiction and reality, women can be abusers, and men can be victims. Abuse in heterosexual relationships is far more likely to occur with the man as the abuser, but the reverse does happen, and the fact culture at large can be so eager to cast the woman as the villain doesn’t make it any easier for the real male victims of abuse to get recognition and help. Society as a whole is still just really shitty about enabling or excusing real abuse.

But the idea that Mia was abusive has very little to back it up. Whatever you make of “her” interactions with Ethan at the start of the game, the fact remains: that’s not Mia, and the fact she’s acting so strangely is meant to be our clue that something much bigger than a little marital strife is going on here. Knowing all this doesn’t really make the scene where she’s violently executed less disturbing, but you can’t miss the hints we don’t yet know the full story.

So the question becomes, is there any evidence that the real Mia was abusive? I’ve dug into this one a bit before in my post about trying to figure out the timeline of exactly when Mia was replaced, but there are no definitive answers as to how long Miranda's been living in their house. To summarise a long post (and a surprisingly lively timeline of events from the days before the game begins): the most likely intent seems to be that Miranda’s been posing as Mia for less than a week, though a lot of the vibes of the scene give me the impression it’s been several weeks at least. Ultimately, that’s going to come down to your own interpretation.

The Mia mentioned in Ethan’s diary who blew up at him at the hospital could be the real Mia, but more likely isn’t: you can’t really use her to argue anything definitive, one way or another. The Mia from the flashback where Ethan gets the call from Rose’s doctor is the real Mia, but if you think getting upset when your husband brushes off your obvious distress over your daughter’s health makes you abusive, then nothing I say here is going to convince you otherwise.

The only ‘real’ evidence that Mia might be a problem is one line you might hear from Ethan while taking Rose to bed, and it is admittedly a red flag: your mother’s scary when she’s angry.

And to anyone whose whole hatred of Mia has been built backwards from this one line – especially anyone who’s grown up in a dysfunctional household themselves – hell, I get it. It is one really yikes thing for Ethan to say about his wife.

But in Mia’s defence, I can only point out that, well, yes, canonically, she is scary when she’s angry.

Oh, did I say angry? I meant fucking possessed.

And if Ethan’s bringing up the spectre of that time, even subconsciously, maybe that should be an even bigger clue that the Mia in this house right now isn’t Mia.

But what really shows this line for what it is is that we’ve seen the real Mia angry. We’ve seen her cold fury at Eveline, daring to go right back to asking ‘can we be a family now?’ within hours forcing Mia to assault her own husband with a chainsaw. We’ve seen her frustration at Ethan’s own denial, and we’ve seen her stalk out of the room when he blows off an important conversation for a call from work. We’ve seen her advance on Chris after he shut her down, demanding, Where is my husband? Where is my daughter?!

We have never seen her angry without real justification. Her anger is neither violent nor disproportionate. It’s consistently purposeful, focused, and contained. There is nothing scary about the real Mia’s anger, unless you’re threatened by the very idea she might have something valid to be angry about.

There is evidence of tension in the Winters’ marriage from before Miranda’s arrival, but it takes a very different form – most evident in the flashback scene where Ethan receives the call from Rose’s doctor. Far from Miranda’s brusque, dismissive copy of her, the real Mia is anxious and depressed, scared of what Rose’s results might reveal. Here, Ethan’s the one brushing her concerns aside (“We talked about this […] Rose is fine!”) He recognises there seems to be something Mia’s not telling him, says they should talk about it, but then immediately brushes the conversation off when he gets a call from work, while Mia storms out of the room.

You can certainly read Mia as a hypocrite here, getting angry at Ethan for not knowing things she’s deliberately kept from him. But it’s Ethan who decides a call from work is more important than a conversation with his wife – someone who is obviously distressed, canonically still on a regime of drugs after the traumatic events of RE7, very likely suffering PTSD along with Ethan, and maybe even some form of postpartum depression. We don’t know anything about Ethan’s work, so there’s no point in speculating about how much he ‘needs’ to take that call. Mia’s no clear villain here – quite the opposite.

Personally, I tend towards taking this scene as evidence that Mia has tried to talk to Ethan about what really happened to him, but hasn’t managed to get him to face the truth. For all that Ethan supposedly wants to talk about the past, it’s a defining plot point that he’s badly in denial himself.

Or they could both be at some fault here: Ethan unwilling to face the truth, while Mia is reluctant to force him to face something she knows will hurt him and bring him distress. Even when Mia says outright that she ‘tried to keep this a secret, but…’ to Chris at the end of the game, the implication is as much that she’s tried to keep it a secret from people like Chris, who might decide Ethan is dangerous. She’s lied to protect him before, and if she’s still lying to him about her past with the Connections, then the fact that knowing the truth will hurt Ethan is obviously among her reasons. Protecting Ethan has always been among Mia’s top priorities ‒ even at her own expense.

The only other real hints we get about Mia’s inner life come from the glimpses of her we get in Donna’s domain. But I’m hesitant to read too much into these, given how unclear it is how much is just a manifestation of Ethan’s own anxieties. If anything, the ‘Mia’ in these scenes almost seems to have some far worse secret than simply having not told Ethan something he really ought to have put together on his own, and I’d kind of love to see that explored too – at least as long as that goes somewhere more interesting than round umpteen of ‘and that’s why Mia sucks’.

But my point here isn’t that you have to read any of these scenes the same way I do. I do think it’s important to recognise that nothing written for a game like RE is truly character-driven; scenes exist to serve the plot far more than to reflect consistent character motivations or hold up to fridge logic (which, let’s face it, is the real reason for most of Chris’ horrific behaviour in this game, let alone anyone else’s). The result is rarely super consistent, and leaves ample space for multiple interpretations of anyone’s motivations. Regardless, the idea there’s any hard evidence that Ethan and Mia’s relationship is dysfunctional, or that whatever’s wrong is Mia’s fault alone, is going to be incredibly hard to justify.

Any assertion that Ethan and Mia are somehow on the verge of divorce also needs to be weighed against the masses of evidence of how much they love each other – the number of times Mia has said she loves Ethan, up to and including (yes, I’m bringing this up again) how ready she is to die for him in RE7. Her speech to Chris at the end of RE8 states explicitly that being together with Ethan and Rose is the only thing that matters to her. “Mia, I’m sorry, I love you,” are some of the last words Ethan ever speaks – and I can’t help but read into how the moment he finally pushes Rose into Chris’ arms so they can get away with him weighing them down is right after he learns that Mia is alive, and thus implicitly that Rose won’t be alone if Ethan doesn’t make it. And good god does that scene break my heart every time.

It’s worth recognising that the fact Ethan and Mia love each other doesn’t inherently mean their relationship is healthy, or that you have to love them together as much as I do. Like I said up top, you don’t have to like Mia, and you don’t have to justify not liking her if you don’t. I would genuinely like to see fics where Mia and Ethan’s supposedly-necessary break up feels in character. Where Ethan loves her but just can’t deal with the resentment and the fallout over all the lies she told him, where he's been clinging to his 'happy ending' with Mia after surviving the Bakers so hard he can't face the fact things just aren't working, or where he’s having to face that their relationship only ever really worked because she was away so much. It will break my heart, but fiction is allowed to do that.

But god, it would be nice if people could just take the bashing below an eleven around this place. The number of times I’ve had to sigh and back-button out of reading something, because yet another author has decided to project their own hatred for Mia onto the husband who’s still reeling from watching her being violently murdered in front of him… it gets fucking old, y’know?

I would really like to think that in the year of our lord 2024, fandom would be a bit past this thing where they bash the canonical female love interest in the name of shipping the hero with another dude. People will bend over backwards to try and cast Heisenberg and Chris as guys who really care about consent and worry about Ethan getting hurt, because heaven forbid anyone be caught shipping something slightly problematic. And yet misogyny still somehow gets a pass.

You do not have to love Mia. You don’t even have to like her. But ye gods, the hate she gets is baseless and absurd.

Hasn't this poor woman suffered enough?

(And on that note, I promise I am finally done soapboxing in defence of Mia Winters, thank you for bearing with me for this long.)