#Rive writes | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

inthedayswhenlandswerefew · 4 months ago

Text

A Curse [Chapter 7: Exposition Park]

A/N: Hi besties! Thank you for your patience and I hope you enjoy Chapter 7. Big reveals are on the horizon. The a n t i c i p a t i o n is killing me 🥰😉

Series summary: You are an aspiring actress. Aegon is a washed-up and disenchanted agent…at least until he sees something special in you. But within paradisical seaside Los Angeles you find terrible dangers and temptations, secrets and lies. Maybe Aegon’s right; maybe the City of Angels really is a curse.

Chapter warnings: Language, sexual content (18+ readers only), age-gap situationship, fake dating but Jace doesn't know, drama, angst, a Targ family reunion, more metaphorical fish, Charli XCX.

Word count: 6.6k

💜 All my writing can be found HERE! 💜

Tagging: @lauraneedstochill @mrs-starkgaryen @chattylurker @neithriddle @ecstaticactus, more in comments! 🥰

🏝️ Let me know if you’d like to be added to the taglist 🏝️

You begin reading and it hits you, and you dissolve until all of your molecules are the black typeface of the audition script, just one scene that wipes you clean like steam from a window until there is no more California or Minnesota or Aegon or Becca or Mason or your family awaiting your inevitable return to them like a meteorite crashing down to earth.

Here is your new life: Gilded Age, Daddy gambled and died and now the money’s gone, Mama and your sisters need shelter from the storm amidst the Panic of 1893. Fortunately you have a suitor, a good man, a young handsome doctor with a small practice, and he would provide for you and your family, he would be an innocuous and obliging lifeboat. He asks you to marry him, and you almost say yes; but there is another fellow who comes courting, chance encounters at nightscape balls, evening walks under stars and streetlights. This lover of darkness, rippling in and out of your life only when the sun is on the opposite side of the planet, implores you to reject the doctor’s advances, and so you do…only to discover that this nocturnal bewitcher is not a man but a monster, a murderer, a vampire who can offer you nothing more than love that is bloodstained and fleeting and cursed.

Aegon has scrawled the date, time, and location of the audition on the inside of the manila folder. You Google the directions, use Maps to scope out the parking situation. You’ll take the 110 north, then the 91 east out of the city limits of Los Angeles, then the 710 to the 105 to Paramount Boulevard. The Rives Mansion, built in 1911, has been trapped in time as a century grew up around it like grasping threads of ivy; across the street is a Mexican restaurant and the Downey Brewing Company, a sports bar known for their mediocre wings and pizza, currently sitting at an illustrious 2.5/5 stars on Yelp. But the interior of the house will transport you back to the Gilded Age, and this must be why the casting director has chosen it.

You remember what Aegon said about getting you the audition: I didn’t do anything. They reached out to me. But where would they have heard about you? From the people at the Grey’s Anatomy shoot? From Dan or somebody else involved in the Maroon 5 music video?

You need a gown for the charity gala, so you tell your parents you want to buy a dress for Clara’s rehearsal dinner and they enthusiastically approve and give you the green light to charge whatever it costs to your credit card. In the fitting room at Elie Saab, you are torn between two options: sensuous bold red with cutouts and a plunging neckline (all the better for someone to sink their fangs into), timeless beaded gold that feels more like you. You send photos of yourself wearing both to Baela via WhatsApp. She is presently in Paris, nibbling on croissants and downing shots of espresso and filming the new Yorgos Lanthimos movie in which she has third billing.

She replies: Are you lowkey tryna fuck your agent again or nah?

You are scandalized. You type: Definitely not. His future wife will be there.

There is a pause as Baela considers this. By the time you are back in your street clothes—denim shorts, white Sketchers, and a Pacific Palisades t-shirt—she has reached a decision: Still get the red one. It’s brave. It’s memorable.

But you cannot bring yourself to buy it, even if that means the gold is comparatively modest and forgettable. You choose the gold gown and swipe your Chase Sapphire, but not before you make one last discovery: a black lace dress with a high frilly neckline that circles the throat like a noose, out of season and damaged with a rip in the back by the zipper, sold as-is and at a much reduced price. It reminds you of the style of dresses women wore in the Edwardian era, and it fits with the script, and the Rives Mansion, and the person who you will be at the audition on Saturday, July 19th.

You take your shopping bags and step out of the Elie Saab boutique of Beverly Hills into the sunlight, over one hundred degrees, over a century past the glittering deceit of the Gilded Age.

~~~~~~~~~~

“You lied to me.”

The actor’s name is Santiago, but he introduced himself as Santi. He’s been cast already. There’s a chemistry between you, not romantic but corporeal, following each other’s footsteps and inflections, the unspoken potential of improvisation. Across the otherwise empty room are four people seated at a table, two men and two women. Aegon lurks in the corner in his I-give-a-fuck suit, chomping on Juicy Fruit and holding an iced coffee that drips condensation. Morning light cascades in through the vast Palladian window and over the hardwood floor. “I omitted,” the vampire counters.

“You lied by silence. You lied like a coward,” you hiss at him, hair pulled back from your face, black lace at your throat, black shimmering on your eyelids, Renegade by Huda Beauty, Poison by Urban Decay.

He reaches for you. “I could not surrender you to any other man—”

“And now I’m all yours!” you scream, flinging his hands away. “My other prospects are squandered and my family will lose our home and our heirlooms, and I will lose the future that I dreamed of sharing with you, and if your love had been true for even for a moment you would have spared me this.”

“My love was sincere, and it endures.”

“It is selfish,” you seethe, lips quivering and tears slithering down your cheeks. The vampire stalks you, and you flee one blind step at a time until your back hits the wall. “It cannot give or preserve, only consume.”

He reaches out to touch you again, and this time you let him—you cannot resist him—and his fingertips ghost from your hairline to your jaw, tracing the borderlands of your face like the arc of a crescent moon. Then his hand settles lightly on your throat. And you are drawn to him, bound to him, invisible threads weaving his bones to your own, drowning in the opaque pools of his irises. “We can still be together.”

“Yes, in darkness. In destitution. In transient minutes between the murders that sustain you.”

“I never asked to be a monster. I was made this way by another.”

“And now you have proven yourself to be without humanity.”

He turns away and storms out of the room, and you are supposed to wait for him to return. But instead—because you feel that this must be what happens next—you bolt after him, and as you pass through the doorway you hear the puzzled clamoring of the casting director, producer, and two assistants: What is she doing? Where is she going? Then when Aegon follows you they hurry to do the same, their metal folding chairs squealing against the floor, their footsteps pounding like thunder or a racing pulse.

You chase the vampire onto the landing and down the staircase. “I rejected the doctor for you, I endangered my reputation and disregarded my family’s counsel for you, and what have you given me in return? Lies and horror and bloodstains on my conscience that I’ll never wash out. How can you claim to care for someone you’ve destroyed? What do you have to offer anybody except suffering and death—?!”

Three steps from the bottom, he whirls and pins you to the wall, his hands careful (as they are required to be) but his eyes hard, glass or stone or pavement, intractable, inhuman. “Stop fighting the horror. Join me in it. It calls to you, and you yearn for it, and to only me can you confess this.”

“You ruined my life,” you choke out, a loathsome lethal desire, a death rattle.

He touches his forehead to yours, his heat radiating through your skull. “I cannot be without you.”

“Let it end now,” you whisper, you plead. “Let the next artery you drain wash away the taste of me.”

And you both lean in, your lips a second from meeting, and farther up the staircase your audience of five watch in rivetted silence, as far from you as the stars from Earth, Betelgeuse or Rigel or Proxima Centauri. And then you are you again, and Santi is Santi, and you laugh together and each take a step back, the tension of your muscles unraveling and your memories already beginning to degrade.

The casting director, producer, and assistants all shake your hand and thank you again for taking the time to audition. You thank them for their consideration. They seem pleased, but when you turn to Aegon, he doesn’t give you his usual signal that you’ve done a good job. He doesn’t slip his aviator sunglasses out of the pocket of his suit jacket, put them on, and smile: You are so bright, sunshine. He just steals glimpses of you as he’s deep in conversation with the casting director, discussing the timeline for callbacks and when a final decision is expected to be made.

“See you tonight,” you tell Aegon when it’s over and you are both walking out to where your cars are parked on the curb, your Honda, his Chrysler. His white convertible has a sizeable dent in the front passenger’s side and the headlight busted out. “What happened there?”

“Someone cut me off,” he says, and passes you the iced coffee he hasn’t taken a sip of, a venti-sized vanilla latte.

~~~~~~~~~~

When you are dressed, you send a photo of yourself in the gold gown to your parents and Clara. Rehearsal dinner outfit! you type.

Mom replies: Very flattering, honey! and then sends back a picture of her snuggling one of the Akitas on the couch. Dad responds with a thumbs-up emoji. Clara leaves you on read.

Jace is wearing a floral tuxedo and has already pre-gamed. He’s buzzed when you climb together into the Uber he called; parking will be murder, and you’ll probably have a few drinks yourself at the gala. He pays with the account linked to Baela’s credit card. The charity gala is being held at the California Science Center in Exposition Park, which is on your side of the city: southeast of Tarzana and Beverly Hills, southwest of Downtown, Chinatown, and Aegon’s office in Elysian Park, just a twenty-minute drive dead north on the 110. When you arrive, men in black suits and women in shimmering floor-length gowns are posing for professional photographers on the front steps, and black limousines and SUVs are honking at each other as they battle for inches of space in the drop-off lane.

On your way to the glass doors at the building entrance, you and Jace pass beneath a vast hanging structure of spiraling red beams like arteries. When you look up, you see a myriad of gold dots like the infinitesimal glimmers of stars.

“This is the Aerial!” a museum employee is proudly telling a group of ogling guests. “It has precisely 1,578 spheres, each plated with gold leaf. And the sculpture right here underneath is the DNA Bench, engraved with images of all sorts of organisms…a bat, an octopus, a snake, a tree…”

Inside, the ground floor of the California Science Center is illuminated with soft pink light, and everywhere there are glamorous people chatting and nursing drinks and eating hors d’oeuvres on tiny plates, and you don’t recognize anyone, and you are very grateful that Jace is here. You cling to his arm so you don’t lose him in the crowd. There is an open bar beside a set of escalators heading skyward, and a DJ with his table set up against one wall. From the ceiling hang fighter jets and disco balls. Confetti litters the floor. As you open your gold clutch to get your phone and text Aegon that you’re here, the DJ puts on Pink Pony Club.

“Ah, I love this song!” you shout to Jace over the noise of the room, and then you sing together:

“I know you wanted me to stay,

But I can’t ignore the crazy visions of me in L.A.,

And I heard that there’s a special place,

Where boys and girls can all be queens every single day…”

“Hey,” Aegon says from behind you, and you lose your footing when you spin towards him—you are much better in wedges than heels—and Jace grabs your hands to steady you, and he’s laughing too loudly in that I’m-kind-of-drunk sort of way, and Aegon is glaring at him. He’s wearing a powder blue suit, and it actually fits him, and strands of his sandy blonde hair are escaping from his sheen of gel to fall down over his forehead, and for a few seconds you’re a little stunned by how beautiful he is, here in the dim distorted light and looking like he wants to hit someone. That’s never been why you felt drawn to Aegon, what he looks like. But here he is, engaged to another woman and a decade older than you and kind of horrible, surely, and you are in disbelief that you can’t reach out and touch him.

“Hi, hello, sorry,” you say, prying your hands out of Jace’s grasp. “I thought I’d just be able to walk in and find you, but it’s really crowded! But I’m here. I’m fine. I’m ready to work.”

Aegon’s turbulent blue gaze sweeps over you. “You look like an Oscar.”

You are puzzled. “The fish?”

He smiles. “No. The award.”

“I’m going to get a drink!” Jace tells you, and saunters off towards the bar.

Aegon watches him leave, then says: “I didn’t know you were bringing a guest.”

“Well, you have one. And I was worried I’d be lonely.”

“Sure,” Aegon says, irritated. Then he holds up two glasses. “I have a lemon drop and a Long Island iced tea. Which do you want?”

“The lemon drop.”

“Great.” He hands it to you, takes a gulp of the Long Island iced tea, and leads you off to be introduced to the elites of the city, here to raise money for Cedars-Sinai Medical Center.

There is a series of people whose names you can’t remember but you beam radiantly for: producers, directors, actors, cinematographers, screenwriters, assistants, models, journalists. Aegon lies to them about your experience and says you’re better than you are. He says you’ll have your own star on the Hollywood Walk of Fame someday. You take delicate sips of your lemon drop, determined not to get tipsy, but Aegon drains his Long Island iced tea and swings by the bar for another one. Now Jace is talking to the DJ like he’s trying to convince him of something.

Aegon hurries past where Becca is mingling with a flock of women, tall and small-boned like flamingoes; Becca casts you a glower that is sharp and swift and belittling. She is wearing a white ballgown, very bridal, with powder blue palm leaves overlaying the skirt to match Aegon’s suit. No one can forget they’re about to get married, and you assume this is intentional.

“Becca, you have such gorgeous hair,” one of her friends, noticeably drunk, fawns as she pets Becca’s long sleek tresses, artfully styled into miraculously frizzless waves.

“Aww, thanks!” Becca says. “According to family legend, we’re part Native American. The Karankawa tribe.”

Another friend, not so easily impressed, rolls her eyes. “Becca, everybody claims their family is part Native American.”

“No, seriously! My mom’s maiden name was Broadwater, that has to be Native American!”

“Becca, it’s literally English.”

“Do a test,” Becca’s drunk friend says, poking at her bare shoulder. “One of those DNA thingies you send through the mail.”

Becca seems inspired, her eyes bright, her thoughts racing. “Maybe I should! Like 23AndMe?”

“There’s a new one,” the not-drunk friend says, slurping what appears to be a mojito. “It’s called Legacea, I think. It’s supposed to be super fast and super thorough.”

The drunk friend is stymied. “Legawhata?”

“Legacea,” the not-drunk friend repeats. “I know, it’s pretentious, it’s legacy and panacea smashed together. But Becca should totally do it and if she is so much as one percent Native American, I will personally redress historic wrongs by gifting her my Brentwood apartment…”

Now Jace is moshing with a group of newfound friends. He has at last convinced the DJ to put on a Charli XCX song. The bass reverberates through the rose-colored twilight of the room; some sophisticated guests appear baffled, others alarmed.

“When I go to the club, I wanna hear those club classics,

Club classics, club, club classics,

When I go to the club, I wanna hear those club classics,

Club classics, club, club classics…”

A woman, mid-fifties and auburn-haired, appears out of the multitude with large, nervous eyes. “We should have gotten an orchestra,” she tells Aegon fretfully, twisting the rings on her fingers. She is wearing a gold wedding band, although if she is who you assume her to be—the resemblance is striking—she hasn’t had a husband in over fifteen years. “Shouldn’t we have gotten an orchestra?”

A man who looks very much like a younger version of Aegon, late-twenties instead of mid-thirties, laughs as he materializes beside her. “Mom, no one wants to listen to an orchestra.”

“No one under eighty years old,” Aegon says.

“Aemond thought we should get an orchestra,” she replies.

Aegon says sarcastically: “And of course, Aemond is an expert on all things cool and timely.” Then he introduces you to them both: his mother Alicent, his brother Daeron, an up-and-coming actor who has been in a successful Netflix series and has innumerable Tumblr blogs devoted to him. He’s been called the blonde Timothee Chalamet.

“Oh, aren’t you lovely,” Alicent tells you, although she seems perpetually a little distracted, a little sad. She tugs at a thin gold chain she wears around her neck with a cross suspended from it. “And we’ll be seeing you again at the wedding, won’t we? I know Aegon has invited all his clients.”

You hesitate. You doubt Becca wants you there. You have no interest whatsoever in watching Aegon marry her. “Um…well…actually, I might have a prior commitment that weekend, so—”

“She’ll be there,” Aegon says.

“Wonderful.” Alicent smiles at you. You smile back, a reflex. Then yet another Targaryen arrives, a woman with dreamy blue eyes and a butter yellow gown covered in ruffles. They are so massive she seems to be drowning in them. “Helaena, have you met Aegon’s newest client?”

“I don’t believe I have.” Helaena, a fashion designer whose work is a staple on red carpets and runways, exchanges pleasantries with you. Her eyes never quite meet yours; instead they bounce around weightlessly to your gown, your gold heels, your hair, your hand clasping your lemon drop, and then to where Aegon is standing next to you probably too closely for someone who is supposed to be your agent and nothing more.

“I absolutely love your dress!” you tell Helaena. “It’s so fun. And yellow is my favorite color.”

“Thank you,” Helaena says, soft and placid. You can barely hear her over the horrible Charli XCX music. “I love your eyeshadow. Is that Alchemist?”

You are startled; you touch your fingertips to your orbital socket before you can stop yourself, hopefully not smudging the glittering gold powder. “It is, yeah. By Natasha Denona.”

“Is Aemond nearby?” Aegon asks his family, and you are aware that he seems to want to get away from them, like he’s rushing towards the end of the conversation.

Alicent peers around. “Um, I don’t think so…maybe he’s up on the second floor?”

“Okay. I’ll bump into him eventually.” But as Aegon turns away, his mother places a palm on his arm, and he stops even if he hasn’t been seized or commanded, yielding to her forcelessness. When Alicent speaks, her voice is gentle and her dark eyes wounded, like there’s a knife in her somewhere that no one has ever pulled out.

“Aegon, I’m very happy to see you here tonight.”

“No problem,” he says briskly, and ushers you away to the bar where he orders another Long Island iced tea.

“Why would I go to your wedding?” you ask as you wait with him. You still have half of your lemon drop left, but Aegon’s cheeks are flushed and he’s beginning to sway, and when he gazes at you from under the sandy strands of hair that have fallen over his eyes, the blue of his irises is murky and slow and far-away, miles away, years away.

“Because you promised you’d do whatever I say, and I want you there.”

“Maybe I don’t want to fly to Turks and Caicos to watch you marry someone else.”

“There will be industry people in attendance. You can network. Consider it good for your career.”

“But—”

“Steve! Hey!” Aegon calls out, then waves some people over to the bar. These are his other clients, the last of a dying breed: a young Scottish guy, a middle-aged man who spent his twenties and thirties in the Navy, a disorientingly beautiful woman who came to the United States as a refugee from Somalia when she was eight years old. They are all kind and welcoming and real, amazingly real, and they adore Aegon, they speak about him with a gratitude that is bone-deep and eternal, and you marvel at this quiet magic he has to him, this way of finding people who’ve fallen through cracks like continental divides and dragging them back up into the daylight.

“Aegon?” the woman, Fatima, says a bit regretfully. “I’m so sorry to steal you away, but I remember you mentioned a certain director last week, the one who worked on Only Murders in the Building. Do you know if he’s here tonight?”

“Oh yeah, totally!” Aegon says, picking up his fresh Long Island iced tea off the bar. “Come on, I’ll help you find him and get the ball rolling.” Then he looks at you, conflicted, as if he isn’t quite comfortable leaving you alone.

You are nonchalant, like you don’t care what he does. “I’m fine. I’ll be with Jace.”

Aegon glances at your aforementioned date, who is presently shoveling his mouth full of crab-stuffed mushrooms and shrimp cocktail by the DJ. “Fantastic,” he mutters, and vanishes into the crowd with Fatima.

You weave through guests as you make your way towards Jace, then someone runs up and throws their arms around you before you can process who it is. Fortunately, you are not one to turn down hugs. When he pulls back, he is grinning. It’s Brandon, doubtlessly cashing in on one of the few benefits of being Aegon’s receptionist. “Hey, girl! Oh my God, I didn’t realize you had a drink. I didn’t make you spill your lemon drop, did I?”

“Oh no, it’s fine! Hi, Brandon!”

“How’d the audition go this morning?”

“Good! We’ll see. It was intense, and I can never really remember what I did afterwards. But I think they liked me.”

He smiles warmly. “Great. I’m so glad it went well. Aegon was really obsessed with it. He must have spent two hours on the phone with those people.”

You are confounded; you have no idea what he means. “On the phone…?”

“Convincing them to give you an audition,” Brandon says, as if surely you already know this and he’s just jogging your memory. Before you can respond, he is rejoined by his date Dylan and dashes off to dance with him. Evidently, Brandon and his date appreciate Charlie XCX.

The indie movie people didn’t know about me, you think, your skull hazy with organ-pink light and gala guests brushing by you and the bass beat thudding from the speakers. They didn’t call Aegon. He called them. And then he lied to me about it.

You look around, wondering where Aegon is, needing to find him; and then you spot someone up on the second floor, not Aegon but another man you have to talk to, a phantom you only know from television and the internet and a rarely-utilized contact in Aegon’s iPhone. You take the escalator up to him, ascending slowly, and he doesn’t even notice you until you speak. He’s standing amidst suits and gowns but he’s in solitude somehow, thoughtful, somber, fidgeting with a gold rush rather than drinking it, gazing vacantly over the crowd down on the ground floor. He wears a navy blue pinstripe tuxedo and a scar down the left half of his face, some sort of childhood accident that cost him an eye. He wears a prosthesis in its place, and you wouldn’t know the difference if this wasn’t common knowledge in Hollywood.

“I think I have to thank you,” you say.

Aemond Targaryen turns to you, startled and then amused. “Thank me?”

“Aegon forged my resume and listed you as a reference. That’s how I got my first job out here, a Grey’s Anatomy episode. So…thank you for the fraud.”

He chuckles to himself and sips his gold rush, ice clinking in the glass. Artificial pink light shifts across his scarred face. A film he wrote the screenplay for won Best Picture at the Oscars last year. “I can’t condone the deception, but I’m comforted that it was for a good cause. I assume you’re the new client.”

“And the last.”

Aemond furrows his brow at you. “The last?”

“Before Aegon retires,” you say. “And I don’t know what I’m going to do without him. Probably end up living under a bridge somewhere.” Probably return to Minnesota to spend the rest of my life impersonating someone my parents want me to be.

But Aemond still isn’t following. “Aegon is retiring?”

“Yeah,” you say, a little tentatively now. “After the wedding. He didn’t tell you?”

Aemond’s eye—the right one, the real one—shifts down towards the ground floor like he’s looking for somebody and then back to you. “Did he say why?”

“He said he was sick of how shallow this place is.” How dangerous. How cursed.

Aemond’s voice is flat. “But it’s always been this way.”

“I mean…I guess? I don’t know. I love it here in Los Angeles!” But you don’t think you mean that as much as you did two months ago.

“Where is Aegon right now?”

“He’s downstairs with Fatima, one of his other clients.”

“I have to go,” Aemond says abruptly, and leaves you alone by the railing. You watch him descend on the escalator, too impatient to wait, walking instead of riding and taking two steps at the time.

Was I not supposed to say anything? Does Aegon’s family not know he’s leaving?

You finish your lemon drop and then frown with your free hand resting on the railing, looking down into the throng of people on the ground floor: freckled with the light scattered by the disco balls, slipping drunkenly on strips of confetti, tolerating yet another Charli XCX song, this one not so offensive and with a plucky tempo that’s easy to dance to:

“I think the apple’s rotten right to the core,

From all the things passed down from all the apples coming before,

I split the apple down symmetrical lines and what I find is kinda scary,

Makes me just wanna drive…”

You are suddenly aware that a woman is standing beside you. White ballgown, blue palm leaves, a long dark shock of hair. “You can’t act if your leg is broken,” Becca says.

You are so alarmed to see her that you physically recoil. “Sorry, what?”

She nods to the escalator. “Be careful. If you trip and fall on that—or on a staircase, or on a curb, or, you know, anywhere—you could break your leg and then you wouldn’t be able to take any acting jobs for months, and I suppose that would derail your plans quite a bit.”

You blink at her, half-terrified, half-disbelieving, gripping your empty lemon drop glass so tightly your hand aches. “Are you…threatening me…?”

Becca gasps, theatrical, mocking. “I would never do that. I’m just looking out for you.” Then she leans in close so no one else can listen. She smells like flowers, like summer, like all the golden days she and Aegon will share together. “You will not be at my wedding. You have somewhere else to be. You can’t make it, how sad. We’ll spare you a thought. You’ll send a gift. Maybe a waffle maker, Aegon loves waffles.”

“Okay,” you squeak. And she swishes away in her bridal gown without saying anything else, but even if she did you wouldn’t be able to hear her. Your heartbeat is thunderous in your ears; your face is scalding with blood, panicked and ashamed and confused.

Breaking legs? Impending wedding?? Waffles???

You give your empty glass to a museum employee and take the escalator back down to the ground floor—after ensuring that Becca isn’t standing nearby—and then hunt through the mob for Jace. But you can’t find him. The only people you bump into are tall booming men in suits or women with tight lineless faces and bony arms and full breasts that stay exactly where they’re supposed to be even without a bra, and you want to go home but you can’t leave without making sure Jace is alright, and he doesn’t answer the texts you frantically type to him. You try to hide in the bathroom but the first one you seek refuge in is lit with pink tubes of neon and full of women fixing their hair and makeup, and you can’t risk someone important seeing you freak out and making a bad impression. Instead, you follow a dark hallway that leads to some of the museum exhibits, and then a benign bluish glow appears and beckons you to a sanctuary: the kelp forest, a tunnel surrounded by a microcosm ocean.

You place your palms on the cool curved glass and breathe, slow and deep, your heartrate going quiet again. On the other side of the transparent divide, angelfish and blue tangs dart between thick ropes of kelp. Above you, a leopard shark sails by over the crest of the tunnel. From far away, you can hear echoes of Alicent addressing the crowd and thanking them for being in attendance tonight, and how much it would have meant to her late husband Viserys.

I don’t want to go to the wedding anyway, you tell yourself, but that’s not helping.

You check your phone again. Jace still hasn’t answered your texts.

And here’s the truth: I don’t want Aegon to marry anyone else. Not even if she was a saint, not even if she was perfect for him.

There are footsteps here in the ocean and the glass and the blue, and you turn to see Aegon stepping into the tunnel, looking around with great confusion as if he’s trying to figure out how you ended up here.

“Are you lost?” he says.

“Yes. But it’s intentional.”

He comes to stand beside you, watching the fish flit through the kelp forest, his hands in the pockets of his powder blue suit, the one Becca picked out for him. And because at last you are alone and the world is hushed, after a while Aegon says: “That was insane, what you did this morning. That was some of the best work I’ve ever seen.”

“So you think I’ll get the job.”

“I think you deserve it. But sometimes that doesn’t have a lot to do with who ends up being cast. We tried, that’s all we can do. I’ll let you know as soon as I hear anything.”

You look over at him. “You lied to me.”

He seems afraid. “About what?”

“You got me the audition. And you had to convince them.”

Aegon smiles to himself. Is he relieved? “Yeah, alright. I did.”

“Why are you working so hard to help me?”

“Because you’re my girl. And I have to make sure you’re taken care of. And I don’t have much time left.”

“Don’t leave me,” you say, pathetic like a child. Don’t marry her. Don’t move across the country with her. “You’re the only person who thinks I belong here.”

“Other people will believe in you soon. You’re too good for them not to.”

“But I don’t want another agent.”

And Aegon gazes at you, rippling blue light on his face, and when he kisses you he tastes like the Long Island ice teas he’s been drinking since you got here: vodka, tequila, light rum, triple sec, gin, Coke, lemon, poison cut with sweetness, a cold swig that burns all the way down.

You stop him, one hand on his chest, too frail to mean it. “Your fiancée is out there doing a victory lap.”

“But you don’t care,” Aegon says. “And I’m right here with you.”

And now you surrender, you fall into him like a pool, like an ocean, and like a riptide he pulls you to the nearest bathroom—this one small and abandoned—and you drag each other to the frigid tile floor beneath cobalt neon light, and you unravel yourself from him just long enough to lunge for the door and throw the bolt so no one else can open it, and then Aegon is on top of you again, tearing off his suit jacket and unbuttoning the white shirt beneath, and you yank up the hem of your sparking beaded gown until it’s at your hips; but this isn’t enough for him.

“No,” Aegon murmurs against your throat like he has fangs, like he can’t stop until every blood drop of you has hemorrhaged out to satiate him. “I want to see you.”

And so you sit up so he can unzip the top of your dress and help you slip your arms out of the straps, and then you fall back again and let the cold blue chemical light flood over you as he nuzzles you, warm lips, teasing teeth, and it’s perfect, and now he’s rummaging around in his wallet until he finds a condom and you need him now, now, now, and he’s kissing you like he feels the same desperation in this dwindling eleventh hour. But when you reach down to touch him, he’s barely hard.

You are bewildered. This has never happened to you before. Undeterred, you straddle Aegon, kissing him deeply as your hips grind against his, and he seems like he wants to…he really does…but it’s not working. Now he’s completely soft.

Aegon sighs heavily. “Just stop,” he says, rubbing his face with his hands, and you crawl off of him and sit beside him on the floor, draped in uneasy blue, the room silent except for your own rapid breathing and distant rumblings from the gala.

You have no idea what to say. You don’t even look at him. You stare at the wall instead, feeling like you’ve made some horrific mistake, like you’ve shattered something that could have been beautiful.

After a moment, Aegon grabs your thighs roughly and tugs you closer to him. “Come here. I’ll get you off.”

“But I’m not going to be into it if I feel like you’re not into it.”

“I am into it,” Aegon insists, frustrated.

“What did you want me to do that I wasn’t doing?” What does Becca do for you?

“It’s not you. You’re not the problem.”

“But I want to know what I should have done differently—”

“It’s not about you,” Aegon snaps. “I’m just…I’m not in my twenties anymore, you know?”

You stare at him. “You’re thirty-five, Aegon. You’re not old.”

“Please, please, just shut up and let me take care of you, and we can move on.”

But you draw away when he tries to reach between your legs, and you lay an open palm against his flushed cheek, and you are suddenly struck by a lightning bolt of a theory. Why is he really leaving Los Angeles? What did Viserys Targaryen die of? “Aegon…is there something wrong with you?”

“I’ll take you home,” he says, and starts putting his clothes back on.

“Because if you weren’t okay, I would want to know, and I could help you—”

“I’ll take you home,” Aegon says again, so severely and with such finality you can’t argue, because you can’t speak at all. If you try to, you’ll burst into tears. You feel completely rejected by him. You feel like you ruined your very last chance to touch him, and soon he’ll be getting married on Turks and Caicos, and soon you’ll never see him again except in Becca’s blissful Instagram stories.

Aegon walks with you quickly through the museum, past the guests he ignores, and outside where a long line of black SUVs and limousines are waiting. He puts you in an Escalade and then jogs around to the other side, sitting so the skinny middle seat is between you. Then he tells you to give the driver your address. He must not remember it.

Once you have relayed your address, you say miserably to Aegon: “I can ride home by myself, thanks.”

He’s gazing blankly out the window and running his fingers through his hair. “I’ll feel better if I make sure you get there safely.” It feels patronizing, humiliating, like a weak wordless goodbye. You wonder if tomorrow you’ll get a text that he’s officially offloaded you onto some other agent.

The Escalade driver begins to pull away from the curb, and you realize you’ve forgotten something…or, rather, someone. “Wait!” you shout, and the Escalade lurches to a halt.

“What’s your problem?” Aegon says irritably. His powder blue suit is wrinkled; his face is exhausted.

“I can’t leave without Jace.”

“Are you fucking serious?”

Right on time, you look through the tinted window to see Jace wandering around the entranceway. He must have seen you hurry out of the museum. You open the Escalade door and call to him. Jace runs to the vehicle, scrambles over your lap, and flops into the middle seat between you and Aegon.

“You can’t get your own ride?” Aegon flares at him.

Jace is incredulous. He looks at you. “We’re going to the same place, right?”

“Right,” you agree casually, and Aegon shakes his head and resumes staring out the window, although there is nothing there but darkness and blooms of artificial light.

“That was so cool,” Jace says as he types energetically on his iPhone. He spends the entirety of the twenty-minute drive posting photos and videos of himself with minor celebrities on his Instagram stories: Frankie Muniz, Cole Sprouse, Meghan Trainor, Katy Perry. He asks you for suggestions as he chooses filters and adds music. Aegon doesn’t say a word; he aggressively chews several sticks of Juicy Fruit instead.

When the Escalade stops in front of your building, you and Jace depart beneath omnipresent light pollution that blots out the stars.

“Hey,” Aegon says just before you shut the car door, and you are powerless to walk away until you’ve heard what he has to tell you—an apology? an explanation?—and you stand frozen on the sidewalk under a streetlight as Jace goes inside. “You know, I, uh…I had a lot to drink, right?”

“You tried to think of an excuse the whole way here and that’s the best one you came up with?”

Before Aegon can reply, you slam the door and follow Jace into your apartment building.

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

132 notes · View notes

literaryvein-reblogs · 11 months ago

Note

Fighting

Any words related to fighting outside hit, punch, kick, cut, gut, slice?

Bastinado - to subject to repeated blows

Batter - to beat with successive blows so as to bruise, shatter, or demolish

Bludgeon - to hit with heavy impact

Calcitrate - archaic: kick

Clobber - to pound mercilessly; to hit with force

Combat - to fight with; battle

Cudgel - to beat with or as if with a short heavy club

Drub - to beat severely

Flog - to beat with or as if with a rod or whip

Fracas - a noisy quarrel; brawl

Grapple - to grasp with the hands; wrestle

Hector - to intimidate or harass by bluster or personal pressure

Incise - to cut into

Lambaste - to assault violently; beat, whip

Larrup - to flog soundly; whip

Maim - to mutilate, disfigure or wound seriously

Mangle - to injure with deep disfiguring wounds by cutting, tearing, or crushing

Mêlée - a confused struggle; especially: a hand-to-hand fight among several people

Mutilation - an act or instance of destroying, removing, or severely damaging a limb or other body part of a person or animal

Oppugn - to fight against

Pummel - pound, beat

Rive - to wrench open or tear apart or to pieces; rend; to split with force or violence

Ruckus - a noisy fight or disturbance : row, commotion

Scrimmage - a confused fight; scuffle

Scuffle - to struggle at close quarters with disorder and confusion

Spar - skirmish, wrangle; a movement of offense or defense in boxing

Stamp - to strike or beat forcibly with the bottom of the foot

Thump - to strike or beat with or as if with something thick or heavy so as to cause a dull sound

Thwack - to strike with or as if with something flat or heavy; whack

Tussle - to struggle roughly; scuffle

Hope this helps with your writing. Do tag me, or send me a link. I'd love to read your work!

More: Word Lists ⚜ Words for your Fight Scenes

#anonymous #word list #writeblr #dark academia #spilled ink #writers on tumblr #poets on tumblr #literature #poetry #writing prompt #writing inspiration #writing inspo #fiction #writing ideas #creative writing #words #langblr #writing reference #writing resources

214 notes · View notes

truly-sincerely · 11 months ago

Text

IS GORTASH ENTHRALLED?

(tl;dr: yes)

In this essay I will…

Okay, but seriously I did write an essay.

I got here after chasing a very different rabbit down its hole. I'd noticed that Gortash seems to have been throwing out a lot of his stuff (read: mostly employees).

Waldemar Prinski, a loyal banite, sold to a devil for a corn chip

Dark Breaker Antiope, sahuagin wrangler, A Negotiation

The Steel Watch Foundry, Orders to Black Gauntlet Rives

Scribe Yanthus, my beloved, sent on a wild bhaal chase

Vance Farnol, journalist, tho you could argue he had it coming

Goblin Worg handler at Flymm Cargo, plus the Worgs when they run out of Goblin to eat

And, of course, everyone at his Coronation

Was killing all of the patriars and their staff a grim necessity, Enver? Was it?

(Also, he's installed a giant portrait of Bane and a bust of Bane in the penthouse, but he doesn't have a single picture of himself, or any mirrors, for that matter. Food for thought.)

My initial diagnosis was macabre, but obviously I’ve moved away from that line of thinking. He's just way too happy to brag about how much danger he's put himself, us, and the entire world in. It freaked me out the first time I met him (as a Tav). Like I see him glancing at the ground and smiling coyly while saying, "If we're lucky, we'll become slaves," on the back of my eyelids when I go to bed at night.

For the love of all that is holy, could you please turn it down a notch?

I've been obsessed with The Ultimate State since I first read it. It's absolutely absurd nonsense. The item description says it's, "the philosophical ramblings of Enver Gortash." and I feel like it's worth noting that he doesn't write his own propaganda; he has the banites do it for him. But I mean, it really does read like he's twisting himself in knots to connect "unity" and "progress" together, but babe, those jigsaw pieces do not go together like that. Anyway, while thinking about this subject it dawned on me:

They're the same picture.

You know what other line of thinking these two have in common?

They both look so sad when they say this. I'm sorry. I'm sorry I abandoned you.

I know we all love to joke about Durge or Gortash feeding the Brain the "Handsome, Younger Man" line, but what if that was just a smokescreen and it's been the other way around this whole time?

Netherbrain: You think you know why you are here. You think you can atone for giving me my power, child of Bhaal, by destroying me with the Netherstones. You are wrong. The Emperor: It’s messing with your mind. Don’t listen to it. Use the stones. Netherbrain: By eliminating Ketheric and Orin, you have simply unbound me. Exactly as I intended. The Crown is now mine to command - mine alone. The Emperor: Don’t listen to it! Focus on the Crown! Netherbrain: You placed the Crown upon me in the depths of Moonrise Towers, and there I was born. The Crown is not my weakness - it is what made me what I am. Gortash: You are delusional - the Crown is how we controlled you! Netherbrain: I respected Bhaal’s child once, but not you, Gortash. I allowed you to control me as long as it suited my purposes. You have played your part. The next order to be given is mine and it is this - die. Gortash: (crumples like a piece of parchment) Netherbrain: When the parasite entered your ruined mind - you became a pawn in my design. Who do you think told the Chosen about the Astral Prism? Who do you think planted the knowledge of Orpheus’ power, and the fear of what it could do? When the Chosen sent my thralls to retrieve the Prism - who do you think let the ‘Emperor’ slip its leash, knowing it would be the one to bring you to me? The Emperor: We were part of its plan… Netherbrain: I only needed one Netherstone loosened from the Chosen’s grasp to guarantee my freedom. You brought all three back to me. In doing so, you have liberated me. This was your role - and it is complete. Now you will witness the Grand Design.

The face of a man who has 20 INT and 16 WIS and is definitely not the brainwashed pawn of a giant brain that's been manipulating him in his sleep.

You think his puny +7 WIS save is gonna beat the Netherbrain when it's been working on his ass every time he goes to sleep for the last nine months? I say thee nay.

Also, and this is probably oversharing, but my dad, who I used to think of as a really smart guy is now a huge Trump supporter. He's an atheist but he'll parrot conservative christian talking points that I've seen clipped from Nazi talking heads. The words that come out of his mouth and the way he smiles when he says completely insane things is haunting.

What all of this means at the end of the day isn't much in the grand scheme of things, but it's kind of sad, and it definitely says something about his characterization. This man is floundering in a soup of his own making. A tragic puppet. A poor little meow meow.

There's an interesting line of demarcation between the various writings that he dictated to Scribe Yanthus, the things he wrote himself, and the things he says to us in the game.

Elder Brain Domination (from Ketheric, but about Gortash)

Suspended Ceremorphosis

The Grand Design

Studies of the Elder Brains

Accelerated Grand Design

Memoir Notes With Recent Addenda

Journal of Enver Gortash

He's so much more motivated and insightful early on, epitomized in Ketheric's entry, "Gortash fears that, energised by the dark energies of the Crown, the brain we now call the Absolute will eventually metamorphose into something new and more difficult to control." And he was right! But that guy's nowhere to be found by the time we meet him.

This one makes me particularly sad, "No weakness but the unexpected. It seems I shall need unexpected allies," because, again, he's right, and we could've saved him if the game had given us the opportunity to say, "No, there is another way. Let's not walk into this obvious trap." He wrote us a roadmap; left a trail of breadcrumbs; and we weren't given the option to follow them.

But I guess that's what fixfics are for.

THANK YOU FOR COMING TO MY TAVtalk!

#bg3 #bg3 spoilers #bg3 timeline #Lord Enver Gortash #Archduke Enver Gortash #Enver Gortash #Gortash #The Dark Urge #General Ketheric Thorm #Ketheric Thorm #The Absolute #bg3 absolute #Netherbrain #The Emperor #bg3 emperor #someone please show this to Larian I'm not on twitter anymore #I tried not to editorialize but I failed

125 notes · View notes

hard--headed--woman · 1 year ago

Text

Annemarie Schwarzenbach

(i am so glad i learned about her!)

Born in 1908 and died in 1942, she is a Swiss writer, poet, explorer, philosopher, photographer, journalist and traveler (yeah that's impressive!).

Her family was a family of Swiss industrialists from the upper bourgeoisie and close to the far-right ; openly lesbian, she lives with difficulty with them and can't wait to leave.

From 1927, she studied history and literature in Zurich and Paris and then began writing articles for the Swiss press.

In 1930, she became friends with Klaus Mann (writer) and Erika Mann (writer, actress, singer) children of Thomas Mann (writer) and had a long affair with the latter. She supported them in their fight against Nazism. The three friends joined the anti-fascist magazine Die Sammlung.

In 1931, she obtained a doctorate. At the age of 23, she published her first novel, Les Amis de Bernhard. She became friends with Claude Bourdet, Catherine Pozzi's (poet and writer) son and a future member of the French Resistance.

In 1933, Annemarie Schwarzenbach made her first trip as a journalist, travelling to Spain with the photographer Marianne Breslauer.

That same year, she travelled to Persia and decided to marry, in Tehran, Achille Clarac, the secretary of the French legation, who was openly homosexual. She did this so that she was no longer dependent on her parents. Thanks to her marriage, she was able to obtain a diplomatic passport, which facilitated her travels. Obviously, it wasn't a love marriage; the two of them did it to help each other and to be able to live free.

She later returned to Switzerland, then left for the Soviet Union and the United States. In 1938, she underwent several detox treatments for her morphine addiction. She fell in love with one of the women in charge of her treatment. During these stays at the clinic, she wrote "La Vallée Heureuse","Das glückliche Tal" (The Happy Valley).

In 1939-1940, when Europe was once again embroiled in war, she travelled by Ford from Geneva to Kabul, via Iran, with the Swiss traveller, writer and photographer Ella Maillart, a journey marked by her addiction problems. The two women's epic journey is recounted by Ella Maillart in her book "La Voie cruelle". It was during this journey that Annemarie Schwarzenbach wrote "Un hiver au Proche-Orient". She also wrote various reports for Swiss newspapers.

On her return, she went back to the United States, where her addiction to morphine, her depressive tendencies and her suicide attempts forced her to undergo several psychiatric treatments. She then became interested in the trade union movement. In New York, she befriended Carson McCullers, who fell madly in love with her and dedicated "Reflections in a Golden Eye" to her.

During a stay in the Belgian Congo, Annemarie Schwarzenbach joined the Free French forces in Brazzaville; she was mistaken for a Nazi spy. Disturbed by this comparison, she began writing a series of poems, including Les Rives du Congo-Tétouan. In 1942, having regained her serenity, she decided to return to Switzerland.

On 7 September 1942, a fall from her bicycle seriously injured her head. She was treated in a psychiatric hospital in Prangins, with electric shocks. Her mother then had her taken back to the Engadine, where she died on 15 November, aged 34.

After her death, her mother chose to destroy a large part of her correspondence. However, the Annemarie Schwarzenbach fonds is preserved at the Swiss Literary Archives in Bern and was made freely accessible on Wikimedia Commons in 2017. She was nicknamed the "inconsolable angel" by the French writer Roger Martin du Gard.

She has created a number of novels, poems, photos and reports during her many travels, and I invite you to take a look at her work!!! She was such an interesting person!!!

I love women with a thirst for life and the world like that; she wanted to discover everything, and created such interesting things!!!

Do check her books, her poems and her photos!

#lesbian #lesbian pride #pride #pride month #history #pride history #lesbian history #lesbian culture #annemarie schwarzenbach #photography #poetry #travel #writing #writer #lesbian writer #lesbian photographer

97 notes · View notes

crystal-overdrive · 1 year ago

Text

List of Banites

I went through the Foundy and Wyrm's Rock to get a list of Banite names, hopefully useful for anyone writing Church of Bane or Gortash centered fic.

Fists of Bane

Fists of Bane are the lowest ranked foot soldiers of Bane who obey all orders without hesitation.

Bagdog - Half-Orc Person

Polanulus - Human Man

Gudrum - Human Woman

Frode - Human Man

Zana Hade - Human Woman

Iron Consuls

Iron Consuls are cunning field officers who excel at coordinating the Fists of Bane in combat.

Jaxbock - Human Mam

Lo - Human Man

Null

Mian

Malik the Cruel

Moosk

Chadd - Orc

Underbite Yoonce - Half-Orc

Marten the Hammer - Half-Orc Man

Black Gauntlets

The Black Gauntlets are priests who command the consuls.

Greyward

Mohlen

Ignur

Aiseha

Mfran

Hahns Rives - Human Man, Overseer of the Foundry Lab

Indora Ralston - Human Woman

Ulova - Human Man

Borri Paver - Dwarf Man

...and my two favorites

Black Gauntlet Tamia Holtz, who seemed to be running at least part of the Foundry, and Fist of Bane Gasper Throaks, the son of a tailor who is a newcomer to the cult, having been given a job by Tamia after spending his time hanging around the Guildhall.

Turns out if you go to the Elfsong Gasper's Mum Clovia is having an affair with Tamia BUT the first time I saw this letter I imagined Tamia and Gasper were getting married and I loved the idea of this vicious overseer being a sweet daughter-in-law.

#bg3 #fic ref #bane #banites #church of bane #gortash #enver gortash #gortash bg3 #lord gortash #lord enver gortash #archduke enver gortash #bg3 enver gortash #bg3 lore #my fic ref #my bane lore

181 notes · View notes

thelongestway · 23 days ago

Text

This is a new problem to have, ahaha--several possible outcomes for the s5 prequel to s6 (which is most likely the format this is going to take!). And now I have to decide which of them works best story-wise, without having fully written it. :P

The bad news is, this is hard. The good news is: it is also resolved by writing!

So without further ado..

Chapter 6: Accomplice

One of Dr. Tenacious' accomplices?! Here? I could only hope my face was frozen enough to hide my bewilderment. But for once, the hacker seemed just as out of their depth as I was.

A Trellian agent? Ghostwheel repeated, their voice skeptical. Dandelion? Friend, I'm just a hacker with purely material interests. All I'm here for is some credits.

And that's why you're going after Encephalon, the Friend quirked an eyebrow.

The guys whose annual reports contain too many zeros and who never go to jail because they have sprawling financial empires are the easiest targets. Duh. It's getting involved with the small outfits which gets you busted.

…Which is why you're helping the Friends.

Like you said, we can help each other. But if you're not interested, we can just forget this conversation ever happened and go our separate ways.

The Friend cracked a smile. This Friend did not say it isn't interested. But most people with purely material interests stay well away from terrorists and their ilk.

Terrorists, murderers and drug dealers! Ghostwheel exclaimed in a cheerful voice that made my skin crawl. Just the kind of people who have a vested interest in keeping out of security hands themselves, which makes you my favorite people. But listen, Friend: this is getting fucking boring. Are you in or not?

This Friend is in, it nodded, then gave me and Zaharije a glance. But there is a number of operative problems we must resolve before we hit them.

Indeed, Zaharije said. Ghostwheel, you said you could help with the evacuation? We have two patients to handle, at least one of whom will need it--and with these news, I'd say it's both of them.

Oh, that's easy, Ghostwheel said. You have a stolen wormhole-capable shuttle, Friend, don't you? That should be able to take your patients just fine. And I'll cover for your departure.

You know it was stolen, the Friend said, its lopsided grin back on its face.

Ghostwheel gave a laugh, and the Friend's eyes glazed over as it appraised some sort of data the hacker must have sent it.

Presumably, the two of them made conversation Zaharije and I were not party to, so I turned to him and quietly said, "They're being very presumptious about the… About Luca letting us use his shuttle."

Zaharije answered just as quietly, "I think that aspect of the evacuation won't be a problem. The real question is, if it will fit everyone who must leave."

"I told you. I'll stay."

The look on my friend's face was as pained as it was affectionate. "I appreciate it, my friend. Really, I do. But no. With these revelations from Ghostwheel, you especially must go."

"What? Why?"

"It's no longer safe."

"It's never been safe! That hasn't stopped you!"

"Encephalon will realize soon enough that releasing the data to me was no error on their part, but an attack. And when they do, they will stop playing games and retaliate. This means both you and our patient's family are in danger. My friend, you said once that Preservation provides sanctuary to refugees? I was hoping you could vouch for them."

Light, Zaharije was starting to get desperate with this. We really were in trouble.

"Preservation is half a year away," I said as gently as possible. "We'll never make it that far."

"Or perhaps Luca has some other option? In any case, you must try."

"We must try, if that's the case. You can't stay either," Zaharije started protesting but I cut him off, "Zaharije, either Ghostwheel's cover works or it doesn't. If you're right about the retaliation, then Rive won't save you. The clinic is done for. What use would staying here be?"

"Having Rive is more than any of the patients have. I have the best chances--"

"Doctors," the Friend suddenly said, coming out of its trance. "Which of you is going down to Encephalon's fetid bowels together with this Friend?"

"Who said--"

"You need a ship--and yes, this Friend believes it can squeeze in a few more people. If we take your food stores, we will manage. This Friend needs data, and a companion competent enough to tell it which experimental data will be useful and which is garbage on a limited time frame, because its own expert is currently sedated in the medbay over there. All of us need to see Encephalon's experimental subjects rescued and, ideally, its operations stopped. Well, except for Ghostwheel, who needs credits. The solution is obvious, doc."

"Yes, it is," Zaharije nodded. "Dr. Mrinal, if you will help prepare the patients for depar--"

There was only so much of this I could take. I didn't know how this turned out to be my fucking life, but by light, I no longer cared.

"No," I cut Zaharije off again before he could speak. "No! Because Rive or not, you are the one our patient's family knows and will trust, and because I am in far better shape than you are, and because I have no idea what's going on here any more, but--" I turned to the Friend and met its damned grinning eyes, "--but I'm going to trust Zaharije that you're not some kind of weird Encephalon plant that's a pawn in a fucked up pile of internal corporation politics which I don't understand, and that instead you actually are working to take them down, and that your fucking terrorism is for the greater good!"

"So you're going," the Friend clarified, its voice almost amused.

I stood my ground.

"Yes! Of course I'm going! It has to be me! But Friend, I fucking swear: if I die out there, and if you don't keep your word, I--" I swallowed. I wasn't going to do anything when I was dead, of course. I wasn't smart enough to set up dead drops, or to have handed over my revelations to a trusted journalist, or to have readied any kind of blackmail, or--or to have done anything in advance that could have an effect on the heavily armed mercenary.

That I was screaming at. While it stared at me.

Fuck.

The Friend said nothing. Neither did Zaharije. I turned to him and said, "Zaharije, please. I can't be out alone with the patients at the Friend's light-forsaken mercy! I won't make it past one system jump! You're the one who understands what he's doing, who has the contacts and the experience! You have to go!"

That look on Zaharije's face. I stared down on the ground, because I couldn't bear it.

"It is the better option, doc," the Friend supplied from behind my back. "If we do not make it back and Mrinal pulls a stunt like this at a corporate checkpoint, they're all dead. You, at least, know how to hold your tongue."

"Not when I had been as new at this as Dr. Mrinal is I didn't," Zaharije sighed. "But that is neither here nor there right now. You two are certain?"

The Friend nodded. So did I.

"Then let us get to it. We are losing starlight."

Yes, you fucking are! Ghostwheel suddenly hissed into our feeds. And I really didn't like the way they sounded--no longer confident, but tense, and I wasn't sure if they were angry or scared, or both. Friends, the Platinum Drama Chit performance has been great and everything, but can you all please, please shut up and get moving?

The Friend was suddenly on its feet and clicking off the safety on its weapon.

Status, Ghostwheel?

Unclear. But something weird is moving down at my Encephalon taps, and I'm starting to get a bad feeling about this whole thing. If we want to get this done, we have to do it fast.

#the nameless fanfic #ttou #time to orbit unknown #tmbd #horrible crossover thoughts #my writing

7 notes · View notes

primadonalover · 10 months ago

Text

Sworn to Hate Eachother

Summary: River and Y/n are sworn to hate eachother, however y/n starts to question her real feelings for her rival when Lamb suggests what could be the deep-rooted problem between them.

Short Note: Those of you who know Slow Horses know the way Lamb speaks. For me personally, I'm not a fan or swearing, so I won't be adding it in my writing. Just wanted to mention this incase you slow horses fans thought I'd written Lamb inaccurately

"How could you! How ... just....JUST HOW!?"

Lamb yelled whilst he marched round the carpet of his deteriorating office, laced with the not so faint stench of cigarettes and alcohol.

"I JUST...." He spoke with an exasperated tone, running his hand through the mess that he called hair.

"Look we're sorry alight." Cartwright spoke trying to reason with the hysterical man.

"You don't need to apologies for me, I'm not a baby." Y/n rolled her eyes at the agent that stood by her.

"Well you acted like a baby on the mission didn't you." Cartwright scoffed in response.

"Are you serious right now?! You were the one who was acting like a baby!"

"It was MY mission, therefore I got the gun!"

"Your can't shoot to save your life! I should have had that gun! It's just incredible how STUPID you are!"

"THATS NOT TRUE!"

"YOU BLOODY ALMOST SHOT ME! WHAT ELSE WOULD YOU CALL THAT?!"

"IF I'M STUPID THEN YOU MUST BE-"

"THATS IT!" Lamb shouted slamming his fist against his desk grabbing the attention if the two bickering intensely.

"First of all, you screw up a mission, a mission that was quite important for our reputation I might add, my reputation to be more direct. Second of all, the only decent reason you can give for this royal screw up is that you both "don't like eachother" .What are you a pair of children?! Thirdly, you both make my life a living hell! I mean..I mean what is it? I just don't get it?!" Lamb spoke in a state of confusion as he sat down staring at the two who both looked to floor ashamed.

"I mean I just don't get it, I....wait...oh bloody hell I should have seen this before." Lamb huffed leaning back in his chair rubbing his head.

"Seen what ?" River spoke as him and y/n looked at eachother confused but still with great hate.

"It's been staring me in the face this entire time!" Lamb rambled on. "Just so obvious!"

"What's obvious?!" Y/n asked curiously.

"Well, that you fancy eachother!"

"WE WHAT!?" Y/n and River exclaimed, almost falling to the floor with shock.

"Well clearly, there seems to be alot of...tension between you both sooo maybe you too both just need to f-"

"Don't finish that sentence!" River interrupted making Lamb chuckle.

"This is ridiculous, me!? With him?! " y/n scoffed pointing at River.

"Oh excuse me but what is exactly wrong with me?" River turned his rival putting his hands to his hips.

"Oh let me see, uhhh always seeking approval from others, self centred , can't do your job properly, that hair-"

"Wait, what? My hair , what's wrong with my hair!" River exclaimed looking from Lamb to Y/n.

"I mean where to begin." Y/n laughed whilst going to touch it only to have Rive slap her hand away.

"He just assaulted me." She spoke folding her arms turning to Lamb.

"Aleight alright alright I've had enough of this, both of you just do what you want but don't come crying to me like a bunch of babies when the other annoyes you, right! Now y/n get out whilst I talk to River."

"But Lamb-"

"Look I'm in no mood to argue, just go." Lamb waved his hand at y/n.

"Fine." She spoke glaring at River who stood there smirking as she slammed the door.

"Well that seemed intense." Louisa commented to y/n as she stormed out of the office.

"Yea well what's new with Cartwright." She mumbled siting down.

"So who one this round then?"

"Not actually sure, I mean Cartwrights the one still in the office and I don't hear shouting so...."

"Yea sounds like Lambs favours him this time." Louisa commented sitting next to y/n as they both began filing and sorting through old documents that Catherine asked them to look at.

"I don't know why, he was CLEARLY in the wrong."

"I don't even know why Lamb puts you on missions together, we all know it'll end up going wrong cause of a disagreement." Shirly spoke joining in the conversation.

"I think he enjoys it." Laughed y/n "You know he basically said me and Cartwright has sexual tension, I mean can you imagine."

Louisa and Shirly just glanced at eachother smirking.

"What! Guys come on! Me and Cartwright, that's crazy." Y/n shook her head in disgust.

"Well I see the way he looks at you and I just wonder." Louisa spoke whilst shirly nodded in agreement m

"He looks at me with hate, hello ? Has everyone lost there mind!"

"Oh I don't think he looks at you with hate exactly." Shirly chuckled.

"Fine, be like that but I swear that nothings going on between me and that stupid man."

Just as y/n spoke River stepped out from Lambs office glancing at her in the process, clearly hearing that last comment.

"See." Louisa smirked

"Shut up." Y/n hissed back as River walked up to them.

"What did Lamb want?" Shirly asked him.

"Uh another mission." He grumbled in response "He also says that he wants the filling done ready for tomorrow."

"Thats ridiculous, it'll take forever." Louisa spoke stunned as the rest looked on.

"I don't really think he cares." River responded trying to be sympathetic. "Anyway I'll see you guys tomorrow." He gave a small wave to the group, to only be ignored by none other than y/n.

"He looked sad that you ignored him." Shirly teased once River had left.

"OK enough, this is not a high school rom com, let's get it together people." Y/n stated strictly, trying to focus on the files though her mind kept going back to River, always River.

3 hours later

"Uh this is torture, even Lambs left." Shirly huffed putting her hands in head.

"Yea I was meant to be meeting up with some family tonight." Sighed Louisa still working through files

"And I had a party, we've all got problem." Shirly grumbled from her buried head.

After a minuet of thinking y/n spoke up .

"Look you both have plans for night and I don't have nothing better to do, so why don't you guys head out and I'll try and do my best with these files."

"Y/n you don't have to do that." Said Louisa

"Yea coudnt Catherine deal with it tomorrow." Spoke shirly.

"Oh no she's been of sick today, I don't want to have a bunch of work for her tomorrow. Honestly guys it's fine you go."

"Well only if your sure?"

"Louisa I'll be fine."

"Thanks bye!" Shirly exclaimed jumping up ,grabbing her coat and running out to the door.

"Well she woke up quickly." Y/n laughed as Louisa collected her stuff ready to head out.

"Hey y/n, thanks again." She called before heading out the door.

"Right then." Y/n said to herself as she looked at the remaining stack of papers. "Let's get this done."

As time went by y/n manged to work her way the the piles of papers, one file at a time. Though she coudnt help but think about what Lamb and the others had said and implied. Why did they all think she and River liked eachother, everything he did irritated her and probably the other way around aswell, but still, maybe there was something there? No she thought to herself, your being stupid y/n.

Suddenly whilst she was lost in the landscape of her own daydreaming a huge bang came from downstairs makeing her jump out of her chair.

"Wait what time is it." She mumbled looking at the clock , maybe it was Louise and she forgot something?

3 in the morning! That's not louisa. The worry continued as crashing noises continued and the sound of a person walking up the stairs became clearer. Not knowing what to do and not being equipped with any weapon she quickly grabbed an empty bottle of whiskey from Lambs office and hid behind the door.

She couldn't help but shake as the steps came closer and closer. Soon the door that she hid behind opened and figure that seemed to limp appeared.

Not knowing exactly how to handle the current situation y/n did what she usually did best . Throw a blind fit of rage.

"WHO ARE YOU AND WHAT DO YOU WANT!" She screamed jumping out from her hiding place, going to hit the stranger with the bottle.

"What the hell!" A familiar voice retaliated in shock.

"River?!' Y/n exclaimed confused, dropping the bottle. "Is that you?!"

"Yes it's me! Why's it so dark !,# why are you even still here?!"

"Well I thought you were a some thug so I turned of the lights to hide and I'm still going through the files, what are you doing here!?" She spoke going to find the lights switch.

"Doesn't matter." He grumbled turning away from her as the light turned on.

"What's wrong." Y/n spoke with suspicion as she watches him from behind. "Your limping."

"Just leave it."

"Uh no, you can barely stand on your leg and-"

"I hurt it."

"Hurt it? Hurt it how?" She carried on pushing

"Does it really matter y/n." River spoke, not angrily, no attitude infact y/n sensed a tone of tiredness and exhaustion in his voice.

"You gonna turn around to face me then." She crossed her arms determined to find out what was exactly going on with him.

For a moment he didn't do anything, just sighed.

Y/n walked up and gently put a hand to his shoulder.

"Please Cartwright, I know there's something wrong."

"Fine." He huffed tuning to face her.

"Oh my gosh cartwright!" Y/n exclaimed at the sight of him, face all beaten and bruised, cloths partially ripped and covered in blood.

"Happy?" He muttered, clearly in pain.

"What happened!?" She still coudnt get over the state he was in.

"I..." He began and looked down, tears began to form in his eyes. "I can't get into all this now, it's to much, everything just hurts." He tried his best to pull himself together but wasn't a success as soon the tears ran down his bloodied face uncontrollable.

Y/n had no clue what to do. She had never seen river cry, upset or even vulnerable, not like this.

"Do you have anyone who can take care of you, family maybe?" She asked softly still not sure what to exactly do.

He just shook his head "I dont want to cause my grandad any upset and um, there's no one else. That's why I came here, there's first aid kits and it's safe ."

"Oh right." Y/n repleid and the two just stood there.

"You can just carry on working if you want. I'll take care of myself." River stated and went to go and find a first aid kit , hobbling about the room, wincing every now and then.

"For goodness sake Cartwirght sit down." Y/n chuckled seeing the man trying to reach for the first aid kit on a high self.

"What-"

"Just sit down, I'll get that."

Once she got the kit and river was sat down as comfortably in the chair as he could y/n places the kit on the desk and began to seacgr through it for everything that was needed.

"I can do -"

"Cartwright I did nurses training, so can you put your pride aside and let me just help you, it looks like it just trust to move." She spoke sternly to which he nodded in response.

Sitting on the desk opposite him she began to gently rub the blood from his face.

"Thank you y/n." He spoke looking up to her as she took care of a cut on the side of his head.

"Thats ok" She smiled down at him and continued to work. "So was this to do with the mission Lamb sent you on?"

"Yea." River responded "I had to retrieve something from the park but I uh had a run in with Duffy ." He tried to brush it of.

"Wait Duffy did this to you!?"

"Yes this is all his fine work."

"I can't...I can't believe he did this to you."

"Well he does hate me." He chuckled in response as y/n got up to get him some water.

"I hate you but I'd never do this to you." She responded sadly. "I hate seeing you like this River."

"Wow." He laughed slightly taking the glass from her and watched as she sat opposite him.

"What?"

"I don't think I've ever heard you call me by my first name before."

"Don't worry I'll get back to cartwright. " She chuckled awkwardly realising what she had done aswell.

"Oh.....it's just I preferred it when you called me River." He spoke avoiding eye contact with her.

"You do?" She asked with a slight smile with river responding with a polite nod.

"Well then ......River, how are you feeling now."

"Just terrific." He chuckled

"Seriously River, you've had some very nasty injuries, I'm surprised you don't have concusion."

"Maybe I do!"

"Well then maybe we should test that.." the pair chuckled and y/n helped River stand on his feet , carefully holding onto him. She coudnt help but blush as they stood so close together. Maybe Lamb was right? No stop thinking that ! Y/n thought pushing his words aside.

"Can you stand ok?" She asked as he clucthed onto her arm,keeping her close to him. There faces close, only parted by height.

"I think I can." River spoke almost in a whisper a line of nervs laced in his voice. Y/n was sure she caught his eyes dart from hers to her lips then bach but she to her eyes. No. Lamb couldn't be right.

"Shall I let go so you can stand on your own then." She went to pulll away from him only for River to hold her tighter to him , staring down at her with a longing in his eyes.

"River I -" Before she could finish she felt his beaten and bruised hand gently cup her cheek , lifting her head slightly so that they were gazing into eachothers eyes.

"Can I ask you something?" He whispeed closely to her lips gently rubbing her cheek with his thumb.

"Yes." She spoke nervously.

"You don't actually think I'm stupid do you?" He asked sounding embarrassed. Y/n coudnt help but chuckle with how concerned he seemed about it.

"No River of course I don't, I was just angry."

"Oh that's good then." He smiled nervously inching closer.

"And you know." Y/n smirked looking up at him , you have pretty great hair aswell."

"Oh really?"

"Yea I do." She smiled, gently running her fingers through the golden hair, causing his cheeks to flush as she did so.

Suddenly and without thinking through anything y/n leant up on her tip toes and gently placed a soft and delicate kiss to Rivers lips.

She could feel the man's shock depsite how they'd been obviously moving closer and closer to eachother by the minute.

However River swiflty got over the initial suprise of y/ns bold move and leaned into the kiss, softy but not lacking in any passion as he moved his lips against hers.

Soon his hands trailed down to her waist trying to pull her as close to him as possible.

As the kiss became more intense with River backing y/n up against the desk, the realisation suddenly struck her overwhelmingly.

"Wait River wait." She mumbled against his lips beginning to pull away as he lightly bit down on her bottom lip.

"What..whats wrong, did I do something worng. " He whispered nervously afraid he'd messed up.

"No you didn't but-"

"Well let's carry on then." He chuckled going in for another kiss only to be gently pushed back again.

"River we can't." She spoke looking down.

"But why? You kissed me !"

"I know I did."

"You seemed like you very much enjoyed kissing me!"

"River I know-"

"You said you liked my hair!"

"I do!"

"Then what's the problem!?" He began raising his voice.

"Lamb." She mumbled

"What do you mean?"

"If we happen , then he'd be right!"

"Wait, just wait a minute , you clearly like me and I REALLY like you ...alot! We'd be great together, you know we'd be great together but your just to proud to admit that Lamb was right!"

"River he'd never let it go, we'd get comments everyday! By everyone, not just Lamb!"

"Oh so our relationship would be an inconvenience to you! Or maybe an embarrassment!"

"We're not even in a relationship Cartwright!"

"Yea youve got one thing right." He scoffed and began for the door. "And don't call me River again!" He yelled slamming the door on his way out.

"FINE BY ME! ITS A STUPID NAME ANYWAY!" Y/n screamed back tears in her eyes. "I MEAN OBVIOUSLY YOUR MUM NEVER CARED ABOUT YOU, TO GIVE HER SON A STUPID NAME LIKE THAT!"

Y/n thought she heard him stop on the steps, was he coming back up. Maybe she took it to far. No wait, he's leaving.

She liked him, she knew she liked him alot, but once again they ended up in a fight.

Well that was it now, there was no coming back from what was said.

Hope you all enjoyed thus darlings!

Shall I consider a Part 2😏💕?

#slow horses #river cartwright #x reader #river x reader #british tv #jack lowden #gary oldman

30 notes · View notes

bitterkarella · 11 months ago

Text

Midnight Pals: Sex Advice

Graham Masterton: it may interest you to know Masterton: that when i'm not writing horror Masterton: i'm writing sex guides Barker: oh yeah? how's that work? i thought you were british Masterton: i Masterton:

Barker: how you gonna write a sex guide when you're british? Masterton: you're british Barker: ah ha ha oh you got me ha ha ha! Barker: this guy's good Barker: he's real good!

Edward Lee: bro you write sex guides? Masterton: yup! Masterton: like 'Mr and Mrs. Erotic Briton' Masterton: and 'Tepid Sex Teatime Soiree' Lee: bro

Lee: bro i'm trying to get my buddy howard laid Lee: you got any advice bro? Masterton: let me see the client Lovecraft: Masterton: ah Masterton: no i don't

Lee: bro c'mon bro Lee: help my bro out here man he's dying Masterton: ok um well Masterton: ok first you need to woo the lady Masterton: try buying her some chocolates Lovecraft: [sweats] oh i can't do that

Lovecraft: I've heard chocolate's from Belgium Masterton: Lee: oh i shoulda mentioned that Lee: my bro here is racist against Belgians Masterton: yeah no that's right and proper Masterton: fuck Belgium!!!

Masterton: but actually chocolate's not originally from Belgium Masterton: it's from south America Lovecraft: what??? that's even worse! Lee: yeah bro you're not really helping your case bro

Lee: bro c'mon give my bro some advice on how to get a lady Masterton: well my expert advice is Masterton: Masterton: have you considered just jerking off? Lovecraft: [sweats]

Graham Masterton: listen ladies Masterton: here's a tip that'll really rive him wild in bed Masterton: next time you're out hiking, pick up a small flat stone

Masterton: and when you're getting in the mood Masterton: surprise him by pressing it against his perineum Tabitha King: Sonia Greene: Angela Carter: Masterton: that means his taint Tabitha King: oh! his taint! well, of course

Masterton: they love me in Poland! Masterton: see, they erected this statue of me as a dwarf Barker: oh yeah they gave you the Keebler elf hat and everything Masterton: it's not a Keebler elf hat! Masterton: it's a dwarf hat! Masterton: there's a difference!

Poe: why are you a dwarf? Masterton: you know, because Masterton: Masterton: look, it's because Masterton: look, dwarves are very important to the polish people, okay? Masterton: they're, like, really big in their culture! Masterton: really big! Masterton: not literally, tho

Barker: yeah for real, why are they putting up statues of you in Poland Poe: it's probably like when they put up that statue of me in boston Barker: i thought you were from Baltimore Poe: yeah but i did visit boston once Barker: Barker: yeah ok sure that counts

#midnight pals #midnight society #the midnight society #clive barker #edgar allan poe #hp lovecraft #edward lee #graham masterton #sonia greene #angela carter #tabitha king

49 notes · View notes

demonicnarwhale · 2 months ago

Text

Here's my second part of my BFA exhibition

PART 1

And of course, song to listen to here:

あつかれSUMMER - Halcali

Places: 7 x 7 and 8 x 7 inches. Arches (90 hot press) and Strathmore paper (140 cold press). Inking, color pencils and of course, watercolor. I have them in the order of what I worked on first then last, it's also to note that the first four which are squares used Arches paper then I changed to Strathmore which is thicker and has nicer texture for watercolors. It also doesn't bend or curl the paper up as much as Arches (even if I used a thinner Arches my point still stands, Strathmore I fuck with).

Also cold press often times has bumpy texture or where you can see the paper pulp stuff while hot press is obviously much smoother, but Strathmore, at least the 140 press one didn't have that weird bumpy texture unlike other watercolor paper brands like Arches or Rives BFK. So I likey and very much suggest trying it out too!

Additions: Post it notes, fake newspaper clip thing, map, and some drawn polaroids (which I've realized don't have a vintage look to it like how I'd like, oops!!!)

Newspaper placed next to Deuce as he's a (coal) miner, or one of the remaining ones. Used newsprint for that nice tan-ish color of the paper and its thinness to give it an aged look, did the same for the bottom too

YEAAAYYYYY NAUTICAL MAP!!! (i know little about them lol but this was fun and made me actually think of some of the geography)

Some notes mainly written by PS (I still need to figure out his handwriting... writing in a different style is hard...) but then also some others. Just some lose world building or "historical" moments of the town or locations like ...

🦞🔥THE LOBSTER SHACK🔥🦞

The 1987 one was from me and my friend laughing over her going "you should put the bite of 87 from FNAF" and I thought it was way too funny to NOT do so

Tehehee AR moment... I thought it'd be cool to make a lil business card he'd give as he's a mechanic wheeeeee. (i FORGOT THE REASONING OF THE PHONE NUMBER AREA CODE THING OH MY GOD I KNOW IT WAS OFF OF A BIBLE VERSE, because i love lovemlove love bible or religious motifs/symbolism/call backs/nods to/allusion/etc) I WROTE IT DOWN ON A POST IT NOTE BUT I LOST IT!!!!!

I do remember this specific verse as I thought it worked well enough to give a hint of the overarching story of this town collapsing in on itself (but resetting soon enough).

Mark 13:32 talks about the second coming of Jesus. Wellllll mainly how no one knows when that day will be. And so, I thought it'd be neat for it to tie in to how no one in the town knows when things hit the fan. And there'll always be a reset?? I don't know how to really explain it, but my mind just went "oh haha the second coming is like a reset" when it's. NOT. but whatever go off idiot. I also looked into fictional area codes butttt 555 had been used as the go-to in the 1960s for fake phone numbers. Much to think about it but I needed to just make something up. 627 = MAR

Some drawn polaroids of the baby boy, Connor (Sharkbait son!!!) I wanted it to feel like silly photos you take with friends, family, or pets. And HK (or Trace... or Fin. I'm leaning towards HK because she absolutely adores Connor. But Fin, I feel like he'd be the type to joke about taking silly/stupid photos, so like a close up. And Trace would feel really cute to me that he subtly or takes funny looking photos of the lil one but isn't as open or "Aawwwwwwww" type yeah) took them as a "lets remember this fun time"

Full Bleeds: 15.5 x 12 inches or 12 x 15.5. Digital drawings printed out on Arches paper (quarter sheets). Full bleed meaning it ya know, has no white boarders and such

oh you KNOW MY BITCH ASS LOVES THEM SWOOPING/WAVE LOOKING EYE MOTION THING!!!!!! (and i realized that the bottom two drawings, one should be flipped so they're both framing the middle piece which is the abstracted looking mess. But oh well, the bottom one's night/space sky thing is swooping inwards clockwise but the cliffside on the right throws it off... oAURgh)

i just placed both canvases in one for the digital images here

I'm so sad that I fucked up the lines for the crosswalk I SWEAR TO GOD I HAD IT LINED UP!!! I DON'T KNOW WHAT HAPPENED OR WHY IT'S NOT LINEDAOURUAGOJ

but anyways, i think that should be all! I had a lot of fun and anguish creating these works for this story which I've been fucking with for around 3 years. I wanted to pay some homage and a lil cheers to the Intermission, but also try to start treating this story and the characters as their own stand alone thing or like evolved??? thing?? yeah. uhhhh yeah!

I also used this semester as a means of experimenting and trying new things. I was very happy and excited to combine digital and traditional art in ways that compliment each other for each piece, but when put all together it's kinda chaotic. Controlled chaos of some sorts teheee.

This was the studio I was given (alongside another BFA student, studiomate moment lets goooo, and I'll share the progression of work in here if I have pics lol. But having cleaned it out makes me feel really sad that this semester went by so fast. My ass was here Monday - Saturday sometimes even staying late as 7-8pm which sucked to me when it got dark cuz yay bus and walking home but eh. It was still really fun joking with my friends that we should sleep over at the studios).

ALSOOOOO!!!! Should I make a separate tumblr account/blog/space for Catalyst? I've mentioned before that this story that was an AU is now turning into its own thing to me as I feel like my depictions of these characters are beginning to take their own sort of spin due to obvious reasons that they're all in a whole different setting. And because some of the characters I don't know too well or I feel that I'm not 100% -ing them with the original source material, or that it's clear these are MY versions and such, of these characters, compared to other folks.

And allowing them to become ocs would be a bit easier to work with! I think it'd be fun to watch them slowly but surely evolve (hopefully) into different characters, like a side by side where I change up certain features or personality things and whatever. Ofc I'll make it clear that they started as AU's or versions of the Intermission group but then changed to fit the story better.

It's mainly also for organization sake, but also to really emphasize me wanting the story to become its own thing.

#my art #eels college art #intermission small town

7 notes · View notes

cosmic-entity-creation · 2 months ago

Note

hellooo,, we accidentally unfollowed you then refollowed you *sweats*.. could we have a tier 3 mascneu alter, creator's choice? preferably darker aesthetics/vibes

please take your time!! this is low priority :]

alex+cutter, he/him

Tier Three - Mascneu Creator's Choice

Name: Aren, Leo, Nix, Mattie, River, Willow, Finnley, Sandy, Chord, Neo, Morgan, Corpse, Tether, Million, Sage, Dexter, Dev, Rot, Xero, Rotten, Rage, Gutter

Nicknames: Air, Lee, Matt, Rive, Will, Finn, Sand, Morgue, Tee, Milli, Millipede, Dex, Rotz, Ray, Gutz

Age: Young Adult [19-24 years old]

Species: Zombie / Vampire

Pronouns: he/him, they/them, it/its, rot/rots, gut/guts, blood/bloods, flesh/fleshs, bat/bats, fang/fangs, stab/stabs, drink/drinks, fear/fears, hiss/hisself, dae/daem, ve/ver, fae/faer, slash/slashs, vice/vices, doe/dem, tin/tins, wish/wishs, prey/preys, hunt/hunts, we/wes, ae/aer, ne/nem, cae/caem, poe/poes, sae/saes, xip/xips, xe/xem, zie/zer, lie/lies, ghost/ghosts, scare/scares, scrap/scraps, bite/bites, worm/worms, bug/bugs, scream/screams

Source: Creator's Choice

Roles: Advisor, Anchor, Curacormate

Gender Labels: Rotgender, Vampyregender, Corpsegender, Transneumasc, Fleshiripped, Feralthing, Rabidthing

Orientation Labels: Fraysexual, Graysexual, Frayromantic, Grayromantic, Achillean

Relationship Labels: Agamous, Relationship Anarchy

Presentation Labels: Creature

Personality: Perpetually Sleepy, Kind, Loyal, Calm, Very Laid Back, Playful, A bit Jumpy

Likes: Meat, Cherry Kool-Aid, Slasher Films, Alternative Clothing, Blanket Nests, Bats, Bugs, Rats, Body Modifications, Muted Colors, Dark Colors

Dislikes: Humid Weather, Worms, Pastel Colors, Floral Scents,

Hobbies: Cosplay, Writing, Sculpting, Sewing, Collecting Pins, Online Gaming, Making Moodboards, Scrapbooking

Interests: Fanfiction, Gaming, Art, History of Vampires, History of Zombies, Crafting

Appearance:

[ Source 1 | Source 2 | Source 3 ]

#cosmicentitycreation #cosmicentityasks #cosmic entity: angelic-oath #entity: creators choice #entity: zombie vampire #bah #anti endo dni #endo friendly #endo system #endogenic friendly #mixed origin system #plural community #bah blog #build a headmate #headmate creation #build an alter #create an alter

5 notes · View notes

celestialseawitch-ff · 7 months ago

Text

OCs and Worldbuilding: Otis Spratt

Otis Spratt is a character that shows up a lot in my fanfic these days. He's such a lovely, grumpy, and intelligent wizard. I almost always have him paired with Minerva McGonagall, but he's also interesting simply as a stand alone.

He's the Head of the Department of Mysteries. He's old enough that he likely wasn't taught by Dumbledore -- if he went to Hogwarts. He's Asian but has a name with a completely different etymology, which suggests he's from a family of immigrants several generations back. Like there's so much happening there.

But the most interesting backstory to him is that Otis Spratt is actually a rewrite of a character. Originally, the Head of the DoM in my worldbuilding was a character named Alexander Rives. Many of Alexander's key attributes were passed on to Otis -- they're both quiet, serious men. They're both at the very least grey wizards, though Dumbledore would easily classify both as dark or dangerous. Most notably, they both hate Albus Dumbledore.

Another very interesting fact about Alexander Rives is that while he hated Albus Dumbledore, he married Ariana Dumbledore II, Albus' only child. Ariana is an OC I didn't love nearly as much as Alexander. I liked her as a concept because of the interesting dynamic it created in relationships between Albus, Tom Riddle, and other characters. I have an old abandoned Jamione wip (that is actually one of the inspirational stories for The Marked One) where Tom Riddle and Ariana were in love.

Most notable about Alexander Rives is that he originated in a story that is the direct predecessor to the story, Where the Pieces Fall. The original story was a Sirmione (I'm not sorry for abandoning it, it was terribly written) time travel fic where Hermione is severely injured as she is cast back in time. She is hit with a horrible curse that leaves her extremely ill and weak. Sound familiar?

That story was eventually scrapped because of the aforementioned terrible writing among other things. But I provide for you below the introduction scene of Alexander Rives and Ariana Dumbledore II.

“Unspeakable Rives,” Professor Dumbledore greeted stiffly but not unkindly. He paused and his eyes twinkled. “Or should I say, Head Unspeakable now?”

The middle aged wizard raised an eyebrow. He nodded. “Of course you already know.”

There wasn’t anything that Dumbledore didn’t know. He was worse than the nursemaid Rives had when he was a boy. It rankled him that Dumbledore seemed to know even Unspeakable business before anyone else.

“I make it my business to know,” Dumbledore responded with raised brows, his voice tight. The two did not get along. They hadn’t for a number of years. “I’ve got to keep up on my students, don’t I?”

A slight tension appeared in the creases in the corner of Rives’ hazel eyes at that. He wondered if it was meant to be a threat.

“I haven’t been your student for a great number of years, Albus.”

The hair at Rives’ temples had grown grey, mixing with the dark brown waves and curls of his hair. Lines creased his forehead. He’d attended Hogwarts when Dumbledore had still only been a Transfiguration teacher. A time before the elder wizard had grown to dislike the new Head Unspeakable.

“To what do I owe the summons?”

Rives nearly grinned at Dumbledore’s snippish tone. He hated being summoned like some sort of dog. But nothing could be done about it. When the Head Unspeakable requested one’s presence — no matter how much that person disliked said Head Unspeakable — one went.

Rives nodded his head towards the private hospital room behind him. “Thought you might be able to help out with a bit of a missing persons mystery for me. Interested?”

Dumbledore’s eyes glittered with intrigue as Rives knew they would. “Delighted. Shall we?” He gestured to the closed door and Rives nodded once before leading the way.

The private room in St. Mungos was nothing special, simply a space that could always be kept reserved and private for Unspeakable injuries. A small window let in a little light into the sparsely furnished room. A hospitable bed with two bedside tables were all the room contained, that and the young girl within the bed.

Rives closed the door behind the both of them and waved his wand. Unspeakable charms flew up around the small space like a fortress. Only another Unspeakable could gain access while they were in place. No risk of being overheard.

Dumbledore barely paid the wards any attention. He’d been involved in Unspeakable business before which was one of the only reasons Rives felt comfortable calling on the older man. That and the undoubtable connection between the girl and the Headmaster that Rives believed the two to have.

Dumbledore’s breath caught and it was obvious he’d found the same connection that Rives had seen the second he’d found the poor girl.

“I’ve never seen her before,” he calmly stated.

His eyes scanned the young witch frantically, despite his calm tone. She was unnervingly familiar. Her brown curls kinked and fanned out across the pillow not unlike how his own had in his youth. Her skin was sickly pale though, and dark shadows were cast beneath her eyes.

Rives nodded once. He had figured Dumbledore wouldn’t recognize her as a student, but he had to be sure. He waved a wand and conjured himself a chair to sit in. Dumbledore did the same. “Could she be a student from another school?”

Dumbledore raised his eyebrows. “Perhaps… I’ll send a few inquiries out, if you’d like?”

Rives shook his head. That would only complicate matters. He knew the girl was from the future. He just needed to be sure.

“Do you know who she is? What’s happened to her?”

“She was cursed with a terribly dark spell. They must have been impeded somehow, though. I think she may have tried to deflect it. It would have killed her otherwise.”

Dumbledore nodded once but didn’t ask what the curse was.

“A Death Eater attack?”

Rives learned forward, elbows resting on his knees. “Possibly.” He didn’t give any more information. Dumbledore only needed to provide confirmation that she wasn’t a student, anything else and the headmaster was just fishing for information. Rives wasn’t going to feed him anything.

The headmaster gave the girl another long, piercing look. “She looks just like Ariana.”

Rives stared at the girl as well. “Yes… I’d thought much the same thing.” He glanced at the headmaster. “That’s why I called her as well.”

Dumbledore’s eyes flickered up and they clouded with a bit of anger. Rives leaned back in his chair, unconcerned. He was Head Unspeakable now — despite Dumbledore’s best efforts otherwise — and the headmaster could do little about Rives interacting with his daughter, Ariana Dumbledore II.

Rives stood and nodded once. “Thank you for your confirmation. I will contact you with further information soon.”

Dumbledore’s mouth pinched into a tight line. He didn’t want to leave. Of course he wanted to know who the girl with the remarkable similarity to the Dumbledore family was and where she had come from. Who had harmed her? But, there was little the old man could do against such a dismissal. As much as he hated to admit it, Rives was the one in charge and he knew no amount of charm would convince the Unspeakable to let him stay.

Dumbledore rose from his chair and nodded once. They headed towards the door.

Just then, the wards fell and the door opened. A small body in an Unspeakable robe slipped in and the wards raised once more. The hood fell back and a head of curly auburn hair streaked with silver fell about the woman’s shoulders. She was petite, with sharp blue eyes and a pretty mouth. Her eyes glittered when she took in the elder wizard standing before her.

“Two Dumbledore’s for one occasion?” Her mouth turned up on one end into a devious little smirk. “This really must be a crisis.”

“Dumbledore,” Rives greeted with a nod of his head.

Unspeakable Dumbledore nodded once in return, “Rives,” before giving her father a kiss to his bearded cheek. “Father.” She glanced between the two wizards she knew very well hated each other. “Are you leaving?”

Dumbledore smiled kindly at his daughter, pretending the air of animosity between himself and Rives didn’t exist. “I’ve served my purpose, I believe. Your patient has never been a student of Hogwarts.” He turned to Rives, wishing he could stare down his nose at the younger wizard and hating that Rives was taller. “If she needs to be placed within Hogwarts come the fall, please do inform me.”

Rives nodded once in return. “Thank you, Headmaster. We will be in touch.”

Dumbledore kissed his daughter’s head before departing. The wards snapped back into place after his departure. Ariana turned and raised an eyebrow at Rives, a slow smirk spreading across her face.

Rives shook his head. “Don’t say it.”

“I think you’re growing on him.”

“Ariana.”

“Alexander.”

His glare was fierce. She chuckled under her breath. “I brought the heredity potion you asked for.” She pulled a small phial of green liquid out of the depths of her robes and tossed it carelessly to Alexander. He caught it deftly and glared at her as she moved past him to the bed. She jerked to a stop once she grew closer.

Alexander came up behind her. He towered over the younger Unspeakable, her head barely reached his shoulder. Ariana was still, her entire body tense. “She’s not me.” Despite the firmness to her tone, there was an obvious question behind it.

Alexander shook his head. His hand came up and touched her arm gently. She softened under the gesture. “I don’t think so. I didn’t know you in school but I think she’s…” His hand dipped into his pocket and he pulled out a phial. He handed it to her.

Ariana turned the small glass bottle over and the sand inside tinkled against the glass. “Time dust? Used time dust.”

“From a time turner,” he confirmed.

“Which only goes back in time.” Alexander didn’t say anything, he didn’t need to. Ariana’s hand tightened on the bottle. “You need a strand of my hair?” She turned to him, her blue eyes bright. “For the heredity potion?”

He nodded. “One of hers as well.”

Alexander leaned forward and gently plucked a strand of hair from the unknown girl’s head. He dropped the long, dark brown curl that looked not unlike his own into the small potion. Ariana dropped in hers as well. A puff of smoke emitted itself from the now bubbling liquid. The cloud was pink and smelled like cherries.

Neither said anything.

Finally, Ariana nodded once, shakily. “What happens when someone travels back in time further than one has been born?” She looked up and met Alexander’s light eyes.

His jaw clenched. “The person erases everything that came before them… and the Ministry — if they find out — kills that person. The hope is that it will preserve the timeline, but it’s already been shattered beyond repair.”

Ariana’s hands trembled and she squeezed them into tight fists. “They won’t find out.” Her eyes hardened on her boss, well aware she’d just verbally committed treason.

Alexander did not appear upset. “No,” he agreed, “they won’t.”

A flicker of confusion flashed across her eyes. Alexander turned and opened the drawer of the side table closest to them. From within, he pulled out a long gold chain, at the end of which held a golden heart shaped locket.

“She was wearing it when I found her.”

Ariana’s hand went to her chest. Her fingers slipped beneath the collar of her cloak and pulled out the same gold chain of her own necklace. It also had the same heart shaped locket at the end of it. Both gleamed in the light from the window.

Ariana shook her head. “You didn’t even need the potion, that’s proof enough.”

“Protocol,” was all he said and she nearly rolled her eyes.

“Was there anything in it?”

Alexander nodded. He handed her the parchment he’d found inside the locket earlier. The witch quickly opened it and scanned the single sentence within.

Keep her safe.

It was in Alexander’s handwriting.

Ariana shook her head. “I don’t even want to know what could possibly be happening in the future that you felt it necessary to send our daughter over a decade and a half into the past — at least.” Her gaze drifted to the young, still unconscious witch. “What happened to her? Where did you find her?”

“In the DoM,” Alexander responded gruffly. “She was lying on the ground, out past the Hall of Prophecies and the Pool of Consciousness.”

Ariana’s eyes widened. “How did she get that far into the Mysteries without tripping any alarms?”

“Technically, she was already in there. The charms work for people entering but… time travel doesn’t work on the wards the same way they do for apparating or portkeys.” Ariana nodded and handed the parchment back. Alexander slipped it into his robes once more. “She was injured. Someone had cast the Conteri Curse on her.”

Ariana's breath left her in a whoosh. “The Conteri Curse? But - she’s just a child.”

“Apparently, that didn’t matter.” He shook his head. “It was well cast too. She’d already progressed to the second stage of effects when I’d found her.”

Rage burned in Ariana’s heart. She’d never had her father’s cool temper. Blessed, instead, with the hotheaded fury her mother had been known for. “Who the hell did this to my daughter?”

Alexander’s eyes were cold and hard as he stared at the young witch’s torso, where had only hours before there had been a massive, gaping wound. “I don’t know. But I want them dead.”

#this was completely unprompted #and totally unnecessary #but I also thought it was cool #so if you want more of this #please let me know #celestialseawitch #harry potter #hermione granger #OC #ocs #world building #original character #character building #writing process #fanfiction #fan fic #fan fiction #fanfic #hp fanfic

16 notes · View notes