#but like they are so real as fictional characters
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I typically prefer the past tense. I consider it as a 'neutral' tense: the reader is unperturbed by it and it makes sense since most of the time you're retelling an event. But the last book I read was written in present tense and I had this distinct 'there's something off here' feeling until I realised it was the tense.
Also there's a bit in The Great Gatsby where Fitzgerald switches from past to present:
At least once a fortnight a corps of caterers came down with several hundred feet of canvas and enough colored lights to make a Christmas tree of Gatsby's enormous garden. On buffet tables, garnished with glistening hors-d'oeuvre, spiced baked hams crowded against salads of harlequin designs and pastry pigs and turkeys bewitched to a dark gold. ... By seven o'clock the orchestra has arrived .... The last swimmers have come in from the beach now and are dressing upstairs; the cars from New York are parked five deep in the drive ... The bar is in full swing and floating rounds of cocktails permeate the garden outside until the air is alive with chatter and laughter and casual innuendo and introductions forgotten on the spot and enthusiastic meetings between women who never knew each other's names.
As you can see, it goes from absolute past (came, crowded) to present perfect (has arrived, have come) to present (is, permeate). It evokes a sense of energy: "the air is alive" and it feels alive because it is in the now.
The past tense is the natural tense because that's how we talk about our personal stories. But you'll notice sometimes you'll use the present tense when recounting: "So I'm walking down the street when I bump into Marie and she keeps me there talking for half an hour, and I'm standing there with my shopping bags digging into my hands and she just yaps away."
The present tense tends to make the reader feel more involved in the situation, it makes the story feel more immediate and more real because it's not relegated to the past. A perfect example would be Se una notte d'inverno un viaggiatore (If on a Winter's Night a Traveller) by Italo Calvino, which not only uses the present tense but the second person ('you') to make the reader a character in the story.
There are also times where the present tense is used in recounting history. I've seen it done. I think it has a similar enlivening effect as it does in fiction.
Personally, I think the present tense is strongest when you use it sparingly. Too much of it can grow tiring. Partly by virtue of being a less commonly used tense it has a more exciting edge.
One last thing though, and as a final reason for the present, is that it makes the reader think the story is playing out now and thus what will happen next is still variable. In the case of the past tense, it's implied that the full story is over and the reader feels the narrator knows how it will end. In the case of the present, it feels more like no one knows what's going on.
Also the past tense is comforting. It is the tense of old tales and sitting by the fireplace, the tense of legends and rumour. It igves things a sense of fixity and truth. Brideshead Revisited, for example, needs to be written in the past tense because it is all about a reminiscence of the halcyon days of youth. Dracula should be written in the past tense since it is a collection of supposedly real diary entries and so it needs to look like things were being recorded properly and fully. The present tense can feel rushed, fleeting, but the past is always there and gives you time to set things down.
As a bonus: the future tense is an odd tense because it implies a degree of certainty, but can also have the feeling things could change still. It is incredibly disorienting and weird and should be only used if you really think it helps the idea you're trying to convey. Don't do things for shock value or o be cool. Like, a future tense horror/thriller story about an impending disaster to evoke a sense of helplessness in the reader might be interesting. Also consider context, because if the story is set in the past, future tense would be really off-putting (that might be the goal, or perhaps it's because a character in the past is predicting the future, there are times I'd say it's justified).
(also obviously I mean this as 'the whole book or a significant section is written in this tense, you can of course have bits where there's a bit of future tense, like that present tense passage in Gatsby. I just mean reading a whole novel in the future would be annoying)
I am thinking about fan fiction writers, but anyone who writes any kind of fiction can answer. (As far as I’m aware, non-fiction is usually written in the past tense - but if I’m wrong do let me know!)
If you like, explain why in the tags!
When I was young I gathered that all serious works of fiction were written in the past tense (past tense third person to be precise) so that is what i did when I started writing. However my mind was blown by the power and immediacy of Margaret Atwood writing in the present tense so I started to experiment with it myself, and now i strongly favour it. I get the impression that past is still the most commonly used, but I’m prepared to be surprised!
Please share!
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this doesn't happen often but the three or four times I've seen people get mad at other fans for being horny about jon archivist were so strange. "he's ace, stop sexualizing him" a) you are allowed to be sexually attracted to ace people, even the ones who are sex repulsed. attraction is kind of infamously something that can't be controlled. it's literally your brain, it's fine. b) He Is Not Real. I cannot overemphasize the extent to which jonathan the archivist sims does not exist. he will not feel sexually harassed or threatened if he sees your post where you drew him sexily tied up because he is not on social media because he does not exist. you aren't even drawing a character based on a real actor's physical likeness, you made up an imaginary face and body, he exists even less than a lot of other fictional characters. this is the singular most value neutral way you could ever be horny about an ace person. whom cares.
#'you're sexualizing sounds of pain and distress :/' false those were fake expressions recorded in a studio for entertainment purposes.chill.#tma#marina marvels at life
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hate to just spawn in like i usually do but i saw this interaction on tiktok (ofc) and i. don’t know if it was common or not?? but we need to clear some things up my dudes.
using an x reader fanfic to have a little bit of fun with it is great, but bringing OTHER people down just because they also like the same character? making fun of a real person? not great.
saw a few people dragging this teenage girl in the comments of a dynamic duo edit (the usual ‘need them so bad’ etc) and this one user went absolutely beserk like “you could never pull them” blah blah blah. that is an INSANELY toxic thing to do and pulling anyone down (especially because of their looks) because of a FICTIONAL CHARACTER?? absolutely barbaric.
x reader is FUN. x reader is also an escape for a lot of people. let’s keep it that way.
#jason todd x reader#dick grayson x reader#bruce wayne x reader#roy harper x reader#lottie yaps ig#like cmon guys#don’t be a dick (literal)#be a dick (grayson)#batfam#batfamily#tiktok#tiktok ban#cant say how happy i am this STUPID app is getting banned#damn teenagers#and now i sound like my grandma but IM RIGHT
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like real people do ☢️ seungcheol x reader.
little is known about the apocalypse of 2017. a century later, archivists are now unveiling the relics they found from those who lived through that time.
★ seungcheol x reader. ★ word count: 2.1k ★ genre: alternate universe: apocalypse, alternate universe: soulmates (the only way for your scars to disappear is when your soulmate kisses them goodbye), angst, romance. ★ warnings: major character death. depictions of death/violence, injuries/scars. established relationship; suggestive scenes but no real smut. set in a fictional apocalyptic world. doubling down on the angst warning; i cannot say with any certainty that this is a happy ending. ★ footnotes: this is part of my follower milestone event. viv gave me an inch (a request for angsty seungcheol) and, in turn, i am giving her a mile (a whole thing instead of just a ficlet). mahal kita, @heartepub! this will be the last hozier brainrot i offer you— for now. + much thanks to @gyubakeries and @tusswrites for beta reading! love you both to the end of the world. ❤️🩹
↻ ◁ || ▷ ↺ like real people do by hozier. apocalypse by cigarettes after sex. i know the end by phoebe bridgers. fourth of july by sufjan stevens. interlude: i’m not angry anymore by paramore. atlantis by seafret. end of beginning by djo. nobody’s soldier by hozier.
When the fish started dying, you did not think: This is how the world will end.
Why would you? The decimation of marine mammals and seabirds didn’t make the news. The misguided scientific breakthrough that triggered everything was kept under wraps.
It isn’t until much later, until the damage is irreparable and the Rapture is imminent, that you will realize it.
The world as you know it is ending— but at least you have Seungcheol.
There’s some cruelty in the timing of it all. The two of you had just moved in with each other, coasting on the honeymoon phase of a long-term couple with a new thing to share. The paint on your apartment’s walls had yet to dry when the government declared a state of national emergency.
Dozens of other countries followed suit not long after, all blaming one thing or the other. Food crises. Social unrest. Cultural collapse.
“This is crazy,” Seungcheol grumbles.
The television is playing clips of a hurricane tearing through the Philippines. Extreme weather conditions, the reporters are saying. Due to the rise of CO₂ levels.
You and Seungcheol are sprawled out on the floor, watching it unfold. The furniture store meant to deliver your couch has delayed shipment until further notice.
Seungcheol has always been the sulky type, though the expression on his face nowadays has been less of his trademark pout and more of a serious frown. You can feel his growing agitation in the stiff way he holds you, in the set of his eyebrows.
“It’s crazy,” you agree quietly, resting your hand on his knee in a bid to calm him a bit. “But it’ll pass.”
Your touch seems to give some sort of reprieve. He rolls his shoulders. He unclenches his jaw.
“It’ll pass,” he echoes, reaching out to intertwine your fingers.
Neither of you knew just how wrong you could be.
April 8, 2017
Weird times. Cheol knows just how anxious I get when I’m cooped up, so he encouraged me to pick up journaling. I’m not sure how much this will help, but it’s worth a try.
It’s been a month since everything has essentially gone on ‘lockdown’. The news says that all of this started because researchers wanted to regulate harmful algae. Their genetically engineered virus ended up infecting all algae, and now the majority of phytoplankton are just... dead.
I don’t know what to write about. Terrible oxygen levels? Seafood costing a fortune? This ‘work from home’ system everyone is trying to figure out?
I guess I should just write about the good stuff. That way, when I look back on these entries, I can remember something good.
Today, Cheol tried to fix a leaking faucet himself instead of calling for a plumber. We flooded the kitchen floor, and ended up wet from head to toe.
I cooked pasta, called mom and dad on Skype, and watched the latest episode of Santa Clarita Diet.
Once everything opens up again, Cheol and I have to visit my parents. (And ‘get better screwdrivers’, he claims.)
When Seungcheol first kissed you, you did not think: This man is my soulmate.
It had been a clumsy, shy thing, traded way back when the two of you were high schoolers still stealing away from your eagle-eyed parents. Seungcheol liked to wax poetics about how it was perfect even though you know that first kiss was more a clash of teeth than anything.
You don’t discover the truth of everything until a couple of years into dating. Seungcheol had gotten into playing basketball, and, one evening, you absentmindedly pressed your lips to a scar he had at the bend of his elbow.
The mark smoothed out instantly.
Seungcheol had giggled at the development before spending the rest of the night kissing every inch of your skin that he could reach— injured or not. You still think it’s one of your best memories as a couple.
Kisses that healed scars. You hadn’t believed in the stories yourself until it had happened to you, until you realized how fortunate you were that your soulmate wasn’t halfway across the world or something. No, you had your soulmate, and he was more than willing to kiss away all your wounds.
You had counted yourself as lucky. You still think you are, even now, as Seungcheol strokes your hair and holds you to his chest in the pitch black darkness of your apartment.
His voice is quiet and small when he speaks up. “I’m sorry.”
“What for?” you mutter back.
“I’m sure this isn’t what you imagined,” he says. “For us moving in together and everything.”
An amused snort escapes you. Of course that would be your boyfriend’s concern. There’s the rotational power outages and the merciless prices of goods due to inflation, but Seungcheol is worried about your expectations not being met.
You shift in his hold. The days have been getting warmer and warmer, and the evenings are no exception. Seungcheol has taken to sleeping shirtless. You’re a couple of celsius away from doing the same.
“It’s not your fault that we decided to move in together for the end times,” you say into the skin of his bare chest.
He gives the small of your back a light thwack. “What have I said about the apocalypse jokes?” he chides lightly.
You roll your eyes. He shouldn’t see it in the darkness, but he knows you all too well. “And don’t roll your eyes at me!”
His reprimand draws a short laugh from you. Even that feels like a monumental effort, like it's a waste of good air.
Seungcheol doesn’t care. He doesn’t care about the two of you waking up in pools of your own sweat, doesn’t care that there are whole government newscasts on how to preserve oxygen in enclosed spaces.
He holds you like a lifeline and kisses you until you’re breathless.
“Cheol,” you whine against his mouth, the protest already at the tip of your tongue. The end is near; sex should be the last thing on your mind.
But then Seungcheol’s fingers toy with the hem of your shirt, and he sounds so, so sweet when he mumbles, “Yes, soulmate?”
That’s always gotten to you.
“Unfair,” you groan as you work on shucking off your own clothes. “You’re so unfair.”
In between giggles, he kisses every part of you. Again, and again, and again.
June 15, 2017
Cheol and I are on the run.
He keeps telling me not to call it that because it supposedly makes us sound like criminals. I think it’s just funny, and God knows I need something to find humor in.
As badly as I want to say “we have gone through worse before,” that would be a lie. We’re out of our apartment and trying to make our way to some place where there’s better air quality. In the meantime, we’re living out of his car. It’s so funny to me that I’ve started laughing until I’m crying.
Anyway, the good stuff: Today’s sunset painted the sky purple. We snagged some still-cold cans of Sprite in an abandoned 7-Eleven. Cheol spotted a family of ducks crossing the road, pointed it out, and said “us, soon!”
Us, soon. It feels dangerous to hope, but that’s all I seem to do nowadays. That and being on the run. (Cheol made me strike out that last part, but whatever.)
When Seungcheol finally admits to you that he is scared, you did not think: This means that things are much, much worse than I thought.
Maybe because there were bigger concerns, like the car’s blinking fuel warning light and the scratches littering Seungcheol’s arms. Like the fool that he was, he had gone against your well-meaning advice to not look for help.
He did not return unscathed.
Your lips are pursed in a thin line as you rip open a Band-Aid. It’s one of the few that the two of you have left, and Seungcheol seems to remember the fact. He reaches out to stop you.
“Hey, c’mon,” he urges, obviously trying to aim for levity. “You know there’s other ways we can fix me up, right?”
The frown that tugs at your lips shows that you’re still less-than-pleased at his little stunt.
“Maybe if you didn’t head out in the first place,” you grumble. “We wouldn’t need any of this.”
Seungcheol looks like he might push back, but seems to decide against it at the last minute. Instead, he wraps his fingers around your wrist and gives you a gentle tug.
“It won’t happen again.” His tone is edged with remorse, enough to almost convince you. Almost.
“No more playing hero?” you ask.
A corner of his lip twitches upward. “No more playing hero,” he concedes before tugging at you again.
You let him. You move closer into his space until you’re practically in his lap, until you’ve got a better view of the angry red cuts on his skin.
Tentatively, you press chaste kisses to the injuries. Seungcheol’s hands find purchase at your waist and he tilts his head back, letting you work your magic. He’s quiet as your lips trace over each gash and wound, as you take away all the hurt with the ghost of a kiss.
After a moment, he mumbles, “Is it bad that I want you right now?”
“Seungcheol.”
“Okay, okay.” A beat. “I want you all the time, actually.”
“Shut up!”
The sound of his laughter fills the car. It’s enough to have you forgetting his murmured confession of fear, the vulnerability that he had tried so quickly to cover up with affection. For a moment, there is nothing else in the world except this, except you, except him.
September 23, 2017
Is it weird to say that I’m starting to forget what it was like before all of this happened? Cheol is trying to assure me that it’s to be expected, that we’ll all be back to ‘normal’ soon, but I don’t even remember what normal is like anymore.
I can’t forget. I don’t want to forget. And so here is a small list of things I took for granted:
The first breeze that tells you winter is coming
The kindness of people who don’t know you
The smallest fish in the sea
Date nights with Cheol
Clean water
Breakfast
My parents
Cheol says there might be some biodomes ahead. Oxygen-regulated habitats. It sounds like something only the rich can afford. We don’t have a lot left between the two of us, and it’s getting harder to jump from building to building.
But there’s something waiting for us on the other side— right? There has to be.
May the best of my todays be the worst of my tomorrows.
When the gunshot rang out, you did not think: This is it.
Seungcheol never gave you any reason to think that way. He had held your hand as you raided rundown grocery stores. He had positioned himself in front of you when there were stampedes. The world might have been ending, but he was with you.
He was with you even when the strangers you ran into started getting more aggressive. He was with you even when fights would break out over necessities like water and medicine.
“People are dangerous when they're desperate,” he’d tell you softly— still his rational, kind self even when faced with the worst of mankind.
He was with you. He was kind. He was yours.
Even when the bullet lodged itself right between his ribs.
There is not much that you remember after that.
The people dispersed. The cause of the fight— a can of chicken noodle soup, once your comfort food— lay forgotten on the floor.
The love of your life, staring unblinking at the sky.
When you sink to the ground, you’re moving purely on instinct. Your quivering lips press over his chest, over the red blossoming and staining his shirt.
You kiss him. Again.
And again.
And again.
December 1, 2017
The kisses don’t work on bullet wounds.
▸ Archivist’s note: The following entries are undated and some portions had been redacted/deemed untranscribable. We are led to believe that the author struggled to cope in the aftermath of their soulmate’s death. For posterity, we have still reprinted their final entries.
You’re so unfair.
I still want you.
Things I took for granted: ███████, you, ███████, youyouyou.
What now?
My love, it’s only a matter of ███████—
▸ Archivist’s note: Nothing follows.
This concludes our transcribed logs. The full collection can be viewed at the National Museum of Remembrance.
It is our deepest regret that the author is unnamed and that they cannot be properly credited. However, we know of two things with certainty.
We know of a man named Seungcheol, and we know that he was loved.
#seungcheol x reader#scoups x reader#seungcheol angst#svt x reader#seventeen x reader#svt angst#seventeen angst#seungcheol drabble#( last of my cheol writing for now. i swear )#( but viv gave me this prompt and i just kinda blacked out like ????? Ahahahaha .Whatttt )#( this could have been much longer but im conked out and there is only so much emotion i can manage *shakes fist* )#( ANGST I MISS YOU )
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How do you get from "Read books, they're great!" to "Let's shit on fanfiction a ton now!"???
"Fanfiction isn't real fiction. Fanfiction isn't PUBLISHED" do you hear yourselves?
"Publish" is NOT in fact 1:1 synonymous with "published via traditional publishing house." A whole hell of a lot of fanfiction is fucking published *on the internet free for all to read*
Just to be clear: "Real" fiction doesn't have to be published ever to be real! Handwritten in a journal or lost on stone harddrive are absolute treasure troves of unpublished fiction of all sorts of genres. People LOVE to discover these after a person has died!
Let's be real, shitting on fanfic is the new shitting on romance. Your disdain for whatever genre will never be cool. Yes, genres exist! Congrats! The answer to that is not "Don't bother with fanfic if all you want to write is original romance/fantasy/fake memoir/whatever"! The answer is: read broadly.
Fanfic has value on its own as a genre. Close character studies and explorations that, hell, have gotten me into a new piece of media I've never heard of until reading that fic! Absolute chonkers of not merely novel length but trilogy or even extended series length, as well as shorts and everything in between!
Fanfic has merit. Even if you never write an ounce of fanfic, reading it will strengthen your writing (and reading!) skills.
How about instead of picking a genre to rebuild we say: gosh, there's so many genres! Read a sampler from a ton of different genres! Read deeply into genres you especially love or want to explore, and also read widely! Who doesn't like a bit of locked room mystery tucked into their not-mystery-genre fiction?
fascinating that when you tell people "you have to learn the rules to break them" when talking about drawing/painting etc everyone nods and agrees but the second you say "you have to read books if you want to write better" there's a horde of contrarians begging to be the wrongest people ever all of a sudden
#anyway#fuck you for shitting on “genre you don't see the point of.” that genre's not for you#someone's gonna come on here like “you can't say reading only fic will help someone write a mystery novel!” a) that's not what i said#(i said: read broadly)#b) that's so fucking stupid. you know there's subgenres? fanfic mysteries exist! some of them are damn good!#and before you go Well fanfic just doesn't have the ~Quality~ of tradpub fiction: have you READ some of the shit that gets published tradly?#there's shit and there's gold in EVERY goddamn genre and you gotta read some shit and compare/contrast to the gold to fucking#learn why shit's shit and gold's gold#god#this really is just “romance is trash/not serious/just formulaic” but make it fic
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Something To Think About 👇
UNDERSTANDING: "THE WIZARD OF OZ"
"The Wizard of Oz = The Crown Temple. This is not a mere child's story written by L. Frank Baum.
What symbol does "Oz" stand for?
Ounces... Gold.
What is the yellow brick road?
Bricks or ingot bars of gold.
The character known as the Straw Man represents that fictitious ALL CAPS legal fiction a PERSON - the Government created with the same spelling as your Christian birth name.
Remember what the Straw Man wanted from the Wizard of Oz? A brain! No legal fiction has a brain because they have no breath of life!
What did he get in place of a brain? A Certificate. A Birth Certificate for a new legal creation. He was proud of his new legal status, plus all the other legalisms he was granted. Now he becomes the true epitome of the brainless sack of straw who was given a Certificate in place of a brain of common sense.
What about the Tin Man?
Does Taxpayer Identification Number (TIN) mean anything to you?
The poor TIN Man just stood there mindlessly doing his work until his body literally froze up and stopped functioning. He worked himself to death because he had no heart nor soul. He's the heartless and emotionless creature robotically carrying out his daily task as if he was already dead. He's the ox pulling the plough and the mule toiling under the yoke. His masters keep him cold on the outside and heartless on the inside in order to control any emotions or heart he may get a hold of.
The pitiful Cowardly Lion was always too frightened to stand up for himself.
Of course, he was a bully and a big mouth when it came to picking on those smaller than he was. They act as if they have great courage, but they really have none at all. All roar with no teeth of authority to back them up. When push came to shove, the Cowardly Lion always buckled under and whimpered when anyone of any size or stature challenged him. He wanted courage from the Grand Wizard, so he was awarded a medal of "official" recognition. Now, regardless of how much of a coward he still was, his official status made him a bully with officially recognized authority. He's just like the Attorneys who hide behind the Middle Courts of the Temple Bar.
What about the trip through the field of poppies? They weren't real people, so drugs had no effect on them.
The Wizard of Oz was written at the turn of the century, so how could the author have known America was going to be drugged? The Crown has been playing the drug cartel game for centuries. Just look up the history of Hong Kong and the Opium Wars. The Crown already had valuable experience conquering all of China with drugs, so why not the rest of the world?
Who finally exposed the Wizard for what he really was?
Toto, the ugly (or cute, depending on your perspective) and somewhat annoying little dog. Toto means "in total, all together; Latin in toto." Notice how Toto was not scared of the Great Wizard's theatrics, yet he was so small in size compared to the Wizard, no-one seemed to notice him. The smoke, flames and hologram images were designed to frighten people into doing as the Great Wizard of Oz commanded. Toto simply went over, looked behind the curtain - the court - (see the definition for curtain above), saw it was a scam, and started barking until others paid attention to him and came to see what all the barking was about.
Just an ordinary person controlling the levers that created the illusions of the Great Wizard's power and authority. The veil hiding the corporate legal fiction and its false courts were removed. The Wizard's game was up.
It's too bad that people don't realize just how loud a bark from a little dog is. What about your bark? No matter how small your bark is - it can be heard.
Do you just remain silent and wait to be given whatever food and recognition, IF any, your legal slave master gives you?
Are you going to continue to follow the script by what they command of you? You are NOT a puppet so when they pull the levers to create their False Flags/Black Swan Events...
Ask: "Where is YOUR bark?" 🤔
What scares them? A "Pack of Dogs" removing the veil and all barking together, then the evil cowards will back down. They definitely do NOT want ALL of US standing TOGETHER barking.
#pay attention#educate yourselves#educate yourself#reeducate yourselves#knowledge is power#reeducate yourself#think about it#think for yourselves#think for yourself#do your homework#do some research#do your research#do your own research#ask yourself questions#question everything#government secrets#government corruption#evil lives here#truth be told#wizard of oz#true meaning#a movie#news#translation#now you know#save the children#save humanity#change#save yourself#do not fear
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I think superhero fans would be in a lot more peace with both themselves and fanon interpretations once they recognize and accept that these aren't real people or real events- they're not even internally consistent under one auteur writer/artist. For capes especially, these are fictional characters that get passed under so many different pens and brushes.
Superman is an immigrant under Gene Yang or he's Not An Immigrant At All Only An American Citizen under John Byrne. Clark has been written as progressive or conservative. A character as old as him is especially mailable to over 80 years worth of different authors all with their own goals. Yes we can argue over which characterization is ideal, but we shouldn't be surprised when other people come to different conclusions. "How can there be racist Superman fans when he's the Champion of the Oppressed since his creation?" Because he's been written by so many different writers since then.
There's DC!John Constantine and there's Vertigo!John Constantine, the same character under two different publishers that drastically change both his politics and how he's characterized. Even within the original Vertigo Hellblazer run, that's 300 issues worth of story where John is written by so many writers that sometimes contradict each other or themselves. Sure, a character can have contradictory ideals because they contain multitudes, but sometimes it's just another writer coming in and retconning something to tell a different story.
Treating these characters' stories as one holistic or consistent history that can not be changed because "it's misinterpretation" or "it's not in character" or "oh somebody doesn't read the comics" or "it's just an OC at that point!" because they don't fit your personal interpretation is just so creatively bankrupt and is inviting unnecessary stress. Even if someone were to take a character and pull them an entirely new direction, why should we be mad? Canon does this all the time. And we wouldn't get creative projects like The People's Joker if we were married to the rules of canon. Let people play, and if you don't like it you really can just scroll away- it's not like it has an affect on canon. Or your own canon.
#ramblings#jesncin dc meta#also a lot of fandom folks are very young so their media literacy might not be all the way there yet#fandom has a bad image for flandarizing characters but let's be real canon can do that too...#there's plenty of fanon i disagree with or believe is wrong but that doesn't mean their take is unfounded either#i like vertigo!johnny over dc!johnny but if ppl like to play with dc!johnny more why be upset yknow. they're having fun
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okay i have ranted to my brother for a while about this but
i feel like people on the stranger things subreddit and those who deny byler ever happening because 'wills love being unrequited is very realistic for the 80s and would be realistic representation' just aren't seeing film, tv shows, any type of fictional story for what it is.
fiction and tv shows like these aren't just meant to show you what happens in real life all the time. of course, they are meant to show you characters that you see yourself in, characters that you can relate to.
but film is meant to portray a message. messages that we can never get in real life.
these people claiming that wills love being requited would be unrealistic aren't realising that that's maybe the whole point? maybe it's meant to show that, despite what queer people see in their day to day lives, they do deserve happiness. that is why we watch film. that is why we watch shows, so we can get get portrayed a message that we may never get the opportunity to see in reality.
#THIS GOT DEEP SORRY LADS#byler#byler nation#byler endgame#mike wheeler#will byers#stranger things#stranger things 5
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I love this so much, great work, I can say that Caitlyn's character is one of the most misunderstood characters ever, that these people see Caitlyn as just an enforcer from Piltover made them not understand her, or rather they don't want to understand her character, because it contradicts their ideas about police and privileged people. Seriously, what does this have to do with a fictional show?Like can't they separate fantasy from reality!?
The show is not black and white, there isn't one side good and another side bad, this is only exists in Disney movies.
Arcane proves every day that this show is not for everyone and if you want to enjoy it you have to open your mind well and be open-minded, and most importantly put politics and real life issues aside, and enjoy this fantasy world with flawed characters and good writing. (This show is not designed to solve political issues at the end of the day. It is a show based on a video game)
"We've lost so many. The anger. The sorrow. It's tiring. Gods, I know it's tiring. But you will never rest knowing that she's out there. Or maybe I underestimated you. Maybe you have the strength that I do not. To forgive, and trust in tomorrow."
Arcane, Season 2 Episode 4
#caitlyn defender#caitlyn support#caitlyn#caitlyn kiramman#caitlyn kiramman arcane#caitlyn arcane#arcane caitlyn#arcane#vi#jinx#vi arcane#jinx arcane#cassandra kiramman#piltover's finest#vi x caitlyn#caitvi#violyn#long post#..
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When Flowers Bloom In The Dark [Chapter 11]
Genre: Romance, Mafia!AU, Violence, Angst, Slow burn
Pairing: Hongjoong x Reader (y/n)
Characters: Florist!Reader, Mafioso!Hongjoong, Mafioso!Seonghwa, Mafioso!Yunho, Mafioso!Yeosang, Mafioso!San, Mafioso!Mingi, Mafioso!Wooyoung, Mafioso!Jongho
Summary: When you appeared and wept at his mother's funeral, Hongjoong found himself wanting to find out more about you. A regular girl, who owns a flower shop in his territory and has a relationship with the mother that he hasn't spoken to in years, why hasn't he ever noticed you before?
[Warning(s): 18+ for violence, use of weapons, smoking, alcohol consumption, slight gore, gang affiliation, tattoos and character deaths. Minors DNI. This is a work of fiction and does not represent the Ateez members in real life.]
Word count: 3.1K
Chapter warning(s): Mentions of sleeping pills.
As the sun was starting to set, you called it a day. You didn't want to do too much and make a big mess, plus there were things you needed that you didn't have with you. After washing your hands, you caught sight of a maid bringing a broom out to the garden.
"Let me help you!" You ran forward to her. You didn't notice that there were people in the living room.
"No need, miss. I can do it. Don't worry." The maid smiled, shaking her head when you tried to take the broom from her. She walked out with you behind her.
"Ah... but I created the mess, the least I can do is help you clean it up." You insisted.
"(y/n)." Hongjoong called you, distracting you momentarily.
"If you're done, I would like to speak with you." He spoke. You looked at the maid, who was sweeping up the dirt and soil on the stone pavements, the mess you made.
"I'm sorry for creating the mess. Thanks again." You said to the maid with an apologetic smile. She shook her head and bowed as you left.
"Yes, Hongjoong?" You blinked as you re-entered the house. Now, you saw all 7 of Hongjoong's brothers in the living room, spread across the arm chairs and sofas. They were all dressed so well, compared to yourself. You fiddled with your fingers awkwardly, feeling uncomfortable with all their gazes on you.
"I wanted to introduce you to my other brothers. You've briefly met at the funeral but I guess since you're going to be around a lot more, I should introduce you." Hongjoong explained.
"Oh, okay. Nice to meet all of you, I'm (y/n)." You bowed. They were basically your bosses so you had to be respectful.
"I'm Seonghwa."
"Wooyoung."
"San."
"Yeosang."
"Mingi."
"Jongho."
"You already know me, I'm Yunho. If you need anything while you're here, feel free to let us know. " The tallest boy with a charming smile sent you a friendly wave. It was a lot of names that you'll have to get used to. They seemed nice but intimidating at the same time.
"Okay, that's out of the way. Would you like to stay for dinner?" Hongjoong offered.
"Oh, thank you but I shouldn't overstay." You forced a smile, shaking your head. Honestly, you were taken aback by his invitation, you weren't expecting it at all.
"You're not overstaying." Yunho assured.
"But don't feel forced to. I'm sure you must be tired." Seonghwa stood up and headed to you. You nodded slowly.
"Let me get out driver to send you back. It's the least we could do. Get the chauffeur." Seonghwa said, raising his hand to the butler before you could protest. You grabbed your bag and bowed.
"Thank you. Have a nice evening." You said quickly and headed to the door where the butler was.
"Bye, (y/n)." Hongjoong nodded and you gave him a small, yet apologetic smile.
"You guys are cornering the poor girl. There was no way she was going to stay for dinner. She's formally meeting us for the first time and we're all seated here, staring at her. She's probably scared out of her wits." Seonghwa said to Hongjoong and Yunho the moment you left the house, rolling his eyes.
"I was just trying to be nice. Make her feel more comfortable around us." Hongjoong defended with a shrug. Seonghwa shook his head with a sigh and facepalmed.
"I don't think that's happening any time soon. She was so scared when she saw San's beat up appearance." Wooyoung said.
"That's why we need to prove to her or show her that we're... normal..." Hongjoong trailed off.
"Hyung, why are you trying to keep her close?" Yeosang tilted his head.
"I don't even know how to explain it to you guys. But at some point, I need to know about my mother and she has that information. It's the only way I can get some sort of closure." Hongjoong sighed.
"That's true." Seonghwa nodded in confirmation, supporting his best friend's decision.
"Sure but take it slow. She's nice and all but she looks like she'll be scared off easily." Mingi stated and the rest nodded.
"Can we continue this conversation while we have dinner? I'm hungry." Jongho requested. The 8 men stood up from their seats and shuffled into their dining room, the 8 of them naturally sitting in their designated seats.
"Please enjoy your dinner." The butlers and maids bowed once each of the men had their own trays of food. They then filed out of the room, only one staying behind in case any of the 8 needed anything.
"For the ball, I want everyone in black shoes. Whatever style you choose is fine but black, not white." Hongjoong announced.
"But I bought new white chelseas." San said.
"Wear them next time. And only silver or white gold hardware, no gold." The captain added, he was just that particular about the way they looked at events.
"Yes, captain." The 7 nodded obediently. After that, they gave each other little updates on their work.
"The casino should be 95% done next week and we can go for a tour then, before the grand opening." Wooyoung smiled gleefully.
"That's good. And you both have the staff trained and ready for the grand opening?" Seonghwa asked. Wooyoung and San both nodded their heads.
"The manpower has been settled. It's only 95% done because of minor things like the wrong light bulbs for the carpark. And the curtains that were ordered did not meet our expectations so we have a new batch coming in. Don't worry, everything will be perfect by opening day." San assured.
"Yes, I'm having the invites sent out this weekend." Wooyoung added. Opening night was an 'invite-only' event, as per usual.
"Alright, make sure the governor and president have theirs hand delivered." Hongjoong reminded.
"That has already been arranged. We finally decided on our investors and partners too so we'll have their invites hand delivered too." Wooyoung nodded his head.
"Good job, boys." Hongjoong praised.
"How many valets will you have there?" Mingi asked.
"Opening night will be around 5? We are expecting that the guests will be in chauffeur driven cars anyway. On the regular, we're only hiring 3." San replied.
"Sir." The chauffeur stood at the entrance way of the dining room. Hongjoong stopped the conversation and waved for him to enter.
"The miss has been sent home safely. I walked her up myself." The chauffeur informed.
"Good to hear. Thanks. You are to ensure she is picked up every time she comes to the house for work." Hongjoong nodded in approval. The chauffeur bowed to him and left the dining room. Yunho and Seonghwa raised their hands for another potion of meat as the work conversations continued.
"No other worker has ever had the privilege of being picked up by our chauffeur before, hyung." Yunho teased. Hongjoong rolled his eyes, ignoring the taller.
"Shut up and eat." Hongjoong glared.
"Defensive~" Wooyoung sang. Seonghwa sent Wooyoung a look, the younger could always dish it but not take it.
"So, now that San hyung is out of the fight club. Can I go?" Jongho raised his hand. San rolled his eyes, mumbling in disatisfcation being benched from fighting.
"I thought you didn't want to enter the ring anymore?" Mingi asked.
"Yeah but I've been training in new fight techniques I want to try." Jongho shrugged, looking expentantly at the oldest two.
"Sure, Jongho. Whatever you want to do." Hongjoong sighed, he knew he couldn't really stop them either. The boys can do whatever they want to do.
"Maybe I'll join you. Stop competing in the motorcycle races for a bit. Seonghwa hyung always beats me anyway, it's not fun anymore." Yeosang leaned back on his hands. Seonghwa smirked proudly, no one could take his titles away from him.
"You guys are too competitive." Hongjoong shook his head.
"You do know that we get it from you, right hyung?" Yunho raised an eyebrow. Hongjoong scoffed.
"They're right. You're just too busy now to do anything remotely competitive." Seonghwa added on. Hongjoong nodded in agreement but now, he had no desire to get back to competing.
"Told you to go to the race tracks with us~" Mingi sang.
"If I go tonight, will you guys stop bothering me about it?" Hongjoong asked with frustration.
"Yes!" They all replied.
"Oh, hyung. You're going DOWN!" Wooyoung declared.
After the driver walked you up to your house, despite you insisting that he didn't need to, you closed the door and immediately slumped into your couch.
"That was way too weird." You mumbled to yourself as the events of today sunk in. Looking at the time on your phone, you hauled yourself off the couch and went to cook dinner, which comprised of leftovers from the day before. You thought about how awkward it would have been if you stayed for dinner.
"Ah, damn." You were so lost in your thoughts you didn't realise that your food was close to burning.
You turned off the flame and left your food there before going to take a quick shower so your hair could dry while you ate.
'Kim Hongjoong|'
As you ate, your fingers typed on the search bar of your computer. You knew that Hongjoong and his family probably lived extravagantly, judging by their house, but you were curious.
'CEOs of AURORA Corporation makes huge donation to the new hospital wing for paediatic heart surgery.'
'CEO of AURORA Corp, Kim Hongjoong, was seen as one of guests at the grand opening of...'
'Governor seen at christmas charity auction hosted by AURORA Corp.'
There were so many articles, all linked to Hongjoong, his brothers and AURORA Corp. They seemed like a big, rich company with a lot going on.
You never got that vibe from Mrs Kim, that her son or family was this affluent. Maybe she was just good at hiding it. But it made you wonder if you really knew the real her or did she fake an image and that was the person you knew?
It pained you to think that, you thought you knew her well. She was the best mother figure you had, was it all a lie this entire time?
"Ugh, my head hurts." After your dinner, you did the dishes and closed your laptop, you didn't want to look at it anymore. You headed to the bathroom to wash up and go to bed.
"Thank you. Please come again." You bowed to the customer with a smile as you handed the lady her bouquet.
*DING*
"Mrs Kim. What are you doing here so early?" You grinned, going over to help her with her bags. She had a lunch bag in her hands with containers of food in there.
"Early? My dear, your lunch is way overdue." She clicked her tongue at you. You checked the time and realised how late it was.
"Oh no, you're right. Let me close the sign for lunch." You placed her bags on your work table and went to flip the sign.
"Tea?" You offered as you walked back to where she was seating. She nodded and you poured her a cup, placing it down in front of her as she dug through the lunch bag. She laid out all the glass containers across your work table, placing two containers of rice, one in front of you and one in front of herself.
"You're always bringing me lunch. You don't have to." You said sheepishly.
"I know. But I want to. You're already keeping me company for lunch and tea, the least I can do is provide the food." She raised an eyebrow as she sipped her tea.
"I can always keep you company, even if you don't cook. You know that, I enjoy your company too." You smiled softly.
"Ah, just eat and stop complaining, my dear." She chided.
"Eat more. I cooked a lot." She encouraged as you both dug in. The food was a good, a homecooked meal from a mother, something you never experienced before.
"These vegetables are so good." You complimented, taking some to put onto your rice.
"You are the exact opposite of my son. He doesn't like vegetables, hates it so much. Getting him to eat vegetables was like asking him to eat poison." Mrs Kim laughed behind her hands as she ate.
From that flashback dream, you sat up in bed, running your hands through your hair. Never did you think you would meet Mrs Kim's son, the one she always spoke about, without her. You let out a long, exhausted sigh and laid back down to try and go back to sleep.
"Ugh." Hongjoong woke up. He always has a hard time sleeping, his brain just doesn't think he needs any sleep.
"Every single night..." He got out of bed and headed to his office. The first thing he did was pour himself a drink, maybe the alcohol would put him to bed.
"Hyung? Why are you awake?" Wooyoung poked his head in, having seen the lights in Hongjoong's office turned on.
"You just got back?" Hongjoong asked back when he saw how well dressed Wooyoung was.
"Mhmm. Has a meeting after the race." Wooyoung smiled. He entered the captain's office, removing his jacket and draping it over the chair. He pulled his hair into a neat ponytail.
"Here." Hongjoong handed him a glass of his own.
"Thank you." Wooyoung smiled, clinking glasses with the older before they each took a sip.
"You're still having trouble sleeping?" Wooyoung asked again with a tilt of his head, going to the question from before.
"It's a norm for me now. I don't seem to need much sleep... My brain just wakes up." Hongjoong sighed. There was always so much going on in his head, it was hard for him to turn it all off. They didn't lead normal lives whereby they can just switch themselves off when the sun sets, they were always on alert.
"You should try to sleep more. Sleep deprivation isn't good for anyone, even us." Wooyoung said with raised eyebrows. Hongjoong nodded his head, he knew.
"That's why I'm hoping this will put me to sleep." He shook the crystal glass in his hand.
"Want some help?" Wooyoung asked.
"No, I suffered so much from the side effects of those things, I'll never take them again. Why do you even have those? You sleep just fine." Hongjoong asked with a small frown.
"They're not the street kind. They're legit just for sleeping or calming down, Mingi's guy got them for me." Wooyoung informed.
"Why?"
"In case of situations like this. You never know when any one of us would be plagued by nightmares." Wooyoung shrugged. Hongjoong nodded in agreement, everyone had nightmares every now and then.
It was common for them, with the horrors that they see everyday, it was normal to be haunted by some cases. Even if they look and act like they are okay with it, deep down, it still bothers them. Taking lives and spilling blood isn't a walk in the park.
"Let's get out of here. The office is stuffy." Hongjoong said. Wooyoung went to get the crystal carave with the whiskey and skipped behind Hongjoong.
"Shh, you'll wake the others up." Hongjoong shushed the younger.
"They always pass out after a race." Wooyoung waved the captain off with a mischievous grin.
"By the way, I had to rush off and didn't properly congratulate you on your win. You still got it." Wooyoung chuckled, making Hongjoong roll his eyes.
"Of course I do. You make it sound like I'm old or something." He scoffed. Hongjoong was always a good racer.
"You should do it more often then. Secure more wins for us." Wooyoung nudged him.
"I know what you're doing and nice try... I'm way too busy to be racing like you guys. And you make it sound like you guys can't win without me. Because judging by the stack of money on Hwa's dresser, I know that's not the case." Hongjoong raised an eyebrow as he drank his whiskey.
"Hwa hyung wins to motorcycle races." Wooyoung pointed out. Seonghwa doesn't like driving cars, so he has never competed in the driving races.
"I dare you to say that in front of Yunho and Jongho." Hongjoong challenged and Wooyoung gulped at the leader's words.
"Fine! Just get out of your office every now and then." Wooyoung threw his arms up in exasperation.
"I do leave my office. I'm not a hermit." Hongjoong gave Wooyoung a flat look.
"Oooh I know. There's now a motivation for you to come out of your office, especially since there's a pretty little gardener to talk to." Wooyoung sang. Hongjoong hit the back of his head.
"Shut up. I only spoke to her to make sure she felt comfortable working here." Hongjoong excused.
"Sure hyung... Sure~" Wooyoung teased.
"You're drunk." Hongjoong flicked his forehead, making the younger male yelp. Luckily it was dark or Wooyoung would have seen Hongjoong's slightly pink cheeks. He didn't think so many people would have seen him come out to talk to you today.
"She's a weird one, hyung. From what I saw." Wooyoung said, leaning against Hongjoong's shoulder, snuggling against him. Wooyoung was generally affectionate but this was a sign he was drunk.
"Not weird. Just different, she's normal." Hongjoong let out a soft sigh, pouring more whiskey into his glass.
"Are we not normal...?" Wooyoung drowned out.
"Far from, Wooyoung. We're not normal. After all that we've done, we'll never be normal. (y/n)'s normal, she doesn't know our world." Hongjoong said with dismay.
"She's not normal. Or else, how would she know your mum?" Wooyoung stated.
"Maybe my mum was normal to her." Hongjoong shrugged. Wooyoung laughed at that, sounding like he was in disbelief.
After the whiskey was emptied from the cerave, the two headed in for the night. Hongjoong had Wooyoung's arms around him, guiding him to his room and making sure he was tucked into bed. Being slightly intoxicated, Hongjoong fell flat onto his own bed. He groaned at the slight throb in his head.
"Note to self, don't drink with Wooyoung again." He mumbled to himself as he pushed himself up.
"What the..." Hongjoong felt something in his sweatpant pocket. He dug in and saw a pack of pills that were not there before, he knew Wooyoung must have secretly slipped them in.
He was good at doing that, considering how he usually does the pick pocketing or slipping of information to people secretly.
"Rainy day." He let out a long sigh and threw the sleeping pills into his drawer before getting under the covers, hoping the alcohol will help him stay asleep this time.
~
Series masterlist
#kpop#kpop scenarios#kpop series#ateez#ateez scenarios#ateez series#ateez x reader#ateez hongjoong#hongjoong ateez#hongjoong series#hongjoong scenarios#hongjoong x reader#hongjoong x you#hongjoong x y/n#hongjoong#kim hongjoong#kim hongjoong scenarios#kim hongjoong series#kim hongjoong x reader#ateez imagines
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𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐎𝐔𝐆𝐇 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐌𝐈𝐒𝐓 | 𝐣𝐮𝐧𝐠𝐤𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 (6)
remember lookin' at this room, we loved it 'cause of the light now, i just sit in the dark and wonder if it's time ten years of being one and the same with jungkook as the country's it couple is the perfect disguise for the reality of a tumultuous relationship hidden behind the scenes. ten years of lies and love and crawling back to one another. once shy, budding first love that blossomed before the weight of fame, the cracks begin to surface amidst your respective rises to stardom and navigation of your twenties. either finding euphoria or the end of the world, there's never any in between in existence for you and jungkook. as you build each other up and break each other down in front of millions of eyes, there is a crossroads ahead with words of "marriage" and "military" looming in the air - all while ignoring the price of fame breathing down your necks. this is the story of love and the lessons learned from the man you made your religion. and i wouldn't marry me either, a pathological people-pleaser who only wanted you to see her
𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: jungkook picks up the pieces of the mess he made, as he looks back on his choices and the people he surrounded himself with. 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐒: idol!jungkook/female idol!reader and fictional versions of various idols 𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐑𝐄. idol au, on-and-off relationship, angst, i swear there's fluff, fake dating, and themes of first love, growing up, struggles with fame, and marriage (ish) 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒. PLEASE DON'T EXPECT HAPPINESS, portrayal of a toxic couple (implications of emotional abuse and control), both main characters are very flawed, violence, infidelity, foul language, substance use (illegal drugs) 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄. based off of "you're losing me" by taylor swift. this is a fictional portrayal of real-life people that implement some aspects of real-life events. hi welcome back everyone!! it's been a very long time since the last update and i just really wanted to push something out, so hopefully this doesn't seem super rushed because it was important for me to get over my writing slump:) ㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤjoin the taglist here!
ㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤm.list | previous | next
every mornin' i glared with you with storms in my eyes how can you say that you love someone you can't tell is dyin'?
TOP HEADLINE TODAY: are bts' jungkook and s.iren's nova the new power couple of the entertainment industry? positive reception indicates rare acceptance of idol relationshipㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ
ㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ may 2018
jungkook was still so young, but as he examined his appearance in the mirror, he couldn’t help but notice the way age settled beneath his skin. one couldn’t tell by first glance, but his eyes were old and tired. it was difficult to remember the last time they lit up with a spark, rather than sitting half lidded and apathetic. his lips were fixed into a permanent frown when he was away from the cameras, despondent like worn out leather. nothing could cut through the fabric, especially not now. he was reminded of this, as his manager read out his schedule for the day and several stylists picked at his dark hair that fell just above his eyes now. his shoulders drooped further when he heard your name amongst the activities laid out for him.
“the red carpet begins at seven, your and y/n’s car will arrive at approximately seven twenty four - not too late, not too early that nobody will be there.”
this was the first public event that the two of you were scheduled to attend as a couple. of course, that was nerve wracking enough, but it didn’t help that you were still giving him the cold shoulder. he didn’t expect anything else and any blame would be misplaced, but it was worrying to look forward to feigning happiness for the cameras. he knew you like the back of his hand and you were a horrible liar. he knew every quirk at the corner of your lips when you smiled and the way a crease formed between your eyebrows when you grew frustrated. jungkook was one of the only people who noticed the way you bit the inside of your cheek when you got nervous and how you looked at people’s ears instead of their eyes when you got shy.
once upon a time, he would say that it was because you were his. now, you weren’t and he was just some stranger who knew every inch of you with his eyes closed.
jungkook hated himself for what he did to you and what he hated even more was that the world continued to spin regardless. his members, some oblivious to jungkook’s betrayal and others simply just suspicious of his faithfulness to his girlfriend, continued treating their youngest member as usual. seokjin and jimin gave him the hardest time, as the former was genuinely the most disappointed in jungkook and gave him a week-long cold shoulder after yelling at him, while jimin had to bear witness to the dramatic confrontation at hotel azure. however, there was no choice but to simply condemn jungkook’s actions and move on - they were still a unit whose careers relied on each other. they were also brothers at the end of the day and disagreeing with one person wouldn’t break their bond.
besides, it was clearly a sensitive topic for jungkook, despite the mass of guilt weighing his body down with every breath he took. no one heard from him for days following the dispatch article, presumably locked up in his apartment and drinking his consciousness away. everyone knew about his growing drinking problem, but were shocked to see the extent of it when they finally confronted him.
“i don’t think you should be the one crying and hiding,” muttered hoseok, who led the charge in recovering jungkook after everyone got fed up with him ghosting anyone who tried to reach him.
it was the eldest four of the group who broke into his home, just several hours prior to their flight to tokyo for a weekend-long event. this was after the first few days since the news broke and since anyone saw him in person. seokjin, although refusing to speak to jungkook, brought food for him, while namjoon and hoseok physically dragged him out of bed and yoongi forcibly went through his belongings to pack clothes on his behalf.
“i’m sorry, i don’t know what’s wrong with me,” was all jungkook could make out and it wasn’t clear if he was referring to the fact that he wasn’t cooperating or the situation with you as a whole. it also wasn’t clear if his hoarse speech was due to being under the influence or from crying.
yoongi pinched the bridge of his nose, watching his members push jungkook into his washroom to get himself decent. “this. . .this is pathetic,” he said, as there were no other words to describe the scene.
at least namjoon managed a sympathetic expression on his features. “he keeps saying over and over again that he’s sorry.”
and that was all jungkook knew. that he was sorry. that he had never made such a mistake in his life. he also knew that he had no explanation or excuse, no matter how he rationalized his actions to himself in the past few months. jungkook couldn’t figure out how he even did such a thing, until yoongi stopped him in his tracks, just before the five of them departed jungkook’s apartment.
jungkook nearly lost balance, as his head hung low as he walked and dragged his suitcase behind him. the others looked on from the hallway, upon noticing that yoongi paused in front of jungkook before he could close the front door behind him.
“your pockets. empty them, kook.”
yoongi knew before jungkook even realized that he brought it along. it was simply second nature and that was the problem. if it was even possible for further shame to illuminate in his dark eyes, jungkook made sure to cut his gaze away to avoid his older friend’s fiery one. without a word of protest, jungkook reached into the side of his jacket and revealed a flask, which he tossed on the floor behind him.
that was two weeks ago. it wasn’t much to be proud of, but jungkook swore on sobriety since then.
that meant it was also over two weeks since he saw you in person. even though it felt like forever, he knew it didn’t mean jack shit to you, who he knew hated him. the look in your eyes when you begged your company to not have anything to do with him, was something he could never forget. he wanted to scrub it off his skin until it was raw. the shame jungkook felt overwhelmed him to the point where he knew he wasn’t even worthy to feel guilt. he was embarrassed for the man he became.
however, the world kept spinning. nobody stopped to care for his problems or his mistakes, especially with the career he chose. jungkook was bts’ jungkook and people were relying on him - his fans, his group members, his company. nobody cared and he didn’t expect anyone to.
he didn’t care about the world continuing to spin in spite of him - his thoughts were consumed with how you were doing as the sun continued to set and rise amidst your suffering. jungkook couldn’t even bear to look you up on social media or the internet. sure, he would be reminded of the insane predicament that your companies just placed on the two of you, but more importantly, jungkook knew that he had no place checking up on you. he wanted nothing more than to pull you into his arms and weep, to patch up the deep wound he inflicted on you. when your companies made the publicity plan official, jungkook thought it was the heavens above granting him some sort of second chance at winning you back.
yet, as he waited in a limousine, waiting for your arrival to drive over to this red carpet event, he was nervous. jungkook felt oxygen trapped in his throat, choking on the fear of facing you once more and it burned a deep hole in his body. he didn’t deserve this. you didn’t deserve this.
over the past two weeks, you didn't know how else to deal with your emotions other than the only way you’d done so for years - by ignoring it and shoving it into the back of your mind. if anyone crossed paths with you, they would simply congratulate you on the successful relationship and ask to say hi to your new public boyfriend. you would plaster on a tight smile and thank the person through your teeth.
the worst part was that no one even knew. even if they were present on that fateful night at hotel azure, any party attendee who saw the news could only assume that you were merely a spineless coward that crawled back to jungkook despite being publicly betrayed. you were defenseless and all of your walls were broken down.
it was an ironic thing, for the two of you to be so alone in the world and being pushed towards one another at the same time.
anyone could see that something was wrong, but it didn’t matter and no one dared to speak up. your makeup artist’s curious eyes were hard to miss, as she prompted for you to stop furrowing your eyebrows during the application of your foundation, but your pr manager’s cut eye from the corner of the dressing room silenced any questioning.
“how many times did you read it over?”
through gritted teeth, you responded, “seven.”
the stack of papers wedged between a flimsy plastic binder were just about as thick as your wrist and felt heavier that it actually was - likely because you were forced to carry it everywhere you went for the past few days. it was a collection of various documents relating to media and public relations, including the full-length version of your NDA with your company and bighit in relation to your coupling with jungkook. there was also a detailed guide to answering interview questions, how to stand next to one another, social media etiquette, and anything that could ever come up. hell, there was written practice on how to look at one another.
ms. choi was the special pr manager assigned to all activities and releases concerning your public relationship. you had met her at the meeting with the board of directors at the bighit company building and she reminded you of a math teacher that you used to hate in school. domineering, always looking over your schedule, and sent shivers up and down your spine. she was not someone to be messed with and above all, she was extremely particular about how she wanted things done. anyone would be a fool to cross her - perfect for the role she was hired to do.
she required you to review the binder several times before all public appearances and it was exhausting. you also had an inkling that your beloved didn’t have the same treatment and your suspicions were confirmed when you crossed paths with him for the first time in weeks, bearing no papers or preparation of any kind in his hands.
instead, he was positioned at the farthest corner of the limousine when the door was opened for you, taking his own precautions against you.
jungkook’s stomach dropped when the vehicle came to a stop in front of the familiar sight of your company building. there was a ticking time bomb at the core of his ribs and it was an explosion to be set off as soon as he saw your shadowy figure approach through the tinted windows. even though he’d been doing everything in his power to brace himself, he still flinched when the door swung open.
his entire body turned cold with rage and guilt when his eyes fell on you. he imagined greek goddesses dripping in gold and glowing in divinity throughout the history of time, but they still wouldn’t hold a candle to you. it was difficult to pinpoint the source of such celestial haze - perhaps your appearance long muddled in self-hatred and anger since hotel azure and now a glistening memory being remembered before his very eyes. it was like learning a lost nostalgia, as if it had been more than mere weeks since laying eyes on you. the taste was bitter and he refused to deem himself worthy of such a thing, but if you picked at jungkook’s brain and held him against his will, it would be a whispered confession of falling in love all over again.
in a tint of twinkling champagne, you donned a floor length evening gown with a fitted, mermaid silhouette. the beaded sweetheart neckline hugged your torso and was accentuated with a sharper edge at your clavicle, before creating a bolder figure flaring out into an hourglass shape. your hair was slicked back into a wet look, as loose curls enhanced by waist-length extensions framed your face. the makeup chosen for the look was simple - a nude gloss, soft flush of pink blush and a sharp eyeliner wing. the star of the show was truly your dress, as just a pair of small gold drop earrings were your only accessory.
thankfully, the dress wore you and not the other way around, as your misery was too loud to not be seen and so, the glamour of your attire created a successful camouflage. if anyone looked at you, they would only see your beauty and not your anguish - a heartbreaking curse on women who chased fame as their body of work.
the curse almost snuck past jungkook, who initially was struck by your appearance, but then saw the way you bit the inside of your cheek. the way emptiness sunk behind your regard. the way you accidentally locked eyes with him and broke away immediately, as if letting a curse word slip or touching something too hot.
“ten minutes to arrival.” jungkook’s manager cut through the obvious tension in the air, thick as nectar.
you sat opposite of him, pretending to pick at your manicured nails after setting your binder next to you and in between his manager. the space was well-needed, as you could barely acknowledge any of his team in the limousine.
jungkook replayed this moment prior to your arrival dozens of times in his head and in every version, he couldn’t even sputter out a polite greeting. he had no place. in this timeline, he, too, failed to say hello.
as the next few seconds progressed, those around you and jungkook were shifting in clear discomfort. jungkook wasn’t exactly prepared by any means, as his staff had barely been able to get him to respond with something more than a grunt and nod to any attempted interaction throughout the day. meanwhile, your team was watching you like a hawk, policing you like a child with your every move.
naturally, someone from your side - thinking that they uncovered the secret key - reached into a compartment and pulled out a pristine bottle of cristal.
with the hopes of easing the tension-filled air, she looked between the two of you and mused, “first public appearance together. drinks anyone?”
you were reaching for a flute already, even before jungkook could wave off the champagne. he didn’t miss the way several individuals in the car, including his own manager, exchanged shocked expressions at his decline. jungkook never said no to a drink before an event and it wasn’t rare for him to already show up slightly inebriated in the first place.
for the first time, you willingly looked up at him, also taken aback. before his eyes could blink back to yours, you were already staring out the window and sipping slowly on your champagne. if you allowed yourself to let your thoughts linger too long on jungkook’s rejection of alcohol, it would mean you cared. meanwhile, he assumed you’d already gone through all sorts of emotions, likely the entire seven stages of grief. maybe you finally came to accept that you no longer needed jungkook in your life.
however, there were precisely four moments that altered everything.
moment number one occurred precisely twenty three minutes after your reunion with jungkook. at this point, he’d used up the entire time on the way to the event trying to not appear like he was sulking. thankfully, your managers began explaining the agenda for the night and several, firm reminders of do’s and don’ts for the camera. the conversation filled up the heavy, dreadful space lingering between you two in the car.
though there was an obvious attempt to not come off as harsh, given the circumstances of clear torment between you, jungkook knew that this night was crucial. the two of you really needed to sell being a couple or face consequences that he couldn’t even imagine. this was your career at the end of the day and its fragile state laid in his hands.
so, before you knew it, the short ride was up and jungkook was greeted by the blinding lights of photographers at every angle possible, even before the car door was fully open. he knew to step out first and structure the perfect gentleman image, as this photo was surely going to be on every social media platform, every homepage, every magazine. the weight of the world rested on his shoulders and the only thing he could do was stretch a pearly white smile across his face.
“jungkook! jungkook, over here!” several reporters called out, ready like a cannon to fire away all the juicy questions in their arsenal since the relationship announcement.
throughout the past two weeks, the youngest member of bts wasn’t all that concerned with the actual publicity of the relationship. he was far too deep into grief to even consider the emotional toll that this new aspect of his job was going to have. he knew that he’d have to spend a generous amount of time with you, which was where the source of his anguish and guilt came from, but he nearly forgot how awful it was dealing with media in general. jungkook should have known that it was only going to get worse in the role he was now forced to play, as your public beau.
“jungkook! how’s y/n?” one reporter kept repeating over and over, wildly waving with one hand to get his attention.
another yelled, “jungkook, how does it feel to be the most searched term with y/n for fifteen days straight?”
while the screams were loud upon jungkook’s appearance, a hushed anticipation floated in the air. some expected other bts members to appear behind him. the crowd couldn’t even dream of the presence of jungkook’s newly official girlfriend, but as soon as one golden heel hit the velvet carpet, the floor nearly rumbled at the volume of yells.
this time, there was no choice but to hold a fixed gaze for longer than two seconds with one another, as your figure fully emerged from the limousine and met the blinding lights. the real job had begun and it was evident by the sudden smile mirrored on your face. it took jungkook aback, as he had been replaying your devastated expression at hotel azure over and over again for weeks. he was shackled to those memories of tears in your eyes - by the pool, in the elevator, at the bighit building.
“ready?”
it took a second to process that you were actually talking to him, as he did a double take. you arched a single, perfect eyebrow at him, as if he just told you a funny joke. one thing you always kept up was the fact that you insisted you were the funnier one out of the two of you, often playing the dynamic of a straight man that refused to laugh.
jungkook realized what you were doing - already portraying a different character for the cameras and it was one of a loving girlfriend that really wasn’t his. despite the heaviness in his chest, he had no choice but to play along, too.
he held out his arm for you and you gladly grasped it, looping your own through. although fans and reporters alike were still screaming at the top of their lungs, the touch of your hand on his arm nearly hurled jungkook back and to the ground. he forgot what it was like, to have your touch and to see your smile. moment one made him forget who he was and where he was, as if he was just yours once again.
this single, seemingly mundane, snapshot of the night was immortalized within jungkook’s mind. it was a second that transported him back in time, almost mockingly. he decided right then and there that he would be chasing these moments for as long as he could.
there was a certain fear that settled in jungkook’s skin, wondering if he would forever have to deal with your silence behind the scenes or suffering through forced touches in front of the cameras.
over time, it got better. when forced together in spaces like these, he was still too concerned with walking on eggshells around you to even try anything with you. he was too ashamed to talk to you, to laugh with you. there was always a safe distance between the two of you and jungkook made it a point to be as professional as possible.
the worst part was that he couldn’t read you at all. despite the fact that the two of you knew each other since you were practically kids meant nothing when the only face you wore was that of a stone cold expression. it drove jungkook crazy, especially when you so obviously feigned excitement or love when your job required you to. he watched puppet strings dictate every slight change of expression on your face and it felt like rocks in his stomach.
this safe distance was easy to maintain when watchful eyes of staff members lingered at every schedule - until they didn’t.
moment two, unlike moment one with you on the red carpet, was approached with fear and uncertainty. jungkook was ill-prepared this time around, having thought that he was looking forward to a rare friday night off when his phone and ms. choi demanded his presence across the city in less than twenty minutes. unlike the jungkook he knew in himself from even just a month prior, he wanted nothing to do with anything if it wasn’t involving laying down in his bed for the whole night.
deep down inside, he knew he wasn’t a party animal. it was nothing he yearned for, but instead, the idea of losing a bit of reality for even just a few hours. down some drinks here, take some pills there. that was the lifestyle he learned from his group of “friends.”
the “friends” was in quotations because there were a select few people in his life that openly declared themselves jungkook’s real friends - his group members, a handful of the 97 line, and others. they were in mostly opposition to the circle that jungkook ran in outside of the, which included bored chaebols, influencers, producers and club promoters with the world at the palm of their hand. they found jungkook to be a cute little idol that could be used for clout.
namjoon often warned jungkook about the people he surrounded himself with, but it was hard when they stuck to him like glue. it was as if he had his own little minions that enabled jungkook to do whatever he felt, as they crossed paths in every major city in the world. jungkook had his boys in los angeles, his connections in tokyo, the rich heirs of singapore. being constantly on tour and away from home was painful in every sense of the word, but he was able to numb it with the people around him.
that was the beginning of the end when it came to hurting when away from you.
surprisingly, jungkook avoided groupies. it was an easy trap for anyone blinded by the shining lights of fame to get lost in that world - maybe it had to do with his members and their own reservations regarding such a thing. while the company and management were strict, anyone could get their way if they were smart enough about it. regardless, it simply wasn’t the band’s prerogative to hook up with fans. instead, jungkook crumbled under pressure through other means.
it was a friday night like tonight, but he was certainly not laying down in bed. bts was in kyoto and celebrating their head choreographer’s birthday at a dingy, hole in the wall nightclub. the walls reeked of nicotine and it was so small that he couldn’t make two steps in either direction without crashing into someone. jungkook made this very mistake and that’s how she ended up falling into his arms. from there, they laughed it off, drank too much, and ended up in his bed by the end of the night.
the only reason why it even happened was because you uttered the words that jungkook thought he’d never hear: i hate you. the fight over the phone was about a multitude of things that was exacerbated by the distance placed between you two because of work and the fact that you were under the influence throughout the entire conversation, sipping on gin on the rocks as it progressed and became rowdy by the end of it as a result. you yelled the three words and hung up on jungkook, prompting him to also get completely wasted before attending the birthday party. he thought that was the end of it, as he heard the words that broke his heart in that moment. you were never one to pull your punches when it came to the harshness of your words, even calling him names in the past, but those three words were beyond anything else.
jungkook didn’t expect you to call him the morning after in tears, apologizing and wanting to make it right.
“dude, it’s not a big deal,” kelvin, one of jungkook’s buddies that was next in line to inherit some singaporean tech company, tried convincing him one night.
at this point, it’d been a few weeks after the affair and he was starting to feel the guilt building. the tour was about to end, which meant coming home to his girlfriend. the feelings only began to haunt jungkook at night, when he stared up at the ceiling of whatever hotel he was staying at that night. they scraped at his insides with metal forks and jolted his senses like electricity when he dwelled too long about the betrayal he committed.
“besides,” chimed in nina, another member of their inner circle that was sitting a little too close to jungkook. “you’ve been complaining about y/n for how long now?”
she was a tall and pretty model that looked like she was ready to pounce on the chance to be jungkook’s next hypothetical little secret. jungkook never looked at her like that, though. she’d been bordering on inappropriate closeness with him for nearing a year now and you had been warning him of this, which he ignored. then again, that was the way you were with every female that even breathed the same air as him.
admittedly, you were a bit possessive. for instance, there was no way in hell jungkook was allowed to have female friends while in a relationship with you. you had his location, he had yours - not because he was obsessive over it like you were, but because it only seemed fair. there were multiple instances of you picking fights with girls at parties or other social outings because they simply looked in jungkook’s direction. above all else, it was your way or the highway.
jungkook was a people pleaser and it was his fatal flaw that had an even weaker spot when it came to you. you were outgoing and some may call it flirtatious the way you cozied up to men and women. however, you were able to easily soothe your boyfriend with affectionate touches when he got riled up about it and that was that. it was certainly problematic that you were prone to interacting with others that would have upset yourself and that was one of the issues the two of you often fought about.
“i don’t complain about her,” jungkook began to scoff, but nina rolled her eyes at his response.
“every time you talk about her, it just sounds like you listing off all the ways how she controls your life,” she said. “just keep doing you.”
a few of the others in the group murmured in agreement. he and his friends were enjoying dinner at some fancy french restaurant that jungkook wasn’t particularly fond of, but went along for the sake of everyone else. in front of the entire group, kelvin decided to spill the beans about jungkook’s affair and of course, they all encouraged it. he was a star, everyone had some sort of little secret on the side. it was a rite of passage amongst celebrities, even. meanwhile, like namjoon, you hated his new friends and warned jungkook that they were full of trouble. it was all the more reason for them to validate his actions and encourage him to continue his affair, maybe even pick up on a few more, when they saw you as a nuisance.
kelvin continued, “like, come on. everyone does it. who cares if it keeps going?”
it made jungkook feel okay. besides, she was there and you were not. it wasn’t just convenient, it was too easy to create her into an outlet to get away from all his feelings and troubles that couldn’t be numbed with liquor and pills. he was able to forget about all the pressures of being an idol - the way his every move was being watched and how the entire world talked about him endlessly. he didn’t have to think so hard about his growing dependence on alcohol. he was able to forget how much he missed his family and the time he lost to be able to be a kid. jungkook was able to forget how much he missed you and how he wasn’t able to protect you from the harshness of real life - being away from each other, the stress of your respective careers, and everything in between. he knew it was wrong to keep going and there was no excuse, but he also knew he was a coward.
his cowardice is what found him in silence as he waited for you in front of your apartment complex tonight, as per the instructions given to him by mrs. choi, and the aforementioned moment two. these next three snapshots frozen in time would finally melt the ice that burned the deepest crevices of your heart: right now, the night in the hotel room during a snowstorm, and the day of your solo debut.
#jungkook fanfic#jungkook imagines#jungkook x reader#bts fic#kpop fanfic#jungkook scenarios#bts imagine#bts scenario#bts series#jungkook angst#jungkook series#jungkook x y/n#bts fanfic#kpop imagine#bts au#kpop scenarios#*** / through the mist.
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Thanks for this thoughtful review!
(BTW, for others – this is probably obvious but there are spoilers below the readmore, don't click unless you've read the book)
I'm going to use this as an opportunity to talk about one specific thing that bugs me about some reader reactions to my stuff. Therefore, most of what I say below will be negative (about your review), but I want to emphasize first that that's not a reflection of what I thought of it overall.
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What I'm here now to talk about is this kind of thing:
There are parts of all his books, where I really think that the explanation for why they are the way they are is that they are "bad on purpose", and all the bullshit [note: in context "bullshit" seems to be meant as a neutral term for non-realist elements -nost] is a way of turning these shortcomings into strengths. The self-effacing voice which whispers that the characters aren't sufficiently well-drawn, are too cartoonish—well, what if that was the point? What if there was a reason for that, in the story?
And like... okay, there is sort of a sense in which this is true, sometimes, kinda. There is a grain of truth to this; it is getting at something real.
But it pains me to say that, because I don't want to encourage this kind of reading. Interpretations like this are occasionally correct but IMO they're much more common than they should be. IMO the right intuition is that this is a galaxy-brained, contrarian sort of take, a last resort you land on when you've ruled out everything else.
And not just with my work, with everything – I'm simply more aware of the problem when it comes to my work, because I wrote it and I'm aware of why I actually did things the way I did.
I've said this before, but watching the way that people react to my own fiction has been an eye-opening experience, one that has taught me things about reader (and viewer, etc.) reactions in general. Specifically, what I've learned was:
People's tastes are way more diverse than I had realized (before I started writing and sharing fiction). And they are diverse in a very fine-grained way; even if two readers have the same preferences about 90% of stuff, or 95%, they'll still diverge on some things. While it's not literally true that "every reader is a unique snowflake with a preference set that no one else shares," that is a very good first approximation of how things are.
Readers (including me!) have been trained by a lifetime of reading book/movie/etc. reviews to frame their preferences/reactions in a pseudo-objective "this is just how it is" way, like their own tastes have some special viewpoint-independent priority, a quality of "reality" or "accuracy" lacking in everyone else's tastes (which are all different, cf. 1). And this is not just a stylistic quirk of the way people write about fiction, it actually (IMO) feeds back into the underlying opinions behind the written commentary. It degrades people's ability to understand what it is they're looking at and their ability to make accurate inferences about the process of its creation.
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Here's a sort of cartoonish schematic of the type of experience that led me to draw these conclusions. (And I suspect this is not just a thing that happens to me, I imagine it happens with any sort of work that "contains a lot of different types of stuff" the way mine does.)
Writer makes something that has X and Y and Z in it. Writer thinks X/Y/Z are "great tastes that taste great together." Writer is very pleased with the result.
Reader 1 has similar tastes to writer, says something brief about how they loved the book and it's a new favorite for them.
Reader 2 loves X, is OK with Y, hates Z. They write a lengthy review saying that the book was a mixed bag and could have been great if the writer had stuck to X and not messed things up by doing so much Z.
Reader 3 is the reverse of their predecessor: they hate X, are OK with Y, love Z. They write a lengthy review saying that the book was a mixed bag and could have been great if the writer had stuck to Z and not messed things up by doing so much X.
Reader 4 loves X and Z – but they hate Y. They write a lengthy… you can fill in the rest. Imagine a whole bunch of these guys (readers 5, 6, etc).
Reader 17 has the same tastes as Reader 2: loves X, is OK with Y, hates Z. But their lengthy review takes a different, in some sense "more charitable" angle, speculating that the inclusion of Z was a load-bearing pillar in the overall structure, a thing that unfortunately had to be included to "unlock" all that sweet sweet X.
Reader 18 has the same tastes as Reader 3: hates X, is OK with Y, loves Z. But, they explain, X was a load-bearing pillar in the overall structure, a thing that unfortunately had to be included to "unlock" all that sweet sweet Z.
Writer reads all these reviews and feels strange, dizzy. The "nicer" reviews like 17 and 18 are actually more uncomfortable to read than the "meaner" ones like 2 and 3.
"I don't know how to convince you guys," Writer thinks, "but I... I just liked all of it? I thought it was good? That was why I wrote it? (Why else would I have written it?)"
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Or, as I wrote in that previously linked post from 2021, w/r/t TNC specifically (and making a slightly different but closely related point):
Some people say X was the worst part of TNC, some people say X was the best part. The story was a celebration of Y; the story was about how Y is laughably futile. It’s a letdown that we were never told more about Z; the reason TNC is good is that it leaves stuff like Z to the imagination. It was obvious we were meant to believe P; it is obvious we were meant to believe not-P; the ambiguity about whether P is tiresome literary masturbation; at least the story didn’t jump the shark by spelling out whether P! The reason people like TNC is, of course, that it has A, although nostalgebraist insisted on putting B in there too because he hasn’t fully perfected his formula yet / he somehow thinks B is good even though it isn’t / he thinks it’s funny how bad B is (but the joke tires). …and then someone else has same take, but with A and B flipped.
This exact sort of thing is of course happening again before our eyes with reactions to TAoHS.
I've encountered multiple readers who disliked most of the story but felt the ending (sort of) "redeemed it," and I've also encountered multiple readers who liked the story up until the ending but disliked the ending (or at least thought it was worse than the rest) – to say nothing of the many readers who liked (or disliked) the whole thing all the way through.
And this ending-related stuff is just one particularly obvious facet of a broader diversity in the overall reader response.
By now I know not to be surprised by this stuff, and even to find it kind of fun to watch... but I have to admit, it is still a dizzying and uncomfortable experience.
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Now, as I said, it is sometimes true that things really are "bad on purpose."
But I think the interpreter's default hypothesis – which should be maintained by default unless convincing evidence against it can be brought forth – should be:
The writer thinks that the thing they wrote is good. They think the ideas are good and they think they executed them well. And they think this more-or-less homogeneously for everything in the work – there are no "bad but unfortunately necessary" parts from the writer's POV.
(At least, this should be the default with works that aren't making the writer much/any money. Obviously things are different with lucrative commercial fiction; there are plenty of well-paid hacks who know they're hacks and do it for the money, etc.)
Why should this be the default? Multiple reasons.
First: it takes a lot of effort to produce any sort of creative work. The writer thought that effort was worthwhile, for some reason – why?
The most straightforward explanation (and a very common one IMO) is that the writer simply believed in the thing that they were making. They believed the effort was worthwhile because it would yield a good product.
Second: as a writer you have an immense amount of freedom. It's difficult to overstate the extent of it. You are playing God, you decide the way that literally everything will be.
Obviously there are some constraints, cases where one part of a story will imply the existence of another or whatever.
But it's very rare that you actually get forced into "doing a thing you know you are bad at, badly." After all: why do that? No one's forcing you! Just do something else! You're God, you control everything!
(Note that this applies also to the very act of writing anything. No one is forcing you to write at all. If you can't come up with good ideas, nothing prevents you from just not writing your bad ones.)
Third: at least in my experience, "playing God" in this way requires a certain state of mind, a certain boldness and self-assurance, which is incompatible with thinking "yeah this is gonna suck but I have to do it" – but is very compatible with thinking "I am making something excellent and every part of it is excellent, hell yes."
Fourth: because of the previously noted diversity of reader preferences, it should not be surprising to any given reader that they find some parts of the work much better than others, even if the writer thought it was all excellent.
This outcome is predictable from the X/Y/Z stuff I talked about above. No clever interpretive work is required to explain it; it arrives pre-explained; it's simply what happens by default.
And finally: because, as I noted above, I think all of us are infected with "reviewer brainworms" and we need to be mindful of this fact.
(Just to be clear, I am not accusing OP of being more infected with said brainworms than anyone else; I'm still on my soapbox, giving a generic rant about a general issue, with OP as merely a jumping-off point.)
We've grown accustomed to the casual conflation between our own tastes and some (usually hazily imagined and under-theorized) sort of "objective, ideal artistic standards."
Outside of a few edge-case eccentrics who can be ignored for my present purposes, we do not do this because we've become intellectually convinced that
(a) such objective standards make sense and really "exist" or at least really matter and
(b) they just so happen to match our own preferences.
Rather, we've fallen into this habit because it's what the pros do: there's a standard style that professional critics and reviewers write in these days, and that style implies these stances. And if one writes (and thinks, in one's inner monologue) in this style, one can easily fall over backwards into uncritically believing (a) and (b) for no better reason than "I seem to already be talking as though I believe these things, hence it would be simple and convenient if I really did believe them."
But – even if we bracket the philosophical questions of whether (a) is in fact true, and (if it is) whose tastes in particular ought to be elevated in the way (b) presumes – even if we table all that for another day, still we ought to keep in mind how weird and audacious a move this is, this simultaneous assertion-without-explanation of the (a)+(b) pair.
We've gotten used to it by exposure, because "the pros" have normalized it. But in actual fact it is a pretty wild thing to just go and assume, given the X/Y/Z/etc. diversity of actual opinion!
If (b) is true for you (general "you" not OP), then it can't be true for me, because we're both unique snowflakes to a first approximation; indeed if (b) is true for you then (to a first approx.) it is only true for you. No one else's tastes have this magical relation to reality, just yours.
Holding the belief (b) about a given reviewer is conceivable-but-wild if we're only considering them in isolation. But once we bring a 2nd reviewer (with non-identical tastes) into the picture, who also believes (b), it's literally impossible to maintain that both of these people are fully right.
And then of course in real life there are not 2 but many, many readers out there, all of them unique snowflakes. And, while it is socially normal in our social context for each one of them to write like they're the chosen one blessed with that special (b)-magic, if you read enough such writing and actually think about what you're reading, it can't help but feel like a sort of game, like playing make-believe. As with most games, it can be very entertaining (for all parties involved), but we shouldn't confuse its amusing conceits for properties of the real world.
In the real world, the writer has their tastes, and you have yours. These tastes are probably not identical. The writer may be aware of the diversity of readerly tastes, and may thus be aware that tastes like yours are out there, but they have no special reason to consider you in particular, elevating you above all the other readers who are non-identical with them (and with you). The writer is dimly and abstractly aware of you, at best, as just another one of the people who will come along later, dislike some of their choices, assume that these choices were wrong in some "objective" way the writer knew about at the time, and then speculate as to why the writer would do something they know is wrong. For every choice, and every way of making every choice, one can imagine a reviewer who responds to it in this way, and quite often these reviewers actually materialize once the work is available for consumption. If you try to reason about these guys in advance, as a writer, it'll stop you in your tracks (if nothing else because there are 2+ of them whose takes are mutually incompatible). You've gotta have some other standard of value to rely on.
So, as a reviewer, if you ask "why would someone ever make a choice I don't like?" and try to pick at this question, you are quite likely heading toward a dead end. The writer wasn't thinking about you (or people like you). They were applying their own, distinct standard of value.
Better to ask: "suppose there was a person who actually liked all of this. What would they be like? How would they be similar to me / different from me? And what, if anything, can I conclude from that?"
The Apocalypse of Herschel Schoen
My fourth novel, The Apocalypse of Herschel Schoen, is now available in full.
Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night!
#sorry if this post is less articulate/coherent than usual - i think i'm coming down with something#the words aren't coming out as readily as usual#the apocalypse of herschel schoen#long post
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Aemond Targaryen — The Beloved Son
— summary: If Aemond could not seek love from the only woman who would take him in her arms and caress his hair, then he needed to find a replacement. An older woman who could make him feel safe and loved again.
— pairing: Aemond Targaryen x brothel worker!reader
— type: smut, dark
— word count: 4.9k
— tags/warnings: female!reader, DEAD DOVE: DO NO EAT, rough sex, oral (female receiving), vaginal fingering, mommy kink, breeding kink, breast worship, nipple licking, nipple play, overstimulation, pregnancy kink, dacryphilia, rough kissing, disturbed themes, age gap (older woman/younger man), Aemond is 19 and Reader is 29, biting, crying, pre-relationship, unhealthy relationships, referenced character death, Lucerys Velaryon mentioned, past underage sex, past child abuse, religious guilt and conflict, crisis of faith, blood licking, implied forced pregnancy, mommy issues, labor mentioned, implied Targtower Incest (mother/son) BUT NOT REALLY, implied Aemond Targaryen/Alicent Hightower BUT NOT REALLY, past Targcest (older sister/younger brother), past Aemond Targaryen/Helaena Targaryen, referenced non-consensual somnophilia, referenced rape/non-con, referenced breastfeeding, referenced lactation kink, minor Helaegon, Aegon Targaryen mentioned, past Aemond Targaryen/Madam Sylvi, underage dubcon, minor Alicent Hightower/Criston Cole, curse words, mild angst, ambiguous/open ending, switch!Aemond, sub!reader, canon divergence (Pre-The Dance of the Dragons), porn with plot. no use of y/n, english is not my first language.
— author's notes¹: I decided to explore Aemond's "mommy issues" side. There's no real incest between Aemond and Alicent, but I put it as a trigger warning because there are scenes about them that can be uncomfortable to read. And also because I see their mother and son relationship too complex and intense. In my opinion, Aemond had an adoration and love for his mother in the season one that the writers left aside during the season two.
— author's notes²: Furthermore, I believe that Aemond's loss of virginity with Madam Sylvi may also influenced a part of his weird behaviour. So this time I wrote about the consequences of this in Aemond's mind, even a few years later. I see what happened with him in the books/show as a real child abuse, so don't read this fic if you've triggers with these themes. I do not support any form of abuse, this is just fiction.
— crossposting: AO3
❥ about me • Aemond masterlist • HOTD masterlist • main masterlist
Aemond needed to vent. He needed some time away from all the chaos that must have been in the Red Keep since he confessed to killing Lucerys. Some time away from all the chaos he caused.
He remembered everything quite accurately. How he arrived at the castle with wide eyes and his body drenched, entering his mother's chambers without even knocking on the door. Alicent had let out a loud scream at the sudden appearance and covered her slim body with the white bedsheets. Despite there being no one there with her, his mother's body was sweaty and her cheeks were flushed, as if she had cum just a few minutes ago. At first he ignored the strange sight and muttered, with his voice trembling and weak, that he had become a kinslayer.
He remembered explaining confusingly how he was trying to scare Lucerys and ended up losing control of Vhagar, causing the old dragon to chew every bit of his nephew, only some remains of his tiny dragon falling from the sky.
He remembered Alicent widening her eyes, still covering her small breasts and telling Aemond to wait for her outside the room.
As much as he wanted to leave the place and wait for her in the hallway like the good son he had always been, Aemond nodded and left. Not just her chambers, but also the castle. He looked for any clothing that did not look so expensive as to give away his noble origins, and wore it along with a dark suit. He passed by Ser Criston Cole on the way out of the Red Keep, ignoring the fact that the guard's armor was not orderly as usual, and said something about needing to get some air away from there. Aemond did not wait for a response from the older man, knowing that it was only a matter of a few minutes for Alicent to look for Criston and tell him what her beloved boy had done.
Aemond was lost. He knew that.
As soon as Aemond entered the brothel, he looked everywhere for Madam Sylvi, his sweaty and trembling hands searching for the only woman who could perhaps help him.
When he was chasing Aegon together with Ser Criston to take him by force to his own coronation, he did not expect to be reunited with the prostitute who had taken his virginity. Aemond had an excellent memory and remembered that night very well, every second of that embarrassing moment. If he tried harder, Aemond could even feel Madam Sylvi's full lips around his still developing cock, or the way she lifted his wine-flushed face to her large breasts. Aegon demanded that she not be too soft with his younger brother, saying that a thirteen years old should already be brave enough to handle a little sexual intensity. However, the woman respected Aemond's nervousness and guided him calmly.
That night had not been so bad at all, even if he had not wanted it. He never returned to any brothel, his mother's disgusted reaction to Aegon's impulsive and selfish decision and her plea to Aemond not indulge in such promiscuity made him give up on going there again. He should do as she asked, marry a pretty noble lady and be a loyal husband, be Aegon's opposite.
He did not want to hurt his mother's feelings, he did not want her to look at him with the same look of disgust she gave her eldest son. He wanted to keep making Alicent proud, being her beloved son.
But Aemond had already failed with her the moment he decided to act like a spiteful boy and chase Lucerys through the skies. Now that he was a Kinslayer, his mother would fear him. She would be ashamed of him. I would see him as a murderer, cursing their whole family forever.
And if Aemond could not seek love from the only woman who would take him in her arms and caress his hair, then he needed to find a replacement. An older woman who could make him feel safe and loved again.
Perhaps Madam Sylvi could do that. When she spoke to Aemond when he and Ser Criston were looking for Aegon, she made it clear that he had grown up so well. She looked surprised, perhaps even horny.
Now, after six years without visiting the place, Aemond was there again. The place where he had promised his dear mother in the name of the Seven that he would never set foot again.
He needed to seek affection from Sylvi or another whore who would make him feel as loved as Alicent made him feel before he grew up. He needed to feel worthy and loved by a mother again.
That was a busy night at the brothel for you, too many clients for too few prostitutes to deal with them. Madam Sylvi warned the women that she would take a day off to rest, a privilege that only the oldest and most renowned courtesans were entitled to. Most of her favorite clients seemed angry about this fact, and even though you and the other girls explained the reasons as calmly as possible, no one cared about what you had to say.
Some people just rolled their eyes and walked away, others snorted and threw coins at you so you could do her job then, and some were even excited about fucking a different cunt.
It was not unknown to you why Sylvi had so many customers who frequented the place in search of her. She was very experienced, a beautiful older woman, with large hips and big breasts. She understood how to please men and even women, both sexually and emotionally.
"Where is Madam Sylvi?" A deep voice caught your attention from behind your shoulder, making you jump and widen your eyes, sighing embarrassed when you saw that it was just a customer.
"She is not here today, sir." You forced a smile, trying not to look too much at the eye patch the boy wore. It was strangely familiar and he had facial features that seemed more handsome than most of the men you served, even if he wore a hood that shadowed his details.
With a frown, the man clenched his jaw and muttered one more time. "I need her tonight. Right now."
You recognized almost all of Sylvi's frequent men, and that one was completely unknown to you. You bit your tongue to try not to question him about why he was so desperate to see the woman if he had never been there recently. However, you took a deep breath and forced another smile, your voice sweet and hiding your curiosity. "My apologies, sir, she is not here tonight. But you can look for another courtesan if you want to, we have many options." You reassured and tried to walk past him to go find another man or some woman who could pay you a few coins, before being stopped by the man's hand on your arm, keeping you close to him.
"Well, you are free to please me." It was not a question. He already knew you did not have any customers waiting. You stared at that violet eye for a few seconds, before swallowing hard, your throat hurting while you nodded, having no choice whatsoever. "Then get an empty, private room for us immediately."
You opened your mouth to explain that the isolated places required a greater amount of gold than the common services, but the man interrupted you, handing you a heavy bag full of coins that were almost slipping out of the opening. "I assume you will make it worth the price, woman."
The moment you and Aemond entered the isolated room, he watched you pulling the curtains until they closed, keeping the events that would follow there a secret from other people. Although you still did not realize who he really was, there was an expression on your face indicating that you were suspicious about something. Perhaps it was the money he was willing to spend without complaining during just one night with someone who was not even the courtesan he was looking for, perhaps it was the eye patch that left a little part of his scar exposed, perhaps it was the extremely pale skin...
It could be many things that were making you suspect there was something unusual happening.
When the other prostitutes finished pouring some wine into two glasses and warming the place with candles, Aemond finally cleared his throat, almost as if he were embarrassed or did not know what to do.
"How old are you?" He asked in a more vulnerable voice than he intended, cursing himself for it.
Your brow furrowed at the rude question. There were men who sought out younger and less experienced whores to satisfy some dark desires, but you doubted that was the case. "Twenty-nine, sir."
Aemond sighed and nodded, satisfied with the answer. You might not be as old as Madam Sylvi or Alicent herself, but you were a maturer age than his. It made him less tense. "Good... That is good." He muttered, his single eye directed to the ground when some thoughts shuffled through his mind. A part of Aemond hated himself for having listened to his mother's advice to never set foot in a brothel again. Now, he was ten and nine and barely knew how to talk to a whore, while Aegon must have already fucked even the one he was about to try something on. "Has King Aegon II already enjoyed your services?"
His words caught you off guard, making you fidget with some discomfort, sitting on the mattresses around the floor, your robe tied and expecting anything other than that. "I cannot expose any of my clients' secrets, much less our King."
Aemond hummed without surprise, already expecting an empty answer like that. He took off the hood that shadowed the most part of his face, revealing his long silver hair tied with a not very effective ponytail and the violet eye that shone much brighter now without the dark fabric that made you unable to noticed the true color.
You did not have to be so smart to know the man in front of you was a Targaryen. A Targaryen prince. Perhaps...
"Aemond." His name dripped from your lips like the sweetest honey. "Aemond Targaryen."
The prince maintained his look of neutrality and almost disdain, nodding and then shrugging. "Or Aemond One-Eye, like some people call me. Your King Aegon is my older brother." Due to your lack of response and your wide eyes, Aemond sighed. "And I asked you a question about my brother. Are you going to answer it or not, woman?"
"He... He never fucked me, Your Grace. During the few times I saw him around here, he was either too much drunk or already busy with another courtesan."
That was good. Someone untouchable by Aegon. Not like his mother, who had given birth to Aegon three years before him, contaminating her precious womb with that bitter soul she one day carried, swearing that her firstborn would become an ambitious and noble-hearted boy, worthy to sit in the Iron Throne.
You also would not be like Madam Sylvi, who had already slept with Aegon several times even before his brother forced him to wet his cock inside her during his thirteenth name day.
You were... Pure. Not for the eyes of the world, which saw you as a mere whore, a hole for fun. You were pure for Aemond's eyes. You were untouchable by Aegon's filthy hands. You could be like a mother to Aemond. Hold him like Alicent had held him when he was a child, you could let him fuck you like Madam Sylvi had done when he was just a little boy...
You could be whatever Aemond asked you to be. His whore for some minutes but his mother afterwards. It will be a way to distract himself from what he had done to his nephew. A way to justify his impulsive actions that were about to declare war.
Aemond thought to himself if he should let it all out and just leave later on. That was what he planned to do with Madam Sylvi, even though she was attractive and hot.
Gods, he should not even be there, with the curtains closed and an older but kind woman waiting for him sitting on the mattress, your robe tied carelessly so you could seduce the customers who saw the smooth and transparent silk cloth covering just a little of your beautiful body. He should be with his mother, asking for forgiveness due the war he would cause, begging for the kisses on the forehead that she used to give him when he was younger.
Aemond should just turn around and leave. Leave and wait for Sylvi the next night.
Or rather, he should leave that dirty place forever and go to the Septa to seek forgiveness for his terrible behavior and quick promiscuous solutions.
Of course Aemond should do anything like this. And yet he did not. There was something interesting about being there, analyzing you as if you were fresh meat. Analyzing every detail like he did when he was buying some wooden toys for his nephews Jaehaerys and Jaehaera.
He was analyzing everything with precision, and was enjoying every bit of that vision. "Tell me your name." He crossed his arms, none of his clothes other than his hood were off his body.
You bit the lip before whispering your name and repeating it later, along with your last name. The prince nodded, humming the name on his mouth to test the sound. Enjoying the result, Aemond gestured to your robe and you immediately obeyed his nonverbal demand, untying the knot and letting the thin fabric fall around the mattress, your bright eyes lifting so you could see how the Targaryen prince was reacting.
With flushed cheeks and arms crossed again, Aemond walked a little closer to you, steady and slow steps until he was face to face with you. His index finger lifted your chin with a calm that was the opposite of everything you were used to in the brothel. You even believed that he could treat you really well, unlike other rude customers. But your hope disappeared the moment he grabbed your cheeks, his short nails digging into your skin and forming tears in the corners of your eyes.
"I need... I guess I need to take my emotions out on something. On Someone."
You did not dare blink, muttering an agreement and not resisting when the prince pushed you to lie down. His body was warm, unlike his hands that was cold from sweat. You remained in the position Aemond had placed you in, lying beneath him with your legs spread to let him take control if he wished.
Aemond's heart beat fast, knowing this would be the second time he was about to fuck a woman. The second time he was going against the Faith of the Seven, against his mother's requests. Hurting the feelings of the woman he loved most and probably amusing his older brother, who should have been laughing and drinking, finding it funny that Aemond had not only killed his own nephew due some petty revenge, but was also now enjoying the pleasures he had always despised.
"Do you need help, Your Grace?" You worked up the courage to ask the prince as you noticed how his fingers were a pathetic mess, unable to undo the ties on his own pants after he freed himself from the tunic.
Aemond wanted to tell you to fuck off. To tell you to be quiet and let him fuck your cunt until it is dripping with his seed. Until you are pregnant with a silver-haired bastard. He wanted to humiliate you like Aegon did to all whores.
But for the Seven Gods' sakes... He did not want to be like Aegon anymore.
"I do not know!" Aemond shouted, breaking the silence of the private room. He stopped trying to get rid of his clothes and turned his body to the other side. His heart felt like it was about to explode, his hands were trembling again and his legs were weak. Aemond's head ached like the Seven Hells and he had not drunk any drop of wine that the other courtesans had left there for the two of you. "Gods! I thought this would help me, but I can barely get my fucking cock out!"
Your body moved closer to his, pressing your face against Aemond's warm and bare back. His breathing became more erratic when you remained quiet, but brushed the tip of your nose against his skin as if you were a kitten.
Aemond opened his mouth to scold you for your childish action, and then closed it. There was something different about your silent actions. You did not judge him for being there, you did not mock him when he failed to drop his pants and fuck you fast like any man in their right minds would do. Aemond was far from a sane man and it did not take long for you to notice that.
Even though he was fully aware that you might change your mind about him when you learned the truth of what he had done to his own half-sister's son, Aemond let out a sigh of relief. Neither of you moved the bodies, feeling something good from that whole complex situation.
Then Aemond turned to you, his eye filled with tears that he cursed himself for letting escape. His palm went to your chin, holding it softer than he had done before. It was gentle and almost delicate now. Everything he liked to be for his mother. A good boy. A good son.
The prince looked down at your naked body, your breasts so inviting to him that he did not think twice and immediately touched them, squeezing the soft flesh with an inexperience that was cute to you. Aemond only felt the smoothness of a female chest three times during his entire life.
One of them was when he was just four years old and he was jealous of his mother breastfeeding his youngest brother Daeron after his birth. So he touched Alicent and asked for her milk too, which was denied and he spent hours crying until he got distracted by some wooden toy that which the maids brought at Alicent's request, to entertain the greedy little boy as quickly as they could. After that, Daeron began to be fed by a wet nurse and Aemond never noticed his mother's breast milk again.
The second time was when Helaena was pregnant with the twins Jaehaera and Jaehaerys. Aemond was still an innocent twelve years old boy and was very curious seeing how the girl's breasts were suddenly bigger due to the breast milk. His youthful curiosity got the better of him and he took advantage of the fact that his older sister always let him sleep next to her when Aegon was busy fucking whores in the brothels. He snuggled into a hug with Helaena as she slept and pulled the neckline of her nightgown aside, playing with his thumbs on her nipples until they were leaking white and sweet drops.
Unfortunately for Aemond, Aegon arrived drunk just as he was sucking Helaena's nipples, being breastfed like a baby. Aegon laughed loud at the scene. Aemond's cute lips were so wet with his sister's milk and his face was reddish like a strawberry, body shaking as he explained himself in the least convincing way possible. But fortunately for Aemond, Helaena did not wake up and probably never found out about his immoral act. Or at least he preferred to believe that she never found out about that.
Despite having begged for forgiveness at the Septa so many times, Aemond was dragged against his own will by his older brother to a brothel to celebrate his thirteenth name day. He did not want none of that and he was angry with Aegon, but also scared of the whole situation that would develop, even if a part of him wondered if this was some divine punishment he deserved for taking advantage of his dear sister's innocence during her sleep.
The night of the loss of his virginity had been the third and until then the last time that Aemond touched any intimate part of a female body, his young and plump face buried in the middle of Madam Sylvi's large chest.
He had promised to the Gods that he would only do something like that again with his future wife. But here he was, thumbs rolling your hard beaks and making you gasp. Aemond may not have been sexually experienced like his brother Aegon, and not like his uncle Daemon or his sluttly half-sister Rhaenyra, but he was a quick learner with a good memory.
He remembered Madam Sylvi encouraging him to pay a special attention to her nipples using his mouth, and Aemond was eager to follow that old lesson. Wrapping one of your beaks with his lips, Aemond licked you like a hungry man, his tongue swirling around it and then nibbling.
Every muffled moan that left your lips was like music to the Prince's ears.
Once your breasts were completely soaked with Aemond's spit and red marks from the bites he gave you, Aemond smirked satisfied, the desperation that was taking over his mind disappearing and giving space to the lust building up inside his veins.
He spread your legs like he watched Aegon do with the maids when they were both younger, smirking at the view of your wet cunt, the pubic hair glistening with your own juices. "Fuck, you are really dripping. I thought you whores got paid to pretend, not to actually enjoy it."
You moaned at his mockery. In fact, you did not usually feel pleasure with your customers, even the most frequent ones who were not rough to you. They always focused on themselves, not really caring if what you were feeling was pleasurable or not.
But Aemond Targaryen was different. He was appreciating your body, hands on your breasts as if you were an anchor keeping him safe, face in front of your legs, excited to devour you and satisfy all his hunger.
Aemond Targaryen barely seemed to see you as a whore. He seemed to be seeing you as a woman he wanted to worship more than anything. Almost like a...
"Do you have children?"
The prince was full of random questions, and it was another one of the moments when he crossed an unusual line. Why the hells was this important? Was he some boring man who wanted to have sex just with not so experienced whores? Was he disgusted by pregnancies?
"I do. I have... two kids."
The words was almost impossible to hear. Anyone would tell you to repeat what you said. Anyone could be angry due the answer. Anyone but Aemond Targaryen. The prince's keen hearing caught your words perfectly, a smirk of relief and excitement pulling at his lips.
It was perfect. Almost too perfect to be true.
It did not matter where your children were now. It did not matter if they might be suffering from having a mother working in a brothel to be able to feed them with the bare minimum. All that mattered to Aemond at that moment was that you had two children. Just like Alicent had Aegon and Helaena before he was born.
He could pictured himself coming out of his mother's womb. She always said that Aemond was the most painful birth of all, as the boy came out of her womb with such eagerness that the midwives swore it almost caused a hemorrhage inside Alicent's cunt. While Aegon's birth had been traumatizing due to the fact that it was Alicent's first time going through that labor experience, Helaena's birth was soft. The little girl was born so silent that for a few seconds the Queen feared she had been born dead, but Helaena cried when Alicent began to sob, as if she was feeling her mother's emotional pain.
Aemond remembered how his mother described the birth of each of them, even Daeron, who was the fastest of all to be born. And one thing Aemond would never forget was how his mother described his birth.
Alicent said it was like giving birth to a dragon. She felt like she was being ripped from the inside out and for a moment she could swear that little Aemond enjoyed hearing her screams of pain while the midwives were desperate to help stop the bleeding. She said he stopped crying immediately, the sounds of her suffering calmed him.
If he came out of Alicent's body like a dragon whelp, then he would come into yours with all the Targaryen fire inside his veins too. The true perfect replacement for her mother could handle anything. Perhaps he could really trust you to vent and look for affection if you also saw him as your and Alicent's third children. The most devout and the most feared. He could be that for both of you.
Six years ago, Aemond had no awareness about how to please a woman. He was sure that Sylvi had pretended to cum so that he would not feel so humiliated, not that it mattered anyway, since Aemond had not lost his virginity by choice and Madam was already used to faking pleasure reactions for the vast majority of men who visited her brothel. However, there with you, after not knowing how to deal with the chaos tormenting his own mind, Aemond allowed himself to lower his head and get between your legs, rubbing his tongue on the swollen bud that he knew what it was based on what it was written in the forbidden books of the library in the castle.
At first, the movements of his tongue were disorganized and uncomfortable, and you tried to guide his head, but Aemond bit your thigh, drawing some blood from you and hearing you cry out. Aemond did not care about any of that, licking up the red drops that dripped down and going back to licking your clit, taking a little more care than before, understanding that he had done something wrong. He made his tongue less pointy and flattened it better, rubbing it against your cunt and giving gentle licks, eating out the juices that dripped from your wet hole and then moving it up to focus on your clit, trembling moans escaping you while you rolled the eyes at the sensation.
Your thighs trembled and your back arched upward, forcing Aemond to grip your legs to keep your body down, the wet sucking noises buzzing in his ear when you had the first release.
Aemond did not wait you to recover yourself from your high. He kept your legs open with one of his large hands, the other undoing the ties of his pants more quickly than during the first attempt, throwing them to the side and caressing his hard cock. You looked at his muscular torso and looked down at his long legs and the dark hair on his groin.
You did not even need to entertain him with false praises or get him drunk with the wine the other prostitutes prepared for the two of you. Aemond was ready for it and ignoring his own nervousness.
He spat into his palm, pressing his arousal one last time and finally slamming into you, the abrupt stretch hurting your cunt, lips parted and eyes widening when Aemond ignored your brief pain and started moving his hips, letting out low guttural growls at the feeling of your tight warm walls crushing him.
"Your Grace..." You moaned in a mix of pleasure and discomfort, the thrusts hitting the soft part of your cervix and making you see stars.
Aemond smirked at your incoherent moans, lowering himself until his face was close to yours, capturing your mouth in an aggressive kiss, uncoordinated tongues together, teeth practically devouring each other's lower lip. The exchange of saliva tasted like blood and your own cum.
He had not felt the sensation of being inside a woman in so many years that the pleasure was almost like losing his virginity for a second time. It was intense, strange and desperate. He needed more. He needed to fuck you deep inside, until you were like Alicent, carrying a part of him in your womb.
The faster he got closer to his orgasm, the more Aemond's low growls became whispers begging the Gods for forgiveness and also tearful moans calling you his mother. Prayers and cries coming from a filthy sinner in search of redemption, or from an innocent little boy who needed the love of the woman who gave birth to him.
With each violent thrust inside your tight and sore cunt, Aemond pictured a little silver-haired boy coming out of you after nine moons and destroying you just like he had done to Alicent during his own childbirth.
Now that the only woman who ever loved him with her entire body and soul saw him as a monster, Aemond wished that future routine nights with you in the brothel could fill the void inside his heart. However, deep down Aemond knew that no one could ever love him more than the woman who brought him into the world. For Aemond, failing Alicent was worse than failing the Gods. And there was no divine or maternal forgiveness for a murderer.
#venusbyline#venusbyline's masterlist#aemond targaryen masterlist#aemond targaryen#aemond targaryen x reader#aemond targaryen smut#dark aemond smut#dark aemond targaryen#dark aemond x reader#hotd x reader#hotd x you#house of the dragon#hotd smut#hotd#dark hotd#dead dove fic#dead dove do not eat#aemond targaryen x you#aemond targaryen x female reader#aemond targaryen imagine#aemond targaryen fanfiction#my fics#my writing#aemond smut#aemond x reader#aemond x you#hotd fic#hotd fanfic#hotd aemond#aemond targaryen oneshot
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I'm in the middle of a replay of Red Dead Redemption 2 and I just can't express how much of a masterpiece in storytelling, not only in video game history but the history of storytelling in general including cinema and literature. Between the plot and the characters it is perfection. The Witcher 3 and Baldurs Gate 3 comes fairly close but RDR2 is perfect in almost everyway. The characters feel real, your character feels real, and the whole story is driven through meaningful character arcs, and you are so immersed into the RDR2 world and plot that it feels real. Literally nothing in this game is wasted. There are some many games which are inundated with pointless boring fetch quests (cough cough Ubisoft). But in RDR2 even what seems like a mundane fetch quest ends up being an exciting adventure, a big surprise, a hilarious story, or an important piece of character development.
(spoilers) AND never in the history of video gaming has the death of a fictional character like Arthur Morgan creates such a cathartic release of emotions that caused me to break down balling. There's compilation videos on youtube of other players doing the same.
youtube
Never had I had such spiteful hatred of a fictional character like Micah Bell.
And then to just up the ante, you have Red Dead Redemption, which despite being an older game is actually a sequel, and it combined with RDR2 just wraps up the story with a nice big bow.
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I was wondering what other proshippers feel about "Hear me out cakes" bc now ppl (antis, definitely and always antis) are hating on them bc they have minors
(I would like to know I have not seen one single live action character/child on any cakes)
I saw this a few minutes ago and just AAHAOSUSJA I KEEP HAVING TO BLOCK THESE KINDA ACCS
I don't think people understand. What a "hear me outcake" is
Or even what "Hear me out" means
Ppl need to realize ppl are gonna bring up All types of fictional crushes to animals to kids to monsters, shit even numbers!!, A hear me out. Cake isn't supposed to be a normal guy. A normal guy, a normal woman, a normal guy, a normal woman
ITS SPOSE TO BE FREAKY!!?!
Anyways that's all I wanted to yap about :3
What's y'all's opinions!
Imo it's not a hear me out unless it would be borderline illegal or straight up illegal in real life. A proper hear me out should have you fighting FOR YOUR LIFE to defend it.
Half of these hear me outs are characters intended to be conventionally attractive like be so real rn.
#proshippers against censorship#jackal barks#proship please interact#proshippers please interact#proship positivity#proship#proshipper safe#proshipping#proshipper#anti anti#ask#asks#pro stance
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felt like doing this too 😝 5 fun facts about me
1. i have amblyopia, not really a rare condition (i think?) but almost never talked about
2. i have always been obsessed by fictional detectives/fictional crime
3. favorite TV show is a dorama called "My name"
4. i have an espeon plushie because i was obsessed with pokemon, more specifically eeveelutions as a kid
5. dream was my favorite character back in 2017-2019 before i left the fandom for a few years (and then i went back to the fandom in 2024 and he went back to being my favorite character lmaoo)
also moot what you said about cannon nightmare and how dream is treated as the manipulative sibling is so real, i hate this 😭 they made dream and nm so dirty
not tagging anyone, whoever is seeing this feel free to do this too
IF YOUR SEEING THIS, SAY 5 THINGS ABOUT YOURSELF AND TAG 5 PEOPLE
I was an sonic fan.
I try my best to stick to the canon.
I love pop & rock.
I know a lot about anime(like jujutsu kaisen) so some people misunderstand me that I like anime.
I suck at gaming
@aurora-starlight-silly @miracle-negative @r31ncl0udcry @zoepreppyutfan @fruitcake5
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