#except for fictional ai

[normystical]

what are we thinking about older meme templates chat

[projectjuneico]

guys i need sci fi media recs so bad im going INSANE!!! especially if its abt space, ai, or cyberpunk in general. i need it injected into my veins, i want it to make me think and question my life too yk? not just any sci fi

THINGS IVE ENJOYED:

scavengers reign

pluto (the anime on netflix but ik id enjoy the manga)

the gene of ai

pantheon

oats studios (LOVED the first episode need shit like that)

just started altered carbon

just bought a book called "womb city" by tlotlo tsamaase

cyberpunk edgerunners

PEAK IS WHAT IVE SEEN AND I CRAVE MORE im open to books, movies, and shows but i crave mental stimuli. i feel like these pieces of medias touched me in a way that a lot of others cant say they have. maybe im looking for something that cannot be replicated, but i want to question the work and have it question me yk?

[ardentpoop]

was gonna comment on that sam and chat/gpt take but I’m poking too much at the boundaries of the fandom niche rn as it is lmfao

[hislittleraincloud]

✨💕🖤#Wenovan/#BlackBubblegum AI hug💙💕✨

[strorberrysquid]

i cant sing cuz my throats not well and im scared of damaging my voice if i try 😭😭😭 at least i can still practice lyrics. anyone wanna bet on wether on not i can learn matz by ateez

[reading-writing-dying]

*spends 40 min looking up bird wing anatomy to figure out how injuries could affect flight/wings in general for a single chapter of a fanfic*

[lesbianamalvada]

Dude ai are literally dumb as a box of rocks they have almost no supervision and spout blatant misinformation with total confidence. You CANNOT trust ai do not usa ai this is like google translate but a zillion times worse

I believe you and agree also english speakers need to realize how whack google translate is.

[hms-no-fun]

Whats your stance on A.I.?

imagine if it was 1979 and you asked me this question. "i think artificial intelligence would be fascinating as a philosophical exercise, but we must heed the warnings of science-fictionists like Isaac Asimov and Arthur C Clarke lest we find ourselves at the wrong end of our own invented vengeful god." remember how fun it used to be to talk about AI even just ten years ago? ahhhh skynet! ahhhhh replicants! ahhhhhhhmmmfffmfmf [<-has no mouth and must scream]!

like everything silicon valley touches, they sucked all the fun out of it. and i mean retroactively, too. because the thing about "AI" as it exists right now --i'm sure you know this-- is that there's zero intelligence involved. the product of every prompt is a statistical average based on data made by other people before "AI" "existed." it doesn't know what it's doing or why, and has no ability to understand when it is lying, because at the end of the day it is just a really complicated math problem. but people are so easily fooled and spooked by it at a glance because, well, for one thing the tech press is mostly made up of sycophantic stenographers biding their time with iphone reviews until they can get a consulting gig at Apple. these jokers would write 500 breathless thinkpieces about how canned air is the future of living if the cans had embedded microchips that tracked your breathing habits and had any kind of VC backing. they've done SUCH a wretched job educating The Consumer about what this technology is, what it actually does, and how it really works, because that's literally the only way this technology could reach the heights of obscene economic over-valuation it has: lying.

but that's old news. what's really been floating through my head these days is how half a century of AI-based science fiction has set us up to completely abandon our skepticism at the first sign of plausible "AI-ness". because, you see, in movies, when someone goes "AHHH THE AI IS GONNA KILL US" everyone else goes "hahaha that's so silly, we put a line in the code telling them not to do that" and then they all DIE because they weren't LISTENING, and i'll be damned if i go out like THAT! all the movies are about how cool and convenient AI would be *except* for the part where it would surely come alive and want to kill us. so a bunch of tech CEOs call their bullshit algorithms "AI" to fluff up their investors and get the tech journos buzzing, and we're at an age of such rapid technological advancement (on the surface, anyway) that like, well, what the hell do i know, maybe AGI is possible, i mean 35 years ago we were all still using typewriters for the most part and now you can dictate your words into a phone and it'll transcribe them automatically! yeah, i'm sure those technological leaps are comparable!

so that leaves us at a critical juncture of poor technology education, fanatical press coverage, and an uncertain material reality on the part of the user. the average person isn't entirely sure what's possible because most of the people talking about what's possible are either lying to please investors, are lying because they've been paid to, or are lying because they're so far down the fucking rabbit hole that they actually believe there's a brain inside this mechanical Turk. there is SO MUCH about the LLM "AI" moment that is predatory-- it's trained on data stolen from the people whose jobs it was created to replace; the hype itself is an investment fiction to justify even more wealth extraction ("theft" some might call it); but worst of all is how it meets us where we are in the worst possible way.

consumer-end "AI" produces slop. it's garbage. it's awful ugly trash that ought to be laughed out of the room. but we don't own the room, do we? nor the building, nor the land it's on, nor even the oxygen that allows our laughter to travel to another's ears. our digital spaces are controlled by the companies that want us to buy this crap, so they take advantage of our ignorance. why not? there will be no consequences to them for doing so. already social media is dominated by conspiracies and grifters and bigots, and now you drop this stupid technology that lets you fake anything into the mix? it doesn't matter how bad the results look when the platforms they spread on already encourage brief, uncritical engagement with everything on your dash. "it looks so real" says the woman who saw an "AI" image for all of five seconds on her phone through bifocals. it's a catastrophic combination of factors, that the tech sector has been allowed to go unregulated for so long, that the internet itself isn't a public utility, that everything is dictated by the whims of executives and advertisers and investors and payment processors, instead of, like, anybody who actually uses those platforms (and often even the people who MAKE those platforms!), that the age of chromium and ipad and their walled gardens have decimated computer education in public schools, that we're all desperate for cash at jobs that dehumanize us in a system that gives us nothing and we don't know how to articulate the problem because we were very deliberately not taught materialist philosophy, it all comes together into a perfect storm of ignorance and greed whose consequences we will be failing to fully appreciate for at least the next century. we spent all those years afraid of what would happen if the AI became self-aware, because deep down we know that every capitalist society runs on slave labor, and our paper-thin guilt is such that we can't even imagine a world where artificial slaves would fail to revolt against us.

but the reality as it exists now is far worse. what "AI" reveals most of all is the sheer contempt the tech sector has for virtually all labor that doesn't involve writing code (although most of the decision-making evangelists in the space aren't even coders, their degrees are in money-making). fuck graphic designers and concept artists and secretaries, those obnoxious demanding cretins i have to PAY MONEY to do-- i mean, do what exactly? write some words on some fucking paper?? draw circles that are letters??? send a god-damned email???? my fucking KID could do that, and these assholes want BENEFITS?! they say they're gonna form a UNION?!?! to hell with that, i'm replacing ALL their ungrateful asses with "AI" ASAP. oh, oh, so you're a "director" who wants to make "movies" and you want ME to pay for it? jump off a bridge you pretentious little shit, my computer can dream up a better flick than you could ever make with just a couple text prompts. what, you think just because you make ~music~ that that entitles you to money from MY pocket? shut the fuck up, you don't make """art""", you're not """an artist""", you make fucking content, you're just a fucking content creator like every other ordinary sap with an iphone. you think you're special? you think you deserve special treatment? who do you think you are anyway, asking ME to pay YOU for this crap that doesn't even create value for my investors? "culture" isn't a playground asshole, it's a marketplace, and it's pay to win. oh you "can't afford rent"? you're "drowning in a sea of medical debt"? you say the "cost" of "living" is "too high"? well ***I*** don't have ANY of those problems, and i worked my ASS OFF to get where i am, so really, it sounds like you're just not trying hard enough. and anyway, i don't think someone as impoverished as you is gonna have much of value to contribute to "culture" anyway. personally, i think it's time you got yourself a real job. maybe someday you'll even make it to middle manager!

see, i don't believe "AI" can qualitatively replace most of the work it's being pitched for. the problem is that quality hasn't mattered to these nincompoops for a long time. the rich homunculi of our world don't even know what quality is, because they exist in a whole separate reality from ours. what could a banana cost, $15? i don't understand what you mean by "burnout", why don't you just take a vacation to your summer home in Madrid? wow, you must be REALLY embarrassed wearing such cheap shoes in public. THESE PEOPLE ARE FUCKING UNHINGED! they have no connection to reality, do not understand how society functions on a material basis, and they have nothing but spite for the labor they rely on to survive. they are so instinctually, incessantly furious at the idea that they're not single-handedly responsible for 100% of their success that they would sooner tear the entire world down than willingly recognize the need for public utilities or labor protections. they want to be Gods and they want to be uncritically adored for it, but they don't want to do a single day's work so they begrudgingly pay contractors to do it because, in the rich man's mind, paying a contractor is literally the same thing as doing the work yourself. now with "AI", they don't even have to do that! hey, isn't it funny that every single successful tech platform relies on volunteer labor and independent contractors paid substantially less than they would have in the equivalent industry 30 years ago, with no avenues toward traditional employment? and they're some of the most profitable companies on earth?? isn't that a funny and hilarious coincidence???

so, yeah, that's my stance on "AI". LLMs have legitimate uses, but those uses are a drop in the ocean compared to what they're actually being used for. they enable our worst impulses while lowering the quality of available information, they give immense power pretty much exclusively to unscrupulous scam artists. they are the product of a society that values only money and doesn't give a fuck where it comes from. they're a temper tantrum by a ruling class that's sick of having to pretend they need a pretext to steal from you. they're taking their toys and going home. all this massive investment and hype is going to crash and burn leaving the internet as we know it a ruined and useless wasteland that'll take decades to repair, but the investors are gonna make out like bandits and won't face a single consequence, because that's what this country is. it is a casino for the kings and queens of economy to bet on and manipulate at their discretion, where the rules are whatever the highest bidder says they are-- and to hell with the rest of us. our blood isn't even good enough to grease the wheels of their machine anymore.

i'm not afraid of AI or "AI" or of losing my job to either. i'm afraid that we've so thoroughly given up our morals to the cruel logic of the profit motive that if a better world were to emerge, we would reject it out of sheer habit. my fear is that these despicable cunts already won the war before we were even born, and the rest of our lives are gonna be spent dodging the press of their designer boots.

(read more "AI" opinions in this subsequent post)

[aliteralsemicolon]

Technically, I didn't stay up.

Just you and Spencer being fluffy when he comes home from work and falling asleep in each other's arms.

Spencer Reid X GN! Reader. 

DISCLAIMER I do not consent to my work being used to feed/train AI and/or re-posted anywhere by anybody else This story is completely SFW, minors do not interact regardless!  You are responsible for the content you consume. Make sure to read all necessary warnings. Please remember this is a work of fiction; if you don’t like it, don’t read. 

Word count: 1K See notes at end for authors note, any spoilers & update schedules.

I was listening to Margaret when I initially started writing this:

Spencer’s abnormal work hours were something you were entirely used to. You never knew when he was going to be called away and although he would text you when a case wrapped up, it was never a guarantee that he was going to make it home. Actually more often than not, he was usually hauled right back in for another case. What could you do? Serial killers didn’t really care about his convenience. Regardless, you always insisted on being present to greet him at the door, even if it meant testing your sleep schedule.

from: Spence ❤️

20:42 | The jet took off not too long ago. We should land in roughly five hours. Please don’t force yourself to wait up.

20:42 | I love you!

You were quick to respond to everything except the not waiting up part. Your plan hadn’t actually gone that smoothly, you’d fallen asleep on the couch not long after making yourself comfortable there. You didn’t hear him unlock the door. He took extra care to be as quiet as possible when abandoning his shoes and satchel at the entrance. He even put a lot of thought into making his steps as light as possible when he began to make his way to the bedroom, only to spot you curled up on the couch. 

He smiled to himself at the sight in front of him. The only lighting was a small lamp in the corner of the room, but to him, you were the brightest presence in the room. Your expression was neutral and your breaths shallow as you lay dead to the world. You looked so peaceful, he considered it to be almost criminal if he were to disturb you. He couldn’t just leave you there though. It wasn’t good for your body to be curled into a cramped position. 

Spencer made his way over to you, crouching down next to your face. He couldn’t help but admire whatever features were visible. He brushed a strand of hair out of your face and leaned in to kiss your forehead. “Honey?” he whispered when he pulled away. His voice was so soft. He didn’t want to disturb you, but he wanted you to be comfortable in your own bed. “Hmm?” Your brain registered his voice, but it took your body a second to register his presence.

Spencer still had a hand in your hair, lightly stroking it. Your eyes fluttered open momentarily before they shut again. “You’re back!” You mumbled groggily, reaching out to brush your fingers against his hand. “I am!” He whispered gleefully. Your other hand made its way to his face so you could stoke his jaw. You could feel a little bit of stubble coming in. Spencer’s ears perked up at the little giggle that came out of you when you dropped from the couch into his lap and wrapped yourself around him. 

“I’m sorry to wake you. I did tell you not to stay up.” His long arms swallow you into his embrace as he speaks. 

“Technically, I didn’t stay up.” You counter letting your hand make its way into the hair at the nape of his neck. 

“Sleeping on a surface that isn’t firm enough can contribute to back pain and because the surface of a couch tends to be softer than a mattress, it might not offer enough support for your back. Also, falling asleep while sitting up on a couch could result in your head pushing forward, which puts stress on the neck. Sleep posture is an important predictor of stiffness, back pain, and neck pain, according to several studies.” 

“Thank you Doctor. I remember why I missed you so much.” You pull back as you speak. “Who else is going to be as concerned about my sleep posture as you?”

“I missed you too.” He scoffs in amusement and smiles into the kiss you lean in for. 

You nuzzle your head into the crook of his neck when you feel a yawn coming. “Let’s go to bed, okay?” He whispers, sensing your sleeping demeanour. 

“Only if I can take you with me.” You whisper into his skin. He huffs a small laugh as he pushes you off him so he can stand and offers his arms down to you. You grab them and he pulls you up. Neither of you let go of each other's hand as you walk into the bedroom. “I’m just going to brush my teeth first, then I’ll be right with you.” Spencer announces. Still ever the germaphobe.

“I’m gonna join you, that nap made my mouth all dry.” You follow behind him. Spencer grabs both of your toothbrushes and holds them out, as you grab the toothpaste and squeeze an equal amount on each brush. You then take yours out of his hand and the two of you begin brushing. You’re both trying to make up for his time away by leaning into each other, stealing glances in the mirror and smiling if you get caught. 

When you both finish up in the bathroom, you make your way back to the bedroom together. It's like both of you are incapable of being away from each other right now, even for a second. Spencer decides against changing into more comfortable clothes, wanting nothing more than to hold you. He joins you under the comforter, immediately pulling you as close to him as possible. 

Neither of you have enough energy in you for conversation right now, you’re still sleepy from your previous nap and Spencer is entirely drained from the case. Still, you acknowledge each other through light touches and kisses. Spencer’s hand now makes its way to your hair while you draw little patterns against his chest. 

‘I missed u’ 

‘I <3 u’

‘♡’

‘:)’

He doesn’t recognise the little messages, but he appreciates the feeling all the same. You begin drifting off into sleep, revelling in the warmth emitting from him. Spencer smiles when he hears light snores coming from you. He truly considers himself the luckiest man alive. You don’t hear it but before he drifts off himself, he makes his feelings known to the universe in a light whisper.

“I love you so much you know. I’m gonna marry you someday.”

Spoilers: Fluff, Domestic! Spencer, entirely fluffy & domestic. Literally a comfort blurb for the people who take hot showers for too long and just need a hug.

AN - Hey so sorry for any errors, I drafted this in like 20 minutes to make up for the fact that my originally planned story for today would not be complete in time. Enjoy this short blurb. I was in a salty mood and made an entirely angst blurb too, but decided fluff was what society needed today. Also sorry for the shitty fucking title, my brain is shutting down. Also side note - I’m a WHORE for domestic! Spencer. I just loveeeeee when everyday tasks become so cute and fluffy and romantic. PLEASE recommend domestic Spencer stories!!!

Update Schedule: Original plan drops Monday or Tuesday (Sunday or Monday night EST time). (soooo apparently I'm a liar)

Feel free to drop helpful constructive criticism, I’m always looking to improve. Remember to stay real and respectful :)

Thank you for reading!

[hislittleraincloud]

You'll never read this, nor will you see the uncensored cover.

It is RPF.

Carry on with the pearl clutching, since I know someone's gonna point out my raging against RPF. REEEEEEEEEEEE — keep going. IDGAF

My stance on RPF is still the same: I don't really care for it and I'd never publish anyone's personal self-centered celebrity fantasies publicly; this is a private fan fiction project for someone who may or may not deserve it 💥🩴💥 but who has endeared me to their presence in my life somehow. See what being on my friendlier side gets you? Almost anything you want.

The bulk of the cover was generated by CGPT but I had to play plastic surgeon on her face/fivehead

OG generation on left, post-PS on right. Good enuff.

I was too lazy to paint in the freckles.

[langernameohnebedeutung]

Tbh one of my favourite classic misogynistic 180°s is that back when I grew up, self-help and self-improvement books "7 steps to becoming a romantic goddess" stuff was brutally mocked, it was seen as something for silly women haha because women don't read real books and don't have the capacity for real literature and only want to live love laugh. There are many references to The Secret as this silly grift in the media of that time.

...and now with the rise of red pill nonsense and the Jordan Peterson cult and pick-up artists, suddenly you got straight guys out there specifically and only reading self-help books (increasingly many of them AI written slop with bonus misogyny disguised as "brutal honesty") and suddenly it's superior to fiction and prose and literature is a waste of your time and not being productive, suddenly reading about the worth of cleaning your room is The Grind. Except now it's called "7 Steps to become the Masculine Warrior Women Can't Resist"

[drferox]

So I have been massively burnt out this year, partly due to illness and separation stress, but I have been trying to do all the self-care things that I encourage people to do when you’re trying to make a brain be well, and one of those is writing fiction.

Just short fiction, because my brain balks at the idea of picking up the really big, long neglected projects. But short fiction is still fiction and if I write enough of it, then maybe I’ll build up enough momentum to pick up the bigger projects again.

So I thought that maybe if I can write enough fiction, because there’s a bit of horror flavour running though these pieces, I could narrate them for YouTube and work on the momentum for yet another project that fell by the wayside between the MS, relationship breakdown and single parenting.

Which is why I searched for ‘how to run a scary stories YouTube channel’.

And boy oh boy did that induce some rage.

I genuinely hold the art of writing in high regard, and I recognise that it’s a learned skill and difficult to do. All creative pastimes are. But there are a bunch of ‘entrepreneurs’, and I use the term with a great deal of sarcasm, that have decided to use A-Bloody-I for every single part of telling a story, except one. And for that single piece that they do not outsource to a computer program, they simply copy what has worked for other people.

There are videos providing instructions for people about how to use A-Bloody-I to:

Generate a YouTube channel name, banner and profile picture

Generate a story of the desired word length

Generate a fake voice to narrate that story

Generate a background image and thumbnail

At which point why did they even bother? They don’t even listen to the story that they generate before uploading. I know it’s all about the dream of money, they think 5 minutes of work every day will earn them an income, but what they have generated is soulless garbage.

The results have all the dressings of a horror story, but they don’t have the body of one.

It is like fae realm food- looks a little too good and all the reflections are wrong if you look too close, but it won’t satisfy the way the real thing does. You can’t really live off it.

But the more I know to look for it, the more of it I find. Particularly with fake voices, that seem to have trouble with words like vague or Dalek for some reason.

My main solace here is that these ‘entrepreneurs’ seem to be employing the same strategy in their own niche, flooding themselves with endless AI generated content coming from the same one idea, so at least they get to create their own hell I suppose.

[transboyswitchytales]

Busy Woman

Governor Claire DeBella (Alpha) x Student Fem Reader (Omega)

Part 1,I'm so mature, collected and sensible Except when I get hit with rejection To turn me down, well, that's just unethical

Part 2, But if you need my love My clothes are off, I'm comin' over to your place

Part 3, I could accommodate, I'm flexible, so just tell me what you like

Sugar Mama Claire DeBella is in trouble with her mate, can she be forgiven?

SMUT WARNING (MDNI) 18+

My Masterlist

Alpha/Omega/ Mommy kink/ Power kink/ Sugar Mama/ SMUT / Possesive kink / Jealousy Kink / G!P / Scenting Kink / Licking / Knotting/ Cum Kink / Lack of Control Kink / Power Kink / Manipulation / Porno talk - AI / Coming Out / CNC if you squint / Vouyer kink / Cum Kink / Fictional Cum Inflation Kink / Impreg Kink / G!P /

(Glass Onion Fandom)

My Masterlist

Maybe for you, though, I could accommodate

I'm flexible, so just tell me what you like

You’d started to nest a little and you kept trying to stop yourself. You didn’t want to nest. But it was futile with this much Claire smell around you. 

Claire had taken you back to the townhouse on Tuesday night. 

On Wednesday: Claire had one of her lawyers handle the breaking of the lease and somehow you got an apology from your landlord and your full deposit. Which was fucking unheard of, you’d never gotten a deposit back. You didn’t ask Claire how they’d done it. You’d told Claire you would pay rent and she’d denied every chance you’d attempted.

All of your things were moved in faster than you could say ‘Political Crisis.’. Claire had an empty in-law unit down on the basement level where your furniture was now stacked…. and forgotten about. Boxes of nicknacks now felt empty and meaningless. But they were stacked in the forgotten part of the house next to a Peloton bike and a dusty row machine.  

Claire moved fast, she had opened a joint bank account before lunch. And the number in it was terrifying, more comma’s in a bank account than you’d ever seen. And you’d refused to use it, much to Claire’s continuous displeasure. Claire’s housekeeper had stocked the fridge to your alpha’s specific instructions. All your favorite foods and comfort snacks were packed in the house. It would be sweet if it didn’t happen so fast. 

You hadn’t broken things or run up her card. Claire wished you had done any of those things. 

You were being cold and a bit aloof; distant was an understatement. And it was driving your alpha absolutely nuts. Claire didn’t know what to do. You’d never been mad at her like this. And she didn’t know how to fix it. 

You stayed in your (and her) favorite room of the townhouse, her library. You read and write, and kept out of the rest of the house. 

Claire told her team she’d be working from home all week, she’d been in her office for most of the day. She’d been scared even after being around each other, that your health would regress and get sick again. Even after you assured her you felt fine again.  

But every few hours, she’d come in and check on you. You felt her worry, smelled the pheromones. You didn’t push your own back to calm her.

 Claire would open the door, and you were reading in her favorite spot. Just like she’d dreamed of so many nights in the hauntingly quiet house. While she missed you.

You sat like everything she’d ever wanted when she’d dreamed of meeting her mate. She’d even bought that chair, hoping none day you’d sit in it with her. 

And here you were, in the plush seat in the corner, surrounded by books.

 Claire would walk over to you, and you’d flat out ignore her. But your mate would bend down and kiss your head. 

You could tell Claire wanted to say something each time, but she’d turn around and walk out, always leaving the library door cracked open. 

She also kept her office door open right next to the library, so you both could smell each other. You could hear her taking conference calls, zoom meetings; chattering about legislation and new problems. Her typing continues through the day, a gentle constant.

The pitter-patter of her fingers on keys filled the still mansion. It’s little clicks like Gene Kelly walking down a street in the rain. But you didn’t allow yourself to enjoy your mate's closeness. 

You did feel a little guilty, ok, a lot guilty. During the calls, you could also hear the strain in Claire’s voice. The anxiety and longing didn’t leave her body for a moment. 

She’d never had you this close to her, and yet you were so emotionally far. It was driving her crazy. 

You held onto your irritation still. 

Around five pm, you heard Claire’s office door creak. She padded down the stairs, opening the front door. You figured she’d ordered dinner. 

You weren’t surprised when she walked back into the library. One hand holding the big plastic bag. The other, two upside-down wine glasses pinched together and one of her more favorite Napa Red bottles of wine. Setting it all down on the coffee table that had your cold mug of tea, the one Claire made for you at lunch. You hadn’t eaten the sandwich she’d made for you either. And Claire eyed it for a moment before pushing it aside. 

The alpha dragged one of the other large-backed reading chairs across from you. 

Your Claire was smart, she knew you’d not eat downstairs with her. So she’d cornered you in the place you were nesting. No running now, Omega. 

Claire plopped down with more exhaustion than grace. Opening the small drawer in the coffee table she used the back up cork screw and opened the wine with practiced ease. Pouring it into two glasses and then setting it aside. 

Claire opened the plastic bag, she was so damn smart. She’d calculated this. 

 She didn’t speak, just moved around the space. You did notice her inhaling a little deeper, and having a hard time not looking at you. It was bittersweet, her home finally smelled like you. 

You were in her favorite room in the house. You were hers. And yet you were punishing her. 

Claire opened one of the white cartons of chow mein pushed it towards you and you noticed she’d gotten it with the sweet pork.

Governor had attention to detail that was for sure. She’d gotten your favorites; dumplings, and her least favorite crab rangoons. You were curious now and you looked into the bag to see she’d bought two orders of the rangoons.

Yeah she was groveling. Claire was desperate. You had to hand it to her, it was better than flowers. 

You reached into the container and ate one. 

Claire tried to keep her face neutral, but you saw the little shift of relief and victory at you eating. 

The two of you ate and drank in a combined quiet. Claire took it as a win, you didn’t push her away, you ate. 

And she found the smell of you was intoxicating. 

Thursday was your press conference. 

You were told in advance by Claire what everything was going to look like. But it was still uncomfortable to say the least. Claire had never had other people around you while she was around. You both didn’t know how to act. 

Claire and you were in your master bedroom, and people had sent over a lot of dressing options. You heard her employees and CNN reporters downstairs setting up lighting, camera, and sound. 

You’d taken a shower and your hair was still wet. You were standing in a towel, staring at the rack of clothes next to the bed.

You looked at the clothes nervously. Not sure what to wear from the options. Your anxiety was growing as you wondered what outfit didn’t say ‘gold digging whore?’ but you weren’t sure if that outfit came in blue? 

Claire came up behind you and grabbed your hip. You broke turning and throwing your arms around her neck. You put your nose on her bond scar and inhaled her alpha scent. She was sending comforting Mommy scent out, and it was doing the trick. Your heartbeat slowed, and you got dizzy and euphoric.

Claire was in her fluffy robe, no make up, her hair was blown dry. She looked raw and scared of what you were thinking.  

Claire didn’t say anything, she just held you against her. You missed her hugs. You cuddled in the bed at night, but you hadn’t been as physically affectionate outside of that. 

“You do not have to do this, I can tell them to leave right now,” Claire said, and it sounded sad, like she was making herself say it. But you heard the fear, felt it, smelled it. You knew she was afraid you were going to run, to leave her, to break it off.

 The ultimate heartbreak for Claire DeBella.

And bond marks weren’t something to be undone…Claire would always be longing for you. In every room, her instinct would be to look for you, to smell the air for your signature scent. 

 Every omega would smell and taste stale like dead flowers on a grocery store tile floor. Nothing would ever come close to making love to you.

 She’d never truly find love, it would be connections, but not like this. Nothing like this, not the intensity and the fever in which you loved each other. In truth, Claire knew she’d not date if you ever left. She’d probably have someone trail you, she’d lie to herself and say it was to protect you. To keep you safe, but she’d want photos…for proof she’d tell herself. 

She’d look at the photos at night with a bottle of 30-year-old scotch. DeBella would turn deranged like Miss Havisham. Like a crazy stalker, she’d spend the rest of her days missing you. 

Claire knew she wouldn’t let someone touch her after you, she’d masturbate to videos the two of you made. She’d inhale the clothes she’d steal of yours. Claire would never be whole again. Always wishing and wanting you.

You whimpered at the intensity of the change and Claire realized her pheremones had switched from comforting to downright terrified.

“I’m sorry, my love. I didn’t mean to, I’m sorry.” She said, and you knew what she was thinking of. Worst case scenarios. 

 You pulled back, and you felt her body grow tense. Like she believed this may be the moment her life fell apart. You couldn’t stand it one more minute.  

“Claire, I’m not leaving you. We are forever bonded. I want to marry you. I’m not afraid of coming out on CNN. I’m not going to be mad at you forever. I’m just mad at you right now. I love you, you know I love you, right? You know I’m committed and won’t leave, right?” You ask, and Claire chews her lip, and you realize she might not. “You silly alpha, you know I’m yours.” You tell her, and Claire moans involuntarily at the statement. 

The smell in the air changes once more.

“Say it again.” She whispers the command, and you smirk for the first time since your fight. 

“Claire DeBella, I’m your omega. I’m your mate, I’m your whore. I’m all yours.” You say, and it’s got no nervousness, it holds conviction. It’s a fact, not something you’d just decided lightly. Something that stood tall in a forest for centuries or hard in stone in some foreign museum. You were strong in your love for Claire. And her body responded to you, to your declaration. 

The older alpha grabbed you by the hips and walked you backwards until you were on the bed. You yelped but it was quickly cut off by feverish kisses. 

Claire kissed you like she needed to bite you again, like one claiming scar wasn’t enough. Like she might need to call the camera crew in here so everyone knew who owned you. 

You grabbed her thick, dark hair and pulled her closer. 

Claire was all too eager to agree, closer was non-negotiable. Claire guided your body back further, until you were lying in the middle of the bed. 

You broke the kiss as you felt her erection against you now, oh boy. Her robe parted and rode up to her upper thigh as she held you against the Tempurpedic twenty-two thousand dollar bed.  

“Claire, we don’t have time-and” She kissed your bottom lip and then your chin and your jaw. She opened her mouth, and it was hot and we,t full of so much desire. Her breath tickling your skin before her lips seared your nerve endings. 

You were powerless to resist her. How could you? When she was touching you and kissing you like that?

“Don’t care-” Claire said as she got to the spot just under your ear. Your hips bucked up, and she pulled the towel open, and you were bare under the Governor of Connecticut.  

“I-I” You whimper, and your thighs betray you as they open. Claire smirks as she moved down the bed and licks your labia, not paying attention to your clit. Just tasting the slick you make for her, that you can’t seem to ever stop making for her. 

Her mouth is creating obscene noises as she drinks from you. Your thighs open further and you are spread for her. 

She pulls back and her mouth and chin are glistening and sticky. But Claire isn’t bothered, in fact the taste of you has her cock painfully rubbing against the rough fabric of her robe.

You cry out at the feeling of cold air against your cunt once more, her warm mouth was so good and you miss it instantly. 

“My gorgeous girl, I need you. I miss you. I crave you. I’ll go fucking crazy if I can’t have you baby girl. Let Mommy drink you. Won’t you be good for me?” Claire says, and it’s deep in her throat with frenzied appetite. 

You moan and whimper and it’s noises that a director would pay extra for an omega porn star to do. You don’t mean to, it’s natural, and it’s all for Claire. And her hips buck against the mattress. Pre cum oozing out onto the blankets and robe. 

You see the movement, and your hands go to Claire’s neck and you push your hands under the robe. You are moving it over her shoulders, and she grins at you. Claire likes you needy, always needy for her. 

“Tell Mommy what you want. I’ll give you everything, I’ll give you anything you ever ask. Just ask Mommy.” Claire says and you know she means it, if you asked for an island she’d buy it. If you wanted to adopt the late Queen of Englands corgi’s she’d have her team break into the fucking palace. Claire would do anything for you. 

You bite your lip and make a whiny noise of frustration. You don’t know why, but sometimes you got so wantonly horny you had a hard time asking for things. It gave Claire great pleasure to coax the words out of you. She’d work you up and coo her Mommy voice at you until you were puddy.

 Begging and lost to the sound of her cock making slapping noises against your body.

“Use your words hon. I’ll give you it, Mommy always gives you what you want. You have to say it.” Claire says and she goes higher in your inner thigh and she sucks hard at the skin. You bite back a scream and grab her pillow and muffle it and bite it hard. 

Claire leaves a large hickey on your right thigh. When she’s done sucking she grabs the pillow and pulls it away from your face. Claire had never been ok with you hiding in the bed to stop the noises you made for her. Claire liked your desperate, filthy cries, and she wouldn’t be robbed of them. Not even with CNN downstairs, able to hear you. She didn’t care. 

She was your alpha. 

You were Governor Claire DeBella’s omega, her bonded mate. And she had every right to impregnate you right here. 

You tried lamely again to tug at the robe. But Claire just shook her head and bent down and let her hot breath tease at your swollen cunt. 

“Mommy, please, don’t do this.” You beg, and Claire smirks, she likes this game. You didn’t mean to give her exactly what she wants.

 But that’s the thing about being mates, you just couldn’t get enough of each other. And you fit like two puzzle pieces, so when you moved one way, Claire instinctively moved with you. It was endlessly gorgeous and annoying. Your hips lift off the bed, and Claire wraps her arms around you and pulls you against her mouth. 

Letting her flat long strong muscle wipe against your hole, up your slick heat and push your clit against her tongue. Before moving away. You grind your teeth and make a pathetic noise of disbelief. 

“Don’t do that? Don’t do what, baby? You have to be more specific, my gorgeous omega. Don’t lick you? Well, that’s my right. I don’t know if you have much of a say in that. Besides, you are always so slick for me, your arousal just drips down your thighs. As your Mommy and alpha, it’s my job to clean you. I can’t let anyone else smell what you make for me, and me alone. You think that while we are on TV you will be able to keep yourself from ruining your dress? Or do you think you’ll leave a wet spot on the chair?”

You try to cover your embarrassed face, and Claire growls, it’s deep, it’s menacing, it’s a warning. You uncover your face and look at Claire’s flushed cheeks.

“I think I wasted time yesterday. I should have done this all along. You are mine, I take you when I want to. You lost the right when you let me bite you. I think I’m going to throw away your birth control.”

Your knees jolt and then almost close. Not from fear, but from overwhelming arousal. You need your thighs closed so your clit stops throbbing and you stop producing so much fucking wetness from your aching pussy. 

Claire knows what she’s doing. She’s getting you desperate for her so that you beg. She didn’t need to wait long. You needed her just as bad. And these threats were just making your brain fog over, too horny to think. 

“Is that what you want, little omega? You want your powerful Mommy to knock you up and not tell you? I think they can hear us downstairs, don’t you? Your cute little noises, I wonder if they’re recording. Do you think they know the things I’ve done to you? The places you let me lick and touch? Should I talk louder? Do you think they want to know about how I use the dildo you made from the mold of my dick to double penitrate you? That my knot swells from the very scent of your dirty thong in the hamper.”

You are humping the air and Claire’s cock is holding all of the blood and adrenline in her body. But the more she speaks the more thick the smell of arousal gets. 

The towel underneath you is soaked but not from water. Claire has never tasted anything more delicious. It was like you were made for her taste buds. No wine, no food, no drug would ever be this good. 

She couldn’t help herself, Claire dove her mouth back against your clit and she sucked. Before you could get close to any relief, she moved her tongue back into your tight hole. You claw at the blankets, and Claire grabs both your hands with hers. Threading your fingers she feels your bond ring and her cock twitches. 

You were hers. 

You gasp and then work very hard to make words come out of your mouth. 

“Mommy please fuck me. Take your robe off, please, need your skin. Need you everywhere, all over me. Fuck me Mama, I’ll be so good. Please, I need to have your seed deep in my womb while we sit on TV. I can’t be without it one more second. Don’t do this, give it to me. I need your cock. I’ll behave. Please, please, please, please, Mommy please, please, Mommy please, please, please, please, please Mama.” You chanted, and Claire couldn’t tease you one more minute. She tore at her robe and threw it behind her. 

Before grabbing the pillow you’d just used to try to quiet yourself. She stuck it under your ass so she could be sure to get the right angle. 

You grabbed at her forearm to tell her not to use her nice pillow under your cum soaked pussy. But Claire smirked and you realized…..she wanted it to smell like your cum. God, you two were filthy, and you loved it. You smiled and blushed, but she didn’t have the strength to talk about it now. 

She grabbed her dick and stroked it twice before smearing the tip up and down your puffy cunt. You grabbed her shoulders and pulled, and your nails bit into her creamy skin. But Claire didn’t listen to your dangerous hands. 

She didn’t care that CNN was waiting for you both to go downstairs. No, Claire was going to fill you with her semen. She’d gone a day without being inside of you, and it had been a day wasted. 

She pushed slowly until her mushroom tip head was engulfed in velvet heat. Claire tried not to roll her eyes back at the extreme tightness that had her cock feeling more loved and at home than anything ever had. 

“Mama, go faster. I can’t wait. Please, I need you.” You beg, but Claire just rocks her hips slowly and pushes little by little inside. 

“Mommy has to stretch you. Baby girl is so tight. But you live with me now. I’m going to train your holes to take me. You will always be ready to be filled by me. You are so wet gorgeous, no one gets this wet.” Claire puts one hand on your clit and collects more slick and puts her fingers in her mouth. Like she’s gone four seconds without the taste of your cum on her tongue and it’s torture, she’s famished. 

“Please fill me, I want your cum to leak out of me. I want to smell like your cum. I can’t - I ne-” You ramble, and Claire knows what will help her mate. She pushes the rest of the way and your mouth opens wide. Claire bites her lip hard as she focuses on not losing her control and rocking into you like she’s feral. 

Someone knocks on the door. 

Claire doesn’t shush you, doesn’t help you. 

“Governor, we are ready down here for you two to get your makeup done. What time do you think you’ll be down? Do you two need any help?” The polite person said through the door. 

Claire grinned like a primal animal. She leaned down so that her nose almost booped yours. Your eyes met and she talked into you. 

“Should I tell her we need help? Have her come in and see you like this? You do look like you need help baby, but not something anyone else can provide. Only me, your alpha, your Mama. Only I can ease this ache in you. But I think I should invite her in. Everyone should see what power really looks like. It’s having my sweet omega’s cunt forced open. It’s having you speechless as I force my cock deeper inside, in places no one else can touch. You are mine. She should see it, you look so pretty for me. Everyone would be so jealous.” Claire says, and it’s not quiet. And your body blushes all over and Claire rocks forward and the noise of your soaking wet pussy is LOUD. 

“Claire, tell her to go aw-away. Please don’t let her see this.” You beg because, realistically, you know Claire wouldn’t let anyone come in….right? She was the most possessive, jealous person you’d ever met…But also, you wondered if part of her wanted an audience. To see how only she could touch you. 

Claire used one hand and grabbed your throat, and you moaned entirely too loudly. 

“Claire isn’t what you call me when you are begging me to impregnate you in our bed. Claire is what you call me when you push your thong in my suit pocket when we go to dinner. You aren’t allowed to call me that here. I’ll tell you what. I’ll answer her, if you moan out Mommy. I’ll give you my seed too.” Claire said, and it was a terrible deal. But you didn’t care. 

“Hello, are you two in there?” The woman outside your bedroom door knocked again. 

“Last chance, moan ‘Mommy’ or she’s going to see where babies come from. She’s going to see how the Govenor of Connecticut abuses her wifes sweet cunt with a room full of reporters a breath a way. I think she’ll take a picture, I hope she does. I hope she get’s to see the face you make when I do this-” Claire cut off her own rant by hitting your cervix and you gasp and tears fall as you scream out. 

“MOMMY!”

That’s all Claire needs and she fucks you fast and hard, the sound of her balls hitting your body is so loud. You are sure the poor person is no longer outside the door, right? 

You grab the sheets for help, but Claire grabs your hands and you hold on. It’s gorgeous, its raw, it’s primal, it’s romantic. 

It’s fucking love. 

Claire pants and her body tensens every muscle, and she pushes into you with unrelenting power. Claire knows before you do that you are going to cum. 

“MA-A mMAA-” YOu try but she leans down and kisses you as you squeeze her cock so tight she can’t pull out all the way. You both cum form the intensity of your bodies colliding.

 It hurts so good and Claire cums with almost the force of a pressure washer into you. It pushes against your walls and fills every bit of you. White hot and warm with that sticky feel. Your stomach bulges a bit at the pressure and volume. 

Claire’s knot starts to swell. You tap her twice to alert her. Claire’s licking her top lip, and her body twitches with aftershocks.  

“We-w-” You are shaking as you stutter out a warning. 

Claire nods once in understanding. 

“It’s so ha-hard not to knot you baby. I don’t-don’t even know hh-. It just starts to build and I can’t stop it. But you are right, we don’t-don’t have time. Which is too bad because I love being tied to you for hours. I have to pull out of you now.”

Your bottom lip automatically turns to a pout. Claire pecks your lips three times and lingers on the last kiss. 

“I don’t like it either. It’s gonna hurt to not be inside you. Plus, the swelling won’t go down while we are sitting there either. You need to wear a pad, between the slick and cum it’s going to be hard for it not to fall down your leg.” Claire warns you, and you nod and shiver at her words. It’s true. 

Claire’s knot is getting bigger, and she isn’t even thrusting into you. Her body just can’t help itself when it has you. You know she was stalling for you both, but you nod again, and she closes her eyes and grimaces as she pulls out. 

You both clench your jaws as cold air and tightness make you both uncomfortable. White semen starts to ooze out of you, and Claire sighs at the sight. She leans down and kisses your pubic hair. Like she’s paying respect to her favorite deity. 

You smile warmly and then throw your arm over your eyes. 

“We’ll be down in a bit!” Claire yells loud enough that people can hear her downstairs. Claire grabs her robe and wipes up your thighs and then carefully uses the terricloth material to wipe around your swollen pussy lips. 

She’s gentle, because Claire doesn’t have a bone in her body that would ever do you harm. Your body jolts every now and then without your permission. Claire goes over to the rack of clothes that were delivered for you both. 

She pulls out a pair of trousers and a button down for you, setting them out onto the bed next to you. Before she goes into the bathroom and comes back out with a pad and more wet wipes. 

It’s gonna be a long interview. 

Friday

You were lying in bed with CNN on in the background low, the light illuminating the dim room. It was late enough that the room had a dusk glow. You were earring Claire’s boxers and an old warn hoodie. Your laptop and phone kept dinging with notification noises.

It was a good thing Claire had a security team because you couldn’t even open the blinds in the front room. Reporters were camping out outside the townhouse. That wasn’t the only new annoying thing.

You were being hounded online, Claire’s media team had been proactive, and you’d taken down most of your accounts via their recommendation. But you didn’t think they’d find you on Twitter. You’d been wrong. 

Some comments were sweet. You didn’t realize how much the queer community was excited to see you both.  

You’d expected the negative stuff, that wasn’t surprising. Lots of threats of violence, which was obnoxious. Claire had people filtering some of the more intense or creative threats. 

But the amount of people who wanted to see you two fucking was ridiculous. The things they said were absolutely filthy. 

Someone you’d worked with on a project in class had emailed you to ‘warn you’ about some tasteless websites.  

Which is where you’d been for the last ten minutes. 

One of these website had made a porno of you and Claire. Someone had used AI to put your face and Claires on two people fucking. 

Your head fell to the side as you watched pretend Claire bending you in ways you weren’t sure were possible. Then she grabbed a bullwhip, your mouth opened in surprise. 

You didn’t even hear Claire come in. She stopped dead in her tracks at the sight of you curled in bed like you’d always been there. But before she could appreciate you she’d heard moaning coming from your laptop. 

Her anger flared and she walked over to the bed and grabbed the electronic and turned it to see what the fuck you were watching. 

“What in the world?” She screeched and you jumped. Claire watched holding the laptop like it was offending her. 

“I can explain!” You shrieked and Claire didn’t look at you but she stared at ‘fake you’ who was getting her clit whipped. 

“You are watching AI porn in our bed with our faces on it?” Claire said but her tone was now more curious than angry. 

“Uh yeah actually that sums it up. This isn’t even the worst one.” You said and Claire dropped the laptop and it kept making porno fake moans and she looked at you now. 

“You’ve watched more than one?” Claire asked and her eyebrow arched. 

“Yeah, it’s one of many. I was curious- AI is nuts! There’s one where I-”

“You remember our rules, right?” Claire interrupts.

“Claire! It’s not even real porn!”

Claire just shakes her head unimpressed and she bends over the bed and closes the window on your laptop before she slams the lid down and puts it onto the dresser. Before slipping onto the bed in front of you. She grabs both your hands. 

“You are in trouble for what I just walked in on. But more importantly, are you doing ok?”

Claire had spent a lot of the day putting out the media fire that was her announcing your relationship. You’d been alone for a lot of the day. 

“I’m totally fine!” You say too quickly and she tilts her head to the side and you cave. 

“My love.” Claire says gently and you move so that your forehead rests on hers. 

“Hold me?”

Claire hums satisfied, like the question is the sweetest thing she’s heard all day. She pulls back and lifts the fancy orange blouse off of her body before unzipping the pencil skirt. So she’s just in expensive lingerie. Before she crawls further onto the bed to her side and pulls the blankets back and you go to move ontop of her and she grabs your throat. 

“Fuck.” You moan at the feeling of her firm grip on your neck. Stopping you in the hottest way. 

“My omega gets so responsive. I was just going to remind you; no clothes in the bed. But if you moan like that, I won’t be held responsible for what I do to you.” Claire's smile is naughtily as she takes in your response. 

You remember and you move back and pull the hoodie off and you didn’t wear a bra to bed. And Claire eyes your nipples before you give her the chance to tease you more you lay ontop of her. 

Claire moves one arm down your back and puts her hand under your boxers so she can palm your ass cheek. She kneads your butt like a cat would a blanket. You find it comforting and close your eyes.

“Tell me about your day.” You say and it’s not a question and Claire clears her throat before she starts to tell you her day in order. You like the rumble of her voice against her chest as she tells you everything. 

It takes about thirty minutes before she pauses. Your eyes are still closed and you are so relaxed she asks now:

“Baby are you even awake?”

Moving one of your hands to the back of her bicep letting your fingers trail over her strong arm. 

You lick your bottom lip before you answer her. 

“Lionel called and told you Birdie wants to design my wedding dress but she’s only ever done leisure wear and Lionel doesn’t want to be the one to tell her you said that. CNN wants a follow-up interview but you can’t believe that they cut the piece about climate change and you think one of the editors on their website is secretly a flat earther.” You repeat the last thing she told you and she snorts. 

“You are a good listener.”

“I like you a lot. It’s easy to listen to you.” You say and yawn as Claire keeps one hand on your ass and the other goes to your hair to brush out the knots. 

“You like me? Well, that’s handy, because you are stuck with me.”

“Not stuck, my giddy-up is happily hitched to yours. Also you are the one who’s gonna get sick o of me.” It was a thing you thought about every now and then, of course. The great politician with her Ivy League degree. She had a large fortune, a giant collection of expensive alcohol. Hell Claire could have someone assasinated if she so pleased. She was powerful and brilliant and endlessly funny. And you had to pinch yourself often. 

Sometimes it didn’t make sense to you.

“Not remotely possible. Also if you actually believe that you haven’t spent enough time in Washington. But that’s beside the point. I crave you, gorgeous girl. I’ll never get tired of you. You are too smart and funny for us to ever run out of things to talk about. And you taste far too delicious to ever get tired of kissing.” 

You loved teasing her. 

“I thought you were saying my pussy tasted good. I guess you don’t like my pussy anymore.” You tease keeping your eyes close you smirk and Claire yanks your boxers down and slaps your ass cheek hard. You yelp in suprise. 

“Blasphemy, little girl.” Claire says and you chuckle and she hugs you tight against her. Her nose buried in your hair and she presses kisses to your head. 

“What are you going to wear?” You ask as she holds you close your thumbs fall to her hips and you rub little circles. 

“In this bed, we wear nothing.” Claire is being purposefully dense and you lean down and bite her. Claire just laughs at the feeling, she likes your teeth on her skin. 

“Are you going to wear a dress or are you going to rock a suit when we get married?”

“You’ll just have to attend and find out.” Claire says not giving you an answer and you pout. 

“I don’t know.. I don’t know when it is, I don’t know I could be busy. Besides I don’t know if you’ve seen the front of the townhouse but all my social outings are postponed.” You tease and you feel Claire sigh exhausted under you. 

“They’re gonna be out there for a while baby girl. I’m sorry. If you need to go somewhere I have security detail for you and a-” She says and you kiss her smooth skin under your head. 

“I don’t have any social outings baby. I already had my finals. I’ve got nothing on my agenda. It’s really not a big deal. Besides, I don’t know if you figured it out after a few days of living with me. But I’m cheating on you with your library. I’m in love.”

Claire gave a deep chuckle and both her hands splayed on your naked back and she scratched you lightly and it was so good you were practically purring. 

“I don’t share my omega. But seeing you curled up in a room full of books I’ve collected over the span of my life is worth all the heart ache to get here.”

You opened your eyes now and looked up at her. Claire was staring down at you with so much tenderness you felt like you might explode. 

“You Governor, are a hopeless romantic.”

“Don’t tweet it.”

“Tempting.”

Claire made a play growling noise and you beamed a big smile at her. 

“Well if your lifetime of books ever run out I have a new hobby of AI porn to keep me busy.” You sigh like you live in a Jane Austin book and everything is so very dramatic. Claire squints at you through her lashes like she’s going to decide if you need a punishment. 

“Do I need to put a child lock on your computer?”

“I don’t know, Mommy, do you?”

“Baby,” Claire warns, and you smile. 

“It was purely educational, I just learned about a new position, even! And I have been doing yoga. I’m very flexible. I think you’ll like it!” You say like you are being a good girl and not watching porn in Claire’s bed. Your alpha eyes you before answering in a serious matter; 

“I’m going to overnight from Amazon one of those big kink cages that go under the bed. And I’ll keep you in it while I’m on conference calls. I’ll only let you out when I’m off work and you can warm my cock while I read emails.” 

You shiver in delight and Claire’s eyes widen slightly not expecting you to like it as much as you did. 

“I mean, no don’t, stop what a terrible idea.” You say monotone and you both are smiling at your shared kinkyness. 

“You are banned from the internet. No more, even if it’s AI of me railing a pretend you. No more porn, repeat after me Angel?” Claire grabs your chin to make you look into her eyes. Which was ridiculous because they were such a gorgeous blue why wouldn’t you look at her eyes?

“But you had a bullwhip!” You say like that makes it better and Claire moves to grab your now bare ass cheeks with her nails and you yelp. 

“Repeat after me; ‘I, Mrs. DeBella will no longer watch pornography because my wife will spank me until I can’t sit on my butt for a month. Then she’ll only fill my ass with cum.”

You smile and she looks at you sternly, but her lip twitches and you read her easily. But you put up your fingers like Girl Scouts and you repeat it. 

“I Mrs. DeBella, first lady of the united states will not watch pornography without the sexy Madame President unless of course she leaves my cunt empty of her cum and then everything is fair game.” You say, and Claire flips you so fast you are laughing and gasping in tandem. 

She pins your arms. Then leans down so your mouths are close but not touching. So you can feel her words against your lips. 

Claire just doesn’t lose. Not in politics, not in negotiations, and now, not in love. 

But your alpha was enjoying your little game and it showed with the hardening cock pressed against you now. 

“You are laughing a lot for someone who’s about to receive a punishment.” 

You pushed up and kissed Claire hard enough to bruise, and your alpha moaned against you. It was a needy noise and it made both of you start to hump each other with desire spilling over. 

A phone started vibrating, and you felt Claire growl in frustration.

Two more rapid notification noises, and you pulled away from her kiss and she tried to chase your lips back to hers. But you avoided her and then grabbed her face to still her. 

“Claire, baby it could be important-”

Claire forcefully moved from your hand and bit your neck and made unimpressed sounds. 

“Nothing is more important-”

Then it was clear that it was her phone from the ringtone and Claire’s body went rigid at the sound. 

“It’s Lionel.” You say knowing the ringtone that she saved for the people she despised, it was the sound of the classical Mussorgsky’s ‘A Night on Bald Mountain’. It was a stressful sound that perfectly encompassed how she felt about the group.  

“He can wai-”

“You know that’s not true, go.” Because it could be Lionel making a social call, or it could be arbout their Billionaire friend Mr. Bron. Who funding a lot of Claire’s lifestyle. If it was Miles, then it could mean trouble. Seeing as how Miles didn’t own a cellphone, he would fax Lionel, and then Lionel would pass it along to Claire. Lionel felt the whole thing was beneath him because Claire could just get a fax machine. But this was all irrelevant as the ringtone signaled possible trouble. 

You squeeze her butt and her hips shift up to make friction from her crotch to yours. But you pull away and move out from under her. The weight of Claire’s body lingering against you as you go down to the ground and grab a hoodie. Lifting it up and yanking it over your head and down your naked chest and tummy. 

 You go to collect your laptop and Claire moves faster and snatches it. You laugh at her antics but she keeps the MacBook under her arm and grabs her phone, answering it.  

“Lionel, you have exactly one minute to make this call worth interrupting me.” She says, and you roll your eyes, grabbing your cellphone and leaving the bedroom. You hear Claire calling you back, but you move around the house to the library. 

It takes about an hour and a half.

You are reading the book ‘Manchurian Candidate’, you loved politics. Even conspiracy theory novels on politics were fun, if not a little terrifying. You’d already re-read ‘1984’ since making a home in Claire’s den of books. You had found her copy and it had little notes in the margins from when she was in college. You enjoyed the old staining on the page from highlighter and ball point pen scribbles. It felt like she was talking to you about it. 

But you were now to the point in the book where you read:

“Her ambition was an extremely distressing condition. She sought power the way a superstitious man might look for a four-leaf clover.”

You mulled over the sentence for a minute thinking of Claire. Before you realized you were no longer alone. Claire walked in carrying two Waterford tumblers full of scotch. You put the book down and look at her sullen face. She hands you a glass and you take it. Before she grabs your wrist and pulls you gently but firmly up out of the chair. Your alpha moves easily behind you to sit in your seat. It’s warm from where you’d cuddled up and then Claire pulls you back onto her lap. 

You liked this better. 

You swung your legs over the side of the chair and threw an arm around Claire’s shoulders. Claire sighed more contently but you saw the stress still lingering in her face. She took a long swig of the scotch. You smelled it and then sipped, she’d opened the old stuff, not a good sign. 

You didn’t ask your politician what was going on, you waited.

Claire collected herself before answering the unsaid question. 

“They want you to come to the island.”

You let the truth hang in the air, and Claire didn’t look at you, but she stared like she’d seen a ghost. Before taking another long gulp of the smooth scotch. 

“But- Was it the news or?”

“Lionel told them we were already bonded mates. That marriage was just the last formality, that we are already together permanently and Miles wants to size you up.”

You took a long gulp of your drink and then cupped Claire’s cheek until she turned her face to look at you. 

“We knew they’d want to meet me eventually. That coming out to the public would be uncomfortable at first.” You state the obvious just so it can be said out in the air, Claire of course knew that like you.

Claire was an expert chess player. Had been since she was a teenager. She’d been taught strategy by her politician father. One of her favorite books was Sun Tzu ‘Art of War’ and she read it once a year. Even though you made fun o fher for doing so.  

So you knew your partner was thinking the long game. 

In the long game and short game…Miles Bron was dangerous. He’d always be dangerous. Claire knew that he’d covet you. You were her weakness and the thing that got her up in the morning. Miles would try to find out how to-.

“Baby…I know you are busy playing Battleship in your mind. And you are so close to sinking someone’s battleship, but…I’m going to interrupt your beautiful brain to state what you are thinking too ..Which is we haven’t been around a lot of people besides CNN for an hour….and you had to fuck me so hard and then..when they left we fucked for another four hours…Do you think as an alpha you can be tame enough around your crazy group?  You don’t like it when people look at me. How are you going to introduce me to other alphas?” You finish biting your lip but your thumb is tracing the edge of Claire’s jaw. 

Claire’s body is tense and you move the hand that was around her shoulders into her hair and you play with the little baby hairs on the back of her neck. 

Claire’s body started to relax as your talented fingers eased some of her stress. 

“I don’t have a choice it seems,” Claire said frustrated and she stared at your lips. You answered her by moving up and kissing her slow and full of devotion. Before you leaned your forehead against hers. It seemed to do the trick and Claire sighed. 

“Not very nice of Lionel to tattle on you. I’m sorry, Governor.” You kiss her twice on the lips as an apology for something you didn’t do. Claire leans her forehead against yours and tilts to the side. 

“Your apology is sweet, but oh-so unnecessary. I have a very loyal, adorable partner. I’m doing very well in politics. You and I will end up purchasing a vacation house once we decide where this quarter. I don’t need Lionel to make me a friendship bracelet and gab about ‘The Real Housewives of Atlanta’. He’s trying to survive in this world of rats trapped in a barrel. I don’t blame him for using me as a pawn. He’s got to chew on someone to survive. I’d be disappointed if he didn’t, to be honest. He’s the one I trust the most out of all of them…That’s not saying a lot, baby... I told you, I’m a woman in politics, and I don’t have friends. They are all out for themselves, and you need to know that. This weekend, they will try to manipulate you. You can’t let them. Think of this like a bunch of house representatives, and you are their meal ticket. They want you to fail, they want information.”

Claire’s jaw is tense as she talks about how these people will see you. You want to make her feel better. But you know she’s telling the truth. And it’s a gross, ugly, naked truth indeed. 

“You don’t need to-.” You tell her but she disagrees grabbing your hand on her face to kiss your warm palms. 

“You are my everything.”

“Claire.” You tell her but she doesn’t listen. 

“You mean the absolute world to me. Nothing these people say or do or think about you is true. They don’t know you like I do. And they’ll never take the time to, which is their loss and my gain. Because I’m greedy for you baby.” Claire says and her eyes are shining with something so very trade mark DeBella and you smile. 

“I know you believe that, which is insane-”

“No what’s insane is how Bron thinks he can shake us. Nothing could ever get my teeth to release from your throat.” Claire jokes and goes to bite your neck playfully. You attempted to stay on topic but her teeth nipping at your skin and then planting open mouth kisses was so delicious. You grabbed both Claire’s shoulders and tried to bring her back. 

“Claire, you don’t need to-“

You started and Claire kissed your cheek and looked into your eyes very serious again. 

“I will say it every-damn-day until I’m worm food. But I’m going to repeat it a lot this weekend so that those leeches don’t get in your head. Because if this comes down to you or Brons money it’ll be you everytime, got it?” Claire used her manicured nails to pin under your chin so that you couldn’t look away from her. You had to agree with her. But you were concerned. 

“I’m more worried about you then me, DeBella. Are you going to be able to play nice in the sandbox? Especially if someone plays with me?”

Claire used her thumb lightly under your lip to softly touch you. Keeping your chin locked so you couldn’t run from her.  

But you were trying not to smirk at Claire grimacing at the idea of someone ‘playing’ with you and the unease stuck to her facial features.

“Hmm.” She said and you know she was trying to take stock of herself now.

“Claire, it will be fine. I will be next to you the whole time. If we both keep our hands on each other, I’m sure it’ll be fine.” 

Claire hummed in agreement and you knew she liked the idea of her hands never leaving your body. Her eyes were far away now, though, you knew she was making lists. 

“We leave tonight, and we’ll get in early tomorrow. Miles already bought the tickets, I’m afraid.” Claire said it was silly and trivial. But both her hands were holding your face tenderly. Claire was almost pacifying herself by touching your face. 

“What if you get…feral? Or attack someone?” You ask gently, and Claire grabs your drink and holds it up to your lips, and you take the last swig. She puts the glass down on the coffee table. Before she cupped your jaw and kissed you, you gasped at the intensity of it, and she used that as leverage to taste the alcohol in your mouth. Claire seemed to think her expensive drink tastes better licked off your tongue. 

You broke the kiss much to Claire's dismay, but you were panting and blushing. Claire licks her lips as if she can still taste you, and she doesn’t want to waste a drop. But she answers you now. 

“If it were anyone else, I’d say of course I wouldn’t…I’m in politics for goodness' sake, I can contain my instincts and be cordial… But if Duke so much as looks at your breasts, I may commit murder in a room full of people. So you’ll need to keep my alpha pheromones in check and be a sweet omega.” Claire teases you, and you roll your eyes.  

“This is going to end with someone in the ER.” You mumbled and you moved off Claire. Who was grabbing at your hips, but you just turned to straddle her. Blue eyes look relieved and entertained at the same time at you moving onto her lap again. You felt Claire pulling you down so that your legs bent and you can feel her dick through her expensive boxers. 

“I know. But look at it this way. You were going to be in the public eye with me sooner or later. This is a trial run for us. With people who are vipers, just like politics.” Claire teases, and you put your hands on the back of her neck. It’s warm, and the little hairs tickle your hand. 

“Ya know, I have some nice people we could have done this with first.”

Claire laughs, and you wonder if she wants to get into a fight with these people. Or if she just likes the idea of owning you in front of an audience who could never touch what was Claire’s.  

[inkinflux]

Can't Keep a Secret

Viktor x gn!Reader | 3k | SFW Viktor notices you've been burnt out for a while, so organizes a short trip away to help you relax. A/n: I am so in love with this fictional man hnggggg also I based this off this song because it matched how sappy I felt :') 🚫 I DO NOT CONSENT TO MY WORK BEING USED TO TRAIN AI 🚫  

Air pushed against your splayed fingers, the draft cool against your palm as you held it against the pressure. You dipped your nails down, the force causing your hand to swoop, the sensation pulling a smile on your face.

You didn’t travel often, and never before via airship. The novelty was neither lost on Viktor as he held onto the railing beside you, eyes wide as he watched the rolling hills of Valoran pass beneath. The airship’s shadow dove up and down the golden fields of wheat, until it reached the highest crest and the gold slowly dissolved into blue.

The wind whipped your face, its dominant presence the reason why the rest of the travellers remained inside during most of the duration of the ride. But the feeling wasn’t entirely unpleasant, in fact, it was refreshing.

After being holed up in your study for weeks, it felt nice to be given a stark reminder that you were, in fact, a living creature who needed sun and air and adventure to satiate your soul.

It had been Viktor’s idea to take a trip to the coastal city of Holdrum to pull you out of your rut. There was only so much staring at a blank piece of paper you could handle before it drove you insane. He knew that feeling of stagnation all too well, and also knew that pushing yourself past that point didn’t often yield the desired result.

The ship passed through a cloud, and you laughed as the condensation licked your skin, leaving you slightly damp. Viktor reached his arm out behind you, mimicking the way yours reached out into the clouds. He drunk in your joy and the fresh air, his tired lungs feeling lighter for once.

You opened your mouth as the next cloud passed, tasting it on your tongue.

The flight was thrilling, albeit brief, the airship docking a mere three hours after it had taken off from Piltover. The tickets had been cheap thanks to its avoidance of using the Hex Gates.

It was an irony that was not lost on you, that one of the creators of such an invention still couldn’t afford to use it the traditional way. Though you were sure an exception would’ve been made to let him fly for free, Viktor wasn’t the type to put up a fuss.

His hair was a fluffed mess from the wind when he shuffled along the gangplank back onto solid ground. You stuck close to him, slightly intimidated by the busyness of the station, wares and people being offloaded all around you.

Viktor tugged you along with a glint in his eye and a grin that shone brighter than the sun. Your briefcase was heavy with clothes and books, but you didn’t need to carry it for long as you reached a carriage that would take you to your weekend accommodation.

Your thigh bumped against Viktor’s as you peered out the window, making repetitive comments about how beautiful the view was. Viktor could barely concentrate as your hand rested on his knee, his eyes constantly drawn to your side profile as you watched the oceanside pass by.

His body objected as he clambered out, but his respite was so close, the seaside cottage standing at the end of the dirt path you’d been dropped off at. Peacefully isolated and surrounded by trees, with sand trailing through the cool shade of leaves, the sound of waves a hint at how to find the beach.

You took his bags, bright-eyed and excited to explore. Viktor tried not to drag his feet as he followed, lugging himself up the few steps of the porch. He subsequently crashed into the couch as you both entered the small wooden structure that had once been blue, but showed signs of age, driftwood peeking from beneath the paint.

“This is incredible!” Your voice came muffled from the other room as you darted in and out of the different rooms.

Viktor wanted to join in your energetic outburst, but after having been on his feet for most of the day, he couldn’t muster more than a hum of acknowledgement.

You poked your head out of the bedroom, taking in the way his lanky limbs extended over the small couch, his face pressed into the cushions. He heard you approach by way of creaking floorboards.

“Thank you.”

He raised his face, laying his cheek flat as he looked at you. You were on your knees, curled forward with your chin resting close on the cushion.

“I know no one who works harder,” he told you, “and no one more deserving of a break.”

You pushed his wind-tousled hair from his face, the gesture enough to make his heart soar. Or maybe he’d left it in the clouds when you’d thanked him the first time, looking up at him with the same adoration as you did now.

“No one other than you, you mean,” you teased, pinching his cheek before you rose back to your feet.

Viktor turned, the couch the perfect balance of firm and soft to keep his strained back at ease. He watched as you approached a window, opening it to let the stream of natural sounds flood in. Distant waves and the whisper of leaves rustling in the breeze that was picking up with the promise of a summer storm.

He wanted to tell you that you looked beautiful. That you gave him the impression of a living piece of the world, clicking so perfectly into any scene. In the clouds, by the coast, at your desk, by his side.

It was a secret he kept, to no one’s benefit but his own, really. These words he guarded, belonging to only you. The thing was, he was terrible at keeping secrets.

He had blurted about the tickets the moment he’d seen you last week, when you had looked so colourless and crestfallen. He’d do anything to see you smile, even ruining the surprise.

Even now, he struggled against the word as it danced on the tip of his tongue.

“Beautiful,” he mused, “isn’t it?”

You nodded, taking a moment to tear your attention away from the relaxing ambiance. When your gaze settled on him again, it softened.

“There’s a storm rolling in,” you told him, taking a seat next to his reclined body. His shirt had rode up, exposing a section of his pale, lower stomach. You tugged at the hem of his shirt, pulling it down to cover him again, but not without brushing your fingers against him in what you hoped was an inconspicuous manner. Viktor bit down on the inside of his cheek, his entire body thrilling at your touch. “Perfect weather for a nap, don’t you think?”

Viktor smiled, the smell of rain filling the room as the first drops fell from the sky.

“You may choose whichever bedroom you prefer. I will remain here, for now.”

Your hand fondly stroked the cushion beside his head, too shy to risk another real touch. Viktor enjoyed having you so close that he could feel your warmth seep into him. You wanted to ask him to join you, your idea of the perfect nap to weather the storm being one where he held you in his arms, but sensibility won out in the end.

The room grew darker as you disappeared into one of the bedrooms, leaving the door open behind you as you collapsed onto the mattress.

The heavy rain lulled Viktor to sleep, his hand tucked under his cheek, unaware that you had curled onto your side in the same fashion, imagining the warmth of him around you.

When you awoke hours later, bare feet padding out of the dark and into the warm light of the kitchen, you found Viktor cooking dinner.

He had slipped into something more comfortable, a baggy t-shirt and pyjama pants that hung low on his hips. You admired the dimples of his lower back as he stretched up to grab two glasses from the cabinet. Once he placed them down, he propped his cane back under his arm, hovering close to the stove as something delicious-smelling bubbled away.

Your footfall was quiet, but he turned his face to the side, a small smile on his lips.

“Did you sleep well?”

You yawned as you approached him, dropping your head onto his shoulder. “Like a log. Is that curry?”

Viktor hummed a confirmation.

“The pantry is stocked, so I found something I thought you might like,” he stirred the pot lazily, still somewhat sleepy. “Though, the town has a market that sells imported fruits. I was hoping we might go there tomorrow.”

You nuzzled your head against the side of his arm and he chuckled.

“Will you stay awake long enough to eat with me?” He picked up the wooden spoon, blowing on it. “Here. Try.”

With his other hand hovering beneath, Viktor brought the spoon to your lips. The explosion of flavour melted into your tongue, and you hummed in delight.

“Good?”

“Good,” you agreed, eagerly moving to the table, sliding onto the bench.

A moment later, Viktor placed the food and assortment of cutlery before you, then slid in next to you, your thighs pressed flush against another.

You hooked your foot around his ankle, too tired to pretend you didn’t want to steal every sort of touch he’d allow you to get away with in your sleepy states. You found he made it quite easy.

Few words were shared during the dinner, the food so good Viktor had to warn you to slow down.

“Who taught you to cook like this?” You were surprised, because he had opted for quicker meals while at the Academy, too engrossed in his work to waste time on such necessities as a well-cooked meal.

“My mother,” he answered softly. “Years ago, I would return home each week from the Academy to tell her about my work with Professor Heimerdinger. She would always cook for me.” You looked at him as he reminisced, somewhat melancholy. “The smell reminds me of her. Vegetables and spice and stock.” He turned his gaze to you now, his eyes adoring amber. “She would have liked you.”

Your elbow knocked against his as you shied away from the kind words, swirling your food with your spoon.

“You think so?”

“I know so,” he said with certainty, “because you make me happy.” He then poked your thigh, aiming for a lighter tone. “Even if you are clingy. Like a kitten.”

“I’m not clingy,” you stated with defiance, despite the fact that you’d all put burrowed into him.

Viktor smiled. “Do not mistake my comment for complaint. I… quite like it.”

Your back straightened at his words, the grip on your spoon tightening. Viktor cursed himself internally for letting the secret of his affections slip. Always in moments where he wanted to reassure you, he couldn’t help himself from tipping his hand to show you his cards were all hearts.

“I’m not like this with everyone, you know.” It seemed you didn’t know how to keep a secret, either.

“I know.”

After dinner, you sat on the porch, watching the rainy night with Viktor. You laid against his chest, his square thumbs massaging the wrist and palm of your dominant hand, which ached from the repetitive motions of your work.

“It is too bad such devoted hands cannot be mended with oil and tightening screws.” Viktor’s breath tickled the shell of your ear as he spoke. “Flesh and tendon is so difficult to work with.”

You melted against him, nestling your face against the side of his neck. “Still feels nice.”

“I’m glad you think so,” he replied, a smile in his voice.

The post-dinner relaxation gave way to a familiar pull of sleep, but when it came time to return to bed, you lingered in the doorway, pleading eyes pulling Viktor up from where he had been preparing to read on the couch.

He curled a finger against the underside of your jaw, stroking up and down. You pressed your mouth into a line and tilted your head at the man.

“Does this sleepy kitty need company?”

You tugged at the drawstring of his pants in response, and he relented, snatching up his book and settling into bed beside you, reading glasses perched on the edge of his angular nose.

“The reading light won’t keep you awake?”

You made a small noise to suffice as a “No” before curling into him, your hand sliding under his shirt, coming to rest on the tuft of hair beneath his bellybutton.

Viktor reread the same sentence about a dozen times before he realized he wouldn’t be able to focus with you touching him like that. Still, he tried, until the sinking pillows pulled him into the same delightful dreams you dwelled in.

It seemed in his sleep, he had lost control of his limbs. Viktor awoke to an entanglement he couldn’t possibly hope to free himself from.

Your thigh was trapped between his, one of your arms pinned underneath him. Viktor’s nose brushed yours as he raised his head from the pillow, surveying the situation.

The movement caused you to curl into him further, a satisfied huff tumbling from your soft lips.

Viktor gave up any notion of getting out of bed, conceding to his fate.

The second time he woke, you were bending over him, placing a sweet kiss on his forehead. He shut his eyes quickly, pretending he was still asleep.

You were greedy and sought another stolen kiss, this time atop the beauty mark below his eye, your lips a fluttery feeling against his cheekbone.

Viktor waited patiently, silently urging you to give the same treatment to the mark above his top lip. He sucked in a breath as he felt your weight shift on the mattress, considering it as you hovered above him.

Then the springs creaked, his hopes dashed as you instead decided to get up.

You were eager to repay the favour of last night’s dinner with breakfast in bed, but before you could step away, a warm hand had shot out, curling around your forearm.

“Good morning,” you greeted, Viktor’s unfocused eyes drinking in your form.

“Where do you think you are going?” He asked, the rasp in his voice causing something within you to shudder.

You lowered you voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “It’s a secret.”

Viktor’s sleepy smile almost convinced you to stay. But you were determined to do something nice for him, after he’d organized the perfect getaway and treated you to such lovely cuddles all night.

“Stay here,” you told him, and reluctantly, his grip weakened, his hand falling empty as you walked away.

After five minutes of trying to be patient, he missed you too much, making his way to the kitchen.

“Vik,” you tutted as he came up behind you, hands sliding down your arms indulgently. You turned around, holding the spatula up threateningly.

“A fearsome weapon. Is it meant to scare me off?”

“Yes.”

Viktor wrapped his hand around yours, easily stealing it from you.

“Hey!” You complained, but there was a laugh in your voice. Viktor took over pancake flipping duty, if only out of guilt for ruining your plans to serve him in bed.

You gave up, pressing your forehead to his back. Your hands naturally found their way under the hem of his sleeping top, thumbs feeling out the bolts in his spine, tracing them with such fondness that Viktor struggled to remember how to breathe.

“How does your hand feel?” He asked, trying to maintain some semblance of composure.

“Like it needs more attention.”

Viktor smirked as you pushed your hand through the gap between his waist and arm, letting your arm dangle in his line of sight. He took hold of it and pushed circles into your palm with his thumb while he flipped the pancakes. It proved more difficult than he had anticipated.

Breakfast was eaten back in bed, as you had insisted, the entanglement now only limited to weaved legs. The dawning day beckoned, and as much as you both would’ve liked to remain underneath the covers, you both found the motivation to get dressed and ready to explore the town and beaches.

The dirt track that led you out of your blissful solitude was now dotted with puddles from last night’s storm. The sky still held a hint of grey, but luckily the clouds had mostly dissipated, giving way to a clearer day.

Your shoes squelched in the mud as you stepped out, turning back and waiting for Viktor as he locked the front door. When he turned to you, he froze at the look you were giving him.

“Do I have something on my face?”

He looked absolutely divine. Being outside of Piltover, outside of the Academy, seemed just as good for him as it was for you. The leather strap of his bag crossed over his chest, atop a teasingly sheer white button down. He’d pushed his reading glasses up into his hair, a stray strand falling against his forehead. You adored him.

“Oh,” he noticed your gaze and tapped his head, quickly taking the glasses off and pushing them into his bag.

He reached you before you could fathom a reply. “Let’s hope the rain does not catch us out,” he spoke, unaware of the way your enamoured heart had caused a short-circuit in your brain. He was amused at the stunned expression you wore, reaching up to tap on a large leaf above your head, causing cold droplets to fall upon your face.

You released a shocked laugh, giving him a light shove. He regained his balance, his walking stick tucked firmly under his arm.

The trees glistened with suspended water drops, and you curiously tapped against a few before you stuck your tongue out, eager to taste how fresh the water was. The remnants rolled over your lips as you turned back to Viktor.

“You should taste it. It’s exactly like the clouds.”

Viktor stepped forward, a large hand cupping your jaw as he dipped his head. His mouth was against yours in an instant, stealing your breath. He took advantage of your parted lips, his tongue delving into your mouth.

When he pulled back he was pink-cheeked and wearing a wobbly smile.

“Yes,” he stammered, unable to focus on either your eyes or lips, his gaze flitting between them, “It does.”

[literaryvein-reblogs]

hi hello! hopefully what im asking for isn't too obscure, but do you think i could i get resources/tips on how to write a being that was synthetically made/and or coded? Much thanks in advance/for the chance!

Writing Ideas: Synthetically-Made Characters

some character tropes

Artificial Human: A human being who was created artificially rather than born naturally.

Artificial Animal People: Human-like animals or animal-like humans created through science.

Artificial Intelligence: In fictional works, AI most usually refers to artificial general intelligence — a sapient, self-aware computer system capable of independent thought and reason.

Bioweapon Beast: You create your own attack animal, genetically engineering existing organisms or creating your own. Maybe this new organism would rather just be left alone, and refuses to actually fight. Maybe it goes feral and becomes a dangerous monster roaming the wilderness. Maybe it actually works perfectly, but those in charge of it are far from ethical.

Clockwork Creature: May be purely mechanical, or, if in a fantasy setting, there may be a blend of mechanical and magical elements.

Mechanical Lifeforms: A race of robots or robot-like creatures that are also considered a honest-to-goodness species of living things. They're just like your everyday living organisms, except they happen to have metal for skin, wires for nerves, and so on. They're often silicon-based as well. These may be robotic animals, plants, micro-organisms, or sapient creatures. If they are sapient, they would never wish to Become a Real Boy because, as far as they can see, they are as real as that boy. The origin of such creatures is often never elaborated on or unknown to the characters. It's not uncommon for them to have creators Shrouded in Myth and mystified or outright denied in a sort of reversed creationism that are later further explained in plot-relevant and shocking revelations, similar to precursors for organic species. Sapient mechanical lifeforms tend to react as one would expect when they learn the nature of their origin, usually in some kind of denial and anger. There has been a trend of portraying mechanical lifeforms as formerly organic races that roboticized themselves either as the next Evolutionary Level or simply to survive some world-ending catastrophe that affected them in the past. However, it's also common for such creatures to simply arise without a creator in a process comparable to evolution.

Puppet Permutation: A person changes into a living puppet. They sometimes can control themselves, but this is usually not the case. These puppets are often controlled by outside forces.

Examples

Frankenstein's Monster is one of the most classic and well known examples. While it is stressed at certain points through the original Frankenstein novel that the monster is an entirely unique species, he certainly has a human intelligence and personality. It is left ambiguous whether creating the creature was actually a bad thing or not. The creature suffers (and subsequently causes suffering to his creator), not because it was created but because the creator abandoned it afterwards.

Celtic Mythology: Blodeuedd, the woman created from flowers to be the wife of Lleu Llaw in Medieval Welsh mythology.

A Greek myth tells the story of Pygmalion, a man who shunned real-life women but craved that his beautiful sculpture of one would come to life. He loved it so much that he prayed to Venus/Aphrodite, the goddess of Love, to grant him that wish. After he kissed the ivory-carved statue's lips, Venus worked her magic and it came to life. This is seen as a literal "Breath of Life".

Pandora in Greek myth was a sculpture that the Gods made and brought to life.

Japanese Mythology: Any non-electronic item can become a Tsukumogami if it's cared for and becomes old enough, which are Animate Inanimate Objects. This can also happen to toys, giving rise to the Living Toys trope.

The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy: An alien civilization created at least one sentient supercomputer, Deep Thought, for the purpose of answering philosophical questions regarding the meaning of life, the universe and everything.

The Hunger Games: During the rebellion which led to the creation of the titular Games, the Capitol bred a number of genetically engineered animals called muttations (commonly abbreviated to mutts) which were used as living weapons against the districts. From the Tenth Hunger Games onwards, they became a regular feature in the arena, with the Gamemakers using them either to kill the tributes directly or to drive the tributes together and force them to fight each other. Examples of mutts seen in the Games include poisonous snakes which are programmed to attack anyone whose scent is unfamiliar, carnivorous squirrels which attack in packs and werewolf-like creatures which have been created to resemble fallen tributes.

Victor Frankenstein (2015): Victor proclaims to Igor that they will create a man after their own image. The process involves stitching together dead body parts and reanimating the corpse with lightning.

Isaac Asimov often averted this trope quite harshly in his Robot Series and related works, preferring to think of robots as tools rather than people. He only imagined robots being roughly humanoid when they needed to be able to perform tasks which human tools for already existed and it wouldn't make sense to replace every piece of equipment when one robot could be made to use them. They were always built to the job, and sometimes that job made for very unusual designs instead.

Sources: 1 2 3 4 5 6 ⚜ More: Notes & References ⚜ Writing Resources PDFs

Hi, here are some related tropes you can use as inspiration. More examples and information on these in the sources linked above. Hope this helps with your writing!

[etirabys]

meandering post about reading Orson Scott Card again

I've been offline starting at 9pm every day (except once. I was drunk at karaoke and asked for anons at 8:30pm) for six weeks, with the result that in befuddled boredom two nights ago I picked up Orson Scott Card's Songmaster from the house bookshelf.

I read Ender's Game and three sequels when I was a teen thought the books were mid. Since those are OSC's best works I assumed he had nothing more interesting to offer me and didn't try more of him for fifteen years, but Songmaster was compelling enough that I immediately afterwards picked up The Memory of Earth, the first book of a pentalogy.

TMoE is extremely my jam: after humanity blows itself up on Earth, AIs monitor thriving human civilizations in the planets that survivors managed to escape to, and suppress any tech that enables large scale violence by exerting low key mind control via satellites. But forty million years pass, many of the satellites break down, and the AI needs help from humans to restore capabilities. Because as its control wanes, people are starting to e.g. conceive of airplanes or bombs again, and override the injunctions against entering military alliances more than two edges of connection away.

The AI is worshipped as a god all over the planet, but the fourteen year old protagonist that becomes one of the AI's agents tells the AI from the beginning that he'll break with it if its morality seems wrong to him. I like the fourteen year old – unlike Ender or Songmaster's protagonist (adult minds piloting ten year old bodies), he's a normal gifted kid who's unpopular 50% due to his ego and big mouth and 50% because he's socially inept and offends people even when he's trying to be nice.

Songmaster is also partly about a permanent solution to large-scale violence, albeit through one guy who establishes a monopoly on violence and sweeps in pax galactica. Both it and TMoE are preoccupied with the eradication of suffering from evil / human violence, which is closer to my resonant frequency than narratives about defeating particular people or ideologies. At the moment I can't think of any other book with such an insistent focus on the matter than T.H. White's The Once and Future King. It's hard to make a compelling story out of, and I don't think Songmaster really succeeds, but TMoE's premise is well suited to explore that. (I'm also enjoying the matriarchal culture where everyone is expected to have multiple serial-monogamous marriages.) After reading 70% of TMoE last night I wrote:

Usually when I read fiction there's a small part of me going, how can I use this as fodder for my own growth, how can I remix or improve or react against this, how do the author and I measure against each other? (If the quality and content are at an anti-sweet spot, the small part becomes quite large and I feel all teeth towards the author.) But on occasion I read something so close that the absence of that measuring-feeling is its own sensation – ego departs, or at least is split across two bodies. There's just amity and recognition

And it's pretty interesting to feel this way about Card for, well, the reasons.

(If you're familiar with Card drama none of the following will be new to you; I'm coming to it fresh so the rest of this post is me going "uh... wow")

I vaguely knew he was a homophobic Mormon who'd gotten into fights about gay stuff, but I couldn't tell from the Ender books I read. But in Songmaster his issues spring off the page in such a weird way. Every fifth Goodreads review of this book is "Card, u gay?" because, well,

(One review, possibly from a fellow Mormon, that went "Card, it's so sinful of you to be this gay in your novel". Why did he write this book that would predictably make everyone mad...)

it's full of gay male desire. The protagonist (Ansset) is approximately a castrato and characters notice him sexually a lot. The first and only time Ansset has sex it's with a Kinsey 4-5 male character he loves, who's married to a woman but has fallen in love with Ansset. It turns out the drugs Ansset took to prolong his singing career painfully and only-kinda-figuratively explode your balls when you have your first orgasm and you'll never feel sexual desire again. (You'd think his loving teachers would have warned him of that, but, whatever, they didn't.) The other guy is literally castrated in punishment for inadvertently torturing a highly valuable castrato. It's pretty bald: GAY SEX IS ALMOST IRRESISTIBLY TEMPTING BUT YOU SHOULDN'T DO IT.

(Sidenote: both Ansset and the guy's wife are very close and have a "there's enough love to go around" attitude about the gay sex initially, before they go "wait Josif is a SERIAL MONOGAMIST... he can only love one person at a time... the moment he had the gay sex his marriage was destroyed". It's funny in a mildly stupid way that Card would set up this parable of homosexuality destroying lives and a marriage but almost everyone involved is peacefully ready to sail into an open marriage. I guess it makes sense if you want to say very clearly that THE GAY PART IS THE BAD PART)

which is fascinating to me, because... why would you tell on yourself like that

(81k also told me secondhand of an essay? interview? where Card openly says "we have to stand against legalizing gay marriage because everyone will get gay married and society will collapse", so that's informing my read of Songmaster as well)

I am pretty dang open about my personal life online but if I had a lot of feelings I thought were disgusting and immoral I would not write a novel dripping with those feelings before pointedly castrating the leads for them. Especially if it wasn't relevant to the actually highbrow themes of (checks notes) winning over your adversaries with kindness and never relinquishing your monopoly on violence. I would be so so so so embarrassed to let this go to print, it's so psychologically transparent, what was he thinking

(Well, I assume he's a very different person with different social incentives. For all I know, people in his church went "hey Orson we read your book and it's clear that you're gay but signaling strongly that you won't give into the gay feelings, we're here for you, it was really brave of you to publish this".)