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cybernaght · 1 year ago

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The fandom echo chamber: fanon, microanalysis and conspiracy brain

As someone who has been in fandom spaces, on and off, for 20 years, I find some fascinating trends popping up in the last decade that I thought to be fandom-specific but clearly aren’t. So, I would like to do a little examination of where those things come from, how they are engaged with, and what it says about the way we consume media. This is a think piece, of sorts, with my brain being the main source. As such, we will spend some time down the memory lane of a fandom-focused millennial.

This is largely brought about by Good Omens. But it’s also not really about Good Omens at all.

Part one. Fanon.

The way we see characters in any story is always skewed by our very selves. This is a neutral statement, and it does not have a value judgement. It’s simply unavoidable. We recognise aspects of them, love aspects of them, and choose aspects of them to highlight based entirely on our own vision of the universe.

Recognition comes into this. There is a reason so many protagonists of romance novels have a “blank slate” problem. Even when they do not, we love characters who are like us or versions of us that we would like to be. And when we say “we”, I also mean, “me”.

(I remember very clearly this realisation hit me after a whole season of Doctor Who with writing which I hated utterly when I questioned why I still clung so incredibly hard to Clara Oswald as my favourite companion. Then I looked at myself in the mirror. Oh. Well. That would do it, wouldn’t it?)

Then, there is projection, and, again, this is a neutral statement. Projection exists, and it is completely normal and, dare I say it, valid way of engaging with — well, anything. Is the character queer? Trans? Neurodivergent? Are they in love? Do they like chocolate? Are they a cat person? Well, yes, if this is what the text says, but if the text does not say anything… You tell me. Please, do tell me. Because, in that moment of projection, they are yours.

And then, there is fandom osmosis, and that is the most fascinating one of them all, the one that is not very easy to note while you are inside the echo chamber. It’s the way we collectively, consciously or not, make decisions on who or what the characters are, what their relationships are, and what happens to them.

(Back when I was writing egregiously long Guardian recaps on this blog I actually asked if Shen Wei’s power being learning actually was stated anywhere in the canon of the show. Because I had no idea. I have read and reread dozen of fanfics where that is the case, and at some point through enough repetition, it became reality.)

We are all kind of making our own reality here, aren’t we?

Back when things were happening in a much less centralised manner - in closed livejournal groups, and forums of all shapes and sizes - I don’t remember there being quite as much universally agreed upon fanon. Frankly, I don’t remember much of universally agreed upon anything. But now, everything is in one place: we have this, and we have AO3, and it’s wonderful, it really is so much easier to navigate, but it’s also one gigantic reality-shifting echo chamber, with blogs, reblogs, trends, and rituals.

Accessibility plays its part, too. If you were, say, in Life on Mars (UK) fandom between seasons, and you wanted to post your speculation fic, you had to have had an account, and then find and gain access to one of the bigger groups (lifein1973 was my poison, but ymmv), and then, if you feel brave you may post it, but also, you may want to do so from your alt account if you wanted to keep yours separate, and then you would have to go through the whole process again. And I’m not saying that fan creations then were somehow inherently better for it than fan creations now (although Life on Mars Hiatus Era is perhaps a bad example - because some of the Speculation Fic there was breathtaking), but there is something to say about the ease of access that made the fandoms go through a big bang of sorts.

(I mean, come on, I can just come here and post this - and I am certain people will read it, and this blog is a pandemic cope baby about Chinese television for goodness sake.)

The canon transformations that happen in the fandom echo chamber truly are fascinating to witness as someone who is more or less a fandom butterfly. I get into something, float around for a bit, then get into something else and move on. I might come back eventually when the need arises, but I don’t sustain a hiatus mind-state. This means that when I float away and return, I find some very intriguing stuff.

Let’s actually look at Good Omens here. Season two aired, and I found it spectacular in its cosy and anguished way; deliberately and intelligently fanfic-y in its plot building; simple but subversive, and so very tender. (I will have to circle back to this eventually, because, truly, I love how deliberately it takes the tropes and shatters them - it’s glorious). And, to me - a person who read the book, watched the first season, hung around AO3 for a few weeks and moved on - absolutely on-point in terms of characterisation.

So imagine my surprise when the fandom disagreed so vehemently that there are actual multi-tiered theories on how characters were not in possession of their senses. Nothing there, in my mind, ever contradicted any of the stated text, as it stood. This remained a strange little mystery until I did what I always do when I flutter close to an ongoing fandom.

I loaded AO3 and sorted the existing fic by popularity. And there it was, all there: the actual earth-shattering mutual devotion of the angel and the demon; willingness to Fall; openness and long heart-aching confession speeches. There was all of the fanon surrounding Aziraphale and Crowley, which, to me, read as out of character, and to one for whom they became the reality over the last four years, read as truth.

Again, only neutral statements here. This is not a bad thing, and neither this is a good thing, this is just something that happens, after a while, especially when there are years for the fandom-born ideas to bounce around and stew. I can’t help but think that so much of what we see as real in spaces such as this one is a chimaera of the actual source and all the collective fan additions which had time and space to grow, change, develop, and inspire, reverberating over and over again, until the echoes fill the entirety of the space.

Eventually, this chimaera becomes a reality.

Part two. Microanalysis

Here are my two suppositions on the matter:

1. Some writers really love breadcrumb storytelling.

Russel T Davies, for instance, on his run of Doctor Who (and, if you are reading it much later - I do mean the original one), loved that technique for his seasonal arcs. What is a Bad Wolf? Who is Harold Saxon? Well, you can watch very very carefully, make a theory, and see it proven right or wrong by the end of the season.

Naturally, mystery box writers are all about breadcrumb storytelling: your Losts and your Westworlds are all about giving you snippets to get your brain firing, almost challenging you to figure things out just ahead of the reveal.

2. We, as humans, love breadcrumbs.

And why wouldn’t we? Breadcrumbs are delicious. They are, however, a seasoning, or a coating. They are not the meal.

Too much metaphor?

Let’s unpack it and start from the beginning.

Pattern recognition colours every aspect of our lives, and it colours the way we view art to a great extent. I think we truly underestimate how much it’s influenced by our lived experiences.

If you are, broadly speaking, living somewhere in Western/North-Western Europe in the 14th century, and you see a painting in which there is a very very large figure surrounded by some smaller figures and holding really tiny figures, you may know absolutely nothing about who those figures are, but you know that the big figure is the Important One, and the small ones are Less Important Ones, and the tiny ones are In Their Care. You know where your reverence would lie, looking at this picture. And, I imagine, as someone living in the 14th century, you may be inspired to a sense of awe looking at this composition, because in the world you live in, this is how art works.

If you, on the other hand, watch a piece of recorded media and see the eyes of two characters meet as the violins swell, you know what you are being told at that moment. You don’t have to have a film degree to feel a sort of way when you see a green-tinged pallet used, when cross-cuts use juxtaposing images, or notice where your focus is pulled in any given shot. This stuff - this recognition of patterns - has been trained into us by the simple fact that we live in this time, on this planet, and we have been doing so long enough to have engaged recorded media for a period of time.

As humans, we notice things. Our brains flare up when they see something they recognise, and then we seek to find other similar details and form a bigger picture. This often happens unconsciously, but sometimes it does not. Sometimes we do it on purpose: finding breadcrumbs in stories is a little bit like solving a mystery. It allows us to stretch that brain muscle that puts two and two together. It makes us feel clever.

So yes, we love breadcrumbs, and, frankly, quite a lot of storytelling takes advantage of this. It’s very useful for foreshadowing, creating thematic coherence, or introducing narrative parallels and complexity. It’s useful for nudging the viewer into one or the other emotional direction, or to cue them into what will happen in the next moment, or what exactly is the one important detail they should pay attention to.

Because this is something media does intentionally, and something we pick up both consciously and not, it is very hard to know when to stop. We don't really ever know when all of the breadcrumbs have been collected. It becomes very easy to get carried away. There is a very specific kind of pleasure in digging into content frame by frame, soundbite by soundbite, chasing that pleasure of finding.

But it is almost never breadcrumbs all the way down. They are techniques to help us focus on the main event: the story. I truly believe those who make media want it to reach the widest possible audience, and that includes all of us who like to watch every single thing ever created with our Media Analysis Goggles on and those who are just here to enjoy the twists and turns of the story at the pace offered to them. And I think, sometimes in our chase to collect and understand every little clue we forget that media is not made to just cater for us.

One can call it missing a forest for the trees. But I would hate to mix my metaphors, so let’s call it missing a schnitzel for the breadcrumbs.

Part three. The Conspiracy Brain.

If you are there with me, in the midst of the excited frenzy, chasing after all those delicious breadcrumbs, then patterns can grow, merge together, and become all-encompassing theories. Let’s call them conspiracy theories, even though this is not what they truly are.

So, why do we believe in conspiracy theories?

One, Because We Have Been Lied To.

All conspiracies start with distrust.

If you are in fandom spaces - especially if you are in fandom spaces which revolve around a queer fictional couple - especially-especially if you have been in such spaces for a period of time, you have most certainly been lied to at one point or another.

We don’t even have to talk about Sherlock - and let’s not do that - but do you remember Merlin? Because I remember Merlin. Specifically, I remember the publicity surrounding the first season, with its weaponised usage of “bromance” and assertions that this whole thing is a love story of sorts, and then the daunting realisation that this was all a stunt, deliberately orchestrated to gather viewership.

And, because we were lied to in such a deliberate manner for such an extensive period of time, I genuinely believe that it forever altered our pattern recognition habits, because what was this if not encouragement to read into things? Now we are trained to read between the lines or see little cries for help where they might not be. Because we were told, over and over again, that we should.

(Yes, I think we are all existing in these spaces coloured by the trauma of queer-bating. I am, however, looking forward to a world where I can unlearn all of that.)

Two, Cognitive Dissonance.

The chain reaction works a bit like this: the world is wrong - it can’t possibly be wrong by coincidence - this must be on purpose - someone is responsible for it.

Being Lied To is a preamble, but cognitive dissonance is where it all originates. In so many cross-fandom theories I have noticed a four-step process:

A) this is not good

B) this author could not have made a mistake

C) this must be done on purpose

D) here is why

(Funny thing is, I have been on the receiving end of the small conspiracy spiral, and it is a very interesting experience. Not relevant to this conversation is the fact that a lot of my job revolves around storytelling. What is relevant is that my hobbies also revolve around storytelling. And one of them is DnD. Now, imagine my genuine shock when one of the players I am currently writing a campaign for noticed a small detail that did not make a logical sense within the complexity of the world, and latched on to it as something clearly indicating some kind of a secret subplot. Their thinking process also went a bit like this: this detail is not a good piece of writing — this DM knows how to tell stories well — this is obviously there on purpose. It was not there on purpose. I created a clumsy shorthand. I erred, in that pesky manner humans tend to. And, seeing this entire thought process recited to me directly in the moment, I felt somewhere between flattered and mortified.)

This whole line of thinking, I think, exists on a knife’s edge between veneration and brutal criticism, relentlessly dissecting everything “wrong”, with a reverent “but this is deliberate” attached to it like a vice, because it is preferable to a simple conclusion that the author let you down, in one way or another.

Three, Intentionality

I believe that there is no right or wrong way of engaging with stories, regardless of their medium, and assuming no one gets hurt in the process. While in a strictly academic way, there is a “correct” way of reading (and reading into) media, we here are largely not academics but consumers; consumption is subjective.

However, this all changes when intentionality is ascribed.

The one I find particularly fascinating is the intentionality of “making it bad on purpose” because, as open-minded as I intend to always be, this just does not happen.

It certainly does not happen in long-form media. Even in the bread-crumb mystery box-type long-form media.

When television programs underdeliver, they also underperform, and then they get cancelled.

If all the elements of Westworld Season 4 that did not sit together in a completely satisfactory way were written deliberately as some sort of deconstruction for the final season to explore, then it failed because that final season will now never come.

(There will likely never be a Secret Fourth Episode.)

And look, I am not here to refute your theories. Creativity is fun, and theorising is fantastic.

But, perhaps, when the line of thought ventures into the “bad on purpose” territory, it could be recognised for what it is: disappointment and optimism, attempting to coexist in a single space. And I relate to that, I do, and I am sorry that there is even a need for this line of thinking. It’s always so incredibly disappointing that a creator you believed to be devoid of flaws makes something that does not hit in the way you hoped it would. It’s pretty heartbreaking.

Unfortunately, people make mistakes. We are all fallible that way.

Four, Wildfire.

Then, when the crumbs are found, a theory is crafted, and intentionality is ascribed, all that needs to happen is for it to catch on. And hey, what better place for it than this massive hollow funnel that we exist in, where thoughts, ideas and interpretations reverberate so much they become inextricable from the source material in collective consciousness.

Conspiracy theories create alternate realities, very much like we all do here.

So where are we now?

I am not here to tell you what is right and what is wrong; what is true, and what is not. We are all entitled to engage with anything we wish, in whichever way we wish to do it. This is not it, at all.

All I am saying is… listen.

Do you hear that echo?

I do.

#fandom thoughts #fanon #good omens #good omens 2 #bbc sherlock #merlin bbc #think piece #it's been years and I still have no idea how to tag #conspiracy theories #fandom content #all fandoms

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cdragons · 8 months ago

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Fuck Everything, But Mostly Fuck You - Part 4

Previous Chapter, Next Chapter. Masterlist

Summary: You have never, EVER, in a million years hated anyone the way you hated Felix fucking Catton. ...Well, maybe you also hated Annabel Williams as much - but you'd be damned before you let a drunk girl out in the hallway without helping her.

Warnings- MDNI 18+, Sex, Felix doesn't make an appearance (but still mentioned), Reader is a girl's girl, Annabel has an epiphany, Michael hates everyone BUT Reader, Farleigh is Farleigh, alternating POVs between characters, and author has spent too much time researching Oxford crap for this mess for a crack fic to be a crack fic. Also Oliver is barely in this chapter, but who cares about that asshat?

Author's Note: I am so sorry for the prolonged hiatus! It was not intentional! My classes have upped the ante in how much HW they gave me, and I got distracted by reading my old GOT fanfics and got ideas for it. BUT - thank you all who've been reading this fic and sharing wonderful comments! They really help push me to become a better writer!

You were caught in a bit of a pickle – granted, it was a voluntary pickle, but a pickle nonetheless.

…Okay, so quick recap of the events that transpired this week:

Regularly-scheduled Annabel tormenting you

Got sexually-harassed by Catton

Had a self-pity session at Bowin

Got found by Mikey Gravy

Olly, the psychotic backstabber/bootlicker, tried to pimp you out to Felix Catton.

You almost committed aggravated homicide of said pimp before Michael dragged you away.

You went to the movies to drool over Johnny Depp.

You and Michael decided you would crash in his dorm room for the night…leading to your current predicament.

Right now, you were dragging an unconscious Annabel, who was drunk off her ass, with one arm flung over your shoulder as you tried to make get any information of where her dorm was out of her. It was a sad picture – mascara running down her cheeks, vomit from her mouth, and lipstick messily smeared across her face. The smell of vomit mixed with cheap booze was almost enough to make you want to drop her on the ground and leave her there if you hadn’t pitied her so much.

When you realized that you weren’t going to get anything out of her that didn’t involve projectile vomiting, you just decided to bring her to rest up in your dorm.

“I still don’t understand why you’re helping her,” Michael grunted.

Oh, yeah…and Michael was helping you, too.

“Because girl code, Gavey–” you grunted, lifting Annabel’s arm higher when you felt her slipping “–no man left behind – or well, no woman left behind in this case.”

“That’s the Geneva Code.”

“Same difference,” you groaned out. Fuck, how was this girl so heavy?

Michael’s face was getting flushed from the sweat running down his forehead. “So, girl code dictates that you have to help the bitch who’s been making your term hell?”

“Girl Code,” you huffed, “wait, hang on - she’s slipping - okay, there we go. ‘Girl Code’ is more of an honor code expected to be followed by all sisters on their journey to womanhood. And one of the most sacred rules in that honor system is that – fuck, she’s heavy – that if you see a sister drunk and unconscious, you make sure she gets home safe.”

“Or your matchbox dorm room, in this circumstance,” your friend grumbled.

You tiredly nodded. “Exactly! Besides, regardless of how heinous she is, it’s the right thing to do.”

“(Y/N), you realize she won’t be getting hypothermia, right?” Michael frustratingly groaned. “It’s late spring.”

“But that doesn’t mean there aren’t people out there who won’t take advantage of her in her current state. They’d say, ‘Oh, she was asking for it,’ or ‘she’s just imagining things, do you remember how hammered she was?’ And then it’ll be their word against hers.”

You went silent for a bit. “I don’t want that to happen to her. No one should have that happen to them – girl or guy, bully or friend.”

“Well, in any case,” Michael started as the two of you finally arrived at the beginning of your dormitory. “It’s lucky that your dorm is so close to mine. Are you sure you want her in there? There’s still the chance she’ll vomit all over your carpet if she misses the bucket or even your covers.”

You opened the door with your ID card. “I’ll just have to take that chance, I guess. Look, I’ll try to wake her up long enough to see if she remembers any of her friend’s numbers. If any of them pick up, I’ll tell them to pick her up.”

Michael looked at you with heavy doubt in his eyes. “And if they don’t? Pick up, I mean?”

“Then I guess we’ll be having a sleepover,” you sighed as you reached your room at the end of the hallway. “And then we’ll never have to see each other ever again when morning comes.”

Michael loudly snorted while you clumsily reached into your back pocket for your keys. “Don’t jinx yourself. With your bleeding heart, you’ll probably end up donating your liver to her if she doesn’t die of alcohol poisoning first.”

You rolled your eyes. “Oh, come one. Have a bit more faith in me – SHIT!” you exclaimed after you dropped your keys.

You quickly scrambled to the floor while Michael guffawed at your misfortune. You shot a quick glare at him to get him to shut up. The bespectacled bastard didn’t stop laughing until…like, three minutes passed. In response, you dropped Annabel’s arm from your shoulder to focus on finding your room key. You chuckled to yourself when you heard Michael curse to himself as he tried to balance the drunk girl’s weight without getting her too close to him. When you finally found it, you inserted it into the lock. You sighed in relief when the door opened. You were even more relieved that your roommate had decided to spend the night at her girlfriend’s dorm. You really didn’t want to have to explain to her why you were voluntarily helping the vile witch bitch who was actively trying to make your college years hell. Meanwhile, Michael grimaced and groaned as he held Annabel away from his body at arm’s length.

“Is sluttiness contagious through touch?” he asked.

“Unless pre-Sith Anakin suddenly pops into this hallway, I don’t think you’ll need to worry about that,” you snorted as you opened the door to let Michael drag the unconscious girl into the room.

Michael scoffed at your choice of Star Wars beefcake. “Bitch, please. Young Obi-Wan Kenobi was far superior.”

He went to the center of the room and released Annabel from his grip to let her unceremoniously fall on the floor, and her body made a soft ‘thump.’ You wrinkled your nose and grimaced at the pathetic nature of tonight. She looked less like the glamorous Oxford party ‘IT’ girl and more like one of those sad groupies who OD’d in their favorite rockstar’s pool from a house party. You didn’t know what the hell her story of tonight was – but it still didn’t mean she deserved to be left alone, slumped against a wall in a dirty hallway with vomit all over her.

You turned to Michael. “Okay! Off you trot!”

Your favorite bespectacled blonde nerd gave you a look of complete bewilderment.

“Seriously?” he asked. “Not even a thank you? I literally dragged her body here from my dormitory and risked being the first victim of a new STD contracted through skin contact.”

You rolled your eyes at his dramatics – if he weren’t such a numbers genius, he would have been the perfect theater kid.

“Don’t be such an incel,” you admonished. “It’s not a good look on you. And I carried more of her body weight than you, dumbass. If I left it up to you, we’d never get anywhere with your twiggy arms.”

You poked his arms in emphasis and snickered when he pouted. He crossed his arms and was about to leave when you pounced on him. A bit of Annabel’s “Britney Spears Fantasy” spray perfume soaked into his shirt, but other than that, he still smelled like himself. The scent of fresh laundry, freshly mowed grass, and spearmint toothpaste made you feel safe. His scent, combined with his body heat, enveloped you in comfort.

“Thanks, Mikey,” you whispered. “I know you didn’t have to help me, but you did anyway.”

Gavey wrapped his arms around you as he rested his chin on your head. He usually hated contact with anybody save his family, but you were always the exception. Michael should probably have warned you that the rotten and acidic odor from Annabel’s puke would ruin your shirt, but he just let himself replace her cheap perfume with your fragrance. The scent of your favorite honey and jasmine conditioner in your hair mostly covered the faint traces of turpentine and linseed oil on your skin.

“Of course I did,” he softly replied. “With your shit sense of direction, you would have ended up in the bottom of the ditch.”

You gasped and lightly pushed him away. “Uhhh, way to ruin the moment!”

Michael snickered at the way your jaw had dropped in shock and betrayal. You then resorted to mockingly punching him in the stomach as he did nothing to stop you. He couldn’t help but look at you in total and utter fondness as he continued to ‘beat him up.’

But in all honesty, Michael didn’t mind helping you. He loved it. He’d rather get Crucio-ed than say it, but you were his favorite person in the whole world. In a desert of fakes and masks of insincerity, you were like gentle rain with your genuine vibrance and rare honesty. He loved how endlessly kind and empathetic you were to others. He just hated it when you granted acts of kindness to the plebes unworthy of you. You’d give the benefit of the doubt to the worst of the worst on campus – Annabel being a case in point.

Remembering the drunk elephant in the room, Michael grabbed your fists and stared at you thoughtfully.

“Seriously, though,” he began, “why are you helping her? I know you told me about ‘girl code’ and all that. But is that seriously it?”

You thumped your head against his chest. “Look, I get it. Annabel is a horrible person, and with how awful she treated me – she doesn’t deserve my kindness, my help, or my pity. But that doesn’t change that it was the right thing to do. And if not us, who knows who would have picked her up? If another guy other than you ‘helped’ her…you do the math.”

A groggy voice broke the two of you apart. “Are you two going to shag? Because I can leave.”

You and Michael jumped apart as you watched Annabel lift herself from the floor and stagger to her feet. Her legs wobbled briefly before giving out, and then she fell to the floor. You turned to Michael and gave him one final hug before seeing him out. He looked disgusted at the girl sitting on the cheap carpet before turning to you, concerned. Mikey asked if you were confident you didn’t need him here to help you.

“I’ll take it from here,” you reassured him. You flexed your arm – 80s jock bully style. “I’m a tough girl. I carry my canvases and textbooks and everything, after all.”

“Okay,” he dragged out the last syllable. “But if you end up putting her down, give me a call, and I’ll help you bury the body.”

“Um,” interjected Annabel, “you know I’m right here, you arse.”

“Hey,” you admonished, “he did help carry you here. He could have left you in that hallway alone.”

“Whatever,” she scoffed. “Probably did it so he could cop a feel, the slimy wanker.”

“Please,” Michael sneered, “as if I’d ever willingly touch someone with a higher body count than Dahmer and Bundy combined. I’m only here because I wanted to help (Y/N) – she’s the one who was worried about your sad self.”

Ugh, this was going to be a long night. You turned to Michael with apologetic eyes and reassured him that he wasn’t a wanker. You promised you’d make it up to him by buying all the Crunchie bars he wanted. Mikey’s eyes softened at your sincerity as he began to walk down the corridor to make the trek to his dorm.

You softly closed your door so as not to cause any further disturbance. When you turned around, you were startled by the dead stare Annabel was giving you. You looked down at your feet as you shifted uncomfortably in your spot. You cleared your throat to try and break the tension.

“Um, soooo…I’m glad you’re awake. You were sitting so still in that hall, I was worried you OD’d,” you nervously joked. But all she did was continue to stare at you. “So, do you have your phone with you? I figured it would be best if you called one of your friends. I’m sure they’re really worried about you. I know I’d be going out of my mind if one of my friends–”

“What kind of fucking game are you playing here?” she snarled. Her large, doe-brown eyes narrowed in anger as you stopped talking.

“Uhhh,” your mind was coming out blank. “Wait, I don’t – I don’t know what you mean?”

Annabel rolled her eyes. “Oh, don’t play stupid. Why’d you help me? Did you want to take pictures of me drunk and unconscious?”

Your jaw fucking dropped. “What?! NO! I just–”

“I’m sure that would’ve made some fucking good blackmail material,” ignoring you and continuing, “I can see it: ‘Annabel Williams drunk in the hall after trying to shag fucking sad Ollie.’ You’re so obvious.”

You tried to explain yourself. “Okay, look- I think there’s a big misunderstanding here–”

“Or maybe you want to show the pictures to Felix, not that he’d care or anything. You got him all wrapped up in your little Yankee finger, you know that? It’s so pathetic and sick – it makes me want to–”

“HEY!” you yelled – finally making her just shut UP. You closed your eyes and took deep breaths to calm down. “Look, Michael and I were walking to his dorm when we saw you were sitting in the hallway. I tried to ask you if you had your phone on you and if you wanted me to call anyone, but you were out cold. And I couldn’t just leave you there, okay? That’s dangerous! And I didn’t know where you lived – you know, considering that you hate me–” you cut off your rambling with a deep breath “–so he and I dragged you to my dorm.”

The silence that followed was so stifling you wanted to open a window. Maybe if you let some fresh air in, it might calm the girl down. It would also help diffuse some of the puke odor stinking up your room.

“…Anyway, if you don’t have your phone on you right now, I can always call them myself. Do you remember their numbers? I know you and India are close. Do you think she’s available right now?”

More silence.

You began fidgeting. “I mean, you can stay over if no one is available? I don’t mind since my roommate is sleeping over–”

Annabel interrupted you again. “You’re so full of it. You just wanted to help me? For what? For the sake of being the goody-two-shoes kiss-ass, you’ve always been? Did you want me to bow and worship you?”

“Annabel,” you groaned, “it’s been a really long night, okay? And I don’t feel like arguing when you aren’t sober and in your right mind.”

“Oh yeah,” she bitterly laughed. “Be a pushover, and get everyone to love you. Tell everyone how much of a ‘heinous’ bitch I am. Play the victim – that’s all you’ll ever be. Just go back with your pathetic little nerd friend and be invisible and boring like the goody-goody who thinks she’s better than the rest of us.”

The quiet in the room was surprisingly loud. Shock and disbelief morphed into fury as your fists clenched so hard that your nails left red welts on your skin. Your body trembled in anger as your tongue felt too heavy to express everything you wanted to say.

‘Pushover’ she called you? ‘Play the victim,’ she said?

Who the hell was she to have any right to judge you? Did she have any idea what you’ve sacrificed? How much have you suffered and left behind? Could she even have the slightest decency to understand what you’ve been through? Of what she put you through?

…You know what? …Fuck her. Fuck Annabel Williams and all of Oxford’s elite. They were proof that Michael was right – that doing the right thing meant nothing to them.

Your voice was cold, and your eyes were numb. “…I’m going to take a shower,” you grab a towel and your shower buddy. “I want you to get the hell out of my dorm by the time I get back. Call your friend or don’t? Do whatever the hell you want. I don’t care.”

You slammed the door on your way out.

“Finally,” Annabel thought with some relief, “she’s gone.”

When you left, the room felt ten degrees colder the way the door slammed, and Annabel felt goosebumps form on her arm. This was the worst night of her life. She had never felt so humiliated.

Her mummy told her she was just born blessed because God knew she was exceptional, and she always believed that to be true. For her entire life, she was the girl every boy wanted to bed and the girl every girl wanted to be. She never had to fight for anyone’s attention. Her parents gladly bought her the latest versions of top-of-the-line technology. Her closet here and at her parent’s townhouse in Kensington was filled with designer-brand exclusives and limited-editions. She had everything.

For people like her, life was supposed to be easy. She was born at the top, so she would be there till the day she died.

So why was she losing to you?

When she came to Oxford, she figured it would be as easy as most of her life. She’d spend her time partying and networking with the right people. If she had to blackmail a nerd to take her classes or blow a teacher to give her an “A”? Who would say otherwise?

But then she met Felix Catton and finally felt she had met her match. Finally, there was someone who checked all the boxes: rich, tall, handsome, and fun. That part made Felix the golden sheep who stood above the rest of the flock – he was fun. Not only did he know how to have a good time, he knew how to properly fuck a girl, too.

She was so drunk off the taste of his lips and the feel of him around her – so much so that she broke her golden rule.

“Never fall first.”

Annabel felt herself falling hard for Felix Catton. She thought they were exclusive. He was her boyfriend, and she was his girlfriend. But then…he became distant. He stopped calling he and ignored her when they returned to campus after the break. But then he and she left the bar at Kings’ Crossing, and she was so happy! She wanted to cry when he kissed her hard and ripped her 100 quid top in half.

It didn’t matter if she wasn’t wet when he entered her. It didn’t matter that he didn’t wait for her to adjust when he started to thrust. It didn’t matter when she tried to moan his name; he would cover her mouth with his giant hand to shut her up. It didn’t matter that she wasn’t close to finishing when he came inside her. It didn’t matter when her windpipes were almost crushed when he fell on top of her after finishing.

They were together. He chose her! Annabel and Felix – Mrs. Felix Catton, she could see it now. They’d have a wedding in his house at Saltburn. She would have to meet his parents, but she wasn’t worried – all her flings’ parents loved her! They would be together forever, and nothing would ever–

“(Y/N),” Felix whispered above her – and Annabel’s world completely fell apart.

She immediately shoved his body off hers and hurriedly dressed before getting the hell out of his room. Annabel didn’t bother putting on her shoes before running with tears down her face to her dorm. And when she returned to her single, she flung herself to her bed and cried to sleep. She didn’t bother attending class that week – not when her heart broke.

Felix had been thinking about you – you. He called out your name after finishing. Was he imagining your naked body when hers was under him? Had he been imagining you every time he fucked her?

Annabel smelled Felix’s aftershave and wanted to rip the skin off her body. God, she never felt more like a whore in her entire life.

“God,” she thought, “I was so pathetic! How could I be so stupid to fall for Felix Catton? Why did I trick myself into hoping that we would be together?”

Felix wanted a good girl—like you—the American scholarship student who wanted to paint pretty pictures and was at the top of her classes. The lovely New Yorker who hung around losers and still held your head up high despite every professor thinking you were in over your head to come here. Some pushover bitch who was so pathetic and actually–

The door slammed open again, and Annabel’s pretty sure she’d scream if she weren’t so fucking tired. You came storming in with your towel and shower caddy in your hands, and your eyes were a raging storm while your lips were pursed like you had sucked a lemon. Your nostrils are flaring as you angrily breathe through your nose. Annabel was about to open her mouth, but you menacingly pointed at her with your pointer finger. It felt like forever until you finally opened your mouth.

“Look! We don’t have to be friends and I don’t expect us to be friends – but you know what? YES, I WOULD LIKE A THANK YOU! I dragged your unconscious ass across campus, and you REEKED of vomit and bad perfume! And not to body shame, but you are WAY TOO SKINNY to be healthy to be as heavy as you were when I carried you!”

“Excuse me?!” Annabel sputtered. “Who the fuck–”

“Oh! I’m not done!” you shouted. “I don’t know if you being horrible and a bitch is supposed to be some power trip or some shit, but it’s so cliché! Are we in Mean Girls? Are you Regina George? No, am I Janice from Lebanon? NO! And on that – I have a few bones to pick with you…MISSY!

I–” You pointed to yourself “–am NOT a pushover, okay? I fucking beat your stupid manwhore boy toy like it was goddamn ‘Whack o’ Mole’ for ruining my painting! Pushovers don’t do that! FURTHERMORE – me calling you a ‘horrible person’ or ‘heinous bitch’ isn’t me ‘playing the victim’! You HAVE been a HORRIBLE person to me, alright? And what’s worse – I don’t have the slightest idea why! Was it something I said to you last term? Or were you born a spoilt princess who never had to work for anything in her life because mommy and daddy will always give you everything you want so you could forget that they would probably instead work than deal with their brat? Seriously – what is it? Because you’re driving me CRAZY!”

When you were done, Annabel sat on the floor, completely silent, and stared at you unblinkingly. She hadn’t expected you to come back so quickly – let alone to scream at her. She stared at your huffing and shallow breathing in awe and slight amazement. Your hair looked frazzled from your outburst, and your (e/c) eyes were bright with wild impulse.

Annabel felt her bottom lip quiver and stared at an ugly stain on the carpet. She didn’t want to show any more of herself than she had already. But what the hell? You already saw more of her than most of her so-called ‘friends.’ What was a little more? If she had to show more of the ugliest parts of herself, why not show it to someone she already hated?

Before she could stop herself, Annabel felt her shoulders sag and shake as sobs tore through her petite frame. Tears and snot were running down her face as she furiously tried to wipe them away – if nothing but to try and save some shred of dignity. Annabel was crying so much that she didn’t see the surprised look on your face morph to slight guilt since you thought you may gone too far with your rant. You reached out to tap her shoulder when you heard her speak.

“Why doesn’t he want me?” she sobbed. “What do I have to do to get him to love me?”

If you were taken aback by her crying, you were completely caught off-guard by her questions. You walked over to your desk and grabbed a box of tissues before crouching on the ground. You handed her a few tissues from the box and waved to her face to present them. Annabel noticed how you tried hard not to see how much her hand trembled when she reached forward to grab the tissues from you.

“Who?” you softly asked her. “Are you talking about Felix?”

Annabel blew her nose into the tissue hard. “Who else?! I mean…look at me! Everyone wants me! Everyone – boys, girls, teachers! Do you know how many of my past flings gladly emptied their pockets so I might wank them? But he wants you! What do you have that I don’t?”

Concern and pity shifted to confusion before realization kicked in, and you were so done with this conversation already. Maybe you were a slightly horrible person for this, but you felt so disappointed when Annabel told you that her entire drama with you had been over Felix Catton.

“…That’s why you’ve been tormenting me this entire term so far?” you flatly asked. “Because of Felix Catton?”

“He called out your name–” she gasped a heavy sob “– while he was fucking me! Do you have any idea how that feels?”

“Okay, wow,” you thought, “that’s actually really shitty – fuck.”

“Do you know how humiliating that was for me? He was still inside me, for fucks’ sake! I felt him shrink!”

Okay – that was so much more information about Annabel’s and Felix’s sex life than you ever wanted to know.

You coughed into your hand as your face flushed red. “Oh, um–I’ve never really…done it before. So…I wouldn’t really don’t know how that feels.”

“Ugh, of course, you’re a virgin,” she groaned. “Don’t tell me you don’t drink either.”

When you remained silent, Annabel let out a bitter laugh. “Damn, you think you’re hot shit and everything. But you really are a goody-goody. What – you saving yourself for God or some shit?”

“HEY! Just because I like to keep my head down and not a party and get plastered every five minutes doesn’t make me a goody-two-shoes. I just don’t like the taste of alcohol, and increased chances of lung cancer doesn’t exactly spell out ‘fun’ for me.”

But Annabel ignores your outburst and continues to dismiss you. “Yeah, right. I bet you call your mommy and daddy every night. Do you tell them that you miss them and want to go home? Or do you wish to bake cookies with your mummy as daddy watches the telly?”

Annabel’s taunting is only responded to with silence as she grows confused by your melancholic expression.

“…I can’t call them at all,” you respond. “International calls are too expensive. The best I can do is email or Skype. And planned calls can hardly be reliable since my parents’ schedules are always all over the place with their jobs.”

“When–” Annabel’s voice cracked “– when’s the last time you saw them? In real life?”

“I was supposed to see them during Christmas Break,” you bitterly explained, “but then Felix crashed into me when I was on my way to deliver it. He ruined my painting, and I had to redo it completely, not to fail and completely flush my parents’ money down the drain.”

“I thought you were here on scholarship? Doesn’t that mean you don’t have to pay to come here?”

“I’m here on a partial scholarship,” you explained. “It covers a good part of my tuition, but not all of it – and definitely not for housing and meal plans. Travel expenses alone were so expensive, so I had to leave alone. Mom cried so much at the security checkpoint, and Dad almost didn’t want me to go. I didn’t even want to go. But they wanted me to experience more of the world while I still could.”

“…Do you miss them?” Annabel asked. She felt silly asking a question with such an obvious answer. But, hearing how you talked about your parents crying their goodbyes to you compared to the simple wave she got hers after they dropped her off campus made her feel a deep longing.

You let out a shaky sob. “More than anything. You never realize how much you miss your home and family until an entire ocean separates you.”

Annabel uncomfortably shifted in her spot as she noticed your eyes getting misty. She couldn’t remember the last time she cried over missing her parents and felt that you were being overdramatic. Annabel spent her entire break with her parents at their house, but she couldn’t remember the last time they ate at the same table unless it was for one of her dad’s dinner parties. What did it feel like – to miss and love someone so much after not seeing them for a year?

What did it feel like – to have an entire lifetime of that kind of love?

Does having that kind of love make you?

“…Why did you help me?” Annabel finally asked. She couldn’t bear the tension anymore. “You could have just left me there. Why help me and bring me here of all places?”

“…Because it was the right thing to do,” you explained and shrugged. “You were drunk and vulnerable. Maybe it was fear of being a potential bystander if someone tried to take advantage of you – but I was scared something was going to happen to you. Regardless of my feelings toward you and yours toward me, no one should ever find themselves in a position where if they’re telling the truth, it’s someone else’s word against theirs. I’ve seen it too happen many times already.”

“What do you say in response to that?” Annabel thought to herself – shocked by how genuinely you answered her question. Since you were honest with her, she figured she could at least be honest with you.

“If it were you,” she began, “I wouldn’t have done for you what you did for me.”

“Yeah,” you agreed, “you probably wouldn’t – but that’s neither here nor there. Because I’m me, and you’re you.”

“…Are you really not interested in Felix?” Annabel asked. She was surprised by your disgusted groan.

“Oh my god–” you put your face into your hands and loudly groaned “–I don’t understand why everyone has an obsession with this guy.”

Annabel raised her brow. “Seriously?”

“Yes! He’s so gross – I studied in an empty classroom last week. He sat next to me, basically propositioned me, and then put his hand on my thigh! Does that sound like someone I would want to date?”

“You know he’s just doing it to get your attention because he likes you, right?”

You scoffed at her input. “Pffft– and that makes it alright of him to invade my personal space via sexual harassment? I hate how everyone makes excuses for him – and why? Because he’s richer than God and has an ‘alright-looking’ face? So what?”

“Oh, believe me,” snickered Annabel, “he’s more than just ‘alright-looking’ and he fucks as good as he looks.”

You sagely shook your head. “A person like that has nothing to offer himself. He desperately clings to his family’s wealth and the benefits of his status so tightly – and he pretends not to enjoy it, but he’s the type of person to love leeching on someone’s misfortune to feel better about himself.”

You shuddered as you remembered Felix’s constant leering at you since the term began.

“He’s like a vampire – I’ve seen enough of them in high school to recognize them from miles away.”

Annabel was utterly silent at your analysis of Oxford’s Golden Boy. She never considered the possibility of someone out there who didn’t absolutely covet and revere him. She assumed that you were purposely playing ‘hard-to-get’ to get his attention, but maybe you were sincere in his disgust by him.

“Plus, he looks like the type to be absolutely shit at foreplay and only knows how to stick it in.”

Annabel was so caught off-guard by your statement that she immediately burst out laughing. You were surprised by her reaction and started to laugh, too. She was laughing so hard that tears started rolling down her cheeks, and her stomach started to hurt.

“HE IS!” she agreed while nodding. “He does the bare minimum! I’ve been giving him constant blowjobs, and I can count the number of times he’s eaten me out with one hand! The only type of prep he knows how to do is finger me!”

“Oh my god! EW!” you guffawed. “Why did you put up with him for so long?!”

Annabel shrugged. “He’s the most popular guy on campus – even the upperclassmen adore him. I was always the popular girl throughout primary and secondary prep. It just made sense.”

“My parents told me college was all about discovering new things about yourself,” you said. “Maybe…you could do that for yourself.”

Annabel looked wistful before nodding. “Yeah…you know this doesn’t mean we’re friends, right?”

You rolled your eyes. “Please, tonight’s the last night I’m willingly dealing with a demon like you. I’ll stick to forcing Michael to watch my favorite Johnny Depp movies—thank you very much.”

Annabel watched your eyes soften at the mention of your friend…Michael Gravy? Was he the guy who left the two of you together after snarking at her?

…Oh god, it all made sense now.

“Are you and Gravy fucking?” she bluntly asked. She huffed in amusement at how red your face became as you began to sputter.

“WHAT?! No-NO! We’re friends!” you exclaimed before getting all shy.

“You were awfully protective of him a bit ago to be ‘just friends,’” Annabel countered. “Spill it – what’s going on between you two?”

“He’s my best friend,” you explained to Annabel. “He let me stay with his family after I finished repainting my assignment – which was really amazing of him.”

She watched how you smiled when continuing to talk about him.

“I know he can seem a bit odd and rude at first,” you continued. “But Michael is one of the best people on campus. He can be really sweet when you get close to him – especially when he talks about his family. His little sister, Lily, is so adorable! He’s a total nerd but a complete sweetheart when you get to know him.”

Annabel bemusedly watched as you gushed about your ‘best friend.’ It was almost sweet how gone you were for the nerd. You didn’t even realize how gone you were for him. For a bit, Annabel could see why Felix was so enamored with you.

“Well,” she interrupted as she stood up, “I guess your obliviousness to your feelings isn’t any of my business or whatever. Thanks for…helping me – it was really nice of you.”

You warmly smiled at her. “Sure! Do you have to meet anyone tomorrow morning?”

“Uh, no?”

You walked to your closet and grabbed a towel, a worn T-shirt, and old sweats. You handed them to her as Annabel looked at you in confusion.

“Since you’re here,” you began, “and it’s already like…3 a.m. – you might as well shower and stay over since tomorrow’s Saturday.”

“…Why?”

“You still have puke all over you,” you explained, “and it’s getting really hard pretending it’s not extremely gross. Plus, I can’t imagine you’re comfortable right now.”

“What’s with the clothes?”

You shrugged. “Well, I can’t exactly have you sleep in your dress and ruin my sheets! You can shower and sleep on my bed while I sleep on my roommate’s. Now, are you going to take them?”

Annabel hesitated before she took the bundle from your hands. You then opened the door. While holding it, you looked at her as if expecting her to follow you. What confused her most was the way she did exactly that.

While in the shower, she didn’t even mind that you didn’t have any of her usual hair products. Your conditioner looked like it was bought at a cheap dollar store – you didn’t even have a loofah. But when she exited the shower stall before drying herself with your towel and changing into your baggy clothes, she felt calmer than she had these past few weeks. As she crawled under your sheets and comforter, you turned off the night and wished her good night.

Annabel stared at the ceiling for about an hour before she grabbed her phone. She managed to find it while digging through her dress pockets. She was going to wash it when she got back to her dorm. Opening it, she rolled down at the dozens of messages from India and their girlfriends. Her eyes slightly widened at the soft *ping* her phone let out when she got a new message to show it was from Felix.

To her surprise, she didn’t feel anything. She didn’t care he messaged her that he had forgotten their plans. Staring at her screen, she just felt…nothing. So she did the very thing she should have done weeks ago.

She deleted Felix Catton’s number from her contact list.

Annabel slept better that night than she had all term.

After that night with Annabel, life simply went on. She and you weren’t ‘friends’ per se, but she no longer went out of her way to torment you like she had done before. She even told off some of her friends when they talked about you behind your back.

You two weren’t friends, but you hoped that there was at least some fraction of mutual respect. If you couldn’t be friends, then at least you two didn’t have to be enemies – you were happy to settle for being a ‘frenemy.’

You found yourself sitting by yourself at one of the tables in the library. Michael had to meet with one of his teachers about an essay but promised to meet with you as soon as he finished. You were repeatedly listening to Carrie Underwood’s “Before He Cheats” when you heard the chair next to you being pulled out.

Fully expecting it to be Felix, you were ready to tell him to fuck off and bother some other poor soul that needed saving, but you were surprised to find that the person sitting next to you was his cousin, Farleigh Start. He introduced himself by stating his name and giving you a firm handshake. There wasn’t much you could do but reciprocate.

“Quite the save you gave our Annabel,” Farleigh grinned. “Very magnanimous of you, especially considering how she treated you.”

“What do you want from me?” you blurted out. “I’m busy, and I would appreciate it if you just left so I can continue studying.”

You weren’t normally so rude, but this was Felix Catton’s cousin – and if this was a ploy to get you in his pants, you wanted no part of it. But your skepticism only seemed to please the boy sitting beside you more. His wry grin curled into a wide Cheshire Cat smile as he continued to stare at you with eager fascination.

Farleigh started to lean toward you, and you instinctively leaned away from him. You eyed him with extreme caution as if he were a mad scientist and you were a paralyzed specimen. And his eyes looked like he couldn’t wait to cut you open.

“I like you,” he stated. “Let’s be friends.”

Tagging: @ethereal-athalia, @arcielee, @valeskafics, @asa-do-your-thing, @aphroditesmoon, @axelsagewrites, @the1999kid, @poolnoodlerescuer, @aemondsbabe, @winterblu2, @abaker74, @whereismymindno, @agustdeeyaa, @iamavailablesstuff, @bonnieblue0606, @st-eve-barnes, @nyxthoughtss, @immyowndefender, @ilovemydinoboi, @ahristata, @cxp1d, @jinsoulorbitzen12, @temptation-waits, @bollzinurmouth, @jcngw0ns, @seababehh, @destinydestnation, @lankyboi4, @mindless-rock, @cassavacakes, @paradisepoisons, @pansexualpamandabear, @erikasurfer, @lissamans, @cookielovesbook-akie, @thesmutconnoisseur, @izzyisstuff, @lariisouz

Reblog if you liked reading this chapter and want me to continue! Also please comment if you want to be added to the taglist!

#saltburn x reader #saltburn #saltburn crack #saltburn au #michael gavey x reader #felix catton x reader #farleigh catton #farleigh start #venetia catton #oliver quick #michael gavey #saltburn 2023 #saltburn movie

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dawnisdreamlanding · 1 year ago

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CHAPTER 2

Ghost x Reader x Konig

Neighbor! and Roommate!au hehe

About me | Masterlist |

Author's note: Happy Hanukkah! I'd like to say THANKS SO MUCH FOR THE SUPPORT FOR THE FIRST PART AAAA!! I've been wanting to write fanfics for agess but I was always too nervous to hahahdsf so all the support means so much to me, especially for it being my first fic. But less talk, more story, I hope you enjoy part 2! <3

‘Why am I meeting so many tall, buff guys today? Well, not that I’m complaining,’ you chuckle inwardly. Konig’s so tall that when he greets you, he bends down slightly. Talk about being short. You mentally shake that thought away before smiling and telling him to follow you to your apartment.

Everything goes smoothly, and he ends up moving into your apartment the following week. It takes him a couple of days and a little head-banging on the door frame due to his height for him to get used to your shared apartment.

It’s been a month since then. You learn he’s from Austria, and he starts to call you ‘Maus’ which was self-explanatory. But you never really learned anything else other than that. So, to recap, both your neighbor and roommate are both silent and secretive. And they’re hot. You quickly shake that thought away. You shouldn’t be thinking about them like that!

Speaking of Simon, you haven’t seen him for a couple of days. You wonder what he’s doing. After a few extra moments of silence, you realized you’ve spaced out from doing your work. Your gaze lands on the long list of emails you’ll be needing to respond to by tonight, followed by the time on your computer on the bottom right of the screen. ‘7.43 pm’. Ugh, this looks like you’ll be staying back late in the office tonight.

It’s already been a few hours since the last of your coworkers said goodbye to you, and the office lights has been turned off except for your section of the office. The darkness surrounding the office was a little unsettling if you were being honest, but you pressed on with answering those emails. Your phone buzzing makes you jump in your seat and the bright screen in contrast to the surroundings makes you squint a little.

Oh, Konig’s calling. You pick up the call and you’d be lying if you said you weren’t relieved to hear someone’s voice after hours of overtime. The line’s a little staticky, but his voice comes through the phone. “Hello, Maus? Where are you?” Konig sounds worried. “Hey Konig!” You try to sound a little upbeat, but your exhaustion comes through nonetheless. “I’m working overtime tonight; I’ll be coming home late.”

Home. You don’t know when you started referring to your apartment as ‘home’, since you’ve always thought your apartment felt so soulless since you moved in. If you think hard about it, the emptiness of your apartment only ever seemed to disappear when Konig’s large frame started to fill in the empty space in your apartment. Despite not knowing much about Konig’s life, the two of you spend quality time together, bonding over shows on Netflix ranging from ‘The Good Place’ to ��Emily In Paris’. Though you’d have to admit, the more mind-numbing the show is, the more entertaining it is when you hear all Konig’s quips and comments while the two of you watch it. God, you wish you were hanging out at home with Konig now.

“Maus?” Konig calls me once again, snapping me out of my train of thought. “H-huh? Sorry could you repeat that?” I reply. “It’s looks like its about to rain hard tonight, do you need me to bring you home?” his voice gets a little more staticky by the second, and you’re only able to get out a “it’s fine” before the power in the office shuts down.

“Oh hell no,” you say out loud to yourself. You watched enough horror game playthroughs to know that you’re not staying a second longer in office if you want to see another day. Your line gets cut off and you groan. If this isn’t the start of a horror movie.

You managed to exit the office without tripping in the darkness with being little on edge. Little droplets of rain start to fall to the ground, slowly painting the pavement a darker shade of grey with each drop. Your line comes back and you were seconds away from calling Konig to ask him to drive you back home but then a hulking figure leaving the nearby grocery store enters your field of vision.

You are quick to look at this guy because who the hell is he and why is he dressed in all black at night, looking like a robber? Oh my god is he a robber? Oh, it’s your neighbor, Simon. You should really stop bumping into him in such shady situations.

---

Simon ends up driving you back to your apartment complex. This time around, you try to talk to him the car ride there. In between the awkward silences, the two of you managed to bond over some shared bands playing on the radio and you learn that he’s from the military.

“’s not fair that they’re makin you work overtime like this.” Simon grumbles out. “Yeah well, what can I do? Besides, they pay me quite well.” You reply. It was true; the company you worked is quite taxing at times, but the benefits and pay holds you back from quitting.

“Well,” he inhales as he puts his car into park. “If you ever need a lift home, just let me know.” His offer puts a smile on your lips. For someone who you’ve gotten to really know in the span of a 20 minute car ride, he has a heart of gold. “Thanks, I’ll keep it in mind.”

He has the manners to walk you back all the way to your apartment — you ignore the fact he lives literally right next to you — and makes sure you enter your apartment safely before unlocking his own door.

You sigh and drop your bag onto the floor. Your eyelids feel really dry and the constant urge to get some shut eye makes the tasks of getting ready for bed seem to stretch on for far too long. Part of you debates on sacrificing dinner so you can sleep a little earlier but that’s when you hear Konig call out for you in the kitchen.

“Eat.” He speaks. “I cooked dinner for the both of us, but I didn’t know you were staying in the office.” A slight pang of guilt shoots through you at the thought of Konig waiting alone at the dinner table for you to come home. “Thanks, Konig.” I smile at him. “I’m glad to be home.”

Konig tries to ignore the warmth that creeps up on him during moments like these. His eyes naturally drink in the sight of you sitting across the table, happily munching on the food he’s cooked you. Fuck, maybe being a househusband wouldn’t be so bad, especially if its for you. He quickly shakes off that thought. He kills. He likes to kill. What was he even thinking?

“Emily in Paris?” he suggests when you finish your dinner. You sigh and shake your head. “Sorry, too tired, Ko.” The nickname slips out of your mouth so easily that you don’t notice it, but he does. His body freezes up and his brain short circuits. He’s so focused on the nickname you used for him that he doesn’t even feel sadness when you rejected his suggestion. He hums in acknowledgement.

“Maybe this weekend?” You say and he nods, watching you turn to head into your room. He decides not to tell you he’s leaving for work that weekend. Leaving to kill people. “Next weekend.” He confirms. You smile tiredly at him and the warm yellow light illuminates your features. “Goodnight, Konig.” God, he wishes you could call him Ko again. “Goodnight, Maus.”

Taglist! @gojo-mochi

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teaspoonnebula · 2 months ago

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VALL Chapter 1 - The Warning

So as a recap - yes I run this substack. No, I haven't read this novel. I'm really looking forwards to getting to experience new (to me) canonical Sherlock Holmes for the very last time in my life... and I'm going to write a bunch about it, so hold on tight.

“I am inclined to think—” said I. “I should do so,” Sherlock Holmes remarked impatiently. I believe that I am one of the most long-suffering of mortals; but I'll admit that I was annoyed at the sardonic interruption.

LOL I love how we jump right into Holmes and Watson banter. Watson's understated "“you are a little trying at times" reminds me of his reaction to Holmes shooting holes in the walls at Baker Street being "I felt strongly that neither the atmosphere nor the appearance of our room was improved by it."

Of course we don't get any indication of the tone in which he says these things, but I think we can guess Watson is countering with a little acerbic wit of his own.

So, Holmes has received a letter from a mysterious figure known as 'Porlock'

Picture to yourself the pilot fish with the shark, the jackal with the lion—anything that is insignificant in companionship with what is formidable:

This idea of the pilot fish is a very cool metaphor. Unfortunately it is entirely ruined for me because it was also used in the Christmas Invasion episode of Doctor Who to describe these things and that's always where my brain is going to go:

Porlock is one of Moriarty's henchmen or representatives! Which makes me interested in the fact that I've never come across this character in pastiches or adaptations or fanfic - why not?

(Also it makes no sense for Watson to know all about Moriarty but that's a Continuity Thing and we all know Arthur Conan Doyle didn't let that sort of thing get in the way of telling his story - more power to him, honestly.)

“You are developing a certain unexpected vein of pawky humour, Watson, against which I must learn to guard myself.

I JUST SAID THAT, HOLMES.

“May I be there to see!” I exclaimed devoutly.

Well THAT is a sucker punch of a line. No, Watson, you won't be there to see, I'm afraid. See, there will be this Swiss boy... anyway, we're getting off track.

Turns out Porlock is a bit of a mole (I wouldn't quite go so far as to say 'double agent'), and has been giving Holmes information provided he is paid enough. This includes a secret cipher which relates to a particular book, which Holmes assumes will arrive in the second post.

GUTTED I didn't read this book when I was 11, I loved ciphers and would have lapped this up.

“Your native shrewdness, my dear Watson, that innate cunning which is the delight of your friends...

"your friends" Lol Holmes just say "Me" we know that's what you mean - and gosh, he's being so sarcastic with Watson!

Billy the page shows up with the second post and readers, I CHEERED at Billy. Does he say anything? No. But BILLY!!! Alas the letter from Porlock says that he just had an unpleasant encounter with Moriarty (with an envelope addressed to 221b in his possession, whoops!) and so so he won't be sending along the key to the cypher.

I love that Holmes' reaction to this isn't frustration at not getting his cypher, but worry for Fred Porlock, and hope that Moriarty doesn't actually suspect him. THIS is why I love Canon Holmes - I think he is fundamentally kind...

“Perhaps there are points which have escaped your Machiavellian intellect.

Holmes points out that they might be able to work out which book is required for the cypher, and guides Watson through his deductive process - which is adorable. And I loved following along with it too - with my knowledge of Victorian ephemera I was hoping it was going to be a Bradshaw, but as Holmes notes to both Watson and me, the range of vocabulary needs to be broader!

It's a Whitaker's Almanac! But not the new edition - the old one. This is a fun little reversal which gives us a moment of Holmes thinking he's 'failed'.

The message suggests that someone called Douglas who lives at Birlstone House, Birlstone, is in danger.

(Clearly this is a totally different house to Hurlstone, from Musgrave Ritual....)

After deciphering the message, Holmes and Watson get a visit from an Inspector MacDonald. I was a little sorry this isn't one of the familiar Yarders (Hopkins, my beloved...) but I'm going to be interested to get to know him. Alas, Holmes is too late to save Douglas - he has already been murdered.

***

So, uh, I'm having the time of my life reading this, honestly. It's such incredibly good fun. I'm intrigued that whatever has happened to Douglas must somehow be linked to Moriarty.

There's a lot of banter about Watson's intellect which I feel should frustrate me more, a lot of the dialogue feels like it's bordering on being quite patronising to Watson, but I think his reactions suggest this is comfortable back and forth done from a place of security in each other.

#letters from watson #lfw #valley of fear #vall #sherlock holmes

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burningstrangerkingdom · 2 years ago

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Lights out

pairing: charles leclerc x reader

summary: after returning from a triple header where you accompanied your boyfriend Charles, you find a surprise in the apartment.

warnings: none

notes: this is the first fanfic I write, I hope to improve over time, any type of interaction is welcome < 3

After a triple header which your boyfriend practically begged for you to acompany him, you were certenelly glad to be back in your home in Mónaco.

"I'm dying to return to my bed, tou will never take me out of it again" you dramaticalized in your way stairs up to your apartment.

"I don't see a problem with that" he teased, making you chucked at his statement.

"No, but really, I, of course, had the idea of a tour like that being tiring but it's incredibly exausting, my love, I'm going to plan a relaxing week for you to recharge your energies".

It was the first time you get to witnessed a triple header first hand with him, due to your last job being so demanding that you got to lost the oportunity to join him in that kind of trips multiple times, so now, seeing how bad those kind of shows could affected him, you thought it was the least you could do to help him since he had been nothing but a wonderful boyfriend to you.

"Thank you, chérie, but all I need is you and a good amount of pasta, that Andrea should never heard of" he joked back to you.

It was kind of cute how he always, being the nicest person you've ever met, tried to dismiss any kind of attention to him and light it off with a joke, too humble for his own good, and even though sometimes those actitudes freaked you out, that as a part of his personality was also something you loved about him.

Trying to get ahead of him so that you could plan the following days taking advantage of the ideas that came to your mind, you made a short run until you reached the door of your home, you opened it nimbly and carelessly dumped your luggage, now focusing on finding the light switch

"Fuck" you said when you realized that there was no light in the room.

"What happened, cherie?" asked confused Charles as he tried to enter the room by dodging the luggage spread on the floor.

"I'll tell you in a minute".

The lack of electricity in the place also puzzled you, so you left your boyfriend at the entrance and went to each room to check and realize that they were all in the same condition. Still confused, you did a mental recap trying to find an answer to this situation, when an idea came to your mind, so you took your phone out of your pocket and clicked on the banking app.

"Oh" was all that came out of your mouth when you realized you never made the payment.

Sharing a house is a great commitment, which undoubtedly tests the duration of relationships, which is why since Charles proposed to do it, you tried to work on delegating responsibilities to each other and thus avoid feeling that you are invading his personal space. The problem here is that paying for electricity is something that was up to you, and you had no problem doing it since Charles spent most of his time flying, in the factory or racing, you considered it fair that this task fell on you. being the one who spent most of his time in the apartment.

You thought you made the payment a few days ago, but when you checked your bank account you realized that you never completed the transaction, which you embarrassingly confessed to your boyfriend.

He looked at you curiously, then chuckled and burst out laughing, "Oh, mon amour, of course you did".

Your first reaction was to be embarrassed by everything that happened, but upon hearing his melodious and contagious laugh you had no choice but to laugh at the ridiculousness of the situation as well.

You both ended up leaning back on the couch, giggling. "Oh god, i love you" stated Charles as he ran a hand contouring your face.

"Even when i make your house look like a tunnel?" you teased while excessively batting your lashes.

"Even when you leave Monte Carlo in completly darkness" at that, you lightly smacked his arm, earning a giggle from him.

Thank you so much for reading it, it was a weird idea that I got yesterday, hope you liked it <3

#charles leclerc x you #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc fluff #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #f1 fluff #charles leclerc one shot #cl16 x reader

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1800-fight-me · 1 year ago

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Thunderstorms & Heartache Part Two

Aemond Targaryen x Female!Reader

You can find part one here!

Rating: E (Explicit) MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

Warnings: angst (with a happy ending of course - wink wink), oral sex (f receiving), and PiV sex

Word count: About 3.8k

Synopsis: After a tumultuous reunion with Aemond, will one lie be all it takes to push you apart for good?

Author’s note: Here's part two! Sorry it took me literally a million years - I hope y'all enjoy! P.S. Comments will make my entire day and earn you a kiss on the forehead!

I am no longer using a taglist! Instead if you would like to be notified when I post new fics follow my side blog @jo-writes-fanfic and turn your post notifications on!

Aemond Masterlist

Recap from Part One:

“I must tell you that I was not completely honest with you before,” he said, his voice low and vulnerable.

“About what?” you asked carefully.

“I do know who my brother intends to betroth you to,” he replied.

You scrunched your eyebrows in confusion, wordlessly asking him to explain, even as you extricated yourself from his grasp and crossed your arms.

He pressed his lips together.

“You are to marry me,” he said finally.

“What?” you gasped.

Part Two:

You already yelled at him and called him a liar. There was nothing else to say.

You felt empty, numb. When the anger was released you weren’t sure what else was there.

He hadn’t defended himself when you raged at him like you expected him too.

Aemond took the verbal lashing with guilt and understanding in his eyes, and it took the wind and the anger out of you.

He helped you settle into Vhagar’s saddle in silence.

You rode in that same heavy silence, and soon the sky overhead broke and rain poured.

The raging storm matched your mood so you could not bring yourself to complain.

Besides, the rain hid and washed away your quiet tears at his betrayal. Of course he lied to you about something as important as your future and your duty.

You thought he knew how much fear revolved around your future, so for him to keep such vital information from you was gutting.

Though if you were truly honest with yourself, a future with Aemond inspired significantly less dread than your former betrothed. And it was nothing compared to the ice cold terror you felt when you had no idea who you would be wed to. You knew the kind of man that Aemond is, and you cared for him deeply. Even still, you were hurt.

You could sense that he wanted to talk and attempted to get himself to say something several times, but your sullen quiet kept him from trying to start a conversation.

Hours passed and soon you could see that you were near King’s Landing.

“We shall be there within the hour,” he said as he leaned close enough to your ear in order for you to hear him that you could feel his breath caress your skin.

You felt a spark of anger at yourself that your body reacted so strongly to him as you shivered.

Your back was fully pressed into his chest and there was a part of you, and not a small part, that wished to forget what happened between the two of you and relax into his body and allow him to fully embrace you.

You nodded curtly but said nothing else.

The rain did not let up and neither did your mood.

As Vhagar landed on the outskirts of the city, you allowed Aemond to once again grasp hold of your waist and help you off the massive dragon.

It was unfortunate that anger did nothing to dispel desire, though you supposed that was the story of your life.

He said your name softly as your feet reached the ground and you were pressed against him.

“What?” you asked, your voice broken.

He opened his mouth to speak but you cut him off.

“Aemond, what is there to say? I am exhausted and filthy. Can we not just allow this wretched trip to end without another fight?”

He pursed his lips and nodded.

He helped you onto the back of yet another horse after he had done the same.

He reminded you that while you rode through the city it was important to still be as discreet as possible, so you both pulled up the hoods of your cloaks.

You sat behind him and tentatively wrapped your arms around his trim waist.

You gave into the desire for comfort and pressed yourself against him fully and buried your face in his back as the horse began a light trot.

He placed his hand over yours and ran his thumb back over your skin and you relaxed immediately.

You knew it wasn’t fair to seek his comfort when you had been so angry with him, but you could not choose your feelings for him.

Besides, you were covered in mud and remnants of blood, traumatized, and tired beyond belief.

You actually began to doze off, glad for your tight grip on Aemond that prevented you from falling, and were nearly startled when Aemond pulled the horse to a stop.

There were hands on you that helped you off the horse, as you realized it was a king’s guard and not Aemond, you stiffened and pulled back.

Aemond chuckled at your befuddled expression and wrapped an arm around your shoulders.

Queen Alicent was suddenly there and she looked at you and Aemond in concern, placing a hand on both your faces.

“Are you alright?” she asked somewhat breathlessly as if she had raced across the Red Keep to greet her son.

“Still in one piece,” Aemond replied.

She sighed in relief and ordered you to be escorted to your new chambers.

With one last look back at Aemond, you allowed a king’s guard to guide you then complied when the maids within undressed and bathed you.

You tumbled into the large four poster bed, slid between satin sheets, and allowed sleep to pull you under.

_______________

Your hands were covered in blood. You stared at them in horror, recognizing the hands before you as your own but also not comprehending that fact, as you turned them palm up.

Blood pooled in your palms and dripped down onto the grass before you. You looked up and saw that you were in a meadow filled with flowers of the most violent bright red. Your breathing quickened as panic threatened to consume you.

You turned around, hoping to escape the horror, but stopped short when you saw an enormous mirror with intricate gold details that decorated the frame.

In the mirror you saw yourself, hands still coated in now drying blood, but to your terror, there was a large dragon behind you.

A dragon with blood coating its teeth and maw as it snarled. You trembled where you stood, unable to do anything but stare into the mirror.

The dragon had snow white scales, piercing eyes of sapphire blue, and sharp claws that were dark with the coppery color of dried blood.

You were petrified, and yet….

The dragon cocked his head in a motion that felt all too familiar. You turned around slowly and made full eye contact with the dragon who slowly laid his head down at your feet, showing you complete loyalty.

A sudden feeling of comfort and safety filled you.

Your name was being called, though it sounded far away. You began blinking rapidly and soon your location changed.

You were dreaming, you realized as you blinked your eyes open to find yourself in the bed you had tumbled into the night prior.

And for the first time in days, the person that woke you was not Aemond.

There was a pang of something that felt dangerously close to disappointment at the realization that the person that woke you was a lady’s maid.

“My lady, it is nearly midday and the prince is here and has requested you meet him for lunch,” the kind woman said.

You nodded and began to rise, even as your heart skipped a beat.

After dressing and being fussed over enough, you stepped out of your chambers and smiled as you saw him.

He breathed out a sigh of relief as he smiled at you warm enough to melt your heart.

“How are you feeling?” he asked with concern. You took the half step forward and hugged him tightly, and after a moment of surprise, he hugged you back.

He chuckled softly. “I came here to beg your forgiveness, I did not expect to obtain it so easily.”

You laughed, the sound thick with unshed tears.

“I am sorry that I was not honest with you,” he said as you pulled back and stared up at him.

“I would be more willing to let you completely off the hook if you explained yourself,” you said with a smirk.

He smirked right back at you and said, “I would be happy to, my lady, would you allow me to escort you to lunch while I do so?”

You nodded and took his offered arm.

You walked through the halls of the Red Keep and into the beautiful gardens full of blooming flowers of purple and white.

“I thought you understood me. That you understood…”

“Understood?”

“The amount of fear and dread that I have felt about my future, my duty.” you said as you looked down at the ground.

“You did not always feel that way though,” he said, clearly thinking back to your shared childhood.

You felt a stray tear fall down your cheek.

“I was certainly more carefree when we were young. And also…also I had deluded myself into thinking I would be wed to you, before we fell apart that is, and a future with you did not seem so scary,” you confessed.

“It is unfortunate that we had such a deep misunderstanding and became so angry with one another, for that was my wish as well,” he said.

“Childish dreams I suppose,” you said and he chuckled.

“Not anymore. I was certain due to your disdain towards me that the news that we were to be betrothed would not be well received. I found myself acting cowardly by not telling you,” Aemond said gently.

You sighed softly.

“I have to be honest with you,” you said, nerves making your voice breathy and high.

“Yes?”

“I have never once hated you. In fact I am almost certain I have loved you for my entire life,” you said.

And under the willow tree with a picnic set up beneath it, Aemond pulled you to a stop.

He cupped your cheek and led you to look up and meet his gaze.

“How fortunate it is that we feel the same way,” he purred.

You grinned, even as you rolled your eyes at him, and pulled him in for a life shattering kiss. As much as you liked to pretend, you were clearly not immune to his charms.

He consumed you and you melted into him, became one with him as his lips moved against yours and your tongues tangled.

He gripped your waist as you plunged a hand in his silken white hair that you have so long admired. He backed you up enough that your back hit the trunk of the tree. You groaned.

He was moments away from using the tree behind you as leverage to lift and hold you up, when a cleared throat interrupted your passionate embrace.

“So I take it you are on board with this marriage?” Aegon drawled.

You pulled back from Aemond and glared at your king. He smirked in traditional Targaryen smugness that made your blood boil.

You pointed a finger at him and Aemond pulled you back against his chest before you could lunge at Aegon the way you would when you were all children.

“You are an absolute imbecile-”

“Careful, my beloved, he is your king. Even if that was the worst kidnapping you’ve ever been a part of,” Aemond said and his joke managed to cut through your anger.

You huffed a reluctant laugh even as Aegon smirked.

“The wedding will be this afternoon,” Aegon ordered as he turned away.

You looked back at Aemond, your eyes huge and he held up his hands.

“This is news to me as well,” he said.

You sighed and rested your head on his chest.

“You better pray this dumbass plan of your brother’s concoction works,” you mumbled.

He rubbed his hand up and down your spine in reassurance.

“Whatever the outcome, my love, we will be together,” he said.

You grinned and he kissed you once more.

_______________

The ceremony was small and quick.

All that mattered were your vows, that he was yours and you were his.

He kissed you with such emotion that your heart threatened to burst.

There was an intimate family feast scheduled for directly after, but Aemond led you away, claiming he needed only a moment of your time before you met up with the others.

“Aemond!” you said with a giggle as he pulled you into his chambers and shut the door behind you.

“Hush, wife, I have a gift for you,” he said as he planted a firm kiss on your lips.

A shiver went down your spine as you smiled against his lips.

You kissed him more fervently and he pulled back with a signature smirk and chuckle that used to enrage you, but now filled you with a different kind of warmth.

“I was not using innuendo, my beloved, I truly do have a gift for you,” he said as he extricated himself from your grasp and guided you towards his desk with a hand on your lower back.

You giggled as you followed him.

He presented you with a small box. You looked up at him with lust filled eyes, tempted to toss the box to the side and throw yourself at him and allow yourself to be consumed by your dragon’s flames.

“Open it,” he ordered.

You opened it at the promise you saw in his eye to fulfill your desires.

You gasped at the necklace with a delicate silver chain and beautiful sapphire that winked at you in the firelight. You looked back at your new husband, and saw that the gem on your necklace was an exact match to the one that graced his wounded eye.

“You once told me that sapphires are your favorite,” he said.

Your laugh was choked up by a sob at his obvious thoughtfulness and love for you. He was not lying that he has loved and cared for you for the entirety of your lives.

You thought about your young heartbroken friend who loved you despite the hurt and chose a sapphire to replace his lost eye with some hope that you would approve.

“Will you put it on for me?” you ask shyly as you wipe away the tears.

He smiles, a genuine breathtaking smile. You laugh and cry at the same time again.

Aemond took the necklace from you, then placed his hands on your waist and turned you around gently so you faced away from him. Your breath caught as he grazed his fingers across your collarbone then brushed against your neck.

You shivered.

You waited patiently as he clasped the chain around your neck. You’d never felt lighter, in fact, you felt like you were floating- high up in the air on dragonback.

He turned you back around and continued to adjust the necklace around your throat, a gleam in his eye as you smiled prettily at him- proudly displaying his claim on you.

His lips crashed against yours and you willingly, gleefully succumbed to the storm of him.

You wrapped your arms around his neck and pulled him closer, held him tighter. The feeling of his strong warm body against yours had you melting.

As his tongue grazed yours, you tangled your fingers in his hair.

He kissed you thoroughly and completely as he claimed your mouth. You whimpered with desire and it only spurred him on more.

He gripped your waist tighter as he guided you to walk backwards until your legs bumped into the bed.

He led you to sit on the edge of the bed and you whined as he pulled his lips away from yours. He smirked cockily and then surprised you when he didn’t kiss you again, he didn’t guide you to lay back or crawl on top of you, no- he kneeled in front of you.

He slowly removed your shoes and stockings before he ran his hands up your now bare legs, pushing your skirt up, up, up until his hands rested on your thighs.

He placed your ankles on his shoulders and you took a shuddering breath.

He ran his nose against your calf as his hands inched higher up your thighs.

He groaned with desire.

“You’re mine, aren’t you, gorgeous?” he purred.

You nodded your head and but your lip as you watched him, and a second heartbeat throbbed in your core.

“Say it,” he ordered, his voice soft as his nose grazed up to the middle of your thigh. Your breath caught as he pushed your skirt up high enough that your panties were exposed to him.

“I’m yours,” you breathed out.

“Mhm,” he hummed as he pressed soft opened mouth kisses to the sensitive skin of the inside of your thighs.

His lips moved higher and higher as did his hands until he gripped your hips and his face was level with your core.

His eye flickered to the wet patch in your panties and he hummed his approval.

The sight of him between your legs was the most erotic thing you’d ever seen and your breaths came fast and quick.

He buried his nose in your still clothed pussy, took in a deep breath, and groaned with desire as he exhaled.

You whimpered.

His gaze met yours and he smiled at the sight of you shuddering with desire for him.

The anticipation was more than you could take.

“Please, Aemond,” you whined.

“I thought you’d never ask,” he teased and hooked a finger in your panties and pulled them slowly down and off before he dropped them on the floor.

He moaned as he took in your glistening pussy, wet just for him.

Before you could finish whining the word please again, his mouth was on you.

He licked a long stripe up your core and groaned once more.

“Nectar of the gods,” he murmured before he devoured you.

He licked and licked and licked you and made you feel a way you’d never felt before.

You moaned wantonly as he sucked at the bundle of nerves at the apex of your thighs and you gave you a pleasure unlike any before.

He slipped a finger inside you and you squeaked at the intrusion, but soon moaned as he crooked his finger and rubbed against a spot you’d never found yourself.

You felt something build inside you as he continued to move his tongue on your clit in a perfect rhythmic action.

He slipped another finger inside you, stretching you a bit, but you couldn’t be bothered as your release became impending.

“Aemond,” you whimpered and he groaned into your pussy.

“Give it to me, my love,” he ordered.

Your release shattered through you with a moan loud enough to echo through his chambers. You couldn’t bring yourself to care or be embarrassed. Not when your new husband looked beyond pleased with you.

“You are utter perfection,” he breathed out as he stared at you, his mouth slightly open and his pupil dilated with desire.

He stood from his kneeling position before you and your eyes fell to the obvious evidence of his arousal. Your mouth watered.

He kissed you deeply before pulling back once again.

He quickly and efficiently removed his clothes and then yours.

Your breath quickened once again as you took in the glorious sight of Aemond completely bare before you. You’d dreamed of this many times, but nothing could have prepared you for when he laid you down and slotted himself between your legs.

As your eyes met his, all of the nerves fell away. You were ready for him and felt completely secure in his arms as he kissed you gently, sweetly, in preparation for what was to come.

“I love you,” you said as his lips trailed down your neck.

“You, my beloved, are the love of my life,” he imprinted onto your skin as he trailed his lips down to your breasts.

He licked and sucked at the peaks of your breasts and you moaned as you tangled your fingers into his hair and urged him on.

You somehow became even wetter and your slick coated his cock as he slid it through your folds.

“I need you,” you breathed out and he grunted in agreement.

He leaned up and kissed your lips once more before he slotted himself against your entrance and slowly began to push inside you.

You gasped at the intrusion and he murmured sweet words and pressed soft kisses to any of your skin that he can reach.

He pressed in and in and in. There was some discomfort but he had readied you thoroughly so there was not the pain you had anticipated.

Once he was seated fully inside you, you wrapped your legs around his waist and kissed him.

His lips moved against yours with such gentleness that despite the fact that you’d loved him nearly all your life, you somehow fell in love with him even more.

He pulled back with a hand on the side of your face, a question in his expression, and as you nodded he began to move inside you.

He pulled nearly all the way out of you before he slid back in.

You moaned breathlessly and he moaned along with you.

So slow, his pace was nearly excruciatingly slow as he pulled out and pressed back deep deep inside you and reached a place that had never been reached before.

Over and over again until your patience was lost.

“Faster,” you urged and with a groan that showed how frayed his self control was, he complied.

And you learned how truly full of fire the blood of the dragon was.

Aemond pulled out before snapping his hips back in against yours. The pace quick and the thrusts deep.

He gave you a pleasure unlike any you had ever experienced before. You felt so full, a feeling you had never thought you would be so desirable.

You felt complete as your husband filled you and you clenched around him.

You pulled his face down to kiss him messily and his thrusts became frantic.

He twirled his tongue with yours and you gripped his back and held him as close to you as was possible.

The wet sounds of your coupling filled the room and only increased your desire for him.

His pleasure was your pleasure as he held you tight and moaned your name into your mouth as he came and filled you with his seed.

He kissed you once more, twice more, three times before he pulled out of you and rolled to lie next to you on the bed, giving you both time and space to catch your breath.

You turned to look at him and trailed your fingers down his cheek, then across his chiseled chest and stomach.

“When can we try that again?” you asked, still a bit breathlessly.

He chuckled and took your hand in his. He pressed a kiss to your palm.

“Whenever you want, my gorgeous wife, but at least give me a few moments to recollect myself,” he replied with a smile.

Later, you strode into your own wedding feast arm in arm with your new husband, more than fashionably late, a smile on your lips and the sapphire necklace around your throat glittering in the light the same as Aemond’s matching eye.

You were unafraid of your father’s reaction, certain you were of his impending arrival once he received the news.

The truth is, you’d never felt more secure. Your heart healed, your future one of promise and love rather than fear and hurt, and the love of your life by your side to weather life’s storms with.

#aemond targaryen #house of the dragon #hotd #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen x you #aemond targaryen smut #aemond targaryen x female!reader

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ofmdrecaps · 5 months ago

Text

07/03/2024 Daily OFMD Recap

TLDR; Rhys Darby; Taika Waititi; Leslie Jones; Ruibo Qian; Dominic Burgess; Samba Schutte; Logie Awards; AdoptOurCrew; Auxillery Wardrobe Zine; Teal Oranges & Garlic Soup Week Spotlight Cont'd; Fan Spotlight; Love Notes; Daily Darby/Today's Taika

New month, new blog! Thanks everyone, as you probably can tell there's a new blog for the recaps! I'm doing this to allow for some more silly shenanigans to happen on my main, but also keep the recaps available and more easily accessible to those who want them! For the first few weeks I'll be reblogging them from main, but then will eventually move to just here so as not to overwhelm anyone following. Thanks so much for reading! I love doing these and I was actually surprised how many people followed! I didn't realize so many people were reading, so tysm that warms my heart and made my day!

== Rhys Darby ==

Rhys will be join Baron Vaughn and Rory Scovel on AfterMidnight with Taylor Tomlinson on July 8th, 3 PM PST in Los Angelos, CA! Are you in the area? You can request tickets on their website!

Source: 1iota's Instagram

Next up-- Peacock has posted an exclusive clip of the upcoming The Hungry Games: Alaska's Big Bear Challenge-- starring the voice of our very own Rhys Darby!

youtube

== Taika Waititi ==

Awesome new promo for Time Bandits! I'm gonna keep reminding you because I'm actually super psyched for this. July 24th on Apple TV!

Source: Matt_Grace_Photography

== Leslie Jones ==

Leslie out with the LA Sparks! <3 Also, did you know Leslie will be voicing a character in the New Hulu series Hit Monkey? I didn't know! New seasons starts July 15th!

Source: LA Sparks IG / JoshuaGordon

== Ruibo Qian ==

Our Pirate Queen is going to be taking on the role of Ms. Sherlock Holmes in Ms.Holmes & Ms.Watson in APT 2B at the Old Globe Theatre in San Deigo CA! You can buy tickets for July 27th, opening day -- or any of the showings here!

Source: OldGlobeTheatre Instagram

== Dominic Burgess ==

Dominic is gracing us once again with cat pics. I love it <3

Source: Dominic Burgess' Twitter

== Samba Schutte ==

More pictures with Samba at Dancing with Fire LA with the cast / crew of Advanced Chemistry!

Source: alecmoore219's Instagram

== Logie Award Nominations ==

REMINDER! Our beloved Mads, aka Eddie Redcliffe in Deadloch, aka The Baddest MF in Tasmania, has been nominated for a 2024 Logie for Best Lead Actress! So was Kate Box, her costar, and Deadloch was nominated for Best Scripted Comedy Program!

-- and guess what? It's done by vote! If you feel so inclined, please take a moment to go and vote for our dear Archie/Deadloch (or Dulcie whomever you'd like)! https://vote.tvweeklogies.com.au/ Note: You do need to use your email to submit, just FYI!

== Adopt Our Crew ==

Looks like something exciting will be coming soon from @adoptourcrew! I think I might have an idea what it may be related to...

Source: Adopt Our Crew Twitter

== Auxiliary Wardrobe Zine ==

There's a new non-profit charity zine starting up-- in honor of our beloved Captain Stede and OFMD!

"From his flamboyant coats to his sword-slashed shirts, we want to celebrate EVERY way that Stede and fashion come together! Whether this be a canon look you're fond of, his job as a luxury fashion designer in an AU, or Stede in a style of clothing you personally love (or lack of clothing… pinups anyone?!) we encourage contributors to make this prompt their own. This zine will be a digital-only PDF and will consist of a SFW edition and a NSFW edition featuring fanart and fanfic. All proceeds for the zine will go to Care for Gaza."

Want to learn more? You can visit their carrd.co below for scheduling and FAQ's!

Info & FAQ: https://auxiliarywardrobezine.carrd.co

Artist & Writer Signups will start July 6, 2024!

Follow them on Instagram and Twitter!

Source: The Auxiliary Wardrobe: A Stede Bonnet Zine

== Teal Oranges & Garlic Soup Week Spotlights ==

Teal Oranges & Garlic Soup Week may be over, but that doesn't mean the spotlights have to end! Tonight we have the fantastic @hameko1019! I absolutely adore her style and use of color! You can check her work out on Hameko1019's Twitter! Thank you again to @garlicsoupweek for the wonderful prompts!

Day 1 / Day 2 / Day 3 / Day 4 / Day 5 / Day 6 / Day 7 / Bonus

Source: Hameko1019's Twitter

== Fan Spotlight ==

= Cast Cards =

Tonight's cast card by our fantastic @melvisik is Jordan Feldman who "was listed as 'Heavily Made-Up Man' in The Best Revenge is Dressing Well."

Source: @melvisik's Twitter

== Love Notes ==

Well lovelies, you've made it half way through another week. Only half more to go-- for those of you in the UK, good luck at the elections! For those in the US, tomorrow is July 4th, and while I know there are mixed feelings this year in the US, please remember to take some time to relax and enjoy a day off if you have it.

You're doing so very well friends. There is SO much going on in the world, so much going on in the fandom, so much going on in your lives. But you are still kicking, and I'm so very proud of you for that. If you need to take a break-- do it. Give yourself some grace and get some rest, the world will still be there in a few days. If you've already done that and you're taking some time to yourself-- great job-- you deserve it. Remember that we will still be here, and we will still love you when you get back. Ed and Stede? Still in love when you get back. They're off terrorising some poor patron of their Inn with stories of being gut stabbed, or forcing them to watch a puppet show they came up with.

You're kicking ass at whatever struggles you are dealing with right now-- give yourself time to celebrate the fact you're surviving them. Rest well lovelies, see you soon <3

== Daily Darby / Today's Taika ==

Tonight's theme is these two goof balls singing. Someone help me find Taika singing Queen, cause then we'll have some gif smushes <3 Tonight's gifs courtesy of @celluloidbroomcloset and @eddie-redcliffe!!

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blorbologist · 1 year ago

Text

Feeding a Flying City

[Aeor, by Pretty Useful Co.]

This started as a little exercise in my worldbuilding thoughts for some off-hand stuff mentioned in my current fic, but I uh. Got Into It. So enjoy, if you're into two thousand words of nerding out about fantasy economics and agriculture and spells. For the sake of context, this is specifically looking at Exandria's flying cities in the Age of Arcanum, working off D&D 5E's rules as written (so I'm avoiding inventing spells).

When tackling the Age of Arcanum in my fanfic, I knew going in that I wanted to use this space to stretch my worldbuilding muscles and fill in some of the space left by Matthew Mercer and Brennan Lee Mulligan with reasonably plausible meat and bones.

One thing I was excited to squint at was the issue of how the hell flying cites feed their populations.

The ‘lonely city’ is a common fantasy trope, especially in visual media. Your towering bastion of civilization (or spire of evil) on the open plains, or beside a river, or deep in the mountains certainly makes for a great symbol. A flying city is really the ultimate version of this, completely disconnected from the petty ground below… and the farmland that usually would surround any metropolis.

See, in medieval times, you only had so much time to transport good until they spoiled. Some could be more forgiving than others - however, given a city often aggregates political and financial elite, there is an expectation that they can get their fresh fruits, and decadent game. Even beyond freshness, if you have a lot of people in one place who are not actively growing their own crops, a lot of more-or-less processed food needs to get into the city daily. And though you could station your acres of farmland just over the hill so they don’t ruin the ~scenic approach~, that will cost more to transport. The fact is, having a lot of people - poor and rich - in one place requires a lot of food, every day, to feed them. And it has to come from somewhere.

(Off-topic note, medieval castles (not necessarily cities) were also there to, y’know, defend the populace. So they had to be both near enough to their peasants to respond to aggression, and near enough for the people to get to the castle for shelter when needed. Which is not relevant to this point.)

Magic, like refrigeration, greenhouses and GMO crops, allows a society to sidestep some of these issues. Which is great! But how the flying cities could use the resources they have to feed their population is half the fun in theorizing.

To quickly recap what we know to be common to flying cities of the time:

Limited to the city only, usually a location with ground dense with brumestone (i.e., no farmland).

Their limited ‘undergrounds’ are often fairly dense with more structures (Aeor’s many levels; the labyrinth and tons of administrative locations inside Avalir).

They are nomadic and engage in trade (both with eachother and grounded cities, like Vasselheim).

… but they all likely came from landed roots, and potentially were once perfectly normal cities.

So. How do you feed your people while flying a path that might take years to travel (ex: Avalir’s 7-year trek), especially between trade stops?

The last surviving flying city is Draconia, which is really fragments of a larger nomadic city that decided to remain fairly sedentary compared to its predecessors. Its answer was probably pretty simple: given that Draconia hovered within Dreemoth Ravine, the tailed dragonborn could just… collect a tithe of crops from the enslaved ravenites. It’s already canon that they were put to work in the mines, so working the land also unfortunately makes sense. It’s unclear how the food then got up to the city (skyships, given they have ready brumestone access?), but given Draconia seems to be an exception to the rules I can (mostly) confidently rule out ‘the Age of Arcanum was built on abusing the grounded cities and towns, potentially requiring an age of magically-enhanced farming to provide for the people above and/or risking the farmers going hungry in favor of the mageocracies’.

Here’s where magic offers numerous solutions, and just as many weird problems!

First of all, the stupidly isolated nature of flying cities means that any method of bringing food in has to be extremely structured. Mom and pop can’t just bring the donkey to the farmer’s market to sell their goods in Avalir; to get there you need to fly (more scheduled) or teleport (requires a mage, and limited quantities of goods). So from the getgo a lot of financial control is likely in the cities’ hands. Which… is not all too dissimilar from history, but the lack of flexibility is probably more striking here. Shit, I was hoping to get away from Draconia’s grim worldbuilding.

It also places flying cities in a role very similar to an advancing army, requiring food as they march to be drawn from the surrounding lands. While soldiers can break off and loot towns they pass through, a flying city probably can’t just dock in the middle of farmland, grab all the corn and bolt. So the need for a more organized food transport likely helps protect towns from that exploitation. (Though, with the military posturing of Avalir and Aeor, I could see flying cities strong-arming support from grounded ones in exchange for promised protection/aid if they needed it.)

Of course, when docked at another city (Avalir stayed at Vasselheim for ten days in the weeks before the Calamity), they can fairly easily trade with the surrounding towns there… who are also providing for the existing city. Hosting a flying city must be a huge logistics nightmare, but economically worth the headache.

(Vasselheim likely has a leg up in that it has both a sitting population of mages, such as Vespin pre-fuckup, and the likes of Clerics, who I’ll get to soonish.)

In EXU: Calamity, skyships (and an offhand mention of something called an ornithopter) already exist, which could facilitate the bulk transport of goods. Based on the speed of the Silver Sun in Campaign 3 (4-5 days to cover ~700 miles translates to a speed of ~5-6.5 knots; for context that seems to be about the middling range for a medieval tradeship), this seems like an excellent way of transporting goods that do not spoil easily. Or use arcane equivalents to the canon Bag of Colding to help keep things fresh longer. However, as noted above, this would require a lot of community organization to get crops together when the skyship shows up for harvest.

The tricky thing is that Avalir, at least, follows leylines as it travels. So if there was intent to line up its passes over farmland with their harvest season - to minimize transport distance - it might be difficult to coordinate. Moreover, with an implied many flying cities, and no clear territorial delimitations between their routes (especially if they’re all following leylines; but Avalir at least made stops in Issylra, Gwessar/Tal’Dorei, and Dorumas/the Shattered Teeth at least), I wonder if there would be economic conflict over which cities could be highest bidder for the freshest crops. Which could be Interesting.

(I wonder if sky piracy, or sky privateering, was a thing in the Age of Arcanum. Nydas is said to have been a pirate on the actual seas, so aquatic trade is still going strong, but given the flying cities are so reliant on limited methods to get food… you could put a lot of pressure on a rival city by capturing a few key skyships full of the last harvests before winter.)

Another option is teleportation. Avalir, after all, has an entire guild devoted to teleporting people around, so critical to its functioning that part of the Betrayers’ plan was to leave them without leadership when they struck. However, teleportation is very much a creature-oriented form of transportation; perhaps you could bring up a herd of cattle for slaughter, but that’s a pretty damn high spell slot for beef.

Avalir is in a fortuitous situation, in that it has a longstanding relationship with the Gau Drashari; druids, well-known masters of plant and animal life. In theory, this could mean Plant Growth casts to increase harvests… but at this time the Gau Drashari specifically only live in Caithmoira, guarding this holy site. So hopping from one druid-boosted farmland to another is unlikely.

Well, if transporting food to the cities is such an issue, why not produce food in the cities?

While magical greenhouses must account for some luxury fresh goods for sure, I really don’t think the cities as illustrated have enough real estate to actually support their whole populations like this. Like I noted above, of the two cities we know really well, their insides are already full of labs and labyrinths and all sorts of things probably best kept away from your food supply.

D&D 5E spells offer another answer, and another piece of potentially complicated worldbuilding: Create Food and Water. Per the spell description, it creates enough food to feed 15 people for 24 hours, which seems to neatly solve all our problems! Until you realize the food is explicitly bland (bet you the mages turn up their noses at it), vanishes if not consumed after 24 hours (so that’s a daily 3rd level spell slot from some poor schmuck), and is mostly limited to Paladins and Clerics. You know, godly people, who are so fondly looked upon by the mageocracies. Artificers, at least, are more in line with the Age of Arcanum attitude - but we don’t see any in Calamity, so it’s unclear if the class ‘exists’ per say in the time period. Reducing powerful Paladins and Clerics to food dispensaries - and not even good food, probably for the lower class - would fit in neatly with how the powers of the divine are seen as lesser. Goodberry falls into a similar role: useful, but probably something mages would avoid.

Speaking of spells, let’s get a little fucked up, hm? Who is to say a mage couldn’t just. Summon some pigs to be served up as bacon tomorrow? Well. Conjure Animals specifically says the animals are actually fey, and vanish when their HP reaches 0. Summon Beasts? Same thing. Find Steed? You guessed it. So magic can help us grow food, and transport it, and preserve it, but not actually make it out of nothing. (If there’s a spell I’m missing that completely solves this, please let me know, but I can’t really find one.)

My final little thought came watching geese migrate some time ago. The passenger pigeon has been extinct for… a hundred and ten years, now. But in its hayday, flocks of the birds would literally cloud the sky. Exandria is home to far more stunning beasts than pigeons, and hunting flying game is likely a lot easier when you yourself are flying too.

Sure, you can apply this to actual fishing when the cities are over the seas, but! Imagine fishing boats but for birds and all manner of winged beasts in great flocks, netting and catching them to haul in. Maybe the magical equivalent of those helicopter boar hunts to deal with invasive populations, but landing at all introduces a whole lot more hassle. Big net and flying device = fresh meat, with an arcane twist.

So: how do you feed a flying city? Especially one with a lavish lifestyle as seen in Avalir, or a hard research focus as in Aeor?

Have an extremely regimented relationship with the towns on your path (likely in competition with other flying cities using these leylines when you are) or that otherwise have food you need. Make sure skyships arrive in time for the harvests. Miss that and things get dicey.

Supplement this with trade, both with other flying cities and grounded ones when docked. However, docked time has to be limited to not risk starving out the countryside surrounding the city hosting you.

Small deliveries, especially of fresh livestock, can be accomplished through Porter’s Guild or equivalent.

Magically preserve food thus obtained to survive until your schedule and harvests of X Y z goods next align.

City-based organizations can ‘fish’ for birds as the city flies (or potentially even actually fish as they fly over the ocean) for fresh meat.

Hope to gods (but without hoping to the gods because they’re schmucks) that you time your pick-ups right, that there are no famines, or early frosts, that no one steals your fucking skyships our outbids you on a key agricultural contract, or casts Dispel Magic and makes your food all spoil.

When the carefully-scheduled management of the city’s resources fails, turn to your diviners or healers and have them feed the masses with bland crackers while the Somnovem or Ring of Gold continue eating honeyed lamb and figs.

If you read this far, I'm super flattered you shifted through my rambles! I'll gladly discuss any glaring mistakes or things I've overlooked; this is only what I considered in worldbuilding for a fic, and I don't pretend to be an expert on medieval agriculture or economic practices.

This was still very fun to (over)think about <3

(Water, of course, would be a similar limiting factor, but is easy enough to magically purify, and would not be too bland when made by Create Food and Water, so I didn’t bring it up.)

#critical role #cr meta #i guess?#avalir #aeor #age of arcanum

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