#i learn so many new terms from you guys you are always educating me

[sciderman]

sci,,,, did you grow up in a ingredient household

i... i didn't know what this meant so i had to google it and the answer is no sir! i eat ingredience by choice, we have plenty of sensible snacks around the house at all times but i choose One Whole Cucumber as my snack of choice instead.

[jbaileyfansite]

Interview with NBC News (2024)

Jonathan Bailey admits he’s still grieving the loss of Tim Laughlin, the wide-eyed congressional staffer turned fervent gay rights activist he played in Showtime’s groundbreaking limited series “Fellow Travelers.”

“Playing a character who is always searching for truth and has something to fight for that is meaningful and important made me really think, ‘How do you want to leave the world behind?’” Bailey told NBC News. “It’s a tiring thing for everyone to be like, ‘I want to make the world a better place.’ But Tim is an example of someone who’s a normal guy. He didn’t come from wealth, and he lived life to its fullest, including loving in a way that was just spellbinding.”

That love is the animating force of “Fellow Travelers,” which chronicles the decades-spanning romance between Bailey’s Tim and Matt Bomer’s Hawkins “Hawk” Fuller against the backdrop of key moments in queer history. After falling in love at the height of the Lavender Scare in 1950s Washington, D.C., Hawk and Tim weave in and out of each other’s lives for years at a time, unable to sever their bond. But after learning of Tim’s terminal AIDS diagnosis in the ’80s, Hawk drops everything to take care of Tim in San Francisco, where the former lovers are forced to address the true nature of their volatile relationship.

“Fellow Travelers” was nominated for three Emmys in limited series categories last month: Bailey (who also won a Critics Choice Award) for supporting actor, Bomer for lead actor and creator Ron Nyswaner for writing.

Following the success of Netflix’s romantic drama “Bridgerton,” in which he played a rakish viscount looking for his viscountess, Bailey expressed a desire to tell a sweeping gay love story. He booked the coveted role in “Fellow Travelers” six weeks before the start of filming in Toronto, following an electric Zoom chemistry read with Bomer — one of the most prominent openly gay actors working today — that even brought one of the executives to tears.

While he said he inherited the “inherent shame” of the AIDS crisis as a gay man who came of age in the early aughts, Bailey, who is English, knew very little about the Lavender Scare. He credited the writing of Nyswaner for helping him capture the spirit of Tim, a devout Catholic struggling to reconcile his faith with his growing infatuation with the emotionally unavailable Hawk, who is adept at playing the system to avoid getting outed.

“There’s something so childlike and full of wonder and unadulterated kindness about Tim that never leaves him,” Bailey noted. “When you see the huge effects of the societal pressure and control on gay people and how it affects Tim, I thought, ‘How do you tell a story of someone who’s bruised, battered and frayed by relentless, unforgiving control?’ I think the older he gets, the more painful it is for him.”

Bailey, like many queer people, has had a complicated relationship with religion. He attended a Church of England school and, at 11, was a scholarship student at his local Catholic school, where he “was completely aware of the lack of education around sexuality and gender identity.” Like Tim, he began to question his own “inherited beliefs” in his 20s, when he came to terms with his own identity.

While Tim’s religion makes him believe that something is innately wrong with him, it also gives him the capacity to believe in a love that he has felt but cannot always see with Hawk, who complements him in a way that is both “beautiful” and “painful,” Bailey said. “I think to say that they broke up a few times somehow assimilates it to a heteronormative relationship — they were completely not afforded that.”

“What Tim realizes is that the act of loving is the thing that you want to survive with and live alongside and to die with, and to be the more loving one is sometimes easier,” added Bailey, who thinks “there was no other” man whom Tim loved as deeply as Hawk. “I think the power of their dynamic — the brilliance — is that they met at that time, and it’s just a genius way of discovering and exploring how political and social attitudes really can’t kill love.”

Bailey and Bomer, who have both acknowledged that a show like this might not have even been made a few years ago, see “Fellow Travelers” as a kind of love letter to the queer actors who came before them.

“The way we look at each other is also about the opportunity that we’ve got that wasn’t there before,” Bailey said of his and Bomer’s palpable on-screen connection, which has evolved into a close off-screen friendship. “There’s a weight that comes to telling your own story or other people’s story that are similar or shares elements of your identity.”

On the day of the Emmy nominations, Bailey was in Malta — where he has been shooting the new “Jurassic World” film — with one of his best friends. They had already planned to find somewhere to grab a celebratory drink together in the late afternoon. But by the time they had settled in and tuned in to the livestream announcing the nominees, Bailey’s phone began to ring off the hook.

“The thing that was special, if a little ridiculous, is that we took a little selfie, and I realized there was just a pride flag that was in the distance,” Bailey recalled. “Having now spent a lot of time in Malta, you realize there’s only a few.”

Now on the precipice of superstardom with his roles in “Wicked” and “Jurassic World,” Bailey is redefining what is possible for an out gay actor in Hollywood, becoming a heartthrob to male and female audiences alike — even if he doesn’t often think about that label. “I’m excited to play more roles the older I get, and we will see what the heartthrob status is when I’m in my 50s,” he said cheekily.

As his profile has risen, Bailey has wrestled with which parts of himself he is willing to share publicly. His Olivier Award-winning turn in a gender-swapped West End revival of “Company” gave him an opportunity to speak openly about his sexuality — something he didn’t feel the need to reveal unless it was tied to his work. Now, he feels much more confident in interviews to volunteer certain stories about himself, including a harrowing experience in which a Pennsylvania man called him an anti-gay slur and threatened his life in a Washington, D.C., coffee shop.

For Bailey, who is still adjusting to the privilege of being able to choose his next projects, the company he keeps going forward is just as important as the material he is given to work with. He will return to the stage next year in Nicholas Hytner’s London production of “Richard II” and will reprise his role as eldest sibling Anthony in the next season of “Bridgerton.” He will next be seen as Jack Maddox, a charming academic and celebrity crush of protagonist Charlie Spring (Joe Locke), in the sixth episode of the third season of “Heartstopper,” which premieres in October.

“I recognized in the show something that I obviously didn’t have growing up, which is aspirational, generous storytelling about queer identity and gender identity that wasn’t necessarily a gay [show],” Bailey said of his initial reaction to watching “Heartstopper,” which, like many older queer viewers, made him feel slightly melancholic. “There’s so many people of that generation who just love it, because it’s brilliant and so well-performed by such an incredibly talented young cast.”

But truth be told, Bailey doesn’t think he will ever be able to let go of Tim Laughlin, who he likes to believe had “a very happy end of his life” fighting for AIDS awareness with the ACT UP movement without Hawk by his side. After having spent a year unpacking the life-changing experience of playing the character in post-screening Q&As and media interviews, Bailey has grown to feel the power of his work “more than [he’d] ever known.”

When playing a character who is confronting his own mortality, “you just think about how life is futile and quick,” Bailey said, “and if I can live a life as front-footed and as curious as Tim, then I’ll be a lucky man.”

Source

[30somethingautisticteacher]

Buck turned to Tommy, a curious expression on his face. "Hey, Tommy, I've been wondering... are you a gold star gay?" he asked, his voice casual yet inquisitive.

Tommy nearly choked on his drink, caught off guard by the sudden question. "What?" he sputtered, coughing as he tried to regain his composure.

"Oh, a gold star gay is-" Buck began to explain, but Tommy quickly cut him off.

"No, Ev, I know what it is," Tommy said, shaking his head with a wry smile. "And no, I'm not one."

"Tommy, do you think I qualify as a twunk?" Buck asked, a mischievous grin playing on his lips. Before Tommy could even process the question, Buck continued, "And would you consider yourself a wolf?"

Tommy's head was spinning at the rapid-fire questions Buck was throwing his way. He took a moment to compose himself, trying to process the unexpected turn their conversation had taken.

"Okay, hold on a second," Tommy said, holding up his hands in a gesture of pause. "First of all, where is all this coming from? What's with the sudden interest in gay terminology?"

Buck shrugged, a mischievous glint in his eye. "I don't know, I guess I'm just curious. I mean, we're both queer but we've never really talked about this stuff before."

Tommy couldn't help but smile at Buck's enthusiasm. He knew that once something piqued Buck's interest, he would dive headfirst into researching every aspect of it. It was one of the many things Tommy loved about him - his insatiable thirst for knowledge and his eagerness to share what he'd learned.

"I've been reading up on gay subcultures and identities," Buck continued, his eyes sparkling with excitement. "Did you know that there are so many different labels and categories within the community? It's fascinating!"

Tommy leaned back, preparing himself for the inevitable info dump that was about to come his way. He loved watching Buck get animated about a new topic, his hands gesturing wildly as he shared all the interesting tidbits he'd discovered.

"So, apparently, a twunk is a twink who's more muscular, like a cross between a twink and a hunk. And a wolf is typically an older, more masculine guy who's attracted to younger, more slender men," Buck rattled off, barely pausing to take a breath.

Tommy chuckled, shaking his head in amusement. "Ev, you never cease to amaze me with your ability to absorb and retain information."

Buck grinned, a faint blush coloring his cheeks. "I just find it all so interesting, you know? Learning about the different identities and experiences within our community. It helps me feel more connected, like I'm part of something bigger."

Tommy reached out, taking Buck's hand in his own and giving it a gentle squeeze. "I love that about you, baby. Your curiosity, your passion for learning."

Buck's expression softened, his eyes shining with affection. "And I love that you always indulge me.

"I wouldn't have it any other way," Tommy said, leaning in to press a soft kiss to Buck's lips. "Now, tell me more about these wolves and twunks. I have a feeling I'm about to get a full education."

Tommy couldn't help but chuckle as Buck enthusiastically delved into the intricacies of gay subcultures and identities. He loved seeing his boyfriend so passionate about a topic, his eyes alight with curiosity and eagerness to share his newfound knowledge.

However, as Buck continued to rattle off various terms and labels, Tommy felt the need to set a playful boundary. With a smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth, he held up his hand in a mock gesture of surrender.

"Alright, Ev, Like I said I love your enthusiasm and I'm all for learning more about our community," Tommy said, his tone light and teasing. "But fair warning - if you start throwing around terms like 'bussy,' I might have to tap out."

Buck let out a hearty laugh, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "Okay, okay, I get it. No need to venture into the more, uh, colorful parts of gay slang. I just get so excited about all this stuff, you know? It's like a whole new world to explore."

The way his boyfriend's eyes lit up with each new piece of information, the animated way he gestured as he spoke - it was all so quintessentially Evan and Tommy was enamored by it.

"You know," Tommy said, a fond smile playing on his lips, "watching you get so excited about learning new things is just about the most adorable sight in the world. I could listen to you talk about anything that catches your interest, for hours on end."

Buck's expression turned tender, his eyes shining with affection. "And I love that you're always here to listen, even when I'm geeking out over gay subcultures."

"I wouldn't have it any other way," Tommy said, tugging Buck closer.

Buck grinned, a faint blush coloring his cheeks. "Well, lucky for you, I've got plenty more to share. Did you know there's a whole subset of the community known as 'otters'?"

Tommy chuckled, shaking his head fondly. "I can't say that I did, but I have a feeling I'm about to find out."

"Oh, you bet you are," Buck said, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "But first, what do you say we order some pizza and cuddle up on the couch? I think this calls for a cozy night in, don't you?"

"That sounds perfect," Tommy agreed, pressing a soft kiss to Buck's forehead. "You order the pizza, I'll grab the blankets, and then you can enlighten me on the world of otters and any other fascinating subcultures you've discovered."

As they settled in for a night of good food, great company, and endless learning, Tommy couldn't help but feel like the luckiest man in the world.

[augustsappho]

Goldsmiths Centrists and Palestine: How To Ignore A Genocide - by August Sappho

On some unfortunate Tuesday in October 2023, I was sat shoving a piping hot cheese toastie down my throat in between morning lectures and sat idly with 2 other people in the refectory. Creative Arts students I'd met in the freshers chat who, whenever I had tried to share the contents of my lectures excitedly, had shut me down on the basis of politics being complicated and uncomfortable table talk. Desperate to make friends and coming from a family of people who typically get headaches at the dinner table caused by my ramblings and ravings, I understood and obliged; after all, I want to build bridges, not be the scary monster underneath them. That is until the curious question of Palestine came up, and I stayed quiet. Surely, these self-proclaimed apolitical progressives would be sensible. “I just think it’s all so complicated, really! People need to read up more before they come to broad conclusions!*” Yes, they absolutely should. What a rational take to have formed in the face of a sudden media flurry. In my own opinion, education, and more importantly, history, is the cornerstone of enriching one's ideas and understanding. The same way you use butter in a stew, and like butter, the professionals use a lot of it. And, like butter, it fattens me up, nourishes me and brings me a great deal of comfort. 

Mid-way through the summer term, I was struck by pure delight that I am living in a time where I can access any and every book I could ever dream of accessing either via the internet or a library or simply buying it. I sit, live and breathe in a country where the tuition fees are, yes, expensive but far from American and where people take great risks on their whole lives just to brush it with their fingertips, arm outstretched over a chasm of hope. Unfortunately, my table mates had decided not to utilise any of this incredibly accessible research and immediately followed their statements up by berating and shaming a lecturer in the media department for wearing a pro-Palestine jumper. They alluded very heavily that he should face some sort of consequence or simply not be allowed to wear it. After all, what does Palestine have to do with Creative Arts?  I continued chewing very slowly and very tense. I did think about saying something but decided against it. Months later, I blew up at them because these same apolitical progressives had one too many times scoffed, played devil's advocate and questioned people, including myself, into an uncomfortable corner over political meet-ups, rallies and open letters. Questioning tactics, phrasing, aims to no avail beyond being arseholes - have we tried just being really super duper nice to management guys? I almost laughed when I’d seen one of them had started learning Hebrew out of the blue on Duolingo.

Unfortunately, those self-proclaimed progressives aren't anything new at Goldsmiths University of London. It has a real troubling culture of letting people only engage in what they are comfortable with and not think much beyond that. Gay rights are legal in this country and, therefore, not controversial and, consequently, easy to support. Racism is illegal in this country and, therefore, not controversial to speak up against and easy to publicly oppose. Feminism has had many successful waves here, and so it is not out of the ordinary to call yourself a feminist (without being able to explain much theory behind any of what makes these ideas up or what distinguishes them). Unfortunately, these are also easy things you can add to your social media bios with no further thought, with the sole intent of virtue signalling and repelling conservatives online. While I am grateful for all these comforts and people's ability to declare themselves as such openly, they are often done on a very face-value level and do not always mean you're a particularly good anti-racist or a good ally or a good feminist. They often trick people who have done their homework into a false sense of security. No,they use these words in a way where the thinking has been done for them. You do not have to fight; you just have to pick the glaringly obvious option. They do not have to form moral opinions on the suffragettes bombing mailboxes, the Stonewall Riots or violent plantation liberation attempts from the likes of John Brown. They can simply sit and enjoy the luxury of not ever having to deal with the hard-hitting stuff and pretending they would have come to those conclusions anyway. 

Palestine, then, has acted as an axe, splitting whole student bodies around the world into two general camps. Between those who will occupy, sign letters, donate money, raise hell in the name of justice. In the name of what is good. Between those who will learn and listen and between those who will rattle on the same few talking points, claim to see both sides and claim things are just oh-so-complicated when they simply are not. Those who swear themselves by ideals of liberty and freedom and yet cannot muster a grain of sympathy to fight for those who have none. Those who will even go to the extent of the disenfranchisement of their peers and bullying if it means maintaining close contact with their comfort zones, and Palestine makes them very uncomfortable indeed—hearing chants and seeing flags and skirting around the videos of the bodies and the rubble, having to relocate your lecture or walk past a very obvious liberated zone. It makes it an unavoidable topic, puts politics in the face of those self-proclaimed progressives, and asks them, “Do you care enough to make a change?”. And the answer is a simple no. Instead of engaging with the reading they promised themselves publicly as a show of intellect, they choose to occupy their hours sending secret complaints to the warden, huff in frustration at marking boycotts, and get uncomfortable while swearing they're involved in all this and fully supporting it. Yet following lists, open letter signatures, and the things they mutter to each other paint a different picture. It is as if they know they are on the wrong side. They look left and right to see predominantly white middle-class faces like their own and prime ministers of conservative governments and think of it as some bizarre coincidence. They know they are wrong not to be reading, learning or keeping up to date which is why they maintain their opinions and feign progress until they are awkwardly called out or the simplest of questions peels off the scab.

“It’s [the occupation of the library] hindering students who have every right not to join the protest to do well in their end-of-year assignments!”—a message sent by one of the beloved October centrists. In a conversation that blew up into me confronting them for how they have treated several people, they hammered in that the student occupation of the library was unfair on themselves personally and other students like them. However, the occupation wasn't situated anywhere near the exam rooms nor on an exam day and was solely in the bottom floor front section of the library, where students are allowed to make as much racket as they want already, and people frequently do group projects there for this explicit reason. Anyone who has been to any library knows the bottom floor is always designated as the loud floor, and the higher up you go, the quieter it gets. Our library is quite impressive in size, so while unavoidable on the ways in and out, once you are inside, it was never going to be hard to find a spot to block them out. They did not know this, however, as it had never impacted them beyond hypotheticals in their head, and their argument wasn't dependent on having actually kept their eyes on what students were doing but rather finding anything to scream inconvenience at. All I could think was how funny that a student occupation of a library could be deemed as some unforgivable act because it impacts them directly, but a genocidal occupation in which their university has a hand in just isn't worth the time of day. The warden herself referred to the library occupation as something that ‘threatened’ students.

Let me conclude them with a different quote from the fictional Robin Swift from R.F. Kuang’s ‘Babel’ whose words perfectly encapsulate this ordeal.

“Across the town, students were fast asleep. Next to them, tomes by Plato and Locke and Montesquieu waited to be read, discussed, gesticulated about; theoretical rights like freedom and liberty would be debated between those who already enjoyed them, stale concepts that, upon their readers’ graduation ceremonies, would promptly be forgotten. That life, and all of its preoccupations, seemed insane to him now; he could not believe there was ever a time when his greatest concerns were what colour neckties to order from Randall’s, or what insults to shout at houseboats hogging the river during rowing practice. It was all such frippery, fluff, trivial distractions built over a foundation of ongoing, unimaginable cruelty.”

*the first conversation is paraphrased as best as I can remember it, as I do not record my conversations with people

[ciaossu-imagines]

Once you get this, you have to say five things you like about yourself, publicly. Then you have to send this to ten of your favourite followers (non-negotiable, positivity is cool~) 🌈 🌈

You're not following me on this account but this is where I'll send it anyways <3 (don't feel pressured to do this if you don't want to!)

Aww, you’re so incredibly sweet! Thank you so much for sending this in, I’m really flattered 😊 Now, finding five things is very hard for me because, as I’ve said before – self esteem? That bitch ain’t no friend of mine…so this was hard, ya’ll!! But I think I managed somewhat!

Physically speaking, I have fantastic legs. For being a short bugger, they’re long and because I walk literally everywhere because I don’t drive, and enjoy hiking, they’re well-muscled. I’ve literally had complaints from guys I’ve slept with because they saw thick thighs and automatically assumed soft, fluffy, cute thick thighs, but unless I’m really trying hard, I can’t pinch fat along my thighs or calves very much. My belly, yes. My chest, yes. Upper arms…somewhat. I have to carry groceries home about 2.3 km and then lug them up three flights of stairs, so while I have some batwing fat, there’s also a lot of muscle under there. My legs though – pure muscle, very strong, very shapely – only drawback to them at all is years of having to do 8-12 hours shifts without sitting at all means I have some varicose veins, but I think those are oddly pretty and I personally love them, no matter what anyone else says about them.

My curiosity. No matter how many times I get called nosey or told that ‘the question factory needs to close now’, I  do not think I’m wrong in being curious, in asking questions, in wanting to learn more about what’s going on, what someone means, what something is or does, and all the other various things I like to ask questions about.

I like to think I’m a person who chooses kindness whenever at all possible. I might sometimes falter, fail, or be a bitch. Nobody’s perfect, even when my OCD brain convinces me I have to be to have worth. What matters in the end is that, even if I sometimes mess up, I always keep trying and always look for the kindest, nicest option in the end.

I will fully admit – I’m a dumbass in a lot of ways. I’m not always the best at reading the room, there’s so many topics I know nothing about or need to better educate myself on, I can’t math to save my life without a calculator. Despite all that, I like to think I’ve learned to be emotionally intelligent and I know there are some topics and areas that I’m definitely very intelligent in, maybe even brilliant at.

I like my tattoos a whole lot. Of course, given how expensive tattoos are, especially cover-up work, this is definitely a good thing. In other news, I finally have a tattoo appointment made and the deposit made! It’s in four months, because the artist has a long wait list, but it’s made! For any readers out there, just because I’m curious – I have my arms, thigh, and just below my collarbones done but this is the first time I’ll be doing one of the supposedly ‘really painful’ bits of my body (back of my neck). Anyone have experience in neck or spine tattoos and what am I looking at in terms of pain compared to the other areas, where it didn’t really hurt all that much (except along the veins in my wrist and up around my inner elbow, where it felt more like really unpleasant, radiating pins and needles)?

[whereareroo]

I’M BACK

WF THOUGHTS (3/27/23).

I’ve been on “special assignment” in North Carolina. I hope you didn’t miss me too much.

During my hiatus, I read a book written by a guy who biked across America. The book was about his trip, and how it helped him come to grips with some personal demons. It took the guy 294 pages to tell his story.

The book taught me a new word: “honyock.” (Pronounced: hon-yock.) It’s a derogatory term used to describe an oaf or rube. Originally, the word was apparently used to describe peasant immigrants from central or eastern Europe. The biker heard about honyocks when he was biking through New Mexico. I like new words. I’m going to add honyock to my vocabulary.

I always thought there was a rat-like animal called a bow weevil. I don’t know how or when I heard about this animal. Well, it turns out that I was mistaken. The animal is a “boll weevil.” It’s not rat-like. It’s a small beetle that’s smaller than your smallest fingernail. From the 1920s until the 1980s, when the widespread application of insecticides solved the problem, boll weevils decimated the cotton crop in the American south. The biker learned all about this plague as he biked through Arkansas and Mississippi. I’m glad that I’ve been educated on this issue.

The biker seemed to have a great time in Mississippi. He stopped at a tiny convenience store, and the shopkeeper asked where he was going. The biker explained his full trip, and said that his final destination was Tybee Island off the coast of Georgia. The shopkeeper replied: “Gaw-uh-ud day-umm.” It took the biker a minute to “translate” that response into English. The biker asked about the best route to get out of town. The shopkeeper explained that the main road would be full of big trucks and that the “backroad” would be full of nasty dogs. He left the choice to the biker: “Which do you choose, Mr. Biker? Death by truck or death by dog?” The biker took his chances with the trucks, and he survived.

Also in Mississippi, the biker was brave enough to try the shower facilities at a truck stop. I’ve always wanted to do that. The biker said that he had a wonderful experience, in a spotless shower, for $10. When he returned his towel, they gave him back $5 for the “towel deposit.” I think we should all try a truck stop shower sometime during 2023.

The biker is a wealthy white guy. On the ride, he thought about his life. He had deep, philosophical, thoughts. He recalled a book that he had read called “Affluenza: The All-Consuming Epidemic.” The authors defined the illness of “affluenza” as “a painful, contagious, socially transmitted condition of overload, debt, anxiety, and waste resulting from the dogged pursuit of more.” The biker noted that America has twice as many malls as high schools. He also noted that many homes now have garages that are bigger than a typical 1950s home. Our cars have become “living rooms on wheels.” He concluded that “our priorities are fouled up,”and he resolved to elevate his personal happiness by leading a life of simplicity and frugality. There’s a message there for all of us. Physical “stuff” is not important.

The biker crossed America, from west to east, without ever getting a flat in his front tire. He experienced numerous flats in his back tire. Two years after his long ride, the biker decided that he should also cross America from south to north. Before he left, he thought about changing his front tire. He decided that the original tire was a “good luck charm” and that he should stick with it. So, with the same front tire, he biked from the Mexican border to the Canadian border. Miraculously, he also competed that trip without a front tire flat. All in all, that tire covered more than 4,500 miles without a flat! I think the biker should hang that tire on a chain and wear it around his neck.

It’s good to be home. If you’re lucky, I’ll find some time to blog about some serious issues. Stay tuned.

[uttraashadha]

SATURN&JUPITER

If in retro, are amazing

PT.2

— 𖥸 —

In this two part series, I explain why Retrogrades, specially for Saturn and Jupiter are infact not such a bad thing.

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"Whatever I write down in here is part of my pure research, knowledge and observations that I have collected over the years of my practice, please take it as grain of Salt. And if it doesn't resonate. Leave it as it is <3" - Uttarashadha.

DO NOT Plagiarize my work, I'll know about it.

۞:••:۞:••:۞:••:۞:••:۞:••:۞:••:۞

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Let's Discuss Our Lovely Jupiter Who Decided To Go Retro As soon as he heard his amazing babies were on the way.

Ok now what do I say and where do I start. Hm.

This placement is everything on it's own. Its everything you need in today's world tbh. And I think having this placement is in a way an advantage. What is Jupiter let's discuss that first for 2 secs. It a benefic naturally. So many would assume "OMG A BENEFIC IN RETRO IS IT BAD" ok but the way Jupiter manifests itself is rather better, atleast in today's world. Tbh Jupiter is as traditional as Saturn in terms of what he is. He is also likes to be abided by atleast certain rules to keep up with his traditionality for sure. Jupiter is bank of knowledge. But at times Jupiter in Direct might as well try keeping their knowledge on to their own limits. They expand. Yes. But they expand INSIDE OF THEMSELVES. (Ngl I think I channeled this but maybe Jupiter in direct people might have tendency to grow up being on the healthier side cus the EXPANSION.) Correct me in comments if you feel like I completely just blabbered stupid </3.

Anyways. Jupiter in retro OFC be breaking this traditionality when it comes to education and knowledge. Oh boy do they dislike education system, school etc.

They just cant deal with the fact they are being taught the way they are being taught. Tbh, none of them can be taught "correctly" no you really cant teach them. There is a method of studying and absorbing knowledge that only THE JUPITER IN RX PERSON knows for themselves, no teacher, no guru none can connect with them until that teacher is atleast reaching the expectations of what Jupiter in Rx person thinks a "Knowledge Giver" should be like consciously and unconsciously.

They like unconventional teachers better. They dont like these teachers who are bookish in nature. They like teachers who are FILLED with knowledge that surpasses these books that education systems provide. These guys are good at spotting intellectuals and knowing what teacher is the best and what they do in the very first meeting.

Usually these guys dont like being taught and are better of being self taught. They usually know the best way to teach themselves.

You leave them alone, and let them have an internet connection and meet them after a while. And next thing you'll know they've suddenly mastered something on their own.

Also these guys cant sleep at night knowing the fact they didnt stimulate their brains today with some new information and hence end up feeling hopeless. They need that new-knowledge induced stimuli.

The hate for textbooks is real. I cant stress on it enough. It just doesn't sit with them right. Now coming back to Expansion.

These guys expand OUTSIDE. Instead of the Jupiter in direct that expands on the inside.

By outside I mean, they love spreading knowledge. They wanna talk talk talk about new things they learnt or what that neigbour grandma told them about this very cool thing from 1920s. They are natural teachers. They are very good at explaining things (if mercury unafflicted). They love experiencing knowledge instead of studying it. Mugging up books is something beyond them. They gotta learn and understand things THOROUGHLY AND WITH GENUINETY.

One thing about these guys is, they question alot (For good) and are always confused (also for good) this confusion and them questioning all the time is what pushes them to find the TRUTH. They will question the religion and practices they've been growing into. They'll ask why this and why that and why am I even here. They constantly question the systems (Saturn in retro does it too) they constantly question themselves and keep reflecting. These questioning pushes them away from falling for what other people do and say. And I believe this is a really good thing. Their the last person in the room to fall for peoples words until it will "Feel" honest to them. It's more about feeling for them. They'll try understanding all kinds of religious practices, spiritual practices, all kind of occult practices to find a place for themselves and what they resonate with. I think this is what sets them apart from Jupiter in direct who would most probably follow what they are taught to follow and not question much (UNTIL they hit some realizations) but Jupiter in Rx might as well question since quite a young age after following for a while if it didn't feel honest to them and didnt make sense to them.

These guys might fail their classes and get a slow down or pause in between of their education. I mean your Jupiter Rx really dont be like the school ;(. But these guys will get back on track again. This doesn't lasts for long. These guys will leave the education in between or have other issues (!!) And have a pause and while that time they'd realize quick how it wasnt a great idea and get back on it being more dedicated OR this could manifest as they'd try researching and learning everything to the point they'll make a living out of their pure knowledge.

But these guys, will be abided by rules at certain level. They are not TOTALLY #BeepTheSystem kinds like how Saturn retro can be.

In other words imagine Jupiter retro as a weird ride. It will work at extremes. Like it goes back and come forward like a boomerang.

Meaning, once when in life they'd thing that papers are dumb. Certificates are dumb. Degrees are dumb.

After a certain point they'll instead start respecting it or more like try achieving the same as the society is doing.

But the only difference is. Once they are over with the ride and comeback being this societal individual. They'll be left with knowledge. Immense knowledge.

One sentence to explain them is:

"Lol I've done this before, and heres my experience, now take from it. And you decide"

They become this experienced teacher. People learn through THEIR experiences.

It's like they at one point become accepting of this world. They dont go ANTI- something. They are more like, "Yes this exists. And also this other thing exists. I've been against it. But now I've also learnt to accept it. Cus that's life. And heres my experience for you to hear"

I think the motive of Jupiter retro is to experience the both extremes. And then land on to a conclusion of life.

This is a whole yogi moment for them.

"Once I was a this business person who failed all the classes back in the day but now I'm a yogi meditating in Himalayas ...oh also perusing a PhD" _ kinda energy.

If Jpiter rules expansion, I think it also rules the expansion of two end points. The extremes.

These guys go through depression, confusion, questioning, learning and experiencing EVERYTHING. And then land onto conclusions of right and wrongs and become very accepting of society.

This is very Uttarabhadrapada vibes.

OHHHHH well, Isn't Uttarabhadrapada sign lord Jupiter and Nakshatra lord Saturn��

I believe whatever I just said is MORE common with people who have Saturn and Jupiter in retro together.

And tbh this boomerang moment happens for them after their spiritual awakening hits in is what I believe.

Like they go against everything, don't like nothing the systems and society provides,have worse of worse experiences with teachers and never meeting a teacher that they'd ever click with.

And then hitting a spiritual awakening and then suddenly coming across best of the best gurus and teachers that they just click with, getting back to education that once they must've hated it or opposed (to the point they pursue a damn PhD). Accepting society's flaws and and then making right and wrong decision on how to deal with them through what they've learnt in their experience and then they throw to become this immense loved and respected and most "Fitting" person in this society that people, look up to. The experiences speak for themselves.

With more to say, I guess something related to forgein, travels would always be part of their experience or something so.

Learning from foriegn gurus or people or awakening their boomerang movement after traveling can be a thing.

With money, as I said in my previous post retro's and debilitation happens to give kinda boost to materialistic things in your life. Because I mean, if you think about it honestly. When your planets are in good position, they are quite fulfilling. They dont have sense of lack. As they happen to be in a good place all to all and are in a bit of comfort zone. But when a planet falls into debilitation/retro generally it understands what it doesnt have, it lacks comfort and is constantly in thirst to be better. That thirst, leads people with these placements to then grow as people and achieve things.

Some planets when in debilitation/retro creates this sense of thirst. Which is honestly profiting.

Experience is a key word in this case.

And that's what Jupiter in Retrograde is all about...Learning about life and an attempt of mastering it through experiences, spirtuality and acceptance and constant expansion that crosses all limits and boundaries for good.

In contrast to Jupiter in Direct that might not question much in their first half of life (according to placements). The Jupiter in Retro in other hand is forced into confusion and lostness for the learning experience that's about to come.

So that's it's for my both big cute planets retro series.

I wanna thankyou all first all with all the love and support you guys have given in the first post of mine of the series. I hope this post resonates with you atleast on SOME level.

Here is my gratitude stamp to you:

｡ﾟﾟ･｡･ﾟﾟ｡

ﾟ。 you guys

　 ﾟ･｡･ﾟ

Stay wealthy & hydrated, reader.

- © 2021 Uttarashadha, all rights reserved.

XxX

Pt.1 SATURN IN RETRO

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[marycecilyy]

Hey could you do headcanons for the mcl guys (or if not all of them castiel, armin, and kentin) when their S/O is a famous singer? Thank you❤

Oh god this turned out so longer than I expected huahahushaushu

First of all, these are too long to be headcanons, all three of them have more than 1k words each. Also, I changed a bit the prompt. It's more like "Candy has the dream of becoming a famous singer". The rest you'll see... I'll only say that I'm very proud of this one ;)

Castiel, Armin and Kentin with a Candy that wishes to be a famous singer

Castiel

Castiel wasn’t one to be friendly to new students, but he knew you weren’t like any other when you came to him and asked if Winged Skull was one of his favorite bands too. He was shocked to know that there was another person at Sweet Amoris who enjoyed the same bands as him. Yes, bands (in plural). After he answered that, yes, Winged Skull was his favorite band of all times, you started talking about your common interests and discovered that there were many.

He was a very closed off guy, but somehow you managed to break into his skull in a short time and, in a few months, you turned into best friends.

When Debrah came back and that whole situation happened, your fight with Castiel had a lot of impact over you. In your head, you had just lost your best friend forever. Fortunately. Lysander not only helped you recover from the blow and gave you energy to gather your friends and expose Debrah, but also helped you admit to yourself that, you did have feelings for Castiel.

Once she was unmasked and ran away like a coward, things quickly came back to normal. In less than one week, you had restored your reputation, your friends apologized for misjudging you, Castiel and you were once again friends. The only difference was that you knew that you were in love with him.

You didn’t tell him about your feelings right away, you decided to keep your friendship and focus a bit on your lifelong goal: become a music star. You started learning how to sing properly and doubled the days of your guitar lessons. Castiel even helped you get into the music club (they were full when you got into Sweet Amoris, but he found a way to enroll you).

You knew that your chances of actually becoming famous were pretty low, the market was difficult and depended a lot on having the right contacts. That was why, while you tried putting your name out there, your plan was to get a degree in music as soon as you finished high school. Antheros Academy offered a good education and was close, it was your best option.

As you channeled your energies towards your goal, Castiel started to acknowledge his own sentiment towards you. He liked to watch your focused face as you tuned your guitar and your singing voice earned a sweet accent all of the sudden. He always considered you a special girl, but, to his surprise, feelings were starting to develop inside his closed off chest.

That was why, as soon as he won those concert tickets on a raffle, he knew he’d take you there as your first date. Luckily for him, you accepted right away. Castiel had a feeling that night would be something else.

And it really was, as he kissed you, without even thinking it through, when the vocalist sung what he knew was your favorite tune. When you kissed him back, he wrapped his hands over your waist and lifted you up, feeling your warm lips open up for him.

The months that followed were full of bliss. With you and Castiel officially dating, the school had a lot to talk about. Amber pestered you quite a bunch of times, but that didn’t mess with your relationship at all. Everything was perfect, as it was supposed to be.

But that didn’t last long. Right after you finished high school, your dad had to move to another town because of his job and you had no choice but to go too. You were sure that your relationship would survive the distance, after all, you were in love. This situation would be worked out.

Castiel came to your new house a couple of times and you two called frequently, but in the end distance started to grow between the both of you… and it hurt. Knowing that Castiel was sad made you miserable and you decided to break up before it became unbearable.

You lost your count of how many nights you cried thinking about him.

4 years later.

You were zipping your jeans up when you heard a knock on your dressing room’s door. Who could it be? Your parents had already congratulated you over the phone, there was no one supposed to come that night. Did your manager schedule a press interview for after the show?

You put on your shirt and told whoever was on the other side to wait. When you finally opened the door, your jaw almost fell. You couldn’t believe he was there.

He looked exactly like in the magazines, (a bit less photoshopped, but that was to expect. You went through that as well and it sucked). His hair was shoulder-length and he wore a black shirt that showed off the tattoos up to the middle of his arm. He wore some light makeup, most on his skin, which you deduced his manager made him put on. Castiel looked like you expected him to after all those years, but one thing about him surprised you.

His eyes, although more mature and serious, had the same brightness as before.

"Are ya going to keep staring like that?” He asked and you noticed you had just been looking at him for a solid minute.

“Sorry. Come in.” You said and made space for him to enter the room. For your luck, there was nothing private to be seen, you had the habit of leaving your clothes and personal belongings messy and only cleaning up the second you had to go.

Castiel cleared his throat. An awkward silence hung between you. You hadn’t been alone with each other ever since the breakup. You two were two of the biggest stars of nowadays rock music, but you barely had any opportunity to talk. Not that you haven’t tried, it was the opposite. You avoided contact. Your fans knew you had dated in high school (you used to have pictures on your personal instagrams and fans were quick to dig over old accounts to find information about their idols), so they never expected a feat or any kind of collab. Everyone knew that you weren’t on best terms.

You remembered just a couple of days ago, when you were interviewed for one of those talk shows. The host made a lot of personal questions about Castiel and even asked if you would get back with him if you had the chance. You tried to avoid answering, but the public instantly read your unconscious signs: yes, you would.

That was why, you assumed, he was there. To make things clear. After all, because of you yours and his fans started shipping you two and got you on twitter’s trending topics. He probably was pissed. There was also a possibility of him wanting to take advantage of the situation, maybe propose a fake relationship? No, that wasn’t like him. Or was it? You barely knew him anymore.

“So… you probably guessed why I’m here. I saw your interview” You were right, then. “And I want to make things clear.” Ouch. You should prepare for the blow. “Look, we both know time has passed and we’re not the same as before. You broke up to avoid more suffering, and I get that. I really do.”

Castiel crossed his arms and glared at you. You looked back at him with fear, fear of knowing what his next words would be. “But...?” You asked.

“Tsk.” He huffed. This would be more difficult than he thought. “Look, little girl…” You felt a shiver run through your spine at the sound of the old nickname he gave you. You had always loved it, even though you didn’t say it out loud. After what felt like hours, he continued. “I don’t want to be cheesy, that’s not like me. So I’ll just say that if what all of the fans are theorizing is true.... If you do want to try again....”

Castiel took your hand and you jumped in surprise. He turned your palm to him and grabbed a pen from his back pocket. He wrote down a phone number on your hand and let go of it, capped the pen and turned around to go.

"That's my personal number. It’s pretty useful if you wanna call me without having to schedule an appointment with my manager.” You managed to laugh. You knew exactly how these things were annoying.

Inside, you were bursting with excitement. However, you answered playfully “Hm…. I’ll think about it, mr. Rockstar” Castiel chuckled and excused himself, saying that his manager would get pissed at him if he took too long. You smiled.

Maybe it was not over, after all.

Armin

When you told Armin, very early on your friendship, that your dream was to become a famous singer, he got so excited for you. He already knew that you played the guitar and was good at singing, but he had no idea that you wanted to make this your career path.

You couldn’t have chosen a better partner. Being the tech nerd that Armin was, he helped you a lot in recording your covers with the best quality possible considering the amateur camera and microphone you had.

However, the times that his presence most comforted you was when you showed him your new songs. He was always eager to see your composing progress and gave you pure honesty in his feedback, keeping in mind that he was no expert but still wanted to help you.

You always asked him for a way to return his favors, but he always said that it was his duty as your best friend to support you and that it was more than enough having you to talk about all his geek interests.

As time passed, you started to notice that you liked him way more as a friend. Without an idea of what to do, you asked Rosa and Alexy for advice. They were your closest friends apart from your crush (and you couldn’t run to him in that situation, duh)

After a dozen pro tips and date ideas from them, you decided to take Armin to the movies (basic, you knew, but couldn’t go wrong).

When you asked him if he was available Saturday night, you didn’t say properly “Hey, we’re going on a date”. Actually, you didn’t mention the word “date” at all, hoping that he would read between the lines.

And he did, because as soon as you sat and the film started, Armin grabbed your hand that was resting in the armrest and entwined your fingers. You couldn’t pay attention to what was going on screen at all and your attention was completely drawn from the movie when the boy grabbed your chin and brought your lips to his.

You only stopped kissing when the lights went on and the credits started scrolling.

“Hey…” You asked as soon as you two left the place, holding hands with him. “What was the movie about again?”

Armin laughed out loud. He teased you about it a lot before you made him confess that he didn’t know either.

A few days later, it was him who asked you out. You kept going on dates for the next week, all of them simple but interesting at the same time. However, you two weren’t dating. The whole school knew there was something going on between you two by the chuckles and timid kisses when you thought nobody saw them, but you didn’t make things official… yet. But that was about to change.

It was friday and you invited Armin over to “study” (he was sure that the afternoon would be spent between videogames and kisses, but if you wanted to call it a study session, it was okay for him).

As he comfortably sat on your bed as if it were his own, you told him to wait as you brought him some juice. When you came back, he was already grabbing his nintendo switch from his bag.

“What makes you think that we’re here to game?” You teased, handing him the glass.

“Come on, Candy, we both know that none of us are interested in learning orbital hybridization…”

“Maybe I am. I really need a good grade on those tests.” You approached him and held his jaw up so your foreheads touched. With a trailed voice, you continued. “Unless you have something more interesting to do in mind...”

Armin opened up that playful smile of his. “Oh, I do, actually.” In a quick movement that caught you off guard, he threw you in bed and started pampering you with kisses all over your face. You couldn’t stop laughing from how his hands tickled your belly, but you managed to stop him. “W-Wait, Armin!”

He looked at you, confused. “What?”

As you caught your breath, you explained that there was something you wanted to show him first. You got off the bed and went to grab your guitar that was hung up on the free wall of your bedroom.

“Did you compose a new song?” Armin deducted as you sat in front of him again, this time with your guitar in hands.

“You’ll see.” You tuned your instrument under his curious gaze. When you felt satisfied with the sound, you looked back at him. Armin didn’t miss the blush that coloured your cheeks. “I know you’d never do it, but I have to ask even so: promise you won’t laugh.”

You started playing the first chords of the song you had finished composing just a few days before. Usually, you composed simple songs that anyone could identify with, songs about friendship, inspiration, changing the world. You never wrote about your personal feelings. The notes never made you cry.

This song was special, though, because it was about him.

The day it hit you that you had feelings for him, you had the idea of writing random verses that could one day fit into a new song. After your first date, you felt so overwhelmed that, looking at the words, you decided to turn them into a song. You didn’t think it would turn into something so personal and emotional. Every note, every word, everything was clearly about him, that dorky geek you had fallen in love with.

Falling deeper every time

I can’t help but think, oh my

I’m through, but I don’t mind

Would you trade you 2D girls

For this hopeless lover

That just wants your heart?

I’ll just say that he got the message very clearly and, as soon as you finished playing, he practically jumped on you, kissing your lips with such tenderness that you almost teared up.

Of course, he asked you to be his girlfriend XD

Kentin

The first time he heard about your dream, he was still little Ken. It was one of your first days at Sweet Amoris and you two were eating cookies in the staircase. You were ranting about how sad you were that the music club was already full and you couldn’t join. Ken asked you the reason why you were so upset.

“Well… There weren’t those kind of classes in our old school. Learning how to play an instrument and sing, even during extra classes would be so cool! If I went well, maybe I’d be able to convince my dad to pay me for some private classes and then I’d be one step closer to my dream!”

“Your dream?” Ken muttered.

“Yeah! I want to become a famous singer in the future! I know that it’s impossible and even kinda silly, but-”

“No, Candy! It’s not silly at all!” Ken said. Learning more about you made him happy and he didn’t want you to think for even a second that your dream was worthless. “You shouldn't be ashamed of dreaming big. You’ll have a long, difficult path to walk through, but when you get there - and you have my word on that - I’ll be cheering for you!”

“Ken... “ You flashed your best smile at him. It meant a lot to you to have his support, he was a kind person and a very good friend (he did cross a few limits with his adoration for you, but you weren’t bothered by it). You liked being around him a lot.

-x-

“Kentin!” You threw yourself in his arms and gave him a tender kiss. “Good morning.”

Your boyfriend chuckled and held your hand, walking with you through the hallway. You talked about how your weekend had been and, between light smiles and sweet kisses, you thought of how quickly things changed between you two.

When he came back from military school, a lot of things had changed in him, including his nickname. You were facing a new person and it had been a challenge discovering Kentin and building a new relationship with him.

Even though he was a different person from before, one thing didn’t change at all and you noticed it clearly: he still liked you. Obviously he was no longer that guy who professed his feelings to everyone and followed you everywhere, he had found new ways to show you his love. You enjoyed that more mature version of him, but wished he had the opportunity to grow into a man without all the trauma he went through. You knew that most of his growth had been through suffering, and that upset you.

You didn’t know when, but somewhere into your friendship you started to grow feelings for him too. After some coaxing from Rosa and Alexy, you managed to ask him out on an official date.

The whole school already knew that Kentin was head over heels for you, but everyone was shocked to know that you loved him back as your relationship became official.

“Hey, love.”

“What?” You asked your boyfriend back as soon as you got in front of your lockers. You started looking for your books, checking that day’s classes.

“I really liked that video you posted on youtube yesterday. I never heard that song before, did you compose it yourself?”

The book you held in your hand fell to the ground. “What video?” You whispered, eyes wide.

“What do you mean, babe? That video of you singing and playing the guitar. You uploaded it yesterday night. I saw right away, you know I have my notifications turned on to all your videos. I got surprised that you decided to finally show your face and sing something of your own and- Candy? Is everything okay?”

Kentin noticed your face and got worried for you. You looked absolutely terrified.

“That video… How did you see it? I posted it as private”

“No, you didn't. It was public.” Kentin was starting to understand why you were so surprised. He put one hand on your back as you blushed and hid your face on his chest in embarrassment.

“Oh god, I can’t believe I did that! I’m so stupid! The first time I record something like that, I accidentally post it for everyone to see! Dumb, dumb Candy! Dang, now everyone’s gonna know I’m bad!”

“First of all.” Your boyfriend frowned, bringing you close to him. “You’re not dumb, you just made a mistake. And it’s okay, probably just a few people saw it. Last time I checked was before I went to sleep and it only had 20 views. But why are you so upset, Candy? Didn’t you tell me a few days ago that you were finally ready to show your face along with the covers. Did something happen to change your mind?”

“Well, I was not ready to show right away, especially not in a video that I looked terrible in. And it’s not just that. It was my first original song. I never showed it to anyone, what if it sucks?”

Kentin held your chin up and looked you in the eyes. “Candy, it doesn’t suck and you look great in the video!” You closed your eyes and snuggled close to him. “But I understand your concerns. Luckily, that can be solved if you delete the video. You’ll have other opportunities to get famous, and with better videos.”

“Yeah, I can do that.” You reached for your phone and went to your youtube page. “Fu... No way…!”

Your hands trembled. Kentin was right, the video had few views (which was good). Only 50 people had seen it, but the problem wasn’t that. For your bad luck, one of those people had been Amber. You knew that because she had left three comments on your video.

AmberOfficial: lmaooooo

AmberOfficial: Thank you for the laughs. That’s hilarious

AmberOfficial: Just give up already, looser

“That girl....” Kentin grunted, looking at your phone screen. “I swear to you, Candy, I’ll make her regret this. I’ll-”

“You don’t need to, I’m fine.”

You untangled your arms from his torso and started walking away, trying your best to hide how upset you really were. Amber was right, your music sucked. You should give up on your dream of becoming a famous singer, not only because you were bad, but also because you could barely show your face to a few people without feeling like shit. You wouldn’t be able to deal with fame.

Kentin tried to call you, but you didn’t answer. He figured you needed some time alone. He could use that time to think of something to support you and get back at Amber.

-x-

You walked out of the bathroom, your eyes red and swollen from crying. You had already deleted the video, but you couldn’t stop feeling stupid for getting so upset by a few bad comments. And feeling stupid made you even more upset.

When you got to the hallway, it was empty due to classes having already started. You probably spent half an hour locked up, but at least no one would mess with you.

You went to the garden to get some fresh air and wait until the next class started. You sat at the bench, breathed in and finally calmed down a bit.

“Candy.”

You turned around, surprised to see your boyfriend. “Kentin! What are you doing here? Classes have already started.”

He just waved his hand in a “don’t worry about that” way and sat beside you. He kissed your cheek and took your hand, checking how you were. Seeing that you seemed to be more calm, he smiled lightly at you. “So… I talked to Armin. He already found out Amber’s password and he’ll hack into Amber’s youtube account. He’ll just mess with it for a bit, delete some videos and upload some random stuff. Nothing too bad, I promise, just some memes and rickrolls.”

“Hmm…” You muttered, thinking about what he said. It wasn’t right, for sure, but you didn’t feel like stopping them. You were still hurt. “Okay. Just promise you two won’t do something serious, okay?”

He agreed. You felt a bit better, but that wasn’t enough to lift your mood and Kentin knew that. That was why he also had something else prepared. "That 's not all. I did some quick search for places where you could record that music of yours with its deserved quality. You are a good composer, Candy, believe it. Your talent doesn’t have to stay hidden in a dark room with only you, a guitar and your cellphone recording it.”

“Kentin…”

“If you want to, I’ll help you rent a studio and record your song. That would be very useful for your portfolio. I know that’s expensive, but we can find ways to-” You cut him off with a kiss. He cared about you so much, to the point of skipping classes to think of ways to make you feel better. You loved your boyfriend so much…

Lucky. You felt lucky to have him.

“I love you. Thank you for taking care of me... “ You kissed his cheek, happy to have his support. That was more than enough at that moment, Amber’s words were far behind you. All that mattered was that you could go through this.

You had Kentin, and when you had him, you had your whole world holding you so you wouldn’t fall.

[wiiildflowerrr]

‘MANAGEMENT IS OFTEN ABOUT SAYING WHAT THE ARTIST DOESN’T WANT TO HEAR, WHEN THEY NEED TO HEAR IT.’

'Benjamin Evans, the long-term (but also quite new – details later) manager of world-conquering Aussie pop-rock band 5 Seconds of Summer, doesn’t love music.

He certainly likes it, he definitely knows about it, and he absolutely loves managing his superstar client.

But music itself? Not his No.1 passion...'

FULL INTERVIEW

PARTS ABOUT 5SOS BELOW CUT:

'...Evans found himself back in Nottingham, out of the loop, until, eventually, he pestered and persisted his way into Modest! Management.

There, after a few years, he began working with 5 Seconds of Summer, four Australian teenagers (Luke Hemmings, Michael Clifford, Calum Hood and Ashton Irwin) who very quickly became one of the most successful rock-pop bands in the world.

Their first three albums (5 Seconds of Summer, 2014; Sounds Good Feels Good, 2015; Youngblood, 2018 – all released via Capitol) went to No. 1 in the US and the UK.

Calm (2020, Interscope) only missed out on the top spot Stateside because of a shipping error (but went to No. 1 in the UK), while their latest record, 5SOS5, released by BMG last month, was No. 2 in the Billboard 200 – kept from the summit by the streaming juggernaut that is Bad Bunny. (Again, it was a No. 1 in the UK).

Evans was with the band on every step of that remarkable journey, until they left Modest! in early 2021 – a split that both sides have said was amicable and chiefly down to the band wanting L.A-based representation.

They joined YMU in February last year, with Evans leaving Modest! soon after to set up his own company, 17 Artists.

5SOS’s relationship with YMU only lasted around eight months, however, and this time the split wasn’t especially amicable: it was followed by talk of a $2.5m lawsuit surrounding alleged unpaid commission. That situation has, MBW understands, now been resolved.

The band, however, less than a year after leaving Modest! and making the biggest team-change of their career, needed a new manager. Thankfully, they knew just the man…

YOU SPENT 12 YEARS AT MODEST! MANAGEMENT, WHAT DID YOU LEARN THERE?

Firstly, you never stop learning in management, but yes, I owe so much to Richard [Griffiths] and Harry [Magee] at Modest, they were certainly great mentors for me.

It was a baptism of fire managing artists from X Factor [at the time, Modest had the contract to manage all artists that appeared on the show].

These artists were superstars overnight. It was both brilliant and brutal – and emotionally so challenging for those contestants, to have such fame so quickly and then potentially fall away and go back to relatively normal lives.

Managing their well-being while under such a spotlight was really tricky at times and it definitely educated me on people management. There was no better education, to be honest.

WHAT WERE YOUR HIGH POINTS DURING YOUR TIME AT MODEST!?

As much as I had loved working on [X Factor], I was really eager to work with an artist, not from the TV world who we could develop. When the chance came to work with 5 Seconds of Summer, it was exactly what I had been waiting for – a band with ambition and talent who I could grow alongside.

Actually, some of my favourite memories are to do with the great friends I made and the family culture we had at the company for so many years.

In terms of achievements, there are obvious moments like No. 1 albums and selling out huge venues, but I think it was [5SOS’s] third album, Youngblood, that sticks out. It was that era when people outside the band’s fanbase really started to take them seriously.

As a manager at that time, their ability to change that perception was inspiring. It was always up to them to shake off that tag and prove people wrong, all we could do was encourage that.

We always knew how good these guys were, but they were misunderstood by a lot of people. When you see a group of guys topping the charts at the age of 17/18 you instantly think they’re the next big boy band, and that’s understandable. But they were proper musicians and songwriters.

They just needed to be themselves and let their music and live shows do the talking. They were where they were because they fucking deserved it.

WHAT WAS THE WORKING RELATIONSHIP WITH CAPITOL LIKE IN TERMS OF BREAKING THE BAND AND THEN MANAGING THAT SUCCESS, BREAKING THEM GLOBAL ETC? IN PARTICULAR, WHAT WAS IT LIKE WORKING WITH NICK RAPHAEL AND JO CHARRINGTON?

I loved working with Nick [Raphael] and Jo [Charrington, previously the co-UK head of Capitol]. They wanted to win and there was no bullshit with them. The whole team were brilliant: Murray Rose, Tom Paul, Charlie Knox, and the international team with Rob Fleming and Tom Burrows. We all got along really well, which helps.

Nick and Jo were proper A&Rs, and even if the band didn’t always agree, it was refreshing to have strong opinions. I think you need that. But they always respected the band’s choices.

We all agreed She Looks So Perfect was the perfect debut single. It was pop, but guitar pop. The video was a little rebellious and the lyrics were cheeky. It was catchy, it matched the band’s personality.

We invested a huge amount of time internationally right from the first album, through all three albums that we made with Capitol. We did some pretty brutal promo trips around the world, but it certainly paid off.

Wherever they went, there were hundreds of fans outside the hotels or radio stations; they were shutting down streets. It was chaos, but the band were special. They had this really close connection to their fans and they were backing it up in everything they did. They just had that rare talent and work ethic you are sometimes fortunate enough to work with as a manager and label.

I’m not sure we will see it again either, in the way 5SOS burst onto the scene so quickly with that level of fanbase. With the exception of K-Pop, I think it’s a lot harder to break through at the level in today’s world.

Maybe I’m wrong, but I think the listener today likes so many different artists or even songs, rather than being totally obsessed with one artist.

WHAT WAS THE MOOD LIKE IN THE CAMP AHEAD OF THE RELEASE OF THE NEW RECORD?

After 11 years of releasing music, there was a very different expectation. While No. 1 records are, of course, very special, we know the band aren’t defined by charts – and I remind them of that. They have stood the test of time and we’ve just had a really successful touring year during very difficult circumstances.

Our perspective was very much that we are proud of what we have achieved this year, both the music that’s been created and how everything had been executed.

One of the proudest factors behind this album and what makes it even more special, is that 80% was written by the band and produced by Michael [Clifford].

To then get No. 1 in major markets like the UK, Australia, and No. 2 in the US was a brilliant achievement statistically, but that makes me more happy for the band and the people who work so hard behind the scenes.

What pleased me most personally was seeing these respected outlets reviewing the music so well and acknowledging where the band are in their careers. They are serious musicians and more and more people are seeing that now.

HOW FRUSTRATING WAS IT NOT TO HIT NO. 1 IN THE STATES, ESPECIALLY AFTER THE LOGISTICAL ISSUES THAT PREVENTED CALM FROM GETTING THERE LAST TIME ROUND?

Sometimes there’s nothing you can do about streaming artists like Bad Bunny! We were extremely pleased with No.2 in the US; it was a huge success.

There are so many factors that determine where an album charts, and that changes week on week.

For that reason, how do you really determine what’s considered a success? And as I mentioned before, the band shouldn’t be defined by that.

BOY BANDS TRADITIONALLY HAVE A DEFINITE SHELF-LIFE. FIRST UP, HOW DO YOU FEEL ABOUT THE PHRASE ‘BOY-BAND’? SECONDLY, HOW MUCH DOES THAT IDEA OF A SHELF-LIFE INFLUENCE STRATEGY? DO YOU COLLECTIVELY WORK TOWARDS EVOLVING, BECOMING SOMETHING THAT CAN BE AROUND FOR THE REALLY LONG HAUL?

It’s an interesting question, but I’m afraid, to me, it’s also definitely a misinterpretation of the band. We’ve spent years answering the ‘boy-band’ tag, or rather educating people that the band are not a ‘boy band’. But it would be unfair if I ask you to rephrase it. The band constantly have had to answer it, so I will too!

They are four guys in a band that can sing and play instruments. If that’s a boy band, then so be it. But they are a boy band as much as The Killers, The Strokes or the Rolling Stones are a boy band. They are also a fucking rock band. I guess the Beatles were the first rock band that was also a ‘boy band’ to some.

I urge anyone to watch a 5SOS live show and then tell me they’re a boy band. These guys grew up together and formed a band, they’ve written all their music from record one, and now Michael has produced most of the latest album.

As I said earlier, it was up to them to prove people wrong and they’ve done that. Their fan base has grown with the band and the demographic is changing.

These guys are mid-twenties and have released five No. 1 albums over 11 years. They are only just beginning.

HOW WOULD YOU DESCRIBE 5SOS AS PEOPLE – AND THE DYNAMIC IN THE BAND?

Is it always laughs and smiles… no it’s not [laughs]. Nor should it be!

It’s work at the end of the day, and from the outside you don’t see that. But nobody works harder than these guys and they truly care and support each other. They care about their team. It’s those values that keep them close and keep the right people around them.

WHAT WAS IT LIKE WORKING WITH BMG ON THE LATEST ALBUM?

BMG are taking records incredibly seriously, that is clear. Thomas Scherer, Cyndi Gill, Dan Lynott and the team have been great partners for us on this campaign and we’re not done yet.

The band have always dictated how their records sound and what’s released, so it hasn’t been very different from the previous albums in that regard. We actually made most of the record before signing the [BMG] deal, but we did the same on [the band’s previous] album at Interscope. We wouldn’t sign with someone who didn’t put the artists’ opinion first.

NOW THAT YOU’VE GONE DOWN THE ROUTE OF RETAINING RIGHTS OWNERSHIP VIA YOUR DEAL WITH BMG, WOULD YOU EVER CONSIDER REVERTING TO A MORE TRADITIONAL LABEL DEAL WITHIN THE MAJOR SYSTEM?

I guess the biggest change [at BMG vs. a major] is being far more aware of the budgets, because it’s essentially all the band’s money and I’m very used to just going to the label and asking for more cash! But they’ve honestly been brilliant across the board.

It’s very simple: We want to work with whoever shows the most belief in the long-term growth of the band and are prepared to invest in that.

Who’s the most passionate about working with the band? More than anything you need people on your team who love the project, otherwise, what’s the point? One of the reasons we signed with BMG was because they showed that.

I suppose one of the biggest compliments I could give BMG is that they function almost identically to how the majors do, yet we have a very artist-friendly deal. It’s a great setup, but, in truth, we will always want to work with the team who can deliver the above.

WHAT IS THE MOST IMPORTANT THING YOU CAN DO FOR AN ARTIST AS A MANAGER AND WHAT’S THE RELATIONSHIP LIKE?

Belief and trust. If you don’t believe in the artists you represent then you may as well walk away. And without stating the obvious, you have to trust each other and build a team and environment that shares that value.

Management is often about saying what the artist doesn’t want to hear, when they need to hear it. But so long as they trust you, they know what you’re saying is with the right intention; that’s key.

I always say management is about doing the necessary for the unknowing. Nobody will ever truly understand what you do, even the artist. I’ve had one day off in the last 12 months and that was Christmas day.

The artists don’t see that, they don’t see the relentless hours of calls, emails, planning, etc. that goes into the daily business of music management. Just like we, as managers, will never truly know what it’s like being an artist.

I’ll never know what it’s like waking up and seeing what someone has said on this or that platform. I’ll never know what it’s like standing up in front of thousands of people to perform or do an interview on live TV, irrelevant of how you’re feeling that day. I’ll never know what it’s like trying to write a song – it might sound fun, but it’s not always and can be really challenging to their well-being.

You just need to be understanding and aware, at all times, how this job can impact life – for the artist, our teams, the fans and ourselves.

WHAT WOULD YOU CHANGE ABOUT THE MUSIC INDUSTRY TODAY?

This isn’t so much a music industry point, but I don’t like how exposed artists/people are in general with social media. There is very little protection.

Also, and it’s probably a common answer – that I was actually just talking to the band’s lawyer, James Sully about – but greater rewards for songwriters.

Record companies take the greater risk, as they pay the recording costs and bear the brunt of the promotion and marketing of recordings – including the staffing costs that [go with that]. But distribution costs have diminished so much in the new digital world, the balance between publishing and recording income doesn’t seem equitable.

FINALLY, WHAT ADVICE WOULD YOU GIVE A YOUNG MANAGER JUST STARTING OUT?

Work in as many areas of the business as you can before being a manager and always ask questions. Learning the ins and outs of all aspects of the business will help make you a great manager.

Secondly, learn how to manage yourself. It took me a long time to realize that. This job takes over your life with huge sacrifices on family, relationships, mental health. It’s very difficult to ever switch off, so you really need to manage yourself, which I still don’t do enough.

Thirdly, as I’ve already said, only work with clients you 100% believe in. That’s not just ‘are they going to sell records?’, it’s the whole culture around that artist: is it what you believe in? If it isn’t, don’t go near it.

Lastly, be a lawyer first!'

Music Business World, October 2022

[pedropascalunofficial]

Pedro Pascal and Lena Headey

Head to head interview

Hunger Magazine, Issue 6. Released December 28, 2014. Photoshoot October 15, 2013.

Thirteen million. That's the number of people, on average, who tuned into each episode of the third season of Game of Thrones. Among them was Chilean actor Pedro Pascal, who was as enthralled by the sex and slaughter as the rest of us. But little did he know that within a few months he'd be pitching up on the shores of Belfast to join the cast as Oberyn Martell, affectionately known as the Red Viper. Sound ominous? It is. The Red Viper is GoTs newest anti-hero, “sexy and charming but driven by hate”. Sounds like he'll be right at home.

Pedro, on the other hand, though he looks good on paper, wasn't the obvious choice for the role. Expecting a big name to ride into King’s Landing, the show's fans took to forums to express their concerns as soon as the news broke. So is he worried? Like hell he is. “The fans had the part cast in their minds already. They knew who they wanted and it certainly was not me. But I'm not stupid, | presumed that people were going to say ‘who the fuck is this guy’. Since I anticipated the reaction it didn't throw me off.”

“There are so many different ways to go into battle with yourself when you're trying to get a job. I felt a certain amount of pressure because I wanted to make everyone happy. The fan base is so specific and, as a fan myself, I understand the relationship that they have with the show. The Red Viper is the best part I've ever played, and in season four shocks come at the most unexpected times. You might think you know, but you have no idea,” he explains.

Looks like the Red Viper could be in line to fill a Walter-White-sized-hole in television, but to test the theory we pit Pascal against Lena Headey, aka the Queen. Because if you can come away from Cersei unscathed, you can handle anything.

LH: So, Pedro, you come into Game of Thrones in season four, playing a pretty major character. Does that fill you with joy or dread?

PP: I'd say it fills me with joy because it’s a really fucking fun part. He’s a badass. He comes up against a lot of the main characters in the show. I'm very aware of the show. I watch it like a fan.

LH: Were you a fan before you arrived in Belfast?

PP: Yeah, I was a proper fan. I was caught up in the drama of it before I even auditioned for the part. I was already up to speed.

LH: I remember meeting you and thinking, “he fucking loves the show’.

PP: I kissed your ass.

LH: Well, it worked. We're friends now.

PP: I was like a tourist visiting the set, and yet I had to act with you and be in a scene with the characters that I had such a specific association with already.

LH: So you’re saying it’s boring?

PP: No, it wasn’t boring at all. It was extremely, relentlessly surreal.

LH: And who were your favourite characters up until that point?

PP: Not you.

LH: I realise that!

PP: There are too many characters to have a favourite, but I was fascinated by the Lannisters because they're so frightening. They scared me and then you would come in and pull sympathy from your audience somehow, and I found that rather fascinating. The Northerners were so easy to like or get behind, but it was quite something to see people sympathise with a Lannister, after you made people see things from their perspective.

LH: Speaking of being slightly ambiguous as a character, you come in as a major player and a very well-loved character in the eyes of people who read the books, and he’s somewhat of an anti-hero. Did you base him on anyone?

PP: What does an anti-hero mean exactly?

LH: It means he doesn't wear deodorant, doesn't it? [Laughs]. Someone you shouldn't champion, but you do, like Walter White in Breaking Bad.

PP: No, | didn’t really base him on anyone.

LH: Did you take anything from classic movies that you thought you could use and spin to your advantage playing the Red Viper?

PP: God, that’s a good question. I probably did subconsciously. Now I feel under the spotlight because I need to think of somebody, and I have so many in my mind! I think that’s something that is happening a lot in TV today: the anti-heroes are central to these television shows, and people are really getting behind them, even though they're not necessarily the most moral characters. So I'd say that ‘ve become more familiar with the character who's obviously very flawed but gets you on their side — you have complicated feelings about them. But I think I saw the story too much from this character's perspective to perceive any flaws.

LH: He has some.

PP: I know, from the outside. But I don't see any of them. What are his flaws?

LH: His flaws? He's a dirty bastard!

PP: Why is he a dirty bastard? He likes to fucking fight, for sure.

LH: Back to you as an actor. You've done it for a long time and, as we all know, the path is not always golden, and sometimes you think, “fuck it” and you want to leave it and do something else. Have there been moments where you wanted to give up?

PP: Yes, there have been moments where I came very close to giving up. But I never had anything to fall back on. I think you can understand that.

LH: Because were stupid?

PP: We're stupid.

LH: I can't even make pizza!

PP: We don’t have any other skills.

LH: None at all!

PP: And that’s the odd conundrum. You get to a point where you think, “This isn’t going to happen. This isn’t sustainable. I'm too exhausted, and it can't be good for me.” There were moments where I truly did try to formulate an idea of what I'd do. I thought I'd go back to school, start pre-med again and go to medical school or something like that.

LH: But that didn't happen, you just thought about it?

PP: Yes, I'd have thoughts, but it was still fantasy really. But at the time it felt like a practical life plan. Do you know what I mean?

LH: Yeah of course, you need to pay the fucking rent.

PP: Exactly. You just try to escape from the chaos of what you're feeling by trying to create order in your life. Order seems like a solution to save you from the pain of acting!

LH: It's a mental pain. Who was the first person you called when you got the role?

PP: My sister.

LH: Does she watch the show?

PP: Yes, she does.

LH: Pedro Pascal... or Pablo as I called you when I had too much wine, which was deeply insulting.

PP: Even family members have done that to me! Do I look more like a Pablo? Because it happens with about ninety-five percent of the people I meet.

LH: No, I think I’m just an ignorant drunk person.

PP: No, you were an ignorant drunk person that night is what you're saying.

LH: And now I’m educated.

PP: [Whispers] But | want you to call me Pablo.

LH: Ok, Pablo! When you first arrived on set in Northern Ireland, what was your feeling showing up to a bunch of British actors? Did it feel different to doing an American project?

PP: Yes, but I loved it. It wasn’t intimidating. I found it surreal because I’d watched and loved the show. I hadn't had the opportunity to work on something that I was really familiar with before, so it was overwhelming. But it was far more delightful than intimidating. Also you guys were really cool. Everyone was friendly.

LH: Oh, that’s just fake.

PP: Well, you guys were good at it!

LH: We know Game of Thrones is very popular obviously. Do you have any thoughts, or fears, about what this is going to bring you in terms of exposure?

PP: I have hope.

LH: Oh, God. I don’t mean to shatter that, but give it up.

PP: I don’t know really. It’s all been filmed, and now I'm back to my normal routine, so I haven't really thought about it. I remember when we finished filming and we were on our way to the airport, you asked me, “How does it feel you're all done?” and I couldn't really answer.

LH: You were quite emotional that day.

PP: I was very emotional because I’d had such an amazing time doing the part. Also just being there immersed in the experience... You described it to me best. You told me how I'd be feeling.

LH: We don't know your character's backstory when you enter the show, and you have some rather brutal scenes. Anyone who has read the books will know what I’m talking about.

PP: My character comes in, he stirs a bunch of shit up, and then he makes this fucking enormous exit. Now can | ask you a question?

LH: What is it? I’m not going to sleep with you. Give it up.

PP: Oh, come on! This has gone to shit and it’s your fault, so good luck to whoever has to edit it! But anyway, sometimes I'd hang out with the cast members and we'd go to dinner and they would get stopped constantly. There was no denying who they played because they were so recognisable, but you got away with it because you have this beautiful blonde wig on in the show, and in real life you are...

LH: Grey?

PP: {Laughs] No! You have beautiful chestnut hair! Is it liberating to not be recognised the way some of the other cast members are?

LH: Yes, it is liberating.

PP: Liberating being able to walk down an alley in Dubrovnik without being stopped?

LH: Yes, except sometimes | get recognised in the weirdest places. A woman was emptying my bag at Heathrow Airport's security gates and just went, “Are you the Queen?” while rummaging through my underwear. It was so fucking weird.

PP: It seems they're more respectful to you?

LH: Because they're frightened. Wait until they meet the Viper.

PP: Well, that covers it.

LH: I think we're going to get our own show out of this, you know

Interested in learning more about Pedro? Check out Pedro Pascal Unofficial on Pinterest!

[fanfiction-inc]

“It Takes Two to Win a Race.” Chapter II

[Previous Chapter] / [Next Chapter]

Verse: Falcon And The Winter Soldier / Captain America And The Winter Soldier / Captain America: Civil War/ Marvel Alternate Universe

Characters/Pairings: Baron Zemo/ Reader, Baron Zemo/ Female Reader, John Walker

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 8971

Warnings/Tags: Drinking, smut, m/f, oral (female receiving), vaginal fingering, unprotected sex, drunk sex, Google translated translations, Walker is an asshole and just keeps getting worse.

Summary: Baron Helmut Zemo, world renowned racer and your sworn enemy on the track. You two have been going at it for years now, but now you two must join forces to fight back against John Walker, a new up and coming racer who is proving to beat both of you. Will you two survive the other or meet your demise on the track?

Ao3 Version: https://archiveofourown.org/works/32606833/chapters/81176392?view_adult=true

This is a mess. An absolute, blazing mess that sits before you in the middle of your workshop. The chassis was dented all to Hell, a new one having to be rebuilt and delivered to fix your custom car. The engine had parts missing that were left at the crash sight when it was towed away. One car to your name, and it was fucked up. Maybe you should have taken Stark’s sponsorship and invested in a backup. Sitting on the cement floor of the workshop, screwdriver in hand as you pry out bits and pieces of parts from the engine, taking note of the parts and working on the budget you had set out for this year's series of races, you dreaded the moment you’d see the total cost. This repair would take a nice chunk, but you still had money left over after to make sure your car was at its best. That was the thing about working with your car, it was just you and this beast of metal and speed, working as one to reach the end of the line. The screwdriver is set down at your side when you struggled too long on getting the broken interconnecting rod that links the turbine from the compressor, a sigh following as you sit back. A slow sense of dread fills you as you look at the broken parts scattering the ground, the missing parts on your list, and the purple paint that still streaks the busted carbon fiber chassis. 

Working with Zemo was a dangerous game, which you recognized even before you shook on the arrangement he had proposed. He was wicked on the course, predictable at times but at others a ticking time bomb of what his next move may be. He was dangerous, but that is what made him damn good. He took far more risk than you usually would when it came to advancement in the race. Where you held back, he pushed forward. No wonder the man infuriated you. But this plan was the only thing you had to get things back to normal, back to the way they were where you hated Zemo with a passion and fought tooth and nail to stay better than him. You would never admit it, but without your rival, what fun was the race? See, it's not only the thrill of the chase between the driver and death, inching closer and closer with each hairpin turn and the risk of the other driver's moves. No, it’s also the thrill of having someone who wants to win just as bad as you, who is just as good and will do anything to try and progress further than you. It sets a standard, something to surpass, something to stay on level ground with when you catch yourself falling. Zemo was your equal, no matter how much you hated him. And equals like you two don’t have room for a third party to jump in and surpass. The game isn’t any fun when someone fucks with the rules. He had a point when it came to beating Walker down, especially since the man was already fighting you both with molotov cocktails and rocket fire in the form of playing dirty on the track. He was bringing a war to a battle just to see if he could come out on top. Despite everything telling you to stay away from Zemo and not get involved in this scheme, that it could end badly for one or both of you, you couldn’t stand the idea of having Walker walk all over you like some doormat. You couldn’t let him walk in as if he owned the place and could rule as he pleased. 

He needed a reality check. 

Your form pops and cracks as you stand, stiff from sitting on the solid ground and stretching to relieve your body of the tension. Everything felt so wrong, and you knew you had to make it right...But was this the right way to do it? “Jesus, you sound like that rice cereal with the little elves. You know, snap, crackle, and pop?” You laugh lightly when your friend comes into the workshop, food in hand and dressed down from the usual luxury attire he wore when visiting. No suit and tie in sight, just the oil stained wife beater you had seen him in when pursuing your education in the states as he worked tirelessly on his little toys as you liked to call them. He sets the bag down, the scent of the food causing your stomach to growl and pinch with a hint of pain. Have you really forgotten to eat today? You hadn’t noticed. “Got your favorite. Do you know how hard it is to find a restaurant that speaks English? I had to have Friday translate for me.”

“Maybe you should take a new hobby and learn the French language.” You retorted with a grin, the man shaking his head as he sets everything out. “Maybe I want you as my teacher, but you’re always busy with driving around in your fast little car and getting famous for fighting a Sokovian asshole.” 

“And you’re too busy tinkering away with your toys in your little workshop in New York. Truly Tony, don’t tell me you actually want me as your teacher when your toys can teach you for me.” You pause as he rolled his eyes, watching the man for a brief moment as he turned to unwrap his burger. “Speaking of said Sokovian connard, he came to the bar I was at last night.” The man paused mid bite on the thick patty before speaking with his mouth full. “Okay, spill, what did he want?”

“Well originally I thought he was going to cuss me and try to blame me for the failure to complete the race yesterday, but he showed me something. You know the young man who won the race yesterday, corriger? John Walker?” 

“Yeah, I know the guy. Races for the American McLaren team and came straight from F3 to F1. What’d he do?” 

He raises a brow when you sigh, taking a seat beside him on the desk he had set the food down on and stealing the dish he had brought you. “Zemo showed me proof that Walker hit his car and sent him flying into mine. And I believe he did it on purpose.” You explain, taking a bite of the food your companion got for you. You pause for a moment to chew before returning to your theory. “On my way to the car bay, he smirked at me, and it wasn’t a “I won” smirk- well, it kinda was, but it was rather a “I did this to you” kind of smirk. Not necessarily an evil one but one that showed he knew exactly what he had done and was proud of it. Pride in an unfair act.”

“And no flags were thrown up?” 

“Non, not a one. As our friend the Baron said,” you cringe at the term friend, “the ones watching the race possibly couldn’t tell if he had done such on purpose or by accident. I believe him about such. And I suppose that brings me to what I’m about to say next.” You take a breath, gaze conflicted and downcast to your food as you speak. “The Baron offered a temporary truce of our rivalry to take down this John Walker, thus allowing us to return to what we do best after Walker is taken down.” He listened intently before his nose scrunched at the idea of such. You two working together? Ha! That’d never work! “And you said yes to this crazy idea? What the Hell are you thinking, (first name)?” Your hands shoot up in defense, gaze rising to meet his own. “I know, I know! It’s a crazy idea, but you know as well as I do that if Zemo and I want things back to normal, back to the rivalry, we have to do this together so Walker is met with further resistance. If I could avoid it and deal with this American scum, no offense, then I would.” 

“Some taken, but I get it. I just wonder if you two will go back to the way things are after all of this. Who knows, maybe you’ll become that dreaded word you hate to associate with him in any capacity-”

“Ne t'avise pas de le dire, Anthony.”

“Friendssss.” He draws it out, causing you to roll your eyes at his antics and slap his arm with the back of your grimey hand. He pretended to show a hurt expression before chuckling when another slap came, this time to his chest. “Oh hush, we will never be friends.” 

“I guess time will tell.” A shrug followed as Stark finished the last bite of his burger, crumbling the wrapper and lining up the shot with the waste bin in the corner. “He shoots,” the paper lands in the bin, his arms going up in the air. “He scores!”

“Stop goofing around, ma amie. I asked for your help with this and now I need it.”

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Three weeks have passed, and the Germany race is upon you. The Nürburgring, a beast of a track that many racers to this day in Formula 1 fear like a plague sweeping the track. Your mind has been racing as you pieced your car back together and got it ready for racing. What happens if something wasn’t installed in the engine right? What if you didn’t get the intake vents lined up just right? You were a perfectionist with your car, and you know deep down that it was ready for race day but it made your head sing with pain as a migraine sets in. That wasn’t the only thing that made it throb and bring you to lean against the chassis of your car. Zemo’s deal, it worried you sick. But you didn’t have time to think about it much today. You couldn’t dwell on it. You had a race to win. 

Your eyes flick up at the speakers, listening to the message. It was press conference time. You take your seat where your name tag and flag set, giving a nod of acknowledgement to the crowd of reporters sitting and waiting to open up questioning. To your left, Walker seats himself with a boyish, charming smile that didn’t quite meet those dark eyes. He looked your way, hand held out to you. “Hey, I hate that we didn’t get to meet earlier on. I’m John Walker.” You glance at his hand before looking back up at him. He played a good game, acting innocent like the boy scout he tried to be. You wouldn’t fall for his games, but you shook his hand briefly. “(First name) (Last name).” He grinned. “Oh, I know who you are. I’ve been watching you race for years now! I hate that you crashed a couple weeks ago, would have loved to have been standing on that podium with you.” 

“Oui, such a shame that was. But today is a new day, Mr. Walker.” Your gaze flickered to your right, startled by your rival taking his seat and looking directly at the pair of you. The Baron never sat beside you, even going as far as to request a seat change from the press conference coordinators. Some learned to keep you two separate, others knew it would incur drama, and drama made money. 

“Alright everyone, please take your seats and the conference will begin in one moment!” 

“Say, did you get your car all fixed up? Must have cost a pretty penny since you don’t have any sponsors.” Walker continued on, this time his gaze looking at the reporters as he gave a brief wave to the ones he recognized from the states. “Oui.” He gave a huff of a laugh. “Not much of a talker, are you?” You wanted to bite back, to say something and throw hands with this man, but you would be escorted out and disqualified in a snap. “Non.” A leg bumped yours under the table and you glance at Zemo who met your gaze briefly. Those dark brown eyes questioned if you were okay, a silent question that only you understood. The slightest nod was sent his way before looking at the reporters who got things settled and ready. 

“Questions are now open-” The announcer was startled with the amount of questions directed in the direction of you three, clearing his throat as he nodded to your little trio at the table. Mr. Walker!” He gestured to the reporter, watching him stand and adjust his microphone and camera. “Mr. Walker, this question is open to the three of you. Under allegations from the previous race at The Circuit Paul Ricard, many are wondering if you had caused the accident involving Zemo and (Last name). How do you feel about these accusations?” The man had the audacity to laugh and throw that boyish smile to the camera, rubbing at his face. “Look, that was not supposed to happen once so ever. As many of my fellow racers can attest, one wrong slip of the hand on your wheel and your car will eventually go off track. I got nervous, twitched, and just so happened to bump the Baron’s car into Ms. (Last name)’s car. I feel terrible, I truly do, but it could have happened to anyone with any driver. So I refute these accusations and continue to say this is an accident.” 

“And you, Baron, Ms. (Last name). How do you feel about the accusations?” The reporter gestured his question to you two now. “I respect your opinion, Mr. Walker,” Zemo began, the man smiling and sending a nod his way. “But I call, as the Americans say, bullshit.” His smile fell, darkened gaze questioning the man on what the Hell he was going on about. The reporters erupted in questioning, trying to get the attention of the two racers who stare each other down around you. You lean back a bit for them to have a better view-line, One of the American reporters calling your name. You use this moment to break the tension. “Oui?” 

“Do you believe you stand a chance as a woman against these two leading men now that John  Walker is starting to gain points and nearing your total?” You blink at his question before taking a deep breath, holding it to calm your throbbing head, and releasing it slowly. “Oui, I do. I believe I can keep up just as well as any racer. Take my racing career with Zemo. I have kept up with his old extrémité arrière.” The French reporters in the room resound in a fit of chuckles, bringing a smile to your face. “And against Walker?” You meet his gaze as he stares at you expectantly for an answer, forcing that smile he tried to use on you earlier. “I believe I stand quite a good chance, but que le meilleur coureur gagne.” You shrug, listening as the smaller drivers get asked their questions. The whole time there are eyes burning into the left side of your head, waiting until the racers are dismissed. Walker watches you as you walk out, watching the way Zemo comes up in tow as you make your way to the car bay. Something was up, and he could feel that there were clearly doubts in your mind about the accident in France. He would just have to deal with you later. “(First name), wait!” Zemo followed you into the bay, slowing from his jog to keep up with you to a stop near the desk holding your notes about the race and your vehicle. “I haven’t had a chance to talk with you in person since the bar.” He paused, looking into those eyes of yours that gaze at him curiously. “Are you ready for this, fräulein?” 

“Aussi prêt que possible, Baron.” You busy yourself with inspecting your car for any last minute changes, the man watching you as you inspect and work. “Good, good. And we are still a go, yes?” 

“Oui, we are still, as you said, a go.” He grinned at you, gaze flickering down your back as he looked over your uniform. Of course he had noticed you in all aspects before, talent and skill being the top, but never had he been this close like the night at the bar and now to really see you. Maybe after all of this, even with the rivalry, you could be friends, dare he say anything more than such. “You’re staring.” You quip, breaking him from his trance to meet your gaze. The faintest hint of color lingered on your cheeks. He coughed, trying to clear away the embarrassment lingering in his form. Why was he getting embarrassed? “Just thinking about what will be left behind when I pass you on the track, mein liebe.” Your eye roll doesn’t go unnoticed, the man relaxing due to how calm you are around him. No biting his head off, no anger, just chill. You stand and give a playful shove to his shoulder, smiling at the Sokovian. “In your dreams, Sokovian. Now, get the fuck out of my car bay.” He smiled to himself as he walked away, mind now clouded by the smile that lingered on your lips. He liked when you smiled, and he had to make sure this plan worked. 

The race was gearing up to start, the same process as before coming into play. Car, balaclava, wheel. You take your moment to breathe, today your speed has placed you in second, just as the plan entailed. Zemo took the first position. He glanced your way, sending a nod in your direction, only to smirk beneath the balaclava when you flip him off like usual. The rivalry was still on, no matter what he would still have that after dealing with Walker. Still have you in one sense or another. Your glance focused in on the man across the way in the pole position opposite of you, his eyes locked on the two of you before meeting your gaze. There he stares you down, even as his helmet slipped on. The visor was flipped down at the one minute warning, eliminating the final clarifying view of his gaze. It was clear he was cautious of you, maybe even lingering with hate. 

“Fahrer! Starten...sie ihre....Motoren!

That familiar purr settles into your chest, spreading through your body like a dam breaking and flooding the valley below. It stirs up the motivation to win once more, removing any doubt from your mind as you rev your engine. Zemo was right, Walker had to be stopped. With this attitude about racing, playing his little mind games and wrecking racers, he’d get someone killed just for first place. You couldn’t allow that...but you also couldn’t allow the rivalry you have established with Zemo to be broken because of someone else. There was too much there to be lost. Your fingers tighten around the wheel, licking your lips beneath the helmet as you prepare yourself for takeoff. The lights start counting down the race. Five seconds away, one green and two red lights. You watch them count down until the bottom lines of red are fully lit, then they flash off. You’re off, following Zemo right on the tail of his car as you start into the track. This track was a beast, your mind racing as it remembers every nook and cranny of it. Seventy three corners, eleven danger points, hair pin turns, all on a 12.8 mile long course that was deadly in the onset of any weather and people who get careless with their moves. Lucky enough, the sky was only overcast. No rain, little wind to interfere with the aerodynamics and mobility of the chassis, just the perfect chill in the air to remind you where you were in this moment. You take your turns with ease, avoiding the group of cars that began to follow suit on the track behind your own. Your eyes remained locked in on every shift to your side, Walker keeping close by within each turn and danger point you went through. 

As you drive, Walker gets up past you within one of the speed trap areas, the stretch of road allowing him to be up beside Zemo and leave you on the back of their tires. Zemo had a plan, you believed in this plan… but had he just been toying with you to get closer to Walker? Doubt clouded your mind, even as you sped up in an attempt to join the boys directly in the front. Perhaps you shouldn’t have followed this plan, even as you get through the first twenty five laps, then the next twenty five. Each turn brought your tyres closer to Walkers who eyed you cautiously from time to time, as if silently daring you to pull a move like he did. Maybe you’d be caught and black flagged. Hell, that would make his fucking day if that happened. As he watched you, he had failed to notice on the wider strip of the track how Zemo began to drift further and further ahead. Then he was side tracked, Zemo slowing abruptly and stealing the attention of the young American driver. “What the Hell!?” He yelled over the roar of multiple motors, watching your car join Zemo’s side and the original speed be resumed. Now you sat beside Zemo on the track, pedal to the floorboard as you two kept your lead and basically walled Walker in. Each time he tried to drift around, one of you would shift your car just enough to keep him locked in. A grin met your lips as you drove, the energy of the race taking a whole new shift as you got closer and closer to the last lap with your rival right at your side. Tips of the chassis lined up perfectly, rear aerodynamic fins aligned like a well oiled machine. You two were in perfect sync as you put Zemo’s plan into action. Create a wall of impenetrable magnitude. If Walker tried anything, all three of you would go down. If he tried to get around, he would be blocked. There was no getting out from behind you two. 

The checkered flag waved in the quickly approaching distance, your gaze for a moment looking at your rival. The blur of purple was steady, lined with yours like that of an air jet's flight coordination. Perfectly straight, and running at full throttle like you are. As your cars pass the finish line, debate begins to rise. It was too close in the end to call, at least not right away. You slow, allowing the purple beast to pass by and enter the pit before you, a silent gesture of courtesy to the man you worked with. He sent a small nod your way when he watched you get out of your car, helmet removed along with his balaclava and revealing the joyful grin resting on his lips. Anyone else would mistaken it for cockiness, but the look in his eyes said it all. You two did it, you beat Walker in the race! He must be furious! A breath is held on your end, helmet and the fabric covering your face discarded as you turn your gaze away from the arriving racers and the man you drove along with. You were locked in on that score board, curiosity eating at you for who may have won the race. You were neck in neck with the man, the smallest push forward could earn either of you the points for the day. No names shown yet, and you anxiously leaned on the hot surface of the carbon fiber vehicle as you waited. Each noise around you from the slow dwindle of engines to low, fading purrs to the pit crews of your respective teams surrounding you, your rival, and the newcomer were drowned out by the pounding of your heart as it flooded your ear drums. It felt like hours passed as you kept your gaze locked on, ignoring the happy clamour of your crew, the clasp of hands on your shoulder and pats on your back, even down to the ruffling of your hair in glee. Then it flashed up. 

1st: (First initial). (Last name) 

1st: H. Zemo 

2nd: J. Walker

The press goes crazy over the news, each respective country reporting their amazement over the finishing results.

“Ein fehlerfreier, aber überraschender Sieg für Baron Helmut Zemo, der mit (First name) (Last name) gleichauf den ersten Platz belegt!”

“Victoire pour la championne de France (First name) (Last name) alors qu'elle rejoint le Baron Helmut Zemo dans une rare égalité!”

“In a remarkable and truly unprecedented event in The Nürburgring F1 race! Baron Helmet Zemo and (First name) (Last name) tied in a photo finish for first place, a rare occurrence that has set back American racer John Walker from the potential for first place!”

Your breath comes out shaky, slowly slipping out as reality hits you like a wrecking ball to a brick wall. The air leaves your lungs as a happy noise rings out from your lips, joining your crew in the celebration as they hug and surround you. You placed first. Zemo placed first. Curiosity met you, your gaze looking to the man who celebrated with his own crew before allowing himself a chance to settle his gaze on you in turn. There he sent a wink, a silent congratulations that made you shake your head at his antics before refocusing on the celebration. You would be standing with the man in first place on that podium, both sharing the victory wreath and spraying champagne all over the crowd of fans and your respective pit crews who were basking in the glory just as much as you two were. You couldn’t help the glee bubbling up in your form, even as you make your way not too far from your rival. For a second, just a split second, you let the rivalry go and let your smile be seen in accompaniment with his gleeful grin, shoulders bumping when you’re positioned at the podium by the F1 management crew. Press swarm to the area like flies to a summer barbecue, wanting to catch a glimpse of the rivals standing together, being on the podium and sharing first place. “Not so bad working with my, as you put it earlier, old extrémité arrière, hm?” He questioned as you two stood together, the closeness you two were forced into for the photographers far more comfortable than it would have been under any other circumstances. He blamed the feelings he had at this moment on the victory over Walker, over the rest of the racers, not even thinking that perhaps this was beyond the fact that he won but that you, his favorite rival, won alongside him. “Non, not the worst.” You joked lightly, forcing a serious face for the cameras when they began to picture you two side by side on the first place stand. He accepted the bottle of champagne before you could, holding it out. “You may have the honor, (First name).” Your fingers brush his own as you grasp the bottle with him, popping the cork and sending the bubbly to decorate the crowd. Flash after flash met you as you stood alongside Zemo and basked in the glory of the win. “How about drinks to celebrate? Even as rivals, I believe a drink wouldn’t hurt.” He whispered the question, causing your gaze to lock on his own in brief surprise. Was he serious!? “I um..Oui, sure. Meet you in town?” He nods, gaze seeming to glimmer ever so brighter as he takes his leave. Even when you separate to get cleaned of the alcohol and switch to “civilian clothing”, your smile doesn’t falter. Maybe it would be good for you to drink the night away with company that didn’t seem as bad as you once had thought before. 

As you begin to peel away the racing suit, the flame resistant material bunching at your waist and revealing the open expanses of your back, the simplistic bra strap over the back the only material seen, you fail to hear the seething man enter your car bay. “Do you know what you just did, Ms. (Last name)? Who you fucked with?” Walker puts his hands on your shoulders, spinning you around to face him, his face inches away from yours. “You went and fucked with the wrong man. You could have just accepted your loss, licked your wounds, and we would have been just fine. But oh no, you had to go and fuck with my winning streak with that Sokovian piece of shit.” He huffed when you shove him back, gaze narrowed and arms crossing over your bra covered chest out of annoyance. You could care less what he saw. “I don’t see why you’re so mad, Mr. Walker. You got a taste of your own medicine after that stunt you pulled back in France. You and I both know that was no accident.” 

“You know what? Yeah, I did that. But I see you are working with Zemo now, which is also a big no-no in Formula 1. Seems we’re both sinners of the race. The greed of it.” His tone was a hushed, harsh whisper. There was no need to alert anyone that he was in your private quarters harassing you. “I’m nothing like you.” Your tone came out in a hiss, his downturned lips curving up into a grin at your response. “Oh sweetheart, I beg to differ.” He chuckled at the narrowed gaze he was met with. “You and your Sokovian boy toy need to back off. Let this happen like it should or you’ll not like what happens next.”

“And just what do you think you’ll do, John? Because all I’m hearing right now is a lot of talking with no proof of any big execution.” Your lazy grin and scoff of annoyance at his presence left him to raise his hands in mock defeat, hands coming to rest on your shoulders once more with a harsh grip that made your body tense and hold you there. He leaned in, even as you tried to lean away, his lips moving in close near your ear. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you, Frenchie. I will do anything to win. You best remember that.” His tone alone makes your body betray you, the calm, cool, and collected front slipping as a shiver ran up your spine at his warning. And with that, he leaves you to get dressed for the night. 

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Zemo texts you an address for a bar off the beaten path in Cologne, Germany, further than you had anticipated in going from the track but a welcomed change of scenery. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you, Frenchie. I will do anything to win. You best remember that.” The words stick with you, even as you drive the main road into the big city, looking for the bar Zemo had invited you to. It was connected to a hotel, a fancy hotel at that, with old architecture and lavish exterior. You could only imagine the interior! A nervous breath is taken as you get out of the car, gaze meeting the man you had just won with. He smiled at you, clothing casual and the air around him feeling far more comforting now than ever. The incident with Walker had left you rattled, sending your nerve endings to buzz and let your body know that you aren’t okay. Even though you felt off, you force a smile to the man who wrapped a friendly arm around your shoulders and led you in to sit at the quiet bar. “So, did I not tell you the plan would work?”

“I just thought it was your cockiness talking, but I will admit, though it physically pains me to do so…” You pause, biting your lip. “Well?” You sigh. “You were right.” The words come out struggled and forced, the man's grin growing at such. “Ah~, I don’t believe I caught that.” “Oh va te faire foutre!” He chuckled at your words, hand raised towards the bartender to get you drinks. “What are you ordering?”

“Shots. We deserve something to toast our victory to, and I don’t believe champagne is your drink of choice.” He offered you one of the smaller glasses, his own raised before him as he locks those bright brown eyes with your own. “Ein Prost! To us, and our victory over John Walker. May that American schwein taste defeat again.” You raise your glass, hoping to drink away any thoughts about Walker's warning and leave it for the next day. Throwing caution to the wind, you decided right then and there that you would finally have fun and disregard the night that you sat across from your rival. Tonight you just wanted to drink. “À la vôtre!” The drink is bitter as it hits your throat and travels down your body, causing a warmth to spread soon after. Kuemmerling, a bitter concoction of herbaceous and bittersweet flavors. A drink of choice for Zemo it seemed because soon after the shots were downed, he ordered another round. 

Shot after shot after shot is taken down until your body is leaning against his own and a joke that is shaky at best from his part sends you into a roar of laughter. He holds you close, laughing right along with you. “So... It’s Barenjar?” He snorts at your piss poor pronunciation of the new liquor joining the mix, shaking his head at you as he looks on with drunken vision. “Nien, nien, Bärenjäger. Say it with me. Bä-”

“Bä-”

“Ren-”

“Ren-”

“Jäger!”

“Mick Jagger?” 

He laughs in defeat, shaking his head as he watched you. So relaxed, so calm. He hasn’t seen you like this before in his life. He’s startled by your sudden movements after downing your last shot for the night, catching you as you try to stand and stumble as your feet betray you. Your body landing against his, his arms slotting themselves around your waist as your drunken gaze catches his own. Those brown eyes of his are hypnotizing, keeping your gaze locked on his own. “I have something to confess, (First name).” He paused to wet his lips, trying to piece the words together in his hazy mind. “I have liked you since the day I met you.” He finally blurts out, fingers moving up to brush away a stray strand of hair that had fallen into your eyes. “You’re infuriating, yet calming. Stubborn and determined. Your smile is lovely and those eyes…” He trails off, leaving your hazy mind questioning what was going to come after, but you hardly have time to think about it as he pressed in closer, face inches from your own. The smell of Bärenjäger and Kuemmerling lingered on his breath as it fanned over your face, those brown eyes searching for something in your own. “Can you feel it, the connection we have? Can you see that we are not just rivals now?” His tone was just barely above a whisper, questioning you with a hint of desperation to his tone. 

“Oui.” 

That was the only answer he needed. His lips are on yours with fever and desperation, hands clinging to your form for dear life after hearing the words that sent him to fully fall into the feeling of you. You were his comfort, the one constant thing in his life. His rival...but right now you were the woman he sloppily kissed at the hotel bar as the bartender tried to catch his attention to tell you that you both were cut off for the night. His hands moved to grip at your thigh and tangle in your hair, abandoning the idea of holding anything back, the liquor giving him courage to make a move on you. He has wanted to do this for years, touch you, feel you, have you there with him in any way he could. He separated only when the threat of security was offered by the bartender, lips kiss swollen and a faint pant falling from them. “Come.” His hand takes hold of yours, leading you along to the lift and up to his room for the night. This hotel that he called home for the time being would serve well for what he had in mind to do to you. He led you inside, not even waiting for the door to close as he captured your lips once more, hands taking your rear in his grasp and hoisting you up so your legs wrapped around him, back pressed up against the closest wall he could find. He held you there, lips separating to begin trailing hungry kisses down the column of your throat and allow his hands to trace along your sides. His fingers slipped beneath the fabric of your shirt to feel the bare skin there, wanting what he has longed for since the day he met you. A noise fell from your lips as he lazily suckled a mark over your pulse point, your fingers tangling into his dark hair and tugging the locks when his hips grounded against your own. He couldn’t help the fire blooming in his body, needy for the creature that has teased him for all these years, The one he thought he would never have a chance with because of their hate for each other on the track. He needed you, and in your current state, you were willing to accept any touch he offered. He was just Helmut Zemo tonight. Not your rival, not the Baron, just Helmut. And you were his (First name). 

A groan left his lips when you pulled him by his hair away from your neck, hands working to take your shirt up and over your head. Throwing it aside, he looked at you with a gaze of admiration. It was similar to the gaze he gave when looking at the new modifications to his car, taking pride in the beauty of things that drove him to win. He dampens his lips, fingers lazily dragging up the expanses of your back from bottom to top, resting on the clasp of the garment covering your breast. “Darf ich?” Your nod was all he needed, the clasp undone with skilled fingers that knew precision, holding still on your back when your arms rose to take the garment and throw it in an unknown direction to be forgotten about for the time being. He wasted no time with taking one of your breasts in hand, fingers running over the sensitive bud of one while he took the other in his mouth, suckling and lavishing with his tongue. He took his time, drunken yet slowly sobering mind savoring each and every noise that fell from your lips as he toyed with your body. You’re barely into foreplay and he already has your panties soaked, the Baron being a creature that knows exactly what buttons to push to get you going without even knowing your body. He was skilled, that much was for sure in your mind as he switched to the other breast, paying equal attention to each. Those brown eyes of his don’t leave your face for a second, watching every reaction and trying to commit them to memory. If he could only have you tonight, he wanted to remember everything he possibly could. Every detail of your body, everything that drew a hitched breath or a low moan from your lips. Every shaky breath and the way your body would press closer to his greedy mouth and hand. He stored it all away. Maybe he’d wake up the next day and fancy this a pleasant dream...It wouldn’t be the first time he’s gotten worked up by thinking about you. 

His hand traveled downward, cupping your sex through your pants as his own grinds up against your thigh, straining through the fabric of his pants. He ached for you, for your heated skin to be pressed against his own in a delicious rut of bodies. He traced along the seam, hearing the low whine that fell from your lips as he teased you through the material. “Helmut, stop for a moment.” The man paused all actions, his gaze shifted to a worried state as he met your eyes and spoke with concern. “Are you alright, mein liebling?”

“Oui.” Your fingers trace his jaw, the man's face briefly pressing in against your palm before delivering a soft kiss to the area. A tender gesture that sent butterflies to flutter in your stomach and heart to speed further than the foreplay had already caused. “I just...Take me to the bedroom. Please?” You preferred not being right beside the door where anyone could listen in, where anyone could hold a camera up to the peephole and record the sexual pleasures of the infamous Wildcard and Baron. That would make a top headline, wouldn’t it? He gave a chuckle at your demand, nodding as he kept his grip on you, your legs wrapping just a hint tighter around him as he moved you both to the bedroom. He’s gentle with setting you down, looking down at you when you unwrap your arms and legs from his form. “Scheiße, du bist perfekt.” He slowly worked on the buttons of his shirt, working each plastic piece through the loop with fingers that were known for precision on the course. A shift in his steering, taking hold of the semi-automatic paddle-shifters as he drove, it was all well calculated and that applied on and off the track. His shirt is shrugged off his shoulders, thrown aside before focusing on the belt on his pants. He gets it off with what can only be deemed a darkening gaze, knowing he’s getting closer and closer to having you. You rose to let your hands trail his chest, roaming over the lean muscle that rested there as feather light kisses met his collarbone. A shiver met his spine, shooting up in bliss as he allowed a moment to savor the feeling of you touching his skin. Your skin was so warm, so inviting. He was getting lost in everything. 

Your fingers shift down his torso, trailing his abdomen before looping in the belt loops of his pants to pull him forward, a low growl falling from his lips when you place a kiss above the waistline of his pants. Your movements were confident, unzipping his trousers and tugging them down to reveal the tent hidden behind his underwear. He swallowed thickly as he kicked his pants off, watching your every move as you cup him through the thin fabric, thumb moving to brush over the leaking tip and cause a shaky breath to leave him. “Maus-” A groan leaves his lips when a jerk through the fabric is given, his head falling back briefly. He huffed when you repeated the motion, fingers anxious to wrap around his bare flesh and feel that hot skin in the palm of your hand. But he stops you, hand wrapping around your own and bringing it to his lips once more. “Tonight is not about me, maus.” You’re surprised when the man placed his hand on your chest, lightly pushing you back to lay on the bed as he slowly sank down onto his knees, ”Es geht nur um dich.’ His lips drag slowly across your skin, trailing light kisses and nips along your abdomen and resting at the waist of your pants. He glanced up, a silent question of courtesy offered your way as his fingers loop in the band, asking permission like a proper gentleman. “Go ahead.” Your voice is barely above a whisper, his presence making you feel like you’re floating higher and higher on this ride with him. He gave a tug, your rear lifting and back arching to aid the man as he pulled your pants down and let them fall to join the scattered articles around the room. You’d have to go on a damn scavenger hunt just to find your clothes! But none of that mattered now, not when his hot breath is fanning over your needy core and face nuzzling at your thighs. He placed a kiss to your inner thigh before another followed, then another as he began to trail inward towards your covered core. “Aufgeregt?” He purred in questioning, a low rumble of a chuckle coming from deep within his chest spilling out at the small nod he is met with, loving how he has left you damn near speechless just by being so close. Your hips jump back before he gets a grip on them, his tongue moving over the wet fabric and causing a light whine to spill from your lips. “Helmut, please.” Oh, hearing you speak his name only egged him on further, needing you. He needed to taste you, to feel you. He needed you in every way, and his drunken mind only pushed him on to pull the fabric away from your legs and stare at the glory that is you. So wet, so beautiful. He wasted no more time, bringing your legs to hook over his shoulders and delved into the intoxicating honey pot he had been offered. He started off slowly, a long lap from entrance to clit given before the motion was repeated just to hear the noise that left your lips with each swipe. Zemo was mapping you out, taking note of what areas made your thighs twitch and tense, what areas made your hips jump back at the sensitivity of his touch, and what made those oh so delicious noises spill from your mouth. 

He allows his tongue to focus in on your clit, flicking the bundle of nerves in a rhythm that sends your head to spin and moan after moan to spill from your lips. “Merde!” He smirked against your core when your hand shot down to tangle in his locks, needing stability after he took your clit between his lips and suckled. He repeats the motion, gaze locked on your own and watching the sudden shock of the feeling run through your body. You were so reactive, and just for him. A lazy lick is given to the sensitive bundle of nerves, watching your hips jerk lightly and seeing the tremble that began to settle into your thighs. “Close?” He questioned as if he was questioning about an everyday thing, totally not giving the impression he was getting you close to orgasm just with that sinful tongue and lips of his. O-Oui.” Your tone was shaky, breathy, eyes half lidded and watching his every move on you. “Gut.” A gasp fell from your lips when he sank a digit into your hot, needy core, arching along the way and searching for the sweet spot deep within. He wasn’t like the inexperienced boys who would just jab their fingers into their partner and hope it hits something. No, his fingers curled, probed, dragged and felt for that spot in a way that showed his experience. A second digit is added not too long after the first, probing the flesh within until he hears your moan and finds that spot that drives you to clamp your thighs around his head. A groan left his lips at the rush of slick is met with each probe, massaging that spot within you and only adding to the tension building in your core. Each throb he was met with only spurred him on. He was on a mission to bring you over the edge, and he would do anything to get you off. When his mouth returned to your still sensitive clit, tongue flicking of the bundle and including the occasional suckle while his fingers moved deep within, you were done for. A rough tug is given to his hair as your body convulses, thighs clamping around him and grinding your hips down against his eager tongue. He helps you ride out your orgasm, lapping at your clit until you give a light shove to his head to make him stop. A wicked smile crosses his features as he gives one final suckle, a squeak leaving your lips at the motion and shoving him back as much as your trembling body allows. He can only chuckle at the attempt, fingers removing from your throbbing core. He watched your gaze land on him when you caught sight of the digits, watching the man move his glance to them as if he was inspecting them before a quiet whimper left your lips when they were taken one by one into his mouth. He made it a show, teasing you as he cleaned each digit of your juices in a slow motion. Sinking down to the knuckle before returning and licking at whatever was left. “Tease.” You huffed, chest rising and falling steadily with your hammering heart. “Oh you know you like it.” He retorted, lazily letting his body climb up and over yours on the plush mattress. 

He pushed the final material separating you from him away, throwing the underwear away before letting himself settle in against your body. Zemo wasted no time in wrapping your legs around his waist, lips joining yours as he lined up with you, one hand taking hold of your hip while the other took hold of your hair, tugging it back enough to have access to your neck. As he begins to ease himself within you, his lips attach at a section of your neck, a harsh mark left in his wake as he sinks inch by inch within the lightly pulsing core that he toyed with before. A groan was left against your skin when he was fully settled, grip rough on your hip but movements gentle as he waited for you to adjust. He was no animal, not cruel! He knew that there was a possibility for pain if he moved too soon, and even in his drunken haze he recognized the look in your eyes, the slight twinge of pain from his size alone. The stretch wasn’t unpleasant, no, but it was an intrusion you weren’t quite used to when normally doing this. He lightly placed kisses to sooth you along the mark he left, trailing them up the underside of your chin, going along your jaw before soon connecting with your lips in a soft kiss. Something to distract you until you were ready for him to move. A shift of your hips was given when you tested the feeling of him in you, the moan that left your lips causing a low growl to fall from his own. He lifted his body to loom over yours, hand moving from your hair to cup a breast as he sets a slow, deep and even borderline sensual pace within your core. Slowly out until the tip stayed just barely in before plunging deeply into your warm, wet depths. He huffed with each push of his cock within your core, meeting your moans with a faint groan here or a soft growl there when your walls gripped him just right. He was losing composure with each faint twitch of your walls around him, pace beginning to pick up into a steady rhythm that developed the noise of slick skin hitting skin and the bed beneath to creak ever so slightly with each movement. “Verdammt!” He could tell how your walls began to tighten around him, how each noise leaving your lips grew louder and louder. His poor neighbors, hearing you both so vividly through the walls of the hotel. Yet he didn’t care who heard. As long as they knew that in this moment, you were his to take, that was all that mattered. Zemo moved his thumb to your clit, working the bundle along with the assault he laid on your sensitive spot deep within. Each clamp around him brought his own release to come closer and closer. “Cum for me, maus.” He demanded with a grunt, needing to feel you come undone to reach his own release. His words hit somewhere deep in you, the demand that was laced with a plea driving you to your second orgasm of the night. He groaned as he felt you clamp around him, the sensation alone causing him to remove himself from you and spill onto your stomach with a few quick pumps of his hand along his slick coated member. He pants, taking in the sight of you one final time for the time being. Messy, slickened by your own arousal and sweat. Your hair was messed up, your lips parted and panting. To add the cherry on top, you were coated in his release, a sight for sore eyes while you lay like this. He made you like this, and it swells his drunken ego. 

Slowly he eased down to lay at your side, bringing you in against him with an almost delicate kiss delivered to your temple. Your breathing slowly evened out, head resting against his chest as his fingers trail along your back, drawing imaginary patterns as his mind begins to blank. The alcohol was taking effect, causing him to enter a lull and for his eyes to flutter shut. As you lay there, catching your breath, you watch as he drifts away, a single question beginning to enter your sobering mind. 

“What have I done?”

Tag List: @darksxder | @mymagicsuitcase | @mischief-siriusly-managed | @alindeluce​

[royallyprincesslilly]

Title: Pleasing The Duke {1}

Duke of Hastings/Rege Jean Page x OFC Jemilla “Jemi” Remmington

Warning: Plot, Regency Period Piece, Slow Burn, LOTS OF WORDS

Words: 5.7k

Summary: After your four weeks on the marriage mart and the tumultuous way yours and the Duke’s budding friendship that turned into a faux courtship, then a real crisis that could have tarnished your name forever, you are now married to the Duke. Only this is no traditional marriage. The Duke has professed to never fall in love, never get married, and never sire an heir, a matter you know nothing of. Furious that his wanton, lustful desires have gotten him to forego one of those vows, he is determined not to break the other two. That would usually be an easy feat. Only with you, it might be more challenging to keep those vows, seeing as no matter what, you are the only thing on his mind.

Note: Inspired by Rege Jean Page’s portrayal of Simon Bassett. This fic will not have any other characters from the series, except Lady Danbury, mainly the portrayal version of her by the incredible Adjoa Andoh and maybe Queen Charlotte portrayed by Golda Rosheuvel. This series will focus on The Duke and an OFC female character and will be a sultry and erotic historical romance. Anyone under 18 is advised not to read.

***Let me know if you guys want me to add like glossary terms at the end of the chapters for period specific words/items.

***Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to Julia Quinn’s characters, nor the Characters established by Bridgerton. I own the rights to the original characters created in this story.

If you enjoyed this please LIKE, COMMENT, REBLOG!! 😘  

As always, thank you so much for reading. ❤️❤️

***Loosely Edited/Proofread***

***Slightly Interactive***

Chapter One: The Duke & Duchess Of Hastings

“I pronounce you husband and wife.”

 You kept your back straight and your limbs stiff though you felt at any moment either or both would give way, sending you tumbling to the ground in a heap of white lace, silk, and tulle. Perhaps you’d even be sucked into the ground for good measure, you thought. No one spoke once those words had been uttered. Almost a full minute passed before the clergyman spoke again.

 “Eh-em, I declare you husband and wife.”

 You gulped and slowly found your head swiveling toward the man beside you. a man who was practically a stranger, a man you’d now found yourself joined to until you were parted by death. Your husband—The Duke of Hastings. When your eyes met his, you noted a look of strangled fear and disgust. His jaw was clenched, and he looked as if he were seconds away from revealing the contents of his stomach right on the front of your gown.

 Long moments seemed to pass with the two of you just gazing into each other’s eyes. This was not the gazing of enamored lovers or even lustful suitors. It was the gaze of a man who’d been forced into a marriage he did not want and a woman riddled with guilt for her part in it.

 “Your grace.”

Simon’s head snapped back in front of him to find the clerk holding out the book he was to sign his name into. You watched as he took the quill from the clerk and slowly signed his name. He paused after every word as if he were seriously contemplating scratching his name from the book entirely. An act that was to be seconds took a full minute, and the entire time you wondered if he would turn to you and call the whole thing off, leaving you a ruined and jilted woman.

 Simon held the quill to you for your turn. As you took the object, your gloved fingers grazed his. Even though your skin did not touch his, you shivered all the same—that was before Simon snatched his hand away to drop them to his sides. You glanced down at his hand that you’d ever so softly grazed a week or two ago and watched his fist clench tightly.

 “Your grace,” the clerk repeated, this time to you.

 Bringing your attention back to the book in front of you, you proceeded to sign your name beside Simon’s. Instead of writing the name you’d been accustomed to your entire life—Lady Jamilla Remmington, you signed your new one for the first time—Duchess Jamilla Bassett, The Duchess of Hastings. It looked strange to your eyes, but it did not look terrible.

 “Congratulations, your graces.”

 The voices began to overlap as each of those in attendance for the small ceremony extended their felicitations to both of you. Neither of you could find your voices or the words to reply to even thank them. There was nothing to be thankful for, you thought. You’d traded one unhappy future for an equally unhappy one, quite possibly more unhappy as you’d just entered the very thing you’d refused to—a loveless marriage.

 Thankfully leaving the church, there weren’t people outside ready to shower the newlywed couple with rose petals and cheers. Unfortunately, you had to ride in the same carriage as your new husband. Simon sat across and diagonal from you, peering out the window at the scenery. Holding your bouquet of fresh flowers while fiddling with the blush-colored silk ribbon it was tied with, you watched Simon take a flask out of his coat pocket and knock back something strong from the whiff of it that caught your nostrils. He grimaced, then groaned before he looked at you.

 The way he looked at you nearly made you stop breathing, not from him taking your breath away, but from the hostility you saw in his eyes. Simon grumbled before looking from you back out the window. Your stomach fell, realizing just how severe and hopeless your fate was. For the remainder of the carriage ride, you worked to keep your eyes off of Simon. It was a task that seemed more manageable for him than you.

 Every so often, your eyes found their way back to him to take in other parts of him. Either it was the way his cravat looked around his neck, and the sly way peeks of his throat could be seen through the tiny slots, or it was the way he tightly gripped the flask he held. A flask he didn’t bother to hide. He was already so unhappy with you that he didn’t care to continue the ruse of propriety for you. It was disheartening.

 Simon kept his jaw firmly clenched as he watched the scenery pass, but he didn’t look as if he were looking at the rolling hills or passing farms. He appeared to be looking directly through anything that passed. This was just day one of your “new” life, and if the two of you couldn’t muster any conversation, you didn’t know what hope there was for the future.

 The carriage ride from the church to your reception took all of fifteen minutes, give or take a few. You’d tried to plead with your mother to forgo the reception, stating that it was outdated and unnecessary, but your mother wouldn’t hear a word of it.

 “The wedding reception is one of the joys of the beginning of a married woman’s life. It is the time she greets the ton as a Mrs. She is no longer a miss. You will get to revel in your new role in front of all the other unmarried women. The reception lets everyone wish you well while being the source of envy in their eyes.”

 You sighed, hearing her words in your memory from the night before. You did not fault her. she did not know the true way your nuptials had come about. She thought you and Simon had genuinely fallen head over heels while pretending to have fallen head over heels. She did not know about what had transpired to bring the two of you to this outcome. You didn’t dare tell her.

 While a loving and kind one, your mother preferred her children, mainly her daughters, to be the supreme example of propriety. She had groomed you to be nothing but a proper lady. That meant you always had a chaperone when you were going most places. You were never alone with anyone that wasn’t a woman. Your hemline was the exact number of inches deemed appropriate, as was your neckline. It also meant that your education was top of the line—well, most of your education.

 You learned to read, write, do arithmetic, play the piano, do needlework, draw, paint, sing, dance, how to catch the eye of a suitor, the propriety of courting, and how to run a household for marriage. Your accomplishments could have been seen as superior, but your mother said you had to be better than average. You had to be perfect. She pushed you further, saying because your skin color was different, expectations for you to be perfect were high. So, you expanded your education to learn two languages, French and Latin. Excelled in piano and learned to play the harp. You were quite accomplished, usually more than those around you.

 The part of your education that was lacking was knowledge that went past things others could see. Your mother made sure to keep any discussions of inappropriate topics away from you and your sisters, only giving you the smallest of details. She sure stressed what was inappropriate but skimmed past any other things. It was while learning about science and animals that you grasped procreation at the most basic level.

 You had plenty of unmarried friends. There was Tessa Carmichael, your best friend who lived across the road, Abigail Prowler down the road on the left, Edith Bunfeld down the road on the right, and Letecia Grother, whose aunt was on the neighboring street. All of you often spent your afternoons walking around the park and gossiping about many things, including the joys and privileges of married life. None of you really knew what to expect. Of course, many unmarried ladies tried to grill the ones who were married, but they all remained tightlipped. All they did was giggle into their fans, saying, “you will find out on your own.”

 Here it was, the evening of your wedding day, and you still had no idea. Your mother had assured you earlier in the day before you left home for the final time as a Miss that “The Duke will take the lead, all you must do is follow it.”

 “Your grace?”

 You came out of your memories to see the footman holding out his hand to assist you out of the carriage. Once you stepped out, you rearranged your dress until Simon stepped out beside you. You watched him tuck his flask in his jacket before he held his arm out for yours without even sparing you a glance. Sighing, you looped yours with his and let him lead you into the building.

Once you walked in, the first people you saw were your mother and Landy Danbury. They both had bright smiles on their faces.

 “Your graces,” Lady Danbury said, dipping her head.

 “Oh, you know you never have to bow your head to me—never to me,” Simon said with a fond smile on his face as he looked at Lady Danbury.

 You knew his affection for the woman went deep. You weren’t entirely sure about most of it, but you knew that she’d taken care of him helped him become who he was. You’d only known him about five weeks, and that wasn’t nearly enough time to peel back the many layers of The Duke Of Hastings. You suspected you’d need a lifetime for that. A lifetime which you now had.

 “Are you all right, dear?”

 You plastered a smile on your face and nodded.

 “Of course she is mother, she is now a duchess,” your sister Jerrikka piped up as she came over to pull you into an embrace.

 “You know very well I am not the type to hold so much weight on a title,” you replied.

 “Is that so? Not too long ago, I remember you bragging you were to be a Princess,” Simon dryly shot out.

 You glanced at him trying to keep the glare away. You remembered the conversation you’d had where you’d uttered those words and remembered why you’d said them. You’d wanted to pointedly show him that you were desirable though he behaved as if you weren’t. Perhaps part of you wanted to enrage him or garner any reaction from him at all. He’d been so damned stoic. It was next to impossible to know what toiled in his head.

 To not draw suspicion of trouble so soon after wedlock, Simon smiled at you. It almost looked like a real smile, a warm one, but his eyes remained cold—detached. He then led you into the ballroom, and as he did, all eyes floated to you. Everyone in the room held broad smiles on their faces as they dipped down into a respectful half curtsey or head bow. You and Simon both returned the gesture before the members of the ton flooded around you, each offering their happiest felicitations for your marital bliss.

 You kept your back straight, face neutral, smile stretched, and hoped it shone all the way to your eyes. Your eyes always gave away whatever you were thinking or feeling. It was what you considered your fatal flaw. Your mother could hide everything behind her relaxed expression and only allow others to see what she wanted. Even, your sisters, Jerrikka and Jacinda, could remain relatively stoic, you were the one who was cursed. Your father always called you his little lightning bolt because of how quickly your emotions flashed.

 By the time the congratulations finally subsided, it gave you time to take your first ever taste of Ratafia. Your mother had never allowed it. She said it was for married women. You and Jacinda had only been allowed one glass of cordial at any event. Once you’d had your one glass, it was lemonade after that.

 You were standing close to the fireplace in the corner of the room. It gave you a good view of all that was happening. Simon was beside you, slightly turned away with one elbow resting on the stone of the fireplace. His stance allowed you to take in his side profile. Even standing leisurely with his other hand on his hop and one leg crossed over the other, he still looked regal. Before you thought it was conceit you sensed in him, but you’d come to see it as pride.

 It wasn’t a detrimental pride or one that said he thought himself high over others. It was a different kind of pride entirely. It was one that made him more attractive in your eyes. His slim but masculine frame you’d gazed over tens of times over the last month always set your curiosities running wild. Right now, you found yourself wondering if all of him had the muscles he’d displayed two weeks ago when he rolled up his sleeves.

 You hadn’t even seen your brothers in that state before. he was the first. As your eyes traveled the length of his body, you raised your glass to your lips and took a sip of the coveted Ratafia that many ladies seemed to love. Your eyes stopped at his backside, and that was where they remained. The liquid passed your lips and washed over your tongue.

 The most unexpected flavor filled your mouth. It was one that was stronger than anything you’d ever tasted. As soon as you swallowed it, you began coughing. Simon’s head spun to you with a worried expression.

“Are you all right?”

 Your response was another fit of coughs, which made Simon take a step toward you.

 “Jemilla?”

 You held up your hand as you cleared your throat once more.

 “Good heavens, this is absolutely terrible.”

 Simon’s eyes flittered between the glass in your hands, your face, and back to the glass. Slowly a smile spread across his lips before he pressed them together.

 “Is this your first time having Ratafia?”

 You nodded.

 “How? Every lady in London has a Ratafia habit they think no one knows of,” he said with a smirk.

 “Is that so?”

 “Why yes. Look.”

 He stepped to the side then nodded his head to the ladies of the ton. You looked at a few of them, and each of them brought glasses of the horrid tasting drink to their lips, including your mother, older sister, and Lady Danbury. He was right. It would seem the ladies did have a liking for the thing.

 “How is it that your mother and sister drink it regularly, but you have not?”

 He was facing you again with plenty of curiosity in his eyes. Needing something to do, you nearly raised the glass back to your lips—nearly.

 “My mother doesn’t let any of us have this. She says it is for mature married ladies. So I did not qualify.”

 Simon nodded and raised his glass of Brandy to his lips.

 “I see. So, now that you are in the company of those married but not quite mature ladies, you decided to partake.”

 Curiosity nipped at you now. Tilting your head to the side, you took him in.

 “Married but not quite mature ladies? Pray tell what you mean by that, your grace?”

 Simon didn’t attempt to speak. He just took another mouthful of Brandy and studied you with the utmost scrutiny. A hint of mischief flickered across his face before he scoffed and turned away from you, taking up his same stance from before. You could have tossed the remaining Ratafia in your glass at his back. He’d always had this uncanny ability to wind you up since the day you’d met. It still hadn’t changed. Your mother said that it was a blessing, and it would mean your marriage would not be a bore.

 “It figures you would regress into a state of cowardice at the mere spark of a conversation,” you speared, knowing it would rile him up.

 As expected, Simon spun around to face you but also took the three steps needed to be only inches from your face.

 “Did you call me a coward?”

 You fought a smile. “I wouldn’t dare, your grace.”

 You knew he heard the sarcasm in your voice.

 “All right, your grace, I shall educate you, but only a little. You are married, as sure as that bauble decorates your dainty finger, but just because you are married, it does not make you mature,” Simon reiterated.

 You waited for him to continue, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of knowing you anxiously wanted to hear the end of his thought. Your eyes dipped lower than his to his mouth and watched him smile. That smile was something that was growing on you every time you saw it. You realized the dryness of your throat then, and you snaked your tongue out to wet your lips. His eyes dropped to your lips and stayed there for several long moments.

 Simon leaned an inch closer. He could almost touch your nose with his. “You are not mature until you have woken the next morning in nothing by the bed sheets, with aches in muscles and places you never knew you could ache, and a road map of marks along your body all made with nothing but lips all from your first night with a man,” he said in the most alluring voice.

 A strange feeling washed over you, and you feared you might actually swoon. Clouds seemed to fill your head as your entire body became so heated as if the fire you were standing near had caught on your body. You tried to control your expression, all the while Simon watched you. After a few seconds, Simon’s jaw clenched, making the muscles in his neck jump.

 “Maturity, your grace, requires a toll be paid, and it must be paid over and over and over,” he finished. A scowl replaced his clenched jaw, and the thought that he felt disappointment made your stomach sink.

 “And how many tolls have you collected, your grace?

 Simon looked caught off guard by the question. It wasn’t a dignified question. One does not ask a man, even if he is her husband, such things.

 “Plenty, but remember one needn’t make it an all-night occasion. Five minutes or so in a parlor could suffice.”

 Jealousy hit you, and you couldn’t hide it. Simon smirked, then scoffed, but the smile slipped and was replaced with a frown.

 “Well, my husband, the rake. I am surprised you wed at all.”

 Simon looked pained, but you did not focus on it.

 “As am I, but I didn’t have much of a choice, did I?” He muttered it, but you heard it through. Instead of letting another emotion slip, you raised the glass to your lips and drank it all down in one agonizing and sicking move. Once finished, you walked off, leaving him there.

 Mere hours into your marriage and things were already falling apart; you thought as you walked out of the ballroom and outside into the chilly night air. You took a deep breath, held it, and did it again and again. The man made you angry and flustered in under five minutes. You couldn’t help but reminisce about your time casually talking at balls and events around London while you were on the marriage mart. He’d been terse to begin with, but slowly he’d warmed to you.

 You’d developed the beginning buds of a friendship that took you by surprise but was welcoming. While every man in London was trying to put their best foot forward to entice you into marriage, Simon was not. He showed plenty of his bad habits, his cynicism and preference to see the worst in people, his inability to see the true heart of those in his company, his stubbornness, his temper, and on some occasions, his rakish ways. It didn’t matter, you never judged him for it, and you could tell he appreciated it.

 “My, how things have changed,” you said to yourself once you were under a wide-spanned tree sitting on the stone bench.

 You closed your eyes and listened to the night, finding comfort in the chirping crickets, the sound of the wind rustling the leaves, the faint rolling of the wheels from passing carriages, all backed by the orchestral music from the ballroom. Slowly your anger subsided. You didn’t even know why you were angry. You’d known he had no plans to marry. It was one of the very first things he’d told you, and he repeated it on so many occasions it was seared to your brain. The Duke of Hastings was not in want of a wife. Yet, here you were married to him, all because of one night similar to this one.

 It was your fault. You felt as if you’d left him with no other choice. You thought back to the night that had changed everything. You didn’t know what you were doing when you allowed him to cross the lines of proper distance between two unwed people. The only thing you could think about when he slowly came closer and closer was how badly you wanted to know what he smelled like underneath his cravat. For weeks the casual way he had it done with the different materials that were so much more vibrant than others always drew your attention.

 In your few moments of stupor, Simon had managed to come so close you could see the small flecks of auburn within his eyes. His unexpected closeness made you swoon slightly, and his arms were there to catch you and hold you against him. It was your first time being close to a man that was not either of your brothers. Even then, there was some distance.

 Simon’s hand then grazed your cheek and trailed down to your jaw before curving back to where your earlobe hung. You’d lost whatever strength your knees had and slumped against him just as his finger dipped down your neck and coming across your collar, and it was there he stopped. It took several moments for his finger to plunge lower until it dangled right above the rise of your breast. When he dipped his head down while maintaining eye contact, you began to shake in his arms. He took a deep inhale at the swell of your breast.

 “You’re trembling like a leaf, are you cold?”

 You shook your head slightly.

 “Then what are you, Ms. Remmington?”

 You could smell the brandy on his breath, but there was something else too, something you couldn’t make out.

 “Quite fevered,” you whispered.

 Simon took another deep inhale of your skin then moaned.

 “Goodness, you smell of roses, night jasmine and--,” he inhaled again. “Orange blossom. You smell like my best dreams, Ms. Remmington.”

 Your breath hitched. Simon came closer and closer until his lips hovered over yours. You should have moved and chastised him about impropriety, but you stood there while the hand that was at the middle of your back slid lower and lower until you felt his fingertips pressing into the flesh just above the swell of your bottom. The action brought your lower half firmly against his. You didn’t know what you felt, but it was something. His lips only slightly grazed yours before you’d heard voices approaching you. He’d been the one to pull away from you first and apologize profusely before he’d walked off, leaving you pressed against the wall of roses that was right behind you.

 “Already hiding from your husband?”

 You opened your eyes and saw your best friend, Tessa, standing there with a teasing smirk.

 “Tessa.”

 You began to stand, but she stopped you, sitting beside you instead.

 “Your grace,” she said.

 Scoffing, you bumped her with your shoulder. “Oh, stop it. Do not tease me. I am still Jemilla. I will hear no nonsense of your grace from you.”

 “I know you are Jemi, but you are also a Duchess now. It would be faulty to not acknowledge it, especially in public, at least once.”

 You sighed and fiddled with the new ring on your finger underneath your white gloves.

 “We are not in public now. It is just you, and I so do away with it.”

 “Very well.” Tessa remained quiet for a few seconds before she turned to you with an excited smile. “All right, show it to me.”

 You pulled off the glove and showed her the wedding ring Simon had placed on your finger earlier in the day. Tessa gasped, grabbed your hand, and brought it closer to her face.

 “Oh my. I dare say the Duke has excellent taste. It is quite beautiful. While most husbands give their wives one jewel, yours had bestowed you a bevy.”

 You snorted and looked out into the night while she continued to gawk at the bauble.

 “So why are you out here and your new husband nowhere in sight?”

 You bit your bottom lip then looked at her. You’d told her everything that had happened between you and Simon. You’d told her the reason your engagement was so quick and that there was no love between you and him.

 “Oh come, come, Jemi. I know you wanted to marry for love and desire and passion, but just because your marriage did not start that way does not mean it cannot end up there,” Tessa suggested.

 “Tessa, be realistic. I have told you the things he has said about marriage. He came to town with no intent on marriage.”

 “And look, he is married now, in mere weeks no less. Jemi, a man will say all sorts of things to prevent something, but from this day on, he is yours.”

 It was then you thought back to his words by the fireplace.

 “And how many tolls have you collected, your grace?

 “Plenty, but remember one needn’t make it an all-night occasion. Five minutes or so in a parlor could suffice.”

 You could have laughed out loud, but you didn’t. He hadn’t been yours before, and you doubted he was now.

 “Tonight is your wedding night. Perhaps you shall feel differently in the morning,” Tessa said, a broad smile spread across her face.

 You knew what she was insinuating. You had heard the chatter of a woman’s wedding night but had heard nothing of consequence. All you and Tessa were left with were speculation and plenty of possible theories and fantasies. Tessa stood and held out her arm for yours. After slipping your glove back on, you looped your arm with hers and allowed her to lead you back into the ballroom.

 Once you were seen, your mother approached you and swiftly brought you towards your new husband, then enticed him to dance with you for all the ton to see. Simon, of course, complied, and the two of you drew every pair of eyes. Rather than looking directly at him, you kept your eyes somewhere neutral, somewhere that it would appear to others you were staring into his eyes.

 “Remember what I said to you the first time we danced like this?”

 “We’ve never danced like this, your grace.”

 “You are right; our titles, or rather your title, has changed but are we not the same people?”

 You fell into the trap and met his eyes.

 “Are we, your grace?”

 Simon peered deeply into your eyes as if he were looking for that very answer.

 “I am told we have our entire lives to figure it out.”

 Feeling your face beginning to shift to give away your inner feelings, you looked away, back to his ear.

 “Stare into my eyes.”

 They were words he’d said before, in the exact manner. You ignored his instruction, though the urge to obey pulled at your willfulness.

 “Jemilla,” Simon said in a low, deep voice.

 “Stare into my eyes.”

 You caved and darted your eyes to his. Simon held it for a few moments.

 “If this is to work, we must appear madly in love,” he said.

 The words garnered almost the same reaction as it had the first time he’d uttered them. The only difference was you were well aware that appearances were not nearly all that they seemed. It had worked a little too well, and now you were married and so far from madly in love.

 By the end of the evening, your feet hurt from all the walking around and dancing, and your head throbbed slightly, probably from the music and being unable to eat even one bite due to the anxiousness that had plagued you all day. After you’d said your goodbyes to your siblings, mother, and friends, you climbed into the carriage with Simon, unsure just where you were heading. You didn’t pay too much attention to the darkness outside the window because your head was too caught up in thoughts of what was to come.

 You fiddled with your gloved hands, your bouquet that you’d nearly stroked all buds from all in an effort to take your mind off of things. After thirty minutes in the bumpy carriage, you saw a large tree pass by. You looked around you, trying to figure out where you were.

“Where—where are we?”

 “One of my estates, Briarvale, Simon answered.

 “Briarvale. I thought we were going to Clyvedon?”

 “No, Clyvedon is quite far, much too far to travel tonight. Briarvale is the in-between point. We will stop, rest for the night, then continue on and should reach Clyvedon by late afternoon next.”

 You nodded and lowered your eyes. “I should have made you aware of the plans before. I am afraid I am so used to consulting no one I did not stop to realize I now might have to. I apologize.”

 He didn’t sound angry about it, just remorseful. Maybe he was being sincere. When the carriage stopped, the jarvey opened the door and helped you out. Some torches lit the entire walk path to the front door, where two servants were standing at either side of the door. Simon stepped out beside you and cleared his throat.

 “After you, your grace.”

 You walked ahead while taking in the large home before you. It was two times bigger than the one you’d spent half of your life in, and you imagined Cleyvdon would be four times larger than this one. You never imagined marrying this wealthy. Wealth was never one of your concerns at all.

 “Welcome, your graces.”

 You and Simon walked inside into the foyer.

 “I will let you get settled,” Simon said before walking off, leaving you standing there and wondering where he was going.

 One of the maids led you through the house to the stairs. As you climbed them, you took in the paintings on the wall and the wood’s shine. It was a well-kept residence. A few minutes later, the maid stopped in front of a door.

 “Your room, your grace.”

 “Thank you. what is your name?”

 She looked surprised by your question, but she still answered. “Ingrid, your grace.”

 “Thank you, Ingrid.”

 She smiled and bowed her head, and waited for you to walk inside. When you did, the fire was crackling, making the large room very inviting.

 “Is everything to your liking, your grace?”

 You nodded. “Thank you, yes.”

 Ingrid nodded, then walked out of the room, leaving you with your thoughts. You knew he would come, so you waited. You took the time to look around the room at the different paintings and objects and even examining the material of the sheets on the bed. Still, Simon hadn’t appeared. That was when your pacing began and did not stop. After pacing for quite a while, you finally stopped, then took off your shoes and waited some more. When another ten minutes passed with no Simon, you peeled off your stockings but hesitated to remove any more articles of clothing.

 When you were sure you’d waited an hour more, you got annoyed and walked to the door. As soon as you opened it you saw one of the maids passing.

 “Hello there.”

 The young woman turned, startled, then dipped down to a bow.

 “Your grace, is something the matter?”

 You were embarrassed even to ask her this. “No, nothing is wrong. Have you—do you know where—has his grace retired for the evening?”

 The maid gave you a curious look. No doubt she was thinking that you should know better than her. He was your husband, after all.

 “Uh—no, ma’am. His grace is still in the study. Would you like me to deliver  a message?”

 “No! No. Thank you.”

 You went back into the room, closed the door, and sighed out. She undoubtedly found it strange, and you worried you’d be the gossip of the house in the morning. You began undressing as you’d done plenty of times before then climbed into bed, leaving your petticoat on. Instead of going to sleep right away, you sat up and waited.

 You didn’t know what was going on or what to expect, and that was the part that gave you the most anxiety and distress. After another hour, it was clear to see that Simon was not coming. You didn’t know what to think or feel. The very little you’d been told to expect still made no sense, especially since it hadn’t happened. Or had it? Your mother told you that your husband would take the lead. Had Simon taken the lead by staying away?

 After going over it tens of times in your head, you snuffed out the candle that was on its last inch of life and lay down to stare at the upper canopy of the bed.

 You were married, but his actions had proven the line was drawn, and you were on opposite sides with chasms between you.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

***If you want to be tagged/untagged please SEND AN ASK SO IT WILL BE EASIER FOR ME TO KEEP TRACK OF. Thank you for reading!!!***

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

TagList:

@shar74nettt @soapjay @ashanti-notthesinger @caramara3 @caplover22​@blackpinup22 @areubeingserved @your-chaotic-neutral  @zejess93 @reignandrain @ovohanna24 @ramp-it-up  @littlepreciousangel @msblkfire84 @id-do-it-for-free-babe @my-rosegold-soul @sadthotsonlylove​ @arination99 @wondersofdreaming @veganvampre @ohsoverykeri @mery-be 

[thoughts-on-bangtan]

Three Asks

It’s been a while since we answered some asks so today and maybe tomorrow, or the day after tomorrow, we’ll collect some and answer them since we’ve gotten while a few in the last two or three weeks.

In today’s post I picked out the three most recent asks we’ve received, two of which are ones I’d usually just delete because answering is pointless but one of them showcased a popular pattern so we decided to reply just this once. So this time around the questions are about Namjoon and Seokjin, next time we’ll do ones about Tae and Jimin (and vmin), and so on.

Ask 1 - Did Namjoon have to bring up the criticism he received in 2015/16 in the Juju Chang interview?

Ask 2 and 3 - questions from either diet solos (someone who isn’t quite a solo stan just yet but exhibits the same thought patterns as solos do) or full on solo stans.

From anon: So you must have seen their interview alongside the President right on a news show? Most of it was fine and I liked how involved they were especially JK, but a point Namjoon made is what I'm kinda dicey about. He addressed that they were called out for WoH lyrics but the thing is I'm not sure if it needed to be brought up. Especially in American media and the way they contextualize things..

Obviously he meant that they grew from it but not sure if that was the way to put it I guess?

I will admit, there aren’t many times when asks that get sent to us annoy me, but this one in conjunction with the absolute nonsense that took place about this on twt just made my blood boil. Let’s look at the question and answer so we have full context when it comes to the interview and then, after that, we’ll look at the greater context of why Namjoon saying what he did is significant and a big deal.

Juju Chang: You guys are an all male band and, let’s face it, Korea, historically, has been a very male dominated culture and yet here at the UN one of the core values in Sustainable Development is educating women and having gender equality. You have a lot of female fans. What would you say to them about gender equality and working towards that?

Namjoon: Personally, I received a lot fo criticism regarding misogyny in 2015 and 2016, which led me to get my lyrics reviewed by a women’s studies professor. That experience, in turn, was an opportunity for me to self-reflect and question whether I’d been insensitive toward gender equality. I want to do the best I can to take interest in the topic, learn and make improvements. That’s my perspective now. 

Namjoon used a personal story as framework to showcase that even someone like him, a man in a position of power/influence from a country which, as the interviewer explained, is very male dominated can learn, grow and, in the long run, contribute to change. It takes tremendous bravery to do something like this, to not only admit that you made such a mistake, but also to take it and grow from it, take the time to reflect and strive to better yourself to never repeat it again. And also talk about doing so not only during an international broadcast but also while your own president sits right there next to you.

Perhaps there are a relatively big number of countries in the west where equality is much closer to being a reality, where it is a core value to respect woman, one that you are raised with, but here the context was specifically BTS and their background, their country and their culture. From K-ARMY we know that things have taken a turn for the worse in Korea when it comes to women’s rights and the behavior of men toward them, how feminism is treated essentially as a dirty word and you will get hunted down for using it or for behaving in a feminist manner. Namjoon himself was placed on some list made by misogynists labeling him as a dirty, dirty feminist. The same men who even went after the military to get them to stop using a hand gesture which could, if you really want to, be used to make fun of a man for a small d*ck. In polls men in their 20s and 30s have voted being against feminism and I don’t mean just like 10 or 20% of voters, but rather 50-70%, even some presidential candidates have apparently been revealed as anti-feminists.

Circling back to Namjoon, having this context, do you now get why it was a big thing for him to say this, why it makes him a role model and why it was important to do so? Besides this isn’t just about the WoH lyrics which, to be frank, were never an actual issue but instead were made into one (the line I know that usually get’s brought up most is “The girls are equations, and us guys are solutions” which, if you think about it, actually means that boys and girls are equal since 2+5=7, the equation and the solution are the same, and also the song is satire about hormonal boys and their behavior which people have decided to ignore for the sake of sitting on their high horses instead). Namjoon wasn’t even the only member credited for the lyrics yet he took the blame upon himself, used this to better himself even though we know 2015 was an extremely dark time for him. But he is the leader, he took responsibility and he grew from it. He stands as example of how change is possible even in a country that is male dominated and misogynistic.

From anon: Reading your post about My universe I can’t but be heavy hearted. 

It’s such a beautiful song but Jin not having almost any lines ruined the experience for me. He deserves so much more than being a mere backup vocal. Same goes to Jimin but I’m not as effected as Jin, since we’ve all seen a pattern there. 

We know the boys decide collectively decide LD and how it fits their personalities and voices but I can’t but feel icky about Dynamite, not today, BS&T and now MY. 

I truly hope this doesn’t continue and BH decides to respect Jin more as an artist. He’s one of the biggest reasons the group is where it is now.

Though I can’t say with 100% certainty that this comes from someone that has consumed too much solo stan “content”, it does very much feel like it and the only reason why I’m even answering this is that I’d like to highlight something, a pattern we've seen a million times over for years now in regard to line distribution but that is even more glaring and flawed in this case, after we’ve seen how My Universe was recorded:

“We know the boys collectively decide” and yet “and BH decides to respect Jin more”, with this you’re basically saying that you know all the members, including Seokjin, are involved BUT since giving him and the others slack for it would make you look bad, you instead throw blame at BH, which in this case had no say in the line distribution. That choice was Christ Martin’s to make. If you already complain about line distribution, at least have the guts to direct your hate at the people you just said yourself make the choice--the members. Solos already belittle Seokjin’s efforts as it is, and constantly demand an acting debut of him which basically, to me, just comes across as them wanting him to act because they don’t value his singing and music, so would it be really that farfetched for them to also hate on him for, what, not speaking up and demanding more to satisfy you?

Seokjin was so happy and excited while recording My Universe, while meeting Chris Martin, someone he’s admired and been a fan of for so long. He gave his best while recording and sounded absolutely marvelously, and yet instead of celebrating him, his voice, and what we do hear of him, you just focus on the negatives.

BH isn’t perfect by any means, don’t even try to come into our asks calling me a company stan or whatever because I’m far from it, but in this case they had nothing to do with it. Coldplay and Chris Martin did. We saw all the members record the chorus, and we heard it, we saw and heard Seokjin sing absolutely beautifully and get praise for it, and we saw how happy this collab has made him. Why can’t you just let this be a happy time, why must you immediately search for things to be negative about?

Would I have liked so hear more of his voice on My Universe? Obviously, I even said as much in my post about the song. I love Seokjin and his voice a lot, he is my bias wrecker for a reason. But the song has already happened, been recorded, mastered, and released. What will a negativity parade change? What? Absolutely nothing except for make him feel bad because you can’t just say “Seokjin did amazingly, I love his voice”, no, you have to go around yelling “OMG he is being cut from the song because BH hates him”. What does that do for him? Like really, tell me, because I don’t get it.

And if my opinion isn’t valid enough for you, it is, after all, just an opinion, take Seokjin’s opinion about the collab instead:

Or asks such as this one:

From anon: I honestly can’t wait for Seokjin to go solo one day. Go where he’s appreciated for his talents and musicality, not cuz he’s just a “hyung” or “comic relief” or “WWH”.

Where, tell me, has he ever expressed an interest in going solo? No, I’m serious, where, because all I know is that he is happy with his members, with what he does, that he enjoys making music and getting more involved than he used to. Just the other day during the interview with Juju Chang he spoke about how he misses the old times where he could go for soju and food with Yoongi to spend some time together.

And just a few years before that Yoongi said that Seokjin has been good from the beginning, and there are tons of other examples of the members praising Seokjin in terms of his voice and musicality. When he was going through burnout last year, Bang PD encouraged him to channel his thoughts and feelings into music, recommended him a producer he thought work well with him, and Seokjin said it really did help him. And we got Abyss as result from it all, a gorgeous and raw song. 

Yes, he gets praise for being a good hyung, because guess what, he is a good hyung. Maybe for you that’s not good enough, but he’s proud of it, has always taken the fact that he’s the eldest seriously even when goofing around with his members. How is that a bad thing?

Seokjin loves his members and they love him. Seokjin loves ARMY and we love him back tenfold. Just because solos hate the members and aren’t satisfied with Seokjin, how is that my issue or even his? If you’re a genuine fan of his, support his hard work, support all his contributions to BTS’ music, their performances, their dancing, and everything else. Because he is part of BTS regardless if you like it or not, and as far as we are aware, he doesn’t plan on changing that any time soon, or at all. 

[alice-angel12x]

💔Neko!Tamaki x Neko!reader x Alpha! Mirio

Nekos

I just wanted to add a little more depth to these neko stories. And yes the do have tails and ears

There are 2 types of neko: Neko!Panthera and Neko!Felis

Panthera are nekos who are like the alpha of the cat world  They are like tigers, lions, and leopards.

Felis are like your small domestic cats. The Omega of the cat world you could say.

Fluff and angst This story is based a bit on the song satisfied by Hamilton.

Mirio's pov

I remember when I first saw her. It was back in elementary school. The first diverse elementary schools for both werewolves and Nekos. Though almost all stayed with their respective group.

I asked my other werewolf friends at the time, too talk to some of the Nekos. They were not really into the idea of making friends with them. Most werewolf parents chose this school, because of its convenience and have many well-educated teachers. Not my parent's thou, they wanted me to make friends and they believed Nekos and werewolves can live in harmony. So did I, I've had many experiences with nice Nekos. My neighbor and my father's longtime friend was Neko Felis. And the day I fell off the bridge because of my quirk, a Neko Panthera hero came to my rescue.

So when my young mind, I can't really understand why Neko's and werewolves couldn't get along. Later on, in life, I found out why. It was not only our history but something more than that. Werewolves saw themselves Superior and Neko's were something beneath them. While Neko saw themselves more dignified out of the two and saw as werewolves as nothing more than lust controlled dogs.

So I made the first move and approached a girl Neko Felis all by herself. She was the smallest and most petite out of all the other Nekos. She had long gray cat ears, big e/c eyes, a long tail, and h/c hair.

I learned her name was y/n a Neko Felis. Despite being the smallest classmate, she was the most energetic out of everyone. She was sweet and kind, with a healing quirk to match. Which can only be captivated when she sings. She had the most beautiful voice.

Whenever I was around her my heart would flutter in my chest, even when I was young.

"Hey Y/n," I called to her.

"Yes Mirio," she replied.

"I've decided, even with my odd quirk. I'll become the best hero ever. To save lives and to make a world safe for the both of us," little me told her, pouring my heart out to heart.

Y/n smiled sweetly as she stood up.

"Then it's a good thing that's when I grow up I'll be a doctor. So I can take care of you when you Heroes get to hurt saving lives," Y/n said with a bright smile.

All the blood ran to my face as my heart pounded and tightened in my chest. I pulled her into a tight hug and taking in her scent. She smelt of freshly cut grass and lavender.

In the third grade, I meet Tamaki. He was a shy Neko Panthera. He was a really cool guy with a strong quirk to go with him. Y/n and I go to different classes in the third year. So why not make a new friend in this class.

-------

Being a new transfer student is awful. Especially in a Neko and werewolf diverse school. Werewolves already don't like me, and the neko's already had their groups or clicks. Until strange young Alpha approached me. He was the first person to approach me and talk to me. He shined bright like the sun.

I learned his name Mirio, a werewolf Alpha.

As we talked he mentioned he had another friend he wanted to introduce me to. A girl named y/n.

Recess rolled around and Mirio had to use the bathroom. So I just stood outside waiting for him.

While I waited, I heard someone trip and fall. I looked to my left to see a small Neko girl. Judging by her sent she was a Felis. Yet I came from a Neko only school, and I've never seen a felis as small as her. I thought she was... Cute.

When she got up, she appeared to be struggling to tie her shoes properly. I don't know what provoked me to go help her. Maybe it was the Panthera inside of me telling me to help a fellow Neko. But looking back I'm glad I listened.

"N-n-need help," I shuddered as I got on my knees and tied her shoe.

When I finished I looked up into her e/c eyes and got lost in them.

"Huh. What's wrong? Is there still dirt on my face?" The girl asked.

"N-n-no, it's not t-that. Y-you ha-ve... pretty e-eyes," I mumbled.

"Thank you... I'm y/n, and you are?" Y/n asked me.

I could hear her soft purring as she smiled at me. It felt soothing to listen to and she sent only added to that. I would tie her shoes forever if it means I could feel like this forever.

"I-I'm Tama-" "There you are Tamaki," a voice interrupted me.

" oh, it appears you already found y/n. Well, Y/n this is Tamaki. He's a new transfer student I think we're all going to be best friends," Mirio said with a smile as he pulled us into a hug.

As he did so I could hear y/n's purrs even louder than before. I could feel my heart tighten in my chest.

------

As the years go by things began to change, as things do with age.  Y/n's scent only got more and more irresistible. Tamaki and I made it into the hero class of UA, while y/n became recovery girls Protege in the school. When Tamaki got comfortable around y/n, he started to court her. He had her necklaces from precious stones and sometimes hunted some pheasants and brought it to her.

Even though I was happy for him, I could help feel a bit jealous. Even though we're wolves and Neko's on slightly better terms. Society isn't ready for mixed breed relationships. Is a very big taboo, and most who are caught in a mixed breed relationship are horribly hazed and harassed. I could never subject her to that, so I'm glad that she'll make Tamaki happy, and I know Tamaki is more than capable of protecting her.

There are many times where I questioned if maybe it would be worth it to have a relationship with her in secret. That all started from a little rumor that's right around the school.

"Did you hear, a werewolf in the first-year class has a thing for Neko's. Isn't that disgusting," one beta said.

" that's so gross. What, was he so desperate for a mate, that he went as low as a dirty ally cat," the other laughed.

So I wasn't the only one who loved another species. I just wish them the best.

One day as I was heading towards the cafeteria, I saw something. A werewolf Alpha, I believe his name was Izuku. With a Neko, and they were kissing.

For a quick fleeting moment, I saw y/n and myself, instead of Izuku and his lover. With newfound motivation, I quickly searched for y/n.

------

I asked y/n to meet me on the field, behind the school at lunch. I was nervous, what if she says no.

"Oh there you are Tamaki," Y/n called.

I snapped out of my stupor and turn to see her. Still cute as ever. No matter how much time passed, she always remained the smallest felis. If she were to stand next to me, the top of her head would just barely reach my chest.

She sweetly looked up at me with a cute smile. I could hear her soft purring as she got closer to me. Her long tail calmly swayed side to side.

"So you called me out here, what did you want to discuss?" She asked sweetly.

I close my eyes and took a deep breath, preparing myself. I looked into her beautiful E/c eyes.

"Y/n, for a long time, whenever you are around me I always felt something inside. And every time you leave I feel sad. Ummm... I-I'm s-sorry, I'm a-awful at this," I never started to get the better of me as I turned around and place my forehead on the tree.

"It's alright Tamaki. Take your time," Y/n said as she rubbed my back.

I breathed in, and out. I somewhat got to control myself and I was able to muster some courage to turn around and face her. Then something came to mind.

"Y/n when I first meet you... I-I thought you were cute and b-beautiful. When I-I was able t-to get close... I got lost in your eyes. A-and you smelled s-so p-pretty," I stuttered and mumbled.

I looked down at our shoes and saw that her shoelaces became loose.

"Oh no. Stupid shoelace," Y/n sighed in annoyance, as she got on her knee to tie her shoelace.

I bent down and tied her laces for her.

"This is how we first meet. When I was able to look into your eyes. The first thing I thought was.. 'If I could remain this close to you, I would tie your laces forever," I said to her.

Y/n face turned slightly red, her face showing a bit of shock. I could feel my nerves taking over, so I closed my eyes and showed her the necklace I made for her.

"Y/n, w-will you become my m-mate?!" I asked but not looking her in the eyes.

"Of course!" Y/n said as she wrapped her arms around my shoulders.

That's why I felt such a wave of relief, knowing that I was able to claim her. Before anyone else.

--------

That day I stood there, as I saw Tamaki claim y/n as his mate. My heart broke into a thousand pieces. Yet I could never hate Tamaki. So I did what I should have done, I buried my feelings for y/n in the very back but my mind.

~ Even now as I still never was able to get rid of my feelings for her.

15 years later

As Mirio made his way to his long time friend, Tamaki's house. He knocked and who answered was Tamkai's and Y/n's youngest daughter and the runt of the litter, Sofia.

" Uncle Mirio your here," Sofia chirruped in excitement.

"Hello young lion, are your parents here?" Mirio asked with a cheerful smile.

"Mirio. It's good to see you," a quiet male voice called out.

"Mirio, welcome," a sweet voice followed.

Mario looked up to see his close friends. Mirio smiled as picked up Sophia.

"Thanks for having me over," Mirio thanked hiding his fluttering heart, as he looked from Tamaki to Y/n.

[cienie-isengardu]

axelzp replied to “The Bad Batch”:

I think most people take issue with Omega and TBB due to concerns over whitewashing. Also, what do you have against the explanation of the biochips? Personally, I always thought it fit Palpatine's controlling nature better than the idea of clones just getting a command from some random guy in a hood, telling them to kill the Jedi.

First off, I apologize it took me so long to answer. I tried to explain my reasoning in a short and coherent way as possible, but apparently the years of frustration about this issue needed more space to be properly addressed. So, in advance, sorry for text length.

From all TCW changes done to star wars, the chip-in-brain is one of my top 3 reasons to dislike the whole TV show, despite many of its good moments. I understand why authors chose this sub-plot that allows them to separate the visibly individual "good" clones (thus making them more likeable for the audience / marketing) from the “bad” that kill the Jedi but frankly, I find it a cheap and kinda problematic excuse. Clones were victims regardless of which version people will accept but I really despite the idea that Jedi were their beloved generals and commanders - so beloved that clones actually had nightmares about killing them waaay before Palpatine ultimately won which undermines the whole point of Order 66. 

Jedi could never expect clones to shoot them in the back because they were used to their unquestioned obedience from the start of war. It was common knowledge, repeatedly mentioned in sources like “Jedi Trial” that clones were “bred to war, bred to discipline, bred to obey without question the orders of the powers that paid for their services”. Clones were made that way by genetic manipulations and years of intensive training; an indoctrination that makes clone troopers believe they have obey, no matter what cost.

Some sources, like Clone Wars Adventures’ “Orders” outright show us the mindset of clones:

and We’ve got nothing but each other ad our orders.

Because of that worldbuilding, I prefer Legends take on clone obedience and the Jedi approach to the problem than what TCW created. I talked about it more here, but the general sense is that I feel cheated by the idea of chips that turn people into some “programmed” machines because in such way, TCW erased the Jedi & Republic part in abuse & enslavement of clone troopers, while at the same time giving an unrealistic idea that Jedi were so liked / respected when most of clones did not have any special bond with them. And this is less about if Jedi were good military leaders or not and more that as generals/commanders they didn’t interact that much with common troopers. Because the chain of command doesn’t work like that. I’m willing to buy the close(r) bond between Anakin & 501st because frankly Darth Vader himself from the start was built as someone with better relationships with common troopers / “normal” officers than with most of the high ranking officers presented on screen. I’m pretty sure some other Jedi were caring and liking clones (and vice versa) but it is impossible for generals to know and be so close to all of their troopers.

Above everything else, Legends created an interesting situation in which the Jedi Council / Order knew clones would follow orders no matter if those were right or not and were aware how dangerous it could be yet they still didn’t do anything about it, because the obedience of clones were beneficial for them. Jedi not only took for granted their obedience, they mistook it for respect.

Which really speaks a lot about Jedi's own moral failing and/or lack of understanding the difference between those two terms.

In the Legends sources, there was no need for chips, really, when from the start Kaminoans tinkered with clone genome, created the effective system of “proper” education to mold clones into obedient soldiers and Republic wasn’t really interested to undo the damage done by such indoctrination. 

Before TCW brought the chips and “nightmares haunting clones” there were officially established Contingency Orders for the Grand Army of the Republic: Order Initiation, Orders 1 Through 150. A guideline for unexpected and/or critical situations, so the Great Army of Republic [GAR] would know how to proceed - especially when troopers were given contradictory orders. The orders (also known as Clone Protocols) weren’t secret and there is a big chance that Jedi knew it, if someone bothered to learn the manual. The whole formula of Order 66 was described as:

"In the event of Jedi officers acting against the interests of the Republic, and after receiving specific orders verified as coming directly from the Supreme Commander (Chancellor), GAR commanders will remove those officers by lethal force, and command of the GAR will revert to the Supreme Commander (Chancellor) until a new command structure is established."

And here how the scene played in the RotS novelisation:

That concealed compartment held a secure comlink, which was frequency-locked to a channel reserved for the commander in chief.

Kenobi nodded and spoke to his mount, and the great beast overleapt the clone commander on its way down into the battle.

Cody withdrew the comlink from his armor and triggered it.

A holoscan appeared on the palm of his gauntlet: a hooded man.

"It is time," the holoscan said. "Execute Order Sixty-Six."

Cody responded as he had been trained since before he'd even awakened in his creche-school. "It will be done, my lord."

The holoscan vanished. Cody stuck the comlink back into its concealed recess and frowned down toward where Kenobi rode his dragonmount into selflessly heroic battle.

Cody was a clone. He would execute the order faithfully, without hesitation or regret. But he was also human enough to mutter glumly, "Would it have been too much to ask for the order to have come through before I gave him back the bloody lightsaber. . . ?"

The order is given once. Its wave-front spreads to clone commanders on Kashyyyk and Felucia, Mygeeto and Tellanroaeg and every battlefront, every military installation, every hospital and rehab center and spaceport cantina in the galaxy.

So there is really no “random hooded guy” calling clones to kill Jedi but Chancellor himself using an appropriately secured military channel with confirmation of his identity to issue a legal order in a critical situation (an opportunity created by the Jedi Council themselves who went into the Senate building to kill Palpatine). So why the clones shouldn’t listen, when the order came directly from the Supreme Commander of the Great Army of the Republic? 

Of course, the movie (and novel based on it) alone has this weird addition like “yes my Lord'', what I personally consider as the cinematic way to show the switch from Chancellor Palpatine to Emperor Darth Sidious. Still, I’m willing to give some benefit of doubt about the modification made by Kaminoans and if Order 66 could trigger anything hidden in clone subconscious. But even if there was something, it didn’t erase their personalities or changed the way clones behaved like it happened in The Clone Wars and The Bad Batch.

One way or another, the Order 66 worked out because clones “have no malice, no hatred, not the slightest ill intent that might give warning. They are only following orders”. Which I guess comes down to how clone troopers were presented - or maybe rather how they were seen by other characters in the Legends. As more detached, combat pragmatic, toned down, to some degree isolated from the outside world, less individual. Regardless of what Jedi or Republic citizens thought about clones, it did not make them any less human beings.

And here comes the paradox of The Clone Wars. The TV show made great effort to humanize clones by presenting them as very individual, outstanding people which in itself is a great thing. The names, the tattos, the different paintings of armours, visible variety of behaviour. All great to make the audience see clones as human beings, to get emotionally invested into them, because the more likeable clones were the better for marketing the story (and the cynical part of me thinks it really comes down to making money, isn’t it?)

But this effort became also the trap and the inhibitor chips is the excuse to make such loved, caring and brave characters into the detached clones gunning down the Jedi in Revenge of the Sith. 

The things that irks me a lot about this situation is the feeling like fans started care for clones because they were made into different type of characters than what they were (similar like Anakin’s movie characterization was thrown out of the window, to make him more suitable for fans who wanted the badass typical male hero instead of introverted, conflicted and traumatized young man). The clones get the visible individuality to make them the heroes we should root for, but then there is the “magical” switch that will cut down their heroic deeds because now they are “bad” and stormtroopers can’t have any personality. Which is just… frustrating. 

Don’t get me wrong, I adore how clone troopers get more visible individuality (even if sometimes if felt too exaggerated), but the “not standing out from the group”  was something that kept clones alive on Kamino and I can see why it was used as coping mechanism (the safe option) during the war. I regret that The Clone Wars didn’t show the transition from AotC nameless troopers into such individuals and how much it happened thanks to Jedi, what may help to build the feeling of supposed strong bond between Jedi and troopers. Because frankly, when we met TCW!clones, they already have names, different colors and marks on armor plates and helmets and for all we know, they could create their own “culture” without Jedi influence.

The final part of why I hate the chip-in-brain sub-plot is how it changed clones. Because even if that was a means to force clones into killing Jedi & ensure that Order 66 will be carried on no matter what, it shouldn’t change them into bullies toward their own brothers. But now in The Bad Batch, the clones don’t speak between themselves, are aggressive toward others and generally act like assholes for no real reason. And yeah, I get this may be a cinematic metaphor for a change from “good” republic soldiers into “bad” imperial stormtroopers and most likely something along the way “Republic/Jedi gave you individuality, Empire takes that away” but frankly, Republic did not give anything to clones. It did not acknowledge their human right, didn’t have any plan for their future, didn’t pay for their service or more expensive medical treatment for that matter, did not teach them they could - should - make their own choices.

Now clones are cheering for the Empire because inhibitor chips! They are assholes, because inhibitor chips! They shoot their *beloved* Jedi generals because of the chips! 

And in a way, I get this resolution, the chips make it clear clones were victims. But even without them, they were victims from the start. Except now clones are “programmed” while in Legends the senate (a power paying for their life) officially and legally renamed Republic into Empire and clones were glad for still having a purpose in life. The war ended (thus their usefulness), but they were still needed - still wanted - instead of being put down or closed at Kamino or whatever. I can see why the uncertainty of the future made clones cheering up for the Empire. And frankly, I personally prefer them not caring for the political change (because why should they? It never was their job to *judge* the rightness of their superiors) instead of being “programmed” like some droids and playing the role of fodder to kill for the “good guys”.

Dunno, if I explained properly my issue with inhibitor chips, it just feels to me as not really convincing and a too risky concept in the bigger picture of the things and the fact that Jedi just like that ignored this suspicion matter of Tup and Fives and biochips doesn’t help either. Like I said, I understand why the chips were introduced to the story, as the excuse in the change of clone troopers’ behaviour but at the end of day, Legends worldbuilding will always make more sense to me. I don’t need overly done differentiation of clones to care for them as an individual human beings (and it kinda seems to me like that, clones suddenly became fan favorite when every looks or act differently but not when the AotC literally presented them as an army created to blindly obey Jedi/Republic) and I don’t blame them for sticking with Empire because what better option they had, considering their upbringing and the pathological system in which they lived all their life?

Dunno, I’m biased and may just have allergy to TCW in general.

As for Omega, I’m not really surprised about this concern, especially after seeing TBB’s version of padawan Kanan (that if not for A) some basic knowledge about his backstory and B) Depa Billaba calling him by name, I would probably never have figured out who he was supposed to be). But for Omega alone, I don’t mind her look, because I’m used to Legends!Jango’s biological family in which his mother and sister were both blond haired women and frankly, some “defective” clones (including Rex?) apparently could be blond too, so it seems like Jango’s genome has a recessive gene somewhere for that color of hair. I try to hold my judgment about Omega and her appearance until the full backstory will be revealed because there is still a chance that Fett’s DNA was mixed with someone else's (still I hope Omega is not force sensitive…). I mean, Hunter has heightened senses while Wrecker has almost supernatural strength and both traits seem to be not really human, so who knows what Kaminoans really did with them.

 I understand people’s emotional response to Disney’s approach to characters and their visual look, especially since it isn’t the first screw up in New Canon (the models for characters in general and New Mandalorians especially). I’m totally okay with people’s criticism of that matter and demanding from Disney more diversity and respecting the already established ethnicity of certain groups. I’m aware I may not be sensitive enough to that matter as some other people (even more with barely watching TV shows to have any current and up-to-date comparison to trends in cartoons) and I’m pretty sure more qualified / invested fans already wrote or will be writing soon great metas about that. But the thing that irks me is hearing people saying that Omega *can’t* be Jango’s clone - I don’t like this sort of exclusion based on someone’s look alone. She may not look like Fett or other (male) clones but it is not something Omega chose for herself and does not erase her connection to the rest of the Bad Batch. Being angry at Disney/creators for her look is a different matter I don’t have any problem with.

[writing-in-april]

Origins

Spencer Reid x Gender Neutral Reader

Summary: Reader feels homesick after a particularly gruesome case. Spencer can’t buy a plane ticket, but he can try to help recreate part of home with them.

A/N: hey heyyyy- this is my eighth fic for my 30 fics in 30 days for April- I’m very nervous for this one to be honest- idk if it’s going to be a lot of peoples cup of tea- this one had me researching a lot lol since I have no clue about boats at all lol- I hope I did the request at least a bit of justice (sorry in advance if I fuck up any terms or anything) but I think I did pretty well with my research (I think). I originally got the request from @imagining-in-the-margins when she handed it over to me also thanks for some help on the folklore parts too! Here it is-

I always want to hear from you guys so feel free to drop me an ask here- and hopefully y’all enjoy!!

Warnings: ~disclaimer lol I know nothing about boating~ Anyway into the other warnings- Takes place directly after season 3 episode 8 (Lucky with Floyd Feylinn) Spencer gets really fucking sea sick- poor baby, Reader is from overseas (originally Cornwall in the request but I made it a bit more vague) and Reader’s father is a fisherman

Main Masterlist Word Count: 1.8k

The air that floated around whenever I was out on the water, salty sea water or fresh salt water always seemed to breath life back into my lungs. The river that we were boating on was quite salty near its widest point, tides brought the saltwater in to mix with the fresh making the water quite brackish.

I was lucky to still live somewhat near water after I had moved over to America. I hadn’t had the luxury of picking exactly where I was going to live and work when I transferred to the FBI, I just happened to draw all the right cards. With my schedule I didn’t go out on the water as much as I used to, definitely not as often as I had as a child. I yearned often to feel the specific type of air people only felt when on the water, especially when my job got particularly gruesome.

Gruesome was a way to define the last case my team and I had been brought in to investigate. My stomach churned at the thought of our last unsub, his name couldn’t leave my mind and the images of his heinous acts certainly didn’t leave either. Floyd Feylinn Ferell had been his name, though I wished I could forever scrub it from my memory. His crimes were too vile that everything seemed to trigger a memory, specifically of the frozen corpses.

The team had even noticed how affected I was by the case, often sending me worrying looks whenever it looked like blood drained from my face over sheer shock- just like the corpses. Cases had been gruesome before, sure, but there was something about this one made me feel frozen by fear.

I needed air, and not just any old air.

Homesickness was another factor that was making me feel so ill. I hadn’t been back to my home in so long, the only time I spoke with my father was over the phone, no video chats at all. He was just as technophobic as Spencer, maybe even more so to be honest. My father’s life as a fisherman hadn’t made him exceptionally tech savvy. He did know how to work a phone now thanks to you, which was another similarity to him and Spencer. I had helped Spencer learn how to work his new smartphone just last week.

Spencer, my lovely boyfriend of a few months, wanted to help quell my dark thoughts as best as he could with all of his knowledge. His first solution was to always revert to books, which I didn’t mind, it only made him more special to me. He tried to find books that would remind me of home- and get my mind off of gruesome cases that were closed and shut cases.

Hotch had then suggested the team take a day off, just one. After weeks of back to back cases with little to no reprieve we’d finally get some time alone, even if it was only for a day. All I needed was one day to get on the water and cleanse myself of the negative thoughts I had been feeling lately.

It was actually Spencer that had first suggested this excursion. He had come to one of our dates with his arms full of pamphlets all about renting a boat for the day. He also had definitely read up about boats, I’d expect nothing less of Spencer. I had learned it was his way of subtly showing affection, researching anything that I even was passively interested in.

Spencer packed even more than I did when we set off on the day long date, packing to the brim at least one too many bags- to be honest he packed two too many bags.

Once we had gotten the boat out into the water, the relief was almost instant. It was like my body knew I was home. I wasn’t actually at home of course, but it somehow knew I was near the water again. Honestly, Spencer hadn’t been far off when he called me a mermaid on one of our first dates, I had gone on a ramble about my love for it.

The water wasn’t nearly as clear as where I had grown up, much more dull in my opinion. But, the breeze that danced across my skin as well as the water made me feel more at home then I had been in a long time. After letting the mist spray onto my cheeks for a while I looked over to check on Spencer, who was not doing well by the looks of it.

Spencer’s face was twisted up in a grimace, not used to being in a boat. Until I had asked him a few weeks ago, to make sure it would be safe to go out on the water with him, I hadn’t even been sure he could swim. I also wasn’t that surprised that he had this reaction, it would have been less of a problem if it was a boat that I had picked out and bought. But, I’d take what I’d get if only to be by the water.

He pretended to hide his urge to dry heave over the side of the small boat that I had rented for the weekend. He looked almost green at this point, I knew he was only staying for my benefit at this point making me a tad bit sad. Water definitely seemed to have the opposite effect on Spencer compared to me, being on the water always felt like instant relaxation to me.

I still, however, didn’t want him to feel any major discomfort like he was obviously feeling so I decided to pipe up since he wouldn’t tell me himself, “Are you sure you’re ok enough to stay, Spencer?”

He pulled his life vest around himself as tight as he could while crossing his arms around his stomach. It took him a second to answer and in that time I almost started to turn the boat around back to the bay.

“I’m fine!” He squeaked out and I could see a shiver run through him. If I had offered to turn the boat around he’d most definitely have given me a glare, not wanting me to turn it around for his own sake. I squinted my eyes in suspicion, he was not completely fine obviously, but if he was insistent on staying maybe I could find something to distract him from it.

“Do you want to hear a sea shanty or do you want me to tell a regular story?” I asked out into the wind, thinking that might distract him from his nausea.

“A story, but you can’t call them regular stories.” He teased back as well as he could with the urge to dry heave, as if he didn’t know what I had meant. I scooted a little closer to him before I prepared myself to tell my story.

Selkies were always the ones I started out with whenever I told the stories I had grown up with. Despite its dark undertones I had latched onto the story as a child, finding it similar to the mainstream perception of what mermaids were. Though I’m reality seals that could transform into humans were a far cry from mainstream ideas of mermaids, a Merrow would have been a better comparison.

I always gave Spencer the origins of the story, he liked to know exactly where they had come from and how I had heard about the story in the first place, “As you know by now the folklore about Selkie’s originates from Scotland. Well- let me think about what I haven’t told you about Selkies before…” I pondered for a moment before remembering an aspect of the Selkies powers I hadn’t educated Spencer on yet. There was no doubt in my mind that he probably had all this information stored away in his brain somewhere, it was nice to know that someone genuinely cared about the stories I liked to tell. “Selkies are immortal, but they can be killed by other creatures. And I know I’ve told you that part, but I haven’t told you that they are generally killed by sharks when they are in seal form.”

I then went into the whole lore surrounding Selkie’s immortality. My hands were waving around animatedly as I talked, just like how the small waves were rocking our boat. They had definitely calmed down by now, hopefully Spencer would feel better soon.

Once I finished my tale I beamed over at him, my mood had brightened significantly over this trip, even though I could sense that Spencer’s had not. Though the story might have helped, he seemed a little less sickly now. He then managed to ask again without puking, “Could you tell another story? Maybe about the Kelpies? Or the Pixies of Cornwall? You can pick anything though really, I love listening to your stories.”

My heart swelled enough from his words that I thought it might burst. I wouldn’t have expected anything less of Spencer, he always hunted for more knowledge about things he was maybe more ignorant about compared to other topics.

I opted to then tell him about the Kelpies, who were also water dwelling creatures, before moving onto the pixies. He even seemed to be getting attached to the same stories that you favored as a child, and even as an adult.

I looked over at him as I finished my last little bit of information that I felt I could muster up today. A smile filled with fondness crept onto my face, his fluffy hair strewn about. It was cute despite his lingering sea sickness.

His face was remarkably less green now, my stories must have soothed him which made me feel heat run to my cheeks. Each time Spencer took interest in my origins I felt deeper feelings bubbling up, that were more than what we had expressed yet. Instead of voicing my full feelings just yet, I leaned forward to give him a chaste kiss on the forehead. He may have not looked green anymore, but I’d wait to give him a kiss on the lips until after we got back to shore, just in case something was to happen.

“Can you sing now?” I knew that he was not requesting me to sing any silly old song. He wanted me to sing the sea shantys that my father had taught me as a child. Not that I minded his request, I’d do anything to make him happier and I loved singing them anyway.

I smiled brightly as I guided the boat back to shore while I sang, already feeling lighter. It had not just been the water this time that made me feel better, it was also because of Spencer. He had taken so much care to help me feel more connected with home, loving to learn about your origins.

Ask Me Anything

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Tag lists (message me if you want to be added):

All works: @shotarosleftpinky @oreogutz @90spumkin @kyra-morningstar @s1utformgg @takeyourleap-of-faith I’m sorry 😭

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