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warping-realities · 5 months ago

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Part of the Family

Hey guys, first of all this is the long overdue 1000 followers special and also the last story for a while. I'm warning you that it may not be to everyone's taste. There are sensitive themes in the middle and I wrote it more thinking about a horror story than anything else. I don't even need to say that I don't agree with the thoughts and ideas presented by the person responsible for everything who is a fucking psychopath who piously believes that his vision of the world is the only possible one. Anyway, I hope it's an interesting read.

Alexander couldn't believe where the hell he was at that moment. For the young New Yorker, visiting a small town in Texas was way at the bottom of his to-do list, just above getting his teeth pulled without anesthesia. But Abby insisted, and he eventually caved. They had been together for a few months, having met at college where they shared a common class in Columbia. Despite her hick name, Abilene Marrie Johnson, Abby had a sharp mind and a biting sense of humor, able to throw shade right back at his sarcastic remarks with ease, making him quickly fall for her. Not that the fact she was a hot blonde with a petite, well-proportioned body gets in the way. Even her terrible Southern accent was just a remnant of what it used to be, almost unnoticeable, though he still found himself grimacing when she let it slip. That was happening way too often since she arrived in her hometown, where her dad and brother worked in construction. How low-class was that? Not that he was about to say anything to his girlfriend, who was eager for him to meet her family. He didn’t share that anxiety; he could overlook her flaws, but being stuck with two ill-mannered troglodytes was out of the question. This was gonna be his one and only trip to this backwoods hellhole, and he was doing it just to please her—later, he’d make up excuses to avoid going through this crap again.

“A July 4th lunch in a community center… how… proletarian.” He commented condescendingly while looking for his girlfriend at the entrance of the old manor that served as the town's gathering spot. Watching the myriad of folks around him, from all sorts of races mingling just fine, surprised him since he expected a bunch of racist rednecks. What didn’t surprise him was seeing most of them wearing something with the American flag or at least some stripes and stars. Abby wanted to dress like that too, but he’d never let himself be seen with someone dressed so… tacky, to say the least. Independence Day had never been celebrated at his house; his parents were fierce liberals with anarchist tendencies, viewing the day as something hijacked by far-right conservatives who used patriotism to justify their anti-democratic antics. Not that any of them had bothered to vote in any of the recent elections. Seeing such a display of mindless patriotism made him think this day was gonna drag on forever. After a three-hour drive from Dallas to the place, he just wanted to find his girlfriend and get through this torment as fast as possible. He finally spotted her chatting with a hulking Southern dude, older than both of them, with that corn-fed hick boy look, prom king, varsity team… the whole package. He wouldn’t have given a damn if it weren't for the way she was talking to him—too damn cozy for his liking.

“Hum-hum.” He said, positioning himself next to them.

“Alexander, you made it!”

“How could I turn down your invite, even if it means hours of driving to such a… picturesque event? However, I had the impression that it would be a family event.

“May seem strange to you, city boy, but in towns like ours, community is important; everyone knows each other and has helped one another at some point, so we take every chance to be grateful to each other and to the country.”

Said the muscular blonde man who was with her, wearing a sweatshirt with the American flag on it.

“Alexander, let me introduce you; this is John Paul Sanders; he’s been my brother’s buddy for life, from school all the way to college. Now he handles the accounting for a bunch of businesses in Bushfield, including my father’s.

“So you’re the guy who finally won our Abby's heart? You’re gonna run into some pretty jealous dudes, she’s quite the heartbreaker.” The man said, extending his hand to Alexander, who, wanting to avoid looking arrogant, shook it only to feel his fingers crushed by the giant's hand.

“Guess you must be one of them.” He commented venomously while trying to hold back the tears welling in his eyes.

“Oh no, quite the opposite. Abby and I are cousins by marriage; my wife Susie is the daughter of Trav’s sister, Abby’s dad. Speaking of which, I gotta run, Abilene; Huck is being a handful; the little demon broke your aunt’s favorite vase yesterday. We’ll catch up later,” he said, kissing her cheek before leaving without even glancing at Alexander.

“Interesting type; I imagine there’ll be more. And as much as he says he isn’t, I thought he seemed pretty interested in you.” He remarked as they made their way to the huge backyard.

“Babe, my house was practically a hangout for the football team; my brother’s friends basically lived there; JP and the others are like older brothers to me, and they all still see me as Tommy’s little sister; it’s natural for them to be jealous. Plus, he’s head over heels for Susie, who’s my best friend. Don’t worry about nonexistent stuff.” She said, caressing his arm.

“My dad’s probably in the back grilling, and my brother… oh, look, there he is.” Abby smiled at another blonde man emerging from a covered area full of tables where the crowd would likely feast later. Sporting a muscular, defined physique, with a five o'clock shadow and that dangerous but cute country boy vibe that certainly caught the eyes of many women, he quickly sparked disdain in Alexander. Did these types multiply by binary fission? The feeling of animosity seemed mutual, as the man’s smile vanished the moment he saw who his sister was with.

“Hey, Abbey Road! Looks like the big city hasn’t changed you one bit; I was afraid I’d find you with blue hair, unshaved armpits, and covered in piercings, with some feminist nonsense tattooed on you.” He said, hugging his sister without giving Alexander a single glance, who was taken aback by the nickname her brother used for Abby, as he imagined that a hick ogre like that would reference crap country music about driving tractors and screwing horses while drinking beer or whatever. Only to then be hit with a mix of disgust and rage at the guy's macho comments.

“Shut up, Tommy, you jerk!” Abby shot back, smiling, without really correcting her brother’s remark, then pulled Alexander by the hand and introduced him. “This is Alexander, my boyfriend.”

“Whats up, bro?” Tommy said, extending his hand to Alexander, who, reluctantly after the last experience, reciprocated the gesture only to feel his delicate hand crushed again as the giant flashed him a wicked smile before turning back to his sister.

“Can I ask what you’re wearing? Dad’s gonna flip if he sees you without a flag on; tradition is tradition, Abilene; I thought you knew that, but maybe the big city got to your head.” He said, glancing at Alexander, as if he knew exactly who to blame for that, before continuing. “I’ll call Angie to get you something from her place.” He turned and called a beautifull and very pregnant Latina woman who came smiling toward them.

“Abby! So good to see you! And you must be Alex; she’s been talking so much about you!”

“Alexander, my name is Alexander.” He replied, annoyed, since he hated any kind of nickname.

“Sorry, Abby called you that and I…”

“It’s all good, Angela, mi amor; why don’t you take Abby over to my place to change and let me and my brother-in-law get to know each other better?” Tommy interrupted, putting himself between his sister and Alexander, wrapping his giant arm around the smaller, skinnier man’s shoulders.

“Sure, I think if you guys chat, you’ll become great friends.” Abby said with a smile.

“I’m sure of it, Abbey Road; now hurry up.” Her brother replied, smiling, while his arm’s strength almost crushed Alexander. As soon as Abby and Angie left, Tommy finally released Alexander, looking at him with cold eyes.

“Speak to my wife like that again, and you’ll wish you’d never set foot in Texas… Xander.” He said threateningly.

“Believe me, that wish already exists… Thomas.”

“The name’s Tommy; I’m not some Thomas.”

“How curious, using the diminutive as a proper name.”

“I guarantee you, nothing about me is diminutive.” Tommy replied, flexing his muscular arm. “And you know what curiosity did to the cat, right?”

Ignoring the threat, Alexander continued.

“I just find the choice strange; your parents should’ve done the opposite and left Abby’s name in the diminutive. Where the hell did they come up with Abilene?”

“It was the name of my dad’s mom, so you better watch your mouth, kid. Actually, I think it’s about time you and my dad had a chat; come with me, city boy.” And he turned toward where he had come from. Not knowing what else to do, Alexander followed him.

“You know, Abby’s always had a weird taste in guys; all the guys on the football team from my time and hers would’ve done anything to date her, but she always preferred… well… people like you.”

The audacity of that hick!

“As far as I know, I’m her first boyfriend.”

“Yeah, exactly.” The other man replied with a mocking grin before pointing to a huge, gray-haired man working the grill, wearing only shorts and an apron with the ever-present American flag.

“Dad’s over there; good luck with that, city boy; you’re gonna need it.”

Tommy said, widening his grin and walking away, leaving Alexander to head over to his father-in-law by himself. Travis Johnson, a self-made man in the construction business, started as a laborer before opening his own company, a pillar of the Bushfield community, Abby’s dad, and apparently not too pleased with the figure approaching him, though he forced a stiff smile for the sake of his daughter when he saw Alexander coming.

“Good morning, son; you must be Alex; Abby’s been talking a lot about you.” He said, taking a long swig of beer.

“Same about you, Travis.” Alexander replied, not correcting his father-in-law on the nickname; he knew he was dealing with a man who wouldn’t take kindly to being corrected.

“Mr. Johnson, son; call me Mr. Johnson; calling me by my first name is an acquired privilege.” The man replied.

“Of course, Mr. Johnson; then I ask that you call me by my correct name; I’m Alexander, not Alex.” Since the old man was gonna act that way, he saw no reason to try to please him anymore; it seemed any chance for a good relationship with his girlfriend’s family was shot, and he wondered once more why he was such an idiot to come to this place.

“Of course, Alexander. We have a lot to talk about, but before that, you want a beer? The meat should take a while, and by tradition, women and kids eat first around here.”

“Thanks, Mr. Johnson, but I’ll pass; I don’t drink anything alcoholic, and my diet is vegetarian.”

“Vegetarian? I see… But the beer is all craft, made right here; The Dubois Widow brews it on the family farm.”

“I’m afraid I’ll have to pass on that too, sir.” He said, thinking about contamination and the filth of the pigsty where the old lady probably brewed that horse piss.

“Fine, and I fear we’ll have to move on to more serious matters without anything to grease the wheels.” The father-in-law replied with a voice that was undeniably hostile.

…..

Watching the altercation from a distance was Tommy, sitting at a table with Diego Ramirez, his best friend, snickering at Alexander's pained expression.

“The kid’s shitting himself.”

“Poor city boy. Tommy, that boy wasn’t made for this; I don’t know what got into Abby’s head bringing a city slicker here.”

“Abilene’s always had strange tastes.”

“Hey, asshole, do I need to remind you I was her date to the prom?”

“Only because you were one of my best friends and she knew all her friends would be jealous seeing her with the most eligible bachelor in town.”

“Only because you and our other golden boy, JP, were off at college.”

“Still, it was that night that you and Betty hit it off, and Austin was born; you should thank me for making you take Abby to the prom.”

“Abby herself didn’t seem that grateful; thank God she went to college right after. Which makes me think, a pretty woman like your sister dating for the first time only in her junior year of college is a bit strange.”

“I told you, Abby’s always had strange tastes, as you can see.”

“Dude, your dad’s about to grill the yankee for the barbecue.”

“Would be a better use for him, but the kid’s so skinny he wouldn’t even make a decent serving.” They both burst into laughter, stopping only when a small, dark-haired boy about three years old came running toward them.

“Hey, big boy, come give your uncle Tommy a hug.”

“Austin, come here! Let me see that arm! One more minute and you’ll be bigger than me!”

“I can’t wait to put the kid in pop warner, but there are still two years to go; at least now he has Huck to play with, and Angela’s about to pop with the twins. You’re in for some rough nights, bro; if one’s already a handful, imagine two boys, especially if they inherit my sister’s temperament.”

“Don’t even get me started; if I didn’t love that woman so much… but that’s the burden of a man: providing for the family and understanding when the wife is going through tough times before she gets back to running the household. Speaking of which, how’s Betty’s situation with her mom? The Dubois widow is a tough nut to crack.”

“Imagine being her son-in-law, man. She won’t hear of selling the ranch, but since my father-in-law passed, things have been rough; the cattle and horses need care and Charlene’s not cut out for it, especially with the brewery to run, and Betty’s got our house and Austin… I try to lend a hand, but working as your dad’s foreman, it’s no cakewalk.”

“Why didn’t you tell me sooner? I would’ve found a way to help.”

“You have the bussiness to help manage, a coaching gig at the school, and a pregnant wife with twins, Tommy; a wife who, by the way, is my sister and would kill me if I overloaded you with my problems.”

“Angela knows you’re like a brother to me, especially after we lost Mateo.”

“I know, bro, but think about it; she’s pregnant with twins, two boys; imagine the tension in her head remembering seeing me and him running around the house or playing ball with you and the guys and thinking that suddenly one of them could be taken from her?”

“That’s not gonna happen, Diego; but you know, I think the conversation got way too heavy for a day of festivities. Austin, your uncle Tommy needs a favor; go find uncle Hunter, uncle J.P and Huck for me.” He said, setting the little guy down before looking at his dad.

“Let’s have some fun.”

….

“What I want to say is exactly what I asked: what are your intentions with my daughter? Abilene may be in New York now, but she’s a country girl, wants to be a vet, and you, with all due respect, kid, you don’t belong here.”

“With all due respect, sir, I think it’s way too early for us to be talking about that, but when and if the time comes, we’ll figure it out.” Figure out way to stay far away from here, he thought without saying it out loud.

“You’re not getting it, kid; maybe in the big city things are different, but here we do things the right way. You came to my house with my daughter claiming to be her boyfriend without asking for my permission first, and you have the gall to say you have no plans for a future with her? No marriage or kids…”

“Oh, as for that, you can rest easy; I don’t plan on having kids.”

“Kid, what do you think you’re doing here? What were you expecting to get?”

“I’ve been asking myself the same… wow.”

He started to respond before being knocked over onto a table by two three-year-olds, with a good amount of cold sauce spilling onto his clothes and hair.

“Little brats! And you ask me why I don’t want to have kids… if I catch those little pests…” Alexander said angrily, getting back up.

“What’s going on here?” asked the biggest cop Alexander had ever seen, a gigantic black man about the same age as his brother-in-law. “Any trouble here, Travis?” He continued, his face serious, though with traces of a teasing grin on his full lips.

“Nope, not at all, Hunter. The kid just lost his cool a bit, that’s all.”

“I think so.”

“Sorry, officer.”

“We respect the kids in this town, kid, and you were talking about my godson and Travis's great-nephew, and the other one is Travis's son’s nephew.”

Alexander looked to the side and saw one of the brats on the lap of the blond ogre who was apparently married to Abby's cousin, and was staring at him menacingly.

“Let it go, Hunter; the kid just lost his head. Speaking of Tommy, where is he?”

“I saw him just a bit ago with Diego at a table a little further up, Travis.”

“If you could take the boy over there, he’s gonna need to clean up and change clothes.”

“Sure, come with me, boy.” The giant said, grabbing Alexander by the arm and dragging him like he was one of the kids.

“Be careful with that mouth of yours, boy; J.P. is a cool guy, but Diego is hotheaded and also the dad of the other of those boys you recklessly threatened.”

Alexander, dazed by the events and indignant about how he was being treated, but also fearing for his own safety, said nothing, allowing himself to be led by in diection of another giant, this one a Latino of the same age as the others. What the hell was in the water in this damn town that created monsters like that? He had no doubt that one day those little brats who knocked him over would grow up to be just as big as their progenitors.

“Hey, Diego, bro. Where’s Tommy? Abby’s boyfriend is looking for him.”

At that moment, the other man was chugging a beer from a pint that looked more like a jug that even one of his giant mitts couldn’t hold on to alone. He finished taking a huge gulp and passed the jug to the side before grabbing his own cup, letting out a loud burp, and bursting into laughter. How could Abby stand living with those kinds of people?

“Oops.” He said, wiping his mouth with his hands. “Tommy went to meet Angie and Abby to find out what’s taking them so long. If you want, I can walk you over there, man.”

“No, thanks; I think I’ll find my way on my own.” Alexander replied, making a disgusted face, finally breaking free from the cop and heading toward the front of the community center before anyone could stop him. He walked quickly, determined to find Abby and tell her he was leaving that place right then and there, and after that, they’d deal with it when she got back to New York for their senior year.

He only stopped walking when he saw his brother-in-law strutting down the street like he owned it, with an air of superiority and arrogance that, if Alexander had the slightest bit of self-awareness, he would’ve recognized as the same vibe he himself typically radiated when not caught in such an embarrassing situation.

“Hey, bro. The guys told me you were looking for me; looks like you’re in need of a little help.”

“I just want to find Abby.”

“Sure, she’s at my place with Angie; let’s head over there, clean up a bit, and I’ll lend you some clothes.”

“I can grab a clean outfit from my car.”

“Nonsense; I must have some clothes from when I was younger that should fit you; that way, we avoid ruining any more of your expensive threads if another accident happens.”

Not wanting to admit he was planning to bail on this place as soon as possible, Alexander opted to follow his brother-in-law to his house. Arriving at the place, a big and cozy house, Tommy asked Alexander to strip down to his underwear.

“Angie will kill me if I mess up her floor, man. Women, you know how they are, especially with pregnancy hormones…Wait here while I grab the clothes, and then you can take a shower.”

“Where’s Abby?”

“Oh, I forgot to mention; she and Angie went to the house next door; Sara, Hunter’s wife, who you met a bit ago, is about to pop; she’s a couple of months ahead of Angie and couldn’t make it to the party today. But I assure you, Abby will be back soon.” He said, handing Alexander a towel. “Dry off with this while I get the clothes; once you’re clean, you can sit in one of the chairs.”

Alexander did as he was told and, feeling surreal, sat there in his underwear while waiting for his brother-in-law to return. After a few minutes, Tommy came back with a change of clothes, which he placed on the coffee table while heading for the kitchen.

“Take a look and tell me what you think.” He said while heading toward the kitchen and coming back with two cups of beer. “So, what do you think?”

“There’s no way I can wear this, man; it’s way too big for me, and I don’t wear tank tops.” Alexander said, holding up a tank that looked more like a sheet, along with a pair of shorts that would easily fit two of his legs in one of the leg holes.

“Why don’t you take a sip of beer, Xander?”

“I already told you my name…”

“We don’t poison our drinks; feel free to drink.” Tommy cut in, then took a sip from the cup he prepared for Alexander before bursting into laughter at seeing his brother-in-law automatically lift the cup to his lips and take a swig for the first time in years. The beer was cold and tasted just like he remembered from the few times he’d had it before.

“Good on ya, Xander. Isn’t it way better this way, acting respectful toward your hosts?”

Alexander was shocked at himself; why the hell did he do that?

“What… what?”

“Hush, boy. You’re about to listen; oh, how I love this part! You have no idea where you’ve gotten yourself into, city boy. You know, I made a promise to my mom a little before she passed; I’d do everything to protect Abby, and I’ve kept that promise ever since in ways you couldn’t even imagine. The things I’ve had to do…But why don’t you let me show you?” Tommy said, and suddenly Alexander found himself in another place, walking alongside Tommy wearing clothes he’d never be caught dead in: ragged shorts, a tank top, and flip-flops, pretty much the same thing Tommy was wearing. Up ahead, walking down the same alley they’d just taken to get to Tommy’s house, was a younger version of himself, all sweaty, shirtless, in shorts and running shoes.

“That’s me on summer break before my senior year in college in Knoxville; I got in on a football scholarship, but I didn’t qualify for the NFL mainly because of what happened a few months before this day you’re seeing. My best friend from school, Mateo, had just died in an accident, and that hit me hard. I couldn’t accept the injustice of the world; first, my mom’s illness, then a stupid accident; it felt like life was just out to punish me. But on that same day, life handed me an unimaginable gift.” He spoke as they approached the backyard of the same house they had just been at. Sitting out front on a bench was a figure that stood out from the rest of the place. An effeminate kid with long blonde hair wearing a feminine outfit—maybe a trans woman? Alexander tried to formulate a question only to realize he was completely unable to speak.

“Hmmm…”

“Let me handle this, Xander. That’s Dylan, one of those weird kids who don’t really know what they are; a rarity around here; you won’t find any of them in town today. I didn’t dislike him; he was polite and considerate, in his last year of school, and undoubtedly eager to leave a place like Bushfield behind once he graduated. Strangely, he and Abby formed a friendship even though she was three years younger than him, and if I could say anything in his favor, it’s that he treated my sister like she was his own. So understand, what you’re about to see was born from frustration and mourning; before this, I might have made a joke or two about the kid, but generally, we treated each other with a modicum of respect. But seeing him there, a dude who refused to be what nature intended, someone who was giving up his masculinity while Mateo, a real man, a warrior, my brother, had left this world, that awakened something in me—an incandescent rage. But not just that; look.”

“What are you doing standing there, fag? We don’t want someone like you dirtying our home and our image.” The younger Tommy said.

“Tommy, come on, that’s not how you…”

“Shut up, you little shit, you fake woman; how can it be that God takes the men and leaves something broken like you…”

“Tommy, that’s enough; you’re not gonna talk to me like that; I get that losing Mateo hit you hard…”

“Don’t you dare say his name with that filthy mouth, you queer… I wish you were like him so I could beat you up and not feel like I’m hitting a woman.”

And then it happened; for a moment, it seemed like Dylan was going to burst into tears, and then, in the blink of an eye, where he had been, was now an older man just past twenty, clearly of Latin descent, with well-defined muscles, a bit dazed for a moment.

“Mateo?” the younger Tommy asked.

“Hey, I miss him too, bro, but you’re talking to the other twin.” He said with a smile. Then the illusion shattered, and Alexander found himself back in Tommy’s living room, unable to move or speak, just thinking about the impossible thing he’d just witnessed.

“And that’s how Diego came into my life; what a surprise it was to find out that to the rest of the world, he’d always been Mateo’s identical twin, and any mention of Dylan raised eyebrows and brought laughter; there’d never been one of those in Bushfield. I spent a lot of time trying to figure out what happened, without getting any answers. It wasn’t until over a year later, when I was back in town working as an assistant coach at the high school, that the situation recurred. Abby was starting her junior year and got involved with a troubled kid; Hugo Lafévre had transferred from New Orleans and was the worst kind of troublemaker; he organized protests and rallies against everything I’d been taught to value; he was pro-abortion, anti-gun, and railed against what he calls police violence. He had zero respect for authority figures. I had to do something.”

Again, Alexander found himself in a scene against his will. This time, he was wearing a coach’s uniform, just like Tommy was now, as well as a younger version of he, talking to a young black kid who looked at him with a mocking gaze.

“I have no idea what my sister sees in you; you’re insubordinate and disrespectful.”

“You’re just scared of losing control; for people like you, it’s all about control.”

“Without control, our society falls apart.”

“And what’s the problem with that? It’s about time to dismantle the society you’ve built.”

“Then I think it’s about time you man up, kid.”

“We have very different definitions of what it means to be a man… coach.” The kid replied before breaking into laughter, not realizing the fury building in the older man, who seemed ready to pounce on him, but amid the laughter, the boy seemed to get scared, and puff; suddenly, the giant black man Alexander had met earlier stood before the two, resuming the laughter and speaking.

“… that’s style and lets my abs breathe, and you’re really gonna say anything against a cop, bro? Especially when you need my help to train these little troublemakers; I would’ve been a professional edge rusher if I hadn’t chosen to be a cop.”

“In your dreams, bro…” the younger Tommy replied, still dazed before the image dissolved again.

“It was the transformation of that little shit Hugo into my bro Hunter that made me realize what happened to Dylan wasn’t just a coincidence; I decided I was gonna explore these skills of mine. Slowly, I started hunting down the worst types in town, the punks, the deviants, and the insurgents, and turned them, one by one, into productive members of society. Abby, for her part, finished high school without getting involved with any other undesirable types. But then came her time to go to college; she could’ve gone to Austin or Knoxville, but no, she had to go to the Ivy League, Columbia! What a dumb idea, but my dad agreed, and I wouldn’t dare challenge him. Everything went well for a while, until her first summer break. She showed up here with some older, fat, scruffy dude, who smelled like weed, a wannabe poet who wanted people to call him Sartre; I didn’t even bother to find out his real name; it didn’t matter.

A new vision, quicker than the last. He and Tommy, dressed in Levi's jeans, flannel shirts, and cowboy boots, watched a Tommy dressed exactly like them, who in turn was watching the man Tommy had described, clearly high, turning into the well-groomed blonde guy Alexander met that morning.

“And that’s how J.P. came to be, John Paul, get it? Bet you thought I was some dumb redneck, didn’t you? By then, I didn’t even need to think much to get what I wanted, and I always made sure to keep Abby’s boyfriends close to me because my sister has a knack for finding the most annoying types who end up becoming my best projects. Now you… with you, she outdid herself… with you, I’m gonna have a blast.” He said with a sinister grin on his face. “You can speak now; the last words of a dying man, or did the cat get your tongue?”

For a moment, it really seemed like Alexander was going to say something, but what came out of his mouth wasn’t words; a slimy piece of flesh he couldn’t tell if it was his tongue or something else pushed its way through his lips, prying his teeth apart in an unnatural way and slithering across his face like a giant worm. Soon after, he felt his abdomen contracting with insane intensity, while his face contorted and his skin burned and bubbled in a transformation much slower and more painful than those he had witnessed; not that he had time to think about that amidst all the agony. As the environment around him seemed to darken, only illuminated by the source of heat he had become. Then the pain in his abdomen became unbearable, and while he squeezed it, desperately seeking some relief, it felt like his hands were sinking and merging into the muscular fabric that had just moments ago seemed so solid. But it wasn’t just his abdomen; his arms and legs grew and bulged as he threw himself forward, trying to puke, only to feel his mouth stretch unnaturally wide, while his expanded body was drenched in sweat that seemed to evaporate instantly, only to be replaced by another torrent. Just like the pain began, it stopped, only to start again within his head; it felt like his brain was melting, thoughts, ideas, his very identity turning to mush. He didn’t even notice he now had well-defined abs and toned arms and legs or that his hair had gone from red to a dark brown almost black, while it was drenched in sweat. His physique was nowhere near the monstrosity that was Tommy and his minions. But that was about to change; as his mind emptied of any memory or sense of reality and he threw himself back, leaning against the chair, his arms grew to monstrous proportions, his abdomen became a brick wall, and his chest swelled, while a beard sprouted on him, and finally his thighs ballooned like cords of pure steel, and his calves achieved the angular form of someone used to pushing them through strenuous workouts, while his feet grew absurdly large, emitting a powerful funk that could only be rivaled by that coming from his armpits.

“Almost there, Zander, bro, almost there.”

Upon hearing that name, his head exploded with images, color, and sound, with memory after memory flooding into his mind in such rapid succession that if any trace of Alexander had remained, it would have been instantly suppressed. Then, much faster and more painlessly than when it began, it ended. Throwing himself back, the brute that had replaced Alexander was panting, grinning stupidly, staring blankly at nothing.

“Zander, man, you good? Why don’t you take a sip of beer to cool off?” Tommy asked with a seemingly concerned tone as the light returned to the environment, and the brute in front of him seemed to shrink a bit in size while the sweat that was pouring down his body became just a sheen on his bronzed skin, as he automatically lifted the cup of beer to his lips.

“Ahhhh, I really needed that, Tommy, bro. That was a rough night.” The man said with a grin.

“I can imagine from the screams of the chick you had in my guest room. And from your smell, you reek, bro.”

“Hey, the ranch was way out, and you know how my mom is. Plus, you gave me the key to your house and told me I could use it in case of emergency. Damn, I really stink.” He said, scratching his balls over the old, worn-out underwear he was wearing, lifting his hands to his nose and sniffing them before bursting out laughing.

“Man, an emergency isn’t banging every skank in town in my guest room; you’re lucky my dad didn’t say anything.”

“Uncle Trav doesn’t care about that.”

“Usually not, but it’s not a good idea to do that when his daughter’s at home.”

“Abby’s here? Fuck!”

“As if she didn’t know your habits, man. But I’d be more worried about the fact that you were supposed to be helping my dad with the barbecue and that your mom had to deliver the beer herself; if it weren’t for me and Diego helping out, I’m sure she would’ve stormed the house and dragged you out by your hair.”

“Damn, Zander Dubois, you’re a complete idiot! Man, I need a shower and some borrowed clothes!”

“And what do you think this is on the table, you moron? Don’t worry; we’re the same size.”

“And I didn’t know that? We’ve been borrowing each other’s clothes forever. So who’s the moron, college boy?”

“Get your ass in the shower already, you asshole; I’ll be waiting with a cold beer.”

Zander took a quick shower, knowing it wouldn’t be enough to wash away all the stink from the night before, but he didn’t care as much about that as he did about disappointing Travis; the man had been like a second father to him after his own dad died and helped him with the ranch’s organization while J.P. kept the bills in check. He’d never been the smartest guy, though he knew how to take care of the cattle and the horses, and had his mom’s talent as a brewer. Besides he was one hell of a hunk, of course, he thought while admiring the muscles earned from years of ranch work and playing football in school, the dream of becoming pro ruined by his father’s untimely death and the need to take on his responsibilities, not that he thought he’d have much chance of keeping a decent GPA. But that was all in the past; he had a good life, although his mom bugged him to marry and give her grandkids like Betty had already done, especially since he was the last single guy in his friends group. Worse of all he felt that call every time he played with Austin, the kid would be a hell of a player one day, maybe good enough to achieve what his uncle and dad couldn’t.

“Damn, you are a damn stud, Zander Dubois!” He gratified himself, admiring his muscles in the bathroom mirror before putting on the shorts Tommy had lent him.

“Thanks, bro!” He said walking in the living room and grabbing the cold beer cup Tommy offered him, taking a long sip, wiping his mouth with his hand, and letting out a small burp.

“Hey, Abbey Road!” Tommy waved to someone behind him, making him turn around startled. Only to find no one there.

“Asshole!” He said, punching his friend’s arm.

“You should’ve seen your face, bro!” Tommy replied, cracking up, with Zander joining in.

“That was a good one, bro.”

“Put on the shirt and let’s roll; my dad’s waiting!”

…..

“Sorry for the wait, Uncle Trav; I wasn’t feeling well.” Zander said, taking off his shirt and putting on an apron, if Travis Johnson was throwing a barbecue like this, he wouldn’t be the one to break tradition.

“How odd; you seemed pretty lively last night, Zander.” Travis said with a mischievous grin.

“I’m sorry about that; if I’d known Abby was home, I wouldn’t have done what I did.”

“Don’t worry about me, but I gotta say that ain’t gonna win you any points with her.”

“What do you mean?”

“I ain't born yesterday, kid! I see the way you look at her, and all your buddies are already hitched while you’re still bouncing from bar to bar, hooking up with the first girl who crosses your path just to avoid any commitment.”

“I... I…”

“No need to say anything, son; I’d be more than happy to have you as a son-in-law; I’ve watched you grow up and I know what kind of man you are. But I gotta warn you, something tells me Abby's gonna show up here with some slick city boy who thinks he’s hot stuff just ‘cause he came from the big city.”

“Uncle Trav, it’s almost time for her to finish college and she’s gonna be a vet; there’s no better place for her to work than here, have some faith!”

“I have faith, my boy, but a father’s heart doesn’t lie.”

“In that case, you can count on me and the guys to knock some sense into any city punk who shows up around here.”

“I know that, son. Now enough chit-chat; we’ve got plenty of mouths to feed, let’s get to work!”

In the afternoon, when everyone was well-fed and the booze buzz had taken over a good chunk of the minds present, Zander found himself in the spacious field next to the center, watching kids of all ages play while keeping an eye on Austin and Houston the twelve years old son of his older sister who lived with her husband in Fort Worth so his sisters and brothers-in-law could dance a bit in the hall. And when the not so little guy scored a touchdown in the middle of the fun and ran to hug him, he couldn’t help but feel emotional.

“It’s about time you had your own.” He turned and came face to face with Diego, who was waving and smiling as he watched his own son run over to Huck and J.P., who at that moment was teaching his kid how to hold the ball properly.

“You have no idea what that feels like!”

“Was it my mom or Betty who told you to say that?” He asked, even though he felt a longing inside to be part of that world, to have a little version of himself running around, taking care of the horses, tossing the pigskin in a packed stadium on a Friday night.

“Both!” Diego replied, laughing. “But the boys care about you too, man; what are you waiting for?” He asked as Zander watched Abby play with one of her cousins’ daughters.

“Sometimes we get so focused on something that we forget to see the bigger picture, bro!” Diego continued, turning Zander towards the dance floor full of young women, some sneaking glances his way. “A guy like you ain’t gonna have any trouble finding the right woman; I’ll keep an eye on Austin and Houston; you take advantage.”

….

After dancing with several of the single ladies at the party, Zander sat down to catch his breath while watching the ebb and flow of people, lowering his glasses and checking out a very interesting girl that passed by. Until a whistle startled him.

“Zander Dubois, was that you hitting on Caroline Matthews, a girl from a good family?” Someone said, placing a beer cup on his table.

“What??? Haha, hey Hunter, bro! I'm glad your shift is finally over. And unfortunally, the time to settle down comes for everyone. I want my kids to grow up alongside yours and the other guys’, having the same life I had.”

"So our lone wolf has finally decided to join the pack, thinking about adding a Dallas or a Knox to your mother's list, bro?" Commented Tommy approaching while bringing out snacks and dips and placing them on the table. "The rest of the guys are coming, they're just going to drop the boys off with their moms. We're going to have some boys time. Caroline Matthews then? She's hot, man. But I admit I had hopes between you and Abby."

"Me too, but it's like I said, you and Hunter are going to be parents soon, Huck and Austin are already growing up, I want my kids to grow up with them. And Abby..."

“I get it, man. I just worry about her; she’s always had a strange taste in guys.”

“Your dad mentioned he’s worried she might show up with some stuck-up city slicker.”

“And what did you tell him?”

“That if some snobby city boy shows up here with Abby, you, me and the guys would take care of him, country man style.” Zander replied emphatically.

“Thanks, man. I know I can always count on you!”

“Dude, we’re family. And one day, Abby’s gonna find a guy who’s just right for her; I’m sure of it.”

“I believe that too, bro. And it’s gonna be someone just like you and me!” Tommy replied with bright smile.

#male tf #mind change #reality change #jockification #corruption #mental transformation #race change #musclegrowth #gay to straight #my story

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aangussca · 2 months ago

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Monkey Wrench Episode 4 Fanart: Caught in Their Game (December 2024)

I absolutely LOVED the new Monkey Wrench episode! :D

HOLY COW, @zeurelart, @neatotito and the rest of the @monkey-wrench-series team did a phenomenal job this time around (please give them some love bc they absolutely deserve it)!

So it only made sense for me to finish this drawing (the idea for which had been mulling in my mind through the months MW episode 4 was being teased), which I enjoyed creating.

(Yes, I was partially inspired by Neoni's song 'Jump Rope' bc both share the theme of games (literally and symbolically). If you have already watched MW Episode 4, feel free to give it a listen - I'm curious to hear your thoughts: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NhDON376rd4)

Below are the close-ups, as well as me rambling about the reasoning behind the symbolism here:

(SPOILER WARNING FOR MW EPISODE 4 FROM THIS POINT ON!)

Since I realised MW Episode 4 centred around the theme of games (literal and metaphorical), I couldn't not include references to games to associate with the following characters.

Shrike, Beebs, Agent K, and Kara = Arcade games

Campion Ajax = Chess

Tyneen = Video/computer games

Jawbone = Darts

Disco Head = Casino card games

Disco Head is the most self-explanatory (because ✨casino✨ - those cards were SO fun to render btw):

Episode 4 confirms that DH took over the Thicc Chicc Casino after Kara assassinated the previous owner, Chester McNevins, in Episode 1. It also implies DH worked with Agent K and Kara to take over the casino by "taking care" of Chester (that's just my theory ofc).

In Episode 4, Shrike is tempted by the pixel DH gave him. In a moment of cockiness, Shrike believes that he can succeed in his gambling spree from luck alone (DH even said "Today's your lucky day!" after giving him that pixel) - to which he was completely unsuccessful.

While not explicitly referenced in this drawing, a popular casino card game is Blackjack. A common misconception regarding Blackjack is that winning the game is purely determined by the luck of the players (i.e. Shrike being overconfident about his luck). In truth, there is a lot of skill and strategy required in order to be successful at the game (i.e. DH's charming persona and ability to play into Shrike's weaknesses to make him gamble all of his and Beeb's money).

Additionally, Blackjack is a game where players compete against the dealer, not each other. In my opinion, this idea makes sense (in a roundabout way, at least) for DH, given his dealings with three of the five antagonists in this episode: Agent K, Kara and Jawbone. All three have different motives to DH's, yet they work together and are connected through him.

2. Speaking of Jawbone, I wanted to reference two kinds of darts:

The game darts (which he plays in the scene at the bar)

Poison darts (which in my mind made sense given his hatred of Shrike, as seen in the green "cataclysm-poisoned saliva" and the sticker on the dart)

3. Initially, I wanted to reference a joke about "gamer rage" with Tyneen and her competitiveness.

But when watching the episode, I did not expect video games to actually be mentioned in relation to her (with Jawbone owing her a copy of the video game 'Marrow Inheritance').

4. Ah, yes: Campion Ajax (I always disliked him from the moment he was teased and, by the end of this episode, I wanted to replace all his steaks with rocks and send him on a one-way trip to the Marina Trench for trying to hurt Beebs >:[ ).

The reason why I gave Ajax a blue chess pawn was because that's how I felt he saw Beebs:

A feeble, inferior* pawn to potentially use to fulfil his selfish goals.

(*Ajax even called Beebs "inferior" when talking about his prosthetics, which... I felt so bad for poor Beebs having to endure the torment of this guy, and I'm SO glad he stood his ground and saw through his manipulation.)

5. For some reason, the idea of an arcade game fascinated me (our protagonists feeling trapped in both their insecurities and in a much bigger game, perhaps?), especially as a way to connect the antagonists to our protagonists' stories through colours (in the cabinet designs and the arcade buttons):

Yellow = Disco Head

Green = Jawbone

Red = Tyneen

Purple = Ajax

Dark blue = Kara

Black and white = Agent K

Another colour motif I included, which you can also see in the lighting and the background, is the pairing of turquoise blue (cyan) and magenta pink - which you can see in the lighting of the final battle scene.

Yes, I did intend to give Shrike and Beebs backgrounds that are different to their usual colour motifs.

Shrike (usually associated with red) = turquoise/blue

Beebs (usually associated with blue) = magenta/purple

(I'm sure you can guess why I also drew the glass screen cracked between Shrike and Beebs... given the ending.)

On top of that, you could argue that the antagonists in Episode 4 would be great as "arcade/video game bosses" who can have their own "boss fights" or merge into one big "final boss fight" (with different stages).

Also I think Agent K is cool (and would definitely make an awesome "final boss" alongside Kara) with his design and his vibes, enough said. :]

Bonus Agent K appreciation in the form of screencaps bc I can:

#personal projects #digital illustration #monkey wrench fanart #monkey wrench #bulldog browns #monkey wrench shrike #monkey wrench beebs #shrike sanchez #monkey wrench spoilers? (the imagery itself is probably vague but my discussions of the symbolism aren't)#mw agent k #mw kara #mw jawbone #mw ajax #mw disco head #mw tyneen #agent k

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temilyrights · 2 months ago

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simple thing, where have you gone?

alex blake x gn!reader

summary: for @storiesofsvu's holiday bingo "first snowfall" square + also inspired by this ask i recieved. alex knows you aren't sleeping and is determind to find out what's bothering you, and she's bringing out the big guns - hot cocoa.

word count: 3.2k

warnings: nightmare descriptions: feeling claustrophic, being trapped. alex touches r's hair (long enough that she moves a strand from r's eye - no description of hair type/colour). kissing. no use of y/n or pronouns. hurt/comfort with a happy ending.

a/n: this was so fun to write. i think it may be my fav thing i've written. i'm changing up the photos i post because i've seen a lot of people do this format (e.g. @emilys-bangs & @catssluvr - check them out <3) and i think it looks a lot prettier and cleaner than a gif so i'm jumping on the bandwagon.

Alex balances the two trays of steaming cocoas in her hands. The aroma tickles her senses, the creamy chocolate temporarily transporting her back to her childhood, to winter evenings in front of a fireplace with her family. It’s a welcome comfort after five days in chilly Bismarck, ND. She pushes her way into the conference room the team are currently taking up residence in; multiple heads lift up, sighs leaving lips, as shoulders relax at the indulgent scent, and Alex knows she has made the correct choice in grabbing the sweet treat for everyone.

“Is that what I think it is?” JJ sighs, hopeful and exhausted.

“I thought we could all use a little pick-me-up, especially in this weather.” She responds as she places the heavy trays on the table. Her eyes dart around the room as eager hands begin reaching for the hot beverages. Your absence is notable, and makes her teeth dig into her lip. A common theme this week.

“Thanks, Blake.” Morgan nods gratefully. He sips the cocoa, savouring the taste, thrown back to his own happy memories. It’s beautiful how a simple drink can have a room full of agents silently reminiscing. She catches Hotch, tenderly holding the cup, a warmth making its way up his cheeks as he takes a sip, so unlike the stoic figure he tries to hold whilst at work.

Alex grabs the last two cups from the tray. “Where’s-”

“Out back.” Reid interrupts, worry obvious. She wasn’t the only one that had noticed your declining state.

She retreats from the room with a smile as the team all voice their thank you’s. The cold night air is less forgiving when she steps outside a second time, biting at her skin, and causing her face to flush pink even as the hot cocoa continues to provide warmth to her hands and she buries her face in her scarf. She finds you leaning against the precinct wall, the glow of a nearby security light breaking up the night sky, highlighting you enough that she can make out your arms wrapped tightly around your body and your stare stuck on a point in the distance as she approaches.

You look around, the bags under your eyes more obvious in the unflattering yellow light. You haven’t been sleeping, Alex knows. Has been able to hear you restlessly moving around your room late at night due to the thin hotel walls. And despite that, you are always pouring over casefiles when everyone arrives in the precinct in the morning, looking like you’ve been glued to the chair for hours, even though the clock only reads eight am.

It’s not healthy, you’re working yourself to the bone and she can’t figure out what it is about this case that has you on such high-alert. It was brutal, three victims so far tortured and mutilated, but she’s watched you not flinch at worse.

She’s worried about you.

“Hot cocoa.” Alex says in lieu of a greeting, a small smile gracing her lips as she pushes the drink in your direction.

Your eyes widen, mouth opening in surprise, “Oh.” You take the cup from her hands, eyes tracking her face for a moment before you fully accept the gift, always looking for an ulterior motive.

You lift the drink to your nose, eyes closed as you inhale the chocolatey aroma through the mouthpiece of the lid. A hum leaves your lips, your shoulders relaxing further into the wall. A sense of peace finally settling over you for the first time this week.

Alex finally rewards herself with a sip of her own cocoa. The hot liquid fighting off the cold air and encompassing the ball of warmth in her chest that is directly related to you. She did good. Anything that eased the now permanent furrow of your brows was a win in her books.

“Thank you.” You sigh, eyes fluttering open. Your body rolls against the wall, leaning more towards her and creating a little pocket of space where the harsh biting air seems to dull. Her eyes move across your face, caressing every detail, wanting to hold this time while she can.

“How are you doing?” She asks, trying to keep her voice light so you don’t get defensive, and unintentionally making it soft and intimate in the small space.

You take another sip of your drink, nodding. “I’m okay.”

She arches her brow, she can’t help it. Her lips tilting upwards as her fingers reach out to ghost your arm. You follow the action, breath catching, and she forces her hand away, scolding herself for wanting more, always having to resist the urge to pull you closer.

She tucks her free hand into her trouser pocket, “How are you doing?”

You blow out a breath, visible in the air. She wonders if it might snow, the air feels frosty enough. “I just wanted a breather. I was about to head back inside.”

“A breather from what exactly?”

You huff, eyes moving away from her and focusing on something across the street. “I mean isn’t it normal to want a little space after five days of being in each other's pockets? I love the team but it’s not like any of us have had five proper minutes alone since we got here.”

She nods. She would agree with you if you weren’t beginning to get defensive, eyes avoiding hers and feet shifting beneath you. She tilts her head, aiming for casual, but knowing the words will hit anyway, “And this has nothing to do with the fact you’re not sleeping?”

Your eyes snap to hers, panic obvious, before they flicker away and you bury your head back in your cup. “I don’t know what you mean,” You murmur, words threatening to be lost to the cup as you take another sip of your drink.

She aches to reach out and stroke the hair away from your face that you are using as a shield. Instead, her fingers flex on her cup, her teeth digging into her lip. “You can talk to me.” She whispers, voice coming out like a promise, a vow. “I want to help, however I can.”

“Why?” You ask, disbelief coating your features, looking at her like she’s a puzzle you can’t solve, no matter how hard you try.

“Because you’re hurting.” She responds honestly and swallows down the lump in her throat that tries to make itself known.

Tears build in your eyes as you shake your head. Your eyes flicker over her face and then away again, a soft laugh escaping your mouth as your fingers tap a pattern against your cup. “Just like that?” You whisper throatily, gaze still trapped in the distance.

“Of course,”

You swallow roughly, eyes finding their way back to hers, lost and scared. An expression she never wants to see on your face again. She doesn’t have it in her to resist again.

She sighs, stepping closer and gently brushes the hair from your eyes. They fall close, a soft breath leaving your lips as you lean into the gesture. She memorises each detail of you, committing the length of your eyelashes to memory, the lines around your mouth, the feeling of your skin beneath her touch. Her hand trails down to your arm and settles there, safe.

Your eyes flutter open, holding her gaze as you nod gently. ”I haven’t been sleeping well.” You confess.

She waits patiently for you to continue as she notices a few white snowflakes land in your hair.

Snow.

“I’ve been having this recurring dream where I'm trapped in this box, and I can barely breathe. It’s—awful.” You rapidly blink away the tears in your eyes. “I’m screaming but no one comes. I’m all alone. And then I wake up and I feel claustrophobic in my own body, all these emotions bubbling up that I can’t release.” Your tears spill over and you reach up to hastily wipe away the mess with a shaking hand. “It’s stupid and selfish. There’s three dead women and I’m crying over nothing.”

“Sweetie, no.” She urges, hand tightening on your arm. “You are none of those things. Those dreams sound atrocious. No wonder you haven’t been sleeping.”

“I’m so scared to close my eyes.” You whisper, hauntedly.

“Then let me watch over you, and when the dream hits we can break the pattern. I’ll be there.”

You shake your head, laughing, “What? You’re gonna watch over me while I sleep—”

“Yes.” She interrupts, voice serious and weighted. She won’t let you joke this away, not when you look seconds away from collapsing. Alex would sit there the entire night if she needed to. She would watch over you and keep you safe.

You swallow roughly, unable to hold her intense gaze, the probing eyes that not only saw you, but took action to help. Snowflakes continue to slowly fall, landing on your hair and face, and making her heart erupt with emotions. The urge to touch is amplified tenfold, the combined beauty of the snow and you almost too much to bare. She forces her hand to fall away.

“Alex, I will be okay. You don’t need to do any of this.”

She nods, knows that, but it will not stop her. “You need to sleep. You are destroying yourself pretending you don’t. Why wouldn’t I help when I can?”

You sigh, frosted breath erupting into the space between you. Annoyed, frustrated, at the thought of needing anyone. “Only because I need to be able to focus on this case.”

She smirks, eyes brightening. “For the good of the case.” She hums, catching your eye and enjoying the almost bashful expression that coats your features as you huff out a laugh and your gaze skates away again.

You take another sip of your drink and she mirrors you. It’s beginning to lose its heat, but you don’t complain. Snowflakes continue to fall, and Alex turns towards them, lifting her head into the snowfall. The delicate flakes land on her face, cold and wet, and a smile tugs at her lips. This was the first snowfall of the year, and she could not think of a better moment for it to arrive than when you were standing next to her.

The chattering of your teeth breaks through her basking, and she turns back around, a disapproving tut escaping her mouth when she finds you shivering on the spot in silence. “Let’s go inside before you get hypothermia.”

“No,” You protest, hand landing on her arm to stop her moving away. “No, you love the snow. Let’s enjoy it a moment longer.”

“Honey, you’re shivering–”

“I’m fine.” You rebut, shoulders squaring in stubbornness. And then, softer, from below your lashes, “I want to finally enjoy the snow with you.”

She melts, putty in your hands. She can’t argue with you, your eyes should be considered a weapon the way she crumbles for them. She nods, and outstretches her hand, “Here, give me your cocoa.”

You pass it over without objection, and Alex walks a few steps away to dispose of both cups in the bin. Long since cold and of no use to anyone now. She begins pulling off her scarf as she approaches you again, and your eyes widen.

“Alex–”

She wraps the burgundy cashmere around your neck, bating the hands away that try to interrupt her task. Your shoulders slump, your nose burrowing into the material as a sigh leaves your lips. She smiles and ignores the biting cold now hitting her body as she fiddles with the end of the scarf, making it lay flat against your coat.

“There,” She whispers.

You sigh, holding her gaze with a furrowed brow. She can see thoughts winding their way through your head, but you don’t voice them. Instead, you stumble forward, your arms pulling her in and wrapping tightly around her waist, eliciting a surprised “oh” from her throat as her own arms hold you close, after a second to compute. Her nose finds its way to your hair, the smell of your shampoo evading her senses and making her hold you tighter.

“Thank you.” You whisper. “For everything.”

“You do not need to thank me.” She responds, hand stroking your hair before she pulls back to see your face, missing the sight. Your hands remain fixed to her waist, your teeth digging into your bottom lip as you look at her. She tracks the movement, heart thumping in her chest.

“I don’t want you to think your actions go unappreciated.”

She finds a strand of your hair, one not even in your eye, and stokes it out the way, a choked tut escaping her throat. It’s getting increasingly more difficult to remember herself, to draw back, especially when you look at her with soft, unguarded eyes. The snowfall is getting more intense, covering you in white snowflakes, landing on your eyelashes and melting as you blink.

“I could never feel unappreciated by you.” She responds, voice barely louder than the wind. Too honest, too much of her heart on show, and you must see it, the way your breath catches, your hand tightening in her jacket. “I just want to do what I can to keep you safe.”

You arch a brow, “You know that’s not always gonna be possible, right?”

She nods, hand moving to cup your cheek and caress the cold skin. You lean into the gesture, your eyes falling close. She isn’t silly, she understands the risks of this job; she knows it isn’t always going to be possible. However, why does that mean she should stop trying? “I know, but sometimes it’s nice to know someone has your back.”

Your eyes open again, blinking slowly, snowflakes interrupting your sight. “And that's all this is? Just you having my back?” You run your lip between your teeth, your tongue swiping out to moisten the chapped mess you leave behind.

Alex tracks the movement under heavy eyes, “No,” She breathes, honestly.

Your mouth parts, your chest rising and falling, eyes focused on her own mouth. Her thumb trails down your cheek, pausing by the corner of your mouth as her gaze finds yours again. You watch her, pupils blown, and Alex slowly pulls her thumb across your bottom lip, feeling the soft flesh, and nearly crumbling at your heaving breath.

“Alex–” You sigh, eyes pleading for more. Her heart thumps, head hazy with desire, as she finally brings her mouth closer to yours. Your hot breath hit her lips, breaking up the cold, and melting the snowflakes that have landed near her lips. She doesn’t mean to tease you, she just can’t believe she’s here, and is set on memorising every moment of this interaction.

You have other ideas, a frustrated whine leaving your lips, as you thrust forward and close the remaining distance. Her body hums at the first brush of your lips, needy and impatient, her stomach tingling as you pull her flush against her. She can’t think, can’t breathe, as your lips move together, the sensations perfectly overwhelming. The kisses melt into something gentle and slow, but the neediness never leaves, simmering under the surface. You both balance on the edge of something more; blood rushing through her veins, but she’s not able to forget her location.

She pulls back, short of breath, the cold air rushing to fill in the space and making her shiver. Your lips are swollen, so kissed. The most irresistible you’ve ever been. She caresses your cheek, “You, my dear, are the person I’m falling in love with.”

You rapidly blink away tears, “Really?”

“Of course,” She nods, smiling. “It’s you.”

You shake your head slightly in disbelief, “You make everything sound so simple.”

“I think with you it could be.”

“God–” Your voice cracks, and you tug her back your lips finding hers again, frantic, hot and needy. You devour her with bruising kisses, communicating what you fear to say aloud, and Alex catches it all. I feel it too. I want you. I’m scared. Please stay.

She pulls away, earlier than she wants to. “Honey–” She meets you in another kiss, but drags herself back again, forcibly taking a step back so she can’t fall into you again so easily.

“Sorry, sorry–” You say between laboured breaths, shaking your head.

“It’s not because I do not want to.” She explains, a blush rising in her cheeks, that mingles with the permanent one on her face because of the frosty air.

“I know,” You nod, smiling bashfully. “But we should get back to the team.”

She sighs and nods. “Yes.”

“And out of this snow before we catch a cold.”

She looks out at the white flakes, beginning to settle on the ground. Hopefully in a few hours she’ll be able to feel the crunch of snow under her feet. Your hand rubs up and down her jacketed arm, “When this case is over, I’ll find a place where you can properly enjoy the snow.” You promise.

Her heart warms, gaze softening as she looks at your earnest expression. “Come on, you’re right, let’s get inside.” She places her hand on your back and pushes you back in the direction of the precinct.

You oblige, shoulders bumping together as you walk. Alex catches your eyes just before she opens the door to the building, eyes soft and her smile just for you. Her hand falls from your back, forcing her touch away, as she pulls open the door. You step inside, subtly squeezing her hand as you pass, making her heart thump.

She follows, watching as you attempt to shake off the snowflakes that cling to your body. It's useless, they’re already melting, soaking into your hair and clothes, but she enjoys watching you try.

“There you guys are.” Morgan interrupts, making her break her gaze away from you and to the man watching you in mild amusement. Alex’s not ready to give away just how much she’s feeling for you to outsiders just yet. She wants to keep it between the two of you for now. “Hotch wants us to go over victimology. Thinks something isn’t right.”

She nods, ready to focus back on the case. “Of course, let’s go.” She heads in the direction of the conference room, mindful of the way Morgan hangs back to speak to you.

“Is that Blake’s scarf?” She hears him ask, amusement thick in his voice.

She doesn’t dare turn back around.

“Yes, I was cold.” You respond, defensive, and likely with an eye-roll.

He whistles, “I see you, casanova.”

“Morgan–” You protest, voice dripping with annoyance. Alex winces and pushes her way into the conference room, hearing his loud chuckle sounding from behind her.

The rest of the team is already spilling over folders, and she takes her seat, pausing first to slip out of her wet coat and discard it on an unused chair. You make your way into the room and she can’t resist looking at you from the corner of her eye as you take the seat opposite her, a smile on your face that conveys you can feel her stare.

She looks away, forcing you out of her mind, and instead focusing on Hotch as he starts to voice the holes in victimology.

She’d check on you again this evening. There was an unsub to catch.

taglist: @aburman03

#alex blake x reader #alex blake #criminal minds #kattsholidaybingo2024 #reader insert #gn!reader #cm fic #fanfiction #kt writes #hurt/comfort #happy ending #where have you gone?

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historianofgalar · 4 months ago

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With Typhlosion trending, I think it's time to bring up the, "Humans and pokemon were one in the same," and the implications that humans uses to breed with pokemon. Please do not worry, this post is as SFW as it can be, but I do apologize for some other stuff that mighr be brought into it. I'm just discussing the origins of where these ideas came from.

"Did people mary pokemon?"

Yes, and while I'm sure there are some... different cases, most of the marriage worked differently than human marriages. The marriage itself was about the union; not the romance or the children that were expected of from marriage at the time. I explained it in this post, but the Diamond and Pearl clans of Sinnoh would "mary" their lord or lady pokemon, not in a romantic sense, but in a union sense. The wardens would still be allowed to have relations with or marry humans. Even outside of the clans, there were some instances of people marrying their pokemon to show a union between them that wasn't romantic.

In modern day, marrying your pokemon partner is considered taboo due to the modern ideas of marriage focusing on the romantic aspect of it only. Modern-day members of the Diamond and Pearl clans will still sometimes have the practices of weddings with their lord or lady pokemon, even if they are not legally married. It's important to know that, if you're meeting a warden who is married to their lord or lady, that they are bonded in marriage, but not in the way that modern society sees marriage.

The clans have always seemed to view pokemon as one of them. There are instances of people calling their partner pokemon their brothers, sisters, parents, or children. While I do not originate from these clans, I do follow a similar belief. I have been partners with my Dragapult, Aosmhor, since I was 10 years old, and she feels like a sister to me. I do not use pokeballs on my pokemon (accept for Mallaithe the Runerigus, but that was a catch-or-die situation) because I follow a similar belief that they can be used to control your pokemon. These pokemon feel like family to me, and I do not wish to put them into tiny balls.

"Can humans and pokemon have kids?"

Theoretically? Yes. But not with just any pokemon. It's assumed that humans could potentially make a successful embryo with related species to us, like Oranguru or Gardevoir, but no one (that we know of) has ever tried to make an embryo in a lab or anywhere else. There could've been some potential hybrids in history, but nothing ever fully concrete.

//Don't come at me, I didn't just pull this outta my ass. There was a successful human/chimpanzee embryo in a lab

"Where did the myths of humans having children with pokemon originate?"

One reason is that it was most likely to explain why a pokemon looks the way it does. Typhlosion can be mistaken for human from a faraway distance (same height as a human, very human-like eyes, sometimes walks on 2 legs), and people back then must've thought it was part human/part pokemon. It's also why there are so many myths of Ghost Types once being human; to explain their odd behaviours. While I'm actually a believer that some ghost types were once human (Yamask, Spiritomb), pokemon like Gengar most likely weren't human. But, there are myths of it once being human because it follows humans, hides in human's shadows and, despite its wideness, it is the same height as a small human.

The stories could also just be for entertainment or to teach a lesson. A common theme amongst a lot of folklore is, "don't be tricked by seduction." Since fairytales love their symbolism, they'd often use pokemon such as Foxmon or Humanoid-mon as the symbolism for seduction, since many foxes are able to do magic or are just very sneaky, and some humanoid-mons can be easy to mistake for human women. It's why there's so much folklore of Zoroark turning into beautiful women, Primarina luring men to their deaths, and Kantonian Ninetales luring men into the woods with illusions of beautiful women. It's not literal; it's all a metaphor.

Some do have a grain of truth, though. Zoroark would use their illusions to look like humans, but Hisuian Zoroark rarely did this since they wanted to avoid humans. Primarina have beautiful voices that would enchant any sailor, but since they were still wild Pokemon, the Primarina must've felt threatened or scared by the sailors and would harm them in self defense. Ninetales create illusions from fire, and will sometimes use these illusdions to keep people away. But, they rarely ever do it to keep people in the forest, since they dont like anyone in their territory, and the illusions were often scary. But, for the sake of storytelling snd explaining things they couldnt understand, they would change it.

Then there's Frolass, who will just lure men away and freeze them. That one's real. Beware of Froslass if you're a man or too masculine presenting. Unless you're my kid apparently. Froslass just get confused looking at them...

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incorrectbatfam · 2 years ago

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Batfam’s Father’s Day plans

(also on Ao3)

"Morning, Bruce."

The way Stephanie says that instantly makes him look up. She traces her socked toe on the right angles of the tile, looking down.

"Morning, Steph." Bruce puts his coffee down. "Something wrong?"

"Huh?" She perks up in realization. "No, not at all. I actually just have something for you. I stopped by Walgreens on patrol last night 'cause I ran out of antiseptic, and I saw something that reminded me of you."

She hands him a dark blue greeting card with a cartoon fruit bat and Comic Sans text reading: You drive me batty, but I love you.

"Get it? 'Cause it's a bat, and you're the Batman." She scratches the back of her neck. "Not trying to make it weird or anything, you're just a cool mentor and whatnot. But also, it's nice to have someone who you can mess around with. My old man was always talking business even when he was at home—you kinda do that too, but in a good way 'cause anything's better than being a D-list villain, y'know. Plus, unlike him, you're working on striking a balance. Sometimes you even have a sense of humor." She chuckles awkwardly. "Anyway, I'm going on a jog. Text me if you need anything."

Before he processes her rambling, she grabs a granola bar and races out the door. He opens the card and out falls out a handful of purple confetti plus an ever-rare two-dollar bill. Smiling, he brushes the confetti up and puts it in his shirt pocket.

Bruce checks his watch. Everyone else is already out, except for Cass. She was out late last night on that Clayface mission, but even she should be up by this time. He fixes her a bowl of cereal with the package instructions and brings it upstairs.

"Cass?" He knocks. "Are you up yet? It's past 9:30."

He hears the duvet crunch like a candy wrapper as she shuffles around. A moment later, the door swings open as a messy-haired Cass yawns.

"I'll leave this up here for you," he says, putting the bowl on the dresser. "Any big plans today?"

She shakes her head. "Write reports. And relax."

"Well, you deserve a break. Great job on the stakeout, Princess." He plants a quick kiss on her forehead.

"Love," she says.

"Huh?"

"Favorite thing you do. Love."

He laughs softly. "I try. Now go get dressed."

The rest of the day goes by like any other. Despite it being Sunday, he still has a meeting scheduled with some Singaporean investors on their timezone. By eleven, he and some other executives are gathered around the long conference table as the video call drones on, and it's not until over an hour later that they're finally let out. Bruce loosens his tie and Tim does the same, sighing in relief and exhaustion.

Bruce asks, "Did you have lunch yet?"

"Oh, I forgot that's a thing," Tim says, stretching. "Hey, remember that ice cream place on 32nd?"

"You want ice cream for lunch?"

"I'd break your no killing rule for their M&M cookie sundae, okay?" he says. "Besides, remember when you took my friends and I there even though we massively bombed our first off-world fight? I might still be a massive perfectionist but that made me get a little more comfortable with failing. Anyway, I thought it'd be cool to stroll down memory lane—and have junk food as a meal without Alfred knowing. Unless you're busy, which I totally get."

"Not at all," Bruce replies, putting an arm around Tim's shoulders. "Duke and Damian will be at the arcade all day and I don't have any urgent side business."

And so, instead of calling Alfred for a ride, they journey through the Gotham subways with Tim's camera capturing the Grammy-worthy saga of a billionaire CEO battling a common turnstyle. They get a few side-glances in the sparse train car, but besides a teenager asking for Tim's autograph, the civilians leave them alone. Pretty soon, they're at a 1950s-themed ice cream parlor, where the waitress slides their orders down the long chromium bar.

"Why do they call it a banana split?" Bruce asks, grabbing the cocoa powder shaker.

Tim pauses mid-bite of his cookie. "...Because they split the banana in half?"

"Really?"

He moves the whipped cream aside to reveal the cut banana in Bruce's dish.

"How would it sound if I said I never noticed that?"

He smirks. "That's why I'm the brains of this operation."

"Indeed you are." Bruce ruffles his hair. "Though this head of yours could use some shampoo."

"Will saying I love you get me a free pass out of it?"

"No." He laughs. "But I love you too, son."

Alfred catches on to their little dessert escapade and picks them up from the parlor, though not without commenting on the strawberry stain on Bruce's jacket. As Tim plugs his music into the car, Bruce takes the time to listen to the voicemails he got during their lunch break.

"Hiya Bruce," Clark's voice plays. "I hope today's going swell for you. I just want you to know that I'm glad I can call you my pard'ner." Bruce snickers at the country twang.

Next is Diana. "Bruce, I apologize if I must keep this brief since I have a curator's convention today. However, I wish to tell you that you are an invaluable teammate and even more remarkable friend."

"Hey Batman, I gave you a shoutout to the Central City press for your help taking down Weather Wizard," Barry says. "Also, thanks for letting me borrow your communicator. I can always count on you to be overprepared. Have a good one!"

"Bats, tell your kid to quit taking my yogurt from the fridge." Ah, good old Hal. "Also, today's all about guys like you, so... yeah. I admit, you could be worse."

Finally, there's one from Zatanna. "Afternoon, Bruce! I'd tell you in person if I wasn't caught up in Kahndaq, but I hope today is extra special for you. I know how much the birds mean to you, and I know they're gonna treat you well."

(There's also one from Ollie, but he's just asking if he can use the communicator after Barry. In the background, Dinah is is clearly ordering food.)

After dropping Tim and Alfred home and switching to a more discreet vehicle, Bruce makes his way to pick two of his other kids up from the arcade.

"Did you guys have fun?" Bruce asks as they climb in.

"We decimated every game," Damian says, "and won you the finest specimen as a trophy."

He plops a five-foot Snorlax into the front seat and buckles the seatbelt.

"This is for me?" Bruce asks.

"Tt, who else would it be for?"

"I didn't win as many tickets," Duke says, "but I also got you a spider ring and a Chinese finger trap." He puts them in the cupholder.

"Why are you giving me all your prizes?"

"Again, who else would we give them to?" Damian asks.

Duke says, "I think what he means is that you do a lot for us, so this is a thanks from us."

As silly as it might seem, Bruce is genuinely touched.

Pre-patrol dinner is a quiet affair, with Kate stopping by because she apparently forgot to go grocery shopping. She takes a fingerling potato off his plate.

"Um, you're welcome?" he says.

"Bruce, we're family. It's what we do." She takes a bite.

He takes a piece of asparagus from her. "I wish all of us were here, though. Too bad Dick and Jason have that Penguin stakeout. Hopefully they're being safe."

"Even if things go wrong, they were taught by the best. You should trust them more." Selina gets up and places a peck on his cheek before going to get a drink.

"I do," he mumbles into his meal. "It's the world I don't trust."

As he puts on his cowl, he asks Barbara for an update on the evening. So far, Duke is handling a carjacking, the girls are preoccupied with a strip mall hostage situation, Damian is patrolling Metropolis with Jon, and Kate is kicking off her shift with a car chase against Two-Face. Tim and Selina are staying back to catch up on some overdue reports, but other than that, the cave is quiet.

"Before you go," Barbara says, "my dad was cleaning out the attic and found something you might like."

From her bag, she pulls out a blue mug that says: World's Okayest Dad.

"My brother got it for him a long time ago, but... you know. It's all yours now, if you want it."

He takes it, running his thumb along the words.

"It suits you," she says before turning back to relay something to Stephanie.

The route laid out for him tonight gives him the perfect opportunity to swing by and check on two of his boys. He lands on the rooftop silently, where Nightwing and Red Hood have already set up camp. Evidently, they don't notice him as they keep going with their conversation.

"Did you get dropped on your head as a baby?" Jason asks. "Sour cream and Greek yogurt are not the same thing."

"They totally are, change my mind." Dick glances through his binoculars. "No sign of Cobblepot yet."

A moment goes by as Jason not-so-covertly steals some of his brother's patrol snacks.

"So how'd family therapy go yesterday?" Jason asks. "Did the old bat finally show an emotion?"

"It was pretty insightful, at least on my part." Dick lowers his binoculars. "I think I realized where Bruce's persistence comes from. It's annoying as hell, but I think that's how he maintains hope. And who knows, maybe it's his love language."

Jason scoffs.

"I'm serious," he says. "I know none of us are stellar at this family thing, but we care about each other. You can't deny that. We just gotta... refine how we express it."

"Count me out."

"Jaybird."

"Codenames, Dickhead."

Dick snickers. "You love us, admit it. All of us."

Jason mutters a string of curses under his breath before saying, "If you tell him, I'm filling your mattress with sour cream."

Bruce smiles and leaps to the next building.

At the end of the night, Bruce finds Alfred brewing tea in the kitchen and takes the kettle from him.

"I got this," he says. "Why don't you go relax in the living room? I think they added your favorite detective movie to Netflix."

"This is a pleasant surprise." Alfred raises an eyebrow. "What brought it on?"

"It's Father's Day, of course," he replies, pouring the cups of tea. "You know you've always been a second dad to me."

"You made that clear with last year's breakfast surprise," Alfred says. "Care to join me?"

"Always," Bruce says. "By the way, do the kids seem different to you today?"

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byemambo · 6 months ago

Text

4Minutes EP. 3 - My Takeaways

I went back and skimmed through the previous episodes 1 and 2 (which I've already posted my takeaways for in the previous weeks) to confirm a few thoughts I have now that I finished episode 3.

Tyme's Temperament (Childhood Trauma)

I found this small exchange between Tyme and Great to be pretty insightful in terms of how Tyme's attitude affects his every day outlook on life. This seems to be a common trope in films and TV (especially in thriller/crime genres) where a main character has motives to avenge the death of their parents, which I'd assume would be the case with Tyme as well as the series goes on and we're given more context to why Tyme is caught up in Great's family organized crime scheme. Given that his motivation for being a surgeon isn't rooted in being a contributing member to society through hospitality but by making ends meet for him and his grandmother, it's no surprise that Tyme's attitude towards his patients is distant and impersonal. This dissociation can also stem from experiencing a huge loss at a young age, and putting the burden of financial responsibility onto himself.

We see this by a shift in Den's disdain for Tyme's lack of empathy towards his patients by going against their wishes for the mere sake of not letting his patient die, which we can already see this dependence Tyme has with being unable to let go and allow the laws of nature to run its course. Given that this seems to be a recurring theme of Tyme's from how Den's attitude was when reminding Tyme of the patient's name, we hope that his story arc will consist of Tyme learning what it means to "let go," especially because he's taught himself for many decades to "hold on."

Win and Tonkla (Your Wish is My Command)

The way these two establish their relationship in this episode isn't surprising to me, but what became evident was the juxtaposition in how Tonkla's treated by Korn and by Win. Korn became someone who shoves Tonkla to the side, someone who he had successfully hid away from his personal life and making a deliberate choice to keep a distance from him. This lack of communication burdens Tonkla to a point of heightening his grief, which we know how corrupted it is for officials to rendezvous with victims of a case assigned to them, but ultimately sparks codependency between Win and Tonkla, which Tonkla relied on Korn for until he became an after thought mourning the death of his younger brother (thank goodness Dome is alive btw). The stark difference between Win's approach versus Korn's is simple: fulfilling the wishes of Tonkla. Although we've only seen this exchange occur during the heat of sex, we see Tonkla ask the same of both people (fuck me raw?), Korn saying nothing while protecting himself while Win speaks up for the sake of their safety. However, this will become a losing game if Tonkla still seeks validation from Korn, pushing him beyond his limits and may contribute to harming the individual that we saw in the opening of episode 2. I also want to know whether or not this will heavily affect Win's desire to help Tonkla with his younger brother's case, revealing his chief to be one who's accepted bribes in the past and has a strong sense of justice.

Great Documents the Timeline

Thank you for Great having a head on his shoulders and taking the time to document his findings on how his visions and powers work, giving us a chance as the audience to continue with our own theories and assumptions. I don't really have any plausible reasons for what each minute in Great's visions represent just yet, but I'm leaning towards each time Great and Tyme make a decision significant in keeping their paths crossed.

When it was 11:00 - Great runs into Tyme in the ward after leaving flowers for the patient. When it was 11:01 - Right after Great and Tyme exchange phone numbers. When it was 11:02 - Great finds Tyme attacking his brother, but is revealed his true identity when confronted outside the lounge.

Foreshadowing

I found the inclusion of the message "Can you forgive me Great?" to be the most interesting in the entire episode: because the message only becomes important once we're revealed that Tyme is connected to Nan, the woman who infiltrated the crime scheme and sending evidence back who we can assume right now is either Tyme or the police investigators. But then it makes me wonder: how is Tyme associated with her, is he more than a regular surgeon at the hospital with a connection to the police or is he actually a part of the police which is already iffy for me because if he's also an undercover investigator AND surgeon good fucking god...? Are both of them individuals who are outside of the police investigation as it seems Win isn't aware of their participation as a potential fellow investigator? Since Win was forced to step down from Tonkla's brother's case (I can only assume it's treated separately from the gambling investigation), does that mean he will invest more into the online gambling case since now not only was there a hacker and shareholder mole involved in episode 2, but now we have Nan being held hostage (which I'm still unsure of whether she's working directly with Tyme or with the investigators as well)?

Honorable Mentions: Meeting Between the Two Visionaries

I'm curious to know how Den will set up his patient with Great, since he's been doing extensive research into their prospects. Will they meet in person beforehand: have they already met in his "gallery" that Great described it as when he wrote down his findings? Will this "gallery" be a recurring setting we will encounter as the series progressed (since it's featured in the trailer and teaser photos prior to the first episode's release?) And I just rewatched the trailer again: I'll still be shocked if Tyme is actually undercover while still doing his doctoral duties cause that'd be a little insane to me...

#4 minutes #4minutes #4 minutes the series #bible wichapas #jes jespipat #jjay patiphan #fuaiz thanawat #thai bl #thai drama #thai series #bl series #mambo.4minyap #mambo.speaks #i'm so excited for next week #i need someone to beat korn's ass though #even though he only showed up for a few minutes (maybe four LOL): his presence is upsetting me #and i think there's a recurring theme of all of our involved characters not being who they seem #still looking for the character that is actually who they say they are and come with right intentions: it's p'bee win dome and den for now

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our-lady-of-haymakers · 1 year ago

Text

Watching IFTV and it's really fascinating to see the way Claire's attempts at bullying bounce off Rei's thirst because once you get past the comedy of "Joke's on you, I'm into that shit", there's this persistent and perhaps even radical subersiveness to their whole dynamic, which lies precisely in the sense that it gets to act as a dynamic?

Claire's bullying is often an attempt by her to mobilize the apparatus of noble hegemony upon those she sees as undeserving and inferior, an act of humiliation in which she exposes and "corrects" what she perceives to be an irregularity in the hierarchy and therefore derives purpose by upsetting the position of another, a (dis)placement that draws upon the aspects of the public execution, the symbolic decapitation of a reputation, to re-enact and re-establish aristocratic authority in the theatre of classes and ideas that is the academy.

When Rei responds to this not by defending herself in terms of the dubious categories of essence or ability that have propped up this profoundly unequal society, but by doubling down on the theatricality of the ritual humiliation, by embracing its exhibitionistic aspects and transforming it into a heightened platform for the declaration of her queer identity, she accordingly elevates her queerness by its encounter with a hegemonic power that it refuses to be categorised or stereotyped by, and indeed subsumes the thrust of Claire's inquisitions and degradations into her gleefully transgressive play of performances (doubly relevant given that she knows she's in a game), attaining freedom through stock characters, writing herself and Claire into a complexity not afforded to them by the original text by flipping the script.

While Claire attempts to bring the abstract and lofty ideology of the aristocracy, the hyper-public common sense of inequality that is enshrined in law and culture, into the arena of public interaction, hoping to make an example out of Rei, to make an upsetting reality conform to the script she's been schooled in, Rei moves in the opposite direction, and brings the private into the public, politicising the otherwise concealed, downplayed or ritualised matter of sexuality and attraction into daily life where it cannot be ignored. While Claire strives to strip away what she sees as false pretensions to expose the true essence of people underneath, believing that it shall confirm the differences she's been raised to believe are inherent in the classes, Rei turns these attempts at revelation into a symbolic eternal striptease, revealing always another layer, another exposure that turns back on the one who hungers to strip away, turning their desire into a dependency, a "not yet" that lets Rei set the world to her own timepiece.

As such, Rei integrates at one stroke the fact that she loves women and the fact that Claire loves aristocracy, yoking the two into a similar level of political importance, the genius of which is that it works two ways. On the one hand, it renders Claire's bullying and class violence an act of seeming kinkiness and indulgence rather than the sacred duty of the chosen few, an "Oh my, not here, darling, you're so demanding today!" in which Claire is framed as a dommy queen going to great lengths to maintain the roleplay, an actor who clearly likes her bit in this French-nobility-themed drama a bit too much, hamstringing entirely any authority she might demand outside the context of the bedroom. On the other, by putting forth the perspective that all the ritualism and pomp of aristocracy is just that- rich kids playing dress-up and not at all the solemn proceedings of the gifted elite, Rei also strikes a symbolic blow against the cult of nobility, puncturing the gravitas with which they appoint themselves protagonists in politics, and exposing in her invocation of roles the possibility also that these roles might change, that any day now the next set of domineering and imperious rulers might not be of noble birth at all, and the day after the troupe may put on a different production entirely, forgetting in their fun all this now-outdated talk about empires and princes.

While Claire is of course initially incensed and disturbed by this, given that Rei challenges and erodes the entire purpose of her identity-affirming tactics of bullying and challenging usurpers, making her wonder if she is truly entitled to any grander obedience and special status at all, these ideas of fluidity and performativity might also represent for her a chance at change and escape, a route out of the crumbling palaces of a decaying royalty. If she is not in fact essentially and transcendentally the daughter of a noble house, then she also needs not act like one, and could be anyone she pleases and be with anyone she's pleased by. Rei's queerness therefore represents a challenge and threat to the entire system she is housed and mantled in, but also offers her a path to happiness as a person, a right to joy and love that is freely given to all who live and needs no grounding in nobility- indeed, it is only by the destruction of her mythos and iconography, that terrifying and liberating act of blasphemy, that she can become human and therefore go on to become a freak, the making-by-breaking that is promised by the queer revolution, a transcendent transsexuality, a metamorphosis that makes all reality into the cocoon that it shall soar free of, feeding-as-needing, desire as production and a new genesis.

In short, I Favour the Villainess boldly asserts that loudly loving evil women is a vital step in the revolution, and that's such an important message. "I Can Fix Her" as "I Can Create a World Where She's Just a Travesty and not a Tragedy". Wanting so badly to give a bitch head that you rescue hers from the guillotine. "My favorite Girlfailure was Marie Antoinette". Simply an excellent premise.

#i favor the villainess #watashi no oshi wa akuyaku reijou #i'm in love with the villainess #yuri

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cozymoko · 2 years ago

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Wow I just have to say your work is truly muah😚chefs kiss💗.and so I had a question from reading’s team Taka works, so it seems they have a place so stay at so I was wondering how does housing work since there are times where sasuke doesn’t taken darling with him said in one of the post unless he trust them enough.

P.s hope your doing well 💗

RULES AND HOUSING FOR TEAM TAKA — ( FT. YAN. SASUKE AND HIS S/O)

Note: Hi! I'm glad you were able to send me a follow-up message. I summarized this and the other message you sent. Please enjoy.

PPS. — I hope you're doing even better. (ㅅ˙³˙)♡

Synopsis: What domestic life, housing, and rules Sasukes' darling and Team Taka would have to follow.

Format: Headcanons

WARNING(S): Yandere themes

🍙 Rooms are placed as followed: Yours and Sasukes' the furthest down the h all for privacy. Then Karins' a but away from yours, her closeness isn't ideal but he fears that if you (unless you're bisexual) Therefore, Suigetsu and Jugo share a room a great distance from your own as there's no need to be any closer.

🍙 Bathroom schedules are strict but necessary in Sasuke's mind. Only when he is present can they stray from it if they choose. Sasuke had morals, shockingly, and he doesn't let his childish needs deviate him from their tasks for the day. He's not all that bad as long as you're by his side.

“[Name] can you pass me the shampoo? Jugo won't get out of my way.” Suigestu cried out.

You watched him with a deadpan expression, still cradling a very exhausted Sasuke in your arms. Even if you wanted to there was no way you could help him in a situation like this.

“Hah? Just move him out of the way—!”

“Shut up.”

🍙 As stated, whoever proves themself capable of watching you will be by your side when he cannot. You are to stay within the walls of your tiny cabin which you all shared, guarded closely by your "friends" (not Karin she's even an option).

🍙 Despite being utterly infatuated with you, Sasuke does not lack common sense. He's more than aware that the average person wouldn't dare go against him if they didn't want to face the consequences. Not only that but he does have quite a bit of trust for Suigestu and Jugo and expects them to treat you properly in his absence.

🍙 To ensure that his expectations are met, expect a thorough examination upon his return. The Uchiha will strip you bare, slowly tracing his fingers along the smooth skin that covered you. His scent is still strong on your being, luckily, and so are his bruises (hickeys). For a man so rough, this time he was not. Carefully inspecting you as though you were a fine piece of cloth, picked and sewn to perfection. And in his eyes, you were.

🍙 Rule #1: “Looking you dead in the eye for more than a minute is strictly forbidden.” Your eyes, dare he say, are one of his favorite things about you. No matter how hard you try to conceal your emotions, your eyes are always so honest. However, he's not one to let others share such experiences with him. This is Sasuke, he's a possessive man!

🍙 Rule #2 “Disrespect or harm to [Name] will not be tolerated.” If not for Jugo, Karin would have violated this rule a long time ago, in front of Sasuke at that. She hardly liked you most days and she made sure to show you. Perhaps it was just his conscious but he couldn't bare to hear the pained screams of Karin as he knew her punishment wouldn't be a mere slap on the wrist.

🍙 Rule #3: “Any extreme intimacy results in death.” Things like hugs and hast pats on the heads were scarce for you as they would happen when Sasuke was out. Even so, you were often by Sasuke's side, joining him on his Endeavors set by Orochimaru himself. It pained you as you barely got any intimacy from your partner himself. You craved it more and more as the days went on. But if intercourse with anyone but himself crosses your mind, kiss them goodbye!

🍙 These are a merely few of the excessive rules he's set in place, the major ones at least. After some time these became second nature. Nonetheless, those are practically the only rules they roughly follow. You live together for fucks sake so there's no reason to act like strangers. Unless they happened to piss Sasuke off.

#—🍁#x reader #yandere x darling #yandere imagines #yandere x reader #yandere #yandere x y/n #team taka #yandere sasuke x reader #yandere sasuke #sasuke uchiha x reader #sasuke imagines #sasuke x reader #naruto imagines #yandere naruto headcanons #naruto headcanons #yandere naruto shippuden #naruto shippuden imagines #naruto shippuden headcanons

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laenordeservedbetter · 2 years ago

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heyy so hear me out obsessed ghostface Sam...

But I Love You!

Words: 2.1k

Pairing: Ghostface!Samantha Carpenter x Fem!Reader

Synopsis: Sam would do everything in her power to make sure that you remain hers no matter who she has to stab in the way.

Warnings: (18+), killing, violence, manipulation, cussing, suggestive themes, unhinged Sam(?), confusing ending, not proofread (i had a long day and i'm tired). lmk if I missed any.

The italics in the first few scenes with reader & sam are Sam's inner dialogue/thoughts. This doesn't follow the scream timeline. Here, Sam never left Woodsboro, Tara's still in school, and Sam became Ghostface.

not my gif. || masterlist || previous work

—

It started with an attraction or in simpler terms, a crush - the foundation of all things relationship related.

You turned up to her workplace by chance, caught up in the middle of the storm. It was common sense to stop driving and find a secure place to stay for the meantime. The diner Sam worked at was the closest. That’s how you found yourself acting as the cloud that would pour water on a certain place. Your day had been terrible. You were late to work, customers were more irate today than the previous days, and you forgot to bring your umbrella before leaving. Clothes soaking wet and droplets of water pouring on the floor, Sam was bound to notice you.

At first, her blood boiled. After all, she’d have to be the one to clean up this mess. But when she took a glance at you, her heart skipped a beat. The makeup on your face was smudged, your hair a tangled mess, but damn, “You look beautiful.” Sam whispered.

Your head snapped up, noticing someone else’s presence in the room for the first time. “What?”

“I said, ‘how can I help you?’” Sam silently cursed herself for slipping up.

You don’t notice the lie. “I’m looking for a place to stay for an hour or so. Just until the rain calms down. And maybe food?” The woman has an unreadable expression on her face. “Don’t worry, I have money, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

The woman smiles kindly, “Oh, I wasn’t thinking that.”

“Oh? What were you thinking, then?”

“That you might need a change of clothes.” Sam gestures to your outfit.

“You’re probably right.” You say, “Sadly, I don’t have anything else to change into.”

Sam bites her lip, weighing out her options. “We have a spare uniform in the back.” She relents.

“That’s kind of you, but wouldn’t your boss be mad?”

Ugh. Roger.

“Don’t worry, I’ll deal with him. The only thing you should focus on right now is making sure you don’t get sick.” Sam walks to the room that says ‘staff only’ and comes back less than a minute later to hand you the clothes. “Here. You can change to the bathroom over there.” She points to the lavatory.

“Thank you so much. You’re an angel.” You say, taking your time to go to the bathroom to avoid slipping.

Once Sam hears the door close, she looks to your car parked outside. She can’t let you leave. Not yet.

She grabs her umbrella hidden under the counter and makes her way outside, making sure the bathroom door is still closed before popping the hood of the car open, removing the rotor piece. “Nice and easy.” Sam mumbles, pocketing the piece. She rushes back in the diner, hoping to be there before you can question her whereabouts.

You exit the lavatory wearing the uniform given to you by the kind stranger.

It fits her perfectly. “All good?” Sam asks, handing you a towel.

“Yes, yes. I can’t thank you enough. Not many people would go out of their way to help a stranger.” You shiver, putting the towel around you like a cloak.

“I’m just doing my job, ma’am.”

“Please. Call me Y/n.”

“You have a pretty name.” She says.

“Not as pretty as yours. . . Samantha.” You squint your eyes to read the name on the tag of her blouse.

Sam’s brows furrow, “How did you know my name?”

“It’s on your tag.” You point out.

Sam laughs, like, really laughs. The laugh-at-your-crush’s-jokes-even-if-you-don’t-find-it-funny kind of laugh. What is happening? “Fuck. Sorry. I’m not used to pretty girls complimenting me.”

“Somehow, I find that hard to believe.” You take a seat at one of the stools near the counter, smirking, “You must have dozens of women and/or men lining up at your door. With that face and kind heart, anyone could swoon.”

“Nope. Trust me. There’s no one.”

“More chances for me.” You do a fist bump in the air, not caring how stupid you looked. “Yes!”

You see Sam’s eyes widen as she tries to look away.

She’ll be the death of me.

As predicted, your car wouldn’t start. Sam gladly offered you a ride to your apartment, where she then asked for your number. You had no hesitation and gave it, thinking her intentions were pure. And they were.

Mostly.

That was eleven months ago.

You and Sam are together now and the crush bloomed into something more.

She was the perfect girlfriend. Good-hearted, gentle, caring. You thought you had hit the jackpot until the cracks in your relationship began to show themselves.

At first, it was the little things you noticed whenever you were together in public. Sam always had an arm around you. It didn’t matter if it was your waist or your shoulders or locking your arms together. She wanted to make sure the world knew that you were hers, which was fine. She wasn’t ashamed of you. Though, whenever someone looks at you too long or if they flirt with you despite Sam being there, her grip on your body tightens a little, but not too much to the point where it hurts.

The more time you spent with Sam, the more your friends started to get worried. It’s not healthy, they said. She’s keeping you from seeing us!, they argued. As soon as you shared their worries to Sam, she took effort in dispelling your doubts, telling you that your friends were envious of what you have and that it was normal to spend more time with your girlfriend than your friends, added by reassurance that there was nothing to worry about.

You chalked it off as Sam trying to look out for you.

After all, she is your girlfriend.

Then, there was that moment at a party.

It was a gathering for work. A room full of rich snobs and picture perfect careers. You couldn’t stand it, but your attendance was required. The only upside was that the company allowed you to bring a plus one. Naturally, you asked Sam and she said yes.

Even though you were elated that she agreed to go with you, you didn’t consider the possibility of not being able to talk to her much throughout the night because of strangers chatting you up. Some of them had the intention of asking you out. Though, upon seeing Sam’s deathly stare, they backed off. All but one.

The guy, Michael (tall, brunette, green eyes), would not stop leering at you with a mischievous grin. You felt sick to your stomach, uncomfortable by the way he looked at you, but not being able to do anything about it since he wasn’t actively trying to pursue you. Still, it disgusted you.

Sam’s hold on your waist remains, her jaw clenching, a clear sign that she was getting antsy. “Can we leave?”

You nod, “Yes. They’ve all seen me already, I think. We can finally go.” Despite the looks given to you by Michael, you tried your best to not let it dampen your mood, smiling at your girlfriend.

“Good. Come on.” Sam says, leading you to her car without so much as a smile.

“Hey, Sam, are you okay?” You make her look at you, holding her face in your hand.

Her gaze softens, “Yes, I am. Don’t worry about me. Are you okay?”

“Other than the way his eyes made me feel, I’m fine. I’ll probably forget about it when we watch a movie when we arrive back home.” You assure.

“Who says we’re watching a movie?” Sam’s lips quirk upwards, hands wrapping around your waist as she pulls you to her while your arms move to her shoulders.

“Well, what do you have in mind, Miss Carpenter?”

She gives you a peck on the lips. “It’s better if I show you.”

You ran inside the car in a hurry to get back to your apartment and let Sam do the things she wants to you, the awful looks by Michael replaced by the desire pooling in you when your lover teasingly runs a hand between your thighs.

Again, it was fine. Everything was as it should be. Perfect.

But what came after? Not so much.

After you fell asleep, Sam carefully shuffled out of bed. She grabbed her dark cloak and Ghostface mask from the closet, running her fingers over the outlines of the eyes, sighing in relief. It felt good to pick up the mask again. Lately, she hasn’t been going out in the streets as much, having you to thank for that. As luck would have it, you gave her a mission (although inadvertently) at the same time the urge to kill became intolerable.

The job was easily done. Sam found Michael still at the party, waiting for the right moment. Michael went out the house, going for the alley since the bathroom was occupied. That’s when Sam made her move. Michael did not fight back, the alcohol in his veins dampening his ability to form coherent thoughts (assuming that he is better sober than he is drunk). Behind her mask, Sam was bursting with glee. Oh, how she missed it. There was nothing to compare to the feeling of excitement as you witness someone bleed out before you and the satisfaction that comes with it -- well, maybe nothing except you, her girl.

Sam opens the door to her room, anticipating your body still on the bed, sound asleep, but to her shock, you’re situated on the couch, both eyes on the bloodied mask in her hands.

“Sam, why is there blood on that?” Deep down, you knew the answer. You want to hear the confirmation first before you do anything that could potentially put your life in danger.

“I-it’s paint, baby. Tara’s got an art project for school. I-”

“Don’t give me that bullshit. I’m not five. I know blood when I see it! That is blood!” You point out, frustrated. “And what kind of excuse is an art project?! My neighbor’s cat could make a better excuse.”

“Baby,” Sam’s tone is dangerously low as she stalks closer towards you. “I did it for for you -- for us. The way he was looking at you… I didn’t like it one bit, so I removed his eyes.”

You get up from your seat, going to the farthest corner in the room away from Sam. She does a gesture to signal that she’ll go towards you and you put a hand up in warning. “Stay the fuck away from me! You’re mad!”

“Oh, please. Don’t we all go a little mad sometimes?” She retorted, ignoring your protests.

You flinch from her touch when she touches the side of your face with crimson colored hands. “You’re sick, Sam. I’m calling the cops.”

“But I love you!” Sam yells, her voice breaking at the end. “Can’t you see? I did it for you.”

“You keep saying that, but do you really mean it? ‘Cause if you did this for me, you wouldn’t have done it in the first place.” You spat, punching her abdomen, followed by a kick to the stomach.

Sam doubles over, giving you an opportunity to run, to call the cops, to do something. “Honey, please. Let’s talk about this! I’m sorry, okay? You know how much I love you. Please stop this. You’re hurting me.”

“I am?” You question in dubiety. Sam is clutching her stomach, tears pouring like a water fountain. That’s the moment it hits you. “I am.” Letting your guard down, you run to Sam, clinging to her like a lifeline, your last chance. “Baby, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to…”

She shushes you, “Hey, it’s okay, I know.” You close your eyes shut as she presses a kiss to your temple. “I love you so much.”

You let her pull you in an embrace, holding your body tightly. How you love her so. You bury your face in the crook of her neck, saying those three words back. She did what was best for the both of you. Nothing can harm you ever again so long as you stay by her side.

“My perfect girl.” Sam whispers. “Do you trust me?”

There was no getting out of this. You’re in it for the long run now. “Trust is a tough thing to come by these days.” You sport a grin against her neck that vanishes quickly, for you don’t want Sam to recognize it. She thinks she has you wrapped around her finger, but she doesn’t know the truth of it. It may be like a game for her, but not for you.

It’s not game over.

Not yet.

#samantha carpenter #sam carpenter x reader #sam carpenter #scream #scream franchise

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path-of-grass-and-leaves · 1 year ago

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How to Handle Difficult Spirit Communication

UPG Warning: All of this information comes from my personal practice and is not universally true.

To start, spirit communication can be challenging when done solely through divination, but that doesn't mean it's impossible. For beginners, I suggest researching how to sense and perceive spirits. After a while you'll likely begin to develop your own personal methods.

That being said, you don't need to have highly developed spiritual perception in order to communicate. This is where divination comes in. It can be difficult and sometimes frustrating but the more you practice, the easier it will become.

Let's dive into some of the common causes of unsuccessful spirit communication:

You don't know who you're reaching out to or why.

I think this happens more often among beginner practitioners. It was definitely one of my first mistakes when starting. You want to get into spirit work so you dust off your divination tools and start searching for the first spirit willing to talk to you. This IME has resulted in spotty or inconsistent communication and downright unpleasant experiences.

You should know why you're opening channels for communication. Are you attempting to contact a specific individual? Are you searching for a spirit guide or familiar? Are you seeking information or help with a working? Maybe you just want to honor your house or local land spirits. Maybe you suspect that a spirit is trying to get your attention and you want to find out why.

Whatever the reason, you want to make sure that you have a vague idea of who you're contacting and what your intentions are. One thing that I've found when reaching out without direction is that sometimes several unrelated spirits will come through, tying up the lines and confusing the reading.

Divination method is too limiting.

Some spirits prefer specific divination methods so it's important to experiment. Not getting results while using the pendulum? Try something else, like automatic drawing/writing, shufflemancy, or scrying. Tarot meanings not lining up? Try reading the images or elements and numbers instead, or adding an oracle deck to the mix.

I find that using two or more techniques at one time yields the best results. This includes asking for signs and performing dream work or spirit travel.

Results are being overlooked

I always make sure to write down results during divination. Otherwise it's very easy to miss out on key information. Let's say that I'm doing some bare bones spirit identification. I choose to use tarot and shufflemancy. During the session I notice that I'm pulling a lot of wand cards and many of the songs mention fire in some way. So, okay, now I know that this spirit is likely connected to the element fire. Good enough for now.

The next day I ask a follow-up question and don't get any results. This is when I would go back to my notes and review them. It's possible that my question was answered during the previous session and I had overlooked it while focusing on the more obvious information (the fire themes), and the spirit is frustrated with having to repeat themselves.

Questions are too broad or too restrictive.

Let's go back to general identification. I break out my tarot cards and ask, "Who am I speaking with?" and the cards that I pull aren't making sense. In my opinion this question is too direct and open-ended. I might want to rephrase it and ask something like "Which of the images on these cards best represent your preferred form?".

If successful, I would at least have a general idea of appearance and go from there. I might take note of additional details like the suit of the card, it's elemental and planetary correspondence, and assigned meaning.

I would avoid yes/no questions completely. In my personal experience they're always inconsistent, frustrating, and require a lot of guesswork.

Certain actions are required for contact.

Depending on context, culture, folklore, personal path, etc., some spirits may require that you perform a certain ritual or provide an offering before they will speak or work with you.

Now I'm not suggesting you leave offerings for just any random spirit, but there are some situations where it's appropriate. If contacted by an unknown spirit, for example, I would skip all forms of veneration and go straight to divination. But if I were to try and work with, let's say the spirit of my local river, I would have my offering ready before introduction.

You're communicating too often.

Just like any activity, spirit work takes energy. Overdoing it can and will result in burn-out.

If your attempts at communication are unsuccessful you might just need a break. Make sure to step back often and focus your attention elsewhere, like self-care, socialization, and hobbies. Answers will often present themselves after or even during a period of rest.

#witchcraft #spirit work #divination #witchblr #witchcraft community #witchcraft 101

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evil-marco · 4 months ago

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welcome to my blog. here i bitch about stupid people. come one, come all.

short overview: hey i'm marco. im a person with dissociative identity disorder. i use any pronouns, and i'm an adult. if you don't like me, block me! it's not my job to be internet friendly. it's your job to police your internet consumption. peace and love. (i know this sounds sarcastic but i'm being /srs. if you do not like the content tumblr is showing you, curate it. there's no use getting offended over it, or upset. either listen & learn or move on. i genuinely don't care which.)

as mentioned before, i'm marco (or, if you want, apple (not orange (which is a surprise considering the theme i chose))). i have DID. alters will reveal themselves if they want to. as an overview, i have 7-8. i dont believe in emoji signoffs—i have a name and i will use it.

always feel free to send asks about DID or system shit. i love correcting misinformation—if you need help finding good resources, i'm majoring in english and would love to help you find credible ones. i am also down to debate syscourse at any point. don't straight up call me a slur though you will just get clowned on.

i am like your friendly neighborhood spiderman except i'm not friendly or spiderman and instead just really don't like people faking dissociative disorders. that's about it.

no DNI because that's cringe & not how real life works, but if you believe in the following and feel strongly about it, you might want to block me. i also feel strongly about it and i guarantee you i'm more stubborn:

₊　endo systems. tulpa systems. any system that is not disordered. any of that "mixed origins" bullshit. i think you guys should get back into kinning.

₊　people who think you can be a completely binary man and a lesbian. [insert loud incorrect buzzer here]

₊　similarly, people who think you can be a completely binary woman and be mlm [insert equally loud incorrect buzzer here]

₊　those people who take shipping too seriously. do not tell me to kms because i don't ship your favs.

₊　systems who think systems should get special treatment for the sake of special treatment. you do not need pluralkit in every server ever. shut up

₊　people who refuse to debate your beliefs. you are stagnant. one day the world will move on without you and you will be the reason why.

₊　if you're being nsfw in my notifs i'll block you. idc about your blog (so feel free to interact/like/reblog with a sfw caption) but if i have to see it i will avoid it! much love to the nsfw bloggers but not my cup of tea

₊　generally just have common sense and we'll get along!

inbox / askbox are open ! i love education & debates, and will absolutely explain my perspective most things.

#actually did #did #actually dissociative #did system #dissociative identity disorder #complex dissociative disorder

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wavesoutbeingtossed · 1 year ago

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Screaming from the crypt (or how the past haunts the present on Midnights)

I know it's been discussed so much since Midnights came out but just.

I love how there is such a clear narrative throughout the album (and perhaps especially on the 3am/Vault tracks). About questioning and regret and choices and coming to terms with all of it. It is one long story about how we're all a mosaic of the choices we make, each one taking something from us and leaving something else in its place.

(And now a disclaimer: I'm looking at this mostly through a narrator/subject lens, and trying not to dive too deeply into real-life events or speculation except for in a general sense. For this purpose I like to look at the body of work as art, like literature, because I find it makes it easier to see the common threads in the different songs and cohesion in the narrative.)

In looking at the 3am+ tracks in particular, it's fascinating how some turns of phrases or themes repeat themselves in different songs, in different contexts. (I'm only focusing on the non-standard tracks because there are too many songs and I'd be here all day but I bet I could do a part two lol.) I know many people have pointed out the parallels throughout her discography already and I’m not saying anything groundbreaking by writing this, but I love how these parallels run through in the same album, because it makes it seem like it's one long story, or at least, one long rumination on many different stories that are coalescing into a single narrative.

Battle (let’s go)

For instance, the one that jumped out at me when I started writing this post the other week was, "Tore your banners down, took the battle underground," in The Great War and "If clarity's in death, then why won't this die? Years of tearing down our banners, you and I," in Would've, Could've Should've. It's a story about staying stuck in the same cycle of reliving trauma and coping mechanisms and bad habits over and over again and fantasizing about how taking the “antagonist” out and gaining the upper hand for good would bring closure (WCS), but the truth is that nothing ever will. All that cycle does, though, is repeat itself in other situations, and in this case pushes someone away the narrator cares for (TGW). The difference is that the imagined battle in WCS is a two-way street in her mind (that is ultimately unwinnable because it was never a fair fight), but in TGW it's one-sided -- she's the one fighting dirty, taking shots, the way she'd been doing in her imagination (or nightmares) all these years. But the person in front of her isn't fighting back the way the person in her mind in WCS would, because their intentions are honourable instead of exploitative.

And that's paralleled in another pair of lyrics from the two songs, "And maybe it's the past talking, screaming from the crypt, telling me to punish you for things you never did," (in TGW) and "The tomb won't close, I fight with you in my sleep," (in WCS). In both cases, the funeral imagery makes it seem like this past event should be dead and buried in WCS, but it keeps rising from the dead, haunting her no matter what she does and in TGW, another (or perhaps the same?) tomb that won't close keeps unleashing new ways to hurt her and in turn the new person in her life. In other words, the trauma from the past continues to bleed into the present.

(Again from a literary point of view, I'm not saying the events of the two songs are linked IRL, but they're fascinating textual parallels on the album as a string of chapters, which is why Dear Reader is so compelling, but that's a whole other essay.)

To keep the battle motif going, there’s yet another parallel, this time between TGW’s "[You were a] soldier down on that icy ground, looked up at me with honor and truth," and You’re Losing Me’s "All I did was bleed as I tried to be the bravest soldier, fighting in only your army.” In the former, the subject is laying down his armour in the war she’s projecting onto him, waving the white flag, and she realizes that she’s about to destroy something if she doesn’t put her sword down too. By the time we get to YLM, the roles are almost reversed; at the very least they’re supposed to be on the same team, but in this case she’s doing all the heavy lifting, fighting for their relationship in contrast to his apathy killing it. It’s also pretty interesting (if not outright intentional) that one of the 3am+ editions of the albums starts with The Great War, where they find themselves in conflict (even if it’s in her head) that ends in a truce, and ends with You’re Losing Me signalling the end of the relationship, evidence that the resolution in the first song wasn’t an ending but merely a ceasefire before the last battle.

Putting the rest under a cut because this is waaaaay too long now ⤵️

(There’s also another metaphor there in The Great War with its battle imagery: World War I, aka The Great War, was supposed to be the war to end all wars, because loss on its scale was never seen before and when it ended, most thought never again would the world embroil itself in such battle, the horrors and implications were so devastating. Two decades later, the world found itself in WWII, with an even larger scope and more horrific consequences, the intervening time between the two a period of festering conflicts and resentment leading to some of the worst acts the world would see. Bringing real life into it for a second, there’s something a little poetic, though sad, about The Great War the song being about a fight that could have ended the relationship that they ultimately resolved and was meant to be evidence of the strength of their love, but so too did it end up being a period of détente, the greater battle coming for them years later. But that is not the point of this post.)

If one thing had been different

Another major theme in these editions is pondering the "what ifs?" of life, but I think it takes on even more significance in the broader context of the album in the lyrics of "I'm never gonna meet what could've been, would've been, should've been you," in Bigger than the Whole Sky and the repetition of would've/could've in Would've, Could've, Should've (I would've looked away at the first glance, I would've stayed on my knees, I would've gone along with the righteous, I could've gone on as I was, would've could've should've if I'd only played it safe, etc.) In both songs, the narrator is mourning an alternate course their life could have taken* and questioning what they could have done differently, in the aftermath of trauma and loss, and the regret that comes with that loss, and with the loss of agency in the situation because ultimately it was never in their hands. In an album full of questions, wondering about the path not taken, or the forks in the road that have led to a different version of your life, it's digging deeper into the contrast of choice vs. fate, action vs. reaction, dwelling on the past vs. moving on. When you're supposed to let go of the past, what do you do when it is holding your future hostage?

(*I know there are different interpretations/speculation about BTTWS which I am not getting into on main. I'm just saying that whatever the song is about, it's grieving something that never came to be. The literal origin of the song is less important to the album than the sense of loss it portrays. Whatever the inspiration is, it's crafted to tell part of the story of Midnights of ruminating over how, to borrow from her previous work, if one thing had been different, would everything be different?)

(Also I was today years old when I realized that the words are inverted in the two songs. Apparently I've been hearing BTTWS wrong this whole time.)

There's also an interesting tangent in the role of faith in both songs: in WCS, the events of the story cause her to lose her faith (e.g. "All I used to do was pray," "you're a crisis of my faith,") and question all the things she felt had been unquestionable until that point in her life (e.g. "I could have gone along with the righteous"), whereas in BTTWS, she questions whether that very lack of faith is to blame for the loss in that song ("did some force take you because I didn't pray? [...] It's not meant to be, so I'll say words I don't believe"). It's like pinpointing the moment her life changed and upended her beliefs (WCS), but as a result then leaving her unmoored in times of crisis because ultimately there's no explanation or comfort to be taken from what she used to hold true before that (BTTWS). The words she once relied upon to guide her have long since lost their meaning, but in times of trouble it leaves her wondering if that faith she once held then lost could have prevented this pain.

(Shoutout to WCS for being Catholic guilt personified lol.)

To keep on with the vaguely faith-y notions, an obvious parallel is the line in Would’ve Could’ve Should’ve about, “I damn sure never would've danced with the devil at nineteen,” and, "When you aim at the devil, make sure you don't miss," in Dear Reader. All of WCS is about her fighting with an antagonist who haunts her, with whom she wholly regrets ever becoming involved. DR could be seen as a reflection on that fall from grace, warning the audience that if you choose to go after the person (or thing) haunting you, make sure you do so clearheaded enough to be decisive. Again, these “devils” may not be related in real life: the IRL devil in DR could be speaking about her naysayers, or Kim*ye, or Scott & Scooter B, etc., meaning not to cross your enemies until you know you can win. But taking real life out of it and looking at it textually, I am intrigued by the link between WCS and DR, so that’s what I’m going with here. And perhaps that’s even the point in a wider sense; there will be multiple “devils” in your life, or threats to your well-being. If you’re going to commit to taking them down — whether it’s an actual person, or the demons inside you that refuse to let you go — make sure you have the right ammo so that they can no longer hurt you. (Of course, one lesson from these experiences is that sometimes you can’t win, and you have to live with the fallout.)

(Sidebar: I know that “dancing with the devil” is a turn of phrase that means being led into temptation and engaging in risky behaviour, as opposed to describing the actual person. Given the religious metaphors in the song, that could very well be/is the intention, particularly when it’s preceded by, “I would have stayed on my knees” as in she would have continued to follow her faith — in whatever sense that means — had she never met this person, which could also be a more eloquent way of saying she would have continued to be live her life in a way that was righteous (even naive) and seen the world in black and white. Either way, it’s a force she wholly rejects. Like I said, multiple devils, same fight.)

Regret comes up too: in WCS, she says, "I regret you all the time," obviously directed at the person who manipulated her and led to her perceived downfall, citing him as the one impulse she wished she'd never followed, because it won't leave her no matter how hard she’s tried. In High Infidelity, she tells the person to, "put on your records and regret me," and on the surface, it’s like she’s turning the tables, painting herself as the one now causing the regret in someone else, the one inflicting the pain this time. Yet the verse preceding it and the lines following it in the chorus depict a partner who is also emotionally manipulative and vindictive like in WCS (“you said I was freeloading, I didn’t know you were keeping count,” “put on your headphones and burn my city,”). It’s not so much that she’s intentionally harming the person (the way the person in WCS does to her), but rather that the venom in the subject’s feelings towards her seeps through; she’s imagining the way he’s going to feel about her when she leaves, hating her just for by being who she is. (There could be another tangent about how in both songs she’s there to be a “token” in a game for both of the men, who play her for their own purposes.) The regret is dripping with disdain. It’s as though she’s picturing how the person is going to hate her for doing what she’s thinking of doing the way she hates the person who first hurt her.

Sadness, unsurprisingly, shows up in a few lyrics. In BTTWS, “Everything I touch becomes sick with sadness,” sets the scene of a person so overcome with grief that it permeates everything around them; they cannot see their way out of it and feel like the fog will never lift. In Hits Different, it’s, “My sadness is contagious,” the result of a breakup where the person’s grief again touches everything and everyone around them, pushing them further in their despair and loneliness. The reason behind the grief in either case may vary, but regardless of the source, the feeling is overpowering and isolating. They may be different chapters in the story, but the devastation is hauntingly familiar. (As is a recurring theme in Midnights as a whole: there are situations and feelings that present themselves at different points in her journey and colour in the lines in different ways along the road. Like revisiting an old vice and realizing the hit isn’t quite the same as it was in the past.)

Death by a thousand cuts

She also writes about wounds on this album, which isn't surprising I suppose given that the whole conceit is that these are things that have kept her up at night over the years. WCS is perhaps the driving narrative on this never ending hurt when she sings, “The wound won't close, I keep on waiting for a sign, I regret you all the time,” suggesting that no matter what she does, the pain of this experience has permeated everything she’s done afterwards. (Not unlike the overwhelming grief in BTTWS, for instance.) Elsewhere, in High Infidelity she sings, "Lock broken, slur spoken, wound open, game token," and in Hits Different, "Make it make some sense why the wound is still bleeding.” Again I'm not suggesting they're about the same events; the line in HI is about a situation where a partner crosses a boundary, hits below the belt, picks at an insecurity (or creates a new one) and treats the relationship like it's transactional, opening the floodgates in turn. In HD, the wound seems to be more self-inflicted, where she's pushed the person away. (Over a situation real or imagined she feels she needs distance from.) But again, something has picked at her like a raw nerve, and just like in the past, she's hurting, even in a different time and place and person. Almost like the wounds of the past break open over and over again to create new scars. If one were to extrapolate further, it wouldn’t be the biggest leap to wonder if the wound open in WCS, then torn apart in HI makes the one in HD hurt even more.

(I once wrote a post about how I think as time goes on, WCS is going to turn into one of those songs that will be found to drive so much of her work, because it’s just… kind of the unsaid thesis statement of so much of her songwriting.)

Another repeated theme is that of the empty home and loneliness. In High Infidelity, she sings, "At the house lonely, good money I'd pay if you just know me, seemed like the right thing at the time," painting a picture of someone who may have everything they'd want to the outside world, but in reality feels metaphorically trapped in their home (or at least alone amidst abundance), a symbol of a relationship gone sour and a failure to build connection. She just wants someone to understand her, want her for her, but as she's written earlier in the song, she's just a pawn in the game, a trophy from the hunt. Home, in this case, is lonely, isolated, an emblem of her fears. In Dear Reader, she continues this thread, then singing, "You wouldn't take my word for it if you knew who was talking, if you knew where I was walking, to a house not a home, all alone 'cause nobody's there, where I pace in my pen and my friends found friends who care, no one sees you lose when you're playing solitaire." It's the same idea, admitting to listeners that the gilded cage she lived in kept her distanced from her loved ones and real connection, keeping her struggles close to the vest but feeling desperately lonely amidst her crowning success. She's pushed people away and it may have felt like the right thing at the time, but in the end maybe felt like she was trapped. And when you push people away, eventually they take you at your word and stop pushing back; you’re a victim of your own success at isolating yourself. What starts out of self-preservation then further perpetuates the underlying problems.

(There's another interesting link about "home" also feeling unsafe with HI's "Your picket fence is sharp as knives," which further leads into the theme of marriage/domesticity feeling dangerous, which is a whole other thing I won't get into here because it's another discussion and may derail this already gargantuan word salad.)

In a slightly similar vein, we have the metaphor of bad weather for a rocky road or unstable relationship, in High Infidelity again with, "Storm coming, good husband, bad omen, dragged my feet right down the aisle" and You’re Losing Me’s "every morning I glared at you with storms in my eyes.” They aren’t speaking of the same situation or even same kind of breakdown, but it is pretty interesting how the idea of clouds/storms/floods/etc. play such a role in Taylor’s music to signal depression, apprehension, fear, uncertainty, etc. In HI, I think the “storm” coming is the looming threat of commitment to a partner who makes the narrator uneasy (if not fearful). In this case, the idea of making a life with this person is not one that incites joy or comfort, but instead makes the narrator feel that dark times are ahead if she continues down this path. Perhaps in some way, the “storms” in YLM have made good on the threat in HI in a different way; it’s a different home, a different relationship, but the clouds have settled in regardless, and some of her fears have come to fruition in ways she did not expect. The person she once trusted no longer sees her or her struggles (or worse, doesn’t care), and the resentment and pain build with each passing day.

Coming back to heartbreak, one of the obvious "full circle" moments is the beginning of a relationship in Paris, where she says that, "I'm so in love that I might stop breathing," clearly enthralled in a new love that allows her to shut the world out and grow in private, capturing the all-encompassing nature of the relationship. This infatuation has consumed her in the most wonderful way (in contrast to the sorrow of some of the previous songs), and it feels like a life-altering (or even life-sustaining?) force that is so strong she may forget what it’s like to breathe. (Metaphorically speaking, of course.) By the end of the album, though, in You're Losing Me, that heart-stopping love has become a threat: "my heart won't start anymore for you." In the former, her racing heart is full of excitement, but by the latter, her heart has given out completely under the weight of the pain she bears. (YLM is full of death/illness imagery which I already wrote about awhile ago so I won't hear, but needless to say that song deserves its own essay for so many reasons.) She's gone from the unbridled joy of the beginnings of a relationship to the unrelenting sorrow of its end, two sides of the same coin.

Love as death appears elsewhere in the music too, for instance, in High Infidelity’s, “You know there's many different ways that you can kill the one you love, the slowest way is never loving them enough" and You’re Losing Me’s “How can you say that you love someone you can't tell is dying? […] My face was gray, but you wouldn't admit that we were sick.” Though not completely analogous situations, they both tell the tale of one partner’s apathy (or at least denial) destroying the other. In the former, the partner’s actions (or inaction) are more insidious, if not sinister; in the latter, the lack of momentum (or admission of a problem) is passive. In both cases, the end result is the narrator’s demise; it’s a drawn out affair that chips away at her morale and her health and her sense of self. (Breaking my own rule about bringing in alleged actual events into the discussion, but the idea that the relationship in High Infidelity, which was obviously fraught with unease and even fear, ended in a similarly excruciatingly slow and hurtful death by a thousand cuts as the relationship in You’re Losing Me almost did at that time must have been so painful. It almost feels like YLM is wondering why what used to be a source of light in her life was mirroring a situation that caused her such pain in the past.)

From the same little breaks in your soul

I said early on that part of what is so compelling about Midnights is that it feels like an album about ruminating — on choices, on events, on people — and the two final “bonus” tracks of the album depict that as well. In Hits Different, she sings that, “they say if it’s right, you know,” an ode to the confusion of a breakup and struggling with the aftermath of calling it quits. It’s a line that has always intrigued me, because the typical use of the phrase is in the sense of, “you’ll know when you meet the one,” but here it seems to have a double meaning, a reassurance perhaps from the friends (who later on tell her that "love is a lie") that she’ll know if she’s made the right decision in calling it off, but could also be her wondering if the relationship is right, she’ll know, and want to reconcile. In the final bonus track, You’re Losing Me, she sings, “now I just sit in the dark and wonder if it’s time,” this time leaving no doubt about the dilemma she faces, though it’s no less fraught. She’s wondering, perhaps for the last time, if now is finally the moment to end the relationship for good. They say that if it’s right she’ll know, and now she’s wondering if that feeling inside her (that once told her her partner was the one, which is why it hit differently), is telling her that it’s time to go for good. Wait Alexa play “It’s Time To Go.” These are not only the things that keep her up at night, but the things that play over in her mind like a film reel in her waking hours.

Midnights as a whole is a deeply personal album, as is most of Taylor's work, but the 3am+ edition tracks seem to dig even deeper to a lot of the issues raised on the standard album. Almost like the standard tracks are the things she wonders about on sleepless nights, but the bonus tracks are the things that haunt her in the aftermath. The regret, anger, sadness, grief, relief, even joy— they’re the price she pays for the memories she keeps reliving. Midnights might be the most cohesive narrative of all her albums, and really does feel like we’re watching someone work through her journal over time, stopping short of outright naming those giant fears and intrusive thoughts (except for when she does) but making them plain as day when you connect the songs together, and perhaps never more clearly than in the expanded album. It’s incredible how the songs stand on their own to relay a specific moment in time, but that they are also self-referential to each other (whether thematically or overtly) to weave a larger web over the entire work. We’re so lucky as fans to have these stories and to keep peeling back these layers as time passes. (And my literature-analysis-loving ass loves her even more for it.)

This is obviously by no means an exhaustive list, and I know there are more parallels and probably even stronger links (particularly when you add the standard version into the mix), but these were the ones that particularly struck me and I’m just glad I’ve had a chance to sit with this and think it through. ❤️

#writing letters addressed to the fire #me thinking too hard about taylor lyrics #taylor swift #midnights #long post #lyrics analysis #song parallels #Gabby this one is for you friend <3 #here goes nothing #Happy Friday or something idk!#(also i know i said there are things i wouldn’t discuss on main but my dms are open lol)#this is not as structured or well plotted out as I wanted it to be #and turned out to be more stream of consciousness than legit essay #but whatever at least i got my thoughts out there and it can release some plot of land in my brain for other stuff to think over lol #If anyone ever reads this thank you! And I’m sorry?#The best compliment i ever got in school #was when we were doing an analysis of a poem in English lit in college #And i brought something up casually #and my prof went ‘I’ve been teaching this class for eight years and that’s the first time anyone’s ever brought it up like that’#’and that just blew my mind’#and i was like ‘who me?’#so that’s all you need to know about me lol #Midnights: The Great War #Bigger than the whole sky #bttws #Midnights: Paris #Midnights: high infidelity #would’ve could’ve should’ve #Midnights: dear reader #midnights: bigger than the whole sky

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random-remzy · 3 months ago

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The Osemanverse but filmatized

I'll be covering the concepts I had for "Nick and Charlie" "Solitaire" "Radio Silence" and "I Was Born For This" (I won't do Loveless because I haven't read it yet-)

Nick and Charlie

So theres not much to talk about, because it's been confirmed that Nick and Charlie will be covered in Season 4 of Heartstopper.

Solitaire.

This is where we really begin. So canonically, Solitaire takes place between the HS episodes, "Winter" and "Body" so, yeah.

Personally, I think Solitaire would be best in movie form. It would give that feeling of solving a mystery as well as the feeling of suspense. If it were turned to a movie, I think it would be around 1:45 - 2:00 hours, since there is a lot of heavy things that are covered, despite the story only lasting about a month.

I think that the colors would definitely be different. In heartstopper there are more pastels and brighter colors, and symbolism (leaves, butterflies, jellyfish, etc). So i feel like they would tone it down massively, because of Solitaires inherently dark themes.

Radio Silence

Okay so. I feel like Radio Silence would make an epic show!

Aled did go to Truham, but because he's not relevant in HS, i wonder if he'll be introduced as a classmate of Charlies, or maybe it'll actually be Frances and Tori who interact. Or they do a complete 180 and make RS completely seperate from HS, so the only thing they have in common is the classses, and the schools.

BUT CONCEPTS! So I feel like it would be 10 episodes, 1 ep per term (summer term (a), summer term (b), summer holiday (a), etc). AND Every episode would start with and excerpt from Universe City. then, from ep 3- there would be a repetitive gif acompaniying the excerpt (representing Frances joining in on the work) then it'd be gone again after ep 5 (after Aled moved away). I think the main colors would be blue, purple, (maybe white?) And I think they'd utilize the small animation details like they did in HS, to represent a multitude of different things/relatioships.

But yeah, I thing seeing Radio Silence as a show would be really cool!!

I Was Born For This

okay okay. So, this one is a little obvious. 7 episode show, one for each day of the week.

I think this would be almost completely seperate from the HS/Solitaire/RS timeline, (because it canonically is) But it would still be awesome.

I think the most difficult part about IWBFT though, is the dual narrative. I'm still unsure about how they would be able to incorporate it in a way that makes it seem natural and fluid. For now, I think they would simply switch between the narratives of the characters in the usual way. (panning a camera, insert transition, and thought process/monologue of a different character) Okay, so, out of all the other Osemanverse adaptations, i feel like IWBFT would use the most animation incorporation (apart from HS). By that I mean, there would be sparks, and stars, and bubbles, and all sorts of other things. But also the black clouds and glitching and depictions of bad thoughts as well. (Not to mention that at some point, they would absolutely animate Jimmys wings). Color-wise, I think it would actually be a mix of Solitaire, HS and RS. Angel would be more RS/HS, while Jimmy would be more RS/Solitaire, and I think that would be a lovely choice to go with. Becaus it would showcase the similarities and differences between the two. Angel, with her very positive and bright outlook on something, and Jimmys negative and dark outlook on that same thing. All the while, both of them sharing the fact that neither has a complete sense of self.

EDIT: OH MY GOD I JUST REALIZED IWBFT WOULD MAKE AN EPIC MUSICAL SERIES!!! like, maybe a song or two per episode, and it could incorporate songs from The Ark's wikepedia page (or completely new songs, featuring the cast) And it wouldn't even be that weird since IWBFT is canonically seperate from HS/Solitaire/RS. AND EACH OF THE CHARACTERS WOULD HAVE THEIR OWN STYLE OF MUSIC?!

Y'all i'm spiraling-

So. yes. I Was Born For This would make an epic show.

Thank you all for letting me rant about my concepts for the potential filmatization of the other Osemanverse stories.

Feel free to suggest anything or add something on.

But yeah. Thanks for coming to my TAO-Talk (he will be proud of you all)

#i was born for this #heartstopper #solitaire #nick and charlie #radio silence #alice oseman #FILMITAZIE IT ALL #The Oseman Cinematic Universe #The OsemanVerse Cinematic Universe #The OVCU #filmitazie it please #i dont think filmatize is a word btw-

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guilty-pleasures21 · 9 months ago

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The Queen and the Duke

So, I was researching Queen Victoria (for the upcoming Bridgerton-themed fic - I FINALLY managed to fix that plot hole that was bothering me!) and this idea had me kicking my legs and giggling when I was supposed to be sleeping so I could get up for work the next day (spoiler alert: I overslept 🥲). Well, I hope it was worth it. It's only 3 parts now, but let me know if you guys are interested in a full-scale story!

Part 1 - the ball

Part 2 - the alliance

Part 3 - the wedding

Warnings: none.

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“So, what do you like to do in your free time, Your Highness?” She’d only just been crowned Queen and yet, every man in her cabinet seemed to already have their own opinion on whom she should marry, fighting over who would best strengthen her position as monarch. So, in an attempt to assuage their concerns, she’d thrown a ball inviting every eligible suitor on the continent to get a chance to prove themselves to her. Of course, she had no intention of marrying anytime soon, but it wouldn’t hurt for her to get to know her eventual prospects.

“Oh, well, of course, I enjoy a good hunting trip every so often, Your Majesty,” the man dancing with her replied. She’d made all of them wear masks so that she wouldn’t be partial to any one of them in particular. But they had all been instructed to dance with her in a specific order; the same order in which they’d be announced to her tomorrow, revealing their true identities. The man’s eyes lit up now through his mask as he remembered a story he seemed especially fond of. “Oh! There was this one trip on which I chanced upon the most beautiful fox …”

X did her best to listen, not wanting to appear rude or hostile towards her guest, but then he started going into gory detail about his hunts and she found her heart squeezing with sympathy for all the poor animals he’d slaughtered.

“Perhaps …” X interrupted him swiftly, ��we should move on to something else, Your Highness? Unfortunately, my ... delicate womanly sensibilities are being rather affected by such a gory tale.”

She peeked up at him, hoping he would fall for the feeble excuse, and breathed a sigh of relief when he did.

“Oh! Yes, of course, Your Majesty,” the man replied, seeming a little embarrassed that he had not previously considered her 'delicate sensitivity. “My apologies. It was not my intention to offend you in any way.”

X cheered up a little at his understanding.

“It is no problem, I assure you,” she replied quickly. “Do you have any other interests? For example, reading?”

“No, I'm afraid I've never been one for the written word, Your Highness,” the man replied, disappointing her. But she’d known it would have been too much to hope for a man who would have been as interested in classic literature and ancient history and romantic poetry as she. Nevertheless, she pressed on, undeterred.

“What of the spoken word? Do you enjoy watching plays? Or perhaps the opera?” she suggested, hoping to find some common ground between them. But the rest of her night followed in a similar fashion: agonisingly slow and painfully boring.

X sank into the seat beside Lady Jane, her close friend and lady-in-waiting.

“A pleasant evening, my Queen?” the Lady teased her, sensing her frustration immediately. X winced at the joke and turned to face Lady Jane, her features scrunched up in irritation.

“Honestly, Lady Jane, it is like they mass produce all of these ‘eligible suitors’!” she moaned. “Either that or they simply all receive the exact same handbook on how to present yourself as the perfect example of a man at the peak of society.”

She groaned and covered her face with her hands. “Perhaps Lord Alfred was right and this was a stupid idea after all. What does it matter whom I choose to marry if they're all just the same?”

Lady Jane snickered at the young Queen’s rant, but a tinge of pity coloured the edges of her smile.

“Well, perhaps if you look past their interests, you might find subtle differences in their personalities that would help you make a decision?” she suggested hopefully. “Whose voice was the most gentle? Who held you most tenderly?”

X took a moment to think about it, sifting through her numerous interactions that evening. But she was quickly interrupted by the smooth and unfamiliar voice of a suitor she had yet to encounter that evening.

“Your Majesty,” the man greeted her, bowing low before straightening to hold a hand out to her. “I hope I am not too late to request a dance with you.”

X glanced up, startled by the sudden interruption to her thoughts. He was tall, the stranger; large and imposing in his red tailcoat and silver mask and she questioned how she could have possibly missed him in the room that night.

“Oh!” she exclaimed suddenly, realising that he was still waiting for her response. She placed her hand in his, allowing him to pull her to her feet. “Of course, Your Highness!”

Wow! Even standing, she barely grazed his shoulder! She gazed up at the man as he led her to the dance floor, puzzling over his possible identity. She turned to face him and reached a hand up to clasp his shoulder as they assumed the appropriate positions. Her stomach fluttered at the feeling of his broad muscles beneath her fingers and she turned her gaze away, shy at the realisation that he was the first man of the night to make her stomach flip with excitement.

He felt a warm feeling flood his chest at the way she turned her head away from him shyly. He’d known she’d be cute, given her young age - a mere eighteen to his twenty-two - but he hadn’t expected her to be so … breathtaking.

“Do let me know if you are tired, Your Majesty,” he entreated her. “I understand you have had a long night tonight and I do not wish to keep you on your feet for any longer than necessary.”

Her lips formed a perfect little ‘o’, taken aback by his unexpected thoughtfulness. “Oh! Thank you, Your Highness.”

His lips curled at the sight of that sweet little smile returning to her features, and they began their dance.

“But it is not your fault that you have not had the chance to speak with me until now,” X continued, taking note of his foreign accent. “It would be unfair of me to dismiss you as such.”

“On the contrary,” the man replied immediately, “it is absolutely my fault that we have not had the chance to speak until now. I wanted to be your last dance partner of the night.”

Her lips twitched at the ends, amused by the conviction in his voice. “Whatever for?”

“Well, your last thought of the night would be of your last partner of the ball: me. And your first thought the next morning would be of your last thought the night before: me.” He flashed her a knowing look and she couldn’t help but let out a soft laugh. His lips stretched wide at the sound and his heart fluttered in his chest at the sight of her delighted smile.

“What a strategic mind you have, Your Highness,” she praised him. “A fine quality to possess in a man who is to be wed to a queen.”

“Is that your proposal then, Your Majesty?” he retorted quickly. X gave another little giggle, her body heating up at his easy flirtation.

“It was but a mere observation, Your Highness,” she dismissed him playfully. Dios, she was adorable. And intelligent too, so easily responding to his mischievous banter without any of the awkward self-consciousness ingrained into so many of the sheltered young women of the nobility.

“That's all right,” he reassured her. “I've still got plenty of time to sway your mind. Or, hopefully, your heart?”

She pressed her lips together, trying to maintain a thoughtful expression so she wouldn’t give too much of her emotions away.

“Hmm, we shall see about that,” she decided. “So, tell me, Your Highness, what do you like to do when you're not planning alliances with foreign monarchs?” The man spun her around, then tugged her back into his arms before replying.

“That depends. Would you rather hear about my hunting trips or all my lessons in political negotiation?”

Her smile twisted into a grimace as her stomach dropped at the prospect of another meaningless conversation. “Whichever pleases you, Your Highness. Although I must admit that I am partial to conversations that do not involve gore or cruelty.”

¡Santo cielo, she was so sweet! Even despite having partaken in the exact same conversation for what must have been almost twenty times that night, she was still willing to entertain him and give him his chance to speak. “You would listen to me drone on about the same stories you must have heard repeated a hundred times throughout the night?”

The smile she’d forced onto her features faltered at his teasing words.

“W-Well, as I mentioned before, it is not your fault that you were preceded by so many men in much similar positions to yours,” she pointed out. “It would be unfair of me not to grant you the exact same opportunity as the first person I danced with tonight.”

Ay, Dios, she was going to make such a wonderful ruler: sweet and kind and intelligent and thoughtful. He only wished that she would give him the chance to support her through it all.

“How thoughtful of you, Your Majesty.” And he'd have to make sure to preserve her sweetness and morals in the face of all those who would dare challenge her. Yes, he would stay on the sidelines, stoic and resolute, her anchor in a stormy sea. “But I was only joking, my Queen. Why don't you tell me what it is you enjoy doing in your spare time?”

She grinned at the question, delighted to finally have someone inquire after her interests instead. And he seemed to genuinely want to hear her responses as well! “Well, I enjoy literature. And philosophy! It is important to know what is in the minds of your people in order to do right by them.”

He smiled at the way she lit up as she spoke about the things she loved. He asked her a few more questions, letting her carry on about her favourite books and schools of thought, and the two of them continued to dance the night away.

“You study the sciences?!” X asked, intrigued. “Like … a doctor? Are you a practitioner of medicine, Your Highness?”

He smiled at the way she bounced in her seat in excitement - they'd retired to some of the chairs placed on the edges of the dance floor a while ago, but so captivated had they been by one another that their conversation had continued without pause. “Not exactly, Your Majesty. I am simply a scholar, that is all. It would be extremely unwise for you to put the life of another in these hands.”

He rested his hands on his knees, his palms turned up towards her, and she bit her lip, hesitating for a moment. She reached out and brushed her fingers carefully across his palm, then glanced up at him and grinned before pulling away again.

His palm turned cold as she pulled her slender fingers away and a spurt of disappointment rushed through him at the absence of her hand in his. But then she treated him to that adorable little smile again and his stomach fizzed at the sight.

“Your Majesty,” Lady Jane began, leaning over her shoulder to catch her queen’s attention, “it is getting rather late. Perhaps you should retire to your chambers now?”

“Oh.” Her stomach sank at the thought of having to be parted from him already. She turned back to the thoughtful young man, trying not to let her disappointment show too badly. “Your Highness … would you … would you tell me your name?”

He gave her a soft smile, the edges tinged with disappointment. “I thought that wasn’t allowed, Your Majesty?”

“W-Well …” X clenched her fists to stop herself from grabbing onto his forearm. How desperate would such an act make her appear?! “I am the Queen. And I make the rules. And I say you can tell me your true identity.”

She looked up at him, her features hard so she wouldn’t look like the teenager she really was. He chuckled anyway at how blatant her feelings for him were, but in truth, he found himself relieved by the prospect.

“Tomorrow, Your Majesty,” he reassured her calmly. “We will meet again tomorrow. I promise.”

He held his hand out to her and she placed hers in his, letting him bring her fingers to his mouth and brush his lips against her knuckles. He stood up then, still holding onto her hand, and gently tugged her to her feet before releasing her to give a low bow. He took a step back, putting some distance between them, then waited for her to take her leave.

X sighed, disappointed. But then a resolute expression overtook her features. “Tomorrow, Your Highness.”

She turned to leave and he watched her go with a smile. Then, once they were safely away from the vicinity of the ballroom, she turned to her lady’s maid, determined. “Lady Jane, you must find out who that man was! I fear I shall lose sleep tonight puzzling over his identity!”

Jane grinned at the Queen’s dramatics. “Are you sure you would like to know, Your Majesty?”

X paused and turned to Jane with a disbelieving look on her face. “Yes! Of course! He knows absolutely everything about me and I know nothing about him!”

Jane chuckled softly, her heart warming at the thought of her friend finding someone who was able to make her so happy so easily. “I am sure that can’t be true, Ma’am. You did spend more than an hour in conversation with him tonight.”

She gave her queen a pointed look and X burst into delighted laughter.

“I suppose I did, didn’t I?” She continued down the hall, her mind consumed with thoughts of the young man she’d spent so long enjoying the company of that night. “Though it wasn’t nearly long enough.”

She gripped the armrests of her throne, trying to stop herself from tapping her fingers impatiently as the next suitor on the list was formally introduced to her.

“Prince Christian Frederik Georg Michael, second son of King Frederik of Denmark.” The young man strode into the room, his blonde hair neatly swept back from his cherubic features. He bowed before her when he reached her throne and X flashed him a kind smile when he straightened. But he wasn't the one she was looking for. She kept her thin smile fixed on her face until the prince left the room, then she exhaled and slumped over in disappointment.

“Just one more, Your Majesty,” Lord Alfred assured her from his position beside her. She straightened again at the revelation, her heart thudding in her chest at the thought of finally seeing him again. The steward cleared his throat and X rearranged her features into an expression of disinterest, not wanting to give her emotions away so quickly.

“Infante Miguel Francisco Álvarez de Borbón y Fernández - Duke of Seville and first nephew of the King of Spain.” But he was so handsome, with his thick brows and his chiselled features and his tanned skin, and she felt her heart give another little flutter at the sight of him.

He strode into the throne room, his eyes fixed straight ahead, his features set into his usual stoic expression. “Your Majesty.”

But then their gazes met and her lips curled into that adorable little smile that had his own lips turning up at the ends. They gazed at one another for a moment longer, taking the other in completely, then she cleared her throat and straightened her expression, suddenly remembering the other people in the room with them.

“Thank you for coming all this way, Your Grace.” She nodded at the Duke before turning to address her prime minister. “Lord Alfred, if you would be so kind as to dismiss the rest of the party for the remainder of this afternoon. I shall see them again at dinner tonight.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.” Lord Alfred gave his queen a low bow, using the opportunity to discreetly size up the young man who had so clearly captured her heart. Then he left the room to go dismiss the failed suitors. X stood up and made her way over to the Duke, her steps measured and precise so she wouldn't come across as too eager.

“Your Grace, I have arranged for a walk around the gardens this afternoon. Would you care to join me?” She held her breath as she waited for his response, hoping that she hadn't just dreamed everything up last night. But the Duke took a step closer to her, his expression soft as he gazed down upon her.

“I would like that very much, Your Majesty.” He held his elbow out to her and she accepted it keenly, the same adoring expression on his face reflected on hers.

“The Duke of Seville?!” Lady Anabelle hissed to her two friends. “Isn’t he the one who dismissed his cousin for being an ‘insolent fool unworthy of his time’?!”

“And in front of his entire court, too!” Lady Delia added, keeping her voice low so the Queen and the Duke wouldn't overhear their conversation. Lady Jane frowned, her stomach starting to tighten with concern over how the Duke might end up treating the Queen once they were married.

“But … should we warn Her Majesty?” she suggested, allowing her friends to pull her along with them down the path. Anabelle waved away her worries nonchalantly.

“Oh, I doubt our Queen would ever let anyone treat her in such a manner.” She glanced over at the Duke and gave a longing sigh at his broad and towering form. “No matter how handsome he might be.”

The three women turned their attention to the couple in front of them, their heads bowed towards one another as they murmured to each other, their lips stretched into equally dazzled smiles.

“I daresay they look rather … taken by one another,” Delia commented. Then she turned back to Annabelle and nudged her playfully. “But I have heard that the Duke is a rather difficult man to impress.”

Jane sniffed, offended by the remark. “Well, it is not as if our Queen is lacking in any way.”

Delia's lips parted with a horrified gasp. “Oh, of course not! If ever there was anyone who could possibly melt the heart of that frigid duke, there is no doubt in my mind that it would be our endearing little Queen.”

She gave Jane a warm smile and a reassuring pat on the arm and she relaxed. They heard the Queen let out a pleased giggle and looked up to find her turn her head shyly away from the Duke's. But his gaze remained fixed on her, his expression soft and admiring as he looked down upon her, and Jane felt the rest of the tension leave her body.

She looked up at the Duke, a tinge of fear clouding her expression as she clung onto his arm.

“And you will return in a month’s time?” She didn’t mean to sound so desperate, having only really known him for two full days, but the thought of not seeing him again made her stomach curl. The Duke gave her a reassuring smile and a pat on her hand.

“Yes, my Queen. And we shall correspond as often as possible during that time.” She grinned at his reciprocation of her feelings and his smile widened at the delighted look on her face. She really was cute. And so clever too. Such an accomplished and capable young woman and she would choose him? When she could have the hand of any man she desired? He took hold of her hand to remove it from his arm so he could press a kiss to her knuckles in farewell. “Until we meet again, my Queen.”

She deflated, disappointed by his necessary departure. He was just so clever and so interesting, so well-read and so kind. She just knew she'd be counting down the days until she could see him again. The Duke got up on his horse and gave her a final wave before speeding back off to his faraway homeland.

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