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aventurineswife · 24 days ago

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Anaxa with a reader who acts like a mitigation unit for whenever he says something blasphemous and leaves people wanting to punch him lmao

The reader is soft-spoken and gentler in disposition (much like castorice) and not exactly on par with him in terms of ingenuity, so some people wonder how they ended up together. But eh, who cares? Anaxa loves them anyways. Though, spending time with him is not good for their heart since whenever he states something outrageous, the reader will chime in with a "he doesn't mean that" and attempt to smoothen the tension, only for this dromas loving nerd to ruin the peace by spouting something like "no, actually, I meant every word I say" and the reader just stares up at the heavens, gaze resigned, and inwardly prays that they won't be stoned to death in that very moment

Bonus if they're taller than anaxa. I just think it would be cute if the reader has to constantly bend down whenever anaxa has something to say. Just the overall trope of the tall one being meek and withdrawn while the short one is feisty and outspoken

“He doesn’t mean that… I think”

Summary: You're the tall, soft-spoken partner of Anaxagoras—the infamous scholar with a talent for making blasphemous statements that nearly get you both stoned on a regular basis. While he fearlessly challenges gods and sages with wild theories and cutting wit, you're always close behind, offering polite smiles, calming words, and the occasional desperate "he doesn’t mean that." Despite your gentler nature and quieter intellect, Anaxa is fiercely devoted to you, pulling you into his chaotic orbit with unwavering affection. It’s loud, it’s intense, and your spine might just be made of divine patience.

Tags: Anaxagorus x Reader, Opposites Attract, Height Difference, Chaotic Genius x Soft-Tall Partner, Damage Control Partner, Romantic Tension, Emotional Vulnerability, Found Family Elements, Slow Burn (Implied), Philosophical Drama, “He Doesn’t Mean That” Energy, Protective Reader.

Warnings: Themes Of Death And Loss, Mentions Of Religious And Academic Conflict, Blasphemy (Fictional Context), Light Emotional Angst, Mild Language, Potential Reader Endangerment (Non-Graphic, Played For Irony/Humor), Anaxagorus being Anaxagorus.

A/N: I love this man, can you tell? 😋💚

It always starts with him saying something he absolutely shouldn’t.

The atmosphere in the courtyard of the Grove is as tense as a taut bowstring. A gathering of scholars and disciples encircle the infamous Anaxagoras, their faces twitching with barely concealed disdain, curiosity, or both. And there you are, standing right beside him like a loyal, bewildered lighthouse in the middle of an academic storm.

“…And that, my dear sages,” Anaxa declares, arms dramatically flared, coat swishing like some peacock possessed by hubris, “is why divine authority is nothing but an inherited illusion. If a god needs worship to maintain power, is it not merely a glorified parasite?”

Silence.

Not a respectful kind of silence. The "someone-is-about-to-throw-a-chair" kind of silence.

You blink. Smile nervously. And step in, gently placing a hand on Anaxa’s shoulder—he’s still mid-pose, soaking in the shocked silence like it’s validation—and clear your throat. You lean forward slightly, voice as gentle as spring rain.

“He doesn’t mean that.”

“I do,” Anaxa replies immediately, not even turning to look at you. “And if anyone disagrees, they’re welcome to explain how an all-powerful being managed to trip over the concept of mortality.”

You don't even sigh anymore. You just look up at the skies, lips silently mouthing the names of all the gods, hoping one of them has a sense of humor.

People often ask how the two of you ended up together.

You, the serene, quiet mitigation unit who wears soft colors and softer expressions. Him, the sharp-tongued philosopher whose idea of a romantic date involves reading banned texts and dismantling holy logic.

“They're not even on the same wavelength,” someone once whispered, watching you gently tug Anaxa back from yet another oncoming theological brawl. “How does it even work?”

You weren’t sure either.

Maybe it’s the way his eyes soften when you’re the one holding the scalpel during a shared experiment. Or how he lets you tie his ponytail every morning, mumbling critiques about symmetry but never actually fixing it. Or how he always looks for you in a room before he speaks—to see if you're there to watch the world burn with him.

Maybe it’s just love. Bizarre, inexplicable love.

Even if that love occasionally comes with public threats of excommunication.

You’re taller than him, of course. He pretends not to notice. But when he speaks, you always instinctively lean down just slightly, hands politely folded, like you’re giving a particularly chaotic child your full attention.

“Listen,” he says one day, post-lecture, voice low and dramatic, “I’ve discovered a correlation between Titan souls and the latent fear gods have of mortality. My next paper will be titled ‘The Cowards in the Sky.’”

You stare at him. Then glance nervously at the passing sages.

“He doesn’t mean that,” you murmur.

“I do,” Anaxa snaps, tilting his head up at you with that familiar glint of mischief and defiance. “And if I vanish in the middle of the night, assume they finally sent divine assassins. You’ll avenge me, won’t you?”

You rub your temple. “I’ll try to negotiate.”

“And you call yourself devoted,” he mutters, smug.

Still, for all the chaos he invites, Anaxa clings to you like a man who has seen too much fire and finds comfort in quiet.

When the nights are cold and long, he curls against you like he’s hiding from ghosts, his left hand resting just above yours. Sometimes, in those fragile hours, he whispers the names of people who aren’t alive anymore. Sometimes, he whispers yours like it's the only name he trusts to stay.

You don’t always understand the depth of his genius. You don’t have to.

You’re there. That’s enough.

You ground him, and occasionally save both your lives from being pelted by rocks.

“I’ve concluded,” Anaxa says one day, while reclining on your lap beneath a half-dead tree, “that your spine must be made of divine patience.”

You smile faintly, brushing a strand of mint hair from his face.

“And I’ve concluded,” you reply, voice barely audible, “that your mouth is going to get us killed one day.”

He laughs.

“You love me, still?”

You lean down slowly, forehead resting against his.

“Unfortunately,” you whisper.

And he grins.

“Good. That makes two of us.”

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1shirt2shirtredshirtdeadshirt · 2 years ago

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Sexism in TOS: Worst Offender, or Progressive in Retrospect in Comparison?

I see a lot of folks claim that TOS was the most sexist of the Star Trek shows by a landslide -- and while I agree that it definitely suffered from the sexism of the times, I also have other perspectives to share to give some food for thought.

I am of course not insinuating that TOS isn't sexist -- it is, but I have to ask folks to consider the breadth and depth of Berman's sexism in his run and ask yourself: Was Gene Roddenberry genuinely more sexist in his storytelling and delivery than Rick Berman?

I'm not telling you to feel one way or the other, but all I ask is that you hear me out and consider some perspectives and make your own balanced assessments. Nobody is obligated to share my opinion, but it means a lot just to have folks hear it and see their thoughts on the subject. So here is what I was originally responding to:

Someone's response to this photo:

"Devil's advocate. This was a part of the popular form of cardio during the production time of TNG. Yes, it was heavily sexualised by men, but so is literally every other way women work out. Men have been caught taking pictures of women while trying to do dead lifts, running on tracks and working on sled machines. They post them online to share too. The fact is, there is no way a woman can be shown working out without it going there. And yeah,t hat includes the combat forms of workout they do in Star Trek. Just look at how Dax dresses when she spars with Worf. Yes, they're dating, but still, same goes when 7 does and any other female.

Aerobics routines like this were made dirty and cringy. This was what women wore then by and large. This is how the workout was done. We make it cringy."

My response to them:

"I respect your take, but I disagree on a few fronts.

The miniskirt was chosen by the TOS female cast, not the male cast, specifically requested by Grace LW and affirmed by Nichelle and Majel who would go on to vehemently defend the miniskirt over the years as comfortable and embraced by them.

Grace said it was comfortable and seen as a symbol of female sexual empowerment during the 60s and thought it would be a progressive garment (and turns out that it was, as it was later adapted and worn by male crew as a skant on TNG) -- FYI those were designed by a gay man and Gene approved them.

This was also supposed to be Spock's TMP outfit:

Literally lingerie.

We saw both Uhura (who saves Kirk in from Marlena Mirror Mirror) and Yeoman Landon (the first to initiate combat with a classic Kirk-esque kick to help the Captain being attacked in The Apple) carry out their combat training in their Starfleet uniforms without ever being made to change into any ridiculous workout gear.

In fact, I'd argue Jim Kirk was sexualized even more than the ladies of the week on the show and I saw his naked body more than anyone else's on a fairly regular basis. He wore red yoga tights while topless in Charlie X while the women wore full length gymnastic suits that covered their entire body. If anything, it went out of its way to avoid sexualizing women practicing fitness in those scenes and instead focused on Kirk.

Gene confessed that he asked to have Shatner filmed in suggestive/provocative ways to "give something to the ladies", so he -- as he said -- liked to "film him walking away" or have him conveniently busting out of his shirts in just about every episode as it were, because Shatner apparently had great assets. LOL

Gene made an effort to at least sexualize both if he was going to sexualize one, and he carried that attitude forward in wanting the m/m and f/f scenes in the background on Risa for TNG. He also insisted that the men and women wear skimpy outfits on THAT TNG planet. You know the one. LOL I mean the dudes even had on less than the women:

Gene also gave permission to K/S shippers to have their conventions back in the 70s when he was asked for permission. Gene and Nimoy felt with all the skimpy outfits they had the ladies wear, why not let the ladies and gay men have their fun, too? It's how we ended up with moments like this:

Yes, those are two people dressed up as Kirk and Spock's penises doing interpretive dance. Gene didn't give two damns. LOL

In my eyes, that was a very progressive take on Gene's part for the 60s. It was actually PARAMOUNT STUDIOS who had the big problem with K/S stories and vehemently tried to shut them down. Gene literally hired slash authors on his payroll and even had several slash stories/writers published in his official Star Trek books (The New Voyages & The New Voyages II).

I feel I saw Uhura and women in TOS engaged in more physical combat/altercations defending themselves that Troi or Bev were shown holding their own.

In fact, Kirk used to get furious when someone would "dress up" his female crew members without their consent (Trelane episode, Shore Leave episode) because like his male crew members, he wanted them to be treated professionally and to also have his male crew act professionally.

Berman brought some of his own personal biases into Star Trek that in some ways regressed it. While TOS had blatant sexism and was called on it time and again, that show was made in the 60s -- a solid 21 years before TNG. We as a modern audience understood why some of it was cringe/sexist due to the time period -- look at any other media coming out in the 60s and Star Trek was miles ahead of what other shows were doing.

Compare that to Berman who was churning sexist stuff out when women like Starbuck and Scully were simultaneously on screen on other programs airing, and we had already had Sigourney Weaver and other strong women in Holywood playing respectful roles.

In my eyes, there was no need of the sexism seen in TNG but especially VOY and ENT. There was no excuse for it when other shows were writing women far better and a number of those weren't even set in the future like Trek was, making it age even faster due to having those dated perspectives frequently highlighted.

In the Center Seat documentary as well as "The Fifty Year Mission" book you will find cast members, writers and other studio alumni who attest to this. Some discussions from "The Fifty Year Mission":

"First, Berman was supposed to have been a real sleaze ball . . . According to Terry Farrel, he would go on constantly about how her breasts weren't big enough, how she should do something about it, and how his secretary was a good example to follow as she had huge breasts. She even had to have fittings to get larger bras, and that was all done at his behest.

Later Berman and Braga developed a name for Jeri Ryan's character prior Seven of Nine. They originally called the character "perineum" which if you look it up it is the area between the anus and the scrotum. Later they floated the name "6 of 9". I mean, what does it tell you about where these two were coming from in the development of this character if they had names like that put forward in all seriousness for her?"

Gene Roddenberry also had some of his own more progressive ideas for TNG cut or watered down by Berman. Roddenberry agreed TNG should have homosexual relationships and representation at a con in the 80s and insisted on it in a meeting with his writers -- something Berman later would not honor. Gene wanted the AIDS episode, showing m/m and f/f in the Riza scenes -- these were some of Roddenberry's requests to include in TNG that Berman later stonewalled.

Berman's era was sadly dated by his own misogynist bias, IMO, to the point that it can somewhat hurt the shows he worked on through his cringe egoism and blatant disrespect toward his female cast.

There is a reason why Gene could keep female actresses working with him and Berman had a revolving door of women that he couldn't seem to keep working for him -- he was abhorrent to women, on and off set. Gene wasn't perfect at all, he had a lot of issues himself -- but Berman was a whole other level. Just look at what he did to poor Jolene Blalock, Marina Sirtis and his toxic commenting on her body weight which exacerbated her struggles with eating disorders, or how he treated and talked to Terry Farrell.

Anyway, just some food for thought. I'm not saying anyone is wrong regarding a take like that, but there are a variety of ways to look at this. Gene Roddenberry isn't a saint by any means, but it definitely bothers me how folks will tote the Berman era as if it were the lesser of two evils or the more progressive depiction of women when I felt there were far more concerning portrayals of women in his era with far less justification.

(P.S: I don't event want to go near the sheer amount of "creepy old dude/villain preys on innocent/naïve/scared young woman or little girl" stories there were in Berman's era, either. But that's a whole other can of worms I can write about in a part 2.)

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maliciouscottonball · 1 month ago

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Like A Father

Platonic Yandere! König x GN!Reader

Wordcount: 3040

AN: Hey friends! I’ve been craving a cute(?) oneshot about König and it’s been running through my mind for ages. I’m supposed to be writing some final papers but I’m making the executive decision to ignore that. It’s self indulgent and I love it. I am but a mere gluttonous beast when it comes to writing.

TW: Yandere behaviors, drugging, kidnapping, delusional loser man behavior, somewhat realism, software engineering and tech stuff, reader in their 20’s, employment, the author’s severe daddy issues, very brief implication of the idea of SH

♡♡♡

You hadn’t wanted to work for a PMC but the pay was what the bills were demanding. You had your own office and could ignore your coworkers pretty easily. All you really did was keep the wifi on and the necessary websites running. It was a cushy gig and you had a surprising amount of free time. Your bosses praised your dedication to your job and you only rarely had to emerge from the comfort of your office for occasional meetings. The rest of your time was spent either playing cute little games on your phone, reading, or scrolling around through social media.

During your first meeting, you sat at the only empty seat near the head of the table. You were introduced, said your hellos, and just listened to the presentations and discussions going on. Any time someone asked your opinions on a subject, you politely deflected and said that you’d have to get better acquainted with the current systems and that the last person in your position left quite a bit to review. This was met with approving nods and appreciative words. You learned that the guy who did your job before you wasn’t great and that your coworkers were excited to be able to access the internet on a regular basis.

While the others droned on about the logistics of sending soldiers to wherever they were being sent, you took the opportunity to look around the room at your new bosses and coworkers. All of them were grizzled and at least middle aged. You could tell that they were all in the military for their respective countries before coming to work here and, quite frankly, you didn’t want to know the reasons why any of them left. You stood out like a sore thumb in comparison to their crisp uniforms and permanent scowls. Your face was youthful and you lacked the experience that they clearly had. You wore a button up and slacks that you specifically chose for comfort and the notebook you carried had small stickers decorating the cover. You seemed almost childish but it was clear from the notes you took that you were a fast learner.

You decided to take a closer look at the two men sitting next to you. On your right was the head of logistics. He was intimidating but not much more so than the rest of the group. He was frustrated that one of the company’s suppliers wouldn’t be available to drop off his preferred breakfast but quickly came up with a solution thanks to a suggestion from the head of housing.

On your left was a giant man that towered over everyone in the room. He was the head of one of the company president’s preferred teams. You could tell that his advice was highly valued by the rest of the men in the meeting. His face was scarred and his gaze was piercing and analytical when you looked up at him. You could feel him watching you as you quickly looked away and tried your best to listen to the rest of the meeting. You didn’t see the way that the corners of his mouth twitched up into almost a smile.

During your second meeting, you sat in the same spot. The man on your left scared you but what could you do? He had seniority and he only made eye contact. You gave him and the rest of the men in the meeting a polite nod and buried your face in your notes. You zoned out a bit while trying and failing to pay attention, wishing you had given an excuse about needing to recode something to meet quality standards or something else that the bosses would buy. You gave some small updates on what you had done, got your deserved positive feedback, and stayed silent for the rest of the meeting.

Your third meeting went similarly to the second and you made your way back to your office once it was done. You sat at your chair and opened your notebook to review your notes when a small sticker fell out from the page that your bookmark was on. You think hard for a moment about where it could’ve come from before reaching down to grab it. It was a small, pastel yellow giraffe in a cartoonish art style with a holographic glitter background. The first thing you felt was confusion. Where did it come from? Why was it in your notes? Then, you started getting curious. You did every reverse image search that you could think of but there was nothing. You used every applicable keyword imaginable but you still couldn’t find anything.

After a longer time than you’d care to admit, you found an artist with a style that matched the art on the sticker perfectly. It was strange. There was nothing on their website or social media that matched the art on the sticker. It had to have been a custom order that wasn’t posted about. Who would have done that? None of the men at the meeting seemed like the type to buy stickers, let alone hide them in someone else’s notebook.

The week came and went. You had put the sticker on your notebook and promptly forgot about it. It just joined the landscape of cute scenes and creatures on the front cover. During your fourth meeting, you failed to see the way that the scary man on your left’s eyes sparkled with pride at the new addition to your book. That week, you had to do your first in person repair. You went down to the basement and had to plug a cord back into the wifi router for the floor. It was surprisingly easy and almost looked like an intentional unplugging. You brushed it off, figuring that it was a simple mistake or accident.

When you got back to your office, there was another sticker on your keyboard. This time, there was a little note underneath it. You pick up the sticker and peer down at the note. The handwriting was scratchy but it’s clear that whoever wrote it did their best to make it legible.

For your hard work.

You look back at the sticker after a second and observe the details in the drawing. It’s a small octopus with the same style and pastel colors as the giraffe. It has the same background and it’s clear that the same person that made the first sticker made this one too. For a moment, you just stared at the sticker and the note. It would’ve been sweet if you hadn’t locked your office door before leaving and had to unlock it when you got back.

As the months go by, you settle into a comfortable rhythm punctuated by the startling nature of little presents. The notes left with them continued to be encouraging and kind, even as the gifts began to turn into daily occurrences and changed from just stickers to other presents as well. The presents ranged from individually packaged tea bags and small candies to more stickers and the occasional roll of washi tape to tiny stress relieving candles and keychains. You put the notes that were left with them in one of the drawers of your desk and they were beginning to pile up. You find yourself glancing at the notes every once in a while, wondering who they came from.

You’ve been doing very well.

I’m glad that you decided to work here.

I’m proud of you.

It took a while to become comfortable in your role in the company. It took even longer to be able to look the intimidating man from the meetings in the eye. You still didn’t talk much, even at the company parties. You weren’t friends with any of your coworkers but you got along with everyone perfectly fine. You weren’t exactly threatening and you kept everything running smoothly so there wasn’t much conflict.

At least, that’s why you thought you weren’t close with anyone there.

No one talked about the ominous figure that followed you wherever you went in HQ. No one thought to mention the bone chilling looks given to those who said inappropriate things about you or the fact that not even a two week’s notice was given by soldiers who had been with the company for years when they took a joke too far. They disappeared and everyone knew better than to talk about it. They just avoided you at worst and made pleasant comments on your work at best.

To you, the job was getting better and better. You didn’t have to talk to a soul on most days and you only had to sit there and listen for the most part during meetings. You didn’t have a single clue about what was going on and that was the way that König liked it. He got to take care of you and watch over you like a guardian angel. Like a father.

He made sure that you were safe. He made sure that work didn’t stress you out. He made sure that no one said anything unkind to you. He made sure that you had at least something small to look forward to every day. He could afford it. He didn’t have a husband or a wife to come home to. He didn’t have any of the kids that he had dreamed about having since he was a little boy. He remembered staring at the babies he saw with their families and desperately wanting one while he was in school. He remembered watching the men on his teams raise their children and being practically green with envy. He had resigned himself to never being able to raise a child until he was looking through the job applications for the open IT position.

He paused when he read your name and started looking through your resume. It was good and you seemed suited to the job. Then, he read your cover letter. You seemed to be trying your best to be confident and your words were sweet and sincere. He decided to take a closer look at who you were. He looked through all of your social media, both personal or professional, and his heart melted.

You were perfect in every way. You were supposed to be his and he had finally found you. He was finally going to be a father.

Exactly half a year after heavily recommending you to the president of the company, you were grabbing a snack at one of the regularly scheduled office parties. König felt his heart warm when he saw you grab a second cookie from the batch that he had specifically made to suit your taste. You had become much more friendly with him and it had made him very happy. You would greet him in the hallways when you saw him and asked him how his day was when you were early to meetings.

He was used to children being afraid of him and even though he knew that you were a grown adult, the irrational part of his brain made him feel like you were the equivalent of a toddler. He figured that it was how sweet your little eyes were and how small you were compared to him. He knew that he was a scary guy and he was exceptionally proud of you for being brave and talking to him. He couldn’t help but get worried when he saw you heating things up in the microwave or fiddling with electronics. He was very concerned that you could burn or electrocute yourself and it took every ounce of self control that he had to not take over for you and have you sit and wait where he knew you would be safe. His absolute adoration of you and his fear of you getting hurt had helped him to decide that you would finally be coming home with him today. It was like the company had thrown him an adoption party after having such a long and hard road to finally having a child.

He had made sure that you would have the foods that you liked at the party and he made sure to watch over your every reaction to see if you were enjoying yourself. He wanted you to be as happy as possible at all times. He had personally given you a can of your favorite soda to help make you even happier. He smiled to himself when he saw that you finished it off fairly quickly. He knew that waking up in your new room would be a hard change and he had done his best to prepare for it. He had read all of the top books on adopting an older child and on how to make a home feel welcoming. He had spent an obscene amount of money on making sure that your room was painted in the perfect shades and that your bedding was perfectly comfortable. He had even taken up quilting to make sure that your bedspread was exactly what you would like. He had fuzzy blankets and plushies at the ready for when you inevitably had a meltdown or threw a tantrum from the stress of the change. He made sure that the bathroom was stocked with everything you’d need to take care of your hair and skin and that the theme matched your bedroom.

The most important thing that he had made sure to do was to babyproof everything. There was nothing sharp or particularly breakable and everything that wasn’t soft was bolted down. He knew that you would get bored without any games to play so he had gotten old consoles from when he was a child so you could play all day while he was working. He had bolted those down too and made sure that you couldn’t harm him or yourself with anything that he gave you. He had also made sure to give you a desk filled with art and writing supplies, as well as shelves and shelves of books for you to read. He was looking forward to reading you stories from his childhood and seeing what books, toys, and games you would favor when you were finally home with him. He figured that it would be an adequate amount of entertainment until his new kid got settled in.

You were walking to the parking lot from the main building after the party when you started to feel woozy. You stumble a bit before starting to fall, only to suddenly be caught by someone. You feel yourself getting lifted up and look up to see those terrifying eyes that had scared you so much during that very first meeting. There’s something different in those eyes this time. He looks like a kid on Christmas and the last thing that you feel before slipping into unconsciousness is horror.

König chuckles and happily carries you to his car. He hums a song that his grandmother used to sing to him as he opens the door behind his car’s driver’s seat and sets you onto the plush seating. He buckles you in and then tucks a blanket over your lap and a plushie under your arm. He had made sure that the child locks were on, even though he knew that you wouldn’t be waking up any time soon. It was good practice for his new role as your one and only parent. He knew that being a single father would be hard but oh so rewarding and fulfilling. He gets into the driver’s seat and adjusts his mirror to look back at you. He starts the car and turns on some classical music to help you sleep a bit more peacefully. He carefully begins the journey home with you and seems incredibly pleased with himself. It was well worth the trouble of drugging the soda with the proper dose of medication for your body weight and then resealing it without losing any of the carbonation.

As you slowly wake up from your drug induced slumber, you can’t help but cuddle into what you think is your bed at home. The plushness of the mattress is absolutely perfect and your body feels soothed by the comfortable cotton sheets and the weight of the warm quilt. There’s a soft plushie in your arms that you don’t recognize but you’re so out of it that you don’t care. You’re warm and comfortable and something is making your mind feel so, so relaxed. After a few minutes of cuddling, you slowly open your eyes and blink sleepily.

This isn’t your room. This isn’t your bed.

You don’t recognize any of this.

You don’t remember how you got here and it’s starting to scare you.

Before you can truly start to panic, the bedroom door opens and someone enters. Your vision is hazy and you can’t see very well until they get closer but you can tell that they’re carrying something. The person squats down next to you and your eyes start to focus. The person is a man and he reaches out toward you, resting what you now recognize as a tray on his knee. He gently checks the temperature of your forehead with his knuckles before gently stroking the top of your head.

Wait.

You recognize him.

You recognize those eyes.

He smiles down at you lovingly and seems thrilled to bits that you’re finally here with him. He carefully stands up while lifting the tray, towering over you like the imaginary monster from a child’s closet. He sits on the edge of the bed next to you and gently sets the tray down on the nightstand. It’s covered with all of your very favorite breakfast foods and your preferred drinks to go with them. He continues to smile down at you like you hung the sun, moon, and stars in the sky.

“Good morning, little one! You’ve been sleeping for a long time. Papa made you some breakfast. I think you’ll like it very much.” He coos.

You look down again at the plushie in your arms. It looks exactly like the first giraffe sticker that was given to you by a stranger at work.

#platonic #platonic yandere #konig cod #Platonic Yandere! König x GN!Reader #call of duty mwii #konig x you #konig x reader #konig call of duty #konig mw2 #cod konig #cod x you #Like A Father #like a father

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cvntydazai · 1 year ago

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the regulars

you catch the eye of two regulars that come to the diner you work at

pairing; dazai osamu x fem!reader x chuuya nakahara

word count; 3.6k

content warning; nsfw (minors do not interact!), threesome, unprotected sex, mentions of alcohol, mentions of suicide (it’s dazai obv), degrading (dazai calls reader a slut), lowkey meandom!dazai, softdom!chuuya, oral sex (m&f receiving), backshots.., reader is held hostage (not by dazai or chuuya), cursing, unedited writing, probably a lot more

authors note; my first post on here! i’m pretty proud of this!

the diner was almost quiet in the mornings, very few customers and even fewer employees were present. it was usually just yourself and the cook until around noon when the lunch rush hit, but that was okay with you.

it allowed you catch up with whatever hobby you had going on at that moment, this time it was crocheting. whatever online forum that promised you it was easy was lying, you could barely finish the small square you had started.

just as you were beginning to grow frustrated you heard the familiar ding of the diner’s door, alerting you of a customer.

the brown haired man was sopping wet, a dreary gaze in his eyes as he shuffled to an empty table and awaited your service. you jumped to, notepad and pencil already in hand as you approached him.

“i don’t recall rain being on today’s forecast.” your weak attempt at a joke flew over his head entirely.

“oh, it’s not raining. i was trying to die in the river.” the confession didn’t surprise you as much as it should have.

there was talk of a man who was always spotted trying to drown himself, you assumed it was rumors.

“hmm, didn’t seem to work out.” it was the only response you could muster for the bizarre statement.

he opened his mouth to respond but as he lifted his eyes to meet yours he stopped, mouth agape and eyes wide like he had a groundbreaking revelation upon catching your eyes. you cleared your throat, cheeks growing warm from his staring.

“i didn’t realize i was in the presence of someone so beautiful. how rude of me not to greet you with the respect you deserve.” a cheap compliment, but his confidence when saying it was cute.

“what can i get you?” you changed the subject, tapping your pencil to your notebook.

“your number, if it’s available.” with rolled eyes you sighed, he overdid it now.

“let’s start off with your drink, what can i get you?” with a bit more push you questioned him.

“whatever type of whiskey you have.” you hummed, quickly scribbling down his drink and scurrying off to grab it.

when you went to the back the line cook was there prepping for lunch, he only greeted you with a small smile.

his eyes widened when he saw the whiskey you were pouring into a glass.

“a bit early for that, isn’t it?” you snorted.

“it’s for a customer.” he didn’t continue but you could feel his judging gaze.

after delivering the odd man his drink and a bit more bickering you got him to finally order something. just as he was leaving the restaurant got busy so you didn’t have time to wave him goodbye before he was out the door. and that was it, you expected to never see him again.

your shift was usually from open to close, so you swallowed your odd interaction you had that morning and continued on with your day. you got through the lunch and dinner rush without issue and now it was just you and the closing cook.

this was a normal day for you, working long hours and making poor pay. the tips were nice, but did they make up for all the rude customers you face on a daily basis?

you hear the ding of door, it’s ring echoing through the empty restaurant. with 45 minutes until close you wanted to tell whoever was there to leave, but your moral compass fought back with you.

a short man wearing a long coat and a strange looking hat. he was alone, you were thankful for that. you didn’t need a large party right before close.

when he sat down you finally approached him.

“hello, what can i get for you?” he didn’t look up at you, his eyes still scanning the menu.

“just a beer.” a strange request to ask at such hour, especially with a bar being just a couple of blogs down the street. you didn’t voice these thoughts with your customer and instead went to fetch his drink.

when you returned you saw that he was writing down notes in a notebook that he quickly pushed away when he noticed you looming over him. you smiled, setting down the drink and also taking a seat directly across from the stranger.

he shot you a strange look, one that held a mix of curiosity and annoyance.

“we close soon, thought i’d keep ya company.” he scoffed.

“how generous.” laced with sarcasm but there was a small smile playing on his lips.

you two talked for only a little bit, you asked him about what he was writing but he mentioned that it was classified, having something to do with his job that he wouldn’t reveal. eventually you both had to go home as the restaurant was closing. you were surprised by just how fast the time had come and gone when talking to the stranger

“i can walk you home, if you want me to.” he offered, to which you smiled.

“i’m gonna catch the late night bus, but thank you mr..”

“you can just call me chuuya, it’s nice to meet you y/n.” he said, his eyes trained on your nametag.

and then you parted ways, that was what you assumed to be the last of him.

thoughts of the two strange men you met today danced around in your head until you finally succumbed to the exhaustion of the day, the exhaustion that would follow you into the morning for another shift.

the very next day, your next shift you were surprised to see the brunette from the last morning. he waved, noticeably brighter this time around.

“goodmorning!” he yelled, motioning for you to come over.

you complied as he took your hands and sat you down beside him. with little shame he flirted, his mouth moving so fast you could barely keep up. you were able to introduce yourself to him and he did the same, he revealed that his name was dazai.

“would you do me the honor of committing a double suicide with me?” he asked for the millionth time, his bandaged hands snaking up your wrists to hold you tenderly.

“you’re cute, but no.” and with that you shook him off, his hands flying back dramatically.

he stuck around for a bit longer, you made sure he had enough whiskey to keep him busy. sometimes you would catch his gaze as you worked and he’d flash you a pretty smile.

but the times when you would look and he wasn’t staring he’d usually be rubbing his finger around the rim of the glass with his other hand supporting his resting head as he stared out the window in deep thought. you couldn’t help but admire the man, he was attractive.

and just like yesterday he left during lunch rush and your day continued on. and into the night you would encounter yet another familiar face.

chuuya sat in the same spot as he did last night, his arms crossed over his chest as he waited for you to approach him.

“seems like i have two new regulars.” you muttered under your breath as you made your way to him.

he ordered just a beer again and you once again sat down in front of him to chat. you were lucky he came in so close to closing so you usually weren’t even busy.

you chatted for a bit and then, just like yesterday you both got up to leave and he offered again to walk you home. you would just take the bus again.

this routine of your morning regular and your night regular became an almost everyday thing. sometimes one of them wouldn’t show and it worried you but they always showed up again the next day.

you got to know the two of them well, it occurred to you one day just how different they were from eachother. the only similarity was their love for booze, and how much of it they could drink.

somewhere down the line of this routine you started to catch crushes on both men. how scandalous, you thought to yourself. two men practically drinking themselves to death and you were swooning over both of them. who could blame you when they both gave you that certain look. chuuya more subtle than dazai by a long shot, but the ‘fuck me’ eyes they both gave you didn’t lie.

you shook your head, you shouldn’t be thinking these things about strangers that you barely knew. they were just customers, and that’s all they ever would be.

little did you know, they were both thinking the same thoughts about you. dazai hadn’t been able to keep you out of his head since the very first day you two met, for once he was glad his attempt at suicide failed him because it meant meeting you. chuuya was in the same predicament, he never planned on meeting you but once you hooked him in he couldn’t escape.

the pretty diner girl that has two very dangerous men roped in her smile.

when dazai came in the morning to the diner he was expecting to see you there, smiling and waiting patiently as always, but instead in your place was another waitress. he frowned, sitting down in his usual seat.

when the unfamiliar waitress walked to his table he immediately questioned her,

“where’s y/n? this isn’t usually her off day.” she seemed caught off guard, clearing her throat awkwardly.

“i’m sorry, i don’t know. she didn’t show up for her shift so i was called in, the owner tried calling her but she didn’t pick up.” something felt wrong, he felt it in his bones.

he excused himself, muttering something about only wanting to be served by you. just as he was standing his eyes caught a piece of paper hidden between the ketchup and mustard bottle that were displayed next to the menus on the table.

he took the folded up note and quietly exited the diner.

chuuya would experience the same oddity at a later time that day. he saw a different waitress and spotted the note.

and the note read that they were to both be at a specific location at a specific time.

said location was that of an abandoned warehouse on the outskirts of the city. it would occasionally be put on dazai’s radar if he was looking out for stolen goods or missing people but for the most part no one paid attention to it.

dazai arrived early, surprised to see a particular short man already at the entrance of the warehouse.

“what the hell are you doing here, dazai?” chuuya interrogated first, his voice on edge.

“i could ask you the same thing.” dazai shot back, a pout on his lips.

at first dazai suspected chuuya was behind this, but when chuuya explained your description and that he was looking for you he understood almost instantly.

“someone must have been watching us, found the opportunity to take advantage of the situation.” chuuya spoke, dazai humming in agreement.

“well, if i’m stuck with you at least be useful.” dazai said, walking ahead into the entrance of the warehouse with a shouting ginger following behind him.

the exterior looked better than the interior. old construction equipment everywhere with strange stains covering the walls and floors, it was definitely abandoned.

chuuya worried for you, not because he feared that you were hurt but because this place reeked. he could hardly imagine you being here, sitting somewhere in a cold dark corner with a dangerous person holding you hostage.

“someone’s got a lot of nerve to target her..” chuuya mumbled to no one in particular.

“they do, which is why we’re going to take care of whoever did this and get my woman back.” dazai responded, keeping his eyes peered for any signs of you.

“your woman? in your dreams!” chuuya let out a loud laugh that he hushed immediately after hearing what sounded like a cry coming from deeper in the warehouse.

both men sprinted forward, stopping once met with the sight of you chained to the floor with a man peering over you.

he turned to dazai and chuuya, a wide grin on his face.

you could barely see the scene before you, your head fuzzy from whatever the stranger had hit you with to knock you out. you barely remember how it happened, you only recall waking up in the dark with the man who abducted you.

just like before, everything was fading to black, this time your mind at peace now that you knew help was here. you didn’t know if it was the police or whoever, you didn’t care. just being content that someone came for you, you let the darkness consume you.

when you came to you saw dazai and chuuya standing over you, yet to see you were awake.

“don’t try to wake her up, she’s clearly exhausted, dazai. let her wake up on her own.” you heard chuuya’s voice along with a sigh from dazai.

“i just want to make sure she’s okay. especially after you carried her around like she was a damn ragdoll.” the brunette muttered.

“what else was i supposed to do? sit there and let that guy shoot at us?” you groaned, the loud noises not settling well on your ears.

everything went silent. both men stared down at you expectantly. you sat upright, wiping your eyes.

“dazai? chuuya? you two know eachother?” it was all you could muster, it made dazai grin.

“unfortunately.” chuuya mumbled, shoving away the arm dazai was trying to lay across his shoulder.

“i’ve got to say y/n, i’m hurt! i thought i was the only man in your life.” you ignored dazai’s dramatics, instead looking to chuuya for answers to where you were.

he explained the entire situation, after they “took care of” the person who abducted you, they brought you to chuuya’s apartment and have been waiting for you to wake up since.

the explanation made you realize just how awkward of a position you were in. you laid on the end of chuuya’s bed with the two men standing over you. you squeezed your thighs together and gathered your thoughts. this was not the time.

“this is a lot to wrap my head around.. why did they abduct me out of all people?” you knew you had been abducted and held hostage but you still didn’t understand why.

“oh, belladonna.” dazai cooed, his hand reaching to caress your cheek.

“they thought to take out our common weakness.” chuuya continued, his palm resting against the other cheek.

they didn’t need to finish their sentence, you already knew. the lingering gazes from both men at the diner, the flirting from dazai, the gentlemanly offers to walk you home from chuuya.

they were wrapped around your finger, they always had been. there was no more denying that fact, they had risked their lives to save you.

“i.. guess i should be thanking my saviors then, shouldn’t i?” a double meaning, they both knew it too.

“mmm, i think so. don’t you agree, chuuya?” the shorter man nodded in agreement.

dazai was the first to move, his hand that was on your cheek drifting down to your shoulder as he eased you further into the bed. you complied, wide eyes glancing between the two.

your back hit the cushioned mattress, dazai joined you on the bed, laying on his side as he peered down at your chest that held your racing heart. you saw chuuya kneel down and spread your legs further apart.

they both worked simultaneously, dazai undressing your top half while chuuya worked on the bottom. the feeling of their fingers grazing your skin left you overwhelmed, completely at their expense.

you were fully undressed in a matter of seconds, the cold air of the night nipped at your skin. suddenly feeling insecure you attempted to reach your arms down to cover yourself, dazai caught them, pinning them at your sides.

“don’t hide, beautiful. let us see you.” he whispered, his words holding authority that urged you to comply, you did.

chuuya’s breath fanned over your exposed cunt, shaky short lived breaths that told you he was just as nervous as you were.

“are you ready?” you nodded, closing your eyes in anticipation.

you felt his tongue make contact with your slit, a constricted moan left your lips out of instinct. dazai’s rough hand grabbed hold of your chin, forcing you to look in his eyes.

his warm brown eyes held a sinister glint in them. he dipped his head into your neck, sucking on the sensitive skin around your collarbone.

the noticeable contrast between the two showed, chuuya’s sweet licks to your pussy against dazai’s rough sucking to your neck. a mixture of pleasure in pain, the perfect balance.

chuuya made work of your cunt, acting as if he’d never get the chance to taste you again. his tongue darting in and out of your hole at a rapid speed you could barely keep up with. his mouth attacked your clit next, sucking on the bundle of nerves.

“chu.. ah!” he added a finger to your hole, curling the digit inside of you to hit the places he couldn’t reach otherwise.

he could tell you were reaching your peak, keeping a steady pace to bring you over the edge.

dazai could tell too, so he pushed chuuya away from you.

you whined at the loss of contact, gripping dazai’s shirt as a weak attempt to beg for more. you caught sight of chuuya, your juices all over his chin. he shamelessly licked the finger that was previously inside of you.

“can’t let him give you your first orgasm, beautiful.” chuuya bit back a snarky comment, instead listening to the painful erection in his pants.

“switch me places.” dazai spoke, chuuya agreed with little hesitation.

dazai was now by your legs and chuuya sitting behind your head. the brunette was quick to flip you on your back and position you just where he wanted. your ass now in the air with him lazily rubbing his clothed erection against your ass.

your head dangerously close to chuuya’s crotch, your shaking hands gripping both of his thighs. while dazai took off his pants you hastily aided chuuya with his.

dazai wasted little time, aligning himself with your entrance. his hands gripping your ass while he began with his first thrust, one reaching so deep he nearly bottomed out. a grunt left your lips, squeezing chuuya’s sensitive thighs as a way to stabilize yourself.

you felt chuuya’s soft hands reach for your hair, massaging your head whilst shushing your whimpers that escaped with each thrust dazai threw into your aching cunt.

once a rhythm was found you put your focus on chuuya’s painfully hard member. his eyes on yours the entire time as he watched you lick the base of his manhood until you reached the tip. he guided your head down his cock, small praises leaving his lips the entire time.

“our pretty girl, being such a useful slut.” dazai spoke, landing a smack on your ass.

you attempted to moan but your lips were occupied, drool escaping your mouth with every thrust chuuya delivered into your throat.

the speed of their thrusts beginning to synchronize, you felt your core squeezing dazai harder. it only encouraged him, knowing you were close to your peak.

it was all so overwhelming, bringing tears to your eyes as you attempted to take it all, to take all that dazai and chuuya gave you.

“so pretty.. taking us so well.” chuuya mumbled, wiping tears that began spilling from your eyes.

he looked at you as if you were the most gorgeous thing he had ever seen, despite your hair being a mess and your eyes being red from tears.

you were all close, that much was clear from the way dazai had began to shut up and chuuya’s silent grunts had turned into breathless moans. you were no better, one hand still resting on chuuya’s thigh while the other reached for one of dazai’s hands.

dazai’s hips sped up, squeezing your hand tenderly whenever he hits particularly deep.

he feels his orgasm creeping up on him, your tight walls leaving him a shaky mess.

he’s the first to come undone, his seed spilling into you with one finally push of his hips. his orgasm setting off chuuya, cumming into your warm mouth with a slew of curses leaving his lips.

you swallow every drop, chuuya wiping your mouth with his thumb before lifting your head up to plant a kiss on your lips. dazai still thrusting inside you, overstimulating himself to get you to your breaking point.

“m’ cumming!” you announced, heat pooling in your stomach.

“let go, belladonna.” and you did, cumming hard on his cock.

the room was filled with panting sighs and beating chests as you all collected yourselves. chuuya was the first to move, scrambling to his bathroom to grab a towel to clean you up. dazai cuddled you on the bed while chuuya cleaned you off, dazai stroking your hair whilst humming you to sleep.

you refused to let the tiredness take hold of you until both men were in the bed with you. when chuuya joined, you finally gave in to the sleep that was calling you.

you had never slept better, feeling safe in the arms of two strangers who had become regulars in your life.

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bumblequinn · 2 years ago

Text

hi @sourpatchsquids! thank you for your question.

as an artist with ADHD, i know this struggle very well. unfortunately offering advice on this kind of thing can be tricky, because what works for me may not work for you (and vice versa!). nonetheless, i can try; take whatever works for you, forget the rest, or reshape any part of it as you see fit. :)

but before i offer any actual tools, i have one caveat. i want you to take a moment to reflect and consider if you should be:

changing expectations

the timing of this question seems fated, because just the other day i had a therapy session wherein i expressed my grief and frustration over struggling to work lately due to my seasonal depression. it's not fair that i'm struggling just because it got a little darker outside! i just want the spark i had in the summer! i was so much more consistent!

my therapist's response: nothing about human beings is consistent. we get sick, we get tired, we get hungry and thirsty (and thirsty) and sad and lonely and restless and stressed and overwhelmed. this all gets amplified for folks who are atypical in some way or another.

when my therapist compared our seasonal cycles to those of plants and other animals, who wilt and slow down and hibernate, i protested aloud that i wanted to be a perennial instead. at this she said: even perennials change with the seasons. rose bushes have to be pruned, sometimes down to half their height! it was a dose of perspective i didn't particularly want, but really needed.

so when you're struggling to work through executive dysfunction, burnout, or brain fog, it can help to first check in with yourself about a few things. what do you have the capacity for right now? do you need any accommodation? and if so, what changes you might make to accommodate yourself?

with practice and self reflection, i've learned a handful of specific routines that help me when i'm struggling with creative work, which i'll detail next. note that while your question is specifically about music and i am specifically a musician, i believe that all of these suggestions can apply to most any form of digital creative work.

with that in mind:

#1: work slower

when i'm at the top of my game, i can get a LOT done in a day. but when i'm depressed, fatigued, or distracted, i just can't go full steam. sometimes i'll try to convince myself that i can if i just push harder, but what actually ends up happening is that i'm just fiddling with settings and going in circles rather than moving forward.

instead of that, when i want to work a lot but can't, i try to work slow. how slow? however slow i need to. take four hours to figure out the melody for a single verse. take all day to figure out that drum groove. yeah, i take a lot of breaks in between. who says i have to be my Absolute Most Productive Every Day Or Else? that's the puritan work ethic talking. kill it. be kind to yourself.

i'm reminded of advice i once read about some super successful and prolific author (gaiman? king? pratchett?) who said they wrote only four hundred words every weekday. that's already less than the word count of this post, and i'm only—[travels into the future to check my final word count]... 22.8% of the way through writing it!

now, i don't think i could function that way, because ADHD means some days i'm hyperfocused like crazy, and other days i just have no steam at all (more on that in #4-6). but it seems to me that if even someone highly respected in their profession can achieve what they have with only a little bit of work on a regular basis, maybe i don't have to punish myself for not pumping out a finished work every single week.

doing less work per day means you're much less likely to burn out, which does a lot for working more consistently. if that consistency still doesn't look like a five-day work week, that's okay! as long as it helps you work even a little more often when you want to, it's something worth doing.

however, if you're still feeling truly stuck, all hope isn't lost. you can still try:

#2: switch projects

sometimes the reason i'm moving slow is because of a bad brain day, but sometimes the reason is that i just cannot muster the motivation to do the specific task i'm trying to do right now. ADHD is fueled by novelty and interest, and if i'm not interested in what i'm doing, or it's feeling stale, that's a sign that i need to switch gears.

this is why first it's helpful for me to have more than one project going at a time. this might mean completely unrelated works, or it might just mean related tracks as with the music for a game like SLARPG or susan taxpayer.

the idea here is not to start a dozen different projects and bounce around them like i'm playing whac-a-mole—though i have done that. (i don't recommend it.) the idea here is to have a manageable number of different projects i can be working on so that if i get bored or stuck on something, i have fallback options.

what that number of projects is depends entirely on the week. maybe right now it's two, maybe another time it's three. i would probably be getting carried away if i tried more than that, but that's just my own limit. maybe yours is different. that's something for you to think about.

but it doesn't have to stop there.

#3: switch focus

maybe there is this one project that i just HAVE to work on, but the task i'm trying to do at this stage just isn't coming to me. okay, well, why don't i try working on a different task?

let's say i can't figure out what i want to do with the melody in one part of the song:

what if i try jumping ahead to a different part of the melody? ...no, i'm stumped on melodies today. okay, how about working on the drums instead? ...hmm no, i think i'm just completely tapped out on writing parts right now. alright, what if i organized my tracks, making sure they're all grouped and named in a way that i can work with easily? what if i did a rough volume balance for the mix?

and so on. if that's not enough to shake the off stuckness, i might consider: what can i do to make this project more interesting to me?

what happens if i try using an instrument or effect that i almost never reach for? what if i try sampling something obscure? what if i bang out the drums using my midi keyboard instead of drawing it in on the piano roll?

any approach that breaks me out of my usual habits is bound to get that feeling of novelty and fun back when i need it.

or maybe i can't do any of that right now, and so i take the time to answer a question from a fellow musician instead. i consider that part of my work, too, in a broader sense. check in with yourself and figure out what you can do right now. the rest will still be there later.

but okay, let's say you try switching gears, and switching again, and again, and nothing is moving. you try new approaches, but that wall of awful is insurmountable in this moment. it happens! the next thing you might try is:

#4: learn something new

when you aren't able to make progress on your projects, you can still make progress on your knowledge and craft. i often find this stokes a flame of inspiration in me where there wasn't one before. and even when it doesn't, it still gets my brain out of that feeling of stuckness and dread and into one of thought and action. learning also benefits in the long term because it adds to the well of knowledge from which you draw for all your future works.

for all the awfulness that exists on the internet, it remains an absolute treasure trove of teaching. there's an endless ocean of videos, blog posts, and articles from which you might learn something about your craft. (and if you sail the seven seas, plenty of book PDFs as well. 🦜🏴‍☠️)

it's true that the quality and depth of information out there can vary wildly, but in my experience most resources get at least some things right. and the more you research, practice, and figure out what works for you, the better you will learn to differentiate between the advice worth keeping, and the advice to forget. (that goes for all of what i'm saying here, too!)

that said, since our shared focus is music, a few resources i would highly recommend are:

music theory and composition music matters, 12tone, charles cornell, music with myles, 8-bit music theory, and this introduction by andrew huang

mixing and production dan worrall (especially this series for fabfilter), kush after hours, red means recording, andrew huang, alice yalcin efe, in the mix

general inspiration nahre sol, ben levin, david hilowitz, game score fanfare, posy, jerobeam fenderson, open reel ensemble, and ELECTRONICOS FANTASTICOS!

(if any readers have their own helpful resources for creating music or any other media, feel free to share in the replies & reblogs! 💓)

of course, on an especially bad day, it might be a challenge to seek out information, let alone retain it. that can feel pretty bad, but remember: be kind to yourself. the next thing you might consider trying is:

#5: consume art you love

not just music. books. shows. movies. games. illustration. animation. whatever moves and inspires you.

but do it intentionally. don't just pull up some random thing the algorithm suggested! check in with yourself about what you want (or are able) to engage with right now. choose accordingly. if you get a little way into it and realize it's not scratching that itch, hit the bricks. check in with yourself again. wash, rinse, repeat, until you find whatever it is that speaks to you right now.

and do it actively, if you can. don't just let it go in one eye and out the other! really pay attention to the work. what do you like about it? what are its themes and motifs? what makes it work so well? what are its flaws, and how much do they matter? what might you do differently? you can write notes as you do this if it helps, but even simply noticing and thinking goes a long way.

what you don't want to do is come at this with a lens of shame or envy. you're not here just to say to yourself, "ugh, if only i could do THAT." it's okay if it happens. use that thought as a springboard for curiosity: "well okay, how DID they do that? do i have the resources for it? if so, how could i apply that to my own work? if not, how can i adapt it, or what do i need to learn?" keep your mind open and approach the work with a sense of wonder.

as a creative person, it's very easy to think, "i should be making something right now, not watching a movie!" but that thought forgets something vital: your art is a response in a conversation. of course the "language" you use is your own, and maybe if you're lucky you'll invent a new word. but most of the words you use have been around long before you were born. you're just one voice in a dialogue that spans continents and generations, and that's okay. it's even the whole point.

none of us is an island. we are profoundly social animals. just as we can't live without eating, we can't make without learning. so half of making art is consuming it. consider this part of the process as well.

and finally,

#6: rest, and live your life

let's say you're in really dire straits. you've tried working slower. you tried changing focus, you tried changing projects. you want to take in new information or actively engage with your favorite art, but you're not in the headspace for it. what now?

take a nap. take a walk. take a shower. eat a nice meal, or an okay one. talk to a friend. maybe even do that chore you've been putting off (you know the one).

it's human to always crave making, but you're not a machine—and even if you were, machines need regular maintenance, too! you wouldn't drive a car that's completely out of gas, and you won't do yourself any favors treating your body that way either.

i know that when you take a break it feels as though you're not accomplishing anything, but you are: you're taking care of your animal self. and while you do that, your creative brain doesn't stop working! much like windows, it has countless background processes running at any given moment, with inscrutable names like "cbdhsvc_692da" or "Microsoft Edge Update Service." it's true, i checked.

when you're stuck on a project and you step away to rest, your brain is still chipping away at your ideas unconsciously. i like to tell people, "it's percolating." much like waiting for a pot of water to boil, that idea is still heating up, even when you take a step away. just be sure to check in on it once in a while. the time will pass, and it'll be boiling again before long. :)

before i go, i'll leave you with one last thing to keep in mind as you try all of these strategies:

be kind to yourself.

being human is just about one of the hardest things you can do. let alone being a human trying to survive capitalism while living with disabilities! the last thing you need on top of that is to overwork yourself, talk to yourself negatively, or treat yourself harshly. there are plenty of other people in the world who do that to you—don't be one of them.

i'm not saying that you shouldn't try to challenge yourself, to test your limits and go above and beyond your ambitions, if that's what you want to do. just remember that hard work and self compassion are not mutually exclusive. so be careful not to bully yourself. take pride in the progress you make, even when it seems small. encourage yourself like you would a friend who's going through a hard time. and when you challenge yourself, be your own cheerleader.

i hope you find this advice helpful! remember, this is just what helps me, so don't feel like you have to follow any of it exactly. maybe taking time to learn new information helps break you out of your rut more than working slowly, so you reach for that tool first. maybe having multiple projects going at once is too distracting for you, so you prefer to stick to one at a time. whatever your needs are, feel free to alter and adapt these ideas to fit you.

thank you for reading, and i wish you the best of luck in your creating.

with care, bee 🐦

#adhd #advice #asks #from #sourpatchsquids

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assassin-artist · 3 months ago

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Mild obsessed with Mercy and I wanna know more about her! What would you say her relationships with other heroes is like? Namely the current Guardians roster.

A couple of doodles to go with the answer (:

I talk about the events of the show including the latest episode (3x07) so don't read if you aren't caught up!

-immortal - bad. immortal started off with warning her that he's watching her every move, similar with mark. he doesnt trust the twins because he never trusted omni-man, and his distrust was clearly justified after the events of the first season. she thinks he's an egotistical asshole who doesn't care about anyone else because of his refusal to become attached to his teammates, he thinks she's a time bomb waiting to go off just like her dad and brother. more than anything, though - she hates that he keeps comparing her to her father. her dad is one topic that she's sensitive about and can get temperamental if he's brought up. she tries to just stay away from immortal most of the time because she's confident she'd just start fights with him every other conversation.

-black samson - okay! samson, to me, has the vibes of a guy who's trying to hold the team together as best as he can. he's a charming guy who seems to care about them, and he does his best to get to know each of them. mercy isn't part of the guardians of the globe roster, but she works with them often enough that he probably considers her an honorary member or something. mercy is pretty closed off to others trying to 'take care of her' because she's trying really hard to be seen as independent and mature, so i think she shakes his concern and compassion off most of the time. not too rudely, though - she appreciates his attempts to be friendly. she just wishes he'd be friendly in a 'this person is my ally and teammate' way instead of in a 'this is a child i need to protect' kind of way.

-bulletproof - okayish. i don't think they interact much with each other at all in the beginning. but considering bulletproof is the only other flyer that she works with on a regular basis, i think just them having convos as they fly to and from missions will go a long way to building a rapport - for no other reason than because it's something only they can do. they'd be work friends i think. getting along on the job, but not really talking much off the job. i think they could be good friends off the job too, both of them like art and being a hero, but Mercy is the one who isn't interested in getting to know him further. sorry man, let's keep it all strictly professional..

-rex - close friends. she kind of had a crush on him the first time they met, and then she realized he was dating eve so she backed off immediately. and then she learned he cheated on eve and hated him with a passion for a while. similar to immortal, she thought of rex as egotistical and a complete jerk for a long while. but of course after his near-death experience, he turned his personality around and started being less of an ass, so her opinion of him changed quite a bit. the only person on the team that Mercy actually hangs out with outside of the job - they're similar in age and can talk to each other about their struggles of being abandoned by a parent (or 2 in rex's case). i think it's interesting that they gave Rae and Rex a romance in the show, because if Rex didn't have a romance, she absolutely would have been interested in him again. Well... we know how it ends, so i guess it's better for her that she never let her feelings develop too far...

-robot and monstergirl - bunking them together because Mercy always sees them together so they're basically a duo in her mind. Robot is crazy intelligent and Mercy respects it, but his penchant to talk from multiple copies of his robots kind of creeps her out and interests her at the same time. Kinda wishes she could do that too lol. Mercy feels sympathy for Monstergirl because of her curse, and the few times they do talk they get along just fine. It's just that they don't talk often. They aren't on the same team together and they never interact outside of the job, so there's just not enough there to build a relationship of any kind off of.

-duplikate - they have an okay work relationship, but they're both headstrong people with very different views on things. i think one of them might throw a jab at the other and that's all it would take to start a fight between them. they do NOT talk outside of work, and in fact, only talk during work if they have to communicate during a fight. in the headquarters? they're not really interacting at all. Mercy rolls her eyes when she learns that Kate and Immortal are getting married because "yeah of course the asshole is marrying an asshole".

-shrinking rae - not as close as Rex, but Mercy and Rae could definitely get along pretty well. maybe if we get to learn more about Rae in the show I could see them being friends outside of the job as well, but for now they're just close coworkers.

-darkwing ii - lastly, darkwing 2. crush material, but very slow buildup. she didn't go on that mission when Mark took Darkwing in for murder, she only heard about it second-hand from Mark himself, so that might be why she's way more forgiving of his issues than she is willing to be for Sinclair(she saw Sinclair's labs and victims personally). she still thinks he's unstable in the beginning and generally avoids him for a while, which he definitely notices, but i think all it would take is one comment from him talking about his remorse for what he did, and she might be willing to stay and talk it over with him. a short debate about morals turns into a longer conversation about regrets and what they would change if they could go back... about how the things they've seen and done has changed them forever. i think the two of them could be very good friends.. and maybe more (: such a shame he disappeared so fast in the show, but maybe id change the story a little bit now that Mercy is here to save the day, heh...

Edit: I CANT BELIEVE I FORGOT SHAPESMITH.... He's my personal favorite hero on the guardians team, which of course means Ellie is going to like him too (: Another rare instance of Mercy allowing this coworker to hang out with her outside of the job. I think she'd be really interested in learning about his life on Mars, and in return she'd help him acclimate to life on Earth. Always bringing him little trinkets or candy from a dollar store, stuff like that lol. They would be the best of friends, I swear. He's not the best person to go to when she's looking to vent her frustrations about life and her issues, but he's always there to listen anyway, and she appreciates that.

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formulakracing · 1 year ago

Text

xv. everlong - t.w.

pairing: female driver!reader x toto wolff

word count: 3.0k

warnings: age gap relationship, team principal x driver relationship, cursing, marijuana use, alcohol use, toto being down bad per usual, light angst, toto is not the best person for a minute, mentions of divorce/separation, some lighttttt smut (the heavy smut will be included in the next chapter! promise!) oral (f! receiving), some realllll sweet n tender shit, yadayadayada

a/n: this chapter is probably one of my top five favorites, if not favorite chapter of this series. although it would be pretty hard to top chapter xii., i really enjoyed writing this one! to set the mood for the chapter, i have a few song recs to listen to as you read! please try to listen to them in order, as they really set the tone/vibe of golden girl x toto! <3 also, a huge shoutout to the anon who inspired me to write about gg x toto smoking together!! :)

little hell - city and colour

alkaline - sleep token

one way (feat. t-pain) - 6lack, t-pain

everlong - foo fighters

skin - mac miller

prev. | next.

˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖

“toto, tell me. are you in love with her?”

yes, susie. i am.

she is a divine being, bringing me to my knees at the sight of her. she is the sun, a bright, radiant beacon of light and warmth. her touch alone makes me weak. my mind is consumed with thoughts of her every waking second. i’ve been apart from her for so long, i can barely hold it together right now.

the team principal inhales sharply, letting out a shaky breath, “i – i can’t answer that.”

“you are, aren’t you?” susie’s expression is unreadable, “you’re in love with her. if this was just some fuck you wouldn’t be acting this way.”

there it was again.

that pang of jealousy deeply interwoven in her fiery retort.

“susie,” toto begins, scrambling for formulate some sort of coherent response, “i don’t know what to say or how to respond in a manner that will make this any more–”

“no,” she holds up a hand, “you do not have to explain yourself to me any further. i know you love that girl. you wouldn’t have let her pull that little stunt if you didn’t.”

“it wasn’t just some little stunt–”

“exactly,” susie shakes her head, tears glistening in the light, “it wasn’t just some publicity stunt to you. i could tell that you enjoyed that kiss, toto. you were practically making out with her for fuck’s sake.”

“susie,” toto rises to his feet, “we made an agreement, remember? we wanted this. both of us.”

“but that doesn’t mean i have to act like it doesn’t tear me apart seeing you with someone new. someone younger than me. someone who is far more beautiful than i ever will be. someone who can bear more children for you. someone who will–”

“susie, stop. cut that shit out right now.”

“why?” she demands, whipping her head towards the team principal, “why are you so stone cold as i’m falling apart in front of you? why does this not bother you?”

“because,” toto coughs, clearing his throat, “i don’t love you anymore. that’s why. all of those feelings, they’re long gone. when i look at you, i don’t feel love. you’re one of my good friends, one of my business partners, and the mother of my children. i feel respect, and a deeply rooted companionship. but i just don’t feel love. not even an inkling.”

her eyes narrow, “oh, so i was wrong. you’re not just in love. you’re in deep.”

“and i’m not going to stand here and play childish little games,” the team principal scoffs, “you’ve never acted this way before, and i am not sure why this girl is bothering you so badly when i’ve mentioned other women in the past.”

susie’s lower lip curls into a sneer, “did it ever occur to you that this bothers me so much because i know her? because we were friends at one point? she has a relationship with the academy, toto. i’ve met with her several times. we’ve spoken on a regular basis at one point. it just feels wrong.”

“well,” toto shrugs, “she’s going to be around for a while, susie. you may want to get used to seeing her face around here.”

“you’re fucking ridiculous,” susie snarls, raising a pointed finger at the team principal, “you’ve been a terrible father lately. you’ve been a horrid team principal. and the worst part, you’ve completely lost it. ten years ago, you would have never put your reputation on the line like this.”

the team principal remained silent as his former wife gathered her composure, cursing under her breath as she slung the strap of her purse over her shoulder, nearly stomping out of the office. the department surrounding his space probably eavesdropped on the entire heated exchange, but he didn’t care.

after monaco, it seemed like he had less and less fucks to give these days.

licking his lower lip, toto almost crashes down into his chair, collapsing as a groan rumbles in his chest.

so much for her taking that news well.

and if he happened to marry this girl?

oh god.

susie would probably have a conniption. fuck, she would probably ransack his entire office, defacing each and every one of his items. shit, she would even probably try to find a way to get him fired somehow.

well, he didn’t entirely blame her. it wasn’t like he kept her in the loop about his personal life or romantic relationships. although they had a pretty amicable relationship after their separation, the subject of new love was always like rubbing salt in a wound.

a wound that toto thought had healed. but apparently not. her explosive outburst in the office reaffirmed that.

there was a pang in his chest, squeezing in his heart as he hunched over the desk, burying his head in his arms.

oh, how he missed his golden girl.

god, wasn’t that fucked up.

his ex-wife of nearly a decade just basically professed she still harbored romantic feelings for him, and here he was, fretting as he yearned over his new love.

he needed to see her, oh so badly.

but how? although they were only approximately forty miles apart, it felt as if there were thousands upon thousands of miles between them. it was more than likely due to the nature of their current situation, but it left him aching for one singular thing.

her touch.

fuck, he craved her touch. the light drag of her nails against his skin as her fingertips traced along his toned back and shoulder blades. the wisp of her hair as she buried her head into his chest. the ghost of her mouth of his as their bodies intertwined together.

her presence alone was enough to send him spiraling.

it wasn’t like they were forced to go their separate ways between monaco and montreal. it was just suggested heavily by their pr teams that they do so, just so that williams and mercedes could launch their own personal investigations in regards to their relationship.

and for the time being, it appeared that things were all cleared. they had broken no rules. they didn’t breach any contracts. well, not entirely. mercedes, williams, and the fia did not need to know about the hours the two of you spent discussing your decision to join toto at mercedes.

besides, they did not need to know that you were naked, basking in the warmth of him, body tangled with his when you made that decision.

the official contract talks would have to be scheduled here soon.

after all, toto was running out of time.

he needed that second driver.

and he had you. it wasn’t entirely official quite yet, but he knew he had you.

time to start making things official then, huh?

not like he had to really, you already did that for him in monaco.

plucking his phone off his desk, the team principal starts to type out a lengthy text message, swallowing the lump in his throat as his thumb hovers over the send icon.

˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖

“what are you feeling for dinner over there, eeyore?”

alex’s voice snaps you out of your zombie-esque trance, your head swiveling as you glance over your shoulder, “i’ll just eat a little bit from whatever you make. i’m not really hungry.”

“oh come on,” alex rolls his eyes, yelling from across the kitchen, “you have to eat something! fuck our diets right now. what do you want? i’ll literally make anything for you. i am begging you to eat something.”

“it’s rare for alex to beg,” a giggle sounds from your right, light and airy, “it wouldn’t be a bad idea though, to eat a little something.”

exhaling, your gaze falls on lily as she sits beside you, perched in the plush chair, “i’m just not that hungry.”

“is it because of everything going on?” lily cocks her head, reaching for her wine glass, “i mean, i can’t imagine what it must be like to be you right now. you have to focus on your racing, your diet, keeping up on social media. yet, you also have to factor in your parents, your briefings, and your personal life. it must be a lot, considering what happened in monaco. by the way, what did your parents think? were they shocked? happy for you?”

“well,” your eyes drift over to the ledge of the balcony, taking in the way the sun was beginning its descent over the horizon, “they weren’t necessarily jumping for joy that i happened to fall for a fifty-two year old man. i think they’ll feel a lot better once they meet him. toto has this charm that has draws you in. i’m sure he would win them over in a heartbeat.”

“just like he did with you?” lily teases, leaning over to prod you playfully, “you know, you could have just told me and alex about him. we would’ve kept things private for you!”

“i know,” you bite the inside of your cheek, “but there was just so much risk involved with telling people about it. and i was scared of how you guys would have reacted, what you would have said, or if you would have told james or the fia or–”

“hey,” lily places a tender hand on your shoulder, “we don’t always choose who we fall in love with. we can choose how we act on those feelings, but that is just ultimately something for the universe to decide. you just happened to fall for a devastatingly handsome, recently divorced team principal.”

“i heard that!” alex calls, earning an eye roll from lily.

“i’m just trying to help her feel better! we both know that man is gorgeous!”

“i miss that gorgeous man,” you bring your knees to your chest, resting your chin between them, “i know we didn’t have to spend the brief break apart, but our media teams advised us to. you have no idea how badly i’m fighting the urge to just tell him to take the next flight to–”

yet, before you can finish your sentence, your phone vibrates on the table, notifying you that you had a new text message.

eagerly, you snatch it up, eyes scanning over the screen.

i miss you, beautiful girl. i’m not sure where you are, but i am taking the next flight to monaco as soon as i possibly can. i should be there by tonight. could we rendezvous at my place? if you need me to pay for your own ticket, i will. just let me know.

“what did he say?” lily peers over your shoulder.

“he’s coming to monaco,” your heart skips a beat as the realization washes over you, “wait, i’m already here! he’ll be here tonight! he wants me to meet him at his place.”

“well,” lily’s eyes glimmer, a bright smile enveloping her features, “looks like you need to eat, take a shower, and get ready missy! alex, will you start your shower for me?”

“i already heard the entire thing,” the driver tuts as he strolls onto the balcony, two plates in hand, “eat first, and then i’ll start a shower for you. from the sound of it, it seems like you’ll have a long night ahead, so you need to eat up before you get your guts rearranged.”

heat flourishes into your cheeks at his comment, “i – oh my god. you don’t know that for sure.”

“i think i do,” a smug paints his lips as he sets the plate down beside you, “there’s a reason why you’ve been so glowy and bubbly these last few weeks. i know you’re not smoking or doing any drugs, so there’s only one other thing i can think of.”

“i cannot stand you,” you mumble, sheer embarrassment taking hold.

“and that’s why you’re sitting down,” alex lets out a chuckle, “don’t worry buttercup, the teasing is only going to get worse from here on out.”

although you were more than grateful for alex allowing you to stay with him in monaco between the two races, it did have it pitfalls. and that was one of them. ever since you told him about toto, the teasing was relentless. it was never malicious, always lighthearted. how an older brother would pester his younger sister. which, you didn’t mind.

ever since the meeting with williams, your emotions had been nothing but a tumultuous torrent of anxiety, regret, and well, terror.

you were terrified that toto was going to choose preserving his career over your relationship. after all, you couldn’t blame him. he was one of mercedes’ spearheads, one of the most respected and dominant forces among the paddocks in his role as ceo and team principal.

he was a father as well, with three children whom he loved dearly. he was perceived as a family man, who often toted jack on his shoulders or brought him along with to races. additionally, you couldn’t shake the one thing that had been gnawing away at you, completely tearing you apart.

what did susie think of you? what did she think of your relationship? was she going to try and win toto back? did she still have feelings for him?

if they happened to meet in the time you were apart, what did she say? how did he respond? was he guilty somehow? was he going to admit to you that after seeing her, some emotions resurfaced?

god, your head was your own personal little hell.

and who knew if you were ever going to crawl out.

however, deep in your heart, you knew that you needed to see him. you needed to tell him the very thing that had been clawing at the depths of your very conscience.

you loved him.

and he needed to know.

and by god, you were determined to tell him.

well, it looked like tonight would be your perfect opportunity.

time to prepare for the worst.

˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖

“go on, take another hit.”

your fingers pinch the rolled paper, bringing it to your mouth. lashes fluttering, you inhale, the harshness of the contents flooding your lungs, burning your throat. once you were satisfied with the intake, you purse your lips, smoke billowing out.

“good girl,” he hums, fingers squeezing your thigh, “i missed you, you know that?”

the corners of your lips curl into a blissful grin, “and i missed you. so much. more than you’ll ever know.”

the lights of monaco glitter in the distance, casting a soft glow over the ocean as the waves lap the shore, foam encasing the gritty shore. hints of tangerine poke out from above the horizon, promising of the sun’s arrival. the scent of marijuana lingers in the air as toto taps the joint against the tray, his brows knit together with concentration.

above you, stars gleam, dotting the indigo hue that swathed the sky. all around, the mediterranean sea stretched for miles, the lights from various boats and yachts blinking, a gentle reminder that you were not alone.

although, you were in your own little world, utterly enamored and allured by the man beside you.

toto arrived to monaco around eleven-thirty p.m., not arriving to his luxurious property until about midnight. although it was well later than you expected, you were bright-eyed and bushy tailed, oh so ready to reunite with the team principal.

even though it was well past the hours he was normally up and about, he offered to take you on his yacht, where the two of you could just spend some time alone together.

of course, it was an offer you couldn’t refuse.

especially when he mentioned that he had picked up a “special treat for his special girl.”

that treat was a tin of five pre-rolled joints, neatly packed together. the papers encasing them were oh so cute, a light blue with little fluffy, white clouds. the tin itself was to die for, with snoopy as the red baron, a cartoon bubble to his right stating, “up, up, and away!”

his plug was definitely a woman, but you didn’t mind one bit. after all, with packaging that cute? how could you be upset? toto informed you that the tin was yours to keep, and he was more than happy to keep it filled for you. you just had to say the word, and he would contact his connection.

smoking was probably the last thing you should be doing between races, but it wasn’t like the fia was testing the drivers regularly. even though the testing was random, toto informed you that once he got the word of any potential tests, he would find a way to let you know.

you guys had already bent the rules enough, so why not bend them a little bit more?

“hey,” his is low, so gentle it was barely audible, “can i tell you something?”

he’s situated between your legs, spreading your thighs apart as you sit on the sundeck, the cool surface sending a shiver down your spine as it meets with heated skin.

“of course,” you murmur, a hand connecting with his cheek, “what is it?”

“well for one, i want to fuck the shit out of you right now,” his eyes are glossy, pupils dilated as they hone in on you, “but i need to tell you something first.”

there’s a slight stubble as it grazes the pad of your thumb, his plush lips parting ever so slightly, “what is it, toto?”

he’s lowered now, his mouth hovering above your pussy, the thin fabric of your shorts the only barrier between his lips and sweet, sweet, relief. the relief he had been desperate for these last few days, pacing back and forth in his office as he attempted to maintain his composure. to keep it together.

but here you were now, looking oh so breathtaking as the moonlight cascaded down, illuminating your skin with a beautiful silvery hue.

you were a goddess.

a truly divine being. the one he wanted to worship every single second, every single day for the rest of his life. the one who brought him to knees. the one who made him so utterly weak.

he was in far too deep now, deeply lost and consumed by you.

and god, he never wanted to go back.

even if he wanted tried, he knew he couldn’t.

and now, there was only you in this moment.

drawing him in, coaxing him to fall even deeper.

“i love you.”

˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖

taglist: @k3ira13 @prettiest-at-the-party @martwll @annewithaneofthegreengable @zoeyjadetice2010 @sinners-98-world @laura-naruto-fan1998 @nebarious @joalslibrary @statuewoman @strangegirl974 @thatgirlthatreadswattpad @m-1234 @whoisss @msbyjackal @annaaepf1 @paigelouise @bborra @upsteadsstuff @omgsuperstarg @younxii @toldyouitwasamelodrama @kravitzwhore @persona1lies @pucksandpower @gisellesprettylies @wonderwolffs @xxforeverinadayxx @theseerbetweenus @simply-the-best23 @ringdingdingdingx @swifth0lic

if you would like to be added to the taglist, let me know! as always, thank you all so much the continuous support! <3 i love y'all so much!

#toto wolff #toto wolff x reader #alkaline #alkaline: female driver! x toto wolff #formula one #formula 1 #formula one x reader #f1 x reader #toto wolff x y/n #toto wolff x you #williams racing #mercedes amg petronas #female driver au #formula one fanfiction #f1 fanfiction #alex albon #lily he

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sirfrogsworth · 7 months ago

Text

Early voting to beat the lines... the best-laid schemes of mice and men often go awry.

So... yesterday was quite the day.

After being stuck in bed for the past 6 weeks with some mystery slump, I was finally feeling better. So I decided I would try to cram as many errands into my day as possible. That works better for me when I drive out into the world because I end up only having to do one big recovery instead of a bunch of little recoveries.

My to-do list...

Go to the doctor

Vote early

Return oxygen machine to FedEx store for scammy eBay guy

Return Amazon package to the UPS store

Get gasoline for my whip

Go to Discount Tire to get my tires filled for free

Drop a check off for my lawn guy

Mail a secret package to Katrina at the US Post Office

It would have been nice if I could have gone to just one shipping place instead of all three, but the universe has a sense of humor and likes to do shit like that to me on a regular basis.

So, I get my checkup, it goes quick, no long wait, I'm feeling good.

As I get in my car, it starts to rain. It was an ugly day and it actually has not stopped raining to this very moment a day later. Just gray, windy, chilly, and wet. I look up the voting place and start the GPS.

Wipers and music on full blast, it's time to get my vote on.

When I reach my destination, I realize early voting is at some kind of private golf club. And at the center is a recreation center—which is a public building.

So it's like this private/public turducken situation.

I was expecting this errand to take 20 minutes. Because early voting always seemed like a way to get in before the crowds of election day for a more convenient voting experience.

But the parking lot was packed and I feared my expectations were about to be subverted.

As I walk through the parking lot I see a bunch of signs in the ground.

And a particular one caught my eye.

This is bullshit.

Like, just a straight up lie. No truth to it whatsoever.

Amendment 3 in Missouri basically restores abortion rights in the state. And Republicans have taken issue with the following language...

"The Government shall not deny or infringe upon a person's fundamental right to reproductive freedom, which is the right to make and carry out decisions about all matters relating to reproductive health care, including but not limited to prenatal care, childbirth, postpartum care, birth control, abortion care, miscarriage care, and respectful birthing conditions."

They claim the phrasing "but not limited to" means you can give an 8-year-old kid "sex change surgery."

This is how their online flyer puts it...

It could also include a free puppy.

Or a zillion bucks.

Or a clown will come to your house after the abortion and honk your nose.

It's ridiculous and desperate. I honestly don't know how it is legal for them to put a lie like that outside of a polling location, but here we are.

The organization "Missouri Stands with Women" is run by... a man.

It was set up by a lawyer named "Edward Greim" on behalf of the Federalist Society.

His law firm has a lovely biography about him. And a bunch of publicly available contact information. I say that for no reason whatsoever.

The Federalist Society funds all kinds of shit like this. Their main thing is installing conservative judges all over the country who will reinterpret or negate legislation. And they do it all to "stand with women" by taking away their reproductive rights.

Here is the board of directors of the Federalist Society.

Ya know, before I looked this up, I said to myself, "I bet it's going to be a sausage fest." I am psychic.

I think it would be more accurate to say they stand with A woman.

Just one.

And she sucks.

Nicole is a law professor at Notre Dame. She chose her Catholicism over her right to choose. The Catholic Church will fuck your rights and your children and Nicole will help them do it.

Anyway... back to my quick and easy voting experience...

So as I'm walking in to vote I keep passing a ton of these awful signs. I notice an older woman standing next to the aforementioned "child sex change" sign and she says, "Can I talk to you about Amendment 3?"

At this point, I'm pretty angry. I look her dead in the eyes and say with my most assholish tone, "NO." as I walk past her.

And then she finishes her sentence...

"...to protect the reproductive rights of women."

Ah, dammit.

I thought she was an old Karen but she was cool as heck. Standing out in the rain telling people the sign is bullshit. I wanted to turn around and apologize but I was stuck in full social anxiety mode so I just kept walking.

If that old lady happens to have a Tumblr and follows me and is willing to read this giant story... I just want to say I am sorry. I thought you were awful and I should have let you finish your sentence. You're super cool and I'm happy there are folks like you fighting for what is right.

I get inside and a young woman greets me. She tells me the line is in the next room and points. I still wasn't quite sure what the situation was. The parking lot being full gave me pause, but I was still hopeful I could have a swift early voting experience.

But I walk through the doors and into a huge gymnasium and my heart sinks.

It's hard to represent in pictures how long this line is.

It goes all the way to the end of the gym, loops around, and comes back. At first I was not too discouraged, because there was a nice gentle ramp at the start of the line.

But then I notice several sets of stairs at different stages of the line. And I'm just thinking how hard it would be to stand in this line and then also having to go up and down several sets of stairs.

So I go back to the young woman working there and ask what their accessible voting options are. And she told me I could do curbside voting and points outside. I then notice a line of cars wrapped around the parking lot. I don't know how I didn't see them walking in, but I guess I was too busy being a jerk to elderly progressive women.

My biggest concern was time.

The longer this takes, the more energy I use up, the longer my eventual recovery will be.

They tell me the car option is the slowest. And I could be in line for 2 to 3 hours. And then an old man who seemed to be in charge walks over and tells me the fastest option is to stand in line.

So I walk back out to my car and grab my cane and decide to try the long serpentine gynasium line.

I start walking up the ramp and some of the other folks see how slow and labored I'm walking and they start encouraging me. "You can do it! You got this!" Which I suppose was meant to be a positive helpful thing. But I found it to be embarrassing.

I get to the end of the line and notice most of the line has bleachers directly next to it. So I decide to sit down and rest and figure out how I am going to survive this experience.

It took me a while to recover from the long walk to this spot. I watched a bunch of people pass me by and the line was actually getting much longer as I rested. I was not really sure what to do. I was trying to problem-solve this situation but the answer that kept popping up in my mind was just... "go home."

But I felt this was too important and that wasn't really an option.

My best idea was to ask someone if they would hold my spot in line. Perhaps I could just sit in the bleachers and follow them around in the line, staying as close to them as I could. But my social anxiety was set to maximum and I was not finding the courage to ask someone.

After about 10 minutes of sitting, resting, and thinking, I basically say, "Fuck it, I'll try to stand in line."

I get up and start walking to the end of the line.

Then I hear a voice yell out to me.

"Hey, man! Come over here! This is your spot!"

A young man was waving at me. He was accompanied by his wife. Both of them were dressed in black and they had a sort of goth skater aesthetic going on. He had a competitively bushy beard, but with less gray. And she had very vivid purple hair.

I was a little confused and still processing what was happening. Then they both started waving at me to join them in line. They remembered I got there just before and told me I should be in front of them. I walk over and thank them. Then he suggests...

"Hey, why don't you just sit in the bleachers and follow us around the line."

He suggested my idea!

Without me asking!

I felt like he read my mind or something.

Can bearded people read each others' minds? Was this some beard skill I was unaware of?

"I got you, man. You just sit and we'll keep your place."

And his violet hair'd significant other agreed. "Yeah, we got you."

The kindness of strangers was more accessible than my polling place and I was just so thankful in that moment.

So I sat in the bleachers and watched them traverse the line. In the middle of the gym there were some teenagers playing basketball. And so I just rested and watched them play.

That young man in the red pants was like a goddamn Harlem Globetrotter. He was just embarrassing the others. He was bouncing the ball behind his back and through his legs and then he just danced around his opponents like a figure skater. It was such an unbalanced matchup. He might as well have been playing 4th graders. Not only was he significantly faster and more maneuverable, but he was consistently hitting 3-pointers.

And then during a break, he ran towards the hoop, jumped from the free throw line, flew all the way to the net, grabbed onto the rim, and proceeded to do several pull ups as if they were the easiest thing in the world. I don't think I've seen anyone jump that far and that high in real life and it was just a bonkers display of athleticism.

I spent the entire wait watching him humiliate the others—hoping he would get a full ride scholarship to some prestigious university.

And I hoped the other boys paid attention in school and got straight As, because basketball was not going to work out for them.

As my new goth skater friends progressed through the line, I would make sure to keep sight of them. Every once in a while I'd give them a head nod to acknowledge we were in this together. After an hour and a half they were at the final segment of the line, so I sat next to the wheelchair folks.

I probably could have argued to sit with them in the first place. But I really did not feel like making the case that I was just as disabled as them and needed that level of consideration. The old man running things seemed quite stressed and was putting out 8 fires at once. And my anxiety wasn't really cooperating enough to be assertive in my needs.

But it worked out in the end, so I'm not going to dwell on the lack of accommodation for people who weren't *visually* disabled.

My new bearded friend neared the end and waved me over. I thanked him and his wife profusely.

I joked, "Thank you for adopting a voter."

They seemed confused by my joke.

"No problem, man. Happy to help."

I told him and his wife they truly saved me. "I honestly don't think I would have made it through the line." And then I looked back...

I said, "As crazy as this is, I do find this kind of turnout encouraging." His wife agreed and said, "We were saying the same thing!" And then I thought, "Can the wives of bearded people absorb the mind reading ability? I hope she can't read my mind right now. Although, I'm mostly thinking that her hair is a really cool shade of purple, so she'd probably find that complimentary."

As I waited to get my ballot I could hear the happy couple behind me. They were very cute. They were making fun of each other in a very lovey-dovey fashion. I had high hopes they were going to grow old and gray and purple together based on their chemistry. And I was just so thankful they were able to recognize that I needed help without me asking. Because I probably would have just caved to my anxiety and not asked for help otherwise.

I got my ballot and sat down to fill in all of the appropriate squares. Thankfully I had prepared a cheat sheet on my phone.

It was an exact replica so I was able to copy it and finish quite rapidly.

Then I fed my votes into the vote-eating monster and they gave me a sticker.

My quick 20 minute adventure to vote early only took 2.5 hours!

And because I didn't want to buck tradition, I stood outside in the wind and the rain and took a voting selfie.

Yep, that seems about right.

Ah, crap... that was only the second thing on my to-do list.

Let's speedrun the rest of this story, shall we?

I drove to FedEx. I hauled a 40 pound box inside. I plopped it on the counter and said, "Man, this thing is heavy!" as I tried to catch my breath. The 20 year old working there then lifted it like it was a feather and I felt great about that.

I drove to the gas station because I was nearly on empty—that is both a metaphor and not a metaphor. I filled my ride with go juice.

I noticed I was a mile from the tire store and they fill up tires for free. So I did that and the guy was super nice and complimented my tires. I felt both weird and proud about having my tires complimented. Like, I had nothing to do with my tires being nice. But I accepted the praise on their behalf.

I drove to the UPS store. The last time I was there I made a scene. They refused to box up a return and I got upset and wasn't feeling well and they had to find a chair for me to sit in because I was going to faint. So I was hoping the same woman wasn't there, but she was. She didn't recognize me, so it was fine.

I drove to my lawn guy's house. He wasn't home. I dropped a check in his mailbox. My checks have corgis on them. My checks are cute.

I drove to the post office. I sent a secret package to my bestie, Katrina. I'd tell you what is in it, but it is an inside joke and you wouldn't get it. The woman noticed my voting sticker and I couldn't help thinking about what I just accomplished to get that sticker.

On my way out I noticed a miracle.

2 of the 4 doors were fixed!

I mean, I don't know why they couldn't fix all 4, but now the employees won't freeze in the winter. So I take that as a win. It only took a year and a half to accomplish and I'm sure all of my phone calls and emails did not help at all. But I'm going to pretend I saved the day regardless.

And then... I drove home.

5 hours of errands.

I was so fucking tired. My back was on fire with pain. I immediately collapsed into my bed. I passed out. And I slept for 14 hours.

The End

#long post

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commodorez · 1 year ago

Note

Strange question, but I'm curious. Do you have a least favourite computer?

Ohhhh, good one. I'm going to make some enemies for these, I'm sure.

Least favorite vintage computer:

Apple I

Not for any technical reasons, or anything about its history. I happen to like and respect Steve Wozniak, and everything he did in the service of computing in the 1970s. His ROM monitor known as WOZMON is only 256 bytes so it can fit into a first generation 1702A EPROM, which is damned impressive. I use the newer EWOZMON regular basis on other 6502 machines.

The Apple I exemplifies a computer that no longer exists as a computer. Rather, it's become the legendary trading card for the ultrawealthy techbro types who seek to commodify the history of the home computer revolution that they didn't bother to study. It's been reduced to no more than a static display piece, and a cornerstone of revisionist history, ignoring the larger picture.

An Apple I is considered too monetarily valuable to risk applying power to or fixing, "gotta leave it original!" with failed, leaky capacitors, doing nothing. Well if you can't use it, it ceases to be a computer because it isn't computing anything. They had almost a dozen of them at VCF West XIV, most of which were under plexiglass with a hired guard to keep an eye on them because the high price they fetch. Only one was powered up at a time under the watchful gaze of experts, handling things with museum gloves. Unlike other exhibits, these were not available to be touched or interacted with (which defeats the whole reason people enjoy vintage computer festivals).

Assuming you look beyond the hype, and get your hands on a working Apple I? It turns out to be quite underpowered and limited -- which makes sense, Woz was optimizing the shit outta his part count and budget! I wish I had his skills. It was a major technical achievement to get it to do that much with so little. It's a TV Typewriter (RIP Don Lancaster) bolted to a minimal 6502. If i had one at my disposal in the 1970s, I'd probably do like the contemporary hackers did and modify it as my budget and skills allowed. But it's 2024 and an Apple I -- you aren't allowed to do that. No, if I had an Apple I, I could sell it and buy a house with that money.

If it weren't for all that, I think I'd probably just be indifferent to it, or maybe even like it for what it is.

Least favorite general computer:

eMachines eTower 600is

What a piece of shit. I had one when it was new, running Windows ME and it was hot garbage. I could not stand this underpowered excuse for a computer after a few months when the new computer sheen wore off. Floppy drive died too soon. Didn't come with the advertised 64MB of RAM (who puts 33MB of RAM in a computer?). Hard drive was only 10GB, kept filling it up. It was filled with bloatware, the keyboard was cheap garbage. I don't begrudge my parents for buying it, they didn't know any better and I was too young to have any say in the matter. That said, it endured the shortest tenure of any computer in my house to date.

Never obsolete my ass.

#apple i #emachines #etower 600is #windows me

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elyasugar · 4 months ago

Text

Pale and Innocent✨

The idea was a long time ago, and the theory was written in January, so I give my valentine to all of you and a little reflection on Pale and Innocence🎶🪩🎶❤️

In order to begin my theory about the Innocence , it is necessary to recall the structure of the Pale and how it works, because the Innocence and the Pale are one and the same - the generation of humanity's activity in the world of Elysium.

Pale is a mist that has no clear external forms. It is achromatic, having no colour, taste, smell or sound (questionable because of the Pale transducer, a similar device Ruby had). The Pale represents all of humanity's time and the space in which it was, is and will be (all of each person's memories and events).

The area of transition between the world and the Pale is called the ‘edge collapse’: a Pale mist with a cold vapour that is known to harbour a unique form of fungal microorganisms. The Pale is difficult to describe and measure, as it is something whose fundamental property is to affect all organisms: their physical properties, and their mental ones. The further into the Pale, the more it affects all living things. It is capable of distorting and altering non-living matter as well, down to numbers and figures. For clarity I will describe what will happen when falling into the Pale, many people staying in it risk going mad: first they forget everyday trifles, and later their own name, memories of who they were and what they lived. Further, when the human brain is trapped in this trap of existence, it begins to deteriorate. The spinal cord and the whole nervous system is destroyed after it. After that, the rest of the body ‘crumbles’, making it impossible to find corpses in the Pale.

From the information in the game we know that there are already created ships with the help of which you can travel between isolas, as well as special radio stations in the Pale to send signals and coordinates of various transports (in addition to ships it can be motocarets, helicopters, etc.). Also at this point in Elysium, it is possible to travel through the Pale, but no more than six days per year (the long stay effect I described above).

According to my theory, because of the frequent travelling between Isols, people get hit by the radiation of the Pale on a regular basis. And even after such people find themselves far away from its effects, they are still connected to it. This is supported by examples of characters from the game (the same trucker or Izzy from ‘Flavour’, as well as Joyce's story about Volta do Mar).

The nature of the Pale is largely unknown to the humanity of Elysium. However, according to the ending of the book - the Pale appeared because of sins: stupidity and greed of all mankind. However, as we know, any coin has two sides, and if one side has all human sins, the other side has all human virtues, and in this case it is the Innocence.

Innocence is the physical embodiment of virtue. People who become Innocence are the major historical figures in the world, literally deities. Innocence traditionally assumes supreme rule over the world at large. The Innocence is elected by the Founder's Party; this has only happened six times in world history.

According to the Party, everything the Innocence do and say is law. They deserve this respect because of their influence over time and space, (whereas in the Pale we can only look at memories and live our past, the Innocence are able to create the future). It is said that it is an honour and glory to live when one is in power. Innocence does not usually use its power through military might. It is considered unnecessary. Innocence wins because it simply cannot lose.

The legal system of the Real Belt is built from the ground up to adapt to the rule of the Innocents. The decisions of the Innocence apply equally in all countries.

There are only six Innocents in the history of the world:

Pericarnassus, the first Innocence. Little is known about her.

Franconegro, 500 years before Our Age. Considered a militaristic Innocence and the strongest among them.

Dolores Dei, 300 BC. She created many modern institutions, organised successful expeditions, even voiced criticism of the innocence system. Her beauty and inhumanity are also widely recognised. Dolores Dei is considered the greatest Innocence in the current century.

Sola, crowned in the last century. Considered the Anti-Innocence due to her unwillingness to impose her will on the world.

Each of the six Innocence has movements of followers. For example, those who share the beliefs of Dolores Dei are called Doloreans. Their churches are places of worship for the life and ideals of Dolores. People believe that the Innocences can work miracles.

Besides the true Innocence, there have also been a few False Innocence in history - those who believed they possessed the qualities of Innocence. Sometimes they had the support of a faction within the church organisation. The most famous and important of these was Erno Pasternak. He became famous in history for his torture, despotism, and desire to conquer the world. He was eventually destroyed by Stepan the Despicable of Cedra, for all the nobility of his deed he never became an Innocence.

Why?

They just don't get elected on the politicians' side (as a tool). Because of this, there are no Innocents in ‘53: the Coalition is simply not profitable, because altruistic motives are less reliable than money or the Coalition itself. It follows that an ordinary person can't become an Innocence through their deeds alone - you have to get recognition from the people or the Party to do so.

There are hints in the game about the non-human nature of the Innocences. For example, when Harry is talking to the Encyclopaedia, the reason for Dolores' murder is described.

There have also been theories that Harry is the new Innocence, just because of the case of amnesia and the ability to talk to his emotions, organs, and the city itself, but unfortunately this is not the case. The Innocence can't forget who they are, unlike Harry. They were also notable for some larger actions: discovering other isolas, uniting nations, etc.

These abilities are more akin to the Pales, and perhaps the voices in his head are just thoughts of his dead alter ego in the past, which makes sense. The female voice, which is Dora's voice, talks about everything that will happen in the future, possibly to guide Harry. (We won't wait for the second part of the game, though, so maybe not to guide...)

This led me to a hypothesis, the idea being that people who have been exposed to the Pale can control it. When playing the game, this is confirmed by the periodic tests that Harry must pass. He can pass them by improving one or more parts of his personality. (See the picture below). Another person who has encountered the Pale is a trucker whose ability is to move into the bodies of people who have lived in the past, present or will live in the future.

What if there is a person who can control the bodies of people who are possessed by the Pale?

If there was Sola, who said to rely on ourselves and not on the Innocence, then I think there are people in the world of Elysium who can master the Pale enough to control not only certain memories of people, but also their bodies. Maybe there is such a ‘sanitiser’ in the world of Elysium, who can introduce souls and lost memories into the bodies of people who have lost them.

To summarise my peculiar research, we can say that in the near future there will be no Innocence in the world of Elysium. Most likely the world will be improved by those people who were able to rediscover themselves, and even surpass them. As Kim Kitsuragi said....death is life again, beyond the world is pale, beyond the pale is the world again.

#disco elysium #artwork #theory_DE #de #digital art #ëlyaart #Innocence_DE #fanart #Pale_DE

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safely-in-vhagars-belly · 3 months ago

Text

The Art of Torture

(Aemond x oc/reader)

Concept: Aemond takes your home town.

CW: parental abuse, sex, titty sucking, incest, rape (not oc/aemond) childbirth, forced adoption, blood, gore, extreme descriptions of extreme gore and blood. torture. Murder, blood licking, tasting, tons of blood. Murder of innocents. Smut. Sex. loss of virginty, Aemond's sexual trauma, Aemond's eye trauma. Aemond being an idiot. I love forshadowing. Pay close attention.

There is more to torture than just killing. Torture, is an artform in a way. Only those with the right skills should perform it. Torture is breaking into someone's mind, understanding their thoughts, their fears and swaying them into trusting the enemy. An art on its own. Lost to most. You, you have been raised by the cruelest man alive. Brutus Bolton, your own father. And now, the gods, fate, destiny, however you want to call it: Has caught up with him at long last. And soon, your story will change.

The smell of blood hangs heavy in the air, choking the oxygen out of it. Aemond Targaryen’s long legs strut through the muddy snow, as he and his men look around for any survivors who can tell them where that coward fled to. It’s humiliating.

Aemond wipes his brow, putting a loose hair behind his ear, as he tightens his braid, barely keeping his locks together. Everywhere he looks, he sees dead corpses lying in the snow, their throats slit or heads removed. I’m not his dog.

A soldier runs past Aemond, barely paying him any mind, running off with a captured screaming, crying woman. They don’t respect me. He doesn’t respect me. I’ll never not be a shadow.

Screams, cries, begs, grunts, moans, all noise for Gods who do not listen. Prayers and begs for mercy that gods don’t have. A typical and yet unheard of war scene where Aemond’s troops play the main role. What did I do, but what was expected of me?

He would normally be disgusted by the behaviour of his soldiers. But today, today he does not care. He cannot bring himself to care about the life of the smallfolk on a regular basis. Today, they truly cross paths on an awful day. Let them rot in the deepest, seventh hell.

Prince Aemond had returned, carrying Lucery’s eyes with him. He offered the eyes to the Queen Dowager, his own mother. She slapped them out of his hands, cursing his name and embarrassed him in front of his brother’s court. Aegon agreed that Aemond had talents better suited elsewhere and now he’s up in the ‘’frozen shithole’’ as he calls it, capturing traitors no one truly gives a fuck about. Who cares what Brutus Bolton or his deranged sons are up to? They’re Boltons. They’re not Starks, they’re not Lannisters. Aemond being used to capture petty thieves is an insult that grazes and cuts him deeply.

A little girl runs away from a home he passes, tripping over a corpse on her way to freedom. Aemond watches as the soldier catches up to her, slamming the axe on the back of her head. The axe hits so deep, that Aemond can hear how it leaves her skin and hits the stones of the road. At least, he thinks he did. He might be imagining it.

One of the soldiers becomes a little bit uneasy, at this child dying. Aemond finds it strange. Why does a child matter above a adult? Is this some hypcrosim he’s too noble to understand? Or some matter of humanity he’s too dead inside to get?

One of his soldiers stares at the murdered girl. ‘’My Prince,’’ he falls before Aemond. Aemond feels the urge to kick him with his boots but resists the tempting urge for now. He knows this man. Lewin. Lewis? Lendry? Luckey?

The man reminds Aemond of his name. ‘’Aeron, my prince.’’ Ah. Not even close, oh well.

He does not like that name. ‘’You have something to say, Aeron?’’

Aeron seems to understand what a terrible mood Aemond is, and hesitates. But he does speak up to his Prince. ‘’I do. I know the Boltons offended you in great ways, but surely…This village belongs to the Starks. We should not loot, rape, pillage, and destory. We should only punish the Boltons.’’ The Prince laughs, barking with laughter at that idotic request. So he’s one of those fools.

Aemond leans in closer, staring at the woven small wooden beads the man wears. ‘’You think if the roles were reversed, they would think twice about raping your little sister in her maiden cunny? I have seen your sister. She’d be luckily if they slit her throat afterwards.’’ He waits to break eye contact to make sure the message is received. He pats his sword after.

‘’Either way you walk on, or you get on your knees and I’ll kill you for deserting. Your choice but make it fast. I’ve got other things to do.’’

As suspected, Aeron does not kneel and walks on, a lot paler than before. He reaches a strange house in the village. No warmth comes from it. No fire is burning inside. Who in their right minds-

‘’The Boltons have run. Can we now go join the others?’’ One of the other men asks Aemond, whining as a brat. Aemond looks at his face, filled with red spots, his crooked nose and his rotting teeth. Of course he would want to rape a woman. There’s no woman who would even touch that with a ten feet pole. ‘’King Aegon promised us rewards.’’ That’s when Aemond snaps.

Aegon is not here. He is. Aegon is laying in his bed, sleeping, warm, comfortable, when he’s out here, freezing, walking with blisters, wearing swords and daggers and protecting the kingdom, doing his duty when Aegon puts another bastard in some whore.

He does not warn the soldier. He just smacks him on the back of his head. ‘’You want to join your fellow soldiers? You can choose. You can join them into raping these whores after we are finally done, or you can join them in the afterlife after I’ve impaled your throat. Your choice.’’

‘’What a butch of men. Half of you are cowards, others of you would be better off at the wall.’’

And what does that say about Aegon? Either he didn’t know…

Or worse.

Aegon didn’t care to send good men with Aemond. Aegon wanted Aemond humbled, humiliated. Well, it looks like he’ll get his wish granted.

Aemond and his men pass the house, not paying any mind. Until Aemond hears a soft little noise that would go unnoticed for most inside the house. A very subtle breathe. Someone releasing their breath. He takes his sword out, and kicks the door open of the house. The door has been rotting from within, worms and other vermin greet Aemond as they slither and crawl outside, paying no mind to him or his men.

He pushes through, ignoring the darkness. The entire cottage is dark, said for the middle of the room, where a corpse is surrounded by four small candles. A young woman sits by the corpse, wearing a grey sack that barely suits her beautiful roundings. Aemond keeps the sword nearby, but does not bother to attack. It looks like he found Brutus Bolton, at long last. ‘’Who is that corpse?’’ Aemond asks.

One of the soldiers sets a step closer, but not too much. They seem to fear the woman. ‘’It’s Brutus. That must be his bastard. His daughter.’’ He says. ‘’We found no traces of her brothers. Maybe she knows where they went.’’ Aemond’s mouth makes a disapproving line when he hears the word bastard. But that does mean, she likely won’t have a husband. Her brothers fled, and her father is dead. She’ll comply, make a lovely hostage and if need be some company for the road.

You hear footsteps approaching, and via the broken glazing plate you put by the counters of the kitchen, you can see the fearsome prince approaching you. You keep your head down, your body shaking as you look at your father’s corpse. Your hands red, stained with blood after hugging him after the unspeakable crimes committed upon him. You repeat the same prayer over and over. The knife is just a reach away. The knife that was used to murder him. Your hands are stained with patterns and prints of sin, death, murder. Crimson drips from your fingertips as you clutch your dress, leaving bloody prints.

The Prince seems to halt in his cold approach. He sees you the way a man sees a woman. He sees you weak. He sees an orphan girl, now at the mercy of a group of killers. He sees a deer lured into the wolf’s den. You allow him to approach closer.

He does pity her. She has a lovely face, said for a ugly scar by her throat. He wonders how she got it. She smells horrible. Like death and rot. But he does not care. He will have his answers.

You scootch forward, ignoring the prince that was ready to put his hand on your shoulder, to alart you of his presence. Your father’s eyes are wide, and open, staring at the rotting ceiling.

His eyes describe horrors, Aemond notices right away when inspecting the corpse. Whatever killed him, it was gruesome. It was merciless and it was deadly. He smiles at the corpse. Whoever killed him, will be granted a reward. ‘’Find me who killed this fuck. They will be rewarded.’’ Aemond says, instantly. The soldier rushes off to spread his word, while the other four share confused looks. All but one.

The ugly soldier steps forward, and Aemond takes two step to protect his own nose. ‘’I killed him.’’ The ugly soldier says. Aemond does not even respond to that idiot. ‘’My Prince? I claim this girl as my reward…’’ He walks to the weeping girl. Aemond’s head bends in their direction.

You shriek, backing away from the smelling soldier. You smelled some corpses in your life. Saw some rats. Lived in a room filled where hounds live. But none of it smelled as he did. You just don’t want to be near his smell. ‘’How did you kill him, you were with me the entire time, you idiot. That girl is my only lead. You’ll let her be or I’ll have your head.’’ Your eyes sparkle at that threat, smiling at the prince. He does not return your smile, ignoring your thankfulness.

You think it’s time to let him now know. You played with them long enough.

You clutch your father’s dead corpse, and bend your head on his chest. You open your mouth and instead of weeping…

A horrifying, disturbing, unworldly, and utterly terrifying sharp chuckles of pure joy escape you as you clap your bloodied hands in delight. The soldier that wanted to rape you earlier now quickly puts his tiny cock away, staring at you in shock. You don't even acknowledge him. You begin to tear and break the bones of your father, putting the knife in his skin as you pry loose bones and skin alike.

The Prince sets a step towards you, intrigued by what you are doing. Aeron, horrified, hides behind his commander, the Prince. He never saw such bloodthrist. “Good gods-” one of his men begins to mutter but Aemond silences his wordlessly, his eye resting upon the youngest Bolton as you begin to remove the skin of your victim. Your father.

He watches with his breath as you remove the one after the other piece of skin; first timid and gentle, small pieces but eventually you learn what is in your blood, one way or another. The flesh tears loose and you rips it from the skin, flaying him fully. You release a deep breath you didn’t know you were holding. You always pictured this moment, every time he beat you, every time he starved or hurt you: You pictured this moment. And now, now it’s here. You revel in his blood, smearing it over your face and body as a cry of happiness.

You revel in the delight and the blood as you happily lick off your fingers and hands, staring at the Prince as he clears his throat interrupting you. “That man was to be my hostage.” he informs you, staring at you.

You need to take a closer look at him. So you do. You stand up, your grey dress following you around because it's so big. You tilt your head at the strange man. Studying his hair and his lovely scar. You never saw a Valyrian. He seems surprised by your length as most men are.

Women are not supposed to be tall. Women are supposed to be fragile, weak, small, tiny and to be easily mastered. It is unlike their nature to assume that even the tiniest woman can reach up to grab a crown. And that even the largest woman can be seductive.

He has to admit to himself, you have a pretty face. A face too pretty to be wasted on some Northern savage. “You're the Prince.” You say, your head tilted sideways, your eyes and brows betraying that you found his approach confusing. “Have I done something wrong? I thought you ordered the death of the traitor.” You let out another harrowing cackle, patting your father’s skull, stroking it as if it is a mere flower. “He will look so lovely when the crows pick his eyeballs out.” you fantasies out loud, sharing your disturbing fantasies with the Prince.

She stares at the ugly soldier, licking blood off her thumb that she did not quite reach the first time. ‘’And you, you wanted to claim my kill. Quite rude.’’ Aemond ignores confusing feelings as he stares at you lick blood. He is supposed to be repelled. Why isn’t he? Why does he find her…pretty?

You smile, offering the prince your father’s skull. ‘’Your skull, my Prince.’’ You make a clumsy curtsy that fails miserably. ‘’I’m afraid the rest of his body is not for you. I have my own plans with it. But you can show your brother that you did a excellent job, here in the North.’’ You think back of all the delicious cries and screams you heard earlier, and chuckle. They were never friends.

Aemond inspects the skull, or the head, rather, and nods, giving it to a very disgusted Aeron. ‘’Now I need to figure out what I’ll do with you.’’ Aemond says, hoping the girl offers him some options. He has a few things in mind. She smiles. ‘’My men are quite lonely.’’

You snort with laughter, so hard that you sound as a pig. Aemond’s mask of stoic seems to break as a slow smile appears. ‘’Your men are little boys and cowards. I would not call them ‘Men’.’’ You say, turning around to collect your dagger. ‘’I do have one suggestion. You can take it or leave it. But I bet you want my brothers too, don’t you, Prince Aemond One Eye?’’ You smile, staring at the lovely detailed scar. He scowls, offended you brought up his scar. You reassure him by walking around him, giving him a flirty smile. ‘’I always thought every man should have scars, each for every victory they fought. And I heard, you are quite the victorious man. Or did I misheard?’’

Aeron does not trust this strange woman. He does not like how half of the crew is afraid and Aemond is hanging on her lips. ‘’My prince, this woman is clearly a witch or mentally deranged. I think we should count our losses and leave this very instant-’’

‘’Shut up before I’ll take your tongue out.’’ Aemond growls. ‘’She’s right about you lot. Cowards and one ugly raper. You’re not men. Next time, I’ll set out with women. They clearly know what they’re doing.’’ He says as you remove a stubborn piece of nut from one of your teeth with the dagger. ‘’Continue. You were going to offer me something. Something even sweeter than the blood on your face, perhaps?’’ He leans in, scooping a bit of blood off your face. You do find him attractive. You watch as he mirrors your action, tasting the blood and licking his own fingers off. You chuckle, delighted.

The woman claps her hands, delighted and even jumps up and down. Aemond is confused. She seems very childish, in some ways. But he kind of adores it. He likes that free spirit. He likes her innocence, and yet her dark rotten nature. ‘’Oh, you have no idea. My brothers, I know where they are.’’ He can feel that this will end in a good way. He can’t help but stare at her breasts.

The ugly soldier sadly tugs his coat, ruining his daydream.‘’You can’t believe this heathen. Who even would kill his own kin? Nothing so accursed as a…’’ The man stops talking, realising that Aemond has taken out his sword. He glares at the man, challenging him to continue. Kinslayer.

She smiles, lowering his blade subtly. ‘’I can find them for you. You’ll be back in your brother’s good graces.’’ But Aemond is not a fool. He knows that nothing comes without a price.

‘’And in return?’’ He asks, brows raised slightly.

You chuckle, liking the way where this is going. You could list all sort of beautiful rewards. Hm. What could you possibly want? ‘’You let me kill them. I want them to die a slow, painful death.’’ You tell him, staring at his hands. ‘’I want them to crave death. I want to inflict so much pain and misery on them that they already feel as if they parted this world and are in the deepest seventh hell.’’ You stare at the dragon pins on his coat, suddenly your interest peaking at seeing a dragon up close. ‘’Oh, and I want to ride with you on the dragon's back. I heard you have one.’’ You didn’t hear anything, truth be told. You kind of guessed it.

‘’Vhagar and I would be honoured.’’ Your whole world stops spinning at that one moment. You pull your necklace in your dress, your walls crumbling and you feel exposed and vulnerable. You had no comfort growing up. Your own family were monsters. And so you longed for your own monster. A monster to protect you. To keep you safe. One day, you heard stories of Visenya, a woman who is according to some monsters too. She rode the big beast Vhagar. You fell asleep, wishing you had a visenya. You fell asleep, crying, wanting anyone, someone, to protect you.

And now here he is. The protector. Your chance for freedom. With Vhagar of all dragons.

‘’You have her dragon? Visenya’s dragon?’’ Your voice becomes soft, timid, unsure, something you weren’t sure you could even hear in your own voice. Hope.

Aemond seems to notice her changing body language right away. ‘’Indeed I do.’’ He folds his hands on his back, tilting his head, smirking at her big eyes, and her stunned expression. That might be the first time she’s genuinely sincere and in awe of him. He likes this genuine excitement more than whatever she tried to do earlier.

You try to keep your walls around you, protecting your heart.

‘’Well, I must meet her.’’ You say, as a matter of fact.

The Prince stops you before you can rush off. ‘’First things first. Shall we go to my camp, mayhaps we can discuss our plans, and share a nice cup of wine while we’re add it?’’

–

His camp is nearby. You are allowed to bathe the blood away. You are led into the royal tent, the one where Aemond sleeps in. You marvel at his royal bed linen and his collection of books and swords. ‘’You can stay here. I don’t trust others enough.’’ He reveals to you, as he prepares two cups of wine. You know who he refers to. His soldiers.

Aemond and you sit down. ‘’You want to work with me then? Even after I killed that village?’’ He keeps his sword closeby. It does sound like madness….

If those villagers weren’t the deepest cursed creatures of the seventh deepest hells.You feel the anger rise up inside of you. ‘’I wasn’t friends with that village. They knew. Everyone in that godsdamned village knew. If they didn’t end my pain, why would I end theirs?’’ Aemond is silent, but nods along, as if agreeing with your anger. ‘’My only regret is that their suffering was just a night and not from days to years.’’ You say, and you mean every word. No suffering is enough.

You notice you become distant, so you mask your emotions. ‘’You want to talk strategy?’’

You want to put your hand on his knee but he moves position so you cannot. ‘’Yes. Where are they?’’ Aemond does not wait for your schemes, waiting impatiently for answers. That is a complicated answer.

You laugh. He is funny. He thinks you’ll answer him right away. ‘’I’m not telling you. I’m worried you’ll drop me off and don’t let me come along once I tell you. But rest assured, I’ll lead you to them.’’

‘’That sounds like a trap.’’ Aemond says, observant. You roll your eyes, showing him your dagger. He nearly jumps, seeing the blade you had hidden away. You shrug.

‘’I have you alone here. If I wanted you dead, you’d be such a pretty corpse by now.’’ You say, touching his lips with your blade. You put it away, smirking, oblivious to his longing stare, and his silence. You notice his bloodied sword and his silent glance. You smile, crawling on his lap as you begin to clean the sword for him. ‘’You don’t mind me sitting here, do you? It’s a bit cold.’’ You lie.

You only feel his hands wrap around your throat. You are worried for one split second, afraid he’ll finally kill you. But his eye says something else. You are kissed the next moment. You allow yourself to nibble on his lips, feel his face, and quickly remove the eyepatch. Aemond pushes you off, hurt and shame burning in his eye. ‘’No.’’ He manages to croak out.

You freeze, eyepatch in hand. He covers his eye. ‘’I don’t…’’ He says, breathing heavily. You see yourself. You drop the eyepatch, but do return to his side. You take his free hand, feeling the long fingers. You gently remove his hand from his eye. He stares at you, ashamed as only one eye looks back now. One eye, and a hideous scar that no doubt brings him so much pain and shame.

‘’I told you before, men should have scars. I don’t mind that you have them.’’ You repeat, feeling the scar gently with your fingertips. You leave a kiss on his lips. You don’t expect him to return to whatever was happening, but you notice some determination breaking through him. He grabs you by your hips, kissing you back, first gently, then hungry, almost needy, as if he will die without you. You and him kiss as Aemond removes your dress, kissing your breasts and he halts by the scars on your throat. You don’t want to talk about it. But you know you must if you want to earn his trust. ‘’They threw me to the hounds when I was three.’’ You admit. Aemond doesn’t say a word. ‘’I didn’t die, unfortunately. I instead befriended them. I became their leader.’’ He is speechless still.

You carefully kiss him back, eager for something now that that pain comes back out of its shell. A distraction on your part, you are certain. You play along however, for now.

“What is it that you want?” He whispers in her ear. She has got to be the most haunted and cursed soul he ever saw. And yet he cannot deny that he wants her. But he has a mission, so he must bed her easily, and then she’ll leave his mind for good. “I'll be gentle.” He promises her. “And kind. You'll be taken care of.”

Her chuckle betrays that she feels better, and less upset, reminded by her traumas.

“What if I don't want it to be gentle and kind?’’ His mouth slightly opens in a confused manner, as you begin to undress him now too. ‘’What if I want that man…” she reaches for his manhood, surprising and arousing him. “that took my home town?” You grin.

He is aroused you can tell by all the signs. Yet he seems to deny himself this pleasure.

“You want that?’ He asks, confused.

You roll your eyes, playfully. “I want you, Aemond. I want the Kinslayer and the one eyed prince. I want to see your darkness and that you poison me with it from within.” You bow your head to his cock and begin to gently suck on it, as Aemond relaxes, sighing.

“Gods be good,” He whispers. She laughs much softer and begins to trust her hips to his front, gently beginning what both of them wanted. She puts his hands on her hips, learning him a new exciting thing. He normally fucks women lying down.

“I am not very …” He knows he should tell her. But he cannot bring the words over his lips. Instead he stares at her, with a heartbreaking sadness in his eyes. She caresses his face again.

You are dumbstruck. How can such a mighty creature think so lowly of itself?

“You'll be fine.” you promise him instead of laughing. “You ride fiercer creatures. You ride a dragon. How scary can a girl be, once you have tamed and claimed a dragon?’’ He seems to lighten up at this joke, joining you at long last. You feel him penetrate and you hold back the first soft moans.

You smile, enjoying your position. But suddenly, something seems to click in Aemond’s mind. He seems to wake up for the spell you put him under. You are flipped within a moment, now under him. He pins you down and begins to roughly fuck you instead. ‘’You wanted me? You’ll get me.’’ He whispers, before slamming inside of you. You ignore the jab of pain and betrayal and let the man do as he wishes, knowing well you still will get pleasure out of it. But you aren’t sure if Aemond trusts you more or less after you and him have done this. Aemond isn’t happy with how things are going, and instead resorts to an older technique he learned in the brothel. He yanks her up by her long hair, bending her on the bed, ass towards him. He forces her down, climbing slightly on her body and fucks her from behind. He hears her approving cries as he begins to reach his height, ecstasy blinding him.

You never had done this before, and you are thankful for it. It is true that Aemond is not the most considerate bed partner, but you would have to be blind to not notice something is deeply wrong with him. He has some disdain and shyness towards the bedroom that seems to remind you of how girls who served your father acted. He might pretend he’s a tough prince, but deep down, you know he’s broken from the core, and only a few strings keep him standing up. Aemond groans, reminding you of your duties as your thoughts race, and you buck back, allowing him to take you as he likes. ‘’Fuck me, kinslayer.’’ You whisper, rubbing his legs. He groans a reply, in a strange tongue you don’t know and takes you much faster, much rougher. It’s less elegant and less gentle, it hurts, if you’re being honest. But you like it way too much to call him to a stop. You hear Aemond finally come, and its the most amazing feeling in the world, aside from killing as he fills you with his seed. He thinks he holds the power, but you do. You made him lose control. You made him come. You smirk, glad Aemond is still facing the other side.

‘’I do mean it. I want to know where your brothers are. This distraction, it won’t save you.’’ He adds, panting heavily. ‘’I…’’

You ignore his stuttering and turn back around, gaze upon him as some smitten maid and kiss his lips again. ‘’Do not worry. I will have my revenge.’’ You say, clearly. Aemond nods, agreeing to your words. ‘’And so will you.’’ You add. ‘’You will have it all. The realm..’’You rub his legs as he lays next to you, panting still. You are breathless too. You are also still aroused. You didn't get to finish. You kiss his balls. ‘’The throne..’’You add, making direct eye contact. Aemond’s brows frown, but his eyes are closed. He seems to know that its wrong to want, but he wants it regardless. You place yourself back on his cock. ‘’The world.’’ You finish, and begin to trust your hips, chasing your own pleasure. Aemond allows this, and holds you and takes you as well as he can but its clear that he didn’t keep your pleasure in mind. You come, crying out as you soak his cock. Aemond has his eyes still closed, but now there’s a pleasant cheeky smile on his lips.

‘’I do want it.’’ He admits, holding your hands suddenly.

‘’The realm?’’

‘’The world.’’

‘’’Then what is stopping you? I saw you with the flock you call men. I saw you riding your horse, I saw you commanding your men. You are meant for all of it.’’ You tell him, smirking.

‘’You care for what?’’

‘’Maybe I’m hoping once you’ll become King, I’ll become your Queen. And we burn villages atop of Vhagar together. Drink wine out of our enemies skulls, burn houses of traitors with them locked in the basements, dance in blood, play games with bones.’’ You whisper, letting the fantasy take over.

Aemond avoids your eyes. ‘’I must marry to keep my blood pure, if I were the King.’’ He says, and you don’t like how much pain he causes with that little sentence. You nod, blinking as some idiot at his rejection. His eye sparkles, however. ‘’But, if you have some villages in mind, we can go now. I have a free hour.’’ He says. You dive atop of him, kissing his lips as you eagerly get into your clothes. Aemond follows, much slower, but also eager.

Aemond prepares for Vhagar as you patiently wait, picking your dagger back up, hiding it in your boots. You hear Aemond laugh as he greets his dragon. You walk behind him, the dagger burning in your boots. The soldiers don’t mind the two of you, as night has befallen the camp. You wait until Aemond has come to fetch you. ‘’What is the matter? Have you changed your mind?’’ He asks. You feel the dagger burn. You stare at Vhagar. Vhagar roars, in warry.

‘’I have.’’ You proclaim.

Aemond’s smile dies as you take out your dagger.

You look at him. ‘’I was sent to kill you, Prince Aemond. I was sent and hired by your sister to kill you. She would give me so much riches if I did.’’ You recall your deal with Rhaenyra as Aemond gawks, the guards quickly surrounding you. You put your dagger back in your boot. ‘’However, I suggest we do something more fun. I suggest, we make her think I’ve captured you, and you show up with your dragon and burn her to a crisp. How does that sound?’’

Aemond only smiles. ‘’I accept. On one condition.’’ You wait, staring at him.

‘’You will ride beside me when I burn her and the other bastards. You will also tell me where your brothers are.’’ He says. ‘’Or I’ll kill you right now.’’

You chuckle again. ‘’My brothers are at different locations..’’ You say, grinning. ''One is at the Red keep. Another, at Oldtown. Another again, marches in the North.''

He frowns. He looks at your face, again, and again and it finally hits him. It hits him so hard, that the sword clatters from his hands and falls to the ground. He begins to cough, violently. You open your arms, smiling. Brutus didn’t father you. Brutus raised you. On behalf of someone in the Red Keep. Someone who wanted to keep you alive, but a secret. ‘’Hello, brother. It is a honor to finally meet you.'' You fold your hands on your back and wait for Aemond to speak. You give him a grin, but its a bit too much for Aemond. He is caught by two guards before he faints, hitting the ground as Vhagar huffs, returning to her sleep at last.

A/N

Idk whats even going on she was so keen on being Brutus' daughter what do you mean she is LARYS daughter with Alicent or maybe Cole and alicents daughter what do you mean?! WHAT DOES ANY OF THIS MEAN.

yeah, i dont write outlines so this is a surprise for me as much as its for you all! I do like Aemond fainting like thats fair, man. I'd faint too if that was my sister. Girlie needs help.