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nellasbookplanet · 3 months

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Book recs: Queer science fiction, part 1

There is a lot of queer sf out there, and I read a lot of sf. When I started working on this list, I quickly realized it was impossible to include all that I've read and enjoyed in one single rec post. Thus, this is the first of so far three queer sci-fi book rec posts.

A note: queer here does not necessarily mean "guarantee of an f/f or m/m ship with a happy ending", but rather simply a significant presence of queerness. Some of the books feature no romance but has a same gender attracted/trans/a-spectrum lead, or features an m/f relationship with bisexual, trans or aro/ace characters, or simply features a world-building which is heavily queer inclusive in ways that don't always compare to our own ideas of sexuality and gender. I have however disqualified works where the only queer presence is along the lines of "gay best friend" or a blink and you'll miss it confirmation that never comes up again.

Previous book rec posts:

Really cool fantasy worldbuilding, really cool sci-fi worldbuilding, dark sapphic romances, mermaid books, vampire books, many worlds: portal fantasies, many worlds: alternate timelines, robots and artificial intelligences, post- and transhumanism, alien intelligences

For more details on the books, continue under the readmore. Titles marked with * are my personal favorites. And as always, feel free to share your own recs in the notes!

The Light Brigade by Kameron Hurley*

Dietz is a soldier in the war between Earth and Mars - to travel to the battle front, she and her fellow soldiers are broken down into light to be able to quickly travel across space. But something keeps going wrong with Dietz's travels; her memories don't match up with the mission briefs, as she experiences time itself turning in on itself. Is she going mad? Or are the things she's learning skipping through time the truth - and the war that's stealing her life the lie? A mindfuck of a book that's scathing in its critique of fascism and war. Features a sapphic lead but no romance.

A Psalm for the Wild-Built (Monk and Robot duology) by Becky Chambers

Novella. Long ago, robots, upon gaining sentience, simply laid down their work and walked into the wilderness. Long after, a tea monk looking for purpose follows after them into the wilds, where they come across one of the robots seeking its own sort of answers. While not plotless, this story focuses more on character and vibes over plot. Also has a nonbinary main character and features conversations on gender between human and robot.

Meet Me In Another Life by Catriona Silvey*

Thora and Santi are strangers, brought together by a coincidence and torn apart just as abruptly when tragedy strikes. But this is neither the first nor the last time they meet - again and again they encounter each other, as friends, lovers, enemies, family, every time recognizing in each other a familiarity no one else carries. But with every new life, a mysterious danger grows ever closer, forcing them to find out the truth of their connection. This is a puzzle-box of a story that goes some entirely unexpected places in a very wild ride, featuring a bisexual co-lead.

The Archive Undying (The Downworld Sequence) by Emma Mieko Candon

In a world where AI gods sometimes lose their minds and take entire populations down with them, Sunai was the only survivor when his god went down. In the 17 years since, he has wandered on his own, unable to either die or age, drowning his sorrows in drink and men. But his attempts to flee his past comes to a stop as he is forced back into the struggle between man and machine. Featuring some pretty wild world building and narrative techniques, this book will definitely confuse you, but it is worth the experience.

The Paradox Hotel by Rob Hart

January Cole works security at the Paradox Hotel, last stop for tourists heading for the timeport, which allows them to travel to and witness any moment in time. But years of proximity to the timeport has left its damage on January, making her unstuck in time, letting her relive memories of her dead lover even as her sanity slips away bit by bit. As she starts witnessing proof of a horrible crime in the hotel that no one else can see, January must race against her own mind, a killer, and time itself to solve it before it's too late.

A Fractured Infinity by Nathan Tavares

Hayes Figueiredo is a struggling film-maker who wants to finish his documentary, whose life gets turned upside down when handsome physicist Yusuf Hassan enters his life, claiming an alternate version of him is a great inventor who’s sent a mysterious device to their universe. As Hayes gets drawn deeper into the conspiracy - and his feelings for Yusuf intensify - he has to decide just how far he’s prepared to go to win the life and the love he wants. Featuring a very gay and very morally dubious lead, this is a creative and strange read.

Bridge by Lauren Beukes

When she was little, Bridge and her mother Jo used to play a game - one where they traveled to other worlds, inhabiting the bodies of their other selves. Now Jo is dead, and as Bridge is cleaning out her apartment she finds a strange device: a dreamworm, the very thing that supposedly makes inter-dimensional travel possible. Suddenly faced with the possibility that multiverse travel is real, Bridge is struck by a different question: could her mother still be alive? Scifi spiced with a healthy dose of body horror and some absolutely wild twists, Bridge also features a bisexual lead (however this is a blink and you’ll miss it moment) and a nonbinary co-narrator.

The Long Way to a Small, Angry Planet (Wayfarers series) by Becky Chambers

Rosemary Harper just got a job on the motley crew of the Wayfarer, a spaceship that works with tunneling new wormholes through space. With a past she wants to leave behind, Rosemary is happy to travel the far reaches of the universe with the chaotic crew, but when they land the job of a life time, things suddenly get a lot more dangerous. A bit of a tumblr classic in its day, this is a cozy space opera with an episodic feel and vividly realized characters and cultures. While pretty light on romance and focusing found family, there is a main f/f relationship.

An Unkindness of Ghosts by Rivers Solomon

Life on the lower decks of the generation ship HSS Matilda is hard for Aster, an outcast even among outcasts, trying to survive in a system not dissimilar to the old antebellum South. The ship's leaders have imposed harsh restrictions on their darker skinned people, using them as an oppressed work force as they travel toward their supposed Promised Land. But as Aster finds a link between the death of the ship's sovereign and the suicide of her own mother, she realizes there may be a way off the ship.

Ninefox Gambit (The Machineries of Empire trilogy) by Yoon Ha Lee*

Military space opera where belief and culture shape the laws of reality, causing all kinds of atrocities as empires do everything in their power to force as many people as possible to conform to their way of life to strengthen their technology and weapons. It’s also very queer, with gay, lesbian and trans major characters, albeit little to no romance.

The Left Hand of Darkness (Hainish Cycle) by Ursula K. Le Guin

1969 classic. Genly Ai is an emissary sent to the planet of Winter, meant to help facilitate Winter's inclusion in a growing intergalactic civilization. But he's unprepared for Winter's citizens, who spend much of their time genderless or switching between genders, making for a culture wildly different from that Genly is used to.

Too Like the Lightning (Terra Ignota series) by Ada Palmer*

Centuries in the future, humanity has deliberatly engineered society to be as utopian as possible, politically, socially, sexually, religiously. Written in an enlightenment style and featuring questions of human nature and whether it’s possible to change it, and what price we’re prepared to pay for peace, this book is simultaneously very heavy and very funny, and written in a very unique style. While still human, the society presented often feels starkly alien.

The Stars Are Legion by Kameron Hurley

This book fucked me up when I read it. It’s weird, it’s gross, there’s So Much Viscera, there are literally no men, it has living spaceships and biotech but in the most horrific way imaginable. Had I to categorize it I would call it grimdark military sf. It’s an experience but not necessarily a pleasant one.

The Luminous Dead by Caitlin Starling*

Possibly one of the most unsettling books I’ve ever read, and definitely the most claustrophobic. Gyre, a caver on an alien planet, ventures into the dark and dangerous underground, guided only by a woman who has no compunctions on using and manipulating Gyre as she sees fit to obtain her secretive goals down in the caves.

Escaping Exodus (Escaping Exodus series) by Nicky Drayden

While my feelings on Escaping Exodus were mixed, it cannot be denied that the dynamic between the two leads and the way they go from childhood best friends to enemies on different sides of a class and power struggle is very delicious. It also features some really cool worldbuilding of living, alien generation spaceships and the human culture that has developed inside them.

The Doors of Eden by Adrian Tchaikovsky*

The Doors of Eden is something of an experiment in speculative biology, featuring versions of Earth in which various different species were the one to rise to sentience, from dinosaurs to neanderthals. Now, something is threatening the existence of all timelines, dragging multiple different people and species into the struggle, among those a pair of cryptid hunting girlfriends and a transgender scientist.

Ascension by Jacqueline Koyanagi

Ascension follows Alana Quick, an expert Sky Surgeon who stows away on a spaceship in hopes of landing herself a job. But the ship and its crew are in deeper waters than she expected, facing threats emerging from a whole other universe, all of them searching for the same person: Alana’s spiritually enlightened sister. Undeniably a bit of an odd read, Ascension is also very creative and features polyamorous lesbian relationship.

Contagion (Contagion duology) by Erin Bowman*

Young adult. After receiving an SOS, a small crew is sent on a standard search-and-rescue mission. But what they find are not survivors awaiting help, but an abandoned site, full of dead bodies and crawling with something... monstrous. No romance, but features one sapphic co-lead and one who can easily be read as demisexual (however this doesn't show up until book two, which has more romance).

A Memory Called Empire (Texicalaan duology) by Arkady Martine

Mahit Dzmare is an ambassador sent to the center of the multi-system Teixcalaanli Empire, where she discovers that her predecessor has died. Trying to protect her home, an independent mining station, from being taken over by the empire, Mahit struggles to find out the truth of her predecessor's death while carrying the voice of his ghost in her head, guiding her as best he can. Light on the romance but does feature a sapphic relationship.

The Outside (The Outside trilogy) by Ada Hoffman*

AKA the book the put me in an existenial crisis. Souls are real, and they are used to feed AI gods in this lovecraftian inspired scifi where reality is warped and artifical gods stand against real, unfathomable ones. Autistic scientist Yasira is accused of heresy and, to save her eternal soul, is recruited by post-human cybernetic ‘angels’ to help hunt down her own former mentor, who is threatening to tear reality itself apart. Sapphic main character.

Dawn (Xenogenesis trilogy) by Octavia E. Butler*

After a devestating war leaves humanity on the brink of extinction, survivor Lilith finds herself waking up naked and alone in a strange room. She’s been rescued by the Oankali, who have arrived just in time to save the human race. But there’s a price to survival, and it might be humanity itself. Absolutely fucked up I love it I once had to drop the book mid read to stare at the ceiling and exclaim in horror at what was going on. Queer in the sense that the Oankali doesn't follow human ideas of gender and relationships, which is mirrored in their romantic relationships with humans. It is, however, pretty dark, with examinations of agency and consent, so enter with caution.

Remnant by Kate Genet

One day, Cass wakes up and finds everyone else is gone. Not dead, just gone, leaving her in a world which nature starts taking back with a dangerous, unnatural speed. But as she tries to survive this new normal, Cass realizes she may not be alone after all - but who else is out there, and are they a threat?

The Scorpion Rules (Prisoners of Peace duology) by Erin Bow*

Young Adult. Featuring a dystopian future in which an AI forcibly keeps world peace by holding the children of world leaders hostage. If anyone attempts to start a war, their child will be executed. Greta is one of these children, kept in a school with others like her. But things start to change one day when a new, less obedient hostage arrives. A unique, slowburn take on the YA dystopian craze, also featuring a bisexual love triangle.

Iron Widow (Iron Widow series) by Xiran Jay Zhao

Young adult. Zetian is a citizen of Huaxia, where mecha aliens are constantly trying to breach the Great Wall. To keep them at bay, couples of men and women pilot so called Chrysalises, giant transforming robots. But the pilots are not equal - the women almost always die, sucked dry by their co-pilots. When Zetian sets herself up to become a concubine-pilot, she does so with the plan to assassinate the male pilot who caused her sister's death. Features a polyamorous main relationship.

Bonus AKA I haven't read these yet but they seem really cool:

Survival Instincts by May Dawney

Lynn Tanner has been surviving the post-apocalypse alone with only her dog for a long time, trusting no one. But when she's forced to travel the dangerous remains of New York City alongside another woman, her priorities are challenged. Is staying alone really the best way to stay alive?

These Burning Stars by Bethany Jacobs

When con-artist Jun Ironway gets her hands on possible proof of the powerful Nightfoot family, controllers of interplanetary travel, committing genocide, she has in her hands a chance of taking them and their monopoly down. But the family and their allies won't go down easily, and sends two brutal clerics to stop her.

Everfair by Nisi Shawl

A neo-victorian alternate history, in which a part of Congo was kept safe from colonisation, becoming Everfair, a safe haven for both the people of Congo and former slaves returning from America. Here they must struggle to keep this home safe for them all.

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alavestineneas · 12 days

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and if you are there, why do i feel alone in this room?

pairing: Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen x fem!reader summary: The woman—a siren, some kind of sea beast lurking in deep, salted waters—sits near him with the ottoman under her feet that still seemed to deny her the comfort of rest, her eyes glinting with mischief when she notices his stare. Taunts, even, forge obliviousness to the spells she casts. Strange, otherworldly—redundant. Everything about her, down to the light gown and a headdress that showed little of her face, Feyd-Rautha was not used to seeing. warnings: mentions of death, violence, implied/referenced child abuse, religious symbolism, mentions of sa (!), blood and other parts of body, very non-healthy relationships chapter 1 - chapter 2 - chapter 3 !this work is part 2 to the i can feel the soil falling over my head; no people are here, just the void in my chest! word count: 7,3k

author's notes: hi beautiful people! today, I have finally finished this chapter and am thrilled to say that this fic requires part 3! be aware that this piece of literature is explicit and touches on some very heavy themes, including sa and child abuse. Please be mindful of it! As always, your opinions, suggestions, and critiques are welcome in the comments. Love you, and have a tasty read!

There are a lot of books stored in her memory, locked in the neurocytes safely. They are tucked into the cortex with love and tenderness that YN otherwise taught herself to suppress as a sign of her weaker self. But papers were non-living, so she felt like it was less dangerous for her to show warmth towards them; after all, if the objects can not acknowledge your love, does it really count as real? She read everything, mostly in an attempt to prepare herself for something she did not know the face of; she read to build the shield around herself, in desperate hope to be able to help at least her future self. YN read even now, although her foolish childhood desires were long gone, just to get a glimpse of the girl she was before the monsters escaped the pages.

The book she re-read the most was nothing special, nothing suiting the image she moulded herself into—a giant, relatively old encyclopaedia of animals inhabiting the furthest corners of Known Imperium. The letters inside, although faded a little, were left almost untouched by eyes—maybe it was what drew her in in the first place—to cherish something seen as unneeded. YN learned the small paragraphs almost by heart; she liked the idea of someone taking enough time to observe something as small as a roden to know its habits. She liked the idea of it happening to her one day. As it always is, it did not.

She chose her favourite animal without that much thought. Although even the notion of having something beloved was foolish, YN was made to choose; she and her sisters played the game of forest most often. The game was simple: pretend to be a creature you are not, forgetting the countless rules they had to follow. Pretending they have claws and teeth; pretending they can protect themselves not through intrigues and hidden motives but through open, bold force. Irulan was always a Katanga Lioness; she liked it because of the proximity to their house's symbol. YN did not; the grey pages of her beloved book described them as "observed to also scavenge on carrion of animals that were killed by other predators or died from natural causes''. What king of the animals steals the work of others simply to feed themselves? She did not tell Irulan that, of course—why would she?

YN chose a mountain lion for herself. Sure, she may have made a mistake thinking it was just another type of lion, but the game went too far to change anything, so she stuck with that. She even grew to love it—the drawing of the mountain lion on her character sheet, the way it prowled through the forest in her mind's eye. It had many names and many homes. Adaptive. Captivating.

She does not know why it came into her mind suddenly—maybe it was the dim light of the closed arena. The air circulated here freely, cooling through the complex systems of vents, even though it seemed to be deprived of any life—just a mechanical circle of the same molecules moving around her seated figure and returning to the hidden openings again and again. YN looked straight ahead; the two men were still sparring.

From her bench, they looked like one—two bodies moved so swiftly that one was unable to differentiate where the lines of their limbs ended. YN squinted her eyes; she was alone in the seating area, and still, she dared not move closer. The taller, thinner figure possessed skin so white it looked almost translucent underneath the cold light—YN wondered if she would be able to see the structures in his body through his clothed stomach. He moved well, almost too well for her not to press her lower row of teeth to the top one, hiding the tongue in a cave of pearl bones—she had hoped he was worse with his bare hands. YN had counted four hundred and five seconds before he made a mistake in his steps; it was a lot more than her own results, but for a man, he was good.

Feyd-Rautha had style; she had to give him that. He fought like a serpent would: calculated, precise. His fists knew the most effective targets, and his legs knew how to escape the blows of his opponent. If YN was to guess, he relied on muscle memory less than a usual fighter would, preferring to dwell in the moment instead. It made for a good show, sure, but it was not practical. She smiled to herself; of course, the na-Baron could not know what the real battle was like. How unfortunate for him—how delightful for her. YN still can't believe he let her watch his training every morning—was he really that stupid not to realise her motive? Was he too confident to consider having weaknesses?

Regardless, she saw what she needed to do - for three hours every day, she set unmovingly on the third bench in a small fighting ground, imprinting his every move in her mind. There are so many moves you can use and so many tricks you can do before she learns them all. YN did not care for the cold gaze thrown in her direction when Feyd-Rautha collapsed on the ground, taking a moment to rest before lurching onto his opponent again. She can wait.

Mountain lions are stealthy predators.

The days she spent here changed into months, their slow steps morphing into each other until time became a blur, a concept she did not grasp. Feyd-Rautha was a hard one to warm, but before she would mould him into something she wanted, YN needed to heat his DNA to a certain magnitude; otherwise, he would simply break. She would've gladly accepted this turn of fate too, but right now, keeping na-Baron alive is far more convenient for the Bene Gessarit. For her.

A concubine. A slap in the face: it seemed like life was determined to dissolve the small bits of her dignity in its endless pool of secrets. She was not a wife to Harkonnen na-Baron; no, she was to be his whore. If she was not too tired, she would've felt a pang of fear on her rising with oxygen lungs; a concubine's position is even lower here compared to one of a lawful wife's. YN remembers the words of her teacher as she prepared her for the union: Harkonnen concubines are killed after their first night in a position; if one is lucky enough to escape the fate by being with a child, she bears him until it's time for the baby to be born. One of the greatest honours for a Harkonnen is to take the life of his mother as soon as he enters the world.

She was to join na-Baron for breakfast today—a proposal YN waited long to receive, but part of her wishes she never did. It was worded like an invitation; YN knows it was not. Harkonnens rarely spoke when they did not give orders—a creature of habit, she supposed. So, she did what she had to: follow the slave to the chambers designated for the meal. The hem of her dress shone with a colour so foreign to the fort around her; YN needed to make herself stand out. Men are much like children, she learned—the more colourful the toy, the more likely they will want to play with it.

The walls were heavy here. They didn't bend in the shapes she was used to, preferring to stand tall. They didn't have to hide their strength underneath a complicated facade—quite the opposite. They paraded it, wearing it like the honour it is. Staying unremorsefully unbending. Maybe it's the air or a different measure of gravity; maybe it's her habit of soaking up the surroundings and letting them poison her insides, growing rotten in between the folds of her stomach tissue, but her legs are metal, stone-cold, pulling YN deeper and deeper into the floor. She tries so hard to ignore the three creatures in the corner.

They are hairless, much like the man in front of her, and dressed in matching black. YN would've mistaken them for Harkonnen royalty if it were not for the iron collars on their necks and the glowing black eyes that seemed to follow her every move. She would've been happy to have some company and not be forced into solitude with na-Baron if it were not for a still convulsing body on the floor. A body she did not recognise, but it could've easily been her own.

The creatures seemed to enjoy the involuntary moves of the soon-to-be corpse; they closed their eyes in delight and bared the sharp, black-coloured teeth in sheer pleasure as they lurched into the white flesh. They ripped it apart with only their hands, not bothering to use the prepared knives for more than a big incision from head to stomach. The sounds of chewing and gnawing filled the room, echoing off the walls and sending electric impulses down her body. YN was used to the metallic smell and the bright colour of arterial blood, but this was not a simple death. It was a show, and she was the long-awaited watcher.

Feyd-Rautha seemed unbothered by the sight near him. His hands, covered in thick streaks of blood, were deep to his elbows in the body. He dissected the corpse with precision, his eyes focused and his grip steady. He looked calm, even peaceful. Na-Baron was in good humour today. ''I must say, your arrival has graced us with much more than just the dowery; nothing could've made this union more auspicious—such a rare bird you are, daughter of our generous Emperor. A princess, yet treated no better than a common slave.''

Here it was: the thing she was thinking about all the way to this strange, garbage planet in the dress that pokes bleeding holes in her abdomen with each glass she downs. From his lips, it sounds even more bitter; even savages found the way the Emperor sold one of his daughters so easily strange. "Both of our houses have traditions far beyond our understanding," YN shrugs, scaring her thoughts away like annoying flies. Here, in a room so far from the comfort of her home, they moved too fast, bringing nausea to her throat.

She is here to secure the bloodline of House Harkonnen, to ensure the balance needed in the Imperium. YN does not notice how suddenly her gaze darkens or how tightly the hands that rested on the chair are now holding the pleated velvet of her ruby-red gown. Oh, the baby. The tiny creature inside her womb, the future head for the Baron's crown to be placed upon. The yet unconcieved child she could not feel love for. She was given no other choice but to risk its life before even giving it a chance to obtain its gift.

''Then you will find my present to be quite fitting.''

YN watches in silence as na-Baron reaches inside the rib cage of the corpse. He reaps out an organ with one swift motion, almost like plucking a harmful sprout from the garden. The organ is broun and rosewood, a weird mixture of shades that make it harder for her to focus on anything but the thing in his large hand. The gift he meant to give was a human heart.

She feels his walk long before she sees a figure departing from its place at the table; she guesses the end point of his manoeuvres too easily. It's almost funny—a cruel, senseless joke; how obvious the slight tremor in her hands is; how heavy her eyes become at the sight of Harkonnen black. The body positions itself near; if she squints, she can hear the hot breathing somewhere between her shoulder blades. His hand snakes around her neck quickly, positioning the organ right in front of her mouth. YN can detect the smell hitting her nostrils before she closes the receptors in them. She wants to scream, but the notes die in her throat. Who would she scream for? She hears the creatures hiss and whisper—the heart is a good part, from what she can make out. It did not need to be wasted on people like her.

''Will you not accept it?'' Feyd-Rautha's words are mocking, but his dark blue eyes stay virgin to the laughter. They drill small spots on her neck from behind with such force that YN can almost feel the burnt smell of her sweat-covered skin.

She takes a breath. Her own heart shrinks, its vessels beating with intensity twice as much as needed. Still alive, she notes absently. Still breathing. The feeling is natural and easy; the forced calmness in her body tingles the muscles, braiding her nerves into a pattern similar to the netting. Then, she opens her mouth.

"If I shall lick the blood of your hands, Feyd-Rautha, dare to make it your own."

That's it.

Maybe the Emperor was right to spare her none of the Sardaukars and a quarter of her dresses. She did not need more; she was not expected to survive long enough to use half of her clothes. YN chucked under her breath. Dead over diet preferences—how profound.

After a moment, the pale face behind her also twists, allowing the blackened teeth to escape the grip of thin lips. Like this, na-Baron looks less human and more like the evil he was said to be. He throws the heart to the creatures—they catch it greedily—and places a bloodied hand on her shoulder, the droplets of crimson going unnoticed on the brightly coloured cloth. ''Very well, then. Let us eat.''

YN nods. She looks around almost instinctively; nothing could make her eat a thing after the sight she just witnessed, but she refuses the na-Baron once; she is not about to do it again. The food is a lot, but her plate is almost empty: only a small amount of salad is here, sadly staring into the hunger in her eyes and a now featherless creature in an unnatural pose, suggesting its non-poetical death. The bird is small, almost delicate; its wings are pitifully glued to the body. YN does not want to let her mind draw the comparison, and does not allow her brain to admit a direct analogy; she dissects the bird with a dull knife and puts a piece in her dry mouth. The creature tastes good—almost too good to be expected in this brightly lit hall.

Most often deer is the mountain lion’s staple diet. However, they can survive preying on small animals as well.

The night covers Giedi Prime rather quickly; it never lingers, politely waiting for its masters to finish their daily affairs; it hits like a coward, from behind, trapping those not careful enough to hide before its arrival. The harsh, toxic waves of lazy winds hit the walls of the halls coldly lighted with a few sphears; they look like deep forest clearings, forming a system of endless options, ultimately leading to one, inevitable, end. His work chambers aren't big; he does not visit them often for them to be. The solitary metal desk before him is filled with letters, drafts of laws, and official documents, all waiting for his approval. It exhausts Feyd-Rautha to no end, the sheer stupidity of most of the advisers here; almost half of the documents were riddled with errors and inconsistencies. The forever present in his head dull migraine grows stronger when he opens the shortest letter; he almost busts his skull open when the pain heavies.

He ponders too much—the type of thoughts you can feel running on your tongue but never escaping. He is not used to being in the mist; all of his life is so painfully contrasted that no doubt of its nature can survive the sharp edge of his mind. There are things he can escape—forget, even—but some linger in his ribcage too long for them to vanish. Soon, they grow into his lungs with small, unbreakable threads, becoming him. He used to try to get them away from his heart, as if it held some value. Now, he is smarter, older, and more indifferent, he lets them pierce yet another piece of human flesh with no sorrow.

Of course, he remembered her face. The same face that haunted his sleep ever since she dared to appear before his eyes. Feyd-Rautha, naturally, found her little frolic that day. He spent an entire evening studying her work, analysing every move she could've made with her blade to achieve such outcomes. Sure, some things he would've done differently, but the sheer brutality of an animal he would not have guessed the girl possessed charmed him. Feyd-Rautha was a proud man, but he, too, held a love for beautiful things. For that, he hadn't told the Baron of the sight he discovered in the reading room. For that, he is now willing to pretend to believe her eyes when the fear fleshes in them.

Feyd-Rautha curses; she sickens. Like a bone stuck somewhere down his throat, not letting him live without a pang of mocking. She lurks, and whispers—Feyd-Rautha wants to smash her pretty head against the wall just to reveal the secrets she hides from him so he can finally understand the hold she retains. He is no stranger to the desire to own, or devour, but the fear in the back wall of his stomach is an alien in his body. He tries to hide it—to paint over it with anger or violence—but it remains a constant presence, gnawing at him from within. It's no use; the woman is a shark, designed to sense the fright. Maybe that's what brought him in in the first place—the steel eyes so similar to his own in a narrow hall all those years before. Maybe he was so used to the danger that he craved it subconsciously, looking for it to make him feel like himself again. A reoccurring childhood nightmare he can't escape; he doesn't want to escape.

Feyd-Rautha finds the chair to put his weight on and waits until the tingling, spinning sensation spreads from his temples down his neck, finding its way into his bloodstream and passing his organs one by one, until none are left uncorrupted. Of course, he expects it. The woman slipped into his brain and now chews her way into it like a parasite downs the rotten body. He knows he should be terrified, but instead, he feels a strange sense of relief. Feyd-Rautha can hear the whispers of his own mind fighting to remain the only owners of the secrets and desires buried within. He feels his eyelids heavy; a second later, the whites of his eyes are staring at the ceiling, the blue eye lenses dissolving in light.

Water. The first thing he feels is ice-cold water dripping onto his face, filling his lungs, and sending a shock through his arms. This body does not feel like his; it's too small, too narrow. His eyes are trying to adjust as fast as they can, jumping from one blurred spot to another until finally catching a glimpse of the surroundings. His brain does not have time to process the picture; his nose is filled with fluid again, and his open mouth is gasping for air but only taking in more liquid. He tries waving his hands around, but the stronger grip is firm on his nape, pulling him further down into the depths. The hand yanked him out just as he was about to fall into darkness again, the sound of water changing to loud screeching.

''How dare you hit me, devil child? Let the water wash away your dirt. Repent; beg for forgiveness for all of your rotten nature.''

The voice is unknown to him; it is harsh and filled with fury. The woman's face is twisted in anger; splashes of water on it match his. He can't tell if they are from his antics or tears. The woman's grip tightens, her nails digging into his skin. The black clothes on her figure make her status known - a Bene Gessarit witch. Feyd-Rautha tries to lurch forward and hit her back, but her strength is overwhelming. He feels panic coursing through his veins instead of oxygen—a sensation he did not think he could experience anymore. He wants to bark a response to show her that he is not afraid, but his voice catches in his throat.

Feyd-Rautha has no time to wonder what the woman wants; she brings his face to the bathtub again, and he opens his mouth involuntarily, frantically begging not to do it anymore. He says everything she wants to hear; he cries out and promises to wash his sins away. The voice does not sound like his at all. He is desperate to end this nightmare now, but some force holds him here. The woman is not satisfied; her ears are deaf to his pleas.

His face ends up on the water surface a moment later, his nose hitting the wall of the bathtub as the woman holds him down. He feels his body go limp with utter horror; this time, the shouting woman won't stop. Her voice grows quieter, replaced by the sound of small waves hitting the brim and spilling; from right to left, the water turns red, and his tongue tastes the iron he knows from sliding blades into his mouth.

''Echidna, what the fuck are you doing? Let her go; she is going to choke!''

''Get that spawn to me, for I will not let her ruin my life anymore! I must finish what I have started!''

Feyd-Rautha's head is filled with oxygen once again; his lungs take a desperate breath in, sending too much air to his blood system. He falls on his back, the world spinning. He does not care for the weeping woman in black or the chaos unfolding around him. His only thought is that everything is finally done and that the white floors are a magnificent place for drops of liquid to fall from his normally bald head's waterfall of hair.

He wakes up suddenly, the sensation long gone. His steps are heavy again; the body he inhibits no longer feels like a cage. The voices have left him for now, and the only thing on his forehead left is small drops of sweat and a pathetic, frightened, beating heart. The cold breeze from the darkened sands surrounding the city wishes to prove otherwise—it heavies and plants its spikes into his reddened cheeks. The horizon gleams at him, almost taunting; not a single star is to be seen under the imposing clouds. He will kill her; maybe he will even enjoy it. Feyd-Rautha can handle a lot, but not the shame of being seen. Not the guilt of being caught wanting.

There are only three ways to hunt a mountain lion: tracking, waiting in ambush, and with dogs.

The gliding motions of heavy fabrics across the wooden floors created a strange pattern of a song now centuries old. Here, in a room so long that the wind travelled through the hollows, her careful steps seemed to almost fall silent. Nothing was there for the preying eyes to see. YN closes her eyes; with that, even for a moment, the world stays still. She knows where the hollow staircase will lead her; she feels it in her stomach with every step she takes. YN knows nothing about the future, but the past lives deep in her memories, haunting her every move. She knows she shouldn't have done it. Travelling through one's mind is a sin she can't escape; she will pay the price for it in her blood, but the Bene Gesarit did not send her here to survive, so it's of no use to be afraid now. It makes no difference for the dead if you weep at their grave or not.

The burning sphere of light in the hall stops spinning; the doors open without any noise, although if the pounding eardrums had not stunned her hearing, she could've noticed the faint thuds. YN waits; there are no flashes of her happiest memories or the faces of her loved ones in her drained mind. No, in what seems to be her last moments, she thinks of what she could've been if the world had not given her a sword to turn into.

Feyd-Rautha appears in the hall; his steps aren't rushed, and his expression is stone-cold. She eyes him shamelessly: nothing. She sees nothing; she senses it deep in her crying bones. He drags her by the hair like a mother would with her misbehaving child; roughly, he pulls her towards the exit, his grip tightening with each step until the door behind them closes and her knees meet the cold ground with a nasty thud. The bruises will stain them soon, not that it matters now.

''You should've known better than to cross me,'' he hisses, his voice gruff. It's cold, chilling—the way his lips part to reveal a sinister smile. ''Now, you can think yourself vanished, little witch.''

YN does not answer—what fool would beg the deaf? The blade against her chin is sharp; she knows how attentive he is when it comes to inflicting pain. It pokes right into the Omehyoid muscle, a dull pain shooting through her body. If she has got to die, it may as well be from his skilled arms. How beautiful he is in the twisted pleasure he finds in her suffering. Unearthly, almost too perfect to be made of simple flesh and bone. Something was unnerving, unforgettable in the net of veins under his pearly skin; it was as if he were a work of art, meticulously crafted to bring physical pain and optical pleasure in equal measure. A silver glint under the defined cheekbones, a redness of lips filled with blood vessels. For a second, YN wonders what it would be like to bite into it, like an apple that lay too long under the golden sun; would the blood slip as generously as the sweet nectar? Handsome as poison, as a black sun on his forsaken planet, as death.

''Go on. Kill me, then; let me escape you once and for all.''

Under the deep sea of his eyes, something moved; his eyes dipped into her, part by part. Like the slow, deliberate dance of a predator stalking its prey, his gaze lingered on her, calculating and intense. YN lowered her head to push the knife a little deeper into the flesh. A strange thought lingered in her brain; she found herself on her knees in front of him, almost willingly. She has worshipped God all her life; who, if not her, can recognise his creation? The Devil. Lucifer. Satan. The man with horns so big they once touched the skies; a corrupt angel, fallen from grace so long ago he couldn't remember way back if he tried. They have warned her about him, but is it her fault that God has disowned her earlier than she could? Did it really matter to her, before whom to kneel, as long as she felt a sense of power and control in her submission?

All that mattered now was that he wanted to hurt her. He wanted her.

She sees the recognition flicker on his face. Caught. The blade slides quickly across her exposed neck, the blood sprouting out in a weak, painfully quick stream. Feyd-Rautha kissed her, biting her bottom lip till the stream of boldly coloured blood trickled down his chin. He did so like an animal would, baring his teeth and dragging them across the pulsating vein on her neck. YN's laughing cry echoes in the empty room; she is forced to admit that he felt good.

Never approach a mountain lion; most mountain lions prefer to avoid confrontations, so never approach them and make them feel cornered.

The woman—a siren, some kind of sea beast lurking in deep, salted waters—sits near him with the ottoman under her feet that still seemed to deny her the comfort of rest, her eyes glinting with mischief when she notices his stare. Taunts, even, forge obliviousness to the spells she casts. Strange, otherworldly—redundant. Everything about her, down to the light gown and a headdress that showed little of her face, Feyd-Rautha was not used to seeing. The beautiful substance of her hair caught the light from the sun like a mirage in the desert, reflecting in his eyes with painful hits. The jewels, too, have found their way onto her clothes, but they were hidden beneath the layers of fabric. They shined brightly, impertinently, framing her figure in a glow that seemed to come from within.

To his surprise, the skills woman possessed spread out to politics as well, with her witch training proving useful in court. Feyd-Rautha did not miss how his advisors grew more uneasy when she entered the room, her careful eyes scanning their faces for even a hint of betrayal or deceit. Like a proud discoverer, he ached to share his new-found wonder with the blind audience, but something in him protested in a mare thought of showing the precious jewel of his eye to the cluster of unworthy. So, Feyd-Rautha did the only thing he knew how— all of his secret observations were done from afar, masterfully hidden behind the facade of casual indifference.

As he drags yet another blade across the surface of the whetstone, he thinks about her delicate hands on his neck, her ringed fingers tracing the lines of his jaw. Harkonnen men rarely wed; they just take what they capture—men and women—and turn them into slaves. Some, if particularly sweet, are reserved for fucking. There are no special songs for that; there isn't a specific word in their native tongue for wife, either. It doesn't matter; YN is nothing of the sort. A concubine, a possession, a tool for pleasure and procreation—the Harkonnen way was simple.

''Are you done eye-fucking me now, or do you need more time with your blade?'' she sneers, her voice mocking. Only she could get away with such bold defiance in his presence, but she does not seem to care for the unusualness of it.

YN motions for him to come closer, her eyes studying the way his legs move. Feyd-Rautha has no control over them; the steps make themselves. She plays the game very well; the chase fuels something primal within him. Thirst. Hunger. It was the Harkonnen training talking to him—the wild, ancient sensation taking over his insides and imprisoning his mind in a cage of helpless desire. It spread its tentacles down to his fingertips, nesting in his abdomen. He positions himself in front of her, his body betraying him as he leans in closer, drawn to her like a moth to a flame. Feyd-Rautha's hands repeat the ritual almost instinctively, rolling the hem of her deep purple dress up to her waist.

''Stop for a second,'' she whispers against his ear, her breath warm and inviting. ''Can I give you a piece of advice?''

Feyd-Rautha can feel the anger creeping into his body; he does not like to be refused. ''No,'' he grumbles, turning her around forcefully. "I don't need your advice," he snaps, his grip tightening on her arm.

YN does not seem to care for it. ''Don't do it. It will only lead to trouble.''

''What?'' He stops, his eyes narrowing as he absorbs the woman's words. The doubts that had lingered in the back of his mind suddenly grew louder, echoing through his mind. He releases her arm, his expression stoic. ''You are insane, woman. What are you talking about?''

''You know what I mean.''

The unease boils in his stomach. How could she know? He was careful not to slip anything; she wasn't able to cast her spells anymore either. But her knowing gaze tells him otherwise. ''You can not know the future,'' he pronounces.

''I don't need to know the future to see the truth, Feyd-Rautha. Your judgement is clouded by rage, and your mind is not as sharp as it usually is. You are not as invincible as you think you are.''

She is bluffing, he thinks. He hopes she is. Feyd-Rautha almost wished there was no cloth covering her face, nothing to hide her expressions as she lay beneath him. He catches her flamed eyes and the way they circle his face in one swift motion before settling on the ceiling above. It unnerves him, but he refuses to show it. She is no master here; she is simply a servant. That is not what power looks like, if he ever recognised one, and Feyd-Rautha knew power.

''Get out, now.''

Nothing was portrayed on her face as she curtseyed; nothing was there when she turned and walked to her rooms, leaving nothing but the ghost of the human body's warmth.

Mountain lions are more at home in brushy areas than in open prairies.

And then, he disappeared. Like the sound of the morning birds falling silent in the cacophony of voices of the city on her home planet, there was no trace of na-Baron in the entire Harkonnen fortress. YN thought she was slowly but surely going mad; no one but her noticed the usual place by the window empty, and no one but her seemed to care enough to know where he went. She caught strange looks from a few, and frankly, she thought they were right. She looked like a mad woman, her hair quickly plated and her dress hurriedly laced, her eyes darting around the room in search of any sign of Feyd-Rautha's massive figure. Noon was dragged into the evening, and then night, for three, long days until she heard the long-awaited news: na-Baron Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen had tried to usurp his uncle and had failed.

She has told him so. A fucking brainless ram, with stubbornness bigger than his cock—why did he think he could outsmart the Baron? He will pay for his dumbness with his blood, perhaps even his limb—the thought brought nausea to YN's throat. She was lucky the Baron did not consider her important enough to be knowledgeable of such schemes; she lowered her head in the desert, hiding from the sand storms of Harkonnen politics; she waited for two long weeks until the announcement was made; Feyd-Rautha was forgiven. The celebration in honour of this news is to be today; she is to attend it. Not like his concubine, YN supposed, but more like the princess she still was.

Now, she took her time. YN chose a gown she wanted long enough to make even a tireless slave yawn, savouring each moment before their meeting. She was a victor now, in their small game of cat and mouse. He was a cat, but the mouse could still outwit him with grace and style. YN smiled at the wondering attendants; she looked good, and she was going to meet him.

The walk from her chambers to the Grand Hall wasn't too long; she would've walked a thousand more stairs if it was needed. The doors opened without a sound, revealing nothing but a mere celebration of yet another year under the reign of Harkonnens. The lines of slaves changed one another, the uneven circles of people dancing appearing and fleeing to the cheerful tone of strings. She was set somewhere between two Harkonnen lords she had no chance of knowing; she felt a sense of unease creeping up her spine as she tried to maintain a polite smile. Their gazes didn't look right; something sinister lurked inside them—hiding a secret she had no chance of knowing.

One of them turned to her, a chilling smile spreading across his face. "How are you finding the evening, lady YN? Or, what should I call you?,'' he mastered a fake confusion. ''Perhaps, darling? Concubine has a cheap wing to it; quite unworthy of a face so lovely as yours, don't you think?"

Dirt. The thing that crawled under her skin at his words was like dirt, making her feel unclean and exposed. She forced a laugh, trying to brush off his comments, the crown of her hair moving with muscles underneath her skin. "I am a princess, my Lord. Address me as such."

It would be enough every other noon, but today. The man's face twists, as if he just remembered something; he turns, the wine in his goblet splashing on the tablecloth. ''I think na-Baron wouldn't be too angry if I stole a princess for the night," he sneered, his eyes darkening with malice.

''Does it matter to you either way?''

YN watches as the smirk, so similar to Feyd-Rautha's, appears on the men's lips, although it doesn't feel the same. She fights back disgust as the man nods, biting into a hefty chunk of prey. His eyes, once focused on her, drifted away. YN chose to follow them; the string of fat streaming down the man's mouth onto the silver tablecloth made her nauseous. She looked from one unfamiliar face to another, until the cold feeling in her abdomen crept its way onto her chest.

There he was. His figure is unusually crouching as he sits on the podium reserved for members of the dynasty. The dark blue eyes are red now; the thin blood vessels in them are torn and emptied. His body seemed to suck the light out of the hall inside, casting a shadow over the room. There are no scars on his smooth face, but the sunken cheeks and hollow eyes spoke of a suffering that went beyond physical wounds. YN almost wished she saw him dead; whatever this was, it was surely much worse. He raised his eyes slowly to meet hers; something flickered in them before turning back to their empty state. Feyd-Rautha parts his dry lips to say something to her—she can't understand a word he draws with his breath.

From the place nearby, the Baron's voice booms, his low, almost whisper-like vowels mending into one. His face, covered with layers of skin and dead cells, twists into what was meant to be a welcoming smile—the corners of his paper-thin lips dance, lowering themselves only to jump higher, and his eyes travel from one corner to another, unable to be still even for a moment. He speaks of things YN knows nothing about court intrigue, power struggles, and alliances that shape the fate of their world, heavy with hidden meanings and unspoken threats. She does not listen until he gestures towards her, a scent of spice and decomposing flesh lingering.

''Sergeant Voss has served me well, and his loyalty at the right time is not to be forgotten. Here, I bestow upon him the highest honour of all; what was once mine, is now his. Do not let go of her if she screams, Sergeant; the girl is a fine one.''

No. YN almost does not recognise the hand as her own as the man drags her to the bed that appeared out of nowhere, freezing with horror as the people around her continue to watch in silence, their eyes devoid of any emotion or empathy. The tradition, she notes, is the one she learned so much about bedding in front of the entire court as a symbol of unity. She choked on her own tears as the man smiled at her pleas for help; they seemed to make him even more pleased.

YN looks, frantically, to the place she saw Feyd-Rautha sitting just a moment before. He would help; surely, he would not let them do it to her—his servant, his concubine, his. But the seat is empty. The scream echoing through the hall does not register as hers right away; he has sold her. For his own freedom, for a chance to be free from the consequences of his own stupid actions. Surely, the Harkonnens could not get rid of her openly—it would mean war—but she was not immune to the man who now owned her. His hands travelled her body with such audacity that YN wanted to cut them off—to cut her chest just so she could not feel the fingers digging into her skin. A sole reminder she was a woman first and a human second.

Mountain lions are solitary hunters.

The man undressed himself quickly; all of the soldiers were trained to do so. She should run; she should fight back, but the pair of unmoving hands pinning her wrists down was a stark reminder of her helplessness. The man lowers himself closer, his hot breath against her neck making her shudder in fear. She can feel him against her skirts; she can feel the weight of his body pressing down on her. The adrenaline is pumping through her veins; she will survive. Whatever it fucking takes, even if her body is bruised and broken, she will survive.

They prefer to ambush their prey from behind by swiftly and cleanly breaking the neck.

She bites—her teeth launch towards his cheek, feeling the warm flesh give way beneath her. She sinks them deeper, making holes big enough to draw blood. It's hot, and sickening on her tongue, but she does not have time for these thoughts; her next blow is in his stomach, with his knee jammed into his gut. She can feel his body convulse in pain, giving her a chance to throw him on the bed, his broad back facing her.

If they haven’t broken the neck, they will suffocate the animal.

There is nothing around that could serve as a knife; her captors made sure of that, and the sheets are too thin to wrap around his neck. She looks around the room, desperate for something to use, but the space around her is empty. YN curses as the man regains his composure and begins to struggle against her hold. Her elbow meets his nose with a sickening crunch, causing blood to spurt out. She takes a breath in; her hand wraps around his neck, forming a tight hold as she goes into the headlock. She chokes him, so desperately trying to live. And the man trashes against her grip, his white face turning a deep shade of purple before finally going limp in her arms.

Shame.

A thing that followed her after every life she took is now absent. Maybe the Giedi Prime's cruelty did have its effect on her; YN feels nothing but a sense of emptiness as she stands over the lifeless body.

''Do you have any more men to gift me to, Baron Vladimir? The night is still young.''

Her voice has changed. It holds a certain hiss now, a rasp that wasn't present before; it has matured and bloomed into half an octave deeper tone. It bites through the noise easily, cutting sharply.

The Baron laughs. His eyes gleam with amusement as he gestures towards the door. "Plenty more where that came from, my dear, but it's enough for today. Here,'' he throws something in her, a smirk ghosting on his lips. ''You've earned it.''

YN catches it and inspects the object in her hand. A small, golden broche catches the light, glinting in the dimly lit room. A head of the Bighorn ram stares back at her, the symbol of House Harkonnen. The taste of victory mingled with the metallic tang, leaving a bittersweet sensation in her mouth. Joy courses her veins—she isn't afraid. Finally, she is not afraid. Finally, she can look at her blood-stained hands without humiliation. Is it her fault she was born a better knife than a person?

Bighorn sheep are not a primary food source in most areas. However, when a lion does kill a sheep, they typically will continue to do so over and over again, until the herd is depleted.

tag list:

@oh-you-mean-me @juliskopf @moonsoulk @mamawiggers1980 @ashy-kit

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siempre-bucky · 2 years

Text

the one piece

Jake "Hangman" Seresin x Reader

Summary: Jake had seen you in everything under the sun, but a single black one-piece swimsuit turns him absolutely feral.

warnings: suggestive, no smut. afab!reader

wc: 1.1k

a/n: i feel like one piece suits don't get enough love and here we are...

Penny had invited the team to her house, kindly offering her backyard and her pool for the team to decompress and celebrate a successful mission. The southern California sun was calling for chlorine-ridden water and cheap beer. Jake stood back with Coyote and Fanboy, watching and internally critiquing the way Maverick and Rooster grilled a few feet away. He was about to say something to the younger man that would ruffle his tail feathers but a sharp jab to his side drew his attention away. “Your girl’s here,” Coyote smirked, pointing his beer bottle in the direction of you and Phoenix.

You managed to take his breath away with a single flash of your eyes. You looked at Coyote and sent him an excited wave, then you looked at the tall blond, flipping him off and grinning sarcastically. “Not my girl..." Jake grimaced, but he really wanted you to be.

He continued to discreetly watch as you and the other aviator walked to the pair of lounge chairs. His death grip on the neck of the dark brown bottle tightened as you removed your long-sleeved shirt, revealing your pitch black one-piece swimsuit. “Jesus,” he hissed under his breath as he saw how stunning you looked and how your curves fit deliciously in the material. He was still a man and absolutely noticed how your breasts looked in the deeply cut neckline.

“You need a pillow to cover that or somethin’?” his friend teased.

“Shut up.”

Hangman had seen you in everything over the years that fate had cruelly intertwined your careers. His emerald green eyes had grown accustomed to seeing you in every outfit the Navy issued, familiar with the certain way you tied your flight suit around your waist. He knew your preferences of sundresses for the spring and large sweaters during the winters. His heart skipped a beat when he saw you in a two-piece for the first time on a day off.

But this certain piece of attire made him want to take a dive into the coldest water on the planet. He’d always thought you were beautiful, not even the baggy flight suits couldn’t conceal how pretty you were to him.

You noticed his eyes on you for most of the afternoon, even while he played football in the water with the other guys you could feel his glare. It was never unwanted or made you feel uncomfortable, you rather liked when the cocky aviator looked at you. You weren’t sure why he was looking at you so much today, your hair was up and out of your face, and sunscreen was slathered on your skin. You didn’t look special.

After a while, Jake’s shadow loomed over you, the words of your book becoming harder to read. With a frown, you glanced upward at the source. Your thighs closed instinctively as Jake’s toned chest shone in the light, the lucky water droplets sliding down his skin. God, he looked good in the dark green board shorts that hung low on his hips, the beautiful v shape tempted you to your core. “Bagman,” you greeted.

“Of all the things to do at a pool party and you choose to read, princess?” he quipped.

You sat up and placed your closed book at the foot of the plastic pool chair. “You should try it sometime. Enrich that pea brain of yours.”

Jake chuckled, unphased by your jab at his strong ego. “You’re funny,” he laughed sarcastically and watched as you put your book in your bag and stood up from the chair. His eyes followed your frame as you walked towards the edge of the pool. Fuck he swore your hips were swaying more than normal just to taunt him. The curve of your ass already doing a wonderful job at plaguing his mind with filthy thoughts.

He turned and saw you nonchalantly pat the spot next to you, your eyes focused on the small blossoms falling from Penny’s tree. Jake took the hint and sat next to you, his knee brushing against yours as they gently swayed back and forth in the water. “I’ll never understand you, Hangman,” you sighed, leaning back on the palm of your hands.

His eyes darted away, trying not to stare at your chest. “How so?” he snickered.

“Pretty girls swarm you all the time and yet you choose to stare at me all day.”

His cheeks turned red as roses in an instant. “You noticed.”

“Mhm,” you hummed in acknowledgment, looking over at him. “Was it the pasty sunscreen? The book, the hot pink beach towel?”

Jake shook his head and slid off the edge and into the pool. He shivered at the cold water and turned to face you, his arm outstretched for you. Rolling your eyes, you joined him in the water and let his hands fall to your hips. His strong hands brought you closer until his lips were dangerously close to your ear. “The swimsuit,” he growled.

You bit back a chuckle. “Of all the things I could wear, a one-piece gets you all hot and bothered for me?” you whispered back. His fingertips brushed along your lower back, two of his fingers trailed along your skin while the others felt the material he was so obsessed with.

“How have no idea what you do to me every day, baby, but today,” he all but moaned in your ear, his eyes looking down at the exposed valley of your breasts, “you chose that and I swear to God it’s the hottest thing you’ve ever worn.”

“Jake,” you whimpered, the magnetic force of his words drawing you in closer to his chest, your forehead pressed to his collarbone. You swore you could hear his heartbeat pound against his ribcage from being so close. You eventually pulled back and lifted your chin to meet his cocky smirk. “Looks like you need a cold shower there, Seresin,” you told him, regaining your confidence.

“You could use one too,” he retorted.

You looked towards the patio door, the reflection of you and Jake standing in each other's embrace glaring back at you. “We could go take one together,” you offered, slipping out of his arms and making your way to the steps. Jake let you get out first and started to casually follow after you walked inside Penny’s house.

He entered the kitchen and wrapped his arms around your waist, his lips connecting with the side of your neck. He placed scathing kisses on your skin while his strong hands gripped the outer layer of black material that covered your stomach. “Keep this on,” he growled.

#jake seresin #jake seresin x reader #jake seresin x you #jake hangman seresin x reader #hangman x reader #jake seresin imagine #top gun #top gun maverick #glen powell

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vinvantae · 11 months

Text

Unmasked

Part 6/16

<<< previous part

Word count - 2.5k

Warnings - alcohol usage

******

Yourusername added to their story

As the end of the year rolled around, Charles had to practically pry you out of Pascale’s arms to get you out of the Leclerc home. You couldn’t help but still feel guilty about the fact you’d been lying to her that you and Charles weren’t really anything - even though the definition of your relationship was becoming unclearer by the day. But Pascale had made you feel more at home than your own Father had in years, so saying goodbye was much harder than you anticipated.

But in the back of your mind, you knew you needed to talk to the team about you and Charles. But you weren’t sure how they’d react to the fact the fake relationship they’d made had started to shift into something real.

They had booked you both a flight - the day after New Years, you were heading out to Bali for the final stage of the winter break itinerary. You and Charles would be posting simultaneous stories and posts of you both on holiday but still in the ‘soft launch’ format. They had seemingly forgotten that January was the wettest month of the year but that would have to be something you figured out when you got there.

Because first it was your last outing in 2021. Pierre was throwing an all out New Year’s Eve bash and as Charles’ girlfriend, the invitation had been extended your way. You were a little cautious at first, knowing that this gathering would be larger than the last and would have more people from the F1 world, but your teammate assured you there was nothing to worry about.

You’d treated yourself to a new dress for the occasion, again - something you wouldn’t look too overdressed in besides Charles, but something that would make you feel and look good. Some part of you thought it would be risky wearing red, thinking people might think it was a clue, but with your ‘boyfriend’ being a Ferrari driver, surely it would be fine. Just a simple nod to your relationship.

But you couldn’t help but feel cautious - every time you stepped outside at Charles' side, your outfits were picked apart and critiqued by those who continued to hate you - despite being successful in your own right, in their eyes, you had used Charles to further your career. Which was bizarre considering your position hadn’t changed since you became ‘admin’. In fact, it surprised you that more people weren’t suspicious by your lack of career progress in general.

“Do I look overdressed?” You asked, as you slid your foot into one of your shoes.

Your teammate's eyes flickered up from his phone and he felt his breath catch in his throat. The dress flattered you in the perfect way, highlighting all of your best features. “You… you look beautiful.”

He relished the way your cheeks flushed, he crossed the room and knelt in front of you to do up the straps of your shoes. “But is it too much, Charles?”

“No, no. All the girls will be dressed up too. Pierre’s bashes are an excuse to go all out.” The Monaco driver stood up, holding his hands out for you to take. You smiled softly and laced your fingers with his, giggling a little as he pulled you close. “Besides, it means I get to kiss the prettiest girl at the party when the clock strikes midnight.”

“Mhmm, I’ll keep an eye out for her.” You teased, pulling him closer so you could press your lips to his in a chaste kiss before he could protest your self-critique. “Now, let’s go. We don’t want to be the last people to show up.”

Charles eagerly followed you like a lost puppy down to the car - wanting nothing more right now than to skip the party and just stay in with you. But Pierre would kill him for skipping, he had been planning this party for what felt like the entire year at this point. And he was convinced that the Frenchman wanted to spend more time around you, despite your ‘relationship’ with his childhood friend. And he knew Lewis was going to be around, another man whose eyes always seemed to linger a little too long for his liking.

“Wow, Pierre really knows how to throw a bash.” You whistled lowly as the driver pulled up outside the venue. The music was already thumping inside and there was a steady stream of invited party-goers being let inside whilst others were being turned away. “Ready?”

Charles nodded and climbed out of the car, offering his hand to you so you could climb out easier in your heeled shoes. His hand stayed wrapped around yours as you crossed the pavement - security letting you in without a moment of hesitation, a glass of champagne put in your free hand as soon as you crossed the threshold.

“We should find Pierre and say hi.” Your teammate leant in close to yell into your ear.

“Lead the way.” You smiled, your heart fluttering as he pulled you closer so as not to lose you in the crowds.

The two of you somehow weaved through everyone without Charles getting caught up in conversation - swiftly making your way over to the large table that Pierre had taken up with trays and trays of alcohol. The French driver’s smile grew bigger when he saw you and Charles approach, stepping over to pull you both into a hug. You could smell the alcohol on him as his embrace lasted a little too long, pressing a kiss to each of your cheeks.

“Alright, mate, that’s enough.” Charles laughed, extracting you from his childhood friend’s arms. “This one is taken.”

Pierre waved him off, daring to take one more glance at you - the blue of his eyes barely visible from his drunken pupils. “Shots?”

Your eyes scanned the room for a moment whilst Charles tried to deny his friend’s request to see who else was there. Lewis tipped his glass towards you as you locked eyes and you gave him a shy wave in return. It looked like a lot of the grid had actually made the effort to come out but you couldn’t help but feel Max’s eyes burning into you from where he stood with Daniel. “Does Max not like me anymore?”

The Monegasque frowned and looked over his shoulder at the Redbull driver, who simply raised his drink in silent cheers to his rival. “Why would you think that?”

“…just don’t get good vibes from him these days. I don’t think he trusts me.” You admitted, letting Charles pull you closer to you. “Surely he can’t know, right?”

“But it’s not fake-“

You raised a brow, and he pressed his mouth into a line. It wasn’t the relationship, it was who you were - and you were worried Max has become suspicious of you. There’s no way. He thought. How would he even make that connection? Charles simply shook his head a little and pressed a gentle kiss to your temple.

Max just knew something was up. Ever since the articles came out about a woman under 30 being Thirty, you shot to the top of his list and the timing of your relationship with Charles was just so suspicious. They probably thought no one would suspect a driver’s girlfriend would be Thirty but since you ‘lost your seat’ in F2, the general public for the most part barely remembered your previous racing career.

“You’re staring.” Daniel spoke up from beside the Dutchman, nudging him gently - drawing Max’s gaze away from you. “What is your deal with her?”

“…you’ll think I’m crazy.” Max grimaced, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly.

This only intrigued Daniel more. “Hit me with it.”

Max looked around to make sure no one else was about to hear his admission, as positive as he was about it - it did sound bonkers to anyone who hadn’t even considered it. “I think y/n is Thirty.”

The Australian blinked at his friend a few times as he processed what he said before bursting into laughter. “No, seriously, you fancy her or something? The childhood sweetheart who got away?”

The younger driver groaned and shook his head. He knew Daniel wouldn’t believe him, he didn’t know you like Max had. Instead of trying to convince his former teammate of his theory, he simply changed the conversation. You hadn’t missed the way both drivers had looked over at you but you pretended to ignore it - making sure as many photos were taken of you and Charles together as possible.

As the evening drew on, you found yourself sandwiched between your ‘boyfriend’ and Max - not sure how or why by Pierre had insisted on pulling you all to the same booth for a drink and no one had moved since. Charles arm draped lazily over your shoulder, fingers tapping against your skin to the music.

“So.” Max chirped, you winced a little before lifting your eyes from your glass to meet his gaze. “How do you like working for Ferrari?”

He watched as you visibly relaxed at his question, clearly expecting something else. “Yeah. It’s good. I still get to travel the world with the sport I love - it’s not what I wanted but y’know is what it is… I’ve been part of the team a long time now, so I’m content.”

“Yeah, disappointing they’ve not given you any kind of promotion considering your loyalty.” He hummed, swirling his beer. “What’s it been, 8 years this year?”

You nodded. “Is what it is, as I said. I’m content.”

The two of you held eye contact for a little too long - almost as if he was challenging you to give your identity away but instead you turned your attention to Charles, your teammate pulling you closer to his side. Max let out a quiet huff and threw back some of his beer. You’d known each other since you were kids, he knew you’d have an NDA but part of him wished you still trusted him enough to tell him.

But when you left F2, the friendship sizzled out - your forced proximity when you raced together made you friends and the distance after split you apart. You just weren’t the same girl he grew up with anymore. He wasn’t sure if it was Thirty that did it to you but you were a shell of the boisterous, courageous person he remembered growing up. That’s why he wanted you to be Thirty; so he could convince you to take off the mask and maybe the old you could come back.

“Excuse me.” Max left the table, his beer only half drunk - seemingly abandoned in disappointment.

Your jaw clenched a little as you fought back the urge to chase after him, convincing him that you weren’t Thirty, you just couldn't be. But at this point you were sure there was no way back.

Max had figured you out.

****

***

You woke up the next morning with an absolute cracker of a headache, thanking the heavens above that your flight wasn’t until tomorrow. Last night very quickly became a blur after your interaction with Max - opting to drink away the fear instead of trying to change his mind. You knew that was a lost cause, so instead you’d focus your intentions on Charles, on whatever the two of you were. Not wanting to let yourself drown in the possibility of Max outing you as Thirty.

The sun creeped through the gap in the curtain, crawling across the sheets that had long been discarded to the lower part of the bed in the heat of the night. Whilst you and Charles had stayed fairly PG with your relationship until that point - you’d found yourself tumbling into bed with him after the party, clothes thrown haphazardly across the room but it seemed you both fell asleep before anything really happened.

That didn’t stop you from studying Charles’ sleeping body beside you, the sheets pushed down to his hips, a toned leg sticking out the side. He was truly beautiful, especially when he was peaceful like this - not a care in the world carving a frown into his features. You cautiously reached out and cupped his jaw in your hand, brushing your thumb across his soft skin. He lent into your touch, his eyelashes fluttering for a moment before you were met by his soft green gaze.

Your heart skipped a beat as his lips curved into a pretty smile, one just for you. “Morning… some night, last night, huh?”

“You could say that.” You hummed. “When you said you were going to kiss me at midnight? I wasn’t expecting you to put on such a show.”

The one part of the night you could remember cleared than any other, was as everyone counted down as the clock struck and the way your teammate had dipped you in the last few moments, before pressing a deep kiss to your lips as everyone screamed out Happy New Year. You couldn’t help but smile into his lips, wrapping your arms around his neck.

“Wanted to show off the fact that the most beautiful girl in the place was with me.” He chuckled, sitting up - pressing a chaste kiss to your lips. “Got the best sight to wake up to as well, I see.”

Your cheeks flushed dark as his eyes flickered across your bare chest for a moment before meeting your eyes. “I remember getting naked and then both of us just passed out.”

He laughed. “Me too, I’d like to remember being intimate with you… so I’m glad we didn’t yet.”

Intimate. Yet. It probably didn’t seem like much but the choice of words couldn’t help make you think that he was thinking of a future with you. He hadn’t been crude about it, and he wanted to remember it. You watched as he slipped out of bed, allowing yourself the simple joy of studying his full figure as he moved around the room to collect his outfit for the day, folding your dress up and putting it on the chair before handing you one of his t-shirts.

“I’ll make us some breakfast, come join when you’re ready.” Your teammate smiled sweetly, pressing another kiss to your lips. “No rush.”

It was so domestic and so easy. That scared you. You were scared that it was a repeat of your childhood friendships and the only reason he was into you was the forced proximity. That if given the chance he’d realise that you weren’t what he wanted and he could get any girl.

And it didn’t help that a lot of the internet seemed to feel the same way. At least what you saw.

You could only hope that despite the relationship getting off to a false start - that the two of you would stay on track and maybe after your talk with the team, you could really focus on you and Charles and not the ever darkening cloud of your exposure, threatening to break any day now.

*****************************************

Next part >>>

Sorry for the delay and the shorter nature of this chapter! I had a plan in my head for each chapter but then I realised I wanted to add other things so scrapped what I had and started again 😬 hope it was worth the wait!

Thank you all for the support ❤️

Want to be updated when I post? Join our discord and then head to #reaction-roles and add yourself to my tags ❤️

#unmasked fic #f1 fic #f1 x reader #f1 x you #f1 #formula one #x reader #charles leclerc x reader #Charles leclerc x you #leclerc x reader

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smuttycentre · 3 months

Text

EXTRA CREDIT

M/n: Male Reader

Word Count: 1,604

Summary: Your hot teacher that you’ve been dreaming about all day asks you to stay behind. He has to give you a private lesson to catch you up from daydreaming.

Warnings: gay sex, teacher kink, cum in ass in condom, cum in mouth, swallow

GIF not mine

Author note: This is my first one-shot. Feel free to give critiques and enjoy.

You look at the clock. Only 10 more minutes until the end of the day and you can go home and have a wank over Mr. Saltzman. He was particularly sexy today, wearing tight trousers where you have been staring at the outline of his crotch all day. His shirt was tight and you could see his muscles pumping out and looking so strong.

All of a sudden you were snapped out of your trance and feeling the eyes of the class on you. You are called on to answer a question but you wasn’t listening. Mr. Saltzman knew this and was looking at you with a half-smile on his face. It made you mad that he picked on you but at the same time you wanted to rip his clothes off to punish him.

“See me after class m/n” Mr. Saltzman said showing you his dreamy eyes for a second longer before returning to teacher.

The bell rang a few minutes later and everyone scurried out the room with their books. You looked around awkwardly waiting for everyone to leave. Mr. Saltzman was sitting at his desk marking some paper.

Once the classroom was empty, you got up out of your desk and went over to your teachers desk. “You wanted to see me” you ask.

He looks up and his face gave the half smile he gave before. “Ah yes m/n. Daydreaming in my class again. This isn’t the first time.”

His tone of voice was somewhat stern and deep, as much as it turned you on, you felt intimidated. You stuttered over your words as you tried to apologise.

“I don’t want to hear it.” Mr. Saltzman said firmly. “We will have to do something about this.”

He then got up out of his desk and walked to the classroom door. He turned the lock and pulled down the blind. There was no longer any windows looking out, and none looking in.

“Mr. Saltzman?” You said shakely not knowing what was about to happen.

He turned towards you from the door and his face looked even more perfect than before. His tan was radiant and showcasing his stubble and jawline. You start to sweat a little.

“Please, call me Ric” he said with his deep seductive voice. “We’re going to have to find a way to get your grades up. If you’re not paying attesting in class, I suppose I will have to give you private lessons”

He walks over to one of the desks in the classroom and sits on it facing you. He lifts his hand and gestures you towards him. You don’t even have to think about it, it is as if impulse has taken over and you are already right in front of him.

You feel frozen. Waiting for him to do something. He leans forward so you can feel his breath and he whispers “Kiss me”.

You look at him. You look into his eyes as if to ask them if they were lying. You think to yourself “am I dreaming” but before you know it you are leaning in, slowly, and then your lips touch.

His smooth lips, as if from instinct of touching yours started moving, taking control. You feel every muscle relax and you trust him completely.

Neither of you have come out for air but you just keep kissing and moving around trying to explore each other as if you each had a secret you wanted to find out.

You finally gave in an backed away for air. This didn’t last long as Ric followed your movement and won the battle. His tongue entered you and you felt your heart skip. Ric was exploring your everywhere with his tongue and you liked it.

After what seemed to be a lifetime you grabbed the back of his neck and you forced his face into yours. This took Ric by surprise and with that you took dominance and started to explore his mouth with your tongue. Ric smiled at this. He liked it.

Not wanting to let go Ric pulled away. “Wow, you’re really working towards that A” He smiled and started to take off his shirt. You gave him one last kiss before he took the shirt off which covered his face a second. This was too long for you so you started to make up for it.

You kissed his lips, moved down to his chin and then around to his neck. You stayed here for a few kisses whilst also smelling him. You don’t want to forget his manly cologne. Ric couldn’t do anything but allow you to smother him with kisses. He guided you with his hand on your head.

You pushed him back so he was laying flat on the desk as you smother him lower and lower. You got to his left nipple and started kissing it softly. You then began to lick it and turning your head so you could see Rick’s face as you pleasured him.

You then moved onto his right nipple and began to suck it. This was what you have been dreaming of. You then move down his hairy body and got to his stomach. You start rubbing his body while he started to unbutton his trousers.

He was taking too long so you slithered your way back up to his face and met with his lips again. This time it was more familiar, more passionate. You took off your own shirt and shoes whilst doing this.

By the time you were done Ric’s trousers were undone and down towards his legs. You walked round the table and stood by his feet. You ripped his trousers so that all remained on your teachers body was his socks and his black underwear.

You slowly drift your hands from his legs to hips. You look deep into his eyes and his into yours. “I want you” you said.

“Go on then, show me how you study” Alaric said with his smile. You move your hands to his underwear as your head gets closer. You can see even more clearly the shape of his dick.

Without wasting more time you slid his underwear’s down to reveal his 6 inch cock. It was already so hard and pointing straight up. It wanted you. You wanted it. You slowly took his entire dick in your mouth.

You swirled your tongue around and started to suck him off. You could hear his moans. Moans for you. While sucking you started to move your hand back up to his nipples and started to twist them. Alaric yelled even louder so much so your instinct was to put your lips on top of his to shush him. You didn’t want anyone in the school hearing him.

After a second of Ric looking at you lustfully, you resumed the blowjob and twisting of the nipples. Knowing that Alaric was so turned on and pleased was pleasing you.

After a while, Alaric lifted your head to his. He kissed you and got up off the desk. “You might want to take your bottom half off for this next task.” He walked over to his teachers desk and went into the bottom drawer. He pulled out a condom packet.

You saw this and eagerly got fully undressed. Your dick fully elevated pointing straight towards Alaric. He looked at you in the eyes as he tore the packet with his teeth. “Who wants it?” He said with the open packet between his fingers.

“Well, I guess since you’re the teacher, you have to show ME how it’s done” you said. He smiled yet again and said “Alright”

He took the condom out of the packet and put it on his penis. He then came back to you and sat on the desk and laid down.

“Come on then. Simple question: Where does the penis go?” You smiled and him and started to climb onto the desk.

You faced towards him as you slowly lowered yourself into his member. You stared at him as you felt him inside you. The pain turned you on so much that you started bouncing up and down instantly. You lowered towards his face and kissed his whilst both moaning from pain and pleasure all at the same time.

His dick felt so good inside you. The constant thrashing against your insides made you moan and grab onto his pecs. He enjoyed this and held onto your waist and back.

Up and down. “Fuck yes m/n” as he grabs on tighter and and holds you down whilst he cums inside your ass. Although he has a condom on you can feel every thrust his penis makes as it ejaculates the cum inside you.

You get off him and he looks like he’s got some news. “Lesson one is almost complete. I just need to see what you learnt from today.”

You’re confused as he gets off the desk and starts to kneel right in front of your dick. He looks at you and then looks at your dick and says “Show me what you’ve learnt”

You smile and laugh a little as you agree. You shove his head into your penis and he starts blowing you. It’s so wet and warm and you start to feel your penis erupt. You then shoot five loads into the back of Mr. Saltzman’s throat. His eyes are looking at you as he sucks you a little more before swallowing your entire load.

He gets up and holds your chin. He give you one final kiss and says “Good lesson today. Same time next week?”

#male reader #male!reader #gay smut #male reader smut #male!reader smut #the vampire diaries #the vampire diaries x male reader #the vampire diaries x male!reader #Alaric Saltzman x male reader #Alaric Saltzman x male!reader

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bettsfic · 3 months

Note

The cost of dreams

I decided a while ago that I would pursue publishing. But with constant critiques of my process and myself as a writer I feel like I’ve run my well dry. I no longer feel like I have a story to tell or that when I do come across something, I no longer feel that I’m good enough to tell that story. I have come to a point where I don’t write at all now.

I naturally have high standards for myself and as I worked to improve my craft and began to follow new authors who have gotten deals or have been agented, I’ve begun to feel like I’m not good enough. Like I’ll never get my work to be as good as my faves or that I’m too slow in my writing process, that’s why I’m not querying yet. Just spirals of thoughts that shoot at one’s confidence.

I felt like I was doing everything that a person who wants to be a professional writer should do. Have a set writing routine(write every week or have set word count goals every month), outline(not that there aren’t professional writers who are amazing pantsers but this was what I felt like I needed to do), and constantly pick at your story until it’s “perfect”.

I’m constantly worrying about what is my most authentic work, if all my work needs to have a big meeting, whether I should write contemporary, because a” good writer” can write in all genres.

I should just be able to handle the pressure and keep pushing. Writing isn’t always fun and if it’s my dream maybe there just need to be some sacrifices. Idk, maybe I’m just rambling.

I really don’t know what to do.

there are only two choices: you write, or you don't. if there's something you love as much as writing (not something you might love or have to search for, but some skill or occupation you enjoy just as much and gives you as much fulfillment), then go do that thing. you'll be able to write at the same time. maybe not as much, but you'll figure it out. if there's not, then the choice is made for you. you keep going, and all you can do is try not to look too far ahead. just look at the words as they arrive on the page and try to forget the big picture.

also, i don't know very many writers who publish in multiple genres. i don't even know very many writers who create narrators who aren't just self-inserts. most writers just write the same thing over and over again and package it in different ways. and if people like it, they keep selling it. remember that when you publish, you're creating a product to be sold. publication is a small thing that seems bigger than it is; the work is always what's important. finding joy in the craft is what's important. if you've lost that, your job is only to find it again. it can be your sole occupation, what you devote every second of your life to. there are few things greater than the pursuit of self-joy.

i'm sorry you're feeling this way though. i feel the same thing about 50% of the time, sometimes for months on end and sometimes just briefly. all the writers you're seeing with all their successes feel it too. i used to think there were a lot of things i could do with my life, and that if i put my mind to it, i could do anything. but the truth is that i can be okay at a lot of things that make me feel mildly accomplished, or i can try to be exceptional at one and find meaning in it.

but if none of this tracks, go read the books you're seeing deals for. read the book you're most envious of and see how bad it is. maybe not objectively, i mean it's probably decent, but i guarantee it will be flawed. or boring. or poorly written. or it may make you go, "how did this get published?" or, "i could do this better." most of this feeling you're having is fear that you're not good enough, and the way to face that fear is to read stuff that sucks. one of two things will happen: you'll feel better about yourself, or you'll find a book good enough to teach you something new. as your writing improves, as you acquire more accolades, the former becomes far greater than the latter, until one day you're dying to read writing that kicks your ass.

#writing advice

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evsstolenhearts · 3 months

Note

Would you pls write a fanfic that's a male! reader x Spencer. It can be drama, fluff, anything u name it! I'm so starved for any male reader content when it comes to Spence, aka the love of my life, lol.

Thank you so so much!! Ur writing is amazing 🥰

Summary: after a case, Spencer comes back to your apartment to watch Studio Ghibli movies with you

Spencer Reid x masc!BAU!reader | 1.3k words | no y/n |

Warnings: none? I think?

A/n: I'm still practicing how to writing masc!readers, so this may not be the best in the world, since in so used to writing gn, so feel free to give critique! Also, thx to @no-see-um-incorrect bc he came up with the movie idea!!!!

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆

Getting off the jet after a long case always feels weird. Like you just woke up from a very long dream.

Your muscles are stiff as you stand up from the seats on the jet. Grabbing your things, you follow everyone out of the jet, feet hitting stable ground for the first time in hours. The sun set hours ago, close to seven pm, making the weather feel freezing.

While slightly zoning out, a very familiar hand places itself on your shoulder. Looking up gives you a clear view of BAU's pretty boy, Spencer Reid. Also, your stunning boyfriend.

"Are you going to your own apartment tonight?" Spencer speaks just low enough to keep the conversation between the two of you.

"I think so; my own bed sounds really nice right now." You pause for a moment, considering the idea of staying at Spencer's apartment, in his bed, with him, surrounded by the books he really needs to organize. "Unless, you want me to stay with you?"

Spencer takes his hand off your shoulder, in favor of holding the strap of his leather bag, with the other hand holding his go-bag. "I was actually wondering if I could stay at your apartment. Due to how late it was, and the extended length of the case, Hotch will give us the day of tomorrow."

"Oh, of course you can." You smile, your hand gripping the strap of your bag slightly tighter, similarly to the way your heart feels like it's being squeezed from the thought of Spencer actually wanting to spend the night. Sacrificing the idea of his own bed, for yours.

Both you and Spencer walk the rest of the way to your desks in a comfortable silence, grabbing any papers you need now, and skimming what will be left for when you come back.

"Hey Spence?" Your voice is soft due to the quiet atmosphere of the building.

He looks up from where he was organizing papers on his desk, his hair slightly falling in his eyes as he gives you his full attention. "Yes?" His tone matches yours.

"Is there, like, a specific reason you wanted to come over tonight?" You cringe slightly as you say it, concerned that you sound like you don't want him to come over, but he answers before you can try and elaborate.

"Do I need a reason to stay at my boyfriend's house?" He stands up straight, finishing looking through the papers he needs.

"No, I didn't mean it like that!" You quickly try to explain, "I meant, like, you had the chance to go to your apartment and sleep in your bed, and I would assume that would be more comfortable for you. So I was just wondering why specifically you asked to stay at my place tonight." You are slightly out of breath from talking so fast.

A small blush overtakes Spencer's face as he explains. "Well, you had mentioned those movies you wanted me to see one day. And it's rare that we get a day off, even weekends that are uninterrupted. So, I thought we could watch them tonight, if you wanted to." He looks away, not making eye contact. Despite being a genius profiler, unless it's poker, he's never been one to keep a straight face.

Something in you warms as you think back to a month ago, when you offhandedly mentioned you would like to watch some Studio Ghibli movies with him, but understood if it wasn't his thing. A part of you assumed he would brush it off, too many cases, too many things to do, and too little time.

"You could have said that, Spence." You walk up to him, linking his hand not holding his go-bag in yours, and slightly tugging him to follow you to the elevators. "If you do want to get a start on them tonight, we better hurry."

Spencer returns your smile as he follows you. If the team was here to witness this, Emily would say he's like a pathetic puppy. But luckily, it seems you two are the only ones left.

Getting down to the garage, your hold on his hand is only broken, so you can get in the driver's seat of your car, knowing Spencer isn't a fan of driving. The drive to your apartment is calm, considering the grousme case you had experienced not less than twelve hours ago. And once you get to your apartment, you two drop off your bags at the entrance. You send Spencer off to change, while you set up your bedroom.

Grabbing one of the Studio Ghibli movies you want to watch with Spencer and grabbing snacks. Putting the DVD in just as Spencer comes back. Dressed in gray flannel pajama pants, and a t-shirt while a science pun that you bought him a few months ago. And despite how casual it is, you can only note how absolutely yummy he looks. But before you can get too lost in thought, Spencer breaks you out of it.

"Which movie did you decide on?" He asks as he sits on your bed.

You blink for a second before responding, "Um, I ended up with *Kiki's Delivery Service*. I wasn't sure which one you would like more, but I really like this one, so I thought you might like it as well."

Spencer smiles at you, like you are not only the most beautiful thing in the world, but also the most fascinating. "I'm sure I'll like anything you put on." He pauses as he looks at you, still in the clothes you were in on the jet. "Are you planning on changing?"

"Oh, yes, sorry." You quickly get up and grab some pajama pants and a hoodie before walking into the restroom. Technically, you could change in the bedroom with Spencer there, but in the past, he's seemed a little sheepish about it, so you two usually change separately.

When you come back out, you discard your work clothes in the laundry basket and sit down next to Spencer, grabbing the remote to start the movie. Both of you silently position yourselves in bed, as if second nature, while the movie starts.

By the halfway point of the movie, all the missed sleep from the past week starts to catch up with you, resting your head on Spencer's shoulder as you try to keep yourself awake. But he quickly catches on to how you feel.

"Are you tired, sweetheart?" His voice is soft, as if he's trying to aid in lulling you to sleep.

"No, m'not." You mumble, extremely unconvincing.

"You probably should get some sleep; the average adult should get between seven and nine hours of sleep. The minimum is approximately four and a half hours of sleep for cognitive brain function, and I doubt you have gotten nearly enough of those hours during the case." His voice stays steady while spewing facts, as if it's nothing at all. And to him, it probably is.

"You probably didn't get that much sleep either."

He chuckles, "I probably didn't, no, but I slept in the jet, from what I know, you didn't."

You let out a noise of conformation, not moving from where you rest.

Spencer glances down at you, "if you fall asleep, I suggest taking off your hoodie, you will sleep better in cooler temperatures, and the hoodie will keep your body heat too warm to reach those temperatures."

A lazy smirk overcomes your features, "If you wanted me to be shirtless, pretty boy, you could have just said that." You laugh a little at your own joke.

"Very funny," Despite trying to keep his composure, the corner of his lips twitch up, "seriously, the moving can wait. You should sleep."

You grumble, but sit up to take off your hoodie and throw it on the ground before going back to where you rested again, Spencer, somehow, feeling even more tired. Dozing off to the sound of Kiki's voice and Spencer's steady breath.

#spencer reid fanfic #dr spencer reid #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x male reader #spencer reid x masc reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid oneshot #spencer reid one shot #spencer reid scenario #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds fluff #criminal minds fic #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds

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jccatstudios · 5 months

Note

I have been following your soc comic adaptation and it just so good!!! I love how you draw them!

I have just one question: Why did you not include Inej's opening musings about Kaz on the first page? (Kaz Brekker didn't need a reason etc) I actually really like how there is not text on the first two pages, it's really atmospheric and moody so this really is not a criticism, I don't want to insult you. I guess I was just wondering what the thought process behind that was?

Oh, I've been wanting to talk about this for a while! Buckle up, this is gonna be one of my long comic rants. (Also, no offense taken at all! Anyone's welcome to question my artistic choices and I'm always happy to take critique, even though that isn't your intention.)

So, the thing is I actually planned on including that first paragraph into the comic! Here's when I first shared the thumbnails on here. Just for the sake of this post, I'll insert them here too.

The boxes are meant to be where excerpts of that introduction would go. When I was creating the thumbnails, I was thinking about how iconic these lines were and how well they introduce the world and characters. I even finished the pages with the intention to include those lines. This is from my original csp file.

When I lettered it all out, I felt like something wasn't right...? Hard to explain. I wanted silence for the opening and the narration took that away. I then thought about the reader who'd go into this without reading the novel first, wondering if they'd be thinking, Who's this Kaz Brekker guy? Is it this character on the page? It's clearer in the book, but I didn't think it paired well with what I drew. I didn't want any confusion. It's also Inej's chapter, and while Kaz's parts take up most of it, I still wanted it to feel like her POV and her story. We can hold off officially meeting Kaz until page four.

But the main reason I took it out comes down to my philosophy when it comes to comic adaptations. I believe that an adaptation should use the original story in the best way for the secondary medium. A comic adaptation should play to the strength of comics, not the original source material.

Time and time again, I see a lot of comic adaptations of books try to use a book's strength instead of a comic's. When that happens, you get pages upon pages of narration boxes and exposition that could've easily been told in a single panel's image. If you want to read excerpts from the original novel, go do that! They're beautiful and well-crafted and you should be reading the original anyway! If you're making a comic adaptation, make a comic, not an illustrated version of the novel (that's a whole field of its own).

This whole thing really ties well into what I'm doing for Chapter 3. Kaz is such an internal character, his chapters have a lot more exposition that isn't setting description or character actions. I've had to do a lot more of my own writing for this chapter than the last just to turn that exposition into his own voice as an internal monologue. Sometimes, it's just a change from "he" to "I," but there are other times I've had to write new dialogue and find ways to naturally flow between thoughts. If I didn't do the work to adapt the expository text and instead just put in narration boxes of text from the book, there would be a greater disconnect between the reader and Kaz. Third-person limited works great in books and doesn't separate the readers from the story, but in comics, first-person internal dialogue keeps the readers inside the scene better.

If I were to redo Chapter 2, I think I would try to find a way to incorporate the information from the chapter intro better. I think by losing the intro I initially planned to include, I didn't establish certain ideas very well. Ketterdam and Kerch are established later on pages 4 and 5, but I don't think I ever go back and mention The Barrel. Also, the idea that Kaz is deliberate, even if his reputation says otherwise, is important too. I've made sure to fix this kind of issue in Chapter 3 and keep record of what kind of information I'm losing as I adapt it.

#comic rant over!#thanks for the ask I really love talking about this stuff #soc comic adaptation #asks #comics talk

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zetomato · 2 months

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Brand New One (rant)

I need to understand something so I really want people to answer and tell me because I know my viewpoint on the QSMP cannot physically be perfect and whole.

I haven’t watched any POV in a few days (Due to being sick af, lel) but I’m hearing more and more confusing things coming from this fandom. I’ll point out some of them and hope people will explain more points of view to clear up the extremely confusing situations. (While tagging this neg because I don't want this on main for peeps trying to chill)

Ok so we can all agree that it’s impossible to watch everyone’s POV. Just taking the more active streamers gives you over 9h/day to watch, taking into account that they often are live at the same time and you get already more than anyone should watch their screens in a day (I say that as a Graphic Designer, I keep watching screens, that’s my job). Add everyone else and you got easily over 20h/day. So yeah, for viewers, that’s intense. So it’s even more impossible for streamers since, well, they have to plan their streams and… stream.

Good.

So why are people mad at Philza for not knowing Tubbo lore that happened while he wasn’t on the server, some even when he was streaming something else? I know that there’s always that weird moment when something happens for the character you main and then you switch POV and the information doesn’t line up, but why is it expected? Getting super into a storyline is incredible, it’s nice, it’s saying how immersive someone’s RP and storytelling is, how much it resonates with you. But this is live RP, not a script. People will read tones wrong, mishear/misunderstand, make mistakes, talk at the wrong time, mess with friends, have the wrong timing. A bunch of weird stuff will happen.

None of them are doing this out of spite, hell, they are making a point to make sure everyone is included and supported and they have ways to talk to each other when there’s a problem. The ones I know of who do chat with others/in other’s chat are Phil, Tubbo, Cellbit and Etoiles. (there are way more, those are the ones I saw do it/heard say it)

Then there’s the question of doing a critique of the CC’s under the guise of “Oh it’s about the character!”

Yes, QSMP and RP servers in generals bring you HARD into a story to the point sometimes things are hard to differentiate. I’ve reread books and got confused about something before I realized that they were headcanon things I grabbed from fanfics and not canon book events. But some of y’all need to step back. I saw people doing critiques of someone’s laugh or gesture or playstyle under the “Q!” excuse. These are real people, y’all. A CC not reading the room, Tubbo talking loudly over Bagi because he didn’t notice the situation and adjusting when told, Philza not immediately getting that Tubbo’s death was his canon last one and then adjusting to follow the mood. There’s been dozens of those situations since the start of the server, there will be a dozen more.

The players can deal with those situations themselves, they are adults, but I’ve seen some people on here getting weird information and spreading even weirder gossip about a character being mean/rude/an ass when they’re sharing friendly banter or just, not immediately getting a joke or an important moment.

No, Tubbo was not planning on talking over Bagi, he had a lot to say and didn’t notice everything.

No, Phil was not ignoring Tubbo’s lore, he was unaware this death was canon and did not watch a stream while he was already streaming.

People are people. CCs play Characters and aren’t professional actors with scripts. They chill in each other's chats sometimes.

Can we now play nice and take a chill pill about streamers being mean and heartless?

#qsmp neg #Plz if you have more info tell me #But geez y'all need a chill pill #Tubbo neg #Philza neg #Tho this is neg about the fandom not the players or their characters #They're doing such cool RPs right now and deserve to get praised for it not called monsters goddamnit #Ze rant

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writingescapades · 6 months

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Green Grapes

In hindsight, you should have known this situation was coming. You arrived to the Kamisato estate home after your latest delivery to Mondstat. You announced your arrival to Ayato and Ayaka, even promising a surprise, but you expected the estate to be empty as both leaders would be busy during the day. But upon entering the estate, you were greeted with both Kamisato leaders sitting at the table, awaiting your arrival. You would have been lucky to catch Ayaka who might have chosen to have lunch at the estate, but to see Ayato was odd. Despite the warm greeting both members gave you, you knew something was off with Ayato. You two only really met at night and more often exchanged letters over words as you moved around the world and he stayed in the shadows.

You placed your gift of grapes for the siblings and went to collect a special treat for Thoma. Yet, when you returned, you found only Ayaka. She looked at you with an apologetic shrug and offered to take Thoma’s gift. That very nicely left you alone and responsible for Ayato. You wouldn’t have minded, but you recognized the expression on his face. It was the same face that appeared lately on those rare occasions you two managed to spend time together. Usually you helped him out with his work, or he dropped by and helped you. Such outings compromised as your dates and worked well for the two of you as neither had to work overtime to make up for any break. With two heads, four hands, and four legs the work quickly finished and allowed a moment of peace. Such moments were luxuries, allowing the two of you slip out of your masks and don a more comfortable face as you read books, doodled, laughed, and watched the stars. Sometimes Ayaka and Thoma joined your merriment, making those nights wondrous feelings to return to your memories as you traversed difficult terrains.

Yet lately, Ayaka and Thoma did not join you. It was just Ayato and he more often chose to reside in his thoughts. At first you thought he had a lot of work to do and offered to give him space and more of your time and energy. But he would just stare at you and shake his head. Then you thought something was bothering him, but he did not talk, choosing instead the comfort of your silent presence. You started to watch him when you could, followed his eyes to repeated sights that shook you. He knew you figured out his thoughts, but you chose not to voice them for now. Instead you busied yourself in work, taking more time on travels, hoping each time you returned that his eyes changed focus. But they didn’t. Ayato couldn’t help where his eyes traveled. Couldn’t help the desire that filled in them, and couldn’t help the guilt streak through as they turned to face you.

You both knew this confrontation would happen. It was in both your natures to not drag things out. Which was why you were presently held tight against the Kamisato leader’s torso. His arms wrapped tightly around your hips, not letting you leave. His fingers gripped your skin and his eyes rested in the crook of your neck. You stood against the man, calmly eating grapes, waiting. Ayato was not a man to openly voice his wants. His needs, yes. His requirements, of course. His expectations, naturally. But his inner most wants? The part buried under layers of responsibilities? They were an embarrassment to utter. They were childish and his adult brain would immediately critique them as they softly came out.

“I want to have a child”.

It was a selfish wish, truly. Ayato knew what he was asking of you. Given both your lives, given your current occupations, given his past, and his experiences with the traveller, he knew he was a hypocrite in the moment. A child wasn’t just a desire. It was another responsibility. A sacrifice, usually made by the mother. Of course, there were plenty of people who did not see it that way, but Ayato knew you. He knew where your confidence and independence stemmed from. He knew what his wish might do to it. More importantly, he knew himself. He was not a man whose life made room for such desires.

“Why?” you asked.

Ah, yes. Why. A simple question that hid within it a hundred unspoken fears. Was it because the Kamisato estate demanded an heir? Was it because Ayato wanted an heir, his heir, to takeover? Was it because people were dropping hints? Did he just think enough time had passed in your relationship? Was he a traditionalist? Was it just a passing fancy? Did he just want someone to take care of him in his old age? You knew Ayato would never expect you to suddenly change into a maternal figure. Your upbringing, personality, and responsibilities never warmed you towards such a role. And he had no older family members to prepare him for a paternal role. But in a society of conformity, such fears persist no matter how much you and Ayato supported each other’s goals and dreams.

“I don’t have a practical reason why”.

It was a stupid answer, really. But he couldn’t bring himself to say ‘because he wanted to’. It was a weak justification for the amount of change it would require from everyone. Ayato only wanted to protect his family, yet he could only truly achieve this from their absolute loyalty and diligence to duty. You presence in his life was initially a challenge to his resolve because of how differently you displayed your loyalty and sense of duty, but he never desired to change you. And it soured him to think of raising his child, any child, in a such an environment. His own upbringing made little room for himself. Would he really be okay with passing on the burden for the sake of a whim? Ayato loved his father, was devoted to his memory, but was he thankful?

“You could die any day”.

A jest. Your morbid attempt to lighten his thoughts, using his own words against him. He warned you on the day of your marriage that you might be widowed at any moment. You merely laughed and asked when his life insurance would pay out. That was what he admired the most about you, your ability to breeze through life’s difficulties and endure on glimmers of contentment. But could he do that to you? His own mother struggled. He would only be repeating his history upon his child. No, you would never allow that to happen. That’s where he was so thankful for your difference. He remembered your words when he told you about his parent’s passing. Your father’s dying words were for you to remember you’re, first and foremost, Ayaka’s brother. As long as you two stick together and help one another, I think your parents would be proud of you and think you worthy of the Kamisato name.

“All me a moment of selfishness dear”.

You click your tongue and Ayato smiles into your neck, sensing the amusement in your response. Now it was his turn to use your words to him against you. You only agreed to stay in his life when he exposed his selfish side to you. His name, reputation, and wealth meant nothing. Would he allow it to mean nothing to his child?

“Who’s going to take care of it?”

That was where the true concern lay. If he took care of his child, he would have to step back from his work. He would have to keep himself and his child safe. At any moment his child could be orphaned, killed, or kidnapped. Ayato would have to push his child down the same path he travelled. Yet, if you took care of your child, you business would face setbacks. It was difficult enough to travel around the many nations and lands you did, deal with all sorts of people, and protect your goods. A child in your care could easily get lost or kidnapped. You couldn’t place a child in the care of servants, Thoma, or Ayaka. It would be impertinent and incredibly selfish.

“I suppose we’ll figure it out,” he replied, placing his chin on your shoulder. You began to feed him the grapes. Neither one of you spoke, choosing instead to reside in your thoughts as you two pondering numerous ‘what ifs’ and ‘maybes’. But the mood lightened and Ayato found himself able to let you leave his hold and return to your respective duties, the sweet and sour taste of green grapes lingering throughout the rest of the day.

#genshin #genshin impact #writing #ayato #genshin ayato #ayato x reader #genshin ayato x reader #kamisato ayato #kamisato ayato x reader

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theshelbyclan · 2 years

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Brains

Summary: After finally being accepted into the family for who she is, bookworm Shelby sister faces new challenges after finishing school and they invite her again to be a part of Shelby Company Limited (part 2)

(gif by @thomasshelbyltd) A/N:I remember writing this story, Books, and being so scared to post it, because usually the Shelby sis stories are of her being such a badass and I wanted to try something different. And strangely enough, this became one of my most popular stories. A few of you have requested a part 2, so I’m just going to tag those here: @smcc212 @flysafepapi @clairecrive @playmydrum I’ve been debating how to continue this, but I wanted to keep the focus on John, as well as involving the other brothers. But mainly, I wanted to do justice to the reader character. Let me know what you think of this! Words: 3392 *** Once again, you were sitting at the Shelby kitchen table, doing your homework. Nose buried deep in a few books and hunched over, slowly destroying your back, you were working hard on an essay. This one you were actually extremely proud of: you were comparing six different poems on the war and writing about the emotional effects it had had on the soldiers, even if they did survive the war. Being a Shelby, you knew a lot about it. But, being Y/N, you knew a lot about poetry. So, you were certain this essay was going to be a good one.

“Why do you need five books?” Finn asked. Your twin was sitting next to you, as he often did, and simply watched you work. His question wasn’t a critique or anything like that; he was genuinely curious. Finn Shelby couldn’t read, but he was always intrigued by the fact that you could. “I’m comparing these poems, see?” you showed him, “from three different authors.” “What’s an ‘author’?” “It’s a fancy word for ‘writer’,” you shrugged. He nodded slowly. Aunt Polly entered the kitchen, back from getting the shopping, and with a slight look of disapproval, she gazed at her table, which had absolutely no room left for her groceries. You followed her eyes and immediately apologized. Then you proceeded to collect your books and put them all on the floor. “Thank you,” Aunt Polly said pointedly, but Finn protested with, “How is she supposed to finish her essay now?”

“What’s it to you?” his aunt shot back. “It’s important,” he called out, “She’s doing this whole thing about injured soldiers, like, in the head. And she has five, five, books she’s using, because there’s different auto’s she’s comparing, right?” “Authors,” you whispered, lovingly.

Things had changed ever since that day you came home crying after being bullied and threatened by the boys at your school. At school things were unfortunately still the same, even though those boys never dared touching you again, but you still found yourself alone most of the time and people whispered hurtful things behind your back. At times, it got to you, but now your siblings treated you very differently. John had become very much aware of how his words and jokes affected you, and he’d bettered his ways, as well as warning the others. Now they all tried to take an interest in your studies, even if they didn’t understand it. Finn, your darling twin, tried the hardest, but he’d always been there for you. “Authors,” Finn repeated, and continued, “It’s really important that she finishes this on time, because she’s top of her class, Aunt Pol, didn’t she tell you? And it’s her last year at school, so she wants to make the most of it, isn’t that right, Y/N?” You nodded solemnly. His praise made you feel warm inside, but he was right: you were fourteen now and this would be your last year at school. The lessons weren’t much of a challenge anyway and you often asked for extra work simply to fight the boredom, but still you enjoyed learning immensely. And you had no idea what you would do with yourself once your time at school would be up.

Your Aunt Polly seemed to notice the frown on your face and decided to soften a little. She often didn’t know what to do with you, it was like you and her were complete opposites at times, but she still cared deeply. So, she said, “Go and ask Thomas, Y/N, he’ll let you work in his office.”

With a sigh, you picked up your things from the floor again. Immediately, Finn sprang to your aid and took a few books in his arms. But when Polly was busy again, you whispered, “No, take them upstairs. I’ll work there. I don’t want to bother Tommy now.”

And so you continued your essay, sat on the floor with books all around you, in the cold bedroom you shared with Finn. *** After a few more hours, you had finally finished writing up your final version, the one you were going to hand in. Stretching, you stood up and you shivered. It really was cold in the small room, practically dark now too, and your limbs were protesting against their maltreatment. “Y/N?” John put his head around the door, “Finn told me you were working on an essay. Something about poetry or books, or something. Did you finish it?” He really was trying these days. You held up the paper in a proud manner. But John said, “Fucking hell, girl, have you been sitting here all afternoon? It’s bloody freezing in here!” “I suppose it is a little cold,” you agreed, as you pulled your jumper, well actually Arthur’s old jumper, closer around you. One of your hands touched your arm and you felt like a clump of ice burned you for a second. John frowned and walked into the room. Then he crouched down next to the fireplace and quickly got to lighting the fire. You tried to protest with, “There’s really no need, john…” But he didn’t listen. Instead he said, “Remember that castle I promised you, the one with the library and the staircases? I’ll make sure that library has a fireplace, where a fire is always burning.” “Thank you, John,” you smiled. “What are you sitting on the floor for?” You shrugged, “Polly needed the kitchen table and I needed to finish my essay.”

“On the floor?” he asked incredulously, “I’m not having that. Come with me, you!” You followed him out of the bedroom and down the stairs. Once downstairs, he grabbed your hand and sort of dragged you with him in his excitement. Together, only slightly against your will, you entered Arthur’s office at the betting shop, where John announced, “Y/N needs your desk.” “What? Why?” Arthur had questions written all over his face. Not really knowing what to do, you held up the essay again and waved it around a bit for effect. “Is that the essay Finn told me about?” he asked, also obviously trying very hard, “Let me see then.” And when you handed it over, like the proud brother he praised, “Look at that. That’s a lot of words, that is. Probably the right ones too. Well done, sister!”

“Get up, Arthur,” John demanded, as he started taking papers from his brother’s desk already. But when he went in to grab the bottle of rum to put it on the cabinet, you joked, “No leave that, I might need it.” Two pairs of big eyes stared at you, because even though they all did, you didn’t drink, and you quickly mumbled, “It’s a joke, don’t worry.” Okay no more jokes, you thought to yourself; too confusing for them.

As Arthur protested, John started lugging his desk out of the office, but eventually your eldest brother yielded and helped him carry it through the betting den and up the stairs, passed Aunt Polly, who obviously had so many questions. Arthur explained, “She has essays to write, Pol. Long ones.” Sheepishly you followed them and Aunt Polly asked you, “I thought school was almost done? This is your last month. Why do you need a desk now?” A little shy, you replied, “Not sure…” She smiled comfortingly at that, “We’ll find you something else to do, love.” But you weren’t at all sure of that. The sight of everyday boredom hung over you like impending doom. Once upstairs again, Arthur went back to work, but John stayed behind. It was like he was searching your face for clues as to what was really going on. Then he asked, “Are you not sure about your essay?” “No, I am,” you replied quickly, “I guess I’m just a little sad there’s only a few left to write. I’d like to do…more. You know, before my time’s up?” “I hated school…” he mused, “Glad to be free of it.”

“But I don’t…” And again you felt so very different from the other Shelby’s. John’s face suddenly lit up with an idea and he took your hand and guided you back down the stairs again. Polly called out, “Now what?” but no one really answered her. Your brother took you to his office and slowly opened the books, “I think I’ve made some errors in here along the way. I was wondering if you could help me?” “I appreciate the gesture, John…” you started. But he interrupted you, “It’s no gesture and I’m not just trying to give you something to do: I’m really struggling with this. I’m good at keeping the books and setting the odds, and my adding up is a vast improvement from bloody Arthur’s, but there’s things in here I can’t quite work out. Here, you see?” he pointed, “These numbers don’t add up and I can’t work out why.” Against your intentions, you now squinted over the book with him. After a few moments, you’d worked it out, “This is the one from Kempton, right? And next to it is the Derby, but the same horse ran in both, which should have an effect on the odds, but it didn’t. Also, you’ve mixed up your active and passive funds here, you should probably have different columns for them, so you’ll know our actual winnings, not the entire sum.” “See!” he called out proudly, “You’re good at this! You’re the smart one after all.” “You’re smart too, John, I know you are,” you protested. Looking at the books again, you noticed, “What’s this? Why are these the odds for Oxford’s Pastor? I thought that race was fixed.”

“It was, I think? I can’t remember…” he mumbled. “You should talk to Tommy about that, because if it is, the odds are wrong, and it means we’ve invested money into the jockey. Also, it says here a sum went to the widow from Garrison Courts, the one who lost her son to the explosion, but this shouldn’t be here, because there’s a different fund for that. Your numbers won’t add up and I’m guessing Polly already noticed.” John grinned a little, slightly embarrassed but mostly impressed by his little sister, “I thought you didn’t care for Shelby business.” You nodded, “I don’t. I don’t agree with what you do most of the time, but I still listen when all of you speak.” “So what do I do?” he asked. “Talk to Tommy and make sure his business and books match yours, make sure Aunt Polly checks these figures against the safe and you need to redo this month at least because these columns…” you looked up and saw puzzlement written all over your brother’s face, “Never mind, I’ll do it. You just talk to Tommy.” Eagerly, John left you the books and practically bounced out of the office. His plan had worked.

*** It had taken you about a week to sort the books out and in that week, you’d learned a lot about races and betting. There was a lot to consider, especially now that they had a legal racing pitch, as well as all the illegal betting taking place. And then there was the Garrison, your ownership designed to launder the money, but it was more important than ever that the books were kept neatly, otherwise it wouldn’t work.

Strangely enough, you enjoyed the work. At school, you’d always been more of a language student. Of course, the maths weren’t a real challenge, but you felt passionate about literature and poetry. But this, this wasn’t just a dry job for you to do; it felt like a puzzle that you had to solve. Finally, a challenge had presented itself again. “Y/N?” Tommy came into John’s office one day while you were working, “Come with me. Take those books.” Obeying at once, you picked up the heavy ledgers and followed him into his office. On the table, he had his paperwork laid out for you and you understood at once he wanted you to compare the books to each other. Evidently, John had told him about the discrepancies.

“You want me to fix these too?” you asked your brother. “If you can,” he commented, “My books are in order, I’m sure of it, but they need to match the others.” You looked at them and noticed Tommy’s were indeed a bit more neat. You told him, as gently as you could, “It would really help, Tommy, if you didn’t just plan everything in your head. I mean, if you talked to us about it and told John which races were fixed and what strategies you were planning next. If not for his sake, but just to keep the whole business in order.” He smirked, “Whatever happened to not getting involved, eh?” You looked at him, but didn’t reply. It wasn’t that you didn’t want to get involved in the family business or wanted to distance yourself further from them; it was that you weren’t comfortable with what they did. You appreciated all they’d created for this family and you certainly didn’t take the moral high ground. You yourself just didn’t want part in the illegal business. Tommy noticed your hesitation and decided not to push the subject. So instead he said, “John tells me you’re leaving school soon.” You nodded sadly at his statement. He continued, “What is it you would like to do?” You thought about it for a long time and finally decided, “Not be a girl?” Because that really was the problem here. The kids of Small Heath weren’t offered many chances, but sometimes, some really clever boys did move on to get an apprenticeship somewhere, like a newspaper or a firm. You’d even heard of some getting tutors and going off to university. But not girls. Your brother frowned, “I’m not alright with you not having the same chances as any boy. If you want to continue studying, I’ll find a way.” Smiling shyly, you said, “I appreciate it, Tommy, I really do, but there’s no point. Small Heath school doesn’t prepare me in the slightest for any further education and there’s nowhere I could go, even if I wanted to.” “You want to go to Oxford?” he asked straight up. You blinked, not having realised he’d picked up on your long-lasting dream of studying in some other city, let alone somewhere as prestigious as Oxford. “I’ve heard that two years ago, they started admitting female students over there.” “They’ve admitted them before, Tommy,” you corrected him, “Only last year they were able to get a degree.” You’d followed the papers with interest on the subject, silently daydreaming about being a part of that group of young women, walking the halls of that old, old place of learning. “What’s fucking point in going there if you don’t get a degree?” he half-joked, “How about I make some inquiries, eh? Maybe someone I know has a way in. You’d want to study English Literature, right? I’ll get you in. And if you need a tutor or some other fucking school to get you ready, I’ll make sure that happens, eh? If that’s what you want, I’ll make it happen.” Without speaking a word, you hugged your brother around his waist. Still, you weren’t certain he could manage it, but the fact that he knew what you wanted and was willing to try and make it happen, meant the world to you. Then you realised, “John put you up to this, didn’t he?” “He may have mentioned it.” You smiled, but continued the hug a little longer. After a while, you broke free and immediately turned into your practical self again, putting the different financial books side by side, “This will take me a while, but I can do it. Is it alright if I work in here?” Tommy lit a cigarette and nodded at his sensible sister, “Yes. You could have your own office, you know, if you take on the position permanently.” Politely, you smiled, but still holding your ground, “No, Tommy. I don’t want to be part of the illegal business.” *** Against all hope, Tommy had indeed found you two tutors. You’d finished school with top marks and even the side-eyes from all of the other girls couldn’t bring you down. Also, your family cheering loudly from the front row helped a lot. And then a different, very exciting, new chapter of your life started. Every Wednesday and Thursday, you had lessons at your teachers’ houses and the other days, you were expected to do a lot of work on your own. You loved every second of it.

Arthur’s desk really came in handy now. All your books were perched on the sides and one look from John and he’d decided on building you a bookcase: ‘the start of your own library’, he’d said. And then one evening, late at night, when you were still working, he came in and asked you to come with him. “Tommy’s changing things,” he explained as you followed him, “and he needs the brains of the family to do it.” You had no idea who he was talking about and it took you a while to realise he might mean you. This filled you with some dread, because you still had no intention of joining the family business. Downstairs, you saw the family gathered around the table. A family meeting was obviously in full swing and apparently, they wanted you to join them for the first time. Tommy announced, “Welcome, Y/N. Why don’t you take a seat?” All eyes were on you, which you didn’t like, so you politely declined and prayed to God this wouldn’t take long. The head of the family continued, “As I mentioned before, Shelby Company Limited is now in the position to make a lot of money, both here and in London, and I plan on making the bulk of our money legally from now on,” Tommy looked directly at you as he spoke, “Someone in this family, the first Shelby to go to university probably, has changed my mind.” “Minor fucking miracle,” Aunt Polly mumbled, not without pride. “Now, Y/N,” Tommy pointed at you, “If I’m going to do this, I need your help. You’ve gotten the books in order for us and I know you’re busy with your studies, but I need an advisor. Now, I know you don’t agree with the business as it is, which is why I want to change things. I need you to do the legal books, John will do the others, but in six months’ time, I want most of what we do to be legal. Can you help me with that?” You sighed and thought about it long and hard. On the one hand, you were still firmly behind your decision not to get involved. Also, you had other things on your mind, such as your studies and your new ambition to get into Oxford. But you loved your brothers dearly and you wanted to support them where you could. And now, evidently, Tommy wanted to get away from the cut-throat gangster life. Loyalties torn, you decided to help them become good, as you’d always known they could be. So, you said, softly, “Alright.” A loud cheering erupted at the table. Feeling yourself getting red, you looked down, but John quickly came up to you, arms outstretched in a proud manner. And you realised you never would have been here, still studying and this close with your family against all odds, if it wasn’t for him. “Welcome to the business,” he said, “the new business.” *** Masterlist

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captainofthedauntless · 8 days

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More Rise!Nardo thoughts.

Just thinking about how he'd abuse the fuck out of his portal abilities with you. Always offering to be your "ride" when you need to go somewhere, using it as an excuse to see you for just a minute when you're busy. The classic you're upset? oh lol i just Happened To Pop By A Shop, Here, Your Favorite Snacks.

He'd show up in a heartbeat to help you move furniture, or to help you cook, or to help you speed clean because your aunt's in town all of a sudden and you cannot let her know you live like this.

You don't think anything of it, really. Because it's effortless for him. It's like getting up from the couch for how much energy it takes him.

But it gets to be a habit.

It's a pattern.

You text him after a long day, once, and you say something about being tired and not wanting to cook, and then he's in your kitchen with a crackle of blue energy and a bag of take out and a hoodie he pulls off less than five minutes later, passing it to you with an easy shrug and a nonchalant smile. Lot warmer in here than the lair, he says breezily, as though it isn't your favorite of his hoodies. As though it was an accident.

He does that a lot, you realize. Act as though calculation is coincidence.

And then you can't stop realizing it.

It's not just the portals.

It's everywhere.

He's everywhere.

He's spending enough time at your place that he just leaves his stuff there when he gets a mission call, and you end up with a stack of books and comics that you definitely didn't pick up yourself, and instead of mentioning it you just replace his horrifying whatever-he-can-find bookmarks (you find one of your bracelets there, once) with actual ones. People keep giving them to you as freebies- might as well put them to use.

Somehow he knows when you've got big appointments scheduled, and he just casually shows up the night before and complains about how you do your chores and insists on showing you how it's done, and then you blink and he's put away every dish in your kitchen, all while playfully critiquing your organization. And, like magic, you're free to sit down and relax, because evidently your sweeping technique is also tragic, no, no, give me that, you're- you're banished, that's abysmal, and feet off the ground- don't care, it needs swept, go on.

Crazy how his movie night picks are some of your favorites. Great minds think alike, eh?

And then 'huh, Leo's pretty helpful' becomes 'oh, Leo's given me impossible standards' when you wake up in the middle of the night and can't seem to catch your breath from a nightmare. You fumble for your phone and type what's supposed to say are you up? and comes out as ate yii yo? and then your phone is ringing.

He greets you with a you alright? that you think should probably be harsher than it is considering the hour, and when you manage to get the word dream out of your face he follows up with want some company?

And you must say yes, because the next thing you know is a crackle of blue energy (which should look dangerous, should feel dangerous, but looks like a playful wave and feels like home) and nearly six feet of mutant turtle dropping onto your bed, landing with a playful bounce that shakes a little of the dream-scented-sludge from your mind.

Sorry, he says, playful and grinning as he folds his arms behind his head and watches you like he can read your mind, traffic was a nightmare.

And you shake your head, because what the fuck, but you're laughing despite yourself and some of the scrutiny melts from his eyes.

Thought I'd-

Don't say drop by.

I would never, he says, but he doesn't elaborate on what he was going to say, and you draw your own conclusions. Anywhoozles, what's the vibe? Movie? Snack? Field trip to the top of the Great Wall?

And somehow he means it.

He's in your room at four in the morning, still in his pajamas, mask down around his neck, all warm and soft and sleep-shaped, and offering you the world like it was a piece of gum.

And you just stare at him, wondering if you're still dreaming.

#leonardo #x reader #leonardo x reader #leonardo & reader #*writing #2018 #imagines #headcanons #aged up as always- going for college-age here

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rollercoasterwords · 1 year

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that makes me so sad that authors see their fics being bashed on tiktok. now, i’m all for banning cancel culture of course, but can we just…just this time…purge everyone who is reviewing fics in a hateful way purely for views ?🙄🤫

yeahhhhh i mean i have ranted and raved about this before but i think what it comes back to at the end of the day is that people who post negative shit about fics just genuinely do not understand the media they're interacting with. they think it's ok to "critique" things they don't like the same way they would a book or movie, but that assumes that fanfic is something created for a consumer-audience which is simply not the case! like, they think they're ordering food at a restaurant and sending it back because they don't like it, but in reality they've walked into somebody's house, sat down at their dinner table, taken a bite and then gone "wow you're a horrible cook why would u serve me this!!" and the fic writer is sitting there to eat their dinner like ummmm i made this for me and my friends u didn't have to come to my house for dinner if u don't like the food??

i also mostly see this happening with fics that have gotten really popular via tiktok virality, like people think that if a work is popular it somehow makes it more okay to shit on it. but the thing is that most fics that get blown up on tiktok aren't being posted there by the writer. like, most writers just post on ao3 and maybe drop a little update on tumblr for their circle of mutuals/followers and that's it. most writers are not trying to go viral. in fact, many of us think that tiktok virality is like...a nightmare scenario lol. and part of that is because once something goes viral people literally stop treating the person who wrote it like a human being. so!! it does indeed suck and i wish there was a way to like...magically silence everyone who posts "ummmm hot take but i actually HATE this fic" because even if it is coming from a place of genuine ignorance about the media ur interacting with, it's still just mean. it's mean! it's really mean, and it's clearly being posted with the intent of getting views/likes/attention on the internet for urself by framing ur meanness as a "hot take." honestly it's insane to me that such a large portion of the fandom lacks the media literacy to understand that it's not okay to just interact with every form of media in the same way.

#ask #ranting and raving

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racefortheironthrone · 1 year

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Kinda of random but what do you think of Alan's Moore comments about people liking comic book movies could lead into fascism? Seems like bitter old man territory but what do you think?

I think it's fair to say that fascism has been something of an obsession of Alan Moore's and a recurring although not omnipresent theme in many of his works.

While Miracleman is technically an expy of Captain Marvel, I would argue that the series is Moore's most extended commentary on Superman instead and especially the idea of the ubermensch. In Miracleman, our protagonist is initially thought to have been made into a superhero by a benevolent enlightened scientist, but eventually we learn that Miracleman is the product of an Operation Paperclip Nazi science project called the Zarathusa Project designed to create the literal Nietzschean Ubermensch, complete with a fixation on "blond gods" and a eugenicist breeding program. A superhero fight in the midle of London causes mass civilian casualties on the scale of an atomic bomb going off. Ultimately, Miracleman effectively overthrows Thatcher's government and rules as an enlightened despot before eventually leaving Earth for space.

Likewise, I think Watchmen is Moore's most extended commentary on masked vigilantism and thus on Batman. In Watchmen, the phenomenon of vigilantism is repeatedly associated with right-wing politics: Hooded Justice is a German circus strongman who has pro-Nazi politics; Captain Metropolis wanted his superhero teams to target "black unrest," "campus subversion," and "anti-war demos;" and the Comedian is a brutal nihilist who ultimately joins the U.S security state where he cheerfully follows orders to assassinate JFK and Woodward and Bernstein, commit atrocities in Vietnam, kill protesting hippies, etc. Finally, there's Rorschach, Moore's most famous mis-interpreted creation - Rorschach is a paranoid conspiracy theorist who's an anti-communist, anti-liberal, militant and militaristic nationalist, homophobe, misogynist, and avid follower of the John Birch Society-like New Frontiersman.

And then there's V for Vendetta, which I would argue is Moore's attempt to create a masked vigilante superhero with his own anarchist politics. In this story, the vigilante isn't a crimefighter but rather a revolutionary who seeks the overthrow of a fascist state and the creation of an anarchist utopia.

Moreover, his more recent comments about comic book movies being linked to fascism are arguably just part of his much longer-running commentary that superheroes as a concept are at the very least proto-fascist.

Having read a lot of Moore's work and interviews on the subject, I don't find his critique compelling. I think his definition of fascism is far too loose, I think his lens on the superhero genre is overly narrow, and I think his mode of analysis tends to neglect the vital area of historical context.

Definitions

So let's start with Moore's definition of fascism. I think Moore tends to really over-emphasize the whole idea of the Nietzschean ubermensch and the use of force to solve problems, and more recently he's been on this weird kick of saying that nostalgia and a childlike desire for easy solutions leads to fascism. I have several problems with this definition:

the first is that, as I've talked about in the past, fascism is a very complex historical phenomenon that can't be boiled down to a single idea, and in particular the idea of the ubermensch is a pretty small part of the German case (and even then how do you balance it against Nazism's more anti-individualistic aspects, like the mass party and the mass party organization).

the second is that the idea of a larger-than-life individual using physical prowess to solve problems is not unique to fascism. After all, during the 30s, you also had the Soviet Union promoting the heroic ideal of Stakhanovitism and the depiction of the heroic male factory worker in socialist realism. More importantly, the idea of a "larger-than-life individual using physical prowess to solve problems" is basically the same description for any number of literary figures from pulp cowboys to the Greek heroes of the Iliad and the Oddessy to the epic of Gilgamesh.

the third is that I think Moore's definition overlooks the actual drivers of the rise of contemporary fascism. Anti-semitism, racism, homophobia and transphobia, misogyny - all of these are real social and cultural forces that are actually motivating people to join the ranks of the alt-right, to commit massacres, to riot at the Capitol, and so forth. It is incredibly self-involved to think that superheroes and superhero movies are worth discussing in the same breath. At the end of the day, they're harmless entertainment compared to the real political issues that need to be tackled.

Moore's Model of Superheroes

Here's where I'm going to say something that's going to be a bit controversial - I don't think Alan Moore has read widely enough in the superhero genre to make an accurate assessment of its relationship to fascism. If we look at his comics work, and we look at his writings, and we look at his interviews, Moore's mental model of the superhero really only includes two figures, Superman as the representative of the superpowered ubermensch and Batman as the representative of the masked vigilante crimefighter. Notably, Moore hasn't really touched the last of the Big Three - Wonder Woman, a superhero with a strong legacy of radical left-wing politics. I do think we have to mention, given Moore's somewhat troubled history when it comes to issues of gender, that Moore's model of the superhero doesn't include any female superheroes (or for that matter, any superheroes of color or queer superheroes). (EDIT: I should clarify - Promethea is Moore's version of Wonder Woman, but she doesn't really come up in his discussions of fascism, and her thematic profile has more to do with Moore's interests in magic.)

And other than Captain Britain, Moore never worked with any Marvel character and basically ignores them.

To me, this is like having a career as a painter and never working with colors. Moore's model of the superhero leaves out the Fantastic Four and how their flawed psychologies revolutionized the industry and the whole idea of the superhero-as-explorer, it leaves out Spider-Man and the idea of the superhero-as-everyman whose central struggle is about work-life balance and altruism, and most importantly it leaves out the X-Men and the idea of the mutant metaphor.

If as a critic you're going to make grand pronouncements about something as morally evil as fascism, I think it really is incumbent on you to have read and analyzed widely rather than cherry-picking a couple of case studies. Especially if you have something of a tendency to mis-characterize those case studies by ignoring historical context.

Historical Context

So let's talk about Superman and Batman and their emergence in the 1930s. One vital bit of context is that the U.S experienced a significant crime wave in the 1920s and 1930s as Prohibition encouraged the rise of organized crime and then the Great Depression spurred the rise of kidnapping and bank robbery gangs. Moreover, municipal police forces tended to be wildly corrupt, accepting bribes from organized crime to let them operate with impunity, while not letting up in the slightest in their brutal oppression of workers and minorities.

In this context, I think the idea of vigilantism - while it has an undeniably racist legacy dating back to Reconstruction - is not purely a conservative phenomena. It's also an expression of a desire for help from somebody, anybody when the powers that be are of no help. And at the end of the day, unsanctioned use of force can equally be traced back to left-wing self-defense efforts from the Panthers back to the Communist Party's streetfighting corps to unions packing two-by-fours on the picket line - so I don't think we can simply equate punching a bad guy with racist lynch mobs and call it a day.

So let's talk about Superman and the ubermensch. I think Moore has a bad tendency to focus on his nightmare scenrio of a godlike being tyrannizing and destroying hapless humanity, while minimizing the actual ideas of Siegel and Shuster. He tends to take their use of the Nietzschean as a straighforward invocation instead of the clear subversion it was intended to be - rather than a blond god who imposed tyrannical rule with horrific violence, Siegel and Schuster made their Superman a dark-haired Moses allegory, who rather than solely fighting crime acted to stop wife-beaters, war profiteers, and save the life of death row inmates, and whose secret identity was of a crusading journalist who uncovered corrupt politicians.

To be fair, Alan Moore admits that Superman started out as "very much a New Deal American” - but because this kind of does near-fatal damage to his argument, he quickly minimizes that by saying that Superman got co-opted and thus it doesn't count. This is some No True Scotsman bullshit - Moore knows that his example just imploded so he tries to wriggle out of it by arguing that Superman sold out to the Man. If we go back to the actual historical evidence, we can see that at the outset of the Red Scare, the Superman radio show went on a crusade against the Klan, and throughout the conservative 1950s, Superman was used to propagandize liberal values of religious and racial equality:

So much for selling out.

On the other hand, Batman is a tougher case, given that his whole deal is being a masked vigilante who wages an unending war on crime to avenge his murdered parents. So is Batman an inherently fascist figure, a wealthy sadist who spends his time brutally beating the poor and the mentally ill when he could be using his riches to tackle social issues? I would argue that this version of Batman is actually pretty recent - very much a legacy of the work of Frank Miller and then the post-9/11 writings of Christopher Nolan, Johnathan Nolan, and David Goyer - and that there have been many different Batmen with very different thematic foci.

For example, the early Batman was as much a figure of horror as he was of superheroics - he fought Frankensteins and Draculas, he killed with silver bullets, etc. Then in the 40s and 50s, you got the much more cartoony and light-hearted Batman who pretty much exclusively fought equally oddball supervillains in such a heightened world of riddles and giant pennies and mechanical T-Rexes that I don't think you can particularly describe it as "crime-fighting." Then in the 1960s, you have the titanic influence of the Batman TV show, where Adam West as Batman was officially licensed by the Gotham P.D (so much for vigilantism) and extolled the virtues of constitutional due process and the Equal Pay Act in PSAs and episodes alike. You can call the 1966 Batman a lot of things, but fascist isn't one of them.

Conclusion

I want to emphasize at the end of the day that I'm a huge Alan Moore fan; I've read most of his vast bibliography, I find him a fascinating if very odd thinker and critic, I've even tried to read his mammoth novel Jerusalem (which is not easy reading, let me tell you). At the same time, it's important not to treat creators, even the very titans of the medium, as incapable of error. And in this case, I think Alan Moore is simply wrong about fascism and superheroes and people should really stop asking him about it, because I don't think he has anything new to say about it.

#comics #comics meta #alan moore #fascism #superheroes #batman #superman

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