#get another accolade to its name

[no-where-new-hero]

omg I need your thoughts on the terminally o line author culture bc ngl it makes my eye TWITCH, there are authors I deliberately avoid even tho I've heard their stuff is good bc they're like that 🙈

HHHHH oh good lord, okay, from how I see it, there are two angles on this, both aggravating and sad: the official decree one and the spontaneous ecosystem one.

The officious one is that the nature of publishing nowadays demands an author have an online presence. You need Twitter/X. You need to let every potential reader know your book is coming out. You need engagement through reviews and pre-orders incentives (if you buy now you’ll get a special keychain!!) and word of mouth assurances from your peers that yes your book is as cool as you say it is. You need a newsletter with links (more buying! more voting on lists that are simply popularity contests!) and promises you’re still working on the next thing, don’t forget about me in the morass of everyone else doing the same thing. You need an Instagram and TikTok now to post pretty pictures and videos because one or two authors made it big off this kind of promotion and now everyone thinks it’s the ticket to the bestseller list (sadly, it seems to be working). You need an OnlyFans (a joke but I do recall a twt spat that was a joke/not joke about how rupi kaur will always be more beautiful than her critics and people who took issue with the conflation of beauty with talent). At the end of all this, you’re basically an influencer, a content creator creating content for the content you should be focusing on creating, the finished novel. And the novel itself seems to be disappearing behind the masks used to promote it (fanfic-style tropes, moodboards, playlists, memes) until I now no longer trust the book that I’ll pick up to have any resemblance to the enticements that brought me here. I’ve seen an author or two complain about the stress all this self-promotion generates, but it’s become such an entrenched part of the industry, I think people just accept it. And thus spend too much time online hoping that if they tweet just a little more, produce just one more reel, maybe that’ll be the difference between a sale and no sale.

The other side of this, distinct but obviously connected, is the ecosystem created by this panic of being perpetually visible coupled with the fact that so many of the new authors came of age during the rise of internet fandom culture. That opinionated community mindset that blurs the line between anonymity and friendship is the lens they bring to their own work. I mean, it makes sense I suppose—if you love yelling about characters and words, why wouldn’t you do that once you start to produce your own? This really came home to me hearing about that reviewbombgate “scandal” and how people involved were in reylo circles and that was used to provide receipts. You’re interacting with your readers and peers about your intimate work but they are also all strangers. They will not always give you the benefit of the doubt, and now—as opposed to the past when maybe the worst that could happen was a handful of bad reviews in newspapers—you will either be tagged in hate reviews, sub-tweeted, explicitly called out, demanded to atone for your sins. It’s no longer the morality of consumption but the morality of production. Of course, the easy answer is just log-off, touch some grass. But that can work only when you and everyone else are separated by anonymous accounts or when you have no platform to maintain. As an author trying to make your livelihood from this, suddenly it’s do or die. We’re in a strange moment of authorship bringing the Internet’s echo-chamber and claustrophobic into the real world (this is a lie: publishing now is no longer the real world. But it looks like it) and thus you can kind of no longer escape things.

Will the average reader who isn’t aware of all these machinations care about reviewbombgate? Would a reader browsing at Target think about the controversies around Lightlark? Very likely not. But the impression I’m getting more and more is that the average reader isn’t the one buying all the books. Or shall we say—a bestseller’s status relies on bookstore stock. Bookstore stock is only huge when they know a book will be a good investment. They’ll only know a book is a good investment if it and its author has street cred based on booktokkers, bookstagram, bloggers and reviewers (have you noticed how many books out these last maybe 1-3 years have these kinds of accounts thanked in the acknowledgments? Yeah), and THESE are also chronically online people who will Know. And decide the cast of fate.

Honestly, @batrachised, I see why you avoid these kinds of writers, though I wonder how long it’ll be before the disease becomes epidemic.

#i’m very doom and gloom about this if you couldn’t tell from my tone lmao #and of course it’s not a perfect formula; i read a decent debut this year by a writer trying to be very active on socials and idk how much #of a splash her book made because literary sff is a dying genre even with an ecological bent compared to the glut of romantasy #also this feels very timely because the goodreads choice awards were just announced and i am seething at seeing d*vine r*vals #get another accolade to its name #blake’s last braincell #blake talks shit #writing life

[willowser]

i have been in the anti-gojo coalition server for one (1) hour and this is what it has done to me. nerd gojo. EDIT TO SAY: OH MY GOD PHYSICS PROF GOJO !!

the physics professor grades papers in the campus library. way too late.

you're only there until nine, but gojo satoru always comes strolling through the doors sometime after seven with his book bag and sleek laptop, looking entirely too excited to care about quantum field theory. you suppose he always looks like that, though, especially in his classroom, in front of a whiteboard while droning on and on about infinities.

almost immediately after he sits down, he covers the entire surface of the table closest to the front (closest to you) with his belongings; blue and red sharpies, coffee from the shop around the corner, stacks upon stacks of paper. he even hums to himself — in a library — like he's just having the darndest time taking up all of yours.

it would be a lie to say it isn't amusing, though, even on nights like tonight. outside it's storming, albeit quietly, and the day has taken all it could from you; watching him with sleepy eyes as he mutters to himself is — cute, no matter how late it's getting.

"i have a question, professor,"

you're the only two left in the library at such an hour, but he still looks up with raised eyebrows, as if you could be talking to someone else. his grin spreads across his face slowly once he realizes, like a balm.

"and i have an answer."

you snort, tired and amused, when he wiggles his eyebrows. "is it possible for hours to sneak into the day? because it really feels like it's been more than eight today."

"hmm," he makes a show of thinking, tapping his pen against his pursed lips as if he really has to. you know he's full of it, though, because he's only twenty-eight and has more accolades than some of the oldest instructors. "each hour of the day corresponds to a specific duration based on earth's rotation and its orbital motion around the sun." he shrugs, smile dropping the more serious he gets, and — you kind of wish you wouldn't have asked, because you're too tired for this. "time dilation is a thing, but that's more...changes in the perception of time because of differences in realtive—"

gojo suddenly stops, and you can see the quick cut of his eyes over his glasses as he looks at you. when you raise a single eyebrow at him, he sticks out his tongue and blows a long raspberry, before turning to hunch back over his laptop.

"uh," he lets out a quick laugh and taps his pen against his forehead, a little aggressively. "short answer, no!"

and — you're sleepy. tired. the mascara you'd put on today is almost all dried out and flaking off underneath your eyes, you can hear the comfort of some sweatpants and your bed calling your name, but — gojo fiddles with the hair at the nape of his neck, angling his head away from you. embarrassed, maybe.

despite the heaviness to your eyes and the 9: 02 PM that shines in the corner of your computer screen, you ask,

"well, what's the long answer?"

his head snaps up to you again, but he doesn't respond, only watches with parted lips; the smartest man you've ever met needing a hint.

you glance towards the windows, the dark storm beyond them, before sending him a smile that spreads to his own face. "i think we might be here a while with the rain, if you wanna tell me."

he shakes his head at you and lightly clicks his tongue against his teeth, almost like he's disappointed, before reaching into his bag to pull out an umbrella. "should have checked the radar! though i'm happy to share, if you'd like." and despite how much of a dork you think he is, the little wink he sends you over his glasses has your tummy flipping.

but he's still — not getting it.

"satoru," you say, quietly, shaking your head when his playful expression drops and his cheeks turn a little rosy under the fluorescence. "sit here with me and tell me all about time, would you?"

you can see the gears turning in his big, fat brain, and another laugh slips out of him, light and yet full of nerves. after a moment, he runs a hand over his face, takes his glasses off to rub at his eyes, like he's tired, too.

but then he's blinking at you, excited, and you wonder if his eyes have always been so bright.

"well, time is a fundamental dimension in the universe..."

#i hate it here #this is all erika's doing akfbdiakal #WAAAHHH admittedly SO insecure about my characterization of him !!!! the slippery little brat !!!! #he's such a DORK I HATE HIM #i wanna PUT HIM IN A HEADLOCK #yeah i 100% used google to talk about this subject yeah absolutely #every time i write that tag a piece of my sanity chips away #also if it wasn’t clear enough reader is meant to be a coworker and not a student #✿ willow writes #✿ thoughts: gojo

[mintsuwu]

The final part of the Smiling Critters Family Headcanons!!

Picky Piggy

Picky Piggy and her family reside in the serene countryside of Jolly Valley, where the vibrant greenery and bustling farm life create a picturesque setting for their adventures. The Piggy family, comprising Benjamin Cowbell, Polly Porkella, and their lively triplets: Picky, Itty, and Bitty, embodies the essence of rural harmony, where hard work blends seamlessly with moments of joy and connection.

Polly's backstory paints a vibrant picture of her past life as a city girl, adorned with numerous accolades and triumphs from contests and competitions across the region. But even though she enjoyed participating in the competitons as a hobby and for fun, the busy life and training it endured, along with the pressure from her parents (even though they only wanted the best for her), was something that began to weight upon Polly as she grew up.

It was amidst the rustic charm of a rural fair that she serendipitously encountered Benjamin after running off from a contest she didn´t want to participate in, their chance meeting sowing the seeds of a deep and enduring connection in the future. They talked a bit on that first encounter, but they didn´t get to know each other´s names due to him having to leave early as his parents were waiting for him so they could return home together. Things didn´t change much in a few years from that first time, as Polly kept on participating in contests and growing famous as Benjamin kept on with his busy yet simple life as a young farmer, helping his family. One day his friends encouraged him to join a local competition and even though he didn´t know the prize, he won. It turned out that the winner got to have a date with a well known critter around the competition world... Who happened to be Polly Porkella herself (she was forced into this situation). And despite the initial confusion they were both very happy to see each other again, and they used the time of the date to know each other (and they names) properly, as well as catching up. The two of them kept in touch after that second meeting, communicating through letters most of the time.

When Polly was old enough, she seeked a more peaceful life, aside from the contesting world, and moved out with Benjamin when she had the chance, as they decided to start working in their own farm nearby CritterVille. With the passage of time, their bond flourished and their family grew, enveloping them in a tapestry of love and shared values. Despite the mischievous antics of their energetic daughters, Benjamin and Polly remained steadfast in imparting the importance of hard work and empathy.

Even though the Piggy family is numerous on its own, they also have other family members nearby them. One of them being Sturdy Donkey, who happens to be Picky´s cousin. The teenager spends most of his time working as the town´s carpenter along with his father or with his friends, but he tries to go over and help at the farm as much as he can. And in return his group can hang out and rehearse their music in one of their barns (hence the name "Barn Gang"). Picky sometimes goes over to listen to them or simply talk, and even asks if she can invite some friends over in one ocassion, to which they all agree. However when the rest of the Smiling Critters went over, there was a little surprise factor (and family drama) in regards to Pecky, Kickin´, and secrets kept between siblings... But that´s a story for another time~

BONUS

- Polly is a very skilled swimmer!! And Picky got that from her mother, but no one will know about that talent unless there is a beach episode or something /hj

- Clucketta, Kickin´s mother, goes over to the farm to visit and help Polly as they are very close friends. And by that Picky and Kickin´ knew each other even though they didn´t talk much at first. Though one day Kickin´ opened up to her, showing how he was concerned about his friend Bubba as his mother had passed away recently and he wanted to help him. Picky then suggested to bake an apple pie in order to cheer him up. The young elephant was incredibly touched by the gesture, and from that moment the three of them grew really close (even though he and Kickin´ knew each other long time before that). That was the only time any of the Smiling Critters had seen Bubba cry.

- Just like Picky, Kickin´ and Bubba are very close, Polly, Cuckletta and Mr. Bubbaphant (I will give him a name someday I promise) are very good friends as well! Polly is the most determined of the group, Cuckletta kinda follows along (even though many of the times she is confused and scared of what is even going on) and Mr. Bubbaphant watches closely in case they need help or just don´t get into trouble (like their kids lmao)

#fanart #oc #headcanon #poppy playtime #smiling critters #smiling critters oc #the smiling critters #picky piggy #sturdy donkey #polly porkella #benjamin bellcow #itty piggy #bitty piggy

[genericpuff]

I WANNA TALK ABOUT THE FUCKING EISNERS-

i've been finding lately that there are so many topics i still wanna talk about concerning LO and its development and they just don't happen because i get distracted or busy and my brain is like "ok we're just gonna pretend we've already talked about it even though we haven't" JFKDLSAJFDASKLFJSLKA

Let's talk about the Eisners and LO's recent 'win'.

I've already briefly mentioned in previous posts that LO has had a lot of its awards and accolades bought for it. This is especially true for both the NYT Bestseller label (seriously, none of those labels are ever earned, it's not some top 100 list that you compete on, it goes to whoever is willing to pay for it or whoever an editorial column wants to highlight) and, of course, the Eisner Award, which is not exactly an award judged by the industry's finest (the judges this year were made up of largely comic book shop owners and librarians).

But we're not here to talk about that. I wanna talk about what happened after LO won its second Eisner.

First off, the fact that it can be nominated at all when it doesn't even really fit the criteria for their submissions is sketchy at best:

see: "new, professionally produced long-form original comics work posted online in 2022." LO is not 'new'. Sure, it has new episodes, but I don't think that really follows the spirit of what they meant by 'new'. The Eisner doesn't seem like an award that should be granted to the same series twice, is my point, and that's one of the many complaints brought up in the absolute dressing down that LO got in its announcement post on the Webtoons Official IG page.

Of course, you can see for yourself right here.

But for the sake of fun, let's share some of the excerpts here.

(and yes I'm sharing a LOT of these because frankly I don't trust WT to not delete them in an attempt to hide all the shit that's being thrown at their precious "baby")

While names have been censored to protect the users involve, I will say one thing - this isn't some attempt from antiLO/ULO members to brigade the series' win, there are other comic creators in this discussion as well from the Canvas section who aren't pleased with seeing LO win another Eisner when there are multiple new series from this past year alone which deserve more attention than they're getting. Again, see for yourself if you click on the link above, the vast majority of comments on this post are expressing their disappointment and you can tell from how they've been sitting at the top while all the positive comments are being 'pushed' to the bottom - the like counts say it all.

All of this, paired with the fact that LO didn't win a SINGLE user-voted award during the Webtoonies, goes to show that the Webtoons audience is over LO. They're done with it. It's not relevant anymore, the only ones who still keep up with it are the stans and those holding on in the hopes that the story gets around to resolving the SA plotline and gets its TV show (which I've also mentioned has a real possibility of not happening, at least not now when it would count the most LMAO)

It still gets more likes than any other series on the platform (for now) but you can tell during its current hiatus that when LO is out of sight, it's out of people's minds - despite many of these episodes now being weeks old, their like counts aren't going up, no new readers are being pulled in. And the fact that a series with over 6 million subscribers can barely scratch 100k likes nowadays is... really something.

And that's on its free to read episodes, it's FP episodes - where views count the most because it's where LO makes its money and initial views - aren't even a fraction of what the free episodes often take well over a week to gain at this point.

Episode 252:

And the midseason finale, 253:

Compare it to Down to Earth which gets 70k likes on average on its free episodes (though its current new FP is sitting at the 1k mark), is LO still bringing in higher numbers than other series? Yes. But it's clearly falling to a point where it's going to be on par with every other comic on the platform in no time. I can't even imagine what it's going to be like after it comes back from this poorly-timed hiatus, when all of its official fan groups have also been shuttered preventing people from staying in touch within their own fandom.

Awards like the Webtoonies are, while largely just for street cred, still audience-based, and I really hope the fact that the people have spoken not once, but twice through their engagement with the platform - both through the comment section on LO's Eisner win and the votes in favor of other series in the Webtoonies - will be a major wake-up call to WT that they can't keep trying the same things over and over again expecting different results. They can't keep stuffing money into LO as if advertising or awards are the reason LO isn't pulling in the numbers it used to. They can't keep pretending that LO still has the merit and credibility that it once had 5 years ago.

It's like that comparison from Super Eyepatch Wolf talking about why you shouldn't take advice on how to be "successful" from Youtubers who got famous 5+ years ago:

"Say you decide you want to become a carpenter, and particularly, how to build a nice chair. Think about the kind of person you'd want to learn that skill from. Would it be from someone who has built nice chairs every day for 20 years? Or would it be the guy who built one nice chair five years ago out of a special kind of wood that doesn't exist anymore, who has no experience with the kind of wood available to you now?"

LO is a byproduct of a version of Webtoons that no longer exists. It was fortunate enough to join the Canvas section when the Canvas section was still only lightly populated, before WT started trying to sell the idea that anyone could become "rich" on their platform (an idea largely perpetuated by creators LIKE RACHEL who only became big because WT threw all of their money at them), before Greek myth comics became commonplace (again, something that's a consequence of Rachel/Lore Olympus) and before the romance genre became largely filled with problematic "dark" romances (again, see Lore Olympus).

Do you see the pattern of what I'm talking about here? A lot of what Webtoons became known for was a byproduct of Lore Olympus and series like it, because those series did phenomenally well, due to being in the right place at the right time, so WT went "hey, cool, this makes us lots of money! Let's do more of that!" Obviously this isn't to say that Lore Olympus is the root of all evil here OR that it didn't have its own merit back in the day, but if you make a series that blows every other series out of the water in stats, it's only natural for a company to want to pursue more series and story tropes like it in the hopes that it'll replicate exactly what comics like LO did, completely misunderstanding why LO did well in the first place. At the time, LO's art was unique for the platform, and it was tackling a story that was extremely popular on platforms like Tumblr so it naturally gained a crowd.

But that was five years ago. Since then, the WT audience climate has changed dramatically, as it always does every few years; and LO and WT haven't kept up. We went through a phase of BL, isekai, and now WT seems to be in an odd limbo because it's still clinging to a series from three whole lifetimes ago, especially now with so many of its other signature series either finally ending (True Beauty) or walking away from the platform entirely (Let's Play).

At this point, Lore Olympus is a chair that was nice five years ago, but has since started to fall apart - its paint is chipping, and its legs don't stand up so well anymore - and WT is still trying to sell it you as the exact same chair - with cheap new paint and a few bits and bobs attached to try and convince you that the chair is new - but it's long past its prime. This isn't to say that the chair itself doesn't deserve to exist, just that it shouldn't be given so much proprietary advertising and attention when there are so many other works on the platform that deserve to be uplifted and seen.

LO was good for its era, it was successful for a reason, but we're halfway through 2023 and it's painfully obvious that the comic and the platform's audience is ready to move on to new territories. Webtoons just needs to learn to let go.

#lore olympus critical #lo critical #antiloreolympus #anti lore olympus #essay post

[skippyangel16]

Seriously? Sharing a star with Tomlinson?

Never heard of before today but…

The Ostend Film Festival is an annual film festival held in Ostend, Belgium. The film voted by a jury as the best in the competition section receives the Best Film Award. A highlight in the Flemish film year, the Ensor Awards take place at the end of it to honor the cinematic achievements by the industry. Wikipedia ( launched 2007)

TCND was on as a premier… so why the star now?

According to the festival …

To honor their visit to Ostend, Dries Vos and the cast will be honored with a star on our prestigious Walk of Fame. This special recognition on the promenade marks their exceptional contribution to the world of film and television.

(source below at bottom of page)

So they just showed up and got a star for individual past works?

So why did ‘they’ ….Sam and Eleanor get a star? There was a cast of 4 and in my mind all equal? Silly me obviously not that equal? Did Driez Vos get a star on his own?

Anyway, never in my wildest did I expect that this soap opera of a series would lead him to have his name immortalised in a star with Tomlinson…dear god!

As the star was not specific to TCND…why do they have to share one? Now forever linked 🙄.

My cynical mind …another NOT WITH BALFE.

We all know S&C were robbed of true accolade in Outlander along with Tobias imo.

Sam will never be automatically linked with Tomlinson. Another year TCND will be forgotten. It’s not going to be binged over and over imo. It’s barely getting the ratings. But yes he has his name in a star and his work has been recognised…in Belgium. Where everyone knows his name.

It’s sad but Sam should have had a star years ago with a certain lady. It’s like season one and two of outlander never happened. This was quality! This was sexy! This was hot! THIS WAS CHEMISTRY NOT TCND! This was what paved the way for TCND, side to side its shite Sam. Your chemistry does not waver so give up the sexy leads, unless it’s Balfe it seems to be an epic fail…but yes the best effort so far 🤷‍♀️JMHO

You will never replicate this hotness so play a different role…

Unfortunately the only Star that will ever be for them is the one with the z in it…but one can live in hope!

TCND, I stand by my review 👇out of all of them Jessica De Gouw was the stand out. Give her a star …

Source

Other star owners include Pierce Brosnan who turned up to promote his film November Man 2014 and Jeanne Claude Van Damme in 2018 promoting his film Lukas, aka the Bouncer…

#sam heughan #Ostend film festival 2024 #tcnd #star #@skippyangel16 #post February 2024

[brian-in-finance]

Question.

Considering that Cait is pretty much gone from SM, do you think it works in her favor acting wise or not?

She's probably busy now with The Amateur resuming filming but in general how do you see it?

Thanks for the questions, Anon. 😃

Do I think Caitríona’s limited social media use works in her favour, acting wise?

Gifer

I think her limited use of social media is incidental, acting wise.

While she’s still a relatively small fish in a big pond, the quality of her performances, accolades from directors, colleagues, and critics, and her 19 award wins and 51 nominations (IMBd) make enough noise. Her name is listed among the nominees and winners of four of the five top acting awards.* She’s been nominated for a BAFTA, won one Scottish BAFTA and been nominated for another. She’s been nominated for five Golden Globe, three Critics Choice, and two Screen Actors Guild awards. (And has won an IFTA award and been nominated for eight others.)

Despite her not being nominated for an Academy Award, she, with Tony, represented Le Mans ’66 (Ford v. Ferrari) and Belfast at the 2020 and 2022 ceremonies, where the films won three Oscars in total.

FarFarAwaySite

Instagram

You mentioned she’s currently busy filming (The) Amateur. Its star and executive producer, Rami Malek, is the 12th Oscar winner who’s shared film credits with Caitríona. The others are:

Sir Michael Caine (2)

Morgan Freeman

Jodie Foster (2)

Julia Roberts

George Clooney (2)

Matt Damon

Christian Bale

Andrew Buckland & Michael McCusker**

Donald Sylvester***

Dame Judi Dench

Sir Kenneth Branagh

She is and has been in good company.

Your second question, Anon, is how do I see it in general, Caitríona’s limited social media use?

I appreciate her limited use of social media. I imagine she fulfills contractual obligations and posts beyond that when the spirit moves her, but I get why she’s pulled back. Many actors who have the luxury of choosing not to use social media stay away from it. Some who choose to use it post only project-related, non-personal information. Her being cast in Outlander, and the show’s success, are gifts she cherishes, but they’ve come at a cost. We’ve seen where fans ignore reality and comment on her social media “direct from” Fantasy Island. Who needs that?

Remember… if you're gonna ask people to pay money to come see you in a movie, they don't need to know your every thought all the time. I think there has to be some element of mystery. — George Clooney in Esquire

*Alphabetically, Academy Award, BAFTA Award, Critics Choice Award, Golden Globe Award, Screen Actors Guild Award

**Best Achievement in Film Editing, Le Mans ’66/Ford v. Ferrari

***Best Achievement in Sound Editing, Le Mans ’66/Ford v. Ferrari

#Tait rhymes with hat #Good times #Inbox #Anonymous #Caitríona’s limited use of social media #Asked 25 November / Answered 26 November 3023

[terrence-silver]

Would Terry like it if beloved queefed during sex? (Queefing is when the pussy farts or makes noises)

---

Terry Silver is like a feral hound with a chew toy.

The more it squeaks, writhes, creaks, screeches --- the better.

He likes it, loves it, relishes it, adores it!

In fact, beloved's sounds, they incentive him as he goes deliberately out of his way to ensure their cunt makes the most delectable, perverted and downright nasty noises he can have it make for him, taking things as far as competing with himself to see if he can have beloved's pussy manifest its horniness and arousal in the most lurid sense possible, each time better (or worse) than the last; doing so through queefing, squirting, leaking, farting; you name it! This is the debauched sadist in Terry being fed and satisfied. Especially if beloved's embarrassed by what just took place. Especially if they can't help themselves, their body no longer under their own control because he holds the reigns of power instead, able to do to with them whatever it is he wants to do. Added bonus lies in the fact that they're in some shape, way or form tied up or restrained, helpless and at his mercy while he plays with them relentlessly, making them queef. He might even pretend he's taken aback by it once it finally happens. That he doesn't like what just took place. Giving beloved an unblinking death stare to fuel their blood even further through some good, old humiliation play, having them clearly vocalize what they just did there while maintaining stares with him. What was that, huh? Do they think that's acceptable? Answer me! Are they an animal or are they a person? If they're an animal, do they wanna be fucked like an animal too? He doesn't quite hear what you should answered. Be louder! Clearer!

Other times?

Terry might not even hide how genuinely and inappropriately pleased he is, dropping the role of a strict disciplinarian to be the gleeful snake instead. Giggling, howling, laughing and smiling ear from ear once he gets beloved's cunt to make yet another horrendous, horrendous sound. He treats it the way an audience member treats a tournament, practically cheering for it, in equal measure, being very much like a hormonal teenager in a grown man's body who just discovered he can do something incredible if he fucks you a certain way, for certain amounts of time, popping out of you under a certain angle and it literally never gets dull for him what sounds and noises he can draw out from his beloved. We can even take it a step further with the assurance that regardless if this is Terry in the 80's making homevideo VHS recordings or an older Terry, endowed with some high tech piece of modern equipment for a privately encrypted archive full of filth, he will absolutely find ways to record and even immortalize his and beloved's sex tapes with compilations of various noises he collected them out of them like they're accolades and trophies --- and to Terry, they very much are --- as well as giving himself a way to have concrete evidence that says 'look what I've been making you do.'

So, yeah, not only does he like queefing --- he makes it into a competitive sport.

Then again, Terry Silver makes everything into a competitive sport.

The more depraved and downright wicked, the more fun it is.

#terry silver #kk3 #cobra kai #tw; sexcanons #tw; queefing #terry silver x reader #terry silver x beloved #tw; mature #tw; vaginal play

[skz317cb97]

Lee Felix X Thick female reader

Word count: 6.5k

Synopsis: Felix, your best friend who happens to be head over heels in love with you, takes you to an old high school friend's wedding, At the reception an old crush that used to torment you shows an interest after all these years. Instead of telling him to fuck off you laugh, dance and disappear with him. Felix is unable to stand seeing it opting to drown his sorrows instead. Will Felix be able to finally tell you how he feels, or will he lose you to the old prom king without ever taking his chance?

A/N: 18+ only! This is the seventh installment of the SKZ x thick reader series! Wow! SEVEN! Only one more to go I can't believe it! Thank you all for coming along on this wild ride of plus sized mc's and the turmoil and doubts that come along with being a plus sized person in our world. This one I wanted to kind of turn that on its head just a bit, so I hope you enjoy that aspect. Also! I usually keep all my warnings below the cut, but I feel like I should make mention that there is an attempted assault written into this story. It is not too graphic or very long, but it is in the story so if that is something that can be upsetting, triggering, or make you uncomfortable please know, I understand if you skip this one. Other than that, I hope you enjoy reading! If you do give it a like, reblog, comment, shoot me an ask and keyboard smash. I love hearing from you guys about all my stories but especially this series. Now, as always, warnings and smut below the cut!

Warnings: MDNI 18+ ONLY! Strong language/cursing, attempted assault, fighting and mild violence, oral (f receiving), unprotected piv sex (use your head and condoms please), Felix comes on y/n, little bit of praise and pet names (angel, jagiya, beautiful etc.) I think that is everything but if I ever miss something please let me know and I'll add it immediately.

You and Felix had been friends since forever. Best friends. He had been there to congratulate every accolade and picked up the pieces every time you were in shambles. Primary school, puberty, first boyfriend, first heart break, your favorite grandmothers passing, prom, university, all of your biggest core memories, Felix was a part of. Felix had only been head over heels in love with you since the sixth grade but he never had the guts to tell you. Afraid to lose his best friend, afraid of rejection.

Felix had always been on the thin side and not especially tall although still taller than you. You both had been fairly awkward before puberty. When it hit Felix, he got a little taller but he always struggled putting on weight. So, getting taller only made his already lithe frame that much thinner. Another thing that did happen to Felix when puberty hit was his voice dipped down octaves deeper which garnered him some looks considering his voice and appearance did not seem to go together. When puberty hit you boy it hit. Curves Felix had never seen appeared almost overnight. You had hips and big breasts and suddenly you weren’t the awkward preteen you had been anymore; you were a voluptuous woman. 

The popular girls did not like that you had things they wanted, so they made fun of you, called you fat, wore you down, made you think there was something wrong with you. There wasn’t of course. You had hips and breasts and an ass; a tummy comes with all of those things typically. The popular boys wanted the popular girls to like them so that meant joining in on your torment and boy did they. Yet you still wanted to fit in, wanted them to want to be your friend. Felix got the brunt of a lot too, usually for sticking up for you but you were always the main target.

That was ancient history though. You were both adults now and working in successful careers, you a clothing designer and Felix behind the scenes in the music industry. You were still best friends and Felix was still in love with you even after all those years. Which is why when he looked down at his buzzing cell phone and saw your name and picture pop up on the screen he smiled and answered quickly. 

“Felix! Will you be my date?!” He had only just answered and was flustered and confused by your choice of greeting. 

“Wh-What?” He stammered out finally. 

“Krista’s wedding. It’s in two weeks and Eric was supposed to go with me, before...” Eric your dick head ex-boyfriend. Felix rolled his eyes at the thought of the guy and finished your sentence. 

“Before you caught the dick head kissing his ‘cousin’ in a club?” You cringed at the memory. 

“Yes Felix that would be the reason he isn’t going, that and me dumping his ass. Anyway, I have to have a date I can not show up alone to this. Not with pretty much everyone from high school being there.” Felix didn’t understand why you still put so much value into those people’s opinions even after all these years. You were far more successful than half of them, you never saw any of them outside of events like weddings or reunions and most of them bullied the both of you in high school. 

“You think showing up with me is going to impress those assholes?” Even though he couldn’t see you, you rolled your eyes at him.  

“I’m not trying to impress anyone I just... don’t want to show up to a wedding alone and you always look handsome but you’re a knockout in a suit Lixie. Not all of them are assholes by the way.” Felix tried to ignore the feeling he got hearing you say he was handsome and scoffed. 

“Most of them.” He countered. 

“Well not Krista and it’s her wedding so I’m going. Are you gonna be my date or not Lix.” Of course he was going to do it from the moment you had asked but he was going to at least try and talk you out of going first. He let out a heavy sigh.

“Why do I feel like this is going to be prom all over again. Yes y/n I’ll be your date for the wedding. Text me the details.” You squealed on the other line. 

“AHHH! THANK YOU LIXIE!! I will, I'll text them to you now. Thank you thank you Felix, seriously.” He smiled at himself happy to hear you happy. 

“It’s fine y/n really. There’s no one’s wedding date I’d rather be than yours.” And he truly meant that more than you knew. You both said your goodbyes, hung up, and you immediately texted Felix the wedding details. Later that week you met up with Felix to go suit shopping.   

“Are we dress shopping too? What are you going to wear?” He was trying on different suit jackets spinning and showing you each one for your opinion. 

“I already have my dress, I got it a while back. I like the dark blue one, the Burberry. The color suits you.” Felix slid the blue one on again and inspected himself in the mirror, deciding he agreed. 

“Blue it is. Well show it to me when we get back to yours from shopping.” You shook your head. 

“No way, it’s way too hard to get in and out of. You’ll just have to be as surprised as everyone else the day of the wedding.” Felix laughed and rolled his eyes. He slid the jacket off and hung it back up with the slacks. 

“Alright that was easy enough, let's get out of here.”  

The day of the wedding finally came and Felix arrived at your apartment to pick you up. When you answered the door, his jaw hit the floor. There you stood in a gorgeous glittery black dress. The top was corseted and sinched in your waist accenting your already curvy figure while simultaneously smoothing your tummy and pushing your breasts up with two dainty little straps doing nothing to actually hold the garment in place. It had a gathered skirt with a high slit that went midthigh and you had on a pair of Louboutin red bottoms with a simple yet elegant diamond necklace laying delicately around your neck.  

Your hair was in a low sleek bun, a few pieces falling around your face and your make up was so flawless it almost looked like you had none on at all. You had a warm glow, black winged eyeliner and the red lip you wore was the same shade as your Louies. The way you had styled the whole look the dress was definitely the stand out. Felix must have been standing there a while stunned because you laughed and waved your hands in front of his face. 

“Earth to Felix, come back down from the mother ship.” He shook his head collecting himself, clearing his throat and you blushed a little at his reaction.  

“Did I do well?” You held out your arms and gave a little spin. Wide eyed Felix nodded and cleared his throat again. 

“Y-yeah! Wow... uh... I...” You gave that sweet laugh of yours as Felix was trying to control his dick that had gotten half hard at the sight of you. 

“Lee Felix Yongbok has no words.” He grabbed the back of his neck, blushing, and laughed a little, finally getting himself together. 

“You look amazing y/n, really, really amazing!” You crossed your foot in front of the other and gave a little curtsy.  

“You don’t look too bad yourself Lixie.” You winked at him, smoothed his jacket lapel and his freckled cheeks turned even redder. He quickly got things moving along. 

“Okay! Let’s get going or we’ll be late.” You pulled your door closed and you and Felix headed to your friend’s wedding. You were a little late but not too much. You missed the pre-wedding mingling and everyone was already seated but the ceremony hadn’t started yet. You and Felix quickly found seats in the back without drawing attention to yourselves.

The ceremony was beautiful and Krista and her new husband looked so happy it brought a tear to your eye that you quickly dabbed away hoping Felix hadn’t noticed. When his hand gripped the one resting on your lap, you knew he had. He gave it a gentle squeeze and you looked over to see him giving you that warm smile of his. He looked so soft when he smiled at you like that. The human embodiment of sunshine, you didn’t know what you would do without your Lixie by your side.  

Once the ceremony ended the guests were ushered to the reception area to wait for the newlyweds and the wedding party to join them. Felix walked you to the table you were assigned to and then went to get you both champagne. When he was on his way back to the table, he saw a very familiar and very unwelcome face. Peter Yin was standing by you talking.  

Peter was king shit in high school. Star athlete, prom king, boyfriend and now ex-husband to Tracy Kim, the prom queen to his king, the most popular girl in the school and both were your number one tormenters in high school. For some unknown reason to Felix, Peter had also been your crush. Yea he was handsome but he treated you like shit every chance he got. Still you'd had a soft spot for him.

Felix would never forget prom night. Peter had told you he dumped Tracy and asked you to prom, your of course said yes and he told you he’d pick you up at seven. Seven rolled around and past and there was no Peter. Felix had gone to prom stag but when he saw Peter and Tracy dancing together when Peter was supposed to be there with you, he knew straight off that Peter had stood you up. Felix left the dance and drove to your house that instant. You were so excited for prom. You had even made your own dress. It was all you had talked about that week. Felix couldn’t let you miss it. 

It was around eight when he knocked on your door. You sprung up quickly still in your hand made dress, still waiting, still hopeful that maybe something had held Peter up and now he was there to get you. When you opened the door, it was Felix standing there in a black tux with a flower corsage that matched your dress. He had bought it for you and kept it in his car just in case. Tears had welled up in your eyes once you realized Peter asking you to prom had all just been a cruel joke.  

Felix felt awful, he wasn’t who you wanted at your door. You wanted some big strong baseball player to be there to sweep you off your feet, not some skinny music nerd you hung out with all the time, and he knew that, but he wasn’t going to let you miss your prom because of those assholes. After some convincing you went and you were grateful for Felix because he managed to get you to have a good time and forget about everything. That was up until prom king and queen were announced.  

When Peter and Tracy were on stage getting crowned, they spotted you in the crowd and started snickering with each other. You were ready to leave after that. No amount of talking would convince you to stay any longer so Felix didn’t try and argue and took you home. He sat with you while you cried that night until you fell asleep in his lap. He held you and looked down taking in every freckle, every eyelash, the soft pout of your lips, he looked at your puffy red rimmed eyes and his heart ached for you. Felix kissed your forehead, leaned back and closed his eyes.  

Felix never liked the way Peter treated you and after prom, well. So, when Felix saw Peter standing there talking to you, he made his way over to the table quickly, expecting tension but surprised to be met by your laughter. Felix sat next to you handing you your drink, one eyebrow raised in question.  

“Thanks, Lixie.” You said as you smiled the biggest smile he’d seen on your face in some time. You seemed to be very happy with the attention Peter was giving you. It was not surprising that he was of course. You were an absolute knock out in that dress. 

“Fe-Fe?!” Peter exclaimed in surprise like Felix didn’t look exactly like he did in high school. Felix gave him a tight-lipped smile raising both his eyebrows. 

“It’s Felix and yes. It’s me Peter. How are things?” Felix was as cordial as he could be considering what Peter had done to you. Peter clapped Felix on the back a bit harder than necessary and laughed. 

“Felix of course. I should have known if y/n was here you weren’t far. Always her little shadow. I’ve been really great lately and things seem to be getting even better, thanks for asking.” Peter’s attention immediately turned back to you.  

“I’ve got to go find my seat beautiful but find me when the dancing has started yea?” You smiled and shook your head blushing a little. He pointed at Felix. 

“Fe-F-Felix! Shots later at the bar my man!” Felix gave him the same tight-lipped smile and a slight nod, then Peter winked at you and left to find his seat. He was acting like prom had never happened. Like he didn't torture you every day of your high school career. It made Felix’s blood boil. Once Peter was a bit more than ear shot away Felix finally felt like he could let out the breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding. 

“Well, he hasn’t changed a bit.” Felix said as he took another deep breath calming himself. You scrunched your eyebrows. 

“What do you mean? He was perfectly civil and he apologized for prom before you walked over.” Felix rolled his eyes scoffing. 

“Oh, he apologized well then and calling me by the terrible nick name him and the rest of the baseball team used to call me is considered perfectly civil to you?” You frowned a little. 

“He caught himself the second time Lix. He was trying to be nice.” Felix knew whatever that was, wasn’t him being nice but there was no use arguing with you about it so he just nodded and dropped it, taking a big drink of his champagne. The happy couple and their wedding party came dancing in to ‘Put a Ring on it’ shortly after and once the cake was cut and toasts were made the music was turned up and the dancefloor filled quickly. Felix shook off the residual anger about Peter. He smiled, stood up, and grabbed your hand, pulling you.  

“Come on, me and you, dancing now.” You laughed and let Felix drag you onto the dance floor where you both started bobbing along and two stepping to the beat of the song. After about three songs a slow one came on. You both stopped and looked at each other for a minute. You hadn’t slow danced together since you were kids at prom. Felix willed himself to get a little brave and pulled you close. One hand resting at the small of your back the other threaded with yours as he started to lead you gently. He was thankful that even with your heels on he was still just a bit taller than you. He gave you his warm smile and you blushed. You let go of his hand and wrapped your arms around Felix’s shoulders, pulling the two of your closer, and rested your head on his shoulder, hiding your red face and Felix hoped you couldn’t feel his heart beating out of his chest. Of course, that would be the time Peter spotted you both and made his way over. Felix noticed first and couldn’t help but scoff and make a face. You pulled back and looked at him. 

“What? What is it?” You asked wondering why his mood shifted so drastically when you had just been having a great time dancing together. 

“Your lunk in tin foil is on his way over.” Felix informed you rolling his eyes. You turned your head and saw Peter making his way through the sea of people dancing. When he saw you look up at him, he smiled at you, making your face light up. Felix wished he made you light up like that. His chest felt tighter the closer Peter got.  

“May I cut in?” Peter asked you not Felix of course. You looked at Felix wanting to make sure he was okay with it. You did ask him to come to this wedding with you, you didn’t want him to think you were ditching him. 

“Of course.” Felix stepped aside and when Peter stepped in, he pulled you so that your body was pressed against his and his hands immediately rested just above your ass, as yours gripped his shoulders. Felix turned rolling his eyes again and walking back to the table, you watched him walk away before Peter pulled your attention back. Felix grabbed another flute of champagne on the way to his seat.  

You stayed on the dance floor with Peter for about three more songs before he was pulling you off to a more private area. He found a dimly lit room and pulled you in, pushing you against a wall and kissing you as soon as the door closed. You kissed him back wrapping your arms around his neck. If sixteen-year-old you could see you now she would be dead. You and Peter had been making out for a little while when he started to slide his hand up your skirt between your thighs. You squeezed them closed and pushed him away a bit as you pulled back.  

“No Peter, I’m not... I like making out with you but I’m not ready for all that yet. We haven’t seen each other in years.” He leaned in and kissed your neck. 

“Well let's make up for lost time then.” He said as he gently bit your shoulder and slid his hand between your legs again. You pushed him away again. 

“Peter, I said no.” He huffed irritated, looking down at you, his eyes hard and dark. 

“Look if I fuck you at this wedding it’s gonna piss Tracy off to no end and anything I can do to piss that bitch off I’m doing, including you. I know you’ve wanted me since high school so just take what you can get and shut the fuck up already.” His grip on you tightened as he licked and kissed your neck and shoulder. The feeling that had, just moments before been welcomed, felt disgusting and you tried to push him off again but he was stronger. 

“Peter get the fuck off me!” You shoved him as hard as you could but he wouldn’t budge. When he started to unbuckle his belt, you kneed him in the balls and pushed him away. He was back up and on you too quickly though, he ripped the strap of your dress grabbing you and pushed you against the wall again before he slapped you across the face. 

“Stupid fat bitch!” Just then Felix came bursting through the door. 

Felix sat at the table watching the love of his life dance with her high school crush while he drowned his broken heart in his fourth glass of champagne? Fifth? He wasn’t sure, it didn’t matter anyway. He was going to get drunk enough to not think or care about what was happening right in front of his eyes. When Felix saw Peter pull you off the dance floor the pit in his stomach grew. He downed the rest of his champagne and grabbed another, downing it just as quickly. Once number six really hit Felix he felt like he was going to be sick. He rushed to the bathrooms and threw up; he was never much of a drinker. Felix rinsed his mouth, splashed some cool water on his face and felt a bit better. He grabbed a mint from his pocket and it helped calm his stomach a little more as well as get the residual bad taste from his mouth. 

Felix was walking back to join the reception when he heard a commotion come from the other side of the door he was passing. He leaned in and he could hear your voice and heavy breaths and he thought he was going to be sick again. Until he actually made out what the voices were saying. He heard you yell for Peter to get the fuck off you, then a grunt and something bang against the wall. Felix burst in and found you pinned against the wall by Peter, his hand connecting with your face. 

“Stupid fat bitch!” Felix saw red. He didn’t hesitate. He launched towards Peter and speared him to the ground. Felix was able to get a few good shots in before Peter was able to overpower him. Peter punched Felix in the stomach twice and then a cross hook to his face knocking Felix off of him. 

“Peter fucking STOP!” He stood up and kicked Felix in the gut while he was down and your tried pulling Peter away screaming at him. Luckily all the noise drew attention and the groom and a few groomsmen came running in, pulling Peter away. As Felix got up and went after Peter again, another groomsmen held him back. 

“I’ll fucking kill you, you son of a bitch!” Krista came in right after to see what the hell was going on. When she saw you on the floor, she rushed over. 

“y/n?! What’s going on are you okay?!” You hadn’t realized it but tears were streaming down your face. 

“Peter... he-he...” You tried to get the words out but couldn’t. Felix started shouting again. 

“He was trying to fucking assault her! He fucking hit her!” Felix lunged and reached for him and the groomsmen that was restraining him had to plant his feet and lock his arms around Felix. Peter pushed the other groomsmen off fixing his jacket and hair. 

“My ass! She was all over me.” The ripped strap on your dress and the very visible handprint on your face made it clear that was a lie. The groom and his best man grabbed Peter by the arms and forcefully escorted him out. While Krista tried to calm you. 

“I’m so sorry Krista! I... I’ll pay for any damages. I’m sorry!” She shook her head. 

“You’ll do no such thing, nothing is damaged. Please don’t apologize!” She hugged you tightly, she had always been a dear friend. Once Peter was escorted out of the room Felix calmed down. The other groomsmen let him go, and the room started to clear out. He quickly went and knelt by you. Krista smiled when Felix grabbed your hand and left the two of you once he was by your side.  

“Are you okay?!” He asked as he tilted your face to look at you. You nodded sniffling. 

“What do you mean me?! Felix are YOU okay?!” You took his face in your hands and inspected the freckled cheek Peter’s fist had connected with. Felix grabbed your wrist gently and nodded. 

“I’m fine y/n, really. Let’s get you out of here, okay?” You agreed. Felix stood and helped you up. You found Krista again and said a quick goodbye, apologizing again. She assured you; she knew it had been Peter and not you or Felix causing the problem. Just before you were going to leave Krista pulled Felix aside. 

“Lix, why have you never told her?” He looked at Krista in shock. 

“Told her what?” Krista rolled her eyes and smiled at Felix knowingly. 

“That you’re in love with her, how long are you going to wait? You’ve been crazy for her since we were kids.” Felix looked down at his shoes knowing he clearly couldn’t lie to Krista. 

“Felix, tell her before you lose your chance. I promise, she feels the same.” Felix looked up at Krista with an unsure look on his face his heart full of doubt and she nodded in understanding. 

“Trust me Felix. Tell her.” He shook his head and gave Krista a hug before heading to the car with you to take you home. When Felix pulled up to your apartments you both sat there in silence for a moment, the adrenaline from the evening's events still buzzing in your bodies. You finally broke the silence. 

“Felix?” He looked at you and gave you that warm smile of his and you could feel yourself melting just like you did every time he smiled at you like that. You didn’t know what you would do without him. 

“Can you come up and help me with this dress? I had the old lady next door who does alterations tie me in it. She’s already in bed at this hour and I won’t be able to undo it myself.” Felix nodded. 

“Of course, hold on I’ll get your door.” He jumped out of the car quickly, opened your door and helped you out of the car. You stood, winced and stopped. 

“Just a sec.” You placed a hand on Felix’s shoulder to balance yourself as you leaned down to take off your heels.  

“Ugh that’s better I think I’ll be able to actually walk to my door now.” Felix laughed a little and took the shoes for you as you led him up to your place. When you and Felix walked  into the dark quiet apartment it reminded you of when you first walked into that room with Peter. Tears welled up in your eyes and you broke down crying out of nowhere. Felix dropped your shoes and pulled you close wrapping his arms around you tightly.  

“I hadn’t seen him in years and just walked in there with him Felix. What was I thinking?! I’m so stupid!” You sobbed against his chest and he shushed you. 

“You’re not stupid y/n. He’s a manipulative prick who’s taken advantage of the soft spot you had for him twice. He’s stupid for destroying the two chances he’s had to have the most beautiful woman in the world.” You looked up at Felix tears streaking your face.

“Felix, if you hadn’t been there... I don’t know...” He covered your mouth with his hand and shook his head. 

“I was. Let’s not think about the ifs.” You sniffled and wiped your face as you nodded.  

“Will you untie the back of this and loosen it? I’ve got to take a shower and get the smell of him off of me.” Felix nodded and you spun around so he could untie the corset for you. He loosened the string and you held the front of the dress up as it started to get some slack to it. You turned around and kissed Felix on the cheek. 

“Thank you. Will you still be here when I get out? I really don't want to be alone right now." He smiled at you and it warmed you all over like a summer sun. 

“I’ll be here y/n.” You kissed him on the cheek again and went off to get cleaned up. While you were in the shower Felix fished out a pair of your sweatpants and a t-shirt and got out of his suit. When you got out of the shower you threw on sweats and t-shirt as well and when you walked out into the living room you found Felix on your couch his knees pulled up and his arms wrapped around them, watching some movie on the tv. He looked so soft and warm. You walked over and Felix put his feet down so you could sit next to him. He opened his arms and you leaned into him.  

You took a deep breath and felt much calmer in his hold. You felt safe in Felix’s arms you knew he would always be there for you even if it was just as a friend. All the years you had wanted more but were too scared, certain he couldn’t possibly feel the same for you. You didn’t know what you would do without your Lixie. You couldn’t risk it but tonight, the look on his face when he’d gone after Peter. Could a man not in love with you look like that? You shifted in Felix’s arms and looked up at him. He looked back at you, his dark brown eyes, tender, adoring. 

“Felix, do you love me?” His eyes went wide and his jaw dropped as he stammered. You carded your fingers through Felix’s hair and pressed your lips against his softly. When he reciprocated the kiss, you deepened it tilting your head and opening your mouth. Felix pulled away unsure of what exactly was going on. 

“y/n what are you doing?” You ran your hand down the side of Felix’s face and he leaned into your touch. You let out a deep breath as you tried to think of what to say. 

“For as long as I can remember Lix. I thought what I felt for you was just a crush for the longest time. Just a silly crush because you were a boy and we were close. Then prom night, you showed up at my door with the corsage. You took me to prom and I had so much fun and when I was ready to go, we left no questions. Then you stayed with me while I cried myself to sleep. It was that next morning when I woke up in my bed with your arms around me. I wasn’t sure what was warmer, you or the sun shining in my window and I knew it wasn’t just a silly crush. I’m in love with you Felix.” Tears were rimming Felix’s eyes. He shook his head in disbelief. 

“All this time?” You bit your lip and nodded scared of what might come next. 

“I... I love you too y/n. So much! Since the sixth-grade sock hop when you dressed like Sandy and I dress like Danny from Grease. I have waited so long to hear those words come from your pretty lips.” He kissed you again and you wrapped your arms around his neck pulling him on top of you as you laid back on the couch. Felix broke the kiss and held your face running his thumb across your cheek. 

“y/n we... everything that happened tonight we don’t, I mean I don’t expect...” You kissed Felix softly silencing his worries. 

“Lixie, after the shit night we had and all this time we’ve suffered in silence, if you’re ready then I’m not waiting another minute. I want you, Felix.” He stared down at you underneath him in awe. Earlier you had been gorgeous, your dress, your hair and make-up. Now laying on the couch under Felix in your t-shirt and sweats, bare faced, hair down, freshly washed, the coconut smell from your shampoo and conditioner you were breath taking.

Felix leaned down and kissed you. You ran your hands down his firm muscles. Felix may have been thin but he was fit, no doubt about it. You lifted his shirt and he broke the kiss to pull it the rest of the way off and tossed it somewhere in the living room before claiming your lips again. His hand stayed on your hips until you grabbed them and slid them up your shirt until they were covering your breasts. 

“Touch me Lix I want you to please.” He squeezed your full breasts in his hands and started kissing down your neck. 

“Tell me what you want, exactly, everything and I'll give it to you angel.” You moaned and arched up into Felix’s touch at the feeling of his lips on you and the use of the sweet pet name. 

“Fuck Felix, I... I want you to go down on me.” Felix lifted up and pulled your t-shirt off, your lack of bra leaving you topless. 

“Oh god you really are an angel, look at you.” Your face turned red and he continued to kiss and nip down your neck and shoulder. 

“Tell me what else you want me to do to you baby, I want to know everything.” You moaned as he took a nipple into his mouth and sucked on it. 

“Uh... Mmmm... that feels so good Lixie. Want... want you inside me want you to make love to me Felix god please make love to me!” Felix let go of your nipple and left a fiery trail of kisses down your soft stomach. 

"Soon beautiful, soon." He hummed as he pulled your sweats and panties down your legs. 

“Mmmhmm keep going, what else jagiya?” His tongue dipped into your folds and started to explore you. 

“FUCK! LIX fuck! I want you to make me cum oh god please make me cum!” His soft lips sucked on your clit and he hummed again satisfied with your answers. 

“Anything you want angel.” Felix devoured you, but slowly, methodically, as if he was mapping out all your weak points and cataloging them for later. You weren’t sure how long Felix had been between your legs, moaning and slurping at you as you tugged at your breasts, his hair. Your orgasm crept up on you slowly and washed over your whole body.  

“Ohohohoh god Felix yes I’m coming yes mmmm yess!” You writhed as Felix’s hands gripped your thick thighs that clamped around his head. He never rushed a thing and slowly worked you through your climax giving your pussy little kitten licks until you stopped twitching. You laid there breathless a light sheen of sweat covering your body as Felix made his way back up to claim your lips again. 

“Oh my god Felix that was...” You let out a heavy breath and you pushed your hair out of your face. 

“FUCK!” You let out another heavy breath trying to control your racing heart as Felix’s finger caressed up and down the skin on your side, watching you with that same warm smile on his face. You pushed his hair out of his face too and he nuzzled against your hand. 

“So pretty.” You whispered as you traced the freckles on his cheek. Felix slid his sweats and boxer briefs off as you cooed over how gorgeous he was. Your hand trailed down his abs and your gently grabbed his cock. His mouth fell open and he looked you deep in your eyes as you started stroke him off. You ran your palm over the tip of his dick collecting his precum and continued to work him until grabbed your wrist and brought your hand to his lips, kissing the back of it. He threaded his fingers through yours and held your hand as he lined up with your aching cunt and stopped.  

“Do you want me to grab a condom first?” You shook your head. 

“I have an IUD.” Felix nodded and squeezed your hand as he slowly sank into you. The feeling of your warm velvety walls surrounding his cock was euphoric, made him a little lightheaded even. 

“You feel so good jagiya. God even better than my dreams.” He let go of your hand so that he could hold on to both of your squishy hips and started thrusting into you. The soft pants and moans you let out were so sweet Felix wanted to hear more. He leaned down and kissed your capturing those sweet breaths you let out as he fucked you deeper. 

“Let me hear you angel, want to hear that pretty voice tell me how good my cock feels.” You moaned out louder hearing Felix mingle such sweet words with such dirty ones. 

“God, it does Lixie! Fuck so good don’t stop!” Felix shook his head. 

“I’m not stopping until you cum at least two more times for me beautiful.” He fucked you harder snapping his hips into your full thighs pushing you over the edge quickly. 

“Lix fuck fuck yes! I’m coming Felix Ohhhh fuck I’m coming...” Felix slowed down allowing you to come down from the high of your second orgasm. He gently ran his fingertips up and down your body and it felt like electricity was buzzing through you. 

“So good, so sexy. Fuck. So good coming for me like that angel. You can give me one more yea?” You laid on your back on the couch under Felix completely fucked out and limp. You chewed on your lips and nodded as he continued fucking you slowly. 

“Yes Lix I think I can.” Felix cooed at you. 

“Of course you can angel such a good girl.” Your pussy clenched around Felix’s cock and his thrusts started to pick up rhythm again as he buried is dick into you deeper and deeper. He angled his hips different and started hitting that spot inside you again and had you screaming his name. 

“Lix Lix Fel-Felix fuck yes god harder right there!” Felix drilled into your hard and deep your body getting pushed up the couch with every thrust, your breasts bouncing to the rhythm of his cock pounding into you. Felix sucked on his fingers, wetting them and rubbed your clit fast and hard as he fucked you senseless and you came for the third time that night. Your cunt squeezed and milked Felix’s cock and he pushed himself deeper and deeper until he felt his orgasm coming.  

“Oh fuck y/n I’m gonna cum fuck!” Felix pulled his dick out and pumped it in his hand as he came across your pussy. Thick stripes of warm cum streaking across your mound and dripping down your slit. 

“Fuck fuck ohhh fuck.” Felix breathed out as he leaned down over you, his head resting in the crook of your neck as he shook and tried to catch his breath post nut. Your ran your fingers through his hair, running your nails along his scalp, soothing and bringing him back from his own mind-blowing orgasm. When the fog had finally cleared, he lifted his head and looked at you with a dreamy look in his eyes. He pushed a sweaty piece of hair out of your face and kissed you softly.  

“Come on let’s get cleaned up and go to bed.” With your own eyes half closed already you yawned and nodded. Felix started the shower and had you get in first. He grabbed your body wash and squeezed some into his hands and lathered it on your body with a rag, washing every inch of you. His touch was sweet, gentle even when he tenderly ran the rag through your folds it was only to clean you, not sexual in the least.

He placed tender kisses on your face any chance he got as he rinsed the suds from you and quickly washed himself. You both dried off and crawled into your bed. You laid your head on Felix’s chest and he wrapped his arms around you. You both melted into each other. Between the wedding, the fight, and making love you were both absolutely spent. Your eyes were so heavy they closed in no time. Felix wasn’t sure if you were asleep or not but he leaned close and whispered to you regardless. 

“y/n I love you so much. I want to be your wedding date forever and I hope I’m your date for the most important wedding of all.” Your eyes still closed, you scrunched your face and hummed. Felix kissed the top of your head and squeezed you tighter. 

@ughbehavior @caroline-ds-world @chansynie @jquellen27 @hyunelixies @fixation-dump @lachinitaaaaa @rinrinndou @bangchans-angel @laylasbunbunny

“Ours.”  

Please do not repost or translate any of my works. My blog and stories are NSFW and 18+ ONLY! Minors, ageless, and blank blogs will be blocked!

#stray kids smut #skz smut #lee felix smut #lee felix yongbok smut #lee yongbok smut #skz317cb97 thick reader series #skz317cb97 #cal 🖤

[noonaishere]

Music of the Heart [J.YH] - two | mahler

*One week later

You stood outside the doors of Wonderland Entertainment with your bass over your shoulder. It suddenly felt unrealistically heavy to you. That didn’t make sense, it had felt fine the whole time you were on the subway and when you walked from the station to the doors you were currently standing in front of. The building looked totally shuttered from the outside, tastefully designed to let outside light into the lobby while hindering prying eyes, considering who might be inside at any moment. You took your phone out and checked the email from the receptionist to make sure of the number you were supposed to call upon arriving. You copied it to your phone, and dialed.

“Hello?” The voice of a woman answered. “Wonderland Entertainment, this is Mina speaking.”

“Hi, I’m t/n, I have an appointment with Producers Kim and Maddox today?”

“What is this in reference to?”

“The position of studio bassist.”

“I see you right here. Are you outside the front door?”

“Yes.”

“I’ll buzz you in.”

The lock on the door buzzed, and when you pushed the handle, it released. You inhaled deeply and pushed the door open all the way.

The inside of the building was much more inviting than the outside would have you believe. It looked like most other upscale lobbies, though it did have decor related to the business it housed.

“Hi, I’m Mina.” The young woman behind the receptionist’s desk said as she waved at you from across the lobby.

 You quickly walked over to the desk. “Hi. Um, do I need to sign in or something?”

“No, you already told me who you were. Let me just call someone from security to watch the desk while I take you over, and then I can walk you to the recording room.” She smiled.

You nodded. The recording room? You thought the audition would be in an auditorium or something with the kind of starpower Wonderland had under its management. While Mina picked up her desk phone and called security, you took the opportunity to look around. As far as you knew, this was the only time you’ll ever be in this building in the whole of your life, so you might as well get an eyeful.

There was the Company Statement, which you weren’t too interested in, not when there was a wall of accolades. There were vinyls and CDs in frames on one of the walls, ones that went gold or platinum, you suspected. You couldn’t see the names on the plaques from where you were standing, but you could see some of the package designs and knew which groups and soloists they were--

“He said he’ll be over in a few minutes, you can look around if you like.”

“Oh--”

“Everyone likes to look at the gold and platinum wall.” She smiled.

“Oh, okay. Thanks.”

She smiled and nodded as you made your way over.

You could see the names as you moved closer, and they were all of Wonderland’s biggest idols: the girl groups AUrOrA and proMISS, the boy group JUPiTER; some of the most popular groups around. The soloists, Yu Satbyeol, Cho Sookjin, and Choi Jongho were also there, with all of their gold and platinum albums displayed prominently. Somewhat further away was the record of a group you recognized: Ans:wer. You remember they had torn up the music shows as monster rookies and established themselves into solid careers. To your knowledge they hadn’t broken up, though, they hadn’t done much in recent years since they had all gone to do their military service around the same time. All the pictures of them looked so much younger than they were now, fresh-faced youths instead of grown men with wives and children, accolades frozen in time.

There was another wall with photos of their biggest acting stars and many of the idols from before were repeated there in tasteful headshots. For a moment you wondered if you even had the right to stand in the same building as them. But… no one told you to dream small. You were here for a reason.

“Miss t/l/n? He’s here,” Mina said and you turned to see one of the security guards getting comfortable in her seat at the desk. “I can take you over now.”

You nodded and walked over to join her.

You followed behind her for a few moments before she addressed you. 

“So, are you excited?”

“Excited?”

“To audition for someone like producer Kim or producer Maddox?”

“Oh… well, I’d just be a studio bassist, so I can’t imagine I’d really be working with them.”

“You’d be in the same room with them.”

“Yeah, but they’re the ones writing the basslines, you know? It’s their vision. I’m just there to play,” you shrugged.

She turned to you and stopped. She pouted, bottom lip sticking out. She hugged you.

“Uh, thanks?”

“You’ll get it. I promise.”

You were slightly uncomfortable, but you could tell she meant well. You patted her back. “Umm, thank you.”

She stopped hugging you and smiled cheerily, and then turned back around to lead you to your destination.

Sure.

A few minutes later, you were at the studio door and Mina opened it for you, leading you in.

“The 2:30 audition is here.”

“Thank you, Mina,” one of the two men nodded at her. 

She nodded and went to the door. “Psst!” 

You turned to her.

He held up her fists and mouthed the word “Fighting!” with a smile before closing it.

You laughed softly and turned back to the two men, they watched Mina as she left.

“So strange…” the one who hadn’t thanked Mina said with a chuckle.

“Well, she means well.” The first man stood. “Hi, I’m Kim Hongjoong, one of the producers here at Wonderland Entertainment.” 

He held out his hand to shake yours and you did. “I’m t/l/n t/f/n. Nice to meet you.”

“This is Maddox. Also a producer,” he gestured to the other man.

Maddox stood and shook your hand. 

You did.

“It’s nice to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you too.” He smiled.

“Now, t/n, you’re here for the bassist position?” Hongjoong asked.

“Yes.”

“Are you ready to play?”

You nodded. “Generally always am.”

His eyebrows ticked up as he shared a look with Maddox.

Maddox laughed him off. “Let’s get you set up.”

Maddox got you situated in the recording booth, where a camera was also trained on you.

“I hope you don’t mind,” Hongjong said through the mic. “We have a few people auditioning and we’d like to be able to review them later when we decide.”

“Not a problem,” you said as you adjusted the headphones you were wearing and tested your bass for the feedback. You adjusted a string slightly until it was back in tune.

“I hope you can sight read,” Maddox said as he turned the mic on.

“Of course.” You flipped through the sheet music. The pages that belonged to each other were numbered, but they didn’t have titles. So it was a quiz.

Sneaky.

“Whenever you’re ready,” Hongjoong said.

You nodded and arranged the sheet music on the stand so you could see it all, it could have only been part of the song. 

You played the opening notes with a pick and thought for a moment before realizing what it was: Jungle Man by the Red Hot Chili Peppers. You smiled to yourself for having guessed it so fast. Now that you knew what the song needed, you stuck the pick between your teeth and started over, pulling and slapping at the strings to make the loud, funk-bass sound.

The sheet music ran out and you played the next portion of the bass line before stopping.

“You knew the song?”

“Yep. Chili Peppers have some pretty good bass lines.”

Hongjoong and Maddox looked at each other. 

“You can start the next one when you’re ready,” Hongjoong said.

You nodded and set up the next song and clicked your tongue to the beat as you read it, it looked really familiar. You laughed to yourself and put your pick on the stand before playing with your fingers, because you knew this song too: The Last Baron by Mastodon. A song you had played a lot for practice when it first came out. You started right in with the crunchy part under the bassist’s verse before moving into the groove-metal section during the lead guitarist’s verse. The big slides made you glad you had practiced it so much, otherwise your fingers wouldn’t be fast enough to keep up.

You stopped playing and looked at the two of them.

You could see Maddox laughing. “Did you know that one too?”

“I used to use it to practice groove-metal basslines. Haven’t listened to it in a while though.”

Maddox nodded and turned away, his shaking back told you he was still laughing. Hongjoong looked… not annoyed; worried? Like he was thinking at least.

Maddox said something to Hongjoong with the mic off, and because you couldn’t see his mouth you couldn’t even guess what he said. Hongjoong nodded.

“You can play the last one.”

You nodded and rearranged the last set of sheet music. You looked at it for a moment and realized that the tuning was different from the first two. You took your headphones off and re-tuned. When you put them back on you could hear Hongjoong’s voice asking:

“You just did that by ear?”

“Yeah. I have perfect pitch, actually.” 

You were looking at the sheet music and didn’t see what his expression was.

The note structure of the sheet music confused you; it didn’t seem like the bassline for any song you knew, and you knew a lot of basslines. You strummed a couple notes before you realized what it was. Had they thrown a Vivaldi theme in as a ‘bassline’ to confuse you? The transposition from a classical instrument to the electric bass was a clunky, to say the least.

“Who wrote this?” You asked.

“I did.” Hongjoong answered.

“Some of it’s wrong.”

“What--”

You started playing before he could finish his question. You suspect that the cobbled together bassline had been taken from Vivaldi’s violin concerto "Summer/L'Estate", from the Presto section; the part that was normally in commercials. You played it, though on a bass it was almost deceptively easy.

You stopped and laughed as you tuned your bass to a different tuning, one side of the headphones off so you could hear the strings. 

“Was it that easy?” Maddox asked, a chuckle at the end of his question.

“It’s just that…” you paused to finish tuning. “If I was going to try and scare someone. I would have tried something like this-- though I really should be using a guitar for it instead.”

You began playing Mahler’s Symphony No. 1 in D major, 4th movement. It was one of your favorite pieces, for its complexity and sweeping grandeur, though it held a few unfortunate memories. You let some notes ring out, meant to take the place of other instruments in an orchestra as you played the main violin parts on the higher strings. It was a difficult piece to play on bass because even with the change in tuning you couldn’t make all the highest notes and had to improvise, but if they were going to try and trip you up, you weren’t going to let them. You played the first three minutes of the movement before ending where it naturally became quiet.

You let the final notes die down on their own and put your hand over the strings to quiet them.

Maddox looked shocked. Hongjoong looked like he might be mad.

“Well, that’s all the sheet music you had for me.” You nodded.

“Oh! Yeah! Let me help you!” Maddox said as he ran in and collected the sheet music. “That last thing was really amazing!”

“Oh, thanks.” You put your bass into its case and zipped it up before helping him.

“What was it?”

“A piece by Mahler.”

“I’ve never heard it before.”

“It’s his first symphony, if you want to look it up. Fourth movement.”

“I think I will,” he smiled. He held the papers in his hands as he gestured for you to walk ahead of him out of the recording booth.

Back on the other side of the glass, you stood in front of Hongjoong with your bass slung over your shoulder.

“That was… we’ll review the tape when we review them for everyone else.” He said.

You nodded. “Alright.”

“I can show you to the lobby,” Maddox said. “I’m no Mina, but we wouldn’t want you to get lost.”

You smiled and nodded. “Thanks. I guess I’ll hear from you if I hear from you. Nice meeting you both.”

Hongjoong nodded without saying anything and turned back to the sound board.

In the hall, Maddox led you to the lobby. 

“Don’t let him get to you too badly.”

“No?”

“He’s like that at first when he meets people.”

“Well, I guess it only really matters if we meet again,” you raised a brow and smiled at him.

“Oh, haha, yeah. I thought your playing was really good.”

“Do you make the final hiring decisions?”

“Uh… no.”

You nodded. “That’s nice of you to say anyway.”

He nodded. 

In the lobby, you turned and held out your hand. “It was nice meeting you, Maddox.”

“Oh-- it was nice meeting you too, t/n.”

You shook hands and walked over to Mina.

“Oh! How did it go? Did you get it?” She beamed.

“Probably not. It was nice meeting you, though.”

“Awww, thank you, it was nice meeting you too.”

You walked out of the building.

Okay, so maybe you shouldn’t have shown off the way you did. That was probably the exact opposite of what you should have done. You were just a little annoyed that they - maybe it was just Hongjoong, Maddox seemed like the nicer of the two - tried to trip you up with something that wasn’t even that hard to play. They should have transcribed Mozart’s Turkish March or even Paganini’s caprice 24 into a bassline if they really wanted to fuck you over.

But whatever. You were ready to go home and trawl the postings for more bassline auditions. At least you had your chance to try out for a company as big as Wonderland. At the very least, you couldn’t feel bad about being able to say that you had been in the building.

Even if the producers - though you were sure it was probably just one of them - were dicks.

As you were on the bus, listening to the newest crop of kpop comebacks, you had an idea for a new mashup.

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#Yunho #Jeong Yunho #Ateez #Ateez smau #Ateez fic #Ateez au #music industry au #enemies to lovers #childhood friends to lovers #reader fic #ᴍᴜsɪᴄ ᴏғ ᴛʜᴇ ʜᴇᴀʀᴛ

[wynterhxney]

theme: Holiday Hallmark - Famous Director on sabbatical in his home city to get away from the stress and press for a normal Christmas. Attempting to hide under the radar but first meets OR reunites with someone that changes his current woes. Oh but it’s the fame he’s trying to downplay.

Bells are ringing, snow is falling and the whole world is on a holiday high. Far away from the demand of Hollywood there is something different in the air. Another city but one close to his heart; New York is not the home away from home. This is home. The very place he loves to be when things are becoming too much for him to handle. Right now he’s probably at his peak. Accolades, renowned work under his belt, fame that he hardly would have thought to fall into his lap. Everything he ever wanted to do is firmly in his grasp but somehow that isn’t enough. As if he’s being pulled in every which direction, clawed and picked at until Landon can’t think straight. Ironic when he too is facing issues with a dark cloud forever hanging over his head in the name of an equally famous ex.

All of it shouldn’t bother him. None of it means anything when he’s still on top. Sometimes being on top is the loneliest place a person can be. What’s that saying? One is the loneliest number? Alone in his city after landing on the east coast just a few days ago is his swan song. Forget Frank crooning about how a person can make it anywhere. There are a few lyrics in Landon’s rendition that would make the snobbiest cinephile shed tears. Tonight he realizes why they call it the blues. A Wynter in winter time; his breath swirled as he walked across a layer of snow. Leaving sidewalks with a yet to be shoveled blanket of ice white, Landon found solace in the crisp chill.

Bundled up in a long gray coat, hands crammed into its pockets, he wore a pair of sunglasses to add to the effect of being undercover. Little good when recognizable but he’s dodged any suspicion casually trekking down those familiar streets. 37th being a favorite for one particular bakery which he decided to stop into. Choosing to get a box of triple chocolate muffins, Landon would have limited his time out to avoid anyone noticing just who he is but he settled into a nearby coffee shop afterwards. Locally owned so it gave more cover to remain low key seated with a steaming hot cup near a window he remembered fondly looking from during his tenure at NYU. To this day he can feel that time. People watching during the Christmas rush in a snow drenched metropolis kept him busy as he sipped.

#words like violence break the silence. // landon film interaction #landon. // potential plots #starting points. //

[veilkeeper]

Astarion: Here's my little treat with their cheeks all flushed. You will come to my bed tonight, won't you? Roz: Very presumptuous. I'm undecided what I'll do tonight yet. Astarion: Ah, you need a bit of enticing, let me see. How about this one: All these accolades from the Tieflings are nothing compared to the sound of my name, cried from your lips. Roz: So many honeyed words, as usual. Astarion: Not half as sweet as when I tasted you. Hmm, let me give it another go: Every part of your perfect body whispers temptation - it's as if the Gods made you just to ruin me. Roz: And what else...? Astarion: I can go on all night with the flattery, but is that really all you want? How about if I said these little words... Everyone's favourite... I love you. Roz: Having fun, are you? Astarion: I am, it's hard not to with you. Now, as much as I relish standing around and saying all my favourite lines at you, I'd much rather we got to experience each others' full portfolio of talents once again.

trying to figure out how i feel about this scene. on one hand, the dialogue is obviously very fun on its own, but astarion is laying it on as thick as ever so it's still not real, though it does seem a little... overcompensating? especially since he's fully admitting he's using lines and pushing waaaay too far into the infamous I love you.

and it's not just because roz is playing hard to get: even if you pick the "you don't have to ask twice" line he has a whole thing about how he can hardly focus, he's so consumed by thoughts of their night together. he's laying it on thick no matter what branch of the conversation you pick.

something's going on, and i have a theory.

here's an alt dialogue:

Astarion: I love you. Roz: A little soon to say that, don't you think? Astarion: Well, it can be true, if only for tonight.

and then when you go to bed, he says:

Astarion: I hoped you would come. I have missed you. And now you're all mine, and I'm all yours. Until morning at least.

and here's what im thinking. if this were 100% him manipulating roz, he wouldn't keep emphasizing that it's just for tonight. but if it were 100% real, i don't think he'd be so over the top with his flirtations.

so i think its that he wants it to be real. i think his feelings are starting to get more complicated than just "here's a person i don't care about that i can manipulate", but he still feels his position is precarious enough that he 'needs' to have something with them that he can control. so i think he wants to pretend, if only for a night, that it is real - but he can't even do that. he has to keep tacking on caveats and assurances that it isn't. like drawing a line in the sand, not just for roz but for himself, too: he can pretend for tonight, but then he has to go back to the simplicity of detachment after.

because he admits when he confesses later that he's never done this before! he doesn't know how to be in a real relationship, he doesn't know what that looks like or what that feels like, and i think he wants it but he's afraid of it. and in this scene we're getting a fascinating mélange of that fear and desire mixing with his lack of foresight; he has a plan, so he's going to stick with it, even if it's probably a terrible idea with the way the tides are turning.

#astarion #astarionmance #roz pt #bg3 #bg3 spoilers #bg3 dialogue #ive been sort of obsessively trying to pinpoint where i think his feelings are starting to turn and i do think its here #to be clear #i dont think hes In Love With Roz #but i think his feelings are starting to get more complicated than he ever intended them to #but hey! who knows! maybe as i keep playing things will recontextualize and i'll think this scene was 100% a manipulation #maybe IM the one falling for his tricks now

[akampana]

18. "we have just met and yet it feels like i have known you for a lifetime." - Nebuchadnezzar II x Artoria

Prompt: "we have just met, and yet it feels like I have known you for a lifetime. Pairings: Nebuchadnezzar II x Arturia Pendragon, slight GilArt Tags: Mild Angst

Confusion wasn’t what he wanted to see when he first opened his eyes. The feat of magic that his feet stood upon was named after his dynasty, after all, he expected a warm welcome. However, it was the only emotion that filled the silence as he materialized, awkwardly followed by a triumphant greeting from the young Master that called him here. He berated the humble magus, spouted proud statements urging her to prove to him she was worthy of his presence and then–  

“See, Saber? I told you using you as a catalyst would get us someone strong!”

The king turned his head, smirking at his new Master’s praise. What sort of swordsman could have aided his passage here? A worthy rival, perhaps? Ha! He doubted it. A soldier? Another ruler?

A breath, as he took in her small figure, the torturous gentle line of her cheek. Somehow, his eyes knew her every edge, her every corner, her every nook and every curve. Somehow, he recognized the constellations dotted across her porcelain skin, wherever it peeked out from that regal, foreign dress.  Somehow, his fingers remembered the softness of her hair, longed to run through those hay strands, and never had the chance.

Envy latched onto him like a predator, tearing its ugly teeth into his neck. The ghost of her scent flitted through his memories, while presently she stood just far enough out of his reach. It made no sense why she starved him of her touch now when his memory reveled in her. Why did she hesitate to run to him? Why deter from their reunion?

Emerald eyes more beautiful than anything he's ever seen locked onto his, bringing the king to his knees before their stormy sea. He sank into the sand, bowing his head as he’d never done before as the violent waves came upon him. He knew then, that it mattered no longer what accolades he’d earned, what crown sat on his head, what achievements he had below his belt. He was just a man; a man who wanted to hear her call his name and taste the sound of it on her lips. He wanted her. He needed her. He craved her like no one else before. 

But why?

"Gil—" 

His eyes snapped open as their lips touched. No, that wasn't…he wasn't…

Her rejection burned against his chest like wildfire. He didn’t even realize he’d crossed the room to meet her till he felt her armored fingers on his skin and the rush of air rapidly filling the space she created between them. Anger burned across his cheek, smearing his—not his— body with a small streak of red. Then there was a vaguely familiar blade at his chin, held up by one delicate hand as she swiped the other against what remained of his kiss.

"Give me one reason I should not send you back to the Throne, Gilgamesh!" swordswoman warned, rage—so familiar on her face—igniting her countenance such that even their Master's commands did not deter her.

As his heart continued to beat for her, crushing itself against its unwilling ribcage in its adamant longing, the Chaldean king finally understood. Against all laws and logic the avarice of this body seeped into his very soul.  Every part, every sliver of his resurrected shell thirsted for everything she was and will be. It was like Gilgamesh's ghost was breathing down his neck, clawing at his throat with jealousy.

"My name is Nebuchadnezzar II," he worded carefully, watching those damning green eyes search for answers within his amber ones. He wondered if she’d find them. After all, here he stood, lost as a navigator on a cloudy night. His body told him she was the true way. That all roads led to her. That she was the light at the end of the long tunnel, but he didn’t know why. 

“This form tells me I am a Caster, though without this masquerade, I would present myself as a Ruler. As King of Babylon, that class ought to have been more fitting, but I suppose I should not complain of the power a body from the Age of the Gods grants me,” he explained. 

She tensed like a string pulled taught. The lines between her brows moved as she sought in him a lie. He wondered how it would feel to know her eyes in a gentler light, without mistrust or apprehension or even anger. He wanted to see in her gaze the kind of potent longing like that of his wife for her homeland. He wished for a day he was no longer at the sharper end of her sword. 

Meanwhile, the shorter king’s fingers faltered on her grip, dissuaded by vexation. A body from the Age of the Gods? What could he have possibly meant by that? She’d never known Gilgamesh to joke, but the alternative was to believe this man told the truth, and there was no conceivable way the King of Heroes would ever permit this to happen to him, even in death. 

Impossible. It had to be. This “Nebuchadnezzar II” spoke like him, moved like him—she pursed her lips—acted like him, and yet…

Arturia looked deep into his eyes, discerning if this truly was not the supercilious king that she once decided the fate of the world with. Eyes like amber struck with sunlight stared back at her just as intensely, dilated black circles drawing her in with a strange gravity Gilgamesh’s snake-like, ruby gaze used to have. 

No matter how tempting her prejudice was, slowly, her sword sheathed itself, and she turned to her shell-shocked Master with a hesitant nod of approval. Then, she made for the door. The woman king could permit a lookalike if it meant another strong ally for Master’s cause, but that didn’t mean she had to stay here, or anywhere near him for that matter. Especially when that lookalike thought he could get away with handling her. She could apologize to Master for her conduct later, but she would not stand another minute in this room.  

“Arturia.”  

The Earth stopped turning. 

Nebuchadnezzar didn’t even realize he’d spoken ‘til the sound had left his mouth. He voiced it with such ease it was like his tongue had yearned for eons to call out her name. Now her eyes clashed with his again, and though it had only been seconds since their gazes last met, it felt like a long-awaited reunion. His heart beat faster, harder, in his chest. He couldn't breathe. He wanted her to stay. 

But she, with her eyes wide as dinner plates and a quivering lip that tasted like disbelief, ran.

Run, she did, for the most grueling months Nebuchadnezzar had ever lived. Ritsuka offered to help, but he was a proud king, the architect of Babylon's most prosperous city, a god to his own people. Requesting her assistance reduced him to common folk. 

Besides, he ought not to have such troubles as those of the heart. He put his hand over his chest, trying to soothe it in vain. How humbling to think an organ the size of a fist could cripple him so, especially when this body didn't even belong to him. 

Nebuchadnezzar was by no means weak. However, considering this demigod shell hijacked his own sense of being twice now—with Enkidu and now with Arturia—whispers of thought entertained the notion he wasn't entirely himself, not anymore. Perhaps he was someone else, someone with borrowed feelings so strong they persisted long after their owner entered his tomb.

Nonetheless, even if they were borrowed, they were undoubtedly real.  

Just when he was about to retire for the evening, he heard the familiar commotion that accompanied Master's return from a successful mission, and felt the overwhelming rush of feelings that was her.

Once again, their eyes locked in a dance of ice and fire. Once again, she turned immediately away, rushing down the hallway to avoid him. Once again, he contemplated giving chase, only this time, he gave in.

"Leave," she insisted, trying in vain to get him back out her door. "Your presence is unwanted here, King of Babylon."

Her words stung like a whip, but they were nothing compared to the hurt of being shunned for weeks on end. He’d had enough of that. 

"I did not believe you a cruel king when we met, Arturia, but if you must avoid me when I have done nothing to warrant your ire, then I have grossly misjudged."

She stopped suddenly, the wrists he held in his hands going slack before she tore them from his grip. Though she put some distance between them, he felt relief that she no longer fought to drive him out. 

"Don't," she hissed, her green eyes igniting as she glared up at him. "I never gave you my true name, Nebuchadnezzar. What on God's earth makes you assume you have the right to use it?" 

He didn't answer.

Arturia inhaled sharply, massaging her temples as she tried to manage her temper. Perhaps she was being cruel. Part of her knew she was being irrational but really, there couldn't be anyone in the world who understood how she was feeling because how was she to treat someone who lived in Gilgamesh's body? 

And the kiss? Where had that come from? They were strangers so far removed in time that weren't blessed to be enemies in a Grail War. It wasn't Nebuchadnezzar who harassed her with promises of marriage. It wasn't Nebuchadnezzar who waited ten years to do it again. It wasn't Nebuchadnezzar who smiled so gently after their battle, telling her he had fun as he faded to nothing. He was merely the inheritor. 

The older king gave in, his irate gaze faltering in the heat of hers. A long, hard breath danced across her eyelashes, as he once again dared to venture into her personal space. She took a step back. Another. And suddenly, she was between the wall and a familiar face with a different name.

"Why do you know my name? And…how?" she interrogated, searching his golden eyes. They were distracted, every so often fluttering down to her mouth. She couldn't even tell if he'd heard her, the bastard.

She slapped away his hand before it could cup her cheek, banishing the confusing memory of the King of Heroes' goodbye from her memory. She knew she couldn't possibly have harmed him, and yet Nebuchadnezzar stared at her, betrayed, with her knife through his chest.

"I don't know," Nebuchadnezzar lied. 

Every inch of his very existence screamed her name at him whenever they touched, loud like war and just as deafening. It was like his body demanded he speak it, her foreign moniker a mantra maddeningly echoing in his mind. But it wasn't Nebuchadnezzar's voice that spoke it, it was—

"Then I see no reason we should associate at all—" she started and stopped, her back hitting the wall as Nebuchadnezzar held her in place. Before she could retort he was cupping her face, forcing her to witness the grief she'd just inflicted.

"Have some empathy," Please. He hadn't said it, but she could hear it in his voice.

"You—" 

He cut her off with a breath, trying not to lose himself in her scent. 

"When I first laid eyes on you it was as if I had waited several eons to see you again. I had my ambitions, my accomplishments. If I wished for anything it was more power and now that seems so terribly foolish because you exist. I was never a stranger to life's great luxuries. I never wanted beyond my own ambitions, and yet one infinitesimal moment with you in the same room made me feel as if I had nothing."

He stroked her cheek with his thumb, bittersweet nostalgia flooding his senses. Arturia stiffened, then relaxed, recognition and confusion in her eyes. 

"I was…" he sighed, mirroring her vexation "jealous of the dress that touched your skin, the floor beneath your boots, the air that left your lips—imagine how I felt when the name you spoke was not mine."

Arturia bit her lip til it went pale, her eyebrows knitting as she stared into the unfamiliar gold shade of his eyes. Gilgamesh's were red. 

"How can you claim such things?" she asked, struggling to comprehend what she was hearing. Arturia had never been the most in touch with her feelings."You do not know me, Nebuchadnezzar."

"Don't I?"

Two words, and all her common sense jumped out the window. A hitch in her breath. She feared staring at his eyes too long. She feared he'd see her waver. She feared she'd believe him. Because if what he said was true…what did that mean for his body's original owner?

"We have just met," she reasoned weakly, her voice a mere whimper.

"We have just met," he repeated, in that familiar voice yet unfamiliar tone. "and yet it feels like I have known you for a lifetime.”

She pursed her lips, pulling away from his touch. "You haven't. He hadn't. You couldn't possibly—"

His lips landed on her fingers. It was such a slight and gentle touch, she wondered if she would've minded letting them find their original target. Slowly, she untangled herself from him, weaving herself out of his arms.

"We are strangers, you and I. You must understand," she said, detaching her hand from fingers that tried in vain to keep her. 

His heart wrenched in his chest, clawing for her retreating figure, but his head kept him in place. Deep down, he knew the heated longing he felt wasn't truly his. Even if it were, he doubted he had the right to act on it, not in this form. Alas, she'd doomed Nebuchadnezzar to live his second life jealous of every mongrel that dared seek her attention.

Like hell. 

Arturia spun back around, her hand gently wrapped in his. 

“I do not wish to be strangers, Arturia,” Nebuchadnezzar declared with conviction. She stared back at him, lips pursed and jade eyes unsure. The king released her slowly, dreading that she’d run once more, but she stayed where she was, her mind still warring with itself.

Arturia looked down at the fingers which only moments before were in his hold, then back at his eyes. They were gold, like honey struck by sunlight. Meanwhile, the neo-babylonian king drank up the sea in her gaze. The expression she wore was one neither he nor this body’s original owner had ever seen before. 

Nebuchadnezzar smiled softly to himself. They wouldn’t be strangers for long.

_____________________

I've always wanted to write these two. Ain't nothing I love more than confusing feelings ahahaha.

-akampana (im alive btw, law school just made me busy for a bit)

#rcdp #artoria pendragon #arturia pendragon #arturia #nebuchadnezzar ii #fgo #gilart #fate #akampana asks

[tiredassmage]

🖊️ for whoever you’re having the most brainworms about right now :) (-justiceforc3po from main)

Send me a “🖊+an OC“ and I will talk about that OC!

Thank you so much! Going to take this open invitation to be a little unwell about the au for Rhyst that is making the brain worms really dance and jiggle lately.

First, a brief touch on Rhyst as he is in 'canon' - my main Jedi Knight, a Shadow, someone who does not enjoy that the Republic and the Order forge him more and more into a warrior and who quickly finds some strain in seeing so first-hand several of the Republic's failures. The mantle of 'hero' hangs heavy and he never asked for it, never sought such high stakes or praise. He struggles in the end to hold fast to his own advice (to use a few lines from my ever beast under the floorboards Ziost fic that I could not top if I tried to summarize him): "...It won’t be easy. But nothing about this ever was.” He offered her a hand. “We would not be Jedi if we did not continue to try. Will you come with us?”

Rhyst tickles my brain because he struggles far more than I think he ever lets on, or even his story lets on. And part of it is his support network; the very people he relies on, that hold him up, also, unfortunately, play an unintentional hand in some of his burdens. Generally, I list these people in his main story as Kira and Savosta. To be clear, they mean perfectly well. In short, though, a lot of the people Rhyst is close to are also people that share in some level of the idolization of him as the Hero of Tython. They've seen his strengths and it's inspired them, so when they speak of that inspiration, Rhyst tends to listen and offer gentle smiles. He has a very difficult time naming that as part of what worries him and wears on him because he knows of their intentions and he values that it helped them, even if he doesn't necessarily believe as they do that all of his deeds are worthy of such praise as tends to be given to him. He is no model of the Jedi, he thinks, but so many have placed similar accolades upon his shoulders.

[This is already getting really long and there's more specific Knight spoilers I'd like to get into, so throwing in a cut here. Spoilers for mainly the transition between Chapters 2 & 3 of the Knight origin and what follows, essentially.]

Rhyst does keep fighting for the Republic and the Jedi for a very long time; he becomes... a bit resigned to this role as a warrior that isn't exactly what he wanted out of his duties, nor does he feel he is their strongest. But it's what they need him to be, where they say he can help, so he dutifully accepts their pleas for aid and their askance of him to fight among the troops. More and more does he find himself suffocated in the armor of a trooper and less and less in the robes so common among the Order - particularly their scholars, diplomats, and learners.

Which is. already a lot. I do not talk about him enough, but he's such an interesting character to me, actually. There's a lot about him that's hidden that I didn't quite notice on first pass either. I do have to thank @hyrohkaah for a lot of that, hehe, essentially my #1 fanclub member, I say, of Rhyst and Savosta, so I got to actually dig through how they tick when talking about them.

So. The AU. Shorthand SithAU, but more an exploration of like... the conceptual premise that what if the Warrior storyline as what happens to the Knight during Vitiate's control of them in Chapter Two [which, brief side note, I cannot remember for the life of me where I first encountered this idea, if it was another post or if it was trigged by just... a series of posts and discussions etc, or if it just... stumbled out of the woods of my brain one day and now I'm finally doing something with it], and then I got running with myself and it grew sort of into its own beast.

If the original events as they play out more canon to the Knight story is what it looks like when Rhyst can reconnect with and rely, somewhat, on his main support network in his crew, his former Masters Maltaf Orathuse and Satia Lerann, then the ~Sith AU is sort of... what happens when that initial reconnect, even, isn't there. Because not that Rhyst is ever given a whole lot of time to really figure himself out in the wake of everything, considering the war on and the urgency of thwarting Vitiate's plans, but... what if less of that.

Because Rhyst does have a lot of uncertainties about his place in the Order, the direction the Republic is taking given all the weapons projects he watched fail, etc... and that's always a very large part of what Vitiate uses against him there.

So, what if, eventually, Vitiate's control stuck long enough, and the Sith re-training to focus on emotions as a source of power, to moreso feed into them and stew with them rather than sit with them to understand and find new takeaways for learning stuck... And with Scourge absent, what more fun a ploy against the Jedi than to turn one of their poster Knights into his own right hand, perhaps even a new Wrath?

After a bit of a kolto soak and some... repairing of the damage from that ill-fated Strike Team visit to the Fortress, of course.

And that, in short, is the premise which we work off of! As a Sith then, Rhyst settles first as something of a hunting dog, an efficient warrior Vitiate can assign to strike against his enemies, to taunt the Republic in an idle gesture to support the Empire's war - except his latest project is and isn't ever particularly recognized as part of the Empire's forces, given Vitiate's secrecy [and, as we learn later, his interest in other projects]. Ultimately, Rhyst becomes the keeper of Vitiate's secrets - a guardian of artifacts and ritual knowledge as well as an assassin for the Emperor in seclusion.

Kira takes over the hunt for the rest of the Jedi Strike Team and a way to stop Vitiate's plans with Lord Scourge in the meantime, but, eventually, the one to strike at Vitiate is still Rhyst - with Caolan!!! Who is. a whole other ramble, blorbo from friend's brain, etc etc belonging to enabler @hyrohkaah again and simply I'm in love w/Caolan but. but. that's liable to get me off topic. But, in an attempt to keep it short, Caolan has similar 'Vitiate's project a little off the leash and slightly to the left' syndrome and they become 'do not separate' about it.

The interlude years then are spent with Caolan on the hunt for lingering specters of Vitiate's influence in the galaxy. Rhyst is... unclaimed by either major power in the aftermath. While his style is not entirely Sith, it definitely more heavily and openly relies upon dark side tendencies somewhat informed by his previous Jedi training. He'd self-identify as a Dark Side user, but not particularly affiliated with the Sith. He's still too much of an ex-Jedi to be claimed by the Empire and, of course, the suspicion that he struck at their former Emperor does little to win him potential favor (not that he seeks it) on that side of the metaphorical galactic fence.

And then his reasons for avoiding return to the Jedi Order are somewhat two-fold; Rhyst is still driven deeply by a sense of duty. Vitiate became so certain of his control over him - and, eventually, Rhyst's genuine give to servitude to this master - that he's one of the few in the galaxy to know some of the former Emperor's trickier secrets. He knows just enough to be dangerous - even if only as a nuisance in the grand scheme of matters (to speak to the retreat to Wild Space and Zakuul), enough to make Vitiate seek his other avenues as Valkorian. That sense of duty drives him to act on this knowledge. Returning to the Jedi would delay this, he thinks. They would offer something like redemption and Rhyst has... again, essentially, resigned himself to his fate, his new purpose, this new flavor of his life. He is not exactly happy with what he has become, but it is... serviceable. And eventually accepting that with Caolan, helping each other through their own struggles with Vitiate's mark upon their lives, is... its own kind of freedom. It's their truth. It's honest to who they are and who they aim to be. It... accepts what was outside of their control and is permission to continue to be - that survival has no inherent moral value. And Rhyst will not tolerate either of them to be chained to dispassionate leaders again - not Vitiate as a manipulator and crafter of tools, and not the Jedi Council and Republic Senate as even well-meaning commanders of change and bickering definitions of "justice." He cannot abide by handing them over to shackles - literal or figurative - when they have a duty to stop Vitiate in his entirety to complete.

So, in a way... he comes to a lot more of an honest conclusion of self in this whole ordeal. In fighting alongside Caolan for their own directives, without that constant need to perform to a mold or an image that weighs upon them in the Jedi, Rhyst has a far easier time determining what's important to him and carving out those boundaries of what he is and isn't fighting for, what's important to him.

Which, of course, I can't leave well enough alone, so... naturally, when Lana Beniko and Theron Shan team up to investigate the Revanites and turn to investigating Imperial and Republic ghost stories alike about potentially a fallen Jedi or rogue Sith agents when they're short on allies among their own people... the narrative just has to catch back up to them and wrest away some of that little sliver of control over their own lives, and Rhyst may just have to reckon with both sides' expectations of him again after all. :3

#answered #swtor ocs #ch: rhyst #the costs of duty | sith!rhyst

[jessicalprice]

Ethnic Reasoning in Early Christianity (1. Preface)

I often tell people that there's a book they should read on the subject of a particular discourse, but I doubt they do--after all, I rarely follow through when random people on the internet tell me to read a particular book.

So I'm going to break down and summarize Denise Kimber Buell's Why This New Race?: Ethnic Reasoning in Early Christianity, because I think it's a really important read in understanding Christian hegemony, Christianity's relationship to whiteness, and antisemitism in Christianity throughout its history.

But before I talk about Buell's book, I have a few prefatory remarks of my own.

Sorry, but the Book of Context is quite a tome.

"Fake" Christianity and the fall from grace

In particular, Buell challenges the narrative lurking behind so many contemporary discussions of Christian hegemony, white nationalism, Christian racism, etc. that there was some sort of original, "pure" Christianity and that modern Christianity's issues are due to corruption from this prelapsarian ideal.

Or put another way, Christianity doesn't just posit a human fall from grace. The meta-narrative offered--when Christians don't deny that Christians are doing horrible things--is that those people are following a distorted form of Christianity that has fallen away from its original benevolent form.

This is the reactive form of a long-standing trope in Christian culture (that is, basically the entire West) that equates Christianity with goodness. If you read American or British books prior to about 1990, they are replete with people saying things like, "it's the Christian thing to do," to reference performing some basic act of human decency.

"More Christian than most Christians"

It was also popular for some time--although thankfully, it seems to be fading (at least on social media, as Jews, Muslims, Hindus, and other members of non-Christian cultures push back) to state that a Jew or other non-Christian who'd performed some sort of exemplary act of compassion or said something wise was "more Christian than most Christians."

This accolade, while almost certainly well-intentioned, is actually deeply insulting. The implication is that this Jew, unlike almost all others of their kind, has managed to catch up to Christians in compassion, that the universal standard of compassion is Christianity, and that it is surprising and unusual that this non-Christian has managed to overcome the moral inferiority of their people to meet or even exceed the Christian standard.

These assertions of Christianity (or at least "true" Christianity) as the moral standard for humankind largely go unquestioned, as do basic antisemitic tropes like the idea that the problem with Christians behaving cruelly is that they're getting too much of their Christianity from the Old Testament and not enough from the New.

Quite to the contrary, people who are purportedly not (or no longer) Christian are usually the first in line to denounce whichever Republican politician is proposing starving children in the name of Jesus as a "fake Christian." Progressive Christians, still more invested in protecting Christianity's brand than actually cleaning their own house, are often just as loud.

This No True Scotsman-ing is preservation of Christian supremacy and hegemony, and deeply intertwined with the idea that there is a single, pure, original Christianity that was unquestionably benevolent.

There is no One True Christianity

But the truth of the matter is that it is impossible to wring any sort of single, consistent moral philosophy from the New Testament without ignoring parts of it.

Christians that most of us might perceive as wielding their Christianity in cruel or unjust ways usually aren't more ignorant of the text or history than Christians (or ex-Christians) who see "real" Christianity as simply "love your neighbor" and understand Jesus as a beatific, gentle pacifist.

Both of those groups have to ignore large swaths of the New Testament to get to their ideology, and interpret the same passages differently (a Christian attempting to use the law to relegate non-Christians to second-class citizen status or refuse aid to non-Christians can interpret passages commanding kindness as applying to people within the Christian community only with as much textual support as one insisting they apply to all humankind).

Christians you don't like aren't "fake." You just disagree with them about what Christianity should be.

But in the west, Christianity generally holds the unique status of demanding that it be judged only on what it states its ideal form is, and not on what it actually is.

No such largesse for non-Christian cultures

Jews generally don't try to claim that other Jews who engage in bad behavior aren't Jewish. Much as we might wish Jared Kushner and Stephen Miller weren't members of the tribe, and much as we might say that they are bad Jews, their bad behavior didn't trigger a flood of opinion pieces about how they're "fake" Jews. (Ivanka is a special case, but that's about anti-convert sentiment within some Jewish communities.)

Neither was there a flood of articles about how the 9/11 attackers were "fake" Muslims. The meta-debate in the US and much of Western Europe after 9/11, in fact, was about whether all Muslims were terrorists or terrorist sympathizers, as Michael Hobbes recently noted on an episode of Cancel Me, Daddy. He went back and did a survey of journalism in the wake of 9/11, and almost all the coverage, on the opinion page and in purportedly objective journalism (where it was generally presented in question form, or as simply "reporting" on a national debate) was about whether only some Muslims were bad, or whether it was the entire culture.

When there was pushback, it was almost always in terms of the views of the terrorists are not representative of what most Muslims think or feel, not they aren't actually Muslim.

The myth of Christian innocence

As my Twitter friend Chrissy Stroop continually hammers home, the "fake Christian" framing upholds "the myth of Christian innocence" and is harmful to everyone except practicing Christians. It gaslights both members of non-Christian cultures who have experienced centuries-long structural and institutional (as well as individual) harm at the hands of Christians, and former Christians who experienced individual abuse in their families and/or communities of origin.

To tell queer people who grew up in authoritarian Christianity, or Jews who are missing entire sections of their family trees due to Christian genocide, or Indigenous people taken from their families as children and abused in the name of Jesus, that they have not been harmed by Christianity, that it was a few bad actors and not the religion itself, that it was all a misunderstanding, is to be more interested in protecting Christianity's reputation than facing real human pain.

As Chrissy Stroop often says, Christianity is what Christians do. It does not deserve special status among human cultures in which it is judged only by its imagined ideal form, and not by its actual effects upon actual living humans.

How does this relate to this book?

All of this is context for what Buell does in her book, which shouldn't be radical, but unfortunately--due to the habit of taking Christianity at its word about what it is and what it was originally--is unusual at best.

Buell decides to investigate how early Christians understood their own identity, and not to simply accept the prevailing Christian understanding that "ethnicity and race were irrelevant to early Christians—an argument that has been used to accomplish important modern antiracist work yet relies on and perpetuates anti-Judaism in the process."

Scholarly work on Christianity, especially early Christianity, is a trip. Most of it, obviously, has been done by Christians, which--when it comes to studying antisemitism and other harms in Christian history and how they might come from Christianity itself--is leaving the fox in charge of the henhouse.

(This is a subject for a different post, but Christian academics often say the most deranged things about how first-century Judaism functioned and the relationship between first-century Jews and Christians. They cite sources, of course, but if you look up those sources, you find that they're citing other sources, and if you trace it back to the original source, it's usually some Victorian preacher just... making up something to fit his parable exegesis.)

If you challenge some of this Accepted Scholarly Consensus, you are often met with spluttering indignation and insistence that any challenge to it is a "fringe viewpoint" and not accepted by any "real" NT scholars. It's always fascinating how often "fringe" usually means "written by people who weren't Christian."

So anyway, Buell decided to do something that, if you're not invested in Christianity, seems pretty basic and non-controversial: she decides to look at how early Christians understood their own identity.

I revisit scholarship and early Christian texts that destabilize the prevailing view that Christian universalism can be understood as mutually exclusive with “particularity”—a split that is often correlated with the nonethnic/ ethnic binary... To understand the elusive but entrenched presence of race in contemporary scholarly models, we need to cultivate a prismatic vision that can reimagine the relevance of race and ethnicity to ancient articulations of Christianness in light of the continued political, social, ideological, and theological challenges posed by modern racism and anti-Judaism.

Prismatic vision

I want to dig into that concept of "prismatic vision" for a moment, because it's a beautiful metaphor.

To aim for diffraction in how one sees—to see prismatically—is to value the production of patterns of difference and to resist the “false choice between realism and relativism.”

One of the things I often struggle to get people from Christian backgrounds to understand about Judaism is that, in having a culture without centralized authority, in having a relationship to the text in which authority lies in the discussion itself and not in any one voice, Jews usually don't privilege the idea of some Objective Truth the way Christians do.

I'd say most of us probably believe there is objective truth out there, but we also understand that we can only perceive and understand it subjectively.

We might all be looking at the same star, but we're all standing in slightly different places on the planet.

"Moral relativism" was a big bogeyman for Christians in political discourse from about 10-20 years ago.

In the most basic sense, they have a point when it comes to constructing rules for a society. We do need some basic, agreed-upon rules to live together. (I don't think we need nearly as many as Christians seem to think we do, but I am absolutely in favor of having systems for addressing harm, for ensuring that people can get their basic needs met and have their personhood acknowledged and respected, etc.) In service of not having to negotiate absolutely everything about every single interaction we have with other humans, both rules and accepted norms are a useful shorthand and safeguard (which is a statement of general principle--obviously individual rules and norms can be bad or misused, entire systems can be corrupt or badly designed in the first place, etc.).

Every moment is infinite

But when it comes to understanding the reality of something as fuzzy-edged and ambient as culture and viewpoint, there is no such thing as one objective truth that any of us can understand.

I was thinking about this as I paused for a moment on a corner during a walk yesterday. The intersection was in a quiet residential area, and I stood there and fell into a soft gaze, looking at the square of sidewalk I was standing on.

The air was chilly and damp, holding the scent of wet leaves, of the grass next to me, of someone smoking pot somewhere, of dog waste on someone's lawn, of a faint chemical sweetness that I think came from the school they were building about a half mile away, of the tar patching cracks in the street, of the laundry soap I use lingering between the fibers of my sweater, of the coffee smell from the coffee shop I'd been at clinging faintly to me, of the pile of fallen cedar needles across the street, of someone cooking onions somewhere, of the silly brave daffodil opening a blossom far too early in the lawn beside me, of the cut grass on that lawn, of the sap in the broken pine branch on the tree next to me and the wet bark of that tree, of... of... of...

And that was only the scents I noticed. That is only about what I could perceive of reality with a single sense.

I don't often fully open any of my senses that way--I have trouble ignoring stimuli as it is, and being overwhelmed by sensory input triggers my migraines. I spend most of my life doing my best to block out things. But every so often, when I'm somewhere relatively quiet, I drop that constant effort and just absorb. Not for long--while I was standing there, passively attentive rather than focused, the plane on the horizon became painfully loud--but just to stretch.

And then I closed all that up and pulled back into myself and thought about the things I couldn't perceive with my senses.

I did not know exactly when the houses that were around me were built, what the social and economic forces that willed them into being were. I don't know what the people inside them were doing at that moment, let alone all the social and personal context shaping their behavior and feelings and thoughts and thought-feelings.

I didn't know the billion-year history of each molecule of water creeping out in a dark aureole from the decaying leaf-litter on the edge of the sidewalk, or what the life of each leaf had been (some trees are functionally immortal, did you know? they call it phoenix regeneration). I didn't know the story of any of the pebbles embedded in the cement, what rock they had come from or where it had formed or through where it had traveled or how long it had been small. I didn't know when or by whom this square of sidewalk had been installed, how it had affected the area and the people who lived in it to have a sidewalk there, if there had been a street there before there was a sidewalk, if this was the original or a replacement.

Even if I narrowed my focus just to the square of sidewalk on which I stood, the truth of it was infinite. Merely what I could perceive with my own senses standing in that one spot and what background knowledge I have of things like the area the corner was in and how cement gets made and what streets do was too much to hold and synthesize. How much bigger, everything I didn't know and couldn't perceive?

We say there are as many Judaisms as there are Jews. But there are as many Christianities as there have been Christians and people who have ever interacted with Christians.

If there is any objective truth about it, it is made up of all the subjective experiences of it, and is beyond anyone's ability to comprehensively understand.

Which is why I find Buell's metaphor of "prismatic vision" so compelling: the idea of looking at a thing and seeing components of it and also knowing that there are parts of the spectrum that you can't see.

resist the “false choice between realism and relativism.”

Realism isn't the opposite of relativism, in these things--it's the sum total of all the relativisms. It's a point that may or may not exist, that we can only, hopefully, use as a direction to head in.

On to the Introduction.

#christian hegemony #christian hegemony library #antisemitism #early christianity #judaism #denise kimber buell #ethnic reasoning in Christianity

[thenavysealkie]

Ghosts in the Water || Marcus Solo

Parties: @thenavysealkie

Timing: Current, during the eclipse totality

Location: Near the lighthouse

Triggers: Familial death

Summary: Marcus sees the ghost of a familiar face during the eclipse

It was a quiet day, relatively calm. The fog helped keep people away from the ocean for the most part, but Marcus also had to remain extra vigilant of ships that were disoriented. Mercifully, it seemed any ships out on the water were holding position until the fog passed, as there were no signs of any vessels as the lighthouses signal cut through the heavy cloud.

Marcus was just about to head back into the lighthouse to gather his things and end his watch early for the day when he spotted a small mass floating in the water, about 50 feet from the shore. It was far too large to be a person, but also smaller than a boat. Perhaps a kayak or canoe or something, but who would take a vessel like that into the ocean during thick fog? Someone with a death wish, certainly. He tried to get a closer look, when suddenly it began moving towards him quickly. It was almost as if it had a motor attached. No…Marcus realized it was swimming at him.

As the figure came closer, Marcus’s blood ran ice cold. It was a large elephant seal, with a thick, dark hide, and blue eyes that shimmered with recognition and familiarity. As it drew closer, he could barely make a large white scar running down its upper chest. He knew what was coming as the gossamer figure made landfall and suddenly stood on two legs, becoming human once again before his very eyes.

“Archer…” Was all he could say as he looked upon the visage of his cousin. The one who had been murdered in front of him almost 20 years ago now.

“Been a while, Marcus. You’ve had one hell of a year, haven’t you?” his cousin asked, taking in the scenery around him. “Guess we’re both dead now in one sense or another, eh? At least as far as the Navy is concerned…”

“What are you-” Marcus had so many questions, but didn’t know how to ask any of them. “How are you-”

“It’s the eclipse. Apparently it allows you to see me, which I think is crazy! This place is pretty neat, gives spirits a lot of avenues to communicate with everyone.”

While Marcus was thankful for the reunion, he couldn’t help but think of whatever dead souls might be looking for him; with less than well meaning intentions.

As if reading his mind, and maybe he was, Archer chimed in “Don’t worry about…him. I’ve seen and talked to him since he passed on. Congratulations, by the way. Apparently you’re not at the top of his list of people he has an ax to grind with, so he’s harassing other people right now. Besides,” he continued, giving a little flex for emphasis. “He may be bigger than you, but he knows I’m bigger than him and not to mess with you”

“I didn’t mean to…” To do what exactly? Kill him? Marcus stabbed him in the back when he was fighting with a rather powerful siren. Could he really say he didn’t mean to kill William? That would, of course, be a lie. Yet still, he certainly didn’t want to kill him either.

“You did what needed to be done. You stood your ground and made the world a better place. That is what a Fremont does.” Archie replied simply. “Grandpa’s been watching you with me. We’re both so proud of you, Marcus. You got dealt a very shitty hand, but you rose to the occasion and manned up without a CO hovering over your shoulder telling you to do so. You’re doing what’s right even if it flies in the face of authority.”

The words seemed almost foreign coming from another Fremont. His father had always emphasized status and image above all else. The “Fremont name” had always been tied to things such as his military accolades and how he was viewed. He always he felt he was a failure for leaving all of those things behind. Then, finally, his cousin said something that made Marcus certain he could read his thoughts to some extent.

“Listen, I don’t have much more time so I’ll just get to it.Your place is here, Marcus. This is where you belong, as chaotic and dangerous as it may be. Think of the lives you’ve saved, the people you’ve met, the course of events here that have changed since you came to town! I know you can’t go back home, but maybe that isn’t such a bad thing. Maybe staying off the grid in the town shrouded in mystery won’t be so bad for you.”

Marcus had thought about leaving more times than he could count. It only made sense to him. The town had actively tried to kill him enough times that he figured he’d take his chances with the military instead. But then he always thought of Elias, who was now off on his own journey with no real hint of a return. He thought of those he had met and his duties here along the beach. Maybe his home was here after all. Sure, it was by no means stable or peaceful. But as time went on, Marcus felt more at ease with that fact. Perhaps his cousin was right after all.

“Archer…” he then turned towards his cousin, trying not to make eye contact with the scar that now ran across his chest. “Thank you. I think I really did need to hear that. Tell Pop Pop I said hi too.”

“I sure will. Take it easy Marcus,” and with that, his translucent form faded even further until Marcus was greeted with nothing in front of him yet again. Swallowing hard, he resumed his trek back to the lighthouse. While it may be turbulent, dangerous, and wild, this was home. And for the first time since he arrived, Marcus was perfectly fine with that.

#thenavysealkie #wickedswriting #Eclipse Ghosts

[colorcodedbeanies]

S1E1-"Pilot"

This format is likely going to be very "figure it out as I go" but for now this is the template I imagine these posts will follow, me pulling together my scattered thoughts into the form of bulletpoints. Also this is a bit longer than I imagine they'll typically be. Pilots, turns out they're important.

TW: Racism, police brutality, misogyny

I think its very funny that I've decided to start this analysis of middle class suburban white guys through a guy literally named Walter H. White. Nomenclature aside this guy is so prototypical American normie that its almost painful. His heavily academic background is clear from the outset, with him staring at his awards for "research contributing to a Nobel Prize". Its the kind of thing the average joe equates with unimaginable success and brilliance and yet as soon as the rest of the world wakes up around him its clear he's struggling to make ends meet. I think it's fitting he's introduced to the audience in his tightie-whities. It's a visual metaphor that works on two levels. One, he's stripped bare, this archetype taken down to its essentials and exposed uncomfortably to the light. Two, he's literally caught with his pants down. Clearly he's in over his head. Its a simple (and effective) means of garnering audience sympathy and endearment. Most of us wouldn't know how to start being a drug kingpin either.

Despite both the high octane chase sequence and the Nobel Prize accolades Walt is pretty quickly brought back down to the audience's level. He handwrings with his wife about what card is appropriate to use to buy printer paper. He clearly feels pretty unfulfilled as a high school teacher, not to mention taking on a second job where he experiences further disrespect. His life seemingly revolves around money, with most of his conversations centering around the topic. There's almost a bureacracy to their home life, with the every day minutiae of coordinating schedules paired with bill discussions, and Skyler's time as a housewife occupied by buying and selling second hand knickknacks and writing short stories for a little bonus income. They're holding down the fort. Like most Americans, however, they're one emergency away from some serious strain. And what an emergency they will get

The veggie bacon is a dark joke made darker by Walter Jr.'s offhand comment that it smells like bandaids. Its a laughably ineffectual solution to what the problem actually is. No one at the table yet realizes Walt's not going to be around long enough to really worry about things like cholesterol.

Speaking of Junior, he's another big reason I wanted to do this rewatch analysis. Naming your child after yourself is already a pretty big red flag. It indicates something that will only be drilled down on further in: Walt sees his family as an extension of his identity. Some due credit, Junior is the subject of very little disability porn in the show. There's no heroic moment of him dragging himself crutchless towards his mother or anything like that. He's a fairly average 17 year old, with the usual flippancy and ego and selfishness and kindness that comes with that territory. However, its undeniable that his cerebral palsy, at minimum in universe, is used as yet another signifier of Walt's emasculation. Instead of strong proud heir he gets a """"broken""""" one. Walt harbors those feelings himself. Him tearing the disabled parking tag off his rearview mirror as he drives home is one of those things that doesn't make Logical sense. Its not like he can be flagged for misusing the tag for parking at his own home, it would've made far more sense to take it off when he left the school without Junior. However, coming on the tail end of him being mocked by his students for cleaning their car, its clear Walt wants to tuck away any other symbols that might indicate he's lesser than. I also want to point forward to him attacking the bullies: the only thing he can think to do is answer humiliation for humiliation, bringing him low by putting him on the level of his son physically ("having a little trouble walking there?") as a punishment. This doesn't change the fact that on a literal level it was probably pretty good for Junior to see his dad punch out some assholes on his behalf. But it does establish a subtext that Walt regards Junior's cerebral palsy as a punishment of some kind

The party scene is a great establishment of Walt's in-laws as our current in-universe standards for gendered performance. Marie snidely remarks on Skyler "showing a little" and Hank's entire scene is nothing but a series of jabs at Walt's masculinity. What I want to zero in on here is the fact that Hank projects a particular kind of blue collar masculine sensibility (as opposed to Walt with his "brain the size of Wisconsin [which] we won't hold...against ya"). He positions himself as a working stiff. Despite this its clear from the house that Hank and Marie are doing a lot better than Walt or Skyler.

This is further expounded on when Walt goes on a ride-along. Which apparently you can just....do. Hank is all jokes and bravado, swaggering up with functionally a fully armed squadron to take down one twenty something guy unaware that they're coming. He gives off the impression of being unrattleable. However, based on the way Hank reacts to Tuco later on, its honestly unclear how much active combat action Hank's actually seen. Not without 10 armored guys going in before him.

Final Hank note. I rarely see discussions of his racism. Little surprising considering how loud and constant it is. Perhaps it feels softened by Steve Gomez there, but the fact of the matter is this is a cop joking blithely about the high numbers of brown people he's arrested and anticipates arresting. Emilio Koyama being half Asian literally doesn't fit into Hank's worldview. He instead has to insist on "at least half a b**ner". This is all so loud and in your face that I have to assume its doing something with this.

After the disastrous handjob on his birthday (god that scene is well done) I think its notable that Walt's first glimpse of his future protege/victim is paired with him stumbling around post coitus. Eroticism being paired with criminality is a major theme in the BBCU and it starts here with Walt ogling the neighbor lady's tits and Jesse's half naked body rolling around off the roof. Its the contradiction at the heart of the character. Crime may be dangerous and the odds may be against you...but to the repressed suburban dad it's nonetheless titillating.

Jesse's own whiteness is worth focusing in on here. Despite the frequent AAVE usage and his pretenses of getting his education from "the STREETS, yo", Jesse's background is a lot closer to someone like Walt than Emilio. His family is also comfortably suburban, enough to want to pretend their burnout son functionally doesn't exist. The fact that Walt found his aunt's address on file makes it likely Jesse inherited her house either in senior year or shortly after, immediately jumping from his parent's home into another house in a nice neighborhood. The "street talk" seems to be an affectation, though likely one that's gone on long enough for it to verge on authentic. Notably, he dials it the hell up when he's around someone like Krazy-8, who he feels a need to perform for (lot of "ese"s and other Spanish tossed around that he doesn't often use when he's speaking to Walt). I think its worth questioning if this is authentic codeswitching, or a performance of a particular kind of (brown) masculinity that Jesse feels called to give in order to fit his mental image of a what a "gangster" is.

Whether or not the language is his authentically its definitely policed. Walt expresses a lot of aggravation with how Jesse talks, for the frequent slang and the imprecise wording. To someone like Walt, who prizes intelligence and education as a sign of worth, someone who says things like "cow houses" can't be worth very much at all.

And speaking of policing, Miami Vice reference brings me neatly into the discomfort Walt feels with addicts. Despite literally planning to profit off of them he nether wants to be involved in the sales process or let Jesse use it. There's a business reason of course, that its just smart not to use the product when it eats out of your profits. But it also starts us on the path of exactly how Jesse is going to be treated as a "junkie"

#breaking bad #brba #analysis tag #long post #walter white #jesse pinkman #hank schrader #marie schrader #walter white jr #skyler white #brba pilot #brba s1 e1