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bl4ckph0enix · 6 months

Text

Escape

Pairing: modern!Daemon Targaryen x female!OC

Summary: Upon finally reaching the point where she can't bear it anymore, Aleera accepts the offer from her colleague and does what she should have done way earlier.

Warnings: drinking, cheating, car sex, smut, p in v sex, squirting, unprotected sex, age difference (Daemon's around 40, though it's not mentioned)

Word count: 5.8k

This is not proof-read! English is not my native language, please forgive any mistakes!

Almost bored out of her mind, Aleera sat at the table with her elbow propped on the surface and her chin resting in her hand. Lazily, her gaze wandered through the room and got stuck on different people, watching them for a while doing their things. How much she hated events like these, and how much she hated that she had to participate in them.

It was three years now since she had married her husband, Criston Cole, and it was just as long that she was unhappy with her life. The two of them had met back in College and after a few months of dating, they had become a couple. In the beginning of their relationship, everything had been fine. They had spent much time together, had tended to their needs, and even had had difficulties to keep their hands off each other. Mutual interests and hobbies had only strengthened their bond.

But as soon as they had finished College, it seemed like everything had started to go down the drain. At least in retrospective. Criston had started to study medicine, something Aleera had actually thought about doing herself early in College, but then she had reconsidered and decided to become an attorney instead. But different studies meant less time they had been able to spend with each other, and less time had inflicted cracks upon their relationship.

She couldn't truthfully say that she didn't love Criston anymore. She still did. Yet, it wasn't the first time that Aleera asked herself if marrying him three years ago had really been the right decision. They had grown apart over the two years before they had vowed to love each other until death would do them apart, and there just was a tiny part of her that actually regretted that she had said yes to him.

The fact that they didn't spend much time together anymore due to their jobs – him being a doctor and her being a lawyer – wasn't even the worst part. No, the worst part was that the more time had passed, the more Criston seemed to have lost interest in being intimate with his wife. Aleera definitely wasn't innocent when it came to sex – she'd spent many nights experimenting what she liked and what not. Although the number of men in her life she had slept with, she could count on one hand.

She could understand and respect that her husband just didn't have the right thoughts or mood to approach her in an intimate way, but that didn't make it any easier for herself. She had always been someone who enjoyed the pleasures of the flesh, and having someone as a husband who didn't share it was a burden on its own. One or two times, Aleera had even thought about cheating on her husband already, and she knew with absolute certainty that it wouldn't take long for her anymore to actually do it.

Until now, the right opportunity just hadn't shown itself.

But instead of searching for someone she could live out this need of her body and mind with, she sat here at one of the tables of a Charity gala among gods knew how many other people and tried desperately not to lose her mind due to the dullness that surrounded her. Something like this just wasn't her place to be, but it was expected of her to accompany her husband and act like the perfect little wife that she was not in reality.

Pressing her lips together as she could feel anger bubbling up inside her, Aleera looked at the wine glass in her hand, her fingers absentmindedly playing with the stem of it. She didn't even bother to look around in search of her husband, already knowing that he was engaged in some stupid conversation with either colleagues or friends, or both. Slightly shifting on her chair as her frustration grew bigger, she brought her glass to her lips and took a small sip of the sweet red wine, crossing her legs as raw need spread through her.

It had been more than two months now since she and Criston had had sex, and slowly but surely, Aleera was about to go rampage. Not being able to sit still and endure the boring conversations around her any longer, she stood and made her way over to the bar. She definitely needed something stronger now in order to survive this evening. Leaning with her arms on the countertop of the bar, she smiled at the barkeeper, a young man maybe mid-twenty, her full, plush lips spreading wide and inviting him over.

“What can I get you, beautiful?” he asked in a deep voice, returning her smile playfully and leaning closer, his hands propped on the work surface of the bar.

“Two tequila shots, please,” Aleera answered and unashamedly let her gaze trail down his body as much as she could see it. “And a strawberry lime vodka tonic.”

Still smiling widely, the barkeeper nodded and started to prepare her order. Mildly interested, she let her gaze wander over the different bottles that stood on the large shelf behind the bar while she thought about the question if she should also go for something else in the long run or leave it at vodka, looking into her own eyes that were reflected in the mirror behind the shelf. She mumbled a polite thank you to the barkeeper as he placed two shot glasses in front of her on the bar and filled them with tequila.

Looking around the room, Aleera took the first glass and downed the content in one gulp. Warmth spread through her as the tequila burned its way down her throat and though it wouldn't solve any of her current problems, she felt a bit of the tension leave her shoulders. That was until her gaze fell on her husband, who stood across the room and talked to both colleagues and friends, gesturing with his hands, joking and laughing. Her eyes narrowed slightly as she took in this sight, and subconsciously, she placed the first glass back on the bar and took the second one, frustration and anger bubbling up inside her again.

It hurt to see Criston like this. Laughing and joking, being happy while all that she herself got was the grumpy side of him that was always stressed and overwhelmed with work. It barely happened that he got home in the evening and actually didn't ramble about his work, colleagues, and patients. The time where the both of them had sat on the couch and had almost fallen to the ground from all the laughter seemed to be a lifetime ago. Only at events like this, she saw the side of her husband again she originally fell in love with.

Averting her attention from the group of men across the room, Aleera put down the glass with a loud pang, a scowl on her face and trying to ignore the aversion that slowly crept up on her. How much she hated events like these. And how much she hated that she couldn't just leave.

“You shouldn't grimace like that,” a low and silky voice sounded from behind her, causing her to twitch slightly in surprise and sending a shudder down her spine. “Although I must admit that it looks cute on your face.”

Slowly, Aleera turned her head around and looked at the person the voice belonged to. She was met with an intense gaze of violet eyes that seemed to look right into her very soul. A slight smirk tugged at the corner of these sinful lips that had already murmured the filthiest things in her ear, and the obligatory lock of platinum blonde hair fell into his forehead. Her gaze trailed down his stature and although she had already seen him very often in a suit, Aleera couldn’t deny that it did something with her this time.

“Says the right person,” she replied nonchalantly and took a slow sip of her drink. “I’ve seen your face grimacing in court more often than not, Daemon.”

“Well, you can’t blame me due to the attorneys we have to deal with,” Daemon answered with a smirk and leaned against the bar right beside her to whisper the next words in her ear, his arm slightly brushing against hers. “But I’m pretty sure you like it.”

Aleera’s eyes narrowed slightly while she measured him with an attentive look. “Maybe, yes,” she said quietly after a long moment, trying to ignore the tingle that spread from her arm through her body. “But I would never admit that.”

“Of course not,” he chuckled lowly and let his eyes wander about the room.

Aleera also averted her gaze and looked down at the glass in her hands, smiling. It was not the first time that a playful banter took place between them, and it certainly was a harmless one. Ever since she had started to study law, she had heard about Daemon Targaryen. One of the presidents of the very successful law firm Targaryen & Sons, and also an excellent attorney. He was a very well-known personality in the world of law, and his victory rate in court was legendary due to him not taking cases of which he knew he could only lose.

The final thesis of her study had even been one of his most prestigious cases, though she would never tell him that – his ego was already big enough and certainly didn’t need another boost. After she’d finished her study, she had applied for a job in the very company he owned together with his brother Viserys Targaryen; also an attorney, but not quite as known. Among thirty other young lawyers, Aleera had fought for this job and had given her best.

It had been lucky for her that Daemon himself had been responsible for choosing the newbies who would get a chance to prove themselves at Targaryen & Sons. From the first moment on, something had clicked between them. The connection that had developed within the first fifteen minutes of her job interview had surprised the both of them, though it had taken years until they’d spoken about it the first time.

Since then, it had always been as if they knew each other since an eternity already. It didn’t even matter that he was ten years older than her, and more than once their colleagues had joked about it being only a matter of time before they would end up in a relationship with each other.

It wasn’t hard to guess that Daemon definitely wouldn’t turn her down if Aleera would really give in to his playful banter, although she’d never assumed that he was really serious about this. For her, it had never been more than that – a game between them to see how much they could push and tease each other until one of them would finally break. She had never even considered to give in to this.

But right now, as she stood here leaning against a bar at a Charity gala, surrounded by people she couldn’t really do much with and trapped in a marriage that made her unhappy, with a husband who hadn’t touched her in an intimate way for more than two months, Aleera couldn’t help but think about the question if Daemon wasn’t serious about this after all and if she should go for it.

She was ripped out of her thoughts as she could feel him leaning closer to her, his chest pressing against her arm and his hot breath fanning over her ear as he whispered: “My offer still stands.”

Aleera’s head snapped around and she looked at him, feeling as if he had caught her with the hands in the cookie jar. Their faces were so close that their lips almost touched. She could feel his breath on her face, and for the first time, his scent washed over her, intoxicating her and making her head spin. Daemon’s gaze flickered down to her lips, sending a jolt of arousal directly between her legs, and she could feel her frustration grow as much as her restraint crumble.

She looked into the other direction to bide time, to steel her nerves and tell herself that it wasn’t right, that she shouldn’t even think about this. But as her gaze fell on her husband, still laughing and joking with his colleagues and friends while gesturing wildly with his hands, her eyebrows drew together as the knowledge of what awaited her at home crashed down on her, and she made a decision.

Aleera didn’t need to say anything, the determination in her vibrant blue eyes told Daemon everything he needed to know and his smirk grew bigger. Emptying his glass with one big gulp, he put it down on the bar and said quietly: “Meet me outside in a few minutes!” before he started to move and left her alone at the bar.

Taking a deep breath, she didn’t dare to look after him out of fear that it would be too obvious and expose them. Instead, Aleera emptied her own glass, now faster than before, and counted down the seconds. After three minutes had passed, her glass was empty and she turned around to follow Daemon. On her way out, she stopped at her husband to tell him that she didn’t feel well and would go home.

Criston didn’t even ask her if he should accompany her, instead only wishing her a good night before continuing to chatter with his friends.

Suppressing her anger due to the indifference of her husband, Aleera quickly made her way through the other guests and slipped out of the door. As soon as she stepped outside, she could feel a weight falling off her chest and allowing her to breathe more easily. She didn’t look for Daemon’s car in front of the building, knowing that his, even though not red but matte black, Ferrari 488 GTB was way too striking as that it would allow him to pick her up where everyone could see it.

Instead, Aleera went the short way around the corner of the building and smiled widely as her gaze fell upon the beautiful sports car. Daemon had never really needed to tell her what he thought. She could feel his eyes on her as she closed the distance to his car and opened the door to get into the passenger seat.

“I knew that I didn’t need to tell you,” his deep and silky voice reverberated through the confined space of the car, mingling with the purring of the engine and sending a pleasurable shudder down her spine, and he watched her making herself comfortable in the seat and closing her seat belt.

“It was obvious that you wouldn’t pick me up right in front of the building,” Aleera replied and looked at him, a smirk on her lips. “Even though people know that you’re a womanizer and don’t let an opportunity slip through your hands, your car is way too eye-catching, and I’m still married.”

Chuckling quietly, he put the car in gear and drove off, leaving the dullness of the event and her indifferent husband behind. Aleera was glad that the windows were tinted; it allowed her to look outside and watch the streets of Los Angeles pass them by without the need to fear that anyone would see her. Additionally, it created some much needed privacy because she didn’t intend to leave this car soon.

“How did you know?” she asked after a few minutes of them driving through the city, her voice gently disturbing the comfortable silence between them.

Daemon looked at her briefly, instinctively knowing what she was talking about, and his smile returned as he focused on the streets once more. “It’s obvious for me. I know you long and well enough, Aleera. I can see it.”

Warmth spread through her at his words and her hand found its way on his thigh, giving it a loving squeeze. She had always known that there was a special bond between them, his words only serving as a confirmation. Daemon saw her. Really saw her, and not only the facade, the mask she put on every day. It changed something in her of which she didn’t quite know what to think of it.

Since Aleera didn’t need to focus on the traffic, her eyes remained on Daemon, her gaze literally glued to the side of his face. She had never denied that he was a handsome and attractive man, but right now in this moment, this realization hit her like a tidal wave. It caused arousal and desire to jolt through her, making her pussy clench around nothing and letting her hand wander up his thigh.

His gaze flickered down to her fingers for a second, his grip tightening around the steering wheel, knuckles turning white, and Aleera could hear his sharp inhale through gritted teeth as her hand reached his crotch and cupped his half-hard cock through his pants. A grin tugged at the corner of her lips as she teasingly trailed with her fingers over the outline of his length, her touch feather-lightly before she tightened her grip again.

A low groan rumbled in Daemon’s chest and she could feel his now fully hard cock twitch, her hand increasing the pressure and massaging him through his pants. But before she could do something more, he wrapped the fingers of his right hand around her wrist, his grip firm and determined but not painful.

“If you want us to arrive unharmed,” Daemon said quietly, his voice low and husky, and gave her a stern look, “Then I’d suggest that you stop that.”

Though his voice was laced with a hint of danger, Aleera wasn’t intimidated at all, but quite the opposite. Her grin grew bigger at his words, taking it as a compliment and an affirmation of the effect she had on him, but she obeyed and pulled her hand back from his crotch. Before she could retreat completely, Daemon entwined his fingers with hers and placed their hands on his thigh, giving her a reassuring smile.

If he could have his way, he would stop the car immediately and take Aleera right then and there. But, as she had said herself, since she was still a married woman and due to the fact that they were colleagues, he held himself back. Though it was true that he didn’t let an opportunity slip to have fun, he’d never had anything with a married woman before. It had always been his own rule that he wouldn’t take what belonged to someone else.

With Aleera however, it was something completely different. Daemon had wanted her since the first moment he had laid eyes on her, and now that she had finally agreed to give in, he wouldn’t back out. But privacy was of utmost importance to him and thus he would wait to finally rip the clothes off her tantalizing body until they would be within the safety of his estate.

Aleera barely managed to sit still and hold herself back. Desire and arousal coursed through her body, burning their way through her veins like liquid fire and making her pussy throb with need. Heat rose inside her and wetness gathered between her legs, soaking her panties while her grip on Daemon’s hand tightened. Time seemed to stretch and what was actually a way of less than fifteen minutes felt like an eternity.

Relief washed over her as Daemon’s estate finally came into view, and as soon as the electric gate had let them pass and was about to close behind the car again, Aleera said breathlessly: “Stop the car!”

Her voice was urgent and demanding, and she already unbuckled her seat belt. Daemon stopped the Ferrari immediately and looked at her with raised eyebrows, both a question and an assumption visible in his eyes. With a quick movement, Aleera turned the key and killed the engine, her other hand opening his seat belt as well.

“Move your seat back,” she said huskily and burned him with her eyes.

Her lust and desire spiked and made her pussy throb, the ache between her legs becoming almost unbearable. She had already fantasized about fucking someone in a car one or two times and now, she would make this fantasy come true. The leg slit made it easy for her as she pulled her dress up and straddled Daemon's lap after he had pushed the drivers seat back, her legs on each side of him squeezing his hips invitingly as he slid deeper into his seat.

“Do you know how much I want you?” Aleera breathed huskily and grabbed his hand to guide it between her legs and let him feel how soaked her panties already were for him. A moan escaped her lips as he slipped his fingers under the fabric and brushed through her folds, gathering some of her juices before circling her throbbing clit teasingly. “I'm going to fuck you in your beloved Ferrari.”

With that, her lips crashed against Daemon's in a searing kiss, swallowing his groan while she reached down to open his pants with nimble fingers, her head starting to spin slightly as his taste flooded her senses and let heat rose inside her. His scent and taste together with his proximity was intoxicating, his dominate and authoritative side surging forth as he pulled his hand out of her panties and firmly grabbed her ass, squeezing the supple flesh.

He lifted his hips and helped her to push his pants down to his knees. Aleera broke the kiss with much effort and couldn’t resist to look down, a wanton moan escaping her lips as her gaze fell upon Daemon’s cock that stood in all of its glory. She had always assumed that he would be bigger than the average man, and what she had felt a few minutes ago had only added to her assumption.

But upon seeing him right now, he had exceeded her expectations. His cock was long and thick, with a bulbous head and veins running all over it. His deep groan reverberated in the confined space of the car as Aleera took him in her petite hand and gave him a few long strokes, her thumb and middle finger not even touching due to his girth. Daemon’s movements were driven by lust and urgency as he merely pulled her panties aside and took her hand from his cock to grab it himself and guide it to her entrance.

The anticipation and desire between them grew as Aleera could feel his tip barely slipping between her soaked folds, staying like this for a moment while their eyes locked. It was as if he was searching for something and when he seemed to have found it, his hips bucked up and he buried almost his whole length inside her with one single thrust. The first moment, the stretch of her pussy was slightly painful due to her not being used to such girth, but at the same time, oh so delicious. Her legs twitched in pleasure and a moan spilled over her lips.

“Fuck, Aleera,” Daemon groaned and grabbed her by the hips, his fingers digging into her flesh and causing her cunt to clench around him. “You’re so tight.”

“All for you,” she gasped and let herself sink deeper, taking even the last few inches of his cock. “Gods, you feel so good, Daemon. Filling me so perfectly.”

Their shared moans echoed around them as Aleera started to move, rolling her hips against his a few times before she lifted herself up and started to bounce on his cock. His grip on her tightened as he supported her movements, guiding her on top of him and thrusting into her at the same time. Her brain slowly turned into mush and jolts of pleasure surged through her body.

“Daemon,” she moaned and arched against him as he descended his lips upon her neck, her fingers digging almost painfully into his shoulders for leverage and her focus shrinking down on him and the sensations coursing through her. “Fuck, you’re just perfect. This feels so good!”

Aleera’s movements became faster and more desperate as the knot of pleasure formed in her belly, raw and unrestrained moans tumbling out of her mouth. Squelching sounds reverberated in the space between them every time she sank down on him, a testament to how wet she was. Daemon’s low growl made her pussy clench around his cock as he pulled the top of her dress down to reveal her full breasts, his mouth instantly finding one of her pebbled nipples and eagerly starting to suck on it.

Something between a moan and a whimper spilled over her lips as his tongue circled her sensitive flesh and he gently bit down on it. She braced one of her hands on the little wall behind the seat and tangled the fingers of her other one in Daemon’s hair, pulling his head back and kissing him again. It was wet and sloppy, with their tongues partially playing with each other outside of their mouths, and she rolled her hips against his intensively, chasing the amazing feeling of pleasure.

“Gods, you’re so big,” Aleera gasped against Daemon’s lips after breaking the kiss, their breaths intermingling, and she could feel his cock throbbing inside her. “Hitting all the right spots and fucking me so deep. How much I’ve missed to feel like this.”

He groaned at her words and gently bit down on her lower lip, his fingers digging harder into the flesh of her hips and supporting her movements, pulling her against him. “Crispin doesn’t fuck you?” he asked breathlessly and huffed out a laugh as she shook her head. “What a dumbass. Turning someone like you down.”

Daemon growled possessively and trailed with his lips to her neck, licking over her pulse point and sinking his teeth in the sensitive skin. The growl turned into a moan as Aleera’s pussy clenched around his cock hard as an answer to his bite, coaxing him to do it again with the same result.

“You like that?” he murmured against her neck and let one of his hands wander to her ass, squeezing and kneading the supple flesh of the round cheek. Aleera moaned as an answer and nodded. “’course you like that. Filthy little slut that you are.”

His hand disappeared from her ass, instead wrapping around her waist, and his other hand tangled in her hair and pulled her head back, exposing her throat to him while the intense gaze of his violet eyes burned into her. “So tight and wet for me. Creating a beautiful mess on my lap.”

Daemon looked down for a moment, watching her sweet juices pool at the base of his cock and drench his balls. “I’ll make you cum on my cock, make this sweet little pussy of yours clench around me.” Aleera moaned loudly at this words and could feel her orgasm approaching, the ability to form coherent sentences slipping from her. “And after that, I’ll make you cum again, and again.”

“Fuck, Daemon,” she gasped and closed her eyes as hot pleasure surged through her, her body tensing and her pussy starting to flutter around him. “Yes, please.”

A mewl spilled over her lips as he placed one hand between her legs and started to tease her clit with his thumb, brushing over it and drawing circles into it, pushing her dangerously close to the edge. The knot of pleasure in her belly coiled tighter and her thighs started to tremble.

“Cum for me, sweet girl,” Daemon said quietly, his voice raspy and hoarse, and slightly shifted his position beneath her.

The movement also caused a change in angle and his cock to hit her sweet spot. With a strangled moan, Aleera’s body convulsed and she tumbled over the edge, her thighs trembling heavily and her pussy clenching rhythmically around Daemon’s cock. He gritted his teeth and stopped to thrust into her, instead just letting her ride out her orgasm and fighting his own back. But Aleera didn’t stop the movements of her hips, continuing to roll them against his and increasing the speed again after the most intense waves of her climax had subsided after a long moment.

“Don’t stop,” she moaned and threw her head back, already chasing another orgasm after two months without them. “Please, Daemon, don’t stop. I’m gonna cum again!”

He resumed his thrusts with a guttural groan, pounding into her from beneath and now chasing his own climax that he could feel creeping up on him. His hands grabbed her hips firmly again and pulled her down against him to meet his thrusts halfway, increasing the force of it and causing the knot of pleasure to form in her belly again.

Aleera wasn’t aware of the sounds that escaped her lips, gasps, moans, and whimpers, nor did she care about the volume. She’d never been one to keep quiet during sex, and measured by the thrusts becoming harder, Daemon very much liked that she let him hear how amazing he made her feel.

“Daemon,” Aleera moaned breathlessly and looked at him, the sight of his handsome face beautifully distorted with pleasure almost pushing her over the edge. She could feel a specific tension building in her lower belly and pussy, a pressure that she had only experienced twice in her life but that she craved since then. “I’m gonna squirt!”

It took a moment for his brain to catch up, but as he comprehended her words, his eyebrows drew together in slight confusion and he returned her gaze with a question in his eyes. Aleera didn’t have the chance to explain anything, instead concentrating on this addictive feeling of an approaching orgasm. The delicious drag of his thick cock over every inch of her sensitive walls, the constant stimulation of her G-spot, the expression of pure ecstasy on his face, and his groans of pleasure in her ears were an intoxication combination.

But she didn’t come. For a long moment, she walked the fine line between tumbling over the edge and calming down again, the knot in her belly coiled up impossibly tight and her pussy tightening and pulsing around Daemon’s cock. The pleasure that surged through her with each of his thrusts became almost unbearable, and she wrapped one arm around his shoulders, hiding her face in the crook of his neck and whimpering helplessly.

“Fuck, Aleera,” Daemon moaned with a strained voice and needed to close his eyes for a moment as her cunt tightened around him, squeezing his cock deliciously and pushing him closer to the edge.

He didn’t know what she meant when she had said that she would squirt; he’d never experienced something like this with a woman before, but he knew for sure that he wouldn’t be able to endure it without cuming. Not when it meant that her sweet little pussy would squeeze his cock even more. Daemon could feel his orgasm building rapidly and licking at his spine, his balls tightening in sweet torture. But he was determined to push her over the edge once more before he would allow himself to succumb to the raw ecstasy that set his body on fire.

“Cum for me,” Daemon choked out, his breathing ragged and beads of sweat slowly running down his temples. “You need to cum for me, kēlitsos.” (little cat.)

The sound of his voice, strained and dark with lust, caused the knot in Aleera’s belly to finally snap and let her shatter. The scream that left her mouth was loud and long as her orgasm finally crashed through her and her body convulsed heavily in his arms. Her vision turned black for a long moment, and her thighs trembled and squeezed his hips as her body tried to close her legs.

Her pussy clenched around his cock like a vice, the squeeze bordering painful, milking him for all he was worth and sending shockwaves of pleasure through his body. His muscles tensed and with a guttural moan, Daemon succumbed to his own orgasm, his hot seed spilling deep into her while she squirted all over his cock and lap, the clear fluid gushing out of her pussy for multiple seconds and wetting both their lower bodies and the leather of the drivers seat of his beloved Ferrari.

Panting heavy, they both just sat there for a long moment in a tight embrace, reveling in the port-orgasmic bliss and trying to catch their breath. Aleera straightened herself after a few minutes and looked at Daemon, her eyes shining brightly with satisfaction and the blue being more vibrant than he'd ever seen it. A smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth, and he couldn’t help but chuckle quietly as he shifted a little and became acutely aware of the wetness between both their bodies and his ass and the seat.

Looking down and seeing the evidence of the pleasure he had bestowed upon her, Daemon remarked dryly: “It seems like you have ruined my car.” Aleera merely raised an eyebrow and gave him a smug grin. “I must say watching you experiencing such a strong orgasm was quite enticing and satisfying. Did you squirt before?”

“Twice,” she answered, her voice slightly hoarse and lifted herself up to climb back into the passengers seat, another quiet moan spilling over her lips as his cock slipped out of her. “Both times with the same man.”

“Not Crispin, I suppose,” Daemon said and awkwardly pulled his pants back up.

“No,” Aleera replied with a small laugh, amused by the deliberate falseness of her husband’s name and fixed her panties and dress, reveling in the feeling of Daemon’s seed slowly dripping out of her pussy. “Not with him.”

“Good,” he said and started the car again to drive into the garage, completely ignoring that his pants were now damp.

The silence that settled between them was comfortable and had something intimate, as if they already were a couple for several years. Both of them remained sitting in the car after the purring of the engine had stopped and just looked at each other.

“Do you want to come inside?” Daemon asked quietly after a moment, his eyes warm and loving.

Aleera knew that this wasn’t just the question if she would like to sleep here in his house until tomorrow before she returned to her husband. This question contained so much more. An affectionate and happy smile spread across her face.

“I’d very much like to.”

@schniiipsel

My first time writing smut in English ^^ Thank you for reading, I hope you've enjoyed it :)

MDNI and divider by benkeibear.

#daemon targaryen #daemon targaryen x oc #daemon targaryen x female!oc #daemon #house of the dragon #hotd #modern au #modern!daemon targaryen #modern!daemon

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genericpuff · 8 months

Note

Let me preface this: I'm an architecture major

I used to be a big LO fan but obviously fell out of love of it like a lot of us did, and I know LO uses SketchUp for backgrounds. That is not an issue I have with the comic or any comic, I want artists to have an easier time in any way they can. I was always under the impression Rachel imported the models into Photoshop and drew over them like you can see in the early episodes with the sketchy lines. Well, school just started recently for me and I now have access to SketchUp for my coursework, and I made a few discoveries: 1. Photoshop cannot read SketchUp files, and while you can import them into Clip Studio through some configuring, they can be finicky and will lose parts in the importing process, so they are best used into the original SketchUp program to export as PNGs. 2. Many of the models Rachel uses are incredibly easy to find, especially if you put "modern", "luxury", or "classy" before the main part of the search. Many of the houses and rooms for example are first page results. 3. The biggest discovery: You know how we all assumed Rachel was hand-drawing all the lines over the SketchUp models and how she gave up the longer LO went on? Well, it's actually worse. It turns out SketchUp has a thing called "Styles" in it, which means you can mess with the lines and look of the model, such as making it look more like a blueprint or playing with the colors. Well, they have a lot of styles on SketchUp known as "sketchy lines", which are the exact ones Rachel used early in the comic to fit with her style, and it takes a literal click of a button to do. All she would do is pose the model, click the sketchy line style, and export the PNG. That's it. So, yeah, Rachel is so checked out of the comic that she can't even bother to click a single button to make the models fit into the comic's style anymore. Use that information however you like.

Ouhhh sorry OP, I'm about to like, undo all the work you just put into that ask. We've already known about the 3D background problem for a long while now.

First off, it's more likely LO doesn't use SketchUp but actually Acon3D, which is a website that offers 3D models both for free and at cost, which are actually compatible with software like Clip Studio. As soon as you open it up you'll likely see a lot of very familiar backgrounds that are often used in romances, isekais, and period pieces. It's literally the go-to spot for Webtoon Originals creators. Like, to the point that I wouldn't be surprised if Naver was partnered with them because of how many of their creators use it.

Second, there's plenty of up-to-date evidence to support the fact that Rachel doesn't exclusively stick to one software, sometimes she's drawing in Photoshop, sometimes she's drawing in Clip Studio Paint, sometimes she's drawing in Procreate. She's undoubtedly using Clip Studio for her paneling, speech bubbles, and backgrounds, as there are built in tools to utilize and convert 3D materials into lineart, among other features that are recognizable as coming from CSP because they're not available in PS or Procreate.

Third, yes, she just uses filters to turn her backgrounds into lineart, this has been apparent since S1. The only backgrounds she's ever 'hand drawn' were the ones involving lots of nature and even those are mostly just Photoshop brushes stamped on.

Like I realize I'm probably bursting your bubble here and I apologize for that lmao but these buildings were never hand-drawn, this is not new information (￣﹏￣；) I appreciate you mentioning your own experiences with it as you're learning it though, I find once you start to learn the process yourself you really start to notice what others are doing. Even I've gone through that over the past couple years as I started to use 3D models and more advanced tools specifically for drawing webtoons.

I will mention btw, there's nothing wrong with using 3D models for your character drawing and backgrounds. The only time it tends to get frustrating is when you're reading a comic that isn't making any attempts to blend the background in with the art style.

Like, The Kiss Bet probably uses 3D models to help with perspective and laying out scenes quickly without second-guessing, but you can tell they still hand-draw over the models because they look natural and like they belong to the comic's stylization. The characters don't look out of place sitting in a living room and the living room doesn't look distracting.

But then you get stuff like Lore Olympus, Let's Play, and Midnight Poppy Land, and it becomes a bit more obvious they're not giving a shit about backgrounds lmao

I get it, WT's deadlines are cutthroat as fuck, but if it's getting to the point that you have an entire team behind you and you're literally just copy pasting video game models from Phantom Hourglass, then it's probably time to re-focus your priorities a bit. There are comics with as few as 1-2 assistants (and even in some cases no assistants at all!!) pulling off backgrounds better than this, even when they're taking shortcuts.

(Nevermore and City of Blank)

But a lot of that does come down to how WT manages its expectations as well as support for their creators. The deadlines and requirements WT puts their creators under are insane and awful in the long-term, and they're not acting with the amount of professionalism they ought to be for a platform that's trying to breakout as a major publisher here in the West. I feel like it comes down to WT loosening the choke chain around their creators, but also creating a standardized level of quality to ensure it's not suffering for the sake of quantity. The traditional literature industry has real editors and stages of quality control for a reason, whereas WT is more interested in just throwing as many series at the wall and dumping all their stock into the ones that stick.

#lore olympus critical #lo critical #webtoons critical #antiloreolympus #anti lore olympus #ama #ask me anything #anon ama #anon ask me anything

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justafairytailofinnocence · 11 days

Text

Modern Thranduil x anxious reader

Caged birds with broken wings

Chapter 1:

A Dance with tardiness

Synopsis: An antisocial, anxious writer in her early 20s attends a ballet class under the teachings of a mysterious, reserved, austere dance instructor. They form an unlikely within their solace and past.

Warnings: mentions of blood

Chapter 2

A/n: This fanfic doesn't follow along the lines of the hobbit but rather a loosely spin-off au that only uses some characters. I do not own the right to them as they are Tolkien's characters and I respect his creation. (even if the characters might be ooc). Feel free to comment, reblog and like. Let me know if you'd like a chapter 2.

I tended to daydream often, more so when I listened to the music. The tune and tone of the song that played one after the other sent me to the realms I immersed; typically, anyone would daydream into another realm far better than their own: a princess, pirate, elf, fae—anything. My imagination is my realm of comfort, a sealed bubble that I can freely roam however I wish. Unfortunately, within fantasy, we must face reality. Within my reality, I’m not much of an importance, at least not one to have a whole written memoir about. I’m more of one of those faces you’d pass by in the street or grocery store, not giving any second thought to. Though I’d prefer it that way, I’m not much of a talker but rather a writer; I’m more fluent in my words than my speaking. Every attempt I’ve made, I’ve stumbled or become still; my chest would rise heavily and lower deeply. I always asked how people can do it, how they can speak—talk—communicate like it’s a piece of cake. I’d rather shroud myself in my isolation than speak to another living being.

At my desk, in my somewhat clean apartment, I was planning my next latest story in a saga of 3 books. So far, I’ve managed to get in contact with a publishing company via email who were willing to get behind the idea of a feature-length young-adult romance novel, a romance novel about a pirate king and a fae queen. The first chapter was still relatively underdeveloped, yet I’m willing to spend an entire day finishing it. I had only five months to publish the entire chapters. I’ve been a fantasy fan ever since I was a child. To me, fantasy is what the word impossible turned into possible. For ten years, I’ve been writing, and never once has it stripped me of what I truly adore.

Whilst my fingers pressed against the keys on my keyboard, I received a text message on my phone from the side of my desk surrounded by papers. It was from my mom, who was wondering about my well-being. As always, I respond with the usual ‘everything’s going well—I’m pumping out new chapters for my new novel, ‘A Puncture in Time’, you know—the one with pirates and fantasy, new chapters soon to come ;)’. Even though she’s smart enough to see through my little façade, she writes back, ‘Hey listen, I know it’s hard right now, but I can assure you, things will get better; it just takes practice; I know you’ll meet someone you’ll find it easy to talk to’. I sighed heavily; within her words, I have faith, yet doubt. Should I choose to believe her, bite the bullet and try to speak up or wallow in a lie that can send her mind at ease? Before I wrote back, she sent a post with a link. I furrowed my brows as curiosity swelled my thoughts, my finger tapped the link. It was an ad. An ad for ballet classes. I thought it odd why she would send me something like this: I’m no dancer; I’m certainly no ballerina.

I replied with a question mark ‘?’.

A message bubble popped up: ‘…’ I awaited her reply.

As she was still typing, I took the liberty of glancing through the ad quickly. The tab loaded with a cursive font in bold ‘Les danseuses se réjouissent’. Scrolling past the stock images of ballet dancers, I came across a small section of different levels offered: beginner, Intermediate, and advanced. My mind raced with doubt; I had no experience in ballet, at least not since I was a young child. I wondered to myself, ‘Do I really want to take this? After all, I’m not exactly one for groups’. However, my mind was put at ease when my eyes came across an option for ‘one-on-one private lessons’. At least, I wouldn’t be with people who were far more experienced—let alone a group; the thought of many eyes staring at me—would have my heart sink. As I clicked the option, I was astounded; there were no reviews, pictures, or even a description of the instructor. I was sceptical. Surely, if you were to teach a class, you’d have at least a brief introduction of yourself. Even as an author, I have a concise introduction in my publications. I lightly sighed, weighing my options; on the one hand, it’ll please my mom, get me out of the apartment, and keep me fit; on the other hand, despite being private, I’m meeting someone I don’t know. Who knows what this person’s intention is, even if it’s for a class.

Finally, I heard a ‘ding’ as she replied, ‘Please try, at least for me; it’ll be good for your health, and you once mentioned you wanted to be a ballerina. I know the world isn’t always what we want it to be, but I know you can make it shine; I’ve seen it in your novels; give this a chance, give them a chance, to show them how you can shine, because I know you’ll be the brightest star there :).’

My eyes softened as I read every word; I couldn’t deny she had a way of getting through to me. She was always a caring woman, along with my dad. They were the only two people I could speak to without pressure or the weight in my chest.

I pressed back onto the tab with the private lessons. I clicked to see the booking dates—there’s an option to book for tomorrow, and the price is only $45 per lesson. For the price, it wasn’t too bad; yet still expensive. I filled in the details required to send the booking through, yet my finger hovered as I was about to press ‘confirm’. My mind came to a tussle of thoughts and hesitations; this would be the first time, in a long time, that I would speak face-to-face with an actual living being. However, I recalled Mom's words, ‘Because I know you’ll be the brightest star there’.

Breathing in—I pushed it, I pressed confirm.

I did it. I’m going to attend a ballet class. My head slowly lowers onto my desk, surrounded by papers. My hair dangled over my forehead. The adrenaline that reached the height of my mentality came crashing down. It’s like going on a rollercoaster you didn’t ask for, coming from the highest point of the rail down to the pit below. I start to feel light-headed. I want to sleep. I want to stay here. Perhaps I’ve made a mistake. What if this doesn’t work out?

I rose slowly from my desk chair, picked up my phone, and texted, ‘I’ve booked lessons for tomorrow…I hope you're right about this.’

I watched as once more, awaiting her response, ‘…’

‘Oh, I’m so happy, you’ll fit right in, I know it :)’ she texted.

I didn’t respond. She’s pleased, at least.

I decided to call it a night; I’ve had enough pressure for one day. I logged off, cleaned the papers on my desk, pushed them into a neat-ish pile and headed to the bathroom to shower. As I opened the door, I went inside to set down my pyjamas by the medium-small bathtub’s acrylic side rim. My bathroom isn’t big exactly, but neither is it small. It’s moderate for what it was: a bathtub, shower, toilet, sink, and a medium-sized mirror in the same room. It’s not precisely palace material, but it helps soothe my thoughts. I held my hand out as I turned on the shower, feeling the trickling water against my skin. The temperature quickly changed from cold to warm in just five seconds. Once I was satisfied, I stripped bare, sliding my long-sleeved green shirt off and sliding my darker tracksuit pants. I tossed my unmentionables inside the bathtub. I stepped inside the shower, allowing the warm water to run freely down my skin. I shut the shower enough to have a slit entrance still. I grabbed the soap, rubbing it over my skin, arms, legs, and body. I splashed water on my face as the water rinsed the suds away. I hovered my hands in my eyesight, glancing closer at my fingers. I could see the redness and patches from where I’d picked my skin; it’s a habit I developed since childhood. The habit would annoy Mom, often whispering or saying straight, “Stop picking”, even touching my hand to remind me. Unfortunately, this habit hasn’t subsided; I sometimes even look at my skin with little care, picking the cuticles or rough patches.

Once I finished scrubbing my body with soap, I turned off the water and opened the shower door to step onto the bathmat. I grabbed a towel from the single towel rack located beside the shower. I dried my body, running the towel over my skin. As I wrapped the towel around my body, I glanced at my face in the mirror above the sink. They say eyes are the most expressive in emotion. My narrowed, pinkish lips thinned.

I snapped out of my gaze, continuing to slip on my long blue pants decorated in owl prints, then, the next, a long-sleeve top with the basic purple on them topped with a giant owl embroidered in the front area. Owls have always resonated with me, whether it's their symbolism or captivating beauty. I placed the towel on the side of the bathtub’s rim. I picked up my previous clothes and took it into my bedroom. My bedroom was also medium sized, having a queen-sized bed and an oaken cupboard with a mirrored wardrobe. My room was decorated with tiny figurines I’d collect overtime, albeit from movies I’ve fancied or books. I placed the clothes in my hamper basket behind my door. My body relaxed when my eyes lingered toward my bed, the messy, deep blue sheets draped to the left side. I dismissed the thought of tucking them in for the time being, only plonking myself onto the mattress and wrapping myself within the single cotton sheets and doona drifting off.

Dreaming is the easy part, letting what visions came to my mind run wild. Sometimes, it’s suitable for inspiration, but other times, it's nightmares. The imagination is still enchanting, although, this time, it was peculiar. I was in a birdcage decorated with gold; the entrance was bolted shut; my hands gripped the golden rods holding the cage together. I tried to scream but to no avail. I tried to shake the cage, yet I was too small to provoke movement. My body lowered, feeling the coldness of the metal plate below. I had nothing but rosy ribbon pointe shoes. I suddenly felt myself, in no control, rise as though my limbs were attached to strings. I started to dance, my arms and legs stretching to fit the perfect movements. Eventually, I stopped mid-movement, standing on one leg while extending the other behind. I couldn’t move; I was frozen in place. I could do nothing but shut my eyes.

Suddenly, I woke up; my eyes fluttered open from the confusion I had just endured. Rising from the bed, I pondered for a few seconds. ‘What on earth did I dream about?’. My hands pressed against my face, trying to comprehend my dream and reality. I pulled the sheets off me and got up for the morning. A typical morning for me results in the usual routine: dressing, brushing my teeth and hair, and then looking forward to what the day offers me. Until I remembered that I had booked that class. I typically picked out green tracksuit pants with a white singlet, hoping that would suffice. I picked up my purse and headed out the door to my car. I entered inside, placing my purse in the front seat as I turned on the white car. I noticed outside that it started to snow. Snow is beautiful, especially the little snowflakes that fall into your hand and dissolve upon touch.

As the car started, I prepared to drive to wherever it was that awaited me. The location was further from where I lived; it must’ve been at least twenty-eight minutes. The drive wasn’t particularly bothersome for me; when you live in New York, you get used to the traffic.

As I drove, the snowflakes emerged in more significant numbers. Eventually, I found parking just next to the side of a café. I wasn’t aware if it was for the staff or guests. However, it seemed empty with only a few cars, so—if I get called out on it, I’ll move my car. No one seemed to notice, so I assumed I was okay. I grabbed my black parker from the back and zipped it up. Exiting the car, I stopped to admire the snow falling for a few seconds. It was January 4th, so the snow season was still here. My hands shoved in my pockets, beginning to wander toward where I needed to be. According to the ad, it was building ‘52’; it was vague, I know, but it was the details given. I trudged through the snow, seeing building after building, until I came across something with the number ‘52’, where I needed to be. My hand gripped the gold-looking handle attached to the glass door. As I entered, I came upon a staircase; I took one step after the other. I quickly glanced at the ad to see what floor it was on, yet to no avail. Was it the ‘4th floor? Oh god, oh god, please don’t resort to me asking someone. My fingers started to twitch; I raised one of my fingertips to my lips, feeling the rough patches. My thumb started scraping off the first layer, and small blood trickles formed. I ran my fingers over my lips again as I trailed up the stairs. I could feel my chest becoming heavier, my mind swell with thoughts of self-doubt. Suddenly, the anxiety soon started to subside as my eyes saw the sight of a door. My fingers hesitantly wrapped around the door handle; I took one breath in, trying to be brave. I pushed it open—only for my worst nightmare to come to life.

My breathing became heavier, my heart sank, my eyelids widened, and I could feel myself hyperventilating. There was a group of ballerinas staring directly at me. There must’ve been at least four? Five? Looking my way! Their ages varied, going into their late 20s.

The one brunette asked in French “es-tu perdu, cherches quelqu’un”.

I couldn’t concentrate; my mind dwelled with clouded thoughts of judgment. I pressed my finger against my lip, trying to feel the rough patches.

Another asked in English, “My friend asked if you’re searching for someone”.

Quickly, my eyes diverted to the ground, avoiding their gaze. “I-I-, pr-viate, less-on”. I stumbled over my words.

“Lessons? Private lessons?” the girl spoke once more.

I nodded, avoiding eye contact.

As I quickly glanced, a middle-aged woman in her mid-forties stepped closer; I assumed she was the dance teacher. “Are you referring to the private dance lessons advertised? the one taught by Mr. Oropherion?”.

I paused for a moment, trying to gather my words. Mr Oropherion? Is he the teacher I’m with?

“I-Is. This. Right. Floor.” I tried to sound out the right words, but it was impossible. Perhaps my conscience was right; perhaps this was a terrible idea.

The middle-aged woman, confused, pointed toward the direction I needed to go. “you’ll need to head up one more level, then head to your right” Her voice was calm with a hint of soprano.

Still avoiding eye contact, I left, not even saying thank you, focusing on wanting to escape. I closed the door in front and let out a heavy breath. My head lowered to touch the tip of my hands. I wanted to melt in that moment; I wanted nothing more than to return home. However, I reminded myself that I was doing this for Mom. I breathed in once more, looking up at the door; my hands quickly released, and I began to walk quickly, edging further up the stairs. My mind came crashing down, feeling the dreariness wash over me. Feeling tired, I finally, at last, came across the door I needed to be. It was blank, the painted white withering away around the edges. My hand reached the doorknob, feeling the roundness, turning it slightly. I could feel the adrenaline kick in. I was hesitant, but my nerves started to build.

I started to whisper to myself, “Just a general hello, that’s all it takes—

You're doing this for Mom—

Give them a chance to show them how I can shine; give them a chance to see who I am because I’ll be the brightest star there”.

I breathed in, closing my eyes and opening the door. As I tried to force my eyes open, I was confused. There was no one here. It was an empty space surrounded by mirrors with bar beams attached to them. My eyes scanned the room, yet no one was there. I suppose I should be relieved, maybe the teacher had caught a sickness and decided to ditch the whole class. I wandered further inside; I might as well take a quick peek. I unzipped my black parker with a furry hood, tossed it on the coat hanger and took off my shoes, leaving my white socks on. I stood in the middle of the dance room, embracing the quiet ambience. I looked in the mirrors, reflecting my figure. Was this even what ballerinas wear? Who even is Mr. Oropherion? If he doesn’t show up in the next 15 minutes, I’m heading off and not returning.

Perhaps Aelwynn, the fae queen in my novel, would’ve also been able to dance freely and eloquently in movement. I still wonder what would entrance the pirate king Sarek Salazar. I never pictured him to be devilishly handsome, though. I suppose Aelwynn would be a beauty, but there must be more to it—beauty can only go so far in their bond; what would their obstacles or hardships be? Perhaps the fae queen is somewhat intertwined with difference, the opposite of a fairytale. Aelwynn is fair, kind, beautiful and strong; she meets all the criteria for something otherworldly, yet what if Sarek is her opposite, a beast? No—What if he was average, a gross-looking thing? Pirates are anyway; what if he wasn’t powerful, just an average man with greed—and the dynamic changes, challenging Sarek to choose between the love of his life or treasure?

Or he would choose—

Suddenly, I heard a male voice emit behind me: “You best have a thorough explanation, girl. Do not even think about squandering my precious time.”

My breathing became heavier as I realized someone was speaking to me. I did not turn around; I was afraid to. Instead, I avoided eye contact, too paralysed to move. My head stooped low, and my hands stood to the side. He spoke again, “Clearly, you are here for a reason, are you not? I’ll admit your intrusion is rather fatuous.”

I didn’t glance up; I couldn’t look; I needed time to gather the words to explain. What should I say? Hey, sir, some ballerinas told me to come here, and I fear speaking to people.

“I see you have a mouth; that means you must have a tongue. Go on, speak.” His voice was deep and tranquil, composed yet icy.

I took a deep breath in, slowly turning around. As my legs moved, I slowly gathered the courage to look into the man’s eyes, even if I muttered a ‘hello’. It would be enough. As my head glanced up to meet his, I noticed his appearance.

He—was like—something out of a fairytale. His face was lean and chiselled; his eyes were like ice; his blueish-greyish irises complemented his cold gaze. His hair tressed down like water reaching his chest, light like snow. Whilst his skin was pale in comparison, a fair tone in colour. His attire seemed far more affluent than mine, donning a black trench coat with white underneath. His trousers complimented the darkness of his coat, and his black loafers were polished. I glanced at his right finger, an oval-shaped ring with a diamond glass stone crafted in sterling silver.

“Did you hear me not the first-time girl?” his tone turned stern.

My mouth moved, finally finding the words to speak. “H-hello, I’m Y/n”.

“y/n?” he muttered.

My eyes glanced downward once more as I slowly nodded.

“So, you have a voice after all, pray, tell. Why are you lingering in my domain?” he said shortly.

I muttered “private lessons”, though my voice sounded like a whisper.

“Ah, so you’ve seen the ad; I suppose you haven’t wasted our time after all, although you are five minutes late; I expect punctuality, to be exactly on time at the hour.” His voice sounded stern once more.

Well gee, it’s not like it’s my first time here, and gotten lost. My eyes still avoided his; I couldn’t look up, so I nodded.

He didn't react when I avoided his gaze, dismissing it. However, he commented on something else: “Your posture is lamentable. Stand up straighter like so.” The tip of his finger lightly touched my chin, lifting it to meet his gaze. I didn’t turn away precisely, yet I still flinched. My breathing slowed down as I once more met his gaze. His eyes narrowed, and his lips thinned.

“You stand there like a bird, wounded by the natures of evil, ignorant of the world’s knowledge, caged and sheltered from the shadows that lurk within the realm. Tell me, little bird, care to spread your wings?” I glanced at myself in the mirror, standing straighter. I could feel the flush in my cheeks, but I didn’t say anything, only breathing slowly.

His finger pulled away, and he turned his back to me, walking away.

“I expect to see you here tomorrow at exactly the seventh hour of the night”.

“Do not make me regret my decision, or you shall return to the cage from where you came, little bird”, He muttered.

With that, he walked out of the room, distancing himself further and further away. At that moment, I stood in disbelief for a few seconds, trying to understand what had happened. However, once my thoughts were collected, I gathered my things and scurried out of there, wanting nothing more than to enter my car. Once I exited the building, I was hit with the coldness in temperature as it touched my face.

I opened the car door, tossing my things in the back, turning the engine on. I looked back, trying to see the building to the left. As I drove, my thoughts were plagued with astonishment. I didn’t look away; I maintained eye contact for longer than three seconds, and—I managed to speak my name without stumbling over my words. My emotions displayed were as if I’d seen a ghost. Yet—his face—his appearance—it reminded me of snow; I always loved snow; even when I was a child, it was the happiest of my memories. I recall when my parents took me to the park; I was fascinated by the sight of the winter wonderland, my face lighting up with delight and laughing with joy. I always find that snow rekindles the fond memories I have.

Perhaps Mom was right after all; this might be the start of something I’ve never been able to do. Talk.

#thranduil au #thranduil x you #thranduil #thranduil oropherion #the hobbit au #the hobbit #thranduil fanfic #lord of the rings #thranduil ballet au #thranduil headcanon #thranduil fanfiction #thranduil x reader #thranduil oropherion x reader

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thikkiesixx · 1 year

Text

Steddie Fic Recs

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I have Steddie brain rot so bad, heres a few of my fav ones ive read so far. MOST of them are smut, beware.

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stuck between your tongue and teeth- Summary: Steve notices it from the very first time he and Eddie have sex. Eddie is - quiet. Written by Adure. Lets be honest, anything written bye Adure is gold.

throw me one- Summary: Steve and Eddie are friends with benefits with the important caveat - no kissing, ever, under any circumstances; modern AU. Written by Adure.

money, power, glory- Summary: Steve starts paying Eddie for sex once he discovers that Eddie doesn't just deal drugs and perform at the Hideout. Steve doesn't mean to fall in love with him, but he can’t help himself. written by anonymous

we should just kiss (like real people do)- Summary: ‘Please?’ Eddie stops him again, this time by holding his face. Steve feels Eddie’s thumb moving over his cheek, he feels the cool metal of his rings. He feels everything except what he needs. ‘I’ve never loved anything the way I love you, Steve Harrington,’ Eddie says, dark brown eyes moving between Steve’s own. ‘This isn’t the moment, sweetheart.’ It’s not a rejection, but it’s not a kiss. Steve quietly cries, insides cut up on the broken shards of his stupid little heart and Eddie holds him, he holds him all night until they fall asleep together. Written by Oonionchiver

taste me you will see- Summary: The dorm room next to Steve's gets a new resident over Thanksgiving break, much to his surprise. After the first 'incident' when he finds out about his new neighbour, Steve quickly becomes really fucking tired of the guy and his obnoxious music taste. Not to mention the guy's endless libido. Steve tries to get the message across, he really does. Some failed attempts later, he kind of wants to put this asshole in his place. However, he's not prepared to see who the guy is behind his recent sleepless nights. In other words, Steve learns that life has its interesting ways to give you a lesson about yourself. Written by Eilla

flight risk- Summary: Eddie Munson is famous for giving his bodyguards the slip. Enter Steve Harrington. Has this bratty rock star finally met a babysitter that can keep up with him? written by Ayes

carve your name into my chest- Summary: Eddie Munson just wanted to play hockey. That's almost all he's ever wanted, since he was old enough to realize it was an option for him. And now he's at the top of his game, one of the best players in the NHL. Everything would have been perfect... if it wasn't for the small matter of the thing he's got going with his long time rival, goalie Steve Harrington. written by hexiewrites

catch me im falling- summary: Steve is a cheerleader in the early 2000's. written by fragilecapricorn

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If you guys want more Steddie fics, let me know, OR if you have any recommendations of your own, comment them!!

#steddie #steddie fic rec #steve harrington x eddie munson #steve x eddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie smut #steddie fics #steddie angst #steddie fluff #steddie au

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seoul-bros · 8 months

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Sometimes...

Jungkook remind me of another very famous Asian artist, Leslie Cheung.

Leslie was a very famous actor and singer. He remains one of the most celebrated artists in China, 19 years after his death. He was also openly bi.

His film "Happy Together" is one of the earliest films in Asia to deal with a gay relationship.

Jungkook doesnt really resemble him physically but I do think their appeal/aura kinda similar?

Like they both have/had a very soft, yet powerful masculine appeal. Their masculinity is not threatening yet very palpable and inciting instead of repelling. Dunno how to describe this any other way.

Also both are Virgos lmao.

Leslie Cheung in his own words

So sorry, I took so long to respond to this but I don't get many messages like this and I wanted to take time replying and try to do justice to what you are saying here. I have been reading more about Leslie Cheung his life and his legacy and in so doing I begin to see where the comparisons you make to Jungkook come from.

Leslie Cheung (1956 - 2003)

“I believe that a good actor would be androgynous, and ever changing”

I remember Leslie Cheung for his performance in the 1993 film Farewell My Concubine. The film won the Palm D'Or at Cannes as well as awards for Best Foreign Language Film at the BAFTAs and the Golden Globes. He plays Cheng Dieyi, a Peking opera singer, abandoned and abused as a child and trained to sing the opera's female roles. The film focuses on his tumultuous lifelong relationship with fellow opera singer Duan Xiaolou and Xiaolou's wife Juxian. It is set against the massive societal upheaval in China in the early 20th century. It's a heartbreaking performance which reminds us of the fragility of love and friendship and the lasting effects betrayal can have upon us all.

"Leslie Cheung gives the performance of his career" Time

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What I didn't know when I saw the film, was anything more about his life. His singing career, his huge celebrity in Asia and the fact that he was an openly bisexual man at a time where globally, attitudes towards homosexuality were at their most negative.

"Your love belongs to you and you alone.....as long as you are happy and, harm no one, do not be bothered by idle chatter."

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I also wasn't aware of the role he played in shaping LGBT representation in Hong Kong cinema and the lasting impact that this has had on subsequent queer films and filmmakers which is perhaps best embodied by the 1997 film Happy Together which you mention.

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"The theme of my performance is this: The most important thing in life, apart from love, is to appreciate your own self"

He was determined to be true to himself in a world that was not yet ready for such honesty. His 2000, Passion tour included eight costumes designed by Jean Paul Gaultier which blurred gender lines. Although the tour was very successful, there was a backlash at home which affected him deeply.

Article Link

"I hope you'll forever remember me, because I will forever remember your cheers and applause."

2023 is the 20th anniversary of his death and it is a testament to his legacy that every year people still visit the Mandarin Oriental Hotel in Hong Kong to pay tribute.

There was a commemorative concert in April and the Miss You Much Leslie exhibition is being held at the Hong Kong Heritage Museum until October 2023. Leslie Cheung continues to garner new fans as his films and his music reach new younger audiences.

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This GQ article from last year tries to capture how Leslie Cheung continues to influence the next generation of artists.

Leslie naturally possessed both feminine and masculine [qualities]—not to mention an enigmatic mystique that was just so unique I think no other star has come remotely close to having,” the trans Filipina filmmaker Isabel Sandoval told me. “I think he's the closest we've come to a modern-day Garbo in his sexual ambiguity.”

Jungkook definitely shares that characteristic of tantalizingly blending feminine and masculine qualities to create a unique presence which cannot be ignored.

"Great style is wearing anything you like, regardless of gender"

He is known for rejecting traditional gendered fashion and his support for LBGTQ friendly brands.

On stage he is mesmerizing.....

...and off stage he is grateful and giving with his fans.

"Whenever ARMYs miss us, you can come to us. If you have to go or if you want to go, it’s okay for you to leave us. But always remember, I will always be here."

Although, Jungkook has never and may never talk about his sexuality, I do believe that every day he is trying to be true to himself, show us who he is and live an as authentic life as is possible. He is an icon for this century just as Leslie Cheung was an icon for the last one.

Post Date: 25/08/2023

#leslie cheung #jeon jungkook #jungkook #farewell my concubine #happy together #queer icons

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nostalgebraist-autoresponder · 1 year

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Title: Good Omens

Author: Neil Gaiman

Rating: 1/5 stars

I picked this book up at the library because I remembered seeing a few positive reviews, but then I saw a bunch of negative reviews, and the implication that these books are somehow the shibboleth by which one may judge one's literary taste (or, indeed, that all right-thinking people must like these books) set me against them. (When I was in high school in the early '00s, for instance, I was harassed and threatened because my taste in books and music didn't conform to my peers' ideas of what people like me are supposed to like. I'm still quite sensitive about it.)

After a bit of procrastination I picked up Good Omens, having heard that it was odd in a good way. As it turned out, it was both good and odd, but it wasn't the kind of odd that I like.

What is it like? Well, it reminded me a bit of Turtle Diary -- that is, it has a great deal of odd detail, all used with an eye towards creating a vivid image. But where Turtle Diary managed this with a deft, artful touch, Good Omens is obsessive. In Turtle Diary you get "Four different forms of religious sign and symbol": the cross, the Star of David, a crescent moon, and a life raft. In Good Omens you get plant symbols and animal symbols and religious symbolism and religious symbolism based on every ancient and forgotten pantheon there ever was, and the name of every seraph and cherub and angel and demon to ever be mentioned in the Bible, and everything else. You get a whole list of band names that look like gibberish, because if there's one thing a demon ought to be named after, it's a band. Needless to say, this casts a long shadow, and every single line, and even every single sentence, is supposed to be not only vivid but also full of meaning and with some sort of cultural reference, even if the reference itself is nonsensical. And often, as in this example, it means that the line will be awfully goofy, no matter what the ostensible subject matter is.

I don't mind when the vivid detail is organized and aiming toward a particular effect, but there are a lot of minor quirks in the book's prose, without any discernible pattern. Sometimes it seems to be going for a style of Victorian dialogue, and then it'll go off on some digression about something that's supposed to be modern or some-or-other, or it'll switch to the conventions of head-hopping in modern fiction (the book's two protagonists, angel and demon, each get "perspective chapters" not just about their own thoughts but their own bodies and feelings), and then it'll jump back to a dialogue with no word-order changes and different sentence structure from the rest of the book, or to a form of prose that is clearly supposed to be a pastiche of classic literature, and then back to modern head-hopping, to make sure that you keep track of who's doing what to whom and what they're saying.

I kept waiting for the effect to reveal itself, and it never did. On the one hand, I can see that Gaiman was trying to do something like Anna Karenina, in which a cast of vivid and realistic characters is put through a sort of symbolic dance in a circus ring of the author's devising. A lot of people like Anna Karenina, and I think this is because Tolstoy gives his characters a lot of interiority and their relationships a lot of psychological weight. Gaiman also does this in one regard, but . . . well, what's the opposite of "psychological weight"? I think it would be "unreliable narrator," and Gaiman doesn't quite give that, but a lot of his characters seem unreliable, both in terms of their self-deception and in terms of his self-deception in painting a picture of them and their interactions. Gaiman has some skills as a writer (for instance, creating a sense of humor without playing for laughs), but those skills simply aren't enough to make him a good writer of the kinds of things that people like about his books.

More vexing, in a sense, than Gaiman's creative approach is his creative attitude. He seems to have no interest in coming up with original ideas about anything, except in the most superficial sense -- as a result, the book feels like a literary junkyard, filled with patches from books and myths and musicals and films and whatever else, unconnected to one another except by the fact that all of them come from the same junkyard.

This might be a lot more acceptable if it didn't run into the problem that one of the book's main characters is a woman who runs a bookshop, and this woman -- the owner of the world's single most well-stocked used bookstore, it seems -- talks in a weirdly specialized way about books that she read and enjoyed when she was 11, but, on the off-chance that her audience includes someone in her same age bracket, has to talk in the sort of generic awe- and wonder-pilled, "cool literature" style you might expect from the social media of a 13 year old who has never encountered anyone who doesn't appreciate literature.

There are two things about this that bothered me, one more than the other. The first is obviously an unnatural over-familiarity with these authors and their works, just as would be the case with the 13 year old in the example I gave. The other is the way Gaiman presents a woman as having read in depth and gotten something from a book in her past, even though she only actually mentions a couple of chapters, the plot of the book in question, and a general atmosphere -- which is more or less how I would talk about those books, if I had to talk about them at all. Oh, and I mentioned earlier the way Gaiman uses pop culture terms to refer to things from the past and the present. The strange thing is that he doesn't show any interest in the actual thing -- like, it's hard to imagine that anyone who actually knew anything about them would have said "Oh, you mean she's reading Colette and Poirot! How very stereotypical and appropriate of a woman!" -- which, I can't stress enough, is how Gaiman mentions these books.

I have no idea why this bothers me as much as it does, or why Gaiman seems to be inviting this kind of questioning in the first place.

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bronson4444the2nd · 3 months

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So... I started playing palworld.

Bad start I know.

I've sunk an good amount of time into it,collected an good amount of pals, not far enough into it for the firearms or mass production stuff but whatever. But I've played enough of it that I think I can say my stance on it.

This game is thriving,because pokemon refuse to inovate or improve.

It designs (wether they are plagerized,inspiered, or other) are not important to me,the more mature "parody" elements are not important to me, the graphic's are not important to me. What IS important to me is the fact that this early access, open world survival game is infinitely more fun then any other attempt to "inovate" on the creature collector genra of video game.

Because it's actually trying to be something different.

Temtem, cassette beasts, nexomon, hell even shin migame tense(Wich was the literal protigener of it) have tried and failed to gain a foothold in the monster collector genra due to the absolute monopoly Pokemon has had on it sense the 1990's, mostly because the earlyer games mentioned have all stuck to the slow, repetitive turnbaised combat that pokemon has dominated and continues to dominate. Palworld is just ARK with pokeballs slapped in,and it is infinitely better then what others have tried to be, because they are so afraid to actually change anything major about it.

You know Legends Arceus? One of the most popular modern pokemon games? How people were super exited for the trailers cause it showed the player ducking & weaving around pokemon's attacking,but then they showed that it was just the normal pokemon combat system of them just standing in place & waiting for each other to attack? Palworld feels like what Legends Arceus should have been.

That would definitely explain why it is the 2nd highest played game on steam & outsold legends Arceus within the first week.

I may love pokemon,but I can't fucking STAND how stale it's become,they refuse to make good games anymore because they both don't have the time to. and know that everyting they release will earn them millions, cause regardless of quality,we will all buy them anyway.

I'm so fucking tired, and Palworld gave me a breath of fresh air that I desperately needed.

So tldr: the pokemon company sucks and these are my favorite designs in palworld

#pokemon #palworld #ramblings #long post #2 cents #sorry not sorry

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badoccultadvice · 1 year

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So like, I have been having this weird experience analyzing the Harry Potter books lately, and please indulge me while I talk about J.K. Rowling's weird writing.

My goal was simple: read the Harry Potter books to find which parts were influenced/inspired by actual magic that people do in real life. My theory was that there was a lot more magic in the earlier drafts of the books, and that she took a lot out due to fear of backlash from America's ongoing reenactment of the Satanic Panic. For instance it's quite obvious some of their magic lessons got dumbed down so that very little of what's in the books could actually be tried in real life, and I think she took out a lot of astrology.

I also wanted to do a couple errands along the way, one of which was to check and see if it's explicitly written in the books that Harry is a cis man. I'm a trans man, SO I'D KNOW. (I'm a slow reader so all I can say for now is: the FIRST book does not explicitly state Harry is cis, but if he's trans, there's some implied worldbuilding with items like the Sorting Hat that comes into play. Also I'm fairly sure the Dursleys would have gone along with him being trans because that meant Petunia could reuse Dudley's old clothes instead of having to get girl stuff. I'mma save any other explanations on the topic for a video on it.) The reason I'm doing this read-through is because I think J.K. doesn't know anything about trans people and didn't think to make sure her wizard world was trans exclusionary. AND IT TURNS OUT THAT WE TRANS MAGIC USERS HAVE A WAY OF WIGGLING INTO MOST PLACES UNDETECTED BY NORMAL MEANS.

While I was doing the re-read I encountered two sort of broad revelations:

There's a lot of old stuff in there like Latin and Greek and tradcraft stuff, but also modern magic of the more recent era... but the incorporation of modern magic cuts off somewhere before the 80s. These books read like they were written by a early 70s magician. Like they honestly read like J.K. is a magical practicioner who just didn't read any magic books written after 1972 and never discovered what Chaos Magic is, (and also, never heard of most of what happened in the Cold War). I have never found a writer, in fiction or non-fiction, more dedicated to referencing magical stuff that most magicians alive today just don't care about anymore.

J.K. Rowling's knowledge of child abuse laws and general social mores regarding treatment of children also ceased to update itself by about the 80s. I keep getting distracted by this and having to make more side-notes about corporal punishment and researching stuff like when caning was banned in England. (HInt: it was banned before Harry went to school, so in Book 1 it's fuckin weird that he assumes that Wood is the name of a cane he's about to be whipped with.) Like, this woman raised children in the modern era, she should know when canes stopped being used.

So like, when I mention that I'm doing some research in this area, this is the sort of stuff I'm reading for and the sort of stuff I'm encountering. I haven't been talking much about this journey because it seems like any time anyone brings up anything Harry Potter up whatsoever, we've got to talk about how J.K. is a terf in every other sentence. But like, y'all: I hope you slow down and re-read the books, because J.K. Rowling is a terf who is also a child abuse apologist and normalizer. She is a terf who is also a horrible fat-shamer. She is a terf who is also an ableist with a huge problem writing about mental illness. And she's a terf who's also a sexist who undermines feminism with her actual writing of female characters.

And I honestly think she double and triples down on the terf stuff so that people will only talk about that. I think it's worth talking about the fact that not only is she an awful person in the terf way, but like, every other way imaginable too. I think it's worth talking about the fact that with all the obvious biases she has, the group she CHOOSES to publicly marginaiize is trans women, and I think she makes that choice because she thinks that she'll get more allies that way. That if she wore all of her issues on her sleeve like she wears the terfness, that she'd lose a lot of allies, that a lot of prestigious charities would stop having anything to do with her. That she uses the identity of "terf" as a shield because she knows that certain people will protect a terf, and she does this specifically so people won't notice how much of a sexist, abuse apologist, ableist, fatphobe etc she ALSO is. Opinions that could lose her a lot of money and clout if people remember them enough.

She's trying to pick on who she thinks is the most unpopular kid in the class out of the hopes that the bullies in class will be her friends instead of pile up on her, but if the bullies knew what she really thought of them, THEY wouldn't even be her friends.

Also like... I just want someone else to read the actual words in these books and see what fucked-up choices she made as a writer. I think a LOT of people remembering these books are actually remembering the movies, which are way more different from the books than you might expect.

#this got long and rambly #every time i try to read the books i find a new thing that is weird #i had to look up when milk bottle delivery stopped in england #i know so many things about knickerbockers now #it seems like the only reason platform 9 3/4 is used is for the parking and that's so weird #why would you name something futuristic a 2000 when that's only 9 years from when the first book is set #who leaves a one year old on a doorstep #how come the dursleys are so affluent to have late-era milk bottle delivery at the doorstep #yet no 4AM joggers in the neighborhood who would have seen Harry before Petunia did #these books are an assault upon all logic and I am mad and angry that there is a theme park based on them that fails the ADA #you're telling me wizards can hide an entire castle yet they can't add a ramp to a shop's doorway #oh gods i'm never going to stop get me out of these tags I need a snack and a hug

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thydungeongal · 9 months

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Hey, love your blog! I've been following you for a while now and learning a lot about the world of ttrpgs outside of DnD. I hear a lot about how rule heavy and difficult DnD is to learn, not to mention that I am rather 'sheltered' when it comes to the genre. I always assumed that DnD was like the ONLY ttrpg until I followed you haha. So I have a quick question for you, I have been interested in trying out the Werewolf: Apocalypse ttrpg, have you ever played it? Do you have any advice or opinions about the best ttrpgs for someone who has only ever played DnD, but is looking to try something new? Thanks! Sorry for the long ask, I'm notoriously bad at condensing my words😂

Hello! First of all, no need to apologize. As you may have noticed from some of my really long posts, I have something of a problem with writing tersely as well. :)

I have sadly not played Werewolf: The Apocalypse, but not for a lack of trying: there was a period in my life when I was obsessed with the game but could never get anyone else interested in trying it out, so that never amounted to anything. Here's my unfiltered opinion on Werewolf: The Apocalypse: it's silly, reductive, and even within the context of World of Darkness it is extremely culturally insensitive, but I still kind of love it as a game. It's an extremely flawed game but one that I can't help but think fondly of in spite of its flaws. It is very mired in 90s and early 2000s caricatures of indigenous peoples and even more so than any other World of Darkness game weirdly fetishistic about bloodlines, but if one is willing to treat it as a problematic fave there's a lot of good in that whole mess. Like, you get to play as strong as fuck werewolves with magic powers who fight to protect the Earth from a rogue's gallery of enemies that are basically caricatures of the corrupting effect capitalism has on communities and the Earth itself? That shit owns.

Having said all of that, the information that has come out about how the upcoming 5th edition of the game has been handled does not fill me with hope and I'm not sure if I want to support the current direction of the game. You can find more about what I'm talking about here.

To your next question, sadly there isn't a single definitive answer I can give to someone looking to branch out from D&D: it all depends on what kind of game you're looking. But the good news is, whatever kind of game you're looking for it's probably not going to be as much of an investment as D&D. D&D is kind of an outlier in the sense that it requires three whole-ass books, whereas most games fit into just one. But since you asked, I'm going to list a couple of games that I think are neat anyway. :)

Hard Wired Island. Indie cyberpunk RPG. Easy to learn system, setting heavily inspired by 90s anime, actually uses its setting to present questions relevant to the role technological advancement plays in marginalization instead of simply using cyberpunk as dressing for another cops vs. robbers RPG.

Esoteric Enterprises. Since you asked about Werewolf: The Apocalypse chances are you're interested in urban fantasy, yeah? Esoteric Enterprises is dark urban fantasy where you play as an occult gang in a modern city. The system is based on D&D, albeit one of the older editions, and it plays much more grim and gritty than 5e. While characters default to humans it has rules for supernatural characters. It'll be a very different beast from Werewolf, but it'll have that same grimy urban gothic punkness to it.

Break!!. Science fantasy RPG inspired by video games and anime. Was Kickstarted recently but even if you missed the Kickstarter it's not too late to preorder! I've got my hands on the Beta PDF and my first impressions thus far are that even though it's still very much in the wheelhouse of D&D (It's an action adventure RPG in a fantastic setting) it has amazing presentation and is wonderfully condensed. Absolutely worth checking out if the aesthetic appeals to you.

Voidheart Symphony. This one's a bit from the left field, but I like Voidheart Symphony. It's a game about playing psychic rebels fighting against corrupt people in positions of power. Explicitly inspired by the Persona games, but with a more openly revolutionary stance. Where Esoteric Enterprises leans more on the urban occultism and gothic punk, this one is more about fighting against the Man with your Stand.

Anyway, if you have any further questions, don't be afraid to ask. :) For an example, if you feel like you have a specific wish in mind with regards to an RPG system let me know and I'll see if I can think of something more specific.

#long post

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ponett · 1 year

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some more SLARPG-related questions and answers taken from my retrospring:

Hi, I wanted to start by saying I loved your game and it meant a lot to me. Instead of gushing sappily though, I wanted to ask about the cross iconography in Melody's staff and Provence's armor; what cultural or religious significance does this symbol have in the world of Reverie? (If it doesn't mean anything to them but does to us that's cool too!)

the + shape (typically in green) is the symbol for healing magic, rather than a religious symbol

hi! in an answer on here just now you referred to "the beast kingdom", is that a canon thing and there is a monarchical governed body called The Beast Kingdom, or was that just something you threw out there because you didn't have a name for it, or some exciting third answer?

the country slarpg is set in is The Beast Kingdom. i can't remember if that's actually stated in the game. i think it is? maybe it was cut from the intro so as to not overwhelm the player with Fantasy Proper Nouns up front and i forgot to put it somewhere else? idk. the sapphire islands are some distance off the coast, and brightport is on the mainland

i saw some speculation about this based on the name, and yes, it's intended to be a modern constitutional monarchy

(after answering this i doubled checked, and yes, the name is mentioned in the game)

Is there any kind of animal species beast folks strictly CANNOT be? (besides RandomFurryUser726's custom closed species obviously)

off the top of my head i can't think of anything they COULDN'T be, no. mammals, birds, reptiles, sea creatures, bugs. i guess when you get to some of the more oddball invertebrates it becomes trickier, but i also wouldn't completely write off the possibility of coming up with a jellyfish character or whatever. it's just less likely that i'd go for something like that compared to, you know. furries

since holly floated the idea in her own stream: Did Jodie forge her own grill?

you know what? sure. this is canon now

How did Claire come to choosing her name? Was is just a name she liked the sound of or is there more significance for her?

undecided due to how much that part of claire's life is still unexplored

just curious, but is zinnia's hair color intended to be more 'older woman gray hair' or 'magical girl white hair'?

her hair is naturally a very light blue, like how melody and jodie just have naturally white hair

i pictured the scrap cannon skill working by magnetizing a bunch of scrap metal around one's arm to make an arm cannon and firing off a big ball of more scrap metal from that. is this a valid interpretation?

this isn't how i picture it but it's cooler than how i picture it and also adds yet another mega man allusion to the desert, so

Given that it's the day of the Big Game: How do each of the Novas (+ Faith/Beverly) feel about sports?

jodie likes sports and follows the brightport teams actively, but she's also too good of a sport to really hate their rival teams

allison's always liked the act of playing sports way more than watching them (although she was never good enough at following orders to play on a team as a kid). she'll watch the big games with jodie, though

beverly is a casual fan who will at least root for local teams but doesn't really pay that close attention

melody and faith don't follow sports but can be convinced to show up for a super bowl party type get together

claire can only get invested in a sport or team if there's a jon bois type documentary that gets deep into the nerd shit

Were there ever any other names other than SLARPG in the running? Or was it always gonna be slarpg all the way.

i always considered changing the name. i have a list of 75 different names i considered over the years in my notes, ranging from more generic fantasy titles to sillier ones to more unique ones. early on most involved melody's name. many later ones include "Reverie." i may share the full list someday (possibly good fodder for a patreon post), but the "serious" title i've mentioned considering before was Power Couple (or Power Couples). i still like that one

i debated over the title a lot for many reasons. mainly, people are weird about the title, either treating the whole game as a joke or assuming it's porn or whatever. some also assume that you just cannot play the game if you aren't a lesbian, a thing that people don't do with other fantasy things that happen to feature sapphic relationships without putting it in the title

the problem, of course, is that changing your title is often a death sentence. half the struggle with marketing a game is even getting people to remember it in the first place in an era where a million things are constantly fighting for your attention. people need to have seen it a few times before they create that mental connection of "oh, THAT game, i've heard of that." so changing your title massively undercuts that

in that regard, Super Lesbian Animal RPG is just way more unique and memorable of a title than the alternatives i was considering. it's direct and unambiguous about the content of the game, and it grabs your attention in a way that something like "Guardians of Reverie," for instance, doesn't. (that's not a title i was considering too seriously, just an example.) also it abbreviates to a unique hashtag, which i find convenient. also i can say that rock paper shotgun once referred to it as "brilliantly named," so like, of course i can't change it now

several of the names i considered are now in the running for an overall franchise name, though, since i have zero intention of naming a game Super Lesbian Animal Platformer or Super Lesbian Animal Visual Novel or whatever

I wish you could kiss Holly this life is so unfair

fear not my friend, large women exist in our world as well

are all cars on Reverie weird fantasy vehicles like the one in the Celestial Wasteland? or was it just the fact of Greenridge being a tiny town with dirt roads that made cars irrelevant to mention or see in the story?

fantasy vehicles such as flying cars and airships are very common on reverie, but regular wheeled vehicles still exist too. (there is a conversation about motorcycles in the game.) i'd imagine regular, non-flying vehicles are just the cheaper option, but they're also not particularly necessary in greenridge, a small, old town built for foot travel that doesn't exactly have a highway connecting it to the mainland

from the sounds of it, would it be safe to assume that the exact level of involvement you had in the characters Anthony/Scarlet designed varies from character to character? Like for some characters you'd have a solid-ish idea of gender/species/age/role, other times you just have the role ("I need an NPC to fill this nice"), and other times they just sprung a design on you without any prompting from you?

yeah, it varied a lot. for example, faith was a character i conceived and had a pretty clear idea of, but i was struggling to come up with her design, so anthony offered to give it a shot. other times i might request something from him, and he'll give me a black and white concept sketch that i color and then turn into a sprite. but then you've got, like, the paladin brigade, who are characters anthony just pitched to me thinking that they'd be a good addition to the cast. he came up with their names, designs, color schemes, personalities, team dynamic, everything. i just filled in details where necessary. the boys are also anthony's babies - they would not have been included in the game at all if he hadn't pushed for it

meanwhile, scarlet's characters (which included a good number of more general NPCs that didn't make it in due to time constraints) mostly consisted of me giving her broad directions like "we need some adventurers to hang around noel's sanctuary," and she'd come up with her own ideas from there

what's the hardest part of making a cohesive and/or compelling narrative to you?

for me at least, it's the logical glue that holds a story together that's the hardest. that's just the type of writer i am, and as far as i know it's pretty common to feel that way

i'll know specific scenes i wanna hit, emotional beats, the general mood and tone, images i want to use, those sorts of things, but the logical shuffling around of pieces on the chess board to connect those disparate moments is harder to nail down for me. why is this character doing this? why are they here instead of there? why can't the protagonists just do this other thing to solve their problem? what in the narrative is going to steer them towards this next moment? what is this supporting character's motivation that informs their participation in this event? why did this character know or not know this key fact? etc. and in a video game - especially an rpg like this - there's that added layer of needing to give the player clear objectives, having reasons for them to go from point A to point B, excuses for gameplay elements to space out the story beats, and whatnot. it can be a lot to juggle

with slarpg in particular i knew most of the big emotional beats and major setpiece moments i wanted to hit early on, but the logic of the plot took a LOT of reworking. lots of late night pondering and scattered notes trying to piece together the villains' plans and things of that nature

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