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aerodaltonimperial · 8 months

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Okay guess who slept last night THIS BITCH so here we go, my toddler and I discussed this en route to preschool this morning. More coherent thoughts: essentially, until last night, the entire Christian/Lucha vs Darby/Nick/(Fox) story was very easily rationalized as happening because Darby was going for the TNT belt and Christian was either thinking he was a credible threat or simply wanted to ensure that he was distracted and therefore started this overlap in their stories. After last night, this excuse no longer holds, and this whole thing is deliberate in some other way.

Perhaps the most important thing to keep in mind is how much Jack’s ghost is hovering over this entire narrative: they have been methodical with the call-backs, and there have been enough of them that we can assume we are SUPPOSED to be seeing Jack's fingerprints covering this. But that sort of leads us into a few questions here, and the first one is trying to sort out if Christian's real target is Nick or Darby.

Before last night, I would have said Nick, easy. He's young, he's fatherless (lol), and he's the clear Jack stand-in. But the thing I wonder if I have been overlooking is how he is also, perhaps most importantly, a weakness. Specifically, he is Darby’s weakness. Comms have gone hard with the idea that Darby now has to care about something other than himself, and he has already lost because of it. (You could argue that he lost of his own accord at All Out, but Nick was enough of a threat to his victory that he came into play at least twice during the match.) The angle with Fox has, additionally, brought into question whether or not Nick will stand by Darby’s side no matter what, or if there are some hard lines being drawn in the sand. So it's clear that the Nick v Darby possibility is bubbling up closer to the surface. They can thread this needle for awhile with the right build-up.

Last night marks the second time that Christian came in with the idea that Nick should be mentored by someone with a championship belt. Honestly, I would have put money on Darby getting the TNT last weekend, and I'm still not entirely convinced that we were wrong about that prediction, but an interesting option was opened up over the weekend: OC no longer has the International belt, and Darby is now free to pursue it. (I don't think he ever would have gone after it while OC had it, since they tagged together. Darby, remember, is sometimes loyal to a fault.) Darby is obviously in the tournament to go after MJF again (which I assume Roderick will get, but the point remains that it is an option), but he could also be in the running for going after Mox. I'm still mulling over what Christian's angle here means.

Before, when this was assumed to be TNT belt threat related, we could rationalize a lot, and now, we have to ask ... why? Why is Christian still dogging after Darby and Nick if the threat is gone? There isn't a solid reason anymore! So let's take a look at our little ghost, existing in spectral form above this entire thing. As far as Jack’s tag/story partners from the past year, we have this:

* Luchasaurus: betrayed by, Jack defeated in the cage match

* Christian: betrayed by, Jack defeated in the coffin match

* Hook: betrayed, Jack defeated for the FTW (and then lost to)

* Darby: not betrayed, despite MJF literally outright asking Jack to do it

It's worth noting that actually, Jack had TWO chances to betray Darby: once in the tag match after MJF asked him to, and once again in the 4-way, when all he had to do was hit him with the belt to be crowned champion. That's it. That's Jack’s last year, minus random matches. Those are the big stories he has had. And Jack, remember, posts photos when something big happens, and during this time, he has posted pictures about Christian, Hook, and .... Darby.

With no clear reason yet why Christian is going after Nick and Darby, and last night, where despite Christian approaching Nick directly backstage, he spent his entire time on comms during the match focusing on Darby, it’s possible that he is trying to figure out what it is about Darby that makes him an outlier in Jack’s recent history. It's fantasy booking for sure! Mostly, I just want it. But we also can't rule it out and our options are starting to narrow. All the obvious "reasons" for these circles to overlap are falling away.

Is this setting up Nick turning on Darby? Possible, though we discounted them turning Nick heel so early - though if they play this right, he doesn't even HAVE to be. Is this setting up Nick going with Christian? Possible, though something big would have to happen for that to happen given that Christian is being such a creep about it, lol. Is this finally going to summon Jack in as a direct participant in the narrative? Possible, and timing may need to be adjusted on this with him out. Remember, Hook being in that random 8-man tag drew Jack out into the story for the first time since he "ended" stories with all three of the others (Lucha, Christian, Darby), when he came flying out to attack Hook in the post-match brawl. (And he very deliberately did not run into any of them out there, despite how they were in the same ring.)

The Christian recruits Nick as the new Jack angle opens up the most possibilities for a full overlap (and Jack coming in), but none of them discount his involvement, since we are obviously supposed to be remembering him this whole time. I doubt his story with Hook is completely done, since that's been set up as a long-running tent pole to both their careers, but I suspect we will see him fall back into this as more unfolds. These stories are running so close to each other that they are almost side by side right now, and given what we know about Jack and Darby’s history, there's no way they have left that loop open by accident.

#wrestling theory with katy time #HERE WE GO FAM LET'S DIG DEEP INTO THIS #darby allin #christian cage #nick wayne #jack perry #deep dive ring posts

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animehouse-moe · 1 year

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Observations on Environmentalism And Humanity In Early Animanga

It's very weird, at least in the anecdotal sense, that the themes of environmentalism and other somewhat adjacent concepts like the negative effects of globalization are far more apparent in Japanese media from its earlier days than it is in our modern setting. When you think of the most popular and profound pieces of media from the mid 2000s onwards there's not really many stories, let alone popular ones, that speak to humanity's connection with nature a great deal.

We continue to look further inwards on ourselves as a species and existence, but peering into the deepest, darkest parts we begin to lose sight of the threads that attach us to reality. We look closer at human connection, about emotion and values, about what reality constitutes. But very few relate that introspection to nature. Of course, not everything requires that connection, such as something like Serial Experiments Lain (slight recency bias because of previous post) being about technology as opposed to nature. And on the other side of the coin we do have standouts such as Witches by Daisuke Igarashi that takes that look at humanity through nature. Though the former appeared at the end of the 90s, and the latter being originally published from 2003-2005.

Regardless, the point remains that the amount or, even arguably existence, of nature in modern animanga is in somewhat of a drought. If you dig deep enough you will find it, as such is the nature of the breadth of the industry, but its popularity and availability is an entirely different discussion. You look back to early Studio Ghibli and Miyazaki, and you see incredible standouts like Nausicaa of The Valley of The Wind, or Princess Mononoke, or even single volume stories like Shuna's Journey. You can even trace the theme back to series like Osamu Tezuka's Kimba The White Lion (which many believe to be where The Lion King has borrowed much from).

Maybe it's because we've passed through the twilight hours of concerns of globalization or deforestation or any manner of negative effects, and moved onto a new topic in the discussion of our reality. Maybe it's because it no longer sells well to publish media that aims to elicit emotion and deeper thought on a subject in its consumers. Maybe people just don't think it's interesting so they don't write about it anymore.

At the end of the day I'm neither expert nor historian, so I can only offer my own opinion on the matter, but I find it... mildly depressing, how narrow popular media is these days. There's more breadth than ever in the content we can consume, but it still feels like large, empty voids remain in places like these, or the cyberpunk genre, or intergalactic sci-fi, or any other number of themes or genres. It makes you reminisce about eras that have passed and may not see another golden age.

#anime and manga #anime #manga #hayao mizayaki #osamu tezuka #shuna's journey #nausicaä of the valley of the wind #princess mononoke #kimba the white lion

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alesyira · 1 year

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ShinDeku Day 13: Bitter

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an: this scene and the next have been grade-a struggle, and i'm not sure i like them just yet. I will continue to fiddle with the structure and pacing. it's important they're just right, but now is not the time for weeks of gently massaging the story xD

Izuku follows his gaze to look at the wide scar from so many years ago.

Shit.

Their gazes meet for a split second before Hitoshi turns his attention back to the mark. “Is this what you were worried about?” He traces his fingers along the edge of the old burn, then leans close to press his lips to the dark surface.

Izuku shivers.

Hitoshi’s other hand is tracing slowly now, with purpose. Izuku suspects he's looking for more marks like the one that’s clear as day on his shoulder. He finds one, and then another. Izuku shudders with recognition every time his fingers stall to touch and feel out the edges.

He’s caught in a mix of feelings - embarrassment at the disfiguring marks, anger that he’ll never be rid of the old and painful memories, and pleasure at his gentle touches.

His teeth gently nip the skin beside the scar on his shoulder. “You have more than I thought,” he whispers, tracing his lips up Izuku’s neck.

Izuku squeezes his eyes closed, a frown pulling at his mouth as he turns his face away with the sudden swell of bitter anger. He has a lot more than any regular civilian should have. He doesn’t like thinking of the circumstances that led to each one.

Hitoshi leans forward, tipping Izuku over until he's nestled against the soft bedding. He looks up with surprise, briefly meeting Hitoshi's warm gaze before he turns his attention to the marks littering his torso.

He leans in and presses a warm kiss to the one on his shoulder. Izuku sighs as seeking fingertips sweep his skin, leaving sweet tingles in their wake as he searches for more. Hitoshi dips his head lower to kiss a mark on his abdomen, his thumbs brushing dangerously close to the waistband of his pajama pants.

He chews on his lip to distract himself, and he’s not sure if he’s relieved or disappointed when the next scar Hitoshi finds is on his forearm.

(disappointed.)

Hitoshi lifts his wrist and brushes his mouth against the old mark, his tongue slipping out to sweep the pulse point of his wrist before he presses a tender kiss to his palm. He nips gently at the edge of his hand before turning his attention to the scar on his bicep.

(he’s no longer disappointed.)

Hitoshi’s pays silent homage to every mark he can find with lips and tongue and teeth, slowly, methodically, intent on leaving better memories where the old aches still haunt him.

Izuku shivers under the tender onslaught, wavering between sadness and desire.

His boyfriend runs out of marks to cherish and changes direction, peppering little kisses up his chest, in the hollow of his throat, and across his jaw and cheek toward his mouth until Izuku relents and turns to catch his lips with a breathless little sigh.

Hitoshi settles firmly against him, a warm weight cradled between his thighs, anchoring him to earth. There is nothing but them, together, Hitoshi's tongue sweeping into his mouth, Izuku catching his lip and sucking, gentle bites and the soft sounds of their breaths mingling.

He wants to wipe those lingering memories from his mind and think of nothing else but the man above him.

He threads his hands into Hitoshi’s hair wanting so much more, to kiss every section of his mouth, to taste and lick and nip and brand this man with who he is and what he wants and never let him go.

Hitoshi shifts at that moment, edging his hips a little closer, swallowing Izuku's gasp of surprise at the feel of Hitoshi's hardness pressing against his thigh.

His boyfriend smiles against him, their lips brushing whisper-soft as he speaks. “You didn’t think your scars would bother me, did you?”

Izuku nods once, then shakes his head, feeling a little confused and light-headed as Hitoshi chuckles and kisses him again. He'd been worried about too many things.

(Maybe he needn't have worried.)

“Hmm,” he says, trailing soft kisses across his mouth to his shoulder.

His attentions slow as he looks up to meet Izuku’s gaze, his fingertips tickling along the edge of the largest mark. His arm rests beside his head where Hitoshi had placed it earlier, and he turns his eyes to the scar on his wrist, inches from their faces.

"These are years old," he murmurs, dropping a fresh kiss against his wrist. He glances up with a tiny smirk. "Unless you're secretly a vigilante and seeing a healer that leaves you littered with scars." Izuku rolls his eyes with a sigh, appreciating the moment of humor.

(He doesn't want to admit it may have crossed his mind a few times in the past, but that's not the point.)

Hitoshi is deceptively calm as he visually compares the two in close proximity. “You would have gotten these as a kid.” There is a long moment of silence as Hitoshi looks over the marks with his eyes and fingertips. Izuku can guess that he's beginning to see the similarities between them.

Izuku doesn’t want to look anymore.

(He's back to worrying.)

“Was it a bully, or do I need to hunt down an old asshole that’s about to have a very bad day?”

Izuku's lips twitch with a flash of amusement. He briefly pictures his boyfriend in his terrifying costume, darkening his old bullies' windows. (...Darkening Bakugou's window. Would he be unsettled, or just curious about a late-night visitor?)

He absently spreads his hands across Hitoshi’s back and bites at his lower lip but doesn't say anything.

Hitoshi presses his face to Izuku's chest, heaving a quiet little sigh. "When I was ten," he says, his fingers sweeping up the back of his neck to hold aside a chunk of his hair. "Someone knocked me down a flight of stairs after one of my classmates accused me of doing something to them with my quirk. I had to get a dozen stitches."

Hitoshi fishes for Izuku's hand and presses his fingertips to a hidden mark. Izuku shifts to peer closer, trailing his fingers over the thin silver line tucked away from sight there. He feels a wave of discomfort when he realizes he has a similar one hidden within his curls. What are the odds?

There's a smile in his voice as he turns his face to press his cheek to Izuku's shoulder. Izuku continues to stroke the mark, his thoughts whirling. "I have others, little cuts and burns that never quite healed. Always an accident, or self-defense. I was lucky my mom paid attention." Fingertips brush over the bridge of his nose, and Izuku sees a pale mark where he touches. "This one could have been much worse. One of my teachers insisted I wear a muzzle during school hours. Mama was pissed when she found out."

He props himself up on his elbow and gazes into Izuku's eyes. His fingers feel glued to the scar Hitoshi has revealed to him, and there's a building desire to dump all of these old memories in his lap.

Maybe he'll know what to do with them.

(Maybe then he'll be able to forget.)

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#bnha #bnha fanfiction #mha #mha fanfiction #midoriya izuku #izuku midoriya #shinsou hitoshi #hitoshi shinsou #shindeku #shinzuku #the cute guy next door AU #shindeku month 2023 #shindeku month

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transmogrified-in-the-void · 2 years

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I'm Not Okay (I Promise) (I'm Lying)

So here's the tl;dr for this essay/creative nonfiction piece. I first heard im not okay when i was at my worst socially, physically, and mentally. it became my gateway into a wonderful community, it was the catalyst for the most fun writing project ive ever been in, and single-handedly saved my life.

there will be discussions of minor eating disorders, suicidal thoughts, self harm, and toxic relationships.

i would also like to thank Joey @space-bones-official Rae @spacingout Naima @ianthe-the-dyke and biz @gayslutraytoro for being the people that helped bring me to where I am today. No matter what happens, I will never forget you.

September 2019. The beginning of my sophomore year of American high school. The small group of three friends I had made in my final year of junior high had increased near tenfold. No longer did we need the end of long tables filling a room that had become obsolete, and instead almost thirty people pushed two large semicircle tables together to sardine themselves in the largest social circle of the cafeteria.

Despite being close to the largest and loudest personalities of the group, it was very rarely that I was heard without acting preposterous or "insane". And even then, I would have to push my vocal boundaries to make a tiny dent in the cacophony of discussion I could barely participate in anyways.

This was the year where it became more apparent the narrow scope of my knowledge. My closest friends were talking about games and movies and music I had never even heard of, and could barely remember due to the amount of noise that took up the space in my head. Even if it was something I understood, I never understood enough to contribute, or I was never loud enough to have my contributions matter.

This special brand of isolation coalesced into a poisonous and slow-killing method of attention seeking. I started to cause small amounts of pain to myself in public. I had been hitting myself and causing myself unseen harm much earlier, but I started to pick and scratch at my skin, or stab a pen into my arm until there was a large and irritated black spot. When that didn't work, I started to not eat. Maybe, I had thought, maybe they'll notice now.

They didn't. Looking back, they wouldn't have noticed if I had said it out loud, but it's hard to see the situation when you're drowning in it.

Then came September. One of my best friends, J, had decided to join us and not sit with the band that day.

I can't remember the discussion, only that I had turned to someone next to me and said something, only for them to start talking to someone else right afterwards. Not even a moment passed where it seemed that I was heard. For the first moment, I felt like I was truly alone.

In the minute that lasted eternity, it felt like everything that was real had started to fall away. If I couldn't be heard, was I even real? Did I even matter?

And it was J's earbud being placed in my ear, and the whispered statement that started my spider's thread escape.

"This song is about having a shitty experience in high school." He had said. "I think you'll like it."

And then I'm Not Okay (I Promise) by My Chemical Romance started playing. My life would never be the same.

I went home and listened to the entirety of The Black Parade while cleaning my room. It was good background noise, something that I could listen to but not need to focus on because it was new. I remember finding the time that Blood played (1 minute 30 seconds, a discovery that brought me much pride). After that, I put My Chemical Romance to the back of my mind, where I was aware but not truly into it, and wouldn't pick it up fully until early November of 2019, shortly after the reunion.

I can remember the reason why, too. I had, by that point, met Joey and remade my Tumblr to get away from the toxic online situation I had found myself in, and I found a post that said that MCR had gotten back together. I told one of my closer friends this, and their response was along the lines of "Why does that matter?".

The sudden turning down of what I had said sent me into a minor spiral. Why does it matter? Why do they matter to me?

I went back to the first song I ever heard, and it made more sense to me. I ended up playing I'm Not Okay (I Promise) for three days straight, before venturing into the rest of Three Cheers for Sweet Revenge.

My journey from there was much more intense and streamlined than before. I listened to Danger Days next, and loved the more synth-pop sound and vocal performance (especially as a vocalist). From there, I listened to The Black Parade, and found that, of all the albums I had heard in my life, that was the one that fit my emotional state the best.

It went stagnant, and I wouldn't gain the confidence to listen to Desert Song or I Brought You My Bullets until a month after March 2020, when I started to make some of the most influential and closest friends I will ever have in my life.

Quarantine was what started my deep dive into the My Chem fandom, leading to one very important Tumblr post. I had made a fun post talking about a theoretical coming-of-age school drama TV show without the bad tropes based around the music video of I'm Not Okay (I Promise). My good and wonderfully talented friend Grody said that they were interested, and thus started a very fun writing project.

I won't speak on it long, it's not that important to the overall story, but the I'm Not Okay Projekt was the most fun and innovative writing project I have ever had.

I stopped listening to My Chemical Romance somewhere near the end of 2021. I don't remember why, it just happened, but it does bring me to today.

This past week I've been listening back to most of the MCR discography. I say most because I had been putting off I'm Not Okay (I Promise) because I didn't know how I would react to hearing the song that saved me from living in such isolation, a state where I probably would have ended up dead.

Today I listened to it.

I listened to it through headphones one of my best friends gave me when I lost mine a few weeks ago, running to my first and only class of the day, knowing that afterwards I would be hanging out with my friends.

Listening to a song that resonated with me so strongly that it single-handedly changed the course of my life three years after the fact, in a completely different situation, with completely different context, it still has the emotional weight. Not the same kind of weight, but the same weight nonetheless.

Instead of the weight of isolation and self-hatred and the shittiness that is high school (and that was my sophomore year), it was the weight of an old friend. Still heavy and draped on my shoulders, but this time it was spread out. Warm. The sensation of nostalgia mixed with waking up on a winter day.

Maybe I'm not okay. Maybe I'm lying. Regardless, I am a better person because of the domino effect that this song started.

#my chemical romance #personal essay #writing #p bangs the keys

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pastafossa · 2 years

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hi!! the ask probably got eaten so i'm sending it again. (if you just didn't want / didn't have time to answer, sorry) i remember you mentioning once you have a timeline or an outline or something like that for TRT, and i was wondering if you could share how you plan for your writing? i always struggle with that and just seem to go wherever the inspiration takes me, which is good sometimes but generally, not so much lol. ty <3

I do have a timeline or outline! I had to go digging for a post I made a while back and I found it! This is a detailed post about how I create my outlines/timelines for TRT! I 100% get the struggle, ironically. I'm instinctively a pantser - my natural state is to just go with the flow, chase the muse, but for a long series and to fight my adhd which will essentially get distracted and chase the fic equivalent of leaves blowing down the street, yeah, I need a guideline or I'll wander off. 😂

I actually don't mind explaining this again, because I know I always forget things so I'm liable to have missed stuff in the last one. Basically, I use Twine to create visual outlines since I am inherently visual and need to see something. And from there, the outlines and arcs are broken down almost like a reverse tree, branching downwards from the top and getting more detailed as we slide down:

The two Overall Arcs are at the top, and were chosen from the Seven Basic Plotlines (Rebirth + Overcoming the Monster). Those overall arcs are broken down into stages such as, 'Avoiding Connection due to fear of White Coat', 'Reveal White Coat Tracking', 'Decision To Stay And Fight White Coat', etc. This allows me at a glance to see exactly where I am in the overall arc - I can see what clues I should be leaving, how these events might be influencing the emotions and actions of the characters, and whether or not I should be building tension in preparation for the next stage. I sometimes break these arcs down further as needed so I can get more specific (the Miami arc was pretty detailed for 'Almost Caught By White Coat'). I was also taught your smaller arcs should always nudge your overall arcs along just a little. Basically, if a long fic were a tv series, this would be the series plotline from start to finish.

Major Arcs are ones I have set up below the overall arcs, and are often essentially breakdowns of stages of the Overall Arcs. As an example, Matt and Jane's relationship is both an arc all its own, and a breakdown of the Rebirth arc. These are closer to a tv series' seasonal arcs, although sometimes they're longer, like the relationship arc. This is where I've broken down Matt and Jane's relationship arc into stages - 'Wanting to Connect', 'Struggling Not to Connect', 'Running From Connection', and 'Acceptance'. Sometimes those stages just influenced Jane's emotions ('Struggling Not to Connect' would obviously inform how she acted around Matt), and sometimes I broke them down in a detailed way - the Kidnapping plotline was a detailed breakdown of the Acceptance stage and obviously drove those 3 or 4 chapters.

Minor/Breakdown Arcs are where you usually find either individual chapter outlines, or brief one-two sentence notes on what needs to happen. This is where you're most likely to see me feed my Pantser side and wing it! While some arcs naturally have to be drafted out far in a fairly detailed fashion (Miami arc, Away chapters, SHIELD involvement), I also purposefully leave openings in my outlines for some moments and keep some things general so that I'm free to go with the flow, based on how the story's gone up until that point, because sometimes there are tonal shifts you don't expect, and it's good to give yourself room to work with that - Devil Hunt came ENTIRELY from one of those open spots I left for thread training. All I knew was I needed some sort of entertaining method that they could use for practice, but when I was writing Chapter 12 and had Jane joke about hunting, Matt's line just kinda flowed out naturally: 'Well, if you wanted me to chase you, sweetheart, all you had to do was ask.' I knew I needed to follow that through, one of those lightning rod inspiration moments, and because I'd left an opening, I was able to work it in so that it fit the stages for all of the arcs above. Even when I'm just winging a chapter, because of the arcs above, I know how the plot needs to be progressed as I workshop ideas that fit that goal. This is key as a panters - you have a goal to work towards.

How Do You Use This Outline Though? So when I'm actually drafting out a chapter or event, or even just when I'm writing, all of the planning means that at the top of the chapter, I can keep a notes section of what the driving goals of that chapter are, and any major themes. So the first Devil Hunt themes and goals would have been things like, Releasing the Devil (feeds major relationship arc), Building Trust (feeds major and overall arc), Thread Training (feeds major and overall arcs) and a fun rest period after the heavy angst in the previous chapters. If I'm just writing, it gives me a goal to work towards for the end of the chapter or minor arc of that chapter/section. If I'm drafting, it allows me to literally make a point by point list of, 'Things that need to happen'. After I've done that, I just... sort of sit and write it out while glancing at what I have. It gives me the freedom to veer a little as the tone needs, especially since I spend so much time in editing cleaning it up.

And that's basically how I've outlined TRT and use the outlines for writing out my chapters! I like to think it's an approach that gives the ability to have clear end goals and stages, while also allowing for the freedom to nudge and twist and shift with the story as inspiration guides us, because that's absolutely part of writing. And with this outline, if I want to nudge or change how a stage plays out, I can see how that will affect everything down the line, all the little rippling ramifications, and then change those accordingly.

I hope that helps!

#ask response #writing tips #outlining #the red thread #this *waves* is basically how i do it #i'd show a screenshot of my outline but there's about 50k spoilers on it since i have almost the entirety of trt broken down #but trust me when i'm writing a one shot or something i just kinda flow with inspiration #and in school i NOTORIOUSLY hated outlining because I just wanted to WRITE #but between twine and my brain knowing it'll have some opportunities to just roll with inspiration it seems to help #my brain would absolutely chase every gd plot bunny it saw otherwise and nothing would get finished so now I'm like yeah i need an outline

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sapphicscholar · 2 years

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hello! not really a question just me screaming about hacks. i pretty much never watch source material of fandoms I find myself in bc it's almost never worth it but omg

i just watched the 1st season and wow, head definitely not empty. the pace is insane to the point of whiplash which is good i didn't have time to get bored. the emotional overload is there though. the raw honesty of topics the show hits you in the face is overwhelming

the characters are alive and so relatable (except marty, fuck marty), casual queerness of it all, the details are beautiful

the "i can absolutely do this without you but prefer not to" is like a love confession in itself and i wonder how much closer can then be? and after the email debacle what would that look like?

now i'm wondering is there anything like that out there? is it a hbo thing? or is it just hacks coming together really well

Ahh I'm so glad you watched and enjoyed it!! Yes, totally agree about the show's fast pace and impressive breadth, and the casual queerness is just so delightful. That whole arc of Deborah's showing up for the funeral and breaking all the rules she's always lived by and asking Ava to come on tour was just so deeply intimate in ways I rarely get in the canon material that I fell, like, immediately and irrevocably into the fandom haha (though I also am invested enough in the whole world of characters they've created that I feel fannish and interested in all the cast and their different kinds of relationships, which isn't always or even often the case)

I'd be so curious to hear your thoughts about the post-email word! I feel like I've done a lot of my processing via fic writing, esp my longer form cruise ship fic, but somehow I still find myself spinning threads of various "what if x" scenarios about the different ways it could come to light and play out in the aftermath!

I will say I've found a lot of the HBO shows I've been watching this year to be similarly very well done - solid writing, tightly scripted narrative arcs, good pacing, often something queer (even in the kinds of shows where I'd grown used to having to squint for hints of it). If you're looking for any possible show recs, I've loved Somebody Somewhere, The Flight Attendant, Minx, and (most recently) Our Flag Means Death. They span the gamut on genre and tone, so may be more or less interesting to you, but they all managed to really grab me in ways I've found not a lot of TV has in recent years

#ask me anything #mercutao #hacks hbo #show recs

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ilikekidsshows · 3 years

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One thing that pisses me off not just about the miraculous fandom but modern fandoms is fans inability to consume long overarching stories.

Like so many people are complaining about how long the reveal is taking or why haven't certain characters outgrown this trait yet or why is this character arc botched or abandoned. Like guys we just got the confirmation this show will be 7 seasons long PLUS like 3 tv specials. We're only roughly halfway through the series.

Once the reveal happens half the tension in the show is gone! I'm not saying leave the reveal till season 7 and make us wait 9 years this isn't HIMYM but miraculous is not a fast paced story. It's a long haul story. I just wish more fans would be patient. Miraculous is in the extremely fortunate and rare position that it will have a conclusive end and not be suddenly cancelled. That was and still is a huge problem for shows and cartoons with dedicated fans but networks pull the plug for stupid ass reasons.

So miraculous fans please chill the fuck out on things not resolving right away. We still have 78+ episodes plus the tv specials. If we get the end to certain things now it'll be so boring.

I think the concept of Instant Gratification describes the issue with many modern fandoms today. I hate to sound like I'm anti-technology, but the constant stream of quick and short bursts of entertainment allowed by the information age has made people more impatient. It's not about waiting for the climax to get a deeper sense of satisfaction, it's about getting that instant gratification right this instant. It's why one-shot fanfics are all over the place, when multi-chapter stories used to be just as common and popular, if not even more so, and it’s also why people are less willing to read a fic that’s still a work in progress. It's why people refuse to watch Youtube video essays even as they leave comments on the topic based on the title and thumbnail alone because, while they couldn't be assed to watch a 20-minute video (let alone an hour long one), they sure can spend that time calling the Youtuber names and making arguments the video actually already refutes. It's why a lot of online arguments happen only because one party read nothing but the first and maybe the last paragraph of someone's post and skipped all the explanation for their point of view (if I've ignored an counter argument for one of my posts, it was either because I missed it or because said counter argument did this. I have attention deficit issues so I do genuinely forget responses sometimes, but I'm also not writing a second essay for someone who's proven to me they won't read it).

Of course, it's only by constantly consuming only fast-paced content that you can become this impatient. People have different ideas about stories based on what stories they have encountered in the past.

Another thing that influences the Miraculous fandom in particular is that, while I love to show off exactly how much Miraculous has done to build up the overarching plotlines, Miraculous isn't really a show that's about a single story. It's easy to understand why people think it is one though: there's one main villain, we keep discovering more about the mythology, one of the main plot threads is the romantic relationship between the leads and singular episodes and plot elements tend to get payoff later. What is the purpose of a show if not to progress the story? Because the heroes aren't getting closer to defeating Gabriel or getting together, people think that the story isn't accomplishing anything.

I'll do a comparison to illustrate why these things aren't as clear-cut signs of a continuous storyline as people think. In the Spider-Man comics, you can pick any issue up and the chances are that the villain will be a part of Spider-Man's already established Rogues Gallery, who's back for more after who knows how many defeats, and those past defeats might even get referenced in callbacks to previous issues. It's also very possible that Peter and Mary Jane's relationship is the central focus with them not being together yet, having relationship problems or even having broken up (in really old issues the girl might be Gwen Stacy and short-term options have also always been available for romantic entanglements). Does this mean Spider-Man is a continuous story where the only point is that all the villains get put away for good and Peter and MJ live happily ever after? No, it doesn't. Spider-Man is designed to go on indefinitely, so there's no clear ending point. So, what is the point of Spider-Man then, if there is no Ending?

It used to be the single issue, because comic books used to have every issue be a stand-alone story about the hero and their supportive cast. These days it's more every three-to-six issues, because superhero comics are written to have short story arcs that can then be collected into trade paperbacks. A superhero series is not a single story; it's a series that functions as a story engine, meaning the series can generate several shorter stories where the hero helps fix a problem or solve a mystery.

In the superhero genre a villain will never get killed off or removed from stories permanently as long as the writers think they can still come up with stories to tell about them. The hero's romantic life will never be completely smooth sailing unless the writer is using other things to ramp up the stakes. Everything always allows for there to be another adventure.

I think the huge success of Avatar: the Last Airbender made people think that a series that is a single story is always superior to a series with multiple shorter plots. When I was liveblogging Sailor Moon, a viewer offered to give me a list of all the non-filler episodes because they genuinely thought I'd feel like I was wasting time on the show otherwise. This attitude is simply not based on fact. It's not fair to compare Miraculous Ladybug to Avatar, because they're both setting up to do completely different things. Miraculous Ladybug is trying to become a brand, like Batman or Spider-Man. It is part of the "Zag Heroes" lineup, a series of French-created superhero franchises to compete in the America-centric superhero market. This challenge is good for the genre, because Marvel and DC have started resembling each other more and more as these companies stew in their old ideas and copy everything that worked for the other one. The superhero genre needs new blood.

Also, Avatar: the Last Airbender first became popular by doing episodic plots for almost the entirety of the first season because it's actually not a wise choice to expect the audience to be willing to commit to a story that'll only give payoff later when working with an untested IP. Very often shows with longer story arcs start with the episodic format to hook people first, and sometimes the more linear plot is introduced specifically because the audience for the show is now expected to be both dedicated enough and older and capable of keeping up. Because, here's the thing: you can't expect little kids to remember every episode or even every character you've introduced in your show. I'm not sure if people are ready to hear that but I'm throwing it out there anyway. Kids are not dumb, they can understand more complex storylines, but many kids are still training their memory, so they might not remember the details of complex storylines that go on for too long.

This is why the news that Miraculous Ladybug's fourth season was going to have a recommended viewing order originally had me concerned. Miraculous is being branded for kids. The plot requiring too much skill in memorizing story details will make it less accessible to kids and might put those two additional seasons at risk. However, it seems that the "constantly changing status quo" concept of Truth, Lies and Gang of Secrets was a fluke and the evolution of the show is more subtle, so they might not be cutting the amount of episodes for those final seasons because the show is getting too complicated for kids to follow all the important details.

Regardless, Miraculous Ladybug being an adventure cartoon TV show instead of a comic book or a more cheaper-to-produce TV drama does mean that Miraculous Ladybug isn’t expected to go on for decades like a superhero comic or a soap opera. Because of this, it can have evolution and changes and even a planned ending. The show is expected to end at some point, even by the people making money off of it, mostly because making a cartoon like this indefinitely costs a lot of money, and kids’ adventure shows tend to see a decrease in returns if they go on for too long.

#media and fandom response #ml fandom salt #miraculous ladybug #miraculous tales of ladybug and chat noir

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yandere-wishes · 4 years

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🖤💔Yandere!Demon Slayers As Demons💔🖤

Dear readers for the first time in two weeks I offer you something that isn't a random post or a rant. This is an AU that I’ve been working on for a while, and seeing how this turns out I might continue it in terms of one shots and a mini series. Please enjoy!!

👺👺👺👺👺👺👺👺👺👺👺👺👺👺👺👺👺👺👺👺👺👺👺👺

Demon Tanjiro is much more complex than his human counterpart. His mood fluctuates too much, alternating between a loving docile young demon desperate for his lover's warm embrace, to a rabid beast who's willing to tear your stomach open with his claws and feast on your entrails while you're still breathing. He's just too unpredictable, what makes him praise you and litter your body with toothy kisses, might just get your arm dislocated the next day. There's just no telling, he just isn't Tanjiro anymore, he's some wild, savage, murderous monster wearing Tanjiro's face.

He's always watching...

His mere gaze isn't enough to turn you into a motionless rag doll. Slumped in the corner like a forgotten toy. No, but his silence is. The way his eyes are locked on you as if your some sort of little bunny that waltzed into his territory, the way his mouth is sewn shut by some invisible thread, the way his head is tilted to the side like he was trying to calculate your next move...it's all too tranquil, too clam, just like the eye of a hurricane.

Languidly Tanjiro begins to crouch down, his moves are rapid and glitchy as if he isn't in control of his own body. Somewhere you hear something cracking, it's a dreadful noise like hammers pounding at your skull. It's only when you lift your eyes to the Oni in front of you, do you realize the noise is coming from him. It's like he's deforming in some way, dying and regenerating all in a single breath...and yet he still looks so...so beautiful.

Even while he's stalking towards you on hands and knees, you can't deny how stunning he looks. Mouth molded into a small smile, long rust-colored locks pooling on the ground around him and his eyes... they're red one second and brown the next, changing ever so quickly just like his moods.

He's much more passive like this, you note as if you've made some sort of groundbreaking discovery. So docile and calm...almost like a storm before it strikes. No, Tanjiro is not a storm you remind your self. He's a lion stalking its prey, relishing in the taunting silence it radiates by its mere presence.

Tanjiro's eyes have lost all hope, all passion. They're nothing more than empty spheres resting in his sockets.

You vaguely remember -or at least you think you do- a time when every action coming from the rust haired boy was entangled in a blanket of passion, every move had a clear purpose, every word was laced with an unyielding fire that had been beaten into his spirit. But now....well you didn't know what he was now, what Mozen and his sadistic "creations" had turned him into. What had they stolen from him? Was it his soul, his hope, or maybe something far worst.

Your amazement only shatters when you notice just how close he's gotten. His icy cold breath tickling the side of your neck. You squirm, pressing your palms flat against his chest. Tangiro doesn't flinch, his head cocks back to the side, his broken stare, vaguely reminds you of a discarded doll. Maybe that's what he is, not a slayer or a demon, just some broken doll that keeps you locked up in his room so that he can get a sense of being needed.

A wave of empathy crashed over you. Wearily you dropped your arms to your side, in a flash Tangiro wraps his long gauntly arms around you, squashing your bones as he pulled you ever so closer to him, nuzzling his visage in the crock of your neck.

Tanjiro Kamado may have once been a remarkable demon slayer on his way to becoming the next water piller of the demon slayer corps...but now he was nothing more than a pitiful broken demon, seeking the feeling of humanity inside a breaking, mortified girl.

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Zenitsu is a lot bolder, a lot pushier with his affection now that he's been turned into a demon. He wants you to love him the way he loves you, only this time he isn't afraid to break a leg or two, so you'll have no choice but to stay with him.

His child-like tendencies are still there, albeit demented, yet ever-present. The tantrums and endless crying are as frequent as ever...except now, well now he breaks a bone for every tear YOU make him spill and leaves a scar for every time YOU couldn't satisfy him. Just remember that none of this is poor Zenitsu's fault, oh no, how could it be his fault? He's given you everything you could ever dream of! Even though you're nothing more than a pathetic useless human, Zenitsu still took you as his beloved wife! You should be grateful to him, dedicate your every living second to him, play the role of the loving, caring wife! Not some ungrateful brat, who is always trying to run away!

And yet, you've become oddly accustomed to it. No longer do you mind the screams and beatings. They've grown to be a part of you, a sick and twisted thing that resides within you, infecting your every thought. Much like how Zenitsu's become a heartsick, defective shell of his former self.

"STOP IT"

something shattered against the wall, breaking into a million flying shards. The noise echoed through the light less room. Weary, your eyes flashed from the broken remains of what may have been an antique vase, to the crying monster in front of you. The tips of his long curved horns were turning a stark blood red, an indication that his blood was starting to boil. Although you didn't need the mood indicating head tusks to know just how upset the blond crybaby had gotten, they were still a nice little warning to remind you of just how far you could push him.

"Stop trying to escape!"

Had his voice amplified since your last "screaming contest"?

Did Muzen really think that Zenitsu's voice needed to get any louder, anymore irritating?

"I wasn't" you deadpanned, your arms crossed in front of your chest. "How can I, did you forget what you did to my leg this morning?" the bones inside your left leg had been deformed, causing your entire leg to point sideways. It was a detestable sight, yet it seemed to fill your rotting heart with a sense akin to a school girl's crush.

'Zenitsu-chan still loves me! See, see, he went out of his way to touch me!'

'No you idiot, he went out of his way to hurt you.'

Your mind had seemingly been slashed in half since your arrival at the former demon slayer's hideout. One tiny voice acted like a deranged lovesick little girl. Whist the other pertained some form of logic and common sense. This typically led to many interior arguments, all bordering on the exact same premise.

HE LOVES ME

HE'S HURTING ME

HE LOVES ME

HE'S HURTING ME

HE LOVES ME

HE'S HURTING ME

HE LOVES ME

HE'S HURTING ME

HE LOVES ME

HE'S HURTING ME

HE LOVES ME

HE'S HURTING ME

"Quit your whining!" the voice that escaped your lips, was flat and commanding, for a second it vaguely reminded you of Giyu Tomioka before the memory of your former lover shattered. Zenitsu's crying continued but his angry shouts slowly died down, his golden eyes shifted to stare directly at you. wearily you lifted your hands towards him, like an infant begging to be picked up.

"I'm hungry Zenitsu! Take me into the kitchen, after all, it's your fault I'm like this!"

Sure Zenitsu was much more powerful than you, sure he could snap your neck, ending your pitiful life at any moment. But his desperate need for approval -something else that had transcended from his human life to his current one- gave you the upper hand in this muddle of a relationship.

As a demon Inosuke is more...feral, for lack of a better word. He is all so keen on seeing just how far he can push his darlings limits, both mentally or physically.

He's always hovering around you, trailing his clawed fingers over patches of exposed skin. Smirking all so curly as you shiver and shrink back. His knife-like fangs seen to be permanently impaling your neck. Draining you of your life force. He's just so damn heartless!

🗡️ 🗡️ 🗡️ 🗡️ 🗡️ 🗡️ 🗡️ 🗡️ 🗡️ 🗡️ 🗡️ 🗡️ 🗡️ 🗡️ 🗡️ 🗡️ 🗡️ 🗡️ 🗡️

Although he may be a ruthless monster, a creature of the night that fed on the innocent, there was no denying that Inosuke was resourceful, resourceful, and strong. He knew just where to hide you, so you would neither be found nor have a chance to escape. There was also the way he routinely cracked your fibula and tibia as a “preprecaution”.

Your arm wasn't meant to bend that way, neither was your leg when you thought about it. Yet despite the odd angle there had yet to be any cracking or popping to indicate the limp had been, once again, broken. The only real evidence to suggest that the limps were in fact being abused was the white scorching pain coursing through them. A feeling that you had almost grown entirely familiar with.

Inosuke's green eyes shifted lazily between your scrunched up face and the twisting limps. One of his "normal" arms was occupied mangling your left arm, the other two appendages that sprouted from his back were pulling your leg upwards at the knee joint. Inosuke's head leaned over his remaining arm, he looked bored, like your pain was so mundane that it couldn't even grant him a mere chuckle.

"I like it better when you scream" his voice was laced with a demanding malice, something bitter and rotting. "It's boring when you try to act all strong and mighty".

You weren't acting, acting required skills, and an audience who wanted to believe in the performer. No, your lack of response wasn't a show of strength or iron will, it was merely because your vocal cords had been shrieked raw, preventing them from making a single peep.

Your tear-filled eyes shot up to stare into his depraved orbs. Had there ever been a time when his eyes didn't strike fear into those who peered into them? You highly doubted it, heck the idea of Inosuke ever being anything less than terrifying was a laughable thought.

An eerie familiar noise filled the room, the cracking noise happened in three instances, like three swipes of a blade. First, it was your talus followed by your patella, and then to finish the spin chilling symphony was the crescendo of your breaking humerus for the hundredth time.

Tears began to flow rapidly from your eyes, staining your thin layer of clothes. You could feel Inosuke's presence shifting about, leaning ever so closer to nuzzle into the side of your neck. His teeth grazing the already punctured skin.

Inosuke use to be a demon slayer right? A passionate young man who wanted nothing more than to destroy the very same monsters that he himself became? What a laughable story, a fictional tale if ever you'd heard one!

This man was and would always be nothing more than a cruel demon!

#demon slayer #demon slayer x reader #demon slayer x you #yandere demon slayer #kimetsu no yaiba #kimetsu no yaiba x reader #kimetsu no yaiba x you #yandere kimetsu no yaiba #kimetsu no yaiba tanjiro kamado #kimetsu no yaiba tanjiro kamado x reader #kimetsu no yaiba tanjiro kamado x you #tanjiro kamado x reader #tanjiro kamado x you #yandere tanjiro kamado #yandere tanjiro kamado x reader #yandere tanjiro kamado x you #demon slayer tanjiro kamado #demon slayer tanjiro kamado x reader #demon slayer tanjiro kamado x you #demon slayer zenitsu agatsuma #demon slayer zenitsu agatsuma x reader #demon slayer zenitsu agatsuma x you #zenitsu agatsuma #zenitsu agatsuma x reader #zenitsu agatsuma x you #yandere zenitsu agatsuma #yandere zenitsu agatsuma x reader #yandere zenitsu agatsuma x you #demon slayer inosuke hashibira #demon slayer inosuke hashibira x reader

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boop-le-snoot · 3 years

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PARTY FAVOURS I CHAPTER 24

first time reader click here

TWs/Summary: The party, finally. Nerds be nerds. They're all dorks tbh. Booze and partying. Clint is a disaster. Natasha is a queen. I beg for comments from y'all cuz I'm short on serotonin 🥺🥺🥺💚✨

This is a Spotify playlist I made for the first half of the party. Sets the mood 😌

The party was booming, the room was flooded with a large amount of people dressed in various extravagant outfits. It was enough to sweep my eyes over the crowd only once to take notice of the thought and money people had put into their outfits. I hardly noticed any cheesy "angel/devil" or "sexy cat" ensembles, my eyes caught on gemstones and feathers and floor-length gowns instead.

First Avenger to catch my eye was Thor - only because the people surrounding him barely held back from drooling. Hell, I did a spit-take: the usually graceless giant stood casually posted at one of the snack tables, wearing silver robes embroidered with tiny sparkling gemstones; a sleek, angular crown rested atop his head, his blonde hair was longer, lighter and straight. One look at his ears and the realisation struck me: Thor was Thranduil, the Elven king. It made sense since Peter had the thunderer hooked on the Lord of the Rings movies a couple of weeks ago...

Both Loki and Wanda cleaned up no less nicely. The Witch was wearing a midi dress, airy and soft, in pastel tones that brought out the natural rosiness of her cheeks and the scarlet undertones glimmering in the strands of her hair. Unlike me, she chose to wear a sparkling tiara, which Loki had created after a short debate - it was an intricate material illusion meant to last for at least ten hours.

Loki himself was a work of art: dark and macabre fantasy painting. I could barely tear my eyes away from the pale, tall man clad in dark green silks and brocade. The candlelight threw shadows on his angular face and his sharp cheekbones stood out more than ever: twenty minutes I spent on convincing him to let me put make-up on his face paid off spectacularly. Flickering lights toyed with the emeralds and forest greens of the shiny silk of his vest, giving Loki an ethereal glow. His eyes shone crimson red, making nearby people throw equally startled and appreciative looks.

As for myself, the stares I got were no more and no less than I expected. The dress I'd been aching to wear fit me perfectly, earthen tones, hand-embroidered blossoms and delicate golden threading. The layers of my skirt were just voluminous enough to give me the extra airy, floating walk, the medium-height platforms of my shoes lightening my step. The ropes securing them to my legs were decorated with flowers so delicate they looked real.

The peak of my outfit took an arm and a leg in bribery of the resident sorcerer-turned-vampire, but in the end, even Loki himself could hardly look away from his creation. An hour of research and some serious magic voodoo shit was what it took for the fluttering fairy wings to sit between my shoulder blades. I felt them as an extension of my own body, and whilst flying was definitely out of the question, I could flicker them and felt the delicate brush of Wanda's fingers as she admired the translucent, blue-green, marble-patterned sheen of pure, concentrated magic.

In hindsight, I should have simply bought a set of pre-made wings and asked Loki to enchant them to move on their own. Hindsight... I wasn't good at that. So, in this moment, with the wings syncing up with my jittery nerves, the shiny traitors shook with the force of stares directed at our little trio. There was an absurd amount of gorgeous people and breathtaking costumes, yet even then, we stood out like Mona Lisa in an indie art gallery. Muted 'woah's and 'oh-my-gods' traveled across the room, turning even more heads towards us.

"And you wanted to wear Walmart," I weakly chuckled in Wanda's direction, seeing her wide eyes and Loki's arm rapidly wrapping around her waist, catching her a brief moment before she stumbled. The trickster looked unimpressed and bored for all the world to see, but to me, the slight twitching of his eyebrow told me he wasn't feeling that much different from us girls either.

"Brother!" Thor gestured us over with a drink in each hand, parting the crowd of people easily.

Noah, et tu? I had no choice but to swallow my unease, hoping my concealer and highlighter did their job and my face hadn't lost the sublime glow I was aiming for. For a girl like me, the Fae aesthetic wasn't easily achieved: naturally, I wasn't innocent, I wasn't playful... However, I was mischievous. Plenty of that.

Spotting a semi-familiar face in the crowd of partygoers, I gave the man a lopsided grin and a wink without actually taking note of who he was. Tonight, I would be a fairy. I would play.

"King," Wanda mock-bowed with a laugh, carefully embracing Thor. Even Loki did a brief, composite left-handed tilt with a slight smirk.

"Where's the rest of the gang?" I giggled, immediately making grabby hands for the nearest brightly coloured, fruity concoction that fell into my eyesight. Being sober at a party was not something I had planned to be: first drink went down like water as Thor explained the whereabouts of our various friends.

"Steven and James are with Lady Natasha, there is a knife-throwing contest outside on the patio," As soon as those words left his mouth, Loki immediately perked up, not-so-subtly turning his torso towards the large open area.

"Go," I ushered him. "Win us something, good sir," With a chuckle of my own, I grabbed Wanda by the hand for both of us to give a chaste good luck kiss to each of Loki's cheeks. He smiled as I threw a tiny amount of sparkles at him, shouting "GOOD LUCK!" to his retreating back.

"Princess?" I heard a curious voice pipe up behind me, an arm carefully wrapping itself under my wings. Said arm jerked as the sensitive matter of my wings fluttered away from the touch, shivers running down my spine and making me shuffle in place awkwardly.

"Tickles," I breathed out, voice pitched.

Tony's utterly perplexed face came into view as he gave me an open-mouthed once-over. "Darling..." He cleared his throat. I had managed to rob Tony Stark of his words! "You look... Exquisite." His eyes critically surveyed the amount of make-up and glitter on my face before he lifted the inside of my wrist, touching his lips to the pulse point for two long seconds, stealing my breath away with the simple, intimate gesture. It was by far more powerful than having to get glitter out of his beard if he'd kissed me on the lips, or even on the cheek.

"Congratulations, you've caught a Fae," I grinned mischievously, my own eyes widening at the amount of tiny little details on Tony's costume. Delicate, moving clockwork gears and metals interwoven with dark brown, harsh leather; he wore a tophat decorated with a pair of glasses and both his arms and harnesses had moving details of polished, dull-grey chrome. It was unreal, like Tony had stepped out of a Steampunk graphic novel, like he'd just got done filming the Wild West movie. "Nerd," I affectionately brushed my fingers - glitter-free hand - along the handlebar mustache he'd grown out.

Tony spoke over Thor's laughter, pressing himself closer to me, this time careful around my wings. "Do I get to make a wish?"

"Don't be rude, Tony. The Fair Folk should be treated with politeness and respect," Bruce's amused voice signaled his arrival before I even saw him. His costume and Tony's complimented each other: whereas Tony the wngiy obviously was some sort of inventor, Bruce was a doctor, or perhaps, a chemist. Instead of moving gears, he had an array of brightly coloured vials attached to a gold-and-green embroidered belt, and a single monocle replaced his usual rectangular glasses. The scientist gallantly raised my palm to his lips, fighting a smile of his own. Utter nerds! "You're the most beautiful thing in this room, Princess. Everyone can't take their eyes off you," With that, a brief, bright flash of green blinked in his eyes and then I knew, Bruce and Hulk would be on my back, watching out for me wherever I would decide to go.

The knots in my back, in my stomach, slowly began to unwind, the feeling accelerated by the warmth of alcohol sitting low in my belly. I was happily sandwiched between my two men, chatting with Wanda and Thor, nibbling on the spooky treats that Tony's catering services had provided. They were delicious.

Sam appeared, dragging a flushed Clint in tow. The archer had evidently gotten well into his drinks, seeing as he was holding a horn in one hand whilst the other still barely held onto his head. Despite the costume fail, he seemed to be having the time of his life.

"We need glue," Sam announced, smiling in our direction. "Well, hello, ladies," Briefly, abandoning his bird bro, Sam kissed a giggling Wanda on the cheek and wrestled one of my hands from Tony to peck it, too. "My, my eyes have been so blessed!"

"What are you?" Wanda asked the man curiously, pointing at his... a sort of toga, brown leather shoes that looked more like hooves and a crown of... grapevine?

"Dionysus," Sam mock-bowed, "And this is my Pan. Who happens to be a lightweight and enjoys annoying witches that can throw knives with scary precision!" The man announced, annoyed, whilst Clint just drunkenly giggled as he was helped by Thor - the Asgardian-Elf was doing something to the archer's headdress and putting the wonky horn back in its place, hands steady despite Clint's swaying and squirming.

"Classy," I toasted Sam. "Who's the knife-throwing witch?"

"Natasha," He grabbed a drink of his own. "She went as Yennefer, both fossils are Witchers and Pietro is Jaskier. He looks like a proper court jester in that purple... Thing," The dark man was giggling, too, somewhat tipsy.

"The Ass of America could fit his sizeable rear end in leather pants? How much KY jelly did they use?" Tony snorted mockingly as all of us laughed. I remembered seeing an interview with Henry Cavill and his troubles regarding the leather pants - Tony's question was valid and you can fuckin' quote me on that.

"Man, don't ask me. I've already seen more than enough of him and Barnes in the supply closet," Sam winced, downing the remainder of his drink in one go.

"And what were you doing in the supply closet, Wilson?" Natasha was absolutely breathtaking in the black mesh dress. Pietro next to her looked like a masquerade attendee - in a good way. He had gone with the video game version of Jaskiers outfit and was a bright addition to or our mostly black and pastel coloured party.

Sam grumbled something unintelligible, striking a conversation with Pietro and Clint, pulling the rest of us into it one by one. People came by and went, saying their hellos and asking to take pictures - the party was attended by mostly SI and trusted SHIELD employees with the exception of a few B-level celebrities Tony knew personally, no press was allowed beyond their designated area so all of us could afford some degree of frivolity.

Steve and Bucky - oh my God their costumes were tight - shared kisses and heated glances over the tops of our heads. Bruce's hand snuck under the highest part of my skirt, caressing my legs and Tony's soft pecks on the top of my head filled me with the warmest sense of adoration. Loki, being the gentleman he was, had won both me and Wanda each a stuffed spider which we gracefully accepted, thanking the trickster with a dance.

Or three. Wanda went first, eyes sparkling and smile ten miles wide as she soaked up the admiration, the envious stares of the people in the room. The witch looked simply stunning, she was glowing, and Loki next to her shared the sentiment wholeheartedly - a small grin decorated his face, eyes kindest I'd ever seen them. In that moment, Wanda truly was a princess.

Three and a half drinks in, I swayed gently to the music, unbothered by the smile creeping on my face as I watched the two magical people dance and mingle. "You're as smooth as Tennessee whiskey..." Singing along was a pesky habit of mine that manifested itself after a certain amount of liquor circulated through my system. It wasn't like I was a bad singer - my parents had made me take music classes until I was sixteen - but it was generally an embarrassing moment nonetheless. In that moment, I didn't give a damn. "You're as sweet as strawberry wine..." Trust Tony to pick the kind of music I actually knew and liked.

A flash of purple and my glass was snatched out of my hand and promptly downed. Shamelessly grinning, Pietro gave me a look with that cocky tilt of his lips, blonde hair in utter disarray. "That your work?" He nodded towards the dancing couple, giving the empty glass to Bruce who was now watching my swaying with a careful eye.

"My and Loki's," I replied dryly."Thank you," Pietro replied sincerely. "Wanda needed this," Briefly looking me over (fuckin' glitter! I was missing out on so many hugs!), the blonde settled on squeezing my hand between his own. "May I steal your lady for a dance?" He addressed Bruce, seeing as Tony was immersed in a conversation with some dude dressed as Marty from Back to The Future. IT department, maybe?

"You may, but no funny business," Bruce looked godly in his outfit with the stern expression: eyebrows drawn together, lips pursed and irises having just a tinge of green. Hulk watching me added an unexpected sort of spice to our interactions. It made me feel...

"Let's go, Printsesa," Pietro unceremoniously dragged me to the dancefloor, all but stomping over other people's feet, shoes, tails and various other accessories. Boys will be boys... And we danced, and we laughed - until Loki and Wanda floated over to us, promptly swapping partners with fluidity I didn't expect from either of the twins. I watched Pietro spin Wanda with a smile as the Witch shrieked and cursed at her overenthusiastic brother.

"How's it going, Lokes?" I addressed the resident vampire, placing an arm on his shoulders. Tall ass bastard.

"Better than I expected," He admitted. "Although I cannot say I appreciate intoxicated Midgardian males."

"Nobody likes drunk dudes," I rolled my eyes. "I've lost count how many faces I've punched and balls busted at parties. They just don't learn."

"Oh, indeed, you're a fighter, little one. How could have I forgotten?" Loki teased me, doing an elaborate twirl to narrowly avoid the slap I was aiming at his chest. Tall, cheeky bastard.

I definitely should have put salt in his tea sugar.

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lordoftermites · 3 years

Text

The Fox & the Thornbush | Part 3

Pairing: Roiben x Kaye Rating: M for violence and bleedy bits Summary: This is it. The Undersea Attack. Maybe eventually I'll go back and do more with it but. This took... a lot to write and honestly I can't even write a summary for it. I'm sorry in advance.

part 1. // part 2.

Faerie is a deadly place, he had told her once.

Kaye hadn’t believed him then—or, more despairingly, she had believed him, and was just far too willful to listen.

Even after the coronation in Elfhame, when Balekin had slaughtered near to every member of the royal family in a coup to usurp the throne, Kaye had persisted. She left her coffee shop, her dreams, abandoned her life in the light of the mortal world to live with him in the damp darkness of the Palace of Termites.

For her sake, Roiben had tried to convince himself that it would be a good change. That it was true—he had grown weary of having to steal away like some thief in the night to see her so sparingly, only to come back to a cold bed under a cold hill, alone.

After a while he began to believe that, perhaps, now that Kaye was at his side, within his reach at all times, that the frigid ache in his chest would abate—that he could finally be content.

Perhaps faeries couldn’t speak a lie with their own mouths, but Roiben had been telling himself untruths for longer than he could remember.

Kaye rolls over onto her side, burrowing farther beneath the coverlet. Her wild hair splays in lush, green tangles over the pillow. She sleeps soundly, verdant lips parted, once in a while letting out a small sigh here or near-inaudible word there. Roiben watches her from his place on the bed—their bed, he reminds himself—as though if he were to look away, she might very well disappear with one of those sighs.

He’s been awake for hours now, ripped from yet another nightmare, his chest heaving, his stomach threatening to upend the acrid bile in the back of his throat, while morbid death stares burned behind his eyes. They were the spectres of his sins, reminding him the blood on his hands has not, and shall not, wash away.

At least, this time, there had been no screaming.

A lock of deep green hair lies across Kaye’s face. It flutters slightly when she exhales, only to fall back against her lips. Her nose crinkles in her sleep, disturbed and perhaps dreaming of something else. Roiben reaches to brush it away but stops himself short, his fingers hovering mid-air. He ought to let her just sleep, he knows.

Yet, before he can convince himself not to, he’s leaning down, brushing the hair back with his mouth instead.

Kaye stirs and makes a light, disgruntled noise, until she seems to realize what’s happening. Then she’s lazily kissing him back, pressing her lips against his, parting just enough for him to sweep her mouth. One of her hands comes up to rest on the nape of his neck, her long fingers tangling in the hair there. Roiben sighs against her lips at the feeling; it’s light and comforting, warming that chill in his bones she alone has ever been able touch.

As often as he scorns himself for giving in to her decision to stay here permanently with him in Faerie, it’s selfish moments like this that he wouldn’t have her anywhere else. He can face the demons waiting in his nightmares—so long as she’s with him.

“Well, good morning to you, too,” Kaye says drowsily, black eyes fluttering up to his, lidded with sleep and something else. Roiben hovers over her, grinning. “What was that for? I mean, not that I mind or anything.”

He shakes his head, still unused to the lightness of his newly-cropped hair. “A compulsion, I suppose,” he answers, and lowers himself again to bury his face in the crook of her neck, breathing deep the scents of moss and clover. He can’t quite bring himself to admit aloud that it was more to solidify her presence—to give himself physical reassurance that she isn’t part of a cruel trick his mind so often played on him.

Kaye strokes the back of his head gently, as if she already knows, as if perhaps she too needs the reminder that neither of them are made of phantoms and longing. Roiben kisses the column of her green neck, an arm curling under her, pulling her closer and yet still not close enough. She tilts her head with a soft hum of encouragement. “Whatever it is, I could get used to waking up like this.”

Her hands slide over his shoulders, down his bare arms, along his spine. Roiben shivers and shifts his weight, caging her body beneath him. His mouth drifts along the line of her clavicle to the base of her throat. One of his hands slips under the coverlet to the silklike flesh of her thigh, drawing it up to bracket his hip, while his lips brush against the flushed swell of her chest. Kaye’s hushed sighs as he arches against her spark a flame behind his navel, galvanizing him into urgent desire.

What he wouldn’t do to just simply stay here with her forever, to revel in her touch, her warmth, her love. Let the crowns decay. Let the duties and the demands and the courts crumble to nothing; let him be only a knight and a man again, to be content. Unburdened.

As if the fates decided he needed reminding of his reality, a light rapping at the door to his chambers breaks through their intimate solace.

Roiben ignores it at first, tells himself whatever it is will go away. Surely a herald, one of his knights, or even his chamberlain can handle it—not every small thing ought to be a king's concern, especially not when his council members are already far more inclined to do his duty for him. He doesn't cease his kisses, and instead channels into them the denial of obligations and the desires of his soul. His fingers grip Kaye's thigh tighter in desperation, attempting to tether himself to her and this moment alone. Leave us, his mind pleads. Find another doorway to darken.

But the knocking comes again, this time carrying a touch more confidence and urgency.

Suddenly furious, unfulfilled, and ultimately defeated, Roiben growls against Kaye's skin before pushing himself up. She watches him with heady eyes, seeming just as exasperated at the interruption as he. Her hand lingers on his arm. "Just tell them to fuck off," she suggests, though it's half-hearted. She knows as well as he does that it's very seldom anything he can simply wave or wish away.

"If we're fortunate," he sighs, bending down to give her one last kiss and then forcing himself to rise from the bed, "it will be nothing but our breakfast.” In a moment, he’s crossed the room and wrenched the heavy door open. Ruddles himself is there, hand raised as though he had just been about to give another, less-timid knock; he lowers the hand, and himself before Roiben, bowing low enough that his nose might brush the floor if given another half inch.

“My King,” the hob greets in his usual rasp before straightening. He seems to realize his king’s half-naked appearance and forced even breathing, but carries on. “I apologize for the disturbance at such an early hour, but I assumed you would want to be informed we’ve had a messenger come and go without our receiving him.”

Propping an arm against the door, Roiben barely suppresses a roll of his eyes. “It is not an uncommon thing for a courier to go missed.“ He knows his tone is clipped, but he doesn’t bother to correct it. “Why does this time require my chamberlain coming to my private rooms, when clearly whatever message left was not of enough import to be received in the first place?”

That seems to bristle the hob, who takes a rather deliberate, offended breath through his sharply-pointed nose. “Because, the message was left while the entire hill slept,” Ruddles answers gruffly. His brows are furrowed as if there really is something to be worried about, and his sovereign is, as usual, too unconcerned. “No one saw the messenger arrive, nor did they witness his departure.”

It’s Roiben’s turn to frown. That couldn’t be right: since the rebuilding of the Palace of Termites, they had sentries posted through dawn and dusk, and as many guards patrolling the hill. Surely someone ought to have seen this phantom envoy. Foreboding gnaws at his gut; he doesn’t like mystery, and he likes even less when that mystery involves his playing the part of the ignorant fool.

“What was this message? Did you bring it with you?”

Ruddles shakes his tawny head and wrings his hands. “It was a parcel, a large one, addressed to the Lord of the Court of Termites. We left it where it was found—” he pauses, the troubled expression on his face doing nothing to quell the rising uneasiness Roiben feels—”in the throne room… more pointedly, on your throne.”

A deliberate act, and a bold one. The thought of it sets Roiben’s teeth on edge. “I see,” he says, scrubbing a hand over his jaw, deliberating.

From behind him, Kaye yawns. Roiben turns back to look at her, where she’s stretching and rubbing the sleep from her eyes, green hair falling over her shoulders. Just the sight of her, wrapped in his spider silk coverlet and little else, makes him ache with longing. It takes everything he can muster not to bolt the door in Ruddles' face.

She squints at him, as if attempting to focus her vision or read his thoughts, tilts her head in a question. Roiben tries a casual smile and holds up a finger, before turning back to his chamberlain. “Gather Dulcamara and Ellebere,” he instructs. “See if either of them know anything. I’ll meet the three of you in the throne room presently, and we’ll see just exactly what gift our shadow messenger has left us.”

The hob gives a shallow bow and backs away before turning on his heel and setting back off through the corridor. When Roiben closes the heavy wooden door, he leans against it momentarily, breathing a long sigh that does nothing to relieve any of the pressure in his chest.

How exhausted he is of intrigues and suspicions, of forging treaties that seem as stable as a thread stretched above a candle flame. Roiben himself feels like that thread—fraying at both ends while trying to hold his kingdom between his teeth, at any moment about to burn up with the burden of it all.

Take this from me, he had once thought, after his coronation as the Unseelie ruler. I do not want to be your king.

Now, he had two crowns, each heavy as a boulder on their own. Together, they are a mountain, and may very well crush him beneath their weight.

“What was that about?” Kaye’s voice calls from the bed. Roiben moves from the door and crosses the room to sit beside her. When he goes to kiss her cheek, he takes a selfish moment to breathe in the smell of her again, something to take with him. “I’m not entirely sure,” he replies, tucking her hair behind her ear. “I expect nothing but trouble, as usual. But I won’t be gone a moment—” he leans in again, grazing his lips against her neck with a promise—”and when I return, we can forget them all again.”

Before he can lose himself, Roiben pushes off of the bed. He pulls on a fresh set of clothing—a simple black tunic with trousers to match, and a pair of boots. From the chair beside his bed, he takes up his curved sword and straps it to his waist. Its weight is one he is used to, cold and secure at his hip.

With an apologetic glance back at Kaye, who shoos him with a small wave before shuffling back under the coverlet, he slips through the door.

Dulcamara is perched on the dais when he arrives in the throne room, clad in her beetle-black armor, polishing a dagger while her pink glare remains fixed on the throne. She stands when Roiben enters, however, and gives him a small bow of her head; as reverent a gesture as he likes, if he must be revered at all. “The hob is off searching for Ellebere,” she tells him in her gravel-scraping voice. “Must we wait for our curiosities to be sated?” Her head bobs in the direction of the throne.

As proficient a knight as Dulcamara is, her impatience often wills out, even when it comes to the one she serves.

Roiben shakes his head with a snort. “I suppose it isn’t a requirement,” he admits, stepping up onto the dais. “Though I doubt Ruddles will be much pleased when we solve the mystery without him.” Even so, eyeing the parcel, Roiben finds himself every bit as curious as he is wary.

As Ruddles said, what’s been placed on his throne is no small thing: it covers nearly half the seat itself, dome-shaped and wrapped in a cloth of deep blue velvet, tied together at the top with golden string. It certainly looks like a gift. Yet, as Roiben reaches out to take the small slip of folded parchment resting beside it, his title addressed in a dark blue flourish across the front, an icy dread seeps into his bones. When he opens the letter, he has to clutch the arm of the throne as the dais pitches up to meet him.

From behind him, Dulcamara’s voice seems distant, distorted. “What does it say?” Without turning, Roiben holds the note out to her, suddenly finding it difficult to swallow—or tear his gaze from the parcel. His hand trembles as he reaches to undo the string, to look upon what he already knows lies inside the elaborate wrapping.

“‘Let us see how easily you unwind the wire of your own cage’,” Dulcamara reads. “What sort of riddle—”

“It is no riddle.” He's clenching his jaw hard enough to hurt. His hand goes to grip the blade at his hip. “It is a threat.”

Unwrapped and glinting in the candlelight, just as he remembers, is the gilded birdcage that once held his friend and subject, Lutie-Loo—the very one he freed her from in Balekin’s office less than a year ago. Roiben had made a fool of the would-be king then, promising fealty when he’d already sworn to Prince Dain. Now it would seem his trickery is finally being repaid.

“Dulcamara,” Roiben starts, whirling around, “we need—”

An eruption of sound outside the throne room cuts off whatever order might have given. Before either of them have time to move, Ellebere barrels into the hall, sword in one hand, the other covering his side. Blood and dirt streak his pale face, only adding to the intensity of his frantic expression. “The Undersea,” the knight stammers, “they’re here. They’ve been here.”

Ruddles’ words echo dully in Roiben’s mind. No one saw the messenger arrive, nor did anyone witness his departure.

As Ellebere clambers up onto the dais, Roiben is reminded with a turning in his stomach of the last time he saw the knight in such a state, when Silarial made her move on the court. They had nearly been destroyed because of his underestimating and overconfidence. Has he once again brought ruin to his people? To…

“Kaye.”

The brugh swirls around him. His breath is trapped in his lungs.

As a swarm of bodies pours into the hall, the sharp clashing of metal against metal resounding through the hollow hill, Roiben can see none of it; only Kaye’s face, bloodied and lifeless.

Dead, because of him.

Something solid shoves into him, nearly knocking him to the ground before his legs catch him. Jolted back to the present, he jerks his head up just as Dulcamara brings her blade down in an arc across the front of an advancing selkie; the faerie crumples at her feet, black blood spilling onto the already gore-stained floor of the dais. It had gotten that close, and Roiben hadn’t even seen it. Dulcamara whips around to look at him, pink glare ablaze. Before she can scold him, he shakes his head and grips the sword he can’t remember drawing.

“I have to get to Kaye,” he shouts above the skirmish, already retreating down the other side of the dais, cutting through another Undersea soldier as it hurtles toward him. He is already charging down the hall before she can protest or follow, fear propelling his steps and his blade.

The battle seems to be more focused on the throne room, thankfully; Roiben is stalled only once, by a selkie warrior wielding a longsword of shark bone. Though he takes a slash to the thigh, the other faerie is not nearly as fortunate. He falls to his knees, clutching the gaping hole in his chest when Roiben withdraws his blade.

Biting through the searing pain in his leg, Roiben pushes on, repeating silent pleas that he not be too late.

As he comes to the door of his chambers, a fresh wave of glacial panic seizes him; the door has been thrown wide open and is hanging from the hinges. From the other side he can hear crashing, breaking. A struggle, and then a scream.

Kaye is screaming.

Roiben never feels himself move. He sees nothing but the flash of his sword, slicing through the gray-blue neck of an Undersea knight; hears nothing but his own cry of wild rage, his own deafening heartbeat in his ears. In less than breath, both Kaye and her attacker lie on the floor in a pool of mingling black and crimson.

It has happened, yet Roiben cannot shake the fog of unreality that strangles his breathing, weakens his legs, clouds his vision. His sword falls from his hand, and he collapses to his knees beside Kaye. He stares down in horror at the deep red gash from her throat to her sternum. Someone is sobbing. Blood streams from the wound—too much. There is too much blood.

He pulls her into his lap, holds her gently, covers what he can with a trembling hand. Dark, ruby warmth spills through his fingers and over his wrist. “Kaye,” he chokes, reaching to touch her cheek. His fingers are wet with blood and he has to brace against the sick twisting of his stomach.

Her black eyes are wild and unfocused, but she finds him. Grasps his arm desperately, gasping. She opens her mouth to speak, the beginning of his name on her ashen lips, but it comes out a fearful, small sound, and she doesn’t finish. Roiben strokes her hair and hushes her softly, bringing a kiss to her cool, damp forehead. When he pulls back, the unhinged terror in her eyes burrows like a dagger into his heart. “It’s...“

It’s going to be alright, he tries to tell her. The words will not form.

He cannot force back the sob at realizing why he can't say it. It could be a lie, and Kaye might die right here, in his room. In his arms. Dead before their life together had barely begun. Dead because he hadn't been fast enough. Because he had allowed it—because he had caused it.

Roiben can console himself no more than he can console her.

Faerie is a deadly place, he had told her once.

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kingnegan07 · 3 years

Text

The Devil Dressed in Leather - Chapter One

🔞Blood, Knives and Belts

Warnings

Smut, violence, swearing, knife play, dom, sub, bdsm, spanking, Negan

----

Negan the man with all the power. Whether it's making you weak at the knees or red with anger he will certainly deliver. Just as he expects you to. Very few don't regret messing with the man.

There's a few lines you just don't cross with him. First and foremost you don't touch what belongs to him without permission.

Let me tell you what happens if you do...

As the sun reaches his window he is awaken by the light coming through the glass panes. Today is collection day. His eyes flutter open and slowly adjust to the new lighting of the room. He sits up on the side of his bed running a hand through his hair. Smiling over his shoulder at the clothes thrown into a pile on the floor, his belt still tied to one of the bed posts and the bed sheets still messy being the only reminders of what happened the night before. One of the "wives" wanted to make sure he woke up in a good mood for collection day. She most certainly completed her mission. Standing up, the sun shining around him showing the toned muscles of his body as he heads to the bathroom.

Once inside he begins to run the shower as he stands brushing his teeth looking at himself in the mirror. Once he was finished with brushing his teeth the shower was warm enough. As he steps inside, his muscles relax as the warm water hits him, dribbling down from his chest down towards his perfectly visable v-line.

He let's out a small sigh as he allows the warm water to hit his back. He lets the memories of last night flood over him.

*Smut Warning*

The smaller body beneath submissive to all his power, asking for as much as he could possibly give her, without breaking her. Her cries of pleasure, the sound of her calling his name as he gave her the high she craved, the feeling of her wrapping around him, squeezing him. Then of course the feeling of his own high, the twitching as she contracted around him, then finally the last thrust and the push over the edge.

He smiles as he opens his eyes again feeling that lustful feeling in his lower stomach. His hand going to his semi-hard length. He trails a single finger down it, before grasping the the base loosely and guiding his hand back up his length to the tip. He brushes his thumb gently over the head as he imagines her tongue flicking over it. The look of admiration in her eyes as she gets to take him into her throat.

His eyes close again as he begins to stroke himself. His hand speeding up as she gains more confident with him in her mouth. You could see the bulge in her throat as she took the courage to try and take all of him into her. His hand holding her still for a moment until her eyes begin to water, begging for oxygen to be supplied to her lungs once again. He released her from him letting her suck in that precious oxygen. Then that sparkle in her eyes as he praises her.

Opening his eyes again he allows his hand to pump over his length faster. His breath hitching slightly as it hits a sensitive spot. Veins clearly visible from the hardness in his hand. As the feeling of that high gets inevitably closer he leans one hand on the wall, holding his body up as he loses rhythm in his hand and his member begins to twitch. He grunts as his the white rope spills from the tip onto the wall and floor in front of him. He lazily strokes himself for a little while longer until he is satisfied that every last drop is out.

*End of Smut*

As he body calms down from his release he returns his attention to cleaning himself. Starting with his hair then his body. Once content with his cleanliness he steps out of the shower wrapping a towel around his waist. He dries off his hail and slicks it back. Drying off the rest if his body he heads back into the bedroom. Collecting the puddle of clothes he throws them into the laundry bin along with the towel.

He then collects some fresh clothes from the draw slipping into them. Before returning to the bed to untie his belt and thread it through the loops of his trousers. After donning his leather jacket and red scarf he collects his beloved Lucille from the table and heads out to the trucks, expecting his men to waiting for his arrival before heading out. He finds exactly that, kneeling as he exits the building. Waving his hand in a circular motion, in the air, signifying for them to stand and get ready. He heads to his truck as the men all hurriedly file into the trucks. He leads the way out of the Sanctuary and towards the waiting community.

It was radio silence until he told his men that they were nearly there. Shortly arriving at the community he brings the truck to a halt. Grabbing Lucille on his way out he approached the gates, which opened before he got a chance to knock. He smirks as the gates rolled out of the way to reveal the leader of the community on the other side.

"Oh good you lazy asses are up. Hopefully I didn't disrupt a few early morning fucks." he chuckles and heads straight past the the man in front of him.

"There better be some good shit for me this week" the men followed behind him heading towards different houses.

"What are they doing? Your stuff is here" the man points to the spot.

Negan turned on his heels and tilted his head.

"Who the fuck do you think you're talking too? And I would especially keep your mouth fucking shut when my men are in there with your people. Who knows what would happen if I said a few little words. I not taking the shit you can spare I taking the shit I want, especially with your underpayment last time." you could see the jaw of the leader tighten but Negan's words were stern enough that he kept his mouth shut.

"Good boy" he shook his head and turned around heading straight between the rows of houses.

There's one in particular he just had to visit. He smiled as he arrived outside of it, walking up to the door he opened it only to hear a commotion from upstairs. His eyes squint as he let the door shut slowly so it couldn't be heard. He headed upstairs as quickly but as silently as he could. The commotion turning into the voices.

"What the fuck do you think your doing?" he could hear a woman's voice.

"Collectin' Negan's stuff what ya think?" his tone mocking her.

"I could do more if ya want" Now at the top of the stairs he could clearly see the man reach for the woman and as his hand touched her. Her eyes looked with Negan's.

"What the actual fuck!" the man jumping out of his skin at sound of Negan behind him. He mumbles out incoherent sounds, trying to figure out some sort of excuse.

"Don't you fucking dare try to bullshit me you piece of crap" Negan grabbed the weak bicep of the man and dragged him out of the building. Her eyes seemed reluctant but her body followed behind him. There was more people outside on the streets as his men are dragging things out of the houses. Everyone turns their attention to Negan as he throws the man on to the ground in the middle of the street.

"So you think touching her is getting my shit? You grimy piece of shit." he growled his hand on Lucille tightened impossible tight around the warm wood.

"You want to question my leadership, my standards, you want to half ass this shit and not give me what I simply ask for in return of protection" at this point his eyes were making it over the crowd that formed.

"then let this be a lesson to all you fucks." the man was shivering below him. As Negan stepped away to hand Simon Lucille, he made his way back towards him unshiefing his knife.

"The next person who fucking dare tries to touch what belongs to me without my permission better be fucking prepared for what faces you" his head turning to make eye contact with the woman her cheeks burning red at the mention of her belonging to him. Turning back to the man begging him to spare him.

His blade drives right into the centre of the man's stomach, blood pooling out of the wound as he splutters cries of pain as his own blood fills his throat. The knife is pulled from the stomach with a slight twist of the blade. As he pulls it the blood splatters up onto his clothing, dots of blood trailing up his neck. He could her whispers, shocked sighs and some people even crying.

"Next time you don't think I'm holding up my end of the deal remember this moment. The moment you all watched me driving my knife into my own man because he touched one of you the wrong way." this time he drives the knife into the mans heart ending his gurgling cries as his body turns limp. He can feel the resistance of a rib as he attempts to turn the knife. Giving up he pulls it, blood spraying again this time onto the pavement and his legs. As he stands up straight his knife dripping with the crimson liquid.

"Someone clean this fucking mess up" he bent down and cleaned his blade before returning it to where it belonged. Walking back over to Simon he grabbed Lucille and nodded at him, who nodded back. Walking past the crowd he headed back into her house. She followed swiftly behind him.

"Negan" she spoke up as she entered the house. He turned to face her, smirking he stepped forward shutting the door behind her, she began to back up until her back was pinned against the door with Negan in front of her.

"I... I just wanted to say t...thank you" she bowed her head peeling her eyes away from his only for her head to be tilted up by his finger under her chin.

"Don't thank me for my protection, beautiful" you could see that spark ignite in her eyes. Which only caused him to grin.

"Just answer me this one question. You loved it when I called you mine didn't you?" his voice low as he leant in and placed a small kiss to her neck. Her hand rising to thread her finger through his hair, sighing as his lips traversed across her skin. He nibbles at that sweet spot just below her left ear.

"Negan..." she gasps as he bites down harder. She quickly corrects herself and he lifts her up, she instantly wraps her legs around him.

"...Sir, I did, I really did" he smirks against her neck.

*Smut Warning*

"Good girl" he carries her up the stairs to the bedroom. Her hand trailing down from his shoulder and across his back. He continued to teases his tongue across her neck until he got to the bed laying her down on it. She watched him carefully waiting to see what he'll ask her next.

"Strip. Slowly put on a show for me" she nods and obeys his order. Raising from the bed he moves to take a seat so he could watch her. Her hands travelled down her sides moving with the curves of her body until she reached the bottom of her t-shirt. She slowly lifted the t-shirt from her teasing him of what he's missed. His hands removed his jacket and scarf before being placed behind him as his eyes remained on her body. The bulge starting to form as he became harder.

She dropped the t-shirt behind her before her hands make their way to the waist band of her blue denim shorts. Her hand gliding along until it could unbutton and unzip them slowly. She watched him watch her as he chewed on his lower lip. She gave him what he wanted and pushed the shorts down. Kicking them off her feet so she stood in front of him in just her underwear. You could see the clear lust in both their eyes. His eyes seemed to just consume her body as his hand ran over his length in discomfort as it strained against the fabric of his jeans.

"Sir.." she whispered answered with a hum from his lips. "finish undressing me, please"

"As you wish, my kitten" he stood, instantly towering over her. He reached for her hips and turned them so they both switched positions with that he pushed her onto the bed. Reaching for his knife that he had just used. He reached down and glided it over her thigh. Her breath hitched and her body reacted to him. He quickly placed his other hand to her stomach.

"Easy darling, I'm not going to hurt you. Unless that is what you want" he smirked and she nodded trying to relax her body against the metal touching her skin. He slide the blade gently over her skin not cutting her until he slipped it under the fabric of her panties.

"You won't be needing these, kitten" with that he turned the blade in his hand pulling the fabric until he cut clean through. The fabric loosened from around her hips, he pulled the fabric away to reveal her glistening core. Throwing the fabric to the side he glided the knife up her stomach. With his other hand he brushes his thumb over her folds.

"Mmm, so wet already, kitten" he chews on his bottom lip again as she squirms a little bit under him. The blade arrives at the centre of her bra between her breasts. He slides the knife under the fabric once more repeating his action so the fabric split in half. Putting the knife away he allowed her to remove her straps throwing it to the side. As he pulled his t-shirt off his body. She moved so she was sat on the edge of the bed in level with the now extremely prominent bulge that had formed.

"Sir..." before she could ask what she wanted he interrupted her.

"Take it out, kitten" she nods and does what he asked. She reaches up and undoes his belt and jeans all while glancing up at him watching her every move. Eventually she could push them along with his boxers enough for his length to spring free. She smiled up at him and took ahold of the base of his length and placing a gentle kiss to the tip. He growled low and reached for her hair grip it roughly as she slid the tip slowly into the warmth of her mouth.

"Mm, fuck, kitten. Stop." he pulled her head back away from him "As much as I love my cock down your throat. Right now I need to give your pussy what it needs" She just nodded and moved back onto the bed laying in front of him. He smirked eyeing over her body, he reaches down and pulls his belt from the loops. He pushes his jeans the rest of the way down and kicks them off.

"Turn around and get on your knees with your hands behind your back" she obeys, quickly following his orders. She turns onto her stomach, shuffling herself so she was on her knees with her ass up in the air. He brings the belt down on her left ass cheek as she whimpers into the covers, his hand brushing over the red mark that had formed. He reaches down and wraps the belt around her wrists making sure it was tight enough that she wouldn't be able to get out of it. He kneels on the bed behind her and reaches down to brush her hair out of her face.

"Your going to be a good girl and take everyfuckingthing I give you, yes?" she whimpers as he brushes his tip against her folds and she nods slowly to respond to him. He smacks her ass roughly.

"No. You fucking answer me when I ask you something."

Y..yes s...sir"

"Good girl" he pushes his head inside her entrance, groaning at the feeling of her walls wrapping around his member. He could feel her stretching around him. She moans and closes her eyes tightly at the feeling of him entering her. He grips her wrists with one hand and her hip with the other as he continues to push himself into her. He kept going until he was pressed against her, he could feel her arms tensing as her hand balled into fist and her eyes watering as he stretches her to the brim.

"Look at you taking my cock like a good girl" he squeezes her ass and starts to pull himself from her only to thrust sharply back into her. She moans loudly into the bed as he sets his rough pace. His grip on her hands tighten, alongside his jaw and his grip on her hip.

"Sir... Fuck" her words split up by each thrust. He repositions himself so that he could thrust into her at a new angle. She moans out his name as the new angle causes him to hit her g-spot with each thrust. He brings his hand down hard on her ass again causing her to whimper into the sheet below.

"I'm...so...close...sir" she moans as his speed increases.

"That's it, kitten. Cum for me. Tighten that pussy around my cock" she didn't have time to respond as her eyes roll back and she clamps around his pulsing length.

"Fucking hell, kitten" he squeezes her ass roughly as she slowly returns back to reality, her knuckles white from how hard she was gripping her fists.

"Cum..inside..me..sir...please" she whispers as she begins to feel him twitch against her walls. He pulls her back so her back was against his chest, his hand goes from her hip to her neck, pushing her head back onto his shoulder. The new angle reaching places she didn't know she had. His hand grasps her neck tightly cutting her airflow. She gasps as her second wave flows over but this time she has the feeling of his release. His seed shooting deep inside her, he bites down harshly on her shoulder as the pleasure swallows his body.

"Mm, fuck, kitten" he lets her go and she falls to the bed breathing heavily as she tries to regain her breath. He slowly pulls his length from her, some juices instantly spilling from her. He reaches for her wrists undoing the belt from her. He slowly gets to his feet before taking a seat on the edge of the bed. She moves so she could be leant up against him. He brushes his fingers gently of her skin, he takes a moment and peers down at his watch.

*End of Smut*

"Well shit, kitten I've got to go" she groans at the mention of leaving.

"But, Negan,"

"I have to, kitten. You know being the leader and that" she reluctantly moves off him so he could get dressed. She watches him rubbing over her wrists.

"Don't forget to take a pill" he says as he shrugs on his jacket and place shis scarf back on. She stands up taking a hold of the lapels of his jacket pulling him into a kiss. His arm wraps around her waist pulling her body against him, she sighs into the kiss until he breaks.

"I'll be thinking of you, sir" she smiles at him.

"I count on it, kitten. Now be good until I return." she nods in agreement

"You wouldn't want punishment now. Besides I have something in mind for next time. You won't be able say no."

"Of course not, Sir" he smiles at her response as the say their byes. He heads back down the stairs picking up Lucille as he goes. Once he exits the building and collects his men and the stuff they've collected. He waves the leader off and heads back to the Sanctuary.

#Negan #the walking dead #Smut #Negan smut #television #fanfic #negan fanfiction #twd

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sennextheassasinkingoflight · 3 years

Text

Firelight

Gerlion Rated T and up for minor swearing and minor nudity.

Also, I'm sorry I'm bad at technology and I've only got mobile and they updated it and I dont know/can't figure out how to put a read more break in.

Geralt and Dandelion reunite after a long time apart. Its fluff, complete fluff. They're so soft with one another.

This lovely piece was inspired by art created by @johix with permission I'll figure out how to link it. But I recommend checking out all the art.

It had been nearly nine months since he last saw his bard. It wasn't unusual for their paths to cross and diverge like the threads of a tapestry twinning around one another; close but never consistantly together. Dandelion was often called away to court, to Oxenfurt, or some festivity or other and he always went where he was wanted. Geralt never stopped him; though he often wanted to reach out, grab a slender and deceivingly muscled arm and say, "stay you're wanted here more than they want you anywhere else." But his lips stayed stubbornly shut as he watched the blond ride away on his muleish stead. He would turn his back and tend to the nearest contracts he could find. At first he'd been glad for the others departures, now they left him aching in a way he feared to define. So he would focus on his work, on the Path and push all thoughts of the Bard away until he was alone with inky night and moonlight for company. Then and only then he would wonder what his friend was doing.

This year he had been eager to get back on the path and left the keep far to early. The others had warned him but he was restless, concerned even. He hadn't heard anything from the bard in the three months leading into winter. It was May now. Summer had yet to grace the continent and snow continued to stick stubbornly to her. He hadn't made it to town, and that was okay. He was freezing but he'd dealt with worse. He stoked the fire up and leaned against the tree behind him. He flexed his fingers in his gloves to keep them from growing stiff.

He knows he should have found a cave or some other shelter but he'd been loath to leave the road. The more time he spent on it the more likely he was to run into Dandelion. Instead he began to meditate and wrinkled his nose at the scent of rain permeating the air. He hoped it would hold off until the morrow. He didn't mind rain when he didn't need to be out in the path. Meaning, he liked the rain if he was cooped up in an inn with Dandelion. He always tried to keep him from getting sick, despite the need to be on the oath. But tonight he wasn't in an inn with Dandelion. He was in forest clearing bustled against a dry spot beneath a tree with snow and ice all around him. The thought of being at a warm inn with his musician made his chest ache desperately. Slowly he managed to meditate. Meditation turned to sleep as soon as he chose to lie down in his bed roll. Roach shifted to his left to keep herself warm but never went far.

He woke cold and stiff to blue grey light. If he were a normal human and not so fucking cold he'd have probably rolled over and gone back to sleep. But instead he was a witcher and rain scented heavier on the air. That alone is enough to incline him to get a move on with the day. Carefully he stood rolling his joints, they cracked and popped at the movement sore from the last hunt and the cold. He breathed through his nose and set about feeding Roach. Then he turned to begin gathering his supplies. His heart jumped in his chest at the sound of distant music. There was a troupe, if the noise was anything to go by, traveling up the road. They were a ways off and he couldn't make out individual instruments yet. The music was to far away. Still, he forced himself to slow and methodically work through packing everything up at a more subdued pace. He had no way of knowing if Dandelion was with them, but he hoped he was. It was safer for the trabedour to travel with a group and more to his and the bards liking as well.

Satisfied that the group would catch up if he kept Roach to a walk he rejoined the road. This way he would be far enough ahead not to bother them, and close enough that if Dandelion was with them he'd be able to see him. He kept Roach at a careful pace and she seemed content to meander. His coin purse was currently full at his side, and the season was early. He could dally a little. Still he wondered at the futility. It would have been better to write to Oxenfurt or go himself. They would know where to find the poet. He listened as the music drew closer. There were several lutist. Which he could say wasn't uncommon as it was one of the preferred bardic instruments. He strained his ears none the less, Toruviels lute had a specific sound and he was well aquanited with it. He smiled and forced himself not to turn back towards the musicians. He was a witcher, he'd scare them off. He slowed Roach as much as possible. And then he heard it, the stutter of a chord gone off tune and forgotten. They way it would if he complimented the musician while he was playing. He always made the best faces.

"Geralt." He kept Roach moving, gripping the reigns hard in anticipation. Then he heard the murmurs of surprise as Dandelion ran ahead and called out,

"Geralt of Rivia, you gigantic oaf, I know you can hear me!" The indignant tone of Dandelions voice pulled him over the edge of his little game and he stopped. His heart beating a little faster, a little stronger than it ought, as it always did around the poet. He dismounted his horse and held out one hand to give or receive a hug. Something he was growing accustomed to doing with Dandelion. The bard rushed forward unabashed and wrapped his arms, one hand still holding his lute firmly, around Geralt and squeezing with all his strength. Geralt returned the favor, one armed, the other still outstretched to hold Roaches reigns.

The hug lasted longer than it ought to have, and then some. When they finally came apart Geralt raised an eyebrow and absently reached a hand out to brush shoulder length blond curls. He smiled softly amusement curling in his stomach with something far more dangerous.

"What are these?"

"Curls Geralt. You've seen them before."

Dandelion notes with brightness in his eyes. Geralt is being very tender he thinks as he flicks his eyes to the hand still in his hair.

"I know. But I've never seen them on you before. Nobles. Whores. The like."

Geralt says simply and something like sadness tugs at Dandelions heart. He was prepared with a quip but it slips from his tongue and instead he whispers out a breathy,

"You don't like it."

He looks to the ground, body language changing. Geralt smells the acrid scent of disappointment on him almost instantly. Even if he hadn't he'd have realized his mistake. He brushes his hand down and catches the lutists chin pushing it up and then dropping his hand to his shoulder. They have an audience.

"That's not what I said, nor is it what I meant, Dandelion. Introduce us?"

The poets meets his eyes and blinks. Right. Okay. He smiles,

"There isn't much to be said in introduction. I only met this lovely group last night. I don't even know all their names yet."

A short brunette in bright colors hands him his geldings reigns. They know he won't be continuing with them.

The brunette nods to Geralt and speaks softly,

"It was a pleasure to play music with you master Dandelion."

And with that the group turns down the path to the right. Geralt must have worked hard to time it so he'd be seen before they had a chance to turn down the other path. Though Dandelion would not have gone that way anyways.

Geralt looks him up and down again and and he flushes under the scrutiny and then speaks through a genuine smile.

"What is that on your face?"

He nearly reaches up to brush his hands against the white beard. He refrains barely as Geralt does it himself. He's fairly certain the man had forgotten all about it.

"Left the keep early this year. It's warmer like this."

Then he watches Geralt glare at the sky and take a deep breath.

"You'll want to put that in it's case. Smells like rain."

Dandelion moves quickly to follow his instruction and nearly jumps when thunder claps across the mountain range. He shivers and mounts Pegasus.

"Where to?"

Gerlat hesitates a moment. He shouldn't be caught off gaurde but he is. It's always this easy with Dandelion. Easy in a way it has never been with Yennefer, or with anyone else. It's natural almost to the point of being dangerous. He knows that Dandelions will follow him anywhere. Hen wont ask questions, but will walk beside him loyal and true.It eases something in his heart to see the other man beside him again. He settles something in him the way Yennefer never did. He realizes Dandelion is looking at him with raised eyebrows and a cheeky grin.

"That glad to see me?"

He swallows and clears his throat ignoring the second question.

"There is a village up ahead. If you're mule moves fast enough we may make it before the rain gets bad."

Dandelion laughs and the remnants of tension in him depart. They ride in companionable silence for a while before he asks,

"What are you doing all the way out here? The roads and weather are hardly fit for traveling, even for me."

He glances over and meets pools of bright blue sky. The poet is quiet for some time and it's only broken by the wind picking up around them and whispering through the woods as boughs bend beneath its force. The rain comes next and Dandelion finally speaks. Geralt remains facing forward carefully neutral.

"I hadn't heard anything about you in months. I had no idea if you even made it to Kaer Morhen. So, I thought to myself, Dandelion if you get closer to the keep you might hear something. Now, here I am hoping to find out if you're still alive. Figured being close would increase my chances of running into you too. And I suppose it worked."

He seems almost embarrassed Geralt thinks. Only embarrassment isn't an emotion he's ever seen on the musician. He was shameless and full of mirth. He felt deeply, certainly had had bouts of sorrow at times. But embarrassment… no this had to be something else. He seemed sombre. Almost sad as he fell into a silence that meant his thoughts had hold of him. Geralt shook his head, grateful when Dandelion did not ask him the same. Unfortunately he fell unusually quiet, normally he would grumble or speak his thoughts allowed. The silence upset him and he could sense the poet growing morose and gave him some space until he noted the bards teeth chattering. He looked miserable, lips pushed together to keep his teeth from chattering, curls gone limp with the rain. His fingers were probably just as cold as Geralts own. He slowed Roach.

"Wheres your cloak?"

" Forgot to pull it out of my bag."

He laughs. Gerlat could kick himself for not reminding the bard, but then, he was a grown man. Still the thought of him sick…. Absently he removed his outer cloak and handed it over. It wouldn't do to much now but it was a kind gesture none-the-less.

"Geralt, no sense in both of us being cold."

He simply cast Dandelion a withering glance and the trabedour smiled as he took the cloak. Geralt returned to his normal speed and missed the way Dandelion smiled into the fur and breathed deep. He almost missed the whispered "thank you" as well, but the wind carried it to his ears and he held it close.

By the time they passed through the archway of a sleepy little village he didn't know the name of, Dandelion was shivering from the cold. It had started as a thunderstorm and quickly devolved into a snowstorm. And while he had already been soaked through he was grateful for Gerlat's cloak around him. Though he was sorry too. He knew how cold Geralt often got, likely from having a slower heart rate.

They made their way with practiced ease to the local inn. Dandelion watched in slight awe as Geralt made arrangements with the matron. She had known his name, no one had so much as even batted an eye at the witcher. He shivered and tried to focus on keeping his feet warm.

The matron knew the witchers who passed this way every spring and winter. She'd been quiet young when Geralt had first met her, now she was a mother who had aged kindly.

"I'll have the boys tend to your horses. Jason's getting a fire going for you. He'll bring up some more wood in a bit."

As if on queue, summoned by his name, he came around the corner of the desk and nodded at her before heading out the back door. She smiled and handed Geralt the key. "Go on go get warm before your friend catches a cold "

"Thank you."

He handed the key to Jaskier who moved quickly forgetting his bag in his rush to get himself and his lute dry. Geralt smiled a toothy grin and shook his head shifting his own bags to gather Dandelions.

"Oh dear, I had better ask, will you be going out for supper or shall I bring some up when it's ready?"

" If it wouldn't be any trouble. And maybe a demijohn?"

She winked,

"Vodka?"

"Please."

"No problem, off you go. He's waiting."

He would have blushed if his biology allowed it. There was something about the way she looked between them and spoke that made Geralt feel vulnerable.

He followed damp footprints to their room and stepped in the door left slightly ajar. Dandelion had already hung his cloak up and stripped out of his shirt and boots, and was currently putting his lute on the chair a good distance from the fire to draw out any moisture.

"Finally Geralt! I was half naked before I realized I forgot them. And the fire was so nice I couldn't bare to go back and get them. What kept you?"

He stepped back as the bard reached for his bags and started removing his armor. He shook his head,

"Supper arrangments." He says simply.

"Then were staying in?"

"Yes."

"Excellent!" He watches the musician swap a change of clothes for his night clothes.

Although he was fairly dry beneath his armor and cloak Geralt was freezing. He removed his boots and looked up only to freeze. Breath stilling in his lungs as he swallowed tightly. He followed bare leg, muscled and lean, from floor to hip, over the curve of the poets ass, over the dip of his back and up the curve of his shoulders. He let out a breath and pointedly averted his eyes. His armor needed cleaning, he was sure of it.

He hadn't thought it possible to make Geralt uncomfortable at this point. But what he'd seen out of the corner of his eye told him otherwise. Though he'd only caught him looking away. He could have looked for a moment, or minutes he'd never know. Slowly he dressed in his sleepwear. The fire had been nice against his skin and he hadn't wanted to dress damp. You got sick when you did that. He dried his hair out with a thin towel from his pack. He'd need to replace that. He made his way back over to Geralt as he pulled his shirt on.

"The fire is nice." He says gently as he sits beside him. Geralt looks up at him from his armor and nods. They stare at one another for a moment then Geralt speaks.

"You seemed upset earlier. Was it just the weather?"

Oh. He wants to lie but he would never. Besides, Geralt can read him like a book, never mind the enhanced witcher senses. He'd never stand a chance. Instead he looks away, towards the crackling fire and let's silence reign while he thinks through what he means to say. The truth but not all of it. Just enough. The only noise is the wind rustling the shutters against the walls and the gentle crackling of the fire.

"I wouldn't know." He starts voice gentle and far away. "If you died. I wouldn't know. And if I ever did find out it would be from some rumor in a tavern passed through far to many drunken mouths to hold much truth. There's no one to tell me if you die while I'm not there Geralt. And that… scares me a little. I worry for you and it would pain me to never know or to find out so late. And know that I'll never know the truth of what happened." He looks to the witcher now and meets molten sun with ocean depths.

"But," he continues, "we're both here now. No sense in dwelling on something like that."

Something shifts in Geralts face like he wants to argue. He's already working out some way to change the topic so he doesn't give himself away. He loves the man next to him that's why it scares him. The knock comes loudly from the door and he moves to open it grateful for the matrons timing.

He smiles and opens the door wide.

"Thank you." He says to both the matron and her husband as he drops wood near the hearth and she places supper and a flagon of something on the table.

"No problem. Enjoy, its roast." With that they leave them to their dinner and Dandelion is grateful for the distraction. Geralt joins him at the table but neither speaks.

Geralt presses his lips together. What Dandelion said nearly ruins his appetite. He won't press but it makes his gut twist to think of the pain his friend would be in. The agony of not knowing. Though those same thoughts run through his head when he doesn't keep them in check. He knows if anything happens to his poet there would be hell to pay. He shakes his head and focuses instead on eating. The quiet of the room is unsetteling. They should be talking, reminiscing about their time apart and it's almost grating that he can't move past the last conversation. But then Dandelion uncorks the vodka and pours them both a generous amount. He hands a cup to Geralt and raises his own.

"To reunions." Geralt smiles and clinks their glasses together. Grateful that they're falling into their rhythm.

Dandelion asks how the winter went and Geralt sighs. It's always the same. His brothers are great but he always find himself missing his poets softness and sound. He wont say this of course. He wont say he lays awake wondering what he's doing in Oxenfurt. Who hes with. If hes happy. He won't admit that loneliness creeps in on him when they're apart, that he misses pulling the bard close to his chest when they sleep.

Instead he tells him that they repaired the battlements, the walls, the stables. That Vesimir had made them clean and catalogue the library. The library he knows Dandelion wants to see and would have to be forcably removed from and he knows that the poets only joking when he says "you'll have to show me one day" but that doesn't mean he doesn't want to grab him by the wrist and take him there. He talks of training and running the trail with Lambert and Eskel like they did when they were young.

"And what of you Dandelion? How was your winter?" The musician smiles and takes a drink straight from the bottle.

"Boring Geralt. This bach of students don't care. They have no heart and less inspiration. It's like they're only there to please their parents or something. To mingle. They don't care about learning what the truth behind folk tales are or why they're wrong. The composition courses are a bit better I suppose," another drink, his face flushes pink in the flickering light of the fire," at least they can make things rhyme even if it's meaningless. And it was so lonely Geralt. I missed traveling. I know it's better for my purse, retirement, and the like to work straight in the winter and travel in the summer months but honestly, I regret it this winter. Not that I could have traveled much alone."

He's rambeling now and Geralt loves it. Loves listening to him talk about nothing and everything. The way his face goes soft and his eyes grow bright and he can only be described as whimsical. How his voice dances always lulling and pulling him in. He takes the vodka and drinks a long pull from the bottle, he shouldn't let Dandelion have much more if they want to start out early. Though if the storm keeps up they might be stuck a few days.

He acknowledges the ard with a soft hum as he gets up to stoke the fire and add a few logs. It's gotten late. He makes his way back towards the bed and brushes his hand down the poets shoulder and his arm before passing on. He crawls to the far side of the bed and waits wondering if he'll understand the invitation and join him or take the other bed. He hopes that the Dandelion understood the gesture. The poet stands and looks at him.

Dandelion takes a breath to steady himself. There are two beds and he desperately wants to join Geralt, help him stay warm, bury his face against his chest, breath in leather and earth and musk. He blinks looking at Geralt for any sign of what he's supposed to do and just as its growing uncomfortable long in his slightly tipsy mind Geralt reaches out and hand and he knows he's wanted.

"It's cold."

Geralt offers quietly as he shuffles under the blankets next to him. He needn't have bothered Dandelion doesn't need an excuse. But if it makes him feel more comfortable he'll roll with it even as it feel like lead on his chest. He rolls onto his side and buries his face into the blankets between them. The bed is small for two but they'll make it work, they always do. He watches as Geralt lounges beside him thinking about how beautiful he is with shadows dancing against his skin as hes bathed in firelight alone. Then Geralt sits up so abruptly and swallows so that Dandelion joins him instantly.

"Is everything alright Geralt?"

"Yes. Just. Don't move."

And he laughs gently, breath coming out calmer now. He catches the way Geralts throat bobs as he swallows and the shadows dance across his throat. He both wants to kiss it and compose about it. Instead he shifts a leg underneath himself and leaves the other outstretched. He's not sure what's going on but he will do as told. But then Geralt moves and lays his head in his lap and when he looks down comatose pools of cooling gold meet his own cobalt depths and his breath catches. He stutters in another one and then smiles fondly. Geralts eyes flutter shut and he can't help himself as he places a hand in white hair and runs his fingers through it. He's certain it's been months since he had physical contact that wasn't violent.

He doesn't hum or sing. This moment is precious. It will be locked in his heart, witnessed only by the firefight and remembered in the lonliest of winter nights. But then Geralt looks at him again so he smiles softly and starts to open his mouth but theres a hand in limp gold locks by his face and he stops. Heart rate picking up, but not in fear and distantly he knows Geralt knows the ways he's affecting him. But he makes no move to pull away even as the calloused hand in his hair moves up to cup the back of his head and pull him down. Instead he closes his eyes and smiles. The kiss is everything he imagined it would be and then some.

#geraskier #gerlion #firelight #fanfiction #was going to add a read more link but im bad at technology and the update is making it worse #fluff #domestic fluff #soft bois #romance

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jeonjeonggukenergy · 5 years

Text

Anti-Hero

summary ~ in search of wine at a party that’s so not your scene, you run into jungkook, the weeb from your film class, and become determined to learn just how much he lives up to his big reputation.

pairing ~ jungkook x reader

genre ~ fluff, light smut w/ more to come - college!au

wordcount ~ 1.7k

warnings ~ light smut, drinking/partying, mentions of dick?, basically just making out, feat. long hair jk :)))))

a/n ~ this is my first time posting a fic!!! costume idea inspired by @ddaenggtan‘s iconic weeb-ass jk in chasing butterflies lol, and I got the idea to write this in general from wondering what a scenario like @joonbird‘s literally flawless fic passionfruit would be like from the opposite perspective bc I kept reading it (and rereading it...and rereading it...) and loving the connection but I’m much more like joon in that au than the reader oooop. anyway thank you to all the writers on here whose work i have loved and my friends who have encouraged me and made me bold enough to embrace such a fun new creative outlet xxx u know who u are :’)

next: chapter 2 | chapter 3 | chapter 4 (coming soon!)

~ read on ao3 ~

CHAPTER 1 ~ dress up

You never intended to end up at this Halloween party. You didn't even know who to expect to see here, other than your roommate's friend from high school, the host, who had invited y'all as a package deal even though she knew you didn't really do parties. At least not ones like hers, where every bedroom ended up occupied by the end of the night and nearly no one went home alone. Thrilled to break out of your lame group of friends for a taste of flirtation and fun, you tried to relax into the scene but the unspoken expectation of casual sex intimidated you the tiniest bit.

Speaking of casual sex, there was Jungkook.

Used to admiring him from afar in your "14 Films To See Before You Graduate" class, you paused to take in the sight of him in what you supposed was a more natural habitat. Everyone knew Jungkook got girls, thanks to the rumor his first freshman-year hookup had started about his seriously impressive dick. He had a beautiful body too, carefully crafted muscles obvious even beneath his usual baggy black clothes, so as the more intimate rumors spread and various co-signers confirmed every detail from length to curve to (you had always hated this word, but...) girth, getting a piece of all that became a badge of honor among the girls in your grade. You had never really understood how the awkward boy who hid manga under his desk in class could supposedly be such a sex symbol, but you almost felt bad for him. That kind of reputation following you around everywhere couldn't be all fun and games. If anything, though, it had intrigued you even more about the rest of him, all his little weeb quirks and the way he debated your points in the discussion boards like he actually cared. He wasn't exactly studious in general, but he clearly loved film and you enjoyed speaking up in class just to see how he would jump off of your observations. You hadn't really talked to him other than that, but he didn't seem to be talking to anyone else tonight either. From the corner, you let yourself appreciate the way his nervous hands tugged at the skinny black tie of his costume, freeing more of his throat from a thin yellow button-down shirt.

At least you no longer felt overdressed in your Nancy Drew outfit. The retro headband, brown loafers, and bookish plaid knee-length skirt set a much more sophisticated tone than most other ensembles you'd seen, but Jungkook's weeb ass had basically worn a full suit to channel Spike Spiegel from Cowboy Bebop. With his grown-out hair tousled and a navy pinstripe jacket cinched tight with two strips of electrical tape over his tiny waist, you couldn't deny that he rocked it. He leaned against a long plastic table left in the hallway, bobbing his head to the music in the next room and adjusting the too-slim suit pants around his thick thighs. His translucent cup stayed hidden behind a hip until he raised it quickly to his face for another sip of...red wine? Probably Franzia, knowing tonight's crowd, but anything was better than beer. You made a beeline for the one boy with taste at this party, your sole mission now to get wine drunk, sneak some Usher throwbacks on this playlist, and drop it low enough to leave some dude hard on the dance floor. #wastehistime2019, yknow.

"Hey!" You got his attention, grabbing the hand with the cup before he could lower it out of view again. His eyes grew comically wide and his mouth formed an "o" in shock before you demanded "Where is the wine?" and he pressed his lips back into a line, stuttering.

"I-I-I'm sorry, I just brought a bottle because the beer here sucks but I think it's all gone by now, I tried to hide it but yeah anyway you can have the rest of this one if you want though." Wincing at his own ramble, he ruffled the retro pouf of his hair with one hand and proffered the plastic cup in another. Both actions highlighted how pretty his hands were and you were just slightly tipsy enough to thread your fingers over his in the also-pretty black waves falling over his yep-still-just-as-pretty cheekbones.

"Aw, it's okay, I don't want to take your wine. No more liquid courage for me," you grinned, dotting the lightest kiss on his nose. It was an innocent gesture, but as your face naturally lowered so your noses touched, leaving your lips centimeters away from each other, something snapped—in him.

His wine discarded on the table, a hand curled around to clutch your ass and you practically felt his tongue before you felt his lips. Slamming your body abruptly into his, he nudged a thigh between your legs to grind it up on your center and as your arm got caught between your bodies, the tension you sensed filling his frame gave you pause. You pushed him away gently but firmly with the hand already flattened against his rock-solid abs. Looking down at the slight space restored between y'all, you removed his hands from his hair and your ass and laced them in yours to guide him back against the wall.

"I...what was that?" you almost giggled. You definitely weren't trying to laugh at him, but you couldn't hide your surprise at this first potential proof of his fuckboy reputation.

"I'm—" his whole face crumpled, both from the simple sting of your seeming rejection and the possibility that he had broken a boundary or forced himself on you against your wishes, which made him so sick he could barely face you. Squirming under your light hold but not quite resisting, he rambled again: "I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to force myself on you or anything, don't worry I would never try anything if you didn't want to, I just figured we might as well get to the point if you did because, uh...when girls touch me like that or even talk to me at these things it's pretty much always just because they...want to."

"Jungkook," you breathed, pulsing your hands over his in reassurance. He squeezed his eyes shut, still distraught, and when they opened, you had craned your neck to meet his averted gaze.

"I never said I didn't want to."

His eyes widened again. "Uh...uh...then..." he trailed off, never having needed to directly proposition a girl like this before. He really had been inexperienced before the rapid escalation of college, and was at a loss for how to get to the good stuff from here via anything more eloquent than a rushed "Wanna fuck?" You shook your head silently, nose grazing his again, and let go of one hand to cup his face with care, like he was something precious you were scared of breaking.

"What? You want to get right to fucking me?" you murmured into his ear. He shivered at hearing you curse for the first time, freed from the constraints of class discussions and closer than he ever guessed you'd get to him. "Is that really what you want? Or is it what you think I do? Because if it's alright, I think I want something better. For you."

You pressed a new kiss to his nose, only slightly stronger than the one that had started all this. He held his breath and his untouched, open mouth trembled as you scattered soft introductions of your lips across his forehead, to his temples, over the scar that sliced his cheekbone. Finally inhaling a skittery heave of your shared air as you passed closer to his lips, he forced it back out in frustration when you ducked away to nudge under his jaw instead. Returning your hand to his hair, you grinned, enjoying the spike in his pulse under your thumb and skipping the tip of your tongue lightly over his neck right up to the earlobe. You lifted the choppy ends of his waves away from the dangly silver hoop they hid, tensing the strands just slightly between your fingers in an inability to hide your glee. Something told you this was going to drive him crazy.

Taking a slight detour to suck his pierced lobe between your lips, you responded to Jungkook’s low moan of surprise by wedging your tongue through the first oversized hole and letting your teeth clatter over multiple rings of metal. He was trying so hard to stay pliant under you, but the tease of slight pain in a new and unusual spot made him want your mouth more, anywhere he could get it. No one had ever spent this much time tracing so few inches of skin.

And so many girls had buried his face in their necks, craving evidence of an encounter with the Jeon Jungkook, that a strange kind of empathy caught him off guard when you showed him how good it could feel to receive. You connected your lips to the hollow right under his ear, feeling the tendons stretch as his head lolled away from you. Working him through a cascade of light gasps, you stepped away satisfied once you had sucked a dark bloom to the surface. He watched you leave with his mouth agape and chest heaving, unable to believe you could just walk away with a wave and a "See you in class!"

But you did, and he would.

"Shit!" he swore, a shaky hand darting straight to the spot. Now he had to keep his hair long for at least another two or three days. If he showed up to discussion on Monday and had to watch you admiring your work on his skin, he would probably just die on the spot. And that would not be very Spike Spiegel of him.

next chapter

#jungkook x reader #jungkook smut #jungkook fluff #jungkook x reader smut #bts smut #bts fic #college!jungkook #college au!jungkook #bts college au #jungkook #jeon jungkook #bts jungkook #my writing #anti-hero #anti hero

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gascon-en-exil · 3 years

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A Game of Thrones 10th Anniversary Season Ranking: Part 2

Link to Part 1

Time for the bottom half of the list. The four seasons here will surprise no one, but the order might.

#5 Season 6

You can tell what I most what to talk about here...but there's an order to these things.

S6 actually has a bunch of great ideas, but they drown beneath the most slapdash plotting and character work the show has seen yet in order to set the stage for the narrower conflicts of the last two seasons. It's notorious for bringing back characters who haven't been seen in a season or longer only to kill them off (Balon Greyjoy, Osha, Hodor, the Blackfish, Rickon, Walder Frey) or awkwardly graft them back into the main plot (Sandor Clegane, Bran). There are plot threads that ought to be compelling but are too rushed in execution, like the siege of Riverrun, Littlefinger's hand in the Battle of the Bastards, or Daenerys's time back among the Dothraki and then finally getting the hell out of Meereen. Arya hits on the only interesting part of her two-season sojourn in Braavos - a stage play, of all things - only for it to stumble at the end with a disappointing offscreen death and some incomprehensible philosophy ahead of the start of her murder tour of Westeros. There's also so much cutting off the branches, enough to be conspicuous; the final shot of Daenerys leading an armada of about half the remaining cast she assembled partially offscreen says that better than anything else. Well, not anything....

Highlight: Without exaggeration, the opening of S6E10 is easily my favorite sequence in all of GoT. The staging, the music, the mounting suspense even as it becomes increasingly obvious what's about to happen, the twisted religious references particularly in Cersei's mock confession to Unella, Tommen throwing himself out a window because he can't deal with the reality of how terrible his mother is, how Cersei gives absolutely no fucks whatsoever about murdering hundreds of people at once in a calculated act of vengeance largely prompted by her own poorly thought out actions - I love it all. It's the single most masterfully-executed act of villainy in the whole show - Daenerys torching King's Landing probably has a higher body count, but the presentation there is all muddled - and if I had any doubts about Cersei being my favorite multi-season major character they were silenced in this moment. The explosion of the Sept doesn't sit perfectly with me, because I liked the Tyrells and because of what I said about deaths like theirs and Renly's in the previous post under S2, but I think that unease only cements the strength of this sequence. It's an overused phrase in fandom these days, but GoT at its best is all about moral greyness that gives its audience room for multilayered reactions. Cersei nuking the Sept and making herself the sole power in King's Landing, which in a sense is just a more overt example of the kind of character/plot consolidation elsewhere represented by Daenerys's armada, is one of those events that's impossible to approach from a single angle if you care about any of the characters involved. And hey, it's not in the books (yet, presumably), so unlike Ned's death or the Red Wedding the GoT showrunners can take the credit for realizing this one.

Favorite death: Even leaving aside the Sept and related deaths there's a lot of good ones to choose from in S6. Ramsey is cathartic but too gory for me, Osha's was a clever callback but a little delayed, it's hard to pin down specific deaths when Daenerys incinerates the khals, and Arya only gets half credit for Walder Frey and his sons when she saves the rest of the house for the opening of S7. I'm thinking Hodor, not so much because I enjoy his character or the manner of his death but because it's a clever bit of playing with language (that must have been hell to render in other languages for dubbing) wrapped up in some entertainingly murky consent issues and some closed time loop weirdness. It's all very...extra? Is that the word for it?

Least favorite death: Offscreen deaths continue to be mostly letdowns, in this case Blackfish and the Waif. Way to botch the ending of Arya's already near-pointless Braavos arc, guys. Speaking of Arya, this spot goes to Lady Crane, whom the Waif somehow kills with a stool or something. It's a dumb way to send off an entertaining minor character.

#6 Season 8

I swear that I'm not putting S8 this high solely because of Jonmund kind of sort of happening. I've never been very interested in either of them and the sex would be far too bear-on-otter to suit my pornographic preferences, but even so the choice to close out the series with them is hilarious.

I really don't need to elaborate on why S8 is down here; everyone who's ever watched the show has done as much in the nearly two years since it wrapped up. I do however need to explain why I've ranked not one but two seasons below it. My biggest argument here is that I don't believe it's fair to critique S8 for problems it inherited from earlier seasons. A non-comprehensive list:

Mad Queen Daenerys: unevenly built up beginning from S1 and continuing in some form through every following season

The questionable racial optics of Dany's army: also seeded as early as S1 and solidified by S3 with the Slaver's Bay arc

Cersei only succeeding because she makes stupid decisions and then lucks out until she doesn't: apparent from S1, directly lampshaded by Tywin in S3, fully on display with the Faith Militant arc of S5-6

Jaime not getting a redemption arc or falling in love with Brienne: evident with his repeated returns to Cersei throughout the show as one of the most consistent elements of his character, particularly in S4 and during the siege of Riverrun in S6

Tyrion grabbing the idiot ball/becoming a flat audience surrogate mouthpiece: started in S5 around the time the showrunners ran out of book material for him and wanted to make him more of a PoV character and his arc less of a downward spiral, although I've seen arguments that changes from the books involving his Tysha story and Shae set him on this trajectory even earlier

The hardening of Sansa's character: began in earnest in S4 and never let up from there

The strange ordering of antagonists: set down by S7's equally strange plot structure - the Night King had to come first with that setup

CleganeBowl and the dumber twists: from what I've heard the whole thing of writing around fans on the internet guessing plot twists started pretty much when the book content ended, so S5-6 maybe?

Yes, there's plenty to criticize about S8 on its own merits...but just as much that was merely the writers doing what they could at that point with deeply flawed material.

Highlight: This may sound cheesy, but the better parts of S8 are almost all the cinematic ones, whether that's E2 being a bottle episode with tons of poignant character send-offs before the big battle, a handful of deaths with actual satisfying weight like Jorah's and Theon's, and an epilogue that incorporates both closure for individuals and the broader uncertainty of messy socio-political systems that GoT has always been known for before working its way back to the Starks at the very end for some tidy bookending. Even imperfect moments like the Lannister twins' death and the resolution of Sansa's character felt weighty and appropriate based on what had come before.

Favorite death: Forget about the audio commentary attempting to flatten Cersei's character; Cersei and Jaime Lannister have an excellent end. Cersei especially, as the scenes of her stumbling her way down into the catacombs as the Red Keep crashes down around her really show off how her world is abruptly falling apart and how she retreats into her own self-interest at the end in spite of her demise being at least partially of her own doing. There's some stupid moments associated with these scenes, like Jaime dueling Euron to the death and CleganeBowl, but I can excuse those when the twins end up dying exactly where you'd expect them to: in each other's arms, in a ruined monument to their family's grand ambitions that, like Casterly Rock itself, was taken from another family.

Least favorite death: Quite a few dumb ones in S8 have become forever infamous. Missandei sticks out, and for me Varys too just as much because of how the writing pushes him to do the dumbest thing he could possibly do purely for the sake of killing him off ten minutes into the penultimate episode. But no one belongs here more than Daenerys Targaryen, killed at the height of a rushed and uncertain villain reveal by a man who takes advantage of their romantic history (who is also her family, because Targaryens) to stab her in a moment of vulnerability - pretty much only because another man tells him that Daenerys is the final boss. Narratively speaking that might be the case, but even so this is the end result of multiple seasons of middling-to-bad buildup. Not even Drogon burning the symbolism can salvage that. Also Fire Emblem: Three Houses did this scene and did it better.

#7 Season 5

...Yeah, we're going to have to go there.

Sansa's rape is not a plot point that personally touches me much. It's terribly framed in the moment and the followup in later seasons is inconsistent at best, but it's not a kind of trauma I can relate to. On the other hand, in the very same episode Loras is tried and imprisoned for homosexuality, and Margery faces the same punishment for lying for her brother. That hits much closer to home, not just for the homophobia but also for the culture war undertones of the not!French Tyrells persecuted by a not!Anglo fanatic who later reveals himself to be the in-universe equivalent of a Protestant. The trial is just one part of Cersei's shortsighted scheming, just as Sansa being married off to Ramsey is part of Littlefinger's, and both of them get their comeuppance in the end...but it's unsettling all the same. I especially hate what the Faith Militant arc does to King's Landing in S5, swiftly converting it from my favorite setting in GoT to a tense theocratic nightmare that only remains interesting to me because Cersei is consistently awesome. What's more, pretty much everything about S5 that isn't viscerally uncomfortable is dragged out and dull instead: the Dorne arc, Daenerys's second season in Meereen, Arya in Braavos, Stannis and co. at Castle Black. The most any of these storylines can hope for is some kind of bombastic finale, and while several of them deliver it's not enough to make up for what comes before, or how disappointing everything here builds from S4. S4 has Oberyn, S5 has the Sand Snakes - I think that sums up the contrast well.

Highlight: S5 does get stronger near the end. As much as his character annoys me I did like the High Sparrow revealing his pseudo-Protestant bent to Cersei just before he imprisons her, and there's a cathartic rawness to Cersei's walk of atonement where you can both feel her pain and humiliation and understand that she's getting exactly what she deserves (and this is what leads into the climax of S6, so it deserves points just for that). The swiftness of Stannis's fall renders his death and that of his family a bit hollow, but it's brutal and final and fittingly ignominious for a character with such grand ambitions but so little relevance to the larger story. The fighting pits of Meereen sequence is cinematic if nothing else, and even the resolution to the Dorne arc salvages the whole thing a tiny bit by playing into the retributive cycles of vengeance idea (and Myrcella knows about the twincest and doesn't care, aww - no idea why that stuck with me, but it's cute all the same). Oh, and Hardhome...it's alright. Not great, not crap, but alright.

Favorite death: I don't know why, but Theon tossing Myranda to her death is always funny to me. Maybe because it's so unexpected?

Least favorite death: Arya's execution of Meryn Trant is meant to be another one of the season's big finale moments, but the scene is graphic and goes on forever and I can't help but be grossed out. This is different from, say, Shireen's death, which is supposed to be painful to witness.

#8 Season 7

I can't tell if S7's low ranking is as self-explanatory as S8's or not. At least one recent retrospective on GoT's ruined legacy I've come across outright asserts that S7 is judged less harshly in light of how bad S8 was. If it were not immediately obvious by where I've placed each of them, I don't share that opinion.

Because S7 is just a mess, and the drop-off in quality is so much more painful here than it is anywhere else in the series except maybe from S4 to S5 (and that's more about S4 being as good as it is). The pacing ramps up to uncomfortable levels to match the shortened seasons, the structure pivots awkwardly halfway through from Daenerys vs. Cersei to Jon/Dany caring about ice zombies, said pivot relies largely on characters (mostly Tyrion) making a series of catastrophically stupid tactical decisions, and very few of the smaller set pieces land with any real impact as the show's focus narrows to its endgame conflict. As with S6 there are still some good ideas, but they're botched in execution. The conflict between Sansa and Arya matches their characters, but the leadup to that conflict ending with Littlefinger's execution is missing some key steps. Daenerys's diverse armada pitted against Cersei weaponizing the xenophobia of the people of King's Landing could have been interesting, but there's little room to explore that when Cersei keeps winning only because Tyrion has such a firm grip on the idiot ball and when Euron gets so much screentime he barely warrants. Speaking of Tyrion's idiot ball, does anyone like the heist film-esque ice zombie retrieval plotline? Its stupidity is matched only by its utter futility, because Cersei isn't trustworthy and nobody seems to ever get that.

And how could I forget Sam's shit montage? Sums up S7 perfectly, really. To think that that is part of the only extended length of time the show ever spends in the Reach....

Highlight: A handful of character moments save this season from being irredeemable garbage. As you can guess from my screencap choice, Olenna's final scene is one of them, even if Highgarden itself is given insultingly short shrift. S7 also manages what I thought was previously impossible in that it makes me care somewhat about Ellaria Sand, courtesy of the awful death Cersei plans for her and her remaining daughter. The other Sand Snakes are killed with their own weapons, which shows off Euron's demented creativity if nothing else. I like the entertainingly twisted choice to cut the Jon/Dany sex scene with the reveal that they're related. And, uh...the Jonmund ship tease kind of makes the zombie retrieval team bearable? I'm really grasping at straws here.

Favorite death: It's more about her final dialogue with Jaime than her actual death, but again I'm going to have to highlight Olenna Tyrell here for lack of better options. She drops the bombshell about Joffrey that the audience figured out almost as soon as it happened but still, makes it plain what I've been saying about how Jaime's arc has never really been about redemption, and is just about the only person to ever call Cersei out for that whole mass murder thing. There's a reason "I want her to know it was me" became a meme format.

Least favorite death: There aren't any glaringly bad deaths in S7, just mediocre or unremarkable ones. I still think the decision to have Arya finish off House Frey in the season's opening rather than along with their father at the end of S6 was a strange one that doesn't add much of dramatic value.

#Game of Thrones #GoT

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arasokanbina · 3 years

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All her outfits are top tier. I'm not even sure it's fair to put them order for that reason, so I'm not gonna haha! It's not just the outfits, I mean if she didn't perform so amazingly the outfits would miss that extra shine! And they do shine!

The stylists know exactly what they are doing! I'm sure Chung Ha herself has put her own thoughts into the outfits! All of the looks give little stories in my mind which is really high quality because they don't just fit the concept but make concepts!

Note: Sorry for any spelling or grammar errors I just type too fast because I gotta get my thoughts out lol. Also it took me a long time to get the photos and sort them and my net went off for about 20 mins so I'm pretty tired @u@;;; but I had to continue cause fashion lol. Also I'm on mobile and they still don't have a read more so sorry for the longer scroll.

Regal vampress and Comic pop punk. Since they are in the same stage I'm doing them both together. The key point for thr regal vampress is her long high pig tails and her mini ball gown. With her matching long gloves and boots this outfit is simply gorgeous. I love pig tails a lot and she looks so good with them! I also love it because of the length it adds elegance but still is youthful because its pig tails. Her comic pop punk is just so good! Okay so we have the bold colours, with an awesome cartoon bomber jacket. Her space buns with pink fabric in them match it well with her baby pink boots, bright bold pink shorts and graffiti pattern knee highs! This really is comic book heroine and I love it so much! Both outfits represent the playfulness and badassness of the song! Fantastic!

Electric playful punk. The key here is her the highlighter yellow lime colour and hair. Her hair horns remind me of a bicycle handle. The large outlined cat eye is perfection, so sharp and stunning with an added cuteness from the star. Her sparkling tights add that glamour femininity along with her going to kick ass boots that say "Get out of my way!" but in a playful way with the sparkles. The corset belt with the DIY tulle skirt that ruffles romantically at the back and rocker cut striped gloves that also have the sheer tulle fabric to match the skirt emphasis on the cute punk vibes. The large neck chain matches the corset belt chain as well adding again to that punk biker look. Just top tier!

Runaway circus, Midnight dancer. This look gives me a vibe of a post apocalyptic world. Where she finds herself after running away in a dark circus as its main dancer. There is fire, mystery and marvel! Another playful but dark stye! The key here is her eye makeup. Like a card of the queen of hearts, it's once again playful but calculated. Adding to her deadly aura is the knife heart top with the heavy looping belts around her waist. Finally matched with sexy, classy and punkish stockings that with her gloves and her long black sleek knee high boots! I was thinking they could have added a hat like Ryujin's in Not Shy but then that would take away from the eye makeup but maybe perhaps a small hair accessory just to add a little bit more, but I do like over the top shine haha so this is probably best. On closer inspection her braids have pretty silver strands and his fingers have rings! She also has huge chain earrings! Love the extra details and this is what I was looking for! Love it!

Metal cowgirl biker queen. The key point here is her braids in her hair and the fishnet tights, open chaps combo. Her painted nails with her cut gloves that look to be the same denim as the chaps or similar fabric are so cool. I love how the chest holster links with her chaps, and her top has a firey pattern. This outfit screams, "Sit back and watch me ride!", she isn't holding back! Her hair also has an light purple ombre and the plaits have silver threads to give a little sparkle. Once again this is another fantastic attention to details!

Ice punk delinquent princess. The key here is the cold white colour and her gangster school outfit. This outfit is so wonderful! When I was a teen I would have been trying to replicate this look for sure! I love the white fishnets, like it would have been easy to go just black and it would have matched the tie too but once again the stylists know the key is the fine details. Her gun metal nails with her smokey eye shadow are just so crisp and gorgeous on her. I love how the skirt has a little volume at the back to shape the blazer nicely and add that princess element. I could totally imagine her with a white baseball bat with spikes with the handle being silver. And let's not forget the thick boots and her delicate chains accenting her blazer and half skirt! "I got ice decorating my neck." Supreme!

True leather biker Queen. I couldn't find a vertical focus but the boots are the same as number 2 stage. The key point of this outfit is her neatly feathery hair bun and accent buckles and chains. The whole outfit works completely well because it's all leather or like leather material. Completely being the biker gang look. I love the belt buckle garter on her fishnets, her almost cat suit that is accessoried with chains. And even though her hair style is simple, the feathery back with the blonde extension is really fun! Her top also looks a bit like a battle armour breast plate. I'd just love to see her on a bike outside a dusty diner on a hot day. Can we just have a photo book of her looks with concepts please lol.

#my comment #my screenshots #please don’t steal #outfit opinions #Fav outfits #Chung ha bicycle #Bae

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