#i also saw the blackening recently

[birches-and-hawks]

i love how movies are going away from

'here, learn about the sufferings of this underrepresented group in media'

to

'here, learn about the joys of this underrepresented group in media'

[celaenaeiln]

Just how true do you think the sentiment of “bruce was still a child who didnt get to grow up/move on until he met dick”?

Very true! Actually-Alfred straight up says it-true!

This scene is when Dick was accepted by Batman to become robin.

I was actually going to use this for another Dick and Alfred post but let me just drop it here that Dick cares about Alfred so much!!

Like this boy is the sweetest, most caring person ever. He asks the butler if it's okay for him to become robin-who does that?! Who would think of doing that?! He's the most considerate, softest baby ever! The tiny, nervous, shy smile on his face in the second panel <33333

Here's the answer: "And while he most certainly became a man...I don't think he ever became an adult."

But Alfred says it twice!

"But Alfred always used to say Bruce would have self-destructed if he hadn't met me and learned some responsibility."

My other post about Bruce and Dick has a lot of images that talk about this idea too

That's why I love Bruce and Dick's relationship so much. They are so codependent on each other. While Bruce saved Dick (not from being angry. He wasn't an angry robin, istg.), Bruce also would have died without Dick.

Before Bruce met Dick, he was on a one way track to his own ending. He was reckless, didn't take precautions, and was on the verge of being consumed by the darkness of which he was fighting.

At this time, a boy came along that shined light down upon him (literally because of the circus stage lights lol) and he was taken by him instantly.

With a new partner-a child-by his side Bruce was forced to take precautions, learn how to operate as a human being, and was just happy to have someone who bright and cheerful. He used Dick as an emotional crutch from losing his mind.

"Still, the addition of Dick Grayson into the Master's crusade has made a difference in him."

"I do believe I saw him smile. There have even been occasions in the pantry when I could just discern the muffled sounds of laughter echoing up from the dreadful cavern beneath the manor."

There are so many occasions where Alfred talks about how extraordinarily important Dick is to Bruce.

Dick raised Bruce.

To borrow a lyric line that explains this:

"Take a broken man right in my hands And then put back all his parts"

Dick's "i can fix him" issues which are a massive part of his relationship with Deathstroke come from acting as a child parent to Bruce.

But the greatest part?

He still is.

Again and again and again. Dick is the only person Bruce relies on. He never tells anyone his secrets or worries unless that person is Dick. And often he bears the brunt of the work by his family. Both Tim and Jason have gotten angry at him for taking Bruce's side or supporting Bruce but the thing is, he's the only one who can next to Alfred. Tim has accused and praised him of being too much like Batman sometimes but when you raise a kid (adult-sized) I think you're bound to forgive them while also admonishing them for their mistakes.

They also use Dick as the unofficial spokesperson to talk to Bruce

"Hey. Tim told me about Zur. Are you alright?"

Side note: Tim tried talking to Bruce earlier but Bruce kept ignoring his concerns.

For each robin, Dick acts as the emotional go between Bruce and them.

Jason:

Jason's sad face :'(

That moment meant so much to him

Tim:

Another reason why Dick and Tim are so close is because Dick acted like the parent during Tim's robin era. It wasn't until recent comics that they had Bruce actually even caring about Tim.

Damian:

Also Dick and Damian father and son moment <33

Dick the fixer upper. Always fixing everyone's family issues. With each other or with Bruce.

Also the scene of Martha Wayne thanking Dick

There's a comic panel where Bruce says "Dick is the glue that holds the family together."

Dick is literally the light of his life. Without him Bruce would've lost it. It was the perfect combination of Dick's cheerful personality, strong ethics, and tragic backstory that caused Bruce to take him in and it was these same traits that helped him grow. Because Dick's distinguishable trait is that he humanizes people. And Dick humanized and raised Bruce.

[hiskillingjar]

tbh I need more fanfics of laws necrophilia... there's too few.

your wish is my command you fucking sicko

1500+ words, first person, law's pov. cw for necrophilia (duh), mentions of rape and murder, and gross bodily functions

crossposted on ao3. give me attention i have huge boobs

You were dead.

It had happened recently, maybe two hours ago, three hours at most.

Your nose was broken, bones and flesh smashed like a hole, caked with near-black blood, with the same trickling (lighter, ruby red) from a hollow gash on your forehead where your skull had caved in.

You put up a fight, evident from the bruises on your bare shoulders and chest, but blunt force trauma always won out, no matter how strong the person receiving it was.

It only takes four minutes from the moment a person has died (or, was killed in your case) before their body enters the decomposition process, beginning with the "self-digestion" stage, causing what most people know as rigor mortis, as the body begins to eat itself from the inside out.

All the tiny bacteria living in our bodies digest the small intestine first, which causes the cells in the body to lose their structural integrity and start dying and collapsing. Blisters will then appear on internal organs and the skin's surface (purple and yellow, like bruises, like pus), which is also when flies and maggots will become interested and begin to eat and reproduce too, playing nature’s role in the decomposition process.

Decomposition scares most people. I know that, which is why I don’t talk about it.

The idea that the body of someone they care about can begin deteriorating in front of their eyes (within minutes, even) upsets them.

It scares them. 

They don't like thinking about how weak we, as human beings, really are, and how willing our bodies are to turn on us when we no longer belong there.

It doesn't scare me, though. 

Which was why I wasn't scared when I saw you.

I had been in the forest that night, checking on the mastication process of the newest project until it had gotten dark, and was heading back to my car when I found you, lit by a single moonbeam on the clearing closest to the road.

Whoever killed you hadn’t done a good job of hiding it, but I was grateful for that.

You were a willowy beauty in a skimpy, white night dress (dotted with blood and dirt and other fluids), hands taped together at the wrist, dead, empty eyes staring up at the starry night sky as the holes in your skull continued to bleed.

What a beautiful night to die.

I'd never seen a dead body in real life. 

Plenty online, plenty in the fucked up videos I used to watch when I was a teenager, before I knew what death felt like, really felt like, and knew I could never see it kept to a video again, but never in the flesh.

I felt a wave of initial nausea take over me, a predisposed reaction to death that the human body must have had, because I was far from disgusted when I saw you.

I set my bag down and approached you, a hand over my mouth to stop any instinct to vomit.

I couldn’t ruin you any more than you had already been ruined.

You almost looked like a doll, lying in the grass, your skin paling and purpling as the initial stages of 'self-digestion' occurred underneath it, and a loud part of me ached to tear into you and see it happen myself. 

Yes. That’s what you were.

A broken doll played with and thrown away when she was no longer fun to play with.

"How awful," I murmured to myself, stopping my idle pacing at your blackened feet and setting myself down into a comfortable squat, tilting my head to examine you more closely. "Who did this to you? A boyfriend? Husband?"

Letting my curiosity get the better of me, I reached forward and gently nudged your legs apart, not surprised when I saw purpled bruises between your legs, reaching up to your equally bruised vagina that appeared wet and slick (and not just with the piss and shit leaving your body, another part of the self-digestion process that people didn’t like).

"I'm sorry," I then said to you, because it felt like you could hear me, looking at your bloody face. "You didn't deserve that."

I settled down onto my knees, dirt and mud soaking in, and crawled a little closer to you, kneeling between your spread legs and pressing my body down against yours. 

Your warmth was dying, as all warmth always did, but it was still there, barely alive, in your chest and your inner thighs.

I could feel my core begin to tighten and throb, despite the awful smell of death beneath me

I didn’t mind. I was used to the smell of rot.

"I mean, not like anyone deserves it," I whispered with an awkward chuckle, reaching up and stroking your pale cheek, smearing blood as I pushed dark hair out of your pretty face. You made a broken nose look beautiful, I thought. "Just you especially didn't deserve it. I'm sorry."

I pressed my face into your matted hair, smelling the scent of freshly washed hair and sweet blood over the smell of shit, and my core tightened even more.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry," I repeated, rubbing my face against your clean hair, my trembling hands going to your thighs and parting them even further. "The world is so cruel, isn't it? So cruel to people like you."

The white lace, the freshly washed hair, the cum lingering on your skin after your death, maybe this boyfriend or husband had even killed you on an anniversary or something. 

The world could be cruel, but people could be so much crueller.

"I promise I won't be cruel," I whispered, slowly reaching down to the front of my sweat pants and squeezing my- "It'll be quick. I'll make it as easy as I can." I tucked them down and freed myself, lowering myself between your warm thighs, stiff with rigour mortis but open and willing for someone (someone kind and good like me) to take care of you. "I wish I could ask properly. I'm sorry I can't."

I gradually pressed inside you, the seed of your killer making the entrance easy and slick, even if self-digestion had made you tighten up, like you were trying to ward off anybody else who wanted to do this to you, even in death.

I was patient though. 

I was happy to slowly work you open, slowly lower your defences and make you feel safe with me.

I had never done this before, either, although I had often fantasised about it, masturbated about it, and wrote about it in journals and concerning blog posts. 

None of that compared to the real thing, naturally.

I couldn’t help a slight grimace, though, feeling the wet slide of shit against my groin and upper thighs as I pressed closer to you, seeking your tightness, but I knew that you couldn't help it. 

If you could help it, this wouldn't have felt nearly as good. 

"I'm sorry," I said again through grit teeth and wheezing hisses, taking each of your slim hips in my hands and starting up a series of thrusts, first shallow and then deep, as you opened up more and accepted me. "I haven't done this before. I'm probably going to be quicker than I thought...hah."

I slid deeper, forcing a gas pocket inside you to open softly, demure and quiet, like you were hiding it from me (too shy to be a human), and it sent an electric spike of arousal through my body, tingling up my spine and to the stem of my brain.

Fuck.

"Fuck," I breathed out, lowering my head down to your chest and reaching up to the strap of your night dress, pulling it aside and exposing your perfect breasts, mottled purple with bruises and decomposition, your nipples hard and oozing with fluid. "I'm sorry. Thank you. I'm sorry. Thank you."

I spilt my seed inside of you and almost instantly pulled away, embarrassed, tucking away my softening flesh and dismissing myself from your body, like this had been a particularly humiliating brothel encounter.

I probably hadn’t been your worst encounter that night, but still.

I let out a long sigh, pushing a hand into my hair as I wet my lips nervously, and picked up my bag, starting the walk back to my car.

I felt bad that I couldn't give you a burial, some dignity in death after what your killer (after what I) had done to you. 

I felt worse leaving you there to degrade, and not bundling you up in my trunk and taking you home with me, to take care of and love through each lovely stage of decomposition, but...no, leaving you out in the open would be better.

That way, the police would find you in the morning, identify you from dental records or a fingerprint (or something), and you might get something close to justice.

I just hoped any tests they did wouldn't spot two different sources of semen inside of you.

[unreconstructedfangirl]

I visited the most spectacular trees in Yosemite the other day. My two beautiful sons are there between two of them for scale:

God, they are gorgeous, and I feel so lucky to have been able to see them again, because I cannot overstate how many trees are dead in and around the park. Between the drought of 2012-2016, and the subsequent pine beetle infestations, and the Rim wildfire in 2013 that some idiot who never saw consequences started, there are entire mountainsides of tree graveyard, some blackened, some white and dry as bone. It's awful.

It's estimated that as many as 20% of all sequoias, globally, have been killed in recent fires.

The oldest of the Giant Sequoias in Yosemite's Mariposa Grove is this one, the Grizzly Giant, estimated to be about 2900 years old:

Here's a placard from the park putting its size into perspective:

My family has had a cabin on a lake not far from Yosemite since before my mother was born, and even there we had three massive old Ponderosa pines on our lot, and all three are dead and have had to be cut down, including one that grew through our porch that I'm pretty sure I had almost romantic feelings for as a child, with beautiful, sweet smelling puzzle-piece bark. The attrition of trees is so devastating, and it will take the forests decades to recover, if they even can in the face of continued warming and climate breakdown.

I've had a beautiful holiday here, swimming in the lake, spending time with family and friends, but I also remember what it was like both at our lake and in Yosemite when I was a child, and I've felt so much grief and loss, too. There's nothing quite like the death of beautiful, old growth trees for me. It just really hurts, because they just absolutely cannot be recovered.

Further, we used to have so many squirrels, chipmunks, deer, woodpeckers, bluejays, cardinals, and other songbirds, and now all of them are just...not here.

Anyway. Global Warming, friends. It's destroying a lot of irreplaceable, beautiful things in the world.

[written-in-flowers]

Toxic Revenge (AegonxReader)

Pairing: Aegon II x plussize!reader

Word Count: 5k

Genre: smut, just pure smut. 

Tags: cheating from both sides, toxic revenge cheating, mentions of infidelity, cunnilingus, thigh worship, thigh job, breast play, nipple play, multiple orgasms, multiple positions, body worship, edging, aegon being a total perv and you’re into it lol 

Summary: You’ve recently learned that rumors about your husband, Aemond’s, infidelity are true, and you’re not happy about it. So, rather than wallow in self-pity, to take a late night visit to his brother’s chambers. 

A/N: got tired of reading cheating fics and the reader doing nothing about it. Lol, also in a super TGC brain rot and horny af lately. Enjoy. 

Part 2: Nameday: The Picnic

****

'It pains me to inform you of another matter, my lady, but it is something that weighs heavily on my mind. Prince Aemond has recently been spending his nights with a servant woman in the castle. He has become very enamored with her, favoring her counsel over those of Ser Criston and myself. Twas only last night I caught the prince abed with the woman, tangled like two young lovers-'

You stopped reading the letter. Ser Harrold meant no harm by informing you of your husband's possible infidelity. As a knight, he took vows of honor and nobility. You supposed he wrote this to take a burden of knowledge off his shoulders. You held the scroll in your hands, reading his report from the battlefield once more. A part of you hoped it wasn't true. The thought tore your heart to shreds. You wanted to fool yourself into believing Ser Harrold harbored affection for you, hence why he'd make up such a slanderous lie. But, further proof laid in Aemond letters. You’d stupidly written to him with Ser Harrold’s accusation. You’d hoped he’d clear up the misunderstanding, but he did not. He only confirmed them. 

‘Yes, I’m afraid what Ser Harrold wrote to you is true. It pains me to write this to you. You have made a strong effort for our marriage, but I do not feel the same. I have tried to love you, Y/N. You are a witty, clever, honorable woman, and any man would be lucky to have you. I tried to find some semblance of love for you, and I have, but not in the way you’d hoped. I love Alys. She understands me. She cares for me in a way no other woman has-”

You pushed the memory from your mind. The tears stung in your throat every time you thought about it. 

And it angered you. 

This unfaithfulness shamed your family, his family, and you. Most importantly, you. You and Aemond did not know each other well. Your wedding happened days before he set off to fight in The Riverlands. Yet, you’d believed your short courtship to be pleasant; the beginning of a blossoming romance, you’d thought. When he arrived at Storm's End on Vhagar, intimidating and mysterious, you'd been the most eager of your sisters to wed him. You didn't mind his sapphire eye, his steely stare or soft spoken voice. You liked it. When he chose you out of your sisters, you bordered between anxiousness and excitement. You recalled your heart hammering in your chest when he first spoke to you. You both stood off to the side during a feast, talking low in shadows where you’d have privacy. Nothing inappropriate happened, but you’d hoped the close proximity and slight intimacy might arouse desire in him. He didn’t seem bothered that you weren't the prettiest of your sisters, nor the skinniest. You both talked cordially, and he even laughed at your dumb jokes. Things could have been nice. It could have been good. You’d be a fool to wish for a fairy tale romance, but you’d wanted a genuine connection, at the very least. 

He didn't appear to feel the same. 

You hurled the letter into the nearby fire, watching the parchment curl and blacken in the flames. Images of Aemond holding some sultry, seductive, petite, woman flashed through your mind. You saw him kissing her. You saw him declaring his love for her, and having children with her. She must be special if Aemond Targaryen forsake his wedding vows for her. Hot tears blurred your eyes. What is worse is that you will be blamed for his indiscretion. Everyone will point at you and say nasty things: you're not pretty enough to tempt him or you're not worthy enough to be bedded by a prince or you're barren and therefore useless to anyone. Your worth in the world is decided by men, and they'll decide that you are the problem. Visions of your father, disappointed and shaking his head crossed your mind. It made you weep harder. You couldn’t help hating the woman you saw in the mirror.. 

Because your wide hips, pudgy stomach, thick thighs and arms made you stand out from your sisters, who are all tall and slim. You knew it worked against you with suitors, and you’re often a joke at court, but you take it in stride. You don’t give the laughter any satisfaction, and you used your wits to get your revenge. Having handsome, strong, tall Prince Aemond on your arm made you feel special; you felt being his wife meant you weren’t so ugly after all. Yet, now reading that Aemond entangled himself with another woman, made you rethink that entire narrative. He’d picked you because your father constantly pushed you on him, and he needed an alliance with House Baratheon. At least if he was unfaithful, people wouldn’t question why. 

Aemond is allowed to cavort around with however many women he likes. You, on the other hand, are not afforded the same privilege. Should the roles be reversed, you'd be vilified. You could not stand the unfairness. Aemond could have his fun, but not you? He was allowed to break his vows, but not you? When you’d been the dutiful wife, waiting for his return and to begin a true marriage? No. You won't let him get away with it. You'd show him. You'd show him that just because he doesn’t find you attractive doesn’t mean others don’t. And you knew exactly how to hurt that inflated ego of his. 

"Ada," you called to your handmaiden, wiping your cheeks and standing straight, "Fetch me a bath. Sprinkle some jasmine in there. I do love the scent.” 

Ada and another handmaiden briskly acquired a hot bath, the water smelling of fine jasmine flowers and soothing to your skin. You ran the same oil through your hair, letting it loose instead of in the usual braids. You’d remembered what Aegon told you about jasmine flowers. He’d told you, lips inches from your ear, that it made you smell divine. He’d lewdly noted the scent alone, and knowing it came from you, aroused him immediately. At the time, you’d scoffed, rolled your eyes, and walked away from him, but the words lingered in your mind. Aemond never said things like that to you. Not even on your wedding night, when he’d made his first attempt at bedding you. 

Thinking on that night now, you understood why he had trouble getting it hard. It made you angrier. If he thought your body disgusting, he could have said it instead of lying and saying he’d drunk too much. 

Aegon’s suggestive, highly inappropriate comments did not stop at your wedding feast. Whenever within close range of you, the new king felt compelled to engage with you. He’d look over you with lustful, seductive violet eyes, and whisper something obscene in your ear. 

‘I’d give up my crown if it meant I could spend a night buried between those luscious thighs of yours.’

‘My bed is quite cold these days. You’re more than welcome to warm it for me. Naked, preferably.’ 

‘I swear The Maiden really does live in your sighs. Let me praise her by making you sigh with my tongue.’

The comments once made your skin crawl and your stomach lurch. You thought it was incredibly disrespectful of him to flirt with his brother’s wife. Yet, as time went on and then Aemond left, those words haunted you some nights. You did once imagine the licentious, depraved, silver-haired man ripping your dress and having his way with you. You once hoped he might give into those desires and take you like a desperate, feral demon. You used to feel guilty having these thoughts, considering these things, because you were married. You had a husband whom you liked, and wanted to be closer to. Aemond showed some interest in you, so you’d hoped to make things work between you both. Reading Ser Harrold’s letter, and reading Aemond’s, you realized that was all a lie. 

During your bath you pictured Aemond. You saw him in bed now with that woman, caressing and kissing her while you waited for him here at home. Your blood boiled thinking about it. He might be buried inside her at this moment. He might be spilling his seed into her; the same seed he'd spilled into you on your wedding night. It didn't take root there, but that didn't matter. Not now. Not after what you're about to do. 

Or rather who. 

Your handmaidens dressed you in a nightgown of baby blue silk and sheer fabric. Its plunging neckline revealed some of your chest, and the silk belt cinched your waistline. The robe you wore covered most of you, but when left loosely tied, the opening gradually parted in every step. An outfit made for getting Aegon Targaryen's attention. You dismissed your handmaidens for the night, waiting for them to leave before lighting a candle. Holding it by the base, you carefully snuck out of your bed chambers and down the hall. After becoming King, Aegon moved into his father’s old bed chamber. You thought it might be disrespectful, considering the sickly king had died there, but Aegon did not mind. Perhaps in some way, he sees bedding whores in his father’s bed as a slight to him. You slowly walked through the hallways of the holdfast, not coming across a single soul until you reached Aegon’s bedroom door. Ser Erryck stood outside, manning his post stiffly in his white Kingsguard cloak and gold armor. 

“Evening, Ser Erryck,” you said, “I’ve come to see His Grace. It’s an important matter.”

“Evening, my lady,” he bowed. “Forgive me, but The King requested not to be bothered after hours.”

“I understand, but I just received word from my husband, Prince Aemond, and it simply cannot wait until morning.”

“Yes, my lady.” 

He opened the door to the chambers, and spoke into the room, “The Lady Y/N Targaryen, Your Grace.”

Aegon sat slumped in a chair by the fire, gazing into the flames and downing the last of his wine cup. He looked over to Ser Erryck first, about to scold him for interrupting, before his eyes landed on you. Violet eyes stared down your body, no doubt taking in the provocative outfit you’d chosen. He put his wine cup aside, and straightened up in his seat. Wearing a nightshirt, you could see the pale body underneath through the loose neckline. Aegon did not have his brother’s strong, lean body. He appeared softer in features and muscles. You liked it. You did not feel so inferior next to Aegon. Your cheeks burned when you spotted the intrigue growing in his eyes. Especially when your robe opened oh-so slightly to show the sheer fabric underneath.

“Thank you, Ser Erryck,” Aegon nodded, “You may go.”

“As you wish, My King.”

“Good evening, Your Grace,” you said softly as Ser Erryck closed the door. “I hope you have been well.”

“It’d been a rather dreary night until you appeared,” he said, allowing you to enter the room. "Wine?” he asked, nodding to the pitcher and wine glass next to him. 

“No, thank you, Your Grace,” you shook your head, coming closer and standing in front of him. The light behind you caught in your gown, showing off the curves the robe hid. “I’m afraid wine is not the reason I’m here tonight.”

“Then what is the reason for this late visit?” he asked, turning his ring around on his pinky finger thoughtfully. His eyes left your face and scanned down your body again. “Has your husband written to you?”

“I’m afraid not,” you stepped closer, the robe opening completely once you reached him. “He’s fighting in The Riverlands. I doubt he has time for me these days.”

“What a shame that is,” he said, staring at the cleavage your dress revealed. “Were I him, I would’ve taken you with me. A beauty like you shouldn’t be out of her husband’s sight for too long. Who knows what might happen when he isn’t around?”

“Perhaps we should find out, Your Grace.”

You let the robe fall from your shoulders to the ground. Aegon’s jaw dropped. Aemond never gazed at you this way when you’d offered yourself to him. He merely nodded and bid you forward. Aegon stayed glued to your body. “What did he do?” he smirked knowingly.

“Your Grace?”

“Up until this moment you’ve spurned my advances,” he said, standing from his chair. “I’ve offered myself to you multiple times, and each time you rejected me. You’ve been quite adamant that you are a married woman who will remain faithful to your husband even outside of his presence. Despite my brother showing no interest in you beyond his marital duties, you’ve stayed faithful.” He approached you, eyes now meeting yours. “He must’ve done something to bring you here so late at night, nearly naked and mouth watering.”

You never expected him to question it. You’d imagined him simply diving into it, grabbing you and kissing you hungrily. Instead, he stood sneering with amusement in his eyes. Were his advances merely jests at your expense? Was it a humiliating mistake to come here? The Seven would punish you in such a way. You’re far from their favorite devotee. “Ser Harrold wrote to me,” you admitted, “And told me that Aemond has been bedding another woman. She’s a servant woman at Harrenhal. I didn’t want to believe it, but then I asked Aemond and he…”

“And so instead of simply taking it, you���ve come to his brother’s chambers in the middle of the night as some sort of revenge act?” he guessed. He snorted, “Baratheon pride really isn’t a myth, then.”

“I have been nothing but faithful to him,” you snapped. “I’ve tried connecting with him. I tried being the good wife who loves and cherishes her husband. I only expected him to at least respect our vows rather than forsake them for some bastard whore.” The words spewed from you quickly, and it was hard to contain them.

Aegon snorted at your sudden outburst. “I’m surprised,” he said, “I didn’t think my brother had it in him. Though, this might be the only time I’m disappointed in him.” He closed the gap to inches, his eyes looking over your features as he said, “If you were my wife, I’d never want another woman again.”

“Huh, that’s quite difficult to believe.”

“Alright, alright,” he admitted, “I’d probably ogle or mentally fondle other women, but I’d never bed them…” you gasped when he wrapped an arm around you, and pressed you to him. “Not when my wife is a soft, luscious, curved beauty created by The Maiden herself just for me. I’ll confess I’m quite jealous of Aemond,” he toyed with the belt at your waist, warm fingers brushing your skin. “While I was wallowing in grief up here, he was in your bed enjoying the best parts of you.”

“Wallowing in grief, Your Grace?” you laughed at his choice of words.

“Grieving over the fact I was married to my sister and not you.”

You knew it was all bedroom flattery. He most likely did not mean a word of it, but you didn’t care. “I imagine you miss her company greatly,” you said, remembering Queen Helaena and her tragic death. 

“I do. We didn’t have much in common, but she was my sister,” he sighed. “But, the Gods might take things away from us…to only put even better things in our paths.”

“Such as?” you giggled. 

“Taking my wife and bringing my sister-in-law into my arms instead.” He traced the neckline of your gown, and you shuddered. “I will warn you, my lady,” he whispered between you, leaning into you, “Once I’ve had you, I’m not going to stop. My mother claims I have a rather addictive personality.”

“I can see what she means,” you replied softly, meeting him in the middle, “But perhaps I should see it for myself?”

Aegon gave another grin before finally kissing you. The taste of strongwine filled your mouth, the freshness touching your tongue as he slid inside. Aemond usually kept it stiff and chaste. Aegon easily sunk into his desires, holding you by the hips and deeply kissing you. It wasn’t unenjoyable. You liked how his soft lips pecked yours in between deep kisses; how his breath dampened your skin and tongue batted with yours with passion. Not too sloppy or sticky. You could feel his desire for you behind every kiss. It was as if he were putting it to memory, in case you should pull away and change your mind. Your hands on his shoulders, you gripped them softly and felt around to the nape of his neck. He’d bathed tonight. You could smell it on him, and inhaled it all. Fingers sliding into his silver waves and curls, you gave the roots a light tug to encourage him further.

“To my bed,” he muttered, pink lips darker from the hungry kisses. “If I’m to bed you, it’ll be somewhere comfortable and spacious.”

“Spacious?”

“So I may have you however I like,” he replied, kissing you deeply once more.

Guiding you to the large bed beside the solar, he untied your belt and casted it aside. You lifted his night shirt off his body, revealing his nakedness underneath. As you’d imagined, his overindulgence in food and wine left Aegon softer than his hardworking brother. His muscles are not as defined as Aemond’s, yet you still saw them in the natural lines of his body. You liked it. Removing your nightgown in a fluid motion, he pushed you to the bed and gazed down at you. You looked away shyly for a moment. Nobody ever stared at you how Aegon did right now. Not even Aemond. With your husband, it was often in semi-darkness where he did not have to look at you. Aegon soaked in your figure in the dim lighting from the fireplace and from the open window nearby. You noticed his cock twitch between his legs, and felt your sex immediately pulse. 

You jumped at the sudden touch of his hands on your knees, keeping them spread so you’re fully exposed to him. Feeling so vulnerable to your husband’s brother excited you more than worried you. Aegon stared down at your center, licking his lips, before looking up to your breasts. You gazed at him in return. You saw his torso, his narrow hips and soft thighs; his cock was bigger than you’d expected. You often joked he must have a small cock if he has to pay for sex, but it appeared the opposite. You bit your lower lip imagining it inside you. Aemond had a nice one too, definitely worth it, but he seemed to want it elsewhere instead of in you.

“Are you only going to stare?” you asked in a giggle.

“Forgive me,” he breathed, hands running down your thighs to your hips. He gave them a gentle squeeze that made you shudder. “I have longed for this moment for ages,” he said, “I want to savor every moment before the night is done.”

His hands left your thighs for your stomach, his body leaning forward as he felt up your body. He stopped at your breasts, and your clit throbbed again. You watched Aegon cup both breasts delicately, taking in their suppleness and hardening nipples. The pads of his thumbs rolled over the center of each nipple, causing you to shiver from the small spark of pleasure. His eyes locked with yours as he kissed one of them, pleased with your reaction he did the same to the other. Gripping one of them to pinch your nipple, he licked a small strip up the opposite side. The tip of his tongue slowly swirled around it before finally his lips sucking on it gently. The sensations traveled down your body to your center, which started to dampen from his touch. He repeated the action again, letting the flat of his tongue cup it before he sucked. He then kissed his way to the other side, doing the same there until you whimpered. His pinching fingers rolled your nipples between his thumb and forefinger. He kissed all around your breasts. He occasionally nibbled on the flesh to hear you whimper from the action. 

“Oh, those sweet little moans,” he mumbled, dotting kisses up your chest to your neck. He let his weight settle on top of you, his warm cock pressing to your pussy. “I could listen to you whimper and moan forever.”

“Aegon,” you gasped when he grinded his hips into you.

“Say my name again,” he whispered in your ear, “Say it just like that.”

He continued grinding into you, and you continued muttering his name. His shaft pressed against your soaked sex, using your juices to slicken himself. Aegon kept you close as he kissed you again. Mixtures of mumbles and moans filled the space in the bed. He continued groping your breasts and rubbing your nipples since you’d given away your pleasure at it. Aemond was nothing compared to this; he never pleasured you this way. He’d done the bare minimum to finish the job. Aegon spent ages kissing and caressing your body. Your excitement built up when he started going downwards. He did not skip over anything. He pressed his lips to the rolls of your stomach, and wide hips. He lingered at your inner thighs, biting and kissing each side as he continued smoothing his hands over you. Your arousal grew feeling his mouth move closer to your core. You’d never had anyone there before. Aemond only touched there. So, when Aegon briefly kissed the velvety folds of your sex, it was entirely unknown to you.

He was not hasty. Aegon kept the pace slow as he kissed up and down the slit of your opening. He let his tongue naturally spread the lips over time, simply sliding on them until your body let him in. You kept your grip on the bed as each lick made you want even more of him. Soon, Aegon spread your legs further apart, hands underneath your thighs and mouth cupping your hardened clit. You could feel exactly where his tongue was, sliding around the hood and underside in gentle swirls and flicks on your pussy. His growls and groans vibrated against you lightly, and you bit your bottom lip when he did it particularly hard. Your back arched up from the bed when he quickly lapped his tongue across your clit and had your eyes falling shut to soak in the sensations. He went deeper into your center as he poked his tongue inside you. You buried your hands into his hair to keep him there and let you grind into his face. Aegon did not protest, staying still to let you enjoy his tongue. Aemond was nothing like this. Not at all. You could become quite addicted to it.

“I’m going to guess my brother’s never tasted you before?” he could see him smirking as he rapidly swiped your pussy folds. 

“No,” you breathed. “Not once.”

“What a shame,” he said, using his thumbs to spread your lips and attack your clit directly. “I’m certainly enjoying your sweet taste. I cannot get enough.” When you brought him back onto you, he chuckled, “And it seems you cannot either.”

“It feels so good.”

To be honest, you thought he’d be terrible. The quality of the sex had not entirely mattered to you; the act alone would’ve been enough for you. But, you were pleasantly surprised. Eventually, he went back up your body, his hand replacing his tongue and focusing on your wet pussy. He kissed you deeply once more, and you whimpered into it.

“I could do this all night,” he muttered, slipping two fingers against your entrance. Your hole fluttered at their touch as if it needed to be filled by them. “Should I, my lady? Should we lay here like this? My hand and mouth on your sweet cunt while you lay on the verge of an orgasm the rest of the evening?” He pressed the fingertips to your entrance once more, and let his thumb brush on your sensitive clit. “It’s a very tempting thought.”

“Aegon, please…”

“Please what?”

“Put them inside me,” you begged. You grind your hips to his hand, “Please, fill me and make me cum. Please.”

He groaned at your pleas, whirling his thumb and making you moan loudly. “Keep begging,” he grunted, continuing the torturous action. “I want to hear my brother’s gorgeous wife begging for me and my fingers.”

“Fuck, Aegon, enough with the games,” you pleaded. “You’ve always wanted me. Now you have me, and you won’t fuck me into your mattress?”

“Oh, I certainly will,” he kissed your nipple, adding to the pleasure burning in your loins. “But, I’m going to make you beg first.”

You whined feeling his fingers continue circling your pussy. You clung onto him as the teasing went further, gripping his shoulders until your nails dug into his skin. This only amused him. Aegon kissed you whenever you became too loud, and stopped his teasing whenever he sensed an orgasm. You worried he might actually do this the entire night; he might never let you finish or push his fingers inside you.

“Aegon, please,” you moaned, “Please, put them inside me. I want to cum all over them; I want you to do things to me that your brother could never do. I need it so badly. I’ve wanted it. Please.”

He chuckled, “That’s what I like to hear.”

“He doesn’t make me feel like this. He could never make me feel like this,” you whined. “Please, Aegon. Fuck me. Fuck me how you’ve promised every time you approached me.”

At this, he finally sunk his fingers inside you. Both middle and ring fingers slipped fully into you; his palm pressed up to your clit, pushing and tapping on it while he fingered you. It sent you into an entirely new wave of euphoria. You held onto him as his fingers found a spot that made you squeal into his shoulder. Soon, your entire body trembled and shook underneath him. Aegon withdrew his fingers right as your orgasm arrived, and quickly sheathed his cock all the way. Having him stretching and stuffing you so easily elevated your orgasm. Aegon did not start off slow. He was not gentle or soft, which you loved. Pinning your wrists to your chest, he slammed his hips into yours over and over as you rode out your climax. Your entire body constricted, and you became numb to every sensation around you. 

“Oh, I’m not done with you yet,” Aegon panted as you finally came down from your high. “Not at all.”

Despite the satisfaction, you wanted more. It’d been so long since anyone touched you at all, let alone like this. You scooted further up the bed so Aegon could kneel between your thighs. Lifting your legs to one shoulder and holding you by the knees, Aegon slipped his cock between your squished thighs. You moaned at the thick shaft sliding over your stimulated pussy steadily. It split open your folds once more and the thick vein underneath grazed your clitoris each time. The stickiness spread all over your inner thighs and made a faint squelching sound in every thrust. The obscene sounds aroused you further. Aegon showed his appreciation for your thighs by gripping and grabbing handfuls and holding onto them. His head fell backwards in pleasure, huffing and whimpering pathetically at his rutting. You purposefully squeezed your thighs around him, crossing your ankles over his shoulder to keep him locked inside them. Aegon reached forward to grope your breasts again. It was like a teenager humping a pillow. 

“Do you only plan to stuff yourself between my thighs?” you chuckled breathily. 

“I couldn’t resist the temptation,” he laughed in a moan. “I love them. I wish you’d walk around naked simply so I may see them whenever I please.”

“You’re The King, Your Grace,” you said in a sultry tone. “You’re allowed to see whatever it is you want to see.”

“And now I want to see your ass. Flip over. Now.”

You did as told, and rolled over. Ass up in the air, face in the messy tangle of sheets, you couldn’t help pushing your hips towards him. A sharp smack to one buttock made you yelp and then giggle from the naughtiness of it all. Aegon spanked your bottom a few more times as he slipped himself back inside you. Keeping you down to the bed with one hand, he smacked both sides of your ass and occasionally your pussy. The light stinging didn’t distract from your new flow of arousal at all. It added onto it. Once your bottom burned from the repeated smacks, Aegon shoved himself back into you. You both groaned in relief, your bodies finally connected again. Hands grabbing onto your hips, Aegon bottomed up into you over and over. His tip brushing your insides again made your eyes roll back. You never thought it’d be this good. You wanted him to keep going even if he stopped. This time, he started gradually though you wished he’d keep the same flow as before. He kept a gentle pace in every thrust, and it drove you nearly feral. 

“Aegon,” you whimpered, pushing into his hips so your bodies smacked together, “Fuck me. Please, fuck me.” 

“Fuck you, eh?” he chuckled, planting himself firmly behind you as he said it. Soon, he began pounding you, making your body jiggle and ripple in every thrust. “Is this what you want? Huh? Is that how you want it?”

“Yes, yes, yes.”

You were positive that poor Ser Erryck must hear you from outside. Good. You wanted him to hear it, so then he tells everyone what he heard. Aegon kept the fast pace for as long as his body allowed, occasionally stopping for a breath before continuing. You never wanted him to stop. Soon, your next climax came burning hot inside you. It shot up through you, squeezing your eyes tight and clenching your jaw as you grunted. 

Hearing Aegon’s heavy breaths, his sporadic thrusting told you he was near. You helped him ride through it by bouncing in time with him. Despite the burning in your thighs, knees, and arms, you kept going until you felt him grip you tighter than before. Hot cum shot over your walls as Aegon finally finished within you. He kept himself buried to the hilt, whining and whimpering your name. The logical side of you knew this was wrong, but the pleasure outweighed sense. 

Aegon rested on top of you, arms around your waist and lips pecking your shoulder. You both laid there for a moment to collect yourselves before Aegon slid off you. In the glow of your orgasm, you couldn’t find it in you to feel any shame. You turned your head to see Aegon beside you. Sweaty, panting, with flushed cheeks, it was an image you could get used to. He felt you staring at him, and looked over at you. 

“Is it what you hoped for?” you asked him. 

“So much more than what I hoped for,” he laughed in a breath. “So much more. My brother is a lucky man.” 

“If he cared about that, anyways.”

“Well, if my brother won’t satisfy his wife,” Aegon rolled onto his side and pecked your lips, “It looks like I’ll have to step in for him.” 

“I certainly don't object to it.”

He smiled and kissed you once more. You stayed in Aegon’s bed that night. You knew word will carry around the keep eventually, and you hoped it did. People knew about Aemond and his servant woman. People will know about you and The King. You hoped Aemond heard about it, and was as hurt by it as you’d been. He cannot shame you and not expect you to do anything about it. 

You rested in Aegon’s arms with the knowledge that at least someone desires you, even if it is Aegon. 

[transformers-mosaic]

Transformers: Beast Wars - Second Chances - Page 2

Originally posted on February 2nd, 2011

Story - Curt Lunsford Pencils - Ryan Miller Inks - Jake Isenberg Colours - Ray Fromme Letters - HdE

deviantART

wada sez: Starscream’s ghost returned in the Beast Wars episode “Possession”; here, he’s back again, and he finds the dead body of Terrorsaur, who was last seen turning into a Transmetal as he fell into lava inside the Darksyde in “Aftermath”. Terrosaur’s actual toyline-only Transmetal toy is used for the character’s design. In case you didn’t know, Ryan Miller is prominent fanartist TGPing, who achieved popularity in recent years with his stunning watercolors of Beast Wars characters and toy-accurate G1 characters, and managed to sneak in a couple of covers for IDW before they closed up shop. His work here reflects his toy-accurate approach, as Starscream has been drawn specifically as his Masterpiece body for some reason. This was originally going to be Page 7 of the comic, but was bumped up earlier; according to a later comment by Shaun Flaherty: “Starscream's Page 2 originally occurred much later, but as we assembled the pages, it seemed to interrupt the natural flow of the "Beast Wars" characters' stories, so we sort of squeezed it in near the beginning. I feel comfortable with the idea that he's watching the events unfold along with the audience until an opportunity presents itself for him to intervene on his own behalf, but it is a long time between when the seed is planted and its payoff.” See the original script below, as well as Curt’s “Writer Spotlight”.

Second Chances Page 7

Panel One

(Shot of a twinkle in space.  This doesn‘t have to be very large)

TEXT BOX:  Maximals…

TEXT BOX:  Predacons…

Panel Two

(Shot of a grey and red blur flying toward the Predacons ruined base/ship.  This also doesn‘t need to be that large)

TEXT BOX:  Tremble in fear…

Panel Three

(Reveal of Ghost Starscream, screaming out loud above the ruined Predacon base/ship in a triumphant pose.  Starscream‘s spark is pulsating and clearly visible inside of his chest)

Starscream:  Starscream has returned!!!!

TEXT BOX(Lower right hand corner):  …

TEXT BOX(Lower right hand corner):  Where is everyone?!

Panel Fopr

(Shot of Transmetal Terrorsaur‘s arm, “encased“ in cooled lava.  It’s grasping toward the air, very similar to what we saw when Terrosaur was going into the lava during the episode “Aftermath”.  Starscream can be seen hovering in the air above)

TEXT BOX:  Hmm, what’s that?

Panel Five

(Shot of Ghost Starscream entering into the ground around the arm.)

TEXT BOX:  Looks like someone forgot one of their toys.

Panel Six

(Shot of Transmetal Terrorsaur “clawing” out of the ground.  It should be done in a way that the reader doesn’t quite know exactly what it is yet)

SOUND EFFECT:  Crrrack…

TEXT BOX:  Huh, seems a little broken…

Panel Seven

(Reveal of Trasnmetal Terrorsaur,   He’s in a “cool” pose, but is very heavily damaged, maybe even blackened somewhat.  Somewhere near his feet we can see the remains of McDonald’s Transmetal Scorponok if the artist wishes)

Starscream:  …but that doesn’t mean it won’t be fun to play with!

Beast Wars.  I think for me, it’s the series that sort of kept the Transformer spark in me alive.  However, it’s also kind of a weird series, as I keep it segregated in my mind from the rest of my Transformers.  Allow me to explain: Being born in ‘85, by the time I was old enough to remember, Transformers was off the air.  But there was the semi-local video store, hand-me-down and a few new Transformer toys, some G1 episodes of my own, various “Action Cards”, and a very cool big brother to help fill in my imagination.  So even though I didn’t get to see G1 firsthand, I can honestly say that Transformers was definitely a part of my early childhood. But, in hindsight, I’d say Beast Wars played a very integral part in keeping me with Transformers.  Ya see, I didn’t have cable/satellite until I was 12.  Therefore, my knowledge of G2 was sketchy at best, and I only got a whole nine figures from the line when I was a kid, all Decepticons oddly enough.  However, my awesome big brother was in college at this time, and he came home on the weekends, and he usually brought me home a tape of cartoons I couldn’t see otherwise.  It was through this method that I saw that unforgettable commercial... “In the beginning, there was the beast.  But it’s more than meets the eye, it’s a robot in disguise!”  I saw it, and said to myself “Hey, Transformers, cool!”  So I watched the commercial a few times, and immediately wanted Dinobot.  However, he wasn’t first Beastformer, that honor goes to McDonald’s Manta Ray.  It took a little while for my brother to find out when Beast Wars was airing and start taping me episodes, but in the meantime I again took up renting G1 episodes from the library and getting a few Beast Wars figures in the process.  Because of this, I was mystified the first time I laid eyes on Gorilla Optimus Primal and T-Rex Megatron.  “That doesn’t make sense, they’re supposed to be a bat and a crocodile!” When I finally did get to see some select, mostly first season episodes of Beast Wars, I immediately recognized it as a good show.  As I learned the characters, I collected a few more figures, though not too many.  Years later I realized that, barring Snapper and the McBeasts, all the characters I got when I was “a  kid” were from the show!  Of course, oddly enough, I always kept my Beast Wars in a box by themselves.  Once in awhile they’d have adventures with my other Transformers, Super Heroes, G.I. Joes, etc., but for the most part they stayed separate. Anyway, even though I got satellite in ‘97, it wasn’t until around ‘99 that I finally got to see Beast Wars in it’s entirety when FOX re-aired the series.  If I recall correctly, I watched it every day it was on, and loved every episode. Time went by.  I watched the first season of Beast Machines, but wasn’t really impressed at the time.  The DreamWave comics came out, Rhino released certain episodes of G1.  This, and a very cool bootleg lot containing all G1 and CG Beast Wars/Machines episodes my brother bought, firmly cemented me into the realm of the Transformers.  I was here to stay. But what does that have to do with Beast Wars?  Well, in that lot there was a “commercial” tape that had various commercials and U.S./Japanese intros to nearly every Transformers series at the time (up to Car Robots).  It was through this that I learned about Beast Wars II and Neo.  I was intrigued.  Suddenly I wanted to know more about those characters and that Universe.  Well, for a long time that was my only knowledge.  When I finally got the Internet, I looked into Beast Wars II and Neo, though I’ve yet to see either of those series with the exception of a couple fan-dubbed episodes and the BWII Movie on YouTube.  But I did learn about all these cool non-show Beast Wars characters, and I wanted more. So for the longest time, I kinda ignored the Beast Wars CG series.  In my mind, it was done, and everything about those characters had been told.  I eagerly awaited the DreamWave Beast Wars series once I saw it would star non-show characters (though we all know what happened there), and I loved IDW’s “The Gathering”.  But I still had little interest in the original Mainframe Beast Wars cast.  I’d seen the show through a few times by this time, and the show had lost some of it’s original luster.  The Beast Era was over, it was all about G1 homages.  Therefore, when new Beast Wars material surfaced, I was more interested in new Beast Wars exploits, with new non-show characters. Then I received the invite to join what would become BEAST WARS: Second Chances.  I, of course, wanted in on writing the story because, heck, Mosaic is a really fun project and I’d been itching to co-write something.  So I took another look at the series.  When we got into the nuts and bolts of things, I started to realize again why I liked those characters to begin with and I looked at the Beast Wars show in a new light.  It was still good, but I started to see things I hadn’t seen before.  There were aspects of characters that could still be explored and stories yet to be told.  The magic is back and now I look forward to hunting down figures from the show I never got.  Surprisingly, Dinobot II is among them (you’ll all find out why soon enough). So all in all, I’d say Beast Wars is kind of a weird area for me.  I don’t know if I’ll ever be as enamored with it as much as G1 or Animated, but Second Chances has certainly rekindled my love for the series as a whole. -- Curt Lunsford

[bearsinpotatosacks]

Callsign for Phoenix please

Thanks for the ask! Also, I headcanon Rooster as a loud drunk, hence all the exclamation marks when he speaks in this. I'd say this is when they're in basic flight training in Pensacola, Florida as they don't all have their callsigns yet.

-----

Natasha lay on the floor. She was at that point of the night where the room was spinning. Music was still pounding from somewhere but it sounded so far away. Her head was going to hurt tomorrow, she just knew it. Not that they had anything to do tomorrow, she was starting to love Sundays, especially with her not being religious, she didn’t have to get up before dawn for once. 

Fuck this was too much thinking. She needed another drink. 

As she sat up, the walls began to jump and repeat on her. Her feet didn’t seem to be walking yet she was moving. Maybe mixing her drinks wasn't the best idea. Then again, Hangman made the best cocktails, not that she'd ever tell him that.

“Nat!” Bradley, recently coined Rooster for his habit of waking up even earlier than they needed to, called to her. “Come here, we're doing shots!”

She wasn’t going to say no to shots. When she found out where his voice was coming from, though, she saw that the shots were on fire. Was that meant to happen?

“You ever done flaming sambuca shots, Nat?” Javy asked her, that sly smile on his face. 

“Yes.” She lied. She couldn’t have her stern reputation be ruined because she was drunk.

“Oh really?” He said.

“Of course,” she crossed her arms.

He picked up one of the shots. “Do one then?”

“Why do I need to prove it to you?”

“Because you're too chicken?” He then looked at Rooster. “Sorry Bradley.”

“I'm no chicken.” 

She took the shot as he handed it to her. One benefit of being drunk was that she wasn’t as scared as she probably should've been. So throwing back the shot was relatively easy.

After slamming the shot glass back on the table, she didn’t get the reaction she wanted. Actually, everyone looked horrified. 

“What?” She said. 

“You're on fire, you're on fucking fire!” Rooster ran to get a towel to try and smother the flames out. 

She looked down as her left arm. “Oh. Shit.”

“Who's on fire?” Hangman re-entered the scene. 

“Nat!” Coyote pulled on his arm, pointing at her as the flames flickered in his eyes. 

“Here!” Rooster came back and began to rapidly smack the flames with the tea towel. She hoped whoever house this was didn’t care. 

Once the flames were out, a small crowd had formed around them. Her sleeve was now suitably blackened from the fire, pieces were floating off they were so crisp. 

“Shit, did you even care?” Coyote said. “You were on fire and you didn't even care!”

“I'm just that cool.”

“More like hot,” Hangman did his usual wink. “Like a phoenix or something.”

She went to roll her eyes when Rooster shook her non burnt arm. “Phoenix, that's a good callsign!”

“Phoenix, really?” She looked at the charred remains of her favourite jumper. “I'm going to reminded of tonight for the rest of my career?”

“That's what callsigns are for,” Hangman handed a glass of something that wasn't on fire to her. Raising a toast, the crowd joined in. “Here's to Phoenix!”

“Phoenix!” The crowd cried. 

She took a sip of her drink. “Phoenix.” She whispered.

----

From my top gun prompt list

[loosesodamarble]

Welcome to the Black Bird Part 13: Vincent's Appraisal

Summary: Introducing Klaus as Vincent, the head coffee barista of the Black Bird's kitchen team. Genre: general Word count: 800 A/N: Klaus's art for the series was commissioned from @crazycookiemaniac.

..........

A file was slapped onto Klaus’s desk without warning before a sharp “What the hell is this?” was asked. Klaus looked up to see his father, Lawrence, giving him a steely glare. His eyes darted to the manila folder. Taking another glance at Lawrence, Klaus got the impression he was meant to check the contents. So he opened it.

“Ah.” Klaus immediately recognized the document by the first sentence. “Those are my recent reviews to be considered for publication.”

“Then I’m rejecting them right now!” Lawrence snapped. “It’s all shallow garbage that doesn’t say anything meaningful!”

“Bwah!” Klaus shot up to his feet. “But I thoroughly explained how each business failed to perform to the standards of—”

Lawrence groaned, “Klaus, my boy… It’s not like there’s some formula for a perfect restaurant.” Klaus raised an eyebrow at his dad’s remark. “You’re overlooking the humanity that goes into those businesses. And that means things won’t be perfect.”

“Am I expected to ignore long wait times or inconsiderate staff?” Klaus questioned, not following Lawrence’s thoughts.

“Klaus…” Lawrence grimaced and rubbed his temples. “You gotta…” His head shot up. “You outta work somewhere and learn what it’s like behind the scenes!” Lawrence clapped a hand on Klaus’s—who’d entered a stupor—shoulder. “That’ll get you off your high horse and teach you to respect the working class.” He pulled Klaus from the desk. “C’mon, I’ve even got a friend who’ll help you get into a place.”

“B-b-but wait!” Klaus squawked, having come to his senses. “What would I even do?!”

…..

“Is the Fondue Pasta for Table #3 ready?”

The kitchen was loud but that question rang prominently to Klaus.

“Uh! No!” Klaus yelped back as he stared at his mistake. Blackened cheese sat atop a serving of pasta, with burnt specks also on the noodles and burnt smell rising from it. “Something went wrong!” Again. I’m really not meant to be a chef. “Can someone else take ov—”

“No way!” The head chef snapped from his place at the front of the kitchen. “You’re gonna be the one to start it over, Vincent. But first, go out there and let the table know why they’ll be waiting longer.” He gestured to the door leading to the dining area.

Klaus meekly complied and shuffled out, making his way to Table #3. He held his head up with as much pride as he could muster, not that it was much after his failure. His stomach dropped when his eyes saw who was at the table: his dad. Of all people to have to face…

“Sir Lunettes?” Klaus stated as he stepped up to Table #3. “I’m— Ahem… I’m Vincent, I work in the kitchen and—”

“Is there a reason why you’re out here?” Lawrence spoke in a clipped tone that made it hard for Klaus to believe the man was his father. “Something went wrong, didn’t it?”

“Well sir…” Klaus steeled himself. “I’m an inexperienced chef which caused me to mess up your order. Someone else will prepare your meal so please wait a bit longer.” He bowed at the waist. “I’m sorry.”

“Hmph.” Lawrence’s grunt made Klaus raise his head to see his father staring in a way he couldn’t read. “It’s nice that you admit your mistake but I hate leaving judgment on something incomplete.”

What was his father saying? Klaus’s work wasn’t incomplete, it ended in failure. Failure was failure and success was success. Right?

.....

Bittersweet and Decadent. The dessert was as its name implied, a dish that was indulgent to those who loved the mixing of bitter and sweet flavors. Something more could be said of it.

The dessert consisted of coffee jelly cubes over a layer of chocolate custard and topped with a generous dollop of whipped cream. In summer, the topping was ice cream. Neither the sweetness of the custard and cream nor the acidity of the coffee could overpower the other. Each was a component to a harmonious whole.

Similarly, a business like the Black Bird was a mix of its failures and successes, with the former allowing for growth into the latter. Mistakes couldn’t be avoided but instead overcome to develop a more realized final form. It was all about balance. 

Klaus unlocked his phone and opened up his father’s review of the Black Bird. Lawrence gave a full five stars. He complimented the menu that, while not cohesive, was always good. He commented that the unorthodox style of service was entertaining, like watching performers in a play. His final statement was that the beauty of the cafe came from the fact that it was still learning and growing.

Klaus had a feeling that the comment was directed to him specifically. But it was only a hunch.

[bromcommie]

MAXX! :))) hope you are well.

for the emoji fanfic ask game ;)

👀🎶🎢❌🤲✅

Sorry for so many haha, you don't need to answer them all, but I'm very curious!

Hiii thank you for the abundant ask<3

👀 Tell me about an up and coming wip please!

This might not be a particularly interesting answer but the only thing that I’ve really been trying to work on has been the structure and pacing of the next few chapters of orpheus, since I have them all mostly written but can’t get to a place where I’m really happy with them. I might be overthinking it. Unfortunately I also just haven’t had the time + energy to sit myself down and really figure it out. :( Ergo all the snippets, which is the only way I can get something out at least.

In slightly better news: I kind of have the next two installments in the I clawed my way into the light series finished?? Sam and Steve and their collective and individual issues are finally getting their moment in the strange, poetry-question-mark spotlight!

However I’ve got some intense life stuff coming up so it might be a month or so until I post any of the aforementioned in full 😭

🎶 Do you listen to music while you write? What song have you been playing on loop lately?

I usually do, and I have unhealthily elaborate playlists for all the characters + some fic-specific ones, but recently I’ve found listening to anything with distinct words in it messes with my concentration. But in terms of what’s being playing on loop: Dorma and to a lesser extent Marionette by Keaton Henson (all of his instrumentals are *chefs kiss* but in general I’ve just been having a Keaton renaissance when it comes to stevebucky. Welcome back 2016 I guess)

❌ What's a trope you will never write?

I’m a “never say never” kind of person, but… Hydra Trash Party. Which, I know, is ironic considering one of the very few fics I have up right now features Steve/Rumlow, but that one while still meant to be kinda fucked up is very much purposefully neither here nor there (and non-explicit). I just personally don’t enjoy reading HTP and it’d probably mess me up way more than I’d like to try and write. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ 

✅ What's something that appears in your fics over and over and over again, even if you don't mean to?

Answered this guy here!

🤲 Would you please share a snippet of a wip?

This is…not even a snippet, tbh, but also I don’t know when I’ll actually have the time to rework/finish this, so. Just for you, a very long Natasha-focused (plus) wip half-scene under the cut:

“Most other animals only smile when they mean to attack. Did you know that? You should never hold your hand out to a dog whose gums you can see,” Ivan’d said, dabbing at the bloody bite on her chin with a towel that smelled like a distillery, impish twist to his thick mustache. “Or a man who smiles too much, for that matter.”

Natasha only saw the dog once after that. A month later Ivan hadn’t come back to the house for a week and she went out looking the next day, winding her way out of the dead-end street and all the way up Nevsky Prospekt, looping past the crowds gathering water out of shelling holes and the hospital that was now blackened by fresh, smoldering ruins. She walked until the light on the horizon had grown tired and purple, until her legs had almost given out and she had to sit down on the icy pavement. The body of a frail old man lay face down on the ground by the side of the road across from her, his cap thrown back a few meters away and the bald top of his head unnaturally caved in, matching the bruised coloring of the sunset.

It took her a long moment to notice the dog, its bent form and the crumpled body forming a singular silhouette.

The memory is transmuted, stretched thin and faded in places – from time, for a change, she thinks, instead of just manipulation. But she still remembers her hand closed around a solid weight in her pocket, a comfort against the deafening pounding of her heart. She remembers the dog with its lifted head, its snout soaked red and sickly gums anything but bloodless for the first time. Remembers that split second of hurling the brick at it with all the might her thin body could manage.

It wasn’t a thought-out act or even self-preservation, really. The dog had been far away and otherwise preoccupied. It wouldn’t have bothered her. The reasoning was bone-deep and nauseating: she hadn’t eaten in two days, the only person who had cared for her was gone, and the sight of the blood had made her stomach growl. That brick was her only defense against a world tilted entirely off its axis.

It was a while before she fully understood what Ivan had meant by that joking addendum to an otherwise plain instruction, too cryptic for her mind to decipher at that age. It took one too many broken bones and one too many greedy hands on her body and one too many lifetimes lived unwillingly for it to fully translate.

Now, looking at Rumlow grinning that familiar killer smile and thinking he’s hit gold, it’s crystal fucking clear.

It isn’t new, really. She’s met many men like him, often enough that the novelty of exposing them has worn off: ordinary men, utterly predictable in their enjoyment of violence and small in the way of not being able to shape their fear into something more useful. Men who thought their want for power made them anything other than a soft target. Men who thought that, when the time came, they'd be above begging for their life.

It gets boring, after a while, how quickly they all learn. She should know. It’s what gave her her name, back before she decided to hang up that particular title, trade it in for an upgraded version, a cleaner image. Black Widow, Avenger! has a far better ring to it than Black Widow, assassin.

Just because you stop calling a thing something doesn’t mean it stops being it, of course. It might forget, for a while, become domesticated; but the nature is still there.

The children of the Red Room all understood that from the time they could walk. The Soldier understood that, or at least well enough that they had to keep burning it out of him.

“Shit. Is that what this is, then? Really?" Rumlow is saying, still derisive through cracked teeth, still playing a game he thinks he knows the rules to. "You got yourself a spot on the five o’clock news under Captain fucking America and suddenly you think that makes you the guy with the bigger stick? That that changes fuck all for you?”

“Oh, no. Believe you me, I tried being that guy. It didn’t end well for me. Or anyone else, really.” She inches the chair forward, the scrape of the metal loud in the empty apartment, and makes her voice drop to a conspiratorial tone. “But you wanna know what I realized? There are always going to be little men with big sticks, and most of us will never get to be them. And it turns out it doesn’t matter all that much in the end.”

“Big or little, every stick has its breaking point. Every weapon has its expiration date. You live through a regime or two, and you start to catch onto that real quick.” She cocks her head at him with a pensive expression, fingers running absent over that same old thin line under her chin by habit.

In retrospect, the dog she came to understand much quicker than the advice. Natasha had been hungry and afraid most of her life, too.

It’s not the only scar she has by far, but it carries the most straightforward memory. For years it served as a reminder, as banal as it was, of what trust was worth; of what you could do when you got your grubby little hands on it.

“I suppose they wouldn't teach you this since the shelf life of your usefulness was never meant to be all that long, but let me tell you a secret, Brock,” she continues, flipping the knife back the right way around and leaning in. Sunny side up, Yelena used to call it, wry. Drive it in far back enough, right past the optic nerve, and everything spills right out. She doesn’t miss the way Rumlow’s eyes track the motion, the whites showing just enough; the first crack in the facade. "You don't beat the guy with a big stick by getting a bigger one. You do it by making him think he's got you under his boot, you understand? That he’s got you all figured out. You beat him by making your spine less breakable than the stick.”

Here’s the other thing about trust: if you keep yourself in the business of lying to earn it, that’s all people start to expect from you. Your loyalty is immediately suspect. So is your anger. You keep yourself leashed for long enough, everything becomes a dishonest front, even to yourself.

Like anything else in life, it becomes a habit. A very useful, easy one, at that. Or at least until one day you wake up and you realize that the parts of you you were working to protect are dying out; withering. They’re forgetting their own name.

The attempt at a headbutt is predictable at best. She backhands him for it, follows up with the handle of the knife on the second strike for good measure.

“Now that wasn’t very smart, was it?” She says, admonishing. “And to think we were getting somewhere.”

“Was that sermon meant to get me to talk?” Rumlow manages after a heaving moment. There’s a long gash down his cheek that’s deepened, bleeding steadily onto his front. It paints less than a pretty picture with the swelling that’s already pinkening up, bringing the angry criss-cross of scarring over the rest of his pale face into sharp relief, but it feels strangely at home. Not that artistic vision’s ever been her strong suit. “Because if you think getting smacked around some really counts for anything other than good foreplay, you’ve really lost your touch.” He looks back up to grin at her, a useless show of fearlessness. “Hell, ask Rogers. I’m sure that’ll be an interesting conversation.”

But fuck, it’s hard work, breaking a habit. Even harder work: honesty. Graceless and inarticulate and inefficient, like the feeling boiling back up in her now as she looks at Rumlow, the bloody flash of his canines in the dark, and thinks of that paralyzing feeling on the wrong side of an OR window, the shameful horror of letting the world be spun on its axis and pulled from under her again. Thinks of Rogers with his broad shoulders curling in and in and in, the whole of him turned inside out in a deserted parking lot. Trust given and earned.

The next blow has Rumlow spitting teeth.

"Nah. Just thinking out loud." The knife stops half an inch under his eye, makes a home in the oasis of bruised yet unmarred skin.

Rumlow doesn’t flinch. For all of his talk, he still knows better. But she can see how his whole body freezes up, an uninterrupted taut line; the exact moment it registers for him, just how much of the picture he’s missing.

Volchonok, Ivan had called her for a while, in those early days. It’d never stuck like Black Widow did, never had the same marketing potential, but it’d never really stopped applying, either. Hungry and afraid and alone and willing to kill for the things that made her less so.

The name might’ve changed, the circumstances. The nature didn’t.

Natasha smiles; too many teeth, bloodless. "How much can your spine handle, do you think?"

It’s all too easy, in the end, to let the leash go.

(I’m sorry??)

[thisaintascenereviews]

I Was Wrong About Deathcore

Deathcore as a genre has gone through quite a transformation over the last 20 years, especially in its early years. Bands like Bring Me The Horizon, Veil Of Maya, All Shall Perish, Suicide Silence, Whitechapel, and Job For A Cowboy brought forth a style of metalcore that took death metal elements into the fold, creating a heavier and more menacing sound. Unfortunately, the metal community hated it, and deathcore was mocked incessantly by the metal community. I remember countless metal publications crapping all over the genre, like it was nothing, and many elitists would say it’s not “real metal,” which you also heard with metalcore, but look at how big both genres are now. In retrospect, those people that doubted the genre and mocked it, their comments haven’t aged well, because both of these genres are insanely huge. Deathcore, in particular, is doing well for itself, but it wasn’t always like that. You can say the same for metalcore as well, and I’ve got a piece in the works about that, but for now, let’s talk about deathcore, and where it’s been for the past decade and where it may potentially go in the future.

I’ve expressed before that I’m just not into the genre anymore, but I’ve recently spent some time with a handful of albums, both from bands I know and bands I don’t, and I’ve come to the realization that I was wrong about the quality of the genre over the last few years. That’s not to say I’m a diehard fan now, but I wanted to write this piece to explain how I went from loving the genre as a teenager to not being much of a fan in my late 20s, only to enjoy it more now at 30. It seems like things like this go full circle, because I was the same way with metalcore as well, and only up until about five or six years ago, I didn’t really listen to a lot for the longest time. I loved deathcore in high school, partially because it was the “heaviest” music I had ever heard, at least at the time. I had already been a fan of metalcore, but deathcore was even heavier. The genre reached its peak in the early 2010s with the second coming of the genre, and that included Carnifex, Whitechapel, Thy Art Is Murder, and a lot of other bands. Those bands were already around, but they only ended up getting bigger. After a certain point, however, I saw the genre start to turn to how heavy and “brutal” a band could get, instead of writing good songs.

One of my biggest issues with heavier music that I run into a lot, depending on the genre, is that bands never know how to write a cohesive song, and instead, they want to be as heavy and brutal as possible, as well as cram as many riffs and breakdowns as possible. Bonus points if the vocalist sounds like a garbage disposal as well. I see this in progressive metal a lot, too, where the bands play as intricately and technical as possible, but they can’t make a catchy or accessible song worth a damn. There was a point where I thought musicianship was more important, but I don’t think so these days. These days, I’m more into listening to catchy and accessible stuff that has something to go back to, versus something that sounds impressive. Sure, you can play your instruments well, but why should I care if I don’t have anything to go back to? Deathcore has been going in that direction recently, being that bands are starting to be more accessible and memorable, versus trying to be as heavy and brutal as possible.

Lorna Shore’s latest record, Pain Remains, is a good example of that, but at the same time, that album is a good example of being over the top and overblown. Pain Remains is at an 11 constantly with its brand of symphonic and blackened deathcore, and while the album does try to get heavy and brutal, there is a lot of variety in both the musicianship and vocals. I reviewed that album a couple of years ago, and my biggest issue with it was how intense and over the top it was, but I don’t think it bothers me as much now, because I just needed to sink my teeth more into it. I didn’t spend enough time with it, and I see the album’s importance now, but I will admit that it’s a very overwhelming album at times, because it throws a lot at you. It throws a lot of different things, though, and that’s a good thing. Relistening to that album recently made me dive back into the genre for a bit, including the new Carnifex album from last year, Necromanteum. I liked that album a lot when it came out, despite it being pretty similar to what they’ve been doing, but Carnifex is a good example of a deathcore band that has more going for them than just being brutal and heavy. They utilize symphonics as well, and black metal riffery, so there’s more or less a good amount of variety on the album.

I’ve listened to a handful of other things, including the new Drown In Sulphur album, Dark Secrets Of The Soul, and I will say that blackened deathcore has become the new trend of the genre, aside from being brutal and heavy, but it all depends on the band’s ability to execute it. Like with all trends, it’ll fade, and the next new thing will come, but it looks like bands trying to be as brutal as possible is the thing of the past and the blackened deathcore sound is what’s big, so I’m looking at the genre with some optimism again, and I’m enjoying some of what I’m hearing. Another great album I’ve been into is the debut Ov Sulfur album, The Burden Ov Faith, in which the band tackles symphonic and blackened deathcore, along with some metalcore and hard rock influence by including clean vocals on the majority of the record.

It’s not that I don’t like bands being really heavy and brutal, it’s that I don’t care for it when that itself is the gimmick. There’s nothing with merely doing that, and sounding like that, but I want there to be more at this point in time. Maybe 20 years ago, it was new and fresh, but now it’s boring and played out, so I’m happy to see a band like Lorna Shore really do something with that. Other bands are following suit, and who knows where the genre will go in the next few years, especially when this trend dies down, but if this is where the the genre is now, I could get into this. Deathcore may not reach the same heights it did ten years ago, but times change, and it’s great to see some newer bands carrying the torch for any certain style of music.

[aufucker]

Unprofessional Behavior

BJ/Jack

Boss makes a dollar I make a dime that's why I get fucked on company time or something

CW: mentions of death/decomp, very mildly dub-con if we squint but I'm putting that peanut allergy on here anyway, lot of SWEAT

You weren't sure if it was correlation or causation, but you swore decomps in the summer were way more frequent. Or perhaps they were just more memorable in their utter misery. The stench burning through your mask, the buzzing of flies errupting in your in ears, or just the sheer amount of sweat pooling in your thin, fabric suits.

The work was quick, you thanked creator for the polished concrete floors and sealed white bricks that made up the essential oven that held the melted, blackened pool of what was once a man. Everything was scrubbed and sanitized, and all was left was to let the ozone machine do its job until tomorrow morning.

You winced and groaned in disgust from the puddles of sweat that poured down your cheeks that had been pooled by thy seal of your fogged up mask, sighing soon after from the cooling relief of the fresh air that was only slightly less humid than the tropical climate that resided on your face from the past 4 hours.

Despite the heated pounding in your head, your ears still perked up at the sound of a car door slamming outside of the building, curious about who would be dropping by at this point.

Rolling some of your equipment back anyway, the dark police car certainly stood out next to the clean and vibrant colors on your company's van. Your eyes narrowed at your coworker, Montgomery, speaking to whoever was in the driver's seat and your pace quickened, ready to interject before something stupid was said.

"Hey, Monty. What's going on?" you asked firmly, your tone certainly catching his attention in a way that made him jolt. Like a kid getting caught.

"Jesus-- it's just Barrett, BJ! Christ." he practically gasped. Only God knows what the fuck he was talking to him about.

But, also, why was he *here?* You didn't call him in, you had nothing that was late on being signed off. Before you could ask, you saw the silver haired cop slide out from the cab, leaning comfortably against the roof of the car. Not a single drop of sweat on that brow, not a single tint of red on his skin. Lucky fucker, absolutely basking in that AC.

Your eyes darted to the manilla folder in his hand, watching him use it gently like a fan. Your writing, a homicide taken care of quite recently. Did... did he actually sign off on it in a timely manner?

"Hey, B. Need to talk to you a bit. Got some time in private?"

"If you don't mind it being outside around the back. Already got ozone running, so in the building's a no." Part of you wanted to ask about just talking in his obviously air conditioned car, but you didn't want to end up owing some arbitrary favor later.

"Monty, you got packing up the rest of the equipment?"

"Yeah, yeah, I got it." He waved, taking no time to peel the sweat dampened PPE from his body.

God, you couldn't wait to get yours off either. But for now, you lead the cop to around the back of the building, taking comfort in the slightly cooled shade you knew was back there.

"Got some questions or something? That's the file for the South 5th Street place, yeah?"

"No questions. Just handing it back to you."

You cocked a scarred brow.

"Like... like signed off?"

"Mm-hmm."

"Couldn't just fax it over?" You were getting a feeling in your gut that you were sure wasn't heat exhaustion just yet. And by how suddenly the space between the two of you was closed, you were catching on quick.

Reflex made you back away, pressing you flat against the warm brick. Nowhere else to go. Trapped between stone and wolfish eyes and toothy grins wrapped in midnight blues.

A cold shiver from the sound of your suit's zipper lowering was almost a relief from the wet heat.

"Seriously, Dean? Can't wait 'till I get off first?" You were being a hypocrite. You both knew you were.

He didn't answer with words. You hated that the most. Knowing what he was thinking by just watching him move, by watching his mossy eyes shift and scan and dart around your body.

The fresher air hitting your damp shirt was a relief, if only for a few seconds. You could feel the beads of sweat running down your neck, past the collar of your shirt. You could feel his stare following it.

"Look, how about you give me a ride to my place so I can shower, then we --" Your words were cut off with a squeak. A fucking squeak that slipped through your throat as you felt his calloused hand haphazardly pull the hem of your shirt and the firm sport bra that clung to your skin over your chest.

The air felt better against your bare flesh, but you knew he wasn't here to care about how you felt.

Another attempt to speak, to condemn, was cut by another involuntary noise. Cut by damp flesh being kneaded in firm hands, being scratched, being pinched and pulled. You were fading fast. The protective suit was so fucking uncomfortable and tight.

The palm of his hand covered your mouth when his own latched onto your nipple, smothering the high pitched, pathetic noise that almost escaped.

Pig, perverted old fuck, impatient mother fucker always thinking with his cock before anything else--

You froze at the sound of another zipper bring lowered, realizing his hand had reached within the thin, white fabric of your suit, dipping into the fly of your sweat drenched jeans.

"Dean--" you whined. A pointless attempt at a warning tone.

"Shhh. Don't want your work pal hearing, do you? Besides, I know you toss these suits out anyway."

Embarrassment brought a new heat against your already flushed face. Your stomach twisting in knots as your eye kept darting to the corner of the building, expecting God and everybody to come around at any instant. But the sting of his teeth on your nipple, his fingers brushing and squeezing and pumping between your thighs at a increasingly brutal pace, and the unforgiving humidity made your brain foggy. Hell, you were positive it was melting out of your damn ears.

You didn't know when you came, your head so hazy from everything all at once. Hand covering your mouth, salty fingers pressed against your tongue, and heated coos of nicotine stained praise brushed against your ears as you sank against the wall.

You heard him say something again, answering with a breathless, "Huh?"

"I said do you wanna get drinks when you get off? You know, of work."

"... Christ alive, Dean, at least let me go home and shower first."

[boorydarthnader]

Hi there ^^ this is for the Danganronpa ask: 3, 9, 13, 22, and 25. Also 35 if the other questions aren't already over the limit here 😅

3. Did you have a character you hated at first then fell in love with later?

For me, it was Fuyuhiko ngl. Like, going into SDR2 blind, my fave was actually Peko before it was Chiaki. Finding out that Peko's reason to murder and subsequently the cause of her death was because she was connected to Fuyuhiko got me really upset lol. Though looking back on it now, I can only imagine that he blames himself for all that as much as I did. He's a stand up guy with a cool eyepatch to me now.

9. Who's your least favorite protagonist?

Uh unfortunately its Makoto. I OFC do not hate him, not one bit , but to me he's just a little guy and I do like it that way but I didn't latch onto him as hard as say Hajime or Kaede.

13. What's your OTP?

I live and breath Hinanami if it wasn't already clear lol. Non-DR OTP is Sulemio from Gundam The Witch from Mercury. I haven't made any full art of them yet because there's already so much good art of them going around whereas for hinanami, the art for them has died down in recent times, and I am here to fill the hinanami shaped void in my heart.

22. A setting I'd like to see for a killing game: uh maybe some military compound to poke fun at the military-industrial complex idk, I need to give this more thought

25. What character surprised you when they were revealed to be the blackened?

I'd love to say that I was shocked when Chiaki was revealed as the traitor and blackened in Chapter 5, but unfortunately I saw it coming as it felt like the game was hyping up something especially bad happening by then. It was really Kaede that surprised me the most. Like c'mon a murder protag was unheard of and I went into it blind, how could I have seen it coming?

35. Honest opinion on the end of V3?

When I was playing through it I thought it was hype af, and I can see why its ending was was pretty controversial. I might try to put my thoughts on its ending in more detail in the future but overall I liked it then and I still think it's a good send of the series now. ( Especially if I allow it to make me believe that DR1 and SDR2 are works of fiction in-universe and therefore hinanami is canon and alive trust me my uncle is Kodaka)

[yibo-wang]

Summary of what happened at the Hidden Blade Guangzhou RoadShow.

I have been away from my phone all day today so I only found out about what happened a few hours ago. I don't like bringing weibo/twitter drama to tumblr but everything that's been happening made me really angry.

It was expected that the antis would definitely try and ruin it as much as could cause they've done that every single time something important happened in yibo's career. But to think they would sink as low and involve big directors and actors for their petty and selfish acts is a new low even for them.

While yesterday was Hidden Blades first release in cinemas, it did exceedingly well for a film that's undoubtedly different from the usual spring festival movie genres. The GP and fans both had positive reviews about the movie and Yibo's acting.

As far as I know the hateful words and reviews against Yibo have been increasing. Antis who weren't even in China were sending reviews that they hated the movie etc when the movie hasn't even been released anywhere else? Give me a break. (Below antis leaving reviews but their location is from out of China)

They're trying to suppress the positive response from the public on weibo, saying hurtful things towards the movie, director and actors. It's really disgusting.

You see Cheng Er and the rest of the cast and crew and anyone Yibo has worked with before know how sincere and dedicated he is to his work. For Hidden Blade especially they've praised his acting, his professional behaviour and it's not just one person it's the director, it's Tony Leung himself, it's Wang Chuajun, Da Peng and so many others.

It's actually breaking my heart when I saw the videos from today because why do they forget he's also a human being? That's he's only 25 years old?

Idk what image everyone has of Yibo in their mind but to me he's really very innocent at heart. Never in my years of watching him have I seen him have malice or hatred against anyone.

At the Roadshow today, despite everything that was happening he was really very thankful towards everyone who came, especially to the audience who came to watch the movie more than once because they loved watching it the first time and enjoyed the details.

One encounter today that really moved me was between him and a fan who was sharing her experience of watching the movie.

Translation: I would like to add one more thing. I was asked to convey this message from our group. Though we are Yibo's fans, after watching Hidden Blade, we turned from his fans to his movie fans. Thank you for being a good actor. We wish hidden blade success.

Yibo was really holding back tears 🥺

Cheng Er talked about how he really appreciates the sincerity the audience who watched the movie showed towards the film and how much he appreciates Yibo as an actor.

You see this is probably the first time Cheng Er had to experience such disturbing behaviour towards his film. Yes he's a grown man with years of experience with him but this is not negative reviews because people didn't like the film. This is because of their hatred for Yibo. And Cheng Er knows all of this cause repeatedly he has spoken or either posted against whatever lies the antis have spewed against the film and Yibo.

Cheng er: As all of you are audiences who really watched Hidden Blade, I believe our efforts including yibo’s will live up to your expectations. He has worked really hard —his image & expression in his eyes. I'm very thankful to such an excellent actor. I only dare to say this because all of you have watched the movie. I don’t dare to praise him recently because… [Audience asking that he should praise Yibo more] so I hope people who really watched the movie can sincerely spread the true situation and quality of our movie (link to video)

Once again despite everything, Yibo isn't forcing anyone to like him. All he asks is to be sincere in their remarks about it cause the movie isn't just him. These blackened tags and reviews affect all the people who have worked day and night for Hidden Blade to come to life. He accepts the criticism if it's genuinely because of his acting but not if it's just because their hatred for him.

Yibo: Like what the director and that audience said, a movie can create a lot of thoughts but you still need to continue with your life. For Hidden Blade, I hope we can exchange sincerity with sincerity. We made this movie with our heart, so we sincerely hope that people will like the movie. I also hope that audiences can sincerely appreciate the movie. Of course, you can also not like like the movie after watching it, there’s no problem. [Fans: we like it!] Exchange sincerity with sincerity. Thank you.

I do want to say that despite the antis efforts for the smear campaign, the passerby comments and almost all of the general public had a good experience while watching the movie and relayed good reviews. (Some of them down below + Link to one of the film critics review)

The thing is I'm really happy with how the GP is talking about HB. Infact Yibo was very happy during the other times in the roadshow. He kept smiling, talked so animatedly and with enthusiasm it was delightful to see him that way. But what bothered me most about the whole thing is that this situation was big enough for Yibo (who doesn't let useless remarks affect him) and Cheng Er to be bothered by it.

[emmybeearts]

Day 10: Laser

Today we came across an animal with, what I can only describe, as the most improbable hunting strategy I've ever seen. It looked fairly commonplace; A long, bird-like neck ending in a sharp beak and long powerful legs built for high speeds. My initial thought was it would be a rush-down predator, like a predatory cassowary, tearing after any prey slower than itself. I have since learned  that my first thoughts were very, very wrong

Lily and I were watching this Frenzied Rumbler from a safe distance away. It was eyeing up a Dune Skipper, a small sail backed reptile-like animal, when a small pack of six more rumblers crested the dunes. I was anticipating, at this point, for the predators to bolt after the dune skipper like a pack of wild dogs, and get to experience more alien hunting tactics first hand. However, all I witnessed was one of the rumber’s open its mouth and then a bright flash of light. Even with every form of protection on the visor in my helmet, it still felt like someone threw sand into my eyes, it was so bright. 

By the time I felt like I could see again, I looked to where the dune skipper had been. Past the large shape of green which was etched into my field of vision, I saw the skipper had been toppled off of the rocks. Its body was unmoving and it was now adorned with a blackened, smoking patch of hide. The frenzied rumblers, at this point, all bolted over to the singed corpse at once, and the fastest one simply swallowed it down whole. 

I was stumped as to what even happened, let alone how the skipper was killed. I had come to the conclusion that the rumblers were nothing more than lucky opportunists. The dune skipper must have been struck by a freak lightning strike or some other, highly unlikely, natural phenomena. I was willing to accept this theory had I not been a lucky opportunist myself, stumbling across a dead rumbler not too long later.

The animal was killed very recently with no sign of a fight. Tracks of other Frenzied Rumblers lead away from the corpse. I feared a freak electrical storm again, at this point, and became more weary of this desert. However, I wanted to know what happened for sure, and the only way to find out was by emergency field dissection

This was my chance to study these animals closer than I ever have before, and I found plenty of anomalies that set it apart from many other noticlades. The most fascinating of which resides in its modified crop. Convergent with many species of birds on Earth, the crop is used to store and break down food for later use. Many bird species aid in this breakdown by utilizing gastroliths, small stones in their crop which break apart harder to digest food. It appears that this particular rumbler species utilizes gastroliths as well. 

However, the crop of frenzied rumblers is highly modified. Its mouth had atrophied to almost non-existence while its crop took up that real estate. Within the crop was a specialized pouch which housed the rumbler's gastrolith of choice, a carefully worn down piece of corundum. Curiously, the gastrolith pouch was also wrapped in a unique organ. A thin rubbery tube filled with a dull blue slurry.

It's obvious to deduce the rumblers are hunters from their body plan as well as from what I was able to observe, however, it seems that they are actually omnivorous. From the contents of its stomach, I was able to find partially digested carpet algae, a vividly bioluminescent algae species that lights up the multitude of caves found in this desert. My initial thought was it may be supplementing its diet, but I was able to conclude the slurry in the crop tube was derived from this algae. It’s apparent the rumbler has a means of breaking down the algae in its crop and isolating the bioluminescent cells for its own use, hence the blue slurry. 

The chemical process of breaking down food, however, also breaks down the ruby it utilizes as a gastrolith. Not only was there a higher concentration of aluminum oxide in its digestive tract, there was also an abundance of chromium. While this may be toxic to most species here, the frenzied rumbler has a means of filtering and regurgitating the waste chromium. However, rather than simply discarding the excess, the rumblers store it in its crop. More specifically, the chromium waste was found lining the walls of the gastrolith pouch.

Now here's where things get interesting. Throughout this animal's evolutionary history, there is a good chance the majority of these features would help it find a mate. Perhaps all separately, perhaps one new feature after the next. Utilizing bioluminescent cells from a unique plant may have created a stunning light show to impress a female, increasing the likelihood of passing down the bioluminescent ability. A bright red stone would also suffice in attracting a mate, if you have the means of expelling the poison. This would also give them the added benefit of filling their mouth with a mirror-like film of chromium, which could be seen as very attractive. While all of these things may have simply been tricks to wow a partner in the past, they all came together to create a biological weapon like I've never seen. 

The ruby rolled around in the rumbler’s crop, breaking down its food like the drum of a steam roller. This gave the ruby an almost perfectly cylindrical shape. The cylinder of ruby then rests comfortably in its gastrolith pouch which has been coated in a mirror-like layer of chromium-mixed mucus. An extra layer of chromium is then expunged to cover the end cap of ruby in a thin, partially mirrored film. 

Finally come the light coils. These are the thin tubes filled with bioluminescent cells taken from algae that coil around the gastrolith pouch. Most of the time, The coils are inert, unless the animal is hunting. When it spots prey, the frenzied rumbler opens its mouth exposing its crop and the mirror-capped ruby. It then uses the electrocytes in its melon to charge the light coils. The carpet algae naturally glows incredibly bright, but the rumbler has packed the light coils exclusively with the algae’s highly concentrated bioluminescent cells. This produces a blinding flash of light, pumping the ruby with intensely high energy. The mirrored pouch then oscillates the light of the ruby’s fluorescents creating a rudimentary biological pulse laser with which the animal fires at anything it deems to be food. 

The frenzied rumbler is a truly terrifying predator. It's the only animal I know that can strike its prey at, literally, the speed of light. As far as i can tell, there is no defense against one once you're on its menu. They are fast, strong, and impossibly dangerous. All this can be learned with the right insight and a quick field dissection. As for the cause of death for this particular rumbler? It had the toxic spines of a juvenile dune skipper lodged in the lining of its stomach. 

[End Transcription]

[thelightningthatjumpsbetween]

Thirty Five

RE8 | Wintersberg | Romance, Slow Burn | Action, Sci-Fi

Sequel of Winters and the Beast, a Resident Evil: Village Story

Table Of Contents

This didn’t feel like "his" world, he noted.  He peered at his left hand.  The usual pin thin white scars that separated his regrown digits from his reconstructed body were gone; his hand was whole.  Ethan narrowed his eyes.  

When he walked through the wall, he had not emerged back in the 'human' world. That meant this was…? 

“Fuck,” Ethan exhaled, realizing he knew, suddenly, why he could hear Alcina upstairs.  

She was actually upstairs.

He only had moments of confirming the Duke’s seal before a pain shot through Ethan’s forehead, and he dropped to one knee.  

The crushing pressure, the sinking feeling that plagued Ethan as he’d walked through the castle, returned.  Now it wasn’t just an emotional sensation, it was affecting him physically.  His ears rang, and the stabbing pain seemed to flow all through his body.  He got the distinct feeling that something was moving.  Changing.  Despite the throbbing in his head he looked up, searching with now-fully-blackened eyes as if the answer lay in the chamber around him.  

He intuited, somehow, that he was not where he had originally thought. 

This didn’t feel like "his" world, he noted.  He peered at his left hand.  The usual pin thin white scars that separated his regrown digits from his reconstructed body were gone; his hand was whole.  Ethan narrowed his eyes.  

When he walked through the wall, he had not emerged back in the 'human' world. That meant this was…? 

“Fuck,” Ethan exhaled, realizing he knew, suddenly, why he could hear Alcina upstairs.  

She was actually upstairs. 

He’d walked through a wall, right into a different realm.  He rolled his eyes at his own arrogance.  Somewhere, Karl’s long-ago words drifted into his mind.  Now don’t get cocky. He could brighten the engineer’s day later, telling him how right he’d been.  But right now, he had a bigger problem than hearing an I told you so. 

Around him, like invisible lightning, small strokes of electrical impulses flowed.  He didn’t have to wonder what caused it.  The mold, its stored information.  Its catalogued memories.  Ethan sank to the floor on both knees, shrugging out of the small backpack and hastily stuffing the papers into it.  It...they...wanted to show him something; the TV station turned on without any input from him.  Why did the mold choose now?  He wanted to leave.  Ethan held his breath as the golden glow of the oil lamp dimmed in front of him, the charges, or pulses, the neurons firing–whatever the hell it was, picking up in intensity.  

He saw scenes in rapid succession, not unlike the scenes Eva had shown him when they ventured through the layers of Miranda’s memories.  These bright, vivid scenes were not entirely realistic-looking.  They seemed more like technicolor film, with blurry edges and layers of light shimmering between objects.  It was the vision of the fungus, if there was such a thing.  

The first scene was a tall woman walking uncertainly past the castle’s carriage gate entrance.  Her hat immediately gave her away.  She was tall, but...well, within normal height, Ethan marveled.  The hat was black; she also had long black gloves.  She wore a deep plum dress with a fur stole, and impractical plum heels.  

A man dressed in far less noteworthy clothing followed her through the entrance, after pulling several large pieces of luggage out of the front of an old Volkswagen Beetle.  

New money.  

An American! 

Can’t even speak the language.

Royal blood? They say she has royal blood.

Thoughts, voices, swirled around Ethan’s ears.  Thoughts that she was remembering as she walked?  Her face was hidden behind the hat, but he knew she was both inspired and troubled.  

Why me?  What does she see in me?  I mustn’t disappoint her.  She has given me this....

A family birthright, she said.  But why was I only just recently made aware?  So much I don't understand.

Royal blood! If only they knew what a curse this blood has been.  

Maybe I will find peace.  No more abuse.  No more–

Ethan felt a visceral pain, the icy blanket of emotion that accompanied sexual abuse survival settling over his shoulders.  He’d never been…he was feeling her emotions, he realized while blanching.  The intrusive memory of someone else's assault.  The blond's lip trembled in sudden, almost forced empathy.  Fuck.   Ethan's knees folded to the side and he braced his back against the sarcophagus. 

More whispers.  The Duke sends his regards and states he would be pleased to continue business at Castle Dimitrescu.  You'll find there aren't many...outside merchants willing to come this way.   

Alcina’s voice.  Who? 

The scene rapidly changed, and Ethan watched snippets of what appeared to be Alcina’s life.  Speaking with Miranda.  Awakening after surgery.  Weeping in the mirror as she surveyed a hidden scar.  Miranda’s voice filtered through the images of the distraught woman in her dressing room. 

“I had hoped the cadou would address the disease, however, there seems to be little change.  There are no further treatments.” 

“There’s…nothing? May I…continue work on…anything that might help–”

“There are no further treatments.  We must get back to other work.” 

Curtains were drawn on long castle windows, servants were dismissed.  Dimitrescu stared at one of the paintings in the gallery, where a sunset painted the Carpathians with beautiful purples and oranges. 

“You must avoid sunlight at all costs.  There is no other way to avoid the lesions.” 

“But I…I won’t age?”

“We shall see, won’t we?” The coldness in Miranda’s tone was infuriating.  

The years sped by in front of Ethan with many unintelligible whispers narrating the scenes, both in Romanian and English.  They were afraid of the castle’s mistress.  They were afraid of everything in the village.  Life after the second world war was not peaceful, it was not idyllic.  It was terrifying.  All of these whispers made their way through his ears as if filtered by Alcina.  

“How am I to properly be a Lord if I cannot be seen?  How can I be a presence for the people…what is there for me in the village?” 

“I did not give you a village, my child, I gave you a castle.”

She’s a monster. 

S h e ’ s    a    m o n s  t e r  .  

The next scenes Ethan remembered well from the notes and sketches that he'd seen before in the castle.  He was scooting across the floor, trying to still the reverberating, painful echo in his head.  He was going to get the hell out of here, he decided, grinding his teeth against the pain.  He gripped the sides of his hair, tugging at the migraine while the creation of the monstrous daughters was shown to him, behind his blackened eyes.  Their desiccated corpses on dungeon beds, Miranda’s cold indifference at seeing the reanimated bodies, breathing as they slept.  Alcina stroking red hair that spilled over the muck-covered pillow.  

She applied lipstick at her vanity, her hand quivering.  There were tears in her eyes; it was a starkly different Alcina than he’d watched through the window.  She looked shaken, haunted.  The scene melted; Ethan watched as she stood in a nightgown near a balcony window.  The moonlight splashed into the room around her like waterfalls, and she held out a long arm into the milky rays.  Her voice sounded in his ears, hushed, while Ethan watched the daughters interact with servants.  They were just as obnoxious as they’d been with him; laughing, poking, teasing.  It was as though they were incapable of human compassion.  

“Mother Miranda….I feel I cannot even speak of this….I believe I may have found something that slows the pain, the degradation of my body from this disease.   It seems grotesque.  The Duke brought fresh, strange dishes on his delivery last week.  One was a foreign meal of raw blood pudding.  I couldn’t believe how much better I felt!  After reading of the research of the blood disease–”

“Yes, I know…yes, Mother Miranda.  I should continue researching the cadou, the Mold.  I......understand.” 

Ethan’s head hurt too furiously to sense the approaching footsteps.  He could not even see, through the flashes of memories, that another figure had entered the basement.  It stood at the bottom of the stairway, gazing around in confusion at the strange holding area.  

Then it crossed the floor, creating a disturbance in the flow of synapses, of whatever memories were made of here.  Ethan’s piercing headache began to subside, but he still clutched his head.  Black fluid dripped from his nose and lips-which were blackened again-and he raked his hands through his hair as if trying to will his brain out of his head.  Despite having wide open, black eyes, Ethan could not see the figure in front of him.  He was still dealing with the fading memories, as palpable as they still were.  

Alcina Dimitrescu, no longer nine feet tall, but still an intimidating 5’11’, stared down at Ethan curiously.  Her dark curls were looser, longer, and she wore a simple, if still old-fashioned, dress.  The hat and gloves were gone.  She was even barefoot. 

“Ethan Winters,” she said haughtily, “Come to plague me even in death.”

[thoughts-on-music-tm]

Top 10 Songs of 2022!!!!

2022 is over, and that means it's time for year-end list!!! Without further ado, here are the 10 best songs of 2022!

You can find a spotify playlist with each song on it here.

Honorable Mentions: Prester John – Animal Collective Hypothermic – Goodnight, Texas God Is a Circle – Yves Tumor

10. That's Where I Am - Maggie Rogers Genre: Pop, with a hint of Indie rock Vibe: A bright and sunny morning                Maggie Rogers combines a beautiful yearning with an unending hope to make the romance she describes feel almost inevitable. Every time she sings, "It all works out in the end," it starts to sound less like a prediction and more like a manifestation.

9. Curse of the Blackened Eye - Orville Peck Genre: Cowboy Country Vibe: Heartbreak is a warm sensation                To me, a lot of Orville Peck's music has felt like it was more about the idea of a relationship rather than an actual experience. This song, through all his usual flamboyant cowboy aesthetic, feels incredibly personal. The deep melancholy in his voice during lines like, "It ain't the letting go, it's more about the things that you take with" create a poignant sense of self reflection. This makes it his most personal song and also his most universally relatable.

8. Go Slow – Jordana Genre: Bedroom Pop (Though any room with a nice couch will do) Vibe: Chill vibes all the way down 🐢                If self-care was a song. It's as much about avoiding responsibility as it is about realizing the stress-inducing things we're told are vital are so rarely as required as they seem. A deadline missed here or there and a day off now and then won't be the end of the world - but that break may mean the world to you.

7. That's Our Lamp – Mitski Genre: Ethereal Indie Pop Vibe: Happy memories for when it's over                When I first heard The Sound by The 1975, I misheard the following lyrics "I said that I love you / What does it matter if *[I like you too]?" (The actual line is "What does it matter if I lie to you"). I thought this was an interesting lyrical idea to explore: that loving someone and liking someone are different things, and one does not necessarily imply the other. To be honest, I was a little disappointed to learn I had misheard the lyric.                Then Mitski dropped That's Our Lamp, a fantastic, joyful closer to her album full of her usual brand of heartbreak, and in it is this line:

You say you love me, I believe you do But I walk down and up and down And up and down this street 'Cause you just don't like me, Not like you used to

And Mitski uses this idea to its full potential, as a beautiful way to explore an ending relationship.

6. Every Heart Is True - Little Mazarn Genre: Finely Aged Folk Vibe: A warm mug of tea on a cold day                I spent a lot of this year getting into folk music; this was the song convinced me I should stay. Finding this song felt more like uncovering something that had always been there, an ethereal bit of beauty and grace nestled in a patch of freshly fallen autumn leaves 🍃. Each plucked string of the banjo, ringing chime, and ethereal word sung serves to set right the world once more.

Also, if you've never seen live folk music like this, check out a video of their live performances. One of the members plays a hand saw - like, the woodcutting tool - with a violin bow and it sounds like an acoustic theremin. You can hear it clearly at the beginning of this song, and it sounds heavenly.

5. the angel of 8th ave. - Gang of Youths Genre: Dad Alt Rock Vibe: Laying on large rocks, being warmed by the sun                One musical niche I love is the recent works of older rock musicians - I’ve listened to a lot of the new Tears For Fears album and The War On Drug's album from last year recently. I find they bring a richness of wisdom that is often not present with younger musicians. Because of that, I was genuinely surprised to find out that this song was written by someone in their mid-twenties. It draws from a rich well of experience, and that brings it a depth that I rarely find in younger musicians. The song embraces the struggles of relationships between imperfect people in unfamiliar places, but it's thesis is that love is fundamentally stronger than any of that. And that's not an abstract idea - lines like "And when my old man was near to the end / You loved his broken body in the same way that I did" show the how personal and everyday acts of love are far more resilient in this song than the pain that love existed in response to.

4. Don't get the deal – beabadoobee Genre: Alt Rock Vibe: Brightly rekindled old flame                Beabadoobee's effortless meshing of quiet, bedroom pop ballads with all-out alt-rock bangers make this song feel both like a peek inside a personal conversation and a joyful, public celebration. Both the acoustic duet that begins this song and driving rock jam that ends it feel so wholesome that, when she sings "It feels like we'll stop eventually / For now I guess we were meant to be" over either, it's hard to imagine her romance as anything other than meant to be.

3. The Loneliest Time - Carly Rae Jepsen ft. Rufus Wainwright Genre: Pop For The Pop Connoisseur Vibe: Light rain romance                It's no secret I'm a big fan of Carly Rae Jepsen, but it took me a while to realize how much I loved this song (and I won't lie, a good part of that was the TikTok where she sings the "I'm coming back for you baby!" part to her cat over facetime). But this song is just infectious. The impeccable duet, The swooning string section, and groovy hooks at every turn!

               If you haven't listened to Carly Rae Jepsen since Call Me Maybe took over the world in 2011, this is an excellent showcase of why she's so beloved amongst pop connoisseurs. Like all her music, it has some of the best songwriting and production you can find in pop music. But what I love most about this song is how incredibly endearing it is. Her and Rufus Wainwright each reminisce about their half of a relationship, each incomplete without the other. Through her charming rose-colored perspective, all the loneliness of the past few years was like reaching the moon - just a bit too soon. But that loneliness ends with each other, and not even lunar distances could separate them. And as the song ends the dance beat fades, it leaves only their voices nestled together amongst the strings. It sounds like a Californian beach sunset, captured in a song.

2. Venomous Dogma - Fantastic Negrito Genre: Blues. Gospel. Rock. And all of them done better than most artists can do one. Vibe: Righteous anger, Righteous release                This song starts and album about the singer's seven-greats grandparents, a white indentured servant and an enslaved Black man during the 1750s in what would become the United States of America. He uses their story of love to discuss the history of racism in America and the various systems of racial and economic oppression that have plagued the country since. It is one of the most optimistic albums of the year. If his grandparents' love was stronger than racist laws and slavery itself, then there may be hope for us yet.               As the start of that journey, this song showcases America caught between racial crisis and reconciliation. What I really love about this song is how varied it is - it opens with an excellent Gospel section, then transitions seamlessly into a gruff blues section, yelling in anger. Each of these sections has a deep, tangible respect from the genres they draw from. The histories of these genres is intertwined with America's struggle with racism, and this song's traditional-but-forward-looking take on them sets a powerful musical precedent on how the country can start to reconcile - only with both a knowledge of history and a willingness to move past it. It's easily the most immaculately crafted song of the year.

1. When You Know You Know - The Beths Genre: Indie Rock Vibe: Pure joy distilled into a love song                At first look, this is the year's most effortless love song. A closer look reveals that this song focuses on the daily work required for a healthy relationship - apologies, comforting, and care - that only seem effortless in couples with both partners willing to commit themselves fully to each other. The "meant to be" this song describes isn't some destiny, it's what each person is going to repeatedly work for until it happens. It's a beautiful, mutual effort, and every bit of that - the toil and the joy - is so apparent in every part of this song.

Thanks for reading and here's to a great 2023!