#idk how to render ice rip

[averaillisa]

“Sit down & have a drink.” 

[cevans-seb]

Feral Boys

Pairing: Wolverine x Reader

Word Count: 1.3k

warning: smut, slight toxic dynamics, blood kink(?) idk

“___, can you stop walking away from me!?” Logan was furious with me, but I didn’t give a fuck. He loves going all macho whenever we are in battle. His claws were unveiling, garishly growling as he tackled our target. It’s overhyped. Whoever loves Wolverine hasn't been around him long enough. 

“I said stop!” He hastily gripped my arm. ”Damnit __! We can’t go one day without you being dramatic! Always running away from your issues!” His temple pulsated. Each word he spewed my way like they were toxins piercing my skin. 

“Me? I’m not the one wielding my dick out whenever I feel like my girlfriend is one-upping me. No, that’s all, you Logan!”  Slipping out of his grasp, I went into our shared apartment with him following suit. He was like a lost puppy as he trailed behind the corridor, passing by our cluttered living room and demolished kitchen. Logan promised that he wasn’t accepting missions, but he lied. He lied about retiring, and that inkling of hope that we could finally live an everyday life dissipated before my eyes. I’m starting to think Logan will never change and that I’m wasting my time. 

“___,” Logan exasperated.

“No, Logan, I’m done.” My voice broke as my eyes cast down. It was my final straw. Logan spent three years promising me stability, but it has been rocky since the beginning of our relationship. Logan groaned beside me. “And how many times have you said that!? How often do we have this talk about you ‘being done’ with me?” I could feel the smugness oozing off him. “Let me show you how sorry I am.” He led me to our bedroom, prepping my face with kisses that trailed down to my exposed neck. “I love you so much, and you love me.” His callous hand traced underneath my shirt, digging his nails into my side while harshly marking my skin with hickies. He was a brute, fixating on showing the world that I was a wolverine’s girl. 

“Fuck off, Logan.” It was a hushed whisper, but it ranged in my head like sirens. A pure ecstasy that clouds my brain whenever his lips touch me. He knew how addictive he was. He’s like cocaine  mixed with crystallized caffeine that injects into my veins. Logan was my drug. “You like it? Don’t you?” He ripped my shirt off with ease. Barring his claws that scraped against my ribcage. “Being underneath me while I ravage your body.” 

“Shut up,” I managed to breathe out. Two could play in this game. My hands found their way to his belt, aching to feel the girth of his hardening cock. He groans when I grasp his dick-his metal claws puncturing the mattress, trapping me.

“C’mon, darling, I wanna hear you beg for me.” He pierced my thigh, chucking when a longing moan slipped out. “There we go.” He gloats. “How about one more?” He slashed my other thigh. Tears pricked at my eyes as blood gushed out of my wounds. The chance Logan ignored my tears was futile. “Aww, I know those aren’t tears? I thought you wanted to try blood play?” He retracted his claws before swiping along your cut. “Screw you.” I hissed. 

Fuck him and the rare occurrence he remembered anything we have discussed. We talked about our kinks once-only once. He brought his bloody finger to his lips, savoring the metallic taste. “Just being a good boyfriend, baby. Fulfilling your wishes.” My lips latched onto his neck, sinking my teeth to give him my markings. He was also mine. As much as I loathe him, we knew we were inseparable, and each soft peck he left on my body rendered me useless under his grasp. 

“I knew this was all you needed.” He lapped at the healing gash and settled between my thighs. He effortlessly ripped away my parties while I shuddered at the cooling sensation. Too immersed in his assault on my clit, I fail to realize his lusty eyes darken with each longing swipe; tenderly indulging my pussy like it was his favorite ice cream. “ hmgh,” he groans when my hand wove through his matted hair. 

“Fuck me, Logan.” 

“Now you know what my name is?” He sneered, teasing my clit. “What the fuck is my name!” He boasted. 

Don’t say it 

Don’t say it 

Don’t say it 

If you ever want him to believe that you were over him truly, you won’t say it. 

Suddenly your phone rings, granting you a grace period from Logan’s teasing.  He groans when you scatter to answer the phone. 

“Hello,” 

“Hey ___, it’s Steve. I heard about what happened between you and Wolfboy. If you ever need to talk, I’m here.” Steve's voice echoed throughout the house after his offer. Logan was seething, his neck turning red from anger. 

Logan and Steve have a strained relationship beginning when Logan and I started dating. Steve would flirt now and then which irked Logan, so I kept up with the careless flirting whenever Logan pissed me off, which was what he did today. While mischievously smirking you responded to Steve. 

“I am feeling a bit lonely tonight. You wouldn’t mind coming over and keeping me company, Stevie?” You pouted. This ticked Logan off. He rushed towards you only to be held back by restraints. “You still know where I live right? Right down from Starks towers. Yeah, that’s the place! See you soon, baby.” You glanced over at a fuming Logan. 

“You vindictive bitch! Tell him not to come here. You know I don’t want Rodgers in our house.” 

“After that stunt, you pulled today, you’re lucky I even let you cum. Steve being here is nothing compared to what I actually wanna do to you, Logan. You promised me that you were retiring, and you lied. So, I think it’s fair that I have some fun with Steve while you watch.”

Tightening the ropes on the burly man seemed to be a challenge. He kept spewing obscenities at me with each knot I made on his wrists and ankles. 

“Baby, you don’t have to do this.” He pleaded. “I’ll retire, we can start a family, and I promise we will never speak of this night again.”  

Tempting

“You promised me those things last time and you see how far that promise went. I’m tired of you constantly giving me hope that we can finally settle down just to pull the rug and accept another mission. We aren’t getting any younger, Logan.” Tears pricked my eyes, Logan made it so hard to want simple things in life. “I'm really tired for real. I can’t keep doing this.” 

Fresh tears fell on your face. You didn’t want to keep up with this tragic cycle. It was torturous watching the man you wanted to grow old with essentially sabotaging those plans. Punishing Logan wasn’t going to change anything, he would still do what he wanted even at the expense of our relationship. 

“You were wrong, Logan. I’m not coming back this time.” 

and with that, I left. Logan. The future. And our memories. 

[sakurology]

Hot Fuss, Full Panic

Pink Lips: Semi Eita x f!Reader

Warnings: this banner being bad, alcohol/drinking, sex under the influence but really it’s like maybe 2 shots for liquid courage- idk of lipstick counts as marking but fuck it we ball, unprotected sex, sex outside... in an alleyway, orgasm denial on his end, semi calls reader ‘toots’ yay sleazy musicians

Wc: 2.7k... well 2698 to be exact but we round up in this house

A/N: yes this is named after both a killers album and a lipstick. For the lovely Two in the Pink, One in the Kink Collab by the Sewer. I loved writing this it’s been done for weeks now and I’m so excited to see everyone else’s! Check the mlist here and support all the other creators, bc it’s v sexy! ~squeak squeak~ 💕

“You all alone tonight?”

“I’m alone every night, Sem,” you chuckled, continuing to clamor through empty glasses, wiping the sticky, rum-coated bar clean. Knowing him by name, you quickly poured up his usual gently sliding it his way. Jameson & Ginger Ale, for nights when he performs- any other time he’d get through the night on a few Dark n’ Stormys, saving at least 2 Kamikazes for you throughout the night until he stumbled back into whatever sewer hot pseudo-troubled musicians came from- probably one downtown, not too far from you.

“Well yeah, but no one’s bought you a shot tonight…”

He raised the glass to his lips, slowly knocking back down the stiff one you poured. He grimaced, clearing his throat and pushing the glass back toward you, blowing out a whistle as he cleared his throat.

“It’s Valentine’s Day, I don’t think anyone would like it if their date bought the bartender a shot.”

He pointed to the silver bottle of Milagro on the top shelf, sending you a wink. Taking the hint, you let out a half laugh- grabbing two double shot glasses and tiny slivers of lime, pouring both glasses to the rim.

“To a day just like any other,” you sighed, leveling yourself with him. Your disdain for February 14th was just as palpable as the months of innuendo laced conversation and shared shots with the local band’s d-list ‘celebrity’ frontman- the mutual desire pulling ahead by just a hair.

“To a wallet full of tips and a bar full of people getting lucky,” he shot back, tapping his glass with yours. The tequila was smooth, but being your first shot of the night, the burn was present and crisp as it went down, sending a shiver up your back. You slapped the shot down, pink lipstick stain imprinting the glass as you harshly sucked down your lime. Semi slid a $20 across the bar to you. As you neatly tucked it in your bra and took the glasses, he stood up to adjust his shirt and get his bearings.

“Have a good set!” you called after him. But he was already in the crowd. A sliver of light expanded and disappeared as you watched him slip into the backstage opening.

“Here ya go boys- on the house.”

The small tray you carried into the bar’s makeshift green room was filled with glasses of pink drinks, each adorned with a little lime slice and sugared rim.

“Pink Whitney… how original,” one of his bandmates remarked, knocking back the glass and setting it on top of a rusted filing cabinet.

“Be grateful,” you scoffed. “It’s the only thing I could manage to sneak past here for free.”

A chorus of sighs and clinking glasses resounded in the room, reassuring you the band would be happy regardless of what drew alcohol you bought them for the night. As long as the guys had an ounce of liquid courage before their set, you knew it’d go off without a hitch. You noticed one of the glasses still full on your tray- and Semi was nowhere in sight.

“Hey where’s-“ you started to ask, not really expecting an answer.

“Probably out back smoking,” a voice answered before you could even get his name past your lips. Picking up the small offering, you had half the mind to guzzle the glass down on your own- after all, it was already starting to water itself down. You poked your head up against the tiny door window, peering out slightly before sticking your head out to find the musician in the middle of his usual pre-show activities.

“There you are.” You spotted him.

He was leaning against the wall of the brick paved alleyway, cigarettes pursed between his lips.

“You shouldn’t be smoking those y’know,” you teased, bounding over to him. Finishing his drag, his smoke plumed into the crisp night air. His eyebrow cocked toward you as he placed it back to his lips. Gingerly, your own fingers scissored around the white tube, pulling it from his mouth and bringing it to your own lips with a soft smile, taking a deep inhale.

“They��re bad for your voice,” you exhaled away from his face and into the night. The mouthpiece was now coated in the same rosy markings as your shot glass. You stamped it out, much to his dismay.

“You got something better?” He asked, cocking an eyebrow.

With a pursed-lipped smile, you pushed the pink concoction to his lips, the sweat from the ice causing the sugar to run down the rim and over your hands. As Semi sucked the drink down, the glass was ripped from his lips and replaced by two of your saccharine coated digits. His tongue suckled your fingers as you pulled them out with a wet smack, neatly tucking them into your own mouth, then trailing the hand down your body to dry at the hem of your skirt. Your eyes fell just in front of his, glossed over in a heavily lecherous gaze. His lips found yours suddenly, hungrily- the fading flavor of pink lemonade and sugar on both your tongues as his body caged yours into the wall. Your face felt hot and your head was barely swimming from the rush of the shots you’d taken prior, but the surprise of the contact had knocked enough air out of you that you were gasping into the kiss, clawing at the back of his dip-dyed head of hair. The small glass in your hand slipped through your fingers, shattering and sending shards scattering against the asphalt beneath you.

The back door swung open, a head peeking out just enough behind the frame.

“Yo, Semi!” It was one of his bandmates, sticking his head out of the door. “Hurry it up we’re on in 10!”

He clamped a head over your mouth, sticking his head back to yell unintelligibly- or at least you couldn’t hear with the blood rushing to your ears and heartbeat pounding in your head. The loud thud of the heavy door tore through your spine, snapping you back into this present moment: the one in which you’d basically just made out in a cold, damp alleyway with Eita Semi- on Valentine’s Day. Of all days, you just had to do something about the months of mounting sexual tension between you two… on Valentine’s Day.

He moved his hand, freeing your lips as he checked to see how clear the coast was before turning back to you.

“I think I can get you there in 8,” the way he whispered reverberated in your chest and core almost simultaneously. His lips connected to your neck, slowly tracing upward, stopping to nip at your earlobe.

“Whaddaya say?”

He was telling you more than asking at this point, closing the finite space between you and already starting to slowly hike up your skirt with his fingertips. His eyes had become tenfold darker than originally, and the head rush you were feeling left you little to no time to oblige, not that you didn’t want to anyway. Your head began to loll to the side as it flew back, allowing him more access to your neck, his tongue gliding against the exposed skin while his calloused fingers began toying at your already exposed, and already slick pussy. You were putty in his hands at that point- no matter if you never wore underwear in the first place.

“Fuck,” Semi hissed against your collarbones. “No panties and you’re already nice and wet for me, hm? What a nasty little thing… good girl.”

He traced the pad of his index finger up and down your slit, collecting your essence as you shuddered yet again under his tough, a soft whine spilling from your throat. He couldn’t hold back a laugh, teasing you gently while grinding his bulging cock into the soft flesh of your exposed thighs. Your hands balled at the fabric of his shirt as you lifted it just enough to find his belt buckle, fidgeting with it and having absolutely no care for the heavy metal pieces rapping against your knuckles- if anything the small twinges of pain only added to the euphoria you were already starting to drown in.

“Hurry it up Y/N, we only got 7 minutes left…”

Obeying his command you unzipped his jeans, immediately hooking your thumb between the waistband of his boxers and the skin of his lower abs. You started to sink to your knees as you freed his cock from the confines that held him, mouth already watering. Just as you parted your lips, though, a harsh tug of your hair pulled you back onto your feet, spinning you and pressing your face against the cold brick. Your skirt was now pulled completely up and at your hips as Semi pushed your back down, arching you at his perfect level and holding your arm behind your back.

“Ah-ah,” he reprimanded with a smirk, sending two rough slaps to the meat of your ass. “Not enough time for that toots- maybe after the show.”

He lined himself up with your now glistening hole, teasing it with the tip for a few swipes before beginning to prod at your pretty pink insides. The stretch was slow and searing, but you were so wet that your walls immediately sucked him in, offering barely to no resistance. Your face pushed impossibly further into the wall in front of you as he started to build up an even pace, the head of his cock just barely grazing against the spot inside of that would render you absolutely and irrevocably cockdrunk.

“S-sem-ah-fuck!” Just as you started to speak he pulled out completely, arching your back even more as he buried himself deep in your aching pussy. Your back arched like that of a cat’s- leaning into the sensation with a wild, lewd mewl. He was speeding up now, groaning as he watched you coat his cock with a milky white sheen.

“That’s it,” he spanked you several more times, coaxing you to fuck yourself on his length as he spread your ass apart for a better view. “You think you can get yourself off on my cock in 5 minutes? C’mon, you can do it- go ahead, it’s all yours…”

You felt yourself growing even slicker at his words, his voice was like velvet and he wasn’t even singing. You started working your hips so fervently, so earnestly against him that the pace you were going had you white knuckling the railing next to you for stability as he continued to pull you down onto him with the hand behind your back. The smacking of skin against skin filled the air of the dark, damp alley, echoing out into the street as you could see the hazy lights of cars passing by though your eyelashes. His hands found your hair, pulling you up and back into him, matching the speed of his own thrusts to yours.

You could barely get out anything other than choked out moans and gasps. As you got closer and closer to your high, you started to feel dizzier and dizzier. You could feel your insides slowly starting to flutter as your conquest slipped from where you needed him, the displeased moan was halfhearted as he flipped you back around, closely holding your head into his chest.

Semi hoisted your leg up, holding it up at the knee, pushing the head of his cock just past your gleaming lips, walls greedily pulling him in with a slick smacking sound made by your wetness.

“Please, I’m so close- ‘mso fucking close,” you sobbed, rubbing your face against his chest. He smelled like cigarettes, cardamom and sweat. Combined with the carnal scent of sex wafting through the outside air, you gritted your teeth as your walls started to spasm and clench around him.

“Good girl, ngh- good fucking girl.” His praise had you spilling over, gushing over his cock with a shrill cry of his name into the night. He didn’t ease up, fucking you though the high, clutching you closer as your body went limp on your comedown.

“Time’s up, toots- but I’m glad you got what you wanted.”

Your breath was shaky and haggard as he pulled out of you, neatly trying to tuck his still hard cock into his pants. You were too hazy to make a point at how he hadn’t cum, but he helped you into your feet and up the stairs leading back to the green room. He picked up his guitar, swinging open the door and letting you go through first, leaving you sprinting on wobbly legs to your post at the bar.

“Y/N!” He called after you. You whipped your head back, mouth still ajar and eyes glossed over as your thighs continued to tremble.

“Stick around after we finish the set- I’ve still got to get what I want,” he said, flashing you a smile dripping with self- righteousness.

You still nodded though.

Creeping back behind the bar, you stopped just in time to not be noticed by the other 2 girls working with you that night, falling right into the chaos and clamor of everyone getting a drink before the house lights started to dim.

The lights on staged tuned a neon pink as Semi and his band took the stage, the chorus of screaming fans and adoring groupies filled the small space so much so that it felt like a stadium show, so much for the feeling of being a small town secret.

“Hey everyone, we are Hot Fuss”, he said into the mic, the cheers once again following as he set up with his guitar, the strap resting softly against the three undone buttons of his shirt- the shirt covered in the soft pink that previously adorned your lips. It was Everywhere, perfect little smeared kiss-marks, ever present reminders of how he had you bent over in an alleyway not even five minutes earlier, fucking you within an inch of your sanity. He shifted the guitar to rest behind him, exposing his chest, and the perfect imprint of your lips adorned his soft skin, the light giving it a glow almost, another round of mostly feminine squeals pierced the air again as someone whistled at the sight of Semi’s tousled physique.

“What’d you get up to Tonight, Semi-Semi?” His drummer teased, egging on the crowd. Your cheeks were so hot you felt like you’d melt. Semi just laughed, taking a soft strum while tuning his guitar onstage, leaning into the microphone and sending a look toward the back of the bar.

“I’m just dressed for the theme,” he joked, winking at several girls in the crowd. He strummed a couple more notes, pushing up against the microphone stand- and showing of his still present bulge, thick as the mic handle in his hand.

“We’re very grateful that all of you chose to be here tonight instead of getting laid,” he began, keeping the banter engaging while the rest of the band continued to set up.

“The night is young though, I guess.  And hey, the bar’s still open,” he looked back again, this time seeming to scan for you. You could feel him on your skin still, his touch was feather light, yet lingered on your skin so heavily.

“Ask your bartenders to help you get lucky!” The crowd laughed again, this time earning a lot of raunchy cheers from the men in the audience.

“All right enough shooting the shit though, you all came here for music, right?”

Loud applause filled the bar again as you stopped to watch him, propping your elbow up and onto the bar, fixating your eyes to see him in the shades of pink across a sea of heads.

“Well then let’s do it. Our first song for the night is very fitting…”

He found you. Your eyes locked on one another and stayed still. You could feel your heart freeze as you ran cold. He winked at you.

“Sing along if you know this one… it’s called Valentine.”

[nightcoremoon]

why am I a jerkass who rains on everyone else's parade when I say I don't like gory horror films because I find movies whose plot consists of some dude stabbing a bunch of people to be fucking stupid pointless boring schlock that only exists to stroke the boners of people who enjoy watching other people die vicariously from a good safe distance, especially when their sequels just cheaply kill off all of the survivors from the earlier films thus rendering the plot of the earlier ones L I T E R A L L Y COMPLETELY FUCKING POINTLESS

but when someone says they don't like seeing sexual assault portrayed in movies (valid) and that people who put them in are evil and bad and dumb and bad tasteless artists, everyone is like yes yes good perfect okay you have the correct opinion here have a good star

hey newsflash assholes, if you're watching a fictional movie about a clinical sociopath who butchers animals, beats the absolute shit out of people they don't like until they're crying and shitting their pants and bleeding out the eyes and pleading for mercy, tying a dude to a chair and then slicing his jugular and glaring in his eyes until he bleeds out, bludgeons some guy for no fucking reason until his blood and brain spatters the kitchen floor, stabs his (naked) sister 17 times (after slowly tracing his fingers on her leg no less, ew), stabs a nurse in the neck with a fork and killing her for literally no reason, then a decade and a half later going back to his hometown just to stab a dozen people with ice skates and pitchforks and good old fashioned kitchen knives, and having the film depict this all in graphic bloody detail

and your ONLY problem is that somewhere along the way two disgusting scum workers at an asylum took a brand new catatonic female patient into his room and fucked her until they messed with his masks so he just breaks their fucking skulls open (which define his character as someone who clearly has no compassion for others but will shatter your bones and strangle you just for touching his stuff), and it's that a girl was raped and not that you watched a guy pulverize two men into bloody giblets...

idk man something about that feels wrong. you're okay with watching fictional murder but not fictional rape even though neither are glorified or justified and it exists purely to cause discomfort and distress in the viewer because it's a fucking horror film and horror is supposed to expose you to depravity and as art it serves to comfort the disturbed and disturb the comfortable.

don't get me wrong rape is bad but like

so is fucking murder.

why can't I express my discomfort in society's gratuitous endorsement and desensitization to killing in fictional media without people taking it as a personal attack and then turn around and do the exact same thing to rape

it's a double standard and it's so stupid

you can eat popcorn and watch jason voorhees rip teenagers in half and then berate me for not having a good time bathing in someone else's blood and then in the same breath #cancel rob zombie's director's cut of his halloween reboot because there's a rape scene in it. the violence is okay; you like the violence, no, you love the violence. that's perfectly fine? violence is good. freddy can force a recovering addict to OD on heroin, that's fine. john doe can force a fat guy to eat spaghetti at gunpoint until his fucking intestines burst, that's okay. mark hoffman can lock an innocent woman in a brazen bull and cook her alive just to fridge her and punish her husband for a lie that he made, that's awesome and wonderful and /super cool/. it's bullshit.

I'm not here to say YOU CAN'T like nightmare in elm street. you can like the texas chainsaw massacre. you can like my bloody valentine. you can like the thing. you can like wrong turn. you can like saw. you can DISlike rob zombie's movies. you can fast forward through the rape scenes in halloween, house of 1000 corpses, and the devil's rejects if the scenes make you uncomfortable (as they are intended to do so because it's a fucking grimdark edgy music video inspired horror movie). I'm not here to tell you that YOU CAN'T have an opinion on things.

but it's a special kind of entitled to insinuate that not only is your opinion the divine right of kings and anyone who disagrees with you is wrong and dumb and evil, but that a squicky scene you don't like actively makes the entire film Objectively Bad™.

maybe I don't like the fact that tatum gets crushed in a garage door. maybe it squicks me. maybe it unsettles me. maybe I think that it detracts from the film when all billy had to do was just stab her one and done without making a huge ordeal out of it. maybe I think it only exists to make a spectacle out of death and gorify- sorry, I mean glorify, murder, because it's exciting and intriguing to some who take solace in the macabre. "the effects are cool". maybe I don't like it. but you can like it.

I can dislike it. you can like it. we're both valid. that's how opinions work.

"but people get triggered by rape"

people get triggered by drugs. people get triggered by food. people get triggered by religion. people get triggered by a lot of things. people get triggered by slit throats, strangling, and hanging. you're valid for your triggers and you can avoid whatever fucking content you wish but if you think only your very particular specific trigger is the one that's valid, screw everyone else? go fuck yourself. you selfish piece of shit. you're not the only person in the world. it isn't hard to respect that you're not the only worldview in the world.

but then again, maybe it is hard, considering nobody fucking does it. everyone's trapped in their own little world where they're the only one who matters. they don't give a single shit about anyone else but themselves and others they can project onto because they're similar. they don't care if you can't match them in any way. you're a freak if you're different and you don't matter.

never mind the fact that 90% of slasher horror is misogynist, ephebophilic, racist, exploitative of the mentally ill and physically deformed, in some cases appropriations of the non-christian religions, and in the other 10% it's actually a horror comedy.

but if a white girl is sexually assaulted that's the only time anyone bothers being compassionate

now a disclaimer because I know for a fact that people are gonna put words in my mouth and take shit out of context and point out things I didn't explicitly state outright and try to make me out to be some fucking evil boogeyman

not saying you SHOULDN'T be compassionate to rape victims and I'm not saying I personally enjoy rape scenes in movies and I'm not saying that I particularly like the inclusion of those scenes in those movies and there is certainly a conversation to be had on the very misogynist nature of hollywood cinema as a whole in the horror genre especially and we should keep in mind the thermian argument and it's a complex issue, I know I know I know so shut the fuck up I don't owe you a passing grade on clout or the semantics of discourse or virtue signaling.

it's just stupid that people only get upset if a fictional white girl gets raped in a gore porn movie when it ~doesn't suit the narrative~. ok, this is the narrative: scary man stabs, the end.

scary men stab all the time. scary men shoot. scary men suicide bomb. scary men patent insulin and sell it at an upcharge poor diabetics can't afford. scary men drop bombs on kids in syria. scary men put mexicans in concentration camps. scary men slaughter thousands of men and women for their religion or their sexuality or their skin color. scary men do a lot of bad shit. your silence on these issues does much more harm to society than *checks notes* a scary movie about bad people doing bad things and facing karmic retribution for it.

TL;DR rape is bad, and murder is also bad, and american horror films have 100s of problems, and people need to start voicing their opinions as opinions and not pretending they're facts because it's super fucking annoying

[jonsameta]

Hi, me again!

jesuiscommejesuis: Haha, I’m on that GoT grind and probably won’t stop until the premiere 😂. I trust your opinion so unfortunately you have to endure another ask from me. Anyway…I think that most of us have considered the possibility of Jonsa not being canon. (RIP me if that happens). But my question isn’t about whether Jonsa will be or won’t be (I’ve come to terms with the fact that GoT will end how GRRM always intended it to end) it’s about what that possibility means for all of the evidence, clues, foreshadowing, etc that we’ve gathered. In your opinion will Jonsa not happening render those clues and meta meaningless and we were all crazy after all? Or do they take on a new meaning and point us in a new direction? Idk if that even makes sense. Maybe I’m just afraid that Jonsa wont happen and I’m afraid for no other reason other than that I will have looked and sounded insane to all of my GoT friends and had nothing to show for it. Also do you know of any interviews or blog posts from GRRM possibly supporting Jonsa? Same for D&D? Or any other people on or working with the show? Thank you so much!! 💙

—-

Hi there, 

The thing about theories is they’re like Shrodinger’s cat. If you try to be objective, you have to entertain the possibility that it won’t happen, but it can’t completely be false until proven otherwise. That said, some theories are more probable than others because there’s material within the text that thematically undoes something. This is because a story’s themes (which differs depending on the adaptation but it can’t be completely divorced from the original source either) define its boundaries because they essentially make up “the heart of the story”, not the plot. They give the main characters a moral dilemma that drives their journeys. Considering the themes of the story - both bookwise and showwise - Jonsa is very probable because it answers a lot of long standing character arcs that go beyond these characters and provides a bookend that Jon/Dany cannot considering R+L=J. 

I think anything in this story has to be considered according to the politics - even the fantasy part because the personal is political. With such a spread out story only the themes and the morality dilemmas of politics that the smallest moment can have is what holds it all together. And I think the strongest argument for the probability of Jonsa comes from a structural level of gauging the politics. 

Jon’s parentage is a political game changer and the way it’s been built up it cannot just be for personal angst - especially when the element of his parentage revealing him to have a higher claim than Dany is brought up. It doesn’t just affect him or his relationship with Dany. It affects Westeros and Dany’s own longstanding goal.

Jon may not want to be king, but Dany is walking in as a very unpopular figure into the North and the way she has gone about her campaign hasn’t improved her reputation and only worsened it. And Jon himself will lose popularity after having 1) bent the knee to a Targaryen, 2) consorting with a Targaryen and 3) being a secret Targaryen. 

Dany doesn’t realise that although Jon claims to have pledged his allegiance to her, it doesn’t mean the North has fallen into her hands. He’s only lost their faith from this move so no Targaryen by themselves could claim the North. Not to mention the Vale and Riverlands are more allied to Sansa than they are to Jon. To regain faith, he’d have to separate himself from Dany and the Targaryen identity a bit and yet he would need a political statement that only a marriage alliance to Stark could give if he were to remain in power. There’s also the pesky issue of how unknowingly Sansa and the Starks have more allies than Dany (or Jon without the Starks) does as everyone comes into Winterfell. So Sansa’s constant label as “key to the North” and the importance of marriage alliances becomes very important here. He can’t become king or even gain the faith of the people (back) without Sansa. So in that case, the whole notion of the Pact of Ice and Fire being fulfilled through Dany and Jon falls apart because Jon will be seen as an outsider. @thelawyerthatwaspromised has even written a post with infographics to make it easier to understand. It’s like R+L=J resets the chessboard. Ironically, what the audience thought Jon/Dany’s union would do politically is far more possible through Jon/Sansa. 

As it makes sense as a political match, the possibility of it happening and impacting the narrative increases a lot more. The original outline also matters here because clearly the pseudo-incest tag didn’t stop the author. However, as the characters haven’t interacted in real time in the books and aren’t close, there’s not much people have asked him about it nor has GRRM has said about it unless you count his vague reply once (”I won’t say more than I’ve already said in the books”). I’d say there’s more to be gauged from what he has to say about other ships that fandom roots for, that isn’t as positive as they make it out to be - whether Jon/rya, San/San, San/rion or Jon/Dany. It’s not obvious because he hardly shuts down possibilities but there’s reading between the lines. It becomes more obvious through a process of elimination. It’s also because Jon/Sansa as a ship tramples over so many ships that fandoms have banked on that people are inclined to dismiss it rather than re-evaluate the pre-existing ships. 

On the show, people have been coy too but there’s more content to gauge as the characters have already reunited and their dynamic has become pretty pivotal to the story. Where D&D shut down Dany and Yara ever happening, in the same panel they evaded a question about Jon and Sansa being developed as a romantic relationship. Aiden Gil/lian commented on how Jon’s parentage opens up possibilities for Jon and Sansa’s relationship romantically at the end of season 6. Sophie was asked about it post season 6 and she said it was possible because it’s GOT and they’re cousins. Also, there’s Liam Cunnin/gham who once liked a Jonsa fanvideo lol and he barely has any likes. Sophie has said it’s possible, even as she joked about how it would be embarrassing to film an intimate scene. Kit has somehow avoided all questioning, but he has some pretty interesting reactions regarding Jon and Sansa’s relationship - either in the words he chooses (”She twists him like no one else”) or how over the top his reaction to Sansa is when he talks about how annoying she is to the point where he’s flushed and red and laughing while saying “I’ve gotten really animated now that Sansa has come into the story”. Bryan Cogman has a lot to say regarding this dynamic too, that he even wrote Jon leaving Ghost behind to watch over Sansa when he left for Dragonstone. 

What helps regarding the show is that it’s not just the actors or the political sense, but the camerawork and visual framing that makes their scenes very confusing because they’re shot as a romantic couple about to happen, as @trinuviel has explored in her series “All is Subtext”.  This notion that it was “framed” or “shot” that way was echoed by multiple reviewers and podcasts through season 6 and even into the beginning of season 7. 

A huge part of this was because it very subtly visually paralleled more positive romantic ships on the show like Ned/Cat, Jaime/Brienne, Robb/Talisa, Sam/Gilly, Missandei/Greyworm and even Jon/Ygritte to some extent. This is over a course of 7 episodes under 5 different directors. One of the most telling scenes for me was when they did two back to back parallels to Ned/Cat and Jaime/Brienne after Jon chokeholds Littlefinger over Sansa and they go on to give a Jaime/Brienne-esque goodbye. The same director Mark Mylod directed both the season 6 Jaime/Brienne and season 7 Jon/Sansa goodbye. Bryan Cogman even confirmed that the Littlefinger chokehold was meant to parallel Ned doing the same over Cat. 

But in my opinion, what weirdly cemented it was how Jon/Dany contrasted Jon/Sansa’s dynamic and framing. There were a lot of structural decisions made that undercut the Jon/Dany “romance” and made Jon/Sansa look more compatible and romantic, which is something I explored in my “Undoing Romance” series. Again, this is looking beyond the actors. The biggest tell for me was that they never got a first kiss so romantic tension was never released but just dissipated over plot exposition. Moreover, how is it that Jon and Sansa have more parallels with romantic ships than Jon/Dany do? Why do Jon/Sansa have more Robb/Talisa framing through season 6 than Jon/Dany through season 7 if that’s what’s happening? Why was there no passionate first kiss like theirs? We just skipped to the sex in between a montage that told us how related they are. 

Why didn’t Jon look back at Dany when Jorah did, while he looked back at Sansa? Why does Jon react more violently to Sansa’s suitors than to Jorah? Why are these characters caught in triangle with interlopers, who pose a political threat but are also interested in one romantically? Why is this dynamic given so much importance where there’s tension but also there’s emotional vulnerability that pours out contrasting Jon/Sansa’s and Sansa and Arya’s season 6 and season 7 battlements scenes respectively. Why did they reveal R+L=J at the end of season 6 - the season in which people questioned what the hell was happening in the Jon/Sansa dynamic and a whole season before Jon met Dany. Both season finales also teased conflict because of political claims that change because of R+L=J. Where his parentage reveal, relieves Jon/Sansa of the direct incest factor because it biologically distances them, it makes Jon and Dany biologically more related - especially because she’s heavily inbred herself. 

So it is a situation of “will they/won’t they?” but even more subtly because the cast and crew always skips past discussing it and with Jon/Dany happening people take it as accidental chemistry. There’s no heavy dismissal from the TPTB though when there could’ve been or laughing at it like Tormund and Brienne, which is totally for laughs and a show ship. What they do keep saying is that this relationship is key to watch and you have to wonder: why is it so important? To me it’s not about the actors chemistry or singular scenes. It’s about the story’s intrinsic narrative structure and the camera framing that makes the visual subtext convey more than the text does. 

The show frames Jon and Sansa’s relationship is odd because we know they weren’t close and Arya was his favorite and yet they take up quite an important part in each other’s arc at this point, where they both want to trust each other completely but don’t and yet their vulnerability comes out most around each other in these last two seasons. They’re being built up more slowly than Jon/Dany and more subtly so while people expect a full blown romance, I expect something more subtle, more quiet and thus emotionally rewarding for these characters individual and collective arcs. If it happens, D&D are building it up as a plot twist/game changer because it’s related to politics. But it’s not to say there can’t be emotional catharsis too because these characters have a lot of issues that they answer pretty well. 

Hope that answers your questions. 

- lostlittlesatellites

[sacroms]

( i’m late aF.. two day canada day celebrations fucking me up, nice ! )

hey guys, i’m kat !! 20, from the nt.. i’m a uni student and i’d say more abt myself, but i’m trying to post this quickly out of pure shame for being almost a whole 24 hours late; basically y’all — and me — have waited long enough dgsjk so below you can read up on st. joan’s resident icy brat romy, a bitch who overworks and doesn’t know how to chill long-term !! plots page is HERE — need a bit of editing tho — for your reading pleasure, stats and.. this blurb you’ll read below !

⌈ BAE JOOHYUN, SHE/HER. ⌉ THE DYNAMO.┊✧* ·  ˚  ━━━━ TWENTY-TWO year old, SAEROM “ROMY” CHO, is a spy-in-training at saint joan’s. i wish they’d stop listening to KELELA. i’ve heard they can be SEDULOUS and UNEQUIVOCAL when they want to be. they’re skilled at MULTILINGUALISM and not the greatest at UNDERWATER SPECIAL OPERATIONS. anyways, i hope they’re ready for the real world. ( kat, +18, she/her, n/a. )

honestly she is.. fucked sgjfsgdkl

i’ve used a variation of this muse a couple of times so.. this’ll be fun i’m sure sgdfj

this is her as popular vines

so saerom cho, daughter of a former mi6 operative and just.. an average baker ksfgjdkdgf from orléans, france

me: it's bc i thought it’d be cool for her to be there bc of the connection to the school

my conscience: fuck off, you just want her to have a french accent without projecting your patriotism this time, you hag 

me: .. yknow actUALLY it’s a cute homage to the Cutest parisian i know, [redacted] - i 

FKSKFKSL

has a younger sister who’s still in hs, they’re close or whatever dgsfjdgf

won’t go too into detail abt her bg rn aside from her former spy mother !

so her mom had been an agent for mi6 for some time before an injury on a mission rendered her incapable of maintaining her post, and took up an alias to protect herself in case her identity posed the risk of being identified by those the agency was investigating ( tho she didn’t attend st. joan’s so romy’s not a legacy, js )

anyways romy didn’t know abt this until a few years back, not that her mom was discreet abt where she worked before she lived a domestic life, but the job itself

and it’s how she came to be interested in this line of work as well — not enough to get involved JUST yet

it was when a representative from st. joan’s met her one day, knowing of her mom’s bg, to ask her to join the school. romy laughed in their face immediately

bc she didn’t trust them, that is, but turns out they were legit !

and.. initially she declined, or rather, said she’d think abt it. bc how was she capable of any of this ?? aside from being multilingual and an athlete in high school ( gymnastics with a couple of years of track under her belt ) not.. to sell herself short or anything but anyways

brief bg info abt her stint in those sports — she was suPER involved in them, but with gymnastics it was a whole other level of investment. i say she’s v driven and hardworking now, but she’d bust her ass in the sport on top of her education, the poster child for reckless devotion and ambition ( this is especially important for later )

but temptation got the best of her and soon enough she begins attending st. joan’s !

do you see how half-assed this looks ?? fucking slow ass here rushing to present something mediocre GSJSDFGKL

she’s been here since she graduated from secondary school and has become — in her opinion — well-trained in most areas taught at the academy

.. except underwater special ops, a bitch has a fear of large bodies of water. or being submerged for longer than she thinks she can handle. so imagine her failure fearing ass having THAT issue ! she hates it !

uh.. yeah let’s do some quick personality points instead, my dumb ass is Struggling

personality and other shit

she is.. a mess rly

inflexible, independent, charismatic, etc

most of her actual personality is further down oops dsfgjklfg

kinda detached ?? like she doesn’t want too many distractions and she deems relationships as the fucking Worst for it.. just trying to be level-headed by not taking up too many hobbies, social obligations, etc, while not destroying her social life ?

idk it’s hard to explain, she’s an enigma even to me in that area

only dated once. when she was like eighteen. with some dusty dude she quickly ditched.

not.. super sexually active either ( rip ?? )

in whatever she’s applying herself to, she’s domineering and blunt, v strict on herself though she’s slacked off a bit over the years.. so imagine how self-disciplined — in the worst of ways — she was when she was younger and involved in gymnastics

with a rigorous work ethic like hers, her being captain of gymnastics team implied that she’d be strict too with what little power she has.. but she was kinda chill overall ?? and the same could be said here at st. joan’s, gives 120% in almost everything she does

uh.. her attitude carries over with her fellow trainees tbh. she has no time for people who are Committed to their future job but show poor performances bc of laziness, distractions, etc. even more so for those who lack in commitment as well so brace your kids for hurricane romy ??

call her ice queen. try it. try it. GKFDJKGDSF

she rly just has a hard shell where it matters, aka her career and school and stuff, but is a semi-precious gem overall

kind of dramatic and a meme ngl, curses quite a bit, whips out french far too often — especially if she’s shit-talking bc you made an ugly choice but is trying to be a Supportive Friend

unwinds with the usual netflix and wine, but also dance

oH also is fluent in french, korean, english and italian ( spent some time during her summer breaks in different parts of europe, but italy was a staple for the family ), but is also knowledgeable in portuguese, and a bit of another couple of languages

ok idk what else to say rn, accept this pls

KDFJGSKFL uh, let’s end this disaster there. if anyone wants to plot, im me !! ( ps, if you prefer d*scord like yours truly, just ask for it or send me yours ! )

[dragonydreams]

Priorities, We Have Them - Rogue Canary

Title: Priorities, We Have Them Fandom: DC's Legends of Tomorrow Rating: Teen Pairings/Characters: Sara Lance/Mick Rory/Leonard Snart Summary: Mick gets hurt while out in the field and all Sara and Leonard want to do is take care of him the best way they know how. Timeline: Ambiguous season two after they get Rip back and Leonard never died at the Oculus. Word Count: 1,878 Disclaimer: I claim no ownership over these characters. I am merely borrowing them from Greg Berlanti, Marc Guggenheim, Andrew Kreisberg and Phil Klemmer. Betas: Thank you to angelskuuipo and shanachie_quill for looking this over for me. Author's Note: Combination of prompts. @freyreh requested: rogue canary, fluffy prompt call: one is hurt during mission and the other two dotes on them, despite protests! Anonymous requested: As a prompt would you consider a fluffy mick centric rogue canary fic??? Maybe they're comforting him or something??? Possibly smutty idk whatever u feel

  The battle raged throughout the dockyard. Firestorm and Atom were firing on goons from the sky while Leonard, Mick, and Rip attacked with guns and Sara, Amaya, and Nate fought with hand-to-hand combat.

"Where's Darhk?" Sara shouted after having knocked out her latest opponent. She looked around to see Leonard shooting ice at a cluster of men and Mick wasn't far away lighting up some other men with fire. But neither was fighting Darhk. "I don't see him."

"The speedster got him away as soon as the gunfire started," Ray reported over the din of fight.

Sara took her rage out on having lost out on the chance to kill Darhk, again, on the first goon foolish enough to come at her.

She was so consumed by her own fight that she didn't hear the warning signs until the explosion happened.

"Mick," Leonard's voice cried out, finishing off his opponents.

Sara's head jerked up as one of her lovers cried the other's name with an anguished voice. She dropped her opponent and followed Leonard to where she could now see Mick lying on the ground.

"No!" she cried, running towards the fire that was creeping closer to her lovers. "Is he...?" She couldn't say it.

"Alive," Leonard quickly assured her, his voice thick with emotion - that he would later claim was from the smoke. "Just unconscious."

"Thank God," Sara sighed. Into the comms, she said, "Mick's down and Darhk's gone. Retreat."

As Leonard and Sara managed to lift Mick between them, Ray dropped down. "Let me take him," he offered, reaching for Mick's limp form.

"We've got him," Leonard snarled, tightening his grip on Mick.

"I can carry him much easier, and faster, thanks to the suit," Ray insisted.

"We want to do this," Sara said, meeting his eyes, "but thanks for the offer."

 Ray instantly backed off.

The team knew that the Rogues and the Assassin were close, but Sara wasn't sure if they knew exactly how close they were to each other. Frankly, it was none of their business.

Heading straight for the medbay once on board the Waverider, they managed to get Mick onto one of the exam chairs and secured the medical cuff around his wrist.

"How is he?" Sara asked as a blue light scanned Mick's body.

"Aside from being unconscious, Mr. Rory is fine," Gideon reported. "I have already reduced the minor swelling of his brain."

Leonard let out the breath that he had been holding. "Are you sure? When will he wake up?"

"I'm sure," Gideon said. "The force of hitting his head on the ground merely rendered Mr. Rory unconscious. It is no more severe than any of the blows that you have delivered to him over the past year."

"When will he wake up?" Sara asked, since the AI had not answered Leonard's second question.

"I am not sure how long it will take him to regain consciousness," Gideon reported. "Anytime between now and several hours from now."

"Does he need to stay here?" Leonard asked.

"There is no medical reason for him to remain in this room," Gideon said.

"Great." Leonard removed the cuff and began to lift Mick off the medical chair. "We'll be in my quarters."

Sara helped Leonard carry Mick to his room and they managed to get him stretched out on Leonard's bed. Leonard immediately started to remove Mick's boots.

"I'm gonna go check in with Rip and then I'll be back," Sara said. "If he wakes up while I'm gone, tell him I'll be right back."

"I will," Leonard said. Before she could go, he caught her hand and pulled her close for a quick kiss; an assurance that they were both okay after the fight.

Sara smiled at him as they parted and gave his hand a squeeze before she moved quickly towards the bridge.

Sara found Rip in his study.

"How is Mr. Rory?" he asked upon seeing Sara.

"Gideon said he's fine, just knocked out," Sara said. "Leonard and I moved him to Leonard's room and we'll wait for him to wake up there. What happened with the goons?"

"The fight pretty much broke up after the explosion. Those that weren't caught by it were so few in number that they ran off," Rip informed her.

"Sorry we just ran off," Sara said. "I know my job is as a fighter, and its bad form for the co-captain to just disappear mid-fight."

Rip's expression softened. "A good captain looks out for their crew; which is exactly what you did."

"Mick's more than just crew," Sara uncomfortably admitted.

"I know," Rip said. Upon Sara's surprised look, he added, "Did you really think that I don't know about the various affairs that are happening on board my own ship?"

"We thought we were playing it pretty cool," Sara said.

"Oh, you were," Rip readily agreed. "I'm not sure that your teammates know the fullness of your - friendship - with the former thief and arsonist, but it is my job to track all movements on this ship. Including who is sleeping in which bedrooms."

Sara blushed slightly. "Thank you for not saying anything."

"It's not my place," Rip said. "Had Mr. Rory not been injured today, I still would not have acted any wiser."

"I better get back to them," Sara said. "How long before we jump?"

"We'll wait until Mr. Rory is sufficiently recovered. With the so called Legion of Doom in the wind once again, we are in no rush to be off."

"Thanks, Rip," Sara said, turning to head back to Leonard's room.

Leonard was sitting on his bed beside Mick's prone form, a book open in front of him. He'd maneuvered Mick's head against his side and his arm was looped around his shoulders, his hand resting over Mick's heart.

Sara slipped off her boots and crawled onto the bed with them, fitting herself between Leonard's outstretched legs.

"About time you got here, I've been stuck on the same page for minutes," Leonard said as she settled back against his chest.

"How very boring for you," Sara commented as she dutifully turned the page in his book. "What are we reading?" She let the hand closest to Mick rest on his thigh.

"Frankenstein," Leonard said.

"You feeling some sympathy for our misunderstood monster?" Sara asked affectionately.

"Don't let him hear you say that," Leonard said softly.

"Oh, you know what I mean," Sara said lightly. "Most people don't get him like we do."

"I do know what you mean," Leonard concurred.

"Leonard, I don't much feel like reading," Sara said, twisting around until she was kneeling between his legs. She trailed one hand up his chest until it rested behind his neck while the other remained on Mick.

Leonard closed the book and tossed it towards the end of the bed, his now free hand going to her hip. "What did you have in mind?"

Sara leaned in to kiss him. Her lips brushed against his lightly, teasingly, until Leonard pulled her firmly against his body and parted his lips, deepening the kiss. Sara moaned her encouragement, pressing her body against his, her nails digging into Mick's chest.

"Who said you could start without me?" Mick asked groggily from beside them.

Sara and Leonard's heads whipped towards Mick to see him sitting up against the wall, hungrily watching them.

"Don't stop on my account," Mick said.

"You're awake," Sara exclaimed, leaning over to hug Mick.

"Obvious--" Mick's response was cut off by Leonard's lips on his.

"I'm happy to see you guys, too," Mick said when they released him. "What was that for?"

"You've been unconscious," Leonard said.

"How long?" Mick asked, frowning in confusion.

"Just a couple of hours," Sara answered. "That explosion knocked you out."

"Don't remember any explosion. Did I cause it?" he asked hopefully.

"Sorry, buddy, but someone fired a gun into one of the oil cans," Leonard said. "What were you doing fighting over by them anyway?"

"Thought I could blow them up if I needed to," Mick answered. "Guess that idea backfired."

"Be more careful," Sara admonished him, moving from her place between Leonard's legs until she was straddling Mick. She took his face in her hands and kissed him somewhat desperately.

"Mr. Rory should refrain from any physical exertion for the next forty-eight hours," Gideon's voice interrupted.

Sara whimpered as her forehead dropped to Mick's shoulder.

"How'd you know what we were doin'?" Mick grumbled.

"I have been continuing to monitor your heart rate for any residual effects from you being rendered unconscious," Gideon informed them.

"Why didn't you say anything when we asked if he was going to be okay?" Leonard asked, just as frustrated as his partners.

"I expected you to use more common sense than this," Gideon responded. "No physical exertion for Mr. Rory for the next two days or I will have to inform Captain Hunter."

Not wanting that lecture, Mick grumpily acknowledged, "Understood."

Sara gave Mick one last quick kiss before turning and settling herself in his lap, her legs stretched out over Leonard, Mick's arm automatically coming to wrap around her waist. "So now what?" she pouted.

"Movie?" Leonard suggested.

"Can we watch Blade Trinity?" Mick asked. "I like the guy that plays Drake."

"Anything you want," Sara said.

"And popcorn," Mick added.

Sara giggled at Leonard's groan as he got up. "Be right back," he said, dropping a quick kiss to Mick's lips.

Sara snuggled closer into Mick's warmth, causing the big man to chuckle.

"What's got you so clingy?" he asked, running his hand up and down her back.

"You scared me today," Sara admitted. "I don't like being scared in the field. I'm supposed to be in charge out there and as soon as I saw you were down, I left my position and ran to you."

"You know I'd do the same for you or Len," Mick said, tilting her face up to meet his eyes.

"Not the same," Sara insisted.

"Was Rip mad?" Mick asked.

"No, he understood," Sara said. "He already knew about us all being together."

"Captain's job to know what's going on on his ship," Mick said, nodding. "Not surprised."

"Well, I was," Sara admitted. "Do you think Leonard will be mad that he knows?"

"That who knows what?" Leonard asked, carrying a large bowl of popcorn and three bottles of beer. He handed the popcorn to Sara along with one of the beers, giving the other to Mick, before resuming his place on the bed. "Gideon said you only get one beer," Leonard informed Mick, who grunted his acknowledgement.

"Rip knows about the three of us being together," Sara told him.

"He say we need to stop?" Leonard asked. "Because that's not happening."

"No, he didn't seem to care, as long as it doesn't interfere with the mission," Sara said.

"Nothing to worry about, then," Leonard said. He adjusted his position so that he was leaning against Mick, facing the screen in the wall over the bed.

"Gideon, play Blade Trinity on the screen in my room and dim the lights," Leonard called out.

The lights dimmed as the screen came to life.

Sara relaxed against Mick, grateful that they were all going to be okay.

The End

[gottahavepride]

Putting this somewhere bc... idk, I liked it. Ultimately the flowery prosey shit didn’t really work in the context of the reply I was doing but hey ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ I stole chunks of it for my actual reply but I still like the post in its entirety, whimsical bullshit or no.

Poem referenced is here.

Here is what they don’t tell you: Icarus laughed as he fell.

And she did, the sound guttural and choked, but nonetheless laughter. It echoed from her throat, torn and bloody, spitting mirth into the face of her mortality, refusing to be cowed by the idea that it had all come to an end. Was this it, then? Did they think there was something grand in taking her down, a travel-weary wanderer, underfed and footsore and tired? She laughed because it didn’t matter, none of it, because she hoped that Saboro would find them all the next day, because she had no purpose anyway, because she had fooled herself into believing she had left for any other reason but selfishness. If Gemini couldn’t be her’s entirely, then she wanted none of it.

Threw his head back and yelled into the winds, arms spread wide, teeth bared to the world.

Her head fell against the dirt, mouth agape with that laughter, which died ahead of its host, leaving only her fangs, still bared with lips peeled back, dipped in blood, ready to resume the battle. There was no fight remaining, however. If the red tattoos found her sister in a week’s time, in a month’s time, ten years down the road, Derringer would not be there to fight like she had when they found Avery, when they found Nathan, like she would have if Coven had truly walked into Gemini to bear witness to Serrate giving birth. Derringer’s battles were over, her fight for control, her struggle for power, for the upper wolfhand, all of it was done.

(There is a bitter triumph in crashing when you should be soaring.)

And shouldn’t she have soared? She could have risen high, above the rest of them, she could have conquered the sun at last, eclipsed her sister and taken it all for herself, ruled above the rest with Gaius at her side, with Falcon set poised to inherit all she’d finally stolen for her own. At her most bitter and vengeful, she told herself this, forgot about the countless wolves that held allegiance to the kinder, gentler Queen rather than the vicious one. She had left, abandoned Gemini to its Queen of ice, given her sister the peace Serrate always dreamed of, and it had caused her ultimate demise; the sweet irony of it all burned in her chest, that she had been brought down for something she had no part of. Let them believe they’d found the culprit, let Serrate blame her son’s death on her sister, let them all rot for all she cared.

The wax scorched his skin, ran blazing trails down his back, his thighs, his ankles, his feet.

Derringer felt blood dripping down her fur, felt it burning from where they had ripped into her, where they had stolen her life from her. She had given life to one of them! And she would have given life to the other as well, she would have taken him as her’s and given him the authority of her name, her rank, their children. No more. Her eyes flickered to Gaius, to Absinthe, and locked onto her daughter. ”I hope you burn.” The snarl echoed dimly, her eyes rolled back to Gaius, but when she tried to curse him in turn she found the words had escaped her, that there was an odd sensation of cotton in her throat where there should have been venom.

Feathers floated like prayers past his fingers, close enough to snatch back.

She felt it in her paws, first, this unique sensation; it tingled and yet was entirely numb, a static fuzz that spread from toenail to paw pad to ankle and further up, coursing through her body. A unique sense of curiosity, a naïve sensation unlike any she could remember feeling, bloomed within her thoughts. It was like a child’s wonder. She went to raise her head to look at her legs, and found she couldn’t. How odd.

Death breathed burning kisses against his shoulders, where the wings joined the harness.

Next came the heaviness. Where before there was nothing, suddenly she keenly felt her inability to move. She tried to rise, resulting in a twitch along her shoulders that she couldn’t feel, tried again to lift her head, eyes rolling, amusement replaced with anger replaced with panic. She wanted to scream at them, rage at being rendered so helpless, because for all her derision toward those smaller and weaker than herself Derringer had always found somebody else to blame when it was her in that situation, whether beaten down in a fight or demoted to the lowest of the low.

 The sun painted everything in shades of gold.

 She found them, again, staring at her two assailants, the child she had wanted rescued from the pits of hell, the man she had envisioned at her side until her death. They would have done well in Saboro, the both of them; Absinthe was more like her than she had ever seen before. Had she done that, through trying to unlock the secret of her sister’s strength? Had she instead unlocked some mimicry of herself, the vengeful daughter that would always hate her, that would see her dead sooner than bond with her? Did Absinthe see it, how she was nothing but the same old sad tale, repeated over and over again in this twisted scheme of fate – except this time she shattered it, that unbroken circle, bringing down the specter that haunted her dreams.

Her vision hazed over, giving the same warm tint to the surrounding area that befitted Saboro. Her former home – or her true home. Had she ever really left? Wasn’t she alone still acting under the guidelines that brutal place had instilled, weren’t her decisions only ever based off the careful molding her mother had done? Didn’t they understand? She never would have stopped. Serrate never would have rested. Derringer couldn’t ever stomach the thought of not being in control, she could only ever see justification in the weakness that was Serrate’s kindness. They would have continued, over and over and over again; Cain and Abel, Apollo and Artemis, Romulus and Remus, Castor and Pollux. Whether they were simply contrasting the other in opposition, sun to moon, ice to fire, or coexisting to survive, defending one another, fighting – all of it would have ended the same way.

She wanted to look at the two that had conquered her and scream, Don’t you understand, we would have killed each other anyway! But instead of ending in a fitting twist of fate, a scene too familiar to not become legend, Serrate’s ever-present demon fell here, two champions above her, rescuing their Queen from a reality that would have unfolded at an apex, perhaps on the cliffs overlooking the sea, or on a solitary island, full of questions and mysteries and death. Instead, Derringer’s choices had brought her here, her reckless impulsiveness leading to her unmistakable end, her desire to crush and control and take leading to her own demise.

(There is a certain beauty in setting the world on fire and watching from the centre of the flames.)

 But Derringer was the only one burning. The grey crept in around the edges, pops of it exploding in the middle of her vision, body feeling cold and numb and unbearably hot all at once – and then nothing.

Her eyes closed, and so did her chapter in their overarching story. The Lunar Queen, the Vengeful Sister, the Entitled Daughter – however you describe her, Icarus fell for the last time, crashing into blackness, sinking away from them all, leaving the sun to her rightful place in the sky.

The End.