i have no idea what his color scheme is so i made my own

Rick’s “Fake” Origin Story?

So this could all just be bullshit but I think I have a somewhat plausible theory on what parts of Rick’s origin is true, who Diane Sanchez really is, and a solid idea to explain both Beth’s and Summer’s hair colors. Under the cut to save your dash because this is going to be detailed and long. So here we go. 

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SO LET’S TALK “WHO’S THE TRAITOR” SOME MORE

If you’ve never read my initial theory post, please do yourself a favor and check that shit out. It is a foundation for the theory that, regrettably, was missing a lot of information that I wasn’t able to get to until I was able to do a reread of the series, plus I wanted to wait for the series to develop a little further. The original post was made right after “Deku vs Kacchan 2” was released, so we’ve had about 30 chapters of development. You might be wondering how on earth 3k words isn’t enough to make my point the first time, but here I am yet again! 

I might sound crazy, but believe me when I say… I am the MOST serious. 

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Sunny Days-chapter 8

Sunny Days Masterlist

Summary- Negan and Sunny deal with the effects of their argument. Who will bend or break?

Warnings- Angst, Smut, Edging, Daddy Kink, Squirting, Language

Author’s Note- Sorry this took so long to get out. Flu, bronchitis, and plot bunny in shape of Max from The Resident took over my life. However, since you guys waited so long, I combined what would have been 3 short chapters into this much longer one. Also, I planned this story out before the episode with sad Amber aired. So my Amber is a bitch. And I’m gonna screw around with the time line to fit my story. It shouldn’t make much difference since it’s hard to tell how much time passes between episodes sometimes.

Word Count- 5.7k+

Tag List- @aalexandra2712 @adreamemporium @ali-pennell @alyisdead @andrealind24 @artemisxeros @ashzombie13 @blondesouthsquad @breemacen24 @negansqween @coolgh0st @daintyunicorn @ericuhlohrain @flames-bring-a-ton-of-ash @flissworld @ladylorelitany @loliftingg @melodicdolls @memphisgirl1977 @miiraal @narcoleptic-moose-winchester @natjm13 @negans-dirty-girl @negansbby @negansxlucille @negans-network @ninjacuddlepile @peachtickler69 @rune-skyjumper @sassyfiedscribbles @shinydixon @starshinesupergirl @superanonymousreader @suzumebailey @thatwriterizzy @thealphaofmultifandoms @vendekk @vivalafuckingpluto @xomissi

 Lots of tags not working. Sorry. I will try to message y’all individually.

Reblog and leave a comment if you like it! xoxo


Originally posted by grungedaddykinks

Negan sat in his office staring at the new bedroom door. He swirled the scotch, the ice gently clinked against the glass, and brought it to his lips. He swallowed the last mouthful in one large gulp feeling warmth spreading down his throat. He had everything ready. All he was missing was Sunny.

She’s too fucking stubborn for her own good. She has no fucking clue how damn vulnerable she is out there on her own. She’ll come the fuck around. She has to. I’ll fucking make her. God fucking damnit.

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Pity (Support: A Harry Styles Imagine Part 2)

Warning: accidents, swearing

Here’s the much awaited Part 2! I’m gonna say sorry in advance for how this one ended because I already planned out the ending yet I couldn’t put it into words. The result was a little confusion with the writing in the end but hopefully you guys will get the scenario.

Message me or ask me HERE if things get a bit confusing. I’ll take the blame. Sorry again. And to make up for it, I’ll make a Part 3! It’s time to send in your suggestions again!

Enjoy! Hope I didn’t disappoint.  

If you haven’t read part 1, click HERE

 ~~

It has been a few months since Harry and I broke up. To say that Harry was broken was an understatement. He made sure to call me everyday. Of course, what could he expect? I never answered. I even contemplated on changing my number but I had too much respect to do it.

The entire universe unfortunately found out about the break up but to my surprise, the fans wanted us to get back together. It wasn’t unknown to me that I was on the Directioners’ good side. They saw how much I love and took care of Harry and his fans appreciated that. Even though Harry ruined our relationship, it was still the best four years of my life.

**

“Y/N please at least answer his call. Just a call, singular. Please.” Louis called me a few days after the break up.

“Louis, I can make my own decisions.” I said.

“But you haven’t seen him. He has neither eaten nor bathed. His eyes are bloodshot and bags are seen under his eyes. He’s not the same without you Y/N.” I heard Louis say something when his phone was taken away.

“Harry, no.” Louis said but Harry didn’t listen.

“Y/N? Love? I’m so sorry. I’m so fucking sorry. Please hear me out. I-” Harry was about to continue when I hung up 

Hearing his voice made the butterflies in my stomach come to life. I missed him. I really did. But if his fame and fortune was more important than me, then to heck with him.

I deserved better. 

**

As the fashion show gets closer, nerves start kicking in. It was a good thing though. It made me work extra hard and made myself busy to avoid thinking about him. Gemma calls me every once in awhile to check up on me and so did Anne. It made me feel guilty though. I left their son/brother broken, yet they still cared for me. Gemma even made sure that I include their names for the VIP section in the fashion show.

One day, I was in a coffee meeting with my fellow designers and the organizers of the fashion show. They were talking about lighting, stage decor, and color scheme when I got a phone call from Gemma. Because of the meeting, I couldn’t answer her call. I shrugged it off thinking it may just be her weekly “just checking up on you” calls. I’ll just call her back later. 

But no, her calls kept on coming.

“Excuse me for just one moment.” I told everyone. They just smiled and said to go ahead. I immediately called Gemma and I got an answer in one ring.

“Gem? What’s wrong?” I asked. I waited for an answer but all I got was a sob.

“Hello?” I asked once more. “Gem? You ok? Where are you?”

 “It’s… It’s mum. Out of nowhere she just… she just collapsed and… and we had to call an ambulance and bring her to the hospital. She… she was bleeding, Y/N.”

I couldn’t process what she was saying. Anne was like a second mother to me, and knowing that her state was critical, I couldn’t just sit around.

“She was looking for you.” Gemma answered. “She was conscious for a few seconds in the ambulance and called everyone’s name, including yours. That’s why I had to call you up and tell you.”

“Where is she now?” I asked, making my way back to our table to collect my things.

“We’re here at the Wythenshawe Hospital back home. But you don’t have to drive all the way here, she’ll understand that you’re in London and-”

“I’ll be there in a few. Just… update me ok?” I said and hung up. My colleague saw me collect my things and stopped me for a minute. She gave me a look that said ‘what are you doing?’

“I’m so so sorry everyone, but my mum was brought to the hospital so I have to go. I’m really sorry.” Good thing that everyone was considerate enough and let me go without a grudge. Even the highest positioning person there told me good luck and to be careful.

Please let Anne be ok.

**

The drive to Holmes Chapel was somewhat short considering it was in the middle of the day where people were at work, which means no traffic, and I may have over sped a little. I quickly got my things and ran in.

“Excuse me, can you tell me where I can find Anne Styles or Anne Twist right now?” I asked the nurse. She looked at me as if I’m a crazy person.

“I’m sorry but the family told us that we were not allowed to tell anyone about her condition considering the entire family is here.” The nurse said.

“But I am family. I’m-”

“I’m so sorry but we won’t allow media or fans to enter.” She said in a “shoo” tone. 

I was about to explode when I heard a voice that I know too well.

“Y/N?” Robin said.

“Robin…” I said and my eyes softened.

“It’s ok, she’s my daughter-in-law.” He joked to the nurse. I laughed a little and immediately hugged him. He accepted the comfort and rubbed my back to soothe my worries.

The entire course of Harry and I’s relationship, Robin was always there like a Dad. He throws “funny” puns just like a regular dad would. He’d invite us to weekend barbeques when Harry was not busy. He’d sometimes invite us over to watch football on TV, considering I was a massive fan myself. When my parents were in town, Robin was the one who came up with the idea of a family dinner. He and my dad bonded like long lost friends, which made Harry and I happy that our parents were getting along.

“Robin, how’s Anne? Is she ok?” I asked, sniffling a little considering I was crying the entire trip here.

“She’s still in surgery, dear. The doctors are yet to talk to us about her condition.” He continued, “Thank you so much for coming in a flash, dear. Anne would be so happy to see you here.”

“Y/N!” I heard someone say. I turned around and saw Gemma and her boyfriend. She ran towards me and engulfed me in a bone crushing hug. I didn’t care though, she needed the comfort as much as I did.

“Gem! You ok?” I asked.

“Yeah. Thank you so much for coming, you know… even after the break-up… Mum would be so happy to know that you’re here.” She said. 

“Don’t mention it. I know you guys need a little comfort at this time.”

“Actually, there’s one person that needs comforting more than Gemma and I right now.” Robin said pointing to the benches by the emergency room. Seated with his face on his hands was none other than Harry himself. One can immediately know that he was crying, seeing that his breathing was fast. I sighed and smiled a little. Gemma smiled back and I made my way towards the love of my life.

I went over and knelt in front of him. “Harry?” I called. He immediately looked up and his eyes opened wide. He rubbed his eyes to check if I was really there.

“Y/N” was all he said before engulfing me in a tight hug. He cried harder as soon as his face hit my neck. 

He needs me right now, and I’m not courageous enough to push him away, so I let him hug me. He hugged me like never before. This hug has a mix of “I miss you.” and “I need you.”

Everyone knows how Harry was a mummy’s boy. He’d drop everything for his mum. He respected how Anne raised them on her own before she met Robin. The way she raised both Gemma and Harry into these beautiful human beings is beyond anyone’s power, and Harry knew that. She taught them how to respect women and people in general. She showered her children with love and made sure that they got only the best.

“Shhhh… “ I said as I rubbed his back. “Your mum is a fighter remember? She’ll get through this.”

“Thank you… so much.” Harry said in between sobs. I was about to say something when I heard the doctor call for Anne’s family members. Harry was the first one to stand up as if it was his name that was called.

“How is she?” Harry asked. Robin and Gemma was beside us in a matter of seconds 

“She’s fine now. There was just a lack of oxygen in her brain which caused her to faint. Was she exposed to stress recently?” The doctor asked. 

“Not that we know of, doctor.” Robin said.

“It may also be caused by excess work, but she’s now ok. The only problem was that she hit her head a little too hard. There was an excessive bleeding but we were able to stop it.” The doctor said. Everyone sighed in relief.

“She has passed the critical stage now and she’s in the recovery room. We’ll bring her to her private room as soon as her vital say she’s ok. But she’ll still have to stay for a few days just so that we can keep an eye on her and check for no further damage.” The doctor continued. Everyone thanked him and sat down with a sigh of relief.

I then continued rubbing Harry’s back for comfort. He didn’t say anything. All he did was hold my hand as a sign of gratefulness. I smiled at his kind gesture and for a few months, I saw him smile, a genuine smile.

That same day, Anne woke up to all of us fast asleep around her bed. Robin was beside her holding her hand. Gemma and Michal were leaning on the wall with their heads on each other’s shoulders. Harry and I were both on the couch the room came with with our hands intertwined. The sight made her heart melt. Everyone she loved was in one room. Robin felt Anne’s hand move which caused him to wake up fully. He then woke everyone up and everyone was happy to see her awake and well.

**

For the past few days I have been staying with Harry and his family at his childhood home. I wanted to stay and help the rest take care of Anne. Fortunately my work allowed me to take a few days off considering I told them that it was my mom who was brought to the hospital. They understood my case and let me have the days off.

Following the recent events, Harry has been quite distant with me the past few days. All I did was take care of him because I knew that he’d be too busy taking care and worrying about his mum that he’d forget to take care of himself. It was like a reflex.

“Harry, what do you think should we bring for lunch today? Gemma texted me saying that we should bring lunch for everyone. Your mum’s looking for Nando’s for some weird reason.” I told him as we made sure to pack everything Anne needed for the next few days. As I was about to talk again, Harry called me to the kitchen.

“What’s up?” I asked as I entered.

“We need to talk.” He said.

“Sure, what’s up?” I said.

“I need you to leave me alone until mum gets better.” He said straightforward. I was taken aback. A few days ago he was begging me to take him back. Now, it’s the opposite.

“Excuse me?” I asked.

“I know what this is.” He said pointing his finger back and forth between us.

“What do you mean?” I asked not knowing what the heck he’s talking about.

“Pity.” was the only thing he said.

“I’m sorry… I’m not getting what you want me to get here.” I said, shaking my head with a curious looking eyes.

“You’re taking care of me as if you still care about me… like I’m still your boyfriend!” he shouted. “And do you know how much it fucking hurts me to know that you’re just pitying me for what happened to mum?” I was about to cut him off but he did it first.

“I love you Y/N, I really do. But seeing how much better you did without me, it made me believe that I was the shittiest boyfriend in the universe. I prioritized my career when I should’ve put you first. I don’t deserve you.” He started crying as soon as he ended his heartfelt speech.

“You don’t care about me like before. You’re making me feel like you still love me.” I only noticed that I was crying when a tear streamed down my cheek.

“You’re right… You never deserved me. But don’t you dare imply that don’t care about you anymore, because I still do. I still love you, I really do but I don’t want to fix things just yet. But you need me right now, and I don’t have heart to see you broken over me and over your mom. The least I could do is take care of you.” I said. 

“If me taking care of you is giving out some kind of signal that I shouldn’t, then I’m sorry. I don’t want to get back together, not right now anyway. But I do feel obligated to take care of you.”

“But you’re not obligated to take care of me. Please… just help me by staying away from me. It’s for your own good.” he said. 

“Let’s at least be civil about this… for your mum.” I said, holding my hand out for him to shake. “I’ll stop with whatever I’m doing and just be here for your mom. I’m sorry for what I have done.”

And with that, he shook my hand. 

I should no longer care about Harry Styles.

knives78  asked:

You get this shot of Dany reaching for Jon but Jon does not take it her hand. Instead he chooses to go after the NK all on his own. This is significant because it tells you that if Jon could end this without the help of Dany he would, Beric showed him a different way and he really tried but failed. This if anything reinforced the notion in his mind that he can't do it without Dany.

Hi there! Thanks for the ask!

I apologize I’m just replying now. Thought I’d hold off on judging this shot until the finale aired so I could discuss it in full. Because it is a super interesting thought!

D@ny reaching for Jon was one of those 706 details I missed the first time around but it is curious upon rewatch. I don’t particularly think they telegraphed WHY Jon turned around all that well. It’s pretty chaotic with a lot happening all at once. My original assumption was that Jon realized the team needed him to provide cover to support the mission and in the process of fighting, just got cut off from them. If they wanted to telegraph that Jon intended to fight the NK, IMO, they needed more shots of closeup NK and Jon a la Jon vs Ramsey in BotB.

But thematically, it’s an interesting shot right? That D@ny offers her extended hand and Jon reaches up with clenched knuckles but then decides against taking it. That he turns away, goes in the opposite direction to be a hero on his own, still denying her help even after she flies in there with those colossal war machines. That says a whole lot. It also is another breadcrumb pointing to Viserion’s death as the gamechanger for Jon because he knows what the NK will do with a dead dragon. So fastforward to the boat, Jon realizes they are fucked without her dragons, that there is no time to waste, and he does the very un-Jon-like move of grabbing D@ny’s hand. 

For D@ny, there’s also a potent tragic metaphor in this shot: Jon Snow always just out of her reach. She extends her hand whole heartedly to him. Jon reaches half-heartedly with a clenched fist before turning away to protect others. 

The finale underscored this metaphor IMO. I believe we’re seeing undercover!Jon, so it makes me feel for her in a way. She really does spend most of the episode being influenced by him. Despite riding into the pit on a dragon (and that visual itself is its own doozy of a metaphor, flying into a dragon trap?!), she really lacks agency the whole hour. She offers her personal thoughts and feelings to Jon. He offers up nothing personal in return but she doesn’t seem to notice. When he lays out a travel plan that threatens her safety and makes her advisors nervous, she doesn’t question his motives in the plan. She buys his flimpsy excuse of sending “a better message” as Tyrion and Jorah watch Jon’s growing influence with worry. And then boatbang, she doesn’t notice Jon all weirdly stressed and panic-y on top of her? I’m honestly lowkey concerned for her lack of self-awareness and judgment of others. It makes me want to go all girlfriend on her and take her aside like, GIRL OPEN UP YOUR EYES. 

But this isn’t an out of nowhere trait. D@ny has had a long history of trusting people that are playing her. Off the top of my head, Mirri Maz, Doreah, and Jorah had all played her with varying degrees of malice, before the second book/season closed. And she was clueless until evidence came out proving their treachery. I guess the argument could be made that she’s learned since…but I’m not sure she has? She became less trusting but nothing showed us she ever worked to correct this weakness or ever got better at reading people’s intentions. She states in ACOK that she is “neither deaf nor blind”. Stannis also proclaims “I am not blind”. Both state so with lack of self-awareness to their own actual blindness.

D@ny does have a moment of realization in ADWD:

If I look back, I am doomed, D@ny told herself … but how could she not look back? I should have seen it coming. Was I so blind, or did I close my eyes willfully, so I would not have to see the price of power?

— Daenerys II, ADWD

But it is short-lived. She basically buries this, deciding to be a conqueror and leave Meeren for Westeros.

I’m particularly fascinated by that “if I look back” part because she repeats it over and over across the years. She fears looking back and feeling lost. But that’s exactly what she needs to do to gain some self-awareness and grow some discernment skills. She resists it and thus goes down a path that wasn’t her own. One that will most likely end in tragedy.

This counters Jon pretty sharply, who does nothing but observe. That’s a specific Jon talent GRRM highlights from the very beginning of the series. Bran’s climbing habit seems to be an extension of wanting to, like Jon, see things others did not.

Bran’s first chapter compares Jon’s discernment skills with Robb’s:

The deserter died bravely,” Robb said. He was big and broad and growing every day, with his mother’s coloring, the fair skin, red-brown hair, and blue eyes of the Tullys of Riverrun. “He had courage, at the least.”

“No,” Jon Snow said quietly. “It was not courage. This one was dead of fear. You could see it in his eyes, Stark.” Jon’s eyes were a grey so dark they seemed almost black, but there was little they did not see.

— Bran I, AGOT

This awareness is underscored a couple pages later when Jon discovers Ghost:

Halfway across the bridge, Jon pulled up suddenly. 

“What is it, Jon?” their lord father asked. 

“Can’t you hear it?” 

Bran could hear the wind in the trees, the clatter of their hooves on the ironwood planks, the whimpering of his hungry pup, but Jon was listening to something else. 

“There,” Jon said. He swung his horse around and galloped back across the bridge. They watched him dismount where the direwolf lay dead in the snow, watched him kneel. A moment later he was riding back to them, smiling. 

“He must have crawled away from the others,” Jon said. 

“Or been driven away,” their father said, looking at the sixth pup. His fur was white, where the rest of the litter was grey. His eyes were as red as the blood of the ragged man who had died that morning. Bran thought it curious that this pup alone would have opened his eyes while the others were still blind.

— Bran I, AGOT

Jon hears what neither Ned nor Robb nor Bran nor Theon can hear. As a consequence, he finds Ghost, the only pup of the litter with his eyes wide open.

This is barely 13 pages in. It’s akin to an establishing shot for the character.

There’s been some good takes lately on Jon physically losing his sight (at least partially) in the future. Ever since I learned Jonnel Stark (who married Sansa Stark) was a One-Eyed Lord of Winterfell, I’ve joked about a plot twist that Jon loses an eye in the war against the Dead. 

So it’s worth noting that Sam explains how Maester Aemon, though physically blind, “sees things no one else sees” (Jon VIII, AGOT). 

Arya learns through actually losing her sight that one can become hyperaware of surroundings by relying on other senses, gaining skills of discernment that others with sight ignore.

And because this is a Jonsa blog, I cannot resist adding this passage of Ned’s about Sansa:

It was queer how sometimes a child’s innocent eyes can see things that grown men are blind to. Someday, when Sansa was grown, he would have to tell her how she had made it all come clear for him.

— Eddard XII, AGOT

Of course, here, Sansa had no idea she was helping Ned. And in fact, helping him piece together the puzzle of Joffrey’s parentage actually contributed to his death. She’s still a child and her skills of discernment take some time to evolve—most notably, while she poses as a bastard in the Vale. But it’s a curious connection nonetheless.

The only other people who are said to “see things” in the series have magical connections, Thoros and Melisandre. They both are said to “see things in the flames”. In the case of Melisandre, what she saw was ultimately misleading. Thoros explains to Arya that although the flames do not lie, he can misinterpret them (“sometimes I read them wrongly, blind fool that I am”; Arya VIII, ASOS).

At the heart of the Undercover!Jon theory is the narrative need for Jon to do better than Ned and avoid his mistakes. I’ve been reviewing Ned’s chapters since S7. His words as he sits in the KL dungeon for treason are relevant:

He damned them all: Littlefinger, Janos Slynt and his gold cloaks, the queen, the Kingslayer, Pycelle and Varys and Ser Barristan, even Lord Renly, Robert’s own blood, who had run when he was needed most. Yet in the end he blamed himself. 

“Fool,” he cried to the darkness, “thrice-damned blind fool.” 

Cersei Lannister’s face seemed to float before him in the darkness. Her hair was full of sunlight, but there was mockery in her smile. “When you play the game of thrones, you win or you die,” she whispered. 

Ned had played and lost, and his men had paid the price of his folly with their life’s blood.

— Eddard XV, AGOT

This is Ned taking full stock of the consequences of his actions and owning up to them fully.

He calls himself out as a fool. A blind fool.

That connects pretty nicely with Jon up on that cliff in 703 lamenting being a Northern fool.

But if it was Ned’s blindness that made him foolish, trusting LF and underestimating Cersei, causing his death—then Jon should be uniquely positioned to prevent history from repeating itself. Indeed, if the finale is any indication, he’ll get back to Winterfell. He’ll succeed were Ned and Brandon and Rickon failed. And he’s returning having completed his original goal: to secure powerful allies and their resources to take on the NK.

So I do feel bad for D@ny. If S7 is any indication, Jon will always be just out of her reach. She has her years long resistance to looking back and fear of being lost to thank for it. No boatbangs will change that. But I can see Kit’s satisfaction with Jon this season. If the Undercover!Jon theory is correct, it’s a character move six years in the making with a hell of a potential payoff. It would pair with the R+L=J reveal, that Ned played everyone for 18+ years, spectatularly. 

anonymous asked:

Hi! Can you do a fic rec with the most iconic and classic larry fics ever like the ones everybody knows and everybody has read. Thank you in advance

Sure ! (Warning : so this is a iconic larry fic rec, meaning 1/ it doesn’t necessarily reflect my own taste in fics or what I think about it. , 2/ it’s my own choice of what I think are iconics fics . Just saying. )

- And Then a Bit  :  Or, take a parallel universe where Louis and Harry were never together, mix in a two year hiatus and an impending comeback, pour in a dash of lost fans, two tablespoons of strong friendship and a Modest! employee with a good idea. Add a squeeze of pretending to be a couple, lots of kisses and a tattoo or two. Stir. Serve: the mother of all publicity stunts.(aka Harry and Louis fake a relationship for publicity. Eventually it becomes a lot less fake and a lot more real.) (128k)

- Relief Next To Me  : AU. What happens when a baker and a graphic designer meet via a very specific Craigslist post? Fate, friendship, food, and maybe more. (333k)

- Wear It Like A Crown  : AU. As part of a team of fixers hired to handle a gay scandal in Buckingham Palace, Louis expects Prince Harry to be a lot of things—most notably a royally spoilt brat. Never mind that the very same Prince Harry used to star in quite a number of Louis’ teenage fantasies. (141k)

- Love Is A Rebellious Bird : AU in which the boys still make music.  Louis is the concertmaster of the London Symphony Orchestra, Harry is the New! and Exciting! interim conductor/ex-cello prodigy who “has made Mozart cool again” according to Esquire Magazine (Louis hates him immediately, which is definitely why he internet stalked him in his dark bedroom late at night that one time), and Niall is the best.  Zayn and Liam are around too.Don’t hum Bolero. (134k)

- Empty Skies: For three years, Harry has been running from his past. Now, he is moving to London and pledges to fulfil his only dream – making it big in the music industry. Not everyone has a place, though, and the competition is tough. As is his past catching up on him.Louis is part of the biggest boy band of the world, and getting there had meant a lot of hard work, as well as sacrificing parts of his heart and soul. He’s still happy. Maybe not as happy as he could be, but who is he to complain?Featuring Perrie as Harry’s adorable flatmate, Niall as his manager, and Liam and Zayn as Louis’ bandmates. (134k)

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Character Design

Some tips to make your designs better!

One of the most important things about making fiction is having characters. Your audience needs something to relate to so you must give them a cast that they can love or hate. For those not working with live action, creating appealing character designs is necessary. Character designs can be the line where someone decides not to look at your content.

Which movie would you rather see if you didn’t know anything about the two? personality, color, and shapes are important for you and your audience when looking at fiction.

[Under the cut will be more information]

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Devil In A Red Dress | Jennie (BLACKPINK)

The Devil In A Red Dress | Jennie (BLACKPINK)

word count:
genre: witch!au, smut
warnings: mentions of selling your soul, mentions of Puritan religion
A/N: anon asked for a Jennie or JiSoo scenario and I wrote this. Off to hell I go!



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Poison (Ramsay Bolton x Reader songfic)

Okay, seriously, Ramsay is his own warning. If you’re triggered by violence, control freakiness, etc, this is not the fic for you.

Better to read it on AO3: http://archiveofourown.org/works/11566635

X~ Your cruel device,
Your blood like ice. ~X

Ramsay Snow was the subject of many false assumptions, but perhaps the most absurd of these assumptions was that he was incapable of love. Ramsay loved a great many things. He loved sex, hunting, torture, drinking…but most of all, he loved his girls. Yes, yes, his infamous dogs– the Bastard’s bitches. They were his true loves, his most prized possessions. His girls were solid and steadfast– simple creatures, yet smarter than any man he knew. Everyone who knew Ramsay knew how much he loved his dogs, and most had the good sense to know that even the smallest misstep with those precious girls meant instant death– it varied from occasion to occasion whether Ramsay or the girls themselves made the killing blow, but the end result remained the same.

So, understandably, Ramsay’s first reaction when he found a girl petting and cooing at one of his bitches was ineffable, uncontrollable, unadulterated rage.

Just before Ramsay snatched the girl to him by the bodice of her dress, he saw Kyra (the hound in question) wag her tail and was so shocked that he paused just long enough to hear what the girl was saying.

“You’re such a pretty girl, yes you are! I wonder who you belong to. They must be very lucky to have such a sweet baby girl.”

For the first time in his natural-born life, Ramsay Snow found it difficult to restrain himself from murdering someone in public.
He whistled sharply, calling his dog to him. Obediently, Kyra went to his side, and the girl she had been with looked up at him, surprised, but after a moment a spark of recognition lit in her eyes.

“My lord,” she curtsied lowly, but there was an indifference in her voice that irked Ramsay. “Good morning.”

“The same to you, my dear.” Ramsay’s malicious smile crept onto his face unbidden at the thought of how she might sound as she screamed. “I see you and my Kyra were getting along splendidly.”

The girl smiled softly, her lips arching with a grace the gods withheld from noble ladies and gave exclusively to pretty peasant girls. “She’s beautiful.”

Ramsay nodded. Even if this wench was a peasant, she had a good eye for beauty. “So she is. I would know your name– it’s not often that my dogs allow any human touch besides my own,” he noted, scratching Kyra’s ear. “You’re lucky my darling girl didn’t tear your to shreds.”

“My name is (y/n), my lord.” The reply was made short and clipped– almost strained– but (y/n)’s face gave nothing away.

“(Y/n).” Ramsay rolled the name around in his head, testing whether or not he found it agreeable. After a moment of consideration, he decided it was so. “A lovely name. It suits you– you’re a lovely girl.”

Ramsay looked for all the usual signs– a blush, a tremble, a downcast gaze– but he found only a sad smile that never even reached (y/n)’s sparkling (e/c) eyes.
“Thank you, my lord.”

There was no fear in this girl, nor was there desire– there was only a thin layer of casual respect in her disposition, and beneath it lay something deeper, something more. Ramsay didn’t like that. He didn’t like not knowing, didn’t like secrets. Secrets didn’t make friends, after all.

“What family are you from?” he queried, feigning mild curiosity.

“Not one you would know, my lord,” she shrugged. “They’re all gone now anyway. My mother died giving birth to my youngest brother, and my father took the boys and went off to fight for the north.”

“Leaving you here alone,” Ramsay finished, an idea forming in his head that he very much liked.

“Yes.”

“Alone is no way to live for a lovely young girl such as yourself,” Ramsay said, his voice rich with feigned compassion. “A crying shame. My father didn’t raise a son who would let such a thing happen under his rule. Would you like to come with me where I can make sure all your needs are met? You already won the heart of this carnivorous beast,” he smiled, patting Kyra’s head. “And I’m sure you’ll be one of the girls in no time.”

Yes, one of the girls. My bitch. My loyal, obedient bitch.

(Y/n)’s eyes grew wide with shock, her gaze darting from Ramsay to Kyra and back to Ramsay. She searched his eyes for an answer, but Ramsay revealed nothing either. Choose, he thought. Choose very, very carefully, lovely girl.

“I can hardly refuse an offer from you, my lord.” It was a pity (y/n) had stopped looking so pathetically confused. Ogling fish was such a good look on her. Ramsay supposed he would have to befuddle her often, then, just for the sheer hell of it.

“Very wise, my dear,” he replied with a wide grin, offering (y/n) his arm. “Now, how do you feel about the color pink?”

“I’m quite neutral to it, my lord. Never fancied it my color, but I’ve never worn it so I’m no real judge of it myself.”

“We will have to remedy that, then. I have many fine fabrics in every shade of the color, and seamstresses to fit you. Would you like that, my dear?” Ramsay asked, his most charming smile forced onto his features.

“Yes, my lord. Thank you, my lord,” she paused a moment, as though thinking. “You are too kind.”

Right you are, my dear, right you are. “Well, I am ever the extremist,” Ramsay admitted as he mounted his horse. “Come, dear one, and I will have chambers prepared for you.”

*

True to his word, Ramsay did have rooms prepared for his delightfully ignorant guest. They were joined to his own, as he showed (y/n) with barely-contained glee– glee that was more caused by him considering what fun he would have training his new bitch than considering his own generosity.

Just when she thinks she’s safe, she will discover that she’s the sheep that decided to lie down with the wolves, Ramsay thought to himself as he watched her face carefully. She really was very lovely, with a face that would wear pain well and skin that he would love to bruise. And to think that she was blissfully unaware of what was to come! A sweet little lamb indeed.

The more Ramsay thought about this girl, the more perfect she seemed. He even became a little lightheaded thinking of what he would do to her– of what her blood would look like smeared across her body, how those lovely eyes would widen as she fought for breath. He worked himself up so much that by dinner he had to excuse himself for a few moments to regain control. Ramsay knew he shouldn’t count his eggs before the chickens fucked, but seven hells he was hungry for something more than casual dinner conversation, more than this game of I-look-away-when-you-look-at me, more than this boring shite. He wanted– no, needed– more.

And more he got– just not in the way he expected.

Long after Ramsay had retired to his chambers, he began to drift off, tired from a day of scheming. Just as he was on the cusp of sleep, he felt the coldness of a blade press against his throat, and he went very still as a smile spread so widely across his face that it hurt.

“Do it,” Ramsay breathed, opening his eyes to see (y/n)’s lovely face staring down at him, made luminous by the light of the moon that shone into his chambers. “Do it. Go on, you’ve got me. Nothing is easy.”

“Aren’t you afraid?” The question might have had more weight if she hadn’t been trembling like a leaf.

“Valar morghulis,” he murmured huskily through his smile, his voice deepened by sleep.

(Y/n)’s whole body shivered at that, but the knife at Ramsay’s throat was steady.
“You betrayed Robb Stark to the Freys,” she said, her eyes wide and fierce as her chest heaved with adrenaline. “You stormed Winterfell not to free it from the Greyjoys, but to have it for yourself.”

What a naïve little dove. “Those are my father’s sins, not mine, sweetling. You’ll have to try harder than that.” Ramsay let himself sink into his bed, relaxed, only to have the knife pressed more insistently against him. The sensation of his quickened pulse against metal went straight to his cock, the thrill of the moment setting his insatiable desires aflame.

“You poisoned your brother,” she accused him. “You murder, you rape. You waste innocent lives for pleasure. You tortured Theon Greyjoy until he forgot who he was. You’re hardly human.”

Ramsay chuckled. “If you think for one second that I did not love my dear brother Domeric… Well, you are correct.” Ramsay felt himself grin, leaning up against the knife so that his breath fanned (y/n)’s face. “But I am not a woman, a coward, or a eunuch. If I killed him it would have been by carving out his heart and feeding it to the bloody leech we both called father. On all the other counts, I must admit that you are right. I torture, I rape, I murder, I debase– does that trouble you? Do you think I deserve death?”

“If I don’t kill you, you will hurt more people.” (Y/n)’s sweet, honeyed voice tremored ever so slightly, and she raised the knife only a hair as Ramsay leaned even farther up– far enough so that he could smell the sweet pauper’s perfume she must have put on hours before.

“Oh yes, many,” he smirked. “So what are you so afraid of? Do it. If you’re confident that I’m a monster, kill me now.”
She broke, just as Ramsay had known she would, and she threw the knife from the bed as though it had burned her. Ramsay pulled her into a bruising kiss, dropping the knife he’d had hidden beneath the sheets. Oh, how he’d wanted to take her then and there, fuck her until she bled– but not tonight. He would save his enthusiasm for another time.

When he pulled away, (y/n)’s eyes were soft and warm.

“Oh, darling, I’m going to destroy you.”

X~ One look could kill
My pain, your thrill. ~X


(Y/n) had always had terrible taste in men, but this was absolutely ridiculous.
She had very nearly killed him. She had been so close…Ramsay Snow, the epitome of evil, had been right beneath her knife, his blood pumping hard against sharp steel, and she threw it all away.

And what for?

At first, (y/n) wasn’t sure.

She struggled to sleep that night, trapped between Ramsay’s arm and a (ridiculously comfortable) bed, wondering what the morning would bring. After a while, she managed to drift into a light slumber, but when she woke, it was to an empty room and a locked door.

Anticipation gnawed at (y/n)’s gut. What was she to do? The window was far too high above the ground for escape that way– banging on the door would accomplish nothing aside from letting the whole of Winterfell know that she was awake. It seemed that there was nothing to do but wait and try not to mentally collapse in the process. The eerie silence of the room alone nearly drove (y/n) mad, the sound of her blood rushing through her body seemingly magnified to fill her ears.

Just as (y/n) began to reconsider her earlier observation about the window, the door she had been staring at swung open, and Ramsay Snow entered, wearing his usual snarling smirk.

“Good morning, sweetling,” he intoned in that velvety voice that sent shivers down (y/n)’s spine. “I hope you didn’t think I’d forgotten about you– I only had some business to take care of. I so hated to be away from my new pet for so long, but the duties of a lord called.”

If you think I’m going to dignify that with a response, you’re dead wrong, (y/n) thought, tightening her hands into fists of her skirts, but before she had a chance to say anything, Ramsay offered her his arm. In his beautiful, ice-cold eyes was a message.

Take the arm, or face the unknown. Choose.

(Y/n) stood and took Ramsay’s arm.

“As my new pet, you will need to be trained, as I’m sure you understand, but first I will have to punish you,” Ramsay informed her gleefully, his full lips playing at a smile. “Do you know why? It’s unjust to punish a pet if it doesn’t know what it did wrong.”

(Y/n) clenched her jaw. I will not stoop to this. I will not.

“Come on my sweet, do you know what you did?” It was terrifying how Ramsay’s voice remained so calm, so soft and sweet despite the sharp edge of his intent, but this sort of terror was warm and searing in (y/n)’s stomach, so different than the cold fear she knew before. This was something else entirely– something base, something raw, something thrilling.

When (y/n) offered no answer to Ramsay’s question, he stopped completely, turning to face her. His nose was only inches away as he grabbed her by the jaw, and commanded, “Speak.”

“I tried to kill you.” The answer was out of (y/n)’s mouth before she could stop it, and Ramsay released his grip on her face, undoubtedly leaving imprints where his nails dug into her skin.

“Good, pet.”

(Y/n) hung her head, fixing her eyes on the floor. Don’t let him see. Don’t let him know, gods, never let him find out.

Ramsay paused to open the door to what (y/n) supposed was the dungeons, and they descended into the bowels of Winterfell side by side.

“This will be where most of your training takes place as well as any punishment,” Ramsay said with a milk-curdling smile. “We wouldn’t want the rest of Winterfell to know what we get up to, now would we?”

(Y/n) swallowed thickly.

Ramsay led her to a large table that stood next to a bed, which was placed in front of what (y/n) recognized as a cross– the same cross Theon Greyjoy had been tortured at. All at once, (y/n)’s knees felt weak and her chest felt empty, but Ramsay’s strong arm supported her weight so that she wouldn’t fall. He said nothing, but the way he looked at her said it all– he knew how she would react, and he reveled in her fear.

“Bend over the table.”

Trembling violently, (y/n) did as she was bid, and she had a few short, blissful moments to regain control before Ramsay turned around and was able to see her face. She couldn’t let him see. She could not and she would not.

“Now, pet, this is both a punishment and your first lesson,” Ramsay informed her as he turned to reveal a wooden paddle in his hand. “Any time I strike you, you are to count. For every time you do not, I will cut one lock of your lovely hair down to the root. Do you understand?”

Just one look could give it all away. If Ramsay ever found out how much this affected her, he would just slit her throat and be done with it– because as sick as he was to gain pleasure from torture, she was the more so for feeling this wad of arousal stir in her belly at the thought of his hands undressing her, of his arm swinging that board against her backside.

“Yes, my lord,” (y/n) replied, her mouth feeling full of cotton.

Ramsay tutted. “That was pitiful. Look at me. Do. You. Understand?”

(Y/n) managed to raise her eyes to Ramsay, praying he did not see what she felt.

“Yes, my lord.”

“Good.” Ramsay walked leisurely behind her, his steps making not a sound. He pushed up the fabric of her dress, ripped off her knickers, and pulled down her stockings
He waited so long to strike that the first blow came almost unexpectedly.

Smack.

“One,” (y/n) gasped, the sting of the paddle bringing blood from her head to her rear.

Smack, smack.

“Two. Three.”

With every strike, (y/n) wanted more, more, more. Somewhere past twenty, her mouth counted without her mind as her skin of her ass became raw with the blows.

I need more, I need more, I need more. I want his hands on me, I want to feel his skin, I want it all.

(Y/n) caught herself mid-thought. It was one thing to want the pain– it was quite another to want the man that was currently inflicting it.

What am I doing? Why do I want this? This man is the Bastard of Bolton, a murderer, a rapist, a monster… He is everything I hate, and yet…

And yet she wanted him nonetheless.

This was what she had chosen to trade that one chance to kill the Bastard of Bolton for, and she didn’t regret that choice in the least.


X~ I wanna love you but I better not touch.
I wanna hold you but my senses tell me to stop. ~X


Ramsay decided to stop when blood began pouring from (y/n)’s backside.

He really had gotten quite carried away– she was just so responsive. And obedient as well– the poor girl had practically screamed the last number that Ramsay had lost count of. As he prodded his fingers into the bloody wounds on (y/n)’s backside, he wished he hadn’t gone so roughly for day one– his cock was achingly hard, and he wanted to fuck his bitch very badly, but at this point she might actually pass out if he tried, and then it wouldn’t be any fun.

“You wear punishment very well, love,” Ramsay praised, admiring the way the crimson color of blood brought out the sheen of (y/n)’s skin. “I dare say you have earned some water, and perhaps a bite of breakfast. Can you still walk?”

Instead of answering, (y/n) only shook her head.

That simply would not do.

“Answer me. Speak, pet, when I ask you a question.”

“No, my lord,” she replied hoarsely, her face pressed against the table.

“Better. Be a good pet, now, and try to straighten up,” Ramsay instructed, steadying (y/n) as best he could. “You just think it hurts now. Wait until tomorrow. You really won’t be able to move then.”

As feeble as (y/n) was in that moment, it would have been completely acceptable, probably even preferable, for Ramsay to be a little more physical– an arm around her frame, a supporting hand here or there– but something inside him flashed a warning. No matter how badly he wanted to touch her, to be physically closer and maximize her discomfort, he couldn’t make himself do so. It just felt…off.

“Lie down on the bed here, and I’ll return shortly. Move so much as an inch from the spot and I will make you regret it for the rest of your life.”

That last bit wasn’t really necessary, but Ramsay just liked giving threats. They always rolled so easily off the tongue. Especially since he meant them.

It was with a light spirit and cheery countenance that the Bastard of Bolton skipped up to the kitchens and fixed a tray of the finest breakfast Winterfell had to offer, bringing along some soft cloth with which to clean and bandage the mess he’d made.


X~ I wanna kiss you but I want it too much,
I wanna taste you but your lips are venomous poison– You’re poison running through my veins. I don’t want to break these chains~X


(Y/n) discovered along and along just how controlling Ramsay could be.

Though he was cruel and cold and mean, Ramsay was not as she thought. He was very calculating– she would have taken him for a mindless, rash beast, but Ramsay had the patience of a saint and the desires of a demon. In fact, he was somewhat of a paradox in that his intention was to bend and break (y/n)’s will, but he refused to push beyond what he thought she could handle. It was like he wanted to choose the day that he broke her, to control the process of “breaking his bitch” right down the the last moment. (Y/n) didn’t know if that was thrilling or terrifying.

As for daily life, it changed drastically for (y/n) in the next few weeks. If she were to have a bath, it was Ramsay who gave it. If she were to have any clothes, Ramsay would choose what they were and would dress her in them as he saw fit. Any time (y/n) endeavored to make her own decisions, a punishment was issued, each punishment worse than the last. Needless to say, (y/n) fought like a wild animal to maintain any scraps of dignity she had left, but it always resulted in more of the same– a punishment that proved more and more a pleasure.

But today?

Oh, today she had earned something terrible, and the thrill of it made her heart pound.

It all began when (y/n) woke earlier than usual, and found herself able to slip from beneath Ramsay’s arms without rousing him. She slipped over to Ramsay’s desk where lay a hand mirror that she lifted to eye level. It had been so long since (y/n) had seen herself that the woman staring back at her seemed a stranger. Oddly enough, she had changed for the better– her face was no longer as thin, her eyes were no longer as dull. Regular meals, despite Ramsay’s presence, had done her well. Sure, she had a few more scars, but she reveled in the memory of how she got each one. In fact, she rather preferred having them– they reminded her of the patterning on the pretty alley cat that used to piss around the edges of her house. All in all, she looked… beautiful.

Just when (y/n) had decided she had looked her fill, Ramsay began to stir on the bed. (Y/n) tried to fit herself beneath his arm before he woke, but it was too late. He knew– she could feel it.

“What were you doing up before your master, pet?” Ramsay asked, piercing her to the mattress with those eyes of pure ice. “Thinking to escape? Make another attempt on my life?”

“I-I wasn’t up.” Lying was probably a terrible idea, but what was (y/n) supposed to say? If she said she was looking in the mirror, he would either believe her a liar or take the mirror away or both.

Ramsay glowered at her, grabbing her by the front of her shift and hauling her up to look into her eyes, where he could read anything and everything he needed to know.

For a few breaths, there was silence.

“Liar,” he snarled, shoving her away. “What have I told you about lying?”

That lying would get me in more.trouble than confessing my wrongs. “I don’t know, my lord. I can’t remember.”

“Another lie.” Ramsay was livid. “I suppose I was remiss in thinking that you could be treated delicately and still be properly trained. I see now that is not the case. Today I will be making up for lost time, my dear, so I would prepare myself were I you.”

And that was that.

Ramsay wasted little time with his breakfast– he even had it sent up instead of going down arm-in-arm with (y/n) as usual. Once they had both eaten, Ramsay wasted even less time getting the two of them to the dungeons, not even bothering to dress (y/n) in anything but her shift.

A thousand different scenarios played through (y/n)’s head as she tried to guess her punishment. She wondered if it would be something similar to last week with the hot candle wax, or if it would be more like the first paddling she was given. Or maybe it would be something entirely new.

Without words, Ramsay shoved (y/n) onto the bed, binding her wrists and ankles to the bedposts with leather straps. She could feel his rage rolling off him in waves, and already she knew that there would be no hiding the wetness between her legs if he decided to remove her shift and leave her only in her smallclothes – (y/n) would be completely exposed, unable to do much more than squirm in resistance.

“Open your mouth.”

She obeyed, and completely without warning, Ramsay shoved his fingers down her throat.

Even as (y/n) fought the urge to vomit, she sucked on Ramsay’s fingers as though they were coated in the sweetest of honey. To have this man, this handsome, horrible man, touching her like this, making her feel all of these things that she had never felt before, was something she could never become accustomed to.

It was in that moment that (y/n) realized that this was what she had needed from life all along. She needed food, shelter, a controlled atmosphere– here she had that, but even more so, she needed someone that she could indulge in her most awful urges without fear of hurting someone or being hurt. As completely insane and foolish as it was…(y/n) trusted Ramsay not to take her farther than she could come back from. She wanted very badly to kiss him, to taste the sweet venom that surely laced his lips.

(Y/n) wasn’t sure who that made the crazier, but she did know that she never wanted to break these chains.


X~ Your mouth so hot,
Your web, I’m caught.
Your skin so wet
Black lace on sweat. ~X


“A good pet does not lie,” Ramsay snarled, withdrawing his fingers from (y/n)’s hot, yielding mouth. “You should have faith in me to be just.”

The sting of betrayal still lingered in Ramsay’s chest. He’d thought, if only for a little while, that (y/n) had learned to trust him. It angered him beyond reason that she was yet resistant to his will, so doubtful of his intent– after all, he had hardly done anything absolutely awful to her after he’d gotten carried away with the paddle. He only wanted her to be loyal, to know her place, before she was made truly one of his girls.

“Why did you lie?” he demanded, brushing his thumb over (y/n)’s bottom lip. “Did you fear my wrath?”

“No, my lord,” she replied sweetly, looking perfectly angelic as saliva shone on her lips. Ramsay fought the urge to say all was forgiven and give in to his own needs.

“Then why?”

No answer.

“Do we need to go back to the beginning of your lessons, my sweet, stubborn girl?”

“No, my lord, I only–”(y/n) stopped herself before she could say more.

“Only what?” Ramsay asked, bringing his face closer to her own, as if they were two opposite sides of a magnet.

“I wanted to,” she admitted shakily.
Ramsay pulled away. “I see. We shall have to fix that.” He strode over to where he kept a bucket of water and lye soap on hand, ripping a strip of his undershirt to use as a cloth. (Y/n)’s eyes followed him as he’d known they would, which only made Ramsay smile all the wider.

“I’ll just wash your mouth of that filth, and we’ll have no more lies from you.”

(Y/n) may have caught him in her little web of deception, but it would be she who would be caught undressed, was it were. Before washing out her mouth, Ramsay ripped off (y/n)’s shift so that he could pour the remainder of the water over her when he was finished– he damn well meant that since she put him through all this trouble, he was going to enjoy watching her shiver as her lace smallclothes clung to her wet skin on the way back to his chambers.

X~ I hear you calling and it’s needles and pins~X


When Ramsay told (y/n) that he would be going away for a while to attend to his father’s business, she thought that she might enjoy herself a bit, especially since she still hadn’t quite forgiven him for the mouth washing incident.

(Y/n) was as wrong as snow in Dorne.

She was bored. Bloody bored. All of Winterfell to herself, and without Ramsay everything was boring. (Y/n) was unable to do anything but sit and sulk and wait for Ramsay’s return, alternating between the window, the floor, and the desk of their shared room.

Day after day, night after night, it was more of the same. After a week, the sheets no longer smelled like Ramsay. After two, (y/n) notice the bed feeling colder. After two and a half, she was ready to go half mad.
Just when (y/n) thought she could take no more, one day she woke up and knew Ramsay was back. She felt his presence calling her to him like the waves called to the shore– pins and needles ran all along her body, and it was before the sun had even risen that (y/n) made her way to the gates to meet him.

For all her trouble, it seemed that this Ramsay was not the Ramsay that she had been expecting.

(Y/n) had thought that Ramsay would be as lively and enthusiastic as ever– she had just assumed that he would either pat her on the head for coming to him or scold her for leaving her permitted areas without permission, that his eyes would light up with his familiar morbid excitement, but he did none of those things. The Ramsay that sat in the saddle of the red stallion that belonged to the real Ramsay was a shell of what he should be. His eyes were hollow, his expression was numb, and he seemed particularly uninterested in any human interaction.

Ramsay’s condition did not change even when he stopped his horse in front of (y/n), hardly acknowledging her existence.

“Welcome home, my lord,” (y/n) greeted him hesitantly, careful to give his mean-tempered stallion a wide berth. “Winterfell was not the same without you.”

Ramsay’s eyes studied her, their usual spark replaced by melancholy. “Ride with me.”

(Y/n) took the hand up that was offered her and mounted behind Ramsay, wrapping her arms around his waist. Immediately, her nose was filled with the smell of horse and hay and sweat and Ramsay, and there was not a happier woman in all the north. Warmth spread from his body to her own, even through several layers of clothing, and (y/n) felt at home. She was almost disappointed when they had to dismount– (y/n) knew she was not allowed to be physically close to Ramsay in public, but she had missed him just as much physically as she had mentally and emotionally, and she wanted to stay with her arms wrapped around him forever.

“Come, pet. I have good news,” he told her, extending his arm. “There will be feasting tonight. You’ll need to wear your finest gown.”

All this was said absently, as though he were in a trance. But, since (y/n) wasn’t given much more of an option, she simply complied, walking with him up the dimly-lit stairs to their chambers.

Then, as soon as the lock on their chamber door was in place, Ramsay spoke as though unable to remain silent.“I have been naturalized. My last name is Bolton. Roose is now– he’s now my father in name as well as blood.”

“That’s good, my lord,” (y/n) smiled, taking his hands in her own. “I’m very proud for you.”

“He’s married now, you know.”

(Y/n) paused. “Pardon?”

“Walder Frey offered my father his bride’s weight in silver. He’s now married to Fat Walda.”

(Y/n) didn’t know what to do. She was at a loss for words– she had no idea what Ramsay needed right now, no idea how to handle any of this.

“Ramsay,” she began gently, squeezing his hands. “I’m sure that doesn’t make you any less his son in his eyes and in the eyes of the law.”

“Doesn’t matter.” Ramsay wouldn’t even look at her, his gaze downcast.

(Y/n) moved one of her hands to the side of his face. “Oh, Ramsay–”

“Do not touch me,” he hissed jerking away from her.

(Y/n) backed away, sadness creeping into her stomach. “My apologies, my lord.”
Ramsay spent the rest of the day silently avoiding every single human life inside Winterfell, and (y/n) had no idea how to fix him.

X~ I wanna hurt you just to hear you screaming my name,
Don’t wanna touch you but you’re under my skin,
I wanna kiss you but your lips are venomous poison.~X

“You are my son now more than ever. You will have to learn to control yourself, Ramsay. No Bolton can be spoken of the way people speak of you.”

Roose Bolton’s voice played on repeat in the back of Ramsay’s head, driving him mad moment by moment. Every second Ramsay spent in solitude was a kick to the chest, but leaving his chambers for even a moment made him feel horribly nauseated. This was it– Ramsay had finally gotten what he always wanted and he still wasn’t good enough for his father. There seemed to be nothing left worth striving for. Life had brought him nothing but dissatisfaction, and Ramsay was quite finished with it.
But (y/n), of all people, was not dealing well with this change.

She had become more intemperate, more ill-disciplined, and bloody well more irritating than when she had first come to Winterfell. Whenever he was feeling his worst, she was always did something to get under Ramsay’s skin– whether she was questioning his moods, testing his patience with her nonconformity, or being unbearably foolish, (y/n) never ceased to make Ramsay grind his teeth so hard his jaw might snap. He had never thought that he would see a day when she would prove too frustrating to continue, but Ramsay was turning out to be wrong about a lot of things these days.
Really and truly, though, Ramsay didn’t snap until (y/n) pushed the one button she had never pushed before. She knew the rule as well as everyone at Winterfell did– never, ever, come between the Bastard of Bolton and his meal.

It had been a normal evening as far as Ramsay’s standards. He’d even gone hunting a bit after before and brought home some fresh game– he felt great. (Well, not great– less like a piss-pot than usual, though.) Ramsay even expected that tonight’s sleep would be somewhat peaceful, and he was quite looking forward to downing a goblet or two of wine with his meal.

What he wasn’t expecting was for (y/n) to dump the contents of said goblet into his lap in front of the entire hall.

The events immediately following that were somewhat of a blur. Ramsay, angrier than he’d been in weeks, raged at (y/n) like she was a dog, leapt across the table, and dragged her to the dungeons like a man gone mad. He didn’t even realize that he’d left the hall until he realized that he was binding (y/n)’s wrists together instead of to a chair or bedpost.

Oh well. He could hardly change it now.

“What possessed you,” he growled, coming face to face with (y/n). “To even think about humiliating me in front of my servants in my hall with my own wine? Do you think that’s some sort of revenge, pet? Do you think you can just do whatever you please without consequences?”

“No my lord,” she breathed, her chest heaving as her eyes lit with some mixture of fear and wonder.

“Then why did you do it?”

Ramsay’s answer did not come in the form of words, but it made itself clear in the insistent press of (y/n)’s lips on his own. Reality slammed into his chest like a spear, and the most wonderful realization of Ramsay’s life formed in his head.
She wants this.

Ramsay, without even realizing it, had kissed (y/n) back, threading his fingers through the silky soft hair that he washed and brushed for her. She tasted like they bread and honey she’d just eaten, and she smelt sweet and sharp and just a little like himself, which was incredibly intoxicating. With just one simple gesture, Ramsay understood it all.

“You wanted it,” he breathed. “You wanted it all along. You deliberately disobeyed me in order to incur a punishment because you…because you wanted it.”

(Y/n) didn’t answer, and she didn’t need to. The truth was right there in her eyes, shining out in all earnest.

“Would you like for me to untie you, pet, or would you like me to leave you just as you are?” Ramsay asked before capturing her lips once more. “I intend for this to be very satisfying for the both of us.”

“Take off my clothes,” was (y/n)’s only response.

“You’re such a clever girl,” Ramsay smirked, guiding her to the bed, where he crawled on top of her, boots, cape, and all. “You’re more of a spider than a bitch– you’ve spun the neatest little web and caught me in it, my dear. I am such a fool for sickness, after all.”

“Yes, my lord,” (y/n) replied, wrapping her legs around his torso. “Please, please my lord, I want you. I was so worried that you–”
She stopped herself, almost afraid. Ramsay had to laugh.

“Sweetling, I will never leave you, nor will I change who I am. I was just going through a bit of a slump, is all,” Ramsay smiled viciously. “I do, however, apologize– I had quite forgotten that my bitch goes into heat. It was cruel of me to deny you so. I can only hope you’ll forgive me.”

He layer by layer, he ripped off (y/n)’s clothes, burying his face in her neck, biting and sucking along the way. Ramsay’s hands quickly found her smallclothes and stripped her of them as well. Soon she was completely naked beneath him, and he was still fully clothed.

“Tell me what you want, my dove,” he murmured in her ear. “I want to hear it.”

“Fuck me, please, Ramsay, I need you, need to feel you, need to–I just–”

“I’ve got you, pretty one, I’ve got you.”
And so he went to work. There were two things that Ramsay was the master of– pain was one, and pleasure was the other. In this game of both, he was sure to be the best player.

*

(Y/n) was spoiled for the rest of her life for lovemaking with anyone else besides Ramsay– it would be humanly impossible to top that night. His every attention was on her and what she was feeling, his hands fluttering from her breasts to her sides, always making sure to keep her overwhelmed with every sensation. And when he had entered her–oh he had taken it agonizingly slowly. She thought she might die before Ramsay finally decided to fuck her well and truly, but when he did, she nearly melted at her climax, which was made better by the confessions of love that were exchanged afterward.

Now, Ramsay was sound asleep, and (y/n) took the time to admire how young he looked in his sleep. He seemed peaceful for once, and she snuggled closer to him to take the edge off of the northern chill while she had the chance.

There were still those who called Ramsay Bolton poison, but if his love was the venom then it was (y/n)’s drug of choice.

In Defense of GOT S7

I am the last person in the world who should be writing this post. I’ve never been one to wax poetic about GOT as a whole show. For years I had a love-hate relationship with it. I’ve enjoyed it as much as I’ve criticized it, every year finding myself going, WHY AM I STILL WATCHING THIS SHOW. This sideblog name really does say it all. I was Here For The Starks. Everything else I merely tolerated. Last year was probably the only season since Season 1 that I enjoyed wholeheartedly and that’s mostly due to three episodes. 

So, this was not the post I planned to write post-finale. I started several posts on other things, left unfinished. But somehow, this was the post that I was compelled to finish. Go figure.

Below, I explore the role of the audience reaction, how assumptions can be used to mislead, and a limited Stark POV can be a narrative strategy. From there, I consider the season’s expectations, flaws, and possible intentions by breaking down one example of the season’s structural writing.

Full disclosure: I discuss my own personal reactions in this, and as a Starks fan that sees Jonsa and Undercover!Jon, I am biased. But far before any of those things, I was a Whedonverse fangirl fascinated by the potential in solid structural writing across a season of television. Over a decade later, it’s still one of my very favorite things to analyze. What results is a weird combination of both a personal and analytical look at this season. Yeah, I don’t know either.

THE AUDIENCE REACTION FACTOR

I’ve sat on my GOT finale thoughts for a good week now. When I reflected on it, I discovered it was mostly because my honest reaction was more in response to other fans than anything constructive about the narrative itself. My years in and out of fandoms make me hyperaware of the black hole that is commenting on other fans’ reactions. I try my best to avoid it.

I’m especially hesitant about my reactions to this show, knowing how fast the deck can be flipped, leaving you cold clocked in the dirt. The minute I’m laughing my head off about one thing, I leave myself wide open for the show to blindside me. As a general rule, I’ve always thought that the second you are sure of anything in GOT/asoiaf, you better watch out. Unexpected has always been the name of the game. 

But as GOT Season 7 progressed and more things sharpened into clear view for me, I found it more and more difficult to discuss each ep without including the nebulousness that is this audience reaction factor.

Particularly since 704, I’ve felt that our reactions are a necessary part of the season. It began as just a lowkey feeling but grew with every episode. More and more, I felt like I was purposely being mislead and like a stubborn mule, I dug my heels in to look closer. What I saw was a season laying traps for its audience in the form of missing scenes, unreliable narrator techniques, and misleading dialogue, to use our fears and worries and assumptions about these characters, especially House Stark, against us.

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Kitty Kisses

A birthday gift to one of my very amazing friends, @ladyserendipitous <3333 Hope it was an amazing day, you sparkling sandstone! This is written off of something you said about reveal by kitty kisses a week or so ago!

Summary: Marinette sees if Chat Noir’s cat tendencies extend to slow blinks, or, as she liked to call them, kitty kisses.

AO3


It all started when the light of the sun began to fade, and the lights of the city began to illuminate the darkening sky. It had never been unusual for Marinette to be out past the the setting of the sun, for her parents understood her need for inspiration. So when she laid down on a bench in the park nearby her home, as she so often did, she hadn’t expected company.

A dark figure had leaped from the rooftops and landed nearby her, thankfully not startling her because she’d already been tracking its movements from some distance away. She gave him a nod of acknowledgement before returning her attention to the landscape of her city.

Chat Noir didn’t speak right away, but instead sat in front of the bench and settled himself so that his head tilted back, pressing into Marinette’s arm. He watched the city with her, enjoying the moment of peaceful calm that had fallen over Paris. Even with the comfortable silence, Chat couldn’t keep from talking any longer.

“You’re out pretty late, Marinette,” he commented, going the route of obvious observations.

She hummed in response, tracing the lines of the buildings with her eyes. When she finally spoke, her voice was quiet in a way that perfectly matched the atmosphere of the city. “I have art block. This usually helps.”

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The Song Is You (Chapter One)

Summary: A summer road trip with your best friend lends its way to some revelations. 

Author’s Note: This has been a long time coming, you guys!! You’ve probably been hearing Esme and I talk about our fic collab for a while now. We’re very excited to finally begin releasing this special piece to the public! All we can say now is that you will finally understand all the Monster Mash and “rick rolling” jokes you’ve heard in the last weeks. 

*** If you wanted to listen to the road trip playlist that is mentioned in this chapter, please click here!! 

Words: 4,481 

Warnings: an extremely cheesy mixtape, lame jokes, Lin showing off (so, nothing?) 

Without any further ado, welcome to the world Esme and I have so lovingly crafted for you! 


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anonymous asked:

What do you think made Stannis suspect that Joffrey, Myrcella and Tommen weren't Robert's children?

Thanks for the question, Anon.

It’s a very good question, and not one that I think we have enough information to ever definitively answer.

Certainly, I don’t think it was until a good few years at least into Robert’s reign that Stannis would have ever begun to suspect anything. After all, the look of Joffrey alone would not be enough to prove anything: the strong dominance of Baratheon “genes” over Lannister (that is, blond) ones doesn’t seem to be common knowledge in Westeros (considering it took the reading of that old genealogical tome for Jon Arryn, and Ned, to come to the shocking conclusion). However, I would think that no later than the birth/infancy of Tommen would Stannis have started to suspect something. One Lannister-looking Baratheon child might be expected, two perhaps coincidental, but three in a row? A hard claim to swallow, especially since by 291 AC (when Tommen was born), Stannis had already borne witness to the conception and birth of the king’s bastard Edric four years prior - a boy who looked exactly like Renly and Robert, minus the large Florent ears.

Not to mention that, the longer Cersei and Jaime’s affair continued, the less discreet they almost certainly would have been. It’s common enough behavior that, the longer one gets away with something illicit, the less careful one becomes about doing the illicit thing - the odds of being caught appearing to be low. The sheer number of people who eventually learned Cersei and Jaime were having an affair (Varys, Littlefinger, Renly, Pycelle, Jon Arryn, and of course Stannis, at minimum), along with the twin’s attitudes toward it, speaks to how not-careful Cersei and Jaime were about keeping their highly illegal activities a secret. Stannis, who would have been living at least part-time in the Red Keep as a member of the king’s small council, would have been a direct witness to Cersei’s “half a hundred” urgings to her husband to go hunting while her brother kept her “well-protected”, and would have been on the front lines of any gossip concerning the queen and her Kingsguard twin. I don’t think Stannis would have failed to take notice that the queen was spending an awful lot of time with her brother, and indeed seeking out opportunities for the two of them to be alone - and while history-minded Stannis might have thought of Queen Naerys and her Kingsguard brother, Cersei was far from pious Naerys, and Jaime the Kingslayer far from the sterling-reputation Aemon.

Obviously, when talking about this matter, Tyrion’s conversation with Varys in ACOK has to be included:

Tyrion adjusted the heavy cloak and paced restlessly. “You missed a lively council. Stannis has crowned himself, it seems.”

“I know.”

“He accuses my brother and sister of incest. I wonder how he came by that suspicion.”

“Perhaps he read a book and looked at the color of a bastard’s hair, as Ned Stark did, and Jon Arryn before him. Or perhaps someone whispered it in his ear.” The eunuch’s laugh was not his usual giggle, but deeper and more throaty.

“Someone like you, perchance?”

“Am I suspected? It was not me.”

“If it had been, would you admit it?”

“No. But why should I betray a secret I have kept so long? It is one thing to deceive a king, and quite another to hide from the cricket in the rushes and the little bird in the chimney. Besides, the bastards were there for all to see.”

“Robert’s bastards? What of them?”

“He fathered eight, to the best of my knowing,” Varys said as he wrestled with the saddle. “Their mothers were copper and honey, chestnut and butter, yet the babes were all black as ravens … and as ill-omened, it would seem. So when Joffrey, Myrcella, and Tommen slid out between your sister’s thighs, each as golden as the sun, the truth was not hard to glimpse.”

Tyrion shook his head. If she had borne only one child for her husband, it would have been enough to disarm suspicion … but then she would not have been Cersei. “If you were not this whisperer, who was?”

“Some traitor, doubtless.” Varys tightened the cinch.

“Littlefinger?”

“I named no name.“ 

Here, Varys all but explicitly accuses Littlefinger of planting the idea in Stannis’ mind. On the one hand, this is as Littlefinger likes to operate - using well-placed intermediaries to nudge pawns in his chosen direction, while keeping his own hands clean (his trick to get Loras planted in the Kingsguard being a preeminent example). With Littlefinger’s string of brothels in the capital, it might be suspected that perhaps Litttlefinger used the prostitutes there employed to spread the gossip of Robert’s black-haired bastards to, say, Justin Massey (a man whom Stannis describes as sharing his brother’s "appetite” for women), who then passed it on to Lord Stannis.

At the same time, I share with @racefortheironthrone doubts as to Littlefinger’s part in this scheme. While Stannis is quick to blame Littlefinger where he sees fit - in the unsuccessful attempt to fire Janos Slynt, for one - he never brings up Littlefinger’s supposed role in this most important political maneuver. Nor would it really benefit Littlefinger to have Stannis find out: if Robert believes him, that brings Stannis within a breath of the Iron Throne as its heir - hardly a good position for a man like Littlefinger, who had profited handsomely from bureaucratic corruption. And, of course, Varys himself had every reason to attempt to discredit his biggest rival to the new Hand of the King while the latter was still in the early part of his tenure.

So in my mind, I think Stannis simply came to the suspicion himself based on his own observations, and that Varys was more correct than he lets on in pointing out how Robert’s many bastards made the Lannister looks of his “trueborn” children that much more glaring. Hence why, I think, Stannis decided to go to Jon Arryn: the only evidence at this point was the queen’s desire to be in her brother’s company, the obviously unhappy marriage between the two, and Robert’s black-haired bastards (the only one of whom Stannis might have known for sure at this point was Edric), and such a weak case might have been easily dismissed - or, worse, been investigated and dismissed for lack of evidence, damning any further accusations in the future.

The Queen Regent (NFriel)

“It Was”

Pairing: Jesper Fahey/Wylan Van Eck

Fandom: Six Of Crows

Word Count: 3,509

Summary:  "We’ve attempted and succeeded in a rescuing of a rogue scientist out of the most heavily guarded building in the world. And put your father in jail. And survived Kaz while Inej was held hostage. I think we can manage baking a few waffles, merchling.“ 

“Making waffles and dodging bullets are two different things.”

“Are they? You hope for the best and pray nothing blows up.”

Or the one where wylan and jesper try and make waffles for breakfast but instead follow a recipe that calls for lots of kisses and a giant mess

A/N: So I did a thing. A 3.5k word thing. I’m gonna post this on AO3 later but I’ve been trying for 20 minutes and it doesn’t wanna load :/// idk. Anyway I hope you all enjoy !! This is a thank you for everyone who’s followed me! Y'all are great! <3

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The Perfect Husband ( Jung Kook / OC)

Genre : Romance/ Drama/Violence

Rating : 19+ ( all the eleven year olds reading this, honestly stop :’( i don’t want your corruption on my conscience ) 

WARNING : This is literally every fanfic ever written. LMAO. Honestly, it’s so cliche, you’ll probabaly cringe through it. But I wanted to indulge my own love for TSundere , violent Jung kook )

WArnings : Abusive relationship. ( the hero IS VIOLENT WITH THE oc   but domestic violence is a serious issue so if an abusive hero triggers you, STAY AWAY. ) 

Pairing : Jung Kook/ OC 


Chapter 1

“Blue. I like Blue.”

Mrs. Jeon stared at me , condescending judgment written all over her perfect face and I shifted nervously.

Just a minute ago she had asked me what I thought about possible color schemes for my wedding to her son.

I’d answered the question honestly but apparently, honesty wasn’t always the right answer. My mother , next to me in her brand new ruby red dress which had cost a whopping 5000 dollars, elbowed me sharply in the ribs. I had no idea what to do or say anymore. After a day of shopping with my prospective mother-in-law, the richest woman in the country and my mother, the most pretentious woman in the country, I’d lost all hold on reality and myself. I wanted to peel off the green georgette dress I was stuffed into , slip on my favorite worn t-shirt and shorts and just curl into a corner and sob.

“That’s… interesting.” Her eye twitched .“ I was thinking something more classy.” Mrs. Jeon wrinkled her nose.

“How about champagne?” My mother simpered and I blinked. Were we talking about drinks now? When had the subject changed?

“Well, champagne colored fabric would stain very easily…. I suppose I’ll have to discuss this with Kookie… ” She sighed in long suffering and I grimaced. Good luck holding a decent conversation with that prick, I thought miserably, wanting to sink into the ground and never rise.

“You could ask him, Reumie…  You both share classes don’t you?” My mother waggled her eyebrows and I floundered. If I went within five feet of Jeon Jung Kook, THE Jeon Jung Kook I’d be torn to bits, if not by the monster itself, than at least by the legion of fangirls who followed him like bitches in heat. I mean, okay the guy was good looking but the ridiculous extent to which they worshipped him was enough to make me blanche.

Which made the very prospect of me marrying him, something like a death sentence. I was going to die, there really was no question about it? Who cared if I wore blue or champagne on my wedding day? I’d be buried in black anyway.

“Do that then. And call me tomorrow. Without fail.” Mrs. Jeon said firmly and I groaned. I’d never spoken to Jung Kook before. Not even once. He hung out in a completely different crowd in our college, the elite crowd. I mean, the more elite crowd seeing as my entire college was filled with rich kids. I wasn’t an exception. My father had recently patented a bunch of stuff that had earned us a lot of money in a short time. So i was, what the kids in my college called, new money. And apparently, Jeon Inc., had taken notice of my father’s suddenly booming business and where willing to invest , provided I married their son. It was simple really.

Mr. Jeon wanted my father’s company to pass on to Jeon inc., after my father and since i was the only daughter, if I married Jeon, a merger would be inevitable. I didn’t want to marry him but I didn’t really know how to stop the dominoes crashing down around me. I’d protested verbally and my father had threatened to disown me. And while the thought of going out of my home, making it big as an artist, all by myself was very cool-sounding, I didn’t really dislike my parents. I liked them, loved them even on somedays and i would never put them, and myself through that kind of emotional stress.

My parents had never been cruel. They treated me well, loved me in all ways and while my mom could be a bit over the top in her need to fit in with high class society wives with more money than sense, she was still a nice lady. Shallow but nice.

When we reached home after bidding Mrs. Jeon goodbye , I found my father sitting in his study. He smiled vacantly when he saw me.

“Reumie… How was your day?” He said blankly, returning to flip through his files. I bit my lips and went over to him.

“Father, can i still stay here at home, after I marry Jeon Jung kook.” I said in a rush.

My father startled and frowned.

“Why on earth would you do that?” He shook his head , annoyed.

“Father, my college… i mean the people in my college , if they knew I was living with Jung Kook…” I begged.

“This isn’t a private marriage , Reumie. It’s a public affair. People are going to know… I’ve already bought a condo for both of you close to your college. In fact, here’s the key, you should go check it out with Jung kook when you meet up with him. ” He hesitated and stared at me. “ Jung Kook is a bit introverted. You have to be the one to reach out to him, alright? Don’t be your usual rude self and act nice. Have you met him for coffee?”

I stared in mute rebellion. I’d never spoken a single word to Jung Kook.

“I’.. I will.” I said finally defeated.

“Your mother was telling me you were supposed to discuss the decoration color scheme with him as well. Go see the condo, get coffee, discuss about your wedding and go meet your mother in law tomorrow. Don’t mess things up for me, understand?”

Apparently, no one was on my side. I couldn’t put it off anymore. I would have to go talk to Jeon Jung Kook.

~~~~~~~~

“Talk to him? Really? He’ll bite your head off.” My best friend Soyou grimaced glancing over at Jeon Jung Kook who had an arm wrapped around his latest flame. She was so tall she nearly went past Jung kook himself who was freakishly tall as it was. She was also unnaturally beautiful, i thought with a grimace. I couldn’t quite understand the obsession with the perfect features that plagued all my classmates. Apparently, looking normal was a crime. They spent millions on their face tweaking every perceived flaw till all of them pretty much looked the same.

“I don’t really have a choice.” I said softly, glancing down at the keys to the condominium in my hand.

“Well you could at least wear something nice…” Soyou grimaced glaring at my choice of outfit. I spluttered in indignation. I was wearing a black men’s shirt and skinny jeans. What could possibly be wrong with that?!

“Are you serious?” I rolled my eyes.

“Everyone knows Jungkook hates girl who wear shirts.”

Why on earth would someone hate shirts??

“Honestly, I’m supposed to dress for him, now?” I said wrinkling my nose in distaste.

“If you’re going to marry him, then yes.” Soyou pointed out.

I frowned deeper.

“you’re useless. Anyway, it’s not like i can actually go buy a dress just to talk to him. My dad will kill me if i don’t talk to him today.” I swallowed a bit and casually glanced at Jung Kook who was standing a good fifteen feet away surrounded by his gang of friends. 

His gaze shifted right then to me and I flinched.

Jeon Jung Kook was beautiful. Well, in the way a man could be beautiful. He was tall, a good foot taller than me and he was lean and perfectly proportioned. Ebony black hair that was always perfectly styled , a face that was absolutely flawlessly proportionate and pearly white teeth. He fairly radiated beauty. It was almost unpleasantly blinding.

I looked away quickly and Soyou gave me a slight smile.

"Still, I’d say you should be careful. He’s not exactly known for being nice.” She grimaced. I supposed she was right. JungKook and his gang of surly seniors weren’t the sort you’d want to mess with.

I hung back after class, my feet aching from how long I’d been standing here, waiting for my fiance to come out of the men’s room. He’d disappeared into it a good thirty minutes earlier and I was starting to feel a little worried.

  Did he slip and fall and crack his head on the porcelain sink?

I should be so lucky.

Groaning, but with time running out, I finally gave up and slowly made my way to the carved door of the restroom. I opened it partially and peered in for any signs of life.

“Boo.”

I yelped and tripped over my own two feet, the slightly slippery surface making me slide and hit my waist against the granite counter on the side. I stared in surprise when Jung Kook appeared in front, leering in a way that was anything but friendly.

“I was waiting for you… ”  He glanced at my hair and then my clothes and then without warning reached out and gripped my chin in a bruising grip that drew a whimper out of me. I clawed at his wrist, trying to make him let go but he  didn’t feel a thing. He was hurting me and I was too stunned to process why.

I flinched when he twisted my jaw to the side, seeming to examine my face from all angles.

“Button nose, thin lips, mousy brown hair and boring black eyes. If you’re father’s such a hotshot, shouldn’t he be at least fixing your face before foisting you off on me?” He drawled . I shoved hard at his shoulders and he let go, looking surprised.

“You… ” i couldn’t form words. My jaw was throbbing so bad and the pain was surreal. No one had hurt me physically before.

“Me..” He mocked, “ I’m not into ugly women. So go tell your parents you don’t want to marry me.” He growled. I just stared at him.

“You rude bastard…” His eyes flared at the insult but I was too enraged to care, “ You think I want to marry you… I..”

He snarled and pushed me up against the wall, so hard my bones jarred inside me. I was so winded, i couldn’t draw my next breath in.

“You think I’m Prince charming, sweetheart? You think I give a flying fuck about what you want? Newsflash, I don’t give a shit what happens to you or your father … But if you want to live, you’ll stay the hell away from me…”

His hand slipped down and to my complete horror, he squeezed my breast so hard that my knees knocked together. His thumb pressed into the tip with painful force and my entire body twisted in violent protest.

“I’m not gentle, in bed or out of it… thin little thing like you…You’ll break within an hour…. You don’t want that do you??” He said , voice deep and angry and I felt my throat go dry. Good god, was this the same guy who walked around in perfectly pressed shirts and clean cut slacks and ties? Who acted like he was a model student, all perfect diction and grades and polite respect for elders. The so called heir to the biggest conglomerate in Asia.

“Get away from me…” I choked out, trying to wriggle out of his grip but his entire body was pinning me to the wall, his hips anchoring me in place like a millstone.

“I heard you’re a virgin…” He grinned and I froze.

“Shut up…” I said not in any mood to listen to what he was about to say.

“Are you sure you want my cock inside you for your first time, babe? It’ll hurt …I won’t be kind you know…. ” He bit down on my neck and nausea rose up inside my throat like a snake rearing it’s head. I wanted to vomit all over his face. I wish I did.

“You disgusting son of a bitch…” I ground out pummeling his shoulders, stunned by how physically sturdy he was. My blows had absolutely zero impact on his body.

“I don’t care if you do marry me… It’s not like I’ll have to be faithful to you or anything anyway, but you…you’d better be careful. I can be a little hard…” He ground his hips into my stomach and i felt my eyes widen when his erection pressed into me. “ to get along with. ”

Finally he drew away and I sank to the floor , my knees giving out and my jaw throbbing. I was going to have a bruise there, I knew.

“Still want to marry me , princess?” He sneered.

“Go to hell…” I managed to get out. He frowned , reaching out and gripping my wrist hard. 

“Thought so. Now run along like a good girl and tell your parents you want to call off the wedding.”

He squatted down and before i could crawl away, his fingers sank into the hair at the back of my head and he yanked me up sharply, making my scalp burn . I whimpered , when he glared down at me, face inches from mine. I tried to dig my nails into his wrist but it was pointless. 

“If you end up being my wife, I don’t know what I’ll do to you…” He hissed and I stared because his eyes…they weren’t dark like they looked but an odd color of navy grey. He let go of my hair and I crawled away till my back hit the wall. I’d never been so terrified in my life.

“If you don’t stay away from me, I’ll fuck you up. Don’t say i didn’t warn you!!”

With that he stalked out slamming the door shut behind him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“I won’t marry him!! They can drag me kicking and screaming to the altar but I won’t!!"I sobbed while Soyou hugged me close as I rocked back and forth on the small cot in her bedroom. She tried to soothe me but my mind was stuck on a state of catatonic shock. The bruise on my chin was an ugly shade of purple and my waist hurt from where he’d gripped me so hard. I couldn’t imagine anything worse than being stuck with him permanently. He was a monster.

"Babe, you know it’s not that easy…?Maybe you should talk to him…”

“Talk?!” I said shrilly. “ He said he’d rape me!! ” I shrieked.

“Jesus, calm down…” Soyou hissed and I fought to get my breath back.

“I need your help. ” I said desperately and Soyou looked stricken.

“Reumie…”

“there’s a bus to Busan at 7.30PM tonight. I have relatives there. My grandparents, they’ll …i mean I could stay with them, in case my parents kick me out when they find out. But I’ve only got 25000 Won I need some more to get the ticket… You’ve got to help me…”

“You’re running away ? Because of Jeon Jung Kook…That’s ridiculous…” Soyou shook her head in disbelief and I groaned in defeat.

“Why won’t anyone believe me? He’s not the kind of guy he makes himself out to be…i don’t… I can’t marry him, Soyou he’ll kill me.” She was supposed to be my best friend. She usually believed, implicitly, anything i told her. But even she wouldn’t accept that Jeon Jung Kook had hurt me.

“You’re not even listening to yourself. He’s just a rich guy from college. Not some sort of a gangster like you’re making him out to be. Rape is a crime for heaven’s sake. He’s not going to do something criminal. He has a reputation to hold. In fact did it strike you that maybe he’s just trying to get to you? You do know that the chick he’s hanging out with is the daughter of one of your father’s business rivals?” She said bluntly.

I froze.

“What?”

“Jiah Lin. That’s her name. Her father’s been trying to get Jeon Inc., to invest for years now. It’s entirely possible that he just wants his girlfriend’s father to have a better chance. Maybe if you refuse he’ll marry her and her father will get what’s rightfully your father’s…” Soyou said calmly.

I felt unaccountably foolish.

“You really think, that’s it? He was just trying to scare me?” My throbbing chin said otherwise.

“He’s shady enough to do that… ” She shrugged and i fell back against the bed, thoroughly confused. What was wrong with my life? One part of me absolutely boiled in anger at the way he had treated me. The other more rational part accepted that he was stronger, richer and he had the upper hand. Both parts agreed wholeheartedly that i should stay the hell away from him. But Soyou was right. My father had worked way too hard to reach the position he was in now. He needed and deserved that investment. This deal was important to him, something he had really earned with years of hard work.

“So, I should marry him…?” I said confused. It was still a distasteful thought. Even if the whole violent thing was an act, there was no denying that Jung kook was a horrible guy to get along with.

“you should definitely talk to him. Tell him you know his game. Maybe he’ll own up.  Admit it. Then you can decide what to do.”

~~~~~~~~~

I almost screamed when I saw Jung kook the next day, leaning against my locker looking like he’d stepped out of some expensive business magazine. I hesitated, debating the pros and cons of walking up to him right now. Finally, I sighed and made my way over , gripping the book in my hand. I would honest to god, whack him with it if he touched me, I told myself.

“Hi…bitch.” He said with a sneer and i went stiff. I hated people who used profanities like that.

“Bastard.” I shot back and he grinned.

“So feisty. I’d love to break you in properly. In fact, I was thinking, even if we didn’t get married, you could definitely use some schooling on how to treat your betters.” He drawled.

“My betters? Don’t see any, right now…” I shrugged and his eyes narrowed a fraction.

“What’s your deal? Do you like getting hit? Why’re you baiting me?” He snapped .

I glared.

“I know what you’re doing… My father deserves the investment and i won’t let you scare me away.” I said furiously .

He looked confused for a second and I faltered.

“What the fuck are you on about?” He said looking confused and the look of confusion on his face was too real to be feigned. I felt foreboding rise inside me.

“You want to marry that girlfriend of yours… So you’re trying to make me break up with you. Well , I won’t… I’m not scared of you…”

He hesitated.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about but that last bit is really interesting.. You’re not  afraid of me?” He raised an eyebrow and pushed away from the locker. I blinked when he rolled his shoulders and flexed his arms, stretching lightly till his shirt rod up his hips, flashing a sliver of pale white skin.

“You really should be sweetheart. I won’t be crossing any lines with you because as far as I’m concerned, there are no lines. Anything goes…. Does that really not scare you??”

He was coming closer and closer and I took a step back.

Run, every instinct inside me screamed.

“I… I’m leaving…” I stuttered out, turning tail and dashing away.

I barely made it a few steps when his arm came around my waist, lifting me clear off the ground as he dragged me back. I started screaming just a second too late. His palm pressed into my mouth, the metal rings around his fingers digging into the flesh of my lips and jaw as he dragged me around the lockers to the abandoned classrooms on the other side. My eyes went wide and my heart nearly gave out.

I tried to bite down on his hand and kicked out wildly but he was so much taller, so much stronger and the grip on my waist was so tight that my stomach felt like it was being ripped apart.

“Look at you… You’re absolutely fearless aren’t you? It’s so bloody infuriating  , seeing you running that pretty little mouth back at me even when I’m twisting and bending you as I wish… It’s like you want me to hurt you… is that it babe? Do you get off on me tossing you around?? Does it turn you on, me manhandling you like this??  ” He panted and the tears stung , part from anger, part fear and partly from pure agony.

Why the hell was this guy so strong? I kicked out harder but my legs barely hit the floor . He shouldered the door of the classroom open with enough force to send the peeled plywood door rocking against the opposite wall. The brute strength in his movements only terrified me more.

Damn you Soyou!!

He tossed me to the floor roughly and I crawled away on all fours, choking on air as I tried to swallow.

“Get away from me…” I could feel my knees burning with stinging pain. . I glanced down. The floor had apparently been covered by shattered glass shards. Cursing my luck I tried to scramble to my feet only to loose my footing and land hard on my bottom. He looked amused as he stalked over to me.

“Since you’re already on your knees, why not show me how good you are with that mouth? Surely, that tongue should be good at something other than riling me up ?? Oppa, could use some loving right now, jagi….” He raised an eyebrow and began removing his belt. 

Bile rose inside me in a rush and I whimpered, moving to get away again and he grabbed me tighter, pushing me up against the wall again before yanking both my wrists together and tying them with his belt . He was tying me up. He was actually tying me up!!

I screamed so loud that my head began to ache and Jung kook swore.

“Shut the fuck up or i’m going to stuff my tie in your mouth!” He gritted out and the violent imagery made me freeze. He knelt over me, straddling my waist and I started shaking as he reached for the first button of my shirt. 

The door to the clasroom slammed open, hitting the wall and startling both of us. 

“Jeon Jung Kook, what the hell are you doing, you idiot??!!”

The loud voice made him pause and I peered over his broad shoulders. I caught sight of an unfamiliar guy with blonde hair, a look of bored distaste on his face.

“Oh, hi Yoongi hyung. Just having a little fun with my little wife.” He called out cheerfully and I stared at him in disbelief. His fingers were still half way unbuttoning my shirt. 

He wasn’t just dangerous, he was a psychopath.

Thankfully , this Yoongi had some sense.

When he took one look at me , pinned to the wall with my arms twisted unnaturally ,he swore angrily and dragged Jung kook off me. No mean feat that. The other was so much more slender and shorter.

But Jung Kook moved away with a grunt and Yoongi stared at me in curiosity.

“Why the hell would you come here with this son of a bitch? He’s not known for treating women right…  ” He shook his head in disbelief and I bristled while the obviously older guy loosened the knot around my wrists.

“He dragged me here…” I glared and Jung Kook shrugged.

“She’s my wife hyung. The gift wrapped present my parents got me for christmas.I told her to go break up the engagement if she wants to live but apparently she has no self preservation at all. She actually came back looking for me. It’s like she can’t get enough….  ” He leered. I yanked my hand away and pushed Min Yoongi away when he reached for me. He held both his hands up .

“Easy…I’m not trying to hurt you….  What on earth are you doing here by yourself, kid? Get out..” He said with a shake of his head.

I really didn’t need to be told twice.

“I’ll be coming for dinner tonight. Your parents better tell me they want the engagement broken or I’m coming after you…” Jung Kook snarled the moment I reached the door.

It took me a good hour to calm myself down.

~~~~~~~~~


“Mother, you don’t understand…” I pleaded but my mother gave my long hair a yank, trying to get me to stay still while she plaited the strands into some sort of a side plait. It looked ridiculous on me, or so I felt. I wasn’t thin and the dress she’d squeezed me caused me to spill out of all the wrong places.

“If he wants to call off the engagement then fine, i won’t blame you for it. But we’re doing no such thing.” My mother said firmly after listening to my account of what happened with growing disbelief. Apparently a ‘nice guy’ like Jeon Jung kook would never treat women like that and I should ’ stop making filthy lies ’ just to get out of the marriage.

“But he hurt me…” I wanted to scream the place down but apparently nothing would convince my parents.

When the doorbell rang my soul actually left me for a second.

Hands clenched into fists , I gritted my teeth and stepped into the huge hallway , noting absently that my mom had the house cleaned to a sparkle. When I looked at Jeon Jung kook I momentarily stumbled.

He looked flawless.

Tall, strapping, dressed in perfectly tailored suit with the jacket left open, his shirt a deep purple silky and soft even by sight. His hair was styled to perfection and his long, long lashes made it look like he’s lined his eyes with kohl. Twin piercing glittered on his ears and his lips curved in a breathtaking smile, directed at my mother. When he turned to me his eyes narrowed and then widened.

“Jagi…” He purred and i went perfectly still.

What the-

He stepped right up to me and pulled me into a hug and I froze in surprise, the warmth of his body permeating through my dress and setting me on fire. There was no strength behind his hug, just a warm pressure , overflowing with affection and if i didn’t know for a fact that he’d dragged me by my hair less than four hours ago , I may have melted into the embrace.

He pulled back and to my complete horror, his palms went to my face, thumb lightly tracing the fading bruise on my chin.The one he’d put there when I’d first met him.

“Oh, what’s this…did you hit yourself somewhere??  you should be careful , aegiya….” He shook his head before bending low and actually dropping a kiss on the corner of my mouth. My tongue refused to come unglued from the roof of my mouth. I thought i’d never speak again, my voice completely shocked out of me.

“What do you think you’re doing?” I hissed under my breath.

“Being the perfect husband…” HE said, voice husky as he lightly flicked my lower lip.

I bit my lip so hard i almost drew blood.

Dinner was torture.

I was sitting next to him and about half way through, his hand dropped to my knee underneath the table. I couldn’t chew the food in my mouth, fear and apprehension building up so fast inside me that I was sure my heart was going to give out. It was clear that he wanted me to mess up. Do something that he could later use against me. He was actually succeeding because i was this close to chucking the glass of wine on his face. But i didn’t. I would be the bad guy then and he would likely deny everything and my parents would murder me.

So I clenched my fists and tried to endure.

And then he lightly yanked my dress, till the fabric kept going up and up , past my thigh while I futilely tried to yank the fabric back down, without tearing it.

“Reumie…. what are you doing?” My mother hissed from across the table and I sighed in defeat, taking my hands off my legs. Never put your hands below the table had been my mother’s most strict rule and she looked like she was going to explode.

For a few minutes, Jung kook didn’t do anything, just let his fingers lie curved around my thighs. I could feel my skin burning up at the unfamiliar touch of male fingers. Just when I started to discreetly pull my leg away, his grip tightened, in a way that made pain shoot right up my muscles. I realized suddenly that he was way too strong for me to fight physically. And if he had a shred of decency he wouldn’t use brute strength against a girl, but clearly, decency and Jeon Jung Kook did not belong in the same language.

“Don’t move.” He said firmly and I gave him a desperate look.

“Don’t do this…” I begged , pride long gone. I just wanted him to leave me alone.

But his fingers slipped up my dress, thumb tracing circles on my inner thigh and then without any warning his fingers caught the hem of my panties and tugged it down.

I stood up so fast, I knocked the glass of wine in front of me , the red liquid, staining the snow white table cloth and the peach colored fabric of my dress in one long splash. I stumbled away quickly.

“Excuse me… ” I choked out and my mother looked beyond stunned. i didn’t wait for her to scream at me, instead turned around and fled right out of the dining hall, up two flights of stairs before stopping in front of my room.

What the hell had i got myself into? And how do I make it stop??

I’d barely managed to close the door behind me  and step in when a polished boot came through the little space, stopping me.

Jung Kook pushed his way into my room and i yelped.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing….” I shouted but his palm came down on my mouth, pressing hard and pushing me back till I tripped over the carpet and fell into the bed. HE chased right after, crawling over till he was straddling my hips, glaring at me angrily.

“Didn’t you tell your parents you want the wedding called off…??” He snarled and I pushed his palm away from my mouth.

“If you want it called off , why on earth are you acting like you like me … You’re a psycho..” I panted while he rolled his hips against mine, the movement oddly jarring.He had insane control on his body, able to move specific parts of his hips and legs in any way he wanted. It was frightening.

“It looks like you don’t mind being married to me… Are you some kind of a masochist?” He drawled, trying to still my thrashing body with firm fingers at my waist.

“They aren’t listening…Get off me you monster!! ”

He flattened himself on my body and I started suffocating. He was too heavy and my bones were getting crushed, my lungs screaming in agony as they struggled to draw in air against the weight on my chest. I gasped and he mercifully lifted his upper body off my chest , hips and legs still pinning me down while i gulped down some much needed oxygen.

“Your hair is so fucking long….Get it cut…” He snapped reaching out and giving my plait a yank.  

I glared in disbelief.

“It’s my hair… You do not get a say in how long it can be…” I spat out angrily and he stiffened.

“ You’re going to be my wife. Your hair makes you look like a country bumpkin… Get it cut short and styled properly. ” He said , finally lifting himself away from me. I crawled to my knees and glared at him. My hair was my favorite part of my body. I loved it. I enjoyed keeping it long no matter how often my mom asked me to have it cut. it was my one true act of rebellion against a society that called me  too smart, too boyish and too stubborn.

I’d be damned if i let him take it away from me.

“If you think I’ll jump through hoops, just because you ask me to… you’re out of your mind. I’m not one of your brain dead whores…” I snapped.

He went scarily still.

“What did you say to me?”

I willed myself not to balk at the look on his face.

“You heard me…”

“You think… You have a choice? You think i won’t make  you jump through hoops, if that’s what I want….??” He whispered , glaring daggers into me as he took a menacing step towards me. And then before I even knew what he was doing He reached for something in his boot and yanked it off.

I saw a brief flash of metal before his fingers gripped my waist length plait and yanked it so sharply that I lost my footing and slid right off the bed. A second later the pressure eased and he stepped away, holding about a foot length of my hair.

It took me two seconds to realize that he’d actually chopped my hair off. I let out a shriek of disbelief, grabbing my head, stunned to see that my hair barely fell past my ears now. My entire body began shaking in rage and disbelief.

“You son of a bitch…” I whispered, unable to move.

Angry tears spilled over my eyes while he stepped closer, threading fingers through my messy hair , yanking it a little gently.

“Don’t cry…. I hate women who cry…” He said softly, and then he pushed my chin up. “ If we are getting married. And something tells me we are…I’d rather you don’t fight me so much. Everytime you talk back to me , I want to bend and break you…” He whispered.

I stayed perfectly still, not trusting my own voice. What he’d done had crossed all possible lines . I would never forgive him. Never.

“Get your hair styled. And don’t ever tell me I can’t do something. ”

The door slammed shut behind him.


Author’s Note : As you can guess, i need psychiatric help. Welp. Sorry for your brains. I really am. Let me know what you thought. Okbye. 

Tripping Over the Blue Line (7/45)

It’s a transition. That’s what Emma’s calling it. She’s transitioning from one team to another, from one coast to another and she’s definitely not worried. Nope. She’s fine. Really. She’s promised Mary Margaret ten times already. So she got fired. Whatever. She’s fine, ready to settle into life with the New York Rangers. She’s got a job to do. And she doesn’t care about Killian Jones, captain of the New York Rangers. At all.

He’s done. One more season and he’s a free agent and he’s out. It’s win or nothing for Killian. He’s going to win a Stanley Cup and then he’s going to stop being the face of the franchise and he’s going to go play for some other garbage team where his name won’t be used as puns in New York Post headlines. That’s the plan. And Emma Swan, director of New York Rangers community relations isn’t going to change that. At all.

They are both horrible liars.


Rating: Mature
Content Warnings: Swearing, eventual hockey-type violence
AN: I have never once bought a program at the Garden, nor have I taken a picture with the photos on the side of the Garden, but I promise those are both things people do. My eternal gratitude to @laurnorder, @beautiful-swan & @distant-rose just for, y’know, being fantastic. 
Also on Ao3, FF.net and tag’ed up on Tumblr if you’d rather hang out there.


“What about this one?”

Emma turned on the spot and made a face before she could stop herself, clicking her tongue in disapproval. Mary Margaret huffed slightly, but Emma had the sneaky suspicion she’d mostly done it for the reaction – a taffeta-covered disaster with three-quarter sleeves and, somehow, a high neck and ruffles that didn’t even remotely fit into the color scheme they’d decided on a few days before.

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Heat Stroke (Kanej, Six of Crows)

Honestly, this is pure crack. It’s fluff with a tinge of angst because I can’t write anything but that, but also because Kaz is the most melodramatic and Extra person there is. Boy, could you just be easy for once? Based on this post that had me rolling. I’m a sucker for jealousy fics. Also, this is low-key one of my favorite tropes. This is my first Six of Crows fic. I don’t plan on writing many because I’ve got too much on my plate and I don’t know if I can get a handle on the characters. But I did have fun writing this. Kaz kind of reminds me of Roy in a strange way tbh.


The mere idea of going to the beach sent Kaz into a silent, near frothing rage. Who in their right mind would want to go to the beach? What was good about them anyways? There was too much sun, too much pointless salty water, and far too many people, most of whom were in an ungodly state of undress that made him want to pay them to cover up.

Sure, it would be easy pickings, considering that people left all their belongings just lying around in the sand on their blankets while they splashed about like ducklings in the ocean or snoozed in the sun, but that wasn’t even fun. What was picking money off of lazy tourists after breaking into an impregnable prison and destroying the lives of not one but two filthy, scheming bastards?

There was no way in hell that Kaz would step foot on those sandy shores. He’d hightail it back to Ketterdam and its slums before he did that.

Then, of course, he overheard Inej mentioning to Nina that she couldn’t wait to be on the beach again. The last time she had been on one, she had been stolen from her family. She was excited to make new memories, much happier ones, to replace the one that had been forced upon her. Would the sand feel the same beneath her toes – like quicksand? Would the ocean water lull her into a daze until she felt like she was drifting in the center of the universe? Would the sun warm her skin and bleed color into her again?

And that was how Kaz found himself standing on the edge of a beach, just inches away from the sand. Enough of it had been tramped onto the sidewalk, grainy underneath his shoes, and he scowled at the contact.

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CSBB: I Thee Wed (10/16)

Once upon a time, Princess Emma and Lieutenant Killian Jones stole away into the dark of the night to elope. In the morning light, however, they must face the repercussions of their actions before they can live their “happily ever after.” This is where their story begins…

Rating:
M (Mild smut)

Content Warning: Smut in various chapters.

Other Pairings: Snowing

Author’s Note:
As promised, here’s my next chapter! I’m loving all of these strong feelings about my contribution to the @captainswanbigbang This story wouldn’t be half as readable without the lovely beta work of @wexyuk . Special shoutout to my artists who also served as secondary readers, @piratesrumforswan , and @just-be-magnificent .

[Ch. 1][Ch. 2][Ch. 3][Ch. 4][Ch. 5][Ch. 6][Ch. 7][Ch. 8][Ch.9]

Read on AO3!

Chapter 10

For as long as Leo could remember, there have been balls, over-the-top events that his family either hosted or to which they were invited. In his younger years, he never attended, and was watched by his governess while Mother and Father dressed in fancy clothing and danced the night away. He’d been jealous of Emma when she was finally of age to go, and begged her to stay or sneak him in. She refused. Oh, the cruelty of older siblings! Later, Leo decided that Emma had only been sparing him, because balls were boring and even worse, they were work.

Sit through this planning meeting. Decide on that color scheme. Entertain this dignitary from one faraway land. Dance with that dignitary from another faraway land. 

Sometimes he would play a game with it. He and Emma would whisper about the attractiveness of the various princes and dukes and knights and sailors that would attend these fetes. It was only now that he realized she had never explicitly pointed Killian out to him. He wondered if that was on purpose. Maybe she already had her plan set in mind at that first ball.

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Times Are Hard for Dreamers: Dressing Phillipa Soo in “Amélie”

Welcome back, dear readers! After the lengthy Here Lies Love review the other day, I’m going a little bit simpler this time and focusing on a single costume once again. By request, I’ll be looking at the main costume worn by Phillipa Soo in the 2017 musical Amélie - A New Musical.

Based on the 2001 romantic comedy starring Audrey Tautou as the title character, this is a whimsical, charming musical set in contemporary Paris. It follows the titular Amélie as she dreams of a different life, and sets about solving the mystery of a man appearing in a stolen photo album. It really is an interesting musical and I found the music for it to be soothing, especially after reviewing a few peppier productions over the past month.

The costume designs for this production, including the main costume I’ll review today, were done by David Zinn, who also designed the sets. Mr Zinn traditionally uses simple designs in his costume work, and his prior credits include the 2015 musical Fun Home. For Amélie, he clearly looked to the original movie for inspiration, while putting his own touch on the costumes themselves.

In the interest of providing some variety in my reviews, I’ve once again chosen to focus on a single costume; this time, it’s the main costume worn by Phillipa Soo as the titular Amélie. Let’s take a look:

For much of the musical, Amélie is outfitted in this ensemble. It’s a black-and-red checkerboard skirt that is almost floor-length, with a floral top and a light red sweater. The red in the sweater and in the skirt match, while the blouse is a bit paler to allow the floral design to stick out a little bit more. It catches the eye because much of the scenic design (also done by Mr Zinn) is a bit washed out, and the color palate is in shades of blue and green. Many of the other costumes for the production are similarly designed to contrast with the red of the main character.

Normally, I’m not a huge fan of mixing and matching patterns, and I’m not entirely sure I think it works here–however, I do think that I understand why Mr Zinn made this design decision. The character of Amélie has been extraordinarily sheltered her entire life, and even living in Paris (fashion capital of the world to many) has not imbued her with a tremendous sense of style. Instead, this is a character who would make her fashion choices based on what was comfortable and appealing to her, rather than necessarily dressing to please those around her. And in that sense, this costume does a great job of helping to reveal a little of the character’s personality.

As I’ve noted in review after review, one of the most important things a costumer can do is ensure that their designs can be appreciated under the stage lighting. Here, Amélie is illuminated both with a standard spotlight and with a softer, blue-purple lighting. That imbues the skirt she’s wearing with a little bit of a dreamy quality; the light makes the black appear to take on the color of the lighting itself, while the red checkerboard squares are lightened and softened. This allows the audience to see a contrast between the skirt and the sweater which might not otherwise be apparent.

Let’s take a closer look at the blouse, because it’s an essential element of the costume that the main character spends so much of her time wearing:

The pattern of the blouse is a simple floral. The red background gives way to white and blue flowers that are somewhat delicate and dainty, but which still retain the visible hallmark of being flowers–that is to say, they are not abstract, but clearly resemble what they are supposed to resemble. The pattern is abstract, however, and the flowers do not repeat themselves in any meaningful fashion.

I actually do like this pattern in contrast to the skirt. While I’m still not sold on the skirt itself, this is a rare case where I think matching a non-repeating pattern like the floral blouse with a repeating pattern like the checkerboard skirt actually does provide a nice effect. The blouse is pretty and I can easily see it being available in either a Parisian department store or (knowing a little about the main character) some kind of thrift or consignment shop.

One thing I really like about the whole ensemble is how it matches with Young Amélie, another character, the 10-year old version of herself that appears at different junctures throughout the musical. Mr Zinn had a number of options for how to costume Young Amélie, but he chose to go the route of using the same rough color scheme with different patterns and one consistent design element. Take a look at Amélie and Young Amélie (Savvy Crawford) in this scene for an idea of what I’m talking about:

Young Amélie is costumed similarly to her older self, but the patterns are much different and a bit more childlike. Her skirt is a simple striped pattern, while her blouse is a geometric design that repeats across the garment. But noticeably, at least to me, the white of the polka dots sticks out as a kind of mirror image of the flowers on Amélie’s blouse. It’s as though the abstract design is the genesis of the older design, as though the clothing has matured at the same rate and time as the character herself.

I noted a moment ago that there was one element which was identical: it’s the red sweater that both of them are wearing and that is the closest thing to a replica of the movie’s costumes as I have reviewed in this production. It’s not a complicated garment or design, a simple cable sweater designed to provide some color and warmth, but I think it really is notable that both Amélie and Young Amélie wear identical sweaters in their shared scenes.

I like the use of a single garment to tie these characters together; it’s a subtle reminder that despite being distinct to the audience, they really are just different embodiments of the same character. While there are great differences between them, especially the age, there is this one design element (alongside the color scheme) that will always remind the audience that they are both an aspect of Amélie. Unlike other productions with a “split” character, I like that the costuming was subtly different while keeping consistent through the use of a single piece of costuming.

Amélie as a production has not gotten rave reviews on Broadway, and it was stunningly snubbed for any Tony nominations despite a great cast and interesting scenic design. While the costuming is simple, I still think that it is neat in the way that it helps to tell the story, especially regarding the parallels between Amélie and her younger self. That’s not something you always see on Broadway, and I’m glad I was able to review it.


Like I promised, today’s was a shorter review of a single set of costumes. I’m reshuffling my show queue this weekend and will hopefully have a few more reviews to put out in short order. As ever, my dear readers, your feedback is wanted and welcome! Just drop an Ask, a Submission, or a message and I’ll do my best to respond!

Until next time, stay tuned!

Challenge me- Peter Parker

A/N: Hi! I have no idea what this is, to be honest, I started writing and couldn’t stop. If you guys like it, let me know, give me some feedback and maybe I’ll turn it into an ongoing one shot… like a series? I don’t know, you guys let me know. Peter is a little older in this. He already has Parker Industries, since I’ve been revisiting Spidey comics, he is a mix of MCU Peter and the 90s comic Peter because that is what I’m reading right now. Okay, enough rambling. 

enjoy!

Originally posted by diablito666

An unspoken rule of being an adult in the workforce is that you don’t get a crush on your boss. It is a simple rule that was not a problem to me. That was until I started working at Parker Industries. I was fresh out of college thus landing the job at Parker Industries was a dream come true. Not only was I lucky enough to find a job right out of college, but it was at a respected company.

The position I landed was on the marketing team. We were currently polishing our ads for the new Webware. After much demand from customers and advice from the PR department, Peter Parker had agreed to offer a new line of “updated” Webware.

A camera was added for customers to be able to take pictures and have them uploaded to their social media accounts. The Webware was also now available in 4 assorted colors with more promised to come in the upcoming months. The colors and the ad campaign that centered around the new colors was our focus as a marketing team.

Most of the marketing team was made up of freshly graduated twenty-year old’s. The new Webware campaign had quickly turned into a contest when the head of the department informed us that Peter would hear our individual ideas, picking the one he liked best.

The whole reason why we were releasing new Webware was that the customers had asked if they could be more stylish. It seemed logical to advertise the new Webware’s as a device that can be an accessory, a fashionable one. We had to sell this idea. The public won’t read that it is a stylish device and take our word for it. They had to be shown that it can be an accessory. They need to see how it can be used with what clothes.

I emailed a few magazines, thankfully because it was Peter Parker’s company reaching out to them, I could email the prestigious magazines, such as Vogue. They all responded back open to discussing a collaboration further.  I was proud of my idea, I started working on how to develop it further. Once I had enough to be able to sell the campaign I scheduled my meeting with the boss. With my binder clutched tightly, I presented my idea to Peter Parker.

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