this is the stuff of fantasies and fan fiction

anonymous asked:

Re: guardians of the galaxy/dnd parallels: Even the sci-fi setting? I'm only marginally familiar with dnd and as far as I know it's all high fantasy stuff?

(With reference to this post here.)

It’s a common misconception that “Dungeons & Dragons” refers to a particular fictional setting. This isn’t actually the case; Dungeons & Dragons is a set of tabletop roleplaying rules for a particular style of play, which can be employed in a variety of settings, both officially published and fan-made.

With respect to the former, officially published D&D settings include:

  • A post-apocalyptic wasteland drained of life by vile sorcerer-kings, variously inhabited by tribes of cannibal hobbits, claustrophobic parrot-men, and giant psychic praying mantises, all of which are playable races (even the last one!)
  • A spacefaring setting in which enchanted galleons sail the luminferous aether protected by magical force fields; though most crews are human, one might also expect to encounter gunslinging hippopotami, brain-sucking tentacle monsters, or gadgeteering gnomes whose vessels are powered by giant hamsters running on wheels (yes, really)
  • An industrialised quasi-Victorian city constructed around the inner side of a giant ring hovering at the top of an infinitely tall spire at the centre of the universe, the streets of which are ruled by factions of bickering philosophers who can literally think you to death (and also everyone inexplicably speaks Cockney)
  • A dystopian confederation of Gothic city-states ruled by expies of baddies from classic horror films, including Dracula, the Wolfman, the Mummy, Victor Frankenstein, Dr. Moreau, plus an evil version of Pinocchio, because why the hell not?

I could keep going, but I suspect you get the picture!

Signs as book genres they’d write in.


Aries: action / crime / humour

Taurus: self help book / mythology / romance

Gemini: poetry / fable / journalism

Cancer: fairy tale / fiction / realistic fiction / non fiction

Leo: tall tale / humour / western / classic fiction

Virgo: folklore / fantasy / horror / thriller

Libra: romance / self help / meta fiction /

Scorpio: fan fiction / mystery / thriller / horror

Sagittarius: non fiction / literature (non)fiction / realistic fiction

Capricorn: mythopoeia / picture book / non fiction / short story

Aquarius: short story / humour / self help / non fiction

Pisces: fantasy / mystery / fan fiction / fairy tale / magical realism

FFXV Rare Pairs Week, Day 3: Dancing/Fairy Tales

Pairing: Cordyn (Cor/Ardyn)
Rating: G
Warning: n/a

First time doing a moodboard! I also wrote a short drabble to go with the moodboard as well. (If you couldn’t tell, I love the idea of Cor and Ardyn being enemies first then slowly becoming lovers huehuehue)

@ffxvrarepairsweek

Keep reading

All you people out there like “stop comparing Nazis to stuff in harry potter, that will never stop Donald trump” had better realize that neo-nazis basically eat and breathe fiction. They don’t live in reality and behave as if they belong in a fantasy novel or a video game. There isn’t a coincidence why so many of them have anime avatars or are comic book fans, and it’s not because they’re nerds. Many of them think they are, but they often misunderstand source media for their own benefit (see: not understanding who created The Matrix, or Fight Club) while pushing out others who like that media such as women and minorities. If you go to one of The Golden One’s creepy videos you’re going to notice that in the background his bookshelf is almost entirely fiction, especially fantasy written by white people that expresses white anxieties.

Nobody thinks that identifying that Voldemort had a White Supremacist vibe, or that the Empire in Star Wars is a metaphor for fascism, will effect major political change. But in order to understand and dismantle the narratives that appeal to neofascists and white conservative reactionaries we need to promote basic media fluency and a willingness to even think about how what stories we tell could impact how we think about ourselves.

The Alt-Right was radicalized out of g*merg*te, a fearful astroturfed ‘movement’ obsessed with pop culture and media somehow falling to women’s and minority voices. Doing that smug “no one cares, wizards aren’t real” thing isn’t constructive when fascists behave as if women and minorities and ‘communists’ and anyone who opposes them are an orcish horde from Lord of the Rings.

anonymous asked:

Another aspect about how the fandom talks about a CO that worries me is the expectations some people have to a potential CO. If/when they decide to come out that does not mean we will necessarily get tons of intimate pictures or videos of private moments or even pda. The way I see it fanfics are where we, the fans, can enjoy playimg around with possibly scenarios and fantasies. Their actual lives are theirs and they don’t have to share the private stuff - not even if they do CO.

Hoooo boy yes. This worries me a lot too. I get scared that if/when they do come out, if they’re not like Miles and Zachary status, some larries will get bitter and lash out/feel “cheated” or like they’re owed something more. I think it’s really important to mentally separate fan fiction expectations/characterizations from whatever they end up choosing to do/how to act. 

There’s something I’ve been needing to vent about for a while (a long while), and I’ll be putting it below the cut. This isn’t as a means to force people to read it, I assure you. It’s probably gonna get a bit long, which is why I feel the need for a cut (also, if anybody just wants to scroll on by, they can do it with ease). So yeah, read or don’t read. It’s up to you. These are just my thoughts, a need to express them openly and nothing more. You are free to feel differently, and if it pisses you off, I accept that….

But I’m tired. So unbelievably tired of entitled fans.

Keep reading

ID# 56892

Name: Georgia
Age: 20 (almost 21)
Country: England (UK)

Hey everyone,
I have recently graduated from University with a degree in English Language and Psychology and will be doing a masters in psychology starting September.
I like a LOT of things my main fandoms are Harry Potter, One Direction, Sports Anime (Haikyuu, free, yuri on ice) and Voltron. I also love TV shows from Sherlock and Game of Thrones to cartoons like Adventure time. Marvel movies and shows are also awesome.
I really like to read mostly young adult fantasy and contemporary.
My music taste is pop-punky stuff but I have exceptions (All time low, sleeping with sirens, pierce the veil).
I have recently been getting into musicals Dear Evan Hansen, Hamilton and Les Mis.
I have also taken several photography classes and really enjoy writing from original stories to fan fiction.
I think the main point is I am always down to be introduced to new things and discuss things I already love.
I will gladly communicate through snail mail, tumblr, email, skype and watch series through rabb.it.

Preferences: 17+ would be ideal, no homophobes as I am lgbt+, open to all genders, cultures so on and forth :)

His Mission, Her Desire - Chapter 5

@gottalovetheletos
@is-anal-pounding-an-instrument
@sinkingshipsonsailingtrips
@nikkitasevoli
@anxiouslyyoursdidi

Recap of the last chapter

“Your second task will be tomorrow. It should awaken more fantasies you didn’t even know you had.” - Mister X She gulped what did Jared have planned? What was he gonna do next?

Triggers: Really? It’s about Jared, of course, there’s smut and stuff lol.

A/N: I am so meh about this chapter I’m not impressed with myself. 

Stirring from a small sleep on his king size bed, Jared opened his eyes and glanced at his phone. Just after four am. Now what? He laid back in his bed, breathing hard, gritting his teeth against a steel-inspired erection. The fucking thing tormented him more frequently these days—nearly every night. He couldn’t stop thinking about Abigail. When she revealed she was submissive, while tipsy he thought of nothing more than cuffing her to his bed and pleasuring her over and over again.  Rising with a stretch, Jared sighed and donned his jeans with a grimace. Immediately, his thoughts turned to Abigail. Jared paced, spearing hands tense with frustration through his hair too short to be ruffled by such a mauling. He walked to his bedroom balcony doors, he opened them. The moonlight shined down on the both of them. He walked onto the balcony, then walked across the balcony, toward his balcony door. Jared pushed open the door wider. Moonlight lit his whole room. Holy shit. Abigail had pushed off her covers, baring herself
to the night. He wished she was bare to him. She wore next to nothing, only a black lacy thong. Moonlight spilling into the room bathed the sweet blush-pink nipples and fiery fringe of her pussy in a soft silver light. It called attention to things he loved about her body and made him want to howl at the moon, absolutely.

Coaxing his way into that bed, into her body again, was as
necessary as drawing his next breath. It was the eye for an eye the vindictive part of him craved. His cock gave a greedy leap at the thought of having Abigail again, in any way that would bring them both to screaming pleasure… The want was a blast of heat drilling straight through his erection and his brain. Damned odd, really. He didn’t  fixate like this. A willing woman was cause for a good mood and good times, always. His body went wild at the thought of teaching Abigail about her sexuality, about the desires that haunted her to sweating resistance and whimpering wails of pleasure. He ached to show her how to take anything he dished out, give the burn back to him, and share in the mind-blowing mental and physical satisfaction. Stalking into the bedroom, Jared lit a few candles throughout the room, then dropped himself into the chair in the corner and stared, absently adjusting the unyielding length of his cock in his jeans. How did he tempt her to take a walk on the wild side with him so he could prove to her she could be just as free and submissive as she yearned and still be okay with herself. A mischievous smile lifted his lips as an idea occurred to him. Simple, direct, effective. Eager to put it in motion, he jogged back to his locked enclave and retrieved two pairs of heavy red velvet ropes.

Let the games begin…

POV CHANGE

Abigail woke slowly, drifting on the haze of an erotic dream where she lay on a metal table naked to the moonlight, arms tossed above her head in abandon as tender pulls at her nipples created a pool of sweet pleasure between her legs. She writhed. Silvery moonbeams worshipped her, caressing the underside of her arms, her belly, the tops of her thighs with a feathery touch. She moaned. She heard light footsteps, coming closer to her. Bare skin against a concrete floor. She couldn’t see anything. All she could feel was a soft material resting on her eyes. “Well well, what do we have here?” “Who…who’s there?” “Oh princess don’t you worry your little head,” he caresses her hair “Daddy is here to take care of you and give you what you desire.” “Jared?” The blindfold is quickly removed. The light shined right into her eyes. She closed them to shut out the light. “Jared?” “Maybe.” She quickly opened her eyes, there stood Jared with green hair, red crimson lips, metal teeth, no eyebrows, tattoos covered his body. “Surprised princess?” He started to pace around the metal table, his finger ever so lightly glided over her bare breasts, circling her sensitive nipples. “Jared, what are you doing?” He stopped near her head, leaned down to her ear “Oh don’t you worry about that,” he sent her a wicked grin, with a cackling laugh. “Just relax and let Daddy J help you.” She bit her lower lip as he continued to trail his fingertips against her bare skin. His gentle abrasion of his soft hands on her skin slowly awakening her sensual need. He stopped beside her left breast. He leaned down, he took her nipple in with his lips, using his sharp teeth to give it a quick nip. The slight sting in the hard peak of her breast surprised her. She moaned. He repeated the same with the other nipple, she tried to move but she couldn’t avoid his mouth on her breast. A glide of heat from his hand on her abdomen, a sudden well of desire between her legs surprised her. How was she turned on by this? His palm cupped her left breast, he pinched her nipple. She found herself arching to the gentle pain and was again rewarded with a fresh flood of heat and moisture. “Good girl.” Daddy J said between kisses on her ribcage.  He stopped and walked to another metal table. She could see he was looking for something, she heard a few choice words but then he stopped. “Ah here it is.” letting out a groan. He walked back, towards the metal table. He bent down and hid the toy behind his leg. He stood beside the table leaning down near her bare breasts. “Listen here doll, Daddy would like to test you. Daddy knows what’s best for her. Wouldn’t you agree?” She nodded not saying a word. Oh dear god what was he going to do next? He brings forward a Mushroom Violet Wand which was plugged in near the floor.  The ache between her thighs became a throb, a drumbeat inside her body calling for release. Abigail moaned, shifted.

He trailed the wand over her left breast, smooth, silky, gently rousing. It was quickly followed by a sharp zap that curled around her nipple and bit. The pain faded an instant later, replaced by a merciless need in the tight tips of her breasts. She arched, seeking more, as he given her another mild zap drifted down her abdomen and brushed over the top of her mound. He licks his lips giving her a wicked sinful smile. Sensations mounted, one on top of the other until her body demanded more. She struggled to move, to touch herself—only to find she couldn’t. Daddy J zapped on one nipple, this time harder than before. She cried out. Perspiration dampened the skin between her breasts and thick, liquid want converged into an unending ache between her legs. Abigail opened her eyes and threw off the last vestiges of sleep. And quickly discovered that her breasts weren’t being tormented by Joker, but by the smooth slide of Jared’s tongue, followed by the erotic nibble of his teeth. Before she even knew what she was doing, Abigail arched up, her body silently offering her sensitive nipples to a hot-eyed Jared, overruling anything her mind might have said. “That’s it. Good girl,” he murmured hotly across her breasts. Candlelight glowed softly as she looked down her body and realized that he’d unlaced the camisole and pulled it wide, completely exposing her twin mounds and their hard peaks. As if in slow motion, Abigail watched him lower his mouth to her again, his wide, bare shoulders bulged, a pulse-raising shadow in the moonlit room, as he eclipsed everything in the room but him. She pulled at her arms and legs, desperate to embrace him. Instead, she found them bound firmly to the four posters of Jared’s bed. God, she was totally at his mercy. That realization jolted her with a rush of dark pleasure—and that scared the hell out of her. A warning boomed in her belly like thunder. The hard clamp of desire plaguing her drowned it. “Oh Daddy!” He ignored her writhing and peppered the full sides of her breast with soft kisses, laved the nerve-heavy tips with a bold swipe of his tongue. The hard heat of his chest brushed over her belly, and her body fevered for more of the silky burn of his skin, his mouth. Her nipples tightened more until they became pointed red nubs that begged him to continue with anything, everything, he wanted. In response, Jared pinched her nipples, twisting slightly. A sharp mix of pain and pleasure had her crying out his name. “I’m here, to fulfill every forbidden fantasy swimming in your mind.” Desire jolted her body, making her buck under his tongue as he resumed the sensual torture on her nipples. She drew in another shuddering breath as his tongue curled around the throbbing tip. She whimpered. The man was twisting her inside out, turning her into a wanton stranger. Into a woman nearly willing to say yes to anything. “Daddy,” she panted. “Stop teasing me. Plus I didn’t give you the ok to touch me.” ““I won’t ask for permission, I will touch what I please.” He raked a pair of fingers through the exposed slit of her sex. Abigail knew she was more than damp. She was embarrassingly wet, swollen. Aching. His touch only ramped up the pleasure, made thick moisture gush from her weeping opening again. He sent her a low, sexy chuckle. His well-muscled torso rippled with every move and made the wicked part of her ache to put her hands all over his body and feel his vitality. “I know you do. But not yet.” His whisper taunted, her. He clamped his fingers around her nipples again and squeezed. Her moans became louder. In an instant, his smile disappeared. “I can almost hear the thoughts spinning in that pretty head of your’s beautiful. You’re thinking too hard. It’s simple. Don’t think.” She was still getting used to Jared’s command, she knew she wasn’t giving him her full submission. She was nervous. Being with Jared awakened many fantasies she’s always wanted to try. Jared inched off the bed, he quickly released her from the red velvet ropes. He stood near the end of the bed.

POV Change

“Take off the thong beautiful.” She sat up and she climbed off the bed. Jared watched Abigail tense, her arms trying to cover her bare breasts. He could tell she was struggling with his command. Swallowing down a lump of lust, he regarded her with a hard expression. “When I give a command, I expect it to be followed immediately. Take off your thong.” She bit her lower lush lip. The sight made his cock throb inside his jeans. God, he wanted that mouth around him, pulling him in deep with her pretty pink tongue darting over the head. “Jared, just for tonight can you tell me what you want to do to me so I know.” “Are you questioning me?” “No, but I’m still new at this.” he sent her a soft smile. “I know beautiful, but you have to give me total control.” “So far, I’ve done that….kinda.” “What do you call me when we are together?” “Daddy or Sir.” Two words trembled from her lips and it seared him like a hot poker shoving a hot slam of desire up his cock. “To reward her, he moved to her side and cupped her cheek in his palm. “Beautiful, you know the rules, no thinking. Just obey what I say. I can help you.” Abigail smiled and sent him a shaky nod, innocence, and need. His heart turned over in his chest. Damn, she was so beautiful, so uncertain. Something about her made him want to fuck her in every way possible and reassure her of her perfection while he was doing it. Crazy notion…Stepping away, he blanked the soft amusement from his face and crossed his arms over his chest. “Take off your thong beautiful.”

She paused a mere instant before she released a deep breath and eased off the bed, exposing her lush, pale breasts, framed by the golden camisole. Her nipples still stood hard and rosy from his sucking. Fresh lust kicked him in gut, pulsed in his balls, as she sent him a hesitant glance, then hooked her thumbs in the lacy strips over her hips. Slowly, so damn slowly he tried not to hold his breath, she began pulling the thong down, displaying more soft perfect skin. Jared clenched his jaw. He was dying to taste her. She was already slick. Totally wet and ready. Knowing that was killing him. Finally, her thong made it to the floor. She straightened, casting him an uncertain glance, but played brave by throwing her shoulders back and holding her head high. “Pick up the thong.” Abigail stared at him, a little frown crinkling between her brows as she looked for the logic in his request. He’d break her of that habit eventually. Jared sucked in a breath. Damn it, she was so beautiful.  The thought of showering her with pleasure until she screamed was clawing at his restraint. He was getting harder by the second. He had to retain some control here. Otherwise, he couldn’t give her what she needed—what they both needed. “Give me the thong, beautiful.” Swallowing, she reached out and picked up the black lacy thong. Fear and eagerness to please warred on her face, clutched at his heart. He had to both soothe her and push her. Balance his responses. It was the only way to coax her into really letting go. Jared took the thong from her and bunched it in his hand. It was damp. And even six inches from his nose, he could smell her arousal on the garment. The knot of lust in his gut wrenched so tight, he could hardly catch a breath. He let out a groan “You’re wet, beautiful.” Abigail said nothing, just stared with wide eyes, dilating more with each second. “Yes, Daddy always for you.”  It didn’t roll off her tongue yet, but it would. He’d keep at her until it did. Softly and harshly. Alternating, keeping her off balance. Keeping her aroused and uncertain. It would be his pleasure. “Good. I like that you’re wet. I plan to keep you that way all night.” She absorbed his words, tensing slightly. Her eyes dilated further. Her areolas puckered tight around the nubs of her nipples. She slicked her tongue over her full bottom lip. His cock jerked in impatience. “Jared—” “You don’t call me that in the bedroom. If I have to remind you again, I’ll paddle your pretty ass so red, that it will burn when you bend over.” She swallowed her gasp. He kept his smile to himself. She was learning.

Jared hadn’t thought it possible, but his cock stiffened with a fresh surge of blood. Abigail, he saw her tongue swipe across her pillowy mouth again. Damn it, the woman tested his patience and self-control. Now, this first time under his domination, he had to take total charge of Abigail. There could be no vacillation. He could show no weakness, no lack of control, only a reassurance that brooked no refusal. “On your knees, beautiful.” She was processing his request, trying to discern what he wanted…but she knew. “Daddy?” “I didn’t give you permission to speak.”  Finally, she cast her gaze down—and dropped slowly to her knees. She was so close, Jared could feel her exhalations on his jeans-covered cock. It took every ounce of self-control not to rip at his pants and toss them away, so he could feel her breath, her mouth, on him. Lust throbbed even harder through his erection at the thought. “Better. As a reward, you may speak. What is it, Abigail?” “This is gonna sound silly, but what if you don’t fit in my mouth?” It took almost all of his strength not to laugh. “What might not fit in your mouth?” A fresh flush stole up her cheeks. She shyly pointed at Jared’s cock. “I didn’t hear you. Say that again?” She tried to hide her smile, he could tell she wanted too. “Your…your cock Daddy. What if it’s too big?” Jared leaned down and cupped her face, she wrapped her hands around his wrists.  She chewed her bottom lip nervously. Jared just sent her a wicked smile. “I will guide you along the way. Just do what I say and you will be fine.” Abigail’s gaze left his face, traveled down his torso, then rested on the insistent erection pushing against his jeans, right in front of her face. Her tongue peeked out to smooth over her bottom lip again. Jared drew in a sharp breath, reeling back the thoughts that, soon, her pretty pink tongue could be laving the head of his cock. Lust twisted his gut, turning it into unbreakable knots of need. He was testing her as much as he was torturing himself. “Ok…Daddy.” He barely managed to mumble a reply before he unsnapped his jeans and eased down the zipper. His cock sprang free, into his hand. He slowly stroked the length of it for her gaze. Abigail zeroed in on his hard flesh, her expression uncertain and hot. She wanted to touch him; her face, like a kid with her face pressed against a candy store window, told him that. Fisting his cock, he waited, watching her greedy eyes follow his hand. When a drop of moisture beaded on the head of his cock and she licked her lips at the sight, Jared eased his free hand around her head, anchoring it under her hair. The soft strands fell over his fingers like silk as he cupped her nape. He thumbed the soft skin at the side of her jaw and slowly urged her forward. “Suck me, Abigail. Take me deep.”  Closer, closer, her mouth came to his cock. Her gaze flew up to his, connecting, locking with his own as she edged in. Jared held his breath. God, he couldn’t look away from her, couldn’t stop watching those sensual red lips part to take him inside. Felt a fucking fever rage through him as he imagined how hot and silky her mouth would be. 

Finally, she enveloped the swollen head, still seeping moisture. Her gaze never wavered as her lips closed around him and her tongue swept across his sensitive underside, sending a blinding jolt of pleasure screaming up his spine. He gritted his teeth to capture the moan threatening to spill. She stilled, pulled back a fraction. He allowed it but tightened his hand at the back of her neck in warning. That pretty pink tongue laved the head of his cock, then wet her soft lips again. He watched it all, scorched by the sight, by her hot gaze drilling into him, innocence and wonder and the desire to experience everything finally overshadowing her fear and doubt. At the sight, it took every bit of Jared’s control not to start pumping wildly into her mouth. He drew in a sharp breath. “Deeper, beautiful. All the way to your throat.” She nodded, her head bobbing, her tongue stroking the blood-engorged tip of his cock. Abigail opened wider, leaned in. The hot, slick heaven of her mouth enclosed half his length, cradled by her exploring tongue. He hissed. She shook her head, going down, trying to take more. “You can do it beautiful open your mouth wider and your jaw further apart from each other.” The feel of her all around him, the sight of her trying to fill her mouth with his flesh, combined to push him dangerously close to the edge. His fingers again tightened at her neck as he pushed another inch of his cock into the sweet depths of her mouth. Abigail pulled back a fraction, then slid her lips even farther down his length—nearly to the back of her throat. She punctuated the motion with a moan. The sound vibrated inside him. Pleasure streamed up his dick, wrapped around his balls like a vise. Pleasure doubled when she raised her hand to his dangling testicles and cupped them with gentle fingers. He tensed, again fighting the urge to unleash his lust, to fuck her mouth in a mindless pursuit of pleasure, let go of the come boiling in his scrotum. Her slow exploration was killing him, breaking him down. His toes curled against the hardwood floor. The head of his cock finally bumped the back of her throat, adding a new dimension to his pleasure. Unable to stop himself, he closed his eyes and groaned, an admission of his need.

“That’s it, beautiful. That’s right. Suck me deep.” Opening his eyes again, Jared found Abigail bowed over his cock, eyes closed. She was damn near polite, the way she held him, took him so far inside. Then she eased back with a leisurely swipe of her tongue. She fastened her mouth around his length again. Good god, he was leaking, fluids escaping his body in a desperate rush to orgasm. Every muscle in his body tense now, trembling, he shoved both hands into her hair and demanded more. “Faster. Put that sweet tongue on me. There you go…” With his prompting, Abigail established a more rapid rhythm, but still slow enough that he swore he could feel every groove and bump on her tongue. Still slow enough to completely rob him of his ability to think, to remember his own damn name. Not fucking her mouth was no longer an option. His hands fisted in her hair. He thrust past her wide, sleek lips, bumping them back of her throat each time. “Swallow,” he demanded, voice broken. “When I’m at the back of your throat, swallow on me.” She nodded, she moaned. Every time he sank deep. Sweat broke out at his temples, across his back, as he tried to resist the growing pressure in his balls. He couldn’t deny the pleasure for long. The wave built into a dark, sharp ache, demanding he give in. He held it back, gritting his teeth every time her candy tongue danced over the flared purple head, every time her flushed cheeks hollowed as she sucked him in. Jared wanted to stop the roaring rush toward the cliff, live in this honey-thick throb a bit longer. He withdrew from her mouth, fighting to get a breath without her scent on it, needing a moment that wasn’t totally bombarded with the silk of her tongue bathing his cock. When he left her mouth with a soft pop, she whimpered. Licked her lips and pouted. Turned a hot gaze up to him that pleaded and dared. “Daddy…no” She fixed her hungry stare on his cock. He took his erection in his hand, swiped a thumb over the weeping head, then pushed the wet digit into her mouth. “You want more of that?” She sucked on his thumb, licking the top. Her breath came hard and she swiped the moisture from the pad of his thumb. “Yes, Daddy. Please?” “Tell me what you want.” “I want to suck you, Daddy.” “What part of me?” he barked, still torturing them both with long strokes of his hand up and down his length. Her hungry little gaze was about to eat him alive. “Your…cock, Daddy. Please, let me suck it.” “You haven’t followed my instructions particularly well so far.” “I have. I”m still learning, but I will, Daddy. I swear.” He anchored his hand at her nape again “I’ll hold you to that, Abigail. Now suck my cock.” Heaven Help Me he thought as he gave into the urge to thrust into Abigail’s mouth again with a loud moan that should have shaken the windows. Again, he couldn’t resist the urge to fuck her mouth. His deep, insistent rhythm filled her, demanding she takes and takes. He watched her, lips swollen, cheeks rosy, eyes half-closed as if savoring him. Her nipples were harder than ever. The sight of her burned into his brain, shredded his control. He stiffened again, the pressure in his balls nearly painful as he held in his breath and held back his climax. Delaying the earth-shattering inevitable. Abigail’s eyes opened, gaze lifting to him, asking and seducing at once. She wanted reassurance, sweetly begged him to let go, tempted him with the promise of ecstasy like he’d never known. With that look, his control broke. The peak of rapture raced from the base of his spine, burned through his balls, up his cock, until he exploded. Pleasure ripped her name from his lips in a hoarse cry. It became a chant as he repeated it over and over while the sharp edge of bliss seemed to last forever, pounding his body with one relentless pulse of ecstasy after another. Faintly, through the haze of his roaring heartbeat, he heard Abigail gurgling. “Swallow,” he rasped, rubbing one of his hands along her neck. “Swallow, beautiful.” That smile breaking out across Abigail’s face told him her rush of excitement at breaking him down, stripping him of his iron defenses. He pulled away from the sweet depths of her mouth and shucked his pants completely. Fullness lazed through him, and control reasserted itself. Now, he could mow down her barricades and return the favor.

How would he return the favor? That Abigail taking down Daddy’s wall!

Find out in Chapter 6

TV shows and why people stop watching them when their favorite character dies.

On November 2014, my dad had a heart attack and died. I didn’t take it well. My dad was the person I love the most in the world, he was my best friend and I’m never going to stop missing him. The grieving process really took a toll on me, and during the following year, I retreated inside of myself. I was still functioning, but the truth was I felt empty and I had to debate myself every morning to get out of bed. One of the brightest spots during that time was that I got to see my favorite characters, characters I’ve come to love deeply, having adventures every week.

And then, on May 2015, Supernatural killed Charlie off.

Both of these things, the real loss of my dad and the fictional loss of a character I liked a lot were irredeemably linked in my mind. I wasn’t even sad, really. I was angry. It was as if a close friend, someone who ought to know better, had made an insensitive joke at the expense of my dad’s memory. I calmly turned off my computer while muttering to myself: “I don’t need this shit in my life right now.”

And I stopped watching the show altogether. A show I really loved, a show to this day I write fanfic and blog about, lost me because they killed off a character way too soon after my dad’s passing.

Of course, this wasn’t the writers’ fault. They couldn’t have known what I was going through, they couldn’t have known that I was going to feel like they had personally stabbed me in the gut. They had killed off characters I loved before and I cried and I screamed and wrote angry essays on Tumblr, but this time was different. It was different because I was already dealing with a very real grief and I didn’t want to also add fictional grief on top of it. The fandom’s reaction was pretty much the same as every time a favorite is killed off: they raged, they rolled their eyes, but ultimately they kept watching. Minus me. They’re on Season 12 now. Hope that’s working out great for them.

Recently, a fan favorite character was killed off (in a brutal manner, I’m given to understand) in The Walking Dead. I don’t watch that show. I tried: I made it through season 1 and a bit of 2, but ultimately it failed to grab me. I’ve heard it gets good after season 3. But now this character died, and I happened to be up and on Tumblr when it happened, so my dashboard suddenly was filled with people writing in all caps and swearing at the writers. Cue the gif of a confused Donald Glover walking into the room with pizza to find everything is on fire.

One of the posts I saw was a person calmly saying something along the lines of: “Welp, that’s the last episode of The Walking Dead I’ll ever watch.” And boy, wasn’t that a throwback.

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Hey guys! Please reblog if...

My dash has been getting pretty boring since I practically see the same stuff over and over again. And I need more variety. So please please please REBLOG (reblog only, I won’t check likes) if you post about any of the following:

• Doctor Who

• Harry Potter

• Game of Thrones

• How To Train Your Dragon

• Marvel (comics and/or movies)

• Lord of the Rings/The Hobbit

• Supernatural (I’m a Megstiel shipper – sorry, Destiel fans.)

• Sherlock (especially if you love John and Mary!)

• Felicia Day (or her character Charlie Bradbury from Supernatural)

• Martin Freeman

• James McAvoy

• David Tennant

• Keira Knightley

• Pride and Prejudice (or Jane Austen’s work in general) (including books and screen adaptations)

• books (preferably fantasy, fiction, or literature)

• FX’s Fargo

• or anything about classic art, nature photography, or beautiful libraries. I’m a sucker for beautiful libraries.

Please please please REBLOG (reblog ONLY – I won’t check likes) if you post about any of these and I will check you out! Or if you know anyone that you think I might be interested in following, let me know. Ask box is open! Help a girl out, please. :)

Headcanon: Steve Rogers is a fan of the Wonder Woman comics

Headcanon: As DC is fiction within the MCU, Steve is a fan of Wonder Woman comics since the December 1941 debut. A fiercely independent brunette woman who fancies an American intelligence officer named Steve: it is the stuff of impossible fantasy.

While on the USO tour, he writes and begins to draw a whole fan series  inspired by Peggy Carter’s struggles. He pitches an idea to have a Wonder Woman USO show, even tries out a dress rehearsal like here: http://seedoidraw.tumblr.com/post/108264680934/uso-show-1942 but the show handlers reject it

Upon defrosting,  Steve is invited to Comic-Con as an author because his Wonder Woman series in his sketchbook was rediscovered in 1998 and published, becoming the most popular modern run.

Its okay to like the villain but you shouldn’t support them because murder is bad and stuff and they deserve punishment

No, fuck off. Fiction and reality are two different things. Supporting murder, abuse, destruction etc in real life means you are bad person.

Supporting murder and torture of fictional characters and destruction of fictional things means you can tell fiction from reality. Episodes where villains slaughter shitty alien species/fantasy races and torture annoying characters are my favorite episodes. They’re entertaining and I enjoy reading AU fanfiction where villain kills the hero and takes over the world. 

Supporting fictional evil is healthy because it means you can tell fiction from reality and literally every villain fan I’ve met so far is precious cinnamon roll who would love and support you, while the loudest ‘hero’ fans are insecure, immature and start drama to get ‘internet good boy’ points. (Not all of them, but the toxic ones are the loudest, all over the fandom and impossible to ignore) People who attack villain fans are bad people in real life and only do it to feel better about themselves. No good person would harass someone over fictional characters.

I am proud to say I support the villains and think their evil is very entertaining. It is not my fault original authors create the villains that are funnier and more interesting than the hero. 

Seventeen Fanfiction Crossover series.

Ok, I know I don’t write much on here; however, I have decide to write a fan fiction book over. Seventeen Crossover with a pretty famous Romantic Fantasy book; I don’t know if it will be any good it’s just what I fantasize in my head. It’s very wattpad-ie I know.

Originally posted by baepsaeboyss

But I am trying to do more stuff on here and be more apart of the Kpop/Tumblr world so

…. if you don’t like it, don’t read it. Dont attack me cause you dont like the storyline

Originally posted by junhoontrash

Yes, I know I haven’t said the name of the other series that it will crossover with it.


That is because I’m not going to tell you

Originally posted by jinssmile

😂😂, the reason why is because I’m going to wait and finish the first chapter ready and you can find out then.


Originally posted by because-they-re-angels

Okay, I’m going to go now.

Bye bye~ BangtanBride


Originally posted by faceofdistaste

Comics on the Web, Diary of an Aspiring Comic Book Writer

Welcome to Diary of an Aspiring Comic Book Writer (DACBW) the weekly series where I blab about my writing, my life, and the artist experience of comics. This week was a rough one for sure, so much work that I had to make happen. However, it was the start of #TransComicsMonth so despite me having to do a ton of work, plus the work for the month and stuff I still had a lot of fun. This week will wrap up my midtermy stuff and move me into spring break for a week. This week I dived further into the wonderful world of webcomics and I figure I’ll write some musing about webcomics and stuff.

Webcomics are an amazing thing because in many ways they are the purest form of artist expression. They are joining together so many forms of art all for no money up front (at least normally). It’s a scary world to go into for the artists involved since well you gotta eat but making webcomics takes works and working in webcomics normally requires you to dish out stuff for free. Luckily we have a ton of new ways to help out webcomics creators like crowdfunding and we have success stories like Nimona to look at. Originally for wish I hated the idea of making it a webcomic but the more I go into webcomics the more it feels like it makes sense. Now I am thinking of formats to do this in, ways to make money, etc but I really see the value in giving people art for free who may not otherwise have access.

(From Computer Love)

I think my favorite thing about webcomics after going into my dive this week is that anyone can do it. You  don’t have to be good at art, you don’t have to be typical, you don’t need to sell stories with “Wide appeal” you make the story you want to tell. Yes that can lead to some bad stuff and editors have their place but it also allows for this whole range of expression at varying levels of talent to be opened to the world. We have room for stories that are super tropey run of the mil Mary Sue type stuff, we have room for comics that experiment with the medium and what it means to be a comic, webcomics are this playground that everyone is invited to. Sure not everyone in the playground you’ll like but you don’t have to play with them.

Moving on to my own creation this week’s writing composed of actual different stuff then the last few weeks. This week I’ve done some work on an AmeriKate fanfiction, I worked a little on an idea to bring Wish to some things that actually matter to my cities culture, I work shopped how my characters make money and had some funny ideas on how all that worked out.  I also did some worshiping on my girlfriends comic series she wants to get creating that I honestly think is going to blow the lid off in comics and create a Latina hero with real impact on the culture.

This week was mostly about  Web comics I read Back Bash, Computer Love 1-2, Transgirl, Interrupted, One of the Trans Guys, SpringRoll’s Daily Life, Everyday Life of a Trans Boy, The Life of Alexis Perkins chapters 1-3  For print comics I read Rick and Morty 11, Faith 2,

Alright so a ton of comics to talk about this week and hopefully even more in the next weeks as more people learn about #TransComicsMonth. First off Back Bash, oh my god Back Bash, god read this webcomic if you’re an Adult. Normally I don’t like dark stuff but this story about the Queer Mafia is amazing fun and stunningly done so far. We have a trans man as a lead and lots of queer people to follow in it. Transgirl Interrupted, One of the Trans Guys, and Everyday Life of a Trans Boy kind of fall currently in to the same are for me of being pretty normal slice of life comics. They are cute, each have their strengths and weaknesses but there isn’t really a massive story hook to sell you on. The Life of Alexis Perkins is maybe the ultimate high school fan fiction. It’s tropey, it feels very self insert, and all of that stuff. However, if you’re a trans girl this is a slice of cake you want to enjoy if you just want to put yourself in an over the top fantasy fulfillment kind of thing. Computer Love starts kind of slow but there is a lot of interesting things going on in world building that make me want to keep following it. SpringRoll’s Daily life isn’t about trans people but it’s a cute diary of two lesbian girls on Line Webtoon that I found really adorable.  Print comics wise Rick and Morty 11 is great, a really funny issue to me. Faith 2 keeps up the solid ground work of Faith 1 and Faith proves she is a really likeable hero.

Lucy

I saw the film Lucy yesterday. I see a lot of movies and don’t usually talk about them here, but this one kind of ties into some of the stuff I’ve been writing about in the last few posts, so I want to discuss it a little.

First of all, if you’re into writing or enjoy thinking about originality, I’d highly recommend seeing this movie for the sake of discussion and analysis.

Curiously, I’d also recommend it if you’re an Elder Scrolls fan who is into Vivec’s Sermons and the series’ god cosmology and stuff, since I feel that the film’s lore and ideas actually carry a lot of the same flavor - particularly when it comes to the psychology of godhood. Taken as a science fiction movie, Lucy is not very believable: the “10% of your brain” stuff they cite is completely untrue, the chemicals they describe do not give you super powers, and so on. However, taken as a fantasy story about a human ascending to something greater, I think the movie has a very interesting angle most storywriters would never consider. 

If you’re interested in it, I would suggest you watch it before reading on. The post will stay here, don’t worry. Further, spoiler-laden discussion of this below the cut. 

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Scandal 410: Analysis of Olivia's Dream in Thematic Context

I’ve decided not to do full commentary on the entire Run episode itself (though it was such a treat) for various reasons.However, I do want to make one contribution. There have been a lot of feelings about Olivia’s dream sequence from the latest episode of Scandal, Run (410). Tumblr deleted into thin air a response I wrote on Friday morning. Having gained a lot more clarity in just the last 24 hours (I’m pathetic; I get ideas in the middle of the night about this show :o( ), I’m now glad that happened. So high-five to Tumblr on that mistake. I’ve come to better understand how Olivia’s dream is informed by past and present themes in her life, including, but not limited to: escape from emotional adversity, protection of/from herself, the idea of ‘normal’, and the construction of identity.

Let’s just go throughthe dream sequentially. We’ve only seen Olivia dream one other time thisseason, but I have noted some familiar parallels with sequencing and themesthat relate to her dream here. Much like we’ve seen in An Innocent Man (406), Olivia engages in Inception-like dreams. They begin with logical actions, then, likely as she enters REM, move into an indulgent fantasy. They then end, prodded by familiar fear, waking her up to an immediate reality requiring her intervention. This time, however, the person who needs the intervention is herself. She is her own problem and her own solution.

The Rescue

Every character in this dream has been conjured and scripted by Olivia herself, reflecting in many ways, the purpose they hold in her life. The dream begins with a Special Ops team, led by Jake, rescuing her. He swoops in and literally scoops her up into his arms, carrying her away from danger. This makes sense in several ways. First, the obvious: it was never gonna be Fitz. As I said above, early in Olivia’s dreams, we see familiar and logical things occurring to her (remember in 406, her dream begins with her swimming her stress away). As the President, Fitz would never be in a position to do the physical lifting, so to speak, especially of a woman who’s been publicly accused of being his mistress. So, Olakers, relax your wigs, 

Secondly, we have been inundated with examples of Jake’s obsession with playing hero. Conversations in 408 and 409 concerning Rowan’s capture are the most recent examples, but we’ve known this about him since season 2B. Though I certainly can, I will refrain from regaling you with every instance.

Thirdly, Jake’s role is utilitarian for Olivia. This is later repeated near the end when she repeats “heart, hips, head” (409) to herself before shooting her kidnapper. Like his imagined heroism, this is a theme on the show, and indicative of the general purpose he serves in her life. He was a companion to abate her loneliness the last time she ran away from her problems (318), and he’s been keeping her company ever since, as she tries out a stilted sense of normalcy.

Vermont Happy Place

After Jake rescues Olivia from a literal and figurative dark place, she is delivered to the light of Vermont, her go-to happy place in her mind. Poof! Everything’s normal and happy, after all! I’m where I belong, she likely tells herself after waking up in her bed. But she’s just deeper into a very familiar dream. In contrast to the quick in and out of her being rescued by Jake, this Vermont sequence is the indulgent part of her dream. She is comfortable, confident, contentedly in love, and all smiles in this dream. Have you ever seen Olivia smile that much? She has imagined all the superficial details of the stage on which her quixotic sense of happiness plays out. There are many things to dissect before the fantasy becomes warped, but here are the things that I found very interesting:

•She’s married to Fitz, as is evidenced by the ginormous rock on her hand, and his upgraded platinum band. This is important because Fitz is the one who usually verbalizes the fantasy. It’s nice to see in her conjuring, that she very much wants this. The absence of Olitz babies tells me picturing children is harder because it’s so unfamiliar. Or maybe she wants Fitz to herself for a while before having children. The absence of Fitz’s children did not concern me. Teddy could be with Mellie in a shared custody deal. Karen goes to boarding school.

•The fridge is stocked with actual food! Fitz was eating breakfast! This is important. At the beginning of the episode, we see Olivia retrieve beer from her fridge for Jake. Only other liquids can be glimpsed. In Vermont, she’s living and taking care of herself. She’s not eating junk food to forget her problems, or drowning her sorrows in a bottle of decanted red wine.

•She branded her jam, lol. Is it for sale, or does she just give it away?

•Everyone loves Fitz instead of trying to destroy him. I think it’s adorable that she imagines everyone to see in Fitz what she sees in him.

Olivia is so openly affectionate, and she imagines receiving Fitz’s love openly, without hesitation

•She’s still advising Fitz on how to be his best in every situation. Even throwing out the first pitch for a Burlington baseball team. So friggin’ cute.

•The shower scene is reminiscent of the one in 220. I remarked the other day how giddy I was to see this because I literally just wrote about the shower being my favorite moment ever, due to the pure joy on Olivia’s face. It’s very common for recurring dreams to feature at least one episodic memory. The appearance of this moment as a daily meme in her fantasy tells me it’s one of Olivia’s favorites as well. 

Before I get to Tom, Abby and fuckin’ TJ showing his goddamn face again, there’s already a clear problem with Olivia’s vision of the future: It’s not a life. As conjured, it’s a glossy Town and Country magazine escapist fantasy. It reflects a life that no one actually lives (maybe on the perfect holiday). The re-use of “Sunny” supports that. In my 401 review, I mentioned that “Sunny” is not a person, but a state of mind. As such anything and anyone can be “Sunny”. Just as in 401, we hear the song and see Olivia alone before we see the context of her life. In Vermont, life is sunny. Much like the island she was on with Jake, this life is easy, breezy, beautiful for our cover girl. What makes the Vermont fantasy just like the African island is the sense of isolation from family, friends, and her work - around which she has built her very identity. It really is that ‘other life’ Fitz spoke of in 302.

That’s fine for a dream, but they don’t have another life; they only have this one. For a woman who rejected a version of this life with another man (213)—minus the jam—because she didn’t want a quotidian life that was ‘simple,’ and ‘easy’, what we see in Vermont sure does look that way. It is the stuff of fan fiction (that is not shade). She skipped all the hard parts and went straight to happy. Or what she imagines ‘happy’ to look like in a fetishized rendering.

Fear, Insecurity, and Anxiety

Then the dream starts to get a bit dark as the parts of Olivia that nag at her, tell her she can’t have the life she wants, pop up like ominous characters in a Charles Dickens novel. Tom and Abby show up as manifestations of Olivia’s subconscious: Fear (Tom) and Anxious Logic (Abby). In her 406 dream, both those things were represented in Rowan (“For god’s sake, Olivia, wake up!”). Tom reminds her that she’s not supposed to be there, but that he, as Fitz’s protector, is. In what must be a regular fantasy that lulls her to sleep, Tom seems new. Remember, it was just in 407 that Tom tells Olivia that she is the only person from whom he has failed to protect Fitz. Olivia quickly connected the dots back to Fitz as the reason she had been kidnapped and hauled halfway across the world:

“Either I’m in danger, or…[pregnant pause of realization]”

Because Fitz loves her, Olivia is once again being used as a weapon of political leverage. Instead of blaming the assholes exploiting her relationship, she blames herself for loving him–that Fitz is only able to be hurt because of that love. Olivia has always seen herself as a problem in Fitz’s life, the reason why he can’t be ‘a better man’. Clearly this has been one of her reasons for running away from their relationship when things get difficult, time and time again (more on this further down). But here Tom is, at Olivia’s request, to protect Fitz…from her. The impossibility of Tom’s task has not stymied her attempt to shield Fitz from the wounds she believes she’s bound to inflict. Remember, she’s convinced that she can’t form (healthy) attachments to people because of her mother’s abandonment and her father’s dark arts (306). 

Next we see Thomas Jefferson and Olivia out for their daily walk. The boysenberry jam must be setting. Soon as I saw his ass, I was like, wayment, isn’t that…son of a bitch, it’s TJ! Haven’t you done enough already?! Haven’t you? Anyway, TJ’s presence, for me, signifies the baggage that Olivia and Fitz are bringing into their future. Because y’all, if he was just a dog, it could have been any dog. But it isn’t. It’s the dog. Without re-hashing the whole season one story line of Amanda Tanner, Fitz never really did answer Olivia’s question: “did you give her [Amanda Tanner] that dog” (101)? Maybe Olivia still wonders about that sometimes. Maybe somewhere in the back of her mind, she wonders if he will hurt her again in that way since their relationship began as an adulterous affair. Or maybe TJ serves as a reminder of the trust that was broken between them because Fitz lied to her, and she didn’t want to believe that he could. TJ is there to be like a Cancerian: we forgive, but we don’t ever forget that you did that shit. On that note, TJ also represents Olivia and Fitz’s ability to get through betrayal. Speaking of getting through…

How perfect is it that Olivia’s logic manifests in sassy Abby, the ghost of the (kidnapped) present. It was Abby who first challenged Olivia on a decision she made: “You don’t get to decide when the real Olivia Pope shows up. You made the wrong call!” (104). And as recently as 318, she challenged Olivia over her decision to trust and leave on a plane arranged by a man she hated, even if he is her father. Lastly, when Jake was falsely imprisoned, and a confused and devastated Olivia needed her friend, it was in Red, that Olivia confided about the current shenanigans of her life and her history with Fitzgerald Grant (implied, 405-406).

Olivia: “You have to stop calling me. You can’t just show up anymore. I’m with Fitz. I chose Vermont and this life with Fitz. I’m happy here.”


Abby: “That’s the thing, Liv. You didn’t choose Fitz. You didn’t choose this life. He resigned from office just like that, and, poof, you’re here? Where’s Mellie? Where are his kids? Where’s the press I bet would be swarming you on a daily basis if the President of the United States went all Wallis Simpson on America? And what, now you make jam for a living? Really?! Do you know how to use a dutch oven? Do you know how to turn on a regular oven? What about Huck? You leave Huck and get a dog. And Huck’s what? In a pound somewhere? None of this makes any sense.”


Olivia: “For once, I’m not trying to make sense. I’m not trying to be logical. I’m being happy.”

Lol at the shade. I think a lot of people aren’t completely sure what’s happening here. Here’s how I see it. It’s clear that Olivia is used to Abby (anxiety of logic) intervening in this part of her recurring dream. But really it’s that part of Olivia that has repeatedly told her that the life that she wants with man she loves is not possible because other people depend on her (Huck), or because she ‘owes’ something to someone (Jake). It’s not that it’s impossible;it’s just that how she has conjured it is fantastical. She skipped over all the hard parts, all the annoyances and inconveniences of making a life as the second wife to the ex-President of the United States, who also has three two children. How does she reconcile a life with him as a woman whose entire identity is built around the Olivia Pope persona? Too hard, skip, make jam and don’t think about it, at least not in dreamland.

Olivia has built a career on logic, helping clients get out of a tough spot, or work their way through a crisis. Even the plan Olivia came up with in 222 detailed how Fitz and Mellie would deal with the divorce, and what Fitz would do as a bachelor before publicly getting together with Olivia. There was nothing about how Olivia would get through that time. Olivia treated that plan as a job, not as something intimately connected to herself as a person. She gladiates for every one but herself. Even Ian picked this up very quickly about her:

“The secret to you is that you always have to save everyone” (410).

Who has saved her up to this point? Daddy. Since the age of 12, Rowan has created hatches for Olivia to escape personal adversity so that she can focus on excellence (306, 222/301, 318). And she is excellent—at her job, not at her life. But those escape hatches have left emotional wounds. Conditioned for the flight instead of the fight, Olivia has also run from Fitz when their challenges seemed personally insurmountable to her, or challenged her emotionally in ways she was ill-equipped to deal with. One of the ways character is built is through dealing with adversity. If one runs from that emotional adversity, how can one evolve?

Rowan has admitted to failing Olivia (408); and Maya remarked that Rowan ruined Olivia. They are right. The failure was in trying to protect Olivia from emotional burden (while causing plenty in the process). Doing so does not prepare her for adulthood, which is kinda the point of parenthood. It was only recently that Olivia stood up to her father’s unrelenting intervention in her life. So, without the guise of his protection, she has to fight for her life and her right to live, not just exist as the representational fantasies of other people. For nearly 15 years (she’s almost 35), Olivia created an identity for herself as ‘The Protector’ (newspaper clippings, 308). A protector depends upon objects that need protecting. If nothing and no one needs protecting, does she cease to exist as a person? Who is she outside of that superhero persona? Recall that on an African island with Jake (401), with no one to save or protect, ‘Olivia Pope’ ceased to be. She became 'Julia Baker’. 

In her Vermont fantasy, Fitz had an identity, she didn’t. We’ve been asking Who is Olivia Pope? for a long time.  It is that Olivia who is being developed right now. At least that is what I began sensing in my S4 poster analysis. It was necessary to cast off the oppressive, patriarchal rule of Rowan to do so. After all, for so long, indeed, it was like father like daughter. Rowan derives his whole identity from being the protector of the Republic, and Olivia was an extension of that.

However, Olivia is not doomed to a life of running away from love and emotional hurdles just because her parents failed her. Olivia and Fitz grew up in really similar circumstances. They both had mothers who died, or “died”. Both were left with grand patriarchs who think emotion is weakness (307, 409). These fathers focused almost entirely on preparing their children for greatness, to the detriment of their personal development as human beings. Fitz developed emotionally in the opposite direction. Instead of shunning love for his protection, he craved and embraced it as his salvation, like a Rihanna song:

“I feel like I’m a hopeless romantic, I can’t help falling in love/ I fiend for love—I want it, I crave it/ I just can’t get enough/I wear my heart on my sleeve/Always let love take the lead”—Drunk on Love

But here’s the thing, Olivia and Fitz both want the same thing: to share a life of truthfulness with someone in which they are unapologetically themselves. And they can have that if they do the individual work first. My personal motto is a better me and a better you is a happier us.

Abby: “Doesn’t matter who you love. Look at me. Jake and Fitz can’t help you. There is no man to rescue you. Do you hear me? No one is going to help you. You are the only Gladiator in the place. You are all you’ve got. You’ve got to rescue yourself.”


Olivia: “But, Abby—“


Abby: ”You dropped something.”

Having already acknowledged that Rowan won’t come to save her, Olivia is holding out hope that one of the other men in her life will rescue her. She fantasized about a literal rescue by Jake (“It’s OK, I’ve got you”); then immediately pivoted to a metaphorical rescue by Fitz, where they live happily ever after with shower sex every day. She didn’t have to do any of the work to get out of one jam and into the boysenberry (horrible pun intended);). But Abby admonishes Olivia that it is up to her to save herself by gladiating her way out of this circumstance. As the logic of her subconscious, Abby points to some unrecognizable help: the pipe ring. Olivia has seen that ring several times a day since she’s been abducted, but she’s never thought it useful. In her dream she brings the ring into her Vermont bathroom, where, Tom, her fear, tells her there is no way out. Skirting despair, Olivia leans on logic, which gives her hope. Hope fuels her adrenaline and gives her the level-headedness to escape her present situation. It’s too bad that the whole thing was a mini Truman Show, representing just one hurdle in a series of many for our Lara Croft.

Clearly there is a double meaning in Abby’s words, and also for Olivia’s kidnapping. First, the obvious: As it stands, Abby is right, Olivia, as of 409, did not choose Fitz, or Jake. But, as Abby says, right now it doesn’t matter for whom her love tolls. She chose herself. The beginning of Olivia realizing what that means starts with her kidnapping. She is isolated, not needing to tend to anyone’s crisis but her own survival. On two occasions her kidnappers tell her: “there are a lot worse things than death.” That’s right. The thing about death is that it’s a way out of the challenge of living. The fear of death, I imagine, is worse than actual death. Worse than death are hopelessness and loneliness. In kidnapping and in life, Olivia is fighting both.

Tom was right, there is no way out of there. Wherever she goes, there she is. It is up to Olivia to find a way through. That should be familiar since it was my Fitzgerald, in It’s Handled (301), who compelled Olivia to stick with him and find a way through mistressgate instead of a way out. Olivia must be impelled toward this understanding, which can only come from within. As I’ve said before, no decision about me without me. Olivia is her own way through. No matter how much she distracts herself with Jake, or catapults herself over adversity, straight into the future with Fitz, Olivia has to be OK and find meaningfulness (other than in her work) on her own. To have the life she wants, she must be willing to fight for it because no one will give it to her.

It is not lost on me that the episode is ironically entitled Run, something so familiar to Olivia, but the opposite of what she is able to do in this situation. She can’t get out, so she has to get through. The gladiating she has to do is mostly mental and emotional, not methodical. The last words we hear, and Olivia repeats in her head, are actually from Rowan:

“You are on your own” (408).

But it is when we are on our own that we figure out exactly what we are made of. There’s a lot of work to be done, indeed, and this is just the beginning.

The Best-Worst Writing Advice You Will Ever Get

I have a writing tip that will probably make your head explode. Yes, explode.

No, really! It’s illogical. It’s counterintuitive. It will make you think that I’m some kind of sad idiot, but stick with me, okay? I promise it will at least make you think about the way you go about writing.

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asemblanceofart  asked:

I have trouble writing settings, not the routine ones i.e someone's house or an office or place like that, but like geographical ones. If my fictional town is located in a valley, I wouldn't know how to describe it? Also I'm a big fan of historical fantasy so this proves to be very irksome, like I don't know the proper terms to describe stuff e.g. just yesterday I found out that the thing where they hang people from is called a gallows. How can I improve in this sort of stuff?

Get to researching. (Glossary of Geographic Terms, here).

Landforms/Bodies of Water

Types of Valleys - Photos of Valleys

Types of Mountains

Bear in mind you don’t always have to use the appropriate geographical terms, especially if it’s not appropriate for the setting or atmosphere of your story. But knowing what they’re called gives you a place to start when it comes to looking up source photos for inspiration as well as for finding out how people might set up a village in a valley (as an example). People living in a low, flat valley will have different reasons for living there and a different way of life than people living in a narrow valley bordered by high peaks, for example. 

"Drunken Confessions" - One Direction Preference

In case you missedPart 1… here’s a link: “Drunken Confessions” - Part 1 


[PART 2:] 


LIAM: 

You woke with your head aching, the sunlight pouring in through your bedroom windows. Your tight black dress was slipping down your shoulders, your once perfectly curled hair was now a mess on top of your head, and you had makeup smudged around your eyes. You walked silently to the kitchen to make yourself a cup of coffee, and there stood Liam, coffee mug in hand. “I was just coming to check on you. How’s your head?” He crossed the room, handing you the hot cup of coffee. “It uh. Hurts a bit.” He chuckled, and you rolled your eyes. You both sat at the table, sipping your coffee, but neither of you spoke. The silence was weighing on your already pounding skull, so you asked, “Liam? Umm…” He looked at you, his rich brown eyes filled with an emotion you couldn’t quite place. “What ah. What happened last night? We didn’t- didn’t sleep-” he cut you off with a snort. “No. We didn’t. I would never take advantage of you like that.” His lips curled into a tight smile. You nodded, staring into your coffee mug, desperately trying not to look at him. “You did however tell me you loved me.” He rubbed the back of his neck, talking quietly. You bit your lip, glancing up at him. “I do. Love you. I guess it just took major alcohol consumption to admit it to you. You chewed on your lip again. “And to myself.” He got up, moving to your side. He pulled your lip from between your teeth, “Stop biting your lip. You’re making me crazy.” With that he crashed his lips to yours, taking your breath away. 

NIALL:
“Please, (Y/N). Say something.” His boldness seemed to sober him a bit. You drew in a long breath through your nose, “That’s just the alcohol talking, Niall. Go to sleep.” He sat up, hovering over you to look you dead in the eyes. “It is not. I feel this way every day. Every time I’m near ya.” He placed a hand to your cheek, his calloused thumb grazing your bottom lip. All you could do was stare at him, his brilliant blue eyes drawing you in. You could feel his gaze searching your eyes for some sort of reassurance. You’d never let yourself think of him in a romantic way. He was always just Niall. Funny, sweet, lovable Niall. The big brother you trusted to look after you. But now, you could feel your heart shifting. Now, with his body so close to yours, and his lips just inches away, it was impossible not to feel something more. So, you kissed him. Strong and confident. A long, fierce kiss on the lips. He rolled over you, keeping your body to the bed with his own. His hands were everywhere, moving with a desperate urgency. His lips were hot on your neck, and you were already panting. He pushed your shirt up past your stomach, exposing the smooth skin underneath, before reaching for your pants. “Niall. Wait. We can’t.” He kissed you again, “Sure we can. We’ll be safe.” He reached once more for the button on your jeans. You pushed him back, sitting up to catch your breath. “No. I mean, we can’t. As in, I won’t. Not like this. Not when you’re drunk.” He opened his mouth to protest, but you stopped him. “Niall. It’s- I’m a virgin. I just- I want my first time to be special.” You looked away, tucking your hair behind your ear. He placed a hand on your thigh, “Oh. I’m sorry, love. I- I didn’t know. Of course it should be special. C’mere.” He pulled you close to him, hugging you to his chest. He kissed your forehead lightly. “Let’s just sleep. Okay?” You smiled, relaxing into him. 

ZAYN: 
You hiccuped violently as the tears continued to flow down your pale face. He couldn’t take this. He pulled the car over to the side of the road, putting it in park. He turned sideways in his seat so he could look at you. “(Y/N). Please. Don’t cry, babe.” Your wiped your eyes with the back of your hands, trying to get a hold of yourself. “I’m- I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said anything. Just take me home.” He ran his hands roughly through his jet black hair. He didn’t know what he should say. He didn’t want to hurt you any more than he already had. But the truth was that he had always loved you, from the day he met you. You were beautiful, not just in the way you looked, but on the inside too. You had a huge heart.  You were selfless, always putting other people’s needs before your own. He swore your smile could light up the whole entire city, and your laugh was simply infectious. He loved everything about you. “I never knew that ya felt that way. I hate that I’ve caused you pain.” He rubbed the scruffy beard on his chin, trying to scrub away his frustration. “But. I’m not good enough for you.” You whipped your head around to look at him. Your eyebrows were scrunched together. How could he ever think that? He had to be joking. “What?” You blurted. “Not good enough? For me?” You were shaking your head, making yourself dizzy. You felt like you might puke, and not just because of all the alcohol. His words made you feel sick. “You can’t be serious?” But when you looked at him, and at his deep brown eyes, it was painfully obvious that he was serious. You leaned over the center consul of the car, reaching a small hand to his face. “You, Zayn Malik, are one of the good ones. You are so kind and sweet, and thoughtful.” You traced his jaw with your fingertips, running your hand down his chest. You felt his heart beating beneath his leather jacket, and you smiled. “You have a heart made of gold. Don’t ever say you’re not good enough.” He placed one of his hands over yours, and hooked the other behind your head, pulling your lips to his.

LOUIS:
He looked so sad and hurt, like a wounded puppy. “No. Louis. Of course you didn’t do anything.” You grabbed his hands in yours, giving them a quick squeeze. “Then why did you push me away? Why won’t you let me kiss you?” You could tell he was frustrated, his brain clouded with alcohol. “We always dance together. I thought you liked me? I thought maybe you wanted more from me?” He moved closer to you, pulling you in to him, wrapping his arms around your middle. He rested his forehead to yours, swaying you to the slow music. “I do like you, Louis. That’s part of the problem. I- I’m afraid that tomorrow, you’ll wake up, sober and you’ll regret this.” You gestured to your bodies, pressed together, moving slowly on the dance floor. “But I would never hurt you. Drunk. Sober. Whatever, it doesn’t matter. The alcohol doesn’t change my heart.” Your own heart grew tight in your chest, his words were so powerful. So heavy with meaning. His blue eyes were exceptionally bright when he said, “I should have told you how I feel a long time ago. I should have told you how beautiful you are. How I can’t get you out of my head. How, I’ve thought about kissing you.” With that he kissed you once on the cheek. Soft and sweet, and then again at the corner of your mouth. His smooth lips teasing your skin. “Please, don’t push me away. I want this. I want you.” You drew in a breath, his words piercing your heart. You had always had feelings for him. And now you knew that he felt the same way about you. “I want you too,” you breathed, finally colliding your pink lips with his. 

HARRY:
You were mortified. You’d never meant for Harry to hear that. You hadn’t even meant to tell Liam. You couldn’t think straight, and the room was starting to spin. You had to get out of there. Had to get some air. “(Y/N)-” You didn’t wait for Harry to finish, you pushed past him, running straight out the front door. By the time you got outside the tears were streaming down your face, stinging your eyes. Seconds later a strong hand grabbed your arm, spinning you around. Through your tear soaked eyes you could just make out Harry’s face, his green eyes lacking their usual shine. Instead they were clouded with pain. “Harry, let me go. Just let go,” you choked, struggling to pull away, but he was so much stronger than you, overpowering you with ease. Fresh tears spilled from your eyes, and he pulled your small body tight to his own, wrapping his long arms around you. Your body was shaking, your sobs jolting you both. “Shhh. You don’t have to cry, love.” You looked up at him, through your wet eye lashes, pulling yourself together. “I’m sorry. I-” he cut you off, pressing his lips quickly to yours, holding you close. He smiled that perfect dimpled smile, “If that doesn’t prove that you’re so much more than a friend to me. Then I don’t know what will.” You gave him a shy smile, locking your lips back on his.