#simply the most beautiful art of her that i've ever seen

[nuzzle]

雪華綺晶 by yun ࿐✩.˚

#credit: @12yun30 on twitter! and linked in caption #simply the most beautiful art of her that i've ever seen #rozen maiden #kirakishou #雪華綺晶

[mynameis-noe-body]

marquis de gramont fic

Y/n is sweet and kind and isn't part of Vincent world, but he fell for her anyway and although he's ruthless he has a soft spot for her as she's his wife. A fic of him killing someone and she accidentally sees and get scared and he comforts and cuddles her.

Thank you for the request! I found myself immediately inspired and I wrote it as soon as I could.

I am working on the other requests, too! It will just take a little time :) 🖤

Safe in his arms

Marquis Vincent Bisset De Gramont × you (F)

Rating: Teen & Up Audience

Status: Complete (one shot)

The first time he had seen you, truly seen you, was at the Louvre. On a January morning, when Paris was still cold and tormented by a wind blowing from the north, when the fog rose in the city's parks and around its splendid monuments, bathing everything in an intense white, you had waited for hours on those stairs, with your arms crossed, looking at one single work of art. At first Vincent didn't give it much importance. But when the crowd thinned out, around noon, knowing that soon the guests would arrive at his private event — yet another official HighTable lunch right there in Paris — and seeing you still there, fascinated, he approached.

"Madmoiselle, I am sorry. These rooms have been reserved for a private event. You should leave" he had said, coldly.

But you, you smiled. And your smile was sweet. "Can I just ask you for a minute? One minute, and I'll be gone. I've never seen her like this." You looked up dreamily at Nike — that marble statue at the top of the steps, as proud and silent as you'd ever seen it. “She is just so beautiful” you had commented under your breath, as if not to break that spell. "They deprived her of her arms, of her very face. They tore her to pieces. Yet no one has ever managed to take away of her wings."

Vincent, enchanted by your words, so simple and so true, lost himself in your face. His gaze filled with you for the first time. He watched you go, nodding at you when you wished him a good day, and he followed you with wondering eyes until he saw you disappear. He didn't know it yet, but you would haunt his days and his nights from now on.

He looked for you. He had his men search for you until he could find you. Your subsequent encounters must have seemed casual; a casual meeting in the park during your walk, a chat over a coffee, you even met in the library.

You laughed about it. “It almost feels like fate.”

Vincent nodded. Fate, sure.

He wooed you with expensive gifts, luxurious dinners, evenings at the theater, visits to the most prestigious private art collections — but you weren't as impressed as he expected.

“How can I make you happy, mon amour?” he asked you.

"I don't want your money, Vincent, only you."

And so, one spring evening, you found yourselves simply walking through the streets of Montmartre, laughing and chatting amiably, holding hands, exchanging a few kisses without realizing that the night had already passed; at dawn, on the steps of the cathedral, it was just the two of you, two hot cappuccinos and two croissants, watching the sun rise from the east, illuminating a new day.

Soon after, he asked you to marry him. And you said yes.

There was only one small problem. You knew nothing about him.

▪️▪️▪️

You were beautiful. Naked in his bed after yet another night of love, entwined with the ivory silk pillow, your cheeks slightly flushed and your lips so sweet, so languid. Vincent stroked your hair, watching you sleep. You had the power to unleash in him a tenderness that had long been buried, forgotten and drowned in an ocean of violence. There was nothing he loved more than taking care of you, spending hours listening to your stories so simple and yet full of emotions; he was surprised at how you were able to find beauty in the most mundane things. There was no art that compared to the perfect curves of your body in his hands, against his lips, kissed by his mouth, worshiped by his limbs. There was nothing he wanted more, at the end of a day, than to soak in your immense bathtub with you — a glass of champagne, a tray of mini pastries, macarons and fine chocolates, essential oils and perfumes in the warm water and his hand gently caressing your breast, listening to your heartbeat — before carrying you to bed and falling asleep in your arms.

You were his most precious jewel. And because of this, his biggest fear was losing you forever.

Yes, in his world you were a weakness. Vincent had taken every precaution to keep you away from the monsters that lurked in the shadows of his life, but on the other hand it was inevitable that sooner or later the Great Table would learn of your existence. With this, the problems had begun. Vincent was a powerful man and a powerful man always had enemies. Indeed, the more power he had, the greater the number of his nemeses.

House Bisset De Gramont was a peaceful, safe place, far from danger. Immersed in the Provençal countryside, surrounded as far as the eye can see by lilac fields of fragrant lavender, kissed by the sun, it was one of your favorite places to spend long summer weeks. You knew that Vincent was a Marquis, that his family had been extremely wealthy, and that his business took him all over the world... and nothing else. You enjoyed your holidays with a carefreeness that he envied. Vincent watched you tan by the pool, read your favorite novels lying on the green grass of his gardens, paint the spectacle of lavender swaying in the wind, and hoped that nothing would ever affect your happiness.

But that morning, that morning...

There was a knock on your bedroom door. Yet they knew — his men had been well instructed about it and it was forbidden for anyone to come near your bedroom! What the hell were they doing?

Quickly, he stood up and put on a robe, stomping out of the bedroom with frozen anger in his eyes. "What the fuck are you doing? What made you think you could—"

"Monsieur — Marquis. Please listen" one of them interrupted. "We have the man."

The man. Vincent took a deep breath. The son of a bitch who followed you. He had noticed that black sedan since your departure from Paris a week earlier. He was sure it was a hitman sent for you, the easiest target, most disarmed in the face of the capabilities of his enemies. Some had understood that if they wanted to destroy the Marquis De Gramont, they would have to destroy you first. You, who were his strength and purpose in life. His one true love.

Many had tried, that man was just one of many.

Vincent growled, grabbing his helper by the collar of his shirt. "You separated me from my wife at seven in the morning, on a Sunday, for yet another son of a bitch? At least tell me it was worth it!"

"He's here, sir, we thought you would—"

"He is here?!"

They carried him forward. Two other men had tied the hitman with tight ties around his wrists and legs, blindfolded him and were now dragging him forward, holding him by his arms.

Vincent was inflamed with terrible anger. "Don't you ever dare bring one of them into my house again! My wife - my woman, she's in the next room sleeping and you bring one of these worms into my house!" the Marquis grabbed the knife from his man's pocket. "Kill them and get rid of them! This is my order!" and with a mechanical gesture of the wrist, making it seem so simple, he threw the blade and it pierced the assassin's neck. He gasped for just a second. Blood ran down his wounded throat and, now dead, he collapsed in the arms of his captors. It was only when a trickle of blood reached the white marble floor that, with a short, anguished breath, you attracted attention. And with terror in his eyes Vincent turned away.

You had just woken up, you were wearing his shirt, you had walked silently barefoot to the ajar door. And you had seen it all. You had covered your mouth with the palm of your hand, but this was nothing compared to the terror you felt when you saw the blood. The death. A murder. Your Vincent, your sweet, caring husband, who had just killed a man. Stepping back, trembling, you risked fainting. You suddenly felt pale, weak, powerless, completely disconcerted. Cold shivers ran through every fiber of your body. But before you could fall to the floor, Vincent had rushed to catch you. Lifting you into his arms, he had carried you back to bed.

"It's okay, mon amour" he whispered, kissing your forehead. You were shaking and crying. "No one will hurt you, you are safe with me, ma chéri."

You pointed to the door, now closed. "That man — I saw, oh God, I saw that man! You killed him! Vincent, my God, oh no. No, no — you killed a man!"

He shook his head. The more you trembled, the tighter he held you against his chest. "He was an evil man and he would have hurt you if you had let him live. He had been paid for this, my love, for you."

"Me?" you exclaimed, horrified. Your face twisted into a grimace of disgust and terror. "What have I done wrong in this life to deserve death?!"

Vincent chuckled. It was really fun. “Oh dear, you married me.”

You tried to move away from him, to squirm, to slip away from his embrace, but despite managing to slide against the other end of the bed Vincent took your hand, your wrist, and dragged you towards him again. Laying back on the sheets, he held you down with his entire body. "I am a very powerful man. And powerful men must protect themselves, and protect those they love." He caressed your face wet with tears. He found them so innocent.

You stammered, still shocked at the sight of that blood, that death, that ruthlessness. "Then we should hide!"

Vincent laughed even harder. "There's no hiding from this! It will always be a part of me, darling. But I can assure you of one thing. If there is a safe place for you in this world, then this is right here, by my side." He kissed your forehead, your cheeks, your neck. He hugged you, rocking you gently.

" I love you" he whispered, "and I live for you. I am willing to kill — to die, if necessary, for you. I ask only that you continue to love me as you always have. I am still me, always your Vincent. You can do this for me, mon amour?"

He left the ghost of a kiss on your lips, and covered you both with the sheets, stroking your hair to help you fall asleep again. Before closing your eyes, answering his question, you nodded softly. "I love you, Vicent."

He smiled.

#marquis de gramont #marquis de gramont x reader #vincent de gramont #vincent bisset de gramont #marquis vincent de gramont #Marquis Vincent Bisset De Gramont × you #vincent de gramont x reader #Vincent de Gramont x you #john wick fandom

[creedslove]

RE-ENCOUNTER 🎨

Marcus Pike x f!reader

"I'd rather get divorced while still loving you, than remaining together and risking to hate you"

Summary: you and Marcus had a brief but loving marriage, until it wasn't anymore. Choosing an amicable divorce you both moved on with your lives until destiny made you run into each other once more, with a difference this time: your ex-husband was engaged now

Warnings: mentions of divorce, a little bit of angst, fluff, some jealousy, age gap (their ages are not specified but he's 10 years older than her)

A/N: besties, I'm so happy I finally managed to write something for our husband Pike. I've always wanted to do so, but I knew I couldn't just force myself into it otherwise it wouldn't work properly, and just like that, this idea came up and I couldn't get it out of my mind ❤️ also, I know some people don't like age gap, but I can't imagine reader being Marcus age mostly because reader is me 🥴 and also because it would make sense to the story, so although it's not specified, I pictured them getting married around early 20s(reader) early 30s (Pike) and running into each other again around late 20s/early 30s (reader) and late 30s/early 40s (Pike)

3.9k words

You weren't fond of getting married young, to you, it sounded nothing like madness, as you simply couldn't wrap your head around the fact that people often abdicated from their lives, plans and dreams to get stuck in a relationship. It made no sense to you, especially since you had been working your ass off during all your years in college, the prospect of having a successful and promising career motivated you to go after your dreams. Relationships, marriages, building up families hadn't crossed your mind at all, a little affair with a cute guy here and there were the only things that ever got remotely close to dating, at the same time you only saw yourself as someone who wouldn't settle down.

And that was before Marcus Pike walked into your life.

If someone asked you to explain what exactly happened, perhaps you wouldn't be able to understand it yourself let alone explain it to someone, but that man swept you off your feet. You'd met him during a history of art lecture at campus one Thursday evening. He had just joined the FBI in the art department, fresh in his new job but still assisting his former professor and mentor in college lectures. He was probably ten or so years older than you, and yet, you couldn't keep your eyes off him. He was by far the most handsome man you'd seen in those four long years you'd spent in that institution, there was something so captivating in his beautiful eyes, his breathtaking smile and how smart and sweet he was towards anyone. And he caught you staring; it seemed you took his attention as much as he took yours, and even if you needed that lecture for extra credit, you couldn't give a single crap about medieval art, because that man was everything you could see in front of you. That was so unlike your personality, usually, you'd be focused on everything else, but you simply couldn't look away from that handsome assistant.

When the lecture was finally over, you were sure you'd missed at least half of it, being too busy concentrating on someone else instead of the subject, you still had a few doubts about the matter and you walked to the stage, willing to ask the professor some questions and clarify any doubts you had, and that was the moment you both locked eyes for the first time. The handsome guy that caught your attention, whose name was Marcus, soon found out the moment you shook hands and realized how big his was compared to yours and how truly handsome he was, even more so than you had already noticed when you were a few meters away. He was also mesmerized by you and he couldn't hide it, he knew you were younger than him, but at that moment all he could process was how gorgeous and smart that girl was in front of him. He kept around while you talked to his mentor, being polite enough not to interrupt him but holding himself back so he wouldn't add his own comments. He just wanted an excuse to talk to you, see if he could approach and see where things could go, so the moment he had the opportunity to be with you alone for a while, he immediately threw his charms - and Marcus was a charming guy - in your first conversation you liked how intelligent and nice he was, he made you laugh and when he invited you to have pancakes some dinner nearby the campus, you couldn't say no.

And that was the beginning of your love story.

Everything you believed went through the roof from the moment you met Marcus. He was incredible, the most fascinating man you'd met and whereas he was older than you, that only seemed to spice things up both in the sexual and emotional sense. You had never been treated like that before, he made you feel like a queen, as cheesy as it may sound, that's just how you felt through your relationship with Marcus. He was a gentleman, sweet and he didn't know what to do in order to please you; he went slowly at first, even if his intentions were clear from the very first time you went out to eat, he was a little afraid you would be weirded out by him, and he couldn't be further from the truth. Each time he took you out on a date, it felt like you were living the plot of any sweet but cliche rom com movie. It felt just too good to be true and a part of you feared that it wouldn't work. But it did, for as long as it lasted.

The dates with Marcus were so special, he was thoughtful and he always made sure to take you somewhere nice; it was either a nice restaurant so you could get to know their different menu, or art galleries in which he would show you his favorite works and tell you as much as you wanted to hear about them. He was always afraid of boring you with his subjects but on the contrary, you always enjoyed listening to him talk, it was entertaining, soothing and you could spend hours watching how his eyes sparkled whenever he addressed anything he truly enjoyed. And even if he put some effort into them, your favorite date by far was whenever you two would spend some time just hanging out together in his apartment. Dim lights, old movies on TV and Marcus' protective grip around your body, always pulling you closer and making sure you were warm in his embrace for the rest of the night.

The first kiss you shared with him after you both went to the movies together. It was a classic movie rerun and even if Casablanca wasn't your favorite, you knew he enjoyed it, and seeing it on a big screen was definitely a nice experience. Besides, he promised you that once Titanic hit the theaters in the next classic session, he would definitely take you.

At the end of the movie, you walked out the theater holding hands, you were silent, but instead of reflecting over the story you'd just watched you reflected over your relationship with Marcus; you were falling deeper and deeper for him, deeper and more intensely than you ever thought you would, and when he stopped and placed your hands on your hips you couldn't resist being kissed by him.

It felt right.

The first night you both spent together was right after he took you to see the concert of his former band; he'd left the band when he graduated from college, but he still remained friends with the guys and eventually enjoyed visiting them on stage. And that night he insisted on taking his bass for a last ride and even risked a song on the microphone, all of that for you.

By then, there was no fighting or convincing otherwise, you were head over heels for Marcus; especially when you two had sex for the first time after that. One could think Marcus is too soft, but not when it comes to that; he knows how to act, how to please and how to demand what he wants and after you tried him, a real man, there was no way you could go back to college boys ever again.

Your relationship evolved fast and in less than a year he proposed to you; he was sure you were what he wanted in the future, just as you had thrown away all your beliefs and you'd surrounded yourself completely to the man you loved, so you said yes. Even if your whole life you said you wouldn't get married, not while young at least, not without having a consistent, successful career.

And there you were, fresh out of college, with very little work experience, a job in an area you didn't want but had to take in order to gather experience and knowledge and walking down the aisle in a white dress, feeling as happy as you could be, in order to become Mrs.Pike. The honeymoon had to be in Paris, a few people told you that couldn't be more cliche, and even if they meant it out of spite or if they were actually right, it didn't really matter to you; it felt so right for the two of you. Surrounded by art constantly during the day and making love at night, it was like a dream coming true, and you remember hoping your entire marriage would be like that: light, fun, full of love and happiness. And it was until it wasn't anymore.

You couldn't tell exactly when things started to go downhill, but if you had to guess, it would probably be due to the lack of time you both faced towards the end of your relationship. It just started getting harder after about a year, when the two of you really began struggling for your own careers. You, in your area, and Marcus with the FBI, it seemed to have become an obsession for you both, as date nights, walks in the park and gallery visitations simply stopped happening in order to focus on your extra tasks, overtime, solving cases. At some point it became a looping of excuses and promises to spend more time together:

"We'll go next weekend honey"

"We can have dinner together tomorrow"

"I promise I'll take you with me next time"

Needless to say, they never truly happened.

Just as you two distanced yourselves without even realizing, the bickering also started, adding another venomous sting to your relationship. Suddenly, small things turned into bigger ones, sources of stress and fights; if someone ever told you one day you'd have heated arguments with Marcus over a dropped sock, or an unwashed plate on the sink, you would call them crazy, but when that unfortunately happened to the two of you, you were shocked for a while, not believing you had become the kind of couple to argue over stupid things like those. It was heartbreaking. As you two barely had time for each other, sex was also off the table most nights, being too tired to do anything else other than sleep, Marcus suddenly came up with the idea of having a baby; he had a deep hope of fixing your marriage by getting you pregnant, after all, having kids had always been part of his plan and he was sure it was part of yours too.

At the same time you hadn't really thought it through. Technically, you had. You wanted kids. At some point, in the future, it wasn't rocket science to figure that adding a baby to a troubled marriage could not be the best idea. And yet, you couldn't bring yourself to tell him that, not when you saw the spike of excitement in his eyes, not when he held you and kissed you like in the beginning of your relationship, how he made time for you even if his FBI work was killing him, he still managed to bring you flowers, kiss you and made love to you. Perhaps he was trying to save your marriage, or he was just trying for the baby, you weren't so sure, but you could see the effort. And it was why it broke your heart to know you couldn't get pregnant at that moment, not with your job finally taking you places, the new opportunity of actually building a career and how young you still thought you were, being married was hard, but it was about you and Marcus, two adults who could handle yourselves but a baby? It was way too much responsibility. You couldn't find a way to tell him that, even if you were being a coward, it pained you you felt so hopeless to simply lie to Marcus and tell him you'd stopped taking your birth control pills, and even more so each time he looked at you with those disappointed, sad eyes, month after month of excitement and longing for that baby to be there, just to get a negative test after another. It was eating you up alive and after his insistence on taking you to a doctor - which you immediately refused - he managed to find your hidden stash of pills among your stuff. You tried explaining everything to him; how you weren't ready, you were scared and how broken you'd been at seeing him so upset. You cried, you opened your heart to Marcus and told him you wanted to be a mom to his child, some day, not at that moment, but in the future because things were finally working for the two of you once more. But you had lied to your husband, and lying to Marcus had no turning back.

He had no other option other than asking for a divorce after you lied and broke his heart, he felt upset, he could've forgiven you for many things, but not for playing with his heart when it came to the kids he dreamed of every single day.

You were tired, upset and at some point during your divorce process you'd convinced yourself you didn't love him anymore, but the reality was that you were just so empty you weren't able to feel things, you were numb.

The day you both signed the divorce papers in front of your lawyer and you were questioned whether you two wanted to go ahead with that decision, your heart shattered into a million pieces, more than any fights, when you heard Marcus' justification to why he was asking for the divorce.

"I'd rather get divorced while still loving you, than remaining together and risking to hate you"

When you heard those words, you had a sudden urge to get up and tear those papers into pieces, tell him you were both making a huge mistake, that toyover him and that you could make it work, you wanted to tell him you still had a beautiful future ahead of you, you and the gorgeous family you would have together. And the moment you took a deep breath to finally say all that out loud, you looked at Marcus signing the papers and officializing the divorce.

That was the last time you saw your ex-husband Marcus Pike, you just had no idea the next time you would run into him again would be in a few years later, while he was taking his new fiancee on a date.

•••

Marcus sighed as he could see the lack of excitement in Teresa's face the moment they got to the exhibit, he just didn't know why she agreed to go out with him if she didn't like it, it would be so much easier for the two of them if she was honest and told him she'd rather stay home and read a magazine, that way they would both be happy, and Marcus wouldn't have the feeling he was trying too hard all the time. Teresa liked him, she must have liked him, otherwise she wouldn't have accepted his proposal and moved to DC with him. It was still early, she'd been there for a few weeks but he was confident things would work. He was hitting his forties now, one divorce, no kids and even if he finally got the position he had not only dreamed of but also worked so hard for in his dream job, he still felt something was missing. It took him a failed marriage to realize that money wasn't everything he needed, he simply missed the family he never had.

When he found Teresa he was still trying to pick the pieces of his heart, still trying to make things work on his own and when he saw her - an attractive, mature and intelligent woman, he thought that maybe he wouldn't be alone this time. You'd been the love of his life, he was convinced of that, but you two had gone way too fast and too intense, you were still young, you had so much to live so it made sense to him he would let you go and be free. He vowed himself not to rush into things, but this time it wasn't his choice, he was liking Teresa more and more and even if they weren't compatible most of the time, but when the opportunity of a lifetime came up he had to take his chances and she'd said yes. Still a little unsure and divided between him and Jane, but she said yes.

As they walked through the exhibit, he paid close attention to all the beautiful paintings scattered around the long hallways. He loved that atmosphere, the pictures so beautifully made by talented hands years or sometimes centuries ago.

"So it's just flowers?!" Teresa broke the silence as she looked around unimpressed and dragged his attention back to reality

"It's not just flowers, it's Monet… don't you like it? You told me you liked his paintings on our first date.." Marcus stated confused until the realization that she was just lying so she wouldn't appear ignorant or perhaps try to impress him a little. He saw how she cleared her throat and tried fixing what she just said but he stopped listening the moment he caught a glimpse of someone else crossing the same room and standing next to Rouen Cathedral, admiring it intently. He didn't even need to look twice to know it was you. You, who always loved that painting, even if it wasn't Monet's best in your ex-husband's opinion, you who had a fascination with old constructions such as cathedrals and would always snap several pictures of them, you, who was never exceptional at art but managed to get by and eventually fell more and more in love with art because of Marcus, not because you wanted to impress him or have him thinking you were smart, but because he actually made you see why he had that passion for it. And the moment that you turned around, his heart skipped a beat.

You looked the same, and yet, you also managed to look even more beautiful; more mature, more confident in yourself and for a brief moment Marcus was frozen in time, it was just like the first time he saw you, in which he could only see you in front of him and nothing else. He had no idea you still had that effect on him, it was so unusual and surprising and even if he had stalked your social media profiles here and there over the course of your separation, even if he wasn't proud of it, it was completely different than seeing you right there in front of him. He wasn't sure what to do, should he approach you? Talk to you? Pretend he didn't see you?

However, he didn't time to think any further about it, not when you turned around and spotted him, your eyes widening at the moment you saw him. Much to your surprise your heart also raced at the sight of your ex-husband. Was it your mind playing tricks or was he even more handsome? You hadn't planned on approaching him, but you felt as if you were being taken involuntarily towards him.

"Marcus?! Hi!" You said with a sweet smile as he politely greeted you, expressing how surprised he was to see you and even more so to actually talk to you

"Wow, you look great… So beautiful" he smiled as you blushed softly and giggled

"You too, still very handsome… so what brings you to D-" you interrupted by a woman who walked in and wrapped her arm around his waist. She eyed you up and down, even if she still tried to be polite and discreet about it. You swallowed hard feeling awkward and Marcus turned to the other woman

"This is Teresa, my fiancee and this is my ex-wife" he cleared his throat as he said your name and Teresa simply nodded her head. You returned the gesture and the moment you meant to ask him a question she barged in

"You're his ex-wife? But you're so young…" you could see the light pink spreading through his cheek and groaned at how dumb she really was.

"Yeah, I'm younger than him… and are you a little older than Marcus?" You returned the sting with the same amount of poison and she scoffed, looking at him and groaned

"I'll go to the restroom" she said without looking into your eyes and walked away, making you chuckle as Marcus shot you a questioning look which you just shrugged and went back to the question that was lingering on your mind

"So, what are you doing here in DC? Having a romantic getaway or vacations?"

"Actually, I've moved here after I was promoted to the head of the new art department" he said with his typical smile and you could see how his eyes crinkled, your heart warming up as you expressed genuine surprise and happiness to know that. You were a witness to how hard he had worked for that and it just filled your heart with pride to know he made it. You weren't sure how to act, perhaps it wasn't right, but you had already wrapped your arms around his neck and given him probably the tightest hug you'd ever done. Even if it was brief, you couldn't help but feel how built up he was, how stronger he'd become and his characteristic scent made you so warm on the inside, it felt like you could've stayed forever in his embrace.

"I'm so happy for you, Marcus! Honestly, you deserve it! I know I haven't been the most supportive wife and I'm very sorry about everything that happened, I should've been nicer to you, but well, all I'm trying to say is that I'm so proud of you!"

You said wholeheartedly and even if there were so many other things you needed to tell him, you knew it wasn't the right time and place. He just smiled and nodded, taking your hands into his big ones and thanking you for the support.

"Do you think we could grab a coffee or something? Just catch up?"

"I'd love to, but I don't know if it's a good idea, I mean, I can tell Teresa isn't my biggest fan and being honest with you, I wouldn't like my fiance's ex-wife around very much, but it's amazing to see you Marcus, truly, it makes me glad to know you are somewhat closer" you smiled again but let go of his hands the moment Teresa returned. Once more she just lingered around him, almost territorial as if she wanted to show you who owned Marcus. He also felt that, and it made him quite uncomfortable, so he cleared his throat and looked at you, saying goodbye and explaining they had dinner reservations.

As you watched them both leave, you felt a pang in your chest, thinking of the wonderful place he was probably taking her, the elaborate dates he had planned, the beautiful family they would probably build together. It could've been you, it was you for a while, unlike he might have thought you wanted all that with him, but it took you a divorce to realize it was a situation of the right person, wrong time. Perhaps if you tried again, it would work, you would like it to work, but Marcus had moved on, found himself someone he cared about and you had no right to break his heart and ruin his happiness once more.

____

A/N: my besties, I really hope you enjoyed it! I don't know if this is just a one-shot or if there'll be a continuation but I am so happy how this turned out. I love Marcus and I'm so happy our handsome FBI boyfriend finally got his own piece here! ❤️ remember that feedback is life, I'd love to hear what you all thought of it ❤️

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal x you #pedro pascal x y/n #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal fanfic #pedro pascal one shot #pedro pascal imagine #marcus pike #marcus pike x reader #marcus pike x you #marcus pike x y/n #marcus pike fanfiction #marcus pike fanfic #marcus pike imagine #marcus pike one shot

[katrotica]

ok, seriously wtf?! Admittedly in my stumble thru "art nude" sites looking for hot girls I discovered a handful of girls I'd never seen before that totally surprised me because how could I not have kind of thing. But honestly, Mimi Desuka?! I'd never heard of her, and had never seen any pics of her anywhere ever. And that's just shocking to me because she is unquestionably one of the most beautiful humans I've ever seen. How is she not world-famous?! I find her bafflingly breathtaking. I'm obsessed. She's pure perfection. Her body is simply stunning in every way. Love the tats. Shout-out to that belly button omfgggg. But come on you guys... that face?!!?! I can't even. Honestly every feature on her beautiful face looks to be personally crafted by the hands of god. Just mesmerizing. Here are two facts to support how overwhelmed I am by Mimi's beauty. This poster, which honestly is super basic (why mess with perfection? Isolate the girl, make a background that presents her without distraction. Done.) took me longer to make than any other poster ever. It's a poster I could have finished in, like, 5 minutes. But I kept going into trances and being mesmerized and forgetting what I was doing. Also: this post. Same thing. When did I start writing this? How long has it been? Is it tomorrow? Is it unreasonable to take 5 minute breaks between sentences to look at the picture again? Oof. There will be more Mimi posters in the future when I've managed to collect all my feelings and be whole again. I also collected a bunch of pics that should never be turned into posters but should definitely be shared, and I will be doing that over on my main blog @kat-eleven. Wow.

#mimi desuka #katrotica

[thedreamlessnights]

Accismus - pt. 5

{previous chapter} || {next chapter}

Geralt of Rivia x gn!reader (Eventual NSFW)

Synopsis: You meet Yennefer and Ciri, learn more about the location of a djinn, and have a painful realization.

Warnings: Brief descriptions of plague/sickness, fire, blood, and being choked (not sexually).

Word Count: 8.4k

A/N: Hello everyone! Thank you all so much for your patience as I got this chapter out. It was a rough one while I figured out everyone's dialogues and characterization, but I think I got it in the end. Thank you all SO much for the beautiful response I've gotten for this fic, from art to comments to asks, it's kept me so inspired and excited to get this out to you. Without further ado - enjoy!

The word danger has many a meaning to you. 

All your life, you’ve known danger, and all your life, the danger has been different. When you were little, it was the wolves howling in the forest outside your door. Tales of plague maidens, thirsty for blood. Bedtime stories of whispering spirits locked away in trees, and evil women that ate up children like treats.

As you grew, so did the number of dangers; growing with you, their shapes ever-changing. Danger began to mean plague, bandits, and war. Adult words that came with painful memories. A woman shivering with fever, her face crimson and splotchy, breaths coming strained and painful. Fire, red-hot, eating away little by little, and black smoke that smothered the senses, blinding and burning and choking the lungs. A pair of ice-cold, bleeding hands that gripped your neck. Tight enough to bruise. Tight enough to kill.

All of those dangers have brought you fear, and never anything else. But today, you find that is not the case. This danger chills you to the bone, carries the scent of lilac and gooseberries, and she fascinates you just as much as she frightens you. The type of danger you simply can’t seem to look away from, no matter how you try - the way a lightning bolt is paralyzingly beautiful as it strikes the earth. 

And so, seeing as you’re in danger, your brain does what it does best. It turns to one of its three engrained paths of action. Fight or flight, of course. Or freeze. The first two are more well-known, because they’re actually helpful. Better to take on the danger, or get yourself away from it as quickly as possible. 

Freezing only happens when the brain realizes it can neither fight nor flee. Essentially, when, for lack of a better (and less crude) term, you’re shit out of luck. And, staring up at the most beautiful woman you’ve ever seen, knowing that she was Geralt’s lover? Knowing that in about two minutes, this woman is going to hate you?

You are shit out of luck. 

As she approaches the table, Yennefer shakes her glossy, dark curls over her shoulder and observes the scene. She says nothing, but her shimmering, intelligent eyes speak volumes as she scans over the lot of you. Her gaze contains warmth for some and ice for others. A mixture of the two for Geralt. 

When it lands on you, it bears nothing but a silent, curious question. A question that wants to know who you are. Well, you think to yourself. If I knew how to answer that, Geralt and I wouldn’t be here.

Following behind her is the ashen-haired girl - Ciri. You know it must be her. She’s carrying two swords on her back, and even resembles Geralt, with their white hair and matching scars. But she and Yennefer share a similar elegance in their stride, a silent authority. An authority which melts away when she takes two steps in, sees Geralt standing next to where you’re sitting, and leaps straight into his arms.

“Geralt!” she exclaims, clinging to his shoulders and laughing as he spins her around. “You’ve no idea how I’ve missed you!”

“Think I have a clue, actually,” he says, setting her back onto the floor. He’s smiling, and not the muted smile he usually gives, but a wide one with white teeth and a flash of sharp canines, gaze warm and so very fond as he watches her. Geralt, truly happy… is this the first time you’re seeing it?

“Ciri!” Dandelion exclaims, jumping to his feet. You really shouldn’t be surprised that the two of them know each other. “How are you? It’s been too long!” 

As Ciri greets Dandelion, Priscilla and Zoltan - clearly friends of hers, too - Yennefer lingers toward the doorway. Geralt’s gaze fixes on her, and when she raises a brow, he smiles. 

“Hey, Yen,” he greets, leaning back against the table. The words are more casual than you’d have imagined them to be. You’d expected stiffness. It’s not there.

“Geralt,” Yennefer replies. The ghost of a smile brushes across her lips as she gazes at him, violet eyes shining in the light. “My, what a surprise. I’ve just gotten information that claims you’re in Skellige.”

Geralt shrugs. “Had a… change of plans.” 

That’s certainly one way to put it.

“Naturally,” Yennefer says. Her gaze turns toward Ciri, and something flickers over her expression for a moment before it’s shut out. You know it, though. You’ve seen enough people in agony to know the sight of pain, even just a flash of it.

“Dandelion says you were looking for me,” Geralt continues, crossing his arms over his chest. “Mentioned some kind of curse?”

“And you decided to come running to the rescue?” she muses, not bothering to expand any further. Geralt’s brows furrow, but he doesn’t press her. Instead, he follows her gaze over to Ciri, who is now carrying a bottle of spirit from Zoltan and making her over to the table.

“Let’s celebrate, shall we?” Ciri says, spurning a round of cheers. “A reunion!” Her eyes land on you, and she flashes you a bright smile. “Hello! I don’t believe we’ve met. I’m Ciri!”

The room’s commotion almost drowns out her words. Dandelion is opening a bottle of wine, Priscilla is pulling up more chairs, and Zoltan is already on his second pint of Mahakaman spirit, crooning out an old drinking song. Still, she steps closer to you, holds out a hand, and you gladly shake it, introducing yourself loud enough to be heard.

“Very nice to meet you!” she says. “Are you a friend of Dandelion’s?”

You’re not sure how to answer. You’re more acquaintances. Can you even be considered Geralt’s friend? “I’m not sure,” you finally respond. “I just met him yesterday.”

“Don’t let him hear you say that,” Geralt tells you. “He’ll be hurt.”

“Who’ll be hurt?” Dandelion asks, returning to the table. His cheeks are already flushed with drink, and he plops back into his seat from earlier.

“You,” Ciri answers playfully. 

“Me?” His eyes widen. “Was someone talking about me?”

Geralt jerks his head in your direction. “Just said the two of you aren’t friends.”

Traitor.

“That’s - Geralt!” you exclaim. “That’s not true!” 

His shoulders shake with silent laughter, and you lightly swat at him - a movement he dodges easily, grabbing his pint and gulping it down.

“I can’t believe this!” Dandelion cries, looking wounded. “I’m being insulted in my own establishment!”

“No, no!” you exclaim quickly, sending Geralt, and now Ciri, into another round of laughter. You send a kick in Geralt’s direction (and miss again), then adamantly shake your head. “Dandelion, I swear, I only said that I wasn’t sure if we’re friends because we just met.”

“Of course we’re friends!” Dandelion says. He sets a glass of wine in front of you, flashing you a charming smile. “And, of course, you’re the subject of my new ballad.”

“Is that so?” Ciri asks dryly. “And what’s this new ballad about?”

“Nothing,” Geralt firmly interjects. “C’mon, Dandelion. Already told you-”

“Yes, I know, I know,” Dandelion says. “But say I just took inspiration-”

“As much as I hate to interrupt,” Yennefer cuts in, arms folded tightly across her chest, “I’m afraid this cannot wait any longer. Geralt, I must speak with you. Privately.”

Silence slowly falls over the room, stifling the conversation as every one of you aside from Ciri and Yennefer gradually realize the same thing. 

“I, uh… can’t,” Geralt finally says.

Shitty choice of words, Geralt, you think. Every trace of warmth leaves Yennefer’s expression, and you instantly shrink down in your seat, frantically gulping at the wine Dandelion placed in front of you like it might save you from her wrath.

“You can’t,” she repeats coldly. “In that case-”

“Yen, hang on,” Geralt quickly interrupts, expression pained. “Not trying to argue. I can’t.”

Something about his tone must get to her. She exhales sharply, raises a brow, and stares at him for a long, agonizing moment. A silent communication. Then she finally gives a soft smile. 

“I see.” The chill in her voice is gone, suddenly replaced by a light, teasing tone. She must have read his mind, you realize. How much did she see? Placing her hands on her hips, Yennefer fondly gazes at him, then shakes her head. “I assume you’re going to remedy this… predicament?” 

“Yeah. Working on it,” Geralt replies. 

The whole room relaxes as she pulls up a chair and sits next to him. “Very well,” she says. “In that case, I’ll cast a shielding incantation around the two of us so we may speak. Alone. I’m afraid the matter is urgent.”

She speaks some words you don’t understand, then raises her hands. Immediately, a shimmering blue shield surrounds the two of them - making it impossible to see them or hear what they’re saying.

Ciri, looking bewildered, stares at you. “Is… is there something I’m missing?” she asks. You let out a sigh, trying to think of what exactly to say, but there are just never enough words to properly explain. 

“Wait!” Dandelion says, hiccuping. “Let me - my ballad!” He reaches behind him and pulls out a lute, and you can’t help shrinking down in your chair again. Oh, gods. Surely there’s no way he’s already written something, is there? But your question is preemptively answered when he strikes out a chord and begins to sing:

A dangerous thing is the truth of a wish

For the future we ne’er can see

And djinns have been known to twist things amiss

Tainting with mischief and cruelty.

He pauses for a moment, hiccuping again, then claps his hand against his forehead. “Oh, blast it! I just can’t figure out the next line.”

“That was… really lovely, Dandelion,” you tell him. To your surprise, you don’t have to fight to make the words sound genuine. You’d actually liked it. The melody he’d chosen is no common earworm, but a haunting, beautiful tune, bound to leave a mark on whoever hears it. When he’d mentioned a ballad, well… that wasn’t what you’d pictured. And he’s right about wishes being dangerous - maybe the story can serve as a cautionary tale, discouraging one from repeating your mistakes.

Then again, a cautionary tale requires you to talk about the things you’ve done and the consequences you’ve suffered, and you’re not quite ready to tell anyone about that, much less the whole of Novigrad. As for the current, most prevalent consequence - being trapped with Geralt… you can see it now, whispered among crowds of giggling women, flushing at the thought: who wouldn’t want to be trapped with a handsome witcher?

“Aha! I knew I’d win you over,” Dandelion says brightly, giving a little bow over his lute. “Now Geralt will have to let me write it!”

A glance in Geralt’s presumed direction shows that the bubble around him and Yennefer is as prominent as ever. You can’t help wondering what they’re talking about.

“Oh! I need the details!” Dandelion exclaims suddenly, his gaze fixing on you with bright interest. “I can hardly write a story when I don’t even know the beginning, can I?” 

Reaching for the last bit of your wine, you anxiously thumb the stem of the glass and manage a weak smile. “I… I’m not sure about that. I don’t think it’ll make for a good story. Maybe you could just make something up?”

“Oh, nonsense,” Dandelion says. “I can make anything into a good story.”

“He truly can,” Priscilla chimes in. “Don’t worry at all.”

But a terrible headache is coming on. Your skull throbs, and your throat squeezes as you try to speak. “But… it’d - I mean, I’ve…” Your words trail off, but all of their eyes are now fixed on you, waiting for you to go on. Curse it all. “Awful things happened because of me,” you say flatly. “It’d ruin the story.” 

With that out in the open, you finish the rest of your glass and wait for the inevitable. Only… Dandelion doesn’t look phased in the least. Neither do any of the others. 

“Well, surely you haven’t been sitting here thinking we’re all saints?” he asks. “No one is perfect - that’s what makes the story engaging, relatable!”

You shake your head. “Of course I don’t think you’re saints, but-”

“And… what’ve you done that’s so terrible?” Zoltan inquires, interrupting your words. His mouth is full of some kind of cake that he’s chewing, his cheeks are pink, and he clearly doesn’t believe you’ve done anything bad at all.

You’re not in the right mind for this. The wine is making you lightheaded, your head is still pounding, and it all feels like a far off dream. “I - I killed someone,” you blurt, feeling sick to your stomach. And thirsty. Very, very thirsty.

Silence takes the table, but just for a moment. “Did you have reasoning?” Priscilla asks. “Was this person going to hurt you?” You give a single, sharp nod and swallow hard, wishing you had more wine. As if reading your mind, Dandelion pours you another glass.

“Well, then. I don’t think you’re awful,” Priscilla says.

“Nor do I,” Ciri agrees. 

Stinging tears are brimming at your eyes. You fiercely blink them away. None of this makes any sense. How can they all admonish you from your guilt without even hearing the full story?

“But you don’t understand,” you protest. “It was my fault I was in that situation in the first place. And that isn’t the only awful thing, I - I’ve done other things, too.” 

“Well, I’ve done many things I’m certainly not proud of,” Ciri tells you. “I think all of us have.”

You quickly wipe your eyes with the sleeve of your arm, avoiding her gaze.

Priscilla reaches over and gently pats your hand. “Let’s put it this way. The things a person wishes for says a great deal about them. And, for your final wish, you wished for protection. That sounds like someone who’s afraid. Not greedy. Not evil. Just trying to be safe.” 

“You’re clearly torn up about it,” Dandelion adds. “Believe me, I’ve met my fair share of truly horrendous people, and they aren’t capable of a shred of remorse.”

Tears sting at your eyes, and your futile attempts to blink them away don’t work very well. Soon, they’re coursing down your cheeks, and you could die of embarrassment right here and now. Thank the gods Geralt isn’t here to see it.

Ciri soothingly rubs your back. “I understand,” she says gently. “It’s never an easy thing, having to kill. Even in self-defense. I’ve found that speaking about it with people I trust helps.”

“Aye,” Zoltan agrees solemnly. “Geralt’d know how it feels - take a moment when ye can, discuss it with him. Might surprise you, even make you feel a bit better.” 

“He already knows,” you reply gloomily. Admittedly, he doesn’t know all the details.

“And?” Priscilla asks. “Surely he didn’t call you an awful person?”

“No,” you confirm. “He told me that… that I don't seem like a cold-blooded killer.”

“That’s settled, then,” Ciri says brightly. “If you were awful, Geralt certainly wouldn’t have any problem telling you.”

You swallow hard, wiping quickly at your eyes again. When you speak, your words are no more than a whisper. “Even if he can’t get more than ten steps away from me?”

Her answer comes with no hesitation. “Even then.”

Feeling as though an enormous weight has been lifted off your shoulders, you gratefully gulp down more wine and attempt a smile. “Thank you,” you tell them, even though you’re not entirely convinced. None of them know the full story, and you aren’t in any state to deliver it to them. But if they’re looking to see you comforted, you’ll gratify them. At least now you know that Geralt hasn’t been hiding some secret animosity for you.

“Of course,” Priscilla says, her tone balming as she speaks. “Poor thing. Are you still hungry? Can I get you anything else? You look as though Geralt’s been dragging you around all day.”

You shake your head. “No, I’m alright.”

“Forgive me for the change of subject, but I simply must ask,” Ciri exclaims. “Was I hearing right? You used a djinn to ask for protection, and - and now you and Geralt can’t be more than ten steps apart?”

“You heard right,” you confirm. “I… I asked for protection to always be with me. So we can’t be apart. Gods, I feel awful for him.”

“Ah, dinnae worry about Geralt,” Zoltan says, chortling. “Lad’s not suffering any more than Dandelion in a brothel.”

Your cheeks burn.

“Excuse me,” Dandelion protests, narrowing his eyes. “I am a changed man. I’ve mended my ways, which you very well know!.”

“Wait,” you say quickly, “Wait, Geralt and I - it’s not like that.”

“No?” Dandelion asks, eyes twinkling.

“Oh, hush,” Priscilla says. “Don’t mind these boys. They’re only fooling around.”

“And truly, don’t worry about Geralt,” Ciri says. “He’s gotten himself into things much worse than this.”

Then a bright flash of light interrupts the conversation, and Geralt and Yennefer appear alongside you once more. 

Geralt surveys the crowd, gaze landing on you. You barely have the time to hope that your cheeks are fully dry, that he won’t somehow be able to see that you’d been crying with his witcher senses. He’s on his feet now, leaning against the table. “Hey,” he says. “Hope they weren’t too rough on you.”

“Don’t worry,” Ciri says cheerfully. “Only a few tears were shed.”

Geralt does a double-take, then straightens. “That a joke?”

“Relax, old friend,” Dandelion croons. “The tears were only over the brilliance of my ballad, which was so lovingly received by all that you’ll have to let me write it.”

“Dandelion,” Geralt grumbles, running a hand over his eyes.

Your gaze, however, has turned to Yennefer - who seems calmer than before, but still vaguely out of place. You can’t help thinking about the way Dandelion and Zoltan had spoken of her yesterday. And Lambert, for that matter. Can so many of Geralt’s friends and loved ones dislike her? And does that speak to her true nature, or is Geralt seeing something the rest of them aren’t?

In some strange way, you feel sorry for her. You’d hate to be in a room of people that dislike you. Hate to be surrounded by the loved ones of your lover, and have them all hate you. 

She meets your eyes, and a sense of immediate panic rises in you. Gods, please don’t read my mind, you think. She’d see everything you’ve done, see everything you want - and, gods, you know she’d hate you for it.

But as she looks at you, a strange sensation falls over you. Something buzzes faintly under your skin, tickles at the back of your neck, and your head feels heavy and strained. And then… nothing. It fades away, and Yennefer is left with a strange, unidentifiable expression on her face: brows pinched, lips pressed together, but none of the icy rage from earlier. Just something empty. Another question.

“Changing subjects,” Geralt says pointedly, “Yen’s heard of the djinn Priscilla was talking about. Yen, mind explaining?”

“Very well,” Yennefer replies, her expression instantly shaping into a mask of coolness. Calm. Composure. She’s a master at it, wielding it at will, and you envy that about her more than you can say. She folds her arms over her chest, fingers gracefully tapping against her arm, then slowly starts to speak. 

“A few months ago, a powerful source of magic appeared north of Loc Muinne, somewhere in the Blue Mountains. Very powerful - an aura strong enough to disrupt teleportation within fifty miles, even.” 

She pauses and looks around, as if confirming that all of you are listening, then continues. “When a series of mages went to investigate the source, they found a newly unearthed passageway of elven ruins, and an unfinished notebook - kept by a prestigious, well-regarded, and now-missing sorcerer. His disappearance seems to have coincided with the appearance of the aura, and, according to his writings, this magic had been the main subject of his recent studies. It carried a presence that had evolved new plant and animal life in the caves, unlike any he’d ever seen. And he’d been experimenting with the new forms of plant life, testing for various reactions on different species.

“He then went on to say that he’d recently discovered a djinn, that he believed it was some form of… sign that was on the right path. He hoped to use it to harness the power of the ruins. But the day after he mentioned it in his writings, he disappeared. His notes end abruptly, as if he’d vanished into thin air while writing them. And, his last entry was dated for the same day the aura appeared.”

She swallows, then goes on, all of you hooked on her every word now. “Some suspected foul play, of course - that the djinn had been taken from him and he’d been killed. That, when it was unleashed, it caused the activation of the aura. Others believed he’d been killed by something in the ruins. A search party was taken up to look for him, but he was never found. Unfortunately, everyone who’s gone in the caves to look for him has neglected to return, and… I’m afraid that’s all I know.”

Her words sit in the air for a long moment as you all process what she’s saying. She pours herself a glass of wine and drinks it down, and you numbly take her words in. No one’s come back. When you bite the inside of your cheek, you taste blood.

“Ah… shite,” Zoltan says, scratching awkwardly at his beard. “Not very encouraging.”

“No,” Geralt agrees. “It isn’t. Dangerous journey to get there, too. ”

“And I don’t know how to fight,” you add. “So I’d be putting both of us in danger.”

“Oh, don’t worry about that,” Dandelion says, cheeks still ruddy with drink. “Geralt’s taken me along plenty of times.”

“Times where you could run and hide if there was too much danger,” Geralt points out. “This is different.”

“And,” Yennefer chimes in, “as I said, the risks are too great to teleport anywhere near the area. Even for Ciri.”

Ciri? you think. She can teleport? Is she a sorceress? But no - hadn’t Geralt said that she was a witcher? All of this bouncing conversation is making your head hurt again.

“Luckily,” Ciri announces, “I happen to be headed to Ard Carraigh as it is. Two witchers will be more than enough protection for the journey, don’t you think?”

Geralt’s brows pinch. “Sure you don’t mind?”

“Of course I’m sure,” she affirms, grinning. “It’s been ages since we last rode together! I’d love to accompany you - and, of course, hear the story of how you two met; in more detail, preferably.”

Geralt mulls it over, frowning. “Be happy to have you,” he finally says, relaxing. “Just gotta be careful. Thanks, Ciri. Yen?”

“I’m afraid I can’t join you,” Yennefer replies. “I have urgent business to attend to. You’ll manage, I’m sure.”

Geralt nods. “Appreciate you telling us about the djinn.” 

“Mm. Of course.”

The room is silent for a moment before Dandelion pulls out more wine - an expensive vintage, apparently - and the table instantly comes back to life, returning to their debate about Gwent decks. 

Ciri gets up to grab another drink from behind the bar, but you stay where you are. It’s clear that Geralt and Yennefer aren’t done talking, and you have a terrible habit of eavesdropping. Pretending to be absorbed with a flyer for The Chameleon, casting an occasional glance at them, you listen in. It helps that Geralt can’t get very far away.

“Never did tell me what that curse was about,” he says.

There’s a brief pause before Yennefer answers. “Clearly, you were busy. I didn’t want to pull your attention away from more… important matters.”

“Yen,” Geralt says. “You know I’m happy to help. If you were looking for me, if there’s something you need-”

“- but there isn’t,” she interrupts. “It was a complicated curse, yes, but I’ve managed. Istredd assisted me, since you were nowhere to be found.”

You don’t know who Istredd is, but you get the gist of her words. Particularly from the fact that, when you quickly glance over, Geralt looks as though he’s been slapped. Pain again, even just for a moment. If Yennefer sees it, she says nothing of it.

“I must be going,” she announces instead, gaze fixed on Geralt and Ciri. Then it softens. “Be safe. Both of you.”

“You’re going?” Ciri asks, rushing to give Yennefer a hug. 

They cling to each other for a moment, and Yennefer strokes Ciri’s hair and holds her close. It’s very clear how much they care for one another. 

“Don’t be a stranger,” Ciri tells her.

“Never. I’ll contact you once you’re in Ard Carraigh,” Yennefer replies.

After Ciri’s gone back to her seat, Geralt lingers near Yennefer. “Won’t let anything happen to her,” Geralt says softly.

Yennefer smiles. “I know you won’t,” she replies. “I know you.” For a moment, her mask of composure slips - she hesitates. Then, she smooths down his shirt, leans up on her toes, and kisses his cheek. “Goodbye, Geralt.” 

With a final squeeze of his arm, she’s gone, exiting out the door. Leaving you and Geralt staring after her. 

You recover faster than he does, tuning back into the conversation at the table - which has turned into some story revolving around Dandelion and a sword. Geralt, though, stands frozen in his tracks for a good minute or so. 

When he returns to his seat, he’s silent. In fact, he hardly says another word until the two of you have turned in for bed, bidding everyone good night. It’s planned that the two of you will leave with Ciri tomorrow morning, after getting some supplies for the journey. You don’t know if you’re relieved, or scared. 

One one hand, the two of you will be actively moving toward the solution, and that saves you from the anxiety of sitting still. On the other hand, it means a long, dangerous journey which ends with you and Geralt being parted.

When the two of you are back in the room and you’re finally able to breathe, you slump onto the bed. Geralt sits next to you, lost in thought, and as you eye the protruding lump of a bandage under his shirt, you suddenly remember the scratch you left this morning.

You sit up with a start. “How’s your arm?” you ask.

The words rouse him from his thoughts. Geralt’s brows rise - clearly he’d forgotten, too - and takes off shirt in a fluid moment that makes your heart skip a beat (which you pray he doesn’t hear). Of course he’d need to take off his shirt to access the wound. Calm down, you tell yourself. Don’t stare.

When he pulls away the bandage to show completely healed skin, you sit there, stunned. It’s just as he said. It’s gone. Completely gone. The scratch hadn’t been that bad, but it’d still pierced the skin and very much should still be visible, at least for a few days. But there’s not even a hint of scarring, anything to show that it’d been there. It’s fascinating. And you really should have believed him, but it’s one thing to hear it, and a completely new thing to see it. 

You can’t help yourself. You run your fingers over the area where it should have been, and find it completely whole. 

Geralt’s skin is surprisingly soft and warm. He stays still as you touch him, the sound of his breathing soft and even. Then, slowly, he places his hand over yours, trailing his thumb down your wrist. His fingers enclose over yours, callused fingertips and strong tendons that gently wrap around your hand.

“Dandelion’s ballad really make you cry?” he asks softly. His eyes are warm and fixed on you, and you draw in a sharp breath. For a moment, you consider Zoltan’s words. That you might feel better, if you’d just tell Geralt everything. But given all that’s happened today, it simply doesn’t seem like the right time. 

Maybe one day, but not now. 

“What can I say?” you tell him, smiling weakly. “The lyrics got to me.”

He frowns. “Could tell him to stop,” he says. “If he’s pressuring you-”

You cut him off with a shake of your head. “No, he… he isn’t. Really. You have some really great friends, Geralt. And Ciri, she’s wonderful, and… and just like you.”

He smiles a little and raises a brow. He’s still holding your hand, gentle but firm. “Think so?” he asks.

You swallow hard. “I do. And don’t think I’ll be forgetting your little jest with Dandelion, master witcher. That was very rude.”

His smile widens into a boyish sort of grin you haven’t seen before, and his thumb rubs over your knuckles. Your heart starts pounding in your chest. You know he can hear it. There’s that sharpening in his gaze again, the way his eyes trail down to your lips, the way the smile turns into the hint of a smirk. You gingerly tug your hand from his grip, not trusting yourself, and start pulling out your sleep clothes. 

“All that walking wore me out,” you tell him. “I’d better get some sleep for the journey.” It’s a poor excuse, but he takes it - or, at least, doesn’t argue. You can feel his eyes on the back of your neck. 

If you hadn’t seen him and Yennefer the way they were, maybe you’d… well, it doesn’t matter now. Starting tomorrow, the two of you will be with Ciri for weeks, and it’s too complicated for you to consider anything outside of the trip. No matter what you want.

Even if he might want it, too. 

You’re so unfamiliar with the concept of romance that, for just a moment, you start thinking that you might have imagined it. The look in his eyes. But you really do know better, and it’s time to stop fooling yourself.

There’s something between you and Geralt, something that’s been there longer than you’ve wanted to admit it. Since you sat at the river and he caught you staring at him, thinking about how handsome he was. Since he bandaged your hands with careful touch. Told you he could hear your heart beating, that he could tell when you lied. 

Like a deafening wall of glass, it’s lurked between the two of you, getting simultaneously bigger and frailer with every day. Ready to shatter at any moment. You’ve pulled away from it, but you’re less and less able to deny that it’s there. Or that you want it to break.

That’s your real crime, isn’t it? The one you’ve held guilt for as long as you’ve known. The one that’s poisoned your fate from birth. You always want for things you can’t have. It’s exactly why the djinn was so dangerous, why you’re being punished the way you are. He must have seen straight into your soul when you were making that wish, and gave you the exact retribution that you deserved.

Because you’re afraid. You’re afraid that if you ever got what you really wanted, it might rip you apart. You’ve never been built for good things. You’d just ruin them. Like you have with everything. And it might have been one thing to ruin your own life, but you know you wouldn’t survive it if it was Geralt. If he ever hurt you, or you hurt him… 

No. You couldn’t. And, even though it’s ridiculous, you cling to that wall. Even despite your conflicting emotions, you shut yourself off. Because it’s better than the alternative.

You’ve tried to halt yourself from wishing for anything ever since you got that djinn, because you really should learn from your mistakes. But as you get into bed, you allow yourself a single, mindless wish - safe because you know it won’t come true. 

You sit there in silence, chest aching, and wish that Geralt would wrap his arms around you.

More bad dreams come that night. You sleep feverishly, trading off between visions of hands on your throat and the mouth of a cave, summoning you in with a sweet song you can’t resist. When you finally wake, you find Geralt already up, organizing your things. If you’ve overslept, you don’t feel an ounce of that rest.

“Hey,” he says. “Sleep well?”

You shrug and smile at him wordlessly. Your throat feels tight and the ache in your chest has only gotten worse overnight. Your silence already betrays your emotions to an extent, but if you speak, you’re afraid everything might actually start pouring out of you. That if you open your mouth, every fear, every secret and guilt and want might come slithering up your throat in a single, slimy mass and give you away.

So you don’t talk. And you pray that you won’t have to any time soon.

It doesn’t take long for you to dress or pack your things. Your stomach has just started growling when there’s a light knock on the door. 

“Ready, you two?” comes Ciri’s voice. “Breakfast’s just been finished, and we’d better eat before it gets cold - it might be our last good meal for some time!”

“Coming,” Geralt says. He hoists his things over his shoulders, and you follow straight behind him.

“Good morning,” Ciri says brightly. “Dandelion’s prepared a farewell meal for you two. I think he’s written more of that ballad.”

Geralt shakes his head. “Hope he doesn’t play it while I’m eating.”

“It’s Dandelion. Of course he will,” Ciri says. Then she looks at you. “How’d you sleep?” she asks. “Feeling any better this morning?”

Geralt stares at you, concerned, but you avoid his gaze. “I… I slept well,” you tell her. “And, yes, I feel alright now. Thank you.”

Both of those things are lies, but Ciri just smiles. “We’d better head down before Dandelion loses his head. He’s been strutting around like a peacock ever since you complimented his ballad. Can hardly wait to show you the new parts he wrote.” 

That makes you laugh. A real, genuine laugh. “Should I start writing my apology for bolstering his ego?”

“Yeah,” Geralt says. “Make it short.”

“Short and sweet,” Ciri adds.

“Alright. Dear Novigrad citizens - and all others affected,” you drawl. “I’m deeply sorry for bolstering Dandelion’s ego. How’s that?”

Geralt rubs his chin. “Dunno,” he says. “Seems a little long.”

You playfully narrow your eyes at him. “Fine, then: I’m sorry, Novigrad.”

“Perfect,” Ciri says. “I’m already envious of the response it’ll receive. Come, let’s head down.”

Eskel and Lambert are at the main table once more, clearly enjoying the partakings. They both look tired and a little worse for wear, but alive. “Morning, Wolf,” Eskel says. “Hear you’re heading out again.”

“Mhm. Eating breakfast first, though,” Geralt replies, taking a seat. You sit next to him and grab a plate, mouth watering.

There’s more food here than you’ve ever seen served for a single meal. Fresh bread and butter that fills the air, spiced sausages, apple tarts drizzled with honey, plates adorned with grapes and pears and plums, perfectly ripe. Sweet buns coated with sugar and roasted ham and tiny, colorful candies that litter the table. And, judging by how full the three witchers have stocked their plates, not a bit of it will go to waste.

You fill your plate and dig in, so ecstatic that you almost don’t hear Dandelion greet you. “Good morning,” he says, laying another plate on the table. “Oh, good, you’re hungry! Eat up, eat up!”

Priscilla strides up next to him, tsking as she looks over the table. “Good morning, everyone,” she greets. “As you can see, Dandelion’s gone a bit overboard with breakfast. Are you sure you three won’t stay any longer? We’re happy to have you.”

Geralt shakes his head. “Sorry. Wish we could. Might come back here afterward, though. If not…”

“If not, then Dandelion, Zoltan, and I will see you at Yule,” Priscilla says sternly, taking a seat. Dandelion sits next to her, and you watch the two softly chatter with each other, imagining how it might look - Yule with Geralt and friends. Sparkly, you think. Shiny and warm. 

You’ve never had much of a Yule. Not that your parents hadn’t tried. But for some reason, seeing their gifts - gifts you knew they’d slaved away hours of their life for - only made you feel worse. The year when their gifts turned into coin for Oxenfurt Academy had been a relief if only to not feel their eyes on your face, praying they wouldn’t see disappointment.

“Oh, yeah,” Eskel says suddenly, turning to Geralt. “We wintering with you at Corvo Bianco again this year?” 

Corvo Bianco? you think. You aren’t familiar with the words.

Geralt raises his brows. “Yeah. Be glad to have you.”

“Then we’ll see you there,” Lambert responds. “Can’t fuckin’ wait.”

“Still miss Marlene’s cooking,” Eskel agrees. 

In the midst of their conversation, there’s a striking realization that they must be talking about Geralt’s home. You’d never thought much about it - mostly, you’d assumed he lived from place to place, never staying anywhere long. You wonder briefly about this Marlene, heart sinking down to your stomach. There’s so much you don’t know about him.

“So - you three are really off to find a djinn?” Lambert muses. “Good luck, I guess.” 

“Thanks,” Geralt says dryly.

There’s a moment of silence before you surprise yourself. “You know, Lambert, I think that might be the most genuine sentence I’ve ever heard.”

Eskel, Geralt, and Ciri laugh, to your delight, and Lambert scowls. “Ah, fuck off,” he says, but he’s hiding a begrudging smile.

“Alright. Before I forget,” Ciri starts, her gaze fixing on you. “You and Geralt. How did you two meet?”

Your cheeks go warm. Maybe because everyone is now staring at you, and you hate the attention. Maybe because you hate talking about this subject. “Well… he fell out of the sky.”

Geralt huffs, smiling a little. For a moment, you hope he’ll say something, but he doesn’t. He just waits for you to go on, along with everyone else.

“Um. Well, I made the wish,” you continue, “and for a while, it seemed like nothing was happening. So I wandered around, thinking about every possibility of my wording, wondering how the djinn had taken it. I hadn’t really - thought about it when I made the wish. It just… came out. I wanted to believe it was some invisible protection, but everything just felt… off, and I knew deep down that it wasn’t the case. And then a portal opened up, and he fell out, and I saw the two swords on his back and realized what it meant.”

“Yeah. Djinn dragged me out of Skellige,” Geralt adds. And now they’re all waiting for you to speak again.

 “Anyway,” you proceed, “once I realized who he was, I asked him to move away from me, to see if anything would happen. And he wouldn’t - he didn’t really trust me, then. So I did it instead. Once I was a certain distance away, we both felt it. I actually don’t know how it feels for him, but for me it was like… like something was ripping me apart. Squeezing my skull in. I couldn’t fight it at all.”

“Yeah. Felt like that for me, too,” Geralt agrees.

You nod. “So after that, I explained to him what had happened, and he said we should come here, see if anyone knew anything. And… now, we’re here.”

“And we’re very happy you are,” Priscilla tells you. 

“And?” Dandelion exclaims. “Was there any danger on the way here? What was it that made you wish for protection? And the other two wishes - I’ll need to know those for my ballad.”

Your heart drops to your stomach at the thought of telling anyone at this table about those nights, about what happened. No, you’re not ready. 

Time to attempt one of your old tricks. If anyone is a sucker for flattery, it’s Dandelion. 

“It was a little dangerous, yes,” you answer, trying to keep your voice even. “Geralt and I ran into a foglet. But he killed it, and I didn’t even get a scratch on me. It was very impressive, honestly.” Now for the important part. “Oh - Dandelion, speaking of your ballad,” you lead in, adding a little sweetness to your tone, “Ciri told me you wrote more of it. Will you play it for me?”

“Of course I will!” Dandelion says, eyes lighting up. “But don’t let me distract you - I want to hear about this djinn. Was he made of red mist? Were you ecstatic when you found him? Do you still have the seal?”

Shit. You hadn’t really minded his questions before, but with how standoffish you feel, they’re becoming incredibly invasive.

“Dandelion, quit pestering,” Priscilla interrupts him, but not quickly enough. 

You shut your eyes at the stream of memories that come pouring in at the sound of his words. The exact images you’ve been trying to block out. “I was scared.” The words are shaky, unstable. You suddenly feel sick, placing down your fork. “I wasn’t ecstatic, wasn’t happy. All I remember is being scared.”

Dandelion pulls out a parchment and begins scribbling on it. “Scared… foglet… not a scratch…” he mumbles. “Perfect.”

Your body has started trembling. Maybe it’s because it’s more than you’ve ever revealed about that moment, but your stomach is churning and you’re shaking, and thank Melitele, Geralt notices.

He clears his throat. “Priscilla - you already started on the plans for Yule?” he asks. “Anything I should bring? Might not get to that djinn for a while.” 

Under the table, he places his hand on top of yours - a small, reassuring action. Not entwining with yours, but there. Comforting. Then his thumb brushes over your pulse point. Taking in a deep breath, you give his hand a gentle squeeze. 

Thank you, you think.

Priscilla takes the bait immediately. “Well, I’ve not started the plans exactly, but I have been considering some loose ideas,” she replies. “Dandelion and I were thinking about writing a new show, getting people into the spirit and such. Using the funds we make as donations for some form of charity. Of course, nothing’s been settled yet. As for what to bring - just bring yourself and anyone you’d like to invite. Though, a bottle of wine from your vineyard would never be turned down.”

“Mhm. Our first year producing wine,” Geralt tells her. “Harvest finally came in. BB says it ought to be a good one.”

“Really?” Priscilla asks. “All the better. I can’t wait.”

The conversation has given you time to manage your emotions. Geralt might be able to hear your heart thundering in your chest - and, now that you think of it, Eskel and Lambert might, too - but no one else has anything else to off but your face, which you hope is in a mask even half as collected as Yennefer’s had been.

A quick look over shows that Eskel and Lambert are glancing at you curiously, but they return to their breakfast as soon as they see your gaze on them. Well, that answers that question. No wonder Geralt had been able to tell you were lying so easily. If Eskel and Lambert, sitting several seats down from you, can hear a change in your heartbeat - and be able to tell that it’s yours they’re hearing - then… frankly, you’re horrified to think about what else he might hear.

And, thinking even more, did you just hear that right? Geralt owns a vineyard? Corvo Bianco. It’s all piecing together.

“I didn’t know you owned a vineyard,” you tell him. His hand shifts a little on yours, and blood rushes up to your face. You’d somehow forgotten it was there - as if his touch had melted into you, was so natural that it became a part of you.

“Yeah,” he says gruffly. “Got it as part of a contract from the duchess of Toussaint.” 

You’ve never been to Toussaint. You’ve certainly never met the duchess. Somewhere in all this chaos, you’d nearly gotten used to the fact that a large number of the people in this room are famous. But not anymore.

You don’t even know where to begin to imagine a vineyard. Miles of grape vines? A hot, baking sun, fruit stinking in the heat? You can’t picture Geralt in it. The two images are disjointed, as if they couldn’t possibly mix.

You don’t know why this guts you. Maybe it’s the reminder that you don’t really belong here - among all these people, Geralt’s friends and family, knowing basic things about him like where he lives. 

You suddenly can’t eat another bite, but the sight of your half-filled plate makes you just as sick. How many times would you have killed for food like that, only to let it go to waste? Almost all the others have finished their food.

“Are you still hungry?” you ask Geralt, pushing your plate toward him a little. “My eyes were bigger than my stomach.”

“He’s always hungry,” Ciri answers.

And Geralt shrugs and takes the rest of your food, looking more than happy to finish it off. Thankfully, he moves his hand back to his thigh, and you force yourself to take even breaths when he does, because he surely can hear you. You try to remain calm, but overstimulation is rising in you like a growing tide. You’ll miss this place fiercely, but you can’t wait to get away from it.

“What’ve you got there?” Geralt suddenly asks, and you realize the question is directed at Lambert. 

Lambert, who was bent over a paper, snaps up defensively. His arms cradle over the paper like he’s afraid Geralt will somehow lean over half the table and read the contents, and he scowls. “None of your business,” he says.

“Better not distract him,” Eskel snorts. “Lambert’s writing a letter to his girlfriend.”

Lambert’s scowl deepens. “Shut up.” 

“Meant to ask - how’s Keira doing?” Geralt asks. “You two fighting again?”

“No,” Lambert snaps. “We aren’t.”

Eskel’s expression sombers. “Keira, uh… she went to check out a magical surge. Hasn’t come back yet.”

You suddenly feel like ice has run down your back. As if something has gone terribly, irreparably wrong.

“Where?” Geralt’s tone is intense, demanding in a way you haven’t heard it before, and you can tell that the sudden shift is making Eskel and Lambert uneasy, too.

“Kaedwen,” Lambert answers. 

“The Blue Mountains?”

“I don’t know, maybe. She didn’t exactly say. Why?”

Geralt doesn’t seem to know how to answer.

“Yennefer was here last night,” you tell them, even though the words feel like glue on your tongue. “She said that… that somewhere in Kaedwen there are some ancient elven ruins spreading a powerful aura of magic, and that some mages went to investigate, but everyone who’s gone in there hasn’t come back out. It’s close to that djinn Priscilla was talking about.”

Lambert pushes out of his seat, looking furious. “Fucking what!?”

“She’s fine, Lambert,” Geralt assures him. “ Yen is Keira’s friend - if something happened to her, she would have mentioned it.”

“Save your bullshit,” Lambert hisses, pacing back and forth frantically. “I don’t want to hear it.”

“Geralt is right,” you say - even though you’re a little out of your league here. “Yennefer said that the magic was affecting teleportation within fifty miles of the caves. I’m sure she’s probably just trying to find a way back.”

“Is that supposed to make me feel better?” Lambert asks. “She teleported over there!”

You feel as though you’ve been slapped. You snap your mouth shut, anger simmering in your chest - anger directed toward yourself. Why had you gotten involved? You’d only made it worse. 

“They’re right,” Eskel says, but his tone is more convincing, more soothing. “Yen would’ve told us. Losing another sorceress from the Lodge? That’s a big deal.”

Lambert slackens, draping a hand over his face as he takes it in. Then sits down, grabs his mug, and pours himself a drink. The tension in the room feels thick enough to suffocate.

“We’ll keep an ear out for her,” Geralt says. “Ask around. See if anyone’s heard anything. Soon as we learn something, you’ll be the first to know.”

Lambert gives an almost imperceptible nod. “Yeah. Thanks.”

There’s a moment of silence. “We ought to head out,” Ciri announces. “I’ll help clear up.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Priscilla scolds. “You’re our guests! We’ll take care of this.”

But Ciri gathers up the nearby empty plates and neatly stacks them anyway, and Geralt adds his old plate and the newer, now-empty plate that used to be yours.

Priscilla sighs. “You two,” she murmurs, smiling to herself, “are far too similar.”

You’d have turned in your dishes, if you’d had any. But you don’t. You’re grateful when Geralt stands, gathering his things.

“You’re going?” Dandelion asks - he’d been in the middle of more writing. “But I haven’t even gotten to play the next lines of my ballad for you!”

Geralt looks down at you where you’re still sitting, a brow raised. You know he’s giving you the option - that you can leave, if you want. 

But then you think about what Ciri had said earlier, that Dandelion was so excited to show it to you. Strutting around like a peacock, giddy on the compliment. You think of his kindness at the table yesterday - how kind they’d all been, even to a stranger. Reassuring you that you weren’t awful without even being asked.

“I’ll gladly hear it,” you say. 

Dandelion beams and pulls out his lute, and Geralt returns to his seat to listen. And then Dandelion strums, and in that haunting, lovely melody, he sings.

A dangerous thing is the truth of a wish

For the future we ne’er can see

And djinns have been known to twist things amiss

Tainting with mischief and cruelty.

With a trifle of words, our tale must begin

An uttered request, humbly made 

Beseeching protection from the ‘fore-mentioned djinn

Protection for always, they prayed.

The answer received came up from the land

Where resided a lone witcher of yore

And the foul, ruthless djinn locked the two hand in hand

And he bound them for evermore.

tags: @henryownsme @madamemelancholysstuff @fullmoonshadowwrites @darkscrossfire @beforethepen @julijal @ailynyan @ivuravix

#geralt x reader #geralt of rivia x reader #game!geralt #geralt x you #geralt/reader #geralt of rivia x you #mywriting

[tired0artist]

| ascended astarion x tav |

okay so, @themoonatmingitaw animatic rules my brain. and so here's a little wip, that i did in these past few days. it's not finished and i have no idea if this will become a fic, but i'd love to hear your thoughts!

also english is not my first language! and so there might be some mistakes, as it's also a raw version.

Tav = Tavarra (gave her a name, cause I've seen people do that)

WARNINGS: dark astarion, slavery, abuse

>>>>><<<<<

Tavarra had a porcelain doll once. It sat on a bookshelf in her room, with shiny cheeks and pretty dress in a perfect condition, as young Tavarra did her best to dust her everyday. Throughout the years, the doll remained on that bookshelf and as Tavarra grew, she stopped dusting her as often.

She still loved her dear porcelain doll, it was hers was it not?

So as the years passed, the dust lingered and the doll was no longer as beautiful as it once was. Then, as Tavarra left her home, the doll’s fate became nothing but a stray thought, as it sat on the shelf, all alone. Forgotten with only dust and other pretty things from the shelf to keep her company…

Tavarra once envied the doll, it was so pretty. It didn’t have to study or do any chores… It was a simple task. 

To simply exist and be pretty… 

Tavarra no longer envied her precious doll. 

Not as she sat in a luscious room, surrounded by pretty things, all alone and forever waiting for someone to come and look. To come and dust her off…

She became Astarion’s precious pretty little porcelain doll. Forever chained, not to a shelf, but to a luxurious room. Dressed in the most beautiful of dresses, adorned with the wealthiest of jewellery and with her long hair brushed out. 

It didn’t used to be like this.

In the beginning, Astarion and her walked the same path. Tavarra might’ve been not but a spawn, but oh, she was much more than that. Astarion’s power extended to her, for a while at least…, he shared with her the beauty of immortality and the joys of being a daywalker. 

They danced during the day and fed at night, forever together.

Oh… but how quickly that forever came to an end…

Only roughly over a hundred years, it lasted. Then one by one, changes came. 

It started small, with words of adoration for Tavarra’s light blonde locks. 

“Truly magnificent, my darling.” he whispered that night, as his fingers brushed through her grown out curls. 

Tavarra had been meaning to cut it for some time now.

“Oh you musn’t, my sweet.” he purred, his lips dragging up her tan arm and finally settling against her jaw “I like it long… different from how you wore it before. It makes me appreciate the colour far more, like this.” 

She didn’t cut her hair. Not ever since then, not even when it started to drag behind her, joining the train of her dresses.

Then bit by bit, Astarion took from her. Not only what he gave, but what she herself had.

Her longbow and sword.

Now they hung above his throne, like a prize.

Her throne.

Back when she was allowed to walk amongst the halls freely, she sat beside him. Then a step down. After that it was all the way down the small steps to his throne. And finally she was perched upon his lap, as his hands travelled up and down her body.

Her lute.

It was put away in a crystal display in Astarion’s art gallery. 

Her armour.

Much like the lute, it met the same fate along with Astarion’s old armour. 

Her days in the sun.

Astarion worried for Tavarra’s safety… he wanted her off the streets, and so why should she need to be allowed out in the sun?

Her freedom…

“No!” she screamed, clawing at his shoulders as tears ran down her cheeks.

“No?” he chuckled, cupping her face in his palms “My love. This isn’t a discussion, I only want you with me. Always. Forever—”

“Astarion—”

His face twisted in anger, as his hands moved down, holding her neck “You wanted to be mine. And so you are mine. So why should you want to leave? Hm?” he shook her slightly, his grip tightening “Do you want to leave me?! Do you not love me, my darling?!”

Tavarra sobbed, unable to break the hold he had on her. Still, her nails clawed at his hands as she whispered.

“You’re hurting— me.”

Clarity that rarely came these days washed over him, as his hands retreated, coming to gently embrace her instead “Darling… oh, I am so very sorry.”

She cried against him, not having much of a choice, as the chains he put on her wrists and neck stole her strength.

“I only want to keep you safe. Safe and sound, like you deserve, my sweet Tavarrra.” he whispered, petting her hair slowly “All of this is for you… for us.”

Tavarra just cried, taking whatever moment of comfort that she could from him. 

Stealing from him, just as he stole from her.

>>>>><<<<<

tell me what you think and please go watch the animatic that inspired this! it's so freaking good!

although i don't think that i'd quite follow the ending... no matter how perfect and beautiful it is. i'm too weak for that :(((((

#astarion romance #ascended astarion #astarion x tav #ascended astarion x tav #bg3 tav #baldurs gate 3 #bg3 fanfiction #astarion fanfic #dark astarion #vampire tav #spawn tav #wip #tav x astarion #tav x astarion fanfiction #writting #fanfiction #astarion brainrot #Youtube

[alwaysteveswife]

Hi, I've seen your work and I really love it, I'm anxious to see what you do in Midnight with Eddie's story 😁, I wanted to ask you for a one shot of Eddie, if it's not too much trouble, meeting reader for the first time with this prompt 047. the bottom of a huge library, surrounded by books, when a black book falls from the highest shelf. would he try to talk to her? Or would he look at her from afar, thank you so much from before, it doesn't have to be right away, I understand you might be busy 💖💖.

Thanks for being so nice 🤧 and sorry for the delay, it hasn't been my week 🤧 buuuuut, here's the result ^^ I hope you like it.

Ever since you arrived in San Francisco, all you wanted to do was go into the library a few blocks away from your new home. It was, simply put, the place of your dreams. It was made of brick, a vine covered its walls, leaving only the windows free to let the sunlight in during the day. The door was made of glass, golden letters with the word "local library" rested impeccably on the transparent material. Ever since you set foot in the city, all you wanted was to go in there, take a book with you and walk to the coffee shop in front of it, be able to drink your favorite coffee and enjoy a good read while listening to the ambient music that the place had. Yes, a dream come true.

It took you much longer than planned to be able to carry out that plan, you had forgotten how busy it was to move. A week had passed, most of your furniture had a place, your clothes were still in the suitcases, but you weren't too worried about it, it was a quick thing to fix, and your eagerness to get into the place was significantly greater.

It was five o'clock on a Saturday afternoon, you remember it very lucidly. You opened those big glass doors and held in a gasp of excitement as you saw how big and beautiful it was inside.

The whole place was covered with small plants. Hundreds of shelves surrounded the place, all divided by sections, from children's literature to economics books.

Mischievous laughter caught your attention, you almost choked when you noticed that it also had a children's section that tried to encourage reading among the next generations through art and creativity.

You closed your eyes and mentally screamed at the sky, you were in fucking heaven.

You spent the afternoon among shelves, books and plants, too excited to notice what was going on around you. You had visited almost every section, except for one; recipe books. You were never great in the kitchen, you weren't bad, but you preferred to save yourself the suffering of accidentally cutting yourself, or putting too much salt in a meal, or, in the worst case, almost burning the kitchen, so you were never too interested in the subject. Despite that, you shrugged your shoulders and walked into those aisles, looking at the odd one or two that had a cover that made your guts growl with hunger.

The next thing that happened was a bit of a blur, it happened so fast you weren't even sure what had happened. A loud thump on your back sent you crashing into the bookshelf in front of you, causing one or another book to swing off its perch. You, who were too busy rubbing your head and cursing whoever had pushed you, completely ignored the fact that one of the books was about to fall on your head. By the time you realized it, the book was almost on your head, what's more, you were already assimilated, you could feel the bump start to grow and the pain create a crystalline layer of water over your eyes, yes, you could already feel even the ice pack to ease the pain.

"That was close" muttered a man behind you. It took you a while to realize he was holding the book just above your head, "Are you okay?".

You turned around to get a better look at him so you could thank him properly. You almost choked when you saw him from the front.

He was taller than you, had big brown eyes, his hair was long and messy, barely kept in a low bun. His smile was so friendly you almost couldn't believe it belonged to him, a guy with body tattoos, an ear piercing and a very 80's rock outfit.

"I'm so sorry, my niece is kind of hyper" an embarrassed chuckle escaped his lips, bringing his hand to his hair and messing it up slightly.

You looked to your left as you noticed a small pink shadow move. A little girl, no more than 7 years old, was standing next to you. She had her brown hair tied up in a messy braid with a pink bunny pin. She looked nervous, her paint-stained hands fiddling with the skirt of her kitten dress gave her away instantly.

"Jessica Taylor Harrington, come apologize to the lady."

You almost had a heart attack when you heard what he called you. God, was all your bad luck finally fading away? Was this a sign that you were made for life in San Francisco?

"I'm so sorry, Miss Pretty," the girl murmured, her fingers intertwining with each other, avoiding your gaze at all costs, "I didn't mean to hurt you."

It almost melted your heart to see her little eyes look at you with sorrow and regret. You weren't a fan of children, but there was always an exception, wasn't there?

"It's nothing, don't worry" you smiled as you watched his face light up as she looked at the man from earlier. He smiled back, giving her both thumbs up in excitement, the black book that almost fell on your head rested under his arm.

"Alright, let's get this back where it belongs and-" the man's voice lowered its volume as he paused on the book's cover, "Oh, lucky you" a bright smile crept onto his face, showing the book to Jessica, "isn't this the one your dad needed?"

"Yes!" squealed the little girl, bouncing in place. Sooner rather than later, her uncle started jumping up beside her, carrying her in his arms and laughing. "Let's go to daddy!"

"Yes, let's go to your dad" he replied teasingly, turning his back on you and walking to the counter near the entrance.

"Wait!" you yelled before you could even think about it. It didn't take you long to close your eyes tightly, mentally claiming yourself for doing something like that.

The man turned around, his eyes fixed on you, a smile still on him. You felt your heart race as you watched the sunlight hit his back and made him glow.

"Yes?" he asked in a soft voice. The little girl in his arms watched you two curiously, her small hands wrapped around Eddie's neck.

"Thank you, for catching the book" you smiled embarrassed, trying to ignore the butterflies in your stomach. "Could you, I don't know, tell me your name? I want to know what the guy's name is who just made me save an ice pack."

You smiled as you heard him laugh at your joke. You liked that sound, it looked good on him.

"I'm Eddie" he held out his free hand to you, shaking it as soon as you wrapped yours around it.

"Y/N, a pleasure".

"Well, see you soon" he murmured, his hand still entwined with yours.

You nodded, your cheeks lighting up quickly. "That I hope, Eddie".

He just smiled back at you, this time a little wider than before. He pulled Jessica up a little higher, walking over to the counter and resting the book on it.

"Were you flirting with Miss Pretty?" the girl said, giving him a playful look that Eddie knew all too well.

"Of course not" Eddie whispered, hoping you didn't hear what he was saying.

"Liar" she laughed, hugging Eddie by the neck tightly, "mommy and daddy will love the news."

Eddie just rolled his eyes, knowing what was coming next. Jessica would run to the coffee shop across the street and tell Steve everything, Steve would tell his wife everything, and finally the three of them would pester him about this incident for the rest of his life. At least, Eddie thought, Jessica had helped him be able to talk to you instead of standing there for almost an hour staring at you from afar.

Masterlist

#stranger things #fanfic #stranger things au #eddie munson x reader #eddie x you #eddie x reader #eddie x fem!reader #eddie munson #eddie x y/n #stranger things x reader #stranger things fics #stranger things fluff #stranger things blurb #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson x you #stranger things imagine #eddie stranger things

[fourseasonsfigs]

Wen Kexing with Purple Cloak

I love this fig since it so perfectly captures Wen Kexing's unhappy but grim resolution to handle things in Episode 26. And by "handle things", meaning going off to his likely demise.

I remember watching this episode and my jaw dropping open as suddenly he had a purple cloak on! We'd been seeing a lot of the pink costume up till now, but lo and behold we have this gorgeous purple cloak billowing around him as he walks.

The sharply resolute look on his face when he turns around to leave...just perfection.

He arrived perfect and precious on my doorstep, frowning mightily away. By the way, all those little strings of fluff around him are the remnants of something that my MTL calls "pearl cotton" which is this ultra light, fluffy, soft wispy cotton batting. It's like the most high end cotton batting I've ever seen, and those little fibers get everywhere on the fig. My vision isn't the best anyway, and then these little fibers are individually quite invisible. They love to hide around hairpins and in folds of clothing, so I only often see rogue fibers after I've taken rounds of pics. It's a great cushioning material so I can't mind it, but this last batch of figs had so much pearl cotton I could probably have stuffed an entire throw pillow.

There was no way to get him to stand on his own, so I immediately put fig stickers on his feet and slapped him up on a fig stand. Metaphorically speaking, only the most delicate handling for my figs!

The pattern in his eyes is just gorgeous. We have the maple leaf pattern that matches the ones on his pink yuanlingpao, and then the purple highlights to match his cloak.

Such beautiful posture, Lao Wen! Standing straight and tall, unyielding and determined to meet your fate.

I also love purple, so anything with this color is an automatic favorite for me!

Just a whole glorious mass of hair from the back!

I personally always love huge billowy cloaks with massive amounts of fabric for the sheer drama of it, but in reality the cloak wasn't that crazy. So this is a good rendering of it.

I did in fact buy the licensed replica of this cloak while it was still available, and it is really nice. It's beautifully designed and very comfortable so that the ties simply hold it shut vs. choke up around the neck.

You can see him holding his fist like he was in the show. Some of this is to allow the costume to drape gracefully on screen, but some of it is to show his resolve and readiness. There's no wealthy-young-master-hand-behind-the-back pose here.

I really like the detail they put into the pink yuanlingpao underneath the cloak. It really feels like the cloak is a separate piece over the clothes.

No pants here, just a cutoff over the boots. It's fine of course, but you know how I like the hidden detail of the pants tucked into the boots when we see it on figs.

Aww look at his little clenched fists! This whole batch of hairpins miraculously made it through on this last ocean shipment, despite any additional air column protection. Must be all the pearl cotton!

Sadly, this fig maker's whole batch of figs did not come with any printed box art or box cards. This is her last batch of figs, as she is no longer making them, so I suppose it was more trouble than it was worth to make cards. Which is too bad in multiple ways, I'll miss her figs!

Material: Resin

Fig Count: 429

Scene Count: 29

Rating: Two fists of stalwart determination!

[link back to Master Fig Index for more posts]

#wen kexing #word of honor #gong jun #figthusiast #episode 26 #word of honor merch

[d0t-d0t]

read destiny unchain online

I've never used tumblr in any capacity before, but I feel like this is a good way to introduce myself to it - by simping for my favorite manga series as much as I possibly can.

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

So, why read DUO? Because it's just that good. It's basically like Shangri-La Frontier, but if the MC wasn't a lone wolf.

The premise is simple: In the distant future, VR and AR have integrated their way into daily life, and VRMMOs have exploded in popularity. The main character, Mitsuki Kou, has grown up playing VRMMOs all of his life, and his dad works for a company that develops them. From no-lifing VR games for his entire childhood, Kou has basically become what you'd call a "god gamer", and so his dad uses him to playtest the VRMMOs he develops.

The story begins as Kou's dad finishes his magnum opus: Destiny Unchain Online. Kou is called in to playtest for the game. Normally, VRMMOs in this universe are played using a fancy choker (rather than the headsets you see in other series); however, Kou's dad developed a special device for Kou to play in just for him, called "The Cradle". Kou logs in, and after choosing to play as a half-vampire named "Crim" in character creation, he gets genderbent by the game. It's at this point that she freaks out and contacts her dad, who then hits her with the double whammy that because of so-called "technical issues", she'll be staying logged into the game for three months straight.

So, yeah. It's got VRMMO, vampires, and genderbending. A triple whammy, if you ask me. But, of course, the premise doesn't make the story. What else do I love about this manga then? (I'll stay vague in this post to give you all a chance to read it before I post more spoilery stuff...)

Character-wise, everyone is just brimming with personality. Volume 1 largely focuses on just Crim and some NPCs, but in Volume 2, most of the rest of the main cast is introduced, and the character writing really starts to shine with how they bounce off one another.

The VRMMO mechanics are also very well thought out - the author plays a ton of video games and MMOs, and so situations, references, and terminology are brought out from their personal experiences rather than just using VRMMO as a story gimmick they wanted to try writing.

The fights in particular are VERY well executed. The paneling gives a great sense of movement, and the group vs. group combat has a ton of tactical elements thrown in. Just, in general, everything is thought out absurdly well.

And art-wise, holy crap. Wow. This manga, for lack of a better word, is simply beautiful.

Double page spreads GALORE, and there's some crazy art in later chapters that make you think "How the hell is this released weekly?"

And finally, there's Crim. We stan Crim here. (there's another character we stan here too, but that's for another post). Crim is just a completely lovable dork with one of the best character designs I've ever seen.

10/10, best manga of all time. read destiny unchain online.

feel free to ask questions cause I know way too much about the lore, and follow for more crimposting about DUO

#destiny unchain online #manga #new to tumblr

[solmints-messyocdiary]

I just chose Iris Patron and Odile since those are the ones I’m most familiar with!

👁️ - Have they ever been caught in the act/seen killing? Did they kill the witness(es), or do they keep your OC’s secret? Odile and Patron

🎃 - What do you personally believe is most frightening about your OC? Are they scary in-universe or in a more meta way? Odile and Iris

💀 - If they were to be killed by a final girl/boy/person, what would be a fitting end for them, symbolically? Iris and Patron

Jas! Thank you for the interest! And that's completely fine. I haven't shared much of the others~

Sorry for the wait. Here they are!

👁️ - Have they ever been caught in the act/seen killing? Did they kill the witness(es), or do they keep your OC’s secret?

Odile has on multiple occasions. She has been unlucky enough to have to face 2 or even 3 people at the same time. Depending if the person managed to fully look at her and of how terrified she is of being followed back to her shelter, she might chase after the witness. However, it tends to be too risky so it's not something she does often unless she feels the witness has given her the vibe they'll expose her.

-

The Patron is a very careful man. He always tries to be 5 steps further than everyone around him. Many call it paranoia, he calls it being attentive. He is but a shadow the moment someone enters the room and sees the carnage. For the unlucky one who saw him, he'll spare them as long as they keep their mouth shut. If they speak... well... the Patron is a very understanding man, but they broke a promise and therefore they must die. Unlike his witnesses, he does keep his.

☆

🎃 - What do you personally believe is most frightening about your OC? Are they scary in-universe or in a more meta way?

Odile is definitely scary in a meta way. She has become a sort of folk legend where she lives at.

The she-ghoul that desecrates tombs of loved ones.

The bird-headed boogeyman that lurks in the graveyards to scare kids and teens from staying late at night.

The beautiful and mysterious Samodiva that can be seen floating around in the forest, consuming the male gravekeepers who ventured too deep into the forest.

The unlucky feral child that burned the church down and stole the priest away.

That is all but a fantasy, of course.

Odile is, in reality, just a very fearful and lonely girl who has been given the role of a monster.

-

Iris is hands down scary in the literal sense. Her kills are brutal and sadistic. Truly vile to see and witness. She actively enjoys tormenting her victims and chasing after them. Depending on her mood, she'll kill the witness immediately, not giving them a chance to scream...

Or... if she's feeling particularly "playful" she'll give them a few days of safety before killing them in their home. It's just an extended cat and mouse chase for her.

Anywhere she goes, terror and gore follows and paints the city she lurks in.

☆

💀 - If they were to be killed by a final girl/boy/person, what would be a fitting end for them, symbolically?

I am still not particularly sure how I want their end to be like yet!

But... I've brainstormed a little about it.

Iris would most probably die at the hands of the person she becomes obessesed with. Or simply, live by the sword, die by the sword kinda deal.

The Patron would either be a poetic death, dying by the one whom he learned to trust and love or perhaps... do a 180° and give him a boring death. The opposite of his eccentric self. Lacking in art.

#ask #devil-doll13 #oc: the patron #slasher: the patron #slasher: odile #oc: odile #slasher: iris #oc: iris

[filmrelicsworld]

Imtiaz Ali and Tamasha

I recall seeing Jab We Met for the first time when I was in school, and I was captivated by the madness of an unstable and crazy love tale. Opposites attract, and I have long believed in this concept. Imtiaz Ali's films typically weave this notion in a widely acceptable manner. The irony of this is that I've always despised love stories, particularly those from Bollywood. They revolve around stories you cannot even begin to relate to or pictures occurring in the real world. They are dramatic, fantastical, frustrating, stupid, and thought up.

However, Imtiaz Ali has always portrayed stories through his films about characters you would see in real life; some of these characters are a little too ripe, but given the extravagantly exaggerated tales Bollywood has always created, it may be forgiven.

I'll openly admit that I've seen the movie Rockstar on my laptop many times and five times in theatres. I'm not sure there is a word that adequately captures the depth of love that was conveyed in the film. I could watch it a million times without any thought or care, adding it to the small number of Bollywood films that I have found appealing thus far. The reason for this is that it was not an easy task to direct and carry out a story so impulsive and compelling within a "controlled insanity." I was engrossed in a dreamy affair for a while after that, asking myself repeatedly, "What is love if not madness," until reality grounded me in the most unexpected way.

Ever since a friend first showed me the trailer for Tamasha, I had been anticipating its arrival. Every Imtiaz Ali film features prominent themes such as the absurdity of love, the desire for happiness and tranquillity, arrogant ways of telling a straightforward tale, and, in the end, a person meeting a female in the most unusual and unexpected way and enriching each other's lives.

Tamasha is nothing distinctive from it either, but what elevates this beautiful tale even further is that it is fundamentally about two soulmates, their loneliness in familiarity and their connection as strangers. It is the story of a man's battle with his inner self and how lady love helps him accept who he is and what he truly wants to be. Though they do make me feel good, it's not enough because the story is about more than simply love. I was excited to watch how the male protagonist begins to receive the answers he had been wondering about throughout.

It's more about love giving each other's lives additional significance, about realising the complexity of human nature and about two lost souls travelling in the direction of one another and finding solace in each other's company for all time. It's a complicated tale about humans and how frequently they require other people to complete them and give them new life.

There is more to Tamasha than merely finding your true partner these days. It centres on a character who is searching for meaning in his life. He struggles between the person he is and the person he should be, and a series of unfortunate circumstances force him to acknowledge the "tamasha" he has created for himself and his life.

They resemble windows that spring open to reveal other windows, providing opportunities to live a more fulfilling life and experience more spiritual richness. The notion that the film followed the path of a storyteller surprised me. How captivatingly art may capture the imagination of people!

The movie also follows a woman who makes an investment in a partnership, one who communicates her emotions and looks for guidance in a romantic partnership. She also serves as the catalyst, the mirror through which the male lead will ultimately be able to see his true reflection. The one who will help him realise that he is far more than what he believes himself to be and that he is neither average or mediocre. The plot is more authentic and less of a Bollywood tell-tale because the film doesn't attempt to celebrate love in ostentatious ways when it is present or to simulate paranoia when it isn't.

My preference for Imtiaz Ali films is undeniable, and I have complete faith that I will always like seeing them, but this one has felt a bit more like a fantasy. I shall be engrossed in Tamasha's plot and characters for a considerable amount of time, until, inevitably, unanticipated circumstances force me to return to reality.

Akansha

#films #indian cinema #bollywood #imtiaz ali #tamasha #SoundCloud

[magicalgirlmindcrank]

Anyways here's the greatest letter ever written online in text form because I need people who haven't seen it yet to be aware and I CAN'T SAVE A WEBP AS A FUCKING JPG OR PNG ON MY PHONE So-

Regarding Twilight Sparkle

Dear Kevinsano,

This may the be the strangest message you'll ever receive but I do hope you'll take the time to read it and consider what I have to say. To put it simply, I would really appreciate it if the next time your birthday comes around you would request that your clop artist friends (who like to give you sexually oriented pony art as gifts) draw some pony other than Twilight Sparkle for you.

The reason I ask this is that Twilight is my fiance, and we're planning on getting married next June or July should everything go as planned financially speaking. And yes, I have actually found a wedding chapel that will let me marry someone that most people would consider a fictional character. Now before you go thinking “This guy is either completely crazy or just screwing with me." please hear me out on this.

You see, I'm totally head over heels in love with Twilight Sparkle. I have been for about 11 months now and at this point I'm in a committed relationship with my Twiley. By that I mean I don't date anyone else, I don't sleep with anyone else, and I have zero interest in having any kind of relationship with anyone other than the mare I adore. I love her with all my heart and I'm 100% committed to that love. To express my love in a real tangible way I have a beautiful hand made custom Twilight Sparkle plushie that I can hug, kiss, cuddle up in bed to go to sleep with at night, and take out on the town to do all the fun things together that normal couples do. I take her out to eat at nice vegetarian restaurants, we go shopping together, I take her out for coffee, we do social activities together like hanging out with friends, seeing movies, etc.

And I talk about her as if she is Twilight, because to me she very much is. When I look at her I see Twilight Sparkle. When I talk with her I'm talking to Twilight. When I hold her in my arms and kiss her there are no doubts in my mind that it's the mare I love who's lips are pressed against mine. And every morning when I open my eyes and see her head on the pillow next to mine, with her gorgeous violet eyes staring back at me, I can't help but wonder how I ever got to be so lucky as to have a partner as smart, funny, beautiful, and all around wonderful as her.

All my friends and the people who know me well say that my love is a thing of beauty and quite admirable, but from the outside perspective of someone who doesn't know me you're probably going “Wow. That's pretty damn crazy." and wondering why I don't just go get a real girlfriend. The truth is I've had plenty of real relationships and sexual partners in the 27 years I've been around. A few short relationships, one that lasted 7 years, and a total of 6 different sexual partners. So my love for Twilight isn't out of a lack of real world intimacy or relationships, I just fell in love with her and my heart didn't give me much of a choice in the matter. But you know what? I'm totally happy with my love and my relationship. It may seem weird to you, but it fills me with joy every single day of my life and I've never been happier. So what if it's weird? If it makes me happy and it doesn't hurt anyone then where's the problem? I don't think there is one, and anyone who knows me well will tell you the same.

Now your probably wondering why I'm telling you all this and how it concerns you. To you I'm sure Twilight Sparkle is just a cartoon character you think is really hot, so I imagine you wouldn't think anything of having your friends draw sexually explicit art of her as birthday gifts for you. And hey, I think she's really attractive too so I get where you're coming from there. I often go on e621.net and Rule34.Paheal to see what new erotic art people have drawn of her. But to me she's more than a cartoon character who's sexually attractive, she's my fiance who I love with all my heart and soon to be my wife. So it's been bothering me lately every time I go on those sites and see a dozen or so pieces of art people have drawn depicting my girl in various sexual situations with the same person over and over, and that person happens to be you.

Don't get me wrong here though, this isn't a jealousy thing. I'm very secure in my relationship. I know without question that Twilight is just as faithful to me as I am to her, she's actually sitting on the couch next to me reading while I type this. She's very real to me and I know she's not sneaking out in the middle of the night to go have kinky sex with some famous artist. And I do respect your talent as an artist and an artist's creative freedom to draw whatever they want, that's cool. What bothers me is that in all these birthday images you've been getting Twilight is always depicted as if she was your sexual plaything, drawn wearing a collar with your name on it or with a speech bubble saying something that would somehow suggest she was your property. And I know quite well that Twilight Sparkle is not your plaything nor your property, she's my fiance. So that bugs me a bit. What I find really loathsome though is your pension for degrading my partner in both your art and the fan art you've been receiving lately. Twiley is a sweet and fairly vanilla little mare who I treat with the utmost love and respect, and she definitely does not deserve to be portrayed as some kind of sexual slave who likes being dressed up in sleazy attire, wearing a collar, getting sodomized, and having her face ejaculated on. She's not into that kinda stuff and the fact that there's someone out there in the world such as yourself who would desire to treat Twilight that way, and have his friends support and validate his desires to demean and mistreat my partner by drawing pictures of him doing so, really does bother me. I don't take any issue with people having kinky sex as long as both parties consent to it and enjoy it, but I know quite well that my Twiley has no desire whatsoever to be treated like that.

So next year, when your birthday comes around, keep in mind that Twilight Sparkle isn't just a lifeless cartoon character to objectified for your sexual gratification. She's the partner of someone who loves her very much, and by that time their wife. So both myself and Twiley would greatly appreciate it if you'd pick someone else to request erotic art of for your birthday. Based on the very large amount of different ponies you draw art of I imagine there has to be many other ponies you find sexually attractive. I assume you'll probably just dismiss this message as the ramblings of a crazy person and likely ignore it, but if by some chance you do take what I've had to say to heart, well... we'd appreciate it.

Regards

[astrum-aetherium]

OKAY so this is not a nsfw ask sorry but an angst ask :3 so anyways ever heard the song last kiss by taylor swift? if not its a super heart-wrenching song and i cried so hard listening to it once that i just fell on the floor for 5 minutes but anyways 😍 angst henry according to last kiss!! this can go either like the song is henry to his s/o or s/o to henry, but u can do what u want with his concept bc (to me at least) its far too juicy not to do anything LIKE…. “so i’ll watch your life in pictures like i used to watch you sleep, and i feel you forget me like i used to feel you breathe” AND “i hope the sun shines and its a beautiful day, and something reminds you you wish you had stayed” LIKE…. anyways this is ask is so chaotic im sorry i just woke up

aww, come on now!! i'm a diehard swiftie. i've been revisiting speak now exceptionally much over these past few weeks in anticipation of taylor's version, and i'm so, so excited. falling in love with those songs all over again will be so bittersweet as someone who has spent so much time loving taylor, i basically grew up with her art. additionally, as a former emo kid, i just cannot fucking wait for the fall out boy feature — i love them forever and i've seen them live twice. truly shaking inside. and hayley! ahhh!

now, to last kiss. this could go both ways: one could either stay true to the intention of the song, meaning that it'd solely be about a breakup, or apply it to the fact that henry died. one is certainly more painful than the other. i'll quickly outline both.

in a separation setting, i feel like the second quote you mentioned would be the most tremendous. i hope the sun shines and it's a beautiful day, and something reminds you you wish you had stayed — because of henry's characterization and essence, we can assume him to be more accustomed to gloomy weather. after all, he is known to carry around an umbrella at all times, therefore sort of anticipating or even invoking rain. you, however, would remind him of the very opposite, with your generally more positive disposition and the way you gilded his life. therefore, overly sunny weather would always remind him of you — you would clandestinely hope so, too — and he would be left wondering about your former beauty as a pair and reminisce on it, even. he would see you reflected in each sunray, be reminded of your touch with each coat of warmth the sun would encapsulate him in. there simply would be no way around you.

as for his death, the former line fits perfectly. so i'll watch your life in pictures like i used to watch you sleep. i shall add another one: hope it's nice where you are. and: so i'll go sit on the floor wearing your clothes. this is true, raw bereaved longing — it makes the song's meaning stike about a thousand times harder, especially with the motif of a last kiss, because one more often than not does not know when it happens. you would miss him forever. looking at the scarce selection of pictures of him (or of you together) and pretending the person in them still exists and isn't confined in the dirt somewhere. wearing the remainder of his clothes you still own that somehow still have his scent adhered to them, cherishing them, sleeping in them with the intention to feel his closeness again. hoping he is well wherever he is, and might be watching out for you. reminiscing on that last kiss.

it's so early in the morning right now, lol. don't know how fitting the setting is for thoughts like these. but oh well. hope this did your request justice! i love myself some angst, especially when it comes to henry. it's truly electrifying how good it can get.

#astrum asks #henry winter imagine #henry winter x reader #indulgent thoughts #god i love him #speak now taylor's version here we go #few more days everyone #mine is my fav song

[tilbageidanmark]

Movies I watched this week (Year 4, week 5)

6 more by Icelandic Hlynur Pálmason (After ‘Godland’ and ‘Seven Boats’):

🍿 White, white day is about a grieving policeman whose wife died in a car accident. A masterful feat of slow film making, with unusual choices in its subtle direction. The man renovates a house, takes care of his cute granddaughter, and then, (as in 'The Descendants'), he discovers that before she died, his beloved wife had an affair with some guy. A stunning story of grief, resignation and acceptance. 10/10.

🍿 A painter is a 30-minutes unexplained riddle, about a conceptual land artist, harsh and isolated. A slow meditation about art and relationships, told via stark visuals and few words.

🍿  During Corona, Hlynur's 3 kids were building a tree house in Nest. The camera was fixed at one spot (in 99% of the cases) and recorded hundreds of short clips over a full year of changing seasons. It's absolutely the most captivating 22 minutes of film I've seen this week. (Pálmason used the same technique at the beginning of 'White, white day' recording the house over a long period of time). 10/10 (In spite of watching it with Spanish subtitles only).

🍿 A day or two, a painful, lyrical short about a boy who is left alone in a neglected farmhouse. Inexplicably traumatic. 9/10.

🍿 Milk Factory is basically a home movie with the same little cute girl (his daughter from 'Godland' and all the others) running through a modern gallery at the small fishing town of Höfn, where they live.

🍿 Fortunately, I saved his debut feature Winter Brothers to the very end. Had I started with this tedious, incomprehensible artsy piece first, I would never have discover the rest of his fascinating work. The story takes place in a metaphorical underground, a Siberian-type inferno, where chalk-faced miners use pickaxes and shovels to dig for something in darkness and noise. 2/10.

Now that I've seen everything he's done, 3 features and 5 shorts, my top three of his are: 1. A white, white day. 2. Nest. 3. Godland.

🍿  

Like the little heartbroken girl in 'White, white day', mourning the death of her grandmother, (and like the kids in the Danish 'Beautiful Something Left Behind'), Ponette is a 4-year-old girl who must come to terms with her mother's death in a car accident. (Photo Above). This sad and simple story features the most phenomenal performance by a child actress I've ever seen. The grief on her face was absolutely devastating and hard to watch. It's also hard to imagine how the director, Jacques Doillon, managed to coax such genuine emotions during the unbroken, long takes. 9/10.

🍿  

Exterminate All the Brutes, a 4 hour meditation about the roots of colonialism, racism and genocide. My first by Haitian documentarian Raoul Peck. An unflinching examination of the shameful atrocities on which our modern life is established. The many genocides that followed the European conquests of the world. The twin principals on which the Americas were founded; Extermination of all the native nations, and the exploitive slavery of kidnapped Africans. Painful truths.

There were some chapters I did not know: That White supremacy was codified for the first time in 1449 with the help of the pope, the king and the Spanish Inquisition. That the first successful slave revolt against colonialism was the Haitian Revolution of 1791. That the Code-name 'Geronimo' used for the killing of Bin Laden was simply one more time of using Indian names for America's worst enemies, all part of the need to 'Exterminate all the brutes'.

The documentary itself was in parts too fragmentary, used too many symbolic reenactments, and employed too many personal anecdotes, for my taste. Still, it's a must see warning. Trump makes his entry only at the last hour. 7/10.

🍿  

Only my second by independent writer-director John Sayles (after 'Lianna'), the neo-western Lone star. Real stories of the Anglo, Tejano, and Black communities in a small Texas border town. Also a new sheriff who investigates an old skeleton found at a firing range, and discovers old secrets about his dad and his old sweetheart. Unforgivably humane.

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Gun Crazy, a second-tiered, pulpy Film Noir, a precursor to Bonnie & Clyde and any other 'Outlaw couple on the run' stories. He's obsessed with guns since his childhood. She's high on deadly adventures. After falling in love at a carnival, they embark on a crime spree across America together. In 1950 that mean that the murderous fugitives will die at the end. Strangely, this urban crime caper ends in a dreamy Tarkovski swamp.

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Another Noir, Elia Kazan's medical thriller Panic in the Streets, taking place on the waterfront, this time in New Orleans. Jack Palance debut performance. I watched it after reading the article The Myth of Panic, which analyses how the 'Elites' uses the fear of 'the crowd' to always control narratives in times of mass disasters, The Spanish influenza, The London Blitz, the Atomic age, AIDS, Corona...

🍿  

Falcon lake is the charged debut feature of Canadian Charlotte Le Bon. It's a lovely coming-of-age story about a 13 year old boy who falls for a 16 year old girl at a lake cottage in Quebec. He's innocent and caring, until he fucks up and becomes a ghost. Accomplished film making with an indecisive finale. 7/10.

*Woman Director

🍿  

"Goddamn-dipshit-Rodriguez-gypsy-dildo-punks. I'll get your ass."

First watch: LA cult movie Repo Man. I guess you had to be there at the time to appreciate its weird punkness. But even though I stuck to the very bitter end, every moment made it worse. Rambling, disjointed, uninteresting. 2/10.

🍿  

Junk mail, a grimy Norwegian Noir about a lowly postman who doesn't give a shit: He throws away the mail he doesn't want to deliver, he's shabby and dirty, he stalks a deaf girl and hides in her apartment. And he always steals bites of food from everywhere. But then he gets involves with some robbers and murderers, and saves the girl from suicide. Oslo looks disgusting here. 3/10.

🍿  

Leonor Will Never Die, my first meta-film from The Philippines. A different standard told in a different film syntax, which unfortunately left me baffled. An elderly lady who used to be a famous scriptwriter in the golden age of Pinoy Cinema of the 1980's, but now lives in the slums and can't pay her bills, is getting hit on the head by a television set that her upstairs neighbor throws out of the window. While in coma, she re-writes and re-lives her unfinished manuscript, a low-low-brow action movie, and even plays the main character in it. Weird to say the list, but with a surprising dance and song routine at the end which was wonderful. 2/10.

*Woman Director

🍿  

2 from screenwriter Etan Cohen, both about dim-witted morons:

🍿 "Whatever you do, keep painting!... "

Another re-watch: Mike Judge's prescient satire Idiocracy, a movie tinged with enough criticism of late-stage capitalism, that Fox C21 decided to abandon, rather than promote it. Featuring real brands like 'Flaturin', 'If you don't smoke Tarrlytons - Fuck you!' 'Crocs, they are so dumb. Could you imagine those ever getting popular?', 'Buttfuckers restaurant'. As well as the actual line 'He's gonna make them grow again'.

Funniest lines from Wikipedia: "Rita, a street prostitute" has been "in a relationship with Paul Thomas Anderson since 2001. They live in the San Fernando Valley with their four children."

🍿 My wife is retarded, a one-note, low-brow, offensive premise played for laughs, and repeated more than a dozen times in the span of 10 minutes. With 'Bill Lumbergh'. 2/10.

🍿  

"Nothing about Barcelona?"...

Another Guilty Pleasure Re-watch: Steven Soderbergh's fast action Haywire. A convoluted spy plot, with a female Jason Bourne assassin, and kick-ass hand-to-hand fight scenes.

🍿  

2 NYC shorts co-directed by Ellie Sachs:

🍿 In Proof of concept an aspiring auteur tries coaxing her dad and Richard Kind, her uncle, into financing her first short film. Cute.

*Woman Director

🍿 My Annie Hall, a wholesome 30-minute remake of 'Annie Hall' starring seniors citizens. The 94-year-old Alvin (and 73-year-old Annie) had all the quirkiness of the originals without the unpleasant personal baggage. 7/10.

*Woman Director

🍿  

And the King Said, What a Fantastic Machine is a new documentary about 'The power of the Photograph', produced by Ruben Östlund. It started promisingly with a few minutes of Camera Obscura, and the first ever 1826 photograph by Nicéphore Niépce, but the rest of the time it just jammed hundreds of random clips and images from the internet into fast-moving soup with no depth. 1/10.

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"There is a grown-up way to eat watermelon!"

Everything Is Terrible, The Movie (2009) was an older but much funnier montage. A cynical compilation of bizarre and obscure clips found in long forgotten VHS tapes, it just fast-edited hundreds of ridiculous tidbits from the 80's and 90's into a dumb and absurd mishmash. Much better!

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"Don't forget me". Some YouTube essayist's 'Falling down' was propaganda. In spite of not being a fan of such essays, it was an insightful 44 minute analysis. Diving into sociological and historical background trying to prove that DFENS descent into villainy had some very valid reasons. It end with Plato's 'The noble lie'. (Even the YouTube comments were intelligent, for the most part.)

Apparently, there are many similar essays on the same topic!

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Another unfathomable documentary about the central role the "New Apostolic Reformation" played in instigating the Capitol riot of January 6th. Spiritual Warriors: Decoding Christian Nationalism at the Capitol Riot. Also about C. Peter Wagner, and 'Jericho Marches' and 'Blowing of the Shofars'. Religious fruitcakes are the worst of all nutjob crazies. Mental illness of prophetic levels.

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(My complete movie list is here)

#movies

[miqojak]

(Don't make me curious, I might direct this ask here as well! ;) Unless you already answered it and I just overlooked it - sometimes I simply miss things on my dashboard)

32. Do they have any “props” that are a significant part of their life, identity, activities, or self-presentation somehow? What are they, how are they used, and why are they so significant? How would these props’ absence impact them, how would they compensate, and why?

(( You're A-ok! This one was indeed not asked yet! Not anytime recently at least.))

The first thing that comes to mind as something she always needs around - something that has become part of her identity... is her DRK soul crystal. She obtained it through mysterious means, and ever since it has... helped her feel strong? More capable. More whole, really, in a way - to finally have magic, but in this way that animates a part of her to stand on its own, and challenge even her, at times. She had it worked into a gold bangle that she wears near the tip of her orange-tipped tail at all times. But! It just looks like a beautiful piece of jewelry unless you're able to see it up close and recognize it for what it is (or if you can detect magic, or some such). She knows she's capable without it - her lover made her operate without it for a while when he was more mentor than lover, before... forced her to see her own strength and recognize that she's not beholden to a magic rock. It was good for her! But why ever take it off, frankly? She just knows that if something happened to it, she could still hold her own. (She's not physically all that strong, nor terribly hardy in like 'constitution' - she's fast and dexterous and nimble, but the DRK stone changes that entirely. It helps her feel less like the weak little girl who was tortured at the hands of Garleans.)

Another is her sketchbook! She's a prolific artist, and incredibly talented - but it's more like a visual journal. She's not keen to share it, for that reason... it'd be a bit like cracking open her head to take a look at what she's thinking (though really, most people wouldn't be able to discern what half the stuff is about I imagine). I've been asked before like, 'what item(s) would they save if their house were on fire', and that would no doubt be her sketchbook and DRK crystal... but in reality, she can always buy a new sketchbook and start over. It'd just be a mega bummer to lose all those memories she's taken the time to depict. (It's important to her! When people leave... she at least has the art - the sort of... tangible memories of them.

Other than that, her whole wardrobe is part of the... 'game'? The presentation? Controlling how she's perceived - though that's not to say that each iteration of her isn't also still her. Much like how each tattoo is a representation of a difference facet of her, her clothing can be good for that as well - she has punk garb, fancy clothes, Eastern style stuff since she's out there a lot with her Yakuza group/has a house there now, there's stuff that's beachy and comfy, there's stuff that might look a bit more regal in presentation, or there's a couple types of different armor/fight-wear... she knows certain garb/presentation of oneself change how you're seen, and she's a control freak... so she wants to control how others are perceiving her. Maybe you won't think much of her if she's kicking around in her punky wear, maybe you'll think she's some important noble if she's all dressed up... but at the end of the day, each facet of her is as valid and true as the rest.

#ffxiv #ffxiv rp #ffxiv oc #miqo'te #crystal rp ffxiv #she's a weird little woman - but more multifaceted than she might seem at first glance

[popculturebuffet]

Watchmen Issue by Issue Finale: A Stronger Loving World (Patreon Review for WeirdKev27)

The clock has struck midnight. Armageddon has been prevented.. but it took armageddon to do it. But questions linger, questions that may never get a satsifactory answer as we enter the final chapter of one of the greatest comic books of all time.

This has been an intresting experiment. While Kev came up with the idea and bankrolled it, it was still intresting to go through watchmen again and i'm coming out of the other side with a new appreciation for the work: the style, the sheer beauty and mastery in Gibbons art and layouts, and just how precise the story is. Like a watch some guy throws out a window because he thinks nuclear physics is a better thing for his son to take up and isn't good with Subtely. It's been a long, intresting project and i'm sad to see it over, but happy I did it. This comic is everything it's built up to be and more. IT dosen't mean i'm done with Watchmen, as I still have a movie to get to and I may return one day to cover one of the sequels or prequels. We'll have to see how I feel and what time brings. But this is still the end of a project that while I wish was more cohesive I don't regret taking on. Taking a nice slow look helped me see all the intricate wonder of this comic and I won't trade that for anything. I AM glad that the next year long patreon project Kev has for me is, while once again a massive tonal shift, FAR lighter in both covering it and in tone, but that dosen't mean it's bittersweet getting to the end of this one. So let's watch one last time as our heroes have failed.. and have to decide what they can do next… and if they should.

We open with easily one of the most horrifying sequences i've ever seen in a comic, possibly ever: just six straight pages of horror as we see giant tentacles strewn about dozens of corpses. Half of New York, as Adrian later puts it, is dead. And in the middle a horrifying alien face… and a familiar blue one as Dr. Manhattan arrives just after everyone is dead. Turns out there was some interfernce, but it wasn't the bombs going off like he thought: something cough adrian cough kept him from looking here. Laurie for her part.. can barely look at it and given i'm just seeing it on page I can't imagine what seeing all this up close, the smells, the sounds… or possible deathly quite.. just thinking about it has me about to collapse in horror. Jon takes her away from this and to his credit, he actually realizes it may of been bad taste to pontifcate on the how while surrounded by horses. HIs character growth from realizing humanity's worth.. has stuck.

Back at the fortress our two heroes have taken diffrent approaches to the news: Dan is in DEEEEEEP denial while Shackles fully buys it: Adrian isn't lying. Even the holes all add up as Adrian gleefully fills them in: the brain was from a young psychic, simply bloated and weaponized by Adrians people. The assians bullet? Well he can catch those. How he did it? Simple: Lethal informatoin: alien worlds, sounds: anyone not dead of the psychic shockwave will be driven mad. And anyone who was involved.. is dead. Killed by assasians or Adirans own plans. That leaves dan in the uninveable position of asking "What happens to us?" which is NEVER a question you want to ask when your hip deep in a supervillian layer after the evil genius at the heart of it just laid out how he killed any other person who could possibly out his plan.

Thankfully hope arrives in all it's naked blue glory as Jon shows up outside.. and leaves Laurie out there because he's still a dick just only mostly a dick now. And he quickly lets himself in, leaving Adrian to soil himself as he tries to use a death trap and a kitty cat. He then murders HIS OWN KITTY BUBASTIS to trap Jon, using the same machine that made him to try and kill him.

Honestly out of all the horrible crimes he's commited, this one is up there. Seconds later Laurie confronts him with a gun and nearly shoots him dead. He DOES catch the bullet like he said he could.. but his next line is telling

He's lost control. He's gone from plans he know will work with deadly efficency.. to barely keeping ahead of his foes. He launches into yet ANOTHER monologue after dan understandably gets pissed about him shooting laurie and tell shim to grow up. That superheroics have no place i his new world and that he's the outer god and.. wait what's that your all looking at?

As satisfying as it is though, seeing Jon utterly wreck this smug bastards day…. it sadly dosen't last. In any other superhero story Jon would likely kick his ass, find some way to turn him in and our heroes, while living in a still tense would, would find a better one. Instead.. Adrian simply flips on his giant tv wall which is somehow also a massive chekovs gun, as it shows our heroes.. that his plan worked. Tensions have ceased between the US and USSR, focusing on a new threat instead. Adrian reacts with all the grace and subtley you'd expect at this point

There is some depth here: The tear down his cheek, a hold over from the previous panel, shows that there's some part of him, however arrogant that was worried this woudln't work. That no matter what he did no matter how many dogs he kicked and cats he murdered that this woudn't work. But i'ts quickly overrid by him sliding into how he's going to fix the world, and smugly assuming he's going to get away with all this. It shows Adrian's true colors: While he plays this as being for the world and what not.. he really did it for his own ego. He did genuinely want to save the world.. but he had to do it in a way that showed what a clever clever boy he is. It's the only reason he just didn't fire missles at Dan and Rorshach and be done with it: He needed SOMONE to gloat to. Someone to brag about how only he could pull this off. How he did all the pieces. To revel in his "genius". Sure he hid all the evidence.. but it meant nothing if he didn't get to lay it all out. His gloating comes off as well planned as everything else. Even Dr. Manhattan, as scared as he clearly was, had a counter ready for him.

It's what makes Adrian's plan and genuine hope ring hollow: to him those half a city's worth of people he gruesomely murdered, the islanders he slaughtered, the scientests he poisoned, even his good boy sweet boy kitty cat, they were all acceptable losses. All for his grand masterstroke. Adrian posed a question to day last issue: "What do you think I am, some kind of republic serial villian?"

Just because Adrian WON dosen't make him any less of a super villian. It's the great irony of the work: Watchmen was a world with maybe one super criminal but no one who could really stand up to dr. manhattan for long or who really deserved the title.. and when it got one he was too good at his job. He made the heroes seemingly obsolete. Adrian Veidt.. is a monster. And i'ts summed up all too well from some lyrics I love, from the Run the Jewels Song "A Few Words for the Firing Squad"

I used to wanna get the chance to show the world i'm Smart Isn't that Dumb? I Shoudl've focused Mostly on the HEart Cause I seen Smarter People Trample Life Like It's an Art So Bein smart ain't waht it used to be that's fuckin dark.

That's Adrian: Trampling life like it's an art and bragging about it like he just did his piscasso.

Our heroes though are stuck:

This again dosen't make Adrian right… it just means they can't stop him. They do.. and this was all for nothing. They don't and they still have to live with letting a mass murderer get away. No one wins. Rorshach disagrees.. but even then it's hard to take him seriously. So dan and Laurie find solace in each other, with Laurie just a sobbing mess… to her after seeing all that carnage nothing matters.. nothing.. except love. Except comfort. Except the two of them. She just needs something to make sense and to her, Dan does. She may of left.. but it was only to try and save us all. Now.. she has all she needs.

Rorshach.. does not get such a happy ending. Pun unintended. He plans to leave.. but Jon stops him. Even the faint chance of him threatning things is too much. And shockingly despite often being such an unlikeable pirck.. Rorshach's death.. is probably the saddes, most powerful in this entire work.

Yes he's being stubborn, yes he's not a great person… but at th eend of the day… despite all he got wrong over his crusade he's right. He's ultimately the only person willing to tell the truth, that as Adrian pointed out no one would believe anyway, and he's paying for it. What's one more corpse among the foundations? And while I don't like Rorshach I will admit his death.. was on his own terms. Pulling down the mask so Jon had to look him in the eye, tears streaming down knowing this was it and sad tha tthe truth seemingly dies with him. I haven't hid how much I hate this man, the fact he spews out tons of right wing propoganda and has only gotten more horribly relevant as a charcter with age as a result dosen't realyl help.. but I can pitty him as he explodes in the snow, cold alone and in his mind the only one who could do right. He didn't compromise in the face of armageddon, held fast to who he was.. and it amounted to sadly little: the conpsiracy he worked to unravel won, life goes on and he's just one last ink blot in blood on the snow to be washed away along with any legacy. His life is just.l.. a sad one.. a traumatized man who needed help, refused to take it… and ended his story in tragedy instead of moving on. We get a sweet moment as Jon heads back inside.. and smiles at Dan and Laurie. BEfore he was detached from the stiuation, ressigned to it.. but now.. he's just happy she's happy at last. He goes to talk to adrian, and while he regained his intrest in humanity he's leaving.. but leaves his "friend" with some advice

This is the true hell for Adrian Veidt and a satisfying conclusion: He WON.. but there's no guarnatee his peace is the eternal world peace he smugly thought ti'd be. That any of this lasts. He wanted to be a better alexander.. but there's no guarnatee it won't go up in ruins> And wether it does or not the possiblity will forever haunt him. And i'm going to enjoy it

We cut to a few months later: it's Christmas! Huh I forgot this ended on Christmas. We wrap up Dan and Laurie's story as they visit her mom under assumed identities. She reveals what she learned.. and as her mother apologizes she says.. it's okay. She gets sometimes the worlds messed up and you do things you can't admit to people. And it's okay. She never did wrong by her. It's a ncie message of not blaming a victim or blaming someone for a moment of weakness. Just letting it pass. Laurie and Dan baanter ab it happy while Laurie prepares to put on a gimp mask and gun like her old man.

I'll admit the message here is kinda.. fucked that Laurie will be more like her dad.. who was a pretty awful person… I can't tell if she's reclaming it for herself or their implying it's a good thing. And maybe tha'ts the point.

So the world goes on, the newstand is replaced by a booth, and at the fronteirsman… a clueless intern trying to find some content to fill for his asshole jingoist boss.. finds the journal. About to publish it. What does it do? Well.. that's up to you. As a wise naked man once said.. it's never over. What happens next is in your hand

Or in the sequels but.. we'll table those for now and I question why make them as this endings ambigiuity is what makes it work: We don't know if this Journal will destroy everything or just be dismissed as writing. If dan and laurie's new careers work out. What JOn's new life will be. And that's the point. As he said.. it's never over. life moves on.. and what happens next for better or worse. .is out of my watch

Watchmen is a masterpiece. That statment isn't at all new, but revisiting it has made me see just how masterfully i'ts put totgether. It's not to say it's without fault but most are with age: The sexual assault stuff is handelded very poorly, Laurie feels mildly underwitten compared to the male cast a lot of the time, the handling of gay people is bleh, and some of the language used is sur eis from the 1980s. LIke a lot of comic books, parts of it have aged like old tissue paper, but what keeps it despite it's issues.. is the central themes; of looming war, of what superheros can really do about it and of the beauty of just being alive and how it can be takena way from us. Watchmen has perserved for a reason. Like Dan and Laurie it may of aged a bit.. but it's still got a long ways to go. Did it need sequels or prequels? Probably not, but we can analyize tha tanother day. For now… the clock is ticking past midnight and while the comic is over.. there's one last show to catch. So thank you for reading this, i'l lbe collecting all these reviews shortly.. .I just have a movie to review first. Yes next time we take a look at Zac Snyders watchmen and see if it's that bad. Until then… smile, even in the face of armageddon.

#watchmen #dc comics #alan moore #doctor manhattan #ozymandis #nite owl #silk spectre #rorschach #dave gibbons #comics #limited series