#it paid off and worked perfectly. got that cape piece cut in one go

[holdharmonysacred]

At long last, she’s finally done and my set is more or less complete!!!! Here’s Miss Melusine from F/GO!!!!!! I picked her 2nd ascension dress because that was just the most feasible to do with craft felt, and I think she came out super cute!!!!! I wen out of my way to embroider the designs on her mask and cape, thanks to the redditors who managed to pull up her battle sprite sheet so I could get an unobstructed view of her cape’s decorations! I want to try and do something special for a group shot of the little LB6 doll collection I’ve made once we’re a little closer to the chapter actually releasing on NA, but in the meantime I hope you all enjoy her!!!!

[gingerwritess]

How about jealous kisses?

i’m hoping you were thinking w/ loki? if not then heh oops sorry babe. this got a lil spicier n longer than i intended.

i asked @picassho-18 for inspo to move my writing along and she told me, without cracking a smile, “grab his dick.” sooooo i did.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Getting Loki out of the house is a struggle in and of itself.

Getting him out of the house in anything besides a much too expensive three-piece suit, his full armoured ensemble, or a fucking cape is something else entirely.

You decided you’d had enough late last night when he asked to accompany you to the grocery store, then proceeded to walk to the door in a leather battle suit and, you guessed it, a long blue and gold cape.

“Okay...we’ve got to get you some normal clothes,” you had remarked, looking him up and down. “We’re going to the mall tomorrow and we’re not leaving until you’ve gotten a somewhat normal closet.”

He had quickly checked his leather shirt, making sure the gold emblems are still glinting on his chest. “Do you not like what I have?”

“No, no, trust me, you look hot as hell in everything you wear.” You gestured to your own clothes, a ratty old t shirt and baggy sweatpants. “But we’re just going to the store. Literally just to get a stick of butter. I don’t think the cape is necessary…”

Loki feigned offense, handing you the car keys and striding out the door with a dramatic swish of his cape. “You’re just jealous, darling. Let’s go.”

That landed him in the middle of a huge department store the very next day, being dragged towards the fitting rooms by your overexcited self with piles of clothes draped over your arms.

“How many items?” There's an attendant at the counter in the fitting rooms, a young lady who looks just a little older than you.

“Uh...somewhere over 15?” You’d grabbed so many things for him to try on, you lost count after shirt number seven.

The lady chuckles, tucking a strand of long blonde hair behind her ear. “Normally we don’t allow more than five items at a time,” she glances over at Loki who’s still sulking behind you, giving him a good look from head to toe. “But I think I’ll let it slide for you.”

She’s not talking to you anymore, only to Loki, who seems bored and completely uninterested in anything she has to say. Shooting the lady a confused glance, you thank her and take Loki’s hand, shoving him in a dressing room stall.

“Here you go, here, here,” you happily toss the clothes at him, hanging some up as he groans, already dreading this inevitable process. “Aaaaand here. Have fun, snowflake. Show me everything you try on!”

You slam the stall door shut before he can protest any further.

A few minutes pass and you can still hear his incessant grumbling through the door. “Why would anyone put themselves through the torture of wearing these pants?”

The door to the dressing room swings open and Loki storms out, stomach bare for all to see and fidgeting with the waist of a pair of dark grey jeans. “These are ridiculously uncomfortable. Much too tight, in all the wrong places.”

He throws his arms out and turns in a circle, letting you scrutinise the pants.

Well...naturally, he looks fucking delicious. You start to open your mouth to say something, but that same fitting room attendant rushes over to cut you off.

“Oh, those look wonderful,” she gushes, standing right in front of you, eyes raking the god up and down. “A little tight, you said? Take those off, I’ll get you a better size.”

Loki looks a bit surprised by her eagerness to help. “No, it quite alright. I certainly don’t want to wear anything close to this ever again.”

She laughs, an annoyingly high pitched giggle, resting her hand on his bicep and promising to be right back with a properly fitting pair of jeans.

His bicep? Her hand? She’s…touching him?

Uh…just WHAT does she think she’s doing??

Yeah, you know that move. A little too well, considering you’ve used it on the same god this lady is attempting to feel up. Lucky for you, your flirtations had actually paid off.

“She doesn’t hide it very well, does she?” Loki chuckles, watching her retreating back and ignoring the steam starting to come out of your ears.

“She’s not trying to hide anything, babe. She might as well just grab your dick right in front of me,” you mutter through gritted teeth. Loki turns to look at you, noticing your dangerously narrowed eyes and clenched jaw and he can’t help but laugh.

The look in your eyes is nothing short of murderous.

“You don’t hide it very well either, darling,” he laughs and pulls you into his arms. “Let’s not kill her just yet. Maybe she is just extremely friendly.”

Yeaaahh…that’s unlikely. “Put a shirt on,” you tell him, smacking his chest with the back of your hand. “Don’t give her a view she doesn’t deserve.”

He rolls his eyes but thankfully obliges, and the lady is back just as he buttons the last button of the black shirt, a pair of jeans in her hand.

She stops in her tracks and shamelessly gives him a thorough once over—your blood pressure couldn’t possibly be higher by now.

“Oh, that shirt fits you perfectly! Whoopsies…”

Oh my god, she’s purring.

“...you missed a button.” The lady steps in front of him and Loki takes a step back, shooting you a worried glance. But you're dumbfounded, gaping at this crazy woman so blatantly making a move on your man: she rests her hands on his chest and starts playing with the button between his pecs, occasionally looking up at him through her eyelashes.

Loki is desperately trying to squirm away from her shameless hands, but she’s practically cornered him in the little fitting room.

Finally you snap out of it, catching Loki’s pointed and pleading look for assistance, and you loudly clear your throat. “Maybe I can do that?”

The lady starts at the harshness in your voice, reluctantly backing away from Loki. “Oh...yes, of course.”

Giving her as deadly of a glare as you can muster, you take the opportunity to shove past her and run your hands over Loki’s chest. “I think you’re capable of buttoning your own damn shirt,” you mutter, fixing the buttons and tucking the shirt down the front of his pants a little rougher than you intended.

His eyebrow quirks up in amusement, pointing out the obvious. “And yet you are the one keeping me up against the wall…”

“Oh, shut up. I know you’re enjoying this.”

“You do look so adorable when you get jealous,” he murmurs, pulling at the waistband of his jeans. “Possessiveness is a delightful look on you. Now hand me those other pants, I can’t breathe in these.”

He goes back into the dressing room while you sit outside, scrolling through your phone as you wait. The attendant lady has thankfully returned to her little counter, going through racks of unwanted clothes, and you can feel her glowering at you.

Hah...looks like you’ve got something she wants.

Poor dear.

Still...you just can’t resist rubbing it her face a little more. She really shouldn’t have had her hands all over him. That just took it a bit too far.

You stand up with an innocent smile and rap your knuckles on Loki’s fitting room door. “Need help in there?”

There’s a grunt and you hear the schiiip of a zipper. “Is that allowed?”

You try to bite back your giggle when the lady’s head shoots up at the sound of Loki’s voice, glaring daggers at you. “Maybe not,” you hum, a hand resting on the door handle. “But that’s never stopped us before.”

The door swings open before you can do anything else, startling you as Loki steps out with a grin and lightly pinches your cheek. “Wretched little thing...you are being unusually frisky today.” He extends his arms again and slowly turns around, putting his new outfit on display for you. “If I had known this would be the effect of midgardian fashion, I would have gone shopping ages ago.”

You swear you can feel the angered heat radiating from the lady at the counter.

“Mhmm…you look like a five course meal, babe. And I’m hungry.” You grab his shirt and yank him down, smashing your lips to his.

That certainly takes him by surprise and he almost trips, the two of you stumbling back into the fitting room until you’ve got Loki pushed against the mirror. You’re grabbing his face to yours, clutching at his shirt, biting his lip, scratching at his back...and definitely not holding back any noises, grunts, or quiet moans you feel so inclined to make—including the loud, over exaggerated smack when you finally wrench your lips from his.

The god can’t even form a complete sentence.

“I…goodness. Uh, darling...what was that?”

You sling an arm around his neck and pull him back down to your lips, just barely running your tongue along his lower lip. “I don’t like the way she’s looking at you,” you murmur, nipping at his lip once you’ve finished with your tongue. “I gotta make sure she knows you’re mine.”

Well shit, that is apparently an attitude Loki finds mighty attractive. You know, just judging by the way he snarls and grabs your waist, jerking you back into a ferocious kiss that takes the breath right out of your lungs.

“AHEM. Sorry to interrupt…”

Whaaat? Did that dressing room lady just happen to see Loki’s hands all over your ass? Bummer.

You rip your lips from his and turn around, noting the beautiful deep flush of Loki’s cheeks. “Can we help you?”

Oh, she’s pissed alright. “Only one person per fitting room, please,” she growls through gritted teeth. Then—oh hell no, she still has the nerve to look at him like that? You watch in utter astonishment as she has the audacity to let her gaze travel up to his hips and stay there, staring shamelessly at the obvious bulge in Loki’s new jeans.

And then she licks her lips.

Looking at your god like some kind of damn lollipop.

Your brain just kind of...stops working for a minute, red-hot rage filling your head. The back of your mind is screaming at you to calm the hell down, but-but...he’s yours and well, she crossed the line for “acceptable viewing” a while ago.

Your hand is groping the front of his pants before you even have a chance to think twice.

The yelp that comes from Loki’s mouth is barely human and his back slams against the wall in complete shock at your actions. Your fingers curl around him and he’s fumbling like an idiot, hands grasping at your languidly exploring hand and the clothes rack behind him, trying to keep himself upright. “Wha—oh Norns...hell, what has gotten into you?”

The lady’s jaw drops as you boldly palm him, daring her to take one step closer or say one more thing to the writhing god under your hand. Immediately flushing cherry red, she gives an angry huff and storms away, muttering something about calling her manager.

You might get kicked out of a department store for this, but hey, it’s always nice to get Loki all flustered—since it happens so rarely—and especially if it’s in public.

Payback for all he does to you.

“You...you can stop now,” he rasps, grabbing your wrist.

But he looks so pretty, all red in the face with his hair disheveled from your hands running through it, crumbling to a complete, out of control mess—all by your doing. His head is thrown back against the wall of the dressing room, mouth slightly agape and chest heaving with your every move.

“Now where’s the fun in that?” You murmur, using your other hand to pull him back down to you for another kiss. “We’re gonna get kicked out any second now, might as well make it worth it.”

“Good gods, darling, remind me to make you jealous more often,” he pants and you grab his lip between your teeth again. He clutches onto the clothes rack behind him for dear life, unable to believe that you are doing this when the people in the dressing rooms a couple doors down can so obviously hear you—it’s completely something that he would do to you, never the other way around.

Yet here you are, rubbing him silly through those jeans—which are most definitely coming home with you—and shoving your tongue into his mouth, pressing him up against the mirror in a public dressing room.

You’re not exactly sure what you are doing, much less why, but all that’s running through your mind is how that lady was practically undressing him with her eyes, so plainly wanting what is rightfully, well, yours.

Not that you can honestly blame her.

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hope you enjoyed, feel free to send me ideas!

loki tags: @bluediamond007 @himitoshi @drakesfiance @destiel1597 @dangertoozmanykids101 @archy3001 @jcalpha1 @yzssie @sciluvcatz @forthesnakeofdragons @skulliebythesea @wegingerangelica @storiesfrommirkwood @agarwaeneth @adaliamalfoy @laurfangirl424 @paradisaicsam @fitzsimmons-is-forever @ladylokimischief @katelinwrites @tarynkauai

[adhdzagreus]

44 BFT!!

44: Public Kiss

Sterling had never seen the palace in such a state of uproar. He’d been only a child when the last royal wedding had taken place between the current Emperor Elias and Empress Alexandra. What he hadn’t been able to appreciate then was exactly how much work goes into organizing an event of this magnitude. 

Now, of course, he was able to appreciate this in full. He was starting to dream about guard duty. The amount of people coming and going with gifts and preparations and messages was mind-boggling, and it was up to the guards to ensure everyone’s safety. And don’t even get him started on the amount of foreign dignitaries who demanded an escort. 

But very soon it was all going to be worth it because he’d managed to secure a spot guarding the actual wedding ceremony. It was almost as good as being an actual guest, and he was getting paid. From his spot by the side doors, he had quite a good view of the altar, and he was accompanied, of course, by Amos who was in a state of wild excitement, dressed in his most polished armor. 

All of the guards were. The captain had been quite specific: show up looking your best or don’t show up at all. Visitors from all over the known world were in attendance. It was the duty of the guards to represent Hamelin at its best. 

The basilica was quickly filling up with these visitors. Sterling and Amos guided those who had entered through the side doors to their seats, and, of course, kept an eye out for any restricted persons who might try to enter. Generally though, Sterling suspected, they were there for show. Surely, no one would try anything on such a joyous occasion as this. 

After a while, the tide of people entering began to slow, and the excitement began to build. Sterling’s watchful gaze flickered over the sea of guests, seated in rows all facing towards the altar. He recognized a few familiar faces. There was the captain, Arlo himself, with his wife and chief advisor Cornelia with her husband. There was the Cawtermaster, and the Taskmaster, and the Hootenany. In the interests of diplomacy, invitations had been sent out to other kingdoms, and in the interests of sizing up the future emperor and empress, they had been accepted. The envoys from Al Mamoon and Ding Dong Dell were under close supervision by the guards. 

Suddenly, everyone fell silent. Music had started up–a traditional, formal piece. It was about to begin. 

XXX

“Are you excited?” asked Annabelle, a young woman with long wavy hair the pale yellow of sandstone and serious brown eyes. Currently, her blonde hair was tucked into a tidy bun at the base of her neck, and she was wearing a floor-length light purple gown. 

Kyoko nodded with an anxious smile. She was seated on a velvet stool in a small dressing room off to the side of the main hall of the basilica, and her mother, Yuka, was fussing with her hair. 

“Are you nervous?” Annabelle asked. 

“A little bit,” Kyoko admitted. Truthfully, her heart was pounding in her chest, but that could’ve been excitement just as easily. 

“Why is that?” Annabelle asked. “I thought you were sure of this.” 

Kyoko smiled. Annabelle’s practical nature had made her the obvious choice for maid of honor. “I am sure,” she said. “I’m not nervous about getting married. I’m more nervous about all those people looking at me.” 

Annabelle nodded her understanding. Yuka removed a hair pin from between her lips and finished securing her daughter’s hair. “Don’t be,” she said sternly. “Forget all of those people. This is your big day. Enjoy it!” 

Kyoko smiled. “I’ll do my best, Mother.” 

“Your hair is done,” Yuka said. “Annabelle, will you help me with the veil? I’m afraid I’ll ruin her hair.” 

“Of course, ma’am,” Annabelle said. She picked up the gossamer-thin stretch of material, studded with sparkling silver sequins and jewels in the shapes of ivy and stars, and went to stand beside Yuka. 

Kyoko held still as Yuka and Annabelle placed the veil on the top of her head and fastened it in place. The fabric was surprisingly soft against her face, but it did obscure her vision considerably, so she was glad when they pulled it back away from her face. 

Her mother considered her thoughtfully, looking from the crown of her head (which was not currently crowned but would be later) to the hem of her ivory skirt. “Done,” she said after a moment. “You can look now.” 

Kyoko hopped up gleefully and went to the full length mirror standing in the corner. She gasped in delight when she saw herself. She was radiant and sparkling like a perfectly cut diamond. Her black hair was pinned on the top of her head while the veil spilled down over her shoulders, framing the bodice of her wedding gown. The dress was the most expensive thing she had ever worn, but her betrothed had insisted she get any dress she wanted, and she had no regrets. She felt gorgeous. 

“You look beautiful, Kyoko,” said Annabelle sincerely. “You’re going to make a great princess.” 

Her mother squeezed her shoulders. “Perfect.” 

Kyoko turned and looked at them both over her shoulder, feeling her skirt unfurl like the petals of a flower, and beamed. “Thank you,” she said. 

“It was my pleasure,” Annabelle said. 

“Of course,” said Yuka. 

Kyoko hugged them both in turn and said, “How long?” 

Yuka glanced at the clock on the wall. “Soon. Everyone should be seated now. It should be any minute.” 

Kyoko’s heart skipped a beat. Underneath the many layers of her skirt, she bounced her foot up and down. 

“Have you seen the prince yet?” Annabelle asked after a moment. 

Kyoko smiled gratefully. Annabelle knew just what to ask to keep her distracted. “Not since yesterday. It’s bad luck to see the bride before the wedding, you know. Roark doesn’t believe in superstition, but he also doesn’t believe in tempting fate.” 

Annabelle nodded. “It will make your reunion more meaningful anyway.” 

Kyoko nodded and bounced on the heels of her feet. “I’m excited to see him.” She grinned. “How do you think he’ll react when he sees me?” 

“Kyoko, you know I can’t read his expressions. I’m convinced you’re making them up,” said Annabelle. 

Kyoko laughed. “No, I promise, I’m not! I think he’ll smile.” 

Just then, there came a knock at the door. Kyoko went to answer it, but Annabelle, being closer, beat her to it. 

It was a palace guard. “Miss Kyoko? Mrs. Yuka? Miss Annabelle?” 

“Yes?” said Kyoko. 

“It’s beginning. I’m to escort you to the rest of the wedding party.” 

Kyoko drew a sharp breath and grasped the hands of her mother and maid of honor. “Lead the way,” she said. 

XXX

All of the guests were seated. Sterling and Amos were guarding the side doors. Sterling had been briefed on the ceremony which meant that any moment now…

There came a quiet knock at the door. That was their cue. Sterling and Amos sprang into action, opening the double doors in unison, and three people walked through, straight across the front of the basilica towards the altar. 

The first was a woman that Sterling recognized as Minerva, a high-ranking judge. She was dressed in purple and gold, the traditional colors of a royal wedding ceremony. The second was the emperor, Elias himself, looking very regal in purple. And the third was the groom–Crown Prince Roark. He looked incredibly striking in black and white. 

Sterling watched Minerva go to stand behind the altar. The prince stood on the far side with his father behind him. His expression was carefully neutral–serious but not dour. He was wearing a sweeping midnight cape over a dark gray and white suit. On his head sat a metal crown, encrusted with clear jewels. 

“Oh, doesn’t he look handsome?” Amos whispered with very much the sort of tone one might expect from an elderly woman. 

Sterling rolled his eyes–they weren’t supposed to be talking–but he nodded. The prince looked very fine, very regal. Just as he should on his wedding day. 

The music swelled, and the guests all stood. The main doors swung open, held by two of Sterling’s fellow guards. 

The first to walk down the aisle was the empress Alexandra who was smiling with the smug pride that suggested she had planned the entire thing. She was followed by Yuka, the mother of the bride, smiling more sedately but with her own kind of pride. 

They were followed by four young women, walking down the aisle in pairs. Sterling recognized the first two as Captain Arlo’s daughters, Genevieve and Vivian. The other two he couldn’t put names too, but they looked familiar. All four were dressed in light purple gowns and grinning with excitement. 

Next came the maid of honor. Sterling recognized her too. She was Annabelle, Cornelia’s daughter. She looked very pretty and happy as she followed her friends down the aisle. 

And then–Kyoko herself stepped through the doors on the arm of her father Taro, head of engineering. The crowd let out a murmur of awe. She was stunning. The happiness obvious on her face only added to her already considerable beauty. 

She walked down the aisle, slowly, gracefully, with a radiant smile on her face, her gaze fixed forward to where her groom awaited her at the altar. 

Sterling turned to glance briefly at the prince and then his gaze snapped back in surprise. The prince’s expression had changed from neutral to–there was no other word for it–besotted. His lips were curved in a small smile, and his eyes were full of affection as he watched Kyoko walk down the aisle. Sterling noticed she was looking back at the prince, and it seemed him that they were having a whole conversation, just between the two of them, through the strength of their gazes alone. 

Kyoko reached the altar and released her father’s arm. He went to stand next to his wife who smiled, and Kyoko instantly clasped her groom’s hands across the altar. The obvious love between the two of them was enough to bring a smile to Sterling’s lips despite his best efforts to remain professional. 

He hoped if he ever got married he’d be that happy and in love. 

“Friends, family, citizens of Hamelin, visitors from faraway lands,” Minerva began in a clear, calm voice. “We are gathered here today for one singular purpose: to celebrate the joining of two hearts in marriage. You have come to bear witness to the union of our Crown Prince, Roark, and Kyoko, daughter of Taro.”

“Throughout the history of the Empire,” she continued, “our emperors and empresses have rarely ruled alone. There is a reason it is customary for the crown princes and princesses of Hamelin to seek a husband or wife when they become of age, and it is simply that two is better than one. We have long understood marriage as one of the most important kinds of partnerships: where two individuals join together to become stronger and better than either would be on their own. It is our hope and our belief that the two of you will form such a union. You will be strong when the other feels weak. You will be brave when the other is frightened. You will be kind when the other is hurt. And in all of this, you will act as partners and support each other as you serve our Empire and one day lead it.” 

Minerva paused to reflect the seriousness of her statement before she turned to the prince and said, “Do you, Prince Roark, declare your intention to take this woman, Kyoko, as your lawfully wedded wife?” 

“I do,” said the prince. For the first time, he turned his gaze away from his bride to look at the judge. His expression was deadly serious without a hint of hesitation. 

Minerva nodded and turned to Kyoko. “And do you, Kyoko, daughter of Taro, declare your intention to take this man, Roark, as your lawfully wedded husband?” 

“I do!” she said quickly. Her gaze flickered to the judge, smiled, and then landed back on her groom. 

Minerva turned her gaze back out to the audience. “Prince Roark and Miss Kyoko have declared their intention to marry, but no couple can live in isolation, and no prince and princess can one day lead without the support of their people. I now ask the citizens of Hamelin to rise.”

Sterling was already standing, but Amos stood up straighter, and all but a few foreign delegates in the crowd stood up from their seats and faced the altar. 

“Do you, the citizenry of Hamelin, support the union of Prince Roark and Kyoko, daughter of Taro, recognize its validity, and swear to honor them as the future emperor and empress of Hamelin?” 

“We do!” said Amos. 

“We do,” said Sterling. 

“We do!” chorused the crowd. 

“You may be seated,” said Minerva. She turned to look back at the bride and groom. “Now comes the time for the reading of the vows. I would remind you that these are among the most solemn of promises two persons can make and to look back on these vows during times of trial as a reminder of the commitment you have made to each other.” 

She turned to look at the prince who paused briefly and then spoke. “I, Prince Roark of Hamelin, take you, Kyoko, daughter of Taro, to be my wife, the mother of my children, my princess, and one day, my empress. I swear myself to you, from now until the end of time. I shall love you when we are together and when we are apart, in times of peace and in times of war, in times of health and times of sickness. I have never loved anyone as much as I love you, and I shall never love anyone else. I devote myself to you.”

Sterling watched Kyoko’s shoulder rise and fall in a deep breath, her face beaming with joy. “I, Kyoko, daughter of Taro, take you, Prince Roark of Hamelin, to be my lover, my best friend, and my husband. I swear to remain true to you throughout the good times and the bad and to love you with my whole heart forever and ever.” 

Sterling heard a strange gasping sound from nearby and turned to look at Amos who was suspiciously bleary-eyed. Are you crying? Sterling mouthed. 

The other guard nodded tearfully. Sterling rolled his eyes and patted him on the shoulder. He supposed it all was rather beautiful. The two seemed to really love each other. That was certainly the most impassioned speech he’d ever heard from the prince before. 

“It is time for the rings,” Minerva said. The emperor and the maid of honor each stepped forward. The emperor handed the prince’s ring to Kyoko, and the maid of honor handed Kyoko’s ring to the prince. 

The couple held the rings like they were something precious and fragile. Sterling supposed they were. He was willing to bet they were worth more than a month’s pay a piece. 

The prince took his bride’s hand in his, tenderly, as if it were worth even more than the ring he grasped in the other, and slid it onto her finger. “Let this ring be a symbol of my devotion and love for you. I am honored to call you my wife.” 

And then she took his hand and slid the ring onto his finger. “I give you this ring as a reminder of my love. Wear it and think of me and know that I love you. I am honored to call you my husband.” 

Minerva spoke. “By the power vested in me by the Empire of Hamelin, I now pronounce you husband and wife.” 

The couple stepped forward in front of the altar and clasped hands. Kyoko gently leaned in and kissed him on the lips. The prince reached up and tenderly cupped her face. Then they parted and turned to the crowd who all applauded. The whole exchange lasted less than five seconds, but Sterling felt like he had witnessed something shockingly intimate. 

In most wedding ceremonies, that would’ve been the end of it, but this was no ordinary wedding. It was a royal wedding, so when the crowd had settled down, Minerva spoke again. 

“As the wife of our prince, Miss Kyoko must be granted her own title. I turn to the emperor now to perform the coronation ceremony.” She bowed and stepped back to allow Emperor Elias to take her place behind the altar. 

“Kyoko, daughter of Taro, come forward,” declared the emperor. It would’ve been quite intimidating, Sterling imagined, were it not for the gleam of mirth in his eyes. Sterling suspected he knew what it was the emperor found so amusing–the prince was blushing quite a lovely shade of pink as he looked at his wife. 

She did as she was asked, gliding over to stand in front of the emperor, the train of her gown trailing behind her. Even though the eyes of the kingdom were on here, she looked poised and elegant. Sterling was impressed. Guards had to go through a month of training to learn the art of remaining poised under pressure. 

“Do you, Kyoko, firstborn daughter of Chief Engineer Taro, accept the royal title of princess of Hamelin and all of the responsibilities it entails?” the emperor intoned. 

“I, Kyoko, firstborn daughter of Chief Engineer Taro, accept the royal title of princess of Hamelin and all of the responsibilities it entails,” she said steadily. 

“Do you swear to serve the Empire and honor its constitution in all that you do?” 

“I swear to serve the Empire and honors its constitution in all that I do.” 

“Do you vow to remain loyal to the Empire and the crown for as long as you shall live?” 

Kyoko didn’t hesitate. “I vow to remain loyal to the Empire and the crown for as long as I shall live.��� Sterling thought he saw a flicker of a smile cross the prince’s face. 

The emperor turned to the crowd. “Do you, the citizens of Hamelin, recognize Kyoko, daughter of Taro, as a princess of Hamelin?” 

“We do,” chorused the crowd, Sterling and Amos included. 

From behind the altar, Minerva drew something sparkling and white out of a drawer and handed it reverently to the emperor who bade Kyoko to kneel. She got down on one knee. 

Carefully, solemnly, the emperor placed what Sterling now recognized as a delicate golden crown on Kyoko’s head and spoke, “Rise, Kyoko, princess of Hamelin.” 

The princess rose and turned to face the crowd. She walked back to her husband’s side and took his hand, smiling gently. 

The judge cleared her throat and spoke. “I present to you the newly wed Prince Roark and Princess Kyoko.” 

Amos burst into applause, quickly followed by Sterling and the rest of the audience, as the new princess and her husband started down the aisle and the wedding party began to file out of the basilica. Sterling would’ve liked the chance to celebrate the newlyweds, but he had a job to do. The guests weren’t going to safely file out of the building on their own. 

But he hoped he’d get some time to celebrate at the reception. 

XXX 

Roark was a married man now. He didn’t feel much different. He didn’t feel any older or wiser. What he did feel was extremely happy. Happier, he would dare say, than he had ever been before. 

This was strange, he thought, as on the face of it, nothing about this situation was terribly unusual. He had attended many a ball with Kyoko at his side, and he had known she loved him, unbelievable as that was, for quite some time. 

But he had never been married before, and though he wasn’t a romantic, he was a traditionalist, and he knew the institution of marriage meant something. It meant a commitment to spend the rest of his life with the person he loved most. So yes, he was happy. 

“I think that went rather well,” his wife whispered to him with a grin as they entered the ballroom. 

“You were perfect,” he said. “No one should be able to have any complaints.” 

The wedding party broke up to mingle with the other guests who were entering in a steady stream of finely dressed people. The musicians were already warming up. By unspoken mutual agreement, Roark and Kyoko gravitated towards the far wall of the ballroom where they could have relative privacy. 

“I have to admit, I’m glad of that,” she said. “It was wonderful but a bit nerve-wracking. It looked like half the Empire was invited.” 

He nodded his understanding. “You get used to it. Still, I’m most looking forward to being alone with you later.” 

Kyoko grinned impishly and turned her beautiful head to look at him. “Oh? What do you think is going to happen then?” 

He colored slightly. “Kyoko, you know that isn’t what I meant.”

She laughed adorably. “I know, I know! All of these people isn’t your scene. But do try to have fun. It’s our wedding reception.” 

“I am,” he said, taking her hand and kissing it. “I’m quite happy.” 

“Mm, yes, I can tell,” she said. 

“Can you?” he asked. “I can’t tell if you’re being sarcastic.” 

“I’m not, love,” she said, smiling. “I can tell. You’re smiling. It suits you. You look more handsome than ever today.” 

“Thank you,” he said with a bow of his head. “You’re as kind as you are beautiful.” 

“And you’re as charming as you are handsome,” she said, grinning. “Now come dance with me!” 

“Of course,” he said, taking her hand. Its shape was familiar in his own: thin and soft with a few callouses on her fingers from working with machinery. 

She led him out onto the dancefloor. She had an impeccable sense of timing; the musicians had just finished warming up, and, noticing the two of them, started to play a new song. It was slow and sweet and hopeful. 

They fell into position easily, his hand on her back and hers on his shoulder. She smiled at him, as dazzling as a diamond, and he smiled back. 

[gatorademachinegun]

mermaids, men, and gators

working title: LMAOOOO WHAT IS A CONSTANT TENSE I DONT KNOW HER

notes: i wrote this back in september 2018 when my theme was the green gators blog but i was a chicken about posting it till right this second. so. have this i guess.

dedication: @xxsirensong both this and the entire green gator theme started with you Linda, ily

When you come to visit us down here in swampland, don’t go into the water. Don't go near it.

Stay with the people, on dry land, away from the Fishies.

That's what Old Uncle John will call them. Fishies. You'll know them by a different name, they're probably why you came down to visit if you're being perfectly honest with yourself. You came to see the Mermaids. Sirens. Fishies. They go by many names and if you follow the river down into the swamp you'll find them.

Gossamer and gorgeous, almost out of place in the dirty greens and grays of the swamp, but then again. You can only see half of them. Who knows what the delicate trail of teal green scales leads to other than the water.

Stay out of the water. You're too close already. A quick peak is all She'll allow. Better get out quick before one of your beauties signals for Her.

Old Uncle John has nothing good to say about Her.

"She's mean," he'll say, "She'd be prettier if she smiled but then you'd see the blood she's covered in!" the young ones don’t like stories about Her, but once Old John gets going.....

"Evil, she's pure evil. Nasty ass bitch never shoulda-" he'll stop here and rub at his bad eye, mangled under the too big sunglasses he wears. Someone bought him an eye patch for Christmas one year. He doesn’t use it.

If you probe for answers he’ll only get nastier, accent thickening like good white gravy until even Aunt Myra can’t understand anything other than the occasionally swear word. She’ll tell you to get him drunk and then ask. You make the mistake of taking her advice when you stumble back into town, muddy from the waist down and blabbering about mermaids.

A fifth of whiskey and a question about how to get the mud out of you jeans is all it takes to him talking. Asking you if you went down to that ‘damned swamp’ and following up with ‘you did dincha!’ complete with a swat to the head. Aunt Myra smiles in sympathy from the kitchen but doesn't step in. ‘You wanted this, remember?’ her eyes seem to say. You do.

A few hedged questions about his own jeans and then John’s eyes unfocus, lost in the past.

It starts with a pretty girl, as most of Old Uncle John’s stories do.

A pretty girl, a reckless boy and the swamp.

He sees her when he’s messing around with his friends in the creek, just a flicker of dark hair and a gentle laugh. Hushed whispers and some jostling gets his buddies to shut up long enough for them all to notice her, chest deep in the mud, smiling like it’s the last day of school.

They’ll ask if she’s stuck. She’ll move backwards in answers, the heavy mud parting like water for her. It’s in her hair. Johnny doesn't care.

He chases her, running, tripping in his haste, and falling with a wet splat while she laughs at him, low and loud. He’ll walk home muddy everyday if she laughs like that again. With a wink she stands and mud clings to a heavy, bare, chest.

Someone whistles behind him and moves closer. She does the same, something a little too sharp to be curious but a little to open to be menacing. Her eyes are as brown as the mud around them.

When she’s close enough Johnny goes cross eyed looking at her the world explodes with movement.

Someone's yelling, another’s got her by the arm, John’s got a handful of something he’s got no business touching according to his ma but his conscious quiets when they all collectively pull

She’s got a tail.

It’s twice as big around as Johnny is, even with the bulk football gave him, and covered in mud, moss, and shimmering green scales so dark they’re almost black.

Then she snarls, claws a good hunk of meat off of John’s face and rips whoever’s got her arm, shoulder right out of its socket.

They’ll find Johnny sobbing into the mud a while later, hands clapped to his face, blood running down his arms, no mermaid in sight.

When he comes back to himself, back to Old Uncle John and away from Young Little Johnny he’ll rip that second fifth outta you’re fingers and down half it in one go.

That’s all you get out of him that night.

Aunt Myra doesn't look sad when you glance up at her, she’s angry.

You wonder if this is the first time she’s heard about how her husband got his scar

When you ask Freddy, who’s across the street and weak in his shoulder, about it he’ll spit between your shoes and say some impressively unprintable things.

“You leave that gator and that witch alone boy you hear!” he’ll jam a finger into your chest until you have a bruise and are nodding frantically.

You lied to him

The gator piece is new. Aunt Myra shakes her head and tells you Fred went mad a long time ago but the little kids giggle and tell you that the gator shoots a gun.

When you point out that gator’s can't shoot guns Chrissy, the oldest of them all at the ripe old age of 6, will laugh and say “Neither can you!” before running off.

She’s got a point.

Also, mermaids are real. Why can’t gun shooting gators be too?

Your best friend laughs when you tell him. “Mermaids and gun slinging gators? The humidity is getting to you man! Better come home before your brain melts entirely!”

You’ll hang up on him, the asshole.

A picture you decide, milking a glass of orange juice Aunt Myra doesn't know you spiked, get a picture of the mermaids avoid whichever one fucked Uncle John’s face, and become famous for it.

You might have had a little too much of that orange juice.

Strapped into borrowed waders that are too big for you, phone in hand, you’ll be hip deep in mud with a half a mind to quit when you’ll see them.

They’re further in than last time, pushed up on a bank of semi dry sand, speaking in a language you don't realize. You’ve got an eye full of bare skin in long lean lines, that fades into delicate scales until their the size of your palm and colored the same as the marsh plants you fought through to get here.

You’ll barely unlock your phone when one of them sees you and flicks her tail up, sending mud flying. It’ll land dead in front of you, splattering up into your face, and slicking your phone.

By the time you get it out of your eyes, a scaled nose is peeking up from the water, dead in front of you.

Everyone knows, everyone is taught what those are. Gator.

It’s been too long since you’ve visited though, and the lessons are dull in your mind. Do you run? Stay put? Scream?

The decision will be taken from you when She arrives.

You know immediately it’s Her. the one who fucked Old Uncle John’s face.

Hand prints brand her bare chest, a shade of sickly green almost the exact size of your own hand on her breast, you’re only a little older than Uncle John was, you realize with a start.

Another is branded around her upper arm, the same shade of green that makes every buried instinct in you scream of sickness and pain and you have the overwhelming urge to vomit.

She’ll stop you, the murky water and mud parting easily for her, and she’ll grip your jaw in one hand, looming over you.

The gator moves to the side, but you’ll feel it’s breath on the side of your exposed neck, the only think you can focus on whole She yells at you in a language you have no hope of ever understanding.

When She’s done, brown eyes narrowed in rage, you’ll notice the gator skin on her shoulders. Stitched into her flesh, with heavy thread, an armor leading down her back. To where you can't see, head still pulled into an unnatural angle, her grip on your jaw ever tightening with your staring.

Finally She’ll let you go, but Her gator stays, breathing on you with it’s too big nostrils, looking almost gleeful when you spare a glance to check its location. Chrissy will be disappointed you didn't see its gun.

If you survive this that is.

When She drops you, and She will, for not even the merfolk can yell forever, you’ll flounder for balance, Her steady weight gone, no longer holding you up. You hadn't realized you’d slumped into her grip.

She’ll catch you, steady you, but it’s with the prong of a pitchfork. The metal is cold against your back and she’s sneering, lips pulled back to reveal pointed teeth and a algae green tongue that darts out to taste the air.

You are in no position to wonder about snake mermaids in the swamps, because she’s got her pitchfork in your face, one tip indenting the flesh of your cheek. The same spot Uncle John has his scar.

She’ll see the fear flash in your face because her next move is a jerk of the tines, making a shallow cut on your face. It burns the way cuts do when you get dirt in them and your eye will water from the sting of it.

“Never. Again.” She’ll say in careful English, then again in Spanish because you actually paid attention in that class and again in another language, changing each time but the same two words.

She punctuates each languages change with a jab to your chest, ripping your borrowed waders and your shirt until you're back into the river proper, gator still swimming idly beside you.

When she pulls back something ripples behind her, heavy and green.

“Gator,” you breath and glance down at your unwanted buddy. No scales are missing from his hide but that is unmistakable gatorskin that flows from her shoulders. The stitching……

She wields a pitchfork, stands tall on her tail, wears a cape of alligator hide and protects the way she was never protected. Hand prints mar her skin, sickly against smooth flesh and she doesn't cover them, her cape is her only kind of clothing and you’re still not sure if her gator companion wields a gun or not.

You know when you’re not wanted enough to leave before you find out

Aunt Myra scolds you for leaving like that and ripping a good pair of waders but won't hear anything about mermaids or alligators.

Your best friend thinks it’s the funniest shit when you call him, crowing about humidity and going crazy. You don't hang up, but you touch the cut on your cheek, and the scraps on your chest. You’re not crazy.

You leave shortly after that, mad that you’re phone is ruined no good pictures at all, a wasted trip. Your mad about Her roughing you up, mad about that damn gator who shoots better than you do.

Old Uncle John has a drink with you before your drive back home, and both of you are muttering about ‘damn Fishies’ before the bottle is even halfway gone.

.

.

.

Across the swamp, across the sea, She sighs and stitches another scale into her cape. Humans will never learn to leave well enough alone. They will never understand Her pain.

The butt of her pitchfork slams against the riverbed rhythmically, calling.

As the water around Her ripples she sets aside her needle and rises, watching Her Sisters rally to her cry

Since they do not learn, they will drown.

And the Waters will be all the better for it

[murderincrp]

PROFILE LOADED... 「KIM TAEHYUNG」「UNAFFILIATED」「TWENTY」

“Twenty-year-old LAW INTERN and IT TECHNICIAN that goes by the alias ‘PROPHET’. No known allies.”

✘ THREAT LEVEL LOW. NO PRECAUTIONS NECESSARY...

WARNING: PARENT DEATH

[ BACKGROUND... ]

His life starts out cookie-cutter, simple, pleasantly average. His father works as an accountant for a local bank, his mother as a primary school teacher. She likes her tea with lemon and honey and he likes his coffee with cream. He likes to watch golf on weekend mornings and she tunes into foreign romantic comedies on weekend evenings, with room for Taehyung’s cartoons on Saturday mornings. She always puts a little too much detergent in the dishwasher and he always forgets which button on the remote changes the channel. Taehyung covers the floor in Lego masterpieces, digs through a box of their old outdated electronics so he can take them apart, count their pieces, observe their parts, then put them back together again. A few of his teachers throw around the word ‘gifted’ and his parents begin saving pennies for the costly middle school he will undoubtedly test into with flying colors. Taehyung is perfectly happy playing on old clunky computers and building Lego starships and watching superheroes fight bad guys on TV.

He is nine when they take him out to see the newest Batman film, after he insists that he’s big enough to read all the subtitles now and after his parents promise to help him when they go just a little too fast. He dons his black cape and his light up sneakers and they drive off to a movie theater by the river, because his parents like to hold hands and walk along the water, like they did when they were young sweethearts. They do just that on their way back to the car, as Taehyung runs a few meters ahead, acting out the explosions and the car chases still fresh in his mind from the film he insists won’t give him nightmares even if it is way past his bedtime.

“Taehyung-ah,” his mother calls fondly, “don’t run too far ahead.”

“Eomma, I’m Batman!”

His parents share a chuckle, his mother resting her weight against his father’s arm as they walk.

“Eomma look, I-ah–”

He freezes in his tracks, spotting a group of shadows in the distance. Some are faintly lit with the orange glow of cigarettes, the others moving in jerking motions similar to the ones he saw in the movie only minutes ago.

“What’s that-”

His parents catch up, his mother drawing him close, the atmosphere suddenly tense. Something large and lifeless slides into the water.

“Is that-”

“We should call someone-”

“I’ll call the police, let’s go back to the ca-”

“Drop it.”

A gruff, unfamiliar voice sounds from behind the terrified family. Taehyung turns when his mother does, feeling his father’s hand close on top of hers over his shoulder. On any other day, he’d look like a perfectly normal man, average height, stiff black hair, a smattering of pock marks across his cheeks, a thin beard at the tip of his chin and a faint scar across his right temple. He’d look perfectly normal, save for the barrel of a gun he had pointed at the family.

“Drop the phone.”

“Please. We’ll give you whatever you want.” Taehyung’s never heard his father sound afraid before, which is the only thought he’s able to have as he lets the device skitter across the pavement, “Just don’t hurt our boy.”

“Appa-”

“Hush, Taehyung,” his mother mutters, her voice wet with frightened tears. The man moves the gun toward Taehyung and Taehyung feels his mother’s arm drape across his chest, tugging him as close to her as humanly possible.

“Please-”

He hesitates for a long moment, before another frame approaches, tossing the glow of a cigarette into a nearby patch of weeds growing out of a crack in the ground.

“What the hell are you doing?”

“I-”

“They’ve seen too much. Kill them.”

“What?”

“Please-”

“Eomma-”

“Shut up!”

Taehyung shuts his mouth audibly, feeling the light scratch of his mother’s wedding ring against the palm of his hand as he squeezes her fingers.

“They’ve seen your face. And now they’ve seen mine. What, do you think they wouldn’t pinpoint you in a lineup?”

“Please, we won’t tell anyone, we-”

“Do it or I will. And do it now. Our window’s closing. We gotta dip.”

Time seems to slow down in that moment, as the second man disappears back down the slope toward the river. Taehyung chances a frightened glance up at his father in the same second that the man pulls the trigger. His father falls. His mother’s scream sounds distant, like he’s hearing it through water, but it’s cut short by another shot, which sends her body to the ground next to her husband’s. Her hand slides out of Taehyung, lands next to his foot, taps his shoe, which starts to light up in a dissident brilliance of red and blue. He looks up at the man, meets the eye of the barrel with his own. His lip trembles. The man’s hand shakes. Another shot sounds. Something tugs on Taehyung’s ear, something warm and wet trickles down the back of his neck. He falls, dizzy and afraid, the bodies of his parents still warm when they break his fall. Black inches into his vision and takes it over completely until it’s cleared away by the sound of sirens, of car doors slamming, of voices swarming.

“We have a pulse on the boy!”

“Appa-” he sobs weakly as hands carefully pry him away from his parents.

“It’s okay, you’re okay…”

“Eomma-”

Careful hands shine a light in his eyes, carry him onto a stretcher, slot him easily into the back of an ambulance, his shoes lighting up with every jostle. He can’t see through dazed tears when they zip his parents into black bags. They’ve got a mask over his face. Someone’s holding his hand, petting his hair, but it’s not his mother.

They tell him he’s lucky to be alive. The bullet clipped his ear, grazed his head, but will do not permanent physical damage save for the missing notch in his ear and the faint scar that’ll eventually be covered by his hair. He tells the police officers everything he can remember, about the man’s scar, his beard, the shadows at the lake. And yet, somehow, by the end of it, the authorities conclude the case by titling it a botched robbery, in spite of the fact that nothing was stolen, not even the scratched phone Taehyung’s father had slid across the pavement. Taehyung is a boy, a young child too trusting of authority to question the verdict, lets his psychologist convince him that it was, in fact, a robbery in spite of some of his conflicting memories that grow foggier every day. Enough rereads of Batman’s stories convince him that perhaps it had been a robbery after all.

He moves in with his fraternal grandparents, the life insurance money placed in an account that his family vows to maintain for his education. Some of it goes toward funding his attendance at good private schools in the area, some of it toward the medical bills his family can’t afford, but most of it stays tucked away for when he is old enough to know what he wants to do with it. His life stays relatively quiet after that, most of his free time spent after school in robotics clubs or at home mastering coding, encrypting, hacking, skills far more advanced than most young people his age. The social aspects of school are as easy to him as they are for any teenager with an exceptional affinity for numbers, computers, and superheroes (see: not very), but he makes a handful of good friends where he can.

His grandmother passes away shortly before his high school graduation, and his grandfather is moved into a nursing home, where he can receive round-the-clock care. His father’s sister and her husband offer him a place to stay, but he knows they have two young children of their own and refuses to be a burden on his family any longer. With their help, he moves into his own studio apartment just outside of Hongdae, drops a job as a delivery boy for a local hamburger restaurant after three months and wanders around university campuses on his bike instead, offering college students computer repairs for a fee less than their school charges for the same work.

His family suggests he consider university himself, but he assures them he will when he’s ready, though he’s started to think he might not need it at all. But the idea has started to sound more appealing now that he’s started at his new job, one he stumbled upon by accident, after helping a law student retrieve her hard drive after a particularly nasty meltdown. Now he works as an intern himself, acting as the resident IT tech for a local criminal defense law office, though he does more than just clear the office computers of malware and viruses; sometimes a good hack and that one missed tidbit of information is all the lawyers need to win a case.

It may not be as cookie-cutter as his parents might have imagined his future to be, but he likes to think that, if they are looking down on him, they are at least proud of how quickly he’s adapted to taking care of himself.

[ BEHAVIOR... ]

You could see he would never hurt a fly, but the real truth is that he has most likely never looked away from a computer screen long enough to even consider it. If people had paid attention to him in high school, he may have made it onto a yearbook superlatives page for being the ‘Quirkiest’, the ‘Class Clown’, or the ‘Most Likely to Discover a New Planet’. But truthfully, even then, he spent his time with his nose buried in codes and robotics, went virtually unnoticed until he walked the stage for his own graduation and a majority of his class realized they’d never seen this boy in their lives.

His charm is understated, all bright smiles and constant chatter, often about things no one else understands (or, more likely, cares about). He is kind and gracious, will fix a computer or a smartphone for free if someone can’t afford to pay. He is often too friendly too quickly, in a way that may be off-putting for some, and the underlying fear of being alone he harbors translates into his latching on to others before they might be ready for it. And though his IQ is high, his memorization of numbers and facts almost photographic, his social intelligence is less fortified and his attention span is something to be desired, which one can expect from someone who has probably spent more time talking to computers than he has to actual people. He is not entirely naive, as is often expected of him, nor is he particularly imperceptive; he is aware of the negative in the world, though he prefers not to acknowledge it, as if that will somehow sap away its strength and negate its existence.

[smokeybrandreviews]

Smokey brand Retro Reviews: Wanna Know How I Got These Scars?

With the advent of Black Panther upon us, and all of the borderline ridiculous hype accompanying it, i wanted to take this time and look back on a film franchise that i absolutely adored. A franchise that had a massive amount of hype, particularly the second, and delivered. It’s one of my all-time favorite film series right up there with Star Wars and Potter. The franchise i’m talking about is Nolan’s Dark Knight Trilogy.

The Legendary

Heath Ledger. Holy sh*t. I was one of the people who kind of cringed when Ledger was announced as the Joker. When the first production stills of him in full character came out, my apprehension was not sated. And then i saw that IMAX special. That bank heist scene. “Whatever doesn’t kill you simple makes you...stranger.” I was sold, one hundred percent. The illest thing? That’s him at a one. Ledger slowly, methodically, and expertly, dialed up that performance to a goddamn eleven! He took home Oscar gold posthumously and deserved every single bit of that sh*t. To this day, Ledger’s portrayal of a grease paint faced, sociopath, is one of the best example of character acting i have ever had the pleasure to witness.

The Best

Christopher Nolan’s direction is at it’s finest during this trilogy. You can see it in his attention to detail. There’s a scene in TDK where a truck gets flipped. Like, he did that. Nolan DID that. He PRACTICED that! That’s f*cking insane! HE knew he needed that scene and he went out and made sure it worked, perfectly! That kind of passion for your craft is rare ad it makes for whatever said person is working on, that much better. And that’s not getting into the use of color or the functionality of all the Bat tech or the very real commentary each of the films takes to heart. It’s insane how much information Nolan packs in the visual medium and The Dark Knight trilogy is a masterwork of doing just that.

The goddamn scripts were f*cking brilliant. That plot, both individually and overarching, were spectacular. The Dark Knight is one of the greatest crime thrillers i have ever seen but that overarching character plot of Batman becoming Bruce Wayne was just as satisfying. The matter-of-fact way Brice become batman. The almost reactionary creation of The Joker. The way The Dark Knight Rises closes out that arc. Literally these three scripts, this overall narrative, was goddamn outstanding. Near Godfather levels of brilliance. The Nolan brothers and David Goyer wrote an expressive, expansive, hero tale that brilliantly redefines and deconstructs what it means to be heroic.  

Tom Hardy is an expert in his craft. He’s the only reason i’m going to go see that train wreck Venom film. I somehow hope he can elevate that Sony schlock the way he elevated what he was given for Bane. That voice? Him. Them gains? Him. That cold, methodical, energy? All. Him. Hardy acted more with just his eyes than most actors can with their entire bodies and an award wining script. While i think he’s a step below Ledger’s Joker, he’s still right up there as one of the best villains ever to be captured on film. I’m talking Lecter levels of sinister.

Lost in the shuffle, mostly because he had to share a screen with what turned out to be the best performance of that decade, was Aaron Eckhart’s Harvey Two-Face. Actually, performance aside, can we just appreciate HOW Harvey became Two-Face? the way Nolan decided to frame that origin? It’s goddamn outstanding!  I feel like that character deserves it’s own mention but without Eckhart, we’d juts have some ridiculously realistic CG on the face of a less capable stand in. Aaron Eckhart was just as pivotal to this film as Bale or Caine or Ledger and cats need to give credit where it’s due.

These movies are f*cking beautiful. The cinematography is just exceptional. There area few scenes that spring to mind immediately; The sweeping scopes surrounding the League of Shadows Himalayan headquarters, the scene where the Joker declares everything burns, or that initial introduction of Bane crashing that plane - there are scenes and specific frames in these films that deserve to be hung in museums. They’re pure art. Wally Pfiser is a goddamn sage in his craft and deserves all of the praise.

The scores for these films feed into every other bit of pure inspiration and essentially accentuate every scene with that much more magic. That long string that escalates into an abrupt percussion which defined who the Joker was. That chant of rise when Bruce was trying to climb out of that pit in Rises was perfect. Batman’s new theme, with all of it’s curt percussion, fueled the controlled rage that Bale portrayed for his character. Look, i can’t gush enough about these films but these scores are classic in their own right. As they should be. This is Hans Zimmer we’re talking about. All he does is makes hits!

The Better

I touched upon this earlier in the review with the reference to the truck flip but, goddamn, the effects in these films are brilliant. Nola did everything he could piratically which lends itself to the realism he wanted to ground his Batman story with and it f*cking works. From masterfully shot and executed action set pieces like the truck flip in TDK or the plane crash at the beginning of TDKR, sh*t was done in real time, with real consequences. If they f*cked up that shot, it wasn’t happening again. But Nolan pulled them off and they were the definition of grandiose and spectacle. Goddamn, were they a feat for the eyes! I was dumbstruck with the truck flip but straight gobsmacked by the plane crash. that sh*t was wild! And that’s not even getting into the intricacies of Two-Face. That sh*t should have one an Oscar for effect because, holy sh*t!

The editing of these films was deftly handled. With the exception of a few slow starts in Rises, the pacing and film structure overall complimented the story Nolan was trying to tell. Lee Smith knows how to cut a Nolan film and, i think, his work on The Dark Knight film was some of his best. It must have been difficult trying to craft a coherent film, trying to cut out scenes that were crafted by a master, performed by a genius, and framed by a sage. He pulled it off though. These films are a breeze to watch. It doens’t seem like you’ve been watching damn near 9 hours worth of cinema if yo take them in back-to-back.

Christian Bale was a pretty good Batman. I thought he was better as Wayne than Bats but he gave a goddamn outstanding performance, overall. I think he was constantly outshined by his supporting cast, particularly Caine, Ledger, and Hardy, but overall, he was probably the third or fourth best thing about these films.

Speaking of Michael Caine, he is always excellent in whatever he decides to be in but Caine IS the definitive Alfred Pennyworth now. That bar is crazy high because he did exactly what he always does; steal scenes and shame lesser actors. The chemistry he had with Bale was sickeningly sweet. You could feel how much his Alfred cared for Bale’s Wayne. It was just goddamn adorable.

Including Lucious Fox was an interesting choice but it paid off beautifully, especially after the pat went to God himself, Morgan Freeman. Similarly to Michael Caine, this man can turn in no terrible performances. He’s just that goddamn good!

Just a quick note, i wanted to mention Joseph Gordon Levitt, Anne Hathaway, Cillian Murphy, Marion Cotillard, and Liam Neeson. For whatever reason, i kind of feel like we didn’t get to see enough of their characters for them to make as rich as an impression of other cats in these films but, at the same time, I can’t imagine them without their contributions. Particularly Murphy’s Crane. His Scarecrow kind of became the mascot for the entire franchise and i find that to be just delicious. Hathaway’s Catwoman is kind of an enigma for me. I get why she’s there but it’s hard to think that there were others that better fit that role. That, and the fact that Michelle Pfeiffer will always be MY Catwoman. Meow!

The overall casting was spectacular. I made a note to reference individual performances that were standout but literally all of the major players did a spectacular job in this film series. Even the supporting characters elevated their game considerably and consistently to match the energy Nolan brought to this franchise. With the exception of one character but she was kind of fixed right before she was killed off, as noted below.

The Good

The character of Rachel Dawes is quite literally the weakest aspect of these films. I hated her in Begins but i thought she was redeemed in TDK. Maggie Gyllenhaal was just delightful. Until she wasn’t. And by wasn’t, i mean murdered. I feel like Katie Holmes was wildly miscast for this flick.

The Verdict

I love The Dark Knight trilogy. Love. It’s f*cking brilliant. This review started out as a singular Dark Knight retrospective but, as i dug into films, i realized, it has to be one overarching expose. It had to be. You can’t talk about one film without referencing another. They are all that excellent. Christopher Nolan changed the superhero game with The Dark Knight and forced an industry to look at what was once considered goofy children fair, as legitimate cinematic gold. Oscar Gold. Without TDK, we would ever have gotten the emotionally crippling Logan or the political satire of Winter Soldier or the visceral reality of Split or that darkly humorous take Ryan Reynolds brought with Deadpool. The Dark Knight trilogy made all of those happen and it deserves it’s place at the very top of cape flicks. It deserves it’s place at the very top of cinema. Watch these films, man. You won’t be disappointed!