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lizkreates · 1 year ago

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Reflection ~A Trigun fan comic~ (Comic Script in the Keep Reading)

Context note: This takes place just after the events of TriMax Vol 10 on Brad’s ship going to December. I’m giving them more time on the trip because Livio grew a full-ass beard between pickup and drop-off (prob because of his healing factor, who knows.) Enjoy!

Vash's coffee is a reference to my first comic Black Coffee & Donuts!

Comic Script for Reflection: A Trigun Fan Comic

PAGE 1

Panel 1: Vash, with his hair down and dressed in his black undersuit, wakes up startled in a cold sweat. He clearly slept poorly bags under his eyes. It’s only been a day or two since he laid Wolfwood to rest.

Panel 2: A full body shot of him stepping out of the bed, his Colt weight down his hip, face obscured.

Panel 3: He leans over the counter in front of a mirror, shoulders hunched, head hanging.

Panel 4: He looks up, hand covering the remaining blonde of his hair so it appears full black. Large pale portraits of Rem and Wolfwood flank Vash on each side in the background.

Vash: Rem, Wolfwood, you both sacrificed everything. Funny isn’t it that I’m beginning to look more like you?

PAGE 2

Panel 1: Vash flashes back to a moment when he and Wolfwood walked side by side in the arid desert of No Man’s Land.

Vash: Wolfwood, you were there every day by my side, now I'm alone again.

Panel 2: Another flashback to a moment Vash and Wolfwood sat on the edge of a rooftop and looked out over the cityscape to the stars pricking the sky.

Vash: There was so much unsaid between us.

Panel 3: A fresh flashback to the couch, where Vash held Wolfwood's hand in his final moments.

Vash: I wish I had known how to tell you that I loved you before it was too late.

Panel 4: A dramatic crop of half of Vash’s lower face, tears streaming down his cheeks as he cries out.

PAGE 3

Panel 1: Livio, a tall, tan, broad-shoulder, white-haired man with a tribal tattoo over his left eye, dressed in a white shirt and black pants, bursts through the bedroom door concerned.

Livio: Mr. Vash, I heard crying, are you okay?!

Panel 2: Vash looks over, a little comically rattled and surprised

Vash: Livio?

Panel 3: Close-up of Vash’s lower face smiling, a tear rolling down his face.

Vash: I’m alright.

Panel 4: A blank Panel, filled with still air

Vash: Actually.

Panel 5: Big Panel, Vash crying into the crook of his arm.

Vash: I'm not... I miss him. I can’t stop missing him.

PAGE 4

Panel 1: Vash rubs the tears from his eyes, Livio grabs his arm shamefully, his body language clearly showing regret and discomfort.

Livio: I’ll uh, leave you to it, and see myself out.

Vash: It’s okay, I just didn’t want anyone to see me like this.

Panel 2: Close-up of Livio looking down.

Livio: It’s better to let yer feelin’s out than to hide ‘em and let ‘em fester, I should know.

Panel 3: Livio turns to the side and a sad snot stream runs down his nose he was trying to keep in. Livio is very much struggling allowing himself to miss Wolfwood. He doesn’t feel like, he should even though he desperately does.

Sounds effects: sniff

Vash: Now who’s keeping in their feelings? Let it out! He was your friend too, wasn’t he? You deserve to cry too.

Panel 4: Livio smiles sheepishly. He wants to make Wolfwood proud of him first.

Livio: Yeah, I suppose he was, all this time. But I don’t think I’ve earned that right yet.

Panel 5: Livio’s stomach growls LOUDLY. Draw in a chibi style, breaking the tension.

Sound effects: grumble

Panel 6: Drawn in chibi style, Vash waves around his noddle arms and Livio’s mood brightens, grinning with excitement.

Vash: Oh, are you hungry?

Livio: Hell yeah, I am!

Vash: What would you like?

Livio: Uh, pancakes!

Vash: Alright, pancakes it is!

PAGE 5

Panel 1: They sit down and eat at a retro 50s-style diner booth in a small nook of the ship. Livio swirls the last of his pancake in syrup on the plate. Vash cradles a black coffee with both hands looking at Livio.

Vash: Hey, Livio, what do you want to do when this is all over?

Livio: Dunno, maybe wander around for a while or return to the orphanage to help make up for what I and the other guy did.

Panel 2: Livio hangs his head, eyebrows worried.

Livio: If I can be honest with ya, I'm scared to face them.

Panel 3: Zoomed out drawn in chibi style to break the tension. Livio shivers.

Vash: Is that scarier than Elendira?

Sound effects: shivers

Panel 4: They laugh.

Livio: Well, when ya put it like, hell no!

Vash: Haha!

Panel 5: Extreme close-up of Livio’s eyes softening as he remembers back to his time at the orphanage.

Livio: I think he’d like that. They were my first real family.

Panel 6: Vash is hit with a sudden realization, Livio has no one right now. In a misty background, he remembers when Razlo cried out after Wolfwood did in Master Chapel.

Vash (internal): Wolfwood, you left Livio in my care... so we wouldn’t be alone.

Razlo (background): ...I’m all alone again!

PAGE 6

Panel 1: Close-up of Vash with the sincerest smile.

Vash: I hope you know you’re not alone. You have me now.

Panel 2: Livio’s face contorts sorrowfully.

Livio/Razlo (internal): I don’t deserve this.

Livio: Mr. Vash I --

Vash: Wait, before you say anything...

Panel 3: Zoom out so we can see both of them and the table. Vash extends his leg as he digs deep into his pants pocket. Livio leans on the table watching him.

Vash: I know that we don’t know each other well yet, but he trusted you with me and I trusted him, wholly and completely, so…

Panel 4: Extreme close-up, Vash pulls out 2 black leather wristbands with silver latches.

PAGE 7

Panel 1: Vash offers Livio a wristband while holding one for himself in the same hand.

Vash: Here. One for you, one for me. I used a strap from his cross to make it, so part of him will always be with us.

Panel 2: Livio puts the wristband on his left hand.

Livio: Thank you.

Panel 3: Extreme close-up of Livio’s non-tattooed eye, tears pricking his lashes.

Livio: I hope one day I can repay yer kindness.

Panel 4: They fist bump wristbands in view.

Vash: Welcome to the family, Livio.

PAGE 8

Panel 1: A large portrait of Wolfwood with his sunglasses and back turned, fills the background, smiling as he holds his cigarette in his hand.

Livio: Hey, Mr. Vash?

Vash: Mm?

Livio: Would you mind tellin’ me a lil more about him… Wolfwood? Ya see, we were close at the orphanage as kids, but I don’t know who he became. I’ll understand if you don’t want to, you owe me absolutely nothin’.

Panel 2: A close-up of Vash’s coffee, Wolfwood’s staple morning drink, Vash’s reflection smiles back, tears in his eyes.

Vash: I’d love to.

PAGE 9

Panel 1: Bonus! Sometime later. Drawn in chibi style.

Livio: Can I hug ya?

Vash: Sure, buddy!

Panel 2: They hug, Vash smiles, and Livio whimpers as he lets out the waterworks. He’s thankful for Vash’s kindness.

Panel 3: This sets Vash off, who also sobs. They cry in each other’s arms.

#Trigun #Trigun Maximum #TriMax #spoilers #Trigun Spoilers #Vashwood #Vash #Vash the Stampede #Livio #Livio the Double Fang #Nicholas D Wolfwood #Wolfwood #my art #tw character death mention #food #TrigunStampede #NO BETA WE DIE LIKE GUNG-HO-GUNS #sorry for any choppy dialogue #shoved a lot in here but wanted to touch on Trigun's running themes like loneliness and family #and Vash being heart wrenchingly kind #vash privately mourning wolfwood was a good move on nightow's part but my guy I needed to see some tears to fill the hole in my heart #take that trust line as you will to fit your narrative :3 #i love these 3 idiots (affectionate) a lot and I can't fit all I want to say in the tags #this spawned from an art mistake I noticed in the manga #livio's wristbands changed from 2 to 3 at some point #it looked suspiciously like a strap from Wolfwood's cross and the rest is history #and i needed more bonding time between vash and livio #and for them to know they aren't alone in this fight #i 100% think livio would struggle mourning ww and becoming worthy to do so #I needed this so maybe someone needs it too

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dokidokitsuna · 7 months ago

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The Diary of Penny Polendina

The other day I was inspired to try working on a different NeverFell Projects installment, one that would probably be a lot shorter and quicker to write, because it's not like I care that deeply about Penny, right??

Well, I was incredibly wrong. ^^; So wrong that I'm actually having trouble with this story now...essentially, Penny goes through a bit of a 'rebellious phase' (gross oversimplification, but that's all you get for now) and there are, surprisingly, a lot of aspects of that character arc that I want to explore. Plus, a pivotal connection with Pyrrha, the climax of which I haven't quite figured out yet...

God only knows if I'll be able to finish, or if I'll just write the first 2/3rds of the story and leave it at that. But I figured I might as well warm up by talking about the designs. ^^

Penny's new look is basically 'Disney's Pinocchio, color picked from Arthur Watts' character design'~

I didn't necessarily want her to look evil, just...bolder. Like she specifically picked 'daring' items that maybe her father or Ironwood's PR team would rather she didn't wear, at least not compared to the more innocent frilly pastels she had on before. Between the chest window, midriff, and short sleeves, she's actually showing a lot more skin than before, despite still being 90% covered up. ^^;

Those multicolored wrist accessories are prototype weapons invented by Dr. Watts, that mix and pressurize Dust from the cartridges to cast "artificial magic". This way I get to do a bit of the 'Winter Maiden Penny' stuff in this Vol. 3-locked AU~

Penny's magic usage is one of the things that stumped me when writing this story...In NeverFell, magic isn't just glowy rainbow lasers or weather powers-- it essentially allows the user access to any conceivable semblance at any time; its potential is limitless. Being a beginner, Penny would probably just come up with one signature 'spell' to use in tandem with her Floating Array...but I can't decide what I want her to do. ^^; I think I'd like for her to do something connected to dance, because I feel like that's something unique to her, the way she dances with her weapons before striking. Nobody ever points out how the "robot" in the cast is the one who chooses to spend energy on unnecessary movements that aren't even used to maneuver around an enemy; they're just cute and fun. ^^ I think that's a great encapsulation of who Penny is~

Redesigning Pyrrha is always super difficult, because her original design is so perfect. But I like this end result a LOT. ^^ I may need to adjust the pant legs a bit, but overall it feels like a very believable alt outfit that keeps the spirit of the character.

Pyrrha is another one of the stumbling blocks in this story, because I'm now forced to create at least one malleable personality trait for her-- i.e. one that isn't intrinsically tied to Jaune and/or the plot. Something that she could actually take into a meaningful relationship with a different character... I had the idea to expand her "I'm sorry!" gag into a real guilt complex, where she has trouble letting go of instances where she's made mistakes or hurt someone. In this case, dismembering Penny 1.0 and essentially ending her life. :T She seeks out 2.0 in a desperate effort to make things right, and ends up helping her with ...things, and growing as people or whatever, and all that other stuff I have yet to write. ^^;

I just realized that Pyrrha could use her polarity semblance to pull Penny towards her in a situation where they need to reach each other...that's so cute. ^^ I gotta remember that~

#rwby #fan art #penny polendina #pyrrha nikos #neverfell

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barbiegirldream · 1 month ago

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The question from the Egoist Bible vol 2 that got me thinking really was the "If I had a time machine would I go to the past or the future?"

Lorenzo going for future because the past was starving in the streets and his insistence on having fun because it has to be worth it so long as he has enough money. When is it ever enough money? Because he can not go back to the streets; he can not lose this. So the future could prove to him it Will be worth it.

Sae's response, "I don't have hopes or regrets for my past or future. Live in the now," shows that he has absolutely no excitement left about his life. He cannot muster up anything other than his neutral face because nothing matters enough to do anything except drag himself from one day to the next. What hopes and dreams should he maintain when his life is so miserable.

To Kaiser's psychological torment where all he wants in the future is salvation and the hopes that at some point he'll be free of all the demons in his head and on the field. Where the thoughts of his past have him on the ground screaming and laughing because his brain can not process the amount of abuse he faced and he's just on the soccer field trying to force himself into some mold of a person that everyone else seems to wear without struggle.

It's about the different extremes of coping with a situation so brutally toxic and suffocating it is burying the New Generation World XI teenagers alive, and the world is cheering it on with chocolates delivered to their front doors.

#blue lock #don lorenzo #sae itoshi #michael kaiser #new generation world XI #egoist bible vol 2

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ferrstappen · 4 months ago

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everybody wants a taste vol. 2 l Lando Norris

a/n: i just had to write this to have a clear mind. it'snot the best, i'm sorry but i hope you like it anyway <3 i have a project in mind that I CANNOT WAIT to share so i needed to write this after months of promising, i'm sorry.

summary: everybody wants a taste part ii

Lando did everything he could to stop his mind from thinking about you and why you still weren’t in the hotel room.

You were wrong, you were oh-so-wrong from walking away like that in the middle of an argument, especially when he was trying to let you know how he was feeling, letting out the repressed emotions boiling in his chest for weeks, maybe he didn’t want to say out loud that they had been gnawing his insides for months now.

But when he noticed the expensive velvet dress lifeless on the floor, his heart beat faster and his hands started sweating as he reminisced about the FaceTime call while he was racing in Mexico and you were in Paris, trying to get the phone to stay upright to show him the different gowns for the multiple red carpets awaiting, planning on the color of his bowtie and shoes, whining when you insisted he had to shave, at least for the Oscars.

He was sad, yes, but it didn’t mean he wasn’t pissed off still. Lando was not going to back off, not this time. The problem was, neither were you while you walked towards the hotel room to collect your things.

It probably was the most silent plane ride either of you’d ever been on, with Lando putting on his headphones and playing a random video game as you pulled the covers and tried to get some sleep, dreading the moment you stepped inside your precious home in Montecarlo, with fans, mostly Lando’s, trying to get a peek inside the luxury car carrying you, and the painfully obvious discomfort and sadness that would go beyond the polarized windows and bright flashes.

Because that was it for the rest of the time.

Silence.

It’s not like you decided to sweep it under the rug and pretend it never happened, no, it was lingering in the air; whenever you woke up, when he texted “I love you” when you let him know you got a new role, when he spent some days in England and only texted once he was there, when he felt an enormous surge of pride when your name was announced as a nominee for the Golden Globes, but seconds later his name was announced as well.

And it all came back.

Rumors started flooding, and you weren’t stupid, making an extreme effort to fly to Abu Dhabi to support him during the last race of the season, even if it meant not sleeping for almost 48 hours and flying from one continent to the other in the middle of a press tour.

Maybe that was the beginning of starting to feel like yourself again, when he spotted you and gave you his thousand dollar smile, with his eyes shining so bright in the night, his arms embracing your body as your lips found his forehead before his traveled to their home on your lips.

It was blissful, going Christmas shopping together hand in hand, carrying a list to not forget something, walking hand in hand in the cold weather, and smiling at anyone who recognized you, even if the security guard walking a few steps ahead of you warned you weren’t stopping for photos that day.

The problem was the loud places outside and cute gifts, mixing families and kisses over the helmet, were just a moment during the loud silence, the plastic smiles, falling asleep alone on your bed while you listened to his high-pitched laugh through the walls.

And in the blink of an eye, Hollywood called back and you were gone again.

It was hard to hide the fact your boyfriend wasn’t with you during his free time as he usually would, he was more than acquainted with movie critics and journalists, just as you were in the different tracks, whenever possible people knew Lando would be by your side and you’d be right there next to him.

Maybe the saddest part, you thought, was the text you received saying he wouldn’t be able to attend the Golden Globes, the night you were expected to win and keep hyping up the way to the golden statue.

“can’t go darling, they need me in HQ and then some quadrant stuff”

You ignored the pain when the stylist asked the color of your dress and if Lando was gonna wear a matching bow tie, when fans asked where he was and you had to answer he was busy even if there were videos of him on TikTok driving around Monaco and spending nights at Jimmiz.

Lando swears he didn’t start acting like that to hurt you, things just happened that way. The likes under some random beautiful girl on Instagram were just a thing of the moment, she was the girlfriend of a friend and could use the boost, or she was super nice during a night out, or she was at the apartment of some random person you’d never heard about before.

Testing started and you weren’t there, but it was easier for Lando to explain your absence: “She’s getting ready for the big night, the Oscars are around the corner and none of us need the distractions right now”

User1: yikes, not Lando saying his girlfriend is a distraction ON A LIVE INTERVIEW

User2: I give them 3 months, tops.

User3: nah I think they broke up already, they’ve been miserable since her movie premiered

User4: you mean y/n’s been miserable bc I know my boy Lando has been hitting the clubs and the likes

User5: he deserves it after his gf fucked tom holland though

User6: it’s called acting.

User5: it sure as hell didn’t look like it

User7: what was the name of that portuguese girl again????

You swore you wouldn’t see comments, but it was an impossible task, even if the result was you crying in a hotel room, alone, helpless as all you received were heart emojis, blue tickets, and voicemail.

The Oscars came and he promised he’d be there.

It was tense, but you tried your best to ignore it and say it was nerves, you’d never been nominated before and it felt like you were going to be sick.

Then, a streak of light appeared the night before when he held you tight, kissed your forehead, and said you were the best, that you were going to win and if you didn’t it wasn’t important because this was the first of many.

And then, your mind cleared of all the comments, the seen messages, and the little white lies.

You both walked the red carpet, with big smiles, and sparkly eyes as the crowd swooned while watching Lando help you with the dress, fixing your hair, carrying your purse. It was all a blur until they called your name.

Lando was the first one up, ignoring etiquette and bending and kissing you while you were processing what had just happened. The thing is, even in that hazy moment you noticed the grip of his hand on your waist tightened when Tom congratulated you before you started the short walk to the stage.

You thanked the crew, the producers, fellow actors, and Lando for his unconditional support. Even if you and he knew it was a blatant lie because of the months of uncertainty if he was with someone else, the miserable feeling of doubting yourself because maybe, just maybe, you weren’t enough for him; beautiful, rich, talented, exceptional Lando Norris.

Lando maybe suspected it but didn’t say anything as the flight from Los Angeles to Monaco repeated itself, but one thing was different. Yes, it was quiet, but not tense, he saw you concentrated on reading a book, not giving him much attention.

The car ride was the same, with flashes and people trying to reach both of you, but Lando more as he stayed behind.

You were inside the car and observed him, the beautiful women asking to have five seconds with him and he did everything with a smile. Maybe you could throw a tantrum because he was always surrounded by beautiful and smart girls who wanted a little bit of his attention, a part of his job? The answer was bitter.

The apartment was tranquil, the view of the marina breathtaking, but you knew this was the last of you there, this wasn’t home anymore.

And Lando knew it right when he saw you standing in the middle of the living room, not letting go of the luggage you were carrying, and your eyes were watery as your lips reddened.

“Please don’t,” he whispered, you were barely able to hear him.

Tears were streaming down your face as you shook your head, “You know it has to be this way. It’s not fair for us…” You took a deep breath. “No, you know? It’s unfair to me because you’re living your life, which is fine, but you left me behind because of what? Jealousy? No, Lando, just…”

Lando was silent: “I know, I know it was wrong I’m so sorry,” he mumbled.

“I know you are, but I think… I’m done for now, I deserve better and you do as well, you have to be with someone who makes you feel secure and that’s not me… I’m sorry.”

So you left Monaco, left Lando, hung the VIP McLaren lanyards, and said goodbye to the track.

You didn’t feel better, Lando didn’t feel better, but it was for the best.

Or something like that.

#f1 x you #f1 x reader #f1 fic #lando norris fanfic #lando norris imagine #lando norris fic #lando norris x reader#lando norris #lando norris x you #lando norris x y/n

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deus-ex-mona · 4 months ago

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i miss renrennnnnnnnnn

#woke up this morning and thought of him so now y’all have to think of him too #and so. once again. i try to bypass the preview website paywall for the renren chapter… (i’m not successful)#i want to see more of him (it’s a need at this point) i’ll settle for it if he shows up on the cover for vol 2 (im begging)#though i also wouldn’t mind if sahara ‘concon’ yuna shows up on vol 2 instead!!!! women’s wrongs yay #i’d l o s e it if he turns out to be another sicks and. like. dates nagisa while chizuhiyo becomes a thing #(all while concon and juri become bffs in the bg and bond over styling tips or sth)#i hope he gets a focus song some time soon (pls) i need him to inject some sanity into the chizuutan manga #though for some reason i think he looks like he’d be voiced by ono.ken…#he just has that vibe to him idk w h y #but. man. i want to see where he is and what he does during the events of the 2nd half of the [redacted] anime #i think it’d be super funny if renren and concon had to smack some sense into chizuutan behind the scenes to get her to make up with hiyo #yes it’d retcon. like. chizumama’s permission of hiyo’s unlawful entry but the [redacted] anime retcons everything anyway so why not #if the [redacted] anime can retcon yuko’s relocation to france the chizuutan manga can totally retcon a buncha other stuff r i g h t —#ok yup yeah enough renren thoughts for today; there’s not enough non region-locked info about him yet after all—#s o b s why is the chizuutan manga so hard to access worldwide why must you gatekeep renren from usssssss

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miwiheroes · 3 months ago

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Bylers, we need to talk about something…

I’ve been having a lot of thoughts pertaining to what will happen in season 5 relating to byler recently, as have we all, but I’ve also been wondering about the audience’s reaction to it if it happens.

Actually, i’ve been more concerned not about the GA’s reaction, but our reaction to how they handle it. I just want to say beforehand, that I might be projecting my issues with negativity and conflict (i’m a very very optimistic person it’s rough being on social media these days lmao) and I also very much believe that they will make byler canon in some way or another. It just makes sense with the narrative. But I fear we will never be happy with how they do it and we never learn from our previous mistakes lmao

Before season 4 came out, I sort of was a fan of byler, but i was very very casual, as in I didn’t interact with many fan theories, I wasn’t on twitter (still not on there because I have a phobia of negativity eek) and I wasn’t on tumblr, I would occasionally check out the edits and fanarts and I think I was just Aware of it, because I always root for the gay ship to happen ofc..

So when season 4 vol. 1 came out I was excited about the direction they were taking byler, and I could see that it was finally canon that Will was gay, rather than theorised. When season 4 vol. 2 came out, I had not been on sttwt or st tumblr during the time between the volumes because I had other fandoms prioritised around the time. I watched the Van Scene with my parents and suddenly I was acutely aware of just how gay they were (because I always get scared of watching anything queercoded around my parents lmao).

By the end of season 4, I was like YES! this season was amazing for a byler set up next season, although i was more focused on other characters too. I then kind of saw the byler script stuff but not the full extent of it, and I saw many edits and fanarts of them but that was it!

Now it’s 2024 and I have a major hyperfixation on byler, (due to the season 5 bts and the fact stranger things keeps popping up on my fyp it’s crazy) and now I’m on byler tumblr (not twt tho .. sorry) to find all the evidence I can and get all hyped up for s5! But I’ve also seen old posts from around 2022…

Literally every single one was extremely disappointed from season 4 vol. 2, and I was confused, seeing as I was very happy with it and I liked byler (my fave byler scene is from vol. 2 and no it’s not the van scene). If I’m being totally honest, and I might get some hate for this, I think we all had wildly, wildly high expectations and the disappointment was our own doing.

I personally never really judge a show before it’s finished (obviously not sitcoms and shows like that) unless it has really really terrible writing ofc, but I always choose to reserve judgement until all the character arcs are wrapped up and I can look back and see why things were made to be.

I understand the whole anger with Mike’s behaviour towards Will and how Will was treated poorly by him, but isn’t that the point? Mike loving Will back in season 5 would then be more satisfying after all that. It’s a set-up for the next season, no?

I don’t know why or how people thought that Mike would suddenly resolve all his internalised homophobia or something during that season, and I reckon if the whole season had come out at once instead of two volumes (i hate the two volumes thing sm omg) people would have been much happier because we wouldn’t have had time to create insane theories or unrealistic expectations that, let’s be real, were not in line with what we have seen so far with byler.

So, I just want to say that I’m a little afraid for season 5, because I know that byler will likely be canon, but people just won’t be happy because it won’t be in the exact way that they had theorised. Sorry to break it to you, but you, random person on tumblr, are not a screen writer. More specifically, you’re not a screen writer for stranger things.

I think it’s fun to theorise at the moment, but I just want to remind people that this pattern has happened before and we never learn? Like, none of our theories are coming true. Not one of them. Did I theorise the exact van scene? Did I theorise the part at the end where Mike grabs Will’s shoulder? No. But am I happy with those scenes? Hell yeah.

So on the build up to season 5, I just want to caution everyone to not assume that specific things are going to happen when it’s just a result of an echochamber (such as the milkvan breakup scene being right at the beginning or the painting being brought up). You’ll just be angry for no good reason.

The only reasons I’m personally going to be angry with how they handle byler is:

1. If it’s not canon and Will’s love goes unrequited/ he has another love interest somehow…

2. If either of them die after having a relationship during season 5 (bury your gays is stUPID)

3. If one of them dies before the other gets to tell them they love them/ kiss

4. If they get together without Mike apologising (it could be in literally any way, obvious or not) for his poor behaviour.

But that’s it, the rest of it is literally up to them.

Hope ur not too mad, but it just needed to be said.

#byler #byler endgame #season 5 stranger things #anti mileven #lets be realists here please #byler nation

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harrystylescherry · 10 months ago

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A/N: wow, what amazing timing. let's pretend i did this on purpose. happy birthday, harry! fyi, this is vol. 2--you don't have to, but i rec reading vol. 1 first :)

*warning: spanking/paddling, mild pain, orgasm denial

what this is: pure smut tbh - vol. 2

word count: 5.5k

let me know what you think :)

MASTERLIST

It had been three agonizing days–three and a half if you were going to count this morning…and you were, because the ache between your legs and the need thrumming at your core was the only thing you could think about.

Your boyfriend was punishing you in the worst way: orgasm denial. He’d work you and edge you until you were just on the brink of release, one…two…three times…then release you from the restraints, or pull you up from his lap, and go about his business. As if you weren’t a puddle of need, dripping between your thighs, angry and wanton and sorry.

Because that was the whole point of this–for you to be sorry. To show you not to misbehave, or shirk direct orders.

In your eyes, it was a minor infraction. He had left on a business trip for five days, and told you, explicitly, not to touch yourself, not for a teasing second, not to come. Then, he made sure to clarify that none of the sex toys at his place or yours were to be used either, knowing how much you loved a loophole. The two of you had been together for just over a year now, and you had taught him well to be specific and exact with his instructions. On more than one occasion, he’d tell you that you should’ve been a lawyer–a comment that was as much of a compliment as it was a chastising for being bratty and pushing his limits.

The instruction was a punishment in itself, though he’d never admit to it. He wanted you to go with him, so between the stressful meetings and boring client calls, he could have moments of peace. He wanted to show you around a new city (though he’d only ever been there once before himself), discover hole in the wall eateries and dive bars together, fuck you in places not exactly meant for fucking, and, of course, have you on his arm for all the client dinners and drink-night-schmoozing he was expected to do. Unfortunately for him, you were only three months into your new job as an assistant editor/junior staff writer for The Wire, an indie music magazine based in London that mostly focused on independent artists and underground scenes. Were you cool enough for the job? Probably not, but you were open to anything and everything–your 134 very specific spotify playlists proof that you didn’t discriminate.

The job was a lot of work, and you were busting your ass to prove to the close-knit team that ran it that you were worth keeping around. Your ninety-days of entry-probation had just ended. Taking time off wasn’t a good look (not that you had even racked up enough hours to take off an entire work week), and while working from home wasn’t off the table, you didn’t want it to seem like you didn’t want to be there. On the ground, toiling away at your tiny desk with the other two assistants and three interns. It was fun. You loved Harry, but your priorities right now were what they were. He understood it, though that didn’t mean he had to like it. And clearly, he didn’t, as evidenced by his very unfair and petty instruction.

You had done well the first three days, despite the teasing texts and naughty photos meant to bait you–which is why you’d been so strong. He wasn’t going to trick you into breaking a rule.

Day four was what broke you. You hadn’t heard from him all day (which only made you want the teasing and photos now that they were being withheld), you had stupidly started an erotic romance novel that was essentially 320 pages of pure (ungodly and delicious) fucking, and you were so stressed out from work that your body was begging for a release beyond what your favorite workout could give.

You were just a girl. A horny, needy, sexually frustrated girl. It’s not your fault that the desperation was too strong for you to deny the call of the clit sucker you kept buried in your underwear drawer. It was society’s.

In the moment, the rationalizing was totally sound. And in the moment, the orgasm was worth it.

Then, Harry’s facetime came through only a few minutes after you’d come down, as if he had some sort of sixth sense when it came to your orgasms.

“Hi,” you said after checking to make sure your hair was fine and the toy was safely tossed beneath your bed.

His brow furrowed on the screen. “Hi, baby.”

“How’s your trip?” You settled into the pillows behind you.

“Good,” he mumbled. His lips twitched. “Did you touch yourself today?”

“W-what?”

“You did, didn’t you?” His eyes narrowed. “When? Just now?”

You scoffed. “Harry, come on. Of course not. You said–”

“I know what I said. And I know that you didn’t listen.” His voice was stern and it sent a jolt to your core.

“That’s–”

“Don’t lie to me. I know what you look like after–and it’s all over your face.”

Your cheeks flamed. You were caught.

“It’s not my fault!”

You could see he was fighting off a smile–a devilish one. “Whose fault is it then?”

“I…” You didn’t really have an answer.

“That’s what I thought.” You watched his jaw tick through the screen. “I’ll be home tomorrow night. I expect you to already be there when I do. Now, get cleaned up and go to bed.”

He ended the call before you could respond. No ‘goodnight’ or ‘I love you’. You were screwed…and not in the way you would’ve liked. So, feeling a little guilty, you moved into the bathroom, took a shower, and climbed beneath your covers at 9pm.

The night he got home, he restrained you to the bed without a word. Flat on your back, with your limbs pulled to each respective corner of the bed, he teased your nipples with a paint brush, then your clit, until you were a squirming, writhing mess. Then it was over. He brushed a hand over your cheek and went to take a shower.

Each night since, the edging had progressively gotten worse.

You were aroused constantly. Getting through each work day felt like an impossible feat. All you could think about was the nights before–the pleasure in all the teasing–and then the pain in going without any relief. Unfortunately, that only made you wetter.

You were a zombie through your morning meetings. You nodded when you were supposed to and took down notes just so you didn’t completely check out. You’d been staring at the commissioned article in front of you for almost forty-five minutes, not an edit made because you couldn’t tear your focus from the steady throb between your legs, when a text from Harry came through.

Same time tonight.

That’s all it said, though it didn’t need to say anything else. A shiver moved through you. Another night of torture. You held in the groan of frustration (with maybe a bit of anticipation), hoped that your punishment would be over tonight and white-knuckled through the rest of your day.

You knocked on Harry’s door at exactly 8pm. No dinner together was part of the punishment, and so was not being able to use your key. Those were always part of the punishments, though, and served to remind you of your place in this area of your relationship–that you were not in control, could only come and go as much as he wanted you to, and all the other things that you already knew…and that you sometimes needed reminding of.

When were you going to learn that being rebellious was fun until it wasn’t (though, punishments could still be kind of fun–not that you would ever tell Harry that)?

It was a rhetorical question, since you had never exactly been one to submit without a fight.

“Little brat,” he said when he opened the door. “Straight to my room. Take your clothes off in the hall.”

No kiss hello, no smile, no sweetness–just like the last three nights. Maybe the punishments weren’t always fun. Your eyes went to the floor in shame as you went past him and up the stairs. He followed behind you, his footfalls even and sure. He leaned against the wall with his arms over his chest as you pushed your jeans to the floor and peeled off your t-shirt.

When you went to move into the room, Harry tsked in disapproval. “You know better than that. Don’t make this worse for yourself, sub.”

Your entire body lit up with embarrassment. It was a mistake. You were nervous and anxious to get it over with, not thinking. You knew you weren’t getting a release tonight, could see it in his face, hear it in his voice. Your hands shook as you unclasped your bra, letting it drop to the floor, followed by your panties.

“In the room, hands against the wall.”

You took a shaky breath and did exactly as he said.

The thin paddle pressed against your bare ass when he came up behind you and your body clenched. You weren’t exactly a fan. He slid it down the back of your thighs and gave your skin a light tap.

“Legs apart.” You obeyed and he hummed. “Keep your arms and legs straight, and eyes up.” You took a deep breath in preparation. The paddle came down on your ass and you flinched. “Do I need to repeat myself?”

“N-no, sir.”

“So, you understand?”

“Yes, sir.”

Whack.

There was no warning or warm-up. He took turns with each cheek, hitting hard and then easing up, so you never knew what to prepare for. At least he didn’t make you count them, not that you thought you could. You were too focused on not letting your knees buckle, fighting not to lean against the wall.

It went on like that for a while, until the searing burn turned into the kind of sharp numbing that left you dripping.

After what had to be at least twenty strikes, he dipped his hand between your thighs. Like always, shame slithered in; the embarrassment that all of this turned you on. It disappeared, like it always did, the second Harry made his sound of approval. That little hum that told you he was pleased, even though he wouldn’t vocalize it the way you wanted him too. It was a punishment, after all.

He brushed his knuckles over your clit and you almost crumpled to the floor. You were so turned on, so needy, that the slightest touch was a straight shot to your core–electric. Two flicks of his fingers and you knew you’d come, which meant even more trouble.

He touched you again and you hissed.

“You don’t come. Not until I say.” As if you needed the reminder.

“Yes…sir.” He chuckled at the breathiness of your voice. It was mean–and hot. He knew it, too.

The paddle against your skin again, then his fingers moving through your slit. “Such a dirty girl,” he whispered. You squeezed your eyes shut and tried to think about anything else besides the pleasure strumming at your core. His fingers were too skilled, they knew your body too well.

Your left knee buckled–for less than a second–but he caught it. Goosebumps raised across your skin when you heard the three tsks from behind you.

“I–”

“Shh…”

You pressed your lips together, forcing the plea back down your throat.

“On the bed.”

Silently, and with your head down, you walked on shaky legs to sit at its edge. Harry pushed your chest back so you laid down.

“Don’t move.”

He walked to the wardrobe and pulled out the spreader bar. He strapped in each of your ankles so you couldn’t close your legs and then moved it up, so your knees were bent into your chest. Your breath was ragged and you fought to keep any whimpers from slipping out when he secured your wrists in the cuffs attached to the center of the bar.

You couldn’t stretch your legs, couldn’t close them–couldn’t move. Completely open to him, you were in the perfect position for him to do whatever he wanted.

He hummed as he moved back to the wardrobe, opening and closing drawers. He seemed to be making a decision. When he turned back to you, there was a smirk on his face. You took a deep breath when you saw the pink device in his hands.

He pushed the curved vibrator into you, until the fit was perfectly snug. He made sure to position it so the pad pressed right against your already too-sensitive clit. Then, he went and sat in the armchair a few paces from the corner of the bed.

It looked as though he was simply scrolling through his phone, his posture relaxed in the chair, head propped against his closed fist–but you knew better. He was making you sweat it out. You knew what was coming–and the wait was agonizing, just as he intended it to be.

When it came–the sharp buzzing both inside and out–your whole body jerked. As he moved his thumb up and down his screen, the vibrations followed, growing stronger and then mellowing out.

This was one of your favorite toys, except maybe not anymore. Holding back your orgasm was feeling closer and closer to impossible. Your hips bucked against the mattress, each attempt to get away from the intense vibrations futile. You wanted to cry–knew you would if this didn’t end soon.

You uselessly struggled against the restraints, your legs trying to close on sheer instinct. The sounds that escaped you seemed more akin to those of an animal than a woman and your entire body was covered in a sheen of sweat.

Without even thinking about it, you were begging.

“Please, please, please.” Harry stayed silent. “S-sir, god, please!”

“No.”

The vibrations stopped and your body sagged in a false sense of relief now that the fight was over, though there was no [real] relief. He still refused to let you come.

The whining was involuntary. Each nerve ending was a live wire. If he touched you just once, just [barely] you’d explode. The squirming of your hips against the slick silicone was what pulled him up from his chair. He pulled the device from you, leaving you empty and aching.

After releasing your wrists and ankles from the restraints, he patted the inside of your thigh. “Go take a shower.”

That’s it. Nothing else. You felt the pressure behind your eyes as you stood from the bed. You nodded and whispered your “Yes, Sir” as you moved into the en suite.

Your joints were sore from all your struggling, and all you wanted was a hug. It seemed his point had been made–at least in your opinion. You broke a direct order and then tried to lie about it. That was bad, you got it. Wouldn’t do it again.

It wasn’t that you couldn’t take the punishment because you could. If not, you would’ve used your safe word. He only ever gave you as much as you could handle and you trusted him with your body entirely, without question. It was the lack of aftercare that was getting to you. During this punishment, he’d been doling out the bare minimum. All you’d gotten was maybe a kiss to the forehead and little love pats to your thighs. You were used to falling asleep in his lap, being wrapped up in a blanket, or being tucked into his side as he prepared you a snack or (upon request) ice cream sundaes.

Under the hot water, you wiped the tears from your cheeks and let your body relax. You washed your hair and lathered your body using his products (ignoring the ones he kept for you on the shelf) since that was as close to him as he’d allow you to get this week.

When you opened the shower door, he was standing there, waiting with a towel. “C’mere,” he said as he held it open for you. You stepped into him and he wrapped it around your body, then rubbed his hands up and down your arms. You snuggled as close to him as you could and he kissed the top of your head before saying, “Get dressed and I’ll take you home.”

You wanted to cry again, but didn’t. The punishment would end eventually, and you weren’t going to be weak about it.

It was day four and you were so sexually frustrated, you wanted to cry. Literally. At this point, you were nothing more than a bundle of needy hormones. You had chosen to wear a dress into the office for no other reason than you wouldn’t have been able to deal with the seam of your jeans rubbing against your clit all day. Why torture yourself when Harry was already doing more than enough?

Halfway through your morning, you got a text from your boyfriend requesting that you go straight to his place from work. Thankfully, he couldn’t hear you sigh in annoyance. You didn’t want to be denied anymore. You were tired, and your body was still a little sore from the night before and you were mad at him. He never restrained you like that without some kind of massage afterwards.

Each time you stood, your knees ached just a little and your hips had been stiff when you got out of bed this morning. Your body–and your brain–had had enough.

You left work a little later than usual, staying to finish an edit that didn’t need to be done until Monday. The tube ride to his was spent trying not to work yourself up. You leaned back in your seat and listened to an album that your boss had been talking about all week, hoping to distract yourself. It worked until you were standing in front of his door.

It opened without you having to knock and he smiled softly when he saw you. “Long day?”

So, apparently, you looked as tired as you felt. “I guess.”

He motioned for you to come in and, hesitantly, you did. He took your bags and set them in the entryway.

“Help me finish dinner?”

Dinner. You tried not to get your hopes up that the punishment was over, but he was relenting. You’d take any allowance you could get at this point.

“Sure.”

All that was really left to do was make the salad while he pulled everything out of the oven and set the table.

“Go ahead and sit down,” he said as he took the bowl from in front of you.

You took your seat and watched him move around the room, back and forth from the table with the roast chicken and sides, to the racks where he kept his wine. He poured you a glass and squeezed the back of your neck–a gesture that was both possessive and comforting.

As you ate, he asked about work–the kinds of things you were working on, how you were settling in, etc. It was the most conversation the two of you had since he came home and it felt good. Almost too good. As much as you tried to fully relax back into your normal routine and dynamic, you couldn’t lose the last bit of tension in your shoulders.

You wouldn’t be lured into a false sense of comfort–and Harry knew it too. He tried to hide his little half-smile, and if it were anyone else but you, it would’ve been missed but you knew him too well.

When you put your napkin on the table signaling you were finished, he cleared the table without a word. He whistled along to the song playing throughout the main floor as you scrolled on your phone, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of your attention.

Really, you were in no place to be petty, but your nature was your nature. You flinched when you felt his hands on your shoulders, massaging into the knots that resided there for months, since the beginning of your new job. It was from stress that you didn’t necessarily mind, since you were doing something you loved. His fingers climbed up the back of your neck and into your hairline, pressing in soft circles. You hummed in satisfaction.

“Is that good, baby?”

“Mhmm,” you said as your eyes fluttered closed. A quick tug to your hair pulled them open again. So, it was starting. “Yes, Sir,” you corrected, and were rewarded with more kneading at the base of your skull.

“C’mon, we’re going upstairs.”

Your body buzzed with anticipation as you followed him up and into his room. He kissed your cheekbone as he passed in front of you to go to the wardrobe–the one that you’d come to see as the bane of your existence this last week.

“Strip and lay on the bed for me.” You did as he said. All he returned with was a pair of soft handcuffs. Once your wrists were fastened together in front of you, he pushed your legs open and took a step back from the bed.

“Hm.” He pulled his bottom lip between his thumb and forefinger as he looked you over. “Pretty.”

The whimper was involuntary as you preened beneath his gaze. You could feel the pulse of your core. You were so sexually frustrated that it took nothing more than his approval for the desire to pool between your legs. The smirk on his face told you he could see it.

“You didn’t listen to me,” he said as he stepped to the edge of the bed. He reached down and casually traced the outline of you, making sure to keep away from your clit and your center. “Why not?”

“I-I was horny, sir. You kept s-sending me–” You cut yourself off with a needy moan when Harry dipped his fingers in just enough to coat them with you.

He spread it over your folds until the slickness touched your inner thighs. “Keep going.”

You took a shuddering breath and tried to focus. You also forced your hips to stay down, knowing that if you rocked yourself into his hand, he’d probably pull away. You couldn’t risk that, not when he was being so nice. “You kept sending me texts and photos o-of yourself–oh, god–and telling me all these…things.”

He brushed his fingers through your folds as you spoke, skirting around the bundle of nerves perfectly primed to set you off.

“So?”

“So, it made me want you and you weren’t there.”

“So?” He pushed a finger inside and your back arched off the bed. “Eyes open,” he said when they fluttered shut.

“So, it wasn’t nice. You were teasing me–torturing me on purpose. It wasn’t fair that I had to wait and you didn’t.”

“Life isn’t fair.”

“I–”

“You hate when I say that, I know.” He pushed a second finger inside and you moaned. Your hips tilted forward on their own, seeking out something–anything–for relief.

He removed his fingers. When he brushed his wet knuckles over your clit, a strangled cry replaced the disappointed sigh that escaped you.

“Is that what you want, baby?”

You whined and wriggled on the mattress while he held his knuckles just out of reach.

“Is it?”

“Yes, Sir. Please.”

“I didn’t get off while I was gone.”

“Okay,” you panted, as you fought your own neediness.

Harry slapped your clit and you cried out. “Listen to me. I did not get off while I was gone.”

“What? But you–”

“I know, the torture is the point. The teasing. I thought you would’ve learned this by now.” Another brush over your clit. Another moan. “That rule was for both of us. Did you think I wasn’t in agony? Each time you answered or sent a photo in return it took everything in me not to wrap my hand around my cock, but I have some self-control. I have patience. And I understand that whatever pleasure I could give myself wouldn’t compare to the kind I could get from you.”

When you whimpered this time, it wasn’t with need, but shame. You may have felt a little bad about breaking the rule now, and not just because it meant a little disappointment and a punishment. This was a big disappointment, you could hear it in his tone. It wasn’t just breaking a simple rule, but ruining something that was supposed to be good for the both of you. Granted, in your defense, he could’ve told you that, but you also knew why he didn’t: he shouldn’t have had to.

“Sir, I’m really sorry.”

“I bet you are.” He gave your clit a pinch that sent a flash of heat over your entire body. “I should make you wait another week. Edge you every night until you're begging for my cock, and then still not give it just so we’re even.”

“I–”

“Quiet.” He grabbed your hips and pulled you further down the bed. He placed his knee on the mattress, positioning his thigh only an inch from your clit. “You want to come so badly, go ahead.”

Your brow lifted in surprise. “What?”

“Go ahead, come. You have my permission, but I’m not helping you. You want it, take it, or I’ll uncuff you, and you can get dressed so I can take you home.”

“Sir–”

“You’ve got less than a minute before I dress you myself.” The hard edge to his voice told you he wasn’t kidding. Not in the slightest.

You looked from the stern set of his face down to his jean-clad thigh. When you looked back at your boyfriend, his jaw was set. He didn’t move or say a word.

Your entire body heated with something close to embarrassment, but it was also mixed with anticipation, shame, and need. You didn’t want to go home, you wanted to get off and if this was all he was offering, you’d have to take it. Especially since, if you didn’t, you’d be in even more trouble with him. You didn’t need him to say it to know.

You planted your heels into the mattress and closed the gap between you two. When you lifted your hips, your clit brushed against the rough material and you groaned. You rolled your hips against his thigh and cursed. It felt so good. You knew it wouldn’t take you very long to cum. The only thing stopping you from instantly falling over the edge was the fact that you could only get close enough for a light brushing–there was no pressure. The only real friction came from the coarse fabric–but it would be enough. More than enough.

Your abs and thighs burned as you held your hips up, and with every rock of your hips, the muscles in your stomach contracted with the effort. This was its own kind of punishment, you realized. He was making you work for it.

You had kept your eyes locked on his stiff cock pushing against the front of his jeans, not sure if you wanted to know how exactly he was looking at you.

“That’s it, baby.”

But, of course, all it took was that little bit of praise to get your attention. The sternness was still there, but there was also heat. He wanted you–and he seemed to love seeing you like this: needy and unbelievably desperate. Because that’s what you were. Getting your release was all you could think of.

You wanted something to hold onto, to grip onto the blankets beneath you for more stability, but you couldn’t do it with your wrists handcuffed together. You whined with the realization.

“I know.” The comfort was full of condescension, and you wished it didn’t turn you on even more, but it did.

You were sweating from exertion, but you were so close.

“C’mon, baby. Rub yourself on my thigh. I can feel how wet you are, my dirty girl.”

You looked down to see for yourself. Where you rubbed yourself was a much darker shade of blue. Your head fell back with a moan.

In an act of undeserved kindness, Harry pressed his thigh against you, offering you the most delicious kind of friction; the kind that almost hurt.

It was only another second before you were tumbling over the edge. You came so hard that stars erupted behind your eyes, and your skin felt white hot. You were sure you cursed and cried out his name but you were so detached from reality that you couldn’t know for sure.

He didn’t wait for you to come down from the high. He undid the fastening of his jeans before leaning over and uncuffing your wrists. “Up.” He walked to the right side of the bed and took a seat. “Come and sit on my cock.”

Still in somewhat of a daze, you did as he said. As soon as he pulled his length from the confines of his jeans, you straddled his hips and sank down.

“Fucking hell,” he groaned. He gripped your waist and guided your hips, holding you down so he was fully sheathed.

You ignored the harsh rubbing of material against the sensitive skin of your inner thighs and focused on how good it felt to feel him inside of you.

“You’re gonna come again,” he said before sucking on your neck, leaving a mark that you hoped would be gone by the time you had to go back to the office after the weekend.

You whimpered, not entirely confident you had it in you. Your clit was overstimulated and raw from the week’s torture. “It’s going to hurt.”

“I know. You’ll do it anyway.”

When his voice was that deep and raspy, so commanding, who were you to argue?

“Yes,Sir.”

He pulled you far enough away that he could dip down and lick your peaked nipples. He sucked and nibbled until your chest and cheeks were red hot with the building of another orgasm.

“Oh, god.” You gripped the collar of his t-shirt.

He hummed against your skin. “That’s it. Keep going.” He held you tight enough that you wouldn’t be able to disconnect your clit from where it rubbed against the base of him even if you wanted to–and you were really walking that line. It was almost unbearable, the pleasure only a hair away from pain.

When he tilted his hips to hit that special spot inside, the tension ripped loose. You dug your nails into the muscle of his shoulders as your body shook against his, your hips rocking frantically, both chasing the high and trying to get away from it.

“Fuck,” he groaned into your neck as he emptied himself inside you. With a strong arm wrapped around your waist, he kept you riding him through both of your orgasms as your body filled with exhaustion.

He peppered kisses over your chest, shoulders, neck and jaw until you felt him go soft, still tucked inside. You were close to falling asleep on his chest when he pulled out and lifted you up into his arms.

“Shower first,” he whispered before kissing the top of your head and carrying you into the en suite. He set you on the counter and disappeared.

He came back with a cold glass of water, which you took happily. He turned the shower on, pulled two towels from the wardrobe and set them on the fancy warmer before returning to you. His hands moved from your shoulder to cup your face and he leaned in to kiss you.

“You did well this week, love.”

“It sucked.”

He laughed. “It was supposed to.” Another peck to your lips and he helped you down. “Go ahead.”

You stepped into the shower and watched through the quickly fogging glass as he stripped. The second he stepped in you were glued to him, your head to his chest and his arms around your waist.

You only pulled apart when he washed you. His hands moved over your body, soft and soapy, digging into the muscles he had neglected the nights before.

“I think I owe you a massage or two.”

“Try three–at least.”

He kissed your hip from his spot beneath you. When he brought his hand up to wash between your legs, you flinched.

“Sore?”

“A little numb, actually. Wasn’t even expecting that to hurt.”

He kissed right above your mound. “Sorry, love. I’ll be gentle.”

He finished his task and you took over, doing the same for him. Despite his hardening length, he didn’t try to touch you again, or ask you to help him relieve what must have been a lot of pent up frustration. Instead, he held your face in his hands and kissed you, murmuring soft I love yous in between.

After toweling each other off, he turned down the covers, put on Sleepless in Seattle and promised to make you blueberry pancakes in the morning.

#harry #harry styles #harry styles fic #harry styles writing #harry styles fanfic #harry styles imagine #harry styles one shot #harry styles x oc #harry styles x you #harry styles blurb #harry styles smut #harry styles x fem!reader #harry styles x reader

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synthshenanigans · 1 year ago

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No but genuinely tho he's made so much stuff in such a small time compared to other artists. While yea a solid majority are covers, therefore he has something to go off of. He's still completely remaking the instrumentals and vocals. Usually changing like at LEAST 50-90% of the lyrics, & even adding more to em/extending them. Not even adding the videos themselves [recordings & editing] as well as making ideas/stories for some of them.

Like, mans made SIX full albums in the span of a year and a half [almost 2] + 5 singles. And over half of that was in just a year. That's insane.

Bro scares me sometimes I swear

can we take a moment to really appreciate Chonny Jash? like. Not only is he making wonderful music, but he's making it so quickly? it's barely been a month since he released the Tim Minchin Power Hour and Fine I’m Fine, and in that time, he covered five (five!) songs! with some that he'd tweaked the lyrics! and made a whole ass music video for one of them! and lyric videos for the other four!

#70-80 songs. in the span of a year & ½.#all being quite good too #how. how do you do that.#He also plans to do at LEAST 2 More power hours. 2-4 singles. & 24 more songs/vol 2 #that's crazy #ima stop myself before i make a whole essay #but i think about this sometimes and it baffles me always #also its more on my mind cos i saw someone say they didn't like his music and that he was real lazy with his music #and like. idc what you think about his music its all to tastes so that totally fine.#but you AINT gonna call this dude lazy #Vol 1 alone shows that #If now how much he does for just 5 songs per power hour #i don't like putting people on pedestals but i will defend his work cos bro is INSANE with what he does/the amount of it #okay ill shut up now #im very passionate about music. especially his.#can you tell pffft

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deadliestgalaxy · 2 years ago

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SPOILERS FOR GOTG VOL. 3 - DON'T READ IF YOU HAVEN’T WATCHED IT YET!

I have a feeling that everyone (who calls themselves fans) that didn't get the meaning of the ending in GOTG Vol. 3 has never read a single comic of them or is only a fan of some characters/relationships. Many complaints I've seen are about the end and Gamora and Peter’s romance, which sounds kind of childish. You don't need to agree with me, but I’d like to elaborate on that.

James Gunn's writing is always about the detail of things and he is not afraid to do something “bad” if it is the best for the STORYTELLING. This is what most of these people don't get: the most important part of these movies is the story they are telling. The characters help the movie tell the story, it's their story after all — but there's no protagonist or greater good that puts them above the narrative.

(This is different from Gamora’s death in IW btw. It was not the only way they had to make the story flow; they just wanted to “humanize” Thanos and by that, they chose to kill her character. It was an action ADDED not CRUCIAL to the story.)

Vol. 3 is about found-family and growing up; finishing cycles. They will always be family, as we will always be part of their story (that’s why we understand Groot now). However, life chapters end just like in real books, and these Guardians as a TEAM “chapter” has ended for them and for us.

This is very common in the comics. Most times they are all separated, doing solo missions, until something goes wrong and they reunite again. They never stop being friends, why would it be different in the movie universe?

But the end suggests they are not family anymore.

Did we see the same film? No, it doesn't. We can see that in James’ subtle writing: the way they all still respect each other, their understanding of one another, and how they all would die for themselves if needed. That won't change just because they are not physically together — just like when you finish school you won't ignore your best friends, even if you create new relationships (which you will).

But Gamora is not part of the family anymore.

Well, if you see it this way, I can't change your mind. What I can say is that the story IMPLIES that she still is, in fact. And the number one clue is that she (in 2 days) understands Groot. Remember, we also understand him because the fans are now part of the Guardians family — so understanding him and being family are correlated.

Anyhow, I know this is not enough for most people, so hear me out: Gamora’s arc is about respect and healing. She starts the movie skeptical about working with the guardians — she just wants the money— when in reality, she acts like this because she is AFRAID and feels PRESSURED to be around her “old” family.

Imagine: you died but then another version of you comes back without knowing anything of your present life. People will expect you to act in a certain way that maybe you started to act after you met them; they will expect you to like certain things you don't know of; people will EXPECT you to attend to their needs. It is a lot to swallow at once. You are afraid because you don't know them, you don't think you deserve all this love and commitment out of nowhere. So you run away. You run away to find things on your own, to grow out of this pressure you feel and discover the whole universe of possibilities you have ahead.

That's what Gamora did. But then, the mission went south and now she is stuck with her “old” team. The film shows us her character exploring the ship, listening to music... trying to understand them. At one point she even says to Rocket “You must be a very loyal pet for them to do all this for you” (or something similar). This is her way of putting into words how she visualizes the current scenario she was put in. Slowly she recognizes that they are a family, and by the way they act she finally gets how and why she also must have loved them in the past.

She goes from “I don't give a fuck”, not open to them, afraid and pressured to “I bet we were fun”, understanding and respecting them, even fighting for their family to survive.

(If she still didn't give a fuck she wouldn't have fought for them and with them when she could have just run away again.)

But she has already created new relations, so she goes back to those for now. It is what she is familiar with in this timeline. Does that mean she will never contact the guardians ever again? NO. Remember: James’s writing is about DETAILS, nuance. She is open to them again, and the final part of the movie shows this to us, especially her last interaction with Groot, Peter, and Nebula being friendly.

Oh, but Peter and Gamora will never be a couple again, their romance ended when she went back to the Ravengers.

… Again, if you see it this way I can’t change your mind. What I can confirm is that she doesn’t close herself to the team — especially to Peter — in the end.

When she says “I bet we were fun” it's the first time she acknowledges their former relationship without distancing herself from it. She could've said “I bet you were fun” or “I bet she was fun”, but instead she prefers to include herself with “we”. She pauses before letting go of Nowhere, stopping before entering her ship — what moves her forward is Nebula, who can see her sister’s changed attitude but still encourages her to take a step forward and go explore the galaxy, because she knows Gamora is not mature and ready yet for those feelings; just like she wasn't ready to be openly sentimental when Gamora joined the Guardians back in 2014.

And Peter is also not ready. Just like Gamora needs to find herself again and discover who she is, Peter needs too. He is lost without her after IW, we can see it during Holiday Special and in the beginning of Vol. 3 when he passes out because of alcohol abuse. Both don't know who they are in this new reality — and they will only find out with time. Time heals and reveals.

In the end, Peter doesn't have the same thought as in the begging: he doesn't want her to be who he once knew, he wants her as she is, this new version whom he still loves so much and wants to know more of. Although he wishes she could stay, he knows that she has her own time and while she learns about herself he will go do the same.

So yes, they’re not explicitly together as a couple in the final scene — neither they kiss nor make out, whatever you believe a relationship is made of — but they’ve changed and are open to one another. The last scene does not appear to me as an “I’ll never see you again”, but as a “Goodbye, see you soon”.

(Aside from all the small bits we had through the movie of a developing relationship between them; my favorite one being when Peter activates the auto-destruction code and Gamora smiles at him.)

Besides, you can't force anyone to fall in love in 48 hours!!

Yes, I also have some minor complaints about the story, but I can recognize that — with all the turbulence the characters and the production faced in the last few years — it was a satisfying end with a limited amount of time to a badass trilogy. The end is definitive but also open to future possibilities for all our favorite characters in their universe — some we might never see and it will only be to our imagination.

Again, you don't need to agree with me, but I had to do this, or else I would implode with thoughts. Thank you if read up here! My ask box is open if you want to talk more <3

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