Five Acts Meme

[linndechir]

This is my post for the Five Acts Meme - which looks really awesome and you guys should all sign up. It means that people might write fic for you. And of course you're so allowed to write fic for me even if you don't sign up. ;) It's multi-fandom, don't let the SoA banner scare you away.





- Post a list of your five favourite kinks/acts or themes in your journal. At the bottom, add what fandoms/pairings you're interested in.
- Comment to the master post with a link to your post.
- Read other people's lists here.
- Post comment-fic based off of other people's lists.




Five kinks:

1) asphyxiation, breath play, choking, collars; also neck/throat petting and biting.
2) guns, knives
3) powerplay, D/s, humiliation (verbal or other), bondage
4) one person being dressed during sex, the other being naked. Can be just that, or can include an actual clothes fetish: leather (boots, gloves, coats etc.), uniforms, or nicely tailored suits, whatever fits the characters.
5) Hand fetishization (big strong hands; steady hands; rough knuckles; calluses; scars) (especially hands on other people's necks, I have a situation okay)



Fandoms/Pairings:

A Song of Ice and Fire: Victarion/Asha, Balon/Victarion, Victarion/Asha/Theon, Victarion/any of his relatives really, Roose/Robb, Aegon/Orys; Stannis/Davos, Stannis/Jon, Stannis/Sansa (although I'm not sure if Stannis ships lend themselves very well to kink ;))

Justified: Raylan/Tim

Skyfall: Bond/Q (top!Q preferred; bottom!Q only if he isn't written as insecure/inexperienced/shy)

Generation Kill: Brad/Nate

Sons of Anarchy: Chibs/Juice, Clay/Tig

The Shield: Vic/Shane, Vic/Aceveda, Shane/Lem

Supernatural: John/Dean (only consensual, I really don't like non-con for this ship)

Inglourious Basterds: Landa/Hellstrom

I ship a lot of other pairings, too, but these are the ones I'd be most interested in reading at the moment. Of course I will be eternally grateful to anyone who writes anything for me. :)






Fics given:

Who needs poetry in a love song (Justified, Raylan/Tim, Grand Romantic Gestures (of sorts)) for ozmissage

Breathe my air and I'll be fine (Skyfall, Bond/Q, oral fixation + breath + kissing) for doreyg

A knife and a kiss (ASOIAF, Victarion/Asha, bloodplay/knifeplay + D/s) for sternflammenden

Crosses on your body (Generation Kill, Brad/Nate, scars + goodbyes) for crickets

I made this place for you (Supernatural, John/Dean, hurt/comfort + UST + touching/bed-sharing) for outboxed



Fics received:

ASOIAF, Stannis/Davos, hand fetishisation and neck touching by janie_tangerine

Trust Me (Sons of Anarchy, Chibs/Juice) by kayim

As you say (ASOIAF, Roose/Robb, kinks: breathplay and neck petting, humiliation, and gloves) by sternflammenden

Untitled (Justified, Raylan/Tim, guns , hands + neck touching) by norgbelulah

Make something happen (ASOIAF, Stannis/Jon) by outboxed

Cold Steel and Smoking Lips (Skyfall, Bond/Q, Knives + Dressed V. Naked, + A bit of powerplay) by doreyg

Comments

Roose/Robb, As you say (kinks: breathplay and neck petting, humiliation, and gloves)

[sternflammenden.livejournal.com]

A/N: show!verse Roose/Robb, only way that this works is with McElhatton’s “flaying you with my eyes, boy” and Madden’s hormonal puddle of angst.

Roose Bolton arrives at his tent late that evening, and reluctantly, Robb grants him entrance.

“It is done, Your Grace.”

Robb looks at him, eyes full of torment that he will not voice, that shows all too well in the glassy gleam therein, the slumped cast of his shoulders, the tightness in his voice. “I thank you for that, Lord Bolton.” He sinks his head in his hands, imagining how it will go when Bolton’s Bastard and his men march on Winterfell. Robb has heard tales from his father, from Old Nan, from the smallfolk who cluster inside the walls of Winter Town, about what sort of man Ramsay Snow is, what sort of casual cruelties that he is capable of, and while there is a part of him that fears for the man who he’d once called brother, there is another, hardened by war, by family ties, that longs to see him on his knees, begging Robb for mercy, begging for an absolution that he has no power, nor will, to grant.

It is a part that he is desperate to root out, to cut away, a part that is alien to him, for it breaks his heart.

“Your Grace?” Bolton has neared the makeshift table where Robb sits, a map, untouched, spread in front of him, candles burnt to nubs providing the only light in the close, dim space. He feels the whisper of a touch, Bolton’s gloved hand, passing across the back of his neck, and he shivers. “Your Grace,” Bolton continues, his voice almost a caress, “what you have done was necessary. The Greyjoy boy must be made example of.”

Robb sighs then for even the mention of Theon’s name is painful now. “He was my brother. What I have done is unconscionable. What I have done is a death sentence. What I have done-”

“Is the action of a king.” Bolton’s voice is hard now, cutting off Robb’s childish protests. He feels the other man’s grip, once so tentative, tighten, and his breath draws harsh in his throat at the feel of the soft leather on his bare skin, at the closeness of Bolton as he leans toward Robb. His thumb toys with the notch of Robb’s collarbone, hand sliding around to encircle his throat, fingers sliding inside of Robb’s collar.

“What he has done to my Bran and Rickon…I should be glad to swing the blade. But must blood answer for blood?” Robb looks Bolton in the eyes, the pain writ large on his face.

Roose Bolton’s grip tightens at this, and a cold cast comes over his features. There is a slight contempt in his voice as he answers. “It must if you ever hope to rule. The north is full of hard men, and harder deeds. Look at Karstark. Do you think that he would hesitate were such an insult perpetrated upon his family? And the Greatjon, would he not destroy any who threatened the safe of Last Hearth?”

Robb gasps for breath, struggling against fingers that check it, and he lays a shaking hand on Bolton’s wrist. “And Bolton,” he says in response, “after all, you are the one whispering in my ear, and I know all too well what sort of man you are.”

With that, Bolton releases his grip on Robb. He laughs, a queer, dry sound. “And what sort is that, Your Grace? I live only to serve you in all things. It is not my concern that your tender feelings for the Greyjoy whelp cloud your judgment. And it is not my place to shield you were such thoughts made known.” He smiles then, his eyes dead to mirth.

Robb’s face flushes, and he breaks his gaze, staring into the shadowy corners of the tent. “He was merely my brother, and nothing more,” he says at last, releasing his grip on Bolton’s arm, hand snaking away in shame. “Nothing more.”

Bolton nods. “As you say, Your Grace.” He trails a finger down Robb’s cheek, wiping at the tear that has betrayed him in his misery. “As you say.”

[linndechir.livejournal.com]

Roose/Robb is really the only good thing that came from the show. ;) I just love how you write them, with Roose creeping and Robb being such a total angsty failure. And, yesssss, gloves. This is a really coherent comment because it's 6am and I should go to bed, but I just wanted to tell you that I really liked this. :)

[sternflammenden.livejournal.com]

Yay! Seriously agreed. Roose is just a perverted weirdo in these fics. Glad you enjoyed and hope you don't have nightmares of Robb being a boy lord. :P

[linndechir.livejournal.com]

I find perverted weirdo!Roose very entertaining, so that's okay.
Worse, I could have nightmares about Robb ruling Westeros forevaaaaah. ;)

[sternflammenden.livejournal.com]

So do I. He's too fun to write. Oh, what a nightmare. Scary. And poor Roose is stuck being his hand or whatever for eternity.