#Conversations with John Anderson

[cheezy-whizz]

Charlie Dalton:

[worldnews90]

Trump's Gaza plan could endanger hostage deal and push Palestinians toward Hamas, CNN analyst says

President Donald Trump’s brazen proposal to “take over” Gaza could raise tensions during a fragile phase of the hostage exchange deal, and spark further violence if Palestinians are forced off their land, said CNN Global Affairs Analyst Kimberly Dozier.

Read More

[somerabbitholes]

do you have any book or essay recs that are eye-opening or ones that challenges your thought process if u get what I mean

100%, here is writing that shifted something inside me:

Books

Figuring by Maria Popova: about how genius and creativity is a human project; she looks at all these ways in which ideas connect with each other; the book is just a really beautiful exploration of how the search for truth and beauty is a human project. She also runs a blog which is very good

The Lonely City by Olivia Laing has forever changed how I think about loneliness for the better, and I can only hope to have something as beautiful to say someday

Invisible Women by Caroline C Perez: I'm putting this here more because it could put in numbers and quantify the levels of gender disparity, and to my mind, give a sharper edge to the conversation that was feeling very abstract and theoretical to me

Ducks, Newburyport by Lucy Ellman: this is a difficult read, mostly because the book is a 1,000-page stream of consciousness that is basically one long sentence. I loved it, and at the end of it I remember going wow, you thought this book up

A similar feeling came from reading The Indian Ideology by Perry Anderson, but I want to point out that this is a book that requires a reasonable level of familiarity with the discourse on secularism, democracy and social justice in India

The Tribe by Carlos Manuel Alvarez: essays, part-memoir, part-notes from journalism, about Cuba in the 2010s and especially after Castro died. It was such an excellent glimpse into what living during and through this shadow of the Cold War could be like

I'm currently reading Second-Hand Time by Svetlana Alexievich, which does a similar thing with Russia after the collapse of the Soviet Union and until the mid-2010s. It's very very interesting and heartbreaking and emotive and informative all at once seeing how the Russian people thought about the end of the Cold War

Essays (there are definitely more, but I’m the worst at remembering names)

Geographies of knowing, geographies of ignorance by Willem van Schendel

The Trouble with Wilderness by William Cronon

Marrying Libraries by Anne Fadiman (if this is not what love is, I don't want it)

Justice as Fairness: Political not Metaphysical by John Rawls

Fences by Zadie Smith (I read this in her collection, Feel Free but I think you can find it online too)

[buckets-and-trees]

Red, White & True: Election Day in New York, Pt. 3 [17/17]

Characters/Pairings: Steve Rogers x curvy Millennial Female!Reader Word Count: 5.8k Summary: Everything draws to an end, and results are coming in.

Content/Warnings: political/campaign discussions, marriage of political convenience, slow burn, really the slowest burn, strangers to friends to true love

Notes: This takes place in a post-Endgame scenario where Steve stays and generally most of TFATWS happened.

Previous Chapter | Series

↠ Main Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest

[NOVEMBER 3 - 7:52PM - FIFTEENTH FLOOR SUITE, THE PLAZA HOTEL]

A handful of states close their polls at 6pm, and so as you sit up in the suite eating dinner with staffers and your parents, you’re starting to see a few spots on the map change from grey to red or blue. Kentucky and South Carolina have gone red; Vermont, Virginia, and North Carolina are in the blue; and nothing has been projected or called for Steve yet - who will show up in green on the map. The campaign spent a lot of time jumping in and out of Georgia since it would be a key swing state for everyone, and their polls closed at seven, but it will likely be hours before things are definitively called there. 

With three major contenders, a candidate only needs a minimum of 34% of the ballots to take their votes in the electoral college in forty-eight of the fifty states.

Your father passes you a plate of appetizers from the elaborate spread catering has set out. In true Plaza fashion, every morsel looks like a miniature work of art, but your appetite is fickle as you watch the electoral map with one eye while trying to maintain conversation with the others in the room.

"You've barely touched your food," your mother observes, her voice low with concern. "You need to keep your strength up. It's going to be a long night."

"I know, I'm just nervous." You gesture vaguely toward the television where Anderson Cooper and Jake Tapper are holding court with a robust cohort of political analysts and thought leaders, debating and analyzing all the developments so far. In addition to the presidential race, there are Senate and House races that will determine how things will stack up in Congress. 

She puts a hand over yours with a knowing smile. "I remember your father before his first big promotion decision. Couldn't eat for two days."

"That was different," your father protests mildly, though his eyes twinkle with amusement. “Nothing close to a presidential race.”

On the television screens throughout the suite, CNN's John King stands at his "Magic Wall," the giant interactive electoral map that has become a fixture of election night coverage. The camera catches him mid-sentence as he zooms in on the Midwest. 

"—and we're just getting the first results from Indiana now," his voice carries over the ambient conversation in the room. "With sixty-two percent of precincts reporting, we can now project that Indiana will go to Independent candidate Steve Rogers." 

The room falls silent, all eyes turning to the screens as a section of the map flashes and then fills with green—the color the networks have designated for your campaign. 

"Indiana," King continues, tapping the state with practiced precision, "with its eleven electoral votes, becomes the first state to be called for the Rogers-Young ticket tonight. This is significant, folks. Indiana has traditionally been a Republican stronghold in presidential elections. The last time it went Democratic was for Barack Obama in 2008, and that was considered a major upset at the time. For Rogers to take Indiana suggests that the independent campaign has successfully carved into traditional Republican territory."

A cheer erupts from the campaign staff, high-fives and hugs exchanged across the room. Jake punches the air, his face alight with vindication.

"I told you the ground game there was working!" he exclaims to no one in particular. "Those extra rallies in Fort Wayne and Evansville paid off!"

Your father wraps an arm around your shoulders, giving you a squeeze. "First one on the board," he says, his voice thick with pride.

"It's just one state," you remind him, though you can't help the flutter of excitement in your chest.

"But it's a sign," your mother adds, her eyes bright. "People are listening."

Steve makes his way over to you, navigating through the celebrating staffers. When he reaches you, he leans down to kiss your cheek, his eyes bright with cautious optimism.

"One green state on the board," he murmurs against your ear.

"Eleven electoral votes closer to two-seventy," you reply, referencing the magic number needed to win the presidency. "Only two hundred and fifty-nine to go." 

With the first green state on the board, it’s no longer a pipe dream that Steve could win states. But the question is will he - or Monroe or Peterson - earn the two hundred and seventy needed to win the presidency outright?

The network cuts to a commercial break, and you take the opportunity to check your phone. Messages have been pouring in all night—from friends, former colleagues, even a few celebrities who've publicly supported the campaign. But one text catches your eye—from Oprah.

Indiana's just the beginning. Keep watching Ohio. I've got a feeling.

Ohio would be an incredible get. But so was landing an interview with Oprah, who’s now optimistically texting you on election night. 

You glance across the room at your husband - former Captain America - speaking to the current Captain America and shake your head ever so slightly. 

How is this your life?

The evening progresses in a blur of projections and anticipation. Ohio, Pennsylvania, and Governor Peterson’s home state of Michigan remain too close to call, but Florida's thirty electoral votes flash red at 9:15 PM, sending a wave of grumbling and groaning through the room. Connecticut and Delaware come in as green to give Steve ten more votes between them. 

Maine - one of the two states that can allocate votes - doles out three blue to Monroe, but Steve takes one green from their share. Missouri, New Jersey, and Rhode Island come in for Steve, but it’s still only 50 votes with Peterson at 36 and Monroe taking most of Democratic New England to sit at 63. 

Steve paces, he stands in quiet consternation by the window, dives into data with Jake, and cycles back through it all again and again. Jake is adamant that Steve shouldn’t appear in public again until it’s time for his speech - that visits to the crowd in Central Park or in the Grand Ballroom downstairs should only come from his VP candidate Charlie Young, Charlie’s wife Zoey, or you.

You find yourself drifting to Steve's side as he stands alone by the window, looking out at the Manhattan skyline glittering against the night. His reflection in the glass shows a man deep in thought, shoulders tense despite his attempt to appear composed. 

"Penny for your thoughts?" you ask softly, sliding your arm through his. 

He turns slightly, offering you a smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes. "Just wondering what the Founding Fathers would think of all this. Three viable candidates, a former Avenger on the ballot..." 

"I think they'd be impressed by how far we've come," you reply, leaning into his warmth. "Democracy evolving, adapting." 

"Or they'd be horrified that a super soldier could potentially be president." 

You squeeze his arm. "They'd see what I see—a good man trying to do what he can for his country." 

Before Steve can respond, there’s another joyous uproar when Illinois and its nineteen votes go green for Steve, bringing him up to 69 votes and surpassing Monroe for the first time tonight. 

The energy in the room spikes with each new state called. Aides rush back and forth with updated numbers, tablets displaying real-time data from key precincts. The clink of glasses and nervous laughter punctuate the tension as everyone watches the map slowly fill with colors. 

Sophia weaves through the crowd toward you, tablet clutched in one hand and a Diet Coke in the other. Her face is flushed with excitement, eyes bright with the adrenaline that's keeping everyone going. 

"We just got word from our team in Ohio," she says breathlessly, leaning in close so you can hear over the chatter. "The numbers from Cleveland and Columbus are stronger than we projected. If the trend holds—" 

Just then, Jake calls out from across the room, "Pennsylvania's been called by AP! We took those nineteen, baby!”

The room erupts at Steve taking his first swing state off the board from red or blue, with people jumping and hugging, including yourself and Sophia. 

In your excitement, you don't notice Sophia's drink tilting precariously until it's too late. Cold liquid splashes across your silk blouse, the dark cola creating an instant stain that spreads down your front. The icy sensation makes you gasp, jumping back reflexively as the room continues celebrating around you.

"Oh my God!" Sophia's eyes widen in horror, her hand flying to her mouth. "I'm so sorry! I can't believe I just did that." Her face flushes crimson, mortification replacing her previous excitement. "I'm never this clumsy!"

"It's just a Diet Coke," you assure her, grabbing a nearby napkin to try and dab away at the liquid - but it’s reflex more than anything. You know it won’t help in this case. “I’ll go change, it’s fine.”

Sophia grimaces in sympathy. “I think there’s a change of clothes already laid out for you in case something like this happened.”

You laugh. “It’ll be good to stretch my legs anyway. I’ll be right back.”

You slip out of the suite without drawing any attention to yourself - except for your Secret Service agent, who falls in step with you - and head down the hallway. 

With Pennsylvania in the pile with Kansas, Louisiana, and Iowa that came in just before, Steve’s up at 108 electoral votes. 

Peterson’s red has surged up to 90, but Monroe’s blue have held steady at only 63. 

So a little Diet Coke spill cannot dampen the buzz of impossible excitement you’re feeling in your bones. 

The agent remains in the hallway once you key in the door. The Secret Service has had this floor on lockdown all day, precluding a need to check your room. 

You kick off your heels immediately, then step in front of the mirror to survey the damage and laugh to yourself. It’s bad. But months on the campaign trail mean your team has extra clothes ready to swap out for you or Steve at any given moment. And, sure enough, when you step through the small sitting room into the bedroom of the suite there’s a garment bag laid across the king size bed. You begin to unbutton your blouse, then blink and turn back to look at the bag again. 

“No…” you say out loud to no one, as you step closer to the foot of the bed. “What…?” 

Why is your wedding dress here? Surely it’s not some symbolic nod they want you and Steve to make about your arranged marriage… That would be insane. 

There’s a click of the lock at the door, and then Steve’s voice. “Sweetheart?”

Your heart rockets all a-flutter in your chest at the way the endearment rolls so naturally off his tongue. 

“In here,” you call, your voice wavering slightly as you stare at the wedding dress.

Steve appears in the doorway, and you immediately notice he's changed out of his navy suit into a crisp white shirt and dark slacks. His eyes find yours, then follow your gaze to the garment bag on the bed.

You note that he doesn’t look surprised at all. 

Instead there is a curious mix of determination and vulnerability in his expression that makes your breath catch.

"Steve, why is my wedding dress here?"

"Because I was hoping you might wear it again," he says, his voice low and steady despite the emotion you can see flickering in his eyes.

"Wear it again?" you repeat, confusion clouding your thoughts. "Tonight? For what?"

Steve crosses the room slowly, his movements deliberate as he comes to stand before you. The soft light of the bedroom casts shadows across his face, highlighting the strong line of his jaw, the earnestness in his eyes. He takes your hands in his, and you're surprised to find them slightly trembling. 

Or is that you?

"Sophia's drink was no accident," he says with a half-smile, and suddenly everything clicks into place—the furtive conversation with Bucky and Sam, the meaningful glances, Sophia's uncharacteristic clumsiness. "I needed a moment alone with you."

You shake your head in disbelief, but warmth is spreading through your chest as realization dawns. "In the middle of election night?" 

Steve's thumb traces gentle circles on the back of your hand, his touch grounding you as the world seems to tilt on its axis. "I couldn't think of a more perfect time." 

Steve takes a deep breath, his eyes never leaving yours. 

"These last months have been the most extraordinary of my life," he continues, his voice gaining strength. "Not because of the campaign or the people or the possibility of making a better future for the country, though all those pieces have been incredible in their own right, but because of you. Because I've had the privilege of falling in love with my wife—really falling in love with you—day by day, moment by moment."

Your heart swells at his words, eyes misting as you see the raw sincerity in his gaze. This is Steve Rogers—not Captain America, not the presidential candidate—just the man who has become your whole world.

“You were asked to be my wife,” Steve says, matter-of-fact, “and not even by me, but now I want to ask if I can be your husband?”

"Steve," you breathe, your voice barely audible over the pounding of your heart. 

"Tonight, the country is deciding if they want me as their president, but I already know what I want. I want you, for the rest of my life, not because a strategy demanded it, but because I love you. Because I choose you. Because when I look at my future—whether it's in the White House or back at our brownstone in Brooklyn or anywhere on this earth—the only thing I know for certain is that I want you beside me."

Emotion makes your throat ache as you watch him gradually sink to one knee before you. The gesture is so achingly traditional, so sweetly earnest coming from a man who has lived through a century of change, that tears spring to your eyes.

"Steve Rogers," you whisper, cupping his face with your free hand, "are you proposing to me on election night?"

"We've done everything backwards," Steve continues, a gentle smile playing at his lips. "Had our wedding before our courtship, built a life together before we even knew if we wanted one. But I'm asking you now, marry me again tonight?" 

“We’re a little busy!” you laugh breathlessly. 

He cocks his head to the side. “No, we’re not. Polls are still open on the West Coast, and in Alaska and Hawaii. Unless you’re refusing me…” 

You can hear the tone of sarcasm in the last part, but you’re still quick to exclaim, “No!” practically shouting. “I mean, yes, of course I want to marry you again," you say, your heart soaring. "But when you say tonight, you mean…"

"I mean right now." The smile that breaks across his face is radiant, making your heart flutter. He stands, pulling you against him in one smooth motion, his arms encircling your waist. 

"But how? When?" you ask, your mind racing with logistics even as joy bubbles up inside you. "We can't just—"

"We can," he interrupts gently. "It's all arranged. The Terrace Room is ready for us. Your parents and our closest friends are here. Since technically we’re renewing vows, we don’t need an ordained officiant, but Sam knows a chaplain who works with the VA, and he’s waiting for us downstairs."

You blink in amazement. "You planned all this? During the most important night of the campaign?"

"This is the most important night of our lives," Steve corrects you, his hands warm and steady at your waist. "Not because of the election, but because it's another beginning for us. Our real beginning."

Your eyes search his face, finding nothing but absolute certainty there. This man who has faced down armies and aliens and impossible odds is looking at you like you're his greatest adventure yet. 

"What if you win?" you ask, your practical side making one last attempt at reason. 

"Then we celebrate twice," he says simply. "And if we lose, we still have something beautiful to mark this night." 

The logic of it strikes you suddenly—the perfect symmetry. Your marriage began as a political calculation, a strategy to win an election. Now, on election night itself, you have the chance to transform it into something chosen freely, with full hearts and clear eyes. 

"Yes," you say finally, your voice strong and sure. "Yes!”

Your mind is spinning, overwhelmed by the sheer audacity and romance of his gesture. "But what about—"

"The campaign? Jake has it under control. The results? They'll come in whether we're watching or not. Speeches? It’s still anybody’s game. We have at least an hour." His hands cup your face tenderly. "This is our moment. Everything else can wait a little while."

A laugh bubbles up from your chest, half disbelief, half pure joy. "You're impossible, you know that? Planning a surprise vow renewal ceremony on election night."

"I prefer the term 'strategic,'" he counters with a grin.

You shake your head, marveling at this man who you imagine will continually find ways to surprise you for the rest of your lives together. 

You lean in, wrapping your arms around his neck. "I love you, Steve Rogers." 

"I love you," he echoes, his lips brushing against yours in a tender kiss that promises forever. 

You're about to deepen the kiss when a furious pounding on the door startles you both. The hammering is so intense it seems to rattle the entire door in its frame. 

"Steve!" Bucky's voice booms from the hallway, urgent and breathless. "Open the damn door!"

"Coming!" Steve calls, releasing you reluctantly. 

The romantic bubble has been pierced by whatever emergency has Bucky sounding so frantic. Steve strides quickly to the door, yanking it open to reveal Bucky standing there, chest heaving as if he's just sprinted the length of the corridor. 

"Georgia, Texas, and Ohio," Bucky announces, his eyes bright with something between disbelief and triumph. "All three just came in green. Within five minutes of each other." 

Steve's face goes blank with shock. "What?" 

"Texas?" you whisper, the impossibility of it making your voice falter. "Texas went green?" 

Bucky nods vigorously, his metal hand gripping the doorframe so tightly you can hear it creak. "Forty electoral votes from Texas. Santos practically went door-to-door for us the past five days.”

"How?" Steve breathes. "Texas has only failed to go red with Carter in the seventies, Bartlet with Hoynes as his VP, and Santos in ‘06 and ‘10.”

“Wait,” you interject. “Georgia and Ohio, too? Georgia and Ohio?”

Bucky beams. “Another big swing state in the South and the state that almost never gets it wrong when it comes down to who ultimately wins the presidency.”

“Republicans never win without taking Ohio,” you add, all of you knowing way more about electoral college lore at this point than many political operatives and politicians. 

“And, like I said, forty from Texas. With seventeen from Ohio and sixteen from Georgia. That's seventy-three more in our column. We're at two-nineteen and counting."

Your jaw drops and Steve shakes his head in disbelief. “Did you just say two-nineteen?”

“Oh, you missed New York - but we banked hard that you’d take your home state - and Wisconsin came in after you left, too, giving you twenty-eight and ten respectively.”

Steve leans against the doorframe, his face a mixture of shock and dawning realization. "Two hundred and nineteen electoral votes?"

"Just fifty-one more to go," Bucky confirms, his eyes gleaming. "Jake's losing his mind up there. The networks are scrambling. No one saw Texas coming."

You grab Steve's arm, dizzy with the implications. "We're actually doing this," you whisper. "We're actually winning."

The enormity of it hits you both at once. What started as a long-shot campaign, an idealistic bid to change the nature of American politics, is now on the verge of making history. The independent candidate who many dismissed as a symbolic protest vote is now within striking distance of the presidency.

Bucky watches your faces with a mixture of joy and impatience. "So, are we still doing this thing or what? Because the window of free time has narrowed significantly if you’re still… wait, did you ask her?"

Steve nods, his eyes never leaving yours, a silent question there. 

"Yes," you say firmly, squeezing his hand. "We're absolutely still doing this. I don't care if every state in the union turns green in the next twenty minutes—I'm marrying you again tonight, Steve Rogers." 

Steve's face breaks into that radiant smile that still makes your heart skip, and he turns back to Bucky, who’s grinning almost as much as Steve. "Wedding's still on. Tell everyone to meet us downstairs in fifteen minutes."

Bucky grins, already backing away down the hall. "Better make it ten! And I'll keep Jake from having a coronary when he realizes you're still going through with this."

As he disappears around the corner, Steve closes the door and turns back to you, his expression a mixture of wonder and determination. 

"Two hundred and nineteen electoral votes," you breathe, still processing it. 

Steve laughs, pulling you into his arms and spinning you around once, the movement lifting you slightly off your feet. His joy is infectious, electrifying the air between you. 

"I don't even know what to say," he admits, setting you down gently. "But right now, I care more about being your husband—your real husband—than I do about being president."

His words make your chest swell with emotion. In this moment of potential political triumph, his focus remains on you, on the relationship you've built from such unlikely beginnings.

"Two-seventy might happen tonight," you whisper, "but either way, we're happening right now." You run your hands up his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath your palm. 

Steve kisses you then, a kiss filled with promise and certainty. When he pulls away, his eyes are bright with determination. His fingers trail along your jawline, tender and reverent. "I should go change. Sam's got my suit in his room." 

You nod, reluctant to let him go even for a few minutes. Steve takes the wedding band off your finger, promising to give it back to you next time he sees you. "Something borrowed," he murmurs.

"Ten minutes," you remind him, brushing your lips against his one more time before stepping back. 

"Ten minutes," he confirms, his eyes lingering on you as he backs toward the door. 

When he's gone, you turn to face the wedding dress, freeing it from the garment bag and running your fingers over the delicate fabric. It seems like a lifetime ago that you first wore this—a political arrangement between virtual strangers, both of you nervous and uncertain. Now, the thought of wearing it to marry the man you love fills you with a different kind of butterflies entirely. 

There's another knock, and this time it's Sophia and your mom, coming to help you with your wedding dress. 

"Thank God you're here," you say, relief flooding through you as you open the door. "I need to get ready in less than ten minutes." 

Your mother brushes past you, already reaching for the dress. "Well, we can't have you late to your own wedding. Again." Her eyes twinkle with amusement. 

Sophia follows her inside, the back up cosmetics bag she’s carried around ‘just in case’ for you during the campaign in hand, a determined expression on her face. "I still can't believe I had to feign clumsiness as part of a presidential conspiracy," she laughs, setting the bag down on the dresser. "Though I have to admit, spilling that drink on cue was harder than any campaign strategy I've had to execute."

"You were very convincing," you assure her, stepping out of your stained blouse as your mother holds up the wedding dress. 

"I can't believe he planned this," your mother says, shaking her head in wonder. "And I’m so glad we get to really be here for you this time,” she adds. 

You squeeze her hand, not wanting to relive the past. “It’s different for all of us this time.”

The three of you work quickly, and you do make it downstairs in ten minutes. Peterson takes his home state of Michigan and both Dakotahs for twenty-one more points in the red column. 

But that doesn’t matter as your father meets you at the entrance of the Terrace Room, which has been transformed into an ethereal wedding-scape. 

[11:18PM - THE TERRACE ROOM]

You assume there must be a couple getting ready to use the room for their own nuptials the next day because there are far too many chairs set up, and the hotel staff certainly couldn’t have pulled off decorations this elaborate in only a few hours. The crystal chandeliers are striking enough, but with creamy silks and lush cascades of white and blush of flowers hanging from the ceiling, it’s surreal and stunning—just one more unforgettable thing you catalogue in your memory for this incredible night. 

Steve stands at the front of the room, his eyes finding yours immediately as you begin your walk. The small gathering of your closest friends and family—Sam, Bucky, Sophia, Jake, your mother, Pepper, Maria Hill, Peter Parker—all rise, but you barely notice them. Your entire world narrows to Steve's face, to the look of pure adoration that transforms his features as he watches you approach.

The music is soft, some classical piece you don't recognize but that feels perfect for this moment. Your father's arm is steady under your trembling hand, excitement and an eagerness surging through your veins.

"I'm so happy for you," he whispers, his voice rough with feeling. "Not because you might be First Lady, but because you found someone who will look at you like that for the rest of your life."

You squeeze his arm in silent thanks, unable to form words past the lump in your throat. 

When you reach Steve, your father places your hand in his before stepping back. Steve's fingers curl around yours, warm and sure, grounding you amid the surreal beauty of this moment. The chaplain begins speaking, but his words fade into the background as you and Steve stand face to face, hands clasped, hearts open.

“You ready?” you whisper so only he can hear, the reassuring question you’ve asked each other a hundred times at key moments during this campaign - this marriage.

“Let’s do this,” he replies, no question. 

And there’s no question in your heart either. 

Everything this time is different. You can’t take your eyes off each other, you hold onto his hands desperately - earnestly - because you need to like you need to breathe. Steve slides your wedding band back onto your finger, and this time when he does it, your heart feels like it might burst from happiness.

The vows you speak aren't scripted or rehearsed. They flow naturally, honest declarations of the love that grew between you - from reluctant allies to acquaintances to partners to friends to lovers. Steve's voice catches when he promises to choose you every day for the rest of his life, and you don't bother hiding the tears that spill down your cheeks as you pledge yourself to him in return. 

When the chaplain pronounces you husband and wife - again - Steve's kiss is nothing like the polite, chaste brush of lips at your first ceremony. This kiss is deep and passionate, a promise and a claiming all at once. The small group erupts in cheers and applause as you melt against him, your hands finding their way to his shoulders, his arms wrapping securely around your waist.

When you finally break apart, Steve keeps you close, his forehead resting against yours as you both catch your breath.

"Mrs. Rogers," he murmurs, his voice intimate despite the audience.

"Mr. Rogers," you reply with a smile, your heart so full it aches.

Jake clears his throat loudly. "Sorry to break up this moment, but we've got Montana and Colorado coming in green. That's fourteen more electoral votes."

Steve laughs, keeping his arm around your waist as you both turn to face your friends. "Two hundred and thirty-three," he says, shaking his head in wonder. He turns to look at Pepper. “You might not have been crazy about any of this after all.”

She beams. “I’ve been known to have an eye for people and possibilities - and I couldn’t be happier to be right about this.”

Your small wedding reception consists of champagne and a hastily assembled dessert bar courtesy of the Plaza's pastry chef who, upon learning Captain America was renewing his vows on election night, insisted on creating something special. The elegant room buzzes with conversation and laughter, an island of personal joy amid the political storm raging outside these walls. 

Steve pulls you closer against his side, his thumb tracing circles on your hip. "How are you feeling, Mrs. Rogers?" he asks quietly, his breath warm against your ear. 

"Like I'm living in a dream," you admit, tilting your face up to meet his gaze. "What about you? Still nervous about the results?"

"I'm exactly where I need to be," he answers, his eyes never leaving yours. The certainty in his voice makes your heart swell. "Everything else is just..." He trails off, searching for the right word. 

Your moment is interrupted by Sam, who pops another bottle of champagne, the cork flying across the room as everyone laughs.

"To the newlyweds," he announces, refilling glasses for the small gathering. "Again!"

Everyone raises their glasses, but before you can take a sip, Jake’s phone rings. His expression shifts as he listens, eyes widening. He looks up at Steve and steps forward to hand him the phone. 

Steve takes the phone with a questioning look at Jake, who mouths, "Monroe." 

The room falls silent, all eyes on Steve as he puts the phone to his ear. You move closer, your hand finding his as he speaks. 

"Senator Monroe," Steve says, his voice steady despite the surprise evident in his eyes. "Yes, sir." 

You can't hear the other side of the conversation, but you watch the play of emotions across your husband's face—surprise, respect, and finally a humbled gratitude. His hand tightens around yours. 

"Washington and Oregon both?" Steve asks, looking at Jake for confirmation. Jake nods vigorously. 

"That's very generous of you, Senator," Steve continues. "But the math isn't certain yet. We're still shy of two-seventy, and you’ll surely take your home state of California. There's no need to—"

He pauses, listening intently. His eyebrows rise in surprise, and you can see a new emotion settle across his features—respect.

"I appreciate that, Senator, truly," Steve says, his voice softer now. "But with California's fifty-four votes and maybe Nevada still in play, you could potentially—"

He falls silent again, listening. 

"That's... very gracious of you," Steve responds after a moment. "I've always respected your commitment to this country as well, sir." 

The room has gone completely still, everyone holding their breath as they piece together what's happening. Jake's eyes are wide, his fingers frantically tapping on his tablet as he runs calculations. 

"Yes, sir. I understand," Steve continues. "Thank you, Senator Monroe.” He pauses again. “Expect to hear from me soon. I mean it.”

When Steve ends the call, he stands motionless for a moment, his expression one of stunned disbelief. The room around you is utterly silent, everyone waiting with bated breath.

"Monroe just conceded," Steve says finally, his voice carrying across the suddenly silent room. "He just called to tell me he's about to make the announcement publicly."

The room erupts in gasps and exclamations. Jake is crunching numbers on his phone frantically. "With Washington and Oregon bring you twenty more, getting you to two hundred and fifty-three," he announces, voice cracking with excitement. "That's seventeen short of the magic number, but—"

"But even if he takes his home state, Monroe sees he can’t win anymore," Bucky interrupts, still looking stunned. 

Sam steps forward, champagne forgotten in his hand. "What about Peterson?"

"Monroe thinks Peterson won't concede until all the votes are counted," Steve explains, running a hand over his beard. "But he won’t take California, and there aren’t enough big counts left to get him to two-seventy.”

Your heart is pounding so hard you can feel it in your ears. "So what does that mean exactly?"

Jake's face breaks into a wide grin, his eyes shining with emotion. "It means," he says slowly, savoring each word, holding up his phone with an electoral map, "even with California going blue, Monroe only gets to one hundred twenty-one electoral votes. Peterson can't possibly break two hundred at this point. Steve, we're looking at two-seventy plus."

"God," Steve whispers, turning to you with a look of wonder that makes your heart stutter. "This is actually happening."

You grasp his hands, speechless, as the enormity of the moment washes over you. Your husband—your real, chosen husband as of ten minutes ago—is about to become the President of the United States. 

The room erupts again, this time in a cacophony of cheers and sobs. Sam wraps Steve in a bear hug, lifting him slightly off the ground. Bucky stands back, shaking his head in wonder before moving in for his own embrace. Your mother is crying openly now, your father's arm tight around her shoulders as they beam with pride.

But all you can see is Steve's face—the mixture of disbelief, humility, and determination that washes over his features as the reality sinks in. The man who woke up from the ice to find his country changed, who fought to protect it even when it turned against him, who stood up for what he believed in no matter the cost—that man is now going to lead the nation he has always served.

"We need to get you changed back from groom to presidential and then back downstairs," Jake says, already shifting into logistics mode. "They'll be expecting a victory speech soon in Central Park."

Steve nods, but his eyes never leave yours. In this whirlwind of history being made, he reaches for you. "Come with me?" he asks, and though it's phrased as a question, you both know there's only one answer.

"Always," you reply, taking his hand. 

NEXT PART: Epilogue

Well, well, well. Looks like someone named Aspen finally brought this story to an end.

There will be an epilogue, yes, and I have some deleted scenes as well as a moment or two for future President and First Lady Rogers that I want to share with you still and maybe a spin-off series, but HERE WE ARE!

AND

I HAVE FINAL RESULTS FOR YOU VISUALLY!

I used the 270towin interactive map, and it doesn't have a green option, but here's how the votes officially shook out in the end.

A candidate only needed 34% in ANY given state in order to claim the majority and get the electoral votes for that state, and the more I thought about it, the more I felt like Steve could win. When I started the story, I thought it was more likely that there'd be no clear winner the night of elections, but with the unrest after the Blip and the Return, with Steve's ability to speak and connect with people, and with the photo scandal being exposed and exploited as a pretty cheap gimmick, I felt like any voters who were slightly on the fringes of still voting red or blue would be willing to say enough is enough and go for an inspiring figure like Steve. Tired of the system, but not voting for an option that wanted to burn the system and smash it to pieces, you know? Steve genuinely wants to do good.

And we get to have a happy ending in fiction. I felt like it was self-indulgent, but then @stargazingfangirl18 helped me NOT to feel guilty giving us a happy political future since we don't get to have one in real life.

↠ Main Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest

I do not do tag lists, but FOLLOW @buckets-and-stories and TURN ON NOTIFICATIONS to be updated any time I publish a new work!

[lmaowhatt]

it takes time - intro

rafe cameron x reader smau!

summary: actress y/n I/n has recently skyrocketed into stardom after her breakout film 'castaways' alongside sarah cameron, kevin hart, chris evans and chris hemsworth. weeks after the movies premiere, she drops her debut single, further cementing her place in the spotlight. as millions of people around the world begin to notice and idolize her, struggling with her own demons, she catches the attention of rafe cameron, among others. however, not everything goes as smooth as they both would've hoped. and they soon figure out.. it takes time.

main masterlist | series masterlist

twitter profiles - intro - one

y/n l/n (24): an english actress and singer who moved to philadelphia, pennsylvania at 16. she rose to stardom after a breakout role in 'castaways' as well as her debut single, 'wildflower' (one of MANY billie eilish masterpieces) was released. she instantly became the internets it girl, even gaining recognition from other artists for her vocals and performance. rumored to be starring in 'hellraiser.'

jj maybank (25): y/n's long time best friend. he was the first to ever talk to her after moving to pennsylvania, defending her from bullies who ridiculed her accent. works with her as her guitarist (bass and acoustic) and sometimes her backup vocalist and producer (imagine mr. harry styles type of vocals in some sorta way and finneas.)

sarah cameron (24): model/actress and the one of the internets favorite nepo baby's. she is the first nepo baby of the cameron family, but she was easily able to cement herself in the industry after seemingly distancing herself from her family. met y/n while filming 'castaways,' best friends ever since. introduced her and jj to the rest of the pogues.

john b routledge (26): married to sarah. began directing projects after being hired to work on 'euphoria,' which helped boost his career and he is now credited for 'the menendez brothers,' (the documentary) 'red one,' and worked as an executive producer for 'castaways.' credited to co-direct 'hellraiser' alongside david bruckner.

kiara carrera (24): very known influencer and youtuber who loves to advocate for marine life and the earth in general. she childhood bestfriends with sarah and used to date rafe. (the only amount of riara happening) met y/n at the premiere for 'castaways.'

pope heyward (25): ran into y/n at a coffee shop while she was filming 'castaways,' camera strapped around his neck. this stirred up a conversation between the both of them and they easily became friends, him occasionally working as her 'personal' photographer, however he is established in the industry.

cleo anderson (26): model who worked hard to climb her way up the tower of famous models. walked the runway at the 2024 victorias secret fashion show along side sarah cameron. got introduced to y/n backstage when the film hadnt released yet and got introduced to pope through her, hitting it off quite quickly.

rafe cameron (26): model and #2 on the scale of favorite nepo baby of the internet. followed in his sisters footsteps of distancing himself from family in order to shut down (or slow down) the nepo baby rumors. didnt get introduced to y/n until sarah posted premiere images of the two and he officially met her on the set of 'hellraiser', although he had heard of her earlier. was rumored to be dating sabrina carpenter.

a/n: we're all friends in this story! there isnt any kooks and pogues in this story, everyone except jj and y/n know eachother. all the couples in the show will still exist jj and kie will exist later on.

PSA: the timelines of show and movie releases will be changed but the irl actors ages and names will stay the same unless said so! other people in the show like sofia, topper, barry, ruthie and kelce will be their characters just not as talked about. FOR EXAMPLE: euphoria(2019) will be changed to 2023. the menendez brothers(2024) and red one(2024) will stay the same. hellraiser(2022) will be changed to release december 27, 2024.

[whoopsyeahokay]

Housekeeping 12

October Moon

...so.

...

i lied. i'm at PART 25 now and things were added that i feel i need to share for those of you who've already read up to PART 10 of October Moon (Wally Clark x fem!reader). this way you don't have to reread anything. i got you.

below the cut are the big changes:

The conversation between Wally and Reader in PART 9 changed. nothing serious, just the momentum of it.

Mr. Anderson is Uncle Andrew's friend.

Reader used to drink the tea. She stopped around the time Maddie went missing.

How Reader discovered Simon could see Maddie changed. Wally told her after her panic attack in PART 18.

there's more evidence of Reader misremembering her brother's death.

PART 21, PART 22, and PART 23 have changed completely in order to fit the new narrative of Wally telling Reader about Simon before then. i also decided Ajay wasn't going to take the fall for Wally because, honestly, Rhonda isn't an idiot and i always felt that i didn't do her or Charley justice by going that route. as hilarious as it was.

Ms. Chung (grief counselor) is more important. why is kind of disclosed at the end of PART 23. (Janet infers that there's someone else poking around the woods after Dave emerges to collect Reader.)

there are more mentions about how the ghosts are asking more questions and sharing their own opinions when they previously didn't feel compelled to. (Charley never mentioned before that he doesn't like the "same 5 sports movies".)

there are more cameos by Dead Grandpa John.

when Reader was 6 and learned about Traveling, Ginny didn't meet with Dead Grandpa John, she met with another woman. Aurora disclosed that it was likely another Traveler in their Ciorcal.

i added a scene at the end of PART 19. Simon getting arrested. he feels Wally's presence when Wally is staring at him in the hall.

i think that's it. everything else goes as it should. the last 3 parts will remain as they are, i'm just going to clean them up. i will also be adding a scene of Xavier and Nicole at Horror Con.

but, with all those things added, and what i can edit into October Moon, i'm finally able to put down the scenes i need to in order to get us to the finish line.

thank you so much for putting up with me, guys, seriously 😭

[shion-ah]

Death of me

Cillian Murphy as Thomas Fucking Shelby

"Do you honestly think I could ever forget?"

Hayley Atwell as Katherine Redwine

"Christ...just tell him or I will."

Annabelle Wallis as Grace Burgess

"Is that jealousy I hear?"

Joe Cole as John Shelby

"You'll always be a Shelby never get that."

Paul Anderson as Arthur Shelby

"Don't worry luv, we got you. Who do I gotta kill?"

Sophie Rundle as Ada Shelby

"You've always been there for me, of course I'll be here for you."

Helen McCrory as Polly Grey

"Us women are smarter. Now chin up, we have a job to do."

Chapter One

The air of Small Heath seemed to have a way of sticking to your skin or clothing. It left you feeling almost sticky and sweaty from the grim that would collect no matter how careful you chose to be. The people had grown used to such things and one could never be too precious about their clothing. Children seemed to run wild with their dogs and friends, men in the factories returning home covered in soot and the women trying to keep their homes cleaned to the best of their ability. Katherine Redwine had been brought up on Watery Lane and in her young mind, she believed that this was always going to be the case. “Kat, are you listening?” The annoyed voice of Ada rang through her ears pulling her attention away from the window. “Yes, of course. You were saying?” Katherine gave her friend a smile and lifted her cup of tea to her lips. It was rare that the two girls got moments like this and she didn’t mean to waste her time lost in the clouds. Ada watched Katherine with a sad smile of her own. Since the war Katherine hadn’t been the same, which she supposed was the common saying amongst the rest of the world. “I was saying that I think it is time that we get you back out there. You are a beautiful girl and I know anyone would be lucky to have you.” Ada leaned forward in her chair and crossed her ankles. “He wouldn’t want you to live like this. Pat-” “I’m alright I promise, I am just not ready. There’s still too much to do right now.” It wasn’t a complete lie. Since the men had come back home it had been a hard adjustment for her. First her brother had been killed and the man she had loved for most of her life had simply turned his back and had barely spoken a full sentence to her. And now that same man seemed to have found more trouble as if he had been fishing for it. Katherine shook her head placing the cup down back on the table giving the young Shelby woman’s hand a small squeeze. “But in the meantime I look forward to hearing all about how sweet and kind Freddie is.” At the mention of Freddie Thorne, Ada's cheeks began to flush, the usual reaction when the man was pulled into the conversation or whenever Ada told her friend of the latest escapades the two had gotten into. Katherine watched as Ada continued to talk about how much she loved Freddie and the latest times they had to meet up in secret, the forbidden romance felt like a dream she had had once. She had been so young when she first met him but those blue eyes of Thomas Shelby would forever haunt her. She was sure she would die with the image of his eyes, his smile permanently imprinted into her thoughts. She had been so angry with him, the sting of her slap across his face still stung her hand when she thought about it for too long. Of course when she had heard of what he found she wanted to try to knock some sense into him. 

And now she had a sinking feeling in her gut that felt like it was growing larger and larger each time she tried to swallow. Leave it to the most clever man she knew to bring down the eye of the government, the IRA, and god knows who else by finding and taking those guns. 

Thomas fucking Shelby. 

Those words rang in her mind when her man had told her, they rang when she confronted Charlie Strong and Curly. And once she had left Ada making her way down the street and heard of his stunt with the Chinese in a show to gather more bets. Any time she had tried to tell Thomas that he was getting into things he had no business doing, he would tell her that it “wasn’t women’s business” and would drop it at that, leaving Katherine to stare at him in a mix of frustration and continued heartache. 

Katherine began to make her way to the Garrison pub for her usual one drink with Harry giving a small nod and smile to the people she passed and in return would gain her own “Mrs. Shelby” greeting. She had grown numb to the nickname and had given up on correcting those that continued to use it and she decided to see it as a type of shield. No one fucked with the Peaky Blinders and the Shelby name went a long way in Small Heath. If Thomas had taught her anything it was to appear as calm and unbothered as possible when inside you just want to shoot something, or rather someone.

“Welcome in my lady, your usual?” Harry said, placing a glass down on the bar once Katherine had entered. She made her way to the middle of the bar and took her usual seat. “Yes please, Harry.” Katherine gave the older man a kind smile and glanced about the pub. The usual bar flies were about four glasses in and only acknowledged her with a simple nod or not at all. “How have you been Harry? Haven’t been given any trouble have you?”

“None, miss. Mostly the occasional drunkard fight but it ends well enough.” Harry placed the Irish whiskey down for the Redwine and leaned on the bar top. “You look as if you need a good drink and a good sleep.” Katherine huffed a laughed at her friend’s words and shrugged taking a sip from the amber liquid. “Don’t I always look this way?” She teased tilting her head. She had always enjoyed Harry’s company; he was kind in his own way and cared for the Garrison like it should have been. This was home and he had taken care of her when she had gotten so drunk she hadn’t been able to stand and he made sure that she would never reach that low again. He had made Katherine promise to not lose herself in her grief or heartbreak. He had been the father figure that she needed after Patrick had been killed. 

“Kat, don’t bullshit me.” Harry shook his head. Katherine spun her glass slightly, his gentle but stern tone was comforting in a sense. It was the same tone he had when he found her in the private room that Thomas always used. She had broken down and cried in Harry’s arms and was more whiskey than person and she was sure her breath could have caused an explosion if she lit a match. Earlier that day they had held a service for Patrick and it had really hit her that he was gone, her big brother, her protector was nowhere to be found. Just like her Tommy, sweet happy Tommy who was able to light up a room with his smile and whose laugh was contagious seemed to have died the same night. Harry had listened as she cried and mourned the lives lost and dreams that were crushed but once she was done he picked her up and helped her upstairs and cleaned her up and put her to bed. He had banned anyone giving her any kind of alcohol in the Garrison until she was able to function. He would be damned if the sweet girl turned into one of the men he served. “I’m fine Harry, I promise.” Katherine was touched as he watched her but before he could comment the doors to the Garrison were pushed open as the one man who she couldn’t stand walked through in the most attention way he could have. 

Fucking Thomas. 

(It will get better I promise but let me know what you think!)

[fatsamsgrandslamspeakeasy]

REMEMBERING GENE HACKMAN

January 30, 1930 - February 26, 2025

Whatever Gene Hackman attached his name to, you can be assured that he would give 110% of his efforts. In addition to his vast screen acting resume, not many folks know that Mr Hackman was also an author of 5 novels, was an architect and designer of homes, was a race car driver, and was....as his character Lex Luthor described himself in 1978's Superman, The Movie...."very heavy into real estate!" Here are some stills from some of my personal favorite Gene Hackman films. As you can see, he was highly in demand and never wanted for work, which speaks volumes of his professionalism, his talent and his work ethic! Thank you, Mr Hackman for many hours of viewing enjoyment!!!

An iconic shot of Lex Luthor armed with Kryptonite from 1978s Superman, The Movie....

...as the iconic Popeye Doyle from The French Connection (1971) which earned Hackman his 1st Oscar as Best Actor...

From 1975, again as Popeye Doyle.... from the very much underrated The French Connection 2...

Reverend Scott from 1972's The Poseidon Adventure...

Lex Luthor once again, in Superman 2 (1981)

Hackman's 2nd Oscar win was as Best Supporting Actor in 1992s Unforgiven as Sheriff "Little Bill" Daggett...a very scary portrayal!

...as Coach Norman Dale in 1986s Hoosiers.

....as John Herod in 1995s The Quick and the Dead...

....as USMC Col. Jason Rhodes in 1983s Uncommon Valor

1967s Bonnie and Clyde, as Buck Barrow

1974s Young Frankenstein, as the Blind Hermit

Gene Garrison in 1970s I Never Sang For My Father

The Conversation (1974), Harry Caul

Scarecrow (1973) Max Millan

1981s All Night Long, as George Dupler

The Domino Principle (1977) Roy Tucker

also from 1977...A Bridge Too Far, as Major General Stanislaw Sosabowski

1988s Mississippi Burning as FBI Agent Rupert Anderson

1993....Geronimo: An American Legend as Brigadier General George Crook

...with Liza Minelli and Burt Reynolds in 1975s Lucky Lady, playing Kibby Womack

Harry Moseby in 1975s Night Moves

1975 was an extremely busy year for Hackman, playing Sam Clayton in Bite The Bullet

Lieutenant Colonel Iceal Hambleton, Bat 21 (1988)

THE VERY BEST OF GENE HACKMAN....

[homestuckreplay]

New Favorite Homestuck Page Dropped????

(page 1073 – ‘[S] Jade: Pester John.’)

First of all: This page is everything to me. It is a spiritual successor to my (previous?) favorite page, ‘WV: Ascend’, in the way it explains and ties together a lot of disparate things such that a bunch of individual events suddenly become one coherent story. Also, the closest we’ve gotten to two of the kids meeting in person!

I love that this flash lets us enjoy how breathtaking Prospit and Skaia are at the beginning, before kicking the plot into gear. Some other aesthetic moments really stand out, too. The transition from Rose’s house (on fire) to Rose’s house (covered in snow), the moment that Jade’s Prospit tower and her Earth tower are superimposed to look like one structure, the golden light filtering through Jade’s dream window turning to blue, and the moment that Jade’s island meteor leaves the bounds of the cloud-vision, becoming a cloud itself as it descends onto Prospit, are all stunning. And every flickering back and forth between waking and dreaming Jades or worlds is a reminder of how interconnected these worlds are, multiple characters crossing this boundary in both directions.

Here, we get an explanation of how Jade’s powers work. As I understand it, when an eclipse happens on Prospit, its moon (and by extension Jade’s tower) passes in front of Skaia. When this happens, she sees visions through portals in Skaia’s clouds that could be from any time in Earth’s (or the universe’s?) past or future. It’s possible for these visions to physically impact Prospit, which is why it’s dangerous for Jade to be outside during the eclipse. Jade can see visions while awake through Bec (p.980), as Bec is originally from Skaia.

Jade is doing the equivalent of lucid dreaming, able to consciously impact the world on Prospit, but only able to impact Earth via her dreambot. John sees some visions, but only as shapes made out of Skaia’s clouds, not through the cloud portals. Jade can also see the shapes made out of clouds, but these are secondary. John’s seeing the clouds could be because simply because his dreaming self lives on Prospit, or specifically because he’s outdoors/sleepwalking on Prospit, or because he’s sleeping within the Incipisphere – it’s uncertain.

John’s visions, importantly, ARE still accurate predictions. This flash incorporates ‘[S] John: Wake up.’ (p.651), in which John sees his dad, a cake, Gushers, a harlequin, the green slime ghost, and Harry Anderson. Almost all of these tie into the mental breakdowns John later has in his dad’s room (p.948, 979) and subsequent experiments with alchemy. So if John can wake up, and now that he’s had this realization about the harlequin graffiti in the waking world he seems like he’s ready to see it in dreams too, he’ll have access to the same powers as Jade. Given that John is often presented as the most clueless character, that would be a really interesting shift.

Speaking of John waking up! The John-Jade pesterlogs from page 169 and 293 are appended to this page, with links for convenience (the first time a pesterlog has appeared beneath a major [S] page). We now know that these happen while Jade is asleep. The only other April 13, 2009 pesterlog between these two is on page 652, immediately after this page, and that conversation makes PERFECT sense now. Jade knows about Nannasprite because one of her cloud-portals showed John’s current adventure, Jade was ‘confused’ about the meteor near her house because it 'landed' on Prospit (and far-past Earth), not current Earth, and John needs to ‘wake up’ so that he can see Jade’s visions too, and they can discuss them with equal knowledge. Jade’s a little frustrated in that conversation, because she knows John was so close to waking up, but now she’s not sure when it’ll actually happen.

The meteor impact as seen on Prospit in this flash is I think identical to the meteor impact on Earth years in the past (p.757) – but we know it’s Prospit, because Jade’s golden tower is there in this version. It appears that Bec was within the Skaian meteor that impacted Prospit, and rose unharmed from the lava pool in the most badass possible way. It’s uncertain whether there are two Becs – one on Prospit and one on Earth – or if he just teleports between them at will. I wondered for a moment if Bec being pure white was a link to the white of Prospit citizens, but that would have implications for all the kids and guardians that I don’t think are true, so I think that’s coincidence.

The simple white spirograph Bec is guarding (on Prospit) is the same that appears at the end of ‘WV: Ascend’, another link between these flashes. It looks like a video game powerup – something hovering in the air that Jade could jump and pass through, and she’d get a success sound and glow for a moment. Bec is stopping Jade from taking this (on Prospit), and from entering the frog statue (on Earth), and I don’t know what his intentions are – trying to protect Jade from danger, trying to keep Jade from something that might help her, or just following orders as an agent of Skaia without thinking? Jade has already had one Strife with Bec to retrieve something he’s guarding – will she get a second, perhaps more dangerous one? What exactly is the white spirograph, and what is hidden inside the frog temple? Is what’s inside the frog temple still there 413 years in the future, now guarded by the Aimless Renegade instead of Bec?

Bec guarding the frog statue from robo-Jade is – I think – one of only two new glimpses of Earth in this flash. The other is Dave’s house, fading from its current fiery sky to a dreary gray day, mirroring Rose’s house fading from ‘on fire’ to its snowy flashback from page 441. I hope this means we’ll see a flashback to Dave’s birthday soon too. Also worth mentioning again is Dave’s ‘sometimes i dream that [Lil Cal is] real and hes talking to me and i wake up in a cold sweat and basically flip the fuck out’ (p.419). John has a malevolent imp entity in his room that clearly affects him while asleep and awake (p.1049) so if there’s a dreaming Dave somewhere in the incipisphere, is it possible he has a Cal equivalent? In fact, could a dreaming Rose have a wizard equivalent? Is Jade able to wake up within her dreams and see visions because she’s the only one who doesn’t have an unpleasant entity haunting her room? Is this because of Bec’s protection?

Also, if we are getting a Dave flashback, that means that Jade’s visions can be in the future or past of her linear time, AND in the future or past of the narrative, which is fun for an already fourth wall breaking character. It got me thinking about the two glimpses of Jade we got in Act 2, and about how one was a narrative psycheout given to us by the author (p.665), and the other was an in-universe psycheout for John himself, almost seeing Jade for the first time in person but waking up before it can happen. I am imagining Jade climbing in and out of the narrative like it is her own personal set of monkey bars and that’s a fun image to me.

I was doing some wild theorizing about waking vs dreaming Jade during my fourth or fifth watch on this, and I even considered that John is the only friend Jade’s able to communicate with while dreaming, seeing the others as people within her visions but not realizing they’re her friends. But I think Dave’s monologue to Jade disproves this, his ‘do you even know if you are [asleep]’ suggesting he’s talked to dream Jade before. So theory discarded, but I really want to figure out the difference between Jade’s waking voice and dreaming voice, such that it’s possible to place any Jade pesterlog as waking or dreaming. Here’s what we know about all ten of her existing pesterlogs.

Page 110 (John) – Confirmed to be waking Jade (p.827).

Page 169 (John) – Confirmed to be dreaming Jade (p.1073).

Page 293 (John) – Confirmed to be dreaming Jade (p.1073).

Page 382 (Dave) – Confirmed to be waking Jade (p. 835).

Page 442 (Rose) – Unknown. I believe this is waking Jade, as she has just mailed a package which is known to be on Earth. Jade seems to speak more concretely while waking and more vaguely while dreaming; I believe she is giving information from a recent dream.

Page 652 (John) – Strongly implied to be waking Jade due to their simultaneous awakening (p.1073).

Page 829 (Dave) – Jade is out of her room and exploring, no clues towards waking/dreaming state.

Page 838 (Rose) – Seen from waking Jade’s perspective.

Page 859 (CG) – Seen from waking Jade’s perspective.

Page 1000 (John) – Unknown. I believe this is waking Jade, as she says she’s ‘never had any sort of feeling’ about the trolls, suggesting that she’s not aware of them in her dreams.

> Jade: Continue to blink and shake head in perfect unison with John.

[calaisreno]

Déjà Vu, Chapter 3

Conversations: Greg has coffee with Sherlock; Sherlock checks out a new flat; Anderson spouts nonsense (maybe?); and John has lunch with his ex-boyfriend. The puzzle pieces are coming together.

Author Note: In this story, the events of the show are a lost timeline. Several characters experience what is called False Memory Syndrome (FMS), where they remember events of other timelines.

Mycroft's recollections include several abandoned timelines where tragic things happened. In the present narrative, those are all false memories. John and Sherlock will find each other in this story.

Various POVs: Mycroft, Greg, Sherlock, John. POV shifts indicated by a new subtitle.

CW: suicide of a minor character; discussion of suicide (no graphic descriptions of violence or death). No MCD.

This story is part of the Off-Axis series, but you do not have to read the previous three stories to enjoy this one.

Note: Sorry! Link is fixed now!

[fear-is-truth]

tysm for the tag @bohnerrific69

9 people you wanna know better .ᐟ

◟✿ 3 ships — dramione, bonrad, reylo

◟✿ first ship — pretty sure it’s anidala

◟✿ last song — road rage by eminem

◟✿ last tv show — american murder: laci peterson

◟✿ currently reading — finders keepers by stephen king

◟✿ currently watching — conversations with a killer: the john wayne gacy tapes

◟✿ currently eating — does black coffee count ? ☕️

◟✿ currently craving — kai anderson’s d***

no pressure 🏷️ – @american-horror-whore @oceanblvd111 @xkaisxjazzxsingerx @mistysconcilium @lisboncy @andiloveher @newwavesylviaplath @starry-eyed-wild-child @marchbirdie @babydolllblogger i love u all sm

[steviebunny]

Pretty Astute Observations

Coquilles

___

06:00

Will Graham walks through the foyer of Hannibal Lectors home, bags still dark and heavy beneath his eyes. 

“Is it safe to assume you are not sleep walking now?”

“I’m sorry its so early”

“Office hours are for patients. My kitchen is always open to friends… and their partners.”

“Lena?”

“Came to see me just an hour ago, an interesting conversation was had on the topic of evil. Perhaps reaching out to her would be your best course of action. That's why Jack recruited her, is it not?” He says while fiddling with the espresso machine.

“I uh- I don’t know her very well.”

“One could always use more friends.”

“What about you doctor?”

“I’ll have you both…If you’ll have me” The innuendo could almost be unsettling if it wasn’t for Hannibal's air of confidence blanketing the statement. “Onset of adult sleepwalking is less common than in children.”

“Could it be a seizure?” Will asks gratefully accepting a glass from Hannibal.

“I’d argue, good old-fashioned post-traumatic stress. Jack Crawford has gotten your hands very dirty ”

“I wasn’t forced back into the field” 

“I wouldn't say ‘forced’, manipulated is the word I’d choose.”

“I can handle it.”

“Somewhere between denying horrible events, and calling them out lies the truth of psychological trauma.”

“So I can’t handle it.”

“Your experience may have overwhelmed ordinary functions that give you a sense of control.”

“If my body is walking around without my permission, you’d say thats a loss of control?”

“Wouldn’t you?” Hannibal asks, taking a sip of his own coffee. “Sleepwalkers demonstrate a difficulty handling aggression. Are you experiencing difficulty with aggressive feelings?”

“You said Jack sees me as fine china used for special guests. I'm beginning to feel more like an old mug.”

“You entered into a devil's bargain with Jack Crawford. It takes a toll.”

“Jack isn't the devil.”

“When it comes to how far he's willing to push you to get what he wants, he's certainly no Saint.”

—-

08:50

“You know, Hannibal seems to think we should be friends.” The statement shocked Lena, of all the things she expected Will Graham to say at a motel crime scene that was not one of them.

“Does he really, and what makes you think I’d like to be your friend?” 

“....I have dogs?”

“Are you asking me, or telling me?”

“Telling.” 

“Good. I love dogs, and now that we have that settled. Room was registered to a John Smith, big surprise there “

“An appalling failure of imagination.”

“They paid cash. There are no security cameras on the premises... another big surprise.”

“John Smith one of the victims?”

“Mr. and Mrs. Anderson, according to the register. They were mutilated and displayed. Jack and Zeller think it’s the Ripper but there were no surgical trophies taken, and the Ripper doesn’t exactly profile like the type of man who would vomit at his own crime scene”

“How can you be sure it wasn’t one of the victims?”

“They were strung up antemortem, and the sick was on the bedside table, once you see their positioning you’ll get why thats improbable.”

“Should I brace myself?”

“Definitely. It's not good in there.”

—

“Hooks were bored into the ceiling. A fishing line was used to hold up the bodies and... the wings. At least we know he's a fisherman.”

“Or a Viking.” Zeller chimed in.

“Vikings do this?

“Vikings used to execute Christians by breaking their ribs, bending them back, and draping the lungs over them to resemble wings. They used to call it a "blood eagle." Pagans mocking the Godfearing.” Lena laughed at Zeller’s ‘fun fact’. He raised a brow in her direction at the gesture prompting her to reply.

“Well you can’t say the Christians didn’t deserve it, they bullied their way into a foreign land, tried to murder those who wouldn’t give up their beliefs in the name of the church then moved their ‘savior’s’ birthday from spring to winter so that they could take over the pagan holiday of Yule for themselves. And pagans were also ‘god-fearing’ just not in a monotheistic sense”

“How do you know all that?”

“When I was with the BAU, the resident boy genius was going on a theology kick for a good few months. Each ride on the jet was at least a couple hours…I picked up some things.”

Zeller admonishes the idea and goes back to impatiently swab collecting with Beverly, She and Price laugh under their breath at the man’s childish behavior.

“No, he isn't mocking them. The unsub thinks he’s…transforming them. Elevating them in some way. 

I need a plastic sheet for the bed.”

—-

This is not who you are. 

This is my gift to you. 

I allow you to become angels. 

And now, I lay me down to sleep.

—

"Death makes angels of us all and gives us wings where we had shoulders smooth as raven's claws."

“Robert Frost.”

“Jim Morrison.”

“Even a drunk with a flair for the dramatic can convince himself he's God. Or the lizard king.”

“God makes angels. Jesus was fond of fishermen.”

“Are we talking hardcore Judeo-Christian upsetting, or just upsetting in general?”

“This is a very specific upsetting.”

“Increased serotonin in the wounds is much higher than the free histamines, so, uh, she lived for about 15 minutes after she was skinned.” Zeller announced.

“Powder residue on the neck of the soda bottle shows Vecuronium... scotch and soda and a paralytic agent.”

“Kneeling in supplication at the feet of g-dash-d.”

“Supplication is the most common form of prayer.Gimme, gimme, gimme.”

“They weren't praying to him. They were praying for him. He's afraid.”

“What is somebody who could do something like this afraid of?”

“What's in his vomit?”

“Uh, Dexamethasone...That's used for patients with tumors.”

“Kepra... He's epileptic. Radiation?”

“Gamma four, Steroids for the inflammation, anticonvulsants for the seizures, radiation for the chemotherapy.”

“Our guy has a brain tumor.”

“He's afraid of dying in his sleep.  He's making angels to watch over him.”

—-

An eclectically dressed woman, speed walks in her high-heeled shoes down the halls of the FBI looking for her target. Penelope Garcia won tickets to the most exclusive karaoke bar in Virginia (okay maybe she rigged the competition a little, who has to know?) and she’ll be damned if any member of her precious found family denies her invitation. The moment she spots Lena she grabs the woman’s arm pulling her into the commissary.

“You owe me.”

“What-” 

“Technically I’m not supposed to be helping out your team, and- and well you owe me, so you can’t say no to me!”

“Penny, what are you talking about?”

“This weekend, karaoke, you, me, BAU.”

“I’m on a case right now, sweetie. If Crawford doesn’t have us in the field I’ll be there.”

“Oh, you’ll be there alright. I’ll make sure of it!” The grin on Penelope’s face is contagious even as she rushes back off to her fortress of solitude.

—-

12:00

“There is no one and only spiritual center of the brain”

“Any idea of God comes from many different areas of the mind working together in unison.”

“Maybe I was wrong.”  Being wrong in this case seems like an unnatural event no matter how true or untrue it may be.

“How do you profile someone who has an anomaly in their head changing the way they think?”

“A tumor can definitely affect brain function, even cause vivid hallucinations. However, what appears to be driving your angel maker to create heaven on earth is a simple issue of mortality. Can't beat God, become him?”

“You said he was afraid.”

“He feels abandoned.”

“Ever feel abandoned, Will?”

“Less and less each day, if you and Jack keep encouraging me to make friends, either way, abandonment requires expectation.”

“What were your expectations of Jack Crawford and the FBI?”

“Jack hasn't abandoned me…I didn't expect to be working so closely with others…Lena wants to meet my dogs or rather insinuates she wants to meet my dogs. Definitely didn't expect that.” 

“Perhaps Jack hasn't abandoned you in a discernable way.”

“Perhaps in the way gods abandon their creations.”

“Is Jack God to you?”

“No more than you are.” If Will had looked at Hannibal's face he might have just seen a smile.

“You say he hasn't abandoned you, but at the same time you find yourself wandering around Wolf Trap in the middle of the night.”

“Well... This should be interesting…Please, doctor, proceed.”

“Jack gave you his word he would protect your headspace, yet he leaves you to your mental devices”

“Are you trying to alienate me from Jack Crawford?”

“I'm trying to help you set proper boundaries between employee and employer…I am also trying to help you understand this angel maker you seek. Well, help me understand how to catch him. If he were a classic paranoid schizophrenic, you might be able to influence him to become visible. What, scare him out into the daylight?”

“Might even get him to hurt himself, if he hasn't already. If he were self destructive, he-he..he wouldn't be so careful.”

“Unless he's careful about being self-destructive, making angels to pray over him when he sleeps.”

“Sleep is sacred, and who prays over us when we sleep?”

---

19:00

“Why angels?”

“Well, it isn't biblical. His angels have wings.”

“Um, angels in sculptures and paintings can fly, but not in scripture.”

“Technically not…if we're accounting for the angels that amass as giant winged amalgamations of eyeballs one would assume they could fly too?” Lena now always being a foot behind him is a fact he'll need to get used to at scenes.

“He's drawing from secular sources?”

“His mind has turned against him and there's no one there to help.”

“Uh, Jack... look at this.”

Are those… What are those?”

“Somebody got an orchiectomy real cheap.”

“Doesn't look like the victim.”

“So they're the angel maker's?”

Lena might just need to stop threatening to castrate men who frustrate her now, something about actually seeing the after-effects is more than unsettling.

“He castrated himself?”

“So he isn't just making angels; He's getting ready to become one. Angels don't have genitalia.”

“So he was afraid of dying. Now he's, what, getting used to the idea?”

“He's accepting it or he's bargaining. Heh, bargaining chips!”

“So, does this mean that he's done making angels, or is he just getting started?”

“I don't know.”

“Well, he's not just killing them when he's sleepy. I mean, how is he choosing them?”

“I don't know. Ask him.” Will begins to sweat almost profusely, removing his glasses and wiping his brow.

“I'm asking you.”

“You're the head of the behavioral science unit, Jack. Why don't you come up with your own answers if you don't like mine!?” Will’s voice raises in frustration. Crawford's face begins to morph into a threatening scowl.

“I did not hear that! Did I?!” he screams back at Will. Lena steps forward separating the two men.

“Jack I think its time for you to take a step back.”

“Do NOT get involved Gibbs”

“You brought me in to get involved! He’s obviously overwhelmed and looks like he’s on the verge of passing out, pushing your team won’t get you shit.”

“I know how far I can push my own team”

“Graham isn't officially on the team, you made that clear, and I’m telling you he’s done with the psycho-predicting today”

“I don’t need to be protected, I can see the rest of the scene,” Will says with a dejected rasp.

“I didn’t say we’re leaving, just to stop getting into the Angel Maker's head. I’m sure Dr. Lecter would agree with me if he’d seen that interaction.”

Jack's face screws back up and he storms away from Will and Lena. Beverly then approaches with a friendly smile and a gentle hand on Will’s shoulder. “My ears rang like the first time I heard my mom use the f-word. Are you ok?’ (he chuckles) ‘I know it's a stupid question considering that none of us could possibly be ok doing what we do, but… are you ok?”

“Do I seem different?”

“You're a little different, but you've always been a little different.”

“Brilliant strategy… that way no one ever knows if something's up with you.”

“Maybe not anymore, you’ve got a guard dog now.” Bev smiles and nods at Lena, then leads the two behind her further into the scene.

—-

19:20

“Meet Roger and Marilyn Brunner. You might recognize them from such lists as most wanted.”

“He likes to rape and murder, she likes to watch.”

“We got a DNA match. They falsified the motel registry and were driving a stolen car, so it took a second to identify them.”

“I wonder how long it took Angel Maker to identify them.”

“He didn't choose them randomly. He knows something about them.”

“He sees something we don’t.” It gets harder to not think of Sherlock, why the hell is Virgina so full of artistic and metaphorically motivated criminals?

“The murdered security guard wasn't actually a security guard. He was a convicted felon.”

“Could Angel Maker be a vigilante?”

“Well, vigilantes are pragmatic, they're purposeful; They don't lay down and sleep under their crimes.”

“In his mind, he was doing God's work. That spells vigilante.” Feels eerily similar to a certain terrorist too.

“Well, playing at God has other advantages. One of them…Is always being alone. So he makes angels out of demons.”

“How does he know they're demons?”

“He doesn't have to know. All he has to do is believe.

—

22:00

Will escorts Lena to a joint session with Hannibal practically the second after the both of them had been dismissed from duty for the evening.

“It's difficult to lie still and fear going to sleep.”

“What is there to think about?”

“You listen to your breathing in the dark and the tiny clicks of your blinking eyes.”

“I dream more now than I used to.”

“Well, your dreams were the one place you could be physically safe, relinquishing control. Not anymore.”

“Yeah, I thought about zipping myself up into a sleeping bag before I go to sleep, but it, heh, sounds like a poor man's straight jacket.”

“I’ve always found another body to be helpful…Sherlock would drape himself over me like a blanket when we slept. Bit hard to thrash during a nightmare if you’re simultaneously being squished.”

“Are you offering yourself to Will as a duvet, Lena?”

She laughs dismissively “We don’t know each other that well yet, Lecter. I’m sure at least one of your dogs is large enough to keep Graham still.” 

Will grimaces and huffs, “The dogs don’t sleep in my bed, I sweat sort of profusely…so even if they start there they’ll move off during the night at some point.”

“Well, then I guess I’m getting you an expensive sleeping bag for Christmas.” Will can’t actually tell whether she means that sarcastically or not, he looks to Dr. Lecter prompting the psychiatrist's next question.

“Have you two determined how this angel maker is choosing his victims?”

“Our killer, Well, he doesn't see people how everyone else sees them. He can tell if you're naughty or nice, or he thinks he can.”

“So God has given this person insight into the souls of men.”

“God didn't give him insight; God gave him a tumor.”

“God… rapidly dividing cells that keep trucking along. Seems so human, what deity would work so hard?”

“He's just a man whose brain is playing tricks on him.”

“You are not unlike this killer.”

“My brain is playing tricks on me?”

“You want to feel such sweet and easy peace. The angel maker wants that same peace .He hopes to feel his way cautiously inside and then find it's endless, all around him.”

“He's gonna be disappointed.”

“You accept the impossibility of such a feeling, whereas the angel maker is still chasing it.”

“I don’t think peace is impossible, I think the point of life is just striving for it, having it for a short amount of time. Then chaos ensues again. Balance, good and bad, Evil and righteousness. Peace and terror.”

“ And what or your life Lena has it been balanced between this sense of peace and terror?”

“More terror than peace, lately. But I think the scales are starting to level again.”

“If the Angel Maker got close to peace, that's why he will look for it again. I've tried to reconstruct his thinking and find his patterns.”

“Instead you find yourself in a behavior pattern you can't break. You realize you have a choice.”

“What is it?”

“Angel Maker will be destroyed by what's happening inside his head; You don't have to be.”

“That would require him telling Jack to screw off and stop pushing him,” Lena says as Hannibal stands from his place at his desk.

“Do you feel that Jack Crawford has bad intentions when it comes to dear Will?” 

“I’ve known Jack a long time. We’ve always had an antagonistic relationship, we first met through his wife when I was young. She helped my father on a case…he was not thrilled, I’ve never known why. He then tried to poach me back when I was with the BAU, but he chose to wait until our unit chief was going through difficulty…I suspect he might have even had a hand in convincing Director Strauss of her ‘motivations’. I didn’t want to be manipulated so I left. Went to Scotland Yard, and well… you know the rest, terror struck, Crawford sunk his claws in and here I am. The least I could do in my task to help Will is make Jack's life a little more annoying don't you think?”

Both men seemed to take in Lena’s perspective though whether her opinions on Crawford landed with Will is unknown. Hannibal seemed a bit more accepting. Nodding as he leaned into Will, sniffing the detective.

“Did you just smell me?”

“Difficult to avoid. I really must introduce you to a finer aftershave. That smells like something with a ship on the bottle.”

“Well, I keep getting it for Christmas.”

“Have your headaches been any worse lately? More frequent?”

“Yes, actually.” 

“ I'd change the aftershave.”

—-

07:00

“Elliot Budish: 35-year-old truck driver.”

“He's got a fishing license too. Uh, match came from the national cancer database.”

“Married, two kids… they haven't seen him in four months.”

“He was diagnosed five months ago.”

“Meet the angel maker.”

—-

“This'll be the last one.”

“It's Budish?”

“He made himself into an angel.”

“It wasn't God, it wasn't man. It was his choice to die.”

“His choice?”

“As much as he can make it.”

“I don't know how much longer I can be all that useful to you, Jack.”

“Really? You caught three. The last three we had, you caught. You caught three of them.”

“No, I didn't catch this one. Elliot Budish… surrendered.”

“You know, I'm used to my wife not talking to me. I don't have to get used to you not talking to me too.”

“No one wants to know your relationship issues Jack.” That earns Lena a glare, and if it was anyone else probably the uptick of a certain favorite finger.

“It's getting harder and harder to make myself look.”

“Well, nobody's asking you to look alone.” He says, angling a hand to the red-head.

“All due respect I am looking alone.”

“None taken, I’ve kinda made a career of playing sidekick.”

“You wanna go back to your lecture hall? Read about this stuff on tattlecrime.com?”

“Would you let him?” Lena says at the same moment Will announces “No, I don't…But that may be what I have to do. This is bad for me.”

“You go back to your classroom. When there's k*lling going on that you could've prevented, it will sour your classroom forever.”

“Maybe. And then maybe I'll find a job as a diesel mechanic in a boatyard.”

“You wanna quit? Quit.”

—

Entree (part 1)

“In the night. In the dark. Journey’s end and yet lover’s meeting.”

[malspinningyarns]

Random thoughts during Bridgerton season 3 rewatch, episode 4

Portia can’t just normally chaperone her daughter with a suitor?

Debling giving Penelope a fern is like when my coworkers have tried giving me plants. I work in a windowless office! I have ADHD! Don’t give me a plant!

Colin gets to miss the juicy gossip of John Stirling’s appearance

Violet wants Penelope to be a Bridgerton so bad

It’s kind of adorable that Benedict brought Lady Arnold flowers.

Lady Danbury really just wants to punch her brother. Also, dude, you don’t have friends in the country?

I live for this Pomeranian’s “tricks”

Brimsley is everything to me. He and Charlotte are true BFFs

Hyacinth’s mistake is pure cringe

To quote my mother “Isn’t he supposed to be Scottish?”

Those are some nice fireplace screens

Lord Samadani just has to be the center of attention

Can’t Will own the club, just not run it himself?

I can’t tell who is actually speaking so the disembodied voice at the library is like the entrance to a Disney attraction

Hey, look Queen Anne portrait

Lady Featherington and Lord Debling are in burgundy. Pen and Colin are in blue

Lord Debling couldn’t tell she was looking at Colin?

Francesca has such a crush on John. It’s adorable

The mausoleum comment Cressida makes about her home makes me think Lord Cowper will die soon

It’s hard to take Lord Cowper seriously when the last thing I saw his actor in was playing the very mincing Shakespearian drag performer Mr. Condell in Upstart Crow

Colin really hates these guys and so do I.

Lord Debling and Lady Featherington are both in dark blue for the proposal scene, continuing the idea that he’s Portia’s choice

Violet tells him to stop masking his emotions and then Colin immediately does it

That’s Hampton Court. Where’s the wine fountain? Is the wine fountain moveable?

That swan wig is going to win the hair team another Emmy

Have a shirtless ballet dancer in nude pants is a bold move, Charlotte

Debling is such a bad fit for the Featherington brother-in-laws’ himbo vibe. You need the wife guy energy my dude

Anderson really has not seen his sister in so long if he doesn’t know she the Queen of Meddling

When did Alice meet Lady Danbury?

Cressida’s fucking sleeve puffs

Lady Danbury really left before all the juicy stuff

Still haven’t seen a gif set of “she is not drinking the lemonade”😭

Colin would punch Fife and it would be worth it

Does Penelope have a full life, Debling? She has one friend and reads

How long has Eloise been ranting about feminism to Cressida? We saw her start before Colin left.

I’m surprised Debling didn’t shoulder check Colin the way he stomped past him

He is pissed

The “what have you done” conversation is heartbreaking

How long was Colin running for? They’re on like the back side of the gardens when he enters, I think

I’d like to point out that it’s the Featherington’s carriage

I love that Colin has been incorporated Featherington gold in his wardrobe

I love those gold shoes

Who hasn’t had to pretend to fingerbang a friend for a role, am I right? Just me and Newts? Ok. (In college I was in a play called In the Next Room or the vibrator play)

The laughing is so adorable

Colin, that’s not really a proposal.

[renx01]

Out of Sight - Part 3

General idea: Moriarty is your boss. After he helped you out of a precarious situation when you were still a minor, you started working for him. Now, he has a new job for you. Get close to the Holmes brothers to keep an eye on them for him. Pairing: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, Mycroft Holmes/Reader  & Jim Moriarty/Reader Fandom: BBC Sherlock Word count: 1936

Masterlist

That evening you get home quite late, so you decide to text Jim a short update before immediately heading to bed. 

Everything’s going according to plan, Mr British government has already approached me. Both Holmes brothers are very much interested but do not suspect me in the slightest. -S

Wonderful. -JM

You slept for a couple of hours before waking up around five in the morning. Getting out quietly, you stretch your limbs before getting out your running gear. You put in your earbuds and turn on the music before heading out. The streets are quiet and there’s the faintest bit of rain falling from the sky. ‘Of course it’s raining.’ You whisper to yourself as you start your run. The route you’re running is about fifteen kilometres (just over 9 miles) through the streets and some nearby parks. Despite what some others may do, you have the intention of keeping up with your stamina and physical fitness. A morning run is the first step to that, and later this week you will be looking into places where you could possibly keep up with your fighting skills, preferably MMA. When you turn a corner in the park, you’re greeted by Sebastian’s face. He starts running with you as you continue. ‘Good morning to you.’ You slow your pace a bit so he can catch up. ‘What are you doing here Seb?’ Sebastian has, over the years, become a bit of a brotherly figure in your life. While you know it is not advantageous to care, you do care for him in a way. ‘Just checking whether you’ve settled down a bit. London’s a big city and while I know you’re used to it quite a bit, I just wanted to check.’ He smiles widely. ‘You’re taking quite a risk, mister.’ Turning serious, you stop in your tracks. ‘Does Jim know you’re here?’ He nods. ‘Of course, I wouldn’t do this if he didn’t think it were alright.’ This brings some relief. ‘Okay, good. I just wanted to check. We shouldn’t be taking too many risks.’ The two of you continue running together for a few kilometres before he tells you goodbye. ‘I’ll keep in touch, Jim gave me the number of your burner phone.’

When you get back to Baker Street, you hop into the shower before getting dressed for work. You just grab a granola bar, your briefcase, and leave to go to your work. The ride on the tube is quiet and you notice nothing out of the ordinary.  ‘Good morning Charlie.’ You’re greeted by Sally Donnovan. ‘Morning Sallie, had a good night yesterday?’ She’d been flirting with Anderson all day and they’d left work together. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’ Turning away, you ignore her blushing bashfully at your comments and pour yourself a cup of coffee. ‘Sure thing.’ You whisper. ‘So how’s London treating you?’ She’s obviously trying to change the subject, and you decide to go with it to make things easier. ‘It’s been good, though I haven’t seen much of the city yet. I arrived this past Sunday and worked most of yesterday. Went on a run this morning though, and the parks around here seem to be very nice.’ You smile at her before sipping your coffee. Greg walks up and joins the conversation. ‘You went on a run? This morning?’ You see him glance at the clock. It’s just before eight o’clock. ‘I did.’ They both seem quite shocked. ‘What time did you wake up?’ Sally asked, her voice making her shock quite obvious. ‘Around five.’ If it had been possible, their eyes would’ve become the size of saucers. ‘That early? Charlie, are you mad?’ Greg’s voice has a tone you haven’t heard much before, was it concern? ‘I’m not? I just wanted to go on a run and due to work that was the most convenient time to do so.’ They glance at each other briefly before Sally speaks again. ‘I suppose you are correct about that. Didn’t expect you to be such a morning person.’ She tries to sound cheery, but it’s obviously fake. ‘You aren’t?’ You look poignantly at her over your mug. ‘No, I’m not. I’m more of a night owl myself.’ Her smile looks a bit sheepish. All the mindless chatter annoys you to no end, but you know it’s required to participate in order to blend in. Hopefully the Holmes brothers will make up for it, though you assume for that to be the case when Jim’s assigned you to it. When you get back to your desk, you quickly send him a text from your burner phone.

This better get interesting quickly, these people at SY are boring me out of my mind. -S

It takes a while, but he does reply.

Oh it will, don’t worry. Just be patient. -JM

The rest of the morning runs smoothly. There’s been a homicide which seems to be linked to another one which was committed just over a month earlier. It isn’t too complex, both seem to be linked to a singular drug cartel which is at war with another one. You happen to know a lot more about the ins and outs of this one, but cannot show your hand to the police just yet. So, you’re carefullie piecing together the evidence they already have, so they can come to the correct conclusion themselves.  Around lunchtime, you’re approached by Lestrade, asking you to join him, Donnovan, and Anderson for a short walk. So, while a bit reluctantly, you do decide to join them. Throughout the affair, you mostly listen, only engaging in conversation when it seems necessary. Most of it was unimportant nonsense, but you do hear something about Sherlock snooping around at a suicide case. You assume, however, that it probably isn’t a suicide if Sherlock’s involved himself. What is clear to you, though, is that Jim isn’t directly involved. It’s probably one of his many pawns which are spread across the city.

That night when you arrive at your flat you see the light is on and the door is open to 221B. You hear Sherlock constantly talking to John. Something about a painting in a bank and a symbol that they’re trying to find. Deciding that it’s a good time for “bonding” with them, you walk up the stairs and knock on the already opened door.‘Evening gentlemen,’ John turns to face you and you flash a shy smile, ‘how’s it going?’ His eyes look a bit desperate. Desperate to escape from Sherlock, even if it’s just momentarily. ‘Evening Charlie. Well, I suppose we’re doing fine. Sherlock got a new case today, so that’s always good.’ He doesn’t sound too convinced. You slowly start walking in and see the pictures of a painting that has been spray-painted over. It’s a symbol you’d seen used by smugglers while you were in Hong Kong and China. ‘So, what’s all this?’ Your voice is soft, but does grab the detective’s attention. ‘It’s an ancient Chinese number. Fifteen to be precise.’ He looks at you briefly before returning his gaze to one of the many books that are scattered around the flat. ‘And what exactly do you need all these books for?’ You pick up one of the ones that he had discarded on the table and open it. It wasn’t anything special, and you are certain that he’s probably looking in the wrong direction in terms of books. Sure a book should bring the answer, but this novel isn’t going to give him any information. ‘I am looking for information on what the people behind this are trying to convey to the person that finds it.’ A snort escapes you unintentionally. I got that, I’m not a goldfish. ‘Well, based on the two people that have died, it’s probably a message.’ He picks up a book from one of the plastic bins. ‘It probably just tells them that they’ll die soon?’ Making it a question makes you sound uncertain and gives Sherlock the opportunity to tell you what he knows. He likes to show off after all. ‘While that is indeed the case, there’s a lot more behind it-’

Sherlock basically shared all the details he knew about the case with you that evening. Based on what he’s told you, it’s probably some sort of conflict within one of the criminal organisations of Chinese origin that operate in London. Towards the end of the night, you excuse yourself and head outside for a moment, greeting Mrs Hudson on the way. ‘Evening.’ You smile at her. ‘Evening dearie, how’re you doing?’ You tell her that you’re well and ask her about her day. After about five minutes of conversation, you’re finally able to step outside. The air outside is cold but your coat keeps you warm enough. Slipping your hand into your coat pocket, you grab your cigarette case and lighter. This is the one vice you hold onto. In a way, it helps you relax, but you haven’t made it a habit. You take a single one out of the case and light it, taking a drag almost immediately. As you look at the cars that are passing by, you start to disassociate. A message on your phone gets you out of this trance-like state. 

I thought you’d quit smoking Spikey. -JM

You chuckle as you take another drag.

Let me have my vice. It isn’t a habit anyway. -S

As long as it doesn’t affect your mind, I really don’t care. It might even attract Sherlock’s attention. Ask him about the 400+ kinds of ashes that exist. -JM

I’ll consider it. -S

You put away your phone quickly before the door behind you opens. By the sound of it, it’s Sherlock. You turn your head slightly so you can see him from the corner of your eye. Before he can say anything, you hold up a single cigarette for him to grab. He considers for a moment, but doesn’t grab it. Good, I suppose. He’s being entertained by the case. He’ll probably get bored after this one ends. ‘Didn’t know you smoked.’ He comments, it’s obviously a lie. ‘You definitely knew. You’re Sherlock Holmes.’ He lets out a quiet laugh. ‘Alright, I did know, though the signs were barely there. You aren’t a regular smoker, are you?’ ‘You’re correct about that.’ You muse quietly. ‘You met Mycroft, haven’t you.’ Taking another drag, you nod. ‘I have. Quite dramatic isn’t he?’ The faintest chuckle escapes him, again. He’s starting to like you and your personality, that’s good. A lot easier than you’d expected. ‘He is. Did you take the bribe?’ Ah, so he knows about his brother’s inquiries. ‘I did.’ ‘Good.’ He sounds somewhat happy about your choice. ‘The money is only useful, and he’ll know 95 percent of it already anyway. I suppose those extra five percent help my brother with his nerves.’ You smirk. ‘Didn’t expect you to be so accepting of your brother constantly spying on you.’ ‘I’m not, I’m just used to it.’ After taking one last drag, you throw the remainder of the cigarette onto the pavement and put it out with your foot. ‘Is that so? Well, I suppose I can understand if it’s a sibling. He probably means well.’ He scoffs. ‘I hardly think that’s the case. Mycroft isn’t one to care, he just wants to make sure I’m not a nuisance to him or his work.’ You turn to fully face him. ‘I wouldn’t be so sure about that, Sherlock.’ Giving him a wink, you go back inside and to your flat.

[lancer-andlace]

Which Kennedy books do you recommend that are reliable? Not just about Jack and Jackie, but about all of them.

Hey! So I'm going to be upfront and say that when reading on the Kennedy's I do mostly read about Jack and Jackie because they are my favorites. So I can def give recs on them. Anyone feel free to reblog and add books about other family members!

Jacqueline Kennedy, Historic Conversations on a Life with John Kennedy. These are literally tapes with Jackie speaking about her life with JFK, it comes with a transcript!

Listening In The Secret White House Recordings of John F. Kennedy. Again these are tapes of JFK but it comes with a transcript.

Mrs. Kennedy and Me by Clint Hill. Clint was Jackie's secret service agent, so you're definitely getting a first hand account of the time he spent with her and the family. Any book by Clint is good (Five Days In November is another one)

These Few Precious Days by Christopher Anderson. If you're a Jack and Jackie fan I highly recommend this book, it focuses primarily on their relationship together

Jackie's Girl by Kathy McKeon. Kathy was Jackie's assistant when she was living in New York, so another first hand account of someone who was side by side with Jackie!

There are def others that I've read (like Jackie, Janet, and Lee + Jackie, Ethel, and Joan (both by J. Randy Taborelli, which I did enjoy but he can be a little gossipy lol)

Again, I'v'e read more .... can't say how reliable they are haha. Just know that every Kennedy author is going to have a bias towards certain family members

I hope this helps!

[sleepyfireball]

A Quiet Acceptance of Love | A Bridgerton Story

Chapter 7: Harmony

Fandom: Bridgerton (TV) Rating: Gen Pairing: Violet Bridgerton/Marcus Anderson Summary: Violet Bridgerton slowly but surely falls in love with Marcus Anderson. A character study of Violet Bridgerton in Season 3. Notes: Well, this is the end! Finally here. I cannot tell you how excited I am to finally have a completed story fully released. I really hope you guys all enjoyed the story and I love every one of you. Massive thanks to my duckies @lifesizehysteria and @cptn-nash for betaing this whole story and genuinely being the best support in this whole crazy journey. I never thought that fandom would bring me some of my closest friends, but I am so so thankful that it did. Chapter 6 Chapter 5 Chapter 4 Chapter 3 Chapter 2 Chapter 1 AO3

Francesca and John’s wedding was, in Violet’s opinion, perfect. They were so clearly comfortable with the small wedding, and with each other, it warmed Violet’s heart. Her doubts had vanished after her conversation with Francesca. She could appreciate that their love was a slow and sure one, rather than one that was explosive and quick. 

Violet smiled to Agatha during the ceremony, and when Agatha had smiled and nodded back, Violet felt her heart become a little more full. Her season had turned out better than she could have planned, with two children successfully gaining a true love match, her friendship with Agatha now stronger than ever, and her own ventures back into the romantic fray. 

Speaking of the romantic fray, her eyes slipped over to Lord Anderson, standing just behind Agatha, as he smiled softly at her. Violet dipped her head and smiled giddily, feeling her heart flutter, just a little, remembering the last time that she and Marcus had been in the drawing room together. She swallowed and hastily returned her gaze to the happy couple, pushing such thoughts from her mind.

As Agatha made her excuses to leave Violet alone with Lord Anderson, Violet felt her pulse quicken in her veins. She watched Agatha speaking to Hyacinth briefly, then heard Marcus’ voice speaking lowly in gentle conversation.

“It was a beautiful ceremony.” She turned her attention back to Lord Anderson, smiling at him as she nodded.

“I thought so,” she said. Lord Anderson smiled before he continued as if she had said nothing. 

“Second only to the beauty of its hostess,” he said, and Violet almost thought he may have rehearsed his words before he said them.

Violet laughed softly. “You flatter me.” She felt a flush rising as she swiftly took a drink from her glass, desperately trying to prevent herself blushing even more. How was it that she could look at him and have entirely impure thoughts, but the moment that he spoke to her, she turned into a blushing debutante once more?

“I am sincere.” Lord Anderson continued, still watching her even as she turned away briefly. “And sincere in wondering, if you would be so kind as to, uh…” He trailed off. Violet watched, smiling, as he uncharacteristically avoided her eye contact. She felt lonely without having his warm eyes watching her and she sought them out once more. “Save a dance for me at the next ball?”

Violet blinked. And blinked once more. Had he– Had he just asked her, Violet Bridgerton, to dance?

“Uh, wha-- The, uh… Uh… Dankworth-Finch Ball?” Violet’s words escaped her as she desperately tried to pull herself together enough to be able to answer his question. “I… Uh, well…” Violet cast about the room, laughing slightly, hoping she would find the words she wanted to say written in the curtains. “Yes.” Marcus chuckled and Violet’s heart skipped a beat. “Ye-- Uh, That… That would be most adequate.” Violet finished feebly. 

She took another sip of her drink as she exhaled, disappointed in herself for being reduced to stuttering. Again. She felt, rather than saw or heard, Marcus next to her as he also appeared to sigh in relief.

“Good. Very good.” He said as he huffed out a laugh, Violet hearing it as if from very far away. She heard her blood rushing in her ears and the tips of her ears pinked in embarrassment. As John clinked his glass and began his toast, Violet heard her own words to Francesca, from earlier that morning, repeating in her head. 

“You know, when I first met your father… I could barely speak my own name; I was so taken by him. I stumbled over words most familiar.” 

Had love really snuck up on her in such a way that she had not expected it, but welcomed it home with open arms anyway? Perhaps she understood Francesca’s own love better than she had thought. 

“So, instead, I shall offer a few humble words to your family, especially your mother.” John’s words pulled Violet from her thoughts. “Lady Bridgerton,” I really must remind him to call me Violet now, we are family. “I see your openness reflected in Benedict, your charm in Colin, your wisdom in Eloise, and a brightness you have instilled in both Gregory and Hyacinth.” 

Violet felt the blush warming her cheeks as she looked down, uncomfortable in the face of such brazen praise, especially from John, who always chose his words so carefully.

“In this moment, when I feel so much gratitude for my new wife,” John continued, “I feel it in equal measure for the remarkable woman who raised her.” Violet looked up to him, overcome, smiling softly as tears pricked the corners of her eyes. “I thank you, all of you, from the bottom of my heart.” He finished, raising his glass for the toast.

Violet laughed gently as she wiped the tears from her eyes. She felt both Marcus and Eloise’s hands on her arms, taking comfort from them. She had certainly not intended to cry at another of her children’s weddings, but the emotions of the day, coupled with John’s heartfelt toast, had overwhelmed her.

Seeing her tears, John spoke up once more, smiling. “Ah. Forgive me. Tears were the last thing I meant to evoke.” As everyone chuckled, Violet breathed a sigh of relief as the attention moved from her.

“Hyacinth has been crying this entire time.” Gregory said, much to Hyacinth’s indignance.

“One day, you, too, will have a heart.” Hyacinth retorted and Violet could not keep the smile from her face in watching her two youngest bicker. At least, not everything would be changing by the end of the season.

“Mama, will you play a duet with me?” Francesca turned to Violet, a pleading smile on her face.

“Oh, heavens, when-- Now?” She chuckled awkwardly, torn between having one last moment to bond with the daughter that she was soon to be waving away or maintaining the last shred of her remaining dignity after being reduced to heartfelt tears. “I… Well, I am dreadfully out of practice.” She had not played the pianoforte since she and Edmund had played together, serenading the children. It had simply been too painful to play without him, but, perhaps, with her children, new memories could be formed.

“I believe the last time I nearly moved you to tears was when I first started playing.” Francesca said and Violet was no longer torn, deciding that whatever her mischievous child was about to do was worth it if it meant that she got to celebrate this time with her.

“She was not the only one. I wept in my room from the hideous chord combinations.” Eloise interrupted, prompting soft laughter from everyone and a gentle tap on the shoulder from Violet.

“Oh, haha.” Francesca dismissed her sister’s taunt, turning back to Violet and taking her hand, saying. “Thankfully, Mama did not abandon me.” Violet smiled, as Francesca continued. “And I shall not abandon you now.”

“Is that a threat?” Violet said laughingly, suddenly very nervous that Francesca would not simply let it go.

Francesca nodded wryly, and Violet chuckled softly, hearing Marcus echo her from where he stood beside her. Violet allowed herself to be dragged to the pianoforte, handing her champagne to Eloise. She felt her nervousness rise, and she took several deep breaths as she sat next to Francesca, who started their duet.

Under the watchful eye of her family and friends, Violet drew a little strength from Francesca, who had grown so much during the season. Violet could still scarcely believe that she was married, and would be leaving for Scotland all too soon. She laughed with Francesca as the chords clashed, releasing some of the nervous energy she felt, but, in following her lead, Violet found a harmony with her daughter.  Her words with her from the start of the season echoed in her head.

“When you play with another person, there is a certain vulnerability which can be quite frightening, I would imagine. But it is worth it, once you find that person with whom you make an unexpected harmony.”

Perhaps her words had applied to herself this season as well, not just with Francesca.

As Violet played her duet, she was overcome with the overwhelming love for her children that always threatened to spill out. She had always tried to steer her children in the right direction, but it appeared that Francesca had managed to steer her, too. Francesca’s insistence for her own happiness had warmed Violet’s heart, to know that her daughter felt comfortable enough to stand for what she believed in, but it also opened Violet’s eyes to a new perspective. Violet looked up and caught Marcus’ eye as she played. He smiled, oh so softly, and Violet felt her heart fall a little more in love.

***

As Violet entered the Dankworth-Finch Ball, leading her children, she took a steadying breath. Tamping down the nerves that constantly threatened to arise was proving difficult. However, when Violet’s eyes settled on Marcus, she felt her nerves suddenly calm and explode simultaneously. The butterflies in her stomach took flight and Violet swallowed, to ground herself. As he noticed her, he excused himself and walked over to her family.

“Lady Bridgerton.” Violet would never tire of hearing her name in the rich timbre of his voice. “May we take a turn about the room?” Marcus offered his arm to her. Violet swallowed once more, before taking his arm in her hand. The moment she touched him, felt the warmth of him through his coat, her nerves finally settled. It was not explosive and powerful as it had been with Edmund; it felt like coming home after a long time away. A different love, Violet supposed.

“I would like that.” Violet said softly, smiling. She could feel the eyes of her children, watching her, but, for tonight, she put her worries aside. Her children were bright enough to realise that she was being courted, especially if Benedict’s parting wink was anything to go by. Violet entered the ball as a partner and not just a mother for the first time in 12 years.

***

Penelope’s speech had both worried and impressed Violet. She was so proud that she had finally managed to find her voice after so long hiding herself underneath the voice of Whistledown. Violet, however, worried of how the ton would react, but, seeing the ball return to its festivities, she realised she need not worry so much. Her children were growing up and she had always counted Penelope in that number, ever since her yellow bonnet had blown Colin off of his bicycle.

Marcus turned to Violet, his voice low. “Did you know?” 

“That she was Lady Whistledown? Not until earlier this week. I received a letter, much like Her Majesty.” She turned to him, seeing a quiet look of amazement on his face.

“I am quite impressed, she seems like a very bright young woman.” Marcus said, looking over to see Colin speaking to Penelope.

“Indeed, she is. And, if I am not mistaken, Colin has finally realised just how lucky he is to have her.” Violet watched the pair as they began to move to the dance floor. She felt Marcus shift beside her and her attention turned to him, to see him offer his hand to her.

“May I have this dance?” Violet stood, for a moment. She knew he would ask, of course she knew, it was the primary cause of her nervousness tonight. But it had slipped her mind through the commotion with Penelope. She blinked, still staring at his hand. Before she realised it, she felt her hand in his, her attention focusing on the warmth spreading from his hand to hers. Her other hand rested on her stomach, as it always did, a shield between herself and the rest of the world. He led the way to the dance floor and Violet swallowed, pushing her nervousness down as best she could.

I have not danced in so long, what if I do not remember the steps? Surely people must be looking. A widow dancing with a widower, it is sure to -- Violet’s racing internal monologue was silenced by the feeling of Marcus’ thumb stroking over her hand reassuringly. He watched only her as they moved into position on the dance floor. He stepped in toward her, slightly closer than what was proper.

“I’ve got you.” He whispered to her. At his words, Violet felt herself relax slightly. She was not alone in this; every courtship took two people and she felt safe by his side. She had felt safe by his side for far longer than she was willing to admit. 

As the music began, Violet remembered the steps for their dance. It all came back to her surprisingly quickly. While it had been 12 years, she had coached all of her children through their dance lessons and it appeared Violet’s own dance lessons were still embedded in her memory. Glancing over to the other couples for a cue of the next steps, Violet felt Marcus take the lead. She focused on him. 

As they danced, she remembered the last time she had danced. With Edmund. She felt a wave of nostalgia and melancholy wash over her. In a perfect world, she would have been here with Edmund, dancing with him. However, he had passed on and Violet had made her peace with that. 

As she danced, she was brought back to the present, instead of lingering in her memories. She smiled softly as Marcus spun her under his arm. She could not deny that she was excited to explore whatever this would become with Marcus. As the memories of dancing with Edmund flooded her, she allowed them to come to her, but not to overwhelm her. She wanted to stay in the present, with Marcus, enjoying her first dance with him.

He took her in his arms, the closest that Violet had ever been to him. She felt him behind her, solid and sturdy; safe. The longer that she danced, the less the memories of Edmund overwhelmed her and she truly began to enjoy herself. Of all her deportment lessons, dancing had always been her favourite.

Violet beamed at Marcus, seeing him return her smile with one of his own. She realised that she had fallen in love with that smile the moment that it had graced his lips. She looked up to his eyes, to see them twinkling with happiness. She spun underneath him once more, unable to hide her own happiness shining through, and as she danced, she found that her heart was making room for this new love for Marcus alongside her own, ever enduring, love for Edmund.