#I may have gotten the quote from the second image a bit wrong but that's ok

[lulu-draws-stuff]

Ok

[adorerdraco]

Not My Type (Like You) ✧ Draco x Reader

Request: you should like do a one shot or even another mini series about amortentia/love potions in general. i’d soooo read that

AU SEVENTH YEAR WHERE VOLDY NEVER CAME BACK <3 f**k that mf !

italics are for flashbacks <3 i love them if you couldn’t tell 

Warnings: mean!draco, cursing, more mature themes/ideas, little bit of spice towards the end teehee but not too much bc idk how to write smut to save my life

Words: 4.5K

A/N: I saw a tiktok that kinda inspired this and i couldn’t get the idea out of my heaaaad if anyone knows which one im talking ab send it my way so i can show !!!! ALSO I LOVE THIS ONESHOT I LOVE DRACO AND I AM IN MY FEELINGS this might be my new favoriteeeee

Draco Malfoy was insufferable.

The Prince of Slytherin was unbearable for many reasons, things you've been taking notice of since your first year at Hogwarts when you accidentally had the ”pleasure” of interacting with him when he called you stupid in a class for reciting a spell incorrectly. That day, a hostility blossomed. A hostility that ensued nothing but teasing, mocking, and criticizing that would sometimes go too far and you'd both have to be pulled away from each other by your friends’ before either of you said anything excessively harsh that had no return.

You often felt like Malfoy sought you out to bother you and only for that. You could be sitting in the Quad with friends, conversing and laughing like nothing in the world mattered, and a few minutes later you'd be hurling insults towards the blond across the courtyard after he would yell something infuriating to you with that smug smirk on his face and his goons laughing wildly beside him as if he just said the most hilarious thing they've ever heard. 

On the days you’d ignore him, not having the patience or the energy to deal with him, he would still somehow find a way to push your buttons. Little things here and there like passing you in the corridors and tugging at the ends of your hair gingerly like a child but enough to tick you off or sending you notes from across the class in the form a small fluttering bird with a lousy drawing of you usually with a message along the lines of, “Y/L/N, hopefully, this note finds itself in the nest of hair you have today xx DM.”

In all honesty, there wasn’t a day you didn’t encounter Draco and it’s been that way for seven long years. Neither of you ever gotten tired of mildly or spitefully bullying each other and neither of you ever dreamed of stopping. He was one of the few constants in your daily life, and you in his. It was like you both lived on annoying the other, and in the midst of all the chaos that you brought to one another; there was a small, teeny, tiny acquaintance - not that either of you would ever admit it. You may have noticed it the time you bet each other ten galleons for who would win in the Triwizard Tournament your fourth year and he bet on Viktor Krum while you on Cedric Diggory. (he’s very much alive i refuse to think otherwise.)

“So you’re telling me, your mother is the reason why you’re not at Durmstrang,” you scoffed. “This whole time I could have been saved four years of headaches.”

“You’re just jealous some of us have more opportunities than others,” he snarks back pompously. “Unlike you, I hardly believe you would be graceful enough to even be considered admission into Beauxbatons.”

You had gone to see the last task of the competition just like the rest of the schools, all packed tightly onto the stands and watching carefully the exit of the maze. Naturally, you had arrived with your own friend groups, but somewhere during the time of sitting there and even being a few rows behind the blond and his minions, the two of you had met in the middle bench after he was trying to prove something wrong to you. 

When Cedric appeared back in front of the stands with the glowing Triwizard cup held high over his head in victory and every Hogwarts student loudly celebrating, you had jumped up from your seat and shook wildly an irked Draco beside you. He roughly shrugged your hands off his stiff shoulder, looking up at you with a sneer that you met with a bright beaming smile.

“Pay up, Malfoy!” You held out your hand towards him, opening and closing your fingers to receive the bet money. “I believe it was ten galleons you owe me.”

He begrudgingly reached into his coat pocket and fished out the coins, counting them defeatedly before tossing them into your palm. “What a waste of galleons.”

“Hey, you made the bet,” you reminded him with a still very bright smile. You shoved the money into your pockets, keeping one of the gold coins in between your fingers, and gave him a small hair ruffle that he harshly recoiled from before you turned to jump back up towards the level of stands your friends were originally sitting at.

“Were you really sitting with Malfoy this whole time?” One of your friends questioned when you reached them, a goading smirk on his face.

“Ooooh, she definitely was,” another friend piped up, wiggling her eyebrows. “They’re obsessed with each other.”

“Shut up,” you smack her arm casually, showing the pair the one gold galleon you were holding. “We are not. I was only sitting with him to get my bet money.”

“Sure,” they drawled in unison, sniggering when you threw your head back in annoyance.

You looked down the rows to see the mop of white hair you just sent into disarray. He was slowly descending the stairs of the stands with Crabbe and Goyle following closely behind him. Almost as if he felt your eyes on his back, he turned back to look at you, his cold gray eyes gazing into yours. It was like everything around you went quiet, the only thing in your focus was him and all you could do was stare back. It wasn’t until your friends started stifling laughter and whispering “aww’s” that you snapped out of the short-lived and odd few second trance you were in. He waited for you to do something before he turned back around, and you did - by holding up both hands; the one golden galleon on your left and your middle finger on your right, grinning to yourself when he rolled his eyes throwing you the finger right back before he finally disappeared into the mob of people below.

You were briskly walking down the corridors, books held tightly to your chest with your friend at your side while you made your way to Advanced Potions with Slughorn after Snape finally made his way into the DADA position. It was an easy class, potions being something you had a knack for and it gave you enough leisure to mess with your “favorite” Slytherin who shared it with you. 

“Look there goes your boyfriend,” your friend teases, elbowing your upper arm roughly and nodding her head down towards the hall to the tall blond appearing around the corner and entering swiftly into the class.

“He’s not my boyfriend,” you hiss. “I’m tired of everyone saying that. I hate him and he hates me, end of story.”

“You know when you say you hate him, it just sounds like the opposite,” she says tauntingly. “Besides, hate is a strong word and very misplaced. Maybe, it’s just years of built-up tension that both of you have been too nervous to do anything about.”

“Tension? Yeah, I want to strangle him,” you laugh to yourself at the thought.

“Not that tension, idiot,” she shakes her head, “I mean sexual tension...clearly.”

You gave her a horrified look mixed between being disgusted and being offended. You held your hand over your mouth and pretended to gag as dramatically as you could. “I am appalled that you would even say that. I would rather be locked in a room with Filch and Peeves and hear them argue and fight all day than to be with Malfoy like that.”

“Come on, think about it,” she encourages, stopping the two of you a little ways away from the classroom. “You guys 'hate' each other?” She finger quotes the hate, looking at you with a raised eyebrow. “When you hate someone, you don’t go out of your way to talk to them every day.”

“It’s not like that,” you wave a hand dismissively. “Also, this isn’t a cliche, this is real life. We hate each other, that is all there is to it.”

You picked up the walk again, your friend to following behind you while letting out a deep and exhausted sigh. You couldn’t help but think about what she said, sure, perhaps at one point you thought Draco was attractive with his bright silver hair, his glittering gray eyes, his little button nose that he would crinkle up every other word he spoke in his charming haughty voice, or the way he’d tower over you in the middle of a conversation gone wrong and he’d be talking lowly to you but all you’d be able to focus on was the sweet scent of apples and cologne that radiated off of him.

“No,” you whispered almost silently to yourself, forcing yourself out of your thoughts and shaking your head from side to side as if it was going to get the image out of your head. He was mean, disrespectful, arrogant, and insulted you daily - even if you both laughed about it or gave props for the perfect jabs.

The first thing your eyes landed on when you walked into the dingy Potions classroom was Draco, his focus trained on the ceiling as if he was deep in thought. Just as his eyes were about to flicker down towards you, and sensing that he was about to, you quickly avoided his gaze and concentrated onto Slughorn who was waiting patiently by his desk with a bubbling cauldron for you and your friend to join the crowd in front of him.

“Great! Now that we’re all here,” Slughorn began excitedly, fixing the sleeves of his robes as he grabbed the ladle in the cauldron and began stirring it while continuing his lecture. 

You were trying to listen, capturing only the professor’s last sentence as he called on someone who raised their hand. All attention was thrown out the window when you realized Draco was standing near said classmate, a look of annoyance suddenly clouding his features when his pale eyes met yours.

“What?” He mouthed. You ignored him, trying to turn your concentration back onto Slughorn but nothing he was saying made sense, and right as you caught a word you did understand, a shuffling and an abrupt arm knocking into yours threw you right back out of the loop.

“Watch it,” you snap hushedly when you notice who it is. “Why are you over here?”

“I can’t say hello to my number one fan?” He whispers back, snickering slightly when you scoffed quietly.

“Fan? Says the one who shoved his way through the crowd to come over here,” you grumble, crossing your arms. 

“I hardly shoved,” he mutters. “I only moved because I couldn’t see Slughorn from where I was standing. Not everything’s about you.”

“Really? Because to me, it seemed like you came over here for my attention.”

He let out a breathy chuckle, a patronizing smile making its way onto his face. The type of typical boy smile where his mouth is half agape with his tongue smoothing over his teeth as he stared off across the room with his fingertips rubbing thoughtfully against his jawline as he thought of what to say. You stood still as he bent down, nearing his mouth towards your ear and whispering hotly, “you wish, darling.”

Slughorn sent everyone to their paired tables, and as everyone began moving and Draco sauntered off away from you, you stood stuck there, shocked with the lingering chills that were sent down your spine from your archnemesis’ comment.

“I told you, you’re into each other,” your friend sang expectantly from behind you, grabbing onto your sleeve and directing the two of you towards your table. 

You were working peacefully at your workspace, cutting up, peeling, and crushing the ingredients that your friend was sliding across the surface to you. In the table behind you was where Draco was working annoyingly quiet, tossing the stripped stems of the roses at you that you had to peel, tiny thorns pricking at your ankles through your socks since the bigger thorns had been taken off for the potion. As payback, you would throw back loose extra pearl dust you ground up, giggling tauntingly when he would frown at you for getting the coarse white powder all over his Italian leather shoes and most definitely inside of them as well.

When you, and seemingly the rest of the class, had finally thrown in all the ingredients and the potion promptly finished brewing, beautiful clouds of white and pink smoke began rising from the cauldrons, each one having a lovely scent of first; freshly pressed high-priced linens, then a faint smell of a brand new racing broom out of a box with a freshly polished wood handle that then quickly transformed into a sweet harvest of apples, green specifically, and finally...

“Ugh, gross,” you pinched your nostrils closed, turning your body around and sending a scowl towards Draco’s way. “Malfoy, we get it, your cologne is expensive, now stop spraying it. I was smelling all these wonderful things and you ruined it.”

He arched an eyebrow at you, looking at you as if you were crazy. “Are you mad? I didn’t spray anything, I think you’ve finally lost it.”

“Well you laid it on too heavy this morning then, it reeks in here.”

“You’re one to talk, Y/L/N. Did you bathe yourself in that dreadful perfume you wear just now? And that ghastly lip shiner thing you use,” He sneers, crinkling up his nose. “I can’t even think straight, I might vomit.”

“Lip shiner? It’s called lip balm, you prat,” you retort, crossing your arms angrily. “Either way, I haven’t used or sprayed anything either so-”

“For Merlin’s sake!” Your friend suddenly exasperated loudly from beside you making you briskly whirl around to look at her, a look of pure annoyance etched onto her face. “Are you two really that daft? Honestly? Have you been paying attention to anything other than each other? For instance, the potion we just made?”

This gained the attention of your classmates around you in the surrounding tables, turning their heads slightly but not obviously with small knowing smirks on their faces while they snickered quietly and listened. It was soundless as you reached towards the book in front of your friend, pulling it painstakingly slow towards you in fear of the words that were written on the open page.

“Amortentia,” you muttered glumly as you read the page, pushing it away from you dejectedly as everything began to click.

“The reason you’re both smelling each other is because you’re what the other desires and is attracted to. Wow, what a revelation! As if the whole school didn’t already know.”

You were afraid to turn around. You could feel the cold and hard pair of eyes burning holes onto your back and the immediate amount of whispers and giggles of the people around you. Luckily, Slughorn was busy at the other end of the room, working diligently with another pair of students who managed to mess up their potion. 

“That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard,” Draco announces finally.

“What’s so ridiculous about it?” You questioned, your heart falling to the pit of your stomach when you turned again and took notice of the way his lips were curling upwards as if it was the most disgusting thing he could have ever heard.

“Think about it, Y/L/N,” he deadpans. “Why would I ever desire someone like you?”

There had been occasions over the years when you were in this situation. None as drastic and as revealing, but there would be times when friends and others would poke fun and say the exact same thing your friend told you earlier. The usual, “they got the hots for each other!” and you would always brush it off and joke about how you could never, and he’d do the same. It was always amongst laughs and jokes, but as you looked at the Slytherin in front of you - there wasn’t a hint of amusement on his hardened face.

“Piss off, Malfoy,” you seethed, biting down hard on your lip to refrain from lashing out either in tears or in insults, you couldn’t decide. “If I’m so revolting, leave me alone from now on, I mean it.”

“I never said that,” he argues. “You’re just simply not my type.”

For some eerie, awful reason, the words tore into you like a sharpened knife going easily through butter. You were used to his insults, his mocking, his comments about your appearances - but this hurt, and you couldn’t explain why. You thought, for a second, possibly, that maybe your friend was right. Maybe there was a hidden attraction you had for the platinum blond that you buried deep away and one that he had for you. There was no way that was the case now, not at all. 

And for the first time in your life, you couldn’t be more sure of a simple little fact.

You hated him.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 

You don’t know how long you spent sitting in Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom, back against the cold tiled wall with your knees brought up to your chest. Your friends had tried to console you after the public rejection and humiliation, but their words only made you feel worse. You felt silly for being so bothered about being rejected by Malfoy, he wasn’t exactly someone you fancied, to begin with.

After dinner, you went off the grid and found yourself where you’re now sitting. The ghostly girl flew restlessly around you, popping out of her stall now and then to chat but then going back into her abyss of nothing when she learned you were still upset. You noticed it made her a little too pleased, considering the fact it was always her who was miserably wailing about her problems in the bathroom. She tried to hide it and let you talk to her about how you felt, but she gave terrible advice most of the time. 

“Well, if it was me, I would have never started fancying someone who was mean to me,” she mumbled. “Like when Paul Wighorn made fun of my hair for a whole year and laughed when I cried. I hated his guts then and I still do now.”

She had a point, but she was also Myrtle. Nothing about the overly dramatic ghost made sense.

“I don’t fancy him, It’s just weird,” you trail off. “I can’t imagine a day without him, even if he is a complete arse. We always joked about how we hated each other, but I didn’t think he actually meant it, I guess.”

“I think you do fancy him, though,” she whispers knowingly in your ear, making you flinch from her cold draft. “Stop denying it, it’ll only keep making you feel worse. Amortentia doesn’t lie, silly. Maybe when you drink it, but before that, all real feelings are there, whether you know it or not.”

You sat quietly, taking in her words before something came crashing down onto you like a wall of bricks.

“I suppose that means he’ll have to stop denying it too,” she adds thoughtfully. 

“Myrtle,” you rush to get up, smoothing your hair down profusely and fixing the wrinkles in your clothes. “You’re a genius.”

“I am?” She asks excitedly. “What did I say?”

You waved her off, giving her another thank you before rushing out of the bathroom and into the empty corridors. You were trying to go back to your dorm to sleep, hoping that when tomorrow came you would be bold enough to confront the Slytherin Prince but it was thirty minutes past curfew, something you didn’t notice until you were bustling down the steps in a rush and came face to face with the man of the hour himself doing his Prefect patrolling duties.

“Go to your dorm, Y/L/N,” he sneers. “I’ll take away house points, don’t test me,”

“I don’t believe you.”

“That I’ll take away house points? Watch me. Five-”

“No, you twat,” you groan, swatting his arm with your hand. “I don’t believe that I’m not your type.”

He stayed wordless for a moment, biting the inside of his cheeks and clenching his jaw as he peered down at you from his lanky height. “Why not?”

“Because I didn’t think you were my type until the amortentia made me aware of it,” you answer quietly. “Actually, my friend had a hand in it, but it was mostly the potion.”

Silence, again. Still and deadly. You could hear the large clocks around the school tick and tock, the hundreds of paintings snoring peacefully or chattering quietly. You avoided looking up at the boy in front of you, all of a sudden feeling small under his gaze until you felt cold fingers brush against your cheekbone and then softly through your hair causing you to finally look up into the soft wandering almost blue eyes. 

“I didn’t find out with the amortentia,” he muttered almost reluctantly as if it was the most difficult thing he had to reveal. “I’ve known I’ve liked you for a while.”

“How long is a while?” You curiously wonder aloud.

“I’m not telling,” he smirks. “Perhaps you’ll figure it out one day.”

Both hands came up to rest on your cheeks, slightly cold but soft and tender. It sent chills throughout your body as he took a step closer to you and then closer, backing you carefully into the diagonally ascending stone wall that went in the direction of the stairs. Your breathing was getting uneven, you noticed the way you accidentally switched to manually forcing yourself to inhale and exhale normally when he leaned down with his face now being mere centimeters from yours. It was torture, having your eyes closed and feeling the way his nose was brushing against yours, minty breath warm against your lips as he ghosted over them with his. He was so close, you smelt everything that was in the damn potion that got you here. It sent flutters of warmth down your body, trickling down and seeping deeply into every bone in your body as if this is was the remedy its been needing. This is what you’ve been missing.

When you finally felt a soft pair of lips being pressed into yours, it felt almost unreal that you were there. It was awkward the first couple of seconds, both of you wondering how in the world had you gotten yourselves in this position, but after you relaxed and he found his Prince of Slytherin confidence - it was magic. His lips moved languidly against yours, affectionately and full of longing. He kept his hands on your cheeks, still timid to move anywhere else while you kept yours resting lightly on his sides. It scared you a little, how fast and how easily you melted into each other, like if this was something you’ve been doing with him for years rather than torment the other for laughs. 

You hated the feeling when he pulled away, a gust of freezing castle air passing through the space between you and cooling your lips and face from his contact. His hands dropped down to his sides and he looked down at you with a small smile, a teeny bit smug, but happy. You wanted to feel the same way, but a question still loomed over your head, overpowering the giddiness you were vividly feeling.

“Why did you lie earlier?” You question softly, directing your gaze to the floor. “In class, I mean.”

He thought about his answer for a second, sighing deeply when he realized he had to uncover more truths about himself to you. You took a mental observation at that, he didn’t like to talk about feelings. “You didn’t say anything. Didn’t even look at me. I thought I’d beat you to it and reject you before you could reject me.”

“What made you think I’d reject you?” You coaxed. “Other than the fact that I made you a sworn enemy at eleven.”

“Exactly that,” he laughed lightly. “You’re unpredictable, Y/N.”

You smiled to yourself at the realization that he finally used your first name. “So are you, Draco.”

“Not really,” he grins. “Like in just a few moments, for example, I’m going to start snogging you.”

You opened your mouth to encourage him but shut it quickly when he closed the space between the two of you again, this time much closer than he was before. He was flush against you, and when you say you could feel everything; you could feel everything. You were almost begging for him to lean down and kiss you again by the time you felt his hands on you again, running delicately around the exposed skin of your hips when your shirt hiked up an inch on accident. He leaned down again, and with the advantage of his lowered height, you let your hands slide up his arms, biceps, and ultimately the nape of his neck where your fingers continued up into his hair. The breathiest gasp escaped his throat as you tugged at the ends gently, smirking to yourself when he closed his eyes in delight at the touch.

His lips came down onto your fast this time and hastily, pressing himself impossibly closer into you. You could feel his grip tighten against your hips, his hold moving upwards onto your waist as he continued to kiss you fervently. His teeth bit down softly on your bottom lip and you wasted no time in parting them slightly for his tongue to meet yours. You tugged at the platinum strands of hair again, feeling triumphant when a low groaning sound emitted from his throat at the sensation as he tilted his head to deepen the kiss further.

You knew you were done for when one of his hands slowly slid up your upper body, stopping first at your collarbones with warm fingertips fluttering over the skin, before he moved it upwards completely and he now had his large hand wrapped comfortably around your neck. You gasped in delight into the kiss, a swarm of butterflies going directly to your lower stomach as he squeezed against the artery in your neck meticulously, the coldness from his Malfoy family crest ring only adding fuel to the fire. He tore his mouth away from yours with his hand still clutched firmly around your throat and you were almost sent into orbit with the look he was giving you. A look filled with desire, adoration, and intensity - his pale gray eyes were much darker, almost a dark blue that resembled the starry night sky on a summer night.

Lips reattached themselves roughly and feverishly against your jawline, peppering long and tender kisses all the way towards your ear and then down towards your collarbones where he was beginning to undo the rest of the top buttons of your school dress shirt. You felt him smile against your hot skin when you’d writhe underneath him, emitting weak whimpers that you couldn’t hold back that he ended up having to clasp a free hand over your mouth as he whispered into your ear to stay quiet.

It didn’t matter that you were in the middle of a poorly lit corridor where anyone could walk past and see the frenzy that was unfolding, nor did it matter to Draco that his Prefect duties were long forgotten. Your friend was right, and everyone else for that matter; it wasn’t hate you felt for the blond at all, it was years and years of a craving and a hidden yearning packed with displaced tension.

And now, you were both exactly where you wanted to be; together.

[writer-and-artist27]

[Image Description: A photo of a traditional drawing found on a desk, featuring a May King hugging a petite and bespectacled brunette Chaldean Master to his chest as her arms remain limp against her sides in shock. Tears bubble in her eye as he hugs her close, a blue robin wing representing an aspect of his legend standing proud over his shoulder - a stark contrast to the smaller, more fragile sparrow-like wing accompanying the Master's black and white Chaldean uniform. The drawing's creation date, "3/22/2022", sits at the bottom righthand corner. End Description.}

Inspired by the second half of this story from @lunarimpact and a quote my real life Robin told me once: "You don't need to prove anything to me." And well, since Olympus just dropped in FGO NA, I needed a break from looking at Lostbelts just because Arrow 1 alone in Section 2 deeply upset me to the point of Shii-chan/OG Musashi barely helping with her intro.

And after searching for so many references just for the pose, I decided to be a bit more self-indulgent than usual to my angstier side while returning to a personal old hero. It took a lot of staring at my own hands for this to work, but I'm still proud to have gotten Robin looking okay in my style at least. Took a lot of staring at his official reference sheet too, but art is a learning process.

Since Part 1.5 is where I personally view as the moment the Servants started realizing things were going wrong in Chaldea, I see this drawing as just a snippet of that time, just after Agartha and SE.RA.PH. The slightly shorter hair and the white uniform confirmed that for my brain. Didn't scan this one since I didn't want the colors to be washed out by my printer.

Now to sleep. And handle Olympus eventually so I can spike Wodime and Zeus' heads on stakes. Redemption doesn't happen in one day, dammit.

[iamanartichoke]

... All right, let’s do this. 

Under the cut bc there’s SO MANY images, and I’m sorry, and I know the cut is worthless to mobile users but, well, here we are. Please don’t unfollow me for this post specifically. 

^^ I can’t decide if this woman holding the Tesseract is impressive or not bc, I mean, she’s wearing a glove - but, Red Skull probably was, too? Also the TVA are obviously not humans, so “impressive” may be generous. On the other hand, “only beings of enormous power” can wield the Tesseract/infinity stones, so. 

Loki looks pissed. 

“I know what this place is.” I like this, bc it provides us with some narrative evidence that Loki has always known much more about the universe and How Things Work than anyone cared to realize. Loki’s always known what’s going on; that he isn’t ignorant to the existence or inner functions of the TVA feels in-character. 

Inception! 

Lokiception! 

Why does every shot of the TVA’s headquarters look like the inside of a poorly-lit DMV? Though I guess it fits with the “timelessness” of it all as, after all, time ceases to exist or have meaning once you enter the DMV. 

But I digress. 

I’ve already remarked on the “I’m smart” comment, but I do like this shot. 

I really love what Loki’s hair is doing here, I don’t even care. For better or for worse, his hair’s doing it’s own all-natural thing and I dig it. Let it move, let it dance, let it fall into his face and obscure his features as fanfic has allowed so many times. 

I’m not a fan of the exaggerated jump or “wtf” expression along with “this is absurd” but THIS moment? Classic Loki. He looks 500% done and we’re only 51 seconds in. Also, I refuse to believe that stack of papers is everything Loki’s ever said. I know we all complained about the “you love to talk” line but, I mean, certainly he’s said more than approximately the total sum of Ulysses in his 1000 years of existence. 

Here’s what I want to know: 

1. How does Loki taking the Tesseract result in so many new timeline branches? Surely he’s only responsible for one new timeline? I really, really hope they address that this is all the Avengers’ fault. 

2. What timeline is WandaVision and TFatWS taking place in? The main one, I presume? How do we know it’s not one of these alternate ones? 

3. Which timeline is Agents of SHIELD in and will they be addressed? Bc they got up to all kinds of Time Shenanigans in seasons 5, 6, and 7 to the point where I’m pretty sure they split off into their own universe (which is why they weren’t affected by the Snap or that whole thing, or so I’ve heard). If Loki crosses paths with Coulson & crew, I may pee my pants.

4. So where does Jessica Jo - ah, forget it, I’m not even going to ask. 

I wonder what it is about this “unique Loki perspective” that Mobius is interested in recruiting. (Incidentally, I don’t think I’ve ever seen Owen Wilson in, like, a real role - wherein he’s not playing some version of Owen Wilson, that is. He’s got a costume and everything here. Fun to see!) 

This is a bamf shot, okay. The way it’s framed is pretty intimidating. 

“You listen well, brother -” 

“I’m listening.” 

^^ I figured out what kind of energy this moment has, lmao. 

“It’s adorable that you think you can manipulate me.” I mean, do I even have to comment? I am here for narratively validating the “Loki is ten steps ahead” (heh, and I quote) canon. Here’s another place where I feel like Tom was involved, since I’m pretty sure that somewhere, he’s literally said “Loki’s always ten steps ahead of everyone else.” 

That said, I’m not crazy about the delivery of this line; the over-confident tone of it smacks of “here’s someone about to get knocked the fuck off their pedestal” and I’m not here for that. 

That said, these next scenes - 

- not only show Loki with the upper hand but, also, it’s clear that Loki goes rogue at some point, possibly early on, and I do like that. Drag me if you will, but I want to see Loki scheming and being manipulative, in his own interests. 

I think that Loki being the protagonist will allow them to portray his manipulation in a way that the audience is on his side. I don’t think that the TVA is being framed as the “reliable narrator” through which the audience should view Loki, or “good guys” at all; I think that maybe they’re not evil, but there’s probably a lot of morally-grey shenanigans and goings-on. 

I also think Loki is capable of outwitting them; Loki, being ten steps ahead, has probably figured out something that the TVA has not even thought of yet, so he’s going to fix things his own way, according to his own plan. And I want to see that, because I think that this will give the narrative room to really explore both how Loki thinks and what he does when his plans go awry (as I’m sure they’re bound to do); like, how will he fix it and still remain on top in the end?

So, I mean, I’m pretty intrigued (and still cautiously optimistic). 

Lots of action shots happening, I won’t add even more images to this post, but this magic is still giving me life. 

What is this, a food court? (Speaking of which , what’s up with all the action in the mall earlier?) 

“I’ve studied almost every moment of your life” 

(^^ Missed opportunity)

“and you’ve literally stabbed people in the back like 50 times.” 

Receipts or it didn’t happen, and that’s all I’m gonna say about that line right now. 

Thanks, I hate it. This is all wrong, this whole thing - just awful, scrap it, toss it out. Tom, I love you, but this was the wrong delivery and an all-around bad acting decision. It’s too over-the-top, too earnestly “well I never!”, too comical (as in, feels like it belongs in a comic with a speech bubble as opposed to funny). 

Once more, with feeling. From the top! 

I like that we get to see Loki doing a wardrobe change, as I don’t think we’ve gotten to see that before. He always just shows up in a new outfit or illusions one on. 

That’s one ugly ass outfit, but you make it look passable, Loki. You’re beautiful, in case no one’s told you that today. 

The remaining shots are very visually pleasing and action-y and I dig them, except the volcano one (stop posing with your arms outstretched every five seconds, Loki, it’s kinda cringe. In the above still, it works; in front of a volcano, it’s just tonally off. I say this with love, don’t @ me). 

Overall, I think I maintain my 7/10 rating. I think that the trailer hints at a lot of potential in the story that I will enjoy seeing, and I think that the nature of it being a trailer means that it’s a little tonally hyperbolic (this is kinda the format for Disney shit; show the flashy bits, the funny (”funny”) bits, to draw in the casual viewer. Save the story bits for the show. (Case in point: there’s a lot of great material in TFatWS that happened just before or after the one-liners shown in the trailer.) 

So, yes. Sorry this is such a mammoth post, I just needed to explode my feels. If you think the trailer’s awesome, kudos and I love you. If you’re disappointed and upset, I’m sorry and I love you. If you’re hovering in the middle, still in cautiously optimistic territory, pull up a seat and have some popcorn with me. 

That is all. 

[my-sherlock221b]

Supernatural Rewatch Ramblings: Bloodlust

2020-21 has been a huge transformative time for many of us. Whether we wanted it or not, we have been forced to stop, switch gears, rethink, reflect, let go, make new priorities, discover who we really are and who we want to be in the face of adversity.

One of those transformations for me has been giving up on control and finding a way to surrender to the power of the universe. Another has been to not let perfection be the enemy of good.

You may well wonder---What does all this have to do with the Bloodlust rewatch and review??!

Probably nothing LOL except for the fact that I still have to write up my review on Bloody Mary and have been unable to write for various reasons. And then because the Bloody Mary review was still incomplete I could not write about the next one etc etc etc.

So when we watched Bloodlust two days ago in the continuing re-watch, I decided that I am going to re-start the review, and from exactly where I am right now!

If time and life permits I might fill in the gaps later. If not, well, life is unpredictable and weird and we keep calm as it carries on….Thank you for coming to my Philosophy talk….:)

Read below for the Boodlust  review, Season 2 episode 3 and look out for the post from @soulmates-for-real​ on this rewatch too!! 

The opening scene is the perfect switch and bait because we as an audience have been trained to latch on to types and identities and representations.

Woman in white night gown screaming and running--victim

Person who brutally beheads her—villain.

A few minutes into the episode we realize that we were wrong.

A good few minutes later we realize that we were wrong about being wrong.]

Haha.

We are idjits, swept away on the eddies and currents of this masterfully written and directed episode. Thank you Sera Gamble and Robert Singer!

The acting and the mesmerizing beauty of the two leads is worthy of an entire essay of its own but in order to have a life and finish this review I shall only say this—Oh my goodness HOW gorgeous is Jensen Ackles?!!

It is sometimes impossible to look at him in this episode because my eyes didn’t know where to land! That perfect face? The lips? Those eyes?? The quirk of the eyebrows? Those micro expressions that are constantly weaving across his face? The smile? The way his lips move when he talks?? His hair? The Samulet?

And then the shot pans out and includes his hand and the ring and honestly it’s a miracle I could follow the plot at all.

So the images I am going to include in this review, much as I love Sam Winchester and Jared Padalecki, are all of Dean Winchester. It’s a criminal waste to not do so when the man is just an ode to perfection.

*

Sheila O’Malley’s review of this episode is in itself a work of art and a thing of beauty so I will direct you most enthusiastically towards it and only add here my little pennyworth bits. Do click on this link but be prepared to sink into a one hour read which will make you feel like you were dropped into the episode itself.

https://www.sheilaomalley.com/?p=87187

Here is a quote from her review which is so insightful.

These are the details that a director like Robert Singer never misses, and at this point his relationship with Ackles and Padalecki would be almost telepathic (it’s probably 100% telepathic now). He has said before that he and Kripke were such a good team because Kripke’s primary concern is Plot/Gore/Horror and Singer’s primary concern is Character/Relationship. And they both end up in the same place. It’s a good mix. If Singer were also Plot/Gore/Horror focused, we wouldn’t have the depth of relationship which is the real point of the show, its real hook.

*

For a much briefer and far less technically adept and analytical review, read on here!

*

The opening of this episode shows us the Impala from every possible angle. Gleaming, gorgeous, road -worthy. This is mirrored by Dean. He is also gleaming, gorgeous and roadworthy. He is in a happy mood that not even Sam’s little brother snitty comments can deflate.

Here is the soundtrack of this episode for those who are interested.

https://www.imdb.com/title/tt0835248/soundtrack

Here is some random but fun trivia:

Dean tells Sam in one scene "If it's     Supernatural, we kill it." One of the rare times the title of the     show is actually spoken in the dialogue.

This is the first episode where Sam began parting his     hair down the middle, the hairstyle he'd keep the rest of the series.

( I didn’t like his hair too much in this episode honestly but then again I could barely see anyone beyond Dean :D)

During the filming of this episode Jared injured his     hand when he fell badly during a stunt. He thought it was merely sprained     and went straight into filming the next episode without having it checked.     But it got more and more painful and finally he went to the doctor and     discovered that his hand was, in fact, broken. Because he had already     begun filming, he couldn't bandage the hand until filming for that episode     was finished. The writers ended up writing in an accident for Sam and his     line "I think she broke my hand" to explain the fact that for     the following few episodes he would be wearing a cast.

When Dean kills a vampire, blood is sprayed on his     face, mostly on his right cheek. In the next shot the pattern is     different, and notably the right cheek is almost clean. Furthermore, his     mouth was agape when he made the kill, risking the blood getting into his     mouth and turning him into a vampire. While the brothers didn't yet know     how a vampire is made at that point, Gordon did and should have been     alarmed that Dean might have gotten some of the blood in his mouth.

*

A random behind the scene shot from the episode:

Guess who she is? Apparently this is Jensen’s sister in a super brief role in Bloodlust!

* 

On to the review, or rather some of my thoughts during the re-watch.

The first scene with the Sheriff they are interrogating him about the cattle mutilations is hilarious. The way they bluff their way into the morgue is hilarious. Dean always leading and Sam following.

Random trivia: When Dean enters the morgue with Sam and sees the name tag of "J Manners", it has been thought the name was to honor Jeffrey Dean Morgan and series producer Kim Manners. Dean guesses "John" - Jeffrey's character name - and the intern corrects with "Jeff"

*

It a testament to the way Supernatural has trained its audience that we barely blink when they pull out a decapitated head in the morgue, squabble over who is more chicken, dig into the mouth and eventually discover vampire fangs.

Yes, of course they do.

*

Next scene: Two hot guys walk into a bar…..

…….where the adorable Benny, who is not Benny in this episode but a random dude ( spoilers—later we find out the dude is a vampire), gives them directions/ mis- directions to a possible vampire nest.

We see the first glimpse of Gordon Walker, amazingly played by Sterling K. Brown, and making us worry about and dislike him almost right away. The way he is shown with the light and shade bars on his face from the window blinds is so menacing.

The next few scenes continue to build that sense of unease where the Winchester brothers, apparently telepathically, decide to double back and catch him following them, then he shows them his car and his weapons, where he references their dad and then refuses their offer for help.

The scene where he shows them his car is like a painting. (The car by the way is just as inconspicuous as the Impala –which is to say NOT AT ALL!! How do these people stay below the radar of the regular law enforcement is a mystery….).

The dust highlighting the rays of light, the two brothers on one side of the car and Gordon at the other, it’s all so consciously set up for a few seconds worth of screen time. Impressive!

Next comes a truly brutal kill, at Dean’s hands, which we don’t even see except as a spray of blood on his face. Poetic! But it is Dean’s expression that makes my stomach clench. His eyes are dead and he is somewhere deep that even Sam can’t reach, as we can see from the distress on Sam’s face.

Gordon of course is all chipper and full of bonhomie and offers to buy them drinks.

That following scene is the one which gives Wincest brother-wives vibes like 100%.

*

Sam plays the role of the disgruntled ‘wife’ to perfection. No one but hubby is allowed to use the nickname. He hates the male bonding going on with Gordon and the more Gordon seems to slip into Dean’s inner circle, the more uncomfortable Sam gets, until he finally decides that he just cannot physically be there any more.

Dean’s smug expression when Sam tells Gordon off for calling him Sammy, his instant worry at Sam going back alone, his hand raised in exasperation to convey to Gordon—look what I have to put up with-- the tossing of the keys to his car----it is all a symphony of Dean playing his part in the brother-wives orchestra.

The last line?! ‘Remind me to beat the buzzkill out of you later.’ And Sam’s expression at that? That’s exactly the way a bullying /abusive husband would react to a nagging wife who doesn’t like his toxic friends and wonders how he can be so blind as to not see them for the bad influence they clearly are.

( Bad Dean!!!)

Sam goes back to the motel and does his due diligence by checking with Ellen, gets kidnapped by vampires, released and on his return is disgusted to find Gordon inside their motel room.

*

The next scene is where Dean erupts, having clearly had enough of the shifting power dynamics between them over the evening. Sam has been silently judging him since the kill and Gordon has managed to ‘other’ Sam and make Dean feel validated in his own bloodlust as a hunter.

Dean clocks Sam one.

Wow. I did not see that coming. And what shocked me at this re- watch is that Sam just takes it.

Like an abused wife, he just takes it. Not only that, sometime later in the episode he tells Dean to hit him again if it is going to make him feel better.

NO Sam! NO!!! This is NOT healthy and this is NOT the way to deal….ugh. Sigh.

*

Then the second half of the episode swings in and the moral dilemma they face becomes clear when the victim and villain switch roles and Dean is shook enough to question his dad’s judgement!

Dean is still kind of trying to give Gordon the benefit of the doubt even though he sees him literally torturing the vampire. But of course all bets are off the instant he touches Sam. Dean pulls his gun on him. I was surprised that he didn’t shoot him just on principle later simply because he hurt Sam even if it was a small cut.

That is Dean’s definition of monsters-- Anything that hurts Sam. 😊

*

We don’t know it at this time, and spoilers ahead, but maybe Dean has been so annoyed and violent with Sam at the idea that he is standing up for MONSTERS is because he might also be one….and the way he looks at the end when he realizes that his whole life’s philosophy has been upended.

There are the details about the vampires who drink cattle blood so they don’t harm humans and therefore want to be treated as the good guys. Of course it is all about the inherent struggle between who you are and what you do—something that shows up hugely magnified in the later seasons when Sam is struggling with his own demon blood addiction and the knowledge of the demon blood inside him.

He needs desperately to believe in this as the utmost foundation stone of his life and its purpose—what you DO is more important than what you ARE!

So even if you are a monster, if you don’t behave like one—that is your redemption.

But it’s not just anybody whose faith he wants in his struggle to prove to himself that he is not a monster. He needs it from Dean.

Remember the dialogue from the panic room “Don’t you say that to me. Don’t YOU say that to me.”

And the fake voicemail set up by Zachariah exploits this at the time of the breaking of the last seal.

*

Of course he doesn’t know any of this yet, but that’s Sam fucking Winchester for you –always purer and better than his circumstances allow. Always struggling to do better, be better.😍

*

It is fascinating how the visuals and the roles these two play are of rugged handsome men, badass heroes-- Dean of course super macho role playing all the time. But there are so many layers upon layers and honestly if it wasn’t for Jared and Jensen’s fine nuanced and impeccable acting adding depth to the characters, the show would not have held our interest for this long.

We are shown Sam as the brains with his lore and research, but then in the very next episode (Children Shouldn’t Play with Dead Things), we see Dean connect dots faster than Sherlock Holmes.

Dean is shown as the instinctively violent one with the gun under his pillow, trigger happy, and in this episode even that brutal kill of the vampire on the docks. But then please remember the way Sam kills Gordon finally. Or the insane way he bites himself to get blood for drawing sigils. Or the way he just simply shoots the crossroads demon point blank!

We see Sam as the soft hearted one and he does rescue kids once in a while, but he is never shown to bond with them even a fraction of the way Dean does—so effortlessly. Also the ladies of course, all of whom have a soft spot for Dean. The exceptions being Sarah and Madison, both of whom completely ignored Dean. Oh and that doctor from Sex and Violence.

Dean has had his share of bad dates of course with Cassie, the woman who gave birth to his magical superfast growing daughter ( who was killed by Sam), and the whole Lisa arc, but somehow we are shown Sam as the one who is invested in relationships. Hello?! Sam was planning to marry Jessica without having told her a thing about his life while Dean told Cassie the secret as soon as he thought he was in love and wanted a relationship.

So anyway, just to say that a rewatch is so brilliant because we know more about them at this point than they do and the character arc is such a thing of beauty to see unfolding!

*

That last scene where Dean is in a thoughtful frame of mind, the sun is rising overhead ( as a metaphor for him seeing the light, maybe?)--that insanely gorgeous shot of Dean with the ring of fire and light and his absolutely perfect face in a close up…sigh.

Then he thanks Sam for pushing him to see this grey area and for the first time in that episode Sam finally smiles.

His big brother is back with him.

And then he commits to Dean too. Ah…how it warms my heart to hear this dialogue!

 DEAN I wish we never took this job. It's jacked everything up.

SAM What do you mean?

DEAN Think about all the hunts we went on, Sammy, our whole lives.

SAM Okay.

DEAN What if we killed things that didn't deserve killing? You know? I mean, the way Dad raised us...

SAM Dean, after what happened to Mom, Dad did the best he could.

DEAN I know he did. But the man wasn't perfect. And the way he raised us, to hate those things; and man, I hate 'em. I do. When I killed that vampire at the mill I didn't even think about it; hell, I even enjoyed it.

SAM You didn't kill Lenore.

DEAN No, but every instinct told me to. I was gonna kill her. I was gonna kill 'em all.

SAM Yeah, Dean, but you didn't. And that's what matters.

DEAN Yeah. Well, 'cause you're a pain in my ass.

SAM Guess I might have to stick around to be a pain in the ass, then.

DEAN Thanks.

SAM Don't mention it.

Transcript here http://www.supernaturalwiki.com/index.php?title=2.03_Bloodlust_%28transcript%29

 Guess Sam does stick around for the next 15 years to be a pain in the ass 😊

Some quotes from the writers about this episode: 

·  "The episode was really about what Dean would become if he didn't watch out: that Gordon was Dean in ten years if Sam didn't ask the difficult questions and keep him from getting too militant." - Executive story editor Sera Gamble

· "We set out to create a monster episode where you weren't entirely sure whether these monsters should be killed." - Eric Kripke

· "For me, the show is at its best when the supernatural story reveals something new about the brothers, or forces them to change in some way. Sam and Dean's realization that they've basically been raised as 'monster racists' was really meaty stuff. Exploring these characters' flaws is just as important as showcasing their heroism - these are the things that make them human, that make us invest in them." - Raelle Tucker

Check out this site for more amazing trivia and stuff

http://www.jonescave.com/supernatural/Episode/Episode.php?s=2&e=3#PopCulture

I have already finished watching the next episode ‘Children’s Shouldn’t play with Dead Things’….so let’s hope I get around to writing a review sometime soon !

[dreamer213]

Broken Machines Lights The Dark

Chapter 4: On My Mind

Fourteen hours and three days. That’s how long it had been since Penny went to the evening party, how long it had been since she had met Whitley, and how long the thought of him had made her feel odd. That night she went home told her dad about the events that unfolded at the evening party. Everything was fine until she got to the part where she saved Whitley then things got hazy. It was so strange she remembered everything clearly but when she tried to vocalize her thoughts on the boy she would start to stutter and her temperature would rise, turning her face red. At first she thought it was some sort of glitch in her speech and temperature gauge but her dad checked and said there was nothing was wrong and that her body was just reacting to her mind and her soul processing her emotions. Flustered is the word he used for the reaction, he said quote “It’s a perfectly normal reaction for a sweet young lady like you to have when meeting a handsome young man.” Though that answer did not resonate well with Penny for a few reasons. Firstly the reaction itself made very little sense to Penny as why would meeting an attractive person make another person behavior in such so oddly. Secondly Penny had already met plenty of young men in the military most of which were very handsome and she hadn’t reacted in this way at all. And lastly Whitley was not handsome, his features and overall demeanor aligned more with the definition of beautiful or pretty as they held a more elegant and delicate nature compared to the more rugged and brash nature of the word handsome. When asked the different the best way Penny could describe it was that he was less like someone you’d see in the training center but more like someone you’d see at a library sitting in an armchair next to a window, sunlight beaming down on him as he reads some complex text.

Penny: I wonder if he likes the classics or more modern literature. Historical fiction maybe? Is he the type of person who likes to have a snack or drink while he reads or would he not risk the chance of damaging the book? Though judging by the look and feel of his hands they are very nimble and steady so it’s very unlike he would spill anything. But maybe he’s the type of person that worries too much.

Penny continues to get lost in her thoughts, seated at the control panel for the training room. She was immersed in her thoughts that she didn’t notice Winter entering the room nor did she notices Winter sneaking up from behind and get down to her level. Winter positions herself to be leaning right next to Penny’s ear. She taps her a few times first, when that fails to get her attention Winter decides to go with plan B.

Winter: penny…Oh Penny…..PENNY POLENDINA!

Penny: Eeep!

Penny squeaks in sear fright when she realizes it’s Winter she quickly turns around, jumps from her chair and salutes Winter.

Penny: Good afternoon Winter Schnee! How may I assist you today?

Winter: Well first you can stop your silly daydreaming and focus! Second you do your job and get the training room ready for my session-

“Ring” “Ring”

Winter’s scroll rings cut her. She takes the call, stepping out of the room into the hallway. After a minute and fifteen seconds she returns.

Winter: Call someone to take over your post. I need you to come with me for an errand.

Penny: Right now?

Winter: Yes.

Winter walks out with Penny trailing behind her. Penny quickly asks the nearest center staff member to take over the training room then dashes after Winter. They keep walking for a while until they reach a small building hidden behind the rest of the facilities. Penny know about this building, when she was restored one of the first things she was told was if there was ever an emergency and this building was in danger of being damaged or destroyed to protect she and any other soldiers in the area were to protect it with their lives. The second was that she could never enter without either General Ironwood’s or Winter’s presence and permission. Now why would one small building amongst so many military facilities have such strict rules? Because it housed something crucial to the safety of the entire nation and the world.

.

.

.

.

This morning had been an interesting one. After spending a few hours in conference with Ironwood, the details of they’re deal had finally been ironed out.. It was fairly simple agreement, the Schnee’s would provided support in the military’s investigation via invitations to formal events, etiquette lessons, and they even offered some financial assistance if necessary. In exchange Ironwood would back Jacques in his future political endeavors. Both would be sworn to complete secrecy on the matter for the sake of both parties public images. It was a simple exchange of resources a common practice in the business world however there was an additional clause in arrangement that had Whitley a bit on edge.

As they exit the reception room Jacques is preoccupied with his scroll while Whitley was pondering on what to do about the clause. It had added on in the last few minutes of the conference thus there was no time to debate or discussed it further then a yes or no. Knowing there was little to no chance of changing it outright Whitley decides to question Jacques on it to see if he could find some kind of trying and reason him into changing the conditions of this clause over time. He waits until they are far out of ear shot then speaks.

Whitley: Father?

Jacques: Yes, Whitley.

Whitley: I understand that we have to be cautious when dealing with the military but was it really necessary to add that last clause to the agreement?

Jacques: Of course it was necessary. I can’t just hand over my best tutors to those barbarians, they’d either be scared off by one of the mongrels he calls soldiers or return as his spies and I won’t stand for it! The lessons have to happen here, in the manor, that way I’ll know exactly what their little military hound is up to.

Whitley: Yes I do agree the change in location was but that’s not the problem. What I’m struggling with is the very last adjustment. The staff will be present and will be monitoring her every move while she’s in the manor so is changing her instructor really necessary?

Jacques stops in front of Whitley, he turns around, looks down at Whitley, and puts his hand on his shoulder.

Jacques: Whitley, this situation is nothing like any deals I’ve made before. This isn’t hosting an out of town guest for the evening nor is entertaining a group of businessmen. I am granting access to the manor to one of Ironwood’s soldiers for an undisclosed amount of time. If it were only going to be for a week I’d be less strict but possible months! Not a chance in Hell. And with that filth Klein betraying us I can’t chance give my trust to someone just to have them do the same. No, this task can only be handled by someone I know would NEVER betray me. Do you understand?

Jacques squeezes Whitley’s shoulder tight, the skin under his shirt and vest begins to redden as Jacques digs his nails into it. Whitley winces in pain but Jacques holds firm. He won’t let go until he gets the answer he’s expecting. Whitley takes a deep breath to compose himself before he finally speaks.

Whitley: Yes Father.

Jacques: Good, now since there’s nothing left to discuss, go to the library you have a business statistic lesson in thirty minutes.

Whitley: Yes Father.

Jacques pulls his scroll back out again and walks off without another word. While Whitley, holding his now bruised shoulder, starts heading towards the library and sighs. What a useless conversation, there was really no changing the situation all Whitley could do was prepare, the girl will be starting her lessons and he needed to be ready. Though it wasn’t like he really had anything to fear from her besides her physical strength and military training she had come off as a fairly awkward and meek girl with little to no social awareness. But still he could help this unnerving feeling brewing in the pit of his stomach. Why did idea of her presence make him feel so uneasy?

“????:….I….want….I want to see her….I want to see her smile again.”

The memory of the unknown voice plays in Whitley’s mind. He still hadn’t figured out what caused the deviation of the dream nor what the voice was or where it came from. What he did know was that it wished for him to see that girl, Penny, again and regardless of his wishes, it looks like it was going to have its way.

Whitley: This isn’t what I was hoping for but there’s no going back now. I’ll just have to push through.

.

.

.

.

.

After several security checks and the removal of all their weapons Penny and Winter finally reach their destination, a kitchen with a door at the other end. Winter goes to speak the cook while Penny stands behind her confused by what’s happening. They had come to the most secured building in the entire center base just to go to the kitchen. When she done talking Winter goes back to Penny and points her towards a tea set, kettle, and stove.

Winter: Go brew some tea. She likes camomile , no cream, a teaspoon of sugar, a three drops off lemon juice.

Penny: Yes Ma’am

Winter turns around grabs a tray of food of the counter, and walks through the other door. Penny does as she was told and starts making tea. She had already learned how to sometime again before she had ever left the lab. She’d brew coffee and tea for her dad and Ciel during breaks, long nights, or when it got really cold out. Back then Penny couldn’t feel things like warmth or cold but hated to see them shivering or struggling to stay awake in the middle of the night so she’d make warm drinks, get them blankets, and clean up after them if they were too tired to do it themselves. Those times had made the act of brewing tea quite therapeutic and calming for Penny and since she gained the ability to enjoy the practice to its fullest she had only gotten better at it. But at times like this she was also reminded of her former attendant Ciel.

Penny: (Sighs) It’s been a while since I’ve seen her. Ever since that day.

Ciel had be like an older sister to Penny, wise, caring, and always there for the people around her. They’d been fairly close before they went to Beacon but after the tournament and Beacon’s fall Penny hasn’t seen her again, she asked for her a few times right after she was restored but she never came. Supposedly she was still working in robotics but was reassigned to mecha production and maintenance.

Penny: I would ask Dad where she is and how she’s doing but I don’t think she would want me to find her. Still I hope she’s doing well.

The whistle of the kettle pulls Penny out of her thoughts, the water was ready. Penny pours the hot water into the tea pot over the tea leaves in a circular motion. She lets it sit to set and cool a bit then pours the tea into the cup and adds the sugar and lemon. She puts everything on a tray and heads towards the door. As she gets closer Penny can feel cold air brush past her, she keeps going only to find the door has a layer of frost covering the edges. She pulls the door open to see what looks like a hospital room. There’s nothing particularly odd about the room aside from the many paintings that decorated the walls, the large window close to the ceiling, and the GROWING FROST AND DROPPING TEMPERATURE! The floor and a few feet of the walls have been covered layer of ice, Winter is standing by the bed where a frail elderly woman lays looking rather upset, the ice seems to emanating from her hands. Winter tries to get the women to cooperate with her but the woman just shakes her head as the temperature continues to drop.

Winter: Freya please stop being so stubborn, you need to eat now. It’s almost time for your medicine and you can’t it on an empty stomach.

Freya just shakes her head, unwilling to listen to Winter commands. This wasn’t too shocking as the elderly in Atlas were notorious for their attitudes. Anyone over the age of 50 was either the sweetest old person you’d ever met or the most stubborn and unruly. For the stubborn ones only the most patient of people could handle care for them. Luckily for them Penny was one of those people.

Penny continues to walk towards Freya, increasing her body’s temperature to keep the tea heated as she gets closer. Once she’s at Freya’s bedside she bends down to her level and gives her a warm smile.

Penny: Ms. Freya?

Penny stands over smiling silently as she waits for a response. Freya eventual turns her head towards her and groans. Still smiling Penny extends the tray to Freya.

Penny: Would you to have your tea first or do want your lunch first instead?

Freya groans again but motions for the tea cup.

Penny: Okay tea it is then. But you have to eat your lunch afterwards then take your medicine. Is that okay with you?

Freya nods and reaches for the cup, Penny pushes the cup towards her hand and help guid to her mouth. Once Freya’s got her cup of tea the ice stops forming and Penny turns to Winter.

Penny: Do you need me to do anything else?

Winter: (sighs) Please go and reheat her lunch.

Penny: Yes Ma’am!

Penny does as she’s told and reheats the food and brings the food back out. After Freya’s fed and medicated the girls begin gathering up the dishes and talking.

Winter: Thank you Penny, taking care of the Maiden can be taxiing at times. Especially when she gets in modes like this.

Penny: Is that why you told me to come with you on this errand?

Winter: Yes, I thought given your physical abilities and personality you’d be best suited to help keep her calm or in the worst case scenario hold her down with lower risk of major injuries.

Penny: Thank you?

Penny looks around again this time noting the paintings in detail. The all had a similar style, some looked older then the others, and there was an easel and cabinet full of fresh paints and brushes.

Penny: Winter? The paintings here were they all made by-

Winter: Yes, Freya was a talented painter before she became the Maiden, the large one on your right was the last piece she made before she fully devoted herself to being the Maiden and retired from her art career.

Penny: Oh.

Penny looks up at the paintings. It’s a silhouette of a little girl holding up a ball of light, the background is a starry night sky over snowy mountain range. The vocal point of the painting seems to seem to be the girl and the light. The light swirled outward blending into the other whites of paintings and while only being a silhouette the girl seems to looking at the light her expression unknown. What does the girl see in the light Penny wonders. She stares at for long moment trying to find meaning in the art piece. But soon Winter calls her back to the kitchen. Penny waves goodbye to Freya and takes one last look at the paintings before leaving.

Once they’ve cleaned up they leave the facility and go their separate ways to continue their work days. From there Penny continue with her day, her mind wondering back and forward between thoughts of the painting, Ciel, and Whitley until she finally finishes up her work day and goes home. When she opens the front door Penny is greeted by the sound of rustling of paper bags and the scent of pre cooked food. She goes to kitchen to see her dad setting a brown paper bag on the table. Pietro looks up to see her sporting a curious look as she inspects the bag.

Pietro: Welcome home Sweetpea.

Penny: Hi Dad, what’s in the brown paper bag? It smells quite good.

Pietro: Well, I was going to cook but I’ve been on phone on conferences all day and forgot to take anything out. So I ordered us some takeout instead.

Penny: Takeout!

Pietro: Yup, it’s stuff you haven’t tried yet to!

Penny: Yay!

Pietro opens the bag and pulls out three containers. He opens them to reveal a large amount of delicious looking food.

Pietro: We’ve got some soup dumplings, spicy wontons, and Yang Chow fried rice courtesy of Ms. Ling’s.

Ms. Ling’s was a popular family owner restaurant in Mantle Penny passed by almost everyday on patrol. The scent from the front door alone was enough to make her want to go in and order as much as she could have in one sitting but she never have the time or money to make quick trip. But tonight she would have her fill!

Penny runs and grabs two plates and forks. She hands her dad his then makes her plate, four soup dumplings, a couple spicy wontons, and a helping of fried rice! Pietro chuckles as fulls up her plate. Once her plate is full she sits down, and just as she about to take her first bite her scroll rings. Penny pulls out her scroll with her free hand and begins to read her messages. She tries to read and eat at the same but once she gets to a certain point she drops her fork.

Pietro: Penny? What’s wrong? Did something happen?

Penny: I-It’s m-my briefing a-a-and n-new sch-schedule. T-they j-just s-s- sent it a- a-a-and.

Pietro: And what?

Penny: The ten-tenth p-page l-last paragraph. I-it says it says-

Penny holds up her scroll for her dad to see and puts her head down on the table. Pietro tips his glasses a bit as he begins reading the section she mentioned.

Pietro: “ The formal etiquette lessons shall be held at the Schnee Manor Monday through Friday during the scheduled times. Penny Polendina will be chauffeured from the designated transit station to the Schnee Manor and back via a private chauffeured car. The lessons will be instructed by the Schnee Dust Company Heir, Whitley Schnee with up to five manor staff personnel present during each session. This schedule will go into effect tomorrow morning, please arrive on time and be appropriately attired.”

Penny: (high pitched squeak)

Pietro: Hmm, there’s a Note from the Instructor at the end. “ Good evening Ms. Polendina I’m looking forward to seeing you in the afternoon for our orientation session. I’m excited to teach you what I know and hope this will be a wonderful learning experience for both of us. Sincerely Whitley Schnee.”

With that Penny put her scroll down on the table and puts her hands in her now red face and starts squeaking at in even higher pitch while her dad just sits there and awkwardly pats her head. Tomorrow is going to be a very Very VERY difficult day.

[heartofsnark]

This is Love (Chapter Eight): Whispers of Wolves

Notes: Heyo, since A) I took a break and B) it’s friday the thirteenth, as it was when I posted the first chapter of this is love back in January, I decided to go ahead and post chapter 8 today. Chapter 9 is already done and I’ll be beginning work on chapter 10 soon, as this is my current hyper fixation. I hope you all enjoy. 

Word Count: 8671

Chapter Warnings: Oh boy we got some shit today my dudes! Stories/Reference of Past Child Abuse, Animal Death In the Context of Hunting, Homphobic Slurs/Homphobia towards lesbians, and referenced past anti-Semitism. Less important but there’s a pov change and like three different quotes in this chapter, from the Book of Joseph, and two different songs, which is probably a lot but I ain’t editing this shit anymore

For chapter one and the warnings about this fic’s overarching themes, please click here!

For the previous chapter; click here

Pain cracks through Joseph’s skull late that night, shooting across from each temple, seeming to split his head apart. He sits on the edge of his small bed, a modest bedroom in the back of his church. He knows what it means, he’s grown accustomed to the sharp ringing pain, visions always come with it. They’ve started to come more frequently since The Lamb arrived.

He grabs at his head, as if he could press hard enough to keep his skull together as pain racks him, an instinctual reaction. Pain strikes through and breaks the reality of the world around him, closed eyes starting to see visions of what could be, images of what may await him.

A world anew surrounds him; one changed by the Collapse and washed of sins. Lush and natural, even more beautiful than the world that came before it. Vibrant pink flowers decorate the earth, thick green moss covering trees. A soft pink flowered apple tree stands at the center of the compound, white buildings replaced with hand made little houses.

Men and women are all around, working around New Eden. Parents playing with their children, carrying their babies; loyal followers allowed to pass through the gates and grow their family. Some members bring back hunted animals to be prepared for meals and others tending to gardens.

And then he sees his brothers and sister.

A fact that changes time and time again as his visions come to him in waves. He’s seen New Eden with and without them. He’s seen each of his siblings die time and time again, old and young, premonitions of what will be or what could be.

In this version, this vision, he’s been allowed his siblings. Faith, Jacob, and John talk at a distance where Joseph can’t quite hear the words, only taken in the moment. Jacob and John’s ages showing more clearly in the gray just starting to pepper their hair.

A voice rises above all others, cutting through the mumbled conversation through the compound, and Joseph knows it’s calling towards him. The soft voice calls him a name similar in meaning to his title, but it cuts to his heart so differently.

“Papa!”

Through the eyes of his older self, he can only watch and take in what happens, no control as he turns to see the source.  A young boy of about five comes running towards Joseph, bright blue eyes and an even brighter smile. Joseph’s body moves of it’s own volition reaching out to hug his son, his son, but before he can feel the embrace of his child the world cracks apart again.

Pain splinters through the world and rips him from the moment, when he opens his eyes again he’s back in his room. And his hands itch to hold his son who’s yet to exist, instead he rubs at his temples, fingers knotting in his own hair as he attempts to soothe the agony within his own head. The only respite being what he hopes is a new promise from his creator. A chance for his family to not only walk with him to New Eden, but the chance to expand it.

He’ll have a son. The very idea soothes his pain and is like a salve to frayed nerves. Becoming an internal mantra as he eases himself back to sleep that night.

 Sweat coats Dahlia’s skin as she does another push up, her muscles aching at the workout. She shifts to lay on her back on the living room floor, t-shirt riding up her sweaty stomach. Her second day of no work has turned into an impromptu work out, push up and using doorways for chin-ups. She uses her shirt to wipe sweat off her forehead before grabbing her phone to check the time. Dahlia must have gotten her way through the day, it has to be late by now.

“Fucking hell.”

It’s noon, it’s only fucking noon.

“Ahhhhhhhhhh!” She screams into a pillow, how the fuck is it only noon? Dahlia looks at the mess of her coffee table, trying to consider what to do just to eat at her time, she could draw again. But her hand is still cramping. She read somewhere you’re suppose to do warm up for drawing, she’ll have to start doing that.

Then she sees the Book of Joseph, her drawing still sticking out of it. She’s burned through her backlog of manga on her phone and fuck, it’s something to do. Joseph seemed like a genuinely sweet man, maybe he has something interesting to say.  Music still blasting, because everything in her life requires a soundtrack, she opens the book.

 “Bless the name of those who have dealt you blows.

Be grateful to those who have caused you harm.

For it is these sufferings that have led you to me.”

 The first sermon in the book, she chews her lip, it’s not that much different from things Joseph told her yesterday, that he’s thankful her past led her to him. But, something rubs her wrong about the idea of being grateful for her abuse. Not for her, she plans on dying mad about it. She reads onward, an illustration of a flaming capital building surrounded by waves with someone drowning in the foreground. That’s…dramatic.

“If a person had been walking down the poorly maintained road out front of the Seed’s house on that afternoon in June and felt the strange urge to glance over, they would have witnessed a bizarre sight.

They would have seen a man dress in black pants and a white undershirt, frothing with anger, brandishing a comic book in one hand and a bible in the other at his son, a child of about ten. But no one had been down this in the poor suburb of Rome, Georgia, in a long time. Not ice cream trucks, not social service cars, not even police patrols.”

Dahlia stops almost three pages in as Joseph begins to write about a dying widow who once gave him and Jacob cakes before she grew sick. The picture he’s painted is far too clear and hits too close to home for her to continue, at least for the moment. A belligerent bible thumping drunk of a father who derided Joseph for loving Spiderman comics and beat Jacob’s back for the younger brother’s supposed misgivings.

Father Monroe, her stepfather, wasn’t quite the ruddy faced sloppy drunk that Old Man Seed was. But when Joseph describes Jacob offering his back up for a beating, she nearly feels the bite of leather against her own. Stripes for the backs of fools, is all she hears.

She wants to talk to Joseph, she realizes, thinking of both the beginning sermon passage and how their own pasts match up. Does he really bless the man who hurt him? Is he grateful for Old Man Seed? Maybe that kind of forgiveness and peace with it comes with age or is it just him? Ruth has a similar story as well, a little older than Dahlia, and she holds on to the same anger Dahlia does. Has Joseph managed to let it go? Does he still like Spiderman? Did his father beat the passion for comic books out of him or does he still enjoy them? Its hard to imagine, the intense Joseph Seed casually reading a comic book.

Less than three pages is a pathetic excuse for reading and didn’t pass much time, but it’s intense for her. So, she’d rather just…stare at the wall for a bit until she’s ready to tackle it again.

It’s Saturday night, Pratt and Hudson won’t be going to The Spread Eagle tonight, because no work. Meaning a rather mundane day with no interruptions. Other than a short walk, Dahlia spends the rest of it fucking around on her phone and watching shitty tv; passing out after downing an unevenly heated microwave meal.

Sunday morning rolls around, spent much like the last, Dahlia using her down time and excess energy to work out. It’s important to stay on top of exercising and staying in shape, given her profession, she makes a mental note to order some weights online. There’s not really a proper gym in the county and she doesn’t want to lose muscle.

She’s in the middle of another round of pushups when there’s a knock at her door; she jumps up from her position, skin still slick with sweat as she rushes towards the door. Finally, something to disrupt the monotony.

It’s Pratt standing on her porch, hazel eyes looking her over. She’s expecting a shitty comment on her appearance, dressed in shorts and a baggy shirt, hair mussed with sweat.

“You need something?” She asks him, slightly out of breath. Dahlia lifts the bottom of her shirt, using it to wipe sweat from her face, breeze skimming the bare skin of her stomach.

“What the hell has you sweating, Rook?” The older deputy chews his lip, avoiding eye contact for a moment.

“I was working out.”

“With a head injury? Seriously?”

“The fuck else am I suppose to do?”

“Figured you’d be bored out of your mind, reason I’m here,” he grins, “throw some clothes on and we can head out.”

“You mind if I shower first?” She asks, while she’s not sure where he plans on dragging her but she’d rather not stink like sweat while she’s there.

“Uh, yeah, sure that’s fine.”

“You wanna wait in here?”

He nods and Dahlia steps aside to let Pratt into her trailer, it’s not the most tidy of place because, well, she’s not the most tidy of people. She can feel the judgement starting to build up as Pratt looks around her messy living room. A pillow and blanket haphazardly on the couch; her duffle bag on the ground with clothes falling out of it. Her table has her sketchbook, thankfully closed, and the Book of Joseph is tucked under it. It’s a messy little nest, but it’s hers.

“Are you sleeping on your couch?”

“Uh, yeah, it’s just, I prefer it,” she explains with a shrug, not really sure how to elaborate on her weird feeling about sleeping in a bed.

“You have a bed, right?”

“Yes, I have a bed, I just, shut up. I don’t barge into your house and start judging how you live,” she pinches the bridge of her nose, “just sit down, I’ll be back in a minute.”

Dahlia grabs a change of clothes, hearing the couch springs creak as Pratt sits down. It’s weird seeing someone in her trailer. The closest she’s had to visitors have stayed on her porch. Pratt is the first person to be in her actual trailer, he looks immensely out of place and judging by his eyes glancing around, he seems to feel that way too. She tries not to think too hard about it, making a beeline to her bathroom.

She tries to keep her shower short, not wanting to make Pratt wait too long and not wanting him to snoop while he’s left alone. That doesn’t stop her from playing music as she showers, just limiting herself to two songs before she jumps out. A quick dry off and she tugs on her clothes, towel still on her damp hair as she walks back out to her living room.

Pratt, sure enough, has found something to snoop through. Dahlia grimaces at the sight of him picking through her little jewelry box of photos. Was he rifling through her dufflebag? She clears her throat, smirking when he jumps up.

“I was just-”

“Snooping,” she cuts him off, ruffling the towel over her hair.

“It fell out of your bag.”

“No it didn’t.”

“It did...after I kicked it a little, but it did fall out.”

“You’re ridiculous,” she snatches the little wooden box off the table, Lloyd and Caroline’s photo booklet was on top, so at least she probably avoided him seeing baby photos.

“You, uh, don’t look much like your parents. You adopted or something?”

She can’t help but chuckle as she puts it away; she can’t blame him for thinking Lloyd and Caroline must be her parents. The pair are both about Whitehorse’s age and why else would she have so many photos with a couple that age. But, the couple absolutely look nothing like her. Both fairer skinned and blue eyed; Lloyd with dark strawberry blonde hair and Caroline with light honey blonde locks. Short of some shenanigans the chance of them producing an olive skinned, brown eyed brunette is slim. And while the couple have their share of adopted children; Dahlia isn’t one of them.

“No.”

“Oh, uh…” She can nearly see the gears turning in Pratt’s head,  her usual one word style of answering has put Caroline’s devotion in question and Dahlia won’t have that.

“They’re not my parents; legally or biologically.”

“Oh, you just hang out with old couples?”

“Maybe, maybe not, ain’t really any of your business,” she shrugs, “more importantly, where the hell are we supposed to be going?”

“It’s a surprise.”

“I don’t trust your surprises.”

“Would you rather sit here and twiddle your thumbs all day?”

“Fuck  no.”

“That’s what I thought, you ready to go then?”

“Yeah, yeah,” she throws the damp towel onto her laundry chair before shoving her feet into her boots, “lets get going.”

She locks up behind Pratt then follows him out to his car. Compared to the last time she was in his car, this is infinitely more relaxing. She hums along to the radio, resisting the urge to sing along. He probably already heard her yelling along to her music in the shower, she doesn’t need to blast his eardrums at close range. After one song ends and another shittier one begins she starts to fiddle with the radio setting.

“The driver is supposed to pick the music,” Pratt tells her as she flips through stations, trying to find a station playing something other than country.

“The driver needs to worry about the road, while I find something worth listening to.”

“Yeah, ‘cause your taste in music is so good.”

“I have excellent taste in music,” she turns to one station and it sounds like a choir.

Help me, Faith

Help me, Faith

Shield me from sorrow

From fear of tomorrow

“Turn that crap off, right now.”

“The hell is that?” It’s not a bad song like technically speaking, but it’s definitely a bit much.

“Peggie station, it's all crap, Eden’s Gate runs it. It’s all their choir music and sermons.”

“Gross, but the song ain’t that bad.”

“You might wanna have your head checked again.”

“Piss off.”

She finds something better, even if she doesn’t necessarily mind Eden’s Gate music, she’d rather listen to something without fear of a sermon coming up after. At the very least, Pratt doesn’t complain about her choice, a few more songs playing before they cross into Holland Valley.

“How’s your impromptu vacation been going?”

“Boring.”

“That’s what I thought,” he laughs, “figured you’d be going stir crazy by now.”

“So, you decided to come end my boredom?”

“No need to sound so excited,” Pratt rolls his eyes, not appreciating her lackluster response.

“Sorry, I, uh, do appreciate it,” she admits, looking out the windows, cheeks warming at it. It’s embarrassing to say that she is genuinely thankful. Hell she nearly jumped up and ran to the door like a dog when he knocked. Boredom is hell.

“Oh, it’s fine, I was bored too.”

They pull into the police station parking lot and she raises an eyebrow at him as he parks. He’s taken her to work? What on earth is he planning?

“Don’t look at me like that, you’re gonna enjoy this, c’mon.”

She follows him out and around the building to the helipad she noticed before, a black police grade helicopter on it.  He doesn’t hesitate to climb into the pilot's seat, telling her to get in. She listens, climbing into the seat next to him. It looks like a mess of buttons and controls to her, none of them making sense. But Pratt confidently starts turning switches, lights coming to life in front of her.  They’re going for a helicopter ride, holy shit.

“Pffft,” Pratt huffs out a laugh, “we’re not even in the air yet and you’re already grinning.”

“This is okay, right? Like, no one will mind.”

“I’m the only person at the station who can fly, so if they needed it, they’d be calling me anyway. Don’t worry.”

“I’m fine, I just wanted to know I can enjoy this guilt free.”

“And lift off,” Pratt says as he brings the chopper up off of the ground. The station grows smaller and smaller as they ascend up into the air.

“Wow…” Is all as can seem to say at first as the chopper kisses the sky.

They’re surrounded by a bright blue sky and puffy white clouds as Pratt flies across the county. Lush green forests and farms beneath them, mountains along the edges of the county. A top down view of animals running through, specks in their vision. She oohs and awes, unable to help acting like an excited child over the view. They fly along the county, Pratt is kind enough to answer her stupid questions about flying, what buttons and switches mean. She’s certain to a seasoned pilot her naïve question must be frustrating, but he grins with every answer. Before she knows it the sky around them has shifted to an awash of pinks and purples, the sun setting, before a midnight sky takes it place. Brilliant stars twinkling around them, feeling so close, like she could reach out and touch Andromeda.

Once it gets too late, Pratt lands back at the station, her cheeks ache from all the time smiling. He drives her back to the trailer park, the pair in comfortable silence as she hums along to the radio.  Her thoughts drifting off as they are so quick to do. Pratt and her butted heads a bit when they first met, but he’s quickly become her closest friend in the county. Their light-hearted bickering and shenanigans have become her favorite part of her days in Hope County.

He walks with her to her trailer, shoulders brushing occasionally as they move. She turns to look at him when they reach her door. Dahlia clenches and unclenches her hands searching for what she wants to say.

“Thanks, a lot, really.”

“You like flying that much?”

“Not just for that, not to be all mushy and crap, but coming out here, keeping me from going nuts, being my friend. It, uh, means a lot, seriously.”

“Eh,” he scratches at the back of his neck, avoiding her eyes, “just watching out for you, probie.”

“Well, I appreciate it, I, uh, know I’m not the easiest person to get along with.”

“No one in this county is.”

“Good to know I fit in, I guess.”

“Uhh, you’re getting there, once you start stinking like beer all day and have a house full of deer heads, we’ll call it good.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” she grins, “night.”

“Night.” She waves Pratt off before going back to her trailer to settle in for the night.

Monday is spent showing up to the station just to play with Petunia behind the building; just laying on the ground while the fluffy opossum crawls on her. She scratches along the marsupial’s back as they nuzzle into her neck.

“Aren’t you supposed to be home relaxing or something?” Beau asks and Dahlia shifts her head back to look at him.

“I am relaxing, what are you doing?”

“Well, everyone asked me to go see what that weirdo deputy was doing, so here I am.”

“Oh no, you hear that Petunia,” she looks at her opossum friend, “people think I’m weird.”

“Yeah, talk to the ‘possum, that’ll really show ‘em.”

She sticks her tongue out at him and he just rolls his eyes, leaving her alone for the moment. Pratt and Hudson invite her out to The Spread Eagle once the sun starts to set, but a steady throbbing ache has built in her head, she skipped pain meds. And the idea of the jukebox booming in her skull makes her turn it down for the night, once she’s back to work she’ll treat them to a meal there, she decides on the quiet ride home.

Dahlia wakes up the next day and decides to finally take that hike, wanting to explore some of the mountains and woods that surround the county. The brunt of the trails seem to be within the Whitetail Mountain area up north, the mountains in the Henbane are mostly around that statue and as much as she likes Joseph more than before; the statue is still creepy.

She tucks her sketchpad, pencils, water, and her pain meds in the storage under her motorcycle seat before she drives up to the mountains; the north section of the county is colder, a chill from the air as she rides up. She stops in at an Old Sun Outfitters, buying a little black backpack to carry her stuff in when she hikes.

The woods around her get thicker and thicker as rides further into the mountains, land growing steeper with every minute, civilization sparser and sparser; buildings harder to find, just peeks of wood or cement through trees. The trees clear on her right as a turn of the road leads her to a large parking lot with little hutch and a sign that says, ‘rest area’. The hutch says Valley View Overlook. It’s built at the top of a plateaued piece of land, not as towering as the mountains in the distance, but higher than the meager hills of the valley or river. She parks her motorcycle and packs the bag before taking in the view.

A small navel high fence, she imagines waist high for others, keep animals or children from just running off the side of the mountain. It’s a beautiful sight; she can see why the lot is named after it. She takes a deep breath of fresh mountain air looking out at the soft blue sky that meets the mountains in the horizon; the deep green forests further down. Air so clean and refreshing, but for some reason she finds herself pulling out a cigarette, to fill her lungs with smoke. Too much good needs a bad, she supposes. She watches the white clouds and birds flying through, as she lets smoke settle heavy in her lungs, only parting from the sight when her cigarette threatens to burn her fingers.

She follows along a little beaten trail through the woods, kicking up rocks and crushing grass underfoot as she lets the trees surround her. Grass rustles around where animals sneak through; deer running through, other hikers crossing her path, and hunters packing bucks back home with dogs sniffing along after them.

It doesn’t take long for her to go off the path, just walking in any direction that catches her interest. Deeper and deeper into the woods, following divots and drop offs, walking along the occasional stream of water that passes through the area.  Her feet and head start to ache as hours pass, the cool air no longer able to chill her body as exertion coats her skin in sweat.

A hunting stand, one of many, is within the woods. Gray metal built around a tree with a ladder leading up. It’s empty, but if a hunter really needs it, she’ll move along. She climbs up curling her legs under her on the stand as she pulls off her back pack and red flannel, the sleeves now sweaty after her walk. Dahlia ties it around her waist, feeling the cool air on her skin as she takes a deep breath.

She takes a deep swig of water and one of the pain killers. There’s a crush of grass and she looks up to see a group of deer a short distance from the stand. A fawn and what may be younger deer, with a buck among them. The buck’s fur grayer in color than the richer warmer brown of the others. Dahlia gets out her sketchpad and pencils, balancing them on her knee as she takes the drawing the creatures. A calm energy and flow falls over her as she draws, the only sound the animals rustling within the woods. She’s better at drawing people than animals, she realizes, when she can’t quite get the right slope of the buck’s muzzle, but she doesn’t stress herself over it. No one will ever see her wonky deer. She looks up; the buck has gotten much closer, shuffling near the stand.

Dahlia puts her sketchbook aside, half finished wonky deer abandoned, as she moves to lay on her belly over the edge of the hunter’s stand. She stretches her hand out, his antlers high enough for her fingers to just brush the velvety texture. But that’s not what she’s after, wanting to pet the stags head. Dahlia shifts to a knee and a foot, she forces the fingers of one hand into the grating to keep a solid grip on the stand. She leverages herself to lean further and further out, stretching a hand out and nearly hanging completely off the stand. Her fingers just centimeters away from touching the stag’s head.

The fuzz of fur brushes across her fingers and the soft brown eyes looking up at her go blank; blood spraying from the side of the buck’s head as it’s body goes limp to the ground. She can’t help but jump back and fall on her ass; gasping at the now dead deer in front of the stand, the rest of them have scattered at the sight.

Maybe she should have expected it, being in hunter territory, but the closeness of it still startles her. There’s a heavy thud of boots, steady consistent footfalls crushing branches and grass beneath them. Ginger hair with shaved down sides and an army jacket; Jacob Seed.

This is likely the only time she’ll ever be taller than him, watching him from the stand as he shifts a bright red rifle from his hands to on his back. It seems so vivid and ostentatious compared to his utilitarian style of dress.  There’s a childish urge to jump on his back and scare him. But, they don’t know each other well and he’s a veteran, so she can’t know how he’d react to the sort of thing. Maybe a boo would be okay, just something small?

“You enjoying the show, honey?”

Dahlia jolts, taken aback by the sudden acknowledgment. She tucks a strand of hair back behind her ear and chews her lip watching as he starts to gather up the slain deer; then he looks up at her, blue eyes sharp and harsh. All the masculine Seeds have blue eyes and intense stares; but Jacob’s gaze is colder than Joseph’s and more steady than John’s. Something almost predatory to it. 

“I was drawing him,” she says after a moment, looking down at the stag. 

“And I was hunting him.” 

“Still would have appreciated another minute or two,” she says as she grabs her bag, throwing the sketchbook back inside before she jumps off the stand. 

“So, you could flail around and try to pet him for another five minutes.” 

“Hey,” she pouts, she was caught hanging from a hunting stand like the child she is, but, “wait, you saw me?”

He gives a vague grumble of agreeance, more preoccupied with tying up the hooves of his latest hunt to make it easier to carry. 

“And you still shot? You could have shot my hand off.” Has this man never taken a gun safety course, she catches a glimpse of the scope on his rifle, there’s no way he didn’t see how close his shot was to her hand. He chuckles, dry and deep, mocking her. 

“Relax, if I wanted to shoot you, you’d be dead by now.” 

“Wow, that’s not comforting.” 

“Wasn’t trying to be,” he says, standing up and packing the giant deer over his shoulder, like it’s nothing.  

Dahlia reaches out to touch it, fingers brushing through soft fur, no warmth beneath it. She might as well be petting a rug. Jacob starts to walk off and she doesn’t know why, but she follows him. Hands clasped behind her back and walking heel to toe after him. Maybe it’s just because she’s curious about him. He’s the only one of the Seeds not to take a strange interest in her for whatever reason. 

He doesn’t say anything at first, allowing her to follow along after him. Leaves and grass crush under foot as she follows along behind him, curious as to where he’s going or doing. She’s not sure what she expects, but it’s something to do if nothing else. 

“You got somewhere to be?” 

“Not really, no.” She tries to crane her head around, trying to get a better look at his face to gauge his reaction, but their height difference is too big to truly do so. The man has to be around a foot and a half taller than her; he seems even taller than the sheriff.

“Well, I do, so get out of here.” Her smirk drops, she was hoping to see him get more agitated like the youngest Seed brother, but his voice doesn’t rise. Staying the same steady deep timbre.

“Where are you going?” 

“Nowhere you need to be, sweetheart.”

“The nicknames aren’t really necessary.” She can’t help but say, wrinkling her nose in annoyance, the condescending way he calls her sweetheart and honey make her nauseous.

 “Neither is following me like a lost puppy dog; but here you are.” 

“I’m bored.”

“Not my problem.”

“You killed my only entertainment, so it is now.”

He comes to a sudden stop and Dahlia has to stop herself from running into his back; she doesn’t particularly want deer corpse on her face. He turns to face her; expression still the same stern look he usually carries, and she misses his grin when he was talking to kids at the barbecue.

“Look here, deputy, sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong and irritating me isn’t a habit you want to form. Get out of here.”

“Oh no,” she rolls her eyes, “I’m really scared.”

“Keep pushing, sweetheart, won’t get you anywhere.”

“God, you’re no fun.”

“Wasn’t trying to be.”

“Jacob is something wrong,” a voice cuts through their conversation, rough and masculine. And Dahlia see the long-haired man and short haired girl from the barbecue; the ones who shot her dirty looks when she talked back to Jacob.

“Nothing you need to concern yourselves with.”

“What are you doing here?” The woman asks Dahlia directly.

“Standing.”

“Fallon,” Jacob says the woman’s name, stern tone making her posture snap straighter, “I said it’s none of your concern. Let’s go.”

The three of them start to leave down a path; Fallon and the long-haired man have heavy bucks they pack as well. A hunting trip for Jacob and his…friends? Are they friends? That didn’t seem like friendship, but Dahlia is far from an expert on the matter. She offers a goodbye wave; but Fallon just rolls her eyes. Their steady footfalls leaving the deputy behind.

Well, it staved off the boredom for a while she supposes.

Dahlia lets out a huffy sigh, blowing loose strands of hair from her face as she begins back down the path she came. The sun is setting by the time she’s back to the parking lot and climbing on top of her bike.

Her stomach is growling by the time she’s driving down a main road, she sees the sign for The Grill Steak as she reaches the intersection. Dahlia pulls in, letting her stomach guide her actions, as she’s one to do.

It’s a small restaurant packed with groups of people from friends to families; she can feel the heat of the grill radiating through, the smell of her making her stomach growl. She settles into a booth by herself, when she reads through it the menu is full of gamey meat burgers and steaks. No signs of beef or pork; it’s all bison and deer. She wonders if the cook hunts everything himself, it wouldn’t surprise her, given what she’s seen of the county. He can hear the cook yelling something she can’t understand from the kitchen. Dahlia settles on ordering a cola and a deer burger; thinking about the hunted stag she saw Jacob kill.  

As she waits on her food, the chatter of a group catches her ear. They’re not from Hope County; the different cadences of how they speak mingled with fancy latin technical terms tells her as much. Trying to be discreet; she glances at them over her shoulder. A group of four; two women and two men all around the same age. Dahlia’s not the brightest bulb in the pack by her own admission, but when she hears the words corvids and lupine, she realizes they’re talking about animals. It doesn’t shock her, given the abundance of wildlife in the county, certainly people would come to research them. 

The door to the restaurant swings open and a man comes walking in, shoulders back and footfalls confident. It reminds her clearly of Jacob, the walk of a soldier, though this man isn’t quite as intimidating a figure. Older than Dahlia, though most people are, with a full dark beard and long scraggly dark hair. He doesn’t bother to take a seat at a booth or look at a menu, only giving a single wave to the cook in the back as he makes a beeline to the group. Dahlia shifts a little further down into her booth, not that anyone could truly tell she’s eavesdropping, but it gives a little more secrecy to it. 

 “You the conservationists?” 

 “Yeah, we’re studying the wildlife here… And you are?” 

“Eli, not here to ‘cause trouble or anything like that, just wanted to give some friendly advice.” 

“Friendly advice?” 

“You need to watch yourselves out in those woods.”

“Pffft.” 

“We’re well aware of how dangerous the wildlife out here can be. You-” 

“No, you aren’t. There’s wolves-”

“And bears and mountain lions, oh my,” one of them jokes, “look, we know what we’re doing.” 

“You’re not listening, they’re not regular wolves. They’ve been trained to kill and hunt people down on sight. Even if you avoid ‘em, you get on the cult’s bad side and they’ll send ‘em after you. You gotta be careful out here.” 

“Okay, sure,” the eyeroll is nearly audible, “we’ll keep an eye out for killer cult wolves, don’t worry.” 

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you, alright.” 

The man, Eli walks away, and Dahlia considers stopping him. Admitting her nosiness and ask him some of the million questions going through her mind. Surely by cult, he means Eden’s Gate, right? Dahlia can’t imagine who else he could mean. They’re small and close knit, but they’re not a cult, right? Cults imply something more out there or intense; they’re just a little Christian church. Joseph may have his own book, but they still follow Christian ideas of sins and scripture.

And wolves? How could they possibly be training wolves? It’s all so ridiculous and asinine, making gears spin and churn in her head until they overheat, but it was said with such conviction. By the time she brings herself to make a noise, Eli has already left, and it’s probably for the best. It’s too crazy to be true. Maybe he’s a tinfoil hat wearing type of guy, a conspiracy theorist like the Zip guy who leaves a newsletter in every damn corner of the county, screaming about chemtrails and baby farms.

She fills her stomach, deciding to leave that as it is, finally returning to her trailer late that night. A restless night of sleep with images of wolves and deer creeping around through her brain, nothing concrete enough to latch onto, but enough to unsettle.

A boring morning leads into a boring afternoon, time blurring before the sun has set and Dahlia’s finding herself pulling up to The Spread Eagle to catch her coworkers after their shift. She’s popped enough pain killers that the throb of music and noise is welcomed instead of irritating. A smile already gracing her lips when she catches Pratt and Hudson shooting the shit in the bar’s lowlight. As she sneaks up closer to them, their conversation starts to be audible over the tunes playing through the bar.

“I bet you break before then,” Hudson says, a teasing grin directed at Pratt.

“Hey, it’s only six months.”

“Please, you’re weak and you know it.”

“How much you wanna bet?”

Dahlia strikes, throwing her arms over Pratt’s shoulders, effectively hugging him from behind and leaning her weight into him. He’s warm and Dahlia can’t fight the impulse to squeeze him a little tighter. She breathes in the faint smell of coffee and cologne that still cling to him; comforting after so much time spent around him.

“Jesus fuck, when’d you get here?” Pratt blusters and at this close of a range Dahlia can see his cheeks pinkening under the scruff of his beard. Does this bother him?

“Right now.”

“You decided to come hang out again?” Hudson asks, grinning at the flustered Pratt.

“Mmhmm,” Dahlia hums into Pratt’s shoulder, pressing her face into him, “bored.”

“Get off me,” he grumbles and reaches back to swat at her hip.

“Ugh, buzzkill,” she bitches as she detaches from Pratt and climbs onto a bar stool, “so what the hell are you guys making bets about?”

Pratt coughs, trying to dislodge something from his throat, and Hudson laughs, “yeah, Pratt why don’t you tell her about our bet?”

“Don’t worry about it, Rook.”

“We still need to set an amount.”

“Fifty,” Pratt suggests and Dahlia wants to know even more what the hell they’re making bets about.

“Mmm, hundred.”

“Fine, if you’re comfortable losing that much.”

“Anyone gonna tell me what’s going on?”

“Nope.”

“Well, that’s gonna drive me crazy now, thanks.”

“You’re welcome.”

She sticks her tongue out at him and orders food, stuffing her face as she listens to her coworkers fill her in on anything of interest she’s missed during her off time. It’s not much, as usual, the workload in Hope County is pretty low stakes. Hunting violations, speeding tickets, and the like. Seems like her assault is about the most interesting case in a while. Dahlia’s tempted to ask if they know anything about wolf attacks but bites her tongue before she does. Hope County is filled with wildlife, wolf attacks have no doubt occurred to some degree and if she mentions the idea of trained cult wolves, they might start to think she’s buying into the conspiracy shit.

“Stop,” Pratt says suddenly, putting hand on Dahlia’s knee, “you’re shaking the whole damn bar.”

Her leg she realizes has been bouncing the whole time, the hike helped, workouts help, but she’s still breaming with pent up energy. There’s a rustle of movement and Dahlia is drawn to the open floor near the jukebox, she’s seen a few people dance here and there, a couple now and again swaying to softer tunes while she’s been here. But, it’s more crowded tonight, people laughing and dancing together.

“People are dancing,” she states the obvious.

“It’s ladies’ night, women drink free, so everyone’s extra, uh, energetic tonight,” Hudson tells her.

An upbeat song starts and Dahlia’s up in the next breath, she needs to move, burn off excess energy. And while her favorite club in Lake Charles isn’t exactly available to her anymore, she’ll jump at the chance to lose herself in a song.

You should be wilder, you're no fun at all.

Dahlia’s singing along as she sways and shifts through the crowd, body moving instinctually to the beat. There’s a woman about Dahlia’s age, long blonde hair and brown eyes, dancing as well and the deputy finds herself gravitating towards her.

Yeah, thanks for the input.

Thanks for the call.

She asks low into the woman’s ear, so she can be heard over the music, if she can dance with her. The response is a smile, lighting up the girl’s face, a nod of her head and then she’s pulling Dahlia in by the hips.

With dull knives and white hands

The blood of a stone

Cold to the touch, right

Right down to the bone

And then she loses herself in it. In the music that fills the bar, the feeling of a stranger touching her, the slide of her feet as she moves,  the way hips knock together, the scratch in her throat as she sings lyrics in the woman’s ear, their grins as they laugh and bump noses together. It’s fun and it’s silly, a reason to move and forget life for a moment.

Cause you give me the electric twist and it kicks and it kicks like a pony.

And true, you might run away with it, it's a risk it's a risk yeah.

Because it kicks yeah.

It really kicks yeah.

Dahlia spins the woman with a laugh, before pulling the woman close against her again, wide smiles and bright eyes as their foreheads touch. There’s sweat sticking to their skin as the song winds down. Panted breaths ghosting over each other’s faces as they come down from exertion.

And the touch of your lips it's a shock not a kiss

It's electric twist, it's electric twist

“How much I gotta pay to see you kiss?!” A loud voice booms out, making Dahlia and her dance partner of the night separate. There’s a man, couldn’t be older than his mid twenties, sitting at the bar with his legs sprawled open drinking a beer at the table between the bar and the dance area. His eyes linger and look over both women’s bodies

“Can I help you?” Dahlia asks and furrows her brows, glowering at the man as she draws closer.

“Oh just enjoying the show, sweetheart.”

“Not your sweetheart and I’m not a damn show.”

“Pfff, don’t get your panties in a twist,” he turns back to his table and rolls his eyes, as if Dahlia’s the problem, “fucking dykes.”

The junior deputy grits her teeth and she sees from her peripheral the woman rubbing the back of her neck, letting her bangs fall into her face looking like she’d rather disappear.

“The fuck did you call us?” She can’t stop herself from speaking, barely managing to reign her anger in enough not do something worse.

“You heard me.”

“Fuck you!”

“Hey, hey, hey!” Pratt’s voice cuts through as the man starts to turn to retort, the warmth of her coworker’s hand wraps around the clenched fist she didn’t realize she had raised.

“Is something wrong?” Mary May calls out, starting to walk out from behind the bar.

“Everything’s fine,” Pratt responds before Dahlia can say anything and when she starts to speak, he looks at her to whisper, “you’re barely three weeks into your job, you really wanna be getting into bar fights?”

“He ca-”

“I heard what he said, Rook, but it ain’t worth your job.”

“You’re right,” she gnaws on her lip and looks down on the ground, “I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine, I get it, I just don’t want you doing anything stupid.”

“I need some fresh air.”

Dahlia leaves The Spread Eagle, noticing the woman she danced with has already vanished, unwilling to deal with the bullshit. A cool breezes ghosts over her sweaty skin as she sits down on the porch steps at the front of the bar; running her hands through her hair as she fights to ease her nerves. She digs a pack of cigarettes out of her jacket pocket

There’s a crush of footsteps as she lights one, bringing it to her lips, shiny black leather boots entering her vision.

“Dep-yoo-tee.”

“You Seeds can just smell when I’m sad, can’t you?” She teases looking up to see John, the neon bar sign setting his face aglow in the night as he chuckles at her.

“Not my intention, but if you’re in need of a talk, I’d be happy to oblige.”

“You weren’t coming out here to harass Mary May again, were you?”

“Deputy,” he puts his hand to his chest cartoonishly dramatic in his hurt, “h-harassment? That’s ridiculous. am I not allowed to visit with Ms. Fairgrave and just discuss our difference of opinions.”

His voice is ramping up in pitch as he defends himself and Dahlia can’t help but smile, appreciating the distraction from her own troubles.

“Yeah, I’m pretty sure Mary May would have a different of opinion about that one. We still gotta talk about members stealing booze.”

“Our members would do no such thing; and I assure you, if there’s any harassment here, we’re the victims. We’ve been insulted, had our sermons interrupted, our practices mocked, Mary May herself once showed up our church simply to cause trouble.”

“Okay, okay, it’s a two-way street, I get it. Sit, we can chat for a bit,” she pats the section of porch step beside her and reluctantly after a beat of silence, he sits down, “so, Mary May caused trouble for you guys?”

“Yes, yes, she has and she’s not the only one; the people of this county have persecuted me and my family since we’ve been here.”

“I’m sorry to hear that, no one should mistreat you that way,” she looks him in the eye as she speaks, “and if it ever happens again, I want you to call down to the station, ask for me, and I’ll do whatever I can to help.”

“Well, it’s certainly nice to know you’re on our side.”

“Ah, ah, I’m on everyone’s side. Mary May is owed the same respect as you and your family; and if you cause issues for her, I won’t hesitate to intervene for her sake as well. I’m here to keep everyone safe. Got to treat everyone like you wanna be treated, the whole spiel.”

“I know you’re not preaching biblical principles to me, dep-yoo-tee.”

“Not biblical, just a little maturity.”

“Are you implying I’m immature.“

“You’re a grown man spatting with a woman ten or more years younger than you; throwing a tantrum and pointing fingers when you’re told to behave.”

“First of all, I’m not that old,” Dahlia raises an eyebrow at him, “don’t look at me like that, I’m 32. Secondly, I am not a child. Mary May has-“

“And if she does something again, now that I’m here, let me know and I will help. But her actions don’t justify yours.”

“Fine, I’ll be sure to hold you to that promise, then.”

“I mean it’s less a promise and more so doing my job, but alright.”

She breathes out a plume of smoke, making sure to aim away from John’s face, his blue eyes track the movement and the nicotine fumes that escape into the air. An ex-smoker, she deems as she watches him staring at her lips and the cigarette between her fingers.

“You want a smoke?” She asks, offering her pack of cigarettes.

“Smoking is forbidden in Eden’s Gate.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

Tattooed fingers pick out a cigarette and she lights it for him with a grin, watching him take a deep inhale and blowing out the smoke that fills his lungs. The soft rise of his chest and the gray clouds that billow out from parted lips. She notices for the first time the freckles on his neck and chest, shirt unbuttoned low enough to expose them. There’s thin fresh scratches along his hands and forearms, too superficial and fresh to match the deeper worn in scars, they look like cat scratches. And yeah, he seems like a cat guy.

“So, now that you’ve berated and tempted me, deputy,” he speaks after an exhale of smoke, “why were you out here pouting?”

“BREH!” She plops her back down on the porch with a vague animal long groan and throws her arms over her eyes, cigarette still between two fingers, must he remind of her own issues.

“Well that certainly wasn’t immature or dramatic.”

And she laughs, because he’s right, she can preach maturity all she wants to him. But, she’s still a brat herself. She’d justify herself with their massive age difference, because no way he’s thirty-two, but that feels flimsy at best. They’re both just two temper tantrum throwing children, hell they’re even both fibbing about their ages. Though, she suspects his own much more severe than the few months she adds to her own.

“Don’t wanna talk about it.”

“You know,” he lays back on the porch, matching her position, “I take the confessions for our church, if there’s anything you need to get off your chest, I’m the man to talk to.”

“Not much to say; guy called me a slur, I nearly throttled him.”

“Someone else’s actions don’t justify your own,” he parrots her words back to her.

“Yeah, someday I’ll follow my own advice.”

“Has that happened before?”

The gears in her brain churn, she’s been called many a thing, but her sexuality has been one of the less insulted facets of who she is.

Her stepfather, as religious as he was, was adamant on his hatred of gay people. But her own disinterest in exploring her sexuality or romance saved her from his scorn in that area, his focus more on the other various things he found deplorable about her.

Her mother’s side is Ashkenazi Jewish, and Dahlia remembers the few people of her stepfather’s church who despite her mother converting were disgusted their preacher would marry a Jewish woman. A handful leaving the church, a few sticking by just to call Dahlia and her mother slurs when their backs were turned.

The nightclub she favored in Louisiana was considered a gay bar, though not exclusive to LGBT folks. Women dancing with women, men dancing with men, men and women dancing; and a healthy amount of people who didn’t quite fit either label. Only one-night sticks out, a car speeding past the line outside the bar just to scream a slur out the window.  

Maybe what bothered her most was the boldness. This wasn’t someone whispering when they thought Dahlia couldn’t hear, and this wasn’t a man just screaming out at the public as he speeds away. Just a man emboldened and willing to hurt her in front of a bar filled with people.

“We’re blocking the door.”Everything else died on her lips; unable to spill her guts.

“And we weren’t while you were lecturing me?”

Her phone buzzes in her jacket as she brings her cigarette back into her mouth, unwilling to justify her evasiveness to a man she barely knows, she answers a number she doesn’t know at all.

“Hello?” She says around her smoke.

“H-hello, is this a deputy?” A soft broken voice, she remembers from the diner,  asks her and Dahlia sits up, tension pricking at the back of her neck.

“That’s me, Cassie?”

“You remember me…”

“What’s going on, are you okay?”

“Yeah, uh, I…” a beat of silence and a choked sob comes next, “no, I’m sorry, I’m, I’m not okay, I-“

“Where are you?” Dahlia’s on her feet, heartbeat in her throat as she waves off John’s furrowed brows and concern, running to her bike.

“I’m at the diner. I didn’t know where else to go…”

“I’m headed your way now, Cassie, are you safe?”

“I…I don’t know…I…”

Her voice breaks out into sobs again as Dahlia starts her engine, slams on her helmet, and switches her phone to the speaker in her helmet. The girl’s cries echoing around her as her wheels kick gravel across the parking lot, speeding out of Falls End.

[wolfpawn]

I Hate You, I Love You, Chapter 164

Chapter Summary -Tom and Danielle begin to plan their wedding, the only issue is, they are struggling at even deciding the location.

Previous Chapter

Rating - Mature (some chapters contain smut)

Triggers - references to Tom Hiddleston’s work with the #MeToo Movement. That chapter will be tagged accordingly.

authors Note - I have been working on this for the last 3 years, it is currently 180+ chapters long.  This will be updated daily, so long as I can get time to do so, obviously.

Copyright for the photo is the owners, not mine. All image rights belong to their owners

tags: @sweetkingdomstarlight-blog @jessibelle-nerdy-mum @nonsensicalobsessions @damalseer @hiddlesbitch1 @winterisakiller @fairlightswiftly @salempoe @wolfsmom1 @black-ninja-blade

Tom sighed as he looked at the coffee mug in front of him. “So, trouble in paradise?” He looked up at Ben, who sat beside him with his own cup of tea in his hand.

“No, we just were getting bothered by arrangements so we said we’d take an hour or two away from everything to just take a step back before an actual argument took place.”

“Good plan. So, what was the issue?”

“Location.”

“Yeah, Sophie and I spent a while talking about it. I mean, you know how it is with the Isle of Wight, it’s a fucking island, so there was the transport costs, and it’s a holiday resort and it’s expensive to live in, so that doesn’t help but it means something to Sophie’s family and is far easier to police than London, so we went with it in the end. Where are the different options?”

“I want Oxford, it’s where I grew up, maybe even Suffolk, just not London, too open.”

“And Danielle wants?”

“Ireland.”

“Oh, there’s not much room for compromise when there are two different countries involved,” Ben commented.

“It’s impractical. Most everybody that will be at the wedding will have to travel there for it from here, only a few of her family would not have to, and even at that, some of her family are in the States so they will have to travel also, how is that fair?”

“What’s her reasoning for it?”

“What?”

“Why is she pushing for Ireland?” Ben queried.

“I am not even sure.”

“Why, did she just say the country in general, or is it that she is talking about some random area outside of where she is from.”

“No, I think she is talking about Connemara. It just makes so little sense.”

“Well, not exactly. Kuala Lumpur would make little sense, her hometown in her home country at least makes sense.” Ben pointed out. “She did say that for her cousin’s wedding, that the tradition is to have it in the bride’s hometown, has that something to do with it?”

“I don’t know,” Tom recalled the conversation at the awards ceremony with Sophie and Ben a few months previous.

“Well, how about you ask her. If this cannot even get past location, how are you supposed to go any further? This is sort of an integral part of it all.”

“It just all seems so much stress and bother.”

“Most of it is and you wonder what’s the bloody point to it also, but that is all part and parcel of it. At the end of the day, it is worth it if you are both happy and I know, for all of the madness that this entails, you do actually want to marry Danielle.”

Tom nodded. He wanted that, he did not want the madness that it would entail and if he and Danielle could not agree on even something as simple as location, then he worried for it all. “I need to talk to her.”

“Yes.” Ben encouraged.

Tom took out his phone and dialled Danielle’s number.

“Hello? Tom?”

It was clear her phone was not to her ear and that he was on loudspeaker. “Yes, I thought….are you not at home?”

“No, I am in the car, pulled in, obviously. I needed to do some stuff. I thought we were going to take an hour or so to settle?”

“I know, I just...Elle, can I ask, why is it so important to you that it is in Ireland. I just want to know.”

“I...we said we’d talk later.”

“Elle?”

“I just thought it would be nicer, my grandparents got married there, my dad was christened in that church, then he and Mam got married there, I was christened there. According to the parish records, the Hughes’s have been there since pre-famine times. They have my great great grandfather’s signature in the records at that church and I know it’s small and dated, but it’s thirteenth century and I just...I think that’s nicer. I know it’s a different country and I know it’s a pain in the ass area to get to in another country but it matters to me.” There was no response to her statement. “Tom?”

“I’m here...I never realised.”

“We’ll talk later. I just need to get this done, I will talk to you soon, bye.”

“Bye.” The phone line went dead and Tom looked at his phone for a minute before looking at Ben, who was looking at him expectantly. “So…” He knew that with him being right next to him, Ben heard all of what Danielle had said.

“Seems a logical reason to want it there, if I’m honest. It matters to her. Now you need to ready your reason for having it here.”

“I don’t really have one, other than convenience.” He confessed before going silent for a moment. “Convenience does not trump tradition and historical sentiment, does it?”

“How long has it been since that famine, a hundred and fifty or so years, and Danielle can trace her family using that exact church in that time, that’s noteworthy, and it clearly means a lot to...wait, that’s another thing.”

“What?” Tom asked, worried at the look on Ben’s face. “What’s another thing?”

“Danielle’s a Catholic.”

“Yes, I know.”

“You’re not a Catholic.”

“No.”

“How does that work? Can you get married in a Catholic church if you’re not?”

“I have no idea.” In truth, Tom had not even thought of such issues. Neither he nor Danielle were in any way religious and their different faiths had never been much of a discussion as a result, but he had to wonder how it would work. “I need to check that.”

“You do.” Ben urged.

*

Tom parked his car into the drive and got out, going to the boot to take out the few bits of shopping he had gotten on his way back from Bens. He stood looking at Danielle’s car for a moment, knowing that something was peculiar about it but uncertain what the difference was. It was only when he realised the tyres were darker than before did he realise that she had gotten them changed. He huffed slightly in amusement, he had gone rushing to a friend to talk while Danielle did something practical and sensible.

Bringing in the shopping, he noted the quiet in the house. Both dogs greeted him as he placed the groceries on the counter before putting them away. After a few minutes, he wondered where Danielle was as her car keys and keys to the house were in their usual spots, meaning she was somewhere within it and with the boiler not making noise, it was obvious that she was not in the shower. He walked up the stairs and heard the telltale whirring of her fax machine. He knocked on their office door, which was slightly ajar and waited. A moment later, Danielle opened it and gave him a small smile. “Hey.”

“You got your tyres done?”

“Yeah, they were bothering me recently, getting a tad thin so I said I would grab four more.”

“How much?”

“Six, I got them from a place on the edge of the city, for cheaper than here, one place quoted me a thousand.”

“Jesus.” He looked at the machine. “Fun?”

“I wish, the paperwork for the Paramount job.”

“When’s that?”

“Two weeks in November. I will have to go to Croatia for it.”

“That’s fun.”

“Is it? What is Croatia even like at that time of year? I also need to do a week in Budapest. The joys of being the European Coordinator.”

“You love it really.”

“I love the paycheck and the doors it will open for me.”

“Brutal honesty.”

“So, what did you get up to?” Danielle asked curiously, not wanting to focus too much on work.

“I spoke with Ben.”

“And how is he?”

“Good. He was asking for you.”

“Bless him.” She smiled as she looked for a paperclip to keep certain pages together.

“He actually mentioned something to me that I never even thought of.”

“Oh yeah?”

“The fact we’re not the same religion.” Danielle paused and looked at him. “And how that will affect us.”

“Well, we’re not exactly utterly devout to our two branches of Christianity.”

Tom nodded in agreement. “But say we do this in that church you were talking about, how does that work, how can we get married there if I am not a Catholic?”

“Well, we could always convert you but that failing, they are not overly bothered.”

“Really?”

“You know, for all the wrongs that the Catholic Church has and there are plenty, it is not as backward as you all think over here. I mean, I have seen Protestant schools that demand a letter from the local reverend proving kids go to service at least every second week, Roger in work asked to use the fax there to send on his paperwork when getting his daughter into their local school. In Ireland, the schools may have a Catholic priest on a school board, but if you don’t even get Christened, you are fine to get into the school usually. The church isn’t as it was, it will marry Catholics and Protestants, as long as you fulfil what is required of you in their eyes.”

“Me?”

“No, plural ‘you’. It’s just they go through the ceremony and you have to do a stupid course on the meaning of marriage and all that other bollix no one pays heed to. It’s a ‘tick the box’ exercise really.”

“You clearly hold it all in such high regard.” Tom joked.

“Oh, yeah, clearly.” Danielle scoffed in return. “It’s a tad hypocritical of a man that will never be allowed marry giving marriage advice. I don’t think its something they can give practical experience of. I know what it will take to be married to you, patience, understanding,” She leant in close to him. “And nice underwear.” She added in a whisper, causing Tom to chuckle and lick his teeth.

“You’re not wrong.” He pulled her to him. “I was thinking.”

“Oh dear, those words usually lead to something terrifying. What, dear Thomas, were you thinking?”

Tom scoffed at her referencing his full name. “I wanted Britain for convenience, but all things considered, I think Ireland is the better place for the wedding.” She said nothing in return. “It matters so much to you, I can see now why and as long as at the end of it, I get to call you my wife, I don’t care if we have to travel for it. I only care about us being married.”

Danielle bit her lips together and inhaled deeply. “I…I don’t want this to cause arguments. I don’t want something fancy, I don’t need twelve thousand pound dresses and chandeliers, but that...that is something I would love, so much. It’s such a big part of our family tradition, so much so that my Mam forewent the usual tradition of her parish for Dad’s. All of my family, all of our records are there and it means a lot to me. I...thank you.”

“Just promise me if I give in to this request, you won’t turn into Bridezilla.”

Danielle snorted at his comment, knowing him to be joking. “I promise I’ll try not to. But if someone does not RSVP on the right date, or wears pink…” She laughed playfully.

“Oh dear, she’s started.” Tom laughed in response.

[sleepless-rain]

Karasuno studies! – View from the first years (Part 4) –

Translator: Leo | Sleepless-rain | Leoppii

Editor: San | Naffnuffnice

  Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5

“Damn that Tsukishima… comparing me to an animal...” Even after practice Hinata was still fuming. 

Yachi followed closely behind. “There, there, animals are cute! And when you jump like ‘bam’! It gives off a very animalistic aura,” she piped.

“... Animalistic?”

 TRANSLATORS NOTE:

Please do NOT repost this translation ANYWHERE. If I see the whole thing elsewhere I will stop translating novel chapters and delete all chapter translations I have done. Sharing small snippets are okay but not the whole thing. Please link back to this tumblr post if you want to share it.

    Perhaps Hinata was imagining a puma or a tiger pouncing, which had him grinning.

Speaking of jumping power, it is said that cheetahs and pumas can leap one hundred and fifty times their body length, but that is a topic for another time.

“Wait a second, was it really about that? I don’t think Tsukishima meant it that way…” 

Yachi turned to Hinata who was frowning again and replied wholeheartedly. “Hinata you should think about everything positively! I’m trying to practice looking at the bright side of things too, even though it is a little bit difficult… If I let my guard down, thoughts of death begin to plague me.”

“That sounds rough.”

“I try my best.”

Both of them stopped to show respects to each other’s problems by bowing their heads before heading off again. The dry winter air began to tug at their cheeks, and to stop the cold from nipping at him, Hinata readjusted his scarf.

Grabbing his bike and leaving the parking lot, Hinata looked up at the already dark sky, stars glimmering. “All the third years sure are studying hard.” 

“Well, they are taking university entrance exams. I’m sure that’ll be us in no time.” Yachi nodded in agreement, and for some reason Hinata reeled in shock. “Even though we’ve just started high school!?”

“Not at all, it’s almost been a year.” Yachi laughed nervously.

Second term was ending soon and as soon as the short third term ends they’d be second years. The current third years would graduate and new students would come.

It was hard to believe.

“Time really does fly.”

In response to the deflated Hinata’s words, Yachi replied, “Study hard while you are young, boys grow old easily and it makes learning harder.” She nodded but suddenly turned pale, shouting, “Wait! That means even if I’ve avoided danger up until now, I’ll encounter something dangerous in my senescence*!? ”

“Huh? Sentence?” Hinata asked, but Yachi, with the face of a cornered animal, clenched her fists. 

“Hinata, let’s study while we’re still young!”

“Wha-!?”

“There’s no time to waste! Let’s go!”

Yachi suddenly broke into a sprint, with Hinata fumbling to get onto his bike to follow after her.

                                                              ***

 “W-where are we!?”

The two stopped at a book store by the station which closed late. Looking at the shelves filled with books, Yachi sighed, “There are so many books… do you think I can get through all of these before I die?”

“I’ll take this one.” In Hinata’s hands was ‘Learn through manga for High school entrance exams – Math edition’. Was Hinata going to retake the high school entrance exam? 

However Yachi calmly nodded. “It’s important to find something that matches your own ability.”

“I see. You’re right. Then how about this one…” Hinata pulled out one of the many past university entrance exam question books lined up on the shelf.

“Do you think the third years are solving all these past questions for their preferred universities?” asked Yachi.

“Past questions?”

“These books have all the questions that were in the past entrance exams.”

“There isn’t much point looking at questions that have been in past exams is there?” Hinata asked curiously. 

If he were asking Tsukishima, he would have gotten a glare from him before he left the room, explaining nothing. But it was Yachi who was described as “amazing” by Tsukishima. She would explain so Hinata could understand.

“There may be questions that are similar to past ones, so if you understand the general trend of the questions you can formulate some strategies to answer them. Just like in volleyball where you watch previous matches of the opponent you’re up against.”

“Ohh, so that’s what it means.” Now understanding, Hinata flipped through the book nonchalantly. “I see. I see. Even I can do this.” Before quickly shutting up. “…Hm.”

  To not hurt the frowning Hinata any further, Yachi shyly spoke, “These are for National universities …So it would be difficult for everyone, not just you.”

But Hinata’s difficult expression didn’t change as he glared at the book. “W-wait a second.”

“Huh? You know the answer?”

“No…” he replied, swinging his head to face Yachi. “This question asks about wheat and peppers and apples and rice…doesn’t it all sound delicious?”

Delicious?

Were entrance exam questions ever about whether something was delicious or not?

Yachi took the book from Hinata’s hands with a “let me have a look” and laughed in relief. “Oh it’s just a geography question. The prefecture indicated as number 1 on this map is Aomori prefecture… here the production of wheat and apples is the highest, so the answer is b. The one marked 2 is Niigata prefecture and with a high production of rice the answer would be c. Oh and number 3 is Miyazaki prefecture so it’s peppers. Due to the effects of the Japan Current the weather is warm here, even in winter, so they can be produced out of season. So the answer is peppers.”

“C-come again?” Hinata’s face went pale and he took a step back. Yachi panicked and looked over the book again. “Sorry, did I get that wrong?”

As Yachi muttered to herself, pouring over the book, Hinata asked with a serious expression, “Are you planning to take over Japan?”

“What?”

“Why are you so well informed about every nook and cranny of the country?”

“Huh?”

                                         ***

 In this bookstore there was another member of the Karasuno volleyball club. With the ‘Monthly Volleyball’ volleyball magazine in his hands was Kageyama. Standing before the shelf of sports magazines he muttered to himself, “Yachi-san…tako-pho...”

At that moment Kageyama’s stomach rumbled. The image of Yachi making an octopus version of pho** surfaced in Kageyama’s mind.

  TRANSLATION NOTES:

-          * senescence: Here Yachi uses a very uncommon word for ‘old age’ pronounced as ‘rousui’ which is the exact same pronunciation for the word that means ‘water leakage’. So I tried to pull a similar joke in translation.

-          **Tako-pho: please let me explain this in detail - Hinata uses the word 牛耳る gyuujiru, meaning ‘to take over’. But in this case Kageyama thinks of the Japanese dish 豚汁 tonjiru, or a soup using pork, but a beef version of it, which would be 牛汁 gyuujiru with the exact same pronunciation. I did my best to replace it with a similar play on words DESPITE Kageyama probably not knowing what pho is. Btw pho is pronounced similar to fir (or fur) (please say take over really fast). Please don’t criticise my pun making skills.    

  As a small disclaimer:  I have taken some liberties in translation to make the novel read smoothly. So please don’t quote specific words as canon. That being said I tried my best to stay faithful to the original.  For this reason I will not allow translations into another language using this as the base text. I apologise to anyone who is keen on sharing it in another language but please do so using the original Japanese text.

Anyway, if you enjoyed this chapter please consider supporting Haikyuu and buying a copy of this novel (volume 11) ! I may consider doing more novel translations in the future!

 I do have a Ko-fi so if you do feel like it, please donate!

[etherealhavoc]

Sanders Sides Rainbow & Foil Theories (Warning: Very Long)

Disclaimer: other people may have come up with some of these ideas before, but I didn’t look to any other posts for reference when making this one.

Rainbow Theory:

Rainbow theory is already widely accepted. The sides each represent a color from the visible light spectrum [ROYGBIV] with Roman being red, Janus being yellow, Remus being green, Patton being blue, Logan being indigo, and Virgil being violet. That, of course, leaves the implied existence of an orange character we have yet to meet, who will be referred to as Orange from this point forward. There’s further support for this character in several scenes, including when Virgil tells Thomas “Do not allow him [Deceit] or any of his friends to stick around that long ever again!” after SVS1. This implies that Janus has more than one friend – Remus and another side we have yet to meet. The existence of Orange has been further supported by the thumbnail of SVS Redux, as there is an empty character slot next to Remus:

The rest of this will hinge on the rainbow theory being supported as well as the existence of Orange, given that there is already a lot of evidence backing up these ideas.

Foil Theory:

Setting that aside, the rainbow theory along with the introduction of Remus as “the dark side of creativity” has led to some speculation that each of the sides has a foil. Some versions theorize that each ‘light’ side has a ‘dark’ counterpart. However, Roman is the one who coined the light vs. dark dichotomy, and some of the other sides (most notably Virgil at the end of Intrusive Thoughts) have rejected this terminology. Virgil corrected Thomas to say “the others,” and in  SVS Redux, Janus made it clear that he was not an evil snake boi, he was just a snake boi. The entire rest of that episode supported his claim – Janus may have manipulative tendencies, but what kind of evil character advocates for self-care? It seems to me that none of the sides are truly good or evil, they just all have different perspectives on the world and think a bit differently. In the end, they all have the goal of doing what’s best for Thomas. Their different approaches do tend to create conflict for Thomas, mainly because there isn’t always a clear right or wrong to choose from.

However, it’s possible that the sides could still have foils. Just because these differences aren’t clearly centered around good vs. evil doesn’t mean that different sides can’t come from opposite perspectives. Keeping this in mind, here is my take on the foil theories. First, let’s look at a traditional color wheel:

Looking at this, we can try to find the sides… yellow for Janus, Orange, red for Roman, purple for Virgil, Blue (but it’s a dark blue) so blue for Logan, and green for Remus. But wait! Patton is missing (or Logan, if you decided to use the blue for Patton). This doesn’t work because the color wheel traditionally used for art isn’t the same as the colors on the visible light spectrum. This puts a dent in attempts to use primary and complementary colors to decide on foils for the characters. Yes, Roman’s red and Remus’ green are clearly across from each other and that is the most clearly established pair, but it’s hard to match up the rest of the sides that way when either Patton or Logan are missing. So, in order to properly use color theory to support the theory that each side has a foil, it’s important to keep in mind the differences between the traditional color wheel above and the visible light spectrum (which we can just go ahead and look at now).

In this, we can clearly pick out each side from Virgil to Roman. However, because the visible light spectrum is based on wavelength, it’s linear and that means that no colors are clearly across from each other. When you put these colors in a wheel, keeping the proportion of the wavelengths comprised by each color the way they appear on the spectrum number-wise, the result looks like this:

This shows a comparatively smaller amount of orange and indigo to the rest of the colors, but also doesn’t show opposites or complementary colors as clearly as the traditional color wheel. Remus and Roman are still largely across from each other, but they don’t line up perfectly. It’s also not a stretch to say that based on this color wheel, Janus and Logan would be foils, and Patton and Orange would be foils. However, based on this wheel, Virgil could either have two foils (Janus and Remus) or none at all. These pairings make sense based on what we’ve seen so far, although Virgil’s case requires additional analysis.

[Side note fun fact about the pink in the second image above: it’s not actually part of the light spectrum, our brains invented the color pink to fill in the gap between violet and red when we could sense blue and red light but no green]

Now to break down each of these pairings and why they make sense…

I don’t need to go too much into detail as to why Remus and Roman would be foils – they both encompass creativity and exist in an almost binary way, probably because Patton and Roman (and therefore Thomas) view creative things in a strictly good vs. evil light, as discussed in the Intrusive Thoughts episode. There isn’t a lot of room for grey area here. Now, I personally think that neither of them are strictly good or evil but rather encompass the ideas that Thomas sees as acceptable vs. unacceptable, but that’s not quite relevant to this discussion.

Next, Janus and Logan could reasonably be each other’s foils. I know that some people make a case here for Janus and Patton, but not only does that not match the color wheel, it also makes less sense than Janus and Logan in the context of the episodes. The clearest pair we have so far is Remus and Roman, which is largely due to Roman’s very black and white view of good and evil. When Remus enters, he immediately knocks Roman out. Similarly, nearly every time that Janus has made an appearance except when masquerading as Patton, he has removed Logan from the picture. In SVS1, he impersonated Logan in a manner that seemed intentionally see through. If he had actually put in a significant effort, it seems like he could have gotten away with the impersonation. So, if that wasn’t his goal, what was? Well, his goal could have been to exclude Logan entirely. When Logan finally appears, he says “You guys are doing a courtroom scenario… without me? Unacceptable” before being immediately shunted to the back of the room by none other than Janus. In SVS Redux, Janus allows Patton to skip all of Logan’s input (the button was yellow and black, Janus’ colors, and a cane similar to Janus’ cane in the Lilypadton fight pulled away the text pop-up), and then takes Logan’s place again – effectively excluding him from this episode as well.

Aside from that factor, Janus and Logan argue in a similar way. Both of them use facts, the difference being that Logan simply presents his facts in a mostly objective way while Janus uses facts and theories to support his own personal argument. Even when Logan uses facts to prove a point, he tends to use entire theories that he personally agrees with. Janus picks and chooses bits of fact and theory that support his point, and often uses them in a way that borders on manipulative. His style of arguing fits with a Mark Twain quote I like: “Get your facts first and then you can distort them as you please.” Both Janus and Logan think and argue in a logical manner and use outside references for support, and the differences in the way they do this supports the idea that they could be each other’s foils.

The dichotomy between Patton and Orange involves a lot more speculation, mainly because Orange as a character doesn’t exist yet and we have no way of knowing for sure what that side of Thomas will represent. However, there have been a few clues so far.

Mini theory time: the orange side represents Thomas’ more aggressive emotions, primarily anger. This makes sense just in general, but also because that part of Thomas clearly exists, but has not particularly been addressed. Logan threw a crumpled-up notecard at Roman in a clear display of anger, the sides argue in a clearly emotional way frequently, and most recently, Thomas’ enraged entry into his house after the wedding took place under orange lighting. That could have been a coincidence, but Thomas and the rest of his team put so much thought and effort into each episode that I’m going to treat that lighting as purposeful.

Now, an interesting thing about these instances is that Patton, the side who is supposed to be in charge of emotions, never seems particularly angry even when the other sides are. When Thomas came in seething after the wedding, Patton seemed horrified by the outbursts and swearing, but not visibly upset about how the wedding went at all.

That leads to the reasoning behind Patton and Orange being foils. In both of the other pairs, the two sides in question seem to have the same primary function. Roman and Remus both represent creativity, but in two different ways. Logan and Janus both think logically and back up their reasoning with facts, but Logan presents the facts as objectively as possible while Janus manipulates them and presents them in the way that best serves his purposes. Patton’s primary function as stated is morality, but he views the world through the lens of emotion. He said himself that morality as he sees it “all comes back… to empathy.” If Orange also represents Thomas’ emotions, with a focus on the negative and aggressive ones that Patton seems unwilling to even entertain, it would make a lot of sense for them to be foils. It’s hard to say exactly how their perspectives here would differ, considering that Orange doesn’t even canonically exist yet, but based on the hints we’ve received so far, the emotional dichotomy here is plausible.

Finally, we have the options for Virgil’s foils or lack thereof. If Virgil has two foils, they would be Janus and Remus as based on the light spectrum color wheel above, and at surface level this seems plausible. After all, the two other sides that Virgil seems to most vehemently dislike are Janus and Remus. However, it seems more likely that Virgil has no foil whatsoever. Neither Remus nor Janus view the world through the same lens as Virgil. Remus comes closer, as intrusive thoughts tend to be things that Virgil is understandably anxious about, but Remus doesn’t view these things as worst-case scenarios, and he likely doesn’t even regard them as realistic. He just seems to take joy in chaos and venturing into creative territory that makes others uncomfortable. Janus, on the other hand, doesn’t seem to think similarly to Virgil at all. In the end, it’s more likely that Janus and Remus make Virgil uncomfortable because he feels like they are a threat to Thomas and not because they are acting as his foils.

On the other hand, if we take the pairings as previously mentioned and leave Virgil with no foil we could rearrange the color wheel to accommodate that and it would look like this:

This gives everyone a clear opposite except Virgil, but also would leave a strange gap between green and yellow that would not naturally exist. However, it would make a lot of sense in the context of the Sanders Sides universe for Virgil to not have a foil. While all the other sides clearly align with either the ‘light’ or ‘dark’ sides (which hopefully will receive alternative titles at some point, since none of them purely represent good or evil), Virgil has settled somewhere in the middle. The entire “Fitting In (Hogwarts Houses)” episode was about how Virgil didn’t fit neatly into a box even though the others more easily seemed to. Virgil’s role as anxiety is to protect Thomas. While all the sides want the best for him, none of them are as clearly protectors as Virgil. Historically, Virgil’s namesake was likely a Roman poet named Publius Vergilius Maro and called Virgil, who in Dante’s Inferno had the role of guiding Dante through hell. That role may have been literal in the story, but Virgil’s role for Thomas seems to be guiding and protecting him through situations that feel like hell, or that induce panic.

If Logan and Janus view the world through logic, Patton and Orange view the world through emotions, and Roman and Remus view the world through creative potential, Virgil views the world through the lens of worst-case scenarios. His job is to get Thomas out of these worst-case scenarios with as little damage as possible. None of the other sides have this same outlook, that we’ve seen. The orange side might, we haven’t seen him yet, but he isn’t even plausibly opposite of Virgil on the color wheel. I feel confident in my theory that he represents the other side of Thomas’ emotions.

If anything, Virgil is his own foil. He sees worst case scenarios, and he can and does use that knowledge in two opposing ways depending on his goal at the time. Sometimes he uses it to protect Thomas, like when he panicked and told Thomas to get rid of his phone. The fight or flight response is firmly in Virgil’s territory and this is an ancient and essential defense mechanism in humans against danger. However, Virgil sometimes uses his worldview to scare Thomas or simply to prove a point. In the Embarrassing Phases episode, he purposefully upsets Thomas and the other sides in order to get the point across to Thomas that, as he puts it “when you reduce a piece of my history to just a "phase", you ignore everything that I went through. Who I was when I scared you all the time is no less real than who I am now.” Note the second part of that quote – Virgil used to be one of the ‘others’ and scare Thomas all the time, and that was real. Now, he works with the ‘light’ sides and aims to protect Thomas in a less scary way than he did before. He’s the same character, but the Virgil he was before the Accepting Anxiety series and the Virgil he is now could certainly be foils to each other.

That turned out much longer than expected, but I’ll end with a short summary. Based on the rainbow theory and a color wheel using the visible light spectrum, the foil pairs are as follows: Roman and Remus, Logan and Janus, Patton and Orange, and Virgil (who could be foils with nobody or possibly with himself). Each pair perceives the world through a different lens, but uses that primary function or worldview in contrasting ways. None of the sides are good or evil, that’s not the dichotomy here, they just have different ways of trying to do what is best for Thomas.

[snarkwriteswrasslin]

what ifs; adam page [one]

Notes:

This is my rewrite / alternate version of my fic Wild Side. Yeah, I’m gonna post and continue both on this blog. If I can just get myself unstuck / out of the hole I wrote myself into with Wild Side, that’d be fuckin gr9.. But for now, it’s time to put everything I have so far for What If’s on this blog, I think. Ya’ll.. I swear I plan to update this soon. I have plans. I just.. have to make my brain form the words/sentences. 

Summary:

Adam and Ivy went from childhood best friends, to a couple and then they were torn apart by life and it’s pesky obstacles. Those pesky obstacles have thrown them back together now, when it seems they need each other -and most importantly, their closure, the most. Will they rekindle their flame or will everything fizzle out and die before it’s given a proper chance to grow? And just how are they going to handle all the things currently going on in each other’s lives?

Warnings:

alcohol tw, mentions of stripping / exotic dance culture, angst... heavy angst to start with. slow burn. awkward situations and occasional flashbacks / memories. fluff eventually. not as of yet, but I promise you, we will get there.

Pairing:

Adam Hangman Page x OFC, Ivy Barlow.

Header made by me. Images from Google. Don’t steal it if you didn’t make it/write it.

“Ivy Barlow?” the words of the cardiologist echoed through a mostly silent waiting room as the cardiologist looked around, trying to locate the daughter of his patient.

Ivy’s head snapped up and she rubbed her eyes. The older man walked over and sat down and Ivy swallowed hard. Before he could even get anything out, Ivy felt her eyes starting to sting with unshed tears.

From beside her, her sister Constance was starting to sniffle, shushing her two children so that she and Ivy could hear what the doctor was about to say, both of them holding hands and sharing a scared look. Ivy was the one who asked first.

“Dad… He’s.. He’s okay, right?”

“Your father’s had a heart attack.”

“No.” Constance was about to lose it and start sobbing. Ivy looped her arm around her sister’s shoulder and pulled her against her side and wiped at her eyes, addressing the doctor again. “Is he okay? What’s… Is there anything you can do?”

“We’re preparing to do a stent as we speak, Ms. Barlow. The procedure might take a few hours, but after the fact, we’ll let you both know how it went.”

“A stent… That’s… That’s good, right? It has a fairly good chance of working?” Ivy questioned, starting to feel a little numb from the shock of it all. Not even 24 hours ago, her father had been fine, they’d been face - timing and she’d been laughing at him as he bitched about one of the cows from the Henderson farm up the road getting in with his herd and the chaos that ensued. She’d been offhandedly making plans to return to West Virginia to visit as soon as she got a break from work and wedding planning.

Just the thought of Ty and their argument before she broke it off and left had her annoyed all over again. And twice as sure that she’d made the right choice, the best choice.

Her family came first. If Ty didn’t understand that by now, Ty wasn’t ever going to understand it. His reaction to her postponing the wedding to return to West Virginia to care for her father and help him on the farm clearly showed her just how wrong she’d been about the man she’d been about to settle for.

Because she made no mistake about it. She’d had about 9 hours to stew on the whole thing and Ty was simply someone she settled for.

The cardiologist explained the procedure to her and her sister Constance and after he walked away, Constance took a shaky breath, glancing at Ivy. “Dad’s gonna be fine. It’s the farm I’m worried about, sis.”

“The farm?”

“Yeah, you know last year was rough… With those 3 cows getting trich right before time for market and then the tractor going tits up. Dad… He had to take out a few loans. Then he started getting sick.”

“Why didn’t he tell me?” Ivy asked as she met her sister’s gaze, taking a deep breath and digesting what her sister was telling her.

“Because.” Constance air quoted, “You were out there in Florida doin’ things with your life like you always planned. He didn’t want to disrupt that. Guess he felt like losin’ Mom was bad enough and he didn’t wanna make you feel like you had to come back here. We all know you were hell bent on leavin’ anyway, even before Mom uprooted me n’ you n’ Carly back then.”

Ivy’s mouth opened and closed and she gaped at her sister. Finally, she managed to get out the truth. “I never wanted to leave, actually. I just adjusted to what Mom put us through because she made it seem like that was the only option we had to ‘really live life’. It was not something I would’ve chosen, otherwise.”

“I… I didn’t know.” Constance muttered after a few seconds as she squeezed her younger sister’s hand. “I’m sorry.”

Ivy shrugged and brown eyes darted around the waiting room. “Where the hell is Carly? Typical, it’s home, it’s Daddy, so she’s not comin’ unless there’s a will to be read.”

“Ivy…” Constance took a deep breath but Ivy shook her head firmly. “We all need to be here. He needs us right now. She’s always been selfish like…”

“Like Mom?” Constance questioned, sighing and shaking her head. There may be years between their mother leaving and making them tag along for the ride and now, but she’d never really been able to bring herself to forgive her mother for it. And now, knowing that Ivy hadn’t wanted to leave either and that was the cause of strain between their mother and Ivy, it only made Constance that much more convinced that she was right to keep low contact with their mother. Let her live her dream life in that Miami mansion with the stupid pool boy man on the side and an even dumber plastic surgeon husband. Constance loved the life she had here.

“Exactly.” Ivy sank back into the hard plastic chair, sighing in exhaustion. The past few hours had been scary and frustrating and lonely for her. Her eyes settled on the television screen across the waiting room and when she saw him walking down the ramp and to the ring, she nearly spat out the lukewarm coffee she’d been nursing for an hour and a half now.

“Is that… No. That can’t be… Adam?” Ivy gaped and bit her lip, raising a hand to drag slowly through light brown hair. Constance gave a soft laugh and nodded. “It is, Ivy. He goes by Hangman now.”

“Momma! Hangman!” Ivy’s nephew Jake burst through, tugging at her sister’s sleeve and pointing at the tv.

“Hangman, huh?” Ivy was still gazing at the television set in awe, biting her lip as she took a deep breath or two.

All she could think about was the last conversation she had with him. The night before she wound up being dragged off to Florida to live with her mom.

OoO

“Aw, c’mon. It’ll be fun. Just you n’ me out there together. This is gonna be my ticket outta here, darlin.” Adam’s blue eyes locked on her own and she sighed, biting the inside of her cheek. She didn’t get it honestly, why did he just have to leave? Why did everybody want to take her out of the only home she’d ever really known and wanted to know? She already had her life mapped out… And up to five minutes ago when Adam sprang the news of trying out for some small time wrestling company, she’d thought that he was going to be a part of those plans.

“Adam, I… Nevermind.”

Adam eyed Ivy and took a deep breath. “What’s wrong, hon?” he leaned in, his thumb wiping away a tear that started to roll down her cheek.

“It’s just… I thought you were gonna take over your daddy’s farm… And I was gonna go to WVU with you in the fall and we were…” Ivy paused, taking the chocolate shake from his hands and taking a big sip just to mask her unease at saying too much, giving him too much power to hurt her. Because she knew that if she said it, it was out there and it couldn’t ever be taken back.

“ Darlin’… We can still do that, hell… I mean… I might not even get signed with this company. You know yourself I ain’t the best right now. But if I don’t try, I won’t ever know. ‘Sides..” Adam took a deep breath, fumbling around in his pocket for the locket he’d gotten her. It wasn’t much, but it was a placeholder until he could one day do better. “I’ve always thought it was gonna be you n’ me against the world, remember? It’s just a week. Then we’ll figure things out a lil better..” Adam coaxed.

Ivy gazed at him, taking a few deep breaths. Finally, a smile played at her lips and she gave a slow nod, turning so that he could slip the locket on her neck. “Okay, alright. Why you gotta play dirty, huh? You know I always cave right in when you give me that look, Adam.”

Adam’s nose nuzzled against the side of her neck and he chuckled, pulling her against him, resting his head against her shoulder as he muttered in a shaky whisper, “Love you, Ivy.”

“Love you too, Adam.”

OoO

Constance cleared her throat again and snapped her fingers in front of her sister’s face. “Are you okay, Ivy?”

“Y-yeah. Yeah, I’m fine. It was just… weird. Seeing him again after all this time, even if it was just on television.”

“He comes home all the time.” Constance grinned to herself as she said it and watched her sister’s interest perk. Ivy tried to downplay it, but Constance could tell she’d gotten her attention.

“Oh yeah? Nice to know. Maybe he didn’t go off and let the fame go right to his head.” Ivy shrugged and took the pink crayon from Jenny, her niece and went to color in Ariel’s long flowing hair in the picture. But she couldn’t get it all out of her head, either. It was like seeing Adam Page on television a few minutes ago had opened Pandora’s Box for her and now, all those old what if’s were flaring up all over again.

What if she hadn’t just quietly gone with her mother that night? What if she’d fought and made it known that she didn’t intend on leaving the farm? What if she’d actually gotten to say goodbye? What if she’d tried to say goodbye and instead, she and Adam ran off that night together?

Maybe everything would be totally different right now. Maybe it wouldn’t. But at least I’d have a little closure, Ivy sighed as she thought about it and she shook her head, standing to make her way over to the little coffee pot by the nurses station.

–

The further away Adam Page got from the arena, the more solidified the thought became in his mind. He needed to get his head on straight. He needed to regroup and the only place he seemed to be able to do so was at his parents farm. The thought prompted him to pick up his cell phone and scroll through his contacts list, finding his father’s number and hitting call. While he waited on at least one of his parents to answer, he found himself stewing over the argument he’d had with Matt and Nick and Kenny before leaving.

They just weren’t listening, they didn’t care lately and that was beyond frustrating. They called themselves his friends and yet, they didn’t see that everything going on lately was starting to wear him more than a little thin. The more he pushed, the more they shoved. All he wanted to do was pull away for a while… Get some needed distance and be his own man again.

Why was that so damned hard for the three of them to understand?

His father picked up and he raised a brow when he heard the older man swearing and yelling to one of his hands on the farm. “It goes over there, damn it! You know Dalton has a place for everythin’, shit. Act like you got sense, kid.”

“Dad?”

“Hang on a sec, son.” Adam’s father took a sip of coffee and waved over his mother to take the phone. Adam’s mother took the phone from him and eyed her husband.

“It’s our son, woman!”

“Adam? What on Earth are you doin, sweetie? I just got through watchin the replay of last night?”

“I’m… I’m gonna come home a little bit, mom. Just need to think. What’s Dad doin’ on the Bar Low?”

“Ivy’s daddy had a heart attack earlier… So your daddy thought he’d come over and pitch in while Dalton was recoverin because their crop isn’t gonna harvest itself… Are you alright, son?”

Adam sighed and shook his head, found himself thinking bitterly that even knowing her dad was layin in a hospital probably wouldn’t be enough to drag Ivy home..

… because I sure as shit wasn’t enough to keep her around years ago… the thought came, even though by now, Adam knew the truth for the most part. He knew Ivy hadn’t really been given a choice in the matter, but he also felt the bitterness because she didn’t even give him a proper goodbye. She didn’t even try to fight it.

… you know she wasn’t a fighter back then, she just went along with whatever somebody asked of her, tried not to make waves… makin waves was always Connie and Carly’s thing… Adam’s mind veered off and he cleared his throat. “I’m on my way in. What all needs t’ get done?”

“Clever. My sweet clever boy.. You’re not dodgin the discussion we’re gon have. But we’ll figure all that when you get here. How far out are ya?” Adam’s mom smiled to herself as she turned to his father and nudged him. “He’s comin home for a little while!”

“What? It ain’t his downtime. He better not be quittin. Raised more n’ enough hell to go off and do that foolishness, he better not give it up. Ain’t everyday a man gets to accomplish his dream.” Adam’s father muttered, eyeing his wife who shrugged. Adam’s mom repeated her question and bit her lip, excitedly waiting on an answer.

“About 6 hours, give or take.” Adam answered after consulting his GPS. Kenny was flooding the other line with calls but Adam only rolled his eyes and let the calls keep going to voicemail. “Does Ivy? Does she know?” Adam finally bought himself to ask the question, not bothering to keep the annoyance out of his tone at the mention of her name. Adam’s mother sighed and answered calmly, “She’s movin back in, from the looks of it. Came in the mornin after it happened, your daddy was down there half the afternoon helpin her get her things in and do some repairs around the farm…”

She knew about the way things ended. And she knew it hurt her son. But she also knew there were more than two sides to a story and she felt like maybe it was high time they sat down and talked it out. Or yelled it out.

Because Adam hadn’t really been the same since.

And from what Constance let slip on occasion, neither had Ivy.

Closure was needed between the two.

Adam processed what his mother told him and grumbled quietly, taking a deep breath. Suddenly, he wasn’t so sure about his idea to go back to the farm for a few weeks and try to get his head on straight. How the hell was he supposed to do that with his biggest lingering what if right across the field? Knowing they lived in a small town and at some point, he’d inevitably have to run into her.

He was already dreading it.

“Adam?”

“I’m still here, Momma. Just thinkin.”

“Son, it’s been almost ten years. You’re every bit as stubborn as your daddy.” his mother sighed and Adam gave a dry laugh. “I ain’t the one who just up n’ left. Surprised she dragged herself back here. Heard she was doin’ real good down in Florida. Even landed herself a doctor n’ everything.”

“Accordin to what I overheard earlier, she broke it off with the guy. Apparently, he didn’t want her comin back here to do what she needed to do. And he refused t’ come with. She left him n’ came home.”

“Color me shocked.” Adam muttered dryly, letting it sink in. Talking himself right out of even remotely getting his hopes up on any form of closure.

He had more than enough to deal with right now.

Besides, Adam found himself thinking, bet she ain’t given me a second thought. It’s water under the bridge now and that’s where it needs t’ stay. In the past.

The GPS announced his turn and after a few more minutes of conversation, he hung up with his parents and went back to driving and thinking.

And he tried to keep himself from thinking about her being back, but he failed at it miserably and it annoyed the living hell out of him.

[quietlysatan]

Can Your Friends Do This? - Watermelonsmellinfellon, AO3 (Though OP said they cross posted on FF.net too)

Link: Here!!

Rating: Mature

Favorite Quote(s): Because I love The Avatar show

"First, there are more than one dimension and more than one universe. Foolish mortals are the only ones to assume they are the only forms of intelligent life in their respective universes. This Earth we are on resides in a different universe altogether and consists of nations of people who possess an affinity with the elements. Some are born as mixes of two and use chakra to create new elemental affinities or abilities. This planet Earth parallels another planet Earth in another dimension of this universe, where there are only four large nations and each represents either fire, water, earth, or air, and with beings able to bend their own element to their advantage."

And these ones because these four are important.

1. "A lot of suicidal people didn't really want to die, they simply wanted the pain to cease so that living once again seemed worthwhile."

2. Hari was very firm on her decision. She'd always been the one rescuing people and never once realized that maybe she should have been rescued.

3. “Despite his wish to be Hokage and to be a hero, I realized that someone needed to rescue him first for that to happen. And so I took the job." 

4. "I've lost many people, and while it doesn't coincide with what others will tell you in life, it actually does get better. There aren't enough hours in the day to keep thinking about what you've lost. There are jobs to do, and people to watch over, and even your own health to consider. You won't have the time to recount every mistake you've ever made. And the pain from their distance will eventually dim and become tolerable. The only way it wouldn't get better is if you keep thinking about it all the time. People who are always depressed over the loss of loved ones are usually the very same people who think about them all the time, which ends up keeping them in their depressed states, to begin with. And then there is no progression."

A Fucking mood from Hari/Harry Potta/Potter

“I don't like exercising. I'm not meant for it."

Because Sasuke is an adorable little shit, which is, as always when it comes to him, The Best

Naruto was teaching someone Taijutsu? It was laughable at best, though he didn't actually laugh. That would ruin his image as the strong and silent loner. He couldn't afford for people to think he was nice or anything.

Because this is something important and personal to ME specifically

"This is all sweets. But they are sugar-free sweets. There are foods you can eat that will give you the energy you need without having a negative effect on your body. Bananas are a good snack. Watermelon, lettuce, leafy green veggies, they all have a lot of water in them. They fill you up quickly, can keep you hydrated, and because most are made of water, you aren't consuming fats and oils. Though do not replace every meal with these things unless you take vitamins and supplements on a daily basis. While there is nothing wrong with being vegan, a lot of vegans forget to take their supplements and vitamins. They especially need those because they keep so many important foods from their eating schedule."

Another Mood

To make it worse… she'd gotten her monthly visit from TOM. She named it TOM in memory of a certain arse who caused her a lot of pain and grief. Her Time of the Month, TOM, liked to mock her for at least five days out of every month and this month was terrible.

And last, but not least, the best thing I have read since I woke up

Potta Hari's cousin was not romantically involved with anyone, or so his sources said. Perhaps marrying someone to her would offer a better chance for an alliance between their clans?

A knock startled him from his thoughts, and he had to compose himself quickly. "Yes?"

"A letter has arrived for you, Hiashi-sama," Kosuke said from the other side of the door.

"Come."

The letter was handed over within seconds, and Kosuke was gone immediately.

When he finally got to the message however, he had to smirk in amusement. He should have known that making plans about a Seer wouldn't go as expected.

Dear Hyuga-sama,

No.

Respectfully, Potta Runa.

And this

Was Danzo literally the only bad person in this world who was bad naturally and not because he had some unfortunate upbringing, was bullied or was manipulated into being bad? 

Basically tbh 

Words & Chapter(s):  287,295 words and 20 chapters, unfinished, but worth it

Summary: Tsume Yuki's, 'Ain't Never Had a Friend Like Me' prompt.

Master of Death Hari is sealed inside a genie bottle and tossed into the Veil. Only the interference of Death stops her from being enslaved. When Naruto comes into possession of the bottle and frees Hari from her prison, she gets attached and decides to help him, changing everything we know.

Score: 13, this is very amusing, and has no qualms with having humor AND seriousness whenever. Not to mention, I could honestly go back to the very beginning and read it all over again and I’d still love every moment of it in all honesty.

Pairing(s): Hatake Kakashi/Female!Harry Potter, as well as Uchiha Sasuke/Uzumaki Naruto, background Anko Mitarashi/Luna Lovegood

Warning(s): For all that this looks like a lot of warnings it’s just because this fic is well over 200K words, and it’s not nearly as bad as all these warnings look. There’s no major character death (Technically. A few from the HP universe passed before our MC even came into our universe. Still, only casual mentions so far)

Always a girlHarry still had to deal with all the abuse of her counterpart. The ministry betrayed her (Shocking. I know.) mentions of (CANON) past childhood abuse described three-quarters of the way through chapter three, then again in chapter four, no worries though it’s not graphic or gratuitous.

Mentions of death, and the things and ways that death may affect someone (This is a naruto universe crossover fic soooo, I don’t know what you were expecting honestly. At least it’s not as subtly/suddenly angsty as FMA fics get.), attempted murder that fails because Hari is the Mistress of Death (... Is Master not gender neutral??? I thought it was... Still, Mistress sounds cooler and more dangerous)

Mentions of porn, off-screen lemon, etc.

There IS a bit of fat-shaming from certain characters, but they eventually learn better, there are also mentions of children, and others, on diets, and also that have unhealthy eating habits and why they’re not good regardless, as well as the effects of being on a diet while also doing various exercises and rigorous training regimens, but not to worry, it slowly but surely improves.

Manipulation and grey morals, (Again shocking, I know.) which is great because my morals would go very dark very quickly if I were Hari (Because this is a crossover, and she is in Japan/The Elemental) and I’d for some dumbass reason decided to return to my original world (THAT DOESN’T HAPPEN THIS A HYPOTHETICAL WHAT-IF), but Hari doesn’t which is always amazing

World/Dimension displacement. Figured I’d add that just in case, personally I love those types of stories but you never know.

Kidnapping followed by attempted murder fails spectacularly. It is quite amusing to see for my inner sadist.

One of Hari’s family members passed away due to cancer, but it’s a small mention and there’s minimal angst because it happened years ago. The others seemed to have died in a war with the goblins which is only occasionally mentioned here and there.

Someone tries to enslave Hari as a genie. It does not work. Death seemed upset that someone thought that would work at all in the “Like, honestly, who the fuck do you even think you are???” kind of pissed

Danzo and ROOT exist. Sadly.

Also “ the lives of the many are more important than the lives of the few “ is something that seems to be a basic background of the morals of this fic. I know some find this detestable, but I would like to point out that, it’s true. It’s really fucked up, but unless that One has some very important and necessary ability, they are less important than the five-hundred and forty-two. Shitty as it seems.

There’s technically a war. If you could call the opposing sides... attempts a war. No major casualties or uber gruesome happenings though.

There are some injuries, of course, their big but not graphically described as far as I’ve seen up to the current chapter limit.

Pros: GREAT FUCKING WRITING!!! Great research and really immersive too!!!

Hari and Naruto because each others precious people, and Harry protects Naruto as best she, a civilian and witch, can.

The Japanese That Doesn’t Need To Be Written Because You’re Writing This In English And It Doesn’t Make Sense And Is Awkward isn’t present which is always a plus. 

It’s really unique and different from what is normally written in these situations (Not that there’s anything wrong with what we normally get!!!) from how a female main character reacts (Very Harry Potter-ish) and whatnot to her romance with other characters to her friendship with them, and also I love the way her relationships are with everyone! It’s just, so, refreshing for a female MC to be written like this, like getting that first bite of watermelon in the middle of summer, and jumping in the pool, or a drink of hot chocolate in the middle of a snowy night.

Not to mention! The way Hari interacts with the world around her and manages to change everything even though she wasn’t trying, and the way she still isn’t overpowered regardless for all that she can use her magic at will. UGH!!! IT’S JUST SO GOOD

Aesthetic: It’s like drinking fresh lemonade after a hard days work, like swimming in your best friends pool after you finish your homework, it’s like a warm cup of tea after a stressful day, and cuddling up to a friend or lover, like dancing to your favorite song while you’re all alone in your kitchen. It is like being alone, but not lonely, ad being with a few good friends but not ignored. It is freeing and refreshing and relaxing and exciting and new and old and so much more. It feels happy, for lack of a better word. Very, subtly, happy.

Gif Aesthetic: Oh my god yes, this is Hari

and this is what the romance in this fic reminds me of

and this somehow reminds me of several characters at once

And this one too sometimes, which is nice

and this (Except Boruto doesn’t exist obviously, I think this fic was actually started before Boruto even came into the picture actually) is what the fighting looks like

except for when it looks like this

Hari and Luna fucking everything up while everyone else watches and decides it is safest to just, not interfere with the crazy witches.

Hari, Death, and Luna/Runa planning who to fuck up protect next

Every single Rookie Nine without fail

(Scroll back up and look at how cute the slimy kitty yawns!!! She’s so cute!!!)

[a-gay-bloodmage]

—Tradition Would Always Get in the Way—

Pairing: One-Sided Gorim Saelac x Male Aeducan

Pairing: M/M

Words: 2,261

Warnings: The Pining is So Obvious It's Painful, External Homophobia and Internal Shame, They End Up Happy Okay I Swear, Eventually

Hundir could feel eyes on the back of his head again. He turned away from his book, hooking an arm around the back of the sitting room's couch.

"What do you want?" Of course it was Bhelen.

"Ooh, what're you reading?" He asked, standing on his toes and leaning over the couch, very obviously trying to peek at the cover.

Hundir pulled it close to his chest. Despite being the elder brother of the two, Bhelen never had a shred of respect in his body for Hundir. "None of your stone-damned business."  Trian was the only one who got an ounce of his due elder-sibling privileges. Perhaps it was because Hundir and Bhelen were only a year apart. Perhaps it was because Hundir was an easy target and Bhelen was an annoying ass.

"Let me guess," he smirked, "another stupid romance novel?"

Hundir huffed and shoved him back as he stood. Bhelen never listened, but in the rare case that he actually fucked off when he was told, it was always because Hundir had to physically push him away. "Sod off, Bhelen."

Bhelen rolled his eyes, taking advantage of a split-second breath Hundir took to yank his book out of his hands. "Really? A surface novel?" Hundir didn't bother to pull punches as his idiot brother soldiered on and started reading off a random page. "His hands are strong and calloused, but tender as he pulls me in by my waist, so close I can feel his heart beating from his chest into mine. I can see my shocked expression in his bright blue eyes-"

"Shut up, Bhelen!" Hundir yanked the book back as Bhelen winced due to a particularly hard punch to the side. I hadn't gotten to that part yet!

"Really, Hundir? A romance novel?" He snorted out laughter despite still slightly wheezing. "Trying to find your dream girl in a novel?"

"You're an ass."

"Let me guess," Bhelen laughed, following Hundir despite his attempts to leave. "She's got ginger hair, blue eyes, uses a sword and shield, has a beard and a- Hey!" He nearly fell forward as Hundir hit him on the back hard with the hardcover novel. "Sensitive poncy sod."

Hundir didn't dignify him with a further reaction. Well, he supposed the little prat got some satisfaction in annoying his brother so much he had to leave before he threw a punch that would get their father involved. That happened far too often for Endrin's liking. It usually happened after Bhelen took an obvious, painful stab at Hundir's alleged affections. It felt like Hundir spent every waking moment fighting to keep his brother from not only telling all of Orzammar about Hundir's apparent love for his male servant, but from telling Gorim himself. Hundir was always an impulse away from asking his father for a diplomatic banishment to Kal-Sharok, as the newly rediscovered, reclusive, likely tainted kingdom to the north would be favorable to the hell of living in what counts for broad daylight in Orzammar.

"Good morning, my Prince!" Hundir jolted at the sudden voice. He looked up from the nook he had found himself in, staring slightly wide-eyed at his upbeat servant. Well, servant was hardly an accurate term. Gorim Saelac was his only friend, his greatest strength, his greatest weakness, and a million other things he'd be mortified if anyone knew of.

"Ah, good morning... Gorim," he said, smiling a little sheepishly. Gorim was the only person he smiled at.

Gorim sat down on the stone floor next to him, his casual armor making quite a bit of noise. "Let me guess," he started, chuckling softly. "Bhelen?"

Hundir nodded. "Annoying little blighter," he muttered, huffing into knees, which were still folded close to his chest. "I... He noticed the book you got me." He twisted a piece of his blond hair around his finger, a nervous habit he couldn't kick. 

Gorim laughed, shaking his head. "Of course he did," he said, rolling his eyes. It was damn near treasonous how casual Gorim was with a Prince of Orzammar, but Hundir loved it. "Are you enjoying it?"

Hundir was thankful that his thick blond stubble and the shoddy lighting hid any colour rising in his cheeks. "It's... intriguing thus far," he said.

Gorim looked incredibly proud of himself. "I actually read it about a month ago, and I was... a little hesitant to give it to you," he said, running a hand through his beautiful red hair. "I wasn't sure if it was, well, appropriate to gift a Prince, uh, surface-written smut..." 

"It was very much appreciated, regardless of any... appropriate... ness," Hundir said, his shy smile just a little more pronounced.

"Thank the Ancestors," Gorim sighed, smiling.

They fell into easy silence for a while, the both of them content to simply sit away from the rest of the palace. Hundir should be working on the several little projects his father wanted him to look over. As disliked as he was by his elder and younger brothers, Hundir was certainly the most competent one. Trian just had a few more years of experience, and people only thought him to be smarter because he was far more mild-tempered.

"Shouldn't there be a celebration today, my Prince?" Gorim asked, looking over.

"There should be," Hundir sighed, shaking his head. "I had to beg father to let me bypass any festivities."

Gorim tilted his head, his thick eyebrows pushing together. The soft orange light looked beautiful in his grey-blue eyes. The question he wanted to ask was obvious. Why?

Hundir paused, taking a deep breath before he spoke, gently yanking at his abused lock of hair a little. "Sod tradition," he said, staring at the floor. "Is it so wrong to not want attention one day of the year?" His stout legs pulled closer to his body, the hardcover book pressing between his stomach and thighs. "I would... I would much rather spend..." He swallowed hard before starting over. "I would much rather spend time with you than nobles who resent my very existence." His eyes flickered over to Gorim for a second before returning to the smooth floor. "I'm acting like a duster, preferring to hide away in the dark instead of just facing the world."

Gorim's light laugh made Hundir look up at him, bottom lip trapped beneath his teeth. "Hey," he smiled, reaching over and gripping Hundir's shoulder tight. "You're the Prince of Orzammar. Do whatever you feel you need." Heat seemed to bloom from his touch, spreading throughout Hundir's body. "Don't let tradition keep you from, well, being a prince, eh?"

Hundir nodded, drinking in every second of Gorim's touch. Ever since they turned sixteen, it seemed everyone had them beneath a looking-glass, trying to determine whether or not the prince was defective. He was, but they didn't need to know that. Ever since Hundir had noticed that looking-glass over his head, he'd gotten far more scared of such casual touches, terrified that someone would slam their hands down in the Assembly chamber and demand Endrin do something about his shameful second son. What if something were to happen to Trian? Could Orzammar really have such a quote-unquote man on the throne? One with no heirs and eyes that spent all their free time staring at manservants? The notion would've been laughable if it wasn't such an embarrassment.

"My Prince?"

Hundir let out a sigh, shaking his head. "Just thinking," he said, refusing to elaborate. He said that a lot, truthfully, and never did elaborate.

"You nobles are always thinking," Gorim chuckled, shaking his head. He scratched the thick red stubble on his cheek. He was probably going to grow it long and braid it like his father did. Hundir was sure he would look incredibly handsome with it done like that. "I'd love to see what's going on inside that head of yours."

Hundir couldn't help how red his ears got at the horrifying thought of Gorim looking inside his head. Far too many images of his best friend's naked figure and deep pits of self-loathing next to every one. "Uh, state secrets in there," he said, laughing a little awkwardly. "Can't have anyone poking around."

Gorim laughed, tossing his head back a little against the stone wall. "Fine, fine, keep your secrets, my Prince," he chuckled, looking over at Hundir and smiling. "But remember, I took an oath to keep anything you wish a secret," he whispered, grinning.

Hundir knew that oath. He knew it well. He couldn't count the amount of times he wondered if he could use any agreement to keep a possible relationship between himself and Gorim a secret. But no, it may have been feasible in the terms of an oath on dwarven honor, but he doubted it would hold well against a relationship between a prince and his manservant. The shame would be too much to hide from the public and the nobility's prying eyes and any secrecy would be futile.

He tensed a little as Gorim scooted as close as he could, shoulder pressing against shoulder. "My Prince?"

"Yes?"

"I can't believe we've been together for..." His eyes widened a little, and his smile grew. "A decade! Can you believe it?"

"Hardly," Hundir said back, allowing himself to smile despite the fact that by Hundir standards, the two of them were basically cuddling. "I'm surprised I didn't scare you off."

"Of course you wouldn't have, my Prince," Gorim smiled, shaking his head. His growing ginger hair moved ever so beautifully with the motion. "Even if I wasn't assigned to be your bodyguard, and if I could be wherever I wanted-" He let out a soft breath, looking over at Hundir with genuine admiration and friendship in his blue-grey eyes. "- I wouldn't want to be anywhere other than your side, my Prince."

Hundir's mouth was dry, and he could feel a headache coming on from all the nervous tugging of his hair. "I-" He wasn't sure what to say. Sometimes, the foolish, optimistic idiot in his brain wondered if—in times like these, where Gorim looked at him so softly and near lovingly—his treasured friend may have feelings for him in turn. But of course he didn't. Why would he? He'd expressed his love for the pretty female servants dozens of times. Hundir stood no chance compared to their beauty and their womanhood. "Thank you," he choked out, staring at the floor once more. If he looked back at Gorim, he was sure he'd burn up in an overwhelmed fluster.

"Oh, don't act as if this is some massive confession," Gorim chuckled, leaning heavy against Hundir's shoulder.

Of course it isn't, Hundir thought, with a sort of bitterness that made him burn inside with shame. He had no business cursing his only example of friendship just because said friend wouldn't spit on tradition and kiss him.

"Come now, anyone who knew you as well as I do would love you, my Prince, truly. Ancestors know I do."

Hundir looked over with a shy, hesitant smile, unable to utter a single word. Gorim likely didn't know that Hundir hadn't a single memory in which someone had told him they loved him. He was never good enough for father to bless him with such a word, his mother had died far too early to leave any such a word in his mind, and his brothers wouldn't be caught dead telling him he was loved.

"Come on," Gorim said, dragging Hundir from his thoughts. "I doubt you ate anything yet this morning. Would you like to go to the kitchens, my Prince?" His hand was back on Hundir's shoulder, that blooming warmth spreading further and hotter. He could only nod in response. He'd been too engrossed in Gorim's gift to think of eating. "Here," Gorim offered out his hand as he stood. Hundir held his book to his stomach and took the warm hand in his, standing up as well. "I'm sure the cook prepared something for your birthday, and is simply heartbroken you didn't eat earlier," he chuckled, making Hundir smile. She probably was rightfully outraged her meal wasn't eaten hot. Well, that was if Trian or Bhelen didn't get to it first. They probably did.

"Will you be eating with me?" Hundir asked, cursing his own shyness. He had to slip his hand from Gorim's before his sweaty palms became painfully obvious.

"When do I not?" Gorim asked, grinning. "I believe we got that scandal out of the way when we were children."

Hundir smiled and nodded. He remembered the outrage from his father, elder brother, and the Assembly when a young Hundir has insisted a boy from the warrior caste be allowed to eat at a table with nobles. Gorim's constant place by his side, despite his caste, was one of Hundir's few treasured victories over tradition.

As he looked over at Gorim, his book clutched tightly against his chest to hide his fiercely beating heart, he found himself surprisingly content. If he had to pine forever, that was alright, so long as Gorim stay by his side. Tradition would always get in the way of anything more, but the poets always claimed that love involved sacrifice. And he was willing to sacrifice his own personal happiness for Gorim without hesitation. This was all the happiness he needed. Even as they entered the dining hall, the servants bustling around with a clear view of his face, he couldn't hide his smile.

[cyberlifesfinest-blog]

Bio-components (Connor x reader)

Hey guys! This is my first attempt at writing for DBH, I was hoping to have this blog to connect with other fans and lovers of the game, and also publish stories! I will be taking requests, but posts may be few and far between due to my HSC year becoming harder and harder! Well, this is my first short story so I hope you guys enjoy!! Word count: 1567 Warnings: swearing (from our old hankie boo)

Working in the police department of Detroit was definitely a large learning curb. To put the real cherry on top, trying to deal with a deviant android revolution sent the whole department into chaos. Being a new intern for only 3 months and counting, you had barely made your desk you own before deviants were waging for equal rights and staging peaceful protests.

Just clocking on for the morning, you entered the precinct expecting you to be the only one in at  6am on a Saturday morning. Though, to your surprise, as you walked amongst the rows of office desks, your eyes locked onto the familiar silver, shaggy mane of your superior Lieutenant Anderson, or as he liked to be called, Hank. Hunched over his desk, a coffee in his hand and a doughnut in the other, he seemed to be grumbling something under his breath.

You had both gotten off to a slow and steady start, you were assigned to him by Jeffrey as a type of understudy. He wasn't very interested in taking you on, mostly getting the cold shoulder and the constant requests for coffee as you worked through mountains of paperwork, Hank soon warmed up to you after finding a mutual interest in dogs and music. He was a father figure to you, and you had come to be quite thankful for the pairing.

Moving your eyes a little further to the left, you were greeted by the soft and quite alluring bright blue eyes of Connor, the RK 800 android tasked to become partners with Hank. He had started a little before you had at the station, and through the deviant cases, you had worked together you had grown quite close. Well, as close as you could to an android you suppose.

Yet, you felt there was a different element to your relationship, especially after Connor giving into the software instabilities in his system and becoming deviant. It felt like his touch started to linger longer, his gaze holding yours for just that couple seconds longer for it to feel passionate. But you didn't know if you were just looking for something that wasn't there, after all, it was hard crushing on an android who barely understood what being human was like.

Maintaining eye contact, you smiled warmly, fingers tightening slightly around your coffee as you placed the folders in your other arm on your desk, which was situated across from the boys.

“Good morning Lieutenant, Connor” You nodded your head towards them as you took a seat, back leaning hard against the backrest as you took a sip from your coffee.

Grunting a quiet ‘morning’, Hank continued on with his work as he grumpily took another sip of his coffee. You knew he wasn't much of a morning person, which still arose the question of why he was here so early. After all, you always were the first to arrive on Saturdays.

Why were they here so early?

“Good morning (Y/N), I do hope your slumber was adequate” Connor answered, almost beaming as a smile making its way across his lips. He still wasn't too good at normal and fluent human interaction, but you and Hank were more than willing to help.

You couldn't help but giggle, Connor’s attempts always managed to put a smile on your face, and your heart flutter ever so slightly in your chest. Oh, why did he have to be so charming? Then again, Cyberlife was in the market of making perfection on legs and of course, Connor was no different.

“I slept quite well thank you, Connor, How was your night? “ You asked politely, not rushing to start your work.

“Oh, it was quite satisfactory. I was attempting to teach Sumo how to shake hands, but as Lieutenant likes to quote, ‘you can't teach a dog new tricks’ “ Connor continued to grin, almost eagerly, while still maintaining eye contact with you. It was always hard to pull away from those beautiful eyes of his.

“Would you guys stop yammering so loudly and staring into each other's eyes and go fetch me this?” Hank butted in, a sense of sarcasm in his tone as he tiredly shoved an image of a bicomponent into Connor’s chest. Confused, Connor looked down to the image, but before he could question Hank spoke again

“It’s another bloody deviant case, and from what I have seen this bicomponent may just be a lead in this case. So just find the damn piece and bring it back, will you? And take (Y/N) with you, I need some bloody peace and quiet, you damn kids” Hank grumbled, shooting you a knowing glance as you stood, your cheeks turning a soft pink.

“Are you okay (Y/N)? Your cheeks are turning a soft red and heart seems to be… accelerating more in my presence” Connor questioned as you quickly turned, snatching his wrist and tugging him towards the evidence room.

“I'm fine Connor, just a little cold” You lie, keeping your face straight worried you were now blushing darker as your fingers finally dropped from his wrist as to not give him any wrong ideas. Hank always liked to make fun of your little crush, he was quick to call you out on it, and this always made you flustered.

Before you could register what happened, you felt fabric being laid across your shoulders, enveloping you with warmth and the familiar cologne smell that belonged to Connor himself. Looking over now, you realised that Connor had shed his jacket and placed it along your shoulders, his arm resting along your shoulders and tugging you into the side of his body. Both of you came to a stop just inside the evidence room,  your eyes locked once again and you felt yourself becoming more flustered.

“I do hope that this will be satisfactory to keep you warm (Y/N), I can also internally raise my bodies thermoregulator to produce extra heat…” Connor’s talk almost fell on deaf ears as you were only focusing on his arms around you. Nodding, you squeaked out a soft ‘thank you’.

“(Y/N)? May I ask you a question that could be deemed personal?” Connor broke the comfortable silence you two were standing in, still holding your eyes with his own as he peered down at you. 2 inches shorter than him, Connor didn't quite tower over you, but it gave him enough to tilt his head.

“Sure! Shoot away” You nodded, chewing the inner part of your lip and pondering. What would he want to ask?

Connor took a deep breath, eyes almost unsure, but before you could comment, he began to speak“I have been talking to the Lieutenant about these recurring… errors in my software. These errors are what helped create my choice to become deviant. Through a brief explanation I endowed to him, I was given what is believed to be the cause of these ‘emotions’ that I feel. These emotions are believed to be that of attraction and, as Hank called it, love”

He once again seemed to pause, but a gentle hand on his shoulder spurred him to continue” These emotions appear in my coding anytime I am with you, (Y/N), and I cannot fathom the idea of keeping this a secret from you for any longer. For my understanding of the situation to be fully comprehensible, I must ask something of you. (Y/N), do you, by any chance, hold romantic feelings or ideologies towards myself as I do for you?’

Eyes widening, it felt as if you were a fish thrown from its tank, no way to properly comprehend what Connor had just said. Why in the world was Connor asking you this!?!

Connor seemed to mistake your silence as your answer was No, and you could see the falling of his facial expression as he let his arms drop from your sides. You had almost neglected the fact you two now stood chest to chest in a hug like position, but the movement woke you from your frozen state.

“I'm sorry (Y/N), that was inappropriate-” Before he could continue with those sad puppy dog eyes, you pressed your lips hard against his own, soft silicone ones. The kiss was passionate but a bit messy, as you imagined this would have been Connor’s first kiss. You took the lead, placing your hand on his chiselled jaw as you felt his arms gently brush against your waist again.

This felt like bliss.

“Did you guys get lost!? Hurry the fuck up!” You heard Hank’s voice echo through the halls, causing you to pull away from Connor prematurely as you couldn't help but giggle at the small cringe on Connor’s face.

“Don't get your knickers into a twist old man!” You teased, turning around. Connor quickly moved forward and was able to locate the part detailed in the image, earning a small peck on the cheek from you as you looked upon him with love and adoration. Taking the part from his hands, you stepped closer and gave him a warm smile.

“Of course I feel the same, Connor. Truly, you are more human than you think” And with that, you both walked back towards the desks, Connor scooping your hand up at some point in the walk. As you arrived back at Hank’s desk, he peered up and took the biocomponent that you offered him. Catching a glimpse at your hands, the old man smirked at the both of you.

“I fucking called it”

[csykora]

hey i've been meaning to ask this, but would you mind explaining to me in general terms (or specific, if you're so inclined, i like detailed explanations but I don't want to give the impression that I expect them), like, What Happened With Alex Semin That Makes Everyone So Weird About Him? I know you've referenced a complicated legacy that makes caps fans weird about him, and maybe some way that caps fans/ western hockey culture/the nhl wronged him, but wikipedia was not very helpful (1/?)

3/3) None of that as presented seems, like, worthy of the level of weirdness/erasure that you've mentioned/hinted at, so I'm assuming there's a lot more complexity and detail involved here, which I would love to understand.

First, I need to say this, you are an utter doll. You’re out there reading and questioning and investigating further and it’s all so great.

And you’re right, on dry paper the whole thing is pretty weird.

There isn’t a smoking gun, here. I’m not going to point at a particular coach or GM and tell you, “They made a poor or a prejudiced decision, and the rest of us are fine.” A staggering number of things happened to happen to Semin. Each one of them didn’t mean so much by themselves. But I think the fact that they happened, and kept happening, and were expected to happen, all to him says a lot about us.

What there is is a context, and then there’s a story here. I think what a lot of us missed at the time, and are still missing, is how they fit together.

So I’m gonna drag us all through both. Congratulations: you get two posts.

I’m traveling through Montréal, so I come down to grab coffee in just a jersey and my little pink running shorts.  I’m not surprised when a man stops me. He asks what’s up, am I Russian, am I a Caps fan. “Oh, yeah,” I say.

“Yeah, yeah. They’re a great team every year,” he says, for the benefit of the man next to him. “No luck in the postseason though!”

The second man is Danish, and nervous, stuck between us. “You have a big rivalry?” he asks.

I have a personal rivalry with Les Habitants. “Oh, no,” I say.

I negotiate. If I admit I grew up watching the Canadiens as my hometown team, the first man will quiz me. So it’s friendly overture #2, angling towards him to show him the back of my sweater. The first man isn’t looking. “My favorite guy, Alexander Syomin, he played up here for a bit.”

I pronounce it that way, Сёмин, not an Anglicized eh. We can come back to that.

He admires my sweater. “Good player?” he tries.

“Oh, yeah, real skilled player,” the first man says, checking back in. And then, like he’s watching Semin backcheck right now, like the insight just struck him, “Lazy, though.”

“Oh, no,” I say, reassuring the Dane. “That’s just he plays Russian hockey, it just looks different than Canadian style, so some people think it looks like that.”

First man says, “Ovechkin doesn’t play like that.”

Of course he says that.

“Oh,” I say, laugh, cut him off. “Nobody plays like Ovechkin.”

(The Dane is looking between us like he’s about to ask how these people died.)

Something percolates through the first man’s mind. “Who’s your favorite player?”

And I turn around and walk away. He says, “Oh,” reading my shoulders. He hadn’t heard a word except the opening to tell me what he already Knew.

Listen, I don’t like feeling rude. But I was about to be late to interview for a graduate research position in hockey biomechanics, and I already knew I needed to go put on pants and fold Semin’s name back into a suitcase if I wanted them to respect me.

I’m not being dramatic so much as I’m trying to show the odd way that we all know things.  That man knew I wasn’t an expert, because I don’t look like one. We all know my favorite player isn’t a good player because he doesn’t look like one.

(And I don’t mean the ethnocentrism and neurotypical judgements we paint all over his face, although that’ll come back into it.)

G, you might be saying, that guy was a stock character of a misogynist hockey fan. Of course he only saw what he expected to. Well, here’s one thing: we all kind of think like that. Of course we don’t know when we aren’t seeing things that conflict with our view. Just keep that in mind when we talk about Russia.

And when we watch hockey, a good amount of the time, our eyes are telling us real persuasive narratives. There are certain visual cues in the game that we think mean good, make someone valuable. They signal to us that the player is playing ‘well’, and once we’re hooked on them that reading is hard to shake. Experienced analysts like Steve Dangle will talk about this: after decades watching hockey, they still get caught up in all the great-looking things a player is doing and miss underlying weakness, or get stuck on what a player doesn’t do and miss what they contribute overall.

(This is why statistics are valuable and controversial: they can be used to reveal patterns, like how a player who scores plenty of pretty goals is also on the ice for a suspicious number of goals against, and sometimes that conflicts with what seems obvious to the eye-test.)

Ethnicity comes back into it because what we think looks valuable depends where we’re from.

Later, I’m laughing over it to my buddy. She’s an older fan than me, and I admire her so much, because she listens to me, and she says, “You know, I’ve been meaning to ask you—I don’t know what you mean when you keep saying Russian hockey.”

Context: Soviet and Russian Hockey

Any moment that I have the puck and you do not seems like it should be good for me.

But if you’re allowed to just come up and smash me, and I just hang out holding it, you’re going to try to take it away. Some of the time you’ll manage and then you’ll have it and you can score goals with it. So maybe I want to risk trying to score goals with it before you do.

That’s good old North American.

Oh, I’m sorry, did you want this? Did you want to try to score some goals with it? Sure, I suppose you can borrow it for a bit.  

Catch me first.

That’s Soviet.

This is a difference of philosophy; it’s a preference in coaching and play-making. There are some kids who weren’t considered particularly naturally talented who would be in Russia, and the other way around. But people also train to meet those standards, so by the time you’re in your teens or early twenties, you’re caught somewhere between the abilities and inclinations you were born with and the values you shaped yourself to try to fulfill.

Imagine a benchful of Evgeny Kuznetsovs.

Soviet hockey players were skaters first. At age 4 or 5, they would be learning skating fundamentals for an hour two or three days a week. Then an hour and half. At 10, they would skate every day. At 12, two practices a day.

“We put kids on skates at a very young age. Much earlier than in the U.S. and Canada. There are advantages and disadvantages to this. On one hand early development may influence game thinking, on the other skating may become a burden and be detrimental for the health.”—Sergei Gimaev (USSR champion)

I’m quoting Sergei because that’s my stance: on the one hand, and on the other. There’s a lot to say about the Soviet hockey schools. Athleticism was patriotism in the Soviet Union, as it is in many states, and the treatment of athletes was frequently disturbing—but it’s always more complex than a dystopia.

Their eerily effortless technical skating contributed to the outside image of the “Red Machine”, a North American narrative than Soviet skaters were only trained to be interchangeable pieces without any fun or independence or Canadian grit, but the Soviet style also valued a child-like intellectual creativity.

“Kids were always allowed to improvise on the ice,” according to Dmitri Efimov. “We surprised our opponents with the fact that we were difficult to ‘read,’ our actions couldn’t be anticipated.”  

This play, from hockey-graphs.com, is a great example.Vladimir Krutov, Igor Larionov, and Sergei Makarov skate so tightly they seem about to combine into a single giant mecha, luring in the Canadians, and then fly past them.

All that skill and creative energy fed into the endless, eternal, interminable passing. Each player on the line swung around each other, dragging the opposition into position until one of them found a chance to shoot. The goal of Soviet hockey wasn’t to score goals: holding possession and winding the clock down was pretty much an end in and of itself.

“For me, I would love to have empty net at end of season, then (have someone else) score a goal you know? For me, that’s how my father teach me and how my whole coaches when I grown up teach me. You better to give your partner empty netter than you score it. It’s in my heart.”

So, Evgeny Evgenyevich…if you’re always giving the goal to your teammates, who’s taking the shots?

Ovechkin isn’t like that

Kristi St. Allain of St. Thomas University wrote a dissertation on why people say this. It was adapted and accepted for publication by the Sociology of Sport Journal in 2016, it’s 43 pages, and it’s worth a read.  

There’s a more technical take, which I think is also interesting: yes, he is like that.

Ovechkin is a monster. He’ll be once in the world, not once in a lifetime. Comparing any Russian player to him is pretty pointless, but comparing him to them is actually useful, because we can see that Ovechkin plays a specific role in Russian hockey.

Hockey was at its lowest low in Russia in the ‘90s, after the dissolution of the Soviet national team. Everyone had gotten used to Soviet hockey, and that was over. The new nation was wondering what the new Russian hockey was going to be, and it mostly seemed like it sucked.

And then they got...these two.

The Aleksandrs revolutionized Russian hockey by building a new role for themselves: the specialized sharpshooter.

I’m not saying there weren’t skilled shooters before them in the Soviet system, but those teams made plays in a more balanced way, effective divvying up shot attempts between three fairly equal forwards.

Two years older than Ovechkin, Semin was the first player to prove what that shot could do. In 2008 he led Russia to the first World Championship gold since 1993, against Canada in Quebec City, ending over a decade of low self-esteem in a moment of transcendently wicked awesomeness to a generation who grew up after but still very much under the weight of the Soviet Union.

Arguably, he’s the one who told us all what Russian hockey was going to be. 

Sasha and Sasha both stood out from their teammates for their spectacular aim and strength. Semin’s wrist-shot was described “arguably the most powerful in the game” during his years in the NHL. (And that’s from SB Nation, not just me and Kuznetsov.)

Instead of skating and passing until they happened to be in position for a particular shot, both Semin and Ovechkin would deliberately take up a shooting position, and their linemates  would pass between themselves, dragging the opposition around until they could send the puck to the Sasha for a shot.

Taking those shots isn’t selfish: it’s a new way of using their unique skill to play for their teammates. 

At this point in his career, we often get to see Ovi skate straight to his office and crouch there in active waiting. He’ll slide a little up and down in search of openings as the other team chase his center and right winger: “he’s the best in the world at adjusting to passes.”

Semin would circle. He hovered over the blue line like some large and carnivorous bird, allowing him to either swoop in for a shot, or swing and pass back and forth with his center to set up his opposite winger. He could essentially shoot like a second Ovechkin or partner with Nick Backstrom to hold possession.

We can succeed

There’s something heart-wrenching to me about that quote from Kuznetsov. Because many Russian players don’t succeed in the NHL; they don’t fit in the spaces allowed for them in the Canadian conception of hockey. That should hardly count as a failing: like Kuznetsov said, Canadians don’t know how to play Soviet or Russian hockey. And they aren’t asked to.

Do you know how many Russian players are in the NHL right now?

It’s 39.

(Less if we set aside the goalies, which arguably we should here).  That’s barely more than one per franchise, and that shakes out to mean something pretty profound for players who have it in their hearts to try to match what their teammates are doing, but who by their late teens and twenties simply can’t reshape the entire way they play the game.

Semin is a spectacular player in context. So is Ovechkin. For most of his career Ovi’s context was Semin, and Ovi is quite honest about that.

Semin was the best possession player on the Washington Capitals in 2012, while also seeing the highest percentage of scoring chances. He was a 40+ goal scorer while being someone else’s main man for assists. 

I’m going to come back and to talk through his actual story in order, but this is the first thing to keep in mind: 

All that circling didn’t look good. When he looked for passes, waited for scoring chances, played high-scoring but still play-making Russian hockey, he looked lazy.

[davids69811]

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Among the most vital point to remember when employing your wedding professional photographer is that the photos will become part of your family members's background completely - so please choose with your heart!

There are a lot of points that worth of preparing prior to your special day. Considering that I'm a photographer, I want to share some thoughts from a photographer's sight as well as cover this subject in numerous sub-topics. 1. Precisely just how to select your professional photographer. View past job. The very first thing that concerns my mind when choosing a digital photographer is to see his/her past work. Photography is an art, not every person with a cam can grasp it. Although, electronic camera has changed specifically how pictures are taken and also supplies a lot more latitude for professional photographer to fix their blunders after the shoot, specialist digital photographers still require picture skills and likewise understanding in order to catch the minutes. That capacities as well as expertise can not be developed or obtained overnight. It requires time for a beginner to wind up being a fully fledged musician. No matter what the professional photographer states, if you do not such as his/her past work, do not manage that professional photographer. Remember, you are more than likely to employ a person to tape-record perhaps one of the most crucial minutes in your life. You do not intend to be sorry for after seeing the wedding celebration images that you are not satisfied with. Spending strategy sufficient money and also take adequate time to find and work with a qualified digital photographer that matches your design and preference. Digital photography designs Generally, wedding photos are largely done inside workshops with props in addition to plans. Digital photographer frequently gives incredibly details modeling instructions as well as suggestions to pairs. If the subjects understand precisely just how to position correctly, it can lead to excellent pictures that are sharp in addition to well made up. Regrettably large amounts of individuals are cam reluctant as well as likewise do not likewise understand precisely just how to grin in front of a cam. Under this circumstance, postured shots might not be your finest choice Wedding Professional photographer Lynchburg. Photojournalistic wedding event electronic photography has actually obtained its appeal throughout the past 15- twenty years. This electronic photography design gives a lot less specified shots with much less posturing demands from the topics. Photographer takes the shots without giving method a lot of directions as well as additionally files raw as well as also clean feeling. Sometimes, topics don't likewise recognize that they are photographed. I straight prefer this method for photo because people look best when they are under their all-natural state. Nevertheless, this approach can activate technical restraints with digital photographer. As illumination is amongst one of the most crucial components of digital photography, professional photographer may not obtain all the selected lights when he/she walks like a press reporter. Digital photographer genuinely requires to count on their expertise in addition to devices to get the most effective shots taken. Wedding event is never ever a natural occasion; as a result, hybrid layout is often utilized. Crossbreed style digital photography is a blend of presented shots with photojournalistic shots. Digital photographer can ask group shots to be arranged while take candid image to reveal emotions or tale. Expense This is the one issue that's asked most frequently. When picking professional photographer, great deals of brides put the price as the top making a decision element. I believe that this is not the very best method of choosing the excellent digital photographer. Please bear in mind, you are working with a person to tape one of the most important time in your life. There is no 2nd opportunity for professional photographer to ask you to re-do the event or take the specific same photos twice. You actually call for the aid from professional not some novices. Expenditure of professional digital photography has actually condensed dramatically as a result of popularity of digital web cam as well as competition. Wedding celebration pictures used to cost $2,000-6,000, along with many professional digital photographers charges in between $1,000-3,000 nowadays. Just how much should a set invest in photography solutions? I 'd claim, concerning 10-15% of your full wedding event spending plan should be a sensible allotment. I have in fact seen novices advertised their wedding digital photography services for only $450 in addition to provide to provide a DVD disc to customer right after the wedding celebration. I assume that this is an untrustworthy means of creating wedding celebration photos. Exceptional photos require to be established both throughout as well as after the shoot. What I show is that message handling is in addition vital besides terrific initial images. Message manufacturing can fix the shade, create charming feeling, and add some great touches to the originals. The wow elements generally occur from article handling. Article manufacturing is time consuming as well as needs technical and also creative abilities. Beginners who provide DVD right after the shoot try to stay free from the moment invest in message manufacturing (and even do not acknowledge precisely how to do excellent post production) in addition to time take care of customer after the wedding celebration Lynchburg. They consider their job finished when wedding celebration is over. Bride-to-bes that concentrate on conserving cash money and also use this sort of amateur photographer possibly wind up having photos look comparable to the ones taken by their friends. This is not saving cash, this is getting rid of cash money. If you do a straightforward mathematics, made the initiative that professional photographer costs for post manufacturing, the expense you invest for novices in addition to pros need to be comparable; consequently, you are paying pro rate as well as obtained an amateur solution. There is an aspect for individuals that bill truly minimized fees. All these amateurs treatment is cash. Quality and likewise client contentment are not their major concern. Recognize! Specialist expert photographers need to maintain particular rate degree in order to survive as well as generate income since taking pictures is all they attend to living. Many wedding events happen throughout the weekend break on Saturdays, for that reason there are simply 4 wedding events in a month. Even state digital photographer costs $1500 per wedding, that's just $6,000 a month. After business expense, gadgets devaluation, tax obligations, as well as other misc. expense, what's left in digital photographer's pocket should be no more than $3,500-4,000. It is not a great deal of money, nevertheless that's reality. Additionally, cold weather are usually slow-moving and despite no solution. If a professional wedding event professional photographer costs less than $1,000 a wedding event, it is difficult for him/her to endure in a minimum of Washington DC city location, unless he/she can draw revenue from elsewhere. Expertise & Character Do you intend to deal with people that are unfavorable as well as hostile? Do you desire your presumption really feel that the photographer is invasive and hostile? I suggest that you at least talk with photographers a variety of times over the phone or have a conference with them before accrediting a contract. Do not simply check out the internet site and also after that establish that to make use of. Follow your impulse along with utilize the one you really feel comfortable with. The style digital photographer attends to the phone can also inform something concerning their knowledge. If a digital photographer never ever addresses phone or return your telephone call or email days later, opportunities are they are not excellent at customer care. Is the professional photographer on schedule for a go to? This is extremely critical as well as additionally can be an indication of his reliability as a result of the reality that you don't desire the professional photographer program late (or otherwise disclosing whatsoever) at your wedding celebration. Lots of excellent digital photographers function from their very own home, and additionally this have to not be an evaluating element of their expertise and also reliability Lynchburg. Arrangement An expert digital photographer need to have actually a well drafted contract/agreement. If a photographer simply ensure to show up on your special day and does not intend to sign an arrangement, do not deal with him/her. I had new bride-to-bes informed me that someone took the deposit as well as also merely go away. Although, supply a 50% down payment prevails technique to safeguard your special day, demand sum total of the solution beforehand is unreasonable. The arrangement should plainly discuss digital photographer's commitment, commitments, insurance protection time, deliverables, as well as also any kind of kind of terms you've set. Review the arrangement thoroughly as well as additionally see whether it is reasonable to both you as well as likewise the photographer. Do not thoughtlessly sign the agreement as a result of the fact that the digital photographer informs you it is traditional. Recommendations Greater than most likely the initial individual that you are going to ask for referring a digital photographer is among your family member or buddies. That's an ideal way to start. However, if the referred professional photographers are not offered for your wedding celebration day who do you rely upon discover the details? Go to regional wedding suppliers requesting for recommendations. Since vendors usually will not advise numerous other vendors that supply negative service that can back terminate their record, it is relatively much safer than you look for a professional photographer online. Get in touch with the floral designer that you typically get blossoms from, your wedding event garments manufacturer, providing service that prepares your food or even wedding event locations that you are interested to see whether they have actually got some professional photographers to refer. However, you still need do your homework of speaking with the professional photographer yourself. As quickly as the digital photographer has obtained your depend on, you can authorize the contract with him/her.