#The Dark Style Fair 5
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destructive-delight · 17 days ago
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have i ever complained about the b//sd anime key visuals on here? because i have some fucking complaints.
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sidereon-spaceace · 1 year ago
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boy howdy that dream was a doozy
#ramblings#started with my home city about to get wrecked by a flood so everyone's response to this was. take boats into the canal?#which was dangerous cuz my whole life ive been told if you fall in the current will pull you under#but then we came up over this. dry hill?? in the middle of the canal. which was weird and no one liked it so we turned back#except instead of going back to where we were before it was somewhere different#tried again. ended up in straight up another world. lots of beautiful people there who seemed to be having a good time#except this place was a prison. they all assumed WE had done something to be there like it wasnt even questioned#even gave us fucking prompts to chose from as we stated our crimes and got our pictures taken#one young woman from our group got into SERIOUS trouble and had to run and suddenly the dream was from her perspective#went back over that dry little hill into this. little lake? with a round building in the middle#she was being followed. she went inside. there was another room inside the building and she closed the door behind her#there was a desk with lots of little drawers and looking out the window... oh man#i dont know the name for the style of architecture but there was lots of detail and pointed spires and it was made of a dark material#down below was a dark and stormy sea with choppy waves and ahead a mountain range with sharp peaks#behind the mountain was. a whole world. definitely not earth. like i was suddenly on a moon#and around there is when my brain tapped out and i woke up at like 5:30 which. fair
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kateksmallcuteowl · 7 months ago
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June 26: Soulmates/Soulmate Marks AU
Your mark shows how old will your soulmate be when you fall in love with them. (Meaning both romantically and sexually)
For an event by @bagginshieldweek24
More headcanons after the cut. Seriously, there’s a lot, as I developed a whole idea but had no time to write a fic because of exams.
— Dwarfs come of age in around 80 y.o., having a soulmate from another race is a very rare occurrence; throughout the history of Middle-earth, there have been at most a dozen such cases, so most dwarves are unaware of this possibility. Having a mark with a number younger than the age of majority is a lifelong shame, essentially an admission of pedophilia. Unfortunately, this happens more often than having a soulmate from another race.
— Thorin spent his entire adult life, from the moment the mark appeared, wearing an extra layer of bandages under his bracers to prevent anyone from seeing the number. Fortunately, among dwarves, it is not considered inappropriate to hide the marks, as many value their privacy.
— The mark and thoughts about it were the reason why Thorin often appeared especially gloomy when the topic of romance came up.
— He truly tried to compensate for his "defectiveness" with his virtues.
— Of course, Thorin is a virgin.
— Bilbo, on the other hand, didn't think much about this; hobbits don't see anything wrong with living without their soulmate or seeing their soulmate as a friend. They are generally a loving people and don't worry about the concept of "the one and only."
— Although the topic of soulmates is considered highly romantic in hobbit literature, Bilbo was somewhat disappointed when he realized he would likely never meet his soulmate. (Hobbits are also unaware of inter-racial soulmates.)
— I tried to make young Bilbo look more like Frodo, so here he has smaller curls and a different style of shirt.
— Thorin and Bilbo both hid their marks, so when they felt an attraction to each other, especially after the Carrock, both were initially upset, thinking they weren't soulmates. Thorin, of course, was much more upset.
— During the two weeks they stayed with Beorn (yes, I'm mixing the movie and the book, what are you going to do about it? Slow burn needs time to be slow), they managed to reach the point of kissing near the river or something like that. But when Bilbo tried to unlace Thorin's tunic, Thorin stopped him and said that, unlike hobbits, for dwarves, sexual interaction is a very serious step in emotional attachment. It wouldn't be fair not to tell Bilbo what kind of monster he was getting involved with, because after seeing what Thorin had to show him, Bilbo might not even want to look him in the eye. Bilbo was honestly frustrated. (It is implied that Thorin used some term characteristic of a pedo... ahem)
— With a terrifyingly serious face, Thorin unwrapped the bandages on his wrist, and Bilbo, with a sinking heart, prepared to see a number like 5 or 12. Instead, there was a very respectable and completely normal age. Thorin turned away, not wanting to see the disappointment in the hobbit's eyes. Bilbo spent a few seconds calculating how long dwarves live and how old Thorin actually was.
— Thorin thought Bilbo wanted to shame him for having the audacity to enter into a relationship at such an age, knowing his soulmate's extremely young age. With closed eyes, he forced out that he was 195 and knew how disgusting he was because of it.
— Instead of a slap or something worse, which Thorin wouldn't have opposed, thinking any normal person had the right to treat him like that after seeing it, Bilbo reached for his own wrist and, with suspicious enthusiasm, pulled off the leather bracelet he had worn since the Shire. On the pale skin was clearly marked Thorin's age, written in dark ink with characteristic dwarvish notches.
— Some time passed in silence as they both realized that such a coincidence simply couldn't be.
— They were in for a very pleasant evening away from the company🌚🌝
— Later, when the entire company gathered by the fire, Bilbo and Thorin would come to them, holding hands, the hobbit nearly glowing with happiness in front, and a red-to-the-tips-of-his-ears Thorin slightly behind. This would be the first time anyone in the company saw Thorin without bandages, and if not for the matching age on Bilbo's wrist, now also not hidden by a bracelet, they wouldn't have believed Thorin could be normal with such a number on his skin.
— And the dwarves would realize how young Bilbo was by their standards.
— Truly, the ways of the Valar are mysterious.
— At the very end of the night, Fili would nudge Kili with his elbow and hint that since their uncle had an inter-racial mark, he might not be so angry and yell when he finds out that his brother has a four-digit number on his wrist.
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javierpena-inatacvest · 3 months ago
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Sail Away
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Summary: Another nightmare leaves Javi wide awake, forced to wrestle with the consequences of his past as he looks towards his future
Pairing: Husband!Javier Peña x Wife!reader (no use of y/n)
Word Count: 2.6K
Warnings: Heavyyyyy on the angst, PTSD, references to violence/death (from Narcos), panic attack and descriptions of past panic attacks, insomnia, feelings of guilt/shame, mentions of pregnancy/parenthood, comfort, still a happy (enough) ending, post DEA Javi, poor Javi just really needs a hug :(
A/N: We're tryin new things here people!! Fair warning- I feel like this is DRASTICALLY different from the way I normally write (content and style wise) but big sad time, pre-period hormones said it's time to cry 🤷🏼‍♀️ I think a lot about how post-DEA Javi handles thinking about his time in Colombia, and how hard it is for him to talk about, even with the people he knows care about him the most ☹️ I hope this doesn't beat you to death with metaphors, imagery and lack of beta'ing (I can still hear my AP lit teacher screaming SYMBOLISM into the abyss) Trying to emulate a lil @jolapeno on this one (ily my descriptive queen 👑)
It happened again. 
You instantly knew from the stark cold of his side of the bed, the empty void where his broad frame should be, his sheets twisted and tangled from where he had fought another round with sleep and lost. 
3rd night in a row, the 5th time this week. At this point, it was hard not to keep track. 
The cyclical pattern of restless nights, haunted by ghosts of his past that taunted and teased him, cruelly lurking the back of his mind, no matter how hard he begged or pleaded for them to disappear. 
Forcing himself to wrestle with his demons in the darkness couldn’t help but feel like insult to injury- the harsh blacks and blues that flooded the sky, drowning out the last glimmer of sunlight as it dipped below the horizon, perfectly mirroring the way his mind so devilishly seemed to paint his thoughts in shades of ebony and cerulean with erratic, angry brushstrokes over the warm yellows and oranges of his new life he had finally learned to embrace. 
It only seemed fair that he went to battle with the darkest musings of his mind under the night sky that so cruelly reflected his mood. 
You weren’t surprised the first time you found him hunched on the back steps of your porch, head buried in his hands, fingers twitching for a cigarette- the vice he’d sworn to give up after his final return home, a vow that moments like these had made him distinctly regret. You always wondered how despite the stark silence that surrounded him as he stared off into the dark abyss, you could still hear his thoughts screaming at you- crying out for attention, acknowledgement, anything to get someone else to understand what he was hiding inside of his mind that he was too scared to say out loud. 
His midnight disappearances came in waves, fading and reappearing like an unpredictable ocean tide that left you wondering when the cool and salty water would crash around your ankles next as you stood at the edge of the shore. 
For a while, the seas had been calm, Javi’s body nestled next to yours, his warmth comforting and covering you along with the messy piles of blankets and bedsheets that filled your mattress, the nights being nothing more than drifting to sleep in each other’s arms, haunted dreams harbored at bay. 
For the last 5 nights, the tides had shifted. A storm was raging. 
The first few nights you let him go- you’d watched him weather this kind of storm before, always insisting it was a journey he was supposed to go on alone, the type of trip you need to make without risking hurting the innocent passengers that were supposed to ride with you. 
But as the days came and went, golden rays of vibrant sun shifting to dark and lonely blackness, it felt like you were leaving him out in the abyss without even so much as a life vest, praying for a return you knew would never come unless someone weathered the storm to save him. 
“You’re up again.” 
It’s a neutral statement, enough to disarm him from the implications you’ve sent yourself on a rescue mission to find him while you settle next to his stoic frame sinking into the porch step. 
“And you shouldn’t be.” 
Not quite resistance, but certainly not acceptance to you let you come aboard with him. Not yet. 
“I was already up anyway. Someone has been a big fan of punching me in my gut at 2 A.M. Hard not to notice when I wake up and your side of the bed is empty for the 5th time this week.” 
Both your eyes shift down to the subtle swell of your stomach, barley poking out from under the worn t-shirt you’d stolen from his dresser drawer. You’d never really had a knack for thievery until the past few weeks, claiming that everything was too tight for your growing belly. Despite all his years intertwined with the law, Javi had never had a problem with pardoning you for your violation, happy to let you, his household thief, and your new partner in crime indulge in the habit if it brought you any sort of comfort in your constant uncomfortability of growing a new life inside you. 
“Already picking up on her dad’s shit sleeping habit.” He scoffs under his breath, a bitterness in his tone that he thinks he’s somehow managing to inflict years worth of poor choices on his future child, still months away from even making her arrival into the world. 
It hurts, watching the pain well in his eyes as he stares off at the stars, glistening in the distance like some sort of unreachable sanctuary, the savior of a temporary distraction. Right now, you wish he’d look at you the same way, but he knows you won’t let him wallow in the all consuming waves of his own self pity like the stars will. 
A silent journey to outer space is the easy way out. You aren’t. 
“Do you wanna talk about it?” You ask it like it’s a question, like he has a choice in the matter. He knows that you’ll be gentle with him- you have been since the moment you met him- but Christ, he also knows you’re nothing, if not persistent, too. 
He sighs, accepting his defeat as his gaze drops from the sky down to the ground, cautiously allowing you to climb aboard with him. 
It’s like trying to approach a wounded wild animal- move too fast and you’ll scare him away, leaving him to writhe in even more pain as he tries to flee from you. Move too slow and you leave him to bleed out, alone and afraid. 
“I’m fine.” It’s almost humorous how blatant of a lie it is, immediately putting himself on the defensive, like he has any ground to stand on with his claim. 
You say nothing, your silence enough to intrigue him as his eyes finally meet yours, the look on his face revealing the truth his words wouldn’t. You try your best to remain neutral, but Javi knows the sadness slowly slipping through your expression, the one you’re trying your best to hide because you’re not the one that’s hurting. Yet, there’s something about seeing you hurt because of him that’s enough to chip away at the wall he’s put up between you two, finally allowing you a crack just wide enough to let you see through to the other side. 
“I- I keep having the same dream. Every night, it’s the same.” He says “dream” like he’s letting himself drift off to sleep to all the pleasantries the world has to offer him, waking up to his midnight thoughts refreshed and renewed. Because his dreams aren’t just dreams, his dreams are the most terrifying nightmares the majority people wouldn’t even be capable of imagining, a violent parade of the worst memories his brain can muster.  
“What dream?” You ask, as carefully and cautiously as the way you shift yourself closer to him. 
“I- It’s- I just- Fuck-” 
It’s then you choose to gamble, wagering that he’s let you in enough, your next move won’t startle him, inching yourself closer as your right hand begins to intertwine with his left. He’s resistant at first, but as the familiar warmth of your body grazes across his skin, he begins to let you in, allowing your fingers to gently tangle, anchoring himself in your grasp. 
“It’s okay, Javi. I’m here. You can tell me.” 
It’s then the bets become less of a reckless gamble, squeezing him just a little tighter, stroking his skin with your thumb and feeling him squeeze back, taking your hand and finally letting you start to lift him out of the eye of the storm. 
He still needs the reassurance you won’t leave, that the man his nightmares make him won’t scare you away like they have so many others. An insecurity that distresses him enough to make him ache, despite your compassion. 
You’re not gonna scare me away, Javi.
The words still ring in the back of his head when he finds himself like this, remembering the first time you found him on the living room floor of your apartment at 3 A.M., skin tacky and covered in sweat, heart beating so fast he was convinced he was dying, terrified of his mind, and even more terrified you would leave him, letting you find him exposed, like some sort of disgusting, open wound. 
He’ll never understand why you showed him so much mercy. In no lifetime will he ever be able to thank you enough that you did. 
It still doesn’t make what comes next any easier. 
“I just stood there. I just let him- I just let him do it. He was just a fucking kid.” 
You can practically hear both your hearts break over the stark silence. Javi’s, because of all the things he’s done, this is the one he’ll never forgive himself for. Yours, for the same reason. 
“Javi…” 
“I didn’t even try to stop him. He was just a kid. We just- we just fucking left him there. What kind of person does that? I- I spent so long trying to convince myself, trying to- fuck- trying to justify it was okay. That casualties happen when you’re trying to catch a fuckin’ monster. But what if- what if none of it fucking mattered because I was the one who was really the monster.” 
It was flowing out of him now, a flash flood crashing through the rest of the brick wall he had built up to defend himself. You can feel him trying to pull his hand away, trying to keep you from getting swept away in the current with him, but it only makes you double down harder. 
“You’re not a monster, Javi. What happened back then, it- it did matter. I know it hurts, but it doesn't make you a monster.” 
It’s not his admittance of guilt that breaks him- it’s your forgiveness. 
He wonders how can stand him, let alone love him. How his past hasn’t left him tainted and useless, like some sort of lame animal with a limp that can’t be cured, its only options left to die or be sent out to pasture, too weak to venture back for help. That you were the only one who wanted to help fix the parts of himself that were the most broken and mangled. That you were the only one who gave him a chance to be healed instead of leaving him for dead. 
When his eyes meet your stomach is when the guilt begins to morph into terror. Because years ago, a mother, just like you, was nestled away in the haphazard rows of colorful buildings that lined the streets of Medellín, carrying her unborn son, dreaming about the life she would plan for him. 
Javi knows that nowhere in those plans did she account for the pain and heartbreak she would suffer as some asshole DEA agent watched her son’s body become one with the earth while he took a bullet to the brain.  
How was he supposed to live with himself when he got a chance to play God- that now, after letting a life disappear, he was allowed to have a hand in creating a new one? 
You watch the gears in his brain churn, yearning for an explanation to the unexplainable puzzle he’ll never be able to solve, even though he’s convinced he can. His brain works in logic and reasoning, only making the emotional torment of his past decisions more confusing for him. The same kind of logic that you’re not sure will ever allow him to forgive himself. 
“How am I supposed to be a dad? How are you ever gonna trust me? How am I supposed to keep her safe when I’ve done so many terrible fucking things?” Tears begin to flow down his cheeks, each word more ragged and shaky than the last until he can’t fight it any more. 
It feels like the entire weight of the world collapsing into your lap as he melts into you, so heavy that there’s nothing that you can do but wrap your arms around him at let him cry and soak the battered fabric of the his stolen t-shirt draped over your top, fisting at the frayed hems. 
He can’t pretend anymore, not after he’s shown you all the cards he’s had to lay out on the table. There’s no more facade, no more attempt at a stubborn masquerade to hide his hurt. He’s finally let you climb aboard his ship and take the wheel, trusting that you’ll guide him home to shore where he belongs. 
“I’m so sorry. I’m so fucking sorry.” 
The way he repeats it, chanting it like a broken prayer, begging for your forgiveness makes you ache. You’ve forgiven him for the sins of his past long ago, yet he still feels the need to plead to you for redemption. You wish there was a way to take it from him, to let him unburden himself from the shame he’s carried for so long and carry it for him, even if just for a little while. To let him see what you see in him, to know that you love him for all of his past, and not just in spite of it. To let him know that the storm he has to weather is a storm you will never let him weather alone. But for now, three words are the best you can do. 
“I love you. I love you, Javi.” 
And you do. You mean it. With every bone in your body, with every fiber of your being, you mean it. And right now, he may not admit it, but he knows you do, too. Those three words are enough to let him see the shoreline approaching in the distance, to see the light of day beginning to peek its way through the cracks of the night sky, to carry him back home to you. 
He says it with his silence, the way his sobs start to slow, replaced with long inhales and exhales, his chest rising and falling against you. He says it with the way he holds you just a little tighter, hand splaying across the swell of your stomach, muttering a promise to himself just loud enough for you to hear. 
“I promise I’ll protect you. Both of you. If it’s the last thing I do.” 
“I know you will. I will, too. I promise.” 
The promise is the last gentle wave that pushes you back to the part of the beach where tides roll gently, forgetting the raging currents they once were in the middle of the ocean. A place where you can safely row your boat ashore without the fear of another dreadful thought creeping up on you and dragging you back out to face torment again. 
As you look out in front of you, the sky is no longer laden with heavy shades of black- a pastel sunrise is beginning to creep over the horizon, glistening like some sort of trophy for an underdog fistfight you’d managed to win, even if you’d come out the other side beaten and bruised. It was enough to nudge Javi’s head out of your lap, encouraging him to accept his prize at a game where winners came few and far between. 
Tonight, you'd never been more thankful the universe had let Javi come up a winner.
“It’s been a long time since we’ve been up early enough to watch the sunrise.” 
“Yeah. It is pretty, isn’t it? Sorry this is the reason you get to see it.” 
“As long as I get to be with you, that reason will always be good enough.”
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@copperhalfcent @theoraekenslover @bloodyinspirationaldemon @vee-bees-blog
@samgirl4life @pigeonmama @survivingandenduring @itsokbbygrl @javierpena-inatacvestnotifs
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astra-ravana · 4 months ago
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Cartomancy
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A tarot styled divination method using standard playing cards. This oracle first appeared in Europe in the 14th century and is still used sporadically today. Practitioners of this divination are commonly called cartomancers. Cards can be laid in a variety of spreads and functions much like a tarot deck. As such, cartomancy decks should be designated and regarded with all the respect of a deck of tarot cards. The meanings of the cards are as follows:
Hearts
• Ace: Love, beginning, happiness, friendship
• King: Fair-haired man, affectionate and generous, but impetuous
• Queen: Fair-haired woman, trustworthy
• Jack: Fair-haired young person, good friend
• 10: Good fortune, joy
• 9: Desires fulfilled
• 8: Invitations/partings
• 7: Someone unreliable
• 6: Unexpected good fortune, generosity
• 5: Jealousy, indecision
• 4: Changes, travel
• 3: Need for caution
• 2: Friendship, success
Clubs
• Ace: Harmony, property, achievement, love
• King: Dark-haired man, honest, open
• Queen: Dark-haired woman, strong, helpful
• Jack: Reliable friend
• 10: Fortune, abundance
• 9: New romance
• 8: Opposition, danger of recklessness
• 7: Prosperity, potential romantic interference
• 6: Business success
• 5: Help from a friend/partner
• 4: Bad change of fortune
• 3: Good partnership
• 2: Disappointment and opposition
Diamonds
• Ace: Money, a ring
• King: Fair-haired man, stubborn
• Queen: Fair-haired woman, flirty, witty
• Jack: A relative, unreliable
• 10: Journey, wealth
• 9: Financial opportunity, surprises
• 8: Declarations of love
• 7: A gift
• 6: Reconciliation
• 5: Successful meeting
• 4: Change for the better, an inheritance
• 3: Domestic/legal battles
• 2: Important love affair
Spades
• Ace: Conflict, infidelity, stress
• King: Dark-haired man, successful, ambitious
• Queen: Dark-haired woman, seductive
• Jack: Dark-haired youth, well meaning
• 10: Grief, despair, imprisonment
• 9: Bad luck, delays, quarrels
• 8: Disappointment
• 7: Possible loss of friendship
• 6: Improvements
• 5: Anxiety, setbacks, interference
• 4: Jealousy, business troubles
• 3: Bitter parting
• 2: Scandal, gossip, deceit
Note: You may choose to include the joker to represent folly, new beginnings, the Universe and to also signify the person receiving the reading.
Bonus: Using Playing Cards to Detect Baneful Magick
This technique relies on reading either red or black cards and nothing else. It can technically be used to answer any yes/no question.
Shuffle the deck and ask, "have I been hexed or cursed?" -while you are shuffling. When ready, stop shuffling and deal out five cards in a row, face down. Then one by one, left to right, turn them over. Black indicates a 'no' response, while red indicates 'yes'. You can see the degree of the curse by the presence of red cards. All black is a clear 'no' and all red is a clear 'yes'. The spread can be read as follows:
5 Black - 0 Red: No curse or negative energy present
4 Black - 1 Red: Blip of dark energy, natural defenses can ward it off
3 Black - 2 Red: Dark energy present, possible jinx
2 Black - 3 Red: Sufficient dark energy, possible hex, cleanse immediately
1 Black - 4 Red: Significant harmful magick present, likely hex or curse. Do a purification/protection ritual
0 Black - 5 Red: Curse confirmed, take serious action to uncross/cleanse/protect. Someone has intentionally tried to harm you with magick.
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allieebobo · 1 year ago
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College Tennis: Origin Story
Demo | Characters | Dev log | Ko-fi
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Tennis/Sports x Slice-of-life x College x Found-family x Coming-of-age x Coz
Experience the ups-and-downs of life as a freshman on the Cargill University varsity tennis team amongst a colorful cast of characters.
Compete in nail-biting singles and doubles matches, forge lifelong friendships, pursue budding romances and make a name for yourself, both on and off the tennis court.
Will the once-great Cargill Coyotes succeed in reclaiming the NCAA Div I championship title for the first time since the 90s? Will you come into your own as a promising young tennis star, primed for the professional leagues? Most importantly, how much are you willing to sacrifice in pursuit of these dreams?
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Full character customisation
Customise your gender, height, build, personality, physical appearance, languages spoken, tennis style, dominant hand, and more!
Strike a balance between: tennis, keeping up a rich social life, and maintaining your grades
Nail-biting tennis matches
Every match is different! Play matches throughout the fall and spring seasons, leading up to the NCAO championships—that is, if you make the Cargill team.
Intricate tennis game mechanics: Factors such as your condition/energy, preparation for the match, opponent's play style, doubles partner chemistry, as well as your choices at key junctures of the match etc. will affect the outcome of the match!
Craft your own distinctive playing style and make a name for yourself on the tennis court
Hone your strength, agility, finesse, serve-and-volley skill, and endurance over the course of the game!
Romance four possible characters
Rayyan Afiq, the gruff, hot-headed no. 1 seed
Guillaume/Geneviève Lavigne, the sardonic international student on your floor
Tobin Harris, the warm, unflappable team captain
Sam O'Connelly, your nerdy and spirited high-school best friend
And forge lifelong friendships with many more...
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Rayyan Afiq The rival
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Gender: Follows the gender of your team Age: 20 Nationality/Ethnicity: Egyptian-American
Student information: Junior, Anthropology major Player information: Vice-captain, No. 1 position, Aggressive Baseliner
Appearance: 5′6 (f) or 5′10 (m). Lean, athletic build. Dark, wavy curls, and thick sweeping eyebrows over piercing dark-olive eyes. Tawny, honey-brown skin.
Description: Surly, intense, and proud. Ambitious and driven to excellence in everything they do. Willing to give up almost anything for their tennis career. Has a soft-spot for cats. Loves organising things, has a plan for everything, and dislikes surprises.
Tobin Harris The captain
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Gender: Follows the gender of your team Age: 20 Nationality/Ethnicity: African-American
Student information: Junior, History major Player information: Captain, No. 2 position, All-court player
Appearance: 5′9 (f) or 6′1 (m). Tall, solid build. Short black hair, warm, brown eyes and a calm, assured demeanour. Dark bronze skin. A smile that lights up the room.
Description: Kind, laid-back, selfless, and sociable. Goes out of their way to make everyone feel welcome, but has a tendency to stuff down their own emotions in the process. Surprisingly private and cautious when it comes to their own desires/wishes. Gentle to a fault, steadfast and unflappable. If not playing tennis, probably can be found cooking, hanging out with friends, or going to the library.
Geneviève/Guillaume Lavigne The exchange student
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Gender: Gender selectable (f/m) Age: 20 Nationality/Ethnicity: Half French (father's side), half French-Canadian (mother's side)
Student information: Third year exchange student, Political science bachelor’s degree. Hall-mate.
Appearance: 5′6 (f) or 5′11 (m). Toned, supple build. Dark, tousled hair with fair skin. Smoky grey eyes, with a smattering of freckles. Permanent half-smile.
Description: Rarely excited or enthusiastic, always armed with a dry remark. Slightly cynical, but softer than they look. Very intelligent, though they don't often let on what they're actually thinking or feeling. Rich (and intensely private) inner world.
Sam O'Connelly The childhood best friend
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Gender: Gender selectable (f/m) Age: 18, Freshman Nationality/ethnicity: American
Student information: Freshman, Undecided major. Player information: No. 6 position for the UCLA Bruins
Appearance: 5′4 (f) or 5′8 (m). Trim build, with a small frame. Curly russet hair that often sticks out in all directions. Mischievous light blue eyes and an infectious smile.
Description: Excitable, with a chaotic positivity that radiates from them like sunshine. Fun-loving and scattered, and nerdy. Competent tennis player, but too often distracted by other hobbies and interests. Somehow manages to survive on a diet of Cheetos and Ben & Jerry's ice cream.
More character descriptions here, face-claims here.
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delewlew · 6 months ago
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i think the world of you: lando norris x black fem! reader
request: can i request something of the lines of love at first sight & ready to immediately pop out a ring with lando norris but the reader is kind of oblivious, thank you 🫶
tags: childhood friends to lovers, fluff
warnings: swearing, crying, slight angst?
author's note: my first request! thank you so much anon for sending me this lovely ask. i hope you enjoy reading it as much as i enjoyed writing it for you <3
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"y/n, sweetheart we have something to tell you." the sparkle of joy behind your mother's eyes made you kick your legs under the table in excitement. you imagined what the surprise was, already trying to figure out how to celebrate your parents finally allowing you to get a puppy. the small yorkshire terrier puppy you'd seen at the pet store came to mind as you mentally rattled off names you'd thought of just in case. however, all of that disappeared from your brain when you heard your father say, "you're going to begin year 5 at a new school this year." the excitement in your face faded and your mouth went dry and pools of thick tears welled beneath your eyes. as if that wasn't a bad enough statement, your father continued, "and you'll be living with your grandparents! it'll be like when you go on holiday to visit them in the summer." the world around you stilled and for a solid three minutes you said nothing, the tears spilling from your eyes spoke for themselves.
the smile faded from your mother's face and she tried to console you, "sweetheart this is a great thing!" you swatted her hand off of your shoulder and shifted away from her, "no it's not. a great thing would be a puppy, not a new school. i don't want to live with grandma and grandpa i want to live here. there's nothing out there, it's kilometers on kilometers of grass!" your father chimed in trying his hand at explaining, "princess, this is for your own good. you just told us last night that your classes were to easy. your teachers have told us this new school will challenge you and it will be more fun! you even get to live at the school once you start year 9. isn't that amazing?" if you could have screamed and let out every cuss word in the book while living to tell the tale, you would have. instead you just sobbed harder, your parents tried to reason, "your grandparents have a dog too." but that only resulted in you running off to your room and crying yourself to sleep hoping that maybe they'd take pity and let you stay home.
you didn't get to stay home.
the entire ride out to your grandparents home was completely silent as you watched the large expanse of green leafed trees and bright grass for nearly 3 hours. now, your grandparents home wasn't entirely awful. for starters it was a georgian style manor house that sat a considerable distance away from neighbors which meant it was much quieter than your old london flat with your parents. the interior reminded you of the museums you visited for school trips by the amount of paintings that hung on the walls. the only difference was that instead of portraits of fair skinned women with flowing straight hair, these were paintings of women with rich dark brown skin that glowed when the sun shone through the windows. the entire home smelled of lavender from the countless rows of soft purple springs that bloomed around the perimeter of the home. the highlight of the move was getting your own bedroom that was nearly triple the size of yours back home. the first few nights you felt swallowed by what seemed like an endless sea of darkness rather than a new bedroom, but eventually you'd grown accustomed to the space. the last few days of summer break were spent running around the backyard with your grandmother watching you chase their old dog around until he grew tired and simply laid in the grass and you decided to cloud watch beside him.
when the first day of school finally came you had yet to grow an interest in the place. the building looked slightly similar to your old school which brought a slight sense of comfort. but that feeling was gone the moment your grandfather walked you inside and entered the school office. the headmaster was waiting for you with a boy who was a few inches shorter than you with light brown hair and a few moles dotted across his face stood beside the tall man. the boy's blue eyes were locked on you, looking you over with a kind of interest that exists for new kids being welcomed into a new place. the headmaster cleared his throat and greeted you, "good morning young lady, i am headmaster smith. we are happy to have you join us here at Millfield school. to help you become aquainted with the school we're pairing you up with another student who will show you around. unfortunately our female student has become sick so you will be assigned to lando instead." the man spoke for longer but you didn't listen to a single word, instead all of your attention was on the shorter boy.
the silence between you and lando was deafening, almost as if you were having a staring contest. you took the opportunity to turn it into exactly that, locking eyes with his. for a moment he seemed unaware of your challenge until he narrowed his eyes indicating that he caught on. a minute passed and your gaze was unwavering whereas his began to falter, eyes welling with tears until he finally caved and blinked causing you to smile for the first time that morning. his smile was big and toothy, like a kid who'd just grown in his adult teeth and his face hadn't quite grown into the change just yet. the tips of his ears and apples of his cheeks turned a slight shade of pink when you finally introduced yourself once you'd been dismissed into the hallway, and to class.
from that day forward you only blossomed in school from being extremely shy and reserved to being slightly more social with those in your class. for all of year 5 your tablemate was lando and you'd become quite close, best friends even.
rather quickly you realized a distinct difference between the two of you when it came to your studies. you worked hard and earned good marks while his attention wavered and his marks showed it too. when he was called on to read out loud he stumbled over his words and paused often, earning giggles from classmates that made him sink back into his chair and want to disappear. not one maths equation made any sense to him especially fractions because why the fuck would you need 'number parts' when whole numbers exist. when people laughed at him and teasingly taunted in singsong tones that he liked you, he'd turn his back to you and pretend you were strangers.
lando realized you were different from your classmates as well. when they laughed at him for misreading a text, you whispered the text along with him so he could recover quickly. when he didn't remember how to spell a word on those weekly spelling quizzes, you slid your paper to show him the answers. when he whined about not getting the maths homework, you realized he could understand fractions by drawing pizzas and dividing them into slices on his papers. when your classmates and his friends teased you both for being best friends with the opposite gender, you threw a punch that landed a kid in the nurses office and promised the other kids they were next if they ever teased you or lando again...they never did.
on weekends he was off karting which you'd learned about fairly quickly after getting to know him. he begged you to come to one race just so he could show off how good of a driver he was after you insisted he had to be bad, as a joke of course. however, the races overlapped with the days you'd spend back in london with your parents. on those days you watched what lando called "grand prix races" on sunday mornings with your father. your best friend told you he'd one day drive one of those big cars instead of the karts he drove on weekends. there were odd weekends where neither of you were away and those you spent at each other's houses. when he was at your house you both ran around barefoot in the soft grass, lavender wafting throughout the yard. when you grew tired of playing he laid his head in your lap and demanded you read him a book because he 'liked the way you said the words on the page' more than when he did. not even three chapters into the book he'd doze off on your lap, only to be woken up with small white dandelion's in his hair. on the days you went to his house, he'd show you his karts and watched in interest as you asked about every single detail until you ran out of questions.
these were the years that you cherished most in your childhood, long before worries of university or breaking into formula one. but those days arrived and you found yourself watching his races alongside his family on the days your parents allowed. he always seemed to drive a little better knowing you were watching him, yet he wasn't exactly sure if you knew that to be true. countless pictures hung on your bedroom wall of the two of you after one of his races or after you'd won a medal in whatever club sport you'd ventured into that season. academic and athletic certificates and ribbons littered your desk while trophies were on his.
by the time you were both nearing the end of secondary school lando left school to pursue racing more seriously. you'd been the most supportive of his friends when hearing about the change, yet another reason why he cherished the friendship you two had even more...even if he wished it actually was more. you kept in contact with him but watching him race in person had long been left in your childhood years. all of your life revolved around getting accepted into a good university yet you still tuned in every race online to see his results. however, by the time you enrolled in university and lando began in formula 2, contact had dissolved completely.
years passed and lando had broke into formula one while you'd successfully graduated university and earned a spot as an asset finance associate in one of the most prestigious investment banking companies in the world. every once in a blue moon you wondered what your old friend was up to which led to tuning into a race or two, holding your breath and clutching your heart every time something seemed risky. you'd seen some videos and pictures of him clubbing in whatever city he ended up in. drink in one hand and another on the waist of some woman with a shade of blonde or brown hair that fell over her shoulders in perfectly messy waves. those nights you'd just throw your phone to the side, not wanting to let him occupy more of the time you'd already given him.
what you didn't know was that his mind always found it's way back to you on those hot summer days that reminded him of his childhood. he'd found your instagram years ago and saved the username in his notes so he didn't have to risk getting blocked if he followed you because in his eyes you might hate him. he debated on messaging you through DMs but always shied away from it remembering that time you'd called it a tacky move back in high school. he only hoped that maybe you'd cross paths and then he could have a chance to see you again. however, there wasn't much of a chance that would happen...until it did.
you looked over yourself in the mirror of your apartment, the orange tweed set with a matching blazer was the center of your attention. the company you worked for was an official sponsor of the mclaren formula one racing team, and tonight was the annual charity gala. for two years you managed to conveniently miss out on the event due to getting sick and having to visit your grandparents back to back years. but this time everyone was well, so you had to attend, no exceptions.
the minute you walked through the doors of the ballroom you made a beeline to the first person you recognized, allowing no time to potentially be approached by your old friend. for the entire night you could feel his looming presence in the building and it made you want to vomit. seeing lando wouldn't be bad and you kind of wanted to see him, what you didn't want was to see some pretty blonde girl on his arm expecting an explanation as to why he knew you. part of you didn't know why that was, but you decided it was because you didn't want him to pretend you were strangers, or admit that he genuinely didn't remember who you were.
an orchestra played soft classical music in the corner of the ballroom and you managed to duck away to the bar on the furthest side from the largest crowd of tables. you mindlessly tried to guess the composer of the classical piece while the bartender handed you a drink. a small tap on the back of your arm drew your attention behind you, and the sight nearly knocked the wind from your chest.
lando stood before you in a black suit with his white collared shirt unbuttoned at the very top. that same toothy smile you remembered from your childhood spread across his face, "y/n?" you were silent for a moment before taking a swig of your drink and responding, "lando, hi. what are- what are you doing here?" you rose to your feet and he hesitated slightly before allowing you to pull him in for a hug that he reciprocated. this hand rest on the small of your back while your arms looped around his neck very briefly until you realized the way this may look to someone watching the two of you. he laughed lightly and said, "i'm driving for mclaren, as a formula one driver now." you leaned back against the bar and sat back in your stool allowing him to sit beside you. it was now that you got a good look at him and god have mercy was he finer in person which you didn't think was possible.
those blue green eyes that stared into yours on that first day of school were brighter than you'd ever seen. his skin was tanned as if he'd just been at the beach all day before coming to the event tonight. his messy brown hair had grown longer into cinnamon toned curls that fell perfectly right above his forehead. he looked at you through thick brown lashes as he took in the sight of your matured face. no longer did you have those puffy baby cheeks that reminded him of a chipmunks, but now a more structured face that matched the rest of you.
he requested a water with lemon and you asked, "going easy tonight?" he shrugged and answered with a smirk, "i guess you could say so. how else would i look after you?" you laughed and replied casually, "i think we both know i can handle myself." he shrugged and answered, "yeah but it's what we do right? the BFP." he spoke the acronym out to where it sounded like 'Be-Fip' which made you set down your drink to throw your head back with laughter. you agreed, "oh yeah the Best Friend Pact- how old were we back then?" with a quickness you could only raise an eyebrow at lando answered, "nine.' there was a pause and he continued, "we made it after that time i realized you lied when you said you liked my new trainers." you burst into laughter again at the memory of those ugly ass neon yellow trainers he'd gotten after saving up his own money from a month of chores. you shook your head, "to this day those are still the ugliest thing you've worn." lando asked with a hint of teasing arrogance in his voice, "you've been keeping tabs on me?" you shrugged and took another sip of your drink before bumping his shoulder, "congratulations on miami." he thanked you and for a moment you saw a glimpse of your old friend, the one that came before all of this additional luxury for him.
the entire night the two of you talked about the current happenings in your life. hours flew by and eventually the gala ended meaning you both had to part ways. you pulled him into one last hug and he looked at you, "this time we're not losing contact. i swear i'll blow your phone up until you reply...in the most socially acceptable way possible of course." you agreed and hugged once more before he sent you home in a car he'd ordered for you.
months passed and you two did keep your word, you remained in touch constantly. a few texts here and there turned into a few times a week, then a day, which led to calls and facetimes which lead to accepting an invite to one race. slowly your presence in his life increased, you continued to hang out as friends, getting to know his small circle when they happened to be around. you noticed the way they glanced between you and lando, the way they whispered in dutch, french, and english which had you fully convinced they hated you. but based on the fact that their girlfriends were all friendly to you, maybe they just tolerated you for lando's sake? these days reminded you of the old ones, you finally had your best friend back.
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you looked out to where the sky met the sea, shades of tangerine and flamingo pink blurred into one another against the horizon with thin wispy clouds floating on the surface. the glittering water of the sea shimmered under the golden sun turning it a deep sapphire blue that bled into a shiny obsidian. you inhaled the warm sea salted air as you held lando's hand in your own to play with his fingers as conversation ebbed and flowed between you both like the waves that lapped on the hull of the yacht. he turned his head to still keep you in his line of vision as he watched you from behind. the long fulani style braids you wore fell behind your shoulders and down your back, the sun made your skin glow to a deep gold dipped in rich bronze that made you look like you'd been kissed by Ra himself.
"i could fall in love like this." the statement made lando sit up, all of his attention on you, "what?" you hummed softly, "yeah, bring a girl here and they'd fall for you a million times over." lando felt that same frustration settle in his mind, he'd been trying for months for you to get the hint that he was in love with you without him having to say it exactly like that. curiously he questioned, "you think so?" you nodded in confirmation, "yeah that girl we met in the club that one night? maddie? magui? she'd love this." lando swore his eye twitched when he heard it but he ignored it.
you scooted back slightly and patted your lap for lando to rest his head in the same spot he always had. the soft brown curls on his head threaded through your fingers as he looked up at you, "do you...love this?" the way your eyes didn't even look down as you replied, "yeah reminds me of the old days we'd run around barefoot in the grass and play with the dog until sunset. instead of going in we'd watch the sky turn different colors and we'd keep running around until my grandma had to drag us inside." lando smiled at the memory and added, "and the next week at school we'd be covered in bites and itching like crazy." you sighed and admitted, "i miss when we were in school together." he looked up at you and asked, "how many spelling and maths answers do you think you gave me?" you playfully smacked his leg remembering that you really did help him cheat his way through secondary school.
lando sighed once more and asked, "do you remember that time you punched that boy Rhys?" he could see the wheels turning in your head as you tried to remember, but the minute you did your eyes lit up and you let out a watery laugh, "oh my god- i do! it was because he kept bullying you and insisting that you were in love with me. you never even stood up for yourself so i decided to do it for you." lando shook his head, "can you blame me? i was a head shorter than everyone and all those kids were double my weight! i didn't stand a chance." to be fair he was completely right on that part, if he'd been the one to throw the punch he would have lost, badly.
you finally looked down at lando and he admitted, "it wasn't a complete lie anyways." when you didn't respond he continued, "they only ever teased me about it because it was true. neville and tommy knew me since we were in nappies, they knew when i was crushing on someone. of course since it was grade 5 they told all the guys about it which is how it ended up that way." again, you remained silent and then laughed, "i know you love me so it's fine." lando's heart stopped and his stomach sank to his feet until you simply hummed, "mmm i love you too." again, it was that stupid silly little careless easygoing tone that reminded him that you weren't picking up on what he'd been putting down for so long. it was when you spoke up that he nearly snapped, "and since i love you i'm telling you now that you need to get that girl's number up and ask her out on a dat-"
"i don't want her! i don't want to go on a date with that girl or any girl that you've sent me on social media. i've met them, and i know people who know them. i don't want them okay?" the outburst caused you to push him off of your lap, scooting inches away leaving space between the two of you. the last thing you ever want to do is upset the people you're close to so you proceeded with caution, "i'm sorry i didn't realize i was being overbearing with it. i didn't ever ask what you wanted...so what do you want lando?"
lando answered, "i want to be with someone i can run barefoot under an oak tree with until we're covered in mosquito bites. i want someone to read to me until i fall asleep, i want someone who will tell me every single detail about their day. i want someone who will insist i let her dance in the rain and complain that she got sick as if i didn't tell her she would, i want someone who will visit my races and ask every single question to an engineer because she genuinely wants to understand what i do. i want someone i can watch the sun change colors with until there's nothing but midnight sky and stars. and if you haven't realized i mean you. i want you, y/n. it's always been you since the day i met you in grade 5 when you came in with those plats and more bows and knockers in your hair than you probably needed and you had a staring contest with me before i even knew your name. i've loved you since you taught yourself about karting from books because you wanted to know what i liked without making me explain it all the time. i've loved you since you threw pudding on amelia's blouse and told her you'd feed her entire family to goblins after she told me i'd never make it into formula one and it was your 3rd day of knowing me. and i know you're thinking it so yes, i'm actually in love with you and no i'm not misunderstanding the way i feel. i think the world of you and there's not a day that goes by where i don't want you around me. it's you and it's always been you and i genuinely don't understand how you've been so oblivious to it all but now you know, and please just promise me that even if you don't love me in that way that we can still be friends because i can't lose you."
slowly you brought your hands up to reach out for him, "c'mere." you pulled him into your arms and he tucked his head into your neck. he basked in the comfort of your embrace, the heat radiating off of your body slowing his racing heartbeat. you pressed a kiss to his temple and breathed out, "okay..." he pulled away with a look of worry that he'd messed everything up but you continued, "no it's not bad. i just- okay. i love you too. you're my favorite person and you always have been, probably always will be unless rihanna comes out with another album then you're bumped to #2. but i love you and i promise you didn't mess anything up because i know what's going through your head. this is just a lot right now and i'm willing to do this- us if we can just take our time. i want this to work and i want to be with you but-" lando cut you off seeing you start to fidget uncomfortably, "it's okay, that's perfect actually...that's perfect." he pulled you back into his arms and kissed your forehead, "it's perfect, you're perfect."
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the end.
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my-darling-boy · 5 months ago
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It’s horrible how my design course has killed my enjoyment in creativity because all they want is finished pieces founded in nothing but a spontaneous mark just to hang at some concrete art gallery or to sell to some “join our revolution” comfy business-casual company with a prison cell wellness room. I’m not saying that it’s “not art” —cos that’s a different post altogether— it’s that the ethos behind this particular formula for art education is ruining the way we think about creation.
Design courses (and other art courses I’ve heard?) are no longer teaching artists or designers techniques, drawing skills, art fundamentals and allowing them to find their own voice so much as they are only instructing how to tic boxes alongside pushing corporate and classist motivated style/methodology bias aimed at producing workers, not creatives, not to mention providing Adobe with endless funds for their despicable scam programs. That’s it. My creativity is only a means to money for them, and if they can extract the process of creation from me without the complex creative intimacy involved in it, they know they can churn out products and services faster and it’s concerning some lecturers don’t seem to be aware this is what they’re teaching? Like they’re buying into industry propaganda?
And the whole time it’s sold to you like you can be some trailblazer when the irony is they’re usually either prepping you for cubicle work or for some misguided high horse creative team pumping out design solutions completely divorced from the reality. I’m tired of all the talks about sustainability in a vacuum with no conversation about nuanced designs that factor in broader social and economic perspectives which lack thereof is leading to sustainable products being sold at a price only able to be afforded by wealthier people who are causing said economic and social problems and contributing to the rapid obsoletion of trades and crafts. Lecturers and speakers don’t seem to think that’s any of our concern and should just worry about producing the design for the hypothetical Bluetooth powered organic hairbrush or using the twigs to make the pattern for the £85 fabric square.
Like? Can I please make something that actually resonates with people outside the circle jerk of egotistical creatives and corporations? Something charming and maybe idk something that doesn’t make me want to tear my miserable portfolio in half with my teeth? And they’re like Mm nope sorry it has to be an extreme close up of a mark making abstract leaf you made from a recycled trash bag inspired by a stalled urban space which we will force you to price at £100 during your exhibition 5 people will bother to attend and no you’re not allowed any other style cos this isn’t the Dark Ages :///
I think the worst thing my lecturer ever said was, while looking around the room of our class work reduced down to a series of cubes and splatters and abstract typography, “Wow, I love how you can’t tell what anyone’s [main artist discipline] is!” Like awww conformity at the expense of a person’s individuality to make pieces for airport hallways and rich people’s living rooms wow so cool heehee like girl that’s not good?? Why on Earth are you complimenting us for that? Like I get it, I thought this course would boost skillset as an illustrator (as we were told), turns out the degree is really not for me, fair enough to anyone thinking that, but forcing students to produce modern abstract art because you think it’s the ONLY Logical Pathway for the future of design, judging them intensely for doing a different style, and thinking producing financially inaccessible art + design is the solution to things like climate change and community severance is an objectively bad take.
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creepyclothdoll · 2 months ago
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There's this thrift store at the old strip mall up the highway.
You go to the earrings first. You love earrings, but you’re always losing them.
This place has most of them in a wicker basket up by the register, but there’s more on a rack nearby and some of the fancier stuff is behind the glass under the table. But who goes for the “fancy” stuff at a thrift store? Thrift is the point. These earrings, the ones in the wicker basket, are stuck through blank, white cardboard squares with neon price stickers. 
All of them are under $10, lots under $5. You rifle through them, registering at first only that the colors and styles are very pleasing to you. Your favorite colors. The right size. Then the familiarity sets in. You are struck by a weird, uncanny feeling, which you don’t immediately place. Your body reacts to the surprise before your brain even has a chance to register what it is.
These are your earrings. Not all of them, but lots of them. Here’s a pair you bought from a different thrift store during your first year of college, gaudy wooden hippie-ish disks with flowers painted on– old and tacky, but you felt like you were cool enough to make them work– which you lost when you moved out of your dorm. Here’s a pair you lost in your last apartment, which you didn’t even realize you hadn’t seen around for the last two years– two fairly pricey and elegant-looking sapphires that your parents got for your 30th birthday, when you got promoted to Marketing Specialist. Here’s a pair you forgot you ever owned until now– some dangly red stacked beads that you wore for one Florida vacation in 2011 and then never again. Because you probably left them on the plane. 
“These are all mine,” you say out loud. You can see your reflection in the slim mirror built into the rotating sunglasses display. The earrings you are wearing today are a completely different style– the sort that a Marketing Specialist wears on the weekends, still arty but much more subtle than the sort you wore back then. That doesn’t mean you wouldn’t wear these dangly red things now. You just… don’t, really.  
“Oh, that’s interesting,” says the employee. She is short and dark-haired and named Beth. She is reading a paperback at the check-out and ignoring you. 
You look at the price tag for the sapphires. $15.99. That’s a steal. 
But they’re mine, you think. I shouldn’t have to pay fucking money for these. They’re mine.
Your eyes drift down under the mirror to the sunglasses rack. The first pair there is child-sized, with a blue frame that has a faded Little Mermaid logo on it. You recognize the sunglasses from a photograph of yourself when you were a child at Valley Fair that was pasted to your mom’s fridge for the longest time. They’re $2.99. 
In the “fancy things” area under the glass, you see an old, heavy camera. Could that be the one your grandma made you bring to high school for show-and-tell, the priceless antique World War II era camera, which went missing after you left it overnight? You got in so much trouble for losing that thing, even though you never wanted to bring it to begin with. It’s only $500. You have to buy it. There’s also a tote bag with your old work logo plastered on it which, you know, is packed full of cannabis. You decided to stock up during a trip to Canada because you didn’t know anyone who sold it while you were living in North Dakota, making ends meet while you tried (and failed) to get scholarships to animation schools. You never got to use any of it, though, because that bag got shoved under a seat in your car when you were crossing the border and you just sort of didn’t retrieve it for long enough that, eventually, you forgot you had it, and by the time you remembered, you couldn’t find it again. 
How did it get here?
There’s a deck of gen 1 Pokemon cards that you took to the park one day in 2000 and left on a slide. You’re sure you had some back then that would be really, really valuable now. 
“These are all mine,” you say. “Can I have them back? They were mine originally, I mean. I didn’t give them up on purpose and I don’t know how they got here.”
“You can’t just take things,” Beth says. “But yeah, if you want to buy them, you can have them.”
“But they’re mine. That’s my grandpa’s World War II camera. I lost it in ninth grade and I feel terrible about that.”
“It’s $500,” Beth says, pointing to the sign. You sigh and pull out my credit card. But then you see the rack of jackets. Among them, you see a terribly familiar jean jacket. 
“That’s my mom’s!” you shout excitedly. You run over to it and pull it off the rack. It’s a 1980’s Levi’s jean jacket that she saved up all her money to buy. She wore it everywhere, and kept it for decades until she could pass it on to her daughter. You had it for two months. You loved that jacket. It symbolized your mom’s trust in you. And it made you feel cool. You were in middle school, and being cool was very important, and you got a lot of compliments on it. Then one day, you went with your little brother to the park, and it was hot out, so you took it off and left it on a bench. When you went home, you weren’t wearing it anymore. But you didn’t realize it was gone until your mom asked why you hadn’t worn it in awhile. The fact that you were so careless as to lose something so important to her broke her heart. You used to search the closets in your house compulsively, hoping it might just turn up one day, and your mom would forgive you. But it never turned up. You checked that park bench, too, every time you went to that park for the rest of your life. The jacket never returned, of course. 
But now, here it is, on this rack. 
If you’re going to take anything back from this place, you know it should be this. 
And then you see grandma’s quilt. 
It’s draped and pinched with clothespins on a different rack, with the tablecloths and scrap fabric. 
Your grandma made you this quilt when you graduated college. It has her handwriting on the corner and the year she made it– 2014. She spent months making this in your favorite colors, picking out fabrics she thought you would like. She knew you really well. You loved that quilt. 
Three years ago, you took it to the laundromat. You set it on a table while you did the rest of your laundry first, so you could cold-wash it separately. But then, a crazy guy came in, yelling and acting all erratic, and it was night and you were the only other person in there, and he kept asking to buy your hair, and you rushed out of there with your wet laundry dripping. You forgot about the quilt until the rest of your blankets finished drying on your apartment banister two days later. You called the laundromat and they didn’t have it. Last winter, your grandma passed. 
You grab the jean jacket and beeline for the quilt, adding it to your pile. 
Two of your old pillowcases are on the rack too— you didn’t even realize those had been folded up with the quilt the day you lost it.
In the children’s toy section, you see your favorite stuffed raccoon, Dorothy. You haven’t seen her for years. She used to go on lots of adventures with you and your brother. You don’t remember losing her, but now you realize that yes, she– and all these other stuffed animals– are lost. Somewhere along the line, you saw them for the last time. 
A scarf you wore in tenth grade. A pair of pants that don’t fit you anymore. A snowglobe with a picture of your middle school friends in it. A nice sports bra you got from a hiking gear store when you thought you were going to get fit four years ago. A piggy bank shaped like Spongebob. Dozens of Goosebumps books. A decorative halloween skeleton. A purple sweater that you forgot was your favorite.
You grab all these things and add them to the growing pile in your arms. 
What am I gonna do with this piggy bank? You ask yourself. But then you remind yourself that it’s yours. It doesn’t matter what you do with it! It’s just supposed to be yours!
The worst thing is that you don’t remember the loss of most of these things. You never grieved them. They mostly just slipped away quietly, and you moved on. You stopped buying scarves that looked like that because your favorite color changed and you sort of realized you didn’t really like scarves that much. But that doesn’t mean you don’t want it back. 
That scarf reminds you of the time you wore it to homecoming. A crisp autumn day that was made better by a good hot dog and worse by Rachel and Drew making out on the bleachers in front of you. You were happy that day. Not about homecoming– you lost the game, not that you cared much, but because of the weather, and your friends, and the hot dog, and because you didn’t know to be depressed yet. 
You want it back. 
You want it all back.
You take the scarf. You take the toys. You take everything. You take the christmas ornaments and the ukulele and rope strings of necklaces over your arms and purses over your shoulders. You take printed mugs, good water bottles, old halloween masks, trophies you won in elementary school, your second prom dress (the one with the glitter), happy birthday cards from relatives who died when you were little (they loved the little you! You were so loveable), a jello mould in the shape of a chicken you bought as a joke with your first real girlfriend (wish it ended different), a pair of ladybug-print rain boots you left outside when you were three, VHS family movies from the late 90’s, a phone you dropped in a lake, an old tamagotchi you also dropped in a lake, a book of self-portraits you did as a series in college (you look nothing like her now but you still want it), your old journal filled with comics (remember when you wanted to be a cartoonist?), your old skateboard (remember how you used to play?).
It’s the little trinkets, the things you don’t even think you liked very much, but which maybe you could have made better use of, that you want back the most. You aren’t done with those things. Unfinished, all of them. 
In a stack of blue bins against a wall are a thousand little things you drew or wrote over the course of your childhood– gifts to your parents, homework you never turned in, little stories about your friends, drawings of your grandma. Some of it is still pretty funny (remember when you wanted to be a comedian?). Animation cells that you made and stored away in the basement when you were telling yourself your scholarship hunt was just “on pause” (these ideas are still good, you can still use them!) What the hell are these things doing here? How dare these people?
“Excuse me, ma’m,” Beth says, only now looking up from her paperback– which you now realize is also yours– with a mix of irritation and deep concern. You spin around, covered head-to-toe in your things. 
“What?!” You snap. You are wrapped in the quilt, draped in ribbons and purses and medals and sweaters and scarves of all shades from all eras of your life. You look like a giant slug made of closet debris. 
“There’s no way you’re gonna buy all that,” Beth says. 
“Like hell I am!” You shout. “I shouldn’t have to buy any of it! It’s all mine, and I want it back!”
A little orange plastic treasure chest with two of your baby teeth inside– you used to be so little, so innocent. Your Girl Scout sash– you had so many friends. The orange yo-yo you got at a carnival when you were one– the first thing you consciously remember losing, remember how sad you were? A note you wrote to yourself with a funny song lyric on it last thursday (you might record it someday). A Mickey Mouse photo frame of you with your best friend Anna in elementary school (you loved her so much, why don’t you talk to her anymore?). 
“I want it all back,” you say again and again. 
There was a version of you who wore the red bead earrings. There was a version of you who played with the stuffed raccoon with your brother. There was a version of you who appreciated those nice sapphires. There was a version of you who was happy in a scarf at homecoming. There were versions of you with more friends, versions with fewer troubles, versions that were thinner and stronger and healthier and younger, versions that had all sorts of dreams and visions for the future, versions that strived for completely different things than you strive for now.
You can still have them back.
You pull the sunglasses display over, grabbing every pair and stuffing them into your many bags. You grab the hat rack that used to sit in your childhood bedroom and start dragging it toward the door. 
“Ma’am, I’m going to call the police if you don’t stop,” Beth says. You do stop– just long enough to walk back to her and take the paperback murder mystery out of her hands, which still has your library info as the last check-out glued inside the cover. 
“See?” You laugh bitterly, pointing at it. “Me!”
The nest of stuff has swelled around you, trailing behind you like the tail of a huge worm. 
Beth is already calling 911. You move very slowly toward the door, exerting tremendous effort to lug all of your precious memories toward the glass pane between you and the outside. You tell yourself that you can already feel the feelings coming back to you– all those other versions of yourself, just by proximity, are waking up again inside of you. The young woman who believed she was going to be something different, the child who was happy in the rain, the future artist before the future evaporated– all of them are coming back now. 
You don’t fit through the door. Beth is talking fast to the operator. In a small town like this, they’ll be here soon. Breathing heavy, you back up and slam into the open door frame, wedging yourself firmly inside. The little mermaid sunglasses shatter. Something crunches. You grunt and scream, pushing with all your might. Something rips. Something scrapes. 
“She’s trying to take everything,” Beth explains hurriedly. “You will? That’s great. As fast as you can.”
You have one last hail mary– you leap forward, letting yourself– and everything you’re wearing– fall to the ground. The enormous mass of things around you crunch down around you, crushing the air out of your lungs, pinning you to the cement. But you’re out. You did it. You took it all back. It’s yours. Yours again. 
By the time the police arrive, you’re gone– lumbering up the freeway, backward through traffic, a massive snakey worm made of tangled fabric and papers and trinkets. The “you” that walked into the thrift store is only a tiny piece of what you are now– a YOU freed from the burden of forgetting. Cars swerve around you to avoid hitting you or any of the things dangling from your massive, hulking form. 
Where are you going? To be everything you meant to be. To fulfill every possible future. It’s not too late. Not now that you have all of it back. 
You march forward like time.
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leavemebetosleep · 9 months ago
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do you have any good fluttercord fic recs?
OH BOY DO I. In no particular order (except of when I thought of them):
1: Non-Entity by Captain Wuzz: An AU in which, instead of being turned to stone, Discord was shot in the head with a magic arrow that takes away his sentience and magic for a 1,000 years. Fluttershy mistakes him for a wounded animal and brings him home. I loved it so much.
2: Chaotic Neutral by C-Puff: The magic is starting to fade from Equestria, and the Main 6 and Discord go on an adventure to find out why, and reverse it. A bit of AU, in the sense it was written before the show was done, so it diverts in some places because of that. Super sweet, and I love the character development here.
3: Time is Taller than Space is Wide by Dott. Can also be read on Ao3 if you prefer. Soulmate AU (?) fic with a Groundhog Day style twist. I rarely see fics play with the idea of what if Fluttershy and Discord's friendship had started when they first met, so this is fun.
4 & 5: Blank and it's sequel Reconnection by @geekcat. Can also be read on fanfic.net. AU in which, before Discord can choose friendship over ruling Equestria, Twilight remembers a "reformation" spell. He is stripped of his free will, and Fluttershy does her best to bring him back. If you don't like the idea of Twilight being a villain, you might not like this one, but I think her villain arc in this is done in a perfect way for her character. It's super heart wrenching in many places, but in a good way.
6: Our Fair Lady of the Chaos Lord, also by GeekCat Can also be read on fanfic.net. Fairy tale inspired AU in which Fluttershy is a princess who's father is pressuring her to marry noble knight Sir Big Mac. Wanting to be sure he's a good person, she makes a deal with the Chaos Lord, letting herself be "kidnapped" so she can test his character. You can guess who she falls for instead. Honestly I've enjoyed all of GeekCat's fics, so they're getting an extra mention. Check out the rest of their fluttercord fics if you like any of these.
7: The Draconequus with the Dragon Tattoo by A M Shark This is a major case of, strange premise, kick ass results. Basically an AU based off Girl with the Dragon Tattoo by Steig Larsson, with Discord as Lisbeth, and Fluttershy as an amalgamation of Mikael and several other characters, but focusing more on the murder mystery aspect of that book, and less on the...everything else. If you're familiar with GwtDT, don't worry, there's no rape scenes. Again, it's more about the murder mystery part. If you're not familiar with GwtDT, then don't worry again, because you don't need to know the original to enjoy it. It's just Discord and Fluttershy playing detective and solving a murder together. It has two sequels, but I haven't read them yet, and it didn't feel right to rec something I haven't read.
8: The Corpse Bride by Bad Horse. Dark fic. No relation to the Burton movie. Fluttershy dies in a tragic accident, and Discord brings her back from the dead as his zombie wife. Her friends (sans Pinkie) are horrified. Has a fantastic twist ending. If you like some of the darker stuff, def worth a read.
Bonus: Comic rec: The Last Adventure by Eveeka. Taking place after the final defeat of Tirek, Cozy, and Chrysalis, Discord gets into a depressive funk after shouldering the hatred from Ponyville citizens for his latest actions, but also because his friends seem to never be available anymore. He starts to think maybe Equestria would be better off without him, as he can't seem to exist with out making everyone miserable, and decides to hide away in the Everfree forest. Fluttershy, worried when he doesn't show up for tea, asks her friends for help, only to discover there's a monster running lose there he and the rest of Equestria might be in danger from. This fic has two endings, so keep reading even when it seems like it's over. You've got one more ending left. This one nearly made me cry.
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waayoutofline · 1 month ago
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Murder On The Dance Floor (part 5)
(from the When the Cat and the Mouse Go For a Midnight Dance series) | Part 1 | Part 2| Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Marvel Masterlist
Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x F!Reader
Prompt: Vigilante!Reader x Agent!Natasha
Summary: Natasha isn’t having the best of luck in trying to bring one of the ex Hydras general down. You however may be able to assist her. Will you two be able to cooperate? Or is it your fate to always stand on opposite teams?
Warnings: More angst (i'm sorry)
WORD COUNT: 2978
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A / N: Me posting without a two-week gap?? Whaaaat?? I'm fine, don't worry. I was hit by the divinity of inspiration and got ahead of my messy schedule. So here's ep5! I must say, I'm proud of this one. I'm still trying to figure out their whole dynamic complexity, but I think this is a right step on their journey! Anyway, I've already started on the last episode, which I'll probably publish this Sunday tops. Yes, last one, I swear!
Also..! Natasha in this universe, like in the comics, has (a variant) super soldier serum.
Thanks for reading and have a great day <3
**
If anyone knew Natasha’s fighting skill, it was definitely you. After years of being on opposing sides of heroism—her leaning more toward the ethical path, while you were focused on taking down bad people without the pesky limitations of the law—the two of you had shared your fair share of nasty, brutal fights.
You were all too familiar with her enhanced strength and reflexes, the evidence of her unforgiving grip often leaving lasting marks and ugly bruises. It reminded you of the arachnid symbols she always carried. Her movements were swift and relentless, trapping you like an unknowing prey with complicated manoeuvres that left you immobilized long enough for her to inflict serious damage.
Her toned arms and legs weren’t just for show; they were clearly the result of delivering powerful strikes and breathless chokeholds. She had the intelligence, strength, and agility to take anyone down—of that, you were always certain.
But right now, watching her take down guard after guard, there’s a new aspect that leaves your eyes widening. She wasn’t just dangerous; she was brutal.
Her technique was clearly superior, and she applied it with unforgiving force. You even felt a pang of pity for them. It was like witnessing an entirely new side of her as the sounds of bodies hitting the ground with resounding thuds, grunts, and yelps filled the dark, empty alley—a twisted symphony of chaos.
Something stirred inside you. You recognized her moves, but not this… aggressiveness. For as much as the two of you had fought, she had never been this violent in her style. She moved like a machine programmed for maximum efficiency, eliminating her targets with practically clinical precision. 
It was then that you realized. Your fights felt almost like child’s play compared to this.
That stirring in your chest quickly transformed into boiling anger. Has she been holding back during your fights? The mere sight of seeing her like this was now making your blood simmer. To even consider the possibility that she had always been holding back like this was infuriating. You had always believed the two of you were evenly matched, but now that belief was being shattered—just like the jaws of Horvat’s men.
You had always given her your best. But was she not giving you hers? Had she been playing with you all this time? Did she see you so…so weak that you weren’t even worth her full effort? The thought alone was enough to ignite your fury.
It was humiliating.
If you were asked about it later, you might admit that your next course of action could be perceived as… well, nothing short of pity. But the indignation was so overwhelming that you couldn’t even think straight. It was too much—so raw that it prickled at your eyes, manifesting as a wave of ashamed embarrassment.
As Natasha effortlessly dealt with the guards on her own, you slipped into the shadows. Perhaps the darkness could help soothe the ugly resentment crawling up your throat.
You had been a team player all evening, but now, under the light of the moon, you were back to your solitary game. And in this game, Horvat was the one you were going to hunt. Untethering yourself from the limitations imposed by the heroes, you swiftly made your way to the emergency lift on the side of the flat building next to you.
Rising through the levels, you were granted a panoramic view of the district, your eyes scanning intently for Horvat’s getaway car. Retrieving the tech-enhanced glasses from your trousers pocket, you adjusted them and searched for the dark blue sedan. It didn’t take long to spot it.
Sighing, you focused your magic. With a wave of your arm, you conjured ice, forming a crystalline path strong enough to carry you. You modified the soles of your shoes to adapt, gaining incredible speed as you skied across the continuously growing trail of ice. The path allowed you to glide effortlessly over buildings and bypass entire streets, cutting directly toward Horvat’s moving vehicle.
It may have looked effortless, but each time you created a new solid ice structure, a sharp headache pierced your skull. Your chest heaved as you struggled to maintain the pace, each breath growing more laboured.
These…abilities weren’t exactly something you had mastered. In fact, you hadn’t used them enough to build a solid foundation of control. Years of torture and clinical experimentation designed to force you to have and use them had left their mark. The trauma lingered, resurfacing every time you dared wield them.
They were additionally deeply tied to your emotions, making them volatile at best. And on a night like this, after everything that had happened with Natasha, they felt even more unstable.
You were also aware of SHIELD’s persistent interest in capturing you because of them, likely to place you under custody. After all, SHIELD didn’t take kindly to superhuman abilities existing outside their jurisdiction. That thought alone fuelled your defiance. You hadn’t escaped one controlling organization just to fall under the grip of another. No, this time, you were playing solo—defying every group that claimed to do “good” while operating under their own brand of morality.
And right now, as you practically flew across the New York night, the feeling of freedom was exhilarating. Besides, the end of the chase would be that much sweeter. Your mind was reeling with the thought of finally catching the bastard, of making him talk.
After weaving through a few more blocks, you finally found yourself right behind the car. The driver was clearly aware of your presence, speeding up through traffic in a desperate attempt to escape. But you weren’t going to let him get away. Propelling yourself forward with icy air, you surged after them. You were so focused—so consumed with the goal of getting your hands on that car—that you didn’t hear the familiar hum of an airy engine trailing behind you.
Leaping into the air, you were about to launch yourself forward again when something barrelled into you from the side, slamming you off course and throwing you away from the street. Using the last of your strength, you managed to create a messy aspheric ice barrier around you, stopping yourself from crashing directly into the display window of a shop.
Your lungs burned as you lay there, the harsh motion having knocked the air clean out of you. Your limbs ached from the rough landing, muscles that you didn’t even know you had burning.
Trying to shake off the terrible disorientation that slamming through a window could cause, you didn’t feel the sharp glass shards or the solid concrete beneath you. No, you were pressed against something warm and soft, the faint scent of sand wool and forest causing your eyebrows to furrow. And since when did the ground breathe… wait… breathe?
Startled, you pulled yourself slightly upright, only to be greeted by red hair and half opened green eyes. Of course, you were sure she would be one of the few people in the world daring enough to tackle you in mid-air.
However, your confusion quickly turned into something else when you saw the predicament of your position. She had clearly shielded your head from making contact with the ground, turning both of your bodies so that hers was between you and the floor. Her arms remained firmly around your waist, clearly having adjusted her grip from the initial takedown to ensure you both survived the impact.
“Well,” she muttered, her voice dry but strained, “that went well.”
The protective nature of the action turned your confusion into fury. “Let go of me,” you managed to mutter through gritted teeth. Natasha, still recovering, scrunched her face in confusion but didn’t move. “Let go of me,” you repeated, harsher and more impatient. Her touch, her smell, her mere presence felt suffocating.
“Wh-what… hold on, wait—” She started muttering, trying to make sense of your sudden struggle to get away. She seemed to come to her senses when you began to push harder against her chest, trying to create some distance between you. Ugh, stupid super soldier serum.
She must have thought your desperation was to get back to chasing Horvat. But at that moment, the ex-Hydra general was the last thing on your mind.
You two started wrestling in a way that felt more like a pathetic high school fight. The humiliation you had felt before doubled as you struggled to break free.
“Get off!” You almost screeched in desperation, making the agent startle as she managed to pin you down. She had never seen you like this—desperate and so… out of control. You were worlds away from the mischievous vigilante who always got under her skin.
“Okay! Okay, just… stop! Stop, stay down.” With those words, your fight seemed to disappear all at once, your body going limp. This only made Natasha worry even more as she slowly loosened her grip and moved off of you.
She remained tense, half-expecting you to bolt. But you stayed there, trying to catch your breath. She would be lying if she said that didn’t worry her even more. The worst part? You went quiet. No remarks, no snark—just silence, alongside the sounds of gunshots, alarms, and the street’s chaotic noise.
She opened her mouth to ask if you were okay, but closed it. Right now, this wasn’t the time for that. “What were you thinking?” she demanded, finally standing up. “We’re on a mission; you can’t just take off like that—”
“Well, you didn’t seem like you needed my help,” you scoffed, grunting at the pain of your abdomen when you incorporated slowly.
“So you decided to go off the grid?” Frustration built up in her voice, her tone condescending. As if you two were partners. 
That was far from the truth, and she seemed to have forgotten it. “See, this attitude of yours is what pisses me off. Doing whatever you want, whenever you want—consequences be damned, as long as you get your way!”
Standing up as fast as you could, you faced her defensively. “I’m not one of your incompetent low ranked subordinates that you boss around. And yes, while you were putting Horvat’s men to an early grave, I decided to chase after Horvat, who, by the way…” You laughed in fake amusement. “Is getting away as we chat. You just couldn’t stand that it was me who was about to finally catch him, could you?”
Natasha’s eyes widened at the accusation. “What are you even talking about? Do you see this as some kind of sick competition? Have you looked outside?”
Confusion crossed your face. Shaking off the remaining crystals and dust, Natasha started walking away from the now-destroyed shop, gesturing for you to follow her. Reluctantly, you swallowed your anger and fell in behind her. When getting out, your eyes widened. Traces of ice were covering the street, no doubt being left behind your trace. Some of them took the shape of sharp shards that were encrusted on the pavement, alongside swerved cars with frozen bumpers. 
You didn’t even notice.
An ugly feeling made you swallow as you saw a family getting out of a partly smashed car, the tires completely covered in ice. “I… I didn’t—”
You stared helplessly, afraid of what could have happened because of your fault. “It was an accident… it-it wasn’t— fuck.” You turned around, closing your eyes while trying to regain some sense of control.
You did that. You lost control. And someone got hurt because of it. Again.
“…I guess I get it now. Why are you holding yourself back.” Letting out a single cackle, your eyes trailed down to your hands as if they weren’t your own. They are still terrible cold.
“I’m not following,” the agent confessed. There it was again, that ugly sense of incompetence hitting you square on your ego. You turned around aggressively; the least she could do was say it to your face.
“Please. This just been an annoying game for you? Hasn’t it?” You finally exclaimed, hoping your eyes weren’t betraying the humiliation you felt. “We’re supposed to be enemies, Natalia. We fight, we… I thought you at least respected that.”
Her eyes widened ever so slightly. “But all this time, you haven’t given me your true potential. In each encounter we’ve had, I’ve had the decency to at least outdo you. Am I so god-damn weak to you that you have to pull back in such a way?”
Finally, she seemed to understand what you were trying to say, and her reaction was anything but subdued. She took a few angry steps closer, her presence suffocating and electrifying all at once. “Are you telling me this tantrum has been all because I didn’t treat you like some Horvat soldier?”
You remained quiet, giving her an answer she clearly didn’t like. “If it weren’t for me, you’d probably be in the RAFT by now. Is that what you want?”
Your jaw dropped at her audacity, as if, all of a sudden, she could have caught you from the very first day you opposed her. “So what? Are you telling me I should thank you for that? Please.” You laughed, “You haven’t even come close. If you could have caught me all this time, then why haven’t you?” You snapped.
Clenching her jaw, she stopped until she was face-to-face with you. You could feel her usual controlled storm turning into a wild hurricane. You didn’t back down. “If I haven’t brought out all of SHIELD’s operatives and the rest of the Avengers to take you down, it’s because of this.”
You didn’t even have time to react as her hand reached for your face, slightly flinching as she deliberately took her time, her movements measured and slow. Your eyes widened just a little as her soft fingertips brushed away the betraying tears sliding down your cheeks, catching one and wiping it away.
“Because despite all this ‘I don’t give a damn’ attitude of yours, you do. I can feel your pain, your regret over hurting the innocents you’re trying to protect… your self-hatred,” she said, her voice steady, but it carried a weight that almost made it seem like those feelings were affecting her too.
She paused, trying to choose her next words carefully. “Even if your methods are over-the-line insane, underneath it all, there’s someone who genuinely wants to do good. Even if the only way you know how is by going to a dark place that consumes you every single time.”
Her hand trailed down until she gently pushed your chest with a single finger. “The only reason I haven’t caught you by now—besides the fact that you’re frighteningly cunning and intelligent, and somehow manage to get under my skin or read me like a book…” She trailed off, her voice lowering, her eyes dropping. The slight praise made your heart flutter. You almost immediately hated it.
You didn’t dare to breathe as she tried to find her words. 
“It’s because I believe you can be so much more,” she finished quietly. 
When her gaze meets yours again, this time is softer, as if returning from somewhere. “I was like you once. Someone was supposed to stop me for good, too. But they made a different call.” The resolve in her voice is unmistakable. “Now, I’m the one making that call.”
For a moment that seemed to stretch on in the distance, neither of you dared to move. Her words seem to echo though the air, manifesting again and again in your head. You wanted to say something, anything. But what were you supposed to answer?
She was clearly giving you a white flag, a truce. But accepting would change everything. And you didn’t know if you were ready for that. Clenching your hands against your sides, you couldn’t stand the shimmering hope reflecting on the dark pools of sea foam. 
“I am not meant to be a hero, Nat.” You answered delicately, feeling like you owned her at least. 
Natasha didn’t flinch. Instead, she stood there, her silence louder than anything she could have said. You braced yourself, praying that she didn't make this more difficult than it was supposed to be.
But before she could speak, static crackled from her comms.
“We got him,” Yelena’s voice cut through the tension. “Horvat is in custody, Natasha. It’s done.”
Natasha’s shoulders went down, just slightly. You could see the shift in her expression—relief, professionalism. Her hand moved up to press her earpiece, her sharp green eyes still locked onto you.
“…Understood,” she replied, her tone steady but clipped. For a moment, it was as she answered both of you. You didn't say anything as she finally stepped back, the silence defining. You furrowed your eyebrows in confusion. “When I was chasing you I installed a tracker on his car, my unit did the rest.”
You wanted to laugh because, of course, despite everything that happened her multitasking was unmatched. She started to walk away but paused when you didn’t immediately follow. You just stood there, watching, wondering how she always managed to build a wall between her emotions and professionalism. As if she hadn’t just disrupted your entire chemical balance mere seconds ago.
“Are you coming?” she asked, her tone casual, as though the weight of her earlier words hadn’t just cracked something open inside you.
Your reluctance was answer enough.
“The truce will stand, even in SHIELD’s jurisdiction, I promise,” she added, her voice firm but not unkind. “Besides, we’re processing him to a secondary location first.”
Normally, you’d call bullshit. You knew how much SHIELD hated your vigilante methods—how relentless they were in their attempts to bring you in. And yet, despite all of that, you found yourself taking a step forward, then another, until you were following Natasha.
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callsignvulture · 6 months ago
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141 + Graves Music Headcannons‼️🎶
This is based off of a conversation I had with my roommate and boyfriend months ago. Idc if these are accurate- these were just our headcanons! This took me all damn day to write, so I hope it’s…at least decently good!:]
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Simon “Ghost” Riley:
Bands: Shinedown, Theory Of A Deadman, Seether, Three Days Grace, Saving Abel, Avenged Sevenfold, Disturbed, Drowning Pool.
Top 5 listened to songs: Rx(Medicate), 45 , Just Like You , The Vengeful One, California Dreaming
In his younger years, he definitely would have joined in mosh pits at concerts. If he tried that now? God he’d be leaving out of that venue with a headache, body pains and more bruises and scars on him than when he arrived there. Because of this, he prefers to sit a fair bit away from the stage, but in the middle so he can see the whole stage.
Soap makes fun of him for it, making comments like it, “Ah cannae decide if ye're tryin' tae be somebody's faither, or if ye're just actin' like Price. Come on, LT, get wi' the times. Ye're no an auld man like Price just yet.”
But don’t let that fool you- Ghost has definitely influenced Soap’s music taste. Soap just won’t admit it.
Bonus!: Ghost would listen to…well, Ghost. Why? “‘S my name, ain’t it?”
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John “Soap” MacTavish:
Bands: Twenty One Pilots, One Republic, System Of A Down, Måneskin, Limp Bizkit, Green Day, Blink-182, Weezer, Fall Out Boy, The Offspring, Games We Play.
Top 5 most listened to songs: Coffee’s For Closers, Get A Job, Fairly Local , Beverly Hills , What’s My Age Again?
Had a pop punk phase he never grew out of, and was definitely a teenage dirtbag(🥁).
His whole reality breaks when he overhears a recruit call any of the late 2000s/early 2010s bands he listens to “vintage”.(Price and Ghost just laugh and tell me he’s too young to feel that way.)
Really fun at concerts surprisingly. He always tries to be in the pit at the concerts for his favorite bands, and goes WILD if he gets noticed by an artist he really likes.
Price, Ghost and Gaz don’t really understand why he likes the music that he does.
Bonus!: When Gaz listens to Kanye, he’ll blast Taylor Swift just to fuck with him. He doesn’t like Taylor Swift, he just likes to see Gaz get frustrated. “You know she’s only popular ‘cause of ‘im, right Soap?” “Ah dinnae care. Ah juist like te disturb yer peace, Gaz.”
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Kyle “Gaz” Garrick:
Bands: Arctic Monkeys, Rihanna, The Neighborhood, Kanye West, The Weeknd, Shaggy, Dr.Dre, Kendrick Lamar, Hozier, The Cardigans, Beyoncé.
Top 5 most listened to songs: It Wasn’t Me, Reflections, Love The Way You Lie, Knee Socks, Dark Times
God he’s a certified lover boy AGH-
Imagine: Gaz waking up in the early hours of the morning, sunlight on his skin, looking fine as hell…and “It Wasn’t Me” is playing on the radio AAAAAA-💕(like a damn scene straight out of a movie I swear-)
Gaz likes going to concerts and like Soap, will try to be front and center, but he’s not nearly as energetic and wild. He’d more than likely mellow out with some fruity drink.
Before Gaz joined 141, back when he was an officer, he would definitely make whoever was his ride along listen to Rihanna or Beyoncé in the early hours of his shift. Now when he’s on missions with 141 and he’s in control of the radio, he’s more likely to play Kendrick Lamar or Kanye West, much to Ghost and Price’s annoyance. Soap is the only one who doesn’t complain.
Bonus!: Surprisingly, Gaz is open to listening to any kind of music, even if he doesn’t like. Once sat down with Ghost in the common room and let Ghost show him the music he listened to. Obviously, he wasn’t a fan of it, but he appreciated it nonetheless. “Sorry, ‘s just not my style. But thanks anyways, Lieutenant.”
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Captain John Price:
Bands/Artists: Guns ‘N Roses, Metallica, Kiss, AC/DC, Twisted Sister, Ozzy Osbourne, Red Hot Chili Peppers, The Rolling Stones, Mötley Crüe, Ramones, Post Malone(there’s a reason for this, stick with me-)
Top 5 Most Listened To Songs: Seek & Destroy, Rock You Like A Hurricane, Dr.Feelgood, Sunflower, Street Fighting Man
Headcanon(Thanks to my boyfriend): 141 had a movie night. Soap and Gaz wanted to watch Into The Spiderverse, which Ghost and Price agreed too(reluctantly). Price really liked the song Sunflower, and after the movie, Gaz and Soap sat down with Price and showed him more of Post Malone’s music. He’s not a huge fan of the rest of his music, but he does really like that song.
Price’s music taste hasn’t changed since he was younger, still listening to the same bands he listened to in the 80s. Definitely gets somewhat upset when he sees someone his age wearing a shirt of the band but can’t tell him any songs by the artist.
Doesn’t go to concerts anymore unless the team wants to go. Would prefer to go to a bar and listen to music while getting drinks with his mates.
Bonus!: Price is the type of guy to look at people who don’t listen to his kind of music and ask, “Oi, lads, who sings this?” “Eh...Ah havnae a clue...Guns N Roses?” “Metallica, Cap’in?” “No, ‘s definitely Kiss.”In reality, he already knows who’s singing it, and they’re all wrong.
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Commander Phillip Graves:
Bands/Artist: Morgan Wallen, Tim McGraw, Blake Shelton, Bruce Springsteen, Florida Georgia Line, Carrie Underwood, Luke Bryan, Big & Rich, Jason Aldean, Sam Hunt, Luke Combs, Toby Keith, Alabama, Lynyrd Skynyrd.
Top 5 most listened to songs: God’s Country, Save A Horse(Ride A Cowboy), She’s Country, Dirt On My Boots, Should’ve Been A Cowboy.
What can I say? Southern man loves country music.
He’s not allowed to go to concerts anymore due to the fact that he has gotten drunk on several occasions & had to be escorted out:(
He had a crush on Miranda Lambert and Carrie Underwood at some point in his life and I won’t explain how I know that.
Makes the Shadows listen to his playlist when out on missions to the point where most of them could easily identify what country artist is who.
Bonus!: Absolutely hates any non-country artist who tries to make country music. Like when Beyoncé released Texas Hold ‘Em, he was absolutely livid.
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ladykailitha · 7 months ago
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Sweet Home Indiana Part 7
That last chapter things were starting to look up, and here things keep getting better until they don't.
Then it's going to be rough until the happy ending. Just a heads up if you need to be prepared for the sads.
Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6
****
Eddie ran into Steve at the Hideout on Thursday night. And this time he was without his friend or his guard dog.
He had settled at the bar with a single malt whiskey and a heavy heart. He hated that he would have to leave this all behind come Sunday, but Seattle was home. Not Hawkins. Not anymore.
Steve walked in looking like a teenage wet dream. He had his floppy hair styled so that there was little curl in the middle of his forehead. He was wearing a white and navy blue striped polo shirt with the buttons undone and the collar flipped up. His jeans were darker then when they graduated school, almost as dark as the blue stripes on his shirt. The fit was tight and showed off Steve’s other best asset.
It made Eddie’s mouth water and he drained his glass.
He was about to pay his tab and go back to his hotel when Steve spotted him and gave him that little dorky finger wave of his.
Shit.
Eddie waved back and Steve came trotting over.
“No Buck today?” he asked, trying not to trip over his words.
Steve shook his head. “She’s fussing about what to wear tomorrow and after three hours of her trying to decide between two identical shirts of exactly the same color, I booked it and came here.”
“Wise choice, man,” Eddie agreed. “Chrissy gets like that some times too. She’ll claim one is rose and the baby pink and I can’t tell the difference.”
Steve laughed and nodded. “Sounds about right only Robs is trying to decide between navy and midnight blue.”
“Didn’t figure the Buckster would be one for pink,” Eddie said sagely.
“Oh she likes it just fine,” Steve said with a grin, “on other girls.”
Eddie laughed and shook his head. That sounded about right.
Steve looked over at the full pool tables and then around the rest of the bar. He turned back to Eddie. “You want to play a round of darts?”
Eddie half shrugged. “Why not? I’d have to borrow someone’s set. You can’t exactly take them on a plane these days.”
Steve’s grin was back and he trotted over to the end of the bar. He spoke briefly to someone and then came back with two sets. He handed one to Eddie and opened up the other. It was the set Eddie had got him for his school graduation. They weren’t expensive but they were well made and if the worn velvet around the darts were any indication, well used.
He looked down at the black box in his hand and then back up at Steve. “There’s no way.”
“You’ll just have to open it and find out, huh?”
Eddie opened the box and let out a choked off laugh. There nestled in the red velvet were his old black and red darts.
“How do you still have these?” he whispered. “I thought I lost them.”
Steve shrugged and cocked his head. “You’d leave them here at the bar so they wouldn’t get banged up in your glove box. So after you left, I had Terry hold on to them in case you ever came back looking for them.”
Eddie nodded and then hopped off the stool, leading the way to where the boards were hanging. He let Steve go first and they ordered a round of beers, though they really didn’t drink much. They’d learned that lesson at their ‘reception’ when they accidentally landed a dart on then Officer Callahan and he screamed like they were trying to murder him. If Hopper hadn’t stepped in he would have hauled both of them to jail.
It hadn’t even broken the skin.
It was fun and Eddie felt better about their ‘date’ tomorrow. Because that’s what it was, that’s what everyone was calling it. Even Robin had warned him that if he fucked this date up, they would be finding pieces of him up and down the interstate for years.
He believed her.
****
Steve was waiting by the entrance to the fair grounds chewing nervously on his thumb. Robin whacked his hand out of his mouth.
“You’re making me nervous,” she hissed. “You’re supposed to be the calm one.”
He sighed and stuck his hands in his pockets with a heavy sigh. “I know we’re not getting back together. I can’t expect that, but...”
“He’s not the giant ass he was when he rolled into town?”
He nodded and she rubbed his back gently. “Look, there’s Vickie. Will you be all right?”
“I don’t really have a choice, but yes I’ll be fine.” He took a deep breath and let it out slow.
She nodded and linked arms with Vickie. They went to go pay for their tickets and left Steve to his whirling consuming thoughts.
He didn’t have to wait long before a sleek, black rental rolled into the dusty parking lot. It really stood out amongst the pickup trucks and hatchbacks.
But then so did Steve’s old Bimmer. Yeah it was older, but it was still a high class car.
Eddie popped out of the car and Steve was impressed to see that he wasn’t in all black. He had dark blue jeans on, but wore a red t-shirt that had some logo on it. Over it was a denim vest with all his pins and patches on it.
It wasn’t the first one he’d made, Steve still had that one, but it was so Eddie that Steve’s heart began to pound heavily against his rib cage, like a beast trying to get free.
Stop it! He thought to himself. Move on. This is the farewell tour. The final encore. The last bow.
Eddie ran over to him and smiled. “Sorry I’m late, Stevie. Someone gave me the wrong directions and I had to look it up on my phone.”
“That’s fine,” Steve said. “Let’s get going.”
Eddie paid for their tickets. It was the least he could do for having caused Steve to shut down Sweetie’s Treats because of a dumbass mistake.
They rode the rides and Steve won him this giant orange bat with googly eyes at the basketball hoops, that Eddie immediately named Dio.
Steve laughed and shook his head.
They went on more rides and ate funnel cakes and deep fried Twinkies.
Then Eddie spotted it. It was big brown eye puppy with droopy ears at the High Striker game.
“I’m going to win that puppy!” he said excitedly, tugging on Steve’s sleeve.
Steve rolled his eyes. “You do know those things tend to be rigged, right?”
Eddie turned around, his expression mischievous. His eyes were hooded and he ran his tongue slowly over the top of his teeth. Slowly.
Steve gulped. He didn’t know what Eddie had planned, but it sent that thrill down his spine that used to be because Eddie was about to ravish him. And he didn’t think that was the context here.
He watched as Eddie went up to the man in charge of the booth and paid him the five dollars.
Eddie hefted the hammer like it was a child’s toy and the heat slid down Steve’s spine to pool in his gut. Fuck was that hot.
Eddie made a couple of practice swings testing the weight of the hammer.
“You going to swing that thing any time in the next century, play boy?” the carnival worker snarked.
Eddie smirked back and swung the hammer down on the pad. The metal ball hit the bell with such force that the bell didn’t so much ring as it did gong. Everyone around them stopped to see what the hell that noise was.
To see Eddie leaning on the hammer like some, smug Norse god. The booth operator let him pick two of the big prizes so Steve got the brown-eyed puppy and the grey, stripped tabby cat.
“Bobbie and Sweetie?” Eddie suggested, naming the two animals after Steve’s shop and his best friend.
Steve nodded, burying his face into the warm, soft plushies. “Thank you, Eds.”
“You’re welcome, sweetheart.”
They had put the animals in the trunk of Steve’s car for safe keeping and were sitting on a pair of hay bales watching as the sun set and the lights of the carnival came on.
“Thanks for today,” Steve murmured. “I’d say it more than made up for that shitty special delivery.”
Eddie cackled. “Yeah, that was my big dumb mistake. I told her about you, because of course I did. But I–I couldn’t talk about what you really meant to me, because then I would have tell what an absolute coward I was.”
“And then I forced the issue.”
“Thanks for that, by the way,” he murmured. At Steve’s bitchy expression he laughed. “I wasn’t being sarcastic, honest. I needed that kick in the ass.”
Steve smiled and bumped their shoulders together. “You’re welcome I guess.”
Eddie looked up at the stars that were starting to appear in the sky. “You don’t see this many stars back in Seattle.”
“No,” Steve said softly. “I don’t suppose you do.”
Eddie ran his fingers through his hair in frustration. “I was happy in Seattle, Stevie. I was. But I came back here and this fits too.”
Steve gently took Eddie’s hand and squeezed it tight.
“I think I’m more in love with you then when we were stupid kids doing messed up things,” he continued unhappily.
Steve laid his head on Eddie’s shoulder and sighed. “You don’t have to marry her. Stay here with me.”
Tears slipped down Eddie’s face as he shook his head. “I have to. I can’t tell you why. I’m not being blackmailed or coerced, I do love her. But god, I love you, too.”
Steve wrapped his arms around him and held him as he cried.
****
Steve chuckled as he helped a very weepy, and very clingy drunk Eddie up to his hotel room. He had even gotten the help of a nice porter to help get him into bed.
He took off all the jewelry. The pick necklace, the leather and chain bracelets, the earring, his belt, and his rings.
Steve stopped when he was half way through removing the rings. Yes, they weren’t married yet, but if there was a ring that Eddie would have given a fianceé it would have been his mother’s ring. The ring he always wore on his right hand. But there it was, still on his hand. Moved to the pinkie now. But still.
He took it off last. He held it up to the light. The band was a little worse for wear, but the gemstone still shone brightly in the dim light of the hotel lamp.
Steve set it down with the rest of the jewelry, making sure it was right on top. He took out Eddie’s wallet and keys and set them next to the hotel key. He picked up the hotel key, feeling the weight of it in his palm.
He smoothed Eddie’s hair and then he made his decision. He quietly exited the room and told the porter and front desk that Eddie left his wallet in his car and that he was just going to get it for him.
Robin was waiting for him.
“Are you really going to do this?” she asked, voice cracking as if she was holding back tears.
Steve let out a shuddering breath and then nodded.
He was back down in mere minutes. She held out her arms to him and he crumpled in her embrace. She held him as he sobbed and sobbed.
Robin looked up at the hotel where Eddie lay sleeping and wished she could hate him in that moment, but found she couldn’t.
She pitied him. Something she never thought was possible. She bundled her best friend into the passenger side of his car and drove for home.
The further away she got, the more her heart broke.
For both of them.
****
Part 8 Part 9 Part 10
Tag List: Nine Slots Remaining
1- @rozzieroos @itsall-taken @redfreckledwolf @ravenfrog @zerokrox-blog
2- @gregre369 ​@a-little-unsteddie @chaosgremlinmunson @messrs-weasley @goodolefashionedloverboi
3- @val-from-lawrence @carlyv @wonderland-girl143-blog @irregular-child @mac-attack19
4- @bookbinderbitch @bookworm0690 @anne-bennett-cosplayer @yikes-a-bee @awkwardgravity1
5- @littlewildflowerkitten @genderless-spoon @dragonmama76 @ellietheasexylibrarian @thedragonsaunt
6- @useless-nb-bisexual @disrespectedgoatman @counting-dollars-counting-stars @tinyplanet95
7- @blackpanzy @amazing-spiderkeys @oldpinghai @raisedbylibrarians @kultiras
8- @swimmingbirdrunningrock @steddie-as-they-go @captain--low @micheledawn1975 @thespaceantwhowrites
9- @blondie1006
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hotvintagepoll · 10 months ago
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Propaganda
Cyd Charisse (The Bandwagon, Brigadoon, Singin’ in the Rain)—LEGS LEGS LEGS I would sell my soul for the legs of Cyd Charisse - she oozed style and glamour and sex appeal!! And she could DANCE! She was dancing next to the greats - Gene Kelly, Fred Astaire but they are never who you're looking at because why would you when you can look at her. I will only sit through too long ballet breaks for her. If there was any woman who you could call sex on legs it was her. These dances are everything to meeee (she comes in at the minute mark) and this dance too of course is iconic. In the words of Fred Astaire 'When you've danced with Cyd Charisse you stay danced with'
Beata Tyszkiewicz (The Doll)—no propaganda submitted
This is round 1 of the tournament. All other polls in this bracket can be found here. Please reblog with further support of your beloved hot sexy vintage woman.
[additional propaganda submitted under the cut.]
Beata:
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Cyd:
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Photos do not do Cyd Charisse justice, unfortunately, because she is at her hottest while dancing, which she was exquisitely good at. Just go watch her first number in Singin' in the Rain, in that green dress; nothing I could say here will be more convincing that that.
She had amazing legs, and she knew how to use them! You probably know her best from the dream sequence in Singin' In The Rain. She was such a stunning dancer, and all her dance scenes are hard to look away from.
Dancing in the Dark clip:
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She's an amazing dancer and my favorite from the period. Here's her and Fred Astaire in the Band Wagon:
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One of the most talented female dancers in Hollywood history, but what sets her apart from other competitors for that title is that she...umm...well let's be blunt, she was the dancer who put sex into it. The one who said "Hey, you know that A+ leg tone that naturally develops from doing this for a living? Why don't I let people see that? Like at every opportunity?" She reportedly insured her legs for five million dollars after hitting it big, which just goes to show that fame makes you crazy. It should have been ten million.
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I just like a woman who's there to be really incredibly good at dancing.
Arguably the Best female dancer of her time, she supposedly insured her legs for $5 million dollars. Stole the show whenever she had a dance number, even if she went uncredited. Musicals started to go out of fashion so unfortunately she didn't have as many big roles as she should have, but those she did are unforgettable. The Broadway Melody number in Singin' in the Rain - the green dress!
She could pirouette in pointes or tear it up in taps. Fred Astaire called her "beautiful dynamite" and wrote, "That Cyd! When you've danced with her you stay danced with." Gene Kelly partnered with her three times. Her legs were (reportedly) insured for $5 million in 1952 ($57.8 million in 2024 dollars)! Everyone in this poll will be iconic, but for raw physical grace, Cyd is up there with the best.
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Legs for days, beautiful dancer in the most iconic scenes of Singin in the Rain. She's glorious. As some guys sung to her in It's Always fair weather, 'baby you knock me out!'
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Incredibly, Cyd Charisse only started learning to dance as a rehab exercise to strengthen her body after a childhood bout of polio. She was in high demand as a dance partner, Fred Astaire called her beautiful dynamite and said "When you've danced with her, you stayed danced with". She was one of a few leading ladies to dance with both Astaire and Kelly, declaring them both delicious. Kelly apparently was stronger, while Astaire was more coordinated. She also said her husband would always know who she had been dancing with because Kelly left her bruised, while Astaire didn't leave a mark. She's better known for her dance numbers today, but she was a leading lady in her time! Her Scottish accent in Brigadoon leaves a lot to be desired, but compared to the other actors in the movie, it's almost good. She appeared in The Harvey Girls alongside Judy Garland and Angela Lansbury in her first speaking role, but she really burst onto the scene with Singin' in the Rain and her infamous Broadway Melody Ballet number with Gene Kelly (no one could handle a length of fabric like Cyd Charisse). She was brought in because Debbie Reynolds wasn't really a dancer and Kelly was notoriously a stickler about his Vision. After that she starred opposite Astaire in The Band Wagon, which was a bit of a flop but created some enduringly incredible dance numbers. She went on to star in a number of MGM movies, and was one of the last of the Studio era stars to remain on contract. Since we've got up to 1970, I'm including her opening routine in The Silencers (1966) to show just how long she was making a splash - she's into her 40s here and still a siren:
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and of course, the iconic Broadway Melody Ballet -
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multifandom-aroace · 6 months ago
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Gwen's wardrobe in season five makes me sad. (I'm not the best at analysing but please bear with me)
Partly it is the fact that it just doesn't look like something she would wear. Like I get that she looks good. She doesn't look out of place in any way, but her clothes just don't suit her.
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obviously she looks regal and beautifully. she looks like a queen, but she doesn't look like gwen.
I understand that what she wore before wasn't exactly what a queen should be wearing, but it feels like in costume design they went a bit too far in the opposite direction. all the colours are too dark, the details don't really fit with her personality. her costumes throughout the show are all relatively similar but once she becomes queen it feels like she changes completely. this probably reflects how her personality changes, which I also don't like. you would think that since she wasn't raised in nobility she would be fair and kind, not willing to kill a servant girl just because she overheard a conversation. it feels like they set it up from the beginning of the season for us to dislike her.
when I think of guinevere I think of costumes like these
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these flower corsets are some of my favourite things she wears, and she could have worn something similar when she was queen.
I started thinking, in terms of the show, about why she might have changed her costume design so much and then I thought it might have something to do with respect. swen was a servant turned queen, and probably a lot of the people of camelot wouldn't have liked this much. you know, tradition and shit. so she probably drew inspiration from the other nobility she knew and decided to dress like that. for example, a lot of what she wears is similar to what Morgana wore.
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like, obviously thay aren't exactly the same but it feels like there is definitely inspiration here.
this is probably because Morgana was respected (obviously before she because evil).
a lot of the female nobility/royalty clothing we see from camelot and the other kingdoms is Morgana, although we also see this from other visiting people, such as vivian, mithian and elena.
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(best picture I could find of her full dress)
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obviously elena is wearing a wedding dress here but she is literally marrying Arthur (who gwen married which is why she started wearing these clothes in the first place), and we can see that this colour and style is available to her class.
mithian and vivian are both wearing lighter, more delicate styles, and I get that these aren't anything I could see gwen wearing either but it's definitely closer than what she's actually wears. need I remind you that mithian was supposed to marry Arthur as well?
one thing I could find that is similar is literally gwen's coronation dress. while not exactly the same, it does seem very similar to somathing Morgana wore when she became queen
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I feel like the purple and the gold colour scheme seem quite similar, as well as the sleeves and the general embroidered decorations.
I do also feel like this might be the most similar to gwen's original style that she goes in terms of her costumes as queen. it's a lighter colour and the gold decorations feels less heavy than when it is mixed with a darker fabric. this dress is more silky and delicate, rather than one of the first things she wears in season 5
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the gold appears to be maybe a darker shade of gold especially when mixed with the maroon colour of the dress. this dress is clearly perfect for a queen, but it just doesn't feel like gwen. (not necessarily connected to Morgana jsut another point)
i guess what she was trying to do was remind the people of camelot that she was to be respected, and she knew how much people had loved Morgana. vivian and elena, on the other hand, were not. they were only in camelot for a short time but in that time they didn't really get people to like them. vivian was rude and elena was a bit 'weird' to them (not sure how else to describe their reactions to her). gwen didn't even meet mithian because she was in exile (another reason she needed people to respect her), so Morgana was the best person to take inspiration from.
the connection to morgana's outfits could also represent the connection between them later in the season and when gwen is under her control
overall, I think they did gwen dirty in the final season and she definitely deserved better.
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gaykarstaagforever · 17 days ago
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Heathers (1989)
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"If everyone jumped off a bridge, would you?"
"...Probably."
[TRIGGER WARNING: The movie is about murder, suicide, depression, anxiety and bullying, and it's a Rated-R movie from 1989, so SA is going to keep coming up. I'm going to be referencing all of that in this review. Also I'm a gay man and will be teasing people who have made this movie their personality, so tap out now if you and your cool vinyl collection can't deal with that.]
The movie starts as a fun black comedic take-down of saccharine 80s John Hughes teen romance movies. New-kid-in-school badboy edgelord JD, and repentant former wannabe cool girl Veronica, hook up and decide to live out the ultimate bullied nerd fantasy by getting revenge on Heather, Veronica's frenemy and leader of the Heathers, the most popular clique in school.
But when things go darker than Veronica planned, the comedic satire becomes a Shakespearean melodrama, as Veronica is suddenly confronted by the surreal consequences of what she's done, including realizing that the simplest solution to a problem may in fact make everything a hell of a lot worse.
I'm not going to spoil it for the 5 of you who haven't seen this yet. Everyone else (including me now) has seen it, as it is probably one of the most universally-popular Internet-culture movies there is. You've seen at least one meme from it.
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Probably this one.
While a flop in 1989, it quickly became a cult movie on home media, even by the late 90s being one of those movies your older brother and his friends introduced you to to let you know they didn't think you were a lame stupid baby anymore. And it seems now with streaming it is still kind of in that spot, the older brothers with tapes being replaced by Gen X / Millennials posting about how cool it is in front of teenaged lurkers.
So how did I miss it? I WAS the older brother growing up, and I was 7 when it came out. And when I did go back and get into all the 80s movies I missed out on by being a toddler when they were new, I stumbled into the Hughes stuff, notably Pretty in Pink, which is fundamentally the movie Heathers is mocking. As cynical and jaded as I am, I'm also a fruitcake, so I love me some sappy sunny crap (if it's to a greater artistic point, which the Hughes movies are). What I knew of Heathers had me thinking it was merely a demonstration of pretentious anti "popular media" whining from the sort of people who wear outdated hats and are insufferable about punk music.
...And it totally is. But also, it's more than that. It's actually really good and smart and occasionally insightful, when it restrains itself from all the emo "I can be your devil or your angle" posturing. Which, to be fair, it also makes fun of. Before that was even a thing.
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Christian Slater and Wynonna Rider have fantastic chemistry, and there's never enough of the two of them just enjoying each other's company. Even when they're arguing, it feels like a real couple going through something they'll almost certainly get over in a few hours (until they very much can't, and then they'll literally try to kill each other). Passion, is the word for it. Sardonic and low-key most of the time, but still passion. And that's always delightful.
It's well-shot and well-directed, with good uses of lighting and dynamic camera angles. There is a lot of scenes that are just two people talking, and it's never boring. Impressive for filmmakers who were, at the time, fresh-faced and working with a small budget. The style ends up being like if John Waters (no relation to Dan Waters, who wrote it) had directed Corman's Rock and Roll High School: goofy and surreal and sarcastic, but also willing to get dark and push boundaries to make a point.
All the characters - even joke side ones - are thoughtfully drawn, given emotional depth and realistic motivations, even when they're doing something stagey and broad in this highly stylized, Tim Burton-esque dark fairytale world. Wynonna Rider fought for the role against all advice, and it is perfectly in-line with the characters she played and the movies she played them in of this era, Beetlejuice and Edward Scissorhands. Maybe even Bram Stoker's Dracula, if we're talking surreal melodramatic action-horror with disco lighting.
It is a movie with lots of big ideas (probably too many), but it manages to get those across effectively. What starts as a simple teenager revenge fantasy morphs into an armchair analysis of what America does to its children - instead of nurturing them and preparing them for the adult world, it points at them and gawks, and cashes in on their fear and self-loathing and predictable self-destruction. Everyone in the cruel high school world of Heathers is both a perpetrator and a victim, desperately fighting for survival by both submitting to abuse, and then immediately turning around and heaping it on someone "beneath" them. Death here isn't genuinely mourned or reflected upon; everyone simply starts plotting how they're going to exploit this new gap in the line. And whether the victims kill themselves or are murdered only matters as far as someone can spin that into self-promotion. Even the priest at the funeral (the late great Glenn Shadix, Beetlejuice again!) uses the supposed suicide of a child as an opportunity to make a ham-fisted youth-oriented alter call.
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By the end of the movie, Veronica has triumphantly decided to rise up - not merely against the popular kids and exploitative / apathetic adults - but against the entire system of unending cruelty she didn't even know she was still playing a part in when she was actively attacking it. This finally sets her at odds with JD, who is too consumed by hatred to realize that the violence he thinks is a solution is fundamentally part of the problem.
And yet, as they come to blows, Veronica is also replaying the very same game that led her to become one of the Heathers in the first place, and then turn on them: use people to secure power, they use and hurt you, so you attack them. She knows the whole system is bad and broken and wants out, and seems to acknowledge the only way out is through earnest friendships and "growing out" of being shallow and petty. But by the end of the movie, despite her rebuke of JD...has she managed it? Maybe, maybe not. Maybe the system is inescapable, and all you can hope to do is find a way to force it to work for you. And choose then to make it less cruel. Maybe.
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It's not a good or happy ending, it's just an ending. But a thought-provoking one, and the movie does it well.
...Mostly. The dialogue is trying very hard to be distinctively witty, but mostly comes across like a worse version of Clueless-ese, with more gratuitous vulgarities and no kitschy charm. A writer being very proud of how smart they are, without noticing that real people don't talk like this because it's awkward and obnoxious. Everyone's dialogue is basically interchangeable, including between the kids and adults (JD and his lunatic father have a fun distinctive thing they do, but that's about it). Now, lines being awkward and obnoxious doesn't mean they aren't eminently meme-able. In fact, that usually means they are. And they certainly are here. Nearly every scene has a memorable bon mot that can be endlessly parroted by people doing that so you won't notice their off-putting personality. ...I wouldn't call that a win for anyone, but it is certainly a thing.
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Remember: just because someone said it in a movie, doesn't mean it's inherently funny or profound or relevant to the conversation you've currently having. And you're not suddenly smart because you found a movie quote that you think expresses your exceptional hot take. In fact, that might be a sign that your are NOT in fact smart or insightful. Just putting that out there.
Also the "mineral water is for fags" thing is only funny because it's stupid. It was stupid then. That's the point of that being in the movie, to show how stupid these podunk morons in Ohio are. Stop repeating that 'joke.' It isn't funny out of context.
Gen X. Looking at you on this one. It's just you trying to give yourselves permission to still call people "fags." Doesn't work that way.
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Christian Slater claims he was "channeling Jack Nicholson for this film." Yeah, okay, dude. And for the rest of your life, all the time. He's still a good actor and very charming here, but if that "Christian Slater" thing he does annoys you, it's at 11 here.
The pacing and tone get pretty muddled after the initial black revenge comedy stuff stops, as the movie uneasily transitions to its second major focus. It stops being funny entirely for awhile, until near the end when it suddenly remembers that was supposed to be a part of this, then sitcomy stuff elbows its way in. And JD's plans post-breakup with Veronica are left vague until they suddenly aren't, and I feel like I missed something. I didn't, and there's a point to them doing it this way, but it is handled kind of confusingly.
The movie is a scaled-down version of whatever epic Greek tragicomedy the writer originally dreamed up, and the studio demanded the pitch-black orginal ending be changed. And you can kind of feel that throughout. As an R-rated movie it is a lot tamer than it feels like it should be, and I for one wish the kills were gorier and more over-the-top. That more fits the tone. Maybe that was never the original intention, but you don't do Titus Andronicus without getting gross with it, you know?
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Any SA stuff is handled tactfully, and there isn't much of it, and it serves a narrative purpose. But that still feels like something that is only in here because it's 1989 and R-rated movies have to go there. And I don't feel like they really give those incidents the kind of emotional impact they should have on the victims. But again, this is a surreal world of unending cruelty, so maybe people shrug that off here. It's more my personal preference, if you're going to be gross to women in a movie (probably stop that, unless that's what the movie is about. Rape and molestation are not screenplay spices.)
The good far outweighs the bad, though. And Heathers is good, and is deservedly a timeless cult-classic for growing boys and girls, given what it deals with and how well it deals with it. It's entertaining and it makes you think, which is what good movies do. And it's endlessly meme-able, and that's okay, even if the people who meme it the most are silently warning you that they're pretentious and annoying about music. And that's only sort-of the movie's fault.
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Also all the women in this movie have 9 lbs of dry fly-away hair that is just...painful. I realize this "unkempt Barbie hair" style was the best we could do at the time, but... I feel like I can hear it crunching every time they move.
Oh, and shoulder pads for days, shoulder pads FOREVER. I will never understand why the hell the 80s thought women weren't boxy enough. It was a thing.
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