#World Fairs Memorabilia

[kaciidubs]

For the Kids

I believe you used to be 🤍 nonnie, I remember seeing that emoji around~ I'm glad you're back! There won't be much mention of medical stuff because I'm nowhere close to being a nurse, but I hope this is what you were looking for, nonnie! ❣ Summary: This visit was for the kids, so why did Chris find himself vying for a Pediatric nurse's attention? ❣  ❣ Word Count: 1.9k ❣ Warnings: No medical terms, Idol! AU, Pediatric Nurse! Reader, fluff, slight humor, flirting, open ended ❣  ❣ Female! Reader | You/Your pronouns ❣  ❣ Additional Tags: Chan is referred to as Mr. Bang, Chris, and Christopher, Reader is referred to as Beautiful, lightly edited ❣ Stray Kids Masterlist ❣ General Masterlist

“I’ll let the nurse guiding you know that you've arrived, please wait here.” 

Chris nodded enthusiastically as the nurse working behind the front desk turned away to grab a phone, turning his attention to listen to his manager and a few Skijigi discussing the schedule for the day.

 This event was something the members had looked forward to ever since they were allowed to add one more Stay-centered event to their log of the year; the day they ventured out to meet hospitalized children Stays to give them an experience they wouldn't get to see naturally. 

He'd decided to show up early in hopes of getting to meet the kids who weren’t able to make the time bracket due to an appointment or operation - the rest of the members scheduled to show up within the next hour and a half, according to his manager.

“Mr. Bang?”

He turned toward the unfamiliar voice, and the equally unfamiliar use of his last name, only to feel as if his world had gone into slow motion.

Walking up to him was a nurse, a fair assessment judging by the scrubs you wore, with a smile that made his heart skip a beat - part of him wondered if he’d have to check himself into a hospital based on his reaction alone; and when you introduced yourself he swore he heard bells ringing, your name suddenly becoming his favorite sound.

“Welcome to Seoul Mercy Hospital, I’ll be one of the nurses working with you guys today.”

“Hi,” smiling in earnest, he cleared his throat, his posture straightening ever so slightly,  “and just Chris is fine, ‘Mr. Bang’ feels too formal, you know?”

Your smile grew, a small laugh floating through you, “Is ‘Chan’ too formal, too?”

“No, no, Chan is perfectly fine, too - you can call me whatever you’d like.”

Chris tried his best to ignore how suggestive the sentence sounded, but judging from the way you pressed your lips together, you’d already caught the unintentional double entendre.

“Okay, Chris,” a glimmer of humor sparkled in your eyes, teasing and warm - comfortable, “if you’ll follow me, I can give you a quick tour of the area you’ll be using today before we go see the kids.”

The tour was short, yet fulfilling; the brisk walk of the hall bringing him to the play room booked for them to use decorated in Skzoo memorabilia with the life size standees wearing makeshift doctor outfits - there was even a table that stretched along a wall filled with Skzoo plushies and gift bags undoubtedly prepared by Skijigi.

“They’re so cute!” He squealed happily, petting WolfChan- Doctor WolfChan’s head as if he were a real dog, “Do the kids have any idea of what’s happening?”

“Well, of course they know that Stray Kids are coming to the hospital, but we haven’t told them how the whole afternoon will go just yet - we’d like to keep some things a secret, you know?” You gently caressed the soft fur of the Dwaekki standee, gazing at the decorated room with a fondness in your eyes, “This really means the world to them, and we tried our best to make it as grand as possible.”

A warm feeling settled in Chris’s chest, and he had to take a quick breath to dispel the heat from warming the rest of his body in turn. “If that’s the case, I hope that we can help make their day just a little bit brighter - and, hopefully, the nurses’ day too.”

You smiled, catching his eyes, “Trust me, you’re way ahead on that goal.”

It wasn’t long until the rest of the members began to show up, everyone slowly filling the break room specifically reserved for their visit while managers and nurses coordinated bringing the kids into the Skzoo Hospital before revealing their bigger surprise.

Being one of the lead pediatric nurses on duty, you did your part in ushering the line of children from their rooms and into the playroom - catching a glance of a certain leader as he sneakily peeked through the crack of the break room’s door, watching as the little kids spoke excitedly amongst themselves.

Soon the room was filled with children excitedly taking in the decorations and standees, and after a brief moment of gathering and pep-talking from your coworkers, the grand reveal commenced - the eight idols entering the room to excited cheers and applause. Managers ensured the small recording crew caught every reaction and the surprise performance the boys had prepared, before your shift lead announced that the members would be splitting into groups to play and spend time with the kids in Skzoo Hospital.

From small tables arranged for arts and crafts to a controlled space for duck, duck, goose, the activities were enough to keep both the children and the kids irrevocably entertained.

Chris was having a riveting conversation with one of the children at the art station about the best color to draw with when he felt a tug at his shirt, turning his head to see a little girl - who’d happily introduced herself as Narae - holding a sheet of paper with a smile as bright as the sun.

“Wanna see my drawing?”

He smiled at her small, excited little bounces and nodded, “Of course! What is it?”

Turning her paper around, tiny fingers pointed to the colorful figures on the page, “This is me and Leebit picking flowers, I have a yellow flower because it’s my favorite color, and over here is PuppyM wearing a flower crown- Oh, and here is Nurse Y/n having a picnic with WolfChan! She’s my favorite nurse, and he’s her favorite Skzoo, so I drew them together!”

The innocent mention of his representative plush being your favorite sent his heart rate skyrocketing, and he could feel a sheepish blush beginning to take over his ears as he studied the drawing.

“She says he has a cute tail, but I think Leebit’s tail is cuter because it’s fluffy like a bunny,” Narae mumbled, turning her paper around as if inspecting it. “My friend says Bbokari has a cuter tail, but chickens don’t have tails! They have chicken butts!”

Stifling a laugh, he grinned, “You know what? You should go ask Felix if Bbokari has a tail or a chicken butt, he knows all about him.”

She gave him a quick nod before rushing off toward the dancer, determined to get her point proven, leaving Chris to grapple with this newfound knowledge; picking up a crayon and a piece of paper to draw with the children around him.

Eventually the little meet and greet came to an end, the boys handing out the small gift bags to the children who were able to make the event while some of the kids gifted their drawings to the members in return.

With a chorus of ‘thank you’s and well wishes, you led the idol group back to the break room while your coworkers busied themselves with organizing the children to be ushered back into their rooms for the evening.

“I’m never going to let you live down the fact that you actually lost at duck, duck, goose to a kid, Felix,” Seungmin laughed mockingly, the blond’s demise putting a glittering smile on his face.

“Hey! Dohyeon is really fast for his age, okay? I wasn’t going to try to beat a child at a silly little game!”

“I would,” Minho hummed as he passed by the duo, grabbing a bottle of water from the small refreshments table, “teach them early - life isn’t fair.”

“Hyung!”

Chris let out a heavy sigh as the chaos of his members slowly grew, though his anguish was quickly curbed by the sound of your laughter, poorly hidden behind your hand.

Making his way over to you, he nodded his head toward his friends, “I’m sorry about them.”

You waved his apology off with your hand, shaking your head, “Don’t be, that just means you guys had fun - I’m sure the children did too, I haven’t seen their faces light up like that in a while.”

“Yeah? Well, I’m glad we were able to make their day a bit more special.”

His voice was soft, earnest with a sparkle in his eyes and you felt a small flutter float through you as you hummed in affirmation. 

“And a few of the nurses, too, it’s not often that we get visitors like you guys who have the time to come by and do little things like this, it means a lot to us.”

“You know,” he hummed, leaning his shoulder against the wall, “I learned something interesting while talking to one of the kids today.”

Raising an eyebrow, you couldn’t help the fleeting sense of worry tug at your psyche from his curious tone. “Did you? And what would that be, Chris?”

“Well, let’s just say, if you want anything WolfChan themed, I’d be more than happy to get it for you.” A smug smirk began to tug at his lips, his voice lowering to a volume only you could catch, “And, if he were real, I think you’d be his favorite, too.”

Your eyes widened a fraction as a wave of embarrassment washed over you, though you recovered with narrowed eyes, “Which one of those rascals told you that?”

“Hey - my lips are sealed!” He chuckled, holding his hands up in moc defense, though the playful shine in his eyes remained. “I’m just the messenger here.”

Nodding slowly, you pursed your lips in thought, “Alright, then what about you?”

“What about me?”

“Well, since you’re real and WolfChan isn’t,” your voice trailed off as you tilted your head inquisitively, “am I your favorite?”

You weren’t sure where the sudden burst of confidence came from, but he’d started the teasing act first, so it was only fair that you played with him at his own game.

Chris bristled at the sudden question, his posture straightening just a bit as his eyes searched yours for any sign of encouragement, a warmth setting over him as the corner of your lip ticked up in challenge.

“My favorite, hm?” He pondered for a moment, tapping his chin before glancing at you with a sparkle that had your heart fluttering, “I’d say there’s no contest, but I’d rather have more time to really figure it out, you know?”

“Is that a proposition, Christopher?”

“It’s a promise, if you’d let me.”

Stepping forward just an inch, you couldn’t fight the smile working its way onto your lips, “I would, but I don’t like when people can’t fulfill their promises.”

“Then it’s a good thing I don’t plan on breaking this one.” He murmured as he leaned forward the same amount, though his entire being begged to close the distance to feel your lips on his. “How about it then, beautiful?”

“Chan hyung! We’ve gotta go soon!”

Your heart sunk at the warning call, looking at him before giving a firm nod, “It’s a deal, but-”

“Don’t worry,” digging into his pocket, he pulled out a neatly folded piece of paper before slyly sliding it into your hand, “we’ll figure out the details, yeah? Patient-nurse confidentiality, and all that.”

Giggling, you tried to ignore the way his hand felt in yours, melting at the warmth he radiated, “Of course, completely confidential.”

He grinned, letting his hand slip from yours he ducked his head in a silent goodbye, “See you later?”

“See you soon.” You reassured him with a glittering smile, watching as he reunited with the rest of his members and management team and joining them in whatever discussion they were wrapping up with.

Taking the chance to unfold the paper he gave to you, your eyes quickly read the numbers neatly scribbled in blue crayon, followed by a cute doodle of WolfChan’s face and a short message.

‘P.S. I think you have a cute butt, too - Chris’

✧. ┊Tagged lovelies: @having-an-internal-crisis-rn, @midnightfrog625, @anyhow-everything, @bangchanbabygirlx, @sweetracha, @nightimescapes , @caitlyn98s , @ch4nn13luv , @ihrtlix , @jeonjungkookenthusiast1997 , @maximumkillshot , @y-ur--i , @acker-night , @dreamescapeswriting , @specialstay , @s00buwu , @tinyelfperson , @jj-stay , @katsukis1wife , @inlovewithmusician , @keen-li , @armystay89 , @main-character0 , @vampcharxter , @ddyskz , @prettymiye0n , @bbgnyx , @bahng-chrizz , @milknhoneyracha , @hann1bee , @palindrome969 , @newhope8 , @luminouskalopsia , @kpopsstuffs , @starquokka , @wolfs-howling , @laylasbunbunny , @zaethefangirl, @chxnb97, @4-chan-inpadella , @butterflydemons ,

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[popcornforone]

Flying High

A Javi Gutierrez Fic

Day 26 of Pedrotober (Vanity Fair Prompt)

Masterlist

I know it’s meant to be the cover from this year with Colmon I do… but all I saw was the word vanity & I knew what I was doing. It had to be Javi G in that pink jumper, doing what Pedro did. So I’m having my moment peoples, let me & my sunshine do this.

Synopsis:- you keep getting distracted on your flight home while trying to read the latest addition of Vanity Fair.

Word count:-1050

Warnings over & above:- joining the mile high club, sex in public, fingering, promising of more sex, teasing, swearing, alcohol, see our sunshine & sweet loyal Javi can be naughty when he wants to be.

Thanks as always for the ready peoples. I’m sorry @norththelemon & @alyssamariag that I broke the rules for this one, but I think you understand why.

The Vanity Fair lie detector test

Conducted for the press junket of the new Nicholas Cage blockbuster The Compound, written for the screen by Oscar winning screen writer Javi Gutierrez

Javi Gutierrez is willingly giving this information & have been fully briefed.

What’s your full name?

Javier Gutierrez Blanco

Are you aware this is a lie detector test?

Yes

Are you a screen play writer?

Yes thanks to my best buddy Nick Cage

Are your wearing a pink jumper?

Yes it’s actually cherry blossom pink.

Let’s start off with some film stuff, is it true your favourite film is Paddington 2?

No but it’s third, it makes me feel like I can do anything, it’s so sweet & humble.

Did you like Paddington before watching the movie?

Kind of, I never read it as a kid, but I’d seen a few bits about it in London.

What is the worst Nicholas Cage film?

There isn’t one (buzz) okay it’s The One Man Army, but not for Nick it was just a weird story, he did the best he could.

Do you think your friendship with Cage is real?

Yes

Does Nicholas?

I hope so

This is your third film that you’ve written for Cage, would your write for anyone else?

One day I’d like to, but we have a good partnership why break a winning streak.

Is it true you have a shrine to Cage?

No (buzz) wait I hadn’t finished, I have a whole room of his memorabilia. I like to sit on the sofa in there & watch Con Air. I’m proud of it, which is why I wanted more than a shrine.

What does he think?

He says it’s a bit creepy but he likes a few bits in there. He hates the sequin pillow.

You put down the article at that point, as Javi leans over you & kisses you on your private jet back to Majorca.

“Baby we’re almost home, time to put that magazine down”

“But I’d only just started reading it Javi” you protest but don’t protest more kisses. “& it’s a big deal to be the lie detector article for Vanity Fair, especially as your referenced them in the last film”

“Think that’s how I got the interview” he takes the magazine away & starts to stroke your thighs. He knows you’re nervous when it comes to landing. “I don’t mind though, it was fun todo & once we get in the car you can finish the rest of it, but it won’t take long before we are back at our villa”

“Oooh home sweet home”

“Bed sweet bed”

“Sexy hot sex”

“Hmmm thought we had some of that earlier” he whispers.

You’d joked as you got on the private Jet from New York that you didn’t see the point of the mile high club. You wondered who would want to have sex in an airplane toilet, the smallest space in the world that wasn’t comfortable & very unsanitary. Javi had laughed at you.

But after dinner was served & the staff went to go & watch whatever film they wanted on the flight back, Javi pulled the curtain to his section.

“Javi what are you doing?” You asked & then your jaw dropped as he unbuttoned his shirt.

“No awkward toilet for us baby” he put on some soft music & turned the plane lights to light purple. His chest magnificent once it was exposed. “Come on baby aren’t you curious?”

You rode him like a champion, caressing your breast as he poured one of those small bottle of champagne over you before he licked it up. Your clit, swollen. His penis in a vice grip so firm. You heard them turn the movie up in the other part of the plane, you were moaning Javis name so much. He wasn’t exactly quite thrust up into you, looking at how well you took him. As you lay on top of him after it was done, the turbulence sign came on & Javi laughed.

“Guess the mile high club really does make your highs longer.”

Now as you come into land another couple of hours later & he strokes your thigh you sit there & breathe.

“It’s okay baby, I’m here”

“I know Javi, & for once I actually feel kind of calm”you still take a few breaths.

“Really”

“Yes cos if this plane does crash as we land, you will be found with my panties in your pocket” you giggle & thrust his hand into your trousers, that thumb finds your clit instantly. You don’t care that some staff might see. Javi will pay them for their discretion.

“Damn it baby” he says, before he nips on you your earlobe. He whispers deeply. “What do you think will land first the plane or your orgasm”

“Me” you whimper. “Your pilots good at flying baby, but you make me higher than the clouds. & I ain’t coming down”

He picks up the pace. Your hands grab the arms of the chair as you moan, your lip almost splitting as you bite it trying to keep it all in.

“Is my señorita gonna squirt in her designer trousers?” He says he’s now unzipped your trousers so a finger is also inside you. “Sounds like your almost there baby feels it too” he’s rapid. You just feel friction & pleasure & can no longer keep the noise down.

“Fuck Javi, yes yes fucking yes” it’s so loud that as you cum & soak his hand & your $1000 trousers, that neither of you notice the not so smooth landing. His eyes to busy looking at your face in complete ecstasy as you cum. Your bright red & panting. Your knuckles white from the grip of the chair.

“Hmmm so needy beautiful” he says as his hand that wasn’t pleasuring turns your face to look at him & then he kisses you passionately a you pant. Those lips still taste as sweet as the first time you kissed.

“Javi… I”

“Baby I’m gonna dismiss the staff so they can go get some food, I can’t lever you hanging here, when your ready to experience more”

“So much more Javi” you mumble & rest your head on his shoulder as he removes his hand.

“My head is always high in the clouds when it comes to making love with you”

[justhere4kpop]

Easy as Breathing

P.SH x Reader

W/C:1176

Genre: Fluff, Stay at Home, Date Night.

Summary: You finally can have a date night with your partner, what will you get up to? He is the love of your life after all. Don't forget some shenanigans with a kitten.

a/n: Happy Birthday to one of my best friends on the entire planet! @hwaightme I love you so so so much and I can't believe we've spent almost a year together on this rock! Thank you for always believing in me even when I couldn't and making every day a little brighter with your art and delulu, you mean the absolute world to me and I love our chaos crew! I love you so much! I can't wait for many more! Here's to you!!!! <3 <3 <3 (also thank you my love @pocketjoong for beta-reading <3)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dating Seonghwa was as easy as breathing, he fell into you like a missing puzzle piece and wamed your heart like a ray of sunshine on a cloudy day. He was there in the time you were studying for your degree and you were there as he and his group traveled across your home, attending his performances was something you had always promised to do whenever you could. He made sure to be there when you had graduated and you made sure that you were at the show for his birthday.

You had moved in together some time ago as you could never be away from each other long enough to keep your own place. Your home was cozy and minimal, it had lego displays and Star Wars memorabilia, a sofa big enough fo every member and yourself in the living space with a tv made for watching movies. The coffee table adorned with “The Star Wars Archives” “Star Wars Art.” and “Cabinet of Natural Curriosities.” A turntable adorned a corner of the room with speakers. Art hung on the wall, some you created, some you both had purchased from art fairs. The color palette was cooler, soft blacks and whites, a few accents of emerald and a pop of gold. Seonghwa had liked it for the rich vibes it gave him. You both had worked hard to make it into a home, this was your home. You remind each other it could be a cardboard box and it’d feel like home if you were together.

After what felt like Seonghwa being gone forever you both had settled on a date night, and while all your outdoor plans had been rained out or cancelled due to the weather you could still make the most of it. Grabbing umbrellas and ponchos you head to the local department store to pick up a few things, a lego set, snacks, a book or two, a puzzle, and a movie to potentially watch later.

“Okay I’ll start organizing the pieces into categories.” you said sitting at the now cleared off coffee table lego box open.

“Okay I’ll see where we should start.” Seonghwa smiled at you.

Lego building always starts peaceful but about halfway through you both are arguing if that’s the correct piece or if it’s actually the piece you’re holding because it looks more like the picture that way, you decide to make hot chocolate to get away from him and cool off because after all it is a silly argument, Lego building is very serious in this household, just ask your cat…also named Lego. The sweetest little black kitten with the brightest roud boba eyes. Seonghwa as a cat as you describe to your friends.

After your adventures in lego building you decide to do something a little active to wake up so maybe a few rounds of Just Dance, or as Hwa suggested a Youtube tutorial on aerobics. Then of course neither of you could decide on reading or the puzzle so you decide to snuggle up on the sofa and he reads to you while you lean against him, adjusting his glasses when they start sliding off his face since his arms are too full of you to keep them on his nose. You journey back to the lego building but of course you become distracted when Lego begins chasing the light reflected off your phone onto the floor. Your giggles becoming his favorite sound on the planet.

As the date night came to a close you made his favorites for dinner, a proper feast even. He held you close as you cleaned the kitchen and began waltzing with you as if in one of those old time movies with the big poofy dresses and gloves, him in a three piece suit. In reality you’re both in glasses and pajamas laughing as you stumble around the kitchen and listen to him humming. Finally settling in for the night back on the couch watching Kiki’s Delivery Service.

“Maybe we should get Lego, a Jiji.” Seonghwa smiled down at you.

“You sure you can handle two cats and a girlfriend Hwa?” you smiled back slightly.

“Well I’d have you to help out now wouldn’t I.” he pinched you slightly. You yelpped out in surprise.

“Yah! Park Seonghwa!” you hit him with a pillow.

“What’s like without a little spontaneity” he smiled and held your arms above your head before crashing his lip down on yours.

Lego jumped up on the table and let out a mighty roar. A tiny baby meow that stopped you both in your tracks.

“Yes sir Lego?” Seonghwa looked at the kitten who has yelled at his father.

“I think he said ‘Stop attacking mom.’” you chuckled from under the love of your life.

“She did start it Lego.” Hwa chuckled and scooped the kitten into his arms.

“Okay maybe we do need another cat since I now have no cat and no cuddles Hwa.” you pout gently.

“Well then, my little witch needs her Jiji doesn’t she?” he smiled and passed Lego into your arms and held you both close. “See this works much better doesn’t it.”

“It does……..PARK SEONGHWA!” you practically launched the kitten across the sofa and turned to hit the man who once again has found it in his enjoyment to torture his poor significant other while the cuddle on the couch.

“Have I ever told you how much I loved you.” he smiled as he stared into your eyes like they held the stars in the sky. 

“You could stand to mention it more now that you’re here.” you stuc your tongue out at him.

“I love you very much darling. Very. Very. Much.” he emphasized each very with a kiss to your lips. 

“You’ve now distracted me through the whole movie.” you chuckle and push him up gently.

“Alright alright, I give.” he sat back up and let you get comfortable.

It wasn’t long before the warmth of the blanket mixed with you partner in crime, a soft movie, and full stomach from too many snacks and tea began to drift you off to sleep.

“I do love you very very much my darling.” Seonghwa kissed the top of your head as you breathed peacefully without a care in the world.  Yes dating Seonghwa was as easy as breathing.

Bonus:

You awoke the next morning, it still dark and damp from the non-stop rain of the night, the soft patter on the window, Seonghwa arrived with a coffee just how you like it and his laptop under his arm.

“Good Morning Darling.” he smiled softly as you sat up and took the coffee.

“Mmm Mornin’ ” you mumbled.

“I was browsing for our very own Jiji this morning while I was waiting for your coffee to finish, I think I found the perfect one. Sure she’s not a black cat like the movie but-”

“She’s perfect Hwa.” you looked at the photo of the mostly black cat with a sweet little white star patch over her chest.

[the-common-cowgirl]

It’s Only Forever, Not Long at All…

Chapter 1: Into the Labyrinth

Labyrinth AU Mini-Series. Each Chapter based on the chronological soundtrack of the cult classic film, Labyrinth (1986).

Goblin King!Aemond Targaryen x Fem!Reader

Rating: Ch. 1 is General

Summary: Life at home is not fair, your only escape is your beloved fairytale novel, The Labyrinth. However, everything is about to change when you make a heat-of-the-moment mistake, causing you to strike an unfair deal with the one and only, Goblin King.

Warnings: teenage angst

Word Count: 2960

A/N: I know chapter 1 doesn’t delve too far from the original story, however, it’s pivotal for the remainder of the story so I kept it closely canon and will start separating in chapter 2.

Series Masterlist

Thunder rumbles distantly as you make your way across the park. The skies are gloomy overhead but you pay no attention. No, your mind isn’t stuck in the present. It dances to a realm where a handsome king holds you in his arms as you stare deeply into his eyes: in love. You clutch the fairytale novel, The Labyrinth, close to your home-made, hand sewn corset you made all by yourself after becoming infatuated with this book nearly four years ago. Now at eighteen, your childish obsession has somewhat taken over your life.

Your bedroom was covered in “Labyrinth” memorabilia. You had learned to sew garments that fit the fantasy world you pictured in your mind, creating an extensive array of different pieces. Your step-mother had a music box crafted for your sixteenth birthday, as a way of trying to grow closer to you. It was a miniature version of yourself in a big, white, puffy fantasy wedding gown and hair done up in pearls and beads in an intricate way. You loved that version of you in that music box so much that you had set out to remake the gown, it had taken two years but it was nearly finished and you couldn’t wait to put it on.

Your stepmother’s attempt at becoming friendly with you had worked, until it didn't. She had merely suggested one night recently that you should pursue a degree in fashion after you graduated since you loved sewing garments so much. The suggestion infuriated you, for she had been so close to understanding what fueled your passion for creating things, yet so far. You only created and learned to sew because of your love of reading, specifically your love of this book. How could she be so blind to not see that? That night a verbal fight had ensued between your step-mother, father and yourself. A fight so bad, your step-mother picked up your baby sister, you baby half-sister, and left the room.

The residual feelings of unease still lingered in the home, weeks after the fight. Which led to now, in the park, you reciting the main character’s words to the Goblin King and the air around you as a way to escape your home-life and reality, if only for a short while.

“Give me the child. Through dangers untold and hardships unnumbered, I have fought my way here to the castle beyond the Goblin City to take back the child that you have stolen. For my will is as strong as yours, and my kingdom is great,” your mind trails off as you try to remember the next line.

“Ugh,” you groan and hit the book in your hand to your head, maybe a little too hard as it stings slightly “ I can never remember that line!” It’s true, you couldn’t, but you were also in the middle of trying to memorize the entire book so you should’ve given yourself more grace. You open the book to the page and passage in which you are trying to recite. Reading the words on the page aloud to yourself, “You have no power over me.”

As suddenly as you read the line, a large, snowy white owl swoops overhead, capturing your attention to the sky and a single raindrop falls onto your cheek as you head is cast upward to the rapidly darkening sky.

Which reminds you that you probably need to be back home by now. Your father had asked you to babysit your sister so he and your step-mother could go to a local fundraising gala and socialize the night away. The rain starts to come down harder now and you make your way back toward your home, running over the park’s bridge, right by the gazebo. Then when you reach the street, the clouds let loose and the downpour begins. You’re showered with water as you spring down the street, across a neighbor’s backyard and when you finally reach the back porch of your home that you found refuge from the wet in, you realize that not only are your garment’s soaked, so is your favorite book.

Grumbling angrily to yourself as you step into the house, past the kitchen and dining room and into the receiving room as you head up the stairs. Your self pity is stopped abruptly in your tracks as your stepmother calls from the bottom of the stairs, appearing from thin air.

“You’re late,” she called and you turned around halfway up the steps, “and you’re drenched!” She shrieks and turns to your father who is just out of sight, “Paul! Please explain to your daughter about punctuality and being presentable!” Her hair is in an updo as she puts on her earring. Her dress is a beautiful pale, satin pink; she’s the epitome of punctual and presentable.

Your father appears from the other room, “Y/N, you were not supposed to leave the house without our permission. Do you not remember that you're grounded?” His voice is stern but softer than your step-mother’s.

“I’m eighteen dad, you can’t ground me!” You stomp, childishly on the stair you’re standing on above them, water droplets falling with your action.

Your father brings up his pointer finger in warning, “As long as you live under my roof, I can still ground you. Now,” he raises his finger and points above you to the second floor, “Please take good care of Sarah tonight.”

“She’s already down for the night,” your step-mother adds as your father walks into the other room, “But if she wakes, just-”

“I know, I know,” you cut her off, “rock her to sleep and sing her her favorite songs and while I’m at it, why don’t I just give her my favorite things?” You raise your arms in a dramatic shrug.

Your step-mother sighs and grabs the baluster of the staircase, “Y/N, please do not disrespect me,” she says with a soft-sternness too familiar to you from her mouth; a plea. “I’m trying Y/N, but you’re making it,” you roll your eyes and start to walk further up the stairs, “so hard!” Her last two words are yelled to you as you go to your room, slam the door, and fall face-first onto your bed trying to drown out her yelling from downstairs.

They make you angry, both of them. They didn’t understand you or your interests. But, your father at least had the good sense not to bug you about what he didn’t understand; she didn’t. She’d constantly ask you about the book, about your projects, about the different characters, all to only ask once more, as if she didn’t store away information so important to you in her mind. You’d assumed if she truly wanted to know you, she’d make an effort. The nicest thing she had done was getting you that music box but even then, she made it more about your hobby of sewing than your passion for the fantasy element.

After some time, you heard the front door slam and that seemed to wake Sarah. You took a deep sigh, internally cursing them for waking your sister, half-sister. Pulling yourself from the bed, you made your way across the hall in the direction of the screaming to your father and step-mother’s room where Sarah had been sleeping. As you opened the door, the screaming intensified and you covered your ears as you approached the crying toddler in her pink-striped pajamas. You picked the toddler up as she continued to scream, not soothed by your presence in the slightest. You bounced her trying to sing against her wails, pacing around the room hap-hazardly as Sarah’s screams only seemed to worsen. As you passed her cradle for the third time, you recognized a stuffed animal she had been sleeping with to soothe her; your stuffed animal toy. The one your mother had given you when you were a baby.

Of course they’d give Sarah your things, she was your replacement with your father’s new wife. She was their precious girl, you were just a product of his last marriage to them, an inconvenience. You thought bitterly about how your step-mother wanted you out of the house, away at university and out of her hair and then she could play “perfect” family with her perfect daughter and no more. Just the three of them, the way it was meant to be.

And in that moment, all your anger seemed to snap.

You raised Sarah up in the air, still screaming and recited the fateful words, the words no one should say, yet…you did.

“I can bear no longer!” Tears streamed down Sarah’s face, “I wish, I wish…Goblin King! Goblin King! Wherever you may be, take this child of mine far away from me!” The wind rattled against the windows, making your heart skip a beat, wondering if somehow this chant had in fact, worked. But when you looked outside, you had just realized the sky was dark and the sun had set. You turn your attention back to Sarah as she continues to scream. “Ugh, Sarah,” you were impatient but now more relaxed as you let off steam. Laying her down, still crying, you grabbed the stuffed animal from her crib as she reached for it and walked back to your room briskly, to where it belonged. As you made your way across the hall, back toward the room Sarah was in, you heard her screaming abruptly stop. Your hand lingered above the handle of the door, wary as to why Sarah had stopped crying.

Opening the door, you called out, “Sarah?” Looking at her crib, you could see movements beneath the blanket but you couldn’t see her face. As you neared the crib, it moved sporadically, not in the way Sarah would move if she had fallen asleep. “Sarah?” You reached for the blanket to pull it from her face to make certain she was alright but the blanket moved again and you heard mischievous laughing from beneath. Your heartbeat quickened as you snatched the blanket from the crib to reveal nothing; Sarah was not there.

Behind you, you heard shuffling along the floor, then laughing as you turned, seeing a figure go underneath the queen bed skirt. Bending down in search of Sarah, you lifted the bed skirt to see nothing. “Sarah?” Your heart beat was quickening as you looked for your baby sister. “Sarah, this is not funny.” Something touched your leg and you jumped, looking down to see nothing. Shuffling was heard across the room and laughing from three different places were heard. You looked all around you in a panic, shadowy figures that resembled cats were hiding and peeking out from all around the room. You screeched as the creatures slowly emerged.

Suddenly behind you, the windows burst open with a warm gust of air and you quickly turned to be flooded with the white feathers of an owl. Covering your face so to not get scratched you shouted in fear. Then, the air was gone, the noise was gone, it was still. Slowly lowering your arms from your face, you were met with a towering, silver haired figure in a long coat, tight pants, knee high boots and an eye-patch….staring at you with a mischievous glint in his remaining eye.

And you knew.

“You’re him aren't you? You’re the Goblin King!” You accused, stepping back in fright. “I want my sister back, please, if it’s all the same.”

The corners of his mouth quirked, “What’s said is said.” His stern voice held finality.

“But I didn’t mean it,” you pleaded.

His smile grew from your words, “Oh you didn’t?” Raising a single brow.

A creature, a goblin, ran from behind you, frightening you into another shriek, between your legs and behind the King who waved his hands in front of each other and procured a glass-looking ball from what seemed thin air, like a magic trick. “I’ve brought you,” the orb danced across his fingertips as he transferred it from one hand to the other, “a gift.”

You felt inclined to take a step toward him but refused that feeling, “What is it?”

“It’s a crystal, nothing more. But, if you turn it this way and look into it,” he turned the crystal closer toward you, “it will show you your dreams. But it is not a gift for an ordinary girl who takes care of a screaming baby.” He looked down to the crystal and his smile turned upside down as he looked up to you mischievously and threw the crystal at you, turning into a snake midair and landing on your chest. You screamed in terror as the snake fell to your feet and spun in tight circles, turning into a goblin and who laughed up at you.

When you raised your head to look at the king and you were suddenly in a new place, a realm of some sort, his realm. It was a dusty landscape and he stood above you, a warm wind blowing his silver locks across the tall black collar of his dust jacket. He raised a hand aside himself and procured an image of an ornate, golden grandfather clock whose hands spun sporadically. “You have twelve hours in which to solve the Labyrinth before your baby sister becomes one of us, forever.” He grinned devilishly, “At the center of the Labyrinth lies the Goblin City, and, my castle. You will find us there, waiting.” He pointed out beyond you.

You looked behind you to the massive maze in which you had to make it through in order to save your baby sister. At the center, far off in the distance, sitting atop a hill was a large castle: your destination.

“Turn back, turn back before it’s too late,” his voice rang behind you. As you turned you realized he had gotten closer, strangely close to you.

“I can’t,” you professed. “Don’t you know why I can't?”

He laughed deeply as he stepped backwards and began to disappear, “Such a pity.” His voice echoed around you, taunting you, encouraging you to fail.

You took a deep breath, stilling your mind and readied yourself for the task at hand. Turning, you set off and hurried down the hill to the tall, light dusty stone walls of the Labyrinth. Beginning your adventure into the world you had loved from pages for so long, that had now somehow, become your worst nightmare. You had to save your sister. You had to undo what you had caused. You had to solve the Labyrinth.

As you reached the towering walls you looked for an entrance into the maze and found there was none in sight, so you ran along the walls one way till you were nearly out of breath. Not seeing an end in sight, you turned and ran back the way you came and past that, until you were sorely out of breath. There was no entrance in sight, nothing but high stone walls that went on forever.

Feeling defeated and angry, you fell to the ground on your bottom, yelling, “It’s not fair!” Picking up a rock and throwing it to the wall without it to bounce back, rather, going through the wall. This puzzled you and you tilted your head.

“Life’s not fair,” a gravelly voice sounded behind you, causing you to startle. You saw a strange looking goblin walking about, spraying fairies and paying no mind to you.

“Hey! Don’t hurt them,” you reach out to scoop up an injured fairy that had been sprayed by this goblin. It looked at you with its little eyes and cute wings. You wondered why he had sprayed a thing so innocent and minding itself.

Then you felt a sharp sting in your hand and dropped the fairy, “Ow! It bit me!” Holding your hand to your mouth to stop the small pain.

“What did you expect a fairy to do?” He grogged and turned toward you as if we were dull.

“I don’t know…nice things like granting wishes?”

The goblin rolled his eyes, “Shows what you know, don’t it?” He returned to spraying the fairies but you had an idea.

Jumping up, “Hey, you live here don’t you? Why don’t you show me how to get into this place?” You put your hands on your hips with renewed hope.

The goblin and his sprayer turned, “Well, have you tried to get in?”

You furrowed your brow in confusion, “I’ve looked but there doesn't seem to be an entrance-”

“Just go through it,” he replied hastily, bored with your presence.

This puzzled you further. “Go through it?” You echoed and he merely nodded his head.

To get in you just walk in.” He spoke as if it were the plainest answer possible, the impossible.

Intrigued by his suggestion and oddly believing this goblin despite what help he offered to be very impossible, you decided to try it. So, you turned and walked to the stone wall with trepidation, hands raised. As you neared the wall, your hands slowly disappeared, then your arms, then you were on the other side of the wall, in the Labyrinth.

Elated, you returned back to the outside to thank this helpful goblin. “Wow, I just go through it!” He only rolled his eyes and returned to spraying the fairies. “Thank you, uh,” you hadn’t gotten his name.

“Hoggle,” he offered while paying you minimal attention.

“Thank you, Hoggle!” Excited, you slipped back into the maze. Turning around, you looked at the high walls before you and exhaled a deep sigh. Into the Labyrinth you went in search of your sister, to right your wrong, to defeat the Goblin King.

Let me know if you’d like to be added to the taglist! As always, reblogs, comments and likes are appreciated but not necessary. ❤️❤️

IOF,NLAA Taglist: @sassysaxsolo @fan-goddess

[grievetherat]

I feel like rambling a bit about the Beatles; they have been my special interest for a while now but recently I've become especially hyperfixated.

I'm in college right now but my experience goes back to the 2010s when my father brought me trinkets from his trip to Liverpool some of which were Beatles-related. Living in a Eastern European country was a bit of a bleek experience as a child if you grew up being influenced by Western media. Being glued to the family computer or the TV, all I could do was admire the ways decade's leading up the the 21st century was shown in media, times which I was told were the darkest for my family (no electricity, no running water, the looming Soviet Union).

As such I was a yearning middle schooler, jealous of the Western world and their ability to create media that I admired. Don't get me wrong, I have gone back since then to realize even my home country had its charms and memorable breakthroughs in our culture of music or style but for me, as a kid being infatuated with the West, I was jealous of people who had their parents pass down cool records to them because they lived through the times when such music was popular, have access to merchandise or memorabilia, or the ability to visit certain historical places because I was worlds away from them.

As such I became fixated much of my teenagehood on the prospect of "what it could have been" for me, If I had the chance, I was basically a westernboo, I was chronically online most of the 2010s, exploring the emerging internet culture, the online sphere, youtube (because who else would have been the perfect subject to develop a parasocial relationship with British vloggers ahem dan&phil), but I also began to develop taste in music. As such it coincided with my father's visit to Liverpool, which fascinated me, the trinkets he had brought back along with the LOVE album CD, were mesmerizing. I mean I enjoyed my fair share of 2010s pop music, but by the end of that CD listen, needless to say, I became a pretentious prick.

To say I was interested in them is an understatement, I was obsessed; but I couldn't really explore my Beatles obsession with anyone my age so I paraded my hyperfixation to my father (a beatles fan, who took pride in me developing this interest) and the adults in my family, as simply an infatuation with the decades (the 60s-70s) to seem smart and sophisticated. They would praise me for being a history nerd and ask me to tell them fun facts about the Beatles which i pretended to simply comply with, but in reality, I just wanted an excuse to bring up the Beatles. Of course, those fun facts needed reading-up so i consumed as much reading material online (or from the few english history books my school library housed) as I could. I read of their contributions to music, their history, rock n roll, the pre-Beatles, post-breakup, their solo careers, the hippie counterculture everything ( i guess as much as a i could comprehend at them time lol) but most importantly, i read of John's tragic passing as well as the many articles, hypothesizing on 'what it could have been' for the Beatles.

My undiagnosed brain had melted at that one singular possibility.

Truly, in modern internet slang, the alleged/hypothesized Beatles reunion has been my Roman empire since the day I graduated middle school to today simply because I think of it every day at least twice. Eventually middle school obsession had matured into a primary interest, a personality trait, more of a "hello, I'm Nym, and I'm a big fan of the Beatles" and it would automatically tell the type of person I was. Only a few things after the Beatles had the same lasting effect on me (Gravity Falls as an example lol).

It also didn't help that I listen to them and their solo releases on the daily and that they're actually everywhere, being the greatest band in the world, but I think it's only in my tism brain that can't scratch that itch that makes my enjoyment of the Beatles such a surreal experience. Perhaps I could finally put it into words to give middle school me some sort of closure:

There has always been something so devastating to me about John's and George's passings. humans come and they go but for them it was abrupt, cruel; living in the 2020s now, there's something so poignant to me that begs the world why they never got to experience the next century to its full potential.

We knew the Beatles were over in 1980, the tale isn't as obscure as the Roman Empire because it feels like it has only just happened, it's part of modern popculture right? And yet we live in the 3rd decade of the 21st century, completely shifting the perspective to a type of lingering wound from such a long time ago that it never really heals anymore.

At the time, I had told this to my mother, how it bothered me so much. She had assumed I had realized the concept of sudden death and become afraid of it, and to her credit, she had tried her best to help me 'overcome it' as well, but it was never death that bothered me, it was the unfairness, the lack of closure and I guess the bittersweetness that lingers with me every time I turn on a Beatles song.

Being a Beatles fan has been a surreal experience really; I believed this weird, almost para-sociality with the closure that never came that I yearned for so long as a middle schooler would dissipate over time and I could enjoy the Beatles legacy as every other adult had around me, enjoy a fun fact now and then, get a trinket from a trip. I never really achieved that, I'm in college and they still essentially function for me as the fall of the Roman Empire. Especially with the release of Get Back a year or two ago and Now and Then, it's essentially gotten worse. Sometimes I can't bear to think about it anymore and sometimes I can't help but reminisce on what it could have been.

Anyways, I still treasure them in such a weird way, I think it takes a lot for a human tale with all its flaws to be this compellingly tragic and bittersweet to keep up a gen z college student at night over half a century later. Idk

[chicanoartmovement]

CHICANO ART MOVEMENT attends: OC Fair 2024

(View at the Orange County Fair 2024 where it’s “always a good time” — this year’s theme.)

We made it to Costa Mesa, California for the last weekend of the OC Fair 2024 for extra long corn dogs, fresh lemonade, sweet & light funnel cake, and visual stimulation.

(South facing view of commemorative memorial honoring agriculture workers and their hard work.)

Entering through the blue gate, we came upon the “Table of Dignity” Memorial in commemoration of the agricultural workers by the Agricultural Association (32nd district) and the OC Fair & Event Center.

The only figurative artwork on the memorial as through its wall-thru archway which was created by artist Higgy Vasquez.

(Detailed view of inner walls of the walk through portal portion of the “Table of Dignity” monument.)

This pair of paintings “Dignity” & “Justicia” displayed the different phases of harvesting crops grown in Orange County such as grapes and strawberries.

One special elements of this memorial was the incorporation of live grape vines.

(View of participating collections and memorabilia at the year’s OC Fair.)

Next we moved on to the Hobbies & Handcrafts building in support of one of our street team member who had a pop culture display at the OC Fair.

(View of gallery sign at the Orange County Fair 2024.)

Afterwards we proceeded to the Visual Arts & Woodworking Gallery. There we came upon two life size cutouts: a pachuco and a pachuca.

(View of “Me Despojo De Todo Lo Que Disminuya El Valor de Mi Ofrenda” by Jacqueline Valenzuela, 2024.)

Lured in and while walking around the art booth, we saw the artista Jacqueline Valenzuela painting live. We were fortunate enough to chat with her & learned about her art collaboration with the fair.

“Jacqueline Valenzuela is an interdisciplinary artist whose practice is centered around depicting her personal experiences as well as the storytelling of other women who like her are in the Chicano world of lowriding. Her art practice reflects the deep roots she has planted in the lowrider community by bridging the gap between fine art and this underrepresented community.”

[aesopsharpmybeloved]

Tess' Sharpuary - 27. Bric-a-brac

Aesop buried many things in fear of being reminded of his grief. His sweetheart unearths them again - and Aesop is not afraid.

chapter specific tags: established relationship, fluff, healing, comfort

relationships: aesop sharp x reader

27. Bric-a-brac (1.1k)

tw: mentions of grief

Aesop Sharp kept quite a sizable amount of memorabilia. After all, it was far from uncommon for a wizard or witch of a certain esteem to own and proudly display their own sets of dust-catchers. The ones he and Dinah in particular owned could sometimes be slightly… gruesome. Severed hands and taxidermied werewolves truly helped bring out the aesthetics, Aesop thought with an amused snort. Those were the things visible to many people, things Dinah used in her lessons, and items Aesop scared the potential unwanted guest to his rooms with.

However, the things he truly considered ‘treasures’, though they were anything but, were all hidden away safely at his home, oftentimes away from people’s eyes, even his own, occasionally hidden in plain sight, disguised as everyday items of little value. 

His ‘official’ Auror badge was displayed upon his desk in his classroom, but it was always the unofficial one he held in higher regard, that one that had the word Auror written on it in scraggly letters and with the R’s facing the opposite way. That was the badge his best friend gave him before the two of them knew how to write well. It was something that hurt him to look at, yet at the same time one of the things he grew panicked about when he couldn’t find it…

More items were like that; old photographs, little notes, useless little trinkets he didn’t have the heart to throw away, but wasn’t able to face them either. They held the past long gone, not only the events that transpired, but the kind of person he was, the kind of person he used to be. And they used to haunt him.

And then there were the things hidden in plain sight - one of which was an entirely ordinary tweed bunnet, hung upon one of the hooks in the hallway of his house. Visible to anyone and everyone who visited (though the number of such people wasn’t exactly high), but so inconspicuous, it tended to get entirely overlooked. There were only two people in the world who knew the true value of the simple headwear, and that was Aesop himself, and his dear mother. Only those two knew that this hat, bought in 1851 for 7 shillings and 10 pennies all the way in Glasgow was, in fact, priceless.

It had belonged to Aesop’s father, with whom Aesop was allowed desperately little time, but who nevertheless helped shape the child into the man ha was now, his presence, while fleeting, never truly leaving him, and his scent still lingering upon the bunnet, both like a sweet reminder, and a bitter regret. A number of his father’s clothes were given away to those who needed them, as Theodore Sharp would’ve liked, having been the kind man he was, and the rest got somehow lost along the way. Only the hat remained.

And it was his sweetheart who brought his attention to it after many years he, too, spent ignoring the fact it was even there.

She had a tendency to do that.

Her innocent curiosity, as well as the desire to know him better, prompted Aesop to fish out many of his secret little treasures to show her. Things that he was frightened to look at in fear of once more experiencing the horrible wave of remembering of what was, and what could have been. But with her… With her it was different. With her he wasn’t afraid.

Little by little, he felt safe enough to unearth things he buried well and deep, from those little trinkets, to his very first ‘Auror badge’. And once he explained to her the meaning they held to him, he found that he no longer wanted to hide them away. The sorrow was still there, but so was the love, and the joy he experienced when handling these items for the first time. Things he used to hide away started to get displayed alongside her own memorabilia. It was only fair, he’d decided finally - those were, after all, the items that shaped them and followed them through their lives.

And then, one day, she finally noticed the hat. 

A part of Aesop winced, unsurprisingly - It’s been very nearly four whole decades, and yet the grief was still there… He supposed it was something that would never leave, truly leave. However, what was surprising was that a part of him felt… elated. Like it’s been waiting for her to bring the bunnet up for a long time. A part of himself wanted to acknowledge one of the few things he still had left from his father. 

He slowly walked over to his sweetheart, and took the hat out of her gentle hold. Without thinking and without shame, he brought the headwear to his nose, his senses immediately registering the oh so familiar scent, and it was enough to make his eyes glisten. She watched him silently, mindful not to do or say anything that would get him to close up again, but much less so than she was in the beginning. However, Aesop could see there was something she was stopping herself from saying…

“What is it?” he asked softly, voice heavy with emotion. She smiled gently, but shook her head. “I want to know,” Aesop insisted, his free hand coming up to stroke her smooth, soft cheek.

“You should try it on,” she said, her voice so quiet only Aesop could hear it. His heart skipped a beat. He observed the bunnet in his hold, feeling conflicted. On one hand, he didn’t want to… break the strange spell the hat put on him, the knowledge that this was his father’s hat by wearing it, but on the other… On the other hand, knowing he was wearing something that belonged to his father other than his pocket watch held a strange sort of appeal. He always loved the bunnet, and he fondly remembered his dad plopping it onto his small head when he was but a wee lad.

His sweetheart gently took it from his hold, and, moving very slowly so that Aesop could stop her anytime, began lowering it upon his head. Aesop didn’t stop her. 

Instead, he gently grabbed her hands to help her, soon feeling the warm material sitting perfectly upon his head.

“Incredibly handsome…” she said, her smile soft and tender. Aesop decided to take her word for it, instead of going to look in the mirror. Without another word, he pulled her in for a kiss. 

She had a tendency to chase ghosts away, and leave only love in their wake.

---

Thank you for reading! ❤

[AO3] - [Sharpuary 2024] - [Masterlist]

[persephonewritessometimes]

Moon Song / part four: smoke signals missing my heart

Summary: Y/N is staying with her sister for the time being, but her thoughts turn to Hotch.

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x (AFAB) Reader

Word Count: 2915

Warnings: ANGST, distressed!reader, reader is kind of depressed and doesn't want to talk about it, lots of emotions

Playlist: Link

Author's Note: I apologize if this chapter is a bit more slow-moving, I promise the next part picks back up! As always, thanks for reading, it means the world!

This work is meant for readers aged 18 and over. You are responsible for your own media consumption.

-Two Days Later-

         I’ve been staying in my sister’s spare bedroom for the past two days. It’s blank, bare of any memorabilia, just beige walls, cream-colored carpet, and me curled up underneath the covers not even knowing what time it is.

         “Y/N? Are you hungry?” My sister asks, opening the door and walking in quietly, sitting on the edge of the bed.

         “No,” I mutter. Oak and Bobby have been nothing but gracious hosts, giving me space. I know my sister is worried about me – I’m worried about me, but at this point, I’d rather just rot away in bed than do anything else.

         “Will you just eat a little bit? For me?” Sometimes I forget that I’m two years older than her. I feel small, curled in bed. I feel her rest a hand on my hip. “Y/N.”

         “Please,” I whisper. She just sighs and leaves, shutting the door behind her. My phone is shut down, buried underneath my socks. I texted everyone, save for…him, and gave them my sister’s address, asking them to send a letter if they wanted to get in contact with me. I just need some time away from everything. I sigh and roll over to my back, stretching out my limbs from their cramped position. I forget how cold my hometown is in December. It makes sense, we’re far more north than Virginia is. I woke up to a light dusting of snow on the ground this morning, snow flurries kicking up in the air. I sat by the back door and watched them as I sipped a cup of coffee. Then it was back to bed.

         I’m listless, I don’t know what to do with myself, don’t know what to say to Oak, don’t know what to say to myself. I feel drained, devoid of life, and lost. I sleep almost all day on the second day.

         On the third day, I peel myself out of bed, take a shower, and put on a pair of sweats and a large sweatshirt before emerging from the confines of my room.

         “Good morning,” I say quietly, pouring myself a cup of coffee in the tackiest mug I’ve ever seen in my entire life. I watch my sister and her husband exchange a look. “You can say it. Subtlety is not your strong suit, Oak, and I profile people for a living.” I say, raising my eyebrows, stirring some sugar into my coffee.

         “We’re just worried, Y/N. I’ve never seen you like this before, I’m worried.”

         “That’s fair.” I grasp the warm mug in both my hands, turning to lean against the counter and look at them.

         “Is there any way we can help you? I’m just lost here.” Oak looks like she’s about to cry and Bobby grabs her hand, squeezing. Tears prick at my eyes at their affection.

         “I just need time, that’s all. I’ll be okay – I always am.”

         “That’s what I’m worried about, Y/N. You always manage to pull yourself together and don’t let anyone see what’s going on underneath. It’s okay to hurt, it’s okay to open up, it’s okay to not be okay." She smiles at the cliché.

         “I’ll be fine. That’s why I’m here, isn’t it? To heal, to be somewhere that…that he’s not.” My throat closes up and I barely get the words out. I clear my throat awkwardly. “Do you have any errands I can run for you? I might as well make myself useful while leeching off of you.”

         “You’re not leeching off of us, Y/N. You’re welcome here. And I need a few things from the grocery if you’d like to venture out today.” I nod, taking myself and my coffee back to my room. I finish it within a half hour and fight the temptation to turn my phone back on. I put on socks and shoes, grab a banana from the fruit bowl in the kitchen, my sister’s shopping list, and let myself out of the house. I breathe in the crisp air for a few moments, letting my body adjust to the chill. I walk a mile to the store, eating my banana, I relish in the exercise and the serene quiet that my hometown brings.

         It’s just a small mom-and-pop grocery shop, and Meryl recognizes me instantly.

         “Well, if that’s not Y/N Y/L/N! Hey sweetie!” She calls from behind one of the registers.

         “Hi, Meryl.” I give her a small smile. “Just picking up a few things for my sister,” I say, waving the list.

         “Come here and give me a hug, I haven’t seen you in years!” She rushes over and squeezes me tight.

         “Yeah, I’ve been busy. Always working.”

         “The FBI needs to give you more time off!” I laugh, and agree, excusing myself to do the shopping. The store is quiet, just me, Meryl, the store manager, two middle-aged women, and a dad and his son. I’m watching them, not on purpose, the dad looks nothing like Hotch, but he reminds me of him all the same. I overhear him talking to his son and he says,

         “No, we’re not getting chocolate today, Jack, just the necessities.” I freeze when I hear his son’s name, the tears threatening to spill over. I blink a few times, willing them back and hurriedly get the items my sister needs. I make my way back to the cash register when a can rolls in front of me. “Oh, I’m so sorry!” The man exclaims, “Jack you need to hold onto things better!”

         “It’s fine!” I say, leaning down and picking the can up. Jack walks over to me shyly. “Here you go, Jack,” I say, handing him the can.

         “Thank you!” He exclaims, beaming up at me. I smile at him and give his dad a smile. I check out, adding a chocolate bar to the belt.

         “This is for that little boy when he and his dad check out,” I say to Meryl, handing her the chocolate bar.

         “You’ve always been a sweet girl, Y/N. Don’t let anyone dim your light.” Meryl says, taking the chocolate from me. I just give her a small smile, take my bag of groceries and head out of the grocery. I’m on the way back to my sister’s house when I see a small church on the other side of the street. It’s quaint, made of old gray stone and its doors are wide open. I’m curious, I don’t remember seeing this church growing up. I look both ways before jogging across the street and stepping inside. It smells like old books and communion wafers. There’s a “Please be quiet!” sign right outside the chapel, and there are a few people sitting inside, praying in silence.

         I’ve never been a particularly religious person, so I don’t know what compels me to walk into the chapel and sit in the last pew. I set the groceries down quietly beside me, and I just kind of look around. It’s beautiful in here, with huge stained-glass windows towards the front, and an altar made of granite. It feels peaceful here. I don’t pray, merely just sit in quiet contemplation for a few minutes, before gathering my things and leaving. I let myself into my sister’s house and put the groceries away. I find my sister sitting in the living room and ask,

         “Hey, has that church always been there?” I ask, and she seems surprised that I’m wanting to have a conversation that’s longer than her asking me a question and me saying no.

         “The gray one? Yeah, I think it’s been there as long as we’ve lived here. Why?”

         “Oh, well the doors were open, so I went inside. It was pretty, I liked it. Very quiet.” I say and smile. “Felt nice.”

         “I think it’s open every day for people to come in and pray.” I nod in contemplation, and she asks, “Have you heard any news about…?” I shake my head.

         “I turned my phone off. Completely. Which reminds me, if I get a letter, it’s from my team. I told them that’s how they could contact me.” She nods, and I excuse myself, back to my room.

-The Next Day-

         I awake from a nightmare, gasping for breath. It’s early, and the sun just starting to rise. I pull on my coat and a pair of thick socks, quietly letting myself into the backyard. I watch the sun as it rises, the hues coloring the sky. I watch as the sky turns the lightest shade of orange – his favorite color – and then into vibrant yellows and soft pinks. It’s beautiful and I don’t realize that I’m crying until I feel my cheeks get cold and wet. I laugh a little, wiping them away. It’s silly to be crying at the sunrise, but it feels like something inside me has cracked open, ready to heal.

         The next week I come out of my room more and more, borrow books from my sister (mostly shitty romance novels that don’t have much substance but are distracting enough), and walk to the little gray church every day. Sometimes I only stay for ten minutes, the other day I stayed for an hour. I think while I’m there, reflect, sometimes I cry, but I always feel better after I leave, like the load has lifted a little bit. I’m letting myself into the house after spending some time at the church and Oak says,

         “Hey, you got a letter today.” She hands me the envelope and I recognize JJ’s pretty handwriting.

         “Thank you,” I say breathlessly, taking the letter back to my bedroom and ripping it open. Everyone has written a paragraph for me. Some are short, some longer, but all light-hearted and express that they miss me. Penelope starts hers off with a poorly written joke, but it still makes me laugh. JJ’s paragraph is last, and it has the information I’ve been dying to know.

         Y/N, I hope you’re getting the rest you deserve. I know you’re wondering about him, so I’ll tell you. He woke up shortly after you and Reid left, and the first words out of his mouth were your name. When he realized you were gone, he looked like he was going to throw up. He’s back at work, despite the doctor’s orders, and keeps to himself even more than usual. He doesn’t joke around anymore, just says what he needs to and leaves. We’re worried about him, and I know you are too. He’s not the same when you’re gone. I’m not telling you this to get you to come back, I’m telling you because I know you, and you’d strangle me if I didn’t give you at least a little bit of an update. Take your time, we’ll all be here for you when you want to return. Love you.

-JJ

         They did not ask him to write a paragraph, and I feel the absence of his presence greatly. I wonder if he even knows if they’ve sent me a letter. Part of me is glad, if he doesn’t write, then I don’t have to worry about reading his words and feel like I’m hurtling over the edge into the abyss.

         I woke up in the middle of the night that night. It’s pitch-black outside, the world is quiet, waiting for something. I shuffle out of bed, put my gun in the waistband of my pants, and go for a walk. The world looks different when it’s nighttime, it’s peaceful and I walk to a park two blocks away. I sit and swing for a while, and I can’t stop thinking about him. I see him everywhere I go. In the grocery store, in the sunrise, in the sound of the door being opened but it’s always just Bobby.

         I don’t know when I start to cry. I just sit there, unmoving, letting them spill down my cheeks.

         “Let him go,” I sob at the big dark sky. But I can’t. He is entangled in my very being. The first time we kissed, the atoms of my body welcomed him in, and now he is burned into my soul. I will never be able to let him go. I feel like I’m watching myself break down from the outside, an outsider to my own life. I’m listening to her scream, listening to her cry. A feeling of relief came over my soul. I couldn’t take it any longer, and I lost control. They’re big, heaving, gut-wrenching sobs as I realize that I will never be able to rid myself of Aaron Hotchner. I feel the rational part of me chasing my emotions up the stairs, and I pinned her to the ground. Underneath her whimpering, I could hear the sirens sound. I rattled off a list of all the things I miss.

         “God?” I whispered when I was able to get my sobs under control. “I know we don’t exactly have a good track record, and I know it’s stupid to ask you for something after all these years, but if it’s meant to be, can you please send me a sign?” I look up into the sky and right as I’m about to close my eyes, two shooting stars follow each other across the sky. I suck in a breath and whisper, “Thanks, God.” I collect myself and walk back to my sister’s house, curling back up in bed and sleeping better than I had in weeks.

         I dream about him. When I wake up, from the dream where I am safe and loved, I reach across the bed for a body I know isn’t there. I curl into a tight little ball, resting my hands under my chin as my sleepy eyes take in the quiet room. I feel more at peace than I did yesterday and join Oak and Bobby for breakfast. They keep glancing at each other, and I know they’re trying to figure out what changed.

         “Y/N, Christmas is next week, do you want anything?” I blink and pause. I hadn’t realized it was coming up so fast.

         “Oh! Um, I’m not sure. Maybe a nice pair of pajamas?” I suggest, and Oak smiles at me.

         “I can do that.”

         “Do you want anything?” I ask back. She regards me.

         “I just want you to be happy.”

         “Oak…” I start, but she cuts me off.

         “No. Y/N, you love that man, yes?”

         “Yes, but - ”

         “No buts. You love that man. He loves you. You make it work, if it’s meant to be, it will work. It won’t be pretty and easy, but you can’t give up and then spend your whole life wondering what would have happened if you had just tried.” She grabs my hand and squeezes it tight. “I’m not saying you need to just forgive him immediately, but it’s clear he loves you, and you can’t help but love him.” I squeeze her hand back, not trusting myself to speak, and nod.

         I walk to the church again that day, feeling lighter than I have in a long time. There’s no quiet sign today though, and people are chatting inside. I almost turn and leave when I hear,

         “Hello, I’ve seen you here a lot. What’s your name?” An older-looking man, approaches me, a kind smile on his face.

         “Oh, um, I’m Y/N. I’m just staying with my sister for a little bit.”

         “Ah, I see. Running from your responsibilities?” He asks, smiling.

         “Running from a person, more like it.”

         “Ah, there’s always a boy in the story, isn’t there?”

         “Yeah, it seems like it,” I mutter, but smile at him.

         “What’s his name?”

         “Aaron.”

         “Good name. Is he kind?”

         “He tries to be, he’s just been hurt. We all have.”

         “I understand. We’re having a potluck right now, would you like to join us?” He asks, motioning towards the chapel.

         “Oh, uh, I didn’t know. I didn’t bring anything.” I feel awkward.

         “That doesn’t matter, come inside, Y/N, we’d be happy to have you.” I don’t know why I concede, but I do. The old man, whose name I forgot to ask, introduces me to a few people, and I recognize the dad and his son, Jack from the grocery store.

         “Hey! Thank you for the chocolate!” Jack says, tugging on my hand. I smile and crouch down to be on his level.

         “Of course! What’s life if you can’t have a little bit of chocolate?” I wink at him, and he giggles. I stand back up and his dad, whose name is Eric, says,

         “Thank you again, that was a pleasant surprise.”

         “Anytime.”

         “Why did you do it?”

         “The world needs a little more kindness than what I’ve been giving it,” I say plainly.

         “I see you met Aaron,” Eric says, changing the subject and nodding at the older gentleman. A look of surprise comes over my face before I quickly school it back into neutrality. Of course, his name is Aaron.

         “Oh, uh, yeah, he invited me in.”

         “He’s one of the church elders, and the nicest man I know. Hey, we’re having a Christmas Eve service, if you’d like to come.”

         “Of course, I’ll be there.” I smile and excuse myself. For some reason, the idea of smoke signals comes to my mind.

         The orange sunrises, the little boy named Jack, the double shooting stars, and the older man named Aaron. You must have been looking for me, sending smoke signals.

 ---

part five: the day after tomorrow

---

TAG LIST (want to be added? click here!): @helmihotchner @hausofwhores @stxlemate @heidss @justjoyceme @bxtchopolis @art-and-thoughts @morgthemagpie @rousethemouse @ssamorganhotchner @mrs-ssa-aaron-hotchner @sebastiansstanswhore

[twothpaste]

Thoughts about Porky?

my thoughts on porky are such a vast tangled web of forever spaghetti that i'm not even sure where to begin or what to pin down. the premise of a tormented child ascending to near-godhood out of sheer misanthropic spite towards the whole wide world makes my brain do backflips like a sea world dolphin. i'll ramble a bit about him.

he's ness' foil. just two chubby kids who probably grew up with their (un)fair share of bullying. the only thing distinguishing them was the familial abuse porky suffered, which he inevitably regurgitated. then destiny comes along, choosing ness over porky, and the jealousy just eats porky alive. watching his bestie accumulate friends and accolades, unable to accept it's his own rotten behavior that's driven a wedge between them. gotta imagine the burden of cutting porky off was almost unbearable for ness. somethin' that keeps him up at night, wondering if he'd just been a little kinder, or sterner, or more understanding - maybe he could've saved his old friend? not quite yet realizing it was Not At All his responsibility to "fix" someone who'd dug his grave and laid in it. porky's the kinda bad guy you love to hate, but considering his upbringing, you hesitate to blame the poor schmuck. all he knows is authority and manipulation. if you gave any ornery ostracized thirteen year old unlimited power - instead of empathy and guidance - they'd probably go down the path of vengeance, too.

he's lucas' foil. both of 'em were given plenty of reasons to hate the world. when faced with an unhappy childhood, do you choose love anyways, and move forward? or do you let it become your villain origin story? porky refuses to grow up, to such an extreme degree, that he's gotta drag everybody down into neverland with him. thinks he's got human nature all figured out, when really - kid dropped out in eighth grade - his expertise starts at the middle school lunch table and ends at Lord of the Flies. where lucas seeks to bring about a brighter future, porky's terminally obsessed with the past. barfs up the same old hierarchical capitalist bullshit he grew up with. hoards memorabilia. makes monuments to his warped nostalgia, as if anyone on the nowhere islands knows or cares. even tries to mold lucas into a makeshift ness - one last final battle, one last chance for destiny to stop me, here, take this baseball bat, come get me, let's play. but it doesn't worrrrk, because the gilded past he aches for is long buried, and these people aren't actors in his self-aggrandizing biopic. where lucas wakes up and says, "i don't have to be the same coward i was yesterday," porky says, "me? change? not a chance in hell." even if it costs him everything. porky's real worst nightmare is a world that moves on without him. once he's trapped in his time capsule, that's exactly what he's got in store.

i think he's the sunk cost fallacy incarnate. the sheer momentum of a thousand horrible decisions he can never turn back on. earthbound porky might get a little bit of slack, sure. but given a bazillion years worth of opportunities to change, mother 3 porky actively chose to get worse. what fucks me up most is how real he is. can't call a villain like this "insane", or even terribly exaggerated, when i'm lookin' out the window these days at billionaires, covid deniers, fuckin' terfs and maga hats. some people really would sooner die, or become all-consuming monsters, than admit they were wrong. it's all or nothing. in his eyes, either he's a visionary hero, or everything he's ever done was irredeemably reprehensible - and all the torment and criticism and loneliness he endured was therefore deserved. he can't bear the weight of it, so he simply doesn't. that's what underpins his character, to me. like. the moment he'd admit fault, or apologize, or express an ounce of regret? he'd cease to be porky. denying himself the human capacity to grow, forever, just to spare his fragile ego. could almost pity him. almost.

a perfect villain for both of the stories he terrorizes, and my favorite villain in anything ever. when itoi said "porky is truly a poem in himself" he wasn't kidding.

[cevans-seb]

Family Portraits ( Coral Coast AU Drabble)

A/n: A mini one shot in correlation to my Coral Coast AU, but this can be read as a stand-alone and has little to do with the actual plot. This has been sitting in my Notion for about a few weeks and I honestly don’t know what else to add to it, so I’m posting it. Reblogs, Likes, and Comments are all appreciated 🫶🏾. Enjoy

Pairing: ex husband!Lloyd x ex wife! Reader

Warning : Absolutely none

Word count: 430 ish

“Why are we here again ?” Your youngest fiddles with a her fingers as you all sat on Lloyd’s bulky couch. The rough material stuck to your exposed thigh like hot glue on leather and you found it very difficult to stay still-which only led to another annoying squeak. “We’re here for Thanksgiving portraits.” Her eldest daughter bemused. “I don’t know why though.”

As a way to ‘get his family back’ Lloyd scheduled an appointment for Thanksgiving over break. It was spontaneous but Lloyd always had a tendency to go all out. You could easily recall every single date that ended with you both stuffed beyond belief because ‘his girl deserved the world and more’, if only he stayed that way. Your hand ghosted along the ripped seams of the furniture. Lloyd never really had a knack for interior decorating, but this apartment screamed Lloyd. From the 20’ flat screen that only seems to know ESPN hung proudly next to his plethora of memorabilia and trophies decorated those shelves. His living space though bare held so many memories that you didn’t think he remembered. He had photos of your oldest daughter sixth grade spelling bee mirroring your youngest eighth grade science fair . Each photo made you assume he was a tentative father, doting about his family, but it was all a lie.

The bitter truth left you nauseous.

Lloyd made his return, trotting over with a genuine smile.“Alright the photographer should be here in a few ,you all look so beautiful in your sweaters.” He boasted, ruffling your youngest hair. She slightly grimaces from the newly formed affection. “Dad,” she whined. “ We already talked about you messing up my hair. I’m not a kid anymore .” She sunk further into the seat. You saw his eyes dim a bit but he still bent down to kiss her forehead. “ you’re right, precious.Daddy is sorry.” He clears his throat. “ how ‘bout you girls tell me what you've been up to.” He pushed his recliner near them.

Your eldest averted her eyes from him and your youngest stayed buried in her phone, completely ignoring him. You felt horrible as you saw them treat him like a passing stranger on the subway, and when his shoulder slugged, you knew he was out of ideas since anything he tried to do was a futile attempt to reinsert himself back in his daughters lives, and he didn’t have much fight left in him today. “ Do you even want to take family photos?”

The deafening sound was suffocating. Neither of your daughters spoke, too scared to unleash those blistering thoughts that simmered within them Lloyd sighed. “I guess that’s my answer.” With one last glance, Lloyd left them alone, probably going to cancel their appointment.

“Can we leave?” Your youngest whispered.

[ausetkmt]

Famous stories of passing - Google Search

Yes it's exactly what it says. so go take a good look and see how this works.

seems a bit strange by some of the pics but then again with all the quilting we'd have to have dna to even try to understand

America in all it's hues

“Passing” Reflected in Three Films

December 3, 2021  |  African American Movie Memorabilia, African Americana, Black History

The Netflex film Passing deals with the African American topic that has come to be known as “Passing” when a person classified as a member of a racial group is accepted or perceived (“passes”) as a member of another. Historically, the term has been used primarily in the United States to describe a person of color or of multiracial ancestry who assimilated into the white majority to escape the legal and social conventions of racial segregation and discrimination.”

These three films, Imitation of Life (1934), Pinky (1949) and Passing (2021) each deal with a Black woman, who, because of her light skin, passes for white and the ramifications that occur when that reality becomes a significant factor in her life.

IMITATION OF LIFE

The above poster: Np: Realart Pictures, 1949. Vintage original 41 x 27″ (104 x 69 cm.) one sheet poster. Conserved on linen, with minor touch ups at old fold lines, near fine.

The first of these film was a landmark film of the 1930s. Directed by John M. Stahl with a screenplay by William Hurlbut and eight additional writers, is based on Fannie Hurst’s 1933 novel of the same name. The film stared Claudette Colbert, Louise Beavers, Warren William, Rochelle Hudson, and Fredi Washington. The film was originally released by Universal Pictures and later re-issued in 1936. A 1959 remake with the same title was directed by Douglas Sirk.

Story

Two young women, one black, one white, both widowed with young daughters, come to live together and start a pancake business which eventually makes them wealthy. The young black girl, who is light-skinned, repeatedly tries to disappear into the while world, with tragic consequences.

Reception

This is the only Hollywood film of the 1930s which attempts to deal with the issues of race and racism: “The one film of the Depression to suggest that a contemporary race problem existed in America. It was also an unintentional comment on the exploitation of its African American character Delilah.” (Bogle, Hollywood Black, p. 40)

The themes of the film, to the modern eye, deal with very important issues—passing, the role of skin color in the black community and tensions between its light-skinned and dark-skinned members, the role of black servants in white families, and maternal affection.

Consequence

In 2005, Imitation of Life was selected for preservation in the United States National Film Registry being deemed “culturally, historically, or aesthetically significant”. It was also named by Time in 2007 as one of “The 25 Most Important Films on Race”. The film was nominated for Best Picture, Best Assistant Director and Best Sound Recording, at the 7th Academy Awards.

PINKY

Pinky Is a 1949 American drama film directed by Elia Kazan and produced by Darryl F. Zanuck, from a screenplay by Philip Dunne and Dudley Nichols, based on Cid Ricketts Sumner’s 1946 novel Quality. It stars Jeanne Crain as the title character, a young light-skinned black woman who passes for white. It also stars Ethel Barrymore, Ethel Waters and William Lundigan.

Story

Pinky is a black woman so fair-skinned she was able to pose as white throughout nursing school. Newly graduated, she flees south to visit her grandmother after a doctor, unaware of her true ancestry, proposes to her. 

Unsure how to react, she looks to her grandmother, who warns her that only trouble will come of an interracial marriage. Pinky agrees and instead stays to help her grandmother care for an elderly, rich, and fatally ill white woman, who dies and, to the horror of the white community, leaves her stately home and property to Pinky. Rejecting the entreaty of the doctor who proposed to her, she remains in the community and establishes “Miss Em’s Clinic and Nursery School”  

Reaction

Pinky was released theatrically in the United States on September 29, 1949 by 20th Century-Fox. It generated considerable controversy due to its subject of race relations and its casting of Crain to play a black woman. It was nonetheless a critical and commercial success, and earned Crain, Barrymore and Waters Academy Award nominations.

PASSING

Passing, the novel, is by American author Nella Larsen, first published in 1929. Set primarily in the Harlem neighborhood of New York City in the 1920s, the story centers on the reunion of two childhood friends—Clare Kendry and Irene Redfield—and their increasing fascination with each other’s lives. The title refers to the practice of “racial passing,” and is a key element of the novel. Clare Kendry’s attempt to pass as white for her husband, John (Jack) Bellew, is a significant depiction in the novel and a catalyst for the tragic events.

Passsing, the film is a 2021 black-and-white drama film written, produced, and directed by Rebecca Hall in her feature directorial debut. … The film stars Tessa Thompson, Ruth Negga, André Holland, Bill Camp, Gbenga Akinnagbe, Antoinette Crowe-Legacy, and Alexander Skarsgård. 

The film follows the book’s storyline: Mixed-race childhood friends reunite in middle class adulthood and become increasingly involved in each other’s lives and insecurities. While Irene identifies as African-American and is married to a Black doctor, Clare “passes” as white and has married a prejudiced, wealthy white man. This renewed acquaintance ignites a mutual obsession that threatens both of their carefully constructed realities.

[eclipsecrowned]

I wanted to ask as a courtesy after reading your rules / DNI, but are you okay with Resident Evil villains following you if they canonically have themes inspired by real-world prejudices and / or undertones of a sexually violent nature similarly to Xenomorphs, being nonhuman?

Hey anon, first off thanks so much for checking in!

As for my comfort with certain RE villains, it kind of depends on two factors: Is this like, for example, W*sker who gets a reputation as a member of a specific hate group despite espousing none of their views otherwise, on account of much of American fandom being unable to separate his eugenicist views from a political movement that shared them? Or is this like Marcus where he has the memorabilia in his office and was of the right generation to be one of those Upright British Lads who thought the other side had a point during the war? Or is it an Exc*lla or Irving situation where it's more the optics of the game/the creator that suck rather than the character one could conjecture for either bundle of pixels?

I'm all for problematic characters, and frankly write a fair few myself. I don't know if you go there as well, but as example, I write R00se B0lton from A S0ng of Ice and F1re, who is a character that does unforgivable, heinous things just for kicks. In fact, probably worse than anything you'll see in the fandom we're discussing. I'm all for separating mun from muse, and also refusing to sugarcoat a villain's acts of villainy, so long as it doesn't swing to the other side towards exploiting a character's actions for shock or a misplaced sense of maturity/superiority about the subjects at hand. Which plays into the second factor.

That you even asked tells me you are highly aware of your muse's place in canon events and the impact of their actions. You take into account potential partner's comfort and actually read my mountain of rules. I would argue you are the kind of person, even anonymous, that I can trust with writing darker content. So long as your tagging system is consistent and you're keeping this conscientiousness about collaborator comfort on your own blog, I would be willing to plot with you and whatever muse you have.

As for undertones/Xenomorph style metaphors for real world crimes, I'm fine with them, metaphor is metaphor, etc, etc. Same for the prejudices if you can write them with respect/explain, not justify your character's beliefs. Inspiration is just that, and while it can get into some weird places fast, it really depends on the author behind the concepts. I find canon can fumble a lot that fandom can rebuild better, especially in the case of roleplay. If you're still comfortable with me after that long wall of text, I support you hitting that follow button :)

[lonita]

Hobbies

Wikipedia used to have this monstrous list of hobbies - that they have sadly replaced with something deeply subpar. Luckily, I captured it before they got rid of it. This is a much edited version with a few of my own thrown in. So, if you're bored, need an adventure, or are looking for some personal improvement or something ...

acroyoga, airplane spotting, antiquing, art, baking, beachcombing, beekeeping, billiards, birdwatching / bird-listening, boiled books, book reclamation or repurposing, bookbinding, brewing, building board games, button gathering, calligraphy, camping, candle making, candy making, canning, carpentry, caving, ceramics, cheese making, cleaning for the disabled and elderly, cleaning up the local park, climbing, clothes making, collecting postcards, conlang, creating comics, crochet, cross-stitch, crossfit, cycling, drawing, embroidery, ephemera gathering, etching, exploring, felting, fencing, film-making, flower pressing, fly tying, fossil hunting, found object art, fragrance-making, frisbee, furniture restoration, gardening, geocaching, glass-blowing, graffiti or street art spotting, guerrilla cultivating, hand lettering, hiking, information/word games, Jewellery making, journalling, junk journals, kayaking, kintsugi, knot tying, LARPing, learning a new language, leather-working, Lego, macrame, making bird feeders and bat boxes, making infused teas, making models, map-making, martial arts, math, Meals on Wheels delivery, memorabilia gathering, metalwork or blacksmithing, mineral gathering, miniature painting, model-making, mosaics, mudlarking, nature journalling, needlepoint, ocean glass gathering, orienteering, origami, painting, paper-crafting, paper marbling, photography, pickleball, playing instruments, pottery, printmaking, puzzles, quilling, quilting, racquet ball, rafting, rail fanning, ren fairs, research, road trips, robotics, rock-hounding, rock climbing, rock painting, rock tumbling, rug hooking, running, scrapbooking, scrounging, scuba, sculling or paddling, sculpting, sewing, short wave radio, signal games, singing, skating, snorkelling, soap making, songwriting, spelunking, spinning, stargazing, stone carving, string arts, sudoku, swimming, tennis, thrifting, toy making, upcycling, urban exploration, verse, volunteering at the food bank, walking in the woods, weaving, welding, woodworking, world building, writing, yarn bombing, yoga

[wheelsgoroundincircles]

Party On: Exhibit Recalls Detroit's Golden Jubilee

BY JAKE LINGEMAN

When an entire exhibition is about remembering a party, well, it must have been a good one. The National Automotive History Collection at the Detroit Public Library (www.detroitpubliclibrary.org/nahc) is hosting an exhibit featuring memorabilia from the 1946 Golden Jubilee in Detroit.

The Golden Jubilee was a party set to World’s Fair proportions, complete with fancy cars, above, huge crowds and the first peacetime use of atomic energy. The party began with the lighting of an automotive sculpture, using a stick of beryllium, in Grand Circus Park downtown. It was a celebration of all things Detroit and an outlet for the postwar optimism of the time.

The theme of the party was the transformation of the city from the “Arsenal of Democracy” back into the nation’s industrial hub during prosperity. It was also the 150th birthday of Detroit and the golden anniversary of the auto industry.

Included in the exhibit, which runs through April at the library’s downtown Skillman Branch, are photographs from the fair and other threads of Detroit history. There are items from labor unions and strikers, local news clippings, advertisements and other memorabilia from the weeklong carnival-like event. Pictures of automotive pioneers and their most celebrated cars are on display, along with stories both tragic and triumphant about the city.

The library has an unmatched collection of documents, photos and objects which form a picture of Detroit during an important time in this country’s history. In today’s world, the city seems to resemble the morning after more than the actual event, but at one time, Detroit was the life of the party.

[disaster-transport]

Notes on Defunct Cedar Point Ride Disaster Transport

There is no one opinion made about defunct Cedar Point Ride Disaster Transport (Many believe that is was a failed attempt to recreate disney’s Space Mountain (that even if if was a failure it was that of a greater stage capitalist level (which is reflective of a greater societal issue (which would then encompass a greater questioning of the morality of theme parks(Connecting back to the issue of greater communication and the entertainment industry in the 20th and 21st centuries)))). The fact of the matter is that there is no correct opinion about the ride, but rather an objective truth about the themes that make up the ride’s cultivation and theming. The themes throughout the rides reflect horror; They reflect not only the horror of a trip to space hijacked by space pirates, but also they reflect the greater horror of a modern day capitalist society that does not regulate the power of big corporations, especially when it comes to the safety of those employed by it and the consumers involved in supporting it. It reflects the greater horror of self-destructive consumerism.

To fully understand defunct Cedar Point ride Disaster Transport, you need to examine the theming that makes up the ride. There was one drawback of the theming that made it almost incomprehensible, though: it was made in the 1990s. Many were confused by the lack of connection between items. Many struggled to see how the one, overworked, one robot running the reception and management duties of Dispatch Master Transport is reflective of the common understaffing and overworking problem in corporate businesses. Many also struggled to see how it’s mysterious and dark tracking connected to shady coverups of business malfunctions.

There is a great disconnect between the actual message of the ride and the modern-day multi-million dollar effects it is often scrutinized with. But, those who value small-scale attractions and give greater meaning to the ride. Many remember the memorabilia from the ride, and how much fun they had with their family on the ride, as it was accessible for riders of most age groups. The rides' new and not necessarily sustainable effects are those that cater to a different audience who are in a different socio-economic class than most “esteemed coaster critics”. The ride was good for both the company of Cedar Fair and for the families that couldn’t afford to fly to Orlando or to California to give their children the childhood they believed they deserved. Cedar Fair’s efforts to create the Disney World of the midwest while perceived as an attempt to recreate the success of Walt in a cheap fashion, were also a win for the average man -- a business venture that turned out to be honorable in itself.

The question still remains today (a decade after the ride’s closure): what was Disaster Transport. Disaster Transport was an indoor rollercoaster that made a family ride into one that could remain open more often than not -- contradicting its predecessor, Avalanche Run. The ride was supposed to become a long lasting staple of Cedar Point's infrastructure. Its theming was meant to connect to the greater topics of life, and when it was not sustained, it was left to break. It became a victim of time. Its effects were not maintained, parts not properly replaced and maintenance. It was replaced by the newer thing. The more important, more extreme, thing. The more thrilling and exclusive thing. The end of the ride was the end of Cedar Fair’s groundbreaking attempt at storytelling. Storytelling and theming and an era of bright lights and new sounds all brought to a stop by the invention of a strict niche enforced by the greater attempts at capitalist gain.

[mchiti]

still me, one direction anon 😂 I laughed when you said we will be singing live while we're young at the their reunion in our 40s. At this rate this is probably going to happen. I think it's good they are not reuniting sooner though, as much as I missed them I know it was very bad for them 😔. That's why I don't understand their resentment towards zayn still given he was battling an ED. Sorry for ranting in your ask about them btw. Im probably annoying you 😂😂 But you're so nice xxx

Hi dear anon! Forgive me if i'm answering after days. I actually find it very sweet that I reblogged one single song from zayn and I have summoned a wave of nostalgia jhfgdsa. I really don't mind it bc I love those memories and I actually loved those losers (affectionate). Still listen to them occasionally and memorabilia is still there in my room and there it stays, no shame. collective pop culture is a great thing that shapes generations (we like it or not).

I'm just putting the rest under the cut for two reasons: first I don't want to annoy who understandably doesn't give a shit and second

TW: EATING DISORDER please look away if it's triggering.

From what I gather from keeping up occasionally when I feel nostalgic: I think they all kind of came to terms with everything? I saw a recent interview of Louis cause he talked about Zayn and I actually found it very sweet how he said he does understand more of it now. I actually really appreciate Louis as a person. I kind of thought of Harry as a pettier person but he was also nice enough when he talked about Zayn recently?

To be fair I think they all knew about his ED. I know a lot of their fans are still very delusional and find stuff when they are not there (the first rule always was: do not believe anything they say). But one thing that actually makes sense to me is that story of Harry never singing "weigh" in little things in the last half of 2014 (which was when Zayn said his disorder was at its worst and it was so apparent looking back at it now. It makes me so uncomfortable when I see videos & pics of that time. You know? That's also a very sensitive topic to me so yeah I feel so sorry for him, he looked so fragile and yet we were all here stanning him and thinking he looked like a Disney prince then...I'm glad those days are over yeah? I still find Four the best album and I have fond memories of it but they really looked terribly exhausted). I don't want to sound delusional and I certainly don't want to cuddle a white man for doing the bare minimum but seems to me very obvious he knew about it from the way he used to look at him while (not) singing that and from a lot of dynamics. and so the others. I guess it was mostly about the way he left in the middle of that tour, but it's been 8 years now...really feels like a lifetime. Sure they were rich and privileged, but what happened to them in terms of overwork and exhaustion really should not happen again (5 albums and 4 world tours in 5 years? How is that ...yeah) I think they all suffered much and they certainly know it and hint at that all the time. If they come back in years and on their own terms, that'll be very sweet (and i'll be there too! lool)