#and most other years I’ve seen like this

[wainswright]

I was responding to a tag from someone, not u prev. I’m not arguing.

It’s interesting though, right? This was a discourse topic 5-6 years ago, when recasts were causing a bunch of companies to suddenly be more secretive about their casting process or whoever they were hiring to cast, so I looked into the long-standing successful looking companies like Luts, Iplehouse, Soom, Volks- and even though the sites make it look otherwise- (and honestly feel free to let me know if you know something more specific)- it’s really difficult to mass produce bjds. These aren’t cast in someone’s backyard or anything (most of the time,) but finding a good casting company looks way harder than doing anything in regards to plastic or pvc. I also think it requires a weirdly fiddly curing process most plastics don’t, but can’t remember very well.

Tho, what do you mean by cardboard shoebox packaging? Obitsu may be different but I don’t know how feasible it is to package resin bjds in plastic unless they’re YoSD size. All the edges would rub against each other and it would crack.

It’s difficult to do a clear-plastic display for obitsus because I think it’s tricky to package a not pre-rooted wig on a doll in a display case. Or at least, I’ve never seen that and can’t think of a way to do it. If it was pre-rooted I would be surprised if there were no companies who could mass produce obitsus that weren’t packaging it like a blythe. (assuming it was sold like a fullset regularly enough to warrant it)

[wallowslistener]

hotch smiling? never. ೨ৎ a. hotchner x reader

𐙚˚ aaron hotchner x fem!reader. fluff. 0.6k words.

✦ aaron has always been the definition of serious. even among the most stoic in the fbi, he’s known for his unwavering dedication to the job, rarely showing emotion or letting his guard down. he’s a leader, and leaders can’t afford to be distracted by the lighter things in life. smiling, laughing, those were luxuries, not necessities.

that’s why it was so strange when he met you.

it started out like any other case. you were brought in as a liaison for a local investigation, your expertise needed to help the bau crack a difficult profile. hotch appreciated your work ethic right away, how focused and meticulous you were, just like him. but there was something else, something he hadn’t noticed in a long time. the way you carried yourself, the lightheartedness you brought to the job, even when the weight of the cases was unbearable.

at first, he tried to keep his distance. he always did. it was easier that way. but somehow, without meaning to, you broke through.

one afternoon, while the team was poring over crime scene photos and victim profiles, you cracked a subtle joke about the chaos of the case files. it wasn’t even that funny, but it was enough to make spencer smile, which wasn’t an unusual sight. what was unusual was that hotch, sitting across from you, didn’t just smile, he chuckled. the room went silent for a beat, everyone’s heads snapping in his direction, including yours.

you looked at him, eyes wide with surprise. "did i... just make you laugh?"

hotch cleared his throat, instantly returning to his serious demeanor, but the damage was done. his face had softened in a way that none of them had seen in years.

"let’s get back to the case," he said, but you could see the faint trace of a smirk lingering at the corner of his mouth.

after that, things started to shift between you. whenever the stress of the job became overwhelming, you had a way of lightening the mood, just enough to remind him that there was life outside of the darkness they faced every day. he didn’t laugh often, old habits die hard, but he started to smile more around you. little things—your quick wit, your subtle gestures of support—made him feel something he hadn’t allowed himself to in a long time: happiness.

one night, after a long and particularly grueling case, the team was ready to collapse. everyone was exhausted, but you caught hotch’s eye and gave him a small, tired smile. "hey, we got through it. you don’t always have to carry the weight of the world on your shoulders, you know."

he gave a slight nod, but his eyes softened in a way that felt more intimate than any words could express. "i’ve gotten used to it."

"but you don’t have to do it alone," you replied, your voice gentle.

for the first time in years, aaron hotchner let himself feel vulnerable, even if just for a moment. "i’m starting to realize that."

there, in the quiet of the bullpen, it was just the two of you. no case, no tragedy, just an unspoken connection. and for the first time in a long time, hotch smiled. not a fleeting, half hearted one, but a real, genuine smile, just for you.

and from that moment on, everyone noticed. he was still serious, still focused, but there was a new lightness in his step when you were around, a subtle shift that made him more human, more open.

because you’d done something no one else had managed: you’d given him a reason to smile again.

[pipsyy]

detestable...

enemies to lovers dom!hamzah x f!reader

hi everyone! i have had the most absolutely terrible writer's block recently, which is why this fic has taken so long. but i hope you enjoy regardless! please send me reqs if you have them!

summary: y/n absolutely hates hamzah, detests him, actually. until one day, when that undeniable feeling of angers burns into an even hotter flame.

warnings: SMUT SMUT SMUTTY SMUTTING SMUT SMOT! DO NOT READ IF YOU ARE UNDER THE AGE OF 18.

word count: 3066

You loved your life. Your home, your animals, your friends, your youtube channel, everything. There was nothing about your life that irked you. Except for one thing. Him. Hamzah. You had become friends with Mandy over two years ago, over similar interests and styles of youtube channels, and had met Hamzah about six months into your friendship with her. You had never met somebody like him before. You got along with everyone, even if they slightly pissed you off, you were able to stomach their presence and create minimal amounts of respectable small talk. But not with Hamzah. In fact, when you were first invited over to Mandy’s house for a party and heard he was going to be there, you were excited. You had seen his online presence and thought he was funny, charming, and kind, only to find out upon meeting him that the complete opposite was the truth. He was awkward, and weird, and nothing at all like you thought he would be. The two of you were unable to mesh a single comfortable conversation together and, since then, you had effectively avoided him like the plague.

The angry tension between the two of you finally exploded one Friday night. You had been invited to dinner at Mandy’s house, and you were ecstatic. You imagined your night playing out with the two of you cooking and baking delicious food, sharing some with Martin in his man-cave, then diving into the delicacies in front of a cozy fall movie. What you did not expect was Hamzah to be there.

“Hey, y/n!” Mandy said excitedly, as she opened the door and welcomed you into her home. “Are you ready for tonight?”

“Oh my god,” you said, grasping her hands in yours. “You have no idea! I’ve been looking forward to it all day.” You took your shoes off before following the brunette into the kitchen. The two of you were laughing and talking until you stopped dead in the middle of the kitchen, starting out towards the living room. Two male heads were positioned together on the couch, one with straight, almost black, locks and the other with luscious, dark curls. You would recognize those curls anywhere. Shit.

You grabbed Mandy by her forearm and whispered in her ear, “I didn’t know he would be here.”

“Who?” she asked cluelessly, swiveling her head to where your wide-eyed gaze was fixated upon. “Oh, right…Hamzah. Martin and him filmed a video today and he’s not leaving until later. I’m so sorry, y/n. I really tried to get him out of the house, but he insisted on staying for dinner.” You knew that Hamzah liked to rile you up, he made it abundantly clear whenever the two of you would have a conversation.

“He just wants to piss me off,” you responded. “It’s okay. We can just ignore them and have fun.” Mandy smiled at you. The two of you began gathering items and ingredients from around the kitchen to make the dinner. You had decided on making fettuccine alfredo with broccoli and chicken over text with pumpkin cream cheese cupcakes for dessert. The two of you labored over the pasta for almost an hour, laughing and giggling over every single thing. The boys mainly kept to themselves, occasionally laughing softly at the game they were playing on the TV. You paused from stirring the cheesy sauce, simmering softly in the pan.

“You can go ahead and combine this sauce with the pasta, Mandy,” you said, nudging the brunette girl with your elbow. “I’m going to head to the bathroom real quick.” You went to the bathroom down the hall and completed your business, flushing the toilet and washing your hands. As you exited the bathroom, you ran right into a pair of broad, muscular shoulders. You look up, an apology bubbling from your lips, until you meet a pair of wide, dark eyes: Hamzah. His eyes narrow and his brow furrows. Your lips curl into a sneer, the close proximity of him causing hot, red anger to flare in your chest. The two of you attempt to get around each other, moving in sync. This annoying act continued until Hamzah’s large hands grip your waist and practically lifted you up, moving you out of his way. He continued down the hallway to the guest room without looking back, leaving you stunned into silence in the middle of the hallway. Your waist tingled lightly where his hands had touched you. The way his large hands were able to almost completely engulf your waist, followed by how effortlessly he had lifted you, caused inappropriate, unwanted thoughts to flow through your mind. You shook your head, internally scolding yourself for your rash behavior. When you reunited with Mandy in the kitchen, she gave you a confused look.

“You okay?” she asked. No doubt your silent demeanor and red face giving away some of your internal embarrassment.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” you responded, unconvincingly.

“You sure?” she pressed. “I saw Hamzah leave and I just thought–”

“Yes!” you snapped, cutting her off. “I am perfectly fine.” You ran a hand through your hair and Mandy laughed, shaking her head at your idiocy.

“If you say so, girl.” The night continued smoothly once you had calmed yourself down from your strained interaction with Hamzah. The pasta was cheesy and delicious, followed by the brownies which were sweet and rich with chocolate. Mandy shared the brownies with the two boys, Martin full of compliments and praise for the two of you, while Hamzah enjoyed his in silence, glancing at you every so often with a wide-eyed stare that made you feel both uncomfortable and anxious. Throughout the night, Martin and Mandy exchanged coy looks, giggling under their breath at something that seemed to you like an inside joke, but you were unsure. Finally, you reached your breaking point, and blurted out your confusion at the couple’s strange attitude.

“What the hell are you two plotting?” you asked. The couple exchanged a knowing look, smirking at each other.

“Plotting?” Mandy repeated. “We’re not plotting anything.”

“I know you are,” you said. 

To your utter surprise, Hamzah chimed in in agreement. “Yeah,” he said, mouth full of brownie. “You’re both acting so weird. What’s going on?”

Mandy gave Martin another weird look, the two nodding at each other in joint agreement. “Well…” Mandy said. “There’s this movie that Martin and I have been dying to see and it comes out today. We’re going to leave to see it now.”

“And we know that the two of you have some unsettled differences,” Martin chimed in. “So while we go out to see this movie, the two of you are going to stay here and figure them out.”

“Are you serious, Mandy?” you said, exasperation at this situation obvious in your voice. You glanced at Hamzah who had undeniable shock plastered all over his face. “No…” you said, as the couple began to pack up their things and pull their shoes on in quick succession. “No, no, you’re not doing this.”

“We’ll just leave the house, Martin,” Hamzah said.

“We’re locking the two of you in,” the brunette replied. “You’re not getting out this easy. The way you two absolutely despise each other pisses us off. So, you’re both not leaving until you have established some sort of mutual camaraderie or something like it. Understand?” You and Hamzah stood up from the table in protest, but it was too late, Mandy and Martin left the house in sync, locking the door from the outside. The two of you were trapped, together and alone, for an uncomfortable, inestimable amount of hours. You let out a sigh of pure frustration, understanding that the following couple of hours were going to be the most uncomfortable and angry you had felt in a while.

“Well, shit,” Hamzah said, sitting back down and folding his arms across his broad chest.

You rolled your eyes. “This is fucking ridiculous,” you said. “There’s no way I’m doing this.” You get up and pace the wooden floor, head lowered as you think of all the ways you could escape Hamzah and his brown-eyed gaze that you could feel following your every move.

“Oh, come on,” he said, standing up from his seat. He moved in front of you, blocking your path, looking down at you with a facetious smirk that boiled your blood. “It can’t be that bad.”

“Oh, trust me,” you said, maneuvering around the larger man. “It can and it is.” Hamzah reached out, fast as lightning, and grabbed your forearm. The slight touch sent undeniable shivers down your spine, which you hated. He turned you around to face him, the two of you inches from one another. You gazed down at his hand, still wrapped around your forearm.

“Am I really that detestable to you, y/n?” he asked, voice at a decibel so low you had to crane your ears to even hear him. The inches between the two of you began closing, his eyes—so brown they looked black—drawing you closer. Dark, seductive images flitted through your mind: Hamzah’s large hands gripping your waist, his lips on your neck, hands fisting your hair, gripping your throat, touching your cunt. Shocked, you wretch your forearm out of his grasp.

“Yes,” you breathed out, chest heaving, mind reeling from your stupid imagination and wandering mind. “You are that detestable.”

“Really?” Hamzah asked, voice no louder than a whisper. You realized as your back hit the wall that he had backed you into a both physical and mental corner. You gulped as he drew closer and closer. “Because—I think—you like to think of me as something more than just detestable.”

“I don’t like to think of you at all, Hamzah,” you said, skin burning as his dark eyes remained locked on yours, unyielding in their direct gaze.

“You don’t?” he said, scoffing. He leaned closer, lips practically brushing yours. His large hands maneuver to grip your waist, and you don’t even try to stop him. “Not at all, huh. Not even at night, when you’re alone in your bed.” His grip on your waist tightened and shockwaves of undeniable pleasure flash through your spine like needles. “Cause I do. All the fucking time.” You look up at him, eyes widened in shock. He curses, the grip on your waist tightening so hard you thought it would bruise. “Don’t,” he said, voice rough and gravely. “Don’t fucking look at me like that…or I’m going to do something we both will regret.”

You had never expected to feel this way about Hamzah. But seeing him—a man so stupid and narcissistic and haughty—reduced to this…reduced to a quivering mess of a man with needy desperation written all over him, you felt that you couldn’t help yourself. You whimpered as your core tightened. Your back brushed the wall and Hamzah leaned impossibly closer, chest brushing against your own.

“Tell me,” he said. “Tell me you don’t want this.” You froze, the repeated words brushing your lips, bubbling up inside you. But you couldn’t lie. You couldn’t say them. For deep down inside you, in a place you had buried since you got to know him, lay the dirty, red-hot truth. You wanted him too, equally as bad. Your shaking hands, puppeteered not by your brain, but by that stupid feeling deep in your heart, reached up to intertwine behind Hamzah’s neck, grasping at the delicate curls at his nape. Hamzah’s eyes widened at the realization that you weren’t backing away.

“I can’t,” you confessed. Hamzah, lips quivering with desire, leaned closer, brushing your soft and plush mouth with his own. Unable to contain your palpitating desire, you tightened your grip on his curls and pulled him into you, pressing your lips violently together. Your lips locked together, a wet mess of tongue and spit as you desperately clung to each other. Hamzah’s hands ran up and down your body, unsure of what part of you he wanted to touch first, desperate for everything, all at once. He separated from your lips, and you let out a needy, unfiltered whine at the lack of contact. Hamzah began kissing down your neck, suckling on that sweet spot behind your ear that made you cry out in pleasure.

“You have no idea,” he whispered, in between open-mouthed kisses planted on your neck. “You have no fucking idea what you do to me.” You whimpered at the blunt confession, hands yanking at his curls. His hands grabbed at your ass, lifting you up effortlessly as you wrapped your legs around his waist. Hamzah roughly pushed you up against the wall, lips connecting with your own again. You yanked at his t-shirt and he paused his motions, pulling it over his head and throwing it somewhere in the room. You came face-to-face with his body, ribbed and muscular from his time in the gym, while also maintaining enough tummy to make your thighs squeeze together. You mirror his movements, pulling your tanktop off and shucking your sweats down your legs, leaving you in your bra and underwear. Hamzah looks at you starstruck.

“Holy shit,” he whispered, reaching to grasp at your covered tits. “You’re even prettier than I imagined.” You giggled slightly, a gesture that never occurred to you would happen with Hamzah. Hamzah sunk down to his knees, leaving little kisses along your stomach and the underside of your tits. Kissing and biting your inner thighs, he dragged your underwear down your legs, mouth agape as you came face-to-face with your soaking cunt. He looked up at you with wide eyes, pupils dilated, and you felt your knees weaken. Hamzah grabbed one of your thighs after the other, wrapping your legs around his shoulders practically sitting on him, leaning against the wall. He continued to leave little kisses along your legs, suckling purple bruises onto your inner thighs.

“Hamzah–” you whine, tightening your grip in his curls.

“Use your words, y/n,” he said, looking up at you through his thick eyelashes.

“I need you,” you say, your desperation overwhelming your embarrassment and confusion. Hamzah smirked up at you, before shoving his head deep between your thighs. He licked a long strip up your folds, holding eye contact with you, before circling his tongue around your clit. As his tongue connected with your sensitive bud, you let out a long moan, head tilting back against the wall. Hamzah ate you out like it was his last meal, licking, sucking, and slurping your juices in a constant state of desperation for more. You felt yourself coming closer and closer to your climax, hands tightening his hair as his nose rubbed deep into your clit. You came with a cry, legs shaking around his head as you shuddered and convulsed, white spots bedazzling your vision.

Hamzah lifted you up, wrapping your legs back around his waist and kissed you, mouth stained with your juices. You tasted yourself on his tongue and moaned at the feel of his tongue poking its way into your mouth.

“God, you’re so fucking sexy,” he whispered. “You have no idea how bad I wanted you.”

“Hamzah—” you panted. “I need you inside of me.” He reached down into his pants, pulling out his hard member, stroking it a few times before rubbing it up and down your wet folds. He slid into you with a gasp, the two of you moaning at the feel of him sheathed inside of you. He began slowly thrusting in and out of you, the stretch of his thick cock inside your cunt drawing whimpers from deep in your throat. While your eyes rolled back into your head from the pleasure, Hamzah never broke eye contact.

“God, you’re such a fucking slut,” he said. “You hate me, huh?”

You whimper in response.

“Yeah, you hate me…but you’re still here, being fucked by this cock, huh?” You couldn’t respond, the only sound flowing from you being heady whines and high-pitched moans. You felt yourself inching closer towards another release, one of your hands reaching between your legs to rub your clit. One of Hamzah’s hands wrapped around your throat, squeezing slightly, you realized with a jolt that he was holding you up with one hand. The fact that this man could hold you up and fuck you so good with just the strength of one arm made your core tighten.

“I–I’m gonna cum, Hamzah,” you manage to cry out, dangerously tipping on the precipice of release.

“Oh, yeah?” Hamzah responded breathlessly. “You gonna cum, baby? Shit. Cum for me, pretty girl.” You cum with a strangled yelp falling from your lips. 

“Good girl,” Hamzah moaned out, hips beginning to stutter. “Good girl, so pretty, so fucking pretty for me.” Your hands grabbed onto his curls tightly, yanking as you came down from your high. The feel of his dark strands being pulled so tightly sent Hamzah over the edge. Hips stuttering as he came, head buried deep into your neck, he let out a flurry of whimpers and praises. The two of you sat there for a minute, Hamzah breathing heavily into your neck. Just then, you heard the jangle and clank of keys outside of the door. Hamzah’s eyes locked onto yours, wide with shock and fear.

“Shit,” you say. Untangling your limbs, the two of you rushed to dress in five seconds flat. You threw yourselves onto the couch, sitting on opposite ends just as Mandy and Martin opened the door and returned.

“The cinema was closed, guys,” Martin announced as he took off his coat and boots, Mandy close behind him. “Did you at least make up though?”

“Yeah, we did,” Hamzah responded, voice still rough and breathless. The couple finally came into your view, cheeks and ears red from the outside wind. You knew that the two of you were a strange sight: clothes rumpled, cheeks flushed with embarrassment and something dirtier. You also knew that, ever the observer, it would be Mandy to notice.

“Oh my god!” she said, covering her shocked face with a hand. “OH MY GOD, MARTIN!” She yanked on his sleeve, jumping up and down.

“What?!” he asked. “I don’t get it.”

“They fucked, holy shit, they fucked,” she laughed and giggled, jumping up and down with glee. “You owe me a hundred dollars, Martin.”

[babyseraphim]

1910's music: Edwin Payne style

Hi ya’ll! Friendly music teacher/opera singer here to answer a question that pretty much no one has asked (except me): what music would Edwin have listened to/enjoyed when he was alive?

I’ve separated this into three different genres (classical, jazz, and pop), so the entire thing is pretty long. I've also tried to give references for any additional information provided, but most of it is coming straight from my brain after years of music history classes, so feel free to correct me if I get anything wrong.

Classical Music

So, the first thing to know about me is that I’m a big pianist!Edwin truther, and I'm going to be talking about it a lot in this post. It was extremely common for families (especially wealthy families) to have their children train in some sort of instrument from an early age back then, so learning music was something that Edwin likely would have been forced to do.

There are some classical pieces that I have already heard mention of amongst the fandom, so I will stick them in the 'honorable mentions' section, but I want to feature some music that I haven't seen mentioned in conjunction with Edwin's character yet. 1. Erik Satie's Trios Gnosiennes (1893)

So, I've always associated the first three Gnosiennes with Edwin not only because they're so hauntingly beautiful, but also because they're rhythmically very different than a lot of other classical music of his time. The Gnosiennes are largely played in 'free time' (with no time signatures or bar lines), which is a bit unusual for the genre (though modern classical music has a lot more of it). Satie's music really pulled away from a lot of musical customs, spurning traditional forms and tonal structures in favor of more creative options, and I think Edwin would have really enjoyed it.

Edwin's possible interest in breaking musical customs will come back a lot throughout this post, but given that he is often characterized as going against the social grain (whether he was trying to or not), I think he really would have enjoyed Satie's works as a whole. However, Trios Gnosiennes just really speak to me for his character.

2. Igor Stravinsky's The Rite of Spring (premiered in 1913)

The Rite of Spring was a Russian ballet that Stravinsky was commissioned to write for the Ballet Russes company. The work was known for its dissonance and barbarity, and the dancing was described as 'jerky' and 'hedonistic'.

Now, do I think that Edwin would have particularly enjoyed the sound of the the Rite of Spring? Maybe not, but I imagine he likely would have respected its departure from the musical decorum of his time (the piece later went on to be considered one of the the earliest examples of modernism in music). The first public showing of The Rite of Spring caused the theater to break out into a riot partially due to the fact that they thought the music/dancing was a work of blasphemy, and I just think Edwin would have found that hilarious.

3. Gaetano Donizetti's Lucia di Lammermoor (1835), particularly Spargi d'amaro pianto (the famous 'mad scene' aria)

I don't think Edwin would have been a fan of opera as a whole, but I do think that this work's entertaining twists, literary origins, and technically challenging composition might have caught his eye (I even went so far as to sing through this aria a few nights ago because I was curious, and yeah, its really fucking hard).

Lucia di Lammermoor is a tragic opera based on the 1819 novel The Bride of Lammermoor by Walter Scott, which was based on the real life story of a woman named Janet Dalrymple. Lucia was performed at the Met nearly every season from 1903-1972, and I imagine that if it was doing well in America, it must have been doing numbers in Europe.

Honorable Mentions - Claude Debussy's Clair de Lune and Deux Arabesques - Frédéric Chopin's Noctures (particularly Op. 9, No. 1) and Études (particularly Op. 25, No. 11) - Erik Satie's Trios Gymonepdies

Jazz Music

So, this is where my pianist!Edwin headcanon starts to diverge from the pretty much all of the other music-related headcanons I've seen.

Technically speaking, 'jazz' as we know it didn't really exist when Edwin was alive; he died literally one the cusp of the the Golden Age of Jazz, which is a huge fucking bummer. Jass (as it would've have been referred to in the 1910's) mostly consisted of ragtime and early blues, and was considered to be a 'fringe' style of music (pretty much entirely due to racism). As far as acceptability went, being a teenager with a love for 'jass' in the 1910's would have been the social equivalent of being a teenager with a love for ska or punk music in the 80's (the parallels!!!)

I think its pretty well argued within the fandom that Edwin is a bit rebellious when it come to authority and societal standards, and even though I think he was probably less of a little shit while he was alive, there's no way he was just totally fine with living inside the lines. I posit that, as a rebellion, he would have spurned classical music and became a ragtime pianist (which was one of the main precursors to jazz as we know it today). I actually wrote a fic about this way back when I first joined the fandom, for anyone who's interested!

1. Scott Joplin's Sugar Cane Rag (1908), Fig Leaf Rag (1908), and Paragon Rag (1909)

Scott Joplin (the King of Ragtime) was the most famous ragtime pianist of all time, and one of the driving forces behind creating the jazz genre as we know it. I guarantee that you guys have heard his most famous song, The Entertainer, at least once, and have probably heard his Maple Leaf Rag as well. If Edwin was into ragtime, then its a sure thing that he would have been a big fan of Scott Joplin's rags. I picked the three that I thought suited him best.

2. James Scott's Frog Legs Rag (1906) and Sunburst Rag (1909)

James Scott was also a famous American ragtime composer, and both of the listed songs would have been released when Edwin was pretty young. He probably wouldn't have been old enough to play them for a few years, depending on his training, but thinking of a little 12 year old Edwin learning to play these (as well as Scott Joplin's rags) in his free time just fucking tickles me. I love it so much.

3. Davy Peyton and Spencer Williams' I Ain't Got Nobody, recorded by Marion Harris in 1916

I Ain't Got Nobody was an early jazz standard from 1915 that eventually developed into a multi-genre standard (meaning that it was considered a standard for multiple genres, ranging from jazz to pop to country). I don't have a lot of reasoning for this one other that I think that Edwin would have just really liked Marion Harris' voice.

Honorable Mentions - Euday L. Bowman's Twelfth Street Rag (aka the Spongebob song) - Artie Matthews' Weary Blues

Pop Music

So, a disclaimer here. My music degree required me to take jazz and classical music history classes, which did not cover pop music of the 1910's, so I have fewer historical insights to offer about this genre. However, whenever I think about these songs, I always picture Edwin listening to them through a phonograph while doing homework on his bed, like a teenage girl listening to Sabrina Carpenter or Chappell Roan while studying (I know that's silly, but I think its just such a fun visual). 1. Leo Friedman's Let Me Call You Sweetheart, recorded by the Arthur Clough in 1910

Let Me Call You Sweetheart was one of the highest charting songs throughout the early 1910's, and the most popular version was recorded by a group called the Peerless Quartet. Edwin doesn't really strike me as a quartet enjoyer, though, and this version by Arthur Clough was released the same year. I think he would have enjoyed the tonal quality of Clough's voice much more.

2. Grace Le Boy's The Good Ship Mary Anne, recorded by Nora Bayes in 1914

Nora Bayes was a very famous vaudeville performer of the 1920's, and lot of her biggest hits were recorded shortly after Edwin died (like, literally 1917-1925). I wrote a snippet for a fic that got left on the cutting room floor a while back about the song itself providing a positive association with the term 'Mary Anne', and I still stick by that. In this song, the name 'Mary Anne' only refers to a ship.

3. Irving Berlin's Alexander's Ragtime Band, recorded by Arthur Collins and Byron G. Harlan in 1911

So, this song could technically go under the jazz section, but I'm going to put it here, and I'll explain why. Jazz is an art from that was created and popularized by black musicians, which is why it was seen as such an undesirable art form for such a long time. People liked the music, but they didn't like that it was made by black artists. Alexander's Ragtime Band originated in Tin Pan Alley and was one of the top charting songs for much of 1911 (first in America, then overseas), but it was created by a white artist that was simply 'jumping a trend'. Strictly speaking, genre-wise, its not even a ragtime song—it's a march. It's just about ragtime.

I honestly don't really even like this song that much, and I'm not sure Edwin would have very strong feelings about it either. However, it was an extremely pivotal song for the time period, and likely would have been inescapable (or as inescapable as music could be back in the 1910's, given that music required either records or live performances). Think of it as the equivalent of a pop song that you could really do without, but its so popular that it keeps winning awards and playing in every Forever 21 and H&M within a ten mile radius.

Honorable Mentions - Gus Edwards' By the Light of the Silvery Moon, recorded by Ada Jones - Percy Wenrich's Moonlight Bay, recorded by Dolly Connolly

~~~~

I hope you guys enjoyed this! I also made a playlist, if you'd like to take a look (I couldn't find all the songs, and not all of them are time period accurate, but I tried my best).

If ya'll liked this, I might make one for Charles and dive into ska and Rude Boy culture a little bit. Feel free to send me any questions or ideas you have about all this stuff, too! I love talking about it.

For the people who asked to be tagged: @likemmmcookies @edwinspaynes @asnottoldbyginger @rexrevri

@l-nightmare @ricebees @aroacespacerock @haledamage

(plus i'm tagging you, @laiqualaurelote, because I feel you would appreciate this)

[thealbatrovss]

wind song // logan(2017) x fem mutant reader

(mini series)

synopsis : you dream of a life without your powers. logan needs them to help locate some dead guys cash. a roadtrip to the Nevada desert with your ex was always bound to be a mistake. but, maybe it wasn’t.

Chapter 1 - blood money

chapter summary: after breaking up over a year ago, you reunite with logan at a diner in Texas. he needs a favor.

warnings: 18+ ONLY // MDNI - suggestive content, mature themes/subject matters, death, swearing, eventual violence and smut.

word count: 2k+

wind song masterlist // my other masterlist

The coffee was burnt. You pretended to like it that way.

The white mug was too hot to hold with your hands, so you opted for a straw instead. You found it in the corner of the booth. That earned some stares from the old couple eating lunch a few tables over and your waitress.

“That’s gonna melt the plastic right into your drink, you know?” Her Texan accent wasn’t as thick as the other waiters. There was red lipstick on her teeth. “Just wait for it to cool down.”

You picked the plastic tube from the liquid, inspecting it. It was still intact. “Looks fine to me.” And you popped it back in. There were sugar packets on the table. They reminded you of pixie sticks. You started to feel nauseous.

The lady shook her head, putting her notepad with your orders away. “Whatever gets you through the day.” And she left to go get your food. Or complain to her coworkers about the woman melting plastic instead of sugar into her coffee.

You wanted to drink it like normal. But you’d used a similar cup like this before to solve a case a few months back. It just didn’t feel right. Objects never did after they helped you locate the missing person. Another strange aspect of your powers. It’s like the people lived on through their things.

You could see his car pulling in through the driveway. He was right on time. Like always.

All kinds of emotions were running through you. You’d just arrived here out of state for a funeral. You were still wearing the black dress from attending this morning. Logan had called as you debated in your car whether to attend the after-services or not. Guess you got your answer. But it was still a surprising one.

You hadn’t seen or heard from him in over a year. Not since the incident.

The front doors opened, and the bell rang to let everyone know. You sat up a little straighter, nervous fingers folded in your lap.

Logan seemed to bring down the entire room as soon as he walked in. He wore a white tank top, with a white button-up over it. His black suit jacket was covered in specks of dirt and dust. His beard was a lot fuller now, his hair a bit shorter. Both growing gray. It glistened with the beads of something that smelled like moonshine.

For the first time in your life, you could see his age catching up to him. And the exhaustion. It was written on the bags underneath his eyes. In the way he held his aching knuckles to his chest, staring at where his claws hid.

He took a quick swig from his flask, ignoring the waiter's glare from behind the main counter. He was looking for you, drink still in hand.

You let him find you.

“Nice dress.” He started with. Your heart rate increased. You bit the inside of your lip. He still had that gravitational pull that made people want to either run and hide or get closer to him. He slid into the booth across from you. The sugar packets made shaking noises. He left his flask out on the table. “What’s the occasion?”

Your hands played with the black fabric ending at your knees. “Funeral.”

Logan nodded his head in understanding. He took out his glasses, looking at one of the menus.

“Oh, I’ve ordered already.”

“And I’m hungry as shit.”

“I ordered for you.” You emphasized.

Logan paused, staring at a picture of a salad. His eyes peeked out over the menu. “The usual?”

You nodded, swirling the straw around in the cooling cup of coffee. “Most places have what you like.”

He removed his glasses, rubbing at the irritated spot on his nose. “Next time, let me get my own tab.”

When she returned with the food, you ate in silence.

Logan stuffed a plate of sausages in his mouth before finishing attacking the eggs. He occasionally reached for his flask, like it was something he had ordered.

You didn’t feel like eating. The sugar was grinding in your ears. You’d have to take this sandwich to go. The coffee was going cold now.

“So,” you started. You were suddenly aware of how sticky the seat was beneath you. “Why did you call?”

“Why did you answer?” He kept eating. His fork made noises when it hit the plate.

You thought about the weeping mother and the small casket. “Well, it was either this or dwell on my last case. And I’d rather talk with an old friend than think about any of that.”

He stopped chewing, swallowing hard. “Well, then you’re not going to like what I have to say.”

Your brows knitted. You leaned back against the headboard. “I’m listening.”

Your ex took another shot of the hard alcohol. It was still the afternoon. But alcohol didn’t have the same effect on him as it did on other people. His abilities wouldn’t allow it. But it was still a problem.

He stuffed the flask back in his shirt pocket, only after it was empty. “I’ll make it short. A client of mine owes me a lot of fucking money.”

You crossed your arms. “How much?”

He put up five fingers. You remembered how they used to squeeze your hand in comfort. Sometimes they’d wipe away your tears. Other times they gripped your thighs and pulled you closer.

It was bittersweet. Those sweet and intimate memories. Even as the world continued to go to shit and mutants became less and less, you still had each other. Until something took that all away. You could recall the whistle ringing from your lips. Your cheeks were cold during the early days of fall. Logan was yelling about how you should’ve seen this coming. But he knew how your abilities worked. They didn’t work on the living.

“5,000?” You guessed.

“50,000.” He corrected.

Your jaw dropped. “Jesus. Were you his chauffeur or were you sleeping with him?”

He smiled. It was a weak one but it was still there. If you weren’t so used to it you would’ve missed it. “Look, he was a rich asshole who promised me a big tip. That's all.”

“That’s not a tip. That’s my salary.”

Logan set his utensils down after taking one last bite. “Then you need a fucking raise.”

“Or a new profession.” You joked. But it came out flat.

Being a private detective could’ve been a more fulfilling job. If it wasn’t for the fact that your mutant gene gave you the ability to track any person or creature. But only if they were dead.

You’ve worn this dress too many times to too many funerals.

Logan seemed like he was fighting with himself, whether to respond to that confession or not. He didn’t. Instead, he pulled out a fancy fountain pen from his jacket. “This is all I have of his.” He placed it on the table in front of you. “Will this be enough?”

You wanted to roll your eyes. “I haven’t even agreed to anything yet. What makes you think he’s dead in the first place?”

“Because, when he called saying he had the money, I heard gunshots. Then the phone went out. It’s been three weeks.”

“And no one’s reported him missing?” That was odd.

“Nope.” He looked from your eyes to your lips. “He never even told me where he was. I think he was out of state. And before you ask, yes, I already tried to trace the call. Nothing.”

The waitress came by, handing you a to-go box and whisked away his empty plates. Her eyes lingered noticeably longer on Logan as she walked back into the kitchen.

You continued your questioning. “Does he have any family? Maybe they know where he is.”

“No. He told me he was an only child. Parents died by the time he was 40. No other living relatives. People say a lot of shit when they’re drunk in the back of a car. Or just damn lonely.” His hand instinctively went to rest on the flask in his pocket. He motioned towards the pen. “If you need more than this, I can get it.”

You hesitated to pick it up. “You know how much I hate doing this.”

“I know.” He licked his lips, leaning towards you. “Yet, you’re still looking for people.”

It was true.

As much as you hated your powers, as much as they hurt; they could be used to help. Even if that meant only ever bringing people back to their families dead instead of alive.

A quote from your old Professor echoed in your mind. From a time long lost in the unforgiving hands of time and a powerful mind.

“Sometimes, doing the right thing can hurt you. But, it can give peace to the ones that you’re helping. What you give up, you give away. For good or for evil, now that’s up to you.”

You shut your eyes and took a deep breath. An old friend was asking for your help. But would he do the same for you? There was a time when you would’ve never doubted it. You hated yourself for that.

The pen felt icy in your hands. Maybe Logan was right. Maybe he was dead. You could already feel something beating through the object. It didn’t feel alive. “When do we start?”

A glimmer of light radiated off of Logan’s rugged face. For a moment there, it was like he was his old self again. The light flickered out just as quickly as it came. “Tomorrow morning. 8 am. I’ll pick you up.” He placed a 20-dollar bill next to your half-empty coffee cup.

You stared at the dead man on the paper. “I’ve already paid.”

“This is for the tip.” He stood, a slight uneasiness in his steps. He seemed so tired.

Were his regenerative powers still getting worse?

He paused before heading out, messing with the cuff of his sleeves. “Don't worry. I’ll make sure you get paid for this.”

I don’t want your damn money. I want to be rid of this haunting.

You let him think you were deep in thought. You tapped your chin. “I’ll take 60%.”

Logan put a hand on his hip. He sighed. “Now don’t piss me off.”

You rolled your eyes. “Would never dream of doing that.” You packed your untouched sandwich away in the box.

Logan cursed under his breath. It sounded like he was muttering between fuck it and fines. When he left the small diner the room felt lighter again.

You watched him drop his keys in the parking lot and stomped them further into the Texas dirt.

“See, I told you!” You turned to your waitress who was pointing at your cup. The plastic was starting to crinkle and melt. You could see it poking out from the brim of the liquid. “Next time, just drink the damn thing normally.”

I would if I could.

Logan was already gone by the time you looked back out the window. The sugar packets shook as you stood to leave. The cup rattled. The pen pulsed in your hands. Like it was trying to mimic a heartbeat it no longer had. You could feel your powers radiating through the objects.

That night you played with the lamentation on the corner of a photo.

Your motel room was small but surprisingly homely. There was a TV playing at full volume in the room next door. It kept you awake. Sounded like an action movie. It seemed to go on forever.

The photo was of you and Logan. You still kept it in your wallet. It was hidden behind old coupons and a stick of gum. Sometimes you forget it was even there. Most of the time you self soothed by peeling off the lamentation from the corners. The sides looked like the melting straw in your cup of coffee.

It was 9 pm. You ate most of your sandwich. A corner piece sat in the to-go box on your bed. Someone finally shut the TV off. A dog was barking in the parking lot. Cigarette smoke hugged the air. You put the photo back into your wallet, this time behind your credit card.

“Logan’s phone.” You heard Caliban's voice sing through the line. “Sometimes mine if he lets me use it.”

It was nice to hear from him again. A tracker similar to you but only with mutants. He was always mesmerized by how your powers worked. He used to show you the sketches of the figures you blew into the wind when you whistled. You wondered if he still kept those drawings.

“Hey. It’s me.”

“I know. He’s still got your contact name in his phone.”

You smiled a little. “Is he there?”

“He’s working. Some bachelor party, I think. He’s probably pissed he left his phone here.”

You looked at the fountain pen sitting on the nightstand. “When he gets back, could you tell him we’re headed to Nevada.”

“Nevada? What the hell are you two going to do up there?” He paused for a brief moment as if he just remembered. “Oh yeah. The blood money.”

“Did he promise you a cut too?”

He let out a laugh. “Logan can hardly part with a 5-dollar bill these days. I’ll probably get paid shit for watching Charles while you two go off getting married in some shitty casino or something.”

“It’s just a business trip. Nothing more.”

“We’ll have to agree to disagree on that one, my friend.”

There was a storm happening outside. The wind howled like a river of ghosts against the motel walls. You thought you heard old teammates and friends whispering in it.

A cough came from the other line. “By the way, if you come across a Vegas snow globe, I’d very much like to add it to my collection.”

“Sure.” The howling outside continued. “Take care, Caliban.”

“You don’t want to ask how Charles is doing?”

You took a sharp inhale. You didn’t need to ask. You knew exactly how he was doing. And you didn’t want to talk about him right now. Maybe some other time. You kept putting it off. You’d deal with that guilt another time.

“I’ll get you that snow globe.” And you hung up.

You fell asleep, still wearing that black dress.

[cakepoppresent]

This is fine! Totally Fine!!

Damn. Thats some crazy information chantel just shared, hope her sources weren't lying outta they asses

Transcript under the cut!~

[Chantel]: Our guest tonight is one of the biggest stars to grace our stage! She is getting tremendous acclaim for her long years in the entertainment industry working alongside major actors and her excellent acting skills! Please welcome Luna Villareal

Chantel: I’ve missed you friend! Why don’t you text me?

Luna: Phone works both ways! I’m also waiting for your text!

Chantel: Oh! So the next time I try to text you, you’ll actually answer?

Luna: Of course. I always answer

Chantel: I’ll hold you to that!

Chantel: Besides not texting me back, Having you on the show is always nice. Last time you were here we talked about your campaign with Miu Miu. Now you’re here because of your new film with Blair Reeves

Luna: I always love coming back but yes! our new movie “Greta” is expected to come out by Winterfest!

Chantel: How was it working with THE Blair Reeves? It must have been a daunting experience?

Luna: It really wasn’t! She’s basically like an aunt to me so it was like working with family but less annoying

Chantel: So there was still something annoying about working with Blair Reeves? Why don’t you let the audience know!

Luna: Isn’t all work annoying to a certain degree? long hours, long flights, and working in harsh environmental conditions. It all comes with the territory. But working with Mrs. Reeves always made a hard day better

Chantel: Always responding with the most diplomatic responses. Your manager must be very proud of you.

Luna: Hahaha I’m just a nice person Chantel, can’t cause mess when there is no mess to make right?

Chantel: Hmm...Is that so? Sounds like a challenge

Luna: You can always try

Luna: Oh? If there is I didn’t notice. Too busy working and going to school

Chantel: Acting aside a beautiful woman such as yourself must have a trail of broken hearts behind you?

Chantel: Busy working? Or is there someone who is already taking up all your time?

Luna: My work schedule is pretty hectic, not sure how a man can fit into it

Chantel: If I recall there was a pregnancy rumor about you and a mystery man not too long ago

Luna: Getting your sources from SMZ? The other day they said I was from Sixam because there's no way I could handle transitioning from a child star to where I am now. Doesn’t seem very reliable Chantel

Chantel: No need to get upset, you know I gotta ask the questions the people are dying to know! You’ve been seen with this man a few times now the people are curious!

Luna: The people don’t need to worry! When I finally share the man by my side, they’ll probably get sick of me

Chantel: Speaking of sources a reliable one told me something interesting about your family

Luna: Excuse me?

Chantel: Coming from an old family like the Villareals must be hard yes?

Luna: All families have their issues. My family issues aren’t anything interesting

Chantel: A little birdie told me that your family issues are particularly interesting

Luna: Im sorry but th-

Chantel: I was told your mother didn’t actually pass away like your father stated.

Luna: Wha-

Chantel: And your older brother Andre? Was disowned by your own father and is now working as a dishwasher at-

Luna: Are you done?

Chantel: Don’t be mad at me! I’m just asking the important questions. You know the people love the messiness of rich families. Won’t you entertain us?

Luna: Sounds more like you want to slander me. I’m not giving you the gossip you want so you’re making up your own?

Chantel: Calling me a liar? Doesn’t seem very diplomatic of you

Luna: Asking unapproved questions and ambushing me with false information doesn’t seem very professional of you

Chantel: My sources are very reliable. I would never come at you with lies and allegations

Luna: My lawyers are pretty reliable as well

Chantel: Oh! Well, that’s the end of this interview! Folks stay tuned while we have Orange Baily perform his comeback single “First Burn” for us tonight!

[Destiny]: Bro what the fuck was that. Holy shit how could she fucking do that

[Luna]: I...can’t believe that happened. That’s never happened to be before. I don’t get ambushed.

[Destiny]: Be honest with me. Was what she said true? I thought we had no secrets

[Luna]: What should I do? This will be blow over right?

[Destiny]: This is going to be such a shit show. I haven’t even looked at SMZ yet. Fuck.

[Luna]: I can’t fucking think right now. That...none of that is true...I don’t think it is. My mom died giving birth to me and my brother...I...I don’t know

[Destiny]: Yeah. It should, Thorne Bailey just needs to be spotted with a blonde bimbo and the news will be all over him again. Just relax I’ll handle this

[Destiny]: Okay...Yeah this is fine. Don’t freak out.

Luna: I’m not freaking out.

[Destiny]: Good! Just stay low. I’ll call you for the Vogue holiday shoot, you have some smaller stuff here and there but don’t worry. It’s fine. This is fine!

Luna: I’ll be waiting for your call babe.

[professorsnape394]

DAY 13: Unexpected Encounters

Pairing: Severus Snape x Reader

Rating: 🥰

Prompt: Journey

Summary: Snape is interrupted by a beautiful stranger on the journey to back to Hogwarts.

A/N: Feel like we're long over due for a cute lil fluffy piece, so here ya go :-) Comment if you're interested in a possible part 2 to this one?

Warnings:  None.

Word Count: 1977

Credits to Gif Creator.

The journey to Hogwarts was one of the few things that brought peace to Severus’ life. As a child, it meant finally escaping the wrath of his abusive father. As a teen, it meant getting to see his best friend after months spent apart. And as an adult, it meant escaping the loneliness of Spinner’s End where memories of his childhood still haunted him. Severus often spent the majority of the ride reading, occasionally turning his attention out the window to appreciate the scenic views of the Scottish Highlands; it was his last moment of peace before another year at Hogwarts spent surrounded by insufferable children and prying colleagues.

It was known by this point in his career that he liked to keep to himself on the train journey, and pretty much any other time, so the other professors granted him his privacy and left him to occupy a carriage alone. Which is why he was shocked to be interrupted such a short time into the journey.

The doors to the cabin shot open, rattling riskily in the frame. They parted to reveal an attractive young woman; dripping wet and gasping breathlessly.

“Oh, thank God.” She exhaled, shuffling her single suitcase through the doors, quickly abandoning it in the middle of the carriage, sparing no thought for Severus’ personal space.

“I’ve never seen a train so busy before. This is the first free carriage I’ve found today.”

“Did it never cross your mind that maybe there is a reason for that?” Severus droned, not bothering to look up from his book.

Ignoring his underhanded comment, Y/N immediately plonked herself down opposite him.

Barely a beat had passed before she started shedding herself of the sodden layers that had been protecting her from the adverse weather conditions outside. Hat, scarfs, jumpers and a thick woollen coat were quickly discarded to the space next to her. As she fumbled about with her gloves, Severus took the opportunity to evaluate her properly.

Despite seeming breathless, presumably from running late for the train, her pearly white smile had not yet faltered.

The rain had drowned her hair; soft waves becoming strings of tight curls, dripping puddles onto her previously dry shirt. Her pale cheeks flushed red from the harshness of the cold air. But what ultimately drew Severus in the most was her sparkling pale blue eyes, dazzling him with their glimmering curiosity as she too scrutinised him.

He arched a single brow in her direction, shaking himself from the daze she had induced in him.  

“Y/N.” She held her hand out for him to take.

 “Sorry?”

“That’s my name; Y/N.”

Severus’ eyes darted between the woman and the pages of his book, debating whether to engage. With a sigh he folded shut his book, but did not bother to accept her hand.

“A pleasure to meet you.” He sneered sarcastically.

“Ah, so you must be Severus.” She grinned. “The potion’s master I believe, I was always good potions in school.”

Snape’s interest piqued.

“How do you know who I am?”

“A family member told me.”

“The same one you are off to visit?”

“And how do you know I am visiting anyone?” It was her turn to raise an eyebrow at him.

“The size of your suitcase; you don’t plan on staying long.”

“Maybe I’m just a new professor who knows how to pack light.”

“You are not a professor.” He stated matter-of-factly, practically scoffing at the insinuation.

“I’m offended. I could be a professor if I wanted to.”

“You’re too young.” Severus looked her up and down; none of his colleagues looked like her.

“And what age were you when you first started teaching?” She challenged, folding her arms across her chest.  

Snape smirked. “You know a lot about me, when I know so little of you.”

“I do my research.” She smirked

“So, are you going to tell me?” He quickly side-tracked the conversation.

“Tell you what?”

“Who you’re visiting.”

“No.”

Severus shot her a questioning glance.

“Once I tell you, you’ll look at me differently.” Y/N explained.

“And how am I looking at you now?”

“…Curiously.”

Severus shifted uncomfortably in his chair.

“I’m curious who you could possibly be visiting who would not also be accompanying you on the train.”

“You’ll find out soon enough, but I do not wish to rush the process.”

Severus sighed, sensing this was not an issue the woman would be moved on.

“I do not believe that a person’s parentage dictates who they are. Whatever I think of you now will not change once I discover who your relation is.”

“You say that now, but it’s not something you can control. It happens to everyone when they find out who I am.” The look in her eyes told him this was an issue that really bothered her.

Snape leaned back in his chair, eying the woman inquisitively. He found himself wanting to know everything about her, but was too nervous to ask anything at all.

Y/N broke eye contact first, hunching herself over to get access to her suitcase.

“What are you doing?” He questioned, watching an array of multi-coloured fabrics spill out of the trunk; his eyes caught on a particularly lacy garment before he averted his gaze, clearing his throat awkwardly.

“I’m looking forrrr… this!” She brandished a small tin box at him.

“And that is?”

“Cookies.” She grinned. “I never go on a long journey without baking myself a batch; their delicious, and a great conversation starter.”

She thrust the container out to him.

“I believe we have already started our conversation.”

“But their delicious.” She repeated, exaggerating her words. Severus’ eyes dropped to her peachy lips.

Sighing, he gave in and accepted the box from her.

“What are they?”

“Oatmeal and raisin.”

“You do not seem like an oatmeal and raisin type of girl.”

“And you do not seem like a triple chocolate chunk kind of guy. So be grateful I had some ingredients that I needed to get rid of. And I might have eaten all the chocolate myself before I had the chance to bake them.” She blushed.

Severus couldn’t help himself from smirking. The embarrassed look on her face refreshing to him after pinning her as an overconfident know-it-all. Plus, she looked adorable.

Her eyes widened at him.

“Are you smiling?” She gawked.

“I’ve been known to do that occasionally.”

“That’s not what I’ve been told.”

“Then you do not know everything, Miss …?” He waited for her to fill in the blank, she only shook her head in response.

“Why are you smiling.”

Severus thought for a moment if he wanted to expose himself for thinking she was adorable. It was too soon to show all of his cards so willingly, but he didn’t want to lie to the woman, so…

“Oatmeal and Raisin are my favourite cookies.” He admitted, finally plucking one from the box.

“Then the universe was on your side, Severus Snape. It’s destiny.”

Severus was beginning to think she wasn’t entirely wrong about that.

~

Chucking the half-eaten box of cookies to her, Y/N showed no intention of closing her suitcase and removing it from the middle of the floor. It had quickly become chaos in their carriage and it was slowly starting to get on Severus’ nerves.

“Does this chaos come naturally to you or is it a learned skill?” He quipped.

Y/N’s jaw dropped at his audacity.

“Is my mess bothering you, Severus?”

“It bothered me when you first barged your way in here. Now, it’s borderline unbearable to look at.” His eyes flicked back to the piece of black lingerie sticking out the side of her case.

The young woman bent over once more, tucking all of her garment away and finally zipped the case shut. She neatly folded her piles of scarfs and coat, placing the cookie tin squarely on top.

“Happy now?”

“I’d be more inclined to say yes, if 90% of the floor wasn’t still occupied by your suitcase. There are compartments for them, you know?”

“I know.”

“So, you’re actively choosing to be a nuisance?”

She blushed again, this time avoiding complete eye contact with him.

“I can’t reach, okay? And even if I could it’s far too heavy for me to lift on my own.”

Severus grunted, satisfied with her excuse.

He stood to his full height, grabbing the handle of her case with ease.

“What are you doing?”

“Clearing some space.”

“You’re helping me?” She said, shocked, watching him lift her suitcase into the overhead compartment.

“I’m putting my mind at ease. I cannot sit for much longer in such cramped confines.”

“Strong as well as smart.” She teased. “You’re not at all the man I imagined.”

“Don’t speak too soon. Your opinion will surely change when we arrive at Hogwarts.”

“Why would it change?”

“Because I am not the man you think I am.”

“But you are the man you have shown me to be.”

“Don’t be so sure of that.”

“I’m very sure. You are more this man, than the man I have heard stories about. You have entertained me this entire journey when you simply could have chosen to ignore me. You gain nothing by helping me.”

“You’re wrong.” He raised the last quarter of his cookie to her, before popping it into his mouth with a smirk.

“I don’t care who you show me you are when we get to Hogwarts Severus. It will not change my opinion of you.”

“What is your opinion of me.” He couldn’t help but ask.

“I like you. You’re a good man, behind all of those scowls and sneers.”

Severus wasn’t quite sure how to respond. He had never illicit this reaction from a stranger before, in fact most people didn’t even bother to introduce themselves now adays. His reputation often proceeded him, in the worst possible way.

“Tell me who you’re visiting.” He ventured again.

“No.”

“Why not.”

“I told you; I don’t want- “

“You don’t want me to look at you differently. But how can you still say that after everything you have just said to me.”

“Because it is not me that you’re forming an opinion of. My last name carries more weight than my personality could ever compete with.”

Severus didn’t push the subject anymore, after all, he would find out shortly. The train wasn’t far off its final destination, and Snape found himself wanting to savour what little time they had left together before they seemingly became two entirely different people.

They chatted about a wide variety of subjects ranging from Potions, to the views outside, to what else Y/N loved to bake. Talking to her was easy, like playing a game of tennis; one person set up the serve for the other to rebuttal with perceived ease, each of them trying their best to throw the other off their game, challenging them both the new heights they might never have otherwise reached.

When they pulled into the station Severus helped Y/N out with her case, allowing her to pile back on her layers of protection from the cold. They stepped off the train in line with each other, unsure of how to begin to part ways.

“There you are!” Minerva McGonagall’s familiar voice screeched through the crowds of excitable students. “I’ve been searching everywhere for you; your grandfather wanted me to escort you to the castle. Let’s go Miss Dumbledore.”

Y/N stared into Severus eyes, looking truly defeated. Severus nodded simply in understanding.

“Will I see you again?” She dared to ask.

“I hope so, Miss Dumbledore.” Severus smiled. “I enjoyed getting to know the real you.”

Y/N beamed up at the Potion’s Master, shaking his hand goodbye.

Severus watched on as she disappeared through crowds of children and the steam of the train’s engine.

He really hoped he would see her again.

.

.

.

Taglist:

@ayamenimthiriel @lizlil @entirelymesmerising @mikariell95 @snapefiction @a-queen-and-her-throne @amazingzou @peridot-pineapple @snapesno1thighrider @kittenlittle24 @forfaehou @caseydoodles98

[highrook]

The creative crossroads: the road to Highrook

Even at the best of times It's hard to know which creative path to follow, but the last few years in the games industry  has seen a remarkable amount of turbulence. This has made the process of committing to a creative project even more stressful than normal. I’ve made and released multiple games over a decade, but each time I try to decide on the ‘next project’ I always find it difficult to be sure I’m doing the right thing. I mean it's a natural feeling, but it's not necessarily a fun one!

One of the most common questions in indie land (and any independent creative process) is… Should you make something because it might make money, or because you really want to make it. Whenever I’m at this point in my work I am reminded of Jake Birketts Venn Diagram. It's a simple but effective sanity check on any creative ambition.

I thought about this image a lot when prototyping the early versions of The Horror At Highrook. Perhaps the most unknown portion of the diagram is “Games with a market”. Highrook isn’t a game that fits neatly into clear existing market genres. It's a strange hybrid of interests and mechanics. It's narrative heavy, but it's not a visual novel. It's got deep systems, but it's also very visual and atmospheric. It's not a deckbuilder, or a roguelike, but has some elements of both. 

The mix appeals to me, I’ve always enjoyed stories and systems that weave in and out of different contexts, I love the fragmentary myths of Dark Souls, the alternative past-futures of Sunless Skies and Bioshock. I love the dream jigsaw of the final season of Twin Peaks, the slow build of lore in the Magnus Archives. I love the autonomy of Roadside Picnic and Stalker; environments where the stage exists uncaring of the audience Media where you need to piece together multimodal elements to grasp the story and direction of the world.

Highrook is like this… and even though the experience can be hard to ‘market’ - cosmic horror clockwork detective game anyone? - I know that I will be able to get up every day and enjoy my work. That's half the battle right? Completing any project is tough, but if your approach is cynical then reaching the end is doubly hard. If your ambition is simply financial gain, then cynicism might work… but that's not my path from the crossroads.

Highrook might be harder to sell and explain than the other ideas I was juggling. But people fell in love with the influences I've listed above, even when they seemed alien and strange. I hope some of those folk will enjoy what I’m making in the same way. And who knows, maybe being alien and strange is a cool marketable thing after all.

[emmg]

I’ve never played Dragon Age before but I’m being won over by all the thirst posting lmao, what’s the best DA game to start with? Idk if there’s like an overarching narrative or if they’re self contained plots or whatever.

Omg I somehow missed this which is unacceptable given how much I love ya lol

YEEEES, WELCOME TO THE DRAGON AGE SICKO SIDE, MWHAHAHA

Okay, so if you're not totally allergic to old graphics I highly recommend starting with Dragon Age: Origins. It's an absolute masterpiece in storytelling, but also wildly politically, errr, incorrect lmfao. And with mods it looks amazing

You get to have a dog who can read. I'm not making this up. He understands human speech perfectly and only uses it to beg for treats. You can also ask him if he has something for you (like Scratch in bg3) and when he doesn't, the game makes you want to kill yourself because the camera pans down into the most SHAME ON YOU angle on him I've ever seen and he looks defeated. It's amazing lol

Your companions in Origins are straight up insane. A huge warrior who steals cookies from a child and calls him fat. A living construct who was once a dwarf but there was a situation and she spent 30 years inert being shat on by pigeons and now she's on a personal quest to brutally murder all of them.

Did I mention there's a bisexual assassin elf who spends most of the game complimenting the group's grandma's boobs? I’m not sure it’s a "good" plot point, but it sure is a plot point.

You get to be rescued from prison by any of your companions. If the dwarf and elf go, they lie that they are brothers and it somehow works. Or the companions can end up naked. It’s insane, it’s absolutely fucking insane

Or you can start with DA 2 and experience the joy that is Purple Hawke (aka choosing the sarcastic dialogue option.) I present to you some of the classic lines:

"So I should be looking out for a bunch of boneless women flopping through the street?"

"Let's be more specific. I don't do anything that involves children or animals."

"You should pay someone else. Like me. I like being paid."

"I'd like to know who this "Corypheus" is. With a name like that, he's bound to go "mwa-ha-ha" at some point. I just know it."

In DA 2, you get to run around for YEARS (yeah actual years) with your found family that sort of hates each other, everyone, or almost, is bisexual, someone is possessed, and everyone is horny.

Inquisition is a great starting point, though, if you don't want to go too far back. It’s friendly to new players and very patient with your questions about "What is a dragon?" and "Why does everyone hate elves?" It rehashes everything you need to know so you’re not like, "Wait, what’s a Blight again?" Plus, it directly ties into the new game, Veilguard, which is even friendlier since 10 years passed between the two games and it has no choice but to be.

But really, I feel like all of them are good are introducing/rehashing the lore

Also if you want to experience the most life-devastating romance with the elven embodiment of a poetic egg, Inquisition and Veilguard got you covered. @thessaralka wrote many treatises on it lmfao

Pick up the games ok pls ty byyye

[tigerincahoots]

WHILE OTHERS WOULD VIEW THIS AS WEIRD… Kevin saw this as something so normal and casual that was barely worthy of a footnote on a report. He could transform into a tiger. He had dealt with vampires, witches, werewolves and other creatures of the dark throughout the years. Someone who talked to spirits and helped them cross over was by far the most natural thing out of everything. Someone had to keep the balance. Someone had to assist the innocent fuckers that would be caught in something that was way over their heads. ”I MET SOMEONE LIKE YOU BEFORE.” Maybe not as GIFTED as Henry apparently was but close. “While most people don’t believe in shit that is beyond the normal routine, I like to keep an open mind.” It’s like someone believing that they were all alone in the universe. What sort of bullshit was that? His gaze remained on the scene of the crime for a while longer before turning to Henry – focusing on the now steady heartbeat that lingered inside his chest. How many people knew about his gift? How many had considered it odd and unnatural? How many fuckers had called him a freak? ”WHY SHOULD I FREAK OUT?” His head tilted to the side – a ghost of a smile lingering for more time than it should on his features. It was kind of cute to see how relieved Henry was that he wasn’t running to the hills or calling him names. That was not his style. “I’ve seen shit, Quinn. You talking to spirits is by far –the most normal thing out of a bad bunch.” Not that he would tell him about what he really did for a living. Not that he would share with the detective that he hunted other monsters in the night either to capture or kill under someone else’s orders. But he also couldn’t just sweep how casual he was about this whole thing under the rug under the guise of a very open mind. Kevin did not lie. Clever half-truths were the way to go and Henry being a detective would easily spot a lie a mile away. ”YOU’RE NOT THE ONLY ONE WITH EXTRAS, PRETTY BOY.” And let’s leave it at that. His head turned North toward the direction that Quinn mentioned and a quick sniff of the air around was enough to indicate that too much time had passed. The trail was probably gone cold. “You’re not even spooked with the concept of hunting a werewolf? Do you happen to have silver bullets in your gun that I don’t know about?” He could handle a werewolf but Henry? Kevin’s jaw clenched for a moment. He did not and would not put an innocent man in the line of fire. “I can DO you later.” Teasing Henry was now a pastime that Kevin would fully give into whenever the chance presented itself. “If I ask you to stay back, would you do it?” Probably not but he had to ask. Chances were that either the creature was still in animal form and roamed around or if it was someone with more experience – returned to human form and covered their tracks. And if they cross any river… tracking would be hard. “I want to check where it went but I am not a fan of the idea of having you caught in the crossfire.” OR SEEING HIM FOR WHAT HE REALLY WAS.

”IF I SAY PLEASE, WILL YOU STAY?

Mr. Mean Tough Guy over here had not only defended Henry to his peers, and wanted to fuck him, but now accepted this new information like it was a breeze.

For a moment, the usually chatty blonde was at loss for words. Kevin had made him feel wanted and cared for in such a little amount of time, it was like day and night compared to what he was used to. Being on his own, the loneliness, the weight of a secret he would rarely share. Replaced by relief, and not to mention the shiver this man gave him from whispering in his ear. He had to collect himself and keep on the trail instead of wanting to fall into Kevin's arms.

"Yes," He finally said after a hard swallow that made his Adam's Apple bob in his throat. "I talk to spirits, I help them cross over, they tell me things. You've got it all figured out." He took a long breath, "That's a relief, saves me from explaining." Henry was glad the usual speech he had learned over all his life didn't have to be recited tonight.

He was not expecting his heart to crack with gratitude over such a small thing.

"He was just a kid, about 16. Got the weed from a friend, was going to his party. No animal, no villain, just a kid looking to party and maybe do some underage drinking as his worse offence." It was all so terribly sad, it always was.

"Thank you for not freaking out on me. This gift of mine, it helps with this job sometimes. He said it was a werewolf, like you said, my scribble is just all I managed to get down in my fugue state. And he went north."

It seemed like it was gonna be a long night, so Henry didn't know when drinks and dinner would happen. Even with all this new information, he was still thinking about that.

"I guess being in the military also gives you good tracking knowledge, what would you like to do next? And don't say me." Henry smiled, his heartrate returning to normal.

[kavehater]

I support girls but NAH THIS IS REACHING “if you look carefully LIKE REALLY CAREFULLY 🤓☝️”

[laurrelise]

fun challenge for tua fans!!!

listen to this song and read the lyrics while thinking about five and delores and try not to cry!!!! <3

“she may be the reason i survive, the why and wherefore im alive” are you trying to kill me? ill do it myself atp

fun fact: if you’ve ever heard that song “mr blue sky” this is the lead singer and writer in that band (electric light orchestra) and they’re one of my favorite bands of literally all time and SINCE IM ACTUALLY SEEING THEM IN CONCERT FOR THEIR LAST TOUR EVER (yes, im deadass and i’m freaking the fuck out over it) i was recently listening to some of the songs i missed over the years and immediately recognized this one and now im actually sobbing over the thought of five singing this song about delores.

sorry i know im kinda insane about five and delores even if she literally is not real but something about it makes me so emotional, its such a heartbreaking story to me man 😭 someone save me omfg

[acesammy]

Sam is more queercoded than dean bc almost all of sam’s love interests are deemed unacceptable and Sam is constantly mocked and shamed for it send tweet

[mydarkorchid]

Alright guys I’m back with another poll

Recently there’s been a lot of discourse going around on a certain site about the manner of Isagi and Rin’s relationship, so blue lock tumblr I ask ye

Does Rin seriously hate Isagi? Explain your thoughts on this if you like! 🙏🏾

[deus-ex-mona]

look at these images that are seemingly unrelated to each other. what do you see?

[creativity-deficient]

Soooo what are y’all’s hcs on the Tweak family 🤔🤔🤔