#i love everything from how a setting come to exist how they make weather work in their favour how they wait for the right wind the costumes

[ginkovskij]

watching the making of a movie is so amazing and so humbling like wow some movies are so good you forget it's a play pretend story it's so !! to see how it all came together to work in a way that feels so natural and real

[andy-wm]

Back to WHO : the MV

This is a continuation of the earlier post that discusses the song WHO, by Jimin. That post was a first impression focused on the lyrics - while this one looks more closely at the MV.

(Remember this is my interpretation, not an official statement by Hybe)

The more times I watched the music video, the more I wanted to yell, because look...

IT'S REALLY STARING US IN THE FACE.

And again, kudos to Jimin's team because it's the most obvious thing in the world ever but only if you ALREADY KNOW what's going on.

Here's a summary:

The music video loosely represents Jimin's attraction/sexuality/love life as a timeline.

New colours - a new spectrum shall we say - filter into his life even though he's trying so hard to 'keep to the program'.

He searches high and low for a girl to love, but alas, nobody makes the fireworks happen for him. Then Billboard Boy crashes into his life, threatening to destroy everything. Jimin has to weather the storm and figure out where his place is because Billboard Boy is a major disruptor - a tornado in fact. In the end, the fireworks are popping and the chaos is happening, and Jimin has to just go with it and finds his place again. His colours have been getting brighter and louder as he goes along and in the end he's prepared to walk away from everything in order to be the spectrum he is.

<<I'm not saying it's literally a count of how many girls or boys or enbys he's kissed. I hope his kissed all of them and then some, frankly, but that's none of my business.>>

A few things to pay special attention to:

Burning cars > cars = masculinity. fire = hot. 1+1=2.

Dancers > people he's interacting with

Rough weather, as represented by the wind-whipped papers and eventually even cars being tossed about the set > His attraction to men (and dare I say it, culminating in a focus on one man in particular)

Colour flares, machine text, and marks on the tape (horizontal lines etc)

Are you ready? Let's go...

Jimin enters the scene looking like sex on legs (no surprises) and strolls casually onto the road. Immediately our view of hm is blocked by a pop-art style poster blowing across the screen. It's immediately followed by a car coming around the corner onto the road. The car is on fire. Jimin watches it pass by and follows it.

He follows the burning car.... and so it begins.

The narrative starts from before BTS even exists. Jimin encounters several female dancers who he has brief and sexy interludes with. In fact i don't think there's a single woman in this MV who he doesn't at least look at. He really does try everything (and everyone) in his efforts to find HER.

BUT WAIT.... rewind...

Let's go back to the poster... it depicts a street scene much like the one we see here, with the words:

WHO IS!! TORNADO OF LOVE

Note: those are exclamation points not question marks.

It's not a question. This is telling us UP FRONT IN BIG LETTERS that 'WHO' is tornado of love.

I could probably stop here and just say 'ok go watch it again' but it's too much fun to go through all the details.

So let's continue...

Jimin has a little more steamy choreo with the female dancers before the lyrics tell us he has so many people to see and places to go, and he leaves them and joins 6 other men in what looks like a work environment....

Hello we are BTS!

Yes you guessed it... like Yoongi did in Haegum, Jimin has his members represented here. (Fan chant going off in my head...) and more delicious choreography follows.

Notice that while Jimin was dancing with the girls, the only signs of rough weather were a few glittery specs floating through the air, barely noticable. Those bits of glitter multiply when he joins the 6 men, and instead of a sprinkling of glitter, it starts looking like a light snowfall.

That's all about to change....

The first moment of reckonning:

At the end of this section of choreo, as Jimin sings 'who is my heart waiting for' and moves into the next phase we have a barely visible flash of light across the screen and rainbow colours bleed into the footage (at 1.14).

This is also the moment the significant rough weather starts. I'd say this is where Jimin starts noticing how he feels, and the turmoil begins, because this is also where he makes eye contact with the camera (1.23).

He sees us watching.

Fuck. I had a moment here. There's a look on his face as he walks past the camera and stares right into it.

AUTO CALLIBRATION...

As another millisecond flash of light and rainbow colours seep into the footage, The machine text 'AUTO CALLIBRATION' appear on the screen and flash there for a couple of seconds.

CALLIBRATE: To standardise... by determinning the deviation from a standard so as to ascertain the proper correction factors (Meriam-Webster definition).

"Get a hold of yourself, Jimin. Reset (your behaviour and desires) to correspond with expectations"

Jimin makes a very determined bee-line for the nearest girl and dances with her, ignoring the burning car in the foreground.

This brings us to the next phase of the narrative, and the next location - the performance space in front of the OASIS cinema.

(Do you see the doors of the cinema - BTS referenced again).

As he dances with this girl, the camera zooms out and we see that a crowd has gathered outside the cinema, watching them, but the crowd does not seem friendly and the dance seems performative - the movements are exagerated and obvious. The girl has Jimin in a headlock at one point and then she pushes him away and leaves. All in all it's an unpleasant event.

At this point the BTS members return (Although now there's one missing) and they dance with and around a number of female dancers. flashes go off in the crowd as the choreo is performed.

As they dance the wind picks up quickly and papers and cans are blown about. Even when Jimin is obviously interacting with female dancers the weather continues to pick up. Dancing with the girls isn't helping.

The camera pulls back and we see the same car as before, still on fire.

This is the moment when the penny (or billboard) drops.

All the other dancers scatter, dissapearing in a matter of seconds as the billboard comes crashing down. The billboard blocks his path. Wherever he had been planning to go - or whatever course of action he had planned to take - this man on the billboard forces a new decision. Jimin has to rethink his plans.

Jimin turns and goes in the opposite direction to everyone else. (A similar scene occured in Like Crazy, Jimin going the other way, rejecting the norm, going against the tide).

The machine text flashes "REWIND ... REWIND" on the screen and we see Jimin heading back to where all this started... where the original car on fire was seen.

He's travelling his own path now, but as he walks, alone in what seems to be the wrong direction, we see the store lights brighter, reflecting off cars and filling the space around him.

He's going through the motions with the girls he passes but the interactions are brief and in one case he actually dodges the girl completetly.

He retraces his steps amidst the chaos, and the weather really goes nuts. Now there are cars being thrown through the air, streetlamps exploding. The storm is almost upon him.

As Jimin steps into that original street again, the one with the neon letters spelling BLISS, the machine text reads PLAY. It's almost ike he's having a redo, where he accepts who he is from the start and allows the chaos to happen. And the chaos DOES happen, because the tornado has arrived.

THE TORNADO OF LOVE.

There's a flash and the whole screen is flooded with colours, blanking out the footage.

Jimin can no longer dance in step with everyone else at this point. He's doubled over, belting those high notes at the climax of the song while the chaos rages in the background. Without the music to give his actions context, it almost looks like hes in agony.

Sparks fly, lights flash, even the film itself is affected...

He eventually gets it together and rejoins the choreography, picking up his life so to speak. But his callibration is forever changed. the colours that bled into his life are there for good now, and and as he walks away after the music stops, we see that those colours are not just for the performance, they exist outside of that.

A note about the light flares we see throughout the MV:

It was really hard to catch these, some of them were literal milliseconds. I had to slow the MV down to play at .25 original speed and even then they were fleeting - well hidden.

Only the one at the very end was really visible.

In this one, the word PAUSE appears, as the MV ends. I wonder if that relates to their military service?

The flares of light and colour, those rainbow flashes, aren't always easy to find. Youvhave to be prepared to seek them out.

We will find them if we look for them, but i think Jimin won't show his true colours until after the lights go down and the performance is over.

I respect his decision (if that's what that is) and i will continue to meet him here his stands. I'll support everything he does knowing what I know and I'll continue to search for and uncover the hidden messages he sends us.

[perfectlyoongi]

LONG-DISTANCE!NAMJOON who has your city in the weather app on his phone. as soon as Namjoon started talking to you and felt a little flower blooming inside his heart, he was quick to add your city to his app. seeing it every day, Namjoon made sure to always remind you to wear a scarf or take your umbrella with you. whatever the weather in your city, Namjoon was always ready with little pieces of advice and reminders to make your day better. “it’s going to be quite hot there today.do you have your water bottle with you? carry a fan in your backpack and stop for some ice cream before you get home. you deserve this treat.”

LONG-DISTANCE!NAMJOON who swears the only music that warms his soul is the sound of your voice. Namjoon was in love with you. in a way, your presence in his life had made the world a worthy place to live. you were like a ray of light in the grayest of days. with your laughs and stories, you could warm Namjoon’s heart even if you were miles away. and it was in your voice that Namjoon knew the true comfort of existence. being an eternity away from you, it was in your voice that Namjoon found true love. and there was no music or symphony that could compare with the melody of your voice. “talk to me. tell me about your day. describe the sky to me. say whatever you want, but speak. i need the calm that your voice brings me.”

LONG-DISTANCE!NAMJOON who offers you a set of cards titled ‘open when…’. the world was cruel and challenging, that was a truth known to everyone; as such, Namjoon tried to make your distance less painful by writing a set of letters for you to open at specific times. from a drawing of two arms for when you need a hug, or a recipe for soup when you want comfort, an extensive array of letters were delivered to you on a blustery winter morning — and you swore the sun came out the moment you saw that set of cards. “i think i planned every possible scenario. but if you need a card and don’t find one in this set, send a text. i leave everything to write you a digital letter, just ask.”

LONG-DISTANCE!NAMJOON who says he already missed you before he met you. when he met you, Namjoon felt at peace. for some reason, since the day he met you, Namjoon stopped being so heavy. it was as if you had brought with you the garden of eden that Namjoon delighted in from the moment he met you. in a way, Namjoon’s heart stopped bleeding when the two of you formed a friendship. and oh, when his flower expanded into bushes and trees, Namjoon could feel, for the first time in years, what true happiness was. “meeting you was like coming home after a long day of work. meeting you was a comfort i already knew but had never experienced. meeting you was meeting me for the first time. and i missed you and your soul so much.”

LONG-DISTANCE!NAMJOON who writes a song about you and the distance that separates you. it was more than obvious that Namjoon would express his feelings in a song — it was the only way he knew to alleviate some of the pain he felt. but unlike all the other songs, that one was just made for you. from lyrics to melody, the song was made from scratch, always with you in mind, wanting to show you how much he loved you and how unfair fate was for having put you so far away. “i wrote this song to ease the weight of my heart. it’s a simple poem about my feelings, but i want you to know that my entire soul is forever engraved here. and only for you.”

LONG-DISTANCE!NAMJOON who reads to you every night. fairy tales never sounded so innocent when uttered by Namjoon’s tender lips. telling you various adventures and love stories, Namjoon read to you every night before you went to sleep, hoping that his voice would be enough to bring you some comfort even though he was on the other side of the phone. with delicate words and graceful pronunciations, Namjoon lulled you into a deep sleep at the end of an extremely exhausting day — a reminder that he would always be just a call away from you. “today i want to do something different. when i went to the cafe, i heard a conversation between two strangers and i would like to repeat it to you. it’s about a flower’s love for water.”

LONG-DISTANCE!NAMJOON who left everything behind just to be able to hug you. Namjoon was at a stage in his life where only you mattered. yes, he loved his friends. yes, he loved his family. yes, he loved his job. but, oh, how he loved you. the world only made sense because Namjoon knew you existed; all light came from you, all happiness came from you, all life came from you. you were the world to Namjoon and he didn’t mind leaving all his other loves behind if it meant having you in his arms for the first time. “my heart was begging to come home. i really needed to see you. we spent a lot of time apart. now i’m here. now i’m home. me and my heart are at home.”

[ghcstao3]

that one slower scene in every superhero movie when the good guys take a beating from the villain and need to regroup, so one of the members of the team is like 'i know a place'.

so, nik gets some coordinates from soap and flies them to a countryside in scotland where mrs mactavish greets them on the front porch of a lovely house and immediately threats them with an ass whooping if they don't take their muddy combat boots off before going inside.

momma mactavish seems completely unafazed by a helicopter in her backyard, doesn't ask any questions, treats them all like a family. she's tiny and a little scary, makes them eat their vegetables and treats them to a delicious dessert. she can't stop kissing johnny's head and roast him for his mohawk.

ghost notices how relaxed and happy johnny is and how domesticity suits him. he would like to see it more often. for the first time in his life he is reluctant to come back to work.

immediately pictured the avengers at hawkeye’s house

-

Usually when someone on their team says I know a place when they find themselves in a bout of trouble, they don’t usually mean their childhood home.

Usually, I know a place means a warehouse, a run-down safe house, or, God forbid, some cave. And yet instead, here they all exist idly in Soap’s mum’s house while she coddles them in between scolding her son like it’s just another normal day for her. Like they aren’t all hardened soldiers standing in her home, each with innumerable kill counts and severely blacked-out personnel files.

It’s… weird, being crowded into a dining room and served a home-cooked meal despite coming unannounced and uninvited. That isn’t to say they’re not all thankful, having surely used up the last of Mrs. MacTavish’s gauze and bandages to get to this point, but it’s just—not at all what any of the team had been expecting.

Soap’s about the only one who seems unperturbed. Price is still rubbing his wrist from when Mrs. MacTavish smacked him for his insistence on helping with supper.

You’re guests, she had said, sounding positively aghast. What kind of host do you take me for?

Ghost can certainly see where Soap had gotten his fiery nature, as he bickers back and forth with his mother while the rest of them eat quietly, tentatively, like they’re not sure they’re allowed to. They may not share much in looks, but it’s no doubt that Soap is his mother’s son.

By the time dessert rolls around—which is yet another surprise—Mrs. MacTavish has finally been directing conversation to the soldiers sat around her table, asking about work and life as if they aren’t all bruised and scarred and about half-dead from an awful fight. Yet they all find themselves discussing what’s asked of them like it’s no more than the weather.

Something about Mrs. MacTavish’s spirit instills a sense of familiarity, homeliness. Ghost understands why Soap thought to bring them all there.

Ultimately it’s Gaz who charms Soap’s mum away to the living room along with Price and Nik that lets Ghost, at the very least, get away with helping with dishes once everything is said and done. Unfortunately for Soap, he’s never offered the choice.

“Good thing you have goin’ on here, Johnny,” Ghost eventually remarks, once they’re finally in the swing of wash, dry, wash, dry. “Not afraid of anything getting traced back here? To her?”

Soap shakes his head as he scrubs at a particularly tough stain. “Nah. It’s no’ on any of my records. Hell, it’s barely on any records. We’re off grid, LT, no need to worry your pretty head.”

Ghost rolls his eyes. He wipes off the plate that’s handed to him before setting it on the drying rack, and tossing his towel over his shoulder. It’s not until Soap’s trying to hand him something else does he take notice of Ghost’s pause.

Slowly, Soap sets the dish back in the water, frowning up at Ghost. “What?”

“…Nothin’,” Ghost says after much too long. He huffs. “Just… nice seeing what home looks like on you.”

Ghost doesn’t allow himself to linger watching Soap’s expression change from confusion to a near softness, instead making a reach for the discarded dish in the murky, soapy water to kick their routine back in gear.

He doesn’t want to think about it too closely. Doesn’t want to think about the things he’s realizing about himself this evening, or the fleeting thought that maybe he’d like to stay here forever, instead of return to the field where death waits openly at every turn.

It’s still appreciated, though, this moment of tranquility. He’ll have to make sure to thank Mrs. MacTavish when he gets the chance.

[jessicaslittlelovesickmess]

Stick Season

Pairing: Emily Prentiss x reader, Larissa Weems x reader

Warnings: angst, hints of miscarriage

The team sat drinking in Emily's apartment “Oh and what about that woman you dated! The pretty one” Morgan laughed “Y/n?” She responded confused. “Yeah! What happened to her?” Penelope gasped wide-eyed “Um- she moved away” Emily swallowed.

“She was so pretty” JJ sighed leaning back on the sofa “I still remember her babysitting Henry for me” she smiled “She has talent” JJ tilted her drink. The radio played softly in the background as the group made Emily's ex the main subject "Imagine having to tell people how badly you fumbled" Morgan shook his head.

Penelope hummed along before starting to sing, JJ joined in until Spencer and Morgan hummed too "And I'm terrified of the weather, 'cause I see you when it rains". Emily closed her eyes listening to the music, Hotch and Rossi looked knowingly. This was you.

"Doc told me to travel, but there's COVID on the planes" They all stood to dance not realising the lyrics just yet or maybe they did. "And I love Vermont but it's the season of the sticks" Emily's eyes opened you always wanted to visit Vermont, that's where your mum was from. It had been two years almost since you had broken up "And I saw your mom, she forgot that I existed" Emily wanted to laugh.

"And it's half my fault, but I just like to play the victim" She knew it was partly a dig at her "I'll drink alcohol 'til my friends come home for Christmas". You never drank because your dad was an alcoholic "And I'll dream each night of some version of you!!!" Spencer's voice cracked.

"That I might not have, but I did not lose" Emily quickly stood, on a race to the bathroom, closing the door only making the music seem louder. "No, I am no longer funny 'cause I miss the way you laugh. You once called me forever now you still can't call me back."

She had to find you and it wasn't hard she knew you tried to contact her still Emily watched the phone ring through unable to face she had hurt you. Stick season was the name of your song. It came out a year ago but now you were posting some gorgeous blonde on Instagram,

You were finally doing everything you had always planned, you looked happy Larissa had proposed on your anniversary she seemed nice. The more she scrolled Larissa was a principal for what school it didn't say but your following had boosted. You'd made it just like you spoke about.

There was another picture- a few actually that stood out a picture of a dove but you were scared of birds the caption read Joanne Prentiss. Emily didn't know a Joanne and definitely not one with her last name, it was posted a few months after you broke up. Another picture closer to when you had moved out was two plates but only one set of cutlery. It flew over Emily's head, had you been seeing Larissa longer than the internet said?" she wondered still stalking you.

"I hope this pains just passin' through, but I doubt it" Emily slumped against the bathtub watching the last two years of your life in pictures. Everyone made sure to remind her how she let you go but back then it felt best.

You will marry Larissa who helped you gain your shine back and she'll rot at work, you will continue a family while hers will grow without her. You will be happy and that's all she could hope for until she accidently liked a post from when you moved to Vermont.

"Em? Are you okay?" you messaged not long after but Emily couldn't bring herself to say the truth "I'm great, Penelope was on my phone" she frowned. 'Okay, I'm just checking but it's good to hear you're still alive' Two years for this, Emily still lying. It's the alcohol she tried to pass 'Yeah I guess, I heard your song it's...' Emily typed only to delete it 'Yeah, I'm sorry I wasn't there' No Emily.

'I love you- no' 'yeah I guess so, I see you're well' the song was coming to an end "Now your tire tracks and one pair of shoes. And I'm split in half, but that'll have to do" JJ sang loudly. It took a moment for you to respond 'Yeah it took a while, life was tough but it wasn't anything I hadn't gone through before'.

'Can we be friends?' Emily was quick to text 'I'm not sure, you really hurt me but only time will tell. I have to go now Em, Larissa just got home but please take care'.

[exhaustedrebel05]

Whatever the weather

Arcane Viktor x Fem! Reader

a/n: Hi, so this is the first time I post something that I wrote, I hope you like it.

I do not own anything here except the product of my creativity.

⚠️Warnings⚠️: mentioned feelings of despair, chronic illness, fluff, new fanfic writer who wrote this on a whim, and possible bad punctuation.

Tell me if I forgot something pls

Summary: You bring food to Viktor in the lab and end up having a moment.

Definitions: Zaya means "little bunny" in Russian. At least, that is what Google told me.

And here we go...

The hallways of the Academy echoed with your footsteps as you made your way to Viktor and Jayce's lab. Well, more Viktor's than Joyce's now that he was more involved in the political side of progress.

Viktor tried to act like the absence of his friend and fellow Hex tech founder didn't bother him, but you knew that deep down it did. You could see it in the way he was returning to old habits of believing he had to do everything on his own.

Even though he did not, and was not on his own. Especially with his declining health. It is not the best idea to leave him alone for hours on end.

You all understood that it was better if they had a say in the decisions regarding Hex tech's future. In order to ensure that it is safe from ending up in the wrong hands. Hands that would use it to destroy lives instead of improving them.

Nonetheless, it left much of the work for Viktor to go through alone, but he never complained. Your beloved is a man racing against time and fate.

Trying to complete and discover as much as his delicate body allows him to. Powering through all of the equations and push backs that came his way.

However, he could only do so much running on maybe four hours of sleep and the academy's cafeteria food. Which is why you were here, at his lab's door, fully expecting to see him hunched over his current project. Fully focused. Tuning out all of the world in order to improve it.

Knowing this, you don't even bother knocking on the large ancient doors; entering the lab filled with papers and project pieces scattered in a sort of organized chaos throughout the room. And in the back of said chaos is Viktor, sitting at his desk exactly as you imagined.

As you walk towards him, you decide to stand beside him and attempt to make your presence known without giving him a heart attack.

Like you had nearly done that one time.

You swear that man nearly jumped six feet from his chair when you placed a kiss on his cheek. Thinking that he had heard you come in.

No response...

With a gentle sigh, you lean down towards him and call his name in a sing-song voice. Hoping to bring him back to your plane of existence.

You reach out slowly, twinkling your fingers in front of him. He takes notice, chuckling as your fingers gently tap on the side of his face - then his nose.

"Hello love," He says, looking up to you with those golden orbs that make your knees weak. He sets down his work and kisses your hand.

"Hi, care for a break?" You ask, showing him the container of home cooked food you had brought him. He turns his chair to face you completely. His focus filled expression turned into delight.

"Hmmm, I suppose I could indulge." He answers, raising a mischievous eyebrow reaching out to take the food.

You move the container slightly out of his reach. Eyes trained on his expression of confusion that turns into acceptance of your challenge.

"Oh, that's how it is?" He asks, amusement apparent in his voice and expression.

"How what is?" You reply nonchalantly as possible, trying to keep a smile from spreading across your face.

The amusement filled amber eyes became daring as a beat of energy filled silence passed between you both. You were not protected from what came next.

Slender hands find their way to your waist and tickle you with no mercy. You squeal and try to move away, but you are held in place.

"Nah ah ah! Zaya, you are not getting away from me that easily!" He states as he attacks you with another wave of tickles.

"I surrender…I surrender!" You gasp, breathless from your laughter.

He hums satisfied with his victory and pulls you close, looking up into your eyes from his seated position.

Your cheeks are flushed from his little attack, and your eyes are bright from your laughter. The moment eases his mind and body. He wishes the two of you could stay here, like this, forever.

His life is not easy. At times, the pain is too much for his body, and he wants nothing more than for it to stop. To find peace and freedom from his all too delicate state.

But then who will finish all the work?

Understand all of his notes and research?

Progress doesn't happen on its own, and Jayce has his hands full with his new role.

Then there was you…

He never expected anyone to have a romantic interest in him, much less knowing that his time may no- would be limited. That in the end, you would be left all alone...

That is what troubled him the most.

You told him you would cross that bridge when you get there. That you understood what it meant to love him; and he was loved nonetheless.

It wasn't always easy, but that is what it means to love someone. It is standing beside them when times are at their worst. When they are at their worst.

Being there to help them back on their feet and facing the challenge together. He also knew how fortunate he was to have what so many others only dreamed about.

You place a hand on his cheek and brush the wild tousled hair out of his face with the other. Bringing him back from his thoughts, grounding him to the present.

"Hey, come back to me." Your voice is as soft as your expression. Eyes gazing lovingly into his own, which were equally enamored.

He gently tugs your arms, signaling for you to come closer.

"I am here."

His eyes never leave yours as he brings you in for a passionate kiss. He doesn't know what the future holds, but he knows you both will cross that bridge when you get there.

[bethanydelleman]

Something that just occurred to me about Mr Knightley is, how ridiculously good his timing is. What do you think might Emma's reaction have been had he confessed to her earlier?

I think it took the chance of losing Mr. Knightley to make Emma really appreciate how much she loved him. Everything that has happened over the year accumulates into making Emma feel at her lowest:

The evening of this day was very long, and melancholy, at Hartfield. The weather added what it could of gloom. A cold stormy rain set in, and nothing of July appeared but in the trees and shrubs, which the wind was despoiling, and the length of the day, which only made such cruel sights the longer visible.

The weather affected Mr. Woodhouse, and he could only be kept tolerably comfortable by almost ceaseless attention on his daughter’s side, and by exertions which had never cost her half so much before. It reminded her of their first forlorn tête-à-tête, on the evening of Mrs. Weston’s wedding-day; but Mr. Knightley had walked in then, soon after tea, and dissipated every melancholy fancy. Alas! such delightful proofs of Hartfield’s attraction, as those sort of visits conveyed, might shortly be over. The picture which she had then drawn of the privations of the approaching winter, had proved erroneous; no friends had deserted them, no pleasures had been lost.—But her present forebodings she feared would experience no similar contradiction. The prospect before her now, was threatening to a degree that could not be entirely dispelled—that might not be even partially brightened. If all took place that might take place among the circle of her friends, Hartfield must be comparatively deserted; and she left to cheer her father with the spirits only of ruined happiness. The child to be born at Randalls must be a tie there even dearer than herself; and Mrs. Weston’s heart and time would be occupied by it. They should lose her; and, probably, in great measure, her husband also.—Frank Churchill would return among them no more; and Miss Fairfax, it was reasonable to suppose, would soon cease to belong to Highbury. They would be married, and settled either at or near Enscombe. All that were good would be withdrawn; and if to these losses, the loss of Donwell were to be added, what would remain of cheerful or of rational society within their reach? Mr. Knightley to be no longer coming there for his evening comfort!—No longer walking in at all hours, as if ever willing to change his own home for their’s!—How was it to be endured? And if he were to be lost to them for Harriet’s sake; if he were to be thought of hereafter, as finding in Harriet’s society all that he wanted; if Harriet were to be the chosen, the first, the dearest, the friend, the wife to whom he looked for all the best blessings of existence; what could be increasing Emma’s wretchedness but the reflection never far distant from her mind, that it had been all her own work?

That said, I think that the proposal still would have gone fairly well, but Emma might have declined at first only to warm up to the idea. The thinking that happens afterwards (she cannot marry because of her father) would have probably happened at the moment. Mr. Knightley would have come to the same conclusion, that he needs to move in, and then they would have married.

But for peak romance, yes the timing was necessary and perfect.

[intertexts]

Oh wait

You like fucked up towns?

Do you perhaps have any thoughts on towns and how to make them more fucked up? :]

(^^ words of something trying to make a small town map that’s fucked up)

OH. HUH. FUN QUESTION. i feel like. i am a terrible person to ask for thoughts on things like this because the extent of my writing is like, gay ass character studies & shit. but. i do have a ton of thoughts on fucked up towns.

the most important thing, i personally think, is having your town be grounded in a real regional place and it has to be a place you love. it's so difficult to make that shit up from scratch and still carry a real weight. and the horror or strangeness or sadness of the town should come from the reality of it.

picking a few of the easiest examples: welcome to night vale, night in the woods, h.p. lovecraft's miskatonic county. the fucked-up-ness of all of them springs from the nature of the place itself. they're not interchangeable, and they all have different emotions linked with them.

night vale is, very loosely, a satire of unbothered american suburbia in the face of-- well. all the horrific shit that post-9/11 unbothered americana ignores! and the strangeness and beauty of the setting comes from the easy and pleasant and mundane way that its citizens interact with the horror. it's day-to-day, it's chill, it's normal. yeah the faceless old lady who lives in your home is running for mayor. yeah the angels who work the community garden and live with josie finally won the case for their existence we can acknowledge them now cool. (& also of course night vale is a southwestern desert town & it doesn't let u forget that!! it's hot and sunny in the day and cold at night and there's sand dunes out by the edge of town and beaches with no lakes and it is very grounded in its setting!!)

possum falls from nitw, on the other hand, is a love letter to to those old, death spiraling pennsylvania rust belt mining towns. it isn't as heavily supernatural of a setting (outside of the old god in the mines the elders are sacrificing the most vulnerable members of the community to for nothing but the continued hollow, wheezing survival of something that should be allowed to die) but it's very grounded in the reality of those places-- the omnipresent forest, the dinky grocery store, your old high school classmate sitting out on her apartment steps at sunset, the feeling of being out in the autumn cold at dusk and the empty subway station and the weathered, half-hearted historical remnants of local pride and the ghost of the closed mine over it all. the type of dead-end, black hole, potholed main street town that you know you're gonna live and die in because it's what your parents did and what their parents did and god knows how you'd even make it out.

lovecraft-- i mean, mandatory disclaimer on his insane racism of course. up to u if u wanna read of his work, a lot of his short stories r very short etc. but crucially, for what we're talking about here, lovecraft was fucking in love with new england in the way that people who r born and raised in new england r insane about it. his lovecraft country/miskatonic county/arkham county is set in massachusetts, and he's very clear about why everything's set in mass: bleak, lonely, ancient, haunted by the sea and the lingering ghosts of twisted puritan ideology. his fucked up towns are the dark hidden backwoods, the port towns, the wretched things brought by settlers who have been a parasite upon the woods and the rocks and the fields for hundreds of years, etc, the feeling that something has gone wrong and perverted here and it's far too late to fix it.

so like, tl;dr-- don't try and make somewherw generically weird. figure out what place makes YOU go crazy go stupid. pinpoint Why it specifically makes u go crazy go stupid, as opposed to everywhere else. crank that shit up to 100!!!!

[severussnapemylove]

Ever Our Lives Entwined

AN; Rose is three years younger than Lily. She was 18 when Lily died and 21 when she became Harry's guardian.

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Chapter 2 - You're my kid (Backstory)

(Flashback to when Rose took custody of Harry)

It had been three years since Rose had seen Harry. She wasn’t proud of how she’d dropped off the earth for so long. In truth, she hadn’t coped well after everything fell apart. Their parents were gone. Her relationship with Petunia was non-existent. She was closer to Lily, but James and his friends had always rubbed her the wrong way. But she’d tried to make nice for the sake of Lily and newborn Harry. After finishing school, Severus had disappeared. The house on Spinners End stood abandoned and weathering. Lily said she had no idea where he went. And she changed the subject whenever Rose tried to find out what happened at school to drive them apart. Then Voldemort had come. Lily and James took Harry into hiding. That was the last she’d heard from them, until the day she met with a devastated Remus Lupin who told her what had happened. Sirius Black had betrayed their location, Peter and James and Lily were dead. By some miracle, Harry had survived, and Dumbledore had taken him to Petunia. 

Rose had tried to call Petunia, who’d told her in no uncertain terms that she didn’t want or need her anywhere near her family. 

Rose had been left entirely alone. Even Lupin had disappeared into the unknown. And Rose had spiralled into grief and loneliness. 

It was three years until she managed to pull her life into something manageable. Then she’d set out to try and reconnect with Petunia. They were still sisters afterall, didn’t that count for something. And maybe Petunia had changed too, maybe motherhood had changed how she felt about their family. No such luck, when she’d arrived one day with a bag of gifts for her young nephews, what she’d found had made ice flow in her veins. Harry was small and far too skinny. His clothes were oversized and dirty. He was scuffed and bruised, hardley spoke a word and flinched whenever someone went near him. Then she found the cupboard, full of cobwebs with a cot and thin blanket. And a lock on the door. Later, Rose would idly wonder how the police hadn’t been called by a neighbour, from the amount of yelling Rose had done at Petunia. 

But she’d left Privet Drive with a four year old child in her arms, not knowing what her next move should be or the first thing about raising a child. But she could never just leave him there. She’d work things out, she always did. 

A few days later, Albus Dumbledore had shown up at her flat, wanting to know why she’d taken Harry away. The old wizard was quiet when Rose explained what Petunia had done. Dumbledore then explained what Lily’s sacrifice had created. How Harry needed to live with a blood relation to keep him safe, and after hearing Rose’s determination to keep Harry, he cast the bond of blood charm over Rose. After he left, Rose looked at where Harry was fast asleep on her bed. He was clean and fed, his bruises were fading. When she’d given him dinner tonight, he’d smiled at her for the first time. “Oh Harry,” she whispered, gently brushing back the sleeping boy’s hair and seeing the lightning bolt scar on his forehead, “Life hasn’t been kind to, has it, my love. But I promise things will be better. I’ll keep you safe and happy. You’re my kid.” 

Unseen and unfelt, magic bonds locked into place, and Harry Potter was safe. 

[whatiswhump]

Bucky Barnes, What am I Now

Part I

July 4, 2024.

After CAWS, Bucky is free and receives help from the character "The Nurse" (who is from this fic) to set up a quiet life in the English countryside. For years I've had this vision that Bucky is alone and at peace with his own little corner in the world. It is bitterly sweet for a short time though only to be tracked down by SHIELD... (I love a capture sorry!)

---

It hadn’t felt real for the first few months. That there were no masters…. 

��And what the Nurse had arranged for him. The cottage with a bit of land well out of the way in the English countryside. 

She said no would bother him here. She was devastatingly effective at everything she endeavored.

For the first few months the Soldier slept on the floor and often starved himself for days or weeks before going out for food. She had arranged an account with a modest income, a passport too. The kind of things easily sorted if you were in the right business. He could purchase the necessities with his trained ghost-like anonymity with ease if he chose to.

But when hunger made him too weak to think straight, he only went out to dig for roots or dandelion greens to eat raw. And when his coat and boots sprung holes and left him to the elements, he did nothing to remedy them, preferring inaction.

The first year he never even bothered to build a fire in the bricked hearth which the tired cottage was built around. No amount of cold or damp was sufficient cause to motivate him.

Self punishment might have played a role but so did sheer lack of inertia, if it was not strictly necessary to not perish, he could not bring himself to. He told himself it was to keep off the radar but logically knew that if Hydra was looking for him, fires in a cottage wouldn’t make a difference.

With logic aside however and fear held on fastly, that first year was spent mostly shivering on the damp floor of the old cottage, waiting for them to come, because they certainly would.

But after a year, the oddest thing happened. They didn't.

One day, in late spring when the wild and long overgrown brush around his dwelling was well on its way into greening and tangling itself for another year, he stepped outside and realized it was time to purchase a new pair of boots and jacket. 

He didn’t need the jacket that day, nor it would seem, for another week or two after, but it hung on a hook by the door for when he did. It was a comfort, he realized.

The next week he recognized there were roses along the garden wall that were being smothered by vines. He uncovered and trimmed the bushes and then some of the pervading fear in his chest loosened a bit too.

He didn’t notice right away but he started to build a routine.

He began sweeping out the cottage every morning with the windows open. He had seen attendants doing it in the lab around the scientists often. Then a walk through the fields, listening to the bird calls, taking mental notes on the flora and the weather.

In the afternoons, he began to cultivate the plants in his garden. Some vegetables and herbs planted from seeds, but mostly flowers. He found purpose in finding the existing flowers and then coaxing their ailing or overgrown plants back to life and bloom.

He had a “green thumb” as Murray, an old handler, had called it. The Soldier still remembered following his keeper around the base fence as the man pointed out the various wild flowers. He also remembered Murray’s bloodied skull after he was forcibly removed from office. 

None of those flowers he had seen here yet. That base must have been in a different country. How long now had Murray been dead? It was anyone's guess. A few handlers before Pierce, but definitely after Zola’s experiments had ended. He had a notebook now that he had begun writing these things down in, trying, often in vain it seemed like, to get his memories organized.

One afternoon, he was working on the bluebells under a gnarled pear tree in the corner of the garden when his mind regurgitated Murray’s voice as clear as day, “Most people go wrong with sunshine, they think all flowers like full sun. It’s much easier to kill than to grow though, but of course you’d know that Lazarus.”

The Soldier had paused where he was kneeled above the ground, glitching. Stuck in the memory with his handler convinced that in the next moment that one of the Strike boys would call out from their baseball game or Murray would tell him it was time to go back into base for another wipe.

But neither ever came. The Soldier just stayed there until it grew dark and the warm garden hummed with the residual heat of the day. When he at least moved and the plates on his arm clicked and whirred with him, he reminded himself with rounded shoulders, he was just broken.

But even though he was broken, he no longer wished he was dead every time he closed his eyes. 

He had diversions now. He could move so silently as to observe foxes with their cubs in the field, or sit and watch the blooms develop on a plant for an entire day if he chose. He didn’t have to kill anyone anymore. No more missions.

He also appreciated the solitude, no more fear or dread of the actions of others. He liked it so much he couldn’t imagine any situation in which he would be happier with someone else.

Until he was surprised.

It came up to him as he was washing his hands in the outside tap. He jumped, surprised by how quietly it approached, so unused to contact with anything living of its size.

It was emaciated and gray and wanted a drink of water. And most importantly it was decidedly unimpressed and unafraid of the Soldier.

He quickly understood what she was asking for and poured water into the trough. When she had her fill, she looked up to him as if to ask, now what is for dinner?

After that day, Cat never left. Soldier never thought to give her another name because he didn’t realize it was within his purview to name another living thing, he didn’t have a name himself after all. 

So she was Cat.

One day on his trip into town, he inexplicably stopped at the art supply shop. He wasn’t sure why. He had never tried to draw that he remembered, nor did he feel any keen desire to.

But when he saw the water color palette in the window, he felt certain it was important, that maybe he had bought one before. On a mission perhaps? He couldn’t imagine a situation where it could serve a tactical purpose. He felt like he needed to buy it however.

He did, along with some paper, two brushes and an HB pencil all of which were recommended by the patient lady. 

When he sat down with them all at home, they did not feel like his, which he was not surprised by. It wasn’t like when they’d give him a new gun and he could disassemble and reassemble it in seconds from innate muscle memory even if he had no actual memories of it.

So he wrapped the supplies up with a string and placed them in the pie cupboard. Unsettled by the unknown connection.

He didn’t exactly gain weight but he was no longer as gaunt as he had been and his days spent outdoors gave him a color he didn’t ever remember having. In the evenings if he didn’t write, he read books mostly. Cat’s favorite place was on his chest. 

The first time she settled there he had felt pinned and claustrophobic, quickly veering on panic. But not wanting to disturb his newfound friend and with the surprisingly pacifying effect of her purr, he soon grew to welcome her when she came to curl up.

It was the presence of his new friend that encouraged him to light the first fire on a chilly night.

***

He didn’t hear them. He still doesn’t know how. One moment it was him, Cat, and the dying embers of their evening fire, and the next moment, the door was flung open and there were twelve more people in the cottage.

His first thought was of Cat, they would surely put her down if she made a fuss. She yowled in annoyance at the sudden disturbance and, to his relief, took quick cover under the bed.

Their sight lasers were trained on him. Voices yelling while he remained frozen.

They were speaking english. All in tactical gear, night goggles, red lasers on their rifles. He had been on their side hundreds of times. He already knew he was not going to win.

Not that he was going to fight.

He had been found, they were going to catch him. Like they always did. Every time.

One in particular was speaking after the yelling died down, Head of Command. But the Soldier wasn’t able to listen. All of his senses other than touch were dulled as they grabbed him, tore him to the ground and then cuffed his wrists and ankles with something that were not regular bonds. They had read his file then.

On the ground he could see Cat cowering furiously in her hiding place. He wondered if she would be able to get into the crate of cat food on her own tomorrow when he was gone. He hoped they would leave the door open.

“Sergeant Barnes, Sergeant Barnes-”

“Forget it- maybe they messed up his programming and he doesn’t understand English anymore.”

“Alright, he’s cleared for transport then.”

Someone swiped his neck with something wet and cold. Then a prick. The Russians had liked sedating him for travel too. Keep him untethered and unable to pinpoint base locations. He kept watching Cat until he could feel his body betraying him and then the Soldier closed his eyes, only hoping he wouldn’t be there for whatever came next.

—

Steve stopped at the garden gate. It was old but someone had re-oiled the hinges. Beyond it was a tidy garden. Late summer blooms were dying and needed to be dead-headed soon. Had Bucky really been taking care of this place?

Shield agents were milling around the cottage when he stepped in.

“What’d he do, kill someone’s grandma to get this place?”

The other agent snorted, “All he needed were some doilies.”

The both became aware of Captain Rogers and went silent, likely silently cursing themselves for their comments.

“Captain Rogers… We are just finishing up here.”

“Did you find any weapons in your sweep?” Steve hated to ask but…

“Not unless you count garden shears sir, no.”

Steve nodded and left them in silence to gather their things and high tail it out. It was only when they were gone did he feel more free to look as well.

There wasn’t much. Tidy. One plate, one bowl, one set of silverware. No whiskey, no television, no things a normal man would have.

A few books… The Hobbit, A Tree Grows in Brooklyn, White Fang. Interesting. 

Does he remember Brooklyn? Steve felt a twist in his chest at the thought.

He hesitated in front of the cabinet, already unlatched, already searched, his tactical side informed. There was not going to be anything of note, there was no reason to feel odd about looking a little more closely.

He wouldn't have even needed to if they had brought him in on the mission to begin with. The hell he raised when he found out what had happened.

... And the tears he dry sobbed when he got alone after they confirmed they captured him alive.

One finger pulled the old tin door open. Again, it didn't have much. Some dry goods, linens, cat food, and... was that an un touched set of art supplies?

Steve thought for the first time since he was a skinny kid in Brooklyn, he might be sick.

—

The Soldier doesn’t know what they gave him but it’s different from Zola’s finely tuned formulas. When he comes to on a plane, locked into a box, he feels muddled and confused. It’s freezing, he realizes he must be in the cargo hold. He is used to cold, he thinks.

It’s only when the door to the container he is in is open and there is someone with a syringe kneeling over him that he realizes just how out of it he is.

“Shhh- it’s alright.” The smell of antiseptic alcohol, “Yeah. This dose will keep him out until we reach the destination. His metabolism’s faster than I expected.”

The Soldier isn’t sure why he tried to reach up at the man to steady himself. He couldn’t anyway, his wrists and ankles were still restrained.

The man just pressed him back to the floor gently, “Don’t worry, you’re going to a good place. They will take care of you.”

—

He was no longer in a plane, he knew this. Everything else was unclear. The concrete room he was in was bare and similar to his Hydra holding cells except this one had a mirror. He was surprised they hadn’t wiped him yet. Why hadn’t they wiped him yet? Or more to the point, punished him?

They had changed him into a gown before he was conscious and done away with the ankle restraints. They didn’t think he was that dangerous then. Maybe they hadn’t gotten Pierce’s files then.

Pierce insisted on full restraints the first few decades while the Soldier was being wiped and reprogrammed to his standards. They were necessary for how many times the Soldier had tried to rip his throat out.

They were right though, he wouldn't try that now though. Pierce was dead, at least he thought. And he was tired. If he had to kill again he just hoped they wouldn’t make him be there for it.

The door to his cell opened then. First an armed guard filed in, then a man in a white coat with a second guard behind. The scientist. He appreciated the cruel familiarity.

“Sergeant Barnes, glad you’re finally with us. Trust me, Shield Agent Hall got a stern talking to from me for that dosing.”

The Soldier stared back blankly, he only responded when ordered and he did not remember the “Sergeant Barnes” alias.

“You were out for the first day and a half once you arrived. We’ll have to get some fluids in you now that you’re awake.”

The Soldier just stared from where he sat on the ground, his cuffed wrists limp in his lap.

“James, do you remember English? The team that rescued you weren’t sure if you understood them.”

Rescue?

The Soldier understood the question was directed at him but he was confused by the names and the direct questions.

“James?”

“How soon can we get a Russian interpreter in here?” The man looked at the mirror.

“I speak English.” The Soldier whispered. He didn’t want to make the new handlers mad. He didn’t want it to be hard anymore.

The scientist looked back at the Soldier, clearly a little surprised, “Oh well, well done,” He said genially, “Just a little slow to start it seems,” He smiled a bit at one of the guards, “James, do you know where you are?”

James… but he looked at him. Perhaps it's an alias from a forgotten mission the Americans had known him from. The scientist had mentioned Shield.

He shook his head, preferring that to his voice.

“You are in the United States of America at a special institution for those most unwell. A maximum security psychiatric hospital, the Redford Institute. You will be taken care of here.”

Another front? What was the purpose? Why didn’t they just wipe him already?

“Do you understand?”

“There was a cat… She will be hungry.” The Soldier looked at their feet.

“A cat?”

“Back-” He trailed off… his home? No he was foolish to ever think he could have that. He couldn’t call it that.

“Where you were found? Oh. Did you hurt it? Yeah, I can ask someone about that. They’ll take care of it.”

The Soldier wasn’t convinced. The man was speaking like one did to a child when you say a quick fib to get something bigger accomplished like bathtime or a meal finished.

“It's okay. I can tell you need some more time to settle in so perhaps we can discuss this again tomorrow. For now, I want you to go with the nice nurses for a shower.”

He must have still been groggy because there were two men in green lifting him by the arms rather suddenly before he even registered they had entered the room.

The Soldier was familiar with this. He let them drag him stumbling to a gleaming tiled room where they asked him to undress. When he didn’t, he allowed them to remove the gown and guide him underneath the showerhead.

The spray was freezing and only when one nurse tested it with his hand and recoiled in surprise, immediately guiding the Soldier back too, did he realize they didn’t mean to use it as a punishment.

“God! That’s freezing! He didn’t even react! Let’s wait till it warms up some more. I’m sorry, normally it doesn’t come out like that-”

The Soldier just stared straight ahead. Bad things came from interacting with techs.

He remained the same when they cut his hair off, shearing off the inches in dramatic sheafs.

“I feel like it’s those videos you see of groomers shaving matted dogs-”

“Cut it out- he’s not matted- Anyway, he can hear you.”

And when they put him back in the cell, he swallowed their cupful of pills and turned away from the food that came soon after. Unable to entertain anything that wasn't a direct command or action.

Hopefully they would wipe him soon.

---

To be continued.

[justmeinadaze]

Playing the Game Part 9 (Steve & Plus Size Reader)

A/N: My internet is so janky right now because of the weather. Please forgive any typos or anything like that.

Warnings: Daddy Steve and all that that implies ( I regret nothing!) Just a lot of fluff and making love <3

Word Count: 2667

When you came in for your shift that morning at the comic bookstore you were surprised to see Steve with Eddie at his D &D table. 

“Hey Princess.” 

“Hey Baby.”

They responded to your entry in unison which immediately made you suspicious. 

“Hello…”, you squint your eyes in their direction. “Eddie, what are you up to?”

“Why are you only calling me out?”

“Because I know the both of you and I know whatever’s going on it’s your doing.”

Steve chuckles as he stands up and places a quick peck on your lips. “I have to go to work but I’ll see you later, Munson. Love you, Y/N.”

Eddie laughs as you continue to glare at him suspiciously. “I swear on my life I’m not doing anything. Everything is all him.”

################

Saturday night, you hear a knock on your door and jog over to open it. Your breath catches when you see Steve in your doorframe wearing a black form fitting suit that clung to his body perfectly.

“Hello, little one.”

“Hey, Daddy.” You giggle trying to regain your composure. “You got a hot date tonight?”

“I do but she’s not ready yet.” He smiles as his arms come out from behind his back to hand you a box with a bow on it. Steve grabs your hand twirling you around and playfully smacks your ass. “Go on. We have somewhere we need to be.”

You shake your head as you head to your bedroom with your gift. You gasp at the sight of the beautiful black dress inside. Holding it up in the light, you can’t help but smile. You quickly put it on after applying some small touches of makeup and fixing your hair. 

“Wow.” Steve grins as he extends his elbow for you to take. “You look absolutely gorgeous.”

“Thank you.” You blush as you loop your arm into his. “This is so beautiful, Steve. Thank you.”

“To be fair, I can’t take all the credit. Robin came with me to the mall.”

The whole drive to your destination, you struggle to focus your eyes on anything other then him. 

“You look amazing.” He smiles over at you as he takes your hand in his. “May I ask where we are going?”

“You may not.”

“Steve!”, you giggle. “I’m not forgetting a special occasion or something am I?”

“No, baby girl. You aren’t.”, he chuckles. “I just wanted to do something special for you and show you how much you mean to me.”

“Aw, Daddy.” You lean over and kiss his cheek, quickly removing the imprint you left with your lipstick. 

When he pulls into a familiar parking lot, your narrow your eyes at him playfully. “Steve Harrington, this is The Hideout.”

“Mhmm.” He exists the car and quickly jogs over to your door, opening it for you. 

He takes your hand and heads with you into the building. Your mouth falls open when you notice the entire bar has been cleared except for one table set up in the middle of the room. Steve pulls out your chair before taking a seat himself. 

You hear someone clear their throat. Robin suddenly appears with menus in her hand. “Good evening Mr. Harrington and Miss Y/L/N.” Steve smiles over at you as he watches your face light up.  “Today, we are serving whatever this catering service provides because as I told Steve I can barely remember what I did yesterday let alone words on a menu to recite to you. Please take your time and the gentleman with be right out with your drinks.”

She leans in close to your ear. “You look really beautiful. I told him you’d like this.” Robin winks before she scurries off. You cover your mouth as you chuckle at the sight of Dustin coming out from behind the bar with a bottle of wine. 

“Sir? Ma’am?” He puts on this comical deep voice that makes you laugh harder. Steve watches with amused eyes as Dustin tries to figure out how to open the container. 

“Okay, Henderson. Before you take out someone’s eye.” He takes it from him and you jump as the cork pops. Dustin quickly removes it from his grasp and pours glasses for you both. 

“Thank you, Dustin.”

He beams over at you. “See? This is why we like her more.” 

“Go! By the way, that suit looks good.” Steve reaches over and adjusts the boy’s tie. 

Robin comes back and takes your orders, disappearing and reappearing with plates of food. You and Steve talked while you ate. No one had ever done anything like this for you before. It made you fall in love with him even more. 

“What are you thinking about?” He leans back in his chair, folding his arms across his lap. 

“Just…how lucky I am and how I happy I am that I let you drive me home that night after the party.”

He nods as he smirks. “I’m glad you rattled my gage.” You both laugh. 

“You didn’t have to do all this, you know?”

“I know.”

“Harrington!” Eddie walks out on the stage behind Steve.

“Yes, Munson?”

“Are you ready? Hey Sweetheart.” He waves at you as you wave back. “You look really pretty.” You thank him as Steve rises from his chair.

“No, I’m not ready but…” He chuckles nervously as he pushes himself up on to the stage. 

Your eyes widen with an amused smile as Robin runs out from where she had been hiding. “Oh, I’m so excited to see this!” She grabs a chair and sits beside you. 

“Shut up, Robin.” Steve playfully glares at her as Eddie hands him a guitar. “Henderson left, right?” The microphone in front him feeds back as it’s turned on. 

“Yes! I did send the child home.”

“Okay, cool. I know she won’t make fun of me but I swear to God if either of you laugh…”

“You got this, dude.” Eddie comfortingly pats his shoulder as he jumps down from the stage and takes Steve’s empty seat. 

Steve exhales a nervous sigh before his fingers strum the guitar. He closes his eyes as he softly begins singing the song that was playing when you were at your parents’ house showing him your photo albums. This may not be his wheelhouse but he sounded so good. He didn’t open his eyes again until the tail end of the song and he locked on to your tearful ones. 

You, Robin, and Eddie clapped when he finished. He handed his friend the guitar and jumped down to envelop you in his arms. You tilted your head up to kiss his lips. 

“That was amazing. You sounded so good.”

“For real, Harrington. You want to join Corroded Coffin?”

“Oof, I don’t think I’m quite there yet but thanks for the offer.” 

Robin rubbed his arm. “That was nice, Steve. I liked it.”

“Thanks Robin. Thank you both for helping me get this together.”

#################

Steve carried you into his apartment and into his bedroom, placing you gently on his mattress. 

He grinned down at your smiling face. 

“I’m going to make love to you tonight.”

“Um… isn’t that we do every time we have sex?”

His palm grazes your cheek before sliding down the length of your curvy body. “We do. The majority of the time we do the rough or intense stuff which I fucking love to.” You giggle as his eyes roll back. “You know I love you. Tonight, I want to show you how much. I want to show you how much I worship you and your body.” Steve’s eyes were soft as he looked into your own. 

 “Okay.” You crane your neck to press your lips to his. “Do you still want to be Daddy?”

He smiles between your kisses. “I’m always Daddy.” Steve guides you with his hands until you’re standing up on the side of his bed, him sitting up in front of you with his long legs on either side. 

You lean down to kiss him, sliding his jacket off his shoulders and on to the floor. He begins unbuttoning his shirt as you playfully pull on his tie, making him chuckle before you remove it. 

“I’m going to be a typical guy for a second.”, he whispers as he looks you over, tugging his fingers lightly at the hem of your dress. “Do I… pull it down or up? There’s no zipper or anything.”

You laugh at his confusion as you pull your arms through the thin sleeves and wiggle the black garment down your frame. Steve’s eyes shimmer with adoration and lust as he watches your body move. His hands begin to roam. 

“Good. I didn’t want to ruin it. I definitely want you wear that again at some point.” His head leans forward, his lips trailing along your chest. You lean against him with the intention of getting on his lap but he pushes against you, keeping you standing. 

“Sweetheart, I’m not done admiring you yet.”

His hair tickles your stomach as reaches to pull your underwear down your legs. “Don’t move.” Steve leans back on his elbows as he looks over your body. “You really are beautiful, Y/N. You know that?” You nod your head as you smile down at him. He beckons you with his finger, giving you permission to climb on top of him.

You can’t help but be slightly thrown off when you straddle his waist but his strong hands try and push you up his chest. 

“Steve!”, you giggle as he grins. “What are you doing?”

“I want to taste you, baby girl. You know I’m obsessed with the way you taste.” His hands push you again, this time actually moving further up to his bare chest. This was new and the abnormal feeling of his broad, hairy upper body beneath you this way made you whimper. He smiled, quirking his eyebrow at the sound. 

“Daddy, I’ve never done this before. I don’t want to suffocate you something.” Your laugh subsides when you feel his soft hands glide up your thighs around to your back. 

“Baby, if this how I’m meant to die then I would leave this world a happy man.”

“Steve Harrington, you’re insane.” You run your fingers through his hair. 

“Trust me, Y/N. I got you.”

You sigh nervously, giving in as you push your body forward till you are hovering over his face. His warm breath against you drives you crazy but it’s nothing compared to when he licks a long stripe from the bottom of your cunt up to your clit. 

“Fuck…”

You feel Steve smile before his tongue continues its invasion. One of his hands continues to rest on your back as the other finds its way to your breast, gently messaging and tweaking your erect nipple. You place your palm over his hand as you feel your body take control, your hips steadily grind against his face. 

“That’s it, baby girl. Does it feel good?”

He doesn’t even wait for an answer as his mouth wraps around your nub, sucking and tugging as he moves his head quickly from side to side. 

“Mmm fuck, Daddy. Just like that. Don’t stop! Please, please, please.” Your voice cracks as you whine for him and he moans into you at the sound. As soon as Steve feels your body begin to tremble, he immediately wraps his arms around your waist, keeping you from running as you cum on his tongue. 

Just as he expected, you reach down trying to stop him from continuing his assault on your now sensitive clit but all you can do is tug at his hair which just makes him groan.

Steve reaches up, taking your wrists in his hand, and holding them behind your back. 

“Please, baby, I want to hear you cum like that again. Give me one more, just like this.”

You whimpered listening to him use the word “please”. Anytime, he begged you for something, it made your pussy drip which he eagerly lapped up into his awaiting mouth. His other hand reached up to rub fast circles into your clit as his tongue flicked in and out of your entrance. 

You tried to pull out of his hold behind you but he clung tighter as your back arched, pushing your cunt down against him. 

“Come on, sweet girl. I know you’re almost there. Cum again for me, please. Please I want to hear those beautiful sounds again.”

Your body started to fall backwards and he released his grip on your wrists to hold you up. Instead of trying to stop him, you placed both hands on either side of him behind you using them as leverage as you rolled your hips against his tongue. 

The coil that had been aggressively winding snapped as you moaned his title. Shakily, you slide down his body, hissing slightly at the feel of his cold belt buckle between your legs. 

“Oh. You okay?”

You nodded your head against his chest as you panted. “Yeah, I forgot…you still…had your…pants…on.”

Steve chuckles as he runs his fingers through your hair. “Trust me, I haven’t.”

You raise your head looking at his face before lifting your hips to glance between you two. His cock was pressing almost aggressively against his slacks, begging to be set free. 

“Oh no! Daddy, let me help.” You climb off him, hastily reaching to unbuckle his pants. Steve smiles as he grabs your hand. 

“Honey, stop. We’re about to remedy the situation. I promise.” He sits up straight, placing pecks on your cheek down to your neck as shoves his pants and boxers over his hips on to the floor.  “Tonight is about you.”

You tenderly lift his chin with your fingers to meet your eyes. “Steve, your pleasure and happiness makes me happy.”

He softly kisses your lips, pushing you back against his pillows as he places himself on top of you. Reaching down, he wraps your legs around his waist before grabbing his cock and guiding it into your entrance. Steve leans his forehead against your sweaty one as he slowly pumps into you. A breathy laugh escapes your lips when you feel his own mouth stretch into a small smile. 

“What are you thinking about, Daddy?”

He lifts his head, looking over your face fondly as his thumb caresses your cheek. 

“The first time you spoke to me at the party. I was wondering what this would feel like.” Steve’s pace started to pick up as he spoke. You tried to control your moans so you could listen to him. “Your legs were in those mesh fishnet things and all I kept thinking was ‘Fuck, I want them wrapped around my waist. I want to make this girl feel good.’”

His head fell into your neck as you ran your fingers through his hair. “You do, baby. You do make me feel good.”

Steve grunted into your ear at the feeling of your nails dragging down his back. “Mmm-I knew from the moment I saw you-fuck- that you deserved the world. I knew I’d do-mmm- whatever I could to give that to you.”

You wrapped your arms around his neck, clinging him tighter to you as you listened to him whisper his admissions. 

“I love you, Steve.”

His rhythm slowed as he thrusted into you harder, hitting that sensitive spot deep inside of you. You let go of his neck as he lifted his head to watch your face. 

“I love you, Y/N. Cum for me. I’m gonna cum to.” You nod your head as his lips crash against yours, swallowing your moans as you came. Your pussy clenched around him as he lifted himself up onto his arms, slamming his hips sloppily against yours as he came with you.

He pulled himself out of you and fell to the mattress on his back. You flipped on your side, bringing yourself closer to him as you laid your head on chest. 

“Thank you for tonight. No one has ever done anything like this for me.”

Steve’s hand reaches up to rub your shoulder as his other rested on top of the one on his chest. “You’re welcome. I meant what I said. I remember seeing you comforting Robin when she was afraid to talk to that girl that night. I knew you were special. You’re so kind and generous with everyone but for some reason all these other assholes out there take advantage. You deserve good things to.”

You lean up to look at him and he meets your gaze with a big toothy smile. “You never stop surprising me, Steve Harrington.”

###########

@eddiethesexy @sammy-is-not-smiley @spungen-tirxie

@3rriberri @e0509

[moominofthevalley]

A Kiss Left of You

Emily enjoys a rainy Sunday morning.

trystan x emily

teen | wc: 578

a/n: a short drabble inspired by the songs ‘my love mine all mine’ and ‘heaven’ by mitski; as well as the poem ‘the orange’ by wendy cope.

And that orange, it made me so happy. As ordinary things often do.

Emily’s eyes met the hustle and bustle of the city. Dewy droplets fell on the large window of Trystan’s penthouse. An overcast of grey clouds blanketed the afternoon sky. The leaves of nearby trees were a faded green; how lovely the world became during late spring. Behind Emily lay the sleeping man she loved more than anything.

They had just gotten back from a walk with Twilight, their boots stained with mud and dirt. Twilight, of course, loved it all; her fur still drying from the rain. Trystan slept on the couch, his furry friend curled up by his feet. The two looked adorable, and Emily managed to take a quick photo of them cuddling.

Emily walked over to the kitchen, her bare feet cold from the hardened floors. Coffee beans and all their love filled up the room. Her heart fluttered, hands curling about the two mugs by the coffee machine. This was all Emily ever wanted – lazy, rainy days with her found family.

Plump oranges were bunched up in the fruit bowl. Picking one up, the scent of citrus ran to her nose. Her father cut her fruits as a child, an Asian rite of passage. To be told ‘I love you’ through a bowl of fruit.

For her, love was peeling oranges. To ignore all the pith gathering underneath your nails, to split it in half; and to give your lover the bigger piece.

Emily peered into her chest, content with everything inside. All Emily truly had was love; love for her father, love for Uncle Tommy, love for the agency, and love for Trystan. Her heart will forever be hers. It will grow and crack through time, but it’s hers to mend and hers to cherish.

Digging her nails into the orange, juices and white strands cluttered under her nails. To love someone is to peel their oranges, cut their fruits, kiss the back of their neck when zipping up their suit; to seal their nights with care.

With the skin of the orange off, she split the fruit in half. Her hands were sticky with orange pulp, and Emily smiled at the easy burden. Her ears pricked up as the bubbling coffee sang, steam coming out of the machine. Fondness danced inside her, admiring how much loving someone was essentially just habits and actions. To build a routine, for your body to become used to being seen by another.

Emily poured two cups of coffee, the well-loved mugs, and the freshly peeled orange set on the table in front of Trystan. He continued slumbering, occasionally snoring, and – although he would never admit it – drooling as well.

Nothing was outstanding about today, but for Emily and Trystan, it was perfect. Despite the rain showers, the grey skies, and the muddy paws, they still had a beating heart at the end of it. Emily adored waking up in Trystan’s arms, making pancakes for breakfast, and walking around Central Park in the spring weather. 

This is peace and contentment. It’s new.

Emily gently laid on her lover, her face resting on Trystan’s chest. Instinctively, his hands met the back of her head, stroking Emily’s hair. Her cheeks rose in heat as she reached to kiss his forehead. His eyes met Emily’s, glistening with affinity. One word from Trystan could silence her forever.

“I love you. I’m glad I exist.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

A/N: this was just so lovely writing :') i hope u guys all loved it! <3 (can you guys tell that food is my love language..)

click here for a masterlist of all my written works so far!

tags: @choicesficwriterscreations @jerzwriter @logolepzy @mooserii @starsarewithinme @shadyinternetblizzard @urcowboyboyfriend @lexicook74-blog @leahtine @jahrobin (let me know if anyone else would like to be added to my crimes tag!)

[liam-an-siorc]

Essay/Rant on why the captian is good repensentation which is now in one part not two because it was character limit per block of text so I just put spaces.

Hello, I have seen a few diffrent opinions on him in regards to repensentation most of it is good but some people don't like it which is perfectly fine but sometimes when I see complaints about him as a queer character it's missing something very important a key word which is context,I see the point that he never says he's gay outloud and the coming out scene is not explicit coming out I suppose which yes if he was not a very repressed man who was living during a war in a time when it was illegal to be a gay man and he died tragically in a way he is ashamed of that is also connected to his military position which is also very important to him and of course his love his gay, illegal love who he died trying to see, then yes that is a great point but in this context I think it was done very well like everything I just said there is traumatic and he is extremely repressed it's not going to be a big party with flags everywhere it's not him it's not where he's at right now, and yes a very repressed queer perosn who only comes out at the end of the show and has a tragic love story is a commonly used thing in the wrong way because of censorship and things if the captain lived now as a character in a TV show set now where he is alive and well now then he would not be very good repensentation but like I said context is so so important, I also think while he's not the ideal because as some points get made his coming out scene was not really explicitly coming out it was at the end of the show and he's played by a straight man (as far as Im aware), it's important to have repensentation of all queer people those who are loud and proud and those who are not there yet or can't be because of things like safety it's also important to represent people in history, queer history, the war was real and there would have been queer people in it we have always existed we always have been here and there could have been a man just like him who was scared and repressed and lost his love and that story deserves to be told too. Aside from the context points I think his journey with his identity was good subtle but good he trusts the ghosts enough with it now and that took A lot to get there, you can see it in the show I don't think the character development in ghosts is bad in general but I don't think it's amazing it's flawed it has huge mistakes but that's for another time the captian dose have character growth and he dose become more comfortable one detail I love is how after he comes out he then dose not try to hide that he is attracted to the weather man like he did try to hide before he acts just like all the other ghosts do about something like that and that shows that he is more comfortable now and all like that detail, speaking of details another thing that went into his character is details what was it he said some beach a quuer sort of beach I don't know you know what I'm talking about though all like references they have to "gay things" gay culture? Maybe idk what to call it, but not in a stereotypical for the straight audience to laugh at way but in a way that it's showing he's gay showing that it's an important part of who he is it's part of him you know and the queer audience will catch all that and it's ment to be like that it feels like they had this character becuase they wanted queer people to see themselves in it to feel included and represented not just to have a gay character who they can make puns about,

stereotype heavily and use for the straight cis audience to laugh AT work was put into him to make him a queer character for queer people to see and to see themselves and there community and to love but at the same time as this they don't make it his whole identity his whole character he's not just a sterotype with a "perfect coming out story" he is a real person he is a complete complicated character like we all are who had struggles who has a story a personality his coming out story can not be perfect because it never is being queer can be really hard with the world we are in especially in that time his story is complicated and not perfect to you because it's not the situation is not he is not it was not a good situation but he has a new family now and they are all amazing and love eachother, he is a real character not a template for writing the perfect coming out queer storyline, another point now this one is absolutely fair enough (they all are you ofc can have your opinion I'm sorry if it sounds rude here it's currently 2 am and I tired) is that he is played by a straight guy (which just a question do we know that Ben is not lgbt because just cause he has dose not mean he can not be queer it's Lgbtqia+ yk, should not be assuming someone is anything) which I understand some people don't like this they want our community repensented by our community but if there is a straight actor to play queer roles Ben is a great one for it he obviously takes so much care and love with the characters to do there gay justice. Ok that's it I'm so tired but I'll defend my lovely ghosts any time please don't get annoyed at me I just want to put my points out there you can disagree all you like 

Also just to clarify I am queer also trans and not sure of sexuality but it's not straight gay or bi I think just in case you though I was a cis straight person giving such strong opinions on repensentation which ig they can do and no one ever has to tell you there identity on a tumbler post that's not your business but in this case I prefer to put that as a note 

[ladykissingfish]

I know you probably get asked this a lot but please some SasoDei headcanons? 🥺

Here’s a few (most set in modern times):

They are each others first serious long-term relationship. They each tried dating others before, but neither ever found a connection that they felt was worth pursuing past a few weeks.

Deidara is extremely affectionate while Sasori is … not. This caused problems in the beginning of their relationship because Deidara would do something like go to hug Sasori, and Sasori would involuntarily make a face or slightly pull away. Deidara took this to mean that Sasori wasn’t interested in him romantically, and it made him very sad. But eventually Sasori realized how his reactions were affecting Deidara so he sat him down and had a talk with him, let him know that it had nothing to do with Deidara touching him specifically, Sasori just had touch/boundary issues. So they devised a system where Deidara would ASK things like “Would a hug be okay right now?” or “Do you feel up to holding hands?”, which made it easier for Sasori to accept such gestures.

Both of them identify as demisexual. No attraction whatsoever until they had formed a strong emotional bond with each other. Deidara is very sex-positive while Sasori is sex-indifferent. Sasori enjoys giving pleasure to his partner but he himself rarely feels much physical stimulation from it, and it’s rarer still for him to initiate. Deidara has a very high libido but he’s learned to adjust his desires to balance with Sasori’s. Deidara enjoys the sex itself but Sasori mostly looks forward to the quiet intimacy afterwards. It’s after sex that they’ve had some of their best talks with each other.

The first and only time Sasori has ever cried in front of Deidara: Sasori came home from a hard day at work. Was ready to just change out of his clothes and go to bed. He walked into their home and was met with the sight of Deidara, wearing one of Sasori’s old shirts and a pair of shorts, listening to music, singing along with it and dancing around while cleaning. Sasori stood in the doorway and watched him for a few moments before Deidara did a spin and realized Sasori was there. He took off his headphones and ran at Sasori, then stopped when he got to him and asked if it was ok to hug him. Sasori nodded and Deidara gave him a really gentle hug, telling him how much he missed him. And Sasori suddenly hugged Deidara HARD and burst into tears. Because it hit him full-force that after so many years of being lonely, he now had somebody to come home to. That no matter what troubles and irritations he faced outside, once he stepped inside of his door, he had peace. He had love. He had Deidara. 

Both of them are introverts with strangers. But the difference is that Deidara can be very open and warm and animated with those that he knows well/considers friends. Sasori remains polite but still stays very much closed-off to everybody, even those he knows well/considers friends.

Deidara is very comfortable with his body. He likes to wear bright, colorful clothing, and sometimes things that can be considered a little provocative. Sasori prefers to keep himself mostly covered up, even in the hottest weather. Things without sleeves don’t exist in his wardrobe, and shorts? Never heard of ‘em. Sasori can’t leave the house without making sure every hair on his head is neatly combed and in place. Deidara will just run his fingers through his locks and go — yet somehow has picture-perfect hair every day of his life. Also sometimes Deidara tends to gravitate towards wearing “women’s” clothing, in particular dresses. He stopped this for awhile in the beginning of the relationship because he thought Sasori would disapprove; but Sasori told him that he thinks he looks fantastic in everything he wears.

They express being angry at each other in different ways. Deidara yells and argues and is very vocal about when Sasori does something that rubs him the wrong way. Sasori gets quiet. Quieter than normal. He shuts himself into his den (where he works on his puppets) and just stays to himself until he’s cooled down. Unfortunately the quiet and the lack of a reaction serves to make Deidara even angrier, which means more yelling, which means their arguments last quite a while. Sasori is almost always the first one to apologize; not necessarily because he thinks he’s the one in the wrong, but because he knows Dei is stubborn and can hold a petty grudge for forever.

For dates, Sasori prefers to stay in, but Deidara likes to go out. Sasori feels very uncomfortable in environments or situations that he’s not in absolute control of, so he prefers that they do things like stay home, eat, watch movies, etc. Deidara likes trying new restaurants and going to places that they’ve never been; he thrives on the thrill of the unknown. Sasori could stay in one room all night and be perfectly content, but Deidara needs to be up and moving and doing different things or he goes crazy with boredom. They compromise on their differences by taking turns choosing what they do for dates, although each tries to alter their choice to accommodate the other. For example, Deidara will ask to go to a new restaurant but it will be a small, quiet one with food that he knows Sasori likes. Sasori will ask they stay home but he’ll pick a movie neither has seen, or sometimes invite friends over to play a new game.

Their respective mediums of art at something that they do in their spare time, apart from their normal jobs. But while Sasori’s creating puppets is purely for his own enjoyment, Deidara started to take commissions on sculptures from co-workers and friends. When creating things just for himself Deidara is very carefree and relaxed. But when making something for someone else, he’s a hardcore perfectionist and very, very hard on himself about what he makes for others. The tiniest flaw will have him destroying his work and starting over again. Sasori offers words of encouragement and support but knows that when Dei is doing commissions, it’s best not to bother him and stay out of his way.

In the beginning, the age difference bothered them both, for different reasons. Deidara was worried that the calm and intelligent Sasori would think that he was too wild and immature, and Sasori worried that the vibrant and dynamic Deidara would find him too stodgy and set in his ways. After a few months they learned to stop thinking about it and just enjoy being with each other.

Family is a touchy subject for both of them. Sasori lost his parents at a young age and never really got along well with the cold and emotionally distant grandmother who raised him. Deidara ran away from an abusive household when he was a teenager and never looked back. Their backgrounds are a big reason why they’re both hesitant to bring up the idea of having a family together; each is terrified that they wouldn’t make a good parent.

When Deidara ran away as a teen, he was homeless for a good deal of time. He’d bounce around to different shelters or sleep on park benches, in alleyways, or wherever he felt was relatively safe. Even as an adult he’d move from apartment to apartment, never feeling comfortable enough to stay in one place for too long. It took him a long time to get used to living with Sasori, and latching on to the idea that he had a permanent home, and was with somebody that he could trust and be safe with. 

Also because of Deidara’s dubious life, he doesn’t have much in the way of formal education. When Sasori first met him, Dei could just barely read, or write. Sasori got him into a program that helped young adults study for and receive their GED, and Deidara passed the course with flying colors.��

Deidara is, surprisingly, a world-class cook; but only when he’s motivated to get into the kitchen. Sasori can play the piano really well (his grandmother made him take lessons when he was a boy), and has perfect pitch. Sasori likes to have Deidara cook for him, and while he cooks Sasori plays songs for him to cook to.

Sasori does not like to drive. At all. He has his license and a car but they’re more for show than anything else. He knows every bus and train schedule in the city by heart, and would much rather take public transportation, or simply walk, than get behind the wheel. Deidara likes driving and always offers to take Sasori places, but Sasori rarely accepts because Dei’s driving makes him nervous. In Sasori’s opinion, Deidara drives way too fast, he plays music too loud, and his car is almost always so messy that it gives a neat-freak like Sasori anxiety just to look at it.

Sasori does not like when Deidara leaves the house without him. Even if it’s only for a while, even if he’s just going out with friends. It’s not because he’s jealous or controlling; it’s because he’s scared. He spent his entire childhood waiting on his parents to come back home to him, and they never did. He didn’t allow himself to feel any kind of attachment to another human being until he fell in love with Deidara. Deidara means more to him than anything, and he feels it’s his duty to always protect him. He never lets on to Deidara that he’s scared witless when the blonde voices plans to go out, because he doesn’t want Deidara to feel suffocated. But while Dei is out Sasori will send him frequent texts to check in with him. He’ll also more than likely pace the floors or stare out the window until Deidara returns.

Deidara is a big animal lover and is always pestering Sasori to get a dog, or a cat. Sasori says dogs and cats make him sneeze but in reality, he just doesn’t want a pet. Too chaotic, too messy, and can be expensive in the long run. Compromises by getting Deidara a pair of parakeets; something that always stays in a cage and doesn’t require walking or brushing is something Sasori prefers.

Both of them are big readers. Sasori likes nonfiction (especially biographies or auto-biographies of serial killers) and murder-mystery novels. Deidara is a fan of sappy romance novels and, surprisingly, children’s books. The reason being is that when he was a boy and living in such an unstable household, he didn’t have the opportunity to read the things that other kids his age had access to. As an adult it’s his goal to read every one of the books he never got to pick up as a child.

Sasori shows his love for Deidara by doing things for him. Little things like making sure he has clean clothes, or packing him a lunch to take to work, or noticing that his shampoo is running low and going to buy him more. Deidara shows his love by talking, and listening. When Sasori was a child and teen he was extremely introverted and rarely spoke unless necessary. His shyness made people think he was stuck-up and because of this he didn’t have many friends growing up. When he did find the courage to speak he was often talked-over or ignored by some of his more outgoing peers. But Deidara takes the time to talk with Sasori, to ask his opinions on things and patiently listen as Sasori gathers his thoughts and expresses them. And then to have a conversation with him where all ideas are heard and acknowledged, and nobody is ridiculed or talked over.

[goldeneyedgirl]

can't believe my dumb ass misunderstanding the hybrid jasper thing and the fact that you were talking about vampire jasper in the og hybrid universe actually resulted in such a beautiful thing thanks a lot to your galaxy brain and i'm sorry but now i'm one more anon disturbing you til death to have more of this concept !!!!!!!!!!

No, Anon. You gifted me with your galaxybrain thoughts. This concept has eaten away at me. I love fucking with the dynamic between Alice and Jasper, and the idea that he's some fucked up, mutated version of a hybrid because Maria crossed his path will feed me for a long time. 

I'm still fiddling with how I want to approach this - there's the 'rewriting the canon story beats'. Or there's more of a Jasper-version of Hybrid which is... tempting. I could have fun with that. 

But for now, here's some more from the ficmas version!

He wants to trust Alice.

But it’s hard. Nothing good has ever come from trusting a vampire. Or a woman.

Everything about her seems to be designed to lure him in - her big eyes, the sweet and hopeful smile on her face, the way she fusses with her gloves and hat and shoes. She smells like good things, safe things that feel like he dreamed them once. He really does want to trust her.

But he can’t.

The room that she’s rented for them is small but clean and warm. He wasn’t expecting that. Or the fact there’s a weather-beaten suitcase with clothing for him on the bed.

“It was easier to tell the landlady that you were my husband,” Alice says apologetically, as she takes off her coat and hangs it up. “If we’d traveled as siblings, more questions would have been asked.” There’s a tarnished brass ring, held on with a slip of paper, on her left hand that she slips off and into thin air. “She has assumed you were a soldier, which will work in our favor.”

He nods dumbly. Cover stories are nothing new, and this one is sturdy. But it makes him feel like he’s caught in a net and he can’t get free if everything turns sour with all the details already figured out for him. He wishes he knew if he could trust her.

Alice watches him for a moment, and she looks almost sad before she gestures to the suitcase. “Take what you need - the washroom is at the end of the hall. If… if I fetch you some food, will you eat?”She sounds oddly tentative making that offer but he nods. He’s not sure what he will eat - he existed on human blood for so long that human food only does so much; it is essentially medicinal, to keep him healthy and functioning. He can go for weeks, if not months, without much more than a few mouthfuls of water but it will take its toll.

But the blood… the blood he needs to stay in control.

In the washroom, he finds the case is very precisely packed - two outfits for him, all in dark colours and folded neatly, along with a comb and a razor. Soap and towels are provided in the washroom, thankfully. She’s even found him a set of pajamas that smell like soap flakes and dust. But underneath his things is a filmy pink scarf, separating another layer of clothing, and he cannot help but peel it back to see what else is packed in this suitcase.

There’s a threadbare yellow dress with mismatched buttons; a grey sweater that looks miles too big for Alice; a beige slip with a torn strap hastily pinned; a little pouch with an ancient-looking hairbrush, a dirty lipstick, and a brown leather notebook tied closed with some ribbon.

The notebook looks as old as he is, and he feels oddly guilty as he reaches for it. But he opens it and… maybe he can trust her.

The first few pages are letters. Unsteady and uneven, in a small, cramped hand; practicing over and over again until the letters become words. Mostly ‘Alice’ and ‘Jasper’ and ‘Cullen’. Leaning to write until it looks like the hand of someone her age and not someone who seems to have taught themselves.

And then little drawings - he’s stunned to see himself in many of them, drawings the size of postage stamps so as not to run out of pages.

A few sketches of clothing - dresses and coats and shirts. Lists of items, as if her memory cannot retain things. And then, almost in the middle of the book, it becomes … it becomes something he feels like he shouldn’t have seen. Notes on him, for him. Things to remember, things to know. Things that her funny gift has seen.

Can’t get cold or wet.

Doesn’t like milk.

Sleeps!

Pages and pages of notes to herself about him. And instead of being creeping and unnerving, like being watched in the dark, he found it… sweet and endearing, a clumsy gesture of goodwill.

She wasn’t lying when she said that she had been looking for him, waiting for him.

When he goes to put her things back in order, hoping that she won’t realize he intentionally looked through them and just messed them up pulling his own things out, he finds a dirty bit of cloth. There’s mud and old blood on it, and he pulls it out to see exactly why Alice has kept it.

It’s a torn, dirty garment. Not a dress or a shirt, but shapeless. The blood runs down the left side - a distinct pattern. He doesn’t need the lingering scent of venom to identify it, not with the blood splatter the way it is.

This was the garment she died in.

[thehungergamesbreakdown]

Katniss, Oh Katniss.

Katniss Everdeen is such an iconic heroine. She sparked so many young girls to pick up archery as a sport. However, there are two different Katniss that exist - the book Katniss and the Movie Katniss. In this post, we will be talking about Book Katniss today.

Katniss is our narrator in the books. It is the first point of view, we get her thoughts and everything through her eyes. Katniss is an incredibly blunt narrator - she tells things exactly how she views them with her opinions mixed in. She definitely suffers from C-PTSD (Complex PTSD) from growing up in Panem.

Names are important in "The Hunger Games". Most of the characters have Roman names, like Plutarch and Cinna, and others have plants. Katniss reveals that she is named after the water plant Sagittaria, otherwise known as "Katniss" or "Arrowheads". The plants grow these potato-like tubers that are edible. Her father taught her that "As long as you can find yourself, you'll never starve" (Collins, 52). From what we get from her name, Katniss is a born survivor and has a connection with her main weapon - arrows.

Second, we can look at her at Katniss' appearance. This is established on page 8 as Katniss describes her friend, Gale. "He could be my brother. Straight black hair, olive skin, we even have the same gray eyes. But we're not related, at least not closely. Most of the families who work the mines remember one another this way." (Collins, 8). Katniss reveals in the same breath that her mother and Prim do not look like her with their light hair and blue eyes. This is because Katniss's mother is from the merchant class.

While there are no official maps of Panama, Katniss ensures we know exactly where District Twelve is. She said, "District 12 was in a place called Appalachia. Even hundreds of years ago, they mined coal here, which is why our miners have to dig so deep.” (Collins, pg 41). Appalachia is a region of the USA that is set in the Appalachian mountains, it makes up "423 counties across 13 states and spans 206,000 square miles" (Appalachian Regional Commission). Most people argue that District Twelve is either in West Virginia or eastern Kentucky on details about the weather and fauna and flora but Collins left the details muddled.

While this is complete headcanon ("ideas held by fans of series that are not explicitly supported by sanctioned text or other media" Merriam-Webster Dictionary), a lot of readers take the location of District 12 and Katniss's description to believe that she is indigenous or a part of the Melungeon people, a marginalized mixed-race Appalachian community. Regardless of whether you believe in this headcanon or not, Katniss's olive skin and grey eyes are an important distinction in her community that she is from the Seam, the poorest part of District 12.

Katniss in the first book is a rough and traumatized young girl. I feel like a lot of people focus on her bitterness at the world. Katniss doesn't trust anything at face value even if she's not in a stressful situation. She wants her family to be safe and well-fed, no matter what it costs her personally. Poaching is a high offense in District 12 after all and she has been going in the woods since she was 11 to feed her family. What most people forget about Katniss is that she is King. She loves her sister, Prim, more than life itself and she tries again and again to make sure she can have some semblance of a childhood then when she meets Rue in the arena, she cannot help but ally her - mostly because she reminds her of Prim.

"I can almost hear Haymitch groaning as I team up with this wispy child. But I want her. Because she's a survivor, and I trust her, and why not admit it? She reminds me of Prim." (Collins,

In later books, Katniss allows the circle of people she cares about to grow. In "Catching Fire", she comes across two women named Bonnie and Twill, on the run from District Eight to the supposed District Thirteen. Despite the fact it might get her in deep trouble because of the Capitol watching her, Katniss helps them.

"First I give them all the food in my pack, grain and dried beans mostly, but there's enough to hold them for a while if they're careful. Then I take Twill out in the woods and try to explain the basics of hunting. She's got a weapon that if necessary can convert solar energy into deadly rays of power, so that could last indefinitely. When she manages to kill her first squirrel, the poor thing is mostly a charred mess because it took a direct hit to the body. But I show her how to skin and clean it. With some practice, she'll figure it out. I cut a new crutch for Bonnie. Back at the house, I peel off an extra layer of socks for the girl, telling her to stuff them in the toes of her boots to walk, then wear them on her feet at night. Finally I teach them how to build a proper fire." (Collins, pg 68).

Katniss is a fascinating character to study because of her complexities. This is barely scratching the surface of her character. In the next post, I'll be examining the Movie Version of Katniss and how she differs from the Book Katniss. See you then.