#thank you again johann

[flmed]

y'know. jo's birthday is today & it is sinday so yeah. it's VERY TELLING.

[amyriadfthings]

random throwback to these two cupcakes tonight

[bunnygirllover45]

Hii!! I’m kinda obsessing over the Idea of Johann before he kidnapped his darling, going out to buy clothes and him just enjoying it WAY more than Darling. Like bro’s INTO it, picking out dresses and making darling do a fashion show for him?? Just wanted to put this thought out there lol. Idk if he’d actually do that but I can dream,,,, Anyways that’s all— thank you!!!!

Anon you're into some shit rn and I totally agree with you. Johann would do that 100%. TW: Darling had a past relationship that wasn't too nice, mentions of body insecurity, hints of dollification but it's Johann who are we talking about this is obvious by now.

Your past relationship before Johann wasn't the best, you weren't used to him buying you stuff so carelessly or taking you every other day. At first, it was a little hard to get accustomed to the sudden change, but eventually, you started to like it. Except for the part where you and he had to go to the clothing store. Each time Johann stopped dead in his tracks in the middle of a date to point at a cute outfit sitting in the window of a random store, a part of you internally screamed for him not to drag you inside.

Speaking about that— "You like these? These frills might be itchy on your skin though..." —yes, you were trapped inside another store again. Taking in a deep breath you stared at Johann, then at the dress he was holding. No matter how often you told him you either didn't like this style of clothing or that it wouldn't look good in it, he still made you buy and wear the stuff. Of course, he only made you wear it when both of you were alone, there's no way he'd let you look this adorable in front of someone else.

You wondered how many more clothes he could buy you, after all, even if Johann made sure to visit you almost every day, his job kept him from being with you all the time. Most of the time he kept some of the clothes in his house too, he had a 'special place for them', out of context that phrase could be worrying, but Johann was such a sweetheart behind that stoic exterior that you didn't really question it. As he grabbed another piece of clothing you shot your hands to grab his forearm, squeezing softly as you smiled up to him. "J-Johann, I don't think I'd look good on that. I have many dresses back at home too, you shouldn't buy mo—" But before you could even finish you felt Johann leaning down to whisper against your ear, his voice soft and secretive. "I think you'd look good in anything." the ghost of a smile appeared on his lips. "I've always wanted to take care of someone as precious as you, would you let me do that?" There was serious longing in his voice. From all the past experiences you had with him, you clearly noticed that ache to fulfill a role that Johann always had. Taking care of you during dates, making sure you didn't get sick, and even aftercare with him was a blissful experience. All the things he told you about feeling empty and without a purpose in life, it's like a part of him has been waiting all this time to have this, to have you. You stood stunned, questioning if you should feel even more embarrassed or prideful, he looked at you with an adoration written in his eyes that made you shiver, and you felt a little guilty at how much you enjoyed it. "Here, we can buy these and try them out at home, how does that sound?" You nodded, giving him a compliant smile as you reached to hug his arm. "Okay... thank you." One hand snaked its way around your waist, squeezing slightly as he kissed you on the top of the head, nuzzling against it. "You're welcome, baby."

[theplantbish]

Käärijä on YleX's "we found this online"

Translation under the cut

Käärijä, we found this online

K: "CCC Käärijä grape." They're selling it at Nokia, Pirkanmaan for 49€. I sold my mustache back in the day for about that much, this grape is... pretty expensive, but... The things people come up with

K: "Would you like to be wrapped? While K plays in the stereo?" What... No, I don't! "#JustKinkyThings"

K: "it would be amazing if K would compete in TTK as Katri's student." Mm! We've actually thought about this. This would be amazing.

Interviewer: How would you do in the competition?

K: I guess I would end up second once again. Winning wasn't created for K.

K: "I can't stand it when K's necklace is always wonky, I just want to straighten it out." WHAT?

Interviewer: this is serious!

K: What? Why, what? People! Maybe you need to come straighten it out yourself

K: "Erika Vikman reveals: Ruoska has led to injuries." Who's writing these headlines? Erika's so called whip has smacked in the eye a couple of times. (Translator note: from the way he says it it's not clear if he means his eye, someone else's eye or possibly Erika's whip has multiple victims). Erika is great, I love you.

K: then... "K is a sex symbol." Mhm. I'll take that. If someone says that, I think it's a pretty positive thing. If someone likes my pötsi, that's good.

K: "I wonder if K can stand on his hands?" *Shakes his head*

Interviewer: should we try?

K: I won't do it, my arms would give out, *cracking noises*

Interviewer: excuses, legs up, boy!

K: "what in the world? K posts really raunchy material on OF." It's not that raunchy, pretty tame.

K: "I can't wait for K's 50th artist anniversary celebration tour in 2067. Acoustic CCC at Kulttuuritalo and during the intermission they'll serve green princess cake and cognac to the tables." People this is getting out of hand. I need to make this happen, so to the person who wrote this, welcome!

K: "K and Johannes from Kuumaa rubbed against and touched each other on stage." You don't even know everything.

K: "this kind of damage a shirtless rampager caused in a hotel room"

Interviewer: what's this about?

K: "The man was sentenced for property damages"

Interviewer: isn't your username paidatonriehuja?

K: well that's been... It was... That night was kinda long, can't say anything else

K: that was all

Interviewer: thank you Kääryle

[octuscle]

Gold and coal

Johannes was a passionate influencer. When he felt like it. Actually, he only called himself an "influencer" because it sounded better than "slacker" or "professional son". He actually made a good living from his parents' money, which he spent at parties, shopping and traveling.

"So, what do you think of my cute new hat? I found it at this very cool market here in Ankara. It goes well with the necklace, doesn't it?" There were fewer likes on the picture than usual. Comments instead. Critical comments. Why he suddenly has such a beard. Johannes grabbed his chin. He had no beard, he had no beard growth at all. And he had carefully retouched the picture before posting it on Instagram. There had been no beard. But still: the photo above the caption clearly showed a beard…

He would have to deal with it later. Johannes had a full schedule. Working out at a gym, which surprisingly enough actually wanted to pay him, a visit to a Turkish bath and cocktails and dinner at a trendy rooftop bar in the evening. Even though Johannes was a hedonist, he was usually well organized and punctual. But at the gym, his schedule started to slip. He trained harder and longer than usual. He felt full of energy. And the traditional Turkish bath and hammam were fantastic. He met super interesting people there. Surprisingly, in the two weeks he had been traveling around Turkey, he had picked up more Turkish than he thought he would. He struck up conversations with people and they got on with each other using their hands and feet. Actually, he should have been up on the roof terrace, styled and with a gin and tonic in his hand, when he left the Turkish bath with a real Turkish stallion. The two of them had shagged like Johannes had never shagged before in his life. Johannes' hair was still oily from the scalp massage. He was sweating. His stallion asked him if they wanted to have another cup of tea and a shisha. They did. And then Johannes was fucked again in the stallion's apartment!

"as-salāmu ʿalaikum, brothers! Today will be a great day. I'm going on a tour of the insider tips in Ankara with my brother Hakan today. But now it's time to pray. salla Allahu 'alaihi wa sallam."

There was a hail of question marks as comments. Friends asked whether he had gone mad. But he also received positive feedback. Because of his style. Because of his faith. These comments were mostly in Turkish or Arabic. Both languages that Johannes (or Yahya, as he called himself here) understood more poorly than well. But he recognized praise in every language!

Hakan and Yahya had a great day. In public, they were the typical machos, but Hakan knew the places in Ankara where there was good, hard sex. Yahya sucked a minister's cock in the station toilet. And got 200 US dollars for an obviously good performance. Enough money for a good evening in the hammam and a good shisha afterwards.

The apartment that Hakan and Yahya shared was small and stuffy. The housing shortage in Ankara was no different to anywhere else in Turkey. But thanks to their small extra income, they at least had three rooms. Pure luxury for two people.

For Yahya, Instagram and other social media were actually just full of sin and Western decadence. But of course they were important media for receiving news from his brothers. His own account existed. Nothing more. He followed a handful of fellow believers who posted frequently, but he didn't really have any followers himself. He still had an old account from his school days. His name was still Johannes. But he hadn't looked in there for years.

Working at the bazaar as a porter was hard and exhausting. But the bazaar was full of niches where you could earn money with services that his sheikh shouldn't know about. Although Hakan thought he had shagged the sheikh before. But Yahya didn't really believe that. But he didn't really care… The main thing was that he and Hakan had enough money and fun. They prayed for that. Not necessarily five times a day. But about ten times a week. If they sucked more cock, they prayed more often. And Yahya sometimes had to pray very often. He was grateful that he didn't stand out too much with his hairy body and bushy beard. But the blond hair was exotic. And many customers were willing to pay a lot for sex with a blond Muslim.

Yahya and Hakan were minor celebrities in the bazaar. Firstly, because they were oil wrestlers on their way to competing against each other for the title of national champion. On the other hand, because they were only simple porters. But they knew every corner, every trader and always knew everything. "Ask Yahya or Hakan!" was a common saying if you wanted to know anything. Or if you wanted a special service. But they didn't talk about details in the bazaar.

Pics made by @ki-kink

[pinkslaystation]

Please we need second part where reader successfully escape and make a run to her parent's alone, your toxic König is too good and amazing well written 😭😭💖

toxic! König x Reader - [King and Prince: My Escape] THANK YOU!! i planned to make a bunch of one-shots under this AU, but this received a lot of love and continuation requests so here it is! I'm also finally finished with exams and coursework, so I'm actually able to breathe a bit now- oh, oh. Never mind, 2nd term starts next week, okay. Trigger warning: Kidnapping, mentions of reader's mental health, poorly translated German (oh how I love you so DeepL.com and ChatGPT) There's also a poem that's mentioned here: "Der Erlkönig" by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe, written in 1782. I recommend checking it out, it's a short, yet chilling read!

"Wo ist sie, verdammt?" [where the hell is she?] König mutters to himself, his voice laced with frustration and hurt.

He looks at the now empty ropes with no sign of his wife, huffing at the lack of her presence. In contrast, Leon giggles as he latches onto his father's head whilst sitting on his shoulders.

"Mama's playing a game with us, papa!" He says enthusiastically.

"Was meinst du damit?" [what do you mean?]

Leon hums in mock confusion, "Vielleicht will sie, dass wir sie erwischen." [maybe she wants us to catch her].

It's 9 P.M. and you've running in the middle of a field in nothing but an over-sized sweatshirt and joggers. Of course that fucker decided to tie you up in a basement in the middle of fucking nowhere. In fact, you don't even recall him ever owning that property, something similar to an abandoned farmhouse. But I guess the only animal getting played here...would be you.

You're questioning all the other things he might have hidden from you...other properties...maybe other women...and what's the deal with your son?

"Leon honey, listen. Mama's going to get out of here, and after that we're going to go somewhere safe, okay? We'll go to your grandparents, I'll take you home, okay?" You sweat out, exhausted after numerous times of pulling at the ropes.

"But I'm already home." Leon smiles eerily. There's something broken in that kid, you think. The way he smiles with no emotion makes you fear for your life.

You try to caress the top of his head but the ropes dig at the possibly infected gashes on your wrists, making you hiss in response.

"Mama, you're bleeding." He state inquisitively, grabbing your wrists to examine them.

Groaning at the new contact, you curse out, "FUCK. Leon, stop. Just get me out of this, please sweetie-"

You breath hitches at his expression.

A deep toothy grin is plastered on his face.

"Red's always been mine and papa's favourite colour."

When you're eye catches his red beaded bracelet, the one mirrors König's, a part of you had to come to terms with losing both your husband and your son.

"Stupid kid, should have had a daughter..." You whisper to no one in particular, stretching over thorny bushes and rocks.

You can't tell how long it's been in that room, could be days, could be weeks, but the moment you left the house, it felt like taking a breathe of fresh air for the very first time.

"König, pleas-"

"Schnuki, quiet please, I'm trying to read Leon a poem." König scolds you, whilst sitting on the floor against the wall with Leon resting on his chest. For some reason, they both like to spend time with you.

By spending time with you, that means going about their day, in your presence...just, without paying any attention to you.

"König, I need to fucking piss again."

"Es war eine kalte, dunkle Nacht, und ein Vater ritt mit seinem kleinen Sohn durch einen nebligen Wald." He reads, completely shutting your needs out. [it was a cold, dark night, and a father was riding with his little son through a foggy forest.]

"Kö..." You drag out the syllables to see whether that would make a difference to his reactions. It doesn't.

"Der Junge klammerte sich ängstlich an seinen Vater und flüsterte-" [The boy clung fearfully to his father and whispered-]

Leon speaks out now, clutching his father's shirt as he sleepily recites from the book, "Papa, siehst du ihn nicht? Dort, zwischen den Bäumen! Der Erlkönig ruft nach mir!“ ["Papa, don’t you see him? There, between the trees! The Erlking is calling me!"]

The two giggle at their reenactment.

As they continue their story, the loudly spoken story begins to anger you, for days you've been practically caged in the room, forced to listen to such mundane tasks. Reading a story before bedtime (but they happen to sleep upstairs with actual beds, leaving you to practically rot downstairs), or when König decides to blast his tunes whilst working out, or even when Leon simply chooses to study right in of your shivering body in the afternoon.

"DOES ANYONE HERE HAVE FUNCTIONING EARS?" You scream.

In a instant, König flashes his eyes on you as Leon flinches at the tone of your stern voice.

There's a moment of silence, a quiet battle between you and König, who seems to want to rip your vocal cords and shove them into a book to read about to his son.

"Was haben Sie gerade gesagt?" [what did you just say?] He murmurs with his eyebrows furrowed.

When you don't respond, your son decides to speak up for you.

He turns his head around to berate you, "Sprich dich aus." [speak up]

Your gaze turns to the floor as you watch droplet after droplet hit the surface, "...why."

There's no response. Perhaps, they didn't hear you or perhaps they simply don't know.

"Why are you doing this to me. All I wanted was a husband and a son that respected me. What the fuck did I do to deserve such a shitty family?!"

Before you know it, you begin wailing at the end of your outburst, tears rapidly streaming down your aching cheeks. You look up at the pair, hoping to feign any sense of remorse or sympathy.

But you're met with none.

"Maybe if you hadn't broken this family, you could have got what you wanted."

You're not too sure who spoke, at that point it seems like both father and son began to share a twisted mind.

A large vehicle drives by you and you let out a sigh, maybe there is an escape for you after all.

"Wait! Wait for me!"

The look of pity the driver gives you as you ask them for a lift wasn't as bad as the ones your own family have been giving you for the past few days, so you don't complain. Instead you give a vague description of your parent's house, your childhood home.

With a deep breathe, you make your way to safety, and for a second, you allow sleep to evade you that night. A sleep so deep, you don't hear the quiet ring of a phone...

"Hallo König. Ja, sie ist bei mir. Du hattest recht. Ja, sei einfach da, ich bringe sie in 20 Minuten vorbei." [hello konig. yes, she's with me. you were correct. yes just be there, i'll drop her off in 20 minutes.]

"Miss, we're here. Miss-" The voice urges you to wake up, poking your shoulder as if you were roadkill.

With a groan you awaken, at the sight of your parents house, safety as last.

You thank the driver for troubling him, and for getting blood on his seats, "I'm sorry I don't have anything to repay you with...if you give me a minute, I can run in and get you some cash?" You ask, apologetically.

The stranger shakes his head, "No need, payments been taken care of already."

Oh. Okay, cool.

You squint your eyes in confusion, but choose to brush it off, it's been days since you've engaged in human interaction, maybe you just forgot the small quirky things a person can say.

"...okay, thanks again."

"Bis ich dich wiedersehe." [until i see you again.]

You stop midstep, looking back at the stranger, but he's already hit the pedals and driven off without a trace. That was German, right? See you again?

It seems like a coincidence, and you want to brush it off, but the way he spoke mimicked König's dialect a little too well....Many people speak German though...

You reach the door of your parent's house, admiring yourself in the reflection of the door. A frail being, dressed in tattered clothing, with blood marks decorating your wrist. Afraid of being bombarded with questions, you pull the sleeves of your sweatshirt down and re-tie your hair into something more acceptable.

The door opens and your met with the relieved look of your poor mother.

"Sweetheart, I'm so glad you're okay!" She pulls you into a bone crushing hug, with her face tucked tightly into your shoulder.

Humming against her, you question her, "I'm okay...wait, how did you know? Where's dad?"

"He's okay sweetheart, he's in the living room. But don't think you're off the hook, now that you've come back." She smiles, kissing your forehead, as she guides you through the house.

You scoff, "What do you mean?"

"Running away is a serious matter, don't take it lightly, sweetheart. How do you think we've all felt? I understand, if you're you know..." She starts.

"...Know what?"

"You know, you've become a little..." She spins her finger around her ear in a circular motion, "I guess...cuckoo! Um...but don't worry, we're already looking into treatments."

You stare at her blankly, stopping her, "Ma. I'm fine. W-what- I'm not crazy, where on Eart-"

Every muscle in your body flinches.

It's like your body hit flight or fight mode but instead decided to switch off. You've never remembered a time where your mind has ever been so silent, but I guess now counts.

Those blue eyes.

2 pairs.

Staring back at you, soullessly.

Not a word is spoken.

And yet both your parents seem to be gleaming at the scene, of what looks like a family reuniting.

Family.

If that's even what this is.

"Why did you run away from us, schatz?" [darling]

You can't distinguish between your husband and your son.

"We've missed you."

thank you for coming to my ted talk.

lemme know you're interested to be tagged in my future posts! tags -> @lilliumrorum , @kxtz3 , @poohkie90 , @rainlovesyou12 , @restrictionsapply-blog , @lunamoonbby , @nigthmar3moon , @thychuvaluswife, @itsnourm , @bubusi11, @chessecakelover , @owkittie, @cheomain , @corvusmorte , @k4es , @mandythemint , @copiasratscheese , @yyiikes , @funkyysho3es

[agendabymooner]

stop the world i wanna get off with you ! kimi r. x ofc (coppola!ofc)

“with the exception of you, i dislike everyone in the room.”

summary: vera jones ‘coppa’ coppola-raikkonen happens to be one of the three original it girls of formula one. funnily enough, she’s also the one to give birth to the loudest/messiest versions of the iceman as she continues her journey as a mother and a wife (all while she’s a director of the most iconic movies to have existed).

content warning: fictional raikkonen kids, mentions of breakups, mentions of tilly hearth and trish alonso (ofc) use of explicit language, family banters in social media

note: i know i have the most random selection of drivers on my masterlist but i swear i’m just tryna indulge in my lil bubble of happiness.

masterlist

tagged romaraikkonen, kimimatiasraikkonen

liked by arthurleclerc, olliebearman, charles_leclerc

user1 icegirl on fire as always 🧊🔥

user2 real hot girl shit of you roma 😩

arthurleclerc aroma, you’re supporting the wrong leclerc 😀 liked by veracopparaikko

romaraikkonen i can tell you that my shirts are nothing of an inchident. trust. liked by veracopparaikko

charles_leclerc i cannot believe i am being picked on by my favourite icegirl 😠

romaraikkonen hardly picking on you when i got ur name and face on my shirts??? smh i didn’t ask mum to get them for me to get called a h8r

rooraikkonen cool story maniac, can you run over jolauriraikkonen next?

romaraikkonen i’ll start with you first then i go target johann next, yes?

jolauriraikkonen what did i do??? i didn’t leave your pc plugged in, akka rooraikkonen witch

veracopparaikko kimimatiasraikkonen your kids are at it again, kimi.

kimimatiasraikkonen not my problem

veracopparaikko 😠

jolauriraikkonen it’s okie mum i’ll make sure dad sleeps on the couch tonight 😉

jolauriraikkonen dad did say 3 sprint races win = i get to go to the next three races too 😍 thank you for the team effort romaraikkonen liked by veracopparaikko

romaraikkonen omagaaaaa these are officially the worst races ever

ferraridriveracademy how are we going to put you two together in one room then?

romaraikkonen don’t.

jolauriraikkonen i’m gonna sob, this is a w for me

romaraikkonen what are you even doing up??? aren’t u like 14?

veracopparaikko question is: why are you even on your instagram? 🤨

jolauriraikkonen oh so when dad does it, it’s okay? he has to get up early too you know???

kimimatiasraikkonen please don’t involve me in this

user3 we love an unproblematic king 😭😭

user4 why are these kids so funny 🥲

kimimatiasraikkonen so proud of my girl 🧊❤️ liked by veracopparaikko

romaraikkonen like father like daughter 😉❤️🤝

tagged rooraikkonen, kimimatiasraikkonen

liked by landonorris, tillywolff, valterribottas

jolauriraikkonen 1/10. she looked more like the bottom of beetlejuice’s foot than the lady herself.

user1 naw johann-lauri got kimi’s humour for sure

rooraikkonen i’m gonna crash to your kart next time and you’re going to be crying to dad and dad will literally just laugh at you

kimimatiasraikkonen no, i won’t.

user2 LMFAO KIMI PLEASE

jolauriraikkonen hahahahahahaha cry

kimimatiasraikkonen second time this day, johann. next time i’m taking the switch. liked by veracopparaikko

user3 ruh-roh raikkonen is at it

jolauriraikkonen my bad g 🤝

kimimatiasraikkonen all good g 🤝

user4 a proof that johann is kimi-coded ^^

rooraikkonen thank you sooooo much mummy !!! i thought i was going to cry for a minute then i realized how much of a baddie my mummy-producer-writer-director is 😭😩 liked by veracopparaikko

veracopparaikko you fluster me, rooney tunes! ❤️

kimimatiasraikkonen your performance is very good, rooroo! henrik and betty were excited to see you on stage 😍 liked by veracopparaikko

rooraikkonen dad, betty-elina can barely hear from that headphones we got her.

rooraikkonen though i could hear henrik’s screaming during the intermission. 😂

rooraikkonen thank you daddy !! i’m glad i’m making the iceman proud 🧊💕 liked by veracopparaikko

tagged kimimatiasraikkonen, jolaurisraikkonen

liked by arthurleclerc, olliebearman, fernandoalo_oficial

jolauriraikkonen y’all cannot one up my mother because her resume is long as heck. she’s: mother, director, writer, actor, producer, photographer 😎 liked by veracopparaikko

jolauriraikkonen look at me and the boys though 😎

user1 you’re the coolest brother ever

rooraikkonen bc he’s the only brother henrik got 😂😂😂

user2 iceman and his iceboys and his ice cream

user3 too cold in here lads 🥶

romaraikkonen look at my cool lil man and dad 😍 oh and johann liked by veracopparaikko

jolauriraikkonen count ur days bestie

user4 where did the american-italian look go, vera?? 😭

rooraikkonen speaking on behalf of mum. the coppola genes had gone away as soon as romania came out, but uncle nicolas cage definitely did not leave

user4 subtle flex but okay pop off bestie 🔥

kimimatiasraikkonen such handsome boys liked by veracopparaikko

veracopparaikko i agree

romaraikkonen so do i

rooraikkonen me too

jolauriraikkonen i agree too

[m1ssunderstanding]

Understanding Lennon McCartney Rewatch Part 3.3

John having to get high out of his mind because he knows he's invited Paul to come play with him is so so sad. These are the same guys who used to sit facing each other on a bed playing guitars for hours, and now this is them?

Is John calling Paul “Jack Lemon” a reference to “some like it hot”? Because if so, I have questions. Anyway, when your estranged best friend shows up to hang out with you and a bunch of people, talking about being in love again and getting jizzed on is extremely normal and acceptable behavior.

This jam session is so fucking painful though. Paul's doing his best to just push through and get them to actually play something and John's just too far gone.

My theory: there's two reasons he did this. 1. He's avoidant and the last thing he's going to do is let on how bad he needs John in his life and how scared he is that if John gets back with Yoko that that'll be difficult. And 2. He couldn't live with himself if he didn't. If he'd kept it from John that Yoko wanted him back and later John cried to him about how much he missed Yoko or something? Paul can't have that.

John singing a snatch of Yesterday before a take of “Whatever gets you through the Night”??? Did either of them ever write a song where they weren't thinking about the other? Did they ever have a minute of peace without the other rattling the bars of the cage in his brain?

“Hold me Darling, come on, listen to me. I won't do you no harm.” Duh it's about Paul. Oh my gosh.

And with Bless You I'm always so torn. There are so many obvious references to Paul which the doc points out beautifully, but situationally it could also be about Yoko. Maybe it's about both of them in the same way that don't let me down is about both of them.

Anyway the cosmic visuals are gorgeous.

Why'd you have to phrase it like that though? Twice?

Hall of Fame moment. It's a high point for him career-wise and he chose to pull Paul into his spotlight. Not only to sing Paul's song, not only to name-drop him, but to publicly call him an official romantic title. Not “boyfriend” or “ex-wife” which both could've been much more mocking if that's what he was trying to do. But “fiance”. It's official and respected, but it's still got the lustful, unsettled, connotation that something like “husband” lacks.

Johann Weener, everyone. What a loser.

Everyone who still refers to Lennon Remembers like it's the fucking Bible listen to this. It doesn't go on for the next five years, let alone fifty.

John refusing to walk to blocks to sign the papers when George and Paul flew over the ocean. And only on the basis of astrology. He really didn't want the divorce. My heart aches for him. But he made his bed as they say.

I'm putting on my tinfoil hat again here, but I do just have to point out that one of John's first songs, “Hello, Little Girl,” has a line that goes, “you never seem to see me standing there”. And the earliest draft of WISHST, which was started soon after, answers that line. “I saw you standing there.” (Yes, it said you originally, not her). So maybe. Just maybe. That song wasn't just a Paul song, but a song that John knew Paul had put a message in for him. Okay, I apologize for the insanity. On another note, I do wonder if he ever found out what Paul thought of that.

Interviewer: ≈ at this point, do you like writing by yourself, or do you want to write with Paul again?≈ John: ≈well it's a bit of both. It's the same for Paul. We were talking about it a week ago. Okay, cool. So they definitely talked openly and honestly about potentially writing together again.

John, about their partnership, “There was always the feeling that someone was there if you needed it.” Paired with the gayest picture ever taken and then Paul singing “if I can do anything at all, let me help.” Thanks. I hate it.

John was so excited for New Orleans! What happened? I mean I have my theory based on May's book and the sudden shift in behavior. But it's pretty dark.

You know how crazy Paul is about John in interviews now? How he can't seem to keep John's name out of his mouth? John was worse in the seventies. He's promoting his Rock’n’Roll album, talking unprompted and romantically about how he met Paul, when the interviewer reminds him what relationship he's supposed to be romanticizing right now. So John remembers too and dedicates the album to Yoko who he's just got back together with.

Biconic quote.

Interviewer asks, after John's brought him up, if John's pleased with how well Paul's doing. John expresses his relief that Ringo has "found himself a niche" and then

I really do think that last bit sums up a big chunk of how John feels about Paul, and why he feels alright playing dirty against Paul or slagging Paul off. Why it would have been the furthest thing from his mind that Paul actually struggled or was insecure. Why Paul had to remind him, “I'm only a person like you, love.”

What an insane thing to think, let alone say. What if Julian had heard that? I'm pretty sure Julian and Paul weren't in contact, really at all, until the eighties, right? So John's doing better than he is at this point (I mean he's his dad, he should be). John is insecure about every possible thing and compares himself to Paul in every possible way.

Baby. He needed some serious help. The thing that sucks about being ahead of your time is that you also have to live in a world that's behind your needs.

And then. “There's always a friendly tv channel to turn to that's going to make you feel less alone.” I wonder if Paul “Call Me Back Again, John I know you're not that tired from the baby just let me in the fucking door” McCartney heard this? It's possible with how obsessive they were, but it's also impossible with how busy he kept himself.

Okay, here's the first story we've been missing about Paul experiencing negative emotions. And, of course, as always in this doc, it's paired perfectly with “Don't Let it Bring you Down” which is the musical mission statement of Paul's clenched-jawed smile philosophy.

"I tend to get a bit absolute in my statements." Yes, John. Yes you do. Another quote that Big Lennon fans should keep in mind.

John on the three weeks he took to decide if he wanted to continue the band after the first Hamburg trip: The others were mad because we could've been making money. Yeah, John, Paul suddenly had to work in a factory after he'd thrown away an educated, white-collar career (the first in his family) to be in your band. I'd be pissed too if you just didn't even bother to call. Anyway I just hate how casual John is about it. Someone who never had to worry about money is just never going to get that.

John doesn't even remember a ballpark number of how much they were making. Paul remembers exactly bragging to his professors that he was making fifteen a week in Hamburg. Sorry to go on and on about this right before Paris, but to me it's an important difference between them.

Anyway, the fact that Paris was more than just a vacation for them. The fact that – according to Stuart and John at least – they might not have come back. It's dizzying. They really thought about just running off together. I wonder what made them decide to come back and continue the band.

No offense if you do, but I don't personally believe in this stuff. What would the motivation have been for the tarot reader to tell him that? Either way, fuck him.

Gosh the live version of “Call Me Back Again”. You feel it, physically, how bad he wants this phonecall. And the desperation from such a successful man is fantastic. Literally, John, how did it feel to be the only man in the world that could get Paul McCartney to beg? “Pretty baby” “what can I do?” “Boohoohoo babe.” “I tried the operator, but I just can't get through.”

Reporter at the Wings over America tour: No John Lennon, no George Harrison, and no Ringo Starr, just Paul McCartney. And for everyone here tonight, that seemed to be plenty! Obviously he's loving this praise after all the negative press. Anyone would, and Paul needs it more than most people actually. But I bet part of him is like “stop. Don't say it like that, they already hate me enough as it is.”

How many times has John admitted that he finds Paul attractive? “It was no surprise, you know, when the kids – girls saw him, they go ‘ooh! Ooh!’ right away, you know?”

“I know it's true. It's all because of you.” Playing over this? Are you kidding me? Anyway I've never seen the picture version of this, so I thought I'd screenshot it.

But actually, in a way, the original written lyrics to Now and Then are less depressing than what he sang on the demo. “I know it's true, I'm still in love with you, and if I make it through, it's all because of you,” is obviously sad because they're both married to other people. But at least in that version, John's saying his own personal resilience to life's struggles comes from his relationship with Paul, which is nice. Whereas when John, who is sliding into a self-hating deep depression I'm comparing himself to Paul's phenomenal success, sings “it's all because of you” in a general sense, it almost feels like a callback to the ‘I'm shit and I couldn't do anything but be a Beatle (and ride Paul's boat)’ quote. Which is heartbreaking. I wish he could've recognized his own genius.

But yeah either way it's enough to make your heart heavy. If anyone needs a good cry, just go to the last five minutes of this. That should've been the now and then music video, but Paul's too scared of feelings. Which. You know. Considering how much it affects me, I can't even imagine how much it affects him. So he gets a pass.

“Why must we be alone? It's real love. It's real.”

[muscari-midala]

Imagine David teaches you how to waltz

For @sharksausages

"One, two, three. One, two, three..."

A few weeks ago, you were devastated when your cryopod malfunctioned, leaving you with only one companion: David, the crew’s android.

But everything changed when you started spending the best moments of your life with him.

You hung on his every word as he taught you something new each day, grateful for someone who never tired of listening and never judged.

After another movie night watching a historical drama, you found yourself standing in the middle of Mrs. Vickers' quarters.

Warm light mimicked the flicker of candle flames, wrapping the room in an almost magical glow.

You told him you’d never had the chance to dance like that, even though you’d always wanted to. David, of course, was more than happy to teach you.

“The waltz is danced in three-quarter time, with quick turns,” he explained, “but we’ll start slowly.”

He stepped toward you, taking your hand and placing it on his shoulder. His other hand rested lightly on your back.

“I’ll lead,” he said. “I’ll take a step forward with my left foot, and you’ll take a step back with your right.”

You followed his guidance, your movements tentative, your eyes fixed on your feet.

“Now, I’ll bring my right foot parallel to my left and pull my left foot toward it. You’ll do the same.”

Carefully, you mirrored his steps, focused on avoiding missteps.

“Next, I’ll step back with my right foot, and you’ll follow with your left. Then, I’ll move my left foot back into parallel position and draw my right foot alongside it. And then we repeat.”

His voice was steady, calm, guiding you with infinite patience. His hold was secure, steadying you when you stumbled.

After a few minutes, you began to get the hang of it, a proud smile spreading across your face. David smiled back warmly in return.

“Now we’ll add a turn to the steps,” he said. Your smile faltered for a moment, but his softened.

“I’m leading this dance, and I won’t let you fall. I promise.”

You started again, his steady counting accompanying your steps as you twirled slowly across the room.

“You’re a natural, miss,” he said.

“Oh, no, that’s not true. My teacher is just very talented!”

The compliment drew a proud smile from him as he let go of your hand.

“MU-TH-UR,” he called, “play The Blue Danube by Johann Strauss, but slowed down.”

He turned to you with a small bow, his hand extended.

“May I have this dance?”

A bright smile spread across your face as you accepted, stepping closer and taking his hand.

Your free hand rested on his shoulder as his arm encircled you, pulling you just a little closer.

“Listen to the rhythm of the music,” he murmured. “One, two, three. One, two, three. We’ll move with it.”

And so, your slow waltz began, gliding over the floor.

The only thing missing was a ballgown, but you didn’t care - you were lost in the moment, focused entirely on David and the dance.

Somehow, he had turned this cold, sterile room into the most magical place.

As the composition ended, David took your hand, pressing a soft kiss to your knuckles as he bowed, like a true gentleman from one of the old movies.

You couldn’t help yourself and pulled him close, your lips brushing his in a shy, fleeting kiss.

For the first time, you managed to stun him. He stared at you for a few seconds, his expression unreadable, before leaning in and returning the gesture. His lips met yours, gentle yet deliberate.

“Thank you for this evening, David,” you whispered.

“No,” he replied, his voice almost reverent.

“Thank you, miss.”

[mintyys-blog]

Bucky Barnes x Princess! Reader: The King’s Betrayal

WARNINGS: character death, betrayal, SMUT, violence

MINORS DNI

In the grand halls of the palace, with walls adorned with tapestries and portraits of ancestors long gone, Princess Y/N was about to make a decision that would change her life forever. The kingdom had long awaited the reign of a new ruler, and that ruler would be her. Her father, King Johann, had ruled for decades, but his age was beginning to show, and soon the mantle of leadership would fall to her.

But there was one thing that she had yet to do before assuming her rightful place: she needed a husband.

The thought weighed heavily on her, for the responsibilities of ruling would be difficult enough without the added weight of a union. Yet, as a princess, her choice of spouse was not entirely her own. The suitors her father had introduced were wealthy and noble, but none of them made her heart race with the excitement she yearned for.

That all changed one fateful afternoon when she was out for a ride through the kingdom’s village. A group of petty thieves had ambushed her carriage, demanding gold and valuables. But before anyone could react, a figure appeared from the shadows. He moved with such speed and precision that the thieves were taken down before they even had time to raise their weapons.

The figure was none other than Bucky Barnes, a man who had served in the kingdom’s army but had long since retired from active duty. His reputation for bravery and strength was known across the land, and now, Y/N had witnessed it firsthand.

She was captivated by the way he moved—strong, swift, and brutal when necessary. There was a power within him, something untamable, that stirred something deep within her. When the thieves had been dispatched and the danger had passed, he simply looked at her with those stormy eyes of his, a slight smirk on his lips as though he hadn’t just saved her life.

“Are you hurt, Princess?” he asked, his voice low and steady.

“No,” she said, breathless from both the fear and the overwhelming feeling she couldn’t quite explain. “Thank you.”

“Just doing my duty,” he said with a nod before turning to leave.

But Y/N’s thoughts were far from the rest of the world. She found herself thinking about him constantly, about the way his strength had made her feel safe. The more she thought of him, the more she realized that what she felt for him wasn’t just admiration—it was something deeper. Something that could easily grow into love.

She began seeking out ways to meet him again, sneaking away to the grounds where he often trained. She watched him fight, his movements fierce and powerful, and her heart fluttered with an intensity that she hadn’t known was possible. She felt a pull toward him, an unexplainable force that she couldn’t deny.

Soon, their encounters became more frequent. She found excuses to speak with him, to steal glances at him when he wasn’t looking. And it wasn’t long before she gathered the courage to speak the words she had been too afraid to say.

“Bucky,” she said one night as he snuck into her chambers to visit her, the moonlight filtering through the windows and casting a soft glow on his face. “I want you to know… you are the one I wish to marry.”

His brow furrowed in surprise. “Princess, I—”

“You’ve saved my life, and you have the strength I admire,” she said, stepping closer to him. “But it’s not just that. It’s the way you make me feel—safe, cherished. You’re everything I’ve ever wanted in a man.”

His gaze softened, though a hint of hesitation remained in his eyes. “Are you sure about this?”

Y/N took his hand, holding it firmly. “Yes. I’m sure. I don’t want anyone else. Just you.”

After that night, things moved quickly. Bucky was introduced to her father, and although King Johann was initially skeptical about the unconventional match, he soon agreed. A wedding was set, and within a month, Princess Y/N and Bucky Barnes would be married.

The day of their wedding arrived, and the air was thick with joy. The kingdom celebrated as the two were united under the golden arch of the palace gardens. The ceremony was beautiful, the vows spoken were heartfelt, and when they shared their first kiss as husband and wife, Y/N’s heart soared.

When they made it back to her— their, chambers, he was fighting to get her corset off. All the layers of her skirts pushed out of the way as he kissed her.

She wrapped her arms around his neck, in pure bliss. He took off more of her layers, until she was completely naked beneath him. She was slightly shy, as he eyed her with such hunger. She covered her chest, he shook his head, pinning her wrist above her head with one hand. He leaned in, “no,no. There is no need for that, my beautiful bride.” He kisses her neck, and she tilted her head back, spreading her legs for him. He unpinned her wrists, however she made no move to change her position.

He stripped himself of his clothes, showing how muscular his body was. She was in shock as she admired his body. He trailed kisses down her neck to her breast, then in between her legs, taking note how wet she was. “Someone’s excited,” he states with a chuckle, she slaps his with her leg, “stop teasing me!”

He kissed her inner thigh, “but it’s so much funnier teasing you,” right when she was about to reply he pushed his tongue right into her warmth. She threw her head back, gripping at his hair as he sucked on her clit. He hummed against her, sending vibrations throughout her body. She moaned and panted, getting louder when he added his fingers to the mix, loving the sounds she was making. For him, only for him.

She came with a cry, and he leaned over her again, kissing her cheek. “Are you ready, my bride?” She nods, but that wasn’t enough for him. “Words, sweetheart, use your words”

She bit her lip, “yes, I am ready.. my husband”

He smiles at that, slowly sinking into her warmth. He watched her reactions how she was battling with the stretch and pain. He stayed perfectly still, waiting for her permission to continue.

When she gave the okay, he continued to thrust in her, slow and delicate. She moaned and he kissed her again. He throws her legs on his shoulders, putting her in a mating press and thrusting deeper. Her moans echoed throughout the large room. The bed shaking with the intensity of his thrusts. He brought a hand down to play with her clit— rubbing in fast circles.

She felt a knot in her stomach, her body drenched in a thin layer of sweat. She tried to hold back, but the pleasure was too much. She came again, this time on his cock. He finished inside shortly after, pumping lazily a few more times before pulling out. Watching the clear white goo leek out of her. He falls beside her, kissing her head and telling her how good she did.

She turns to him, kissing his lips, “I love you, Bucky” he smiles softly, “I love you, too”

The sun was beginning to set, casting long, soft shadows over the royal gardens, and the delicate scent of flowers filled the air. Bucky and Y/N had stolen away from the palace for a rare moment of privacy. The hustle of the kingdom seemed far away in this quiet corner of the world, and for a brief moment, they were just two people in love, without the weight of responsibility looming over them.

Y/N sat on a marble bench, her fingers absentmindedly running over the petals of a nearby rose. She had been asking Bucky about his past, trying to understand the man who had saved her life, the man she had married.

“Come on, Bucky,” she said with a teasing grin. “I’ve heard enough about the battles you’ve fought. But what about… well, you? Who are you, really?”

Bucky chuckled softly, looking at her with a fondness that made her heart flutter. His blue eyes were warm in the soft glow of the setting sun. He leaned against the stone railing, crossing his arms.

“Me?” He smirked, but there was a hint of something darker beneath the surface. “You know more about me than anyone.”

Y/N tilted her head, her expression playful but thoughtful. “Oh, I don’t know. You’ve got a lot of secrets, Bucky Barnes. You’ve been to places I can’t even imagine, and fought battles that would make anyone shiver.”

She let out a small laugh, then added with a teasing tone, “But there’s one thing I don’t get… You’ve killed so many people, but I can’t help but wonder—are you really capable of killing me, too?”

Her words hung in the air for a moment, and Bucky’s smile faltered, just for a brief second. He blinked, almost as though the question had caught him off guard.

Y/N noticed the shift, and quickly added, “I mean, not that I’m planning on giving you a reason to, of course.” She laughed again, her voice light. “You wouldn’t dare, right? I’m your princess, after all.”

But Bucky didn’t laugh. Instead, he looked at her, his eyes searching her face. There was a tightness in his jaw, a tension that hadn’t been there a moment before. For a moment, he seemed like he was lost in his thoughts, far away from her in a place she couldn’t reach.

“Of course I wouldn’t,” he said, his voice low and steady. His words were meant to reassure her, but they only added to the weight of the silence that had fallen between them.

Y/N, sensing the shift, reached out and touched his hand gently. “Hey, I was just kidding. I know you’re not like that. But I still don’t know what you’ve seen out there… and that’s okay. Just promise me one thing?”

Bucky gave her a faint, amused smile, though there was still an edge to his gaze. “What’s that?”

“Promise me that no matter what happens, no matter who you’ve fought or what you’ve done,” she said softly, “you’ll never become someone who could hurt me. Not the way you’ve hurt others.”

For a moment, the world around them seemed to freeze. Bucky stared at her with an intensity that made her breath catch in her throat. The air between them crackled with an unspoken understanding—an understanding that neither of them could ignore.

He cleared his throat, and the tension in his expression melted, replaced with a forced smile. “I promise,” he said, a bit too quickly. “I could never hurt you, Y/N.”

She smiled, satisfied, but deep down, there was a strange feeling gnawing at her, a sense that something was off, that his promise might not mean what it seemed to.

“Good,” she replied, not entirely convinced but willing to trust him, for now.

Bucky leaned down, pressing a kiss to her forehead, his breath soft against her skin. “You have nothing to worry about,” he whispered, but in his mind, something darker began to stir. A shadow from his past that he couldn’t escape.

As he pulled back, their eyes met once more, and Y/N’s smile softened. But Bucky couldn’t help but feel the weight of her words hanging in the air, a premonition of something to come.

Her joking comment, her casual mention of death, had unwittingly set the stage for a tragedy neither of them could have foreseen.

“You’re my everything,” he said softly, almost as if trying to convince himself as much as her.

But Y/N, with her heart full of love and trust, didn’t notice the small crack in his voice, the flicker of something dangerous in his eyes. She laughed again, blissfully unaware of the storm brewing beneath the surface.

“I know, Bucky. I know.”

For a week, their lives were blissful. They spent their days together, their nights filled with quiet conversations and stolen moments of intimacy. It seemed that everything was finally falling into place for Y/N, that she had found her love, her soulmate.

But peace in the kingdom was fleeting.

One dark night, as the palace slept, flames lit up the sky. The walls of the kingdom were under siege. Rebels had gathered, intent on overthrowing the monarchy. The palace was thrown into chaos, and Y/N’s heart raced with fear.

She ran through the corridors, her mind frantic as she searched for Bucky. The palace was burning, and there was no time to waste. She found him at the end of a hallway, his eyes steely and determined, his armor stained with ash from the fire that raged outside.

“Bucky, we need to leave. The rebels are here!” she cried, grabbing his arm. “We can’t stay. We need to get to safety.”

Bucky looked at her, but there was something in his gaze that she couldn’t understand. For a moment, he didn’t move. His eyes, once full of warmth, were now cold—distant.

“Bucky?” she whispered, fear creeping into her voice.

Before she could react, he moved with terrifying speed, his hand wrapping around her throat and slamming her against the wall. The air was knocked from her lungs, and she gasped, trying to free herself from his grip.

“Bucky,” she choked out, her hands clawing at his arm in desperation. “Why… why are you doing this?”

His gaze never wavered, his expression unreadable. And then, in a movement so swift it was almost inhuman, he kissed her—his lips cold and unfeeling, as though he had no connection to the woman he had just married.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered against her lips, his voice barely audible. And then, with a flash of steel, the cold, sharp pain of a dagger buried deep in her chest stole the breath from her.

Y/N’s vision blurred as she sank to the ground, the warmth of her own blood soaking her gown. Her fingers trembled, reaching for him, even as her life slipped away.

“Please…” she whispered, her voice barely a sound. “Please stay… I don’t want to die alone.”

For the briefest of moments, Bucky paused. His eyes flickered with something that resembled regret. He looked down at her, as though torn between what he had done and what he still felt. But in the end, he simply turned and walked away, leaving her there in the cold, dark hallway.

His final glance over his shoulder was all she would ever get—a fleeting moment before he disappeared into the smoke and flames.

And then, she was alone.

Her eyes fluttered closed, her final breath a whisper of his name, the last trace of warmth fading from her fingertips as the world around her dimmed.

The night air grew colder, the thick smoke from the burning palace walls curling around Y/N’s body as she lay motionless on the stone floor. The pain in her chest, the warmth of her blood seeping through her gown, seemed to stretch on endlessly. Her mind was a haze, her vision fading in and out as the darkness crept closer.

The silence was unbearable, save for the distant crackling of flames. Her heartbeat, slow and heavy, echoed in her ears. Every breath felt like it could be her last, but somehow, she clung to life. Her body was betraying her, but her mind refused to let go.

She wasn’t alone yet.

The sound of footsteps—slow, cautious—reached her ears. Her eyes fluttered open, the blurred figure above her becoming clearer. It was a guard, a familiar face from the palace, Steve Rogers, who had been with her through many royal events. His face was a mask of fear as he saw her, bloodied and broken, sprawled on the floor.

“Princess,” he whispered, his voice trembling. “Oh gods, no…”

His hands were gentle as he cradled her head, trying to lift her in his arms, but she weakly shook her head, a small, silent plea for him to leave her be. She wasn’t sure how long she had left, but the thought of someone else being here as she died was almost too much to bear. She wanted her husband— the same one that had done this to her. To be the one to console her, to tell her it’ll be okay, that he didn’t mean it.

“Please… go,” she whispered hoarsely, her voice cracked. She coughed, and blood stained her lips.

But Steve refused to leave, his eyes filled with desperation as he looked around, his expression frantic. “We need to get you out of here! You can’t die like this. The king—”

“Father… he’s gone,” Y/N murmured, a tear slipping from her eye, her chest tightening. “The rebels… they’ve taken everything.”

Her mind began to fog once more, the overwhelming realization of the chaos around her starting to pull her under. She had failed. She had failed the kingdom, and she had failed herself by trusting Bucky.

And yet, a part of her clung to him, to the fleeting hope that maybe he wasn’t truly lost—that somehow, he would return. But deep down, Y/N knew the truth. Bucky had made his choice. She was just another casualty of the war, of whatever he had been hiding all along.

The guard’s voice snapped her back to reality. “We need to leave now. Come on, Your Highness, stay with me.”

She tried to focus on his words, but it was difficult. She could feel her body growing weaker by the second, her vision narrowing as the edges of her consciousness began to slip away. The guard continued to speak to her, his tone frantic, but his words became distant, almost like an echo.

Her thoughts wandered back to Bucky. To their wedding, to the happiness they had shared for those few fleeting days. She remembered the warmth of his touch, the way he had looked at her with such tenderness… and then the betrayal, the coldness in his eyes as he killed her.

Was he always this person? Was the man she had loved just a mask he had worn for her, or had he been consumed by something darker that she couldn’t understand?

The questions swirled in her mind, but she couldn’t find the answers. All she could feel now was the overwhelming pain, the sense of loss, and the cold emptiness where love once bloomed.

And then, just as the darkness began to claim her for good, a voice—his voice—haunted her thoughts.

“I’m sorry,” it whispered, barely audible, like a soft breeze through the trees.

Bucky’s face, tormented and regretful, flashed before her eyes, but this time, it wasn’t the man who had betrayed her. It was a man torn by the weight of his own choices, a man who didn’t want to lose her, who had never meant to hurt her. But it was too late. He had already made his decision, and the damage had been done.

Her body went limp in the guard’s arms, the final breath escaping her lips. The last of her strength ebbed away, and all that remained was the cold embrace of death, wrapping her in its sorrowful, unyielding grip.

Somewhere in the distance, the flames continued to burn, the remnants of a kingdom torn apart by rebellion, a betrayal, and a love that had never stood a chance.

Bucky stood in the shadows, his eyes scanning the ruins of the palace, watching as it crumbled beneath the weight of the rebel attack. His heart was heavy, his chest tight with the remnants of what he had done.

He had walked away from her, his princess, his wife—leaving her behind as her life slipped away.

But the voice had come to him. Her voice, weak and broken, echoing in his mind, asking him to stay. He had hesitated, but in the end, he had left her. His mind was a battlefield of conflicting emotions, guilt gnawing at his insides like a ravenous beast.

He had done it because he had to. Because it was part of a greater plan. The kingdom was collapsing, and there was no place for love in a world torn apart by war. He had no place beside her, not when the rebellion was closing in, not when the truth of his past would destroy everything they had built.

But the weight of her words, the plea to stay, still lingered in the corners of his mind, like a constant reminder of the life he had just destroyed.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered to the winds, his voice trembling with the rawness of his regret. “I never wanted to hurt you.”

But there was no one to hear him. No one to forgive him.

And Bucky knew, deep down, that he would carry this guilt for the rest of his life. He had chosen the path of the soldier, the assassin—the path that led him away from love, away from her.

And in the end, it was that choice that had destroyed everything.

The rebel camp was filled with laughter and crude jokes, the triumphant mood of a successful raid heavy in the air. Their victory over the royal family had been swift, the palace’s flames still flickering in the distance. They had taken the kingdom by force, burning the heart of the monarchy to the ground. Their leaders had made sure to break the people’s spirit, and tonight, the spoils of their victory were being celebrated in a dingy tavern, far from the sight of any nobility.

Bucky stood in the shadows outside the tavern, his face unreadable, his heart heavier with each passing second. The sounds of revelry and drunken singing drifted to him, but they couldn’t drown out the guilt, the regret, the anger that had been festering inside him ever since he’d walked away from her.

He shouldn’t have left her. But he had.

The cold steel of the wedding band pressed against his skin, the only thing left of the woman he had once loved. Y/N. His wife. His princess. The woman he had promised himself to protect, only to betray her with a single, horrifying act.

He had killed her.

The thought was unbearable, yet he could not escape it. His mind replayed the moment over and over again—her body falling limp in his arms, her eyes pleading for him to stay. But he had left her, just as he had been ordered to. He had to, for the sake of his mission, for the greater cause. And now, it was too late to undo the damage. She was gone.

Bucky’s fingers curled around the ring as if he could somehow crush the weight of his actions by tightening his grip. But no matter how hard he squeezed, the memories wouldn’t disappear. The guilt wouldn’t vanish.

A voice from inside the tavern cut through his reverie, causing him to stop in his tracks. A familiar, drunken voice broke the otherwise celebratory noise.

“It’s a damn shame about the princess,” the man said with a loud, lewd chuckle. “Such a beautiful body, too. Could’ve had a hell of a time with her before she went.”

The words hung in the air like poison, seeping into Bucky’s skin, boiling his blood. He could hear the others laugh, hoot and holler, clearly drunk on their victory.

But Bucky couldn’t stand it. He could no longer hold back the rage that had been building inside him. He moved, almost too quickly for the eye to follow, his fist slamming into the door and sending it flying open with a crash. The rebels inside looked up in confusion, their laughter faltering as they took in the sight of the man who had once been their ally—the man they had seen fighting beside them, now standing there, fury in his eyes.

Without a word, Bucky strode into the room, his focus fixed on the man who had spoken. The one who dared speak of Y/N like that. The one who had disrespected her memory, who had sullied everything she had been.

The rebel laughed again, oblivious to the danger in Bucky’s gaze. “Didn’t think a royal’s dog would care about a little—”

Before he could finish his sentence, Bucky’s hand shot out, grabbing the man by the throat and slamming his head into the table with a sickening crack. The sound of the rebel’s skull hitting the wood was drowned out by the sudden silence that overtook the room.

The other rebels stood frozen, unsure of what to do, as Bucky held the man’s neck with one hand, his face inches from his, his breath steady and controlled despite the violence in his eyes.

“You don’t ever speak of her like that again,” Bucky growled, his voice low, dangerous. “You don’t get to dishonor her memory. Do you understand?”

The rebel was unconscious, his body slumping onto the table, but Bucky didn’t let go. He gripped him a little longer, just to ensure that the man wouldn’t get up again.

When he was satisfied, Bucky released his grip, and the body fell limply to the floor. He wiped his hands on his coat, as if trying to rid himself of the filth he had just touched.

The others in the tavern looked at him warily, but no one dared speak. Bucky turned on his heel, walking toward the door without sparing another glance. His jaw was tight, his fists clenched, and his heart was still pounding in his chest.

Outside, the cool night air greeted him, but it didn’t bring him relief. The guilt, the loss, the pain—nothing had changed. He still had the ring, the only thing that remained of her. He looked at it again, the faint gleam of gold catching the moonlight. His wedding band. The symbol of his broken promises. Of what he had done to her.

He hadn’t meant to hurt her. He hadn’t meant for it to come to this. But in the end, Bucky had done what he thought was necessary. He had followed orders. He had killed her to protect the kingdom, to ensure that the rebellion would succeed, and that the royal bloodline would be extinguished.

But now, all he had was this damn ring, a constant reminder of the woman he had loved and destroyed. He couldn’t bear to take it off, not yet. Maybe never.

He had killed her. And no matter what reason he had given himself, the truth was simpler than that. He had chosen duty over love, and it had cost him everything.

Bucky walked away from the tavern, the weight of his actions pressing down on him like a mountain. He had done what he had to do, even if it meant killing the love of his life. Even if it meant living with the knowledge that her blood would forever stain his hands.

As he disappeared into the darkness of the night, he couldn’t escape the truth.

He had killed her.

And now, he had to live with it.

[inkedinfusions]

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐤𝐞𝐲 | eren jaeger chapter 3

⊱𖣂⊰ | In which you fall into a fictional world with the key to Pandora's box.

── ★ ˙ ̟ . 🗝 .ᐟ.ᐟ masterlist

⊰– prev   next–⊱

𝟎𝟑 | 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐧𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧

chapter word count: 3.1 k

content warnings: blanket warnings

a/n: Third chapter! First of all, I want to say thank you to everyone reading this, your comments and votes slash likes slash kudos do wonders for my motivation. I currently have written up to chapter five, and have a rough outline of the next chapter, so expect those updates soon.

Thanks for reading!

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐒𝐔𝐍 𝐑𝐀𝐘𝐒 filter through your window, coating your room in soft light, like morning dew on plants. The paneled window lets in a slight draft, making you stir in your sleep.

Your eyes flutter open, and you shoot up from the covers before the confusion is replaced by recognition, your eyes slowly taking in the unfamiliar scenery. You flop onto the mattress again, turning over so that the glare of the sun is not directly over your eyes. The cotton sheets feel soft beneath your fingers, and you numbingly trace invisible patterns over and over again.

The clang of metal pots downstairs spurs you to life, prompting you to get up from the cocoon of blankets you were nestled in. You trod towards the dresser, picking some nondescript clothes to change into. The dress and shirt you choose feel weird on your body, and you're not sure if it's because they look like they came out of an old movie or simply because they are new to you.

You sit on the made bed, mulling over your next step. Zeke and Yelena are in Marley, so, like yesterday, you know that you are in the window of time in between the Scouts discovering the ocean and the envoy arriving to Paradis with the Volunteers. That gives you around three years before Zeke and Eren meet again, four before the rumbling.

Convince Zeke of moving up his plan in the timeline to get you home is not plausible – and why would it? As much as he is, in a way, something of a good person, he won't change his plans for you, a girl he just met.

You remember Johann Grice’s face, one he shares with his youngest son, one who has a stronger bond with Zeke that you currently do. Falco had been unlucky he consumed the wine, and even unluckier when Zeke, even if remorsefully, screamed, turning him into a titan.

So, the other option left is Eren and Historia. Small problem though, they are on the other side of a sea you have no way getting across. And what would Historia even do, if she wasn't a pure or intelligent titan? You didn’t feel comfortable sacrificing her for a ticket home.

You sigh, combing a hand through your hair. Well, you'll burn that bridge when you get there, or however the expression goes.

After carefully storing the clothes you arrived in and tidying up, you make your way downstairs, following the sounds that woke you up. There, in the kitchen, you are treated with a very bizarre image.

A steaming pot at the stove gives the kitchen a faint smell of coffee, and Zeke stands next to it, stirring another with what seems to be breakfast porridge. He turns your way when you approach, your footsteps announcing your arrival, and offers you a bowl. You accept it with a greeting.

“Good morning.”

“Morning, kid. Sleep well?”

You nod, shoving a spoonful of porridge into your mouth, relishing in the warmth it gave off. You didn't realize how hungry you were before, the only thing in your stomach being last night’s biscuits.

Zeke chuckles at your newfound energy, matching it with his own after grabbing a bowl. The clock on the walls ticks away unreadable numbers, provoking Zeke to draw you a page with the different variations of numerals at your request.

It's pretty simple, and you thank Isayama or whoever made the writing system for the fact that it follows the same logic your own does, just with different symbols.

“I'll see if I can get some simple picture books for you to practice,” Zeke says as he writes up the last number, the one standing in for nine. “But for now you'll have to be content with my chicken scratch.”

That elicits a small snort out of you, the idea that someone that's currently causing you anxieties has something as pedestrian as bad handwriting being ridiculously funny. He starts writing another one for the alphabet, reviewing with you the way they matched up to yours.

“What, did you fail calligraphy 101?” you ask, falling back into lighthearted banter.

“No, but I did receive glowing grades in porridge cooking.”

Your shoulders shake as you laugh, and somewhere in your consciousness you blame the lack of restful sleep and outlandish situation for the ease with which you snicker. Econ major Zeke was not on your bingo card for today.

You and Zeke finish your breakfast simultaneously, and he takes your bowl with him as he stands up, heading towards the sink. You follow, knowing that you'll feel bad if you don’t help, even if it's just a couple of bowls and mugs.

Soapy water runs down the dishes as Zeke cleans them, and you do your best to guess where each goes after you've dried them.

“So what are we doing today?” you ask, locating the cupboard with mugs.

“I–” Zeke emphasizes, “–will be going to a meeting with my comrades.”

“Comrades?”

“The Warriors. They are chosen to serve Marley, and each holds a special titan within them.”

“Oh. And you are one of them?” you question, remembering the explanation he gave you the day before. You had carefully cataloged the information you were given, as to prevent any future slipups.

Zeke nods, handing you the last bowl before drying his hands with an embroidered towel. You notice it matches one you saw at the Jaeger’s yesterday.

“As for you, well, I'm going to ask you to stay here a while. Practice your numbers, or if you feel confident enough, take a crack at some books.”

Your brows furrow as you close the cabinet’s door. While you recognize that going into a city you know nothing of is at the very least disorienting and at most dangerous, you don't want to feel trapped in the house.

“Can’t I come with you?” you try to bargain, already knowing the answers going to be no. You hope it's a no, anyway. Meeting the Warriors immediately after meeting Zeke would permanently raise your blood pressure.

“No.” Ah, there it is. “But I'll take you some other day to meet them.”

Huh. Unexpected compromise, and not one you really accounted for.

“If you do need to go outside though, for any reason, be sure you are wearing this,” he points to his red armband. “It's something that is required of us.”

You nod, mentally jotting down the books that you could try to read with the twenty six letter codex Zeke had given you.

Zeke bids you a goodbye afterwards, and you stand in the threshold for a minute before going to your room, pulling up some paper to do line drills. You meticulously write the ten numbers over and over again, losing yourself in the repetition.

The writing gets tedious after a while, so you let your pencil fall to the paper and stretch upwards, relieving the tension in your bones. You lay your head in your arms, parallel to the desk, and watch the window, fluttering leaves intermittently filling the view.

It would be easy to imagine being home, if you closed your eyes. This could just be another impromptu nap after finishing homework, and you would sleep until a shout would wake you up for dinner.

You drift away, engrossed in your memories, before you are suddenly pulled out of them by an impatient knock on the door. You consider ignoring it, and just then, the knocking doubles in speed, making whoever is on the other side of the door someone with either an emergency or an inability to wait.

You trudge downstairs after retrieving the key Zeke had gifted you yesterday, using it to unlock the front door. A small fist enters your vision, and you register a small, brunette girl attached to the other end of it.

She blinks, surprised, and hastily retreats her hand.

“...Hello?”

The girl just stares, not saying anything, and you look around to see if maybe someone responsible for her is near. As you do so, the girl speaks.

“You are not Zeke,” she states, and god are you getting tired of people telling you who you obviously are not.

“I'm not. Who are you?” you ask, not appreciating being questioned by a prepubescent girl.

“Gabi. Why are you in Zeke’s house?”

The name she introduces herself with is enough to quell your irritation.

“Oh,” you exhale, buying time to come out of your stupor. “I'm Y/n. I’m, uh, staying with Zeke for a while.”

“Why?”

“My dad died.”

That serves to silence her, the tense atmosphere growing exponentially with your comment. You feel a little guilty when she squirms, uncomfortable, so you sigh and move to the side, letting her in.

“Zeke’s not home,” you say, following her inside. “He went to a meeting, I think.”

“Oh, with the Warriors?”

“How do you–” you pause, your eyes flitting to the yellow armband decorating her bicep. So she was already a candidate then. Sick bastards. Child military in this series was a massive problem.

“I'm going to be one when I grow up.” The pride in her eyes makes your heart stutter. Gabi couldn't be older than ten, and here she was, already willing to die to serve Marley.

“That’s… a big dream,” you conclude, not wanting to quell her hopes, but also not willing to condone her goal.

Gabi gifts you a blinding smile, and begins to rummage through the room. You watch her as she drifts from drawer to drawer, before resigning yourself to the will of an eight year old.

“Are you looking for something?” you ask, ready to go back to being alone in your room.

“Zeke said he had a book about birds for me.”

You don’t recall spotting any other books in the house, only the ones in your room. And maybe Zeke’s room, but no way in hell you would intrude in his personal space. You let out a puff of air, gesturing Gabi’s expectant figure to follow you upstairs.

“It's probably in my room.”

Gabi’s footsteps trail behind you, already over seeing a stranger in Zeke’s house. Maybe stranger danger wasn’t a thing here, who knows. You roll up to the shelves, before remembering that you can’t actually read the titles.

You hesitate, embarrassed, before a high pitched question makes your face heat up even more.

“Why are you writing numbers over and over again?”

Gabi stands in front of your number-filled papers, innocently turning to you when she asks. While children in your world might not be master analysts, Gabi senses the shame written all over your face, and she hurriedly apologizes.

“I mean–” she stumbles over her words, “–you probably wrote differently where you lived, right? I’m sorry, I didn’t want to–”

“It’s okay,” you interrupt her. “I used a different alphabet there.”

You don’t mention that ‘there’ was not in her world map.

“Could you just tell me if the book you are searching for is here?”

You step aside to allow Gabi a better view of the different texts, and you watch as she squirms, her eyes scanning for what she is looking for. After a moment, she looks at you and shakes her head, denoting that it wasn’t.

“Afraid you’re going to have to wait for Zeke, squirt.”

Gabi scrunches her nose at the nickname, and her voice rises with the displeasure of it.

“I’m not a squirt!” she exclaims. “I’m actually tall for my age.”

You chuckle at her grumbles.

“Yes, but you are smaller than me. Ergo, squirt.”

“At least I can read,” she mumbles.

You freeze and your eyebrows raise all the way up your forehead, the comment catching you off guard. Gabi begins to take your prolonged silence as a sign that she messed up, but before she can apologize again, you begin to laugh.

She joins you in laughter a few moments later, and the two of you giggle like sleep deprived school girls. Wiping tears from your eyes, you try to control your snorts, losing it when your gaze catches hers.

“That was mean, squirt,” you tell her as the chuckles begin to subside.

“Not a squirt.”

“Sure,” you reply halfheartedly.

Gabi falls silent again, her eyes looking back at your line drills. Her eyes flit back to you, and then down to her hands, who begin to play with the hem of her shirt. Timidly, she pipes up with a proposal.

“I could bring you some books from when I learned to write.”

Your heart practically melts at her suggestion, and you are quick on taking her up on the offer. You thank her with a smile, which widens when she begins to look more comfortable in your presence. You, not wanting to leave a debt unpaid, speak up with your own idea.

“Can I braid your hair?”

Her brown hair falls longer on her back then it ever did in the series, and she fiddles with it for a moment. When she nods, you guide her to your chair where you begin plucking strands from her hair, forming a simple, triple plait.

“So how do you know Zeke, Gabi?” you ask, making small talk as your fingers weaved through her hair. “Is it through the Warriors?

Gabi begins to assent her head in agreement, before remembering to stay still.

“Yeah. I’m training to be one.”

You hum, adding small flourishes to the braid. “Are you any good at it?”

“Good?” she asks incredulously. “I’m the best at it.”

Oh, to be eight years old and have the confidence of a god. If it wasn't for the horrific implications her situation has, you could pass this moment off as some coming of age scene, where the protagonist states her dreams, only to achieve them at the end of the story.

You suppose that she did, in a way, help save the world from the Devil of Paradis. And she was –or would be– an excellent marksman.

“What are you good at?”

Her question sends you in for a loop, your fingers stilling in the middle of the plait. You find yourself unsure how to answer for the second time today. Although you weren’t particularly bad at anything, it also wasn't like you had something you excelled at.

“...I like to read stories,” you respond, following a pause. “All the more reason to practice reading, huh?”

“Guess so, if you’re into that sort of thing.” Gabi shrugs.

“Didn’t you come here looking for a book?”

“It’s not for me.”

“Oh.” You should probably have expected someone as lively as her to not take much interest in reading. “Who is it for then?”

“A friend. His name is Falco.”

Another name you recognize. At this point, it shouldn’t be a surprise when people reference other characters, but it still manages to catch you off guard. The little boy from the series is Gabi’s age so he’s also young now, younger than when he had to carry an enormous burden to save humanity, younger even than when he killed his own brother in the blast to forcibly become a titan.

“It must be nice to have a friend like you,” you concede, missing your own. It must've shown on your tone, because the next thing Gabi says is a direct consolation of it.

“I can be your friend too,” she offers softly.

“...Thanks Gabi.”

“And Falco has an older brother who I’m sure you’ll like–” you interrupt her as she begins to wiggle her eyebrows, breaking the wistful ambiance.

“And you’re done!” You finish up the braid with a tie, and you watch as her hands come up to feel it.

“I also have a cousin who just returned–!”

You shush her, failing to do so as you both begin to laugh again. Gabi thanks you for the plait with a smile, and you chat in your room until both your stomachs begin to rumble. Making your way to the kitchen, you realize that you have no idea of what to make, and less of what ingredients are available.

You and Gabi rummage through the kitchen, hitting jackpot with some vegetables and bread. You make quick work of slicing them as Gabi prepares a sauce that reminds you of your world’s curry.

“Won’t your parents be worried about you being out so long?”

Gabi sticks a spoon in the sauce and offers it to you, nodding proudly when you give her a thumbs up for the flavor.

“It’s fine. They know I’m with friends.”

“Friend. Singular.”

“I could invite Falco and his brother–”

“Point taken, thanks.”

You both settle on the table, and the conversation quiets down as you both start to eat. The freshness of the vegetables mixes deliciously with the dressing Gabi oh so graciously prepared. You split a small loaf of bread and offer the bigger piece to Gabi, who takes it gratefully.

The evening is spent in between banter and games, after Gabi’s unsuccessful attempt to tutor you in your writing and reading. She resigns, regretfully wallowing that the Grice’s would make better teachers than her.

The sun dips over the horizon, and you send her off to her house with a promise for a repeat of the evening some other day. When Zeke arrives in the evening, you are in the middle of cleaning up the cards Gabi had strewn across the room after a particularly bad defeat.

The front door’s knob rattles as he turns it, and he greets you when he spots you in the kitchen.

“Hey, kid. Did you bring a tornado with you?” he says, referring to the playing cards you have yet to pick up. Tornadoes seem to follow you, from your arrival to the mess in the house.

The seemingly innocent question makes your heart speed up, the implicit again in his sentence not going unnoticed by you. The card in your hand draws a droplet of blood when you clench it, making the red mix with the blue ink, swirling around like the dust had when you first arrived.

You swallow, the calm atmosphere you had created with Gabi shattering with the reminder that Zeke was after the mystery of your appearance.

“Gabi came over,” you respond, with you back to him.

You listen as Zeke’s clothes rustle, followed by what you think is his coat being draped over a chair. You rinse your hand in the sink, dabbing off the dark drop in the card while you're at it.

“I see. Was she with Falco? I promised to give him a book.”

You shake your head, turning around.

Zeke hums, muttering under his breath that he’ll have to pay them a visit at headquarters. You have dinner in a tense silence, an utter difference from the lighthearted banter at breakfast. If Zeke notices the disparity, he says nothing.

Maybe it was sleep deprivation what made you lose your wariness. That’s why, after washing your dishes, you bid Zeke a curt goodnight, making the trek up to your room once more.

taglist: @dressycobra7 @xngelsau @bloodchapell @i-think-im-adorable13

ask or comment to be added!

[choosingwhatmatters]

Music in The Loyal Pin, Episode 1

My goodness, what a beautiful chocolate brownie of a first episode! There are already wonderful posts about the way in which the funds of the series have been put to good use. One aspect that has not been highlighted yet (please correct me if I'm wrong) is the music. And oh!, the music we get in this series.

My ears perked up from the very beginning of the show. We get an orchestral score! All the instruments of magic welcome us at the palace: strings, a harp, a glockenspiel, woodwinds, bar chimes, a piano - I was smiling within seconds.

Tv shows very rarely receive a score like this because arranging, recording and mixing music for twenty different instruments is time-consuming and complex, by which I mean expensive. One trick you can use to lower the costs is using synthesised instruments. The strings we can hear are not real. However, a brilliant thing the scoring team does here is mix in real instruments. For example, we can hear real flutes, if I am not mistaken. Some cello and violin pieces throughout the episode have also been recorded with real instruments. For me, the whole soundscape is simply beautiful!

What about the music itself? There are three things I would like to talk about: the pentatonic scale, Pachelbel and a melody that I hope will become one of Pin and Anin's.

1. The very first thing we hear when Anin has landed on Pin is a melody comprised of five different notes. For Western ears, these fives notes are inevitably associated with music from South-East Asia. The scale resulting from these notes is called a pentatonic scale, and if you ever feel like playing it: look for the black keys on any piano keyboard and go wild. The cool thing about the pentatonic scale is that it's fantastic for improvising. In Western music, it's used all the time because these notes simply sound good together.

We have a lot of ambient music in this episode. Music that blends with the peaceful atmosphere onscreen, and often the pentatonic scale is used to do just that.

2. Which brings me to another piece of music I want to talk about: Johann Pachelbel's Canon in D major. It's the first and the last piece played at the dance. While the king discusses Anin's future with the rest of the family, we can see Pin and Anin dancing to this piece. I find this significant because most music scholars believe that Pachelbel composed the Canon as wedding music (for Bach's brother, no less).

I haven't read the book the series is based on. I have avoided spoilers as best as I could. Logically, I KNOW that it is very unlikely that we get a happy ending here. But I get to see two women in a historical setting dancing to a wedding piece and this fact alone makes me very, very happy.

3. Off to my last point. Even though most of the episode features music, I have noticed very little repetition. There is, however, one piece of music that comes back.

We can hear it when Pin and Anin have their first meeting, and again when Anin discovers her windmill and her ribbon in Pin's bedroom. (What do you call those tiny windmills? And, more importantly, what is it with these two and tiny windmills? Thank you, creators, for the nod to your GAP fandom.)

The piece sounds somewhat like this:

The harmonies are more intricate, but this gives us an idea what we can listen out for in future episodes. The melody is simple and sweet. It could be connected to childhood and adolescence. I'm curious to see if we encounter it again.

And I'm very excited to see whether the score team continues with motives and reprises. I love straining my ears for these because they give us even more clues about the happenings onscreen.

Thank you for riding along with me! I am so excited to see what the show has in store for us!

[crystallizedkingdoms]

can a bard and a mechanic truly fall in love…

moon science says yes!

(thank you so much @neechees for the art!)

ID: A coloured sketch page of Johann and Avi. Avi is an Inuk human with brown skin and shoulder length dark hair. He has traditional tattoos, including one line across his nose, three small lines under his lips, and on his hands and wrists. Johann is a darkskinned Black half-elf with shoulder-length twists. From left to right: the first sketch is of Johann and Avi sleeping together in pyjamas, with Johann wearing a pink bonnet. Johann has his arms around Avi’s shoulders and buries his face in his neck. The second sketch is of Avi cradling Johann’s head on his shoulder. Avi’s wearing a blue jacket with white fur trim. Johann’s wearing a purple and pink bardic outfit with puffy sleeves.

The third sketch is of Johann and Avi kissing on the lips. Avi is still wearing the same outfit, while Johann wears a green top. Avi’s hand cups Johann’s cheek as they kiss with their eyes closed. Six small hearts surround them. The final sketch is of them as chibis. Avi is still wearing the same outfit and Johann is wearing the bardic outfit again. Avi is sitting on the ground as Johann prepares to do his hair, looking to the side and blushing. Johann is smiling softly. End ID.

[sepetajmikolikomehoces]

Okay, I have finally recuperated after yesterday's getting home-snafu. In the process of trying to get to the train station, I ended up missing my train and the only available options was either paying an assload for an evening train ticket or a slightly smaller assload for an even later evening train ticket.

Smaller assload it was.

Anyway.

Good GOD what a weekend. Putting it under the cut.

I have been so hyped about seeing Kuumaa since we got tickets in February and fucking hell if just the prospect of seeing them hasn't carried me through this year amidst finalizing my divorce and dealing with the aftermath of that on top of work and school.

The friend group I have been so lucky to be welcomed into realized that four of us would be going to Kuumaa, and when we found out Kä would perform at Tullikamari the day after we all realized we could go and bought tickets, deciding along the way to make a pikkujoulut-weekend of it complete with secret santa and everything.

Kuumaa are just... insane live. I had some expectations, but I was not ready for Johannes kicking us off with a very stripped down version of "Tarkotin sua". Everything after that was just highlight after highlight. Some of the songs from their earliest album were slightly unfamiliar to me, but still fucking slapped. Bawled my eyes out during "Luotan tulevaan" as predicted, had chills down my spine for all of "Tuiki tuiki" and felt like my soul was soaring as 10 000 of us sang along to "Ylivoimainen". Insane, and it took me a while to land from that experience and fall asleep later.

Saturday was Kä day with my beloved potatoes @frikatilhi @harmaanoita @punanenmarli @meerkathideout and @maladroitoracle. Gifts were exchanged, Marli also got an additional late birthday/early Christmas gift in the form of a Fisherman's rib cardigan, and my lovely meerkat got their very own Jure sweater.

This was probably the absolute chillest pregigging ever, and I want to do this every time. We piled six people into a car meant for five and went and had pasta dinner at a place near Tullikamari, then showed up just as doors had opened. Still got an excellent view, and holy shit, THE GIG.

So many people have already talked about how incredible the gig was and I can only echo the sentiment. "Ready to go" is the fucking BEST opening song, Kä was so happy all throughout the gig, the yapping was A+ and I fucking died when we got "Rock Rock" AND "Menestynyt yksilö" on the setlist. Getting "Urheilujätkä" after some chanting was just the cherry on top, and of course Jesse was missed, but if nothing else, this is proof of how beloved he is.

Had the most fucking Fenno-Swedish encounter post-gig. Guy comes up to me and meerkat and this happens:

Guy: Hey, are you from [region X]?

Me: ....yeah?

Guy: I FUCKING KNEW IT, I COULD TELL. Where from, north or south?

Me: Well, technically neither???

Guy: No, no, you're either from the north or the south!

Meerkat: How about "secret third option"?

Guy: The fuck does that mean?

Meerkat: [explains]

Me: Yeah, so I am from [place]. Hence "secret third option".

Guy: OH FUCKING HELL.

He then turns around and yells for his friend. Who is also from the same place as me (though apparently doesn’t live there anymore). We spent five minutes just making sure we weren’t related. We weren't. But still. Can't go fucking anywhere without finding some sort of connection to home.

Six people, a five seat car repeated on the way home, and we first spotted the Kä bus coming towards us, screamed a little, then had to immediately freeze because we passed a police car. Then realized five seconds later the Kä bus was a little ways behind us. Exit pursued by the Kä bus.

Can't thank my lovely potatoes enough for this weekend, and I hope we can do this again (not necessarily with back to back gigs involved) very, very soon.

[evilwriter37]

first, i'm really happy to hear about your insurance!! im wishing you alllll the best!🫶

second, im nervous about the state of the world right now, so i'm bringing a little distraction in the form of a rtte time-travel au i've been thinking of👀

so, i don't know from what point Hiccup would travel back in time, i'm doubting between the end of rtte or from httyd 2, but something goes BIG wrong and he dies, and then wakes up back in his body at the start of rtte. he doesn't understand what happened until the twins bust in with Johann between them, who tells him Dagur escaped—the gods have basically given him a second chance! (and for my own joy, Toothless traveled with him<3).

he makes his inventions early, upgrades the tail to the newer model, and plans out his steps with the knowledge of the future he has. he struggles with it at first, seeing Dagur like his old self again instead of the friend he became, knowing of the war that comes. but he's older now, and even if he doesn't want to think about it, Viggo did teach him a lot, and he's using that to his favor. first of all: he makes sure Dagur never finds out about the Dragon Eye. he hides it in his saddlebag before they come out of the Reaper. it's a big part of why the hunters and the riders fought, after all, it's better if everyone thinks it's still gone (im torn between Hiccup keeping it a secret from his friends too, for extra angst, or if he, because he's older, knows they work best as a team).

also, speaking of Viggo, Hiccup would 100% take the chance to rile Viggo up, to cut into his operations, stalking hunter ships before they even know he exists. but he wants to do it differently, this time. he knows that Viggo can be changed, so he needs to build this relation carefully. he frees dragons, of course, but he tries to keep damage to a minimum, and, for the kicker: he leaves the maces and talons "dragon" piece in the empty cells after raiding them. gotta make sure Viggo knows he plays!

anyway, yeah, i have a ton of ideas but i just wanted to share them and see what you think! (i just love time travel aus hihi)

Oh my gosh, that’s such a cool idea!!! Do Hiccup’s friends ever find out about this?

And omg, just… waking up in his younger body must be a shock. There are probably scars that he had that are no longer there! (That would be so angsty.)

This whole concept is so awesome! I love the idea of him taunting Viggo while also wanting to try to make peace with him.

Hiccup has so much more knowledge of the world now and how things turn out, that I wonder if he ever feels overwhelmed, like he has to fix everything that went wrong in his eyes.

Love this! Thank you for sending! And yes, the insurance approval is a huge fucking relief, oh my god. (Also anxious and scared about the world right now. We gotta hang onto each other.)

[ultim8lif34rm]

i hope my previous ask wasn't sent accidentally.. that would be embarrassing.. i typed midway and it crashed during class sigh. and hello again :)

funnily enough i immediately took a nap when i saw your response to my ask and i dreamt of you and maria stargazing on earth. on a hill. or rather a grassy field now that im further recalling it. it was nice, you two looked happy. ive never gone stargazing before. hope to experience it one day.

out of curiosity i searched up the constellation and i couldn't find any stories/significance of it. could you share it w/ us? or perhaps maria liked it because it looks like a chameleon

sorry for the long ask. i wanted to type it all out before i forget, and i didn't want to flood your inbox. hope your day goes well.

- 💫

That explains the random one word notification I got then. That dream sounds very calming. I had many of those dreams myself after her passing. I bet she's still doing it up in the afterlife. The significance to the Chameleon constellation was because it was first depicted in Johann Bayer’s star atlas, Uranometria in 1603. The fun fact that Maria made her like that specific constellation was simply because its' second name is called 'The Frying Pan' in Australia. I think that's a good story to why. Thank you for the question.