#that's right it's all because.....actually i have personal stakes in that if the point of life / Worth As A Person isn't wholly found within

[dreaming-of-epiphanies]

𝓪𝓬𝓪𝓭𝓮𝓶𝓲𝓬 𝓻𝓲𝓿𝓪𝓵!𝓣𝓸𝓶 𝓱𝓮𝓪𝓭𝓬𝓪𝓷𝓸𝓷𝓼

Description: A series of headcanons about being Tom Riddle's academic rival because let's be real, that's definitely the trope he'd have.

A/N: While I work on part 2 to Locked Out (and hype myself up to post smut for the first time... on that note, check out the poll at the end of this please!), I thought I'd share this! academic rival!Tom is my favorite.

Warnings: Suggestiveness (like very clear, but not spice... yet).

Additional notes: I'm not sure if this'll make sense, but if you want to hear the vibe I get when I imagine academic rivals Reader x Tom slowly falling in love, listen to Champagne Coast by Blood Orange, specifically the part starting around 1:53. :)

Okay I've been talking too much so here are the headcanons:

--

Your rivalry starts off early, like first or second year early. Tom is used to being the only one to answer questions in class (or at least answer them right), so when you raise your hand and beat him to it for the first time, he’s immediately intrigued (and annoyed) by you. 

The rivalry is a one-sided one for a couple of years, until near the end of fourth year you ask the professor about O.W.L. exams and if you should start preparing for them over the summer. Tom takes this chance to scoff and rather loudly remark how he’s already started studying- over a month ago, in fact. You fix him with a pointed stare and innocent smile, saying you were simply asking for the other people in the room, and that you’d actually begun two months prior. 

When you’re both chosen as prefects for fifth year, the stakes become higher. Tom makes it a point to brag about his marks whenever you’re near. He even goes so far as to boast about them in class when he knows you’ll overhear him. He’s trying to intimidate you and make sure you know he’s the top student. What he doesn’t expect, however, is for you to stalk up to him one day in the library and shove your paper in front of his nose. You scored half a point higher than him on your latest Defence essay. And that right there is when Tom realises he might’ve messed with the wrong person. 

He’s always glaring at you from that point on. He’s always looking at you in class; while you’re studying in the library; during meals in the Great Hall. And you’re glaring back. If he beats you to answering a question right in class, your glare is shooting daggers at the back of his head. When he grabs the book you need to write an essay before you, you watch him until he’s done. The second he is, you snatch it out of his hands and he watches your retreating form.

He memorises when your prefect schedule is so he can study more during those times. Now he’ll have a slight edge on you. What he doesn’t know is you’re doing the same thing when he’s on patrol. 

You start to sit next together in class, just so you can see the annoyance on the other’s face when you answer first. Really, each of your scowls are so satisfying. Has Tom’s smirk always been that cute? 

He doesn’t admit it, but he likes your rivalry. He likes the challenge. He likes being up against you. He tried to challenge someone else in a class you don’t share once, but it wasn’t the same. 

If you get the same mark, you both go to the professor and ask for feedback. Whoever gets the least amount is declared the unofficial winner and you correct your essays together in the library, exchanging glares every so often. Over time, these glares turn into glances.

And you start studying together nearly every night as well. It only makes sense- you’re in the majority of the same classes and you have to make sure you each have all the opportunities to get the best score. Maybe he marked down something you didn’t. Maybe you heard the professor hint as to what would be on the exam while he was preoccupied taking notes.

When you get sick, he gives you an exact copy of his notes. He has to make sure you stay a formidable opponent to him, after all. He wouldn’t want his win to be hollow when he does score higher than you. 

Everything changes when you’re paired together for a project in the winter of sixth year. You have to have productive conversations and not just argue about your marks. You meet in the library more frequently (even though you study there together every day). And when it closes, you both go to his dorm to continue working on it. Seeing Tom in his dorm casts him in a new light. You’ve never seen him outside of the library, class, or the Great Hall before. Is that why you’re suddenly captivated by how he looks?

The project opened up a new avenue of communication with Riddle now: friendly conversation. He’s surprisingly enjoyable to talk to. You find yourself laughing with him more than you should. Academic rivals aren’t supposed to look forward to seeing each other, are they? 

And yet you do. You always glance at him in the Great Hall or the corridor. He nods when he meets your eyes. Then you start smiling at him when you see him. He smiles back. And then he starts meeting you outside of your classes when you have a period apart, and walking you to your next one or to the library or the Great Hall. 

You start congratulating each other when the other scores higher than you. You start looking forward to the smug smirk you give each other. Why does your stomach flutter at his triumphant smile? Why does he think about the proud look on your face whenever he closes his eyes?

It isn’t until Tom skips one of your studying sessions and you miss him that you realise what’s happening. Merlin’s fucking beard, you’re in love with him you might possibly have a very small crush on him. 

And now that you’ve realised it, you can’t shut it off. The spark of happiness you feel whenever you see him. The heady rush you feel when he steps too close to you. The butterflies in your stomach when he meets your eyes. You’re falling, and you’re falling fast. (You’ve already fallen. So hard.)

Tom realises it one day when the two of you are reading by the Black Lake and you abruptly put your book down, running and leaping into the water. It’s so unexpected and he can’t deny the way he wishes he could freeze time when he sees you get out of the water, your dress soaking and hair dripping as you come and sit back down next to him, purposefully flicking some water onto him. 

Now that he’s realised it, he can’t stop looking at you. He couldn’t stop before either, but now he really can’t resist. The way you laugh. The way you smile at him. How you briefly touch his hand to get his attention when you’re studying in the library one day. It takes everything in him not to reach over the table and haul you into his lap right then and there to kiss you.

Of course you both think about kissing. A lot. Like, more than you know you should. When Tom’s head is bent over his parchment and you’re staring at his lips, the sweep of his hair, the firm grip of his fingers on his quill. What else could he do with those fingers? Tom can’t seem to tear his gaze from your mouth either. When you’re at the Three Broomsticks one day for a Hogsmeade trip and you pop a teacake into your mouth, he literally has to close his eyes to look away. The image is seared into his mind and he keeps picturing the way your fingers hovered at your lips at the most inopportune times.

This all comes crashing down one day when you get a perfect mark on an exam Tom knows you didn’t study as well as he did for. You start arguing and before you know it, it’s turned into a full-blown shouting match. You’re screaming at him for being a prick, he’s shouting at you for being lazy, and then he loses his train of thought because his attention is suddenly diverted to your lips. You stop screaming when you see his odd stare. He looks up in confusion before seeing your eyes are on his lips. And then all of a sudden you’re kissing and he has you pressed up against the wall. 

The kiss escalates fast. Years of pent up tension and feelings let out and as soon as it’s over and you’re lying together on his dorm bed, Tom asks you to be his girlfriend. You accept. 

Your rivalry only increases after that but somehow it makes it more fun. Now you can argue about marks and make out in the Room of Requirement twenty minutes later. And if you score higher than him? Well, be prepared for the ferocity with which he’ll kiss you. 

You each get Head Boy and Head [Girl/Boy] in seventh year. You study together for N.E.W.T.’s. There’s nothing left to compete for, and once you graduate you fear your rivalry will dissipate. But no, it remains just as strong, just with other things now. Who will be the first to make coffee for the other in the morning? Who will suggest the best date night idea? Who will propose first? (Tom wins that one). 

At your wedding, everyone’s speeches in some way mention the rivalry that brought you two together and how glad they are that it's stopped now. You just roll your eyes and smile at each other because you know it never has and never will stop.

And when your first child starts showing signs of competitiveness, the two of you exchange a knowing look and finally decide you can both be the winners. (Each of you secretly thinks they won, though). 

--

A/N (again): So if you read Locked Out (linked at the top of this post!), it's set up pretty well for a spicy part 2. I've never posted spice before, but I want to, so do you guys want that as well? (I'm making part 2 no matter what, already over 4000 words in!)

@viperify thought I'd tag you here since we both love academic rival!Tom 🤭

[accursedthing]

This election was decided by a Democratic candidate that refused to campaign on anything but "I'll do as little as possible to change anything" to an overwhelmingly dissatisfied population. You can blame every individual voter who didn't do what you wanted them to, or you can blame one actor we all knew was doing it wrong, who was yelled at for months that they were doing it wrong, and did it anyway. Are we really going to blame the political actors and system that created this situation or a public whose voice is repressed at every opportunity? Be serious

[the-judicial-assistants-notebook]

why didn't they just use franziska for literally all of this.

[littlematchagirlll]

one of my friends (also a leftist) said that because we live in utah, it doesn't matter who he votes for, and there's no way he will vote for a "fucking cop who was complicit in genocide."

he is telling his friends in utah that they have zero say in who is president, so they shouldn't vote for harris.

and, i love him, but i think that line of thinking is really damaging.

if the stakes were lower for this election, then sure! i'm all in favor of third parties, and i do think that should be more normalized. it would be great to get to a point where we have more viable options than just democrats and republicans.

but this election is against trump. if trump wins, we get project 2025.

this isn't your father's republican party that just wanted to lower taxes and have more free trade. we are looking at rights being taken away for several marginalized communities. major changes that will set us back decades. there is too much on the line, and harris needs every single vote she can get.

saying you won't vote for harris because you live in a red state and don't think your vote will count... like a vote for a third party will??

you're really just saying that you don't mind trump winning, or if you do, you aren't willing to actually do what it takes to stop it.

as for being complicit with the genocide, aren't we all? our tax money is going to the genocide. we are complicit, whether we like it or not.

and harris has openly advocated for a ceasefire! also, do you think trump won't be complicit in the genocide? do you not think he would actively support israel? i'd rather have a president that calls for a ceasefire than one who doesn't. i'd rather have a president who is willing to push back on israel than one who be pushed around by israel.

there's more hope for a ceasefire with harris than there is with trump, and that's worth something.

my friend said "when people look back at your history, don't let them see your name next to a war criminal's."

honestly? in this election, i would rather have my name seen next to harris because that shows i understood that the future of our country and the safety of its citizens was more important than my personal moral superiority.

i don't just vote to make a fucking point. i vote because it impacts people's lives.

it seriously feels like some people are okay with watching the country burn, as long as they feel morally superior.

[cum-aside]

Ok it’s not like I go here really, but I’ve been reading a bunch of DPxDC recently because it’s very good, and I had an idea that won’t go anywhere

The various gangs in Gotham have callsigns/uniforms or something right??? If not, they should, and imma say they do. Anyway. Redhood I think didn’t think too hard about what people in his gang on his turf should wear for identification purposes, but they sure did. And what they came up with was Red.

Wearing red in the vicinity of the ‘Bad Part’ of Gotham?? Part of the red hood gang. Generally head gear is the preferred method of wearing red. Red hats and beanies, red head scarfs and hijabs, red headbands, red masks. The idea has been communicated. To a certain point, wearing red even if you aren’t officially part of the gang is a great way to get an in with them, or be under protection if you’re the right age in the right area, as long as you’re willing to risk getting roped into low stakes gang activity, which can range from working the counter at money laundering sites to community service (guarding clinics and shelters and volunteering) to making deliveries to destroying certain hostile architecture. (Hood saves the real jobs with cops and shootings and turf disputes for actual members, that he knows the names faces and skills of, and who are at least above 18, but preferably over 20, and who wear real gear he supplies them with, not just whatever’s in their closet that’s red) (this does not entirely stop the smaller ‘members��� from getting into their own fights with the cops and turf wars, but Jason has found that giving them Something to do that feels like direct action helps curb those tendencies. And it’s not like those things aren’t things that don’t need doing, so it’s a win win. Mostly)

Danny, bless him, does not know any of this. But has been staying in the sketchier areas of Gotham because that’s where people don’t care how old you are or if your papers are real or not, and he absolutely does not want people looking into how old he is and wether his papers are real or not. He is also wearing an inadvisable and vaguely conspicuous amount of red. His converse are red, his signature baseball tee is white and red, and his hoodie is also red.

Clearly, this kid (he’s like 17) really wants in with the hood gang.

And eventually, they oblige him.

Random people will approach Danny and ask/tell him that them and a couple others are going somewhere to do (insert vaguely/definitely illegal job or act of community service here) and Danny, who is deeply directionless in life currently, and also pretty assured in his ability to eat danger for breakfast, and has never met an institutional authority he doesn’t disrespect at least a little bit, is totally down for some civil disobedience and chaotic good shenanigans.

And then it spirals from there. Like. A worrying amount.

It takes Danny actual months, almost a year, to realize that he’s been low key slow cooked into the criminal underbelly of Gotham, and like… he’s not really mad about it?? Honestly if he had a choice when he came to Gotham, he probably would have picked the redhood gang anyway. He just seems to vibe with them on a… Spiritual Level…

Hm

Anyway

Years go by, and while Danny doesn’t have the most going for him in terms of a normal person life, vis a vis higher education, official employment, health insurance, dating life, or any other benchmark one uses to measure the trajectory of their lives— Danny’s feeling pretty good! Jazz, Tucker, and Sam have all finagled their ways into Gotham, (Tucker has a WE internship, Jazz is working/doing work studies at Arkham, Sam does what she likes now that she is a legal adult and has her inheritance, and what she likes is environmental activism, and occasionally being spotted with fellow activist Damian Wayne, and someone who may or may not be poison ivy, sources differ) and Danny finds his obsession suspiciously well served as a hood goon. Hood hench? Redgoon? Hench hood?? Name pending, who cares.

Danny is also suspiciously good at, well, his job. One of the best runners, even when he gets caught and frisked they never seem to find the goods on him (they never do check IN him, but then why would they) very well liked at every volunteer spot they have, patient, kind, funny, good with old people, kids, bitter people, addicts and the homeless, the sick and injured. And yet also very competent in the field, when they finally let him do actually dangerous things. Act as protection detail to the working girls in the red light district, he’s very respectful, and very good at intimidation, de-escalation, and when push comes to shove, excellent in a fight. Knows when to keep pressing his advantage and when to make a retreat with whoever he’s guarding. Not afraid to fight scrappy, and presses through pain and fear like a true gothmite.

He gets so good at his not really a job job that he becomes essentially, Redhoods right hand man.

The rest of the bats are skeptical of this for several reasons. Because generally speaking, the people in Jason’s turf are not fans of the bats, but Jason does a lot of coordinating with them, and someone so close to him is going to pick that up eventually if they’re half as sharp and useful as Danny is. Other than that, secret identity issues, plus pit rage, plus the fact that Jason trusts pretty much nobody. But Jason has great feelings about this guy, he always feels more clear headed and even keeled when he’s around, and he helps Jason remember the community he’s trying to build, and the community he serves. Also he delegates and mother hens like nobody’s business, but Jason just really can’t seem to work up too much irritation about it.

It is around this time, however, that the past, and shady government organizations come knocking.

Perhaps the GIW has also noticed how ecto-contaminated and lawless Gotham is and decided that they could start doing research and experiments with its live and undead denizens instead of amity, where the portal has closed, and ghost activity is down since phantom disappeared. Or maybe the GIW has finally located phantom specifically and is interested in what they’re always interested in. Or maybe it’s various ghosts harassing Danny to take up the throne, which he’s been avoiding successfully, but having settled into a life routine that suites him his core has finally ‘settled’ (halfa cores fluctuate more than other cores due to the transient nature of being alive, but halfa people settle into lifelong patterns and relationships quicker than other people because of the static nature of being dead) he is mature enough by ghost standards to assume the throne, or at least begin preparing for it.

Regardless, danny is being tracked down for his childhood baggage’s extended warranty, and brings the entirety of the JL and almost all associated sidekicks, hero group spin-offs, and organizations into the thick of it.

Idk. I just got through Secretary Danny by DeathlySilent13 on ao3 and I thought man oh man wouldn’t it be neat if Danny got to be Jason’s second in command instead??? That could open up a lot of avenues I haven’t seen yet. I’m also just very curious about how the Jason’s runs his gang according to the fandom, and I think that with all the ACAB energy Danny has been assigned, he should have a little bit of community focused organized crime. As a treat. Like I said I don’t go here thou, I just needed to put this somewhere and see if it vibed with anybody besides me

[angellic4l]

don't hate the player - d.m

massive thank you’s to @esote-rika @wheresmacoffee @notlongtolove @floraisunwell @mggslover my absolute angels!!!

in which; fem!bau!reader goes to a jazz bar and bumps into the last person she’d ever want to see

content: flirty!derek, fem!bau!reader, angst!!, they fight sort of, reader hates morgan (i promise there’s a point to this) mentions of sex but no one does anything, swearing, alcohol consumption, reader wears a dress and heels

2.5k

a/n: i see basically no derek fics unless its smut (i dont read that) so i’m showing him some love!! i will continue with spencer fics im just stressing trying to write my ideas for him. kisses!!!

One of the girls’ playlists was blaring in the big bedroom, ‘Cool For The Summer’ reverberating off of the creme walls as each of you were primping and priming yourselves. Hair tools plugged in and on, makeup bags half empty with their contents spread throughout the room, and mirrors almost everywhere.

The night had been planned weeks in advance, and you were lucky enough to get the whole day off instead of having to use a sick day. It was one of your friends’ 27th birthday, and the first time you’d been out with your friends for a while, so all of you were buzzing with excitement.

She wanted to go to a jazz club, to ‘experience that ‘20s aesthetic’, in her words. You absolutely couldn’t wait to be celebrating your friend in a jazz bar, imagining soulful music as the soundtrack to your night, espresso martinis, and just having fun with your friends while you got ready.

Once done fixing your hair, you turned off the curler and unplugged it, setting it back on the heat proof mat before grabbing your hung up dress from the top of a door. You changed in the bathroom, stepping into the dress so as not to mess up your hair. It was the perfect mix of elegant yet sexy, form-fitting in the right places, but not too much skin on show to be deemed inappropriate.

After taking photos with and of the birthday girl, and then a group photo of you all on a polaroid camera, a taxi was ordered to the house. Excitement gathered in your stomach, the realisation that you were actually going out for the first time in forever, to celebrate one of your closest friends’ birthday no less, setting in and making you feel giddy.

As you all walked into the jazz club, you were greeted with a dimly lit room, illuminated with orange lighting to give it that cozy, intimate atmosphere. Red brick walls, decorated with vinyls, paintings, and wall lamps, were lined with brown leather booths. The sweet symphony of the saxophone softly sailed through the place before settling in your ears.

For the first time in a while, you felt alive, truly alive. Of course, working in high stake situations, apprehending some of the worst criminals known to man, and acting in life or death situations constantly fills you with adrenaline. That would be considered as feeling alive by most people, but it isn’t.

In this moment, you felt electric. You were on a high, not because of adrenaline, but because of pure euphoria. The atmosphere was welcoming, intimate, and so full of passion. You and your friends were all sat around a table sharing anecdotes, laughing, drinking, and just having fun. There was nothing to worry about, no nerves about a phone call from Hotch, no having to filter what you say.

It was pure bliss, everything you’d been missing for a while, and you felt like nothing and no one could bring you down from this peak.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

Being so in the moment with your friends, enjoying good gossip and reminiscing on your uni days together, meant that you weren’t really checking the time, nor did you care to. Subconsciously though, you figured it had been at least an hour since you’d arrived; 12 five minute songs had been performed, give or take.

Everyone was taking turns buying rounds, the group had agreed on it before the night. It was your turn to buy everyone’s drinks now. The bar was popular, but it wasn’t packed like a club was, and for that you were thankful. Carrying a tray of drinks back to the table, in heels no less, would’ve been a nightmare.

Standing at the deep brown, oak bar, waiting for the drinks, you watch your friends laughing and giggling. The contentment you felt still hadn’t gone away, coursing through your body as if it were inside every red blood cell, depositing this gleeful energy with each pump of your heart. A few moments pass before you turn your attention back to the bar, leaning on it ever so slightly, observing how the drinks are made.

Suddenly, you feel a presence to the side of you, but you figure it’s just another patron buying a drink. Then, there’s a voice. An all too familiar voice that seems to not only pull you down from your euphoric high, but plummet you deep into the depths of anger, too.

“Pretty girl, fancy seeing you here,” he almost sings and you can hear the arrogant smirk on his face without even turning to face him.

“Morgan. Please, for the love of all things good, do not talk to me,” you try to remain as civil as possible, he hasn’t actually done anything yet, and you’re not horrible.

Derek raises his hands in some mock surrender, but his smirk never wavers. Sometimes you wondered what it would be like to humble him, wipe that smirk off of his face, and bring his ego down a few notches. Immensely gratifying, you’d decided a while ago.

To put it simply, Derek Morgan was everything you hated about men in today’s society. He was a cocky, arrogant, bastard with little to no regard for people’s feelings. And the worst thing? He talked about women as if they were conquests, notches in his bedpost, trophies for his fucking shelf. It pissed you off to no end, how he could act like the women he ‘dated’ or slept with weren’t real people who deserved basic human decency.

But, you worked with him, day in and day out, and you weren’t about to lose your job over someone as insufferable as him. Besides, as much as you could hate his self proclaimed ‘CasaNova’ ways, he was damn good at his job, and he hadn’t done anything to you directly. He was fully unaware of the stance you’d taken against him, and he hadn’t done anything to require you airing out your grievances. Yet.

A long suffering sigh escapes your gloss coated lips as you come to terms with these facts, realising you can’t be hostile to your coworker, even if you’re not at work, because he doesn’t even know you have a problem with him.

“Look, Morgan, I’m sorry for that, but I’m here with my friends, celebrating, and I want absolutely nothing to do with work right now,” you murmur, still leaning across the bar.

“Look, mama, I get it. Jus’ didn’t wanna be rude, that’s all,” his tone is soft, softer than you’ve ever heard Morgan speak, and it’s filled with understanding. To say you’re shocked would be an understatement.

The pair of you exchange small smiles, a fleeting farewell, before he grabs his drink and leaves. Maybe you’ve misunderstood him, even if you don’t agree with what he stands for, and maybe you’ve been too impulsive with your initial judgements. Derek Morgan is a dick, but maybe he isn’t always a dick.

Drinks are passed around the table, manicured hands grabbing at various coloured liquids in different shaped glasses. Euphoria is long gone after your interaction with Derek, no longer on that high of serenity but in a sea of uncertainty. You won’t let yourself be a Debby downer on your friend’s birthday, though. Being a profiler means knowing all of your own tells, so you mask them well, putting up a front of glee until it isn’t fake anymore.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

Jazz music speaks to the soul, transcending all borders, dimensions, and whatever the hell else Reid talks about, to reach the quintessence of your being. Rhythmic notes reach deep until they’re at the core of you, becoming a balm to the very essence of yourself.

Being surrounded by something so passionate and deep works quickly to heighten your mood once more. The sea of uncertainty parts for serenity’s peak, the fake smile becoming real, and the way Derek’s surprising attitude had shifted your mood is washed away.

Out of nowhere, a server comes over to the table with a tray full of everyone’s exact orders, seemingly confident about the table number. She smiles at you, but your brow furrows with confusion.

“Oh, these can’t be for us, I just bought drinks,” you explain, confusion painting your face even more, bottom lip jutted out ever so slightly and a small wrinkle in between your eyebrows.

“No, no, they are! That guy over there just ordered them all for you. Don’t worry, he didn’t touch them, just bought ‘em,” the server explains, pointing to none other than Derek Morgan, sitting at the bar.

All of the girls’ heads whip over to look in his direction, finding the man sitting on a bar stool next to his friends, but his attention isn’t on any of the guys. Instead, his gaze is on you, a soft smile playing at his lips, watching expectantly. For what, you don’t know, but it seems shady. If you know anything about Derek, it’s that he doesn’t do things that don’t benefit him directly. God, it’s almost too predictable, sending drinks to a table of pretty girls, hoping to luck out and get some.

Clearly, your own friends don’t share the same sentiment, because there’s a chorus of ‘awh’s once they recognise him as Derek. None of them have met him before, but they’ve seen pictures, having stalked each of the BAU members after your transfer request had been accepted.

The birthday girl says your name, almost as if you’d personally offended her, while hitting your arm lightly. For a moment, you’re afraid Derek sending you all drinks genuinely did offend her, but she’s speaking before the worry takes root.

“You didn’t tell us he was hot! My god, look at those muscles,” she raves, rolling her bottom lip beneath her teeth while staring at him past your head.

“Hot? You’re kidding, right? He’s awful.”

“He just bought us all drinks! That’s not awful, that’s lovely.”

“No, but he’s not actually like that. It’s just a ploy!”

“Not everyone has ulterior motives. I think you’re letting all that crime stuff get to your head.”

“You don’t see him like I see him, he’s really no-“ she cuts you off.

“Can I go for it? Am I his type?”

You actually have to bite back a scoff at that, because anyone that breathes is basically Derek Morgan’s type. He’s not good enough for your friend, not for any of them, but you know her well enough to see that she won’t listen to a bad word you say against him now. Truthfully, you’re resigned, you don’t care, it’s her choice. If she wants to make the bed and share it with him, she can lie in it, too.

“You’re stunning, of course you’re his type. Be my guest,” and the second the words are out of your mouth, she’s walking over to him like a lioness about to pounce on her prey.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

For the rest of the girls, two drinks becomes four, then shots, and before they know it they’re slurring their words, no longer making any sense. Of course, you’d come out tonight to celebrate your friend’s birthday, to have fun and let loose, but you also know that at least one of you needs to be somewhat sober.

Not to say you’re entirely sober, because your inhibitions are definitely a little loose, but it’s the kind of drunk that reduces your filter and boosts your confidence. You’re still in full control of yourself, just maybe not your mouth. Or your bladder’s strength, ever since you broke your seal.

Walking back from the bathrooms through a larger crowd than there was before isn’t too difficult, but the singer on stage now is semi-famous in the jazz world, so people are treating the bar like a concert, standing in your way. Succeeding in your mission to get through the crowd, your speed picks up once you’re in the clear, the clack of your heels becoming more frequent.

In your rush back to your friends, you aren’t properly taking in your surroundings, gaze trained on the table to ensure they’re all alright. Thus, you’re quickly met with something hard, prompting your foot to slip, and you stumble backwards.

A large hand reaches out quickly, grabbing your hip to stabilise you and resting there to make sure you’re alright.

“Watch your step, pretty girl,” the hand says and you know the voice too well, the nickname slipping off of his tongue like it’s nothing, and suddenly your eyes are on Derek Morgan’s face once more.

How fucking embarrassing.

“Oh gosh, ‘m so sorry, I didn’t even realise,” you rush out, not even thinking about the fact that the man you have a massive issue with has his hand on your hip still.

“Don’t apologise. You can push up on me anytime you want to, sweet thing,” his voice is smooth, tone suggestive, and the smirk on his face is one you’ve seen plenty of times before. When he’s talking to pretty female police officers on a case, after he gets a girl’s number, when he’s talking about his rendezvous to Rossi at work. The fact that it’s being directed at you makes you feel a bit sick, to be honest, and it’s definitely not the martinis.

Any and all uncertainty you had about Derek Morgan’s character is gone in a flash, as is the serenity, and is instead replaced by an overwhelming fire of rage because he is exactly what you thought he was. He’s a pig, a disgusting one at that, and no small one off conversation, or him buying your friends drinks, or how good he is with kids, or how great he is at the job will ever change that in your eyes.

While the alcohol may not be making you feel sick, it’s definitely doing a whole lot for this rage, feeding the flames and giving you the confidence to finally give Morgan a piece of your mind. However, you still have some semblance of self control and so, you hold back a little, but not completely.

“As if, Morgan.”

“Pretty girl, you don’t gotta play hard to get.”

His arrogance drips from every word that leaves his mouth, seeping from his pores like sap from a tree. The fact he genuinely believes that you aren’t saying no, is so full of himself he believes your dismissal is you ‘playing hard to get’ enrages you even more, fueling the fire of your rage for the last time. Grabbing his hand on your hip and shoving it off, you start talking, tone as bitter as ever.

“I am not playing hard to get, Morgan. I simply do not want you.”

“Woah, sweetheart, what’s all the hostility for?”

“Because you’re a classic player! You have no respect for women. You just think they’re there for you to fuck and move on.”

“You know what they say - ‘Don’t hate the player, hate the game.”

“No. I do hate the player. You’re a self centered, egotistical, whorish bastard who doesn’t see women as anything but notches on his fucking bedpost. You don’t have any fucking respect for anyone that isn’t beneficial to you. People are not pawns in your game, women are not queens waiting to be conquered. Grow the fuck up, Morgan.”

Your words wiped the stupid smirk right off of his stupid face, left him speechless and expressionless, like a deer in headlights. Like your words, you left him standing there too, heading back to your friends at the booth. You were right. It was immensely gratifying.

tags: @darkmatilda

[gossippool]

every day i wake up and think about the fact that wade was special forces. and no there is not going to be any singular coherent point to this post this is just every thought and headcanon i have ever had about it

but like he will never not be a soldier in every single way. there are things he's learned that he's had to do like how to shoot and clean guns and how to survive torture and how to stake out a place and address medical emergencies, but there are also the other things like focus and discipline and communication, right. and this absolutely has an effect on many things that he does

in the case of an emergency, he can lock in and focus on the task he needs to do no matter what. wade as a person is very in touch with his emotions, but he can switch that off when necessary. we saw this when he was protecting vanessa in deadpool 2, and that was before vanessa was even physically injured—if he has to deal with a severe injury of a loved one, his special forces training would override any personal emotions he feels. and wade is intrinsically selfless, but his training has definitely helped hone that mindset: leaving no man behind, service before self. he was literally trained to put his life on the line for others and this is a theme we have seen in every single movie. doing the experiment for vanessa over actually caring about his own life, literally dying for russell, sacrificing himself so logan can live.

and even in daily life he is very attuned to his surroundings and body language. he knows how to carry himself, can change the tone of a conversation through the subtlest shift in body language. if he's angry or displeased, his tone could remain as lighthearted or nonchalant as before, but the air will shift ever so slightly to let you know that he's serious. and that is Scary. he can be so intimidating when he wants to be

also ! his identity as a soldier itself was protection for him. this is more symbolic than anything but Look at this:

this is by no means the special forces uniform or even a military uniform in general but this outfit choice was definitely meant to mimic it (vanessa is also wearing the same army green). it's literally armor for him in preparation for receiving bad news. like a soldier going to war

all this to say that he is an incredibly capable man and a soldier at his core and did not need protecting even before he became deadpool. not only that, but he is often the most qualified and skilled person around, which necessitates him doing the protecting most of the time. but just because he doesn't need protecting, it does not mean he doesn't need protecting on a mental and emotional-connection level. this is why logan is so good for him, because he's one of the only people in the world who understands this and can actually do something about it and will take a bullet or two for wade just because he can

[aislebewithshu]

𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐢𝐬 loveit?

x gender neutral reader.

wc: 468

cw: yandere, mentions of cannibalism (in a metaphorical sense), character death, dismemberment (but not too graphic), vomit/throwing up, dark content basically. DIRECT references to the song loveit? and love eat and also based on the revenge theory bcs ppl have different interpretations towards this song lmao (and it made a dent in my brain forever. thank u to that one that came up w the theory).

dead dove, do not eat.

author notes: hi it's been a while since i last wrote anything.. i mean anything at all.. this (obviously) might not be the accurate representation to the songs HNFF pls i tried considering other theories... thank u for reading!! scroll away if uncomfy <3

red. It is the color he could only see.

how putrid, he thinks. seeing so many people surrounding you, it irks him. how could you talk to these… lowly creatures undeserving of your presence? he eyes you like a predator, watching your possible next move. oh, how he loves that horrified look you have for a second the moment you laid your eyes on him.

“come on, eat it, darling."

he urges you as you hesitantly look at the ‘food’ served to you, then back at the male. what could he put here that he insists that you eat the meal he prepared? you take a bite, and he smiles.

it was the meat of the person you last talked to, he whispered. the moment he said that to you, you immediately threw up, not letting said human meat inside your system. disgusting, vile, even uncanny.

he was pleased, after all, you wouldn't let anyone in your life except for him, would you? the first question in your mind was, why? why, would he go lengths, as to butcher one's body just because you talked with them? he hates that you're giving all your attention and affection to that insignificant pest.

he also has to stake claims to you - a mark that you are his. that's why he proceeded to gouge out your right eye. it was excruciating, but what mattered to him is that he put a mark on you forever, and he plans to do more.

after all, love makes everyone blind, even to those who think they've seen what true love looks like.

"i'm going to eat you, sexually unrestrained."

oh, why can't you say anything? you're not fighting him back, so you must like the pain he's inflicting from you? poor thing, but he loves you too much to let you go. he promises to eat you up, deep into the marrow, flesh and blood.

that is, until you snap.

cupping his cheeks with your stained hands, you gaze into his eyes. it is uncharacteristically loving, to the point that it freezes him on the spot. what are you going to do next? he thinks.

bringing your lips to his, he indulges in the sick, yet passionate kiss, as you bring your hand to take his knife. you wrap your arms around him as he does the same, tracing lines at his back with the knife you're holding, bringing your beloved to his beautiful demise.

"you're loveit in human form."

surely you haven't lost your mind? of course, love does make everyone blind, even him. your ultimate intentions— on why you had to indulge in his twisted whims, why you didn't fight back, it all made sense to him now. after all, he fell into the fake love you presented before him, a punishment you endowed on him for killing your actual beloved.

enstars - shiina niki, tenshouin eichi (hear me out), fushimi yuzuru, saegusa ibara, shino hajime, sakuma ritsu (honestly i cld put the whole niki's kitchen circle here)

twst - trey clover, jade leech, jamil viper

bllk - mikage reo, kaiser michael, bachira meguru (hear me out pt. 2)

hsr - jiaoqiu

+ your faves.

©AISLEBEWITHSHU on tumblr. do not repost / feed to AI.

[caesarflickermans]

SUZANNE COLLINS: SOTR EXCLUSIVE EDITIONS INTERVIEW

This is a transcript from the Barnes & Noble / Waterstones exclusive edition interview. To my knowledge, they are the same.

Not to be confused with interview on her website, which you can find here.

transcript below

DL: Did you always know you’d write a novel about the second Quarter Quell? If not, what compelled you to return to this particular point in the Hunger Games timeline?

SC: I always start with the underlying ideas—in this case, implicit submission, the uncertainty of inductive reasoning, propaganda, love—and they find their way to the story that supports them. But yes, I think I did want to do Haymitch’s story because I’ve always known that the version Katniss and Peeta saw on the train was very misleading. When I landed on implicit submission and its dependency on propaganda, Haymitch’s was the natural tale to tell. Just like the state of nature debate led naturally to Coriolanus’s story.

DL: The quote at the start of the book from the philosopher David Hume is a very telling one. It starts, “Nothing appears more surprising to those, who consider human affairs with a philosophical eye, than the easiness with which they are governed by the few; and the implicit submission, with which men resign their own sentiments and passions to those of their rulers.” This feels like a key to the entire book.

SC: If all people do is read the full Hume quote and discuss it, this book has been a win for me. This quote invites so many questions. Like, “Do you think Hume is right? As human beings, do we ultimately end up being governed by a few people? Not in, say, a totalitarian state, but in a democracy?” (After thinking about it, every single person I asked about this said yes. No one seemed happy about it.) “But why have we resigned our own sentiments and passions to those rulers? Why are we implicitly submitting to this? Especially since force is on our side, as the governed.” Hume answers that for us. We’re allowing ourselves to be controlled by “opinion.” And that’s where propaganda comes in.

All right, then, “What propaganda do we all consume on a daily basis that maintains this status quo? Is it harder to maintain in an autocracy or a democracy where we pride ourselves on our intellectual or political freedom? How much propaganda does it take to make you think that implicit submission is what you want? Is it inevitable? Is there a way to protect ourselves against it? What would that entail?”

DL: Haymitch is starting at a very different place than Katniss or Coriolanus—while his life has had its sadness, it’s largely been a good life so far. How does that change the stakes within the novel?

SC: Yes, his life has been largely good. A loving family, good friends, the love of his life. A sweet part-time job that may lead to a profitable, if illegal, career. He’s happy except for the shadow of the Games that hangs over them all. So, emotionally, his loss is the greatest because he has the most to lose. And unlike Katniss and Coriolanus, who have loved ones to the end, Snow tries to strip Haymitch of everything: family, friends, lover, job, community, happiness, and the freedom to love anyone. His personal stakes couldn’t be higher.

DL: What was it like to be creating a new work that you’d already loosely outlined in Catching Fire?

SC: Actually, it helped. Younger me provided a protagonist, his arena, his overall arc, and some of the cast, including Maysilee Donner. Having to build off the recap, not having everything to decide, meant some extra challenges on the plotting side, but ultimately it was freeing. I just had to work within what was established. Of course, knowing that the narrative had been manipulated into a piece of Capitol propaganda gave me a lot of freedom as well. 

DL: It’s such an interesting scenario, to have our very reliable narrator understand that he is surrounded by so many unreliable narrators — and that, in fact, unreliable narration is a powerful political tool. The “card-stacking” that helps him a little in the beginning (with Plutarch using the manipulation as an excuse to give Haymitch time with his family) ends up being existentially overwhelming when Haymitch watches the “recap” of the Games and realizes how history is truly written by the victory (and not the Victor). To me, this felt like the biggest revelation to Haymitch — the sheer degree of manipulation. Can you talk a little about how this revelation about propaganda sits within the larger scope of the series?

SC: After he watches the reaping on the train, Haymitch realizes that he’s the Gamemakers’ puppet and that they will manipulate his image and actions to serve their needs. Within the arena, he can only wonder what they’re showing the audience. But the full force of their deception doesn’t hit him until he sees how completely they’ve changed his story the night he’s crowned. Remember, too, that in order to appease Snow and protect his loved ones and, when that fails, to fulfill his promise to Lenore Dove, he has to carry the Gamemakers’ narrative forward as the absolute truth. It’s an enormous burden that he bears alone because all of his allies who lived the truth are dead. Keeping the real version straight in his own head while promoting the fabricated version would require constant vigilance. But deep down, even through his white liquor fog, he realizes it’s imperative that he do it. If he can’t distinguish between the two, the Capitol wins. This foreshadows Peeta’s hijacking in Mockingjay and reinforces the question the whole series asks about the information we’re consuming: “Real or not real?”

DL: If I could give you a time machine back to when you were writing Catching Fire, would you have asked yourself to do anything differently?

SC: No, but maybe in the Mockingjay book. I might have shortened the period between Haymitch being crowned victor and when he loses his family. It doesn’t need to be two weeks. Although it does give Snow an additional window to torment him in the Capitol. But really, he could have gone straight home after the Victor’s Ceremony.

DL: Besides Haymitch, was there any other character from the trilogy that you particularly enjoyed revisiting in Sunrise?

SC: I love doing all of them: Plutarch, Effie, Beetee, Mags, Wiress, Burdock, Asterid. Getting to share who they were and what motivated them. They didn’t arise fully formed in the trilogy. All the characters are on journeys. Beetee losing Ampert, Effie clinging to her Capitol beliefs, Asterid healing the sick in 12, Plutarch still staying in the games. Everybody has their own story.

DL: One of the most fascinating things about seeing the Games play out over time — going from the Tenth to the Fiftieth to the Seventy-fourth and Seventy-fifth — is understanding both the evolution of the Games and the evolution of the roles within the Games. In particular, I’d love to ask you about the contrast between Drusilla and the Effie of the Trilogy. There seems to be a profound generational difference that shapes their view of their role in the Games — and, indeed, seeing the start of Effie’s relationship here made me suddenly understand the dynamic that must have governed District 12 tributes for the next twenty-five years. Can you talk about what makes Drusilla tick versus what ultimately makes Effie tick?

SC: As escorts, both Drusilla and Effie are ambassadors for the Hunger Games. Drusilla who lived through the cruelties of the Dark Days, has channeled her experience into vengeance against the districts. She’s dehumanized her enemy, referring to them as beasts and pigs, and she has no qualms about ushering the piglets into the arena. Effie, born decades after the war, has embraced the Hunger Games as her patriotic duty. She’s been raised on them as necessary evil and a reminder of a war that Panem can never afford to repeat. Unlike Drusilla, she believes all the participants have a noble role to play. That begins to wear thin over the years. Every Games it becomes harder to justify the atrocity. You can see her clinging to good manners for reassurance of humanity’s decency. But in terms of the Hunger Games, Effie being assigned as their escort was a lucky break for District 12. She might be ridiculous, but she’s not malicious.

DL: Even though Maysilee is mentioned in Catching Fire, we really get to know her for the first time in this book. In many ways, she’s not so much defined by her privilege as she is by her lack of control over her life — when we first talked about her, you said she was “indentured into a life she doesn’t want.” What do you think fuels Maysilee, both in the arena and out of it?

SC: Rage. She’s one of the angriest characters I’ve ever written. She’s mad about the injustice of the world she’s born into and not it threatens and limits her life on every level. Before she’s reaped, that just manifests as meanness. But once she’s reaped, she begins to evolve and focus that emotion on the Capitol. She remembers who the enemy is.

DL: Snow makes quite an appearance when he arrives at Plutarch’s apartment. What was it like to see him in this era, after spending so much time with his younger self when writing Ballad?

SC: When I started working on this book, for the first time Snow and I were about the same age. We’re both entering our third act. I could feel his middle-agedness in mind and body, imagine his lost and realized dreams, and sense the cost of maintaining them. He's devoted his whole life to controlling Panem. But the work will never be done. It's exhausting.

Emotionally, he's beginning to reflect back on his life. His loves and losses. His resentment at the Heavensbee library when his own childhood books were burned for warmth, his cynicism over Haymitch's romance, his fear and loathing of District 12. I enjoyed having Lucy Gray's memory rise up and disrupt his life.

DL: And poor Haymitch doesn't even know why he's setting Snow off! But that does lead me to a question about Lenore Dove, who has grown up in a very different Covey world than Lucy Gray. How do you feel her outlook is shaped by her Covey roots?

SC: Lenore Dove romanticizes the Covey's prewar days as itinerant musicians on the open road. She also knows the losses that followed, the murdered parents and orphaned Covey children. And in particular, she's haunted by the fate of Lucy Gray. She wears bright bits of Lucy Gray's dress about her person and keeps her forbidden lyrics alive in private performances for Haymitch and Burdock. The Capitol has never meant anything but oppression and pain for her people; and that fuels her desire to bring it down.

DL: And how did Poe become such a part of the book?

SC: Haymitch's love needed a name. Since she's Covey, that starts with a ballad. I knew she'd died young, as Haymitch mentions this in Mockingjay. So, love of his life - her early death + his relentless grief = Edgar Allan Poe. I’m right back at the Romantic poets again. Even then, I’ve got several poems to choose from — “Annabel Lee,” “Ulalume,” “Lenore,” “To One in Paradise” — but I couldn’t resist “The Raven.”

DL: One of the things I love about Ballad and Sunrise is that they make the series much more about “the long game,” showing that the events of the trilogy don’t happen because the right girl shows up at the right time, but because of decades of planning. In many ways, Plutarch’s extremely ambiguous role is the biggest acknowledgment we have of long-game tactics. I don’t want you to try to pin him down here — I know he is ambiguous for a reason — but perhaps you could discuss his role.

SC: Plutarch’s the master of the long game. In Sunrise, we see him as a young man who’s convinced the government needs overthrowing, but he’s just taking his first baby steps. by the time we get to the trilogy, he’s masterminding the rebellion. He’s built a network in both the districts and the Capitol. He’s found an army in District 13 and allied with Coin. When Katniss shows up, he’s got a Mockingjay for his propaganda. He orchestrates the Airtime Assault that brings down the Capitol. And he manages to do all of this while convincingly playing a Gamemaker.

He doesn’t glorify humanity. At the end of the war, he tells Katniss, “We’re fickle, stupid beings with poor memories and a great gift for self-destruction. Although who knows? Maybe this will be it, Katniss.” And when she asks what, he answers “The time it sticks. Maybe we are witnessing the evolution of the human race.” So, at heart, he’s an optimist. He doesn’t accept that war and self-destruction are inevitable. Plutarch believes that we’re all on a continuum. We’re all ultimately playing the long game. You may fight your whole life for a greater good and never see the fruits of your labor. Plenty of people have done that historically. And so he tells Haymitch, “You were capable of imagining a different future. And maybe it won’t be realized today, maybe not in our lifetime. Maybe it will take generations. We’re all part of a continuum. Does that make it pointless?” I think that’s a question we all have to ask ourselves.

DL: When we first discussed the manuscript, you told me, “Books are part of Plutarch’s privilege.” In seeming contrast, there is the transmission of stories through song that we see echoing within Haymitch. I’d love for you to share more about this and the role books and songs play in the storytelling within this series.

SC: The Heavensbees have enormous wealth and privilege and, largely thanks to Trajan Heavensbee, that has allowed them to collect and protect an impressive library. The only other personal collection we’re sure exists belongs to the Covey. Much smaller, of course, but it’s apparently got some great books in it. Poetry, philosophy, literature, and at least one guide to raising poultry. The only book the Everdeens owned was the edible and medicinal plant guide they made themselves. That expands into the memorial book at the end.

District 12 doesn’t have many books, but they have plenty of songs. Why? Because a book can be burned, but you can’t burn a song. It can be passed along from person to person without a trace, no physical form required. Theoretically, you could commit a book to memory, like in Fahrenheit 451, but that’s a talent not everybody’s going to share.

By the trilogy, the songs have been discouraged as well. Under Snow, the live music in 12 devolves from the Covey performing in the Hob in The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes to a trio of instrumentalists in Sunrise on the Reaping to a lone fiddler (Clerk Carmine) in the trilogy. Lucy Gray’s songs, which Katniss sings unaccompanied in the trilogy, are held in memory and are passed along orally. Snow would love to stamp them out entirely, not just because he doesn’t like music, but because they’re powerful politically. A protest song like “The Goose and the Common” can articulate an injustice, stir people up, and become a rallying point.

DL: Just because you mentioned it, I’m going to ask: Are Snow and Clerk Carmine the only two people we see in Ballad, Sunrise, and the trilogy? (I won’t ask what Tigris is up to during Sunrise, but whatever it is, I know it’s good.)

SC: Yes, I think it does come down to Snow and Clerk Carmine. A handful of Snow’s classmates might still be around by the trilogy, but they’re not named characters.

DL: I’m fascinated by the surface similarity of Katniss’s, Coriolanus’s, and Haymitch’s family structures. All have dead fathers. All are being raised by a mother or grandmother. All have a single sibling or cousin in their care. But even if the structures are alike, their experiences vary. In what ways do you think they were shaped similarly by this structure and in what ways were their upbringings different?

SC: You see this a lot in books for young audiences, where the protagonist is orphaned or placed outside of parental protection, leaving them to fend for themselves. It requires them to be responsible for their own survival and choices.

Haymitch has always had at least one functional parent, which is not true of the others. I think this has allowed him to be more open-hearted and optimistic than the other two heading into the story. Coriolanus is orphaned during the war and his grandmother does an impressive job keeping him and Tigris alive, but by the time that book opens she lives in her own world and her grandchildren care for her. Katniss loses her mother to grief and depression when her father dies and becomes her family's provider and protector at age eleven. Haymitch doesn't have to take full responsibility for himself until he's reaped.

DL: The role of the sibling (and I count Tigris as a sibling) is also so important within the series, to the degree that, in this book, becoming a "found" sibling is the highest mark of trust. Can you talk about exploring that dynamic within the series?

SC: In Ballad, when Coriolanus is filling out Lucy Gray's questionnaire and there's no place to record her cousins, he thinks, "There should be a place for anyone who cared for you at all. In fact, maybe that should be the question to start with: Who cares about you? Or even better, Who can you count on?" There's the family you're born into and the family you choose. All the protagonists have trustworthy families to begin with, but they adopt "found" siblings as well and those bonds are born of experience. Maysilee for Haymitch, Finnick for Katniss, even Sejanus for Coriolanus. People who care about you that you can count on. They replicate the natural sibling bond and aren't limited by biology. All of them ultimately find siblings among people they once viewed as antagonists.

DL: With the Newcomers, we see a different angle to the presentation of alliances within the Games — and in some ways, this alliance is in conversation with the alliance that forms in Catching Fire. In many ways, alliances are the unsung hero of the series, especially when we look at the long game. What does Ampert establish with the Newcomers that echoes throughout the series?

SC: Ampert’s laying the groundwork for the rebellion later with the district alliance in the third Quarter Quell. It’s a work in progress. Even in the trilogy, we’re well into the war before the rebels finally get all the districts on board. But Ampert’s message wins out. “We don’t have to put up with living under the Capitol’s rule. We have greater numbers, more power, more strength. We can change our lives.”

DL: I love how within Sunrise we see how Mags’s and Wiress’s mentoring styles contrast — and neither one is at all like Haymitch’s mentoring style in the trilogy. I can’t believe I’ve never asked you this question before, but of all the characters we’ve seen across the five books, which one would you most want to be your mentor?

SC: Haymitch, but not until the trilogy when he pulls himself together. Before that, I think I’d go with Mags, who’s brought home several victors while retaining her humanity.

DL: How thoroughly do you outline before you start writing?

SC: Pretty thoroughly, this time more than usual. I started with Post-its and laid out everything that was established about the second Quarter Quell in the version that Katniss and Peeta watch on the train in Catching Fire. Then I added in a few things that Haymitch mentions to Katniss in Mockingjay. And finally, I overlaid that with the story of what really happened. Additionally, I had to weave in characters and events from the past and the future.

There are a lot of balls to keep in the air. Multiple versions exist of, say, the reaping: the one we live through with Haymitch, where Woodbine gets killed; a second that’s aired to the public after the delay; a third of Plutarch’s card-stacked edit that they broadcast the night of the reaping that includes footage of Ma and Sid; and a fourth version played during Haymitch’s Victor’s Ceremony, which seems quite close to the one Katniss and Peeta view, but it could have been tweaked a bit over time. It’s a lot to keep straight.

DL: In terms of the smaller connections between this book and the other books (like the use of the word sweetheart or the presence of geese in Haymitch’s early story), were these things you knew going into the book from the start, or were they things that happened when you were putting words to the page?

SC: These were things I knew about, but I didn’t know if I’d ever write Haymitch’s story and have the opportunity to lay in their history. So many things are like that when you’re building a world. But Haymitch’s decision to tend geese at the end of Mockingjay wasn’t random.

DL: And, of course, for my final question I need to ask... what do you have against gumdrops?SC: Not a thing.

[misfits-in-motion]

bleed me dry (vampire!frank iero x reader)

i fear i should js make it known i dont proofread. i dont word count. i write until it feels right and just GO so... yah ^^ anyways ermmm thats all i have 2 say OH and lowercase this time. feels more... good. if you guys hate it i can change it back to proper grammar n shiz

summary: you're aware of vampires. you know they exist. everyone in your town does, but they pretend like they don't. they know how to handle a vampire. they know how to get rid of one. vampires basically became part of the town like any other animal, person, or landmark. but it was a bit odder when your boyfriend of a month had been turned.

tw/cw: erm,,, lots of symbolism. a lot of it. gore/blood/biting/bleeding etc. and a lot of vampric tendencies used as symbolism/metaphors for love and smeggs,,, perhaps slight slight tensions. not smut, probably just'll get a liiiitle steamy,,, mostly fluff and a bit of silliness, too ^^

⠀in your town, vampires were like another day to day thing. curfew was advised, but not enforced. mostly because vampire related deaths had decreased significantly when townsfolk actually began carrying around holy water and crosses and stakes. things leveled out, and it became commonplace to kill vampires and call the exterminators to get rid of the body. and even then, vampires learned to stay away from people. once vampires stopped killing people, they became sort of... okay. people weren't fond of them, and occasionally you had people who befriended vampires or remained close with vampires post-turning. it was just normal.

⠀no-one really questioned or spoke about it, either. if you saw someone speaking with a vampire, you looked the other way. there were vampire-only bars. you could donate blood to a number of places to feed vampires because that was seen as a way to tamp down human deaths. you had even donated a few times. long story short, the townsfolk and vampires coexisted. a close yet distant relationship, parallel.

⠀as per usual, you went through the routine of doing your usual home lock-up. you remember doing it when you were little, walking around your house and checking every window and door after everyone else as if inspecting it to make sure it was up to par. you had just recently moved into your own place, and thus were keeping up the usual routine. at the end of the day, the last thing you wanted was death by bloody violation.

⠀with everything secure, you headed to your bedroom with a yawn. you finished up the last of your routine, getting a few things set up for the next day so that future you wasn't too pissed and past you for making you rush against the clock. you pulled yourself into bed, rubbing your eyes and yawning again when it dawned on you. you hadn't heard from your boyfriend, frank, for a few hours. usually, he would at least text you to let you know he was okay. he was childish and and asshole in that endearing sort of way, but not to the point of ignoring you. maybe he just got caught up in band practice. that wasn't too far off. frank's relationship with music was intense, and you could admire it. brushing it off as best as you could, you rolled over and attempted to let sleep overtake you.

☾•☾•☾

⠀when your body jolted awake, you initally assumed you came out of some nightmare that you'd begin to remember momentarily. but the moment never came. you were just awake. eyelids wide and staring up at your ceiling. was this sleep paralysis? you tried to move your head. well, certainly not sleep paralysis. you looked at your clock which read 2:23. good. you could at least go back to sleep. that was, until you caught the faintest bit of movement behind your curtains. a small creaking sound, almost as if something was being scraped at. picked at. great. mice. rats. something. that's what you wanted to believe, anyway.

⠀everything in your body told you to go lay back down. pretend you never heard anything and that it was some weird case of being out of it that caused you to hear such noises. that was easy enough to do, at least before you seized open your curtains and laid eyes on frank, your boyfriend, sticking a pocket knife between your window and the windowsill.

⠀bewildered, you unlocked the window and slid it open. "i have a front door. more importantly, i have a phone, and what exactly are you doing outside my window!?" you whisper-shouted. frank stopped, eyes a bit wide and face laid into an expression of realization.

"ohhh.... yeah, that would have made a lot more sense to do, huh?" he let out an apologetic, almost forgiveness seeking, giggle.

"just get your ass inside."

⠀frank complied, and squished himself into your room through the window. a slight chill followed him, and once he was inside, he shut the window and locked it just as you had. assuming nothing was really wrong, you headed back for your bed. it wasn't uncommon for frank to crash at your place just because he wanted to be with you.

"wait- wait, wait. i actually had a reason to come here, and i think the adrenaline and urgency is part of what made me... choose your window."

⠀confused, you turned and sat on the edge of your bed. frank, almost pleadingly without words, got to his knees in front of you and took your hands in his. you reserved anything to say, because quite frankly, you didn't know what to say. his behavior was strange. there was usually only one reason he liked to be on his knees in front of you. considering his expression and the tone of his voice, you didn't think this was that sort of thing.

"something... happened."

"...what?" instantly, your mind went for the wort, and it seemed like frank could tell, because he began shaking his head quickly.

"no-! no, no, no, nothing like that, no- never... i... i was... okay," he took a breath and wet his lips, seemingly trying to find the words, "i was out with the guys. fucking around like usual... and they- they fucking- they told me they got turned. like willingly, i guess. mikey's girlfriend, and then one of gerard's friends did him and ray... it's- it's a whole fucked thing but- but i- they- i did it, too."

⠀instantly, you wanted to pull away. not entirely out of fear for him, but perhaps fear of change. of the new. you had never been in close quarters with a vampire before. frank felt the slight tug of your hands, and squeezed them tighter in his own. "please, don't be scared of me. i'll loose it if you're scared of me, baby, please... just... just... just listen to me. i don't want to turn you, too, or anything- unless you want me to- but.. i... i just needed you. i needed you because no one else would understand and i just knew you would understand..."

"... what now..?"

⠀frank's eyes were shifty. glancing around to different parts of you. your throat. your wrists. your thighs. you weren't stupid. you knew what he was thinking.

"frank." your voice was soft, yet direct. "ask."

⠀instantly, it seemed like a weight fell from his shoulders. he relaxed visibly, and his eyelids slid half-way over his eyes. "i'm just so hungry, and i don't know where the blood banks are, and i'm so scared, and this is all so new, and-" you pressed a hand to his cheek, turning his face up toward yours.

"you're only going to take what you need, right? i- i don't want to die, if that's alright with you." you laughed lightly.

⠀frank nodded eagerly, and you pulled your hands back away from him. you shifted back on your bed, frank following you as if you were magnetic and drawing him in. as you leaned back, he leaned in. you were now only rested up on your elbows, frank hovering over you with one leg slotted between yours and the other over the outside of your thigh. he lifted his hand to smooth your hair back, then leaned in to press his lips to yours tenderly.

"i'll be careful. promise." he murmured.

⠀you tried your best to relax under his touch, one hand bracing your side while his other hand held to the back of your neck. you stared up at him, his features barely illuminated by the faint moonlight spilling into your room. he leaned down, and you felt your heart pound faster. his breath hitched as if he felt your blood rushing in your veins. with every inch he got closer, your heart beat even faster. then, he sank his teeth into your throat.

⠀the pain was unexpected, causing you to gasp. once you familiarized yourself with the feeling of his teeth piercing your skin, it became less painful and moreso uncomfortable. your blood being drained from your throat, the feeling of his teeth slotted deep into your neck. it hurt less than you thought, and part of you felt as if you could get used to this.

⠀what brought you out of your trance was the sound of frank moaning. whining. small noises that came from his throat as he tasted you. as your blood coated his tongue and throat and seeped into his tastebuds and filled his stomach. he moaned like he never tasted something so good before, and good didn't even begin to explain it. his fingers dug into your side, balling up your pajamas in his fist while his other hand gripped your neck.

⠀he was taking you in a brand new way. you kind of liked it. he sounded so pretty, and he was still warm, still pressed close to you, holding you as if he'd never hold anything else so dear to him. you could feel the slight sting of his nails dug into your neck, his hand breaking free just enough to grip into your hair and hold the roots in a tight fist. you whined, and instantly he pulled back. his lips were stained at their epicenter, a small trickle of blood coming from his bottom lip down his chin. shakily, you reached up to swipe away the bead. then, as if he knew what you had in mind, he opened his mouth a bit to allow you to swipe your thumb against his tongue. his grip tightened again for a moment, just at the sheer taste of you.

"are you okay..? did i hurt you?"

⠀you then realized he must have thought you whined in pain, which caused your face to flush slightly. "no.. no, you're okay. it wasn't that."

⠀his face lit up into an impish grin. and it was that exact moment you realized he hadn't really changed. physically, maybe. but he was the same frank. that shit-eating asshole, but at heart so beautifully emotional and himself. "you liked it, huh? when i pulled your hair?"

⠀you hesitated, then nodded slightly

he only gave a snide chuckle in turn. frank leaned down, dragging his tongue over the fresh puncture holes in your throat. cleaning you. he then pulled away, wetting his lips. you could tell he was still hungry. you moved your hand to pull your sleeve down your shoulder a bit, and upon realizing what this meant, frank leaned in with a fervor. again, you felt the sting of his teeth sinking into you, draining more of your blood second by second.

⠀you were now pinned by his weight, his hands pinning your wrists against the mattress by lacing his fingers with yours. he still made sure to tenderly rub the side of your hand with his thumb. frank was breathing intensely, his breath hot and heavy enough to create a thin film of sweat over your shoulder and throat. only now was a slight delirious feeling beginning to make itself known

⠀somehow, it made everything that much more intense. you could feel the way his fingertips traced down your forearm, moving one hand to brace the other side of your throat. still drinking, he began to slowly rut his hips. a subtle movement, but a movement nontheless. grinding against your thigh just because of the taste of your sweat, skin, and blood. he groaned lowly, his hand squeezing yours every once and while. you lazily lifted your hips, eager to meet his in some way, and he matched this by slotting his thigh firmly between your legs. you didn't know if he even knew he was grinding against you.

⠀seconds felt longer as they passed, and eventually you realized the room was spinning ever so slightly. you lifted your free hand, gently tugging at frank's sleeve. you hummed, trying to catch his attention in some way. and, though delayed, it worked. frank pulled away, panting as he licked at your fresh wound again and again as if it would spout any more new blood. you were his new addiction. he wasn't going to let you go any time soon.

⠀ finally, frank rolled onto his back, catching his breath most likely out of habit. "fuck... that was so good. you're so fucking good..." he giggled breathily, then turned his head to glance at you. "oh shit," he sat up, quickly taking you into his arms and helping you sit up. "are you good? are you okay? fuck, did i take too much? i'm so sorry, i wasn't fuckin' thinking and i was just tasting you-"

⠀lazily, you raised a thumbs up. he stopped his rambling and smiled.

"right. let's get you some band-aids and water."

AHHH this was so fun ^^ hope u guys likeeee comments and critiques in the notes plss !!!

[endless-ineffabilities]

So High School (2/2)

Bucky Barnes x f!reader

synopsis : the one wherein the reader and Bucky navigate the initial stages of falling in love, and well, it feels a whole lot like high school <3

themes : friends to lovers, jealousy, tension, mutual pining, fluff, everyone is alive!

word count : 4.3k ▪︎ masterlist ▪︎ part one

Bucky hears you laugh from inside your room, and it immediately lightens something in him. It helps, because the past few days haven't been great.

He hasn’t seen you since the night of his date. The next day, he thought he spotted you leaving the gym right when he walked in, but before he could catch up, you were gone. That felt like a punch to the gut, but he told himself he'd find you later.

Except, he didn’t.

You were ‘out’ according to the others, and for the next few days, it was the same thing. 

It's not you're dating or anything, Steve pointed out. She doesn't owe you her days.

Whatever, Bucky thought. The idea that you were too busy for him didn’t feel right. Maybe it was childish, but he didn’t care. He just didn’t like missing you.

Everything was better when you were around – when you flashed him a smile, even if it was for no reason at all. And now it feels like you’re avoiding him, and he can’t figure out why.

Another burst of laughter from your room pulls him back to the present. He raises his fist to knock on your door but pauses when he hears another voice. Another person’s laugh. 

You have a guy in there with you. Bucky freezes, hand hovering mid-air, but he quickly collects himself and knocks harder than he meant to. It's a relief he didn't use his vibranium arm, or he'll be doing some explaining to Tony.

Inside, the laughter stops. As it should. He hears FRIDAY announce his arrival.

“One sec,” you call out, and then, a soft, playful, “No, don’t – wait!” You laugh again.

You open the door with a smile that falters when you see Bucky. 

“Hey, Buck,” you greet, sounding surprised. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Bucky hesitates, eyes flicking past you into the room. The question slips out before he can stop it. “You got someone in there with you?”

Before you can answer, a gust of wind moves past you, and suddenly, Pietro Maximoff is leaning against the doorframe, his arm draped casually around your shoulders.

“Good morning, James,” Pietro says with that slight accent of his, flashing a grin. Bucky’s jaw clenches at how close Pietro is to you.

This – this – is what has kept you so busy? Hanging out with Pietro. His gut twists. Don’t you already spend enough time with the damn speedster?

You notice his reaction, quickly explaining, “We’re just playing video games. The new GTA came out, and Pietro introduced me to it, so we’ve been – ”

“Alone?” Bucky interrupts, immediately wishing he hadn’t. Of course, alone. You just said it was only the two of you.

“Y-yeah,” you stammer, slightly confused. “During our downtime.”

“You can join us if you want, James,” Pietro offers smoothly, stepping back to make room for him.

You hum in agreement, looking at Bucky with those soft, inviting eyes that he can never say no to. But the thought of sitting there, watching you and Pietro joke and laugh together, feels like too much. He’s not sure he could handle it without snapping.

He wants to storm right in there, and stake his claim, like some sort of caveman.

He wants to, and he knows it's ridiculous.

You're not his.

“Uh, I actually have to help Steve with something,” he lies, taking a step back.

Your face falls slightly. You looked disappointed at that. But why? Shouldn't you be glad to spend more alone time with Pietro? “Oh. Well, another time, then?”

“Yeah, another time,” he mutters, waving awkwardly as he turns to leave. He’s only made it a few steps down the hall when he feels a tap on his shoulder.

“Wait, Buck,” you say, stopping him. “Why’d you come by?”

He's stumped, because why did he? He wanted to see you, he wanted to hear your voice, he wanted to stare at your face until you frown at him and tell him he’s being weird.

“I just wanted to say hi,” he says, though it feels empty compared to what he’s actually feeling. “I haven’t seen you around.”

You smile at that. “Well, hello.”

“Hi.” He's so down bad, because it's just that - just hello - and his heartbeat is doing somersaults.

You start to walk backward, that damned smile still gracing your lips. “Okay, then. I'll see you around, Bucky.”

Before you turn, you pause. “Oh, by the way, how did your date go? You never told me.”

It’s strange. He’d almost forgotten about the date. He didn’t care much about it at the time, and now, it feels even more irrelevant. But you’re standing there, waiting for an answer, so he shrugs.

“It was... alright. She was alright. But I don’t think we’ll be going out again.”

Your expression softens. “Oh. I’m sorry.”

Why were you sorry? Did you want him to go on another date? Were you just fine with him being with someone else? Bucky's worried thoughts came flooding right in.

“Don’t be,” Bucky says, more honestly than anything else he’s said today. “I’ve got my eye on someone else.”

For a brief second, your face falters, but you recover so quickly that he almost doesn’t catch it. Almost.

“Okay, then,” you say, your voice a little quieter now. “I’ll see you later.”

You thought you kept your face blank as you walked back in your room, but maybe you've never been the best at pretending, because Pietro immediately corners you with, “What's wrong? It's James, isn't it?”

You sigh dramatically, “Yes... yes it is. Can never hide anything from you, Pietro.”

“Oh, please. I can literally see the tiniest switches in your expression before you even fully realise it.” He pats the spot next to him on the couch, beckoning to you. “Come here, tell Uncle Pietro what's wrong.”

You breathe out a laugh at his silliness, plopping down on the couch in a huff, “Well, Uncle Pietro, I think I may have hinted at this to you before but I – ” 

“ – like James.”

“Y-yes,” you say nervously, the confession enough to speed up your heartbeat. You had been planning to say this to Bucky, and make clear to him what everyone already sees, until he took someone else on a date. Your spirits were crushed, and instead of doubling down and swallowing your pride, you decided to steer clear of him for the time being.

“He likes you, too,” Pietro says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

You frown. “He flirts, but that’s just how he is.”

“No, sweetheart,” Pietro laughs, “to everyone else, he's like a grumpy old cat. When he saw me in here, I could swear he was ready to claw my eyes out. He would never catch me of course – ” you roll your eyes at that remark “ – but my point is, that grumpy old cat was jealous.”

“Of us?” you shake your head at how ridiculous it sounds. Pietro's always been like a brother to you, and Bucky would know that, if he chose to spend time with the both of you now and again.

But no. Every time he finds you with him, he's always had an excuse readily mumbled under his breath.

Pietro nods. “Jealous as hell. He probably doesn’t even know about Irina.”

“Your girlfriend?” You furrow your brow. “I guess not. He never sticks around long enough when we’re together.”

“Can't really share anything with Bionic Man because he always glares at me. Thanks to you.”

“How is that my fault?”

“You should make it clear that there's nothing going on between us.” Pietro slings his arm around you as a gesture of comfort. “And you should tell him how you feel.”

“Easier said than done,” you mumble. “Last time we spoke, he went on a date with someone else.”

Pietro responds nonchalantly, “Do you even know how that went? I bet he thought about you the whole time.”

That takes you back to the last thing Bucky said to you, giving rise to a mixture of excitement and apprehension. “Apparently he's interested in someone else.”

“Well, I'll be damned, sweetheart. He means you!”

You want to believe it. But wouldn’t Bucky have told you by now? Why is everything with him so complicated?

“What should I do?” you ask, almost to yourself.

He laughs freely, with the intention of placating your worries. All this unrequited love reminds him of those cheesy high school couples from the movies Wanda loves. He grew to like them, too, but he doesn't need to tell his beloved sister that.

“I think,” he exhales loudly, gearing up to share his advice, “that you two should get your shit together and finally get together.”

Even though you know he's right, with the most sarcastic tone you can muster, you say, “Thanks a lot, Piet.”

He shrugs, “Hey, I'm just saying. I'm sure everyone will agree with me.”

“Whatever,” you shrug, feigning ignorance at what is apparently the most obvious thing in the world. That is, except to you and Bucky. “Let's just play.”

You pick up your controller again, playfully nudging his side. The next hour passes relatively calmly, though filled with profanities shouted at the screen.

Your character robs a bank, steals a helicopter, buys a million-dollar mansion. But such heightened scenarios are not enough to distract you from thinking about him.

Your mind keeps wandering back to Bucky – how he went out of his way to see you, how he seemed jealous of Pietro, how he looked at you when he said he’s got his eye on someone else.

Maybe Pietro’s right. Maybe it’s time you stopped dancing around this.

Meanwhile, Bucky, in an attempt to clear his head, finds himself in the hangar with Steve, working on their motorbikes. Tools are scattered everywhere, but so are Bucky's thoughts.

“Buck, pass me that wrench,” Steve calls out, but Bucky’s mind is elsewhere, staring off into space.

“Bucky!” Steve calls again, louder this time. “The wrench.”

Bucky nearly startles, but he just ends up glaring at Steve. “Here you go, punk.” He hands him the wrench, but with that same blank expression on his face.

“Alright,” Steve sighs after a few moments, standing in front of Bucky with his arms crossed, “what's the matter with you?”

Bucky hesitates, but the frustration boils over. “Why is she always with him?”

Steve blinks. “With who?”

Bucky scoffs, “The white-haired guy who runs fast.”

Steve stares at his best friend for a second, then bursts out laughing. This is the man who faced down Nazis, HYDRA, and alien invaders. This is the guy who survived decades as a brainwashed assassin. And yet, the sight of you hanging out with Pietro has reduced him to a sulky teenager.

“Pietro, Buck,” Steve chides. “The guy's got a name. But you already know it.”

“Yeah. Him. What does she see in him?”

Steve shrugs, biting back another laugh. “Maybe she likes a guy who can make things happen quickly.”

There’s a pause as Bucky gives him the world’s flattest look. He crosses his arms, a faint scowl settling on his face. “This isn’t funny, Steve.”

Steve sets down the rag he’s been using to clean his hands, sighing. “It’s obvious, Buck. They’re just friends. You’re the one she likes.”

Steve tries to rein it in, clearing his throat. “Alright, alright. But seriously, she’s not into Pietro.”

"Could've fooled me."

Bucky’s head snaps up, a flash of surprise on his face. “What makes you think that?”

Steve crosses his arms now, mirroring Bucky. “C’mon, don’t tell me the guy with the sniper instincts can’t see what’s right in front of him.”

Bucky frowns, shaking his head. “You’re imagining things. She’s always with him. They’re always laughing. I mean, they spend so much time together, it’s like… What the hell am I supposed to think?”

“Look, Buck,” Steve begins, his voice more patient now. “You ever notice how when you walk into a room, her whole face lights up? She could be laughing with Pietro or Nat or anyone else, but when you show up, she’s different.”

Bucky opens his mouth to object, but Steve holds up a hand, cutting him off.

“She likes you, Buck,” Steve continues, leaning back against the wall now, more serious. “But if you keep acting like a brick wall and making excuses, she’s gonna think you don’t feel the same. You gotta talk to her before you lose your chance.”

Bucky’s silent for a moment, staring at the ground. He’s never been great at this kind of thing. Before the war, it was easy – go to a dance, flirt a little, share a drink or two. That was it. But this? His feelings for you aren’t simple. They’re big, overwhelming, and he’s terrified of messing everything up. 

He's about to grumble something in response when Sam walks in, oblivious to the heavy atmosphere he's just stumbled into.

“Y’all still messing with these bikes? I thought super-soldiers were supposed to be efficient.” Sam pauses, glancing between Steve and Bucky with a smirk. “What’s up? Bucky got another life crisis?”

Steve snorts. “Something like that.”

Bucky rolls his eyes. “Mind your business, Wilson.”

Sam raises his eyebrows, clearly sensing the tension. “Oh, this is about her, isn’t it? You still haven’t asked her out?”

Bucky groans. “Not you too.”

“I bet you’re doing that thing,” Sam continues, “where you’re all moody and brooding, thinking too much and not doing anything. You know, like you always do.”

“Wilson – ”

“Nope, don’t even try it. You know I’m right.” Sam smirks, leaning in like he’s got the upper hand. “You gotta make a move, Barnes. Like, yesterday.”

Bucky glares at him, but there’s no heat behind it. “You ever stop talking?”

Sam shrugs. “Not when I’m right.”

Steve laughs, shaking his head as he watches Bucky storm toward the exit, determination finally setting in.

As Bucky reaches the door, Sam calls out one last parting shot. “Remember, she likes you, man! Just try not to screw it up!”

Bucky flips him off without turning around, but his steps quicken.

“He’s gonna screw it up, isn’t he?” Sam grins, turning to Steve.

Steve smiles softly. “Not this time.”

Bucky isn’t sure why he’s ended up in the compound’s common room, but here he is, sitting stiffly on the couch, his metal hand resting tensely on the armrest. Steve’s words keep replaying in his mind like a command he can’t shake off: She’s into you.

He doesn’t know what to do with that. His emotions are wound tight – he’s not used to feeling this off balance. Not over someone else. And yet, here he is, feeling like he’s losing a fight he didn’t even know he was in.

Footsteps behind him break his train of thought, but he doesn’t turn around. He already knows who it is.

“Barnes,” Clint drawls lazily, strolling into the room, eyeing Bucky’s tense posture. “You look like you're one bad joke away from snapping this coffee table in half.”

Bucky barely acknowledges him, staring at the TV without really seeing it. “Not in the mood, Barton.”

“Clearly,” Clint mutters, dropping into the chair opposite him and kicking his feet up onto the coffee table. “This about her?”

Well damn, does everyone know?

Bucky’s jaw tightens. Clint isn’t someone he usually talks to about this kind of stuff, but the guy has some sixth sense for sniffing out trouble.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Bucky says, his voice low but tight.

“Right. Sure you don’t,” Clint shoots back, raising an eyebrow. “Listen, man, it’s pretty obvious. I mean, I’m no super soldier, but even I can see that she’s been on your mind. And for the record, she’s not with Pietro right now.”

Bucky’s brow furrows at that. He hasn’t asked, but apparently, Clint’s seen right through him. Again. “Wasn’t worried about Pietro.”

Clint snorts. “Yeah, okay. Sure. That’s why you look like someone kicked your dog every time they’re in the same room.”

Bucky shoots him a sharp look, but before he can respond, you walk into the room, unaware of the conversation you’re about to walk into. You’re holding a mug of coffee, your hair slightly damp, a relaxed smile on your face. 

Immediately, Bucky feels his chest tightening at the sight, his heart going into overdrive. 

“Oh, hey,” you say, your eyes landing on Bucky with a flicker of surprise. “Didn’t expect to see you here.”

Clint grins, clearly sensing the tension. “Well, I’m gonna go... do literally anything else.” He stands up, gives Bucky a quick slap on the shoulder, and makes his exit, leaving the room feeling somehow smaller.

You glance between the door and Bucky, your expression uncertain. “Everything okay?”

Bucky takes a breath, trying to steady himself. He doesn’t want to play games anymore, and he sure as hell isn’t going to beat around the bush. Steve’s words, Clint’s comments – they’re like a push he didn’t know he needed. An annoying push, but anyway. 

“Depends,” Bucky says, his tone firm but not harsh. His eyes meet yours, holding your gaze. “Are we good?”

You blink, surprised by the directness. “What do you mean?”

“I mean,” Bucky starts, shifting to stand up, his tall frame casting a shadow over you, “I feel like we’ve been avoiding each other. And I don’t like it, doll.”

Your brows furrow, and you look genuinely puzzled. “I’m not avoiding you, Buck. I’ve just been – ”

“Busy?” he cuts in. “I know. I get it. But you’ve been ‘busy’ a lot lately.” He steps closer, the intensity in his eyes making your pulse quicken. “And every time I try to talk to you, you’re not there.”

You’re quiet for a moment, the weight of his words settling between you. “I didn’t realise you felt that way.”

Bucky lets out a breath, running his hand through his hair. “I’m not mad,” he says, his voice softening. “I just don’t want there to be any misunderstanding between us.”

You hesitate, your fingers tightening around the mug in your hands. “Like… what kind?”

“The kind where I think I’m losing you to someone else,” Bucky admits, the honesty in his words hitting hard. But his tone isn’t desperate, just clear, like a man who’s finally decided to stop tiptoeing around the truth.

Your eyes widen, your face lighting up as you process his words. “Bucky… there’s no one else.”

He tilts his head slightly, his eyes searching yours for any sign that you’re holding back. “So what’s going on then? Why does it feel like you’ve been keeping your distance?”

You swallow, your eyes flicking away for a second before coming back to his. “I thought you weren’t interested in me. After you went on that date – ” 

Bucky’s eyebrows shoot up. “That date?” He almost laughs, shaking his head slightly. “That date was a disaster. I couldn’t stop thinking about you the whole time.”

The confession hangs in the air between you, and Bucky steps closer again, closing the gap between you. 

“You’ve been on my mind for so long, and I didn’t know how to deal with it,” he says quietly, his voice low but certain. “But I’m not going to make excuses anymore. I want this –” he motions between the two of you, “ – to be clear. No more avoiding each other. No more guessing.”

Your breath catches in your throat as you look up at him. “And what if I want the same thing?” you ask, your voice just above a whisper.

A faint smirk tugs at the corner of Bucky’s mouth, the first real sign of relief he’s felt in days. “Then I guess we stop pretending we don’t.”

For a moment, the world outside the room doesn’t exist. It’s just the two of you, standing close, the tension finally lifting as something else settles into place – something that’s been building for far too long.

Bucky’s eyes soften as he reaches out, his fingers cradling the side of your face. “You good with that, beautiful?”

You nod, a small smile breaking through as you look up at him. “Yeah. I’m good with that.”

A week later…

The common room is empty, the early evening sun casting a warm, golden light across the space. Bucky’s metal arm is cool against your waist, his other hand tangled in your hair as he pulls you closer to him on the couch, lips hot against yours. His kisses are insistent, hungry, like he’s trying to make up for all the time he spent keeping his distance.

You let out a soft laugh, gently pushing against his chest. "Buck, slow down. What if someone walks in?"

He pulls back just enough to give you a breath, but his blue eyes are dark, filled with that neediness you've grown to adore. His voice is low, almost a growl. "Don’t care. Let 'em."

You roll your eyes, trying not to give in to how badly you want him too. “I care. You’re acting like you’ve never kissed anyone before.”

His lips curve into a smirk, though there’s a hint of a whine in his tone when he responds. “Not like this, I haven’t.” He ducks his head back down, brushing his lips over your jaw, your neck, causing your heart to race. “C’mon, doll. Just a little longer.”

“Bucky,” you manage to say, “I’m serious. You know Clint has terrible timing, and if Sam – ”

“I’ll take them both down, baby,” Bucky mutters against your skin, his hands tightening on your waist as he presses himself closer to you, almost like he's trying to meld into you. “Let me have this.”

You shake your head, unable to hold back the grin tugging at your lips. “You're ridiculous.”

“Can’t help it. You’re too sweet. Been wanting this for too damn long.”

His honesty makes your heart skip a beat. There’s something so raw in the way he looks at you, and it sends warmth flooding through your entire body. 

“Okay, okay,” you say, laughing softly, giving in a little as your fingers trace the lines of his jaw. “Just... keep it down, alright?”

Bucky doesn’t need any more encouragement. He crashes his lips to yours again, and you melt into the kiss, his hand sliding up to cradle the back of your neck, his body pressing you back against the couch. 

“You’re not making it easy.” His voice drops lower, and you can feel the heat of his breath against your skin. “Don’t want to stop.”

“Bucky,” you warn, but your own resolve is crumbling fast. It’s hard to act like you don’t love this – the way he wants you, how eager he is, and how every time you pull away, he looks like he might lose his mind. “I’m not kidding. If we get caught – ”

The door to the common room swings open with a bang. You both freeze mid-kiss, your heart stopping as Steve and Tony walk in, mid-conversation.

Time slows to a crawl.

Steve's the first to notice you, and the moment his eyes land on the two of you tangled up on the couch, his entire face turns a deep shade of red.

“Oh, uh…” Steve stammers, shifting awkwardly as if trying to find the right words. “We didn’t mean to – ”

Tony, however, takes all of two seconds to assess the situation before his mouth curls into a wicked grin. “Well, well, well. Isn’t this cozy.” He claps his hands, clearly amused. "Barnes, didn’t know you had it in you, buddy."

Bucky groans under his breath, slowly detaching himself from you, but he doesn’t move far. His arm still lingers on your waist, like he’s not ready to let go just yet. You, on the other hand, are desperately trying to smooth your hair and fix your shirt, willing yourself to sink into the couch and disappear.

Steve clears his throat. “Sorry, guys. We didn't mean to interrupt.”

Tony raises an eyebrow, the teasing glint in his eyes unwavering. "Interrupt? It looked like Barnes was going to have to reimburse me for a new couch after what they’re about to do on this one.”

Bucky gives Tony an exasperated look, but there's a hint of pride in his smirk as he tightens his grip on your waist. “You’re hilarious, Stark,” Bucky deadpans, but there's a twinkle in his eye that shows he’s not as annoyed as he pretends to be.

“Seriously, guys, can we not make this a thing?” you chime in, cheeks burning with embarrassment. You’re trying to play it cool, but Tony’s relentless grin isn’t helping.

“Oh, but it is a thing now,” Tony says, waggling his eyebrows and reaching for his phone. “The Bionic Staring Man’s got himself a girlfriend and thought the common room was the place for... extracurricular activities.”

Bucky’s grip on you tightens, his voice low with a hint of a growl. “You take one picture, Stark, and you’re gonna find out how fast I can break that phone.”

Tony waves him off dismissively, completely unbothered by the threat. “Calm down, Terminator. I’m just documenting this historic moment. For science.”

Steve, clearly done with the conversation, shoots Tony a sharp look. “Tony, come on. Let’s just leave them alone.”

“Fine, fine,” Tony says, throwing his hands up in mock surrender. “But this isn't the last you're hearing about this.” He winks at you both and heads for the door. “You two lovebirds behave yourselves. Or don’t. I really don’t care.”

The door clicks shut, and you and Bucky are left alone again. For a moment, the room is completely silent, the ridiculousness of what just happened hanging in the air.

Then, you both burst out laughing.

Bucky leans his forehead against yours, his shoulders shaking with silent laughter. “You’ve gotta be kidding me.”

“Yeah,” you gasp between giggles, wiping at your eyes. “Next time, let’s not pick the common room.”

“Noted.” He leans in, his lips brushing yours softly, but there’s still that needy edge in his touch. “But, uhh, I’m not done with you yet, doll.”

You raise an eyebrow, trying to keep a straight face. “Seriously? After that?”

He shrugs, the cocky smile returning. “Can’t help it. My girlfriend is a right ol’ dime.”

You roll your eyes, but pull him – your boyfriend – back in for another kiss. 

He pulls away for a moment, only to say something that makes your whole world stop. 

“I’m so in love with you…”

taglist 💙 (commented on part 1): @asha-rahiro @ordelixx @sarah1barnes @geovana37 @cherrybitchh222 @tenderly-hopeful-devastating @cjand10 @dreamybabbyy @bxckybxrnes24 @blackhawkfanatic @buckyb-stan @ze-j @reputationgf-recs @chaotic-wanda @blackwidownat2814 @buckysbaby-doll @thebuckybarnesvault

[fuckyeahisawthat]

Fully prepared for this to be a minority position but I am deeply emotionally invested in Paul and Chani not getting back together in Dune Messiah. Not just because I love angst and tragedy (I do) but because I don't think there's a way to do it without undermining the narrative and character arcs that Dune Part Two executed so well.

Paul and Chani's relationship in the Villeneuve films exists on a totally different foundation from what's in the books. It's a political love story and you simply cannot separate out the politics from the romance. Their connection starts with the politics and the love is built on top of that.

It's not just that they happen to fall in love while fighting together in an anti-colonial guerrilla war; that is why she falls in love with him. Because he is willing to take the same risks as her in fighting for her people's liberation. Not by trying to impose himself as a leader (at first) but side by side with her as comrades and equals. Let me fight beside you. That's all I'm asking. He is quite literally willing to put his body on the line for a struggle that's been with her all her life, that she cannot escape, but that he could walk away from if he chose. And in fact he proves himself to be an asset and not a liability in this struggle and they start winning. And yeah that shit's romantic as fuck!! Kudos to whoever on the writing team was like actually direct action solidarity is sexy af because they were right and they should say it! There clearly is some attraction or at least interest in Paul on Chani's part from fairly early on, but it's only after he's proven his political worth, in battle, that she allows herself to trust him on a personal level enough to begin a romantic relationship with him. (And it's only after Paul takes off the Atreides ring, the symbol of the fact that he came there to rule over her, that the narrative permits him to advance to this point.) They could have been comrades but not lovers, but never the other way around, because there's no other version of Paul that this Chani would have fallen in love with.

It's important that they meet in circumstances where Paul has no structural power over her. Chani never would have trusted the Paul who stood in the colonial palace and pledged to "honor" Stilgar by offering him hospitality on his own fucking planet. Because she would have known, just as Stilgar did, that such an offer of fellowship, no matter how genuine and well-intentioned, is not made on equal terms. It's only once Paul has been forcibly separated from his colonial privilege that they have even a chance to approach each other as human beings. (And, in a sort of dark irony, that violence becomes a bridge that connects them. That Paul is driven not by abstract power games among the Great Houses but by real grief and anger over the violent death of people he loves at the hands of the Harkonnens must surely be something Chani understands. And it builds a level of trust and empathy between them, that she doesn't have to explain the stakes of what they're fighting for. He knows it in his bones.)

It's not a coincidence that all their explicitly romantic moments are shot through with politics. Their first kiss is wrapped up in a conversation about what it means to be Fremen and I would very much like to be equal to you. (Yes, he's flirting his ass off with that line, but I do think he is sincere.) Their single post-coital scene has I'm no messiah, I'm a fedaykin of Sietch Tabr--not just a commitment to her people and her home but to her specific form of political struggle in which he is joining her. Throughout their whole relationship, the personal and the political are so interwoven as to be indistinguishable from one another.

This kind of commingling of emotional commitment to a person with political commitment to a culture/people/cause could have very easily slid into something tokenizing or fetishistic, but the writing manages to avoid that by sticking very strongly to a couple of guardrails. One, Chani is not some passive prize to be won, but an active agent of her own liberation, whether Paul is in the picture or not. She is the Fremen liberation struggle within the political allegory of the film; she is its voice and embodiment from the moment we meet her. On a character level, she is doing her thing and it's up to Paul to either follow or get out of the way. Even though we know he is afraid of her dying, he never once suggests she leave the front lines of armed struggle (can you imagine?) because that struggle is such a fundamental part of who she is and what he loves about her.

Two--and this one is important for what comes next--the narrative never trivializes the political side of their relationship in favor of the romantic. The second Paul reaches for any kind of power over the Fremen, over Chani, the trust between them is broken and the romance cannot continue. She might still love him as a person--you don't just turn that off--but she cannot be in love with him as the Lisan al-Gaib, fulfillment of a false prophecy she hates; as the Duke of Arrakis, her colonial overlord; or as the Emperor of the Known Universe, overlord of her overlord. As soon as he pulls that shit he is just another colonizer and she's done with him.

And like, kudos to the narrative for being absolutely uncompromising on that point! That's what makes both the political allegory and the personal tragedy hit so hard! Paul, bro, you fucked that one up good and now you are Experiencing a Consequence! I LOVE that in the end, love isn't enough. All the love in the world isn't enough to keep Chani from walking out at the end of the film, because the foundation that love is built on is broken and cannot be repaired.

(I do believe that by the time he is declaring himself Emperor, Paul thinks he has no choice, that this is the only way to save the people he loves from any number of worse fates. But that, too, is a betrayal, of a kind I don't think Paul fully understands. Because either you think the Fremen are capable of governing their own planet or you don't. Deciding unilaterally that having a "friendly" imperialist in power is the best you can hope for is a profound denial of the agency of the people Paul claims to be doing this in the name of. It's either paternalism or despair, and neither are acceptable modes of thinking for a serious revolutionary. Chani would tell you as much.)

The thing with making a bold writing choice like that is that...you cannot then walk it back in the next film with Chani choosing to forgive Paul or coming around to seeing the world his way and understanding that yes it's politically unsavory and he's manipulating the people he said he was in solidarity with but this was the only way! If you do that then the whole framework of what the first two films are trying to say about power and imperialism and resistance and solidarity collapses into incoherence. On a thematic level Dune Messiah is all about the consequences of Paul taking power the way he did and these are the consequences.

And on a character level...I just don't see any way to come back from such a deep betrayal. Even if some part of Chani still loves him. Even if she's pregnant with his child(ren). (We have like, zero information about how movie Chani feels about family and pregnancy and childrearing that would indicate that she would care one bit about her children's biological father being involved in their lives when he is otherwise busy being a space dictator.)

There are several categories of scenarios I can think of to get Paul and Chani interacting again (she goes back to him as a spy/assassin; she's brought back to the palace under some sort of duress, "for her safety" or even as a political prisoner) but none of them involve them being genuinely together as a couple. I could also see them not interacting at all for most of Dune Messiah. What I cannot see is any scenario in which she genuinely forgives him or ever fucking trusts him again. That shit is over and there's no getting it back.

[bettsfic]

I have this thing where what I'm writing is absolutely not what I'm about in real life. I like complexity and depth in what I read. But the things I care about make only vague appearances in my writing, I don't know how to fully explain it. I have a lot of passion in life and I'm ~relatively emotionally intelligent. I'm curious about emotions, anyway, but what comes out in my writing is just cookie cutter.... Bland..... Zero complexity or emotional exploration. It's like I'm on autopilot when I write and I can't shake it.

i'm about to present to you yet another writing spectrum: director-writers and actor-writers.

a director-writer creates stories by writing discrete scenes that they see in their mind. like a film, a scene begins, something happens, a scene ends. we move on to the next scene. i would venture to say a majority of writers today are director-writers, because what's been en vogue in the 21st century is very much influenced by our visual media. we watch visual media. a great many writers like to render their prose such that it feels like a reader is watching the story play out. these director-writers are standing on the outside looking in, manipulating and moving all the pieces of their story to create the desired end result.

director-writing is so common that i meet many, many writers who trap themselves in scenic prose because they assume that's what "good writing" is. these writers are not actually directors. they don't want to be standing behind the camera; they want to be in the mind of the characters. and those people are actor-writers.

an actor-writer's prose doesn't necessarily prioritize scenes one after the next, but develops a compelling narrative voice. actor-writing is about learning to be someone who isn't you. i think the moment you abandon the forced witness of the camera and instead dive into the mind, experiencing the story instead of rendering the story, you unlock the path of that complex emotional exploration you feel is missing in your work. and you will probably never go back.

here's an activity to try:

whatever you're working on right now, open a new doc, take your main character and, in your mind's eye, trap them in an interrogation room. sit them across from you. ask them, "what is your deal?" write down their answer.

in this activity, you're looking for a few things:

what is their story? why does it matter to them? (this is probably the biggest problem i have with the pitfalls of director-writing: nothing matters. everything is just...happening. as a reader, i'm always looking for what i'm being asked to love. maybe that love is awful, toxic, contradictory, ambivalent, whatever. the point is, it matters. a huge percentage of the things i read never ask me to love anything.)

are they trying to convince or persuade you of something, making their testimonial unreliable? or are they confessing to you things they'd never admit to anyone else?

what is at stake for them? what is their deepest desire and their greatest fear? in what way is their deepest desire flawed? how is their greatest fear irrational? how have the events of their story influenced or distorted their perception?

close narration offers us the greatest possible access to the interiority of the narrator. first person is really just a monologue, an explanation, an excuse, a confession, a plea, a prayer. so so so many writers get blocked because they're trying to See the story instead of Listen to it. they force themselves into this elastic third person where the reader remains a distant witness with the occasional thought, insight, or feeling, but that comes second to what i call Bodies in Space. if i never read another "he strode across the room" again it'll be too soon. imagery is wonderful, don't get me wrong, but i would always, always rather get insight into what a character is feeling, thinking, grieving, dreaming than the knowledge that they are sitting in a chair.

i'm not saying switch to first person. you can create the effect of first person with very close third, and you can create the effect of third person with very distant first. pronouns don't really matter. what's important is voice over vision.

i say this a lot, but if i want to watch a story, i'll turn on my tv. prose is the only art form that allows us to fully explore human consciousness. let it do the thing it was invented to do.

my theory of director-writers and actor-writers is adapted from Percy Lubbock's The Craft of Fiction, in which he defines "picture" vs. "drama" writing. however i found that terminology confusing and poorly articulated, so i flipped it into a process-based approach with what i hope is more accessible phrasing. also, prose = consciousness is from 13 Ways of Looking at the Novel by Jane Smiley.

[idolomantises]

Have you watched Murder Drones, and if so what’s your opinion on it?

Also your art is great, keep it up.

Thank you!

And uh. Man. I may make an enemy out of another indie fandom because I don’t really like this show.

I actually loved the pilot and thought episodes 1-3 were incredible, if a bit too fast paced. But episode 4 was kind of a breaking point for me and I dropped off after that.

I don’t think it’s very funny. I think it relies too much on Bathos and it makes it hard to take its cast seriously. As a black comedy it mostly worked for episodes 1-3, but 4? No.

It does this thing I really despise in media where it has themes of genocide but like… heavily deprioritizes it and often portrays it like a comedy. It’s supposed to be funny when innocent characters are murdered because they’re just goofy side characters but when it’s a major character suddenly we have to care, and I don’t like that at all. The main character has a meltdown over finding out that murder drones are sent to kill her people at the end of the pilot, and then in episode 4 she’s murdering her classmates and crying because a boy she likes might think she’s weird. I actually find it pretty frustrating that the robots are portrayed as incredibly cowardly because they’re slowly dying off and scared to die and then they’re hanging out with V who casually murders random children and nobody reacts to it.

I actually do like the idea of a character who’s not reformed but is kind of forced to stick around but when I see her murder characters, traumatize children and then go “haha I just have mental problems” and everyone just… moves on, I just cannot bring myself to care. It causes such a massive dissonance and not in a fun way.

I think it’s very frustrating and unengaging when a story about people doing the right thing and trying to help others has no interest in helping those they’re trying to save.

I think the female cast is solid but I did kind of raise my eye a bit when the only major female character that was killed off was a victim of genocide while the other genocidal characters, two of which gleefully murdered her fucking parents, are just allowed to hang out with the rest of the cast. Uzi especially lost a lot of sympathy for me when she was more emotional about freaking out N than murdering her classmates. Like yeah, they weren’t the nicest to her but it’s weird to establish a character wants to end genocide and then… barely reacts when they also indulge in that genocide.

I don’t really like the characters at all. I don’t like Uzi, I found N irritating and boring (and gives me anime harem protagonist vibes), I thought V was a tryhard and I couldn’t really care for the rest of the cast. I liked Doll but lol, you know how that turned out.

It also has this problem of having an overloaded cast with very little breathing room. I really wish the show just had one, low stakes episode, so we can actually get to know these characters and collect their thoughts. It’s actually one of my concerns for TADC, because as much as I do like that show, I think “no filler” with constant story is going to make or break the show for me. It’s too fast paced and no, I don’t think it’s good that you have to rewatch an episode 4 times to understand what’s going on. I don’t watch indie shows to play where’s Waldo, information should be explained to the audience in a way that feels digestible and natural.

The animation is incredible and the stuff that came out from the finale was insane, but at times it just felt like jangling keys in my face. Like don’t pay attention to rushed story, underdeveloped characters and bizarre tonal whiplash, look at the cool fights. I dont think it does horror well either. In fact I kind of cringe a bit when characters a big wide grins and giggle evilly and it’s mean to be intimidating and it just. Doesn’t work. Feels a bit juvenile honestly.

And. This is a very personal thing. I don’t like the robot designs.

[stickandthorn]

I was thinking about that post about redemption I just reblogged, and I think it’s worth pointing out just how difficult and time consuming it would to de-radicalize or “redeem” Lilliana. And I think Essek’s redemption in campaign 2 is actually a really good example of what I’m talking about.

First of all, what the Nein did to redeem Essek was not slowly and politely talk him through why what he did was wrong. They didn’t even know he did anything wrong. What they did was continually reach out to him and give him a support system of friends he did not have before. Notably, friends who he could be comfortable sharing his worldview around: he was an atheist* in a theocratic society who had to hide his worldview in order to have any social, academic, or governmental standing. The mighty nein were probably the first people he could be himself around, and creating a change in his personal life is what led to a change in his ideology. Notably, he did most of the actual deconstructing of his ideology on his own, some before the big betrayal reveal and a lot after. The Nein helped with that directly a little, but the main thing they did was offer him a personal connection he had stakes in, and a people in his life with different world views he hadn’t seen up close before.

This is pretty true to life, in the real world, most people who leave radical or bigoted groups leave at least partially because of a change in their personal life. Even if they do leave because of someone directly challenging their worldview, it’s usually someone they care about who challenges them in a non-aggressive way. It’s still personal.

Secondly, this took a lot of time. I can’t remember exactly how long they spent in the Dynasty, but they befriended Essek over a really long period of in game and out of game time. The cast spent actual real world hours talking pretty much one on one with Essek, and the party spent weeks, maybe even months slowly getting to know him and bringing this support structure into his life. Essek spent even longer actually thinking through and deconstructing on his own. The change in his worldview between the ship and the outpost really shows this, he did a lot of the thinking that led him to change by himself over a lot of time we weren’t there for. They could not have gotten him to actually change his mindset, fully realize what he did was wrong of his own free will, in anything approaching a short amount of time. This was a time consuming process.

All this to say: this is the kind of effort it would take to legitimately de-radicalize Lilliana. She has been in the Vanguard for ~25 years, she most likely joined when she was in her early to mid 20s, and she gave up all personal connections, even her daughter and her husband to join. Not only has her entire ideology been built around this being the right thing to do, her entire personal life is contained within the Vanguard. It’s most likely where she gets any housing or money or really anything from. It is her whole life, and she believes wholeheartedly in it. The level of time and effort it took to get Essek to organically change his mind is most likely the level it would take to get Lilliana to change hers, if not more.

And they don’t have that time. Lilliana is actively doing harm now, she is helping the Vanguard release Predathos right now, they simply do not have the time to redeem her. It sucks, but pragmatically speaking, it is simply not worth the time and effort. Essek gave away the beacons in the past, but also, the Nein did not know he did that for their early friendship. If the Nein had known, they probably would not have put in all the work it took to get him to change. They probably couldn’t have. Lilliana might be able to be redeemed in theory, but so can a lot of people who do very bad things. Focusing on that redemption process is prioritizing Imogen’s complicated feelings over the harsh reality that this is a war, and Lilliana is a key figure in that war doing a great deal of harm. It sucks, but I do think it’s time to move on, and I think Imogen is now leaning that way.

*atheist is a loose term here, it’s hard to be an atheist in a world where gods are proven to exist, but it gets the point across

[inscribedlighter]

Everything Kayne does so specifically affects Arthur and John's relationship. It makes me think the Black Stone isn't the final goal. He wants the Day of Wrath. To do that he needs John and Arthur to be in very specific headspace in regards to their friendship.

He needs John to want them to stay together and he needs Arthur to want seperation. He's depending on John's fear of loneliness and need for control and Arthur's resentment of commitment (which Arthur sees as a loss of autonomy).

Like.

The Dagger: Kayne had to lure Arthur into the city. Like the black stone he can't see him, so Arthur had to come to him. He talks about the Patreon voting and who Arthur thinks will win (on a meta level). Then he gives Arthur the dagger. The dagger is a key component of the worst result for both of them (a tie). Arthur bleeding out and sent to Addison. John seeing Arthur is dying and going into the King. Then struggling and being cast out into the dark world. The coin which has two heads, lands on its side. Ties are bad and a tie means Kayne gets his hooks into both of them.

Yellow: Kayne specifically shows up to save Arthur and needs to save him for his plans to work, but Yellow does a bunch of things.

Arthur is forced to rely on someone he cannot trust. His personal autonomy is not returned with John gone, and worse, it cannot be trusted that Yellow won't try to steal his body. Unlike season 1 John Arthur knows where Yellow comes from and he remembers all the ways season one John burned him.

Yellow also provides a way to make Arthur not only miss John, but remember exactly how John used to be. It makes Arthur feel worse about who he's becoming without John. When John returns he feels guilty he has fallen so low. He's so thankful that John is back he actively avoids the red flags he see and is eager to show John that 1. Their friendship means a great deal. 2. That he trusts John perhaps more than he trusts himself right now. 3. He's sure John does not want his body and after all they've been through would never betray that fact.

Prime headspace to be manipulated.

🗡️

Kayne Keeps John In Dark World: he could have just sent him back to Arthur right away, but instead had him hit rock bottom. Had him do things for him. It reinforces to John how scared he is of the place. How alone he is there. How John falls back to being the King there without Arthur. Bonus Kayne uses it as leverage to get John to manipulate Arthur saying Arthur is too stubborn to do his bidding.

But then when all is revealed Kayne threatens them both to do his bidding to retrieve the black stone. He could have done that from their first meeting if he wanted to. He knows about Faroe. This is why I think it's not actually about the goal, it's about the journey.

Pops Matthews Head: needed to stop him from mentioning Kayne to Arthur, but also set dressing for later. Kayne points out Matthew had a choice in telling Arthur and yeah it got his head popped off, but he made the choice. John could have told Arthur about the deal and yes there would be consequences but he had a choice. (Also might be a nod to the Tie but I digress). John's choice is completely understandable up until the moment he asks for Arthur's memory erased (more on that later).

Shows up in the Mine while Arthur is Dying: John is on the cusp of losing Arthur again. Kayne reminds him what he has at stake. Not only is John terrified for Arthur, he also is terrified of going back to the Dark World, and this solidifies that 1: Arthur cannot die because John can't stand to be alone again. 2: Arthur cannot die because if he does his deal is broken and he's sent back. 3: Kayne establishes he isn't there to actually help John get things done. John cannot rely on divine intervention. John is soley responsible for keeping Arthur alive.

John stitches Arthur, but I'm convinced once he did Kayne just healed him up. He needs Arthur alive and he needs John desperate and guilty and he also needs John to become more and more attached to Arthur, not on a friendship level and not even on a survival level, but on a selfish level. Kayne wants John to feel entitled over Arthur and his body. Not just one or the other but both. He wants John to resent not getting a say about things that specifically effect Arthur. Kayne wants John in isolation to feel it keenly.

Get Arthur to New York: where there are people. For the first time Arthur not in places being affected by the King in Yellow's madness (because the King is indisposed due to Kayne. I think?). Arthur was bound to be reminded of how nice it is to interact with other people and John would feel isolated. Ramps up John feeling isolated after he just got back from the Dark World. Also causes a possessiveness of Arthur and pushes John to try to isolate Arthur in turn.

Makes sure Arthur Knows about the Deal Before John Can Tell Him: Arthur struggles with trusting John this season, but lands on John being on his side even if there's something wrong with his memory. He constantly reassures John that he is trusted. It's why they go to New York. Which makes John feel more guilty.

Arthur talks about how undefeated John is (John was super defeated and is guilty about it.)

John resents his reliance on Arthur and tries to manipulate him to establish his own autonomy. He has the excuse of the deal, but he's also making choices (like Matthew).

John resents his reliance but also saw what happened when they were seperated. Becomes angry when obstacles get between them (Oscar)

John will do whatever it takes to keep Arthur safe. Both because of his attachments and the threat of the Dark World. Thinks Kayne won't save him. Causes friction when he tries to get Arthur to give Oscar the stone. Gets him more frustrated when Arthur disagrees. John wants autonomy yes absolutely, but he also wants some control over Arthur's autonomy.

We also get a ton of indications that Arthur does not like being tied down/controlled. He resented being forced to marry Bella and misses the birth of his child because he has a crisis about it. His resentment of religion and Daniel's belief in it. Avoiding any relationship with Daniel because of the control he tried to exert wanting him to move to New York. He admits he felt a terrible kind of relief after Faroe died, not having to take care of a child anymore. He doesn't like when he is forced to give up his own autonomy. Even for the sake of others. And he knows it's shitty and he feels guilty about it, but something inside him struggles.

The Grey Stone: sets them up for the mission with the black stone so that Arthur would be keyed into things about the Order, but ultimately was just a end point. Kayne's real goal here was to finally reveal John was working for him. Arthur never even touches it.

Interestingly, although not necessarily Kayne's machinations, Arthur loses all the people he's met since coming back to their world. Larson and Yellow are banished. The Butcher is killed. Noel is bleeding out and sent to maybe Spain. Arthur writes down to forget Oscar (which might not be literal but an underline of Arthur choosing John). Cannot write Marie. I think Daniel is the only exception, but it's established how dangerous Arthur being near him is with Daniel getting hurt. Arthur cares about him but once again doesn't want to be tied to him.

So even if he got back to New York the majority of Arthur's ties would be gone. Just like how he has nothing really to return to in Arkham with Parker dead. All he has is John. So England! Right? Start fresh. No ties (pun unintended).

Yorick: Kayne specifically mentions the tooth. Now that the two are alone again Yorick can cause some conflict even if Yorick himself is on their side. Arthur sees a tool that can help them and John sees a danger to Arthur. Also John gets jealous when Arthur trusts Yorick over him.

Kayne Offers to Wipe Arthur's memory: reinforces to Arthur that John actually shouldn't be trusted when it comes to his autonomy when push comes to shove.

Arthur has been struggling all season to try to accomodate John's isolation. He can see the situation is unfair to both of them. He gives up on a friendship with Oscar, but also tries to establish an openness with Noel so that John has a little bit of a voice outside his head and Arthur doesn't have to be isolated from other humans. Arthur is happy to give John autonomy, but not at the cost of his own because, as established, he doesn't like sacrificing his autonomy for other people. He is being forced to with the John situation and because on his journey with John he has become much more self aware. He is trying his best to compromise.

But now the shoe is on the other foot, and when John is offered a chance to take Arthur's autonomy he immediately tries to takes it. No compromise.

Arthur thinks John fucked up on a human level because of the stress of the deal and his resentment for his lack of control. I don't think he clocks how afraid John is of being alone and that part of the reason he tries to control Arthur is so that he doesn't lose Arthur (Which pushes Arthur away because he does not want to be controlled. Not by Yellow, Larson, the Mine Creature, or John).

John on the other hand understands it was a shitty thing to do. Knows theatening Arthur's body was over the line, but doesn't see how attached to autonomy Arthur is. Arthur gives John an ultimatum. Either John takes over or he doesn't because that has ALWAYS been what it's been about for Arthur. John's betrayal reestablishes it firmly. Either they seperate or John takes over. He does not see or even want a middle ground. Middle ground was Yellow. Middle ground was Oscar. Middle ground was John working for Kayne.

Kayne Ignores John's calls when Arthur is Killed by the Hag: could be he just can't hear them, or could be that he REALLY wants John's fear of being alone to reach a max. Like as a star wars fan it feels like Kayne is Anakin Skywalkering John into fear of being alone so deep, and clinging on to Arthur so tightly that later on he's going to do something extremely ill advised to keep Arthur bound to him, not out of love but out of fear. Something that Arthur does not want

At the same time Kayne is also trying encourage Arthur's own selfishness about his autonomy and being tied down by establishing very complicated trust issues in Arthur where he cares about John and trusts him up to a point but cannot trust him with his body.

So that Arthur keeps forgiving John until a big enough betrayal makes it impossible.

So Arthur very explicitly wants them to have seperate bodies and thinks this will fix things.

And John does not want them to be seperated at all.

The resulting blow out results is maybe the Day of Wrath. John does a thing to keep Arthur, Arthur feels betrayed, spirals about how he could never trust John and does something to counter what John did. Arthur is stubborn you can't make him do anything, but you can ensure rebellion. Like, bonus points if John's actions seem to be in line with Kayne and Arthur thinks he's screwing both of them and freeing himself entirely from being controlled by others.

Whatever Arthur does sets off is exactly what Kayne wanted in the first place. The Black Stone was a bluff or just a key to getting Arthur to do the thing.

In conclusion Kayne isn't just trying to point them in a certain direction, he's very deliberately trying to manipulate how they feel about each other.

The real big bad was the friends we made along the way.

Now John and Arthur might be able to avoid this with the power of hope and love and friendship, but I think Kayne is doing all he can to make them have incompatible goals. He even says it never works out when they seperate.

Hopefully John and Arthur love each other enough to forgive each other.