#aves reads speak low again <3

[amourdeslangues]

hello there!

not exactly sure how to start this blog lmao - but since this is a langblr, i'll just kick it off with an introduction of my progress with each language i'm currently learning. (mostly leaving english and german out of it for now, because those are my native languages, but i speak those as well ofc)

français /// french

on commence avec le français! une de mes langues préferées et définitivement la langue étrangère que je parle le mieux. je l'apprends depuis environ 7 ans maintenant. à cause d'un voyage en france avec ma famille et d'un guide de la langue que j'avais trouvé dans un magasin, j'ai commencé à apprendre indépendamment quand je n'avais que neuf ou dix ans, mais le début de mes études du français dans un context scolaire - ça veut dire, d'une manière plus structurée mdr - suivait bientôt après cela. maintenant, je pense qu'on peut dire que je parle le français couramment. pas dans le sens qu'on pourrait me confondre avec une locuteuse native, mais je peux me débrouiller dans toutes sortes de situations presque aussi bien que dans mes langues maternelles. comme but, je veux maintenir un niveau assez bien pour (1) passer mon examen oral de l'Abitur (bac) en français avec la meilleure note possible et (2) étudier les sciences de la littérature en france après l'école.

svenska /// swedish

Hej allihoppa, trevligt att träffas! Jag kan inte säga precis när jag började lära mig svenska - jag började att intresserar mig för språket för 3-4 år sedan, men jag pluggade (?) inte verkligen aktivt förrän våren detta år. Tidigare kunde jag bara säga några små fraser, men jag kunde inte uttrycka mig på svenska. Jag tror att jag [made a lot of progress?] sedan dess. Jag älskar särskilt ljudet av svenska språket, det är väldigt melodiskt och unikt. Mitt [long-term?] mål är att tala flytande svenska. Just nu vill jag:

Läsa en hel roman på svenska för första gången ("I ljuset från gryningen", en deckare som jag köpte för två dagar sedan)

Lära mig nya ord

Bli mer självsäker när jag pratar svenska ([unfortunately?] känner jag inga människor från Sverige, men jag har en vän som läser språket också. Han är nästa flytande och vi pratar ibland på svenska med varandra, men trots att jag förstår nästan allt vad han säger är jag osäker att min uttal är för dålig att förstå när jag säger någonting själv 😅 så jag behöver mer övning med att tala)

farsi (persian) and gaeilge (irish gaelic)

i'm lumping these two into one part (written in english) because i'm not sufficiently fluent in either language to be able to write a full text, lmao

i technically started learning persian about a year ago, but since i keep getting interrupted because of things like having to do too much schoolwork, i'm still at a very low level. i also feel like it's more difficult than learning swedish, for example, because it's from a different language family than any of the languages i speak rn - less loanwords, words related to each other, structural similarities etc. that would help me understand! at least i mostly know the alphabet now, but practically i'm only able to say a few simple things: hello, good morning, how are you etc. however, it's a really interesting language and i'd love to get into actively studying it again! my next goal is to reach A1 level in reading, writing, listening and speaking... let's see how that goes ^^

also, if anyone knows any good resources for learning farsi, please let me know! i'm currently using a combination of a textbook directed at german speakers (called با هم), the Persian course on Memrise and the youtube channels Chai & Conversation and Persian Learning, but it's a bit difficult to find learning materials... (i'm salty that duolingo doesn't have it lmfao)

as for irish gaelic, i (hyper)focused on it for a couple of months in 2021, in particular because part of my family is irish - nobody taught me the language and i'm not really close with my paternal relatives, but i'm still interested in it because... heritage reasons, y'know. also, there are so many fascinating aspects of the language - unique little grammar quirks, pronunciation, all that! i kind of stopped practicing though because i had too little time, so now i just remember random little phrases i learnt off duolingo: dia duit, comhghairdeas (i'm proud of remembering how to spell it lol), ithim cáis (an extremely useful sentence in daily life, i know)...

right now, i don't anticipate irish being a major focus of this blog, but i'm going to dublin in two days (aaaa!!!) and maybe that'll reactivate my slight obsession with the language, so who knows...

about me

i love everything related to languages - obviously foreign languages, but also things like linguistics and literature... i also write a lot in my free time!

on the rare occasions where i'm not doing anything language-related, i'm also very interested in chemistry. i like listening to music (i mean, who doesn't) & my favourite genres are rock, indie and melodic death metal - but i'll listen to almost anything, especially if it's in one of my target languages (really into swedish and persian pop rn). i enjoy hiking and cycling, and i've been learning how to dance for about a year.

i'm really looking forward to getting to know other people in the langblr community and exchanging ideas, progress, tips for learning... on y va :D

#introduction #langblr #language learning #polyglot #francais #french #svenska #swedish #first post #hello tumblr #long post

[sunniesapphic]

NEIL AND TODD IN THE BOOK STORE

ME AND WHO???

#aves reads speak low again <3

[bonjour-rainycity]

Double Heart | Chapter One ~ Cosima

|previous part|

Pairing: Haldir x OFC

Rating: G

Word count: 2100

Warnings: None

**Read on Ao3 under the user “bonjour-rainycity” if you like!**

A/n Thanks for the love on the prologue <3 also, this is the first time I’ve scheduled a post, so please let me know if something looks weird!

Translations: Av-‘osto = Don’t be afraid // Odúlen le natho = I’m here to help you // Pedil edhellen = do you speak Elvish

I was right — the peace deserts me instantly.

A sharp pain pierces my chest, my lungs ache, and my brain throbs inside my skull. A man leans over me. His long, dark hair tickles my neck. He is beautiful and smiling, but I do not know him. Fear quickens my breath. I try to jerk away from him, but he keeps a firm pressure on my shoulders, holding me in place. He meets my wide, panicked eyes with calm, reassuring ones of forest brown.

“Av-‘osto. Odúlen le natho.”

What? I shake my head at him, fear temporarily making room for confusion. The words he speaks, which had proven so irresistible when I was under the weight of the water, now sound only strange and indecipherable.

I stare at him, uncomprehending and very much on my guard.

His brow furrows, and, when he speaks again, it is with a note of hesitation. “Pedil edhellen?”

“I don’t think she does.” Another voice—confident, commanding—comes from my right. I turn my head just in time to see a tall man in peculiar armor slide off his horse. He takes quick strides towards me, then crouches near my side. “What is your name?”

I find myself momentarily silenced by his proximity, as well as his eyes. They are a clear ice blue—beautiful, depthless—but cold and calculating. They hold none of the warmth the other man’s eyes do, only suspicion. As much as I don’t like behind held to the ground by him, I turn my head, searching for the deep, honest brown I met upon awaking.

He meets my gaze with a soft smile. “Do not feel fear, we are not here to harm you. We found you unconscious and alone near the river, and stopped to help.” His voice is light, unsure, and strangely accented, placing emphasis on the wrong part of the words, but I am pleased that I can understand him now. As if to illustrate his point, that I am not in danger from them, he releases his hold on my shoulders and allows me space to sit up.

“Slowly,” he cautions. “I worry you have hit your head.”

That would explain the pounding. I grimace, supporting myself on my forearms, and turn my head to observe my surroundings. It’s all very green and brown, I suppose, though vibrant, not at all like the waters I found myself trapped under. Tall grass, puddles of mud, a river behind me. I see no roads or signs to indicate where I am.

The man to my right answers my unspoken question. “You are near the Gladden Fields on the bank of the River Anduin.” I recoil. None of those words mean anything to me. I search my mind, trying to conjure up an image, a memory, anything that would give me context as to where I am.

But I come up blank.

“I will ask you again,” the man continues. His voice is hard, completely devoid of patience, and though I don’t exactly want to, I find myself turning my head to look him in the eye. “What is your name?”

Well, that answer, I know. “Cosima. What’s yours?” I raise an eyebrow, unable to stop myself from challenging him a little. I don’t like his attitude, how he acts like he doesn’t have the time to deal with me. He is the one who stopped, after all.

“So she does speak,” an amused voice remarks from over the shoulder of the brown-eyed man. I jump, not previously noticing the two others—blond like the man to my right—who sit high atop large horses.

Okay, that doesn’t seem right.

Fragments of memory come to me, brief flashes of tall buildings, busy sidewalks, and honking yellow cars.

America.

The name comes to me just as my own did—suddenly and detached from other clues. I piece together what I can, and am left with only the feeling that this is wrong. There should not be deserted, untouched land, nor men in armor who travel on horseback.

I should not be here, I realize. Wherever ‘here’ is….

The blond to my right stands, and I shrink back, intimidated by his height. The sword at his hip and the bow on his back make me even more wary.

“I am Haldir, Marchwarden of Lothlórien. The ellon to your left is Baranor, a healer respected by the Lady herself. The ellyn on horseback are Rumil and Orophin—my brothers, and wardens of our realm. Where do you come from? Were you traveling somewhere?”

I don’t recognize half the words he says. Their language and phrasing is unfamiliar to me, which gives me reason to believe that I am not in America. My limited worldview expands slightly, and I become aware of the existence of other countries, vast seas and expansive continents. A theory begins to take form. I must be in another country. Perhaps I was traveling, and hit my head, and now I’ve gotten separated from my group. Though, I don’t have any memory of a group…perhaps I will remember them in time. I did hit my head.

Haldir clears his throat impatiently.

“I…think I’m from America. Do you know if I’m close? Or at least which country I’m in?

For the first time, I see the irritation in his eyes break, giving way to something akin to concern. “You are in Arda.”  

I wrack my brain, searching for anything that even remotely sounds like Arda. Africa? Armenia? Nothing helpful comes to mind.

Baranor, still crouched at my side, brings a gentle hand to my temple, brushing his fingers lightly over the tender skin. He notices my wince, and turns back to Haldir. “She definitely hit her head. Her mind is not fully with us…I think that, as she heals, she will speak with more sense.”

“Excuse me,” I huff, annoyed at his assessment of me and them talking as if I weren’t here. “You’re not exactly making much sense, either.”

Haldir purses his lips but gives no other indication that he’s heard me. He turns to his brothers and the three of them engage in quick conversation in that language I do not know.

I keep the three of them in the corner of my eye—just because they haven’t hurt me yet doesn’t mean I should let my guard down—and catch Baranor’s attention. “I can’t remember much—anything, really.”

He nods, looking at me with clinical concern. “I guessed as much. You remember your name and seem to have some idea where you are from, even if I do not recognize the realm. It’s better than nothing—encouraging, even. I believe your memories will return to you with time.”

That’s something, at least.

The one called Rumil hops off his horse and swaggers up to me, crouching low like his brother did. “Are you human?”

I recoil. What kind of question is that? “Of course I’m human.”

He shakes his head, a coy smile on his face. “Do not say, ‘of course’. There are many races in this realm, some much more interesting than the race of men.”

I swallow, pieces of information that I’ve gathered since waking clicking into place.

I don’t want to ask.

Asking might mean confronting, and I’ve only just woken up. I’m not ready for that.

But I have to. Because I’ve woken up in an unfamiliar place with people who don’t speak my language, don’t seem to know anything about the existence of my country, travel on horses, wear armor and, Rumil has just tilted his head to the side, revealing an ear that comes to a point. I bring my hand up to my own ear, checking. Yep. Not pointed.

A sinking feeling settles in my gut. I gather what courage I can. Just ask. There’s probably a perfectly normal explanation. Maybe they’re playing a trick on me. “Are you…not human, then?”

His teasing smile never falters and he gives a sort of mocking bow. “No, my dear lady. You have the pleasure of encountering four of the eldar. We are elves from the realm of the Lady Galadriel. We have been here long before the time of man, and we will be here long after.”

This is ridiculous.

I push myself to stand, Baranor rushing to help. The world sways before me, and I wilt against the cool surface of his chest place. He holds me awkwardly—trying to keep as much distance between us as possible while still supporting my weight.

“I’ve hit my head,” I mutter, trying to fight through the fierce onset of dizziness and nausea. “I-I’ve been in some sort of accident, or had a strange reaction to medicine. Or maybe this is a bizarre dream, and I will wake up and laugh at myself and all this will have been in my imagination, or…or…” My breathing quickens, and I bring a hand to my forehead. My hand is so cold. Is it meant to be that cold?

I pitch forward, and Rumil darts a hand to grip my shoulder and keep me in place. His teasing smile disappears, and he turns to Haldir, looking alarmed. He calls out in that unknown language, and I can’t help but roll my eyes, though the motion makes me feel worse.

“Come on, you’re in my dream, so you can at least speak a language I understand!”

Baranor twists to study my face, his frown deepening. He joins the indecipherable conversation.

“Not you, too,” I whine, glaring accusingly at him. Stupidly, I had already come to see him as a sort of ally. All four of them ignore me which is quite rude, considering they’re obviously talking about me. Their discussion grows heated—they’re arguing.

Dark spots dance in my line of vision and I groan, wanting to lie down. Baranor tightens his grip around me, and his voice rises in volume. Does he have to be so loud?

Haldir barks out something that sounds very much like an order, and I focus long enough to see him mount his horse. Rumil releases my shoulder, sparing me the quickest of looks before returning to his own steed. Before I can process what’s happening, Baranor uses his grip on me to guide me towards the tall chestnut stallion.

I guess his intent.

“No!” I begin to fight against his hold. “I don’t want—”

“Hush now, it will be alright,” he soothes, his hands tightening on me as I try to get away. “We do not know of the realm you speak, but we are on a journey to a trusted friend—a wise friend—who may be able to help you. We will take you with us.”

I go stiff in his arms, weighing my options.

I have no reason to trust his word. But they haven’t hurt me yet, and the fact remains that I have no idea where I am. I probably wouldn’t fare any better on the riverbank. I don’t have food, or supplies, or a map. And traveling with them would allow me to see more of the landscape. Maybe we’ll pass a city, and I can sneak away. And from there…

Well, that’s a problem for later.

So, resigned to my situation for the time being, I nod. Baranor gives me a look of relief—I imagine he has no desire to lift a kicking woman onto a horse—and releases my shoulders to kneel and lock his hands together. I don’t particularly like heights, and this animal is much too tall for my liking, but everything about this day has been absolutely insane. I may as well get on the unpredictable beast. Baranor pushes on my foot as I pull on the horses’s mane. A second later, I’m sat firmly on the animal, Baranor in front of me. I look down to see how high up I am—a clear mistake, especially given the dizziness that hasn’t quite receded—and immediately wrap my arms around Baranor’s stomach. It’s difficult, given the armor he wears, but I manage, seeing as it gives me extra insurance that I won’t go tumbling to the ground.

“Get my attention if you feel faint,” he murmurs, taking the reins in his hands. “There is a canteen of water near your right foot if you get thirsty.”

And, before I can contemplate if I have the core strength to reach for the water and stay on the horse, we’re off, racing along the riverbank and leaving behind any chance I have of turning back.

A/n Thanks for reading! As always, comments, likes, and reblogs are so appreciated. Let me know if you would like a tag! See you on Thursday with Chapter Two :)

|next part - to be posted|

|masterlist|

Tolkien tag list: @anangelwhodidntfall @eru-vande

Double Heart tag list: @lainphotography @fangirl-nonsense @themerriweathermage @thophil2941btw

**Strikethrough means Tumblr wouldn’t let me tag you -- check your settings! 

#lotr #lord of the rings #tolkien #haldir of lorien #haldir #haldir x oc #haldir x ofc #haldir x own character #haldir x own female character #tolkien elves #lothlorien elves #haldir fic #haldir fanfic #haldir fanfiction #haldir multi chapter work #lotr fic #orophin #rumil #ofc x haldir #haldir of lorien x ofc #haldir of lothlorien

[jobean12-blog]

Top Shelf: Chapter 9- Pour it onto the Page

Pairing: Bucky x reader (Bookshop/Bartender AU)

Word Count: 1,812

Summary: You plan a special night out for Bucky and it turns out to be more than you could have hoped for. 

Author’s Note: Thank you all for continuing on this journey with me! I really appreciate all your kind words and support. It keeps me going and makes me so happy! This chapter is mostly flufftastic before I get into them figuring stuff out! :) 

Warnings: slight tiny angst in the beginning and the super fluffy love fluff :) 

Previous Chapters

Chapter 1: Enchantment

Chapter 2: Cookie Crumble

Chapter 3: Sweet Anticipation

Chapter 4: Read Between the Limes

Chapter 5: Secrets on the Shelf

Chapter 6: Love Between the Covers

Chapter 7: Love Lines & Soul Finds

Chapter 8: Drunk in Love

Your eyes search his, the sadness you see making your heart hurt. Running your fingers along his jaw you brush your nose to his, “we’ll figure this out, Bucky. Don’t worry.” He crushes you to his chest and buries his face in your neck, his deep inhales shaking your whole body. You rub up and down his back, squeezing him back as tight as you can.

When he finally pulls away his eyes are misty but there is slightly less pain. “Thank you. I’m sorry to drop that bomb on you. I’ve been so happily distracted lately that it just hasn’t seemed real. Grandma kinda dragged it all up again at dinner, though.” You give him a small smile, “it’s ok, I’m glad you felt you could talk to me. Why don’t you tell me what’s been going on so we can figure this out together?”

Bucky throws his arm around your shoulder and starts to walk, resting his head on top of yours. “It just seems like we are getting fewer and fewer customers. People aren’t looking for actual books anymore. They use e-readers and listen to audio books and all that nonsense.” You giggle at this last words. “You know baby, it’s not nonsense, some of it is good. I mean I always prefer an actual book myself. We need to think of a way to get more people into the shop!”

As you continue to walk back to Bucky’s apartment the conversation takes a turn toward your mutual love for books and you’re reminded of Betty’s story of meeting James. “Hey Buck, do you think you should talk to your grandma about this? Maybe she can offer help since she has been a part of it for so long.” Bucky looks down at his shoes, kicking a rock away before his eyes meet yours again, “I’m afraid. She already lost grandpa; I can’t stand to see her in more pain.”

You rest your head against his chest and wrap your arms around his waist, “I know. We’ll think of something.” The two of you walk back to Bucky’s apartment slowly, mostly chatting about his grandparents. When you learn he hasn’t been to Coney Island since he was in his teens, you’re shocked but a plan forms in your head, one that gets you overly excited.

The next work week comes and goes with only one thing different than the last. You finally admit to yourself that you are totally and completely falling in love with Bucky. “And now I’m telling you because I had to tell someone, and I can’t tell him! It’s only be like two months!” You give Nat an exasperated look and sink to the floor in the kitchen, cookie in hand.

“Wow,” Nat says through a mouthful, “these are amazing! What kind did you say they were?” You pin her with a glare before yelling, “I just told you I’m in love with Bucky and you’re asking me about the cookies!!!” She laughs! A real loud and boisterous laugh that causes her to snort some cookie and start to choke. “Jeez, Nat, be careful,” you chide, standing and rubbing her back.

When she finally calms down and catches her breath, she pins you with a look, “I could have told you that you were in love with him after the first week. I was just waiting for you to admit it. Now. What kind of cookies are these? You have to add them to your book!” With a loud sigh you say, “double chocolate peanut butter.”

Nat rests her forearm on your shoulder, licking her fingers clean of crumbs, “listen y/n, he feels the same way. It’s written all over him. Just give it more time.” You grab another cookie from the plate, taking a bite and nodding your head in agreement. “I’m really excited about surprising him with a trip to Coney Island. I hope it makes him happy.” Nat takes the cookie from your hand, finishing it in one bite. “He’s gonna love it! And I’m gonna be sure Sam gives him the night off,” she winks through her mouth full.

Saturday arrives and you can’t control your excitement, bouncing around on your feet while making breakfast. “Doll, what is with you? Did you eat cupcakes or something while I was in the bathroom?” Bucky asks, grabbing your waist to hold you still. You turn in his arms and say, “nope,” popping the p. “Just happy it’s Saturday is all.” He reaches around you and grabs the eggs, smiling before walking to the table.

Just as he sits his phone dings with a message. “It’s early for anyone to be up and texting me other than you. And you’re here,” he says, confusion etched on his face. “It’s Sam.” You try to act surprised and maybe even a little worried, rushing over to wait for him to explain. “Oh wow!” Bucky exclaims, his smile wide, “Sam gave me the night off! He said Peter wanted to pick up an extra shift just for this week.”

You do a little happy dance, “that’s great! Now we have the whole evening free!” Bucky looks up at you, unable to stop smiling with how happy you are. But just as quickly as it comes his smile disappears and his lips turn down into a small frown. “What babe, what’s wrong?” you ask quickly, sitting next to him. “Maybe I shouldn’t take the night off, I kinda need all the money I can get right now.”

His eyes search yours and your stomach turns, cursing yourself for not thinking that he might feel this way. “I understand completely. If you feel you need to work, then you should. Definitely do what you’re most comfortable with.” His smile returns and he leans over to kiss you before saying, “you know what, fuck it. I haven’t had a Saturday off since the bar opened and I wanna take my best girl out on the town!”

You instantly feel better and give him a sly smile. “I have the perfect idea if you’re up for a surprise?” you ask, batting your lashes. He pulls you into his lap, whispering against your lips, “I’ll do whatever you want tonight, baby, I’m all yours.” You wiggle in his lap, your excitement infectious as he laughs along with you. Suddenly he still your hips, letting out a low growl, “listen beautiful, if you’re gonna continue hopping around in my lap like this, I’m gonna be late for the bookshop.” Raising your eyebrows, you slowly turn to face the table, grabbing the fork and eating a mouthful of eggs. “Sorry,” you mumble, but not before one more good wiggle.

You meet Bucky at the bookshop at closing. He’s in the back when you walk in, so you sit yourself on the counter and wait. He walks out in a tight blue tee shirt and jeans, your eyes wandering from his head to his toes. “Is this ok for where we’re going? I didn’t know if I needed to be more dressed up, so I brought a button down.” Sliding off the counter you walk around it and say, “it’s perfect.” He grabs your hand and gives you a twirl, your light cotton dress skirt floating up and around your legs as you giggle. “You look amazing as always.”

You had an uber ready and waiting for you outside the shop and Bucky gives you a surprised smile. “Riding in style tonight, huh?” You giggle, sliding inside the backseat while Bucky holds the door. The whole ride over you keep him engaged in conversation, hoping to divert his attention from where you are going. You make as far as the tunnel before Bucky says anything, his face lit up by the overhead lights.

“Are we in the battery tunnel?” he asks, his tone laced with excited surprise. “Mayyyybbbeee,” you say, shrugging, “just shush and enjoy the ride.” Raising a brow, he puts his hands up and replies, “ok, I promise to just go with it. I won’t ask questions.” You scoot over so he can wrap his arm around you. “So, tell me more about how you met Steve and Sam?”

Bucky tries so hard to keep his eyes on you for the entire ride but as you take the exit to Ocean Parkway, he can’t help but look out the window, his whole face lighting up as he spins around in his seat. “You’re taking me to Coney Island?!!?” he shouts, whipping back around to smush you to his chest. “Does that mean you’re happy?” you ask, your voice muffled in his shirt.  “Yes,” he whispers, lifting your face to his, “so happy.” He kisses you before you can reply and you melt against him, forgetting all about your surroundings.

The uber pulls to a stop on Surf Ave, the cool ocean breeze hitting you as soon as you open the car door. You inhale deeply, the salty air filling your lungs and bringing you peace. You sneak a look at Bucky, his eyes wide and bright as he takes it all in. Before you can ask where he wants to go first, he grabs hold of your hand and starts walking toward the Wonder Wheel.

“Will ya go on with me doll?” You couldn’t say no to him even if you wanted to, nodding your head vigorously as you get closer. “I haven’t been on here in…shit, probably over 12 years!” After getting your tickets you get on the line, Bucky’s arm draped over your shoulder as he tells you about his Coney Island memories.

He helps you onto the car, sitting next you and pulling you close. “Oh man, I can’t believe it,” he says, looking out over the park. You watch as the bright and colorful lights dance in the reflection of his eyes, your mouth opening to speak as the wheel starts to turn. “Y/n! Look!” he shouts, pointing out toward the water just as the fireworks start. You pull yourself away, looking out over the ocean as the sky explodes into a rainbow of colors.

As you stare at the bursts of light your mind races over the words you’ve been harboring for weeks. The words about to explode off your tongue louder than the fireworks. His name comes out as a whisper as you turn your head toward him, finding that his eyes are settled on your face. “I love you.” He says the words and they ring out over the booms; louder and clearer than any others you’ve heard before.

You can feel your whole face light up and your heart swell before you repeat the words back. “I love you, Bucky.” His smile matches yours as he dips his head, kissing your lips and pouring everything into it, the bright lights and loud sounds fading away.

@aesthetical-bucky​ @auro-ora​ @azurika-writes​ @bugsbucky​ @buckys-broody-muffin​ @book-dragon-13​ @eurynome827​ @hiddles-rose​ @hailmary-yramliah​ @hawksmagnolia​ @ikaris-whore​ @itsunclebucky​ @jhangelface0523​ @jewels2876​ @loricameback​ @littledarlinhavefaithinme​ @littleredstarfish​ @mushyjellybeans​ @marvelgirl7​ @marvelandotherfandomimagines​ @nano--raptor​ @nerdypinupcrystal​ @moonybarnes​ @nordlysinthewoods​ @randomfandompenguin​ @sallycanwait68​ @softpeachbarnes​ @scarletsoldierrr​ @the-wayward-robot​ @when-the-hell-is-bucky​ @rinthehufflepuff​ @irishflutiegirl​ @jamesbarnesappreciationclub​ @fireflv​ @nd1998sc​ @captainchrisstan​ @vherriepie​ @godofplumsandthunder​ @amandatar-06​ @throwmyheartawayagain​ @flyawaybay 

#bucky barnes #bucky x reader #bucky barnes fluff #bucky x reader fluff #bookshop au #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x reader fluff #bucky barnes bookshop au #bucky fluff #bucky barnes x reader angst #bucky x reader angst #bucky barnes imagine #bookshop!Bucky au #bartender bucky #bartender!bucky au #bartender!Bucky x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes x you #top shelf #top shelf chapter 9

[mulderist]

Wicked Game

previous chapter // read on A03 // @today-in-fic​

CHAPTER 7 3rd District Precinct 12:31 a.m.

The second wind finally arrived. I paced the floor in Interrogation Room 5 with arms folded tight across my chest. I felt like a gun ready to go off. My focus was on Theo Chambers, enforcer to Carlo Lodi. He sat handcuffed in his expensive blue suit with a shit-eating grin. After I got him processed I let him stew and he behaved, which was a bit of a surprise.

“I could do this all night, you know, “ I said standing at the edge of the table looking at the remains of a weak cup of coffee and half a pack of Morleys. “Even if we’re just sitting here in silence.”

I paused and listened for dramatic affect. “You know, I read somewhere that silence is golden but, I don’t think you like to keep quiet.” 

“How’s the jaw,” he responded with a puff of smoke and a tilt of his chin.   

I turned and pulled out the chair at the opposite end of the table, dragging it purposefully across the floor creating a sound like nails on a chalkboard. 

“Well, you hit like a featherweight so a stiff drink and I was right as rain.” I said as I sat down. “Speaking of which, does Lodi get you to do all his heavy lifting? Use you like a trained dog; Theo attack! Theo come! Good boy Theo...”

“You wanna cut the bullshit?” he interrupted.

“Indeed I do. You want to tell me how long you’ve been running out of the Navy Yard?”

Theo cracked a smile and tapped his cigarette against the discolored ashtray. He then pinched it between his thumb and index finger, covering the end to hide the glow. Standard technique for someone who does a lot of their work in the shadows. I continued with my questioning.

“Is the taxi company your only front?”

“Mum’s the word, detective,” he said.

“Do the taxis only run in the southeast?” I pressed. 

Theo tucked the cigarette in the corner of his mouth then leaned back as far as he could. Silent, aside from the sound of the metal chain pulling across the top of the table. His cuffed hands knitted together. 

“Do the taxis run anywhere else in the District? Down Constitution Ave.? Down to the Tidal Basin? Over the bridge into Virginia?”

“Mum’s. The. Word,” Theo said pointedly, letting the cig hang from his lip. I was wired and on the edge. I rose and placed my hands on my hips. I resisted the urge to hit him; punch him square in the jaw, bloody his nose, pin him against the table. Really make him hurt. Instead, using better judgement, I turned on my heel and left the room, slamming the door behind me.

Several officers were in the hallway and scattered when they saw me. Word travels fast when you bring in a c-list celebrity from the crime sheets. I moved past them and their whispering and took a walk to the bullpen. The chorus of ringing phones and typewriters was in full swing. I approached my desk and took the liberty of kicking the unsuspecting wastebasket. It ricocheted and rolled away from where I was standing. A few heads perked up at the noise but returned to their work just as quickly. I closed my eyes and tilted my head back. I was getting nowhere slowly.  

“Rough night?” I heard the captain’s voice from behind me.

“Just blowing off some steam,” I said with an exhale, “So far I haven’t gotten much out of our new friend Theo. I need to talk to his boss.”

“He’s already been questioned,” Skinner said as I crouched down to straighten up the wastebasket. I glanced at my shoes, which were probably ruined from traipsing around in the storm. Maybe on a day off I’d buy another pair. 

“Not by me,” I replied and started out of the bullpen back to the interrogation rooms. I went two doors down but before I could turn the knob, Skinner caught up and stopped me.

“Sir, may I ask what you’re doing?”

“I want to remind you that this is a valuable asset. I commend your effort in apprehending him and his enforcer,” he said in a low voice. I sensed there was more to that statement. This case already had too many hands involved.

“But you don’t want me to unravel this seemingly tightly knit case with my usual brand of questioning.”

Skinner squared his jaw.

“Oh, now I get it,” I continued. “You already talked to him and you were just going to leave it at that. No one else in or out?”

“Are you doubting my methods, Mulder?”

“I’m doubting the line of questioning,” my voice lowered and I clenched my fist, “We are so close to tying things together with this ring and Spender’s involvement. I need to see how far up this goes.”

“We already have the evidence to pin Lodi for Skinner’s murder,” Skinner said. I shifted my stance. “We just need something to narrow down where the heroin was being distributed. 

“That’s all I want to do. Because as soon as I get what I need, I’m going home. Believe me sir I want to close this and move on. This case has already taken up too much of my life.”

Skinner nodded. I knew I was walking into a high-stakes game with the house’s money and a cold shoulder from Lady Luck. My hand gripped the doorknob and I entered the smoke filled room. 

Another table, another ashtray, another handcuffed suspect. Carlo Lodi sat just like he did when I confronted him at the restaurant; an air of superiority trapped in a grey pin-stripped suit. breathed life into a superficial demeanor as cool as a summer breeze. 

“We meet again Mr Lodi,” I began as I pulled out the chair and took a seat. I unbuttoned the cuffs of my sleeves then rolled them up towards my elbow. The skin on my forearms felt clammy. I couldn’t wait to get into fresh, dry clothes when this was all over. 

“Quite the set-up you’ve got down at the docks. Smart to use a small crew. Less people to inventory when you get caught.”

“C’mon detective, you know how this works,” Lodi said twisting the ring on his finger, “I ain’t saying anything without my lawyer.”

I continued without missing a beat.

“Vincenti sure knows how to pick ‘em. What makes you hold the title of being his favorite croney? It can’t be your looks.”

“You’re getting nothing from me.”

“Oh I can keep going.”

“You think this is the first time I’ve been here? You think you’re being original?”

“I have evidence that connects you to Vincenti. I have proof you operate out of the Navy Yard not to mention proof that you murdered a city detective in cold blood. And if you won’t talk, perhaps your friend down the hall will.”

I watched him light up and take a long drag. Thick white smoke drifted out of his mouth and curled up towards his nostrils.

“Here’s the thing, detective; you got nothing on me. Not a damn thing. My hands are as clean as a nun’s habit. So if you want to listen to yourself talk, then go right ahead. I’ll finish this pack of smokes and wait for my lawyer.”

My second wind dissolved into a subtle breeze, taking the wind out of my sails. I knew his lawyer wasn’t marching through that door anytime soon. I didn’t want to paint myself into a corner. I considered going downstairs to retrieve the bullets that matched his gun. Rub his face in it. 

“Alright then,” I said as I pushed back in my chair, “I like the sound of my own voice. Who’s idea was it to use a taxi company, couldn’t have been you could it? Vincenti must have been riding around town and the idea just came to him right? Seems as though an awful lot of people must want a taste of that dust. Gotta give those pushers an extra cut for spreading the word about a top notch supply.”

 Lodi pressed the cigarette butt into the ashtray and cleared his throat.

“The pushers...they’re ants compared to us.” He grunted, “All of that product, all that demand, all because of us. They’d be nothing without us.”

Now we were getting somewhere.

“Are those pushers driving your cabs too? Skimming a little more off the top, just a little closer to that brass ring. Or are you threatening folks just trying to make an honest living, taking their livelihood so you can move the product. Unless, you start recruiting smart looking door-to-door salesmen to sell the dope”

“Yeah, then nice people in the suburbs would be hopheads,” he chuckled at himself, “Mary and Joe with their kids and their white picket fence, flying high getting a little taste of the city. Going mad when they can’t get another fix. Vincenti does say business is business.”

The pop of a match and familiar scent of a Lucky Strike. He waved his hand to extinguish the match and tossed it on the table. I rose from my seat and walked to the opposite corner of the room, glancing at my watch. I needed a drink. My stomach turned at the thought of another boiled down cup of coffee. I looked at Lodi and he flicked away some ash. 

“Get comfortable. You’re going to be staying the night.” I said then exited the room.

———

I woke with a start and realized I was still at the precinct. It was a brief respite, maybe thirty minutes of a fitful sleep. A cramp pinched at the side of my neck thanks to how my head was turned towards the back of the couch. The strap from my holster dug into my ribs; I should have taken it off before I laid down. I checked the time and slowly sat upright burying my face in my hands. My head was swimming, my throat felt raw. I stood and went to the water cooler, grabbed a paper cup and pushed the tab. I took a swig, listened for the gurgle then poured in some more. 

I walked past my desk to see if any messages had been left in my absence. Nothing. It was just as I left it. Officer Pendrell caught my attention.

“Hey Mulder, the suspect in room 3 was asking for some water a little while ago. Do you know if anyone went back in there?”

“I’m not sure. I took a cat nap but I was going back in there anyway. Have we heard anything from his lawyer?”

“Don’t think so. But I’ll check it out.”

I loosened my tie as I strode down the hall. My shoulders felt stiff as I adjusted the leather strap of the holster.

“Rise and shine,” I said as I entered the room and snapped my fingers. I felt my voice catch in my throat when I saw Lodi on the floor, his arms stretched overhead at an unnatural angle with hands still cuffed to the table. His lips were purple, his eyes looked bulged in their sockets. And then there was the smell. I covered my nose and mouth as I observed the horrible pale tint to the skin on his face. There was a puddle of sick on the floor and some remnants down his front.

“I need some help in here NOW!” I yelled out the door then approached his seemingly lifeless body. His wrists were a dark red from where the cuffs were cutting off the circulation, his fingers and hands already looked dead. 

“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph,” a voice said behind me, I looked over my shoulder and saw Pendrell hesitantly standing in the doorway.

“Do you have keys?” I asked. He nodded and fumbled in his pocket. I did the honors. With the second cuff released Lodi’s body fell to the floor with a wet smack. The smell hit me again.

“Was it a heart attack?” Pendrell offered as he came over. Two other officers crowded in the doorway to get their looks in. 

“Someone get Captain Skinner,” I said then turned my attention back to the body. I leaned closer and noticed a white trail down the corner of his mouth, crusting on the lips. Pendrell rounded the other side of the interrogation table and bent down, covering the lower part of his face.

“Mulder look.” He was pointing at a discarded water cup. The wheels started turning. I stood quickly and left the room, leaving Pendrell to document the scene. I went two doors down and saw Theo Chambers in a similar state. He had collapsed across the table, cuffed hands hung off the edge. The smell didn’t hit as hard but there was more blood. Theo had a thick smear of it under his nose down to his mouth. I left the room and charged down the hall, meeting Skinner.

“What the hell happened here, Mulder?”

“Both suspects are dead. I think they were poisoned.”

“Excuse me?”

“Someone...someone knew. Somebody discovered they were caught and wanted to rub them out.”

“Who would have known that?”

“It’s the mob, sir. Word travels fast.”

“Mulder...Hey! Mulder!”

“I need to get the boys in forensics up here. No one touches these two!” I was rambling, I could feel it. Things took a turn faster than a Grand Prix driver. I heard dissonance in my ears as I found the closest telephone. I pulled the rotary to dial the lab. I closed my eyes to try and center myself, listened to the ring in the earpiece. I hoped one of the boys was awake down there. Another ring and a groggy voice answered.

“Langley, it’s Mulder. Are Byers and Frohike with you?”

I could hear a yawn before he said, “Frohike called it a night a few hours ago but Byers is still burning the midnight oil.”

“I need the two of you up here with your bag of tricks. We’ve got a couple of stiffs in the intero rooms.”

“Wait a minute, someone dropped them off?”

“No. It’s a fresh scene.” I wiped my brow.

There was a pause and I heard him adjust the phone.

“We’ll be right up.”

#i wrote this #historical au #xf fanfic #my fic

[argumentl]

The Freedom of Expression, radio version - Ep 27, April 2016. - Instant yakisoba, TV/Radio presenter faked academic record, new jingle appeal.

Kaoru begins by expressing his joy that its April, which means the show has been continued for another 3 months. He says he therefore has a new plan for the show, which he will announce in the second half.

Next, he reads out an email from a listener. This relates to a brand of cup yakisoba noodles named 'Peyong', which appears very similar in name and packaging to the well know instant yakisoba, 'Peyoung'. At first glance, it seems like a counterfit version, but on closer inspection, it is actually a legitimate product of Maruka Shokuhin, the company that makes 'Peyoung'. They just put out a cheaper version of this already well know product. The listener knows Kaoru and Joe are fans of Peyoung, so wanted to tell them about it. Kaoru says he knows about this, but he hasn't tried it yet. He is however, drawn to these kind of second class versions of well known things. Joe says Hiranabe has tried it, and invites Hiranabe on to explain how it differs from the original Peyoung. Hiranabe says firstly, the package is a different shape, and the noodles are thinner than the original. It also lacks some added ingredients like chicken etc, which makes it healthier. It has fewer calories than the original. Hiranabe's problem is that it is too easy to eat. He always ends up eating more than one pack, which ends up as more calories than if he just ate one of the original type. Joe jokes that he noticed Hiranabe is getting fat. As for yakisoba, Kaoru says he likes the veggies that come in it, like cabbage etc. He wants one that has an extra large portion of cabbage with it. Hiranabe says this cheaper version 'Peyong', does have a lot of cabbage in it, therefore it would be good for Kaoru. He warns Kaoru not to eat too much though. If Kaoru got a fat belly like Hiranabe, it would be bad. Joe asks Kaoru whether he ever gets tempted to eat in the middle of the night while he is song writing. Kaoru says, no, he can control himself quite well.

After playing a record, Kaoru re-introduces Hiranabe, whose moblie phone starts ringing at that point. He says its a hostess calling him at this hour, late at night. Kaoru says they get tonnes of emails from listeners saying Hiranabe is awful.

Hiranabe's news story this time is about the radio and tv presenter/economic commentator Sean K (Sean McArdle Kawakami) who was found to have lied about his entire academic background. They can't believe he got as far as he did in his career based on lies. He even managed a 15 year career on radio. Hiranabe mentions that Kawakami has also aided his success by having surgery to improve his appearance. A photo which surfaced of him during his high school days looks totally different from his current appearance. Despite the amount of surgery he had, it probably only amounted to as little as ¥500,000 in costs, according to a cosmetic surgeon who was interviewed by Hiranabe. Hiranabe suggests he could get the same surgery, and increase his financial potential. He says that Kawakami could probably re-invent himself in the AV industry or Pro-wrestling world to carry on his carreer. Kaoru thinks there is no need for that, he will prob manage to carry on, as he is already an established celeb.

Next Kaoru announces they have revcieved an email from Kami. The email reads, 'This is Kami/God. I may use the name Kami, but I won't be made into an imposter, will i? I'm so worried, I started a night job.'. The others think this is funny, but they assure him he is safe. Kaoru says he wishes Kami would visit them more. Hiranabe then repeats his feeling of shock that Kawakami got as far as he did using a false cv. Kaoru thinks his success has been down to his voice. He has a low, smooth voice, ideal for radio. Joe says the media have done a lousy job if they couldn't notice his lies. Kaoru isn't that bothered by it. It depends on what the lies were about. In this case it doesn't really do much damage to anyone. He is more impressed that the guy managed to pull it off.

He reckons the TV show that Kawakami worked on as an economic commentator, 'Hodou Station', was probably very shocked when they discovered the truth. Hiranabe says that his ability to play the part so well would do him good in the AV or Pro-wrestling world.

After playing another record, Kaoru says he has recieved another email from Kami, reading  'I feel more anxious after hearing your response. I do not wish to make an AV debut.' Kaoru and Joe both laugh at this. Kaoru then reveals the announcement concerning his new idea for the show. Previously, he had run a competition asking listeners to design the outside surroundings to the Arche cover, but this time he is appealing for listeners to send in a new 'jingle' or opening clip for the show. He plays the original opening clip to give listeners an idea of what is required. He wants people to send in a sound clip, and then they will put the spoken parts over it (the guy speaking in the clip is not Sean K btw, he says). While he explains the submission method, Hiranabe's phone starts ringing again. Like in the previous competition, Kaoru asks people not to worry about skill level, if he finds it interesting, he will use it. He then plugs his Budokan Dvd/bluray, and the new single due in March (which he says is slowly coming along). He finishes with a mention of his blog TheTheDay, and the BGM corner he is running on it.

Songs - Dir en grey/Gyakujou Tannou Keloid Milk, White Chapel/Make it bleed.

#dir en grey #the freedom of expression

[punksarahreese]

Omg like pls do something with soft to touch? Idk I feel like that can go some cute fluffy ways?

This took me way too long 😔 but here’s a look into the different sides of Ava Bekker <3

***

Ava Bekker never came off as someone who was physically affectionate; or really affectionate in general. She was so no-nonsense when Sarah first met her; so professional. She didn’t hug, she wasn’t one to date much at all, she didn’t like to show weakness. The only time she initiated contact was to examine a patient or comfort someone, usually Connor, on a rare occasion. It was those moments that she seemed the most human, when she showed a small amount of softness past her hard exterior.

It’s not that she wasn’t friendly, Ava was nice to anyone who deserved it. She clearly prioritized work over relationships, but that wasn’t necessarily a bad thing. Ava knew when to put work first and feel later, though Sarah wasn’t often the one to see her do the latter. Still, she was just doing what she was taught to do; act now and deal with everything else when it’s done. She was a good doctor, that’s what mattered.

Sarah did get to see Ava’s softer side, though, a few times before they actually got close. The first time was when they had a shared case, a young abuse victim with a heart defect. Sarah was there for emotional support, while also trying to diagnose the PTSD that the child clearly suffered from. She didn’t expect the ever-serious Doctor Bekker to immediately soften upon reading the chart, speaking to the little boy in the gentlest tone she could muster. She explained what she was doing before she did it, refrained from any quick movements, and made sure to ask him periodically if he was okay. It was amazing to Sarah, the way she so quickly adapted to the situation and somehow made the patient feel at ease. She made it seem so much less scary and even talked up Sarah, insisting she was the best psychiatrist around and would help him understand what went on. The patient even accepted a gentle hug from Ava, clearly comforted by her kindness and understanding. When Sarah thanked her as they left the room, Ava had just shrugged.

"Just doing my job, Doctor Reese," she had said, "He shouldn’t ever have to feel scared again and I certainly won’t be the cause of any more stress if I can help it."

That was the first time Sarah saw this side of Ava, the way her eyes were slightly glassy and how she glanced back at the patient with a worried look. She really cared, she was feeling the weight of this one, and Sarah couldn’t help but admire her for her professionalism but also how she knew when to be more vulnerable.

Things changed when they got closer, though. It was as if Ava was a completely different person outside their work environment. When they met for coffee before work, she would crack jokes and tease Sarah about the amount of Splenda she used. When they had a particularly bad experience in the ED, Ava would always give Sarah a light pat on the shoulder and promise her she did everything she could. She smiled so much more when they got more friendly, not always the smug smile she had when she did a surgery just right; this smile was genuine and utterly adorable. The one where her nose scrunched and she tried to hide behind her hands. That was when Sarah really realized that Ava wasn’t as no-nonsense and professional as she pretended to be.

Looking back though, now that her and Ava were dating, Sarah had to question how she was ever fooled into thinking Ava had no empathy or love for anything other than work. She wasn’t cold; she was the opposite of that. Ava Bekker was one of the most loving and caring people she knew, which is something she admired greatly.

Ava was so much softer than she pretended to be. She may not be big on PDA but when they were alone in their shared apartment that was a whole other story. Ava liked attention and she certainly had her clingy moments; a feat she was proving this day in particular, a rare day off for the two doctors.

It had started with Sarah waking up to Ava shimmying back into bed, her cold feet pressing into Sarah’s bare thigh and making her squirm away. That wasn’t a well received reaction, because a low whine preceded the grabby hands that reached out for Sarah, making her laugh a little.

"Someone’s whiny today," Sarah let herself be dragged into a hug, not minding it much at all. She wasn’t overly affectionate by any means but she certainly never complained about attention from Ava. Ava’s hugs were the safest and warmest place, after all.

"Too cold," The words were muffled as the blonde tucked her face into the crook of Sarah’s neck. Her nose was cold as it pressed against Sarah’s skin, making her squirm again but she didn’t make any move to push her girlfriend away.

"Poor baby," she laughed, "Still not used to Chicago’s winters?"

"Hate snow," Ava retorted, "Too cold. This is nice though."

Sarah hummed in agreement, tightening her hold on Ava’s waist a little. Moments like this were nice, a rare bit of calm in their usually chaotic lives. It felt good, to sleep in on a cold morning and not have to rush out the door to the hospital. To be able to just enjoy each other’s company and relax for once.

It was moments like these that Sarah cherished the most.

"What’s on the agenda for today, Aves?" She prompted, knowing it must be almost noon and Ava wasn’t one to sleep the day away. Her girlfriend just huffed though, twining their legs together as if they could get any closer if she tried hard enough.

"Nap," Ava replied, "And maybe some wine later."

"Oh really?" That surprised Sarah, Ava never slowed down for anything. Even on days off her would have errands to run, things planned, cases to research for. This seemed out of character, but Sarah knew she could use a rest day anyway. Still, it made her think something might be wrong, because sometimes Sarah’s brain just said the worst case scenario was the only option.

"Yeah."

“You okay, Ava?”

That made her look up, “Just fine, Darling. Tired but good.”

“Okay,” Sarah nodded once that sleepy smile eased her worry, “I love you.”

The soft chuckle that followed made Sarah blush a little, only worsened by the kiss that Ava pressed to her jawline. She leaned up a bit more, amused by her girlfriend’s shyness, “I love you too, Sarah.”

She teased Sarah about her blush, like always, poking at her cheek with a smile. Sarah pretended to be annoyed but she was grinning too, pulling her girlfriend down for a proper kiss. It was nice, she thought again; this was the kind of morning she wanted every day.

They lapsed into silence after that, just enjoying the comfort of the moment. Sarah’s hand had found its way to Ava’s hair, fingers combing through it gently. She smiled at the way she immediately leaned into her touch, knowing it was one of Ava’s favourite affectionate gestures. It calmed her down, made her melt, almost lulling her to sleep every time.

Her hair was always so soft; Ava in general was soft. Despite her no-nonsense work attitude and her sharp, regal features, everything else about her girlfriend was gentle. When she wasn’t afraid to be vulnerable she became so soft-spoken and affectionate. When she cared about someone or something it was evident; she would give endless love to anyone she thought deserved it. Sarah adored that about her, the soft side that she was often the only person to see. This was the woman she loved, both sides of her personality making her strong but still soft to touch.

#😌✨ #kinda not happy with this but it has been in my drafts for way too long :/ #chicago med #ava bekker #sarah reese #reesker #my-writing #asks #daisiesyhappiness

[incarnateirony]

Sorry abt all of the hate you’ve been getting recently. Here’s a (hopefully) interesting opinion to give you a break. I understand you believe DeanCas to be canon based on text. However, in a tv show, the script doesn’t equate to canon. In the end it’s the actors/directors interpretation onscreen. It’s fun to analyze DeanCas textually, but if there’s no onscreen payoff to the decade (?) long buildup. It’s queerbait. And knowing the history of LGBT+ cinema, it would be a very cruel thing.

Okay so this is a really uh, kinda cute attempt, but still about 3 years behind on things I’ve already addressed. In fact, your own take in a lot -- and I mean a lot -- of ways is far more self defeating than you think right here.

First of all, the script is the *base* of canon. I have always said, the script isn’t the complete canon and yes, it’s a collaborative work. This is not the winning argument you think it is. However, it is the base text. The base texts depicts the canon on page before the collaborative part presses it to on screen. (In fact to show how Not New Yet Backwards this take is, I've included a post at the end about social codes where I openly address how hysterical the fandom's limited idea of text is, and that whether inside or outside of Spoken Dialogue Only eg script the argument falls on its face and surrenders itself to reveal internalized queerphobia.)

For the record, I assume you went with the “script is just script” angle because I recently nailed down all the authoritative statements and receipts, but we’ll move on to your other points.

Now while not every-single-director has ever spoken up, some have. In fact, director Phil Sgriccia was one of the first people--in so far as being on the S8 DVD commentary--talking about Dean’s biromantic potential. Dick Speight also has been openly supportive and his framework is consistent. Many others don’t engage, like wright, but wright very obviously consciously framed things as per his previous work with Jensen on Dark Angel. We could go on. We could go on about set design, we could go on about all kinds of things.

We could go on about the way this fandom has a terrible warped way of reviewing AV media, wherein they used to chase curtains or assume certain lighting meant things it didn’t, *against* what crew said in some points, and then yell about interpretation. 

In fact your very evocation of the collaborative elements make this even more absurdist even if you really did pose this in innocence: after all, when this year a soap opera reporter who doesn’t even watch the show caught the 15.03 breakup, she gave swift review of the full cinematography being the classic framework of the Dark Points in the Romance. Because you’re right. It’s collaborative text. And especially as of season 15, that collaborative text--and in AV, visuals DO count as text--is painting them in romantic methods, in ways previously not done no matter what someone’s 8 year old meta sheet told them violet light meant. In fact, if you follow the actual crew’s statements of that violet light’s meaning, and look at 15.13, and then read through what I’ve been talking about on endgame speculation and where it fell, it falls into the fated twined paths of Dean and Cas at the end of the road together. No, the violet isn’t inherently romantic. Yes, it’s part of a large story. And yes, that story is leading them down a road together which I’ll bring up at the end of this post. Letting a romance speak for itself in the midst of mytharc is a whole other thing, and actually like, how it’s supposed to go? When it’s... literally an integral part of the structure?

All of this, all of this, is fundamentally true and I have actually made dozens if not hundreds of post to show how fandom has actually been -- in their attempt to be woke, to claim queerbait or not canon, or to whatever else -- persistently deleted creative commentary, turned it into accusations, or just defied basic AV crit standards both for and against itself. 

Are we really going to start talking about actor interpretations in the year even Jensen Ackles called it a domestic dispute, and turned a Samstiel question into Dean’s taste in Cas? Or Misha and Jared’s long histories of commentary? Or the other actors on the field over the years, even Emily Swallow or Curtis? Should we go as far back as to go to the showrunner note of when to play it like a jilted lover?

None of this is a new angle that I find interesting, it was interesting a few years ago when I first shared it, but here’s where your line breaks:

Jumping from that, any of that to “if there’s no onscreen payoff” isn’t just a nonsequitor, it buries your intent.

Even I have said, it’s true! The only base definition of queerbait is to create a bunch of queer-leading content without intent to follow through! Good job on that.

But you’re missing a whole bunch here.

I’ve simply said that setting ridiculous goalposts based on personal wants is not what makes canon. I don’t care if you want a kiss or sex on the map table or a rainbow farting unicorn pony for them to ride into the horizon--those are your goalposts, and those are not the only ways, nor the only valid ways much less, to have follow through.

The lack of intent to follow through is a hilarious presupposition. And follow-through does not only transmit one way. Hets get plenty of follow throughs like, I don’t know, at the end them implicitly asking someone to dinner and that’s it, that’s their happy ending. (Detty comes to mind.)  Some hets never even kiss. Nobody gets to set that specific *goalpost* and then erase all the other canon and text. That’s queer deletion. That’s regressive. And frankly that shits on the LGBT cinema history you’re trying to reference here vaguely, to which I point you to my entire LGBTQIA+ tag where I discuss a hundred years of queer cinema history and have a nagging feeling your head would actually spin for trying to break that out as an argument. Because you’ve got that backwards.

If the authors have intent to follow through on a romantic pairing, but do not give *your specific preferred thing* for *whatever* reason (in this case, from corporate interference snaring them back, for example), that is /not/ queerbait. It’s low visibility text and it’s still canon. There is no form of mental gymnastics this becomes anything else. If they have the intent to follow through and do follow through, it’s not queerbait. 

I don’t care how you cartwheel, how you reframe it, and how you try to nurse your mental wounds having to face that, perhaps, the alt right and terfy propaganda that has infested this fandom under the veil of being woke to get kids to repeat it has, also, influenced you. It’s hard to admit mistakes. But your entire statement here doesn’t even add together, it’s random assertions you’ve assumed are new, but actually fall contrary to what you think they add up to.

If, for example as I speculate, they can’t kiss, for example, but squeeze in a love you under limited parameters only to go off as a unit into eternity together on their own path, decided together, and that’s as far as the writers were allowed to go? Sorry, they still had intent to follow through, and followed through to what limit they have. Ergo, by your own definition, not queerbait.

Also, regardless of the ending, that doesn’t remove *text*. I can’t emphasize this enough. You can be dissatisfied with the ending, you can even feel baited if it does or doesn’t go to a specific landmark you set your personal faith on, but that doesn’t make previous text elements suddenly subtext, because that isn’t how it works, and never has been. 

Regarding unlevel social codes and how many ways this fandom has shown its own ass unwittingly, confusion over what is text, subtext, and how they all fall into a canon

https://occamshipper.tumblr.com/post/190728796970/were-gonna-try-this-again-canon-is-accepted

Being regressive and deleting your own stuff isn't helpful and often varies based on preferences rather than objective observations.

[donavanhall]

Acts of Translation

Late in February 2021, I was walking through the Long Island Pine Barrens, along the beginning of the Paumanok Trail.  The snow-covered path was marked by the patterned boot tracks of other hikers (only two or three at the most) and the cloven hoof-marks of deer.  The sky above the trees was pale blue, tinged with gray.  The air was cool, crisp, dry.  With each step, my boots compacted the icy slush and sometimes my boot would shift, sliding on the heavy, dense snowpack so that I’d have to compensate with a movement of my upper body and arms to keep my balance and to prevent myself from slipping.

The fourth branch of Jacques Roubaud’s “the great fire of London”, a volume called Poésie: (récit) — I prefer the French title since Poetry: (a story) is less poetic and loses a sense of meaning that I think should be there, poésie to my ear implies a movement that is lost in the more static English word, poetry, and récit (and perhaps this is peculiar to me and has nothing to do with actual French) suggests narration closer to that when a storyteller speaks to a listener who receives the récit and so completes the action, a story doesn’t necessarily require a reader — begins with the Narrator (Roubaud) moving through space, in this case, the space is urban, the streets Paris.

Early in December 1994, I was walking in Paris.  The sky was gray, low, the air humid, warm.

For walking in Paris, I wear a blue K-way jacket, and a cap, also blue.  The K-way was a gift, not something I’d picked out.  It was light, blue, waterproof, costly.

For walking in the woods, I wear an olive green jacket made by Patagonia that zips up the front and has a little pocket over the left breast where I can store my phone for easy access.  Around my neck, I wear my “Doctor Who scarf” knitted by my mother.  (The scarf isn’t a replica of any of the long scarves worn by the Fourth Doctor, played by actor Tom Baker, but a spirited recreation of the sort that anyone familiar with the various scarves featured in Season 12 through 17 of the TV show would immediately recognize.)  On my head I wear a black bowler hat I purchased at the museum shop of the San Francisco Museum of Modern Art in 2018 when I took my mother and son to the Magritte exhibit. (The next summer, I would take my wife and son to Brussels to tour the permanent Magritte exhibit at the Musée de Beaux Arts.  The study of Magritte’s art and writing is a principal concern of my Project.)  The clerk at the shop said this style of bowler hat is the exact same one worn by René Magritte when he was alive.  So it should be no surprise that I’m pleased with it and wear it every opportunity I get, and especially when I’m out on my daily walk.

Before the pandemic, I walked every afternoon through the pine barrens.  This was easy enough since the office where I perform my paid work (not at all literary) is located in the middle of the pine barrens.  There are a network of trails that lead through the woods that are immediately accessible from the back door of the building where I work.  A year ago, my office was closed, so that I now work from home.  Now my afternoon walks (usually) are taken along the streets in the neighborhood where I live in the village of Long Neck.  I’ve become a familiar sight in the neighborhood as the man in the bowler hat.  My neighbors wave to me and sometimes will view my unusual headwear as an occasion for conversation.  What kind of hat is that? asked one neighbor.  Another fellow walker assumed I’m a fan of Stanley Kubrick’s adaptation of A Clockwork Orange, a novel by Anthony Burgess.  I’m more a fan of the book than I am a fan of the movie, but my bowler hat is most deliberately a nod to Magritte and not to Alex and his three droogs.  Throughout the pandemic, Magritte and his art has been my life line.

On his walks in Paris, Roubaud doesn’t wear a bowler — his cap is of a different sort.

I bought the cap in New York, at J.J. Hat Center, at the corner of Broadway and 42nd Street.  It’s a hat made in Scotland and the salesperson assured me that it was the same exact style of cap worn by Sean Connery in the film The Untouchables. It’s no surprise that I’m happy with it.

After I’m vaccinated and I feel like taking the Long Island Rail Road to Penn Station again, maybe I’ll go to the J.J. Hat Center myself and shop for a hat.  Although according to “the internet” J.J. Hat Center is now located at 310 Fifth Ave (between 31st & 32nd), not far from Penn at all.  If/when I do go in to the city, I’ll want to pay a visit to the Fountain Pen Hospital.  A man can never have too many hats or too many fountain pens.

I could go along in this vein for quite some time, this leisurely stroll through Roubaud’s Poésie: (récit) allowing his text to guide my own thoughts, reveries, musings, etc.  The resulting text would function as a companion text.  I’m walking along with Roubaud in Paris as he moves from the National Library, past familiar restaurants, along familiar streets…

I passed between the tops or periscopes of the licorice icebergs of the Buren columns, making sure not to slip on their outgrowths/extensions [? the French word is excroissances, but it’s not obvious to me what these outgrowths or extensions might be], on the damp grills, slimy, soaped with crushed beige leaves.  And I made it through with no accidents to Place Colette, on the right side of the Théâtre-Français.  This route was well known to me.

...but Roubaud himself is not walking with me, only his text, or perhaps he is with me as an invented copy of an imaginary Roubaud that I carry within myself as I read and as I walk along the snow-covered Paumanok Trail thinking of his book, or books (one book in seven volumes called collectively “the great fire of London”).

I read the first two and a half branches (the first three volumes to be translated into English), starting with Branch One: Destruction in the fall of 2018.  Without really intending to, I wrote a little book of jottings while reading Roubaud’s novel.  I called my little book, In the Labyrinth of Forking Paths, since “the great fire of London” is “a story with interpolations and bifurcations” with actual links indicating different narrative paths the reader can take during their wandering reading.  I was reminded (though only a little) of the choose-your-own-adventure books (published by Bantam) I read when I was a kid.  One of my early attempts at writing fiction was a “literary” choose-your-own-adventure called (imaginatively enough) Into the Labyrinth (a slight variation on a title of one of Alain Robbe-Grillet’s novels, Dans le labyrinthe, with whose hyper-descriptive nouveau roman style I’d become bewitched, a style ideally suited to such text adventures).  (I published my Into the Labyrinth as an interactive fiction designed for a media platform that worked only on those early generation iPods.  I have no idea if anyone ever read/played my interactive fiction even though according to the app, mine was the most downloaded story.  It was certainly the longest.)  I won’t claim that I have been waiting for the remaining four volumes to be translated into English.  In fact, I felt a certain level of contentment with the artificial truncation of the novel — I had read all that I could, all that was available in English, so now I could move on to other things, like reading the works of Miklós Szentkuthy.  Procuring and reading the rest of “the great fire of London” wasn’t a tempting prospect until Anthony, author of the blog, Time’s Flow, mentioned that he’d purchased the remaining volumes in French and would be making an attempt to read them.  That was all it took.  If Anthony was going to do it, then so would I.  I ordered copies from a bookseller in France and they arrived last Friday in the post.  So when did I get the idea to translate these remaining four volumes into English myself?  Was it a serious idea or just another of my fanciful projects?  Project 7139: translated two thousand pages of Jacques Roubaud’s “the great fire of London” into English.  (For the record, I’m currently working on Project 3 which I started twenty years ago.  Project 4 is “write a masterpiece that will establish my literary reputation.”  That one might take awhile.)  Certainly, I would read these other branches.  Or would I?  My track record for finishing big projects is not stellar.  (The first time I read Proust, it took me ten years.)

While walking in the snow in the pine barrens, I thought about why I was being pulled back into Roubaud’s book.  What was it about his very long prose that attracted me?  Was this a momentary literary crush or had I fallen for “the great fire of London”?  If this were a romance, you could say that Roubaud and I met in the fall of 2018 and spent some time together, mostly walking.  We shared our mutual interests, talking about poetry, literature, and mathematics.  I learned a great deal about haikai (haiku and haibun), gained a new appreciation of the works of Charles Dickens, and was introduced to Nicholas Bourbaki, and then resumed my own mathematical studies after a hiatus of twenty years, this time beginning with set theory and topology.  And then it was over.  He had to go.  We parted ways.

Then two and half years later, Roubaud pops up again at a party hosted by a friend, this time we’re speaking French — my French is better now, so it’s much easier for us to talk and now I feel something different than I did before.  We’re making a real connection.  I can feel it.  And Roubaud seems somehow changed.  When we first met, I was the one who was paying attention to Roubaud, accompanying a new master, and learning new things.  Now, this new Roubaud, this French-speaking Roubaud is interested in me, keeps asking me questions, asking for my opinion. Then it dawns on me.  Roubaud has chosen me.  You’re the one, he says.  I’ve picked you.

Of course, this isn’t an exclusive relationship.  Such is the way with authors and their books.  Readers must share the objects of their affection, but still it feels different when a book chooses you rather than you choosing it.

I’m choosing you.  I’m ready whenever you are.  Shall we begin?

#jacques roubaud #walking #translation #french #literature

[mikkomacko]

Sweet As Honey 3

~

Harry isn't a light sleeper. He could sleep through a boxing match if he wanted to. Hell, he'd even slept through one of Arlo's midnight tantrums back when he was a newborn and Harry was so exhausted that y/n didn't bother trying to wake him. But he's gone soft, the slightest stir of y/n or a hint of a cry and he's ready to swoop in and get his loves back to sleep.

It's no surprise that he wakes up from the sound of y/n climbing out of the bed. He's fully awake by the time the bathroom door clicks shut, a little louder and rougher than y/n usually closes it, followed by the sound of rushing water.

He's quick to his feet, all grogginess being wiped away as he hurries to the bathroom to check on his wife.

She's on her knees by the bathtub, head ducked down as she vomits into the tub. Harry kneels beside her, taking the hair she's bunched up in one hand from her and holding it back.

Y/n shudders, heaving her dinner under the flow of the water and blindly reaches out for Harry's hand. He grasps it, squeezing her fingers to let her know he's there.

"You're alright my love." Harry soothes. He strokes her hand with his thumb as she continues to heave into the tub. Once her tummy has been emptied and she's rinsed her mouth, he brushes her teeth for her.

Frowning, Harry cups her cheeks, feeling for any hint of a fever. They're sticky with sweat but he doesn't sense a fever.

"Let's get you back to bed." Harry murmurs. He helps y/n to her feet, smoothing her hair down and leading her to their bed. Harry gets her tucked under the blankets, pressing his palm to her forehead to check one last time for a fever.

"Yeh don't need any medicine darling?" Y/n shakes her head, blinking sluggishly at him.

"Was just nauseous." She yawns. "I feel better now."

Her eyes fall shut, snuggling into the blanket. Sighing to himself, Harry brushes a kiss to her forehead and stands up. He's making his way to his side of the bed, knees cracking when a sharp cry breaks through the baby monitor. Before he even gets the chance to think of falling back into bed, he's changing his course towards the door.

Using the nightlight in the nursery as a guide, Harry gets to the crib to find Arlo's chubby hands already reaching up for him. He scoops him up, bringing Arlo to his chest and wiping at his tears.

"Alright bub," Harry croaks. "what'sa matter? Huh?" He checks his diaper, glad that he doesn't need to be changed. He checks to make sure bunny is in the crib which he is. He checks to make sure Arlo isn't cutting a tooth or feeling ill. When Harry's sure his baby isn't physically hurting, he presses his hand to Arlo's bare tummy right above the edge of his diaper.

As if on cue, his little tummy rumbles gently under Harry's palm and Arlo whines in distress at him.

"Ok, ok." Harry shushes, already moving towards the kitchen. Arlo continues to whimper into his father's bare shoulder, staining his skin with drool and boogies. Harry warms a bottle of breast milk, dabbing some on his wrist to make sure it's not too hot, and then cradling his baby as he drinks.

Arlo quiets, occasionally hiccuping around the soft sounds of him suckling from the bottle. Harry leans against the counter, smiling softly at Arlo's glossy green eyes.

"Much better, huh bub?" He whispers, enjoying the way Arlo looks at him when he speaks. The eyes that mirror his own light up, curiously waiting for Harry to continue with what he was saying even if the baby doesn't have a clue what it means.

Harry continues to coo nonsense to Arlo, apologizing for putting him to bed hungry and taking so long to get him some milk. It's when Harry falls silent that Arlo seems to realize he's not drinking from his mother, he's drinking from a bottle and he begins to fuss. Chubby hands, push the bottle away, a whimper cracking through Arlo's lips.

"I know you hate bottles buddy," Harry sighs, urging Arlo to take the fake nipple back into his mouth. "but mumma's not feeling well and we need to let her rest, yeah?"

Arlo falls into the trance of his father's voice again, allowing Harry to pop the bottle back into his mouth. Tired and afraid that Arlo is going to reject it again, Harry continues to ramble.

"Should've known ya wouldn't be tricked into actually wantin' a bottle. Always want the real thing, don't ya?" Harry smoothes a finger over Arlo's flush cheek, careful to not disturb the bottle that's balanced in his palm. "Just like your daddy."

Arlo's eyes blink sluggishly at Harry, a quiet gurgle-that Harry takes as an agreement-leaving his lips.

"Trust me, I know s'nothing like mumma's but it'll do for now. You can 'ave her back tomorrow. Make sure you give her lots o' cuddles and kisses though. Want her to feel better, yeah?"

Arlo's big eyes blink up at Harry again.

"S'bit weird to be talking about mumma's boobs with ya, i'nit?" Harry quietly chuckles to himself. "But we both love 'em just like we love her so I suppose s'not too odd. S'just love and love is good."

The bottle is reaching the end and Arlo's eyes are getting heavy. Harry hums, continuing to soothe his son back to sleep.

"Love you so much, bub. I'll love you forever and ever, no matter wha' happens. Never hurt ya and I never leave ya without a home. I promise I'll always give you and mumma, and ya brothers and sisters a home. "

Harry stays silent after his little rant, his tongue heavy in his mouth and throat dry. Arlo's lazily finishing the end of the bottle, his eyelashes now kissing the apples of his cheeks.

"Harry?"

Harry nearly jumps out of skin, knocking the back of his ankle against the cabinet with a thud that has tingles shooting up leg and Arlo stirring.

He hisses, shaking out his leg and gently bouncing Arlo back to sleep. His head snaps to the entryway, brow furrowed in annoyance.

Gemma is peeking around the corner, thin arms crossed over her chest and fingers tapping her forearm nervously. She's hesitant, debating whether or not to enter the kitchen and even though she won't meet his gaze, Harry can see the tears in her eyes.

Harry's on the verge of walking away but he's falters as he watches his sister, anxious for some kind of reaction out of him. Y/n's voice rings through his head, begging him to speak to her.

He clears his throat softly, thinking of something to say that might show Gemma that he still cares for her.

Heart pounding, he murmurs, "Sorry, forgot you're a light sleeper."

Gemma sniffles, giving him a weak smile. Her wet eyes shine with gratitude, obviously happy that he's making a connection with her.

"It's not your fault." Gemma says. Her voice is light as if she's afraid of sending him running again. Harry's determined to prove her wrong. "I heard him fussing and I thought I'd come make sure everything is ok."

Harry nods, recalling that Arlo hasn't made a peep in quite some time. He wonders how long she was standing there before she worked up the nerve to say something.

"He was just hungry." Harry shifts his gaze down to Arlo. The bottle is empty but Arlo continues to suck at it as he sleeps. Gently, Harry pries the bottle from between Arlo's lips and places it on the counter. Arlo's nose scrunches up, lips opening and closing as he seeks the nipple of the bottle. Sensing an impending cry, Harry lifts his hand up, resting his palm on Arlo's chest and softly rubbing the tip of his pinky on Arlo's lips. Arlo latches onto Harry's finger, settling back down now that he's got something to suckle on.

"I'm proud of you Harry." Gemma whispers and he can feel her presence come closer. "You've got an incredible family and home and life. Everything here is so full of....of love and I'm jealous."

Anger sizzles in his gut. She's jealous? Of what? The fact that his mother abandoned him? That he had no home for years? He wants to snap at her but he knows it won't do any good so he stays silent, waiting for her to continue.

"I stayed at that house because I thought it was best. I wanted to hold onto what little sense of home I had left but seeing you with your wife and your son, this is a home. That house was nothing, it was faulty and broken and I'm sorry that I chose it over you."

Harry swallows around the lump in his throat, blinking back tears. Gemma sniffles again, her elbow bumping his. He doesn't pull away this time.

"I know that one apology won't fix this. I know it's going to take a lot for you to forgive me and I won't push you, but please know that whenever you're willing to talk, I'm here for you now. And if you never want to talk I understand but you deserve a chance at fixing this, at being happy."

"I am happy Gemma." Harry croaks. He looks over his shoulder at her, chest aching at the redness of her eyes. "For a long time I wasn't but I coped with it and I ended finding my soulmate and I'm so fucking happy. But I don't want to go through the rest of my life with that heaviness in my chest. I don't want to keep reliving what it was like to have Anne choose that low life over me. I want to fix this, I'm working on how to do that, but don't think I'm not happy."

Gemma nods, her eyes flickering back and forth between his. Harry hopes she can still read him like she used too because he can't get the words out entirely, but he wants her to know. He wants her to know that he's not entirely angry anymore. That he doesn't seek any revenge on her or Anne. He's hopeful for their future and he doesn't want her wasting energy fretting over him.

Harry knows from the way she smiles, fingers reaching out to briefly squeeze his elbow, that she understands.

"Thank you Harry, for everything." She swipes at her red nose with her arm. Harry hums, offering her his best smile. She clears her throat.

"Get that kid to bed because you two are awful cute together and I'm tired of crying." Gemma softly laughs, reaching out with a shaky hand to rub Arlo's closed fist that's wrapped around Harry's wrist.

"Will do." Harry pushes himself off the counter. He give Gemma one last grin. "Good night Gemma."

~

"Oh, mirror in the sky, what is love?"

"Can the child within my heart rise above?"

Tapping his toes against the headboard of his bed, Harry softly hums along as Gemma continues to sing the words of Landslide. His body is heavy, sinking into the matress more and more as sleep pulls him in.

Gemma stops singing and he can feel the matress shift as she sits up. "Do you think true love is a thing?"

Harry cracks an eye open, lifting his head a bit to look at her. She's propped up against the headboard, knees to her chest and tapping her fingers on her calf.

"I think so." Harry says, letting his head fall back onto his arms.

"I just think it's crazy. Like marriage, how can you promise to love someone forever? I mean, you don't know how you'll feel in ten years, you know?"

Harry hums, considering her words. "I think the risk of marriage is worth it though. I'd rather say that I've had my heartbroken than say that I've never really loved."

Gemma is quiet for a moment. "That still doesn't ensure that you'll love someone forever."

Sleep is tugging at him quickly, making his lips feel fuzzy and his arms tingly but he can't fall asleep knowing Gemma is nervous about something. He searches his foggy mind for the easiest way to explain love to her.

"We love our family forever. No matter what you, mum, and dad will always have a place in my heart so love must be real. You just have to find the person that you can see being your family."

Gemma releases her legs, nudging Harry in the side of the head with her foot. He lets out a low grumble. "You're too smart for fourteen."

Smirking to himself, Harry sighs and snuggles deeper into the bed. Ignoring her foot that's still pressed into the side of his head, he says, "Good night Gem."

"Good night Harry."

~

There were subtle changes in Harry's behavior after the night he spoke to Gemma. He interacted with her more, mostly just small talk, but talk nonetheless.

Harry's kindness instilled a sort of courage in Gemma, one that had her comfortable enough she was helping y/n around the house and openly fawning over Arlo 24/7. She was comfortable enough to start digging through the cabinets when she was hungry and she had figured out how to work the "overly advanced TV" in the living room.

Y/n was better after that night too, only a bit nauseous right after she ate but Harry never saw her throw up again. She was sleeping a little more than usual but he assumed it was her body recovering from the stomach bug she had.

Things were starting to look up at the Styles residence and Harry was pretty pleased. So pleased, he invited Gemma to go on a drive with him. He had to pick up a check from the warehouse and go over his schedule with Nick, and he assumed she was tired of being stuck in the house.

Harry enjoyed their morning together. They joked around a bit and spoke about Gemma's life now. She's a writer for a magazine back home but requested to work from home so she could go see Harry. She seemed happy with her life and Harry was glad, he didn't want her hung up on what happened in the past.

They're still chuckling about a joke Harry told in the car when they enter the house, Harry immediately freezing when he hears the chaos going on inside.

The smoke detectors are blaring, so loud Harry can't hear if y/n and Arlo are even in there. The alarm system is counting down the time until it notifies the fire department of the alarm and Harry quickly punches in the code to keep it from calling.

Him and Gemma rush inside, finding the living room empty and tinged with smoke. The wailing cries of Arlo can now be heard through the sound of the alarm. Panic flares in Harry's chest.

The smoke is coming from the kitchen as are the cries. Harry barrels in, eyes burning as he takes in the mess before him.

A pan is on the stove, big black clouds of smoke pouring up and into the house. Y/n is hunched over the sink, throwing up into the steam of water. She's got Arlo tightly in one arm, gently bouncing him while the other holds a dish towel over his nose and mouth. His cries can still be heard through the fabric and Harry can see y/n trying to sush him but she's interrupted by another spew of throw up.

"Open that window Gem." Harry orders, dashing towards the stove. He turns the burner off, hoping that'll stop most of the smoke until he can get the pan in the sink.

He moves over to the sink, quick to grab Arlo from y/n. Gemma keeps opening windows, fanning out the smoke. Harry pulls a chair up under the closest smoke detector, climbing up and pressing the reset button.

The house falls almost completely silent, Harry's ears ringing now that he can actually hear himself think. Arlo is still crying into the cloth that's shielding him from the smoke, fat tears soaking into it.

Harry climbs down, cradling Arlo a little closer to him. "S'alright bug," Harry coos, removing the rag to wipe at the snot and tears that stain Arlo's red cheeks. "I've gotcha."

Y/n is still dry heaving into the sink, letting out violent coughs when nothing comes up. "Do me a favor Gem?" Harry asks, already moving towards y/n.

"Of course."

"Take tha' pan out the back door and set it on the patio table, please?" He nods towards the stove, where the pan is still lightly smoking. Gemma rushes over, taking the pan and disappearing out the patio door.

Holding Arlo in his left arm, Harry rubs his hand up y/n's back. He pushes her baby hairs away from her face, smoothing her hair back and pressing a kiss to her temple.

"Was gone for an hour and ya almost burn the bloody house down." Harry teases quietly, continuing to run his fingers through her hair.

She chuckles softly, dipping a hand under the faucet to scoop water into her mouth. Harry keeps his fingers running through her hair while she rinses her mouth and swallows a few gulps of water.

When she's finished, she shuts off the water and returns to her normal height. Her cheeks are flushed and sweaty, the area under her eyes oddly pale. Harry's stomach flips in concern, hand moving to cup her cheek.

"I'm sorry H."

"None o' tha'." Harry shushes, panicking at the tears in her eyes. She nods, lips pursed in the way that Harry knows she does when she's trying not to cry. Huffing to himself, Harry cradles the back of her head and pulls her into his chest.

She lets out a shaky whimper into his shoulder, hands fisting his tee-shirt. He cards his fingers through her hair, gently rocking her and Arlo back and forth until they've stopped sniffling.

That's when Harry glances up, catching sight of Gemma and Anne standing by the back door. It may be irrational but his stomach clenches with anger, nostrils flaring when Anne meets his gaze.

"Want you two upstairs." Harry says gruffly, carefully removing y/n from his chest and handing over Arlo.

"Harry-"

"In bed, resting. I'll be up in a mo' to check your temperature." Harry interrupts, patience wearing thin. Y/n meets his gaze, feebly nodding when she recognizes the darkness in them.

Harry walks her to the stairs, chest heaving with pent up anger. He watches her disappear up the stairs, waiting for the sound of the door shutting before hounding in on his mother.

"She let you stay here." Harry mutters through clenched teeth, arms crossed over his chest to keep himself at least a tiny bit composed. "She's done nothing but take care of you for two bloody weeks and I can't trust you to help her for one fucking hour."

Anne stays silent, guilty eyes absorbing Harry's words. Maybe it's good she doesn't say anything but in the heat of the moment, when Harry can still feel the heavy panic that hit his chest when he opened the door, her silence just presses his buttons.

"Ya not gonna say anything?" He scoffs, now pacing back and forth. His skin is hot and itchy, fingers tingling with the same adrenaline that hits him before a match.

"You weren't always a shit mother." Harry hisses, unable to stop his mouth from saying the words he know will hit her hard. "I thought it'd be fine if I left my wife and son, my family, with you but I guess I was fucking wrong!"

"Harry!" Gemma hisses but he ignores her, brain foggy with the built up anger at his mom and the fear that crushed him when he thought his family was in danger.

"Did ya forget how to take care o' someone that's not yourself? That's my fucking family and ya just left them in here while ya waited outside, for what? How long would ya have stayed out there if I hadn't shown up?"

Once again, she's quiet, save for the sound of her softly crying. Harry doesn't care, his family could've been hurt and she did nothing but save herself. Harry approaches her, pointer finger jabbing into her shoulder as he glares down at her.

"You're lucky Gemma's here because I could honestly kill ya." Anne whimpers at his words, chin dropping to her chest and sobbing. He turns, heading towards the staircase.

"Harry," Anne cries weakly. "darling please-"

"Don't call me that!" Harry hisses, stopping just before the steps. He gives her another anger fueled glare. "Clean up this mess Anne, and then leave me alone."

~

Harry's hot, skin damp with sweat from being buried under the thick winter blankets and y/n, but the air in the bedroom is far too cold for him to remove a layer.

He yawns, becoming aware of the hand that's clasped around his bicep, nails digging into his skin. His eyes pop open, coming face to face with y/n peering at him through the dark. Her eyes are big and teary, her whole body tensed up.

"Harry,"

"What'sa matter?" Harry asks, shooting up in the bed and kicking the blankets away to get a good look at her swollen belly. Bile rises in his stomach when he sees the way she's holding her stomach, as if she's in pain. He places his hand over hers, fingers slotting between hers to feel if their little one is moving around. His panic grows when he feels nothing.

"It hurts Harry." Y/n whispers through a wince.

"Come on love," Harry grunts, his joints stiff as he clambers off their bed. "Up ya get." He takes her hands and pulls her up until she's standing next to him.

They dress, Harry throwing on a tee-shirt and shoving his feet into a pair of Addidas before helping y/n slide into a pair of his sweatpants and her vans.

She winces when they get to stairs, the sharp pain in her stomach too much to even think about walking down the stairs. Harry scoops her up, carrying her bridal style all the way to the car.

"Are we going to the hospital?" She questions breathlessly.

Harry nods, keeping one hand on the wheel and reaching over for hers. She tightly clasps them together, squeezing him the whole ride there.

They get her into an exam room, Harry's heart pounding with fear. He's in a daze as he helps y/n change into a gown and get on the bed. He can't take his eyes off her stomach while they wait for the doctor. His baby is in there and something could be wrong. His son could be in pain and there's nothing he can do for him. Harry's utterly helpless.

"We're going to be fine, H." Y/n whispers, still holding onto him. He nods, free hand immediately going to rest on her belly. He ducks down to kiss her cheek and then her belly, tears flooding his eyes when their baby presses against his palm.

Relief washes over him but he still keeps his hand on her stomach until the doctor is smearing jelly on it for an ultrasound. And even when he's assured multiple times that y/n was just having Braxton Hicks contractions, he still holds his hand there, making sure his son is safe.

~

"S' not too hot?"

"No, it's fine."

"Good," Harry murmurs, delicately pecking Arlo's forehead. "because here comes my little bug."

Y/n grins, reaching out with bubble covered arms to grab Arlo. She sets him on her lap, the warm water reaching just above his belly button. He squeals at the bubbles, his hands smacking the surface of the water and splashing dollops of water across Harry's tee-shirt.

"Watch were you're throwing water, ya lil bugger." Harry laughs, scooping up some of the water in his palm. Y/n tilts Arlo's head back, allowing Harry to wet the tiny bit of hair sprouting.

Harry can feel y/n's gaze on him as he pours baby wash into his hands. He tries to ignore it, softly rubbing the soap into Arlo's smooth skin because he knows she's going to question him on what he said to his mother.

To his luck, she doesn't pester him while he bathes Arlo nor when he uses an old plastic cup to wet her hair and scrub her shampoo into it. She's quiet, softly breathing as he rinses out her hair and adds conditioner to it.

Harry smiles, heart content when she looks at him with sleepy eyes and brings Arlo closer to her chest. She smiles back, eyeing him curiously when he moves to the end of the tub.

"Put ya leg up here for me darling." Harry instructs, tapping the edge of the tub and reaching for the razor on the ledge.

"Harry, you don't have t-"

"Want to." He interrupts, pulling the cap off of it. Y/n nods, lifting her leg out of the sudsy water for him. Harry's careful as he runs the razor over her legs, not wanting to accidentally knick her.

"Daddy takes such good care of us, doesn't he bub?" Y/n coos. Harry looks up at her, catching her as she presses a finger full of bubbles to Arlo's nose.

Harry hums, moving up to her thigh. "Was so scared when I got home." Harry says quietly, not really wanting to think about how worked up he got. "Thought ya two were hurt and I couldn't even hear if ya were still in the house."

"Sorry we scared you."

"S'not your fault." Harry insists. "Accidents happen, ya just know how I get when it comes to you two."

"Trust me, Harry," Y/n reaches down, her wet fingers pushing his hair back. "nothing is going to happen to us with you around."

Harry smiles, feeling more at ease now. "Love you pet." Harry murmurs, pressing his lips to her knee.

"We love you Harry."

Harry holds back a smirk, wanting to make y/n blush and give him that cute giggle she does when she's feeling bashful.

"Lift ya bum for me, so I can finish my job down here." His hand slides further down her thigh, tickling dangerously close to her core.

"You are not shaving down there!" Y/n gasps, pulling away from him so her legs splash back into the water. Arlo giggles at the waves in the water.

"M' just teasing!" Harry snickers, moving back towards her head. "'sides, ya know I like it when you don't shave down there."

She sucks her lips into her mouth, hiding her shy smile from him but she can't hide blush on her neck and cheeks. Harry kisses her cheek.

"Lift ya arm so I can get under there," He taps her elbow. "need to get you two in bed. We've got an early day tomorrow."

Y/n is lifting her arm for him when Arlo's little hand reaches out and swipes at the razor in his hand. Gasping dramatically, Harry looks down at Arlo with offense. Arlo giggles at him.

"S'not yours!" Harry exclaims. "Bloody hell, I can't get any peace of mind with ya little devils around here!"

Both Arlo and y/n chuckle at him, Arlo snuggling into her wet chest and looking up at Harry with fond eyes. He rolls his eyes at both of them but his smile stays planted on his lips for the rest of the night.

#sweet as honey #dad harry styles #harry styles imagine #harry styles #harry styles au #harry imagine #solo harry #boxer harry #boxing #one direction #fanfic #fanfiction #imagine #daddy harry styles #fluff #cute

[sunniesapphic]

when neil calls todd sweetheart i just-

#aves reads speak low again <3

[alejaosbastardos]

On the Road

Summary: Ten years after the massacre at the border, Daniel’s life had changed a lot, the death of his father and brother, his escape to Puerto Lobos to start a new life, dragging a past that he could never leave behind. When Daniel decided that he would never see a familiar face again, the past and the present cross in his road.

Chapter 2: Decisions

To: Christopher Eriksen

Address: 901 12th Ave, Seattle, WA 98122, United States.

Dear Chris:

I hope the information I gave to you will be very useful. I am really sorry I can't help you find them myself, as you well know, the police kept tracking my movements and I can't leave the United States... You don't know how painful it is for me not to be able to go looking for them personally...

Many years have passed since I last saw them, I still remember clearly when I had to heal Sean's wounds and the pain in my soul I felt when I saw him like that, every day I think of them, how they are, what they will be doing, how they will have done in Mexico...

A part of me hoped that they would try to contact me, but it didn't happen, I hope it's because they decided so and not because something happened...

I hope you get lucky on your trip and manage to find them, in the worst case they may not be in Puerto Lobos anymore, if so, the search will be more difficult.

Any help you need, do not hesitate to contact me.

I wish you the best and that you find Sean and Daniel safe and sound.

With love.

Karen.

Friday, August 7, 2026

12:00 pm.

A flight was going to take off at 1:00 pm, a young blond was dragging a huge suitcase through Seattle airport to go to the ticket office to check in and leave his luggage, the flight would be long so he had brought his small ammunition in his backpack

A woman with red hair smiled at her behind the counter when she saw the boy approach her.

“Good morning, can you give me your documents, please?”

The blond boy greeted her and handed the girl the documents she was asking for.

“Mr. Christopher Eriksen.” The receptionist read while checking his data on the computer. “Here is your boarding pass, I hope you have a happy trip.”

Chris thanked the woman but before leaving he remembered something.

“Excuse me I have a doubt... The General Ignacio Pesqueira García airport... That is the airport where I will arrive.”

“Right.”

“It's not in Puerto Lobos...”

“It's in Hermosillo.”

“Do you know where I should go to take a bus that leaves me in Puerto Lobos?”

The woman was thoughtful with Chris's question.

“Give me a few minutes” She said before typing on her computer.

“Papá, papá! Estoy loco por llegar a México!” Said the boy next to him. “Extraño comer tacos.”

The man next to him let out a laugh and took his 7-year-old son in his arms and hugged him.

“No te preocupes mijo, cuando lleguemos a México es lo primero que vamos a comer.”

Chris looked longingly at the interaction between the father and his son, it had been 3 months since he last spoke with his father on the phone...

“Take it.” The girl offered him a paper with a name and written address. “I hope it helps, when you arrive in the city of Hermosillo take a taxi to this terminal, then you must buy a ticket from a bus that goes to Puerto Lobos.”

Chris took the sheet in his hands.

It will be a great surprise to see them again after 10 years.

“Thanks a lot.” Chris said with a smile on his lips.

 ______________________

The sun's rays filtered through the window, the sky was dyed orange while a silence flooded the place, Chris could only hear the sound of the plane. The people around him were concentrated watching a movie, reading a book or sleeping.

Chris had a comic in his hands that he had stopped reading an hour ago, he had fallen asleep after Captain Alfred had entered Supervillain's Sam's lair.

He took his backpack and took out some cereal bars, probably they were going to have dinner soon, but Chris was very hungry.

As he checked what else was in his backpack, he found the old drawing he and Daniel had made.

In the drawing you could see careless strokes of a blond boy with a mask, cape and armor, and next to him another dark boy wearing a hooded cape and a mask.

Chris smiled sadly and pulled a sketchbook into his backpack and opened it until he came to a drawing that had the same concept of children's drawing but much more professional.

He sighed as he remembered everything that happened in Beaver Creek, seeing Daniel and Sean fleeing through the forest, his farewell when Daniel last saw him when he climbed into the treehouse.

Chris had hoped to see them again, that things would be fixed and that all the misunderstandings would be resolved, to have the Diaz brothers again as neighbors and to be able to stay together.

But none of that happened.

Daniel and Sean didn’t come back and when Chris asked Mr. Reynolds about them Mrs. Reynold broke into tears.

Since that day Chris didn’t talk about them with Mr. Reynolds.

All he knew is that Daniel and Sean had fled the border after a massacre that no one could explain since the Diaz brothers did not carry any weapons.

The mysterious deaths of that incident had Chris in suspense, but he was sure of something and that Daniel had nothing to do with what had happened.

Daniel, his childhood friend, couldn’t have killed those people.

Chris's theory is that maybe someone there had super powers too.

From that day on many things changed, from the impact of the news, to things after what happened.

His father had decided to leave Chris with his grandparents living in Seattle for a time, while he resolved his own alcoholism issues.

But Charles never came back, and the times Charles talked to him he always replied that he was not yet ready to return.

Chris was patient.

But things never happened as he expected.

When Chris graduated from high school, his father called him to congratulate him and sent him a letter of apology for not attending his graduation with money inside.

Every time Chris asked Charles where he was and when he was going back, he always replied that he was still fixing his affairs and that he needed to do it alone.

Chris stopped asking the same thing 3 years ago.

Every time Chris talked to his father, it was always about how he was doing and how he was doing with his studies at the university, they didn't talk beyond that, and every time Chris asked his father how he was doing, his answers were very short. .

Chris had started his BA in Interdisciplinary Arts 2 years ago at the University of Seattle, his grandparents were very proud of him.

But 1 year ago a great doubt invaded Chris.

It all started when during one morning at the university, Chris was having breakfast in the cafeteria along with other classmates.

On the television they had to watch the news from their seats, journalists made a reminder of the border massacre.

10 years after the border massacre and even the police cannot explain what happened.

The Díaz brothers fled to Mexico, the United States government requested their extradition, but according to the Mexican government the police have not been able to find them.

Please, a minute of silence to the dead at the border.

“You don't think it's strange that they haven't been able to solve how the massacre took place” asked a boy named Nick who was sitting next to Chris.

“One  of the several theories said one of the boys who fled had telekinesis powers” Answered a girl of dark skin.

“Do you really think that?” Another boy scoffed. “Surely the boys had some hidden bomb they threw and that would explain why the cars flew.”

“But according to the investigations, no weapon was found at the scene of the crime.” answered a girl named Tess. “how could it be a bomb if none of that was found?”

At that time the boys began to debate the theories they had found on the Internet.

A week after Chris investigated online and read all the news portals that talked about the massacre, he began investigating all social networks to contact Daniel and Sean.

But none of that worked.

He could only find Sean's Facebook that had not posted anything since 2016.

He had left multiple messages but none of them were answered. So Chris started doing his little private investigation.

That same year, during his summer vacation he decided to visit Beaver Creek. His main reason was to speak personally with Mr. Reynolds and to be able to get information from the whereabouts of Daniel and Sean.

When he arrived he hoped to find his father in his old house, but when he reached the front of the house it was super careless, his old playground was full of a long lawn that had not been trimmed for years, and his old Tree house was very neglected, it looked as if at any moment it could fall.

His house looked like a place that had not been inhabited for a long time.

Similarly, Chris reached the porch and rang the bell, nobody opened the door.

Then he looked out the windows, but they all had low curtains.

A sigh of sadness came from Chris's lips, this house was full of memories, both good and sad. After all, it was the place where he grew up with his mother when she was alive.

After giving up he decided to walk to the house of Mr. Reynolds. The last time Chris saw them they didn't look as old as now, but they were still there, together, supporting each other.

They were very surprised to see Chris on his porch, Mrs. Reynold hugged him and told him that he had grown a lot and that he was very handsome.

Chris told them a little about his life, that he was studying now at the university and that he had rented a small flat apartment to avoid being a burden for his grandparents while with his part-time work he paid his expenses.

After having a small chat with Mr. Reynolds, Chris asked if they had news of the Díaz brothers.

The face of both changed completely, Mrs. Reynold shook her head.

“Is there no way to know anything about them?” asked a hopeful Chris.

Mrs. Reynold sighed.

“My daughter, Karen, she could inform you better of them, she saw them for the last time before crossing the border.” Mr Reynold replied before taking a small paper and writing his daughter's address.

"Look for her, she could inform you better of my grandchildren," he replied sadly.

After the dinner with the Reynolds, Chris decided it was time to return to Seattle and plan his next trip to Arizona.

Before leaving, Mrs. Reynold hugged him tightly.

“Thank you very much for coming Chris, I love you as if you were another grandson.”

His heart stirred, it had been a long time since he had last had contact with Mrs. Reynold, he felt bad for not having visited them before to find out how they were.

He promised himself to visit them again soon.

After returning to Seattle he left days later to Arizona where he would later meet with Karen.

At first Chris thought that Mr. Reynold had been wrong to give the address since he only saw desert when he arrived.

But after advancing in his car with the GPS activated, he found a small town near the Grand Canyon.

Chris was surprised to learn that there was a small town in a place like this, where you could see mobile homes and houses made of wood around.

It was not very difficult to find Karen since she was very well known in the place.

When Chris knocked on the door, a blond lady leaned out the window and was a little confused to see him.

However, she opened the door to the unknown boy and told him to come inside.

He looks exactly the age of Daniel she thought.

Upon entering Chris introduced himself and went straight to the point.

Karen was surprised that someone else was investigating the whereabouts of her children.

"Count on me in anything that can help you find Sean and Daniel," Karen said as she took Chris's hands.

That same night Chris had fallen asleep at Karen's house, they had talked both of their lifes, Chris told her his story, how he had met Daniel and everything that had happened.

After Karen told him about her life, she told him that she had never stopped thinking about them and that like him, she has been investigating the whereabouts of her children without much success.

All she knew was that they had fled to Puerto Lobos and there was no way she could go there.

And that's how Chris was now on a plane that went straight to Mexico, just 3 hours more traveling, and he would arrive in the Mexican city of Hermosillo.

Chris just hoped to find the Diaz brothers safe.

#on the road #fanfic #spiritwolf #chris eriksen #Daniel diaz #sean diaz #karen #life is strange 2 #lis 2 #lis 2 spoiler #lis2 #chapter 2

[techlearnings]

The Best Home Theater Systems of 2020

1. The Smartest Home Theater System: Sonos 5.1 Beam Surround Set with Voice Assistant

Sonos Beam 5.1 System

Why it won

It would appear Sonos is resolved to clearing the field. At first thought about the upstart among industry monsters, Sonos is currently accomplishing for home theater what they accomplished for multi-room music – and the outcomes are great. read more

The Sonos Beam 5.1 Surround Set is all that you'd anticipate from the world's #1 remote sound organization as per CEPro magazine. Highs are completely clear, lows through the Sonos subwoofer punch with power, and exchange through the framework's highlight, the Beam Sound Bar, is both famously reasonable and reliably up front.

Furthermore, the framework is whip shrewd and accompanies a great list of capabilities. It's absolutely remote put something aside for the force line and HDMI yield. (Bye tangled jumble.) The Sonos application remains the best/most astute application in the business. Apple Airplay 2 comes included. It streams pretty much everything by means of the in excess of 50 music administrations upheld by Sonos. Include Amazon Alexa as well as Google Assistant voice control, in addition to a look that is inconspicuous, jazzy, and made to mix in – and you have a great decision. For genuinely vivid 5.1 encompass sound, however for incredible sounding music, as well. Indeed, it's somewhat expensive, however worth each penny as we would see it. Likewise note: Sonos resembles LEGOs (which we expounded all on in our Sonos Buying Guide here).

This Package Includes: Beam Compact Smart Sound Bar With Voice Control | SUB Wireless Subwoofer | 2 OneSL Speakers for Stereo Pairing and Home Theater Surrounds | Power Cords | HDMI Cable | Available in Black or White

Reg. Cost: $1,456.00

Coming Soon - Call to Order: 1.866.961.7781

#2. The Best Wireless Home Theater System: Bose Soundbar 700 with Bass Module 700 and Surround Wireless Speakers

Bose Sound Bar 700 5.1 System

Why it won

In our "Best Sound Bars of 2020" article, the Bose Soundbar 700 won best-of-show for encompass sound. Presently here as the center segment in the Bose Smart Wireless 5.1 home theater framework, Bose does it once more. The Bose SB700 won since we turned it on and were immediately overwhelmed by a sound field that An) appeared to be a lot more extensive than some other 5.1 pre-bundled framework we tried, B) made discourse – even delicate or murmured exchange – completely clear, and C) was similarly compelling regardless of where we sat.

Each segment in this framework is important for Bose's new group of shrewd remote speakers. Start with this 5.1-channel framework, and spot a Bose Home Speaker 500 in the kitchen and the littler Soundbar 500 in your room for a multi-room sound understanding all through the house. What's more, with Amazon Alexa worked in, you can control everything with straightforward voice orders.

Features

Turn it up, and Bose's Bass Module 700 subwoofer will throw a pleasant left hook without contorting.

Given the Bose Lifestyle 650 won most attractive, we're giving "second place" to this framework. The excellent glass top and punctured fold over metal grille on the Soundbar 700 is a pleasant touch.

To mix in with any home's style, Bose offers this framework in white, as well.

This Package Includes: Bose Soundbar 700 | Bose Bass Module 700 | Bose Surround Wireless Speakers | Power lines | Optical link | HDMI Cable

Reg. Cost: $1,797.00

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#3. The Best Surround Sound System for Small Rooms: SVS Prime Satellite 5.1 Package

SVS Prime Satellite 5.1 Package

Why it won

Throughout the most recent twenty years, SVS has developed into one of the most regarded brands in the business. At first known for their sternum-vibrating/room-shaking/grant winning subwoofers, the present new SVS frameworks can rival anybody – and the SVS Prime Satellite 5.1 home venue bundle is an incredible model. Its conservative and simpler to fit in a littler room however turn it up and blast: your little room turns into the Hollywood Bowl.

Each SVS Prime Satellite speaker is about the size of a portion of bread and contains a 4.5-inch midrange driver and a one-inch tweeter. Little, truly, yet they punch like Roberto Duran. The 12-inch driver in the effectively amazing, 300-watt fueled SVS-1000 subwoofer will, then again, make them clutch your seat. It's little, as well, and perfectly tucks into any corner. The framework is wired instead of remote, however at the cost, the SVS Prime Satellite 5.1 Package may simply be the greatest "little" 5.1 framework available. (Need something somewhat greater? Look at SVS's "Ultra" arrangement line of speakers. We convey those, as well.)

Another enormous SVS advantage: gaming. A ton of our clients keep their gaming frameworks in little lairs and extra rooms. Also, on the off chance that you truly need to place yourself in a Gears of War or Call of Duty fight, sans earphones – and you would prefer not to spend a fortune to do it – the SVS Prime Satellite 5.1 Package is for you. SVS rocks.

This Package Includes: 5 Prime Satellite Speakers | SB-1000 Subwoofer

Reg. Cost: $999.99

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Alright individuals – folding tables up and fix those safety belts. We're pulling out all the stops.

Presently we progress from the littler, simple to-set-up home theater frameworks to the greater, take your breath away arrangements. The accompanying frameworks were hand-picked by our specialists, frequently blended and coordinated from various sound brands. Taking all things together, it resembles going from engine bikes to bikes: both are fun, both take care of business, yet the last is more about consummately repeating enormous, genuine, true to life sound at home. Further, these greater home theater frameworks are more adaptable concerning sound and structure feel.

#4. The Best Budget Home Theater Speaker System: KLH Kendall 5.1 Speaker System

KLH Kendall 5.1 System

Why it won

KLH's strategic been and consistently will be: audiophile-commendable speakers at moderate costs. What's more, KLH's most current line-up epitomizes that strategic to say the least. The two Kendall 3-way floorstanding speakers included speak to the organization's new lead models. Flawlessly completed in dark oak and American pecan facade, each contains custom drivers made of Kevlar, anodized aluminum and curiously large magnets. They're huge, they're delightful, and they sound incredible. The KLH Story Center Channel Speaker puts the most significant activity (and on-screen exchange) up front with hybrid hardware produced using top notch parts. The two Beacon encompass speakers are superior to most and work superbly with the framework's left and right back channels.

Balancing everything, KLH's 12-inch, front-terminating subwoofer = the John Bonham of the gathering. The high journey woven Kevlar driver inside, fueled by a 350 watt amp, is all that could possibly be needed to toss you back in your seat.

KLH's 5.1 home theater gathering is a great decision for large, artistic sound. Huge (or rambunctious) parties when added to your music framework. Valid, it's not remote, however it's difficult to beat this sort of sheer influence for the cash.

This Package Includes: 2 KLH Kendall Floorstanding Speakers | KLH Story Center Channel Speaker | KLH Beacon Surround Speaker Pair | Windsor 12 Subwoofer | Available in Black or Walnut

Reg. Cost: $2,796.95

Coming Soon - Call to Order: 1.866.961.7781

#5. The Best Dolby Atmos Home Theater System: Klipsch 7.2.2 Reference Premiere Home Theater System with Marantz SR7013 9.2-Channel AV Receiver

Klipsch 7.2 System

Why it won

Two notable, top notch, sound pioneers: One known for dynamite, pull out all the stops or-return home sound and excellent cabinetry, the other for top tier enhancement and driving edge innovation. Between them, two legends – Saul Marantz and Paul Klipsch, more than 100 years experience, and each grant in the book. Welcome to the best encompass sound all things considered.

A couple of years back, the sound masters at Dolby made sense of an approach to settle on what some decision "3D encompass sound" by means of another innovation called Dolby Atmos. (Atmos, as in environment.) What Dolby Atmos truly does is make a layer of sound that not just floats over the crowd, it drifts in various territories over the crowd. Also, it does it so well, you can really pinpoint explicit sounds in explicit spots – noticeable all around. The net impact: Thrilling, invigorating, stunning – in any event, stunning now and again. ("Try not to stress kids, those monsters aren't genuine, it's only a film.")

In spite of the fact that most AV recipients today come Dolby Atmos-empowered, numerous shoppers never include Dolby Atmos speakers. (Abnormal. Similar to living on a boat and never purchasing sails.) So we intentionally concocted a marvelous, yet generally reasonable home venue that really conveys on all fronts: left, right, focus, sides, back, beneath (by method of the subwoofer) and now, with Dolby Atmos, noticeable all around above, as well.

One more thing: If you pick this home theater framework with the parts we prescribe – and you're going to turn it on just because – start with a greater than-life, blockbuster film. The new Jurassic Park, Incredibles 2, whatever. Blockbusters are designed by sound specialists to exploit stature channels, so you're ensured to get the all out impact: pterosaurs and ancient bugs flying around your parlor, jump bombarding the couch, and so forth. You'll know why this specific framework so effectively wins our "Best Dolby Atmos" class.

Features

Mood killer the TV, and this Klipsch/Marantz home theater arrangement conveys an intense, audiophile-commendable, music framework – one that asks for a quality turntable. Despite the fact that with Bluetooth, Wi-Fi, and Airplay worked in, in addition to HEOS remote multi-room music streaming, you can play practically anything from anyplace by means of any brilliant gadget.

The two Klipsch RP-8060 floorstanding speakers are not just fresh out of the box new, they're higher on the pecking list than Klipsch's for quite some time proclaimed Reference II arrangement. Likewise valid for the RP-504C Center Channel Speaker, which at right around 3-feet wide and 34 pounds is the Serena Williams of focus speakers. read more

[alistonjdrake]

Of Rust and Gold: Ardunese Peace, Religious Royalty,  the Dtieri, and The Red Wolf

Wow that’s a mouthful. And I haven’t done one of these in a while! Links to the other world building posts  1 2 3  4 5 6 7 8 9

Of Rust and Gold is the first book in what I call The Saints Song Series. It’s a multi-pov low fantasy, court intrigue drama with romance and adventure elements.  It follows the stories of Argus and Leo. Prince and pirate respectfully, brought together by the plot of a stolen ship holding dangerous cargo and a secret that shakes what they know about their world.

main wip intro here.

One of the main things King Frederick of Escan is famous for is bringing peace to the continent. He is praised for it, so much so that it silences most criticism against him. Before him (and during his reign but people often justify it) there was war between the nations, land switched hands, and conflict was everywhere. It stopped when King Frederick built his empire and emerged as a leading power in the world.

But no such peace exists among the city-states and territories of Codua. It’s often been said, among the Ardunese, Codua would have nothing holding them together as a country if it wasn’t for a few things. Sharing a language, swearing (some more than others) ultimate loyalty to the Justice, and their stance in guarding the shore of the Laniora against those from the Rhine looking to cross into the north. 

They stand together reluctantly. The concept of peace in Codua constantly changes definitions. There is rarely a time where someone isn’t fighting or blood isn’t being shed. There is so much murder in Codua and so few stepping forward as witnesses or confessing to crimes that most Ardunese Knights have taken to sweeping it under the rug if the victim was popularly disliked enough or replaced by someone reasonably lawful. 

Commonly, most wars in Codua start over land and who owns it or old family rivalries. Often a mix of both. But recent Ardunese conflict also revolves around a few groups of people and a unique mix of scheming and climbing social ladders that could only occur in Codua. 

While all of Codua does not fall under the direct rule of the Justice as the city-state Mignola (the holy capital of the Santivian church) does, since every ruler who follows the religion has to swear their loyalty to the one who speaks for the Saints, they all follow under indirect rule. More so than other countries whose sovereigns only swear their loyalty and pay and their dues. In Codua, a Justice is given certain privileges over the surrounding territories. This is often because of the Conclave, the group directly below the Justice. 

This is where old family rivalries and alliances come into play. Mignola is smack in the middle of the Sandotta states, formally republics but often under the aristocratic thumb of the powerful families living there. These families being the Carulli, the Zisa, the Licari, the Fratella, and the Giachetti. Historically, they’ve had the most sitting members on the Conclave and reigning Justices. Beyond picking the most qualified candidate, Justices have often been chosen based on which of these powerful families weren’t in the middle of killing each other when a vote was required, or which family currently dominated the killing and thus shouldn’t be messed with. Rarely, Justices outside this group have been chosen in periods where the constant conflict is tiring, like the vote that placed Justice Dursten (a Kellish man) in the holy chair. His predecessor was a Licari and so much strife was around during his disastrous reign choosing someone unrelated to the inner conflict seemed the safest choice. 

But the five families have already risen high above other Ardunese nobility and cannot be touched. While not quite on the stage of the royal families or important names outside of Codua, they’re not far behind and a few have gone on to make good marriage matches outside of Codua.  However, it’s the marriages they make here that are often the most important. 

In the years leading up to 1782 and the beginning of Of Rust and Gold, a class of contracted soldiers have risen well beyond their means and when the decision is made to marry the most powerful to a sister of a Chancellor (a sitting member on the Conclave), things change forever. 

There’s the Order of the Knights. Fates, soldiers of the Saints’ and the Justice’s army, and the Dtieri. In plain terms, they are a class of contracted soldiers. They started out as anyone, simply men signing away their services to anyone who would hire them and sometime around the 1500s they changed into families built around this purpose and closed off into exclusivity. One is born a Dtieri. 

This does not always make them the best soldiers although when a war is fought in Codua they often make up the majority of the armies. The best example of how effective they are comes from the story of the Albuvo Conflict, where two lords fought over the right to a small port city and their armies both were made from men of the Bottino family. Cousin viciously fought cousin until Neopolo Bottino chose to slay both lords and claim the city for himself. 

Not all of them are treacherous or backstabbing but the stereotype lends to them all being bloodthirsty and mad. 

In 1762, there was war in Codua as there always is. But this one was different. One Dtieri family, the Astorino, had been born from a branch of the Acocella family who held a shaky hold on the duchy of Pontegrono. When the last Acocella died childless, his elderly wife moved to install her nephew as her heir. Benedetto Astorino stepped forward, then one of the most infamous Dtieri generals and feared among many, and claimed Pontegrono as rightfully his. Despite Astorino’s prowess, the fight for Pontegrono lasted years as others kept putting themselves forward as possible new dukes. Only in 1768, did the reigning Justice step forward after pressure landed on his shoulders to choose who had the most legitimate claim to the duchy. To choose Astorino would set the stage for other Dtieri to climb the social ladder, and to choose one among the squabbling nobles might further inspire war and conflict. At least Astorino’s reputation quelled more from trying their hand at taking the duchy. Most of the fighting had taken place away from him after he cruelly slew his first batch of opponents, and he’d been living unofficially as duke in Pontegrono’s palace since 1763. 

Two decisions were made. Benedetto Astorino would be crowned but he would have a bride from a family of the Conclave to ensure his path was righteous. And so, he married Ermenegarda Anna Venessa di ava Zisa, sister to Chancellor Ercolano Zisa. A year later, they had a daughter. She was granted the rights of Dtieri, wrapped in the colors of her father’s men, but given the birth ceremony and name of a princess of the Sandotta states. 

When her father died some months after her birth, no one batted an eyelash. Benedetto Astorino had many enemies and Dtieri leaders are often the victim of murder. There was some talk this was planned by the Zisa and the Justice, but again with no proof, the knights did not step in and at 5 months old, Benedetta Onesta Cassiopeia de ave Astorino became Duchess of Pontegrono. Those who felt slighted a year before when Astorino took the duchy quickly made plans to usurp the throne from the squealing baby, but Astorino’s men had sworn their loyalty to his bloodline and would not let anyone near Benedetta, sometimes not even her own mother. Her cousins protected her fiercely and while the Sandotta thought of her as a Zisa, she was raised like a Dtieri. 

 Most careers in the Dtieri start young, with some children becoming soldiers at the age of ten. Much to her mother’s displeasure, things proved no differently for Benedetta. She took quickly to the blend of her two worlds. She minded her manner lessons, charmed her tutors, could sing and play an instrument, and dressed in the stunning gowns afforded to her by the esteem of her mother’s family and being a duchess in her own right. But under the watchful guise of her oldest cousin, Bertolfo Astorino, she also became adept in the art of war. She studied strategy and by nine had recreated the maps for each of her father’s battles and even began to criticize his decisions. 

She had a great love for hunting and drew first blood when she was seven, which is where her nickname came from. Red for the bloody stain of her father’s reputation. 

Before her tenth birthday, Bentolfo began encouraging her to set in motion her first war campaign. Pontegrono was surrounded by profitable city-states, and while it was rich from its position on Laniora’s coast it all suffered from attacks from Rhine pirates and smugglers.  Her mother greatly disagreed and went to Mignola to call on her brother in hopes holy interference would convince her daughter and the meddlesome cousins. Chancellor Zisa must have seen the benefits in having his family take over more land, and what it would mean for him as Justice Dursten got older and the holy chair was empty again, and his letters to his niece lacked the forceful discouragements Lady Ermenegarda was hoping for. 

Benedetta’s first war campaign began. She played a small part, riding beside Bertolfo and staying away from the main action. She sat in on plans for battle strategy and made her first decisions, but the Red Wolf was unknown outside of Pontegrono and her successful decision making was assumed to be Bertolfo’s genius. In truth, Bertolfo was not as smart as his much younger cousin. He was ambitious but had not learned to read until his twenties when Benedetto raised their family. He was a career soldier and knew the ins and outs of battle. Benedetta trusted him greatly. When was eleven and began riding into battle on her own, it was him who was by her side during her first siege where she kidnapped a rival lord’s wife and only heir to persuade him into submission.  As Pontegrono’s land began to expand, people heard more and more about Zisa’s niece and who was really behind the series of terrors. 

Justice Dursten was getting older and unpopular as he continued to not die and remain as a non-Ardunese authority. Zisa began imposing his niece on people, knowing her reputation and that of her father served as an unspoken promise of what could happen if he was not the next candidate for Justice. 

Benedetta approached twelve. Thoughts turned towards marriage. Lady Ermenegarda chose some likely suitors and sent a list to her daughter. All boys from the Sandotta states, most of them Zisas. It was at this point when Benedetta was holding council and in the middle of tearing up the list her mother sent her, that Bertolfo stood up and announced his intentions to marry her. 

Perhaps he was hoping for her to weep from joy, or be relieved the duchy would stay in her father’s family, or that her fondness for her cousin was likely the cause of a childhood crush. But stories tell that Benedetta recoiled in disgust and had her adviser and right hand stripped off all his titles and benefits for such an insult. Riding into her next battle, she demanded Bertolfo mount his horse naked and without a weapon. He was said to have gotten down on his knees and begged. Whether or not that is true is debatable, but what is true is that he at first refused and when he did, Benedetta had her men strip him against his will and yank his weapon and pride from him. Bertolfo was shot and killed during the battle.

 Another close cousin asked why Benedetta did not weep when they heard the news and were shown the dead body, and Benedetta, still flush from the pride of successfully swallowing another port city into Pontegrono, exclaimed that a few causalities were to be expected and that she did not “cry over fools”.

With the death of Bertolfo, Lady Ermenegarda returned to Pontegrono in hopes of assuming his role and becoming close to her daughter. As of 1782 and with her daughter’s thirteenth birthday behind her, she has not been successful. 

While Benedetta is young, she falls into a long line of power-hungry and bloodthirsty Dtieri, but also comes from blessed religious royalty and might be set to become the most powerful if not famous princess to come out of Codua. 

#oof buddy this is long #world building #my characters #my writing #writeblr #tss trilogy #one of those ones so long I'm not gonna tag people because L O L #the only part of this that matters is Benedetta but all that set up was required to know why she is unique and why we stan #and why no one outside of Codua cares about their wars because it's believed to be inevitable #the ardunese will always be fighting and killing each other