#the juxtaposition of not only the two homes but of the photos

[struniolos]

guitar lessons.

chapter one; does he take care of you?

(you can read chapter two here!)

synopsis: you decided to take guitar lessons from your boyfriend nate’s best friend, chris, while he’s away at college. but one night, things go too far. loosely based off the song sex by the 1975.

warnings: suggestive, heavy petting.

what the fuck where you doing.

the freezing winter breeze hit the back of your neck and tips of your ears, as you knocked your heavy boots onto the porch to rid of the snow caked beneath them. it was late, the dim porch light and streetlights your only source of illumination. winters in boston were relentless, and besides the fact you had lived there your entire life, you’d never be used to it’s cold bite. it was almost as if mother nature was punishing you, and well, it was pretty justified.

you had found yourself on a familiar doorstep, one you’d been to many times, but usually with your boyfriend nate at your hip- your safety net. chris, nick and matt had been friends with nate for years and you had known the boys since highschool. you’d consider them friends, but not really your friends. they were kind, but you’d much rather hang out with your own friends. the only reason you were usually dragged along was because it was some of the only times you could be with nate. now that he was in college, an hour drive away, things had become incredibly hard between you.

it was only a passing comment you made, last week, that had gotten you into this. a regular night of driving around aimlessly with nate, the boys, and you had mentioned how you wanted to learn guitar. of course, chris had piped up to say he’d teach you, and stupidly you agreed. it god, what would nate do if he knew you were here? what was wrong with you? it was 8pm on a tuesday, you should be in bed.

you rap your knuckles on the christmas wreathe adorned door, and step back to quickly hugging your hands around yourself, your shaky breath coming out as soft puffs of smoke. the door cracked open slowly, revealing chris in a black hoodie with words you couldn’t read scribed onto it, grey sweatpants and clunky brown ugg boots.

“you made it.” he smiled, running a hand through his floppy hair.

“i did.” you smiled back, as he opened the door wider to let you in.

you knocked your boots a few more times at the door before kicking them off.

“you look great.” chris commented, seemingly just being polite.

you smiled back awkwardly, shuffling your socks on the floorboards. “oh, thanks.”

“fuck, it’s cold out there isn’t it?” he commented, as he began to walk you down the hallway. it was adorned with photos of the boys, their family and friends, that you presumed their mother had hung. you’d been here so many times, but this time it felt like you were really present, and not just following the leader. you found yourself observing much more than you usually had.

“yeah, it’s insane.” you agreed, as you both walked through the empty kitchen and dining area, with all of the lights switched off.

you wondered if nick and matt were already asleep, or if they were out and would come home any moment to see you alone with their brother. you also wondered if his parents were away, or if they too would come home to find you with their son, your boyfriend nowhere to be found. god, you didn’t even want to think about it.

you both quietly walked up the stairs and towards his room, which was the last one down the very end of the hallway. you had never been in his room, the usual hangout spot was always the living room. you felt so guilty, as you head into his room hesitantly behind him. chris’ room wasn’t what you had expected, it was quiet and cozy, a juxtaposition of himself. his double bed was shoved in the corner, with plain black sheets, and a desk beneath the window with a matching drawer set on the opposing wall, his guitar lay against the wall beside his them.

“so, did nate end up convincing you to come?” he asked, breaking the thick silence between you.

nate doesn’t know i’m here. you thought, biting your lips.

“no, actually. it was all me.“ you tell him, kicking your feet awkwardly.

“huh, i didn’t think you’d come.” he said, grabbing his guitar.

“me neither.” you chuckle awkwardly, “but thanks for doing this though, i really appreciate it.”

“all good.” he says calmly, “i did promised i’d teach you.”

“you did.” you repeat, smiling at him. you watched the way his hair was falling softly over his eyes, and he had to keep pushing it back with his hand.

chris handed you the guitar, and you sat down on the edge of his bed. you balanced it on your thigh, “is this how i hold it?”

“yeah, just make sure it’s pressed a little closer to you.” he explains, sitting down beside you. you do as he says, pressing the instrument close to your stomach, trying to get used to the feeling.

“so, how about you give me a song you want to learn and we’ll start there. one with easy chords if you can.” chris says, his voice slightly softer than usual. you wondered if it’s because he was tired, or if he truly was being patient with you, as you’d never seen him so calm.

you think for a moment, back to the songs you were listening on the drive to his house. “do you know fade into you? by mazzy star?”

“yeah that’s a good one, just give me a second to work it out.” he says, pausing as he looked to the ceiling and waved his finger around as if he was writing imaginary chords and trying to piece it together in his mind.

you admired him up close now, as you had never been able to. you always saw him in conjunction with his brothers, but never alone. you noticed how his nose differed and was slightly more button like, and his lips were plump and fuller, his hair a little darker.

“okay, that’s not too hard, but i’ll try and make it as easy as i can. you’re only going to be using C, D, G and Am’s.” he told you, and it took everything in you not to melt on the spot. god, what was wrong with you? you inhaled deeply, finding your composure.

“here, it might be easier if i show you first.” he says, softly taking the guitar from you and placing it in his own lap. he held it much more comfortably than you, and he grabbed the pick that was between the strings at the neck. he held it between his teeth briefly, as he tuned the guitar. his hair fell over his eyes once more, and you were grateful for this as he wouldn’t see you gawking at him.

eventually, he started to strum the first chords. “watch how my fingers are placed on the neck, that’s the important part.”

chris began to play the familiar opening of the song, and you’re completely mesmerised. you watched his lips mouth the words softly under his breath, as if he didn’t notice he was completely lost in the song. you sat with your legs crossed, facing him fully, and rested your chin on your palm. he looked so at peace, like this was what he truly loved doing. you knew this is how nate felt with hockey, and it made you remind yourself just how insane you were acting.

he abruptly stopped by holding his palm on the strings to stop them, and looked up at you to meet your eyes. you blinked at him, blankly.

“you alright?” he asked with a smirk tugging his lips.

you nod, looking away from him. “yeah just, out of my depth i think.”

“it’s cool. what if i show you like this-“ he starts, reaching over to put the guitar back in your lap. he crawled around to sit behind you, but his legs were crossed, establishing a boundary. one you secretly wished wasn’t there.

you could feel his breath on your neck, and the cold winter breeze was a thing of the past. he peered over your shoulder to look down at your hands on the guitar, and began to move them into place. “you’ve got to hold the strings like this.”

it was so intimate, and you couldn’t help but wish things where like this with you and nate. the way chris was so tender with you, so patient, not that nate wasn’t- things were like this, at the start. but you felt you’d grown so distant, and things didn’t get you hot and bothered like they used to. but this, this made you think thoughts you wish you could bury deep down into the pits of your stomach.

chris assisted your hands in strumming the chords, explaining to you which chord was which as you moved your fingers against the strings. his hands were so warm, so inviting, his fingers long and slender and-

“are you getting this?” chris asked, breaking you from your daze.

“um, not really.” you said bashfully, ducking your head. “i’m sorry, i just…”

chris sighed heavily, removing his hands from yours and coming around to sit beside you once more so that you were face to face on the edge of his bed.

he pursed his lips, furrowing his eyebrows. “why did you really come? because it seems to me you’re not here for guitar lessons.”

your eyes went wide, and you began toying with the guitar strings mindlessly. “i did, it’s just…”

“it’s okay, you can tell me.” he urged, and you felt your stomach drop in guilt.

“i…” you begin, but couldn’t articulate yourself. “i don’t know.”

you placed the guitar onto the ground, sighing. “i’m sorry, i guess i just wanted company.”

“is everything okay? is it nate?” chris questioned, rubbing his face.

“no, nate’s great it’s just…” you pause, truly unable to string together a sentence. not with chris in front of you, so beautiful yet so unknowing.

“are you…not being taken care of?” he asked, his voice low.

there was a thick pause between you before you answered. “how do you mean?”

“you know exactly what i mean.” chris said in a knowing manner, tilting his head.

“i’m not talking about this with you.” you huffed, trying your best to act nonchalant. to make invisible boundaries for yourself, as you weren’t so sure how long you could hold it together.

he tutted, rolling his eyes. “why?”

“i’m fine, he’s only an hour away. we have phone sex like, all the time anyway.” you were blatantly lying at this point. there was something deeply wrong, or you wouldn’t be seeking out attention elsewhere. here.

chris chuckled, crossing his arms. “i might not be a smart guy but i can tell you’re frustrated. you’re looking at me like you’re going to pounce me any moment.”

you scoffed, although he was right. “what? you’re delusional.”

“am i?” he said, smirking. he was enjoying this. and a sick twisted part of you was too.

you groaned, running your hands down your face. “i feel so stupid talking to you about this.”

“it isn’t stupid.” he assured you, “now spit it out, what’s wrong?”

chris was ridiculously convincing when he wanted to be. just like how he had roped you into coming tonight. there was something about him so deliciously dangerous, that made you question your sanity and morals.

you let out a heavy sigh before you spoke. “it’s been months.”

there was a pause, as chris widened his eyes at you once he realised what you were talking about. “months?”

“yes. it’s never been this long, but i guess it’s because he lives so far now.” you explained, your cheeks flushing at the thought. things with nate used to always be so fun, you would sleep together multiple times a week, never be apart- but lately? you felt like you’d been left behind.

“do you think it’s because he’s busy with college?” chris asked, surprising you with how seriously he was taking you.

“yeah, i mean he’s trying so hard, and there are scouts at nearly every game now so he’s thing even more. then when he’s got college break and drives down here, i think by the time he sees me he’s just exhausted.” you blurt out, beginning to feel a little less weight on your chest like it had been holding you down to keep all of this inside.

chris nods, and reaches towards you to touches your back, “it’s alright, i mean i’m sure it’s nothing against you…he’s just busy.”

“i know, but that’s the problem. i never see him, and when i do he never wants to go out or do anything because he’s always so tired. if he’s not training he’s playing, and if it’s not that he’s studying, and it takes up all of his time.” you complain, but are soothed by the feeling of his hand circling your back.

“that’s a shame, for a girl like you…” chris trailed off, like he knew if he kept talking he would be crossing the line. but the lines were blurred at this point, anyway.

his hand slowly trailed down to your lower back, the thick material of your sweater a barrier to his soft touch that you ached for more of. it was so reckless of you, to be revelling in another man’s touch- but it felt so good.

“i could make you feel good.” he continued in a subtle whisper, biting his lips as he gave you a once over, your body is basking in the warmth of his gaze. this was wrong, so so very wrong.

“chris.” you warned him, as he brought his other hand to clasp over yours which rested on your thigh.

your breath was slightly disturbed, stuttering in your throat. god, why did this have to feel so good?

chris’s hand that was on your back now trails upwards to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. you hadn’t noticed how close he was, but hated how much you loved him invading your space.

“he doesn’t have to know.” he told you, brushing your hair away from your neck, his breath fanning your skin.

“i cant.” you croaked, as he slowly pressed his warm lips to the skin behind your ear.

it’s as if your brain shut down and your body took over, letting out a soft moan as chris kissed your skin, then continuing down to the junction of your neck and shoulder. he pulled your sweater to the side, giving him better access.

“hmm, chris we can’t.” you protested, a hand coming to rest on his shoulder gently.

“shhh.” he hushed as he pulled away from you, locking eyes. “let me take care of you.”

you looked at him with so much pain, yet so much longing. he held your face gently in his hands, stroking your cheek. “he won’t know.”

chris pressed his lips to yours softly, and you let yourself sink into his arms. he helped you onto his lap, your kisses becoming feverish and desperate yet still passionate. you found your hips slowly grinding down onto his, earning deep moans and slightly more aggressive kisses. you rolled your hips down onto his growing hardness, the friction through your clothing feeling euphoric.

chris pulled away for a moment, combing your hair back with his fingers so he could look at you. his eyes were dark, pupils blown and his lips glistening and plump.

“you’re so pretty.” he mumbled, “you’ve always been.”

you wanted to die, having this beautiful man beneath you at your mercy but a loyal boyfriend waiting for you only an hour away. your mind was becoming fuzzy, blurring what your body needed and what was right. you suddenly pulled away completely, getting off his lap and holding a hand to your forehead.

“i’m sorry…i…i cant do this.” you confessed, shaking your head.

chris opened his mouth to speak, but you didn’t allow him- darting out of his room quickly and running down the stairs. your breathing was so loud it was in your ears, your heart thumping in your throat and the walls feeling as if they were closing in on you. you grabbed your boots and burst out the front door, trudging through the thick snow in your socks. you threw your shoes into the passenger seat and jumped into your car at record speed, quickly starting the ignition. chris didn’t follow you.

you drove home in complete silence, your breathing becoming more rapid and the world feeling as though it was going to collapse around you. you got home and made a beeline for your room, changing into your pyjamas at record pace. guilt riddled you as you crawled into bed, cuddling yourself under the sheets and hiding from everything and everyone. you just wanted to stay there and rot.

you found yourself texting chris, wanting to have proof that you declined. that nothing else happened. that you ran away.

you: i’m sorry, that shouldn’t have happened.

it was only a few moments before he texted you back.

chris: no it shouldn’t have.

you: that can’t happen again.

chris: not until next time.

your eyes widened, no, no no! this wasn’t how it was supposed to go. he was supposed to have regretted it to, and want tp bury the memory deep down. you ignored him, laying your phone next to your head as you tried to close your eyes, hoping it would go away. until your phone buzzed, lighting up.

chris: meet me at mine tomorrow, 8pm?

your stomach dropped, and you held your face in your hands as you let out a silent scream. no, you couldn’t encourage this. but nate was an hour away, how would he know? it could only be while he’s away, then when he gets back you could pretend nothing happened! oh god, you were going to hell.

you: okay.

(chapter two.)

#sturniolo triplets #sturniolo #chris sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #sturniolo edit #sturniolo smut #sturniolo fanfic #sturniolo imagine #sturniolo x reader #chris sturniolo smut #christopher sturniolo x reader #chris sturniolo oneshot #chris sturniolo x you #christopher sturniolo x you #chris sturniolo imagine #chris sturniolo x reader #chris sturniolo x fem reader #guitar lessons

[totheblood]

begging for rain. (three)

󠁐# THREE; the harder that it takes to undo

PAIRING: ex!ellie williams x nextdoorneighbor!reader

SUMMARY: moving to a new town can be tough, especially as you are trying to hold everything in your life together. after you meet ellie, your life completely changes, but for the better? well that's still up in the air

WARNINGS: mentions of death, grief, related subjects; cursing, mentions of drinking/drugs, mentions of s*x,

WORD COUNT: 4.6k

A/N : ok this was the longest chapter i've written to date so... please enjoy.... ONE AI AUDIOS IN THE FIC ! please please please like and reblog/reply/send asks, comments, the whole nine yards… it is so appreciated!

TWO YEARS AGO

It felt weird to be in Ellie’s house.

Ellie opened the door to a cozy living room with warm beige walls and wicker furniture that had been well-worn by time. An old acoustic guitar leaned against one wall and a record player sat atop an end table, surrounded by piles of vintage vinyl. The air was thick with the aroma of coffee and old books, creating a comforting ambiance. Family photos and posters dotted the walls, giving an insight into Ellie's life that made you feel like a intruder but also made you want to know more. 

"Nice place," you said, removing your shoes at the door.

"Thanks," Ellie smiled, leading you to the living room. "You can drop your stuff there. We'll study at the table."

You took a seat at the sturdy oak dining table and ran your fingers over its smooth surface before settling into it. Scattered papers littered the table, some lined with handwritten lyrics, others with doodles intertwined in colored ink. You opened up your English books and laid out your homework, feeling a sense of warmth emanating from the room. The aged furniture added an air of familiarity, like you were being invited into Ellie's private world. Ellie seemed to be working on physics homework, while you had an English essay on Shakespeare to tackle. The juxtaposition wasn't lost on you—Ellie with equations and you with Elizabethan English.

You both settled into your work, the atmosphere tinged with concentration. Occasionally, your eyes would drift towards Ellie, watching her brows furrow in thought or her lips move silently as she read through her notes. Each time, you'd catch yourself and refocus on your own work.

"So, how are you finding the essay?" she finally broke the silence.

"It's... okay, I guess. Mrs. Porter has a way of making Shakespeare sound like rocket science."

Ellie chuckled. "Ah, the age-old struggle. To be or not to be confused, that is the question."

You laughed, and for a moment, the tension of the day seemed to lift. "You're not so bad at this, you know," you said. "Maybe you should consider a career in stand-up."

"And give up my dream of becoming a rockstar physicist?" she feigned surprise. "Never."

You smiled at her enthusiasm. "A rockstar physicist, huh? That's a first."

"Well, what about you? Any grand plans?"

You hesitated, thinking about your dad for a moment. You blinked, looking down at the book in front of you before looking back up at Ellie.  "I'm not sure. I used to think I had it all figured out, but now... everything's so uncertain."

Ellie put down her pen and looked at you, her green eyes softening. "Uncertainty isn't always bad, you know. Sometimes it's just room for something new, something better."

You looked at her, really looked at her, and felt something shift inside you. "That's pretty wise for a 17-year-old."

She blushed a little, turning her attention back to her notebook. "Well, don't spread it around. I have a reputation to maintain. Plus, I’m almost 18."

The rest of the study session went smoothly. You’d occasionally sigh and drop your head in frustration, making Ellie stifle a giggle and demand you get back to work. You had only known her for a day and was already falling into a rhythm with her. You didn’t want to go home, but the sun was beginning to set and you wanted time to rest. Time to think about the day you had and try to make sense of it. When it was time to leave, Ellie walked you to the door.

"Thanks for coming over. It was fun," she said, her hands twisting together.

"Yeah, I had a good time too," you replied, feeling a strange mix of happiness and reluctance to leave.

As you stepped out into the cool evening air, Ellie's words echoed in your mind: "Uncertainty isn't always bad... it's just room for something new, something better." And as you walked back across the dirt path to your house, you couldn't help but think that maybe, just maybe, something new and better had already begun.

You walked into your room, shutting the door behind you as if to seal off the world outside. It was your sanctuary, a little haven where you could breathe, think, and just be. You tossed your backpack onto the bed and sank into your chair, letting out a sigh as you looked around. Your room was still a mix of unpacked boxes and half-arranged furniture—a physical representation of your current state of mind, unsettled yet hopeful.

Picking up your phone, you noticed you had an unread Instagram DM. Your heart skipped a beat; could it be Ellie? Unlocking your phone, you saw the message was from Ingrid. Curiosity piqued, you opened.

ingrid.xoxo: Hey there, newbie. How was your first day?

You felt strange reading her message. Like it was something you weren’t supposed to be doing. Was she just being friendly or was there something more? You quickly typed back.

y/nsworld: hey! It was a little overwhelming but good overall. how was your day? 

Almost instantly, she replied.

ingrid.xoxo: Same old, same old. But seeing a fresh face around made it more interesting. 😉

The winking emoji caught your attention. Was she flirting? A little flutter of excitement mixed with confusion settled in your stomach.

Before you could process it further, the front door opened and closed loudly. It was your mom, finally home from work. You heard her footsteps coming up the stairs, and a few seconds later, she knocked on your door.

"Come in," you called.

The door swung open and your mom stepped in, her face tired but lighting up when she saw you. "Hey, sweetheart. How was your first day at the new school?"

You looked at her and smiled. "It was good, Mom. Made some new friends, and Ellie from next door is really nice. I went there and studied after school."

"That's wonderful," she said, her eyes shining with relief. "I was so worried you'd have a hard time adjusting."

"I mean, it's still the first day, but so far, so good," you said, shrugging. The relief on your mom’s face made you uneasy. You wanted to make this transition easy for both of you, but there was a newfound pressure building inside of you. You had to make it work here, even if you were unhappy. There was no escaping this place, and you suddenly felt trapped. Before your mind could go any further, she was speaking again. 

"That's my brave girl," she said, coming over to give you a hug. "I'm so proud of you."

As she left the room and wished you a goodnight with a firm kiss pressed to the top of your head, you sat back and sighed. Your phone buzzed again. Another message from Ingrid.

ingrid.xoxo: So, got any plans for the weekend? Maybe you'd like a tour guide to show you around. 😊

There it was again, that undercurrent of something more than just friendliness. You found yourself smiling, both intrigued and uncertain. It was as if life, in its own whimsical way, was presenting new possibilities, each more complicated than the last.

You glanced back at the door, then at your phone, then at the unpacked boxes still sitting in your room. Everything felt like a question mark, and as Ellie had wisely noted, maybe that wasn't such a bad thing after all.

Lying back on your bed, you stared up at the ceiling, pondering your response to Ingrid, your new friendships, and the unpredictability of life itself. Uncertainty, as it turns out, could indeed be the room for something new, something better.

And so, with a mix of excitement and apprehension, you typed out your reply to Ingrid, hitting send before you could second-guess yourself.

y/nsworld: a tour guide sounds fun. i'm in. :) 

PRESENT DAY 

When Ellie's text popped up on your phone two days ago, you almost deleted it without reading it. The mere sight of her name on your screen was like a splinter you couldn't remove—small but persistently painful. She wrote that she missed your friendship, and though you wanted to scoff at her audacity, a part of you hesitated. Her words, "Can we at least talk? Just as friends?" echoed in your mind. Against your better judgment, a wave of nostalgia washed over you, and before you knew it, you found yourself typing, "Fine, but this doesn't mean anything." Now, as you stepped into the quaint coffee shop where so many of your past memories were brewed, you questioned that decision.

"You're early," Ellie remarked, her voice as flat as the expression on her face.

"I had nothing better to do," you responded, matching her tone as you stepped into the coffee shop. It was almost empty, the aroma of freshly ground coffee mingling with the subtle tension that had settled between you two.

"Of course, you didn't," Ellie sighed, sliding a cup of coffee your way across the wooden table. On it was marked with your order, two pumps of hazelnut, two pumps of vanilla, and one pump of almond, extra cream. 

You looked at the cup, then back at Ellie. "You remembered how I like my coffee."

"I'm not completely useless."

You rolled your eyes, taking a sip while simultaneously biting your tongue. You had every right to tell her she was useless, but you refrained. It was perfect, just the way you liked it. "What do you want, Ellie?"

Ellie sighed, looking uncomfortable for a moment before speaking, "I wanted to talk. About us."

You almost snorted into your coffee. "Us? There is no 'us'. Not anymore."

"I know I messed up, okay? But can't we at least—"

"Messed up?" you cut her off, feeling the familiar surge of anger rise within you. "You didn't just 'mess up', Ellie. You broke something. Something that can't be fixed."

Ellie flinched as if you had slapped her. The look on her face almost making you feel guilty. But she didn’t have that right anymore, and you weren’t about to let her back in.

 "I know. And I'll regret that for the rest of my life. But can't we at least try to be civil? For the sake of our friends, if not for us?"

You looked at her, really looked at her, and for a moment you were back in her living room, struggling with physics homework and discussing the uncertainties of life. Back when things were simpler, easier. But that was a different time, a different you, and most importantly, a different Ellie.

"Being civil is a far cry from what you're suggesting," you said finally, breaking the silence.

Ellie sighed. "I know I don't deserve a second chance. Hell, I don't even deserve your friendship. But can't we at least try to be... something?"

You stared at her, pondering her words. The Ellie sitting in front of you now seemed so different from the girl you had fallen for. And yet, there were moments, fleeting seconds, when you could almost see traces of the old Ellie—the one who made you laugh, who made you think, who made you feel like you were the only person in the world.

But those traces were just that—fleeting and insubstantial. The real Ellie, the one sitting in front of you, was a reminder of a chapter you had painfully closed.

"We can try," you said finally, "but I can't promise anything."

Ellie nodded, a mixture of relief and regret flashing across her face. "I guess that's all I can ask for."

As you both sipped your coffee in silence, the weight of what was left unsaid hung heavy in the air. And yet, for the first time in a long time, it felt like you could both breathe a little easier.

But as Ellie's eyes met yours, you couldn't help but wonder: in the quest for something new, something better, had you both lost something irreplaceable? There was something substantially broken between the two of you now, innocence on both parts lost. 

TWO YEARS AGO

You found yourself standing in front of your bathroom mirror, staring at your reflection as you pondered what to wear for this so-called 'tour' with Ingrid. You wondered if you should aim for casual or if Ingrid, with her meticulous style, would expect something more. After rummaging through your wardrobe, you settled on a simple pair of jeans and a loose-fitting white shirt. Casual, yet presentable. You threw on a light jacket, considering the morning chill, and took one last look in the mirror. Satisfied but not entirely confident, you grabbed your phone and headed downstairs. Your mom was sitting at the dining room table, bowl of cereal in front of her with her spoon in one hand and phone in the other.

"Going out?" Your mom looked up from her phone, her eyes scanning your outfit.

"Yeah, a girl from school is showing me around town."

"Ah, great. Text me if you need anything." Her eyes returned to her phone, but not before you caught the fleeting look of relief. There the pressure was again, and in turn your sinking stomach. 

"See you later, Mom," you said, heading for the door.

"Have fun, sweetheart!" she called out as you closed the door behind you.

As you approached Ingrid's car, you noticed her already leaning against it. She was wearing what could only be described as the epitome of 'casual chic'—ripped jeans, a designer top, and a pair of sunglasses perched effortlessly on her head. She looked up from her phone and greeted you with a broad, almost rehearsed, smile.

"Ready for your grand tour?" Ingrid inquired, her eyes lingering on you for a moment longer than you were comfortable with.

"Ready as I'll ever be," you replied, cautiously optimistic about the day ahead.

The interior of Ingrid's car was as meticulously maintained as her appearance. The leather seats were pristine, and the air was scented with something floral, bordering on overpowering. She started the engine, and you were off.

The first few minutes were filled with awkward silence. You sensed that Ingrid was waiting for you to initiate conversation, but you were too wrapped up in your thoughts to open your mouth to speak. Finally, she broke the ice.

"So, first stop, the infamous Longview Park. You'll love it—it's where everyone hangs out," she said, her voice tinged with enthusiasm that sounded slightly rehearsed.

"That sounds fun," you responded, forcing a smile.

As you drove through the town, Ingrid began to pepper you with questions. They started off harmless enough—questions about your old town, your interests, your favorite movies. But as the drive continued, the questions began to probe deeper.

"So, why did you move here? If you don't mind me asking," she added hastily, as though realizing she might be venturing into sensitive territory.

"My dad passed away. We couldn’t afford to live there anymore, so we had to move," you replied, trying to maintain composure. You had rehearsed this response, but it still felt like you were ripping off a Band-Aid every time you said it.

"I'm sorry to hear that," Ingrid responded, her voice softening for the first time that morning. But before you could reply, she was off again. "Are you seeing anyone?"

The abrupt switch in topic caught you off-guard. "Uh, no, not right now," you stammered.

"Really? Someone as hot as you? I find that hard to believe," she said, her eyes briefly meeting yours before returning to the road.

"Um, thanks," you muttered, not entirely sure how to interpret the compliment.

Ingrid seemed to take your discomfort as a cue to change the subject. "We're almost at Longview Park. It's truly the heart of our community," she declared, as if rehearsed.

As you pulled into the parking lot of Longview Park, you took a deep breath. It was time to see what this 'heart of the community' was all about.

he car rolled to a stop, and Ingrid switched off the engine, her eyes twinkling like she was unveiling a secret treasure. "And here we are—Longview Park. It's like the social hub of our high school world."

You opened the car door and stepped out, looking around. The park was sizable, dotted with large oaks and willows that offered generous shade. A playground occupied one corner, bustling with the laughter of children, while a pond shimmered peacefully in the mid-morning sun. People were everywhere—jogging, playing Frisbee, or simply lounging on the grass. It had a communal feel.

Ingrid led you along a gravel path, her steps confident and rehearsed as if she'd walked this path a thousand times before. "See that gazebo over there?" she pointed, "That's like the unofficial meet-up spot for parties and hangouts. And over there is the infamous 'Lovers' Lane' where couples go to... well, you know."

Her words were punctuated with a suggestive wink that made you feel slightly uncomfortable. You chuckled nervously, trying to dispel the awkwardness.

As you walked, you couldn't help but notice the way people looked at Ingrid—long enough to show interest but not too long to risk her noticing. She seemed to command attention effortlessly, and you couldn't tell if it was her charisma or if you were completely missing something

"Everyone loves to be here on weekends," Ingrid continued, her tone casual but her eyes scanning the area, as if looking for someone or something in particular. "It's a great place to catch up with friends or make new ones. Like we're doing right now."

She shot you a smile, the kind that was meant to be endearing but felt slightly off-mark. You returned it nonetheless. "It's a nice place. Very... lively," you said, choosing your words carefully.

As you neared the pond, you spotted a familiar face sitting on one of the benches—Cat. And next to her, unmistakably, was Ellie. They seemed engrossed in conversation, their faces inches apart. A pang of something—was it jealousy?—stabbed at you, but you quickly brushed it aside.

"Hey, look who it is!" Ingrid's voice brought you back to reality. She had followed your gaze and was now staring directly at Ellie and Cat. "Want to go say hi?"

You hesitated. The last thing you wanted was an awkward run-in, but before you could voice your concerns, Ingrid had already started walking toward them.

"Hey Cat, Ellie!" she called out, her voice unnaturally high. Both heads turned in your direction, and the range of emotions that crossed their faces in that brief moment was unsettling—surprise, confusion, and something else you couldn't quite put your finger on.

"Hey Ingrid," Ellie finally spoke, her eyes meeting yours for a fleeting second before returning to Ingrid. "What brings you here?"

"Just giving our new resident a grand tour of Longview Park," Ingrid replied, her arm casually draping over your shoulder. You felt a shiver run down your spine but chose to ignore it.

"That's nice of you," Cat chimed in, her eyes narrowing slightly as they settled on you. You couldn't tell if she was being sincere or just sizing you up.

"Yeah, it's been fun," you said, forcing a smile. But your eyes met Ellie's once more, and the unspoken words hung heavily in the air between you.

"Well, we won't keep you," Ingrid said abruptly, as if sensing the tension. "Lots more to see. Come on," she tugged at your arm lightly, and you followed her back to the path, leaving Ellie and Cat behind.

As you walked away, you felt Ellie's gaze burning into your back. You wanted to look back, to catch one last glimpse of her, but you resisted. Whatever was or wasn't happening between you and Ellie would have to wait. Right now, you were on Ingrid's turf, and you couldn't help but feel like a pawn in a much larger game.

"Shall we continue?" Ingrid asked, breaking the silence.

"Sure," you replied, but your thoughts were already miles away.

The door clicked shut as you slid into the passenger seat, your thoughts still reeling from the encounter at the park. Ingrid revved up the engine and pulled away, humming softly to the beat of the song playing on the radio. You looked over at her, everything about her seemed staged. 

"How did you like the park?" she asked, casting a quick glance in your direction.

"It was... interesting," you said cautiously. "It's a nice place, very lively. Lots of history, I imagine."

Ingrid chuckled. "Oh, you have no idea. It's like the theater of high school drama. Anything and everything happens there."

Her words hung in the air, and you couldn't help but feel like there was a deeper meaning behind them. But before you could ponder it further, your phone buzzed. Glancing down, you saw Ellie's name flash on the screen.

Ellie: hey. can we talk later?

You felt a mixed bag of emotions, but you were mostly nervous. You hadn’t taken the group's warning and hung out with Ingrid anyays. It wasn’t like she was two fingers deep inside of you, but with the way Cat and Ellie looked, it seemed that way.  You were about to type a response when you noticed Ingrid's eyes flicking toward your phone screen, then back to the road.

"Who's that?" she asked, her tone casual but her eyes betraying a hint of curiosity.

"Just a friend," you said, choosing your words carefully. "We're supposed to catch up later."

"Oh," she responded, but you could sense a change in her demeanor, a tightening around her eyes. "Well, I hope I'm not keeping you from anything important."

"No, not at all," you reassured her, quickly typing a response to Ellie. "Sure, let's talk. Text me when you're free."

As you pressed send, you couldn't help but wonder about the timing. Why did Ellie want to talk now? And what was it about? Your thoughts were interrupted by Ingrid turning up the volume on the radio, her fingers drumming rhythmically on the steering wheel.

"So," she began, breaking the momentary silence, "we've covered quite a bit today. Any highlights?"

You pondered the question. "Well, the park was a highlight, I guess. It's always good to know where people hang out. Makes me feel less like an outsider."

Ingrid smiled, but there was something about it that made you uneasy. "You're not an outsider, you know. You're just new, and new can be exciting."

"Thanks," you said, your phone buzzing again. This time it was a text from your mom asking about your day.

Feeling the need to switch gears, you asked, "So, how long have you been living here? You seem to know everyone and everything."

"Born and raised," she declared proudly. "It has its pros and cons, but I like it. And yes, I do know a lot of people, but it's not hard when you grow up here. Everyone kind of knows everyone."

"That must be nice," you said, though a part of you wondered what it would be like to have that much history in one place—so many connections, but also so many ties that could bind you.

"Yeah," she paused, her expression turning serious. "But it can also be a bit suffocating, you know? Sometimes you just want to break free, start fresh somewhere new. Like you."

You looked at her, intrigued by this sudden glimpse into her thoughts. "Well, starting fresh isn't as glamorous as it seems. It has its own ups and downs."

"True," she conceded. "But at least it's a blank slate."

Before you could respond, your phone buzzed again. Another text from Ellie.

Ellie: i really need to talk to you. it's important.

This time, you couldn't ignore the urgency in her message. Something was up, something significant. You looked up to find Ingrid watching you, her eyes narrowing ever so slightly.

"Is everything okay?" she asked, but her tone suggested she already knew the answer.

You hesitated, weighing your options. "Actually, I might need to cut our day short. Something's come up at home."

Ingrid's eyes met yours, and for a moment, you saw something flicker in them—disappointment, perhaps, or maybe something else.

"Of course," she said, finally breaking eye contact. "Life happens. Let's get you home."

You stepped out of Ingrid's car, waving goodbye as she drove off. Your phone buzzed as you approached your front door, another text from Ellie.

Ellie: can you meet me at the grind? it’s about two blocks away from our house. i can drive us back. 

 You texted back a quick "on my way" and made your way over.

Ten minutes later, you walked into The Grind, the local coffee shop where the whole town seemed to be at this moment. As you scanned the room, your eyes met Ellie's. She was seated at a corner table, her phone face down and her fingers nervously tapping a rhythm against her coffee mug.

"Hey," you greeted as you approached, pulling out the chair across from her.

"Hey," Ellie replied, her eyes meeting yours briefly before averting. "Thanks for coming."

"No problem. Sounded like it was urgent. What's up?"

"I saw you today," she began cautiously, "with Ingrid."

A knot formed in your stomach. "Yeah, she was showing me around. Why?"

Ellie hesitated, looking down at her mug, and tapping the handle. She closed her eyes for a moment, choosing her words carefully. "Be careful with her. She's not what she seems."

"I mean I heard what you guys said about her at lunc but," you replied, taking a sip of your coffee. "She seems harmless."

She sighed, running her fingers through her hair. Cut right above her shoulders, the choppy layers suited her face. "Ingrid has a way of getting close to people, and it's not always for the right reasons. I just don't want you to get hurt."

Your eyes met, and you felt a strange warmth spread through you. Ellie was concerned for you. But why? She had only known you a day. You searched her face for an answer, for anything, but you came up short.

"Do you have something against her?" you asked, not hiding your skepticism.

"No," Ellie was quick to respond, "it's not like that. I've just seen her ruin friendships, relationships. She's manipulative."

"You seem serious," you remarked, detecting a tinge of something in her voice—was it jealousy?

Ellie looked down at her mug, her fingers ceasing their tapping. "I just don't want history to repeat itself, okay?"

"History?" you questioned, leaning forward. "What happened?"

She looked up again, her eyes meeting yours again, but this time they were vulnerable, exposed. "Ingrid and I had a thing once. And it felt more serious than her ‘things’ with Cat and Dina. And let's just say it didn't end well."

Now it made sense. The hints, the caution—it was personal for Ellie.

She held your gaze, her eyes searching yours for something you couldn't name. "Also," she paused, as if weighing whether to continue, "You’re my friend now. I care about you. And I don't want to see you get hurt."

For a moment, neither of you spoke. The air was thick with unspoken words.

You finally broke the silence. "Thank you for telling me, Ellie. I appreciate it."

She nodded, her eyes never leaving yours. "Yeah, yeah. Of course"

As you left The Grind, your thoughts were a swirl of confusion and clarity. Ellie's concern had added another layer to the already complicated dynamic of your new life. But through it all, one thing became clear—Ellie cared about you, maybe more than she was willing to admit.

And as you replayed the conversation in your mind, you couldn't shake the feeling that Ellie wasn't just warning you about Ingrid. She was also staking her claim, marking her territory in a landscape that was becoming increasingly complicated.

#ellie williams #ellie williams x reader #ellie williams smut #ellie williams tlou #ellie williams x reader smut #ellie williams the last of us #ellie williams tlou2 #ellie williams fanfiction #ellie williams fanfic #ellie williams fan fic #ellie williams x female reader #ellie williams x you #ellie williams imagine #ellie williams oneshot #modern!ellie williams #college!ellie williams #ellie williams one shot

[ladyfromaspookyforest]

Wheeler/Byers Wardrobe Analysis

Season 1 Part 2

Part 1 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5

Hello, hello, hi. Continuing this journey through Stranger Things attire. And I want to preface quickly that I don’t have an agenda. I’m just examining the clothes as I go and seeing what I think they tell me. I'm not digging for evidence of anything.

Anyway, Episode 3! Nancy gets home from Steve’s house and is confronted by Karen in her lil PJs. Do these PJs seem familiar? Oh yeah. They look like Nancy’s.

The next day at school, post red-stripe-shirt-at-the-pool-party, Nancy’s wearing another light sweater, a common Nancy top choice. But this one’s intriguing to me because while it contains the same two colors she usually wears, they’re darker. Darker blue and more of a brick red, but they’re small stripes on this delicate sweater. We also saw her wear stripes for the first time in the aforementioned red shirt. So this outfit here feels like a compromise between what she chose for Steve for the party and what she usually chooses for herself because of the stripes. The darker colors I think are not intended to reflect Steve in any way, but Nancy's state of mind. She's worried about Barb and feeling conflicted about the whole experience of losing her virginity. She's paranoid right off the bat when she walks into school that people are looking at her differently. She's feeling weighed down and the shades of her colors are reflecting that.

I was also immediately into Steve’s shirt here because Steve, for the entirety of this season, wears blue. But here, and only here, the blue has shrunken down to a few stripes on this shirt. This shirt which also contains pastel pink, a color Nancy is often wearing or surrounded by, but not wearing in this scene. Both Nancy and Steve are wearing clothes that reflect one another more than usual, and yet they don't quite match. This is the most I can recall Steve ever reflecting the Wheeler color palette (I'll find out if I'm wrong later). This is also the day after he slept with Nancy. So I think his choice to wear Wheeler colors afterwards shows that he feels closer to Nancy while her choice to wear darkened colors shows that she's feeling hesitant and unsure.

Here, Karen has dressed Holly up in light pink and blue (as per usual), but she herself is wearing a navy and teal plaid dress with black tights. She wears plaid a lot, but in order to bring a casserole to Joyce (a mourning behavior), she’s donned darker colors than usual. This scene already felt uncomfortable to me, like Karen doesn’t know how to behave because she’s giving Joyce a casserole (like when someone in the family has died) even though Will is not yet believed to be dead. Maybe this isn't unusual. I apologize for my ignorance on casserole etiquette, but it’s an awkward moment there at the door. And Karen’s wardrobe choice here makes me feel even MORE like she doesn’t know how to behave. She’s intentionally dressing less light and happy than usual but not in the official mourning color. And dressing Holly the way she usually does really shows this juxtaposition because Karen often matches Holly to herself. So this is like looking right at how Karen usually presents herself next to how she's choosing to now.

This episode puts Mike in this green and blue striped shirt. In the first photo, he’s talking with El before he goes to school. El is dressed in Mike’s clothes, a navy pullover and grey sweatpants. Blue is Mike’s color and grey is a neutral he (and Nancy) is often seen in. For example, in earlier episodes, both Mike and Will wore shirts with blue and yellow stripes, but Mike’s was also grey and Will’s was also brown. Grey is a cool toned color, a Wheeler neutral, while brown is a warm, earthy Byers neutral. So El’s outfit is screaming I BORROWED THIS FROM MIKE WHEELER in every way. She then spends the day wandering the Wheeler house and examining everything. She’s basically trying to figure out what it means to live like a Wheeler, to have grown up in this home with these parents and with blood siblings. She’s trying to put herself figuratively in Mike’s shoes while literally wearing his clothes.

And back to the Wheeler vs Byers neutrals, I really love that Mike is wearing this tan jacket when he goes to school. It’s a very Byers jacket. It’s got corduroy on the collar and brick accents on the inside. In the screenshot here, Mike, Dustin, and Lucas are being harassed by the bullies making fun of Will. They also trip Mike despite the fact that it’s Will they’re mocking. Basically, they’re treating Mike as a proxy Will while Mike is wearing this Byers-esque jacket. He’s also wearing the jacket for the remainder of the episode as the party hunts for Will (and as they witness his "body" being pulled from the quarry), but he was not wearing at home with El while his attention was on her.

I forgot to mention this jacket in my last post, but Mike also wore it in episode 1 while the bullies were harassing him. And he leant the jacket to El after they found her in episode 2.

She's wearing this big yellow shirt (Will's color) and Mike puts her in this Byers-y jacket. El isn't really El to him yet in this scene. She's some strange girl they found while looking for Will who Mike keeps around in hopes of her helping him find Will. So in addition to El wearing Mike's clothes in episode 3 and acting like Mike, in episode 2, she's wearing a Will-coded outfit and being valued for her connection to Will. The wardrobe for El this season has no reflection whatsoever on who she is as a person because she doesn't know yet nor do the other characters. So when Mike was at home with her in the red shirt, no jacket (episode 2), that moment felt more about the two of them getting to know each other outside of how she can help him find Will.

Joyce has been wearing this same outfit since late episode 1. Jonathan also wore the same outfit during both episodes 1 and 2, but now he’s changed his clothes and what he has changed into…is the same shirt he was wearing in the flashback in episode 2. Obviously, the episodes that go by without Joyce or Jonathan changing their clothes speak to how panicked by Will’s disappearance they are. But once he does change his clothes, the choice for Jonathan to put on the same shirt he was wearing in a memory he was just reflecting on is really curious. And by “choice,” I mean on a grander, show-level. Not Jonathan’s choice. He’s seen snagging this shirt up without even glancing at it and tossing it on as he gets out of bed. The costume department chose to put Jonathan back in this shirt we’d just seen him in via flashback for a reason. I find it notable that Jonathan changes his shirt again before going to school. He just spent two days in the same outfit and now he cares enough to change twice in the same morning? Weird. That’s all I’m saying. Maybe it reminded him of that same moment just like Should I Stay or Should I Go coming on in the car did, and maybe it was too hard for him to think about it again. So he changed. Or maybe it felt too light for the mood he was in.

During the Steve Hulk Camera Smash scene, Jonathan is wearing black and a dark grey or dark denim button-down. Dark colors. Darker than usual. The polar opposite of the first shirt he put on that morning. He usually has more earth tones in his wardrobe than this and I think this choice is less about mourning, as the dark colors could indicate, as it is about guilt. This is because even after he believes Will to be dead, Jonathan doesn’t start wearing blacks. This scene, instead, takes place after he does his stalker photo shoot of Steve’s party. So the dark colors are very likely a reflection of how he feels inside, having done something dark. He took photos of other people, including Nancy undressing, without consent and despite the fact that we know this is not what he set out to do, he did do it, spur of the moment. Now in the aftermath, he feels guilty and ashamed.

EPISODE FOUR

I had to lighten this one a lot to really see what the colors are. Karen is still wearing the dark plaid dress from the last episode while Ted is wearing what appears to be a white button down with red and blue checkprint. Very Wheeler. He’s continuing to present himself in the Wheeler fashion while Karen is struggling with figuring out how to present herself. When she got dressed, Will was missing. Now, in this screenshot, Will has been declared dead and Barb is missing. Karen doesn’t know how to be there for her children (or for Joyce earlier) and the way she dresses in this episode reflects that she feels like she can’t continue on the way she has been. (side note: check out the couch and throw pillow. Wheeler pastels)

Here’s Karen later (sorry I don't have a full body shot). She’s wearing a cream turtleneck, a dark grey vest, and black pants (out of the shot). Her prints, her checks, and her pastels are gone.

Nancy and Steve fight. She’s wearing pink (just pink) and he’s wearing blue with maroon stripes. Going back to what I said about their outfits in the previous episode, it looks like Steve is still sporting Nancy’s influence while she has dropped his. This is the first time we’ve seen Nancy in a solid color with no prints or detailing, her PJs aside. Even her purple sweater from E2 contained threads of other colors. So she’s in solid pink, she says to Steve, “I can’t believe you,” then she walks away and leaves him in the alley. And WHAT DOES THIS PARALLEL?

I’ll get to that scene later, but for now, I’m intrigued by the fact that both Steve and Nancy are wearing grey in the season 2 fight whereas in this season 1 fight, they’re wearing opposing colors, though Steve’s shirt contains bits of Nancy’s coloring, which shows that he’s more invested in Nancy than she is in him. This is probably a contentious point to make for season 1 considering he’s being a douche in this scene and making Barb’s disappearance about himself. BUT I stand by the fact this his feelings for Nancy are stronger than her feelings for him, even here, despite the fact that he’s lousy at showing it and his mind is in the wrong place.

In season 2, they’re actually on a lot more common ground. Maybe this is why they’re wearing the same color. There’s no more I’m-right-you’re-wrong. There’s only this-isn’t-working. But back to season 1.

I hate to say this, but this shot here is giving me hella “It’s twins and one’s a boy and one’s a girl!” vibes. Which is kind of irrelevant. What actually matters is that El is wearing Nancy’s clothes. She’s wearing a wig and yet another article of Wheeler clothing, presenting herself as a different Wheeler. She even had short hair when dressed in Mike’s clothes and long hair here dressed in Nancy’s. It’s kind of like she’s trying out the Wheeler life from both angles.

Guys, I don’t know HOW I never realized how much pink and baby blue the Wheelers are surrounded by. LOOK AT THIS WALLPAPER!!! Plus, with El in pink and Mike in blue and the greenery in front of the mirror, they basically ARE the wallpaper. It’s pink, blue, and green leaves. What is the reason. It basically tells us that this (Mike and this version of El) together equals Wheeler conformity. And by “this version of El” I mean her dressing like someone else and trying to behave like someone else. This version of El is still trying to find herself, trying to fit in (a theme that returns later). Basically Mike + dishonest El or confused El = unhappy couple pretending to be in love (Ted + Karen). Eleven is spending this season trying on other people’s clothes and other people’s lives because she never got to have one. And this image is a big red flag right here because I can’t imagine anyone looking at this shot and thinking “awe cute.” It’s so newborn baby-colored and domestic it makes me gag. This screams that El needs to find herself in order to avoid THIS. This nuclear nightmare.

This also feels weirdy similar to what we just witnessed of Steve and Nancy, what with the baby pink and blue solid colored costuming. Almost like a MIRROR IMAGE WOULDN’T YOU SAY? No, I’m stretching. I’m actually reaching blindly. I have no idea where I’m going with that. But the mirror shot is interesting. If anything, I’d say it ties back to them being a mirror of Mike’s parents BUT I can’t help but think there’s subtext here for both couples about gender roles what with these colors being, as I mentioned, the ones assigned to babies at birth. El will later go on to find that she’s the fighter. Steve will go on to be the babysitter. Defying gender role expectations. Both of these characters are trying to figure out who they are and who they want to be this season while both Mike and Nancy are trying to find their lost friends.

Basically, I’m getting identity crises and Don't Become Your Parents.

And to finish off with the Byers...Joyce is still wearing the same outfit she’s been in since episode 1. Clearly collapsing. And Jonathan Show's-Over Byers is wearing this cozy lil sweater fit to the morgue, which I find especially interesting in this scene here:

Jonathan, in his lil beige sweater, is matching Hopper's uniform. And this is the first time these two characters really connect. Prior to this, Hopper has shot Jonathan down and told him to let Hop do his job. Here, they're talking openly and calmly, and they're talking about Joyce. They are speaking on even footing about someone they both care about (though at this point in time, we aren't sure the extent of Hopper's feelings for or history with Joyce) and they are matching. This feels especially intentional when you watch moments before, when Jonathan was looking at "Will's" body and see that he was wearing a jacket and then the scene after when they're leaving (above) and he's wearing the jacket again. He didn't take it off to come inside, but specifically for this sit-down moment with Hopper.

#stranger things wardrobe analysis #stranger things #st season 1 #nancy wheeler #mike wheeler #jonathan byers #karen wheeler #damn tags are annoying #wheeler family #byers family #el hopper #steve harrington #byler color theory #this is so long omg #my dumbass post

[roamwithahungryheart]

Sorry if i'm bothering you (again) queen! I swear this is the last question.

After the finale we realized that maybe rebecca has always had a soft spot for ted and she was the one who fell for him and not the way around as we all assumed.

Do you think this is the case of "the boy fall hard but the girl falls harder" trope or it's more than this? According to you, when was the exact moment when they both thought "oh shit, i might like him/her" throughout the serie?

Not bothering me at all! Feel free to drop in whenever you like, I'm always down for a chat! 💖

Buckle up because this is gonna be a looooonnnng post!

In retrospect, it's interesting to think about because of the parallels they established in 3.04 in relation to Rupert's 'relentless' pursuit of Rebecca and how he 'just wanted to get to know me'. We immediately connect that to the way Ted slowly gets to know Rebecca and the daily ritual of Biscuits With The Boss.

The progression of their working relationship hits a new level in 1.04 when Rebecca's able to be vulnerable with him at the gala and they hug. She's letting him in, in spite of being afraid of doing that again. Also, let's not forget the way Ted compliments her dress on the night.

Sure, you could put it down to Ted being nice and hyping her up as a friend, but you can tell Rebecca's a little flustered.

The show establishes that they're each other's Work Husband and Wife around halfway through the first season. Their dynamic changes in a way that's reminiscent of - as I've said in a previous post - a classic Nancy Meyers movie marriage. They even put them in matching colors in Two Aces - the all-important introduction of red that ties us to soulmatism. But in doing that, it doesn't inherently establish them as a romantic pairing. They're a double act. You could easily view them as platonic.

However, he catches her off-guard again when she's doing that photo shoot - would you really talk to your boss like that? Ted's straight up flirting, whether he realizes it or not (because let's be honest, he's an oblivious little doofus!) and Rebecca takes the compliment like a pro.

Oh, and can we talk about the first truth bomb that happens in that same episode? Ted's reaction after they hug? He moves forward for a millisecond, as if he wants to go in for a kiss but holds back.

Ted & Rebecca's connection, whether romantic or platonic, has always been tied to vulnerability. They needed to both be open to receiving support from each other, and they only truly reached that point at Paul Welton's funeral (the 1991 scene tells us everything we need to know).

Ted had been (quite literally) holding the door open for her since 'I respect you didn't hurry'. She just didn't walk through it until she realized he was showing up for her without question, both in and outside of work. The funny thing is, Rebecca showed up for Ted in Carol of the Bells, and he wasn't ready. But there was a kind of silent acknowledgment of their bond in that episode. It was effectively an aside to the viewers.

Then we have the 'fuck the haters' text. The purple heart emoji. If you're gonna send a sympathetic emoji to a colleague, you don't send a heart. A friend does that. A romantic interest does that. The thing that further drills that point home is the juxtaposition with Michelle's text message. They immediately show us that Ted has two women in his life who care about him. It sets up a potential love triangle too, because they're both showing affection for Ted, and it's up to us to decide what kind of affection it is.

I think when Ted tells her she livens up the place, that's a little bit of a lightbulb moment. He's a naturally affectionate person, sure, but he's just admitted (again without realizing) that he enjoys being around Rebecca.

We have to talk about the Oklahoma thing, though. At first, they have nothing to say to each other. Ted's heart is open, Rebecca's is closed. By season three, it's become a little in-joke for them. They're actually communicating with each other on a deeper level. They've built mutual trust and comfort. That's been Rebecca's trouble all along - she's been so closed off, she never allowed herself to feel what she truly feels.

She jumps headfirst into fleeting, meaningless sex to distract herself. She can't even bring herself to listen to Sassy talk about what Ted's like in bed. She keeps tabs on Sassy & Ted, and in 3.05 it's pretty obvious that Keeley knows something's up (especially in the last episode, Keeley's face when Rebecca says she isn't ready to talk about replacing Ted speaks volumes).

I think it was kind of set up from the jump in season three that there's an unspoken thing between them. It's absolutely undeniable by the time we get to the airport scene in the finale.

TL;DR I think they both fell for each other early on, but it took the thought of losing each other to get them to finally acknowledge it.

#Ted Lasso #Ted Lasso s3 #ted lasso speculation #tedbecca

[lesbianwriter]

Can you continue, They were Roomates? I kinda wanna see how thing's'll turn out (^ ^). Thankyou!!

No problem!

Part one

Part two

“Villain.” Supervillain said. Casually, formally. He was somehow both, the intoxicating cadence of his voice making it impossible for him not to sound like a perfect and charming gentleman.

The aura of sophistication around him was smothering. His sleek pinstripe suit, a designer watch at his wrist and slicked hair were crisp in juxtaposition to Villain’s bloody hands and ruffled hair.

“Supervillain.” Villain tore the knife from her victim’s body before clumsily dropping to her knees. “About the photos—“

“I received them. Good work. Infiltrating Hero’s residence and covering your tracks, I’m proud.” He stepped forward, hands tucked away in his pockets. Supervillain bent forward. Villain could feel his lips move on her ear. “I’ll tell you a secret: you’ve always been my favorite of the girls I’ve trained. You were the most…malleable. Receptive to the facts, one could say. You’ve bought your sister another week. Keep up the good work and I might consider a month.”

He reached into his pocket and dropped a pouch of money into her bloody hands. “And for your other expenses…and her extra medical ones.”

“Thank you, Supervillain.” Villain murmured, exhaling a breath she’d been holding. She felt as he smiled. Her stomach dropped. A stone landed in her gut.

“You’ll be taking a pause from killing. Instead, you will be spying on Hero, and if I don’t have an adequate amount of information at the end of each week then I’m afraid your sister’s time will be cut short. Ta-ta!” He took a step back.

Villain stared, wide-eyed. All she could do was gape and stare as he spun on his heel and walked away from the grimy alleyway. Perhaps she could’ve lunged and stabbed him in the back—maybe she could have slammed him against the wall and sent him to Hero to he arrested—but both of those options would lead to the death if her sister, and she had no intent on letting her last family member die because of her.

Damn everybody else. Damn Hero.

She’d keep her sister alive.

—

—

“Villain? Are you alright?” Hero asked. She chewed on her inner lip while she awaited a response—if any.

She had the foolish hope that Villain had quit a life of crime. The ‘business matters’ had ceased for an entire week. Not once did Hero catch wind of Villain out during the night, or sneaking out through a window. Actually, she had been coming home late to Villain sound asleep.

It was odd.

“That is none of your business.” Villain chopped the vegetables.

“You’ve been here a lot more lately.” Hero said carefully. Villain’s shoulders tensed and she kept chopping. Loudly. “Are you alright?”

“Shouldn’t you be working on your half of the dinner instead of recreating the Spanish Inquisition?” Villain retorted.

“Drama queen.” Hero rolled her eyes.

There was blissful silence for a few moments.

“I bought a puzzle at the store today.”

“Keep buying those and we’ll run out of space.”

“The point is that I want you to help me with it.” Hero said. She waited for a response. But the cat took a grand leap off the top of the fridge and onto Villain’s shoulder before either could continue.

“Control your cat!” Villain shrieked.

“She likes you.” Hero plucked her pet from Villain’s shoulder, earning a hiss from the cat. “Try playing with her more. Maybe that’ll cool down her antics.”

“You know what else would? A violin factory.” Villain hissed back at the animal.

“Violin strings aren’t actually made of—“ Hero began.

“I know!” Villain snapped.

A few moments of silence. “About the puzzle…”

“Fine.” Villain’s tone dripped with venom. She swiveled back to the cutting board and picked up the knife.

As she resumed her work, she could only pray Hero gossiped a lot. It was selfish. She knew that. The whole ordeal was wicked and wrong. She was well aware. But her end-of-week quota wasn’t filled yet. And sometimes sunflowers needed to wilt.

#villain x hero #hero x villain #sapphic #my writing #hero and villain #pride month #wlw pride #writing community

[thebowerypresents]

Blonde Redhead Come Home to Close Out Tour for New Album at Brooklyn Steel

Blonde Redhead – Brooklyn Steel – November 10, 2023

For all the painters renowned for their mastery of the use of contrasts, not enough bands get the credit they deserve for the same. Blonde Redhead, as their name almost implies, are wizards of contrasting sounds. Their Brooklyn Steel concert on Friday night kicked off with an immediate juxtaposition, taking to the stage playing through some ethereal guitar loops before jumping headfirst into the jagged angular guitars that begin “Falling Man.” It hit like a hard and sudden rain descending out of a misty fog. “Yet I am just a man still learning how to fall,” sings Amedeo Pace with his strained tenor voice punching through. This is followed by (and in contrast to) “Dr. Strangeluv,” with its lush and expansive landscape of sounds, this time filled out by Kazu Makino’s delicately singing as if she were floating above the song. 

There are only three members in Blonde Redhead, but their sound is so much bigger and their songs have so many layers spilling out of them that repeated listens often reveal something new. When played live, these opportunities to get pulled in are everywhere. For me, this hit the hardest during “SW,” with my ears for the first time noticing the brooding, rattling hum of the guitar that undergirds the song. Come the chorus, the refrains of “It’s not” and “I am” bend guitar strings toward Amedeo’s words like gravity.  

Brazilian (and New York City-based) percussionist Mauro Refosco joined the band for the final night of the tour. He was featured on Blonde Redhead’s recently released 10th LP, Sit Down for Dinner, including the hypnotically mesmerizing “Snowman,” which slowly builds in polyrhythms like, dare I say, a rolling snowball. 

“We’re getting forgetful in old age,” said Amedeo, excusing Makino taking a pause to track down a piece of paper before a song. “It’s not old age, I’ve always been like this,” answered the rhythm guitarist. Another thing Makino’s always been is strikingly beautiful, moving along to their songs like they’re waves washing over her. At times Amedo joined her in dancing, his lanky frame extenuated by his white jumpsuit, with the two of them flanking Simone Pace on drums. This is a band that’s long been in lockstep, for twin brothers Simone and Amedeo Pace, likely since birth. 

Their set closed with the shoegazing masterpiece “23,” which blows through with so much force only to end in some scattered guitar whispers and rhythms, the remnants of a tornado of a song that just blew through. —Dan Rickershauser | @D4nRicks

Photos courtesy of Dana Distortion | distortionpix.com

#Amadeo Pace #Bowery Presents #Doggen Foster #Brooklyn #Brooklyn Steel #Dan Rickershauser #Dana Distortion #East Williamsburg #Greenpoint #Kazu Makino #Live Music #Mauro Refosco #Music #New York City #Photos #Review #Simone Pace #Sit Down for Dinner #Williamsburg

[girl-by-the-seashore]

I did not mean to be the daughter that left. Or, I guess I thought it would be different - I have been dreaming of going abroad all by myself for years. I wanted to leave. At the time, my grandmother's musings of "well, sometimes it's nice to stay home, you've travelled and lived on your own, you might like staying home" fell on deaf - or, defiant - ears. I was going to go far and I was going to do great things.

The greatest thing I have ever done and will ever do is be her granddaughter, my grandfather's granddaughter, my parents' daughter.

In the end, I didn't go as far as 13-year-old me had hoped. I'd had dreams of Europe, or, at the very least, the other coast of the country. I worked so hard to be able to do it, dragged myself through hell to protect the opportunities my parents had given me to chase my dreams. When I got there, when it came time to make my choice.... I realized I didn't want it anymore. What I wanted was to be less than a day's travel from my family. I wanted to prioritize my home, the local communities that raised me. And so I left, a medium jump from my original dreams but big enough to get the independence I still so desperately wanted. I left so that I could learn, and grow, and come home with the tools I needed to ensure a home for the generations to come.

My family descended on my new home for thanksgiving and I received them joyfully. There was over 20 of us, plus three dogs, crowded around two massive tables covered with pumpkins, gourds, fall leaves, candles, and heaps and heaps of food. We shared our gratitude for one another, sobbing over the pain of change - we are so far dispersed now, and you can only share so much of your life over email. My grandmother's memory is going now, but she always recognizes me. I have a reminder set in my phone to message her every four days - I send her a photo of myself or whatever I've gotten into, a short update of my day. I live so far away now, but I can't let her forget me. I think it would kill me.

I drove my parents to the airport in the car that I bought for myself. My parents hugged me tightly and told me they were proud of me. I didn't cry until they walked away. They'd gotten me to the point of being capable to live the life I wanted, and I didn't want them to see me cry over how much chasing that life hurt. I drove myself home. I played my music on my radio. I returned to my apartment that I had decorated with my roommates, who had added more fall decorations since I'd been home last, who were cooking in the kitchen and filling our home with wonderful scents. I wrote my to-do list for the week, filled with school assignments that excited me and tasks for a job that I adored. I realized I had indeed built a life here, I had a family of my own choosing, I had things keeping me here. I wanted to stay. My heart was breaking over the distance from my parents, from my grandmother and her fading memory, and my grandfather and his dedicated kindness. But I was in the right place for myself.

I resented my sister when she left. I couldn't imagine how she could leave our family. Ironically, I moved to the same city she did at the time, although she was long gone from it. She had told me I would love it. It is a funny pattern, how I keep thinking my family doesn't know what is best for me. They know me better than anyone, and they routinely correctly identify what will be the best choice.

I really didn't mean the daughter that left. I listen to Noah Kahan's "You're Gonna Go Far" and I sob with the pain of the juxtaposition of leaving my loved ones while simultaneously loving the life I've built for myself, the life that is only the possible because of the opportunities my parents and grandparents made for me.

I think, at the end of the day, I just thought I had more time. I think I thought my grandparents would always be the same - I could go as far as I wanted, then come home and they would still be here. I was okay to leave if I knew they would be waiting for me when I came back. Leaving, knowing my grandmother wouldn't be the same when I came home next, that dementia would continue to take her from us, was a much, much harder choice. Many days I still don't feel like it was the right one, but I know it would hurt her more for me to sacrifice the life I wanted because of her. I can know that and regret every moment I've missed with her at the same time.

Grief only exists with love. We can't stop time from continuing. I can't return my grandmother's memories. I can only do my best to honour my family's hard work by making choices that give me a well-lived life.

Image ID: a black and white photo taken through the windshield of a white car. The street is lined with trees that are bare of leaves.

#nostalgia #autumn #recollections of childhood #noah kahan #stick season

[sailsonthehorizon]

New to Blogging! So Why Sails on the Horizon?

Because at heart I am a sailor.

I spent 12 extremely happy years teaching sailing in the Lake District, on the water is perhaps the only place I don’t feel the need to explain myself or over-apologise. I know what I’m doing, I know how the boat will behave, and I absolutely love being out in the elements being punched by the wind and soaked by the spray. Taming manic sails and a pitching 16ft dinghy into a driving force creates an addictive juxtaposition; the fierceness of the boat forging through the waves and the greatest feeling of peace.

I taught myself to sail. I was home-educated in rural Wales which had it’s own shortcomings, but it did come with the massive perk of being forced to use your initiative. If I wanted to do something, I had to figure it out. So, I bought a Mirror dinghy off eBay for £50, chucked it on Ullswater and fell in a lot. Which each epic voyage I fell in less, and eventually I was quite good at staying dry.

No longer being able to sail on my own terms - small boat, big waves, high speed - is a hard slap in the face. 

Why film photograpghy though?

Time. What I have now - being limited in mobility, in constant pain and with depleted energy levels – is time. I never had time before I got ill, I was out. Out working, biking, going to festivals, gigs. Even out as in going out for a coffee. Out out.

As a quick synopsis to set the scene; if I am careful, rest a lot and use mobility aids, I can manage perhaps two days a week ‘out out’, and evenings maybe once a month. Providing I’m going somewhere that has super comfy chairs, and I’m back by 9pm. Yep, it is pretty dull.

I needed to find something creative I could do whilst crashed out on the sofa. Which is why a key part of this project is the use of 35mm photography (with the occasional iPhone pic in emergency situations!). I chose film because takes a fair chunk of time, and not just to develop and process the photos. You can’t just snap a gazillion your iPhone and delete the ones you don’t like, slap a sexy filter on the ones that you do.

The camera I am using is my dad’s old Pentax MV (seen here with a double espresso, which will most likely become a recurring theme). You have to check the exposure and focus the camera for each shot. Makes you stop, think, appreciate, and smile. 

I’m 45 now. I’ve worked in animation, outdoor ed, ran my own business - which I am still grieving over - and now work (mostly) from home in marketing and design.

I love to travel, I love the arts, I love the outdoors, I love my family. So this blog is about all of those things, with the challenges of living with a progressive disability woven in.

So that’s me. I am also on Instagram as…

@sails_on_the_horizon

…please do feel free to give me a follow and a double tap if the mood takes you. 

Thank you for coming with me on this journey. Peace out.

#photography #film photography #sailing #disability #disability awareness #new to writing

[jackylans]

Due to personal reasons, I couldn't attend week 1 class, so I chose to complete the task by taking a photo near my home inspired by the song 'Come to Life' by Kanye West.

From the song's composition and lyrics, I gathered that the protagonist experiences family breakdown and life's trials, leading to profound suppression and despair. However, in the latter part, the protagonist is encouraged to express his inner thoughts through writing and strive to actualize them. This resilience suggests that no obstacle can truly defeat him as long as he maintains determination; it only makes him stronger. Eventually, he will realize his dreams and bring happiness to his loved ones.

The juxtaposition of suppression and resilience reflects two extremes that influence each other. Initially, I thought of using black and white tones and a sturdy tree to convey this contrast. Black and white tones strip the photo of vibrant colors, mirroring the protagonist's once colorful life now dulled by oppression. Conversely, the resilient tree, even when felled, can regrow new branches by seeking deeper roots for sustenance, becoming even sturdier and stronger than before. This mirrors the protagonist's resolve to persevere and remain determined, just like the latter part of the song

[amitapaul]

5

#23GloPoWriMo

Prompt Dated : 2023 April 5

Response No : 1

Poem No: 10

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Prompt : Begin by reading Charles Simic’s poem “The Melon.” It would be easy to call the poem dark, but as they say, if you didn’t have darkness, you wouldn’t know what light is. Or vice versa.

The poem illuminates the juxtaposition between grief and joy, sorrow and reprieve.

The Melon

BY CHARLES SIMIC

There was a melon fresh from the garden

So ripe the knife slurped

As it cut it into six slices.

The children were going back to school.

Their mother, passing out paper plates,

Would not live to see the leaves fall.

I remember a hornet, too, that flew in

Through the open window

Mad to taste the sweet fruit

While we ducked and screamed,

Covered our heads and faces,

And sat laughing after it was gone.

For today’s challenge, write a poem in which laughter comes at what might otherwise seem an inappropriate moment – or one that the poem invites the reader to think of as inappropriate.

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Poem Title : Clearing Out

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Mother has come with us

to say goodbye to her old home

all the way from Vancouver

to Vasant Kunj, New Delhi

“ Is this not beautiful, Rimi ?

It took me a whole month to embroider it “,

Mother says, holding a table cloth,

and looks at me askance .

“ Yes , Mother, it is lovely “

“ And this crocheted quilt,

you used to love it as a child “

“ I remember this, Mother “

“ This green mirror- work cushion cover-

it’s impossible to find these things in Canada -

can we not take it with us ? “

How shall I tell her

that we cannot carry her memories of a lifetime

in this home she made for us

to my new home in a far-off land ?

How can we pack

All those decades of our lives

In two suitcases ?

Because we have no family left now

in India

all the rest of the stuff

will either have to be sold

or given away to strangers.

The flat has already been sold

and we have a week to clear it out.

I look at curios

and knick- knacks

once prized

now useless burdens.

How disposable our essentials become

with time, with change !

Even the body, with death.

The doorbell rings.

A distraught deliveryboy

is standing on the landing

and as we watch,

he fishes out a clown’s hat

from his pocket

and blows a playwhistle

“Birthday cake for two- year old Rohan ! “

He announces

And we burst out laughing.

“ That’s the toddler in the flat above us, son”

says Mother, gently, wiping her eyes,

and he apologises before rushing upstairs.

We sit down to a cup of tea

before restarting our melancholy task.

It’s Father’s medals and mementos next

And a pile of photo albums.

It’s only after he passed away

that Mother agreed to come

to live with us in Canada

on a permanent basis.

Is anything permanent in this changing world ?

I ask myself.

( ASA )

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Poet : Amita Sarjit Ahluwalia

Poem 10 / 5th Day

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[thevisibilityarchives]

Roma (2018), Alfonso Cuarón

BIPOC

Summary: Returning for his first film since 2013’s Gravity, famed director Alfonso Cuarón transports viewers to the hustle and bustle of Mexico City where a young housekeeper named Cleo, experiences the joy, pleasure, and pain of that which we call life in this heartfelt drama. 

Full review: As the screen fills with soapy water, lapping in waves across a floor, the bubbling suds set the stage for a film that finds its heart within the theme of cleansing; emotional baptism and renewal, the cleansing of a soul laid bare and its pain washed away. 

It’s been nearly 10 years since director Alfonso Cuarón last swept audiences away with Gravity, the sci-fi thriller featuring Sandra Bullock that joined Cuarón’s diverse filmography, a small but mighty collection of films speak to a man who will not be pigeonholed into the confines of any one stereotype, culture, genre, or style. 

With his latest entry Roma, Cuarón returns to his Latino roots, this time drawing upon personal inspiration to bring to life what feels like the embodiment of a living memory. 

Set in 1970s Mexico City, Cleo, a live-in housekeeper for a moderately wealthy family, becomes the center of our cinematic universe for the duration of the film. Her days working for the family are a churn of unending routine, cleaning and caring for a group of raucous children.

 Endlessly she cycles through the same tasks with no determinable goal in mind; no lofty dreams of greener pastures or constant periods of yearning. Her needs are provided for: home and hearth, a surprising amount of love and warmth granted to her by the family she cares for themselves. There is a degree of enviable simplicity in Cleo’s life, a minimalism lost two generations past to growing decades of consumerism, in which to simply have all we need is not enough in the Western world. 

For viewers in North and parts of South America and the Caribbean, it may be difficult to picture the idea of a live-in housekeeper without the connotations of the centuries during the slave trade bearing down upon the mind, and an ever-present barrier exists between Cleo and her employers, Sofía, Antonio, and their children.  Cleo is young and dark-skinned, possessing Indigenous-Latino features as she speaks Mixtec among her fellow housekeepers, in juxtaposition to her employers Sofía, Antonio, and their children, all light-skinned Hispanic Latinos. 

Yet the lines are blurred between class and creed, employer and friend, family and servant in ways that are inherent in such a dynamic, and Cuarón approaches them with boundless empathy, filling the screen with what ultimately comes to feel like a family drama. Family here is exemplified in its deepest sense:  the connections that bind us, extending beyond the boundaries of flesh and blood, offering a family photo album of Cleo and those who surround her in picturesque black and white tones. 

The course of life for Cleo, Sofía, and the rest of the family changes when they each face unexpected events in their lives. For Cleo, it is a heart-rending pregnancy by the first and only man she has intimately known. For Sofía, it is the discovery that Antonio is having an affair and no longer intends to financially support the family. 

What we expect to become yet another tale of woe beyond the border, reinforcing the plight of people of color in poverty,  instead plays out with the ideal amount of humanism and realism necessary for the film to captivate in the ways it does. Joy can be found in the depths of despair, and whether intentionally or not, Cuarón cultivates a character who exemplifies both the burden and successes of Second Wave and Intersectional Feminism. 

Roma can be streamed on Netflix. In light of the removal of content recently from streaming sites like HBO Max and Netflix, consider buying a physical copy as well if you enjoy the film which can be found at big box stores like Target and Best Buy. 

Citations:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mixtec_language

Note:

For the purposes of this blog, Latino* is used universally as a gender-neutral infinitive to respect both nonbinary individuals as well as native Spanish-speakers. 

#thevisabilityarchives tva visabilityarchives latino movies bipoc representation film diversity roma netflix bipocfilms cinema

[katytheinspiredworkaholic]

I’ve been rewatching CM and god, what I wouldn’t give for them to bring TG back for this revival. I haven’t even watched seasons 12-15 yet because I’m in denial about him being gone 😭😭😩

omg I haven't watched it either xD I've been holding off watching s11e22, The Storm, for like a month I swear. Which, I know is going to be amazing but I also have heard it's the beginning of the end and I'm not readyyyyyyy.

I would give anything for TG to come back. A n y t h i n g. But idk what CBS feels is the appropriate amount of time to be blacklisted or whatever the hell they did 🤷‍♀️ despite how it would be so easy to write him back in, and the missed opportunities is already making my skin crawl.

Okay. This was going to be a quick answer, but I've been THINKING about this way more than I should lately, without ever having watched 12-15 but I feel like I know enough, and with all the projects I'm going to be finishing/starting soon I know I won’t have time to do anything with my ideas. So I'm just going to type this little beginning I have plotted out and maybe one day I'll make it into the fic I want it to be:

(I know you didn't ask for a hc/blurb thing but surprise you get one xD)

CW: Spoilers for season 11-15 that are probably inaccurate af, fighting, violence, bit of blood and injuries talk, some profanity. 

-

((I legit have this all plotted out like a full season, and picture everything as shots and scenes and I know exactly how I would want to bring Hotch back.))

-

It would start in a small suburban town in Indiana, legit white-picket fence, middle of nowhere, off the grid town. With the most pedestrian name ever, we might as well call it Mayberry. Typical weekend morning, bright green grass and trees and summer sunshine lighting it all up, they still get papers delivered it’s that picturesque. And it’ll pan to all sorts of people on this street of nice, two-story houses, and finally zero in on not the man picking up his paper from his front porch, but the jogger slowing down that the man calls to next door, calling him a name we’ve never heard before -- but the jogger answers with that dark eyed squint and a nod... and it is Aaron Hotchner. Or the man who used to be Aaron Hotchner. He hasn’t gone by that name in years, WITSEC provided him and Jack with new ones.

His house isn’t even really decorated like a home, he’s been in enough over the years to know tell-tale signs of what a happy home should entail. Photographs, memorabilia, nostalgia tucked away in corners -- they don’t have that. He has a couple of photographs he keeps in his office, the only two in inconspicuous view being a photo of Haley and Jack when he was two years old, and a photo of his team the day he completed the FBI triathlon and they all showed up to support him. Everything else of their old life is in boxes in a storage facility in downtown D.C., under another false name that can never be linked back to them. 

Mr. Scratch was a poor excuse for why he and Jack were still under WITSEC, but he hopes near daily that it was enough of a reason that no one would question why he didn’t return once that monster was dead. That no one smart enough to read between the lines would go digging for more reasons, or worse -- try to find him -- and they pictured him living a happy retirement very similar to the charade he is living now. 

But Aaron Hotchner was never meant for retirement. No matter how easy and simple his days have been the past few years. It was only a matter of time. 

He walks through his home that looks more like the insides of a Home Living magazine, to his kitchen which is bright and spacious and tiled white that he knows Haley would have loved, getting a glass of water from the sink and chugging it all in one go. It isn’t until he’s getting a second glass that he hears it. The faucet was supposed to have masked any disturbance, they were careful in when they moved, how they placed their feet, the slowness of the their approach -- but not enough.

Hotch keeps his shoulders relaxed, his spine still ram-rod straight but that’s just how he stands and it keeps tension ready at a moment’s notice. Keeps him on alert, which he needs as he takes slower sips of water and lets all his other sense shift to a heightened awareness. Knows this house like the back of his hand, even if he’s never allowed himself to consider it home, so he knows which floorboards creak and where all the furniture is strategically placed. Always prepared for something like this to happen, even if he never imagined someone would be so bold. 

Their mistake.

With a careful tick of his head, peripherals his only guidance, he strikes before the intruder gets to. An iron grip and momentum that propels their face into the metal of the sink basin, shocking them that what their file was so misleading about their target. Retired FBI agent, almost 60 years old, living in Pleasantville with a picket fence and a vegetable garden. This should have been easy. The intruder is stunned by the blow, attempts a quick recovery where they lash out and get a few good body shots into the older man -- but he’s built like a brick wall, can take a blow and give it back twice as hard -- a few more precise hits and another crack of their face to the sink that shatters the bridge of their nose leaves the attacker slumping to the floor. 

“You didn’t do your research,” Hotch tells them, breathing a little heavy, opening up a drawer usually deemed for junk and pulls out zipties and an ancient looking cell phone buried deep at the back. “Sloppy. I expected more from him.” 

The attacker kicks out Hotch’s knees in a fit of rage (at having his skill set insulted so), leaving them both crashing to the floor. They grapple and fight a bit more, knocking dishes from the counters and pots and pans to the floor from the grill top island, but Hotch is so well-trained in take downs he gets the slighter man pinned with only a split lip and a single hitch in breath. He barely broke a sweat. Knocks the guy out clean, two solid punches to his face, and he stops because he knows better. Has been there before, and they need to question whoever was sent to his house to kill him. 

He’s barely off the floor, the intruder binded and stuck in a corner when Jack walks in from early morning soccer practice. Takes one look at the kitchen, his dad with blood in the corner of his mouth, and the guy all in black bound by zipties and already knows what happened. Sixteen, nearly as tall as his father now, he looks only mildly worried for all of two seconds until he sees that his dad has an old flip cell phone held up to his good ear, awaiting a connection with their handler in Indianapolis. 

“... Does this mean we get to go home?” 

The shot would pan back to Hotch, and he wouldn’t answer him, just tells the person on the phone to ‘patch him through, they have a situation’, and there would be no very obvious look in answer to Jack’s question. But all of us who know him, know the subtle changes in expression and the slight softening to that stern frown, knows what his reply would have been.

-

The very next scene would be the BAU. JJ and Emily walking at a brisk pace covering a debrief, since they basically run the department now. Everyone has been called in, everyone, retired and moved away and even the ones who cut all ties have been contacted. JJ has just gotten off the phone with Elle, who is working as a liaison in Rome and assured her that if anyone showed up in her home to attack her that they would be leaving in a body bag. But she appreciated the heads up. 

In the bullpen it’s more like a family reunion than anything. Garcia has just gotten off the elevators, a flurry of color and blonde curls and bright as ever, Morgan and Savannah are trying to corral Hank and the twins (both girls and pure chaos now that they can walk) while still making introductions with the new team and their families, and asking if Reid or Rossi know anything about what’s going on as JJ gets there and asks for everyone’s attention. 

“Not everyone is here yet, Kate and her family are on their way from upstate, Will’s getting the boys from school, and Alex and her husband are on a plane, but we need to get started as soon as possible.”

“What’s is going on, JJ?” Morgan asks, passing off one of the twins to Penelope who is in full baby fever mode despite what is obviously a very bad circumstance that has brought them all together. It’s a juxtaposition that has put everyone on edge. It doesn’t help when JJ and Emily look at each other as if in confirmation, trying to decide who is going to tell them.

“Okay, that doesn’t inspire confidence,” Rossi points out. “What happened?”

Emily sighs and makes a gesture for JJ to take the floor, since she has been on point for most of this.

The bull pen is silent in anticipation.

“Earlier this morning, Hotch was attacked in his home in Indiana,” she says, and whatever anyone thought was going on -- that wasn’t it. The shock across the room is like a bomb has detonated.

Rossi curses something out in Italian, looking down, and JJ immediately realizes how this all sounds. But doesn’t even get to backtrack as Reid looks completely devastated and Garcia like she’s about to cry and everyone else starts shouting questions at her. 

“What happened to Jack?”

“How did they even find him? What the fuck is wrong with WITSEC?!”

“Is he okay?” asks Tara, the only intellectual who can see the panic now blooming on JJ’s face.

“Yes, yes! He’s okay, sorry, no -- Hotch is fine. The guy who tried to kill him... not so much, but he should be conscious soon so they can question him.” 

“Jesus Christ, JJ,” Morgan says looking like he just aged ten years in the past 30 seconds. “Lead with that.”

“Sorry, I’m sorry. He’s okay, Jack is okay, they’ve been picked up. But... there’s a lot we need to be filled in on,” she admits, which quiets the room once more. “Apparently, the WITSEC had nothing to do with Mr. Scratch. There’s something much bigger and more dangerous going on, and he went under to keep us all safe. As well as himself, and Jack.” 

“What is it?”

JJ makes a gesture with her hands splayed as she looks a little lost. “I only know bare bones, we have to wait to hear the specifics and get everyone somewhere safe.” 

“You think we’re going to trust WICSEC after this?!”

Emily intervenes this time, “We have a plan, or... Hotch has a plan, I think. We’re just learning about everything as we go, he’s really the one that knows the most about it.”

“Then where is he?” Morgan speaks up again. “If he’s been pulled out, and we’re all in danger, why isn’t he here explaining this to us himself?” 

It’s a good question, and everyone looks expectantly at the two women leading the informal briefing. 

“Will he come back at all?” Reid asks, speaking up for the first time. It’s been years, that’s a long time to rethink a life like the BAU, and everything it entails.

JJ takes a deep breath. “He’s... in--”

“Out-processing.” 

Hotch is at the back of the room. Everyone turns to him, even JJ and Emily look surprised to see him so soon.  ((But we all know the CM cinematography love that kind of return shot, so I’m catering to it. For situational parallels if nothing else. Imagine the gif sets.))

“I pushed it as fast as they could go, but WITSEC always drags their feet.” The familiar drone, dry barely-there-humor, breaks whatever spell that had been over the room at the sight of the old Unit Chief. Disbelief and relief and stunned surprise litter every expression, and although Penelope looks like the first to say something, her words change course just as she opens her mouth. Because  Hotch is still in civilian clothes, a duffle-bag over his shoulder he used as a go-bag for decades, and beside him with a bag of his own with messy dirty blonde hair is--

“Oh my God, is that Jack!?” she near sobs, the teenager smiling at her in a way that looks so much like Haley, and she goes to hug him first with the boy meeting her halfway. “You’re so tall! And so grown up, look at you!” There’s definitely tears and the team converges on the Hotchners all at once. Reid hugs Hotch first, as tight and bone-crushing as that night in Atlanta all those years ago, followed soon after by Rossi who looks like he might shake the man but just hugs him tight and plants an absurdly embarrassing kiss on his cheek that finally cracks Hotch’s expression into something like a smile. Everyone hugs, everyone, Savannah calls him Aaron instead of Hotch because that was how he’d introduced himself all those years ago, the twins wave shyly and he shakes hands with the newer members that never got to meet him but have heard very tall tales about him for years and years. 

(And y’all, it would be the best damn scene and I would sob like a baby watching it.)

Morgan would be the one that would hold back and let the others go first, but it would also be the most profound when Hotch goes to shake his hand and the other man uses that to pull him into a tight hug of his own. 

“I’m glad you can still hold your own,” he’ll tease with nearly no heat behind it. Hotch hears it for the caring that it is.

“Like hell I would let that happen twice in my own home,” he assures him. 

Everyone settles down, and Emily leads some finer points of what’s going to happen with everyone in the next few hours. Days. Weeks, even, because there’s no knowing what is going to happen next. Hotch observes her, and there HAS to be a shot where she glances over to him and they share a look of understanding -- because she is Unit Chief now, and he approves of what he sees. 

But she turns the floor over to him, and Hotch explains what’s going on.

((I’m going to leave the finer points out about the case and the unsub, mostly because I haven’t finished ironing them out yet and I hope once I watch the remaining season I will be able to much more easily))

But at SOME POINT in the briefing, when Hotch is explaining what happened with the assassin in his home and how he apprehended him, and Emily maybe interjects with the injuries sustained and that they are still waiting for the man to regain consciousness. Penelope will 100% lean over to where Jack is sitting beside her and say without flinching, “Your dad is such a bad ass.”

((I also plan on bringing up Reid was in prison in this scene but it will be more humorous than anything because of Hotch’s reaction, stay tuned on that one. Again I’m not there yet))

((and where I’m taking them is also a secret because I need to do research and it will be so damn cool, but Hotch has everything completely planned out -- like he does. Goes as far as asking the few who question him “Secure enough for you?” when he drops where they will be staying and the protection they will have. Full blown mic drop moment.))

“So gather all of your belongings that you have here. Secure pets and homes, call the kid’s schools, whatever you need to do,” Hotch informs them, stepping back into his old shoes as team leader without even meaning to. But no one tells him to stop. “We need to be in the air ASAP, the jet is being prepped as we speak so we need to move on this.”

He leaves it at that, and everyone doesn’t move. Watching, waiting, smirking a little bit (Penelope, maybe even Reid), until he gives in.

“Wheels up in 30.”

Garcia giggles so much she near cackles with it. “Oh, I just got goosebumps!” And by Emily’s smirk and Morgan’s shared grin with Reid, a million watts between them, everyone is up and moving and pulling out cell phones to get their affairs in order.

Rossi sidles up to Hotch at that point, also openly smirking that they got him to say those four time-honored words. “Welcome back, Aaron.”

And Hotch, well -- he looks around the room at the family he had to leave behind without any hope of seeing them again, and feels every hardened edge in his face and demeanor soften. Before he looks to Dave and tells him what’s been going through his head ever since he walked back through the doors of the BAU.

“It’s good to be home.”

((END SCENE))

#CM SPOILERS #If only I could write fic full time xD #GOD I've been dying to write all that down for weeks #and then you my beautiful anon sent that ask and I jumped at the opportunity #sorry I used you for this but I'm so glad I did #I hope you enjoy it if you don't mind all the spoilers #also if anything doesn't line up with canon I am SO SORRY I legit haven't finished season 11 #and I haven't met any of the new team. Not even Luke #But they would all be there #full cast. chaos. It would be awesome #katyswriting #criminal minds fanfiction #no pairings #Aaron Hotchner

[snlhostharry]

crooked love

harry x reader

1.5k words

you and harry are broken up, he lives down the block and something has you up at three in the morning. 

a/n: yes this is based on I wish you would by Taylor Swift, yes everyday I think about what would’ve happened if harry had pulled the car over <3 

It’s way too early to be awake. You’re not quite sure what time it is, but it’s early enough that the sun shows no signs of rising to signal the morning. You have to go to work in a few hours, but you can’t sleep. Something is keeping you awake, something keeps drawing you towards your bedroom window. You lean against the headboard and let out a sigh, you’re mind drawing back to the one thing you don’t want to think about. It’s one of those nights where you lie awake and let yourself think too much about all the mistakes that you’ve made, the things you didn’t say, and the things that you did. 

You refuse to believe that Harry Styles is your one that got away. Mostly because it’s cliche, to have some celebrity be your one that you regret letting walk right out of the door (he actually got into his car and drove away but still), the whole thing sounds like an over-romanticized version of a story told in some books and fantasies by fangirls. It’s also to avoid the truth, the truth that if he came to your door right now and said that he wanted you back you would say yes, you would forget everything and you would say that you were sorry. There’s so many things to apologize for, there are so many things to say but the words die on the tip of your tongue, and the thought of texting or calling leaves your fingers paralyzed. 

He did say, “Maybe one day you’ll call me, and tell me that you're sorry too,” in his song. You think the song is beautiful, but you can’t listen to it anymore. Instead your content just staring out the window at what you’ve discovered is three am, thinking about how he bought that house just down the block from your apartment, thinking about what he must be doing right now. 

You look down at the street, the morning fog hovering just above the road, the streetlights barely illuminate the grass on either side. It all looks haunted, just like you are, because if you look down at the sidewalk you can see him still standing there. Like a ghost, the memory of that moment stays with you, even though it's been a year, and even though there have been other guys since then. There’s just something about the kind of emotion contained in that moment, the kind of love that makes you fall so hard and fast, that pushes every button, so much so that there’s only one possible way it can end: in flames. The kind of raw emotion carried in the way that you screamed at him, and he stood there taking it until he just couldn’t anymore. 

“You never loved me!” You scream. The force of your anger could shake the streetlights if you allowed it to, if you had enough power to show him. “You forgot about me like it was nothing, all you cared about was your career, and who you were going to be seen with.” 

“I love you,” He says, the eerie calmness in his voice counteracting the abject emotion in yours. At the time you’d taken that to mean that he didn’t care about you, that you loved him more than he could ever love you, that here you were again stuck wounded out in the cold. Everyone could see you bleeding, he could see you bleeding. “I love you, now. I don’t know what I can do to make you believe that.” 

“You should’ve been here!” You tell him, “That’s how you show me! You show me by being here, instead of out somewhere with some girl instead of just calling me.” He doesn’t say anything, “All I see is that I mean nothing to you.” 

“Are you just going to keep yelling at me?” He asks, his voice harsh. “Can we have a conversation? Can I come in?”

You cross your arms, “No.” 

“y/n-” 

“No. I am so angry with you right now, if I let you in I might just kill you and hide the body.” 

He throws his arms in the air in frustration, “Fine! If you’re not even going to try to listen to me, then I’m going to go home.”

“Then go home, or go out or do whatever you want.” 

He looks at you and shakes his head. You don’t move to go in, you stand there, watching him get into his car and at last watching him leave. The anger rising in your chest destroys all taste of reason, in hindsight you shouldn’t have let him leave like that. You shouldn’t have let him think that you hated him so much that you would never speak to him again. 

Time keeps marching on. You stand at the window now, but somehow you're also still standing on the sidewalk watching his car drive down the road and disappear into oblivion. This has been a ritual the last couple of days, you waking up with a strange kind of sleeplessness, staring out at the street stuck between two moments that are in complete juxtaposition to one another. There was a week where he would call you everyday, sometimes twice a day, and you always hung up. You wish now that you would’ve picked up the phone. 

How long is it going to take you to admit that you’re waiting for him at the window? He has that house down the street, and sometimes you swear you see his new car drive down the street with its windows down. It makes your heart skip a beat everytime because sometimes you convince yourself that it’s not his car, that he’s in his house with some model not even thinking about you in the slightest. Other times, you wish that he would just pull over and knock on your door. 

A car passes by the window, the headlights momentarily illuminating your room. You take that as a sign that you should go back to sleep, so you lay down in the bed again, trying to stop your spiralling thoughts. But the room is illuminated again with white headlights and you sit up. A car is pulled over next to the sidewalk, and suddenly the door opens. You grab your phone, ready to call the police to report an intrudenter but when the figure stands under the light of the lamppost you almost drop your phone to the floor. 

The next thing you know you’re standing outside the door, hands shaking as you reach for the doorknob. You know exactly what’s behind it, but you think you might be dreaming, or subject to sleep deprivation. Suddenly, your hand is on the doorknob and you finally open it. 

Harry Styles looks the same. The same as he did on Instagram last week, the same as he did in his contact photo (him smiling like an idiot on a beach in italy) and the same as he did when he got into the car and drove off, a fact which sends a chill down your spine. What is this? Whos’ to say that even if he is here to say sorry or to ask you to try again that there's even a chance that it would work out this time? 

“Hi,” He says semi awkwardly as he stands there. 

You lean against the doorframe, “It’s early.” 

“I know,” He runs a hand through his hair. “I didn’t know if you would be awake.” 

“Funny story,” You say, “I’ve been awake for an hour.” 

He half smiles, “So have I.” A pause. “I have to tell you something.”

“You’ve been driving past my house for the past week, with your windows rolled down, yeah?” 

“How did you know?” 

“Recognised your car,” You say, “From when I drove past your new place.” 

“Oh.” 

“You wrote a song about me,” You break the silence, “And you bought a house a block away from me.”

“I’ve been thinking about you.”

You cross your arms, “No shit.” You relent, “I’ve been thinking about you too. To the point where I stare at my phone, and I think about calling you.” 

“I called a lot.” 

“You did,” You say with a sigh. “I’m sorry for screaming at you, you didn’t deserve that.” 

“I thought you hated me,” He says.

As much as you’ve selfishy imagined the moment he showed up at your door, and you were able to tell him all of the things you should’ve said that night, standing here with it actually happening throws you for such a loop that you don’t know what to say. “The life you live can be overwhelming,” You tell him, “I was mad because I was confused, and I miss you.” You keep going, “I constantly miss you. I was mad for awhile, and then I started missing you. Then I got mad at myself because I realized I was going to have to spend the rest of my life missing you.”

“And I drove past your house everyday for a month,” He smiles. 

“And I was sitting at the window when you pulled up,” His words finally hit you after he says it, “Wait a month?”

He laughs, “Can I come in now?” 

“Yes.” 

#harry styles x reader #harry styles x y/n #harry styles x you #harry styles fic #harry styles imagine #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles one shot #harry styles fanfic #my writing

[mikaze-discord]

HEAVENS: Love letters

Soooo this is the last of the love letter, I really must reiterate how thankful I am to the people who responded to my message. Specially thankful for the people who ended up writing for one of the boys, all of the love letter writers are so cool. If you wanted to write your own love letter for your oshi then feel free too!! Utapri Tumblr is kinda dead.... but! I hope you enjoyed the love letters

Please enjoy under cut!!!!!!!!!!!!

EIJI OTORI 

From Anon:

Eiji Otori is another member of HEAVENS and he is a down-to-earth type of character. One can say he is a cinnamon roll as he looks out for HEAVENS and his brother, Eiichi. Eiji talks in a formal manner to people outside of HEAVENS and addresses them by their surname like the time he worked with Tokiya for Mighty Aura, or when he was working with Camus and Masato for Feather in Hand. Around HEAVENS, Eiji talks casually, calling them by their first name. He is very mindful of other members of HEAVENS and Eiji keeps an open mind for ways to improve his skills as an idol and to help out his bandmates come to a solution where both sides agree. Eiji speaks very fondly of the people he works with formality and a lot of respect.

What I love about Eiji is his relationship with his brother, Eiichi Otori. The two have a strong bond as Eiichi looked after and took care of Eiji when growing up. The two of them are inseparable and do a lot together while looking after each other. Personally, their sibling bond is what I wish to have with my sibling as well, even though we're complete opposites like day and night! Their interactions are easily seen throughout the anime, you can even see their sibling bond show the most through HEAVENS Radio as Eiichi and Eiji are the co-hosts. If there is anything that I'd like to know more about Eiji, it would be about his hobby, gardening. He has a lot of knowledge on plants and perhaps agriculture. It'd be nice to see HEAVENS talk about their hobbies one day. But all in all, Eiji is a great character that I appreciate with a heart of gold!

From Anon:

Eiji Otori, the 4th member of HEAVENS is one of my two most favorite characters in Utapri. I was originally drawn to his kind and gentle demeanor, that made him such an easily lovable character. He was introduced in the 4th season of the anime in the cross idol unit episodes. The way he treated Tokiya besides knowing he was part of the rival idol group ended up becoming an essential part of Tokiya’s later character growth. Although Eiji is meant to be a foil for Tokiya’s character their personalities are completely polar opposites, their devotion to wanting to be an idol being one of the only similarities besides level headedness. Eiji is his own character, right down the way he speaks to the way he sings. Eiji seems to always carry the group in a loving and family-like way, even going as far as having domestic hobbies like gardening and baking. We always see him and even hear the way he interacts with the other members of HEAVENS on the radio show as if they were an inseparable family. Eiichi, his older brother and the leader of HEAVENS loves him in a way that is so complex but Eiji will always love him back with every fiber of his being to the deepest parts of his soul. There is a deep connection between the brothers that is so beautiful that even poetry couldn’t express, it’s more profound then words can show. It’s a bond they share that only they know, like a secret.

However, even then there is so much more about Eiji that makes him such a wonderful character. When it comes to myself, Eiji hits a bit close to home in a more personal way. Perhaps that is also a factor in why I love him so much. I empathize with him and I can see through his eyes in ways only a younger sibling would know. As a younger sister to a sibling who has always been in the spotlight in some form of way with a big presence, I always lived in her shadow, but I admired her and cared about her above anything else. The way Eiji feels about Eiichi is something that I can personally relate with and understand. Eiichi is an essential part of Eiji’s character and the anime does not lack to show this, nor does it lack to show that Eiji is just as much an essential part of Eiichi’s character. It’s more obvious in the radio show that is hosted by the two brother but it’s not fully ignored either in the anime. I love how Eiji interacts with all of the characters, and seems to find ways to treat everyone with kindness even if they aren’t kind to him in return. He admires those who show a deep love for the things he does, and respects those who are more experienced then he is. He’s always eager to learn

and please. He’s the kind of person you’d always want around and you’d want a hug when things get rough. Eiji is definitely the most pure hearted character of all the Utapri characters. And, I’ll always stand by that through and through.

VAN KIRYUIN

From @whereisvanderwood:

Kiryuin Van. Where to start? He’s cocky. He’s cocky as all hell. There’s something in his air that is poised yet undignified. Childish yet mature. The man is founded on juxtaposition, not dissimilar to a painting of Picasso. His ability to be unique in an industry that begs for individuality, to rise above a tidal wave of competition and stand apart from other fish in the sea, is awe-inspiring. Expectation is dead to him; though the oldest member of Heavens, the weight of bearing the role as ‘most mature’ or the ‘parent’ of the group couldn’t be further from his concern. He is only any dimension of himself he wants to be at any given time. Dumb bitch by morning, bad bitch by night. Much like his bandmates, his confidence and intimidating aura is unwavering. He claims his victory before a race begins, and I couldn’t say if that undying faith in oneself is a skill or a sin. Whatever it is, he owns it. He shamelessly, unapologetically owns who he is and shares it with his fans, friends and enemies.

Also, he’s hot. He’s very appealing to the human eye. His ruggedness reminds me of a warm blanket in winter. His voice, oh his voice. If the world was about to blow up and he just said “No it won’t”, in his own way, I think I’d believe him. Regardless of what he says being juvenile or mature, he’s always authentic. No sugar coats, no little white lies, only genuity. As just said before, he is who he is and wouldn’t change for anyone if it wasn’t in his own best interest. Who couldn’t love a guy like that?

YAMATO HYUGA

From @kusagiiiii:

I'll be honest, I used to forget Yamato exists alot LMAO I fell in love with him when I was looking at a HEAVENS group photo! I think he is a very stronk,very cute and a very soft boy! in some ways haha he's my type

I honestly wish there would be more story on the HEAVENS boys since they all seem like they had a pretty rough past so yee that's basically it~

From Sammy:

Everybody, listen up! It’s Sammy here! Are you ready for some strong appreciation? Let’s shout it out! Yeah!!

Where do I begin when it comes to Yamato? It took me a while to actually like him. At first, I wasn’t a fan of how he was when he first showed up in the anime. I still remember when Yamato was one of the few HEAVENS members people really didn’t like or care much for, next to Eiichi and Nagi.

I used to be one of those people too with Yamato. I found him to be very stubborn, but over time after listening to HEAVENS Radio; The Drama CDs; Watching Maji Love Kingdom, etc… I came to realize there’s so much more to him.

I’ve learned a lot more about him, especially through role-playing as him, and my love for Yamato skyrocketed. Even with all the new content that’s been coming out for HEAVENS lately like Black Garden and Endless Score, my love grows even more every day. Yamato sneaked his way up to being one of my best boys.

Yamato is HEAVENS’ Strongest member. (Seriously, how the heck does this boy train everyday and do so much of it?!) He’s not always aggressive and violent. He’s actually a really thoughtful person who cares about his friends a lot, even being very protective of them. Yamato is the kind of person that’ll immediately stop what he’s doing, and only think about how to help the other person feel better.

A lot of things tend to be overlooked for him cause of how he’s written in the anime, and there’s fans who only pay attention to that. Not even giving the extra content a thought or a single glance.

As Ryuya’s younger brother, Yamato has his own insecurities, especially since he’s always seen as just a shadow. He’s been trapped in darkness where he feels he’s not good enough to be appreciated and loved as his own person. He doesn’t know what to do and which path to take. Yamato only became an idol just to defeat and finally be better than Ryuya at something. I feel that goal is still there, but it’s not a major one like before. Now, Yamato has people like the other members of HEAVENS, the angels, and the other idols. He found his light and happiness.

Overall, Yamato is the kind of person he wants everyone to be proud of. He wants to always share his strongest power and energy, carrying the burden of everybody’s smiles. Wanting to see those around him happy and be the best they can be.

Another part that I really like about Yamato is whenever he gets embarrassed. I can’t help, but find that really cute cause it’s something we don’t see or hear out of him a lot.

There’s also the times he demonstrates how much he loves food. Even though he overeats and knows he can’t help it when he’s hungry, I really liked when Yamato stated that if eating makes you happy, go for it. Just make sure you train afterwards to burn off calories. It helps people feel good about themselves.

Even the times when Yamato struggles with difficult words, specifically English and kanji. It’s embarrassing for him to admit, but he knows he’s not good at that sort of thing. What I really like about this is HEAVENS is always willing to help him, even Tokiya and Cecil. They help keep things simple and easy for Yamato to understand.

There’s a lot you can say I just simply vibe with when it comes to Yamato, and I love him. Hope everyone enjoys this long appreciation of this strong boy, and I hope you all love him too!

SHION AMAKUSA 

From Anon:

When I saw Shion for the first time, he caught my attention with his beautiful appearance. His cream-white hair, his periwinkle eyes and his pale skin were a wonderful combination that I just couldn't ignore. Physically, he was exactly the type of character I love… Even his hairstyle is great! And what to say about his pretty face! To me, he looked like an angel.

His style in clothes is something I also like about him. With all this mixed, the only word I can use to describe him is "perfect".

But, of course, there's more than just physical appearance. Shion's way of speaking, as we all know, is quite… Particular. And those beautiful words made me be more interested in this boy, even if they were a bit difficult to understand. This characteristic is something that, in my opinion, makes him special, not only in his group but among all the groups.

That poetic way of speaking is a beautiful combination with his voice. When he speaks I find it so mystical… And when he sings his solo songs I feel relaxed and even a bit emotional. He's not an angel just physically, he also sings like one!

But what made me love him completely was his personality. To be honest, at first I didn't understand why he acted so hostile to Cecil and signed with him, but when it was explained later I could see his point of view and I felt sorry for him, for how he was feeling and the big sacrifice he was making if we take into account his thoughts.

Loyalty is something I value a lot, and Shion has a huge loyalty towards his friends. After that incident, he changes his way of thinking and he starts getting more friendly to the rest, something I find beautiful.

I also find him very cute, an extra point for me to like him. His -sometimes- childish attitude is adorable! And how he acts around his friends… So lovely!

I also feel a bit similar to him in some aspects, such as listening to the same song again and again, liking birds or even usually feeling sleepy, besides other things. These similarities make me feel connected in some way with him.

Shion is a very special character for me, and I can't wait to see more content about him, to know more about this wonderful boy, for example, about his family, where he is from, how he ended up in HEAVENS, how he started to speak the way he does… There are a lot of things we don't know yet and I hope we can get more information about Shion soon!

#utapri #utanoprincesama #uta no prince sama #eiji otori #otori eiji #shion amakusa #amakusa shion #kiryuin van #van kiryuin #hyuga yamato #Yamato Hyuga

[tonymystarks]

You’re the Piano Man

Steve/Tony one-shot inspired by that video of CEvans playing the piano. I wanted the fic, so I wrote the fic. 

*

Steve didn’t spend a lot of time in Tony’s penthouse. 

They spent a lot of time on the common floor, with the rest of the Avengers, in the workshop or on Steve's floor. Tony said that was because it felt more home-y than his own floor. So when it was just the two of them, they would go to Steve’s floor. They slept there and ate there, and Steve almost forgot that the penthouse existed. 

So when Steve asked Jarvis where Tony was, and Jarvis said the penthouse, Steve was surprised. 

“Sir is just gathering a few items from his bedroom; I am sure that he would not mind if you met him there,” Jarvis told Steve.

“Ok, that works. Thank you, Jarvis.” Steve stepped into the elevator and heard it whir to life.

“Of course, Captain Rogers.” 

Steve thought about what Tony could be grabbing. Most of his clothes have migrated into Steve’s bedroom, and most other things were always kept in the workshop. Steve’s pondering was cut short when the doors to the elevator opened.

As Steve wandered into the penthouse, he realized that he had never really looked around before. The few times he had been there, he had been… preoccupied or something of the sort. So he decided to take his time before making his way to Tony. 

The first thing he noticed was the modern design. It was all clean lines and metal; it looked like a museum. Steve saw no personal artifacts anywhere in the living room or hallways. It was quite the juxtaposition to Steve’s warm and full living room. He could understand why Tony wanted to spend his time on Steve’s floor.

The second, more surprising, thing Steve saw was a big object shoved in the corner, in front of the floor to ceiling windows. Steve walked over to it and pulled the cover back. 

In front of him sat a beautiful grand piano.

Steve ran his hand along the top of the piano, admiring the shine and quality of it. He went to lift the lid off of the keys and was happy to find that it wasn’t locked. He pressed down on middle C, listening to the resonances of the note. It sounded as if the piano had hardly been used, which doesn’t surprise him. Tony doesn’t strike him as the type to have enough time to sit down and break in a piano. 

Steve pulled the bench away from the keys and sat down. He sat his hand on top of the keys and hit foot over the pedal, and began to play. 

His fingers flowed over the keys like it hadn’t been years since he had played. The muscle memory was taking over and guiding his hands in a way that surprises him. The soft, muted melody flowed out of the piano, and he closed his eyes and let the music wash over him.

Before long, he stopped, realizing he doesn’t remember what comes next. It's been too long to remember it all. 

 “I didn’t know that you played.” Steve startled at the voice coming from behind him,

Tony must have snuck in when he was playing, and Steve didn’t hear him. He was sitting on the couch in one of Steve’s sweaters, which was even oversized on him, and a pair of sweatpants. He looked so comfy, which stood out against the modern backdrop. 

“Yeah, uh, I learned on this beat-up old piano when I was a kid. I couldn’t do a lot because of the asthma, but I could play the piano. This is so much better than the one I had, though. It’s beautiful,” Steve tried to move on from the topic of his childhood. It wasn’t something that he likes to think about often. 

“Well, it is a top of the line Steinway piano.” Tony walked over and sat on the bench next to him.

“Do you play?” Steve questioned as Tony ran his hands over the keys.

“Nah, I could never get into it. My mom would always play for me as a kid; wanted me to be cultured and everything. I liked it when she would play for me, but I couldn’t be bothered to learn it myself. I don’t have the ear to really feel the music, as she liked to say.” Tony sounded a little lost in his memory as he spoke.

“Oh yeah? What did she play for you?”

Tony shot up and walked over to a semi-hidden bookcase. He pulled out a folder and walked back over to Steve. 

“This was my favourite piece that she played. Rue des Trois Frères by Fabrizio Paterlini. It was something that she played when my brain wouldn’t slow down.” Tony was holding the sheet music to the song.

“Let me see. I’m not the best at sight-reading, but I’ll see if I can get it.”

“Really? You don’t have to.” Tony looked somewhat shy, sharing this part of his past.

“I would love to.”  Steve looked at Tony and smiled; he would do anything to make this man happy.

Tony didn’t say anything and just placed the sheet music down, spreading it out so that Steve was able to see all of it. Steve took a few moments to get himself oriented and looked it over. The music itself wasn’t too complicated, so Steve took a deep breath and began to play.

The melody was sweet and sad at the same time. Steve found himself getting lost in the music as he played. The timbre of the piano and ease of the harmony fit so well together that Steve felt transported. 

He could imagine a young Tony sitting at his mother’s side, just as he was sitting at Steve’s, feeling weary from the weight of the world. He could see young Tony taking comfort in this song that his mother played and letting himself forget where he was for a moment. Tony had said that he could never feel the music, but Steve was sure young Tony would feel the music played by his mother’s hands. Steve finds himself lost to that reality as the music continues through him.

The piece is only about two minutes long, and as it draws closer to the end, Steve is brought back to the world. 

When he plays the last chord written on the sheet music, Steve looks over at Tony. He finds Tony sitting quite still, eyes closed, with a small smile gracing his face and a single tear rolling down his cheek. They sit in silence for a few moments, neither one wanting to break the magic that has been created. However, after a while, Tony clears his throat. 

“Thank you,” is all that Tony says, voice steady but quiet. 

“Anytime, sweetheart.” Steve turned so that he was facing Tony.

Steve placed a finger under Tony’s chin and tilted his face up. He caught Tony’s eyes and tried to communicate how much he loved him before leaning in to kiss him. The kiss wasn’t heated or full of fire, just every ounce of unconditional love and support they had for each other.  

They drew each other in, twisting together like two polyphonic lines of music that form the most beautiful harmony when joined together. 

When Steve pulled away and was able to take a deep breath, he remembered why he had come to the penthouse in the first place. 

“So doll, what were you doing up here anyway?” Steve asked while a blush formed on Tony’s face. 

“Oh, um, right. Ok, don’t make fun of me, but…” Tony stuttered as he walked over the spot on the couch that he had vacated and grabbed a box that Steve hadn’t noticed. 

“I’ll try my very hardest.” Steve chuckled a little as he walked over to meet Tony.

“I’m sure you will,” and when Tony opened the box, Steve understands why tony had come up here to collect things.

Inside the box was a pair of what looked to be old birthday cards and other photos. It looked like some from Tony’s childhood and some more recent of the team. He can see that they all hold sentimental value, and Tony probably likes them close, in his home, and this floor is no longer his home. Home was with Steve. 

However, one photo did make him try his very hardest.

What caught Steve’s eye and made him want to laugh was a photo of Young Tony, dressed in a Captain America costume, looking happy as can be. Steve reached into the box and pulled it out and couldn’t contain himself.

“You look so cute, sweetheart.” Steve laughed, looking at the face of his disgruntled boyfriend. 

“Yeah, yeah, I know. I always looked cute. Come on, get it all out.”

“No, I’m serious; you look adorable. It’s like you knew we were destined to be together.” Steve watched Tony’s face soften as he spoke. 

“Maybe I did. I mean, maybe not the whole, dating-falling in love- mind blowing sex- thing.” 

“Tony-”

“But I guess I figured that the most amazing genius and the world's best captain had something in common. The universe couldn’t keep that awesome apart, know could it? That would go against the laws of everything good.” Tony had a joking tone to his voice, but Steve knew that words were sincere.

“A true crime against humanity.” Steve pulled Tony into a hug and felt him melt into it.

He felt, more than heard, Tony’s muffled whisper of I love you into his chest, and Steve kisses the crown of his head. 

“I love you too, sweetheart. So much even the universe knows it,” and then it was Tony’s turn to laugh. 

They continued just to hold each other for a while until Tony decided he had something else on his mind.

“Alright, enough of this sappy stuff. I want to see what else you can do, piano man.” Tony was pulling Steve back over to the piano, while Steve raised his eye at the nickname. “Right, you don’t know that song yet. We will put it on the list.” 

Tony pushed Steve down on the piano bench and sat down next to him once again.

“Any request?” Steve asked.

“Anything. Something that will make me continue to fall wildly in love with you.” Tony batted his eyelashes while Steve rolled his eyes.

“Let me see what I can do.”

And with that, Steve began to play.

#Steve Rogers #tony stark #stevetony #steve x tony #mcu stony #marvel #MCU fanfiction #My fic #fluff #i write nothing but fluff #stony fic

[mcmansionhell]

50 States of McMansion Hell: Fairfax and Loudoun County, Virginia

Howdy folks! This post has been months in the making. Scouring the hell that is the McMansion Trenches of Virginia for only the best (worst) houses for your viewing pleasure generated some truly awful contenders. Of all the counties in Virginia, it was the wealthiest DC suburban counties of Fairfax and Loudoun that delivered. I won’t leave you hanging longer than I already have, so without further ado, the countdown:

#10: The Trellis Terror (Loudoun County)

The scrunched up piles of roof and narrow windows are a casualty of trying to squeeze the biggest possible house complete with not one but two garages into the smallest imaginable lot. The second story over-the-garage trellis aims to invoke the Tuscan countryside, but ends up looking like a bad strip mall Olive Garden instead. 

#9: Tricorn Turret (Loudoun County)

The consistency of cladding materials and window shapes make this house more well put-together than most McMansions. However it made the list for obvious reasons: a substantial and precipitous roofline, a rare triple turret dormer assembly, and that bizarre skeletal stone porch thing transform this house from country estate to ridiculous Hummer house. 

#8: Fort Void (Loudoun County)

Usually the problem of McMansions is too many large windows, in this case it’s too many small windows, all of them different from one another as if this house was just a front for the Pella Window showroom. The monotonous brick swallows the windows giving the house a fortress-y aura. The juxtaposition of pastoral rolling farmland with an equally ugly house right next door is particularly choice. 

#7: Mt. Nub’s Revenge (Loudoun County)

This house is a perfect example of how, even when they try really really hard, McMansions are incapable of symmetry. The more you look at this house the more “spot the difference” elements you find: the weird short colonnade vs the five-bay picture window; the length of the two wings, the roofline of the right wing is for some reason broken up because God is dead. And then there’s that nub. 

#6: Sticker Shock (Loudoun County)

This robust residence is absolutely chaotic. No two gables are the same. Stone is applied liberally and without logical consistency. Gutters trail down columns and crevices. Every window antagonizes its neighbor. The only thing over which any control has been exerted is nature itself, repressed and dominated by a monocultural expanse of grass. Normally I am not so blunt, but I will be today: I hate this house. 

#5: Chonky Corinthian

There is a certain type of house that is very popular in Fairfax County. It consists of a hulking range of hipped roofs punctured by a central (?) portico supported by columns that can only be described as thicc. This is one of these houses. The people who built this house could not decide when they were done building it. One can only assume that the myriad plans for this house were saved with file names like “House″ “House 2″ “House 2 final” “House 2 final final” “House 2 FINAL FINAL FOR REAL THIS TIME” 

#4: Mad Hatter (Fairfax County)

First of all, this home is way too long. It just keeps going. It’s like six different houses stitched together. Roofs begin and end. Porches come and go. Two stories somehow transform into one. By the time the eye reaches the front entrance, one is already exhausted. Finally, whoever decided to take the phrase “nesting gables” and apply it in this way deserves a trial at the Hague. 

#3: Tragic “Tudor” (Fairfax County)

This is the house equivalent of an identity crisis. Elements of French, English, and Donald Trump commingle to produce a truly formidable facade. All of the landscaping choices in this post are sad, but this house takes the cake for most depressing scenery, and not just because it was photographed in winter. Stubby shrubs appear to be gasping for breath, what trees exist are mere, unstable sticks; beside the pergola, a fallen cypress. 

#2: Foaming at the Mouth (Fairfax County)

This is a classic McMansion: it does its best to look dignified and imposing and instead appears cartoonish and cheap. Every element of this house except perhaps the wooden door is derived from petroleum products. The massive transom screams “climate denialism.” The grand entrance is overdone and top-heavy to the point of parody. In short: I hope this house melts. 

#1: Brick Behemoth 

If you combine all of the insipid elements of the other houses: mismatched windows; massive, chaotic rooflines; weird asphalt donut landscaping; pompous entrances, and tacked on masses; you’d get this house. The more one looks at this house the more upsetting it becomes. The turrets don’t match. The roofline is truly mountainous. The windows are either too small or too big for the walls they are housed in. The carhole is especially car hole-y. What sends this one over the top is its surroundings: lush trees and clear skies that have been desecrated in order to build absolute garbage. At least it doesn’t have shutters. 

Well, that’s it for Virginia! Stay tuned for another installment of “The Brutalism Post” - this time about what Brutalism actually is. 

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#architecture #design #mcmansions #mcmansion hell #virginia #ugly houses #bad architecture #suburbs