#because in the end Barnes had the greatest lasting impact

[quietmyfearswith]

with their little ; preferences

warnings — fluff (?) few hints at sexy times

characters — andy barber, steve rogers,ransom drysdale, bucky barnes, lance tucker, syverson, will shaw, august walker

a/n — THIS IS A DDLG FIC,, the characters will change depending on whether on how i see them fit the theme so yeah,, feedback appreciated

their love language

masterlist

“What are you up to, missy?” Andy asked as he noticed there was a presence who was looking at him as he was busy reading case files. “Nothing dada, I just miss you,” she mumbled as she played with sleeves of one of Andy’s sweatshirts that made her frame even smaller. “Why don’t you come over here then, baby,” Pushing away from the table, he patted on his thighs and turned his chair so he was now facing her. More than happy to oblige, Y/N excitedly crossed the short distance between them and plopped herself down comfortably on his lap. As if it was reflex, she instantly curled her arms around the lawyer’s neck whereas the bearded man circled his arms around her waist. “Are you done with your work dada?” She wondered, truth be told she had been wanting to spend some time with him, but understood well even when she was deep in little space how important it was that Andy remained undisturbed as he worked. Softly stroking her back he answered, “Not yet, baby.” Shoulders dropping, she started to unclasp her arms from where they were enjoying the warmth his body was radiating, “I’ll come back later then,” But as she was making her move to untangle from him he grabbed onto her tighter, “Where do you think you’re going, missy?” HIs fingers grazed her sides and tickled her, giggles erupting from her as she struggled to reply, “Don’t want to bother you work, dada.” Tucking a stray strand of her hair behind her ear, Andy lovingly looked at her, “Work can wait, baby, it’s time to spend some playtime with you.”

“What are you doing?” His voice startled Y/N as she turned to face August, smiling sheepishly hoping that she could charm him enough to distract him. “Hi daddy, how are you?” She greeted him sweetly to which August just curtly nodded, “Hi little one; I’m curious as to what you are up to that got you all messy,” he pointed to her face that was covered in color. Taking this as her cue, Y/N turned and handed him the artworks she was previously focusing on, “Made this for you, daddy; that’s why I’m all messy.”

August managed to mask his facial features from showing how his heart melted at the thought of his little one making two artworks — one that featured the two of them holding hands with hearts littering the background and the other one was just him with a couple of guns in front of room while the words “Greatest Agent, My Hero” written in a banner. “We better clean you up, little one,” Holding out his hand, Y/N was more than happy to take it up seeing how her daddy didn’t seem angry with her as he gently placed the drawing on the desk behind her. As the tub was filling up with water, August gently lifted up Y/N and placed her there, “Did you like my drawings, daddy?” She looked up at him with pure adoration laced with curiosity, and he could not prevent the coo from coming out as he voiced out his gratitude and appreciation for his little one’s creations, “Daddy loved your art, little one. You’re one talented girl, aren’t you?”

As Bucky entered his living quarters, he felt the stress of the day’s workout and training leave him. He dropped the gym bag that his metal hand carried while the other hand wiped the sweat of his forehead with a towel. “Sweetheart, are you in here?” As he called out for her, he heard her excited squeals accompanied by her feet hitting the floor, running towards him. Before he could warn her about how filthy he was, her arms were already wrapping themselves around his waist while her lips were pressing soft, small kisses against his neck. “Hi tătic, I missed you.” He chuckled at how clingy she was and just messed with her a bit as he teased, “I was only gone for a few hours, sweetheart.” She moved her face away from his neck as she pouted, “But you were gone for so long,” she dragged on the last word as if to prove how he took too long to come back to her.

“But I’m here now, sweetheart; have you been good for me?” As soon as the question left his lips, she unclasped her hold from him and sheepishly looked at him she mumbled a soft, “Maybe.” Having suspicions based on how she was acting, Bucky crossed his arms and looked at her, “What were you up to while I was gone, Y/N?” And the girl could only whine as she hated it when Bucky used her real name; but the super soldier knew by doing so he could get her to answer. “Tătic, I only baked you some cupcakes! I knew you were going to be hungry and wanted to make you something,” She confessed as she grabbed one of his hands and led him to the kitchen — where there were around a dozen cupcakes on the counter. Grabbing one, she offered Bucky one cupcake that had blue frosting in it with a huge smile, “Please don’t be mad, tătic.” Taking up her offer, he took the cupcake and tasted it, moaning at the taste he looked at her as he kissed her forehead, relishing in the giggles she let out, “I’ll let it slide how you broke the rules; only because you made such delicious cupcakes.”

With both his hands carrying paper bags, he shut the front door with his foot. Ransom then made his way up to the second floor of his house and went to the room he knew his princess would be cooped up in the study; as she was burying herself in a ridiculous amount of workload. “Princess, are you in here?” He knocked on the door, and when he heard no answer he went ahead and let himself in. The picture of her sitting on the swivel chair as her head and arms were on the desk as she slept greeted him. Setting the paper bags down by the couch, he kneeled down beside her and gently caressed her back. “Wake up, princess,” He quietly tried to wake her up. She mumbled a bit as she slowly opened her eyes, and once she did she smiled, “Hello, my king.” 

Ransom could feel his heart swell double in size as she greeted him; planting his lips down on her nose for a kiss he inquired, “Were you busy with work again, princess?” Nodding, she lifted her head from where it was laying on the desk and sat up straighter while rubbing the sleep off her eyes, “Yes, my king, had a lot of deadlines.” Grabbing one of her hands, he planted a few kisses on her knuckles, “I saw how hard you were working, and thought that my princess deserved a reward,” he chuckled at how her eyes lit up and he pointed to where he put the bags, “Well maybe a few rewards.” Upon seeing how the bags were from her favorite brands and stores, she excitedly leapt out of her seat and launched herself to Ransom so she could hug him tight — the impact making Ransom fall on his bum, but he could only laugh at how she kissed every inch of his face she could get her lips on while repeatedly saying, “Thank you, thank you, thank you.” Rubbing her back he could only hum, “Anything for you, princess.”

“Baby girl, come back here!” Sy’s booming voice echoed through the walls as he ran after his little girl who managed to sneak away as they both were preparing for bedtime. As she was running through the halls of their home, she was laughing at how she managed to get away past his bear-like grip. Hiding inside the coat closet, Y/N covered her mouth with both her hands as she listened to Sy as he voiced out his thoughts, “I wonder where my baby girl could be.” She heard his footsteps louder, hinting how he was nearby. When the sound was so clear she could also hear his even breathing, she knew he stood right outside the closet, “I know you’re in here, baby girl, I’m giving you one last chance to come out so you’re punishment won’t be too bad.” 

As he opened the closet, Sy was surprised upon seeing how instead of standing on her feet to apologize; instead his troublemaker decided to crawl beneath his legs that were apart. Her giggles also made the Captain smile but he managed to put up his angry exterior as he grabbed Y/N by the waist and stood her up on her feet. “Now care to explain why you ran away when we were getting ready for bedtime?” With a brow lifted, Y/N knew there was no way she could talk her way out of it, so she dramatically sighed, “I’m sorry Captain, but I just don’t want to sleep yet.” Bringing her hands behind her back, Sy had a firm grip on them so she wouldn’t escape, “Well even though you don’t want to, baby girl, you have to.” She just whined as she turned her head to face him as she pouted to which the soldier just shook his head, “I’m sorry but you can’t charm your way out of this one, baby girl. In fact, I have to punish you for running off.”

“Papa, come look!” When Lance heard his angel call for him, he rushed to end his phone call with an event organizer. Setting his phone down on the accent table he then jogged up to their shared bedroom where he guesses she was at. “What’s wrong, angel?” He wonders as he enters without knocking, she then informs him that she’s in their walk-in closet. And when he does find his way in the closet, he chuckles upon seeing how his angel dressed herself up in his track jacket and pants, the sleeves of his jacket making her appear to have sweater paws. “What do you think, papa? Think I can be a gold medalist like you?” She questioned as she bent down to do a halfway lift as well as some stretches. Laughing at her silly antics, he tickled her sides which made her stand up and playfully hit Lance; but really it was the jacket that grazed his chest.

“What’d you hit me for huh, angel?” He feigned hurt as he pulled her close to him. Giving him a quick peck she sassed back, “What’d you tickle me for, papa?” He squinted his eyes as he teased her even more, “But angel you weren’t doing gymnastics! You were doing yoga!” Pushing away from Lance, Y/N then walked away with a strut, “Bleh, they’re all the same anyway.” Riled up from what she said he tackled her, causing her to land on her back, coming in contact with the soft mattress. “I guess I’m gonna have to show you how you do gymnastics huh,” Lance smirked at her.

“No peeking, doll,” Steve gently reminded her as he covered the sketchbook he was drawing on once he saw her eyes trying to catch a glance of what he was drawing. “Why not, sir? I just wanna see what you have,” she groaned out as she was drawing on her own sketchpad. “Because it ruins the surprise! Plus I’m excited to see what my talented girl came up with,” Steve said as he grabbed for his eraser and removed some of the minimal mistakes he made. Slumping back on her chair, Y/N now started to color her work, “What’s your favorite color, sir?”  Placing down the fineliner he had before answering, “Blue, it’s such a calm color. Also you can use it to portray emotions; you can use it to portray sadness or display tranquility.”

She nodded as he ended his explanation, she opted for the blue color to be the main color for her drawing. The next half hour they were silent as they sat across from each other and focused on their work. “I’m done, sir!” Y/N excitedly declared as she placed the sketchbook down on the table, “As am I, doll,” Steve said as he smiled, “Why don’t you show yours first?” LEtting out a huff to show how he didn’t want to go first, Steve just looked at her pointedly which made her comply, “Okay, sir,” She lifted up her work to show her artwork where she had drawn the two of them inside their house where they are sat together with the words “Best Day with Daddy.” “That’s absolutely good, doll! Those are my best days too, the ones with you.” She felt her chest swelling with pride, “Let’s see yours!” He proceeded to show her his work — a portrait of her. “I drew you, doll, because you’re the prettiest dame I’ve ever seen.” Making grabby hands a him, Steve chuckled as he made his way to her to lift her from her seat, carrying her to the kitchen, “You’re welcome too baby, I’d love to snuggle more with you but we’re on a tight schedule,” This comment made Y/N peer up at Steve, silently asking what he meant, “We need to prepare our dinner doll, we’re having that picnic remember?”

“What’s that, munchkin?” Will wondered as he saw Y/N walk towards him with the iPad on her hand. “Wanted to show you something, bubba; If you’re not too busy,” she cautiously said while approaching him. Patting his thighs, she motioned for him to come, “I always have time for you, munchkin.” With that she then giddily sat down on his lap, “What did you want to show me?” Once he asked that, Y/N unlocked the iPad and showed him a 360 degree view of the interior of the museum, “Wanna go here, bubba.” Will took a peak of the place, humming he pried, “You wanna go away for a vacation huh?”

Nodding, Y/N then explained, “I think a vacation might do us good, bubba. You’re stressed and I missed my fun bubba.” Will then realized that he was in fact quite often buried in work; he was also then thankful about how patient his girl had been with him. “You’re absolutely right, munchkin! We do need to go out and take some time off,” the girl on his lap then excitedly clapped her hands and squealed in excitement. “And what’s this about missing fun bubba? I’ll have you know he never left,” And to prove his claim, he then tickled her sides. This then prompted the start of their playtime — Y/N scrambling to move out of Will’s lap as he her bubba chased her around the house, laughter and joy filling up the place.

#quietmyfearswith #chris evans x reader #henry cavill x reader #sebastian stan x reader #daddy!andy barber x little!reader #andy barber x reader #andy barber fluff #daddy!august walker x little!reader #august walker x reader #august walker fluff #daddy!bucky barnes x little!reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fluff #ransom thrombey fluff #ransom drysdale x reader #ransom drysdale fluff #daddy!ransom drysdale x little!reader #syverson fluff #syverson x reader #daddy!syverson x little!reader #daddy!lance tucker x little!reader #lance tucker x reader #lance tucker fluff #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers fluff #daddy!steve rogers x little!reader #daddy!will shaw x little!reader #will shaw x reader #will shaw fluff #chris evans fluff

[shesasurvivor]

My Hunger Games Story

I debated whether or not I wanted to do this. I wasn’t asked to share this, but my Hunger Games story is important to me. My story began during a dark period in my life. Those of you who have been following me for a while are probably already familiar with it. I’ve come a long ways since then. But The Hunger Games dramatically changed my life, and who I am, and with the new story out there in the world, maybe it’s time to tell it again.

Five months after my oldest sister passed away from a horrorific battle against cancer, I was alone in a city, trying to figure out who I was now that my old world had ended, and things would never be the same. Who was I now? What kind of a person was I? The illusion of safety was gone forever. The naivete of childhood was gone, and replaced with an existential crisis. This was in March 2012, and in the backdrop of my life, as I dealt with this, the media was abuzz with the news of the film adaptation of The Hunger Games. I knew nothing about it, aside seeing the books on Best Seller displays frequently at bookstores. I had liked Harry Potter, but skipped the Twilight craze, and figured it would be the same thing with this new pop culture fixation. I literally remember walking past a display window at Barnes and Noble that promoted the books and upcoming movie, and thinking, “Now there’s a movie I’ll never see.”

A couple weeks later, my cousin, who was also my coworker and only real friend near me, physically, at the time, was reading something on her break from her work. I asked her what she was reading, and she told me it was The Hunger Games. I was a little surprised, and asked her if she liked it. She summarized the story, and said all though it was “a little bit teenybopper” it was good. When she explained it was a dystopian tale, my interest was finally piqued. Dystopian had alwasy been a favorite genre of mine. Reading 1984 in my teens scarred me for life.

That same night, my (other, living) sister posted on Facebook that she had just finished the first book. I was surprised that she and my cousin were both reading this book, and seemed to like it. Then, the next day, my mom calls me, and says, “ I just finished reading The Hunger Games; you HAVE to read this book!” I went home and bought the Kindle version that night. 

Not going to lie, it took me a little bit to get into it. But I knew I already liked it. I was looking up fanfiction before I was even done with part 1. I’m ashamed to admit that I started out looking for Gale, but when the rule change occured, and Peeta told Katniss to, “Remember, we’re madly in love, so it’s all right to kill me any time you feel like it,” I threw my head back in laughter. That was the moment I fell in love with Peeta, and that was the moment that turned me into an Everlark shipper.

By the time I finished the first book, it was Easter, and my mom had flown out to spend the holiday with me. The Saturday before, we went to see the movie. I hated it from the first viewing. I remember having to fight the urge to stand up and yell at the screen, I was so disappointed in it. After the movie, we visited the local Target, and I bought Catching Fire and Mockingjay, where I started reading immediately.

Catching Fire was even better than the first book, and made the shipper in me so happy. Mockingjay, on the other hand, changed me. It was so moving, and heartbreaking, and thought-provoking. When I finished the series at last, I remember hugging the books to me, and wondering if I could somehow find a way to convince Suzanne Collins to write more books. Which was why, when she announced she was writing a new book, I felt like my one greatest wish had finally come true.

The series stuck with me, and I was obsessed. I began reading as much analysis on the series as I could find. I began reading about trauma and PTSD, and their role in the series.

And that’s when I realized I had symptoms of PTSD. 

It was another year before I got help. During that time, my mental health declined significantly. On top of the horror I went through watching my sister slowly waste away, I also had an abusive boss who only aggravated things for me. Even after I started getting therapy, it took a while to climb my way out. I started drinking to deal with the massive hyperarousal I was dealing with. I started having dissociative episodes, that terrified me. I had no idea what they were at the time, and truly thought my mind had broken completely. I finally realized I was at a point where I either needed to check myself into a mental hospital, or quit my job and move back in with my parents while I put myself back together. I chose the latter. 

It wasn’t fun living with my parents again, but it provided the sanctuary I needed. Slowly, I began to heal. I found a new job in my new city. I met a guy there, and one of our first exchanges was when he told me he loved the books so much, he was upset at what the movies had done to them. I thought I had found a Peeta, but unfortunately, neither of us were really in a place where we could be in a healthy relationship. Still, the experience helped me heal, and it was because The Hunger Games had brought us together.

At some point, I was finally put on medication to handle my PTSD symptoms, and my life changed signficantly for the better. It’s been (mostly) uphill ever since, and today, you would have no idea that I have PTSD, save for the occasional jump at a sudden loud noise. But The Hunger Games... it started that change in me. It gave me an outlet for the heavy emotions of grief. Reading Mockingjay was the only time I could truly get myself to cry after losing my sister, because I’m not very outwardly emotional. 

The exploration of ethics, morals, and philosophy in The Hunger Games really helped cement my own values as well. I feel like that could be a whole other post, though. But just as Katniss learned to be more compassionate, and that kindness and humanity mattered more than basic survival, I learned this as well. 

The very first thing my mom told me when she finished Catching Fire, was, “I just finished Catching Fire; you are SO Katniss!!” I think I grabbed onto this a little too much back in 2012-2013, because it helped me work things out. But the similaries were definitely there, almost to a scary degree. I’m still protective of this series, and Katniss, because it feels so much like it’s a part of me. It’s a part of my soul. I can’t begin to describe how important these books are to me. It transcends a normal fandom love. Even with as much as I love Star Wars, it’ll never be what The Hunger Games is to me. THG is deeper, and far more profound in my life. That’s why I get a little miffed sometimes, when I feel like I’m, I don’t know, being overlooked in the fandom? This is so deeply important to me, and I just want a voice to make it known that it is so. I think, as I’ve gotten older, I’m not exactly lke Katniss anymore, but the similarity is still there, and these books will always be with me. 

Oh! And before I wrap this up, I should probably mention that it’s because of The Hunger Games that I met my best friend, @triplebigday! We live in two different states at the moment, but we’re still practically inseperable. She is family at this point.

I also met another friend, who was active here arouuund 2012-2013 (parachutesfromhaymitch). She’s long since left the fandom, but she’s brought out some of the best in me. Her influence is another reason I am where I am today.

Nothing has ever impacted me the way this world has, and I suspect nothing ever will again.

#THG #THGstory #I feel like I left a lot out but honestly #thinking too much about how I used to be #can trigger some bad stuff #and I've already been backsliding a bit this week #so here we are

[writer-dreams]

Love Potion (Part 5) (Draco Malfoy x Reader)

Part 5 is here now!!!! I'm sorry for the wait!! I hope all if you enjoy!

Prologue / Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4 / Part 5 / Part 6 / End

Update Tags: @celestialceci @marvelobsessedteen @imaginesforthepeople @danidomm @marvelrose @vogueworthy-barnes @glossysoph @stevesvibraniumshield @bi-mama @fiveisadorable @paulalucianap1 @drama-llama-04 @mellow-delight @hahaboop @awesomehannaha @stantalentstanclc @queenskyster @outsider-underwater @babebenhardy @imaginespnr5er @riddikuluslypotter @pitkins @bughug1999 @drawlfoy @onyxbunny22 @sorgenprinzessin @vivianhuynh77 @dauntlessdracarys

House: You choose

Blood Status: You choose

Warnings: Possible swearing

Note: The reader in this story is female / uses female pronouns

Word Count: 2,514 words

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

3rd Person POV

Day 5

Y/n walked out of the common room, feeling much better after a refreshing night’s sleep. She was glad that there were no classes today, which offered her some time to relax after the horrendous situation yesterday. Y/n scowled at the thought of Pansy. She was going to kill that pug-faced twat one day. Oh, that wench was going to get it someday- Caught up in her thoughts, she crashed into the hard chest of someone. Blinking rapidly in confusion, she looked up and noticed those familiar grey eyes and infamous blonde hair. Draco.

Draco grinned cheekily at her. "Hello, Love. How are you feeling this morning?"

"Oh, fine. My head has stopped spinning and I feel stable enough to be able to walk around properly."

"It’s good to hear that. I was actually looking for you anyway. Walk with me?" Draco asked, flashing a charming smile at her and extending a hand towards her. Y/n’s heart fluttered at his sweet smile, but she managed to return a small grin and placed her hand inside his. Maybe in the beginning of this, she would have been disgusted at even the thought of touching him, but now....it felt almost pleasant to do so.

She thought about how much she despised him in the beginning, and her new-found adoration for him. She wasn’t in love with him, but she wouldn’t mind being friends with him.

Draco ended up dragging her to the black lake. The water gleamed a deep shade of blue, concealing all the creatures that lurked below the surface. The bright sun already high in the cloudless sky, showering them in warm light.

"What are we doing here?" Y/n asked curiously.

Draco gestured towards the large wooden pier that overlooked the lake. He then tugged on her arm and pulled her towards it, like a child excitedly dragging someone to see their greatest creation. The old wood creaked under their feet but Draco didn’t seem concerned. He took a seat at the end of the pier, swinging his legs over the edge. He then looked at her to do the same. She sat down next to him, feeling oddly comfortable in his presence. She felt Draco’s warm hand rest of top of hers but she didn’t pull away. His grey eyes stared intently into her (e/c) orbs.

"Merlin, Y/n. I’m so glad you’re alright." Draco stated.

"Me too, Draco. I don’t think I can thank you enough for saving my life. I owe you." Y/n replied sincerely.

"You don’t owe me anything, Love." Draco took her hand in his as he placed a soft kiss against the back of her hand.

The moment was ruined when the pair heard some footsteps. The loud steps were accompanied by an obnoxious voice that caused Y/n to roll her eyes.

Not again.

"Drakie-Poo! Why do you constantly choose someone like her over me??" The annoyingly high-pitched voice of Pansy Parkinson whined.

"Excuse me, Pug-Face? I’ve had just about enough of you and your jealousy. How many brain cells does it take to understand that he’s not interested? Clearly, you prove it takes more than one."

Pansy’s face twisted into a snarl and she quickly turned to Y/n. She opened her mouth to retort but Draco quickly cut her off.

"Parkinson," He said Pansy’s name in such a cold, hostile manner that Y/n felt shivers run down her spine. "What the hell are you doing here? After what happened last time, I’m surprised you still have the guts to come near us."

"Draco, you have to believe me. She’s drugged you or cast a hex on you or something! Don’t you remember how much you despised her?! How much you hated the very sight of her in the same corridor as you?" Pansy cried out.

Y/n averted her gaze down to the floor. Pansy wasn’t completely off with her accusation. Technically, she had drugged Draco with a love potion. He didn’t really love her, it was all because of a stupid potion. This whole situation was changing her perspective of Draco. She was beginning to fall for a fake version of the blonde-haired prat.

"What is with your obsession with me and Y/n? Even creepier, you claim that I’ve been spelled to fall in love with her? How dare you! You’re just as annoying as Saint Potter. Now leave us be, Parkinson, or I will have my father know about this!" Draco snapped at Pansy.

Pansy gazed down at her black shoes. Her fists were shaking violently at her sides, as if she were trying to keep herself from shouting at Draco. She looked back up and her eyes were filled with pure hatred as she threw a burning look at Y/n.

"I’ve tried everything. I’ve been by your side since forever, I’ve supported you through everything. All of a sudden this twat waltzes into your life and you’ve fallen for her?! Where have all my efforts taken me?!" Pansy said through gritted teeth.

Draco rolled his eyes and nudged Y/n slightly. She looked back at him to see him getting up and walking towards the castle, his back turned to Pansy. "Come on, Y/n. Let’s just leave."

"I pushed her off the Quidditch stands for you!" Pansy shouted before gasping and covering her mouth with her hands quickly.

Draco stopped walking immediately, his whole body visibly stiffening. He slowly turned back around, his bangs covering his eyes.

"What did you do?" He hissed.

Pansy didn’t answer. She stood completely still, as if afraid that the slightest movement from her would cause him to attack. Her stance reminded Y/n of a deer caught in a headlight. Draco switched his gaze to Y/n, who was slightly taken aback by the intensity of his grey eyes.

"Is that true?" He asked slowly. Y/n could see he was trying to restrain himself from lashing out at the Slytherin girl. Pansy looked at Y/n with pleading eyes, begging her not to tell the truth. Y/n knew she couldn’t lie to him and Pansy didn’t really deserve to be saved from Draco’s wrath. She hesitantly nodded, watching as Pansy’s knees buckled slightly, a defeated look in her eyes.

With an enraged look, Draco swiveled back to Pansy, his wand whipped out and pointing threateningly at her. Even then, Pansy refused to move from her spot.

"I can tolerate you annoying us and interrupting our dates. However, I can not tolerate you trying to kill my girlfriend." Draco brought his wand closer to Pansy, who was still frozen with fear, "I wish I could say that this will not bring me great happiness."

With a wicked smirk, Draco shouted, "Densaugeo!" A purple light shot out of his wand and hit Pansy directly in the face. Pansy cried out from the impact and fell to the ground, screaming as she covered her mouth. From between Pansy’s twitching fingers, Y/n could clearly see that Pansy’ teeth were growing longer and longer. She looked almost like a demented kind of beaver. The Slytherin girl scrambled from the ground and rushed towards the hospital wing. Watching the girl’s form grow smaller and smaller, Y/n ran towards Draco and pinched him roughly on the arm. The Slytherin Prince let out a yelp, pulling his bicep out of her grip.

"What was that for?"

"How could you be so foolish? I understand that you only wished to protect me but you’ll be expelled for hexing her!" Y/n cried. She wasn’t sure why she cared so much if he was expelled or not.

"Oh, relax. Pansy would never want to get me expelled. She cares too much," Draco said, "Even if I don’t."

"I’m also sorry that I couldn’t do more." Draco continued, "I want to hurt her even worse than I already have but her family’s part of the Scared Twenty-Eight."

"It’s alright. I think you’ve done enough." Y/n smiled, "Now let’s just enjoy the rest of today."

Draco nodded, allowing himself to be dragged back to the pier. The pair sat down together, back in their original position. Y/n then leaned over and rested her head on Draco’s shoulder, admiring the water. Draco didn’t seem to mind and pulled her body closer to his. Y/n’s mind was swimming with questions. Why was she feeling so comfortable around him? Why did her heart feel so fluttery? Why was she literally leaning on him? Her mind screamed at her to get off of him, though her body didn’t move. Y/n silenced her thoughts, just wanting to enjoy the calming sight of the lake.

"Ah! I’ve almost forgotten!" Draco snapped his fingers, sitting up straight and rummaging through his uniform’s pockets. He then pulled out a crumbled piece of paper, unfolding it and holding it out in front of him. Y/n squinted her eyes to look at the words through the paper in the light. She could make out Draco’s fancy and neat handwriting, though she couldn’t actually read the words that were written. The blonde male caught her stare and flipped the page over so that she could see.

"It’s a poem." Draco smiled at her from the top of the paper. He flipped the paper back before clearing his throat and reciting the poem.

"(Y/n), we haven’t been together for long,

Yet, I feel obligated to write you a song.

To confess the deep affections I hold for you,

And I hope you feel the same way too.

This may seem quick, yet I know you are the one.

You may scoff at me, but my heart cannot be stolen by just anyone.

My feelings for you have changed so much,

Switched with a simple touch.

This love you have given me is a drug,

Intoxicating, addicting and given by hugs.

I assure you that my love for you is not fake,

No, there has been no mistake.

A goblet of pumpkin juice,

Raised to you in truce.

You return the gesture, as if it was planned,

A cup of (f/d) in your hand.

I love everything about you,

I could not say anything more true.

I love how clever you are or how beautiful you always look,

Merlin, if I could write it all down, I’d write a bloody book.

Know that this is no joke.

Your love envelops me like an invisibility cloak.

We’ve stitched our love together with needles and red thread,

It’s about time we’ve set aside our differences and learned to accept them instead.

The world has given me such an amazing girlfriend.

I never want our time together to end.

Love is often called weak, useless, something you should not feel.

You have shown me the hidden strength that love has concealed.

Potions class was where our love first began,

If I were to leave it now, I’d be a mad man.

I wrote this poem for you, filled with endless rhyme,

To show that I love you, (Y/n), until the end of time."

Her heart swelled as he finished. Without thinking, she gave him a tight hug, feeling his body shake as he laughed lightly. Coming back to her senses, she released Draco, feeling slightly embarrassed. She wondered why this poem filled her with happiness while the first poem had disgusted her. What had changed? She used to gag at such a sappy poem, why was she suddenly feeling like she was flying? Why did her heart skip a beat whenever she looked into Draco’s grey eyes? Why did she feel completed whenever she was with him?

She was brought back to reality when she felt Draco kiss her cheek. He pulled back with a grin.

"Did you like it?"

Did she like it? Yes, very much. Even if it was written by Draco, Y/n wasn’t really bothered by that fact anymore. Nobody had ever wrote her a poem, as cheesy as they’ve been. Draco had been the only person to do that.

"Yes." She breathed out.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

They spent a few more hours at the lake, enjoying each other’s company. Although Y/n didn’t want to admit it, she truly did enjoy the date. (She also refused to call it a date). The sun was beginning to set, changing the sky from bright blue to a beautiful mix of yellows, oranges, pinks, and purples. Y/n’s eyes began to feel heavy as she watched the sun disappear behind the mountains.

"Tired?" Draco asked.

Y/n nodded, causing Draco to shift over to allow her to lay her head in his lap. He took off his robe and wrapped it around her like a blanket.

"Sleep." Draco whispered.

Y/n didn’t need to argue, as she found that she was quickly losing consciousness. Before she fell asleep, she let one last set of thoughts ring through her head.

You do realize this is fake right? This side of Draco, this feeling, it’s all fake.

I know, but I’ve already fallen in too deep.

**********************************************

Hello everyone! The long-awaited Part 5 is finally completed. I'm extremely sorry that it took so long. I really hope that this met your expectations. The poem was probably one of the most difficult things to write, though I pushed through because I wanted poems to be a special thing in this series. I'll try my best to be more on time with Part 6. Thank you for reading. Until next time.

-Jade

#harry potter imagine #harry potter x reader #hp preferences #hp #hp imagine #draco malfoy imagine #draco x reader #Draco Malfoy #draco malfoy fanfiction #draco malfoy x you #draco malfoy x reader #draco x you #draco fic #draco fanfiction #draco imagine #love potion #amortentia #draco malfoy x oc #malfoy x reader #malfoy x you #malfoy #draco fluff #draco malfoy fluff #malfoy fluff #malfoy x oc #malfoy fic #malfoy imagine

[pendingproductivity]

2020 READING RECAP!

This year sucked ass in so many ways, but it might be the best year of reading I’ve ever had. I discovered so many new favorites, revisited some old favorites, and even read a few books multiple times. In this post, I’ve listed my top five favorite books from this year in the order that I read them because I don’t think I could possibly rank them against each other. They have all become some of my favorite books of all time. I’ve also included a few honorable mentions which are ranked with my favorite listed first. And lastly, I have two notable rereads of some old favorites. I also added links to each book on goodreads and bookshop so you can easily add anything to your tbr or buy it! This is going to be a long one, so buckle up. Without further ado, here is an overview of the books I read in 2020!

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s t a t s :

reading goal: 30

total books read: 31

new (to me) books read: 22

average rating: 4.2/5 stars

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t o p   f i v e   f a v o r i t e s : 

Beartown and Us Against You by Fredrik Backman

(Yes, I know I’m kind of cheating by counting this as one book but just roll with me here) Beartown takes place in a tiny community in rural Sweden which is defined by their hockey club. When the junior hockey team has a chance at winning the national championships, the entire town throws their full support behind them. The burden of the pride of their community rests on the shoulders of a handful of teenage boys. For one, the pressure boils over and he commits an act of violence that leaves a young girl traumatized, and the entire community divided. 

Late one evening toward the end of March, a teenager picked up a double-barreled shotgun, walked into the forest, put the gun to someone else's forehead, and pulled the trigger.

This is the story of how we got there.

These two books were downright spectacular. Over the course of this year, I’ve completely fallen in love with Backman’s writing style (we love a good onomatopoeia) but more than anything else I just adore his characters. Each one is multidimensional, and even the most infuriating residents of Beartown have their redeeming qualities. I also love the attention he gives to even the side characters whose motivations shape the story even if they only appear for a few scenes. These are stories about right and wrong, courage and fear, and most of all, humanity itself. I laughed and cried and felt more emotions than I thought was possible. Beartown was amazing, but I actually thought that the sequel, Us Against You, somehow surpassed it, so make sure to read both!! (TW: rape/sexual assault)

goodreads - bookshop (Beartown)   goodreads - bookshop (UAY) 

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When Breath Becomes Air by Paul Kalanithi

Paul Kalanithi was thirty-six years old and on the verge of completing a decade’s worth of training to become a neurosurgeon when he was diagnosed with stage IV lung cancer. His memoir, When Breath Becomes Air, follows his journey from being a naïve medical student, to a brilliant neurosurgeon at Stanford, to being a cancer patient and a new father confronting his own mortality.  

I began to realize that coming in such close contact with my own mortality had changed both nothing and everything. Before my cancer was diagnosed, I knew that someday I would die, but I didn’t know when. After the diagnosis, I knew that someday I would die, but I didn’t know when. But now I knew it acutely. The problem wasn’t really a scientific one. The fact of death is unsettling. Yet there is no other way to live.

This memoir caught me completely by surprise. It was assigned reading for an English class and I wasn’t expecting to enjoy it let alone completely reevaluate my perception of the world around me because of it. Kalanithi discusses learning, medicine, life, and death as he seeks to answer the age-old question, “What makes life worth living?” and the unique perspectives that he offered fascinated me. When Breath Becomes Air is an unfinished manuscript, since Kalanithi died in 2015, but the epilogue written by his wife might just be the best part of the whole book. To tell you that I was sobbing while reading it would be an understatement. The reason why this book made this list is because I finished it in March, but I still think about it relatively often. When Breath Becomes Air has left a lasting impact on my life, and I highly recommend it!

goodreads - bookshop

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The Seven Husbands of Evelyn Hugo by Taylor Jenkins Reid

Evelyn Hugo was a Hollywood legend, but after her sudden departure from show business in the late 80s, she completely fell out of the public gaze. Now she is finally ready to tell the true story about her scandalous and glamorous life and she has specifically chosen Monique Grant, a virtually unknown magazine reporter, for the job. For Monique this exclusive is the opportunity of a lifetime. Evelyn tells her story of ambition, friendship, love, and of course each of her seven husbands. However, it becomes evident that Evelyn’s life has intersected with Monique’s own in tragic and irreversible ways.

It’s always been fascinating to me how things can be simultaneously true and false, how people can be good and bad all in one, how someone can love you in a way that is beautifully selfless while serving themselves ruthlessly.

This. Book. It was absolutely captivating. I’m honestly not even sure what to say here without giving too much away. The plot is truly a wild ride as Evelyn leads Monique through the story of her life. There are so many twists and turns: some that I saw coming and others that completely blindsided me. And that not even to mention Evelyn Hugo herself who is one of the strongest, smartest, most compassionate and deeply flawed characters I’ve ever read about. All the characters were complex and layered, but she was really something else. There were so so many emotions and so many tears and I really don’t know what else to say. I’m begging you to read this book; it will blow your mind.

goodreads - bookshop

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A Man Called Ove by Fredrik Backman

Ove is a curmudgeon whose life is turned upside down when a young, vivacious family moves in next door. That’s it. That’s the synopsis.

Death is a strange thing. People live their whole lives as if it does not exist, and yet it's often one of the great motivations for living. Some of us, in time, become so conscious of it that we live harder, more obstinately, with more fury. Some need its constant presence to even be aware of its antithesis. Others become so preoccupied with it that they go into the waiting room long before it has announced its arrival. We fear it, yet most of us fear more than anything that it may take someone other than ourselves. For the greatest fear of death is always that it will pass us by. And leave us there alone.

You’ve seen the Pixar movie: grumpy old man meets young person who shows him life is worth living and they become buds etc. etc. Sure, you could essentially boil down A Man Called Ove to that simple plotline but it is so much more than that. It’s heartbreaking and hopeful and you’ll laugh and cry while reading it. This was the most wholesome story I had read in a long time, and I thoroughly enjoyed every last bit of it. I’ve already explained my love of Backman’s unique writing style, but this novel in particular does a beautiful job of tackling deep themes such as grief and purpose with a generous serving of humor. I also just adored the ending. While this book isn’t at all fluffy or entirely lighthearted, it gave me all of he warm fuzzy feelings I was craving. I cannot possibly recommend it enough!

goodreads - bookshop

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Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen 

Elizabeth Bennet and her four sisters must find wealthy husbands because upon their father’s death, the entirety of his estate will be passed on to a male cousin, leaving them penniless. Conveniently, a wealthy gentleman called Mr. Bingley moves into the neighborhood, bringing along his even wealthier although most unpleasant friend, Mr. Darcy. 

Vanity and pride are different things, though the words are often used synonymously. A person may be proud without being vain. Pride relates more to our opinion of ourselves, vanity to what we would have others think of us.

I definitely didn’t think that I was going to enjoy this book nearly as much as I did. The story truly is timeless, and I absolutely adored Elizabeth and Darcy. The biggest surprise I had while reading is that the humor is still funny today and of course Lizzy is fucking hilarious. She is confident, principled, and more than happy to roast the shit out of anyone who deserves it. And then there’s the matter of Mr. Darcy being so sweet and kind (after he stops being an asshole of course) and greatly contributing to the unattainable standards I have for men. It was also nice to have a socially awkward male lead, and in many ways I related more to him than to Lizzy. This book is everything I want from a romance novel plus class criticism and feminism and Elizabeth being an absolute badass. Enemies to lovers is my all time favorite romance trope and I loved reading one of the OGs. Also, I’d just like to add that Mary is the most underappreciated character of the whole novel because she’s really just trying her best. Mostly I was just completely impressed with how this novel has withstood the test of time and it has become one of my favorite classics! Please please give this book a chance even if you don’t typically enjoy classic novels!!

goodreads - bookshop - barnes&noble (this is the edition I have and it’s just so gorgeous I had to include it!)

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h o n o r a b l e   m e n t i o n s :

The Martian by Andy Weir

Mark Watney is one of the first people to ever walk on Mars, and now it seems like he’ll be the fist person to die there. A raging dust storm forced his crew to evacuate without him and he finds himself alone on the red planet with the entire world believing him to be dead. This book just barely missed being one of my top five of the year, but it was absolutely amazing. I love reading about people finding clever solutions to problems and that is basically what this entire story is. I maybe understood half of the technical science jargon if I’m being generous, but the story is plenty enjoyable even without extensive scientific knowledge. I adore Mark’s wit and mindset, and I loved watching him wriggle his way out of impossible situations with the odds completely stacked against him. The Martian is a story of perseverance and humanity, but it’s also absolutely hilarious. I highly recommend this one if you haven’t picked it up!!

goodreads - bookshop

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Little Fires Everywhere by Celeste Ng

Shaker-Heights appears to be the perfect place to raise a family. It’s progressive, has low crime rates and is all around an idyllic bubble. This all begins to change when a single mother and her daughter move into town with a disregard for the status quo, and a custody battle erupts, dividing the community. This was a great book that ended up being surprisingly thought provoking, and I particularly enjoyed the novel’s criticism of liberal idealism. The story itself was entertaining and I think it’s definitely worth a read! 

goodreads - bookshop

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Red, White, and Royal Blue by Casey McQuiston

Alex Claremont-Diaz is the first son of the United States who finds himself intertwined in a damage control PR stunt with his sworn nemesis, Prince Henry. They have to pretend to be best friends to ensure that their confrontation at the royal wedding doesn’t get in the way of American/British relations. I’m sure you can guess where this is going. This is totally a feel-good love story, but it also finds the time to tackle real issues surrounding politics and societal expectations. I loved this book so much that I read it twice this year (the second time because I was so stressed about the election and I needed to distract myself with the fictional 2020 election that takes place in the novel) and also I’m just a sucker for enemies to lovers. (sidenote: the turkey catastrophe is one of the greatest scenes in literary history and you cannot convince me otherwise) 100% would recommend!

goodreads - bookshop

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n o t a b l e   r e r e a d s :

The Harry Potter Series by J.K. Rowling

The Jim Dale audiobooks are my ultimate self-care tool when I’m stressed or sad; I just find them to be so comforting and I can’t explain why. Because of this I probably listen to at least one of the books every year, but it’s usually just whichever one I happen to be in the mood for. But it’s been so long since I’ve listened through the entire series, and this year seemed to be the perfect time to do so! 

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Fangirl by Rainbow Rowell

This used to be my favorite book of all time. I’m pretty sure I first read it in sixth or seventh grade and I’ve reread it so many times since. I’ve been planning on rereading this book my first year of university for such a long time, and the time finally came! The book especially hit hard this semester because Cath feels disconnected from everyone at school because she doesn’t want to go to parties or make much of an effort to find friends, and because of COVID, I ended up in almost the exact same situation, (except unfortunately my roommate doesn’t have a cute ex-boyfriend who hangs out in our room). This was definitely another comfort read like the HP audiobooks and it made me feel a bit better about being stuck in my dorm room. 

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If you actually made it to the end of all that, wow, you’re a real one. I hope you got a few new book recs out of this! If you want to see the thirteen other books I read this year, you can check out my 2020 reading challenge. I read so many amazing books this year I had  hard time narrowing down my favorites, so there are still plenty more great reads that aren’t included in this post. If for some reason you feel like keeping up with the books I read in 2021, follow my goodreads account for dramatic and ranty book reviews. Happy New Year, and here’s to 2021 being full of wonderful books!

#booklr #reading #reading recap #reading wrap up #mine

[chaoticarbiterstrangergamin-blog]

Casino poker: The Texas Sharpshooter Fallacy

Picture a guy, sitting on a hillside. He has a weapon and he's shooting random shots at the side of a barn some yards away. Soon, the wall of the barn will be riddled with bullet openings. Regardless of the randomness of the shooter's goal, the holes will certainly be erratically dispersed. Unavoidably, there will certainly be spaces as well as collections. If he wants, the shooter can walk up to the barn as well as paint a circle around the greatest cluster of bullet openings. To the casual viewer, it will now show up that the male is a great sharpshooter. This is known as the Texas Sharpshooter Fallacy.Now picture you go to the poker table, sitting in the cutoff seat. The activity is folded up to you as you look down at the asqs. You open up with a typical raise and also the button-- a hostile, trash-talking, chip-shoving blockhead re-raises. Folded back around to you and after a couple of raises to and fro, both of you ultimately see a flop, which arrives qd8s4s. Faster than you can say "pot-committed" all the chips remain in the middle and the cards get on their backs. Your opponent reveals a pair of red kings. He has you covered.

However you still have several outs and a great chance at taking down this huge pot. Your blockhead challenger recognizes this too and yet he can not hide his disappointment when among your outs, the ah, spikes on the turn. You virtually feel sorry for him; all the swaggering bluster has gone out of him now. He's simply an another bad gamer about to shed the majority of his stack, paradoxically on one of the few celebrations he had an actual hand that he played well. Obviously, there is still another card ahead and now your opponent's chances are decreased to simply one solitary out-- the king of clubs. Any kind of other card on the river and also success will certainly be yours. You make a nervous joke regarding evading a one-outer as the dealership removes the last card, and there it is. The king of clubs. The blockhead pumps his hand and appears with even more vibrant garbage talk as he generates the enormous pot. Many, if not most, texas hold'em players in this circumstance would certainly feel that something individual had gone to work in this specific loss. There was just one out in the entire deck that might nab away victory and also offer it to your opponent. One! A 44-to-1 shot! Possibly you jinxed it, tempted fate with that kidding remark regarding evading one-outers. Possibly, in a scenario like that, it's difficult not to think that the texas hold'em gods were exercising some kind of personal vendetta, established to make you shed against a ridiculous, much-inferior opponent.

Yet if you permit yourself to assume like this, you're only looking at a small component of the picture. You're painting a circle one bullet hole on the side of a barn. Yes, that king of clubs was a 44-to-1 shot to increase on the river. But the same can be claimed for any various other last card. If the river card had actually been the 2d, that likewise would certainly have been a 44-to-1 shot to arrive. Every single time the river is dealt-- every out that rescues you, every card that squashes you, every useless block-- that card must get over long odds to arrive when and also where it does. They're all bullet holes on the side of the barn. You draw a circle around the king of clubs since that's the bullet that mosted likely to your heart. But it's still just one random hole among a wide variety. Nothing personal regarding it. Texas hold'em players are for life attracting a circle some arbitrary collection and after that stating it a bullseye. Each time we whine, "I never win coinflips" or "I can never win with this dealership" or "Pinhead opponents always suck out on me"-- we are just as guilty as the prospective sharpshooter of attempting to make a meaningful pattern out of randomness. Fairly, reasonably, the majority of us recognize these things aren't true. We do not always lose coinflips as well as the idiots don't always suck out. It just really feels by doing this occasionally. But regardless of how many coinflips you have actually lost lately, or exactly how crucial they were, it's still simply a nasty little collection of approximate holes.

Obsess on that slim bit of information, stand too near to the barn, as well as you just get a partial, short-sighted view of what's actually going on. But if you tip away, see the building from a range, the cluster sheds its significance. Loses its power to make you really feel as though fate has singled you bent on be a victim. The genuine risk takes place when we permit these I'm-so-unlucky beliefs to influence our play. If a casino poker player is encouraged he can never ever (or practically never) win a race-- and afterwards is faced with a borderline decision to shove his chips on a most likely coinflip, can he make the right choice without the wussifying impact of anxiety? Can the online poker gamer who feels that it's his special curse to obtain unfortunate versus morons continue to play his finest video game when he finds himself in a hand against among those overly-fortunate morons? When the response is no, losing ends up being a self-fulfilling prophecy.

Weak-tightness creeps in, as we don't get enough value out of our champions, fold hands that would certainly have been winners, and maybe worst of all, stop working to secure hands that ought to have been winners. What poker player hasn't ever been guilty of stopping working to bet or elevate enough with a made hand since we were half-convinced the bonehead challenger was going to suck out anyway? Being afraid a loss, we wind up ensuring it. Yet the Texas Sharpshooter Misconception isn't almost the method we view misfortune. We're usually equally as guilty of painting a circle around a few selected bullet holes when the cards are falling in our support. Belief in good luck is dangerous also. "I constantly win coinflips" is equally as fallacious as "I never win coinflips" and also just as expensive, if not much more so, if also as soon as that belief coaxes you to put your money in negative. Yes, it's great to have confidence as long as that self-confidence is rooted in genuine skill. But the casino poker gamer that involves the battle believing he is mosting likely to prevail because "I constantly win with <insert favorite junk hand here>" is asking for trouble.

It's a matter of perspective. By attracting a virtual circle around a couple of chosen bits of information-- a handful of negative beats below, a good break there-- we can encourage ourselves of almost anything. And like the ersatz sharpshooter, it's all about making ourselves look much better than we truly are. Looking back on a challenging losing touch, we repaint a circle around the bad luck and ignore the bad plays. Or after a big winning session, we repaint a circle the fantastic plays as well as neglect the hands where we obtained lucky. It's relaxing, it's assuring, as well as it's a trap. Every single time we do this, we're shooting ourselves in the foot.

[nacrepearl]

This anniversary, I wanted to pay tribute to the show by redrawing my favorite SDCC poster. With a few changes. It’s been 3 years since this poster came out on the internet, but it’s the poster for the first SDCC I experienced in this fandom. Below the cut is me being sentimental because I really love this show and its impact on my life is greater than one would think.

March 26th, 2015. I decide to watch Steven Universe after seeing gifsets of the first Stevenbomb on my dash from lingering members of the people who worked on my previous hyperfixation Attack on Space (A spinoff AU from the parent series Attack on Titan, which my interest in was fading quickly). I opt to watch the episodes that are on demand because they’re easier to access. I watch Alone Together first, Full Disclosure second (actual quote from me, who hadn’t known about SU’s musical nature: “Since when is SU a musical?!”). I then spend the next week or two watching the episodes on demand, then going onto KissCartoon to watch the series in order, in its entirety. (Quote when watching S1E05 Frybo: “I’m glad I’m watching these now before this inevitably becomes my new hyperfixation.” I have second hand embarrassment moments from this episode to this day). My brother decides to watch with me occasionally.

Fast forward to the end of March. I’m caught up with the series (back then only up to Joy Ride, which aired the day I began this journey). My friend Zac and I are now both into the show, and the following week Attack the Light comes out the same day that Say Uncle airs. Say Uncle is the first episode I watch live. I download ATL and finish it within a week. The rest of the weekly episodes (you heard me: weekly) were to follow and I was excited to officially be involved in the fandom. The beginning of April, I found the comics and I got to issue #5, the one where Pearl sucks in a gem-embedded book into her own gem and becomes ill from it. that was the day that I realized Pearl was my favorite character. Hurt/comfort is my way to tell.

I carry on watching the episodes throughout the month, and then after Reformed airs, we are faced with a hiatus. back then, a month and a half was a long time. Then, I got into the Pearl theories. I was all over the so called “nacre theory” right up until the theory had been confirmed in Back to the Barn (I still am, though the term “nacre theory” takes on a whole new meaning that I’m not sure will see the light of day now that we know more about Homeworld). You should have seen me go ham reblogging things about Pearl being lower-class, a lowly technician (ha), a maintenance drone. And all Pearls looked exactly the same back then in the fanart.

May 26th they announced the second Stevenbomb, half the fandom combusted. So did I. Sworn to the Sword happened and I had more fuel for the NT. I woke up that Thursday morning to a gifset of Pearl and Rose’s fusion dance because We Need to Talk leaked and spontaneously combusted right there. Then they announced Week of Sardonyx and our naive selves said “another one?” I went camping that weekend, which was also the weekend of SDCC. I nearly had a heart attack from my over-excitement when I got home that Sunday.

Week of Sardonyx came and went, with even more fuel to the fire for the NT. Cartoon Network does their greatest fuckup of the year by accidentally putting all of the Summer of Steven episode titles a whole year before they air. They changed the release date for the weekly episodes from August 6th to September 10th, and then we were graced by small Peridot on September 24th.

Back to the Barn airs. I die.

Then we go into a very long hiatus until Stevenbomb 4, airing in January 2016. This marks the first epsiodes to be leaked with the traditional screenshots + 2 minute clip. This was our first look at both diamonds + their pearls, and people were reasonably excited. Then we entered what we thought was the longest hiatus in fandom history–and we got the In Too Deep special earlier than expected.

Following the special, they announced the Steven Nuke/Summer of Steven. 4 weeks of episodes every night from mid-July to mid-August. Mr. Greg was the first musical episode and the crew hyped it up so much and yet it still had a huge impact on those watching that night. It was nominated for an Emmy one year later in 2017. We got some of the most intense episodes of the show in that bomb, with Amethyst’s arc, Bismuth holding the first half-hour special, the revelation that Rose supposedly shattered Pink Diamond, and Centipeetle’s corruption being explained further. Following SOS, there were weekly episodes and then another short hiatus, until Gem Harvest’s release in November. A short hiatus and then Three Gems and a Baby aired in early December.

During 2016, I meet two of my best friends through the fandom - @always-make-it-gayer and @hackerperidot. Gale and J have been my friends since that summer and because of this fandom, I’ve been less lonely and have had a blast in the ever growing group chat we have (Reverse Garden of Eden). I love you guys, and of course everyone else in the chat.

Following 3GAAB, in early January 2017, the entirety of Stevenbomb 5 drops on the app. Pictures with the diamonds and the zoo and the famethyst were on the internet in seconds. I had been on holiday break from school, and the night this all dropped was the first school night when the break was over. I stayed up very late, watched the episodes when I woke up for school in the morning, and listened to What’s the Use of Feeling Blue on repeat in the cold, snowy weeks to come. This was also right around the time my mom bought a house and we were ready to move in.

I got another birthday episode–Rocknaldo, airing on February 24th. Could’ve been better. I’m not complaining though. SU was crucial during this time because I was feeling very depressed and closed off due to the move and missing the apartment. The New Crystal Gems was the last episode the apartment got to see, and I promised to show Pearl’s backstory when it eventually aired, but we moved too early for that to happen. I like to imagine it can see my journal entries (you can ask if you want, in short it’s a coping mechanism I developed). Thereafter, we had another hiatus leading up to the sixth Stevenbomb with Aquamarine and Topaz. That bomb ended with the saddest episode in the series, finalizing season 4. Then the Wanted event aired, and we got so much lore content and more hints to the Pink Diamond mystery.

There came the biggest hiatus in the fandom’s history to this day. We were so thirsty for content. It was dry as fuck and the only light in the dark was SDCC with the Lars of the Stars clip (which would then air months later) and the trailer for the first half of season 5′s kickoff bomb.

Gemcation airs, and everyone finally understands Pearl’s quirk with covering her mouth in discussions about the diamonds. We all were getting so antsy at this point to find out what was happening with Pink Diamond and the lore behind the show and by god where is White Diamond?

We get Stranded in January 2018, allowing us to spark the “diamonds get revealed in January” meme with the Pink Diamond face reveal. Of course, this is debunked by Legs From Here To Homeworld in July 2018.

We get more episodes in March, and then are plunged into the final reveal in May with the half hour event, Can’t Go Back and A Single Pale Rose. The fandom collectively freaked out with the revelation that Pearl and Rose were diamond and pearl and faked the shattering in an effort to end the war. The people who survived this saw the Heart of the Crystal Gems arc in July. This was the week that held the Rupphire wedding.

Reunited airs, and I am surrounded by 3 of my best friends ( @asassynerdnamedgabbs, @neroblackcat, and @hackerperidot who had been visiting New York from Australia that week ) so I hold myself back from reacting too much. I cried that night out of sheer joy that my favorite show was the first cartoon to show a lesbian wedding on national TV. Of course, we get the diamonds and then SDCC the following weeks, with Legs From Here to Homeworld. I am at my cousin’s graduation party the day of the panel and my phone is slowly losing battery percentage as I try to keep up with the tweets and posts about what was going on. It was a huge deal.

Now we arrive here. Nothing had been shown at last month’s NYCC which is unusual, but that’s okay. We are still on hiatus, and it is SU’s 5th anniversary of being on the air. I am patiently waiting for the show to come back, and I’ll have more memories to make with this fandom in the months to come.

Happy Anniversary, SU!

#lovelikeyou2018 #steven universe #reverse garden of eden #rae.png #raescribbles

[sserpente]

Summary: You are an Asgardian assassin sent to Midgard to kill Gilbert Folly, a dishonourable man known to the Avengers for his involvements with HYDRA. Getting rid of the human would be an easy task, if it were not for a handsome stranger with ice cold blue eyes named Bucky Barnes, burdened with the exact same mission by SHIELD. And what happens when you fight fire with fire?

A/N: Alright. So many of you guys asked for a Bucky Imagine, so here it finally is! I really don’t know if I captured his character properly (but I did spend hours re-watching scenes on Youtube) and it’s basically based on a dream of mine, so let me know what you think!

Words: 4478 Warnings: Asgardian!Reader, assassin!Reader, violence, imprisonment

“So tell me, will you complete your mission and serve Asgard and its kingdom once again?”

Lowering your gaze, you clenched your fists around the handle of your dagger and nodded ruefully. “Yes, my king.” You replied.

Odin’s content sigh echoed through the throne room, alarming his ravens as they flinched and flew off into the sky through the open windows.

“Then go, child. Heimdall shall open the Bifrost for you.”

So you went, obeying your king’s orders. You crossed the rainbow bridge determined, gaze directed at the golden dome forming the gateway between the worlds. The gamekeeper nodded at you sternly, mere seconds after you were being hurled through space, surrounded by colours and light until your feet hit solid ground again. Midgard. You’d have to lie to say you had missed this place.

There were tons of professions dismissed and frowned upon by society. Noses were scrunched and heads were shaken when you joined a public place. Asgardians, much like any other species, did not take kindly in master assassins that took money from the king himself to maim his elected enemies and quite frankly, to exert such a profession, it took a thick skin and a lack of qualm. This was how you made a living. This was how you ensured there was food on your table every night and this was how you afforded a roof over your head.

Odin rarely ever sent you to other realms. Mostly, he ordered the assassination of traitors, martyrs and silly revolutionists threatening the throne and Asgard’s monarchy. So when you did end up on another world, then the mission was of highest relevance.

This time, his name was Gilbert Folly and you were to hunt him down and end his life as quick as possible. Twenty-four hours, you told yourself. No more would you need to accomplish this task, this much you had learned from years of experience.

You broke into his office that night, climbing up the giant building mortals called skyscrapers and sneaked into what appeared to be an archive. Metal shelves towered up to the ceiling, filled with countless documents and stashes of papers. In a corner, a big machine—a photocopier, you told yourself—hummed quietly, produced new sheets and spat them out rhythmically.

You had eavesdropped. Anytime now, Gilbert Folly would enter this room to get the documents and you would be there, awaiting him in the dark. It was one of the massive advantages of killing off-world. There was no need to be subtle. Before his colleagues could find his bleeding corpse, you would be long gone, calling for Heimdall to summon you back to Asgard.

Footsteps approached, along with the deep voice belonging to your victim. Unsheathing your dagger from your thigh, you corrected your stance and prepared. Then, you felt a wave of pain hitting your back as the impact of something solid collided with you hard and knocked you to the ground.

You rolled around in an instant, dagger raised to attack as you jumped to your feet again and adjusted the black silk cloth that covered most of your face. It was too dark in the room to make out who had attacked you, with only pale moonlight illuminating the outlines of the furniture. But there was a silhouette of a man approaching you hostilely, a pair of ice cold blue eyes, framed by brown and shoulder-long hair, filled with determination. Most of his face was covered in what resembled a black muzzle and one of his arms… one of his arms was made of metal.

“What the hell?” He choked out. You proceeded to stare each other down for a split second before the stranger spoke up in both awe and anger.

You narrowed your eyes at him, ready to attack. Whoever this was, he posed a disturbance, a distraction and he would spoil your mission. What difference would another kill make, after all? With no further forewarning, you attacked, using all of your Asgardian strength to jump over his entire body and sink the blade of your dagger into his flesh from behind. Once again, the stranger surprised you. With an almost unnatural speed, he turned, using his bare hand to hurl at you. You docked down just in time, instead attempting to bring your fists to his stomach before rolling on the ground to avoid another blow.

“Who are you?” He demanded to know, making you growl defiantly.

“For an assassin, you talk incredibly much.” You replied, rolling your eyes in the process as you stopped another one of his blows. He was strong—immensely so, compared to the humans you had fought in the past. Prior to this mission, you had never needed to put any effort regarding your strength into your fights.

For a while, neither of you managed to wound the other, it seemed more like you were dancing around each other. Shelves got knocked over, papers were scattered and even glass splintered when you flung your dagger at the stranger and missed due to his kick in your shin.

“What’s going on in there? Robert?” Folly. Hissing, you pushed away, removing yourself further from the door. “Burglars?” A voice you did not recognise answered. “We should call the police. Stay away from that door. Gilbert, meet me in the foyer.”

Shit. Shit, shit, shit! You were distracted for just the fraction of a second, learning that the unnaturally strong man before you had just saved your victim from its inevitable doom; and it bought him just enough time to accomplish something no human had ever before, something you would have never expected, let alone imagined in your wildest dreams. He overpowered you.

Pulling you to the ground, he snatched your wrists to pin them down above your head, panting heavily as he looked you deeply in the eye and sat down on top of you to prevent you from moving away again. If you didn’t know better you would point out just how pretty the colour of his eyes was.

“Who the hell are you?!” He repeated, this time more urgent and demanding. He raised his metal arm to threaten you with another blow but you knew better than to be intimidated. Angrily, you glared him down.

“I could ask you the same question.” You spat, glancing at his metal arm curiously. “I, for my part, am here to obey a direct order.”

“Which would be?” You could tell you were enraging him with your scarce answers. His grip on your wrist tightened, his body weight pressing you against the hard floor.

You rolled your eyes once more. “To assassinate Gilbert Folly, which plan you have successfully foiled. He is running off while you are playing interrogator!”

“Midgard?” Frowning, the stranger leaned back as if trying to remember something. “Folly is mine to kill. So you better stay the hell out of my way.” The hesitation in his voice made you halt as you sought out his ice cold gaze. One look sufficed—he was not going to kill you.

Besides, he now knew enough about your motives. Kicking him off effortlessly, you hurried over the window, retrieved your dagger and then risked one last glance behind you before jumping, subconsciously making sure to remember those gorgeous blue eyes.

Bucky knocked over the metal table with his bare hands, screaming at the wall as he sank down on the bench and buried his face in his hands. He had failed. He had failed to fulfil his task. As the Winter Soldier, he had never failed… what was he good for if even his greatest strength had now ceased to be enough?

“Bucky.” The former soldier turned around slowly, facing Steve who entered the room with a worried expression on his face. “What happened?”

“Nothing, pal.”

“Nothing? Is that why you’re demolishing the furniture? Because of nothing?”

Bucky glared at him. Fine. What was the point of keeping quiet anyway? “I took on a mission.”

“SHIELD sent you on a mission?”

“No,” he responded quietly. “Actually, I volunteered.”

“What? Volunteered to do what, Buck?” Steve sneered sharply.

“To assassin that Folly guy.”

“Folly? The one who’s on SHIELD’s radar for his involvements in recent HYDRA operations?”

Bucky hummed in approval. A couple of heartbeats passed, heartbeats in which silence spread in the room.

“You told me you wouldn’t kill anymore.” Steve began reproachfully.

“I said I wasn’t gonna kill anymore as the Winter Soldier but I’m me now, Steve. If this is the only way I can help you guys, I’ll do it.”

“As a god damn assassin?!”

Bucky shrugged. His metal arm shone in the dim light of the room as he turned away to avoid his best friend’s gaze and stared grimly at the floor. “It’s what I’m best at.” I think, he added quietly.

“So you did it? Is he dead?”

“No…” Because they both escaped you, a scornful voice in his head whispered. “There was a woman.”

“A woman?” Steve replied confused.

“Yeah, a woman. An armed woman.  She was there when I sneaked into the building. We fought, that’s how Folly got away.”

“Who is she? Have you seen her face?”

Shaking his head, he looked up again, almost annoyed by his best friend’s interrogation as if he had done something wrong.

“No. She wore a cloth. But she had (Y/E/C) eyes…” He trailed off. Beautiful (Y/E/C) eyes, he figured. “And she was strong,” he continued. “I barely managed to knock her down.”

“Is she human?”

“She looked human, how the hell am I supposed to know?”

“Well, what did she say? Do you know her name?”

Bucky shook his head once more. All he remembered, to be honest, were your eyes. They had almost glowed in the dark, promising dark secrets and desires to come to the light. “I only know she’s an assassin. She said something about Midgard.”

“Midgard? That’s how Thor calls the Earth. She could be Asgardian then. We gotta tell Fury. She might be dangerous. After Loki… we shouldn’t be taking any risks.”

Gilbert Folly could wait. Bucky sighed as he stepped out of the shadows and into the light of the street lanterns, following the HYDRA enthusiast to the bar he went to weekly. Director Fury had adjusted his task—he was no longer to kill Folly but to spy on you and, ideally, bring you in at all costs. If anything, you would be here tonight. So he kept his eyes open, hoping that he would catch your attention once you made your appearance.

He would not be disappointed, for you showed up one minute past midnight, approaching the bar so subtly he blinked to ensure you were actually there. Not bothering to keep his tread quiet, he marched after you, gaze fixed on your back. There was no way not to notice your behind. Those were asscheeks he would only love to knead… you came to a halt within seconds, stopping dead in your tracks.

Fists clenched, you turned, eyes darkening upon recognising your stalker.

“I’ve kinda told you to stay out of the way, doll.”

“Doll?” You scoffed. “Who do you think I am? And you did not honestly believe I would abandon my mission because of a metal-armed man with a muzzle?”

“Let’s find out.”

It was him who attacked first this time. Ice cold blue eyes fixed on you, he started at you like a predator, leaving you barely enough time to draw your dagger. Oh, but you had no energy to do this again tonight. You wanted to get this stupid mission over with and return to Asgard. Dodging his first blow effortlessly, you jumped to the right and disappeared in a dark alley where the street lanterns ceased to illuminate the ground any further.

If only you were fast enough, you could—the stranger grabbed a fistful of your hair and ripped you back towards him, causing you to crash against his chest. He immediately wrapped his arms around you only for you to move your whole body against him in an attempt to throw him off like a shell. Only he did not budge. This human was even stronger than you had initially assumed. Pushing your entire body weight against him, you managed to knock him into the brick wall. A gasp escaped his lips. It would have sounded erotic if he were not trying to kill you.

Just when you tried to slice his throat and end this once and for all though, he regained his composure and grabbed you once more, applying enough force to send you flying against the wall. Pain spread in the back of your head, making you dizzy for a moment. The stranger came forward fast, pressing you against the wall but instead of knocking you out, his metal arm reached for the black cloth before your face and tore it down firmly to reveal it to him. Another gasp, clearly audible through his black muzzle. What he did next, however, surprised you even more. He mustered you intently with curious eyes, then, he took off his own mask and tossed it to the ground, revealing a handsome young face and lips inviting you to kiss them. The stranger started smirking and you… you were bloody paralysed.

“Sorry about that,” he murmured. There was another wave of pain, this time tormenting your neck. Something what felt like a needle bore into your skin. You lost consciousness shortly after, remembering the last thing you saw a pair of ice blue but concerned eyes.

You woke up in a locked room. It reminded you of a prison cell when you stood to scan your environment, figuring you had to be wherever it was the stranger worked. How had he managed to knock you out? The syringe… the mixture must have been incredibly strong if it had succeeded in overwhelming an Asgardian.

The by far most interesting thing in the room, however, was in fact, a person. The assassin with the metal arm, the gorgeous eyes and the handsome face was sitting on a metal stool right in front of your cell, staring right at you through a thick glass pane that substituted one of the walls.

“Hey.” He started casually. You raised your eyebrows, crossing your arms in the process. Rage boiled up in your body, quickening your breathing.

“Where am I?” You spat through gritted teeth.

“You’re in SHIELD’s headquarters.” SHIELD. You had heard of it. Thor, one of the princes, was occasionally working with them here on Midgard. “I’m James, by the way. James Barnes. But you can call me Bucky.”

You scoffed. “Right, James. Am I a prisoner?”

There it was again. That smug smirk you wanted to wipe off his face with a slap. “It’s just a precaution. We wanna know who you are and what your business is. You tell us what we want to know and you’re free to go.”

“Have you not listened? I am here to assassin Gilbert Folly. Release me now, let me do my duty and you shall never see me again.”

“You’re not from ‘round here, are you?”

Frowning at him, you watched him standing and approaching your cell. “Steve thinks you might be from another world. We got a couple of those on our team, you know.”

“I don’t know who Steve is.”

“But you know who Thor is.” He assessed.

Pausing, you met his gaze. “Yes. I am of Asgard.”

Bucky nodded. “So who are you?”

Scoffing for the third time now, you rolled your eyes. “I am a deadly assassin who will not hesitate to kill you if you do not let me go this instant.”

“That didn’t end well last time, doll.” Doll. You gnashed your teeth. There was something about his attitude you could not quite put your finger on. Part of you wanted to bury your dagger in his heart, the other… the other enjoyed the almost passionate gaze he kept mustering you with. Cursing silently, you forced your heart to calm down. This was no place to make friends, let alone fall in love.

“What did you use on me anyway?”

Bucky shrugged as if it didn’t interest him. Perhaps he didn’t know—but, working with Thor, they must have found a substance strong enough to overpower one of his kind.

“Who are you?” He asked instead of responding to your question.

“Have we not been there before, James?”

He sighed. “Look. We’ll get you to talk, doll.” He said, rather stern than playful. “One way or another. From personal experience, I suggest we’d rather do it the easy way.” You had to admit, he was handsome when he was being all bossy and commanding. Perhaps you would keep silent just to have him act like this for a while longer, for you knew, sooner or later, you would be out of here again and could return to your mission—and then, Asgard, never having to see this man again. Would his ice blue eyes haunt you then, you wondered?

Bucky sighed, realising you were not going to reply. He breathed out audibly, considering your resistance for a moment before coming to a decision. Unceremoniously, he opened your cell door and stepped inside.

“I really don’t wanna hurt you.” He said quietly as he closed it again, making sure to hide away the key and keep it out of your reach. You would get your chance. In fact, if you applied enough strength, you were sure to be able to break the glass.

“It is rather sweet of you to think you can hurt me, James.” He smirked in response, clearly amused.

“You don’t know me, doll. So who are you?”

“This will not get you anywhere.” You shot back calmly, tilting your head a little in the process. “And I am tired of fighting you.” You added upon seeing him clenching his fists.

“Then just tell me what I want!” He shouted exigently. Raising your eyebrows, you took a step back when he approached. Being an assassin certainly came with a really good insight into other being’s natures—in this case, humans.

“What is it you would like to prove to your superiors? I can clearly tell I am your responsibility. What will they do if you fail to make me talk? Is there something you have to make up for? Past, dreadful actions?”

He was breathing heavily by the time you finished your last sentence, expression darkening as his ice blue eyes bore into yours.

“Oh? Have I hit a nerve?”

You knew he was going to pounce on you. Using his forearm to crush your windpipe, he knocked you against the wall of the cell, metal arm raised to deliver a blow and yet you didn’t worry. He was being too irrational now to actually hurt you despite his unnatural strength.

“Buck! Buck, stop!” A blonde, muscly man entered the room, horrified by the events unfolding.

Bucky stopped dead in his tracks. Almost as if you had suddenly caught fire, he retreated in an instant and then hurried out of the room, foiling your chance of escape. You only realised then how dangerously close your lips had been to one another.

One day passed without him returning. Meals were brought in for you to eat, the toilet situation was taken care of by a small cabin in your cell. Boredom took over, along with guilt and anxiety concerning your mission. Odin would be cross. You should have long returned to Asgard by now but then, repeatedly, you caught yourself thinking about the blue eyed assassin with the metal arm, his outrageous smirk and almost mysterious attitude.

This is no place to fall in love, you reminded yourself and yet… you sighed, leaning back on the thin mattress of your provisory bed. As soon as you got out of here, you would never have to see him again. You would travel back to Asgard and meet a man there, forget about the handsome Midgardian assassin.

Any day now, they would release you and you could walk away from this place. But of course, this wasn’t the end of it, for life and fate had means to make things more complicated than they had to be because that evening, James “Bucky” Barnes returned.

“This will get us nowhere on the long term.” You concluded, hiding desperately how your heart started pounding in his presence.

Bucky sighed. “Look, I’m sorry about that.” He started. “I… got a past.”

“Don’t we all?” You retorted.

He shrugged. It was something he did quite often, you figured. “I’ve done things I’m not proud of.”

“So have I. But you have tried to kill me and ultimately kidnapped me.”

“I kinda have, haven’t I?” He said, scratching his head. You only noticed then he was holding something. With a heavy sigh, he opened the cell door and stepped inside before locking it safely again, approaching you again without any violent intentions this time.

“I want us to start over. I’ve brought a card game. Clint showed it to me, it’s called UNO.” Your eyebrows shot up in an instant. You didn’t know who Clint was but what surprised you a lot more was his sudden attempt to make peace. Perhaps the blonde man from two days ago had talked some sense back into him.

“Really? You want to play a card game with me?” You had to admit, part of you was downright amused by this handsome but deadly man. The other part only shook its head.

“Captivity can be boring.”

“You are talking from experience.” It was no question, it was a conclusion. Bucky nodded. Without asking, he sat down on your provisory bed and started mixing the playing cards. This time, you actually shook your head. Well, why not? It couldn’t be worse than being trapped down here all on your own, without good-looking company.

So you sat down and started to play with him.

It took you less than ten minutes to comprehend the rules. It was easy, really. Easy and surprisingly entertaining. Not once did Bucky attempt to cheat by glancing at your cards but after the first round, you kept winning with little to no effort at all.

Bucky’s smile was contagious, especially when he made you draw cards or changed the colour to his advantage but in the end, it was always you getting to say ‘UNO’. He’s not so bad after all… you thought. So unlike the deadly assassin you had met in the skyscraper.

“You’re not even trying.” You insisted after another won round, smiling in the process.

“Maybe I just like seeing you grin like that when you win.” He muttered smugly. You froze, meeting his ice blue eyes as you looked up. One heartbeat, two heartbeats… your heart skipped a beat when Bucky suddenly flung the cards behind him leaned forward, warm lips coming crashing down on yours. He wrapped his hand around your neck, pulling you flush against his body and trapping you with his metal arm.

Your eyes fell shut when his tongue slipped into your mouth, fighting for dominance you were not willing to give up just yet. Don’t fall in love, don’t fall in love, don’t… face it. It’s too late.

“(Y/N)?” His voice startled you. Thor entered the room, dressed in casual Midgardian clothes, though he did not end up being less impressive. Ripping your eyes open again, you pushed Bucky away and cleared your throat, licking your lips to hide they were swollen. You could still taste him on you.

You resisted the urge to bow or kneel before the prince in front of Bucky, so instead settled for a simple “Your majesty” when he stopped before the glass window.

Bucky too looked up, having just found out what you were actually called and still breathing heavily from the heated kiss you had shared.

“Did my father send you?” He thundered.

You nodded.

“What is it he requires of you?”

You scoffed. “You know what your father is like, your majesty. I am not risking my head to tell your friends about my mission.”

The God of Thunder turned to Bucky. His suspicious gaze stroke him, given he had just caught him kissing you. “She means no harm to us. My father sends assassins to ensure peace in all the realms, not just Asgard. She is no hostile.”

“Tell that to Fury and we can let her out.” He replied sternly. Was that… disappointment in his voice?

“So let me finish my mission and you will never have to see me again.” Your own words felt like getting your heart stabbed. Yet they were true. The fact you had kissed him would not change anything about you returning to Asgard, eventually.

“Yeah, about that… Gilbert Folly is dead.” So that was what he had been up to in his absence yesterday. Gnashing your teeth, you took a deep breath.

“So I am to leave.”

Thor nodded. “I shall talk to Director Fury right away.”

Silence spread in the room as he left, killing both Bucky and you from the inside.

“If you stayed…” He eventually began.

“No. Don’t even start.” You cut him off. “I can’t. I am bound by honour to the king. Midgard is not my home. There is no way. D-don’t think that just because you kissed me, you are now entitled to… to…”

Unable to finish your sentence, you allowed Bucky to pull you close once more, continuing your passionate kiss. You were putty in his hands. You! A master assassin sent by Odin himself!

“I cannot stay…” You whispered defeated when he pulled away, looking you intently in the eye. There was so much vulnerability in them, so much more than you had initially seen. Now, you spotted reasons. Reasons for which you should abandon your assassin skills and stay with him… “I do not belong here.”

“Thor’s from Asgard too and he seems to be just fine.” Bucky argued. You shook your head.

“The prince too will eventually return to his own realm, Bucky.” Bucky. Saying this name rather than James sounded so much more personal.

“Just stay, doll.”

Odin would throw you in the dungeons for treason if you decided to retire for love, or worse, have you executed and sent assassins after you. Would Bucky protect you? Yes, you claimed. Yes, he would. You could read in his eyes that taking care of you would help him give his life a new meaning.

Smiling, you looked up at him. Pleasant warmth spread in your body when he reciprocated it, silent words being exchanged. You figured… you figured you could stay for a while and then let fate decide where this breath-taking journey would take you. Just for a little while.

A/N: I absolutely like to think that this takes place when Loki takes the throne disguised as Odin. For what other reason would Odin send an assassin to help the Avengers defeat HYDRA once and for all, if not to secretly help Thor and his friends on Earth?

Don’t forget to let me know what you think! Also, if you enjoyed this story, maybe support me on ko-fi.com/sserpente? ♥

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x reader #the winter soldier #the winter soldier imagine #the winter soldier x you #the winter soldier x reader #james barnes #james barnes imagine #james barnes x you #james barnes x reader #marvel #marvel imagine #mcu #mcu imagine #the avengers #the avengers imagine #captain america #captain america imagine #sebastian stan

[crystallized-iron]

WIPs

Tagged by @seven-oomen :D Hi

Rules

Writer: List all of your WIPs, and then tag as many people as you have WIPs.

His Master’s Game (title may change) MacDoc Dennis manages to escape his master's home, and it is not long before his eyes and heart settle on the most beautiful human he has ever encountered. (summary may change)

Survival IronCherik? (Tony Stark/Charles Xavier/Erik Lensherr) There comes a time when one must put themself before blood, and sometimes a forced tying of the knot can create the greatest bond one has ever known. (shortened summary)

Hunt Me Cherik It had been a quiet night that was disturbed by a novice hunter on a mission. Erik managed to escape and conceal himself in a small house. He planned on killing the human inside, until he saw him.

The Gifted Cherik Fear controls the land. Those born with powerful gifts face hatred, disownment, and death. Supposed exorcisms are performed to save their souls, but nearly all die at the hands of priests in the north. (shortened sumary)

Last Day Cherik After getting yelled at by Shaw, Charles certainly is not in the mood for anyone else that day. Then Erik showed up... and was not helpful.

Break Me Apart Xavierine After too many bad endings to his relationships, Logan prefers to be alone. It works well for him until he saves a telepath from becoming a vampire’s meal. The young man is determined to stay in Logan’s life, unaware of just how much of an impact his disappearance would have.

Lost and Found (co-written, hiatus) Multiple relationships Learning that Steve was HYDRA all along was just the beginning of Bucky's messy life after gaining his freedom from the organization. Upon meeting two young women, he learns that maybe he had no idea what all had been done to him after all.

Help Me WinterIron, Stony Newly transformed vampire Tony Stark is struggling to keep his body satisfied with blood, but even his lover Bucky can't understand why Tony is in a constant, near desperate need. Director Fury of SHIELD offers help to Tony by the name of Ho Yinsen, a man that has been studying vampires since the first appearance of Aldrich Killian and his mate Maya. (shortened summary)

So Beautiful Stony Tony has just arrived at school, and when he finds out his roommate’s name is James, he thinks it’s James Rhodes. He wasn’t expecting a James Barnes, nor was he expecting James Barnes’ friend, Steve Rogers.

Promised Love Stuckony/WinterIronShield The first letter came in before Joseph’s death, and he accepted on his son’s behalf. Steve didn’t know that a marriage arrangement had been made, quickly falling for the rescued boy his father had sent back home, and upon hearing about it, considered burning the letter so he could simply be wedded to the boy once they were of age. Peggy suggested to give the promised one a chance, whoever it may be, because Joseph would do whatever he felt was best for his son. Steve agreed.

-stares at the list in silence-

Readers: Whichever fic you (followers/anyone reading this) find interesting, you can ask about it, and I'll either tell you about it, post a snippet, or both!

Tagging: Whoever wants to do it

#tag meme #seven oomen #thanks!

[aion-rsa]

Supernatural Series Finale Review: Carry On

https://ift.tt/eA8V8J

This Supernatural series finale review contains MAJOR spoilers for Season 15, Episode 20.

Supernatural Season 15, Episode 20

We’ve made it to the end. 15 seasons. Saving people, hunting things — the family business.

For fifteen years, two brothers with a historically cursed name have traveled the country in a cherry 1967 Chevy Impala, taking down baddies and saving the innocent, all on a quest to find out where their father went on a hunting trip, or to stop the demon Azazel, or stop the Apocalypse, avoid destiny, confront the Darkness, and deny God himself. The thing is, a show that started out as a monster-of-the week quickly revved up into an all encompassing story that entertained, terrified, and had heavy themes on family and self identity as it was about eviscerating creatures from the beyond. 

The previous episode saw the true ending of the season — Chuck had been defeated, Jack was promoted to deity status to put things right and the world in a sense began turning as usual again. What we have here in the true series finale is a wrap up on the fifteen years preceding that. This episode should be looked as as an epilogue, with enough references to keep longtime fans laughing at all the inside jokes.

The beginning is sweet. The boys have saved the world, again, and its time to enjoy life. Dean gets his dog Miracle back — possibly a gift from Jack. The boys find themselves at a pie festival, and Sam jokingly smashes pie in Dean’s face.

Sam and Dean end up in a classic hunt, tracking down a vampire nest they’re able to research in Dad’s journal of all things, something we haven’t seen in a while. Sam and Dean call themselves Agents Singer and Kripke for the shows Executive Producer and Creator. Sam and Dean are aware of the fact that Supernatural is a show in another universe, so that’s an intentional meta-commentary.

Except for the skull masks these vamps wear, everything is pretty standard hunting fare. They even have time to unveil the Impala’s trunk of weapons and poke fun at one of the sillier contributions — some throwing stars. Where’d that curved hand-scythe from the Season 2 DVD cover art go?

The fight progresses with all the old Supernatural fight favorites — a weapon knocked out of hand, Sam choked to unconsciousness, Dean macho-fighting something bigger than him. It’s all going to plan. 

But what should have been a typical battle against vampires with one fun cameo thrown in turned dire as a hunk of rebar ended the fight. The metal bar sticking out of a post in the barn was teased in an earlier shot, the perfect classic setup for a last ditch weapon to turn to monster-jabbing. Instead, a wrong move led to Dean being impaled. 

“You always knew it was going to end like this for me,” Dean said to his brother in a tearful goodbye. “We had one hell of a ride.”

Dean gets enough time to share some thoughts close to his heart with Sam. He reveals that right before the “Woman in White” mission– the pilot episode — Dean stood outside Sam’s door for hours, afraid of how Sam would react. The family had been split at the time, and Dean couldn’t be sure of his brother’s response. And seeing these two men shaky crying and saying their goodbyes — it’s amazing how far they got to go in growing closer as family. Family is, of course, the core of this show about hunting monsters. 

“You always keep fighting, you hear me?” It’s their mission statement. It’s saving people, hunting things. But the horrifying realization is that Sam will have to do this alone. Having what I call the “sad Supernatural theme” play in piano over this moment just echoed with nostalgia and heartbreak. It’s a song used a lot in the early years of the season when something major happened. It had so much more weight at this moment. 

Granted, plenty of fans will be annoyed that Dean died. But knowing the aftermath? It makes it a little lighter, doesn’t it? But just because you know Heaven exists doesn’t make losing a friend any easier. It still hurts. It always will. And I think that’s another idea Supernatural has shown the fans over the years. 

The happy times in the beginning are in stark contrast to the mid episode, when Sam and Miracle the dog are left behind, with reminders of who he lost all over. A gut punch of emotion is lobbed when he sees the initials scratched into the Men of Letters Table — Mary, Dean, Castiel, Jack… all people he’s lost one way or another in recent history.

Deans “other other phone” finally gets an on-screen appearance and is answered for once. Part of the running joke of the “other other phone” was the fact that once Sam hears that particular voicemail, he’s run out of contact options and Dean must be in trouble. Sam being the one to answer this phone seems all the more pivotal in selling the fact that Dean… is gone. 

Sam is thrown back into the fray with this phone call, back to work. Austin, TX, a city that’s near and dear to our boys in real life as they’re both Texans. 

Sam living his life and growing old. He gets to live the picture perfect life with a child and wife. We don’t see him hunting beyond that Austin case, so maybe he hung up his salt shotgun in order to have the life he always wanted. Notably, the wife is never shown clearly. This reviewer can only surmise that Eileen didn’t make the cut when it came to resurrection time. That’s tragic. Almost as tragic as Sam’s old-age wig. Old Sam’s wig is… not the most convincing. But one can set that aside to relish in the fact that he got to be happy, and it’s his son who echoes his own words: “It’s okay, you can go now.” Bad wig and Eileen-snub aside, that was a tear jerker. 

Meanwhile… Dean made it to Heaven, and the first person he meets is Bobby Singer. Dean, expecting Heaven to play by the old rules, wonders which memory this could be. Bobby explains how Heaven is no longer a solitary experience where each person relives his greatest hits. Jack made things right — now Heaven is as it should be, with families able to be together again. This was something I’m glad the Supernatural writers fixed. I always thought the “heaven as good memories” thing was a bit of a letdown. And it was sad to see people like Ash and Ellen and Jo being separated in the afterlife. Now? Everyone can be truly, not falsely, happy. 

Dean sits in his Heaven-version of Impala, an earlier version that still has the old Kansas plate. Kansas’ “Carry On Wayward Son,” the series’ unofficial-but-still-kinda-official theme song plays. 

Sweeping drone shots of the Impala lovingly detail Dean’s joyride in the Impala. These shots are juxtaposed against Sam going on living. It’s bittersweet, that’s for sure, but seeing Dean genuinely happy and Sam finally living a normal life? It’s still kind of beautiful, you know. 

It’s just a matter of time, and Sam finally joins his brother. Finally,  a happy ending for two brothers who’ve experienced enough tragedy for several lifetimes. They can rest easy, and carry on.

You can’t discuss any ending without mulling over the missed opportunities. We don’t see Castiel and Jack, even though they’re mentioned. Destiel fans are likely still not recovered and that probably didn’t help. Mary and John Winchester and Donna Hanscum are mentioned and not seen. In fact, a lot of characters are doing things off screen, and yet we got a cameo from a random vampire. 

And part of me has always wanted a trunk shot in which Sam declares “We have work to do” to carry through on that fighting spirit. 

The Twitter-sphere saw a number of emotional responses to the finale, some of them annoyed at certain choices made in this ending. The truth is, although the writers have come to a conclusion here, all fans in the Supernatural family will have their own personal head canon dictating how their real ending looks. 

All in all, this series found a way to wrap up a major season baddie pre-episode, only to wrap up a series long tease — the true end of the road for the Winchester brothers being death. Death, however is not the end here, nor is the finale of this series the end of its impact. The Supernatural Family will always keep fighting, have work to do in the way of charitable causes, and carry on because of a horror fantasy series that gave them equal parts hope and entertainment. Not all shows can attest to that. 

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[thefirstindia]

How Corona era evolve Digital India

With the increasing use of internet and computers, it was being predicted that the coming time would be different from its traditional form, which was reflected in the use of Digitaly intelligence in our everyday work, but the Corona Era changed the human civilization. Turned the picture into the Latest News shock.

Such a big change in human civilization probably came only after the discovery of fire, water and wheels earlier. Then the Internet changed the picture and many revolutionary events took place in the society and online came, but still many people were away from the Internet because they had traditional options for those works.

In fact, the prevalence of the Internet has reduced the difference between home and office to a great extent. Many old jobs will be past forever, while many new sectors will create employment in which only computers and the internet will rule. In circumstances when many workers working from home are waiting to return to normalcy, many of them will no longer be able to return to their traditional offices. Are we moving fast towards the Digital India future? Will it be the new normal ie New Normal? These are some of the questions for which thinkers from all over the world are engaged in finding answers.

The changes happening now are inevitable because even though the corona ends, the entire human civilization will prepare for this kind of epidemic in the future. We may not be able to see the changes happening around us, but in the last eight months, a lot has changed in our lives forever. As we are adapting to work from home, our dependence on email, chat, and video conferencing is increasing, video calling is no longer for work, but for work. Not only business, IT sector, other companies, the common man is also giving more importance to video conferencing and online work. It is not only effective for limited physical contact in response to the corona epidemic but is also shaping new ways of working.

In the coming years, the expenditure on travel for work will be very less and it will change our work culture very fast while saving time and money on traveling with the app. A major social impact of work from home may be that gender discrimination in employment with women will be less, as it is believed that women are difficult to hold in emergency situations until late at night.

Hospitals and healthcare institutions are also changing in the country, which is gaining momentum in the Corona era. Now e-consultancy is a virtual consulting reality that is being done through audio and video conferencing tools. The Government's Telemedicine Practice Guidelines give legal form to doctors in remote areas of the country to deliver their services through the Internet which has been released on March 20 according to Uttar Pradesh News.

This method of medicine will benefit people not only in this time of crisis but also in the future. Doctors and patients will be able to connect to digital platforms instead of in-person visits, which will reduce unnecessary congestion in hospitals and patients will reach hospitals for treatment of serious diseases. The corona epidemic is a crisis that has posed a challenge to medical scientists as well as other scientists so that we will see changes in all areas of science.

India is on the tip of innovation and is going all guns blazing to digitize the citizen-centric services. One of the greatest challenges testing this collective vision will be to prudently channelize gains, to refine the standard of living of the poorest of poor.

As par Latest Lucknow News,In rural areas, there are disputes over land, barn as well as occupation of land. If the village map, Khasra-Khatouni and other figures are digitized, then there will be no dispute in the villages and towns. Therefore, all the records should be digitized.

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#Digital_India #Latest_News #Lucknow_News #Uttar_Pradesh_News

[playing--koi]

This Life Will Have To Do

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings: SMUT (Ages 18+), Unprotected Sex (WRAP IT!!), Mentions of Abuse

Summary: You’re a maiden being forced into marriage with a wealthy tradesman, Brock Rumlow, but a group of criminals crash your wedding, led by the long-lost love of your life.

A/N: I know that Alexander Pierce isn’t Brock’s father, but for the sake of this story, he is. Sorry ‘bout that inaccuracy!

Word Count: 3.7k

MASTERLIST

“Oh, please, Y/N, I’ve heard enough whining to last a lifetime. Now turn around and let me zip up your dress.” Your mother rolled her eyes yet again in response to your protests.

“Mother, you’re throwing away my entire life! How do you expect me to respond?” You exclaimed, trying to keep the tears at bay before you fully lost your composure.

“I’m hardly throwing away your life, sweetheart. Brock is a very wealthy man who can take care of you.” She gave up on waiting for you to turn around, finding it in her best interest to just walk around the large perimeter of your tulle skirt in order to reach your back.

“No, his money can take care of you while I sit at home with my head down, terrified of my own soon-to-be husband!” Your mother knew of all of the horrible things Brock said to you on a daily basis, constantly belittling you at every chance he got. It was unusual for him to become violent, but certainly not unheard of.

“Oh, stop being so dramatic. All you have to do is walk down an aisle, repeat after the priest, give Brock a little peck, and then you’re done!” She pulled both sides of the fabric together, barely running into any problems due to the tight corset you’d been wrestled into, lining up the zipper and pulling.

“No, I’m not done after that! You seem to forget the part where I’m tethered to that monster ‘til death do us part.” You said, turning around to face her, seeing her countenance was still stiff and void of emotion. “Mother, please don’t do this. I’m begging you.” Your voice was now weaker than ever; unshed tears painted your waterline, threatening to fall.

“You’re marrying Brock Rumlow and that’s final.” You swore you could see a semblance of sadness within her eyes, but it was gone as fast as it’d appeared. “And stop crying, you’ll ruin your makeup.” She walked over to the wooden desk in your room, plucking up her handkerchief and handing it to you wordlessly.

You saw that this argument wouldn’t get you anywhere, knowing that she was just following your father’s orders. You’d all lived a life of poverty since you could remember and you knew that the day Brock Rumlow took interest in you was the happiest day of your father’s life. He was promised a fortune for your hand, but you knew in your heart that he would’ve sold you for far less.

“Now, hurry up. We don’t want you to be late for your own wedding.” She began to walk over to the doorway of your bedroom. “I’ll let you have a minute.” She said, closing the door behind her.

You surveyed your childhood bedroom, staring at each crack in the wall, each dirty picture frame, each memory that you were now leaving behind for what you were being told was a greener pasture, but you knew the truth. Any bit of freedom you once had was now slipping through your fingertips; the somewhat innocent youth you were given now being snatched by a man who made your skin crawl.

You’d only known loss like this once before and you still ached with the aftershocks. The pain never dulled, it just numbed and every time you dreamt of his warm embrace, it was like ripping the stitches from your heart that you’d worked so hard to sew.

You couldn’t help but to feel like you were betraying the one whose love you held onto for as long as you could. The one who you fought for until the war had been lost, a white flag pitched as you watched guards pull his belligerent body away from you, announcing that he was to be hung for his crimes. You sobbed as he tried to desperately claw his way back to you, but every time you moved to help, he would scream at you to back away, not able to bear the thought of you getting hurt in the crossfire.

You still remembered the final words he uttered to you as he was being shackled and placed in the back of a wagon. “I will find my way back to you, my darling; whether it be in this life or the next.”

You breathed in a deep huff of air as you shook your head to rid your mind of that traumatic day. You lightly placed your hand over your heart as a sign of surrender. “Well, Buck, I guess the next life will just have to do.” Your eyes glassy as you left your old bedroom in sorrow.

~

You were sitting in one of the guest rooms of the Rumlow Manor, waiting patiently for one of the pre-picked bridesmaids to come gather you for the start of the ceremony. None of your real friends were actually allowed to join you since Brock deemed them “unfit to be a part of his wedding”, which caused you to wonder why you couldn’t be so lucky.

As you were sat on the bed, twiddling your thumbs, you heard two sharp knocks on the door before it was promptly opened. Your blood ran cold as you saw who the culprit was: Brock’s father, Alexander, who was somehow even worse than his son.

You quickly tried to swallow your fear, masking it with a polite smile. “Good afternoon, Mr. Rumlow.” You stood up, smoothing your dress skirt.

“It is, indeed, isn’t it?” He walked through the threshold and closed the door behind him, turning around to face you. “You must be feeling very lucky today, my dear.”

You had to physically bite your tongue to prevent the first thought that came to your head. “Yes, I’m very grateful, sir.”

“I’m so glad to hear it.” He said, walking further into the room. “Now that I hear you say that, I’m sure it’s just one big misunderstanding when my son tells me that you’ve been very reluctant throughout this whole process.”

You felt your breath catch in your throat at his subtle warning tone. “Yes, sir. I was just voicing some concerns before the wedding. Nothing to worry about.”

Noticing that he didn’t seem to stop and was still advancing on you, you started to back up towards the wall. “Oh, I don’t doubt it.” His voice held a sarcastic, sharp edge. Now that he was only a few feet away, he went from being a concern to being a downright horror, his body looming over yours as he gave you a wolfish smirk.

“Mr. Rumlow, you’re making me a bit uncomfortable. Could you please—” and before you could finish your sentence, he seized your wrist, his hand forming a vice grip, tightening by the second.

“Now you listen to me, dear. You’re going to marry my son and you’re going to be the most obedient wife this world has ever seen.” The bones of your wrist felt as if they were fracturing under the harsh pressure he was applying. “That pretty little face of yours is what got you out of poverty and that smart mouth can get you thrown right back in, now show a little gratitude or we won’t give your family jack shit. Do you understand me?”

“Yes sir.” Your voice trembled in response. “I understand.” He released your wrist and you massaged the skin with your opposite hand, trying to relieve the throbbing pain.

“You’re a beautiful bride, my dear.” He beamed as if nothing prior had even happened. “Now don’t forget to smile. It is the greatest day of your life.”

And with that, he was gone and you were left with an aching wrist and a broken spirit.

~

Standing outside of the chapel, you could hear the music start as the doors were opened. It felt as if endless eyes were on you, most of them unfamiliar, save for your parents and the members of Brock’s family that you had the displeasure of meeting. You could see brows furrowing in judgment and whispered commentary being shared as you walked down the aisle with your arm looped through your father’s.

You finally decided it was time to look at your husband-to-be who was acting flawlessly. He looked at you with a wide smile, but his eyes were still cold as ever. He didn’t love you, he loved to control you. And a sick part of him liked when you fought with him because he could remind you, yet again, that he would always win. You then chanced a look at Alexander, who was smirking in delight. This whole ceremony was already making you feel ill and no one had even uttered a word yet.

Once you reached the end of the aisle, your father unattached his arm from yours and sat down; a routine, rehearsed movement that impacted you far more than you’d expected. You could feel yourself getting choked up at the thought that you were now truly alone. This heinous creature was about to ruin your life and no one here was going to stop him.

“We are gathered here today to join Brock Rumlow and Y/N Y/L/N in holy matrimony.” Everyone sat down at the minister’s words, the benches making horrible creaking noises at the combined weight of everyone sitting at once.

“Now before we start the service, does anyone object to the union of this couple? If so, speak now or forever hold your peace.” The silence in the room was deafening. You begged and prayed to every god you’d ever learned of, every spiritual being you’d ever read about to please help you. “Nobody?” This statement from the minister surprised you as he seemed almost disheartened at the fact that no one had objected.

“Excuse me?” You heard Brock whisper to the man, clearly irritated.

“Oh, I’m sorry, sir. It’s just—that was my friend’s cue, but apparently he MISSED IT.” The minister said, shouting out the last two words.

Before Brock even had time to respond, the doors to the chapel crashed open, a middle-aged man with a bow and arrow being revealed, quickly taking out every guard that eagerly charged at him. Screams were heard from all throughout the room, everyone crowding towards the exits.

The ‘minister’ looked down at you, smirking. “And you, honey, are coming with me.” The man grabbed your wrist lightly to pull you towards the back corner, out of harm’s way, when you let out a yelp at the contact. He quickly pulled his hand back, seeing that his gesture brought you pain and opted for your elbow instead. Once you two were safely out of the way, he surveyed the damage of your wrist that was already forming a bruise.

“When’d this happen?” He asked, looking at it from all different angles, acting as though the commotion throughout the room wasn’t even happening.

“About a half an hour ago.”

He looked at you with a saddened expression. “Your lovely husband-to-be?”

You smiled shyly at his sarcasm. “Not this time. His much lovelier father, actually.”

“Well, honey, the name’s Tony and we’re here to get you outta this hellhole.”

Just as he was finished speaking, one of the stained glass windows that stretched from floor to ceiling was shattered on the other side of the room, two gigantic blonde men rushing inside the new opening to take out the remaining guards and some of the stubborn gentlemen from the wedding audience who seemed to overestimate their combat abilities. “And that’s Thor, Steve, and bow and arrows over there? That’s Clint.”

Your eyes widened even further if that was possible. The scene in front of you had to have been some sort of divine intervention. No group of people would willingly risk their lives and their freedom to save a girl who holds no importance to them. “Not that I’m not entirely grateful, but why are you doing this?”

“We heard through the grapevine that this nightmare family found a new captive and one of us was very unhappy to hear your name mentioned.” You looked at him in confusion, wondering who in the world this person was.

“Who?”

Tony looked right behind you and smirked, pointing. “Him.”

You turned around swiftly and your heart might’ve stopped, but your brain was going a mile a minute, so you couldn’t even tell. It was him. Bucky Barnes. The love of your life who you’d yearned for since the moment you were separated.

He was tanner and more muscular with longer hair and tattered clothes, but he was still your Bucky. You’d notice those eyes anywhere. He was as beautiful as ever.

He hadn’t seen you yet, too concentrated on the task at hand to notice you ogling him from the sidelines. His strut was powerful, aggressive, and angry as his eyes practically slaughtered whoever was on the receiving end of his glare with pure fury. You looked to see that person was Brock.

You could feel your chest tighten with dread, your feet moving before you had time to think, but you were quickly restrained by Tony. “Nuh uh, sugar. He’ll have my head on a pike if you march yourself over there. Just trust him, he’s definitely toughened up a bit since you last saw him. Escaped a public hanging and 3 prisons before joining our band of brutes in search of his beloved.”

Tony’s explanation had your heart hurting for Bucky. To go through all of that alone before finding a group that he belonged with? That must’ve been terrible. You felt an overwhelming amount of guilt that you never searched for him, always just presuming him dead, but you were overjoyed that he never gave up on you.

You saw Bucky finally reach Brock, not hesitating to hit him with an uppercut, landing it square on the jaw. An audible crack could be heard all throughout the spacious room as Brock let out a loud scream of pain. This certainly didn’t deter him though; the man clearly knew how to take a punch.

Brock and Bucky were now in a full out brawl; jab after jab, some landing, some being blocked. It was just a blur of fists and grunts as both men tried their hardest to take the other out. They eventually tumbled to the floor and Bucky managed to pin Brock, landing punch after punch and you mentally squealed with excitement.

Out of the corner of your eye, you could see Alexander advancing on the two, holding up a dagger, ready to pierce Bucky’s heart. Before you had time to scream out an alert, a woman landed from the rafters in the ceiling, using a rope to assure a safe landing. And, as she landed, she knocked Alexander out using a combination of gravity and her foot.

A man came running in from outside, shouting, “All clear out there. The manor workers are all safe and the guards are taken care of.” His gigantic backpack would’ve probably been more difficult to carry while sprinting had he not been purely made of muscle.

Brock was finally passed out beneath Bucky and you could take a deep breath once you saw that all potential threats had been taken out in such a short amount of time. Talk about a successful ambush.

As soon as your ability to breathe returned, it was stolen when you made eye contact with Bucky Barnes for the first time in years. Tony released his grip on your elbow and you ran to him as fast as your legs could carry you. Without hesitation, he hoisted you into his arms and wrapped your legs around his waist. “God, I’m never letting you go again.” He whispered in your ear, sounding just as choked up as you knew yourself to be.

“You found me.” Your shock overwhelmed you as your voice cracked with emotion.

“I said I would, darling.”

You pulled your head back from its place nuzzled in his neck. “I thought I was gonna have to settle for the next life.”

He smiled at you like you were everything he’d ever wanted. “I think this one’ll just have to do.” And you laughed, really laughed, for the first time in ages.

~

“So you guys just kinda formed this group of criminals to help people where the law can’t?” You asked, your arms wrapped around Bucky’s middle as he handled the horse, your cheek resting against his back.

“We prefer the term vigilantes, but yeah, pretty much.” The woman, who you’d learned was named Natasha, responded.

“Where did you guys meet?”

“We kind of all just got picked up along the way. The first two were Natasha and Clint, then Tony, then me, then Bruce, then Thor, then Sam. And Bucky and I actually grew up together before circumstance pulled us apart, so, once we were reunited, I knew we had to have him.” Steve smiled at you. “But he was dead set on findin’ his girl, so he made us all promise to help him if he was gonna join. And here we are.”

“Here you are.” You whispered, just loud enough for Bucky to catch. Once he heard you, he looked over his shoulder at you and winked.

“Here I am.”

~

“We’re back!” You heard Bruce call from the front. You learned that he was their expert behind the scenes, not too keen on fighting, so he mainly navigated and stayed with the horses while the others duked it out.

The house was actually pretty large. You wondered how they could afford it with no pension, but you quickly put two and two together that, while they mostly did good for others, they were still criminals who were no strangers to stealing or raiding, but you thought it’d be best if you didn’t ask which one resulted in their impressive home.

Bucky got down from the horse, throwing the reins to an unsuspecting Clint before pulling you down and carrying you bridal-style towards the house. “I don’t wanna be disturbed for the next several days. And you might wanna keep your ears covered!”

~

“Holy shit, Bucky!” He’d been going down on you for a full half hour, showing no signs of stopping. You were already an orgasm deep and you were fast approaching another one.

“That’s it, baby, scream for me. God, I haven’t tasted your beautiful pussy in such a long time, I almost forgot how good it was.” He murmured, hot breath ghosting over your dripping cunt before diving back in, writing love stories with his tongue and making the lewdest noises you’d ever heard.

“Oh shit, that feels so good, please don’t stop.” He flicked his tongue over your clit, then swirled his tongue around your bundle of nerves before sucking it into his mouth. You whimpered, arching your back and grinding your heat onto his face.

He used both hands to clench your ass, pulling your bottom half off the bed and lifting your body to a new angle where he controlled all of your movements against his tongue. It felt positively magical and you couldn’t help but come undone a second time at the mercy of his skilled mouth.

Once your moans subsided and he licked you clean, he set you fully down on the bed once again. After a few moments of mindless fog, you began to come back to your senses, Bucky stroking your hair tenderly, smiling at you with such adoration.

You rolled over so you were straddling his naked body, now paying attention to his hard length that had been neglected until now. You pulled him in for a passionate kiss as you slowly sank down onto him, your walls stretching deliciously to accommodate him. He let out whimpers into your mouth at the feeling.

You lifted your hips and sunk back down again, forming a solid rhythm that he partially controlled with his right hand on your hip, too afraid to draw attention to his left one, the arm completely covered in burn marks from years of hardship. You took his left hand into your right one and lifted it up to your mouth, kissing his palm as you made eye contact with him. “I love every part of you and that will never change.”

He pulled his hand from your grip and moved it down to your hip in the same position as his other. “And I you, my love.”

He started to speed up your rhythm, also taking time to swivel your hips before he was fully thrusting into you, matching your movements perfectly. Fitting together the way you remember, the way you’d been longing to since he’d been taken.

“James, please don’t ever leave me again.” You whimpered out, the feeling so euphoric that you were so afraid it’d fall from your grasp just as it once had.

“Never, darling. Nothing could ever take me from you.” He whispered, gazing into your eyes, the beautiful cerulean holding so much passion. “Now let go for me.”

And you followed him, just as you always would, into a world of pure bliss where nothing else existed. No one else mattered. Just you, Bucky, and the heaven that you’d both found within each other; the heaven that was greatly deserved after the personal hells you’d both endured.

And, as you were both laying together that night, feeling more peaceful than you’d felt in ages, you realized that you no longer had to re-stitch your heart at the thought of falling asleep next to Bucky because now, it was a reality. You were no longer living a nightmare; you were free.

“Bucky, I will never be able to repay you for what you’ve done for me. Thank you.”

His fingertips trailed over the bandages that Bruce had applied to your wrist back at the Manor. “You never need to repay me, my love. Your joy will always be enough and, if anyone tries to crush it again, they won’t live to tell the tale.”

fin

A/N: So...my first AU!!!! Let me know how you guys liked it!! As usual, I’m very sorry if it’s heinous, but I’m just trying my best!! As always, feedback is seriously so appreciated (I’d even go as far as to say cherished) and I love hearing from you guys!!! Thank you so much for the love you’ve been showing my fics, I seriously wanna squeal at every note. I love you guys and hope you have a wonderful day!!! x

Tags: @retroasgardian @sanjariti @cassandras-musings @blazeshira @netflixa @sebstanchrisevanchickforever19

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes smut #james buchanan barnes #the winter soldier #the winter soldier x reader #smut #reader insert #AU #fic

[laura-elizabeth91]

Theresa May is the stealth prime minister. A year ago, few tipped her for the top. She was too old, too dry, too uncharismatic and far too reluctant to schmooze. Her victory was so unpredicted and unpredictable, her life story should be incorporated into the national curriculum as an example of the value of luck, self-belief and hard work. Throw in a political crisis, the absurd over-reach of rivals and a spooky calm under pressure, and you are close to working out how May won the prize.

It is six months since this long-serving, middle-of-the-road, cricket-loving Conservative—once characterised by William Hague as a “middle-order batsman”—launched her leadership campaign one morning and, before it was time to think about lunch, had become prime minister-in-waiting. Six months that have been increasingly punctuated by a low chorus suggesting, in the phrase so often applied to women, that she’s not quite up to it. Yet, even after that excruciating hand-holding snap with the wild and distrusted new American president, no one seriously thinks she is at risk.

That is not only because—in truth—Donald Trump grabbed her hand, and she extracted herself as fast as she decently could. Nor is it because she enjoys a giddying lead in the polls over Jeremy Corbyn’s Labour. Nor is it even because there is no obvious alternative PM surreptitiously marshalling support on the backbenches. It is, most fundamentally, because the course through the shoals and reefs of Brexit is still unknown. It is easy enough to criticise her. But the only coherent alternative to her newly revealed strategy of putting immigration controls ahead of prosperity and walking out of the single market (and probably the customs union, too) is the Liberal Democrat approach of denying the referendum conclusively settled the matter.

The distinctive aspect of May’s conservatism, perhaps even of something that will one day be called Mayism, is the way she has placed the value of identity and community ahead of the needs of the economy. In the name of social cohesion, she will control immigration even at the expense of relations with our largest trading partner: the European Union. In the face of every grim economic forecast, she has remained unflinchingly true to tighter border controls, although her other ideas about, say, reining in corporate greed, have crumbled away. She has captured the meaning of Brexit so that it means what she wants it to mean. Unelected by country or party, this “Remain” voter has made delivering for the 52 per cent of “Leave” voters her purpose, her mandate.

The daughter-of-the-vicarage concern for well being—in a sense that embraces more than purely material concerns—has been refracted through her past six years at the Home Office. It owes something, too, to growing up in rural Oxfordshire, Lark Rise to Candleford country; and something more, perhaps, to being a pupil in a grammar school when it turned into a comprehensive. Sometimes, May can look like the prime minister that the Daily Mail might have designed for its readers: the high-street heroine of the Brexit-supporting majority. The paper projects her as a 21st-century version of its greatest heroine, Margaret Thatcher, but any similarity begins and ends with the modest childhood, the ambition and the hard work. In many ways, with her intuitive concern for community, she feels more like a pre-Thatcherite figure, with her very traditional emphasis on community over commerce, albeit retooled these days to include a contemporary social liberalism. Her instincts are still more closely aligned to ordinary Tory members’ views than to any abstract or theoretical construct.

May’s political persona, to the extent that it is familiar, is defined by extreme caution, and reliance on a very small circle of allies. But there is another, more flamboyant, side of the public profile too: her style. In striking contrast to her manner of doing politics, she dresses to make an impact: primary colours, big necklaces, bright lipstick, as forceful in their message as her public demeanour is discreet. Her taste is not unerring, but it is entirely her own. This strikes me as an informative characteristic. Fashion is groupthink; style is something you do for yourself. With May, that is as true of her politics as it is of her wardrobe. It is just that it has been easier to overlook the integrity of her core beliefs and comment on her love of leather trousers, bold colours and, most famously, leopard-print kitten-heeled shoes.

The love affair with style began as a teenager, and a pair of lime-green platform shoes bought with money from her Saturday job. She describes them as her worst sartorial blunder; just like her dress and her politics now, the idea of the gawky teenager tottering on crazy platforms sits oddly with contemporaries’ recollections of the young Theresa as solemn, well-mannered and precocious: a textbook description of an only child.

Theresa Brasier was born just as the Suez catastrophe began, in October 1956. Her parents were Hubert and Zaidee: Hubert was a south London grammar-school boy, a High Church Anglican who studied at a theological college in Leeds with strong traditions of Christian socialism and public service among the poor. Many of his college contemporaries remained celibate; Hubert was 36 before he married, 10 years older than his bride, Zaidee Barnes, who still lived at home in Reading.

That this upbringing, which Prince says is “hardcore Anglo-Catholic,” still influences May is clear. It is there not only in her church-going; it also informs her sense of politics as a personal mission. One former political colleague describes her “huge moral force.” The influence of father on daughter, something that echoes Thatcher’s paternal relationship, extended beyond religion, and their shared passion for cricket. When May was growing up, her father was always on call—she and her mother came second to his parishioners’ needs. In some ways it sounds like the demands that weigh on a politician’s household. By the time she was a teenager, the vicar’s daughter was a signed-up Tory.

She was serious, and keen to get on—even skipping a year in school. There is said to be a family recording in which she stated her ambition to be the first woman prime minister. May went up to Oxford to read geography at St Hugh’s College. She met Philip, her first serious boyfriend, before she was 20; they were introduced by Benazir Bhutto at a student Conservative Association disco. They were married by her father in his parish church near Oxford, in the autumn of 1980. She was not quite 24.

By this time, Zaidee was already stricken with multiple sclerosis and in a wheelchair. Barely a year after the wedding, Hubert was killed in a car accident. A few months later, her mother died. May, shy and not naturally a networker, was forced to rely on Philip, and on her own resources. Her self-belief and her sense of resolution can only have been strengthened by the impact of losing both parents so quickly. And her stoicism was on display when, in a rare instance of acknowledging her childlessness was not her choice, she said “you accept the hand that life deals you.”

Perhaps the experience strengthened, too, the focus on the job in hand that is such a striking feature of the events of 11th July last year. May was about to launch her official campaign when she received a call from Andrea Leadsom conceding the leadership race. Leadsom wanted to announce the news herself, so asked May to keep it a secret until she did. May honoured that wish to the letter and told none of the small team of intimates who were with her—who included not only her right-hand woman, Fiona Hill, but also her husband—what had just happened. Instead, she stuck to her schedule, delivering her speech as planned. It set out for the first time the full extent of her distance from David Cameron’s project, and introduced the divisive but brilliant Liberal-turned-Unionist politician Joseph Chamberlain as her model statesman.

Only after the speech, when the news was leaking out, did she tell her team: after a week of abysmal misjudgements from Leadsom, culminating in the assertion that motherhood gave her a stake in the future of the country that the childless May could never have, she was leaving May alone on the field.

At the age of 59 (10 years older than Cameron), after a fortnight of bizarre events that left more corpses in its wake than a Shakespeare tragedy, May was prime minister-elect. A decade after many thought she had peaked, she triumphed in a contest that was slated to be between two glamorous men: George Osborne and Boris Johnson. Instead, each in turn fell into the cracks in the ground opened up by Brexit. She emerged from the Home Office, dazzling Conservative MPs like Eliza Doolittle off to the ball, propelled by the long-forgotten but now newly compelling attributes of common sense and grace under fire.

That is the first thing to emerge from Rosa Prince’s new biography: it was not May who suddenly changed, it was the whole political battlefield. And in that moment of shock and grief last summer, the traditional virtues that she had always embodied with the stubborn assurance of her cricketing hero Geoffrey Boycott, assumed an unexpected appeal. Yet it has sometimes felt, in her first six months as prime minister, that the woman in the colour-block dress who is now at home in Downing Street is somehow not the same May who had been Home Secretary since 2010. How could the angry, Brussels-bashing speech that she delivered at the Tory Party conference in October have been made by a referendum “Remainer”? How could this advocate of a sharing society, limits to executive pay and workers on boards have sat in Cabinet for the previous six years nodding through punitive laws against trade unions and swingeing cuts in benefits? How could this embodiment of old-fashioned English values appear enthusiastic about getting close to the vulgar New York playboy who has taken up at the White House?

Stealth fighter: Theresa May failed to become an MP in 1992

In 2016, Theresa May became Prime Minister ©Mirrorpix/Wenn LTD/Alamy Stock Photo

Not all of the answers to those questions are given in Prince’s biography. But there are unchanging themes. There is a consistency to her desire to be in control. She is hostile to anything that challenges that control—in particular, but not only, the European Court of Human Rights. You can see this run in a direct line from the story she once told at a party conference about being unable to deport an illegal migrant because he had a cat—a story based on what we now would call alternative facts—through to her long and ultimately successful campaigns to deport Abu Hamza and Abu Qatada to face terrorism charges abroad.

Latterly, her hostility to threats to British sovereignty has been transferred to the Court of Justice of the EU. Once again, in disregard of the economics, she insists that laws applied in Britain should be made in Britain by British judges, and will not deviate from that position even if it kills all hope of a formal trade deal, which could compel the UK to submit to EU law. As she said explicitly in her Lancaster House speech in January, “the public expect to be able to hold their governments to account very directly, and as a result supranational institutions as strong as those created by the EU sit very uneasily in relation to our political history and way of life.” For “the public,” it seems safe to substitute “Theresa May.”

The power to make law is an inalienable matter; so too is control of borders. Security comes before liberty, and she can never—as deputy prime minister Nick Clegg discovered in the coalition years—grasp that ever-greater powers taken in the name of security, for example, powers to gather and store communications, might undermine the freedoms they are introduced to safeguard. But there is a flip side: she respects the rule of law. Her record at the Home Office is marked by visceral anger on behalf of people who have been betrayed by the state or its agencies—the Hillsborough victims, Stephen Lawrence’s family after it emerged they had been spied on after their son’s murder, victims of domestic abuse let down by police—these are groups who have cause to appreciate May’s uncompromising defence of them.

This is a far cry from the savvy, focus-group metropolitanism of the Cameroons that May came to find so meretricious. It is partly a matter of character; but it is also, as Prince points out, because there is a gulf between politicians who ascend to power through contacts and serial jobs in ministerial offices (David Cameron’s first job in politics was allegedly secured by a call from Buckingham Palace), and the rest—the MPs who come in by the tradesman’s entrance, weathered by years in local government and the experience of fighting unwinnable seats.

As a young married couple in the 1980s the Mays, both working in well-paid City jobs, settled in the gentrifying fringes of Wimbledon, south London. Political pairs—think of the Blairs, Tony and Cherie—often choose one to fight for a seat and the other to earn the household keep. Early on it was clear to friends that the choice had been made, and that it would be Theresa who went into politics—even though Philip, unlike his wife, had taken one traditional step on the ladder by being elected president of the Oxford Union.

Thus it was Theresa May who in 1986 became a councillor, and ultimately deputy leader of the south London borough of Merton. After her own experience at a grammar school, a comprehensive, and fleetingly a private school, she was a natural candidate to chair its education committee as it re-organised its school system. Her caution saved the council perhaps £75m, after she resisted a plan to mortgage its housing stock just before the crash at the end of the 1980s. She fought two hopeless seats—North West Durham in 1992 and a by-election in Barking in 1994 that Margaret Hodge won—before being picked for Maidenhead, which proved safe even in the Tory Waterloo of 1997.

Sometime between becoming an MP and the party’s third defeat in 2005, May woke up to feminism. Once again, practical experience—this time envying the solidarity and support networks of the 101 women MPs Labour had elected in their 1997 landslide against the experience of being one of just 13 on the Tory benches—influenced her. Then, as chair of the Conservatives in 2002, she told a stunned party conference that they were seen as the “nasty party.” She could see the distance the Tories still had to travel to recover in popular esteem, but she learned the hard lesson that knocking the product wins no friends among its producers. (It was at this time that, having voted against the repeal of clause 28, she also changed her mind about gay rights).

“Sometime between becoming an MP in 1997 and the third Tory defeat in 2005, May woke up to feminism and gay rights”

In 2005, she seriously considered standing for the party leadership as it embarked on yet another contest without a woman candidate. But she established she had close to zero support and, almost at the eleventh hour, declared for the moderniser Cameron. Five years earlier, May had come up with the idea to build an organisation to support women candidates. Now she sold Cameron on it and, with Anne Jenkin, founded Women2Win. Days after Cameron took over, Central Office provided an A-list of candidates to constituency selection committees; May’s organisation had ensured that half of that list were women. At a stroke, scores of ambitious men were deprived of what they considered their legitimate future as Tory MPs for safe seats. No one could accuse May of currying favour with the activists.

But the transformation of the party that resulted has been extraordinary. A fifth of Tory MPs are now female; 30 per cent of May’s first cabinet are women, many of whom began their Commons careers with support from Women2Win. In other words, May played a vital role in bringing the party into the 21st century.

All the same, there seemed little future for May in Cameron’s Tory Party. A low-key suburban woman in her fifties had no place in the metropolitan glossiness of the Notting Hill set. In 2010, she had been quietly shadowing welfare, and it was only after she benefited from her former protégé Chris Grayling’s eve of election campaign blunder on gay rights, she unexpectedly found herself Home Secretary in the coalition. Few thought it was more than an interim appointment. Certainly, no one would have anticipated that she would emerge stronger from Whitehall’s legendary graveyard of ambition, a department that had just gobbled up and spat out four Labour Home Secretaries in as many years.

Prince expertly charts her course into the record books as the longest-serving Home Secretary in a century. Battles with the European Court of Human Rights fed hostility to Europe, although not all its institutions. She came to value common security initiatives like the European Arrest Warrant, and now intends to protect them from Brexit. The unsuccessful fight to protect her departmental budget against 20 per cent cuts today leaves her deaf to the desperate appeals for more NHS funding.

More puzzling was her unflinching loyalty to Cameron’s net migration target (wrongly attributed by Prince to Damian Green: it came from Cameron himself) that fed the fateful sense that Brussels had disempowered Westminster, and Westminster was disempowering the voters. Prince describes an extraordinary row with an incandescent George Osborne protesting at the way that businessmen from China—on whose investment his economic plans depended—were treated by border officials. May’s distaste for the Cameroons now took on a personal edge.

Another May emerges from this stage in her career. Unclubbable and seemingly shy, she builds a team to whom she stays extraordinarily loyal, and they to her. It is not only many of the current cabinet who formerly worked for her at the Home Office. The most intimate members of her Downing Street team, Nick Timothy and Fiona Hill, are both legendary tigers in her cause, prepared to sacrifice anything for her: Hill had to resign in 2014, collateral damage in the conflict between Michael Gove and May over alleged extremism in Birmingham schools. These are people who share her instincts and her brand of Conservatism. They are the people who now get the blame for the widely reported dysfunction between No 10 and Whitehall.

But she has become adept at courting newspapers, most particularly the Daily Mail. It was the Mail to whom she revealed in 2013 that, rather than dieting for a leadership bid as the gossip speculated, she had been diagnosed with Type 1 diabetes. It was the Mail who hailed her courage as she described the business of eating properly and coping with insulin injections in the middle of a hectic day. The cool relationship with the Cameroons grew chillier in inverse proportion to such PR successes.

Then there is the appetite for vengeance, first revealed in the long-running row with the Police Federation. The dressing down she gave the organisation’s conference in 2014, when she accused them of showing contempt for the public, was repayment for a humiliation they inflicted on her in a protest at budget cuts at their conference in 2011. Fast forward to 2016, and a reign of terror that followed her arrival in No 10, during which Cameron’s reputation, Michael Gove’s career and Osborne’s prospects were brutally put to the sword. If Angela Merkel really did stand her up at the Malta summit in January, she had better watch her back.

It is important to resist the sense that what has happened was always going to happen. With hindsight, it is easy to see what a good match May’s instincts are for the mood of the Brexiteers—how she, the moderniser who remade the Tory Party, is the same person who is standing proudly beneath the Union flag on the front of the Daily Mail. Along with the champion of the cause of women in politics, there always co-existed an authoritarian defender of British sovereignty and identity.

May has been prime minister for an extraordinary six months. No biography can yet be anything more than a sketch of the story so far. Prince’s book is readable, but hardly a settled verdict. There is too much on the horizon to anticipate either success or failure, or to create a definitive picture of the strengths and weaknesses of this woman on whom so much now rides. In this fractured new world of Brexit and Trump, only a fool would predict what will happen next. But Theresa May’s career so far suggests it would be a bad mistake to underestimate her.

[mrmichaelchadler]

The Ten Best Films of 2018

As one of our greatest poets once sang, the times they are a-changin'. While certain film institutions seem intent on defying the incurrence of streaming cinema, Netflix had their best year to date, releasing three of what we consider the greatest movies of 2018, and landing the top two spots. How this will impact moviemaking going forward isn’t clear yet, but it almost certainly will. Once again, our list is a wonderful blend of new voices like those of Boots Riley and Sandi Tan, alongside that of established veterans like Spike Lee and Alfonso Cuarón. We chose films from around the world this year, including entries from Korea, Poland, Mexico, and an anthology about the Old West. From documentary to comedy, drama to Western, Paul Schrader to James Baldwin—this may be our most diverse list to date, indicating the breadth of great art we saw in 2018. 

About the rankings: We asked our regular film critics and assistant editors to submit top ten lists from this great year, and then consolidated them with a traditional points system—10 points for #1, 9 points for #2, etc.—resulting in the list below, with a new entry for each awarded film. We’ll publish each critic’s individual list as the week goes on. Come back for more.

10. “Cold War”

Inside the Iron Curtain of the 1950s, a rising composer named Wiktor (Tomasz Kot) and his producer, Irena (Agata Kulesza), scour the Polish countrysides and mountaintops for folk songs to bring back to Soviet bloc cities. While auditioning peasant singers to perform these folk numbers on tour, Wiktor’s eyes meet those of a confident and mysterious blond, Zula (Joanna Kulig). He’s quickly taken with her bold presence, and she soon follows his lead into a tempestuous relationship that will stretch years, borders and other partners. 

There may only be a handful of times in life you lock eyes with someone like Wiktor and Zula do in Pawel Pawlikowski’s “Cold War.” You remember where you two met in that moment, what that person wore, who else was there and how you hung on their every word as you tried to hide how intensely you both looked at each other. Some details of the day fade, others grow sharper as you replay the scene over and over—even if that person is no longer in your life. 

Beyond its lovestruck appeal, the gorgeous black-and-white cinematography of “Cold War” enchants viewers with dazzling compositions, bringing intimate moments to an epic scale. Almost every note of the movie’s eclectic soundtrack—which ranges from forlorn Polish folk tunes to sultry French jazz—aches as much as the lovers’ wistful stares. They are echoes of the way Humphrey Bogart looked at Ingrid Bergman in “Casablanca,” how Omar Sharif looked at Julie Christie in “Doctor Zhivago” and the glances Maggie Cheung gave Tony Leung during “In the Mood for Love.” 

Under the lens of an unromantic reality, it’s possible to view these two lovers as mere hopeless mismatches. But in Pawlikowski’s film, there is a tragic beauty in Wiktor and Zula’s doomed-to-fail love. "Cold War" sympathizes with those who know it is a blessing and a curse to have feelings outlive an affair. (Monica Castillo)

9. “Burning”

Cats. Wells. Borders. Victims. Killers. There is a lot that’s indistinct and even invisible in the discomforting thriller “Burning” from South Korean director Lee Chang-dong. Loosely based on Barn Burning, a short story by Haruki Murakami, “Burning” rises from the ashes of unspoken battles and deeply held grudges between friends, genders and those that dwell on the opposite sides of the socio-economic tracks so casually that you wonder for a while where this devious suspense, co-written by Lee and Jungmi Oh, might take you. Trust me when I say, it will neither escort you somewhere commonplace nor answer your burning questions like an ordinary movie would—this elegantly calibrated chiller led by a pitch-perfect ensemble is more about the search amid blurring boundaries than reaching an orderly conclusion.

It all begins by a chance encounter that unfolds as uneventfully as any pivotal occurrence that would follow it. Working as a promo rep handing out raffle tickets, the young, bouncy Hae-mi (Jong-seo Jeon) spots and greets the aspiring writer Jong-su (Ah-In Yoo), a guy she knew from childhood. He doesn’t remember her, so she randomly mentions she’s had plastic surgery for beauty. Boyish to an extreme, awkward and clearly taken by Hae-mi, Jong-su follows her into her tiny rental room where the two have sex after Hae-mi (again, abruptly) reminds him he once called her ugly. Taking care of his burdened father’s farm close to the North Korea border, Jong-su finds his bliss cut short when Hae-mi leaves for an overseas trip, asks him to feed her cat Boil in her absence and comes back with the handsome, wealthy and enigmatic Ben (Steven Yeun) who seems to be everything Jong-su is not. Ben lives in an expensive apartment, drives a Porsche and (to Jong-su’s intense distaste) listens to music while cooking pasta.

A virtuoso of slow-burns (“Secret Sunshine” and “Poetry” among them), Lee Chang-dong patiently folds in mysteries as well as themes around gender and social class into “Burning,” while occasionally playing up a comedic tone that strengthens the unclassifiable nature of the film. Is the arsonist womanizer Ben a version of Patrick Bateman driven to insanity by capitalism? Does Hae-mi really have a cat or is she settling scores with the boy who was once cruel to her? Does Jong-su suffer from an overambitious writer’s imagination or is Ben’s uncanny smile really as condescending as it looks? When Jong-su acts upon his justified instincts on a bitterly cold, snow-covered day, you will inhale the frosty air with shivers down your spine, feeling only certain that “Burning” is one of those all-timers that begs to be re-watched repeatedly; a true one-of-a-kind with a lot on its mind. And Steven Yeun? His dismissive yawning is the stuff of (alleged) villains for the ages. (Tomris Laffly)

8. “BlacKkKlansman”

Every scene in “BlacKkKlansman” is practically watermarked with “A Spike Lee Joint” in the bottom right corner. This true story is the perfect vehicle for Lee's penchant for hilariously pitch black humor and it also allows him to settle an old score. Taking Godard’s advice about using a new movie to criticize another movie, Lee aims squarely at D.W. Griffith’s “Birth of a Nation,” ridiculing it relentlessly wherever appropriate. Not only does the film appear as a snarky punchline during a Klan rally, Lee also uses Griffith’s own devices against him by structuring Ron Stallworth’s last reel race against time as a thrilling, Klan-centric montage that serves as a corrective to Griffith’s racist imagery. This sequence deviates from the real-life story Lee is telling, so it was deemed controversial. Surely Lee relished the thought of this perception. Because when Griffith dabbled in propaganda, it was “history written with lightning.” When Lee mocked that dabbling, it was heresy written with politics. And it was just as effective!

John David Washington and Adam Driver give stellar performances, though the latter is surprisingly the film’s biggest proponent of identity introspection. While Washington hides his identity behind a telephone and a voice, Driver hides his in plain sight, thereby incurring more collateral damage. And though the plot comments on racism and anti-Semitism, Lee builds a reality-based trap door into his cinematic contraption, one that opens as soon as he invokes his trademark people mover shot. Suddenly, we’re thrust into the terrifying, present day fate that befell Heather Heyer, whose appearance at the Charlottesville protest ended with her death. This real-life footage is a provocation, but it’s one bursting with truth about the state of racism in America and is therefore not exploitative. Lee dedicated “BlacKkKlansman” to Heyer, and the film’s rise in the award season coincides with the recent guilty verdict delivered to the man who killed her. This is one of Lee's most urgent and timely films. It's also one of his best. (Odie Henderson)

7. “Annihilation”

In 2018, Stanley Kubrick’s landmark science fiction film “2001: A Space Odyssey” turned 50. That same year, writer-director Alex Garland released “Annihilation,” a rare film that lives up to the totality of what made “2001” so revered and valuable, rather than merely imitating certain aspects of its design, structure, or tone. It’s one of the great science fiction films of recent years, easily the equal of “Ex Machina,” “Arrival,” “Under the Skin” and “Blade Runner 2049,” and superior to all of them (except “Under the Skin”) in one respect: it encourages multiple interpretations and deeply personal responses, while waving off any attempt to simplistically “explain” what the audience has seen. Adapted from the first of Jeff VanderMeer’s Southern Reach novels, the movie structured as a series of discrete set pieces, complete with Kubrickian chapter titles (a la “The Shining” as well as “2001”). If you watch it more than once—as you should; it deepens with every viewing—you start to see it as a set of thought prompts rather than a traditional narrative, though one that’s anchored to strong, simple characterizations and full performances.

The heroine is Army soldier turned biologist Lena (Natalie Portman), whose husband Kane (Oscar Isaac) went missing for a year during a top secret mission, then briefly, miraculously returned to her shortly before puking up blood and being rushed to the intensive care unit at a top secret research facility in a swamp near the Florida coastline. The area was impacted by a meteor that created a “Shimmer”—a demarcated zone where the rules of evolution seem to have gone haywire, integrating the DNA of plants, mammals and reptiles that were thought incompatible, and killing off all the members of expeditions sent to explore the place (Kane is the only survivor, though we immediately sense that the person returned from the Shimmer isn’t actually Kane). Lena joins up with four other women—Ventress (Jennifer Jason Leigh), Thorensen (Gina Rodriguez), Radek (Tessa Thompson), and Sheppard (Tuva Novotny)—to journey into the Shimmer and attempt to understand it.

But there are limits to understanding, and the key to the excellence of Garland’s film is its determination to pose questions without supplying answers. I hosted a screening of the film back in March—my third viewing—and discussed it with the audience afterward, and together we came up with at least nine different answers to the question, “What is this movie about?”

It’s possible to piece together what happened, event-wise, to everyone in the expedition, and how one event might’ve led to another, culminating in the finale, an audacious two-character confrontation that feels like a cross between a modern dance performance and a spectral assault. But once you’ve done that, you’re still left with the question of what it all meant, and you’re on your own. Which is as it should be, because in life, you’re on your own, too. (Matt Zoller Seitz)

6. “Shirkers”

One indication of why this is a near-great film: although it is a relatively straightforward and coherent narrative account—albeit one so surprising as to be, weirdly, equally exhilarating as it is upsetting—almost everyone who watches it has a different idea of its theme. Is it about toxic males holding women down? The challenges facing a female artist? The difficulty of making art in Singapore?

Sandi Tan’s documentary memoir/detective story cannily maintains a core pose of modesty while insinuatingly exploring a series of big ideas. Serving as her own narrator, Tan tells of her 1990s time as an artistically ambitious teen in Singapore, under the spell of maverick filmmakers like David Lynch and believing she had found a cinematic partner in crime with an older man from the States, a teacher and self-styled would-be auteur named Georges Cardona. Sandi forges alliances with the smaller-than-a-handful number of like-minded conspirators on her not-yet-economically-booming island to make her film. A film that Cardona absconds with, leaving behind no explanation or apology.

The rediscovery of the footage in 2010 made this movie possible. But it didn’t determine this movie’s power. Even if it took Tan several decades to realize it, “Shirkers” proves her a born moviemaker. (Glenn Kenny)

5. “If Beale Street Could Talk”

When I interviewed writer/director Barry Jenkins about “Moonlight,” we talked about the movie’s haunting score, composed by Nicholas Britell. “Many directors would use songs of the era to place the audience in the film’s three time periods,” I said. “Two things,” he replied. “First, we could not afford the rights to those songs. But more important, I believe these characters deserve a full orchestral score.”

I thought of those words as I watched Jenkins’ latest film, “If Beale Street Could Talk,” based on the 1974 novel by James Baldwin. Or, I should say, it did not feel like I was watching the film. It was more like I was immersed in it. The entire theme of the movie could be, “These characters deserve a full orchestral score” along with the highest level of every other creative and aesthetic element available to a filmmaker, from Baldwin’s lyrical words to the luscious cinematography of “Moonlight’s” James Laxton, another gorgeous score by Britell, and performances of infinite sensitivity and humanity.

“If Beale Street Could Talk” succeeds brilliantly at one of cinema’s most central functions: a love story with sizzling chemistry between two impossibly beautiful people. Stephan James (“Race”) and newcomer KiKi Layne are 2018’s most compelling romantic couple. Their relationship is in every way the heart of this story, the reason we feel so sharply about the injustice that befalls James' Fonny, the film's most undeniable signifier of generations of institutional racism. We see that most powerfully when Regina King, as the girl’s mother, looks in the mirror as she prepares like a matador entering the bullring for a meeting that could make all the difference for the couple. She cannot expect much, but she has to try. Throughout the movie, there is resignation and there are diminished hopes but there is also resilience. And “Beale Street” reminds us that there is also undiminished and imperishable love: romantic love, the love of parents and siblings, even an unexpected encounter with a warmhearted landlord. There is the love Baldwin and Jenkins have for these characters. And, most of all, it reminds us that this is a story that deserves to be told with the best that movies have to offer, including a full orchestral score. (Nell Minow)

4. “First Reformed”

Ethan Hawke just gets better with age, as he casts aside the boyish good looks and swaggering sense of rebellion that made him both a superstar and an indie darling in the 1990s for more mature, fascinatingly flawed characters. He's well into his 40s now and letting the passage of time show on his face, in his demeanor and in the complicated men he's choosing to play on screen. In Paul Schrader, Hawke is ideally matched with a filmmaker whose own work has only grown deeper and more resonant over the past several decades. "First Reformed" feels like a culmination of sorts for both the writer/director and his star. It has echoes of past efforts from both while it also wrestles with bracingly contemporary themes of personal responsibility, stewardship and activism. 

Hawke stars as Reverend Ernst Toller, a country priest in upstate New York whose involvement in the lives of a married couple in his congregation steadily causes him to lose his grip. With heavy shades of the iconic character he created in Travis Bickle, Schrader vividly presents a man who's grappling with reality and his perceived role within it. He says so much within the film's quiet stillness and precise austerity as well as with masterful narration that offers a glaring contrast between Toller's journals and the truth. "First Reformed" represents the best work of Hawke's lengthy and eclectic career, and it's a welcome return to form for the veteran Schrader. But it also allows Amanda Seyfried to show a dramatic depth we haven't seen from her before as the woman who could be Toller's salvation or his undoing. That sense of ambiguity only becomes more gripping as the film progresses, leading to an ending that's boldly open for interpretation but is undeniably daring and haunting. (Christy Lemire)

3. “Sorry to Bother You”

Like many good dark comedies (ex: "Office Space," "Bamboozled") the hysterically caustic "Sorry to Bother You" feels like a full-blown panic attack. The film's class conscious anxiety (and mordant sense of optimism) is also contagious, as it is in movies like "Starship Troopers" and "Putney Swope." 

With "Sorry to Bother You," writer/director Boots Riley takes credible, if pointedly exaggerated sources of social, racial, and economic tension and exaggerates them beyond the realm of our known experiences. At the same time: Riley's thrillingly inventive conception of the rise-fall-rise-fall-and-rise-again character arc of call center worker drone Cassius "Cash" Green (an incredible Lakeith Stanfield) always feels real enough, even when it takes a hard turn into (what is currently) the realm of science-fiction.

In that sense: "Sorry to Bother You" is also a great American social critique (ex: "A Face in the Crowd," "Idiocracy") since it teaches viewers how to watch it. Riley handily realizes Francois Truffaut's goal of introducing four ideas per minute—and they're each fully-realized and easily understood. That's a major talent when your film essentially weaponizes audience surrogate Cash's relatability. We grow more and more aware of the unbearable heaviness of Cash's existence as a young, black, and talented man. First he stops thinking of himself as a barnacle on an unfathomable ship of industry and starts to see himself as a major player. Then he stops letting himself be seduced by the trappings of his newfound financial success and starts to focus on the application of his talents. Finally, Cash stops fooling himself into thinking that he's just a messenger of utilitarian progress and becomes a victim of his own self-deluded progress. But by then it's too late.

Or not. It's late, but it ain't never. (Simon Abrams)

2. “The Ballad of Buster Scruggs”

Like so much of the best work of Joel & Ethan Coen, their latest film is a tough one to describe. On the surface, it’s an old-fashioned anthology piece, a reworking of what was once an idea for a TV series into a collection of Old West vignettes, playing out like a storybook. But that sells it short. It sells short how each narrative feels like it flows into the next. It sells the short the mastery of tone both within each individual story and tying together the overall piece. It sells short the way the Coens intertwine their vision of the Old West with a dissection on the very practice of storytelling and their roles as beloved storytellers themselves. And it sells short the incredible individual pleasures within each of the six short films, all of them bursting with gorgeous cinematography, memorable performances, and fascinating subtext. It’s the best western in years because it’s both completely knowledgeable about the tropes of the genre and able to subvert them at the same time.

Take the opening short, the one that gives the film its name. A singing cowboy plods through the desert, warbling a tune to the rhythm of his horse’s footsteps. He speaks directly to the camera, showing us that he’s been labeled a misanthrope—a title that has been incorrectly applied to the Coens’ dark sense of humor on more than one occasion. This leads one to presume that what follows is designed to defy or subvert that label. But that’s not really what happens. “The Ballad of Buster Scruggs” is constantly going left when you expect it to go right—and then making you feel dumb for thinking it would ever go right.

It’s also a fascinating dissection of death—from enemies, former friends, and even by one’s own hand. Death comes for everyone. It’s a theme woven through all six vignettes, and it’s telling that the final piece is about a pair of men who distract their targets with stories. If filmmakers have ever put themselves on screen more bluntly, I can’t think of when. While the story is unfolding, there’s something else happening underneath or off to the side. Joel and Ethan Coen are two of our most impressive cinematic magicians. You’re so carefully enjoying what one hand does that you don’t realize how much they’re doing with the other one until it's over. And then you just want to watch it all over again. (Brian Tallerico)

1. “Roma”

Alfonso Cuarón's "Roma" takes place in the Mexico City neighborhood where he grew up in the 1970s. Filmed in vivid black-and-white (Cuarón shot it himself), "Roma" features long long takes, the camera moving horizontally through a house, across fields, into the sea, down city streets, creating a sense of reality so intense it almost tips over into dream. The film's central figure is Cleo (Yalitza Aparicio), a Mixtec woman working for an upper-class family as a nanny and a maid (she is based on the woman who raised Cuarón). Surrounding Cleo is a world of political upheaval, seething student protests, marital strife, economic stresses, and cops in riot gear. In another film, these events would be center stage, but in "Roma," they drift in the background, seen through windows, heard through open doors, as Cleo strolls by, or around, trying to manage her own life, enduring stress and doing her best. "Roma" is pierced with issues of class, privilege, ethnicity, and resurrects a time and place, a whole era, with details that sometimes overwhelm, like a wave roaring into shore. Swarms of extras live out their lives in complicated vignettes unfurling behind the action, seen briefly as the camera moves by, gone in a flash. The city, the house, the village, all bristle with life. This is a very personal film for Cuarón, and "Roma" is both a determined act of memory and a work of powerful tribute. (Sheila O’Malley)

from All Content https://ift.tt/2Pwqszd

[365footballorg-blog]

Boehm: Week 32 sets up nerve-wracking October sprint for last playoff slots

USA Today Sports Images

October 8, 20181:56PM EDT

“I see you stand like greyhounds in the slips, straining upon the start. The game’s afoot…”

– Shakespeare, Henry V

If you kept your eye on the big, league-wide picture on Saturday, you might just have heard the gears whirring and clanking, pushing the pieces a few clicks closer to place.

Vancouver knocked off Toronto FC, preserving their own postseason prospects while killing off the reigning champs’ final, flickering hopes of defending their title. The LA Galaxy walked into stormy Kansas City and snatched a hard-won road point that keeps them alive. The Portland Timbers stunned Real Salt Lake 4-1 in Utah, simultaneously hauling themselves away from the playoff line and sparking tumult among those beneath them.

Montreal whacked Columbus 3-0 – the Impact, by the way, are 4-2-3 since the start of August – and on Sunday D.C. United rounded out the weekend with a sweaty 2-1 comeback win over the Chicago Fire, a key result that underlines the potential for disruptive chaos this time of year. The Seattle Sounders are expected to cap Week 32 by reaping maximum points from the Houston Dynamo’s visit to CenturyLink Field on Monday night, but, well, you never know… probably best to tune in just to make sure.

You’ve heard a lot about the “stretch run” over the past few months, and for good reason. But now, we’ve reached the desperate final sprint towards the finish line.

There are less than three weeks left in the MLS regular season, and only seven of the 12 spots in the Audi MLS Cup Playoffs are spoken for. The horses can smell the barn, as they say. And it appears that not only have the soccer gods blessed the league with a photo finish at the top of the standings, where Atlanta United and the New York Red Bulls are neck-and-neck for the Supporters’ Shield, but also a frenzied scramble for the final postseason slots.

Though nerve-wracking for the teams and fans involved, this is very much a good thing for the rest of us. I suspect it’s just what league officials hoped for when they implemented the current playoff format. I, and others, have in the past lamented the existence of that sixth and final berth in each conference – it often seems overly generous – but it’s hard to deny that it stokes the drama at this time of year.

In the East, we basically have two teams, Montreal and D.C., vying for one final ticket. Yes, the Impact could still catch fading, fifth-place Crew SC, but that would require the Impact to take maximum points from their final two games, vs. TFC and at New England, AND Columbus taking just one point from their games at flatlined Orlando City and home to road-shy Minnesota United. Possible, but not probable.

D.C. are the ones Montreal are most concerned about, and rightly so: The Black-and-Red have two games in hand, both at Audi Field, thanks to the home-heavy conclusion to their backloaded calendar, and after their early-season woes are now collecting points at a higher per-game rate than the Impact. United trounced the Canadians 5-0 in their head-to-head meeting last week, inflicting a high-profile psychological wound, yet the Black-and-Red still have work to do.

Two of their four remaining opponents are playoff teams, and the other two, TFC and the Fire, would be delighted to play spoilers. But between their noisy new stadium and their new superstar leader Wayne Rooney, there’s a steeliness about this United team that’s crucial in Octobers like these.

“We have to keep pushing because we have another ‘most important game of the season’ next weekend against Dallas,” said coach Ben Olsen on Sunday. “That’s just how it has to be for the rest of the year and that’s okay. I trust our guys and know they’re up for it. I don’t think we had the greatest performance today but there is a belief in the group that on days like this we can still get out with three points. That’s extremely important and that’s something we lacked earlier in the year.”

Aside from that strange blowout in D.C., the Impact, too, have stepped up to the challenge. Expect this race to go right down to Decision Day.

The picture is a bit cloudier out West. Depending on how highly you think of the fifth-placed Sounders – and their back-to-back runs to MLS Cup have earned them some capital with me – it’s either four teams gunning for the No. 5 and No. 6 slots in the postseason bracket, or three hunting for that last spot.

RSL’s home loss to the Timbers was quite a damaging setback, ending their 14-game unbeaten streak at Rio Tinto Stadium and shrinking their lead over the Galaxy and Whitecaps to one and three points, respectively. Coach Mike Petke fumed that “We’re going to see what we’re made of,” and they’re further disadvantaged by the fact that they are the odd ones out in this 23-team and thus don’t play on Decision Day, forcing them to watch those proceedings passively.

Only the maximum six points in their final two games will be enough to insulate them from a late charge by LA or Vancouver.

The Galaxy, too, suffered on Saturday night, at one point leading SKC 2-0 only to see a goal waved off by a Video Review offside decision before Johnny Russell struck to salvage a draw for the hosts. A win for Zlatan Ibrahimovic & Co. would’ve pushed them ahead of RSL; now they must try to win at Minnesota, on turf, in front of a 50,000-plus crowd in the Loons’ final game at TCF Bank Stadium, then beat the Dynamo at home on Decision Day.

And the bipolar Whitecaps, despite dismissing longtime coach Carl Robinson and installing their academy director as the interim boss in his place, are somehow still in the reckoning too. They have the hardest road, with playoff teams Sporting KC, LAFC and Portland still to come. But at this point, who knows?

So by my count, that’s an entire year hinging on a handful of October games – six in the East and seven in the West. The pressure will crush some, and inspire others. Fortunes will undulate from moment to moment as the matches unfold. Catch every moment you can.

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Boehm: Week 32 sets up nerve-wracking October sprint for last playoff slots was originally published on 365 Football

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[janeaddamspeace]

Black History Celebrated Through Biographies and Much More #JACBA Newsletter 9Feb2018

Children's Books About Black History, Heavy on Biographies

Among that genre's newest arrivals are names familiar to adults, as in THE UNITED STATES V. JACKIE ROBINSON (HarperCollins/Balzer + Bray, ages 4 to 8), written by Sudipta Bardhan-Quallen. This picture book is more interested in young Robinson's less-known act of resistance during his Army days than in his later, trailblazing career as a baseball player. It's nice to have an athlete celebrated for personal integrity over physical prowess, and R. Gregory Christie's pictures bolster this, evoking a Robinson who is strong and sure, but also smiling, warm, and ultimately, triumphant.

Sandra Neil Wallace's BETWEEN THE LINES: How Ernie Barnes Went From the Football Field to the Art Gallery (Simon & Schuster/Paula Wiseman, ages 4 to 8), illustrated by Bryan Collier, is a beautiful testament to a quintessentially American life. Wallace and Collier celebrate both Barnes's success on the gridiron and his subsequent reinvention as an artist. As in "The United States v. Jackie Robinson," athleticism is a secondary concern; early on, we see the young Barnes in a museum, wondering where the black painters are, and the story ends with contemporary young museumgoers being shown Barnes's art. This choice makes the story so satisfying, and just what you want at bedtime.

MARTIN RISING: Requiem for a King (Scholastic, ages 9 to 12) is a collaboration by two of children's literature's most well-known names, Andrea Davis Pinkney and Brian Pinkney (who happen to be married). It's a work of verse, with some prose end matter to help elucidate the poems, and it will reward a reader sophisticated enough to grapple with language and metaphor. Andrea Davis Pinkney frames her poem cycle about the Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.'s last months with the figure of Henny Penny, the bird who either worried or prophesied, and she makes King's death feel as significant as the falling of the sky above. It is, of course, a terrible and sad story, but one in which Brian Pinkney's illustrations manage to find beauty.

Read More

The Book Itch: Freedom, Truth & Harlem's Greatest Bookstore by Vaunda Micheaux Nelson, illustrated by R. Gregory Christie 2016 Awardee

Martin's Big Words: The Life of Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. written by Doreen Rappaport with artwork by Bryan Collier 2002 Awardee

Sit-In: How Four Friends Stood Up by Sitting Down by Andrea Davis Pinkney, illustrated by Brian Pinkney 2011 Awardee

Sojourner Truth's Step-Stomp Stride, by Andrea Davis Pinkney & Brian Pinkney 2010 Awardee

Coretta Scott King Left Behind An Unshakeable Legacy That Every American Should Celebrate by Andrea Davis Pinkey

On today's anniversary of Coretta Scott King's passing, bestselling author Andrea Davis Pinkney pays tribute to the wife of Martin Luther King, Jr., known as the "First Lady of the Civil Rights Movement." Coretta's role as a social justice influencer is chronicled in Pinkney's new book, Martin Rising.

Read More

Allen County Public Library's Pontiac branch opens Black History Month events by remembering the Greensboro Four sit-in

At the Pontiac branch library, 2215 S. Hanna St., visitors could sit from 10 a.m.-5 p.m. at stools set up along a bookcase to simulate sitting at the Woolworth's lunch counter. While seated, they could watch a brief documentary on the Greensboro sit-in and and learn more about the event.

An information board also contained historical information and photos about the Greensboro Four and their sit-in.

The event was organized by Pontiac branch Assistant Manager Benita Browning, who said she was inspired to do it after reading a children's book about the event, "Sit-in: How Four Friends Stood Up by Sitting Down," by Andrea Davis Pinkney.

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Black History Month events for 2018

Feb. 24 Free Library of Philadelphia, Philadelphia City Institute Branch

- Based on the book by Christopher Paul Curtis, "The Watsons Go to Birmingham" is the film adaptation of the story of an African-American family's road trip from Flint, Michigan to Birmingham, Alabama in 1963 - and the tragic events that take place. For children ages 12 and under and their families.

- "The Art of Jean-Michel Basquiat: Share Your Creativity" invites visitors to enjoy a reading of "Radiant Child: The Story of Young Artist Jean-Michel Basquiat" by Javaka Steptoe and "Life Doesn't Frighten" Me by Maya Angelou, illustrated by Jean-Michel Basquiat. Inspired participants can add their creations to the Young Artists' Wall. For ages 12 and under. Feb. 28.

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Elijah of Buxton by Christopher Paul Curtis 2008 Awardee

The Watsons Go to Birmingham - 1963 by Christopher Paul Curtis 1996 Awardee

Hot Day on Abbott Avenue by Karen English, with collage art of Javaka Steptoe 2005 Awardee

KMS kicks off Black History Month

Black History Month was off to an inspiring start Wednesday at Kennett Middle School as Library Media Specialist Kim Johnson read the heroic story of Henry "Box" Brown to students during an afternoon assembly.

The highlight of the assembly was Johnson's reading of the acclaimed children's picture book "Henry's Freedom Box" written by Ellen Levine and illustrated by Kadir Nelson.

Johnson actually had a box built to the same dimensions as the one traveled in by Brown next to her during the entire reading and at the conclusion KMS student Jamarkas Marsh opened the lid and exited the box.

He had been inside the whole time to illustrate the journey of Henry "Box" Brown and the discomfort he experienced.

The event made quite an impact on the students and they were able to step inside the box as well, if they wished to identify with the amazing heroic journey of Brown.

Read More

Darkness over Denmark: The Danish Resistance and the Rescue of the Jews by Ellen Levine 2001 Awardee

Freedom's Children: Young Civil Rights Activists Tell Their Stories by Ellen Levine 1994 Awardee

Heart and Soul: The Story of America and African Americans written and illustrated by Kadir Nelson 2012 Awardee

The Village That Vanished written by Ann Grifalconi and illustrated by Kadir Nelson 2003 Awardee

Three books that rock Black History

Bad News for Outlaws: The Remarkable Life of Bass Reeves, Deputy U. S. Marshal by Vaunda Micheaux Nelson, R. Gregory Christie (Illustrator)

This children's book tells the story of Lone Ranger inspiration Bass Reeves, who was born in slavery and captured 3000 felons in his career-including his own son-in eye-catching color.

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The Book Itch: Freedom, Truth & Harlem's Greatest Bookstore by Vaunda Micheaux Nelson, illustrated by R. Gregory Christie 2016 Awardee

'It takes a community to raise a library'

Acclaimed Simcoe author Deborah Ellis, best known for The Breadwinner that has been published in 25 languages and has raised more than $1 million for the Canadian Women for Women in Afghanistan and Street Kids International, was guest speaker at the library opening.

She talked about the importance of libraries in the wake of Nazi book burnings and Afghanistan's war on books.

"Libraries are places that respect people who came before us, and our words could be read by people thousands of years from now."

Read More

The Heaven Shop by Deborah Ellis 2005 Awardee

The Breadwinner Trilogy, three books by Deborah Ellis 2004 Awardee

Parvana's Journey by Deborah Ellis 2003 Awardee

Sneak Peak at 'Green Book' Film-in-Progress

The Freedom Center hosts the creator of an upcoming documentary, and shows a segment of it, about the "Green Book" tourist guides that helped African-Americans travel the country and find accommodations during the heyday of segregation

New York-based playwright and author Calvin Alexander Ramsey, together with Becky Wible Searles - an animation professor at Savannah College of Art and Design - are hoping to recognize the historic importance of the Green Book series. They are working on The Green Book Chronicles, an hour-long film combining animation and interviews with people who had connections with Green and/or the travel guides. They are hoping for completion this year, and a 12-minute edit will preview 6:30 p.m. Thursday at downtown's National Underground Railroad Freedom Center (50 E. Freedom Way), with Ramsey present to discuss the project and its history. The event is free; reservations are available through freedomcenter.org.

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Belle, the Last Mule at Gee's Bend written by Calvin Alexander Ramsey and Bettye Stroud, illustrated by John Holyfield 2012 Awardee

Ruth and the Green Book by Calvin Alexander Ramsey with Gwen Strauss and illustrated by Floyd Cooper 2011 Awardee

Books in Brief: The Journey of Little Charlie by Christopher Paul Curtis

The Journey of Little Charlie by Christopher Paul Curtis; Scholastic, Ages 9 to 13.

The latest marvelous novel of the African-American experience from acclaimed author Christopher Paul Curtis (winner of Newbery Honors for "The Watsons go to Birmingham - 1963" and the Newbery Medal for "Bud, Not Buddy") takes place just before the Civil War when the Fugitive Slave Act allowed slave catchers to travel anywhere in the country in pursuit of their prey.

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Elijah of Buxton by Christopher Paul Curtis 2008 Awardee

The Watsons Go to Birmingham - 1963 by Christopher Paul Curtis 1996 Awardee

Louise Erdrich: Tribal writer, Catholic writer

Louise Erdrich writes from one of those liminal places between identities that authorities tell us aren't supposed to exist.

If Erdrich succeeds in blending and overlapping these influences, it's not because they go nicely together... but because she's truthful about the unique position in which her characters are located, poised between these two experiences. To those who would say you can't be both, her answer is: But there they are, being both.

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The Birchbark House by Louise Erdrich 2000 Awardee

'Girl Rising' author shares work to improve lives of girls

Award-winning author and Champlain College faculty member Tanya Lee Stone visits Bristol on Feb.7 to discuss and answer questions about her latest book, "Girl Rising: Changing the World One Girl at a Time," which examines global barriers to girls' education.

For her book, Stone gathered new research to illuminate the facts behind the film, focusing both on the girls captured on camera and many others. She examines barriers to education in depth-early child marriage and childbearing, slavery, sexual trafficking, gender discrimination, and poverty-and shows how removing these barriers means not only a better life for girls, but safer, healthier, and more prosperous communities.

This is Stone's 100th published book, many of which are written for children, middle schoolers and young adults.

Girl Rising, a global campaign for girls' education, was initiated by a team of journalists "to change the way the world values girls and to ensure girls everywhere can be full and equal participants in society." In 2013, Girl Rising created a film which chronicled the stories of nine girls in the developing world, allowing viewers the opportunity to witness how education can break the cycle of poverty and to celebrate these girls' resilience against all odds.

Read More

Almost Astronauts: 13 Women Who Dared to Dream by Tanya Lee Stone 2010 Awardee

Noted activist and artist Faith Ringgold to be honored as Chubb Fellow

Ringgold will give the Chubb Fellowship Lecture titled "Anyone Can Fly" [on Thursday, Feb. 15] at 4:30 p.m. in the Robert L. McNeil Jr. Lecture Hall, Yale University Art Gallery, 1111 Chapel St. Seating is limited; doors will open at 3:30 p.m. The event is free and open to the public. It will be livestreamed on Yale's YouTube channel.

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Aunt Harriet's Underground Railroad in the Sky by Faith Ringgold 1993 Awardee

Nonfiction Is the Focus of New Scholastic Imprint

Scholastic has announced the fall launch of Scholastic Focus, an imprint dedicated to middle grade and young adult narrative nonfiction that is both timely and timeless, and encourages readers to draw connections between historical events and contemporary issues. The imprint's publishing philosophy underscores the relevance of values that have long guided humanity; the profound effects of invention, inspiration, and revolution; and the importance of introducing a diversity of perspectives and identities.

Due in September is Deborah Hopkinson's D-Day: The World War II Invasion That Changed History, a middle-grade book that weaves together official documents, personal accounts, and archival photos to chronicle this pivotal invasion of Allied troops into German-occupied Europe.

Read More

Steamboat School, written by Deborah Hopkinson, illustrated by Ron Husband, 2017 Awardee

Girl Wonder: A Baseball Story in Nine Innings by Deborah Hopkinson, illustrated by Terry Wideners, 2004 Awardee

Shutting Out the Sky: Life in the Tenements of New York 1880-1924 by Deborah Hopkinson 2004 Awardee

A Band of Angels: A Story Inspired written by the Jubilee Singers by Deborah Hopkinson, illustrated by Raúl Colón, 2000 Awardee

2018 Children's and Teen Choice Book Awards Finalists Announced

The Third to Fourth Grade finalists [include] Frederick Douglass: The Lion Who Wrote History by Walter Dean Myers, illus. by Floyd Cooper (HarperCollins); [and more.]

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Ruth and the Green Book by Calvin Alexander Ramsey with Gwen Strauss and illustrated by Floyd Cooper 2011 Awardee

Now Is Your Time! The African-American Struggle for Freedom by Walter Dean Myers 1992 Awardee

Patrol: An American Soldier in Vietnam by Walter Dean Myers 2003 Awardee

10 Inspiring Children's Books for Budding Little Artists

"Henri's Scissors" written and illustrated by Jeanette Winter.

Based on the life of Henri Matisse, the Henri's Scissors picture book tells the story of the great artist's life. From childhood, to his illness, and his journey to creating his colorful paper cutouts, the inspiring book by Jeanette Winter includes famous quotes from the artist, and insights into his creative process.

Read More

Nasreen's Secret School: A True Story from Afghanistan by Jeanette Winter 2010 Awardee

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The Jane Addams Children's Book Award annually recognizes children's books of literary and aesthetic excellence that effectively engage children in thinking about peace, social justice, global community, and equity for all people.

Read more about the 2017 Awards.