“In our culture, we all search for closure. But closure is an illusion. Science shows us that the universe is constantly in flux. It’s what allows our friendships and our love to constantly surprise us.”
“Quantum physicists have postulated that the way we experience time is an illusion, that it doesn’t happen in a linear way. That past and present– in reality, there’s no difference.”
Those good times with Bones are happening now. They will always be happening. And we can keep them alive forever. It’s not goodbye. Bones will live on- through the fans, cast & crew, and 246 brilliant, beautiful, incredible, awe-inspiring episodes. Always.
This is for @sybaritismfics! She’s another talented fellow author, who offered her friendship. :)
“Marinette, why is Chat Noir climbing in through your window?”
Marinette turned from her screen to look at a very bemused Alya, and
then at the black cat who was now sitting frozen in shock on her bed.
She should have expected it, really. As much as they were both at her
house, it was a miracle that it hadn’t happened already. But this was
Saturday night, and Chat usually didn’t come on a Saturday unless he had
to miss Friday, so having Alya stay over that night should have been
safe. What was he doing here two nights in a row?
“Earth to Marinette?”
She blinked, and realized that Alya was still staring at her expectantly. “Uh, patrolling?” she said intelligently.
Chat’s eyes darted in panic between them. “Yeah, patrolling! I was
just conducting an in-depth patrol, visiting totally random citizens in
their homes, but, um, I can see that there’s no akuma here, so I’ll
just, uh, be on my way—”
“Oh, no you don’t!” Alya leapt up and grabbed his tail, catching him
with his torso already half outside. She coiled the end of it around
her fist and tugged, smirking. “If you don’t stick around, then you’re
going to leave poor Marinette to face interrogation alone.”
Chat sighed and dropped back to the bed, pulling the trap door closed behind him.
“Don’t ‘Alya’ me, M,” she tossed back, making herself comfortable on
the chaise. “You’re the one who’s been secretly meeting with one half
of Paris’s super duo. And don’t even try to tell me this was the first
time. That cat has obviously been here before.”
“Ok, so, maybe he’s been here once or twice before—”
“The cat’s out of the bag now, Princess.” He dropped to the floor
next to where Marinette still sat in her desk chair, and leaned his head
against her knee. “You might as well come clean. You know the
Ladyblogger better than I do, but even I know she’s not gonna quit till
she gets her scoop.”
Alya’s eyes had lit at his use of her nickname, and Marinette groaned. “Now you’ve done it, you mangy cat.”
“ ‘Princess’? He has a pet name for you? Girl, how long have you been holding out on me?”
“A while?” She shrugged. “I don’t really remember when it started. And it wasn’t that often at first.”
Alya’s hands twitched on her phone, like she was itching to start recording this like an interview. “How did it even start?”
“I was out on my balcony one evening, and I saw him vaulting around
the rooftops. I said hi, and he came and sat on my balcony for a while,
and…” She shrugged again, and thoughtlessly dropped her hand onto his
head and began to absently scratch his ears. Chat pushed his head into
her hand and closed his eyes happily under her ministrations.
Alya noted both of these things with interest, but didn’t interrupt.
“And I came back,” Chat said without opening his eyes, “because she’s good company. And she feeds me.”
Alya laughed. “Marinette, don’t you know better than to feed strays?”
“Well, I do now,” she laughed.
“Hey!” He lifted his head to glare at her indignantly.
“You know I’m only teasing, Chaton.” His expression eased, and he put his head against her knee once more.
Alya’s brows climbed up into her hairline, but she still didn’t
comment. “So why didn’t you tell me that you’ve had a superhero
visiting your bedroom, Mari?”
“I don’t know,” she shrugged yet again. “The first time, I thought
it was a one-time thing. And what was I going to say, ‘Chat Noir just
happened by my balcony yesterday, and kept me company for a few hours’
“A few hours?”
“We were bored.”
“Whatever.” Marinette waved a hand dismissively. “I just didn’t
mention it. I mean, I told my parents, because I didn’t want them to
freak out, but it…just didn’t really occur to me to tell anyone else.”
“I’m glad she didn’t,” Chat put in quietly. “If it got out that I
like to come here, it might put her family in danger. And if it got out
that she’s a friend of mine, it would definitely put her in danger.”
“I guess I can see that.” Alya nodded thoughtfully. “So, you guys are just…friends? What do you do?”
“Whatever, really. Play Mecha Strike, watch movies, do homework…”
“I help her with her physics.” Chat grinned. “And model for her when she needs a muse.”
“With, or without the suit?”
“Alya!” Marinette just knew that her face was scarlet.
“What? It’s a valid question.”
Chat laughed, and waggled his brows suggestively. “With the suit, this time. But next time? Who knows.”
She pulled her fingers from his hair, and nudged his head with her knee. “Ugh, Chat, I think it’s time for you to go.”
“Do I have to?” He pouted.
“Yes. Go. I’ll see you…another time. Ok?”
“Fine. A cat knows when he’s not wanted.” He stood and winked at
Marinette with his back to the chaise, so that Alya wouldn’t see. Then
climbed the ladder to Marinette’s loft bed, and pushed open the door in
the ceiling. “See you later, Ladyblogger. Goodnight, Princess,” he
called down, and then he was gone, the door closed quietly behind him.
Alya turned back to Marinette, who was still staring at the skylight
with a soft smile. “Marinette Dupain-Cheng, are you dating Chat Noir?!”
Okay, so… IT WAS GODDAMNIT FUN DO IT! I would be SO, SO HAPPY if someone would write a Fiction where Moana and Maui get Genderbenter for some reason and they still fall in love for each other (and okay, pervy side on: maybe make it be a bit sexy and smut *wink wink*), it would be so, so, so GREAT, and FUN. And yeah, Maui looks hot also as girl. And Moana isn’t bad hi-herself…? Yeah, you got it… Oh well, Enjoy!
My favourite Clone Wars moment would have to be when Padme decides to go behind enemy lines to make contact with an old friend who is a Separatist. It’s interesting on many levels.
Firstly, it shows Padme’s willingness to disregard not just the rules, but the law. She may seem like she’s squeaky clean, but she’s no goody-two-shoes. (She’s a Skywalker…what do you expect?) Padme will try to go through official channels where possible; however, when things aren’t working the way she thinks that they should, she is more than willing to do things her way. This is hardly her first time doing something subversive. (Ahsoka is right too in saying it’s like her Jedi Master. Anakin Skywalker is all about passive defiance. As long as no one knows, it works out well, and you can get away with it..go for it!)
Secondly, this shows an interesting paradox within Padme’s character. She is a strong advocate for the Republic and “democracy.” However, she frequently defies motions that are passed in the Senatewhen she believes that they are contrary to what needs to be done. Despite her strong words, she only believes in government when it helps the people. If she believes that it’s getting in the way of it’s true purpose to help the citizens of the Republic, she will do things her way and disregard it. She likes to work the system and she believes the system is necessary. Its a fine and interesting line and it’s not necessarily a bad thing. Regardless, for someone who balks at the idea of a dictator, she is pretty firm in her belief that her way is right.
Thirdly, this moment is awesome because, had it not been for Palpatine and Dooku’s shenanigans, it would have lead to peace that much sooner. Padme, almost single-handedly, did orchestrate a lot of good in that one act. It’s really do her credit, and speaks of her influence, despite the possible hypocrisy. (But then, everyone has that on some level.)
The house was silent except for the quiet scratch of Chat Noir’s claws against the wooden floor. Not hard enough to leave marks just enough to make a sound. His ears twitched looking for sound, trying to figure out where Marinette was.
Marinette had warned him how she was an expert at Hide and Seek when he had brought the idea up when they were trying to find something to do. He was sleeping over and it probably wasn’t smart to play it in a territory she knew. Now he couldn’t find her and may have been a little scared at how well she could hide.
A chair scraped in the kitchen and Chat quickly made his way to the room where he found ‘Bonjour Kitty’ spelled out in Cheerio’s. A little creepy but he assumed that she must be close by because of the sound the chair made.
“Bonjour Kitty” was whispered in his ear before he proceeded to scream.
i say goodnight with petals of skeleton flowers tucked gently under blankets among flowing rivers of stars raindrops dancing upon our hearts. songs of the wind while bamboo flutes sang we walked on water
This will, of course, be an ever-expending list of my Snape headcanons. Again, I’m combining Day 12/13: The Years Between/Headcanons of Snape Appreciation Monthbecause I’m too tired to separate them. @snapeloveposts
Alright, here we go. If you want me to expand on any of them, feel free to message or just ask–I’d more than happy to expand because this’ll get too long if I expand on all of them.
- he’s not a virgin
- he has a soft-spot for Luna
- contrary to the popular headcanon of him being Jewish, I do not see him as Jewish (I anticipate questions with this one, tbh)
- he enjoys classic rock n’ roll
- his genuine laugh is boisterous and very infectious; he’s the type to laugh until his stomach aches and tears are in his eyes from laughing too hard
- McGonagall may or may not have been responsible for Severus becoming very good pranks, resulting in prank wars between the two with the occasional sad sap who unknowingly got caught in the middle. he loves it
- any time a female (and the occasional male, let’s be honest here,) tried to ask him out, he would purposefully act oblivious until the person got too frustrated then stalked off in anger. Prior though, because he wasn’t too good at reading people at first, he would be genuinely oblivious to any interest shown in him. save him
- he’s the one who added the shit-ton of books in his old house; it helps him to differentiate between his parents’ old house and his house. not that living in a house filled with nothing but horrid memories is good to begin with, but he has nowhere else to keep his things his things and guarantee no one will go through them
- even when he first joined the DE, he didn’t like Bellatrix because he thought she was way too eager and way too psychotic. he still doesn’t especially after hearing a rumor that she may or may not engage in cannibalism every once in awhile. he was done with her before he even started, tbh
- he wears his hair up when he’s brewing, and especially when he’s experimenting with temperamental ingredients. McGonagall might’ve braided his hair once or twice…or thrice
- he secretly loves when McGonagall knows that he needs to be alone (because the dude doesn’t know how to ask for help (lmao sounds like me) and is too afraid of judgement from his colleagues), but she refuses to leave, transforming into her cat form and just cuddling with him and purring, basically establishing that she won’t try to help, per say, just that she’s still there
- while he throws biting wit at pretty much everybody (his colleagues included, obviously), he tries to avoid doing this to Hagrid in an unsuspecting manner
- he’s actually too obvious about this, but the staff ignores it because Hagrid is a cinnamon roll™ and Snape is trying
- he also (thought won’t admit it) feels something akin to happiness when Hagrid invites him the the hut to have a cuppa and discuss the most random things
- he still has no idea why Hagrid loves him so much, especially considering Hagrid is basically the opposite of Snape
- I basically love that Hagrid loves Snape okay fight me
- though he is biased to his house, there are many of his snakes he dislikes but still protects them and will do anything for them
- him and McGonagall dressed up as each other on Halloween (by “dress up” I mean polyjuice potion and oh boy was that a day for the students)
- him and Pomona have lengthy discussions about plants
- he had a mental breakdown once that resulted in various potion ingredients and smashed glass strewn on his classroom floor
- this resulted in his hand covered with cuts and in-bedded glass
- Poppy lectured him thoroughly, but it was more for herself than him as she dressed his wounds
- all of the staff kept a closer eye on Snape after that incident
- he hardcore swore in front of students once…it was the scariest moment of their lives for all of them
- he actually doesn’t care much about Quidditch, but he pretends for the sake of friendly house rivalry with McGonagall
- she doesn’t know this
- he knows he’s extra™
- he’s just trying, and life’s being a real bitch
I have many more, but I don’t want this longer than it already is.
I used to think a lot about how Snape’s teaching persona was established in those between war years.
He was a very young man when he started teaching, aged just 21. The oldest students would’ve remembered him from his days at Hogwarts; some of them may even have witnessed the day Potter and Black stripped him by the lake.
Teenage Severus is depicted as sharp tongued, but he also stumbles over his words and appears a little unsure of himself. Teacher Severus, in contrast, is compared favourably with McGonagall - he controls the class in a similar manner. He’s sarcastic and cutting, and he doesn’t stumble over his words.
And I like to think about how the boy became the man.
My personal headcanon is that he flailed as a teacher. He didn’t want to be a teacher, and he certainly didn’t want to stand up and make speeches in front of the class. He didn’t know how to get 13 year olds to listen to him, let alone 15 year olds, or 18 year olds. The other teachers were suspicious - uncertain of his allegiances, or why Dumbledore had employed him. And all along, in the background, he was continuing to spy. He knew the Potters had gone into hiding, and he knew Voldemort was ramping up his efforts to find them.
And then Lily died. And Snape’s world fell apart. In the midst of his grief, he pledged his soul to Dumbledore - thereby ensuring he would have to remain a teacher for a considerable period. He was accused of being a Death Eater, and Dumbledore had to speak for him at the Ministry. …and the teachers suspected that his retreat into his shell was due to his mourning of Voldemort; not Lily.
I think the kids ran riot.
I think he drank his way through his misery; firewhisky at night, and sobering potions in the morning. If the kids couldn’t be bothered to do the homework he set, he couldn’t be bothered to chase them for it - it meant fewer papers for him to mark.
And then, I think, something happened. Either the behaviour in Snape’s lessons started to spill through the castle, and the other teachers found their classes more difficult to control, or there was an inciting incident - an accident, or a kid going to their Head of House because they felt they were going to fail their OWL or NEWT and they needed the results for their career.
So, over Christmas, McGonagall pulled him to one side. She intended to read him the riot act, but she saw the pain in his face, and realised that he wasn’t lazy and uninterested, but unhappy, and struggling and needing guidance.
The first day after the Christmas holidays, the kids piled into the dungeons expecting to cause mayhem - but to their horror, their teacher was no longer Severus Snape, walkover. Their teacher was now Professor Snape.
He issued fourteen detentions in the first five minutes, set three homework essays, and took so many house points that by the end of the first class, all of the hourglasses in the Great Hall were completely empty.
It’s August 18, so of course I had to draw Percy Jackson :D
This is the first time I’ve actually finished something detailed like this on the computer, guys, you have no idea how proud of myself I am right now, I always run out of patience, but I actually finished it this time!
A teeny bit done before Cubs. I probably had more time but I’m sat in my car outside in the sunshine rather than inside in the hall so not as easy to just pack up when they start to arrive. But it’s nice to have a photo in proper good light. @writerdarkflamespyre
This is one of those episodes that I enjoy thoroughly but have trouble picking out too many favorite bits; they all seem to be concentrated in one or two areas.
Favorite Location: the camp and Culloden House. So I ended up spending way too much time trying to look up which house this was (Touch House in Stirling Scotland) and where else I might have seen it before but could not for the life of me figure it out (I feel like it was used in some other period drama as a major filming location, some Jane Austen adaptation maybe?). Whether I ever find out where it is I’ve seen the house before or not, it’s exterior catches in my mind every time.
Favorite Jamie and Claire Moment: Jamie refuses to let Claire give up. The desolation on Claire’s face at the beginning of the episode as they arrive in camp days away from the battle of Culloden is heartbreaking but Jamie refuses to give up and does everything he can to reassure Claire that hope is not lost; giving up when there is still time left for them is simply not an option.
Honorable Mention: There’s a brief bit of silent communication between Jamie and Claire when they’re helping to settle Colum in that seems to be the inspiration behind Colum’s remarks to Claire about how good their marriage seems to be; I think he knows that while he objected to the match because of Claire’s English blood, he can see that being married to her has made Jamie more JAMMF than he would otherwise be (and therefore an even more appropriate/desirable successor and clan chief).
Favorite “That’s not in the book” Part: Murtagh offers to marry Mary. It’s such a sweet little moment from Murtagh and shows that while he was able to lay vengeance at Mary’s feet in the last episode, nothing can undo what was done to her. The guilt he feels is something he will live with the rest of his life but perhaps doing right by her on a day-to-day basis would help. And we get another call out to how good Claire and Jamie’s marriage is and how that one started.
Favorite Minor Character: Black Jack Randall, civilian. Every time we’ve seen Black Jack Randall before it has been in the guise of his profession as soldier, officer––even when he was in France to make his appeal to the Duke he wore his military garb. But here he is on leave, he is a civilian, and he is in civilian dress. It’s still him in all his horror, but it’s also a different side to him and I find it fascinating (and uncomfortable as hell).
Favorite Line, Honorable Mention for Favorite Scene: Colum announces a guardian andDougal’s popularity. It’s been far too long since we’ve seen Colum, Dougal, and Jamie in a room together; the tension is always so deliciously thick when these three share the screen. The shock on Jamie’s face when Colum declares that he wants him to be Hamish’s guardian is nothing compared to the barbs thrown by Dougal’s tongue. But as always, Colum knows precisely what to say to put Dougal in his place: “I am skeptical that my support would be enough to convince the clan to choose you as their chief […] Brother if you were half as popular as you believe yourself to be, then there would be more men here today in this army of yours.”
Favorite Performance, Favorite Scene, Favorite Music Moment, Favorite Costume: Gary Lewis as Colum MacKenzie and Graham McTavish as Dougal MacKenzie as Dougal confronts Colum one last time. There isn’t a single thing about this scene that I don’t love from Colum’s clear exhaustion over the fact his brother won’t let his final moments be peaceful one to Dougal’s interpretations of how Colum’s misfortunes and poor health impacted his own life––a performance that is so nuanced, it’s paradoxically both insightful and blindly selfish. The swell of music as Dougal realizes Colum has passed––and processes from the sight of the bottle in his hand that it was a suicide––in one of the most effective (however cliché it might also be) uses of music in the episode. As has happened before, I can’t pick just one performance because the performance is ultimately all in the dynamic between the two actors themselves. Lewis doesn’t do as much in the final scene between Colum and Dougal, but he carries his weight in all the rest of his scenes in the episode from the moment he steps into the house and offers condolences to Rupert for the loss of Angus to the favor he begs of Claire. And I can’t help choosing Colum’s fur coat/wrap thing as my favorite costume of the episode; it seems worn, matted, and ill-fitting in such a way as to convey just how ragged Colum himself is having reached the final days of his life.
Favorite Book to Screen Adaptation: Mary and Black Jack’s wedding. What I love about how all of this was adapted for the screen is the decision to keep Jamie and Black Jack apart, to use Murtagh as a substitute for Jamie as witness. It means we don’t get the “Damn all Randalls” from the book (though we still get something pretty close when Claire tells Jamie about the marriage having taken place), but I think keeping the two of them apart here will make their confrontation on Culloden Moor in Season 3 that much better (this change means they haven’t met since the duel in France).
All I’ve known is darkness.
All I’ve known is the taste of touch under my fingertips as I trail my palms around the skin of a bruised apple, trying to imagine the raw paint on the fruit scraping off on my hands like chalk every time I touch it.
All I’ve known is soft footsteps against wooden floors, every thud ricocheting and resonating against the corners where the walls meet, before turning into shuffling feet and letting the silence spill like shadows into the only light I’ve ever known.
You take me by your hand. I trace the lines on your palm as you walk me into a place that echoes with a heavy silence and smells of musty books.
You leave my hand. I’m standing here, struggling to listen to your footsteps as you walk away.
I carefully walk towards my left, until I feel cold glass under my palms.
You urge me to go on, from somewhere around the room I can’t find.
I trail my palms against the glass, every crater and engraving feels foreign to me.
It smells faintly of lavender.
The cacophony of receding footsteps fades as I feel the soft corners merging into a circle in the middle.
Its shape grows thinner and turns into a stalk curving till the end like a spine.
The petals to a flower.
Underneath, the rough engraving on metal spells out, “Vincent Van Gogh. 1888.”
And as your hand finds mine again,
And a smile stretches itself across my lips,
I don’t know about Van Gogh,
But I think I’ve finally found my yellow paint.