#Ok so this has been in my drafts but I stumbled upon another one and like

[acesammy]

I often think I am unhinged about my spn takes but sometimes I stumble upon a certain sector of samblr and realize that actually. maybe i'm fine

[idreamofhamandcheese]

find the word tag (again)

tagged by @the-stray-storyteller <33

sorry this is so long i cant edit lmao

Wilder: ok i literally wrote a book 2 years ago with a mc with the last name Wilder. So. also this writing is traaashhhh but whatever we evolve

I cleared my throat and leant into the microphone. “This is Delta Foxtrot One, Wilder speaking. We’d like to bribe you to-”

“Woah! Okay.” Wren appeared beside me, pushing himself towards the mic. “Hey, Reggie, it’s Wren. We’re in a tough situation here, and we’re hoping you can help us out.”

“Wren! Man, the screens are blaring about you guys all day here. The hell you do?”

“It’s not important, dude. I don’t wanna get you any more involved than I have to. What’s it gonna take to make the questions not happen, Reg?”

“I don’t know, man,” the guy, Reggie, answered. A hearty sigh shook the speakers. “I could get in a lot of trouble for this. Y’all are criminals. How do I know you’re not gonna blow us all up?”

Wren took it upon himself to take a seat in my captain’s chair. Another strike against him in my book. “Listen, we’re the good guys here, I swear. You know there’s something up with Wright. You can believe it, can’t you, Reg? Just let us through. Nobody has to know. We’re prepared to pay.”

“Look, kid, I like you, but I don’t how how I feel about-”

I bumped Wren out of my seat and grabbed the mic. “Five grand.”

There was a heavy pause. “Deal,” Reggie said.

Empty/ Tight: from current project. very unedited

“Frances.”

From nowhere or possibly hell, Gwen had apparated in front of me. She was wearing the sort of scowl that could burn your skin off and a satiny black dress so tight I truly worried for her organs.

“Gwendoline.” I let Elodie take Lois off into the crowd. Gwen was my dragon to slay. “Can I help you?”

She grabbed me by the arm, suddenly and violently, her deadly acrylics bearing into my skin. I tried to wrench my way out of her death grip to no avail and found myself being marched through the crowd, which parted with the sheer force of her fury, and straight into the women’s bathroom.

It was still loud in there, but muffled, the singer’s pounding synonyms blurring into one. There were a few girls huddled around the mirror, and they all looked up on cue as we entered, mascara wands frozen midair. Gwen pulled me into the empty stall and released me with a force that sent me stumbling, yanking the door locked behind us.

She spun to face me dead on. “What the actual fuck do you think you’re doing?”

I rubbed my sore arm. “Partying?”

“You need to back off my boyfriend,” she said.

I stared at her. There were a lot of words springing to mind, approximately none of them appropriate. “You-- are you saying that you think I want your assface boyfriend?”

She rolled her eyes. “I’m not stupid, Frances--”

“Beg to differ!”

“--I know Cal is kind of the hottest guy in school.”

“Gwen, I’m a hotter guy than Callahan Huxley is.”

She pursed her lips. “Look, I don’t really give a shit if you like him, because at the end of the day, he’d never go for you.”

“God, I’m devastated.”

Gleam: from backburner project which is sitting in the abandoned complete first draft phase. maybe ill pick it up again one day idk.

Reza stepped closer. I tightened my grip on my gun, the leather of the holster bearing into my hip. He looked around, surveying the windows above us for prying eyes. He dropped his voice. “Is there somewhere more private we can speak? It’s a rather… sensitive matter.”

I cut my eyes towards his, sharp. “Absolutely not.” I stepped around him, forcing him to turn his back to the wall, entrapping him between myself and the dead end. “This isn’t Claw turf, Ansari. You come to my town, you play by my rules.” Not to mention that there were at least three heavily armed girls in my office at that very moment who would rip a Black Claw to shreds on sight.

He huffed out a staccato breath through gritted teeth, as though he had been struck suddenly. Reza Ansari wasn’t used to being told no. “Fine,” he spat. His countenance was slipping. “We’ll play your way. I want to get out of this shitthole as soon as possible, anyway.” I bristled at the words. Lower Persepolis had a fine membrane of ash that clung to every surface, the water here running a little cloudier and the alley cats more scarred. It was certainly a far cry from the gated Claw estate. But it was my home.

I nudged my coat aside to allow the gunmetal to gleam in the grim light. “Careful, Ansari.”

He laughed quietly, more to himself than anything, and drew his gaze from my hip to his foot. He pulled at the fabric of his trousers, exposing his ankle and the glistening silver blade strapped to it. He let the fabric drop and met my eyes, his lips tugged into a wry smile. “That’s one of five I have concealed on my person. Can we talk now?” 

Bruise: current project againnn

“Tell me about it.” I pulled myself up to standing to meet her eyes. “I--”

I froze.

Those eyes.

I’d seen them before.

Sharp. Darkly intelligent. Smudged with jet-black liner and eyelashes invented for batting. Teetering on the knife-edge spark of life you didn’t get from pictures.

I stumbled backwards blindly, the edge of the well hitting the small of my back hard enough to bruise.

She tilted her head at me, cropped, obsidian curls tumbling like a crawling nest of ratsnakes, the pitch-black ones you found in the canyons back home. The moonlight bounded off her smooth, marrless skin. 

My breath quickened because hers couldn’t.

I was face to face with a dead girl.

The words slithered out of me. “Margot Aoki.”

tags: @calloumii @minutiaewriter @avocado-frog @moondust-bard

Your words: spider, jaw, fang, detective

[bluewinnerangel]

do you have any theories or know any theories for TBSL? because the line “Do you think it's easy being of the jealous kind?” always reminds me of fetus larry :(

Hi! SoooOoooo this has been in my drafts for like a year? I just reread it and I'm just gonna post is as it is.. whatever 2021 me didn't like about it can cringe in a corner I want this out of my drafts asfsddsf I mean with As It Was coming soon it won't be leaving it after so here it is, everything To Be So Lonely:

-------------------

Diving into TBSL because needs a The Notebook rewatch and now I did and bawled my eyes out thanks anon.

My theory about TBSL is pretty much like FTDT and Brokeback Mountain, and that it's not autobiographical in its core, but he took massive inspiration from The Notebook. But to get back to the mentioned line anon, yeah I do think the being of the jealous kind fits his character, fits what we think is the true him, how we've seen him behave indeed especially in early years. Plus lyrics, especially Harry's, are layered af and can both be about fictional characters as well as his personal life and whatever else all at once easily. So that I think it's not autobiographical doesn't mean it can't be applied to him personally, if I'm making any sense here. Anyway this is what makes me think it's about The Notebook more than just that one line:

!THIS POST IS ONE BIG THE NOTEBOOK SPOILER!

So if you haven't watched the movie but want to, maybe save this analysis for after. K warned you. For one, he's obsessed with that movie. He's mentioned it in interviews a bunch of times over the years, not gonna find em all right now but maybe the most detailed conversation about this was during HS1 promo with Nick:

With the segment starting around 8 mins in. I like how Nick is just dropping that Harry just knows all the lines like that "And you do that things where you repeat... you say all the lines.. as if you're Ryan Gosling" and then Harry goes "nooo noo that's not true. I play Rachel McAdams" (and we've seen a lot of examples of him indeed knowing all the lines through the years, even recently yelling TRASH TRASH TRASH on tour, and the soundtrack was part of on his 2020 playlists) The talk with Nick is in reference to watching it a lot while writing HS1 but I obviously think that extends to his later work. It's funny, Woman starts off with "should we just search for romantic comedies on netflix and see what we find?" and that's pretty in line with the point I'm trying to make here, that you might just find the sentiment of a whole bunch of Harry's songs if you do exactly that. You might just stumble upon another piece of work (movie in this case) and be like oh shit that one Harry song actually fits perfectly in here, matches up with this character's POV that well you gotta wonder whether that's... actually where that song came from in the first place. That some mermaid's just been busy being a hopeless romantic sappy lil shit binging his comfort movies and getting lost in them to the point where they turn into songs. And Nick is kidding about this too: "It's actually what the album's about". To which Harry goes "Yeah", Nick: "Yeah.", which, yeah, joke, OOORRR IISSS ITTTT :") Harry: "And a lot of that... ehm.... always circles back to The Notebook.."

So that's exactly what I'm gonna do here, we're gonna be always circling back to The Notebook with this theory, maybe to an extreme, because we can:

Harry Styles - To Be So Lonely lyric analysis (in relation to The Notebook) under the cut:

Don't blame me for falling

I was just a little boy

Ok two non-notebook big points: 1) Keyword: Falling when we got the song Falling on the same album (in which there's no-one to blame)? Clever shit. 2) Just a little boy? Ok sure kick the Hamille narrative in the butt I guess. Clever shit.

Of course, "don't blame me for falling I was just a little boy", that falling refers to falling in love, but with the way he reuses words so cleverly here I wanna call it definitely deliberate. That weaving his own (and sometimes others') songs together with these little nods/links I absolutely adore.

But this is very easy to relate to The Notebook. They first meet and fall in love when they're young, I don't think Noah's age is mentioned but Allie is 17, and they have a summer romance. And it's emphasized a lot as well, that they were just kids:

Allie: It was real, wasn't it? You and me. Such a long time ago, we were just a couple of kids. But we really loved each other, didn't we?

Harry: Don't blame me for falling I was just a little boy. Spot the difference.

---------

Quick big spoiler recap on the plot of The Notebook: Noah and Allie fall in love at 17 over the summer, he's poor, she's rich, Allie's parents think he's not good enough for her. He promises to build her a home, she gives details of what she wants in it, all that. When the summer ends, she moved away (involuntarily) and he starts writing her. He writes a letter every day for 365 days but her mother never gave her the letters. Many years pass and eventually he buys that home and he builds it including the stuff she mentioned... he built them a home, basically, without every knowing if she'd come back. Then they find each other again, she sees the home all that, she gets the letters from her mom all that, but she's engaged to someone else and they scream and fight and yell in the name of love and all that and she's gotta choose and with some romantic movie trope difficulties she ends up choosing him. Throughout all that their story is being told from an elderly man to an elderly woman with dementia, SPOILER is them, they already had that life together, and he's sticking by her in their last moments, and she's there sometimes recalling what he's teling her, sometimes heartwrenchingly not at all, not sure if this does the movie justice but that's that.

---------

Don't blame the drunk calling

Wasn't ready for it all

I don't think I can turn this into a convincing Notebook reference. I mean, I can try, they call each other bad names when they fight, if that's the calling here, and seeing they let each other go for many years while they're crazy about each other... so I guess you could say they weren't ready for it all, they weren't ready to own up to it and just say fuck it I want you all of you forever I want this life it's gonna be hard but I want that and let's do it, I'm ready, because, maybe they weren't.

(sorry I'm just gonna rambley use too many words to explain this ok just let it happen) But I think, Fine Line is giving us a story, a beautiful narrative. I think the writers, Harry, really tried to grab all these individual songs and just create an amazing whole (and amazingly successfully i must add), and with these lines I just see a great nod to Falling and Cherry really. (as I do with most of these lines in TBSL) And maybe a bit of HS1 as well. And I'm not saying Falling, TBSL, and Cherry are all the same thing and should be viewed as all stunt or real or fake or whatever, I think they all originate from different places, one perhaps more raw true feels than the other, one perhaps more... eh... giving the fans what they want... than the other, etc. I just think they were eventually placed into the context of one another deliberately, slightly reshaped to all fit together.

For instance, we know Mitch played that never-ending phone ringing guitar coolness realness that became TBSL which just ties in all too well with the sadness of Cherry and Falling and that being alone and drunk after a break up and everything on like.. casual listeners take home message level, you know? I don't know what's the order of events here, but I can imagine those amazing little guitar rif sounds inspiring drunk calling lyrics.

"don't blame the drunk calling, wasn't ready for it all" I feel reflects on Falling, the song, paired with the first line, "don't blame me for Falling"... IT JUST ALL FITS AS A PERFECT LITTLE BLUE AND PINK PUZZLE OK. He's shaping this whole scene... I kinda tried to make this clear by highlighting matchy matchy lines across Cherry, Falling, and TBSL, in that order:

(this really just is rambling:) and in my view you can't really make them make sense because it's fiction as a coherent whole unless you just headcanon plomp a whole chronological storyline on top of it, which I can definitely do: It looks like him changing his mind/growing all that in between writing these songs. Basically, Cherry is the fresh breakup wound, the pure pettiness, kinda the anger stage, and gets followed up by depression with Falling. (again, I don't think this is what Falling is about, I think it's just placed conveniently so the conclusion you draw from Falling casually listening to his album is... this feeling being a result of a breakup) the fuck, you really don't need me ever again do you this really is over isn't it, and then 3rd in this triptych we got TBSL, which is some mirroring mash of both. At first he just didn't want her to call a new guy baby, then he did a bunch of sad depressed drunk calling and introspection, some time passed, realised more of his own flaws, says sorry for his own behavior there too, and doesn't really want those new dynamics of not being together anymore but still having her in his life, still calling him baby somewhat casually I guess, still trying to be friends, because it looks like he ruined what they had, and she seems to be at her best, seems to be fine, seems to move on and can be casual around him while he... writes TBSL. And the similar wording of it all helps this along as well.

You can't blame me, darling

Not even a little bit

I was away

Notebook thoughts here that even when TBSL is actually about The Notebook then still it's probably not meaning the following but we're going everywhere with this: there is a moment near the end where Allie, suffering from dementia, remembers their story, and then doesn't. In the time she does, Noah calls her darling a bunch of times, and as soon as she gets lost, goes away again, she says "why did you call me darling? I don't know you." ... Don't you call me darling. Anyway.

The Still Making Everything About The Notebook but more sensible link is that they missed out on being/staying together. They go away, they both go away, for years, and through miscommunication / misfortune they don't find their way back to each other until many years later, but neither of them is to blame. If you view the I was away as a I wasn't there because I didn't know I could have been there all this time kinda thing, Allie cannot blame Noah, not even a little bit, for not having done everything he could to be with and stay with her from the start, because he didn't know she loved him and wanted to be with him as much as he wanted her. I'm having a hard time choosing the best quotes, because it's a longass talk (and more), but we can keep it simple lol:

"you're going away! You're leaving. And I'm staying here."

and them talking about it when they're older in retrospect:

"Gone.

Well, she must have been devastated.

She was. He was only trying to do the right thing.

Yeah. But what he really should have done is just told those parents to go to hell."

Allie also throughout the whole movie just keeps going away, there's a pretty not sure if intentional parallel throughout the movie between young Noah and Allie and old Noah and Allie where Noah just... stays rooted in place and Allie just comes flying in and out, first when they're young she just goes "I have to go" a bunch of times and leaves, while when they're older she does as well, but, due to dementia.

This whole falling hard in love romance to losing each other for years to getting back together and building a strong foundation and being in it for life despite it being hard af... I mean you could use the tracklist of Fine Line in its entirety as the soundtrack for even.

Okay but now Notebook-free interpretations... I can just accept he was an arrogant son of a bitch who was away, perhaps simply avoidant and emotionally unavailable, that he just drops that little bit of info and then dips I mean sure fine why not, but also I don't think it fits the rest of the album? Maybe I'm missing something, but he's pretty consistently the most uninterrupted clingy little koala otherwise. I don't really feel like it fits the overal sentiment?

Next if we're going by Harry being a genius with keywords and concepts and saying the same/opposite thing across works we can look at where else people are away within his songwriting, and that might help:

We haven't spoke since you went away - FTDT

It's interesting to my FTDT+TBSL-aren't-biographical-ass that these are the only two songs blatantly saying that someone went away, while none of his other songs are really implying people left other people. FTDT and TBSL aren't so different. Actually, you can look at Cherry+TBSL+Falling as some ripped apart FTDT:

It's... a lot. Really just. Take your time to see the similarities. This almost looks like it's still the same story (again LOL @ His public narrative being him going through a relationship start to finish that leads him to feel and use the near exact same sentiment and details as he was already putting into a song years prior to that relationship blooming and dying I mean same goes for Sunflower vol 6, it's kinda funny): I'm alone now, someone went away, there's a piece of each others clothing, there's getting drunk, there's a lot of calling, that sad, lonely, depressed, somewhat spiteful, definitely pathetic person that is FTDT threw its where are you and why are you doing well right now into Cherry, its never felt less cool into Falling, and its lonely man I keep being this shit person and drunk calling you into TBSL there.

Again, is this because this is his life and it makes sense for him to write and keep writing in a similar way about his life and he just wasn't over whatever fueled FTDT to a point he had to turn it to 3 whole songs on his next album, or there's a lack of creativity (nope), or he's still searching for romantic comedies on netflix and seeing what he'll find and we just keep looking at songs based on hopeless romantics in movies, his weakness.

And I'm just an arrogant son of a bitch

This is just, literally, from The Notebook. Here's the whole transcript of that scene:

Noah: I see you got my letters. Finally. What are you gonna do Al?

Allie: I don't know

Noah: Are we back to that? Are we back there? What about the past couple of days? they happened, you know?

Allie: I know that they happened and they were wonderful, but they were also very irresponsible. I have a fiancé waiting for me at a hotel, who's going to be crushed when he finds out.

Noah: so you make love to me and then you go back to your husband? Was that your plan? was that a test that I didn't pass?

Allie: no! I made a promise to a man, he gave me a ring and I gave him my word

Noah: and your word is shut to hell now, don't you think?

Allie: I don't... I don't know, I'll find out when I talk to him

Noah: this is not about keeping your promise, and it's not about following your heart. It's about security

Allie: what is that supposed to mean?

Noah: MONEY!

Allie: what did you..

Noah: HE'S GOT A LOT OF MONEY!

Allie: now I hate you, you smug bastard!

Noah: and I hate you. If you leave here I hate you.

Allie: haven't you been paying attention to anything that's happening?

Noah: I guess not. I think I must have misread all of those signals

Allie: I guess you did.

Noah: you're bored! you're bored and you know it. You wouldn't be here if there wasn't something missing.

Allie: you arrogant son of a bitch!

Noah: would you just stay with me?

Allie: Stay with you? what for? look at us, we're already fighting.

Noah: well, that's what we do. We fight. You tell me when I'm being an arrogant son of a bitch and I tell you when you're being a pain in the ass. Which you are, 99% of the time. I'm not afraid to hurt your feelings. They have like a two second rebound rate and you're back doing the next pain in the ass thing.

Allie: So what?

Noah: so it's not gonna be easy. It's gonna be really hard. And we're gonna have to work at this every day but I wan to do that, because I want you. I want all of you, forever, you and me, every day.

Noah: would you do something for me, please. Just picture your life for me. 30 years from now, 40 years from now, what does it look like? If it's with that guy go, go! I lost you once, I think I can do it again, if I thought it's what you really wanted. But don't you take the easy way out.

Allie: what easy way? There is no easy way. No matter what I do, somebody gets hurt!

Noah: would you stop thinking about what everyone wants! stop thinking about what i want, what he wants, what your parent want. What do you want? What do you want?

Allie: it's not that simple

Noah: what do you want? damn it, what do you want?

Allie: I have to go

May I also note here the "does he take you walking round his parents gallery" pettiness of Cherry fitting really well with Noah's behavior towards Allie's engagement to someone with money that her parents approve of rather than himself.

Who can't admit when he's sorry

Here again it could be anything if referring to something specific, in the Notebook they just fight a lot, and absolutely do not admit they're the one in the wrong, untill they do... as does Harry here at the end of the song, where he flops to "this is it, so I'm sorry".

If we're gonna do the keyword thing again and look elsewhere, we find FTDT again:

Maybe one day you'll call me and tell me that you're sorry, too. - FTDT

So in FTDT there's.. the one that's not being the first one to break, the one that's not admitting he's sorry as well, we're going in circles.

And Lights Up that just goes "I'm sorry by the way" whatever that's for.

Don't call me baby again

flip flop keyword drop from Cherry:

Don't you call him baby, don't you call him what you used to call me. - Cherry

Which one came first hmm.

I'm also still stuck on that breaking my heart into pieces old Noah and Allie scene at the end of the movie, where Noah continuing to call Allie pet names such as darling, sweetheart, and baby, is causing her to freak out more and more once she stops remembering who he is. Doesn't make much sense with the whole sentiment and the context tho, but it's just there, and I hate it.

You got your reasons

I know that you're tryna be friends

I know you mean it

Okay so this is again saying Notebook rights here, as Allie does try to be friends and Noah knows she doesn't have a bad bone in her body there, he knows she's got her reasons for choosing to go down the path she seems to be choosing.

Here, where they meet up again after all these years, she's engaged, they're being all adult about it:

Well, your parents must love him.

He's a really good man, Noah. You'd really like him.

You love him?

Yeah, I do. I love him very much.

Well, that's that. You marry Lon and we can be friends... right? Right.

Also a lot of assumptions can be made between Cherry and TBSL (and FTDT), in Cherry he wonders if she still knows that he talks to her friends, and he misses them. Then ~assumed time passes~ and they try to be friends, they try to hang out both love and hate it here.

It's hard for me to go home

Be so lonely

HOME HOME HOME BABABLALA HOME THIS HOME THAT.

Notebook interpretation: they're so fking lonely without each other. Especially Noah. And he built her a home??? He. Built. Her. A. HOME. Old Noah and Allie version: he doesn't wanna come home. His kids ask him to come home and not stay with Allie in the nursing home, but he wants to be with Allie instead.

This is bad guy what's coming up it's bad, but yeah this seems to be Harry's favorite movie, and this is really right in there:

Noah's kids: come home. Mama doesn't know us. She doesn't recognize you. She'll never understand. We miss you. This is crazy, you living here. Yeah, you know we'll all help with Mom. We can take shifts visiting.

Noah: Look, guys, that's my sweetheart in there. I'm not leaving her. This is my home now. Your mother is my home.

Can I scream???

I just hope you see me in a little better light

I think this is a reference to The Notebooks themesong I'll Be Seeing You by Billie Holiday, that goes:

Let the light be happily gay too for that matter

Easy. Easy Easy easy. As mentioned above, yeah Noah was being jealous af and yeah he did this whole speech about DO YOU THINK ITS GONNA BE EASY NO.

Do you think it's easy being of the jealous kind?

You'll win, it's just a trick

'Cause I miss the shape of your lips

And this is it, so I'm sorry

This could be a lot of things, there isn't some yo Allie I specifically love the shape of your lips moment in the movie if you were wondering, and to be really honest I'm not sure how to interpret these. I keep having old Noah and Allie in the back of my mind and how (having a loved one with) dementia plays tricks on you and how that's just it then and blugh.

But also from Harry to listeners this is interesting, like I always felt like this song was a trick? Like he's saying this is it, I did it I wrote a song that is not what you think it is, it's just a trick I'm sorry 🤷🏻‍♀️

I hope that was a fun read it was meant to be just an entertaining the thought kinda thing.

See more interpretations over at @larrylyrics

[iliveformanyfictionalcharacters]

The Sting in his Heart

Fandom: Grease

Word Count: 1,400

Summary:  Putzie’s been bullied his entire life, it’s been getting worse and worse with every school year. But now that he has four overprotective friends on his side, whats going to happen to those bullies?

Warnings: Cussing, Violence  

(2/2) I thought I posted this and just saw that I posted this to my drafts, Im crying right now.

     “What the fuck!” 

 Putzie whipped his head to look behind him upon hearing his best friend yell out in surprise. Danny stood in front of the rest of the t-birds all of them starring in shock, anger radiating between all of them.

 Putzie held his hand against his cheek, pain and heat spreading through his face as well as embarrassment. He never wanted his friends to know this was happening; he didn't know how they would react. He would never say it out loud but his biggest fear was that none of his friends would care, that maybe when they found out that they wouldn't do anything. No matter how much he told himself that was ridiculous he couldn’t help his anxieties. 

 “Putz…” 

 He didn't say anything, he didn't look at the group of boys behind him. He stood in the same spot. Holding his face looking down in shame. 

 “Doody, get him away from here.” He heard Danny speak before he felt a hand wrap around his upper arm, he flinched.  

 “Come on Putz,” he said, pulling him slightly. Putzie followed while not looking up from his feet they walked past the group of boys, Doody led him into the school’s nursing office.

     Danny turned back to the boy, ‘Robert’, and stalked towards him. He stupidly hadn't thought it would be a good idea to run by now, still standing alone in the middle of an evergrowing semi circle behind him. Sonny and Kenickie followed next to Danny as they all walked to him.

 The faces of the crowd were not of surprise, they all knew this day would come eventually, but rather horror. Knowing how close the group was and how much they all cared for each other, they knew this fight could only end bloody but still no one made an effort to stop it. 

 Danny spoke first.

 “W-Why the fuck- “ His voice shook with anger, “-did you think you could lay a hand on him, on any of us, and get away with it? What made you THAT was OK!” 

 By now it was clear that Robert understood just how much trouble he put himself into, but still he stood there with a scared braindead look on his face. 

 Kenickie made the first move. He stepped forward swiftly and swung his fist the contact making this awful cracking sound. Robert stumbled back and was quickly pushed to the ground by Kenickie and punched again in the same place.

 The other boys stayed back for now seeing as there was only one Robert.

 Robert got his bearings for a moment and pushed Kenickie off of him swinging, he managed to get a hit right in his jaw. 

 Now the boys were both on the ground hitting each other over and over, almost seeming to unintentionally take turns doing so. The crowd that was previously behind Robert started cheering not paeticly for either one of them but more so for their sick sense of satisfaction in seeing the two boys fight. 

 The two T-Birds left waiting to intervene if things started to get too bad, particularly for their friend. 

 As things started to get worse and worse with more blood and even torn clothes Robert's friends seem to have realized that they would have to help him. One of them stalked towards Sonny and another towards Danny ready to fight but before they could start anything they both got a right hook to their jaw. This started a whole fiasco of punching and blood with yelling that got louder and louder. So loud a few people were surprised no teachers had come out to see what was happening yet, or why there were so many students skipping class.

 Almost as if that thought had manifested, not long after Danny and Sonny had started to fight the other boys a group of teachers, including the principal of the school, walked out to see what was happening. 

 A few of them broke up the fight taking a few minutes to do so as the boys didn't want to stop. Robert and his friends were worse off, blood flowing from many places on them and their clothes torn up in many places. The nurse told them she wouldn't be surprised if at least one of them had a broken bone. 

 Danny, Sonny and Kenickie also had blood trickling from a few places and their clothes were ruffled up. Still they were significantly less beat up than the other group. 

 With the arrival of the teachers most of the crowd had snuck off, back to class leaving the group of boys and teachers alone with a few stragglers who would be getting detention for skipping class. 

 “What is going on? What has gotten into you boys?” the principal, Mr. Higgins,asks.

 Roberts' group of friends started firing off excuses while the other stayed silent the time being.

 “Wait-W- STOP TALKING!”  Higgins shouted, clearly fed up with the three boys yelling over one another. The rest of the teachers had gone back to their respective classrooms to resume class, leaving him alone with all the boys.  

 “Now I don’t know all of what happened here, but clearly you all had a pretty serious fight. What we are going to do is send you all to the nurses office and wait for your parents to get here. I don't want either of you groups to speak too one another until you get into my office. Now go. And no more fighting!”

     Putzie had been in the nurse's office with Doody for the past fifteen minutes, he felt awful. Not just because of the swelling bruise on his cheek but because of the fact that he knew the others were out there fighting right now and getting hurt because of him. He didn't want that he never wanted them to get hurt because of him. 

 After 15 minutes of silence, Doody finally spoke up.

 “Hey umm, Putz, how long has this been going on?” He sat next to him in one of the chairs leaning down on his thighs and looking at Putzie.

 He was reluctant to answer at first knowing that none of them were going to be very happy, but after a while he realized that nine of them were very happy now. But none were angry at him but angry at the people who were doing this to him.

 “Well since the beginning of school really but it never got physical until around third grade maybe.” He was still looking down.

 Doody grabbed his arm “Listen to me, you didn't deserve that. None of it. Why didn't you tell anyone, any of us?”

 The door opened roughly and 6 boys came tumbling through it. Putzie almost stood up when he saw Robert but Robert and his friend just glared at him before walking into the separate room. The rest of his friends coming to sit in the chairs next to him.

 He saw the confusion in their eyes so he continued, telling them about his insecurities and why he never told them what was going on. How he thought they would make fun of him or even how he just didn't want them getting hurt because of him. 

 They all sat in silence while they listened to him vent and finally open up about how he felt.

 “Putz,” Danny started, “We need you to know that we could never be angry at you for being harassed, especially for no reason other than their sick entertainment.”

 Kenickie added, “And we’d never make fun of you for it either we’d beat the fuck out of who ever did it. We would never tease you for this.”

 Sonny, 'Don't worry about us getting hurt, it's completely worth it anyways they got it worse in the end.” They chuckled a bit at that, knowing it was true.

 Doody ended with “Never be afraid to tell if something like this happens again, we are all like family we never want you in pain.”

 After their little speech the nurse came out to inspect them before sending them to the main office, where most of the parents were waiting with scowls.

 But none of them regretted what they did because now they knew that Putzie would never hold something like that again. And Putzie knew that he had a family behind him to help him whenever he needed.

[workingforitallthetime]

svech: a very serious and responsible primer

ok @totally-necessary​ and @needsmore​, i am gonna write you an andrei svechnikov primer and i am going to do my best to produce a work of responsible well-sourced expository prose instead of an embarrassing thirsty disaster like the rest of my andrei svechnikov blogging.

here is my introductory paragraph:

wait, no, give me another shot. i swear i can actually do this. here is my introductory paragraph:

HOW CAN I NOT LOVE THIS GOOD-NATURED FEARLESS JOYFUL SHOULDER-FRECKLED SEX KITTEN????? HOW CAN I DO ANYTHING BUT CRY ALL THE TIME?????

.......ok. sorry. let me try it again. i’ll do it right this time, i promise. here is my introductory paragraph:

once upon a time in siberia, two-year-old andrei svechnikov put on skates for the first time and cried because he couldn’t follow his big brother evgeny onto the ice. eventually evgeny’s coach let andrei join the team’s workouts, and then coach started giving the older players a hard time when andrei would beat them.

the backstory of the svech bros sounds a lot like every other hockey kid who didn’t grow up privileged: parents who worked multiple jobs and sacrificed and moved cities to make sure the kids got hockey opportunities. in interviews, the svechnikov brothers have referenced not knowing where food or clothes were going to come from, and they emphasize how close it made them. evgeny says:

Having a brother that we eat from one plate--sleep in one bed sometimes--we went through everything. It's just one person by your side always. It's like going hunting alone or with somebody.

they wear the same number. they talk every day. as soon as the season paused in march, evgeny drove to north carolina. lately, they’re hanging out in michigan. basically, if hockey is not being played, they are together. basically, if you are going to write a primer about andrei, the most important thing is evgeny.

(my theory is that evgeny is at least part of the reason andrei does not like it when dougie and foegs joke about him being their kid brother. it’s the only joke i’ve ever seen svech refuse to roll with.)

evgeny got drafted by the red wings in 2015 (round 1, 19th overall). he started out with the AHL affiliate in grand rapids, and in 2016 mama svech packed up andrei and moved from russia to michigan. andrei played a season for the muskegon lumberjacks in the USHL. he led the team in scoring and was named USHL rookie of the year. the next season he was the first selection in the CHL import draft, and played for the barrie colts.

ok, so while we’re knocking out the backstory, i want to note that svech’s full name is Andrei Igorevich Svechnikov. don’t tell me that’s not sexy.

furthermore, the very spelling of andrei is sexy. i had a russian-speaking colleague once who had a son named andrei and she would say his name with a little lift at the end. not like the i added another syllable, just like a little caress. i hear it that way when i type it. it makes me happy to type that i at the end. andrei. andrei.

oh sorry, did i veer off topic?

the carolina hurricanes selected andrei second overall in the 2018 draft. he looked just as dumb as everybody always does in their draft night jersey photos, but here’s his draft day suit:

oh wait, can’t pass up the opportunity for a combine photo

did i say COMBINE? i meant JAWLINE

wait one more photo from the combine, just because he looks especially dead poets society in this one:

upon moving to raleigh, andrei emphatically wanted to live alone, which seems unusual for an 18-year-old entering the NHL and is therefore fertile ground for all sorts of headcanons. he keeps his floors very clean and gets mad when his buddies won’t take their shoes off. i am not making this up. he lives in the same apartment complex as dougie hamilton, warren foegele, joel edmundson (rip), and teuvo teravainen. andrei does not cook and he’s constantly calling them to see who wants to go out to eat.

in that last video i linked you can see foegs stumble and jump off his scooter just before he hits the gate to their parking garage. then the gate rises like magic and svech glides straight through. this is an unsubtle metaphor for andrei svechnikov’s entire athletic existence.

svech purportedly does not play video games, which is wild to me. instead, he practices magic tricks. again, i am not making this up.

wait i’m sorry it’s been at least ten minutes since i looked at a picture of andrei svechnikov holding a bunch of kittens

ok where was i.

svech had a pretty solid rookie season in 2018-19, but you can look up the numbers elsewhere if you want them. he was the first player born this century to score in the NHL but we don’t like to think about his 2000 birthdate. he played on a line with jordan martinook for a lot of that first season, and you can read more about that romantic nonsense in the ship primer i’ll be writing next. more recently the canes have settled into a top line of svech, sebastian aho, and teuvo teravainen, which is a pretty deadly combo.

one incident of note from svech’s rookie season is that he got knocked the fuck out by alex ovechkin. we’ll be talking more about that in the ship primer too, but if you want the video it’s here.

here, have a little celly:

svech’s most touted accomplishment is scoring the NHL’s first-ever Michigan-style lacrosse goal. this article has a very good description of how it worked. the postgame interview from that game is so endearing it makes me want to claw my face off. he’s talking so fast (for him) and he keeps repeating that his brother taught it to him, just absolutely determined to make sure everyone knows this milestone belongs to evgeny too.

also, this season, he scored the first playoff hat trick in franchise history.

the thing about andrei svechnikov is that nobody has a bad word to say about him. everybody thinks he’s an amazing player (”skilled and tenacious yet loose and creative”) and everybody compliments his work ethic (shooting pucks for hours after practice or a game) and journalists call him a “transcendent star.” everybody says he’s a great person. everybody calls him special. jordan martinook says svech never has a bad word to say about anyone.

ok it’s kitten time again!

more svech facts of note:

drives a black mercedes, poorly. “he wants to win on the road, too,” says foegs.

his voice gets very soft when he is uncertain about something but he’s loud when he wins a card game. (”GOOD NIGHT, BROTHER! SEE YOU NEXT GAME!”)

loves french toast for breakfast.

guilty pleasure is milkshakes.

if he was an animal, he’d be a bear (”like a russian bear.”)

does monster summer workouts with ivan provorov

look how fucking cute he is

the invaluable social media team over at hurricanes hq understands the svech content the world needs. i’m gonna tackle some more of this in the ship primer, but here are the best ones:

who’s your daddy? this video features svech confusedly asking “daddy?”, which is literally everything i ever want in fic or in life. once he finally understands he’s expected to choose between two teammates, he chooses the one who’s his buddy. and then after he’s catcalled from offscreen, he slouches down in his chair and changes his answer. “both,” he mutters, looking unbearably smug. “both.”

cookie face. it takes marty a very entertaining 49 seconds to eat the cookie. then svech hacks the game and wins in 7 second flat. “he’s good at everything,” marty marvels from offscreen.

this is a terrible concept for a video but it does feature svech and dougie doing the famous scene from stepbrothers, and svech giving a sweeping bow. i will forgive him for wearing a duke hat but only because he wears a tarheels hat in the three amigos video above.

has it been too long since a kitten photo? it’s definitely been too long since a kitten photo.

in conclusion, andrei svechnikov is a massive life-ruining problem and also he is perfect. i love him.

[klaus-is-the-real-number-1]

The House of the Rising Sun (Number 5 x reader)

A/N: This is an unfinished fic ive had in my drafts for well over a year,, enjoy? based of s1

Crime rates had never been higher, gangs ravaging the city any opportunity they got dealing class A narcotics and carrying out random acts of violence. No one leaves their houses at night, as soon as the sun sets the streets would empty and complete anomie would take place. One ‘gang’ were set above the rest, they were practically the equivalent of the mafia, all dressed in a smartly pressed uniform and operating throughout the entire city, the Umbrella Academy. Rumour has it they all had ‘powers’ of some sort, making them the most powerful gang, even if they didn’t have their ‘powers’ they would still be in the lead having very high levels of violence between them.

The Umbrella Academy all had nicknames, a mere murmur of the said names would send people running like scared dogs, tails between their legs. The most feared of the Umbrella Academy was The Boy, just as him name suggested he was the one no one knew anything about, yes there was rumours but never any solid facts. The Boy had apparently travelled to the future, has a kill count of hundreds and can appear in a flash of blue from thin air, but these are just mad rumours that drift round town.

Dusk set upon the city but you didn’t notice, too busy finishing bouquets in your shop. You ran a small florists on the outskirts of the town, you never caused any trouble and had never stayed late until today. You glanced out the window and gasped, looking at the pitch black sky, feeling your heart rate increase at the thought of walking four blocks in the gang ridden town. As quickly as you could you close the shop, making sure the doors were locked and the solid metal shutters were firmly shut. You leave by the back door, locking it and closing the shutter yet again, not leaving your small life source of a shop to the vengeance of raging gangs who carry out pointless crimes.

Shadows hid your small frame as you quickly walked home, defenceless, hoping to miss anyone out at the late hours of the night. Unfortunately, luck was not playing on your side, from the shadows you could make out a group of lads making their way threateningly down the street. All you could do is pray that you wouldn’t get spotted in the dark shadows.

“Well what do we have here?” You quickened your pace somehow thinking that you could move away from them but you were wrong. You were surrounded like you were feeding bread to a flock of seagulls, if the seagulls were feral and had rabies it would mirror how afraid you were at that moment. 

“Sorry!” Is all you were able to squeak out as you were roughly pulled out from the safeness of the dark into the centre of the group, your bag getting ripped off your back. Your frozen, watching them go through the contents of your bad, dumping out all your papers and pens that you had in your bag until finally finding your purse. “Please don’t it’s all I have.” 

As soon as the words left your mouth you were on the ground, a numbing pain shooting through the side of your head, you could see heavy droplets of blood hit the floor as your nose bled from the impact. Another sharp impact landed against your ribs as a sob wracked through your shaking body, unable to comprehend how quickly the events had escalated, all you could do now is wait for the next impact but it never came.

“Hey, assholes!” The voice was crisp and sharp, dripping with confidence and authority. “Pick on someone your own size.”

Coins fell to the floor as the gang dropped your bag and your purse and ran, you couldn’t even look up, the thought of someone more threatening than an entire group sent shivers down your hurt body. You didn’t hear footsteps, all you saw from your peripheral vision a blue light and a dark figure. The rustling sound of papers cut through the silent street and the harsh zip of your bag startled you.

“You need to see someone about that.” You look up and were met with none other than The Boy, the most questioned of the Umbrella Academy, dressed in a smart uniform, domino mask securely covering his identity. His fingertips lightly brushed the side of your head, causing you to flinch away. “I’m not going to hurt you.” He said unconvincingly, emotions hidden by the mask.

He held your now packed bag out to you, you lifted yourself off the floor, wincing as you did so. You cautiously took your bag from The Boys hand, holding it loosely in your hand. Taking a step, you stumble, your side collapsing in on it’s self, The Boy caught you, putting his arm around your waist to steady you.

“Here, let me help you home, where do you live?” In your shattered state you told him, and in a blink of blue you were at your door. You messily fumble with your keys as your shaking hands roughly push your door open, dropping your bag into your small apartment.

“Thank you.” The mask clad boy stood before you, hands in his shorts pockets.

“It’s okay,” You couldn’t see his eyes but you knew they were scanning over your body. “Make sure to get your injuries checked over, they got you pretty hard y/n.” Then he was gone.

You lock your door and double check your windows, securing them before limping over to your bathroom, looking at your beaten form in the mirror. Red marks spread over your face and the side of your body, bruising already starting to form, blood stained your white patterned shirt with a now ruined name tag, the thought of work taking over your thoughts, well not all of your thoughts. The Boy was also on your thoughts, his cold emotionless face, half covered by a domino mask, contrasted with the softness of his words, the caring nature of his touch. He’s a crime lord, a dangerous man, yet he showed kindness to you.

Five was angry, he was angry with himself that he didn’t get there quick enough to stop them hurting y/n. She was the only pure thing left in the city and they went for her, defenceless. Five would’ve killed them on the spot if he didn’t want to hurt y/n any more than she already was. He wasn’t actively going out of his way to find y/n, she was sunshine in a grey and broken world.

“Five,” He hadn’t even finished teleporting into his room before Luther started speaking. “We’re not meant to be out on the streets. What were you doing?” Luther’s big frame towered over Five, attempting to threaten him.

“I was out doing what were meant to be doing, keeping our authority through the streets. Haven’t you heard that they’ve been saying we’re weak.” Five snarled at his brother prompting Luther to sigh then walk out. It wasn’t always like this, they could’ve been heroes but Mr Hargreeves only saw the darkness and the powers within them, he made them the best at being the worst and for some it was the end of the line.

An aching agony wracked through your fragile body as your head pounded like a thousand drummers sounding the beating retreat. You hoped a shower would ease any of the pain, warm water running over all of your bruises, the side of your body looking like a black and blue watercolour along your ribs. Your work clothes were just casual, simple, it was one of the upsides of owning your own business. However, you did have an apron, it had different flowers embroidered on it and a simple name tag. A name tag now covered in blood.

Quiet music softly played in the background of your flower shop, you swept the floor in time to the music, swaying your hips as you did so. Heading back to the storage room, you heard the bell to the shop chime, a welcoming noise. 

“Hey, how can I help?” The man seemed startled, looking up at the arrangement of bouquets and flashing a quick smile.

“I’d like some flowers for my mom,” He almost hesitated with his words, a soft peach colour present on his cheeks. “I saw your shop yesterday and couldn’t remember the last time anyone had got her any.” 

“Awe, that’s super sweet, have any of the bouquets caught your fancy or does she have a flower preference?” The boy in front of you was about the same age as you, maybe older, he had sharp features but they were even out by the softness of his eyes.

He thought for a moment, searching the deepest parts of his brain. “Lilies, she likes lilies.” You smile at his words before looking round your small, compacted shop for any pre-made bouquets. 

“We don’t have any made up right now but if you come back,” You look at the clock, thinking about a convenient time for him to come back. “In about 2 hours I’ll have one made up for you?” You give him a sweet smile as he nods. “Great! If you want you can leave your name and number so I can text you when its done.” 

You watch him messily write his details on a post it note. Peeling it off the block, you stick it to your notice board, looking at his name as you did so. Five. “I’ll send you a text once your bouquets done!”

“Ok, thank you,” He hesitated as he strained to read your name tag. “Y/n.”

“No problem, Five.” You see a small smile break out on his face as he left the shop. The rest of your day dragged as a slow drip of customers drifted in and out of the shop. You made a large bouquet of different types of lilies for Five, taking extra care to arrange them in the prettiest way you could, making it extra special for his mom. 

You admire your handy work, loving when you get special orders being able to be as creative as you want. You send a text to Five saying that he can drop in any time from now until closing to pick them up, you get an almost instant response sending his thanks. 

Shouting echoed down the street, sharp crashing of glass cutting through the air. Smoke drifted like ghosts down the street as screams echoed down the road of people coughing, spluttering grasping for breath. Peering out your shop window you saw them again, the lads from the night before, petrol bombs in hand ready to throw. You had to consider you options, quick, close the shutters quickly and run out the back or just run out and risk that they recognise you.

Quickly, you pulled the shutters down as you hear the unruly lads shouting get louder, you think your safe but then you remember the window upstairs, wide open, vulnerable. Taking two steps at a time but you were halfway to the window and heard a ‘get the flower shop’.

A flame like a rabid hare shot past you, shattering on the ground followed by another, hitting the window dead on surrounding you in flame, no escape in a smoke filling room. Smoke licked the walls as smoke danced in your lungs, making you feel lightheaded, blurring you vision. The floor burnt as you dropped to your knees, trying to take in any remaining oxygen, begging for your eyes not to close.

As Five walked back to the flower shop only to be met with shouting, screaming and sirens, noticing the smoke in the air he quickened his pace, only to break out into a sprint at the sight of the small flower shop in flames. He couldn’t see y/n out in the street in front of the shop, in a blind panic he blipped into the shop, looking round and seeing smoke pouring down the stairs, dread filling his body. In a blink of an eye he was in the burning room, finding y/n unconscious on the floor, he grabbed her body and as quickly as he could in the haze of the smoke.

He flashed to the academy, roughly shaking y/n shoulder. “Y/n,” He checked she was still breathing. “y/n please. Wake up. Mom!” Grace came round the corner, watching her son frantically shake an unconscious body.

“What’s wrong, dear?” Grace’s calming voice did nothing to sooth the panicking boy, she looked at the girls flame licked skin. “Take her to the medical room, Five.” Without another word Five had flashed upstairs, Grace beginning jogging up the stairs wrapping her medical apron around her as she did.

You gasp awake, proceeding to cough up whatever smoke settled in your lungs. You didn’t recognise the room around you, it didn’t look like any normal hospital, or even a hospital at all. Panicking at the foreign surroundings you drag yourself out of the bed, body screaming out at the heat in your arms and palms from the fire, the fire, your shop. Before even having time to comprehend the series of unfortunate events that led you up to this point, a woman walked in, sending heaving 1950/60′s vibe.

“Hello dear, I’m Grace.” Grace had a soft voice but it didn’t sound quite right, it sounded almost robotic, not human.

“I’m sorry, I’ve got to go.” You pushed past her and hope to find a way out of the large eerie house you were in. Panic mode overtook your whole body as you tried to find any way out, footsteps echoing behind you as Grace tried to catch up with you but you saw the front door and ran for it.

“My dear, you can’t go yet!” But you had already ran out the door, it being left wide open behind you, sprinting down the street probably looking like a madman but in that moment it didn’t matter to you, you had to get out.

[aka-indulgence]

Hi there! Another ask for centipede sans, he's all I've been obsessing about for the last few days, but I can't help but this what would the first meeting be like with him? Or even what would be the point where he no longer sees you as a meal and instead as a mate?? 👀

zsjtklrdjf  OH MY GOD ok so I found this in my drafts and I already had an answer going on, just not done yet, so I saved it.... only to promptly forget it for a month dshdljkfgjhg so i hope you don’t mind the  sudden centipede sans, but here he is,

Hohohohehehe..... anon, I too am obsessed with centipede sans, to the point that recently have been appearing as ‘husband’ when I’m in the mood for scenes skjllsjk (@someseriousthot is to blame yet again, also I’ve been very inspired by them for this one -w-)

So for me, you’d meet him on accident. You were lost and confused out in the wilds (settings vary from the jungles to the desert). And you stumble upon a crevice, cave, somewhere you can hide in. Any other time, you would be too afraid to risk going in there but due to circumstances, you ignore the possible dangers because being outside is pretty much certain death. There are monsters lurking outside and bad humans, and hiding would be much safer.

You’d stay there for who knows how long, trying to keep yourself warm and quiet in case anyone out there might hear you.... when you find out you’re not alone.

It starts off quiet at first. Then louder and louder.

Clicking, the scuttling of... something coming from inside. It’s pretty dark, and all you can rely on is the dim lighting cast from the exit, and the sounds you pick up. You’d get a bad feeling and try to turn around...

But you’d be met with the feeling of smooth carapace. And before you even realize it, you’ve already been caught in hard, tight coils. The fact that not only you were trapped, but that there were also myriad of legs catching onto your shirt, with more to spare as you realize what kind of creature has caught you, your heart skips a beat. Your eyes follow the centipede body, until you see him. A skeleton, a hole in his head, teeth like daggers and glinting from the dark, along with a single, red eye in his left socket.

What happens after is a long conversation where he’ll play with you, to see just how far he can push you before you break.

Now, when he’ll start see you as a mate is actually early on. He’d see you as not just any prey, even when he first has you. You’re so small, and soft, and warm... most of his meals don’t get to last this long with him. At first he sees you as someone exquisite, itching to get a taste of you... but if you manage to convince him to let you go, he’s going to find that he wants you back, and not just for your meat.

[cecilyneville]

 the spanish princess ep 7, aka “how to lose friends and alienate people, the catherine of aragon story”

(ok so - i didn’t watch ep 6 but seeing that screencap of that bless this mess or whatever it said embroidery in the more household absolutely sent me, so here i am with a glass of rose ready to get MAD)

honestly, the cognitive dissonance required on emma frost’s part to be like “catherine was raised by her mother to be a warrior queen” and then to have catherine only give mary attention as well as education because she’s the only child she’ll ever have is truly astounding

meg just like ah yes...another garbage man for me to love (i’m assuming that’s methven fighting with james v?)

why is james calling methven a sassenach when he is very much scottish?

(i know he’s not methven yet sorry, i’m as bad as ef)

georgie’s acting is a bit hammy sometimes but at least she’s trying, at least she’s actually displaying emotion

i personally think wolsey is super sexy

it’s back! does this little metaphor have a name?

wow...catherine really does hate meg for no reason

lina’s side-eye...it’s COMING

siri, play “we gotta get outta this place” by the angels

“what a strange thing to ask a cardinal in a church” LOVE HIMMM

wolsey pointing out that catherine has no friends lol

surprised that a word as big as “ecumenical” made it into a tsp script

“do you hate my sister now?” catherine can’t even get a single win and i love it

check out the slightly more accurate hood in the background!! more of an early french hood but still, i take what i can get

you know, i thought it was pretty on-the-nose when the tudors had mary say “i will burn as many heretics as i have to”, but this really takes the cake

“why do you cry?” uhhh maybe bc you’re revelling in the defeat of lina’s own people, catherine, you horrible person

the TALENT and CHARISMA and BEAUTY that stephanie levi-john has, manifesting a successful career for her

“to hell with parchment, i will take what i’m owed in gold. think of it as a border raid” THAT’S MY GIRL

“i cannot fall for another” but you WILL

given they’re running out of time i’m assuming meg & “hal” stewart are going to have a happy ending which...ok

shouldn’t more be a knight by now, not just master more? who knows what year we’re in

is...stafford going to get arrested bc they find him in catherine’s chambers?

“you must tell no one” IS CATHERINE GOING TO TRY & FAKE A PREGNANCY??? DELICIOUS

who are those two ladies with catherine? have they just forgotten the boleyn girls exist?

for a show that loves heavy-handed foreshadowing, it is mindboggling that neither anne nor mary boleyn have been anything other than glorified extras. particularly as they had anne attending mary and saying stuff like “hmmm a RICH KING” back in episode 2!!! it’s like they straight up forgot about her

why did they never call stafford “buckingham”? it was his title from a young age & they seem to have no problem referring to thomas boleyn as “wiltshire” when it would make more sense - if you’re catering to an audience with little knowledge of the era - to refer to him by his surname. like, this show doesn’t even operate on its OWN logic

INSANELY HILARIOUS, the mores are literally the flanderses 

tfw you stumble upon your boyfriend’s sex dungeon

i personally would like to see andrew buchan go full zealot

stephanie outshines literally everyone in this show

wolsey is trying to link yorkists with protestants, that’s definitely how it worked

lina eavesdropping...love u queen

catherine just like “if i keep my hand on my stomach people will think i’m still pregnant”, what a genius

A GABLE HOOD IN THE BACKGROUND!!! (and some french hoods with actual veils, including on maggie!)

“to my dear friend lord stafford...get fucked, love henry xoxo”

it is WILD to me that stafford and also norfolk are so enamoured with catherine when she’s done fuck all for them (also...where is norfolk)

you hate to see him go, but you love to watch him leave

why are these beheadings so gruesome but also so stupid looking - much like the stillbirth catherine suffered after flodden, they leave nothing to the imagination and that’s...not a good thing

WHY would catherine be talking about a potential annulment when everyone thinks she’s still pregnant?

surely all of these scripts were first drafts, the basic plot holes that could be picked up on a reread

ch’s modus operandi is painful villainous smiles and nothing else

[pug-bitch]

That’s not why I’m staying (8)

The world at your feet

Book: The Royal Romance, Book 2

Pairing: Drake Walker x Amara Suarez

Rating: some foul language, some extremely suggestive, and an inappropriate conversation in the first scene :D. This is absolutely NOT appropriate for people under 18.

Word count: about 3,500

Notes: This picks up pretty much where we left off, during Michael’s last night at the cabin, starting with Drake’s POV.

*****

Drake comes out of Sav’s old bedroom, his arms full of party games. She had always loved entertaining the young ladies of court at the cabin, however mean they were to her. Sav never lost hope that she would, one day, fit in. Only Maxwell was loyal to her. Drake shakes the idea off. Soon, he thinks, he can reconnect and, hopefully, make amends for not being there enough.

‘Table topics!!’ Maxwell exclaims.

Drake smiles. ‘Yup. Remember?’

Liv sighs as she pours herself another glass of wine. ‘As if you needed inspiration on weird topics, Beaumont!’

Maxwell laughs. ‘You may be right but it’s a fun game! Come on guys, grab some more dessert and let’s GO!’

Drake steals a kiss from Amara on his way to grab another slice of the apricot cake she and Hana made. Dinner was a success and they were now on to the second part of the mini Bash, with games, music, and booze.

Not that the whole evening wasn’t filled with booze. Drake can barely stand without swaying around like he’s on a boat. Weird how treacherous margaritas are.

‘You ok babe?’ Amara asks, her words slightly slurred.

Drake puts his hand on her hip and brings her closer. ‘Better than ever.’ He gives her another kiss, deeper this time. ‘Well, maybe I’m drunk.’

Amara giggles. ‘Yeah, so am I.’

‘Guys, gather around!’ Maxwell yells out as he stumbles down on a cushion. ‘Bertrand, get some more wine, you filthy animal!’

‘Okay, okay,’ Bertrand concedes. ‘It IS delicious wine, Olivia. Thank you for bringing it.’

Olivia bows. ‘Of course. Anything to get you drunk, Beaumont.’

Bertrand blushes. ‘Oh well. It doesn’t take much,’ he chuckles.

They all gather around the coffee table, and Hana draws the first card. She immediately giggles. ‘Oh, that one’s intense!’ She clears her throat. ‘Describe the worst sex you’ve ever had.’

‘Wow,’ Drake chuckles. ‘Not pulling any punches, huh?’

Maxwell raises his almost empty glass. ‘I’ll start! It was my first time. It was horrible. I got confused, and I forgot how close I was to the edge of the bed. I fell down and hurt my chin on my belt buckle. I had a bruise for days!’

Bertrand shudders. ‘Good lord, Maxwell, that’s where that bruise was coming from? I’d rather not know!’ He downs his entire glass of wine at once, which Olivia quickly refills, an evil smirk on her face.

She asks, ‘So, I take it you want to pass your turn, Beaumont?’

Bertrand grimaces. ‘If it’s alright, yes.’

Olivia shrugs. ‘Yeah, it’s your one pass. I’ll go next. My worst fuck was this guy I met at the derby 2 years ago. The Croatian, remember, Walker?’

Drake frowns. ‘Oh yeah. He worked for the Ambassador?’

Liv nods. ‘Well, he didn’t work for me. He cried as he orgasmed and said ‘I love you’ through his tears.’ She takes a sip of her wine. ‘Weak bastard.’

Amara makes a disgusted face. ‘Yikes. Um, my turn, I guess. The worst sex I’ve ever had is when I studied abroad in Québec, and this hot guy I met at a party turned out to have a lot of trouble getting a boner. He may have been drunk, but it was still very pathetic and sad for me.’

Drake strokes Amara’s hair and says ‘What a loser, who wouldn’t have a boner for you?’

Michael snorts, ‘Um, brother in the room, thank you very much. I’m with you on that one, Bertrand, I think I’ll pass.’ He downs his margarita. ‘Im traumatized.’

Drake’s eyes widen. ‘Did I say that out loud?’

Amara nods. ‘Yes. And thank you.’

Maxwell wipes a tear from laughter. ‘You guys, this is so much fun! Drake, your turn, then you draw!’

Drake nods seriously, as he tries to focus his eyes on a static point. ‘Um, for me, it was that Italian woman I had met, and she kept calling me Daddy, and trying to get me to spank her. Which, coupled with the ‘Daddy’ thing, well…’ he laughs. ‘It’s pretty fucked up.’

Maxwell shrugs. ‘At least you don’t lose your boners like Amara’s Canadian. Ha!’

Michael shakes his head. ‘Too soon, Maxwell. Too soon.’

Drake laughs and draws a card. ‘Alright, here we go. What’s your biggest regret?’

Olivia snorts. ‘Deep. Alright, I’ll go. My biggest regret is to have been hung up on Liam for too long.’

They all cheer. ‘Amen, sister,’ Amara yells. ‘For me, I don’t want to spoil the mood, so I’ll just say that I regret not talking to Michael for so long.’ She holds out her hand, which Michael lovingly takes. ‘Also to have spoken about the Canadian’s soft penis in front of him.’

Michael takes his hand back abruptly and bursts out laughing. ‘You little bitch,’ he giggles. ‘Alright, same for me—to have withdrawn from people who love me, such as my lovely sister here, and also I regret my skater phase in high school.’

Maxwell’s eyes widen. ‘You were a sk8er boi??’ He gasps as Michael nods cheekily. ‘Michael, my biggest regret is not to have seen any pictures of little skater you...yet!’

Hana raises her hand, all giggly from too many margaritas. ‘My biggest regret is not coming out to my parents.’

‘Yet!’ Michael adds, as he squeezes Hana’s arm gently.

Hana smiles. ‘You’re right! I will do it one day. Soon.’

Amara nods enthusiastically. ‘Yes you will! You’re a strong woman who knows who she is, and if they can’t see that, well… they better take time to reflect upon themselves.’ She frowns decidedly.

Drake chuckles. ‘Yeah, babe, that wasn’t harsh enough. What Amara means is… if they can’t accept you for who you are, fuck them, Hana!’

‘Yeah!’ Hana chimes in, as she frowns adorably. ‘Ok, your turn, Bertrand!’

Bertrand sighs heavily, his eyes glued to the Walker family portrait on the wall. ‘Oh guys,’ he says longingly, ‘I have so many regrets. The one I can’t stop thinking of is—‘ Olivia sneakily refills his wine glass as Amara shoots her daggers— ‘thank you, Olivia,’ he adds, ‘what I can’t seem to stop thinking of, every day almost… is not telling Savannah how I felt. Letting her go, without a proper declaration of love.’ He sighs and takes a big gulp of his wine.

Drake feels as though he sobered up at least 3 drinks. He and Maxwell make eye contact, and he notices that Max looks equally sad. ‘Hey man,’ Drake says comfortingly, ‘it’s not too late. It’s never too late to tell someone how you feel.’

Maxwell nods and puts a reassuring hand on his brother’s arm. ‘Yeah, he’s right, you never know what the future holds.’

Bertrand shakes his head. ‘I don’t know, guys. She has been gone two years. I don’t think I’ll ever see her again.’

A silence weighs on the room. Drake looks at Amara, who is biting her lip and looks like she’s about to say something. Drake tries to shake his head at her discreetly, but she takes a big breath and blurts out, ‘I found her.’

*****

Amara can’t believe she said this. She certainly didn’t plan on it. Can she blame the margaritas, if she’s the one who made the margaritas? She’s gonna go with yes.

All eyes are on her, especially Drake’s, who are pleading her to stop talking. But she has to fix this, right?

She looks at Bertrand, who looks utterly destroyed by the news. She opens her mouth again. ‘I know how sad Drake has been because of his sister’s disappearance, and I wanted to make sure she was ok. We had very little leads, just an email address she had given her mom, and a bank account—‘ she stops in her tracks. She can’t betray Maxwell. She takes another deep breath. ‘That she had also given Bianca, and I found her. We’re gonna try to establish contact.’

Amara feels Drake relaxing next to her. She looks into his eyes, and he gives her a relieved smile. Phew, she thinks. She didn’t blow it all.

Bertrand gasps for air. ‘Oh wow. That is very impressive of you, Amara. You must be a wonderful detective. Um, Olivia, can I have some more wine?’

Olivia hurries to the bottle and empties it in Bertrand’s glass. ‘Of course,’ she says, in shock.

Bertrand takes a gulp and says, ‘Thank you for telling me. I hope that, when you do find her in person, she agrees to talk to me.’ He pauses. ‘In fact—no.’

‘No no, go ahead,’ Drake says.

Bertrand sighs. ‘Do you think you could give me that email address you were speaking of?’

Drake pauses for a second, looks at both Amara and Maxwell, and finally says, ‘Of course. I’ll give it to you tomorrow.’

Bertrand nods, determined. ‘Thank you. I have something in my drafts that is aching to be sent.’

*****

Table Topics died down with that second card—way too loaded, but also necessary, as Drake is starting to think. ‘Hey guys, let’s finish those chocolates, ok?’ He yells out on his way to the kitchen to refill his cocktail.

As he pours himself another delicious margarita, he feels Amara’s hand squeezing his arm. She makes her way into his arms and pulls him closer. ‘Oh my God I’m sorry, babe,’ she whispers, her eyes digging deep into his. ‘I have no idea why I blurted it out. I shouldn’t have.’ She bites her lip.

Drake’s heart melts. ‘I know why you did.’ He strokes her face gently. ‘Bertrand looked miserable and we have been withholding crucial info from him.’ He smiles as he cups her face. ‘I’m glad you told him. I’m also glad you kept quiet about the—‘ his voice grows quieter— ‘the baby. We want to talk to Sav before involving him.’

Amara lets out a sigh of relief. ‘I was so scared you’d be mad at me. I promise you it just came out��.the poor schmuck was laying his heart on the table, like ‘she’s my biggest regret and now she’s gone forever,’ when we all know she’s not, and—‘

Drake squeezes her hand. ‘I know. My heart broke for him, too. Believe me, I get it.’ He hands Amara the margarita pitcher. ‘Here, have another drink. This sobered us up way too quickly.’

She chuckles and obliges. ‘You got that right.’

Drake smiles softly as he looks at Amara try not to spill her margarita. He would never think that love would soften him this much. When he looks at her, his heart turns into a gooey substance that alters all his senses and decisions. It’s frightening, yes. But it brought so much joy into his life, too.

‘What?’ Amara asks, amused.

He shrugs. ‘Nothing. Just thinking. If Bertrand really does email Sav, maybe it will convince her to come back. More than I ever could.’

*****

Liam pours himself another vodka. He’s never been one for hard liquor—much more of a white wine drinker—, but desperate times call for desperate measures. After spending the afternoon drafting a treaty with Greece, he had to go have dinner with his father, who had been in worse shape than ever. Liam shudders as he thinks back on his father’s weak movements, and slower speech.

He knows that Constantine is not one to admit weakness. He’s the King, after all. But if there ever was a time…

He shakes it off. He’ll think about all this after the Engagement Tour. Constantine is surrounded with the best doctors in Europe, there is no reason to worry as of yet. Right?

Liam found the perfect excuse to escape from Madeleine tonight. He has to work late on that treaty, and needs to get up early. So, unfortunately, no sleepover, darling, you will be better off in your own room. Madeleine had pouted and acted like she was disappointed, but he could tell that even she was relieved that tonight was providing her with an out. An out from this forced charade they called an engagement. Maybe, just maybe, if he could just convince her from sheer boredom and lack of chemistry, to just...let go, maybe everything could go back to normal.

But he’ll have to take the crown soon. There’s no out for that.

He sighs and downs his vodka. He pours another. In front of him, the business card he was handed a few weeks back. Should he…?

No. It’s almost eleven. It wouldn’t be proper.

She did say that he could write whenever… He takes a deep breath and starts typing furiously on his phone.

This is Liam. May I take you up on your offer?

He puts the phone down, and grabs his glass again. As soon as he takes a sip, his phone vibrates.

Of course. Is everything ok?

He lets out a sigh of relief as he starts typing again.

Just a hard night. Hope all is well with you. Would you be free for a drink? Unless it’s too late.

His heart races. It’s been a while since he’s made a new friend. Someone who really listens to him, and whose presence calms him down.

Sure. I just need to finish a brief. How about the Orchard Way Tavern in half an hour?

Liam types a quick response and speed dials Bastien. ‘Bastien, are you available to drive me downtown?’

‘Sure thing, Your Majesty, but I can call Thierry—‘

‘No need. Please pick me up in 15.’

*****

You were workin' as a waitress in a cocktail bar

When I met you

I picked you out, I shook you up and turned you around

Turned you into someone new

Now five years later on, you've got the world at your feet

Success has been so easy for you

But don't forget, it's me who put you where you are now

And I can put you back down too

Don’t—Don’t you want me

Drake drunkenly looks on as Maxwell and Amara duet on Don’t You Want Me. They’re having the time of their lives, who needs a karaoke machine when you can just sing as loudly as you can over the actual singers?

Michael comes to sit next to him on the floor, and smiles at him. ‘This is awesome, Drake,’ he slurs. ‘I’m having such a good time. Thank you.’

Drake smiles back and clinks his drink to Michael’s. ‘You’re welcome. It’s a pleasure to have you here, Mike.’

Michael grows pensive, and Drake appreciate how much of a quiet drunk he is, compared to the others. ‘You know, I’m gonna have a hard time leaving tomorrow.’

Drake nods. ‘I don’t blame you. Wish you could stay longer and come on the tour. I would appreciate the company, and so would these two,’ he gestures at Maxwell and Amara.

Michael chuckles. ‘Yeah. Well, maybe it’ll be good for everyone to…’ he makes a calming gesture with his arms, ‘take some time. You know.’ He sighs. ‘Dammit. Is it that obvious?’

Drake shrugs, amused. ‘I didn’t say anything, man.’

Michael shakes his head. ‘You didn’t need to.’ He takes a sip of his wine. ‘I just don’t know what happened to me in the past few days. I feel… different. Calmer. More serene.’

Drake nods. ‘Yeah. Like you’ve made peace with some shit, right?’

Michael nudges Drake with his elbow. ‘Exactly. That’s exactly right. I’ve made peace with some shit. Some really deep shit.’ He chuckles. ‘Look at her.’

Drake looks at Amara. ‘Oh, I am. She’s a sight to behold.’

Michael nudges him again. ‘You love her. I love that. She’s so loveable, man, it’s unreal.’ He pauses. ‘You know, when I look at my kid, who’s the spitting image of Sergio, it doesn’t hurt. I love it, because he lives on. But for a long time, when I looked at Amara, it did hurt. A lot. Because not only is she basically the female version of her brother, but these two were so close. So fucking close.’ He shakes his head. ‘They were like twins, if twins could be six years apart, you know. This one over there, she’s an old soul. When I met her, she was a little eighteen-year-old, but she didn’t take shit from anybody, and she was already introspective, and observant, and good with people—all of it.’

Drake smiles. ‘That’s my Amara.’

Michael holds his hand to his heart. ‘Ugh, stop it, you guys are so cute.’ He takes another sip. ‘My point is, she’s such a complex and precious little soul. Always has been. And Sergio always told me how strong she is, but also, sensitive at the same time, because she loves so wholly, you know. She gives her all. Well, when we lost him—when this all happened, two years ago, and she withdrew into her own shell, it hurt so fucking much, because I knew, I just knew that it would have killed him even more, to see her like that.’ He pauses and bites his lip. ‘Nope,’ he adds, ‘I’m not gonna fucking cry on my last night.’

Drake puts his hand on Michael’s knee and gives it a reassuring squeeze. ‘It’s ok, man. I get it. She is getting better, now, and you can let go a little bit.’ He smiles. ‘She will be ok.’

Michael nods. ‘Because of you. Because of you, and Max, and Hana, and Olivia, and Bertrand… because she found people to love again.’

Drake has to make a conscious effort in order not to tear up as well. ‘Mike, I’m glad you’re here. And please tell me we can see you in New York when we go there after the bullshit Ball we have to attend.’

Michael nods furiously. ‘I’d love nothing more.’

*****

Liam fidgets with his glass of water as he waits. She insisted on getting the second round, not that he needed to drink more, but when the company is this nice, what can you say.

‘Here you go,’ she says as she puts his glass of wine in front of him. ‘Cheers!’

He clinks his glass to her martini. ‘Thank you, Ioanna, and cheers to you.’

‘So,’ she says as she sets her glass safely on the table. ‘You were saying that you’re totally into Amara Suarez, even though she has never given you any indication that she likes you romantically?’

Liam arches an eyebrow. ‘Did—did I say that?’

Ioanna chuckles. ‘Not in so many words, but that’s what I understood.’

He holds his hand to his chest, feigning being shot in the heart. ‘Ouch, that was harsh, Ms. Papadakis!’

She shrugs playfully, as she tugs a brown curl behind her ear. ‘Hey, you said you like honesty. I’m just trying to have your back.’

Liam takes a sip. ‘You have a point. Come to think of it, I may never have known what honesty is.’ He pauses. ‘You know everyone wants to kiss the prince’s ass.’

Ioanna snorts. ‘Classy, Your Majesty.’

He laughs. ‘You know what I mean. The only person who’s ever been honest with me—I think—is my best friend. And maybe Amara, well, I hope.’

Ioanna drinks quietly.

Liam smiles, ‘And, clearly, now, you.’

She nods, pleased with his response. ‘Well, you said it yourself. She was honest with you, she told you she doesn’t want anything romantic with you. Why do you choose not to believe her?’

He pauses, taken aback. ‘Um. Maybe because she barely knows me, and I’m still hoping that—‘

‘Forgive me for being straightforward,’ she interrupts, ‘but maybe it could be because you’ve always gotten what you want?’

He opens his mouth to protest. Gotten what he wants? Really? As he is forced to take the crown, as his father is dying, as his mother is dead and buried? He closes his mouth.

‘Liam,’ she adds, ‘I’m not saying you’ve never been through anything. I’m not. But you said it yourself, everyone is kissing your ass, so maybe you can’t recognize it when people are actually...not?’

Damn, he thinks, is she reading his mind? ‘Well, you got me there,’ he says, defeated.

Ioanna shrugs in victory as she takes another sip of her martini. ‘And don’t get me started on your plan to unveil your fiancée’s evil nature during the Engagement Tour,’ she adds. ‘This plan has more holes than gruyère cheese. With all due respect, everyone knows she’s not a very good person, and no one cares.’ Her eyes dig into his, deeply. ‘The only person who can break your engagement is you.’

*****

Taglist:

@drakeandcamilleofvaltoria @andy-loves-corgis , @jovialyouthmusic , @mariahschoices , @drakesensworld , @thequeenofcronuts , @notoriouscs , @drakewalkerisreal , @nikkis1983​ , @simsvetements , @alesana45 @iplaydrake @emceesynonymroll @lily1999love , @silviasutton1989 @dcbbw @texaskitten30 @furiousherringoperatortoad @hollygirl1269 @sirbeepsalot @ladyangel70 @thisperfectmemory @drxkewalker @i-bloody-love-drake-walker @mrsmairstanley @axwalker @msjpuddleduck @kimmiedoo5 @furryperfectionlover @princessleac1 @katedrakeohd

Thank you for your encouragements, everyone! Let me know if you want to be added to the taglist :)

[inyoursheets]

writer asks

tagged by the wonderful @bourbon-ontherocks, @mego42 and sorta by @sothischickshe whose attempt to tag me made me laugh 

ao3 name: 

nomind. im not even sure why at this point

fandoms: 

ive only published good girls fics on ao3, but there may or may not still be some terribly written unfinished hp fics (probably x reader) made by thirteen y/o me floating about online somewhere.

number of fics: 

i keep thinking the answer is like, three, but it’s actually five. that’s how memorably my fics are lmao

fic i spent the most time on: 

oh, for sure my latest, warm water. ive never spent this much time plotting, editing, thinking things over. as evidenced by the rest of the fics ive published lol

fic i spent the least amount of time on:

i thought it was maybe the spanking fic but that one actually sat unfinished in my drafts for a long time now that i think about it, bc it wasn’t gonna get its own fic, it was supposed to be part of chapter two of the never have i ever fic . i think it was how do i even... say that? bc once i knew what i was trying to say with it, it got real easy to write, but im not sure! 

most hits:

this is so funny bc i had no idea -- i expected the answer to be warm water, but that one is just barely third, almost fourth! the winner is actually my super self-indulgent never have i ever fic that i can’t believe so many people fuck with, some time in your sheets

most kudos:

now that one is warm water

most comment threads:

also warm water! and everyone is so sweet! but also so frustrated! which is very fair haha, im frustrating myself by writing this tbh. but i think the frustration is gonna be worth it. i hope?

most bookmarks:

once again, warm water

highest total word count:

warm water and im very excited about the fact that i've only published like, half, and i still have to write a couple of scenes, some of which i expect to be pretty girthy. im so happy i finally managed to start a (proper) multi-chapter fic.

favourite fic i wrote:

i think either how do i even... say that? bc the subject matter matters to me and actually grew out of my own need to process some things -- verbalizing what you want during sex is scary ok! -- and i think people also took it that way? there have been some really kind comments on it, specifically about the message i was trying to convey/stumbled upon while writing, so that is wonderful! i actually never responded to any of those comments bc i suddenly got self-conscious about author comment etiquette and im thinking it would look weird to do so now, but i am really surprised and humbled by them!

 or warm water for reasons im not gonna go into until ive finished it, but yeah, it gets a special place in my heart, too, trust me on that. it also unfolded in such a great way as i was writing it, it really took a different turn from what i had originally planned out, which has been such an interesting process and it really made me feel joy to be writing again, you know? when characters/scenes just sorta take over? so it’s been definitely the most enjoyable to write i’d say. but also the least haha, which makes it so special.

fic i want to rewrite/expand on:

i feel like my very first fic could lend itself pretty easily to being expanded and becoming a proper AU, it would be pretty hassle-free to continue, but i don’t know if that’s a path i wanna go down. maybe some time in your sheets bc i did weave in that they’d been fucking regularly and i kinda liked their dynamic there, but my goodness, it’s so plotless! all my smut fics are so plotless! technically even the spanking fic could like, get another chapter of more spanking, but what would be the point? 

maybe how do i even... say that? would be the most interesting to continue, to see how beth learns how to vocalize her wants and needs in bed, how she grows in that, but idk if i am equipped to write such a thing. hmm. im gonna think about it, after i finish the beast that is warm water.

share a bit of a wip or story idea you’re working on:

so ive got some dialogue between beth and stan sitting in my drafts bc i love a beth/stan friendship, but it didn’t fit in anything else i wrote, nor will it fit with an AU like warm water. im excited to use it one day, not bc the dialogue is any good (it honestly wouldn’t surprise me if literally none of the actual dialogue ever makes it to the actual fic) but i love the vibe in that scene. they discuss d*nsie, so unfortunately that fic must include that douche canoe, so that’s sad

what i also have is a barely-there rough draft/idea for a beth/rio/rhea threesome fic (mostly inspired by one particular sex position i wanna see them in) that is gonna take a while to actually write bc as @foxmagpie has pointed out it’s really hard to try and make that not be completely ooc, and i think im not gonna start until finish warm water.

and that’s that! im tagging @missmaxime @fairhairedkings @sothischickshe (who i now realize probably already did this?) and @sdktrs12 if you feel like it!

[cosmo-gonika]

The Inspiration behind the Original Star Wars.

Okay fam, I cannot leave this fandom without leaving this increidble article I stumbled upon while I was writing Songs of Innocence. This article has never gone through main medias but I believe it is entirely true. I am myself very knowledgable of the esoteric current they are talking about here and I can confirm all what they say is true and makes so much sense. And why I think the TROS has failed to bring mystical depth to the ST.

Here is the source if you want to read directly: https://neoanthroposophy.com/2017/02/05/source-of-the-force-secret-behind-star-wars-inspiration/

Source of the Force: Secret Behind Star Wars Inspiration by Douglas Gabriel.  

I would like to share with you my personal experience of collaborating for three days in the early 70’s with Marcia Lucas and a small team of Anthroposophy scholars on the script of Star Wars and my recent discoveries about how that foundational work affected the writing, editing and expansions of the original Trilogy.

First of all, it seems fitting that my first encounter with the origins of Star Wars – a modern fairy tale ultimately about the return to spirit – would happen at Christmas time, a season in which humanity recalls its sense of spirit and hope.

I was a student at the Waldorf Institute at the time, and remember the day that I first met the characters of Luke Skywalker, R2D2, C3PO, and the entire Star Wars entourage. Yet, when I first encountered them, they were more like two-dimensional paper-dolls in an unfinished script, before their true meaning had been breathed into them. For example, Luke Starkiller as I met him was a far cry from the Skywalker he turned out to be.  You may be surprised to learn that the story in its early form was depicted through the machinist eyes of two robots, not yet the familiar, crowd-pleasing epic that would become one of the most famous and endearing movies in the world.

That is, of course, before I and colleagues from the Waldorf Institute would spend three days as part of a think-tank working session with George Lucas’ talented wife and professional film editor, Marcia Lucas (née Marcia Griffin), to transform a story that was originally based on two robots into a sweeping modern fairy-tale that even today still evokes a timeless sense of human destiny.

Meeting Marcia

At that time, like the characters, I was in development, too, as are all earnest students.  In addition to being a student of Anthroposophy – a discipline of knowledge developed by Rudolf Steiner concerned with all aspects of human life, spirituality and future evolution – I also managed the Waldorf bookstore, which was a treasure trove of spiritual knowledge.

That Christmas season had been busy, and I was just locking up the store and ready to head home when my teacher, Werner Glass, approached me.

Born in Austria, Werner was a beloved instructor at the Waldorf Institute and inarguably the most prominent Anthroposophist scholar in America.  I can only say today that it was a great honor to be his student. That day, there was a glint of lighthearted cheer in his eyes. Thinking that he was simply going to wish me a merry holiday, I was surprised when he asked me to follow him.

“Where?” I said, blindly following him like a faithful puppy.

Without answering, he led me into one of the more spacious classrooms, where four other students were already seated around a table, talking with the Institute’s co-director, Hans Gebert.  A woman I did not recognize seemed to be at the center of the conversation – a pleasant-looking brunette with a friendly, yet sophisticated, air.

When everyone saw Werner in the doorway, they looked up with a sense of expectation, as most students typically did when Werner walked into a room. He was like a father to us all. He motioned me to take a seat, then sat down and began to explain the situation.

“I’m very pleased to introduce you all to Marcia Lucas,” he said. “Her husband is a well-known movie director who is working on a screenplay for a science fiction film – a space opera of sorts – and they would like our Waldorf perspective. I don’t know if you have heard of George Lucas?”

This was the first time I had ever heard George Lucas’ name.  I certainly hadn’t seen his critically-acclaimed and commercially successful American Graffiti.  I also didn’t know that his wife, Marcia, was an accomplished film editor in her own right.

“Well, Marcia is familiar with Anthroposophy and the work of Rudolph Steiner, and she needs our help with the script, to make it more Waldorf-inspired so it will have good merit as both a movie and a spiritual story.”

Marcia nodded and offered more context.  She said that the “big screen” should be used to deliver important messages to audiences and tell a more spiritual story, one that has a good foundation in the truth, not just another director’s dream.

This began to inspire me, as story-telling is at the center of our teaching curriculum in Waldorf schools.  Movies are mass exposure to stories.  Stories, like fairy tales, help inspire the psyche of those who witness them, similar to shared dreams. At the Waldorf school, the teacher will tell a story to the children, who learn it by heart and recite it back in class the next day. Once memorized, the stories are further interpreted through music, dance, drawing, painting, and any number of other creative responses.

Marcia needed our input, she told us, because the script was entering its third draft and lacked an element of spirituality. I could see that she was problem-solving, earnestly searching for a way to make the screenplay work.

“I’m sure we’re up to the task,” Werner said, looking at me.

For the past few minutes, I had been sitting there wondering, “Why am I here?  No one had even told me about this meeting.” Then, I looked around and realized that I was the most experienced student there. The others were too young, less studied in Anthroposophy and certainly not up to this level of work. I was immensely relieved that Werner would be there to lead us through the session, and sat back, relaxed.

“The dialogue is a bit lacking,” Werner said. “I told Marcia we could help with that as well.”

With that, Werner rose from his seat and said, “Well, then.  My family is waiting at home and I must be off.”

None of us could believe it.  America’s leading Anthroposophist was going to leave this important project in our hands?

Werner added, “Douglas is my right hand, and I will check in on your work throughout the next few days.”

He then welcomed Marcia to the resources and hospitality of the Institute and politely left.

With Werner gone, we all looked at the Institute’s co-director, Hans, to lead the session.

Hans stood up.

“Well, I must admit that science and mathematics are my true specialty,” Hans said, in his characteristic fashion. “So, I am afraid I will not be of much assistance to this group.”

He politely bid us all adieu, then left.

At this point, I became a bit panicked.  My leaders had left me in a great unknown!

Marcia Lucas, who I did not know at the time was one of the greatest film editors in the world, was looking expectantly at me.

I suddenly got the feeling Werner had said something to her about me, akin to his comment about me being his “right hand.” I had a vague realization that both she and I were here solely because of Werner.   Having been a brilliant actor at the London School of Theater, Werner had been the primary Anthroposophist from the Waldorf school in North Hollywood in dealing with actors, directors and producers. She was here because of him and I was here because he had brought a promising student to the table for this specialized project.  Surely, he knew what he was doing, so I decided to trust it.

“Well, then, let’s get started,” I said.  “Tell us the story, Marcia.”

As she spoke, I got up and went over to the classroom blackboard.   Marcia had trouble articulating the story; it didn’t flow easily. In colored chalk, I began to sketch out the story-board.

“It’s a story of two robots, you see – the movie is seen through their eyes,” she said. “The robots are key elements of the story.  They must be kept.”

I understood that the robots were non-negotiable. We must somehow work with them.

“Ok,” I said.  “Can you please read us the starting dialogue?”

She began. It was difficult for us to listen to. As an experienced editor, Marcia knew this. The characters didn’t work. They weren’t alive. She sincerely wanted to rewrite her husband’s movie script to its full potential, but at this moment, it was stilted. Only later would I learn more about the context of their partnership – how George was a genius concerned with the theme of machines and technology, and Marcia was the humanistic side, focused on telling a meaningful story that would resonate with the audience. I did not know it then, but she was here, basically, trying to save the script.

I decided to be frank with her.

“First, the story is not archetypal,” I said.  “The author doesn’t know the true nature and value of the characters he is set on gluing together.”

Marcia began writing down notes quickly in her notebook.

“The dialogue is unreal and trite.  It serves only one purpose – to move to the next scene.  So, the message of the story happens in the action between scenes.”

She nodded, writing.

I continued. “There is no character development.  No one will identify with these characters.”

Then, on a positive note, I said, “However, your husband has tapped into the true spiritual reality of our time. His obsession to see the world through the eyes of two robots is genius, but a little confused. We can work with that.”

Since everyone there, including Marcia, was a student of Anthroposophy, I began to do what Werner knew would come naturally to me as both a teacher and a student – apply the principles that I had studied to our current problem with the script.

“George has described the challenge of our times,” I said, “The war with machines, symbolized in the two robot playmates of Luke Starkiller.”

Now, an interesting side note about the names. Like Luke Starkiller, none of the character’s names that Marcia read to us were in their final form. In fact, I later recommended that the hero, Luke Starkiller, be changed to “Luke Skywalker,” from American Indian and Tibetan traditions. Then, since Lucas is the name for “light,” I also had the concept of a light saber, a weapon that both defends as a shield and attacks as a formidable force. (In Anthroposophist terms, the light saber represents the human spinal column.)

Those details would come later.  Now, we had to focus on shaping the story itself.

“I think it needs to go back to the concept of a fairy tale,” I said, explaining that all fairy tales begin with a reference of the story being outside of time and space and end with some reference to their own continuance. “I think what you may want is an adult science-fiction fairy tale that is spiritually accurate, yet engrossing and interesting.”

Marcia agreed.

With her input, we decided to begin with Luke Starkiller.  We tried to describe his character development in terms of the polarity that every person has in their soul – the left and right-hand paths of evil. In the end, it is the middle path, “the Force,” that the Jedi warrior should choose. Yet, without exploring both the left and right paths, the Jedi is weakened by not knowing his enemy.

“So, each movie goer will be faced with making the same decision, no matter what their life is like?” said one of the students.

“Yes, that’s the path of most fairy tales,” I said.  The question is: “Which of the three paths will you choose?”

Here again, I was impressed with George Lucas’ brilliance. His obsession with machines underscored the biggest challenge of our age – the right-hand path of mechanical occultism as described by Rudolph Steiner and the left-hand path of thinking that has turned evil.  Had I seen his first film, THX-1138, I would have recognized this even more clearly.

“The two robots can represent thinking and willing,” I proposed.

As the heroes of George’s original story, both C3PO and R2D2 enable the audience to “see through the eyes of machines.”  In his relationship and interactions with them, Luke uses his robots to enhance his thinking (C3PO) and willing (R2D2) in an age of machines, but finally finds the middle path – of feeling.

“Let’s explore the two extremes: the left-hand path of thinking and the right-hand path of willing,” I said.

We spent time talking it through.  Both C3PO and the Evil Emperor are on the left-hand path of “thinking” that has turned evil. For example, C3PO can think but cannot act, and the Emperor needs Darth Vader to carry out his desired actions. In contrast, R2D2 and Darth Vader are on the right-hand path of “willing.” Having the capacity to will, they still must be told what to do.

“Darth Vader is the being we know as Ahriman,” I added.  “He represents the composite cleverness of all machines, incarnated into a human being.”

“So, what about a middle path?  Is there one?” one of the students asked.

“Excellent question,” I said. “The middle path is what both the right-hand and left-hand paths miss. Unable to understand the middle path, both sides seek to destroy it.  The Jedi masters such as Obi-Wan Kenobi and Yoda have developed themselves on the middle path, having already mastered the other two paths. They represent the desired balanced center between the two extremes.”

Indeed, this dynamic of two poles of evil is the central motif of the first Star Wars trilogy.

Master of the Machines

Once we understood the story in context of this Anthroposophical framework, the next step was to focus further on Luke’s character.

“I think that Luke needs to develop his character by interacting with the two robots, both the left and the right hand,” I said.

We then discussed each robot.

As a robot on the “thinking” side, C3PO can speak many languages and is programmed for etiquette and translating, a truly inspired use for machines that we seldom see.  He represents an evil that has been around as long as languages in every culture since the beginning of human intellectual development – the being named Lucifer, who incarnated in a physical body in China in 2000 BC.  As the “left-hand path of evil,” Lucifer is a Promethean archetype who brings fire, language, philosophy, writing and culture to humanity. Chained to a mountain, he suffered each day as a vulture ate out his liver until rescued by Heracles.  By representing Lucifer/Prometheus, C3PO would serve as a counter-pole for the incarnation four thousand years later in 2000 AD of Ahriman, the king of machines, otherwise known as Darth Vader.

Luke, who models the original Heracles or the hero in all of us, eventually breaks the chains to free Prometheus, the fire-bringer, who is on the left-hand path. So, too, the Evil Emperor in Star Wars represents the power of fire (demonstrated as lightning from his hands and the evil wisdom of the Sith) that increasingly consumes him as he misuses it.

“Luke is situated between the two robots, between the two paths, like his twin sister.  His lost spirituality is drawing him upward into spirit,” I said.

All Jedi warriors have transformed blood, what was later called “midi-chlorians” in the blood. As they balance the forces of the left and right paths, they raise their consciousness, which then increases spiritual potential in the blood, a process that Steiner calls the “etherization of the blood.”  As Steiner taught, spiritual people charge their blood with a consciousness that connects them to spirit (the Force).  However, unlike the movie, the ability to access spirit or the Force isn’t passed along through heredity.

So, after discussing all of these concepts and laying the groundwork for common understanding, here is the story of Star Wars that we mapped out:

Once upon a time, in a galaxy far, far away, Luke Skywalker (the archetypal human) finds his life embroiled, if not consumed, by machines.  Luke is the master of those machines, because he has consciousness and, therefore, is pulled by the left and right.  He is an orphan, as all modern humans find themselves, and knows that something great lives inside of him. He has hope in a hopeless world.

Luke’s father has fallen prey to the evil right-hand path of machines that has transformed him into a part-man – part machine abomination who wars against his own spirit and wishes to dominate the world, even if it means killing his son.

The left-hand path of personal black magic lives in the Evil Emperor who also wishes to kill all Jedi and, most especially, the son of Darth Vader.  

Luke is protected by the humble Jedi, Obi-Wan Kenobi.  Eventually, this Jedi leads him to his teacher of the “middle way” (the Force) and sacrifices himself so that he can help him from the spiritual world.  This middle path is like the path to the Higher Self.

On the path, just like Dorothy on the Yellow Brick Road, Luke gains some traveling companions.  Just as the Wizard of Oz was a distillation of Masonic initiation rituals, Star Wars introduces the audience to parts of the soul.  This is necessary to make the story archetypal, so that it will always be fresh.  

For example, Obi-Wan Kenobi represents the highest of the three parts of the soul, the consciousness soul, which merges spirit with matter just as his Jedi powers give him the power of mind over matter.  

Chewbacca represents the lower soul, the sentient or astral soul that must turn the animal in us into a human with spiritual characteristics.  

Han Solo represents the intellectual soul that first begins to awaken to higher thinking. Although clever, Hans lacks the ability to see the big picture like Obi-Wan.  

Between Luke’s three companions, much like the Lion, Tin Man, and Scarecrow, each contributes a special quality to Luke along the way.  Steiner calls these soul qualities “thinking, feeling and willing.”

At the center of the story, Luke represents the ego, or the thinking human being, and must master the three steps of the development of the soul.  

A return to spirit

Now that we had built the underlying framework, which was the most Herculean part of our task, it was clear to me that we needed to develop these characters into archetypes. Knowing now what motivated each character, we could easily hear the words that each would naturally say and even envision their realistic reactions to the unfolding plot.

In doing so, we kept in mind a fundamental truth:  good and evil are choices.  The Evil Emperor and Darth Vader were not born evil; they chose their own paths. Luke, the archetypal human, also must make his choices and live with the good or evil that results.

Still, after all of this work we had done, one thing was missing.

“We still have one problem,” I reminded Marcia.  “Where is Luke going in the story?”

Sorely missing in the original version of the story, this issue had to be resolved so that everything else would make sense.

“Isn’t Luke, essentially, the prodigal son?” I said.  Others agreed that Luke was separated from his parent’s home and longing to return.   This is a universal element with which everyone could identify.  Like Luke, each of us has our particular destiny. In our life, we embark on the search to find it and return to our kingdom in the spirit.

We further developed Luke’s direction and role in the story as follows:

Luke knows he is special but doesn’t know why. Throughout the story, he must evolve into his mission of facing his true identity as Darth Vader’s son, accept it, and decide what to do with it.

Ultimately, Luke denies the power of the machines that try to gain control over him. Instead of the cold-hearted machine-human hybrids, Luke chooses love.  He must come to this awakening only after receiving help from his companions.

His sister Leia (who I suggested should be called Maya) represents his spiritual self.  Although first drawn to her through physical desire, Luke transforms this attraction into spiritual love and links his destiny to hers, as the soul links to the spirit.  

More sure about herself, Leia has been treated like the Princess she is. Luke has struggled to “catch up” to where she was, but in the end, their destinies are permanently entwined. Because he is on the spiritual path of self-development versus the physical path of earthly gratification, Luke doesn’t “win the girl” – that part of the story is left to another character, Han Solo.  

As part of his journey, Luke uses the middle path of the Force to conquer both the Evil Emperor and Darth Vader. The more the left and right-hand paths try to win Luke, the more they fall prey to the side effects of using evil for personal gain.

As the modern human, Luke conquers the evil machine-like foes with help from his companions and develops two powerful “forces” that the machines cannot control: human freedom and love. In this way, Luke learns to “see through the eyes of machines.”   He even sacrifices his human hand for denying his father’s attempt to win him over to the Dark Side of the machines.

In the end, Luke loves his father and witnesses the death of Darth Vader, Ahriman, before his very eyes.  

This is the same modern challenge that each of us faces:  

Who is your parent?  

What do you choose: the physical world of machines or the middle path of the spirit, the Force?

A beautiful fairy tale

Over the next two days, we built on our initial framework and polished the ideas to represent every possible perspective in our archetype science-fiction, prodigal-son story. The script was turning into a beautiful fairy tale that I was certain had merit, whether or not it ever made it to the “big screen.” I was very happy to work through these concepts, because I could see my own path to the spirit unfolding in the story. (Of course, Werner had known this would be part of my involvement!)

I also appreciated Marcia’s priority of effective story-telling. In our modern times, I have seen a decline of storytelling in our culture. This is dangerous, for as archetypal stories vanish, our imagination weakens as the source of inner nourishment and soul inspiration. Movies have taken the place of storytelling and actors have taken the place of the heroes and heroines found in all archetypal stories, whether myth, religion, legend, fairy tale, fable, or any other transcendental source.  Yet, as we learned in developing Star Wars, if a story is not archetypal, it will not last the test of time. Successful to this day, a full 40 years after it was released, Star Wars has proven that to be true.

After our work was completed, I said good-bye to Marcia and wished her well with the movie. She thanked me and everyone else who had contributed their ideas to our marvelous fairy tale.  I heard nothing more until 1977, when the movie was about to launch and generating a frenzied buildup of media attention.

I was working in the bookstore when Werner came in to tell me the news:  Marcia and George Lucas were so happy with our help that they were offering all Waldorf schools in the U.S. a chance to show an advanced screening of the movie as a local fundraiser. This was a thrilling offer, because I knew that a good deal of money could be raised.  Yet, staying true to its practice of opposing TV, movies and technology in general, the Waldorf Institute politely declined the offer, to my deep disappointment.

I finally saw the Trilogy, after waiting impatiently for all three installments, and was happy that it stayed true to the fairy-tale idea we had developed in our Waldorf think tank.

As I watched the movies, I realized that Star Wars had affected the paths of those of us involved in the project. Just as we had mapped out a path for Luke, we were all on a journey to our own destinies. The archetypes we built had done their work!

For example, by working through the philosophical concepts, I saw my own path to the spirit reflected in the story, as Werner knew it would – the process had further emboldened my own understanding of the study of Anthroposophy. Also, I remembered that Werner, who was like a scholarly father, had introduced me to Marcia as his “right hand,” while Luke Skywalker had sacrificed his own right hand in the battle with his father – both situations connected to the pursuit of spiritual knowledge. As a “right hand” substitute for Werner in the project with Marcia, I grew into my leadership role as a teacher.  So, too, with the substitution of his right hand, Luke acquired more masterful poise as a Jedi warrior who had successfully denied the Dark Side and became more in touch with the Force.

George Lucas himself was on the path for his genius to be recognized with commercial and critical success. He would later open his famous Skywalker Ranch, which I think is a much better name than “Starkiller” Ranch, don’t you?

Yet, when his own right hand, Marcia Lucas, was symbolically severed in their 1983 divorce, he lost a part of the humanity that had been evident in the earlier movies, and some say lacking in the later versions of the Star Wars series.

For her part, Marcia Lucas would stand on stage to be ceremoniously honored, just like the characters in the ending of Star Wars. Looking tasteful and quietly elegant next to a glittery-gold presenter Farrah Fawcett at the 1977 Academy Awards, Marcia accepted an Oscar for best editing of a film that had started off an as unknown space opera and become a household name. At that ceremony, one of her editor colleagues would speak for her, and she would not have an opportunity to thank anyone publically, not even her husband. Had they given her a chance at the microphone, I imagine that Marcia perhaps might have thanked the Waldorf Institute, although the process of being involved in this influential project was, for me, its own reward.

In fact, later, when working with Producer Kathleen Kennedy during the writing of the Indiana Jones movies, I was quite aware of my participation in shaping small moments in the movies where true wisdom and light shine through the story.  This is what I have tried to do in all of my writings: share the love for spirit that I try to live each day and to bring that spirit into the souls of everyone I have the privilege to meet or touch in some small way – even through a simple story that is the ubiquitous retelling of the original story, the return to spirit.

Just a few days ago, with all of the resurgence of Star Wars memories and the recent release of the latest installment in the series, I googled Marcia Lucas’ name and discovered that she and George had divorced in 1983. She had returned to using her maiden name, Marcia Griffin. When I had worked with her, I had no idea that she was one of the greatest film editors in the world, her skills having been regularly in demand by the top directors, including Scorsese and Coppola. I was delighted to learn about her Academy Award and believe she is an unsung heroine in the history of Star Wars.

After all, how often does a mortal human being create something eternal – a story that lasts forever?

I leave you with this link to an article about Marcia Griffin that gives a beautiful picture of her contributions to the making of Star Wars:

Enjoy, and may the Force be with you!

2016 @ Douglas Gabriel. All rights reserved.  

[supernoondles]

2019

The last day of 2019 was also the day I fainted for the first time--a fitting metaphor for the year.

2019 was overall very emotionally taxing. This year was emotionally defined by falling intensely, deeply in love with someone (who is a very private person so I will try to be vague to respect that) and being in a lot of pain because of situations mostly outside of our control. There were a lot of intensely joyous moments, and a lot of intensely sad ones. Throughout it all I wish I had communicated better. I also made some bad decisions with another person I really loved and cared about that resulted in us growing apart. Do I think I grew from the experiences? For sure. Do I wish I could have come upon these realizations through a different course of action? Also yes. Am I fully healed from the experiences? Not really, but I've been getting better.

2019 was also very bad in terms of research. It was the 2nd year of my PhD. After I submitted my rotation project I basically felt stuck in the swamp of my advisors rejecting new project ideas for like literally half a year. This, combined with my high emotional volatility (partially due to starting birth control), made me really sad, unmotivated, and susceptible to self-blame. I definitely had high expectations for myself and became frustrated at my lack of progress and felt a lot of pressure from myself to get my shit together. I also felt incredibly bad after most advisor meetings and not supported by one of them to the point where I had to have a conversation with him about the lack of support (which was very scary)! Things started picking up, though, near the end of the year. I published a paper in collaboration with a former post-doc/now professor elsewhere whom I learned a lot from, and started finally building out another system. I also started mentoring an undergrad who at some point told me I helped him feel like he had something important to say and belong at Stanford for the first time and those words meant a lot to me. I think I'm continuing to refine what I value as research contributions and increasingly think about what it means to build systems that aren't used outside of the lab to satisfy the annual conference publishing cycle. I'm also starting to feel the pressure of doing work that follows a narrative rather than random projects that interest me.

Oh, I guess in terms of "program requirements," I did finish taking required classes, passed qualifying exams, and got a master's degree. But honestly those weren't hard at all nor do I think are externally valued in the larger research community, so I don't really celebrate them as accomplishments beyond surface level.

In 2019 I saw two different therapists. The first one was awful, I think directly influenced some of my bad decisions, and also didn't respect my gender identity??? The second one is a lot better and I'm grateful to see her, even if 90% of our sessions are just talking about my relationship (romantic/advisor) issues, which is something I want to move away from in the future. But I also feel incredibly privileged when relationship issues are the primary stressors in my life--I am grateful I feel equipped to handle other crap, like deadlines, and don't have to worry about my own health.

Those were the main things that have colored this year. We'll now move into the section of this post where I go through my photos to jog my memory of other events.

New years started a tradition of getting dim sum with Jasper, Matthew, and Michelle dear to my heart. My high school friend was also visiting and we all attended a really awesome new year's eve party. I was also going on a lot of dates and having a lot of good sex, which made me really happy, and at the same time crying all the time at work. In February I received probably the best gift anyone has ever given me and saw Panic! at the Disco, which I said in an end of the year group meeting was a good memory of my year (it was, to relive my scene days!). In March I roadtripped both to Marin (which I had never to been before, despite all my years in the bay) and LA for Wondercon; it was nice to both see high school friends and go on a trip with the boo. In April I went on a hike with my office which was probably the start of us all becoming closer (we are the social office in the wing now, which I take pride in! Also we draw a lot of Pokemon which warms my heart). In May I went to CHI in Glasgow and then to Paris afterward, and the entire experience was very weird and bad and also too many flights were canceled and/or missed and I vowed to not return to Europe for a while, but man do I love the noodles at Trois Fois plus de Piment. In June we hosted a double apartment party with my downstairs neighbors (side note: I am really appreciative of the place I live in, for the community, convenience, and large-ass space and will be really sad to be kicked out fall 2020) and I started a friendship important to me. I cat-sat for my advisor (the one who doesn't make me feel bad) twice. I went to Redwood State Park with my family and hosted a summer solstice celebration. Over the summer a friend I met in Paris back in 2017 moved in with me. I had a much needed escape from the bay to Seattle where I was reminded how abundant the world can be. I also went to Tahoe to celebrate my parents' anniversary, and really liked stumbling upon a smaller lake with a cheap boat rental. Then I became FOMO about the highly competitive Bay Area camping and did a last minute walk-in at Redwood Basin in Santa Cruz, which made me realize that I don't actually love camping (but was nice nonetheless). I ate an expensive meal at Commonwealth before they closed. For my birthday we made a friendship quilt and I served my favorite dish of cumin lamb but it was also 90 degrees in my apartment (I felt really bad and bought two fans afterwards). I started buying many cartoon frog plush after being gifted a $3.99 on sale Safeway frog (called Baby!). I went on Tinder dates (one of which was at a quaker yard sale marketed as Harvest Festival where I got a 1970s Kermit puppet for like $2) that largely went nowhere. My high school friend visited and we were both sad about break ups. I did Inktober before I went to New Orleans for a conference on Bourbon St where everything felt like it was coated in a sticky film of alcohol. I almost missed my flight home because I fell asleep in a sculpture garden but I had the most amazing Uber driver who snaked his way through traffic (oh and the flight was delayed by like 3 hours). I went to kind of embarrassing haunted houses and pumpkin patches over Halloween, but also had the most incredible bowl of ramen at Mensho. My whole office dressed up as Zootopia characters which warmed my furry heart. I spent like $120 on a Pokemon shirt. I started playing Arkham Horror and rekindled another friendship important to me. In November went on a road trip to Big Sur because again, I had to escape it all. For Christmas Eve dinner I roasted a duck for the first time (which was delicious). Shortly after I waited in line for 2 hours for a rollercoaster at Great America, which taught me the value of buying a fast pass because at this point in my life that money is worth it, and then waited 2 hours in line at the DMV to get a RealID (I had made an appointment, which was the fast pass).

Okay, now we move to the hobby section!

I got really into sewing in 2019, having received a sewing machine last Christmas. I made a Judy Hopps (which I wore to CrunchyRoll Expo) and Korok cosplay (Fanime), several unsuccessful garments, a crab bean bag, a dice bag, a fanny pack, and put hearts nipples on a jumpsuit.

Shows! I think I went to way fewer shows this year. The ones I can remember are Elephant Gym, Thom Yorke the night before I had an 8am flight, Carly Rae Jepsen over pride weekend (also, she is my #1 artist of the year, which makes a lot of sense given my emotional space), Mitski at Stern Grove, Capitol Hill Bloc Party (which was super lame, except for Lizzo, where I cried), and the National (which was a fucking surreal experience as they played on Stanford's campus, I was the only one within earshot of myself who knew the words to Crybaby Geeks, and then the white catalog moms came up to me after to thank me for singing the song).

I also started playing my own music! I started playing viola again for the first time in 7 years (lol) in both pop-up concerts with the Awesome Orchestra (one in Golden Gate Park, one at the Exploratorium) and a string quartet through my school. Sometimes I am filled with joy and delight. Other times interpersonal tensions run high and also I am very bad at being in tune. It's life.

Media! I really liked Mob Psycho 100 Season 2 and Beastars. I feel like those were the only notable anime I watched this year? I saw the Farewell three times--first in Seattle where I sobbed for like 1 hour after the movie, the second time with my parents, and the third where Awkwafina was present for a Q&A. I thought Parasite was incredible and Promare was OK. I have spent an unfortunately large amount of my time playing Pokemon Masters. I finally beat BOTW and completed my Pokedex in Shield like 2 weeks after getting the game.

Resolutions! In my draft of my 2018 end of year post (which I never polished and posted, sorry), I said my resolutions were 1. come out to my parents 2. draw enough to table at an anime con 3. be disciplined about paper reading and have a doc. I did none of these things!!! However, for 1, I feel like I am well equipped to have this conversation but am waiting for my sibling to do it first out of respect. 2 was just bad. I barely drew this year except for gifts. 3 was okay--I did have a large doc in the beginning of the year when I was looking for ideas, but as time went on I abandoned it (I also stopped reading papers, which I don't think you're supposed to do as a grad student...)

My resolutions this year are phrased as intentions (-(c) Matthew). They span several categories. Relationships: I want to open myself to and actively seek experiences of love, because I miss that. That being said, I will only date someone if 1. they have their life together 2. they love themselves and 3. they challenge me to grow. (I do think you can experience love without dating; the thing I'm after is love in an expansive sense.) Work: I want to do enough work so I don't feel guilty about not doing enough work, and also not berate myself for taking a long time to do things. Hobbies: I want to sew at least one thing a month. Chinese: I want to improve my Chinese, especially pronunciation.

Having written this 20 days into 2020, it's not been so bad so far. But I was also really happy in the beginning of 2019. Here's to no global maxima, a monotonically increasing year!

[girlbookwrm]

i DO recommend these fics, but this ISN’T actually a rec list

a while ago i did a meta about Bucky Barnes and the Winter Soldier and Hydra and the headcanons I put in The Terror of Knowing, and I mentioned that I wanted to compile a long-ass list of fics that inspired The Hundred Year Playlist and ppl (hi @conlatio and @marveluc) asked about it SO HERE, AT LONG FUCKING LAST, IT IS.

Fanfiction, like every other art form that has ever existed in the history of ever, is all about synthesis: combining pre-existing elements to make something new. It’s the making something new thing that’s exciting. (If you’re not making something new with your found material, that’s called plaigiarism and it’s distinctly uncool.)

When I was in college and grad school, if we used material from other scholars to make a new idea, we made sure to include a bibliography. 

Now this is fic, so like. Everyone knows that we’re using found material. We put the fandom in the tags and everything. But there’s a lot of unseen inspiration, because it’s harder to tag all the fics and metas you read that gave you ideas and inspiration along the way.

I’m... making an attempt.

These are some, SOME of the fics that inspired the headcanons and characterizations and whatnot that then got incorporated into THYP. I’ve been reading MCU fic since 2014 (possibly earlier) and I didn’t even start thinking about THYP until 2017, so there’s probably a lot of stuff that went into my subconscious that I’ve forgotten about. I’m @ing the authors and sources when I know them, but if any of yall want me to like, un-@you (is that a thing??) or if any of you know of authors who have tumblrs that I DIDN’T @ but should have, pls let me knoooowwww

A (Probably Incomplete, but at least Attempted) Fanfic Bibliography for The Hundred Year Playlist

by Seriously I Don’t Have More Important Things To Do? Astonishing.

PLEASE HEED THE WARNINGS IN THE FICS THEMSELVES. THYP may be rated T for Teen (and even that I debate about tbh, given all the swears and violence) but most of these fics are very emphatically not.  some of them will probably squick you out, some of them might be triggering, so take care of yourselves.

I’ve divided the list into sections by the story they inspired, but all of these stories inspired all the parts of THYP, this is a very very very rough categorization. Think of it as my fanfic n headcanon spice rack. some stories are going to have more or less of one spice or another.

Dreamers With Empty Hands

All the Angels and the Saints by @cesperanza

"You're a brutal person, you know that? You're always rummaging through my guts with your bare hands!" and then Bucky turned away, his long, muscled back curving as he sat on the edge of the bed, hunched and struggling for breath. Steve wanted to draw him, and he also wanted to blot the image from his memory: this picture of Bucky in despair.

Speranza’s Socialist Steve is deeply flawed in a way that people don’t usually write him and i love it so much??? He’s angry, and egotistical, and righteous in a way that’s hard on the people around him and I was like YESGOOD MORE PLS. It’s also a masterful example of how to write a story that’s ostensibly Steve-POV but still manages to make Bucky not only a main player, but a driving force. It’s about Steve, on the surface, sure. But it’s also about Bucky, because Steve is about Bucky and I just *clenches fist* love it.

cascades. 

This fic. THIS FIC. Hngh. Okay so this fic is good on so many levels, but for THYP, the takeaway was me very gently lifting the Bucky-Steve-Barnes Family dynamic and then adding more swears to get to my take on the Bucky-Steve-Barnes Family Dynamic. Namely: 

“Steve was a bit of a Barnes, too, wasn’t he,” she says.

“He was ours,” says Rebecca, shrugging. “We were his.”

i crie???

More Man Than You

“You’re very pretty,” she said, and Steve tensed up.

“I’m not a fairy.”

“No, you’re not, are you?”

this fic has a study guide. and that’s literally all I feel I need to say about it. It’s an exploration of queer culture and masculinity in the 30s and 40s, thinly veiled as stucky fanfiction. (It’s also pretty brutal so I’ll reiterate that you need to heed the goddamn warnings)

Also, lest yall think I came up with Billy Thompson in a vacuum, I didn’t. In this fic, there’s a violent mob runner called Duke, and Steve comes up with a plan to take him down, and Bucky makes sure that there’s a Different plan that Steve doesn’t know about.  It’s all executed a little differently in this fic, but the idea lodged in my brain and got reused in THYP, and kind of became a central theme.

Good Morning Heartache, What’s New?

The Night War by @praximeter

IF YOU HAVEN’T READ THIS WHAT ARE YOU DOING WITH YOUR LIFE. This is... honestly, just one of the finest pieces of fiction i just 

HNNNNGH

I don’t know that I can point to any specific part of this fic and say “this gave me that idea” it was more the... the feel of it. The way the Normandy invasion is written and the way the trauma is handled and the way Steve is just slightly to the left of being a real soldier and especially this:

He asked me with a smile on his face what goes through my mind when I line up my shot—God and country? Pearl Harbor? Uncle Sam? —and I stared at him struck dumb from the question so long that I think he thought I was just plain stupid. The fact is that it is none of those things—not even close. It is sick, numb fear and careful, barely breathing so that I don’t miss. I must never miss. And then when I shoot, an awful thought curls up from my trigger finger to my heart “how many mothers must be praying I will miss?”

The Thirteen Letters

oh you didn’t really think that Not Easily Conquered wasn’t going to be on this list, didja? OF COURSE IT’S ON THE LIST. But possibly not for the reason you might think. That fic is legen-fucking-dary of course, and the scene where Steve gets stabbed was obviously very inspirational for that bit in GMHWN where Steve gets shot in the thigh, but the scene that really got teeth into my brain and Would Not Let Go was the one where the Howlies meet the Winged Victory of Samothrace and 

Bucky knows the truth now. It is a deep and insurmountable truth. She has no face. Like the operative whose head he beat in, like the boy who he killed one month into active duty, even like Bucky himself, Nike is faceless. Bucky feels unprepared, or like he should have brought an offering.

Beside him Steve quakes before the oldest and the only god.

look my fixation with statues didn’t come from nowhere is what i’m saying ok

Sincerely, Your Pal

This fic haunts me because i hate the ending. not because it’s not good (It IS good) or because it’s not the right ending for the story (it IS the right ending for the story) but just because i  h a t e  i t. I just like happy endings is all, and resolutions, and this fic is why THYP will have a happy ending.

But also, I really liked the way this fic dealt with Bucky in Basic and lines like this really caught in my brain:

And of course I want to kill some Nazis I guess but not because they’re people. Not because I actually want people to die because I don’t.

And that sentiment definitely fed into how I write Bucky especially.

The Terror of Knowing

there must have been a moment by @redstarwhitestar (magdaliny’s marvel sideblog)

Listen, I’ve been trying to make sure that there’s a good spread of writers on this list but magdaliny is the exception. Magdaliny is the exception for a lot of things and there must have been a moment when we could have said no is always the first fic I think of when I think of a fic about Bucky’s time as the Soldier. Which is ironic, because it’s very much about his time after that, but that first chapter made uhhhhhhhhhhh an impression.

The fractured nature of the narrative, the way that the reader can piece together a coherent timeline but the main character can’t... that was very influential on TTOK. example:

“Kill him,” the officer says.

The subject says: “Why?”

☙

“Kill him,” the officer says.

The subject makes a mess.

☙

“Kill him cleanly,” the officer says. “Good! Good lad.”

I’ll build a house inside of you

Another magdaliny G I F T, an AU where Nat is much younger and Bucky is her dad, and if you think that didn’t affect the way I write Bucky and Nat’s relationship in THYP, then you are dreaming. 

Past the praises of the handlers, above the hot wet smell of cordite and blood, Natalia can hear crashing and shouting down the hall.

“—goddamn animals, they're little girls, they're just kids, you fucking—”

Her father screams in English, in Mandarin, in Russian, and then he just screams.

I know that’s a super sad excerpt but listen and hear me when I say this fic is actually really good and wholesome and it’s got A+++ OCs and All The Widows and it’s just really good ok

Memory

Bucky is hard AF to write and very few people write him half so well as magdaliny but one of those people is emilyenrose and this fic is M A S T E R F U L. Bittersweet and achingly perfect. It contains this beautiful moment that really stuck with me, where Steve is comparing the post WS “James” to the Pre War “Bucky” and realizes... 

He truly hadn't known James all that well. James hadn't let him. Hadn't wanted him to. Hadn't wanted anyone near him, ever—

—the way Bucky went, when he was miserable, when he was angry...

and that, to me, was kind of key when I went on to write the Soldier, because the Soldier IS Bucky, even when he isn’t.

Fool For Sacrifice

Dona Nobis Pacem

THIS GODDAMN FIC came to me outta FUCKING NOWHERE, I’d already written the first draft for FFS, I’d already started posting it, for crying out loud. And then all of a sudden I stumble upon THIS and i just

It’s already fading, just hours after the skirmish.  And the wounds Sam stitched will heal without a mark.  And the welts on Steve’s chest will disappear.  Like all of it never happened. 

Fuck the serum. He keeps thinking it, saying it.  Maybe if there were some goddamn scars, it’d be easier to process the damage.

This fic is heavy af, it’s like the 65k word version of That Chapter in FFS Where Steve Hits Rock Bottom. This was the fic I read when I was ramping myself up to tackle That Moment

three white horses

This is the other fic I read to ramp up for That Scene, and I think that probably shows in the way I wrote it. It is also is a Strong Contender for the title of Heavyweight Fic That Convinced Me Buck Is Jewish. Honestly I cannot praise this fic enough.

I think the thing that stuck hardest about the Steve in three white horses is the way he feels ghostly himself, like he’s only drifting through the present, and somehow most of his living happens in the past. It’s very beautifully done, and very subtly done, and it’s my go to fic if I am in Dire Need of a Good Clean Crie.

It’s getting an extra long excerpt because This Is My List And Neither God Nor Man Can Stop Me.

Steve's fingers touch metal when he reaches into the second-to-last box, and he feels the blood drain out of his face even before he's looked down. He knows the feel of it too well. He'd know it blind, a hundred years from now. It's Bucky's not-a-medal.

It'd been Bucky's grandfather's, or maybe his great-grandfather's, made of the kind of sterling silver that tarnishes if you look at it funny, so Bucky had always been polishing it; he'd traded cigarettes to the mess staff for baking soda and vinegar, during the war, but the thing was still soot-black half the time, like it is now. It'd been a fool's errand, wearing a thing like that in Axis territory, but Bucky'd worn it on his chain like the rest of the guys wore their Christophers and Michaels, and HYDRA'd ignored it. It was a subtle thing, though: nothing like wearing a Magen David, or the implacable H on Bucky's tags, just a thin slice of metal with a stylized branch and an oblique squiggle Steve only knows is the Hebrew word for life because Bucky told him so.

Bucky'd had a curious mix of reverence and irreverence about it, the same mixture that seemed to colour the whole of his religious life. He'd teased Steve sometimes, saying, “No, wait, you gotta kiss it before you enter the building, you schmuck, what are you, some kinda heathen?” with his legs around Steve's waist. Bucky hadn't complained when Steve had carried on with an inch of silver between his teeth, but Steve had offhandedly called it Bucky's good luck charm once, and Bucky'd blown up; it's not a superstition, he said, it's not a fucking amulet. He'd apologized later, and he'd explained, and said it was a touchy subject, just ingrained. Jews weren't supposed to believe in luck. Bucky'd thought maybe it was the opposite: maybe luck didn't believe in Jews.

Sparked Up Like a Book of Matches

AH YES, THE FIC THAT TAUGHT ME ABOUT LIL AUDREY JOKES. SIPPY CUPS OF SUPERBOOZE! A ROBOT CALLED SHITCAN!! WHAT MORE COULD YOU NEED IN A FIC??? I really like the way it addresses Steve being in the future is all

This one could probably also fall into the list of fics that inspired DWEH, in part because of This, which stuck with me Hard and heavily influenced the opening:

“...You ever have scarlet fever?"

Sam shakes his head.

"It starts in your throat, like an itch, and as your fever starts to climb, your tongue swells up and turns white and that's when they know, really, even before the rash, that it's scarlet fever. You can't swallow, it hurts so much. You're freezing and your joints ache and your fever keeps spiking and you start to hallucinate. I, uh, I thought things were crawling on me and there were voices that I didn't recognize whispering things that didn't make any sense. My mom had to fight me just to get me to drink broth, but I threw it up most of the time, anyway. Then I got pneumonia from being so worn down from the scarlet fever and I was so lucky, Sam. Nobody seems to understand how I lucky I was to make it through. Talking to people today, to make them understand I'd have to tell them I survived bird flu only to fall sick with Ebola."

listen. For reasons I can’t fully explain, I really wanted to read that happening so i wrote it, and this is what being a writer is All About.

Actually, on a second thought, I might be able to explain it: it’s because an experience like that is Capital F Formative, and I really wanted to explore how there’s a tiny sick kid rattling around inside Captain Beefcake’s souped up bod.

(And an additional shoutout to Steve Rogers’ American Captain, a webcomic that now exists only in the Wayback Machine, but which was L O V E L Y and I sincerely hope that the artist knows that)

No Hope for the Weary

Strays

This fic? is so fluffy?? Like literally so fluffy. But this fic (and, obviously, Infinite Coffee) were very much behind the inclusion of the God Damn Starbucks, and also the source of a lot of my headcanons about Barnes & Rogers: Secret Millennials. For Example: Bucky’s Notes on How To Be A Millennial:

- Lots of coffee. Travel mugs or paper cups from Starbucks place. Often looks guilty for drinking, obv derive pleasure from doing so. Unknown as to why. Investigate further? Why is there one every two blocks if no one wants it there? 

Infinite Coffee and Protection Detail

This is another fandom classic that needs very little introduction. A+ characterization, A+ OCs, Utterly Charming from start to finish, and the originator of a very distinct way of talking that got very strongly coded in my brain as Winter Soldier Bucky.

He passes within 4 m of Barnes on his way back to his building. The mission imperative achieves a Doppler effect.

contactContactCONTACTContactcontact

Aw.

If They Haven’t Learned Your Name by @silentwalrus1

If I had to point to one (1) fic and say “Blame This Fic for THYP” it would be this one: the Fic that my roommate and The Gal Pal know as “The One With the USS Motherfucker.” This might seem like an odd statement, because if you’ve read them both, I don’t think you’d necessarily put them in the same class. silentwalrus is a genius of hilarity and THYP is a big pile of The Sads. ITHLYN is delightfully unassuming and I’m sometimes embarrassed by how pretentious THYP ended up being. 

I would technically put this under the list of fics that heavily influenced NHFTW on account of the way it portrays Bucky going by gradual degrees from murderbot to mostly human person, but listen I could never write Cryptid!Bucky the way Silentwalrus has. It’s magnificent. And TBH the level of Intensity in ITHLYN’s Steve has is something I aspire to, and the Sam Characterization is On Point, and both those things influenced FFS, 112%. Nat’s Chaotic Slav Energy in this fic is OFF THE GODDAMN CHARTS and I LOVE IT. Every single side character, down to the spaceship is given the kind of care, attention, and characterization that just... it cannot be beat, my dudes.

16/10 highest recommendation. I could not possibly pick a single paragraph from this behemoth but uhhhhh

Two minutes in there’s a grunt and a slippery, gritty noise somewhere to her left, and then the Soldier barrels past at breakneck speed, vanishing down another tunnel. A second later Steve careens around the corner, bounces off the opposite wall and crashes away after him, so fast he’s nearly a blur. Natasha’s brain, entirely of its own accord, provides her with the utterly unhelpful accompaniment of a Yakety Sax soundtrack.

that’s it. that’s the fic.

Also, this fic is Stoutly To Blame for the playlist aspect of the hundred year playlist? Silentwalrus really got me good with Grounds for Divorce by Elbow, one of my all time favorite songs, which was then paired with one of my all time favorite chapters. By the time Caravan Palace’s Lone Digger made an appearance, I was sunk. This fic introduced me to Lyube, and gave me a new appreciation(?) for dubstep. So many of the songs ITHLYN used ended up in my Very Long Stucky Playlist, though I think the only one that then went on to become part of the Hundred Year Playlist: Upside Down and Inside Out by OK GO.

And Finally, the Coup De What The Fuck Ever:

Ain’t No Grave by @spitandvinegar

yet another fandom classic... I wasn’t sure where to put this fic, but I couldn’t NOT include it in the list. Spitandvinegar’s Steve is charming and so? Sweet? and the ANG Bucky is a delightful foulmouthed mess of a person, and the Sam/Claire pairing is something I DIDN’T KNOW I NEEDED, BUT I VERY MUCH NEEDED IT and I don’t know that I can point to a single thing and be like: Ah Yes, This Bit, but this is definitely one of my faves:

Imagine you live in this country, right? And there's a brutal war, and you witness and maybe participate in a horrific amount of violence, and you lose absolutely everyone you care about. Then you end up in this other country, where the culture and ways of doing things are completely foreign to you, and random assholes make fun of you for how you dress and act and talk while you're still coming to grips with the fact that everyone you love is gone and you can never go home again. Meanwhile, everyone around you is like "smile, motherfucker, you're in the Land of Plenty now, where there's a Starbucks on every corner and 500 channels on TV. You should be grateful! Why aren't you acting more grateful?" So you have to pretend to be grateful while you're dying inside. Sound like an traumatized, orphaned refugee? Also sounds like Steve fucking Rogers, Captain Goddamn America. Except that most refugees were part of a community of other people who were going through the same thing. Steve is all alone, the last damn unicorn, if the last unicorn had horrible screaming nightmares about the time when it helped to liberate Buchenwald.

Usually this explanation yields a "huh." People don't want Sad Refugee Steve: they want Captain America, Indestructible Defender of Freedom. But that doesn't mean that Sam isn't right, because he is right, goddamnit. So yeah, Sam's a little protective of Steve. And if the last unicorn finds out that its best damn unicorn friend in the whole world is actually alive, then damn straight, Sam's heading out with a tranq gun and bringing that damn unicorn in and starting a goddamn unicorn wildlife refuge in his backyard. Or something like that: at a certain point the metaphor kind of gets away from him.

Til The End of the Timeline

I’ve recced this so many times you’ve probably all gotten sick of hearing about it, but it’s an invaluable goddamn resource and you should all check it out. 

A Shit Ton of Metas and Blogs, some of which are tagged with THYP Research but especially @steve-rogers-new-york and @hansbekhart‘s How To Brooklyn and @historicallyaccuratesteve

and last but certainly not least

LITERALLY EVERYTHING @quietnighty READS HOLY SHIT

If you’re looking for a common thread through all the above recs, it’s that almost all of them have podfics, and the vast majority of those podfics are by Quietnight. I am, and always have been, an audio learner. I read my writing aloud when I’m editing, I listen to audiobooks when I’m commuting, and when I’m cleaning, and when I’m playing computer games, because I like stories, and I especially like listening to stories. Quietnight’s podfics are Of The Highest Quality, and her taste in fic is Impeccable.

hooooly shit this post is long wow okay. I can’t promise I won’t add more to this later, but I’m leaving it for now because goddamn. it’s as complete as I can make it at this time. I’ve added a “THYP Fanfic Bibliography” tag in my bookmarks, and incidentally I really need to make sure I’ve gone through and kudosed all of these because goddamn.

[saintjudejournal]

Pretty proud of this, not going to lie 😅

I think this is the probably the most I’ve ever worked on a poem and written on here.

******

I wrote the first draft of this quickly and very angrily sometime in 2016 on one of those hot summer days when things where just not going well. To top things off, I left my bananas on top of my fridge and flies got into my apartment, laid eggs in them and it was all super gross. Fun fact, still haven’t had a banana since then... (so yeah, it wasn’t the best day not sure if you can tell from the poem 😅). Anyways, fast forward to a while later when my mood subsided as it often does, eventually... for some reason I never could complete this poem. Still not sure why, even now I keep wondering if i should have added a bit more...

I usually tend to avoid reading what I write especially if it’s just after a stream of consciousness rant and so I let the words simmer for a while.

When I finally did get to review what I have written, I don’t know why but it didn’t sound like “me.” The words were crude, a departure from my typical stylistic choices and not very pleasant to read. In fact I didn’t really like what I have written at all so I decided it was another one of my “rough drafts” and left it to dissipate at the bottom of my notes folder where fragments of my thoughts go to die.

Throughout, the years I would stumble upon it while making a grocery list or attempting for the 100th time to clean up my notes and would give it a quick glance but again, reading the words always left a bad taste in my mouth and I would put it away not feeling very good.

Strangely enough, the phrase “it’s got to be for something, the rot” have been in my mind for some time now. I’m not entirely sure when those words came to me to be honest, but I always think of them especially on days when things are bad. I think I subconsciously conjured up those words as a reminder that all the hardships and bad times serve a purpose even if it’s too painful to know what that is just yet.

(God, this is probably the most I’ve ever written for a caption in my life)

To make a long story short, for whatever reason, something inside me probably same place the voices come from...(kidding but not really), decided it was time to finally publish this. The urge to write again and publish this, took over my mind so utterly and irrevocably, it was almost a compulsion.

I suddenly had this image in my head of how I wanted it to look and I just knew it had to come out looking the way it did. I’m not sure why I thought of all the religious iconographies...

Maybe because I was a pastor’s kid and a part of my subconscious still associates the concept of “heaven”/“nirvana” as escapism from all “the rot.”

Perharps, my current obsession with Bukowski’s unflinching approach to writing is inspiring me to just write and create whatever words or imagery that comes to mind no matter how crazy/unsavoury it might seem without worrying about other’s interpretation. I can definitely credit my recent obsession with the dirty old man for giving me the courage to attempt the whole “writing thing” again.

Maybe it’s a bit of both or oh who knows...

Nevertheless, I’m grateful to whatever demon or angel that possessed me. It’s been a crazy couple of years and I still have no idea what I’m doing but I think I’m going to keep trying the whole writing/creating thing again. I haven’t slept before 5am in a while so sleep deprivation is probably the driving force behind all this but I can finally say for the first time that I’m...dare I say happy? ...Hmm let’s say content... no happy. I’m happy with what I wrote/created and even though my brain is literally wincing every time I say the “H” word, I’m going to try and keep reminding myself how good it feels to actually create an image I’ve been carrying in my mind. As for the editing, considering I literally had no photoshop skills up until 3 days ago and no computer I think I did ok. Apparently, something inside me wanted my words to be framed like a photograph with the hashtag “soft girl” on Instagram (or someone who just time travelled to 2009 and discovered Microsoft paint 😅) so I’ve literally been up all night on my phone trying to put together fragments of the images I’ve carried in my mind...

I’m still not sure what all of it means but I think what I was trying to say at the time is that things in my life are ugly/rotten. I’m not where I want to be and I would like to change it. I don’t know how that’s coming along but I would sure like to keep trying... And just going back and doing further edits I think the reason I added all those edits, the ornate borders and why not has to do with something along the lines of things in my life aren’t pretty, I’m not where I want to be but I’m the only who who can change it. I can crop, edit, pixelate (sorry I just learnt photoshop), the things that are within my control to change... (That and I also just like really pretty things. Haha. Always have been a sucker for some good ol’ good/evil, pretty/ugly juxtaposition.)

I guess what I’m trying to say is, I can create/clean up/ beautify for lack of a better word those things that I don’t like... the ugly parts and it’s up to me to make my life more beautiful/how I like...

This calls to mind the lyrics to one of my favourite songs... Yeasayer’s 2080; “we can pickle the pain into blue ribbon winners at county contests”

(Wow, things certainly took an existential turn...)

If you’ve read this far, what are you doing with your life? Haha no but if anyone reads this far, well damn! You’ve definitely earned yourself a virtual cookie 🍪 ... (I’m sure you’re thrilled, try to control your excitement) but yeah you definitely get a lot of props and I imagine your patience level is unmatchable!

Really though, thank you :) I really do appreciate it and sorry for my super long rant 😅 I think the sleep deprivation might be kicking in now so I should end here.

If you made it this far thanks so much again and I really, really, really do appreciate it. In trying to keep with the whole “going to actually try and give this writing thing a proper shot kick I’m on this week”.

Thats all for now folks, thanks so much again! ✌️🙈😅🤷‍♀️

[fourohfourrealitynotfound]

Hi! I’ve been around for a little bit, so I guess I should introduce myself.

My name’s Ruby. I’m 17 and Aro Ace. This is my writing sideblog, and my main where I follow from is fourohfourlifenotfound.

I like fantasy. Most of my WIPs could be defined as high fantasy or contemporary fantasy. Mostly, I like the outlandish concepts that make normal people go “uhhh ok then.”

I plan on answering one prompt/creating a oneshot each week. I also want to post stuff (moodboards, playlists, excerpts, etc.) for my WIPs. I’ll include a bit of information about them below the “keep reading,” but I plan on releasing more detailed information in the coming weeks. My goal is to choose and plan a more dedicated WIP by the end of the year, so I can work on a first draft in 2020.

You’re always welcome to tag me in stuff, message me, or send asks. I’m open to talking about my WIPs, or just random things if you need a place to vent.

Finally, I’d like to thank the writeblr community. I know I haven’t interacted with a lot of you, but seeing how supportive this community is has inspired me to write again. Thank you from the bottom of my heart.

Summaries of (some of) my WIPs:

Bit O’ Magic

Madeline is a changeling who makes glamours for fairies living in the human world. Charlie is a human photographer that stumbles upon a city neighborhood of strange happenings. Amber is a fairy looking to start a new life among humans. This is the story of how these characters find themselves in the midst of a serial killer investigation.

Constants

When Sable’s parents die, she ends up in a home for Constants: people with magical abilities that allow them to travel to parallel universes. When a great evil threatens their existence, Sable and her fellow Constants embark on a journey to find a safe haven.

Depths

When a new virus breaks out, the government promises to send all of the diseased to a quarantine facility. However, the “quarantine facility” is actually an underground ecosystem full of strange new creatures. The MC is a girl who was wrongfully quarantined because of her queer identity.

Elementals

Finn broke up with Sera because he saw her kiss the cheek of another guy. A year later, Sera shows up during one of his dates to drag Finn into a world with magic, warring kingdoms, and soulmate-style love.

Havenwood

When Alys White attempts to attend a prestigious boarding school, she instead finds herself in a home for magical outcasts. While there, she must discover the truth about her family, abilities, and destiny.

Thanks for reading!

[lokikingofasgardslover713]

2} Scales & Treaties

Masterlist

Shackled Babe Masterlist

Loki Laufeyson x Plus Size Reader

Warnings: Odin being a son of a bitch. Nothing bad yet

Summary: Here meet a new ally as well as find out what both Loki and Thor thinks of the arrangement.

A/N: This one is short but it is to shed light on events that will make sense later own.

Words: +1,900

It was quiet in the king and queens quarters despite the fact the princess was only a day old. The sun rising on the tired queen who laid in bed with the princess at her side, having fallen asleep while feeding the baby, the maid trying to help right the queen as the king entered.

Lyall had been gone since he laid the queen in bed the moment Odin left, not a word spoken as he rushed out with their sons on his heels. A few moments later, the sound of a hunting party leaving the courtyard had the queen worried Lyall had finally lost his calm. When it came to Odin it had been hard to keep calm, Astrid having laid awake all night only to fall asleep in exhaustion.

“Your king has returned my queen,” the maid  spoke softly, helping the tired Norn sit. The maid holding the little princess in her arms as the queen woke. The distraught queen crying for the child to be given to her as gaze fell on her husband who she reached out to as well.

The king took a seat as she pulled him to the mattress, falling into the man as she tried to hold back the sobs, clinging to the sleeping newborn. The scent of the man’s leathers making the queen realize where he had gone in the night. He smelled slightly of sulfur, burnt hide, scorched earth and dank caverns. Pushing away to look up into his eyes to realize he was holding a moving bundle in his coat that made a faint chirping noise.

“We need to hurry. Lay her in the bassinet,” the king informed the queen, the maid quick to respond to lay the basket next to Astrid. With tear filled eyes the queen laid the little creature in the basket as the king removed a dragon scale bag from his coat that jumped in his hands, the bag letting out another chirping growl.

Without waiting, the king laid the bag in the bassinet and allowed it to open itself. The tiny creature inside scurrying out and under the princesses little gown. It nestled in her side, ruffling the linen to make itself comfortable and letting out contented chirps and squeaks.

“Husband! What have you found? It will hurt her,” the queen worried, reaching into the basket to jerk the scaly tale that slid out from the linen, but it chittered at her from its hiding place. The little bronze colored winged lizard scurrying out to lay on the little babes chest, making noise that was to be a loud, vicious growl, but sounded like a mouse. After its vicious attempt, it turned to nuzzle it's buttery soft muzzle under the princesses soft chin before curling lightly on her chest, falling asleep.

“He just imprinted on our princess and will protect her till his last breath,” the king smiled as the brownish green dragon unfolded new, soft leather wings over the little babe as if the small expanses of leather would protect the princess.

“He fits in the palm of my hand husband. How will he protect her,” Astrid began, daring to reach a finger out to stroke along the little creatures back and swearing it purred.

“He will grow with her. And before you ask, I retrieved him from a mercenary that was selling him after having killed his mother. He was to be sold for a spell that would have killed him. I made sure he seen no one the entire ride back so he would imprint on her. He should get no bigger than a 18 hand draft and supposedly will be very intelligent,” he explained to his wife as they watched the princess and tiny ‘lizard’ closely.

“What of Odin. Of the contract,” Astrid began, not able to stop herself from lifting the babe out of the basket to hold her close, the little dragon staying curled with the princess.

“Let me worry about that pompous bastard,” Lyall spoke quietly, pulling the queen, the princess and the dragon close to hold them in attempts to quiet his own fears.

Asgard

Frigga looked over the newest contract Odin had brought back from Alfheim, still not understanding why he had to go to the realm. The All-father being vague on his rush to leave, scanning the document close but never getting a glimpse of the names on the bottom before it was pulled from her fingers as their sons entered.

“The queen had a daughter,” Frigga spoke happily, noting how Odin hurried her to sign the contract but she hesitated, not sure what she was signing and wondering why he was rushing through it.

“She did. This is a contract for the princess Y/N to marry one of our sons when she is of age. It was what Lyall negotiated,” Odin explained hastily, Thor and Loki both looking at each other. The brothers not fully understanding what the big deal was, especially if the child was just born.

“You are going to marry one of us to… to a child,” Loki spoke up as they stopped at the table that Odin and Frigga sat at, looking at the two perplexed to why it seemed so tense in the room.

“The princess will be of age when she is married to one of you two but will be brought to Asgard to be raised once she reaches 5 years of age. This is so she knows our customs and what is expected of her in our court,” Odin began his explanation before the queen chimed in.

“How does Astrid feel about the arrangement?”

“She signed did she not,” Odin snipped to Frigga who eyed him close, knowing that it would take death before she would give up one of her sons to go live on another realm with no chance to visit since Lyall and Astrid had been banished from Asgard. The royals only allowed in the realm when treaties demanded it.

“I don’t understand why this takes a contract it…,” Thor this time, it even seemed off to him. He was the first to never argue with his father, but the oddness and rushed state made him uneasy.

“Let us sign this and be done! No more questions. This was agreed upon by all parties and signed,” Odin snarled at the three, all of them uneasy about it but nodding in agreement. As always Thor the first to step forward and do as commanded.

Though Loki was sure to step up and look over his brothers shoulder to read the runes quickly. The words indebted, bound to the realm, bound to her husband, bound to the four of them, standing out as Odin was quick to lay another parchment over it so he couldn’t read anymore. A quill hastily passed to Loki and reluctantly he signed, followed by his mother.

“Now, with that behind us, tell me, my sons, where have you been fighting,” the king began as if it was an everyday matter.

It ate at Loki, the thoughts of a woman, no, this was a child, married to them was very unsettling. Eating at him as he listened to Thor give his account of the excursion to Vannaheim, and who, and what they fought along with Thor’s great accomplishment. Tight lipped, the youngest prince looked at his mother who nodded for him to keep it quiet, but it didn’t go unnoticed she cared little for the treaty, as it was now called. A quick glance to Thor had Loki noting that even though he hid it, the signing weighed on him as well.

It truly made Thor forget key events of the fight, ones that he knew his father wanted to hear, but the thoughts of a child bride weighed on him. One so young, even if she was of age at marriage, the fact that it was as if she was livestock to be traded between the realms to keep peace was nagging at his mind. The oldest son stumbling on his words, notably when asked a question. The words he seen on the page, bound to Asgard, bound to them, it was unnerving and made no sense, even if all parties were in agreement. Thor may have been brawn, but he did have a brain about him as he looked to Loki to begin his account.

Needless to say, for once Loki was at a loss, having not heard a word and vowing to speak with Thor about the matter later when they were alone. Loki wanted to get his take on the contract they just signed, the opportunity presenting itself on the way to last meal. The quiet golden halls that possibly wouldn’t be that way long when a 5-year-old child would be running through them.

“What did you read on that contract,” Thor began as he stepped to the side with Loki close behind, both standing in the dark shadow of one of the many columns, bright blue meeting emerald green orbs for an instant before looking out across the grounds.

“The same as you I'm afraid, nothing,” Loki began, leaning on the railing, trying to busy himself with the look of their mothers garden.

“Damn it brother. You may lie to me and get away with it, but even I know that was a lie. You read exceedingly fast, you where distracted in our recount of Vannaheim. You seen it, the child is bound to us and this realm when she sets foot on Asgard in less than 5 years,” Thor began, Loki turning from the garden. OK he would give the oaf that, maybe he was becoming more receptive the older he became.

“She is already bond to us as a day-old infant. If she doesn’t come to Asgard in 5 years, then her entire family, realm is forfeit. Regardless of the treaty, this isn’t right,” Loki finally voiced as he watched Thor close, knowing how his brother can be defensive of any and all of their fathers shitty treaties. Ones filled with loop holes that benefit Asgard and damns the other.

“They should be a way around it. Some way to free her from it. Maybe when she comes here, we can find a way to lift the treaty. I know I agree with a lot of the treaties but Loki, this feels wrong,” Thor admitted to the raven-haired god that stood deep in thought.

“I can’t believe you are going against father. Isn’t that usually my place? To go against the old man? Make him hate me more so you are in the spot light,” Loki spoke up, an edge to his voice, hurt crossing Thor’ face for an instant before he decided to speak.

“Father doesn’t hate you Loki. This isn’t an argument about us right now, we are getting off track. What about the princess? We need to do all we can to keep this from happening,” Thor spoke trying to distract Loki.

“He does, but I agree, we need to work on this and by we, I mean me. I will see what I can find out about the king and queen of Alfheim. That way we can better understand what is going on. I would hate for you to be married to a child, that would mean twice the headache for me,” Loki snipped before heading off down the corridor opposite the dining hall.

“What are you saying,” Thor hollered after his brother who continued on his way.

“What does it sound like I'm saying brother,” Loki shouted back before disappearing around the corner.

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