#Winston is my favourite

[cait-sith]

Day 13: Eat

[chippedshake]

Different characters as a narrator

I haven't written from every character's POV, but I want to someday have done it, and for now I have Thoughts on the ones I have written about.

I've already made two posts about Ponyboy as a canon narrator (here and here), but basically he can and will misinterpret everything. Everything is warped by his self-esteem being absolute shit. Any look towards him is judgemental. Any ambivalent comment is derisive. No one loves him. Run-on sentences my beloved.

Johnny is slowly growing to be my favourite character to write from. Anyone who heard "nothing gold can stay" for the first time from the shitty reciting of a fourteen-year-old who's insecure as fuck (when you feel insecure reciting something, you're more likely to speed up because you feel stupid doing the right intonation) and immediately knew what it meant and that it was what he was trying to express is going to have an aggressively poetic inner monologue, which is exactly how I like to write, so he's fun. I feel like he thinks a lot about the world around him and I love metaphors, and it's actually so. much. fun.

Dally is in constant denial of any sort of human feelings. It's really funny to describe a common reaction to caring for someone and then say. Huh. That's a weird feeling. I must just be hungry. He is incredibly unaware of his own feelings. Dally is one of the heavier cursers.

Darry is... interesting. For some reason, Darry is the character I've gained the strongest connection to out of the whole book, despite being a teenage, female middle child with absolutely no strength. So writing him feels personal. He's also the character I've written about the most, especially from his point of view. He's also kind of shit at noticing social cues, like Ponyboy, and he has low self-esteem, but they aren't as interconnected as they are with Ponyboy. He just doesn't understand people and also feels like he's constantly messing up with his brothers. But these two things aren't cause and effect, they're two characteristics that coexist in one fucked-up guy. Darry is also one of the ones that curses the most because he is constantly stressed out. He has a lot of short sentences.

I've never written from Two-Bit's point of view because I find it mildly terrifying because he's funnier than me and also often drunk. I have never had a drop of alcohol, so he's a bit far from my reality. As for Marcia, I have written a bit from her pov, but I don't love it. I mainly made her insecure so I could relate to her on some level, because she's also much funnier than me.

Now, Steve... Steve is insecure, but not as much as Ponyboy and Darry. He's confident in his abilities mostly, but has grown insecure because of how he's always seen as "the other one", "Soda's friend", etc. I haven't written much from his point of view, but Steve's mom was Latina so he absolutely inserts random phrases in Spanish into his inner monologue.

Soda is interesting because I have written a lot about him, but not very much from his point of view. Mainly, he's insecure like every character I've written ever, but it manifests in the fact that he talks about everyone's feelings but his own. Until they're so overpowering they take over. Also, off-handed comments on his being stupid. There's a lot of noticing small details and piecing together another character's emotions.

[fraeuleintaka]

I love Miles being unfailingly polite despite lacking absolutely any context for the conversation he's currently having.

[n1ghteeea]

Today I offer some funnies and also duo names I made for myself cuz just mashing names together is boring :P

Egon and Peter: Ectotrain

Egon and Ray: Ghostsmarts

Egon and Winston: Protonblast

Egon and Janine: Glassflower

Ray and Peter: Sleepytech

Ray and Winston: Mechcare

Peter and Winston: Braveshot

Peter and Janine (/p): Ghostbook

[squidslugs-art]

ITS WINSTON WEDNESDAY!!!!

[luellachilles]

since nobody is making Winston fanart ❤️ @w1nston

[wherethefairiesandgnomeslive]

[ We shall go on till the end

We shall fight on the seas and oceans

We shall defend our island

Whatever the cost may be

We shall never surrender ]

History recalls

How great the fall can be

While everybody's sleeping

The boat's put out to sea

Born on the wings of time

It seems the answers

Were so easy to find

Too late the prophets cry

The island's sinking

Let's take to the sky

- Fools Overture by Supertramp

[rustandruin]

I haven’t stopped laughing since I first read this.

[foottoe101001]

I’d like to thank my tumbler friends for being calm when I posted about my new outsiders Brody because the gc did NOT.

[atimble]

[secretagentsagainstwhatever]

[blank] would be a great character if they weren’t a cop

[mrporg]

Subnormality

As far as I can tell, Winston Rowntree is not on Tumblr and that's a shame. I'd much rather reblog his entries than make new ones while "stealing" his art. But I still want to share because I love what he does and I want other people to have a chance to discover (or rediscover) him.

I classify his Subnormality comics in a few different categories:

Early works. These are short comics, often developing a simple idea. They are hit and miss, but there are some real gems in there. (e.g., Weird)

Posters. These are one-page pieces which are usually to the point while at the same time being very detailed. They remind me of these old children book where you would be looking all over the page, trying to discover all the small details. (e.g., The Creative Process)

Slice of (imaginary) life. In these comics, the same few characters make repeat appearances and you get to learn to love them, much like characters in your favourite long-running TV show. (e.g., Hallway)

Long form stories. These are the most unique in my opinion. They are usually very verbose and tell a story from beginning to end. I find that they capture my imagination like nothing else. (e.g., Message 652)

I'll leave you with this extract from one of his earlier comics:

[outsidersandlostboys]

Brb gonna go watch the Outsiders again and ball my eyes out over Dallas and Johnny’s deaths

[avocado-writing]

i neeeed smth silly with wade and his s/o having a stereotypical teenage girls' sleepover- painting their nails, gossiping about boys (logan) and trying to style wade's wack ass wig.

sigh unfortunately i am in love with The Idiot

Honestly? You’re pretty fucking happy.

Wade is incredibly attentive. A goofball, sure, and the kinda guy to take things a little too far sometimes - but he can always tell when there’s something wrong. You’ve been far too stressed. Work has been getting you down, too much pressure with not enough appreciation, and it just feels like you’re being ground into the dirt by someone’s heel. Your usual enthusiasm when you come home has been ablated and you’ve barely been able to give Wade a smile recently. 

So tonight, when you walk in with gloom heavy around you, you’re pleasantly surprised when the apartment is lit with candles and your favourite album is playing quietly on the stereo. Wade looks up from where he’s judging between two facemasks. 

“Okay, we can go with ‘jasmine tranquillity’ or ‘rose seduction’. I’m feeling ‘rose seduction’, but maybe that’s because sensuality is my middle name. Well, one of my middle names. Wade Winston Sensuality Wilson.”

You put your work bag down and fix him with the smile which can’t help rising over your face. 

“What’s all this?”

“I couldn’t have my pookie ending their week on a bum note. I co-opted the place for ourselves tonight.”

“And Logan doesn’t care? Al?”

“Out drinking and at bridge, respectively. I’ll let you guess which one’s where.”

The image of your gruffest housemate sitting across from three retirees while playing cards makes you snort, and Wade knows he’s got you. 

Now? Now the facemask is smelling the room with soft perfume and you’re swilling your Merlot around in its glass, watching as Wade holds one of your bare feet in his lap and carefully applies red to your nails. There are curlers in your hair but none in his wig, because god knows you refuse to touch that thing any more than you absolutely have to. 

“This wine is nice,” you hum, slightly buzzed from the two glasses you’ve already had.

“It’s not, it was ten dollars, but once you’ve had enough you stop noticing that it tastes like ass,” he replies. Yeah, okay, he’s right. You down the rest of it and lean back against the sofa, watching him work as your vision swims a little. 

“You’re really good at this,” you hum. Wade doesn’t tear his eyes away from where he’s applying varnish in neat, diligent strokes. 

“I can sever a guy’s spine through his first and second lumbar vertebrae from thirty feet away. I’ve got steady hands, babe.” As easily as if he was commenting on the weather he holds up a small tray of press-on decals. “Now, do you want the little apples or the little cherries?”

You snort, gleeful. “Oh my god Wade, did you get those from Claire’s?”

“Yes I did. I went into Claire’s today because I’m confident in my masculinity and it’s a wonderful, joyous place to be.”

“… did Laura go in with you so you wouldn’t feel weird?”

“Yukio. I’m picking the cherries,” he decides with an air of finality. You cradle your woozy head in your arms and sigh, happily. 

“I love you, Wade.”

Finally he looks up, his face melting into a smile. 

“Yeah, I love you too. Now do you wanna watch Definitely, Maybe or Bridget Jones tonight?”

“Bridget Jones. You get weird when we watch the other one.”

“Heh, yeah,” he agrees. 

Taglist: @falsewordz @malfoys-demigod @belilwen @mildly-salted @tvwebs @childeslegstrap @getmeoutofhell @s1eep-o @just-a-beatlemaniac69 @yrthr @momopad @sugarplumz100 @captainjinkx @madspads @acrosstheunivcrse @yeethaw13

[cranberrv]

enchanted

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ��� in which dallas winston falls for the new girl

( a/n : i love this request sm!! reader is fem by the way, also not proofread also ooc! still cute tho! )

not many people wanted to move to tulsa, but for some people, it was their only option. that was the first similarity spotted between you and dallas.

of course, you and dallas were on different sides of the track, different chapters in a novel. you moved to tulsa for your fathers work, you were perfectly happy back at your old city, but you didn’t have a choice. dallas moved to tulsa to escape from the new york police.

you thought tulsa was bland. it was only your first week here, your first week emerced with all the other teenagers at school, but everyone here was grey. especially the east-side kids, the greasers. they were all broke and it looked like all the life was sucked out of them.

you, on the other hand, were fresh from los angeles, with a feminine flare to yourself and a genuine kindness that was rare in tulsa. even the rich kids were rude, but you were anything but.

it was the start of your second week of school, and your least favourite class was science. not because of the subject, it was just that the people in your class gave you dirty looks and the teacher had a voice that could put you to sleep. and your lab partner in the seat next to you had been away the entire time, leaving you to do projects alone.

today was supposed to be the exact same as usual. at the start of class, you walk in and sit down alone. the teacher does the attendance, and marks your mystery lab partner absent. today is independent work, finishing up a lab report and then doing a worksheet on protons and electrons. you want to fall asleep, it’s so boring. you’re listening to every silent conversation and looking out the window for a source of entertainment. you got your wish soon enough, as the door creaks open.

“hello,” your teacher greets to the boy that enters the room. “you are?”

“dallas winston,” he answers, throwing his burnt-out cigarette in the trash.

your teacher nods her head. “ah, you’re dallas winston,” the voice is slow as she pieces it together. you wonder why the words are said in such distaste.

you’ve given up on your work, watching dallas winston. he looks like an east-side kid, his hair is a bit messy and he radiates confidence. he certainly puts out an energy unlike anyone in this school.

they talk for a bit longer, the teacher obviously telling him it’s not okay to skip class. dallas tries to argue back for a little bit, but eventually gives up and holds his hands up in mock-surrender. the teacher takes a breath then points to you, giving him a worksheet and telling him to go sit next to you. he follows the teachers finger, and he tilts his head when he looks at you, trying to figure out if he knows you or not. his eyes light up a bit when you make eye contact with him. you like the way he looks at you.

dallas walks over, and sits next to you. there’s a few moments of silence as he gets himself settled. spitting out his gum, taking off his leather jacket, and finally landing his eyes on his sheet. he reads over the questions, and realizes has no idea how to do any of this. “you got a pencil?” he asks you.

“yeah, in my pencil case, help yourself,” you answer, and he grabs your pencil case and sifts through it to find one.

he takes one out and hands it back. you say thank you, and he thinks it was unnecessary to be polite about a simple thing but doesn’t say anything. “mechanical, huh?” he says about the pencil, pushing on the bottom to get the lead out. “expensive. what, you a soc or somethin’?”

you look from your worksheet up at him. he has a nice jawline, you notice. “a what?” you ask. an innocent question in your eyes, but one that has a lot more meaning for dallas.

who the hell doesn’t know what a soc is? he stares at you for a second, eyebrows furrowing. not out of annoyance, but out of genuine confusion about why you don’t know about the class-status that built up the entire reputation of tulsa. you know what a greaser is, but not a soc. and you barely know what a greaser is, anyway. you’ve just been told to stay away.

“you know, a rich-kid. a west-side kid.” you still look confused, and he comes to the conclusion that you’re not from here. so when he notices the confused look in your eye, he changes the subject. “where ya from, sugar?”

“i just moved from los angeles,” you tell him. his eyes drift down to your cute lace pink top. he thinks it’s totally something that someone from LA would wear. there’s a speck of silence as he analyzes you, and you feel the need to break it.

“i shoulda guessed,” he says with a raise of his eyebrows. you don’t know if he’s being mean or not. you hope he’s not mean.

“what do you mean?”

“i mean you look like you’re from hollywood or somethin’, with all the lace and the flashy bows and shit..” he’s poking at the lace lining your top. you can see him thinking about something while he’s looking at your lace. “christ, your lingerie collection must be insane, huh?”

there’s a blink of silence and a look of slight disbelief on your face. “what?”

“i’m messin’ with ya, sweetheart,” he chuckles.

“oh,” you say softly, cheeks going a bit hot.

“so,” he starts, switching the topic to a different note. “why’d ya move to fuckin’ tulsa?”

“my dad got a job here,” you explain, fiddling with your pencil in your hands. “why?”

“just curious,” he shrugs. “you know, most people don’t move to this hellhole.”

“you did,” you say, and he tilts his head. you think he’s looking at you because you’re just assuming things, and you’re probably wrong, so he’s judging you. “did you not?”

he cracks a smile. he wasn’t judging you, simply curious as to how you guessed he wasn’t from here. “yeah, i did, sugar,” he nods, leaning back in his seat. “how’d ya know?”

“your accent,” you explain. “very new yorker.”

“yeah? you like it?”

you mirror his smile. “yeah, i do.”

the class falls silent as the teacher insists everyone quiets down and focuses. dally's voice drops to a whisper when he responds, playfully pushing you away. “alright, miss hollywood, go do your work,” he teases. “gonna tell the teacher you’re distracting me,” he threatens, obviously playing around because he knows that he’s the one distracting you.

you smile and turn your head back to your sheet to finish it up. you begin peacefully working. dallas can’t help but stare at you as you do so. nibbling at your pencil while you’re thinking, constantly adjusting your top, brushing your hair out of your face every now and then, he notices it all. he can’t help it, he thinks you’re the sweetest person he’s ever seen.

you look up at him, feeling his intense gaze on you. you make eye contact and instantly turn away again, cheeks going pink like a tulip. why is he looking at you? do you have something on your face? you don’t know. you subconsiously wipe your cheek to make sure, and adjust your top again.

dallas finally looks away, and you take a breath and relax your shoulders. as much as he was acting sweet towards you, you could tell he had this rough edge that you should be worried about. but what truly worried you is the fact that his edge didn’t worry you. if anything, it lured you in. you wanted to learn everything about him. he was like the ocean, he was calm and beautiful but you had to swim out far and dive deep down to find out everything about him. and it felt like no one had, yet. he was a mystery. you liked that.

as you’re working, you hear the rip of lined paper beside you, then the scratch of a pencil. a few moments later, dallas hands you a piece of paper with a note on it.

“how do you do question 1?“ it reads.

you read the note and look up at him, smiling. you write down your answer, saying that he needs a calculator. you hand him yours, assuming correctly that he doesn’t own one.

he slides you another note a few seconds later. “it keeps saying weird shit on the calculator”

“what does it say?” you write back.

he takes longer than usual to write. you wait in anticipation. after what feels like forever (but was probably 15 seconds) he hands you another note. you read the numbers. you don’t understand how he got that answer. you read over it again, and then it clicks. it’s his phone number.

he’s looking at you as you read it. you look up at him and gently nod, putting his number in your pocket. you rip another piece of paper and write down, “i’ll call you.”

he reads it and writes back, and is about to hand it to you, until he quickly takes it back and adds something. then he hands it to you.

“good. (p.s. your little lace top is kinda cute)”

you read his little p.s. and smile to yourself, then to him. you mouth thank you to him. he mouths “anytime” back.

you have a feeling this won’t be the last time you and dallas winston say hello to each other in science class.

[sasha-br]

I have had a hell of a fun time this week writing every day for our wonderful little tiny!fandom. I will have one last piece up here in the next day (unless Hurricane/TS Beryl says something else UGH) and I wish all fans and everyone who loves legend and King Arthur, both 2004 and all versions, a Happy Anniversary! And Happy Anniversary (see you on the next five and ten!) to the little movie that could! xxoo

King Arthur (2004) 20th anniversary celebration day 7: endings

happy or otherwise, after the battle, everybody lives, a brave new world

It's day 7, the last day of our anniversary celebration, so we end with endings. Or is the ending just the beginning of another chapter? Does everyone in fact live?

Tag us @ka20th and #ka20th in your posts and we'll reblog them here - and if you're posting to AO3, please feel free to add them to our collection here!

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