#alice vicious

[a-great-tragedy]

Listen, you can’t be partners in crime and also be just “Best Friends”cause there is nothing more gay than planning murder

[lueddegen]

Stories that prove repeatedly that the power of friendship and the power of incredible violence don’t have to be mutually exclusive on the way to solving problems are my favourite kind of jam.

[ironmansbay]

hiding from leaks rn so im posting to preoccupy myself. still thinking about how the first and so far only time that Larys has ever made physical contact with another person on the show was him helping Aegon back to bed… still screaming too!!!

[neeerrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrd]

☆☆☆

liz

alice

[pa-pa-patato]

HAPPY BIRTHDAY BENDY

MY BELOVED DANCING DARLING

[s4gewar]

“Sid rolled around on the floor in front of the amps like a kitten playing with a ball of yarn…he reached for the mic a couple times, but I hung onto it, because as much as I liked Sid Vicious, it was a Bags show, not a punk rock karaoke night.”

Alice Bag - “Violence girl”

At Mabuhay Gardens, San Francisco, in January of 1978.

Captured by - Ruby Ray.

[thewingedchild]

you don’t understand they are the same person–

[wisdomfish]

"You can put a vicious dog on a chain, but you sure don’t want to get within the radius of the chain, or you’ll still get mauled!"

Kim Riddlebarger

[atopvisenyashill]

if i did a reread of the walking dead and wrote an essay on how aegon ii and carl are doomed to be the last man standing by their narratives, and what starts out as a sort of cool & nifty super power of always surviving turns into this horrific curse where everyone they know is dying around them & sometimes it’s their fault & sometimes it’s not but either way they can’t ever stop it until they’re sitting at the ending with nothing but their lone daughter to protect but so broken they can no longer connect to her and then their story abruptly ends-

would that be like the Most stupid, nerdy thing i have ever done in my life or

[stardustandrockets]

This is my last post in my series of rainbow recs. If you've enjoyed my content and can donate, my ko-fi is linked in my bio and my stories.

Thank you to everyone who has read my posts, saved them, shared them, and commented. It really means a lot that so many people have said they resonate with what I’ve said. It hasn’t been easy sharing some of this stuff as it’s not something I always like talking about. But with the #JesusJune reading challenge that was created by Christian bigots, I felt it was an opportune time to let my fellow religiously traumatized queers know that you’re not alone.

It’s been a hard journey to get to where I am today, and I don’t think I could have done that if it weren’t for my partner and queer representation in books. Before joining booksta back in 2017, I can think of only two queer books I’d really read, M or F? by Lisa Papademetriou and Chris Tebbetts and Will Grayson, Will Grayson by John Green and David Levithan. I read them both in high school and then fell off the reading wagon because college was a lot and I was too busy surviving to leisurely read. But it was the first time that I had read books with explicitly queer characters.

I am so very thankful that queer books exist at the capacity they do now. Even though scared adults are trying to ban queer content, it’s there for kids that need it and I greatly hope the ones that do need it are able to get it. If I had books like Loveless by Alice Oseman or known of any out and proud asexual authors, I might have discovered my asexuality sooner. That being said, I’m so glad that kids these days have better access to information that I did growing up (despite what some people want) and seem to know who they are at an earlier age. I think they’ll turn out okay, all things considered.

Remember: whether you are out or not, know you are greatly loved and my account is a safe space. 🌈 Bigots can't and won't win.

[lya-dustin]

Idk why my brain went Hatiçe is a happily married version of show!Alicent.

Like both women who just wanted to be happy, who lost children and who's husband kinda ruined their lives before and after their death. That angelic motherly perfect princess facade and pretty crying face, the descent into madness from grief, the trauma, the marriages they didn't want, the children who died and at least one who they subconsciously believe/know who's death they caused. The father who used them to secure power, the people around them enabling their bad decisions and friends turning into enemies because of their husband, their sheltered upbringing that made them pawns in a bigger game and also overestimating their own ability which leads to their doom.

[greeksorceress]

i feel like lately i've been so sleep deprived that i've been neglecting everything and everyone around me. not being able to sleep tires me, but thinking that i'm disappointing people i care about drains me. 😞

[thevalicemultiverse]

Well as alive as one can be when they’re a kindred.

Alice: Point, but they're alive enough to argue constantly -- trust me, I know.

[hhikii]

hi hello!!!

will somebody like to buddy read with me? first I'm planning and more interested in reading Jane Eyre during February, but I have these other books if anyone wants to join me !! :

> The Invisible Life of Addie LaRue

> Loveless

> The Phantom of the Opera

hmu !! dm open ^^

[hcneymooners]

⋆ thinking about model!cait & model!reader.

ꕮ you and model!caitlyn find one another unexpectedly, your friendship a perfect firework across an otherwise tedious skyline of existence. she has a strong reputation comprised of a perfect work ethic, but a "bitter aftertaste" of a personality. the coworker who says this is notorious for being vicious, so you smile palely and take the assessment with a grain of salt.

ꕮ model!caitlyn whom you first meet backstage at an indie designer's debut show, whom you keep running into backstage. she's softer than you expected with her deep blue hair tugged up into a topknot, balancing like an artist on a tightrope. her cheeks are dusted with a metallic blush that shimmers weakly every time her cheeks bunch and loosen, the movement repeated as she chews on an apple.

ꕮ model!cait who is the last to go on most of the time, as are you, so you watch as she keeps to herself amid fashion week and is the first one out at the end of every show. it's the same cycle of working up the courage to speak to her, to show her that you aren't whispering along with the rest of the girls sitting beside you, but your little streaks of bravery are blotted out by the hot lights of your twin vanities and there's nothing left by the time she calls her car.

ꕮ you finally see her at the right time, finally send her a tight smile that you meant to be fuller with a little wave. she's at the mouth of the door, head bent back as the movement coordinator orders her to be earlier tomorrow for rehearsals because she's opening this time. she's surprised at the soft spread of your teeth towards her, and reflexively she smiles back. congratulations, you tell her and your voice is strong. thank you, she says.

ꕮ and you think that's the end of things but then you get stuck in the open half of a prop plane with her. the set is an elaborate platform to showcase the newest alice+olivia spring-summer collection. the two of you swing like a pendulum across the floor, tumbling into one another. her body is lanky, almost awkward, and she smells deeply of iris, lime, and rose.

ꕮ "you smell good," you whisper with a hand on your stomach because you think you might throw up. she smiles, surprised, and you understand exactly why they scouted her.

ꕮ after that, your relationship grows almost lazily like ivy. you run into her everywhere: the grocery store, the members club right across your townhouse, the museum where you went to see the quilt exhibit. one day you just take her hand and interlink it with yours, promising her a delicious bowl of pho and saying that you'll teach her to haggle prices at the little market you're going to after this—the one owned by the khti with kind eyes.

ꕮ she follows you, lets you swallow her, and basks in the solidarity of finding someone who doesn't hate her for once. you find out more: that she's a nepotism baby (her mother is a top designer), that she dislikes a lot of who she walks for but doesn't think she deserves to complain, that she majored in philosophy and military history at university but dropped out in her junior year, that she's been thinking of going back. "go back," you tell her with a soft smile. "i'll go with you."

ꕮ you go back to school together: her to finish her bachelor's, you to get your master's.

ꕮ when you're off-duty, she calls you. it's always at the same time—she's very structured, you notice—which means you always find yourself rushing through the rooms of your home, trying to find where you last tossed your phone.

ꕮ it's 2007 then, so it's a thin slab the color of ice with the logo of the most prominent tech company at the moment. you're always worried you're going to drop it, that you'll lose her, so you memorize her number to call her from a pay phone when you're somewhere different in the world.

ꕮ on call, she tells you about the first time she walked paris fashion week, how her hands wouldn't stop shaking even after she'd made it back behind the curtain. you share your own story of tripping during milan, catching yourself at the last second while your heart drummed against your ribs.

ꕮ "i was there," she tells you, laughing gently. the words cut out a bit as she moves around, and without thinking, you speak to the ache in your chest and say, "i wish you were here."

ꕮ backstage becomes your sanctuary together. you learn to recognize the slope of her shoulders when a designer has been particularly cruel, and she learns exactly how you like your tea when you're running on your fourth show of the day. "chamomile, splash of honey," she murmurs, pressing the warm cup into your hands. her fingers linger against yours longer than necessary.

ꕮ you rest your head on top of her jutting shoulder, eyes fluttering closed as she adjusts the alligator clips in your hair so that you're more comfortable, switching out your perm papers for new ones so the stylists won't yell about the crinkles.

ꕮ there have been many times when you've sobbed into her lap or she into yours, bodies run ragged after doing 10-20 shows in a day or two. it's never too much work to soothe her or for her to coo at you, quieting you until you fitfully fall asleep.

ꕮ you start sharing hotel rooms to save money, but really it's because neither of you can stand the loneliness anymore. you always share a hotel room now with two beds, just for you to wrap around her in only one. these are the best times of travel: caitlyn in her cotton hollister boy shorts and her long-sleeved soccer camp tee, hair lumped into a loose knot at her neck as her chest rises and falls gently with her breath.

ꕮ you huddle closer every night, late at night. you order room service and critique the collections together. she has strong opinions about necklines, and you can spend hours discussing the politics of sizing.

ꕮ sometimes you fall asleep mid-conversation and wake to find her having tucked you in.

ꕮ the industry starts to notice your friendship. "the ice queen has finally thawed," they whisper, and you hate how they talk about her like she's a puzzle to be solved rather than a person. but she just squeezes your hand under the table at fashion week parties and whispers, "let them talk." you realize you'd let them say anything as long as she keeps holding your hand.

ꕮ your first kiss happens in taipei. you're both half-delirious from lack of sleep, sharing a pepper bun in the early morning before shows begin. she has a dot of sauce on her lower lip, and you reach out without thinking, thumb brushing it away and coming to your mouth so that you can suck it clean.

ꕮ "oh," she says softly, and then you're colliding, kissing desperately and tenderly among the crumbs and cups of cucumber water, dawn breaking over the city of azaleas. she breaks away because she can't stop smiling and you can't either, and her hair looks like blue fire in the sunlight. you kiss her again because you can and drag her by the hand down the street, your water sloshing as you try to make it to the show on time.

ꕮ together, you start to imagine a life beyond the runway. she talks about teaching military history to undergraduates, her eyes lighting up as she describes battle strategies and political maneuvering. you sketch out plans for your own vintage styling firm, something small and carefully curated with a tight clientele.

ꕮ "we could do both," she says, and you love how she always includes you in her future.

ꕮ life begins to slow down without either of you meaning for it to. it's subtle at first: you start saying no to castings that don't excite you, and caitlyn realizes she hasn't done a full fashion week in nearly a year.

ꕮ you find yourselves going to the same places more often—your favorite cafe, the record store that still carries CDs, the bookstore where cait always beelines for the history section while you browse vintage magazines.   

ꕮ caitlyn buys a dog before you do—a retired racing greyhound named laguna with eyes too soft for the world. you tease her about how predictable it is, how of course she'd choose a creature as long-limbed and elegant as her. but then you find a pocket bully in a shelter with a wiry coat and the sweetest underbite you've ever seen, and suddenly you have two. your inbox fills with emails from brands who want to feature them instead of you.  

ꕮ there's a video of you and caitlyn sitting on a blanket in central park, sharing a bagel slathered thick with avocado while your dogs sprawl between you. someone posts it on youtube with the title supermodels—THEY'RE JUST LIKE US and suddenly laguna and your little bully (you named her venice) have their own fanbase.

ꕮ people start recognizing you not for the runways, but for the dogs. “cait, i think we’ve peaked," you joke, showing cait a feature in a fashion mag about “all the best supermodels have turned dog moms.”   

ꕮ one day, cait tells you she’s serious about completing her phd. "i think i’m ready," she says, her fingers twisting the hem of your sweatshirt. you kiss her forehead and tell her you've been looking at spaces for your styling firm. "i think i'm ready too."  

ꕮ leaving modeling feels like shedding skin. at first, you both keep a toe in—an editorial here, a campaign there—but eventually, the industry moves on without you, and neither of you mind. 

ꕮ the mornings are slower now, filled with newspaper crossword puzzles and late brunches. your lives feel like the belong more to you than before. sometimes you still wake up expecting to rush to a casting, but then laguna whines at the door, and venice jumps onto the bed, and you remember you don't have to be anywhere except beside her.  

ꕮ you start teaching styling workshops, curating looks for indie films, slowly building your firm from the ground up. caitlyn, true to her word, finishes her degree and starts lecturing. she still paces when she talks, still moves like she’s walking the length of a runway, but now it’s in front of a room full of students who hang onto every word she says about ancient war tactics. 

ꕮ you don’t understand any of it, but still you’re proud of her. you sneak into her lectures with a ball cap that does nothing to disguise you, a polaroid camera in your hands as you take pictures of her for the keepsake box underneath your bed.

ꕮ your home becomes filled with old fashion week spreads pinned open like faded butterflies, shelves lined with history books, and a basket of dog toys that always end up in the middle of the floor. life is lovely. not perfect, but good nonetheless.

ꕮ and then one day, years later, you're walking through a square—maybe in new york, maybe in london—when you look up and see her face on a billboard. it’s an old campaign, maybe one of the last ones she did, and the sight of her, frozen in time, steals the breath from your lungs.   

ꕮ you call her.  

ꕮ "hey, baby,” you say when she picks up. "i just saw you on a billboard."  

ꕮ there's a beat of silence, then her voice, warm and teasing. “wasn’t expecting to hear that bit of news. tell me, was i beautiful all blown up and life-sized?”  

ꕮ you smile, tilting your face toward the sky. "yes. but they don’t know how much more beautiful you are in person."

© hcneymooners.

⚚ notes: for @marieeeluvsyou & @srooch.

[clickityquacks]

Alignment chart of dark academia books, emphasis on the academia. I have read them all and this is my take on it all.

Is the novel a dark academia because it takes place in a school and there are a lot of "dark" themes or is it a dark academia because the atmosphere is grim and the characters are pursuing knowledge.

Also book recommendations, I think people would like the books that fall in the same quadrant.

Books under the read more.

Top Left: My favourite corner where I just want the author to flex their niche knowledge.

Piranesi - Susanna Clarke

The Historian - Elizabeth Kostova

If We Were Villains - M. L. Rio

Emily Wilde's Encyclopedia of Fairies - Heather Fawcett

Ninth House - Leigh Bardugo

The Raven Boys - Maggie Steifvater

The Secret History - Donna Tarte

Babel - R. F. Kuang

Bottom right: The intersection between lots of deaths and some niche knowledge. This one is a bit more hand wavey so here are some explanations.

Blood Over Bright Haven - M. L. Wang: Often compared to Babel but has way less niche knowledge and more transactional deaths.

Harrow the Ninth - Tamsyn Muir: This one is a sequel but the convoluted plot lives in my head rent free and it’s Dark (Goth) Academia.

Bunny - Mona Awad: Lots of allusion to literature and mythology. Also lots of dark, bunnies and swans.

Bottom Left: Takes place in a school that people are trying to survive.

The Magicians - Lev Grossman

Vicious - V. E. Schwab

Legendborn - Tracy Deonn

Ace of Spades - Faridah Àbíké-Íyímídé

Atlas Six - Olivie Blake

Deadly Education - Naomi Naovik

Top Left: Happens in a school and pretty light on death but has “dark” themes.

The River King - Alice Hoffman

A Good Girl’s Guide to Murder - Holly Jackson

The Initial Insult - Mindy McGinnis

A Study in Drowning - Ava Reid

To Shape a Dragon’s Breath - Moniquill Blackgoose

Never Let Me Go - Kazuo Ishiguro

You Feel It Just Below the Ribs - Janina Matthewson and Jeffrey Cranor