#any polish fans of Wednesday?

[iambecomeafangirl]

Okay, so I’ve been on Wednesday TV show high lately, and as obsessed with Tyler as I am, I started to create fictional stories in my head. I got my own OC and most of the story. BUT. 

I’ve never written fanfiction. I don’t know how to do it. Also I am not a native english speaker, so I can’t write in english. But I wrote one part of the story in my own language (like the very very first part, where not much happens yet, it’s literally 1,5 pages) and I’m kinda satisfied with it? 

I only wish I could have someone to write for, cause I don’t trust someone else to translate my work lol. 

[al-the-remix]

WIP Wednesday

Buck finds the box when he’s helping Tommy pack up his stuff, slouched pathetically in the back corner of the closet in Tommy’s spare room, caked in dust and buried under a pair of old motocross boots. 

It took them less than a weekend to divide the contents of Buck’s loft into a neat truckload of tightly packed boxes. Tommy’s house is a whole different story. Junk collects in the bungalow the same way cobwebs shroud barn rafters; teetering stacks of brittle yellowed paperbacks cover low tables, rolling metal drawers filled with odd tools and bits of machinery are shoved into corners at a slant, and other assorted knick-knacks cake every other spare surface in the house. 

Actually, just about everything Tommy owns looks dated by at least a decade. Buck wouldn’t be surprised if he found something from the precambrian era fossilized beneath Tommy’s hoard of physical media. There are magazines and DVDs and–how do people even listen to CDs anymore? Buck thinks as he pushes another pile to the side to get at the box. 

Buck’s elbow deep in beige fabric before he realizes what he’s stumbled across. Pulling Tommy’s old fatigues into his lap, he runs his fingers over the shallow ridges of Kinard embroidered across the chest tape. The fabric is soft with wear but crisply pressed, Buck kneads it between his fingers, finding the inconsistencies where it has been patched and stitched. 

He digs a little deeper. There are two pairs of boots stuffed in there as well, a tan pair that looks like they have seen better days, and a black leather pair that might have been shiny with polish once but has since dulled from lack of attention. 

Buck rubs his thumb over the hard toe of one of the leather boots. It’s clear Tommy hasn’t touched this stuff in a while. He wonders just how much Tommy held onto over the years; if the rest of his house is any indication, most of it.

“What you got there?”

Tommy’s leaning against the doorway, a smile playing at the edges of his lips as he watches Buck poke through his personal belongings. He knows he’s just doing what he’s been asked, but he still feels like he’s been caught red handed digging through Tommy’s old military stuff. 

“Ah, you found the digies,” Tommy says, coming to hover at Buck’s elbow. Up close he looks pleasantly flushed and serene like he could spend all day moving around boxes and never get fed up with it. 

“Do you ever wear these?” Buck holds up the uniform he’s been swaddling in his lap. Aiming for curious but not too curious. 

Tommy frowns. “Not really. If there’s something ceremonial going on I’ve got my blues, but it’s been a long time since I got invited to something like that.” He reaches down and pulls one of the leather boots out of the box. “Oh, cool, my jump boots. I’d forgotten where I put these.”

No kidding, Buck thinks, eyeing the various sports equipment unceremoniously piled on the floor of the closet. If he'd ever been worried that digging through two decades worth of Tommy’s baggage–both emotionally and literally–would dull Buck’s interest in him, he shouldn’t have been. If anything, getting a chance to inspect Tommy's junk (ha) fanned the tinder of his curiosity till the point of ignition.

Tommy has both jump boots in his hands now, eyeing the dullness of them regretfully. “Twenty-five-year-old me would have been so embarrassed, I used to love these things.”

“How’d they end up in the closet then–so to speak?” 

Tommy snorts and drops them back into the box, causing a small eruption of dust to tickle Buck’s nose. He barely avoids sneezing.

“Sorry–I don’t know, I think I just packed all this stuff away when I got the job at the 118 and the house and forgot about it. Tried to make a clean break, you know?”

Not really. Buck had sort of bulldozed through his twenties with a brick on the gas. No stopping. No slowing down. Whatever snagged and held got dragged along in the turbulence of his life as long as it could cope: people, jobs, places, they all blurred into one and other in an unending train of flashes of light and color. 

“I see why you liked them,” Buck says, switching tangents. “They’re pretty cool. Very punk rock.”

He flashes Tommy a grin and the sign of the horns, pleased when Tommy rolls his eyes, amusement clear in every line and upwards curve of his face. Buck can smell the sweet powdery edge of his deodorant and see the sweat blotting at his temples right where he’s started to go gray. He weighs the pros and cons of yanking Tommy down by his belt and wasting fifteen minutes making out on the floor between islands of miscellanea.   

“Don’t even joke, the only punk rock going on in the Idaho panhandle was of the Boots & Braces variety.” Buck pulls a face and Tommy continues. “They’re more of an honorary thing anyway, you get ‘em after you pass your paratrooper training.”  Tommy nudges the box with his toe. “They’re not exactly practical.”

“They could use some buffing up,” Buck admits, taking a boot in hand, inspecting the scuffed heel. 

“Don’t start,” Tommy huffs. “You’re going to give me war flashbacks. Literally.” Buck stares shamelessly as he pulls the hem of his shirt up to wipe at his brow, making hot, implicit eye contact when Tommy drops it again.

“None of that, we’re on a tight schedule.” Tommy sticks a finger in his face like he’s warding off Buck and his nefarious intentions. 

“Fair enough, where do you want them, Sir?” He quips, all tongue and cheek.

Tommy shakes his head in defeat, grabbing a random collection of items from the floor before making his retreat. The nape of his neck is flush pink. “You can stick all that stuff in the keep pile.”

Buck salutes his back. He figured that would be the answer.

[prettybabybaby]

could you please do a drabble abt toxic! xavier wanting the reader to basically cut off all her friends

¡ 18+ only ! ¡ minors do not interact !

content: toxic relationship, toxic!xavier, fem!reader, oral (f!receiving)

word count: 1k

disclaimer: disclaimer: all characters in my works are at least 18. there is dark and triggering content in this, as stated above. consider what you are comfortable with reading before you continue. your media consumption is your responsibility, not mine.

¡ wednesday masterlist !

You stared at the ceiling, feet propped up on your boyfriends headboard, dark nail polish drying on your toes. You blew out a breath, feeling your annoyance grow with each passing second.

They were supposed to be there hours ago. Xavier had told you so. He had been so kind making plans for you, inviting all of your friends to go out with you after such a long time. You felt bad for neglecting them, but Xavier somehow managed to take up every second of your life. Not that you minded, of course. You loved him.

Sometimes though, the odd comment about missing your friends would slip from your lips along with a saddened pout. You never missed the way his eyes would flash, appearing dark for a spilt second before returning to their regular, lovely green. His smile would be dimmed as he reached to touch you in any way, “what about me?” he’d say, “don’t you miss me?”

You knew he wasn’t a huge fan of your friends, which is why it caught you by surprise when he pulled away from your lips the previous night, running a gentle hand down your cheek as he told you of your plans. You were ecstatic, hugging him tightly for doing something so nice. You didn’t think twice when he slipped your phone away from you as he mounted you, hiding it in a place you couldn’t pay attention to, too busy adjusting to the feel of him pumping in and out of you.

You weren’t able to find you phone this morning, even as you opened every drawer and rummaged through all of his belongings. You hated when he did that. You’d go days without your phone, weeks, sometimes, but that was only when you were being punished. You had done nothing wrong this time, you were sure if it. You didn’t want to be punished ever again after last time.

The doorknob shook, capturing your attention. You sat up hurriedly, bored out of your mind and truthfully, sad and disappointed. You sat at the edge of his bed, flattening your skirt as your pout grew.

Xavier’s messy head of hair met your eyes as he slipped inside, moving gracefully. His long, brown locks draped in front of his face as he looked down before he lifted his head, shaking out his hair. He smiled at you as he moved a stray strand from near his mouth, turning to lock the door.

When he faced you again, his smile dropped. “What’s wrong?” His eyebrows furrowed in worry, “did something happen?” He rushed to your side, cupping your face with his cold hands. He pecked your lips quickly, the look in his eyes told you that he couldn’t resist.

“They didn’t show up,” you said sadly. Your lips wobbled and your eyes stung. If you didn’t know any better, you’d say he appeared confused. “My friends left me waiting all day,” you said, flipping at the thin fabric of your skirt.

Realization seemed to hit him. He must’ve forgotten about making the plans, you told yourself. “Aw,” he mirrored your pout, “baby I’m sorry. They promised they’d be here.” Xavier sighed, “I guess we can’t trust anyone, can we?”

You didn’t reply, unsure of how to answer. You licked your lips, “Maybe I can text them? Maybe they forgot? Or maybe they got lost on the way here?”

His jaw twitched and he hummed, “why would you do that? They obviously don’t want to see you.”

You looked away from him, “I could always just make sure.”

He was silent. “Okay,” he took his hands off your face, “text them.”

You rolled the fabric of your skirt between your fingers, “my phone?”

“Your phone?”

“Yeah,” you cleared your throat, “you have it, don’t you?”

He looks was looking at you in a way that made you nervous, causing you to revert your eyes again. “Why would I have your phone?”

“You- um, you took it away.”

“Why would I do that?” He stared at you, an incredulous look on his face. “You’re just going to assume that I took your phone because, what, you misplaced it?”

You pursed your lips, glancing around the room. “I didn’t,” you said quietly.

“They wouldn’t reply anyway,” he said, throwing his hands up weakly. “They don’t like you.”

You felt a sting in your eyes again, pricking at the corners. “Why would you say that?” A tear fell without your permission, sliding down the curves of your face. More and more fell after that, rolling down in pairs and meeting each other in the palm of your hand as you raised it to cover your eyes.

“Babe,” Xavier sighed, pulling you to him. One of his hands grabbed the one concealing your face, holding it tight as he pulled it into his lap. The other used the pads of his fingers to swipe at the salty tears as they were pushed out of your eyes with every blink.

“You don’t need them. You have me.”

“I know but-“

“But what?” He snapped, “am I not enough for you? Because you’re everything to me.”

“Of course you are!” You hurried, sniffling as your eyes widened. “I just-“ you sighed. “Never mind.”

“What do you need them for anyway,” his gaze flickered around your face. He leaned in to give you a slow kiss, gripping your chin between his fingers. He began to lay kisses along your jaw, trailing them down your neck. His hands kneaded your thighs, pushing up your skirt with every swipe of his hands. “They can’t make you feel like I can,” he whispered.

You looked at the ceiling at he pushed you flat on your back, pushing your skirt higher as he sank lower until he was kneeling between your legs. Your panties were removed as he hooked his fingers under the waistband, tugging them to your knees and watching as they fell to your ankles. He spread your thighs, biting at the flesh as he worked his way to your cunt that grew wetter with each kiss.

“You know that, right?”

You glanced down at him, meeting his gaze immediately. He bit your hip meanly, “right?”

[hislittleraincloud]

Wildlings wilin' out in the wild.

Oh sure, because the novelization's voice is totally how Wednesday writes. ... ...

The novel she was writing on-screen covered the events of the season, so whatever we saw her do was in her voice.

Wednesday's thoughts aren't anything like what Mejia wrote, given the text of her novel that we did see, where she wrote about being assessed:

...across from her? Two meters and twenty stone of muscle and unresolved Oedipal ennui, the attendant resembled nothing less than several Polish kielbasas mashed together and forced to don hospital scrubs. The most cursory of assessments, by any measure of the imagination, would easily conclude that this man could almost certainly crush Viper’s skull with the ease of a child popping a cherry tomato. Though between the constellation of burst blood vessels around his eyes and jowls, or the faint and unmistakably cirrhotic odor on his breath — most of which emanated from his mouth, of course — Viper estimated that the man’s predisposition for cinnamon schnapps and lard-braised pork shoulder would send him to an early grave within the year.

And only then did Viper remind herself that in fact she did pose a threat…at least on paper, and at least according to the “professionals” so appointed by the court. Indeed, if one were to place any stock in the opinions of the teams of criminal psychologists and “mental health experts” hand-selected by the Macon County District Attorney’s Office, not only was Viper clinically insane, but she posed a grave threat to society.

Escape was her only option. Viper was an admirer of the master escapologist, Harry Houdini and had also watched the Steve McQueen classic “The Great Escape” on at least a dozen occasions. It was only one of three films that her Uncle Julius kept in his personal 35mm collection. He had a screening room in his Hollywood Hills mansion. It was rumored that the decrepit pile had once belonged to Elsa Lancaster, the original Bride of Frankenstein. The house was modeled after the Alahambra, entangled with purple-hued bougainvillea and boasted enviable jetliner views of the City of Angels. Viper was not a fan of Los Angeles or any West Coast city for that matter. But she did love her Uncle and would sit for hours listening to his stories of the Golden Age of Hollywood. If she managed to escape, she determined to…

3. Canon Wednesday writes for senior h.s. and college level readability (tested on her canon text, not the text I wrote):

4. Not saying that Mejia should've written it in the exact style with the exact vocabulary level as Canon Wednesday, but for fuck's sake. Read that sentence.

5. Y'all are insulting Canon Wednesday by merely suggesting that.

[toournextadventure]

do you have any Sam x prof headcanons?

OH BOY DO I

Their favourite thing to do together is watch cheesy, B-list rom-coms. The ones that you find on, like, Romance Hub and Hallmark. Sam usually wants to pick them apart and laugh at them, but Prof is always like "no listen, it's sweet, I can prove it."

They have required "date nights" once a week. These aren't always extravagant dates, but more like a single night dedicated to doing something for them both to relax. Going out to dinner, staying in to watch a movie, playing a card game, walking around the park, anything relaxing.

On Wednesdays they wear pink. Because Prof is a Mean Girls fan.

Sam has practically placed a "No Cooking Unsupervised" rule on Prof. She knows they can't cook. She doesn't want to have everyone mad at her again because they set off the fire alarm. Who knew microwave mac n cheese could be such a difficult meal?

When Sam is stressed, Prof sets up an entire spa experience in their apartment (never Sam's because Tara and J don't know boundaries). Massages, bath bombs, candles, nail polish, the whole 9 yards.

They help each other study. All the time. It's basically a study date at this point, and Sam thinks it's precious to watch Prof info-dump about whatever she's studying at the moment.

[linskywords]

just thinking about you :) any updates for hungry linsky fans? (including chappell roan style boundaries, if you don’t want this kind of q in your asks!)

Aw hi! Happy to get this kind of question. Thanks for thinking about me 🥰

I do have an update, and it's a bit of a surprise to me! The plan was to start working on the Jack and Quinn wolfverse stories. The plan was going well, to the tune of 21K on the Quinn story, and then, just under a week ago, I became Ready to Write Novels Again.

Did I know I was waiting to be ready again? I did not! But it turned out, as I think was already dawning on me when I wrote the longish post about my own writing a few weeks ago, my lack of desire to write novels was not, in fact, a new attribute of my personality, but a result of pregnancy and baby and all the inner and outer turmoil that entailed. Now that that turmoil has started to subside a bit, the desire is back, and last Wednesday I realized what I wanted to write and started writing it.

It is, as may not surprise you to hear, strongly based on hockey RPF, though it's not in a hockey setting. It's a romance novel, which is a genre I thought I wouldn't be able to write in, but a lot has changed in it over the past few years. It's a lot broader than it was and is more welcoming of story structures and tropes that feel ficcy to me. (I have absorbed this mostly by hearsay. There are still very few romance novels I have loved.) That's not to say I know there will be a place in the genre for the book I'm working on, but I hope there will be. It would be lovely to be able to publish the kind of stories I already love to write.

I may say more on what the novel is about in the future; it feels a little early now. I don't yet know that I'll be able to write it in a way I'm happy with. I know how to write a fic I like; I don't know if I know how to do that two steps sideways and make it a novel. I hope I can! I hope that a few months from now I have a rough draft I'm happy with and can start polishing. Maybe I'll share some of it with you all then.

And then I can come back and work on wolf!Quinn, because that boy should not be left hanging.

[bestwenclairfics]

Again not a fic or wenclair post but I just rewatched Wednesday and finally I had answer about how is Wednesday voice in her Viper's novel. I always was curious if would be too novelist or write like a fanfic writer or both. ---- Extract from Viper de la Muerte (Wednesday show scene):

"across from her? Two meters and twenty stone of muscle and unresolved Ocdipal ennui, the attendant resembled nothing less than severa Polish kielbasas mashed together and forced to don hospital scrube. The most cursory of assessments, by any measure of the imagination, would easily conclude that this man could almost certainly crush Viper's skull with the ease of a child popping a cherry tomato. Though between the constellation of burst blood vessels around his eyes and jowls, or the faint but unmistakably cirrhotic odor on his breath-most of which emanated from his mouth, of course-Viper estimated that the man's predisposition for cinnamon schnapps and lard-braised pork shoulder would send him to an early grave within the year.

And only then did Viper remind herlself that in fact she did pose a threat… at least on paper, and at least according to the "professionals" so appointed by the court. Indeed, if one were to place any stock in the opinions of the teams of criminal psychologists and "mental health experts" hand-selected by the Macon County District Attorney's Office, not only was Viper clinically insane, but she posed a grave threat to society.

Escape was her only option. Viper was an admirer of the master escapologist, Harry Houdini and had also watched the Steve McQueen classic "The Great Escape" on at least a dozen occasions. It was only one of three films that her Uncle Julius' kept in his personal 35mm collection. He had a screening room in his Hollywood Hills mansion. I has rumored that the decrepit pile had once belonged to Elsa Lancaster, the original Bride of Frankenstein. The house was modeled after the (Alhsabra), entangled with purple-hued bougainvillea and boasted enviable jutliner views of the City of Angels. Viper was not a fan od Los Angeles or any West Quest city for that matter. But she (untangible) love her Uncle and would sit for hours listening his stories of the Golden Age of Hollywood. If she managed to escape, she determined that she would seek temporary sanctuary with him. As a fellow black sheep, (untangible) was the only member of her (labyrinthine) family who would understand the precarious nature of her current predicament. ---------

*Note: Word that I can't read it well just go between ( - )

[galvanizedfriend]

hi, yokan <3

I read that in Brazil there's a week-break because of carnival, therefore I hope you're finally having a bit of rest!

I was wondering if you could post an outtake with the klaroeve scene? from you comment I understood that there was more than that little scene in the latest chapter, and I would LOVE to read it!

sorry if I sound rude or pressuring, it's not my intention at all :(( I'm just Eve's third parent, I need more scenes with my babygirl being adorable 😭😭

I totally get why you don't put more of her in the main story. I ALWAYS say that babyplots are terrible due to a lot of factors, one of them being the constant present of a baby who basically does nothing (rightfully, since, yk, it went out of the whomb last year) and that adds nothing to the plot but just terrible fan service.

I think most people would agree with this, maybe even you!

HOWEVER, my little wolf/fish/mermaid is THE exception and I would love to see more of her, and, since u have a series dedicated to those fluffy moments that don't exactly fits with the plot, I really wish you will post something there 😭😭

sorry for bothering you, I hope you'll have a good day!

P.S.

totally off-topic but I also read some of your comments in Portuguese (AT LEAST I think it's Portuguese 😭) and I understood like 80% of it, privileges of being Italian ‼‼ so lol now you really can't escape me >:)

Yes, it's Carnaval right now! It's a nearly weak-long holiday, but it sadly ends on Wednesday. 😢 And I was technically on call yesterday, so 😂 But I am very much enjoying not doing anything 🤷‍♀️

About the baby thing, yes. 😂 I've been so lucky to get some passionate readers almost from the start with this fic and to have people who are still reading it a ton of years later, but I've also had to read some very mean things over the years that have stuck with me. It has made me extremely self-conscious about this story. I sometimes find myself almost apologizing for writing it, like I'm commiting some kind of crime against fandom or like I should be banned for inflicting this upon people for as long as I have. I wish I could be the kind of person who just doesn't care and remains blissfully unbothered, but I'm not. I'm not a naturally confident person in any way, and that kind of thing does get to me.

It's gotten better, of course. I care a lot less now than I used to, and the fic is not as popular as it was a few years ago either, so there's that But some of that stuff has just ingrained itself into my brain. Objectively I know this is stupid and I don't owe anybody anything, I don't have to apologize for writing a fanfiction for god's sake. There's room for everyone in fandom. I can have a corner to rewrite the show and have a magical Klaroline baby, fuck it. Who cares, you know? But it's almost stronger than me sometimes, I don't realize I'm doing it. I get this feeling that I need to be more critical otherwise people are going to think it's ridiculous and OOC and nobody's gonna want to read it anymore and etc etc. It's exhausting. And it's obviously nobody's fault, it's just me in my own head, but that's how it goes.

The scene you're talking about in particular. I had it written years ago. Literal years, maybe 2021 or early 2022. Some of my friends had even already read it a loooong time before the chapter was finished. And I was convinced that it was so cute and totally fine. Then as I wrapping up the chapter, I started getting this itch that it was actually ridiculous and the folks who had read it didn't say anything because they were being nice, they didn't want to hurt my feelings, and I had to get delete it. So I did. In all truth, I think the chapter is more polished like this. But then I removed a family scene and ended up writing smut that also had no place in the chapter, so. 🤷‍♀️

Anyway, I'm sorry for the rambly response. 🥲 I'll tell you this: I will read the deleted scene again and if I feel it's not dumpster-fire bad, I will post it here. But I need to check it first, because there is chance that it's not just my paranoid head telling me to get rid of the baby scenes and it really is just that bad. 😂

And as for the last part, yes, it's Portuguese. It's my native language. And it's so funny how Italian, Spanish and Portuguese can be so similar. I understand Spanish much better than Italian, but I do get some of it as well. Latin languages 🤜🤛 (except French, I don't understand French at all 😂)

[melisusthewee]

WIP Wednesday (on a Thursday!)

Look, I just got back from holiday I have no concept of time and space anymore. Plus @greypetrel tagged me so hold on to your butts!

I've been out of town on vacation for the past week and while I brought with me things to do, I didn't write a single damn thing or draw even the smallest doodles of pictures. And you know what? It was good for me! I was "no thoughts head empty" for the first three days and it was very relaxing and very re-invigorating. The first time I thought to maybe crack open a fic or drawing was on the flight home (thank you, WestJet, for having an absolutely shitty app for your "complimentary in flight entertainment"). And boy, did I write! I went back to a fic I had started about a year ago that I got sidetracked from and it felt good to go back to it and make some progress and be happy with the results.

So here is finally some more Grand Tourney Incident fic to share with you! Fun Fact for friends I have only met recently: Horatio Morris was invented for this fic despite the fact that I then wrote a prequel fleshing him out more before I ever finished this one. Funny how that happens.

For context: A young Quinn Trevelyan delivers a freshly painted shield to his older brother ahead of the afternoon's joust. Quinn plans on entering the Grand Tourney himself, forever freeing himself from having to squire for his brother - provided, of course, that Ser Emile Trevelyan doesn't catch wind and do something to stop him.

He found Emile inside his tent, half-dressed only from the waist down in his arming trousers and polished obsidian greaves.  He had leaned a piece of cut glass against what looked like several of Octavian's accounting books, and set up a washbasin where he was currently focused on trimming his beard. Emile Trevelyan was not unhandsome and he and Quinn both cut very similar profiles.  They had inherited the same nose from their father though Emile had more of their mother's coloring - bright red hair and steel-grey eyes.  Emile's hair had much more of a curl to it too and between his mop of hair and the beard he always kept carefully shaped and cut in the style typical of Ostwick men he would have been a popular knight among tourney fans even if he hadn't been good at what he did.  Unfortunately, however, Emile happened to also be exceptionally talented on a horse and had several tourney wins under his belt.  Even the years when he didn't place first, he still consistently finished in the upper part of the lists and was constantly favored to win among the betting pools.  He'd made himself a celebrity among the Free Marches and the only reason it hadn't gone to his head was because he'd always had an insufferably inflated ego for as long as Quinn could remember. Emile gave Quinn only the barest of glances at first as he entered the tent until he saw the painted shield tucked under his arm.  He set down his razor and snapped his fingers at Quinn - just as he did with all the servants - and told him he wasn't about to go stashing away a shield that didn't meet his approval. Quinn huffed and rolled his eyes, but held up the shield for presentation anyway. Emile got to his feet and walked over, snatching the wooden shield out of Quinn's hands.  He turned it over carefully, narrowing his eyes at Quinn when he couldn't find any overt or obvious fault with the painting.  "You had that boyfriend of yours do this." Quinn crossed his arms defiantly.  "It's done and it looks like a horse." Emile frowned, but he put the shield aside with the rest of his armour anyway.  "Some of these lines are crooked.  But I'll let it go only because Otto has been looking for you." "Did he say what for?" asked Quinn. "No, and I didn't care to ask," said Emile curtly, returning back to his washbasin and razor. Quinn frowned, watching Emile carefully.  It seemed odd for his brother to simply dismiss him like that, but Octavian wasn't just their older brother this time.  He was acting head of the family until they returned to Ostwick which meant even Emile had to watch his tongue and follow along.  Quinn couldn't imagine what Octavian would want with him - everything Quinn knew about the business of horsebreeding and the Trevelyan stock was knowledge Octavian had tenfold.  But then maybe his brother didn't actually want anything from him.  Maybe this was his way of making sure Quinn was free for this afternoon's archery and his way of letting him know that the papers from their father had been delivered. The frown changed into a smile and Quinn hurriedly left Emile and his tent before his brother could notice and question why he was suddenly wearing a haughty-looking grin.

Tagging with no pressure: @theluckywizard @ndostairlyrium @idolsgf @cleverblackcat @nirikeehan @rosella-writes @unnecessaryligatures @ronqueesha @oxygenforthewicked @dreadfutures and... you! Right there! Yes, you!

[freddiemercurydaily]

12 November 1977, Queen performed @

This is almost certainly the longest show Queen ever played, clocking in at nearly 2 1/2 hours. They play thirty songs in all, including eight from ‘News Of The World.’

“A Royal Quartet Rules The World of Heavy Metal Rock”

Boston — By New York or even Philadelphia standards, Boston is a generally sedate town, although an an outsider on hand last week at the Boston Garden would be forced to reassess any such generalization. Indeed, the more than 13,000 young rock fans who packed the Garden on the evening of Nov. 12-provided. an awesome example of mass hysteria, as the British rock group Queen unveiled a new stage show of such epic proportion and sustained excitement that there seems no way to adequately describe its impact.

It was only the second performance of the quartet’s current 27-city American tour (which touches down here at the Spectrum for shows Wednesday and Thursday nights), but it was a clear enough indication that Queen has blossomed into the leading practitioner of heavy-metal rock drama, With British kingpins Led Zeppelin temporarily out of the touring picture (due to the sudden death this past summer of singer Robert Plant’s young son), Queen literally reigns, thanks to ah impressive new album — “News of the World” (Elektra Records) — and the sort of non-stop, three-hour, no-opening-act show pioneered by Zeppelin in the early 1970s.

Queen’s triumph — after about five years of increasing popularity and one smash hit single (“Bohemian Rhapsody”) — derives from a wise and welcome change in musical/theatrical direction. Originally a busily theatrical “glitter” band reliant on a multitude of costume changes, smoke, strobe and fire effects, Queen has considerably toned down its flashy excess. With the exception of one major costume change — from stripes to sequins — on the part of lead singer Freddie Mercury, a modicum of smoke and flare, and a massive, 5,000-pound lighting rig in the shape of a queenly crown, the group’s theatrical impact is almost exclusively tied to its music. Noticeably phased from the current repertoireare the rococo, operetta-like tunes of an earlier period, and in their pIace is a masterfully paced program of eruptive yet polished hard rock

With such boldly articulate new, recent and old Queen songs ” We Will” Rock You,” “Keep Yourseif Alive”, “Liar,” “We Are the Champions”, “Tie Your Mother Down,” the group brillantly sates the mass appetite for the surefire basics of modern pop rock: soaring tenor lead and harmony vocals, pungent electric guitar lines, driving yet sophisticated rhythms, evocative Iyric:s and rich melodies.

“I suppose we’ve been leading up to this all long. It certainly feels like the breakthrough we’d never quite made” admitted Freddie Mercury after the Boston Performance. Mercury is tall, dark, muscular yet lean, retiring yet intense in terms of eye contact, and possessed of a rather pronounced overbite. He’s a gifted showman of genuine grace and relentless energy, a first rate vocalist and songwriter, and quite lucid on the subject of Queen.

“I think it got to the point with us where the theatrical tag began to take over our image, but it was only a matter of time before the musci began to come into its own. That’s what’s making the difference on this tour”, he reflects. In a near chair, bassist John Deacon – quietly amiable – nods in agreement.

“What bothers me so often when people discuss rock ‘n roll is their tendency to label it,” continues Mer­cury. “Either it’s ‘glitter’ or ‘punk’ or progressive’ or whatever, and these tend to obscure the fact that you’re really talking about a kind of entertain­ment that often touches on a lot of styles. The last thing l’d want to do is limit our music to a label.”

Speaking of labels, though — and of “punk” rock in particular — one can’t help but note that one of the group’s new tunes, “Sheer Heart Attack,” affects the piledriving intensity of today’s “punk” sound.

“I suppose it does, now that you mention it,” agrees drummer Roger Taylor, who wrote the song. Blond and blue-eyed, Taylor is very much the pretty boy of the band. “But even so, I wrote it a few years back and we only just got around to recording it. I do think, though, that the punk rock scene is still very nascent, and you’re going to see a lot of these young bands making a lot of crappy music before the good stuff comes along, i suppose it has to be that way”.

The nucleus of Queen — Mercury, Taylor and guitarist Brian May — met up in London in 1969 and rounded out in 1971 with John Deacon. Previously, Mercury had been with a group called Wreckage, while May and Taylor had been members of one called Smile. All four are in their late twenties, and each has a college degree, Mercury in graphic design and illustration, Taylor in biology, Deacon in electronics and May in astronomy.

The most accomplished academic of the four, May not only taught astronomy but published a few papers in British scientific journal before forming Smile with Taylor in 1968. Tall, leather Jacket and sporting an abundant mane of curly black hair, May could hardly look less a scientist.

“I was doing research on cosmic dust”, he explains, ” and I really did enjoy my work, in fact I still keep up with the latest developments”.

By now, the party has thinned down and it’s quite late – 3 A.M. – as May and I share an elevator to respective floors. he shakes his head, dazed and happy. “You know”, he odfers, “we’ve played a lot of places, but everytime I hear an audience roine crazy like they were tonight before we even got onstage, I get such a feeling inside, and I know I could never feel that way doing anything else…”

Source: The Sunday Bulletin

[nanatsuyu]

the mornings after for wip Wednesday

🧡 added a bit of exposition 🧡

for those of you that read better safe than damned here's a bit more demon!neil and andreil

His bedfellow's reading through one of the books on his shelf he's been meaning to pick at, but hasn't had the appetite for. The thick wedge of folded-over spine shows they've made the most of Neil's lazy morning.

"Any good?" He asks, voice croaky from the previous night's abuse.

"Jury's still out." Andrew doesn't take his eyes off the page as he speaks. "You didn't strike me as a horror fan."

"It's funny," Neil says, lifting his head to see the tapping from before coming from Andrew's other hand, knuckles playing an unsung melody against Neil's thigh.

"You didn't strike me as a comedy fan either."

He isn't, but Aaron had recommended it, and if it managed to make Aaron laugh, Neil figured he might collect a broken rib or two.

Andrew's nail polish needs a new coat, black paint chipped around the edges, surrounding skin rawer than usual. His glasses have slipped to the end of his nose, reminding Neil of an underpaid school librarian. It's not a bad look. He must have left to change out of last night's clothes sometimes after Neil fell asleep, now dawned in fresh sweats with a fleece inner-lining—Neil knows because he's also stolen this article of clothing before—and a band shirt whose name looks like a pile of intricately balanced sticks.

Leaving to change means he also came back, and judging by the cowlick side of his blond bed head, stuck up like he slept against the wall, he's been here a while.

"You stayed," Neil says quietly. Uttered any louder and the words might break whatever spell has slipped between his sheets.

Andrew lifts his leg, the movement pulling Neil's tail along with it. "I was placed under house arrest while you were frolicking through dreamland."

Neil uncurls his tail from around Andrew's ankle, appendage tingling in an upwards gradient from the tip, a vice too tight for too long. He tucks it around his leg furthest from Andrew to avoid giving it any ideas about blurring the lines of personal space again. One endless eve of kisses and he thinks he's owed further time.

"Sorry" he murmurs.

[aliencatcloud]

Wednesday Addams - season 1, ep.7

~6:30 minutes in, I'll transcribe what Wednesday typed (the page in her novel)

across from her? Two meters and twenty stone of muscle and unresolved Oedipal ennui, the attendant resembled nothing less than several Polish kielbasas mashed together and forced to don hospital scrubs. The most cursory of assessments, by any measure of the imagination, would easily conclude that this man could almost certainly crush Viper's skull with the ease of a child popping a cherry tomato. Though between the constellation of burst blood vessels around his eyes and jowls, or the faint but unmistakably cirrhotic odor on his breath — most of which emanated from his mouth, of course — Viper estimated that the man's predisposition for cinnamon schnapps and lard-braised pork shoulder would send him to an early grave within the year.

And only then did Viper remind herself that in fact she did pose a threat... at least on paper, and at least according to the "professionals" so appointed by the court. Indeed, if one were to place any stock in the opinions of the teams of criminal psychologists and "mental health experts" hand-selected by the Macon County District Attorney's Office, not only was Viper clinically insane, but she posed a grave threat to society.

Escape was her only option. Viper was an admirer of the master escapologist, Harry Houdini and had also watched the Steve McQueen classic "The Great Escape" on at least a dozen occasions. It was only one of the three files that her Uncle Julius' kept in his personal 35mm collection. He had a screening room in his Hollywood Hills mansion. It was rumored that the decrepit pile had once belonged to Elsa Lanchester, the original Bride of Frankenstein. The house was modeled after the Alhambra, entangled with the purple hued bougainvillea and boasted invisible jetliner views of the City of Angels, Viper was not a fan of Los Angeles or any West Coast city of that matter. But she did love her Uncle and would sit for hours listening to his stories of the Golden Age of Hollywood. If she managed to escape, she determined that she would seek temporary sanctuary with him. As a fellow black sheep, Julius was the only member of the labyrinthine family who would understand the precarious nature of her current predicament.

ok that's it! since i cant take screenshots of the precise second, i paused in moments around 6:31 - 6:33 to try and read the blurry parts :) enjoy

[suckitsurveys]

What’s the most worthwhile thing you’ve done in the last year? I went to a bunch of comedy shows and concerts last year and honestly had one of the best summers I’ve had in a while.

What foods make you want to gag? Nothing, really. There’s a few things I don’t like but it doesn’t make me gag.

Do you consider yourself to be organized? Yes, I do.

Have you ever made out with someone? Yes.

What time do you get sleepy? Always.

What music do you listen to? A buncha different stuff.

How old were you when you started to walk? A little before 1yr.

Which member of your family do you get along with the best? My dad.

What cheers you up when you’re sad? Kitties, watching TV, my husband, food.

What do you sleep in? Tshirt and undies usually.

Have you ever tanned topless? Nope.

Wear jewelry? Yeah, earrings and my nose ring mostly. Sometimes chokers and necklaces and bracelets.

What’s something you’ve been told you’re good at? Planning stuff.

How much can you eat? A lot.

What’s the furthest away you’ve ever traveled? SLC I think?.

Are you a cat or dog person? Cat.

Have you ever done drugs? Just weed.

What does your room look like? It’s cozy and taken over by cat trees lol.

Recommend a really amazing book. Nah.

Recommend a really amazing song. I’m really into Olivia Rodrigo right now so anything by her.

Recommend a really amazing movie. Wet Hot American Summer.

Who’s your favorite actor/actress? Paul Rudd, Aubrey Plaza, Will Arnett.

Have you ever run away from home? No.

Do you exercise ever? I do. I’ve been going to the gym every day except Wednesdays when I do an in home work out.

Do you like your hair, the way it is and the colour? It needs to be dyed again already. I wanna do something dark again before I go to NYC.

Do you have any friends named Baloo? Or is he just in the Junglebook? I don’t know anyone named Baloo.

Are you a Disney movie fan? Sure, I have ones I like.

Do you eat seafood? Yes. I LOVE seafood.

When was the last time you cried? I think I got teary eyed over a tik tok the other day.

Do you have good working habits? Hahahahahah I’m literally doing this survey while I’m at work. And the other day I almost missed my time to clock out because I was talking to someone.

So where the hell do you want to go in life? I don’t know.

What are your boundaries? I have different ones for different situations/people.

What are some of the funniest things you can think of? certain SNL sketches or stand up comedian bits.

What are two quirky little things about you? I hate self-describing things as quirky.

Are you claustrophobic? Not really.

Do you like getting wasted? Not so much anymore.

List three things that you look for in a friend. Good sense of humor, similar values, ability to put up with my hyper-fixations hahahaha

Do you prefer Angels and Airwaves or Rhianna? Eh.

What religion are you, if any? I’m not.

If your house was on fire (and your family escaped), what would you save? My kitties, hands down.

Do you have any sash belts? No.

What do you have on right now? Include everything, nail polish, makeup, etc I don’t feel like listing everything.

Does caffeine make you hyper? I don’t think it does jack shit for me.

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[lgcsori]

lgcnina

fashion hasn't ever been ninas strongest suit, apparel often times an afterthought for someone who rarely went anywhere that required special attire— nowadays, it seems nina was always dressed to the nines, even when it came to more casual outfits, but she supposed that was simply what came with being an idol ( appearances were everything to the majority of watchful netizens, talents a close second, so it's no wonder nina now finds herself trying to take more care in looking presentable, even when in comfortable clothing ). it was all superficial, the primping and polishing, but nina can't say she's as annoyed by at all the way she thought she'd be. in actuality, she's found herself beginning to grow an appreciation for style with each passing schedule. not everything she's put in suits her personal tastes, but she's intrigued nonetheless. now, tasked with styling herself for fabulas true religion campaign, nina figures there's no harm in getting a second opinion on her thoughts. "my first thought is to go with jeans, or pants— something casual, but not too casual." she's eyeing racks, articles of clothing hung and draped around them to riffle through later to make up their looks. that filming segment has yet to come, but nina has always liked to prepare herself. nothing is really standing out yet, ninas lips downturned into a slight frown as she turned to sori. "maxi skirts have been quite the trend lately, maybe i'll look for one of those instead. do you have any ideas yet?"

sori has never really cared much for what she wears, if it’s comfortable, it’s good enough. she doesn’t find fashion very important, often asking herself the question: who even cares? but truth be it, people apparently do care. she finds herself majority of the time wearing oversized clothes, a cap or beanie to accompany it, and even if she wanted to dress more nicely, it would be hard, because her closet is just oversized clothes. she’s heard of airport fashion, fans taking pictures when they arrive at the airport, still, sori can’t quite get herself to properly dress up for it. 

and then here comes legacy, as always, challenging the skills she doesn’t have, asking her to attempt to create an outfit, have they not seen her? the way she dresses? isn’t it obvious she lacks in skill when it comes to creating outfits? but oh well, what can she do anyway, she’ll just have to attempt her best.

“i’m going to be fully honest with you… i have absolutely no ideas at the moment, i have to create an outfit for wednesday, with some sort of theme, and so far, i’ve got about… nothing” she sighs, “nina i don’t know how to create an outfit, look at me!” she looks down at herself, the oversized pants paired with the oversized shirt. “is there any way to cheat in this?” she hums, “do you know what kind of theme you’ll be going for yet?”.

[alsjeblieft-zeg]

108 of 2024

Created by xxbieberburnham

Do you have any stickers on your car?

No. Only the car dealer, I believe.

Do you own a jean jacket?

No, I don't.

You can have a milkshake right now. What flavor do you choose?

Easy choice, strawberry.

Have you ever given someone flowers?

Not that I remember.

People say that texting has ruined our written language. Agree or disagree?

Yea, with all that abbreviations and stuff. I'm not a big fan of it.

Are there any lamps on in the room that you're currently in?

Yeah, two ceiling lamps and one floor lamp which is currently on.

How often do you get on Facebook?

Never. I don't even have an account.

What day of the week is usually your busiest day?

Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays, because I work these days.

What age do you wish you could stay forever?

16. Or 25 at most.

Do you have any concerts coming up?

No, I don't go to concerts.

Have you ever rode in a Corvette?

Never had an occasion.

Do you enjoy the sound of thunderstorms?

Very much so. The best sound to fall asleep to.

When was the last time that you packed your suitcase?

In July, for our vacation in Poland.

Do you own an iHome?

Wut, I didn't even know such a thing existed.

Is there a place that you will never return back to?

I can't think of any.

Do you listen to Blink 182?

I know and like a couple of their songs, but that's it.

When was the last time that you created a PowerPoint?

In secondary school lol.

Do you like group work?

It depends on the group. Typically I prefer working alone because I can do things my way and no one is moaning behind my ear.

Do you have any stickers on your laptop?

A lot. Some related to my music tastes, some related to my identity, some I stole from work, and the rest is pretty random.

How is the weather at your place right now?

The sun has set already, but it's not fully dark yet. Kinda chilly and windy. No rain at the moment.

Have you ever stolen one of those pink plastic flamingos?

What? I've never seen any in person.

Is music or the TV on while you complete this survey?

This time, no. Which is a rarity. But my husband is watching YouTube on his phone.

What song or TV show?

None, just random clips from his phone.

Does your grass need cut currently?

We don't even have a garden.

Do you listen to Nirvana?

I like a couple of songs, that's all.

What color are the doors in your house?

Inside, they are grey. The front door and the backyard door are dark brown, but the front door is green on the outside.

What brand of shoes do you wear?

Mostly Fila, but I also have boots from Bershka and such. I like Polish brands, too.

Have your friends ever not wanted you to be with someone?

Nah, we don't interfere in one another's love life.

What thumb do you use to hit the space bar with?

Right, but it used to be left before my hand became disabled.

Do you own a red dress?

I don't own any dress.