#at least she got fiona apple after all the shit she's been through

[moonyvvamp]

Something else the Yellowjackets missed.

Jeff Buckley's passing. Shauna would be devastated, that girl probably loved Grace and to come back and find out he's gone? Oof. That would hurt.

I have a feeling Nat might know of him but you know she's more of a rock girl. It's Shauna and her broken heart. No wonder she ended up with Jeff Sadecki, she's gotta put all those feelings somewhere.

Lowkey a headcanon

[y0itsbri]

hii bri, how are you? 🥰

how do you think ian and mickey spent their weekend? ☀️

hello twisha my beloved 💞 i am well thank you ☺️

(thank you for the ask, this got kinda long oops)

ian started out saturday morning with a quick jog around the neighborhood. he easily could have spent the weekend morning sleeping in late and snuggling with mick, but they had plans for the day so ian wanted to start off the day with his normal routine.

he picked up smoothies on his way back from his run, a 'berry good' workout smoothie with added kale and protein for himself and a peanut butter banana chocolate smoothie for mickey.

mickey was already awake when ian got back. well 'awake' was a strong word, given that he was wearing his blanket like a cape while waiting for the coffee to brew with half closed eyes. he perked up a little bit as the door locked close behind ian. ian set the smoothies on the counter and gave mickey a lingering hug and forehead smooch because he's too irresistibly cute in the mornings.

they have a chill morning sitting out on their balcony until debbie comes over to drop off franny around noon. over the past few months, franny had gotten really interested in her uncle ian's gardening and he promised to take her somewhere real cool this weekend.

debbie and ian chatted by the doors while franny enthusiastically showed uncle mickey a super cool rock she found yesterday and mickey told her about how he knows this 'dinosaur guy' who has some super cool rocks that they keep in a museum. franny asks if the dinosaur guy wants her rock for the museum and he tells her he'll ask him next time he sees him.

they pack some snacks in a backpack and head off to garfield park conservatory. they were a little out of their element but they got their tickets for all the exhibits. ian's expression matched franny's in its awestruck wonder as they took in the sights. mickey and ian took turns taking pictures of each other and the flowers in a very 'tourist mom' fashion. franny insisted taking a picture of them together and directed them exactly where to stand. mickey stuck his tongue out in the photo and got reprimanded by franny who insisted they smile, almost a mirror image of her mother's attitude. mickey smiled in the next photo, but ian leaned over to kiss mickeys cheek. franny threw her arms up in frustration and they finally complied. ian lifted franny on his shoulders for the rest of their time at the conservatory.

franny fell asleep eating goldfish crackers on the drive back to their apartment. mickey gently picked her up and carried her inside, setting her on their bed to nap while he and ian started making dinner: french fries, chicken strips, and apple slices. they cracked jokes with each other and one of ian's belly laughs woke up franny who ran into the kitchen, crashing into his legs and hugging him. he told fran to pick out a movie to watch while they ate dinner.

franny is well equipped with using disney plus, so she put on 'luca.' they all settle into the couch and eventually settle into each other once they had finished eating, franny making her way onto uncle mickey's lap with ian's arm around mick as well. one of mickey's fingers traced ian's wrist before linking along with his fingers. ian spent half the time watching the movie and half the time staring at his enchanted husband.

after the movie finished, fran turned around to look at them and asks uncle mickey if he had been crying. he denied it but ian and franny shared a knowing look. ian affectionately squeezes his shoulder while franny gets herself some oreos from the kitchen while they wait for debbie to come pick her up.

ian and mickey spend the rest of their night drinking some new beer ian had picked up at the liquor store and watching sitcoms to relax and relieve the big emotions that came from the kid's movie.

sunday morning was spent in mickey's favorite way, sleeping in late with his husband. the soft warmness of each other and the blankets covering them being pure bliss.

mickey popped some frozen waffles in the toaster for breakfast while ian turned on the tv to catch some of the morning news. it's kind of a gloomy day outside, but that's okay because it's their cleaning and grocery shopping day anyways. ian had followed in fiona's footsteps by making sundays chore days... whenever he felt like it at least.

mickey swept the floors and did laundry while ian wiped down the countertops and made sure the dishwasher was loaded. mickey bitched about one of their neighbors from down the hall, but then revealed that said neighbor had invited them to their barbeque down by the pool next weekend. mick had said he would have to make sure ian didn't have any plans. even though he was content with the friends he had, ian was proud that mickey had become more amenable to the idea of hanging out with new people sometimes.

now that they regularly shop at a nicer grocery store, ian had been determined that they eat better. but somehow, every time they go shopping, they end up with half a cart of frozen meals and snack foods. there's not much complaining because that shit is good. it is what it is.

the other week, ian had picked up a guitar on sale from the music shop next to his yoga studio. both ian and mickey had been fucking around with it in their free time. this evening, mickey tried teaching ian what he knows about guitars, but it went a lot like how it went in friends when phoebe tried to teach joey guitar.

eventually, mickey ended up on the balcony for a smoke while he scrolled through instagram, seeing a new post of mandy in some fancy sunglasses and palm trees in the background. he double taps and comments some dumb shit knowing mandy is probably rolling her eyes at him from a thousand miles away.

ian was just getting off facetime with lip and freddie when mickey comes back inside. ian tells him about all the cute shit that freddie has been up to lately and lip's success at his new part time job where he mentors kids interested in robotics and coding. ian also mentions that carl is stopping by after his late shift so he can bring them takeout for dinner from their favorite asian restaurant on the south side.

they ate their stir fry, spring rolls, and crab rangoons with the house's specialty sauce as carl complained about his new partner and mickey muttered an 'acab' under his breath before ian kicked him in the shin.

after carl left, the boys headed to the bathroom for a rather spicy shower and then laid in bed watching tiktoks with ian's head resting on mickey's chest as they fell asleep. 🖤

[arse-crack-thistle]

quality time

rwrb and the five love languages | part four

in which bea nearly crashes from the stress of party-planning (aroace rep)

Princess Beatrice buzzes around The Masquerade, double-checking place cards, straightening table settings, and pulling dried rose petals from the centerpieces. She rented the concert venue for the night to throw a modern Valentine’s gala to benefit Henry’s queer youth center in London. He and Alex are around here somewhere, probably hooking up in a broom cupboard and definitely not nitpicking every detail like Bea is. Her assistant follows her with a clipboard and updates her on the schedule: t-minus three hours until guests arrive and, in the meantime, she needs to give final approval, soundcheck with the band, and get dressed up. Jeans and a blazer, while royal casual, are not party-appropriate, and tonight needs to be perfect.

She usually hates royal events like galas, but this one is special. Not because it’s Valentine’s Day—Bea could not give two fucks about the holiday—but because ever since coming out as asexual around Christmas, she’s been looking for an opportunity to help other queer people, or at least give them a public figure they could point to and say, “See Mum and Dad, she’s like me.” Henry and Alex got their chance, and now this time, it’s hers.

The stage lights up with pink and red; it’s cheesy, but Bea digs it. The concert was the one thing she would not budge on with her royal event planner. Did she want to reach into wealthy pockets? Yes. Did she still want to have a good time? Hell yes. And the band she’s joining for one night only happens to be just as queer as the charity they’re supporting.

Permanent Record, local to London, tune their instruments on stage. Bea has met them dozens of times over the last month and vibed with them instantly. Margot, the too-cool lead singer always decked out in a leather jacket and Docs, is ace like her, and as much as Bea has wanted to get to know them, there’s been no time. Turns out, party-planning and party-executing steals the host away from all meaningful human connection. She’s only been able to keep up with Henry because he’s partly responsible for this event.

The pit, full of tables covered in pink and gold, finally looks perfect enough for Bea to hand-off any other minute fixes to the planner and finally have her soundcheck with the band. But then, a large crash comes from the back of the venue, and she hears a loud shriek coming from a familiar voice, the one that’s been shrill and disapproving for the last month. When Bea runs up, she sees hundreds of shattered champaign flutes and her planner on the floor, blood oozing from her hands.

This cannot be happening. The only reason Bea kept this woman around was to take most of the day-of duties off her plate. But she’s in the back of an ambulance now, and Henry is nowhere to be found. Bea’s stress levels go from tolerable to unbearable as she orders her assistant to track down replacement flutes. The staff are quick to fill her other requests: a couple of people start sweeping, someone runs off to find her co-host, another tells the band Bea’s soundcheck will be postponed, and a brave soul steps up as a temporary assistant and follows her around the back tables to check for broken glass. Bea knows she doesn’t have to be the one to do this, but it seems like the success of this event lies solely one her shoulders. If something goes wrongs, it’s her face—not Henry’s—in the papers the next day. Powder Princess Crashes and Burns at Gay Ball. Christ.

After an hour, everything is sorted. There’s no glass. The planner is getting stiches. Permanent Record has started their soundcheck and sound amazing. But even their chill indie tunes can’t calm the princess. She needs to get on stage, but her stylist specifically requested she have at least two hours to work his magic, which is not going to happen.

Bea tells her assistant to get her stylist and his team to the venue, because she won’t be able to leave, and warn him he’ll only have an hour at best. Henry and Alex have already taken off to get ready, and she has to remind herself to smack them later for abandoning her.

She tugs off her blazer, drapes it over a chair, and rolls up her sleeves. If she does get her hands on a guitar, she’ll explode. It’s all she can think of to stop her from raiding the bar at the back.

“Better late than never, eh, Princess?” Margot says as she huffs on stage.

One of the stagehands gives Bea her beautiful sleek, black Fender Stratocaster, and her anxiety reduces itself to a hum. Music can’t cure all, but it certainly keeps her from wrecking every good thing in her life.

“Let’s just play,” she says.

But it’s anything but perfect. Whatever chemistry she had with Permanent Record somehow jumped into the Thames between their last rehearsal and now because this is an absolute travesty and she’s only playing two songs with them tonight. She’s forgotten measures of one song and can’t find the chords fast enough in her solo of the other. Utter shit.

Why does she even fucking bother?

She always fucks everything up. Always. Why did she think she could put this on? Sure, she’s chaired these events before, but not ones she actually cares about, not ones she’s actually put her heart into. Christ, no wonder. She should’ve known it would turn out like this. She’s the anti-Midas; everything she touches turns to shit.

No kid will ever see her as a queer role model. She’s the girl they point to and say, “See Mum and Dad, what a waste.”

She needs a hit so fucking bad.

Which is why she has to get out of here ASAP. Before she does anything she’ll regret. She won’t slip again, and she won’t be the reason this gala fails. Henry can handle it without her.

So when Margot calls for a five-minute break, Bea excuses herself and hands off her guitar. On her way out the door, she tells the stagehand to find her assistant and tell her to have Henry take over. The hard part is over thanks to the planner actually being brilliant at her job, even if she and Bea would never get along.

No doubt, cameras are already lined up outside, so she hides in one of the green rooms and locks the door behind her. If she just takes a deep breath and calms down, she can bring herself back from the edge.

Five things she can see: The 1975, Arctic Monkeys, Oasis, Solange, and Fiona Apple’s signatures on the artist wall.

Four things she can feel: the worn leather on a crusty couch, the chipped-paint walls, her toes in her shoes, and her fingers through her light brown hair.

Three things she can hear: the ticking from the clock, the click of her heels as she paces, and a knock at the door.

Two things she can smell: decades-old musk from artists past—no doubt coming from the couch—and her light perfume on her wrist.

One thing she can taste: a hint of coffee from earlier.

She breathes in and out, and the knock on the door continues.

“Bea, are you in there? Could you let me in?” Margot. Essentially a stranger. She supposes it’s better than facing a disappointed Henry, so she opens the door and promptly relocks it as soon as they’re inside.

“Christ, this place is legendary, isn’t it? Everyone’s played here—is that Bob Dylan? Fucking nuts,” Margot says, pointing to the wall.

“I’ve seen loads of people here. Always wanted to play here myself,” Bea tells them. She traces Lizzo’s signature. That was a fun night; Nora and June flew out for a girls’ night, which was ultimately crashed by Pez.

“Me too, and the rest of band as well, I suppose.” Margot looks at Bea and smiles. They’re brown eyes crinkle in the corner, and it reminds her of Alex. “And now we get to, eh, Princess? Couldn’t’ve gotten here without you. The whole world knows Permanent Record now.”

“You could’ve done it without me,” she says. “You will tonight anyway.”

“Hey.” They reach for Bea’s hand. “Everyone has some hiccups before a big gig. It’ll be grand, but only if you’re there. This is your night as much as it is ours or the youth center’s. You have no idea how important it is for your lot to shine a light on causes people shy away from.”

That makes Bea smile. For so long she wanted to hide from her position. She wanted freedom to do whatever she pleased, but now she understands the power she has, even if people still see her as “The Powder Princess.” No matter what she wears, millions of fashion influencers share links to her clothes. If she walks into a restaurant, their yearly profits skyrocket. When she told the world she was ace, thousands of people messaged her and said the same. One of them was Margot, telling her about their undiscovered band from South London.

She tells Margot how that was one of the first times she really felt like herself. Completely at peace with who she is. How that peace got away from her and turned this gala into a near-panic-attack-inducing event, she doesn’t know.

“Have you let on how stressed you’ve been to anyone?” Margot asks. The two sit together on the couch after Margot bravely plopped themself down on the dirty, old thing.

“Hadn’t the time,” she says. Truthfully, Bea doesn’t think she’s had a genuine conversation with anyone since the gala’s conception.

Margot throws their hands in the air. “Well, there you go then! You’ve got to take the time! To take care of yourself. To hang out with your mates. Just to have some goddamn fun, Bea! Come on! You think I’d be a functioning human if I didn’t let loose with my mates every now and then? This—” They gesture to their body, covered in tattoos and tattered black clothing. “Doesn’t happen on its own.”

Bea laughs. It’s been so long since she’s laughed from anything other than stress. “Right, so how does this all happen then?” She swirls her hand in Margot’s direction.

As they chat, Bea relaxes. They talk about their families and uni and music and coming out. Bea tells Margot about the time she and the gang went to the karaoke bar where Henry got wasted and sang Queen horrifically. Margot tells her about the time in year twelve when they got dared to try out for the school play and ended up playing an old man in the most unbelievable bald cap.

Eventually, the two of them pull out their phones and play a few games of Among Us until Bea’s desperate assistant finds her and pleads for her to get ready though the door. They only have an hour before guests arrive.

“You all right?” Margot asks. “Want to go out there and try again?”

Funny how it doesn’t seem so scary anymore. How it only took a short break, a nice chat, and a little pink astronaut to put Bea at ease. She smiles. The notes come back to her fingertips.

check out the rest of my rwrb and the five love languages series: part one, part two, part three, and part five. (links to come as they’re released)

listen, my permanent headcanon is aroace bea and you will never convince me otherwise and i will never write her as anything else bc i love her so much!! (that being said, if you ship her with anyone, i totally understand). also, i reference a fic of mine i wrote for winterfest so if you want to check out my version of bea’s coming out, you can do that here! and finally, i know this wasn’t a romantic fic for romance week but like i said in part one, valentine’s day is different for everyone. <3

rwrb romance week | @rwrb-fests

[commie-eschatology]

Return to Redcliffe

particularly proud of this Solas + Trevelyan scene from “Return to Redcliffe” so gonna do some shameless self-promotion. Ao3:https://archiveofourown.org/works/33444538

When all her companions are asleep, Trevelyan leaves the Inquisition camp. She isn’t sure if she’ll come back. Someone is clearly following her, but she ignores that for now. The road back to Redcliffe stretches in front of her, but she hesitates. This is an extraordinary bad idea, she tells herself, but when has that ever stopped her? Lydia used to complain about her tendency to just act on desire alone. But Lydia is dead, she tells herself, you broke her head open with your staff until her brains spilled all over the floor. You killed the woman who raised you, only for the rebellion to sell themselves into slavery. ` In the woods, she stumbles upon a templar caravan. Very fortunate for her, very unfortunate for them. Their screams echo through the Ferelden forest; she imagines getting incinerated from inferno magic would hurt quite a bit, but it’s certainly not her problem. Trevelyan leaps onto the, now empty, wagon, and finds a crate of apples. She takes a few bites of one and monologues, “I rebel, therefore I am,” to the half eaten piece of fruit.

There’s groaning from underneath the wheels, and a jumble of words that vaguely sound like “what the fuck?” so she asks, “Sorry, are you still alive down there?” There’s no response, so in the interest of being thorough, she throws a fireball at the voice. The smell of burnt flesh follows, so she assumes it got the job done, but then again, Ferelden usually smells like that. Really not a terrible scent, she considers. Or perhaps she’s just gone mad.

Trevelyan looks at the Mark on her hand- staying with the Inquisition is the clever choice, she tells herself. Only she can close the rifts, after all. The rebels have been utterly defeated, the movement badly needs allies if it’s to survive. Still, her logic feels cold and hollow. The Venatori ships are already in Redcliffe harbor. She asks herself, how many will be shipped up to the Imperium in chains, in just the time it takes to travel between the Hinterlands and Haven?

Fire burns underneath the wagon. It’s always been fire for Trevelyan- burning the family manor during a childhood nightmare, cremating Lydia’s mangled corpse with her own spells, and, most recently, incinerating more templars than she can count. It’s the same fire that she could use to burn those Tevinter slave ships tonight- despite Fiona and Linnea’s betrayal, she has no doubt that at least a few of her people would join her.  

“Do you want to keep staring at me from the woods then?” she asks the person shadowing her. Solas steps out from the shadows, clearly surprised at being discovered, but he tries not to let it show. He’s usually far more subtle, she doesn't doubt she could be more stealthy if he wanted, but he clearly believes everyone around him is an utter idiot. Fair enough, she supposes. He gives a slight smile, the kind that might say “well done.”

As with everyone, Solas projects emotions into the Fade- but his are more tightly moderated than any other mage she’s ever seen. Now though, Trevelyan sees a wave of complex feelings she can barely sort through, radiating from him: rage at the Tevinters, intense all-consuming fear of something she can’t sense, great sadness for something lost, but all controlled, and directed by conscious purpose.

“These woods are dangerous,” he says, characteristically naming the obvious, “and you have the only means of closing the rifts.” He regards her for a moment. “I apologize if I intruded. You have proven yourself a capable fighter, but I have found it is far too easy to make rash mistakes when one is alone.” His actual meaning is not lost on her: don’t be an idiot and run, is what he wants to say.

He adds, “And in my defense, you did just eviscerate an entire troop of men.” She expects him to ask her why, but he doesn’t; apparently needing no explanation for her small act of rebellion.

“They were templars,” she explains anyways, “most are awful. The others just look away when the Circle rapes happen. Honestly, I’ve always preferred the former.”

“I can’t disagree with you,” Solas says, “my few interactions with templars have been... unpleasant. Either they are accustomed to following the worst orders, as you have said, or they just enjoy inflicting pain, especially upon those without recourse.” There is clear contempt and disgust in his voice, it’s as if he’s speaking from experience.

“That’s why we rebelled,” she says, taking another bite of the apple, “also,  I was hungry. Inquisition rations weren’t doing it.” Solas actually laughs. Trevelyan idly wonders when murder became so casual for her. Kill the woman who raised you, and everyone else becomes easy, she supposes.

There’s a short, but not awkward, silence between them. She knows exactly why he is here, to prevent her from defecting back to the rebels, but his presence is, surprisingly, not unwelcome. They haven’t had much time to talk like this; the conversations they’ve had have so far been in either the shadow of Haven’s Chantry, or on the road with Cassandra.

She motions to the adjacent seat on the wagon. To her surprise, he nods, and walks, or more accurately, struts over, butt wiggle and all. Like most mages, he usually makes himself seem as small as possible, scuttling rather than walking, but unlike the rest, it’s almost as if he has to consciously remind himself to do so.

Solas likes questions, she reminds herself, so ask one. He jumps up on the wagon, and she says, ���do you like apples?”

Solas doesn’t even blink. “Apples were first domesticated in this part of the world.” How the fuck does he even know that, she wonders. “I saw a memory once, of a horde of human barbarians, desperately defending a part of these woods they held sacred, from the legions of the Imperium. When the barbarians were slain, the Tevinters marched forward, only to find a simple apple orchard, one which hundreds gave their lives to protect.” He takes one out of the crate, and takes a bite. “However, if you were asking about the taste- no, I detest apples.” He takes another bite. “This one in particular tastes sort of like burnt human flesh.”

“Dying for a lost cause. You really never miss an opportunity to make a point, do you?” she says, “also, how do you even know what burnt human flesh tastes like?”

Solas smiles mischievously. “I don’t like to waste words,” he says. The other point he is suspiciously quiet on. I don’t judge, Trevelyan thinks, you go eat as much flesh as you like, Solas.

His words are somewhat slurred, and she smells something in the air, besides the burning templars of course. She recognizes it as the unmistakable stench of peach whiskey, suspiciously similar to the bottle she had nicked from Dennet yesterday. Solas seems to notice and says, “Master Dennet had many such bottles wasting away on the shelf. He will not miss one, or two, I suppose.” He shrugs.

On the topic, she notices a small bottle of ale in one of the templar crates; the cork is stuck when she pulls on it, so she simply uses a bit of force magic to smash the top of the bottle off. It smells absolutely wretched, and tastes even worse, but she drinks it anyway. Solas watches her, possibly judging her, but he’s always hard to read. “Been a shit day,” she explains. Linnea said, go back to your templars. Fuck her. Tevinter apologist. Shockingly flat ass. Terrible kisser.

“Was today your first time in Redcliffe?” she asks. Solas chuckles softly to himself, apparently a joke only he understands.

“A long time ago, before your rebellion,” he says, “it’s changed since, of course. But I assume you’re asking my opinion on the rebel mages, rather than the settlement itself.” He’s quiet for a moment. “Despair sticks to most of the mages like gnats.” He’s right, during the retreat from the Free Marches, every morning some mages wouldn’t wake up, taken by Despair demons in their sleep. And the war has only gotten worse. She can’t even imagine. “Still, they endure. Their fight against oppression is admirable, and utterly hopeless.” , “Hopeless?” Trevelyan raises an eyebrow. She should be angry, but more than anything she feels exhausted. “You seem rather certain.”

“Of course I am.” he says, matter of fact. Trevelyan picked up some dalish during the rebellion; she’s not ignorant as to the meaning of his name. “In my journeys through the Fade, I have seen countless rebellions rise up, confident in the just nature of their cause, only to be crushed mercilessly. Righteousness, unfortunately, is no match against steel.” Good poetry. She’ll give him that.

“And, yet, Recliffe is still standing,” she says, “for the first time in a thousand years, in this part of the world, mages govern ourselves. No templars. No Chantry. We built that. Isn’t that freedom worth defending?” Trevelyan spent most of her life in the Circle. No price can be too great, she thinks.

“You forget you aren’t speaking to Cassandra or Varric. We do not disagree on the necessity of rebellion,” he smiles, just a bit, mostly to himself, “but, in order for a rebellion to win its immediate demands, as well has change what it is possible in the long term, something you once told me that you seek to do, they must do one thing.” He pauses for dramatic effect, and honestly it works. “They must win.”  

“Even failed revolutions can teach lessons,” she says, the only dogma she’s ever needed to believe in, “no matter what Varric says, the mage rebellion didn’t manifest spontaneously.” She thinks of the thousand year struggle for freedom, and what feels like generations of the dead on her shoulders. In the distance, Trevelyan can just make out the flag of the Venatori, waving from the ramparts of Redcliffe. The ships are not far behind.

“No,” Solas says, suddenly melancholy, “or if they do, it is always the wrong lessons.” He’s silent for a long moment, staring into the ground. “I saw a memory once in the Fade. A man who sought to overthrow a tyrant. Then, a half-hearted assassination attempt, tailored for drama, instead of results. It of course failed. The man himself was burned alive, defiant at first, but when the flames reached his body, when his skin began to melt off, he screamed for mercy that never came.”

Trevelyan takes a long drink. Solas adds, eerily calm, “In the end, martyrdom is just melted flesh upon a wooden stake, and a name utterly forgotten.”  She drains the rest of the bottle.

“I killed my mother,” she says, suddenly, without really meaning to, “when the Circle was annulled, I tried to give her the courtesy of a quick spell, but the tower wards blocked magic so…” she makes a motion with her staff “I, well, had improvise.”

“Your first murder?” he asks. She shakes her head. Definitely not. “If you want absolution, I’m not the person to give it.”

“Oh fuck no, I’m not Andrastian,” Trevelyan scoffs, and Solas chuckles softly. The Andrastians think they can solve all the world’s evils, all their many personal failings, through a song. It’s childish. Besides, Trevelyan would rather hold onto her sins for now- keep them close like a badge of honor. She looks down at the dead templars, corpses bathed in green light from her Mark.

“I don’t regret it,” she says, and she thinks she means it, “not if it served a purpose.” Trevelyan looks again towards Redcliffe, and thinks, everything I am, I owe to them. “In just the time it takes to travel back to Haven, how many will already be on the ships?”

“Likely a few dozen,” Solas answers, “there will be far more, thousands, if these Venatori are not defeated, which is a battle only the Inquisition has the resources to win. It is fortunate, then, that you have a position where you can speak on behalf of the rebel mages.”

The sun begins to rise, bathing the forest in dim orange light. “We should get back then ,” she forces herself to say, though every word is like a block of lead. Solas exhales in relief.

“One final thing,” she says as Solas moves to get up. She looks at her counterpart, studying him best she can, sensing his projections into the Fade. He’s unlike any other apostate she’s ever met, and there’s something about him she can’t quite put her finger on, much less vocalize. “You know quite a bit about rebellions,” she says.

“I have seen much in my travels,” he says, pausing as he considers his next words, “and you could say I had a dramatic youth.”

“One I’d be interested in hearing about,” she says, genuinely. “Especially if it involves more surprisingly melancholy stories about apple domestication.” Solas seems taken aback for a moment, but recovers quickly, chucking politely at her joke. He then smiles quietly to himself.

The two apostates return to the Inquisition camp, though Trevelyan keeps Redcliffe in her sight for as long as she can.

Ao3:https://archiveofourown.org/works/33444538

[pipsqueakparker]

first line meme

i saw @annabellelux and a couple others tag me on this, so i’ll try to do this as well (if tumblr doesn’t destroy everything 😂) 

Rules: List the first lines of your last 20 stories (if you have less than 20, just list them all!). See if there are any patterns. Choose your favourite opening line.

I’ll go ahead and put these under a cut, there’s gonna be a weird mix of smut and non-smut, so be warned (i don’t think any of the opening lines are too graphic, but fics are)

And I’ll tag @caitybuglove23, @thehoneyedhufflepuff, @krisrix, @sharkmartini, @scone-lover & anyone else that wants to do this!

breaking routine 

I don’t know what’s gotten into Baz lately, but whatever it is, it’s a blessing in disguise. Or whatever the saying is.

thank you steve jobs 

“I’ve got an idea.”

Those words frequently scare me when they come out of Snow’s mouth, but somehow even more so when we’re on separate sides of the city, connected only by the small screens of our phones. My screen is mostly dark, with a flash of light or color here and there as Snow walks through his flat. He’s living with Bunce and I’m still staying at Fiona’s—it’s just easier right now, to be this way.

the one with the frogs 

We’re meant to be putting up the Christmas decorations tonight, but Baz won’t let me off the sofa. Our Christmas tree is still boxed up somewhere in the flat, mixed up with some other boxes of decorations we’ve brought in recently. And Baz is nestled into my side, both arms wrapped tightly around my middle, his nose pressed into my cheek. We were going to watch a film while we decorated, but I think he’s gotten a bit distracted.

“Enjoying yourself?” I ask, my voice soft and low. I want to turn to look at him, but I feel the tip of his nose press deeper into my cheek and find myself laughing. He gets especially soft and silly around the holidays.

twinkle 

It’s dark, nothing lighting up the night except for the sliver of moon peeking out over us. Stars twinkle among the wisps of clouds, in and out of my field of vision.

The only thing clear about tonight is the swell in my chest when I watch Simon swoop down over the treetops, wings beating powerfully as he makes a sharp turn. Thank Crowley for my heightened sight; I can make out the individual bones in those mighty wings, the way his curls get tousled by the wind, and the grin split across his face.

Simon Snow is a vision.

love’s not a competition (but we’re winning) 

Baz is on top of me, pressing me into the mattress with his entire body.

reconnecting for christmas 

I’m not a grinch, or a scrooge.

I don’t hate Christmas; I just hate all of the ridiculous expectations that come along with it. The ugly jumpers, the secret Santas, the grown adults trampling each other and trading blows over toys.

The annual holiday parties held at my university that I’m always forced to attend because my cousin is a fucking horror.

chore negotiation 

It started as a joke.

Well, mostly a joke. I hate doing the washing up after dinner; the only thing worse than the Humdrum is a sink full of dirty dishes. Every moment I spent in front of the sink felt like a special kind of torture. (Maybe that’s an exaggeration.) (But not much of one.)

scary movie 

“Let’s watch a scary movie,” Simon suggests. At seven in the morning.

His face is just inches away from mine, eyes bright like it isn’t seven in the fucking morning.

I glare at him.

And then I turn my back to him and go back to sleep.

Because it’s seven in the fucking morning.

poorly timed christmas decorations 

Someone has taken it upon themselves to decorate Mummers for the holidays.

I’m actually fairly certain it was a group of someones, and I wouldn’t be surprised to discover that my ridiculous cousin and his roommate were at the helm of the poor decisions. Niall genuinely wants to start celebrating Christmas as early as possible, but Dev just wants to create chaos.

There are lights wrapped around the railings and hung over the walls, wreaths on every door, and poinsettias on each landing. If it weren’t the middle of October it might be nice. However, it is the middle of October.

carving pumpkins 

Baz is good at a lot of things. He’s smart, fit, athletic, flexible, charming, etc. He’s an expert at nearly everything, at least that’s what he’d have you believe. It’s what he’s had me believe for the longest time. It’s part of what made me hate him so much. (Suppose that wasn’t as much hate as I thought initially, though, was it?)

Anyway, Baz is good at shit, and it’s annoying.

spooky ghosts 

I don’t know what prompted me to open my mouth as I was leaving Watford.

I don’t know what possessed him to accept such an offer.

But somehow, by the grace of either Merlin or Crowley (potentially a little of both), Simon Snow is at my family home for the winter holidays.

black cats 

Sometimes Snow can be a mad genius.

And sometimes he’s just mad.

witch hats 

It’s our next to last day — well, my last day, I suppose — at Watford.

We’ve a whole ceremony to deal with, us eighth years. It’s strange to be preparing for this without Snow or Bunce.

new candles 

Coping mechanisms are something we’ve been talking about a lot in therapy. Healthy ones and unhealthy ones.

Apparently I had a lot of unhealthy ones for a long time. I didn’t even realize until my therapist pointed them out to me, but we’re trying to replace them with healthier ones.

cinnamon spice 

Simon’s working late tonight.

He got a new job at this little bakery on the other side of town. He positively loves it, I swear he came home after his first day already best friends with the entire staff. I don’t blame them, Simon’s a delight.

warm apple cider 

“We should get lunch,” Simon says, swinging our joined hands between us as we follow a dirt path toward a picnic area.

Bunce asked us if we could find our way out of the flat today, she and the Normal wanted some alone time. I was just going to take Simon back to my flat, but Fiona decided she would be coming back early from her trip, knocking that option out. (Not that I don’t love my aunt, but sometimes it’s just easier to keep her away from Simon. For my sanity’s sake.)

We were just going to drive around for a bit, maybe find somewhere to spend some time, try to have our own day to ourselves. Simon ended up looking up events happening around and found this little autumnal festival, which is where we ended up.

fuzzy socks & a book 

Snow always teases me when I wear these socks, but they’re soft, and warm, and nice. They run up well past my ankle, about mid-calf, and they’re sherpa-lined so they’re especially insulated and soft. They also have two little vampire teeth at the top, and two little leathery black wings that stick out from the ankles.

Mordelia picked them out when she was around six or seven, Daphne was just properly tickled by them and put them into my stocking that Christmas. Several years later I’m still wearing them.

They’re nice.

take two 

We’ve not talked about the clone incident since that day.

In fact, we’ve not talked much since that day. Full stop.

We kissed until our lips were sore, until we were both gasping for breath, until the sun went down and the shadows lay over us and we fell asleep.

The next morning I woke up in his bed. He was nowhere to be found. He didn’t show up to breakfast, or lunch, or dinner. He was absent from all of our classes. I didn’t see him again for nearly two full days.

baby animals 

Baz is letting me hunt with him.

Well, not hunt with him, really. But he’s letting me go out with him. Into the woods behind his family house.

I know how hard it is for him to let me in on this part of him, the whole vampire thing. He’s trying.

(basil the) scarecrow  

Simon Snow was well into middle age now, as he carried his two youngest to bed.

[cloveroctobers]

ROCCO MACBRADY —

IG info/bio : @/macbradycoeats | 77.1k followers | just a spiritual being that wishes the best for everyone on their journey 🙏🏼 yes i was on tv once & won’t be again, you may now check the vibe🥬🌱

21 (22)

From Belfast, Northern Ireland

I genuinely believe Rocco didn’t come from much, just like Gary. & it’s never a competition between who’s had it harder in life, cause we all got our own shit, but I don’t think his life was all rainbows and glitter you know? Just don’t get that vibe from him

Maybe he’s lived in a mobile home park and his mom can never hold a job since she’s a hot head & can’t take direction? His father comes in and out of his life, he’s the definition of toxic masculinity yet never does shit to prove his worth of a “man.” goes as he pleases drunk off his ass and stealing whatever $ his mom has saved up

His father used to be a truck driver but got fired after he kept drinking on the job, causing an accident that could have been much worse

They’re one of the few families that aren’t okay in the park. They just happen to be the loudest. At least his parents are, very vocal and try to beat the other in a screaming match. They never married, didn’t see the point in doing so since they stuck around with each other for this long

Very abusive relationship...mostly verbal but rocco’s seen enough to cause trauma

Maybe his parents had him at a young age, cancelling their youth? Sometimes he feels like it’s his fault, his father told him that once; drunk of whiskey so he started to believe it, which pissed his mother off to no end

Rocco knows his mother loves him but he’s not so sure about his dad. She does little things that mean so much to show that, she does try hard it’s just many don’t see that. Maybe he’s bias since it is his mother

Has a half-sister, Roisin. (Ro-sheen) means, “little rose,” and he picked the name out when he watched his mother have a home birth in their bathroom. He loved her just as much as he loved his mother. He’s heard of the name before, liked it and knew it fit when he first saw his little sister. She was the reddest baby he’s ever seen but gorgeous

“You’ve named your sister raisin, huh?”

It didn’t take long for Rocco to figure out that his mother had a boyfriend outside of his father and suddenly had a bump in her stomach a month later after the guy came around. Rocco wanted to hate the guy but he kinda taught him how to be. He was from wales, loved to surf, and always carried philosophy books which he encouraged a young Rocco to read and, “expand his horizons”

At first he didn’t understand the shite or even wanted to. He just knew it would be hell whenever his father decided to pop back up, but this time around? He didn’t for some reason. “I hope he’s dead.” He heard his mother say one night, talking to Elis, when she thought Rocco was asleep on his bed in the living room

Rocco didn’t think he could think that harsh about someone...but the longer Elis stayed around, the more he found himself not missing his father

Before he began to look at life in a different way, he was the type to run through the streets from the age of 16 and getting into some trouble

Such as: Vandalism, stealing booze, trespassing, & public indency

Around 18 was when he decided to turn his life around, after losing a friend he deeply cared about. He went off to uni, because it was what she wanted to do and he never gave it much thought in the first place but he tried for her

Looking back on it, why did he ever think finance was for him? He wanted to be what his mother wasn’t, she tried but she didn’t know how to manage $ well. Elis had to step in every now and then but he was also always on the go due to surfing competitions

Not only that but it was hard to make friends in uni, people were much different here than in the mobile park. He had more in common with people who lived in the same atmosphere as him

He felt judged and it made him deeply insecure so he dropped out mid-semester 

Picked up healthy cooking habits and managed to purchase a food truck after working multiple jobs/ odd jobs from dish cleaner, bartender, doing weekly grocery runs for the people with disabilities in the mobile park, etc...

Guilty pleasure is Mediterranean food

Helps his mother with his sister when she’s out looking for a job + working the job or when she needs a nap. It’s the perfect bonding moment between brother and sister

It doesn’t take long before Rocco feels it’s his time to leave & he does so by going on tv for this show called love island, which is short lived & he comes back empty handed + still feeling like he didn’t make any friends but he met people that changed his life for sure

Marisol being one of those people.

His food truck gains traction after the show and he’s pleased by this. He specializes in a go green environment, which is more expensive but everything costs something

A customer tells him he’d be better off traveling to gain more exposure to his food, although there’s been customers who post his food on the socials—he rarely checks it but it’s 40% negative

Once he saves up enough, he does so and wants for his mother and sister to come with him but she says his sister is too young to be on the road

He’s torn but decides to go on a three month tour, with a few people trying to manage him. Rocco doesn’t take the offer, he feels like that’s a trap to take all of his $.

He can do it all on his own

He meets more people and women on the road in different cities and keeps up with Marisol whenever he can, it kinda hurts to know that she’s found someone knew

So when he’s on psychedelics, he starts sleeping around when the loneliness tries to creep up on him. He doesn’t want to feel that, because if you let it be then it might control you. You’re in control of your emotions.

He always has to find a pay phone when he gets to the next city to let his mom, sister, and Elis know that business is doing okay and he is too. He either forgets to charge his phone or one of the women he invited into his truck stole it

Yeah his food truck is also his home? But people don’t need to know that, he plans to get rid of the truck, buy a storage container to be his new restaurant on wheels and invest in a car where he can pull the storage container along on his car, he’s thinking maybe a Subaru or a pick up truck of some sort. These are all goals, he’ll achieve if he works at his own pace. If it’s meant to be it will be 

Very flirtatious and it can come across as not being loyal but he finds it to be more, “free spirited” than anything

Does yoga, has a bicycle too for days he doesn’t feel like driving his truck around, Elis bought one for his birthday & is studying Buddhism

Plays the ukulele & wants to start a garden

Is he a Scorpio? Is he a Gemini? I don’t really feel like he’s a fire sign? He might have a small amount in his chart if we’re being technical. The only thing I can see, Leo maybe for being idealistic? Flirtatious & optimistic?

Scorpio sun + Leo moon + Gemini rising

His favorite animal is an ostrich?

Lottie accidentally likes his photos (whenever he decides to post) and unlikes them or pops into his lives every now and then just out of curiosity. When he addresses her, she leaves lmao

Hair and eyes shifts just like the seasons, becoming reddish brown + a hazel green

Stops at every farmers markets & side attractions to give back to the people & loves flea markets

What does Rocco listen to? He definitely uses psychedelics & smokes that gas c’mon now so: bob marley & the wailers, Jimi Hendrix, fugees, Fiona apple, Norah Jones, johnnyswim, & Bombay bicycle club

Celeb crush? Emma Roberts, zendaya, halle bailey, camila mendes, Sarah Bolger, & Saoirse Ronan

Anthem = The wombats, “Give Me A Try”

[sawdustandgin]

A Year of Happiness, Joy and Sarcasm: My 2020 in Review

Absolutely nothing needs to be said about the year of our lord 2020 that hasn’t already been shouted from every social media platform like a shrieking alarm alerting us that the ship is sinking. We know. We’re all wet. 

I will not remember 2020 as mask-clad because I didn’t take any photos while wearing one. 

Every December, I reflect on the year through a short essay, allowing myself many opportunities to gush about the music that I didn’t include on my best-of lists but that I still loved dearly. (Though I guess I skipped last year. I found an abandoned draft the other day…) And consistently, I have regarded each year as one of transition. 

I don’t have clear career aspirations outside of wanting to engage with music as deeply and personally as I can; my only concrete life plan is to profile small towns across the country through the lens of its local music scene. So, with this nebulous image of a future endeavor, I have had a tumultuous time with money since losing my job two years ago. I realized fairly quickly, after only a few months of foundering at it, that I was unable to freelance my way to a liveable income. And in all honesty, this was for the best—nothing hurts worse than realizing the activity you are most passionate about has become a chore. I stopped worrying about pitching editors and trying to rub elbows, and I got to work applying for jobs. I, incredibly luckily, secured one after a few more months. The adjustment to being unemployed was a leap for me and my deep desire for a routine, but the adjustment to being employed and trying to maintain a balance between day job and side gig was even harder. 

Then I loosened up a bit. Toward the end of last year, I tried to make a vow to be more consistent with the blog, but instead, I prioritized sleep. At the time, I didn’t realize that it was an either/or scenario and probably would have made a greater effort to avoid my television if I had. But ultimately, I had to accept that my relationship with music journalism was on my terms. And regardless of how [in]frequently I ‘discovered’ new artists (for myself), I wasn’t ‘missing out’ on anything. 

And let’s be real, I wasn’t overly eager to listen to new stuff starting around April. I put so much energy into not losing myself in quarantine that I tuckered myself out before shit really hit the ceiling. When I began thinking toward my year-end lists in November, I began to worry that this would be my most deflated best-of season in recent memory. 

That’s ok, Zoë, no one really cares about top ten lists, I can hear you thinking, colored by a fascination with my determination. But as a double cancer and pisces moon, I like to cling to the art that moves my soul (read: ~nostalgia~). And so I take great joy in spending all of December and most of January repeatedly listening to my favorite music until I conjure a partially arbitrary ranking system and create playlists galore. It really is the best time of the year. 

Of course, there are always a few titles that need no additional spins, whether due to automatic disqualification or simply because I listened so much that I know it intimately. The automatic disqualifications this year were particularly striking. 

A few easy omissions were Chromatica, Positions, and Fetch the Bolt Cutters. Lady Gaga delivered her skip-less album around the time when it became clear that the pandemic was not even somewhat close to containment; my roommate and I cooked to Chromatica every night, singing along to every word. With each new record, Ariana Grande becomes a more graceful songwriter, and it also helps that Positions is a plain ol', boot-knockin’ good time. And the raw power Fiona Apple wields in Fetch the Bolt Cutters would be frightening were she not the perfect vessel to deliver it to us. 

Then there is the category of albums that simply didn’t need my (albeit dim) spotlight: Set My Heart on Fire Immediately, græ, and KicK i are each masterpieces in their own right. They each move purposefully through diverse landscapes, each song a new adventure not bound by genre or expectation. Interestingly, Perfume Genius and Moses Sumney were never mainstays in my music rotation, while my love for Arca is unquestioned. 

That leads us to Re-Animator, I’m Your Empress Of and The Mosaic of Transformation, all of which I actively feel bad for disqualifying. I’m too much of a fan of Everything Everything to impartially write about their new album, though it was one of my most frequently played. I have been writing best-of lists for six years now and I would prefer to write about a constantly expanding, diverse group of artists. That means I can’t keep doting on Empress Of, despite her status as one of our best contemporary artists. Me and Us were truly just prelude to her 2020 record, whose title is a formal introduction. Kaitlyn Aurelia Smith is also the most talented analog synth musician that I personally have ever engaged with, and her latest album is everything I could have wanted.  

It took some self-control (aka strict time management) to not write a few thousand words about The Ascension. Let’s recall my massive thesis on Carrie & Lowell… Yes, I am a former Catholic who thrives in the ambiguous invocation of Scripture, especially from a songwriter who quite literally shaped my taste in music. Luckily, I’m not nearly as pent up with anger and existential dread as in 2015 when I was, for the first time, processing the physical and emotional distance from my family. This elongated emotional breakdown was spurred by drama between my parents, but was also due to an irrational fear I held about my own mother’s death. Listening to Sufjan Stevens forgive his mother on her figurative deathbed has stayed with me. 

The anxiety I felt about 2020 was almost entirely external, so the gorge formed from the current of The Ascension was not nearly as deep a canyon in my heart as C&L, though it is still an affecting 80-minute journey. Stevens’ production, when coupled with his lyricism, is a breakthrough, though I do hear murmurs of folktronica from earlier in the decade. (I’m begging everyone to listen to Under Our Beds by Consilience.) And for perhaps the first time, there were songs that I occasionally skip. If I still had to commute to work, I bet they would have grown on me. In fact, this would have been a perfect driving album—one that wouldn’t cause me to weep while on the interstate. (oh Carrie. oh Lowell.)

Then there was VOL.II by my dear friend Lauren Ruth Ward. She gave me an opportunity to write a unique interview with her about the record to be printed on the inside of the gatefold, making it a permanent fixture on this most exciting of sophomore albums. I could not justify writing anything more about it, if only to preserve the sanctity of that interview, which I gave more effort and attention than any other piece of writing I had done. It was a wonderful and inspiring experience that I hope to replicate. The most heartbreaking part of the pandemic’s onset, from a social perspective, was not being able to visit Lauren after the record was released. 

With all that said, 2020 was about so much more than the music I listened to. All the digital replacements for physical intimacy during lockdown made me realize that my legacy (aka all my music writing) is fragile, locked into the impermanence of the internet. So I took it upon myself to build a physical archive; in the fall, I finalized a zine template, and the first eight issues are in the can. (So far, I have 19 zines planned. Email me if you are interested in having one!) 

I’ve also been living without a front tooth since mid-March. On one hand, it’s been convenient to wear a mask to hide the hole in my mouth, but on the other hand, all I want to do is bite into an apple. (For almost two years before I even knew I had to have my tooth removed, I had been forced to slice apples before being able to eat them. The abject humiliation.) The journey with my dentists and oral surgeon has been excruciating, to say the least. Who knew three people in the same medical practice could have such mightily different styles of care? [Author’s note: I got my crown after writing this essay! :grinning-emoji:]

In sum, it was my image of myself that I was able to see a bit clearer this year. Each year I think that I’ve figured something else out about myself, which had always led me to believe that I am a most-complex, divine being. But I think a more accurate interpretation is that, put simply, I am not static. My thoughts and emotions adapt to life and life doesn’t seem to stop throwing me around like sneakers in a tumbling dryer. My pronouns are now they/them and while I don’t have many specifics as to why, I just know that this feels right. 

I hope your year was at least acceptable; 2021 promises a host of new challenges, but I think we can take ‘em. 

[otheroutlandertales]

Lindsey (formerly known as @lindseyylu17) said: maybe fergus and roger (or any other characters of your choosing) get paired up in a pen pals program in school and friendship begins and then romance ensues. xoxo

This is the first installment of a short multi-chapter - three installments planned plus possibly a short epilogue.

Reading You - Part One: The Letters

by @wunderlichkind

Roger was more nervous than he could remember ever being; not on his first day of school, not when he had played his first concert, not when he had first kissed a girl, not even when he had realized that kissing girls wasn’t for him.

He was standing in the high school’s parking lot, waiting to get into the minibus taking them from Inverness to Aberdeen airport. And to a plane, waiting to fly them out of Scotland to Paris, Charles-de-Gaulle.

They had prepared for the exchange program by writing letters – each of them to an assigned student, the one they would be living with during the week they’d spend in Paris.

„At least one letter,“ Mrs MacCarthy had said, dumping the address cards on their desks, reminding them that it was a privilege to take part in the exchange program and that they were supposed to take it seriously, yadda, yadda...

“That’s not a very French name, huh?“ Fiona had looked over, checking out Roger’s card. “Uh, nah... sounds rather Scottish, actually,“ Roger had agreed, studying the name written out in front of him. Fergus Callau.  

Fergus.

It had taken Roger ages to write that first letter – he had wanted to make a good impression, to not seem a boring small-town boy. He hadn’t wanted to seem overeager, either, and after writing and rewriting the short paragraph several times, he had given up and kept it to the basics, choosing to add in a Soundcloud link to one of his own songs instead.

After that, it had only gotten easier. Mrs McCarthy’s “one letter“ rule surpassed without effort, Fergus and Roger had been exchanging letters for the better part of two months now, and Roger sometimes felt like a character straight out of a mediocre romcom, waiting eagerly for a new letter to arrive, barely containing himself long enough to take it to his room to read. And it really had a romantic touch, he thought - these letters made out of ink and paper, palpable, almost making you feel their writer’s secrets between your fingers in a way the harsh glow of a computer screen never would.

Fergus had a minimalistic way of writing, his letters never much longer than a single page, yet he always managed to make Roger feel heard and understood, and he never let the conversation die down by way of challenging Roger with intriguing questions.

I love how you describe the feeling of loneliness in your song. Why have you chosen that topic?

What is music to you? What do you need it for?

I like your picture.

When you’re here, we should find a guitar for you to play for me. I want to hear your real voice instead of its canned version.

Is your girlfriend coming to Paris, too?

Roger had questioned every one of his answering letters to the bone – had he understood Fergus’ intention right? Had he really discerned that one, possibly flirty undertone? Was that just the way French people wrote letters? Did he obsess too much? In the end, he had chosen to stick to honesty.

Aye, I sometimes feel lonely. I don’t really feel I can be all that open with the people in my life. Especially since my parents died.

Music is my lifeline. It’s the one part of my day, where I feel I can be completely honest, with myself and with anyone who wants to listen. That, and when I write to you.

I like your picture, too.

I don’t have a girlfriend. Never had one, never wanted one.

He remembered his stomach’s nervous flutters, quite alike to the vibrations running through the airplane now, before take-off, when he’d read Fergus’ answering letter – the last one arriving before their trip.

A boyfriend then?

It had taken all his courage to bring to paper what he’d felt bubbling up under his skin at reading the simple question. He hadn’t told many people in his life – he hadn’t actively hidden it, either, but he’d never wanted to run around advertising his sexuality, and there hadn’t been a good reason to let everyone know so far.

Haven’t met the right lad yet.

He had posted the letter four days ago. It should have arrived by now. They would touch down in Paris in less than two hours and he would get to see Fergus.

Fergus, with the long, wavy brown hair. Fergus, with the obscenely pretty eyelashes. Fergus, with the delicate swing of his nose. Fergus, whose picture Roger had stared at for an entirely embarrassing amount of time.

___________________________________________________________________

“Ye look a little tense, Rog,“ Fi stated when the plane started dipping in approach of Charles-de-Gaulle, effectively jolting Roger out of his nervous pondering. “Huh?“ he asked, gaze fixed on the city growing bigger below them.

“Are ye scared of flying?“

He made a non-committal sound in his throat, choosing not to explain to her what was really on his mind, but he felt the tense muscles in his forearm relax a little when she rested her palm on it.

And there it was – Paris – lying below them in all its glory, bathed in the early evening light of the autumn day. Roger caught a glimpse at best, before they were turning towards the outskirts of the city and flying too low to get a comprehensive picture. In his mind’s eye, it was enough – a quick flash burning an everlasting hologram into his retinas, the picture that would always cross his mind at the thought of Paris, forever shining with the expectant glow of his imagination of Fergus.

Twenty steps down the stairs to disembark the plane. Two-hundred and something steps to baggage claim – Roger had lost count over the excited chatter of his schoolmates at some point. Eight and a half minutes until their baggage arrived. Two minutes until the teachers had calmed them all down enough to remind them of the procedure; going out into the arrival area, meeting the exchange students and their families, going home with them for the first night and finally reuniting with the whole group at school the next day.

Roger’s nerves were pulled taut to the point of snapping, his mind racing between thoughts of Fergus and a nagging little voice at the back of his head chastising for being so desperately over-invested in this relationship already.

Ifrinn, Wakefield, get yer shit together and don’t piss yerself. Ye’re only meeting an exchange student – albeit a verra attractive one.

He stood in the doorway to the arrival area before he could finish internally talking himself up, stopping dead in his tracks for a split second, trying to gather his wits. Only moments now.

Roger made a conscious effort to bring his feet back to moving, only lifting his head to look for Fergus when he was sure his face wasn’t a pathetic mask of trepidation.

The hall was buzzing with people, greetings in different languages filling the air. Roger was briefly reminded of the opening scene of “Love, actually...“, a movie Mrs MacCarthy had made them watch before christmas break last year. Between hearty, emotional reunion scenes, Roger got to witness the first few of his classmates finding their exchange families and making timid acquaintances. He felt a little calmer for a moment, reassured, seeing their respective nerves on display.

“Roger.“

The nearly imperceptible French accent on the small word, his name, sent his nerves rushing back immediately. His stomach was in turmoil – especially after he finally spotted Fergus in the crowd, elbowing his way towards him – and his throat felt constricted, making him panic that he wouldn’t get out a word of greeting.

Damn ye, Roger Wakefield, the functioning part of his brain screamed at him, ye’re making yerself look like a bloody fool!

When Fergus reached him, there was no need for words, however. To Roger’s surprise, he found himself in a hug, two fleeting kisses pressed to his cheeks, Fergus’ smell (of apple shampoo and sandalwood) in his nose. He had to steady his knees.

When he eventually managed to speak, his voice sounded ridiculously hoarse to his own ears, the word a secret on his lips that he finally got to share after cherishing and guarding it for many weeks.

“Fergus.“

“Bienvenue à Paris, mon ami!“

[xxwinterchillxx]

Halloween Dance and Some Unfortunate Events

Summary:

Levi is willing to go all the way to get Eren to go with him to the Halloween Dance. But things get complicated since Levi cannot show any sign of intelligence around the German hottie. However, he isn’t taking no for an answer.

Rating - Teen and Up Audiences

Categories - M/M

Relationships - Levi/Eren, background relationships, Moblit/Hanji, Armin/Erwin, Krista|Historia/Ymir

Chapters - 5/?

Read below cut or read on AO3

Chapter 5: My place?

It was 11:55pm by the time I left the Jaeger residence with Erwin. He had on this really goofy smile which I didn’t want to investigate into further. So, we drove in complete silence.

I could tell that I was cold when I saw myself breathing out puffs of vapour. But honestly, I felt damn nothing. My heart was still pounding like anything and whenever I saw my reflection in the car window, I too had on that same goofy Erwin grin.

 I am dating Eren Jaeger.

 ~~oOo~~

 The first thing I saw when I woke up was an angry woman’s face. I got yelled at for like a full 10 minutes by mom for sneaking in late yesterday. But I couldn’t think of anything other than the events of last night.

It was kind of a haze, really. Once Eren asked me out, my mind became so numb. I couldn’t say anything but it’s pretty obvious that I liked him too when I leaned in closer to him, holding his hands.

Then it’s all a blur. I think a kiss was supposed to happen. But that’s when Erwin came in the scene. His hair was messed up and his clothes looked scruffy. That fucking sack of balls didn’t know what was going on so he told me that we should go home because his dad told him that his stupid car should be home by 10. I think that’s when it ended.

Mom’s still mad at me. She somehow missed out on the fact that the costume she spent a day fixing was for a party. It’s not like I drank or anything so I don’t get why she is so upset.

Now that I think about it, I should go and fix up a costume for the dance 3 days from now. Fuck, I’m going with the fucking Jaeger. Oh my gosh, I’m literally going to dance with Eren! It feels so weird thinking about it. But, like, a good kind of weird.

I wonder if we should do a couple costume….

What the fuck am I thinking? That shit’s for 5th graders.

 I think I’d look cool as Belle though. I make a good fucking princess.

  ~~oOo~~

 “…so yeah, still think Levi can’t talk in front of his crush?” I smiled smugly at Hanji, who was sitting in the middle of my room with a blank expression.

“Well, technically, short-stack, you didn’t say anything.”

I faltered for a second after that rude-ass comment, “O..uh, okay but that, like, totally part of my suave sooo yeah.”

Hanji stretched out her legs and lied down on the floor wearing the same blank expression, “Sure, whatever.”

I was about to reply when she interrupted, “So, are you guys going to the dance?”

Squinting, I stated as a matter-of-factly, “Obviously.” I grabbed her phone and texted Erwin to come over. “You know what? That reminds me. What are you guys going as? I don’t want any costume repetition or shit like that. This is the first time I’m going to dance with my cru– boyfriend.”

She instantly shot up from her lying position with an annoying air of dignity, “Yes, about that. Moblit thinks we shouldn’t participate in such chivalrous youth activities.”

“What?”

Smiling faintly, she tried to look cool and all, fixing her hair. It took forever for her to reply. “Moblit thinks that we should instead spend time with each other instead of doing whatever everyone else is doing. He’s so insightful like that.”

Honestly, does anyone else feel the need as much as I do to shove Moblit’s chivalrous dick down his throat?

“My god, woman, does any of your sentences start without his stupid name?”

“Hey, don’t start with me. Moblit’s insightful, thoughtful a-and…,” she couldn’t seem to find any other praises for her boyfriend, “And Eren’s a dumbass.”

I gasped and shot up from my bed, “Yeah? At least Eren isn’t a nagging bitch. Moblit’s a fucking ugly crybaby.”

I think we were about to get into a fist fight (friendship, amirite?) before Erwin appeared.

“Hey Levi. Hey Hanji,” he cheerfully greeted and sat down at the nearest chair. “What’s going on?”

Both Hanji and I immediately forgot our own differences and started picking on him.

Hanji made a face and nudged Erwin playfully on the side, “I’ve heard stuff about you, Erwin.”

Erwin grew pale and laughed nervously, “H-Hanji, what are you talking about?”

She reached her hand down Erwin’s inner thigh and squeezed it tightly, earning a yelp from Erwin. “Bedroom secrets.”

I sneered, “Oh my god, Erwin’s bedroom kinks. That’s so gross, Hanji. Tell.”

“Hanji, no-”

“Armin calls him ‘Daddy Long Legs’!” screamed out Hanji excitedly.

 ~~oOo~~

We’re not really on talking terms with either Erwin or Armin anymore. They’re so overdramatic, my god. The last thing Erwin said to us was not to bother him or his cousin anymore.

And also to stop calling Armin his cousin. What? It’s funny.

Anything involving Erwin’s eyebrows is funny.

On the other hand, Hanji told me that Erwin and Armin are going all Prince-and-Princess this year. So that totally rules out me going in an all-out yellow gown.

“Maybe I should put on my mom’s weird green facemask again and go as Shrek,” I said to Hanji as we ate (without Erwin) in the cafeteria. It was Monday. There were no classes as everyone was busy prepping the entire building for a horror-themed dance. The main hall was being decorated with plastic pumpkins and violet drapes.

Hanji hummed indecisively and took a bite out of her apple, “No, Eren should go as Shrek. You know, like a cool handsome Shrek.”

I laughed, “Yeah. His eyes are green-ish anyway. But I won’t look good with Fiona’s red hair”

“What are you talking about? Obviously, you are Lord Farquad, shawty.”

 Anyways, due to some minor inconveniences, I have decided that my costume isn’t going to be animation themed. That shit’s stupid to be honest.

I’m leaving the decisions to my boyfriend, Eren. My boyfriend Eren Jaeger. Hehe.

We’ve been talking to each other like all the time. Just today, he looked at me and smiled. It was so romantic. I just wish the others would pay more attention to the fact that I’m dating the hottest guy in school but no, they’re too busy trying to find their dates. Bunch of narcissistic fuckfaces.

I looked to the left and saw Eren and his group entering the cafeteria. Almost half the faces in the room turned to them. It was like a different aura spread out. Eren, Mikasa, Krista, Reiner…., the handsomest faces of the school. And Armin walking alongside them, as if he belonged.

I waved a hand to Eren but he didn’t see. I didn’t blame him though. There was a lot happening around him. They were all laughing, tripping each other, punching at times and making a lot of noise. I don’t know why but whenever I see Eren with them, I can literally feel my anxiety choking me.

“Fuck, is that Daddy Long Legs?”

As soon as I heard Hanji, my head whipped back and saw Erwin sitting at the popular table, laughing at whatever stupid shit the whole group was laughing at. That stupid meat-headed traitor. They were chanting ‘kiss’ ‘kiss’ over and over again. Then Armin gave him a peck on the cheek. In the background, Hanji just said, “Ew.”

“You guys are so cute!” Krista’s shrill girly stupid fuckvoice followed the kiss, “Couple goals!!”

I’m so pissed at Erwin. I mean, like, after you yell at your friends for absolutely no reason, you are supposed to repent and then stay sad.  You’re not supposed to laugh a-and fucking hang out with other people’s crushes. It’s totally rude. Like, what did Hanji and I ever do to him?

“Eren coming. 1 O’clock,” Hanji mumbled quickly before walking away.

I didn’t even have the time to react.

 “Hey, Levi.”

I looked up to see his stupidly gorgeous face. He kept a hand on my chair and the other on the table. His brown locks all messy, his hideously green eyes practically piercing through me. The light shining conveniently behind him made him look like a God. He’S sO hOt, fuck me.

“Can I sit?”

I nodded quickly. But like, not too quickly because I don’t want to look thirsty and not too slow ca- stop thinking, dammit.

He sat opposite to me, cupping his god-like face with one of his hands and just… staring at me. I couldn’t even look at his face, let alone his eyes. My eyes darted around to look at something else. Why am I so panicky?!

“Thanks, doll.”

My heart literally crashed and stopped working and I could feel my brain turning to mush. I breathed out heavily in response. Don’t ask me why, okay. I just prayed damn hard that he didn’t notice my antics.

“I was thinking about that dance, you know. About all that costume stuff.”

I sipped my juice pouch, trying to play it cool.

“Eren.”

I don’t know why I said his name. I just did.

Shit, I had his full attention now. His eyes looked up at me expectantly and his eyes literally lit up. If he had a tail, it be wagging.

I just looked at him, not knowing quite what to say. I was mentally trying to piece together a sentence… any sentence to break the tension.

His expression changed and he put up a hand to his cheek, smirking.

“Damn, Levi, you are so cute.” He smiled warmly before he held my hand.

“I was thinking of, you know, Marvel. I love their movies,” he continued, squeezing my hand. “Maybe Deadpool and Spidey?” He paused for a second then added, “I already have their costumes, by the way so like….?”

“Sure.” I replied, kind of proud of myself for saying ‘sure’ instead of some stupid pun about a sea beach.

“I’ll have it mailed to you. Anyways, could you give me your phone number? I don’t have it.”

“Oh! Uh… yeah, sure.”

I blushed when I saw his home screen. The picture was me in that stupid pink panther shit. I internally screeched.

“I hope you don’t mind.”

“Is okay.” I replied, typing in my number. Is okay…. Who says that?

“Cool, thanks.”

He moved his seat right next to mine and asked, “Do you have your phone?”

“Yeah, why?”

I placed my phone in his outstretched hand.

Putting an arm around me, he called my phone before I could stop him.

Panic rose up in me and I instantly yelled, “Wait, stop-”

 And across that stupid iPhone screen, there appeared the dreaded words-

 Futurehusbando    calling….                                           2:09 pm

 The background image just had a zoomed-in picture of me deliberately smiling like a pervert, courtesy of Hanji.

I felt my heart sinking and my face burning up.

Eren looked at the screen for a few seconds before looking up at me with a slightly cocky grin.

“I see you already have my phone number.”

He handed back my phone to me. I kept looking down mostly because I wanted to faceplant myself into the tile floors.

“Well, anyways, I have to get going. I’m sorry but the principal told me to come down to his office like two hours ago so yeah. I promise I’ll call you later.”

He grabbed my face and planted a soft kiss to my forehead before smiling brightly, “Wait for me after school! I’ll drive you home, okay?” He paused for a moment and looked back, “You’re so cute.”

  After he left, I groaned and felt a hand on my back, patting me.

“Damn Levi, you are one unlucky son of a bitch.”

“I know, Hanji. I know.”

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[toxicityrp]

   MORPHINE ● OWNER OF THE ST. VINCENT ● CLOSED

      ❝ If I knew a word that could embody who Morphine is,             I’d be fuckin’ using it right now.        I can’t even have a straight conversation with     the guy without him shitting on me. He’s got style             but I really fuckin’ dislike him. ❞

THE SINNER.

“I don’t know what goes on in a child’s early life that ends up producing people like Felix and Fiona Duval. One would hope that it would be some dreadful horror story, death, abuse, or rampant mental illness at the very least. But in reality, such things are rare, and some are just born bad. I know it is an unpleasant thing to say, but Felix and his sister are bad apples, rotten to the core, and no amount of education, positive influence or opportunities will change that. I hated using the word ‘evil’ especially when talking about children, but if there was a single redeeming quality in either of those two I was never able to see it. They were the sort of infants who would pull the wings off butterflies simply to watch them die.  Irredeemable. Often with children like this, you blame the parents. But with the Duval siblings it runs deeper then that. They were born nasty, life just got in the way.

                                                                            - John G. Norris - School Teacher

It was hard to believe it was real, but there was a time when Felix actually remembered when his mother would hum, not around the house or in the kitchen like a sugar-coated fairy tale, but while playing cards. She’d shuffle the cards in her hand, shifting them to her pleasure, perhaps throwing in a lyric under her breath; an old standard from the time of her parents. At one point she would glance over to Felix, knowing he was watching her, giving him a quick wink and a sly smile. Felix was five. The game of choice was gin. No child’s games for Felix, never go fish or old maid. Not for Gertrude’s boy. Gertrude talked to Felix and treated Felix like the adult he already was, for the two of them had practically grown up together. Married at twenty, pregnant by twenty one, life wasn’t at all what Gertrude had thought it would be. But, being a smart girl, Gertrude learned fast, she adapted fast. She’d gone from a naive school girl to learning the lessons of life in a blink of an eye. Life wasn’t to be seen through rose-colored glasses, secrets had to be kept for the protection of others; and love wasn’t a living, breathing thing, but an idea. The world isn’t put together in picture perfect boxes with nice bows. The only people who love you back are your children. Life is hell and the world can’t be saved with pleases and thank yous.

On the day Gertrude Duval turns twenty, she opens her eyes and decides her life is over. She behaved like a dizzy idiot and married for love, without even knowing the man she fell in love with very well, and got pregnant before realising she didn’t have the first idea of how to be a mother. Now her husband has left her for a younger woman, which makes her seem like a widow though she isn’t, with everyone looking at her either pityingly or telling her she must be so very proud. She tries not to remember loving him at all, because that will make it easier once she gets the inevitable announcement. There is the child, living proof that she went through it all, the handholding, the gazing into each other’s eyes, the memorising of stupid song lyrics because the song played at some point in their ridiculously brief romance, the unprotected sex because she wanted him so much. All of this happened. If it hadn’t, Gertrude would have finished college. She has a first class mind, and she would have defied gender expectations and gone to Washington, first as someone’s aide, but then rising to the top in her own right, she’s sure of it. And then, only then, when she was ready, she would have married, and he would have been quietly supportive. None of this will ever happen, she thinks, and stares at the baby the nanny places in her arms. The baby’s eyes have a trace of blue or green, depending on the light, like his father’s. The hair is auburn, like Gertrude’s own. It feels very soft under her finger tips.

“Knock, Knock…” The nanny not only knocked on the door but spoke the words at the same time. She was trying to be cheery, she was just irritating as hell, Gertrude thought. From her bed, Gertrude glanced over at the nanny in her doorway. But only for a moment, before rolling herself back toward the window, looking out with a glazed over look in her eyes. She felt like a hard rock, heavy and filled with nothing of note or purpose. Gertrude felt like everything she had known to be true didn’t exist – nothing felt right. It was like she didn’t know her left from her right. She had nothing to believe in anymore. The nanny had Felix in one of those little hospital cribs with clear plastic sides to it. “I brought the baby …” The nanny wheeled Felix toward the other side of the bed, but Gertrude wouldn’t look at him. “Lucky” The nanny said with her saccharin smile. “What?” Gertrude asked in her groggy voice. “Felix – it means Lucky. I assumed you knew. Why you named him…?”

“Does it…” Gertrude’s voice trailed off. “Maybe that’s why…” She didn’t seem interested, or maybe it just reminded her of her dreams and how they weren’t anything at all, they were just dreams. Then Felix cried and it hit something in Gertrude’s soul. She cocked her head toward the baby and the emotion hit her. Here was her child. Here was her son. The nanny saw it. “Do you want to hold him?” She smiles, and holds the baby for her to take. “Yes…” Gertrude pulled herself up in bed, she was still sore and it was hard for her to move. “I.. I don’t know what to do,” she confessed. The nanny instructed Gertrude on how to hold him before she placed young Felix in her arms. “You shouldn’t have happened,“ Gertrude says. The nanny is shocked. “Now, now, Mrs. D, you mustn’t say things like that.” she tuts, with the mixture of disapproval, pity and condescension a woman of forty has for one of twenty, especially if the younger woman can be seen as a spoiled brat. “It was a statement of fact,” Gertrude says coldly. “You’re fired. This is also a statement of fact.” The nanny babbles on, but Gertrude ceases to listen. Instead, she looks at the baby. Her son. Arthur’s son. Her future, all the future she’s going to have now. The injustice of it makes her rage. And yet, and yet. He doesn’t feel like a burden at all. The nanny probably hasn’t fed him enough; yet another mark against that woman. “You shouldn’t have happened,” Gertrude repeats, “but now that you have, you’re going to be worth it.”

“Felix and Fiona were lovely when they were little. I know, that sounds a little unbelievable now, but they were really beautiful. Blonde hair and bright little eyes. And they hardly ever cried. They just looked around them and stared up as if they were trying to absorb everything around them. Intelligent, too. They walked very early, and were always trying out new things. They used to repeat whatever they heard their parents say, though some of it wasn’t very nice, they were only small and didn’t realize it. Certainly, they had their flaws.  Felix didn’t seem to like his sister at first. I think he was jealous of all the attention she got. He grew out of it. In fact, afterwards he used to do whatever his sister told him to, no matter how trivial. If she asked him to fetch her something, he would do it without question. It was rather sweet really. I always thought he would grow up to be a gentleman. The two of them were constantly whispering together, about what I really don’t know. Making plans I suppose. But they grew up far too quickly, and the things Felix used to say…It is just too awful to repeat. I have to admit, as much as I loved those children in their infancy, I was glad when it was my time to leave. They didn’t need a nanny any longer, and I hated watching what was happening to those kids. I’m not sure if their parents were oblivious to this behavior, or even, god forbid, encouraged it but it would lead to nothing but pain. It was just a matter of seeing whether it would be their pain, or somebody else’s.”

                                  - Elizabeth Warner - Nanny

His father doesn’t see him the day he is born. After so many failed attempts at conceiving, and fights over miscarriages, affairs and pointing fingers, Arthur Duval leaves his very pregnant wife and his unborn son to their own mercy. It’s not because he is afraid of the responsibility of becoming a new dad, since he has long been preparing for it. But his relationship with Gertrude is starting to make him feel inadequate as a husband. And he knows deep down, that even though he will make a good father, he was not sure if the baby that was about to be born will make a good son. If he will rise to his expectations or just be a disappointment. His absence lasts two years, and when he meets Felix for the first time, he wishes to feel something. Anything that would let him know that this was his own flesh and blood. Sadly, he feels no connection to the boy standing a few feet above the ground, and who was now looking up at him with wonder in his eyes. “I’m your father”. He said the words in order to reassure himself that in fact he was his father, but the words were empty … meaningless. It takes him a few years to find affection for Felix, because everything that he does is not good enough. Arthur believes that his son is a weak link, and he tries to push him harder. He needs to be faster, smarter, and most of all, he needs to be stronger. The first time Felix cries, his father slaps him and tells him that his tears are not welcome, and that nothing will ever be gained by weeping.

Felix’s earliest memory is of his father, which in itself is strange because he can count the number of private interviews with his father on one hand, and he certainly couldn’t remember anyone pushing for intimacy between the two of them. Not that he’s complaining, Felix never wanted anything to do with him either. But this memory is of a man on man interview in his library. He remembers the sunlight filtering through a gap in the heavy velvet curtain, the spines of leather bound books lit up like holy tomes on the high wooden shelves. He was five, maybe six years old, and his ability to read was limited at best, so all of the business jargon felt like words of another world, and Felix could do nothing more then simply admire the lettering as his father asked him questions. Was he looking after his sister? Yes. If by ‘looking after’ he meant putting worms from the garden in her bed and/or pulling her hair till she cried like a girl. Did he listen to his nanny, do what he was told? Yes. Or at least, he did after she’d asked him the fifth or sixth time and boxed his ears to get his attention. He’s getting tall, he’ll be a grown man soon. Yes. Not soon enough though. When he gets older, he’ll be going off to school, is he looking forward to that? Yes. Why not, it can’t be any different then here. Felix was looking forward to that. His father asked him if his hands were clean. Obligingly Felix held them out for inspection, and his father eyed the dirty nails for a moment before proclaiming them ‘good enough’ and handing one of the books down from the top shelf. It was so heavy that he could barely open the front cover. Never mind that, turn the page. Words on paper. Family secrets. And though his young mind couldn’t quite find the words to voice it, he felt a thrill of anticipation for the future. His future. This was broader then politics, he had seen that deep place in the human psyche which told what people were really capable of. No morals, no feelings. Just power and control. He looked down at his pale, pudgy hand, and suddenly clenched it into a tight fist, nails digging into his palm and knuckles turning white.

“I went to high school at the same time as the Felix Duval. I can’t say I wanted much to do with him, even then. He looked nasty…I mean, nastier then usual. He had this dark heavy look about him, and when he smiled it was more like a smirk. He was always leaning over, chatting to his sister, and then she’d let out this mean, hard sounding laugh and point at someone different. It was obvious he didn’t care about anyone apart from their own sick little sense of fun. Felix showed his true colours pretty early. He bumped into this kid once and made him drop his bags, and Felix slapped it straight across the face as hard as he could. I couldn’t see his parents there, but even if they were, from the way he acted the probably wouldn’t be told off for it. He carried himself like he could do whatever he wanted. And all he wanted to do was be as miserable as possible.”

                                               - Jack Miller - Former classmate

When Felix was 20, he got a girl in pregnant, a girl who was unsuitable in every possible way. It didn’t soothe his mother in the least. For one thing, Felix did not know, and so he did even have that much of an excuse. For another, Gertrude could tell that Felix would never be more than mediocre if he married his trashy blonde. Even if he didn’t marry her but had an openly acknowledged illegitimate daughter. While her husband verbalises his anger and indignation, and resorts to silent icy stares instead, Gertrude sat patiently. There he is, her son, going on about accidents and fate and maybe and what if, and she could imagine him, taking the girl dancing, holding hands, forgetting every bit of caution life as a Duval ever taught him. You’re not supposed to be like this. Not you. So she gave the girl enough money to disappear. “Take care of it”, she asked of her. “And trust me child, I will know if you haven’t”

“Felix’s student record is hardly glorious. Average grades in his classes, with moments of below average. He was not a stupid child, he had an aptitude for academics which raised some people’s hopes. But he was stubborn when it came to learning - easily bored and impossible to keep on track. He lived in his own world, where knowledge was something you could pick and choose from. But he was bright. Crafty. Always searching for people’s weak spots, and taking advantage of them whenever they were shown. He was suspended from school twice. The first time was second year, he snuck some alcohol and fed it to the school’s parrot and killed it. Felix was sent him home for a week. You could tell by his bearing that he certainly didn’t get any punishment there. The second time was in sixth year, when a student was seriously injured. At first no one came forward, and then finally some fingers were pointed at the him, amongst other kids and Felix stepped forward. He pleaded an accident, but he could barely constrain that leering smile of his. Even at sixteen he had slipped away from us, and there was nothing definite to pin on him. Even the girl he hurt wouldn’t say for certain who it had been. The poor thing was frightened half to death. So he went home for two weeks, then returned to school, the dread of some of his classmates and the hero of others. It makes me feel ill to think of what he might be up to now.”

                    - Patricia Crowley, High School Principal

Felix smiled on the inside as his father died. He smiled through the funeral. He smiled through the parade of commiserating mourners; those who cared, and those who didn’t care, and those who thought they should but couldn’t. He smiled, because he’d finally learned what his father had tried so long to teach him. Victory. The true goal, the only goal. Not just to best your enemy, but to see him removed from the game forever. To be victorious. He’d struggled for so long, because he hadn’t understood. He’d wanted acknowledgement; he’d wanted his enemy to bow his head and surrender. But there was no room in victory for surrender. Only obliteration. The purpose of winning was not to see your enemy humbled. The purpose of winning was not to prove that you could do it. The purpose of winning was to win. In that moment of clarity, that moment of decision, he’d seen it all. His father had called for his help, and at last, he’d been in the position of strength. He’d been in the position to chose between mercy and victory. There was no room in business for mercy. There was no room in business for altruism. There was no room in business for emotion. Only for cold, logical decision-making.

And in that instant, he’d finally mastered the biggest secret of them all, discovered the key to that Duval detachment. The ability to assess the situation coolly, impassively, scientifically. To see the opportunity for what it was, removed from all the trappings of emotion and sentiment that could cloud his judgement. The key to victory was to destroy your enemy. Nothing less would do. And should the perfect opportunity present itself… Well, business was business. Nothing personal. It had taken him a long time to learn that secret, to find the truth in those two words, to separate himself out from his decisions and see them without emotion. Freed from that weakness, free to see them the logical way. The Duval way. His father’s way. It had taken him a long time… but now he understood. And he smiled. He smiled as he entered his father’s office, smiled as he sat at his father’s desk, smiled as he reached for the hidden compartment that he knew without a doubt had to be there. Smiled as he absorbed the secrets of a man who no longer seemed such an enigma. Yes, at last he understood Arthur Duval - and in understanding him, had finally defeated him. He’d watched his father die, with no expression on his face. And on the inside, at long last, there had been nothing. Nothing, but a secret smile. And still he smiled as he emptied out the remnants of his father’s secrets; absorbed him, consumed him, broke him down and took him over. He read reports of operations with names that had never been spoken aloud. Flicked through diaries of clandestine meetings. Skimmed contracts for underhand dealings. Lifted the last of the papers aside, and saw the photograph.

Hidden away at the bottom of the door, but cracked with age and folding; battered around the corners from twenty years of being handled. Just a photograph. His mother, looking on, her eyes alight with the softness of affection, and his father, looking down. Looking down at the baby in his hands as if it was the most precious thing the world had created.

That was when he stopped smiling.

“I’ll never forget that day. Gertrude had taken what was supposed to be a quiet dinner and turned it into another of her social gatherings, with several of my colleagues and their wives, each possessing ample conversation to fill in what my children lacked. business moguls, the lot of them. I can’t say I regretted nor noted his silence till I thought back upon the evening, he had always been quiet in my experience, and I thought it showed a proper respect for authority. But as dinner drew to a close something sparked Felix’s indignation, and he said something very shocking, which made his mother grow pale in embarrassment and would likely harm my standing amongst my colleagues. I took him aside, and if he had been younger I would of distributed justice in the usual way. But he was an adult now, and I was a little more wary of sparking his temper now then I used to be. I told him in clear terms his behavior was unacceptable, but he was still angry, and we argued. It was one of the first times I had ever heard him directly contradict me. As it grew more heated, I was worried about the guests hearing. Before I could do anything else his hand was on him and he pushed me back with such force it knocked several bookcases over and slammed me against the wall. I was winded and in pain, unable to fully realize what was happening. He walked over,  and for a moment I was actually afraid (a rare feeling for me). I thought he would do something worse. But instead he came to me, like some great act of defiance. Don’t ever contradict me again, he said. Then he walked to the doorway where his sister waited, and it was impossible to ignore the slow smile which spread upon both their faces.”

                                 - Dimitri Duval, Uncle

THE FACTS.

A child prodigy of exceptional talents, Felix was dubbed the “climax” of the Duval line, an already prestigious family of skilled business moguls that go back to the 1920′s. Unless you’ve been living under a rock for years then you’ve heard of the name. His father was a tyrant who saw him, not as a son, but as a pupil. Someone he could mold to his own image. He taught him to approach everything with a cold and detached demeanour because that would allow him to become a more rational individual. This is the reason why Felix can seem to be emotionless and almost robotic. He began working on his own at a young age, while still in school, proving that he could have made a successful career by himself even though he was born to wealth and power. He has the drive and the hunger to learn everything in his reach. So of course to him, most individuals are less than extraordinary in the brain department.

Felix can be witty and charming. A stellar actor, able to change his tone at the drop of a hat, to assume the role of a charismatic persona at will. A child prodigy of exceptional talents.  Felix is a profoundly intelligent and highly successful man, and he has an arrogance that comes along with it. Not because of his social status, but because he considers himself as being more capable. His moral stature is based on his commitment to his own mind regarding all issues of his life. He recognizes that human beings must rely on their minds for survival so to him, the worst type of individual, is one without a purpose. his characteristic mockery, his use of irony and biting derision, is always is always directed at the irrational. He laughs openly at people’s conformity and despises individuals who piggyback on the rewards of another man’s efforts. but even though he might come off as a self-absorbed asshole, his trademark mockery always supports his values.

He does not respond well to mediocrity and he can’t stand those who lack ambition and that appetite for success. Felix is not a man people like. Mostly because of his bluntness and the way his intensive use of contempt towards others, even when he is extremely polite about it. He is a very difficult man to impress and keep interested, and he has no problem letting you know about it. Still, he is not someone who hates because that emotion is too time-consuming. He can also be very selfish, because he is of the mentality that if he doesn’t put himself first, then no one else will. So he has to look after his own interests in order to be ahead of the pack.

When it comes to friendship, he likes to be impressed. he likes people not of power, but of substance. They have to have something interesting as a part of their personality, and intelligence is a big part of the package. He admires beauty, but a beautiful face does not go a long way as far as he is concerned. If you are unable to hold a conversation with him, then he is not someone who will be wasting his time trying to get to know you. His mother is eager to see him married, but Felix downright refuses, and won’t consider anything more then brief flings that bring more frustration then happiness to both parties. He is not celibate, he finds that far too difficult, but his relationships are all seedy, squalid affairs that barely deserve the title. It is a meeting of sadists, who do not expect it to result in anything, but like to put themselves in the ill-fitting roles anyway. Infatuation is the most he is ever likely to feel, for anyone who entrances him, no matter how dangerous or pointless it may be. Feelings are something he generally finds foreign, and not knowing them, he prefers to toy with them instead. Like a kitten with a ball of yarn, he feigns affection for a while, but quickly changes his mind. Given a choice between hurting someone and screwing them, Felix would probably choose pain, because at least that’s something he knows well.

 THE MUN.

☾ Annie | GMT+2 | She/Her

[betsydobsons]

A slytherin girls day at hogwarts

hey nana! This last secret santa present is for you! The @slytheringirlsgang secret santa is complete for @adrianpucey ! I hope you enjoy, I tried to do it as well as I could. I made this so anyone can imagine themselves in your shoes :))

——-

You wake in the slytherin dorms, earlier than the other girls who snooze through the crisp sunrise that you enjoy to rise to. The sunrise was a reminder that you had 30 minutes to wash and eat before the first quidditch practice of the day. This morning you would be flying, unlike tonight, when it was body practice, for stamina and flexibility.

You peel your curtains back around your bed to hide the messy sheets, too tired to care about making the bed right now. Creeping around the room to the sink, you are careful not to disturb your friends. You remember clearly what happened last time you disturbed them too early (and so does your hair). Silently turning the taps, refreshingly cold water trickles into the bowl. You splash your face, now feeling more awake and alert than before. A quick change of clothes into your quidditch kit, and then you race out of the room, wanting to head into the great hall quickly to grab an apple before heading to the pitches.

You see a few of the usual suspects heading towards the library for an early tutoring session with an older student and you smile as you pass them, apple in hand. Adrian is already there, throwing the quaffle to himself around the pitch, Miles watching like he was entranced (everyone knew miles had a thing for Adrian, but who wanted to get into the middle of that mess?). Marcus and graham are in a heated discussion, most likely about which girl in your house had the nicest arse. Cassius and Peregrine weren’t around yet, and Draco was probably drooling at himself in the mirror or at a picture of Potter.

Either way, he could go to hell. He took the seeker position, the one you thought was yours. Instead you were a now beater. You had learned to like it and now you were pretty good,since no ball had ever hit you, except for the one time in practice when malfoy had tripped over the ball bag, letting the balls out. That had led to a broken arm, but you got free chocolate for weeks from draco and his gang. It has been the expensive stuff as well, probably to keep you from blabbing to your parents.

After a weary practice given by Flint, you hit the showers. Being the only girl in the team had perks, and one of those was that there was always hot water for you. You left the changing room in your own clothes, not bothering with the huff of the uniform gowns. Classes didn’t start until 9 anyway, so you always had time to go back to the dorm for a quick snooze.

Your first class was charms, which was always exciting. You made your way there while still doing your green tie. Since you had first joined hogwarts, you had always found charms incredibly easy, the graceful motions in your wrist perfected while finding the best techniques for hitting a bludger. You sat next to a girl named Fiona, from hufflepuff, and you two had always gotten along. She has been quiet at first, but now she was as open as a barn door, her personality always jumping out of her.

Next class was potions, yuck. On your way there you made sure to stop and talk to as many of the girls from your dorm as possible, if only to stall the inevitable. You thought the dungeons down there smelt and that snape needed a nose transfiguration. Although being a slytherin was helpful in this class, because even when you weren’t doing so well, you got good marks due to favouritism. As you helped your friend daphne stir the cauldron, she babbled on about her pressures to be perfect, as always. You didn’t give two fucks, but she was a useful person to be friends with, so you nodded and hummed in agreement when the times arose. The other pair on the table was Katya and Rosie, both hailing from ravenclaw. They were fine, a little distant and they always did every potion to Snape’s satisfactory first time, which irritated both you and daphne to no end. However, at least they didn’t whinge or mumble or anything like that.

After potions was a study break, and usually you would meet Adrian or Pansy for a quick bite to eat and a catch up (“there is no time to talk during practice Pucey” was a popular line of Flint’s). Today though, it seemed that pansy was occupied with her little fan club of boys who enjoyed just to be in her presence. Adrian was probably doing something Salazar-Sinful that would hurt your ears later, so you took the route towards Freya and Nina, two hufflepuff girls whom you adored. They were not in many of you classes, but you all tried to meet up as much as possible.

Today your trio had been joined by a gryffindor boy named Jack, and a ravenclaw boy named Harrison. They were both friends of freya and nina, so you tried your hardest to seem like you actually cared about how many pairs of shoes Jack’s muggle sister has, or how Harrison could gulp down a litre of beer in less than a minute.

That fact was actually pretty interesting, and you had made a mental note to find him the next time there was a party taking place. You and Harrison got on pretty well on the whole, but you could tell jack was a snooze fest. Freya and him spoke about his cat a lot though, so you knew she thought of him as a friend already. Too bad.

After what seemed like an hour, but was actually 25 mins, the bells sounded for your mid-morning lessons. It was now time for Divination. You enjoy this subject purely because you can sleep your way through the classes and still ace your final exam. You and your desk partner, a gryffindor girl who you had never asked the name for after she told you the first time both slept through the class together.

Then it’s lunch, and you are off to meet pansy, who has Adrian in tow with her. Walking into the hall, you wave to your friends further along the slytherin bench, and smile at your friends who reside at other benches. You sit on the slytherin bench next to daphne and Adrian, sharing and spreading stories of how your days have been and what each other has done so far. You tell them of meeting Freya and Nina’s new friends, Adrian tells you of how Miles yet again blushed when Adrian tried to help him with an arithmetic equation, and daphne shares stories of her newest toy. He’s an exchange student from durmstrang, and apparently the rumours of hand-size correlation are correct. You didn’t ask how she knew, and daphne didn’t divulge. You both weren’t stupid.

Adrian left lunch shortly after, claiming a detour to the library was needed before his next class. You thought he was just off to scheme about more ways to make Miles a flustered mess. You and pansy decided to finish up then too, and take a short walk around the autumn gardens. Many students were about, and Irene, another girl in the slytherin dorm joined you and pansy. Winter was fast approaching, which was a common topic to talk about. Winter is your favourite time of the year.

Winter held many important dates, like your birthday, Christmas, New Years and most importantly the winter holiday. The winter holiday was the time of year that you could see your family again, because they travel a lot when you are at school, so you hardly ever receive an owl.

The other girls make small talk as you pick your way across the grounds, on your way to care of magical creatures. You enjoy the sound of the crunch of leaves beneath your feet, and the breeze upon your cheeks. Care of magical creatures was a mandatory class, but one that was easy none the less. You like animals, but some of the creatures that Hagrid brings out are plain terrifying. You had heard rumours from draco in the year above being hurt viciously by one of his beasts. Other rumours had surfaced on how he had exaggerated the whole ordeal but you chose to be wary all the same.

The lesson turned out to be a lovely one, about unicorns and their healing powers. About how unicorns could not only be used for healing, but also as weapon, because their hooves were so strong and their horns so sharp. You enjoyed the lesson greatly, as you usually ended up doing. Unless it was raining, but that always put you in a shit mood.

Your final period of the day was a library period, so while pansy and Irene trudged their way toward the castle with Gretcha (another girl from your dorm), you went towards the Great Lake. You wandered until you settled at the foot of a huge oak tree. Sitting down onto dry leaves, the sun shining warmth onto your face, you close your eyes and just let random thoughts enter and leave your head. You use this time to sort through everything that occurred so far today, to sort through the information needed to be remembered and what could be forgotten.

After a while, you hear the final bell for the day of lessons, and the toll of the bells signal the end. Dinner would be served in two hours, but you had land training until then, as to keep up with your arm strength and flexibility. It would only be an hour long, so the sooner you got there, the sooner you would be ready to leave.

You picked yourself off the ground, brush off any dirt and marched to the slytherin dungeons. Once in some loose shorts and baggy t-shirt, you took a gym bag with water and a towel in it, and made your way back to the pitches, for the second time today. You could sense that Marcus was frustrated at something, or perhaps a someone, as you came into the grassy area.

Flint worked the whole team extra fiercely today, something had put him on edge and it was clear this was an outlet for him. None of the team mates judged him for it, knowing that they too have days where it all gets too much and the energy that fizzles needs a place to go. You kept your head down, pushing yourself time and time again. This is what gave you your strength, your confidence. You knew that any person that challenged you would not only have to go through your solidly built team mates, but would have to beat you as-well. You could pick a fight, and with this training as a beater, most likely win. As long as magic wasn’t involved, because you were shite at self defence shields.

Trudging back to the castle with your team, you were all deep in thought. You walked beside Miles, Adrian on your other side. You could feel them both over the top of her head, making silent eye movements as a way of communicating, and you didn’t think anything of it. Your mistake. At the same time, they launched an attack on you, Adrian grabbing your shoulders and Miles grabbing your ankles. A surprise attack was the only way they could have the upper hand. With you writhing between them like you were lying down, they sprinted towards the Great Lake. Too late did you realise their intent, and your screeches for them to stop were futile.

They threw you in.

It was fucking freezing, and gone was the warm sun from this afternoon. You did the only thing you could to stop their fits of laughter. You created the biggest splashes you could, soaking them from head to toe. You were grinning now, as the dumbstruck fools began to wade into the lake beside you, splashing you in the process. You fought back, laughing the entire time. The other team members ran for the Lake too now, jumping in fast and unprepared for the sharp cold of the water. A number of shrieks rose up, and soon everyone was dripping wet, laughing and pushing peoples heads under the water. This was your team, and you wouldn’t have it any other way.

Faces sore from smiling so hard, they trudged their wet arses through the castle to the dungeon, much to the misfortune of their classmates, because they all stuck of dirt. You get into the common room for slytherin, shout to the boys some rather unpleasant things including how they would all get what was coming for them, Adrian and Miles especially.

A warm shower was taken, and you get comfy in your Pajamas for the night. You had long since missed dinner, but one of the house elves has brought hot chocolate and cookies into the commons room, so you make your way downstairs. You see your friends from your dorm playing chess by the fire, so you quickly grab a mug of goodness and nestle in between Irene and one of your better friends, Claudia. That made up your dorm. Irene, Claudia, Daphne, Gretcha and yourself. Pansy was in the year above, but she still was as dear as any of your other friends.

With the fire roaring, the girls giggling and the boys jumping in and out their conversations, you couldn’t find it in you to stay awake. So this is how your day ended, with your friends in your dorm lifting you up to your bed.

[juangallojongaro]

Best of 2020

Bruce Springsteen – “If I Was the Priest” Lauded as a return to form for the Boss (I found the album…middling?), this is the standout track on Letter to You. Written in the early seventies and first recorded this year, the track is a perfect slice of Springsteen pomp. A soaring Marian Devotional that recasts the Holy Family as prostitutes, saloon proprietors, and cowboys, it’s grandiose, kind of stupid, and perfectly Springsteen.

Cardi B (ft. Megan Thee Stallion) – “WAP” When I first heard it, I was wandering through one of those endless early quarantine days that have all blended together. It made me laugh, and since I’ve listened to it at least 20 times. Really grateful for Cardi B! LYRIC OF THE YEAR 1: “I want you to park that Big Mack Truck right in this little garage”

Colter Wall – “Big Iron” I spent the latter half of the year reading and thinking about American Westerns. This Marty Robbins cover is a delight. Wall has a remarkable voice, deep and tonal. The sparse instrumentation sets the table perfectly for the confrontation between the Arizona Ranger and the dastardly Texas Red.

Dogleg – “Kawasaki Backflip” The virus turned the volume down on everything and stretched it out. It’s a small and personal unfairness I wasn’t able to see this band shred through this spectacular song in some shitty hot venue while drunk on too expensive beer.

Doja Cat (ft. Nicki Minaj) – “Say So” So, this was a TikTok meme, right? I thought TikTok would fill the Vine-sized hole in my life (RIP, Vine, the only good social media); alas, it wasn’t to be, as it seems to be a platform built exclusively to encourage mediocre young white men to be mediocre-er. I digress; this song is fucking great. Built on the Niles Rodgers-esque disco guitar riff, the addition of a typically professional Minaj elevates this from confection to classic.

Dua Lipa – “Levitating” The lyrics are asinine (see: “My sugarboo/I’m levitating/The Milky Way is liberating/Yeah yeah yeah”). Pop music doesn’t have to have lyrics this dumb (see: above Cardi B re: the garage), but alas. It’s a shame, because the rest of this package is so slick, a pop fan’s wet dream of talent, groove, and Top 40 danceability.

Fiona Apple – “Shameika” The word genius is probably thrown around to liberally, but 2020 marked a moment when the culture seemed to coalesce to bestow the honorarium on Apple. And why not? She’s released five albums, all of them at least great. She’s a singular voice, making scabrous, confident, off-putting, kinda fucked up music (who among us didn’t hear her wail, “You raped me in the same bed your daughter was born in” and not, like, gulp and say out loud to no one, “yikes!”). Despite the traumatic subject matter, the songs are a fucking auditory pleasure. When we were all cooped up this year, Apple’s claustrophobia was a balm.

illuminati hotties – “content//bedtime” In 2019, I had the pleasure of seeing IH open for pup at the Old National Center. After their set, I was on my way to the baño¸ and noticed IH front person Sarah Tudzin at the merch table. I approached, expressed my admiration for her work, and inquired as to the release of the next album. The reception was chilly! It turns out that Tudzin was fighting her label, ultimately leading to the release of FREE I.H.: This is Not the One You’ve Been Waiting For, a weird little record made for the express purpose of getting out of her contract. It’s still a good album! And this song is a wacky Oingo Bingo-y banger. LYRIC OF THE YEAR 2: “Woah-oh-oh-oh/No-oh-oh-oh/Pouring a bowl of Illuminati hot-o's.”

Jeff Rosenstock – “***BNB” It took me a minute, but once I released it was a song about a mother secretly renting out her adult daughter’s room as an AIRBNB, I was smitten. It eventually turns into an extremely Rosenstockian loud meditation on the difficulty/anxiety/sadness of travel which is good and kick ass.

Jessie Ware – “Remember Where You Are” It’s fucking annoying as shit that the year disco came back (see: Cat, Doja; Lipa, Dua; Genius, Perfume) that we were all stuck in our fucking houses with our fucking cat who is 85% sweet and 15% annoying and 100% smelly god I love her.

The Killers (ft. k.d. lang) – “Lightning Fields” This is probably not the best song on this album (gotta be “Caution”, right?), but it is the stupidest which probably makes it the most Killers-y track of the year. It was somewhere around uttering the question, “are we human/are we dancer” that the Nevada-based boys decided to start fucking around non-stop. This song carries on that proud tradition. The metaphors are incomprehensible, it sounds kinda like “Like a Prayer” at the end, and has a friggin’ great k.d. lang guest spot. It’s so fucking dumb.

Megan Thee Stallion (ft. Beyoncé) – “Savage Remix” This is basically a Beyoncé (just discovered Word will autocorrect Beyonce to Beyoncé. Good job, Bill Gates) song, and it’s wonderful! That part when she goes from whisper singing to full Beyoncé-voice singing at the three-minute mark? The best!

NOBRO – “Marianna” A perfect rock song. The last minute is the best minute of music in 2020 and it’s like, 40% of the song.

Origami Angel – “24 Hr Delivery/KD MVP” For whatever reason, this emo revival duo released an EP of songs using Minecraft samples. Ostensibly a remake of their 2019 twee-bullshit ode to making your sad friend feel better by taking them out to get fast food, the song segues into a completely baffling yet moving sound collage featuring sad piano, cheese guitar, and Kevin Durant’s tearful NBA MVP speech. I don’t claim to understand it, but the heart wants what it wants. A slam dunk!

Orville Peck – “Fancy” My wife won’t let me listen to this Reba McIntyre cover in the house because it makes her cry every time. We’ve learned a lot about each other this year.

Perfume Genius – “On the Floor” A sumptuous slinker. Plausibly the best song about dancing on your own since Robyn’s classic, “Dancing on My Own,” it’s an emotional powerhouse. Have I sang this song while crying in the shower? No. Would I? You bet! LYRIC OF THE YEAR 3: “I cross out his name on the page!”

Phoebe Bridgers – “Savior Complex (Copycat Killer Version),” “I Know the End” 2020 fucking sucked. I couldn’t go outside. I couldn’t see my pals. I got stuck in my loft for ten days with a COVID scare. My life shrank and it became too easy to doom scroll all the shitty news of mass death, the senseless murder of unarmed black people, riots, curfews, the fucking election, and then the chaser of a bunch of white supremacists trying to overturn a free and fair election because they can’t believe a majority of Americans are tired of being run by a big wet racist moron.

I’m not saying that Bridgers had anything to say this year about The World, but when I felt the worst I put on Punisher. It didn’t make me feel better, but it didn’t make me feel worse. It’s the sadgirl album for the sadgirl year. ALBUM OF THE YEAR: Punisher.

Rilo Kiley – “Teenage Lovesong” Rescued from the scrap heap of history, Rilo Kiley re-released their self-titled debut that was originally only available at their live shows. It’s a precocious record (there’s some, like, turntable scratching on one song???), but it’s astonishing how fully formed Jenny Lewis’s voice is even in 1999. That instrument is on display in this old fashioned twanger, where Lewis shows off the tone, clarity, and range.

Run the Jewels – “ooh la la” Listened to this song very loud in a rental Mustang driving from Joshua Tree to Vegas in January. It was cool.

Sturgill Simpson – “Just Let Go” Ol’ Sturg decided that 2020 was the year to become a bluegrass boy and you’ll hear no complainin’ from Ol’ Johnny. This reworking of his 2014 transcendental ode to the “universal shared consciousness,” becomes a good hearted bluegrass ditty brimming with existential joy.

[bcntnotbrokcn]

It was supposed to be a nice family Thanksgiving. The first Thanksgiving since Mickey and Ian had gotten married, actually. Everyone was there, even Mandy had managed to fly in for a couple days -- and it didn’t seem like Lip minded seeing her in the least bit. Svetlana didn’t want to join, but Kev and V had Yevgeny and were there with their daughters, too. And for once, between everyone’s decent jobs, they were having a real feast -- turkey with all the trimmings, ham, sweet potato pie, mashed potatoes and gravy -- you name it and they had it. And everyone was having a great time, wine (or beer, in cases of some of the guys) in everyone’s hands (that weren’t children, of course -- they had sparkling grape juice), and everyone had helped set the table, talking loudly. The house was filled with noise of excitement and love, everyone shouting over each other, laughter abundant. It was only when everyone finally sat down to eat that things got a little out of hand.

Frank had chosen that time to show up, drunk as ever. And for the most part, people were able to ignore him, digging into their food and enjoying each other’s company. Lip and Mandy had chosen to sit next to each other, getting a little too close in Ian’s opinion, but both smiling in a way he hadn’t seen either smile in a while. And while Yevgeny was the blonde fish out of water, he also seemed to be enjoying himself, letting Mickey and Ian dote on him the entire time -- well, Ian more than anyone, he was obsessed with that kid and had no problems showing it.

It wasn’t until Frank decided to address Ian and Mickey that things took a turn. “So, married, huh? Really should have skipped that part, only ruins things. Turns good relationships bad. Why fuck everything up with a piece of paper?” Ian raised his eyebrows, but ignored the old man, putting more mashed potatoes on Yev’s plate and handing it to the boy. “Let me tell you from experience -- get out while you can. Be together, sure -- there’s nothing wrong with that, I had my fair share of homosexual experiences in my day.” Ian rolled his eyes. “Love and be loved! Great thing. But choosing to be together for the rest of your life, and knowing you’re stuck are two very different things, boys.”

Ian let out a small sigh, shaking his head. “I don’t know, Frank. Being legally married didn’t seem to stop you and Monica. Didn’t seem like you ever thought that you were stuck together.” Fiona glanced over at the two from her conversation with V, but didn’t say a word. “I’ll admit, Monica and I had our speed bumps. But let that be a lesson to you two. You two are a lot like Monica and myself -- wild and free, and you with your bipolar. And isn’t being legally forced to be together just make you feel a little -- constrained? With your genetics, you might want to watch out. Monica hopped the fence all the time, without a care in the world -- you are your mother’s son, and before you know it, you’re going to be falling down the rabbit hole just like her.”

Most of the conversations at the table had stopped by this point, everyone watching the exchange with baited breath, glancing between the two like they were watching some kind of race. Ian pursed his lips, nodding a bit, setting his napkin down on the table, before looking at his father. “You think? I don’t know, Frank. Monica habitually stopped taking her meds. All the time, wasn’t on them for more than a few months at a time. I, on the other hand, have been on my meds consistently for about --” He quickly did the math in his head, shrugging as he briefly looked at Mickey for confirmation. “Four, five years now? Something like that.” He nodded, looking back at Frank. “I’m not -- nor will I ever be -- Monica. Same illness, different people.”

Frank raised his eyebrows. “You think? I don’t know. Like I said -- you two are a lot like Monica and myself. And I thought she was the greatest thing to happen to me. I was so in love with her. And then she’d go off the rails. I’m just saying, son, life isn’t always easy and with your illness, it may affect you more than the average person. I mean, look at your history with this guy. He was a thug back then and -- people don’t ever really change, son. They can be good at pretending they have, but deep down, they’re always the same person. So be careful with this one, he might be what sets you off.”

Ian narrowed his eyes at Frank, hand turning into a fist below the table, shoulders and jaw tensing. Everyone at the table could see the fire in his eyes. “We’ve got pie!” Fiona suddenly announced. “Let’s have some pie! V, go get the pie, yeah? Kids, you should help her.” V nodded quickly, ushering the four children -- Franny included -- into the kitchen.

Ian ignored Fiona, eyes still shooting fire at Frank. He stood up from his spot, and Frank did the same, watching as Ian walked over to him, face inches away from his father’s. “Don’t talk about what you don’t understand, Frank,” he spat, voice as cold as ice. His fist flexed next to him, and he had to physically fight himself from punching his father’s lights out. “You’re right, people don’t change deep down. But the thing is -- Mickey didn’t. Because deep down, he was always the person he is now. Was he a thug? Sure. And I’ll be the first one to say that we were toxic for each other growing up. Him hurting me, me hurting him, beating the shit out of each other -- whatever. But he’s always been fucking amazing, and he’s the reason I’m okay.”

”Do you get that? He’s the reason why I fight every day, why I deal with my illness as well as I do. Because he helps me, and he’s there for me without hesitation, in the blink of an eye he is right by my side. So maybe we were bad for each other in the beginning. But you know the difference is between us and you and Monica? Mickey and I grew up. You two never learned how to do that. So say another thing about Mickey. I dare you. Because if you do -- I will fucking murder you. Do you understand me? I will kill you where you stand if you even think another thought about my husband.”

Frank just seemed amused at Ian’s anger. “You’ve got your mother’s spirit, that’s for sure. Might get you into trouble some time in the future. You are a Gallagher too, after all.” Ian clenched his jaw. “I claim no relation to you.” Frank let out a laugh. “You think Clayton is living an apple pie life? He’s miserable. Always thinking about what he could have had with Monica if I hadn’t been around. Now he’s stuck with that crazy wife of his.” The corner’s of Ian’s lips twitched upwards, though the amusement was anything if not malicious. “Guess you both got fucked over in that department, huh?”

Frank’s eyes finally narrowed, something Ian said finally getting to him. “Then you better watch out, because you’re just as crazy as she was. Even tried to kill yourself before, didn’t you? In and out of institutions. On meds for the rest of your life. Remember, any amount of crazy she was, you’re right along there with her, kid.”

That hit somewhere deep inside Ian, something he was afraid of happening to him -- ending up like Monica, having a family with Mickey and then just going off the rails and abandoning him. He wasn’t like her. He couldn’t be like her. “I was in an institution one time, Frank. I thought about killing myself one time. And you know who stopped me? Him! --” he pointed to Mickey without even looking his direction, still glaring daggers at the old man. “-- He did for me what you could never do for her. He saved me. You just let her drown. He makes sure I’m okay, he makes sure I take my meds. You -- you encouraged her not to! He’s a fucking angel and you’re just -- toxic sludge that deserves to be disposed of.” 

Ian swallowed hard, taking a step back from his father. “You know the main difference is between our relationships? People don’t need to like someone to be in love with them, Frank. They really don’t. The difference is, I like Mickey. He’s my best friend. I am so happy each and every day to be with him. I don’t need the drugs, or the fights, or the schemes -- I’m happy being simple and mundane and boring because I get to look at his face every day. But you and her -- maybe she just didn’t like you, Frank. And being off her meds and racing through life was the only way that she could deal with the fact that she loved an alcoholic, toxic, no good piece of shit asshole like you.”

Frank and Ian stared at each other for a long moment after that, neither moving, both seeming like they could breathe fire if they wanted to. Finally, Ian broke the stare down, walking over to his seat and sitting down, still clearly seething. Fiona glanced at him, before looking around the table, seemingly at a loss for words. “Uh -- pie?”

“Fucking ungrateful brat,” Frank muttered, walking towards the kitchen. But as he walked behind Ian’s chair, he paused for just a moment -- long enough to decide his next action. He grabbed the back of Ian’s head and slammed his face down on the table, sneering. There were cries of ‘what the fuck, Frank?!’ and ‘Ian!’ around the table as Ian groaned, lifting his head up and touching his face -- blood. A good amount, too. “Fuck!”

@mkvch

[etherealpotter]

Young Love (2)

A/N: this is part two, there will probably be a third and final part, haven’t really decided yet. also the characters are sort of ooc (obviously)

Pairing: Enoch O'Connor x Reader; Sister!Reader x Jacob

Warnings: none

Enjoy!

___________________________________________

“He’s asleep, lets go, now.” Jake said as I glanced up from my phone.

I nodded and followed him down the stairs, but he stopped me and signaled for me to turn back around.

“The guys down there would’ve told dad that we snuck out. We’re going to have to go through the window.”

We made our way back and hopped out the window, me first then Jake. We made our way to the cave to enter the loop.

Once we arrived back there, no one was waiting for us, so we walked until we saw the humongous house. And there was Hugh and Milliard playing outside. Both waved to us and continued plying there game.

Horace nodded at us while he strolled around the garden, his gaze lingering on Jacob’s clothing. I laughed at that.

Emma soon ran out and took Jake away, so I walked inside and ran into Miss Peregrine.

“Hello dear child, nice to see you’ve made your way back here. I’d like to talk to you for a moment, if you’d sit with me over some tea?” She asked in a polite voice, but I knew I didn’t really have a choice in talking to her or not.

I nodded and followed her into the sitting room as she went to get some tea.

When she came back, I took a cup from her hand and began to add sugar to it while she talked.

“I’ve noticed the effect you’ve had on Enoch, you know. He doesn’t like, well…people at all really. But for some reason, he seems very taken with you. Now I’m only sitting here telling you this, because we’ve seen it before. I don’t want any of my children getting hurt.”

“Believe me that’s the last thing i want to-” She cut me off before I could finish.

“I know you would never do it purposely, but you and Jacob, though you may belong here, won’t stay. You know there’s more to life, same as your grandfather did. That’s why I know my children will only be hurt when you leave. All i’m saying is, remember that while you may leave and meet new people and grow old, they never will. Just be careful with them, okay dear? That’s all.” She stood up and dusted herself off before leaving the room.

I was a little shocked to say the least. I shook my head and cleared it of all bad thoughts as I headed up to Enoch’s room. But I stopped outside his door when I heard voices.

I guess he and Olive were in there, together. I shook my head and thought about how stupid I could be. Of course he’d want someone who’s always going to be around. And that wasn’t me.

I turned back around and headed out to the garden where I spent the rest of the day with Fiona. She was very interesting to talk to and the first person i’d ever told my peculiarity to.

She grew me a nice sized apple, well a normal sized one. I leaned up against a tree as she continued to tel me about different plants.

I glanced up and saw Enoch looking down at me from the window, but when Olive walked over to him, I quickly looked away.

Boys were stupid, they could be as old as Enoch and still not get a clue. I couldn’t get him out of my head though. I suppose it was because he’s different, like me.

I haven’t always known how different I was, until a year ago. It was almost like a ‘Black Swan’ moment. My back began to ache and one day a feather fell on the ground while I was changing.

I had no idea where it came from, but I did notice strange marks on my back. I brushed it off as exhaustion and nothing more happened for a little bit.

And then just days before grandpa died, I felt a horrible ache in my back and saw the strange marks and the wings emerged.

That was my peculiarity, I had wings and I could fly. That was also when I knew the stories he used to tell us were true. And two days after my grandpa died, I used a fake id and got wings tattooed on my back.

Our parents flipped shit when they found out, but the psychiatrist convinced them it was a good thing and that it was my way of having a piece of grandpa with me forever, even convincing them that it was angel wings.

I shook my head at the memory that wasn’t too long ago. A sudden tapping on my foot snapped me out of my daze. A little creature had a note attached to it. I picked up the note and it read:

“Dearest Y/N, Please come up to my room, I would like to speak with you.”

I scoffed and picked up his little creature and walked inside anyways. Once I entered the room, I sat the thing down of his table.

“What do you want?” I asked.

“No need to be so harsh. I wanted to see you.”

“I’ve been here for over almost two hours and now you want to see me.” I said bitterly.

“I was busy earlier, sorry.���

“Yeah busy with your girlfriend.”

He started to say something, but I stopped him.

“No it’s fine, you don’t have to say anything. I get it, trust me I do.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, if you mean Olive, she’s only a friend.” He said defensively.

“Of course I mean her, she likes you, you know. It’s pretty obvious. Stop being so dense.”

“Listen I only like you, I thought I made that clear yesterday.” He stood as he spoke and walked towards me.

Our lips brushed against each other’s as I spoke again,

“I’m still upset with you.”

He chuckled, “No you’re not or you wouldn’t be thinking about kissing me.”

I rolled my eyes and he pressed his lips against mine before I could argue. Sparks flew, despite how cliche it might sound, it was the truth.

We pulled apart and he smiled down at me.

“Want to help me work?” He asked.

I nodded, knowing this was his thing. I helped him make some creatures as we sat and talked about any and everything.

“You know you never told me your peculiarity?” He said, glancing over at me.

“I’ve never really spoken about it. No one’s ever seen it. If I show you, you can’t talk about it.”

“I promise I won’t.”

“Okay, well i need you to unbutton my shirt then.”

He immediately blushed and started stammering.

“Just unbutton the back of it so i can show you.”

He moved over to me as I turned around and his shaky hand began to unbutton the back of my top. After he got enough undone, I told him to stop.

“You have a tattoo.” He said.

“Yep, I got it after I found out i was different. It’s in the exact place as my wings.”

“Wings? You can fly? You have wings?” He asked l, shocked.

“Yep, I’ll show you.” With that, I let my wings out and he gasped.

“They’re beautiful, can i touch them?”

I bit my lip and nodded. After a few moments he stopped and I put them away. Enoch began to button up my shirt again.

Before we could talk about what happened, there was yelling from downstairs and we both rushed down.

Miss Peregrine began to tell the children that they were leaving and to pack everything up that they needed. Jake grabbed my arm.

“Y/N, we have to leave! It’s coming.” Jake said, like I was supposed to know.

“What? What’s going on?”

“I’ll explain later, we have to go.”

I pulled out of his grip and gave Enoch a tight hug. He took a moment to hug back.

“I’ll see you soon.” I said.

“How can you be sure? What if you can’t find us?”

“I will. Be safe, please.”

He nodded and I turned towards Jacobs me we quickly left as the house was in full panic mode.

[briteboy]

yelling @ santi, i’m evil again (what else is new), SOME REALLY REALLY OLD ASKS, one GoT spoiler at the very bottom (beware)

*angrily slaps santi* GET YOUR SELF TOGETHER YAH POOP HEAD

Lou and Fiona deserve happiness pls let it happen ty

they do ;-; it will happen, don’t worry, no one suffers forever <3 i’ve actually been planning out lou’s story and i’m excited to actualize it hehe

I just read all of Santis story. Dear god, it is amazing. I cannot begin to describe how much I love it. I have been really sick lately and have such a hard time concentrating on anything for more than one second but I have not been able to look away from this story, not even when I re-read it for the third time. You are an amazing writer and I have fallen in love with every charachter you have introduced. I teared up so many times and my heart began beating fast, it was really an experience.

OH MY GOD ;___________; YOU READ IT THREE TIMES WHAATDOSOIGODFSKL holy shit thank you so much, i don’t even know what to say right now lmao ;-; i’m just kinda in awe that i was able to grab your attention like that and that you enjoyed it so much and just askjdjfsd THANK YOU i can’t say anything else but just thank you, people like you make this all worth it <3 

A case of the novembers is the kinda story you read and you just know its going to stick with you for awhile. Like ones day, you'll be long gone in the future, doing something totally different, older wiser, all that bullshit, and you'll just randomly remember what a bittersweet story it was.

OMFG ;___; holy heck asjdjnfkdkjs this really got me right in the heart lmao. that’s the kind of story it’s always been for me and seeing other people interpret it that way as well is just mind boggling, thank you <3 

You are evil. My poor heart hurts. ;______________;

you've ruined my life

Life hack: listen to the entire Hamilton soundtrack whilst working out at the gym. By the end of it, you'll have lost half your body weight due to sweating and crying at the same time (pls help this was such a bad decision)

OMG that’s me with grimes’ art angels lmao i go hord to kill v maim and venus fly

hamilton fans also go hord i respect it. learn more about history get swole killing two birds with one stone

Okay this is so fucking random but a while ago you did a post where you talked about perfect bby gianni saying that he spent a lot of time in introspection and like Thank you 'cause now I have a word to put on this thing I do when I try to figure why I feel certain things or what my relationship with people/random shit is and why and yeah I kind of understand myself a little better now so thx a lot!!! 😘😘😘 Also, you're great.

i think i was actually talking about santi (’cause that’s where we’re at right now, in that period of introspection for him heheh) but YES omg that makes me so happy ;-; it’s a good word lmao and i do the same thing, in fact i’m always trying to figure out my relationships with everything in order to understand myself more. that’s kinda why i’m so into astrology haha. i’m glad you finally got to pin down that feeling for yourself, it’s the best when that happens <3 YOU’RE GREAT TOO 💫

NOOOOOOOO MY FAVS THIS CAN'T... LOU.... SANTI PLS... THIS IS A RIOT 😭😭

let’s start protesting santi in the streets

Hi!! Umm I'm guessing you do but just in case, did you know there was a tear accessory? I think it's an eyeliner (cause you mentioned having to draw them yourself)

yeah i do! i mentioned the ones by s-club, i’ve used those a couple times. but i like drawing them myself because i feel like it’s weird to have the same single teardrop every time one of my characters cries (and we all know they’ve been crying a lot lately lmfao) if they didn’t cry often i probably wouldn’t feel compelled to draw the tears. but i don’t mind drawing them honestly, it’s kinda fun lmao. thanks for your consideration <3 

so im sitting here thinkin....... what if santi goes on this trip and coms back and lou is in a relationship!?!?!

👏santi👏get👏it👏together👏

HE’S TRYIN

i want to die

AAAH SOLE DEVELOPMENT BETWEEN CUTE DEVIL CHILD AND I ALMOST DIED TWICE TATOO MAN YES

I HAD TO READ THIS LIKE THREE TIMES TO UNDERSTAND IT LMFAOSDOJDKF BUT YES their relationship kills me the most ;__;

wait santi tried to kys :'(

WHERE U BEEN he did  :{

what font do u use in your histories?

arial!

hi u have a really pretty blog and I hope you have a good day

THIS IS SO SWEET I DON’T DESERVE IT ;-; I HOPE YOU HAVE A GOOD DAY TOO HONEYBEE 🌻

nyooooooom

I WENT M.I.A FOR A LITTLE AND I COME BACK TO READ UP ON THE STORY AND HOW DARE YOU ASHDDJFKL

@teishajenaie on instagram looks like Rooney to me, idk if you'd agree but ??

i see it!! definitely in the eyes and nose. also sorry i answered this literally like 3 months later lmao

gooey by glass animals gives me santi vibes :) ive been listening to it on repeat (bc im tht bitch) and it was making me think of you and his story! c: i hope you dont mind me over here lmao anyway, im excited to see where it goes and real excited for a back story for lou!! <3 lots of love

omg haha that’s actually funny because i used it in that one scene of him tripping, although it’s like completely a gianni song to me (at least personality-wise, it’s even on his playlist on my character page) and noooo i don’t mind, i love that song and i love when people recommend me songs!! i have a whole bunch of recommendations in my inbox that i need to acknowledge omg. anyway I’M EXCITED THAT YOU’RE EXCITED, especially for lou’s story, it’s coming up reeeeeal soon <333

i feel so late to the party but i Just started reading your story like five minutes ago and im absolutely entranced by it already and i cant wait to catch up and finally understand what to heck is going on

this was sent literally forever ago when santi and molly were out there being wild in the desert lmao so i hope you caught up and everything. “entranced” omg that’s such a wonderful word i’m honored

i didnt think i could love you more but the fact that you watch arrested development makes me so happy. i cry. my boyfriend has a mr manager, bluths frozen bananas shirt thats literally my favorite thing ever.

OMGGG YES i watched it once forever ago and i need to re-watch it asap lmao. I’M PRETTY SURE I BOUGHT THAT SAME EXACT SHIRT FOR MY BROTHER FOR CHRISTMAS ONE YEAR

Just a biiig prank. Huge

this one is from so long ago i don’t remember the context but i laughed at loud when i read it. huge

i was playing with uncharted for the first time today and they said Navarro in it and i was like THATS MY BOI SANTIII

santi infiltrating everyone’s lives my bf played uncharted tho!! it looked cool. like indiana jones. i liked the marketplace part. a monkey stole his apple

Hi sunny! I really am in love with your story (even if it's tearing me apart at the moment) and just wanted to say you're cool Stay strong ma dude

HI THANK YOU <333 you’re also cool my dude and i’m sorry for tearing you apart (if it makes you feel any better this story tears me apart on a daily basis)

what packs and expansions do u have for ur game?

ummmmmm all of them except vintage glamour and fitness stuff. i wish i didn’t buy some of the stuff packs lmao but what can ya do i actually didn’t even get vampires or bowling or parenthood until like a month ago lmao i’m late to the party

Oh shit she's been dead hasn't she. Like this is all a drug or alcohol infused bender of mollys memory, she's probably never left. They're probably still at the hospital. I hope I fucking wrong but shit I also hope not. Poor santi

we’re so far past this but i just wanted to publish this anyway lmao it was a good theory! and this person was so sure of it it kinda made me wish it was true lol. sorry if that disappointed you but i’ll always remember this one in my sad sad heart 💔

how long did it take for you to make friends here? I started a simblr because I really like storytelling with my sims & I thought it'd be fun to meet people who enjoy that, too, especially since I don't have many friends irl...but I've been here for quite a few months now and it seems like no one even cares that I'm here....everyone I try to interact with pretty much ignores me after a message or two....I'm just feeling really discouraged about my presence here :/

I’M REALLY SORRY I DIDN’T ANSWER THIS SOONER ASKJDKJFSDKA (i’m sure it didn’t help the fact that you feel ignored, i really really hope you see this) but okay uhhhhhhh i only had acquaintances from 2015 up until like this year? then i started really becoming close with people. so it took a while lol, but i think everyone starts off slow because it’s mostly about the actual game we’re playing at first and then making friends just happens through that. don’t get discouraged, like i said it took a while for me. you really just need to reach out to the people you’d like to become friends with, reply to their posts, give your genuine thoughts, say something that’ll make their day...people notice that no matter what they have going on, i promise. i hope you’re still here and hanging in there. don’t get caught up in who’s talking to you or not talking to you, just do your thing, enjoy what you do, and people will notice you. <3

3. Hi so I just wanted to say that I love your story, I'm here for every update. I'm an s3 player I play s4 every once in awhile but s3 has my soul. I love Santi and I know he will be happy in the end, whether it's with Lou or not(hopefully it is tho) I only want him to be happy. I go through so many emotions in one post, like this is a tv drama and I can’t wait for the next episode. This is the end of my cut and paste. Have a nice day.❤️

HI HELLO <3 this is so sweet and i can’t believe you actually care about my story lmao thank you i’m glad you have faith in his happy ending, i don’t want anyone to think i genuinely like making my characters suffer lmao. i only do it to make the happy ending more satisfying. asjdfjksd comparing my stuff to film or tv always makes me so giddy so THANK YOU ily <333

"Suicide before you see this tear fall down my eyes" (Beyonce) reminds me of Molly's situation soooo muchhhh aaaahhhhh

OMG YES what a good connection. good song good connection yaeeahhh better call molly with the good hair

Ummmm... hello! I just read through your whole story with Santi and I'm like... holy fuck. Not only is your story wonderful, your editing is so good. I'm surprised I didn't shove my eyes up against my computer screen. Please continue making wonderful things and being great. Signing off 12:31 in the morning, I hope you have as much fun as you want to

“as much fun as you want to” omfgasdkngjd why did that make me laugh so much. don’t have too much fun, have the responsible amount of fun anyway HELLO thank you soooooO much ;-; pls don’t shove ur eyes up against the screen i’m almost positive that’s not good for them. but i appreciate this so much thank YOU for being great <3 signing off at 2:18 in the morning after ignoring this message for months now (i’m sorryyyyyyy) but um ily

HELLO??? I JUST READ A SERIOUS CASE OF NOVEMBER FOR THE FIRST TIME AND I'M LIKE CRYING???? y u do dis to me I hate you and love you at the same time

(I need to rant I'm sorry) My uncle is really positive towards the army and war and stuff like that and all day he's been going on about how it should be mandatory to serve in the military, especially for "little brat girls" like me? And it's stressing me out so much I want to cry :( The army and war is something that genuinely scares me and I don't want anything to do with it, but he's just going on and on! What should I do?

this is literally sooooooooo late and i feel so bad i’m sorry, i hope this still helps you out and i hope you see it tho okay. i’m pretty sure this was even before the trans military ban like whew idek what your uncle must think about that. tbh just ignore him, like i know it’s hurtful but like...what is his point in telling you this? i would’ve literally been like (sarcastically) “ok then sign me up” but i’m also a lil shit so that’s probably not the best thing to say. but really like the only thing he’s trying to do is feel powerful by means of expressing his militaristic (no pun intended) opinions to someone far younger than him. it’s so that he feels bigger and better than you (especially by calling you a brat). he’s a sad man and anyone who relies on the military, of all things, to shape a person probably doesn’t have a strong sense of self anyway. i love you okay, just ignore him, don’t let him stress you out <3

I'm a little high and it's late but I have a lot of courage now so I've been following you for a while and I just want to tell you how much I love your story! I have come across other places on tumblr who do this but none have captured me as this one did! You are amazing and I am in love with this story! Thanks fo being you! :)

ONMG YOU HAD TO BE HIGH TO SEND THIS LMAO that was me this weekend anyway thank you so much, it floors me every time anyone says these kinds of things to me and it never gets old ;-; you are so amazing ok <333

you can't possibly be offended by a homophobic joke in game of thrones, it's set in medieval times. they had several lgbt characters in it, it's not the show that's homophobic, it's the characters, which is accurate for that time period.

o i can and i will lmao i mean i get where you’re coming from but with that logic you could say it’s only accurate to put homophobic jokes in today’s media just because people are still homophobic in the time live in. i know it’s the characters, but you do understand that someone writes those characters, right? it’s bad writing. it’s lazy and pandering and because of that it’s offensive. idk if you know the exact dialogue i was referring to but it was so completely unnecessary lmfao. they could’ve made a million other jokes. regardless of how it offended me it was just BAD lmao

SPOILER BELOW OK DON’T SAY I DIDN’T WARN YA

@ I wanna watch GoT anon: don't. It's just so fucking bad. The definition of overhyped tbh (and btw, sunny, PLS HELP HE SCREWED HIS FUCKING AUNT WTH)

LMAO SOMEONE ACTUALLY AGREES WITH ME? wow bless u. it is definitely overhyped, like it was good at first but it’s been riding that hype through these past couple of seasons to disguise the bad writing. i understand being entertained by it, but i’m always surprised when people think it’s actually well written at this point...it’s so cringey and now thanks to the season finale this fanbase will be justifying incest. great!

OK MOVE ALONG NOW

[shemakesmusic-uk]

Getting to Know...

Rachel Ana Dobken.

Asbury Park-based indie-rocker Rachel Ana Dobken has shared the music video for her single, 'Always'. The single is the second from her album, When It Happens To You, which Dobken self-produced and released last year. The video finds Dobken showcasing her musical talents as she hops between guitar and drums in a vintage roller rink.

Self-described as “My Morning Jacket-meets-Lake Street Dive,” Dobken is a talented producer and multi-instrumentalist (guitar, drums, piano, vocals) who studied jazz at Bard College and has a knack for blending indie-rock with soul.

In addition to her solo career, Dobken works closely with famed music photographer Danny Clinch (who photographed the cover art and recorded harmonica for her album) at his Transparent Gallery in Asbury Park. She regularly performs with Clinch and has sat in with national acts such as G. Love, Robert Randolph, Rayland Baxter, Brian Fallon of The Gaslight Anthem, Grahame Lesh, Nicole Atkins, Blind Melon, Tash Neal, and more.

We had a chat with Rachel about the new video, what she's working on at the moment and more. Read the Q&A below.

You've just released the video for your track 'Always'. What was in the inspiration behind the visuals? What was your favourite part making the video?

"Well, the video for me was all about the music, it’s always about the music. It was important that we captured the energy of the song because it is active and vibrant, colorful and bright. There is a lot of movement and for me I wanted this to be about the four of us playing in a room together. The roller rink came second and we kind of just fell into that. My favorite part of making the video was us playing together on the actual day of shooting. I really enjoy the bond and connection that music brings, and to be able to give that love back to my bandmates as the leader means so much to me."

'Always' is from your self-produced and released album When It Happens to You which was released last year. What have you been up to since then? Are you working on any new music/projects?

"I’ve been up to too much! Trying to stay sane and focused in this hustle can be tough but so rewarding when you get through and experience great moments (a great show, a great release, people telling you your work means something to them, connecting with someone on a musical/playing level, etc…). So, I’m still sitting on one unmixed single from the record that I haven’t quite figured out when I want to release. I’m working on tours/booking shows here and there, and I’m sitting on at least another albums’ worth of material. I’ve been going through some tough times (multiple break-ups/endings/changes in my life) that are coming out in powerful songs that I’m feeling really good about. Also, I love to play with other people as a drummer or a guest singer. I want to do more collaborations because that’s where the bonding and magic happens.  I’ve been drumming a lot with another local band, my good friend’s the Cranston Dean Band and we have a killer time. I sit in a lot with legendary blues guitarist Scott Sharrard. I had a gig last month with Leslie Mendleson drumming for her. And, of course, Danny Clinch and I always love to host blues jams at his Transparent Gallery (where I have worked a lot with him). He also sits in with us a lot."

Let's go back to the beginning for a moment...you're a songwriter, producer and multi-instrumentalist. How did you get into music and how important to you is it to be in complete control of all aspects of the creative process?

"For as long as I can remember I have been obsessed with music. It’s a love so deep in my bones. When I was 5 my mom gave me a Best of Ed Sullivan Show VHS featuring The Beatles, Rolling Stones, Beach Boys and Four Seasons. I remember the first time I watched it having no hesitation saying, “Yup, that is what I’m going to do with my life.” Growing up, I loved getting lost at record shops and in albums, listening to music for hours on end. I kept to myself a lot, living constantly in my own head, and found so much comfort in relating to the language of musicians (both lyrically and melodically/sonically). It was comforting to hear others thinking the same way I did. Artists like John Mayer, Fiona Apple, Jeff Buckley, Paul Simon- lyrically always really got to me.

"In regards to my “control freak nature” when it comes to the creative process, it is very important for me to be involved in all aspects of creating the work because I have a strong vision of what I hear and see (I am also a visual artist).  But it is certainly a balance. I have to keep myself in check. Let me put it like this - I have a very specific sound and vision, I hear almost everything from parts to tones. I won’t sleep at night unless something is done right, but I know there is magic in letting people in to help you with that, but it IS about finding the right people who you trust personally and musically."

With that we can completely agree! Speaking of your creative process, please take us through the steps you take.

"When it comes to writing a song it typically goes like this: When I have something I need to say, I start hearing things. Melodies and parts— could be a chorus or a verse. Then, typically, I hear lyrics that go with those melodies - could be minutes, hours or even weeks  later. If I’m going through something really emotionally stirring (either good or bad) like I have been lately (which has been intense and painful) I will usually have songs/ideas pouring out of me. So, I'll start by singing whatever I hear quickly into a voice memo on my phone (thank God for 2019 technology), and sometimes I’ll keep hearing parts. So I’ll have a bunch of voice memo’s in a row within like a 20-minute span of time. Other times, it could be months until I hear another part. Then, I'll go back, re-listen, piece parts together and sit down with a guitar to figure out what chords I’m hearing. Then eventually I’ll have an entire form and usually, the last thing I have to figure out are lyrics. Lately, I don’t think I’ve ever had so many songs flying out of me. I don’t even think it’s something you can control, its almost a spiritual or religious thing. Whatever I am feeling manifests in whatever it needs to sound like, I don’t ever (in fact I don’t think I could even try to) to sound like something if I wanted to.

"It’s funny because a lot of times melodies will come to me that I don’t even think about and then months later, when I go through something, it becomes SUPER clear that specific melody was meant for a song about a future moment in time. It’s almost a psychic way of being, it’s fucking crazy. I hate to think I was already thinking up melodies that would apply to a break-up while I was still involved with a person! But I’d be like, “Ok I have no idea what this means yet or where it’s going,” and then future me would start singing it again after going through some SHIT, then boom - there's the lyrics, the parts, and the next thing I know, that's what the song was about. Music is, in my opinion, too powerful and spiritual for us to really grasp and I think at the end of the day I’m just a vessel for this stuff. WILD!!!!"

That is wild!! If there was one thing you could change about the music world today, what would it be and why?

"This is a great question. Ok, I could write a novel on this, but I’ll keep it short to what has been driving me crazy currently.  I think there is so much talent and if there was a better way for talented artists to gain recognition, respect, and fame without having to KILL ourselves over social media, it would be that. Social media has been great for exposure, but also terrible for human interaction and the soul. It makes you think your reality exists within your phone and it simply doesn’t. It’s still about making great music and being a genuine human (which sometimes is the opposite of what social media gives us). I wish it was possible to do this and be successful with all that noise taking over. BUT I guess that’s what separates us, huh? So, having to get beyond the noise is the key to success...

"That and making money. I wish this industry didn’t ask SO much from you with no financial reward because it’s SO hard to do this without putting in at least 40 hours a week and still working to make ends meet. Trying to find time to decompress, sleep, relax, hang out with friends or significant others, still hustle AND make money to support yourself… I wish there was a better solution to this, I’m figuring it out hah!"

When It Happens to You is out now.