#because i did work on this for quite a while

[marmotsomsierost]

O: You’re quite a writer. You’ve a gift for language, you’re a deft hand at plotting, and your books seem to have an enormous amount of attention to detail put into them. You’re so good you could write anything. Why write fantasy?

Pratchett: I had a decent lunch, and I’m feeling quite amiable. That’s why you’re still alive. I think you’d have to explain to me why you’ve asked that question.

O: It’s a rather ghettoized genre.

P: This is true. I cannot speak for the US, where I merely sort of sell okay. But in the UK I think every book— I think I’ve done twenty in the series— since the fourth book, every one has been one the top ten national bestsellers, either as hardcover or paperback, and quite often as both. Twelve or thirteen have been number one. I’ve done six juveniles, all of those have nevertheless crossed over to the adult bestseller list. On one occasion I had the adult best seller, the paperback best-seller in a different title, and a third book on the juvenile bestseller list. Now tell me again that this is a ghettoized genre.

O: It’s certainly regarded as less than serious fiction.

P: (Sighs) Without a shadow of a doubt, the first fiction ever recounted was fantasy. Guys sitting around the campfire— Was it you who wrote the review? I thought I recognized it— Guys sitting around the campfire telling each other stories about the gods who made lightning, and stuff like that. They did not tell one another literary stories. They did not complain about difficulties of male menopause while being a junior lecturer on some midwestern college campus. Fantasy is without a shadow of a doubt the ur-literature, the spring from which all other literature has flown. Up to a few hundred years ago no one would have disagreed with this, because most stories were, in some sense, fantasy. Back in the middle ages, people wouldn’t have thought twice about bringing in Death as a character who would have a role to play in the story. Echoes of this can be seen in Pilgrim’s Progress, for example, which hark back to a much earlier type of storytelling. The epic of Gilgamesh is one of the earliest works of literature, and by the standard we would apply now— a big muscular guys with swords and certain godlike connections— That’s fantasy. The national literature of Finland, the Kalevala. Beowulf in England. I cannot pronounce Bahaghvad-Gita but the Indian one, you know what I mean. The national literature, the one that underpins everything else, is by the standards that we apply now, a work of fantasy.

Now I don’t know what you’d consider the national literature of America, but if the words Moby Dick are inching their way towards this conversation, whatever else it was, it was also a work of fantasy. Fantasy is kind of a plasma in which other things can be carried. I don’t think this is a ghetto. This is, fantasy is, almost a sea in which other genres swim. Now it may be that there has developed in the last couple of hundred years a subset of fantasy which merely uses a different icongraphy, and that is, if you like, the serious literature, the Booker Prize contender. Fantasy can be serious literature. Fantasy has often been serious literature. You have to fairly dense to think that Gulliver’s Travels is only a story about a guy having a real fun time among big people and little people and horses and stuff like that. What the book was about was something else. Fantasy can carry quite a serious burden, and so can humor. So what you’re saying is, strip away the trolls and the dwarves and things and put everyone into modern dress, get them to agonize a bit, mention Virginia Woolf a few times, and there! Hey! I’ve got a serious novel. But you don’t actually have to do that.

(Pauses) That was a bloody good answer, though I say it myself."

(Terry Pratchett in an interview with the Onion)

J. R. R. Tolkien, undisputedly a most fluent speaker of this language, was criticized in his day for indulging his juvenile whim of writing fantasy, which was then considered—as it still is in many quarters— an inferior form of literature and disdained as mere “escapism.” “Of course it is escapist,” he cried. “That is its glory! When a soldier is a prisoner of war it is his duty to escape—and take as many with him as he can.” He went on to explain, “The moneylenders, the knownothings, the authoritarians have us all in prison; if we value the freedom of the mind and soul, if we’re partisans of liberty, then it’s our plain duty to escape, and to take as many people with us as possible."

Stephen R. Lawhead

[deadhands69]

Ramen & Rain

Katsuki Bakugo x gn Reader

Ramen Date

just a weird fluff Bakugo fic mostly written at 3am. not quite the direction it was intended to go but it still ends ish as planned. mentions of angst, turns into fluff.

“Sorry for your breakup,” you say to the messy haired blonde seated next to you at the hero rankings after-party, “are you doing okay?”

“Huh?” he grumbled before remembering the bullshit his PR team spun earlier that week. 

“Oh, that.” He sits uncomfortably, staring down the tablecloth at the tiny high top the two of you were perched at. “Um, that was fake.”

“Wait, really?”

“Yeah, my PR team thinks it’ll humanize me to date likable people so they have me take models and whatever on dates.” He pauses, considering if he’d like to tell you the next part, “and a few times they also did this when I was photographed with one night stands. I guess that’s not so likable either or something,” he mumbles down at his lap.  

Your thoughts flash back to every headline you’d read about pro-hero Dynamite’s intriguing love life. Much to his team’s credit, you did fall for it.

“So, you haven’t actually dated any of those girls in the pictures?” 

“Nope,” his finishes his drink, hoping the glass blocked at least some of his blushing face.

“Have you dated anyone?”

“Have you?” he retorts, barely able to make eye contact.

Please say no, he hopes. 

He tried to ask you out once, in your second year of high school together. But he was going through some things. And you are you. He couldn’t imagine you being interested in anything but perfect when it’s what you deserve. One day, he figured, he could give you that. So he waited.

And of course you had no idea he liked you. Not when his way of showing it was hitting you harder while sparing, having higher expectations of you than everyone else, and exploding at you every time you so much as glanced at him (because he thought you caught him staring.)

“Well, there was Shouto in high school,” you begin.

Of course Bakugo knows about this, he hated it. 

You and Shouto had been best friends since halfway through your first year. So, it didn't surprise too many people in your third year when he asked you to go out with him. Of course you had a massive crush on him for years at that point. He's beautiful, who in your class hadn't been into him?

And it was… Cute. 

While it lasted. 

You held hands. He walked you to class. The two of you always had meals together, but it felt different once you were officially together. You never kissed or anything but that's okay, it was new. 

Exactly nine days and four hours is when it all came crashing down. 

Feeling worked after training, you went to bed early. You'd meet up with your boyfriend in the morning. No big deal. 

Little did you know, your puppy love relationship was falling apart before your head even hit the pillow. 

“Hey, Icy Hot! What are you doing checking out Ponytail when you're already dating the hottest person in our class?” Bakugo berated Todoroki. 

Confused, he responded as bluntly as he ever did, “but y/n isn't the hottest one in our class. Momo is.”

Katsuki’s red eyes pierced through him, clearly he was missing something. 

“Wait, are you not dating y/n??”

“No, I am.”

“...then what the fuck.”

After much back and forth, it came out that Iida told Todoroki everyone should aspire to date their best friend. He took that to heart and asked you out without considering if he like liked you. 

He didn't. 

And he told you that the next morning.

It’s not Shouto’s fault his comprehension of human emotion is so limited. This didn’t make being broken up with by him any easier though. Everything was matter of fact, no sugar coating. 

“Thanks for letting me know,” you mumbled to your feet, trying to think of any excuse to leave and save yourself the embarrassment of bursting into tears in front of your classmates. His mismatched eyes stared at you, still confused about the whole situation. 

“I have to go finish some homework now, see ya later.” Turning away, you hope you played it off well enough. No one seemed to notice as you walked heavily through the common space with a face made of stone until you reached the elevator. 

Bakugo did though, and he was pissed at Todoroki for fumbling so hard that you got hurt. Their already unstable friendship took a massive hit after that. Eventually, after a lot of adjusting, Katsuki reasoned he could be okay with you dating someone else if it meant you were happy (and they were perfect and checked every single box he decided someone would need to in order to be worthy of you.) This wasn’t it though.

“I don't mean high school. That one didn't count, ” he says, remembering how helpless he felt watching you being heartbroken when you never did anything to deserve it. 

“Okay, well there was…”

The girl you were with for a whole month before discovering she was a villain, just using you because she thought she could get top secret information. She didn’t.

Then there was the guy you met at a coffee shop who stuck around for a while. He thought you were attractive but didn’t want more than sex and wasn’t sure how to bring that up. You being a hero was terrifying to him and he thought you’d stop sleeping with him when you realized that’s all he was there for. You did. 

And Shinsou, who had the most amicable breakup with. He’s nocturnal and you’re well, not quite. After not seeing each other for three weeks, you decided your schedules just weren’t compatible and called it. No media outlets picked up on it since there was nothing to pick up on. 

Bakugo shifts uncomfortably in front of you. Brows furrowed and face unreadable to most. A twinge of jealousy overtakes him. Sure, the two of you haven’t talked much since graduation, but he still has feelings for you. And hearing about all the losers who had a chance when he never did didn’t sit right with him.

On top of that, admittedly, he also feels guilty. Maybe if he'd asked you out all those years ago he could have saved you from this pain. His assumption you’d settle for nothing but perfect had been shattered, leaving him to accept that he shouldn’t have left you craving closeness from anyone but him. He should have been there. 

He’s here now though. At this point in life, he knows he isn’t perfect but he could at least do better than everyone else you mentioned. If you let him.

“You wanna get out of here?” he asks abruptly.

“What?”

“Wanna go somewhere else? The food sucks here, there’s a good ramen shop that’s open late down the street.” 

“You asking me on a date, Dynamite?” you joke.

“Yeah,” he replies dead serious, “I am.”

 Suddenly you’re the one feeling flustered. A date with Katsuki Bakugo? 

After a quick stop at coat check, the two of you are out the door. Running down the marble stairs to the rough sidewalk, his hand lightly around your wrist to guide you. A rain storm earlier left the streets glimmering, neon reflections from the surrounding shops. A few people trickle in and out of businesses in the typically bustling area, but tonight it feels like a ghost town. 

Then you’re there.

He pulls you through an unassuming door. With a quick wave to the person behind the counter, they informally gesture the two of you towards the small seating area. 

Sit wherever.

You slide over the cracked upholstery at a table in the corner. The pink sign lighting up the window casts a glow over his face, the warm color suits him.

When you left your place earlier, you never expected to end up on a date. Especially not here. The location being as much of a surprise as his sudden interest. 

Sure, you always thought he was cute, but you never knew him. He spent all of high school keeping you at arm’s length. Then after, you’ve spent years basing your assumptions about Bakugo off the headlines you’d read. The dates he went on. Always models and idols. Fancy restaurants, valets, and expensive cars.

But this is real.

Across the table, you watch as he slides his suit jacket off. You hadn’t realized how stuffy the atmosphere was earlier until you see him relax, top buttons of his shirt undone and sleeves rolled up. You forgot about the scars.

The woman running the shop approaches to take your order, not bothering to ask him - it appears he gets the same thing every time he comes in. Having been distracted, you quickly pick the first menu item that jumps out to you. She disappears into the kitchen.

“So, what do you want,” he asks, sitting too casually for the depth of the conversation he’s bringing up. He needs to ask though, otherwise how will he know what to do? “You told me what didn’t work but not what you actually wanted in any of that.”

“I guess I haven’t thought about it. I’ve just been working and-”

“Bullshit,” direct, but his tone is playful as he flashes a slightly crooked smile at you.

Two bowls of ramen float through the air to your table - likely the quirk of the woman before. You’re glad for the momentary distraction, giving you time to consider your answer. The food arrived suspiciously fast but with one sip from the oversized spoon, you know it’s amazing. 

“Holy shit,” you exclaim. 

“Like I’d take you somewhere shitty,” he laughs, “still dodging my question?”

“No,” you pause, pulling a piece of bok choy from the bowl while you consider, “not a villain would be nice.”

“Bar’s that low, huh?”

“...and being able to spend time together at least once a week would be good.”

“Only once a week?” he scoffs, “too easy.”

“What about you?”

He says nothing for a while, chasing a green onion around his spicy ramen with his chopsticks.

“This is good,” he mumbles suddenly uncharacteristically shy, “like a real, actual date.”

Looks like you aren’t the only one with lowered standards.

“Too easy,” you smile.

If he told you how serious of a relationship he actually wants with you, he might scare you off. This is a great start though.

Abruptly, he changes the topic to hero work. You compare stories, scars. 

He tells you how he got the small mark on his neck from a villain with a slashing quirk. How he took out a small area of buildings before Bakugo arrived to apprehend him.

You show him a similar scar on your wrist after the same villain escaped prison. 

The evening passes far too quickly.

As he approaches the counter to pay, you don’t miss the exchange between him and the older woman working. She looks overjoyed, saying something while glancing at you in the booth. He smiles awkwardly, his flushed face apparent even in the dim neon lighting.

“Alright, let’s get outta here,” he asserts while grabbing both of your hands to pull you to your feet.

“Can I take you out again?” he asks, as your feet have barely hit the pavement.

“Yeah.”

“Tomorrow night?”

“Perfect.”

more Bakugo: masterlist

[ellecdc]

Hey! Congrats on 5k elle!! <3

Can I ask a baby it's cold outside with the prompt "did you really put a blanket over me while i was sleeping." with Regulus? Maybe he fell asleep talking with Reader and she put the blanket so he isn't cold?

— 🎵

thank you love! also, for some reason this became an academic rivals fic, but it felt right for our Reggie! hahaha thanks for the prompt <3

Regulus Black x fem!reader who did not stupefy him [539 words]

CW: could be considered gn!reader - the only gendered marker for reader is the term 'witch', rivals, haters to....?, open ended, banter and fluff

Regulus woke with a start, which wasn’t unusual. 

What was unusual was that he woke up in the library, or, rather, that he fell asleep in the library. Perhaps even more unusual was the throw blanket carefully draped over his shoulders. 

“Merlin, you’re wound tight; who wakes up like that?” Your voice sounded from somewhere to his right; Regulus was sitting up board straight already, and he had no time to be concerned with whether or not his has crease lines criss crossing on the side of his face that had been resting on his jumper clad arm, nor whether his curls had taken on a mind of their own when he turned his attention to you. 

“What did you do?” Regulus hissed. Your eyebrows furrowed near comically where they were pointed down at your textbook before your curious eyes moved up to consider him.

“Are you quite alright, Black?” 

“You…you stupefied me or something. I’m sure of it.” He insisted as primly as he could muster, only having to pause once to clear the sound of sleep from his voice. 

“I did not stupefy you, you git.” You hissed right back. 

He realised then that it was a little peculiar; the two of you had the entire library to yourselves, seeing as most students went home for the the holidays, and those who remained at the school over the holidays didn’t exactly spend their time haunting the library of all places, yet the two of you were somehow sitting at the same group of tables.

Peculiar, still, because the two of you didn’t much care for each other.

It’s not that Regulus particularly disliked you or what not, but rather that you were an annoying pain in his arse and constantly trying to best him in your shared classes.

He had hoped to get a chance to get ahead of his course work over the break - put a little space between the two of you in terms of grades - but it appeared that you had shared the same idea. 

Meddlesome witch. 

“Then you must have put a sleeping potion in my tea.” He deduced as he vanished what remained in his cup with a flippant flick of his wrist. You rolled your eyes.

“You’re impossible. Why would I have done that?”

“You’re trying to best me in classes.”

You let out a rather inelegant snort as the corner of your lips turned upwards into a smirk. “I don’t have to try to best you, Black, I am the best.”

Regulus let out a derisive laugh. “Right, so, what? You just put a blanket over my shoulders out of the kindness of your heart?”

If Regulus wasn’t mistaken, he thought perhaps he noticed a look of bashfulness cross your features as you started to pack up your things. 

“You were shaking like a jar of billywigs, Black; it was impossible to get any work done with the thunk, thunk, thunking of your chair legs. Besides, it’s not like I was going to waste my magic casting a warming charm over you.” 

And, if Regulus wasn’t mistaken, he thought he felt the telltale tingling of a warming charm fading as the door to the library closed behind you. 

How peculiar.

[fairlyang]

thinking about reader leaving lipstick marks on needy!miguel. inspo

after the sloppiest make out session miguel has had in his life, it was to no surprise he was hard as a rock and his boxers were leaking with his precum. you stripped him of all his clothes and you were only left in your undergarments. you had applied red lipstick and didn’t hesitate to leave kisses on every crevice you wanted.

you had just kissed a circle around his pelvic area, leaving behind bright red lip stains while his cock twitched in anticipation. he didn’t even know if you were going to do something just watched as you teased him with no remorse.

your eyes locked deeply into his as you kissed down his thigh and went to the other one. he bit his lip, fighting back the urge to beg for you to do something. he had to change to a new leaf. maybe to prove to himself that your effect on him isn’t that strong.

you took notice of it and couldn’t have that. you needed to hear his sweet pleads, you had grown fond of them. always music to your ears.

you grabbed the red lipstick and applied yet another layer, quickly closing it then putting it aside. still somewhat looking at him you went lower, leaving a small kiss above his balls. he twitched yet again, biting his lip a little harder.

you slowly kissed up along his length, gentle kisses so the lipstick would stay on longer. you got right to the middle and moved your head to the right and kissed down the side as his thighs began to shake. you did the same to the left side then went back to the middle and kissing up. his cheeks were growing warmer by the second and sweat was forming on his forehead.

you looked so good down there. treating him oh so nicely but also being a tease. only because you knew him so well.

so much so that when you made it closer to the tip you knew he was close to breaking. with a quick movement you grab his shaft, leaving a big kiss right on his tip and just like magic, he let out a loud moan.

you smiled up at him and licked off his precum, before slapping the tip onto your tongue. he gasped and felt goosebumps surge through his body. you pulled away and got your face closer to his cock, pressing it against your cheek then pulling away to look at your masterpiece.

“look so pretty like this baby.” you murmur, admiring how the bright red looks on his tanned skin. like a true piece of art.

he let out a small moan and you looked up at him, “don’t ya think so?”

he quickly nods and you slowly start to stroke him, eyes on him to see his reaction. his lips parted, letting out deep breaths while you worked your hand on him, careful to not smudge the lip stains too much.

you went a little faster and he let out more moans, his hips thrusting forward making you chuckle, “mmm you like this huh baby?”

he gulped and nodded once again, letting out a sigh as you jerked him off. you increased the pace to hear him moan again, once he did, you slowed down again, “i want to hear you.”

he whined and was going to be stubborn but knew you’d be capable of completely stopping so he spoke up, “y-yes- yes i like it-“

“thatta boy..” you mumble and go even faster than before without any warning.

he groaned and watched you with fluttering eyes, barely able to let out a coherent sentence, “f-fuck- feels- god… feels s-so good-“

“i know baby, i know. gonna cum for me? give me another load?” you murmur and he eagerly nods, letting out strings of pretty moans.

an idea popped into your head, quite a cruel one but you knew he’d be able to handle it. you continued stroking him fast, whispering dirty things that had him twitching in your hand and had him getting closer to his release.

“oh fuck! baby i’m gonna-“ he moans out and you watch how his body contorts and shakes above you.

you let go of him at the very last millisecond and open your mouth wide as he whimpers and his cum spurts out. some landed on your mouth making you grin while he pouted as the last of his load landed on your chest.

“c’mon baby, don’t be mad. you did so good for me.” you cooed and stood up, bringing a hand up to cup his cheek making him look at you.

he looked at you, mad at himself for not standing his ground and folding like a chair so easily. but that look in your eyes made him smile, maybe it’s not so bad after all.

[lizardlicks]

i can not "this tbh" hard enough. Remember when Emma Watson gave a speech about bringing men into feminism because dismantling the patriarchy benefits everyone?? Remember that was in 2014??? Remember that it was actually working and actively recruiting men away from the manosphere, chan boards and subreddits with the promise that if they hated the game and it made them miserable, men didn't have to play it either?

You can thank a rad fem for the full 180 on that. And no, I'm not exaggerating, most of the movement leaders have gone on record saying that they actively worked to reframe their gender divisive ideology to make it more hip and cool sounding, then methodically went after the younger generation of queers who hadn't yet establised ties or absorbed any of the history-- specifically young wlw-- in the new and fast growing online communities on Twitter and Tumblr.

Radical Feminism is a hold over from the feminism of the 60's through the 80's. While the feminists of that day made massive strides for equality in the work place, it left behind vulnerable populations and didn't make very strong in-roads to cross collaboration, inclusivity, and diversity. It was already considered too ridgid and out of date by the 90's third wave feminist movement, and by the 2010's with the expansion of queer rights and queer visibility in online spaces, while still being at least mostly protected by anonymity, we were making huge in roads towards the idea that feminism was for everyone, and the ultimate antidote to patriarchal power structures. Conversation focused mostly on addressing those structures, how to undermine and dismantle them, how to empower the men in our lives to do that, and to support them in breaking away from it. It's where the idea of toxic masculinity came from: not that being male is toxic, but that there are ways of performing masculinity that are toxic, ways that are healthy and foster community and growth in their lives, and that men could still be manly men without the extra baggage attached. That our spouses, brothers and cousins could do it better than their father's did. That they could get therapy, have have help, and pass something better onto their sons.

I have a lot of cis male friends who I would have described as chest thumping manly men types back in the day, who sat down and had thoughtful conversations, who came out the other side staunchly feminist, far more aware and intentional, and brought that into their friend groups and work places.

If you want to know what happened? We stopped having that conversation. The rad fems were successful, they got into the heads of young fem queers and convinced them to put a wedge into their lives with men.

They even got into the heads of the transfems they hate! Do you know how many fresh hatched eggs I see to this day spouting anti-male propaganda that was originally handed down from TERFs? (Ladies, they're not going to welcome you into the non-existed Secret Inner Magical Sanctum of Womanhood no matter how loudly you scream about men sucking. They don't even do it for most cis women.)

And meanwhile the pewdiepies and Andrew Tates of the world never stopped talking to the men. Who did you think they were going to listen to after getting shut out and shut down?

And if you don't believe me, this blog has existed for over a decade. You can go back into the archive and view posts from 2012. Reblogged a LOT of feminist posts back then because there WERE a lot! Whole reams of queer and feminist theory were being drafted in real time between the people it affected most. You can see the shift especially in 2016 onwards in less and less as we quit being able to have those conversations without a rad fem jumping in and either shifting the narrative or distracting everyone with nonsense and sometimes vile accusations to shut it down completely.

This was calculated and intentional because a handful of people where very pissy that they weren't leading the direction of the conversation in the new online era anymore.

Genuinely, what happened to “feminism is for everyone”?

That’s the feminism I grew up with: encouraging people to recognize that fighting sexism and restrictive gender roles helps folks of every gender. We’d push back on the idea that feminists hate men, pointing to inclusive feminist literature and how many men are feminists.

Now, there are so many people insisting that the solution to patriarchy is to openly hate and ostracize men no matter what. Why? What is the benefit? It’s certainly not effective in fighting oppressive structures to exclude half the population from your cause on the basis of immutable traits. It may feel cathartic to say horrible things about men and try to punish them for your frustrations with patriarchy. But the only actual effect I see is the increasing right-wing radicalization of young men, who are being told that the left hates them for the way they were born and presented with an abundance of proof that it’s true.

Why are we going back to treating men and women as different species? It doesn’t fix things to say “well women are the good gender and men are the bad one” this time. If you sincerely want to dismantle sexism, you’re going to have to unpack and let go of all sex and gender essentialism—even that which considers women inherently pure and men inherently immoral.

[enigmatist17]

This AU by @keferon has been burrowing in my brain

---

In hindsight, Jazz realized he was stupid.

Unabashedly, completely stupid.

No one back home would have called a mecha pilot stupid, not with all the pain and training it took to even have a chance to look at a suit, but he was! He shouldn't have stayed out too long on the mission that had changed his fate, shouldn't have waved at that stupid satellite, but he did, and was taken far from home and brought to a place that was slowly becoming his second.

Cybertron.

Jazz was stupid when he decided to keep the fact that he wasn't truly one of them to himself, realizing eventually he was as alien as they were. He was stupid when he began to work with the Cybertronians rather than find a way back home, fighting the things that had brought him out deep into space in an effort to stave off homesickness. Oh, Jazz was so fucking stupid when he began to make friends with these Cybertronians, laughing at jokes he didn't quite understand and listening to their woes as he settled into their strange but oddly Earthen-like way of life.

What made him the most idiotic lifeform this side of the galaxy, however, was falling for one bot in particular.

Prowl had been the very first alien he'd met, speaking to him in that beautiful Cybertronian melody (language but whatever) that cut right through the pain he'd been in. Call it an inevitability, call it destiny, Prowl was the first one he'd met, and Jazz made damn sure he'd make a friend out of him. Sure, it was hard at first as Jazz had to not only decode an entire alien language but learn how to mimic it through his mecha, but once he got the ball rolling, it was a breeze. Prowl had been uncomfortable with him at first, which, all things aside, he didn't quite blame the mech for being suspicious of a strange mech, but over time he'd won him over. Of course, his stupidity would eventually catch up mere days after he had finally worked up the courage to actually tell Prowl how he felt, because the universe knew how stupid he was.

It came in the form of a Quintesson blade catching him in the wrong area, slicing right through his mecha's chest armor and right into his piloting seat. It took a second to register that something was wrong, the connection with his suit fizzling out when Jazz felt the pain from his actual body slamming into him like a truck. He knew pulling the blade out was stupid, but Jazz needed it out right now ohfuckithurtsstopthepain -

He's not sure how long he was out, but he knew the jig was up the moment he started coming to.

Muted voices sounded out from around him, some laced with anger, others with curiosity, and only one with concern. Jazz knew it was Prowl's, and judging from the finger (it's a digit come on now idiot) that gently poked his side, he was most likely unsure of what to think at the moment. With a sigh, Jazz slowly cracked open his eyes, finally taking in the mech he'd come to love with his own eyes for the first time.

"Hiya Prowler." His voice is scratchy with dehydration, the tactician and everyone else in the room going silent at his voice. "What's shakin'?"

"Jazz?" The wings (doorwings man come on) he spent hours watching twitched in discomfort, helm tilted as Jazz tried to sit up, only to hiss and slump back with a groan. "It is not wise to move right now, your...you are heavily damaged."

"Gettin' stabbed does that to ya." The attempt at lightening the mood falls flat, but no one is really sure how to react, so they don't call him out on it. He can see Ironhide and Optimus staring at him from behind Prowl, the Prime looking mystified, while Ironhide seemed to be going back and forth from awe to suspicion to uncertainty.

"Pulling the blade out instead of waiting for help was extremely poor judgment," Ratchet grumbled from the other side of Jazz, the medic giving him a grumpy look. "However, if you hadn't, I would not have found...you."

"Where's my mecha?" Jazz slowly moved to pull the scrap of cloth he'd been covered in back, honestly surprised with how neatly his midsection had been bandaged, or whatever the strange gel substitute was. "Oh...huh."

"Your frame's in a private med bay, I've been able ta repair some of it so far." Wheeljack moved into view with a cheerful wave, having picked up the motion from Jazz. "I've got ta tell ya, I'm impressed with all the work that's gone into it!"

"Thanks." Jazz gently poked at the gel after smiling at the scientist, eyeing the wound underneath with a sick sort of fascination. "I was expectin' this to be worse."

"Some of our organic allies were able to help to an extent, but your biology was only so similar." Ratchet shook his head, clearly displeased. "You're not going anywhere anytime soon, so I would get comfortable. In fact, I want everyone out so Jazz can get some rest, everyone but Prowl." Despite all the questions most of the high command had, Ratchet's word was law, so the medbay emptied until it was just Jazz and Prowl.

"Do you require anything?" Prowl's voice was the same as it always was, but Jazz had come to know him enough that he was tense and sorely out of his element.

"I could use some water, but I can go without." Those wings raise a fraction of an inch (or he's guessing, it's hard to tell without his enhanced sight sigh), and he winces. "Y-You're fine Prowler, I'm fine."

"You are not fine." Prowl grabbed a nearby stool and dragged it over, sitting at the head of the bed that seemed too large for the tiny organic. "I do not understand how you can say that."

"Pain is an old friend, I just...normally have access ta the proper help, ya know?" Jazz adjusted himself to have a better view of his mech, heart skipping a beat when Prowl reached over to gently help, the metal cool against his back. "Thanks."

"Jazz? May I ask you something?" His servo remained where it was, moving to brush against the side of Jazz's face with the greatest care he could manage. "Why did you not tell us?"

"Well...I'm stupid." Jazz leaned into the touch with a soft hum, Prowl's head tilting at the noise. "I figured you were all piloted mecha like myself, just with more money poured inta ya, but by the time I figured out you weren't...it was too late?" Prowl didn't need to know the reason he'd vanished for two days was to deal with the mental breakdown he had at the news, not his proudest moment.

"Why have you not sought to return home?" Prowl watched as several microexpressions crossed the org- Jazz's face, brown optics flickering between his face and the berth as he struggled with the answer.

"Honestly? Besides fightin' these bastards who attack my home on their turf? You."

Oh

Wings taut with tension relaxed as the information was processed, a soft click escaping his vocalizer as Prowl looked down at the person who had turned his life around.

"What I said to you a few days ago? It's true, every damn word of it." Jazz leaned his head to press his dermas to Prowl's digit, and idly, he wondered what it must taste like to an organic. "I fell for ya, heart an' soul."

"...what is a heart?" The laugh that burst from Jazz's dermas nearly made Prowl jump, the sound familiar as it was strange without the vocalizer in Jazz's frame. He's not sure why the question is so amusing, but then again, Jazz had always had a peculiar sense of humor, so all he could do was give a rare smile to his organic as the tension in the room slowly faded away.

"Ah Prowler, always known how ta make me feel better." The ache from the laugh aside, Jazz smiled at seeing Prowl's doorwings completely relaxed, the good deed of the day accomplished.

"I do try." The Praxian leaned forward to gently press helm against Jazz's, giving a soft purr as he cycled his optics off. "I am relieved you are safe, when I saw your energon staining Ratchet's servos..."

"I'm a stubborn guy, one blade isn't takin' me out." Jazz reached over with his better arm to touch Prowl's cheek, the metal warm against his hand. "Got too much ta live for."

"Indeed."

Ratchet returned a breem later to find the organic deep in recharge, Prowl cradling Jazz in his servos. Some unfamiliar thick fabric was resting between Jazz and the limb, cushioning the injured man far better than the fabric someone had found in a storage crate, judging by the lack of stuttered venting they had heard earlier. Prowl said nothing to the medic as he continued to murmur to Jazz as he read through a data pad, looking down occasionally to watch the subtle rise and fall of Jazz's chassis. Prowl still surprised the older bot with his dedication to work despite holding his injured partner, only shaking his helm as he dropped off some energon before disappearing into his office for his own work. There was going to be a lot of chaos when Jazz would have the chance to talk to everyone else, the news already spreading like a virus throughout the army, but that was a problem for another cycle.

For now, Jazz was resting with the mech he'd fallen for, and as far as Prowl was concerned, nothing would interrupt his partner's rest.

[lixiesfreckless]

Sugar & Spice | h. j.

A Sugar Across The Hall bonus scene

➸ synopsis: in reality, Joshua Hong can never say no to you.

➸ starring: joshua hong x reader

➸ word count: 1.9k words

➸ general content: boyfriend!joshua, kissing, slightly more than kissing lmao

➸ warnings: suggestive content, brief mention of alcohol

➸ rating: TV 16+

➸ author’s note: this can be read as a stand-alone BUT…happy one year anniversary to my magnum opus, sath. I love it to death, and I’m still not done writing for these characters, but for now, you get a much needed not-quite-hallmark-channel-approved scene. and before you get it twisted, this is and will always be dedicated to my beloved @ashonheavenscloud , but I’d like to give special thanks to @catboyieejeno for always encouraging me to stir the pot <3 love you guys a ton mwah

♫ this fic has a soundtrack! touch by keshi uhhhhhh somebody by keshi aahhhhhhh

Oh, he's really done it now.

Walking around some lively street corner a few blocks away from your shared apartment building, Joshua leads the two of you through downtown NYC at the height of spring. Strangers pass by your lovestruck duo without a second glance, not bothering to watch you look back at him with a borderline absurd amount of fondness in your irises. It's funny; usually Joshua wouldn't give spring a chance when it came to stating his favorite season, but since you waltzed into his life, he can confidently say that any of them are worthwhile—as long as you're with him. He squeezes your hand for what feels like the millionth time this evening, an action that makes you giggle happily to yourself.

Because you find it cute.

Oh, how you have no idea at all.

How tortuous this night has been for Joshua. How he regrets the day that he walked into that fateful department store, not looking for anything in particular but coming to a full stop in front of a specific mannequin. How he mentally patted himself on the back for remembering your size when you opened the gift bag a few hours earlier, eyes alight in excitement as you pulled out the present, letting the fabric unroll in your fingertips. How his face heated up as you opened your apartment door, and he quickly noted how the mannequin did the dress no justice.

Truthfully, if the dress looked as good on the mannequin as it did on you, he would have never taken it off the rack. He'd know better.

Because all through dinner he had to stop himself from staring at you and the slope of your neck, broken up by the thin straps of the halter dress and abandoned by your hair that was conveniently(to his demise) in an updo, to show off the open back. Luckily, you were so delighted by the Greek restaurant that you'd picked out that you hardly noticed his deepening flush, or the way he nearly downed his white wine in one go the second the server left your table.

And now, as you swing his hand and practically run up the stairs(because the elevator is broken, again), he finds himself almost dreading the night ahead. It's a Thursday, which means self care and Grey’s Anatomy, and while he would never turn down spending time with you, being that close to you for a prolonged period of time after the night he's had would be borderline masochistic.

Of course he contemplates all of this, but in reality, Joshua Hong can never say no to you.

So you unlock the door to your home, blabbering on about something that had happened at work and completely oblivious to the way that your boyfriend is eyeing you, torn between running towards you and running across the hall to get a grip on himself.

“Johnny went off at a customer yesterday,” you chuckled, crossing the room to set your purse down on the kitchen table. “They were being so rude, and over spilled milk too—throwing a fit over where we get our coffee beans imported from–”

You yelp in surprise, followed by a giggle at the feeling of Joshua’s hands encircling your waist from behind. His head settles in the space on your shoulder, but not before leaving a light kiss to the exposed skin of your neck.

“Hi,” you greet him, hands coming up to hold onto his forearms as you try to decipher the reason for this sudden display of affection.

“Hi,” he sighs, nose nudging against your pulse point, “Did I ever tell you how stunning you look in that dress?”

“No, I must have misheard you the first fifty times.”

He laughs at your little jab, willing his hands to stay still despite his growing desire to let them wander. You make the terrible decision to turn just enough so you can look at him, and it's this position that puts Joshua at his most vulnerable.

“Ready to wrap up season five?”

Looking up at him the way that you are paired with your slightly parted lips and flushed demeanor, Joshua finds himself at a loss for words, instinctively leaning into your face as his restraint wears thin. And your unfazed and accepting disposition makes it that much worse for him, his breath shaking as you flutter your eyes shut and part your lips.

The first touch of his lips is familiar, his kiss walking the line between mind-numbingly sweet and devastatingly tender as one of his hands comes up to lift your jaw. But instead of pulling away like he had originally intended, he presses harder against your mouth with a small sigh, unable to find any logical objection to the change of plans.

Your giggly demeanor fizzles out under the heat of his mouth, and your breath escapes you once his hand slides down to your neck, fingers languidly tracing the curve and playing with the straps that rest there. In contrast to his slow hands, his kisses grow faster and almost desperate, not wanting to separate for even a second as he tilts his head and slants his mouth against yours.

You stumble backwards slightly in pleasant surprise, and the table hits just above the hem of your skirt before the arm around your waist tightens, pulling you further into Joshua’s chest.

He takes this opportunity to lean forward slightly, clearing the table with a sweep of the arm that was holding you before hoisting you up onto it, hands firm on your thighs and then sliding down to your knees so he can part them.

“Josh,” you whisper breathlessly, clutching onto his shoulders as your eyes dazedly flicker between his lips and his eyes. His lower lip gets trapped between his teeth as his strength falters, gaze hardly able to meet yours as his fingers dance along the scalloped hem of your dress.

“Oh God, don't do that baby,” he nearly moans, and the pet name turns your brain waves into radio static. You've never heard him sound so helpless, as if his very fate would be decided by whatever you choose to say next. “You make it so hard to just sit and watch TV with you sometimes. Especially when you look like this.”

Knowing now that you have the upper hand, you decide to humor yourself and tease him a bit, leaning forward with a slight smirk on your lips. “Like what?”

His eyes drink you in from head to toe, taking their time to memorize all of your body lines in the flattering dress. If the opportunity were to present itself tonight, he doesn't know whether he would even want to take it off of you.

He leans in close, hoping that his desire translates well as it's mumbled against the skin of your neck.

“So damn good.”

His confession against your sensitive skin has you muffling a whine, gripping the edge of the table as your rationale evaporates under his searing lips, traveling higher and higher with each press.

You can't take his teasing much longer, and frankly, this side of him doesn't come out often enough for you to pass up an opportunity such as this. Meredith Grey will have to wait.

“You know…” you whisper, head tilting back as you feel his hand slipping behind your neck to support it, “they play reruns on Friday nights too.”

“Thank God, ‘cause you in this dress has been driving me crazy since you put it on,” he chuckles against your lips before catching them with his again, taking his time now to fully taste you, swiping his tongue along your bottom lip to elicit that delightful shiver that runs up your spine. You respond in earnest with your hands, carding through his brown locks and nearly melting when he doesn't suppress the groan that tumbles from his throat.

He kisses you like you’re air itself, hands sliding up your skirt and body pressing against yours, and once your nails slide down his scalp he softly groans into your mouth, moving onto kissing across your jawline. You repeat the action while winding your legs around Joshua’s waist, and he whines quietly into your neck, “Please…tell me to stop before I can’t.”

So subtly you almost miss it, he rolls his hips into yours, his desires clouding his judgment as a foreign sound jumps to the top of your throat. Immediately your attention is drawn to the heat you feel in your abdomen, and while you have grown accustomed to bearing it in silence, you’re finding it increasingly hard to ignore with him like this, hands all over you.

Wanting you.

He does it again, with a little more pressure this time, and your head falls back as a whimper just barely tumbles out of your lips. He shivers slightly, nearly overcome with the exertion of fighting every urge to take you on this table this instant.

To temporarily solve this problem, his lips find yours again, but feeling your muffled moans against him proves to be no more effective than trying to put out a forest fire with a garden hose.

As his hips softly grind into yours and your kisses get more and more frantic, your voice of reason pushes through the heavy cloud of lust at the forefront of your brain. “Wait, I've never–”

“We don't have to baby,” he cuts you off, wanting to make his intentions clear despite being unable to put an inch of space between the two of you, “and I don't want to just yet, but I…”

His hand that was previously bunched in your dress comes up to cradle your jaw, thumb brushing gently against the redness of your cheek as he calms himself down with a deep breath.

And as he gazes at you with nothing but adoration in his brown irises, you can almost feel the words coming before he says them out loud.

“I…I am so in love with you,” he begins, fighting a chuckle born out of the absurd location of this sudden confession, “that sometimes, when I look at you, I can’t even think straight, and I…” he trails off, struggling to find the right words the longer he stares at you.

You, on the other hand, are practically beaming, bottom lip trapped by your teeth in an attempt to fight the smile you’d be flashing him, so as to not distract him any further. But you soon realize; with him seated between your legs, there’s not much you can do to help him out here.

So you switch to offense, legs squeezing him tight around his waist to pull his hips back to yours. “You what?”

His chocolate eyes darken to a coffee color in seconds, and the hand that was on your hip tightens again, keeping you firm in place on the table as you bat your eyelashes at him.

“Sometimes I wish I could just show you how much you drive me crazy.”

You don’t hesitate, lifting your chin to meet his lips in a deceptively chaste kiss as your hands fall onto the buttons on his shirt, playing with them just to rile him up further.

You shrug, feigning indifference. “Maybe you can.”

And at that, before you can even register what’s happening, he’s sliding an arm around your waist and under your knees, picking you up and heading towards your bedroom with a chuckle.

“Maybe I should.”

‧⋆ ✧˚₊‧⋆. ✧˚₊‧⋆‧

click to read Sugar Across The Hall

[taliesin-the-bored]

Tag game: tag nine people you’d like to know better.

Tagged by: @oneshoulderangel (Thank you for tagging me!)

Last song: At the moment, I have "Losing Your Memory" by Alan Star stuck in my head, which I suppose makes it my current song, not my last song. Hm. I get songs stuck in my head very easily, but the last one I had there for a significant amount of time was a mashup of different language versions of "Les Rois du Monde" for about a week. "Lehetsz Király", the Magyar version, is probably my favorite of them. It's worth a listen.

Currently watching: Normally, the answer would be "random mostly terrible old movies/shows" or "nothing much", but I currently have a hyperfixation on the musical Roméo et Juliette and have been watching it in multiple languages. (Thus, the song).

Three ships: This is hard. Maybe as a result of being on the ace and aro spectrums, I'm more likely to care about which characters are interacting than whether it's romantic or platonic. Here goes:

Kedivere/Bedikay. It can be romantic, platonic, or queerplatonic, but whichever way, I'm here for it. I probably spend too much time thinking about how in Cullwch and Olwen, when Cai gets mad at Arthur and marches out, Bedwyr stays behind, keeps acting like nothing's happened, and isn't the one to avenge Cai's death. The feeling of betrayal on both sides has a lot of unexplored potential. And the version where Bedivere dies and Kay fights to bring his body back safely while mortally wounded himself... And the version where Bedivere survives Camlann and Kay isn't said to fight in it, so they might be left together after their world has fallen apart...

Platonically or queerplatonically, Galahad and the Grail Heroine. I really like the tragic Grail Quest friendships, but I like theirs most, maybe because there's something weird and otherworldly about them both. I like it when characters are strange and endearing and doomed by the narrative.

Ever since reading John Matthews' retelling, which I read before the original, I've had a soft spot for Caradoc and Guinier. The Story of Caradoc is very disturbing, and I have some major qualms with Caradoc over a detail Matthews cut out, but all the same, there's a reason these two have the best track record with magical fidelity tests. Each of them would go to the ends of the earth for the other, and together, they're stronger than any curse.

Favorite Color: Blue, particularly royal blue and some teals.

Currently consuming: Black licorice with chocolate.

First ship: This is a hard one, since through elementary and most of middle school, I tended to go along with whatever I thought the author's intentions were and was more likely to unship something. The first non-endgame ship I got invested in was Sonya/Nikolai in War and Peace. I didn't like Nikolai, but Sonya did, and she was my favorite character, so I wanted her to be happy. The first non-canon couple I thought was meant to be together was also in War and Peace: Marya Bolkonskaya and Julie Karagina. My eighth grade self did not think their letters could be interpreted platonically. I still don't.

Last movie: If the musical doesn't count, the last movie I watched was Quest for Camelot, which was awful. Though not Robot Monster-level bad, Robot Monster has an elegance to its simplicity which Quest for Camelot lacks.

Currently working on: Various fics, most of them Arthuriana or CotRK-related (I am woefully behind on the Badfic Bingo), and (theoretically) an epic-style poem, though I haven't gotten much of it written for quite a while now.

Tagging: @gawrkin, @emperorcandy, @wildbasil, @gorewound, @knightsofsomethingorother, @ladyminaofcamelot, @tasosotaso, @amashelle, @gingersnaptaff (I have no idea who's been tagged so far, apart from the people on @oneshoulderangel's post, so I apologize for any multi-tags)

[hcolleen]

I worked in residential behavioural healthcare just after I graduated with a degree in psychology. The first place I worked in was with adolescent girls who were dual diagnosis. I worked New Years Eve of Y2K there. One of the girls had just come back from visiting her parents for Christmas and was very upset and acting out. This was compounded with me having five extra young women since there were a lot of people off that night, so one staff member for eleven clients when it was usually one to six. She started to go up to her room but was being quite vitriolic as she did. I was behind her on the stairs, in the middle of working with her to help her calm down. I told her she didn't have to stay up if she didn't want to, which led to her sitting with me and talking about how she was missing her family and afraid things wouldn't work in the morning. I consoled her about her parents, asked about what she enjoyed while she was there, and then told her I would wake her up before I left and show her that things were still working. After that, she went up to bed and I went into her room before I left, woke her, and turned on the lights before I left.

This could have gone rather badly for me with one staff and eleven clients, all of whom were watching me warily and tensely, nearly all of whom had a history of acting out violently against staff. This girl had already punched me, testing how I'd react to her just after I started working there. She trusted me because I'd been calm with her before, which I think is the only reason she accepted my permission to sleep through something that scared her and my promise to show her everything was okay in the morning. And because I treated her calmly, the rest of the clients relaxed and the night was less tense after that.

It doesn't cost anything to meet people where they are and gently bring them back to a place where they can be calm. It often takes less time than arguing with them or trying to assert reality. It makes everyone involved safer, too, not just physically, but also to be around each other.

No doctor will ever get my respect like the woman in the ER who checked me for claws and fangs because I told her I was turning into a werewolf and could feel it and let me know gently that she couldn't find any but that didnt make it feel any less real, like THATS how you do it, other doctors who just flat out told me I was wrong take notes

[cottonlemonade]

Long Distance Relationship

word count: 970 || avg. reading time: 4 mins.

pairing: University AU!Kageyama x chubby!Reader

genre: fluff, established relationship

warnings: none

request: hi! can i get a 32 and a 33 for lunch and then study with kageyama? thank you i'm so excited! xx || fluffy, 2.16am LDR with boyfriend Kageyama

You stretched and heard a pop that you didn’t know if it came from your neck or the rickety old desk chair. It was late, a quick phone check told you it was 2 in the morning. A wide yawn spread over your face and you squeezed your eyes shut, then blinked a few times to get your vision back into focus. You had stopped comprehending any of the sentences in front of you hours ago but hoped that through sheer willpower and the mere fact that you had the decency to pretend to study, it would all work out in the end. Your eyes fell onto your lock screen, lit up briefly by some spam mail. It showed a picture of you and your boyfriend Tobio with your heads stuck together, each holding a small carton of milk while squinting into the sun. It was one of your favorites because of the way he scrunched his nose. When you were accepted to different universities your heart had broken a little but you promised each other you’d be the high school sweethearts that beat the odds. You had nothing to worry about with him. The only other love he’d ever known was volleyball and besides that, you and breathing, Tobio didn’t pay anything much mind. The first year at university worked out great. You usually met right in the middle between Tokyo and Kyoto every other weekend so neither of you had to do the 3-hour train ride each way and could spend a bit more time together. Plus, those tickets were cheaper, meaning you could see each other more often. Your heart began to ache when you thought of your last get-together and how you didn’t want to let him go at the station, how he almost missed his train because he couldn’t stop kissing you, and how you both held back your tears until the other was out of sight. Because in your second year, the workload became greater and meeting became more difficult, you hadn’t seen him in over three weeks. However, the little countdown of days right next to the time, now in the single digits, gave you a little hope. Your roommate snored softly and turned around in her bed. You checked the lamp again to make sure it wasn’t pointed directly at her.

A rush went through your body when your phone buzzed and you picked up immediately.

“Hey you, why are you still up?”, you said quietly.

“I- Hi.”

“Hi.”, you grinned. Your fatigue was completely wiped away. It was so nice to hear his voice and you were barely able to contain your excitement.

“I was wondering how your day went.”

“At 2 am?”

“… yes.”

“Well, it’s much better now thank you, how about you? You sound out of breath. Were you jogging? At this time of night? That’s dangerous, baby, please get back as soon as possible.”

“I’m still quite a bit away but I’ll let you know when I’m home.”, he muttered and his tone made you smile.

You knew exactly what he looked like right now - hand in his pocket, probably looking at the tip of his shoe drawing random patterns on the ground.

“I miss you.”, you said into the silence that followed.

“I miss you, too.”

“But hey, only”, you briefly lifted your phone away from your ear to check, “9 more days until we see each other again, right?”

“Yeah uhm… about that…”

“You’re not gonna make it?”, you asked, unable to hide the disappointment in your voice.

“No no, it’s not that. Uhm, which was your dorm room again?”

“Second floor, third from the left, why?” Your heart did a tentative little bounce.

Something that sounded very much like a pebble on glass tapped against your window. You stood up and almost tripped trying to see out into the night. There, taking a few steps back so he would be seen in the cone of light from the campus lantern stood your boyfriend, wearing his favorite sweats and the hoodie you had given him for your last anniversary. You clasped a hand over your mouth to not squeak too loudly and Tobio heard scrambling on the other end. Half a minute later the lights in the foyer went on, then the front door opened and you stood there with only one slipper and a sweater that was inside out. He jogged over to you.

“What are you- how are you- oh my god, you’re here!”

He buried his face in your shoulder when you pulled him in for a long, tight hug.

You collected your second shoe on the way back up to your room and settled into your bed. Tears were welling in your eyes at his familiar smell as you drew him close. Too precious to waste with much else, you combed your fingers through his hair, while Tobio tried his best to be as close to you as humanly possible. He wrapped himself securely around your soft, squishy form. There was little talking involved, cuddling and the occasional gentle kiss were all that mattered. It was cozy and familiar being in each other’s arms like this and you wished the moment would never end. You could have fallen asleep but just as you were happily drifting off with the comforting scent of his shampoo brushing your nose a phone buzzed. Tobio made a low grumbling noise against your neck.

“I have to go.”, he whispered. The clock on your roommate’s nightstand showed 4 am.

“No, stay…”

“I want to. But I can’t…”, he didn’t make any attempts to move, just kept mumbling against you, “I have training in a few hours.”

He looked up at you, sleepy but so so happy. “And we’ll meet again in 9 days, right?”

a/n: request for @haikyuusunsalad

This was the softest prompt ever oh my gosh 🥺🥺 thank you so much! I hope you enjoyed it!

[isfjmel-phleg]

Toward the end of Young Justice 1998, Anita Fite sets out to avenge her father's murder and for complicated reasons ends up coming home with both her formerly deceased parents in tow. Which sounds great, but...they're now babies. Babies whom she, at age fifteen, has to look after. Her final stories involved her being overwhelmed by this task and working with YJ less because of this new development in her personal life, then the series ended and she just...sort of mostly disappeared.

Sometimes this is responded to as the narrative of YJ 1998 itself choosing to kick her off the team and saddle her with raising her own parents. Which, if that were the case, is pretty harsh, especially for a character who chose heroism for herself and values it.

But I think there's some more nuance to this. Did Anita really quit the team to raise her parents?

After the babies come into her life, she is seen at her home with Cissie looking after them, but there is never any indication that she has formally left the team. In YJ 1998, whenever a team member leaves, there's always a formal declaration, an emphasis on the reactions of the others, and some far-reaching consequences. Cissie's leaving was the dramatic conclusion of an issue. Bart and Tim's exit was a whole prolonged and emotional conversation.

But Anita never announces to the team that she is leaving, nor does anyone react as if she had. She is merely more busy with her personal life now. The fact that no one is lamenting losing her (as they did with Cissie, Bart, and Tim) suggests that the general understanding is that her absence is believed to be a temporary situation.

She is present, as Empress, with the rest of the team at the start of the reality TV show that Young Justice is starring in, implying that she plans to be around for the show at least sometimes and still is considered part of the team.

When Cassie intends to call her on the phone one day during the filming, she refers to her as Empress, not Anita. If Anita had formally quit, no one would be using her code name anymore, as they stopped doing with Cissie.

Young Justice 1998 ends with her as Empress, leaving her parents to be babysat by Cissie and her mother while Anita herself joins the team to deal with Secret's rampage. This is not the behavior of someone who has quit the team. (Compare with the now-retired Cissie, who is featured in the issue but does not show up as Arrowette even to take part in restraining Secret)

In Titans/Young Justice: Graduation Day, the miniseries that transitioned between Young Justice 1998 and Teen Titans 2003 (the comic, not the TV show, obviously), she is still part of the team, unlike Greta and Ray, who were present at the end of Young Justice 1998 but absent henceforth. Anita is absent by the end of the miniseries because of an injury, but she never declares an intention to quit.

Young Justice is implied to have disbanded after this event, and Anita apparently chooses not to join the Titans along with Tim, Kon, Bart, and Cassie. She doesn't join the new team, but there's still no clear indication that she has retired.

She is referred to as an ex-member of Young Justice during her final appearance, a guest-starring role in Supergirl 2005 #33, but again, this is because that team disbanded, not that she specifically quit. There is no indication that she has retired in her role as Empress; she is very much acting as Empress in this story.

This appearance also confirms that she is not caring for her parents full-time; they have a nanny now. Anita is fifteen by the end of Young Justice 1998 and presumably still in school. She is referrred to as her parents' primary caregiver at that point, and she is overwhelmed by it. But apparently this must not have been the permanent situation. Perhaps Ishido Maad, Anita's godfather who is implied to be her guardian after her father's death, stepped up and did something about this teenage girl's having to take on such an adult responsibility alone. I wouldn't be surprised if Bonnie King-Jones, who has been protective of Anita in the past, had gotten on his case about it.

Did Anita really quit the team in-universe, or did the writers just stop bothering much with her after the end of Young Justice 1998? That's the actual issue. No one except her creators wanted to feature her, which is a shame, so she gradually all but disappeared from the narrative. It's the writers'/editorial's fault, not the narrative's.

If Young Justice 1998 had been allowed to continue, I think it's possible that Anita would have stayed on and that her parents might eventually have been aged up back to adulthood; a precedent is established for Agua Sin Gaaz's clones that they rapidly age (see Young Justice 1998 #48). Which would have introduced other concerns (would they rapidly age indefinitely, or would that taper off at some point?), but whatever the case, there could have been room in the narrative for something to happen that would allow Anita to keep her family and her career as a hero, both of which mean so much to her.

But that didn't get to happen, and she's been left in limbo since the late 2000s.

[redvexillum]

Y/N: What’s for dinner, Alastor?

Alastor: It’s a surprise, but I can certainly give you a hint.

Y/N: Okay! I do love guessing games!

Alastor: It’s quite chili out here! I guess you could say things are cooling down!

Y/N: So it’s...chili?

Alastor: Where did you hear that? Better chill-i out before the rumors get out of hand!

Y/N: So...it’s not...chili?

Alastor: No need to complicate matters when you can just keep it chill-i.

Y/N: ...Please stop with the chili puns.

Alastor: [Tutting while shaking his head] Don’t be so chili, my dear.

Y/N: ...

Alastor: Woooow! This situation got chili real fast!

Y/N: Ugh.

Alastor: Someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed because you are quite chili today!

Y/N: Please stop.

Alastor: Life’s too short to be mild, so I encourage you to try and be a little chill-i! Haha!

For the rest of the day, Alastor proceeds to somehow work the word "chili" into all of his conversations with you.

-----At Dinner Time-----

Y/N: IT’S JAMBALAYA?

This is dedicated to @jurijyuu for killing me with her puns 🤣❤

Follow Vexi's Alastor Being a Lil Shit for all the latest updates!

[rohirric-hunter]

I don't know if I agree that escalation is important. Another series that did this well is the Redwall series by Brian Jacques. The first book written in the series had a protagonist, Matthias. A later book focused on his son, Mattimeo. The stakes in Mattimeo's book are, if we're quite honest, noticeably lower than in Matthias'. There are still stakes -- one of the villains kidnaps Mattimeo and a bunch of other children and another one threatens their home while they are away from it, but neither villain is as threatening as the main villain of Matthias' story, and both of their evil plots are fairly localized. If they both got away with it then far fewer people would be negatively affected than in the first book.

In fact, both villains are villains that Matthias, as the hero of the first book, would easily have been able to deal with if he had just happened to be in the right place at the right time, but he's not. Matthias' failing as a parent isn't that he is bad at it. It's that his greatest strengths are also his greatest weaknesses. He's a very kind character, and this results in him letting Mattimeo get away with far more than he should, and one instance of him choosing to be kind rather than cautious kicks off the plot and all the ensuing conflicts. (Note that this is not presented as the wrong choice, per se, just an example of how unfortunately bad people can often use people's good qualities against them.)

Matthias then spends the entire book being restrained from being involved directly in either plot (which, again, he would have sorted in about ten minutes most likely) by time, distance, or cave-ins. Getting thrown into a bottomless pit. That sort of thing. There's almost a third plot where Matthias struggles against himself, TBH. His actions only indirectly and distantly affect the downfall of either villain. (This is thematically appropriate for the character, something something themes and motifs, but only tangentially related to this discussion.)

Some of the things that make this sequel succeed where others fail are these:

Matthias is present and active in the story. He is not put on a bus or killed early on; lesser writers use this tactic when they fear the new characters won't hold their own against the old ones. He is present and active; the story is simply not about him. He also passively influences the story through his past actions from the first book (kind of) and who he is as a person.

Matthias is a good parent, albeit not a perfect one. This works to the story's advantage, as Mattimeo ends up sharing many of his good traits that endeared readers to him in the first place by virtue of having been raised by him. Now they endear readers to the new protagonist as well.

Matthias has his own proper role in the story and a satisfying character arc. Matthias enjoyers still have something to be excited about in the story even though he is not the protagonist: here the writer neatly sidestepped the pitfall of alienating readers who are primarily reading the sequel in the hopes of new stuff about their faves.

Stakes really have little to do with it -- if anything the story is helped by the fact that the stakes are all deeply personal to the protagonists and not an Even Bigger Threat that will Destroy the World Even Harder than the first time.

In the case of Tolkien also doing this well, I think the most important takeaway is this: The parent figure must in some clear and important way influence and direct the child figure's story. You cannot write a sequel about a beloved character's kid where things just happen just because. There must be a clear line of narrative that makes sense between the parent and child's story.

But it takes a really talented writer to pull that off (especially if they weren't planning the sequel when writing the first book) and well a lot of people aren't really talented writers.

Generational spin-off media is like “okay, what would be the most in-character way for the previous show’s protagonist to comprehensively fail as a parent?”

[copperbadge]

Yesterday I did indeed end up choosing "lie in comfy bed" over painting, but that also meant I had a bit more energy for taking care of other business later in the day. And honestly, yesterday was kind of humid, so not the most ideal day for painting when I need it to dry quickly so the cats don't accidentally get paint on their fur.

But I filled some prescriptions, and got myself set up with a health screening, both of which I did in the evening although I don't like evening errands. It's been so long since I tried dating actively that I'd forgotten it's a thing you want to do, getting regular STI checks. I had hoped to do it walk-in but most clinics seemed super busy (I found myself thinking "maybe now that we're going into the be indoors months everyone's getting to fuckin?") so I've got an appointment for Saturday. (More mostly dating stuff under the cut.)

Things are moving along with Museum Date, if slowly, so it's just as well. And, wildly, I also have a breakfast date on Saturday morning with someone. This is something of an increase in my normal success rate of zero. Not sure what I'm doing differently but I'll take it.

I kind of suspect it might be that I tried different apps this time; the general consensus is that for liberal people my age, OKCupid or Tinder are best. They do offer more filter options in terms of who you're looking for and why, sometimes. But being permabanned on those two for not being a real person (yikes) forced me to look at some alternatives. And, while it's not the only app I'm on, it's fascinating to me that I've seen a lot more people I'd actually date on eHarmony.

I KNOW. It used to be that was a very white, conservative, Christian space, but it appears now that if you're above forty, still pretty lefty, and (crucially) have your shit together, it's a strong option. The "edgy mess" to "articulately self-confident" ratio is very different there to hipper apps, and while there's nothing wrong with not quite having your shit together in your forties, the number of people who seem to be deliberate and proud about not having done any work on themselves drops sharply. Possibly too because there's really not much you can do on that one without paying, and paying indicates a level of both commitment to realness and financial stability.

Plus, cougars. I'm not immune. I don't have much interest in anyone younger than about forty, but I don't mind an age gap above it.

In any case both I and the other people I see on the apps I've drifted towards seem to know more who we are and what we want so maybe it's just maturity, I don't know. I see less "game" stuff like car selfies to prove you have a car and more "pictures with kids because you should be aware I have some".

Still, I'm not gonna lie, getting to know two whole entire new people in one month is kind of stressful. I wouldn't call myself committed to monogamy and I don't mind being involved with poly folk as long as it's all aboveboard, but having multiple regular partners sounds frankly exhausting. You guys have fun, imma take a nap.

[1920sladydectective]

Hey i saw requests and had to ask, ambessa x reader for a wounded reader. I mean like a well executed plan goes to shit and Reade gets hurt much to ambessa's suprise. Passed and frustrated, ambessa traces readers old scars and stews on the new ones.

Hello my lovely! Thank you for your request! Very awesome and fun idea, I hope you like what I’ve done with it 🫶🫶🫶

I’m always happy to take them, especially with Ambessa if anyone is wondering! I shall try to get to them all.

This may not be quite what you wanted, I wrote it at half three in the morning and it’s a tad sillier than I’d intended. I’ll probably rewrite/add to it, but here it is for now!

Some mentions of blood etc - reader is hurt after all ❤️

Hurt Reader x Ambessa Drabble -

It was a shock, the warm slice sinking through your abdomen as a tall knight appeared.

This plan had been ridiculously simple and after ten years working under and loving Ambessa Medarda, you were notoriously difficult to surprise.

That being said, you were currently bleeding out as you stumbled away with the stupid bastard’s blood covering your front. You couldn’t let him live, but you did hope you didn’t die in the process.

Nearing the Noxian camp, you allowed yourself to cry out, spluttering slightly as everything blended into one.

Ambessa was discussing land division with Rictus, eagerly awaiting your return so you could retire to bed and then finally leave this back water hellhole.

Cries and clamouring had her dashing from her tent. You were there, unconscious, dragged along by shaking rookies.

The physician was already running to you, a loyal and efficient member of Ambessa’s staff, had it been anyone else her worries would have ended there.

She could tell all the blood was not yours, but it did nothing to dissuade the bile in her throat. This was impossible. This couldn’t be right. Part of her, foolish and soon to be carved out, had mistaken you for invincible. Despite the war wounds you wore as proudly as she wore her own, you were faster than her, always less risky. You were her sly fox, and the stab of fear she felt at you being caught made her snarl.

Hours seemed to drain into nothingness, her large hand stroking your serene face, muttering your favourite pet names and telling you stories. You had always hated the silence of rest, a feeling that only dissuaded with Ambessa. Her feelings were a muddle of thick, pulsing anger and desperation. Her fingers traced against the most faded of your marks, a melancholy filling her. Your story was mapped here, your journey with her visible in each gash and cut. It had seemed beautiful to her before. It still was, but as the cuts grew newer and fewer an uncharacteristic reservation filled her.

You were too precious to lose, and this had been your worst brush with death. The reason was inexcusably stupid, as Rictus had found out. A knight leaving his rotation slightly late because he was chatting up some maid, meant you’d been caught mere seconds before you would have fled. Ambessa felt hypocritical wanting to suddenly bundle you in furs and lock you in your chambers, but as she traced the crimson bandage on your midriff the plan seemed more and more plausible.

It took two days for you to wake and she never left your side. Murmuring all the while, her voice growing hoarse, Ambessa brushed your hair and ensured you stayed warm. The physician had said you would be fine and that she could benefit from some rest herself. Ambessa had nearly killed her, for some reason.

That, it seems, was what woke you.

“Do stop being stupid,” Your drug addled lips slurred, glassy eyes looking between the physician and your imposing wife, “She’s right, you look like shit,”

“Hello, Dear,” She muttered, dropping her blade and kneeling at your side.

“That was a tricky one, eh? What happened was-”

She let out a relieved sigh, kissing you tenderly on the lips, “We are not debriefing right now you fucking idiot,”

It took five months, eight hours of continual sex and a trip from Mel, but Ambessa finally seemed to mellow at the idea of you returning to her side in combat.

In the end you think it was your constant gasping and fawning at her own scars that did it.

Overreacting to your lover’s aged scars as if they were fresh was irritating apparently…

It was nice to know you were loved

[tavolgisvist]

Paul about the breakup of The Beatles in The Lyrics, 2021

The four of us just knew how to fall in with each other and play, and that was our real strength. That made it all the more sorrowful to think that our breaking up was almost inevitable. So there’s a wistful aspect to ‘Get Back’. The idea that you should get back to your roots, that The Beatles should get back to how we were in Liverpool. And the roots are embodied in the style of the song, which is straight-up rock and roll. Because that was definitely what I thought we should do when we broke up – that we should ‘get back to where we once belonged’ and become a little band again. We should just play and do the occasional little gig. The others laughed at that – quite understandably – because by then it was not really a practical solution. John had just met Yoko, and he clearly needed to escape to a new place, whereas I was saying we should escape to an old place. Reviving the old Beatles just wasn’t on the cards. It was too late to be recommending that we not forget who we were and where we once were from. If my dream at the time really was to get back to where we once belonged, John’s dream was to go beyond where we once belonged, to go somewhere we didn’t yet belong. I’ve already mentioned how in September 1969 we were in a meeting and talking about future plans, and John said, ‘Well, I’m not doing it. I’m leaving. Bye.’ In the ensuing moments, he was giggling and saying how this felt really thrilling, like telling someone you’re going to divorce them and then laughing. At the time, obviously, that was wildly hurtful. Talk about a knockout blow. You’re lying on the canvas, and he’s giggling and telling you how good it feels to have just knocked you out. It took a while, but I suppose I eventually got with the programme. This was my best mate from my youth, the collaborator with whom I’d done some of the best work of the twentieth century (he said, modestly). If he fell in love with this woman, what did that have to do with me? Not only did I have to let him do it, but I had to admire him for doing it. That was the position I eventually reached. There was nothing else I could do but be cool with it.

(Paul McCartney about Get Back (1969), The Lyrics, 2021)

That was coupled with the business problems at Apple Records, which really were horrible. The business meetings were just soul-destroying. We’d sit around in an office, and it was a place you just didn’t want to be, with people you didn’t want to be with. There’s a great picture that Linda took of Allen Klein, in which he’s got a hammer like Maxwell’s silver hammer. It’s very symbolic. And that’s why we have the little nod and a wink in the middle section to ‘You Never Give Me Your Money’, in the lines ‘I never give you my pillow / I only send you my invitations’. That whole period weighed on me to such an extent that I even began to think it was all tied in with the idea of original sin. Even though my mum had christened me as a Catholic, we weren’t brought up Catholic, so I didn’t buy into the concept of original sin on a day-to-day basis. It’s really very depressing to think that you were born a loser.

(Paul McCartney about Carry That Weight (1969), The Lyrics, 2021)

The Beatles stuff all got too heavy, and 'heavy' at that time had a very particular meaning for me. It meant more than oppressive. It meant having to go into meetings and sit in the boardroom with all the other Beatles and with the accountants and with this guy Allen Klein. He was a New York spiv who had come over to London and talked to The Rolling Stones and persuaded them he was the man for them. Prior to that, he had persuaded Sam Cooke he was the man for him. I smelled a rat but the other chaps didn’t, so we had a fight over it and I got voted down. I was trying to be Mr Rational and Mr Sensible, and it all went haywire. It was early 1969, and The Beatles were already beginning to break up. John had said he was leaving, and Allen Klein told us not to tell anyone, as he was in the middle of doing deals with Capitol Records. So, for a few months we had to keep mum. We were living a lie, knowing that John had left the group. Allen Klein and Dick James, who sold our publishing in Northern Songs without giving us a chance to buy the company, were both hanging around in the background of this song. All the people who had screwed us or were still trying to screw us. It’s fascinating how directly we acknowledged this in the song. We’d cottoned on to them, and they must have cottoned on to the fact that we’d cottoned on. We couldn’t have been more direct about it. ...

Contracts were written on funny paper. Lying behind the song is the idea of the contract as a relationship between two people. The negotiations are at once business negotiations and romantic negotiations; I’m thinking of the lines ‘And in the middle of negotiations / You break down’. The breakdown in negotiations is also a kind of nervous breakdown. The problem was that, by this stage, everything was up for negotiation, and miscommunication was the order of the day. We weren’t really writing together anymore. Each person was bringing in little bits of this and little bits of that. And we all knew that phase of our lives, of being The Beatles, was coming to an end. We were working towards an album, knowing it was probably going to be our final fling. Though Let It Be was released later, Abbey Road was indeed the last album we recorded in the studio. There was an upside, however. I’d got married to Linda, and our relationship offered some respite from the dreary infighting and the financial stuff. The lines ‘One sweet dream / Pick up the bags and get in the limousine’ were a reference to how Linda and I were still able to disappear for a weekend in the country. That saved me.

(Paul McCartney about You Never Give Me Your Money (1969), The Lyrics, 2021)

This was just after The Beatles broke up, and I was trying to establish myself as a solo artist with a new repertoire. If it was going to work like the Beatles repertoire had worked, I had to have a hit. One in two songs had to be a hit. So, this was a conscious effort to write a hit, and Phil was very helpful. We knew that if we had a hit, it would cement our relationship and we would keep working together, which we did with the RAM album. It would prove that we were both good – he as a producer and I as a singer songwriter. Releasing my first solo song after the breakup felt like a big moment. Thrilling, though tinged with sadness. It also felt like I had something to prove, and that kind of challenge is always exciting. The song went to number two in the UK singles chart and number five in the US Billboard Hot 100, so it did pretty well. Of course, this was still a time when there was a bit of tension between John and me, and this sometimes filtered into our songwriting. John made fun of this song in one of his own, ‘How Do You Sleep?’The only thing you done was yesterday And since you’ve gone you’re just another day One of his little piss takes.

(Paul McCartney about Another Day (1969/1971), The Lyrics, 2021)

This song was written a year or so after The Beatles breakup, at a time when John was firing missiles at me with his songs, and one or two of them were quite cruel. I don’t know what he hoped to gain, other than punching me in the face. The whole thing really annoyed me. I decided to turn my missiles on him too, but I’m not really that kind of a writer, so it was quite veiled. It was the 1970s equivalent of what we might today call a ‘diss track’. Songs like this, where you’re calling someone out on their behaviour, are quite commonplace now, but back then it was a fairly new ‘genre’. The idea of too many people ‘preaching practices’ was definitely aimed at John telling everyone what they ought to do – telling me, for instance, that I ought to go into business with Allen Klein. I just got fed up with being told what to do, so I wrote this song. ‘You took your lucky break and broke it in two’ was me saying basically, ‘You’ve made this break, so good luck with it.’ But it was pretty mild. I didn’t really come out with any savagery, and it’s actually a fairly upbeat song; it doesn’t really sound that vitriolic. If you didn’t know the story, I don’t know that you’d be able to guess at the anger behind its writing. It was all a bit weird and a bit nasty, and I was basically saying, ‘Let’s be sensible. We had a lot going for us in The Beatles, and what actually split us up is the business stuff, and that’s pretty pathetic really, so let’s try and be peaceful. Let’s maybe give peace a chance.’ The first verse and the chorus have pretty much all the anger I could muster, and when I did the vocal on the second line, ‘Too many reaching for a piece of cake’, I remember singing it as ‘Piss off cake’, which you can hear if you really listen to it. Again, I was getting back at John, but my heart wasn’t really in it. This is me saying, ‘Too many people are sharing the party line. Too many people are grabbing for a slice of the cake, a piece of the pie.’ The ‘sleep in late’ thing – whether that was accurate, whether John and Yoko actually slept in late or not, I’m not sure (although John often was a late riser when I would drive out to Weybridge so that we could write together). They were all references to people thinking that their own truth was the only truth, which was certainly what was coming from John. The thing is, so much of what they held to be truth was crap. War is over? Well no, it isn’t. But I get what you’re saying: war is over if you want it to be. So, if enough people want war to be over, it’ll be over. I’m not sure that’s entirely true, but it’s a great sentiment; it’s a nice thing to think and to say.

I’d been able to accept Yoko in the studio, sitting on a blanket in front of my amp. I’d worked hard to come to terms with that. But then when we broke up and everyone was now flailing around, John turned nasty. I don’t really understand why. Maybe because we grew up in Liverpool, where it was always good to get in the first punch of a fight. The whole story in a nutshell is that we were having a meeting in 1969, and John showed up and said he’d met this guy Allen Klein, who had promised Yoko an exhibition in Syracuse, and then matter-of-factly John told us he was leaving the band. That’s basically how it happened. It was three to one because the other two went with John, so it was looking like Allen Klein was going to own our entire Beatles empire. I was not too keen on that idea. John actually had Allen Klein and Yoko in the room, suggesting lyrics during writing sessions. In his song ‘How Do You Sleep?’ the line ‘The only thing you done was yesterday’ was apparently Allen Klein’s suggestion, and John said, ‘Hey, great. Put that in.’ I can see the laughs they had doing it, and I had to work very hard not to take it too seriously, but at the back of my mind I was thinking, ‘Wait a minute, All I ever did was “Yesterday”? I suppose that’s a funny pun, but all I ever did was “Yesterday”, “Let It Be”, “The Long and Winding Road”, “Eleanor Rigby”, “Lady Madonna”, . . . – fuck you, John.’ I had to fight them for my bit of The Beatles and, in fact, for their bit of The Beatles, which many years later they realised and almost thanked me for. Nowadays people get it, but at the time I think the others felt they were the ones who were victims, who were being hurt by my actions. Allen Klein already had a history with The Rolling Stones. I just thought, ‘Oy oy oy, no, this guy’s got such a bad reputation.’ And good old John says, ‘Oh, if he’s that badly talked about, he can’t be all bad.’ John had this kind of distorted thinking, which was amusing sometimes. But not when someone was going to take everything that John and George and Ringo and I owned and had worked really hard to get.

So, I stood up as the sensible one and said, ‘This is not good.’ Klein wanted twenty per cent, and I said, ‘Tell him he can have ten, if you have to go with him.’ ‘Oh no, no, no,’ they came back. ‘No, he wants twenty.’ It seemed to me they were just fucking out of it and making no attempt to do anything sensible. A lot of hurt went down during that period in the early 1970s – them feeling hurt, me feeling hurt – but John being John, he was the one who would write a hurtful song. That was his bag.

(Paul McCartney about Too Many People (1971), The Lyrics, 2021)

Towards the end of 1969, John had quite gleefully told us it was over. There were a few of us in the Apple boardroom at the time. I think George was away visiting family, but Ringo and I were at the meeting, and John was saying no to every suggestion. I thought we should go back to playing smaller gigs again, but the answer came back: ‘No’. Eventually John said, ‘Oh, I’ve been wanting to tell you this, but I’m leaving The Beatles.’ We were all shocked. Relations had been strained, but we sat there saying, ‘What? Why? Why? Why?’ It was like a divorce, and he had just had a divorce from Cynthia the year before. I can remember him saying, ‘Oh, this is quite exciting.’ That was very John, and I had admired this kind of contrarian behaviour about him since we were kids, when I first met him.

He really was a bit loony, in the nicest possible way. But whilst all of us could see what he meant, it was not quite so exciting for those left on the other side.

(Paul McCartney about Dear Friend (1971), The Lyrics, 2021)

This is one of my favourite songs. It's a ballad with a brass section, but it’s always felt Victorian in style to me. It’s very heartfelt. ‘A love so warm and beautiful / Stands when time itself is falling’. I like that idea, instead of just saying, ‘It will go on forever.’ I got a good feeling writing this song, and listening to it now, I still do. ‘Love, faith and hope are beautiful’. The brass solo is lovely for me because it harks back to the brass bands that were so common when I was a kid; there would often be brass bands in the park or in the streets. My dad played trumpet, as I never fail to mention, and he had his own little band – Jim Mac’s Jazz Band. The first instrument he bought me was a trumpet, and he taught me the scale of C which, when you go on the piano, becomes B-flat. It’s all very complicated. That’s why we didn’t even bother learning music. I realised that I wanted to swap the trumpet for a guitar, so I asked his permission, and he said, ‘Yes, okay.’ ‘Warm and Beautiful’ was written well after the demise of The Beatles, and at this time we knew sadness. I knew about delving into your mind to look for help and looking for some sort of solace in a song. I liked the idea of writing a song in a universal way that dispels the sadness. You write about the wonderful things you know in the world, and you try to write so that it will sing well and be well received by people dealing with grief something that inevitably surrounds all of us at one time or another. On a more personal level, the main inspiration for the song was Linda…

(Paul McCartney about Warm and Beautiful (1976), The Lyrics, 2021)

After The Beatles thing became so depressing, Linda and I decided we’d get out of London and start living full-time on our small holding in Scotland. It was quite a difficult period because of the band’s breakup but it allowed me to see another side of myself. First and foremost, we did everything for ourselves, and at this point it was Linda, Heather, Mary – who was still a baby – and me. If we needed something to eat, we’d go into town in the little Land Rover, come back up, and cook it. We didn’t have anyone helping us, except for one guy, the shepherd, because it was a little sheep farm. It was an experience that allowed me to be a man. <…> I’d grown up in Liverpool and gone on the road with The Beatles around the world and then around again, and now here I was on a farm in the middle of nowhere, and it was sensational. <…> This was the kind of thing I’d never done, ever, in my life, and it was amazingly liberating. I got to do all the things I think a lot of young people still dream about today – the famous ‘gap year’. I sense a lot of people want that freedom, escaping the rat race…

(Paul McCartney about When Winter Comes (1992), The Lyrics, 2021)

After the breakup of The Beatles, I wouldoften just sit around a lot. Sometimes I sat in the kitchen while the kids were playing. Maybe they were drawing. Maybe they were doing bits and pieces of homework. In this case, I came across the chords and I just felt optimistic, and I liked the idea of a song saying that help is coming and there’s a bright light on the horizon. I’ve got absolutely no evidence for this, but I like to believe it. It helps to lift my spirits, to move me forward, and hopefully it might help other people move forward too.

(Paul McCartney about Great Day (1972/1997), The Lyrics, 2021)

Wings, which we began in 1971, was in many ways an experiment to see whether there was life after The Beatles, to see whether that success could be followed. It was the result of asking myself, ‘Am I going to stop now?’ The Beatles were so wonderful and all-encompassing, so successful. Now, should I stop and look for something else to do? But I thought, ‘No. I like music too much, so whatever the something else is, it will be music.’ <…> But it wouldn’t be The Wings, like The Beatles. Just Wings. My problem after The Beatles was, who’s going to be as good as them? I thought, ‘We can’t be as good as The Beatles, but we can be something else.’ I knew that if I were to go ahead with this project I’d have to tough it out, but I had reserves of courage from being part of The Beatles when pennies were thrown at us at the village hall in Stroud, when we were still starting out. <…> Starting off a new band is always a lot of fun, but it’s a lot of hard work too; you have to establish yourself. Following The Beatles was one of the most difficult things for me, just trying to live up to those expectations. It was even more difficult for her [Linda]. I started to write songs for Wings from 1971 onwards, when we got started, and I tried to keep them away from The Beatles’ style. There were avenues I could go down that I wouldn’t have gone down with The Beatles, like bringing in the influence of reggae, which Linda and I got into in Jamaica. I fancied doing something crazy, and Wings allowed me a little bit more freedom. So, this is a love song in which Cupid’s arrow is referenced, but it’s a malevolent arrow. It’s possible I’d seen an illustration of Cupid and thought, ‘Cupid fires a bow, but I’ll switch it. It won’t be love; it will be the opposite.’ The character in the song has been wounded. He’s been cheated on. And it could’ve been a great relationship, could’ve been fantastic. As things stand, you couldn’t ‘have found a more down hero’, because there was nobody more down than me at that moment. So, get it together and bring your love. I have always had a soft spot for this song. There’s a nice horn riff in it, and it’s funky. Sometimes you write to get a sort of feeling rather than a perfectly ‘correct’ lyric. Sometimes the lyric can be secondary to the feeling. This one has as much, or more, to do with the feel of the song, the groove.

(Paul McCartney about Arrow Through Me (1979), The Lyrics, 2021)

John described ‘Coming Up’ somewhere as ‘a good piece of work’. He’d been lying around not doing much, and it sort of shocked him out of inertia. So it was nice to hear that it had struck a chord with him. At first, after the breakup of The Beatles, we had no contact, but there were various things we needed to talk about. Our relationship was a bit fraught sometimes because we were discussing business, and we would sometimes insult each other on the phone. But gradually we got past that, and if I was in New York I would ring up and say, ‘Do you fancy a cup of tea?’

(Paul McCartney about Coming Up (1979), The Lyrics, 2021)

It’s very possible that I’d been feeling down in London. I was back in the solace of family and Liverpool, and what with the Beatles troubles down south, I was likely thinking, ‘Wouldn’t it be nice to get home and have that comfortable feeling again?’ So, there may have been some of that in the background. I wouldn’t rule it out. When I wrote the song, I hadn’t been back home to Liverpool for a long time. But now I was at my dad’s house, which wasn’t quite home because it was a house I’d bought him when I got some money – a five-bedroomed mock Tudor place in Heswall near the River Dee. But it was still Liverpool, and it was ‘homeward’. So I added, ‘Once there was a way to get back homeward / Once there was a way to get back home’. The song turned out to be quite soulful, and I think that’s what attracted me to those lyrics in the first place – that notion of consoling a baby or reading kids a bedtime story. ‘Sleep, pretty darling, do not cry / And I will sing a lullaby’. Those are lines – or something with a similar sentiment – that most parents probably say to their children to soothe them when they’re growing up.

(Paul McCartney about Golden Slumbers (1969), The Lyrics, 2021)

It became a refuge of sorts, and it was nice to get away from London and everything – both the good and bad – that comes with the city. I would drive a Massey Ferguson 315 tractor and mow the hay, and I loved that because I’d been a nature fiend as a kid, and this freedom just gave me time to think – ‘Down to Junior's Farm where I want to lay low’. It was such a relief to get out of those business meetings with people in suits, who were so serious all the time, and to go off to Scotland and be able just to sit around in a T-shirt and corduroys. I was very much in that mindset when I wrote this song. The basic message is, let’s get out of here. You might say it’s my post-Beatles getting-out-of-town song.

(Paul McCartney about Junior's Farm (1974), The Lyrics, 2021)

The context in which the song was written was one of stress. It was a difficult time because we were heading towards the breakup of The Beatles. It was a period of change partly because John and Yoko had got together, and that had an effect on the dynamics of the group. Yoko was literally in the middle of the recording session, and that was challenging. But it was also something we had to deal with. Unless there was a really serious problem – unless one of us said, ‘I can’t sing with her there’ – we just had to let it be. We weren’t very confrontational, so we just bottled it up and got on with it. We were northern lads, and that was part of our culture. Grin and bear it. One interesting thing about ‘Let It Be’ that I was reminded of only recently is that, while I was studying English literature at the Liverpool Institute High School for Boys with my favourite teacher, Alan Durband, I read Hamlet. In those days you had to learn speeches by heart because you had to be able to carry them into the exam and quote them. There are a couple of lines from late in the play: O, I could tell you But let it be. – Horatio, I am dead I suspect those lines had subconsciously planted themselves in my memory. When I was writing ‘Let It Be’, I’d been doing too much of everything, was run ragged, and this was all taking its toll. The band, me we were all going through times of trouble, as the song goes, and there didn’t seem to be any way out of the mess. <…> Around the time we recorded ‘Let It Be’, I’d been pushing the band to go back out and play some club dates – to get back to basics and just bond again as a band, end the decade like we’d begun it, just playing for the love of it. We didn’t get to do that as The Beatles, but that idea did inform the direction of the Let It Be album. We didn’t want any studio trickery. It was supposed to be an honest, no-overdubbing album. It didn’t exactly end up that way, but that had been the plan.

(Paul McCartney about Let It Be (1969), The Lyrics, 2021)

This song is also an analogy for when something goes wrong out of the blue, as I was beginning to find happening around this time in our business dealings. Recording sessions were always good because no matter what our personal troubles were, no matter what was happening on the business front, the minute we sat down to make a song we were in good shape. Right until the end there was always a great joy in working together in the studio. So there we were, recording a song like ‘Maxwell’s Silver Hammer’ and knowing we would never have the opportunity to perform it. That possibility was over. It had been knocked on the head like one of Maxwell’s victims. Bang bang.

(Paul McCartney about Maxwell's Silver Hammer (1969), The Lyrics, 2021)

In much the way that Linda wanted to flee from New York society– the constrictions of Park Avenue and Scarsdale – I wanted to flee from what The Beatles had become. I was hoping to escape, she was hoping to escape. So we had this feeling that we had each pulled the other ‘out of time’. Though the song was written immediately after The Beatles’ breakup, it was somehow included under the Lennon-McCartney rubric, where it doesn’t belong. It was one of my first solo songs, but because of the deal, it got caught in the publishing net. That was very annoying. <…> …the central idea being that there’s so often a split between the inner and outer. <…> The elements of fear and loneliness are very much to the fore. ‘Maybe I’m afraid of the way I love you’ is itself a troubling idea. While it’s true that Linda is the person I’m addressing, it’s also true that I’m dealing in fiction. Starting with myself, the characters who appear in my songs are imagined. <…> In any event, this song isn’t the conventional way of presenting a relationship, or of some of the contradictions that can arise from being in love. <…> It shows the fragility of love.

(Paul McCartney about Maybe I’m Amazed (1970), The Lyrics, 2021)

John went to the exhibition, and I think that was when he and Yoko met, towards the end of 1966. He climbed up a ladder to see what she’d written on the ceiling, and got close enough to it to read it, and it said, ‘Yes.’ So he thought, ‘That’s a sign; this is it,’ and they fell madly in love. Once they were an item, there was the whole Beatles recording thing, where she would be there too. I think this started at the beginning of the ‘White Album’ sessions – so, around the end of spring in 1968. And at first we all – all of us except John – found it pretty intrusive, but we went along with it and worked around her. And eventually I came to the realisation that, look, if John loves her, we’ve just got to let it be, and we’ve got to support this relationship. That was basically my feeling. Then, a year or two later, The Beatles broke up, and it was a bad period, a real low point, where everyone was taking potshots at everyone. And I felt that John and Yoko were particularly good in the potshot department, saying things in interviews, or comments that would make their way to you. They would say not always very pleasant things, and looking back on it, I sort of think, ‘Why? You’re annoyed, so say something unpleasant?’ Over time, the situation eased off and my relationship with John got better, and I used to see him in New York or speak to him on the phone.

(Paul McCartney about Golden Earth Girl (1993), The Lyrics, 2021)

I’m not sure I thought of it at the time, even though this was well after The Beatles disbanded, but I can’t help connecting the oppressiveness associated with that phrase to the oppressiveness that coincided with the end of The Beatles. Not that The Beatles are over exactly. It’s not like we were some little band that never had another record; even though half of us have died, the phenomenon continues stronger than ever. Everything I do seems to be painted with ‘Beatle’…

(Paul McCartney about Put It There (1988), The Lyrics, 2021)

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