#laurie heaps

[behsjdjenbrbebdbe]

my angsty/sad girl playlists

are we still friends?: playlist based on the song of the same title by tyler, the creator. it's basically just a bunch of songs where you can yearn about a friend/lover.

beautiful, beautiful, beautiful boy: playlist based off the movie beautiful boy (2018)

distant echoes: melancholy-sounding r&b songs. meant to be listened to in a car while it's raining.

do you feel alone right now?: based off the movie, donnie darko (2001).

eps1.0_hellofriend.mov: based off the tv series 'mr. robot'. i highly recommend the show if you haven't seen it and you are mentally ill or are a film bro.

for 6 months i couldn't sleep: based off one of my favorite movies, fight club (1999). specifically based on the narrator of the story who suffers from insomnia bcs i too have insomnia and it's a very trippy experience.

hell is a teenaged girl: seems self-explanatory

i don't feel...well: based off the movie pearl (2022) bcs it changed me. this is mostly based off the monologue that pearl does near the end of the film.

i fell in love with a war: based off the song 'a pearl' by mitski. basically for the girls who feel like they've never been normal and their love language is violence/conflict

if you love me, keep it to yourself: based off the songs 'vacillator' by ethel cain and 'i love you' by billie eilish. it's a collection of songs that are based off of the feeling of not wanting people to love you because you know you will disappoint them eventually or it will be ruined in some way.

i just...i wished that you liked me: based off ladybird (2017). if you have mommy issues and are scared of growing up, this is the playlist for you.

i just want so badly to be rid of you: based off of the australian teen tv series, dance academy (2009), and the main relationship between christian and tara. if you don't watch the series, it's also just a sad breakup playlist.

i knew he wanted cool girl: based off of amy dunne from gone girl (2014). basically a playlist for when your fed up being a woman in a man-dominated society but in a barely suppressed female rage type of way.

i'm a liability: based off the song 'liability' by lorde. for those who feel like they are too much.

i'm fine: you're experiencing visceral all consuming rage but you're trying to do it in a pretty and aesthetic way

"i thought you'd love me, jo!": songs that i felt embodied laurie in little women (2019) when he said this line

it's getting bad again: pov: you have crippling depression and don't know what to do with yourself.

"it's never about me": fiona gallagher inspried playlist

it's not your fault: playlist for the girlies with heaps of childhood trauma

i used to be a brother: based off the movie iron claw (2023), another one of my favorite movies.

i was perfect: based off the movie black swan (2010), specifically nina and her crippling perfectionism.

"just love me and eat": playlist that my friend actually put together in slide show form for me and i just copied her. it's based off of the movie bones and all (2022).

loneliness has followed me my whole life: based off the movie taxi driver (1976), specifically the main character, travis bickle

may december: based off the film of the same title, but focused on joe and how he probably feels as a victim of grooming.

meet me in montauk: based off clementine and joel from the movie eternal sunshine of the spotless mind (2004) and their relationship.

mirrorball: based off of the song 'mirrorball' by taylor swift. In the song, she compares herself to a reflective disco ball that reflects all the personalities around her but when the light is off her she's just there. i relate deeply to this idea and this playlist has a bunch of songs that i feel work with this idea. but i've also added some songs onto it that reflect that feeling of anxiety that goes with being a mirrorball bcs you're scared that other people will eventually realize that you're just reflecting. and songs that show the jealousy that comes from looking at other people who seem to just be naturally magnetizing.

mitski.: all of my favorite mitski songs

mother and child have crazy beef: based off the movie mother (2020) but if you have mommy issues, this playlist is for you.

my year of rest and relaxation: based off the book of the same name because i read the book recently and unfortunately it did not convince me that i don't need a year of rest and relaxation myself.

narc crash: playlist based off the song 'brand new city' by mitski where she says "if i gave up on being pretty i wouldn't know how to be alive". a "narc crash" is basically when someone with npd's grandiose idea about themselves is shattered and they go into a deep depression bcs they've basically lost their sense of self. so the song 'brand new city' kind of reminded me of that experience and how it feels to be so hopelessly depressed but still desperately clinging on to a persona bcs you still want people to like you.

nick dunne: playlist from the perspective of nick dunne from gone girl (2014)

the night we met: songs that clay jensen from 13 reasons why would relate to or enjoy.

no alarms and no surprises: based on the song 'no surprises' by radiohead bcs that song reminds me of how much i wish life was just simple and quiet.

or maybe i was just a girl, interrupted: basically hell is a teenaged girl all over again but with slightly different songs and it's loosely based on daisy from girl, interrupted (1999)

overworked & underpaid: playlist for those who were born to slay but forced to work and study

please, hurry leave me (i can't breathe): all my personality disorder girlies RISE.

pray for the best, prepare for the worst: based on detective loki from the movie prisoners (2013)

radiohead!: all my favorite radiohead songs

the regularness of life is too hard for me: based off of christopher moltisanti from the sopranos.

romeo & juliet: songs that capture the tragedy of their romance

sedate me: a rainy day playlist but sad.

today is not a good day: based on ruben from the sound of metal (2019)

"you all want me to fail.": based on abigail from the series dance academy (2009). basically a good playlist for if you're a perfectionist (derogatory)

"you leave me alone now.": based off the film the hunt (2012), about a man who was falsely accused of a crime and how it ruined his life.

[feyofmay]

The Righthand Man

Laurie x March!Reader Summary: Assisting in making the costumes for Jo's upcoming show, Y/N, who is love with Laurie, is forced to spend time with Laurie, who is in love with Jo. Angst ensues. word count: 2.8k Warnings: Fluffffffffff, all platonic, angst, reader gets called "Ducky"

This story is a snippet from my longer Laurie x reader story, Foolish, Honest Love on ao3.

Also, I am taking requests for Laurie x reader drabbles/minifics in my asks!!! :)

STORY STARTS UNDER THE PAGE BREAK

A trickle of syrupy scarlet begins to pool and form a bubble on the tip of the young girl’s finger. However, the sight of blood does not squeeze even a squeal out of her. Rather, all she does is sigh and place the finger between her lips. Between her lips, a row of pins rest beside her finger like a line of spiked fences, a warning to wandering souls. With her free hand, she guides the loose fabric to curl around her waist. 

“I must be the prettiest. I am the princess,” her younger sister declares like true royalty as she remains still under the middle March’s touch. Humming in agreement, she pulls her finger from her lips and leads the needle down a familiar trail. Although the house is always a little bit of a mess, in the most recent days it has grown into a beast of its own. Pieces of fabric are strung about everywhere, and loose pages of noted and edited scripts cover the floor as a gray and white layer of snow in autumn. A sheen of dust and the stink of old paper and musty fabric smothers in the autumn air. Without a knock, a boy enters, carrying the autumn breeze on the edges of his footsteps. Lost in her work, the middle March doesn’t pay any mind to anything outside of the glimmer of her needle as she works to avoid the wrath of her younger sister. If the needle is to even brush against her skin, the younger March will inform the whole neighborhood of the atrocity her sister has committed. Adorning a heather gray wool skirt, of which some other sisters have surely worn in seasons past, her heather purple bolero pinches around her collar and floats over her white collar shirt and black bodice. 

“I’m sure you will-” She begins, speaking around the pins in her mouth.

“Ducky, how’s the costume coming along?”

“- be. Just don’t paint the fabric without asking me first again,” Ducky continues while their older sister speaks around her. Like a knight in battle, the eldest of the three forces through the chaos of their home.

“Jo, you better have removed the part where I have to kiss a toad!” the youngest of the present sisters yells out to Jo. Ducky places her palm against the youngest’s stomach as a way to calm her and tell her to refrain from moving.

“Amy, you have to stay still, or I’ll poke you,” Ducky reminds her before returning to sewing the draping robin blue fabric. All of their conversation overlaps and forms a symphony of dissonant harmonies.

“I’m nearly finished with Amy’s, and all I have of Meg’s is final fittings, she’s putting hers on right now -” Ducky begins as she begins looping the thread into itself, forming a knot. 

“Perfect, we’re just behind schedule!” Jo continues her own tangent while she stations herself besides Ducky and begins to digest Amy's appearance.

“- and then all I have left is to make your jacket, and figure out Laurie’s ensemble, and I’m unsure what you want for me, regarding ‘my part’ in the show, itself,” Ducky trails off as she picks up her scissors and frees her needle from the taut thread caught in the knot of Amy’s dress. A heap of  tulle the color of a robin’s egg and a mellow baby blue silk cascade from underneath her beaded white bodice like a waterfall. Hours and hours have been spent on beading the bodice, alone, and, with sweat, time, and a minimal amount of blood, the middle March has managed to piece together the costumes for Jo’s newest and best show. 

“You’re going to be the wise old witch who lives in the forest -” Jo starts to fall into her tangent as she waves her hands. In her right hand, the newest version of her script resides.

“I’m only acting because Marmee’s done getting involved in your shows,” Ducky confirms.

“- Well, yes, but that doesn’t make your role any less important,” Jo reminds her as Ducky rises to her feet and brushes off her skirt. Blood rushes into her legs and feeling finally slips back into her feet after sitting for hours on the rickety wooden stool. As the teen boy discards his jacket, Jo is alerted of his presence and her attention shoots over to him. Rushing over to him, her arms shoot out to greet him. 

“Teddy!” Jo shouts when she’s engulfed in a hug. The two prattle on in a quick back and forth of banter and quips, and Amy waddles off to the mirror so she can properly admire herself. Leaving Ducky all by her lonesome, she sets down the pins between her lips and straightens up her makeshift sewing station. As she collects the spools of thread that had attempted to escape the nest of odd bobbins and spools of an assortment of colors of thread, she can't prevent her eyes from glancing over at the teen boy who’s attempting to swallow Jo in a hug. While she’s too young to wade deeper into her own emotions, she’s perturbed by the small pest named Envy that nips at the walls of heart. She’s not mad, not angry at either her sister or the boy, but she wants to be hugged like that. She wants to be seen & touched with the same feeling of “I feel you, and, therefore, I know you”. For a brief moment, the stories of far fetched courtship and romance are a faint taste on the tip of her tongue, real and tangy. Seeing her younger sister and being old enough to swim in the depths of her own feelings, the eldest March strolls over as a wreath of wisdom hangs around her head. With a knowing gaze and sturdy smile, she bends down so her lips are the same height as Ducky’s ear.

“Do you think he’s handsome?” she whispers to her younger sister as her words bubble up into a giggle. Ducky’s head shoots around to look at her older sister. A similar shade of red to the wound on her finger soaks into her entire face. Her nails dig into her palms, and her chest shutters from the pounding of her heart.

“Shut it, Meg!” she mutters out while gathering the last bobbins and placing them back into the small heap of thread. Laughing over the embarrassment of a young lover, Meg presses a hand against Ducky’s shoulder before gliding over to assist in admiring Amy’s dress by the mirror.

“Ducky, what have you planned for the right hand man to the hero, the protagonist, of my tale?” Jo enthuses as she rushes over to the younger sister’s station. Scooping up a pile of concepts and measurements all messily scrawled across different sheets of paper in looping, unfocused handwriting, the middle March digs through the loose scraps of paper until pulling out several ideas all scribbled on with a stick of graphite and colored pencils. Jo leans over to peer at the drawn figures, and the teen boy mirrors her movements. Sketched onto the paper in coagulating shapes, a drawing of a man clad in a puffy nectarine orange jacket in gold trim and forest green waistcoat dawns the garments over a pair of orange slacks in a matching shade and white high collar shirt with a forest green and orange striped cravat. 

“Perhaps the costume will make up for the fact that you can’t act,” Jo quips out as the two gaze at the young girl’s sketches. Teddy whips his head around to glare at the elder sister as she begins to leap away. Never does Jo simply “walk”, rather, her spirits carry the heels of her weathered leather boots just an inch above the physical Earth. To Ducky, Jo is beyond what any human can promise to be. After all, no mere human of flesh and blood could survive carrying the weight of tenacity and creativity like her sister does. Jo flings her body around and contorts it like a hanging rag left to dry in the wind, and the taupe skirt of her dress wrings her as she flips around to face Teddy.

“You wound me so,” he replies with a filling smile. Jo’s hand flies up to smack Teddy’s forearm. 

“Good, make use of that anguish in scene fourteen,” Jo quickly snips back as she starts to float away with the spirit of genius, her true paramore, “Now, stand here and do whatever Ducky tells you to do without any complaint.”

“What if she stabs me?” Laurie whines while he finds his place where Amy had recently stood before him. 

“I don’t want to hear any of it! You most likely deserve it, anyways,” Jo declares before rushing away to join her two other sisters by the mirror. A squeal of delight leaves Amy’s lips as she scampers away, chasing a distant thought that rattles around in her head.

“I’ll paint my shoes to match!” Amy giggles as she rushes off, leaving the two other sisters to follow her in quick pursuit. With a small smile, Ducky attempts to silently apologize for her sisters’ behaviors.

“Never a dull moment, eh?” Teddy eases her with a knowing glance, and she shares the look while flipping to a blank page in her notepad. Grabbing her measuring tape from around her neck, the middle March brushes back a few strands of hair that had escaped from her makeshift updo, kept together only by a single piece of loose, pale pink ribbon. Lightly gripping his forearms, her fingers sink into the billowing fabric of his watery gray shirt. 

“I’ll need to take your measurements. If I touch you in any way that’s discomforting, let me know,” she explains to him as she guides his arms up to extend out like a child’s when they’re pretending to be an airplane. The tips of his fingers brush against the fading cream and pink flowers that orner the sage green background of the wallpaper that, over the past years, has been dented and scraped from calloused yet tender fingers of youth. Nodding in reply, he stands stalk still as she wraps the measuring tape around his arm before jotting down the measurements in her small notebook. 

“Jo told me that you're some sort of expert seamstress,” Laurie informs her, speaking to try and swallow the silence that the two of them are sinking in. As the tips of her fingers brush against his, a pursed smile tucks itself into her lips. 

“I’m nothing close to that, but I do sew,” Ducky corrects him while she slips the tape around his neck, continuing her work. 

“Is that your big dream? Jo will be a writer, Meg will act, Amy will paint and Beth plays, and you’ll sew?” he asks with a sense of genuine inquisitiveness, tilting his head back as she leans in to better see the faded numbers, leaving about a hand’s width of space between his face and hers. However, as she’s consumed by her work, she isn’t sent awry by the lack of distance between the two. Whispering the measurement to herself, she ushers back to her notepad and copies down the digits, pausing from the conversation to focus on her craft. 

“No, no, that’s Jo’s dream for me,” she admits while shuffling to loop the tape around his bust. 

“Well then, what will you be?” Laurie continues as he raises his hands above his head to allow Ducky to reach around him comfortably. She pauses for a moment, both engulfed in her work and unsure how to answer his question. Tendrils of sunlight begin poking through the window as the sky starts to fade to a rusty hue. 

“I’m not quite sure,” she begins as she turns to copy more digits before adjusting the tape to next measure his hips, “Far. Free, not depending on any man to live how I want to.” Listing off her floating aspirations, Teddy gazes down and watches her precise fingers whisper a secret against the rippling powder blue, silk fabric of his waistcoat.

“What about you? What’s your dream?” she swings the question back to him, and he’s slightly taken aback by her forwardness. Often entranced by Jo and her wild acclaims of the future, he’s yet to think about what it is that he wants. Pursing his lips, the boy considers several archived visions of an ideal future that he’s contemplated in the past. 

“Well, I want to marry a woman. I want to spend my days free from tutoring, content to do whatever I please whenever I’d please. Maybe I’d settle down and put my musical talents to some use, as they’re the only talents my grandfather thinks has worth,” Teddy admits, and, as he discusses his aspirations for his future, a dull ache washes over Ducky, and she’s faced with an answer that’s unfamiliar to her. When her sisters are faced with the question “what do you dream?” every single one of them has a secret truth that is inlaid in the very foundation of their mind. They dream of safety. Of a home that is good enough, and a husband that is kind enough. Of a life that is fulfilling enough. They dream of the brink of enough, of simply a little more than bearable. A man can dream of happiness, but a woman only hopes for enough. Only has Jo honestly strayed from this path, as even Amy, with age, begins to share the three other March’s mindset. Jo continues to strive for greatness, and Ducky can do nothing but admire her for it.

“I sincerely pray for a safe and speedy recovery to any woman who falls for your ‘charms’,” Ducky retorts, and, for a second, her own tone reminds her greatly of Meg. The eldest sister always spoke with a sense of grace and intellect that Ducky found surreal. How could one speak like a bubbling brook flows? For a moment, as the words dribble out from her lips, Ducky is filled with the same rush of ease that she often feels when Meg is teasing Jo. As if called on by a greater divinity, just as Ducky finishes her measurements, Jo and Meg rush back over, with Meg sporting a new, oily black mustache painted onto her face. 

“Teddy, come quickly,” Jo commands to her companion, snatching his arm and dragging him along before he has time to digest her words. There’s no goodbye or reply as he follows behind Jo like a puppy on her heel. As he’s hurried away, Ducky’s eyes linger on his stumbling frame as the timid smile from her lips falls. The middle March begins to curl into herself as the eldest ushers across the dining, over to her sister. Meg rests her cheek against the side of Ducky’s head as, with her embrace, she shields Ducky from the world’s eye. 

“Ducky, tell me plainly and you mustn't lie. Do you fancy him, Teddy?” she asks her younger sister, but both of them already know the answer without speaking. Closing her notepad, Ducky doesn’t even glance up at her sister as she presses her weight into her older sister’s frame. The younger March curls up into her sister’s embrace and folds herself into the young girl that used to hide in Meg’s nightgowns as shrieking thunderstorms raged through the night.

“It doesn’t matter how I feel. He’s already in love with Jo,” she mutters into her sister’s chest as she wallows and wades in her own misery. Of course he loves Jo, who couldn’t fall in love with Jo? When she’s basking in the light of her own flowing talent and erudition, everyone falls in love with her. Jo is everything every mother never wants her daughter to be, and, in that right, she is what every mother prays her daughter becomes. She has never changed and, yet, is constantly born anew with each day. Never a lady, but yet an adult, wise yet naive to the weight of the world, everybody is in love with Jo, and this love holds no romantic intention. Rather, it is a deep well of devotion to a person that fills a lover’s stomach and renders one completely whole. To love someone entirely is to find peace within yourself and be content with one’s nature when in the presence of the one you love. So, in this manner, Ducky is entirely in love with Jo.

“It matters a great deal to me how you feel,” her older sister reminds her while strands of Ducky’s hair begin to curl around and hug Meg’s finger, “I’ll always want to hear about your feelings, no matter how large or pointless they may seem.” Silently, the two of them bask in each other’s embrace, and, without a word, Ducky knows her older sister understands her emotions inside & out. In her arms, she feels protected from everything, come snow or hail. In her arms, she is safe to be a young, scared girl.

Please comment & repost, & check out the whole fic :)). If you want me to add u to a taglist, lmk, & please send any laurie x reader drabble/fic requests my way!! I'd love to hear y'alls ideas! Have a lovely rest of your day, friends! <3

[sourcreammachine]

BREAKING BAD / BETTER CALL SAUL UK FANCAST

Walter White: Hugh Dennis

Jesse Pinkman: Richard Ayoade

Skyler White: Sarah Millican

Hank Schrader: Bob Mortimer

Marie Schrader: Paul Whitehouse

Walter ‘Walt’ White Jr: David Tennant

James ‘Saul Goodman’ McGill: Lenny Henry

Kim Wexler: Gwendolyn Christie

Mike ‘Finger’ Ehrmantraut: Peter Capaldi

Gustavo Fring: Harry Hill

Charles ‘Chuck’ McGill: Sir Patrick Stewart

Howard Hamlin: Hugh Laurie

Tuco Salamanca: David Mitchell

Hector Salamanca: Matt Lucas

Lalo Salamanca: Mark Strong

Albuquerque, New Mexico: Sheffield, South Yorkshire

Brandon ‘Badger’ Mayhew: James Acaster

Skinny Pete: Josh Widdecombe

Ignacio ‘Nacho’ Varga: Mark Heap

Huell Babineaux: Brett Goldstein

Agent Gomez: Vic Reeves

Lydia: Mark Gatiss

Jane: Daniel Radcliffe

Todd: Rosie Jones

the random kid who Todd kills: James Corden

Holly White: Brian Blessed

[reciprocityfic]

champagne problems, chapter eight

title: champagne problems fandom: little women pairing: theodore laurence x amy march rating: m summary: amy accepts fred's proposal, and laurie comes home and marries jo. but instead of it being the end of something, it's just the start of something bigger.

(or, how laurie and amy find their way back to each other.)

chapter one: champagne problems   chapter two: right where you left me chapter three: it’s nice to have a friend chapter four: the end is here chapter five: moments that we stole (on begged and borrowed time) chapter six: this godforsaken mess chapter seven: love slipped beyond your reaches

author's note: i so, so apologize for this long break. thank you to everyone still reading after all this time. it means more to me than you will ever know, and inspired me not to give up on this story.

cracks of light

My Dearest Amy,

I’ve been dreaming of you.  In my mind, you are beautiful and joyous.  In my mind, you are eagerly waiting for my return.  And in my mind, you love me still, despite my absence and all my mistakes.

I miss you desperately.  Although my dreams of you are pleasant, they are no substitute for being by your side.  I understand why you haven’t written back, but it still pains me to not hear from you.  I hope you are well.  I hope you are happy, as you are in my dreams.

Know that I am working every day to secure our future together.  I hope to return soon, but there are a few more things that must fall into place before I can come home to you.  Know that I think of you every moment.  And know, above everything, that I love you.

Wait for me, my love, please.

Forever yours, Laurie

She jumps slightly as someone knocks on the door to her room.  Carefully, she folds the letter in her hands and goes over to her desk, opening the top right drawer and placing it on top of all the saved letters that came before it.  She stares at the heap for a moment, runs her hand over the top of it.  She can feel the indent of the pen strokes on the delicate paper.  She imagines him alone in a hotel room, writing by candlelight, pen gripped tightly in his fist as he put words down on the page.

Her heart aches.

I miss you desperately.

She misses him desperately, as well.  And she wants to write to him more than anything.  But she’d solemnly resolved to live with as little of him as possible in his absence; after all, it was something she would have to get used to, almost certainly.  She still can’t see a future for the two of them - not one together, at least.  Although Laurie has been insistent in his letters that he’s working toward a way for them, he hasn’t erased the doubt in her mind or the sinking feeling in her stomach.

She’ll have to live without him, and there was no time like the present to practice.  Which meant no writing back.  No sketching him.  No visits to his home - not even any visits to Mr. Laurence.  She even avoided talking about him as much as she could.

“Amy?  Are you there?”

She jumps again; this time, it’s at the sound of Marmee’s voice.  She walks to the door, opens it to find her mother standing there, a sweet smile on her face that almost distracts from the slight concern in her eyes.

“There you are.  You’ve been up here a while.  Is everything alright?”

“Yes,” she says simply.  She’s never told her mother that she comes up and locks herself in her room for sometimes hours reading Laurie’s letters, but she suspects Marmee knows anyway.  Her mother always seemed to know everything about her.  It would be bothersome if her mother was anyone other than Marmee .

“Good,” Marmee says, her gaze relaxing.  “You have a visitor, dear.”

She freezes, and feels all the blood rush from her face.  It can’t be…

Her mother reaches out quickly and takes her hand.

“It’s not him,” she assures her.  “I would tell you if it was.”

She lets out a shaky breath, and looks down at the floor, cursing the disappointment that floods through her.  She even feels tears begin to gather behind her eyes.  She doesn’t know how her dread regarding seeing Laurie again can exist alongside how much she misses him, but the two of them do exist, creating a war inside her and constantly tugging her heart in two different directions.

“Come,” Marmee beckons, turning towards the doorway.  “It’s not good to keep company waiting.”

She follows her mother down the stairs, idly trying to figure out who would be here to visit her specifically.  It’s always a family event when Meg comes, and Marmee has already confirmed it’s not Laurie.

Could it be Fred?  For a moment, her stomach fills with dread.  But then, she remembers that his response to her letter ending their engagement and calling off their wedding had only arrived two days ago, and it had been postmarked from Berlin.  It’s impossible that he could’ve made it here by now.  And she doubts Fred ever wants to see her again; his letter, though polite, was quite curt, to say the least.

Her brow furrows; she doesn’t know that many other people.  Not anymore.  In fact, she’s utterly confused when she walks into the front room with her mother, until she lays eyes on the person in a chair next to her father, chatting pleasantly.

“Mr. Laurence,” she says, and the old man looks up from his conversation.

“Amy, my dear,” he replies, smiling fondly at her.

Her face brightens, despite everything, as Mr. Laurence stands and walks over to her.  In the time during Beth’s illness and after her passing, the man had truly become like a grandfather to her and her sisters.  She’d missed him dearly, she realizes, as a few tears begin to gather in her eyes.

Before Mr. Laurence reaches her, though, his face becomes serious, and he asks Marmee and her father to give the two of them a moment together.  Anxiety creeps up her spine as her parents leave the room.  Surely this has something to do with - 

“I have news from Laurie,” Mr. Laurence tells her, interrupting but confirming her thoughts.  Dread must show on her face, because the man quickly reaches out and takes her hand.

“It’s nothing bad, I assure you,” he says, leading her to the sofa.  As they sit, Mr. Laurence sighs.  “But Laurie said to be careful, because he didn’t know how you would react.”

The old man squeezes her hand as her stomach churns.  She turns her face away and stares at the floor, not wanting him to see her reaction to the news, whatever it may be.

“He’s coming home,” Mr. Laurence murmurs.

Her hand - still grasped in his - tightens reflexively, and she squeezes her eyes shut.  She’s silent for a few moments, waiting to speak until she’s sure her voice won’t tremble.

“When?” she finally breathes.

“His train arrives tomorrow morning.”

She doesn’t cry, surprising herself.  Instead, something quite like shock runs through her veins and stimies her emotions.  The idea that Laurie will be in Concord less than twenty-four hours from now seems almost unfeasible to her.  She’d spent so much time trying to avoid and forget him - even the concept of him.  She’d honestly wondered if she would ever see him again, despite what he wrote in his letters.  And now that he’s coming back, she isn’t sure what to feel.

“Are you alright, my dear?” Mr. Laurence asks, after long moments of quiet.

She feels numb.  Like so many different emotions are pulling on her at the same time that they’ve overloaded her brain and heart and broken her.

“Yes,” she decides, “I’m alright.  Did he - do you know what he’s been up to all this time?”

“I needed him for a week in Boston about a month ago,” he tells her.  “But other than that, I haven’t a clue.”

She nods, and then pulls her hand away from the old man’s, wrapping both of her arms around herself.  She feels strange.  Maybe stranger than she’s ever felt.

“I’m so sorry, Mr. Laurence,” she says, “but I’m afraid I need to excuse myself.”

“Of course,” he says, without hesitation, and stands up as she does.  “It was nice seeing you again, dear.”

She smiles at him politely, and then starts towards the stairs.  Before she exits the room, though, she hears Mr. Laurence’s voice echo from behind her.

“I do sincerely hope everything works out for you, Amy.”

She stops, and looks over her shoulder.  The old man gazes after her, his eyes shining with sincerity.  Before she realizes what she’s doing, she walks quickly towards him and envelopes him in a hug.

“Thank you,” she murmurs, then squeezes her eyelids shut again.  She can feel inklings of the pressure behind her eyes from tears, but they do not fall.

After a moment, she steps back from him.  She almost feels embarrassed, but when she looks up, Mr. Laurence is smiling down at her.  She nods at him again, and then starts back towards the stairs.

When she’s finally in her room and has closed the door behind her, she exhales loudly.  She still feels muddled and unsteady, and anxious energy starts to bubble up inside her stomach.  She paces back and forth in the small room for about a minute before pulling the chair out and sitting down at the desk.  She sighs, and then reaches into the bottom right drawer and pulls out a sketchpad and pencil.

When she was a child and needed to calm down after a quarrel with one of her sisters, she’d come up to her room to draw.  Art has always soothed her, and she hopes it will soothe her now.

She turns her head to the right to look out the window, but sees nothing that captures her interest.  She sighs in frustration, and then turns back to the blank paper in front of her.  Slowly, she picks up her pencil, tapping it against the edge of the desk twice before putting it to the page.

She writes down his name. Laurie . She drops her pencil, and traces over her small, neat penmanship, lets her fingertip linger over the letters.  Suddenly, she picks her pencil back up, writes his name three times more.

Laurie

Laurie

Laurie

She decides to write him, that it will be easier to slip a letter under the front door of the Laurence mansion this evening instead of facing him in person tomorrow.  But she gives up only a moment later; she’s never been good with words, not like Jo.  And, in any case, she can’t get her thoughts straight.  The only word that comes to mind is his name.

Laurie.

Laurie, who’d written to her unfailingly time and time again even though she hadn’t written him a single thing in response.  Laurie, who'd said goodbye to her all those months ago, promising he’d find a way for them.  Laurie, who’d had the courage to confess for the both of them.  Laurie, who’d kissed her and held her and loved her like she was the most precious thing in the world.  Laurie in the rain.  Laurie in his study that first day, drunk and sorrowful.

Laurie, who’d stayed too long at his own wedding just to dance with her.

Laurie in Europe.  Laurie, who’d proposed marriage to her.  Laurie, who’d had the habit of gazing and smiling at her for moments too long.  Laurie, who’d visited her day after day after day in France during Fred’s long absences, seemingly trying to make up for his bad behavior by spending time with her.  Laurie in her studio at Aunt March’s.  Laurie, who’d unbuttoned her apron and called her beautiful and asked that she make her last portrait one of him.  Laurie, who’d forgotten about her and embarrassed her in front of everyone she thought mattered at the time.

Laurie, who’d been there to catch her when she flung herself into his arms on that street in Paris.

Laurie during her childhood.  Laurie, who’d bitterly left Concord and Jo behind.  Laurie, who’d helped her make flower bouquets the day before Meg’s wedding.  Laurie, who’d written her weekly at Aunt March’s house while Beth was sick, updating her on her sister’s condition and the family as a whole.  Laurie, who’d run alongside her on the beach during her first trip to the ocean.  Laurie, who’d given her a key to their mailbox in the forest that had a green ribbon because he said it matched her eyes.  Laurie, who’d saved her that day at the lake, carrying her home and whispering that she would be alright into the cold air.  Laurie, who’d bandaged her hand with the utmost care.  Laurie, who’d noticed her outside his window.  Laurie, who’d looked at her curiously after she introduced herself to him that first night, her eyes shining, and smiled.

Laurie, who, even though his attention had been absorbed by Jo, had taken the time to whisper to her, “Hello.”

Laurie.

“Laurie,” she whispers into the air, and the corners of her lips turn up.

***

She’s restless the next morning.  She wakes up before the sun rises and can’t fall back to sleep; every time she closes her eyes, Laurie’s face appears behind her lids.  So she lies on her back and stares at the ceiling until she hears the rest of the house stir.

Even Marmee, Father, and Hannah can’t calm her, though.  As they sit at the table, she can’t help but glance at the front door every minute, almost as if she can hear the beginnings of the knock she’s expecting.  She’s barely picking at a piece of bread during breakfast when she registers her mother’s voice.

“Meg should be coming today, with the twins and John.”

“It is Wednesday already?” her father answers.  “The week seems to be flying by.”

“Oh!” Hannah exclaims gently.  “I promised Daisy last week that we’d bake something together the next time she visited.  I’ll have to look at what we have around.”

“I’m going to go for a walk,” she says suddenly, tossing down her piece of bread and standing up abruptly.  “I’m not feeling well, and I think some fresh air might help.”

It’s not far from the truth.  She does feel unwell.  She feels like the walls are closing in on her, and her family’s conventional conversation grates at her brain and patience.

Her family knows better than to protest, and as they say their goodbyes, Marmee gives her a sympathetic, knowing, sad smile that makes her heart clench.  Before she leaves, she runs upstairs and grabs her sketchpad and pencil.

He’s been gone so long that it’s already spring again, and it’s warm enough outside today. The sun is shining, but there's still a certain chill in the air when the wind blows that harkens back to winter.  She’s forgotten her coat, but decides against going back for it.  Instead, she wraps her arms around herself tightly.

She doesn’t know where to go at first, but her feet lead her, and she follows them without question today.  She ends up on that beautiful hill where he’d proposed to Jo.  Where he’d confessed his love for her and kissed her for the first time.

She sits down on the sloping ground, her art supplies still clenched in her fist.  She brings them into her lap, puts graphite to paper.   She intends to draw the landscape in front of her, and she starts without thinking.  She’s a few minutes into her work when she realizes that, instead of trees and earth, she’s drawn the outlines of his face.

She stares down at the paper, pausing for a moment, and then goes back to work, purposefully drawing him this time.  The way he looked that day, right before he pressed his lips to hers.

And if you don’t leave now, I might kiss you .

She hadn’t left.  She’d stayed.  And he’d kissed her.

She doesn’t know how long she sits there drawing him - his windswept curls, red and pouted lips, eyes dark and purposeful - but she drops her pencil into the grass when she’s done, and flexes her cramping hand; she’d never been able to teach herself to be ambidextrous, as Jo had.  

She leans back slightly and examines her work, and can’t help but press her lips together in a sad, incredulous grin.  She’d tried so hard to forget him - she’d spent months trying to forget him - and had failed miserably, it seems.  Although she hasn’t seen him for months, she’s captured his details with near perfect precision.  She lifts her hand and runs her fingers over the pencil markings.

“I thought you’d given up on art, Raphaela.”

The sound of his voice startles her, and she nearly jumps off the ground before she registers that it’s him.  It’s Laurie.

She’d been wondering what she would do when she was in his presence again for his entire absence.  Would she scream, or cry?  Would she push him away?  Would she run to him?  Would she still love him?

As it stands, she picks up her pencil from the ground, and speaks without turning to him.

“How long have you been standing there?”

“Only a minute or so,” he tells her.  “You didn’t answer my question.”

“It wasn’t a question, so I have no obligation to comment on it,” she retorts calmly.

“Alright, Amy,” he relents.

Amy .  She closes her eyes, and lets the sound of him saying her name permeate her eardrums again.  She can hear the smile in his voice, as well.

She hears the rustling of footsteps, and then he’s sitting down next to her.  He’s close, but doesn’t touch her.  Instead, he pulls his knees up to his chest, and drapes his arms across them.

“You didn’t answer my letters, either,” he points out, after a beat of silence.  “I’ve learned to expect silence from you.  Quite a change from how it was when we were growing up.”

She’s about to defend herself, but then she sees the grin on his face, out of the corner of her eye - she still hasn’t looked at him fully, yet - and realizes he’s teasing her.

“Stop it, Theodore,” she huffs.

“Only for you, Amy Curtis March.”

She can feel his gaze on her.  He’s trying to make her smile, and she bites her bottom lip to hold it back.

Silence falls over them, and she’s overcome with subtle amazement - amazement that he’s here again, next to her, but primarily amazement that this is so easy .  There is a future full of questions ahead of her, she’s sure, but this - being with him - is still one of the easiest things she’s ever done.

His voice removes her from her thoughts, though, with an sudden rush.

“I’m no longer married.”

Her mouth falls open, and she finally turns to look at him. (He looks beautiful - tired, but absolutely lovely.  She would focus more on this if she wasn’t so confused at his statement, she’s sure.) He’s staring straight ahead, one of his knees bouncing nervously.  She gapes at him.

“What are you talking about?”

“Jo and I aren’t married anymore.”

“You’re -”

She doesn’t finish her sentence, because she can’t even imagine it.

“We’re divorced, yes,” he says.

“That’s impossible,” she counters immediately.

“No,” he tells her.  “It’s…difficult, but not impossible.  You have to have a certain amount of money, and know the right set of people, and be willing to give up a few things…”

“Like what?” she asks, and he sighs deeply.

“Your reputation, mostly.  Mine will take a hit, but Jo’s will fall off…quite a bit.  At least around here.  She said she’s staying in New York permanently.  Still, I was afraid she wouldn’t agree.  But then again, Jo March has never been one to care much about what other people think of her, has she?”

She can’t agree or disagree with his statement.  She’s still too busy trying to wrap her mind around what he’s told her.

Divorced.

“It’s impossible,” she murmurs quietly.

“It’s not,” he assures her again.  “Amy…”

He reaches out, puts his hand on her arm.  A warm current that stems from his palm flows through her immediately.  She stares down at his hand for a long moment.

“Divorced,” she whispers.

She covers his hand with hers tentatively.

“I’m…sorry,” she says suddenly.  “I’m sorry I didn’t reply to your letters.  I read them, though.  I read them over and over again, and kept each one.  They’re in a drawer in my desk, and I read them and read them and read them -”

She doesn’t realize she’s crying until he gathers her into his arms.  She grabs on to the lapels of his jacket and sobs once, nestling his face into his neck.

“I missed you so much,” she tells him.

Because she had missed him, even if she hadn’t admitted it to herself.  She’d missed him so terribly that the thought of it almost makes her ill, even though he’s here with her now.

“I missed you,” he murmurs into her hair.  “My God, Amy, how I missed you.”

He hugs her closer to him for a moment more, and then pulls back.  He reaches over to her, takes her face in his hand and tilts her chin up so he can look into her eyes.

“I love you,” he tells her.  “I love you, and I don’t deserve you.  Especially not now.  But I want you, and 

I want my future to be with you.  I understand if you don’t - if we’re together, your reputation will suffer as well.  So I understand if you -”

She kisses him quickly - to quiet him and his doubts that seem so silly now, mostly, but also because she’s missed kissing him so much .  When they separate, he’s smiling, and even though a few tears stream down his cheeks, he laughs.

She breaks into laughter as well, and they laugh together until they can’t breathe.  Anyone passing would think they were crazy.

But no one is passing.  No one is here, except her and him.  Amy and Laurie.

This is the way it was meant , he’d said, after he’d kissed her that first time.

Once they’ve calmed down, he reaches for her face again, and rests his forehead against hers.

“Amy. Will you marry me?”

He can barely get the question out before she gives her answer, teary and breathless.

“Yes .”

He smiles, and whispers, “Thank you,” before kissing her again, deep and slow.

She kisses him back, and feels, for the first time since she arrived back from Europe, that she’s finally come home.

[warrioreowynofrohan]

Since people are talking about “castles in the air” again for Dracula Daily - it means, basically, your ideal futures. Your dreams of what your life could be if everything went how you wanted. It seems to have been a fairly common phrase in the 19th century - it’s used in Little Women - and there’s no romantic connotation to it (except for the fact that in this case, in Dracula, both of the women are hoping soon to be married). A bit like today we have “what would you do if you won the lottery?”, expect more expansive because it’s not just about money.

Here’s a bit from the chapter of Little Women entitled (natch!) “Castles in the Air” to illustrate:

“Wouldn't it be fun if all the castles in the air which we make could come true, and we could live in them?" said Jo, after a little pause.

"I've made such quantities it would be hard to choose which I'd have," said Laurie, lying flat, and throwing cones at the squirrel who had betrayed him.

"You'd have to take your favorite one. What is it?" asked Meg.

"If I tell mine, will you tell yours?"

"Yes, if the girls will too."

"We will. Now, Laurie."

"After I'd seen as much of the world as I want to, I'd like to settle in Germany, and have just as much music as I choose. I'm to be a famous musician myself, and all creation is to rush to hear me; and I'm never to be bothered about money or business, but just enjoy myself, and live for what I like. That's my favorite castle. What's yours, Meg?”

Margaret seemed to find it a little hard to tell hers, and waved a brake before her face, as if to disperse imaginary gnats, while she said slowly, "I should like a lovely house, full of all sorts of luxurious things,—nice food, pretty clothes, handsome furniture, pleasant people, and heaps of money. I am to be mistress of it, and manage it as I like, with plenty of servants, so I never need work a bit. How I should enjoy it! for I wouldn't be idle, but do good, and make every one love me dearly."

“Wouldn't you have a master for your castle in the air?" asked Laurie slyly.

"I said 'pleasant people,' you know;" and Meg carefully tied up her shoe as she spoke, so that no one saw her face.

"Why don't you say you'd have a splendid, wise, good husband, and some angelic little children? You know your castle wouldn't be perfect without," said blunt Jo, who had no tender fancies yet, and rather scorned romance, except in books.

“You'd have nothing but horses, inkstands, and novels in yours," answered Meg petulantly.

"Wouldn't I, though? I'd have a stable full of Arabian steeds, rooms piled with books, and I'd write out of a magic inkstand, so that my works should be as famous as Laurie's music. I want to do something splendid before I go into my castle,—something heroic or wonderful, that won't be forgotten after I'm dead. I don't know what, but I'm on the watch for it, and mean to astonish you all, some day. I think I shall write books, and get rich and famous: that would suit me, so that is my favorite dream."

"Mine is to stay at home safe with father and mother, and help take care of the family," said Beth contentedly.

"Don't you wish for anything else?" asked Laurie.

"Since I had my little piano, I am perfectly satisfied. I only wish we may all keep well and be together; nothing else."

"I have ever so many wishes; but the pet one is to be an artist, and go to Rome, and do fine pictures, and be the best artist in the whole world," was Amy's modest desire.

[milfzatannaz]

Imogen heap is like an intro to Laurie Anderson. love me some distorted vocals

I also want to thank my fuckass father for forcing me to listen to imogen heap in the car in fucking middle school instead of the pop music I was begging for

[sivavakkiyar]

a beautiful piece, a pop consolidation of what laurie Anderson discovered in O Superman. Thank god there’s no way this can be recontextualized (since it’s so aesthetically pure & all)

[placeholdercornerworks]

I know timeline wise it makes heaps more sense to first talk of Eleanor and her family as they come first in the timeline instead of talking about Laurence but the guy's been spinning in my head so Laury it is. (For context, guy with whom John will found his first "personal" architecture firm with, I still do need to research more about how such firms operated but shush, that's not info which is relevant to what I want to say today).

So, basicest of basics, he's 3 years younger than John, having been born in 1871, actually in Rockford, unlike Cyril.

As for university, I'm mostly leaning on him having gone to Armour Institute (and thus actually having gone through the Armour-AIC merger) which adds 4 more years to their experience gap cause had he gone to ANY kind of university immediately from 19-23 he would have graduated in 1894, but he actually went to uni from 1893-97, so from 22 to 26.

For reference, if we generically define their work experience as "any kind of work, be it personal or apprenticely in nature, in an architectural firm", by the time Laurence would have graduate college in 1897, Edwin would have already been under apprenticeship/working at his uncle's firm for 6 years.

Also random ass but in his adulthood Laury gets a fat persian cat he fucking names Bertram, aptly nicknamed exclusively Bertie by about everyone and their mother.

[anryuuepic]

Where did you get the idea for this story and what have been your biggest influences?

The earliest idea that was distinctly tied to this story is Arassia (and later, her sisters), who was originally a fan character for the How To Train Your Dragon book series when I initially read it at age 9 or so.

I had a very traumatic year after that (fifth grade, age 10–11), and with virtually no friends at that point in my life, spent a LOT of time thinking about characters to cope. I was also getting into anime/online fandom in general, at that point, and developed most of the early concepts along with various series I was watching.

Anryuu quickly became my autistic brain's way of processing my existence. As in, I can directly track major, long-term experiences in my life and cognitive development by how they impacted the story/its ideas. Because of that, virtually everything influences Anryuu in some capacity; it's more an extension of myself than an isolated story, in that sense, so there are bits and pieces of countless inspirations (including other media) scattered throughout it.

In terms of notable media... hmm... I recently realized that my taste in stories has very much in common with One Piece. Wintergirls (by Laurie Halse Anderson) and the Septimus Heap series were major influences on my writing style, Garfield and Dan Vs embody my sense of humor, and Black Lagoon, Litchi Hikari Club, Claymore, and Natsu no Arashi are some of the major, early anime influences.

[remembertheplunge]

We are mellower, rustier. Our characters are fleshed out.

The following 9/19/1993 entry was written in the white spaces left on the journal page containing the 9/20/1990 entry.

I will include the content of the 9/20/1990 entry in the next e mail.

_____________________________________________________

September 19, 1993

3 years hath passed (since I wrote the 9/20/1990 entry).

We are mellower, rustier. Our characters are more fleshed out.

Since 9/20/1990, we have our first two women judges in Stanislaus County.

 I’ve come out as a gay man at work.

Aunt Ruth died as did Steve T.

I sold a house, incurred massive debt.

I met a guy at work, fell in love, professed it, was rejected and I accepted this, too.

I accepted more and more my OKness with being on my own.

I still have a tight relationship with Arturo.

I started lifting weights.

I sold and bought cars.

Witnessed Mom and Dad move through a law suit and cancer scares.

Watched my brother Dan’s back and to some extent his life degenerate.

Watched my sister Zoe sink seemingly endlessly in the slang heap of early public education teaching.

Watched her live with and then marry Randy E., apparently only half heatedly.

Watched Oakland burn and Santa Cruz resurrect.

Started counseling.

Modified and evolved journal writing.

Continued world exploration.

Began to see the immensity of my stresses: debt, gayness, health issues, Aids, and the law.

End of this part of the entry

Notes:

The first two women judges were Lynn Meredith, a commissioner and Laurie Begen, a judge.

Aunt Ruth was one of my mother’s older sisters. 

Steve T. was a high school friend who died of Aids.

Arturo was my Aids match, Arturo Fuentes

My parents were sued by a neighbor who, while taking care of their house while they were away, got drunk, tripod fell and got injured on their property. It ended in a jury trial in which the neighbor lost. 

Oakland had a major fire in October 1991. Santa Cruz was in part destroyed by an earthquake in October 1989.

I was concerned about Aids but never tested positive for HIV.

[aqua-beam]

Do you have a favorite book? (Or several favorite books?)

YES.

thank you soso much for asking it gives me an ~opportunity~ XD <333

okay SO favorite bookS because my indecisiveness cannot pick just one >:DD

Little Women by Louisa May Alcott

my dream, my darling, a cute book 🥺 jo is literally me and i strive to find a laurie someday and not reject him 🥺

The Hogfather by Terry Pratchett i have no words that are enough to describe this book it's so BEAUTIFUL 🥺🥺🥺

Queste of the Septimus Heap series

I LOVE THIS BOOK SO MUCH???? like the worldbuilding the characters the writing it rewired my brain <333 also the fact that there's a dragon?? and the lore?? mwah mwah

the Pendragon series by D. J. MacHale, but specifically The Quillan Games

EXPANSIVE world + mysteries of the problem + AMAZING cohesiveness and intriguing storylines ASDFGHJKL

[godloveyell]

It’s something I remember clearly from my own teenage years: the absolute contempt with which adults treat teenagers. The way they mostly abandon raising them and leave them to their own devices, then come down on them like a ton of bricks as soon as they screw up. Burying them under a workload that most adults can’t handle. Constantly heaping scorn on anything they actually care about. Refusing to let them participate in the wider culture then getting mad when they break away and form their own subcultures to try to take care of each other with.

Adults pick on teenagers for being disrespectful, but respect is a two-way street. It’s pretty fucking sick to demand respect from someone you refuse to grant any in return. Teenagers aren’t stupid; they can tell how for all the effort society puts into fetishizing and marketing to them that it really hates them.

Of course it’s worse for teenage girls who not only get a double heaping of contempt, but also have to deal with being sexualized almost as soon as they start developing breasts. You talk to most women online about catcalling, and the majority will tell you that they were catcalled more when they were 10-15 years old than they ever were as mature adults.

Laurie Halse Anderson: I grew up as a teenager with parents who were disconnected from me for their own reasons, so I remember so clearly that confusion and that sorrow. I could go on for days about our disrespect and disregard for adolescence in American culture. Americans are all about loving kids when they’re small and portable, but for some reason … boy, do we abandon our teens. We abandon them in families, we abandon them as a culture, we don’t do a great job in most high schools of educating them properly. We disrespect them, and at the time when they are in most need of good, fun, loving, trustworthy relationships with good adults, we step away. And that’s really stupid and awful. So I try to write stories that tell the truth about hard things because kids need to know it; the world is hard and it will kick your ass if you’re not careful.

Unpopular opinion but the reason being a teenager sucks is less to do with hormones and social cliques and more to do with the fact adults fucking hate teenagers. The fact that adults expect teenagers to be able to take on adult responsibilities yet don't deserve rights of an adult. They don't see teenagers as human beings and they aren't prepared to see kids with their own formed identities and humanity. Teenagers are so sexualized and seen as needing to take on more and more adult responsibilities. Yet when they want rights and humanity they are denied. The years your brain spends wanting nothing more than to form an identity are being taken away from you. Teenagers are essentially being kicked out of social spaces unless they have an extra 40 dollars lying around anytime they want to go out. Teenagers being kicked out of the mall just for existing or groomed into the school to prison pipeline. And now creating legislation to keep them off the Internet. Our society hates teenagers. And does everything we can to hurt them. The fact that anyone makes it out of their teenage years without trauma is a fucking miracle frankly.

[coolgirldiaries]

intro:

hii i’m misty :) i’m here to overshare

age- 18

occupation- art student

fav movies- House of Wax (2004), Dinner in America (2020), Mamma Mia (2008), My Bloody Valentine (2009), Scott Pilgrim vs the World (2010), Emma (2020), 13 Going on 30 (2004), Jennifer’s Body (2009), Black Christmas (1974), Paranorman (2012), Girl Interrupted (1999), Corpse Bride (2005), The Nightmare Before Christmas (1993), Scream (1997), The Texas Chainsaw Massacre (1974), The Batman (2022), The Hunger Games (2012), Fight Club (1999), Beetlejuice (1988), Heathers (1988)

fav tv shows- SUPERNATURAL (2005), The Boys (2019), Gen V (2023), Smiling Friends (2022), Skins UK (2007), Daredevil (2016), Gilmore Girls (2000), Hilda Furacão (1998), Yellowjackets (2021), The Walking Dead (2010), Doctor Who (2004), Life on Mars (2006), What We Do in the Shadows (2019), Sex and the City (1998), Gossip Girl (2007), True Blood (2008), Anne with an E (2019), The Thick of It (2005), American Horror Story (2011), The Amazing World of Gumball (2012), Adventure Time (2012)

fav bands and artists- Björk, Lana Del Rey, MCR, Fallout Boy, POiSON GiRL FRiEND, Fiona Apple, Marina, Siouxie and the Banshees, The Cure, Depeche Mode, New Order, Cocteau Twins, Fontaines D.C, Pulp, Strawberry Switchblade, Yeah Yeah Yeahs, Metric, Gorillaz, Mommy Long Legs, Gary Numan, The Stone Roses, James, HIM, Ghost, Fun Lovin’ Criminals, Lily Allen, Beabadoobee, Tori Amos, Imogen Heap, She Wants Revenge, Kate Bush, Tally Hall, The Smashing Pumpkins, Talking Heads, Fleetwood Mac, Stevie Nicks, Catatonia, Weezer, Nirvana, Radiohead, Luvcat, Mazzy Star, Be Your Own Pet, The Verve, Blur, Oasis, Laufey, Arctic Monkeys, The Sundays, The La’s, Billy Joel, Sabrina Carpenter, Chappel Roan, David Bowie, Herard Way, The Dare (this isn’t even all of them and the list is huge sorry)

i really really love supernatural. i’ve always wanted to be an actress but i have awful social anxiety. i used to do theatre but my parents didn’t let me continue with it. i can play the violin and the bass guitar. i know the basics of most instruments except piano bc my fingers don’t move like that. i do music production, i really enjoy it but i couldn’t continue with it in university bc i needed maths and physics to do the course. misty isn’t my real name i just didn’t want to use my real name, i got it from a book i’ve been reading (happy all the time by laurie colwin). i want to study law in the future and move to america (hopefully study law in america). i collect dvds, cds, magazines, old video games and figures. i’m pretty lonely, i don’t have many friends, only one of them remembered my birthday (and my ex boyfriend). i’m bisexual, i don’t think it’s awfully important to say but i guess it’ll keep homophobes away from my account. i’ve never smoked before but i’ve always had the urge to, probably because i grew up around smokers. i also like drinking, i hate wine and beer though. i like writing, over the past few years i’ve had multiple different fanfic accounts on here, wattpad and ao3. i wrote for all different fandoms like resident evil, supernatural, call of duty, slashers, homestuck, obey me and danganronpa. i don’t really associate with the homestuck, danganronpa, obey me and call of duty fandoms anymore. i don’t even know why i was so obsessed with call of duty, i hate military and war stuff. i was raised catholic, i still am but i’m chill, i swear. i’m not homophobic or transphobic or racist or anything. i’m not a bible basher, i don’t preach to people… because i’m catholic, we just don’t do that, it’s a personal thing. i accept people as long as their good people. i’m not here to judge people for things they can’t control or their religion. i like to keep an open mind. anyway, i love animals. i have a cat, i used to have rats snd fish too. i’m not a huge fan of dogs. they’re too much for me. and i’m a little scared of them. i’ve been bullied a large part of my life, mostly because i didn’t fit in with people at school. no matter what i did i didn’t fit in, i still don’t at college, i haven’t really made friends yet. i just want to be normal. this intro post is very long, i’m sorry. but i guess i made this account to overshare. thank you for wasting your time reading about some random girl on the internet. xx

[throatcoat]

//chapter 7// //dear laurie allen//

i am crumpled on my floor amongst the laundry heaps, and there is fruity pebbles stuck in my hair. my head aches, and the bottle is empty. i can not remember even taking a sip. all i can smell is the saltwater vomit in my nose. the tape deck has released, the speakers crackling, and i swear i can hear my name amongst the empty transmission waves. groaning, i turn on my back, and stare at my ceiling. there is a crack there, it matches the one in my childhood bedroom. i wonder if the same earth quake caused this one, too, i wonder if we are on the same fault line.

slinking out to the kitchen, i squint my eyes closed. the morning sun is blinding. the coffee in the pot is lukewarm, and the handle on my mug is broken. opening up the sliding glass door, i step out in the cold mist of the pacific west coast. between gulps of coffee and lungs filled with smoke, i am looking at mt. rainier hidden between rain clouds. this place has never felt like home, not to me anyways. home was some place different, untouched by the mold on a windowsill.

before my little sister was born, i lived in a different town, nestled closer to the mountains of canada, away from the valley. closer to the Fire-camp, it was a tiny place, no more than 100 population. it is made up of the chapel, an old tavern, a gas station with the best charleston chews, and the post office with only one post-master. the house we lived in was blue and the yard was covered in wildflowers, in daisies, there was an apricot tree right next to the maple that housed a held-up-by-twine homemade baby swing. my grandparents lived up the hill, in a 100 year old school house made of cold concrete. If you look near the clear blue lake, you can see the look-out i used to dream climbing up. Old Ruby Mine lies just a couple miles further, and now no one looks for gold in the creek anymore. my earliest memories lie here, the sweetest ones. This ghost town, it might as well be a holy land.

my grandparents used to watch me while my mom and dad went off to work. pops would make me vegetable soup made with their summer crops, i would hide in the clawfoot bathtub and sing softly to my grandmother's porcelain dolls, my cousins would hold my hand as we walked down to the gas station for an ice cold soda pop. the air always smelled like moss, the sap leaking from the pine trees, the wet soil of the lake. it smelled like daffodils and chimney smoke. it smelled a little like happiness. I'd sit in the grass, making clover chains and watching the rabbits sprint into the woods. it felt safe here. ghosts refused to step foot here.

sometimes, i wonder where it all went wrong, if there were ever warning signs of the mudslide, was there a flash flood? I realize my eyes are closed now, no longer looking at the volcanic giant in the distance. the coffee is cold as the mist and it seeps into my bones. the colder i get, maybe the more it will feel like home. there is a crane sitting in the bay, looking for fish and it reminds me of the herons that would dip into palmer lake. the night prior i spent drinking, looking for answers, and now, some how the salt waters seep into the fresh glacier lakes and i am no longer here in the sleepy sea side town.

i still have a scar on my tongue from when i almost bit right through it. i was a stubborn child, and although my mother told me not to try to walk down the cement stairs alone, i did it anyways. i wanted an apricot. i do not remember stumbling, i remember my mother yelling for my father, the first time i ever tasted blood in my mouth. she picked me up and held me close and it was the last time i ever felt remotely loved by my mom. she only seems to love me most when she is scared. even now, over twenty years later, that first time ever falling sticks to my brain, the way my mom looked. the same look she had when my dad fell off the ladder and convulsed on the ground.

we ended up moving down to the valley after that, my mom pregnant, wanting to be closer to the hospital, closer to where there were more people than just the fishermen at the bar, truckers at the gas station, and folk just passing through. we ended up in the yellow house by the highway, the one we would stay in until i was 16 years old. although it was not the chilly mountains, i would grow to love the desert just as much as the snow. often, i would give anything to be back there, now i do not think anyone would be able to name me, recognize me. maybe it could be safe again. at least it is always familiar.

the town we ended up in was the same place i had been born, right in the hospital on main street. my parents had both spent a portion of their childhoods here, too, at different moments. always within reach of one another, never in sight. they thought it would be the perfect place to also raise their two daughters, familiar. safe. it used to be, at least.

the valley was on fire the last summer i spent there. 256,108 acres in total, it was a massive wildfire turned complex, caused by lightning and just the right conditions. carlton led my town to be under evacuation orders and i watched on the side of the highway as person after person flew past in their pickup trucks. if you stepped outside, the smoke choked you. i stayed as the fire burnt through, scorching the abandoned orchard behind our house. if you kept walking up the dirt road behind the apple tree stumps, you will find a small village filled with folk in plain clothes, mennonites who claimed their own stake a century past. i wondered if they stayed, too, if their prayers worked, or if it felt like punishment, all brimstone and sulfur.

it felt fitting, that the last remnants of me existing in the place i always knew would end like this- burnt up, dried out, and abandoned. i took a deep breath and the ash in the air choked me. i walked down the highway, opposite of where all the cars were headed. following the traintracks, you will end up near an apple processing plant, a small one. it smells like wine and wet cardboard. this is where my first field trip took place, right before we walked to the library. keep walking, and you'll find empty crates stacked up, blocking the entrance to history park. i lost my first tooth there, in that park. i buried it beneath the elm tree, near the swing set.

the park was where i was headed, even without intention. the can of grape soda was sweating against my hand, slowly slipping each time i lift to take a sip. there is one person there, other than that i was alone. i sat at the wooden bench where my friends and i had carved our names once in middle school, and it was the same bench i smoked my first joint at. i always found myself here, at this bench, when i needed some place quiet to think. i sat watching the kid shooting hoops, practicing dribbles like our town was not on fire, like he had no place to go and had all the time in the world. the pool was closed, abnormally silent for a scorching july day. the only sounds were the okanogan river and the dribbling of the basketball. the birds had all left.

i lifted the can only to find i had finished it already. i took out my pocket knife and carved into the wooden table, right beside the initials we had left years prior. a crooked heart. sloppily, i carved three words. i carved my own name. sometimes, i wonder if it is still there, the heart with my name. did someone cross it out? scratch it and replace it with a better name? my cellphone began ringing out, and it is my mother on the other end, asking where i am.

i hung up, slam the phone shut, and laid my head on the warm wood. all i wanted in that moment was to sink into the earth, buried right next to my lost baby tooth.

sometimes, when i close my eyes, i am back there, in that park, under the layers of grass and mud and the indian burial ground.

[spacenutspod]

Imagine remotely flying a drone or small aircraft from a great distance and loosing contact with it during flight. You’d likely assume the worst, that your aircraft was probably laying in a crashed heap in some remote location. That’s what engineers at NASA’s Jet Propulsion Laboratory went through with the beloved Ingenuity helicopter on Mars, millions of miles away. During a recent quick pop-up flight that was supposed to last just 32 seconds, Ingenuity lost communications before it touched back down. The engineers back on Earth had no idea if the little helicopter landed safely or not. Communications were lost on January 18 when the tiny autonomous rotorcraft was flown on a short vertical flight to test its systems after an unplanned early landing during its previous flight, NASA reported in a status update. For some reason, the communications link was severed between Ingenuity and the Perseverance rover, which relays data between the helicopter and Earth during the flights. Data received showed that Ingenuity had climbed to its assigned maximum altitude of 12 meters (40 feet), but then the data link terminated early, prior to touchdown. Ingenuity captured this image of Mars on December 2, 2023 (Sol 990) with its high-resolution color camera. The shadow of the helicopter can be seen near the center of the images. Credit: NASA/JPL-Caltech But thankfully, after engineers had worked around the clock, on late on January 20 communications were able to be reestablished between the helicopter and rover, with engineers able to determine the helicopter was “power-positive” and sitting upright on Mars. The team is now running further diagnostic checks, and commanding Ingenuity to take photos of its location on the surface to help  pinpoint its location, and performing a spin test. “Ginny is back in contact!,” JPL Director Laurie Leshin posted on X. “Thanks to our team for working the issue so quickly and effectively. Still need to understand more about what happened. After far more flights than anticipated, no matter what, the #MarsHelicopter has been an extraordinary success!” NASA’s Perseverance Mars rover took a selfie with the Ingenuity helicopter, seen here about 13 feet (3.9 meters) from the rover. This image was taken by the WATSON camera on the rover’s robotic arm on April 6, 2021, the 46th Martian day, or sol, of the mission. Credits: NASA/JPL-Caltech/MSSS. JPL did say that during the flight, Perseverance was out of line-of-sight with Ingenuity, and after communications were lost, the team considered driving the rover closer for a visual inspection. They did use the rover “to perform long-duration listening sessions for Ingenuity’s signal.” This was Ingenuity’s 72nd flight at the Red Planet – which is incredible given that only four flights were planned for the plucky little helicopter, the first aircraft to perform a powered, controlled extraterrestrial flight. But since becoming operational on April 19, 2021, it has blown away expectations, now completing 72 flights. Ingenuity operates in a harsh environment that no aircraft has ever flown in before. Mars is extremely cold and dry, and Mars’ very thin atmosphere has only about 1% the density of Earth’s. The thin atmosphere makes lift more difficult to generate, although the gravity is weaker, which helps. There’s also the time delay in communications between Mars and Earth which adds a layer of complexity to every endeavor. If we are practical, we realize that one day, Ingenuity will fly its last flight, never to be heard from again. But that day is not today. The post NASA Lost Contact With its Ingenuity Helicopter Briefly, but it's Back appeared first on Universe Today.

[freeadmission]

Big Projects

Hello, 2024 and thanks for being so good to me 2023.

I had some big projects this year, ones that made me sit back and finally feel a bit of relief from all of the hustle because they made my year more stable, and more interesting and gave me the juice to carry on.

I began this year with a contract at La Movida sewing and design creating images for their website so they can sell fabric and notions online. I had a sweet little setup and got to work with friends which was a huge bonus. Laurie is a powerhouse and a great inspiration to work with, always creating and laughing. This gig was a perfect start to 2023.

You know those projects that bring you joy, the ones that bring you the cool people to work with, the ones that set your creative heart ablaze with hope and love. I had a few and I am beyond grateful for them. So much so that I haven’t been able to go back and look at the images like I usually do because I don’t want to break the seal. I just want the memory to stay as it was and not worry about adding the images to my website or social platforms.

I got to work with some really cool new clients like Denu and Home Team Models. Denim and diverse models are two things that I really look for and I found both in these clients.

I got to work for an entire semester creating marking and social media content at LaSalle College and I look forward to joining them again this year to make more magic.

I got to work with a wonderful stylist and create content for The Ecologyst where we received some amazing SWAG after the shoot.

I spent so much time in the studio working with wonderful models doing digitals, doing creatives and capturing my own denim collection. Alex Waber runs Doris and I was lucky enough to rent there for a year and a half. He is supported by Monika an amazing model and stylist who I got to work with creatively and commercially. We also celebrated the new year together in 2022/23 with some crazy karaoke.

I made some amazing new friends in this industry and was able to let my restaurant gigs go. I did pick up a part-time gig at The Only on Davie. It’s a brand new location and a sister store to their fabulous location on Commercial Drive. I love vintage and I have found a wonderful new home there with some great staff and amazing finds.

2023 was a challenging year for all of us and as we continue into this next chapter I know we are holding our noses as we are about to jump into what feels like the deep end. I just wanted to give a whole heap of gratitude for what I was lucky enough to experience because I also could not have done any of this without the amazing friends and clients I have. To you, I tip my hat and I can’t wait to create and collaborate our way through this next year too.

I will leave you with one of my favourite images from last year. I am still sorting through the mound that I have to choose from to update my websites, for now, 1 new one will have to do.