#not even talking about the lisbon of it all (we have to though these things are intrinsically connected but we're holding off for now)

[lisbonsteresa]

you don't get how crazy i'm going over this

[meazalykov]

wrong number

bayern munich frauen x lena oberdorf x reader

1/6, 2/6, 3/6, 4/6, 5/6, 6/6

summary: you're the honorary bayern munich teammate.

the excitement fills your veins as you land in lisbon. 

you’re finally here, and it’s hard to believe. lena doesn't even know yet—you wanted to surprise her, to be there in person for the match of her life. it’s been a long journey from buying the ticket, keeping it quiet, and making your way to portugal, but every step felt worth it because nothing, absolutely nothing, would have kept you from being here to support lena in the champions league final.

hours later, you’re waiting anxiously in your hotel room when a knock finally comes. you open the door to find lena, looking tired but smiling, and her face lights up as she sees you.

"you made it," she says, stepping forward to hug you tightly. she lets out a deep breath, and you feel some of the tension melt from her shoulders.

"of course i did," you say, hugging her back, brushing a hand over her back. 

"how could i miss this? tomorrow’s the match of your life. are you nervous?"

she pulls back slightly, her smile fading as she flops onto the bed beside you. 

"yeah… a little," she admits, looking away. 

"it’s more than that, though. i keep thinking about the final in 2023… it’s like this shadow hanging over everything. it won’t go away." her voice goes quieter, and you see just how much she’s carrying from that day that you’re unfamiliar with.

you sit beside her, reaching out to take her hand. 

"do you want to talk about it? what happened in 2023?"

she nods, her gaze fixed on a spot across the room. 

"it was against barcelona, with wolfsburg. we were up 2-0, and then everything just… fell apart. they scored three goals in, like, eight minutes. i felt so helpless. all those months of training, just to lose like that. sometimes it feels like i haven’t shaken it off."

you squeeze her hand gently. 

"i can’t imagine how tough that must’ve been. losing on that stage, with everyone watching… it’s okay that it still hurts. a lot of people would feel the same. i also know that you’re stronger now."

she looks over at you, a small smile finally breaking through before giving you a light kiss. 

"thanks. i don’t know… i’ve tried to push it out of my head, but tomorrow feels like a chance to finally put it behind me. i want to prove to myself that i’m not that same person who let it slip away." she whispers against you.

you run your thumb across her knuckles, trying to pour all your reassurance into that small touch. 

"and you’re not. you’re here, stronger and smarter, and you’ve learned so much. but whatever happens tomorrow, you’re still amazing. i’m just so proud of you."

a soft blush colors her cheeks as she squeezes your hand back, her gaze meeting yours as her forehead rests against yours. 

"thank you. it really helps, having you here. more than you know."

after a while, she heads back to her hotel room for a good night's sleep, leaving you with a warm, happy feeling that stays with you until morning. 

it’s surreal, thinking back to a year ago when this whole thing started with a wrong number. now you’re here, in lisbon, to watch the woman you love play in one of the biggest games of her life.

the next day, you find yasmeen at the stadium entrance, her face lighting up when she spots you. she flew in from america just to keep you company, and you feel a rush of gratitude as you hug her.

"ready for the match of your life?" she grins, eyes sparkling.

"more ready than i’ve ever been," you laugh, feeling your own excitement build up. you’re both practically vibrating as you take your seats, and when the game kicks off, it’s all you can focus on. 

seeing lena on the bench doesn’t dim your excitement—she’ll get her moment, and you know it.

the game starts off tense. city’s vivianne scores in the 20th minute, and the bayern fans around you groan. you try to keep your spirits up, leaning forward and clapping.

"come on, girls!" you shout in german, even though your voice is quickly swallowed by the roar of the crowd.

yasmeen chuckles beside you, giving you a supportive pat. 

"you’re so into it already."

you grin. 

"it’s impossible not to be. they’re incredible."

just before halftime, bayern’s perseverance pays off. in the 45th minute, klara sets up a perfect cross, and pernille rises up to head it in, tying the score. 

you leap out of your seat, clapping wildly as yasmeen cheers beside you.

"yes! let’s go, harder!" you yell, grinning from ear to ear.

at halftime, a fan behind you taps your shoulder and asks for a photo. she’s wearing a lena jersey, and you assume she just wants a picture with "lena’s girlfriend." 

you’re hesitant but smile and take the photo with her. when yasmeen teases you, you roll your eyes and laugh it off, though you can’t deny you’re a little flattered.

"look at you, getting famous," yasmeen nudges you. 

"you’re practically the team’s mascot at this point."

"shut up," you laugh, feeling your cheeks warm. 

"all i am is lena’s slightly anxious but very supportive girlfriend."

the second half starts off rough. city’s bunny shaw scores twice in under nine minutes, and the atmosphere in the bayern section gets tense. you bite your lip, glancing at yasmeen for reassurance as the clock ticks on.

bayern doesn’t let up. lea schüller scores in the 55th minute just one minute after shaw scored city’s third goal, and it feels like a breath of fresh air. 

one more goal, and they’ll be even again. you clap, your hands sore but determined, and yell encouragement, hoping somehow the team can hear you all the way on the bench.

then, in the 68th minute, pernille gets her second goal, equalizing. the stadium erupts, and you jump out of your seat, pulling yasmeen into a hug. 

this match has you on the edge of your seat, your heart racing with every pass, every tackle.

a commotion catches your attention near the right side of the pitch, and you see sydney in a heated exchange with alex greenwood. sydney is keeping the ball away from greenwood as the ref tries to intervene. you can’t help but chuckle as yasmeen leans over. 

"what’s going on with them?"

"just sydney being sydney," you say, grinning. 

"kidding. i’m not sure, maybe sydney just wants to give her team a breather.” 

minutes later, in the 79th minute, lena stands at the sideline, preparing to sub in. your heart skips a beat as you slip off your light blue button-up longsleeve to reveal your oberdorf jersey underneath. yasmeen catches sight of it and snickers.

"i wonder if she’ll get a yellow card within the first five minutes."

"probably," you mutter with the pride in your voice. you’re just thrilled to see her out there, part of the game she’s worked so hard to return to.

she’s barely on the pitch when, in the 81st minute, she makes a classic side tackle on mary fowler, and you and yasmeen exchange a look. 

lena gets a warning, but she’s unfazed, her focus sharp.

the clock’s ticking, and tension fills the air. then, in the 88th minute, lena sets up an assist to sydney, who powers the ball into the net, bringing the score to 3-3. 

you jump up, screaming as loud as you can, caught up in the joy of the moment.

at this point, your mind starts to wander, reflecting on how far you’ve come. a year ago, you were just a student in virginia, living a quiet life. now, you’re in lisbon, watching the woman you love play in a champions league final, surrounded by friends and fans. it feels surreal.

yasmeen nudges you, drawing you back to the game. 

"imagine if lena scores the winning goal."

"i hope," you murmur, watching her with bated breath as she passes the ball to tuva, who then lightly passes it to ana. 

ana crosses up to klara, who leaps up for a perfect header. the ball sails into the net, and the stadium explodes in cheers. the scoreboard lights up,

4-3.

klara runs to the corner, celebrating, and you watch in awe as the team surrounds her. then she turns and sends a heart your way, her hands forming the shape in the air. you send one back, beaming as yasmeen chuckles beside you.

the final whistle blows, and it’s like the whole stadium erupts at once. the scoreboard is locked at 4-3, with bayern’s victory glowing bright, but it’s hard to believe until you see the girls flood the pitch, their faces breaking into elated, disbelieving smiles. 

yasmeen nudges you, and you turn to see her beaming.

“they really did it,” she says, a little in awe herself. 

“and they really love you, huh?” you laugh, heart swelling as you watch the team embrace, overcome by what they've achieved.

“guess i just got lucky,” you murmur, and you mean it.

after the immediate celebration dies down a bit, the trophy ceremony begins, the crowd cheering louder as each player receives their medal, eyes glistening with the weight of the win. confetti rains down, golden and shimmering in the stadium lights, and you feel a lump in your throat. they’ve worked so hard for this.

suddenly, you hear a voice calling your name. you turn to see sydney and tuva waving, beckoning you over. before you can process it, they’re running up, reaching over the barricade to pull you across it.

“you’re coming with us,” sydney insists, her grip firm, and tuva laughs, nodding in agreement. they drag you toward the heart of the celebration, and you glance back at yasmeen, who waves you off with a smile.

“go have fun!” she calls, and you smile back gratefully.

you barely have a second to catch your breath before you spot lena jogging toward you, her face flushed with happiness, eyes bright under the stadium lights. she wraps you in her arms, lifting you slightly, and you cling to her, laughing as she swings you back and forth.

“we did it,” she breathes, her voice full of amazement.

“you did it,” you correct, pulling back just enough to look at her. her eyes search yours, and you can see that same mixture of pride and disbelief.

“i still can’t believe it,” she whispers, her hands resting on your shoulders. 

“it feels… surreal.”

you smile, brushing a strand of confetti from her hair. 

“it’s real. and you deserve every bit of it, obi!”

lena smiles, a little teary-eyed, then leans in and presses a soft kiss to your cheek, lingering there as if she wants to soak up the moment. 

“thank you for being here,” she says quietly, and you can hear the depth of her gratitude, her voice soft and genuine.

“i wouldn’t have missed this for anything,” you whisper back, feeling your own emotions rise.

nearby, klara is holding the trophy, posing for pictures, her grin as wide as you’ve ever seen. when she spots you, she waves you over, gesturing for you to come closer. you hesitate, feeling a rush of self-consciousness. 

you’re not a player, after all—you didn’t sweat and fight for this trophy like they did.

“come on!” klara calls, laughing at your reluctance. 

“get in here!”

you make your way over, feeling a bit out of place, and she hands you the trophy, the massive silver and blue prize weighing heavy in your hands. 

the moment feels surreal, and you look at klara, a little overwhelmed.

“are you sure?” you ask, voice soft.

she grins. 

“absolutely. you’re part of this team, too, you know.”

lena’s hand slips into the side of your waist as she steps closer, nodding with a warm smile. 

“she’s right, you know,” lena says, giving your hand a squeeze. 

“you’re like our honorary teammate.”

you smile, heart racing, and glance around at the team gathered around you. it’s a strange feeling—this sense of belonging among these women who have worked and sacrificed so much. 

they’re looking at you with genuine affection, the bond you’ve built with them over time stronger than you’d ever realized.

“alright,” you say, laughing, feeling a bit more relaxed as they crowd in around you. 

“but only because you all insisted.”

they cheer, pulling you into the picture, arms wrapped around one another, laughing and shouting in excitement as the photographer snaps photo after photo. you can feel the joy radiating from each of them, the weight of this accomplishment shared and celebrated together. 

when klara makes a heart with her hands, aiming it at you, your chest tightens with warmth.

yasmeen, watching from the stands, raises her thumbs up and laughs, mouthing “so popular!” and you give her a teasing eye-roll, smiling at her playfully.

finally, as the photos wrap up and the team disperses to greet more of their friends and family, lena pulls you aside to meet her parents, holding you close as you both take in the night. 

the lights of the stadium are soft now, the crowd gradually fading, and it’s just you two talking to her family, standing side by side in the quiet after the storm of victory.

“i’m so proud of you,” you say to lena after her family leaves the stadium, voice thick with emotion. 

“watching you play, seeing you out there after everything you’ve been through… it’s incredible.”

lena’s eyes soften, her fingers tracing the outline of your hand. 

“i couldn’t have done it without you,” she murmurs.

“you’ve been here every step, even when i was sidelined and frustrated. you kept me going.”

you smile, your heart swelling with pride and love. 

“that’s what teammates are for, right?”

she laughs softly, her gaze tender. 

“then it’s settled,” she says, her smile widening. 

“you are officially our honorary bayern teammate.”

the words echo in your mind, wrapping around you like a warm embrace, and you know that this night, this moment, will stay with you forever.

masterlist

authors note: I hope you enjoyed this six parts series :) I started it 10/1 and finished this part last night before a halloween party I had to attend lol

[teecupangel]

What if Desmond was reborn as Shay’s son and the same age as Connor

We have this idea where Desmond is reborn as Shay’s son but, in that one, we made Desmond the same age as Arno for that sweet, sweet angst.

For this one, we need to talk about the timeline for a bit.

Ratonhnhaké:ton is born in 1756 and Shay put his lot with the Templars the same year.

This means Desmond has to be conceived in 1755 before Shay leaves for Lisbon. Specifically: Desmond must be conceived months before November 1 1755. (If you want, we can put it his birth date as March 13 then Desmond would have to be considered around June 1755)

He returns to the homestead late 1755 to early 1756 and there was a lot of snow during the cutscenes during that time so we can say Winter Months (December ~ February)

Why is this important?

Because we have a prime ‘candidate’ for Desmond’s mother:

Hope Jensen.

Hope would definitely hide the fact that she’s pregnant and would never say that Shay was the father.

Perhaps it was simply a night of passion that they never talked about.

Maybe there was a sliver of ‘something more’ but it was postponed when Shay sailed to Lisbon.

Regardless, Hope would still join the hunt for Shay and she would watch as he ‘dies’ after failing to persuade him into returning the manuscript (maybe even hint on her current ‘situation’)

After that, she would never tell anyone who the father of her son was.

Desmond would be born in one of her gang’s hideout.

He would stay with her while she worked for the Brotherhood and he would know she’s an Assassin early on. Her gang would serve as both his bodyguards and his nannies when she’s away.

He would be 1 year and 8 months old when his mother died while he was taken away by her most trusted gang members, running away when she noticed Shay spying on them while she was talking to Liam. Desmond was nearby and was taken away while Hope slowly filled the warehouse with poisonous gas.

Desmond would then watch the fall of the Brotherhood and his mother’s gang as Shay hunted them down.

By the time Desmond is four years old, the only living gang members that he knows of are the ones who took care of him.

To him, Shay Cormac is the man who betrayed the Brotherhood and joined the Templars to hunt them all down.

The man who killed Desmond’s mother.

And now we have the setup for Desmond’s revenge plot (with a twist).

So, in this one, Desmond comes to Achilles around the same time Ratonhnhaké:ton does. Maybe he timed it that way, maybe it was fate. An important thing to note is that he has been making a name of himself by rebuilding his mother’s gang.

Of course, it’s less of a gang and more of a Brotherhood by its own rights. They stick to the shadows and follow the Creed and its tenets.

People see him as a genius youngster.

The ones who raised him after Hope died believed that he’s a prodigy like his late mother.

So he didn’t come to Achilles to ask for him to train him, he came there to learn about Shay Cormac and if he knows his current location.

This is where our plot can diverse into specific plot points:

(1) Desmond learns Shay is his father but Shay remains oblivious.

(2) Shay learns Desmond is his son but Desmond doesn’t know about this.

(3) They learn of their connection with one another in different ways.

For Desmond, either one of the people who raised him (maybe the ‘nanny’) knew the truth, maybe she was a servant of the Jensen family who came to care for Desmond, or Hope left a letter for Desmond to read when he was older if she died to one of the people who cared for him beforehand.

For Shay, it could be the good old ‘Hope Jensen had a son’, ‘said son is around this age’, Shay remembers they had sex around that time, and did the math himself. Or the Templars learned of the connection and informed Shay.

This would change how tragic this becomes, especially on Shay’s side.

Desmond’s side though?

He already had a bad father as Desmond Miles. His father being the one to kill his mother? Yeah, that just another nail in the coffin he would be carving for Shay Cormac, to be honest.

Shay though? If he learned that Desmond is his son, he would absolutely try to connect with him.

He would be the reason why Shay would return to the colonies during AC3.

So if you want Shay to be part of AC3 then Shay must know that Desmond is his son.

Or…

He learned that Hope Jensen’s son has been wrecking havoc with Haytham Kenway’s son and felt that it was his duty to ‘finish’ what he started.

.

Whatever situation they have, Desmond would be loyal to the Brotherhood. Not Achilles’ Brotherhood but the one he made himself. He’d support Ratonhnhaké:ton on his missions while suggesting Ratonhnhaké:ton join them.

Haytham would even comment on how their relationship is a bit similar to Haytham’s relationship with Shay but with the ‘roles’ reversed.

Desmond would clarify that he sees Ratonhnhaké:ton as an equal.

Desmond and Ratonhnhaké:ton would also bond over having bad fathers (although Ratonhnhaké:ton would remind Desmond that Shay Cormac doesn’t even know that he has a son so it was less ‘bad father’ and more like ‘bad Assassin’). In the end, Desmond would never betray Ratonhnhaké:ton and he has no memories of Shay being anything ‘good’ to him. Being his mother’s killer definitely soured their entire relationship before it even started.

So… it’s not going to have a happy ending.

.

.

.

Or, you know, Desmond’s mother could be some random woman Shay slept with and he found out about him after betraying the Brotherhood. He raised him away from his Templar business and Desmond becomes an Assassin anyway because of Ratonhnhaké:ton. This one’s angst would be the hesitation of fighting his father.

Pick your poison. XD

[annislittleshopofhorrors]

I love your graph girl 🤣

But the fact that 🐟 had to post a welcome card for a movie that finished filming a year ago (and is now doing reshoots) tells me she really is scraping the bottom of the barrel.

This isn’t to be mean/judgemental - but it’s funny how this time last year she was so busy vacationing after however long she was filming - and it seemed like her focus was on her travels with her besties.

A year later. This is what she posts. To let people know she’s still in this film. IDEK if any of the other women who worked on the film posted about reshoots 🤣

She didn’t post about working when the film was actually in production (but maybe that’s because it was during the strike and this film was exempt and allowed to keep filming but the actors couldn’t promote?) so that’s fair.

But no matter how you look at it, this girl’s priorities are always out of whack.

Your biggest claim to fame (WN) has a season two premiere and you decline to be interviewed while your costar is left alone to promote the show.

Instead, you do a walk in Central Park with your “bf” who is the only reason anyone even pays attention to you, and you take some yoga classes and photoshop your way to becoming an instructor. I’m unsure why anyone including your show’s show runner would really be willing to defend you? But again, I’m only seeing it from the outside.

WN fans went on twitter asking a reporter who interviewed your costar if you were doing one too and the reporter says you weren’t available. 🤣 Your costar does a buzzfeed interview alone. Your costars get together to do a save the show campaign and even got together to due a cast table read during the holidays but you were MIA for all of this.

Twitter fans asked if you would attend a comic con for the show in London and you also declined. Which, is your prerogative, but I do wonder what you DO think is worthy of your attention?

…

The ghosted movie premiere because your BF is famous and so is his female costar and there were other actual celebrities in attendance. Wow, Hugh jackman even showed up to the premiere - not for you, of course, and you didn’t even get to walk the red carpet but at least you got your one photo that you could photoshop and post your dress!

Paris fashion week with miumiu.

GQ man of the year.

Scarlett and Colin’s Christmas party.

Dinner with Edward Cullen and his gf/wife Suki.

GG after party for UTA.

CAA preOscars party.

VF after party.

—

Your priorities are always for things that have nothing to do with you (literally) but gets you free press, comped outfits, and media attention.

You didn’t show up to your small PT’s film showing at the Lisbon film festival when your husband was in town touring restaurants, but you do show up to a GQ event two weeks later that has nothing to do with you and you refused to talk to reporters.

I’d be hard pressed to believe an industry as unforgiving as Hollywood would be willing to overlook these things.

I guess your IMDB resume agrees with me though.

Just my two cents, I think her career ended the day she did the speedwalk in NYC. And I can only judge her work ethic and her social media behavior. We don't know how many auditions she did. I think she went to some auditions but I doubt she was so busy and had to travel between NYC and LA the whole time. In my opinion, she thought the title girlfriend/wife is the door opener and she doesn't need to do anything, she would get job offers. She was so wrong. In one of her last Portuguese interviews she said she's selective when it comes to new roles. That's just a nicer excuse why she's unemployed at the moment. There are no job offers.

Oh and let's assume she couldn't post anything about MM due to the strike. Why didn't she interact with the choreographer or other cast members or the crew? Interactions on social media were allowed. But interesting that she's now kissing asses and showing that people like her.

[koalas-koalas-everywhere]

You know what? I'll say it. I cannot understand what on earth made Patrick attracted to Kristina.

And this isn't (just) because I personally find her irritating. It's that, of the attractive qualities she does have, they are not the kind of traits that would appeal to Jane.

I mean. She's him.

Worse than that, she's him making what in hindsight he sees as some of the worst mistakes of his life, and that's even before she pulls the Red John stunt. He consistently talks about his era of defrauding people and pretending to be a psychic with shame — it's left such a sour impression on him that "there's not such thing as psychics" became a catchphrase for him, since he feels compelled to always clarify that when asked if he's one. He also becomes downright hostile to people who believe in them — though mostly when they try to insist that he has a gift and he's just in denial... oh! like Kristina did!

Jane wants someone better than him. As in, morally. He said as much in his video for Erica Flynn, but, more than that, we see it in all his other choices/romantic interests — Angela, Lisbon, Sophie Miller. (From there, and this is one aspect of my "Lisbon is Jane's second Sophie Miller" thesis, you could even extrapolate a little more and say that he likes people who save him, but let's stick to facts for now.) Even if you wanted to argue that they're not so good, or that he likes at least one of them because her flaws make them equal, I think his view of them is marked by admiration for the ways in which they're more noble or stronger than him.

The only thing I can imagine he finds attractive in Kristina is that they're intellectual equals — in every way. They're not just both very smart, their intelligence manifests in the same way, to the point that they chose the same profession in which to scam people with it and were led to the point of helping the police, as Jane said, just to keep the thrill alive.

I know that the most popular result in that one poll was that, though she wasn't a psychic, she at least believed she was, but, to be honest, though I voted that option too, I'm not so convinced now. More to the point: Jane doesn't believe that. He thinks she's faking it. And I don't blame him — she makes her "gift" out to be such a sacred thing, says she can't lie about what Brava says, but this is the second time she's let Jane abuse one of her seances to catch a perp. So most of his interactions with her are about getting her to admit it. Catching her in the trick.

Maybe that's the point, though. She's an intellectual equal who presents a challenge. You could say that she can scratch two itches in one for Jane — to figure her out and to start to move one from Angela. If anything, the... little appeal I can see her otherwise presenting to him makes sense in this regard. I think we all agree that the reason he and Lisbon don't get together until the later seasons is that he just won't be emotionally available for a committed romantic relationship until RJ dies. In this sense, pursuing Kristina makes sense — he could get some sort of solace from her, without suffering long-term consequences from it, since he wouldn't have had a future with her anyway.

But even that's a bit hard to swallow when you take into account that Kristina is pretty much making a mockery of everything Jane went through, including learning to regret tricking people for its own sake. Again, seeing this from his perspective, which is that she's faking the psychic thing — he'd have to think that she's looking at a man whose wife and daughter were killed for pretending to be a psychic and... well, doing everything she does. Every single thing about her would be offensive in this situation.

I don't know, man. The best I can some up with is that he's really eager to start to move on for some reason all of a sudden, and she's the first person who interests him without fascinating him so he'd have to deal with long-term consequences for their involvement.

*I suppose you could argue that, later on, he'll also feel a spark towards Erica Flynn (an honest one, I believe, which is why I'm counting it and not the widow form Ladies in Red). I wonder how much of it isn't Kristina Reprised — someone he knew he didn't have a future with, in this case, because she was a criminal and a user, and for the same reason he didn't need to fear the consequences of getting near. Erica had too much self-preservation where Kristina had too much pride.

[ausantana]

The Role of The “Weird Girl” in Movies

Written by: Au, also known as @ausantana on tumblr

click below to read more! ↓

Introduction 🪱

Nowadays, the trope of weird girls in movies has begun to become more visible, and as a society, we are beginning to increasingly normalize teenagers who identify themselves as "weird" or "awkward" and there is nothing wrong with both words unlike how they used to be used previously.

Types of weird girls ⭐️

There are various types of "weird girls", however they are usually categorized into 5 types (although in my opinion the complexity of each person goes far beyond each of these labels, and although we as teenagers try to fit into a specific type, we will always have characteristic features of each of these characteristics and personalities)

The goth

Known for their dark ways of dressing and acting, they mostly have alternative and gothic tastes.

Moodboard!

Characters: Lisa Frankenstein, Lydia Deetz, Nancy Downs & Morticia Addams

The Smartass

They are known above all for being sarcastic and having a great sense of humor, they tend to be the intelligent and smart ones.

Moodboard!

Characters: ‘Lady Bird’, Janis Ian, Robin Buckley & Kat Stradford

The Awkward

They are known either for not talking much or for talking too much, they are usually introverted for the most part and overthink all the time.

Moodboard!

Characters: Melinda Sordino, Carrie White, Juno Macguff & Nadine Franklin

The Basket Case

Normally, they tend to be girls who go through such a strong trauma that they express an unhealthy obsession through competitions, whether it be a frustrated dream or substance abuse. They are also called "the lost cause."

Moodboard!

Characters: Nina Sayers, Pearl, Daisy Rondone & Marla Singer

The Space Cadette

Those girls who are given the term "weird" for being daydreamers and being in their own world, are usually absent-minded.

Moodboard!

Characters: Luna Lovegood, Cassie Ainsworth, Cecilia Lisbon & Davina

Movies and Series with the weird girl representation on it 🎥

- Dinner in America (2020)

- Juno (2007)

- Lisa Frankenstein (2024)

- The Perks of Being a Wallflower (2012)

- Lady Bird (2017)

- The Edge of Seventeen (2016)

- Fleabag (2017)

- The Craft (1996)

- Beetlejuice (1988)

- The Virgin Suicides (1999)

- Little Woman (2019)

- Speak (2004)

- Girl, Interrupted (1999)

- The Diary of a Teenage Girl (2015)

- Garden State (2004)

Songs attributed to “weird girls” on social media at the moment 💿

- The Promise - When in Rome

- Teenage Girl - Cherry Glazer

- Watermelon - John + Jane Q. Public.

& more!

Video in representation → millionhawks on TikTok has perfectly represented the feeling of not fitting in anywhere, the typical attitudes of this trope such as awkwardness, overthinking and other things are also present in this video!

Which I absolutely love, as it also represents weirdness from a real point of view by adding characters from movies known to audiences familiar with this topic.

(Click on “video in representation” so you can watch the video!)

So this is my third post on this blog! I hope you liked the brief analysis I made about this plot, because I am another example of a weird girl.

I would like to encourage you to follow this blog if you want to see similar content, because even though I am not very well known on this platform, I would like to create a space full of people with the same tastes and interests as me, feel free to comment, give your opinion and ask questions in the comments of this post and any other!

I have a question for you readers! So feel free to reply: What kind of weird girl are you?

I myself am the composition of the 5 types, but above all, the awkward and the space cadette.

Xoxo, Au.

[rhaegang]

Not really a kinky ask but I want to know more about MAD/BOT, Sho here it goes.

1. Is there any symbolism (that you used in the fic) that you liked the most?

2. Are there any plot points you wanted to introduce but couldn't due to change of plans/etc?

Thanks for sharing your writing with all of us!! I'm happy I got to know you a little better from talking in the server <3 I look forward to reading anything else you write in the future (you can try and guess who wrote this :3)

Aaaaaa thank u for asking about these fics, my favorite children 🥹

1 . The symbolism in MAD that was possibly my favorite was using the earth itself as symbolic of the bond between Oliver & Felix. Because it’s like. “This [the earth/your love] is the foundation of your lives, you spend every moment here whether you’re awake or asleep, and when you die you’ll dissolve away into it…”

The prologue ends with Oliver collapsing due to his OD, and noticing how his antlers “[pin him] wingless, to the earth.” In The Parapet, Felix takes a moment to stare out at the field and the sleeping earth, and in The Field there is more sleeping earth — each time the earth is referenced as sleeping, it’s because of the way the bond isn’t yet fully realized, feelings aren’t fully acknowledged. Later, when Felix starts to understand what’s happening between them, he dreams of digging his claws into the sleeping back of the earth and feeling it begin to wake.

I think I focused a lot on symbolism in MAD because it’s in Felix’s POV, and a big aspect of his character to me is his refusal to acknowledge things that he doesn’t want to see. So there are truths that have to be there in different forms, disguised, since he won’t look straight at them or name them.

There is less deliberate symbolism in BOT, but definitely my favorite Theme in BOT is what is Real versus what isn’t— they roleplay, Felix acts, Oliver lies, who is the ‘Real’ Oliver/Oliver’s several names, the Velveteen Rabbit symbolism, Oliver’s intrusive thoughts, etc.

Since it’s in Oliver’s POV, I was using less symbolism generally speaking. But given his character’s nature as a “shapeshifter” and a changeling, I wanted to explore that Real/Not Real duality in the themes. How do we let our fantasies (good ones and bad ones/anxiety spirals) control us despite conflicting evidence (what’s real)? Where is the line between fantasy and reality? If we tell people a story about something and they believe it, does it ever become the truth? If people believe a story about us that isn’t true, how can we hold on to ourselves? Etc.

2. In MAD I did originally want Felix to have a Darcy-esque love confession along the lines of “wow you’re awful and i really shouldn’t feel this way, i hate that i do, it kind of makes me sick, but i love you so much” and Oliver to be like “uh, that’s not good enough” and to be super angry about it. Because wow rude??? Does it even count if you hate it that much? Is that even love, or is it *just* obsession?

It just did not work out as I had planned, though. The tension broke too early, the action started feeling forced, and I couldn’t get from that to the ending. (The ending in the cafe in Lisbon was one of the first scenes I outlined. I wrote it and the prologue together and the rest of the story filled in between them.) So — pivot!

The other thing I’ll mention is something that didn’t get cut, exactly, but it also isn’t explored or super developed. It’s only very vaguely implied throughout both parts (which was on purpose).

I wanted to leave it up to reader discretion whether or not Oliver is actually a changeling. There are some scenes that lean heavily into a sense that something supernatural is happening. The relationship I wrote between Oliver & the Quicks is very much based in this, too. He feels like he doesn’t belong to them, they feel like he can’t really be theirs because he’s the way he is, etc. If you know to look for it, you’ll find a couple points where Oliver maybe even acknowledges it. The most overt is in the epilogue of MAD when he says “I’m only human. More or less.”

Also I’m gonna guess maybe this is an anonymous pudu asking me this bc I know a little pudu who happens to be one of the biggest cheerleaders for MAD/BOT.

[chesters-ocs]

i guess this can go on this blog. im so rusty at writing whoopsies lol. this became its own thing. it was supposed to end at the ocean but. yknow how it be

wc: 1.2k

soulmate au: compass tattoo showing the direction of your soulmate

@the-whispers-of-death heres our boys

"Come on, we… we should go to the hotel. They're not here and, well… I think it's safe to say you won't be meeting them for a good while. But on the good side, we did it! We're in Lisbon. And.. I guess now you can rest easy knowing that yours is probably just.. straight across from here!"

All Sylvester could do was grunt as his friend reassured him. Ever the damn optimist, he thought.

"I.. do suppose you're right. Let's go, I think I need a smoke… Any stores nearby?" he asks, trying to get his mind off the disappointment he felt.

What a depressive way to start the day, he mused to himself. Both of them have been on the road for four days. Four! In a shitty, rusty camper van, just in the off-chance to meet Sylvester's soulmate. Only to be met with a sun too bright rising on an ocean that's too big for its own good.

At least Ainārs is staying ever so cheery, Sylvester thought. It had been a longtime goal of his to see the ocean, so at least he's getting joy out of this.

The bulkier man roughly pats him on the back, grinning, as he speaks: "Oh don't be so down! We've only been looking for what, two, three years? It took my parents seven just to meet!" he offered, eyes shining in the morning sun. It was almost impossible to not scoff at the words, but he knew better than to say anything. No use in arguing either.

"So… cigarettes?" Sylvester brought up again, and Ainārs nodded, but not before slipping in a small tease: "Only if you promise to not empty the pack in a day again-!"

A small shove cut him off, at least, and he backed off, chuckling.

Over the years, it seemed that the silver haired man forgot all about soulmates. His intuition told him to give up, after all. To find happiness elsewhere. Unfortunately for him, all he got is divorce papers thrown in his face and a kid to look after which only served as a sour reminder of the woman who left him for someone with a bigger wallet.

Though now, he considered the parting as nothing short of a miracle. A butterfly effect that seemed to so easily work in his favor, he had to have been dreaming. Sure, he thought Ainārs was insane when proposing to ditch town. To ditch home… But now? He's kicking himself for ever doubting the eccentric man he called his friend.

And so he now stands in his apartment, making dinner. It's become routine by now. Pick up Mārīte from school after work, drive home, make dinner, repeat. Though one glance at the calendar caught his eye. March 25th. So he figured the ball of energy he had the pleasure to call his daughter, deserved a little something something.

"Kid, I'm going to the store, you w-"

"Yes! Where are we going, what do we need and do I need to bring my coat?"

Of course… couldn't even let him finish talking. Typical. That didn't stop the minor grin on his face, however.

"Just the corner store, its a surprise, and yes, young lady, it may be spring, but the weather is tricky this time of year. I don't want you sick."

It was obvious the seven-year-old wanted to bombard him with more questions, but that rarely went her way, so she toddled over to pull on her small boots, as her father helped with her windbreaker. Afterwards, he leisurely, at the dismay of the child, put on his own shoes and coat, not forgetting to check if he brought the wallet and keys.

Luckily, the walk is short. But it's enough to explain his reasoning.

"Back home, there's a tradition that we haven't done in a while due to your mother. Have you noticed our calendars look a little different from the ones at your school? With all the names written underneath the dates?"

He asked, glancing at her. There was a small furrow in her brow as she thought, before nodding as she toddles along.

"Smart girl… And did you notice your name on today's date?"

When met with a thoughtful hum and a nod, he grinned. Just in time for them to reach the doors of the corner store, and he pushed the door open for her.

"Good. Think of today as a birthday for your name. And birthdays entail gifts… so. I'm letting you pick out 3 things, okay? Within reason, of course."

To say the girl's eyes lit up was an understatement, and he had to reflexively grab her by the hood of the windbreaker before she sprinted in the store. Taking the hint, she slowed down, but still eagerly made her way to the candy isle, and her father followed, paying no mind to the customer entering after them.

"And I can have anything?" Mārīte asked, wanting to double check.

"Sure thing. You deserve a treat every once in a while too."

Satisfied, she diligently scanned all the different chocolate bars and candy packages. During this time, Sylvester decided to fill his own shopping basket with various things that were running low. That mainly consisted of a handful of energy drinks and a couple of groceries.

When reaching upwards to take a box of cereal off the top shelf, for a moment, his sleeve slipped. Mentally he cursed himself for still wearing his raggedy old leather jacket around six sizes too big, when the compass caught his eye.

For years, he'd given up on it. Considered it a fluke. He convinced himself he isn't obligated to marry a soulmate, yet alone find it.

But in this instant? It was pointing north. North-! After almost a decade of only seeing the damn thing pointing only east as if it was stuck and broken. He thought he could drop the damn box that very moment.

And in his shock, he failed to notice the stranger nearby who had been watching him, without a thing in their own shopping basket. Their eyes seemingly glued to him.

Before he could start overthinking, Mārīte was back, 3 things in her tiny hands. A chocolate bar and two lollipops. That enough, was to distract him, as he quirked up a brow.

"You sure that's what you want? You could've had two whole bags of candy instead, y'know?"

"I know! But.. Uncle was showing me old photos, and you always had lollipops in your mouth… So.. I wanna share!"

Lollipops… Of course that's what she thought they were. Nevertheless, he ruffled the kid's hair, and put the cereal box in his basket, picking up said basket, hands ever so slightly trembling still.

"Share… I suppose if that's what you really want. Though I'm not too surprised, you're as sweet as sugar!"

The man snorted, making his way to the cash register. Once all had been paid for and bagged, they returned back onto the street, Mārīte already struggling to unwrap the sticky treat, having difficulties to do so without her nails.

That was also when a large, warm hand grabbed onto Sylvester's shoulder, and a new voice spoke up.

"Excuse me, do you have a moment?"

As Sylvester and Mārīte came to a sudden halt, the father turned around, and looked up to meet the stranger's brown eyes. A polite, but somewhat forced, smile came on his mug as he looked over his glasses to meet the ones of the mysterious figure.

"Yes? Can I help you..?"

[fabien-euskadi]

My dear friend @run-mouse sent me this and I took ages to reply her. Still, thank you very much for the ask - I hope you like the replies (and let me send you greetings from a valley lost somewhere between Portugal and Spain):)

Black: 1 fact about the person I like

Let’s start this answer by defining one crucial aspect of this question: the expression “the person I like” will be understood as “the person I have romantic feelings for”. Obviously, I like all my friends and my closest family, but we are going to leave them out of the equation, shall we?

That means this is, undoubtedly, the hardest and the easiest question to answer. The truth is that, as we speak, there are two categories of people in my life: those I know well enough to say that I don’t have romantic for them, and those I don’t know well enough to have romantic feelings for them. Obviously, I cannot possibly state, in this very moment, that things will not change somewhere in the future – there is always the chance that someone I already know is THE one.

But that does not answer the question, does it?

So, the only fact that I can point out about the person I like is that I genuinely WISH she exists at all. Unfortunately, I fear she is no more than an idealization, and that my life and heart are both doomed. And even if she exists, the fact that I love her doesn’t mean, by any means, that she will love me back.

Grey: 2 facts about my favourite things

Do I really have things that can be considered my favourite? Do I feel any form of real attachment to mere objects? Do I feel anything for whatever belongs to the realms of the material?

I have already answered this one, and that means that, after struggling to find two things that I consider to be my favourite, I need to find another two. Still, let’s do this.

An object that I have a particular affection for is my black backpack. Usually, whenever I am going to explore/photograph a new place, the old back backpack is my partner in crime. Inside her, I store my other partner in crime: my camera.

My second favourite thing is… well, I am going to stretch a bit the concept of “thing” now. My second favourite thing is my next house, the one I shall, at last, call “home” – so, it’s quite a big thing. However, I still have no idea when will I move – I don’t even know where this house is located, how it looks like or how many rooms it has. My next place will be THE place, and it will feel like home, but, so far, it’s just an idea, a concept, a wish, a goal. But the optimist in me says it will be even better than I could possibly imagine (and my imagination, as long as I allow it to run free, can take me to the edge of the Solar System). And I will also decorate this house with many things that I like.

Yellow: 7 facts about my childhood

This one is not exactly easy, but I shall give it a go.

FACT 1: I don’t remember a single thing about the first house I lived in. Don’t get me wrong, the house still exists, and it’s even not too far away from my mom’s place. Sometimes, I even happen pass in front of the old number 12, and, inevitably, an intrusive though invades my mind: “This was my very first home”. But… was it? How can I call “home” to a place that simply does not exist in my memories? I lived on that house, and, yet, I have no idea how it looks like inside, since I was only months old when we moved to another place.

FACT 2: Once, when I was seven years old, I was hit by a car in one of the busiest streets of Lisbon. I remember the struggle to breathe after being hit by the old BMW (was it a 1602?), but the fact is that I didn’t break a single bone. Basically, I have been a hard nut to crack since I was a young child. You have been warned.

FACT 3: As a child/pre-teen, I had tennis lessons for roughly two years. But I was always a mediocre player, to put it (very, very) mildly. My motor coordination is a tad lame, to be honest.

FACT 4: When I was seven, I witness an event (I am not going to talk about it) that left me permanently traumatized. That summer morning is the main (sole?) reason why my self-esteem and self-confidence do not exist at all - they died on that very day, and nothing I can do will be able to resurrect them. I still recall those terrifying minutes vividly - and, honestly, I wish I didn't. And, above all, I know very well who to blame for what happened - alas, how could I possibly forget it?

FACT 5: My first driving lesson took place when I was 11 and could already reach the pedals. I drove my mom's old Renault for some metres, but I screw it all when I had to change gear (as usual in any novice driver having his first lesson in a manual car).

FACT 6: I was the very last person to see my great-grandmother alive. She passed away on her bed a couple of hours later, at the age of 87.

FACT 7: I memorized every single Portuguese king when I was 10, and I still remember every single one of them. Mind you, we are talking about all the kings between 1143 (the date is, technically speaking, debatable) and 1910. I also memorised every single nickname. No wonder that I majored in History.

[bonickhausen]

PORTO

last week i went to porto, portugal. this was my first ever trip abroad. i crossed the atlantic ocean in an elongated tin can. wild!

on the first night, i ran into some issues with the reservation for the place i had rented so i almost had nowhere to stay which now seems funny to me. i was freaking the fuck out but at the same time i remember thinking that if i had to sleep outside, at least the sidewalks seemed very clean and that made me chuckle at the moment.

i ate something that did terrible things to my poor south american stomach and i had to go to a pharmacy in the middle of the night to get some meds and a bottle of water. turns out they don't sell bottled water in pharmacies over there.

the bathroom light switches are located outside the bathrooms and their portuguese is not like ours. people say it's just a different accent and a local dialect but it very much felt to me like an entirely different language so i just used english wherever i could.

it seems safe- far safer than anywhere i've seen so far in brazil. it is a very pretty place. there's this particular bridge over a river that was an absolute delight to look at! great vistas. the climate was also a very pleasant surprise to me since i'm not a huge fan of warm places. i tend to sweat a lot.

it felt very sterile, though. a strange calm, most places made me feel uneasy and despite the suggestions by most people that living there is a good thing, i don't think i'd like that. i'd feel cornered and trapped in a place like that- the buildings felt grey and the people felt grey and looked grey and probably talked grey if i could understand them, which i couldn't.

on the other hand, you see, while são paulo is a terrible place, it has all of my favourite colours! and it has so many of them, even the ones i'm not a huge fan of. i like the fact that if i ever grow weary of cyan i can always try orange or phthalo green. everything is here and everyone is here and i am here too. i'm down to visit other places but i'd like to stay here for a (possibly long) while until i get bored of the whole rainbow.

but i didnt make this trip for a place.

and truth to be told, i don't care much for portugal. it's a nice place! just not my kind of place.

i went there for someone.

we talked and we embraced and, for the duration of the trip, we shared a room together. i rode in her car on the passenger seat, just like i wanted to. this one night, she took the scenic route and for a moment i closed my eyes, listening to the music playing on her phone, the car humming as she steered away from incoming traffic. i felt relaxed.

in fact, she made me feel very relaxed the whole time we were together, except for when i was about to leave. then again, it's tricky: how do you remain tranquil when you're moments away from losing the single most important thing you've ever had in your life so far?

at one point she asked me if i cried often and i told her that it was very rare for me to do so (which it is and i wish it wasnt). ironically, i cant remember of any other day in which i cried so much in my life like i did at the airport when leaving for lisbon. i sobbed my way through the customs line and after that i sat at the first bench i could find to rest and try to recover, i could not and instead i just cried more until my head and throat started hurting. eventually i wiped my face and kept walking as if nothing had happened.

i miss her. i miss her and i miss her touch and her singing and i miss looking at her so that i could see how she looks at things and i miss her talking about these things and i miss so many other things about her. i miss having her with me. i miss her reading random shit as we walked on the streets holding each other's hands. i miss being able to hold her close to me and i miss being able to ask her about anything anytime. sometimes i didnt even really know what to say, i just said things so that i could hear her voice in a reply. i miss watching her petting those cats and i miss talking to her about movies because she gets so excited over those. i miss her

she's in a complicated situation. i wish she'd come back to brazil but that's just my optimism. she'll do whatever works best for her. i hope everything works out for her.

i feel sad but i also feel content. i did what i set out to do: i crossed an ocean and i told her all i had to say.

and now, back to living!

[softschofield]

things i would have added to or changed about poldark:

george gutting trenwith and transforming it into the light, airy, gilded, sunshiney aesthetic he clearly loves (cardew, warleggan bank). make it yours, honey

demelza making a move on george at that party after ross cheated on her - what better way to get back at him than by fooling around with his sworn nemesis, and, in george’s case, his wife? one stone, many birds. it would have been iconic. like, i love that part of george’s character is his faithfulness, but nonetheless: iconic. and he’s beautiful. get it, sweetie

verity in lisbon. how hard would it have been to have one scene of her writing a letter or arranging flowers in her room, or walking with her stepchildren through a harbour-side market and smiling and laughing and chatting with them? it’s what she deserved

a big reveal that george’s accent is actually lower class cornish and he’s just been faking the posh one. where did he learn the posh one anyway??? uncle cary certainly doesn’t have it and i doubt his parents did either. just let it slip, or have him drop it when he’s talking to cary. what a character building twist

consequences for ross’ fucking actions. when will you learn!!!!!!!!!!

the entire last season, and especially the finale. but to start with: the final season. if they wanted the slavery plot, brilliant - put kitty and cecily centre stage and cut ned entirely. i think it’s fairly safe to say very few people gave one single fuck about ned, and he took up so much time that could have been used for giving caroline a worthwhile plot that wasn’t some vague jealousy, and concentrating more on george’s mental illness. if they were absolutely determined to put ned in it, they should have swapped the timelines and put the final season plot into, say, season four. the entire last season felt rushed and messy and inconsequential, and honestly? cary carried so much of it. 

poldark’s formula was that every season was essentially insular and self-contained - new characters were introduced in the first episode of the season, a villain was vanquished by the last, and one or two of the new characters stayed on, so that every season we collected new people who then became series regulars. it was a wonderful, fun formula, and it worked well. in the final season, there should have been no new characters introduced. we already had all these lives we’d collected over the seasons - ross, demelza, george, morwenna, caroline, dwight, drake, sam - and the last season should have been about them. about giving them a fitting plot and a satisfying ending. a final episode should mirror the values, sentiments, and aesthetics of the very first one, either in parallel or in contrast. and what makes poldark poldark is: cornwall, love, friendship, mining. it should have been about that. it should have tied in with the rest of the show. it should have been relevant. 

instead, we got a french plot in the second to last episode and a dozen loose ends that had to be tied up in one single episode - which was mostly taken up by a sword fight, ross cheating on demelza but it’s okay because it’s For England even though i’ve always been a renegade and never particularly patriotic aside from being a soldier for what i assume are personal reasons, babies, napoleon, and 1801 MI5. the last episode was absurdly bad - because it had nothing whatsoever to do with the four seasons that had come before it. i mean, george appears in the barn a la t-rex in jurassic park, unseen and unheard, and hits both targets with two pistols - despite the fact ross said in a prior episode that he had always been a dismal shot, despite the fact he’s just had an injured arm, despite the fact he’s left-handed. every single character arc ended on a depressing or just entirely unworthy note. george leaving trenwith and seeing elizabeth going inside? is that supposed to be anything but achingly, horribly heartbreaking? is that supposed to be anything but “george is still struggling with his mental illness, but in a misguided attempt to move on he leaves the woman he loves in the house neither of them were ever supposed to be in and moves forward into an unhappy, broken future”? that scene where he “thinks aloud” and the audience is meant to be “ooooh my god is he still seeing her”? sickening. demelza being hurt for the thousandth time and then just immediately forgiving ross because it was for england? fuck that. fuck that so much. she deserved to be hurt and angry and move on from him, she deserved MORE. and ross leads tess on for six months, starts an affair, lets her fall for him, knows full well what he’s doing by using her - and then when she��s understandably wounded, he’s like “YOU STUPID THOT YOU BROUGHT IT ON YOURSELF STAY AWAY FROM MY FAMILY” AAAAAAHHHHHH

when george came to nampara the second time, after valentine asked him yet again about having his own mine, i thought he was going to ask ross to teach him about mining so he could bond with his son. adorable. sweet. when that didn’t happen, i thought he was going to tell ross and demelza that they were right, trenwith had always and would always be a poldark house, and now that he’s settling in truro and london (not cardew, for some reason), they could live at trenwith, where they were always supposed to be. when that didn’t happen, i thought he was going to relent and give permission for ross to have a relationship with valentine. but no. all we got, for the thousandth time, was “stay away from my son.” 

i won’t even get into the female characters. they were done so dirty. when the show made the point of having the grandmother watching wenna saying goodbye to her son and smiling sadly, i didn’t think it was actually a goodbye - i thought she would show up at wenna’s cottage and grudgingly say she can come visit on weekends. but no. so what was the point of having the grandmother overhear at all??????? cecily loses her fortune, is forced back to the place she said she would rather die than return to and where her mother died, has her reputation in tatters - and geoffrey charles gets to have a happy ending and go back to military school. speaking of which, when he said that, considering a past plot point had been his lack of funds and the fact that he was attending on credit, i thought they were going to have a little scene where geoffrey charles admits george is finally paying for his studies, because they’re starting to build a relationship based on their mutual love for elizabeth and their loneliness, but no. again, i hoped for too much. i assumed they were actually trying to give an ending that made sense, that left characters with a brighter future, and that made audiences happy. 

but, okay, let me spell out what i wanted for the final season - and, more importantly, the final episode:

the final season: cut ned, put kitty centre stage for the slavery plot, and cecily centre stage for the woman’s emancipation plot. that takes place in london. back in cornwall, go back to the show’s roots and return to mining. cut tess and any sort of human villain, and have the characters battling against the natural elements of the county. focus more on truro, on the red lion, on prudie, on jeffrey and clowance, on pascoe’s new baking venture - and have the peasants more spread out like they used to be, just not on one small set by the coast. amp up the fond nostalgia. bring all the old sets and locations back into it, including cardew. have a scene where someone sets flowers by henshawe’s grave. reopen wheal leisure. when we’re in cornwall, make it feel like it. take it all back to its roots. give demelza a worthwhile plot, and reunite morwenna with her son. take more time with her trauma plot in general - a promise by drake that he’ll never want a carnal relationship with her followed up a day later by disappointment on his part that he hasn’t gotten laid doesn’t cut it. so, that’s cornwall.

in london, put caroline to use. she knows everyone there is to know in high society; she’s independently wealthy; she’s cunning, articulate, strong-minded, and unbelievably powerful. use it. a perfect example, just for a tiny alteration, is the scene where a man spits at kitty - it wouldn’t be seemly for dwight to confront him, but caroline could: she, a powerful, untouchable aristocrat, could have cornered him and chewed him out without any repercussions or consequences. she’s the only truly upperclass character who is painted in a positive light - let her use her power and influence for good. 

the final episode, but i’m focusing on george because he’s my favourite and also he was done so dirty: george’s hallucinations actually are gone and he’s started the process of healing. he and enys have started a positive, meaningful friendship. george helps ross in some different way - getting his hands dirty and going into a mine for the first time to rescue him, for example; imagine george in a cramped tunnel, covered in black dirt and sweat, terrified, clothes ruined, saving ross’s life: powerful - and their dynamic changes to a strange friendship that stays like that. george is clearly changed - he’s kinder, fairer, more mellow - but they keep up pretences for the fun of it. a scene in the red lion to demonstrate this - they have a confrontation (���oh, hello, ross - [bitchy comment]”), turns into a bit of verbal sparring, they clearly still hate each other for old time’s sake but there’s a hint of a smile and they both know they’re secretly fond of each other. they don’t go so far as to actually sit down for a drink together - they still go to their separate tables and their separate lives - but you know. it’s a healthier relationship. 

a scene in the graveyard - geoffrey charles is leaving flowers, george comes up behind, hesitates a moment, then finally joins him; it’s awkward and they’re both bristling for a little bit, but finally george begrudgingly tells him he’ll fund his military training. cut to another scene - they’re both in trenwith. it’s still awkward, they’re still expecting something bad from the other, but their hackles aren’t quite so raised. finally, bessie enters the drawing room with francis’ portrait. george has it hung back in its old place above the fireplace. it’s a soft moment between george and geoffrey charles - the beginning of a reconciliation, an understanding, an apology. they both gaze up at the portrait for a moment. finally, george offers him a drink. geoffrey charles accepts. it’s the beginning of a gentler relationship and the ending of a mutually painful animosity. 

george goes to nampara and asks to be taught about mining; ross agrees. when george leaves trenwith, it’s a quiet, joyful, powerful moment of healing and moving on. in the carriage, he has ursula on his lap and valentine sitting beside him with the miniature portrait of elizabeth. george puts his arm around him, a little uncomfortable at first with the tenderness but settling into it, they smile at each other, he starts to talk about mining. as they drive away from trenwith, george and valentine are too absorbed in their own newfound closeness and gentle conversation to look back. from the upstairs window, elizabeth watches them go with a smile. 

in the truro townhouse, the household is busy preparing to move to london. suddenly, a knock at the front door. it’s demelza, dishevelled and frenzied and smiling - they need all hands on deck to bring in the harvest. george resists at first (“me?”), valentine begs to go, he finally relents - and it’s a throwback to the harvesting scene in the beginning of the show. the final scene: music over a montage. all the main characters are helping in the wheat field. it’s soft, sunny, and beautiful. george, in just his shirt sleeves and breeches, is laughing and free, helping pile wheat onto the cart and playing with valentine - chasing him around, picking him up and spinning him around, both of them are smiling. caroline and dwight are throwing stalks of wheat at each other and laughing, caroline’s hair a mess and she’s pretending to care about it, demelza runs up behind her and showers her in wheat, caroline is melodramatically incensed, demelza is laughing, caroline swears revenge and chases after her, female friendships deserve the world. demelza and ross have some stupid romantic moment, like kissing with the sun as a halo behind them. morwenna, her son, and all the school children help (morwenna and her son share a sweet moment), as does rosina and prudie and kitty and geoffrey charles. cary watches at the edge of the field with his arms crossed and a disapproving (but secretly fond) sneer on his face. all the characters are together - draw back to show the cliffs and the sea in the background - fade to black. everyone is set on their path of healing. everyone is where they should be. the french don’t exist. also squeeze george meeting harriet in there somewhere, and for the first time in two years he feels soft and healed enough to begin to love again, slowly, patiently. EVERYTHING IS GOOD, EVERYONE IS HAPPY, GIVE ME A SIMPLE, ORDINARY ENDING INSTEAD OF SOME SORT OF CHAOS WHERE TOO MANY SENSELESS, MEANINGLESS SUBPLOTS WITH NOTHING TO DO WITH THE REST OF THE SHOW OR ANY OF THE CHARACTERS ARE CRAMMED IN. I’D RATHER BE UNDERWHELMED AND DISAPPOINTED BY THE SIMPLICITY THAN OVERWHELMED AND GIVEN A HOLLOW, FRENZIED, OVERDRAMATIC NOTHING - but, better yet, give us happiness by giving the characters happiness. thanks for coming to my ted talk

[mindfulcuppa]

Traversing over sand, water, stone. A glassy ocean by terracotta kitchens and cut snakes.

₃ Lisbon >Sintra >Almageira

Lisboa

Before long, I returned to Lisboa where I rested in a hostel near Ristrello. There were bunk beds three stories high, with headroom enough to lay, but not enough to do a partial crunch.

This time I wandered around the city somewhat purposeless, finding a place to do laundry, a place to have coffee, and some castles to draw. There was a tip toe nature toward discovery, and I felt drawn into the touristic snow globe experience. To break from this, I went to the extreme of tourist density, to Sintra and the Palace of Peña.

As you would consider what it would be like to be in a gold plated children's book, the palace held a certain attention to detail that was quite unnecessary. And with the deluge of people that step through with heads in lenses, the spirit of the Palace does get lost in the noise. There was a case for aesthetics, though. The construction of Poseidon into an arch doorway was my favourite, along with the sheer beauty of balanced architecture in the hallways. Imagining what regal life would take place at the palace left a specific feeling of detest, dust, and nostalgia.

Nearby, the gardens were majestic; sweeping swans and ducks, each with their own castle-like nests. The peaceful shelter from shimmering leaves of old trees above. I enjoyed spending some moments here breathing, drawing, and sitting (all at the same time!).

It was hot, and I was now overloaded with noise. The town of Sintra had many quirks, hills, bends, and amusements that helped distract from the consuming surroundings. Along my way, I had some conversation with a local azulejo artist (painting tiles) about process, and then found a nice place to drink a beer. I had passed through the Peña gift shop and pocketed a postcard (to remedy the guilt of the 14€ entry), so I sat at the bar to write to my grandparents, who's friends had advised this trip. Just as my legs began to desire a seat, I boarded the train back to Lisbon.

Once I got back to the capital again, I had a look for some enjoyable ways to spend an evening outside of the typical. I discovered a dance history class at TBA, where I would learn some new breakdance, vogue, footwork techniques and built up a sweat. Later I realised that my friend Paul was in fact living in Lisbon, so we arranged to meet.

He taught me some slang, and we met also with his friends Basille and Ria. They were lovely. We must have looked cool because a stranger came to us for a lighter and then decided to stay a while too. It was great to talk with them, as I felt like I hadn't had a decent exchange of conversation in days. Hearing of Paul's lifestyle of surfing, ceramics, and teaching brought joy to me. As well as an essence of opportunity for something similar one day.

The next day I would visit Basille's workshop/studio on my way to the bus. His professionalism in sign writing, home made screen station, and attention to detail in the fine design of his space was inspiring. I thanked him for the gifted pin for my travels up the coast.

Almageira

Arriving into Peniche on a hot summers day was memorable for its stench of sardines. Apparently it’s the sardine capital of the world (not Sardinia), but I’m still a little sceptical… A man named Paul picked me up, he was British but as things became clear, he had a chasm of houses in the area and seemed to be building a mini empire.

I was there to help him with his project to turn a couple of acres, ‘the land’ as it was named, into a place to live and breathe for him and his partner. Featuring a yurt, a double decker bus, and a halfpipe, the land was fringed on something that I’d like to contribute towards, but ultimately, I was there to surf and swim. The water at Almegeira was so crisp and glassy, it like freshly washed windows. Baleal beach was also a nice place to paddle, and did get twice overhead one day 😳

Malcolm, JB, Luiz, and Brodan all joined in some assistance over the 2 weeks; where we shovelled concrete, built a deck, and installed a kitchen or two [we built one for outside]. They are all wonderful. I especially enjoyed hearing Luiz talk about rake, and Malcolm talk about his passion for high lining. Sharing insights is what we did lots of. As well as heading out to a couple of bars (Rickle, Boske, Washed Up), and hanging at the pipe dream pool with the dogs.

A highlight was having Emma and Alex come through on their road trip and fancy van. We had a boisterous bolder stroll and snacks that were exactly the sweet spot. We watched a perfectly orange sun set over some skim-boarders, as would be found on an advert for corona beer. I was happy to see them.

My step count began to take a high trend upwards around this time which i've grown into, but initially tired of the dripping sweats...

I write this now from London, 5 weeks after the fact. My image library backup is needing a moment to update...

[afteriwake]

Another Shot (A “Can You Keep A Secret?” Story)

They're together! Yay!

Another Shot - Second chances are sometimes the best things in the world.

Read @ AO3 | Send Me A Prompt | Buy Me A Coffee?

He didn't bring it up, and neither did she. Not for a few days, when she was a little less depressed about being fooled. He wanted to give her time. If it was just a fluke, he didn't want to know right away, but he didn't want it to linger, either.

She ended up bringing it up. They were on a stake-out, and he was paying attention to the suspect's house. He knew she was divvying up her attention between the suspect and him, but the atmosphere wasn't uncomfortable, so he just let it be.

"Should we talk?"

"About what?" he asked. He knew exactly what, of course, but he wanted to hear her say it.

"About...you know. The incident in the bathroom?"

"If you want to," he said.

"I guess I do." He pulled his attention away from the building and turned to her. This was important, and he felt he should give it more of his attention than he was currently giving it. "I...I guess I wanted you to know I really was going to kiss you."

He nodded. "I figured as much."

She took a deep breath. She started to say something else, but then stopped. "It wouldn't have made a difference, though."

"What do you mean?"

"It wouldn't go anywhere. It would have just been a kiss. I mean, there can't be anything between us."

He nodded slowly, not really wanting to continue this conversation. "Yeah," was all he said in response.

She looked at him but said nothing, turning her attention back to the house. "Hey, I think the suspect's leaving."

He turned his attention back as well. "Guess he is," he said, opening the door. Any reason to leave that conversation alone was a good one. It just made him depressed, thinking about how she wouldn't even give anything a chance between them. It was definitely a one-sided thing, he realized as he got closer to the suspect. And that was probably all it would ever be, and he'd better get used to it.

---

Once they got the suspect dropped off and finished interrogating him, Lisbon ordered them to go home, since it was three in the morning and they'd been up since six. All he wanted was to go home and sleep for a few hours before getting up and doing it all over again.

"Rigsby, wait up."

He stopped and waited for Grace to join him. She stayed within reaching distance. Apparently, what she said earlier had settled things. At least on her part, there wouldn't be any awkwardness. He just hoped he could do the same, though he wasn't sure he could. "Yeah?"

She was quiet for a few moments as they walked towards the cars. He knew she was on the other side of the lot from him, so they would hit her car first. Part of him wanted to walk slower, see why she just had to talk to him, and another part wanted to hurry up and get home so he could have a drink and pass out.

Curiosity won out.

"I lied. Earlier."

He stopped dead in his tracks. He couldn't help it. There was only one real conversation that they'd had that day and if she lied...

"How?" he asked.

"If I had kissed you, and...maybe I would have seen how things went. Seen if there was something there. Maybe."

"I can live with a maybe," he said, a slow smile spreading on his face. It wasn't an open admission that she liked him in any way more than being a colleague, but it was a start. He could work with that. He started walking again, more slowly now, and waited to see what else she said.

"I just...I like my job. I don't want to lose it. But when I saw you, and then...I just..." She took a deep breath. "You're important to me. Probably more important than you should be."

"You're important to me, too."

"That's why you threatened him."

"Yes," he said with a nod. "I just told him I wanted you to be happy and I'd hurt him if he hurt you. More or less."

"I'm glad you did," she said. "And I'm sorry you did, too, because he hurt you."

"It could have been worse," he said.

"I keep thinking about that.," she said quietly. "That's why I...you know. Almost kissed you. It was not something I wanted to think about, and when I had to...it scared me."

They were almost to his car. "Well, I'm still alive, so it's okay."

"No, no it's not. Like you said, he could have killed you, and it would have been my fault."

He stopped again and faced her, putting a hand on her shoulder to get her to stop as well. "I'm alive. Don't drive yourself crazy thinking about if I could have gotten killed. I'm the one who took him into the bathroom, remember?"

She reached up and touched his face gently and everything froze in him. This was a pivotal moment, and he knew it. Something was going to happen. He was willing to let her make the next move, regardless of where it put them. "I'm sorry."

"Forget it, Grace."

"No, not about that." She stepped closer till there wasn't much of a gap between them. "I'm sorry I didn't kiss you."

He nodded slowly, not wanting to push, not wanting to ruin what could be a good moment. Or not...he couldn't read her right now, and it was starting to drive him nuts. "So..." he said quietly.

She didn't say anything, but she closed the gap between them and let her lips brush lightly against his, testing his response. It was immediate: he put an arm around her waist and pulled her closer, deepening the kiss slightly. When he felt her relax against him, he deepened it a little more, completely savoring the moment.

Finally, she pulled away and looked at him, slightly out of breath. "Now I wish I'd kissed you earlier," she murmured.

He smiled at her, the first completely contented smile he'd had in a long time, and laughed slightly. "Really?"

"Really," she said. She pulled away a little more until he let her go. "I should get some sleep. You too."

He nodded. "Yeah, we should. I'll finish walking you to your car."

She smiled at him and stayed close as they walked the rest of the way in silence. He didn't know where this was going to lead, if it was going to lead anywhere at all, but he was glad she was willing to maybe give things a chance. Like he'd said, he could live with a maybe.

[icarusreading]

The Virgin Suicides (Sofia Coppola)-5/5 Stars

!!Spoilers Ahead!! (this is much less formal than La Chimera because this is my favorite movie ever and i have many thoughts)

Cast-5/5

Kirsten Dunst and AJ Cook my loves. My angels. They are so good. I think something that stood out to me that i’m not 100% sure was intentional was that all do the Lisbon sisters looked old/mature for their age while the majority of the boys (besides Trip…asshole…) looked young for their age. I just find that and interesting detail, intentional or not.

Also Trip was far too well casted. He is SO someone that i would’ve crushed on and been heartbroken by. I’m biased though because the longest crush i ever had was a Trip Fontaine lookalike and that did not work out for me.

(and Danny Devito making a brief cameo in this movie made me giggle the first time i watched it)

Plot-5/5

I think what makes this movie so interesting is how the viewer sees the girls. As a viewer, we’re being put into the eyes of the boys who are so heavily infatuated with them. So, we actually barely know a thing about the girls. We don’t know if what they said is how they said it, if there really were signs of their impending doom, because we’re getting all our information from a secondhand source. Had this been written in Lux or Mary’s perspective, i guarantee we would see the characters in a different light. and I think that’s why this has stuck with me.

Overall, I love the plot. I watched this movie at a difficult time in my life and it felt equally as haunting as it did comforting. I think if anything it’s a commentary on the male gaze. These girls weren’t a mystery to be investigated, they were just girls. I know i keep talking about the book when this is a movie review but I feel it’s important to mention how in the book, the girls are rarely ever described as human. Even in the movie, one of the first lines describes them as “creatures”. This whole plot centers around them being these weird, almost god like beings to the world around them. Everyone admired, no one knew them.

Score-1000/5

I think i’m Airs #1 listener on Spotify. Like actually, the soundtrack for this movie is one of my most listened to albums. Again, i’m not super well versed in this topic but I think it matched the movie very well. It gave an almost melancholic air to the film without being typical ‘sad’ music.

Cinematography-5/5

I love Sofia Coppola’s style of filming. I really do feel like she achieved making this movie feel nostalgic, because that’s what the story was to the narrators. I remember there being a lot of color in this movie but at the same time i felt like it was almost dull, like a faded memory. That’s really what it felt like to me, although I don’t even know how to fully describe how that was accomplished. It’s really stunning.

I liked how the girls were almost always filmed in groups, except for Lux. Lux is the girl that the boys most focused on. She was like a sex symbol to them, and I feel like she always stood out even when she was being filmed with the other sisters. She’s the most vibrant part of the memory the boys are trying to piece together.

Ending-4.5/5

The only problem i have with the ending of this movie is that they didn’t stay true to how Mary died!!! That part of the book felt so important because the Lisbons were living with a daughter that they already viewed as a corpse and although it was a more detail, it was what gutted me most at the end. Although i don’t hate that they didn’t add that in the film.

I liked especially how they mentioned that Lux was the last to go because it did feel like more of a full ending. Lux was the girl the boys knew the most about, and even then it was very superficial. They were most infatuated with her and when she was gone it closed that chapter (even if it was reopened later in the boys lives)

Favorite quote/scene-

‘Obviously, Doctor, you’ve never been a thirteen year old girl’

She was right. I was a 13 year old girl once and it sucked. But honestly i think this whole scene just sets the tone for the story. No one listened to any of them. We never know what truly went on in that house.

Final thoughts-

What i find so incredibly haunting about this movie is that we will never know what the Lisbon sisters were like. We saw them through the eyes of boys who knew nothing about them, saw them as a mystery to solve. I watched and read the book when i was in a very dark place myself and i connected to it to a point where it will always stick with me. The Lisbon sisters were never, and will never, be understood by those in their world. And yet i think to people who connect with their hardships and tragic endings are the ones that know them the most intimately.

Also. I have to say. When the girls were communicating through morse code and the boys thought they were saying “help, send bobo” THEY WERE SPELLING POPO. AS IN POLICE. that detail makes me so upset because it was RIGHT THERE.

divider credit: @strangergraphics-archive

[youareinlove]

love how we have our on language here to talk about things without talking about it

me calling the place taylor and travis stayed in between stockholm and lisbon [redacted] even though you all probably know exactly where i'm talking about

[thissacrificeisnecxesary]

The question asked of me; should we eat day old microwaved fish

Me a diplomat: Pavement, evil horrible girly girl pop girly 8th grade kendall Roy teenage girl placebo drunk drunk girl who is loud and loud and loud and loud and you shouldn’t love her but you do and it’s not because overall she’s actually a really good person or really even that pretty (pretty enough to be. I’m a movie) (not really) but you love her anyway cause she’s the main character like plot armor from the audience, you are good and you are me so I am good. Even if I’m not very good it’s like I’m still good cause ultimately, she’s leaning is she not? So maybe that’s what it is. Eccentricities. Lux Lisbon if she didn’t wanna kill herself or, Melinda sturniolo if she didn’t wanna kil herself or possibly Katina’s everdeen if she didn’t wanna kill herself Sierra Sierra something something mascara, clean girl but not really, smart girl but not really, cool girl but not really, popular girl but not really, if you’re anything are you still a woman? Or is girlhood just to hard. You’re shivering and it’s kinda-of funny looking. I don’t need no timekeeper I don’t need noninterlocuter and baby you would look. A little cuter day by day. Pavement is how we started this business. Which is more accurately to say we built this city on math rock and virginity. That was mean. I really like pavement. I bet you do FUCKIGN faggot. Holy shirt what the the hey man you can’t say that- and you definitely can’t call me that cause I’m not gay my girlfriend is right here. She shcks tho yeah? What are you talking about? You just sorta grabbed onto the closest piece of heterosexuality, that couldn’t see your disturbing aversion (complimentary) and you held on tight. But she sucks man. Not a good girlfriend. We’re actually very happy. Oh I’m sure you are classic fag on vampire cunt action. You’re jellous. Jesus Christ man. What not like in a hornet way. Okay. Whag? What what what what- why do you let girls in who have crushes. What is the problem with a girl who has a teeny little crush, that’s a little tiny psychotic obsession but that’s just whag it means to be a live. Love is a wound and it should make you want to die and throw up. I guess I don’t totally disagree with all of that. Bug fuck my clown alter ego tells you that to live is to

Wash your hands

Pick sleep over the moon girl girl girl girl girl girl girl girl is there an inherent disconnection between my lover because of

- autism

- Growing up poor

- Growing up white

- Developmental disability

- Incest

- Furry porn

- The thing

- Undefined man mental illness #1

- Too many drugs

- Slender man

- The nightmares

- The neglect

- The great molasses flood

Clss rae se amles semaj

The story he told him was of the camel and the other one something religious maybe? Or another animal like a fable, Socrates; but the guy who made fables. Jesse james but it’s Christian bald, Christian bale on the other hand, he did Drew’s American psyop corner. Do you guys forgive enya for say ing the n word?

Irreverent is a word I don’t know the meaning of. Stalinism is a word you can’t seem to get right, it’s okay though, it’s not a big deal, ur intrinsic behindednsss this aversion this left handedness, what do we say? It’s hard to be your own person ; in highschool, Diane Nguyen would get it.

Be blunt- that’s good way to get through life, it is very odd and it leaves people questioning- which is quite the opposite of what blunt is supposed to mean. I guess what I mean is be vague more accurately, but insist on that vagueness with the confidence of someone who’s actually saying something. This is what it means to be an artist. You abstract don’t you not? Yoh can take all of the things and grate them up, this is the baby eater scene from haunting of hill house (watch it) yoh kkw what I’m talking about it’s very good. See? That’s vague, that’s impressive, if they even remember, then they’ll get a neat little postcard into how your brain works, a suitable amount that is manageable for a human being. There’s simply to much to much to get to them in an efficient manner so you must abandon this pathology, that, intellectualizing your existence. Make it’s it makes it much harder to live. But that’s what we’re doing right now. That’s the sacrifice THAG writers and poets and artists talk about- taking tiny tiny insignificant pieces of your brain and handing them off slowly, if it all comes out at once it’s not. They can’t do it they can’t deal with it. But in small manageable sizable pieces you can give them the message, letter by kwetter dot mmy dot. Morse code out your messages, so under offer they can’t be read. You write like a broken disc you write like you’re not human

You write like you’re not human

Like write like human human

I feel Hands in the end. I’ll feel them in the end, born to callously walk through the halls. Born to leave men. I don’t respect it. I don’t let them in my home, like a rabid dog I can’t be near them. I’m scared of them. I there’s a man’s voice in the house,

Learn to stim or you’re gonna be stuck here a while.