#brick bookend

[drawdownbooks]

We don't just make books, we make bookends too!

Durable powder-coated steel construction (made in the USA), and a classic L-shape form designed to keep your books in place. 5.5 in. × 5.25 in. One piece. Designed by Christopher and Kathleen Sleboda

#Draw Down Books #bookends #steel bookend #brick bookend #brick objets d'art #bricks

[ego-sum-arbor]

Huzzah! Adding my grandmother’s collection of Ovid’s love poetry won’t disturb the top of bookcase shelf!

#it’s a precarious zone #sandwiched between a taller bookcase and a brick masquerading as a bookend #most of a brick anyway #my blather

[fayes-fics]

Eden

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader

Summary: Seeing you with other Bridgerton offspring has an interesting effect on your new husband...

I couldn't resist using a Season 3 gif cos hello.

Warnings: 18+ smut, minors DNI, breeding kink, dirty talk, mutual masturbation, vaginal sex, creampie, ie filthy babymaking. Also, the smut is bookended by fluff; yeah, that probably needs a warning, lol.

Word Count: 4.2k

Authors Note: This is a very belated request fill for @victoriaholland (HERE) and Anon (HERE) about Benedict with a touch of baby fever. I decided to combine the asks as I saw a way to weave them together. Sorry for the delay, but well at least babymaking seems appropriate for spring hehe. Thank you to @colettebronte for being an awesome beta, as always. Err, Enjoy! <3

Daphne’s latest child is beautiful; you delight in his joy as he bounces on your lap, learning the strength of his sweetly chubby legs, little fists wrapped tight around your fingers. 

Looking up, you catch your husband's eye from afar, his stare intense across the gardens of Bridgerton House as you sit under a tented shelter upon a picnic blanket. The rest of the family are scattered around, playing games or chatting, but you are quite content minding the little one while his nanny takes a few moments to eat lunch.

“Is everything alright, my love?” You inquire as Benedict draws closer. 

“Yes… I….” He seems a little flustered. 

“Are you sure?” 

You pull a funny face for the infant, who breaks out into the most adorable infectious giggles that has you grinning from ear to ear and hugging him into your body, swaying with him. 

“Are you alright? Minding the child?” He checks, his voice a touch odd.

“Oh yes. We are more than happy, are we not, my little prince?” You talk in a vaguely silly baby-talk voice, addressing the child in your arms as much as Benedict. 

Again, the child peals with delighted noises and spit bubbles enthusiastically, looking up at Benedict eagerly as much as you do.

“Well, that is wonderful news,” he blusters, and you could swear he is out of sorts, breathless almost. “I shall… leave you to it,” he adds, giving you a bow and then withdrawing as the little one wiggles out of your arms.

“Ignore your Uncle Benedict; he is being a silly billy,” you whisper conspiratorially once the man in question is out of earshot.

The response is babbled nonsense as the child bashes one wooden brick against another.

“I quite agree,” you state sagely before breaking into a goofy grin.

——

“Please?” Hyacinth wheedles.

“No, Hy,” you sigh without even looking up.

“Ugh, you are no fun!” she scowls, crossing her arms defiantly.

“What is all this?” Anthony clips as he strides into the drawing room, Benedict on his heels, as Hyacinth flounces dramatically across the room. 

“Your little sister is angry at me because I will not allow her to drink the punch; it has brandy in it,” you explain cooly.

“Quite right, too!” Anthony chimes as Hyacinth rolls her eyes.

“Listen to y/n, Hyacinth, and do as she says,” Anthony lectures, and you feel grateful for his support, effectively neutering her rebellion. “Despite a temporary lapse of judgment when choosing a spouse, she is otherwise one of the most sensible people in this family.”

“Hey…!” Benedict protests.

“Please…” Anthony withers, twisting towards him. “Brother, if there is one thing us Bridgerton men know how to do, ‘tis to marry a woman entirely too good for us. And well done on that, by the way.”

You smirk at Anthony’s hilarious way of putting his brother - your husband - in his place, catching Kate’s eye with a wink as she enters the room carrying her baby. 

“Y/n, come and meet the future Viscount; he’s awake at last,” she calls to you. 

You are immediately on your feet and grinning, taking the tiny bundle from her arms and cooing at the sweet little boy. The baby opens his enormous brown eyes and observes you for a second before breaking into a one-toothed grin and happily waving his fists at you.

“Oh, he really likes you!” Kate enthuses, delighted.

“As I do you, little one,” you smile, leaning over to kiss his forehead.

You look up to see Benedict with that same look on his face as earlier. A tempest, almost an energy over his being. It’s almost as if he is… aroused?! Which is most odd.

As you hand the baby back to Kate, giving him one final kiss, Benedict is suddenly by your side. Announcing to the family that there has been a change of plan and, regrettably, you will not be able to stay for dinner, his arm an insistent tug around your waist.

——

“Why did we not stay for family dinner as originally planned, my love?” 

Your question is soft, only just audible over the noise of the carriage as you trundle over the cobbled streets of Mayfair a few minutes later. 

“I decided that we should perhaps dine at ours this evening…” his voice adopting that deeper edge which always causes butterflies in your tummy. His hand lands on your knee, a heavy weight that feels portentous. He slides closer on the bench seat.

“Why might that be?” your ask turns breathy, entirely without you meaning it to.

“I want to be alone with you,” he murmurs, unmistakably pitched to arouse. 

The carriage seems to notch up a few degrees as the rocking motion presses your side rhythmically into his. The sound of the wheels and hooves is so loud. He twists to wrap an arm around your shoulder and pulls your back against his flank. 

“All day today, I have watched you,” he rumbles, hand warming the skin around your clavicle, fingertip brushing in circles. “You are so very good with children, darling. Seeing you so naturally with the babies and how you handled Hyacinth… you would be the perfect mother.”

You blush a little at his praise. “Thank you, my love. I would like children one day. Your children. Imagine a child with your eyes. They would be quite the most beautiful,” you sigh wistfully, leaning back into him, his hand feeling heavier on your skin.

Benedict chuckles modestly. “And what of your beauty? Would a child version of you not be the most fetching?”

You giggle and turn your head sideways to nuzzle against his jaw. “I think we would indeed make beautiful babies together, Benedict.”

“I agree,” his voice a tempting lilt, fingers skating downwards over the swell of your breast now, slipping inside the fabric and making you gasp as he tweaks your nipple. “And I think we should start as soon as we get home.”

“Did seeing me with babies suddenly make you want your own, Mr Bridgerton?” Your hand flexes on his knee as he toys with your breast.

“Oh yes darling, it made me want to take you right there…” he asserts, finally admitting those looks he gave you were indeed pure arousal.

You reach up and run your hand into his hair, fingers flexing on his warm scalp as you pull his face to yours.  “And suddenly, it appears I am no longer hungry for dinner…” you whisper flirtatiously, your cupid's bow brushing his stubbled upper lip.

He groans, and his passionate kiss is plundering, a tingle running over your limbs, just as your carriage comes to a shuddering stop outside your townhome. 

Uncaring of the neighbourhood or any prying eyes, Benedict sweeps you out of the carriage in his arms, carrying you bridal style over the pavement and through your front door.

“My wife and I are not to be disturbed,” he announces crisply and loudly to the staff as you enter the hallway.

Leaving no room for doubt about his plans by pulling you into a searing kiss for all to see before ascending the stairs rapidly. He practically growls as he kicks open the door to your master bedroom door and slams it shut again with his foot. 

“Benedict…” you stammer, heart pounding at how overwrought he is. 

You have never seen him like this. Commanding, crackling with an energy that has your body simmering. He is usually so sweet, affable, and kind. Every time you have been intimate since your wedding night a few weeks ago, he has been a complete gentleman: loving and so very tender. The grip he has had on you tonight feels different. This is something primal—like a switch has been flipped at a basal level in his being.

He places you down onto your feet before the roaring fire, his face intense.

“Wife…” The way he says it makes you feel a flush creep over your skin.

“Husband…” you respond in kind, belly fluttering with excitement.

“Take off your dress,” he orders, his dilated pupils shining in the firelight.

This is new. Usually, he is the one to remove it slowly and softly from your body. 

“I cannot, the buttons…” you confess, signalling behind you. You would need your ladies' maid to unhook them from between your shoulder blades.  

He moves closer, seeming so much taller; his ragged breaths dance in the tendrils of your hair as he reaches around behind your shoulders. With a rough tug that makes you startle, he tears the fabric asunder, the sound of tiny pearl buttons skittering across the polished wooden floor behind you as you gasp in surprise.

“There…” he smirks dangerously, “problem resolved.”

You are speechless as he withdraws a pace, looking at you expectantly. You follow his order, a slight quake in your hands as you push the frayed dress down your body, still a little shocked by his strength. Then you reach for the crisscross lacing of your stays, feeling the weight of his stare as each loop relents, his eyes hungry, his body heaving with deep breaths his fitted jacket taut with each inhale. You peel the item away, leaving just your thin white cotton chemise.

“Rip it too,” you plead before you realise it, enthralled by this assertive demeanour.

With a noise in the back of his throat, he takes a pace forward again, and you stare up at him, enchanted. He grasps the fabric above your breasts and then rips it loudly from your chest all the way to your ankles, the sound echoing up the walls. Again, his strength has your knees weak. As the torn pieces flutter from your body, you want to bathe in the hungry sound he makes as he realises you are clad only in white knee-high silk stockings, no underwear to be seen, the warmth from the fireplace swirling around your intimate area. 

As you stand almost naked before your imposing husband, him still fully dressed, there is a knot low in your gut. But it’s not fear; it’s something else entirely—desire. Trembling, breathless and wanting. An elemental wish to be thoroughly taken.

He steps forward, eyes glittering, and his fingers plough roughly between your legs, making you gasp.

“Eden,” he proclaims, his fingers snagging over your swollen pearl of a clit with almost rough strokes, the callous where he holds his paintbrush abrading your folds. “A wonderful, lush, wet garden. Just waiting to be planted.”  His words are hypnotic and low, questing fingers being coated with a dewiness that is entirely of his making.

“Please…” you whimper, squirming on his touch, captivated by this version of your husband, wanting to submit to him, a burning need low in your belly. His fingers slide faster, making a lewd, wet noise. 

“Are you going to let me?” Benedict croons. “Plant my seed inside you?”

Until now, he has always been careful to complete outside your body. A slightly bereft feeling every time - the wonderful moment cut short as he leaves you suddenly empty, a warm splash upon your thighs, tummy or spine. The idea he will stay inside you is alluring in a way you don’t fully comprehend.

“Yes, please, husband,” your nipples puckering almost painfully against the wool of his lapels as he crowds into you. 

“Good. Get on that bed right now,” Benedict orders roughly, pointing at your four-poster bed as he tugs off his jacket.

You scramble to obey. Feeling under a spell. Being naked save your stockings feels illicit as you lay back into the soft pillows and watch as he undresses, staring you down the whole time. 

You slide a hand between your legs instinctively as more of his toned body is revealed. He growls at the sight, you biting your lip and watching him, his torso bare, his trousers clinging to his shapely legs, to his swollen cock. He bends to remove his shoes, and the sight of his broad shoulders flexing is enough to make you moan. As he stands back up and hooks his elegant fingers around the trouser buttons, a smug look on his handsome face that he is doing this to you.

“Husband…” you call out to him, writhing on your fingers shamelessly now, one hand shooting up to brace your movements against the headboard, flushing warm down to your toes.

With a few dextrous flicks, the buttons relent, and his trousers drop to the floor. His naked body is always a delicious sight, but tonight feels more, every sense heightened, moaning again as he takes a step towards you, thigh muscles flexing, his cock standing proud to attention.

Again, a soft plea falls from your lips, your eyes raking every plain of his tempting form, feeling yourself swell under your fingertips.

“Not yet,” he clucks, the arrogance somehow more beguiling as you bite your lip. “I think I want to watch you come, my darling. All by yourself. I hear female pleasure can aid with conception after all.”

“Will you not touch me?” you petition, reaching your other hand imploringly towards him.

“No darling, I shall watch,” his lopsided grin deadly. 

He wraps a strong fist around his own cock, pumping slowly, a bead of moisture gathering at his tip, glistening in the candlelight as he does. 

“Now, use both hands, please. Place your fingers inside yourself,” Benedict instructs as you blindly follow, a languid buzz in your brain—you would do anything he told you to right now.

Planting your feet squarely on the bed, you drag your ankles up higher towards your bottom, letting your legs fall open wider to give him a better view as your other hand slides down. You plunge two fingers into yourself, your hips canting off the mattress with a staccato breath at the sensation of yourself, so hot and tight.

“That's right,” he endorses, a leisurely movement of his hand up and down his cock as he watches you from a few feet away. “‘Feel yourself, darling. Tis paradise, is it not?” that trademark rumbling voice skittering over your skin, goosebumps raising down your arms just at the tone. 

“Come closer,” you appeal breathily, wanting to smell him, feel his heat, his flesh—anything.

He shakes his head, smirking wider as his refusal spurs you on, desperate to come. Mewling as your fingers speed up, one circling your clit, the others buried as far as you can, wishing instead it were his long, graceful fingers reaching places you are unable. Watching him squeeze his own cock hurtles you fast, already aroused from the moment he slid a hand into your dress in the carriage. 

Unable to fight the tide in your body, you screw your eyes shut and call out his name as your pussy starts to convulse around your own fingers, toes curling into the sheet, your muscles all going stiff, your hips again raised as you feel the tide break. A gush of wetness runs down your palm and your bottom cheeks as your mind floats away. Distantly, you can hear him speaking, but it’s fuzzy as you flop back down, sated, your legs going flat, too shaky to balance.

You startle as a warm hand circles the wrist of your fingers still inside yourself, bringing you abruptly back into the room. Benedict looms over you, his chest heaving, that power still there.

“What was that?” your query drowsy, lips dry.

He chuckles richly. “I said that was spectacular,” he repeats, bemused. “But also that I want you to paint your nipples with your arousal, my love, for me,” he commands, tugging your hand so your fingers slide out of yourself.

You do as bidden, still floating down from the high, smearing your own warm juices onto your puffed areolas.

“Perfect..” he intones.

In one swift, athletic move, he mounts the bed. You cry out as his warm mouth encloses your left nipple, groaning lewdly as he licks you clean of your arousal, his tongue a heavy, warm, wet weight curling around your sensitive bud, his lips tugging gently, reawakening those synapses only just recovering from your orgasm. 

“Why do you always taste like heaven?” his dusky question is rhetorical, his breath gusting over your sternum as he swaps to your other breast to meter out the same treatment. He has you moving under him again as he settles his body over you more firmly, your hips tilting up to feel his hard cock graze your inner thigh. “I wonder if you will still taste like heaven when you are heavy with my child?” he hums thoughtfully as he teases your nipple with the tip of his nose, one hand cupping your empty belly. “I dare say even moreso, ripe like a vine, bearing fruit…” That sonorous voice teases over your skin as he moves slowly upwards to nuzzle your neck. “My fruit….” he adds, possessive as he sucks your earlobe into his mouth, so loud now right by your ear.

His hands wind around your thighs as he shuffles position so he is kneeling between your legs, his ropey thighs spread wide under yours…

“Are you ready for that, my love?” he pauses until you nod almost imperceptibly; you squeak as he suddenly hauls you down the bed, hips onto his lap, your pelvis now higher than your head upon the sheets. Your stockings unfurling down your legs where he quickly plucks at the ribbons holding them aloft.

“Good, because I am more than ready for you,” it almost sounds like a warning.

Then, with a solid thrust, he spears into your body, the invasion toe-curling, your fingers grasping his muscular forearms that are clamped around your waist. It is a primal position, and he begins to thrust with no mercy, his cock feeling huge and heavy, a strong weight that drags heavily over your walls as your pussy clings to him. Your eyes flutter closed as you whimper his name, powerless to do anything but take his thrusts, draped across his lap as you are.

“Look at me,” he demands raggedly. And you do, his handsome face contorted with effort as he slams into you, a little bead of sweat forming on his brow. “Look at me while I fuck a baby into you, wife.”

He’s never spoken to you like this before, clipped, harsh. It seems appropriate that he would be almost desperate in an act so elemental, so of the earth—to create life. Stoking a fire deep in your core that is a clarion call for him, a frisson running over your skin at the idea you are being impregnated. Bred.

You know neither of you will last long with this almost frenzied coupling, the tendrils of your arousal already swirling so soon after your last, his near-brutish handling precisely what you need, your swollen pearl slammed into his flat abdomen with every stroke he takes. The sheets roll under your shoulder blades as he keeps the same position, your hips high, a mounting that you cannot and do not want to escape, knowing he is leaving fingertip bruises around the dip of your waist, marks you will carry secretly with pride just for him.

You moan his name, so close again to that ephemeral bliss, thrashing your head from side to side as if willing the pleasure to break and wash over you.

“Come on, come for me, milk me, darling. Take what you need, take my seed,” his voice a deep wrecked purr, the lines of his body tense, craving release as much as you.

That command is what breaks the dam for you, an almost violent ricochet fanning out from where you clench around him, his cries muffled behind the rushing noise in your ears, every part of you convulsing in a pleasurable wave. And then, in a floating haze, for the very first time, you feel your husband come inside you, a warm bloom that coats your walls. It's an intoxicating feeling; you never want him to come anywhere else ever again.

“That's it, well done, my love,” he croons, eyes still shut as he shudders with little aftershocks, not leaving your body—as if he wants to stay inside you always.

——

As the embers in the fireplace glow white, you lay in post-coital bliss, bodies dewy from exertion. Benedict rests his head upon your stomach as you card your fingers leisurely through his hair.

“Do you believe we may have made a baby, darling?” he hums, pressing his ear to your belly button as if listening for a heartbeat.

“I am certain of it, husband; you were so very thorough with your attentions,” you assure as he takes your hand in his, lacing your fingers together. “I hope our baby has your face,” you opine.

“Even if it is a girl?!”

“Thou art as pretty as thou art handsome, Mr Bridgerton,” you quip.

He laughs, carefree, crawling behind you and pulling you into a spooned embrace. “Be careful with such provocation, wife; I may not be done with you after all,” he jests idly. “I, on the other hand, hope our child looks like you, even if it is a boy.” he posits, crowding into your back, his lips warm on the shell of your ear.

“Why?” you laugh, frowning, twisting to look back at him.

“So that I may love them as much as I do you,” he breezes nonchalantly as if what he says is not the sweetest thing you can imagine, causing a tart, sudden spike of want through your body, even as you lay sated.

“Be careful, husband,” you volley back, coquettish. “Or I may not yet be done with you.”

There is a sharp, approving intake of breath, and his hand slides low from your belly into the thatch of hair at the apex of your thighs.

“Is that a promise” he rumbles, your gasp loud as his fingers expertly drag against your clit.

“It is whatever you want. Just do not stop,” you rush out, your hand curling around his bicep, feeling a rigid mass slide hot against your bottom. “Again, husband,” you appeal breathily. “Impregnate me again.”

“With pleasure, wife,” he growls, surging into your body with a force that again steals the very breath from your lungs.

The pinkish light dawn is streaking over the ceiling above when you both finally succumb to sleep after many more vigorous attempts at babymaking. The last one, perhaps the most desperate, you pinned against the headboard, him fucking into you so hard from behind that a jagged crack appears, spidering up the wall from where the bedframe slammed into it. A flaw which he steadfastly refuses to get fixed, claiming it to be the most profound art—a souvenir and ode to a momentous night.

——

9 months later

Benedict’s lips mash against your sweaty brow as he keeps lauding you with praise, excitement and pride evident in his every word. You flop back onto the bed, exhaustion deep in your bones, your body turned inside out, hurting in a way you have never known.

But it was all worth it.

What feels like only moments later, in your shattered, addled state, the doctor and nurses depart. Your husband perches on the bed next to you, his face a picture of wonderment. Holding not just one but two bundles of joy in the crooks of his arms. One girl, one boy—fraternal twins.

“My love, we have created the most beautiful creatures on all of this earth,” he attests partisanly, his voice profound with emotion, his eyes pinging from one swaddled face to the other as they sleep soundly.

You shoot him a watery but ironic smile. “I suppose, dear husband, that is what happens when you spend a whole night impregnating me. You succeed twice over.”

His brow raises pointedly, his tongue shooting out to pass over his bottom lip. “Are you suggesting next time around, wife, we keep going for three days straight? So that I may have a brood of eight by the time we are done?” Deploying his bedroom voice that he knows full well makes your knees weak.

“Do not say such things in front of the children!” you chide, swatting his knee where it touches your thigh. “And no, I am not carrying six of your progeny at once; that is simply preposterous!”

“Four?” he petitions with a wink.

You roll your eyes affectionately, settling back into the mound of pillows. “A maximum of two at a time is my final offer, Benedict Bridgerton,” you respond drolly.

“Entirely reasonable,” he chuckles contentedly, dropping a kiss onto each of their foreheads before handing both to you so delicately, as if they are the most precious bundles in the world. 

Which to you both, they are.

Join my taglist HERE

Benedict taglist pt 1: @makaylan @foreverlonginguniverse @notanotheruniverse @iboopedyournose @aintnuthinbutahounddog @severewobblerlightdragon @writergirl-2001 @heeyyyou @enichole445 @enchantedbytomandhenry @ambitionspassionscoffee @chaoticcalzoneranchsports @nikaprincessofkattegat @baebee35 @crowleysqueenofhell @fiction-is-life @lilacbeesworld @broooookiecrisp @queen-of-the-misfit-toys @eleanor-bradstreet @divaanya @musicismyoxygen84 @miindfucked @sorryallonsy @cayt0123 @hottytoddyhistory @fictionalmenloversblog @zinzysstuff @malpalgalz @kinokomoonshine @causeimissu @delehosies @m-rae23 @last-sheep @panhoeofmanyfandoms @kmc1989 @desert-fern @corpseoftrees-queen @magical-spit @bunnyweasley23 @how-many-stars-in-the-sky @sya-skies

#benedict bridgerton fanfiction #benedict bridgerton #benedict bridgerton smut #benedict bridgerton fluff #benedict bridgerton imagine #bridgerton fanfiction #bridgerton #bridgerton imagine #bridgerton smut #bridgerton fluff #benedict bridgerton x reader #benedict bridgerton x female reader #benedict bridgerton x you #benedict bridgerton x y/n #bridgerton x reader #bridgerton x female reader #bridgerton x you #bridgerton x y/n #1k notes #2k notes #3k notes #4k notes #5k notes

[gingiesworld]

One

Lizzie Olsen x GN! Reader (Platonic)

Warnings. Death. Sad fic

Word Count: 6.9k+

Taglist : @natashamaximoff-69 @canvascoloredin @wizardofstories @louxbloom @wandanats-goodgirl @the-ox-fan20 @ladyqueenxoxo @aemilia19 @wandaromamoff69 @mfd-101 @dorabledewdroop @marvelogic

18+ MINORS DNI

One is all it takes for multiple disasters. It only takes one brick to bring down a house. It only takes one ingredient to ruin a recipe. It only takes one decision to implicate the lives of others. It only takes one to break another's heart. And it only takes one punch to end someone's life.

Lizzie was walking through the halls that she used to walk down when she was a teen with Y/N beside her. They were the one who made her day better. Just being in their presence was enough.

She stood before the faculty board and her eyes instantly found Y/N's eyes and their goofy smile. They were a huge supporter of her dreams.

Y/N and Lizzie both sat beside the lake as they basked in the sun. Lizzie had been having doubts about being a good enough actress to not be associated with her sisters. She loves her sisters, she just wants to achieve her dreams without their help.

"Are you sure I can be good enough?" She asked them. They gave her a bright smile to reassure her.

"Of course. I know you will be bigger than the twins." They spoke with such passion. "You are amazingly talented. Not just with your acting Lizzie. You have multiple and the one thing I love the most about you is despite your anxiety and panic attacks. You are determined to succeed and I know you will."

"What about you?" She asked them. "What will you do?"

"I don't know. It's hard being a kid in the system." They thought hard. "Maybe I want to be someone for those kids who have no one. Someone to listen to them when no one else will. Someone to encourage them to follow their dreams."

Lizzie could only smile at their big kind heart. They would choose a job with a poor salary and help the children who needed it most.

Lizzie soon found her way to their classroom. It was full of flowers and candles. The classroom was as full as it could be. She walked in and saw there were posters of her projects along with pictures of the two whenever they visited each other. She felt a single tear slip past the barrier and down her cheek.

Y/N was talking to the kids about ambitions and dreams. They were speaking emcouraging words to each of the teens before their eyes zoned in on the board with them an Lizzie.

"This woman right here had her doubts when we were 17." They told them as they pointed to Lizzie's picture. "She wasn't sure if she would make her own name without being associated with her sisters. But she did it. She got that far all on her own. She went to college. Worked endless hours in rehearsels and auditions until she got her first off broadway show." The teens listened to them intently. "She made it. She got that far all on her own without help from her name or her sister's fame." Y/N walked back to sit on their desk. "You can all do that too. Be who you want to be. Break the mold set by your families."

Lizzie soon saw how much their students loved them. She was only there today to see the school where she and her best friend went and where they went on to teach. She was proud of them. They had become the person they wanted to be. They became a light that guided the students to reach their full potential.

When her eyes caught sight of a bookend that she had bought them when they got their first teaching gig. She couldn't stop the tears from falling. She sobbed for her best friend.

"Miss Olsen?" Someone spoke, causing her to wipe her eyes before turning around to the student who called out to her. "We're sorry for your loss." She smiled at the kids as they all sat in their seats.

"You do realise their lessons were canceled?" She asked them all.

"We just didn't feel right to not be here." One of the students spoke.

"They believed in us. All of us." All of them agreed with the statement. Lizzie pulled up an empty chair and sat in front of the desk. She didn't feel right sitting at Y/N's desk.

"They were the best person I ever knew." Lizzie whispered as the students listened. "If you want to share some of the stories with them I am not going anywhere."

She listened intently as each student told her a different memory with Y/N. She felt her heart swell with how much of an impact Y/N had had on each of them. Just like they had an impact on her.

She was only supposed to be visiting the school to see where Y/N most of their days. She never dreamed that she would be back here without them. The one person who she could count on in moments like this. Now she didn't know who to turn too in times like this so she found comfort in their classroom and hearing the stories.

It was hard being back here. She saw all of their friends. All of the people that they had impacted their lives. Even their last foster parents too. She never thought she would meet all of these people like this. Not when her best friend was laying cold at the funeral directors.

"Why did this happen?" She asked her mum who was sitting beside her.

"I don't know sweetie." Jarnette spoke softly. "I just know they were extremely proud of you. Of everything you have achieved."

"It's just so hard mama." She cried as her mother wrapped her in her arms. She wanted nothing more than to comfort her daughter.

Lizzie was distraught. After hearing the news, she flew out straight away. She tried to make it back in time but she was too late.

The night that Y/N was taken, it only took one drunken punch to set the scales off balance. With that punch came a reaction that would change lives forever.

Y/N was walking arm in arm with a colleague who just wanted to have a nice meal with a friend after going through a break up. What neither expected was her ex to approach in a drunken stupor.

"Come on Jack, give me a chance." Steve slurred as he tried to grab his exes arm.

"No." She spoke shakily. She had seen him drunk before but not like this. He had some glint in his eyes.

"It's you isn't it?" He pointed his finger at Y/N. "You stole her from me."

"No. You cheated on her." They stated as they held Jack behind them. "You ruined what you had and I am being a good friend."

"Whatever. You just want to fuck her." He yelled as he pushed them back. Y/N stood their ground. They knew not to provoke him any further but they didn't expect him to throw a punch. A punch to the nose which caused the cartilage to puncture the membrane and cause a bleed rendering them unconcious.

She wanted to know what had happened. She knew that the person responsible was arrested. But she wanted to know why. Why did her best friend have to die?

Lizzie decided to go and see Y/N. She felt her eyes sting. This is going to be the last time she sees her best friend. Cold and gray. Eyes closed and a peaceful look on their face. She saw the ring that she got Y/N. She wore the other on her right ring finger.

Lizzie decided to surprise Y/N on their winter break. The two walked to their usual spot by the lake. Enjoying the silence in each other's company.

"I have something for you." She spoke nervously. She played with the velvet box in her pocket.

"You being here is enough Liz." They told her honestly. They could see the nervousness in her eyes.

"I wanted to get this for you as a thank you for always supporting me. Always being the one to push me to achieve." She told them as she pulled the velvet box out.

"You know I already agreed to marry you one day." They spoke seriously causing Lizzie to blush. "I'm joking." They chuckled.

"This is more of a representation of our friendship Y/N. One that I will carry with me for the rest of our lives." She told them as she opened the box with two matching rings. She placed Y/N's on their finger then hers on her own.

"I love it Lizzie." They whispered as they turned to give her a hug. She smiled as she enjoyed the comfort of her best friend's arms.

She played with the ring on her finger. The one that hadn't been hadn't been taken off in a decade.

"You know this wasn't supposed to be how the next meeting should go." She whispered as she looked at Y/N's resting features. "We were supposed to hang out. You were going to meet Robbie and grill him. Ask him all those uncomfortable questions." She chuckled as she wiped a tear from her eye. "It wasn't supposed to go like this." She whispered shakily. She hated that she was unable to hear their voice again. Listen to their laugh or see their smile. "I just really miss you and I never got to say goodbye."

She kissed their forehead before she left the room. She walked out of the building sobbing. She didn't care for the paparazzi catching these pictures of her. They were the last thoughts on her mind.

She just started to wonder how she would be able to go on without her best friend. The one person who she could always count on to cheer her up after a hard day. The one person she found safety and comfort in.

Lizzie was sat in her dark living room. Everyone else was getting the preparations in order for the funeral. They had to accommodate the amount of people who were going to be there.

She jumped at the sound of her door opening and closing. She turned around to see Robbie walking towards her. He engulfed her in his arms as she cried.

"I'm here for you." He whispered as she clutched his shirt. She just sobbed until she fell asleep in his arms. He had obligations with Milo Greene but he canceled them so he could be with his better half knowing she needs him now more than anything.

He lay back on the sofa and just let her sleep, slowly falling asleep himself.

Lizzie and Y/N were both dancing around the kitchen. Lizzie had convinced Y/N to join ballet with her which they did reluctantly but they just wanted to make her smile.

"I think we should check the cookies." Y/N spoke as they twirled Lizzie back to them.

"I think they will be fine." She smirked as she enjoyed dancing with them. "Would you be there to dance with me at my wedding?" She asked them.

"Of course." They responded softly. "Will you?"

"Definitely." Before they could dance some more, the smoke alarm went off.

"I thought you could bake." They teased her as she just lightly slapped their arm.

"Aww. They're ruined." She whined.

"That is what the smoke machine signals." They stated earning a glare off of the green eyed girl.

Lizzie woke with a headache, feeling an unusual warmth. When her eyes found the source she lay her head back down on Robbie's chest. His hand rubbed up and down her back soothingly.

"Why are you here?" Lizzie asked him confused.

"Because you need me." He told her softly. "I would rather be here with you. Supporting you. Comforting you. Being everything that Y/N was for you if you'd let me." He told her. She started to cry again as she nuzzled her head into his neck.

"They would have loved you." She whispered as she stayed in her position.

"I'm sure they would still attack me with those questions." He said with a smile. She remembers all of the times they did the same thing with her previous boyfriends.

"They would have." She lifted her head from its spot. She gave him a watery smile before she got up. He frowned as he watched her skulk to the kitchen. She started to get the ingredients out for Y/N's favourite cookies.

"What are you making?" He asked her.

"Y/N's favourite cookies." She stated as she started to weigh the ingredients.

"Do you want any help?" He asked her.

"No." She said as she got working. "Y/N usually helps." She let a tear slip and wiped it away harshly. He felt helpless. He didn't know how to make her feel better other than being there for her.

"Why don't you tell me something about them." He suggested as she started to make the dough.

Lizzie and Y/N were at their usual spot. Lizzie was lying there just sunbathing as Y/N stood admiring the lake. They looked over at her and smirked when they noticed her eyes were closed.

They slowly crept up to her and snatched her up into their arms and ran to the lake, jumping in with her in their arms.

"You twat!" Lizzie squealed as she moved her wet golden locks from her face as Y/N just chuckled.

"It was too good of an opportunity to pass up." They laughed as she splashed them. The pair ended up splashing each other in the sun, laughing with each other.

"Wow. They sound really fun." He observed as she nodded in agreement.

"They were the best. My mum used to say we were soulmates. Platonic soulmates. Whenever either of us needed the other, we were there in an instant." She said softly. He smiled as she spoke about them until she started to throw the utensils. "But now they won't be here anymore because they're dead."

He moved forward to hold her and stop her from harming herself. She fought against his hold. She tried everything but he just held her.

"He killed them." She kept repeating in sobs as he calmed her down. He held in his own tears from seeing her so broken. Like she had lost a piece of herself.

In that moment he became the one to be there whenever she needed. He may not be Y/N but he will become her One constant comfort for however long she needs.

Robbie was adamant to stay by her side through it all. He knows that she tends to push people away but he wasn't going to give up. No matter how harsh and venomous her words can be. He was going to stay for her.

The funeral was approaching and she wasn't ready for this at all. She wasn't ready for one final goodbye. It wasn't something that she ever thought she would have to do so soon.

Robbie brought in two cups of coffee as she was watching some old videos on her phone.

"Who's going to be the biggest star?" Y/N spoke as they pointed the camera at a shy teen Lizzie.

"Y/N. Stop." She whined as she tried to push the camera away.

"I will stop when you agree." They stated. "So who's going to be the biggest star?"

"Me!! The other Olsen!" She squealed.

"The better Olsen." Y/N cheered.

He watched as she smiled tearily at the phone as a young Lizzie and Y/N played through the phone. She thanked Robbie for the drink before she looked at him.

"The school wants me to do a speech after their funeral." She whispered as he rubbed her back soothingly. "I don't know what I'm going to say."

"Just say what's in your heart." He told her tenderly. She nodded as she moved on to the next video.

Y/N was dancing and singing along to Blink 182 All The Small Things.

"All the small things. True care. Truth brings." Lizzie laughed in the background as Y/N fell off the bed.

"Oh my god. Are you ok?" She asked once she had calmed down.

Lizzie laughed at the video with Robbie.

"They seem fun." He pointed out as she smiled.

"They were." She spoke softly. "They actually broke their arm when they fell." She laughed. Robbie smiled as she laughed which soon turned into uncontrollable sobs. He was quick to hold her in his arms.

"It's gonna be ok." Robbie whispered as he kissed her head as she cried into his chest shaking her head as she pushed herself away from him.

"No it's not." She raised her voice as she stood up. "Nothing is ever going to be ok again. Ever. They are gone. My best friend is gone. The." She took a shaky breath before continuing. "The one person who could always pull me back from from from this is gone and they're never coming back."

"I know that Lizzie." He said as he approached her slowly.

"NO YOU DON'T." She shouted. "THEY PROMISED ME. THEY PROMISED THEY WOULD ALWAYS BE HERE. THEY PROMISED!"

Robbie was lost on how he could help her. He wanted to help her but he didn't know what she needed. He just stood there and watched as she left the house leaving her phone.

Lizzie walked aimlessly with her arms around her chest. Hugging herself. Trying to feel some comfort. She soon found herself at the lake where they would spend most of their time together.

She stood and watched as wind blew through the trees and the grass. Everything looked as though someone hadn't just faded into nothingness. The ripples of the wind on the lake moving graciously.

"WHY DID YOU LEAVE ME?!!" She screamed. She wanted to get everything out. All of her anger and emotions.

"I didn't." She heard a voice in her mind. She recognised the voice. She knew exactly who it was.

"No. No. No." She shook her head with her eyes closed. "You're dead. You're not real." She muttered.

"Obviously."

She shook her head vigorously to get the voice from her head.

"You might want to scream."

She sighed as she felt the tears fall down her face. She looked over the lake and she knew she was alone. No one was here. This was Y/N's and her place. Their little part of LA that they could escape every trouble they had faced. But this bit of trouble was following her around.

She took a deep breath and screamed as loud as she could. She could feel her lungs and throat burning. She felt it all. The pain. The sadness. The anger. The denial. Everything she had felt since she got that phone call from her mother.

Lizzie was sitting in her New York apartment after she had just done a photoshoot. She had a glass of wine in her hand waiting for Y/N to call. Their daily call and conversation always made Lizzie feel better after a hard day.

She quickly picked up her phone when it rang. She sighed when she saw her mum's caller ID.

"Hey mum." She greeted her.

"Are you sitting down?" Her mother asked.

"Wow. Not even how you are." Lizzie teased as her mum just sighed.

"I need to know you are sitting down." She told her daughter.

"Yes. I'm sitting down." She told her mother. "Why what happened?"

"It's Y/N." She told her. Lizzie could feel the room getting smaller.

"What happened?" She asked her shakily.

"They uh. They're in surgery right now." She told her daughter. Lizzie instantly got on her computer and booked the next flight. "It's bad, baby."

"I'm on my way." Was all Lizzie said. She made sure she had everything she needed as she rushed out of the apartment to a cab and raced to the airport.

Lizzie found herself on her knees. Breathing deeply after she screamed holy murder.

"Feels better."

"No." She whispered into the silence. "Because you're not here. You're not real."

"I am just the memory you have."

"I miss you." She cried out. She knew that this whole conversation was in her head. She knows that.

"I'll always be with you."

She knew that she would have to accept that there is no miracle to bring them back. They won't dance with her at her wedding. They won't go with her to get her first award. They were gone. Gone for good.

Lizzie returned home late that night. When she walked in her home, Robbie engulfed her in a hug. He was worried for her. He had no idea how to know if she was safe or not.

"I'm sorry." She whispered as she wrapped her arms around him.

"It's ok." He replied as he squeezed her. "I'm just happy you're safe." He told her as he pulled back and cupped her face.

"Thank you." She whispered tiredly. "I'm just going to go to bed." She told him as he just nodded. He understands that she needs time and space right now. She knows that Y/N is not going to be coming back. She knows that she has to live her life without her best friend.

Y/N and Lizzie raced through the airport to meet halfway. When they did, Y/N wrapped their arms around her, lifting her up in the air and spinning her around.

"I missed you superstar." Y/N said as they set her back on her two feet.

"I missed you too." She smiled as they took her luggage from her and held their arm out for her to hold. The two walked out of the airport and towards Y/N's car. "So, anything happen while I've been away. Have you met someone?" She asked them, wiggling her eyebrows.

"Well there is someone." They spoke nervously. "Her name's Elle. She is really sweet. She's a medical intern."

"Wow. Smart and beautiful." She smirked at them.

"Yes she is." They said as they kept their eyes on the road. "What about you? I heard that there may be someone."

"There may be someone." She replied. "He worked on my latest project with me."

"Is he a good man?" They asked her.

"He is." She smiled thinking about Boyd.

"I guess I may need to have a little chat with this guy." They smirked as Lizzie just laughed. That is what Y/N is like. They are protective of her and she is just as protective of them.

Robbie watched as Lizzie slept. It seemed like she hadn't slept in a while. He hated seeing her like this and there was not anything that he could do to help her.

He was soon broken out of his thoughts when there was a knock on her door.

"Hi?" Robbie asked the unknown man who knocked late in the evening.

"Hi, I'm Boyd." He introduced himself. "I heard about Y/N and I wanted to see if Lizzie was ok."

"She is finally getting some sleep." Robbie told him as he nodded.

"Please can you give these to her." He asked Robbie as he handed her a card and another envelope.

"I will." Robbie replied. Boyd gave a thankful smile before he started to walk away.

"Lizzie deserves the best." Boyd spoke as he turned back. "Y/N always made sure of that. They knew that it wasn't me. I wasn't the best for her but you may be. You might be the one who truly helps her through this."

Lizzie was sitting on the stairs from waking up after hearing the door go. Robbie smiled at him before bidding goodbye. He smiled softly as he saw Lizzie's figure sat upon the stairs.

"That was Boyd." Robbie told her.

"I heard." She spoke bluntly. "What's that?" She asked, referring to the envelope.

"He said that these were for you." He told her. She took them from him and walked to the kitchen. She opened the card and huffed reading those words over and over again.

Sorry for your loss

My deepest condolences

All of them are just meaningless words. No one truly means them. They only say them in hopes to make themselves feel better. That's all.

Lizzie then opened the envelope. It was a scrapbook of old polaroids she and Y/N had taken while she still lived with Boyd. She must have forgotten about these.

The smiles on both of their faces in every one. The dates all signed on them too.

She also saw a note from Y/N on one of the two.

Y/N was sitting in Lizzie's living room with Boyd as Lizzie was in the shower. They had the pen in their hand as they wrote something on the back of one.

'We all think that happiness comes without reason.

Truthfully it is formed from the people we surround ourselves with.

The people who care enough to do anything to make you smile.

So please never stop smiling Lizzie.

The world would become a dark place if you did.'

Boyd watched Y/N intently as they wrote.

"You really care about her don't you." He asked them as they looked at him.

"I do. I would do anything for her." They told him. "That includes beating your ass if you ever break her heart."

"Why didn't you and her ever end up together?" He asked them.

"We never saw each other like that." They told him honestly. "Yeah we love each other and want the other to be happy. But she is destined for this life and I am happy where I am."

"You're a teacher." He pointed out curiously.

"I am. I enjoy helping kids realise their dreams and help them on the right path to follow them." They told him. "I never had anyone in my life to help guide me like that. I am a child from the system. Sent to different families until they decide they're sick of my existence." Boyd felt bad for them not realising just how deep it went. "I never want a child to feel the way that I did. Feeling alone like you have no one to guide you. Then Lizzie and I became friends in Freshman year and we have been best friends ever since."

Lizzie smiled at the little poem in Y/N's handwriting. His card may not have spoken any words of comfort but this gesture spoke paragraphs. To have something that even she had forgotten about was something special. To see all of those memories again made her smile. Smiling at the memory of her best friend.

Today was a day that Lizzie wasn't ready for. She stood in her mirror putting on some make up, getting ready for her final goodbye. Robbie was dressed in his best clothes, even though he didn't know them. He didn't want Lizzie to be alone. Y/N wouldn't want her to be alone either.

Lizzie sighed as she pinned her hair up. She wasn't ready to say goodbye. But in truth no one really is. No one is ever ready for it. To watch as the one person who has supported you through everything. The one person who you turned to whenever you needed someone.

"Are you ready?" Robbie asked her. She just shook her head with her eyes closed.

"No." She whispered shakily. Not trusting her own voice. "I don't think I'll ever be ready." They both made their way downstairs to see her mum and the twins stood there waiting. They all gave her a hug, letting her know that she isn't alone. She will never be alone.

"It's time sweetie." Jarnette spoke as she wrapped her arm around her. Lizzie just nodded and followed them all out to the car.

The drive behind the hearse was quiet. They never realised how many people they had helped. How many people they had pushed to achieve their dreams. Y/N was the light that shone in many lives. The guidance that helped many to achieve greatness.

Lizzie was asked to do the eulogy for them today. She has it in her pocket written out. She has it but she can't bring herself to stand at that podium. Looking at all of the faces who had been a part in Y/N's life. Whether it be a fleeting moment or a few years. So one of their students had taken Lizzie's place.

"Y/N was a well respected teacher. The coolest." They said sadly. "They were the one to push you to be the best you can be. They helped us through the hard times too." They took a deep breath before continuing. "They always told us about Lizzie. How they had been best friends since they started to walk the halls at school. They were extremely proud of her. Of everything she had achieved. When we asked them what they wanted to be when they were a kid they would say, 'I'm living my dream. I am helping make a difference in your lives. Pushing you to believe in yourself. That was my dream.'" They sniffled lightly before they continued. "They were the most selfless person I had ever met. They had the purest soul and I know that everyone who had ever had the pleasure of even having a conversation with them will miss their witty ways."

Lizzie couldn't help the tears that fell down her face. Her mum rubbed her back soothingly as Robbie held her hand. Her eyes never left the picture of Y/N that stood beside their coffin. The smile on their face was one she always loved to see. It used to bring her hope and comfort. But all it does now is bring her pain. The realisation that she is never going to see their smile again other than in pictures. Never hear them laugh again or tell one of their bad jokes.

Y/N and Lizzie decided to sneak a blunt down by the lake at their spot. The two were laying on the grass side by side looking up at the sky.

"Do you ever wonder what it would be like to fly?" They said, causing her to look at them.

"What?" She asked them, confused.

"You know, like that scene out of Matilda. The kid with the braids." They said as they snapped their fingers. "I would look awesome with braids." Lizzie laughed at their goofiness before turning her head to the sky.

"I think it would feel free." Lizzie spoke as she watched the clouds move slightly. "Not being defined by the laws of physics."

"Wow. High Lizzie is very philofosis. Philospica." Lizzie laughed at them, sounding out the word they wanted to say. "Philosophical! BOOM! I finally got it."

Lizzie just laughed at them as they celebrated in their mellow state of mind.

Lizzie stood there and watched as they lowered the coffin into the ground. She felt like at that moment time had frozen. She was stuck in this pit of grief and sadness. She had no idea how she was going to get out of this pit.

Robbie watched as she just stood there even when everyone else had left. She stood in the sun as Y/N lay in the ground. Ready to be covered in soil. Buried and to never see the light of day again.

"Come on Liz." He spoke softly as he reached for her hand.

"They used to call me that." She whispered.

"I'm sorry." He said quickly. She shook her head waving off his apology.

"It's ok." She whispered. "This isn't how I wanted the two of you to meet." She told him

"I know." He replied. "But I am here now. I am not going anywhere." He told her softly as he pulled her into him. "I am going to be here whenever you need me." He kissed the top of her head and held her as she cried. In that moment, he made both Lizzie and Y/N a promise. He was going to protect her heart. Help her whenever she needs to. Be a shoulder for her to lean on. Just be everything she needs him to be.

As the weeks went by, Lizzie closed herself off again. Everyone tried to reach out to her. But no one was successful. She was sat in her living room going through all of the things that she had from Y/N's.

She found a shirt of theirs and brought it to her nose, taking in their scent. She couldn't stop the tears from coming at the familiar scent. The scent that she will never smell on them again. She also had a letter from the school. Inviting her to speak with the student body.

Robbie brought in some food that he knows she probably won't touch but he will keep doing it until she eats. He will be her safety net. He will be the one to catch her.

"Do you know how many hits it can take to end a life?" She asked him. "One." She answered before he could speak. "All it took was one hit to take Y/N away from me. From everyone." She turned to face him and all he could see was pain. "I have hit and banged my head multiple times and nothing. Nothing fucking happens to me. But one punch was the end of them. How is that fair? How is it fair?" She started to cry as Robbie just wrapped his arms around her. He was just there for her. That was all he needed to be.

Over the next few days leading up to Lizzie's appearance at the school. She had been distant. But as much as she doesn't want to do it. She wants to make Y/N proud. She knows that in a time like this, there are a lot of people affected by losing Y/N.

She found her way to the cemetery on the day of the assembly. She stood before the temporary marker and the mound of soil which was still fresh. She hated that this was where Y/N now was. Completely alone and in the cold.

"You know I want to hate you for leaving me. I really do but I just can't." She took a deep breath. "I just miss you so much. The only person that could help me through this is laying in the ground. You are gone Y/N/N and I am still here." She wiped the tears that started to fall. "I am still here without you. We were a package deal. It was supposed to be the two of use against the world. You and I til the end." She just looked at the pathetic marker that only read their name and the plot number. Nothing else. Nothing with meaning. It broke her heart to see it like it. "It isn't fair Y/N. It isn't fair."

She turned to look at the sky, watching as the clouds floated by. Not caring that this month has been hard on everyone.

"Well I best get going Y/N." She looked back at the grave. "I uh I have a speech to give at the school." She sighed before looking at the grave one more time. "I miss you so damn much Y/N. So damn much." She whispered before finally making her way to her car where Robbie was waiting for her.

"Are you ready?" He asked her as she just nodded. She watched as the streets went by as he drove. Most of the peopoe they had passed had probably passed by Y/N without knowing them. Not knowing what an amazing person they were.

When they had arrived at the school, Lizzie just looked at the building before her. It was heartbreaking to walk through a building that was special to Y/N. It was the place where the two met. The place where they both changed each other's lives. The place where Y/N changed many lives.

"I'm ready." She whispered as he smiled at her. He held her hand as they walked through the halls towards the gym. They sat on one of the chairs provided at the end of the bleachers. There was a multiple videos of Y/N with their students.

There was one where Y/N was using a skateboard in the school yard. She smiled at the memory of them trying to perform a new trick they learned.

Lizzie lay there on the grass watching Y/N skate. She was amazed at how talented they were. They even tried to teach her but she gave up before even letting go of Y/N's hands.

"Be careful Y/N." She called out when they carelessly jumped and grinded on the bench. Before they knew it, they had hit a nut that was sticking out and flew and banged their head into the next bench.

"I guess I know how to fly." They chuckled as Lizzie glared at them.

"I told you to be careful Y/N." She scolded them. "That is going to leave a scar." She said as she observed the wound on their cheek.

"Hey, it can be my way to get chicks." They told her with a smirk. "Chicks dig scars." Lizzie just laughed at them before carefully helping them up.

Lizzie could tell by the hour long video of Y/N and their students, they were loved by everyone who had the pleasure of knowing them. When she was called up to give her speech, her nerves were starting to get the better of her. But she only had to look at the picture of Y/N on the screen to give her the confidence to do this for them. She took a deep breath before she looked up at the student body.

"You know, I was supposed to give them a eulogy at their funeral but I couldn't. I couldn't bring myself to read the words that I had written. The memories I wanted to share." She took a deep breath as Robbie gave her a comforting smile. "What all this has really taught me is that One is an important number. It has so much value to it. It took one person to change many lives for the better. Y/N touched so many lives. They pushed them to reach their dreams. Their.full potential. They pushed me to follow my own." She sighed as she glanced at the picture behind her. "They knew that I would make it. They knew I could do it my way. Without the connections through my sisters." She smiled at the students who listened to her intently. "They were the most amazing person I had ever known. I had ever met. They were mine. My protector and my number one fan."

She looked towards Robbie who just smiled proudly at her.

"I know that they have lived their dream. Their dream was helping you. Being someone to listen to you when you need it most. To push you to achieve your goals in life." She told them all. "Y/N Y/L/N is our guardian angel. They were our angel when they were alive, and they still are." She turned back to the picture of Y/N. "We will continue to live for our dreams Y/N. I love you." The whole school stood up and clapped for her as she walked away. She walked back through the halls towards the car.

She was ready to move forward. Move forward with Y/N in her heart. Live for Y/N.

7 Years Later

Robbie and Lizzie were now finally married with a four year old child. Y/N Riley Olsen-Arnett. She wanted to keep Y/N's name alive and her first born was special to her. Robbie knew how much it meant to her to name them Y/N so he agreed.

"Why am I called Y/N mama?" They asked her as Lizzie picked them up into her arms.

"Well my best friend is called Y/N." She told them with a smile.

"I thought it was Clay." They said confused, causing her to giggle.

"He is my best friend but I had another one." She told them. "They died 7 years ago."

"Will you tell me about them?' They asked her.

"Someday." She smiled as she tucked them in their bed. She kissed their head before leaving the room quietly.

The first thing you forget after losing someone is the sound of their voice, their laugh. It can be heartbreaking if that One voice was always the voice of comfort or reason. The one who would help you out of so many problems. Then without the pictures, you would surely soon forget the different features like freckles or scars. The colours of their eyes. They soon drift to become a distant memory. One that you hold dearly. One that you would cherish until you meet again.

All it takes is One to either break down a wall or strengthen it. Just like it takes One person to influence a simple or a difficult decision. All it takes is One action to completely change someone's life. For better or for worse.

One is the primary factor of the universe. It can be both dangerous and safe. It's how we perceive that One that counts.

#lizzie olsen x you #lizzie olsen x reader #lizzie olsen imagine #lizzie olsen #elizabeth olsen x reader #elizabeth olsen imagine #elizabeth chase olsen #elizabetholsen #elizabeth olsen #wanda maximoff #marvel

[dathen]

“Look at those big, isolated clumps of building rising up above the slates, like brick islands in a lead-colored sea.”

“The board-schools.”

“Light-houses, my boy! Beacons of the future! Capsules with hundreds of bright little seeds in each, out of which will spring the wise, better England of the future.

My hackles were going up seeing Holmes praise “board-schools,” which I assumed were boarding schools, but then learned that “board-schools” are the opposite:

elementary schools established in Great Britain during the late 19th century that were maintained out of local taxes and controlled by a locally elected school board (from dictionary.com)

Now this makes this scene just adorable. Holmes coming in with yet another non sequiter all “Wow I love publicly-funded education!! Children are the future!!”

It also goes so well as a bookend to his exchange with Watson in The Copper Beeches about the picturesque country manors. There, Watson admires the scenery, while Holmes gets the creeps thinking about what the isolation can foster. And then here, Watson is just ???? at Holmes gushing at how much he loves the view of ugly boring public schools.

#the naval treaty #letters from watson #acd holmes

[inmarbleimmobility]

1.1.6 - How He Protected His House

THE ONE WITH THE CHAIRS!!! my youngest brother and i goof about this chapter All The Time because this is as far as he ever made it in the brick. so sometimes we'll be at a holiday gathering and my mother will inevitably ask about how many of us there are while setting the table and my brother will go, "seven? yeah we have enough chairs for that, we could do up to eleven actually, it would be more but that one upstairs is too big-"

anyway!

"the most beautiful of altars [...] is the soul of an unhappy man who is comforted and thanks god" is fascinating. on the surface obviously he's talking about how compassion and love are more important than material goods. but also, the altar is *the* single most important part of a physical church to the point that the church is essentially built around it - compassion and love are the center around which Myriel's entire belief system (and the one Hugo argues for) is built.

I love that Myriel has "pupils from the secondary school" over!!! I'm imagining like tea in the headmaster's office but it's with the nice old bishop who just loves hearing about everything you've been learning lately

the bit about Baptistine's sofa dreams is actually kind of crushing?? "whoever attains the ideal"???? Hey Hugo, I know this is The Miserable Book but that's a little bit of a downer even for you. like, no, material things shouldn't be the ideal, of course! beautiful furniture is no substitute for the things that truly matter! (which, if I had a nickel...) But I feel so bad for her here. Let a woman have her one velvet sofa. (also, for someone who's going to talk so much about a certain "priest of the ideal" later, that's a weird way to talk about your ideal!)

it's fascinating also that Myriel still has the "grooming articles that betrayed the elegant habits of the man of the world"! it's a surprising bit of vanity that maybe he doesn't even realize is vanity? or maybe his 10 step skincare routine really is that good.

Myriel's "copper crucifix with traces of silver" caught my eye, because Valjean's crucifix in his terrible room in the Rue de l'Homme Arme is copper too. probably I'm reaching here and and all 18th century crucifixes were made of copper, but either way it's an interesting bookend.

i'm about to get very Red String Conspiracy Meme here for a second BUT! The Candlesticks. the church says you Must have a certain number of (specifically beeswax) candlesticks present on or near the altar at any mass. the absolute minimum is two, but the number increases up to 7 depending on who's celebrating mass/what type of mass is being celebrated. someone who needed a quick 1500 word essay could make something out of this - the fact that aside from the silver cutlery (which there were practical reasons for keeping) the only other Thing he has is those two silver candlesticks, the fact that two candles specifically are used for the low mass, the table/altar comparisons, the altar being a surface on which a sacrifice is made... all of this is an extreme reach but playing with catholic aesthetics is fun, okay, so sue me.

"The beautiful is as useful as the useful. [...] Perhaps even more so."

there sure are a lot of Guys Who Like Flowers in this novel, huh! Myriel, Mabeuf, Jean Prouvaire, even Valjean... I'm sure that means nothing at all!

"Nisi Dominus" etc is Psalm 127:1, "Unless the Lord watches over the city, the watchman stays awake in vain."

"[the bravery of priests] should be peaceable" - and this is where we run into the limit of the Myriel Approach. his need to remain peaceable is the core of that whole interaction with G- and his aversion to the scaffold - he does not believe violence can be justified, which is why he can't change the system, he can only try to mitigate the pain it causes. it feels to me like a direct parallel of Enjolras' "death, I abhor thee, but I use thee".

#this is a particularly unhinged recap #i will likely read it when i'm less sleep deprived and go 'wow you really thought you did something there' #“i've connected the dots” “you didn't connect shit” “i've connected them” #les mis #les mis letters #lm 1.1.6

[shouldntbeaskingmyselfwhy]

trying to make sense of karma scenes:

Record player - this song is magical??? idk

Scales of justice - pretty self explanatory

Hell - again pretty obvious

Yellow Brick Road - This one is interesting bc my first thought is that the wizard of oz is largely about realizing your own power and seeing through veneers which i think relates quite heavily to the themes of the song, but the storybook thing and the grim reapers or whatever on the other page is ????

Hourglass - She's on both sides which I think is significant, like she's not worried about the sand slipping away or getting buried by the sand, like she knows time will be kind to her?

Cat - Obvious lyric reference made more dramatic but is there significance to her styling? or the blank space parallel?

Ice Spice as a pearl - Birth of Venus? Knowing your worth?

Stairs - "all my friends to the summit" maybe but what's with the planets? to the moon and to saturn sure but how does that relate to this particular song?

Lightbulb - i think lightbulb = good idea/inspiration

Earth/Clouds - "karma is a god" ???

Boat - ????

Coffee/piano - clue for release of rep and 1989 tvs probably? but also it reminded me of "i had some dreams they were clouds in my coffee." also there's something to the whole fantastical video being bookended by more mundane/grounded in reality scenes idk

#help me out pls would love to discuss!!

[basedkikuenjoyer]

Close but no Figar

Hit the bricks, it's 1086! And we have a lot of cool stuff going on. Wait til the end because an old theory I thought was jumping the gun might just pan out and it means big things for those with the Kiku-heavy portfolio. But first, sad news. We have a month hiatus. No matter. We'll find stuff to amuse ourselves with. I have ideas.

For now though, 1086. We're still away from Egghead, but well set with this chapter if the next wants to get us back. Or not, who knows? Oda I guess but he doesn't know if the new eye lasers will influence his perspective on the world. Chapter though. Starts with the "everybody stowaway" beat. Nothing new, said it with Pudding ages ago. Doesn't have to be, but fun parallel beat if we want someone other than Caribou hiding out on the Sunny.

Same idea here. Sabo caps off his story by giving us this noble lie example. The difference between the story and what happened. But him making use of it! Very intriguing. I'm also all about Miss Moda being front and center, Gung ho and ready to go. If you haven't gathered, I like sweeties who's hearts burn for justice. This is a pretty cool story woven into the bigger picture, these Lulusia revolutionaries could easily grow rapidly into a noteworthy force. Also gets a nice little parallel with Sabo inspiring his own equivalents to the Grand Fleet.

Don't underestimate this, it's Sabo showing he's learned the big lesson hiding in plain sight for Luffy. Command your story. Make the bad things into positives. While we're here with the Revolutionaries, seemingly wrapping up:

Just thought this was worth highlighting. More of that parallel storytelling, what we flesh out about Vegapunk through this breakaway seems like it has a high chance of being relevant to when we return to the main plot. Speaking of, think we'll get back to it when we come back from hiatus? Just feels natural. I do think this extended cutaway is long enough it's probably the ten, or part 3 of a kishotenketsu structure. Not to say it couldn't be an intermission, just the idea that we are coming full circle. We go seamlessly back to the flashback that started it all here, getting to the big reveal of the Gorosei. I mean, their names are cool and positions as well but it didn't catch my eye as much as...

At McDonaaaaaaaaald's...it's Mac Tonight! Seriously sir you look ridiculous and it's throwing me for a loop because nothing else about this scene is silly. Not my main man Mjosgard! Another crescent moon motif though which is interesting, but not as interesting as where we go from here. This is big to me because it's pushing us towards a theory people had from the first Holy Knights silhouette. One looked like Shanks kinda. Didn't buy it then, but we learned from Film Red material that Figarland means this d00d means something to Shanks. If nothing else, this hiatus gives me the opportunity to talk Film Red. I have...thoughts.

God Valley, a position this high, and the Nine Holy Knights? So...is Shanks's backstory something like a combination of Doflamingo's and Izo's? That's a big deal. It would play very nicely as a motivation we set up in Red Thread. Don't let it slip past you that Garling's words in this introduction, his ethos statement if you will, fits right in alongside Ryokugyu's and that whole caste bookend of Wano's. Just saying, the idea Shanks may have been hanging around when Kiku found out about Izo's decision had merit to begin with. This type of origin adds reason to do that. And I always try to be objective; tying in to Shanks is one of those things that can justify the focus using the unique aspects of Kiku in a way that plays nice with her odd role and ending. That said...there's one reason, one thing that comes into play you've probably heard before that works shockingly well if I'm right on both counts.

#one piece #chapter 1086 #post wano musings

[cosmic-spider]

Hi everyone this is not the type of things I post. But I’m posting this since I’m going to take some time of from posting since something tragic happened. Well none of you knew this but I have pet chickens and dogs. I had gotten two baby rooster in august I don’t know what type they were but the first one was white and gray we namrmed him pinto ( paint ) for his multiple colors. The second was black and gray  correcaminos ( road runner) Since not only did we have the two baby’s we have a nine hens and two dogs.

So today I got up and did all my normal things. Get dressed put the dogs in there back area.Then I wanted to make some homemade pancakes. So I looked to see if I had everything to make them. I then found out we didn’t have eggs. So I went over to the chicken coop to see if they had any eggs.

Before I continue I want to tell you the way this coop works. So my dad found a crape looking box out of wood that a good size. So we gave it some bricks to stand up on and put chicken wire around all the side except one. We put a make shift slide door to open it. It also has a little ramp to a area of just grass so they can go around and have area to walk. At the moment we had to separate the hens from the baby rosters. With the rosters being in the crate box and the hens in the outside area.

Ok back to the story. When I went to the back I saw that under the makeshift slide door was a bookends pice of wood.

I then started to panic since the babies we’re not in there. I then herd a baby chicken cry close by and looked down to see that the second one roadrunner was under the coop. So I picked him up and looked for the other one. I then found some feathers and found him next to the car by the side of the house. Dead with a beaten up wing and blood and more feathers around him.

I went inside told my mom and brother what I saw and what I believed to happen. So currently we’re fixing up the whole. But since I raised both paint and roadrunner since they were baby’s. I had gotten then when there were barely a day old so I showed then how to drink water and eat. So this rally hurt me so I’ll probably won’t be active on this app of a while.

But I just wanted to tell you all in advance why I’m not going to be here for a bit.

RIP Paint

August 2023- November 22 2023

#death #chiken #baby roster

[fourseasonsfigs]

Happy Birthday Swiss Rolls

My friends, if you have been following this blog, you may recall my dismay at the Gong Jun figs in the shape of Swiss roll desserts. Or rather, just Junjun's head poking out of the rolled up pastries.

You may also happen to recall me mentioning I was inadvertently overexposed to ghost stories (illustrated ghost stories) as a very young, impressionable child, and as a result it's a little unnerving to me to have disembodied heads or limbs just floating around. Some things just kind of stick with you, you know?

So you might be asking, why would anyone go ahead and spend their hard-earned money on things that kinda wig them out?

Well, my much more intelligent and thoughtful figthusiast friends, that's a great question. I can only say my quasi-obsessive completionist fig tendencies combined with the seller unloading her excess stock together with the sheer ease of simply clicking on "add to cart" created a perfect opportunity to leave myself to regret things later.

And if I happen to be regretting any certain life choices, well, as they say, sometimes your choices may serve as a warning to others.

These figs were sold separately, so per my own rules I should post them one at a time, but I only have it in me to do one post of these and move on with my life! So here we go.

The inspiration for the green Vegetable Roll, as it is called, is the cabbage dog from Gong Jun's post:

The inspiration for the blue Jun Roll is of course the sunhat from Go Fighting Season 8!

Which is of course my excuse for one of my favorite pictures of him! I love this one.

But maybe a few more pics before we have to dive into the figs...

Ahhh I feel fortified. Ok, let's brace ourselves and get this done, shall we?

So these are clearly resin, because they're snuggly packed in a custom polystyrene box. Normally I pay a little bit extra to bubble wrap resin figs to protect them on the long ocean voyage to the US. For these, well, I decided I'd leave it up to fate if they made it or not.

Oh, they made it just fine, gentle reader. And no wonder - they're as solid as bricks. I could probably use this as a self defense weapon. These will probably survive a major natural disaster.

Wow. What the heck. I'm not sure this fig needs any commentary, so I'll just drop the roll of pics here...

Ok, that's Swiss roll one down. They're not poorly done or anything, they're just...something. I'd say something like, who thinks of this concept?!?! but artists are artists, after all, they're bound to be creative. The more relevant question is, who buys this concept??!

Yep, it's me. I will say I wasn't even drinking when I bought them. I thought, well, if I was ever curious about these or wanted to complete my collection, now is the time since I'm certainly not going to pay Xianyu pricing for them.

I mean, I would take a drink now, that's all I'm saying. But in the meantime, I'm just gonna keep grimly forging ahead.

I kind of like that this is actually more swiss-roll like - you can see where the sponge cake is kind of wrapped. It's curious it's not like that on the other one. Maybe the other one is like some other variety of the swiss roll.

They are immensely heavy and very, very solid. They would make excellent paperweights or even bookends because they're so solid.

For context, here they are with a regular sized fig. The Swiss roll might be the same size in terms of relative height, but the gigantic disembodied face and of course the sheer solid mass makes these feel very big on the shelf up with the rest of the figs.

Yep, these are from the Happy Birthday dessert collection.

Never have I blown through a fig post as fast as this one. No lingering over the figs here!

Material: Resin and some childhood heebie jeebies

Fig Count: 317

Scene Count: 23

Rating: Aiya wo de tian ah

[link back to Master Fig Index for more posts]

#gong jun #figthusiast #not for the faint of heart #the faint of heart is apparently me

[legionofpotatoes]

Thoughts on black panther 2 under the cut

The movie is an open wound for better and worse. It's a beautiful, raw lament on grief that hits like a brick and operates with deft grace when it comes to that fickle diegesis of what happened IRL vs what the characters struggle with in context of the story. The bookends, especially, work very-very hard to shed the trappings of genre and get to the very heart of grief, of finding a way through it and into a form of catharsis both bitter and liberating. Coogler's direction and choices are incredible in these moments; he's reaching impossibly deep into parts of us that are vulnerable and tender, ready to trigger and unbalance at a moment's notice, frightened at being touched; yet he cradles them gently, guiding us through his pain with grace and comfort, never letting us down with even a single false note or misstep. In these moments, the promise of cinema feels fulfilled.

It becomes clear that Coogler is a master at reinterpreting his own humanity into a filmic experience without losing a single thing in the transition. The type of storyteller entire nations should cherish.

In-between those bookends though, we have the story proper. We see the depths of unprocessed trauma driving people and nations apart. The narrative ping-pongs between some plots that share in this ethos and others that do not, ending up in a wonky edit that still works in the moment despite itself. The story, however, in its attempts to weave grief into a meaningful plot catalyst, ends up in such murky waters that my face heats up remembering it. It's something of a peeve of mine at this point, and I really hoped not to see it here.

But first, some of the good: it undoubtedly tells a story that gets very dark very fast, and editorial rewrites are welcome additions; riri williams and the hydra lady are clear additions to balance out the tone of the primary conflict with some MCU charm, a move that seems regrettable on paper but ends up something of a saving grace for the fucking runtime (there is a version of this story you can competently tell in less than 2:40 hrs, I'd stake my life on it). And they mostly work! Riri is a delight, Okoye gets an incredible range of emotions to play with, M'Baku rules as expected, and the US stuff is negligible. And as difficult as it was to watch miss Anti-Vaxx Supreme wear the black panther suit and talk about science, her acting chops were annoyingly above reproach. And truth told the dramatic weight of the filmmaking overpowered my real-world biases more times than I expected, so that's something I guess.

The presentation is similarly stunning. The DP finds incredibly visceral ways into intimate moments that are impossible to look away from. The music soars, quietly elevating but never taking control of the rhythm, something that's often a death knell for drama but not in Coogler's capable hands. They introduce new sounds and instruments to the palette, creating a trance of leitmotifs that inspire awe and reverence. The set design, the props, the costumes. My god the costumes are a feast to drink in and appreciate. I would selfishly hope for the camera to linger on them just a few seconds more. The audio-visual artistry is firing on all cylinders.

Which is why what irked me the most falls squarely outside of them and smack-dab on the story department.

Namor and Talocan are, once again, triumphs of character and set design, but his story is yet another in a long line of ugly decisions by the MCU to portray anti-colonialist sentiment as almost inherently genocidal. They're just all murderous autocrats, these pesky indigenous folk whose feelings got hurt that one time. And I know this isn't like, super evident in the noise of the film's plotting, but looking back in hindsight it does drive me up the wall. Knowing that they pulled that shit again.

Let me defend myself a bit here. I get the writing instincts, I'm not stupid. It's a baseline flaw in Namor that needs to be foiled and tempered by Shuri so his own unprocessed grief can end the death march he has set his nation on. It's a starting point, of course it is, I'm not about to launch into the semiotics of behavior modeling in media, down that road lies madness. But like, I'm sorry; the optics of heightening the stakes due to his childhood trauma are still weird as hell when seen in all of their loaded context, in the entire breadth of their start and end points. There are ways of ferreting a gentler conflict of character out of that predicament. Why flip him into evil tyrant mode again? Why do that. Who benefits from doing that. Whose feelings are being carefully protected when doing that. The moment they arrived at his ultimatum I visibly winced in my seat. Again. They did this again.

Why go for this centrist parable when you've done it once already? And pulled off a minor miracle in not making it overtly gross? Why tempt fate twice? I'm not gonna spell it out, but it is evident that the true nuance of these narratives remains a real tough sell for the mouse house.

It sucks even worse here because there really are those ample grounds for personal, character-centric conflict to drive the plot, but instead we see hints of it until suddenly we get killmonger 2.0 with even less thematic clarity and direct engagement with the protagonist's flaws. Another progressive ruler *incidentally* obsessed with mass murder, going against a girl refusing to process her grief and meeting his violence halfway. And sure, yeah, their individual traumas are expositioned multiple times, they exchange philosophies, arrive at the root of their conflict, yada-yada... and then they punch about it. Nothing is learned, nothing is gained, one of them eventually strong-arms the other long enough for them to have unmotivated flashbacks, and then some both-sides bullshit argument gets made and everyone kisses and makes up.

Licking the boot of the status quo while wearing the aesthetics of African brilliance and Mesoamerican perseverance. I don't know, man. Maybe I'm out of line but it genuinely sucks. And I understand what the greater, out-of-text meanings of seeing this alliance be forged on screen can be, I don't deny that incredibly valid read. It's just how we get there, and with what. The optics. It's the progressive tyrant, again. Can we fucking not anymore.

We all know what you are saying with this.

(a tiny side complaint irt to this whole issue is an unfortunate failure to show-not-tell Talocan's allegedly unbeatable military might - their water superiority is not in doubt, but betrays unremarkable adaptability to their opponents. killmonger articulated specific plans to smuggle undetectable vibranium tech to saboteur cells around the world before inciting his hostile takeover. No such plan is clearly stated by Namor, no scalable ground-level threat is demonstrated, and it ends up feeling like his crusade is doomed both in ethos and feasibility - further diminishing his image by tacitly portraying him as incompetent and incapable of tactical foresight. this is a nitpick, but can compound the flaw in some cases)

Ultimately what is most regrettable here is that the rest of the movie fucking rules. Truly. The film oozes love and reverence for Boseman and it bleeds into every nook and cranny of camera language and musical cue. It looks and sounds gorgeous. The levity is partitioned out of its essential moments where sadness is present and needed; and Coogler is hurting bad in the driver's seat, it is as palpable as anything happening to the characters, so where he then arrives at the end feels like a true multi-faceted catharsis bringing a smile to anyone with a heart.

It's an open wound. And we all know what it's like to have one of those.

Just wish it showed better craft at placing that wound within the tale of a nation.

#it's a mixed bag for me fellas sorry but i can't deal with That Trope anymore #i guess there's spoilers here? discussing story optics mostly #I'm sorry if this feels scathing I mostly focus on that one thing that annoys me. there's a lot to love here #and I cannot stress that enough. even moreso than BP1 this feels like a purposeful film #probably good for kids to see more than anything so there's that top mark for it

[six-of-ravens]

Also a slightly belated thrift haul:

FINALLY A BUTTER DISH I LIKE!! it's plain metal, but it's a decent size and all the pretty ceramic ones I've seen are too small (I buy the big bricks of butter instead of the ones pre-cut into sticks bc it's cheaper, since those are the grocery store brand, but I don't want to have to chop my butter into tiny little rectangles just to put it in a dish)

matching unicorn heads! there were a ton of unicorn ornaments today, but I managed to only get those lol. hoping to use them as bookends, but they might be too lightweight for that. they're pretty nonetheless!

corningware dish! im trying SOOO HARD not to start collecting vintage cookware but it's so hard 😭 this little dish is a good size tho so I couldn't resist.

annnnd a ceramic swan thing! idk, it was pretty! it's hollow (there's a space between the wings), so I'll have to figure out what to put in it

#....damn i may go back for a lamp i saw #it might be too small/not match the aesthetic but it was $4.50 and cute #if i don't like it.... again. $4.50.

[fullregalia]

i don’t know about you.

Another year, another round up that I felt obligated to write since I basically abandoned this whole thing in 2020. As we are on the cusp of ‘23--I wanted to share some of the things that made ‘22 worth living. Personally speaking, I’m saving about 90% of this year for my memoir; it was a weird one filled with a lot of firsts! Culturally speaking, Will Smith slapped Chris Rock, I finally watched Heat, and we all learned the word polycule.

Let’s get down to business, what did I read, listen to, watch, and generally consume that was noteworthy this year. 

Books

I didn’t read as much as I wanted to this year, but two noteworthy novels I finally got to were Mating by Normal Rush and Happiness, As Such by Natalia Ginzburg. Of contemporary fiction, I was happy for the return of Selin in Either/Or and bookended my year of Emily St. John Mandel with Sea of Tranquility. 

Music

Do I even need to say that my most listened to artists of 2023 were Paul Simon, Niia, John Coltrane, Prokofiev, and Steely Dan? However I did also enjoy the new Beach House, of course I listened to Benito and Steve Lacy, there’s too much Antanoff out there but The 1975 seemed to tamp down his worst impulses, and after REAISSANCE came out I stopped playing Break My Soul on repeat and now am a Virgo’s Groove bitch. 

Movies

As I noted up top, I plugged a lot of holes in my viewing history this year. Shout out to Blank Check and the Big Pic pods for keeping me in the loop. Movie content and analysis for 2022 is abundant (just see: Fran Mag’s 2022 wrap up), so all I am going to say is, “Hi, I’m Petra’s father.” Oh also: Jenny is the MVP of Banshees or Inisherin, and Eyes Wide Shut. 

Podcasts

How Long Gone... How Long Gone? How Long Gone. It turns out I’m exactly that insufferable. I didn’t buy any merch, and I didn’t see them live--but I thought about it, which is bad enough. Besides that I started listening to Celebrity Book Club and I did go to a live taping of Odd Lots. I shed a ton of crooked podcasts (and it feels great). Sorry, but I need smooth brain. 

TV

Speaking of smooth brain, White Lotus season two was the perfect mix of stupid and interesting to keep me totally absorbed. Shout out to my GOAT F. Murray Abraham and perfect Italian American Man Michael Imperioli. Both were underutilized. Industry season two was the fish t-shirt representation I needed. The Bear was exactly how I cook, so that’s cool. I finally caught up on Barry; my friend and I binged The Dropout during a bomb cyclone while we were in North Adams; and just like that... we got an SATC sequel (remember that?! It was terrible). 

Odds & Ends

By far the most notable point of the year in culture for me was Opulent Tips, Rachel Tashjin Wise’s invite-only newsletter (*flips hair*). Her perspective on style and library of references are neither snobby nor abstruse. She loves self-expression and is generous with her advice. Blackbird Spyplane finally helped me to understand WHY EVERYTHING LOOKS LIKE PUTTY NOW. If you’re not getting your croissants at Brauð & Co in Reykjavik, what are you even doing there? I made a few art acquisitions (quite possibly a cheap Picasso lithograph and a limited edition poster from The Paris Review) my exposed brick looks so Brooklyn it hurts. Out for 2023? West Elm everything ... In for 2023? Taper candles, mercury glass vases, continuing to pile up the LRBs.

That was honestly just a small fraction of the year... but like every year, it’s impossible to pinpoint when the vibe shift happens. It was a weird year! I hope the one to come is filled with even more adventures (I’m going to Switzerland!), fantastic meals (did I mention I got to buy out Laser Wolf for a work event?!), and grailed acquisitions (I FINALLY got a Mimi Vang Olsen x NY Humane Society t-shirt!!!!) for all. I’ll leave with one final note for 2023, we’ll see if any of it comes true.

#2022 #year in review #tv #movies #books #opulent tips #2023 predictions #the bear #industry

[champagneprobllems]

Clara and Sarah’s apartment is a two bed, two bath on the sixth floor. The larger of the two bathrooms has a full-sized bathtub, and the kitchenette has just enough space for all the necessary appliances. Instead of a full outdoor balcony, there is an enclosed sunroom-like space, with a thin strip of balcony outside a sliding glass door. The floor and framing of the sunspace is lined with cold iron, courtesy of Sarah.

Even though Clara(‘s family) pays for the majority of the apartment, Sarah has the bigger of the two bedrooms. There are no fewer than three dress forms in her room at all times, with two or more spilling into the living space, and half of them occupied with clothing in progress. Half her room is a sewing space, since she makes all of the clothes she and Clara wear. Shoved into a corner is a twin four-poster bed, the posts carved into vines and startling algae that seemed to have eyes following inhabitants of the room. The headboard is wood carved to look like bricks, and a little carved worm hides among them. On a shelf above the bed sits two stuffed animals—a hairy beast and a dapper fox creature—held in place by a wooden bookend carved to look like a bulbous dwarf. Her desk is usually covered in notes, sketches and a small pile of used red-leather bound pocket sketchbooks. The mirror is old, from her childhood room, and she has pictures of herself and Clara from assorted events tucked into the frame. The bathroom is through another small room that Sarah uses as storage for fabrics and sewing notions. Since it is accessible from outside Sarah’s room, the girls also use it as a guest bathroom, on the rare occasions they have company over.

Clara’s room has a small ensuite bathroom. Since the other bathroom has the bathtub, though, she uses both interchangeably, frequently soaking in epsom salt baths for her sore muscles. She has a full bed with a gauzy white canopy over it, often piled with pillows and throw blankets. Her first pair of pointe shoes are mounted in a shadow box next to her door, a reminder of how long she’s been dancing and how far she’s come. In a place of honor on her bedside table is an old, well-loved nutcracker, a silk handkerchief tied around it as a sling to support a broken arm. There’s a small barre built into the corner of the room, the floor reinforced and a floor-to-ceiling mirror for her to use for stretches and breaking in new pointe shoes. A dresser next to it has all of her extra tights and leotards for dance, a few spare pairs of canvas ballet shoes, jazz shoes, and character shoes. The top has carefully organized collection of tools for breaking in shoes; spare razor blades, scissors, needles and thread, a lighter and matchbooks, a spare bottle of super glue and solvent (several more bottles of glue are stored in the freezer to extend their shelf life), strips of leather, a bag of rosin, and assorted medical supplies to protect her feet.

The living space is an eclectic collection of sitting spaces; a futon couch, multiple ottomans, a pair of wingback chairs rescued from the dumpster positioned near the sunspace, and a pair of barstools next to the kitchen breakfast bar. There is a rarely used TV, mostly used for watching streaming services (or quietly pirated media) on their rare days off. A bookcase, overflowing with books, stands next to it, a mishmash of dance theory, costume design, and frivolous fantasy romance novels that both blame on the other. They tend not to entertain in the apartment, but both are occasionally visited by respective younger brothers who get put up on the futon.

#clara * hc #sarah * hc #clara * gen #sarah * gen

[paulisded]

The Ledge #619: New Releases (Pt. 2)

This month's second part of the monthly new release series is bookended by a pair of...well, let's be honest...pretty bizarre cover albums. The first set contains tracks from the "new" duets album by Glen Campbell. How can it be new when he's been dead since 2017? Well, in 2011 he released an album, Ghost On the Canvas (his 61st!), that featured his versions of songs by artists you would never think he'd even acknowledge. For this new one, Glen Campbell Duets: Ghost on the Canvas Sessions, the producers have brought in other artists to add their vocals. I just couldn't stomach the idea of Sting singing a Paul Westerberg song, so I went with a couple of different tracks. How did Exene and John Doe from X end up on "Any Trouble"? And does anyone really believe that country star Eric Church has even heard of Guided By Voices? It just doesn't seem possibe.

As if that's not crazy enough, the last main set of the show features a handful of tracks from a new tribute album released by Cleopatra Records. Punk Floyd - A Tribute To Pink Floyd features exactly what the title says - punk bands covering tunes by that awful band that was one of the reasons punk rock even happened in the late 70s. Oh well. At least the versons are fun.

But there's some great covers also included. There's two tracks from the upcoming tribute to the Rolling Stones called Jem Records Celebrates Jagger & Richards. There's also a fabulous duet between Tom Baker and the late Justine Covault on Steve Earle's "You're Still Standing There". It's not just a covers show, though, as there's some great Americana, power pop, punk, and good ol' rock and roll. 

CLICK HERE TO DOWNLOAD THE SHOW!

1. The Reds, Pinks and Purples - Learning To Love A Band

2. Glen Campbell - Hold On Hope (feat. Eric Church)

3. Glen Campbell - Any Trouble (feat. X)

4. Paul Collins - Tell Me

5. The Midnight Callers - Jumpin' Jack Flash

6. Tom Baker featuring Justine Covault - You're Still Standing There

7. J Prozac - Problems

8. Diablogato - Lost Highway

9. The Wynotts - Hey, Sharon

10. Aaron Lee Tasjan - The Drugs Did Me

11. Aaron Lee Tasjan - I Love America Better Than You

12. Kid Congo & The Pink Monkey Birds - East of East

13. Kid Congo & The Pink Monkey Birds - The Boy Had It All

14. The Armoires - We Absolutely Mean It 

15. The chrisVandalay Project - Better Than Before

16. Little Roger - Does Susie Like Boys

17. Go Dog Go - Shout It Loud

18. Sin City - Gin & Tonic

19. Local Drags - Left In The Sun

20. VACATION - I Was a New York Ranger

21. Shiny Beasts - Pure Grain Alcohol

22. Fucked Up - Cops

23. Real Losers - My Rocket Radio

24. The Hallions - Attack

25. Yobs - Wasted

26. The Yum Yums - Do You Like Me

27. The Yum Yums - Baby Doll

28. The Streetwalkin' Cheetahs - Wake Up

29. UK Subs - Comfortably Numb

30. Peter & The Test Tube Babies - Bike

31. The Queers - See Emily Play

32. The Vibrators - Arnold Layne

33. Angry Samoans - Another Brick In The Wall, Pt. 2

34. The Peawees - The Wolf

[furmity]

Equinox chores

Hamburger the eastern long neck turtle lives in a pond in my garden. Hammy was a present from my parents for my nineteenth Christmas. For my birthday three weeks earlier they gave me a big aquarium and told me I should research and prepare for the turtle's arrival.

I knew I wanted a long neck, which is a native species in my region. Since he was adapted to the climate I decided he should go outside for full sunbathing privileges. Ood the carpet python (then Noodles) was upgraded into the new aquarium.

To create a turtle home I bought a large plastic in- ground pond. It sits above ground like a big bucket, ideal for renting. We have it still. I am quite attached to it because at $350 it was the first big purchase I ever made with my own money.

Hammy has sun, plants, fish, and can supplement his diet with whatever comes to the pond (generally snails and flies, but there was a year when some honeyeaters nested in a shading tree and...). He has a lovely mossy rock to sit on.

In my current home the pond sits on the pavers beside the shed. In all but high summer the shadow of the shed is enough to shade one end for him. Come autumn the shadow will creep so far that he loses all direct sun, so I move the pond to give him his basking site back. It's moved again in spring when the water is getting too much sun (even solar- powered beasts need shade, and it helps with the algae). Curiously the equinoxes are exactly the points when Something Must Be Done: the height of my shed against the height of the sun at this latitude.

Since this is a good opportunity for a deep clean it becomes a big job. Turtle is moved away for safety. Try and catch the mosquito fish of uncertain number. Pull out all the bricks, pots, and rocks which make up his basking island: they need to be scraped of algae. Cut back the plants who try to fill all available swimming space. Bail out 3/4 of the water so I can move the thing. The bailing has to be done very slowly and carefully through a net so the small fish I missed don't end up in the lawn. Scrape algae, search through mud for lost treasures (once found a missing ring in there). Drag and push heavy object bit by bit across the pavers. Reconstruct the island. Refill water. Replace fish and turtle.

It makes for a nice bookend to the hot and cold halves of the year. And he, a solar creature who spends the winter "in the underworld" like any solar deity, must have his temple moved to catch the last warm days.

He's still active, but sleeps in late after the colder nights. Very soon he will stop eating, and shortly after that he will vanish until the spring.

#turtles #reptile husbandry #equinoxes #The Pond Beast