#poor george looks like absolute trash

[eslanes]

have some very subpar beatles lol

#the sims 4 #ts4 #fun in CAS #the beatles #wip #poor george looks like absolute trash

[passionesolja]

Why Dio Brando Would Beat Sidious’ Ass

It’s time to give a standing ovation to the baddest bitch I know. To the baddest bitch I’ve known since 2016. I got love for Sheev after getting back into Star Wars in 2020 again after years of growing out of it. But I literally think I only projected my liking of Dio Brando onto Sidious because Sidious is the closest villain we get to Dio in Star Wars. It’s time for me to give the blueprint his flowers

Swag

This ain’t a debate. I’m sorry Sheev but your swag trash as fuck and look like a damn goth potato sack. Dio out here in 1980s Egypt no fucks given he wearing a cape, heart accessories, and looking like a buff wasp. I gotta give this to the true king of swag.

Who Killed They Daddy With No Outside Influence

Dio had NO ONE in his ear when he poisoned Dario to death at 12 years old. Dio had no one in his ear when tried to poison George Joestar at 22 years old.

Now with Dario, it’s justified like sweetie I think you’re the worst immoralist bitch in jojo but you get a pass for Dario. Fuck Dario, I’ll gofundme you the poison for Dario’s terrible ass.

But with George? Cmon now, you really tryna get this inheritance so bad that you try to do sweet ole George Sr in? Dio, that just cold as a mf. Shame on you for that, bitch ass mf.

With Sidious, you gotta understand that he was kinda a lil bitch about it until Plaguies came along. Sidious was MISERABLE tryna not to get cut off from the family wealth even though he and his daddy despised each other.

Sidious WOULD NOT have murdered his whole family and father unless Plaguies had planted those seeds in his mind.

That’s why I gotta give it to Dio again because Dio is more naturally about intentional and planned out homicide than Sheev was (prior to Plaguies).

Who Would Bully Who As Kids

Dio Brando would have made Sheev Palpatine’s life an absolute living hell if Dio was born into Star Wars.

We don’t know what Sheev was doing in his youth but we know what the fuck Dio was doing.

Personally, with sheev I have a suspicion that he was a normal, but somewhat rebellious tween.

Meanwhile, Dio Brando is kicking Jonathan’s dog for no reason, throwing dogs in furnaces as revenge, stealing girl’s first kisses, tryna punch Jonathan Joestar’s eye out, nearly stabbing JoJo to death, turning JoJo’s own father against him (because Dio wanted that inheritance), poisoning his own father to death, etc.

This man isn’t even in high school yet and he’s acting like this.

You put Dio Brando as the kid that the Palpatine’s are taking in, and Sheev Palpatine is gon be Jonathan Joestar 2.0.

Who Was Actually Born Evil

This will be my most controversial take:

Sheev Palpatine was not born evil. He was born a dickhead but we never even get the impression that he meant to run over those two people. Only that he didn’t care.

Sidious was a child from a wealthy but somewhat troubled home who was manipulated by Plaguies and molded by him. Plaguies was in this poor teenager’s ear being like “ayo kill ya family slime 😈👹 I killed my siblings for self determination 😉 ahah no I didn’t I’m lying to you”

No one can deny that Dio Brando had a very tough life, but when you’re out here stealing a girls first kiss, getting your ass beat for it, then throwing the dog of the person who just rightfully beat your ass in the furnace to burn alive? Yeah dawg you just evil. This is just in the first few episodes we see him. I could write a whole book on everything hes done.

When Dio becomes a vampire, he killing all types of people, killing George Joestar to become a vampire, turning whole villages into vampiric experimentation abominations, taking the body of your surrogate brother then being a city boy of the century in the 1980s, attacking Holly Joestar, killing off half the stardust Crusaders, etc etc etc.

Keep in mind, he doing all this with no evil mf above him reaching him the evil ropes.

I can give Sheev Palpatine sympathy for his fuckshit because he didn’t understand what the fuck Plaguies was forcing him into. Yeah, Plaguies forced him because he knew Palpatine zipped everybody in his family.

Sidious was a victim of the Sith Order bullshit for decades before he became the boss bitch who victimized others.

Dio Brando is an victim for 12 years of his life then becomes the worst, most despicable bitch on the planet in the jojo verse. The ripple effect of Dio’s terrible actions that he chooses to do on his own are felt for years.

Dawg, Dio Brando is fucking up poor Okuyasu Nijimura’s whole life in Japan in the 1990s when dude never even met Dio. And also, Dio been long dead

This man is literally fucking up Jotaro Kujo’s daughters whole life via proxy too and they never even met.

Conclusion

So yeah this why I gotta take the bad bitch crown from Palpatine. I’m sorry dawg but the evil British vampire king is back

#star wars #sw #sw prequels #sw sequels #original trilogy #sw hc #sw headcanons #sw memes #sith order #darth sidious #sheevposting #sheev palpatine #Palpatine #emperor palpatine #senator palpatine #sw meta #jjba #jojo’s bizarre adventure #jojo no kimyou na bouken #jojo no kimyō na bōken #ova dio #jjba dio #dio brando #jjba part 3 #jjba part 1 #jjba meta #jjba stardust crusaders #jjba phantom blood

[lillian-nator]

Wallflower AU (aka highschool au made w/ @bellfort3)

V i b e s - hanging on the roof; walking across train tracks; skipping school; Lakes, yes, something with lakes; something with different types of sodas. - My angsty teens are gonna have painted nails - Tommy bleaches his hair; Wilbur dyes his hair black - dramatic fuck. - Wilbur in eyeliner plz - Wilbur wears doc martens; black, yellow, maroon, silver shiny - Tommy's worn the same exact jean jacket for the past 5 years; it's 2 sizes bigger than he is; but he wears it every single day; it has fur on the inside; and its light washed with tears; the tears didn’t come like it; he's just ripped it over the years - He doesn't wash it very often, but he's glued patches on it, and Wilbur's drawn on it in sharpie. He just layers hoodies or flannels under it when it’s cold, but still wears it when it's hot - Tommy's also worn the same shoes for YEARS, they’re duct taped together at this point, they're white converse, they're not white anymore, and he's bleach-washed them SO many times that they permanently smell like chemicals. - The laces are frayed, so bad that he doesn’t even wear the laces most days. - Tommy doesn't shy from going in mud or water though, he'll wear the shoes to their fullest and then some. - I think you can tell by now, that Tommy just doesn’t come from a lot of money. - They live in a kind of run down town, very poor, old, smallish. - Wilbur is middle class, which is very well off in the area he lives in. - Wilbur gives off family disappointment vibes. Where he has to sneak out at night, Tommy can leave through his front door. - Wilbur calls Tommy “sunshine”, but very sarcastically since Tommy is a dick :) - Tommy has one of Wilbur's old beanies; it's black and monster branded, the monster logo is green - Wilbur gave it to Tommy 3 years ago, and Tommy never gave it back - btw Tommy's 17 and Wilbur's 19: Tommy's a junior and Wilbur's a senior - Wilbur only drinks Green Apple Monster - Tommy drinks sugar free redbull, but mostly only when Wilbur buys it for him, because Tommy usually doesn't have pocket change - Wilbur and Tommy bring speakers to the train tracks and dance and by that, its them jumping around and occasionally pushing someone over - Tommy uses his allowance to buy cigarettes; Wilbur vapes - both mentally ill - Wilbur is essentially the modern emo. He has this one yellow and black flannel that's oversized, and he wears it multiple times a week - it’s a problem.

- Dream, Wilbur, Karl, Tommy, Big Q, SapNap, Punz, and Tubbo - That’s the group. - I have just been talking about Tommy and Wilbur but they are the main characters so you can suck it. - A scene with Dream, Wilbur, Karl, Tommy, Big Q, SapNap, Punz, and Tubbo, at a lake, throwing each other in, and Tommy gets his shoes soaked, but he saves his jacket from the fall. Water gun fights, and they drink energy drinks and eat chips. they lay in the grass and contemplate life, Talk abt life yes. Abt existence. Abt how shit it is. Half of them have to wake up early and sneak home, the other half get to stay as long as they like. - Tommy tucks his t-shirts into his pants, which are always very baggy black jeans with just gigantic holes. - Tommy and Dream both have ADHD, however, Tommy's meds are purely from welfare, he cannot afford to give any out. Dream however? From an upper-middleclass family. Basically millionaires in this town. He can afford to lose some of his meds. - He yells in the clearing "COME GET YOUR DRUGS CHILDREN" - Besides, I've learned that there are like so many different ADHD meds, and maybe Tommy is just on something a lot stronger than adderall. He can't partake in the pill popping, but he doesn't mind. He does it every morning. - They don't do it often, maybe once a month, depends on how big Dream's prescription is - not that he regularly takes them like a good boy should - And I won't ever write this, but Gogy hangs out with them every so often, in which Gogy and Wilbur have an on and off again hooking up type relationship - whenever they hang out, Gogy like sits and Wilbur's lap and shit - Tommy and Punz GAG - "EW the fuck - get your hands off eachother. ITS GROSS - NO PDA IN MY BACKYARD"

- They hang out in an abandoned Building. But they don't try to fix it up. They're not fucking VSCO girls. They just want somewhere to hang out - If anything they make it worse - they fucking trash the place - It’s not intentional though - It’s like they can have fun without worrying abt the mess - just, sometimes they spill hawiian punch mixed with vodka everywhere - THEY GHOST HUNT AND OUIJA BOARD AND SHIT - They hang out in cemeteries too. they play manhunt in a cemetery, but like the regular version- like just hide and go seek in the dark. - they've done seances even though almost all of them are atheists - anyways the point of the fact is, is that half of them (excluding the minors you know) I'm looking at you Karl and Q - somethings going on between you two have made out with guys, and I'm not gonna sugar coat it, most modern like takes on religion do not take kindly to that

- they go to prom - and Dream somehow ends up with a ton of weed, because he had just turned old enough, and had the money - and they get fucking high OUT of their minds, like they're never doing it again - like, George and Wilbur definitely hooked up at Wilbur's house, which they aren't supposed to do - because Wilbur's parents will fucking flip that Wilbur is sleeping with a random person. No one is quite sure where SapNap ended up, and Tommy lost one of his shoes. In a panic, they spent the next 3 hours looking for it to find it at the lake by the school - Tommy fucking cradles it to his chest. -  (are wilburs parents homophobic?) (yes maybe a little side of homophobia) (Is wilbur bisexual or gay?) (he is ‘whoever the fuck looks bangable’) (fair enough) (he is ‘gogy my king’) (TRUUUE) - the bleachers - they hang out under the bleachers

- Gogy = Stylish stoner - very popular, but never not high - Karl is like the goody two-shoes of the group, doesn't skip class, and is on the principals list, however, he will NEVER back down from space brownies - its his weakness - Tubbo has a subway pass, and they do that thing where Tubbo swipes it and everyone fucking bolts into the subway, and they take all the trains at like 4am and just hang from the bars and shit - Wilbur still dresses relatively like, nicely and scholarly, which puts everyone off. He wears very loose sweaters with button-ups underneath. with khakis or black jeans and his docs - where his best friend, our Tommy, wears borderline yellow converse, and one bleached two-sizes-too-large jean jacket, and some second-hand-store hoodies, that are always a bit too worn in, but so, incredibly Tommy - Tommy who legit hasn't brushed his hair in years, not with a brush anyways - too frantic to brush his teeth most mornings. but always chewing gum; Tommy's always everywhere at once - ADHD meds only half-working on him, they couldn't afford the good shit - He'll never quite understand Dream handing out his adderall for free, Tommy would kill for the hard shit, but hey, he's never gonna stop his friends from having a good time

- Let's talk about Karl Jacobs - good ole' goody two shoes Jacobs - all of his teachers are constantly trying to get him to stop hanging out with Tommy and gang - every parent teacher conference is "we love your boy, but we are concerned about his friends" - Teachers have meetings with him, about how the people you surround yourself with can change your future - Karl's like, from the good side of town, plays first in the drumline, plays violin on the side, straight a's, clean-white-air-force-ones type of guy. Name brand clothes. Combed hair - Packed lunch every day from his mom; gets dropped off by his mom, kisses her goodbye; Mom is like very involved in school too - PTA parent - it's fucking good kid Jacobs - and he's sneaking off with fucking potheads to go to college parties and abandoned buildings - Does he do drugs? Well, he’s a big fan of treats if you know what I mean :wink wink: - ….you ever see Ted's video about a 500mg edible …. yeah. - big fan of gummy bears and brownies - Karl shows up to Parties and there are shouts of "Fuckin' goody-two-shoes Jacobs is HERE" - a lot of people make fun of him and think they can push him around - He seems like a softie; welcome mat type beat - but fucking watch this man chug 5 cups of whatever you give him, and then still win beer pong - Like his best friend is fucking quackity, he can do the hard shit - its very much a his parents have no clue who he actually is type beat - Look, his parents have no clue where he is ever - And if they even know he’s out, they don’t know where or with who - If his mom is at all involved in the school, she'll hear about Quackity, basically a drug dealer with how much hash weed he hands out on a daily basis. - Tommy has to be contained in order for the school to run smoothly, and Wilbur is a dramatic fuck that sleeps through most of his classes - Tommy has to take frequent breaks - They make him spend 3rd period in the principles office - Like he obviously needs help but he can’t afford it at all. Even the school can’t do anything for him bc he can’t get anything official for himself - like he can't even try to concentrate - He gave up so quickly in high school, bc they don’t have enough time or staff to help him - he tried in middle school - but man, did he give up in highschool - Yeah. He knows it is hopeless. Can't even afford college anyway. he'll just do whatever Wilbur does - here's an idea: Fucking Karl Jacobs showing up to school one morning just absolutely hammered out of his mind - Karl just showing up to first period AP Physics, and he's barely awake, honestly smells so much like weed and booze, and if he breathed anywhere near you, you could just feel the alcohol radiating from his breath - He's extra bubbly, laughs at everything - takes out his notebook to take some sort of notes, and just fucking giggles at the shapes and equations. He is very spacy, he clearly stayed up all night doing something very illegal; he gets up and jumps around. 2nd period band? oh boy - He gets sick at lunch bet - Like everyone got Drunk but Karl got FUCKED up - It was his birthday, bet - He took like 17 shots over the course of like 8 - 12ish hours, and I looked it up, despite karl being super scrawny and probably like 140 - 150ish pounds - which isn't a lot for being 5'11 - will not kill him - BECAUSE, you guessed it, he turned 17 - He didn't sleep, he was awake taking shots and just fucking who knows what until 6am when they stumbled to school - at lunch, 11:30 in the morning - he's head down on the table, miserable - he doesn't have a hangover yet, because it's only been a few hours, but man, is he nauseous - just the smell of food makes his stomach churn - and the thing about fucking Jacobs showing up drunk as hell - is that at least one of his teachers has called his mom about it - SHES PRESIDENT OF THE PTA FOR FUCKS SAKE, ONE OF THEM KNOWS HER - And the teachers aren't stupid, Karl is so obviously drunk - generally Karl is pretty quiet in class; but now he has no distinction between hanging with hs friends and being in class - he's shouting and cracking jokes and is very tempted to kick his chair over - Anyways, Karl fucks himself over, end of story  - ONTO PUNZ’S RELGIEOUS TRAUMA WOOOOOOOOOOOO - It's Punz - fuckin' golden boy Punz; he plays football; and goes to church; and calls his mother "momma"; wears a nice church outfit; and is polite to the bible study mothers that come over on tuesday nights and gets them drinks - just a fuckin' golden boy - A religious family. Go to church every Sunday. Sunday school. Holidays. But. The kid just realizes that they don’t believe in god. Them telling the group like they’re high and he’s like “you know? Some of the shit that’s happened to us proves to me that god rlly isn’t real.” - and Punz like prays every day for Tommy's dad to get his job back; or for Gogy to get better parents; or for Karl to live the life he wants; and NOTHING EVER WORKS. THEY'RE ALL STILL FUCKED. - by the way we will get the the Tommy's dad losing his job later - But Punz's life is controlled by something he doesn't even believe in anymore - because he's still going to the like church breakfasts, and christmas service, and every sunday morning, and helping his mom's ladies bible study, and his parents are talking about sending him to a youth bible camp - - and he doesn't even think he believes in god anymore. - Punz kind of took out his own personal, religious, and family struggles out the way most teenage boys do. Drinking, and lots of sex. - SO I just imagined this like, really dramatic moment, where its the morning after Punz had a one night stand at some sort of party down the street, and he's long past saving his virginity for his wife, but he's buying her the morning after pill, which his church is just so against, and he has like the moment of, "if you do this, you're done." and he does it - he's had a couple of those moments, like, when he first had sex, and when he first smoked weed, or popped a pill, or snuck out at night, or skipped church - but that was the moment of "there is no going back" - like any type of drug or procedure that aborts an embryo, or that blocks fertilization thats already in process in like: the biggest no no in his church community - so once he stepped out of that drug store, he kind of took a breath, and just came to terms with it - "I'm an atheist." - Punz is the pastors son. - he's like, pre-commited to a catholic college - he’s in deep. - so when he first announces it to his friends, one really late night, "I think god might not be my thing." - they just start whistling and say "FINALLY, THE PASTORS SON HAS TURNED AROUND." - Dream just like turns over to him "how many chicks did you fuck to make you realize that?" - Tommy just slings his arm over Punz, "I'm glad you've quit the Jesus shit, Punz. Your better than it." - There’s gotta be this girl ok. He rlly rlly wants to have sex with her but he always backs out. The thing that breaks him. Is that he gets drunk and loses his virginity to someone who is not that girl - like, he likes this girl, and has a good connection with her, and she likes him, and he knows that its gonna be comepletly consentual, and she's like fucking beautiful right? - and she's the one he wants to loose it to and he's a stupid fucking idiot and loses it to some fucking random ass chick that doesn't even go to their school - This triggers a spiral. After that? He slowly starts giving less of a fuck abt everything. He fucked up the one thing you can’t do over and god he’s so painfully aware of it and so painfully aware that he didn’t even fuck up right. - You’re supposed to wait till marriage. Nope. You’re supposed to do it with someone you love and trust. Double nope. He. Fucked. Up. - its just like he wanted to do something bad. he wanted to fuck something up. he was questioning his faith, his like, great and sturdy and always-there faith for the first time, and what better way to test faith than to do something shitty and see what comes of it. and so he was planning and planning and planning how he was gonna do this terrible thing - which is such a good kid thing to do, to put so much thought into your own rebellion - but he wanted this to go perfectly. - Little Pastors Son, Punz, wasn't gonna wait till marriage. - He was gonna have sex with the girl of his dreams before they were even dating - but man did he like her. Did he want her. - And then he fucked some random girl when he was black out drunk. He's fucked everything up - he can't wash this away with confession - he's tainted. He's dirty. - He looks in the mirror and doesn't recognize the heathen staring back. - He hates who he's become. - But he never goes back - he can't. He's dirty. He's wrong. - but the more he goes down the spiral - the more he realizes that one mistake shouldn't have made him feel like that - that if god was real, which he honestly wasn't sure in that department, he wouldn't want Punz to feel like the scum of the earth for doing something wrong. especially when he felt so bad after he did it. This system was fucked. He didn't want to be apart of another cycle - and he's just lying to himself every time he goes to church, and reads a cerse for his mom, and meets with younger kids at the church, and plays flag football with fucking church virgins who are good catholics and follow all their mommas orders - And every night when he says grace he means it less and less. he always does it when his momma asks, but boy does the lords word mean shit to him anymore From Ethan: - A turning point to the others in Punz's breakaway from Catholicism is like - He prays before he eats, usually. Sometimes they wait for him to finish his prayer before eating themselves, just out of politeness. He's a friend, he gets that shred of etiquette - And then one day he just doesn't. They got some fast food for a whole group dinner out at their hangout spot (a warehouse, did you say??) Tommy is staring at it intently but he waits for Punz to pray. Tubbo's already started eating but the rest wait - And Punz just starts eating - Dream nudges him, "No prayer, Pastor's boy?" - "No prayer," Punz mumbles into his food. "I'm trying something new." SO, TOMMYS DAD LOSING HIS JOB ARC W000000000 - it starts with Tommy showing up in a different jacket one day - like you have to understand, he's worn this jean jacket every single day for as long as WIlbur has known him, which is like 6 years - Like Tommy shows up in this giant, khaki work-jacket and it's his dads... - HIS DAD DIDNT DIE - his dad lost his job, which is essentially death to a family who already couldn't sustain themselves - and Tommy shows up to school, face pale and cheeks sunk in and there are visible bags under his eyes - and Wilbur just rushes over immediately and hugs him so tight to his chest - and Tommy just sobs, "pops lost his job -" gasp "I can't - we can't pay the bills this month. everything - its all falling apart Will." - "Hey - hey. Stop. It's gonna be fine. You're gonna be okay. You always are dude." - Tommy does have to get a job - and he probably does drop out of school unofficially, like he just stops going. - he sleeps during the morning classes, and heads into work at 10am - he's a carpenters assistant. it pays well as they need young, able men. but most of the younger citizens in the town go to school - he has to take the day shift because the day shift pays better - he doesn't mind it, he doesn't - it gives him the opportunity to get all of his energy out; but he misses going to school. as much as he hated it, he misses his friends. - and lets be honest, its hard as fuck for his dad to find a new job, he doesn't have a great resume - he didn't graduate from highschool. and he isn;t in top health condition, he definitely doesn't have health insurance - so Tommys stuck with this job for a long time - his dad uses his last paycheck to buy Tommy workboots so tommy feels in debt to him - He’ll get his GED eventually. - I think - The like religious status of the rest of the group brought to you by me - Everyone who I don’t mention is just a hard atheist - Karl and Wilbur are catholic, but to a lesser extent, Wilbur doesn't really go through with lent, and Karl only sometimes does. They go to a different church and go pretty much on holidays only, a sunday a month maybe. - SapNap goes to Punz's church, they've been friends for years. - He goes to sunday school but misses a lot of sermons because of his siblings sports games. - He is involved, but not to the way Punz is - SapNap's mother is in fact in Punz's moms bible group - Punz sometimes doesnt attend the bible group and Sap's mother is all "now you tell that pastor's boy to actually attend next time, got it?" and Sapnap dies a little on the inside - And George is an orthodox christian, but he's pretty much quit due to the blatant homophobia he's seen at his church. 

AND NOW ON WILBUR SOOT AND KARL JACOBS AND BARKING - Wilbur has siblings, fun fact - that we will never talk about or address - but definitely nothing like Wilbur, more the Karl Jacobs type - Wilbur is the oldest. he's always lectured about being 'a good influence on your brother and sister.' - They’re big sports kids. Softball and Basketball (tall genes). Straight Bs; Bed by 10pm; Have never missed school - Parents pride and joy :) - Just good suburban kids, Have friends next door, help the neighbors, attend the cul-de-sac barbecues. - Basically who Wilbur used to be up until highschool (until Wilbur met weed and a good group of stoners) - Sure he was a disappointment and he had no clue what to do with his life - But he was happier - Never really liked being the goody- two-shoes boy next door, he doesn't know how karl does it “Playing good boy like a dog” - Also he used dog terms around Karl - Because he’s “Playing good boy like a dog” - He’ll throw Karl a beer and smile “go fetch” - He laughs so hard when he sees Karl be good in a class or play it up for his parents; Because Wilbur’s so past trying - Wilbur will walk by and just bark at karl. Bet. Just Growls lowly; Walks in a  circle; Anything to make Karl’s parents (or Wilbur’s own) stare at him and scurry away - Karl’s parents push Karl forward and like hold their younger kids close to their chest, whispering “keep close, don’t look at him” - They tell Karl to stay away from kids like him. - And boy do Wilbur’s pa#rents hate it, They push him along and whisper yell at him As he throws his head back and cackles - I mean imagine, like a stereotypical middle class suburban family: House wife, blue collared father, Two kids; in sports jerseys, Girl in braids, boy in khakis - And then there’s Wilbur: Doc Martins, black jeans, collar and sweater, beanie. Definitely high on something - Chains LOTS OF CHAINS - And he's Barking. Fucking Barking At the nice family down the street - And then he takes out his vape right in front of his parents and silently offers Karl a hit with a smirk - Cause Karl’s too busy playing good boy - And as Karl’s family looks back, as Wilbur is corralled by his mom - He flips them off with the biggest smirk uou will ever see - Wilbur's kind of an ass - And Karl really wants a hit of that vape.

#wallflower au #wilbursoot #tommyinnit #karl jacobs #quackity #sapnap #and Big Q #georgenotfound #gogy #punz #dream #dreamwastaken #tubbo #long post

[cappsikle]

just a bunch of fools (in love) // george weasley

Request: omg !!! could you please do a continuation for “just a bunch of fools” where george asks reader to marry him 🥺🥺🥺 <3

read the first part here! 

Pairing: george weasley x reader

Summary: the world seems so dark and heavy, but george doesn’t want to do this with anyone but you

Warnings: nope! 

Word Count: 1.7k 

A/N: I’m soooo sorry that this took so long! I had major writer’s block I just hope you like it!

(I’m just gonna say it now, the ending is trash because I just wanted to get it out for you, I’m so sorry >_<)

Reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated!!

-------

Everyone at the Burrow was tense, all still dealing with the aftermath of the attack at the wedding. That was also the night Harry, Ron and Hermione left, along with Bill and Fluer who created a safe house for themselves and members of the Order. So, in the end, it was only you, the twins, ginny, Molly and Arthur who remained at the Burrow until it was time to move to a safer location. No one really spoke to each other, not being able to find the words. What exactly can you say that will make the situation better? The minister of magic was dead, and the ministry had been taken over. You were struggling to grasp anything that resembled hope, it managing to just slip through your fingers. 

Your heart was heavy, dread settling into the pit of your stomach as you sat on the couch in front of the fire. Everyone else had retired to bed, but you just couldn’t sleep, so instead you left George in his bed to sit down and think. Though in hindsight, thinking probably wasn’t the best thing you could do, as you did tend to overthink. What was going to happen next? Where would you go? Are Harry and the others ok? The deeper you went into your thoughts, the more unaware you became of your surroundings, which resulted in you practically jumping out of your skin when you felt a pair of hands over your shoulders.

“shit!” you jumped up from the couch, a hand over your chest as you tried to tame your rapidly racing heart, “George, you scared me!”

“Sorry, love. Didn’t mean to,” you nodded slowly and sat back down, George following and sitting next to you, “what are you doing up so late anyway?”

You shrugged your shoulders, bringing your knees up to your chest and placing your chin in the little divot between them. “just couldn't sleep, yakow... with everything going on.” George nodded his head in understanding, pursing his lips as he got lost in thought. He could see the toll the war had taken on you, effecting your ability to eat and sleep normally. He just wished he knew what to do or say that could make you feel better, but George too was struggling to see the light at the end of this very long and very dark tunnel.

“Would you like something to drink? A cup of tea, maybe?”

You smile sweetly at him and nodded gently, “that would be nice, thank you.” you leaned up and gently placed a kiss to his lips as he rose from his seat, making his way to the kitchen.

Putting the kettle to boil, George looked at you from his place at the kitchen, just taking the time to admire you and your features. From the way your hair fell into your eyes, soft from the light of the fire and the evident tiredness to the little dimple only present on your right cheek even from the smallest of movements from your tempting lips. If there was one thing George knew for sure, it was that in a time where the world was batshit crazy, you were the one that gave him hope for a better future, a future together. That's when he got the idea.

As if electrocuted from a spark, George raced off upstairs towards his room, although he was very careful not to make any noise that would wake his sleeping family. Practically overflowing with nerves and excitement, George ever-so-carefully pushed his door open, squeezing in and tiptoeing to avoid waking up Fred. He walked over to his bedside table and grabbed the little velvet box sitting in the drawer, turning it over in his hands. Was he really about to do this? Was he sure that this is something you’d want, to get engaged right in the middle of a war?  

“So, you’re finally going to do it?” George swore his heart literally jumped out of his chest at the sound of his twin’s tired and barely-awake voice, fumbling with the box as it almost fell out of his grasp. He turned around to face Fred sitting up on the bed, a tired and lazy smirk on his lips.

“Christ, mate! Warn a guy next time, will you?” Fred chuckled at his brother’s frightened state before his eyes trailed down towards what was in George’s hands.

“I said, are you finally going to do it?” George looked down as well, his lips twitching to a small smile at the sight.

“Yeah, I think I am,”

“Are you sure now of all times is the best idea?”

George looked up at his twin, his other half, as he mulled over his words whilst getting up to sit on the edge of the bed next to him. “Look, mate, I’m not sure what’s going to happen over the next few months, but I can’t bear the thought of going through this without the promise that we’ll be together. I love her, more than anything,” Fred looked at his brother, the one person he could count on no matter what, and the solemn look that took over his face. No matter what, he would support his brother’s decision and stand by him with anything, he only wanted to see his brother happy, and he knew that you were the person to make it happy.

Fred nudged George’s shoulder with his elbow, bringing him out of his thoughts. “Look, whatever you do, I support you, and everyone else will too”

George’s face lifted up a bit, grateful for his brother’s words. “I just hope I don’t get rejected,” he said in a joking manner, but there was a hint of seriousness in his voice. What if you do rejected him? Surely you wouldn’t, he hoped.

“I can say with a hundred percent certainty that you will not. You lot are perfect for each other.”

“Thanks, mate.” George smiled up his twin, feeling the energy return with a newfound excitement from his twin’s encouraging words.

“Don’t mention it. Now hurry up and go down there, you left the poor thing hangin’”

George jumped up from the bed, rushing to get downstairs back to you with the box held tightly in his hand. You smiled when you saw George’s lanky figure come back down the steps, dressed in his plaid pajama pants and a plain t-shirt. Noticing George practically bouncing on the spot, you get up from your position on the couch and walk over to him, curious. “What’s got you jumping about the place? You’re basically vibrating,” you chuckled up at him, but your smile fell as you noticed nerves pinching his face, “y’lright, love?”

Just when George thought he couldn’t possibly fall any more in love with you, he was proven wrong upon seeing your concerned face for something as miniscule as feeling nervous. “Y-yeah, ‘m alright,” George looked down at his feet sheepishly, thankful you hadn’t noticed that he was very visibly hiding something behind his back. “Why don’t you come outside with me?”

“Outside? What for?” George raised his head as a sly smirk snaked its way across his lips.

“C’mon, I’ll make it worth your while.” with that, George grabbed your hand and took you through the back door, the light from the inside spilling out to the chilly air.

“George, what’s going on?” you ask curiously, a tint of worry in your voice. You cross your arms over your chest in a futile attempt at warding off the breeze, goosebumps rising on your exposed skin. The cold seemed to have melted away, however, when George grabbed one of your hands from your chest and sunk himself down onto one knee, his other hand still behind his back.

He knew in the grand scheme of things, now was probably a rubbish time to do something like this, but he wanted to have that security that you’d still be his after everything is over. You were confused, what was he doing? He couldn’t be doing... that... right? 

“(Y/N) …” George started, already feeling his start emotions catch up to him. “You are... the best thing that could ever have happened to me. I never thought that in a million years I could have found someone to be like you. Someone so kind, so passionate and so loving, someone willing to do anything and everything to protect those you love without a second thought...”  

George stopped his little speech to gather his thoughts and keep himself from crying. All the while you’re standing there in complete shock. How long had he been planning to do this? You knew what you wanted to say, heck you probably would’ve even said it two years ago. You knew George was who you wanted to spend the rest of your life with, and you would be lying if you hadn’t had dreamt this exact scenario multiple times.  

“I remember when we first met at Kings Cross in our third year, where I ran into you and knocked you off of your feet and said some stupid pick-up-line as a failed attempt of an apology... and the rest is history. I know now isn’t the most ideal time to be doing something like this, being in the middle of a war and all, but maybe it’s because of it that now is a perfect time...” George trailed off with a chuckle, gripping your hand tighter. 

Your hand shook in his as he brought the small box out from behind his back, opening it up to reveal a simple gold band with a small diamond in the middle, but you barely spared it a glance. You were entranced by George’s eyes, filled with so much love and emotion. You couldn’t believe this was happening right now. George was actually asking you to marry him. With tears in his eyes and his voice caught in his throat, he asked the final question.

“Will you, my best friend, my soulmate, do me the absolute honor of marrying me?”

You nodded your head excessively, tears shamelessly spilling from your eyes and trailing down your cheeks. You could barely speak, your words stuck in your throat as you choked up. So instead you flung your arms around his neck, bringing your lips close to his ear and spoke the next words with as much love adoration as you could.

“Yes.”

----------

yikes so that ending was very trash but it’s ok because our baby isn’t. Anyways I hope you guys enjoyed that!! Once I got passed the writers block it was enjoyable to write! 

As always my requests are open so please don’t be shy!

Reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated!!

- Mills <3

#george weasley #george weasley x reader #george weasley imagine #george weasley x you #george weasley fanfiction #george weasley fluff #anon request #fred weasley x reader #fred weasley x you #fred weasley imagine #fred weasley #fred weasley fanfiction #fred weasley fluff #harry potter #harry potter imagine #oneshot #george weasley oneshot #fred weasley one shot

[smokeybrandreviews]

Smokey brand Retrospective: The Gift and the Curse

Brendan Fraser has seen a resurgence lately and i love every bit of that. Dude has been one of my favorite actors for decades. I’m an Eighties kid who grew up during the Nineties so i was right there when he came onto the scene. I was a massive fan f all of his early work; Bedazzled, George of the Jungle, Encino Man, Airheads, Blast from the Past, and even Monkeybone. Dude hit his stride right around the Aughts and then completely disappeared. We found out later it was because of some really f*cked up sh*t but he made it through and proved he still had with Robot Man on Doom Patrol. I’m so glad this guy got another shot at this movie star sh*t but i wanted to revisit the franchise that put him on the map: The Mummy.

The Mummy

I love this campy ass flick, man. I saw this one in the theaters because, at the time, i was super into CG. It had only been a few years since Jurassic Park blew that sh*t out the water and only a few months after The Matrix made everyone sh*t the bed. The Mummy just missed that window but it was still incredibly enjoyable. This was my Indiana Jones because i didn’t care about Indy for a long time. It’s not that they were bad movies, i was just too young to appreciate them. The Mummy came out right at the time i started to really understand why i liked cinema, what a good permanence truly was, and how beautiful a film could be. The Mummy covered almost all of those bases. Fraser did an excellent job as Rick O’Connor and Rachel Weisz stunned as Evelyn Carnahan. F*cking Evie, man. I was already a fan of Fraser but this movie made me really pay attention to Weisz and she became one of my favorite actresses. It helps tremendously that she is f*cking gorgeous! Rounding out the cast is John Hannah as Evie’s brother, Johnathan and Arnold Vosloo as the titular mummy, Imhotep. Also, i can’t not mention the scummiest of scumbags, Benny, portrayed so effortlessly by Kevin J. O'Connor.

I absolutely adore this film. It’s a not the best example of Nineties cinema, how can it be, and it’s a terrible remake of the original Universal Mummy but it does what it wants to do very well. I love the ideas and the world they built with this campy clusterf*ck. It shouldn’t work, it should be terrible, but it’s one of the funnest films i have ever seen. It has it’s issues, absolutely, but they are minor compared the non-stop action, the incredible cinematography, the dated but ambitious CG effects ,and solid performances from every principal actor. They really let Fraser do his thing and that energy carried over to the rest of the cast. Evie is every bit the bad ass as Sarah Connor or Ellen Ripley but is still a very girly-girl; Something that seems to be frowned upon nowadays. Imhotep id an unrelenting, vicious antagonist who controls powers from long ago, literally willing the seven plagues of Egypt into modern times. This movie is all over the f*cking place but it worse so well and every time i see it, i have as much fun as i did way back when i was a ripened fourteen years old.

The Mummy Returns

Boy, this one suffers terrible from Sequelitis. It does nothing new and is an almost exact retread of the first film but we have new characters and a new villain in the guise of... The Scorpion King! Yes, this is the first film that titular Arachno-Monarch makes his first appearance portrayed by a very young, very beefy, and later, very poorly rendered, Dwayne “the Rock” Johnson! That’s right, long before he was Franchise Viagra, way before he was punching out Dom into a stalemate in them god awful Fast flicks, The Rock got his start here, in the sequel to The Mummy and he’s f*cking terrible! Oh my god, is he bad but it works. His awful, awful, performance fits right in with the utter camp of this ridiculous franchise ans, to no one’s surprise, i loved every second of it. Now, as much as i love The Rock in this thing, i have to absolutely give it to Patricia Velasquez as Meela Nais, the physical reincarnation of Imhotep’s regicide partner and f*ck-buddy, Anck-Su-Namun. I didn’t talk about her much in the entry about The Mummy but that as mostly because she was more a plot device rather than a character. She isn’t much else in this one either but at least we got to actually see her for more than ten minutes. Plus, that fight between her and Nefertiri was f*cking glorious. Sixteen year old Smokey appreciated the f*ck out of that.

The returning cast hits their points perfectly. That chemistry never falters. Fraser, Weisz, and Hannah are exceptional together and Vosloo is, somehow, both far more menacing and hilarious at the same time. There’s this scene toward the end where he is utterly defeated and it’s the funniest sh*t i have ever seen. I also really enjoy both Oded Fehr as Ardeth Bay far more in this one than the last because he gets to do sh*t finally. Adewale Akinnuoye-Agbaje was also a welcome surprise as  the muscle, Lock-Nah. Dude just kinds of stands around and i think he gets into a fight with Fehr that was pretty cool but a little trite. Obviously, as a film from the early Aughts, it has it;s problems. There’s a ton of culturally insensitive sh*t that Zoomers would probably be upset about but, you know, f*ck em. It’s like a sense f humor is illegal nowadays. That said, having Rachel Weisz, as gorgeous and half-naked as she is and was, portray an Egyptian is a little much nowadays. At least Patricia Velasquez is a type of Brown? An attempt was made. This thing is a mess and i enjoy every second of it. The Mummy Returns is substantially worse that the first but, at the same time, just so batsh*t that it is equally as entertaining. But f*ck that kid, though. Every time he’s onscreen all of the good times are thrown right out the goddamn window!

The Mummy: Tomb of the Dragon Emperor

I gave this one the hard pass for years. It looked like trash. Like straight up dog sh*t. This thing came out seven years after Returns and i just didn’t care. I was one hundred percent in my hipster film snob era and couldn’t be bothered. For a full f*cking decade and some change. Seriously, i just watched this thing the day before yesterday. For the first time. It was the inspiration for this retrospective because, after seeing this train wreck, i went back to check out the first two just to get the taste of dogsh*t out of my mouth. There are several changes made to the formula that immediately take me out of this film. First, and most egregiously, no more Rachel Weisz! She didn’t come back for the third. The reason behind her absence has run the gambit from vanity, to scheduling conflicts, to literally never getting a script. I don;t really care why, all i know is that her absence was felt. Maria Bello did her best but she isn’t MY Evie. Another “choice” was to age up that awful f*cking kid into an awful f*cking adult. That’s right, this is a “passing of the torch flick” and Luke Ford’s Alex O'Connell was supposed to take over the franchise going forward. That didn’t happen because this is Rick’s franchise. The Mummy would be nothing without Fraser and the at was proven when this thing tanked. It wasn’t all bad though. I really liked the new mummy, Han. They did some really fin things with his abilities and Jet Li never once phoned in an action scene. Unfortunately, even with the strength of the brand and outstanding lead performances, this thing still sucks.

I had a time with Tomb but it wasn’t like the time i had with it’s predecessors. I don’t know if it’s because I'm so much older and hardened by life but all i see is the flaws in this one. It doesn’t have the nostalgia goggles like the first two so i can’t enjoy it like i enjoy those. I just see plot holes instead of camp. Bad CG instead of rustic attempt. Poor set pieces instead of Nineties jank. Bad character writing instead of unfortunately hilarious dialogue. Tomb isn’t terrible but it ain’t good wither. It;s mediocre and i know the first two aren’t great but they’re better than whatever this wanted to be. It’s weird to see because there are a lot of great ideas here. I can see the vision that lays outside the margins and it’s frustrating. Fraser does is in his element as Rick and Li’s Han is a physical powerhouse but that’s not enough. As awesome as this movie gets when those two are on screen, literally everything around them is dismissible and i don’t understand how or why. I think a lot of the chemistry was lost when the focus was shifted to Alex from Rick and the recasting of Eve really didn’t do this film any favors. However, even with all of my frustrations, i can’t say i had a terrible time with this thing. It was entertaining, if a little bogus.

#The Mummy #The Mummy Returns #The Mummy: Tomb of the Dragon Emporer #Brendan Fraser #Rachel Weisz #Smokey brand Retrospective

[hhoriginalworks]

here's to luck | g.w

"Merlin, George, how are you not shaking?" You breathed, your hands still unsteady from watching Harry just nearly survive the first task. "I can't believe they're going to make us sit through two more of these. I swear, if I have to watch either Cedric or Harry get drowned, I'll petition against this tournament."

George just chuckled, pulling you into his side. "Oh, y/n, always the worrier. Although I see why you're worried for Cedric- he's just a handsome bloke with a teeny-tiny brain."

"Oh, shove off it, Georgie," you chuckled, walking alongside him, feeling giddy. "We both know you're just upset that he beat you fair and square last year."

"Yeah, sure, let's call that 'fair.'"

"Aww, George, I didn't mean to spoil your mood, especially since I heard Gryffindor is throwing a party to celebrate Harry," you joked, reaching up to ruffle the tall ginger's hair. "Though, I imagine you'll have to party some without me."

"What why?" George suddenly stopped, pulling you to the of the main path back to Hogwarts. "You aren’t seriously going to the Hufflepuff party, are you?"

"No," you drawled out, attempting you pull George back onto the path. "Remember how you stopped me from finishing my charms homework last night, and the night before that, and the night before the night before?"

"I don't reckon that sounds familiar," George hummed in response, feigning innocence. "Although, I imagine if I did, I had a good reason. Like, perhaps, I can't sleep as well without you, my best-est friend besides Fred, by my side."

"Oh, how lucky for you that your ‘best-est friend besides Fred’ doesn't snore," you laughed, playfully nudging him with your arm. "Might I attempt to imitate you? 'UGGGGGGGG.'"

"Sod off, y/n, you love me," George chuckled, slowing getting back on the path with you. "Now back to business- one shot of firewhiskey?"

"No," you quipped, sticking your tongue at the pouting redhead. "We both know that one shot actually means three, which in turn, lands me hungover in bed with you and my charms homework still undone."

George let out a grin as you spoke, walking in front of you to slow you down. "Harry lives through the first task, and you don't even want to celebrate a little bit? You can't honestly look me in the eyes and say that firewhiskey and a party in the Gryffindor Common Room aren't a little tempting," George coaxed, turning around, so he was walking backward.

"Oh, it sounds more than tempting, but, as I said, Georgie, I have charms homework to do. Not all of us can fall back on good looks and impeccable business skills," you commented, ignoring how George's face fell. Ordinarily, you would have already agreed to your second drink at this point, but you were determined not to give in to George's brown eyes and saccharine smile. "Now, George, stop slowly leading me towards the Gryffindor tower. You know that if I go in, I won't want to come out."

"You're a genius? Did you know that? I mean, you're so bloody brilliant that you solved my ingenious and slightly diabolic plan. Which, might I add, is the reason that you can just not turn in this one charms homework," George attempted again, moving to walk beside you. "Tell me, love, how many drinks do you think it would take to get Lee to streak?"

"Um, fewer drinks than he would care to admit," you laughed, beginning to part from George.

George quickly reached out- his slender fingers wrapping around your wrist and pulling you into his side. "But I can show you how to have a good time, y/n, and who knows, maybe we'll end up in a broom closet... again," George smirked, mumbling the words into your ear. "Tell me that doesn't sound like a perfect way to celebrate Gryffindor's own Triwizard Champion."

"You and me in a broom closet? Please, Weasley, only in your dreams," you scoffed, shaking your head at the redhead's cheeky words.

"My dreams? Sometimes, but it plays in my head more from memory," George mused, skillfully avoiding your attempted to swat the back of his head. "So, was that poor attempt at a swat as yes to letting me show you what a good time looks like?"

"I don't need you to show me how to have a good time. I was the one who taught you how to light your alcohol on fire and still be able to drink it." You could help but roll your eyes at George; he may not be the most responsible student around, but Merlin, was he persistent.

"Okay, fine, but I still need you," George pouted, a sly grin slowly finding its way onto his face. "Remember what happened last year after celebrating the O.W.Ls being over?"

You couldn't help but toss back your head onto his shoulder as you laughed about the incident that George swore he wouldn't ever bring up again. "I'm sorry, could you specify? I think my memory is a little fuzzy about the incident you're talking about."

"Haha, you're lucky I even mentioned it," George huffed, his face turning a light pink color. "In all seriousness, I need you to be with me, so we don't have a repeat of, well, you know."

"Oh, yes, I know. I seemed to have suddenly remembered when you and Fred got absolutely trashed and somehow thought it would be a good idea to race on Hippogriffs... butt-naked. But, Merlin, I seemed to have forgotten who had to pull your drunk asses into the greenhouse before McGonagall caught you," you teased, shooting George a wink. "Who was it again?"

"You," George muttered, looking around to make sure no one was listening.

"I can't hear you- perhaps I need to ask the question louder?"

"You, oh so lovely y/n, pulled me into the greenhouses and forced me into my pants," George mumbled louder, sticking his tongue out as you smiled at his response. "And I don't want a repeat of it tonight, so you should come with me."

"I don't know, Georgie. I think the blast-ended skrewts would love a bite out of you," you joked, pinching his arm. "Imagine they would love the taste of you."

"You would know," George snickered, earning a not-entirely playful smack on the arm. "Ow, you can't hit me for true facts!"

"Oops, I just did," you chimed innocently. "Now, George, please let me go study, and I promise to meet you in the Gryffindor common room afterward."

"Damn, I should've known you we're going to 'y/n out,'" George grumbled, his eyes widening once he realized what he had said out loud. "Hey, don't get angry, y/n. I swear there is a logical reason as to why you heard something come out of my mouth when I didn't actually say anything."

"What did you just say, carrot-head?" You hissed, narrowing your eyes at the Gryffindor.

"What, y/n? I didn't hear anything, did you, Lee?" George asked, grabbing Lee Jordan, who was passing by with Fred and Angelina. "Angelina, the smartest Gryffindor I know that also has flawless hearing, did you hear anything?"

"Oh, you are so in the doghouse," Angelina replied, shaking her head at George with pity. "I told you that if you kept saying it that one day you would slip up and say it to y/n's face."

"You turned my name into a verb? And, even worse, you've been doing it behind my back? "What is 'y/n out' even supposed to mean, huh? Is it supposed to mean being a responsible student? Come on, Georgie, I expected better from you," you scoffed, stepping away from George with a glare. "I guess you got what you wanted, Weasley. I'm no longer in the mood to do homework. No, I instead feel like yelling at you for the next hour."

"Now, y/n, we haven't heard Lee's opinion. Lee, the best announcer that Hogwarts has ever known-"

"Sorry, mate, but you got yourself into this one. I promise to save you drink once y/n's gotten a chance to yell at you," Lee chuckled, cutting George off. "Make him grovel, y/n, he deserves it."

"Oh, I will, Lee," you promised, waving the boy goodbye. "Oh, Georgie, how I look forward to seeing you charm your way out of this one."

"So, you think I'm charming?" George quipped.

"Very much so, which is why I think you should start with begging for my forgiveness," you offered. "Then, you can flatter me with comments, and finally, if you're forgiven, you can pour me a drink."

"Then, we make our way to the nearest broom closet?" George asked, cocking an eyebrow.

"Only if you're really really lucky, Weasley. Now, come on, you have all night to make it up to me," you chuckled, wrapping your hand around his wrist and pulling him through the portrait entrance.

George quickly made his way over to the table of drink, pouring himself and you a plastic cup of what smelled like a butterbeer and firewhiskey concoction. "Well, here's to being really really lucky," George smirked, raising his cup and placing a kiss on your cheek.

#holyhead-hufflepuff archive

[stina-is-a-punk-rocker]

stephanie perkins: ‘anna and the french kiss’

SPOILERS AHEAD!

Then again, if you’ve read any YA book, ever, it’s fairly obvious what’s going to happen.

I was going to go easy on this book; I really was. It’s really unfair how media aimed at a female demographic is seen as frivolous and vapid, and more often than not bashed and bullied when it comes to reviews. “People actually enjoy this crap?” ask the powers that be. “It’s worthless! Pulp! Dreamy-eyed nonsense only complete nimrods could ever like!”

And I take offense to that. There’s nothing wrong with liking romance or happy endings or stories about cute European boys. I was ecstatic when I stumbled across Anna and the French Kiss upon a chance trip to the bookstore. The cover was… meh (Century Gothic? Really? There were no other fonts?). But I’d heard nothing but praise about the book, and I was prepared to stay up all night and into the wee hours of the morning to finish it.

Admittedly, I was far from impressed upon the first reading. The characters were unlikable, the plot would’ve worked better for less shitty characters, honestly fuck these characters am I supposed to like them, fuck Anna, fuck Étienne, fuck Bridgette, fuck Toph, fuck Dave and Meredith and Amanda and Seany and every other stupid character in this stupid book.

The second time around, I expected to not hate it as much as I did when I first read it. It’s happened- I hated Simon vs. the Homo Sapiens Agenda when I first read it, and when I read it again, all that red-hot anger simmered down into an overall dislike. I thought To All the Boys I’ve Loved Before was trash at first, and then I read it again, and it got promoted to recyclable waste matter.

I found Anna and the French Kiss horrendous the first time I read it, and then I read it again, and… yeah, it’s still pretty awful.

Le Sommaire:

Anna Oliphant is a seventeen-year-old wannabe film critic who is #NotLikeOtherGirls – so she’s exactly like every other female YA lead. To her credit, she never explicitly says she’s special… everyone around her does.

She has a pretty meh life in Atlanta, Georgia with her mum and little bruv Sean- and then her dad decides to ship her off to France for her final year of high school. I’m not judging Anna for bawling her eyes out on her first day; I’m a huge mummy’s girl myself and I’d probably (definitely) do the same.

Meredith is Anna’s next-door neighbor, who does that thing which only happens in YA where she’s like “Oh, newbie? Let’s be friends!” (Or maybe it does happen irl and I tend to make a bad first impression which is why no one has ever approached me.)

Meredith’s friends are: Rashmi and Josh (who are a couple), and Étienne St. Clair. Guess which one is the love interest.

Étienne is cultured in that white person way where he’s half American, one quarter French and one quarter British. A true international.

But- *gasp*- American-British-French boy has a girlfriend, Ellie.

Anna has an absolutely gorgeous punk rocker (yum) boy with sideburns (yikes) back home named Christopher. Also, Christopher’s nickname is ‘Toph’ instead of ‘Chris’ because he too is #NotLikeOtherGirls. Anna tells us that nothing will happen between her and Étienne.

Anna is wrong.

Meredith has a crush on Étienne. So does the Regina George of the school, Amanda.

Étienne and Anna have some moments ™.

♫ Everyone else in the room can see it, everyone else but Anna ♫

I tear my hair out in frustration.

Several other white boys vie for Anna’s heart. Anna remains blissfully unaware (♫ that’s what makes you beautiful ♫). Étienne (who is still dating Ellie, mind you) is unreasonably agitated by this.

Étienne’s mum has cancer btw, which excuses all the shitty things he does, because he’s just a poor, misunderstood boy.

Ellie dresses up as a, quote unquote, ‘slutty nurse’ for Hallowe’en, though- so it’s perfectly okay to dislike her (even though, in the first interaction she had with Anna, where Ellie meets Anna and Étienne, after Étienne takes Anna to the movies, Ellie is perfectly sweet).

Anna, however, is NOT a slut. Amanda is, though. And Rashmi’s cold. And Meredith’s desperate. And Emily’s a slut, too. And her friend Bridgette from Atlanta is a traitor. Anna has an intense case of internalized misogyny.

Anna’s friend Bridgette from Atlanta is screwing Toph, and Anna throws a fit.

Étienne and Anna have some more moments ™.

A truly chaotic series of events befall Anna. She somehow winds up dating Dave (one from the harem of white boys who likes her) to spite Étienne, she gets into a fight with Amanda, more drama ensues, there’s a hint for a spinoff, Étienne and her kiss, Meredith sees and feels betrayed… several misunderstandings and more bullshit later, Étienne and Anna wind up together, because true love conquers all.

Mes Réflexions:

(If the French is off, blame Google Translate.)

Usually, it takes me half a page of my notebook to scribble down my thoughts about the book I’m reading. This motherfucker took me almost an entire page.

Granted, a solid 30% of those notes are me throwing insults at Étienne, but still. ‘STOP STOP STOP YOU HAVE A GIRLFRIEND YOU DICK’ counts, right?

(That was #17 in my notes, by the way.)

For the record, I like Stephanie Perkins’s writing. It’s not as over-the-top and unnecessarily introspective as Jenny Han’s in To All the Boys I’ve Loved Before, and the interactions between Anna and her classmates were natural and not the “How do you do, fellow kids?” style of Becky Albertalli’s Simon vs. the Homo Sapiens Agenda. The pacing is decent- I didn’t feel like it was too rushed; not the insta-love trope most YA romances unfortunately fall prey to.

And yet. AND YET.

Anna: “What’s your problem?” Amanda: “You.”

Same, Amanda, same.

Anna Oliphant is one of my least favorite leads in a book, ever. Étienne’s even shittier. And it’s not like Nick or Amy Dunne from Gone Girl, or any of the main characters from The Secret History, where readers pretty much unanimously hate them. You’re meant to relate to Anna, you’re meant to find Étienne charming and dreamy. I literally had to put the book away and calm myself down several times- especially in the last quarter of the book.

One of my main gripes with Anna is how… dumb she is. I guess Anna’s “Oopsies, silly me, I don’t know French!” is meant to be relatable to the readers. And some parts (like her not knowing how to order food because she can’t speak French) are plausible, but- sis, you didn’t know how to spell oui? And my idea of a cinematic masterpiece is Kung-Fu Panda, but even a dumbass like me knows that France is the film appreciation capital of the world. And yet Anna, a self-professed film freak, doesn’t?

Of course, Anna’s gorgeous, but she has no clue, because of course she doesn’t- even though she has multiple guys falling head over heels for her.

I’m in a short skirt. It’s the first time I’ve worn one here, but my birthday seems like the appropriate occasion. “Woo, Anna!” Rashmi fake-adjusts her glasses. “Why do you hide those things?”

Étienne is staring at my legs. The scales covering them throb under his intense gaze, and the pincers sticking out of my thighs start clicking rapidly in arousal. My hooves shiver in ecstasy.

… sorry, that’s not funny.

Her friends think Anna’s weird for wanting to write film reviews (which is the most contrived thing I’ve ever heard) instead of being the next Margot Robbie or whatever, but of course Étienne doesn’t and he thinks it’s not weird and cool and that Anna is such a special snowflake.

(Man, I sound like Amanda.)

And then we have this spiel by Anna about how she got into film critiquing (?), because we the readers need to know how special and #NotLikeOtherGirls Anna is.

To this, I say, “Piss off, you pretentious fuck.”

Of course, Anna’s a virgin and she’s never gotten drunk before or worn short skirts- she’s not a slut, she shaves below the knees only.

And would YA really be YA without several hearty helpings of internalized misogyny?

First up, we have the bimbo; the Barbie doll archetype whose only goal in life is acquiring the main guy (who is quite obviously uninterested in her), and making life hell for our protagonist. Amanda Whatsername (is she ever given a surname?) has this coveted role in Anna and the French Kiss. She’s blond (because of course she is); the first time we meet her, she’s in a, quote unquote, ‘teeny tank top’, and she also ‘positions herself for maximum cleavage exposure’. She’s always flipping her hair, getting her grubby paws on Étienne, giving Anna the stink-eye, being homophobic and a grade-A bitch.

Meredith goes batshit when Anna and Étienne kiss, and is very pouty and unhappy during prior Anna x Shittiene moments. Honey… he’s just not that into you. Rashmi’s the Ice Queen reincarnate and halfway to bitchdom. Anna doesn’t go as hard on them as she does on literally every other female her age in the book, though.

Rashmi looks at me for the first time, calculating whether or not I might fall in love with her own boyfriend.

Anna, hate to break it to you, but not everyone’s a possessive fucking weirdo.

About Cherrie, her ex-boyfriend Matt’s new girlfriend:

And maybe Cherrie isn’t as bad as I remember. Except she is. She totally is. After only five minutes in her company, I cannot fathom how Bridge stands sitting with her at lunch every day.

Her lifeless laugh is one of her lesser attributes. What does Matt see in her?

Even Bridgette, Anna’s best friend from Atlanta, isn’t immune to Anna’s anti-female propaganda. She’s screwing the guy Anna used to like, and Anna, the hypocrite, throws a huge fit.

For context: Bridgette and Toph are in a band called the Penny Dreadfuls (why is it with YA books and horrible band names? ‘Emoji’ from Simon vs. the Homo Sapiens Agenda was bad enough), and Anna + Matt + Cherrie go to a bowling alley to see them perform. After the performance, Toph announces that he’s sleeping with Bridge, and Anna confronts Bridge… onstage.

“… You’re welcome to move in when I leave again, because that’s what you want, right? My life?”

She shakes with fury. “Go to hell.”

“Take my life. You can have it. Just watch out for the part where my BEST FRIEND SCREWS ME OVER!” I knock over a cymbal stand, and the brass hits the stage with an earsplitting crash that reverberates through the bowling alley. Matt calls my name. Has he been calling it this entire time? He grabs my arm and leads me around the electrical cords and plugs and onto the floor and away, away, away.

Everyone in the bowling alley is staring at me.

I duck my head so my hair covers my face. I’m crying. This would have never happened if I hadn’t given Toph her number. All of those late-night practices and… he said they’ve had sex! What if they’ve had it at my house? Does he come over when she’s watching Seany? Do they go in the bedroom?

I’m going to be sick.

Give me a goddamn break.

Anna, about Ellie:

To my amazement, Ellie breaks into an ear-to-ear smile. Oddly enough, it’s this moment I realize that despite her husky voice and Parisian attire, she’s sort of… plain. But friendly-looking.

That still doesn’t mean I like her.

“Anna! From Atlanta, right? Where’d you guys go?”

She knows who I am? St. Clair describes our evening while I contemplate this strange development. Did he tell her about me? Or was it Meredith? I hope it was him, but even if it was, it’s not like he said anything she found threatening. She doesn’t seem alarmed that I’ve spent the last three hours in the company of her very attractive boyfriend. Alone.

[about Ellie’s Hallowe’en costume] Slutty nurse. I don’t believe it. Tiny white button-up dress, red crosses across the nipples. Cleavage city.

If I didn’t like Ellie before, it’s nothing compared to how I feel now. It doesn’t matter that I can count how many times we’ve met on one hand.

I fantasize about their break-up. How he could hurt her, and she could hurt him, and all of the ways I could hurt her back. I want to grab her Parisian-styled hair and yank it so hard it rips from her skull. I want to sink my claws into her eyeballs and scrape.

It turns out I am not a nice person.

YOU DON’T FUCKING SAY.

Emily Middlestone bends over to pick up a dropped eraser, and Mike Reynard leers at her breasts. Gross. Too bad for him she’s interested in his best friend, Dave. The eraser drop was deliberate, but Dave is oblivious.

One of the juniors, a girl with dark hair and tight jeans, stretches in a move designed to show off her belly button ring to Paul/Pete. Oh, please.

And I’m meant to like this character? I’m supposed to root for her?

I’m not saying every girl in the book should be perfectly sweet and friendly- that’s just not realistic. But when Anna has something judgmental to say about every other young female character… maybe she’s the problem.

In fact, the only girl I recall getting a pass is Isla Whatsername. And why do you think?

Brilliant.

And now we have the amalgamation of almost every fanfic boyfriend trope from 2014, Étienne St. Clair. Brown-eyed Harry Styles. I can’t fucking wait.

Étienne could’ve discovered the cure for cancer, or abolished poverty, or volunteered at animal shelters in his spare time. He could’ve been the most virtuous guy around (fret not; he decidedly isn’t). And I still wouldn’t’ve thought of him as the man of my dreams because HE HAS A BLOODY GIRLFRIEND.

I mean, which girl doesn’t want her boyfriend to say:

“I cheated on her every day. In my mind, I thought of you in ways I shouldn’t have, again and again.”

Fuckin’ smooth, bro.

“No matter what a terrible boyfriend I was, I wouldn’t actually cheat on her. But I thought you’d know.”

Such a gentleman!

“So you can keep dating Ellie, but I can’t even talk to Dave?”

Étienne looks shamed. He stares at his boots. “I’m sorry.”

I don’t even know what to do with his apology.

“I’m sorry,” he says again. And this time, he’s looking at me. Begging me. “And I know it’s not fair to ask you, but I need more time. To sort things out.”

And this gem:

“If you liked me so much, why didn’t you break up with her?”

“I’ve been confused. I’ve been so stupid.”

*me, banging pots and pans together* F U C K Y O U

“Ellie’s not like you, Anna; she’s a slut and a whore even though I’m the one who’s been thinking about another girl inappropriately and I’m the one who gets my knickers in a twist when another man glances in your direction because my masculinity is extremely fragile and I’m a total hypocrite and a dickhead.”

I mean, he didn’t actually say that, but that’s the gist.

WHILE DATING ELLIE: he gets Anna a book of sexual love poems, he calls her attractive (“Any bloke with a working prick would be insane not to like you.”) multiple times, he gets jealous whenever another guy so much as breathes in Anna’s direction and constantly interrupts such interactions, he’s been ditching his friends for his girlfriend but suddenly decides he prefers a new girl over said girlfriend, he thinks bread pudding tastes good- in conclusion, he is a Massive Fucking Prick. Though in hindsight, him and Anna deserve each other. They’re awful.

I had loads more notes taken down (Anna using Dave; “The important thing is this: Dave is available. St. Clair is not.”); the implication that cheating is okay because Ellie is bad or whatever, even though the sudden change in her character seems contrived because she was perfectly okay with Étienne and Anna hanging out before; how my blood boils whenever I read an American book and American girls are like “oOoOh AcCenT!!!1!!1!!”; me reading “DAVE SAYS YER A SLUTBAG” in Hagrid’s voice; the sheer atrocity of the name ‘Étienne St. Clair’ (sounds like a caricature of a French person)… but this ‘review’ is already pushing 3k and I can’t be fucked to expand on any of those points.

Verdict (which is apparently the same in French):

Who needs Christopher when Étienne St. Clair is in the world?

Speak for yourself.

#books #book review #anna and the french kiss #Stephanie Perkins #french #france #parisian #paris #YA #young adult #romance #teen fiction #bad books

[queernarchy]

Statement of Elizabeth Williams, regarding a box of tapes found in the basement of her student house. Statement given October 18th, 2018, 105 Hill Top Road, Oxford.

[INT. OXFORD, 105 HILLTOP RD, UPSTAIRS BEDROOM]

[TAPE CLICKS ON]

[SOUNDS OF BETH STUTTERING, APPARENTLY SEARCHING FOR SOMETHING TO SAY]

[A SHAKY INHALE]

BETH

Right. Um. I, uh. Right.

[PAUSE]

BETH

To be perfectly honest, I’m not really sure what I’m doing. I- I found this. It’s the only one I’ve found in the box that’s blank. You know, I’ve never actually seen a tape recorder, like in real life? It’s quite - Well, I’m not even sure I know how to use it. Except … I do. Because I turned it on. I hit the button and now I’m talking to it, like it’s a person. Like I’m crazy, which … I might be. God, I might be. 

[BREATH]

BETH

I probably am. In fact, I hope I am. I hope I was just dreaming it all up. Another sign of an overactive imagination. Spending too much time with those books and not in the real world, as mum would say.

[PAUSE]

Even if it was real, there is no reason for me to be talking to you - no, to this. [TO HERSELF] It’s a tape recorder, Beth, it’s not a person. [BACK TO NORMAL] But I am. It feels right to, to tell you. So I’m going to. I’m going to tell you what happened and then it’ll be over. And I can go back to my life. 

BETH (STATEMENT)

I’m not great at this. The talking, the explaining, the storytelling, it’s not really my thing, at least not anymore. 

When I was a kid it was easy, you know? I was always latching onto one thing or another, letting it consume my brain and then going on and on about it to whatever poor soul I could corner long enough into listening. My parents didn’t let me use a computer until I was well into my teens - something about them making nightmares worse? It was all bollocks, really, how would they know that if they never actually let me use one? But, anyways, before that I used to spend hours in the Wokingham library touring the sections. Once, when I was twelve, I read a book on oceanography: Vanished Ocean: How Tethys Reshaped the World, and spent a solid week scouring the corners of every bookshelf for anything I could find on ancient supercontinents or vanished fault lines before giving my report to the first unlucky and unsuspecting librarian who happened to be out in the open. [LAUGHS] Poor Mike.

I never cared what the genre was, nonfiction, mystery, fantasy, that was never important to me. I just loved the pursuit, and the compelling joy of walking through a new world. It was like a secret between me and the writer, something that we knew that nobody else did. 

I always dreamed of being a writer too one day, but like I said, the storytelling part never actually came natural to me, no matter how many books I consumed. I suppose it must have been that lack of skill that bugged the people around me to no end. My father spent most of his time at work and I didn’t really get along with my brother or sister, but let’s just say that my mum was never as ... enthusiastic about my new interests as I was. 

It wasn’t her fault, I was deeply, deeply irritating. But to my credit, the minute I realized that, well, that’s when I finally started to shut up. Thinking back, I think that’s where it started. I had always kind of been afraid of pretty much anything and everything. But when I got old enough, I started to routinely feel a gripping terror bubbling up through my stomach, my chest, shaking my limbs and rooting me to the spot whenever I spoke for more than a minute at a time. 

All this to say, a few years ago I graduated secondary school with absolutely no skill in writing, the one thing I actually enjoyed, and a lot of anxiety. It seems inevitable that I would end up studying library sciences, doesn’t it? It’s practically what I’ve always done anyways - sorting and researching. And a future as a librarian with a couple cats and a cozy cottage, surrounded by books, well … there are worse things. Much worse. 

I moved into student housing right before my first term started at Oriel. I call it student housing, but it’s not, not technically. The actual dorms were a bit out of my price range, so when I saw an ad looking for flatmates in Cowley, only a 20 minute bus ride from the college, it seemed meant to be. There were ten living here all together, to start. George moved into his boyfriend’s place last year, leaving nine of us. [DARKLY] Well, eight, now, I suppose.

It was a proper house, renovated a few years back, I think, but it was already thoroughly  trashed by the time I showed up. It was one of those places that, the minute you walked through the door, you could just feel the grime lurking between the worn couches and stained mattresses, that musty smell of overuse. I tried to ignore it, I did, but one Friday night a couple weeks after I’d settled in, I waited until everyone had gone and walked to the closest shop to buy a blacklight. It went about as well as you’d expect. I spent that entire weekend scrubbing this house from top to bottom. I even cleaned Sam’s room. It’s not like I’m a germaphobe or anything, I just like to know where things have been. And if they dirty again, well, at least I know it’s the slobbery of my friends rather than that of strangers. 

I didn’t touch the basement, though. None of us ever did. I’m not sure why, it was always just an unspoken agreement between us. I must have asked about it when I moved in. I must have. I mean, it would be one thing if it just never came up, if it was just an unfinished and unsafe part of the house we didn’t go down to and that was that. But, you know, thinking about it now, we didn’t even mention it, not once. It’s amazing, isn’t it, what you can ignore. Right up to the moment you’re devoured by it.

I don’t remember the exact moment things started to feel wrong. Can’t have been more than a couple weeks ago. It was subtle, at first. Doors swinging closed on their own, misplaced items, shadows that didn’t really ... fit. All things that could be chalked up to the mind playing tricks out of boredom, or fatigue - just a consequence of one too many sleepless nights. I didn’t really think about it too hard, even when Sam brought it up at breakfast, started insisting the place was haunted. That was easy to dismiss, she’s always going on about some supernatural this or that and I don’t believe in ghosts, but even that would have been easily digestible as an explanation. 

It was like that for a few days, and all the while, that feeling of wrongness lurked in the background, pulsing beneath us. I honestly don’t know if I would have even taken notice if Milton hadn’t started behaving the way he did. Milton is - was - every bit the hipster film student of your wildest imaginations. I swear, I saw him wear a beret once, completely unironically. We’d been friends, as I was one of the few people who would listen to him ramble on about whatever arthouse film had caught his attention that week. We got on fine, well, actually, for flatmates at least. That’s not to say that I always liked him - I’d acted in a few of his student films, just by convenience, and he wasn’t exactly the most easy to work with. Everything always had to be just the way he wanted it, down the most minute detail. I swear, if he could have tied strings around our limbs and puppeted us from afar, he would have. [PAUSE] Sorry, that’s … that’s poor taste. 

It had to do with the cassettes. You see, Milton had always insisted on using magnetic tape for his recordings, refusing to even entertain the idea of a digital camera. Something about being more authentic - I never understood it, but far be it from me to get in between a film major and their precious ‘analog charm.’ He loved those tapes, and we all got used to seeing dozens scattered throughout the house at any one time. Which is why it struck me as odd when last week, they vanished entirely. When I asked him about it, he just said that he'd been editing a new project that he needed them for. I wasn’t sure what kind of project would require that many cassettes all at once, but he certainly spent enough time working on it. He’d be locked away in his room for hours, sounds of whirring machinery coming from behind his door. When he did come out, he was exhausted, gaunt. I tried talking to him about it, you know, but he’d just ignore me.

It was strange behavior, sure, but not supernatural. Perhaps I would have chalked it up to stress, just a bad week, but that’s when the nightmares started. I had always had them, just a side effect of my anxiety, but they’d died down a couple years ago, after I moved to Oxford. One sleep after this started, though, I saw Milton. He was sat at a desk, a mess of cassettes unspooled into piles of thin black magnetic tape scattered across it. He was tangled in tape as well, almost every limb bound by it. He stared at the pile in front of him with dull eyes, completely still. 

I didn’t realize until the tape began to lift his arms that he wasn’t just tangled in it. The long, metallic strands were embedded directly into his skin. The strands controlling every movement, he grabbed a spool, and, very slowly, raised it to his mouth. His jaw unhinged, farther than anything natural, and he began to stuff the tape down his throat. Again, and again, and again, until the entire pile was gone. I had never felt relief the way I had when I finally woke from that dream. I didn’t know that was only the first time that I would have it.

I woke from one of these nightmares late one night, heart beating fast and body sticky with sweat. I climbed downstairs, trying to clear my head, and found Milton sitting in the living room, staring at our small television screen playing his movie. At least, that’s what I assumed it was. There was no coherence, no audio, just rapid, violent black and white images that flashed across the screen sporadically and bits of static that faded in and out at random. Occasionally, I’d see the corrupted and disjointed image of my own face cross the screen, along with the other actors. The pattern was hypnotic. Every few minutes, the images would perfectly align, shaping spindly, bony legs that almost seemed to reach beyond the glass face of the TV.

After a while, I finally managed to ask him if he was alright, if the cassette had become corrupted somehow, if there was any way to fix it. He had always been so fiercely protective of his tapes, and with the state it was in I expected him to be furious, or devastated, at least concerned. But when he turned, there was none of that written into his face. Just a calm, blank expression. He studied me carefully for a long moment, before finally speaking. ‘We should feed our guest. She’s so happy to have arrived, and she is very hungry.’ He smiled after he said that. When he did, I could have sworn I saw that thin black film tape weaved inside him - webbed in the back of his throat and threaded right through the fleshy center of his tongue. I went back up the stairs immediately and locked my door, sat in bed until the sun came up.

I managed to avoid him the days after that. I thought about telling the others, trying to explain it to them, but I knew it wouldn’t end well. They wouldn’t believe me, why would they? I wasn’t even sure that I believed me. I thought about moving out, of course I did, but I had nowhere to go. No money, no real friends outside of the ones I already lived with. And who knows if I was just overreacting, imagining it all. So I decided I’d just ignore him as much as I could until he went back to normal or I’d saved up enough money for a new place.

It didn’t last, though. It was three days ago that it happened. It was late, and I had carelessly lost time sitting in the kitchen, studying for my history exam. I was alone when he walked in. He didn’t say a word, just, met my eyes with that calm look, like an invitation. Then he turned, with a finality I had never seen before, opened the door to the basement, and vanished down the stairs. 

I shouldn’t have followed him. I could have just walked away, went upstairs and buried my head in my pillow. But I didn’t. I had to know. To see. 

So, I walked down those old stone steps, dodging cobwebs. I don’t remember if I closed the door behind me, or if it did that part on its own. The cellar was warm, far too warm for October. It was unfinished, and empty save for an old, lidded cardboard box that sat neatly in the center of the room. A long, jagged crack ran through the floor and up into the far wall, as though the foundation had been damaged in an earthquake or something. Milton stood facing away from me, towards the crack in the wall, whispering something I couldn’t quite make out. I called out to him, and he turned to face me, expression wild with … something. Excitement? Panic? He had started to say something before, all at once, dozens of shadowy, spindly tendrils, adorned with what looked like coarse hairs crept from the crack and began to wrap themselves around him.

I felt that familiar terror bubble up, running cold through my veins, stronger than I’d ever felt it before. I wanted to run or scream, but I couldn’t. He didn’t scream either, but I could see the fear growing in his eyes, silently pleading. He didn’t move, not even as the tendrils began to … unspool him. They reached into him, breaking into his body like plaster, and pulled. He was hoisted from the ground, his limbs yanked in different directions and elongated. They just dangled there, arms and legs and head only still attached by threads of dark, magnetic tape, like an old, torn doll hanging together by string. And then the tendrils began to move him. They took their time puppeting him, and at the end, they pulled up his head, forcing his gaze to meet mine. His cheeks were strung up into a grin, but I saw the tears that flowed freely down his contorted face. 

I don’t know how long I stood there, watching him stripped him apart, piece by piece, slowly and deliberately. I couldn’t move, couldn’t speak. I felt hot tears roll down my cheeks, although I couldn’t tell if they’d come from the terror of it all or simply because I no longer possessed the ability to blink. I watched and watched. And when it was over, and he was gone, I waited. I waited for them to take me, a part of me just relieved that I didn’t have to watch anymore. I had already shut my eyes tightly before I understood that I could. I felt my hands twitch, regaining their will. When I finally opened my eyes again, I was alone, in that old, dank basement, with nothing but that long dark crack, and, in the center of the floor, the cobweb covered cardboard box, now open, and filled to the brim with tapes. 

I don’t remember the rest of the night with any real clarity. I know I stood there for a while. I know at some point I calmly bent down, picked up the box, and walked it upstairs. I spent most of the last two days just staring at it. I’ve missed all of my classes. Sam has come to see me a couple of times, to ask how I am. This morning she actually brought me a plate of spaghetti. Imagine that, spaghetti for breakfast. I do appreciate the thought, even if it makes no practical sense whatsoever. Must be an American thing. She did mention that a man stopped by yesterday. Short, greying hair, lots of weird scars, asking about ‘strange happenings’ in the house. Sam told him about her hauntings, and apparently he had been, less than impressed. He told her he was sorry, and that she should move out, and then left without another word. [LAUGH] Creep.

I finally got up the nerve to look into the box. It’s pretty much what it says on the tin: Tapes and stationary. And cobwebs. So many goddamn cobwebs. 

Nobody has said anything about Milton. I expect in the next few days someone will notice he’s gone. How do you explain something like that? I’ve been seeing it again, though. My nightmares … my nightmares have been getting worse. I keep ending up back there. I just watch, and watch, and watch, and I can’t turn away. 

BETH (POST STATEMENT)

Statement ends, I suppose.

[STATIC RISES]

[STUTTERS, CONFUSED]

…. Statement? I, I don’t, I didn’t -

[STATIC FALLS]

[A SHORT SIGH]

I don’t feel better. I really thought I would. I don’t know why. Why in the world did I think that telling my stupid story to this thing would make me feel better? 

The box is still sitting at the foot of my bed. I want to get rid of it, I do. So why don’t I just toss it? It would be so easy. Just … throw it out. But I can’t. 

[RIFLING THROUGH THE TAPES]

Oh, huh - 

[STATIC RISES]

This tape’s blank as well. I thought I’d sorted through them all, but I guess I missed one. Hm. 

[TOSSES THE TAPE ASIDE]

They’re quite interesting, you know. I haven’t played any of the tapes yet, but I glanced at a few of the written accounts. Some of them are so illegible I can’t even read them but others are. Compelling. They make me feel, right. Scared, but [SIGHS]. I don’t know how to explain it. 

I did some research on them, the ones I read anyways. I say research, I mean some quick Googling, a bit of asking around. They’re not real. The Magnus Institute, that’s the logo printed onto the stationary, isn’t a real place. And, as far as I can tell, these people … these people don’t exist. Anywhere. I mean, I found a few names that match but nobody who lines up to the descriptions and when I reach out to them they claim to know nothing about any of it. One of the people I called, Timothy Hodge, his name is, actually gave me the number of his psychiatrist. [LAUGH]

So maybe it’s fiction. A collection of short stories about fictional people and fictional suffering. Just a practical joke. Except, I know that it’s not. I can’t explain how, I just … Know. 

I should probably move out. Only an idiot would stay in this place, after something like that. When I leave this room, I’m going to have to walk by that basement door. Every single day.. I should leave. I want to leave. I will leave. Just, not yet. 

I need to understand, to unravel the mystery, and I’m getting the feeling that there is something in this box that’ll help me do just that. I’ll try to record whatever I find out. I do have another blank tape, after all. [HM] End recording. 

[TAPE CLICKS OFF]

#the magnus archives #tma #tma fanfic #writing #horror #okay this is the thing i've been doing obsessively sjkdlfsf #i recorded it for myself because it's so fun to and also genuinely spooks me to listen to #anyways i should probably go make a spreadsheet for my internship bye guys #probably nobody is gonna read this so i dont even need to say but just in case ...please dont take her from me she took so much time #unreality #short story

[frangipanidownunder]

100 degrees of separation: fic

For @perplexistan who requested: M and S at the UH, where there is no air conditioning, and it is a record-setting, sweltering summer day. Set post season 11? Rated T, I guess.

By lunch-time it was 95 degrees and the temperature was still creeping higher. The ceiling fan whumped pitifully, simply spreading the misery around the kitchen. Even with the blind firmly closed, the heat wedged itself against the window and permeated everything. The clock on the wall titched slowly, as though the minutes were being squeezed through molasses to tick on.

Mulder peeled his forearms from the table and brought the sports pages with him. Scully puffed a wisp of stray hair from her forehead, smiling at his grapple with the newsprint. As she leaned across to help him, his attention was trapped by the bead of sweat trickling down her cleavage, weaving over the spray of rose freckles, and all his irritation at the humidity evaporated, as he watched it disappear into the V of her tank-top. He licked his lips.

“Thirsty?” she murmured, in a tone that suggested she knew exactly what had caught his eye. “We need to stay hydrated.”

“Kinda,” he said, finally removing the last of the newspaper.

“I know you love the game, Mulder but you didn’t need to tattoo it on your skin. She took his hand and twisted his arm over. “Look at that,” she said, her voice perkier, “Yankees beat the Red Sox 11 to 1.”

He read the print that had marked the heel of his thumb and along the grooves of his wrist. “Severino finished 13 and 2. Not too shabby, Scully.”

“Whatever you say, Mulder. I’m going to make iced tea. Care for some?”

“Sure. Price finished 9 and 6. But I can’t make out the Washington scores.” He rummaged through the ripped paper but ended up flinging strips into the air where they wafted momentarily on the rising heat like ticker-tape before settling willy-nilly over the table and floor. Scully sighed and he couldn’t make out if it was because she was standing in front of the open refrigerator or if it was a precursor to her snapping at him to clean up his mess. Taking no chances, he set about gathering the remnants of the pages and scrunching them into a ball.

“Don’t even think about throwing that at me,” Scully said from deep inside the ice box.

His mother used to say something about women having eyes in the backs of their heads and as a small boy it used to creep him out enough to stop him sleeping. When his sister was born, he turned her over just to check. Scully let the door shut and turned just as he closed the gap between them. He gathered her in his arms and welcomed her cool front.

“Ice, ice baby,” he sang, rocking his hips side to side with hers. She played along for a moment before shrugging away from him and setting the ice cube tray on the table.

“Grab that for me,” she asked, nodding at the ornate mason jar on the side. “I’ve added mint and lemon. Should be really refreshing. My mom used to make this recipe for us…” She looked up at him, eyes a little wetter than before and he tossed the paper ball into the trash can, nodding his understanding at her. It still cut her. It cut him too, their cumulative losses over the decades. If he had learned anything from their experiences, it was that they were each the only person in the world who truly understood the other. Love was nothing to do with it, though it helped. For the most part, anyway. 

He watched her drop ice into the jar, took the brewed tea and poured it over the cubes so they crackled and split a little. The lemon slices rose up the sides along with the mint sprigs and the aroma put him in mind of midsummer evenings in the Red Stag’s beer garden listening to Wimbledon commentary as the Pimms pitcher sloshed on the rickety, silvered table-top.

Like the smell, however, the cool action of the drink dissipated far too quickly and after ten minutes, they were both sweating again.

“Hyperhidrosis,” she mused, pressing a wet wad of paper towel to her forehead and chest.

“If that’s your medical diagnosis,” he said, unsticking each thigh from the chair, “how does one combat its symptoms?”

She scoffed and flopped back, angling her arms at 45 degrees, circling her wrists back and forth. “Someone tell Mother Nature to dial it back in a little. She’s being a bitch.”

“She’s a bit pissed at our inability to address the climate situation and I’d say she’s got fair cause.”

“But humidity at over 90 per cent, Mulder, that’s more than a bit pissed, that’s white-hot rage.”

“Hm-mm,” he said, turning over his cell. “If it gets to 100 degrees, I’ll expire. How do Aussies live like this?”

“They have a/c everywhere,” she said.

“Uh-huh, they probably even have it in their refrigerators.” He tried to laugh at his own joke but the heat stole it from his mouth.

“More people die from the cold in Australia than the heat. Their housing isn’t built for the winters. Temperatures in the south of the country are low outside of the three months of summer. And you won’t expire, Mulder. Not on my watch.”

There it was again. That understanding, that support. Her answer about deaths in Australia didn’t really surprise him. Housing in England was similarly deficient, just for the heat, not the cold. Radiators and terraces and wall to wall carpets helped heat homes during winters, but he remembered nights in Oxford where July humidity kept him awake, tossing and turning in his bedsit while the beat of a rave rose and fell from the neighbouring farmland. He wasn’t sure about the mortality rate but it always felt like Death was laughing at the poor souls crushed into tiny living quarters.

“What’s the hottest you’ve ever been, Scully? Aside from that time you wore that sleek black skirt suit where I could see the outline of your stocking top.” He chuckled at her mock-offended expression.

“Rescuing you from Arecibo is pretty high on the list of Times Dana Scully Nearly Melted.”

“You didn’t rescue me.”

“What would you call it, then, Mr George ‘Proof of Contact’ Hale?” Her voice rose up the scale of indignation a notch.

“I didn’t ask you to come. We weren’t even partners then. You just…invited yourself. And, by the way, I got us out of there like a Hollywood stunt driver.”

“I had to have months of physio to straighten my spine after that little trip to the rainforest. Jesus, Mulder.”

“You drive like that all the time,” he countered.

“Do not,” she snipped, and pushed her chair back. “And invited myself? Really?”

She disappeared for a bit and he lay his head down on the table but a pool of warm sweat gathered on his skin so that his forehead slipped away, juddering across the surface. He looked up as Scully came back into the kitchen and blinked away the droplets that ran into his eyes. “Are you putting linen in the freezer?”

“Yes. And no, I’m not mad. You’ll thank me later.”

She disappeared again and when she returned the next time, she was carrying a scalpel and a pair of surgical scissors.

“You are mad,” he said, rubbing a hand over his chin. “Just not the insane kind. What have I done, Scully?”

“Nothing yet. Get me two empty water bottles.” He did and she nodded to the scalpel. “Puncture holes in them at regular intervals and then cut the bottoms off.” When he’d finished, she’d come back with a ball of string. He watched as she tied the bottles, upside down, to the back of the fan, looping the string through the holes and around the grating.

“I take it back,” he said, “this is a work of genius.”

She grinned, hair plastered to her face, skin sheen with sweat and in a flash, it took him back to that graveyard in Bellefleur. “I’ll get the ice.”

“And some salt. And pour more water in the ice tray,” she called after him.

Side by side, they sat cross-legged in front of the fan as the cool air blasted them. His cell registered 100 degrees and he flashed it to her.

“You saved me,” he said.

“Again,” she said, smugly.

“Who’s keeping score?”

“You are.” She batted his hand away and let her head hang back, the curls of her frizzed hair straightening when the fan blew over her. Her nipples protruded tantalisingly and he shifted on his seat.

“What’s the coldest you’ve ever been? Icy Cape? Antarctica?”

She turned to him. “No,” she said, tilting her head. “It was when you let Agent Fowley back on the scene.”

“Ouch,” he said. “No anaesthetic for your surgical barbs.”

“Shut up, Mulder. I’m getting cool.”

“Hmmm, you’ve always been cool, Scully.”

Her giggle was girlish and his temperature rose despite her makeshift air conditioner. “Any chance of a…?”

“In this heat? Absolutely none,” she declared, but he could always melt her icy edges so he closed his eyes, held his silence and bade his time. Their deep understanding would get him past her 100 degrees of separation.

#txf fanfic #my fanfiction #100 degrees of separation #msr #season 11

[chipthekeeper]

chip grades the star wars

by representation of women

Time for more unasked for and only mildly thought through opinions by me. Usually I rate with numbers but for whatever reason this one was easier to do by letter grades (American-style, sorry). I’ve been known to forget important shit so I reserve the right to totally change my mind once I remember or am reminded. Okay, worst to best with the women I can name/remember and not-so-brief explanations:

Resistance:  ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

I wish I’d kept watching this both times I’ve started. Seems like there’s some good women in it. But unfortunately still a male lead. Bleh.

Revenge of the Sith: D-

Crying Padme…………….Beru cameo….dead Jedi… -- This one is ROUGH. If I didn’t love the movie it would be an F. There’s literally one woman who appears for more than like 10 seconds and she gets murdered by her husband. Not a great look.

Attack of the Clones: D

Padme, dying Shmi, uhhh...Jocosta Nu…? -- Maybe could have been C level if they hadn’t made poor Padme look so insane in falling for Anakin AFTER he rants about slaughtering a bunch of innocent people for no reason.

Empire Strikes Back: C-

Leia…..randos in background -- If it was made today, Lando’d be a chick. Lando’d be Sana Starros. I wanna see that movie. Holy shit I wanna see that movie.

The Phantom Menace: C

Shmi, Padme, not-Padme, Yaddle? -- Really running the gamut in this one. We’ve got “everything” from Slave Virgin Mary to badass queen but also is-that-even-the-queen-or-is-it-just-her-decoy. If it was made today there’d be at least 2 lady pod racers so ahem, Lucasfilm get on it.

A New Hope: C

Leia, Aunt Beru -- I was very tempted to rate all the OT ones higher just because of how fucking wonderful Leia is and to be fair she is of course the best female character of the time in this type of movie. But…..come the fuck on. TWO women in a whole movie and one of them wasn’t allowed to wear underwear and the other gets literally roasted to a crisp??? Do better, George.

Return of the Jedi: C

Leia, Mon Mothma…..Jabba’s dancing girls? -- Same shit, different flick.

The Rise of Skywalker: B-

Rey, Leia, Jannah, Maz a little, Rose I guess, Jodie Comer, etc. -- Kinda don’t know what to say about all this. I had B+ at first but I feel like there was a lot of wasted potential. Outside of Rey (and Leia stuff I can’t talk about without losing it) there’s not much to look at here.

Rogue One: B-

Jyn, Lyra, Mon Mothma, Leia cameo, lady pilots!! -- Gonna get up on my soapbox and say that Mon Mothma is one of the most underrated Star Wars characters. I’d talk about Jyn and Lyra but then I might start cr--nope, I’m already crying.

Solo: B

Qi’ra, Val, L3-37 (absolutely counts), Enfys -- I absolutely LOVE every woman in this movie. Would be an A if half the big ones didn’t die :/

The Clone Wars: B

Ahsoka, Padme, Satine, Bo-Katan, various Jedi -- Had this at a C+ before I remembered there were more centrally recurring people than Ahsoka and Padme, BUT. One dies, one’s a part-time terrorist, and the others are just plug and play. Kinda still want to go B- but Ahsoka’s really carrying this shit across the finish line.

Rebels: B+

Hera, Sabine, Governor Pryce, Ketsu, Leia cameo -- I would die and kill for both Hera and Sabine. If and when they come to live action I will cease to exist.

The Force Awakens: A-

Rey, Leia, Maz, Phasma, various rebels -- It’s never not going to give me a chill to watch Rey pilot the Falcon or call the lightsaber to her past [redacted]. Never. I feel bad for every fanboy who hated it. They’re really missing out.

The Last Jedi: A

Rey, Leia, Maz, Phasma, Rose, Holdo, various rebels -- Physically pains me to give this such a strong grade when one of the things I loathe about this movie is the Rey + [redacted] stuff but I’m big enough to say it does a great job with basically everyone else. Except Phasma. Fuck you for that one, Rian. (also someone ask me about Holdo, I need to talk about her more than this)

The Mandalorian: A

Cara, Omera, Pelli, Fennec, Xi’an, Frog Lady, Bo-Katan, Koska, Ahsoka -- I mean holy shit. So many (hot) women. So many different kinds of women! This is the bar. Oh, if only one of them could be a real full-time character and not written off the show because she’s played by a trash person :((((((  (also, like,,,fucking name Frog Lady pls. Misty Rosas deserves that)

Bonus grade for canon SW books/comics: A+ --  Doctor Aphra, Sana Starros, Rae Sloane, Norra Wexley, Alphabet Squadron gals, Avar Kriss & other High Republic ladies, so many more -- On the whole, this is actually the standard. So many of these things have female leads and there’s absolutely no reason not to do that more on the big screen. I have no idea what some of my favorite Star Wars women are supposed to look like because they’re just stuck in books. Which is a great medium, don’t get me wrong. But they deserve more!!

#maybe this was just an exercise in making myself say good things about the sequels #idk #i need like...a real blog #star wars #rebels #clone wars #the mandalorian #star wars opinions #please talk back to me about this crap #my posts

[whathappensnexts-blog]

Chapter 1, part 2 of 2.

***Warning. In this story there is use of drugs and slight descriptions of violence. But there is also love. Enjoy :D ***

 Yeah. A good adventure I thought, as we were passing that beach. Finn never completely returned from that bad trip. From that moment on he wasn’t sure if other people could understand what he was saying, so he had to, very anxiously, explain exhaustingly everything he said. Or at least most of it. Now we were walking past that beach and heading to that girl’s house, were the party was. In this period of time I was having some troubles with myself on an emotional and psychological level. I was struggling to understand myself as a young man, a young adult now, fresh out to the world. My first identity crisis.

 We arrived at the girl’s place. When we took the turn on the street where the house was, we saw a bunch of people spread out along the road for at least fifty meters. Were they our guys? We could see some familiar figures on the dim lit street. They seemed too many to be our guys. Who were the others? Why are they separated like this? Something had happened, I was sure of it. The vibrations were clear.

 “Sup.” We greeted the two closest to us. Instead of an answer we got no recognition and all we heard was “Hey c’mon George, let me punch you?” What? Before I could even get a grip of the situation, George was bend in half and holding his stomach. Jack, the guy that hit him was a heavier than normal guy, at the moment completely and utterly wasted and seeming to have no understanding and not a single care about what was happening in this world.

 Finn looked at me nervously. He understood what I had realized just now as well. That we were too loud, in a too quiet neighborhood, at 3 o’clock in the morning, in a town full of old people and he was carrying all the grass we had at this moment. So, he stayed behind with George and I went on with Jack. Jack was moving with a slopy but light walk and he seemed to be unable to control the movement of his head. It was following the rest of his movements and it seemed kinda wobbly, like those funk pop figurines. My presence seemed to make no difference to him. When I asked about what was going on, he only told me that he kissed Pauly. Damn.

 We regrouped with the others a bit lower on the street. Now I could see them. They were our guys plus two others who we already knew from around here. The story so far was like this. Jack was hella drank and he kissed Pauly, probably a bit violently. The thing is that Pauly was a very close friend of Jim, one of our pals, and Don (who was not one of us) was in love with her since forever. Poor guy. You could see that something had crumbled inside him. Then a few steps away there was Matt and Nick. Matt was one of us and Nick was a guy we knew like Don. Some words were exchanged in a violent manner. Jim said to Jack something along the lines of “You bastard. You did a really stupid thing you know that? Stay back. Don’t come here”. To which Jack replied a bit confused “Leave me alone”. He wasn’t sure whether to be angry or not. He had no idea what was happening. Jim said “I am warning you back off” and as a response he got a big blot of spit across his face.

 Naturally a brawl broke out. Finn and George had caught up with us now and Finn was getting more and more nervous. He told me he had to go. I understood. There was absolutely no reason for the cops to find the weed he had hidden in his pants. Not today thank you very much. He told me to call him when the spirits calm down. The others were trying to separate the guys that were now rolling on the street. Don was mumbling “Let him go dude… let him go” although it was unclear to whom he was talking. Or even if he wanted to be heard. No, he was in his own world trying to gather his pieces. Nick was like “Damn…those idiots” and did nothing. I wouldn’t blame him. He was a relatively small and round guy, no match for the other two who had descended in a beast state as prompted by the booze and their rage. George wanted no part in this now and I wanted a drink. Me and Matt separated the two of them fairly easily. We went on the corner of the pavement to try and calm things down. Of course, this did not happen. Instead some more harsh words were exchanged and then Jim hit Jack out of nowhere while the later was immobilized by Matt. That sneaky bastard. That would have infuriated me as well whether I was drunk or not. As a result, Jack took a bite out of Matt’s hand almost cutting a piece from the guy. A second brawl broke out this time between Matt and Jim against Jack. Don and Nick were already gone. Now me and George had to separate them. We did although at some point Jack tried to hit me but he didn’t succeed. He punched George though again, this time in the face. Poor man.

 Now the group was broken up. Only me George and Jack remained with the last one having short manic episodes in intervals of seconds “I’ll kill them…those fuckers…I’ll call them to come here now…Bastards” and then his attention would fly to something else only to return in the same manner as before. The only thing that existed in between this man’s ears was emptiness. You couldn’t talk, you couldn’t reason with him even in the drunk sense. He had gone completely of the rail.  

 At this point I called Finn. “Yeah I can still hear the bastard…No I won’t come now call me later.”. Right. Why didn’t I leave this man and go, just as the others did? I had no desire to deal with a madman at 3 o’clock in the morning. You see, the reason for me not leaving him in his fate was something else besides friendship. Friendship tends to collapse, at least momentarily, in situations like these. No, I was in love with that deranged fool. That so out of control drunkard that was now trying to rip out some metal bars of the street and screaming like a demon. I could see what was going on inside him. I could see he was in a great deal of emotional pain. And it pained me greatly as well. I could see the feelings of worthlessness and failure beating him up. He was torturing himself for some reason I think I could understand but wasn’t able to admit even to myself. That was because he himself was ashamed for whatever he was feeling right now. He was blocking his feelings from himself and that was what was causing that internal clash. How peculiar. I could feel what he was feeling. It is true that love opens a door of genuine understanding that connects you with the other person. An understanding beyond words. A silent most sincere understanding. Now his neck was red, veins all popped out and his face was frozen with intensity. And he was screaming.

 George was shocked. “Damn… Alcohol doesn’t do this…why did you let him take drugs? That’s where this is coming from.” He was right. About a week ago he had his first encounter with MDMA. He wanted to do this with me and Finn and I wanted him to do it with us…mostly in hopes of something happening between us. No luck of course. It appears the amphetamines had woken up this lurking despair inside him. Now he stood up and approached the big green street trash bins and pushed them down the road. That was too far. Luckily at this hour there were hardly any cars driving by. Otherwise a really bad accident would have happened. Me George and a cashier from a kiosk near us put the bins back in their place. We thanked him and apologized in an awkward manner. He said nothing. He only looked at us baffled and maybe disappointed. In the meantime, Jack had crossed the road and went on the beach. Thank God at least no one would hear us there and no one would get hurt.

 Things started to calm down now. He knew he had pushed it too far and that thought helped ground him in this reality. I could see parts of him coming back, though he was still throwing fits of rage. At one point he pushed George on the rocks but he wasn’t hurt. He also tried to punch me again but didn’t succeed “Jesus Christ man! Get a hold of yourself”. He shook me off but he did hear me. Sometime later Finn arrived and we smoked a joint. We deserved at least that after dealing with this madness. At some point Jack took his clothes off in a last burst of energy. When this cooled off, he hugged me saying something along the lines of how good of a friend I was to him. When he broke off, I could see through his boxers that he had a boner. But that was it for the day. No one was in any kind of flirting mood after all this. We finished the joint and we each returned to our places. What were Jack and George thinking when they were alone, I wonder? How did they feel? That would be interesting to know.

 Why am I saying all this? As I said I was struggling with my identity at that time. The events that followed the next days led me to make a decision that would have a tremendous impact on the course of my life. That decision was the first consciously planted seed of goodness that sprung into a huge strong tree, from which the fruits I still enjoy to this day. And I will be enjoying them for as long as I choose to. It was a tree that touched a vein of the world. So naturally its fruits were divine.

  The next day went as expected. All of us were hungover each for their own reason. I insisted that me and Jack go for a walk to talk about the events of last night. I wanted to talk to him before the others did. I don’t remember what was said exactly. I only remember patting him in the back while we were seating on the wave breaker and he pressed his head on my shoulder. The he lifted it up. “are we gay?” he asked baffled. A mix of emotions zapped me in a flash. I did feel that he had a gay part in him so, after this I felt like I had hopes to realize my dream of love. I said something along the lines of “What does it matter” or “No one can define you but yourself”. I didn’t feel the need to make any suggestions at this point. I only wanted to know if I had hopes. After that it was only a matter of him falling in love with me, which was the fun part. Or at least that was what I thought at the time. Now I just wanted to make him feel good about himself. Help him heal from last night’s events. Later on, we were leaving and we were about to part ways when we stumbled upon a friend of ours. We chatted a bit with her but we had to leave. At this point Jack hugged me out of the blue really tight. I was surprised as he rarely expressed himself like this especially after choosing to be vulnerable and let his emotions out. I could feel his ‘thank you’. I did make him feel good after all. And that made me feel good as well.  

 Later that night we gathered at Fred’s place. He had left early the other night so, he did not know what had happened. Tyler wasn’t even there yesterday. He had spent the night in a hotel with his girlfriend. Everyone that night gave a cold shoulder to Jack. Jim and Matt were nowhere to be seen. He claimed to have no recollection of last’s night’s events. It really was like the man was possessed by a demon. Don’t temper with the chemistry of your body. It will drive you mad if you can’t handle it. But none of us including me seemed to understand this. So naturally we kept going.

 A few days later I saw Jack and Pauly hanging out by themselves, talking. And a few days later they were a couple. Damn. It didn’t hurt as much as I expected though. Probably I was in denial. I thought they wouldn’t be together for long, that they were unfit for each other. I was only half right. They were totally unfit for each other but their relationship lasted for four years on and off. It has been toxic some times. Maybe even a bit violent as rumor has it. Madness. They drove away from each other only to be reunited by their insecurities and the safety of the known. Why do I say this? Why not by their faith to love, by their faith to themselves to make it work? Maybe it was so, the first time they broke up and got together again. Maybe even the second. Hardly the third. And definitely not the fourth. By that point it was a parody. It is hard to move on in the drug culture.

 That December when they first got together, we went to party to Jack’s place. For four consecutive days. The booze and the weed were endless. The second day we did MDMA again. We tried to find LSD but we had no luck there. Plus, Finn was not so eager to return to acid after his last bad trip. So, we settled for MDMA. And there we were at some point in the night mostly naked. Me and Jack talking frantic gibberish about feelings as prompted by the drug. There was a feeling of loving the whole world along with a wondrous sense of touch. At some point he leaned in and kissed me. The emotions I felt were inexplicable. I felt it coming just a few fragments of a second before it did. Or at least hoped so much for it to happen, that it did. I just couldn’t believe it that it finally happened. I tried to kiss him back but he had already pulled away. “Are we gay?” he said to himself. “Why did you try to kiss me back?”. “I…I didn’t…”. Boom. Second wave of shock. Come on what did you expect…He left quickly and went to join the others in the living room. I waited for a bit alone in the other room. Hoping that he’d come back, close the door behind him and stay with me. But no. Of course not. I was feeling both happy and sad at the same time. I went to join the others. We never ever talked about this and that was the last thing that happened between us. I was amazed by myself about how easily I could pretend that it never happened. That everything was ok. Even under the influence of a drug that magnifies your feelings tenfold if not more.

 Now a few months later I am faced with a dilemma. What should I do? Should I keep trying to win him over despite him being happy in the relationship he already is? Should I insist? Or should I accept reality as it is and let him live his life and simply wish he is happy?

 I chose what I already felt but barely understood. I chose love. In the truest sense. I chose to wish them good. The moment I chose that I felt…relieved. And I smiled. The Gods smiled as well and thus the slag of darkness began to break apart. Later I had many chances to manipulate their relationship. It took quite some effort not to do so. I had to remind myself the love I was serving. Let it come naturally if it even is to come. Do good, genuine good and you’ll be blessed. And so, it did. That was the grand decision of my life. To accept reality as it is, to let go but still harbor love in my heart. I didn’t know it then but that was the choice that changed my life. Love. Always choose love. You’ll never regret it.  There was only one very hopeful question arising now. What happens next?

#writters #young writters #writting #story #adventure #literature #young artists #gay literature #love #gay love #gonzo journalism

[interrogatorshalashaska]

Blame The Philosophers

Death surrounds him, it is apart of his life since he learned to use a gun, violence before hand had been his as well. Teeth, nails, kicking, punching. Nothing was off the table and it never would be. He'd fight tooth and nail to survive another day so his plan would be successful.

And yet, being the son of a medium had never been a problem. The Philosophers had always kept him drugged up on something to quiet things, when the CIA, GRU, KGB or whatever ground he was working with couldn't or wouldn't provide he'd find his own source easily enough.

Then why are you neglecting it. Eli and George's instances; and maybe to show you're Father you can handle it. But can you? You've started carefully trying to gauge which ones would be most informative and helpful to you, and which ones to avoid for their wrath. The lack of your usual cocktails made everything buzz more, hit harder, George seemed more worried even.

You can handle it.

TW: Adamska is a shitty Medium; blame The Philosophers, Sensory overload, withdrawal, ghosts, hallucinations, Emotionally closing self off/barricading emotions inside because everythings fine, depersonalization, unspecified long term illness, That weird romance George and Adam(ska)/Ocelot have, Eli being Ocelot's brain cell sometimes. Murder, Character death, skipping meals / ignoring self care, puking

Left right, right left. The click of his spurs a calming sound compared to everything else, he'd told John- George, he'd join him for dinner but having gone near the cafe the noise of it, let alone the added noise of spirits mingling and talking to one another. Sweat dripped down his face and he wiped it away with his glove annoyed.

Eli was humming and walking alongside on his right, eyebrow raised, shirtless just like when he died.

“You promised him.”

“He'll understand... Its too noisy in there Eli I'd much sooner puke before I manage to eat anything if I went in there.”

“Who's fault is that hm?”

“You and George's actually-”

Eli gave him a glare darting out and grabbing up his right hand.

“Liquid.”

“Ocelot, listen to yourself for five seconds and go eat- what are you-”

He didn't even think, his hand impulsively flicked his gun into his hand and click click BANG.

It of course went straight through Eli, but the ringing the gun caused was nice, better then his annoying voice- wait.

He stares down at a limp body of one of their soldiers, he couldn't even recall the poor souls name.

“What the fuck was that did you mean to shoot him or what Old Man? Gettin' trigger happy hm?”

“Shut up brat, I've got to clean this up.”

“They're going to be suspicious- let alone the blood- and the LOUD GUN SHOT.”

“SHUT IT.”

He's moving quickly as usual scooping the body up and over his shoulder grunting at the weight and... where could he hide it? Vents are out, smell would be fast to notice, stairwell same reason plus someone might check there... Trash can maybe?

“Like someones not gonna notice it be extra heavy? Just toss it out in the sea?”

Ocelot nods in agreement moving quickly heading up the stairs and pushing open the door to the ship, grey eyes peering carefully out. Luckily most of the crew was enjoying dinner so he moves quickly and chucks him into the water, turning back around he's moving back down the steps towards the blood stain and cleaning it up with his trench coat.

“The blood on you?”

“Who's going to see- but just in case.”

He takes out his knife and slices into his skin a bit, just around the area the blood had stained him, just deep enough for any specific drip down would seem realistic.

Blue eyes stare at him unhappily as they continue their pace, much slower then before, letting out an unnecessary sigh. The man didn't even need to breath much less sigh.

“Adam.”

He span around without a thought gun slamming into the cheek of whoever had just touched his shoulder, their touch to heavy to be a ghost- to real to be allowed.

John- NO. NOT JOHN. George, who looked at him confusedly.

“Did I startled you?”

Grey eyes dart away as he sways, placing his revolver away and hugging himself tightly.

Hands grip around his throat, clawing at him. Digging their nails into his cuts.

“George I just hit you why are you asking- I... are you alright...?”

“why- why why- why me- is it because of that other ghost? YOU HADN'T MEANT IT RIGHT? But why me...!”

“Adam. I've been hit way worse then that in my time as a soldier, why are you cut up?”

He wouldn't let up, sobbing, screaming in his ear begging for some sort of response.

Ocelot's lip twitched, he hadn't quite gotten to planning an excuse yet and his stomach heaved as he breaths through his nose, focus. Think. Shove it away. But Adamska refuses it, and Adam is busy sobbing over the man they killed for no reason... Obviously hitting George would only make that worse- damn it.

“I... slipped.”

“LIAR!”

...God he felt like a child again lying through his teeth but not quite at the level he needed to be for it to be believable yet.

“...Adam I know knife wounds when I see them...”

Hands gently touch his shoulders and Ocelot struggles not to fall into his chest for support, reaching and wiping sweat off of his brow unsurely.

Nails dig into his cuts again desperate for some sort of response but Ocelot doesn't even flinch.

“...What of them?”

“Did someone hurt you?”

“No.”

“you're covering your tracks- and at worst they'll think it was self defense- YOU SON OF A BITCH!”

“...Adamska. Did you...”

“GEORGE HE KILLED ME! GEORGE!”

Lie. Lie. Lie.

Liquid's eyes widen a bit as he watches Ocelot's face twist and eyes fog with tears- not just tears, his right eye drips blood, that he was struggle to hold back. Quickly Eli panics of all the time this had to happen now was not it, He was quick grabbing the soldier's ghost by the throat and dragging him to the side and through a door.

“I have to do everything god damn it Old Man!”

Ocelot doesn't even have time to react bending forward, dropping onto his knees and puking.

“GEORGE...!” A quiet choked voice cries out before he and Liquid vanish through the door completely.

Luckily puking his guts up was enough of a distraction that George hadn't heard the spirit's desperate cry.

“Hey- hey don't over do it now come here... We-... We should talk Adam.”

He's trying to pull Ocelot into his arms, he resists but is too tired to actually escape him with a conventional push, and CQC is to much of a bother... He'll take what's coming to him he supposed.

He hates how George's hands touch his cheek and try and turn him to face him, he weakly shakes his head.

“...george please don't...”

“Adam... please look at me.”

Ocelot couldn't think straight and it confused him, he BEGS Adam to take it but he's hyperventilating now from the attack from the ghost soldier and Adamska is denying it even happened! SOMEONE TAKE IT I CAN'T THINK PLEASE- he sobs and slams his face into George's chest shaking so hard and he can't get why this was happening. He wasn't cold and he wasn't upset! He was weapon, a tool. Logical. And these sorts of things do not have feelings.

He can't... his head hurt... everything hurt coughing sharply every breath a shutter for air, a soft touch rubbing his back in circles only making him feel worse. He tries pushing away but George holds him steady.

“Adam- please...”

“...g...george... I...”

George realized quickly what was wrong and gently assisted him to shuffle over so not to get puked into his lap as Ocelot bends down and gags, hacking with each cough as nothing but spit and bile once more drip onto the floor, he pants tongue looping and yet George gently grabs his chin and pulls him close again.

George has seen Ocelot look utterly tired before, has held him well he quietly sobbed into his shoulder but he's never seen his face during such moments. The utter broken exhaustion written on his face nearly took his words away.

“Adamska- oh Adam...”

Ocelot flinches trying to break eye contact, tears and the blood from his right eye so evident.

“You're eye its-”

“It's fine- it does t-that sometimes please... I don't want too...”

George grips him tightly forcing him to look at him again.

“Adam. Please talk to me.”

“I CAN'T!”

One blue eye narrows in a combination of frustration, pity and love, gently rubbing Adam's back again as the older man bends down a bit with a groan.

“...Why not, do you not trust me...?”

“N...no... I just... ican'tthinkplease...”

“You can't think...?”

George keeps his voice gentle as he lets Ocelot lean himself against his chest, his warm face pressing into George's neck.

“...hm... headhurts...tired...we...talk...when i...wake up???”

George shakes his head but starts to pick him up, scooping him into his arms easily.

Ocelot's head loops back, but George adjusts him a bit more to better support him.

“...j...john...”

His name slips past his lips and any dozed, dazed expression lost to one of horror.

“...George... george oh my god I'm so sorry I... I...”

But his voice starts to tamper off again like even the horrific realization of using the wrong name wasn't enough to keep him glued fully to consciousness, his eyebrows furrowed as he shut his eyes still struggling to stay awake mumbling.

“...george... sorry... geor...ge... srry...”

But George simply holds him tighter mumbling back as he starts to walk.

“shush, shh, it's alright. I promise it's ok, you're mine, and I won't leave your side, everything will go great and we'll be free. Adam. We will be free, finally free.”

Pushing the door to Ocelot's room open like this was becoming concerningly easier to do as time went on and that's exactly what George had wanted to talk about but he knew the older man was in absolutely no state for conversation considering he was still mumbling half worded apologizes.

Placing him onto his bed George sighs sitting down himself next to him, watching how Ocelot twists himself towards him and lightly hugs his wrist before finally that familiar light snore started to escape him. Carefully freeing his hand George hums as he takes off the other mans tie and vest, gently stroking his long silver hair, which was slick  and stuck to his face, off to the side. The relieved breath Ocelot huffs out made him smile a bit, taking his own black turtle neck off and gently nudging Ocelot to turn onto his other side for more space, he laid down beside him and wrapped his arms around him. Some sleep would do them both good he supposed. His hands gently hover over his companions chest, two beats slightly off beat of each other as usual. The doctors had mentioned this in the medical reports he'd read over for Adamska, who simply found all the fussing annoying, yet they could find no real explanation for it aside maybe his heart beating out of sync in places. Which was a dangerous thing but nothing really concrete came from that theory ether.

George sighs pressing his face into Adam's neck, his neck warm and a bit wet from sweat but he didn't care as he let himself relax. He can worry when he woke up.

Ocelot groans as he woke up, his stomach jumping up with a mixture of feeling like he hadn't eaten all day and like he couldn't eat if he wanted too. Annoying.

Cold nails dig into his skin. “YOU MURDERER!”

Ocelot groans quietly feeling George shift next to him loosing his grip on him allowing Ocelot to get to his feet, he swayed unsteadily he covers his mouth coughed harshly. Luckily the sound didn't wake George up- was... he used to him coughing in his sleep... Maybe he should be a bit more concerned with his own- no time. He was fine. He dragged himself into his rest room and turned the shower on, growling now.

“Get lost seriously, I did not mean to kill you, I had no idea you were there and OF COURSE I'm going to cover my tracks how am I supposed to explain I was just passive aggressively trying to shot my  step-son's ghost???”

“Step son???”

Shit Eli had heard that...

“Later conversation ok Eli.”

The blonde ghost seems annoyed but he glares threateningly at the soldier's ghost who moves back away from Ocelot who sighs in relief at nails no longer reopening his wounds.

“I don't want to be dead- Can't you do something?”

“Considering I chucked your body into the ocean I'm not sure what I can do... Not that I would ether way, look go talk to 'Death' or something?”

“Death...?”

“If it helps he kinda looks like me even, trust me you'll know him when ya see him, he'll help you or something...”

“I DON'T WANT TO BE DEAD- GIVE ME MY LIFE BACK!” Claws dig into him and he's knocked into the shower under the spray of to hot water, his head cracking onto the back wall and all he can do was sputter on water in shock.

“Enough of this foolishness, let's play a game of I choke you out until you fade out for awhile! You're really startin' to owe me one Ocelot!~”

Eli grips the soldier by the throat again slamming him into the shower wall and watching as the man squirms panicked but Eli's arm never let up no matter how he tried.

George must have been woken up by his nearly cracking his head open because next thing he knows the water is off, he's being scooped up into a towel and dried and looked over frantically. Was... George saying something his ears were still ringing. Ocelot blinks at him confusedly for a few moments as his words started to come in through the ringing as he focused on what was happening around him more on the physical world and not the spiritual one.

“...ou ok? Can you hear me, how many fingers am I holding up?”

Ocelot coughs but nods and mumbles out. “three?” As he wheezed to catch his breath having not realized he been getting more water then air before. Woops.

“Ok... ok, why did you get up without me?”

“...Believe me if I said I wanted to look handsome for you?”

George snorts smiling softly as he gently caresses his cheek.

“With how finicky you can be about your appearance I can.”

Though as Ocelot wheezes into another cough he frowns, gently carrying him back onto his bed even as he tries to fight him on that.

“I'm fine, I'm fine- I just slipped is all really- I have work to do!”

George gives him a look that silences his protests, he shifts pouting as he pulls his knees up to his chest leaning back into his pillows and headboard.

“I'm going to get the doctor to make sure you don't have a concussion or something but first. ...Adam... Are you sure you're up for all this?”

Grey eyes stare into one blue in confusion for a few moments, his head tilted to the side before a look of shock and horror cross his face.

“George- Sir, I swear I can handle this, I'll be careful, I won't even be in direct combat unless things go very south ether way- I can handle it.”

George doesn't seem as ready to believe this like he usually was, his hands gently tracing the cuts on his right shoulder and left hip, and a few other smaller cuts he had give himself.

Ocelot hisses he'd normally had the resolve to barely flinch but it slipped out, the blow to his head might be effecting him more then he'd like. He was fine though. Had to be.

“I... want to see you try and improve a bit or I will take you off this, understood. I'm saying this not as your Boss but... as you're partner, please Adam.”

Ocelot's heart pulled and he couldn't quite understand why, maybe its because his sad expression reminded him of one of the last ones he'd seen on John's- stop stop.

“I...I can do that. I promise, I'll even behave when you get that Doctor, go on, I'll be here relaxing.”

George nods, leaning forward and letting their noses touch and nuzzle before finally their lips meet for a few small moments and he pulls away heading for the door. When a blue eye peeks back Adam winks at him and sticks his tongue out teasingly.

“Go on, I won't die for the few minutes your gone for promise.”

And George steps out of the room.

#//drugs mentioned #//drug withdrawal #//withdrawal #//depersonalization #//ghosts #//self harm #//unspecified illness #//long term illness #//sensory overload #//character death #//murder #[Revolver Ocelot] #[George Sears] #[Solidus Snake] #[Liquid Snake] #[Unnamed Soldier] #[MGS2] #2008 #Blame The Philosophers #no beta reader #TBD #[The Sorrow] #16 pages #1 / 16 #shalashaska posts #shalashaska's writing #rough draft #//skipping meal

[georgeharris0n]

It Was The Beatles

Rated: PG-13

Word Count: 2.4k

Pairing: Generally is just all 4 (ot4) of them being protective of each other, but can be read as Mclennon/Starrison if you prefer it that way.

Chapters:1/1

Note: This is lovely gift to the wonderful @cirilee we have been talking about it for wEeks! I hope you enjoy it, and that it was worth the wait. Talking about it with you was honestly amazing, and I hope we can continue to gush more ideas about these sweet boys. :’)

In the midst of unbearable screams, and practically inaudible sets, the boys were coming close to their final numbers of their concert, hoping to play out and finally take a rest. The four were completely exhausted from the day, and this particular American crowd was not making it easy on them. Non stop we’re their screams. Paul’s attempts to hush them were futile in the face of thousands of teenage girls. Completely setting the building in a whirlwind of high pitched unrelenting chaos.

It shouldn’t surprised any of the Fab Four that someone would have eventually stormed on the stage.

What the boys weren’t prepared for was for two to storm the stage. Quite successfully in fact.

It all seemed to have happened out of nowhere. Two girls managed not only to evade Mal, and the rest of security, but they practically set the whole room off the rails.

George had first caught notice of it when Paul had stopped singing right in the middle of the next number. Turning over, he saw Paul struggling with a girl who clutched his waist in her arms from behind. Eventually, shifting around to tug at his sleeve, and splitting the seams of his suit. Paul was attempted to shake her off, but he couldn’t really take her grip off, or shove her. The press would have a field day if he “attacked” her so rudely like that.

George felt immediately defensive, but when he caught sight of John throwing his guitar to the ground he knew something was quickly about to go amiss. Press or no press, John wouldn’t stand for this bullshit. Especially when the gal took ahold of Paul’s cheeks, and planted a fervent kiss on his lips. John had officially lost it.

“Let him go- Piss off!” John ran off to Paul’s side practically fuming. Shouting over the girl’s screams as they refused to let go despite John’s attempts to pull her off Paul.

The more they tried, the more the girl resisted. She was practically tearing him apart.

George was about to butt in, and give John some help when he heard a crash of one of Ringo's symbols. The second girl, had now tackled Ringo to the ground, and off his drum pedestal.

George quickly sprinted to Ringo, absolutely horrified when he bared witness to his bandmate face down on the floor with a girl holding a pair of scissors at his head, George quickly pulled the girl up, and off his drummer. She struggled a lot, but Geo had an ironclad grip.

Things started to move so fast George could barely keep track of what was happening as the girl kicked and screamed at who he could only assumed was her friend.

“I’ve got some! I’ve got it!”

Geo tried relentlessly to find any security coming from the wings of the stage, but all he could see as he turned about was John, who had finally pulled off the lady practically clawing, and groping at Paul.

The situation was completely out of hand, and after all this havoc, security finally came about to remove the girls from the stage.

Paul was left tattered. His suit was practically in pieces and shredded upon him with rips, and seams completely undone. Patch of his suit, and pants were all over the stage.

John took a hold of Paul’s shoulder, and nudged him off the stage to the back, not paying any kind to the audiences’ complaints. George helped up Ringo to his feet, and set a supporting arm around his shoulders and followed behind the other two Beatles.

Behind them, the crowd boo’d the early departure.

____________________

“What in fuckin” hell was that?” John was furious, absolutely off his rocker with anger. The boys had managed to get back to the hotel, and immediately entered into Brian's suite, and John was raising hell.

Brian was just as worried when he had heard from Mal what had happened. On this particular occasion Brian had opted to get some planing done for the next branch of the tour, so he had decided to sit out of this concert. Mal informed him on the phone after the incident that the girls had snuck past the security team, and he himself had stepped away for the moment. The girls apparently had a bet on who could get the most off a Beatle at one go of the stage.

Dozens of other girls attempted to follow the other two, so the team was delayed in attempt to holding the horde back. Mal had forewarned Brain that the boys would be upset, but he had failed to prepare him for just how wrathful John would be.

“John, I know you’re upset.”

“UPSET? Do I look upset Brain, because I sure feel fucking furious!” John seethed into the hushed room. Behind him Paul, George, and Ringo stood with almost sympathetic, but stricken faces.

Brain stood up abruptly, and looked John in the eye. He did as he always did, and collected himself gracefully and calmly. His indignant demeanor to the situation gone, he looked at the four boys with the utmost concern and respect. Brian felt like he had failed them, his boys. He gave them this life, and they had to live on with its pleasantries... and it faults. Regardless of how they balanced, Brain knew they were his responsibility.   

“I know you are John. This shouldn’t have happened. You felt in danger, and I understand that-” Brain wasn’t given opportunity to get another word out from there. John was already back at it, unable to keep it in any longer.

“Understand? Sod off! The only damn thing you understand is how much money we’re makin’ you Epstein!” Paul came as quick as he could behind John, and held his arm. He tightly pulled John back a tad, in order to diffuse as much of the situation he could.

“John, you need to calm down.” Paul chided while being met with John’s piercing glare.

“Calm down huh? Why don’t you go take a good look in the mirror Paulie, then tell me to calm down.” John wasn’t nearly as loud now, but no less ruthless. Paul, looked taken aback, hurt too. Looking down Paul’s clothes was still wretched and torn from the incident.

“How about poor Ringo too then! Lad might have a concussion for all we know with that shiner on his-”

“That’s enough John. Let’s just go.” George wasn’t having anymore of this. John made his point, and things were getting too heated.

“Don’t George- I’m sure he’s just getting started.” Paul spat. Before anyone could respond Paul was already turning to the door, and leaving it to slam shut behind him.

George gave John a knowing look. He screwed up. It was one thing for John to yell at Brain, he hadn’t been there, but Paul was a victim, if not more. He was shaken up, and John unintentionally preyed on his current state of vulnerability. That wasn’t right of him even if he hadn’t meant it.

Without another word, John followed suit out Brain’s door. Chasing after Paul.

Geo gave Brain a reassuring nod as Ringo opened up the door. It didn’t say much, but at least it implied that things would be better. The four of them had quite a night, and what they needed most right now was each other.

__________________

The four shared a conjoined suite of two rooms, each prepped with two twin beds. Paul had quickly entered into the nearest one from the hall, his and John’s.. He might just have to crash for the night with George and Ringo, unsure if he could handle another outburst from John for the night.

Paul hurriedly stepped into the bathroom. He turned on the sink and cupped his hands below the spout, roughly splashing his face with cold water. He felt flushed, and very light headed, which only added to how disconnected he felt to his surroundings. He blinked a few times letting his eye come to focus on the mirror. He now saw just how roughed up he was. Tired eyes on a filthy torn stage suit. He could almost feel it again. The way he was grabbed about like that. How harshly the girl had pulled his clothes apart. Like he was some kind of souvenir…

He felt tears brim up in his eyes again. He felt like a toy- a thing, not much but something to take and exploit and use, Paul could remember how she forced that unsuspecting kiss on him. That’s what they were, pretty little things to take and grab-

He felt a hand touch his side, and suddenly, with a jump he trashed in panic as those subconscious hands started to feel all too real again. Paul’s legs went weak, and he lost his footing on the tile. He stumbled backwards only to be caught into two arms. John’s arms.

“Hey, hey- Paul! Hush now, it’s me.” Paul pulled away, eyes shot open. He was shaking, after all that he couldn’t bring himself to relax. The tears on his clothes were all he could see.

Paul blinked, tears now rolling down his pink cheeks. Without thinking he stepped up to John, and rested his head onto his shoulder, arms holding him close. John quickly hugged back, and stroked the bassist’s hair soothingly.

“I’m here Paul. Right here...”

___________________________

Ringo hadn’t spoken a word since it happened. He doe eyes were downcast even now when Geo and him entered their room. George let out a deep exhale, and noticed Ringo rummaging through his luggage for his pajamas.

After all of the yelling and frustration George finally felt he could register where he was, and what had happened. Then George saw it. He had been so focused on trying to keep a close eye on John since the car ride, he hadn’t even checked on Ringo’s condition. Specifically, the purplish bruise he sported on the left of his face.

“Ritchie? Your cheek-” George rushed over the bed and was standing beside him now. Ringo was clutching his pajamas in his hands but wouldn’t look up at him. Clearly trying to shake it off as nothing. But Ringo could feel how his body ached from the fall, and how isolated the ride to the hotel had been. The yelling and fighting. Ringo hated it, and he was already so overwhelmed from the girls. He needed someone to ask if he was alright, he needed something.

For a few seconds Ringo tensed up, and his fingers gripped at his robe, and he finally spoke up.

“I’m-” But George wasn’t there anymore, he disappeared or wandered off, and Ringo stood with his mouth agape. He was alone again. The whole of it winded him. Ringo’s lip started to tremble, as the throbbing of his cheek grew persistent. He hadn’t expected to be so scared, but evidently the initial shock was wearing off, and the reality of it was setting it. Being thrown on the ground like that- the screaming, the grabbing, he was all alone down there. Except for when...

“George?” Ringo opened up his eyes. It was barely a whisper, his mouth having gone dry. His downcast head was lifted up, and George was right there in front of him. Holding up a wet cloth, he leaned forward to Ringo’s face and pressed it gently to the side letting the cool water take some of the pain. Ringo let out a small whimper at the pressure, and George let up and caressed Ringo’s other unaffected cheek reassuringly.

“I’m sorry… I know it hurts.”

George continued to dab lightly at the purple mark, and occasionally at some stray tears from Ringo’s eyes that slipped out. He felt immense guilt not having seen the girl coming for the drummer before she could cause such damage. Even looking at him now he could see the significantly shorter lock of hair behind Ringo’s ear.

The girl was right, she must have “got some” with those scissors. George furrowed his brows.

“I should’ve been there.” George stressed as he straightened his back, and looked down at his feet shamefaced.

“What are you talking about? You were there Geo.”

“Sooner. I should’ve gotten to you sooner.” George mumbled, refusing to meet Ringo’s gaze.

“Well… can you be here now?” Ringo croaked. His hands were wringing the belt of his robe, pleading blue eyes looking up at George with so much need for reassurance.

George conceded, and wrapped his arms around the drummer, giving him what they both needed so desperately after a day like this.

They broke the hug only briefly to change when they suddenly heard a knock on the door, and two mused heads peaked in.

John and Paul stood wavering by the entryway both changed in sleepwear as well, looking in need of what Geo and Ritchie required as well if any of the four were going to get through the night.

“Wanted to make sure you lot’ were, um… tucked in.” John said shifting rather awkwardly with Paul beside him.

The four could see just how rattled the others were. Even the protective John had really been disturbed by the ordeal. They all were put in compromising positions that none had expected. The pressure of the fans bearing down on them figuratively, and literally. It was all too much.

What they needed was the security they valued most. Each other. George quickly knew that, and wasn’t afraid to say it either.

“Fellas, it’s about time we all get tucked in don’t you think?”

With that nothing else was said. The two twin beds in the room were now pressed tightly beside each other, lights were cut out, sheets were drawn. It was almost muscle memory for times like this. It wasn’t rare, it wasn’t strange. When the fame, the fans, the stress- when it all came down on them. This was what they had left.

They piled in under the covers. Along the way John felt Ringo take his hand, and give it a tender squeeze.

We’re all here now.

George curled with Ringo’s head on his chest. Paul snuggled beside him just as close and unabashed with John contributing to the tangle of limbs under their covers as he rested his head beside Paul’s neck. They all nuzzled close together.

Each of them knew fully well that without this, sleep would have been a lost cause. It was something about being with those you want to protect and be protected by that allowed them to relax. They could let their barriers go, and just be held.

Smiling at the tickle of toes, and of heads buried into neighboring shoulders. Hands occasionally soothing the other’s hair, lips meeting foreheads. It was shameless. It was tender. It was protection.

It was the Beatles.

#the beatles #McLennon #starrison #paul mccartney #Ringo Starr #beatles fic #John Lennon #George Harrison #beatles fanfiction #i hope you like it #THESe boyS MAke mE soFT #enjoy caro #cirilee

[goldenapollos]

when paths cross

short drabble about george luz and ray person meeting. modern au.

“I promise, you’re gonna love him. You two are practically the same person,” Joe says in an attempt to reassure his boyfriend.

George looks unconvinced. “The same person? Joe, baby, have you even met me? There’s no one like good ol’ George Luz.”

Joe finds himself rolling his eyes lovingly as he grabs George by the hand, gently pulling him out of their apartment before he started rambling about himself.

They arrive at the old bar a little after nine, Joe scanning the room looking for his Marine buddies.

“Toye, you blind dickhead! Over here!”

Joe turns his head to see Ray waving him over, Brad rolling his eyes as he finishes his beer. Joe smiles, the familiar faces of his friends settling any nerves he had about introducing his boyfriend to them. He thought he was the only one in their platoon who wasn’t straight until he caught Brad and Nate in the back of their humvee making out like teenagers. And he definitely can’t erase the mental image of Ray and Walt doing it in the middle of the damn desert like the whiskey tango trash they are.

“Did both your boyfriends leave you? Because I don’t blame them, honestly. I wouldn’t want to wake up to either of your ugly faces in the morning,” Joe greets them, laughing as they stand up and greet him with a one-arm hug.

“Now, Joey, you’ve got to play nice in front of your boyfriend, who might I add is absolutely gorgeous,” Ray starts, ignoring Joe’s glare. He sticks his hand out to shake George’s, “Ray. Ray Person.”

“George Luz,” George responds, already liking Joe’s friend.

“I’m Brad, the unlucky son of a bitch responsible for keeping these idiots alive,” Brad introduces himself.

George sits down, accepting a beer from the new man who had also just sat down. “Well, I appreciate you keeping him alive, I know it’s not easy. He’s stubborn as all hell,” George grins, taking a drink. The new man introduced himself as Nate and the man next to Ray was Walt. George knew most of these guys from Joe’s stories, but it was nice to finally put a face to a name.

“I am not stubborn,” Joe argues.

Ray and George reply at the same time, “yeah you are.” Both men look at each other and grin.

“I’m just going to get bullied this entire night, aren’t I?” Joe asks, rolling his eyes.

“Welcome to what I put up with every damn day with you all,” Brad mumbles in response, looking between Ray, Joe and Nate. There wasn’t enough alcohol in this bar, Joe thinks, especially split between four Marines and George Luz.

A couple of drinks later and everyone’s eased up, the awkward tension of first meetings have dissipated. Mainly thanks to Ray’s endless rambling and George’s jokes.

“There’s no way you did it in the middle of the fuckin’ desert!” George exclaims, shaking his head as Ray tells him the Great Awakening of 2017.

“Hell yeah I did, homes. I wasn’t about to wait until we got back to base camp-.”

“Believe me, I was the unfortunate soul who saw them,” Joe sighs, the image still fresh in his mind.

“And I was the one who heard them,” Brad mumbles, refusing to look at Ray and Walt.

Walt was turning bright red, all of a sudden very interested in the writing at the side of his beer bottle. Ray, however, was grinning like an idiot, unabashedly proud of himself. The corner of his lip slowly turns down, “the sand was another issue. When I say that shit gets everywhere, I mean everywhere. I’m pretty sure I was shittin’ sand for weeks, my di-.”

“Shut up, Person,” Brad says, almost out of instinct.

“What? It was even worse for poor Walt here, he still has sand in his ass-,”

“Shut up, Person,” Walt repeats and Ray lets out a small yelp, indicating he had just been kicked under the table. Thankfully the conversation shifts and they’re onto something else.

“There’s no way Joe ‘Stone Cold’ Toye cried watching Tangled!” Ray howls with laughter. “Scary Marine, my ass!”

“Like a baby, he thought Eugene was dead for good,” George laughs, adding more to the story and slowly chipping away at Joe’s hard-earned reputation.

“Shut up, Luz,” Joe elbows him, but this only encourages him further.

“Did Joe ever tell you the story of his childhood dog? Who ran away?” George asks and Joe knows exactly where this was going.

“Luz, shut it,” Joe says halfheartedly, he kind of didn’t mind the banter but the protest was necessary to save face.

The men around him shake their heads and George has the floor and takes it eagerly. He loved being the centre of attention and telling a slightly embarrassing story about Joe was his favourite thing to do.

When all men eventually stumble out of the bar, several hours and stories later, Joe feels a warmness in his chest that wasn’t there before. For so long he was worried about letting these two parts of his life meet each other but tonight was proof that it could go well.

“You better send me that meme you showed us!” Ray calls out to George as they leave.

“I’ll send you all of them!” George calls back, grinning when he turns back around to face Joe, who had a soft look in his eyes. “What?”

“Nothin’,” Joe mumbles, “I’m happy, that’s all.”

“Of course you are, you get to go home with me,” George smirks and Joe kisses him quickly, the sound of his loved one's laughter still ringing in his ears.

“Love you,” he mumbles, his lips lingering for a second longer before kissing him again.

#idk what this is???? but i tried #luztoye #bradnate #whats ray & walts shipname?? #raywalt #waltray #generation kill #band of brothers #hbowar #writing

[indigomez]

I know I’m like the last person you want to hear this from, but I’m not too sure if other African Americans are in this chat either. But to educate and inform people out of the country or with questions about everything going on. This is the least I can do to educate and answer questions about this situation. So,

Starting off.

This started with the man named George Floyd, being detained by a group of white officers on may 25th, was pulled over by three white officers, and all of this started because of a deli worker ***accusing*** Floyd of using a counterfeit $20 dollar bill, for cigarettes. After cops called in for back up Floyd was pronounced dead after being kneed in the neck for 8 minutes and 46 seconds. And the other standing police did not aid or assist Floyd. That move is not in police training practice.

Now police did fire all four officers a day after the incident have been laid off, but the officer responsible for Floyd’s death is still at home. I charged with first degree murder, and if you do not know the degrees of murder. Here they are

technical terms: 1st degree is premeditated, 2nd degree is not. they are both intentional. 3rd degree is manslaughter.

1st degree murder is premeditated, i.e. i stalk someone over a few days and plan their murder.

2nd degree is more a heat of the moment thing, i.e. i walk in on my wife doing the frick frack with someone and i beat the guy to death. expanding on this, if i walk in on them and go get my gun from the other room and then shoot them, that would be 1st degree because i had time to change my mind.

there is technically no 3rd degree; its manslaughter. there are 2 types, involuntary and voluntary.

voluntary would be if me and my friend get in a fight, and i punch them and without intending to kill them, they die.

involuntary would be if me and my girlfriend are taking a walk on a cliffside and i trip and fall into her and she falls off the cliff, or me and my friend are fighting and i punch them and they fall and hit their head and die.

Derek Chauvin: the cop responsible did get fired from duty, and is now charged with third degree murder.

Once word has gotten around about mr Floyd’s death, people pleaded justice for George who was accused for faking a dollar bill for cigarettes, people took havoc on this situation and started protesting, unarmed black white Mexican and Asian people fought beside us for rights. Peacefully to get shot in the heads and eyes of rubber pellets, abused and pushed from police officers , to arrested and jumped, tear gassed and assaulted by police, in the city of Chicago someone posted a video stating that they have set up people to damage stores and buildings by setting up bricks for people to throw .

In Texas black protesters were seen on video where white protesters threw smoke bombs rocks and bricks into stores when it was a peaceful hearing of speech’s and poems from the BLM members. And with news media being owned by one company, their scripting has not changed from using words such as

Thugs,

Dangerous individuals,

Looting,

Rioting,

**destructing of our democracy**

Labels against our own black protesters who did not cause damage and steal things,

**well, don’t do more crime during a riot**

White supremacists, child trafficking and the kkk forged a BLM protest in San Francisco to steal, rob, beat, and hurt people who dare to came. We trashed big name brand stores because they would only donate $50 dollars to bail our protesters. Let that sink in.

People will always take advantage to do more damages to situations already broken. We cannot be the only ones in blame here,

Trump called us thugs... and threw our lives away when we needed help most, he does not care for blacks, Asians, Mexicans, natives no body but his own kind.

Think about it this way, you have five kids, one of them falls and hurts their knee, so do you:

A. Help them up, clean them off?

B. Punish them and have them be in time out.

C. Give all of your kids bandaids.

D. Not give a shit and just watch them cry until your s/o aids them.

You see what I am saying?

Black people has been oppressed for generations, it ends now. So before stating oh why are they doing this, what line has been implemented?

WHEN GEORGE FLOYD DIED IN THE HANDS OF A OFFICER.

That’s when the line has been crossed for the final time.

*i don’t think MLK fought for this*

Yes he didn’t, but he didn’t ask to be shot either while walking out of his motel room, we did not ask to be hosed down, beaten, hung, abused and assaulted. NO BODY DOES . We want peace, love and equality on earth, but no one will get it. If black people keeps dying in the hands of officers.

If you think we’ll why are we acting this way?

“A Riot is the Language of the Unheard”

Here is a price of this writing: and I swear to god if you can read hours worth of fan fiction game updates or anything you can read this and educate yourself.

But at the same time, it is as necessary for me to be as vigorous in condemning the conditions which cause persons to feel that they must engage in riotous activities as it is for me to condemn riots.

I think America must see that riots do not develop out of thin air. Certain conditions continue to exist in our society which must be condemned as vigorously as we condemn riots. But in the final analysis, a riot is the language of the unheard.

And what is it that America has failed to hear? It has failed to hear that the plight of the Negro poor has worsened over the last few years. It has failed to hear that the promises of freedom and justice have not been met.

And it has failed to hear that large segments of white society are more concerned about tranquility and the status quo than about justice, equality, and humanity. And so in a real sense our nation’s summers of riots are caused by our nation’s winters of delay. And as long as America postpones justice, we stand in the position of having these recurrences of violence and riots over and over again. Social justice and progress are the absolute guarantors of riot prevention.”

This isn’t just happening in America,

The United Kingdom

Canada

Italy

France

Spain

Germany

Mexico

Nations with black African Humans deserve and demand respect and justice

If you have questions, please, look it up or ask me. It’s better to inform people then judge on what the news and media’s are feeding you.

I am black. ASK A BLACK PERSON LIKE FUCKGUYS and

We are adults

We have kids in this time begging to understand why people hate color so much.

We can all learn if we just ask and listen

If you read Up til this point I am proud of you.

And we will get through this together. Everything will blow over and we will all win and conquer.

BLM ✊🏾

#bLM #BLACK LIVES MATTER #GEORGE FLOYD

[veloxaraptor]

🔥 Star Wars

LAWD HERE WE GO.

George Lucas is a mouth breather whose franchise was saved by his Ex Wife. Were it not for her, it would have been a huge fucking flop and just atrocious.

And I say this as someone who loves Star Wars.

The Prequels were trash. There were interesting bits, I loved Ewan McGregor’s Obi Wan Kenobi. But they really dropped the ball with Maul. He had all of like 10 minutes of screen time for.... what purpose? The movie would have flowed along just fine without him. If we were meant to care that he killed Qui-Gon and that he was some big bad Sith, then they needed to spend the time building up story and scenes to do just that.

Instead he kinda lurks in side screen and story for 10 minutes of the film, kills Qui Gon and then is killed himself.

Wow. Such plot. Many interest. wow.

And don’t get me started on fucking JarJar I swear to god I want to die every time that thing comes on screen. I hate him I hate him I hate him.

All that. And the Prequels STILL aren’t as bad as the new Triology Disney just shat out.

What the actual fuck Disney? Though I really shouldn’t be surprised AT ALL. And intending to use a different director for each one? That was a fucking dumb ass decision. Like christ.

I liked Force Awakens. It felt like a proper Star Wars movie, and while it DID lean a bit too heavily on rehashing plots and concepts from the Original trilogy, it wasn’t mind numbingly done and it served a purpose; to build us up for the next two movies.

Which then failed SPECTACULARLY.

The Last Jedi.... ok. I didn’t love it. It was passable at best, but I won’t hate on the people who liked it. It was poorly executed, shat on everything that had been built up across ALL THE MOVIES, and just felt really ham fisted. I didn’t like how they portrayed...well... ANYTHING.

And then come this new movie and I just.

WHAT.

WHAT THE FUCK EVEN.

I’m going to post under a read more now to not spoil things for some poor hopefuls.

Let’s just backtrack on EVERYTHING WE’VE SET UP. Bring in a character who should be LONG DEAD. Offer absolutely no explanation for the other villain we had for the first two movies. Completely destroy the entirety of characters who were supposed to be one way but HEY we needed some convenient mechanic for this other shit plot and didn’t know how else to do it.

How is she the descendant of said character? Did we even WANT the mental image of that character having once fucked? Like really?

AND REALLY. THEY KISSED?! ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME!?

It all smacks of a really shitty, poorly executed Fan Fic. It’s trash and shouldn’t be called Star Wars. At all.

I would have MUCH rather see them have take the trilogy and just make up a WHOLE NEW story set in that Universe, than to attempt to tack on to shit that was already more or less closed out.

Why not take inspiration from the Expanded Universe? 

Granted, there was a lot of shit in the EU we ALL could have done without. Looking at you Yuzhang Vong. But instead we’re saddled with this.... abomination.

Honestly the only good things that have come out Star Wars related in the last few years were the animated Clone Wars series, Rogue One, and now The Mandalorian.

I’m honestly at the point where I wish they’d just STOP trying to push out more Star Wars content. Let it rest for a while. Stop beating a well dead and now pulpy mass of a horse.

Give us a break. Think of new content for movies, shows, games, whatever, and then try again when you’re not dead set on building off shit that’s done.

Also FUCK REVAN.

That is all. At the moment.

#holy shit #that was a lot #and a huge can of worms #radetzkymarch