#to the point where everyone else is shocked at how verbose she gets when playing a character

[voidscarredadjudicator]

Oh yeah if you're wondering where the HE Act I illustrations are at they're kind of in limbo as well because I am holding the artist at gunpoint to draw art for the tabletop I'm running instead. The game is nearing it's end so I've recruited him to make it a memorable experience. Rest assured, he hasn't forgotten about it either.

Admittedly, running this game has been a contributing factor to slow progress on Act 2 (among other things) BUT I wouldn't trade it for the world. Love making my players cry in real time 😈

#The Adjudicator has spoken. #one of these days i'll write a side story of kaleb running d&d for the gang #Harmony is there too and is high key really into it #to the point where everyone else is shocked at how verbose she gets when playing a character

[go-diane-winchester]

How can Wincest fans be against the idea of Dean being bisexual even though they pair him with Sam?  They are both men after all.

@sage-speight-trickster-jr​  Thank you very much for going through all the trouble of unblocking me just to ask this question.  Although, I have answered the question before, it seems that the answer was not circulated amongst the destiel shippers and the destihellers.  If you could kindly facilitate for me, I would appreciate that, because it would mean not having to answer the question again in the future.  I would also like to be very thorough in this answer so please bear with me. 

Just to clarify, I am not a Wincest fan, however as sage pointed out, I approve of it and that is because they haven't [to my knowledge] shown any form of aggression and violent intent towards my boys or even Misha for that matter.  I have been told by hellers that ''evil bibros'' threaten Misha, but when asked for receipts, the claimants disappear.  It happens every time like clockwork.     

Jensen Ackles, that ''uptight homophobe'' who hates anything destiel-related, was very eloquent about Wincest, when he was asked about it years ago: 

Jensen might have not realized this but he understands slash fiction more than he thinks.  Slash fiction, like bara etc, fall under the category of fan fiction.  Slash is a more intimate form of fan fiction because it has to do with the slash fan rather than the pairing.  There are personal factors that destiel fans don’t consider.  These factors were second nature to Wincest fans, because Wincest is a classic slash ship, and it followed the rules of classic slash.  What's more, no external person interfered with this ship and it therefore remained true to itself.  And Jensen, somehow, just understood these factors.  Wincest fans and Jensen are both in agreement as to what Wincest is supposed to be.  It is fiction.  It is a hot fantasy.  As Jensen said, Wincest fans don't think Dean and Sam are gay.  This is where the factors come into play and why destiel shippers get it wrong.

Slash is born from love

In order to ship a pairing, you have to like both people in the pairing.  Wincest fans understand that not everyone is going to think Sam and Dean are a sexual turn-on.  It might shock some people to realize, that there is someone in the world, who thinks Jensen, for example, is an ugly pig-of-a-face.  He might be sexually offputting to this person, for some reason.  So a person like this won't ship Jensen with anyone.  Why would you ship someone who doesn't turn you on?  Sometimes one of the pairing might look like a relative, or a former sexual harasser, or an enemy the shipper hates from where she works.  It is therefore, understandable, that the shipper will not have a single sexual thought about that guy.   It happens. 

If someone has that opinion about Jared for example, they wont like Wincest, J2, Mishalecki, Sastiel, Sabriel, Sevin or any other pairing Jared and Sam are a part of.  Sometimes, the shipper might like one person too much and not care about anyone else.  Nobody is good enough for her boy, but since slash fiction makes her happy, she slashes him with himself.  I have seen Jensen, Jason Teague, Alec and Dean Winchester all slashed in very imaginative pairings.  That is like a four-cheese pizza for someone who is crazy about fromage, and a puke-fest for someone who hates cheese.  

There might be other reasons why a slash fan wont be attracted be a guy.  She might not like what she considers to be Jensen's grumpy unfriendliness.  Maybe she just doesn't like Jared's long, floppy hair.  All the above apply to Misha as well.  They may not like his looks, his verbosity, the way he dresses.  The reasons are varied.  Not everyone is going to be attracted to the same guys.  If one part of the pairing is blergh! to the shipper, the shipper is not going to like the pairing.  Wincest fans recognize that everyone watches the show for different reasons.  Some fans watch the show for the paranormal element, not to ogle the boys and their epic chemistry.   

So wincest shippers don't force their ship on others.  I have been approached by fans who said they entered Supernatural via the destiel door, because the hellers seem to recruit shippers, but when they watched the show, they found Sam and Dean had more appealing and stronger chemistry and that Destiel didn't seem to cause a blip in the radar.  They aren't right.  They aren't wrong.  They are merely giving their opinion.  Wincest fans understand slash fiction.  They understand that slash is based on  love for both characters.  That is the first and foremost requirement.  If the shipper don't love either of the boys, the ship is not happening.  Some fans like Dean and Sam and Cas, and so we have Wincestial.  This is what Wincest shippers understand and destiel shippers don't.

Slash is a personal expression of love. 

You can’t force it on anyone.  Destiel won’t be for everyone because some people might not like Dean for some reason.  Or they might not like Cas.  In either of the scenarios, Destiel will be an offputting thing.  They wont like destiel, because it doesn't turn them on.  Wincest fans understand that some people may not find wincest appealing, not because of the fraternal thing but because of their own opinion on the characters.  Some fans might think that Dean is too smothering and possessive of Sam.  Some fans might think that Sam is too indifferent and ungrateful of Dean.  Neither are wrong in their opinions.  That is how they interpret the story.  If a fan has these thoughts and just cant stand one of the brothers, they won't like Wincest.  This is the most common sense thing about slash fiction that Destiel fans don't seem to understand.

Slash is unique and changes from person to person.

Even amongst the wincest fans, how they love wincest is different.  Some of them enthusiastically slash Smith and Wesson, so they can bypass the incestual [a word I learned from Jensen] thing and still have their boys.  Some fans go through all the trouble of writing a story where [for example] John kills Azazel and wants his boys off the road and in a home, only to realize that Sam was one of Azazel's psychic kids and not his own child.  And Dean has to take Sam and escape so Gordon and other hunters can't find Sam.  Of course, the entire story is written just to facilitate the idea that Sam and Dean are not brothers and therefore can fall in love. 

Some fans don't care about dealing with the brother thing, and just barrel on through the story with terrific indifference.  The point is that, because they have such scattered points of views on what their ideal Wincest scenario is, they don't force the idea on others, especially the studio.  They understand that what is appealing to one wincest fan is not going to be appealing to another.  They understand that SPN cant please everyone.  So they ask for nothing.  And in an individual's fantasies, Dean and Sam can swing whichever way the slash fan wants.  

Fantasy is not about realism.  It is escapist.

Hence, the use of the word fantasy.  In fact, Jensen's analysis of Wincest ties in, with my definition of slash fiction, which is: 

It is an escapist, fantastical platform for female sexual expression, by women for women, about male subjects in a romantic setting.

I understand there are other definitions, but this one corresponds with straight and bi women.  I have seen destiel fans scoff at this definition but not give me a reason why.  The ABO trope and mpreg are proof of this.  Sam and Dean are not part of a wolf pack.  That is unrealistic.  But it is a fun little fantasy, for those who like that sort of thing.  Sometimes they aren't even men.  They get gender swapped for fun, by people who like gender swapping. 

Wincest fans don't disrespect canon. If its canon, they [like any other levelheaded fan] will respect it.  I count some destiel fans [not destihellers] amongst the levelheaded fans.  Wincest fans don't clash with canon or write reams of meta about how the canon should be interpreted.  They understand that subtext differs according to an individual's wants, desires and prejudices.  You can't convince others that there is subtext in a particular scene.  They have to find it themselves.  Of course, you can present your subtext, but tagging it in the main tags is equal to forcing the subtext on other people.  And that is wrong.   I get too many complaints about that.

Remember, if you present your subtext, meta and headcanon like it is fact, you are misleading people.  If someone disagrees with you because you are presenting the aforementioned as fact, it is not because they hate your ship.  It is because you are saying something that is based purely on your opinion, and some spectacularly gullible and horny young person is going to harass Jensen with this.  Take for example, the Dr Sexy question.  It was born as a headcanon.  Because nobody questioned it, one impressionable creature thought that it has to be the gospel truth.  I mean, no one was cross-examining the points put forward.  The only people complaining were those ''homophobic'' bibros who found it in the main tags.

This kid probably thought ''aha, I got him now'' when she asked the question to Jensen.  Why do you need to ''get'' him?  Why does he have to approve of your opinion?  If the headcanon had been opened to interpretation, that ignorant kid would have never made a fool of herself and her ship.  Jensen would not have to point out that a male fan of another man doesn't necessarily want to sleep with him.  This is common sense, but it escaped the kid.  I wager that some heller reading the question directed to me probably said ''aha, sage has got her now''.  I wonder if they will stick around to read the whole answer.  Remember, if you are presenting your subtext to like-minded people and only getting applaud, it doesn't give credulity to the subtext.   

According to canon, Dean says to Hendrickson ''You kinky SOB, we don't swing that way'' referring to both him and Sam.  Now, it would be fun to argue that this statement is presumptuousness on Dean's part, but we keep that fun argument to ourselves.  In fact, I did a post on that same topic, purely for fun, because I came across the topic.  Even then, I pointed out that it is a fun little discourse, and not a topic to harass Jared with.  After all, he didn't write the post.  We don't tweet the CW execs and demand to know why Sam doesn't have a boyfriend yet, preferably someone who is part of our fanon ship. 

We also don't violate Jared's personal space at cons, with entitled questions regarding Sam's sexuality because both Jared and Jensen have explicitly asked that the cons should be family-friendly and therefore shipping and sexuality questions should not be asked.  They also don't want to give the impression that SPN is about ships.  They are not queer baiting at all, just doing their jobs with honesty.  Wincest fans love the boys and acknowledge that forcing Wincest will make the boy uncomfortable.   Not only is it ethically wrong to force something sexual on other people, especially two friends, because it might hurt that friendship.  It  will definitely make the boys hate them and they don't want that. 

That is one big reason, I respect the Wincest fans.  They don't sexually violate the boys with their fantasies.  And yes they do consider asking prying questions about shipping to Jensen and forcing him to sign NSFW art at autos as a form of sexual violation.  A woman would be protected from this, but because Jensen is a man,[a straight, white one no less], who cares about his dignity, right?  If he speaks up for himself, he's a homophobe.  And before you call me a white racist for saying that, understand that I am a Muslim South African of Indian descent. 

Wincest fans don't use representation as an excuse for badgering the boys or the cast and crew.  I know of fans [both Wincest and neutral] who are LGBT and who resent that the LGBT are being used as a means to harass Jensen into accepting a fanon ship.  We all agree that the LGBT is being used as an excuse.  It always surprises me how Jensen and the Wincest fans, get each other.  They both agree on what Wincest is. Wincest fans understand that wincest was born in their fantasies. Jensen agrees with that.  Wincest fans agree that the boys are straight in canon.  Jensen agrees with that.  There is an understanding between the leads and their fans.  An understanding between the fan and No. 5 on the call sheet, doesn't mean destiel is going to be canon.

Wincest fans won't demand canon wincest for the following reasons:

According to canon, the boys are straight.  Wincest fans value the text, over the subtext.  They don't look at shirt colors, blocking, parallels etc.  If the character says he is straight, forcing the writers to change that, to feed you kink, is wrong.  So the wincest fans don't do that.  They just enjoy how sexy Dean and Sam [Jared and Jensen] are together and use them as inspiration for an awesome love story.  They understand that interpretation changes from person to person.  Not everyone is going to see things the same way.  

It might shock you to know that some wincest fans are actually against incest and find the idea of it being endorsed on screen unethical.  It may not bother Jensen [he like Game of Thrones after all] but it sure as heck bothers some of his wincest fans.  Its safe as a fantasy, but they would prefer not to see that ethical tug of war happen on screen. 

The show can't fulfill every subsection's fantasy.  There are many fantasies flying around in fandom, and pleasing everyone is not feasible Wincest fans are aware of that because it is common sense.  That is why some people consider hellers to be selfish.  They only care about their fantasy and not the integrity and longevity of the show.  Why would a business please one subsection and put off everyone else.  It is best to remain neutral.  That makes good business sense.  SPN has done that and lasted 14 years.  So they wont change it now.  Just think about that.  If it aint broke, don't fix it.  Wincest fans understand that some people like shipping, some don't but keep their opinions to themselves whilst other hate it and are vocal about their disgust.  Everyone likes Sam and Dean for different reasons.  Its not always sexual.  One fan said she [I think it was a she] wanted Sam and Dean to be her big brothers so that they could go to her school and beat up all the bullies who beat her up.  Side note:  the institution of schooling should be banned.  It is a social torture device.

Wincest fans don't treat the boys like sex toys.  They don't ask for intimate poses during photo ops.  They treat their boys with respect.  And I think the relationship has become reciprocal between the boys and their Wincest fans.  It is a 14 year marriage that has never had much upheaval because it is not a relationship based on coercion.  Jensen doesn't shoot the wincest fans down for their fantasies, and recently even said I love you to Sam in canon.  Dean has canonically said I love you only twice: once to Mary, but that was also coupled with I hate you.  Wincest fans are not screeching at CW about it.  They enjoyed the moment and moved on. 

This is a nice segue into headcanons.  Headcanons are fun if you treat them as such, but you need to understand that every headcanon is opinion-based and can be argued away.  Even Wincest ones.  Wincest fans don't use their headcanons that they cooked up in their minds, as a pro-Wincest argument for the boys to fight against.  That would be like saying ''how can you not agree with the thoughts in my head''.  One headcanon that many Destiel fans have, is that destiel is canon, because of the scrapped I love you in the Crypt episode.  They don't seem to understand that the fact that Jensen forcefully scrapped the line, actually proves the opposite.  

Jensen doesn't want canon destiel.  He removed the line without any consultation with writers.  But he didn't remove the I love line in the new episode, which was directed at Sam.  Why is that?  Why didn't Jensen scrap that line?  Maybe it has to do with the fact that, when Destiel fans threaten to kill him, wincest fans try to fight them off and protect Jensen.  It has nothing to do with canon or fanon.  It has to do with your overall entitled behavior.  Jensen would prefer not to hear about shipping.  He has no real emotional stake is shipping.  His opinion on ships is basely purely on how the shippers behave.  And Wincest shippers don't behave aggressively. 

The difference between how Jensen handles the wincest fans and how Misha handles the destiel fans is quite stark.  Jensen, even in the above monologue about wincest, does not encourage Wincest fans.  However, whilst letting them know his opinion on shipping, he doesn't discourage them either opting to say  ''But that is why its called fiction''.  Jensen is extremely neutral, diplomatic and I have to say, extremely intelligent.  Its his way of telling the fans ''have your fun, but don't ask me about it''.  The wincest fans listened and have kept their fantasies and headcanons to themselves for 14 years.  They didn't interpret his words on a direct instruction to them.  He said it.  They did it.  That's it.   

Misha does the complete opposite.  He was instructed not to tell anyone about the scrapped line because the crew knows what the destiel fans are like.  Misha still made sure he said it, even telling people ''I am not supposed to tell you this''.  Because he didn't respect an instruction given to him, Jensen got ambushed and abused for it online.  Misha did that to keep his destiel audience, but he alienated everyone else.  Not a smart person, because he is putting off potential fans of his who might not like shipping.  

He doesn't realize that not every fan likes slash fiction and that not everyone is watching Supernatural for slash reasons.  They just like the show as is.  It also shows how little he cares for his co-worker's well being because he didn't think twice before throwing Jensen under the bus.  Misha is one reason, people don't like Destiel.  They don't like the guy that plays Cas.  There may be other factors.  But that one stands out the most. I know that there was repetitiveness in this post, but I hope it answers the question as thoroughly as possible.   

#misha #jensen ackles #destiel #cockles #jenmish #jensen and misha #deancas #casdean #dean x castiel #castiel #cas #bi dean #dean is bi #dean and cas #jenmisheel #dean winchester #destiel headcanon #jdvm #misha collins #sam winchester #sam and dean #jensen and jared #wincest #supernatural #jared padalecki #padackles #performing dean #sabriel #sammy winchester #j2

[emmisays]

I’m Scared Stupid! (No, really...)

Hey you! 

It’s been a while since I’ve vomited some words on a page to you lot. And I happen to have my laptop open and a coffee in my hand and an hour to spare here in New York, so I thought I would tap something out to you. Prepare yourself. I’m feeling verbose…

Firstly, let me start with saying how grateful I am to you guys for all the love you’ve shown for ’Scared Stupid’. I’m really glad you’re feeling it! But before we move on to Chapter 4 (FRIDAY!) I wanted to share with you guys what inspired me to write it. Because while it absolutely is a tongue in cheek, neurotic little pop tune, underneath that is a very real and serious theme that’s quite personal to me. And I wanted to speak about a thing called anxiety and share my own story with you. I’ve been deliberating as to whether I should go there or not, but on the off chance that it might resonate with you or help you in some way or even just be of interest as we get to know each other, here goes…

I’ve been afraid of death since I first understood what it was. I’d think about it. Obsess about it even. I was constantly imagining horrible things happening as a child. My mum would be all of 10 minutes late to pick me up from a class and by the time she arrived I’d have already imagined at least three tragic reasons for the delay, played them out in my mind and attended both her funeral and my own. I’ve had a sense of pending doom for as long as I can remember. And for the longest time I just put that down to being a conscious human… aware of my own mortality and powerlessness in this life. But a few years ago I realised that wasn’t the whole truth. I, like so many of us, have anxiety. That feels strange to admit publicly even now.

See when I was a kid my parents worked for a missionary organisation that saw us living in the developing world for some time. And I’d say there is a healthy dose of adrenaline required when you are dropped off in a village on a mountain top next to an active volcano without knowing a word of that tribe’s language and told “see you next week”. I don’t remember being afraid. Mum and Dad made us feeling like everything we encountered was an exciting adventure, something to explore not fear. But any fear or ‘fight or flight’ hormones coursing through my veins (or indeed my parents) then would have, under the circumstances, be considered justified. We had some ttiimmmmesss....

The first instance of irrational fear probably started when I was around 8 years old. We were in Papua New Guinea and I asked my folks if I could go on a sleepover with my school friends at a dorm house at the local American mission school. They said yes. That night us girls went roller skating (yes, in line skates… and we still wore scrunchies because we were frozen in time over there!) had dinner and went to bed, only to be woken up in the middle of the night by the sound of sobbing and wailing. We went out to see what was happening and the teacher informed us that the father of one of the girls there, who had been held captive by militia for some time, had been assassinated. In that moment, stood amidst the shock and grief around me but perhaps not fully understanding it, I developed a fairly illogical (but understandable) idea I would hold onto for many many years to come: when you are away from your parents they die. I didn’t go on another sleepover until I left home at 16 years later. I would make myself sick to get out of school camps. The feeling was real. The thinking was not. 

A few years ago, now living in London and worlds away from that time, that feeling of pending doom I’d carried with me as a dull ache all my life started becoming more prominent. Quietly at first, as a knot in my stomach and then in a more noticeable way (shortness of breath, tightness in my chest, pounding heart). And I would feel that rush of adrenaline and be flummoxed because I’M ACTUALLY SAT IN A LOVELY CAFE IN SOHO! So what was there to be afraid of? I was confused and terrified by these very real physical symptoms that were suddenly presenting themselves in me with seemingly zero cause. And the more confused I became, the more mad at myself I got. This is ridiculous. Pull yourself together! You’re a smart person. There’s no sense to this!  And the madder I got with me, the worst more extreme the symptoms became...

I had my first anxiety attack at home in Oz with my family. Nobody knew what to do. Least of all me. My family knew me as a bit of a jittery character ...  but hyperventilating and publicly falling apart in a pizza joint was a new one on all of us. I was so embarrassed. I felt like I was losing my mind. But I shrugged it off the next day as a ‘one off’ thing and hoped that was the end of it.

Back in London, however, as the weeks passed and I started opting to stay indoors all day because of that heavy feeling in my stomach… and then the next…. and the next…  I knew things had gone from bad to worse. My relationships were suffering too. I wasn’t letting love in, because I had shut down, so I couldn’t have been giving much out either. Much like the videos I made for Scared Stupid, moments of joy or moments with my family and friends would pass me by because they would be immediately accompanied by a sense of foreboding. How will this go wrong? Not only was this thing stealing my own joy, but it was stealing the joy of the people around me too.

So I eventually decided to talk to someone. And I wanted to share my experience of how that went down because a) I want you guys to know me and b) what I was told in that time has helped me no end ever since, and I don’t want to keep that all to myself. 

Perhaps you are sitting there reading this now thinking you’d like to see someone but perhaps it feels ridiculous, or unnecessary, or maybe you just can’t afford it! (That was a struggle for me too) Or perhaps you’re sitting there and you know someone who suffers from anxiety. Well, whatever the case, I hope what I tell you now can be of some help to you, or if nothing else an education. 

When I started therapy it took five minutes to realise that there was a lot more than that pesky knot in my stomach to address here. A whole lot more. I unpacked the whole darn attic of my life and mind and realised I spent most of my life apologising for taking up the space I inhabit... among many other things. And in just a few sessions I was a changed me. (No… correction… I didn’t actually change at all. I was still the same me, but now I was conscious of myself and who I was and WHY and of the people in my life and who they were and why.) And I left with more love and forgiveness for everyone in my life and everyone I encountered because, yep!, you guessed it, I had more love and forgiveness for myself. Bingo!

Then came the day we spoke about my anxiety. I happened to be having a day of it and so she asked me to close my eyes and actually feel what I was feeling and sit with it. So I sat there and closed my eyes and just felt … and tears immediately rolled down my face in the silence. I’d never done that before. Really sat with it. Anxiety was always a war with me. Something I fought. Hard. Something violent. And I was surprised at how sad the feeling was. How tired and weak it felt in the silence now that I’d given it permission to exist. She asked me where I felt it and I pointed to my tummy. She asked me what it looked like and I told her it was a swirling green and yellow blob thing. She then asked me to draw it on a piece of paper. When I finished she said “Well that’s a kidney.” Makes sense I guess.  

(Geeky side note: green and yellow are two recurring colours Shakespeare uses  to describe anxiety or pining too.  “She pined in thought, and with a green and yellow melancholy, she sat like patience on a monument smiling at grief.” - Twelfth Night. Thus ends my geek aside…)

Then she asked me: “What would you like to say to your anxiety?” 

The fight came back in me immediately. I took a deep breath and said clearly and loudly... 

“Fuck off. Just fuck off.” 

“Why?” She asked. (I figured she was being the kidney thing so I went into improv mode. You can take the girl out of acting...) 

“Because you shouldn’t be here.” I said. “I’m a smart person. And you are ruining my life. And you have no point. And you need to fuck. right. off.” 

I opened one eye to catch the lady smiling at me in that all knowing way that counsellors do which is half annoying, half comforting like a parent. 

“So do you feel better now?” she asked.

“No. Worse.” 

“I know.” She said. “We can stop now.”

What she then told me both saddened me then saved me.

“You have anxiety. And you will always have anxiety.” 

WHAAATTTT?!? 

“But see the thing is this. Your anxiety is a good thing. It was there for you when you needed it. It was a survival defence. And as long as it made sense to you, you didn’t mind it sticking around. But now you don’t feel there is a point to it, you don’t want it. And that is totally understandable. But you have to learn to listen to it. Even if you think it is pointless. Even if you think it has nothing to say.” 

I’m a sucker for images and what she said next really hit things home for me. 

“See… anxiety is like a small child. A little kid who will come up to the table while you’re at dinner with friends, or in the bath… or at the most surprising of moments and just tug at you. “Mum! Mum!” It wants your attention. It’ll start as a whisper. Now if your first reaction to that tug is at a 10…  “FUCK OFF! GO AWAY!” and you ignore it, the child won’t understand. They’ll do one of two things. They will get louder and louder until you notice them and give them the attention they crave. “MUM! MUMMMMMM!” Or they will cry and make a scene. Maybe even have a tantrum. But the one thing they will not do is GO AWAY.” 

“Balls. So what do I do then?” I asked. “You listen.” She replied. 

“When that child tugs, you stop what you’re doing and say …oh hey… there you are again… what’s up?” And you spend some time with it and close your eyes and just see if they have something to say. You let them have their moment. Sometimes they will have nothing to say. (Much like kids coming to the table “What is it darling?” …”Ummmm…. I like kittens!” (they skip off into the distance).) They’re  just content to have had your attention. And they will eventually take a seat next to you quietly. Or get on with a jig saw puzzle or something. But sometimes they will have something to say. Something important that you may need to hear. And they may stay with you an hour or even a day, or even a few, and that’s ok. But you take the child’s hand and let it walk with you. And you listen. And let it be what it needs to. Because if you don’t, that child will grow and grow until it’s a giant next to you that you are looking up at and screaming at. No, it’s not going anywhere and that’s not in your control. But you can choose how it stays with you. Hold it’s hand. IT IS SMALLER THAN YOU.” 

For whatever reason that image helped everything. I stopped fighting and started listening. (By the way, I was never really yelling at my ‘anxiety’ ... I was yelling at myself, which was never going to work. Be careful how you speak to yourself. Negative company can be toxic, especially when it’s with you 24/7.) 

And I’ve been holding this child’s hand for a long time now. People close to me have also learned to hold it’s hand with me too, which has helped me no end and I am so grateful. Because when that kid turns up at a family dinner uninvited, or takes over my face while we’re watching a film…  it makes all the difference that someone might notice and say “Are you ok Em?” or just hug me without saying anything because they know. Or maybe we exchange a knowing smile that says “here we go again” ... the way you might if a naughty toddler cousin or your weird uncle started playing up. Cos’ you can’t choose your family. And you can’t choose anxiety either. But neither are going anywhere so you gotta get along right?

But above all... no-one asks WHY? anymore. No one asks me to stop feeling what I’m feeling. And I’m learning not to ask that of myself either. Anxiety is not the enemy. It’s just a part of me that makes me brilliantly sensitive and expressive and aware as much as it can be a negative sometimes. You can’t fix anyone. You can only ever be with them. 

That’s all I got. I have to get on with my day and this has become a blog of EPIC proportions!

But I wanted to share this with you because it helped me so much. And for all the fun videos of me ‘not enjoying myself’ in ball pits and on carousels and around kittens and puppies and cheese… underneath it all is a very real thing. That so many of us deal with. And I want to say, if this is you too I get it! And I hear you. And it’s ALWAYS good to talk about this stuff. And nothing is ever too silly.

I think we have to choose to feel the pain and the fear when it comes. And to sit with it a while. And give yourself time to cry on a bad day. And time to think. And talk it out. That way you stay open. So that when happiness does sneak up on you, or laughter, or love, or joy… you can really sit with those feelings too and really feel those highs and take pleasure in the moment and in the eyes of the people around you and stop time for a second. 

Enjoy that ice-cream and that puppy and that grumpy cat! (Actually… on second thoughts don’t worry about the cat. He was a bully.) But just feel it all. Because it’s a privilege to be alive and feeling anything at all. 

We’re all going to die. Most freeing fact there is! (And this is officially the worst end to a blog. Ever. In the history of blogs.)

EMMI “We’re all going to die.” 

You’re welcome. 

Happy Tuesday folks! Looking forward to seeing you guys on my live feed for more chats. I’ll hit you with a time ASAP.

Em

xxxx

FULL VIDEO OF SCARED STUPID NOW ONLINE: https://youtu.be/hfBYW28bEAU

#scared stupid #emmi #emmi music #anxiety #writer #songwriter #mental health #therapy #fear #love #relationships #issues #counselling #music #pop

[letitia-is-cross]

Spill out my Passions upon your Feet

JONxSANSA, Modern Royalty AU, Oneshot, 6911 words, Uses all the jonsa smut week prompts in one. Read it on AO3

Summary:

“Why do you torture yourself like this?” “No one, Rhaenys, you cannot tell her, or him, or anyone.” Oh Jon, she thought, everyone that matters, already knows.

As they grew, their feelings grew, but an impossible love tangled up in the royal families of modern day Westeros is doomed to fail, no matter how much Jon may burn for Sansa, and she may ache for him.

Dedicated to Amymel86 as she is fabulous and kind and wonderful and honestly is just a wonderful part of this fandom.

"Which one is she?"

Rhaegar crouched down next to his son, looking at the official portrait of the Royal Family of the North.

"Which one do you think she is?"

A young finger smudged the glass over the face of a little girl with grey eyes and a begrudging smile.

"That one? With the dark hair like Rhaenys?"

"No, not that one."

"The red haired one then, like her Mum."

The King of the Crownlands watched his son's small face, curious for his reaction.

"Yes that's her; your future bride. What do you think?"

Thin, 12 year old shoulders shrugged.

"Pretty I guess. Do I really have to marry her though, Father?"

Big eyes looked up into his, Rhaegar sighed, they were just like the boy's mother's.

"Yes Aegon, you do."

Jon Targaryen hurtled down the palace corridor, skipping round a corner and skidding on the marble floors.

"Rhaenys! Wait! Wait for me!"

A gleeful laugh drifted back down towards the dark haired boy, and he pushed his skinny 10 year old legs all the faster.

Rounding the last corner, his dress shoes flying across the polished staircase, he slammed into the legs of his Father.

"Jon! You're late!"

"Sorry Father, I lost track of time reading and- and Rhaenys challenged me to a race, and then I had to changed my pants because I slipped-"

Seeing the upward tick of his Father's mouth, and knowing that he wouldn't face any penalties today of all days, Jon blew out the rest of his breath and took his place beside his sister.

Jon wasn't too worried, after all, whilst it was the arrival of a Royal Family, this wasn't the state greeting and there was no one to report on his tardiness in such close company.

He was glad of his timing a minute later though, when the doors opened to the drive and he and his family stepped out just before the line of Range Rovers pulled up carrying the King in the North and his family.

Excitement thrummed through him. Whilst not directly, his Mother had been the 2nd cousin twice removed or some such relation of the King of the North, and they had grown up together. Before she had passed, his Mother would tell him such wonderful stories of the North and of the king, Ned Stark. Jon could feel himself near vibrating in anticipation of meeting the man she had spoken so fondly of and his family.

The car door opened and out stepped a man with an austere brow and straight lips, followed by a beautiful lady with long dark red hair.

Their picture of elegance was soon ruined by the spilling of three children from the back of the car. A boy around his age, with his mother's hair in riotous curls, a girl around five that looked much like him but was twisting her head every which way to take in her surroundings, and a boy around four whose hair was a reddish brown and looked to be bouncing in giddiness at the sights before him.

Jon's vision was soon stolen however, by another girl stepping out, holding a boy around two by his hand, hair brighter than her mother or her siblings held back in a French braid.

She was her mother in miniature, down to the elegant way she led her little brother over to her Mother to be held by her.

Jon quickly rattled the names of the Stark children off in his head, matching them to the portrait used to teach him their names.

Robb stood next to his father now, a grin splitting his face. Next him was the second Stark princess, Arya, the one who looked like her father and like him. Bran stark stood next to his Mother, Rickon Stark in her arms.Â

Between her parents stood Sansa Stark, first Princess of the North and- Jon didn't bother to close his gaping mouth- the prettiest girl Jon had ever seen.

Sansa giggled as Jon placed a wreath of flowers on her head, brushing a fallen petal out of her eyes.

He grinned back, folding into a sweeping bow, hands flourishing at his sides.

At the ridiculously flamboyant action, Sansa couldn't help but break into peals of gasping laughter, joined a second later with Jon's soft but hearty chuckles.

"Well, Queen of Love and Beauty, what would you have of your Knight, my service is yours."

A failure of a wink accompanied his words and Sansa laughed all the harder.

"Jon- oh gosh- Jon-"

"How rude! The lady laughs at my declaration! I am wounded to the core!" Jon clasped a hand to his chest to accompany his melodramatic teasing.

Sansa fell down on the grass clutching her stomach, soundless gasps escaping her.

Soon, Jon joined her on the well manicured lawn, laughing along as they gazed up at the branches above.

Sansa turned her head to view the boy lying next to her, giggling now and then, reminded of his antics.

Sometimes she didn't know how she had thought he was rude and didn't like her, the first time they met. Although Jon hadn't been able to speak four words in a row together to her for the first three days, which had rather upset her sensibilities. He had been verbose enough with her siblings, especially Robb and Arya, who had all become thick as thieves.

It was that, really, that had changed things.

...

Sansa wasn't silly. She wasn't stupid. And they would be the only reasons to cry about stupid sisters and brothers, and princes that didn't invite her to play.

She had been having fun with Rhaenys anyway, they had become fast friends, sharing a love of all things beautiful and bonding over brother's that could be absolutely intolerable at times, although she did love hers dearly, especially Robb, who always looked after her.

So she wouldn't have been able to play knights and dragons anyway, but still. It hurt. It hurt that they didn't ask.

It was all Jon Targaryen's fault!

He was so friendly and nice to all her siblings, he even got along with Arya, and she didn't like too many people, she had asked Robb if Jon had said he didn't like her, but Robb had just said he hadn't, though-

"Don't be silly Sansa, he definitely likes you, and if he didn't he'd get in trouble from me!"

At that, he had flexed his arm in a poor imitation of the strong men at the Northern Games, and grinning cheekily.

She had forgotten her worry that afternoon after that, but it all came rushing back now.

Sansa had been nice! She had curtsied, and said hello and smiled, and she had thought he looked very nice, she had liked his pretty eyes.

But he had just stood there, gaping like a fish, until his sister had elbowed him!

She didn't understand! Aegon was nice, he talked to her properly, Sansa couldn't help but he glad he was her betrothed, even if she hadn't seen him much, and he seemed to prefer playing with his other friends than with them, and didn't have nearly as pretty eyes as-

Well. She would give Prince Jon a piece of her mind.

Tears still welling in her eyes, Sansa stomped as gracefully as possible over to the garden where Rhaenys said Jon would likely be.

Seeing him bent over some flowers, looking ever so peaceful, Sansa stopped trying to be graceful and ran over to the boy, planting herself in front of him.

"Princess Sansa!"

Sansa took in his widening eyes and flushed face happily, thinking he had finally realised his rudeness, but would not be deterred from a proper dressing down.

"Prince Jon, if you don't like me then-then that is okay, but I want to know why!" Sansa allowed herself to stomp her foot at this point, too upset to care for being ladylike.

"What- don't like- wait-"

"Don't try and say you don't! You won't talk to me when I try, but you talk to everyone else, and you play with the others and not me and- and you didn't even ask me!"

Sansa wasn't used to not being liked, especially by people she wanted to like her. She always tried to be nice, and she couldn't think of anything she'd done to Jon.

Frustrated and embarrassed about having to confront the boy before her, the tears that had been welling, started to escape.

They jumpstarted Jon out of his shocked silence.

"Oh no! Sansa, oh don't cry, please don't cry, oh gods-"

"You shouldn't say that, it's rude to the gods," Sansa managed to interject between hasty sniffles and wiping her face.

"I'm sorry, I won't, just please, please, please don't cry. Here, have this-"

Sansa took the handkerchief with slight suspicion, not sure why he was talking to her now, and even being nice!

"I'm really sorry Princess, I didn't mean to make you think that. I was just worried- I didn't want to embarrass myself in front of you."

"What?"

"Well, you're so good at being a Princess, and you're very proper, and pretty, and polite, and I didn't want to look an idiot."

Sansa considered this in between blowing her nose.

"Here, just wait, let me, let me get something, I'll be right back, don't move!"

Sansa watched as the boy ran off to the palace backwards, shouting back as he went.

Deciding to wait she sat down. Well. That was a stupid reason not to talk to her. He just went and embarrassed her.

But he had called her pretty, so he couldn't be all bad.

She might, maybe, possibly forgive him.

Brought out of her deliberations by her name being called again, she turned to see Jon running back towards her across the lawn.

"Here, I made this for you today, but I was too scared to give it to you, that's why I didn't ask you to play too."

He placed a garland of daisies, lopsided and shedding, upon the crown of her head.

Sansa didn't know what to say, but she thought, as she tackled him with a hug, that she could, probably, definitely, forgive him after all.

...

Three years later, Jon was 13 and Sansa was 11, and they were, Sansa thought, the very best of friends.

Well of course, Rhaenys was also her best friend, but she had best friends her age as well, and her and Rhaenys talked about different things than her and Jon. It was just different.

After all, no one knew how to make Sansa laugh like Jon did. Except for maybe Robb (and Arya when they were on the same side, but she wouldn't admit that under pain of death) and he never did so with the soft gentleness of Jon.

Jon was always gentle, so very, very gentle.

Smiling fondly over at her knight, lying beside her under the blue skies and warm wind, Sansa knew what she wished for.

"I want my knight to smile more, if it pleases you. After all Sir Jon, you have such a pretty grin, I would not want to waste it."

Jon grinned at her.

"As my Lady commands."

"Why does Aegon have to marry Sansa?"

Rhaenys looked over at her littlest brother, sitting on her bed, confused eyes peering up at her.

She sighed, you'd think at 15 years old, the boy would have asked such a question before, but it had never really been an issue, before this year.

"Is this about Sansa not being able to spend time with you as much this year? I know you've already had an argument with her about it, so don't lie and deny it!"

Jon's naturally brooding face grew even more brooding.

"...maybe."

Rhaenys gave an even bigger sigh, gods, why did she have to put up with such idiots, really.

"Aegon shall be king, little brother, and Sansa shall be queen. That is why they must marry. The insult and harm done to the North in the past century, partly by our grandfather, can only be mended by the sharing of power that a betrothal would achieve. The treaty was made so that it was ensured a Northerner would have say in the treatment of their homeland, sharing the throne is the only way to ensure this.

"Aegon and Sansa must marry because they are the first to fulfil the requirements of the treaty, Jon. They are, unfortunately, in this situation, the sacrificial goats."

"But-but, why not have you marry one of the Stark boys! You are eldest, and first in line to the throne!"

Rhaenys shook her head, Jon knew these facts already, knew the answers to his questions, but he refused to think it all through.

"It is how the treaty sets out the balance of power Jon, you know this. A Queen married to a King has more power than a prince consort married to a Queen, and besides, the agreement was set out before the rites of inheritance were changed. I certainly am more than glad to relinquish my rights to the crown and I also would rather not marry any man."

At this, Jon let out a begrudging chuckle, but his eyes still frowned and his lips were tinged melancholy.

"Jon, listen. Go and find Sansa, apologise to her and then run amok with her as you always have. Treasure the time you do have together, rather than mourn what you do not."

"Are you... wearing... a dress?"

"So you have spotted the change, my dear third-cousin-of-my-father's-brother's-mother-in-law!"

Robb slung an arm around Jon's neck as he joined him and Arya in their corner of the ballroom.

Jon rolled his eyes exasperatedly at his fellow prince, whose commitment to his long-standing joke of giving Jon the most ridiculous relation possible was going on 6 years.

Turning back to Arya, he asked once again, "Are you actually wearing a dress? You've never worn a dress, you hate dresses, what did your Mother possibly blackmail you with to get you to wear a dress?"

And it was not as ridiculous question as it sounded. Arya's hatred of dresses had become legendary throughout all the royal families of Westeros. Not once had she worn one to a state dinner or ball. Not. Once.

But tonight, she had on a dark green, almost black creation that sat high on her neck, leaving her arms sleeveless, and was form fitting except from where it swept out from the base of her waist. In... a... skirt?

The dress looked wonderful, no doubt of that, and Jon noted absently that Prince Gendry Baratheon was making no secret of the glances he sent Arya's way every few minutes. It somehow made it look like Arya was nearing tall, or at least not short, as she admittedly was.

"Wait! Don't! I want to say it!" Arya huffed and rolled her eyes but let her older brother interject once more.

He coughed regally before saying in a voice almost too pompous to bear, "It is an 'elongating wide-legged silhouetted jumpsuit'."

"Uh. A what?"

Jon thought Arya might strain herself with the force of her eye rolling at him this time.

"It's a jumpsuit you idiot, but it's wide legged, so it looks like a skirt."

"Ahhh, I understand now. Yup, well. It looks great, where did you get it?"

At this, Arya actually smiled fondly, her lips quirking up in a soft smirk.

"Silly Sansa made it for me actually. She found out that I, well that I," and here Arya blushed, "that I wanted to look good tonight. Like a girl. Pretty. I wanted to look pretty.

"She didn't tell me, she just put it on my bed the other night and let me find it. I thought it was a dress too, almost didn't try it on. But I did, and Jon, it's so comfy! And I can still run! And there's no weird breezes, and I'm not worrying about looking stupid and it fits so well. And it's well, it's perfect."

Jon could hardly believe his ears. Arya, whose praise was usually around two syllables long on a generous day, was gushing. Gushing.

"Yup, good old Sansa, she came through for you, little sister," and with a push that had her glaring at him, Robb spurred Arya over towards the Stormlands contingent with a wink. "Go impress Prince Charming now, and thank Sansa when you do!"

Jon was mostly otherwise occupied when Robb started talking to him again after that though, sweeping his gaze around to find Sansa, wondering if she had seen their little gathering take place.

Finally he caught sight of her, and whilst he registered a brief feeling of discomfort in his stomach at seeing her in the arms of some Reach lord, he could only admire the radiant smile on her face as she watched her sister punch Gendry Baratheon on the shoulder after he whispered something in her ear as they danced.

Watching her, watching them, so kind, so sweet, so Sansa- Jon felt something within him give way.

Gods, she was just so- Sansa.

"Sansa, if you could be anything, anything but what and who we are, who would you be?"

"A florist. Or a jeweller. Maybe a fashion designer. Or a historian. But probably a florist."

Jon hummed, pushing a stray hair behind Sansa's ear as she sat before him mending a rip in his favourite sweater. Of course he could afford another one with the blink of his eye, but he could never turn down Sansa when she asked to fix something, to care for him.

"Why a florist?"

Jon could see her as one though, surrounded by beautiful, natural, flowering creatures all day. Just like her. Quickly he tucked that sort of thought away, even though admiring Sansa had been part of his makeup since he first met her.

He could hardly stop himself now.

"Flowers can mean so much. And I'm not just talking about the language of flowers, I mean, what flowers mean to the people that give them, that receive them."

Giving up on looking anywhere else, Jon lay back, resting his head on her lap whilst stretching his legs out before him on the grass.

"How so?"

Sansa finally put down his sweater and focused on him; Jon smothered the cheer that went up inside of him at having her undivided attention.

"Well a lover can give flowers because they want to romance someone, because they want to seduce someone, or they could do it merely because the flower reminded them of how beautiful their love is, to brighten their day, to just say, I love you. And flowers can be a thank you, for loving me, yes, but for caring for me, for being with me, for standing by me. And they can be a celebration, a memory or a mourning all at once."

"A memory. Like you and me, and your wreath?"

Jon held his breath, cursing at himself for suggesting such a thing, unsure if he wanted her to admit the flowers meant the same to her as they did to him.

But then Sansa smiled that gorgeous tender thing, that Jon had only ever seen in this glade, this little patch of garden that was theirs. And in that moment, he felt the restlessness that crawled along his shoulders every time he was near her lately, that had plagued him since he realised Sansa was becoming a woman, settle.

And in that moment, Jon felt at once laid open to every eye that thought to look, and as though the world was at his fingertips.

"Yes, Jon. Like you and me."

"Jon- Jon! You need to calm down. Please, calm down-"

"How, Sansa?! How am I meant to calm down when he goes and pulls shit like that! As if he doesn't know he insults you every time he-"

"Jon. Calm. Down. Now."

Sansa was pleased to see Jon snap his mouth shut at her firm tone, glad that after twelve years of friendship she still had the upper hand.

She was less glad that he proceeded to kick a chair halfway across the room.

As soon as he did it though, Sansa could see his eyes widen and him quickly turn to her, hands out placating and eyes wide and gorgeous, hoping he hadn't scared her.

"Shh, I'm fine. It's fine Jon, I'm used to it."

As soon as she said it she knew her words would have the opposite effect to her intention.

He blew up again.

"But that's it! You shouldn't have to used to it! There shouldn't be an it in the first place. He shouldn't ever even bloody look at another woman! He's got the best one bloody well promised to him since birth but the fucker still feels the need to fuck around?"

Sansa could see Jon's shoulders shaking in his fury, felt the tremble in his chest as she placed a hand over his heart. She couldn't help the swelling in her own chest at his words, stamped down the melting of her legs and the porcelain smile trying to break across her face.

"Jon you know as well as I, that what Aegon feels for me, or I for Aegon, is inconsequential. If he wishes to have his flings, why should I stop him. As long as they do not continue when we are married-"

"If he dared-" Jon snarled out his words, obviously too angry to finish.

"He will not. Do not worry for me Jon. I will be fine. I am strong."

"Aye," and finally Jon let his grimace fall to a fond stare, "that you are. You really are strong."

"Good. Now stop being jealous," Jon spluttered but couldn't get a denial out in time, "and come read to me, I'm rather cold and could do with company on the sofa, and I do so love your Mr. Darcy impression."

And as always, Jon grinned.

"As my Lady commands."

"Sansa?"

Jon could see her hastily wiping away tears, using the sleaves of her dressing gown instead of the handkerchief she always seemed to have at the ready.

She turned a bright smile over to him, trying to hide the redness of her eyes behind the brilliance of her grin.

As per usual though, it didn't work on him.

Two steps later and she was in his arms, hoisted onto his lap, safely entrenched on the padded bench placed on the private balcony.

Her sobs renewed about two seconds after that.

"Hush, sweetling, shhh, oh my sweet Sansa."

They only came harder.

Jon cradled her closer and kissed her forehead.

They didn't move for the rest of the night.

"Jon, are you a virgin?"

Jon hadn't known his face could feel so hot until that moment.

"Wh-wha-what?"

"A virgin. Are you one?"

"Sansa, I'm 24!"

"So, plenty of people, especially people like us, don't have sex until they're married still. Or just later on."

Absolutely flabbergasted, Jon stood stock still with his mouth dropped open. That still seemed to happen quite often around Sansa.

Walking up to him she closed his mouth with her fingertips on his chin and a cheeky little smirk curling on her lips and in her eyes.

"Well?"

"Why?! Why all of a sudden do you want to know?"

"Uh uh, don't try to distract me, young Jon-"

"I'm older than you!"

"-I want my answer! Come on, I'll tell you mine if you tell me yours."

Jon suddenly felt much more eager to spill the beans, if only to torture himself with the knowledge of whatever lucky bastard had claimed such a title. Absolute cunt, he was sure.

"Ygritte."

Fuck, he hadn't meant to blurt that out.

"Ygritte?! The ambassador from North of the Wall, that visited a couple of years ago?! Her?!"

Jon couldn't tell beyond his hope that her anger was driven by jealousy, but Sansa seemed rather upset by this information.

"Yeah, but it didn't last or anything. She headed back North, and I stayed here of course. It was just a fling.

"Anyway, who was yours?"

"Aegon."

An increasingly familiar boiling fever swept over Jon at his brother's name.

He loved his brother, he did. Half siblings or not, Aegon and Rhaenys would always be his true brother and sister. But there was only so much jealousy and resentment of a gift left unappreciated that one could stand before it festered.

"Really?"

Suddenly all of Sansa's bravado had disappeared, and Jon watched as she hugged her arms to herself.

"Yes. He was my first. There have been a couple others, very discreet, private things. Sandor, and Dickon. But Aegon was the first. And soon he'll be the only, the last."

And then it was quiet. Sansa sat with her arms tight around herself, eyes glued straight ahead. And Jon sat with his elbows on his knees, palms pressing into his eyes, trying desperately not to let the heat of his anger, at the world, his father, her father, and everyone before and here and now and future, overtake him.

And there they sat. Together.

"Why do you torture yourself like this?"

"No one, Rhaenys, you cannot tell her, or him, or anyone."

She could feel her heart breaking for her brother, not so little any more.

She stood over him, holding the ripped out front page of the Kings Landing Telegraph.

Couple of the Century, Princess Sansa and Prince Aegon once again steal the show on a series of romantic public outings.

"Please Rhaenys. Please. No one can know."

Oh Jon, she thought, everyone that matters, already knows.

She wondered if it was cruel of her, loving that he could not take his eyes off her.

Rejoicing in his dropped mouth and wide eyes.

Looking as he did in his black evening suit, with his hair pulled back into the most enticing man bun she had ever seen- she could only think he deserved it.

She had chosen the gown, silver and form fitting and showing enough skin to tantalise, but not enough to shock. Though he certainly looked shocked, she giggled to herself.

Tonight marked the beginning of the end after all.

Her Engagement Ball was taking place, and everyone and anyone was there to celebrate.

One year. She had one year.

Suddenly feeling too hot, too close, too fast, too soon- she stepped out onto the shadowed balcony alcove along the servant's corridor.

She had found the most effective way to deal with her upcoming marriage was to not think of it at all. But that proved rather hard when she was standing there, supposedly celebrating it.

She heard a figure slide onto the balcony behind her, and she turned with a practiced smile at the ready.

And she dropped it as soon as she saw who it was.

"Jon." And she couldn't help the smile that broke across her face at seeing him.

And then she saw something break in him.

The next moment she was back against the balcony, two arms caging her in and a solid (gods, so solid) body standing guard at her front.

"Sansa, you look. Gods- you look straight out of my dreams."

His head came forward to rest right in front of her, their eyes burning into one another. She could feel her breath growing laboured, felt the heat pouring off his body, so close but so far from hers.

He was devouring her with his eyes, more open than he had ever been before, desperate in his gaze and heavy with his breathing.

"Please, Gods please. Sansa."

He was begging, but he wasn't begging her, she knew that.

She would beg the gods too, if she felt she could talk in that moment.

Instead she felt her knees wobble beneath her silver dress, and strong hands give up their stony grip to hold her with gentle care.

So gentle. He was so, so gentle.

He pressed them together, temple to temple, and she could hear his heart beat, felt each ragged breath and knew hers matched. That she too could only savour, could only dream.

"Jon? Sansa?"

They didn't jump apart, they didn't even move.

She could tell they were both wondering what would happen if they just never let go.

Finally, the head and body of the King in the North came through the alcove curtain, stopping short at the sight of their embrace.

"Sansa?"

She knew in that moment that if she held on, Jon would never let go, he would hold on to her through everything.

But she also knew that everything had consequences. So many consequences, for so many that she cared for.

She let go.

"I'd be a carpenter."

"What?"

"I'd be a carpenter, or an electrician. I'd have a small business. With a few employees that were more friends than co workers."

Jon broke off another piece of lemon cake and popped it into her mouth, if only to stop her questions.

She had pulled away that night, and he understood. But he, he couldn't hide anymore. Not to her anyway. He knew that she saw the feelings that infused his every move, his every moment.

He admitted it. He wanted her to break too.

He didn't want her to hide anymore either.

"I'd go to work everyday, and I'd make sure that I had roses and daisies planted in my garden at home. Sometimes I'd get home before my wife. And then I'd stop and make her a wreath of flowers, even though, as a florist she would've been around them all day.

"When she got home I'd meet her outside the front door, put her wreath on and carry her through the doorway, just like newlyweds. Because I know I'd feel like a newlywed everyday.

He could see the tears starting to pool in Sansa's eyes and he gave her more lemon cake and continued rambling.

"I'd build her things. Shelves for her favourite books, like Austen and I'd read them to her, over and over as many times as she liked. I'd make her chairs to sit in when she was carrying our child, and a stool to put her feet on so I could rub them.

"I'd help her with her flower shop, and make sure she knew my flowers always had meaning. That they always carried memories. We'd go for a walk to the local bakery in the mornings and buy lemon cakes and apple scrolls and finish them before we got back home.

"I'd be a carpenter and I would make her tables to put vases and vases of flowers in. You could have a room for your sewing, and a garden for your shop, and we could sit in it, and make love under the stars on a blanket in our garden.

"I would make love to you every moment I could, after work, before work, during work, on the weekends, or during our daughter's naptime, when we find a moment to ourselves-"

And he knows he's crying and she's crying but now oh gods now-

Sansa's kissing him, she's kissing him and it's everything he ever dreamed it could be.

And then his hands are on her cheek and in her hair, and one of hers is grasping his shirt on his chest and one is pulling on his curls, and his tongue's in her mouth, running along the roof of her mouth, twisting against her tongue, and then she does this thing with her tongue- and he's gone, a hand on her hip now, pulling her so close he can't tell where her heat ends and his begins.

Both hands to her gods damned beautiful arse then, lifting her up and -ugh, fuck, her legs wrapped around him are where they're meant to be, always, he swears.

There's a fire raging through him but she's caught as well, and he knows that they'll fall to ash together. That's all that matters now.

But he has to taste more of her, has to, now.

Breaking away from her mouth is the hardest thing he's ever done but the taste of her throat and chest and oh gods fuck the taste of her breasts is a very good distraction. She moans above him, hips bucking and writhing, and head thrown back, gasps and glorious sounds pouring unending from her swollen lips.

He disconnects for the ten seconds it takes for them both to undress and he has her on the table now, the left over lemon cakes thrown to the floor in haste and desperation.

"Gods Sansa, so long... dreamed, so fucking long..."

"I know... me... me too... ugh-please, please Jon..."

Her begging may have just about ended him but so had the view of her glorious body, only a part of what makes her his Sansa, but still so beautiful and a part of her just as worthy of being worshiped as her dreams and her mind.

Nipples the same shade as her lips almost call to him and he's latched on before he even processes the thought, hands eagerly searching out the other place that can make her moan for him, gods but she is moaning for him.

Fingers dip into a pool of wetness and he cannot resist, it would be futile to try.

Rushing as much as he dares, because he will savour this, fuck the gods he will savour this moment to cradle to his soul for the rest of his life, he kisses his way down her stomach. He leaves marks in his wake, just as he did on her throat and breast.

Maybe he shouldn't but he needs to know that there will be proof, even if it isn't eternal, but he needs there to be some proof tomorrow that this happened.

Reaching her cunt, he pauses to breathe her in, musk and salt and arousal, before licking a stipe from the bottom of her slit to her clit, sitting swollen, pink and perfect and the crown of her mound.

Sansa lets out a breathy scream and Jon doesn't think he's been prouder in his entire life.

He sinks his tongue into her first, getting a deep and devouring taste of her, memorising it for every night, every day in the future. Nothing will ever taste as good as her in this moment.

His name has turned into moans and screams on her lips as he moves up to brush the tip of his tongue across her clit, delighting in the buck of her hips and the thrust of her cunt into his face.

Fingers now, in and out and his mouth and tongue sucking and swiping, and his name is still on her tongue but she's trembling and she's so gods damn tight he can barely breathe for the picture she makes, enraptured in her pleasure.

She comes and it's the most beautiful thing he's ever seen.

Then she's clawing at his back, bring him up to lay on top of her and she says

"Please, Jon. Please. I need you."

And he could never resist her after all.

When he finally sinks into her, it's the best moment of his life, and the worst as well. Because he knows, nothing will ever, ever compare to being joined to her. To Sansa.

He had always imagined their first joining a furious burst of passion, ending gloriously but quickly with short pounding strokes.

They make love for the first time on the table on his room, forbidden and star crossed they are, he takes his time, and he will know every inch of her body by the time he is through.

He draws out slow and steady, letting her feel him, feeling her in return. She's so hot, so tight, so fucking, fucking wet they make obscene sounds every time he moves within her.

It only makes him go slower.

He loves it, loves hearing her desire, loves feeling how wet he's made her, and soon he's gently circling her clit, still moving his hips with aching slowness. But then she's coming, gasping and grasping at his shoulders and teeth biting where his neck meets his shoulder.

He wants to close his eyes, it feels so fucking good, but she's so gorgeous, coming on his cock for him, he can't bring himself to ever take them off her again.

And then he's speeding up, lifting her legs up and over his shoulders, kissing her, kissing her, fucking so bloody deep into her he can't- he can't-

He comes as she clenches around him again, her own fingers on her clit this time and still, even as his vision goes white from the feel of his come shooting into her tight, slick warmth, knowing on a primal and deeply satisfying level that she has him inside of her now, he cannot take his eyes of her gorgeous face.

Her beautiful, beautiful face.

"I love you."

His cock's still inside her, they're naked on his side table, and she's engaged to his brother.

There's never been a more perfect moment.

Her hand reaches up and cups his cheek so loving and warm, he can't help but lean in and kiss it.

"I know," and tears are in their eyes again, he sees them in hers and feels them in his, "I love you too."

And then the door slams open.

"Oh Gods!"

"Fuck, what the fuck!"

"Ah, little brother."

Jon thinks everything may have ended.

Ten minutes after the most amazing moment of her life, Sansa is wrapped in Jon's dressing gown, sitting on a bed, and wondering what will happen now.

Jon and Aegon are standing before her, and she doesn't think she's ever been as tense as she is in this moment.

"Aegon. I love Sansa, she loves me and I cannot, will not let you marry her."

Half of Sansa agrees with Jon's stance, half cannot fear what will happen, all of her loves him even more for his words.

"I know."

"I'm sorry for keeping- wait, what?"

Sansa cannot help but agree. What?

"It's not like you didn't make it obvious, you are both rather poor actors, anyone who knew you knew you were in love from the day you met. Honestly."

Aegon is at this point picking his fingernails with a shit eating grin on his face, Sansa knows her fiancé is not a bad person, she knows him, but she cannot help but fear that expression.

"Do not worry little brother dear, and my dear Sansa, I'll not say a word, but you have to promise me to do me a favour in the morning."

Jon and Sansa exchange glances, but cannot think of anything he would make them do that he could not achieve by simply telling the truth now.

"What would you have us do?" Sansa enters the conversation for the first time, ignoring the wobble in her voice.

"Ah that, you'll find out in the morning. Don't worry, you won't be able to miss it."

Morning comes, and Jon fears for his future.

It turns out that Rhaenys is the one to break the news.

Sansa is still in his room after last night, they decided if it was to be their final and only night together, they would make the most of it at least.

She bursts in, paper in hand, slippers and dressing gown still on.

She stops suddenly, taking in the picture of the two of them, Jon curled protectively around Sansa, their faces ready and braced for their penalties.

She lets out a great bellow of laughter, and is soon wiping tears from her eyes.

"That's why the great idiot decided to do it today, a month early, idiot man. Poor things, he probably had you worrying the night away,"� she giggles, "though you were probably too busy doing other things to wile the night away."

"Rhaenys, what's going on? What do you mean?"

"Here, you lovesick idiots in love, read this, and brace yourselves, there might not be an easy ride ahead."

Jon grabs the paper out of her outstretched arm and he and Sansa sit up to read it together, headless of their nudity.

CROWN PRINCE AEGON TO ABDICATE TO MARRY SECRET LOVE, ACTRESS MARGAERY TYRELL. PRINCE JON TARGARYEN TO TAKE HIS PLACE AS KING AND BETROTHED TO PRINCESS SANSA STARK.

The headline is huge and accompanied by a photo of Aegon at what is obviously a press conference.

"We all agreed that you would rule better than Aegon anyway, he himself included, and he and Margaery really do seem to be in some sort of love. I think."

With that, she up and left the room.

Jon looked over to Sansa, feeling as though someone had just hit him upside the head with a war hammer.

But this meant- this meant-

"Will you marry me?"

Once again, his words come out before he can think them.

Her lips come up to meld with his and he feels tears upon her cheeks once more.

"Yes, my knight, I will marry you. Yes, yes, yes, yes."

Every acceptance is accompanied by a kiss and Jon is air, he is light, he is the taste of her lips and the love in her eyes.

He is Sansa's. And she is his.

And their next kiss, it is gentle.

So, so, very, very gentle.

#jonsa #jonsasmutweek #amymel86 #jonsaff #actually jonsa #modern royalty au #fluff and angst #smut #of the lovey dovey kind really

[thesffcorner]

The Gentleman

The Gentleman is directed by Guy Richie, and follows a star-studded cast of characters. We start with Frazer (Hugh Grant), a private eye, who is blackmailing Ray (Charlie Hunnam) and his boss for 2 million pounds. Ray’s boss Mickey Pearson (Matthew McConaughey) is the undisputed lord of weed, having a business worth 400 million pounds, which he is trying to sell to American ‘businessman’ Matthew (Jeremy Strong) and retire. Through a series of unfortunate circumstances involving a farm robbery, a brush with the Chinese mafia, the unfortunate death of a Russian oligarch’s son and a newspaper mogul’s personal vendetta, the deal seems to be in danger of falling through, and Frazer is there to capitalize on it.

This movie is wildly entertaining, though nothing original. If you’ve seen one Guy Richie film, you’ve seen them all; the specifics are different obviously, but this is still another gangster action-comedy with a men with heavy accents, coming up with the most creative ways of using the word cunt in every sentence and a plot so convoluted, you need to be taking notes.

It’s a good film, is what I’m trying to say; as good as Lock, Stock and Two Smoking Barrels or Snatch, but definitely on par with RocknRolla or the Man from U.N.C.L.E. I have a lot of thoughts, as I always do with Richie’s films, so if you are curious to know more, and don’t mind some mild spoilers, join me after the cut.

The framing device of this film reminded me a lot of the Cloud Atlas story about the Russian gangster, turned author who threw a critic off of a roof, because it’s all told in flashback, with Frazer explaining everything that happened to Ray, as if he’s writing a Hollywood screenplay. He has in fact written said screenplay, and there are even some funny scenes where he has Ray help him act it out.

I’m not really sure how I feel about the framing device; it was at once annoying to have over half of the film told to us, because I kept thinking we were still setting up the characters when we are over half of the film in. However, there is a point to this, in that Frazer is an unreliable narrator, and he fabricates portions of the story and even invents entire scenes. However, you really do need to enjoy Hugh Grant’s voice if you are going to watch this because he has a LOT of narration. He isn’t an active player in most of the film, and yet he’s the POV character; everything we know about Mickey, Dry Eyes and Matthew we learn from him; the only character who isn’t entirely informed by him is Ray.

Grant is an entertaining narrator; he has a rather colorful vocabulary, which makes even the most basic descriptions of the characters hilarious or if nothing else shocking. He seems to speak exclusively in sexual innuendos, and every sentence is him hitting on Ray or a metaphor for sex. A lot of the blocking in the scenes, and even entire jokes are at the expense of men trying to outwit and outplay each-other in the most homoerotic of ways, but I wasn’t sure if I was supposed to be laughing at the absurdity of the situation or at the implication that Grant is gay and is failing to hit on Ray. None of characters are queer, and yet the film has no problem with queercoding the two more effeminate characters in the film, and having them be the main villains, which was… a choice. In Richie’s defense, everyone is a horrible person in this film, but there is a rather clear distinction between the way say, Mickey is presented and Frazer.

Even Ray, who is his own POV character, spends a lot of the film running around London at Mickey’s bidding. He and Mickey are glued to the hip; Mickey has a wife that he clearly loves and is devoted to, and yet if he and Ray aren’t sharing a scene they are on the phone with each other. I can’t tell what the film is trying to say with that, other than that Ray is completely devoted to Mickey, and if there is some bigger metaphor there, I missed it.

The action was surprisingly mild and played mostly for comedic effect. There were a few brutal scenes, like someone getting run over by a train, or a truly, TRULY unnecessary rape attempt of the ONLY female character in the film. But for the most part, the action is played for laughs: there is a hilarious chase scene throughout London that had me in stitches, and then an even funnier music/combat video of a robbery.

But let’s be real; you are here for the dialogue and the characters. Side note, I don’t know who was translating this film in Macedonian, but they were having a field day with the subtitles: I had no idea there even existed that many ways to say the word cock in Macedonian.

As any Richie film, the characters are absurdly crass and verbose; every line is a euphemism for sex, and the characters are constantly casually racist or misogynist. They are meant to be like that; they are gangsters, drug dealers and killers after all, but even the characters we are meant to sympathize with, like Ray display some weirdly vicious hatred of women and especially drug addicts. Rich coming from someone who smokes weed. It’s explained away that he is just a germaphobe, and he considers addicts filthy, but that isn’t exactly painting him in a better light. Ray as a whole was a character of contradictions. He is very judgmental and snobby, but he also hates rich people. He is presented to be out of touch, but also clever. His relationship with Colin Farrel’s coach character was pretty funny (and the most explicitly queerbaiting), but I do have to admit that his attempts to come off as threatening to the Couch were more hilarious than genuine.

The character I liked the most and who had the least amount of dialogue was weirdly enough, Matthew McConaughey’s Mickey. He was perfect for the part; he just exudes power, and a thinly veiled aggression that could explode at any moment. I absolutely bought him as a ruthless and intelligent businessman, and every scene he was in I was engaged. I also just have a weakness for characters who are indisputably powerful and yet they love their partner, in this case his wife Ros.

I wish Ros was in the film more; she’s entertaining, she has some funny lines. I think Richie might have a thing for women and cars, because this is the second character who works as a mechanic; in this case she makes extravagant sports cars for the rich wives and mistresses of gangsters. I also liked how she supported Mickey’s desire to retire, while not actually being the one who makes him do it.

However, she was the only female character in the film, and there is the aforementioned completely unnecessary rape attempt. I actually hated this part, because there is nothing funny or entertaining about sexual violence, especially not in a film where there are no other women. There only other female ‘character’ is Laura, who has 2 lines and gets unceremoniously killed off.

The scene where she dies is supposed to be a dramatic climax of the film; it’s the scene where we acknowledge for a moment how truly dangerous heroin is and how the people who make and deal heroin are actively ruining lives. But to have that verdict come from a white man, a white AMERICAN man who has made a fortune off of selling weed to rich kids and aristocrats was infuriating. Don’t try to have some kind of moral high ground when your lead character is proof of men who exploit the unjust legal system and get away with crimes that people of color could never.

There were many scenes that were ‘comically racist’; the standout is the Coach arguing with his black student that the phrase ‘black cunt’ isn’t racist because he is black and a cunt. I’m not going to debate you on whether that’s racist or not; I’m not black.

However, the entirety of Henry Golding’s character? That was racist.

I don’t blame him for taking the role; he gets to be an unhinged gangster holding his own against Matthew McConaughey. He gets to piss on a corpse. But he also plays the Oriental vicious and violent opponent, to the calm, collected and suave white man; he attempts to rape someone, kills his own boss in blind ambition and double crosses his partner, while relying heavily on stereotypes, which were not fun to watch.

Then we have Matthew who is Jewsh, which is very strongly hammered into us by the film. He is effeminate, duplicitous, greedy and physically weak; and then he gets to be the main villain and mastermind behind everything. Jeremy Strong is great in the part as always, but he’s still playing a rather overt and dangerous stereotype. Let’s not even talk about Frazer or the amount of fat jokes made at Eddie Marsan’s expense.

Overall, I liked this film. I enjoyed it, I laughed, I was appropriately shocked. But I just couldn’t shake some of the more problematic aspects of the story, and I don’t even think they were intentional. But I think those things still should be pointed out and discussed because I know Richie can do better, and relying on outdated and lazy stereotypes in 2020 is just a bit weak.

letterboxd

#the gentleman #the gentleman review #film review #moni talks

[quicksilver-rain]

Toni and Thor!! Im lov them

This is long because I am verbose:

Full Name: 

Toni doesn’t actually have a last name, but at some point she made one up because she assumed that because everyone else had one, they must be important. So I guess her last name is technically Frewin

As far as Thor is concerned, words like, “beast,” and “eldritch terror” and “ohmygod, what the fuck is that?” get thrown around a lot. He’s usually introduced to people as “Thor, the Mechanical Beast,” if someone Toni’s travelling with is feeling particularly dramatic, or more often than not, “my dog, Thor,” by Toni

Gender and Sexuality: 

Toni’s cis-female and either aggressively ace or too busy trying to survive to worry about things like feelings and relationships.

Thor doesn’t technically have a gender, being that he’s made of metal and magic, but Toni’s always called him by male pronouns and he’s never corrected her. He doesn’t have a sexuality at all, also due to being a one of a kind metal/magical doggo.

Pronouns:

She/her and he/him respectively. Though people also tend to call Thor “it” as well.

Ethnicity/Species:

Toni as a character started out half-elf in the first D&D campaign I used her in, but now she’s a human. She’s from Summerfell, so I guess that’s her ethnicity, if she was out and about in the real world, she’d probably be Hispanic/Irish or Spanish/Italian.

Thor’s…um… breed? Is something akin to a shar-pei, and he looks like a walking Fu Dog statue. I guess technically, he’s a war-forged, but we’re running 5e and that’s not a race anymore.

Birthplace and Birthdate:

If you were to ask Thor where and when she was born, he would tell you that she was born screaming and crying and bloody in the tunnels of Moonhold pleading with the Gods for a miracle or several. Toni would tell you that she doesn’t know where she was born or who her parents were, but that the Miner’s Camps and Tunnels are the only homes she remembers. 

If you asked Toni where when Thor was born (made?) she’d tell you that she thinks he was forged in the mountains by the a mysterious man and brought to life by his magic and that he wasn’t born so much as he opened his eyes and there he was. Thor would agree with this statement. 

Guilty Pleasures:

Toni’s basically a scavenging urchin that steals to survive, so her guilty pleasures are things like sleeping in beds and stealing nice soaps from shopkeepers that yell at her and taking baths. She also has a fondness for sweets and likes to be read to. 

Thor’s guilty pleasure is chewing bald patches in Inn rugs and scaring people that deserve it. 

Phobias:

Toni used to be a miner in Moonhold, because that’s basically the only “job” the poor have around there. One day there was a cave-in, pretty much everyone got out safely, except for Toni, who was pinned beneath the fallen rocks and couldn’t free herself. She screamed for help, but the wardens of the mine simply cordoned off the tunnel and sent the miners elsewhere. Toni kept up yelling for someone to help her until she passed out from blood loss and shock, and the next time she opened her eyes, she was alive, missing pieces, and was being stared at by Thor. Later, she was kidnapped by mages (doctors) that wanted to figure out how her shiny new prosthesis were attached to her and nearly died a second time because people are shitty and some of them like to experiment on people. Because of this, Toni has severe claustrophobia (mostly in cave-like environments). She’s also scared of boats and deep water, because she’s heavy now and sinks like a rock, and is scared absolutely shitless of anyone that calls themselves a doctor. She also has a not insignificant fear of being forcefully separated from Thor. 

Thor, for what it’s worth, is terrified of losing Toni and is scared of what might happen to her if the Bad People take her again. 

What They Would Be Famous For:

Toni actually won the Belt of Fortitude during a bare knuckle brawl against some Joseph Jostar lookin’ motherfucker. She was exceedingly lucky and made a lot of money that day that she doesn’t know what to do with. She does know the criminal underbelly of Raven’s Warf is in awe of her skill and power.  

Thor, by virtue of being Different, is famous simply for existing. Doubly so because Toni’s the Grand Champion of the Raven’s Warf Fight Club.

What They Would Get Arrested For:

Stealing, probably. Or illegally participating in underground fighting rings. Or trespassing.

No one could arrest Thor. He’d rip them apart. Also I don’t think they make handcuffs for dogs.

OC You Ship Them With:

There’s no one for either of them, really. One of my friend’s character’s, Raenon used to flirt with Toni a lot, but nothing came of that. 

Thor is uninterested in ships, unless they’re the little paddle boats that look like ducks, because those look just like big ducks.  

OC Most Likely To Murder Them:

I personally don’t have an OC that wants to kill either of them, but there are plenty of people that want to see how each of them works. Dead or alive doesn’t matter. 

Favorite Movie/Book Genre:

Toni actually can’t read anything but thieve’s cant and the occasional stray word, but she likes listening to fairy tales and ballads. 

I feel like Thor’s favorite book is probably either some really trashy romance novel, or Pride & Prejudice, no in-between.

Least Favorite Movie/Book Cliche:

If Toni was ever inclined to watch a movie, she’d probably hate forced romances that are convenient to the plot, if only because she wouldn’t get why the idiot protagonists are making out when there’s a countdown timer to the end of the world. Also, she’d probably yell, “LET DISABLED CHARACTERS BE DISABLED!” at the television at least once. Probably more than that. She’s thankful that she has her prosthesis, but while they help dramatically with her every day life, there’s a lot of compensation and general fuckery related to them. She’d also really hate disaster movies, too, for obvious reasons. 

Thor would not be into the humans vs. robots trope, and he would also high-key hate any movie where a robot begins questioning its humanity. Thor is alive, as far as he can tell, he can feel the sun on him and thinks for himself and  loves Toni more than anything. He doesn’t need to debate the philosophy of the human soul and life, he’s already experiencing it. And that is enough for him.

Talents and/or Powers:

Toni’s got the power of highly volatile and not wholly understood magic. Also she’s got one metal arm/shoulder, one metal leg (from mid-thigh down) and thre metal fingers on her otherwise flesh hand. She has a very high threshold for pain, and also is squirrely as all fuck. 

Thor has magical energy constantly clouded around his head and tail, functions as both a space heater and a bag of holding, can speak auditory binary (which is how he communicates with Toni), and can reduce a stone keep to rubble in a day and a half if given a reason to.

Why Someone Might Love Them:

Toni tries her hardest not to give people reason to dislike her, because she doesn’t think she has a lot going for her. She’s no nonsense, but kind to people and likes to take care of people she doesn’t think can take care of themselves. She’s also very comfortable with herself and Thor and has a sort of angry confidence about her. 

Thor, need I remind you, is a giant doggo, and also a good boy.

Why Someone Might Hate Them:

Oh man, there’s a lot, the least of which is just that Toni doesn’t trust people very easily and sometimes comes off as being really rude or blunt, when she’s just stating facts as succinctly as possible. She doesn’t mean to be mean, but sometimes when you’re being chased by mages, you don’t have time to spare people’s feelings. She also tends to bottle things up until she has a minor freakout that’s usually set off for a good reason. She also collects stuff like a magpie (she used to be an artificer and this was how she got components) and aggressively hoards her things. 

Thor has a lot of teeth, and when he growls, it sounds like thunder. 

How They Change:

Well, aside from the species swap, Toni’s a little more accepting now, though she’s not even remotely trusting. She’s not quite over her claustrophobia, but she can function well enough in a cave if there’s a need for her to. She’s gotten better at listening and can read at least a few of the smaller words.

Thor’s pretty fluid as far as changes go, he doesn’t age or grow like everyone else does, but he’s learned the nuances of sass and has finally figured out how to work doors in a way that doesn’t involve them being torn off their hinges. 

Why You Love Them:

Oh dude, Toni and Thor are my first D&D characters, and even though pretty much every campaign I’ve played in with them has been cancelled, I just really like playing as this scrappy little street rat just doing her best to get by. It’s just so nice. It’s also really nice playing a team of people that love and look out for each other and sort of have this forged by fire relationship. 

I'll add a picture of them latee, perhaps, I'm on mobile right now and don't have access to any references I might have of them.

#asks #ask thingy #quicksilver writes things occasionally #d&d

[joneswilliam72]

The 405 meets La Dispute: Jordan Dreyer gives us the inside story on the band's ambitious new album Panorama

When arriving to meet Jordan Dreyer to discuss La Dispute’s new album Panorama, it was hard to miss the giant brick of a book that he had sitting next to him on the table – and I immediately knew this was going to be a great conversation. Of course, having listened to La Dispute’s back catalogue and especially Panorama, I knew that Dreyer was a man of words and expression, but the honesty and clarity of his answers to my questions still went beyond my expectations.

What unfolded was a fascinating glimpse into the working of one of America’s most cherished bands, and particularly the machinations of their verbose singer. Without further delay, read on to find out the background behind La Dispute’s excellent new album Panorama.

----------

Panorama will be your first album on Epitaph, it's such a great label to be on at this point.

It's so cool. I did my own circling back when we made the decision [to sign with Epitaph] and realised how invariably woven my own musical history is with the label; they've put out so many records I've loved at different places in my life. I'd forgotten how many Epitaph releases I've loved with a fervour since I was a 13 year old. It's fucking cool, it's really an honour to be a part of the history and the roster right now. So many of our friends are on Epitaph.

It was a long break between albums for you guys, I'm guessing you weren't expecting to take so long?

No, I mean we toured fairly extensively when Rooms Of The House came out, so I think we needed time away to be with family and everyone had different things going on. We needed to decompress and work on other things. But it was the longest break by far we had taken, especially since we all live in different places now. When we all lived in Grand Rapids, Michigan, even if we weren't touring we'd see each other or we could practice and write music. So it took some adjustment getting back into the swing of things; it was a lot of time off from a thing that we'd done pretty much every week for 8 years of our lives.

Yeah because even between the other albums you'd have EPs or some kind of release.

We kinda always were doing different things, so to fully step away from it - not be playing shows, not be writing music, not be getting together and rehearsing - got a little stir crazy.

And then when it did come to recording you ended up scrapping the album, or a certain amount if it?

I think we maybe took too much time off. We had 3 months blocked off when we were all in Grand Rapids, or close to it, and we were going to work essentially 9-5 every day and crank out a record. We worked for 2 months, and I think all of us independently realised things weren't working, until it all came to a head. It just didn't feel right, and then we started over. I think part of it was taking so much time off, we forgot how to work effectively, and it took us failing for 2 months to get back to what felt natural.

Was it truly a complete restart?

We came back to certain things later on in the studio, but by and large we threw everything in the bin, which is kinda crazy to think about; 2 months and then... we had a decent amount written and then...

For you lyrically, was that when you shifted to what the album is now?

I think there were a few lyrical themes carried over, more so than the music did. I had a hell of a time myself in those 2 months trying to decide [what to write]; I had spent 3 years collecting information and hearing stories and when it came time to decide the particular vision conceptually and thematically for the record it was hard for me to pick and choose what I wanted to. So when we first sat down to write part of the problem was that I had all of these ideas and it was super scattershot, and maybe overly ambitious. So I think when we stopped and started over it helped me narrow my own focus and settle into one or two of those ideas rather than trying to shoehorn 9 or 10 into 45 minutes of music.

The final album is pretty much on one single topic, which is a pretty personal thing...

It just kinda happened that way too. It's funny, I don’t think I realised exactly how personal it was until a month after we finished and I could go back and listen to it again without hating it; because you spend so much time working on one thing you have a tumultuous relationship with it. I think when we started over and we just said "alright we're gonna start from the beginning of the record and we're just gonna write all our way through it," it forced me to do the same, and it kind of became this linear narrative - if there is a narrative at all - but this one theme emotionally carried on from beginning to end.

The musical element flows so well with the traumatic nature of the lyrics, did they write to your words, or how does that symbiotic relationship work?

I think in this particular instance it was much more the opposite direction; I had a very general theme and introduced that to everyone at the beginning, and they sort of worked on a sonic aesthetic to match the content.

How did you describe the theme to them at that point?

Similar to what it became in the end: loss and the grieving process, removed from the moment, and how memories can be transformative or can transport you to a moment from a long time ago. When we first hit the reset button and we all had a very honest conversation with each other about why it wasn't working and about what we all individually wanted from the record, sonically especially, we kinda came to a point where we were like "alright we want this record to be heavier, we want it to be more of a screamo record than Rooms Of The House was, but we also want it to be weirdly proggy and to experiment with additional instrumentation and kind of create this ethereal piece." That really helped me settle into focusing on those moments of transport where you are driving down a road and thinking about a car accident.

And it works so well! It's so evocative, the whole way through. The use of Michigan as a setting is integral to the lyricism - even though you live somewhere else now.

I moved to the West Coast, I live in Seattle with my partner who is in Grad School. Had she not been accepted into that programme I doubt that I would've ever explored. Michigan has been such a big part of our band, and continues to be, and I wrote over half this record living in a different state, which I think in some ways probably helped me - being not constantly inundated with it, and also being nostalgic for it. Homesickness played a weird role in me focusing on the setting, the environment where the record takes place. It's crazy how much Michigan has been a part of everything we've ever done.

Before we dive more into the details of the lyrics and the songs, let's talk about some of the surface level stuff: tell me about the cover art of the album.

It was a leap of faith; Adam, our bass player, has always managed the art direction of the band since really shortly after he joined almost 10 years ago. This time around, going into it he knew he wanted to outsource some things; you get to a point where - and I think it's always been an impetus for being creative for us, if you do things the same way you'll get more or less the same product, so we've always tried to introduce restrictions or forced ourselves to move in a particular direction in a particular way, so for this he wanted to pick another artist who did something beyond his own skill set and interests.

When we hit the reset button and we were talking about making a kind of proggy screamo record he printed off a whole bunch of images from artists that he enjoyed and posted them on the whiteboard that we always keep to write our notes on, so we had all these crazy science fiction video game images from Victor [Mosquera], who did the album artwork, and when we were talking about potential artists for making the cover he filtered through a few different ideas and artists he loved and we kept circling back to the one we had printed on the whiteboard. So Adam had a style book and an outline of the themes and he gave it to Victor. Victor sent us some black and white sketches and we picked a couple of particular things and he focused on that. It's been really cool to make this record and to flesh out the vision across mediums.

Like the videos too.

Yeah, the videos too. We were trying to really remain in the ethereal, other worldly landscapes. It's been really satisfying, especially because it's so outside of the box for us. I think the cover is really startling - at least it was for me seeing it at first. I think it needed to be that way; it needed to be shocking and it needed to be stark, and I think it fits some of the imagery on the record in a way that's not too literal, not too overtly "hey this is what the record's about." It was cool to make something that looks like a video game.

And tell me about the title, Panorama; is it because it's seen through your eyes?

Yeah, it's not mean to be super nuanced. I've kind of always described Wildlife as being this snapshot of the city, with similar themes of loss and grief and coping mechanisms, making sense of existence as a whole but told through neighbourhoods. On this record I wanted to be more focused on a synthesis of the last two records, where it's like dialling the microscope in from that theme on to a more specific relationship between individuals. I kept thinking about the drive that I would take, that was the initial spark for the record, seeing memorials along the road and hearing stories from my partner about people that she knew or people that her family knew. Everything in the record is taking place in this one long drive, it made sense to think of it as kind of either a panoramic photograph or a long tracking shot from a film, so it was really just meant to keep it to the idea of the record.

The album starts with the instrumental intro 'Rose Quartz', which is the first appearance of minerals and stones that crop up throughout the record; is that something you have experience with?

No. In talking about grief and the grieving process I wanted to talk about seeking external sources of comfort and I wanted a symbol for it, and I didn't want to talk about religion or something that felt too direct or too obvious - something that's so grandiose that it distracts by placing too much focus on that aspect. So I picked crystals. Initially when we first started writing that was a part of the theme and we were gonna do transitional tracks in between every few songs as benchmarks that guide you through the themes of the record, which stopped making sense when we decided that it would be one long continuous piece. I still wanted to incorporate that into the record, so it appears lyrically throughout as progress through the stages of healing. I did a lot of weird reading about the supposed healing properties of various stones and crystals.

Did it tempt you to actually try them out?

I never discount the possibility of something, but it's not for me. They're cool - they look cool! [Laughs]

'Rose Quartz' leads into the two-part 'Fulton Street'; Fulton Street is an important street in Grand Rapids?

It's a state highway, it runs all the way from the West Side of Michigan all the way across to Flint, Michigan, which is where I think it ends. It's a pretty significant street in the city of Grand Rapids, it runs from downtown out past where I lived for years with my partner, and then beyond that towards Lowell, Michigan, where she's from, so we would drive it pretty often. We spent a lot of time driving back and forth between where we lived out to Lowell.

And the songs are a narrative of that drive and the memories, which is very cool. But I'm particularly interested in the part where you mention "in the shadow of the pyramid"; what's that referring to?

[Laughs] Part of that drive is through Ada, Michigan, which is a little township between Lowell and Grand Rapids, that's generally fairly affluent. It's the headquarters of a national company called Amway, which is a multi-level marketing business - it's a pyramid scheme; it's a gigantic enormous pyramid scheme that has had an outsized influence in Grand Rapids because the two people who started it are two of the wealthiest families in the state of Michigan. The events in that point in that song take place less than a mile down the road from Amway International headquarters. The venue we play in Grand Rapids is called The Pyramid Scheme - it's a big thing.

What happens between 'Fulton Street I' and 'Fulton Street II', it seems like there's a change of perspective?

The first one is one narrative thought; the beginning is about a body that was found in the late 90s at a particular place on that stretch of road, and then it shifts into brief snippets of multiple stories meant to show that travel through time and space - memory being prompted by notable places. Then it shifts into a vision of my home life at the time that we were writing the record and the year or two leading up to it, and then returns back to the stories that I talk about at the end of 'Fulton Street I', but at a more emotional level. It kind of shifts from talking about the events to talking about the reaction to the events. The space in between was meant to show time elapsing.

There's a lot of darkness, obviously, in the lyrics, but one that stands out to me is "There is that phantom path carved in ghost steps, sloped down to a pond somehow still half-frozen, the evidence of struggle..."

That is a reference to another event on a stretch of road that we would drive to get to Fulton Street. Initially I had a few different stories that I wanted to speak about more specifically, again similar to the way that we did things on Wildlife, and then we shifted to making this sort of stream-of-consciousness narrative, and I decided that the right thing to do wasn't to have this song tell this story, but it still showed up on the record in a couple of different places. It's a reference to an accident that happened in the winter on the route out to Lowell, and it's another spot on the record where the character telling the story is meant to be transported from reality to a past instance - which connects to 'Footsteps At The Pond'.

The pond shows up a few times; is that a specific place?

Yeah. It's not from a story directly related to anyone I know; it was another death, another tragedy, that happened on that stretch of road. I feel like when you live in a city like Grand Rapids that isn't particularly populous, everyone has more direct connections with people who might have been involved in accidents or tragedies, you become more cognisant of the stories. That's what I couldn't stop thinking about when we'd pass that place, which is right in our neighbourhood, so [we’d pass it] all the time. There's a degree of talking about other people's tragedies to envision my own reaction to one in my life.

'Anxiety Panorama' is at the heart of the record, and is such a heavy listen - was it tough to write?

It was one of the harder ones to write, for sure. It was one of the last ones I finished. It went through various vocal incarnations, because I had such a difficult time figuring out how to capture what I wanted to capture mood-wise, and because it's a short song, relative to most of our songs, but it goes through so many different things, so finding ways to make my part contribute to the song without being fucking obnoxious was a little hard. At a certain point I had to stop trying to be specific and focus more on capturing how it feels to be anxious than trying to articulate. Rather than trying to be like "hey, here are x numbers of adjectives and metaphors and similes that tell you how it feels to be anxious," it was more like "let's try to make the song feel anxious."

It comes across as being so close to the bone.

Good. I hope so. That's another one where I was so involved in it in my own head that it wasn't until we finished and I could go back and listen to it that I realised how intense it was... maybe too intense. [Laughs]

Definitely not too intense! I love the line "I was building landmarks for my errors in your scars."

Thank you.

You intended to make one long piece of music, but did you think about the sides on vinyl? Because that is the perfect ending to side A.

Good, we made the right choice then. We debated for a long time about how we would break up the first half of the record, because initially I don't think that song was there, it was later in the record, and it felt off, and then it was Brad our drummer, who is the mastermind of those types of things, he was like "wait a minute, this song should be here, it should end the first part."

And then it opens up perfectly on the second side with a more serene sound on 'In Northern Michigan'. It's further back in time than the rest of the record, and it seems happier.

I think the last two songs on the record are the "happiest."

But there are some happy memories on 'In Northern Michigan'.

Definitely, I guess in that respect yeah. I think the last part of the record is meant to offer some sort of statement of love and a conclusion of sorts. But as far as individual moments that's definitely the song that is remembering good things.

Which makes the harder parts hit harder when they're put right up against each other.

I think you need the contrast. You need to break things up. I say that, and then I think back on all our records, and there's a big disparity between happy and sad.

Is 'You Ascending' a peaceful ending?

I think it's a peaceful ending. It's been interesting when I have looked at what people are saying about the tracks we've put out so far, hearing their interpretations, because as intense as it is, as emotional as it is, it comes from by far and away the happiest period of time in my life, where things have gone exceptionally well for me, and I have wonderful people and a wonderful partner. Having said that, even in the happiest moments in your life nothing is uncomplicated, and that's part of finding contentment, learning to balance the difficult things with the good in your life.

So, if the record is kind of, at its bare bones, a journey between two people, one of their grief and the other's close proximity to it, the end is supposed to be a statement of love and a way to say that part of being in any relationship is agreeing to be there for someone's grief, to be there for someone's difficult moments. So in some ways I regret not being more explicit in that capacity, or not writing a coda to the record that says so. The end of 'You Ascendant', a visual of someone literally ascending, is a symbol of somebody assimilating their grief in a beneficial way, rising above it. The last part of the record is to say that no one is alone in that.

In the lyric sheet some parts are italicized and some aren't, is that meant to signify anything?

Yeah, I wanted to clue you into the difference between what's real and what's internalised. I tried at times to use my language as well, saying "nights" or "days" at the beginning of certain phrases, it was meant to evoke some sort of remembering; something happening in someone's head as opposed to happening in real life. In the [limited edition] book I annotated all the lyrics, and I might do so even more extensively in the future online, because we only had so much time - and I'll probably remember things that I forgot to include.

Have you guys discussed what you're going to do live; if you're going to play the whole record in full?

I think we're going to try to play every song, maybe someday play it in order. We've done it with every record at some point I think - I don't know if we've played Rooms front to back - I think this record probably ought to be. Not right off the bat, because if you put the record out and then went out on tour and only played these 10 songs I can imagine that would be an unsatisfying experience for people who haven't had an opportunity to sit with the record, or who don't like it and like other records - which is fine too. But I think at some point [we will].

We've got a friend coming on tour with us to help us perform the songs, because there's so much more than 5 people can do, so we've got a friend coming to play additional parts, and our tour manager's going to do our auxiliary percussion. The idea is to be able to play everything we wrote and performed on the record, at least as close as is physically possible with 7 people on a stage - and I'm not much help. At a certain point I think we'll play it front to back.

And finally, I can see from the book on the table that you're a reader, are there any books or writers that might have influenced the writing on this record?

Everything that I've done since Rooms of the House has been pretty heavily indebted to Don DeLillo, who's a favourite author of mine; when we did Rooms Of The House I read Underworld and a couple of his more recent works of fiction. This one I was reading a lot of William T Vollmann; some of the initial structural ideas that showed up on the record were borrowed from his books of fiction and short stories. A lot of this one too was film, we set out early on to make something cinematic in scope, so David Lynch, always been a big Stanley Kubrick fan, so there's some of that on the record. So not exclusively literature this time around, which was kinda fun.

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La Dispute’s new album Panorama is out now on Epitaph – read our review.

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'American Horror Story: Cult' Premiere Recap | Ryan Murphy on Election Night

http://styleveryday.com/2017/09/06/american-horror-story-cult-premiere-recap-ryan-murphy-on-election-night/

'American Horror Story: Cult' Premiere Recap | Ryan Murphy on Election Night

[Warning: This story contains spoilers from the premiere of FX’s American Horror Story: Cult.]

The first moment of American Horror Story: Cult is chill-inducing.

“I am running for president of the United States!” announces Donald Trump.

“I am running for president of the United States!” echoes Hillary Clinton.

No matter what side of the aisle, the flashback footage of the actual 2016 presidential campaign is an eerie place-setter, a reminder of how far away that moment in history feels in today’s divided America.

As promised, the seventh season of Ryan Murphy’s FX anthology series kicks off with a minute-long ramp up to 2016 election night. Using real footage of then-candidates Trump and Clinton, highlights down memory lane include mentions of Trump’s wall, Clinton’s emails and a growing “palpable fear” as protestors on both sides clash. “I could stand in the middle of Fifth Avenue and shoot somebody and I wouldn’t lose any voters, OK? It’s like incredible,” Trump says. The statement, so attacked at the time, now serves as a reminder that hindsight is 20-20. 

Cult opens on Nov. 8, 2016.

Kai Anderson (Evan Peters) is sitting on the edge of his basement couch listening to Fox News as the chuckling anchors declare Trump the 45th president of the United States, winner of the most “unreal” and “surreal” election America has ever seen.

“The revolution has begun,” Kai says softly. He then humps his big-screen TV, his blue hair thrusting in the air. “Fuck you world!” he screams before chanting “USA! USA!” 

Over at the Mayfair-Richards’ house, Ally (Sarah Paulson), her wife Ivy (Alison Pill), young son Oz and their liberal-leaning friends are holding out hope, glued to MSNBC. “I won’t believe anything until I hear Rachel Maddow say it, she’s the only one I trust,” says Ally before Pennsylvania is called. “It’s the politics of fear, it always works,” says her stunned friend, the Asian-American head council member in the show’s Michigan set town, population 10,000. 

When MSNBC announces Clinton’s concession phone call, Ally watches with tears in her eyes as Trump takes the stage, horror music at full swell. “Go to hell Huffington Post! Fuck you Nate Silver!” screams Ally as she falls, debilitated, to her knees. “Oh God, how could they have been so wrong about this!”

But 10,000 is also the amount of votes Clinton is losing to Trump in their swing state. “You want to know who to get mad at for this? Our own state of Michigan. She’s losing by 10,000 votes. That’s the size of this town. And who is at 40,000 votes and counting? Jill Stein.” (In Michigan, Trump defeated Clinton by 10,704 votes, while the Green Party candidate took in 51,463 votes.)

Later, it will be revealed that much to Ivy’s dismay, Ally quietly voted for Stein — Murphy shining his season-seven spotlight on one parcel of American voters forced to face their own complicity in the election results. The council member also screams at his wife for not voting: “Look at our friends on the couch and tell them that they might not be able to maintain their rights as a married couple because you were too busy playing on Etsy to go vote!”

Kai, meanwhile, is busy mashing up bags of Cheetos in a blender, using the crumbs as orange makeup while he practices his “yuge” impression of Trump in the mirror. His sister, Winter Anderson (Billie Lourd) devoted her college semester to campaigning for Clinton. “She was supposed to win, is this really happening?” the depressed co-ed tells a friend before being interrupted by Kai. He then asks her to link pinky fingers. “I’m just so scared now,” she says. “Everyone is,” he replies with a smile.

Then comes the opening credits sequence — the mashup of phobias, Trump and Clinton masks and the franchise’s theme song with a patriotic twists ends with two hands, pinky-swearing, in handcuffs — and Cult truly begins.

“How the show begins on election night, pro or con, I think everybody can relate to the feeling of that evening, and that was the launch of the season,” Murphy said at a recent press event, attended by The Hollywood Reporter. On Sept. 1, when Clinton was the presumed winner, Murphy decided to use the election as a jumping-off point to explore how the cult of personality and leaders such as Charles Manson rise up within a disenfranchised community. After Trump’s stunning win, when Murphy and his writers began to plot the season in December, they changed the opening scene. “It was very easily switched because pro or con, either candidate, Evan’s character, who plays somebody who rises up because of anger in our country, was always the same.”

Murphy went on to explain that despite what many people may think — including the show’s conservative fans who have tweeted at Murphy that they plan to quit watching — Cult is not about Trump, or Clinton.

One thing the season is about is a “growing sense of anxiety in our culture,” something Murphy explores through Ally’s range of irrational phobias, which are re-triggered after the traumatic election night similar to when she was nearly crippled by her anxieties after 9/11. She has a fear of clowns — triggered by her son reading a Twisty the Clown comic book — blood, holes and confined spaces, to name a few. Later in the episode, when Oz sees a gaggle of clowns murdering their neighbors, the council leader (Tim Kang) and his wife, it’s unclear if he suffers from the same phobias as his mother, or if a Purge-inspired gang of killers is truly on the loose in this idyllic suburb. [At the end of the episode, Ivy reveals the name of their neighbors to be the Changs. Roanoke viewers will remember the Chang family — providing an Easter egg and perhaps the second clue, in addition to Freak Show‘s Twisty cameo, that Cult is indeed within the AHS universe.]

“One of the things that I personally experienced after this election was a wild increase in my life in anxiety,” said Murphy. “I think a lot of people can relate to that, no matter what side you’re on, because there seemed to be such a painful discourse going on, and everything seemed to be at Mach 4 level. You could feel it in the news. You can feel it now when you watch it. We’re on the brink of nuclear war one week, and then, the next week we’re on to something else equally extreme. I want to lean into the escalation of fear in our culture.”

That escalation is embodied in Kai, who delivers a verbose speech to his town’s council on why fear and chaos should reign. His interpretation is deemed delusional by the council. “I’m glad you 4Chan guys feel empowered to join the rest of us in civil society now that Papa Bear Trump is telling you it’s OK,” says that same councilmen from Ally and Ivy’s house, laughing at Kai’s emergence from his “parent’s basement.” But Kai has indeed tapped into the pervading fear surrounding them. He baits a group of Mexicans into beating him up, so he can use the scenario to his own political advantage. And he throws a drink on the lesbian couple he encounters on the street, Ally and Ivy.

As the restaurant owners and their white privilege become a target of Murphy’s satire, they also represent the Americans who long for the days of President Barack Obama. “For the first time I was included in the discussion, in the world,” Ally tells her shrink, played by Cheyenne Jackson.

“Our feeling is that everybody lost their shit after the election — Republican or Democrat — and everybody’s still losing their shit, and nobody’s really figured out from either side where to put those feelings,” Murphy explained. “[This season] is about somebody who has the wherewithal to put their finger up in the wind and see that that’s what’s happening and is using that to rise up and form power. Using people’s vulnerabilities about how they’re afraid and they don’t know where to turn, and they feel like the world is on fire.”

Though the season has plenty of satire on both sides — “I think that we’ve been very careful to be fair,” said Murphy, who laughed at Ally fighting her clown demons with bottles of rosé — the showrunner said he wanted Kai’s Cheetos-happy reaction to the election to represent the blindness many in this country had leading up to Trump’s election. (And yes, those were real Cheetos.)

“Evan really put real Cheetos on his face, but it was also meant to be a little bit deeper,” Murphy explained. “The idea that you can make fun of Trump all that you want to, and you can claim that he’s absolutely a ridiculous figure, which many people do, but there is some anger in the country and passion in the country that he has tapped into that elevates him from a cartoon figure to someone to be taken seriously, in my book.”

That anger and how it has the power to manipulate is truly what the season is all about.

“Evan’s character was making that statement and rubbing it into Billie Lourd’s face, that she really was looking in the wrong direction,” he explained. “You felt it leading up to the election with all the liberal news. The laughter and cackling that all of the liberal news shows would have about that group of people in our culture, making fun of them, talking about then in a negative way, which led to the shock of, ‘Oh, they haven’t been taking these people seriously. They’re not jokes. There’s something go on there.’ That’s what that scene is about.”

The premiere sets the stage for Ally and Kai to again cross paths, as the couple hires Winter as a nanny for Oz. Winter and Kai will also continue to reveal themselves in mysterious ways, but after screening the first three episodes, it’s unclear how the characters will seemingly be joining Kai’s yet-to-be-revealed cult.

Throughout the season, Peters will portray six different cult leaders through flashbacks, including Manson, David Koresh, Jim Jones and even Andy Warhol. And Trump supporter Kai elevates himself from running for city council to running for the Senate. “I think he’s really a young genius,” said Murphy. “He has really taken the part seriously, and done a lot of research about cults and the rise of fascism, and what does that take, and how do you speak to crowds, and how do you manipulate people?”

American Horror Story

#American #Cult #Election #Horror #Murphy #Night #Premiere #Recap #Ryan #Story

#American #Cult #Election #Horror #Murphy #Night #Premiere #Recap #Ryan #Story