#you do not even understand what this means to me. my brother in fiber arts

[werewolf-transgenderism]

WEE JOHN KNITTING YOU ARE EVERYTHING TO ME. MY FIBER ARTS FRIEND [x]

#ofmd s2 spoilers #ofmd #our flag means death #you do not even understand what this means to me. my brother in fiber arts #and his emo little sweater

[fieldofdaisiies]

Ars Amatoria | ch. IV

-all rights reserved-

Elucien AU word count: 2,8k words warnings: none

masterlist

The door to the art studio opens with a loud pang that probably can even be heard in the city center of Florence as it comes in contact with the wall. 

“Can you believe it?” In strolls no other than Lucien Vanserra. And Jurian is furious, rising from his chair like a demon from hell. The bright green line straight through the face of his Artemis irreversible and he will punch Lucien in the gut for it. At least five times. Jurian tosses his brush away and steps around the big easel, fire blazing in his veins as he stalks towards Lucien, glowering like he is about to commit a murder — well, he might do so if Lucien’s reasons for bursting in here are not something majorly important. 

“Can I believe what?” Jurian growls and throws his in paint covered hands up in despair, giving Lucien an incredulous look. His intense glare should be akin to hurling daggers at his best friend, hoping Lucien gets the memo. But the Vanserra man is oblivious to the damage his grand entrance has created. With his arms outstretched, Lucien gazes at his best friend, his eyes wide open, disbelief etched into every fiber of his expression. 

“I have to wed!” he exclaims and now throws his hands into the air, frantically waving them around to make his point of utter disbelief and outrage clear. “Eris, the amazing brother and little asshole he is, is forcing me to marry.”

Jurian clicks his tongue, his former anger not yet gone, but at least this was an alright reason for Lucien bursting in here like a berserk, he has to give his best friend that. The artist exhales a loud breath. “Why do you have to marry?” he asks a little dumbfounded. 

“Because of the issue with the Hybern bank…” Lucien is bathing in his pity and dramatically lets himself slump against the wall behind him. “I have to marry! Do you even know what that means?” “No more sleeping around?” Jurian cocks his brow, a small, lop-sided grin on his face.

“Amongst other things, yes. But that is not the most important part, never would be. I am losing my freedom, Jurian. You understand that?”

“Just because you have a wife it doesn’t mean you will no longer be free…” Jurian huffs and shakes head at his best friend. He can only partly understand why Lucien is boiling with indignation. 

“I know,” Lucien grumbles, both of them still standing at the door. Lucien throws his head back and exhales loudly, then shakes his head and folds his hands behind his back. “I don’t want to destroy her life either. She was probably forced into this just like me. And she probably hasn't had much freedom in her life so far. I can’t do that to her.” “It is not your fault, Lucien. And you are not doing anything to her.”

“I do, by not giving her what she deserves. By not being a good husband. By being a husband who has slept with half of Florence. I am not a good man, Jurian, and you know this.”

“So this is what really bothers you?” Jurian summarises, his voice tinged with empathy. “That you won’t be a good husband to her?”

“The whole thing bothers me. I don’t want to get married for the sake of rescuing our family bank and I don't want to ruin her life either.” Lucien groans loudly as he places his head against the wall and closes his eyes, sadness passing over his face. 

“I feel like I am getting used just so Eris can keep the bank alive.” Jurian nods a little, not really sure of what to say. Of course, this is Eris’ main reason for doing it, but Jurian also knows that Eris just wants his brother to live his life right. Jurian is also a friend to the older Vanserra brother and they have often talked about this — Lucien not being the same after having lost Jesminda to Tubercolisis. And even more, after their father died and all the weight of the bank and the family was on Eris and Lucien’s shoulders. It is a lot for Lucien to handle and Eris is worried he might stray from the right path in life. 

“I am sure Eris has his reasons for it,” Jurian contemplates. Lucien peeks one eye open and gives his best friend a one-eyed dead pan. Then he throws up his hands and says, “Yes, power and fortune.” With that he pushes off the wall and strolls past Jurian into the middle of the art studio. “Now, let me see what you are up to. Any nice new paintings that could distract me?”

Jurian chuckles and follows his friend. “Don’t get your hopes up too high. I haven’t painted half-naked women in a long time.” 

Lucien throws him a glare over his shoulder and then shrugs his shoulders, chuckling a little bit. “I am nearly a married man now, I should anyways not look at random naked woman.” With that he turns and disappears behind a huge easel. His footsteps hollow in the open room as Lucien walks through the huge and dim art studio. The windows are on the other side of the room where Jurian draws and paints, on the side where the magnificent paintings are stored there is not that much light. Lucien walks up to a painting of the Cattedrale metropolitana di Santa Maria del Fiore, his index finger absently brushing over a table with sketches and painting utensils scattered across it. He picks up a single brush and starts to fidget with it, spinning it between his fingers as he looks into a shelve with objects for still life paintings. It is not really exciting, but Lucien accepts every sort of distraction he can get at the moment. He does want to think about the marriage, or what it will mean to be married. He does not want to think about how he can be a good husband. He just…does not want to think at all. Lucien lets his gaze, that has now adapted to the dim light, wander over the paintings leaning against the wall until one painting of a very exposed man that is placed on an easel catches his eye. 

“You paint Ardinghelli?” Lucien raises a brow in irritation. Jurian looks past the shelf filled with paints, right at the picture Lucien is currently staring at.

“Well, have you seen you this man?” Jurian exclaims loudly and flings one arm into the air, gesturing around. “He is a masterpiece. Stunning, cruel beauty, this man. He is the best Ares. I mean, have you seen him?”

I have, unfortunately, Lucien thinks as memories of his brother’s half-naked lover, slipping out of their family home at four in the morning fill his brain. But he only shakes his head a little in answer, chuckling amusedly. He knows that he can never, ever talk about his brother’s secret lover out loud. He would never do this to his brother. But apparently Azriel Ardinghelli did not only manage to wrap his brother around his finger, but also his best friend…how amazing. 

Lucien looks away then, slides his hands into the pockets of his pants and lets his gaze stray. There is a large painting and Lucien can once again make out Azriel’s features. How often does it want to paint him?

“Why don’t you ever paint me?” the man with the fiery red hair teases, and glances over his shoulder at Jurian who sits down on his stool and only rolls his eyes at his best friend. “I already painted you,” Jurian retorts, not paying the silly request of his best friend any more attention. 

“Never in such a position, or with so little clothing on!” Lucien raises his brows, flashing his best friend a reprimanding look. “And now I am questioning you what the reason for it is? Huh?”

“Because you are my best friend and that would make things weird between us.”

Lucien shrugs then, having to give his best friend that. He furrows his brows, strolling towards the the large and unfinished painting of Azriel to catch a look at the smaller canvas in front of it. 

“And I also only need Mars for my painting. They are the best selling couple at the moment. And well, you are not Mars.” 

Lucien chuckles a little, absently, as something has caught his eye. Bending at the waist, he lowers himself, his eyes catching sight of beauty he has never seen before. 

“And where…” Lucien is distracted, his focus solely on the woman’s doe eyes, her lush lips, the lovely rosy cheeks. His breath catches in his throat. “Where is your Venus then, Messer Botticelli?” Lucien breathes and crouches down. He is still looking at the picture, his lips parting a little as he reaches his hands forward.

“Well…” Jurian mumbles and Lucien can hear how he gets up from the chair, but he does not deign him a look, too focused on the breathtaking painting in front of him. He brushes his fingers over the canvas and feels how something in his chest sparkles a little. 

"Stunning." Lucien trails his index finger over the painting once again. "Who is that?" Jurian places his brush in a holder, wipes the back of his hand over his cheek and steps in line with Lucien. He grins, his eyes sparkling almost mischievously. “Well…that is your future wife, my friend.” Jurian pats his friend’s shoulder, looking at him with a bright smile on his face. “Your future wife and my Venus to my Mars.”

Lucien’s mouth gapes, his going so wide, his eyeballs nearly fall out of their sockest. This…he has truly not expected. And moreover, what should he do with this information now? Yes, she is beautiful, breathtaking, but her beauty will change absolutely nothing about the fact that this marriage is arranged, is forced, and Lucien would rather dive into the Arno river in the middle of winter than marrying her. He does not want to marry and her beauty changes absolutely nothing about it. It only makes things more complicated. But not everything is about beauty, beauty is not what matters most. Lucien’s back goes rigid as he straightens up and gets up. He turns to look into Jurian’s eyes. “Why are you panting my future wife half-naked?” He raises a brow.

Jurian only laughs and shakes his head a little. “Are you already getting territorial over her? I thought you didn’t want to marry her? And she wears more than every other women I have painted before, that is not even close to half-naked, my friend.”

“I don’t get territorial!” Lucien fires back, his jaw clenched and his forehead lying in furrows. “And I don’t want to marry her. I don't want to marry anyone. It is not specifically about her.” “I think you should give her a chance. She is a wonderful female. I met her on my last visit to Venice and asked to be allowed to paint her. She agreed, but was terribly shy and reserved at first, thinking she is not beautiful enough.” Jurian smiles at the memory and even though Lucien tells himself that he shouldn’t care he still finds himself asking, “It was just painting right? You only painted her?”

Sincerity is etched into the artist’s features as he bows his head. “Of course. I don’t take advantage of my artist’s role. I just painted her.” 

Lucien desperately wants to say good, but he also does not want Jurian to think that he actually cares…because he does not. Of course not! He does not want to marry Elain, he does not want to be bound to her forever, he does not— “Give her a chance, Lucien.” Jurian's voice is tinged with kindness and sympathy as she gives him a long look and reaches out his hand, squeezing his shoulder. The Vanserra brother shrugs and almost sighs dramatically. “Do I have another choice?” 

“With giving her a chance, I mean that you treat her nicely, that you don’t act like a big dick.”

Almost shocked, Lucien folds a hand over is chest. He shakes his head and then has to laugh. “When did I ever behave like a big dick?” Jurian does not feel like laughing, he wants Lucien to see the sincerity of this situation. Jurian has met Elain and he knows that she deserves a good man at her side. Lucien could be that man, he knows this, but he has to finally become more responsible and the man he was born to be. He has to let the past be the past and look at the future. He has to give Elain a chance, to let her in and open his heart to her so he can find the happiness that he deserves just as much as Elain does. 

“On a few occasions, but I won't name them all. I am just telling you, to not mess it up with her.” 

Lucien nods. He won’t, or at least he will try his best to not make her life any worse with him being in it. She does not deserve this marriage, just as much as he does not. The best thing he can do is to make it acceptable for her. He knows he will never be a good husband to her, or at least not how she probably expects a husband to be. Lucien was not born to be a husband, he was born to be free and adventurous and not bound to one place or one woman. But at least he can try to make it feel somehow alright for her. 

The artist feels like there is need for a change in subject, that Lucien would maybe like a little distraction and talk about something else. 

“So how bad is the situation with the bank really?” Jurian asks with sympathy lacing his voice. Not the best subject for a change, as it is also rather gloomy, but at least it is something else. He knows that the whole issue with the two rival banks does not only weigh heavy on Eris but also on Lucien's shoulders. Lucien cares a lot about the bank and about his family, even though he won’t admit that out loud. And it is true. Many nights Lucien has stayed awake until the early morning hours, pondering how he could help his brother, what he could do for the bank. But being a second-born son is never easy. You are always second, always the second choice and although he knows his brother loves him, that he cares about him, whenever Lucien made a suggestion Eris would always first of all ask one of his advisors if they think it is a good idea, if they would go that way, and so and so on. He never just said yes to one of Lucien’s ideas and the youngest Vanserra brother started to grow tired of that, and somehow developed this outward indifference for the bank. This indifference that is not true and that is actually not him. 

“Bad, I think,” Lucien answers. “We think they are evading taxes, but we have no proof.” Jurian groans and shakes his head. “That’s awful,” he says and slumps back down onto his stool. “So for now there is nothing you can do?” 

Lucien brushes his hand over his head, frees his hair of the leather strap that held them in place, ruffles through his hair and ties the leather strap around his hair again. “No, there is nothing we can do, other than keeping our eyes open and making sure Eris becomes Gonfaloniere of Florence.”

Surprise fills Jurian’s face, not the sort of surprise that he has not expected this decision, but rather the one that fills him with happiness. It is a great idea and Eris would be perfect for that role. “So, he is truly running for this position. That’s wonderful!”

Lucien inclines his head, his lips pressed in a thin line. “Very wonderful,” he mumbles and then glances towards the window above Jurian’s head. “I also need to leave again, Signoria meeting is about to start and I will never hear the end of it if I am late again.” 

Jurian chuckles a little and tells his friend good bye and most importantly, good luck for the following days and the meeting of the Signoria. Lucien thanks him for it and adds, “And thank you for letting me vent. It was really good to get it all of my chest.”

Jurian smiles as he holds the door open for Lucien. “Nothing to thank me for. I am always here. Whenever you need me.”

~~~~~~~~~~ taglist AA: @octobers-veryown @velidewrites @areyoudreaminof @acourtofthought @liftyourhipsformelovex @hallway5 @stickyelectrons @honeysuckle-daydreams13 @bibliophiliaxvignette @thelovelymadone @sunshinebingo @arabellatheauthor @autumndreaming7 @nestas-workwife @rarephloxes @tuzna-pesma-snovageneral el. taglist: @rippahwrites @shadowhunter2003 @my-inner-crisis @ladyelain @acourtofthought @itwasalwaysaboutthetea @multifictional  @moonlightazriel @aayo-whatt @brekkershadowsinger @sunshinebingo @gracie-rosee

for @elucienweekofficial 💛

#elucien #elain x lucien #elucienweek2023

[ivyaugustetc]

the dead poets at hogwarts: a headcanon from hell

@aedan-mills @charlie-dalton-simp @pretentious-strikes YOU ENCOURAGED THIS BEHAVIOR SO YOU'RE GONNA HAVE TO LIVE WITH THE CONSEQUENCES. also i love you a lot but THAT'S BESIDE THE POINT.

also @aedan-mills i found out that some of the wand stuff is related to their birthdays and i am much too lazy to look all that up and figure it all out, but anyone else is welcome to lmao. sorry to disappoint but alas it's summer and i don't want to research that much. but other than that, please listen to me flex my extensive knowledge on harry potter :)

neil (half blood): i'm sorry,,,, can you say gryffindor? this boy would get up there and in a second the sorting hat would have him all figured out: big dreams with the will to pursue them, but not ambitious enough to step over others to achieve said dreams? sounds like a gryffindor to me. i just know he'd thrive at hogwarts, probably going on to play quidditch (def a chaser) and would excel in charms class. as far as pets go, i feel like he'd stay simple and classy with a chill barn owl he'd name after a famous broadway actor. he would kind of be a mix of james and remus, in which he's wild and crazy but still manages to get good grades. the teachers love him simply because they don't know much about him outside of class. he would absolutely LOVE going to hogsmeade and going batshit crazy at zonko's and honeydukes. he'd have a whole phase where he gets addicted to licorice wands and everyone else thinks they're disgusting but he simply cannot buy enough of them. he'd play a bunch of zonko tricks on the rest of the poets, saving the most harsh for charlie and the most wholesome for todd <3

todd (muggle born): ugh see i can see him being both a hufflepuff and a ravenclaw, but my heart says hufflepuff so i'm gonna go with that. he would absolutely HATE the sorting ceremony with a burning passion. getting up in front of everybody only to have a hat judge u??? no thanks. HAHAHA CAN YOU IMAGINE HIM ON A BROOM. i can't either because he would simply never get on one, probably referring to them as "flying death traps" more often than not. "hey todd, you think about joining quidditch?" "no thanks, i'd rather keep my limbs intact ;)". but he would love muggle studies a lot, even if the teacher was boring as hell. snape would scare the hell out of him for sure, resulting in his lowest class being potions. he would excel in classes that are more learning out of the book rather than in practice. for a pet, he'd want something that could not possibly turn on him and would just be sweet and loving, so ima give him a toad :) he'd name it something fancy and british, like nigel or sumn. and because of nigel, he'd love chocolate frogs because hey they're twins!!

fanon knox (pure blood): hogwarts fuck boy. okay well maybe not f boy but like...his favorite part is the fact that this is a co-ed school rather than an all-boys school so he can spy on both genders equally yknow. hmm i get hufflepuff vibes from him because he's a big romantic, sucker for cute relationships, etc. he would enjoy whichever class his current crush is in, although I feel like he'd do well with classes that involved spells and wand work mostly lmao. he'd want a really fucking cute pet, so i'd give him a kneazle (it's like a cat but a bit more lion like). he'd give it a strong sounding name, something german idk. but he'd love the shit out of that kneazle, i can tell you that much. i feel like he'd try out for quidditch his first few years, not make it on, and then make it on to the team around fourth year and somehow end up team captain in seventh (and that proves kids, that you too can have a redemption arc in sports). as far as candy goes, ima say he likes the super sour candy like acid pops n shit. like i feel like the others would dare him to each as much sour candy as he can and then he wouldn't be able to taste for a week. but he'd think it was worth it :)

cameron (muggle born): good god this boy just wants to learn. magic just fascinates him, what with growing up in a big muggle family (bestie he is the weasleys if they were all type a). he's a ravenclaw, no questions asked. he would love classes involving preciseness and attention, things like potions and transfiguration. i feel like he'd have a cute, stable relationship along the way ofc because he deserves so much love and happiness and UGH he's a baby. he'd stick with a lil ginger cat, naming it after one of the famous wizards he's read about. he would love spending christmas at the school and going places when the ground are nearly empty, enjoying the scenery. for candy, he'd go plain and simple with chocolate frogs. can't go wrong with those. he'd still have fun with his friends, but he'd skip a lot of parties for some studying (don't judge, i do it too lmao). would not play quidditch but would enjoy it, end of story.

charlie (pure blood): slytherin. don't dispute it. think the weasley twins but even more flirtatious. he would be a regular at every single party that happened, flirting with the guys and gals shamelessly and drinking butterbeer like it was water. look me in the eye and tell me he would not absolutely fucking HATE GILDEROY LOCKHART WITH EVER FIBER OF HIS BEING. he'd do spot-on impersonations of him though. teacher's worst enemy. like when he walks into class on the first day, every teacher collectively mutters "bloody hell not this kid again". asks the most incredibly stupid questions ("okay but is there a spell to turn my eyebrows green? just the eyebrows though, not my hair"). he would be the most aggressive beater on the slytherin team, though he would never deliberately try to hit someone, just distract the shit out of them ("put the fear of god in them and fate will do the rest"). he'd want a loud, aggressive pet but he'd probably end up with a mean cat that hisses at everyone. he'd give it the most adorable name that just. does not fit the personality. something like priscilla. for candy, he'd take his chance with bertie botts' every flavour beans and just roll with the punches. he's chaotic like that.

pitts (half blood): ASTRONOMY IS HIS JAM. he fucking loves that class. he tutors the entire ravenclaw house in that class. he's the guy that little first years who are terrified of the class go to when they're completely lost and don't understand what's going on. besides that, i feel like he'd just be everyone's cool older brother yknow? like he'd be in charge of helping all the first years figure out where stuff is and giving them advice to help them and stuff. he would be a die-hard quidditch fan although he would not play the sport (maybe recreationally on the weekends and holidays and stuff, but the fact that it's so fucking dangerous just does not appeal to him). he'd like the candy that does tricks and stuff, like fizzing whizbees and stuff. he gives me charlie weasley vibes, where he's hardcore in certain areas (in his case, astronomy) and just flipping chill in anything else. cool older brother vibes, man. it fits.

meeks (half blood): i've said it once and i'll say it again: nonproblematic ginger dumbledore. also a hufflepuff <3 this dude just wants to fucking coast along, getting good grades and not participating in the dumb shit that could probably get him killed (even though he would in a heartbeat if his friends were in danger. duh). he'd be a teacher's favorite, probably having conversations with his favorite teachers during free time. okay ik this isn't technically at school, but i swear to god he would be dumbledore one day. like he would be the chill ass headmaster who gets shit done while also being very la di da life is nice flowers are pretty type of person. that being said, his favorite candy is and has been lemon drops ever since dumbledore got him addicted to them. his favorite classes would be potions (he'd surprisingly get along well with snape) and he'd just be great and mixing shit right and just knowing how much of stuff to add in ("how much powdered root do i add?" "about three and a half shakes." "that's not a measurement, meeks." "*shrug* it works"). he'd stick with his small friend group and love them to death, but he'd be a friend to all really. he'll help anyone that comes to him asking for help with homework (and though he won't admit it, he gets super prideful when it's someone a few years ahead of him).

stick (muggle born): harry potter if harry potter could've been more harry potter. like he would just be a part of everything and end up being part of some prophecy that demands he'd save the world and at first he'd be like HEY i'm just a small boy but then he'd grit his teeth and finesse the shit out of this preventing the end of days stuff. he'd definitely be a gryffindor, and fucking proud of it. he'd be the seeker on the quidditch team because he is so short and small and yeah he'd fucking kill it there. he'd kind of be the shy one no one expected much from, but once he starts absolutely wrecking the shit out of the other houses' quidditch teams, he'd become sorta popular? like people would invite him to parties and stuff and he's too nice to say no, but he'd mostly just hang around the outskirts, saying hi to the other poets if he saw them and mostly talking to chris and ginny (danburry, not weasley). he'd like defense against the dark arts and minerva mcgongiall would become his literal mother i can't explain it. he'd have an owl as a pet and treat it like it was his own child, telling it thank you every time it brought his mail or took his mail. as for candy, he'd like drooble's bubble gum because the bubbles are all magic and shit and i just feel like that would make him so happy <3

chris (pure blood): the older sister lesbian <3 she'd be a sweet hufflepuff who would be friends with everyone while also being the greatest socialite the school has ever seen. you know that party that practically the entire school attended and talked about for months on end? she planned that shit. she'd be like pitts in the respect that she'd help all the first years find their way in the school and in life in general. she's just such a warm and kind person that everyone would love her. she's have a little pink pygmy puff to match ginny's purple one, and she'd give it such a perfect, human name like lila or something. she'd be great at muggle studies and all the teachers would love her. also every one is so invested in her relationship with ginny it's adorable. he favorite candy is acid pops even though they make her eyes water like crazy. she'd make pretty good grades, every once in a while getting one slightly lower than she'd expected, but she always manages to bring them up to her satisfactory level :) she would not play quidditch, but she would go all out to support ginny, even though they're in different houses. that's what i call love, baby.

ginny (half blood): the mom lesbian <3 she's a ravenclaw and also one of the sweetest people in the whole school. while chris helps other with the social aspect, ginny will help anyone in any subject they need help with (she and meeks are a help duo on this). she's quieter and less social than chris, but she's one of the best chasers the ravenclaw quidditch team has ever seen. she'd end up team captain by fifth of sixth year. she'd be like oliver wood in that she is sO invested in the team's success that at sometimes she'll go a bit crazy, but chris is always there to help her put things back into perspective <3. she'd make stellar grades of course, being good friends with all of her teachers. her favorite candy would be the sweetest things like fairy floss. as previously stated, she'd have a purple pygmy puff to match chris's pink one, and she'd also give it an adorable human name like lisa or something. ginny's just sweet to everyone, especially neil and his friends.

I DID IT. IT TOOK FOREVER AND A FEW HAIL MARYS BUT I DID IT. enjoy besties <3 love u all

#dead poets society #dead poets society headcannons #todd anderson #neil perry #gerard pitts #charlie dalton #nuwanda #knox overstreet #steven meeks #stephen meeks #richard cameron #james stuchelli #ginny danburry #chris noel

[liss-99]

I love how the show made Eloise and Benedict so close to each other, can we have Benedict and Phillip bonding? I remember Phillip showed Anthony, Benedict and Sophie his greenhouse, maybe Benedict showed him his art studio in My Cottage and Phillip is a little overwhelmed (and kinda terrified) of how many portraits Benedict has of Sophie 🤣 idk sounded funny in my head lol love everything you write btw 😘

Hi! I love this prompt!! I'm always here to write Benophie and Philoise :) here's a little drabble :)

"Wow."

Phillip looked around at the studio, Benedict's studio, and couldn't honestly count the number of portraits of Sophie there were.

"I know, I know," his brother-in-law said. "It's a lot."

"Yes, yes, but they're....beautiful," Phillip said earnestly. In getting to know Eloise's family, now his family, he had come to learn that Benedict was the most outright in his love for his wife. Phillip had never understood men like that before, didn't realize how someone could love another person like that, that they felt it in their bones. But then, of course, Eloise knocked on his door and changed everything.

"You seem to have captured not only Sophie's beauty but the mere essence of beauty itself."

"Well, it's easy to do when she is quite literally the most beautiful thing in existence," Benedict blushed, and Phillip was in awe that even after four children and years of marriage, Benedict still felt that way about his wife. Phillip couldn't wait to be like that too, constantly in awe of and in love with his wife.

"You see Phillip, when you love someone with every fiber of your being, even the most mundane things are beautiful. The flowers sitting on the table are more beautiful because she picked them. The dirt in my foyer is beautiful because our children, the creatures she made, they brought it from outside. Waking up in the morning to the cold chill is the best feeling in the world because I get to wrap my arms around her and melt into her warmth."

Phillip nodded at the older man, opened his mouth to speak, then closed it.

"What is it?" Benedict asked. Phillip sighed and resigned that he could express his love for Eloise to Benedict, seeing as his wife and her brother were very close.

"I just get what you mean, entirely. The scent of Romney Hall now ruminates of daffodils, because Eloise picks them fresh every morning. There's always music coming from the piano, and my children are constantly laughing. These are simple, ordinary things, but I love them so much because they are the result of her. So, I completely understand how loving someone makes everything beautiful."

Benedict moved closer to Phillip and clapped a hand on his shoulder.

"I am so glad you and Eloise found each other, Phillip. My sister deserves to be loved to a cosmic level, and it is clear that your love for each other goes beyond this world."

"I don't think there are enough stars for me to thank for bringing us into each other's lives."

Benedict moved to grab a drink for each of them, and then, standing in a room filled with portraits of Sophie, the two men toasted.

"To our wives, and to the happy lives we get as a result of loving them," Benedict said as he raised his glass.

"To our wives," Phillip toasted back, and they both chuckled, knowing damn well how lucky they were indeed.

Bridgerton Drabbles

#benedict bridgerton #phillip crane #benophie #philoise #bridgerton drabbles #portraits #aofag #tspwl #bridgerton

[soldrawss]

I love your big brother Mikey au! For no reason whatsoever the first thing that popped into my head is mikey going to parent teacher confrences with his little brothers and they are so excited to show off what they learned.

Parent-teacher conferences are a BIG deal in the Hamato household because it’s the one time of the year that Mikey can excuse himself from work or school and just BE THERE to enjoy the boys’ school lives. (Mikey wants more than anything to be able to see every science fair and play performance and baseball game that the kids put on, but work sadly comes first and Mikey can never find the TIME to do everything)(Which the boys understand. They obviously, of course, WISH that Mikey could see them shine in all the activities they do, but they get it and they never pressure or pout about it to Mikey cause that’s so not fair to Mikey who wants to be there just as badly as they do)

So that’s why parent-teacher conferences are a BIG night for the Hamato boys. Raph had his earlier in the night, cause elementary schools be like that, and Raph got to show all his art that hangs on the hallway walls to Mikey, who BEAMS at him with a “Holy cow, you drew this Raphie? This is amazing! I don’t think I could draw something like this NOW, you’re so talented, buddy!” and piggybacks Raph all throughout the school despite the polite and hushed giggles from the other parents, because Raph asked and he is the baby brother in a way that he’ll never outgrow and Mikey relishes in the time he gets to indulge the 7yo and say yes to him. Raph talks a mile a minute, showing Mikey all his favorite spots and classrooms and friends and teachers and when Raph’s teacher, Mrs. Daniels, hands Mikey a white envelope, filled to the brim with pictures of his baby brother, (pictures of field trips and track days. Pictures of Raph, grinning and red-faced, dressed as a sunflower from the play performance he was so proud of and talking about for weeks that Mikey missed a few months ago) Mikey had to do his best to swallow back the tears that threatened to take over and do his best to give her one of his best grins, thanking her profusely all while clutching the precious little photographs of all the little moments he missed tightly to his chest.

It was the twins' turn next, and thankfully the middle school was just down the block from Raph’s elementary. Leo is the first to greet them, waving them down excitedly from the main steps and leading the two down the hallways to meet up with Donnie near the science labs. (Mikey only got to spend a year at this middle school when they had first moved to New York from L.A when Raph was still a baby, but the surge of nostalgia washes over him like a nauseating tidal wave that he forces down with a white-knuckled gulp. It was a different time then, heck, it felt like a different life altogether. An alternate reality. Where Mikey got to stay a kid a little longer, and dad was still alive)

Donnie shows them all his science projects/experiments, and even shows them the failed robots that didn’t do very well in some of the robotic competitions, because he wants Mikey to see everything, good and bad, and Mikey soaks it all in like a sponge. Wide-eyed and wide grinned as he rubs an affectionate hand through Donnie’s neatly styled hair, just to get a swat and a chuckle out of the bespeckled 12-year-old, and says, “Dee, you made these? I knew you were smart, but I didn’t know you were like, NASA Space Wizard, build-a-working-IA-robot-out-of-toothpicks, smart. I’m so proud of you!” with every fiber of his body because he means it and he wants Donnie to know it too. (And the burst of warmth that blossoms in Donnie's chest is a feeling that Donnie bottles up immediately, putting it on a shelf safely in his heart so that he could keep it forever)

After talking with a few of Donnie's teachers that he doesn’t share with Leo, (because even though he’s smart enough to be 2 grades ahead of where he is, Donnie is adamant about not skipping any grades so he and Leo can graduate together. Mikey wants whatever the boys want, but he understands the teachers' plight to give Donnie the best, so Donnie spends half of his time in the adjoining high school taking those credits, and spends the rest of his time with Leo in the extracurricular classes that he could take just as easily in a middle school alongside his twin) it’s Leo’s turn to get a little attention from Mikey.

And Leo plays it off all cool, pretending that his little golden trophy in the giant display case for ‘Ace Hitter’ isn’t that big a deal, and Mikey knows, like he knows all the freckles on Leo’s nose by heart, that Leo tries to hide all his A+ history and English papers just to make Donnie’s shine and stand out, or that his leading role in their fall production of a Mid Summer’s Night Dream wasn’t ‘nearly as good as Raph’s performance as a dancing sunflower, believe me, Mike, you didn’t miss much at all.’ But Mikey doesn’t get to spoil the middle child often, so he leans over Leo while the 12-year-old talks, wrapping his arms around Leo’s shoulders and holding him close and pressing kisses to the top of his head because, “You’re so incredible, Leo! Gosh, next time you have a home game, let me know, cause I can’t wait to brag about my kid brother, the next Babe Ruth, to literally everyone I know!”

And Leo knows better than to expect that Mikey would be able to even make it to his next game, but the hope that makes a home for itself in his chest is warm and light, so Leo lets it stay there rent-free anyway, and enjoys the little time he gets to spend in the circle of Mikey’s arms that, for the moment, are reserved only for him.

#rottmnt #big brother mikey au

[afreakingdork]

Review: Hannibal

This show has been a rollercoaster and not in a good way. I’ll come right out and say it: I hate this show. I came into it totally fresh; I had heard people liked it and knew absolutely zero about it. I haven’t even seen Silence of the Lambs. I’m fresh off Death Stranding so I was getting really curious about Mads Mikkelsen and I can totally see the influence. Some of the scenes where Mads is slicked up with inky black liquid look straight out of the game. The story however is a total mess. Now, whether this is because Bryan Fuller’s intentions were dashed (the whole 5 seasons thing) or if there was something else at play. I can’t be sure, but what I do know is that even if you can’t fulfil your vision, that doesn’t mean you just do whatever and throw caution to the wind. You’re still telling a narrative and if you go rogue then everyone will know it. 

So let’s start back with season 1. Probably the most classic of the show. I started by, of course, watching the pilot. Instead of reshooting the first episode, Hannibal decides to go straight from it’s pilot to the show. Which in and of itself isn’t a problem, except there are quite a few inconsistencies that just aren’t addressed. Will’s classroom and the design of Hannbal’s office are notable examples. Also, they flat out say Will has Asperger's which the show ultimately sweeps under the rug for whatever reason. The story plays out pretty cleanly in season 1. Now, I wanted to quit watching after the first few episodes because it was too high art.  The imagery didn’t make much sense and this wasn’t really my type of show. Seeing Will fall for Hannibal’s tricks and getting placed in jail in season 2 really started to peak my interest and I proclaimed that it finally had my attention. Unfortunately, half way through season 2, Will is released from jail and the show completely spins wildly out of control from that point on. After Will works with another serial killer to get Hannibal killed while in jail, he is suddenly befriending Hannibal once he gets out. We learn that he has a big plan to try to ensnare Hannibal, but it all feels empty and even as a viewer, I simply know that it is just a shit plan. All reason goes out the window as the show tries to tell me that careful Hannibal who tortured Will and put him in jail through season 1 and most of 2 is now just spilling his guts to his protégé. Also, the show wants me to believe that Will is considering running away with big H because he is just as enamored, as if I didn’t see this man struggle with every fiber of his tortured soul to not become Garrett Jacob Hobbs. 

All of this leads up to the blood match of the century at Hannibal’s house where the plan, duh, goes awry. This is where the worst season of all, season 3, certified fresh 98% on Rotten Tomatoes comes in like a flaming pile of garbage on a train. We whisk away to Europe and don’t give a fuck about following up on all our bloodied main characters we’ve grown to care about in two seasons. Suddenly the few ‘smart’ characters who speak in riddles multiplies to the point where not a single character isn’t speaking in code when talking to one another. Alana even gets this fucking insane line where she says bone marrow got in her blood stream so now she thinks differently. It’s insane. The only saving grace is Jack and that’s only because he’s the only consistent character throughout the show. He has a clean narrative and understandable motives. He’s the only character the script didn’t treat like an amorphous blob that changes on it’s whim as if it were Zeus having a bad hair day. After Hannibal is captured, the show dips down to a slow descent to it’s ending. It once again tries to make me question Will’s loyalty while simultaneously giving me no plot to support any major changes and just telling me that he’s changed right before he does. It’s totally asinine. I had pretty much shut completely down by the last 3 episodes. I think it’s borderline hilarious that the show honestly wants me to think that baiting the Dragon with Hannibal is the ONLY viable option to catch him. They don’t even consider any other possibilities. It’s just lazy. Let the whole show go over the cliff for all I care.

And all of this isn’t even getting in to how atrociously this show treats women. Alana Bloom starts as being the only person in Will’s corner who they force to be his love interest in one of the most un-sexually charged scenarios I’ve ever seen. They then, completely against character, make her Hannibal’s love interest for what I thought was an alibi, but I guess was genuine and again, not set up in the slightest. As previously mentioned, she does a 180 due to some bone marrow and is then a lesbian for another grotesque sex sequence that they just seem to love making her star in for pseudo prime time pornography. I mean, I guess I’m happy she ends up married with a kid? Beverly Katz is separated and pinned up like a museum display because she just happened to be smart. Every character hates Freddie Lounds and the show obviously wants you to hate her too, but when you think about it, why? What has she done other than be a strong independent woman who is chasing a career in the gruesome and trying to tell what she believes is the truth when other’s sweep the severity under the rug. The show hates her so much that if you start to break it down and remove her character from the show, the plot literally doesn’t change. She exists to be a punching bag. The only saving grace about Bella is the fact that her passing doesn’t push Jack’s story along at all, but her choice of passing was not only taken away by a man, it was then decided on a date not of her choosing by another. She has not a single bit of autonomy, even while being presented as a strong woman. Abigail Hobbs seems interesting enough, but in reality she’s nothing more than a way for Will and Hannibal to process their emotions and surrogate dad feelings onto. She is then “killed” off and, surprise, brought back only to be killed off again, only to BE BROUGHT BACK to find out she was a dead figment of Will’s fucked up imagination. Margot Verger is one of the most appalling examples of how this show treats women in the fact that she is not only sexually and physically abused, but she is also sterilized. Then, in season 2, when you think she finally can exact her revenge on her brother since he is rendered invalid, you find in season 3 that she did none of that, continued to let him torture her until someone else come’s down like a savior angel, Hannibal, and gives her the way she absolutely could have done herself to give her an out. The show literally wants me to believe that both Margot and Alana could not have considered the path to freedom without Hannibal’s help. They want you to believe these are not capable women because the show doesn’t believe women are. Unless it’s plot necessary, but only for that long. Du Maurier was smart enough to leave before Hannibal went to kill her in season 2, but for some reason in season 3 she comes back willingly to let him take her and torture her. Then she, I GUESS, cooks her leg up for him to visit as one of the final scenes of the show!?!!? Chiyoh was locked up for 20 years, supposedly, because she couldn’t leave behind the man who killed Hannibal’s sister, and when she is finally free, her whole character revolves around her being a good shot and wanting to help Hannibal because ??????? It makes absolutely no sense. Then, season 3 went ahead and went we need a woman who is blind to the fact that her partner is a serial killer, might as well make her blind for real. It’s repulsive, disgusting, and I don’t know why anyone enjoys this drivel. 

Verdict: 

P.S. my favorite character is Chilton. He’s one of the two consistent characters (hey, Jack!) and the fact that he just keeps getting brutally mutilated,  but can’t stay away from serial killers is downright pathological. He also shined so brightly in the scene just before he gets shot through the mouth in the interrogation room. I never would have guessed I’d be rooting for him. I was actually worried when the Dragon caught him, but there’s no squashing that cockroach of a man! 

#hannibal #review #me #show review #shows

[cicici03]

Just Listen- Chapter 3

2:45 p.m.

Trevante was waiting for the kids in the carpool line, which they did not get out of school until 3:30. With this day being horrible due to the fact of the argument with Cierra this morning. Tre has just been thinking about what happen to his relationship with his wife. He thought of all the possibilities.

Did it start after the Golden Globes? When she felt pressure to go to the Globes because of Tre wanting his wife there? Or when that crazy extra from Tre’s movie was stalking them both?

As he was wrapping his head around his thoughts, his phone started to ring. He picked it up out of the cup holder seeing it was his Momma. With this day, seeing his momma calling him made him smile.

“Hey Momma.”

“Hey Trevante, how you are doing my love.”

Tre sighed, “I am doing okay momma. How about you?”

“Well I’m not doing okay because my baby sound like he is tired, drained, and upset.”

With his mom reading him like a book, Tre just started bawling. Taken aback from her son outburst, Momma T said “Baby it’s okay. Let it out. It is better to let out than in.”

“Momma I just don’t understand! We were happy. Everything was perfect and now it is like we hate each other so much. Momma literally, we argue everyday and Jakob and Mia know that we are. Mia even suggest we get a divorce this morning!” shouted Tre spilling out tears of anger and sadness.

It hurt Momma T seeing her son like this. It even hurt worst because she knew Cierra felt the same way because Cierra called her today around noon. “Well baby, you know the happiness of that relationship. Fight for it! I know it just seem like you need to sit. Well baby that is what the devil wants you to do. Jesus always come right on time! Believe it!” exclaimed Momma T in the security line.

“What yall people looking at. You see that I am trying give my son the word. Now thank you for listening and turn your damn heads the other way.” Momma T said while pointing the phone at the people around her.

Trevante laughed at his momma. He finally got something that he needs all day: peace. He was going to fight till every fiber in his body was gone for his marriage. However, he knew it had to be a two-way street.

“Momma thank you, you almost done with TSA?” Tre questioned while starting up the car due to it almost being time for the kids to come out of the school. “Yes baby, I just got out!” said quickly by Momma T.

“Tina! Tina!” Tre heard a voice that sound of all too familiar. “Hey Tre, I see Cierra’s family right at the same gate. Hey girl.” Momma T said distort because she was hugging all of Cierra’s family.

“Hey Tre, I can’t not wait to see everybody. Cannot wait to see my beautiful grandkids. Also, why haven’t my daughter been calling me? I hope that means you knocking her up with one more grandchild.” A sweet, deep country voice of Cierra’s mom, Lisa, said while speaking into the phone.

“Well we can not wait to see you too Momma Lisa. Is everybody coming this year?” Tre said while looking for the kids.

“You already know it! About 50 of our family members are coming! I know the Rhodes family is definitely going to show out.” Lisa said while sitting down by her husband Mark.

“Yes ma’am! Cierra and I are happy to be hosting the Rhodes- Mitchells Family Reunion.” Tre stated with happiness knowing that their family gone be here for the next week. One thing Tre knows is that Cierra will make sure we look truly happy so nobody in the family knows.

Finally spotting the kids and honking them down, he stated “Momma Lisa I finally see the kids. So, I talk to y’all when you get home tonight.”

“Okay baby, I cannot wait to see y’all too!” exclaimed Momma Lisa ending the call. Just as she ended it, the kids open the door. With Amya and Jakob sitting in the back and Mia sitting in the front, the dark cloud this morning seems to have been lift off.

“How were my babies first day of school!” Tre asked excitedly looking at his children. Jakob and Mia gave him a mean mug for calling them babies. However, Amaya had the brightest smile on her face.

“Daddy it was amazing! I got to do art, talk to my friends, which one of them got a bad suntan and looks a mess. Also, Daddy you know Mia got a boyfriend. He is not that cut-!” before Mia could finish, Mia threw a piece a paper at her. Jakob was dying laughing, throwing his hands all over the place.

“Can you shut up you little brat! You need to just mind your business. Oops, I forgot you do not have none. Dad can you please not tell momma,” exclaimed Mia while looking at her phone then her dad.

Tre looked at his oldest child and daughter, Mia, she acts just like Cierra even though they both say they do not. “First of all, don’t talk to your sister like that because that is your family,” Tre said with a sterned voice looking towards the road, “Second, my baby should not be having no boo thang. She should be keeping that head in those books. You know next year, you and Jakob going to be in high school.” Before Mia could even speak, Jakob cut her off.

“Dad, you don’t have to worried about me. Cause this man have all his shit together,” shouted Jakob while cutting off Mia.

As Tre stopped at the red light, both him and the girls look at him crazy.

“Oops, sorry for the cuss word,” he said with a small smirk turning his head out the window, so he did not see their stares. As Tre turn around to go through the light, his phone started to ring.

“Mia, can you see who it is?” Tre stated while trying to get over in the other lane. Mia looked at the phone seeing, Babygirl, a picture of her mom and dad kissing at there wedding. She looked at her dad, him being oblivious to it, and saw that he was drained.

Her mom and dad never fought like they have fought like they have these pass few months in her 13 years of life. “It is momma, dad,” she quietly said to her dad. Even though she thought she said it quite enough, so Jakob did not hear it, he heard it. Tre looked at his son in the mirror and saw the just so happy kid turn sad.

As Mia handed the phone, Tre did not know what mood Cierra could be in. “Hello,” Tre quietly stated. “Tre I just have one question. Why is my whole family and yours is coming to LA today.” Cierra said calmly while heading home with Angelo, who was coaching her on bringing on the topic.

“Cierra this was plans months of go. Remember, when you went on that trip on my birthday. ,” Tre rigidly said to Cierra, bringing up memerioes of that day. Cierra held her tongue back and roll her eyes because Tre didn’t have to bring it up.

“Okay Tre, am I on speakerphone.” Cierra stated while driving with Angelo giving her thumbs up for not saying something smart.

“Yes Cierra.”

“Okay, I need to talk to everyone about something. I know this morning was very upsetting for everybody at home. I would like to first apologize to Jakob. Baby, I’m sorry, your cousing Angelo really made me upset because he almost broke a deal.” Cierra explained to the kids and Tre without telling the true reason she was upset.

“ I am not proud that I ignored you baby. I love you baby and your sisters. Sometimes momma makes a mistake and she made a big one!” Cierra cried with tears in her eyes and the mascara was not waterproof. Angelo even had to take the wheel because she let the wheel go.

The kids and Tre were very surprise. If you knew Cierra, she does not apologize for nothing even when she knows it is her fought. Just as Tre pulled through the gates of the community, Jakob stated “Momma I know that you didn’t mean it. Plus, I kind of need you to apologize to you too.”

“Baby there is nothing to apologize for.” Cierra said while pulling into the gated community as well.

“Well momma I really need to apologize for this.” Jakob nervously said. As Tre pulled into the driveway, he decided to keep the car running to see what Jakob about to say. On the other hand, Mia knew exactly what he about to say.

“Then what is it baby.” Cierra stated following this slow car. Also, Angelo knew exactly what he was about to say. If this boy tells Cierra, his ass is going be heading on home to Jesus Angelo thoughted.

“Well…. you know that plate the Obama’s gave you at their house.” Jakoob stammered while not looking at the eyes that were staring at him. Tre knew this was about to be WW3 up in the Rhode’s household.

“Yes, I do.” Cierra silently whisper with curiosity in her voice. Well let me go on and plan this boy Homecoming service because his butt is gone Mia thoughted.

Just as Cierra was pulling in the driveway by Tre’s car, Jakob shouted “Momma I broke it! It was an accident. I was joking around with my friends on the phone when washing the dishes. Then all sudden, it walks out of my hand and just fell to the floor. Momma I really don’t know why it would jump.”  

“Ah shit.” Tre sighed under his breath knowing that he about to meet his maker.

Tre, Mia, and Amaya look out left and saw Cierra’s Mercedes Benz. Everybody was waiting for Cierra to speak.

Angelo on the under hand was looking at Cierra and he knew that look. Angelo rolled down his window and look dead at Tre.

“You probably want to tell your son that he is about to meet his maker.” Angelo mouthed to everyone in the car. While Jakob was looking out the other side of the window waiting for his momma to answer.

“ You probably wants to run to your room Ja Ja.” Amya whispered to her brother. If Amaya knew that he should run, he should run. Jakob look out the window everybody was looking out of and he saw his momma looking right at him.

Jakob yank the door open and ran through the back gate. However, his momma was right not so far behind him.

“ Oh lord, mommy is going to kill him.” Amya shouted.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Why was Cierra calling Momma T ? Was Tre trying Cierra when bringing up the trip? The most important question: IS JAKOB GOING TO MEET HIS MAKER TODAY?

This was just a little chapter because baby some details are going to be spill tea every where in the next chapter!!!!!!!!!

Taglist: @l-auteuse​ @munteanhore​ @twistedcharismaaa​ @19jammmy​ @ljstraightnochaser​

[parabellumrpg]

Congratulations, Isa! You’ve been accepted to play Eva Calderon. Please make your page and send it in within 24 hours.

A/N: This was a difficult choice because both Eva auditions were beautiful! There were certain phrases and and mannerisms in the way you described Eva that really sounded like you were very in tune with that character. I’m so excited to see her on the dash! 

IC INFORMATION —

CHARACTER DESIRED

Eva Calderon

DESCRIBE THE CHARACTER IN YOUR OWN WORDS

Thrust into a world full of hate and disdain, young Eva chose not to harden her heart but rather expose it for all the world to see. She is a chameleon who doesn’t change her coloring to blend into the world around and disappear but rather to infiltrate it and hold a mirror up and expose all of its wrong doings. Wearing her heart on her sleeve barely does this passionate woman justice. Every fiber of her being corses with love, compassion, kindness, a strong will, determination and an unwavering morality and sense of justice that has always made her strive to get her voice and the voice of others heard. When I read her biography, I saw this young woman who has a mind older than her years, a smile that lights up and is as warm as the sun, expressive eyes, eloquently strung phrases leave her lips like a warm breeze and a heart that is tender and feels more than a heart in this cold world should.

When Eva’s father was deported and she then told her mother to be with him I couldn’t fathom it. In that moment, I saw just how selfless she truly is. Sure, her working multiple jobs to help out her mother showed that she would do just about anything for the ones she loved I never realized how much she would put the happiness of someone else before her own. I can picture the pain she must have felt on both occasions when her father was forced to leave his family and when she hands her mother the plane tickets to be with her father. Her smile warm but her eyes expressing the sadness she cannot allow herself to feel in front of her mother who had sacrificed so much for her. It cuts me deep and makes me appreciate the bond one can have with their parents. You know the saying, “actions speak louder than words”, that is Eva in a nutshell to me. She acts rather than reacting and is a force for change.

I believe that she does try to see the best in people and appeal to some part of their humanity, even if it is buried deep down and it is why I think her eyes are not open entirely to what the Aleman brothers are planning in Chicago and where they previously were. People may call her naive because of this but I don’t like that word for her. She is not naive because naive means (of a person or action) showing a lack of experience, wisdom, or judgment. Lack of experience? Are you kidding me? The woman has had her father deported; seen how the world treats anyone who is not white; experienced sexism in a philanthropic environment; been told her and her family would never be good enough. Her experience comes from working her ass off and devoting her time and energy to causes close to her heart. Wisdom comes from living through hell and coming out of it stronger than before and seeing the dual sides of life. Judgement comes from her heart that her parents helped to grow and teach Eva how to live with pain rather than being defeated by it.

WRITING SAMPLE

Alright, here is my unorthodox way of doing a writing sample. In order to get a better understanding of how I see Eva I have to give you samples set in the past.

Sample 1:

“What does it feel like?”

“What does what feel like?” Her mother asked.

“To be in love.” A six year old Eva replied.

“You know how it feels, little one. Do you not love your father and I?”

“Not that kind of love.” If she could only just move her head to give her a mother a look that every child gives their parents when they believe they are not being understood. A cross between a squinted stare and some other exaggerated expression. Eva liked to raise both of her brows as high as her hairline to get her point across. Her father once told her that if she could lift them any higher her brows would jump off her face and live in her hair for it was much easier to hide there than be front and center on a face. The eyes were windows to the soul while the brows were the window frame and little Eva had yet to master what she thought and felt from becoming an expression on her face. She never did master that art but why try to master something she never wanted to learn in the first place?

Her mother’s hands stopped braiding her daughter’s long brunette locks as she let the pause in conversation turn to silence. While Eva’s mother mulled over a question that had many answers depending on who was answering it Eva’s once straight and perfect posture folded in on itself as she laid agains the back of the couch where her mother sat. Silence was never a welcome thing to Eva who preferred unending noise. Silence always proceeded all storms, both the literal and figurative kind. Eva’s large hazel eyes turned up to try and find comfort in ones that mirrored her own but instead she saw cloudiness that if she was not too careful she too cold disappear into.

“Mom?”  

“Hm? Oh-”  

Eva’s mother once more regained the composure she once had and took hold of her daughter’s locks that had begun to unravel from the lack of tension. “I won’t lie to you, mi corazón, it hurts. To be in love is to feel every so profound all at once that it makes it hard to stand.” She sensed that her daughter was still unsure of what she meant and would ask a follow up, something she got from her father.

“Think of a great ship. The mast and sails help to catch the wind so it can steer. The mast and the sails must work with the steering wheel itself. One provides direction and the other provides power. Those two things are your head and your heart. Love is the waves that are under the ship and humans are the ships. With our head and our heart we navigate throughout waves that we are born to stay afloat in and cut through. However, not ever cut through of the water is a smooth one. We are put through storms, capsizing waves, and thrown off balance by the waves. We get banged up; we loose parts of ourselves throughout each journey. The waves test us; push us to our limits. We, the sails, mast, and steering wheel must work with and against the waves in order to keep us afloat. Being in love is a constant journey across unknown waters that will throw at us obstacles that we have to get around. It feels like a ship being battered by the water. That is what love is like.”

Eva continued to stare at her mother until her neck couldn’t stand the twisting any longer. “It sounds horrible. Who would want to be on a ship that long? Wouldn’t you get sea sick from it all?” Her mother laughed and finished off the last strand of hair before wrapping an orange, velvet ribbon around the ends to secure it.

“You do, mi corazón, but that is what sea legs are for."

"I still don’t understand it."

"You will one day.”

—-

Sample 2: Highschool

Eva finished waiting the last table of the night. She looked down at the watch that was on her wrist as she filled the last of the ketchup and salt bottles that customers went through than any other condiment. She could feel fatigue setting in, her arms beginning to hurt after the shoot here, and just thinking about the day she had tomorrow. There was only one reason why she was working herself like this, there was someone counting on her. Even when she felt like everything would come crashing down she never gave in to defeat. She couldn’t. She wouldn’t.

Her feet felt like weights as she made her way to the manager’s office, a small little room with only one window that was tucked in the back of the building. Eva knocked on his door waiting for him to say come in, but she heard no answer from the other side. Her fingers clasped the silver knob, turning it slowly until she was able to just peek her head into the room. Low and behold the manager was there, his reading glasses in his hands while his head rested against the back of the chair, a light snore escaping his lips. Apparently, Eva wasn’t the only one who wanted nothing more than to fall asleep in the middle of work.  

Eva walked towards where he slept, her fingers gingerly touching his shoulder as to not startle him. “Nathan,” Eva said. “Nathan, it is time to wake up.” Nathan looked up at her, sleep in the corner of his eyes, as he tried to find the words to protest her statement. Eva just shook her head, not giving him a chance to speak before she walked over to the coat rack and grabbed his things, making sure to grab the office keys from his jacket pocket before handing his belongings over to him.        

“Go on.” She said with a small smile. “I can lock this place up. I have done it enough times to know how to.” It was true, Eva had spent many late nights here transcribing her own notes into study aids that the students she tutored could use and correcting drafts of essays written by individuals who could not grasp how the system wanted to teach them or just flat out refused to try. She wasn’t the only one doing this. There were others in the same financial situation like her staying later each night to catch up on the work that was piled on them and get ahead of tomorrow’s before tomorrow’s work could pile up. Oh what a glamorous job she had. She was luckier than most, though. She had a job when so many did not.

Nathan put on his coat, tucking his glasses into his jacket pocket before he walked over to Eva and handed her the keys,“You’re too good for this place.” With those last words he left the office, leaving Eva alone with her own thoughts. The past few weeks she hadn’t been getting much sleep, working herself to the point that her mind just wouldn’t shut up, always going over her schedule, how she was going to write and how the more time she spent her the closer her past seemed to be. Eva brought her fingers to her temple to push away any thoughts about tomorrow that threatened to keep her up at night. Her hand dropped away from her temple as she pulled her shoulders back, took a deep breath, tomorrow was a new day and another one to be grateful for, her mother’s words played over and over as she put on a smile and headed out the door.

#accepted

[joyfulprincessdragonlover54]

How to Train Your Dragon to Me (Edited) 

I would like to start off by saying thank you to @hello-em75 for creating this awesome project for the fandom on Tumblr.  I think it’s truly wonderful how it’s being encouraged for all of the fans to share why this franchise is so special to them as individuals.  I also appreciate how it was encouraged for everybody to do it in whatever way they feel the most comfortable. Mine will simply be by the “Text” page of Tumblr.   I’m afraid I’ve never had the unique talent in fan art or tribute video making.  Yet even before I found out about this fantastic HTTYD themed project.  I always hoped to create a post in which I could share my love for this franchise with other devoted fans.  And why it means so much to me. So once more, thank you @hello-em75 for conceiving this brilliant idea. It’s not about competing against other fans. Instead it is about everyone diving into their personal stories with the franchise and keep supporting all the fans who are shy about their love for it to speak out. We all want to hear what everybody has to say.  No pressure to be concerned it won’t be good enough in comparison to anybody else’s level.   Only share how you feel. I just love it! 

My story in being introduced to How to Train Your Dragon was back in February 2010.  I was 21 at the time.  Always been an animated film lover.  I won’t deny that my fiber stemmed from mainstream studios. Even still, I was always up for traveling off the beaten path.  Found some spectacular hidden gems. DreamWorks has quite a few of those.  Be that as it may, I never would have predicted the film I was about to see would create such an impact on my life.  I saw the trailer and thought to myself “ What an interesting film. I wonder if it will share the same DNA with another DreamWorks film? Spirit: Stallion of the Cimmeron.”  

Needless to say it became far more then an “interesting film”.  My soul was re-awakened! I say that without of any kind of irony or exaggeration.  I’ll first address that this was the film that introduced me to the value of 3-D format. Nope it was not another famous  record breaking box office hit.  How to Train Your Dragon was the one who changed my perspective of how this can benefit a story on screen.  Rather then manufacture it as the sole reason to see a film.  I was engaged from beginning to end. 

One of the main reasons the story appealed to me was how it synonymously displayed it’s lead character as someone who was identifiable and admirable. There were uncanny traits Hiccup and I have in common.  Sometimes it felt borderline identical.  It was as if the filmmakers had been clandestine in studying many of my struggles and displayed them on screen for the world to see. A medium that has done a swell job at bringing to light self identity issues people from all walks of life grapple with.  Yet his resilience and resourcefulness despite being an outcast in his society is commend worthy.  And that was well before we even reach the middle of the first film.  This was already becoming a consolation piece of fiction for me. 

Then they bring in Toothless.  A character that in it’s roots is exceedingly difficult at earning sympathy from the audience.  Animal driven films in animation have a notorious history of dividing movie goers.  If they talk it seems cliche.  The redundant corny trademark people roll their eyes at.  If they don’t talk, the audience sees them as mere props for the human characters in their story.  They can’t resonate with the audience as they don’t know how exactly to relate to their plights if it is not verbally stated.  It becomes even more staggeringly challenging as he is a dragon.  For fiction has a long history for interpreting these fantasy creatures in the villain bracket.  Even author G.K Chesterton made a significant point on what their role was in literature.  “Fairy Tales don’t tell us dragons exists. We already know they exist.  But that they can be beaten and killed.”  The filmmakers of this franchise took a bold risk at turning this classic notion on it’s head.  Hoping the audience would be willing to surrender to their story.  That by using a different but equally classic adage of “The eyes are the window to the soul” the audience would understand and sympathize with Toothless as much as any human character.  Now Toothless to this day still has his detractors from professional critics and amateur movie buffs alike.  Regardless of that, he has touched my heart beyond compare! He is a fully realized character who is multifaceted and has his own dilemmas. 

Book series author Cressida Cowell, directors/screenwriters Dean DeBlois and Chris Saunders are so brave for taking this chance in creating a dragon themed narrative that is not about conquering a monster as a ritual in transitioning into adulthood.  But about the obstacles of earning trust from a creature that is long ingrained in everyone’s mind is apart of evil forces who live to bring humans emotional torment.  Sure this franchise is not the first to explore this theme.  And nobody on the creative team tried to take credit for it.  They all openly acknowledged their inspirations and thanked them for it allowed them to take a closer inspection of why it is rarely explored in text or on screen.  What they did though was unconventional (in terms of mainstream studio features)  in it’s own right.  

At it’s core is a love story.  Not the typical owner and pet fictional iteration.  A genuine brotherhood team love story. One that requires slower pacing.  Another risk the creative team was willing to gamble on.  Earning trust is not immediate.  Mainly being Hiccup’s goal to prove he is not a social leper. He initially intends to kill Toothless. His own unique empathy for Toothless leaving him conflicted.  He does not grasp why he is ashamed of what his tribe does despite all of the rules and regulations drilled into his conditioning.   But his conscious tells him otherwise. It is wrong to murder this frightened creature. He deserves to be released unharmed.  A travesty to the Viking culture he grew up in. Hiccup freeing Toothless then Toothless sparing Hiccup’s life is a shocker! Neither quite comprehends why they just gave their sworn enemy a second chance at life. But this question is an internal odyssey Hiccup is willing to take. 

Hiccup did not dive in head first expecting  Toothless to cuddle up to him and offer him a ride on his back.  This had to be a gradual process.  Trial and error. Repetition and reinforcement.  Compassion and respect.  All of these features were crucial of guiding their story about strangers who met under negative circumstances and would later become brothers in arms.  The filmmakers shamelessly display every bit of this.  Hiccup and Toothless unexpectedly become dependent on each other.  Hiccup needs to brainstorm and invent contraptions as to feel worthwhile as his upbringing as has gone awry.  Brute strength and fast reflexes are not in his being.   Toothless needs to fly to survive. Navigating from island to island in the archipelago.   They each believe their purpose is to make it by in a society that wishes to subjugate them.  They just want as little confrontation as possible.  The chance encounter of Hiccup trapping Toothless with his own version of a catapult and him later venturing into the forest of Berk to find him was the beginning of their “Forbidden Friendship”.  Hiccup and Toothless alike always knew they were misfits. But neither ever dreamed of having the agency of seeking someone or something out who could potentially be like them.  They both believed they were all alone in the world. That is why I find their journey so rewarding to watch! 

They never expected to find one another.  Let alone feel so joyfully fulfilled.   This in turn was why I was so emotionally caught up watching the films.  In particular the first one.  Pretty much everything they do contradict’s their society’s dictation.  Their lives are literally in danger by merely engaging with the other presence.  Their secret of knowing and allying with one another is a secret that casts as much liberation as it does a burden.  They can be themselves when alone together. Exploring new ideas and places. Yet Hiccup’s tribe is acutely aware something is off.  Initially believing that he is inadvertently discovering dragon weaknesses that could lead to concocting a plan to eradicate all dragons.  Hiccup’s time with Toothless runs dangerously low.  My heart was in my throat with dread they would be separated from each other.  Hiccup and Toothless together gives them a purpose to live! I wanted them to live happily together and in harmony in their society. 

Such a love story is often over hyped and I could care less as is has their characters saying a bunch of frivolous dialogue with empty gestures.   Love is proven through consistent actions.  The hardships Hiccup and Toothless would have to painfully face head on to reach a happy end was not glided over.  The creative team was not shy about offering it’s share of agonizing lows.  Hiccup’s self-esteem dropping to practically zero.  Same goes for Toothless.  I still can not get over how blatantly the filmmakers do that to these precious characters. It’s so harrowing it hits me every single time.  Yet these emotions happen in reality.  These fantasy animated films are a mirror to it.   No happy ending is worth getting if  the characters don’t hit rock bottom.  

This is precisely what this entire franchise stands for and why it has become my all time favorite piece of fiction. It is as emotionally draining as it is fulfilling.  And I want to keep returning to them.  Both films have this in spades!  For me personally this is is so rare to watch a film that has all three of these qualities.  But the HTTYD franchise still had unexplained factors I can’t wrap my mind around  that it stands above anything else I have ever come across.  All I know for certain is that it is special.   And I am forever grateful to have discovered it.  

Also a huge shout out to Animation screencaps for these! They alone can define this beautiful under-rated love story.   :)  

#httydtome #How to Train Your Dragon Franchise #Under-rated Love Story #How to Train Your Dragon Fandom #How to Train Your Dragon Trilogy #Hiccup and Toothless #Share Post

[deadmisanthrope]

#MisanthropeSolo - Rêve Noir

Rêve Noir - Domenico Sigalas

https://youtu.be/KEwP2fA7PGY

As I open the closet that hadn't been opened for over a century, the dark wooden doors creak as the old brass hinges turn, the smell of the past strikes me, and along with it all those memories I thought were long gone, bleached out, faded, not recalled ever since.

Inside the massive cabinet, hidden from time itself and now exposed to me for the first time in a long time, well-known items, once dear to me, like my father's pocket watch - a precious gem, not because it was his, but because I liked it, liked the sound of it, liked the weight in my hand and how it ticked constantly, always reliable if there was someone who wound it up every once in a while -, my mother's music box, which was meant to go to Stefan after she had passed away, but I selfishly kept it for myself. Stefan had his memories of her. The untainted memories of a child, too young to see what was going on behind closed doors in the world of adults. But I knew. I had seen. I had heard. Witnessed. And I still remember vividly.

Carefully I lift the box from the shelf, leaving a dark square where the wood wasn't exposed to the decay of the past century, blow the dust from the casket and slowly turn the key-shaped screw at the backside to wind up the mechanism. A strange melancholia, like a heavy blanket encloses me as the melody reaches my ear, and I open the marquetry adorned lid, as I always used to as a child to watch the comb-shaped piece of metal struck by the small pins on the barrel, turning inside the box, slowly and constantly.

Placing the music box back on the shelf while its strangely soothing song fills the room with not just the mere tune but with a certain atmosphere I hadn't felt in a long time but which still comes naturally to me, my eyes roam further through the shelves inside the closet, to explore the long lost treasures of a distant life that once was mine.

On another board, a couple of books I used to read. I was far too young to understand the deeper meaning of the words when I started to read Baudelaire, but I already appreciated the way he painted pictures of a world I had yet to explore by only using words. Words we all knew. Words we all used. And yet he managed to use them in a way I never experienced before. I even had an original copy from france which I used to learn french autodidactic. With moderate success, to say the least. Next to it a copy of Dante's "la Commedia", an anthology of Poe, well-thumbed, and other books, some of them prosaic novellas, but my predilection was clearly for poetries. Of course my father had other plans for his eldest son than letting him waste time with literature, music, poetry and other unprofitable arts. But I still cherished it as a hobby.

Furthermore, a photograph of Katherine, hidden in another book, but now partly revealed to me; I apparently had to hurry to put it back the last time I took it out, but were too sloppy to hide it properly, so a corner of the photograph became yellow over the years, decades, centuries. I hid it not only from Stefan, but from everyone. Even from her. I used to look at it every once in a while. Sometimes, when I wrote, I liked to place it on the desk next to me, so a part of her was always present and inspired me with more than just her obvious beauty. I also took it out to say her good night, whenever she was too exhausted, too tired to meet me. Of course I was always polite and decent; bid her farewell at  the door to her room when she asked me to, but was yet bold enough to steal a kiss at any given opportunity. Back then I was sure she secretly liked it.

Not much is left of the clothes that were stored in the closet. Generations of moths had feasted on the now mere rags, covered in dust - materialized time - but I can still recall most of the familar attire. The characteristic gray of the confederate army uniform. One of the many chapters in my life I'd like to erase, rip out of the book and burn the pages. After I had returned from the battlefield - deserted, they called it; looking out for myself and do what was reasonable is what I called it, and still do - it had become almost impossible to get into my father's good graces. I came back as an even greater disappointment to him and a shame to my family. The nightmares haunted me for a long time, and sometimes still do. Support for returning soldiers were an alien concept back then, and even when I look at it today, people still have no idea what horrors you have to face; things no human being should ever witness, and yet I think that a species capable of such bestiality deserves just that.

Besides the uniform there are several other pieces, beyond recognition, gone forever. But a surprisingly well preserved sleeve that stands out between the rotting cloths catches my attention.

And as I run my fingers casually along the fabric, take out what appears to be a tailcoat, fragments of the past flare up in my mind. Voices. Laughter. People whose names I don't recall. Music. Dancing. But not me.

I can see myself standing a little aside, right after I had finished a light conversation with a friend of the family, George Lockwood, more to distract myself than actually listening to him. Father would have appreciated to see me being more involved, more interested in the founding family's business. Politics. What an ineffably prosaic sort of pastime. Nothing more it was to me, back those days. And why should I care about the fate of Mystic Falls... when all I cared about... was in the center of the room, dressed in a blue gown and drawing everyone's attention, clinging to my brother's arm as he led her through the crowd, swaggering like a peacock in courtship.

She had chosen him to accompany her on the founders ball. I shouldn't be too worried about my little brother's affection for her, rather should be thankful that he kept her company while I was away, spending days at a confederate army camp just outside Richmond and helping to defend the south. Because it was just that, right? Just a harmless infatuation. But I couldn't help feeling a light sting at the scenery playing out right in front of me. Little did I know about the importance of the founders council in my future life; I just learned about the actual existence of vampires and that my beloved Katherine was one of them, which is why I low-key wished, hoped, that it would have been me who would have had the joy, the honor of being her escort for the dance.

Because of the secret we shared and the trust she put in me by telling me the truth, there was no doubt, that she appreciated my company. Still I remember vividly how we used to spend numerous afternoons wandering in the garden of my family's estate or simply roamed through the village until we reached the Fell's property with the town's church.

And now she seemed to have chosen my brother over me. Him, who whenever the topic of vampires was mentioned, shuddered with fear and disgust. He needs more convincing, I thought back then. She is just making an effort to show him that there is truly no difference between us, I tried to reassure myself. A fool I was. No compulsion needed. Just the feeling that someone cared about my point of view was enough.

From this day on, my courting became bolder. More apparent and obvious for everyone around us. I strolled through town with her, accompanied her when she visited her friend Pearl and made sure everyone saw us. I wanted this to be the image people would memorize. Not the dance at the founder's ball. And she welcomed the additional attention and my interest in her way of living. An inquisitive student I was, eager and hungry for knowledge. I wanted to learn everything and - once she would deem me ready - become one of hers and be with her forever. At night I snuck out of the house to join her in the woods where she showed me to lie in wait. Where she showed me how to bait, how to feed, how to kill...

And the more time I spent with her, the more I diverged from father and my brother; we grew apart, even cold. My brother and I, inseparable all summer, long before she stepped into the picture, rarely talked anymore. Whenever we exchanged words, it led to arguing, no matter how trivial the conversation started out. Especially since he was insistent in persuading father regarding his views on vampires. He even wanted to educate the town council and thought he could sway them. It was his naiveté that eventually led to the events that marked a turning point in our lives: The night of September 25th, 1864.  

Another item veiled by shadows and dust at the bottom of the closet, now brought to light by removing the tailcoat from the hanging rail diverts my attention from the melancholic retrospection of having to share her and - once the object is identified - shoves me right into another, direful memory. Carelessly I place the hook of the coathanger back on the rail, uncaring for possible creases that - over time - might ruin the well-preserved fabric forever and crouch in front of the ancient furniture to reach for what I now realize is not neatly placed on one of the shelving for a reason.

I remember, I felt cold. Cold to the point that every fiber of my body hurt and refused to move or even shift its position. I also remember the smell of damp leaves and poached up soil. There was no sound at first and I felt like floating but at the same time under heavy pressure. Like the air itself was closing and tightening around me. It was a curious feeling and while my subconsciousness began to wrap around it and explore it, I suddenly gasped for air, realizing that I haven't been breathing for quite some time. My body, now finally being able to move, jolts into a sitting position and panic filled me when more impressions kept crashing down on me. Voices, yelling men and screaming women, but far away and even more distant, smoke. And being as cold as the peaty ground I even thought I could feel the warmth of a fire that must have been at least a mile away. I took a quick look around and found myself alone, absent of any company that my foggy memory insisted on. As I looked over my shoulder, I noticed ruts in the ground that led away from my place and... towards the church. Towards the screams and the smoke.

Katherine! It shot through my head and an ice cold fist clutched at my heart. And I jumped to my feet. And I ran. I ran faster than ever before. Perhaps faster than humanly possible.

When I reached the church, I found it blazing fiercely and I quailed. Several carriages waited in the courtyard and those few people who stood outside, armed with whatever they could find, were cheering at the fire, raising their arms with joy, rejoicing. Closer to my own position I rather heard than saw poor little Anna weeping for her mother, eyes red and watery with tears fixed on the conflagration. And instead of giving each other  solace, we both just watched in horror, too afraid to leave the cover of the trees, for we might have been thrown into the burning church as well, if we got caught.

Long after dawn and long after the sun reached and transcended its zenith, when the people of Mystic Falls were sure that all vampires were perished in the fire and left to probably celebrate, I dared to leave the shadows and slowly approached what was left of the former largest building in town. Most of the stone walls had come down and beneath them I could still feel the heat coming from embers that refused to stop licking at the remains of wooden beams. As I slid my feet through the ashes and took the few steps that used to lead to the door, which was now nothing but a stone arch leading to nothing but debris, I felt the heat burning my skin. But it didn't matter. It was nothing compared to excruciating pain she must have felt. And to feel close to her for one last time, as if torturing myself would have lessened her own torment, I endured it for a while.

Slowly I rise from my knees and carefully store the muzzle - too large and peculiar in shape to be made for anything else than a human head - on one of the boards, pulling out the book next to it and part its pages to look at her picture once more; this time I make sure to fully conceal the precious keepsake to preserve it from further decay. And as I do, the soothing melody of the music box slows, further and further, and stops, rendering the room’s atmosphere to the former clotted silence.

Unaffected by any outside influences remains my own memory, unattached to any token that might not stand the test of time. It will always be there, treasured, for eternity. Long after the closet's content and the wood itself has turned to dust.

The old brass hinges creak again as I slowly push the wooden doors shut and seal those items, memories and stories - those and many more - inside, to be found again in the future, by myself or - who knows - by someone else.

~end of solo~

#tvd #the vampire diaries #The Vampire Diaries RP #damon salvatore #damon #stefan salvatore #stefan #katherine pierce #katherine #datherine #1864 #fanfic #solo #shortstory #misanthropesolo #misanthrope

[samwrights]

I Don’t Mind

Warnings: talks of physical and mental abuse in an abusive relationship. 

Words: 1550

Note: Inspired by the song ‘I Don’t Mind’ by Defeater, my former wedding song. This story is (obviously) very personal to me. Italics are either memories or song lyrics.

Pairing: ex!Tom Holland x Reader

Young and in love. The concept of being a teenager and falling in love and marrying your first serious boyfriend—it was so unrealistic. Sure there were people who married their high school sweet hearts or really did marry their first serious relationship. But nobody ever mentions what happens when it doesn’t work out. How much your heart can shatter, how broken you feel afterward. Maybe it was because everyone figured that it’s the first relationship, it doesn’t really matter. Plenty of fish in the sea, yadda yadda yadda.

Nobody ever talks about the pain.

It didn’t matter if you had moved on and were in a happy, healthy relationship years after everything had blown up in your face. It didn’t matter that your current boyfriend was so incredibly understanding of the friendship you kept with yours and your ex’s best friend. And while you kept contact to a minimum between the two of you, there were days where he was the only person who could help. There were days where you and Harrison needed to go for a walk on the boardwalk by your house with a beer in your hand. You’d always find a place for the two of you to sit, dip your feet into the water, while you unearthed problems that you had already solved.

Solved or not, it still hurt.

You and Harrison always got together around the same time—somewhere in mid-July as if to pay homage to when everything fell apart. It didn’t matter that it had already been almost three years since. “How’s your family, Haz?” You’d ask him every time. He would always say his family’s doing well and he was doing great. He’d say Tom is doing great too. “I didn’t ask about him.” You’d grumble out.

“But you want to know.” You couldn’t keep anything from him.

“I see enough of him on media.”

“You know that’s never been the whole truth.” Harrison would ask how you and your boyfriend were doing. The answer was always great, even though Harrison didn’t believe that for a second. It seemed suspicious that your boyfriend never cared about these long walks that the two of you had. There had to be something more. “I feel like there’s something you’re not telling me.”

“About?”

“How is your boyfriend okay with you hanging out with me?”

“Because he’s nothing like Tom.” Haz fell quiet, unsure of what to say next. Every fiber in his being wanted to defend his best mate. But defending him—defending what he did to you—he couldn’t do that. Especially after Tom had come to blame him as well. “He’s not a jealous person and doesn’t expect me to cheat on him with every guy I’m friends with. He doesn’t gaslight me, and accuse me of sleeping with his best friend when he was really the one cheating.”

“He showed me something the other day.” Harrison said after a lack of response. He couldn’t deny any of the things that Tom did. You let out a groan before chugging your beer in hand. You pulled two more from your backpack, handing one to Harrison before he could continue. He took the empty can from you, placing it in his own nap sack. From there, he pulled out a small photograph that had been folded up and worn. Haz handed it to you, the back housing faded black script.

You cleaned the mess from my head.

“Where’s the rest of them?” You said slowly as you unfolded one of yours and Tom’s engagement photos. Gingerly, he took out two more, each of them having a line to your former wedding song. You unraveled each one, thinking back to the chorus that was written on each of the photos.

I don’t mind if we take our time, ‘cause I’m all yours if you’re all mine.

“He told me he wanted to give these to you. His girlfriend doesn’t like the fact that he still has them.”

“You took them though, it’s kind of rude to throw out your best mate’s art regardless of the subject.” Harrison just shrugged before sighing. He opened one more, the backside blank compared to the others.

“You can do what you will with the others, but I would like for one of us to keep this one.” It was the picture of Tom proposing to you when you were both twenty. He seemed to glow, so bright. Maybe that was just how Harrison was able to capture you two. You were crying, covering your mouth in surprise. You remember this day so clearly. It was simple—a stroll through the park with just the two of you. You had no idea that Harrison was hiding with the twins nearby. Harrison to take the photos, the twins in charge of music and having the ring ready.

“There’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you.” Tom said nervously, his fingers twitching despite being intertwined with yours. You looked at him curiously, not realizing he had been given the boys their cue. He got down on one knee, his brother bringing him the ring as the other held up a boom box playing the song that would be known as their wedding song. A song for a wedding that would never come.

About three years and a day, I’d very much like to get married.

Maybe have kids and move away.

“You know, I’ve never understood how this happened, how it got to this point.”

“Wish I knew, Y/N.” Harrison says quietly as you handed the photograph back to him. There was no way you could keep that. There were a lot of factors that went into the ending of yours and Tom’s relationship. All of the arguing that fired up your constant state of anxiety took a toll on your mind—the constant arguing began to wear at his trust in you. The first gentle bickering turned into screaming matches, the screaming turning into physical fighting. Not that Tom would ever lay a hand on you; that was at least one thing Harrison could still be proud over. He never laid a hand on you, just preferred his hand to be touching someone, anyone else.

Nobody knew when it really started falling apart about because fighting wasn’t supposed to turn into this. Fighting doesn’t turn into this in normal circumstances. Which is why everything just went back to normal, as if you two just never happened. All except Harrison. Harrison couldn’t stand by after the close friendship the two of you had formed—the one Tom was just so envious over despite them being best mates forever. Harrison couldn’t stand by and allow you to have psychotic mental breakdowns. Tom called bullshit on you, called you over dramatic when Haz would try to tell him the state you would be in after you’d find him cheating again.

“Tell her to stop hitting me, maybe I’ll start giving a shit about her again.”

“You’re both a mess, and you need to figure it out!”

“Fuck off, mate.”

“This is your fiancee, for fucks sake! If you don’t give a shit about her then just break it off!”

“Why, so you two can go fucking run off together instead of having to sneak behind my back?”

It was all a giant mess. It was a constant vicious cycle.

Harrison was the only one who wanted to help you. He was the only one who helped you.

“Y/N. I have a surprise for you.” You remember Harrison showing up to yours and Tom’s apartment while he was at work. Or at least, he said he was at work. He was still in between jobs, awaiting for his big break. Harrison showed up with a large suitcase, causing you to raise your eyebrow.

“Are we going somewhere?”

“I’m taking you to see your family.” Tears slid down your eyes in excitement—the thought of flying back to the states felt like an impossible dream.

You never knew that Harrison’s ticket was the only round trip ticket; yours was one way. Despite being angry at the moment, you knew that he did what he did with the best intentions. And looking back, you were thankful to have a friend like Harrison who truly cared for your well-being enough to fly you home to be with your family. You needed it. He had spent weeks planning with your family to get you back home and to get you the psychological help you desperately needed.

Now he had met up with you whenever he was in California, proud to see how far you’d come. Sound and stable, thriving, and happy. He knew you weren’t entirely to blame for the destruction of the relationship—Harrison knew you needed help. Hell, Tom knew you needed help. He didn’t care enough to actually assist you.

Nobody talks about the pain.

Nobody ever talks about how to handle arguments in a healthy matter until you’ve figured it out. Nobody ever talks about psychological abuse. Nobody ever talks about having violent outbursts due to the sheer volume of anxiety that is pumping through your blood. Nobody ever talks about what it’s like to become a monster when you’d cross that boundary so many times.

Nobody talks about the pain.

#fuckboy!tom holland #fuckboy!tom holland x oc #fuckboy!tom holland x reader #tom holland x reader #tom holland imagine #tom holland #tom holland headcanon #haz osterfield #haz osterfield x reader #bestie!haz x reader #tw #psychology #physical abuse #mental abuse #mental health #mental disorder #please if you are in an abusive relationship #get out #seek help

[thestarwarsreview-blog]

The Last Jedi: Trailer #1 Breakdown

The long awaited first trailer for The Last Jedi is finally here, and we here at The Star Wars Review are here to break it down: line by line, scene by scene.

Dialogue analysis:

The first voice we hear belongs to Supreme Leader Snoke. He talks of when he first found Kylo, describing his “raw, untamed power,” as well as “something truly special.” This is no doubt a result of his lineage in the Skywalker family.

We then hear Rey, as she speaks the line, “Something inside me has always been there. Then I was awake, and I need help.” She seems to be referring to the force “awakening” in her during The Force Awakens, and her need to understand and control it now.

We see Rey meditating on a rock in front of Luke, and the rock splits. Luke tells how he has “seen this raw strength only once before.” He states that “it didn’t scare me enough then. It does now.” He is no doubt referring to Kylo, and he is obviously regretful that he wasn’t able to prevent him from turning to the dark side.

The next person to speak is Kylo Ren himself. He speaks a couple of lines that give insight into his murder of Han Solo, and his possible future actions. “Let the past die. Kill it, if you have to. That’s the only way to become what you were meant to be” - Kylo Ren

Kylo feels that he needs to cut ties with his past, and as he has already killed Han Solo, we are lead to believe he will be attempting to kill Leia next.

Next, we here Poe speak, and his words seem to be a rallying cry to the Resistance. “We are the spark, that’ll light the fire, that’ll burn the First Order down.” Poe speaks these words with authority, and it makes you wonder whether he will end up with a more important role in the leadership of the Resistance.

The next three lines go by in fairly quick succession. First, Luke says, “This is not going to go the way you think,” followed by Snoke tell somebody to “fulfil your destiny.” Lastly, we hear Rey speak the following: “I need someone, to show me my place in all this.”

THEORY TIME: What in Tatooine’s two suns does this mean?!?

1. Will Luke bail on Rey? Rey is looking for help with her force powers. Luke sees something very powerful in her, something that he has seen before: in Ben Solo. This scares him, as he sees the possibility of this great power leading to betrayal, as it did with Ben. But Rey still needs help: “I need someone, to show me my place in all this.” Is this line spoken to Kylo, as we are lead to believe, or someone else? Will Rey go to Kylo, and the dark side, for guidance? You tell me.

2. Where does Rey’s “raw strength” come from? Rey’s most impressive force powers are something that Luke has only seen once before: in his former student, Ben Solo. Now we know Ben, or Kylo, got this force power from his lineage in the Skywalker family. So where did Rey get hers? Of course, it is possible that Rey just happens to have been endowed with supernatural force strength, but what fun would that be? But if she is a Skywalker, is she the daughter of Luke and an unknown mother, or is she the sibling of Kylo Ren? It would definitely be interesting to see the dynamic that the brother-sister, light side-dark side duo would bring.

3. Is that how Leia is gonna go out? During one of the more intense moments of the trailer, we see Kylo Ren approaching the Resistance flagship in his TIE Silencer. As the camera cuts between Kylo and Leia, we hear the former speak: “Let the past die. Kill it, if you have to. That’s the only way to become what you were meant to be.” It certainly seems as if Kylo intends to complete his path to the dark side, and he feels that he needs to kill his mother to do so. Leia’s death in The Last Jedi is  inevitable, but will it be at the hands of Kylo Ren, or is it possible that Kylo’s story will have a bit of redemption in it? I certainly hope so.

Interesting & Epic Trailer Moments

As the trailer begins, we see Kylo Ren overlooking a hangar containing First Order walkers. Many AT-AT’s can be seen there, as well as what seems to be the First Order’s version of the Imperial AT-ST (directly to the right of Kylo’s leg). It will interesting to see whether they are identical to the Imperial AT-ST, or if it is a new walker of similar build.

Kylo leads a troop of First Order snowtroopers into a rocky cave with red underneath the black surface. Could this be where Snoke is? 

Kylo has a strip of a carbon fiber-esque material on his cheek, where his scar was. This has not been shown in any previous pictures, teasers, or concept art, so it’ll be interesting to see if we’ll learn more about it either before or in the movie. Kylo is seen later without this on his face, so it could possibly be some sort of healing device. 

PORGS!!

That is all.

We’re finally going to be able to see Finn and Phasma face off, and it looks to be a pretty epic encounter.

It also seems that we’ll get to see Snoke use his force abilities, as we see Snoke reaching out, and Rey bends backwards in pain (seen below).

That’s all that I’ve got for now. Drop a comment to let me know what you think of the trailer and all the possibilities, or send me a DM if you want to talk about theories and what not (because i sure do have a lot more in my head than what I was able to put down here). I hope this article was insightful! MTFBWY!!

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Surprise! There’s more!

Reylo = Way no! With how the trailer ended, it could be seen as more fuel to add to the Reylo fire. I do not see anything happening between Kylo and Rey romantically, though I definitely think there is a connection there. However the plot ends up going, whether it has Rey turn to the dark side, or Kylo go the the lightside, or even have them stay at odds on either side of the force (or even have them both abandon the extremes of the light and dark side and decide to stay “in the middle;” but thats another theory for another time), I believe that there will be an important connection there, one that will be important to the closure of the story. I don’t personally like the Reylo “ship,” but I do acknowledge the connection there.

Thanks for reading! If you liked this, give me a follow and look out for future articles!

[fiannavalkyrie]

The Deeper Issue

I do not often write. I feel more competent portraying a story through art. But there are some stories too complex for a single image. This story details a major plot point for DnD!Sonno: a drug addiction intervention. A similar event happened in WoW!Sonno’s backstory, beautifully crafted by @faythian. It takes place the day after Sonno nearly over doses on some unfamiliar drug. The party has various reactions ranging from anger, disgust, betrayal, and heartache. After the rest of the party goes to bed, Kith discusses the consequences with his son.

Kith sat up and watched Sonno as he moped around the common room. It was obvious that his friend's reactions had been a painful shock to Sonno. Kith was conflicted. He loved his son dearly, which made seeing him suffer hurt his heart. But he knew any comfort offered would only reward the bad behavior. He wanted Sonno to learn from this. The pain would be motivating, but Kith didn’t see the need to suffer in excess. He wandered over to join Sonno by the fire.

Sonno had made a blanket burrito of himself, even so far as to cover his head to shield his eyes against the brightness of the flames. Even next to the hearth he was shivering slightly.  For once he admitted that he had overdone it this time. He had never had a worse morning after. And if his dad was to be believed, (and a healer of his skill should be) it was not going to go away anytime soon. He groaned under his blanket. He heard Kith sit down nearby and grimaced, preparing for the berating. Yet, after several moments none came. This almost disturbed him more. “Aren’t you going to yell at me too?” he grumbled.

“No.” Kith answered, softly, slowly, sipping his tea. “I just want to know what you’re thinking.” Sonno huffed softly and drew his blanket around closer.

“I just dunno why everyone is mad at me.” he griped. “I didn’t hurt anyone.” Kith pondered this. He knew Sonno was quite intelligent when he wanted to be. Unfortunately he only seemed to use it when he wanted to be manipulative. And for all his charm, he was poor at reading people. Perhaps he just needed some perspective.

“But you did.” the druid stated.

“How?!” Sonno retorted, “I’m the one who’s miserable and feeling like shit!”

“And you don’t think that matters to them?”

“Why the fuck should it?” This statement hurt Kith. It showed how little respect his son had for himself.

“Because they care about you. In more ways than you know.”

Sonno made a dismissive noise and mumbled back. “Funny way they have of showing it…” Kith sighed and scooted his chair closer to the fire.

“Let’s look at it practically then. We are about to embark on a very dangerous trek. One that requires all of us to be at our peak effectiveness. Would you say that in your current condition that you are up to the task?” He eyed his son carefully, curious about his response. Sonno groaned and fidgeted under the fluff.

“...no.” he admitted. “I mean, I could do it, but it would hurt like hell.” Kith nodded.

“Which would make you complain, and irritate the rest of the group, and throw them off as well.” Sonno scowled. He had to agree, they would not be pleased with him. “So by taking the actions that you did, you have jeopardized the effectiveness of the group as a whole. At least, that’s some of their concern.” Sonno brooded silently for a minute. His dad was right, of course. He hated being proved wrong. Kith waited calmly for Sonno’s thoughts.

“So we delay for a bit. I’ll get better eventually. It’s not like we have a deadline or anything.” Sonno reasoned. Kith sighed.

“We are not on a strict timeline, no,” his father agreed, “But our fear is that you will not get better.” Sonno’s eyes widened in horror, but Kith quickly continued, “Physically you will heal of course. But if you continue to make these choices, there will always be risks. And we worry that someday we will lose you.” Kith’s heart sank as he said so, not wanting to imagine his son’s death. Sonno mumbled something under his breath. “Please, out loud.” Kith commanded gently.

“I said ‘Maybe you’d be better off without me.’” Kith closed his eyes in a pained expression and took a deep breath. Did he really think he was worth so little? Did he have no concept of how loved he was?

“Sonno, I can guarantee you that is not the case,” he stated, “and not because we would be lacking your skills.” Sonno gave him a sidelong look of skepticism. “We care about you. Which is why your absence, and your suffering, is hurtful to us.” Sonno still didn’t understand why and silently hunched into his blanket. It was hard for him to believe. He knew that people saw him as annoying, irritating, and a pain. Why would anybody like someone like that? Before he could think any deeper on that subject, Kith continued.

“Do you have any idea how much it hurts your brother? Sorelia? Me? Put yourself in our shoes. Would you feel nothing if Seoc did this to himself?” Sonno thought about it. It was one thing if Sonno wanted to get himself fucked up, but if his brother had done the same…

Sonno mumbled a soft “no”.  Sonno was beginning to realize what he had done to them, but was too ashamed to admit it.

After a long silence, his father asked, “Why do you do it?”

Sonno shrugged. “I just wanted to have fun.”

“And was it worth the consequences?” Sonno thought about it. He didn’t even remember last night. The best he could recall was bright, blurry colors, glimpses of a few different rooms, an argument with a stranger… and now he was in such pain that none of that mattered. Then there were his friend’s reactions. His brother was furious with him. Most of the rest of the group was disgusted. And Sorelia- that hurt the most to think about. He’d never had to worry about that kind of relationship before. Never experienced how crushing it was to see her like this. If she had been enraged and violent it would have been less painful. But her complete and utter dismissal of him left a hole in his heart that hurt more than any of his physical symptoms.

“Not this time…” Sonno admitted.

“Just this time?” Kith prompted. Sonno thought back, despite the headache. Not every time had been this bad, true.  They had been fun times, but more often than not they ended with him getting in a fight, running from either a bad crowd or the authorities, and waking up the next morning feeling like shit, missing memories, and usually missing most of his cash (and occasionally clothing). But looking back over just the past year he realized that he had more enjoyable memories being sober than he had under the influence.

“...I guess not.” he reluctantly agreed. Kith was relieved. It seemed like it was finally starting to sink in. But there was another issue he was concerned about.

“What I still don’t understand is why you think it is ok for you to suffer, but not anyone else. Why the double standard?” This disturbed Kith greatly, and he was afraid of his son’s answer.

“It’s my body. I can do whatever I want with it.” Sonno defended, “but Seoc and the others, they don’t deserve this.”

“You think you deserve it?” Kith asked incredulously.

“Look, everyone else has something going for them,” Sonno explained, “they have skills, potential, a purpose…” he stared at the rug and picked at its fibers, “...I just fuck things up.” Kith gave a long sigh. Oh Sonno, how short-sighted you are...Kith thought.

“Sonno, if you could only see yourself through our eyes, you would see how wrong you are.” He laced his fingers together and leaned forward to see his son’s face, but the boy refused to meet his gaze. “You have all that and more. And even if you didn’t, you are still valued. Still loved.” He waited for an argument, but Sonno sat silently. “You don’t have to understand it. You are young, you may not understand for years. But please trust that what I say is true. Please don’t discount how we feel about you.”

They sat in silence as the fire’s coals crackled. Kith finished his tea, now long gone cold. After a while, Sonno murmured quietly, “I think I’m ready for bed.” Kith nodded.

“I should warn you, Davin has plans for you tomorrow.”

“Plans?” Sonno asked, worried. Another nod from Kith.

“He hopes to teach you where this destructive path will lead you.” he explained, “There is a ritual that all knights of his order undergo, where they peer into the Void.” Sonno’s eyes went wide with terror.

“You’re not gonna let him do it, are you?” Sonno begged. Kith tried to keep his face neutral against his son’s fear.

“I spoke with him about it. I think you should do it.” Sonno’s jaw dropped. He stammered a bit before Kith cut him off. “Please, you need to understand what you are doing to yourself. I hope that you will learn something from it.” Sonno gulped and whimpered a bit. His father must really be serious if he agreed that he should go this far. He was finally grasping the gravity of the issue he had caused. “Come on,” Kith said, offering his hand to help him up, “let’s get you to bed. You’ll want to be well rested for tomorrow.” Sonno accepted his hand and stood wobbily.

“As if I could sleep after hearing about that…” he complained, shuffling up the stairs with his father’s assistance.

“You will. I was able to cure the worst of the damage, but your body is still recovering. Rest will do it good.” They reached Sonno’s room and entered. Sonno’s heart panged upon realizing that Sorelia was gone. The room seemed eerie and morose in the dark, the bedsheets thrashed, the contents of his bags strewn about the floor. Kith set about straightening the bed while Sonno stood at the doorway, ruminating. He had really fucked up. He never felt so shitty, and that wasn’t counting the physical pain he was in. Kith helped him into bed and went to leave.

“Dad?” Sonno asked as he had his hand on the door.

“Yes?”

“Thank you.” Kith nodded.

“Of course. Get some rest. I’ll see you tomorrow. I love you.”

“Love you too.” And at that Kith shut the door. Sonno flopped on his back and stared at the ceiling. The day had been too much. Too much pain, too much anger, too much confusion. And now he had a terrible event waiting for him when he awoke. He had no idea how to survive this. He curled up alone and cried before sleep finally came.

#writing #drug intervention #Sonno #Kith

[jodiwalker]

The Best Things Happening on Game of Thrones Right Now

If the current season of Game of Thrones is fan service, then consider me — a fan — serviced, and sign me up, baby. We've been through the hard stuff, we deserve this. This series has finally broken through the stratosphere of TV criticism and into the land of pure joy where Arya can be both a raging lil' sociopath and a beloved protagonist.

So this is neither a review nor a recap, a critique nor a thoughtful analysis influenced by my superior status as a "book-reader." Instead, it is the most advanced of all literary art forms: a list of I've been tickled by in the first two episodes of season 7. The best things happening on Game of Thrones right now definitively are:

Very Silly Reveals That Are Supposed to Change the Game (of Thrones) But Are Kind of Just Really Obvious Solutions

1. There's a Shit Ton of Dragon Glass at…Dragonstone

Of all the things I expected out of this season—reunions, rifts, Cersei dramatically guzzling wine, Arya masked-murderin', Dany sittin' on thrones, hopefully the glorious return of Gendry's biceps—I never anticipated quite this much focus on igneous rocks. Jon Stark's laser focus on digging up dragon glass is starting to sound like a Goop newsletter, and it's not that I wouldn't subscribe (imagine: the fur recs! the tips for sultry lashes! the straightforward syntax without any annoying exclamation points!), it's just all a little more plainly sated than I expected. Jon calls, like, eight Big Chamber Meetings to tell all the Northern elders, plus Lil' Lyanna Mormont that their number one priority is to find dragon glass because it's the only thing they can create weapons out of in mass to kill white walkers. Those meetings go a little something like this:

Jon: How are we gonna kill white walkers?!

Northerners: DRAGONGLASS!

Jon: And where are we gonna find it?!

Sam, from Oldtown: AT—AND YOU'RE REALLY NOT GOING TO BELIEVE THIS—DRAGONSTONE!

[Ed. note: I've edited out the regular interruptions from Sansa that give me extreme conflicting emotional anxiety, but we'll get to those later in the "So You're Co-Ruling with Your Half-Sister Who's Actually Your Cousin and She's Recently Developed a Mind of Her Own After Surviving Extreme Trauma" section.]

Sending Sam to Oldtown to train as a maester is like the coconut oil/Franks RedHot of Westeros: that shit works on everything. At the Citadel, Sam begins scooping soup, souping poop (in a scene I would have exchanged for an hour-long loop of gruesome murders), and most importantly, sneaking into the restricted section of the library like some sort of chubby lovechild between Voldemort and Harry Potter. He even gets shut down by Jim Broadbent (aka Archmaester Marwyn, absolutely killing the wise, gives-no-shits maester game) and sneaks in anyway. And what did Samwell find in the restricted section?

Well, Sam steals maybe five books and finds the exact answer he needs, plus one he didn't even know he should be looking for—more on that in a minute.

And you know what? That's kind of dumb and unrealistic, but Sam deserves this. He's had a tough life and his dad is a jerk that wanted to kill him and his brother is (well, used to be) the hot guy from Unreal, and everyone shits on him all the time even though he is legitimately the nicest person alive in their godforsaken, feces infested world — dude has earned finding the solution to saving mankind after exactly 10 minutes of cozy reading with his cute wildling life partner and their ageless baby.

So, Sam finds out (via a super lame picture that Jaime could have drawn with his strong hand) that there's a big ol' dragon glass mine at—you're not going to believe this—Dragonstone. All they've gotta do is dig it up. Well, and, y'know, get past Daenerys Targaryen, heir of Dragonstone who recently arrived on its sandy, glass-filled shores. And that other thing that Sam found?

2. The Cure for Greyscale is Just…Peeling Off the Greyscale

Well, no fucking shit, Sam.  I mean, listen, I know I was just singing the kid's praises, but it's pretty crazy to act like you just found the magical cure for Greyscale in your magical secret books when that cure is…peeling off the Greyscaled skin and then putting a bunch of medieval Neosporin on it. But whatever, it's really sweet that Sam wants to help Jorah Mormont so badly because of his affection for Lord Commander Mormont and is willing to flay him to save his life (and definitely give himself Greyscale with the way he's using those gloves). So go ahead, Sam, peel off that Greyscale in your secret Dr. Pimple sessions—your solution might be obvious, but at least it's not dumb, dumb, dumb…

3. The Dragon Feller That's Just…a Crossbow

So, John is concerned with defeating the white walkers because, y'know, strong moral fiber and a her survivor's guilt complex and all that. But Cersei is mainly concerned with defeating anyone who would try to take the Iron Throne from her that she didn't already blow up with magic fire. And that means she's got to look alive about the tiny blonde Targaryen heading her way who's bringing, along with her legitimate claim to the throne, her three big ass dragons that were, coincidentally, born from a magic fire.

It's going to take something big to defeat those dragons. Something magical. Something much more powerful than even wildfire. Something like…

A BIG ASS CROSSBOW, BABY! Yeah, that will be great for killing dragons — if the dragons are sitting still, 1,000 years old, and already dying peacefully of natural causes. It's okay, Qyburn. They can't all be skull-crushing Frankenzombies held together by Husky R' Us armor level ideas, buddy.

Arya and Her Whole Thing

I remember when How to Get Away With Murder premiered there were a bunch of think pieces that were all, Finally! A Female Anti-Hero for Us to Love Just Like All Those Dude Anti-Heroes We Loved on A&E and HBO! Of course, no one loved Viola Davis' anti-hero like they loved Walter White because people don’t like to love flawed women like they like to love flawed men (and the show's not as good, but Viola is). And so, when Arya gave the best revenge performance of all time at the top of the season 7 premiere, there were a bunch of (to be fair, legitimate) articles that were all Should We Really Be Rooting for Arya? Is Arya a Sociopath Now? Arya Sure Looked like She Wanted to Kill Ed Sheeran, an Innocent Soldier, Who We Will Tell You Later How WE'D Like to Kill, But for Different Totally Valid Reasons.

So let me just say, yes! Arya is a probably a semi-psychopathic now, and yes! We should be rooting for her. She is but a simple mercenary setting out to avenge the death of her loved ones using humble blood magic. Yes, she killed Walder Frey, and yes, she fed him to his sons, and yes she then skinned him and wore his face in order to poison all those sons who she had just fed a pie made out of their dad, but you know what she also did…spared the women who hadn’t done anything wrong except be born into that nasty family. And yes she maybe only spared them to have this bad ass parting line, delivered with just perfect level-headed menace by Maisy Williams: "When people ask you what happened here — tell them the North remembers. Tell them winter came for House Frey."

But she is Arya and I love her, and I support her in anything she does…unless she kills any of the characters I like, in which case I will have to write some think pieces.

Sibling Dramzzz: Stark Edition

And speaking of Starks you have to keep your eye on, Sansa and Jon are having kind of a hard time co-parenting the North, and that's probably because people just loooove putting Jon in charge, even though Sansa should kind of technically be in charge, the only problem is, that Sansa's so annoying. Now, Sansa has made large strides toward being less annoying. But for every two steps forward (occasionally telling Lord Baelish to go fuck himself, knowing about war, not being a moralizing idealist), she interrupts Jon six times in their council meetings and tells him how stupid he is.

And listen, I get it — I have siblings. No one knows you better, and no one knows they know you better. When someone acts like they understand you better than you understand yourself, and worse, they're probably right, it can be trying. When Sansa tells Jon that he's going to get his head chopped off like his virtuous father and brother before him, she's not necessarily, but she is annoying. In a made-up world with dragons and child-sacrifice and, like, constant incest that's often not very relatable, I find this Jon and Sansa stuff frustratingly relevant.

The complexity of familial bonds is a language that spans universes (I mean, I guess that's ignoring the thing I just said about near-constant incest), so when Sansa says just the right bratty thing — "Joffrey never let anyone question his decisions, do you think he was a good king?" — to set Jon off, or when Jon and Sansa get on the same page about something, then he immediately changes his mind and announces it at the dinner table, so she questions his decision in front of all their gossipy cousins…it's normal family stuff, just at much higher, head-chopping stakes.

My great fear is that the tentative but often sweet partnership these two eldest "children" of Ned Stark have formed will somehow be ruined by Littlefinger. So boyyyyyy was it gratifying when Jon choked his old ass out when he was all I wanted to fuck your step-mom and now I want to fuck your half-sister, just thought I'd tell you that right here in front of your dead dad's crypt. And mannnnn was it concerning when Sansa backed down from publicly challenging Jon about his decision to leave the North and sale to Dragonstone the moment she learned he was leaving her in charge of the North in his absence, then immediately looked to Littlefinger for…what? Approval? Guidance? Shared joy? None are great options.

Just get though this Jon and Sansa  — I promise you’ll be best friends when you’re adults!

Sibling Dramzzz: Greyjoy Edition

Yo, this family is Messed! Up! Theon jumped off a ship rather than risk saving his sister Yara from their super-pirate uncle who's now taking Yara, Ellaria, and the last remaining Sand Snake, Tyene as his gift to Cersei which will totally make her want to marry him so he can be king, I guess, and not just of his raggedy salt islands.

It will never not be distracting how much Euron looks like Pacey though. If Pacey had a run-in with an H&M clearance rack and the entire smoky eye section of Sephora.

Sibling Dramzzz: Lannister Edition

And speaking of Cersei's current romantic status: Jaime is giving her a looooot of side-eye because she's, y'know, terrible. But she is doing a really fun thing this season where she's constantly recapping how much she hates everyone while subconsciously remaining us how much everyone hates her in return. While roaming around her Etsy map of Westeros, Cersei tells Jaime: "Enemies to the east. Enemies to the south: Ellaria Sand and her brood of bitches. Enemies to the west: Olenna, the old cunt, another traitor. Enemies to the North: Ned Stark's bastard has been named King of the North, and that murdering whore Sansa stands beside him. Enemies everywhere, we're surrounded by traitors!"

Girl, anymore zingers and maybe a concluding paragraph, and they'll give you a byline at Vulture. It is my one true hope that Jaime will realize his sister is insane and kill her before she kills him or Tyrion.

Everything Lil' Lyanna Mormont Does

I don't care if it's Disney-Channel-level precocious, I don't care if they're just giving us more of what we want…actually, I do care. Give me more of what I want! And what I want is the Lil'est Lady of Bear Island repeatedly telling a bunch of giant grizzled dudes to STFU. "I don't plan on knitting by the fire while men fight for me," she says when it's proposed that girls should be trained to fight in the war to come. "I might be small and I might be a girl, but I am every bit as much a Northerner as you. And I don't need your permission to defend the North." Yes, my tiny queen! I don't know if they heard you in the back, but at this point in time, just about every major house in the realm is run by a woman And speaking of…

Jon and Dany Said Each Other's Names and Hopefully That Will All Be Fine

That's it, that's all I needed. Now they can either become best friends or fall in incestuous Targaryen love, there is no other option.

Images: HBO; BlondieTVJunkie/tumblr

#game of thrones #game of thrones recap #episode 7.1 #episode 7.2

[cavalrylad]

A Brother's Penance: (this is the edited copy I meant to send)

((congrats Shay. You’ve won a trip to feels purgatory.))

Dead. The four miserable letters spelling out a final departure from this life. Gone. A word that is equally as short and eternal. It means beyond mending, repair, salvation, and return. These two words should never be uttered in the same sentence as his brother’s newly tarnished name.

What kind of cruel twist fate was this? That he survived and Benjamin did not? The kiss of demise had been planted on Samuel’s bones. The stench of the hereafter had been entrenched in every pore and fiber of his clammy skin. Sickness had invaded him and promised a dismal fate. The Captain had nearly been one foot in the grave. Yet, it was the healthy Major, whose, time expired before his.

Sammy’s heart sinks into his gut and the chambers of his chest feel tight as if, he had been caught in a vice grip. “Are you sure?” He entreats of the courier. Who again, dismally shakes his head “yes” before handing him the parchment.

Samuel always considered that this was a possibility. He knew full-well that death lurks within every shadow. Thanks to their present occupation. Still, the news caught him entirely off guard.

Samuel would have given his life ten thousand times over if it meant sparing his brother.

Carefully inked words blur upon the tattered communication. Ben had died alone in the hands of the enemy. Guilt burns like acid at every corner of the younger Tallmadge’s conscience. Of all the terrible things this had to be the worst. Samuel had prayed with countless suffering souls until the angels to came to collect them. However, he hadn’t been there in his own brother’s time of need. No one comforted Ben in his final moments.

“I’m sorry. Oh God, I’m sorry,” Samuel apologizes, to no one in particular. Haunted indigo hues shift from the tent towards the camp mutineer’s graves. He can’t help but feel sick.

How does one carry on when one-half of your heart… no, half of you, is buried under a heap of frigid, unfeeling, and worm riddled soil? Samuel questions himself. If only he had been the one to find the grave instead of his brother. How could he ever live up to Ben’s legacy? Why had God taken the perfect son and left in his wake, the more flawed?

His father’s funeral lecture from Ecclesiastes chapter three returns to him, in spite of Samuel’s efforts to push it away. ‘To everything, there is a season. A time to every purpose under the heaven. A time to be born, and a time to die; a time to plant, and a time to pluck up that which, has been planted…’ Sam braces himself against the next words. They do not bring him any comfort nor the promised peace that surpasses all understanding. “All goeth unto one place; all are of the dust, and all shalt turn to dust again.” No, not Benjamin! Samuel internally argues. Ben was more than a figure of ash, clay, dust, and bones. He was Samuel’s closest confidant, his best-friend, his teacher, and his protector. In fact, Ben and Sam’s lives had been so entwined that it was nearly impossible to reflect on a memory where one was present and the other was not. Save for the time Samuel had spent with the Sons of Liberty and the years upon the Jersey, of course.

From the very first breath that escaped Samuel’s lungs, his brother had continually been at his side. It was in Ben’s worn shoes that he took his first steps and it was in Ben’s footsteps, Samuel continually followed. With the elder boy’s loving coaxing, Samuel babbled his first words which, transformed into full sentences; until he couldn’t stop talking. Ben quickly became Sammy’s guiding compass. The one person who, always seemed to point True North; besides their father.

While it had, sometimes, felt like a burden following in the shadows of someone as intelligent, fearless, and spirited as Ben, Samuel cherished the benefits. He was quick to learn discernment from his elder brother’s mis-steps and mistakes. By watching Ben, Sammy acquired the art of taming his own temper. Understanding how to tame Ben’s followed soon after.

Samuel couldn’t bear the thought of his elder brother decaying in some shallow hole in the ground, without even a cross to make his final resting place! Even the gophers on the farm got more decent treatment! This was surely an outrage! But who was he to plead his cause with the enemy? They would surely do to him the same things they had to Ben. To them, he was a worthless peon. His aching soul is forced to slog through the muddied waters of grief.

On his knees the Captain pours out the oceanic depths of his shattered spirit, one stubborn tear-drop at a time. From the pit of his soul, he bitterly wails his heart-felt sentiment to the Author of All. “WHY? ABBA FATHER?! WHY… HIM?! AND NOT ME?! WAS MY LIFE NOT AS PLEASING OF A SACRIFICE? HAVE YOU TURNED YOUR BACK ON ME IN ANGER?! AM I BEING MADE TO SUFFER FOR SOME WRONG I HAVE DONE YOU? WHY THEN HAVE YOU NOT STRUCK ME DOWN?! BEN DIDN’T DESERVE THIS!”

No voice thunders from the clouds in reply. No answer comes in the shuddering utterances of the night’s wind. He is gifted only the accompaniment of a crippling, tomb-like silence.

Heaving lungs burn, heady with the sting of suffocation. Fierce sobs ravage his slender frame until even his bones find themselves rattling uncontrollably. Fingers claw at the ground striving in vain to bring himself closer to the heart of his, suddenly quiet, Maker.

It is in this moment he recollects Job’s lament. In a shallow, sotto voce, he rasps…..

“Let the stars of this day’s twilight be darkened; Let it wait for light but have none,  and let it not see the breaking of dawn.

Why is light given to him who suffers, And life to the bitter of soul, Who long for death, but there is none, And dig for it more than for hidden treasures, Who rejoice greatly, And exalt when they find the grave? Why is light given to a man whose way is hidden, And whom God has hedged in? For my groaning comes at the sight of my food, My cries pour out like water. For what I fear comes upon me, And what I dread befalls me. I am not at ease, nor am I quiet. And I am not at rest, but turmoil comes.”

Surrender beckons. Bringing himself into a prostrate position, Samuel finds himself powerless, humbled in the presence of the jealous, omnipresent, omnipotent, Ruler of Heaven and Earth. Whose abundant love, like a flood, consumes everything in its path.

He presses his forehead flat against the unforgivingly cold ground. His quivering lips meet the well-trodden dirt. He no longer utters supplications. They make no impact. Meager words could not change what had happened, no matter how desperately he wished them too.

In the stillness, far beyond the gasping sounds of his air-hungry lungs, Samuel can once more hear his father’s voice. “How can one know the ways of God? How can one say…that… this tragedy happened for this reason or that?” He remembers his father asking the church after Moma Tallmadge died. The church grew unusually quiet. Not a scuffle of shoes or squeak of the bench could be heard. Three-year-old Samuel turned to Ben who, then shrugged his shoulders in reply. As if, to say, he held naught the desired answer. Azure hues shifted in alarm back to his father as the pause lingered for a moment more. Then without hesitation, his father answers his own inquiry. “ We cannot. There is no striving against the divine providence of God, nor altering the course of things. Why… is irrelevant. We must trust in Providence even if we do not understand.” When Providence deals such heavy blows, it feels impossible to put one’s faith in the things unseen. Samuel finally understood that extreme spiritual battle. He could suddenly comprehend the reasoning as to why some refused to pray with the last breaths leaving their lungs. His eyes were finally open to the bitterness and darkness that jaded so many hearts for it was now implanted in his own. While it would not vanquish Samuel’s unyielding faith, it definitely shook it.

This is the start of an eternity without his dearest friend. Today would be the first of many days to pass without the comfort of his brother’s embrace, the warmth of his laugh, and his well-intended advice. Benjamin would never see the good his efforts and countless sacrifices had wrought. He’d never see the end of this bloody conflict nor the birth of the new nation they were struggling to defend. He’d never get married in that good old Setauket church, the way they planned, when they were no older than Sprout Woodhull. He’d never get the opportunity to grow old or know what it is like to have a family. There would be no birthdays, no Christmases, no Thanksgivings to Celebrate and share with his elder brother. No playful nudges, switching places, or pulling pranks… either.

And while time would stand still for Benjamin, it would not halt for Samuel. His face was already growing two days worth stubble in childish patches. He’d be forced to bear witness to the dawning of each new day. Likewise, the day’s plunging into the abyss of darkness. Samuel would find no rest, no peaceful slumber. His steps could not cease because he had no footsteps to follow in nor a guide to lead him. He’d be forced to march along to the endless cadence of the drums, the steady ticking of the clock. Guilt and shame would dog his every movement like the clanking of iron chains. He would forever be a prisoner to his shortcomings. Even washed in the grace of God, Samuel would always carry this heavy chip on his shoulder. He could never deserve absolution for being absent when his brother needed him the most.

For now, the anguish, guilt, and shame would his comeuppance. Time would make sure he paid his full penance before being reunited with Ben.

#drabbles by other blogs #unyieldingvalxr #brotp:brother let me be your shelter #(oh yes i didn't need my #heart today at all it is now shattered into tiny pieces #what have i done to deserve this?!) #submission

[mebeingserious]

(c.) End 2012 - Early 2013

- - #1

#Based On A You Story. Blinking cursor.

Peep my Doogie Howser blue screen. Peep my blue light. No bloc festivities, streamers, or tails to pin anything on. Pin that shit on yourself, B. Take responsibility.

“Pin The Tail” had a Max B verse on the original. Do with that knowledge what you will if what you will do is reimburse me for my strong miscellany-fact-brain game. I refined it through the arthritis of those on my personal Mt. Rushmore.

I’m unknowable, really. You should get to un-know me.

And it was an inside job, btw. Egged on by the peanut gallery, flipped the switch, gave you a parachute and some mumble-mumble about how the chlorophyll’s gonna be stunning.

I’m just another human cat, word to Grass Green. Don’t treat me like the grassy knoll. Leave them stones turnt all the way down.

But that “you” isn’t you, that’s you’s on you’s on you’s. UUU, if you will. Gotta not have it.

New swatch alert. Here. Peep the texture and the hues. That’s the interior.

Cam’ron in a Utah Jazz throwback staring back at me through a phone’s reflection. [||]. You right, you right.

Captain Quirk but the Captain Crunch Dog at the same damn time. Pretend it’s two months ago, though.

Your last.fm recent plays leave you vulnerable, if you think about it. I thought about it.

I need to remind myself I don’t do this for the little or the big dunns. Everyone needs to get their Lex Luger on from time to time. B.Y. Before Yokozuna.

So I say that to say this: “Can’t call it, might spoil it”

Performing tune-ups with some VBRs and possibly, 192s. You can only crash so many planes before you start frisking yourself in the airport.

Further and farther are in full effect. But then I remember “that’s when the money starts running” and Stoicism, and put it in hands I once knocked down.

- - #2

Spot ‘em, got ‘em. I got dirt on you, doggie.

But God made dirt and dirt bust your ass.

Or my ass. I know too much. Internal Spy vs. Spy.

I saw those stars. Had my radars up. Tangible air.

One minute it’s in the constellations, the next sixty-seconds it’s a “Superthug” if.

Hella.

No, not you. The other. But you? You’re putting together a 150-piece in the dark.

Me? S.O.L. S.O.S. But I’m like Private Ryan. So you can save that.

Oh wait, I forgot that motherfucker survived.

Anyways, haardships.

My window’s been closed but at least I have a window. But it’s lowkey amazing that a window is even a thing.

I just did what Game did with the coaching of the fat producer on ironing Dickies. But you don’t hear me, doe.

Do you hear me, doe? This is the Gawd.

He doesn’t take requests but he’ll play me, though.

But really, I did that. Sorta like what Kane said on “The Symphony.”

Anyways, indecision.

He who hesitates in peace is even worse.

The pyramids didn’t get built by throwing stones or sitting on them. But I fucked up when I entertained the E.T. theory.

I’m the man now, dog. But really, without the seven you’re not Sean Connery. You’re just…

Anyways, alternate universes. That exist in shared thought bubbles.

But that’s the only place they ever existed, nah?

But let’s thought experiment. Does that outcome satisfy?

Or is it just better than hearing a single echo against drywall?

I can give you advice on farther but my track record is a stumble out the blocks paired with a horizontal starting gun, finished off with a somersault. 1.0 - 1.0 - 1.0

Got gotted and spotted.

Need is whatever you think it is.

But try to take my arm and leg and I might be that shoe with the band between the big toe.

You can have a symphony composed of c-notes in that porcelain but if you don’t embrace that internal Hammer … well. Basslines don’t come across well in sign.

You can go on and be Big L’s Rocafella debut, but you don’t know voodoo.

But tangible is good. I mean, Tough Luv holds up pretty well eight years later.

I guess I misunderstood that originally. Or I tried to understand too soon. He was right when he said “…or rather me.”

- - #3

The last verse on “Pyramids” without the sonic context.

Strikes Back. In the Empire. They say it’s their favorite flick.

Swore my hand waved to me as it fell, in that “Hi, Hater” motion.

Took off that mask and it was a mirror. No disrespect but there’s truth to it.

Anton Chigurh in the guidance counselor’s office basically saying “heads or tails.”

Saw it with the old man. In the alt. section of the universe it was Batman Returns.

Trying to lucid dream about the Northwest in 1996, but I’m better off sleeping. And peeping those trees with the date emblazoned in a reddish orange beneath their stumps.

Subsidized Napoleon complex had me fighting on the wrong side. Got did like Waterloo.

Manila envelopes addressed to that British newspaper. Don’t you know this is the Empire?

Telepathy returned to sender.

Heard “boo” from that pocket-sized frame.

But ghosts only come for your wig when you turn your back.

“Whoa” ain’t me, that’s Black Rob.

Speaking of that song…

Come to terms with endearment.

You chose the ball and you joined me in breadth.

Another one chewing dead skin, dirt particles and textile fibers.

Carly Simon. Bet.

What came first, the wound or the egg that provided the shells that were stuck in the soles?

South West here like Northern OH. Something something “talent.”

Indecisive travel agent that forgot to build a plane.

I saw the white plates, the blue plates, and now they’re yellow. i.e. I’ve seen the Empire crumble.

Let an ocean talk for me.

What the fuck is portamento? Not worth it.

Waking up to a foreign vocabulary test. Appealing. No comprende.

Opted-in because I was loyal to the wrong things. Minus the fuckboy-isms.

He was the Pookie of venlafaxine.

Caesar: Judas.

Conversational anesthesia. Was on that Freud shit.

Liked the yellow yoshi that stomped and the one with wings.

And you can tell a lot about a man by how he uses a warp whistle. Button on the VCR.

Meant to hear Tiến Quân Ca in person but couldn’t. If he saw the inland, I wouldn’t.

Lucas Arts revisionist tip. Script = flipped. And now…

Telling the emperor “We don’t need to see all that.” I’ll say it.

And maybe worth it. But no capitulation. The sign fixed.

- Carly.

“You, Me, Him and Her” gets played twice.

The first one’s near Luxor, prolly.

Gut snitched.

Us couldn’t stop dreaming, then I couldn’t get to sleep. Both.

“I fuck around and have you sleeping underneath something”

But that last verse, though.

- - #4

Pop culture hustling and cocaine references are the way to my heart. My heart is sullen and abandoned; full of un-shatterable Pyrex-brand measuring cups.

Or is it. Racially ambiguous inquisition. Internal. In-terminal, I keep ticking. So, maybe occupied.

Don’t knock it. I’m taking out this time. To compose choppy sentences that stop before they start because I’m so non-fiction I might call myself Tumblr Game Tom Wolfe.

Looking back, YN really inspired me with his Letters From The Editor. But nah to that “Ha!”

Flirting with disaster because she sent me a flick. Y’all are too literal. Down to the ‘I’m so crazy.’

Meanings on top of meanings. Princess and the Pea. That now archaic Jay-Z and Kanye interplay. References need a new hard drive. They’re making that grindin’, too busy to stay up-to-date sound.

I’m not looking at your dues, I’m looking past you. Why are ghosts see-through but you can’t see through what you can see.

Peter Piper was too fucking picky. End of story. Citing Antwan Patton in MLA style. If you want the references, you gotta pay for this. I accept Juelz. Pay the pause forward.

Subtle is my subtitle. You can read or watch. An internet quiz will tell you what that means for you and your personality.

John on the run eating. But wasn’t gaining.

Acting like shenanigans in loosie, but there was no explaining.

No, no, no. I’m not you, rapper.

Jesus H. Pylori. The church of disrupted insulin function and latter day faints.

Glue where the flex be. Vampires that never heard about the smallpox blankets. Paul’s Boutique sample count. Dust, brother. Trying not to bite down.

That admittance, and the small BIC. Alluhdat.

Three letters. Now I feel alluhdat.

Maybe knowing in retrospect is the win. Like when they extend those legs and and hold their hands in a state-enforced half-hearted semi-prayer position saying “I hope this provides closure for your family.”

A & B convos. Split-tests. More like a two and eight.

Good things surface for those that hold elevators. Or something.

Lost the top about fitty-leven times. No lojack. Find it, then repeat. Dementia. Kojack.

No lolli. Point the finger, no Rollie. No handle, no bars. Just folly.

Was on that “If I die, I die.” Life Game Ivan Drago.

Try to be a fatalist. Unexciting Mortal Kombat finishers.

Marcus Aurelius darts onto the screen to kill the opponent with mercy.

No hip hop genius to help you. Y’all Nah Right sidebar. Newsy. Your quotient can’t save thee. Or thou. Or you. Let’s say you.

Because I’m like Jason Bourne asking himself about that one birthday party when he was an age that gets spelled out by the Associated Press. Hope unseen sequels don’t kill my simile.

We’re all trying to live facsimile’s meaning if you said it quick. Gender neutral, though.

Don’t, doe.

Because reflection requires dedication. Three’s ain’t always charming. There’s precedent. See the millionaire trying to kickflip.

I’m not a walking version of the back of the teacher’s edition history/sociology/psychology combo cost-saving textbook.

Slight of hand. Converse with it.

Phonte’s monologues on the last two from Get Back.

That’s the point. Nipsey Russell.

#writing #1-4