#I think she could maybe beat Turner too

[humansofnewyork]

“It’s been a tough morning for me. I used to be a children’s librarian. But this morning I had to call publishers and tell them not to send me any more books. I just can’t read them anymore, not like I used to. And that was hard. It felt like I was cutting off a lifeline. It’s disappointing, the sense of not being in control of my own life anymore. Everything depends on my medical schedule, and the chemotherapy, and what my limits are. The doctor has told me to expect a couple more years, but my caretaker says she’s seen a lot of sick people. And she thinks I could be one of the ones who can beat it. For most of my life happiness was automatic. I might have had the only career where you get told ‘I love you’ three or four times a week. Maybe it happens with teachers too, but so many little kids said those words to me over the years. And I miss that. I was damned lucky to have that experience. Happiness isn’t automatic anymore, these days I have to work a little bit more for it. In addition to all the pain and the fear and having to pee all the time, I choose to do a lot of things that will make me aware of the beauty and loveliness of life. It's not magic. I don’t stop thinking about the scary stuff, I just find moments to push them aside with the ridiculous. There’s so much in life that’s ridiculous. Every Saturday morning I watch Popeye on Turner Classic Movies. It’s so ridiculous. Olive Oil is so obnoxious. And you know, she has all these men after her. It’s just really funny. And Popeye is so full of himself and somehow manages to come out of everything, eat his spinach, and win. Then there’s my laughing yoga classes, which I can’t do in person anymore. But I do them online. There’s this thing we do where people will get in lines of three or four, and we’ll pretend to have a boat race. Everyone rows as hard as they can. Someone chooses a winner, and if you lose you get to create a big scene and make an ass of yourself. It’s ridiculous. And then there’s you. You’re ridiculous. You’re stopping random people, presumably to entertain yourself. You’re sitting in the middle of the street. I mean, think about it. It’s pretty dumb.”

[bunny-1111]

Beg for it - Theodore Nott

Description: Before break, you had trouble with Theodore. On the train ride back to Hogwarts, he reminds you of the consequences of your actions.

Word count: 1.5k

...

You had gone all summer break without taking to Theo.

All summer long.

It was out of pettiness, of course. A small little argument turned into a blowout fight right before getting off the train to return home for the holidays.

You stared at your parchment all day, every day. You even picked up your quill one day, watched the ink drop onto the paper, then dropped it, pride having got the better of you.

Pride got the best of Theodore too.

Who the fuck were you to do this, ruin his summer and not write a dot to him, he thought; stubbornness mets human form in Theodore Nott; he would not accept defeat in reaching out first.

So that was that. Nothingness for two full months.

As you made your way to the platform, you thought the silent treatment would reach its end. Scarcely looking around for your boyfriend, you realise you're so nervous, you don't know if you could get a word out if you tried.

Pushing your trolley you look up, in his mighty form, Theodore Nott, body leaning onto the brick, casually talking to Matteo and Pansy.

You felt your heart drop. What do you say now, hey stranger? Miss me? I'm sorry. No. Dumb, dumber, dumbest.

So you just stood there, hand on your trolley, heart beating out of your chest by the second.

Your daze broke when you heard Pansy call out to you.

"There she is!!" she called out, gesturing you to join them.

You tried to approach, really you did, except your legs failed you. You couldn't move for a few seconds, or was it a minute? You didn't know.

"What's wrong, come-er" Mattheo yelled towards you, eyebrows furrowed

You finally made your way to them, Theodore looking at the ground.

When you got there, he was quick to leave, stomping on his cigarette and boarding the train. So this is how it would go, still not talking, got it.

Matteo quicky greeted you, then followed your boy.

"What's up his ass?" Pansy questioned, pulling you into a hug.

"I couldn't tell you" you huffed

"What's up your ass?" she questioned

"Theodore" you rolled your eyes

"Did yous fight during the break" she asked linking her arm with yours, as you start to walk towards the train

You stop and turn to her "We haven't spoken since the last day of school" you admit

her eyes widen "did you break up?!"

"that would require a conversation" you laughed self pity laced in your expression

"you wouldn't have mentioned that in one of your letters?" she says

"I didn't want to think about it, I'm sorry" you reply

"what are you going to do?" she almost laughed

"I don't know, I was hoping you'd figure it out for me" you say faking a cry

she threw her head back in laughter "Oh no, no, this is a you problem"

You groaned back, searching for the carriage the boys secured.

As you reached the door, you looked at the seating arrangement. You could sit next to Draco, wedge yourself between Blaise and Enzo, or sit in the open seat next to Theo.

Next to Draco was the most rational decision you thought: taking a seat. Until Pansy had other plans. " Get up; I'm sitting there," she smiled, her head nudging towards Theos's direction.

You took a deep breath and moved beside him, your shy eyes looking up at him. When he didn't look back, breathe a word, touch you, or even acknowledge your existence, you took it upon yourself to rest your head on the window seal.

Pft you thought.

Nine and a half hours of this. You wished you had a time turner to change your present. To have just written him. Maybe you wouldn't be in this situation if you had.

Would it be this painfully quiet the whole trip? Would he even reply if you started a conversation? Ugh you wanted to scream out. But you didn't. Your mouth stayed shut, and your eyes stayed closed.

Eventually falling asleep to the soundtrack of your endless thoughts.

That is until Theodore nudges you awake. Opening your eyes, he gestures for you to leave with him. Here we go.

The two of you walk down the thin corridors of the Hogwarts Express in silence, looking for an empty carriage.

After looking and looking, with no luck, Theodore grew increasingly impatient.

He found an almost empty space, though three kids, much younger than you both, sat in cartridge, door closed. Theodore stopped before the door, opening it, as the children stared at him.

"Get out", he said cooly, pointing at them, then behind himself.

"Why, where will we go?" a boy replied

"I don't give a fuck join the people next door. We're prefects unless you want three weeks of detention. I suggest you do as I say," he continued; it was the most you had heard of his voice in so long; you didn't want him to stop talking, even if it was telling off these strangers.

They hesitantly got up and left, muttering something under their breath, beginning their quest for new seats.

Theodore grabbed your hand and sat you down, closing the door and curtain behind him.

Your heart rate picked up again as he sat directly before you.

You didn't know where to look and certainly didn't know what to say.

"You have some nerve." He stated, leaning back, relaxing his legs out, looking straight at you.

Could he hear it, the thud of your pounding heart, you wondered.

"I-" you began

"And then. You dare to not sit next to me" He laughs, a scary laugh, an angry laugh

You inhale, ready to rebut before he starts again. "Is that what you want, to sit with Draco? Huh? Or Blaise or Matteo, anyone but your fucking boyfriend."

"I didn't think you wanted me near you," you say, looking out the window. Avoiding his gaze. Yeah, he didn't like that, immediately moving next to you,

"What's so special out the window?" he growled, placing two fingers on your chin, tilting your head towards him "Look at me when we talk, not the bloody view" he continued

"okay", you managed to whisper back. I wasn't a second longer before one of his hands reached the back of your neck, the other finding its way through your hair. His lips exploring your mouth.

He was literally taking your breath away when he finally pulled away; you caught your breath back, his forehead connecting to yours

"why didn't you fucking write me?" he pants out

"I don't know," you say, closing your eyes

"look at me" he says, you do.

"I waited all fucking summer," he says, looking deep into your eyes; you knew what he was doing, searching for the answer you still hadn't given him.

"you didn't write me either," you said in a hushed tone

His hands meet his face, burying his frustration.

You place your hands on his back, he moves his hand from his face to your arm, sliding down until his arm is around your body.

"I shouldn't talk to you for the whole school year" he spat out

"You couldn't live like that" you quickly reply

"I have plenty of experience, two months worth, all thanks to you," he says inching closer to you

"I'm sorry, Teddy, alright" you plead

"you really don't get it, do you? How angry you made me all fucking break. What am I gonna do with that?" his voice husky and low, leaning over you

"do what you have to do," you say just above a whisper underneath him

"Here, now? I don't think so" he says before kissing you "teddy" you called out

"I'm right here," he says, kissing your neck

"please" you whisper

"No, no," he says, moving off you

"I'm gonna make you as frustrated as you made me all summer, baby" he smiles

You look at him blankly. He was knocking any bit of integrity out of you

"come on" you almost laugh

"I'm so serious", he says "You'll be begging all term long" he continues kissing your forehead, standing up

"where are you going?" you rush

"back to the group" he smiles. You furrow your brows

"what's wrong, baby?" he chuckles

"Teddy" you whine

"I told you... begging" he says, looking back, leaving the carriage

This was not how you expect things to go.

It was going to be a long term, and you hadn't even arrived yet.

The punishment of pushing Theodore Nott.

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part 2 - here

[heartz4shauna]

YELLOWJACKETS - Could Tumblr user heartz4shauna beat that character in a fist fight?

All teen timeline characters. I would NOT stand a chance against any of the adults. No research was done in preparation for this post.

Shauna Shipman: No. I do not think I could beat her in a fist fight. She would beat the shit out of me without blinking. If I could pull her hair, I’d probably win then as I have a solid grip.

Lottie Matthews: Yes. Though she is tall and probably pretty strong, I think I could take her in a fight. I think she would probably be winning in the first half of the fight, but I might be able to redeem myself in the second half.

Javi Martinez: Yes. I don’t feel as if he is very strong. He unfortunately happens to be a younger brother and was probably tormented by Travis when they were kids. I was also a tormentor, I could beat him.

Taissa Turner: No. She would talk so much crap about me before hand and still win. She was obviously so ready to fight Shauna in the Pilot episode. She would have won.

Misty Quigley: Yes, without a doubt. Yes, she is good with weapons but what use are those skills in a fist fight? Probably has heavy hands, though. I feel I might have a height advantage at least.

Van Palmer: Mixed feelings. She is a goalie and probably could throw a few unfazed punches. I do think I may be able to outsmart her somehow. Maybe in the middle of the fight, she starts boasting and gets distracted and that’s when I sock her in the jaw.

Laura Lee: Yes. I don’t feel like she would be very good at defending herself and would probably just be like, “God has a plan.”

Mari: Yes. Like Taissa, she would talk a lot of shit but not live up to it. She would beat me in a verbal fight, though, and I would walk away crying.

Travis Martinez: No. Like me, he is a torment to his younger sibling, but may have more experience being a tormentor. I think he could take a few hits without worry.

Akilah: Yes. Like Laura Lee, I feel like she wouldn’t do much. Might get some solid hits in, though. I think she would eventually give up.

Kristen/Crystal: Yes. I don’t think she has ever really had to fight anyone before and wouldn’t really know what to do.

Gen: No. Probably breaks the rules and pulls hair. Definitely has a good hand, too.

Melissa: Yes. She, in my head, is similar to Van and probably witty. But, she hasn’t had to fight people really. She looks like the type of girl to have a sister who fights though.

Jackie Taylor: No. Just the way she might look at me before the fight would have me trying to back out. Has definitely thrown hands on the field before.

Natalie Scatorccio: No. Would outsmart me by a mile. Unfazed by my attempts to fight back. She has obviously been in a few fights before and knows how to defend herself.

Thank you for reading.

[northernlightalaska]

How they would ask you to prom!

WARNING BAD PICKUP PROM LINES (the gangs lines are in bold!)

WARNING BAD SPELLING WARNING BAD WORDS!

Also I'll do part 2 with the Shepards+ the some of the socs tomorrow

Darry

You were getting ready to cheer for the football game it was about 2 weeks before prom then darry tapped you on the shoulder

"hey y/n"

"hey what's up?"

"wanna tackle prom with me?"

Y/n laughed a tiny bit

"yes dar I will go to prom with you"

"oh thank gosh Oh uh I got you flower by the way! oh and those candies you told me about!"

he was def stressing since he needed it be prefect (sodapop gave him the pick up line)

He spent at least 30 minutes trying to pick out the best flowers

Sodapop

(just image he didn't drop for the plot please 😭)

Him and Steve definitely practiced for hours

"hey uh will you uh"

"dang it soda! get your head in the game she ain't go with you if don't act with bravery!"

"Oh shut your trap Steve you ain't got no date at all"

"hey!"

-⛸-Later-⛸-

"hey Y/n wait up!"

soda walked up to as you were getting ready to get in your car

"oh hey soda whats up?"

Y/n smiled at him and he took a deep breath

"You know since your such a bright star maybe you should light up my night at prom?"

"Oh sure soda! I'd love to go to prom with you!"

Soda flashed his a million dollar smile

"well great! can't wait to see your dress I bet it'll look great on you"

"awe thank you soda! You'll look great too now see ya!"

"yeah,yeah see ya!"

-⛸-Later-⛸-

"Yo dude she said yes!"

"hell yeah man!"

add in high five

Ponyboy

He went to darry to ask for some advice since he didn't know what to do at all

"hey dar.."

"yeah pony whats up?"

"I wanna uh ask out this girl to prom but I don't know how... can you help me..?"

"oh yeahs sure ponyboy I forgot it was prom season"

Darry gave him the run down about flowers,what candies to get and maybe a little extra gift

-⛸-Later-⛸-

You were at the park watching the sunset and ponyboy taped your arm

"hm? oh hey pony oh whats with the flowers?"

"oh uhmm I got these before since I wanted to ask you something.."

"yeah what is it..?"

"I think it'd be a real page turner if we went to prom..?'

"I loved to go to prom with you pony!" *y/n smiled*

"Oh uhm I got you that book you were talking about"

"thank you pony boy I love it"

He was screaming in his pillow because he said the pick up two bit told him and two-bit started to laugh his ass off when he found out pony said the pick up line

Dallas

Now did he have almost all the girls in Tulsa wanting him yeah? but he'd got bored of most of most of them and thought he'd try this prom date thing.. and he wanted to at least do I good so he bought (stole) you a pack of cigarettes and some cd he was pretty sure you liked and wrote on the inside of the cigarette box to ask you (a lot of effort for dally)

-⛸-Later-⛸-

You and him were at a rodeo and he thought he'd get over with and ask you

"Hey Y/n"

"Yeah dal whats up?"

*Dallas handed you pack of cigarettes and the cd*

"oh thanks dal! but it ain't my birthday yet..?"

"just look inside the cig box!"

"Okay man jeez!"

*y/n opened the box and read it*

"Oh uhm Yeah I'd love to go with ya Dallas you ain't pranking me right?"

"No y/n I ain't pranking It was hard work to stea- I mean but that stuff!"

Johnny

he needed to ask ponyboy and Dallas for help since he didn't know what to do

"Guys what do I do..?"

"man do you just want us to beat up then make her say yes?"

"No! Dallas none of you are beating her up!!"

"Well I think You should pick her some flowers and-"

"LAMEEEEE BOOOOO"

-⛸-Later-⛸-

You were laying in the lot waiting for johnny since you two usually hung out at the lot

*johnny hide the flowers he picked in his jean jacket pocket*

"Oh hey johnny thought you got busy"

"nope just lost track of time"

*johnny sat next to y/n*

"so uh you know how proms coming up right?"

"Oh yeah my families super excited for me since I get to go this year"

"So since Proms coming up I was wondering if you could go to the dance with me? and maybe we could go to the movies ro the dinner atfer..?"

*johnny took out the flowers and handed them to you*

"oh.. johnny yes of course! I'd love to go to prom with you! and I'd love to go the dinner after prom we could get some sundaes or something at the dinner!"

Y/n smiled and johnny and so did johnny

Two-Bit

"heyy y/n!"

"Oh hey two whats up"

"Maybe you should not be a meanie and go with this-"

*y/n laughed*

"I wasn't done with the joke yet!"

"sorry sorry I heard you telling it to Dallas earlier and had to laugh at it sorry sorry keep going!"

*loud dramatic two-bit sigh*

"will you go to prom with me?"

"Yes I will two then we can watch mickey after"

"HELL YEAH WHOOOOO"

Steve randle

(guys he didn't drop out your crazy talking)

he was practicing with sodapop and made sure he was going to get everything right

"man I'm so sacred what if she says no? what id she says no!"

"steve she won't say no I mean look at you! you look so tuff man!"

He made ponyboy write you a wrote so he could put in in his toolbox to ask you out to prom

-⛸-Later-⛸-

"hey Y/N uh pass me that wrench!"

"oh sure stevie here ya go!"

"hey can you go in my tool box and uh get me the rag outta their Please?"

"Oh sure I guess"

Y/n opened the tool box and saw the note and read it

_dear y/n please to go prom with me if yes say so if not you never saw this note and you've never saw this! Xo steve!_

"Oh here's the rag steve and yes I will go to prom with you I think theirs a drag race going on the day after and maybe we could go?"

"Oh yeah we should do that!" Later

"YEAHH WOOO SHE SAID YES I'M ON TOP OF THE WORLD YEAHHHH!!"

"I KNEW SHE"D SAY YES TO YOU MAN GIVE ME SOME!"

High five!

[exo-raskreia]

how'd toshiro react to Karin's grown up self?

Hmm... it would depend on what their last interaction would've been. Did they ever meet up again after the Winter War? If they saw each other during the Fullbring arc when they were both at a preteen stage, then Hitsu might've been a little surprised to see Karin look so different, with her hair longer in a ponytail & possibly in her school skirt too. So, when he eventually sees her adult self, he might not be that surprised.

If they didn't see each other at all after the Winter War until Karin got older, then he might be a bit taken aback when he sees her. She is stunning. It would take him a brief moment to compose himself. He remembers that fiery short-haired tomboy playing on those dirt fields & now she's a young woman with longer hair, wearing skirts &...well, definitely a head-turner. She seems more mature too yet still holds that mischievous & playful spark that made him not mind being around her back then.

(IF I acknowledge 685 🤢, where he's still at the preteen stage, then he may be just a bit surprised by how very grown up she is now, despite that being logical; he may get annoyed if she teases him about it that she's taller - which could be Karin's defense mechanism cuz she's a bit sad that this solidifies how different their lives are & despite her having missed him, now it'd be too awkward & omg, I hate this ending-)

If he's matured into his true bankai (which is my personal HC of what should've happened) then he'd be taller than her, & he would definitely feel a bit smug about that.

Other than that, his reaction wouldn't be too grand, imo. I believe he's the type to look past appearances. He's seen his fair share of stunning women throughout his life, not to mention knowing Matsumoto from such a young age would probably somewhat desensitize him from such things, lol. So, stunning women wouldn't affect him greatly. It'd take more than that.

If anything, I think that as he gets to know Karin better (in the scenario where they'd be seeing each other quite often), that's when the attraction would begin. He sometimes finds himself staring at her & he doesn't know why. She's always intrigued him, but when he starts to find her particularly attractive, his body just...reacts a bit different when he's around her.

His face feels a little warmer, his heart beats faster, whenever they're in close proximity; like when she nears him to whisper something. When she smiles, it feels like she lights up the room & his gaze lingers. When she's training (in the scenario she's a shinigami), he can't help but admire the way she looks when she's focused, & when she manages to hold her own against him when they spar. Her body moves in a lithe dance with or without her zanpakuto, as she's not averse to hand-to-hand combat; he never means to stare when he finds her alone, & when he catches himself, he either approaches her to tell her it's time to sleep or shakes his head & gives her space.

There are times when a part of him enjoys towering over her. Seeing her look up at him with those big gray eyes just...does something to him. It's the little things he starts to take notice of. How much smaller her hands are compared to his, her slim waist as he grasps her with both hands before she falls, how nice her hair smells when she's too close (she tends to get in his personal space for some reason)...

The first time he becomes fully aware of her very shapely figure, she hugs him excitedly (maybe they haven't seen each other in a while) & he completely shuts down. Soft, curvy, warm, & round- No. This can't be happening. Not to him (he's seen enough of those fools who kept vying for Matsumoto's attention, thank you very much). Not with Karin (why her, of all people? He holds her in high regard but-but...).

He begins to rationalize that he's at that age in his shinigami life where he'd begin to have such thoughts & feelings, despite him having thought he was above all that. Karin just happens to be the closest woman to him in a non-familial sort of way that he holds in such high regard. So, of course...

Aaanndd, denial would be the first stage. I don't want to veer too off topic, lol. This got longer than expected 😅. Hope this kind of answers your question, anon!

[go-to-the-mirror]

howdy howdy howdy, some good words, mostly rambling, one (1) reaction image bc I'm Sad About Jon Constantly All The Time. Content warnings for like, most things in the episode because I'm pulling quotes, and also existential fear (the state of the world rn) because I went on a little extinction ramble.

@a-mag-a-day

Case 9550307 – Wallis Turner. Incident occurred at the North Point prisoner of-war camp, then later the sunken ship Nemesis in late 1942. Statement taken 3rd July 1955 at the Pu Songling Research Centre, Beijing. Committed to tape 9th October 2014. Gertrude Robinson recording.

Jon, I love you, but Gertrude's way of introducing statements is way better. Although she did intentionally leave the archives in disarray so...

Like, I mean, in an ideal world, you'd be able to search for statements by people who appear in them and places and notable things that happen, and then... idk I just, alright like, I want to just, learn how to code so I can make myself a little website and organize the statements and then my little rat brain who just wants to sort things out will finally be appeased

Even if it’s just sleep, just a quiet nothing forever, it’s not like you know enough to be bored, is it?

Fun fact about yours truly, that's one of the parts of death that scares me the most! I cannot handle being bored, it's just... no, I can't do it. And boredom forever? No end in sight? I hope there is an afterlife so that I don't have to deal with that.

Worse than that is just... nothing, just an end, and I don't really like to think about that.

Sergeant once told me it’s no different from killing a chicken back home, but people aren’t chickens, and the idea that war strips us all down to just a body that moves and kills, or falls and dies, makes me feel sick to my stomach.

Fear soup! This is pretty Flesh.

I could feel my pulse quicken, like it wanted to match the tempo, though I’ve no idea why. I should have been confused, scared maybe, and I guess I was, but I could also feel my fingers tap-tap-tapping away to the beat.

Right, alright, The Slaughter and music thing makes sense to me now. It's about the... I called it group project violence? That but serious. I know The Hunt was the mob mentality episode, but like... idk, I'm not sure. Something about the music in these episodes, Jane's song of the Hive, luring you in, entrancing you. The song of the Web, making you dance to its tune. The song of the Slaughter, getting caught up in the rhythm of it all.

There's something there, I can't exactly articulate it.

[...] just before the trumpet began to drift over the waters just a few yards beyond the walls.

woodwinds against trumpets 2023

And when they were lying still and the music stopped and night was quiet again, that’s when I heard the sound that really chilled my blood. All my comrades, my fellow prisoners, cheered. And it wasn’t the cheer of those glad for freedom, it was the sound of bloodlust and cruelty.

the slaughter feels like the least... spooky of all the fears to me. like, of course, there's a lot of war ghosts, and uncontrollable urges to do violence among other things, but the thing about the slaughter really feels like human and stuff. like, all of them are, not necessarily human, but influenced by the fear of mortals -- and probably those weird jellyfish, too -- but the slaughter feels different.

also, may I just say a thing? a few of the entities aren't really made manifest by that thing happening. like, sure, the eye is the fear of being watched -- among many other things -- but you know what really breeds paranoia? not being sure if you're being watched or not. the end is the fear of death, and yet victims of the end are commonly just told when the end will come for them. the slaughter is the fear of violence in a slaughter-y way and not a hunt or desolation-y way, and a lot of the slaughter's fear comes from witnessing the violence, or dreading it.

thus the extinction manifesting wouldn't end the world, because it would be a world without fear -- like maybe it would replace humans with spooky inheritors -- but honestly I think it would be enough just to give us the knowledge, the constant dread that there are people more powerful than us who can end the world with a decision, or trash the environment knowing full well what the consequences are. I think it would be enough to look at the doomsday clock and see that we're 90 seconds to midnight. but make it spooky.

woo! existential fear! hopelessness and helplessness! i know, i know, don't give up, people can cause change, but also I am one (1) tiny little guy.

Leonard was the first to dance. Well, I think of it as a dance, though I don’t know why. He reached over and grabbed another one of the former prisoners, a scrawny guy, I think his name was Milton. He gave a cry of anger that I could never have imagined coming from his gentle, smiling lips even in the head of battle. There was nothing Milton could do. Even malnourished as he was, it was easy for Leonard to snap his arm like a twig, twist his neck until his leg spasmed and his skull started to crack. Even when his victim was clearly dead, he kept beating it, tossing the corpse across the deck with as much ferocity as if it were the most hated man alive. The bloody crew of the Nemesis watched, their eyes riveted and their feet tapping to the music.

First of all, I love the way Jonny writes violence, it feels so visceral, I don't know, just the way he describes it. It's good. 10/10.

Secondly, I've danced in like a group but like a community sort of group not a lot of times, but I have acted, and it feels similar. Like, I don't know. Something about being on stage, the lights almost blinding you, it feels invigorating, it feels like you're being swept up in something. Idk, like that scene in Mama Mia where Sophie meets all three of her dads in one dance, and then passes out.

Yeah idk.

Few wars in my lifetime have reached anywhere the near the heights of fear I suspect this ritual would need, though I did spend some time a while back looking over some details from the Cuban Missile Crisis to no avail.

Nah, mate, the cold war's a feast for the extinction! (however, soup)

Anyway, point is, you can probably discount The Slaughter. It had its chance.

I forgot these tapes were supposed to be for her successor.

oh... hmnr. and they didn't help... this one told them outright how to stop The Unknowing, there was probably one going into more detail about it. The tape she intended the Archivist to hear as soon as they got the job... well, we all know what happened to that.

That's just... sad to me.

I feel like I’m on a deadline, like I’m running out time, somehow. And I don’t even know where to go, what to look for, or—

THIS! THIS IS WHAT SEASON 4 FEELS LIKE! Weirdly stressful, despite not clearly having a... point, something to... do, it feels like that feeling you get when you're so... bored or understimulated that you're just pacing around trying to find something to do, and you can't find anything to do! And it's like, aaaaa.

That's season 4.

(oh, also, for the last time the watcher's crown was in the past, the mass ritual doesn't have a canon name and when asked, Jonny tentatively said "The Magnus Archives" however of course that's word of god and the author is dead so take it as you will, however please do know that it's not the watcher's crown)

Daisy’s got me listening to The Archers. I hate it. But it feels nice to hate something that can’t hurt me. I don’t know. That’s it, I, I guess. End recording.

[ID: A drawing of someone sitting at a computer crying.]

I'M JUST SAD. "It feels nice to hate something that can't hurt me." HHHHH HES REALLY BEEN THROUGH THE WRINGER HASN'T HE D:

right, uh,

this is over ig.

[casspurrjoybell-17]

Heart’s Choice - Chapter 29 - Part 2

*Warning Adult Content*

John checks in on me in the morning via text.

I spend the day at the library, taking advantage of the free Wi-Fi and looking for a new place to live.

I can't imagine my garage will be usable again any time soon and who knows what will happen to the property, now that Lucille is dead.

In the meantime, I try not to think about John and his confession or the questions that went along with it.

Did I love him, too?

Did I even know what love felt like?

I knew it when I saw it, like I saw it between Ian and Sam but I wasn't sure I'd ever experienced it myself, at least, until now.

But where was the line between like and lust and true love?

How did I know what I felt for John wasn't just shallow attraction?

Or some vampire mate-bond shit?

We were compatible in bed, at least, that was something and he was easy to live with.

I think back on the week I spent at his house.

I liked him and I liked his dogs, I liked his sense of humor 'on the occasions he relaxed enough to let it out' and I liked the way he made me feel, like I was someone worth the effort and worth caring about.

And yeah, I want him to kiss me again, I want him to do a lot more, too.

The attraction between us is undeniable.

But if I could never touch him again, would I still want his company?

I decide that I would and maybe that's the difference.

I don't just love John's body or the things he does to mine...

'I love John.'

Maybe what 'love' means can change over time, too.

A couple who've been together for fifty years probably aren't 'in love' the same way they were when they first met but they may love each other none the less.

Whether we would get the chance to find out if our 'love' could stand the test of time remained to be seen and largely depended on John's ability to restrain himself and not literally love me to death.

In the meantime, his confession deserved a reply.

After steeling my nerves and rehearsing in my head, I call him.

"John Turner's phone. Becky Wu speaking."

I choke on whatever I was going to say.

"Hello?"

"Uh... Hi, Becky. This is... that guy you saw at John's house. Carlos. Is John there?"

"Oh, hi, Carlos," Becky giggles.

"Sorry, he's in the shower. Can I take a message?"

My head swirls with reasons why John would be in the shower and Becky would be at his house, most of which don't make sense.

"No. Just tell him I called and to call me back."

"Sure thing. He's been telling about this case you're on. Sounds like a real head-banger."

"Head-banger?"

"Yeah, you know. Makes you wanna bang your head on your desk."

"Oh. Yeah, I guess it does."

I thought she meant a mind-fuck but it's sort of the same thing, anyway.

"For real. First, one or both of the Peters kill Kyle's parents. Then they adopt Kyle. Next, Mr. Peters dies, my theory is he found out and Lucille killed him, John thinks he was the killer and had a guilty conscience, drank himself stupid and fell down the stairs."

Her excitement translates clearly through her tone and I can almost see her counting off the list on her fingers.

"Fast forward to the present and Kyle is killed. Lucille is a suspect but she pays your hospital bills when you're injured. A deflection tactic? But when Kyle's parents' remains are found, Lucille butchers herself in the most bizarre way possible. Oh and to top if off, she left her house to the gardener. What kind of murderer does that?"

"What gardener? Her yard is a disaster."

"Right? And then your only other suspect has an alibi for Daryl Spark's death, if a thin one."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, the first part of the night he was working at a bar, that's solid. But the second half he was with some girl and she's the only one who can vouch for that. Believe me, the DA would tear that to shreds like a cat with a ball of catnip spiked tissue paper."

"A girl? Wait, are we talking about Alejo?"

He looked like the sort who'd call you maricón (Sissy) and beat the shit out of you if you looked at him wrong but he couldn't get it up with a girl if he tried.

Or so he'd told me.

"That's according to John," Becky says.

"You'll have to ask him when he calls. I'd wait and talk to you in the meantime but he's taking one of his 'stress' showers. He'll be awhile."

I frown at the idea that Becky knows more about John's habits than I do, even though it's obvious she would.

They may not have been in love but they were married and lived together for much longer than I've known John existed.

Unable to stop myself, I ask the burning question.

"Um... what are you doing there, anyway?"

"Just picking up the dogs. John asked me to take them back for a few weeks while he moves."

"Moves? Moves where?"

"He hasn't told you? I guess this town just doesn't have the right 'vibe' for him or something. He's thinking of taking another position in San Fran. He's got family there, you know."

I try and fail to think of something appropriate to say.

"Hello?"

"Sorry."

I hold the phone away as I cough to clear my throat and remind myself to breathe.

"Uh, no. He hasn't mentioned that."

"Oh. Well... I'll tell him you called."

Becky's tone contains a wince, as if she's wondering if she's inadvertently said too much.

"Thanks. Um... and give Rick and Morty some belly rubs from me. I'm gonna miss those two."

"Sure thing, Carlos. Bye."

She ends the call.

I stare at my phone.

Then I pull up Alejo's number and call him.

He knows the shit on just about everyone, in certain circles, anyway and he might know something about this 'gardener.'

Moreover, I want to know about this 'girl' because if Alejo was lying about his alibi, then we've still got a solid suspect on the line.

He answers on the first ring, barely giving me a chance to second-guess myself.

"Pendejo? (Fool) Que va! (No way) I thought you were dead or something."

"Oh? Is that why you never bothered to call me after I fell down a flight of stairs and broke my arm?"

"What?" Alejo laughs.

"That Cabrón (Bastard) didn't tell you? I rode to the hospital with you. I was there the whole way. Then he showed up and told me to fuck off. You didn't tell me you were serious with nobody."

"I'm... I'm not," I say, swallowing.

"That guy... doesn't know what he's talking about. We're not together."

"Oh. So, you free tonight?"

Wow. Right to it, then.

"Yeah. That's why I called."

He chuckles, a low, soft sound that sends an unpleasant shiver up my spine.

"Come to the bar. I'm on shift until ten. Then we can have some fun."

"I'll be there."

"Can't wait."

He makes a kissing sound that makes me cringe and hangs up.

I grab my wallet and keys and head for the door.

I've lost my home and my business. My aunt 'and only living family member' is missing and the only man I've ever loved has decided I'm not worth the effort, after all.

What else have I got to lose?

[kuno-chan]

I’m sorry if this is a repeat ask; is it possible to have both a plot drive AND a character driven story or would that just make the narrative look indecisive and janky?

No worries!

To be honest, you can theoretically do both. It's tough to explain but I'll try. Character driven just ultimately means that the story focuses on the characters, obviously. It means the story is more about their transformation and/or their personal journey throughout the book (this obviously can apply to multiple characters). This tends to mean that the characters make choices throughout the story that directly affect and push the narrative.

Plot driven stories are ones that are largely driven by unique events in the story. Think, for example, a story about a zombie apocalypse. Often, this type of story is fast-paced, quick moving and a page turner. It's not quite so focused on the internal motivations of the characters or their arc through the story as it is focused on how they deal specifically with the events in the story.

So, rough examples:

A) A character driven story would be about a girl who starts off as a shy new kid who disdains making friendships because she's insecure, but over the course of the story chooses to get involved in a school play and is a more confident, social student with lots of friends and now realizes that life is better with company.

B) A plot driven story might be a zombie apocolypse. There are multiple characters in the story who are all fleshed out, but we never go too deep into most of their backstories. We follow them as they try to survive, maybe following a protagonist or a group of them and, in the end, our main guy survives where the others failed because he learned from their mistakes.

Now, example A could have been about several transfer students going through personal transformations. example B could have been us following one protagonist as they survive the zombie apocalypse. The primary point is that a character driven story is focused on the people of our characters. A plot driven story is focused on the things our characters are living through.

Now, can you do both?

I'd argue most stories do some of each. How you do it depends on your style and preferences, but you could theoretically do a story that centers around a huge event like, for example, a great war. But we focus on the character's arcs and transformations as they go through the story in that war. This is not too far off from Avatar.

Or you could have a bunch of characters that are more thematic symbols than they are people going through transformations. Maybe we don't get too far into their backstories, but they're orchestrated around the day to day life of working at a coffee shop that's in a crappy neighborhood. But they stay because they become a family and they all need money.

So, tldr: Yes, it is. That all being said, I would focus on what is compelling to you. Not so much character vs plot driven, but what's the part of writing that excites you to write? What events, vibes, character (or character types), plotlines, beats, etc. do you want to actually take from your mind to the page?

[takeariskao3]

Do you ever get surprised by your writing? By that I mean: You have the story planned and sketched out, you sit down to write phase 2 or 3, and then it takes a turn in a direction that you didn't expect? If yes, do you try to force it back to your plan, or do you let it take on a new life? Also, if Ginny was a muggle, what would she have been listening to in the tub in Ch. 12? Any musical inspiration for Ch. 13?

yes. to all of the above.

my own person preference here, but i've never been a very effective 'panster' i used to sit down and write with no idea where it was going and then lose interest about halfway through. so i started working off a fairly flexible outline. it's pretty clear with tpfy that i'm not hard and fast to my original plan. because my original plan was thirteen chapters. but once i got into the meat of the thing i realized i could really draw some things out or not take so much time on others. i think at this point... chapters 4, 7, 9, parts of 14 and most of 17 were not in my original outline but when i started working on those pieces i realized either the set plot beats didn't hit right, or hit too soon, or i had an idea for a scene that was really funny or threw in some character moments etc. etc. you get it.

i'm totally making this up as i go along, but with an end destination in mind throughout. eleven was the first time that i really struggled to make the scenes fit my outline.... i knew we needed the action and the life threatening moments because we've reached the climax of the second act... there needs to be STAKES but idk i have a hard time putting ginny in terrifying situations. i love her too much.

as for music, i don't know what ginny would be listening to exactly but i can tell you i was listening to devil on my shoulder by chelsea cutler on repeat while writing it.

as for chap 13 the songs i've been listening to while editing don't really match the vibe AT ALL but they give me a bit of a boost so i can remember where we're going

love again by dua lipa i hate the way by sofia carson (shoutout to @deluminator13) back to you by selena gomez wish i didn't have to lie by catie turner & JORDY island in my mind by cobi maybe by lewis capaldi if you want love by NF

thanks for the questions <3333

[flowerandthesongstress]

Psst. Hey. You. Yes, you, the person who plans on doing NaNoWriMo. Clean your place today if you still haven't. You won't regret it. Dew it. DEW IT.

Right, so for the next month, or however long it takes me to scribble 50k words, I'll try my best to avoid distractions and not post anything lengthy here. Maybe just some funny screenshots or something.

But before I start on the exercise in self-compassion that is NaNoWriMo, I wanted to say a few words about what you miGhT hAvE guESsed is my favorite TV-show. Not just because ‘I won't have time later’, but because the thing I've been writing for the last 11 months, the thing I beat the last NaNoWriMo with, and am intending to repeat the trick, is as Harmon-esque as I could manage, in ways so convolutedly — and sometimes idiotically — metamodernist that I can't even begin to describe. But as long as it helps me process stuff, right? Anyway, I owe this to my favorite auteur, and I owe this to Community. ❤️

I am not a fan, I am not a groupie, I am an academic © 

I’ve seen people write fanfiction, theorize about the plot and the setting, ship characters, i.e. treat this show in a normal way, as a TV show. A regular story about a bunch of characters. These people are within their rights, of course, go ahead and perceive in any way you wish, not everyone’s brain is set into overthinking mode 100% of the time, duh-doy. 

But I can’t. I’m only capable of perceiving Community as a TV show about TV shows. In my eyes it’s not a story about characters, it’s a story about stories. About media of all types, about writing and storytelling and structure and tropes, about how fictional narratives shape our lives and our thinking; and for me personally writing fanfiction about the immediate archetypes involved in it, for instance, would be like writing fanfiction of a textbook about the place of postmodernism in the general literary theory. So to me, Community is a work of nonfiction. It’s entertaining and witty, yes, but it’s Not Real in any way; it’s a page-turner study that provides the viewer (me) with brilliant and memorable examples as the viewer learns.

In general Community is not the playful or heavy-handed sort of meta we’re used to these days, that type that rewards you for understanding references and then goes on to give you exactly what you expected; it deconstructs everything within its reach, it challenges and sometimes even punishes the viewer for their preconceived notions and for blindly submitting to them. 😈

I bought into (what I now think of as) the charade at first, just binging it in an idle manner — what am I saying, if it didn’t start out the way it does, tricking everyone into thinking that they’re watching another sitcom, this time about a bunch of goofs in a community college, I bet Harmon would have never gotten it greenlit; plus, in hindsight, it needed to build its own comprehensive mythology — but I squinted pretty soon, when the show itself started to call me out. For instance, when Shirley addressed the whole ‘two attractive white people are bound to get together, that’s how it always goes’ situation, and I found myself thinking: huh, I am expecting that to happen, I am absentmindedly ‘shipping’ those two, but why, what outside influence had led me to this? And just look at what the show did with my trained expectations, how brilliantly it called me out. I applauded and I wheezed. 

When the shift in perception happened, I couldn’t undo it. 

As I was watching for the first time, trying to pace myself (quiet fart on fourth), I re-read several works of non-fiction that had been my holy tomes in uni and beyond — literary semiotics, comparative mythology, creative writing; but I was also spending hours on the TV tropes website, absorbing and re-absorbing, and looking up articles and essays, and just generally, all jokes aside, watching this show as an academic would (look how Community predicted and lampshaded this, too, and even mocked me a little, with Professor Sheffield). I, too, was raised by TV, but not the American TV; and I guess the fact that I grew up watching something completely different, just added to my interest.

Sidenote: now I can quote Community in my sleep.

And I still think that the ending was perfect in every way. It called me out, it challenged my perception one last time for the road, it asked if I really wanted from my media what I’d been taught to want, and it offered me to engage in the ultimate introspection of this sort, learn to compromise, and remember that real life is real life and fiction is fiction, and neither owe me happy endings, and that comfort, closure, and acceptance are instead to be found within me — and then *I* hugged my teacher goodbye, twice, one for a gripping course, one for what the course had taught me, and my teacher left to teach someone else. But now there's a river that winds on forever: I'm gonna see where it leads.

That’s why I said I worship Abed. To me Abed is not a character per se, and not even (not just) a raisonneur; in the confines of this piece of media he’s a mechanism, he’s a book spine, he’s a table of contents, he’s the narrative that holds within itself every narrative that’s ever existed, guiding you through the learning process.  

Right, that’s it, I love kettle corn and Community, Community is a fun time show. 😁

Imma go vacuum some more.

Good luck if you're doing Nano, too.

[evermorehqs]

CATCHING MY BREATH, STARING OUT AN OPEN WINDOW

Dylan Moore is based on Dormouse from Alice in Wonderland. They are a 22 year old human, Tea Party Planners employee, and uses she/they pronouns. They have no powers. Dylan is portrayed by Amandla Stenberg and she is open.

CATCHING MY DEATH, AND I COULDN’T BE SURE

People have told Dylan since they were a kid that it was better they’d never met their parents. Their birth parents. From what she gathered, they’d been bad news and she’d come as a huge surprise to two people that had never wanted her. The system wasn’t too bad to Dylan, there were horror stories - there always were - and the young child spent a lot of their time escaping into dreams, napping when they weren’t supposed to but preferring that to reality more often than not. In dreams anything could happen. You could be anyone and anything, in reality you were only a disappointment. Or, at least, that was what Dylan was constantly told. All in all things weren’t horrible, they made it work day by day without thinking there’d be much to look forward to until the day Marc Harris showed up. At this point, Dylan was eighteen, scraping by with a minimum wage job and a high school degree when she accidentally found herself stumbling into a...tea party? The two guys were strange but felt comfortable almost immediately somehow. For the first time in forever, Dylan felt like she had people she could rely on, Marc more than Mohan but he brought a little chaos they could appreciate. They made a strange trio but as soon as they found each other, there was no other option. Marc became Dylan’s security blanket, their home to run back to and it didn’t take long before they became a duo that everyone expected to find together, a found family that was part chaos and part organization. They balanced each other out. Things had always been topsy turvy in their lives but waking up in Evermore was something even Dylan couldn’t see coming. But when their eyes opened with no memory of where they were or how they got there, the first thought was Marc, followed by I don’t remember falling asleep. Only this time, Dylan was actually concerned. They’d gotten used to their narcolepsy but this felt different, this was a feeling she’d never had before. Thankfully, it didn’t take long before she found Marc and Mohan, the two men they felt most comfortable with - their little family was accounted for. They’d spent their days planning parties before Evermore and that feeling carried through and when Marc started Tea Party Planners, it was a no-brainer that Dylan joined him. Their days were full of planning, tea, and wild times which was perfectly fine with them and worth staying awake for.

I HAD A FEELING SO PECULIAR

❀ Timothy Turner: Dylan thought she had a lot of weird dreams and an active imagination but Timmy has her completely beat. He's kind of crazy and a lot to deal with but not in a bad way... it just takes a lot to get used to. ❀ Whitney Ramakrishnan: Whitney needs to chill out for a second. She's constantly on the move and sometimes it can be really annoying but they try to help by pointing out the fact that whatever is stressing her out will be there tomorrow so why worry now? ❀ Berlioz Bonfamille: Dylan has never been super artistic themselves but can appreciate art when they see it and it's very clear that Berlioz has talent. And maybe it doesn't hurt that he's pretty nice to look at too but Dylan would never say that out loud especially not when she'd probably fall asleep halfway through saying it.

THAT THIS PAIN WOULD BE FOR EVERMORE

[bbgarbbage]

Hear me out: Monte realizes his biggest comp threat is Turner, so he evicts Turner this week. Monte and Taylor win parts 1 and 2 of the Final HOH competition. Taylor is better at the question comps like part 3 will be and she ends up with all the power to choose between Michael’s sidekick and her boytoy and she WINS.

[theweasleysredhair]

I Wanna Be Yours [G.W.]

Character: George Weasley

Word Count: 6025

Requested?: Yes/No

Summary: Love is complicated. Especially when the boy you love likes someone else. Or does he? [Based on the film Some Kind of Wonderful].

WARNING: brief mentions of alcohol and drinking

Tags: @gracemayhateyou @criminalyetminimal @firewhisky-kisses @obsessedwithrandomthings @angelinathebook @iprobablyshipit91 @potterverseimagine @slytherineheir @kpopgirlbtssvt @rexorangecouny @mytreec @hemmoporro @thisismysketchbook @acciotwinz @shadowsinger11 @aaannabbanana @lestersglitterglue @anyasthoughts @lxncelot @harrypotter289 @starlightweasley @slytherinsunrise @valwritesx @hufflrpuffforfred @cappsikle @kiwi-sloan @potter-redheads @pigwidgexn @twinkyjohnson @tinylumpiaa @locke-writes @user12345321 @wand3ringr0s3 @ickle-ronniekins @sehunasbitch @cryingforcrystalpepsi @kashishwrites @girl-next-door-writes @susceptible-but-siriusexual @crissdanvers @whizbangs-78 @heart-of-tempered-steel @oh-for-merlins-sake @heavenlymidnight @aylinw3asley @andineversawyoucoming | message or send an ask to be added/removed!

Disclaimer: Gif isn't mine, credit to whoever made it

A/n: i am again naming my fics after arctic monkeys’ songs - fun fact this one is named after my favourite one of theirs, i’m considering having it for my wedding song bc it cute af

also yes i watched some kind of wonderful whilst writing this and cried. it’s not even a sad fic, i’m just emotional smh

~*~

PLEASE DO NOT REPOST MY WORK! REBLOGS ARE ABSOLUTELY FINE! <3

+ + + + +

“Y/n! Wait up!”

You span round on your heels, wiping away a stray tear that had fallen, “I said I’m fine, Fred! Okay? I’m fine. Absolutely fabulous, in fact.”

Fred stopped in front of you, a shimmer of pity in his brown eyes that made you feel even worse than you already did, “I just want to make sure you’re okay. I-I’m sorry-“

“I know. I know, Freddie,” you replied, your voice quiet as you pressed your lips together, reaching out to grab his hands in yours, “It’s okay. It is, really. I just... I need to be alone.”

“But I- I just... it’s his loss, just so you know!” He pleaded, shaking his head at you, and swore under his breath at the sight of one of his closest friends in tears over his brother, “Merlin, he shouldn’t have given that to her- I shouldn’t have said anything-“

And that’s where your problem had started. Because a few weeks ago, you were, as you claimed, fine. Well, you had a few essays due and were having trouble finding the textbooks to help you write them, but that was all really.

How you wished you could steal a time turner and go back in time.

And yes, when this all started you knew that George had his heart taken by someone else. It’s not his fault, not really, that his whole plan, scheme, escapade turned into something that would completely crush your heart.

Affairs of the heart. That’s where this started. Because before a few days ago, you were unaware of your own feelings. Before a few days ago, you were unaware of any feelings towards him at all.

But that fateful moment - the one where you were sat with George in front of the fireplace, a half-drank bottle of firewhisky sitting between you, laughing and joking - was the one that changed everything.

You hadn’t even realised yourself, until Fred pointed it out to you the morning after, when he’d found you curled up by George’s side, empty firewhisky bottle laying on the floor in front of the couch, George’s arm around your waist, your face buried into his chest.

In Fred’s defence, he thought you knew. He thought you’d be aware of your own feelings.

How was he supposed to know that you didn’t know you were in love with his twin?

_________~*~_________

“This is the year I reckon,” George announced to you as he collapsed onto the sofa beside you, throwing his legs over your thighs as he rested his back against the arm of the couch, his arms resting behind his neck, “She’s finally single, first time since second year. Now’s my chance!”

You popped a Bertie’s Every Flavour Bean into your mouth and closed the book you weren’t really paying attention to, before dropping it on the table in front of the couch, “And how long have you liked her again?”

George blinked at the way you raised an eyebrow at him and sat up a little, “Since I found out she was single again.” At your pointed look, he shot you a grin, “Nah, since before the summer. Point is, I reckon I could really like this girl.”

“Poor love, having you snivelling around her all the time. I wonder how she’ll cope,” you grinned back, throwing one of the jelly beans at his head.

“Well you seem to cope just fine,” he retorted, batting another jelly bean away from his head.

“That’s just because I’m desensitised to you by now.”

“Is that so?” George asked with a raised eyebrow, a grin etched onto his face as he sat up properly, leaning a little closer to you. You turned your head to face him, meeting his stare as you nodded, “Course, how else would I have put up with you so long?”

He leant further forward and pressed a quick kiss to your forehead, “Willingly, because you love me, stupid.”

You nudged him, making him laugh as he went back to lying down comfortably, “Yeah, yeah.”

You watched a few first years clamber through the portrait hole, laughing to each other as they made their way through the common room, an absent-minded smile gracing your lips as you recalled being the same in your first year with your friends.

“How do you reckon I should ask her out?” George’s voice brought you away from your reminiscing as you looked over at him, “She deserves something amazing, something no other guy will have thought of for her.”

You rolled your eyes, knowing this would be the topic of conversation for the rest of the evening, but nevertheless gestured for him to continue on. “I wanna go all out if she’s gonna turn out to be everything I’ve ever wanted in a girl,” George finished, a dreamy, faraway look crossing his features.

Reaching into the box of jelly beans, you grabbed a handful and threw them at him, ignoring his indignant “hey!” as you replied pointedly, “Don’t go mistaking paradise for a pair of long legs.”

Because truthfully, that was why a lot of guys were interested in Kiara. She was smart - being a Ravenclaw and all - surprisingly funny, and, as far as you knew, was really kind too. Not that this mattered to many of the boys in your year (and the years above and below), apparently, because she was also beautiful, with long, glossy brown hair, perfect doll-like features and, yes, long, lean legs.

“That’s not why I like her,” George insisted, grabbing one of the jelly beans that had fallen onto his lap and throwing it back at you, laughing as it hit you on the forehead. You playfully glared at him, rubbing your forehead in mock-hurt.

“Sure it’s not, stupid,” you replied, using his minor insult from before. “Ohhh, I’m the stupid one now, am I?” He scoffed, though the smile on his face told you he wasn’t offended in the slightest, “Now you’re in for it.”

He moved his legs off you and poked your sides, knowing you were ticklish, making you laugh out and push him away, “George, stop!”

“Take it back then, love. Say I’m the smartest wizard you know,” he grinned, continuing his minor tickling assault, making you move away from him so abruptly that you fell off the couch and onto the carpeted floor, bringing him down on top of you.

“Ouch- never! You are stupid, stupid!” You laughed, laying on the floor as you tried to catch your breath, George’s hands either side of your head, holding his weight up above you.

Both of your laughter faded a little and you found yourself staring into his brown eyes, his face barely centimetres from your own. You could have almost sworn that he started moving closer - though maybe it was your imagination - before he rolled away and lay beside you on the floor, his hand brushing yours.

“You’ll help me right?” He asked after a moment. You turned your head to look at him, taking in his side profile as he stared up at the ceiling.

“I’ll help you what?”

“Get a date with her,” he said as if it were obvious, turning his head to meet your gaze. You shot him a smile, “You’re George Weasley. You could get a date with anyone you wanted.”

“Just not you, right?” He turned onto his side, resting on his elbow as he looked down at you. You shook your head with a laugh, “Yeah well, I don’t count. I’m not just anyone.”

The smile he gave you made your heart beat a little faster, “You’re right about that.”

***

“All I’m saying is, is it such a bad idea if you just, I don’t know, asked her out simply? By using words? I really don’t think you need to wax poetic, or write her a bloody song to ask her out,” you shook your head in despair at the nerve-wracked boy sat across from you in the Great Hall.

“I can’t just ask her out,” George replied in a horrified voice, “What if she thinks I’ve not put enough effort into it and rejects me?”

“Trust me, Georgie, if she’s going to reject you, it won’t be because of the way you asked her out, I can guarantee that. It’ll be because you’re annoying, or because you smell, or, and I can’t stress this enough, because of your below-average skills in potions,” you laughed at his unimpressed look, taking the opportunity to grab a slice of toast off his plate.

“You’re supposed to be my best friend, you know,” he grumbled, waving his fork at you. “Yes,” you replied, “And as your best friend, I say to just ask her out. Look, joking aside, you’re a great guy, George. She’d be lucky to have you.”

He nodded, smiling gratefully at you as he reached forward and grabbed your hand to give it a squeeze, “Okay, I’ll trust you on this one. I’ll just... ask her out. How difficult could it be?”

Turns out, extremely difficult. You felt second hand embarrassment as you watched George head over to the Ravenclaw table, to where Kiara was sitting, wincing as he nearly dropped a goblet of pumpkin juice over her.

“Who’re you watching?” A voice said from beside you, making you jump. Fred laughed as you rolled your eyes at him, before replying, “For your information, I’m watching your brother ask Kiara on a date.”

“Wait, he’s asking another girl on a date?” Fred frowned, his eyes darting from George, who was currently speaking to Kiara, his cheeks reddening as she touched his shoulder and laughed, to your confused expression as you looked up at the older twin. “Yes?” You replied, bemused, “Why?”

“Does it not... bother you?” He asked gently. You laughed, “Why would it?”

And as you watched Kiara throw her arms around George’s neck, his hands coming to hold her waist, you swallowed thickly, before shaking your head at the odd feeling in the pit of your stomach.

Why would it bother you?

You forced a smile onto your face as George made his way back to his original seat, a smug grin adorning his features. “Well?” You asked, rather redundantly as you had seen the whole thing yourself.

“She said yes,” he replied excitedly, picking up his fork and popping some bacon into his mouth. “I told you!” You grinned at him, though you pushed your own plate away, no longer hungry.

“Attaboy, Georgie!” Fred congratulated his twin, “When’s the date?”

“This Saturday, at The Three Broomsticks,” the younger twin replied. You zoned out of the chatter on the table about this newest revelation, feeling your heart plummet at George’s words, though you couldn’t place your finger on why.

George was your best friend, you should be happy for him... right?

***

Saturday arrived quicker than you wanted, after a week of tedious lessons, and a bombardment of questions over what George should do on his date.

You watched him pull out two different jumpers, holding each one up at a time and looking at you expectedly. Tilting your head to the side, you pointed to the red one, “Was always my favourite one.”

“Red it is,” he nodded, throwing the other jumper onto his bed as he held the red jumper out to you for you to hold. Without warning, he pulled the t shirt he was currently wearing off, leaving his toned torso on show as he dropped said t shirt onto the floor and held his hand out for the jumper.

You handed it to him, gulping a little as you forced yourself not to stare at his abs. It was no secret the George was good looking - you’d always known it - but knowing and seeing were two different things. Being a Beater had done tremendous things to his body, you noted.

“Do you reckon I should bring her flowers?” George asked you, looking at you through the reflection of his mirror as he messed his hair up a little.

“Couldn’t hurt,” you shrugged, sending him a half-hearted smile as you grabbed your wand, muttering ‘orchideous’ and handing him the bouquet that was produced.

He thanked you, before taking a deep breath, “Well, what do you reckon?”

The smile that spread across your face this time was genuine, a soft look in your eye as you replied, “You look great, Georgie. Now go get her!”

He shot you one last grin, pressing a kiss to your forehead, before heading out of his dorm, leaving you alone. You picked up the t shirt he’d dropped, folding it and placing it at the end of his bed, before grabbing the jumper he’d discarded.

You took a breath before deciding to put the jumper on, relishing in the smell of George’s aftershave as you pulled it over your head, before rolling up the sleeves and heading out of the dorm.

***

“How many dates has it been now, three? Four?” You asked, wrapping your coat further around yourself as you trudged through the thick snow of Hogsmeade, passing by a couple of cute shops.

“The Yule Ball will be the fifth.”

You froze at the mention of the Ball. Somehow you’d assumed you’d be going with George - you didn’t even think about the fact that he’d have a girlfriend he could take, “Oh! So you um, asked Kiara to the Ball then?”

“Last night,” George bit his lip as he smiled, “Can’t wait!”

Your stomach clenched and mind raced, eyebrows furrowing as you realised you now had just under a week and half to find a date to the Ball - if anyone was still available, that was. You thought about every single eligible boy you knew of, wondering if you had the courage to even ask any of them, before you were pulled from your thoughts by George’s voice.

“I wanna buy her something for Christmas, what do you reckon?” George asked, picking at a strand coming off his woollen hat before placing it back onto his head.

“I don’t really know the girl,” you said truthfully, forcing yourself to stop thinking about George and Kiara dancing and him holding her all night, “I assume you’d have better judgment.”

He nodded over to a small shop on your left, one that you’d passed by many times but never had the chance to look in.

“The jewellery shop?” You asked, raising your eyebrows at him. He grabbed your hand and pulled you over to the door, “Let’s just have a look, yeah?”

The bell chimed as you stepped inside and you instantly became enamoured with the little shop, rows of glass cases showing off sparkly pieces of jewellery and adornments. Most, you noticed quickly, were much too expensive for you - and by default, much too expensive for George, too.

“Are you sure about something from in here?” You asked, staring down at a ring adorned with sapphires, “These are pretty pricey.”

“They might be, but she deserves it. Besides, gotta prove I’m better than all the guys that want to date her, right?” George replied from across the shop.

“Georgie,” you looked over at him with a pointed look, “I can promise you are better than all the other guys.”

“No harm in making sure.”

You gave up arguing, knowing he wouldn’t listen anyway, your eyes taking in the beautiful products, before your focus was taken by a rather stunning necklace. Stepping over to it for a closer look, you breathed out in shock at the price, but nevertheless knew you were in love with the chain, a little pendant surrounded by crystals displayed at the centre.

“What’ve you seen?” George spoke, suddenly standing behind you and leaning over your shoulder.

You pointed at the necklace, “Someday, I’m gonna buy that one.”

George glanced down at the look on your face and grinned to himself, “Someday, I’ll buy that one for you.” You turned to look at him, shaking your head in amusement, “You need to choose something for your girlfriend before you start promising me presents.”

“What’s the fun in that?” George laughed as you both left the shop.

You sat beside George on the couch later that night, resting your head on his shoulder as you shared a bottle of firewhisky between you.

“It was not!” You screeched, your laugh echoing through the empty common room as you nudged the ginger boy, making him laugh along with you. “It absolutely was,” he insisted, grinning before taking a sip of the firewhisky, taking in the sight of you looking so happy, and realising your laugh was one of his favourite sounds, “You were the one who wanted to sneak food from the kitchens, so it was your fault we got caught!”

You shook your head, “It was you tripping into that metal armour. All that noise when the bloody head fell off.”

“You pushed me, stupid!” George scolded indignantly, crossing his arms over his chest and pouting like a child.

“I shoved you,” you corrected, laughing as George playfully nudged you, causing you to nudge him back, and soon you were play fighting on the couch.

He, once again, was above you, almost pinning you to the couch as he looked down at you, and it was only then that you realised just how inebriated you both were, the empty firewhisky bottle having fallen onto the floor.

George’s tongue darted out to lick his bottom lip, “You know I love you, right?”

You smiled softly up at him, arms around his neck as you nodded, somehow feeling like those words had more weight to them than usual. Leaning up to kiss his cheek, you replied, “Of course, Georgie.”

Morning arrived quickly, much to your dismay, and you were woken abruptly by the sound of heavy footsteps stomping down the stairs. You couldn’t bring yourself to move to see who it was, too comfortable with your head resting on George’s chest, his arm securely around your waist, but luckily for you, said culprit of the noise came right by your line of sight, wiggling his eyebrows at you.

“Well what do we have here?” Fred cooed, rocking back and forth as he looked at you curled up in his twin’s arms. “Me and George falling asleep after drinking maybe a tad too much?” You replied as if it were obvious.

“You look awfully cosy,” he grinned, “But then, I suppose I would too if I was cuddling someone I was in love with.”

You felt like your heart stopped and you nearly choked on air, “Wait wait wait, someone I what?!”

“‘Someone I was in love with’?” Fred repeated slowly, narrowing his eyes at you, “You do know... right?”

At your blank expression, Fred raised an eyebrow, “You do know you’re in love with George... right?”

“I’m not in love with-“ You paused as you thought back over the years of your friendship. You’d never really thought about it before - never really had to. But you treated George differently to any other friend you had. No one could make you laugh like he could, or make you feel as protected and safe as he did. And no one ever made you feel like you were flying, like he did.

“Oh Godric... I’m in love with George!” You whisper-shouted, a hand coming to cover your mouth as the realisation dawned on you.

Fred nodded, “I didn’t know that you didn’t know.”

“That’s why you asked me if it bothered me when he asked out Kiara, isn’t it?” You suddenly realised, gulping harshly.

Fred nodded again, though a tad more hesitantly than before, “Hey, but listen- I really think he feels the same, if it makes you feel any better! He just doesn’t know it either.”

You moved out of George’s grasp and stood up, pressing your lips together as you looked at Fred, “He’s got a girlfriend, who he’s taking to the Yule Ball and who he adores and they’re probably gonna get married and have kids and I’m going to be alone forever!”

“Hey, that’s not- that won’t happen,” Fred replied, his gaze softening as he saw a tear fall down your cheek. He wrapped his arms around you, pulling you into his chest and stroking your back comfortingly.

“He loves you, I know it. And he knows it too. He just doesn’t know that he knows it.”

***

Ever since your realisation in the early morning, you’d tried your best to act normal around George. It wasn’t easy, and you felt that maybe you were being a little more distant than usual, however you quickly pushed that thought aside as you noticed George being equally - if not more - distant, sitting at the end of the table beside Fred, Kiara on his other side as he whispered things in her ear, making her laugh.

You felt a pang of hurt, one that got worse the longer you stared at them, watching as they kissed, as George stared at her lovingly, as he pushed her long, brown, stupidly perfect hair behind her ear and making her blush.

Sitting on the opposite side of the table, you made yourself look away, instead immersing yourself in the conversation Ron and Harry were having about the Yule Ball.

“This is mad, at this rate we’ll be the only ones in our year without dates!” Ron hissed at Harry as you were all sat in the Great Hall, supposedly studying. You hid a laugh as Snape walked past and pushed his head.

“Well, us and Neville,” he continued with a small laugh. Harry leant over to him, “Yeah but then again, he can take himself.”

“It might interest you to know that Neville has already got someone,” Hermione interrupted their laughing with a frown.

Ron sighed, catching your gaze as you laughed at him - which made him sigh again, “Now I’m really depressed.”

You observed from the other side of the table as Fred threw a piece of parchment over to his younger brother, winking at you when he noticed you watching, as Ron frowned at the words on the page.

Ron handed the parchment back, glancing around to avoid Snape and whispered, “Who are you going with then?”

Fred grabbed the parchment and crumpled it up into a ball, before throwing it at you, the paper bouncing off your shoulder. You looked down at the paper, before meeting Fred’s gaze with a raised eyebrow.

He grinned at you, before miming the Ball, nodding over at you. You rolled your eyes, glancing round for Snape before throwing the parchment back at him, hitting him square in the face and causing half the table to hid their faces as they laughed.

“Well?” He asked, seemingly unfazed by the parchment that was now resting at his feet.

“Yeah, go on then, I suppose,” you whispered, shaking your head at him as he winked at Ron. When all the attention went back to school work, you caught Fred’s gaze again and smiled thankfully.

He saluted playfully, making you laugh, neither one of you noticing George’s frown and clenched fists beside him.

***

You hadn’t seen much of George since Fred had asked you to the Ball, him being too busy spending practically all of his time with Kiara.

It hurt, you had to admit, that he was constantly choosing her over you. Though you assumed it was only natural, what with Kiara being his first proper girlfriend.

Didn’t mean it hurt any less. And the fact you were so used to having George to yourself didn’t help - sometimes turning to ask him something, and then realising he’s not there.

He’d moved seats in class to sit by Kiara, meaning in some classes you were sat with whoever happened to be her previous partner, which therefore meant you were forced to watch as the boy you loved flirted with another girl, his hands constantly on her waist, sneaking kisses when the professor wasn’t looking, and, more often than not, simply not even acknowledging your existence, not even saying a simple ‘hello’.

In other classes you were sat by Fred, who, by all accounts, was actually a pretty good partner, being able to make you laugh and distract you from the show that tore your heart every time you saw it.

In fact, Fred had pretty much mastered exactly how to make you laugh until you cried, his aim in most lessons now, as he hated how sad you were because of his twin.

You were both giggling in the back of the classroom at something he’d said when McGonagall had pointed it out, asking you both to “Please quieten down.”

You bit your lip to muffle your laughing as Fred looked down at you, just happy he could make his friend smile when he knew how much you were hurting.

Much to the dislike of a certain redhead towards the front of the room, who immediately frowned every time he heard your laugh, knowing he wasn’t the one causing it, but his older twin.

His twin who was taking you to the Yule Ball.

George clenched his jaw as he heard you whispering something to Fred, barely being able to focus on anything else.

He knew you and Fred were friends, but since when were you both that close?

***

By the time the Yule Ball arrived, you and George were barely speaking at all. You’d cried about it more times than you’d like to admit, but you had decided that tonight, at the Ball, you would make it a night to remember, not wanting to mope and ruin Fred’s night since he had asked you pretty much as a favour - despite the amount of times he’d insisted he wanted to ask you, you knew he fancied Angelina Johnson, and had things played out differently, you were sure she’d have been the one he’d thrown the parchment at in the hall that day, not you.

Either way, when you’d made your way down the steps to the Great Hall, your dress swirling around you, hair and makeup perfect, Fred made a huge deal of wolf-whistling and complimenting you.

“Well aren’t you bloody gorgeous,” he grinned, taking your hand and bringing it up to his lips to kiss the back of it, “I am one lucky guy.”

“You clean up pretty good too, Weasley,” you grinned, reaching up to straighten out his tie.

George scowled as he watched you with Fred, hating you being in such proximity to his brother, hands clenching and knuckles turning white as he watched Fred kiss the back of your hand. He had to force himself not to run over and shove Fred’s hands away from your waist, as he guided you off to the Hall. He was so distracted by firstly how stunning you looked, and secondly by how forward his brother was being, that he barely even noticed when Kiara had arrived by his side, until she nudged him a little and he forced out a smile.

He complimented the brunette girl, guiding her into the Hall as his hand reached into his pocket, brushing over a box to make sure it was still there.

Fred had been the perfect date all evening. He was a gentlemen - besides the occasional flirty comment - and insisted on staying by your side and dancing, even when you tried to usher him to ask Angelina to dance.

He was just about to give into your insistence with a laugh, when he noticed your expression changed as your attention was taken from him to whatever was going on behind him.

He cursed under his breath as he watched George hold out a small black box to Kiara, who had a huge smile on her face as she took the lid off. She pulled out a necklace, bringing George into a hug immediately, pressing kisses to his face.

Fred stood in front of your view of them, taking your hands in his, “Y/n... I’m sorry. He’s an idiot- he doesn’t know he’s got such a good thing, and wouldn’t know it if you punched him in the face - which, for the record, I think you should do.”

You wiped a stray tear from your eye, forcing yourself not to cry, “He gave her the necklace.”

“I know. I know, but he-“

“No Fred,” you interrupted gently, “He gave her the necklace. That necklace is one I saw when we were in Hogsmeade, and I said I wanted it. He-He even said he’d buy it for me one day! Not that I’d let him but- He bought it for her.”

Fred’s gaze softened, his heart breaking at the sight of your sad face, wrapping his arms around you and swaying a little to the music absent-mindedly.

“I’m sorry,” Fred whispered in your ear. You nodded, leaning against his shoulder, “Not your fault your brother is stupid.”

The song that was playing ended, and Fred grabbed your hand, leading you over to the table where the food and drinks were, pouring you a glass and offering it out to you. You took it gratefully, thanking him before taking a sip.

“Didn’t know you two were that close,” a voice came from behind you. A voice you knew well, one you could pick out anywhere. Fred reached out to squeeze your hand reassuringly, as you placed your glass down, nodding at him before turning around.

“Fred and I have always been good friends. I do have friends, other than you, you know. Which is a good job, considering you’ve been so distant with me,” you replied, focusing on keeping your voice level, rather than on the fact that he’d just given your necklace to his girlfriend.

George felt himself get angry as he noticed yours and Fred’s intertwined hands, swallowing harshly and shoving his hands into his trouser pockets.

“You know I’ve been trying to impress Kiara, being in a relationship takes up time. Not that you’d know, but I thought you’d understand. Didn’t think you’d replace me that quickly,” George retaliated in the midst of his anger, only being able to focus on you and Fred, and how close you were.

“Replaced you?” You scoffed, crossing your arms over your chest, “You barely even say hello to me! So yes, I turned to a friend so I wasn’t alone. You’re the one who replaced me! And you gave her the necklace, George. The necklace you knew I wanted. You gave it to her.”

Not waiting for a response, you shot an apologetic glance towards Fred before rushing out of the Hall, suddenly needing some fresh air.

“Look what you did now!” Fred almost growled, before storming out after you, in an attempt to find you.

George took a shaky breath, cursing as he watched the two most important people to him leave.

“George?” A soft voice spoke from beside him.

“Kiara?”

The brunette girl smiled, pressing her lips together as she looked at the ginger, “I um... I think we should break up.”

George frowned, though he was surprised to find he didn’t feel too badly about what she’d said.

The girl held out a black box and placed it into George’s hands, “This should be hers. It’s more her style than mine, I think you know that too.”

The redhead hesitated, unsure of what to say in this situation, “Look, Kiara, I’m sorry-“

“She likes you,” Kiara interrupted him, grinning despite the situation.

“She doesn’t-“

“She does. And you like her. Now go find her.”

With one last hug, and another muttered apology, he nodded determinedly at her, and ran off in the direction of his brother and, he realised now, the girl he truly loved.

***

“Y/n! Wait up!”

You span round on your heels, wiping away a stray tear that had fallen, “I said I’m fine, Fred! Okay? I’m fine. Absolutely fabulous, in fact.”

Fred stopped in front of you, a shimmer of pity in his brown eyes that made you feel even worse than you already did, “I just want to make sure you’re okay. I-I’m sorry-“

“I know. I know, Freddie,” you replied, your voice quiet as you pressed your lips together, reaching out to grab his hands in yours, “It’s okay. It is, really. I just... I need to be alone.”

“But I- I just... it’s his loss, just so you know!” He pleaded, shaking his head at you, and swore under his breath at the sight of one of his closest friends in tears over his brother, “Merlin, he shouldn’t have given that to her- I shouldn’t have said anything-“

“It’s okay, I promise. It was always bound to happen right? I was always destined to fall for him, whilst he fell for her. Even if you hadn’t said anything, I would’ve realised. I’m- I’m so stupid, aren’t I? Falling for my best friend,” you let out a broken sob.

“You’re not stupid.”

Your breath hitched in your throat and you swallowed back another sob as you turned around slowly, your eyes catching George’s gaze.

He stood, hair messy as if he’d raked his hands through it a few too many times, tie askew and shirt almost untucked in his haste to run and find you. He felt his heart clench, knowing he was the one to make you feel like this, and stepped forward reaching a hand out towards you as you blinked back tears, allowing him to bring you into his arms as you finally let the tears fall.

You knew you shouldn’t, that you should leave to your dorm, but being in George’s arms had always made you feel safe, made you feel protected.

More tears fell as he whispered sweet nothings into your ear, muttering over and over again how sorry he was. How he was a fool, a git, a complete idiot.

You finally calmed down a little, looking around the empty hallway, not being sure exactly when Fred had disappeared but thankful for the privacy.

You wiped away the last of your tears, cursing mentally as you realise your makeup would be a mess - if the state of George’s shirt was anything to go by.

“Kiara told me you like- I’m sorry, I didn’t know,” he breathed out, a hand cupping your cheek as you blinked up at him.

“Yeah well, you’re stupid. I always knew you were stupid,” you replied with a sad laugh.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” He asked with a frown, his hands moving to hold your waist.

“You never asked. And then you-you got a girlfriend. What was I supposed to do?” You asked quietly.

“I’m in love with you,” George said suddenly, earnestly, genuinely as he held you against him.

“Not Kiara?”

He shook his head quickly, “She knew I liked you before I knew I liked you. Maybe I am stupid.”

“Maybe you are,” you let out a watery laugh, looking away from his gaze.

George suddenly reached into his pocket and brought out a familiar box, “This is yours. I don’t know what I was thinking, giving it to her. It’s yours - it’s always been yours.”

He opened the box, taking out the necklace you loved so much, and offering you a sheepish smile, “It’s not a good enough apology, I know. But I’m hoping it’s a start.”

He gently turned you around, placing the necklace around your neck, you shivering at the feel of his fingers brushing against your skin, before turning you back around to face him, this time much closer than before, his forehead resting against yours.

“So, and correct me if I’m wrong,” he spoke as he leant forward a little more, his lips almost touching yours, “Does this mean that I like you and you like me and we both don’t think of each other as friends?”

You nodded a little, offering him a soft smile, “I don’t want to be friends, George,” you whispered just as his lips brushed your own, “I wanna be yours.”

[indiee19]

Doesn't Time Fly

Alex Turner x reader

Summary: You and Alex growing up together.

warnings: light swearing, sad in some parts

word count: 4.1k

-Request from Wattpad

a/n: Hope that you enjoy. Also, sorry that this was kind of delayed, I'm currently moving so I'm sorry.

✿✼:*ﾟ:༅｡.｡༅:*･ﾟﾟ･⭑ ✿✼:*ﾟ:༅｡.｡༅:*･ﾟﾟ･⭑

1993

You sat in the very back of the class. You had just moved to High Green, Sheffield and knew no one. Because you didn't know anyone, the seats beside you were empty, everyone else sitting beside their friends.

You thought that you would just sit by yourself for the rest of the day, maybe even the year, but to your surprise, three boys came to sit beside you.

"Hey, aren't you the girl that just moved in to the big white house on the block?" one of them with light brown hair, sitting to your left.

"Yeah," you said, cheering up a little. They all made a shocked face, one of their mouths wide open.

"Oh my gosh, you're so lucky," another one with dark brown hair said. He looked down at your arms that were crossed on the table, seeing your silver bracelet that you had on. "Wow, that's cool, where'd you get it?" he asked, picking up your hand that it was on.

"My nan gave it to me for my birthday," you said, smiling.

"I'm Alex by the way. And this is Matthew J. Helders the third, but we call 'im Matt, and that's Jamie, or you can call him Cookie if you want to," Alex said. You introduced yourself and then the teacher called for everyone to quiet down, your day now being turned around, having made three friends that you lived close to.

From that day on, you four were the best of friends, and hardly ever stayed away from each other, always going to the park, going to each others houses and staying over, making new friends.

It was the start of something amazing.

-

1997

-

You ran through your house to the front door, almost running into your mother on accident. "No running in the house!" your mother yelled.

"Sorry," you called back. "I'll be back in a few minutes! I'm going to Al's house." You quickly closed the door and began walking to Alex's house, excited to see him after he was gone on holiday for two weeks.

You and Alex had grown up in the same neighborhood since you moved and you  became very close with him, along with a few of his friends that lived in the neighborhood: Matt Helders, Jamie Cook, Andy Nicholson, and someone named Nick O'Malley, and the best part was that all of you lived within a two minute walking distance.

Though it was a two minute walking time, you still rushed to get there, eager to Alex and hopefully go hang out with everyone else. You reached his house and walked up the two front steps, knocking on the door.

"Coming," Penny yelled. She opened the door and said hello to you.

"Hi, Mrs. Turner, is Alex home?" you asked.

"Yes, and how many times do I have to tell you, you don't have to call me Mrs. Turner, Penny will do," she laughed, moving aside so that you could come in. "He's in his room."

"Thank you ... Penny," you said, walking upstairs to Alex's room. You knocked on the door, but when no one opened it, you opened it instead, seeing Alex watching a show - Danger Mouse, his favourite.

You walked over to him and tapped on his shoulder, making him jump a little. "You scared me," he said, standing up, giving you a hug. "I've missed you."

"I've missed you too, Al," you said, sitting down in the floor, Alex doing the same. "How was your holiday? What all did you do?" you asked, excited to learn about everything he did in Belfast.

"Well, first we visited the Peace Wall, and you know how mum is, so she of course took at least fifteen pictures of me there. Then, we went and saw the Ulster Museum and that was really, really cool. We saw the Botanic gardens and the Belfast Castle which was awesome," he said, just as excited as you.

He told you all about the trip, explaining every detail that he could. He told you all about the castle and the museum and anything else that he could remember. As he was telling about Botanic Gardens, you both heard Penny call yours and his name, asking for you both to come downstairs.

"Okay, we'll be right there, mum," Alex called, standing up, holding his hand out for you. You took his hand and both walked downstairs to the kitchen, seeing Penny placing two plates with sandwiches on them.

"What do you two want to drink?" she asked, going to the cupboard and getting two glasses.

"Water, please," you said.

"I'll have water too, mum," Alex said. She nodded and got you both a glass of water, handing it to you both as you sat down, starting to eat the sandwich. "After this, do you want to go see Matt and Jamie?" Alex asked, his mouth full.

You nodded and started to drink the water as Penny told Alex not to speak with his mouth full and you laughed as you put the glass down.

-

1999

-

You heard your mom call your name from downstairs. "Honey, come on, Alex and them are here," she said.

"Coming," you yelled back, quickly adding the finishing touches of your costume on, rushing downstairs. You saw Alex, Matt, Jamie, and Andy all waiting in the family room, talking to your mom.

You saw them in their costumes, Alex dressed up as Steve from Full House, Matt dressed up as Cory from Boy Meets World, and Andy dressed up as Jesse from Full House. You were dressed up as D.J. from the show, you all deciding on a group costume months ago for your last time trick or treat-ing. Though, Matt didn't seem to want to dress up as someone from Full House, so he went with Boy Meets World.

"Okay, everyone, come together, I want to get a picture of you all," your mom said, taking her camera out, snapping quite a few pictures of you all.

"Mum," you complained, knowing that she would take at least twenty pictures of you all.

"What? Their parents wanted me to take some pictures," she said, taking a few more.

"Yeah, a few, which means four," you replied. Your mother scoffed and stopped taking the pictures, letting you all leave.

"So, which house are we going to first?" Matt asked. Andy was first to come up with an idea, saying that you all should go to the house on the end of the block.

"Race you there," Jamie said, pushing Andy and Matt out of the way so that he could start running towards the house.

"Hey, that's no fair, you got a head start," Matt yelled, him and Andy running after Jamie. You and Alex kept walking, laughing at them. Alex shook his head, laughed and looked down at the ground. "Goofballs," you laughed, continuing to walk, seeing Matt run into Jamie, falling onto the pavement.

You heard a slight whisper of your name and you looked at Alex. "I, uh ... I just wanted to say ... uh, um, t-that ... your, uh-your costume looks really good," Alex stuttered, tripping over his words, pausing very often to try and get the right words to come out of his mouth.

You thanked him and told him the same, an idea coming to your head instantly. "Race you to the house," you said, slightly pushing Alex to get a head start. "Oh, I don't think so," Alex laughed, catching up to you, grabbing you from behind, ultimately beating you, making you all laugh.

-

2002

-

You and Alex were sitting on your bed, both of your heads against the headboard, and you were fiddling with your fingers. "Love, can I ask you something?" Alex said, turning to look at you. You looked at him and nodded. "Have you ever kissed someone?" he asked, refusing to meet your eyes now.

You shook your head. "No, have you?" you asked. He said no and you took his hand. There was a moment of silence before anyone said anything. "C-can I kiss you?" he asked, finally looking you in the eyes finally.

You nodded and you both leaned in to kiss one another, lips moving in sync. It was a soft, elongated kiss, not a full on make out, but a longer kiss than you would have ever expected. You heard your mother call both yours and Alex's name from downstairs. "Alex, Matt and them are here and they're asking for you," she yelled.

You both pulled away and Alex brushed a piece of your hair out of your face. "I've got to go now," he said, standing up, and you did too. You walked down the stairs with Alex and saw Matt, Jamie, and Andy sitting in the family room.

"You ready, Al?" Jamie asked, standing up. Alex nodded and everyone else stood up, ready to leave. "Bye, love," Alex said, hugging you before leaving, everyone else saying goodbye. You said your goodbyes and went back upstairs to your room, reaching into your bedside drawer for your journal and a pen. You opened it and began to write about what had just happened.

'I had my first kiss today. It was with Alex, up until now I never realized how cute he was. But, unfortunately, he had to leave. I assume that he was going to practice with the boys, apparently they've decided on a name - Arctic Monkeys. It's a silly name, I'll admit that, but what else would I have expected from Alex?'

Your mother called you down for dinner, and you put your journal and pen away and went downstairs.

-

2002 *two months later*

-

You sat in the back of the class, waiting for Alex and Matt to get here. You had some really important news to tell them - especially Alex - and wanted them to be the first ones to know, you had waited to tell your mom, that's how much you wanted them to know first.

You watched the door like a hawk, hoping that whenever it opened it would be them. Ten minutes passed and it was almost time for class to start, you knew that they were at school, having walked with them. Then, finally, one minute before class was going to start, they walked in, walking to the back to sit beside you.

"Hey, where the hell have you guys been? I've been waiting in here forever," you asked, class now starting.

"We were discussing a few things for our band, apparently Glen quit so now we don't have a lead singer," Matt whispered. The teacher asked everyone to get out their books and you three did so, continuing to have your conversation.

"Alex could be your lead singer," you replied, lowering your voice so that only you, Matt, and Alex could hear it. Alex gave you a surprised expression, his mouth agape. "What?" he asked, "I can't sing."

You shook your head, looking down at the floor. "Then you have clearly never heard yourself sing in the shower while you're at my house then," you answered, eliciting a quiet laugh from Matt, making Alex glare at the both of you. You kept on trying to persuade him, Matt helping you out and, finally, after a few minutes of trying to convince him, he said that he'd do it.

"Oh, and I have something to tell you both," you said, excited to tell them, to see their reaction. "Okay, what is it?" Alex asked, excited to find out as well. You breathed in deeply before telling them.

"Well, yesterday, after school someone asked me out," you said, the both of them now intrigued. They both looked at you and asked you who it was, you quickly told them and they were shocked.  "Well, what did you say?" Matt asked, curious.

"I said yes," you answered. Alex looked up at you, not expecting you to ever have interest in the guy that asked you out. "What the fuck, love," Alex said loudly, everyone in the class looking back at him.  "Mr. Turner, for that, it will be detention," the teacher said. You glanced over at Matt then at Alex. You didn't think that he would get so mad over you dating, I mean, he's dated someone before, so why couldn't you date someone as well?

You and Alex didn't talk to each other for the rest of the school day, it was only when you all started walking home that you said something to each other. "So, did Alex tell you that he's now going to be the lead singer?" you asked Jamie and Andy, Alex looking up at you.

"What, really, Al?" Jamie asked, happy, him and Andy smiling like crazy. "Uh, y-yeah, I am," Alex answered, never once taking his eyes off you. "That's fucking amazing," Jamie laughed.

You slightly smiled at Alex, and he returned it. As you all walked to each others houses, you ran into a kid named Nick that you went to school with and that you all lived close to one another and you all said hi to him.

You reached Jamie's house first, then Andy's, then Matt's, then Alex's and finally yours. You went inside and went upstairs to your room, sitting on your bed, getting out your journal, writing about today.

-

2003

-

When you heard the doorbell ring, you immediately jumped up from you seat, rushing to the door and opening it, greeted by Alex's big eyes and his adorable smile, guitar in hand and a notebook in the other. You stepped aside and let him in, taking off his jacket and putting down his things in the family room as you shut the door.  "Hey, love. I've missed you," he said, hugging you. "I've missed you too, Al," you said, pulling away from the hug. "So, what did you want to show me?"

He sat down on the sofa, you sitting down beside him. "Well, me and the guys have been working this song for a few months now and I wanted to show you it before we play it tonight," he said, getting his guitar and the pick out of the case. "Okay then, sing away, Al," you laughed, excited to hear the song, knew that he put so much time and effort into his music and couldn't wait to hear it, hear his angelic voice.

"Uh, j-just keep in mind that the lyrics could possibly change by next month or so. So, yeah," he said, getting ready to strum his guitar.

'There's always somebody taller with more of a wit. And he's equipped to enthrall her and the friends think he's fit, and you just can't measure up, no, you don't have a prayer. Wishing that you made the most of her when she was there.

They've got engaged, no intention of a wedding. He pinched your bird and he probably kicked your head in. Bigger boys and stolen sweetheart. You're better off with out her anyway. You said you wasn't sad to see her go. Oh, no.'

You watched as he strung the cords on his guitar, watched as he played the little riff after finishing the second chorus.

'Have you heard what she's been doing, never did it for me. Picks her up at the school gate at twenty past three. She's been with all the boys, but never went very far. And she wagged english and science, just to go in his car.

They've got engaged, no intention of a wedding. He pinched me bird and he probably kicked my head in. No, now the girls a bone, but I'm sure they'll carry it on in similar ways.

Bigger boys and stolen sweethearts. Oh, I'm better off without her anyway. I said I wasn't sad to see her go, yeah, but I'm only pretending, you know. Yeah, I'm only pretending, you know. Yeah, I'm only pretending, you know. Oh, I'm only pretending, you know.'

He slowly stopped strumming, looking back up at you, an expression of worry, wondered if you liked the song or not. He hesitantly asked you what you thought about it, holding in his breath.

"Alex, I-I ... I love it, it's amazing!" you exclaimed, hugging him tightly. He let out his breath and hugged you back.

Though, as much as you liked the song, you knew that there was a reason for it, he always makes his songs have some sort of meaning, and you wondered what it was about. You pulled away from the hug and asked him, curious after you had the thought.

He breathed in deeply, exhaling before he started to speak. "Well, its about t-this girl ... that I like ... a-and before I 'ad the chance to ask her out, she told me that she was asked out by someone bigger than me and she said yes. A-and I feel as if they're going to get engaged with no wedding - a-and they've even talked about it too actually. Ever since then, Matt and them asked me if I was sad to see her with someone else, and every time I say that I'm fine, but the truth is that I'm probably not. Well, I know I'm not," he explained.

You were now more curious. Who was the girl? Did he like someone and not tell you? I mean, he told you everything let alone told the guys about who he liked. "Who's the girl?" you asked, propping your arm on your knees, holding up your head.

He didn't respond, just looked down at the floor. "Come on, do I know her?" you questioned, desperate to find out who it was.

"Well, yeah, k-kinda," he said nervously. He opened his mouth, about to say something, but the ringing of his phone stopped him from doing so. It was Matt. Alex answered and they chatted for a bit, hanging up after about seven minutes. "Alright, I'll see you in, like, ten minutes, maybe?" Alex said, putting his guitar back in the case and picking it up, grabbing his coat,

He walked to the front door and so did you, saying your goodbyes to one another. "Oh, and you're still going to the show tonight, right?" Alex questioned.

"Wouldn't miss it for the world, Al," you said, quickly adding that you'd be bringing your boyfriend, who you just now realized was much bigger than Alex and that you two had talked about marrying with no wedding. But that could just be a coincidence, right?

-

2005

-

You heard the door to the bathroom open, quickly wiping your tearstained face, still crying softly. "Love, are you in here?" they asked - it was Alex - and he now knew.  You stayed silent. Maybe he would just walk out, leave like everything was fine, even though it wasn't. He said your name now, wanting to know where you'd run off to, worried about you and what had happened.

You tried to conceal your cries, but a faint whimper left your lips and he heard, walking over to the stall that you were in. He opened the door, seeing you look up at him - nose red, face tearstained, makeup smudged because of the immense amount of crying you had done in only the matter of five minutes.

"Oh, love, what happened?" he said calmly, kneeling down beside you, hugging you and holding you tightly. You wrapped your arms around him tightly, crying into his shoulder, his shirt becoming damp from your tears. "Shh, shh, it's okay, it's okay," he said, comforting you as best he could, rubbing your back, trying to soothe you and calm you down. You wanted to speak, wanted to tell him what happened, but every time you tried, the tears would start to come again, making it nearly impossible for you to speak.

It must have been twenty minutes before you were able to speak and be understandable and you lifted your head from Alex's shoulder. "Do you want to tell me what happened now, love?" he asked; you nodded, wiping your face.

"Uh, umm, w-well, I went to go get me and him some drinks and when I was finally able to get them and get back, he wasn't where he last was, so I looked around for him, and when I did finally find him, I saw him w-with another bitch all over each other. A-and I walked over to him to ask what the hell was going on and instead of him answering me, that bitch did and said that they'd been fucking ever since we started dating," you explained, talking about your boyfriend -well, ex-boyfriend now - tears welling up in your eyes. You closed your eyes, a few tears trailing down your face.

"Oh, love, I'm so, so sorry," Alex said, wiping your tears with the pad of his thumb. "Well, he's a fucking dumb cunt if he cheated on you," he smiled, trying to cheer you up.

"I know, but I really liked him," you replied, hugging him again, but this time tighter. "Can you take me home, please, Al?"

He nodded and you both exited the stall and bathroom, walking past the guys and telling what happened and where you were going. They all frowned and asked if you were okay, to which you replied with a "Yes, I am."

On your way out, he came up to you and tried apologizing, but you wouldn't listen and Alex wouldn't let you stay near him for more than five seconds at a time. Your now ex-boyfriend begged you to listen to him, and to Alex's dismay, you turned around to talk to him. "Babe, I'm so sorry, I don't know what the bloody hell I was thinking. Please, forgive me," he apologized. You looked over at Alex and he shook his head no.

"I-I ... no, I'm sorry," you said, turning back to Alex, walking out of the club, walking to Alex's, and his mums, car, getting in and starting to drive home. You stared out the window the entire time and either one of you hardly spoke, what had just happened enough for the both of you.

He was the first one to speak, breaking the silence that had plagued the car for ten minutes. "Love, can I tell you something?" he asked, pulling up to the curb beside your house. You nodded and he quickly spoke. "Y-you know the song I showed you about two years ago, Bigger Boys And Stolen Sweethearts?" he asked.

"Yeah, why?" you replied, sitting up in the passenger seat. "Did you ever figure out who I wrote it about?" he asked you.

You shook your head no and asked who it was about. He just looked at you then at the floorboard. You were confused for a moment, then it hit you. You ex was much, much bigger than Alex, you and him always talked about getting married with no wedding, he always picked you up at twenty past three, and you did miss english and science to go in his car.

"It's ... about ... me?" you said in disbelief. He nodded. "Yeah, to be honest, I've always 'ad a crush on you, and the day I was going to ask you out, he did and that's why I got all mad when you told me," he explained. You blushed and slowly leaned in to kiss him.

"I like you too, Al," you smiled, kissing him softly, taking him by surprise. He kissed you back and cupped your face in his hands, yours going around his neck. He pulled away and rested his forehead against yours, looking into your eyes. He nudged your nose with his, eliciting a laugh from you. "You're so pretty," he said. "Be my girlfriend?"

"Yes," you said. He smiled and pulled away whispering a 'yesss' to himself. You laughed and decided it was time to go inside, tired. You said your goodbyes and you walked in, going to your room.

-

2006

-

"I love you," Alex said, kissing your temple.

"I love you too, Al. I'm just going to miss you," you responded, kissing his lips this time. He had to leave, his band now taking off and gaining the popularity that they deserve and worked so hard for. You didn't want him to go, but he had to.

If you didn't have uni then you would've gone with him. You saw Matt and he waved Alex over, the band yelling 'goodbye' to you. "Goodbye, love, I'll call you as soon as we land," he said.

"You better," you joked, kissing him. "Don't forget about me, Turner."

"Wouldn't dream of it," he said before walking away, waving you bye. You slowly turned around and walked outside to your car, soon receiving a text from Alex.

-

"I love you."

[forthegothicheroine]

The King in Yellow, 1949

Much of this story is true.  Warnings in the tags.

When I had pneumonia in my early teens, my mother brought home an armful of VHS tapes from the library to alleviate my misery.  Knowing my snobbish preferences, she had grabbed copies of whatever she found in black and white.  I remember something musical that I suspect was Busby Berkeley, I remember Mildred Pierce (a bad choice, as it turned out- the plot includes a young girl dying of pneumonia), and I remember a period piece called The King.  I faded in and out of consciousness while I watched it, but it soothed me while I was awake and filled my fever dreams with sparkling images.  I could never find it at the library again, nor at Hollywood Video or even early Netflix (once my father got the subscription service where you could order practically every DVD.)  It was a bit odd that it seemed to be so obscure, given that it starred old Hollywood legend Ingrid Bergman (and, although I initially forgot it, Marlene Dietrich.)  But even big stars make films that fall by the wayside in public memory, and it seemed that this was one of them.  Google was no help, and at the time that was that.

I didn’t see the film again until I was watching Turner Classic Movies at my grandparents’ house.  I loved watching that channel with them while filling out the crossword puzzle that came in their little TCM catalogue (all of it based on movie trivia, the only kind of crossword puzzle I’ve ever been any good at.)  I recognized a certain scene where Bergman stood on a balcony, looking sadly at the moon.  Her face had an expression of unutterable melancholy, and the crescent moon reflected in each of her eyes, giving the impression of two moons in one sky.  I had very little time to catch up on what I’d missed before we had to go meet my cousins at the local Italian restaurant.  I knew logically that the movie would be long over by the time we returned, but I turned on the channel anyway.  Of course it had moved on to the lesser known Alfred Hitchcock film Stage Fright, but then I heard Marlene Dietrich sing before I could reach the remote to turn the tv off in disappointment.  I knew that I had heard her sing before, and I knew it had been in The King.

Dietrich’s singing often comes across as somewhat campy today, with its Rs pronounced as Ws and it’s up-and-down tone.  Madeline Kahn parodied it brilliantly in Blazing Saddles, such that it was a bit of a disappointment when I finally saw Dietrich’s western Destry Rides Again and found it to be lifeless and inconsistent next to the parody.  Still, we remember her voice for a reason, and when I remembered it that night, I knew that its sardonic loneliness had rung through The King and made me shiver in my dreams.

The TCM schedule didn’t list The King in its time slot, but something else.  If I had taken down the name, maybe it would have helped me find it.  Sometimes the same movie runs under multiple names.

I didn’t see the film all the way through for many years, after I graduated college.  I had found a web page that listed public domain film noir, including one called The Masked Guest.  The website described it as a costume noir, and I curiously clicked on the link.  Once I took in the credits running on the youtube window, my eyes grew wide and I did not move from my place on the bed until the movie had run its course.

The credits did indeed list it as The Masked Guest, but I recognized the strange repeating design on the title cards.  They told me that in addition to starring Dietrich and Bergman, it was directed by Fritz Lang, and a character called The King was credited to “???”  (I hadn’t seen that kind of credit since the first Karloff Frankenstein.)  When the King finally appears on screen, though, it is unmistakably Orson Welles’s voice that booms out from behind his elaborate costume.

Here are the things I understand about The King, or The Masked Guest, or The Man in Yellow, or any other title I’ve found for it on public domain archive searches.  Dietrich and Bergman play princesses named Cassilda and Camilla, respectively.  Though Dietrich’s accent is German and Bergman’s is Swedish, they blend together to give the film the impression of being set somewhere on the map that I can’t quite find.  The scenery and camera angles are very Freudian, with a great deal of archways and pillars.

The first act of The King involves frankly dull romantic plotlines, and the only thing that really saved it was the feeling that the suitors were supposed to be insipid, a suspicion lended credence by the fact that the love interests were listed so low on the credits.  Dietrich is the scandalous sister and Bergman is the responsible one, though each takes on aspects of the other as the film goes on.  Dietrich sings her song at a party, dressed in a fake 17th century gown and leaning against a piano.  Although just a moment ago she had been laughing and joking with her gentleman friends, her song takes an abruptly serious tone (not seductive, not sentimental) as she tells the story of a city lost to time and memory.  Bergman slips away from the party and onto the balcony, where we see that wonderful shot of the moon in her eyes.  Is she mourning?  Is she longing?

Dietrich cuts off the song by abruptly screaming “Not on us, King!  Not on us!”  She flees the party weeping and shaking, and from there on the film goes mad.

Though uncommon, it is not unknown for movies to switch between black and white and color, done most famously in The Wizard of Oz.  The film The King recalls here is the silent Phantom of the Opera, which had a masqued ball scene tinted in shades of red and green that tried to provide a whole spectrum of color.  The effect is even odder in the masqued ball scene in The King- the only color that appears is yellow, highlighting things like candlelight, Dietrich’s hair, a passing gown, a vase of tulips.  It also highlights one particular masked figure, whose expressionless mask was decorated with a black pattern against a sickening yellow canvas- the same pattern I had seen in the opening credits.  The color of his costume causes him to stand out from the crown even when he is far off in the background, just one head among many others.  It must have taken long and painstaking hours of work to color in every frame.

Dietrich still seems broken up days after her song, though Bergman tries to coax her into joining the dance.  Finally, at midnight, Dietrich goes out to face the party, but only to demand that every guest remove their mask.  The yellow man with a voice that once warned America about a Martian invasion tells her that he wears no mask.  Bergman reacts with disbelief, but Dietrich starts laughing like a woman unhinged.  As she laughs, the yellow hue seeps out of the King’s clothing and face- if that really is his face- and begins to color the entire ballroom crowd.  I think that what follows is bloodshed, but if there is any carnage (doubtful under the Production Code censorship), the blood must be tainted yellow and splashed across the camera like daubs of paint.  Dietrich’s laughing face is doubled and tripled on screen until it dissipates, but even when it has faded offscreen, it feels as if her ghost continues to watch the proceedings.  

By the end of the scene (filled with German Expressionist camera angles and mad violin screeching), only Bergman remains alive, cowering behind a grandfather clock.  It does not hide her for long.  The King steps towards her and extends his hand.  Reluctantly, but with a fatalistic expression, Bergman takes his hand.  They walk away together hand in hand.  The screen shifts back into black and white, and then the credits roll before we can get a good look at all the bodies in the scene.  The credits say it was based on a play called The King in Yellow, although Raymond Chandler of all people apparently had a hand in the screenplay.

As I said, that’s what I think I understand.  It’s an oddly experimental art film for the era, and it may be awaiting rediscovery by the film festival crowd.  I feel as if I alone know about it, though that obviously isn’t true.  It is my little secret; I tell myself that my husband doesn’t need me to show it to him, it would be too odd for his taste.  I’ve rewatched it many times, even if it seems like each time I search for it I have to find a different video platform or torrent.  Naturally, no subscription site has it available.  Maybe I am the last person who will ever watch it.  Maybe no one will ever think to look for it again after me, and it will be completely forgotten.

When I was hospitalized, they let me use my laptop at night before I went to sleep (no power cord, though, in case I tried to hang myself.)  I found a youtube link for The Man in Yellow, and I watched it every night.  It wasn’t a soothing sort of movie, but having it in my mind all day and then watching it in the evening allowed me to think as opposed to crying endlessly while the other patients shot me awkward looks.  I clutched the childhood stuffed animals my mother brought me when she visited, and I always held them extra tight when the masquerade scene started.

I watched the movie when I had to move away from my beloved San Francisco.  I watched the movie when I lost the last of my grandparents.  I watched the movie when a doctor unwisely took me off my medication and I couldn’t manage to eat for a month.  I watched the movie when the whole world got sick and we all locked ourselves away from each other.  I don’t mind that I don’t entirely know what it means.  I don’t mind the nightmares.  In the hospital they kept telling us about mindfulness exercises, and maybe the fact that I can focus on every aspect of the film so closely that all else falls away is the reason I keep coming back to it.  I’m being mindful.  I’m not letting any stray thoughts invade my head.  I’m just watching and waiting for the next beat of every scene, leading inexorably to that yellow-stained bloodbath.

Streaming media doesn’t last forever, and each time I find The King, I worry that it will be the last time I ever can find it.  My efforts to download it have so far been unsuccessful, odd considering that it is in the public domain.

When I watch The King, I am once again a child in my bedroom being cared for in the throes of agonizing sickness.  I am once again sitting on the couch with my grandparents in front of the tv, both of them alive and lucid again.  I am once again in the hospital, all alone except for my stuffed animals and the staff trying to keep me alive.  The film reflects in my eyes like the crescent moon in Ingrid Bergman’s gaze.  It sings to me.

I am determined to find a way to obtain The King under any name so that I never have to worry about losing it.  During some of the worst times in my life, it is the only thing that has kept me sane.

[terrence-silver]

Feel free to just say "nope, no thoughts on this," but I noticed you rb'd the post I did where me and my friend had talked about terry as an egg (who will probably never go further than that). I don't remember if you've ever written about terry and transness in himself (you have that lovely one about him and an nb partner), maybe through a certain worshipfulness of/comparing himself to trans women in the 80s and now? wondering if you have any thoughts/ideas/concepts? - VQT

I headcanon Terry always felt vaguely otherized, you know?

I mean, it is apparent that he does in the military. He immediately doesn't fit the bill of something he supposedly ought to fit the bill of by the standards of the era and the army bubble; the traditional masculinity of an overly macho environment in the army in the late 60's. Twig is a bit of an outsider, isn't he? Bet he very much felt it too. Bet people reminded him that he is, especially the likes of Captain Turner. But, I envision his internal conflicts started way before that. I always had this imagination that a young Terry was closer to his mother then his father and that he'd often bond with her as she beautified herself in front of an elaborate boudoir mirror like some sort of 50's old Hollywood movie starlet and it became apparent that the art of transformation was something that always had his interest as a concept. Maybe he tried too a couple of times in secret. Tried on her pearls. Her rouge. Beauty's beauty, right? His child mind didn't understand why it had to be limited to just mom and what the societal expectations of that implied. Until his father discovered him and gave him a disciplinary beating or some sort of punishment only another Silver can come up with, of course. Transformation hurt, but it was always there in the aftermath. Maybe the pain of his reprimanding made it more memorable.

This is the same transformation, he in a roundabout sense first utilized when he ceased being Twig and started being Ponytail. I don't think he had the definitive language for it at the time or a clear understanding of what was going on with him other then his friend dying and him needing to commemorate and usurp him in order to become something better then what he used to be. Keep a comrade's memory alive through himself. His need to change was always there. Always present. So, he changed. Terry changed into himself through Ponytail as a surrogate.

Then came the 80's and while I envision Terry's identity and sexuality were always very fluid, it is most obvious in this era. Most abundantly clear in this very decade. Taking his voyeuristic and stalking tendencies into question, I think he'd seek out individuals that pique his interest and he'd just follow them around and observe them for whatever reason. Just the curiosity, control and powerplay of it all. I think Transwomen can very much be some of the many diverse people he watches for equally diverse reasons. After he researches them, gleefully prods into their utmost privacy via his channels and resources and confirms they are in fact what he thinks they are, he watches their daily routine. Them picking up groceries. Returning from work. When they turn on the light. When they turn it off. Who they bring home. If they bring home anyone at all. Them just living in the most mundane of senses. He doesn't understand why, but he visualizes himself in this rear window life he spies on them through. He too became himself after the war, he rationalizes. He became an 'actual man', the way he sees it. A man as a man should be. Not Twig. A winner, not a wimp. Unlike in Vietnam, now he's the pinnacle of manhood. He's muscular and strong and handsome and people want him --- but, he feels he could be more and he can't explain why or how --- or maybe he knew why and how, he simply wouldn’t admit it to himself. For a while, I feel Terry himself would write off his interest in Transness as purely lecherous. It is easier that way in his own. Isn't entirely untrue either because part of it is entirely perverse on his behalf as is honestly most everything he does anyway. But, I also think he’d be curious and innately fascinated because he’d relate to the struggle and the journey of it all. 

That’s me, in a way, somehow, somewhere, Terry feels.

But, he also thinks this ability is godlike. To become so fully yourself. So undeniably you. He admires it and he wants it too, even though, by all accounts, he should be impressed with what he is now, and he is, but there’s always a question mark at the end of every sentence with Terry. A big what if? I think that Terry's obsession with control is pathological and he almost wishes he could shapeshift sometimes, into whoever he wishes to be at the moment --- without any limitations of the flesh. Turn into whoever he needs to be. He'd fetishize as much as he ascribes an almost fantastical, mystical quality to Transwomen, because he too is himself now, even though he feels he could be even more so. I think that furthest he'd go is try make up again. Something that might've had him punished as a child.

He brushes it off by it merely being the 80's.

You can get away with some much flamboyancy in the 80's, no?

Glam rock is in fashion --- make up is in the media mainstream.

Or rather, he’s a Billionaire and rules are whatever he makes them (and however he unmakes them, the same way he’s been making and unmaking himself for years now) --- justifications are plenty, but they usually boil down to him being powerful and doing whatever the fuck he wants as a result and enjoying it every step along the way. It feels good. It feels right. It feels like him.

Terry puts on lipstick, lets his dark curls loose, wears some elaborate bathrobe, heels that make him easily seven foot tall, decked out in jewelry --- he's beautiful. Imposing. Magnificent. The most beautiful woman on the world --- even though she's neither here nor there and quite frankly, Terry doesn't want her to be, because I imagine he'd wish to keep every part of himself, fitting no specific label, fitting no specific box. Terry's simply Terry. With a gender expression entirely unique to Terry. This woman would have the world kneeling for her if she was real. Maybe she is real? Even more so than before. There's no shame in the act. No sense of not fitting. It is not some hidden thing. A secret. No. In fact, he feels even more powerful than before. This is just another persona for him, right? Another role? He's just experimenting and being cheeky. Terry comes dangerously close to an epiphany. He continues wearing himself like that in privacy. But, he never crosses over the threshold. Then comes the thirty year absence between the tournament loss of '85 and John returning into his life and his elaborate need to become himself is padded by him making up countless other personas meanwhile. A great many to compensate for the feeling of otherness that still persists, even into his old age.

Terry's staggeringly and baffling standardized now.

To alien lengths.

Until he’s no longer himself, or rather, as far removed from himself as he can be.

I think that alienation from himself led to severe repression and depression.

He eats 'properly' and keeps 'proper' company and acts 'properly' and makes 'proper small talk at proper garden parties hosting a proper upper class New Age liberal elite consisting of, perhaps, a few ambiguously LGBTQ+ individuals in subtext (like that one dude who’s name slips me, I’d analyze, far too fascinated with John’s jawline) that too, staggeringly so, fit the cis mold of acceptance to the point of being intentional tokens ---- and Terry deliberately staged his whole life to be pristine, safe, clinical, calculated and commonplace. There is nothing about Terry Silver that is off. No, no. He's bricked himself off after what I assume is the aftermath of a couple of severe mental breakdowns, various attempts at therapy, drug overdoses, remissions, recoveries and identity crisis's in abundance (involving Terry genuinely not understanding who or what he is) and I feel he sought to pad the fall-out of all these various incidents by forcing himself, for the lack of a better word, to act super straight and immensely Cissgender and Heternormative in order to once more hide himself and make himself digestible for the world at large. Which is, I think, a role that didn't make him all that comfortable and with good reason. In fact, he looked awkward, cringed out and even miserable the whole time --- all courteous smiles. All subdued, coordinated mannerisms. I think this could be the prime root of his suffering. Terry, at his old age, is still going through major identity issues. Terry still hides bits of himself. Terry still can't be himself. Terry has hid everything, starting from his Karate expertise, to his time in the military, to his sexuality, downright to everything else. Terry has worn masks and fabricated personas all his life and for the longest time, he’s enjoyed and relished in it.

Until it has became stifling.

Too difficult to handle --- too painful.

He wants to shed himself and he quite literally wants out.