#dispatches from my google docs

[at-thestillpoint]

love you like a lover should (tell this world you're mine) top gun: maverick | phoenix/hangman | e | chapter 2/3

“I never would’ve taken you for such a goody two-shoes, Bagman.�� He levels her with a firm glare. “I’d prefer to not get masted for fucking you in a storage closet, thanks.” She raises an eyebrow. “So you decided to give me one last fuck for the road?” She didn’t think he could be so sentimental. 

previously: part 1

[sugarpopss]

Late Call

We're back Lee girlies I'm back on my corrupt sheriff shit. This so SO inspired by the lore for Lee and his post divorce with Flo girlypop written in the chat by yours truly and @bucknastysbabe and also I've had this google doc just...open in my tabs for ages. Here's the post for the dead motel I took the Plaza Lodge from.

fem!reader

Lee rarely responded to late night calls himself. One of the perks of being the sheriff-he got to go home at 7:30 and leave all of the idiots underneath him to deal with noise complaints and bar fights. Even if all Lee did with his free evenings was park his ass on the sofa and fill up with TV dinners and sodapop and packaged cookies, watch ‘I’ve Got a Secret’ and tug on his cock-it was still better than responding to hillbillies domestic disputes. 

It wasn’t uncommon to get calls from the apartment block his sister Sandy lived in, either. About ten years ago-when Lee had been a fresh-faced deputy with a wife and a plan and pants that fit-the building had been a motor lodge. Not a particularly nice one, but a functioning motor lodge nonetheless. The place hadn’t really started going downhill until they’d converted it into apartments. What did anyone expect? The rent was cheap, the building itself ill-maintained, and several of the residents seemed determined to make their units a welcoming home for all manner of pests. 

Units like Sandys. Christ, it made Lees eye twitch just thinking about the mess of her place. However much of the mess was his sisters and how much of it was the fault of her stinking pig of a husband was still up in the air. All of that to say-Lee wasn’t usually perturbed by calls from the apartment block. They were rarely a big deal. 

Despite knowing all of that-save the bits about Lee stuffing his face and jerking it to Bess Myerson-Willis still felt the need to call Lee up at nearly 11 o’ clock at night. Lee had been tempted to just not pick up the phone, but, well…he was the sheriff. He had certain responsibilities. Even if just hearing a voice from the station while he was at home made him want to groan. 

“I’m, uh, I’m sorry to bother you so late, Lee-” 

Really, everyone was meant to be calling him ‘Sheriff Bodecker’, but Lee wasn’t going to fight that battle at 11 at night. 

“You got a reason for buggin’ me like this? I don’t wanna spend my night chattin’ with you.” Maybe Lee was a little grumpy about being shaken out of his post-orgasm food coma. Maybe Lee was a little grumpy most of the time. 

“It’s just that a call came in from the Plaza Lodge, and I know that your sister lives down there , so I thought-” 

Lee didn’t even let the dispatcher finish. He was already annoyed that he’d had to haul himself up to answer the phone, and the movement had made the fullness of his stomach shift from ‘pleasantly full’ to ‘tight and queasy.. “I don’t need to go down there every time someone hears a goddamn bump. It’s a shithole. People call the police. Handle it.” 

“I know that, Lee, it’s just…” Willis was trying hard to justify the call. Pissing Lee off usually meant spending a shift out patrolling the county line, looking at skinny cattle and rusted out cars. “Well, the caller reported gunshots, and they said a woman was gettin’ all worked up and hysterical, so I thought maybe you’d want to know about it.” 

Alright, that did make a little knot of anxiety form in Lees chest. As tangled up and messy as his relationship with Sandy was, she was still his baby sister. If something was awfully wrong, he oughta be there. A sick, shameful part him-though not really that shameful-hoped that fucker Carl had finally put his hands on her; slapped her around or pushed her down the outdoor stairs. Something that wouldn’t hurt Sandy too badly, but would still let Lee finally get the son-of-a-bitch in handcuffs. Or even better-gunshots, agitated woman-Sandy had just snapped and shot Carl. Now that would be something worth getting up to see. 

With that in mind, Lee hung up on Willis while he was still talking and set to getting dressed and moving, and if he grabbed two Pepsis to drink on the way, that was his business. It was late, he needed the sugar to perk him up. 

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When Lee pulled up to what used to be the Plaza Motor Lodge, he was greeted with both disappointment and relief. There was only one cruiser in the parking lot, and the whole place was pretty quiet; just a couple of people standing out on their porches, smoking or sipping from chipped mugs, trying to look like they weren’t attempting to nose in on their neighbors. That at least ruled out Carl having gotten a bullet in his ugly forehead.  Considering that Sandys apartment was one of the dark ones, the bastard was likely actually warm and cozy in his bed-which Lee had no doubt was riddled with bed bugs. What a shame. 

The door to a ground floor unit was open, however, so that was likely where the problem was. He could’ve just gone home right then. But he was already there, and unexplained gunshots were pretty unusual in Meade. People out in the holler loved to fire shots off at all hours of the night for reasons only Jesus knew, but Lee liked to think that the center of the county was a little more civilized. 

He rapped his knuckles on the doorframe, but didn’t wait to be invited in-just did it to let the people inside know he was there. Deputy Howser was sat on the sofa, a notepad balanced on his knee. The other person-presumably the apartments tennant-was pacing the short distance between the front door and the kitchenette. Agitated? Definitely. Hysterical? Yet to be seen. 

“Sheriff Bodecker!” Howser didn’t stand to greet him, but did pat the spot on the sofa next to himself. “You’re gonna want to hear this, Sheriff. Pretty lady’s got a real story for you, huh?” 

The apartments tenant paused in her pacing to whirl on Howser like a jungle cat. “How about you try taking me fucking seriously?!” 

Lee sort of thought steam was going to start coming out of her ears. 

“I’m not the one shooting at ghosts, miss.” Howser said, raising his hands in mock surrender. 

Lee stepped farther into the room. For all of the shit he’d done as sheriff, he was pretty good at the actual minutiae of police work. He’d defused more fights and talked down more angry and panicked people than he could count. 

“Take it easy, sweetheart.” He said in his best ‘everything is okay, miss’ voice. “I know you-”

“I’m not your fucking sweetheart!”

The woman had whipped her head to him the moment it left his mouth. There were mascara tear tracks streaking her cheeks, but she didn’t look sad or scared, just pissed to hell. 

She kept going. 

“If one of y’all would just listen to me for one goddamn minute I could explain!” 

Lee sighed and sat down on the sofa. The deputy nudged him, smirking, and Lee realized that the idiot was going to be extraordinarily unhelpful in sorting this out. 

“Get out of here.” Lee told him. Howser didn’t even question it, likely glad to have one more thing cut from his night shift. Back to the station to sit around and drink burnt coffee with his finger up his ass, most likely. 

Once the deputy had gotten his skinny ass out of there, Lee leaned forward, elbows on his knees-ignoring how that position made his gut roll against his belt. He had bigger fish to fry. 

“Listen, miss.” He began. “I can see you’re pretty worked up, that’s no good. How about you take a breath n’ sit down n’ tell me what’s going on. I hear you were shooting at something?”

She held back for a few moments, then seemed to accept that Lee was the best she was going to get and sat down. With the woman on one end of the sofa and Lee on the other, she told the sheriff what had happened. 

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

She wasn’t shooting at ghosts. Lee had figured as much from the start, but it was nice to have confirmation. What she had been shooting at-or rather, what she had shot at, as there had, in reality, only been one bullet fired-was a man. According to her, a man she worked with in one of the shabby little offices in the center of town had been following her home for a couple of days. She had looked through the front window and seen his car lingering in the parking lot, pulling up in front of her unit then pulling out again and looping the lot. So she’d gone into the mostly empty parking lot and fired once, just to scare him. “Just so he knew I had a gun.” she’d said. 

Lee scrubbed a hand over his face when she finished the story. Some men just didn’t know how to handle rejection. Not including Lee, of course. Why, he’d never been rejected by a woman! Not that he was pursuing many these days, after the whole mess of the divorce with Flo, but still. 

“I’m not gonna arrest you for being scared.” He said. He wasn’t. If he had really wanted to, he probably could’ve gotten her for disturbing the peace or unlawfully discharging a firearm, but he didn’t really want to. He’d let worse things slide than a pretty young woman taking her safety into her own hands. 

“What if I had someone stop by here on patrol tomorrow night? Stick around the parking lot for a bit, make sure no one who shouldn't be there is hanging around.” 

She looked away from him, worked her hands in her lap. A lot of the furious indignation in her had faded away, replaced by exhaustion and anxiety. 

“What about tonight?” She asked. 

A reasonable question, but one that had Lee sighing and falling back against the couch cushions. “Jesus Christ, miss.” 

What about that night? Sure, Lee could call Howser back up and have him watch for a bit, but the dumbass would probably just upset the lady again. And Lee was already there-now that he had been up and moving for a bit, the queasiness from earlier had pretty much abated. He wasn’t even feeling particularly tired. 

“I’ll stay for a while.” 

“Really?” She didn’t demure or simper about the big strong sheriff not needing to waste his time on a little thing like her-although it would’ve done wonders for his ego. She just raised her eyebrows, a bit bewildered but pretty accepting. 

Lee nodded, then pushed off his knees and stood. Sure, he’d stick around for a bit. He could finish the half a Pepsi sitting in his cruiser and make sure no one sketchy was hanging around. Well, as far as it pertained to this lady and her problem-if they went and hauled out every creep and scumbag from the Plaza Lodge Apartments they’d have half the tenants, Sandy and her no-good cradle snatcher of a husband included. 

“I’m already here. God knows there’s enough to keep an eye on around here.” 

That got a smile out of her, albeit a small one. If he had been about ten years younger, didn’t have an ex-wife with some truly awful stories about him, and his belt wasn’t biting into his lower belly something awful, Lee would’ve been thinking she was real pretty when she smiled. Even when she’d been snapping at Deputy Howser like a rabid dog, she wasn’t bad looking-just upset. 

“I…I really appreciate that, Sheriff Bodecker.” 

Oh, if Lee didn’t just love the sound of that! ‘Sheriff Bodecker’ said with respect like that was music to his ears. If only everyone referred to him like that, instead of ‘Lee’ this and ‘Lee’ that. 

“ ‘S no trouble. I’m used to late nights.” 

Lee didn’t even know he was trying to impress her until it came out of his mouth. It was a bit juvenile, sure, but the little smile didn’t drop from her face. And he was being truthful! Lee was used to late nights-it was just that he was usually meeting with Leroy or carrying out some of that chickenshit bastards pseudo-mafia business. Lee’s preference was to have his belly full, balls empty and ass in bed by 10pm. 

She cocked her head a little, which made her modern bubble hairstyle bob. Flo had wanted to get a haircut like that a couple of years ago, when it just started to show up in the fashion magazines that filtered in from Cincinnati, and Lee had told her that it would make her look like a bobblehead. By far not the worst thing he’d said to Flo, but it still wasn’t great-especially considering how  cute he was finding the same look on this lady. 

She just looked at Lee for a moment, apparently weighing his offer in her mind, then glanced towards the apartments little kitchenette. 

“I could make you a cup of coffee, if you’d like. Or, um, I have some leftover spaghetti, if you’re gonna be around…” 

“That’s alright. I’ll be right out there in the cruiser, stick around for a while and make sure your jackass doesn’t show back up.” Lee hooked a thumb back towards the front door, still standing open against the cool night air. 

“Okay.” She didn’t offer again. The lack of persistence in her offer stung Lees ego, just a little bit. It’d been a bit since a woman who didn’t reek like the sweat and stale beer had paid him more attention than an eye-fucking. Losing Flo really had tarnished his reputation, goddamn her and her suited-up lawyer with his fancy office in Dayton. If he’d really wanted to put up a fight, he could’ve accused Flo of sleeping with the bastard. She almost certainly hadn’t been, but it would’ve made the whole process a bit more inconvenient for her. Maybe that was a petty sort of win to want. Maybe Lee was the sort of man who wanted those wins anyway. 

And that was the end of it. 

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

By around 1:45, Lee was dozing off in his cruiser. He’d finished off his room temperature Pepsi, smoked a cigarette, hummed the earworm theme song from 'Name That Tune' and smoked another cigarette. He’d opened and closed the glove box at least six times, contemplating the Chunky bar stowed in there. 

All while keeping an eye on the other cars in the parking lot, seeing if anyone was going to try to cause trouble. He doubted that the idiot who had been bothering little miss thing was going to show back up that night, but that didn’t mean other horseplay wouldn’t happen-though depending on what it was, Lee would have to let it go anyway. The girls down at the Tecumseh and a couple of illegal substances all fell under the umbrella of ‘things Lee let slide for cold hard cash’. 

The door of miss things unit opened up, light spilling out for just a moment. If Lee had turned his headlights on he could’ve gotten a look at what she was holding, but he also probably would’ve spooked her into dropping it. It didn’t matter anyway, because she came right up to his drivers side window. He’d left it rolled down after the first cigarette. It was a nice night for May. 

She offered him a steaming mug with a cartoon cardinal painted on it. The aroma of coffee hit him instantly-good, fresh coffee, not like the shit at the station that comes out burnt then sits in the pot for hours. 

“It’s been a bit. I figured you’d take me up on this, now.”

“Don’t mind if I do.” Lee responded, taking the mug. Their hands didn’t touch, though to be fair, the only person who did much touching on Lee those days was himself. 

The coffee was strong and sweet, just how Lee liked it. So she could at least make a good cup of coffee, and really…wasn’t at all bad looking with the tear tracks washed off her face. No Bess Myerson, but that was a high bar. She was plenty attractive for a town like Meade-and a man like Lee. 

A lot of things could be good enough for a man like Lee.

[fcble]

THE FABULIST'S FIELD GUIDE TO FABLE.

Somehow I've managed to post almost one hundred thousand words on this blog in the form of writing pieces. Which is absolutely insane to me because I don't think I've managed to write one hundred thousand words of creative writing towards any single project in the rest of life up until this Tumblr blog. And maybe this type of celebration is a little premature but I have things planned and I will hit 100k. It's also the three year anniversary of this blog, and I want to celebrate that too.

This is a little recap of where we've been, where we are, and maybe where we're going. And by we, I mean me and the guys in my head. This is also a sort of guide to their writing pieces and the reading order because I did not write in chronological order.

WHERE WE'VE BEEN

There are four major, earth-shattering, life-changing events that happened to various Fable members that had repercussions to various people over various years. If you're interested in all the writing as a whole, I have a Google doc in posting order here and chronological order here, which splits up a lot of the pieces.

[ OO1 ] MINGEUN'S NATIONALITY SCANDAL

In order to debut, Mingeun made a deal with Taein, the company's CEO, to lie about his upbringing, and therefore his nationality. He was born in South Korea, but immigrated to Canada with his family when he was two. When it came to being a Fable member, Andrew already had the diaspora member position on lock. And the main vocal position, which led to Mingeun being cut from the debut lineup after Haksu joined at the last minute.

Jaeseop fought for Mingeun's inclusion and won, leading to Taein brokering the deal with Mingeun. Everything went swimmingly for the first two years, where Mingeun pretended he didn't understand a word of English, and never uttered a word about Canada. He uttered very few words in this time period and was always out of the spotlight.

In the summer of 2020, having hit their stride with their previous album a few months earlier, the lid on the entire operation was blown via Dispatch articles. Given that Fable was on the rise, both in Korea and internationally, it didn't take long for friends and classmates from his childhood to corroborate the news. Mingeun's hiatus was immediate, and it would be over a year before he returned to the group. In the months that followed, he gained a reputation for being a liar, and in turn, tainted Fable as "the group with the liar" for some time.

RELEVANT POSTS: One of the news articles that broke the news. Pre-redemption arc perception. A drabble. "Not Enough." "Live Wire."

[ OO2 ] HAKSU'S BLACKMAIL

Haksu was the last member to join Fable. In the most succinct way possible, he spent the last two months of 2017 stalking and harassing Taein until he was accepted as a trainee. This is because he very much believes in fate and he had a dream about him. In the least weird and creepy way possible. It's only what he did because of it that becomes weird and creepy. Armed with his knowledge and physical evidence of Taein's adultery, he used it as a bargaining chip to get his foot in the door.

At the end of 2017, the debut lineup was otherwise set and they would have debuted earlier, if not for Haksu's sudden inclusion. Jaeseop and Mingeun tried so hard to get him out of there, but he was surprisingly stubborn and resilient and optimistic. He's also the best singer in the group, which is why Mingeun was demoted to main dancer and then nearly kicked out.

After debuting, Haksu continued to use Taein's crimes against him to secure himself the position of center, along with every opportunity that came Fable's way for the first few years of their careers. This continued on until 2021, when Taein and his wife began divorce proceedings. Having lost his best bargaining chip, he had to start learning how to share the spotlight. The majority of Fable fans continue to consider him the undisputed center.

RELEVANT POSTS: "Great Things" part one and two. One part of "Form is Emptiness."

[ OO3 ] EUNSU'S DEPARTURE

Eunsu was Fable's main rapper for three years, until he left the group in August 2021. The official reason for his departure was given simply as "personal reasons." The real reason he left was the death of his older brother, Yonggeum, which left him as his parents' only child. His father runs the only Buddhist temple in the small town he grew up in, a position that was passed down through his family for generations. It was expected that Yonggeum would inherit their father's position. That gave Eunsu the freedom to do things like become a kpop idol. After his brother's death, he was compelled by a sense of duty to return home and learn his father's role.

Despite his departure, he continues to interact with the rest of the group to the point where it's like he never even left. He writes songs for them, features on some of them, appears on a bunch of their livestreams, and is still Mingeun's best friend.

RELEVANT POSTS: "Form is Emptiness" part one and part two.

[ OO4 ] 'THE PROBLEM WITH FABLE'

Ever since their debut, one of Fable's greatest assets and their biggest weakness has been their concept. After building their careers as a modern take on mostly Joseon-era culture, they're boxed into the same square. They hardly ever do anything different, and when they do, it pisses off half their fanbase. These problems and some more were the subject of a viral video essay by Lightspeed member Tyler, but before he joined a survival show and became an idol. You either die a hero or live long enough to become a villain. But I digress that has little to do with Fable.

Responses to this were split, with Mingeun and Jaeseop weighing in with their own opinions. They are a bit too decently established and also a boy group for this to really affect their reputations. It just sits in the back of Jaeseop's mind and bothers him every now and then.

RELEVANT POSTS: "the problem with fable" itself. Mingeun and Jaeseop's reactions.

There are a few smaller plotlines that focus more on individual members.

[ OO1 ] BYEONGHWI (AND GICHEOL)

Byeonghwi is the only character whose storyline is mostly romance-focused. I wanted at least one of them to have a smaller stakes plotline that wasn't lying about their entire identity or blackmailing their CEO. So I spun a wheel and it landed on him. Which works out well, because his idol origin story was always somehow passing an audition he went to with a friend.

Anyway, his plot is very linear and straightforward. He had a friend. He debuted first. He confessed and it went terribly. He no longer has a friend.

RELEVANT POSTS: "First Love." "Sea Change." "No Return."

[ OO2 ] ANDREW

Quick side note Andrew is the greatest thing that happened to Fable. He was not in the early drafts. It was just Mingeun against the world. A lot of things are better for them and also for me because he's in the picture.

As far as plotlines go, he's the diametric opposite of Mingeun. His story is also a lot more vibe-based. It's very much about his identity, and trying to find a place for himself, both as a Korean American returning to the so-called homeland, and as an artist in the kpop industry. I don't really know how to TL;DR this I think the TL;DR is his pieces.

RELEVANT POSTS: "Not Enough." "Double A-Side." "Piano Concerto in A♭ Minor" part one, part two, part three. A drabble.

WHERE WE ARE

After all of that happened, I am trying to pick up the threads and extend them years into the future. The easiest way to do this is probably by member.

KIYOUNG recently returned from his mandatory military service. Other than that he's big chilling. Not to be confused with bing chilling. He's adjusting to civilian life again. RELEVANT POSTS: "Piano Concerto in A♭ Minor part one"

ANDREW is being recruited by Taein's somewhat shady business partner and not-quite-chaebol-heir Jinguk, for reasons he still doesn't really know. He has been Fable's temporary leader for the past nine months, and will continue to be so for another year or so, while Jaeseop is enlisted. RELEVANT POSTS: The drabble again. And also his piece which is linked in three parts right above so I'm not doing that again.

JAESEOP enlisted in December. He will be there for some time. Before he went, he tried to prepare Andrew as his substitute. He considered it putting his affairs in order, like he was going to die. RELEVANT POSTS: The saddest announcement ever o7.

INTAK is technically the first Fable member to go solo, in a move absolutely no one could have predicted. He released a mixtape in August. He went to Japan with Byeonghwi and Mingeun and returned with an entire extra suitcase of anime merch. RELEVANT POSTS: The album. A news article.

HAKSU briefly went home in May and missed Fable's last tour date. He did not know that his parents set up a date for him. He also did not know that the date was with one of his sasaengs. It's bad for him right now. RELEVANT POSTS: Tour absence. "exploring haksu's sasaeng problem." "One-Way Mirror."

EUNSU might as well be in Fable with his appearance on Intak's album. He also hosted Mingeun back in November after he got into a fight with some of the other members for reasons I can no longer remember because it's been almost a year and I didn't write it down. RELEVANT POSTS: "Interlude: Birthright."

MINGEUN was given an ultimatum early in the year by Taein. It took him a while to get around to it, but he broke up with his girlfriend of almost four years in July. He's also been on house arrest for majority of the year. RELEVANT POSTS: "Live Wire." "Interlude: Chances." "A Night Out On Earth." An epilogue.

BYEONGHWI is doing things I have yet to post anything about. He's in a situationship with a fan. Nothing like Haksu's situation. There are no relevant posts because this is in my head. It's been going on since Fable's album in the spring of this year.

WHERE WE'RE GOING

Poll time! What kind of ending will Fable have? (This is just an interest check I'm going to do whatever I want.)

The good ending is something along the lines of their disbandment when their contracts expire. The bad ending is they succumb to what might be the only scandal that could kill them. After they made it through Mingeun's rough patch I really believe they could survive anything else, EXO/cockroaches of kpop-style.

Other than that, I don't have many more plot points fleshed out yet. I will go wherever they take me 🫶.

[ribbondee]

I have a MIGHTY NEED...

...to announce this.

A crossover AU, one that's a crack AU, cursed and self indulgent all at the same time.

It involves two of my fixations, two that are completely different yet I made this work anyway.

Invader Zim x Monsters vs Aliens. Yes you read that right. One, a peak cult classic, and another thing that is also that but also underrated. Details/ramblings about it are under the cut for those interested! :D

Now, here's how it works: a character gets hit by that dang quantonium filled meteorite, gets hauled off to a top secret government facility after the effects hit, and has a serious wake up call that perhaps the events of Enter The Florpus weren't a hallucination and about the existence of aliens as a whole. Poor Membrane.

But yeah he gets to see some old and new faces in Area 50-something, such as Dr. Cockroach having been his college roommate once upon a time, Membrane Labs being responsible for the creation of BOB, and it was by Membrane's authority that Link was fished out of the ocean and later sent to the facility (upon seeing the guy that sent him there, Link goes nuts with anger). So yeah he has a connection to all of his jailmates except Insectosaurus.

Also there's this thing about him being armless, as his cybernetics (rather painfully) fell off due to him outgrowing them during the you-know-what. Don't worry he still gets around okay, especially after he gets a new set issued to him by the government. This sorta helps ease his rage at his former "business partner" General Monger there's that too.

Random trivia deets:

In this AU he wears an outfit similar to Susan's, with the sleeves hanging loose for a while before he gets his new arms. His horribly scarred face (my headcanon) is also on full display much to his displeasure, and he doesn't care much for having white hair either.

BOB, after his creation in Membrane Labs, imprinted on his 'dad' as baby and thus is ecstatic to see him upon Membrane's arrival much to the colossal man's confusion.

Yes, Gallaxhar is still very much a thing in this AU, as is the showdown with the Robot Probe.

As for where Zim falls into all this, he'll be danged before he lets another alien destroy/enslave the humans before him.

When Mem was hit by the meteorite, it was right outside Membrane Labs. He pulls himself out from under it, and goes on with his day like it's a perfectly normal occurence... until he's giving a live presentation at least half an hour later. Oh boy.

It took being shot with over 10 oversized tranquilizer darts to knock him out. As for who called the government, it was just some random bystander in the audience.

Dib and Gaz witnessed the whole thing while watching TV at home before the signal gets lost, and both of them just turn to look at each other wide-eyed. ...then they later manage to cooperate and stage a rescue operation to get their dad out of wherever the government stashed him. By the time they manage to break in, Membrane and the other members of Team Monster have been dispatched to deal with the Robot Probe. Welp.

As for how Membrane feels about having his worldview shattered and the fact that he's huge, he kinda... shuts down for a while. Then, he snaps out of it when he starts to become worried for his kids. Then after he's finally reunited with them, he picks them up, and holds them close gently while silently crying. Then ofc something happens to ruin it: Zim: the Dib-Stink's parent looks different today. Dib: *shouting angrily* ZIM! GET OUT OF HERE! Zim: *can't hear Dib as he's too high up* WHAAAAAT? Dib: Dad, do me favor and step on Zim.

That's all I've got to say for now! More stuff miiiiight come later, perhaps in the form of a Google Doc? Anyway, I'm having loads of fun with this cursed idea of mine.

[lucky-clover-gazette]

prince's gambit highlights & annotations

chapter 17

indented text is from the book. some quotes have commentary, some do not. some comments are serious, and some are definitely not. most of them will only make sense to people who have read the series. and, like, there are spoilers. so please read the books first if you're interested!

also: part of the reason i'm doing such a close reading is to study cs pacat's style, especially in terms of how she does romance and erotica. there are "craft notes" that might seem weird, like i'm being redundant or restating something rather than analyzing, but those are more things that i want to remember/take away from the writing!

i'm going to tag these longer posts with "sam reads capri" in case anyone wants to read them all at once.

this is a google doc i wrote with overall content warnings for the captive prince series. it's not perfect, but i do think it's important to include.

If Damen was rougher than he needed to be, it was because he didn’t approve of this plan. Hearing it described, he’d felt as though his body was under a weight, a hard pressure. Now he released Enguerran in the tent and watched him get to his feet without helping him. Enguerran had a wound in his side that still leaked blood. Laurent, entering the tent, pulled off his helm, and Damen saw what Enguerran saw: a golden prince with his armour covered in blood, his hair sweat-dampened, his eyes unsparing. The wound in Enguerran’s side had come from Laurent’s blade; the blood on Laurent’s armour was Enguerran’s.

lamen back at it with the strategic improv. we love to see it

He wanted no part of what was about to unfold.

support your boyfriend’s tactical theatrics, damen. let laurent get a little silly with it

‘I see. So you need me to get inside Ravenel. That is the real reason I am alive. You expect me to betray the people I have served for ten years.’ ‘To get inside Ravenel? My dear Enguerran, I’m afraid you are quite mistaken.’ Laurent’s gaze travelled over Enguerran again, his blue eyes cold. ‘I don’t need you,’ said Laurent. ‘I just need your clothes.’

i love the little moments where laurent explains his plan with like. total seriousness. but the plan itself is something that would happen in a dungeons and dragons game or animated film.

Damen was repelled by the disguise. He had argued against it. The deception was wrong, the pretence of friendship.

going crazy with that nice vs. good theme lately damen. i wonder if there’s some other reason you’re particularly opposed to the idea of disguising oneself and poisoning a friendship with deception at the moment

The brazen audacity of this was characteristic of Laurent, though dressing up his entire troop was on a different scale to walking into a small town inn with a sapphire in his ear, batting his lashes. It was one thing to disguise yourself, another to force your whole army to do it.

As the heavy latticed iron beetled above their heads, Damen found himself wanting it, wanting disruption, a cry of outrage, or of challenge, wanting it as a release to this—feeling. Traitor. Stop. But none came. Of course it didn’t. Of course the men of Ravenel welcomed them, believing them to be friends. Of course they trusted in the face of a deception, leaving themselves wide open.

this is sooooo mean (and clever) of pacat, given the interpersonal stuff between damen and laurent rn

Barrels were upended into a courtyard fountain, so that men could scoop wine out as they pleased.

love this detail

He dispatched men to take Touars’s nine-year-old son Thevenin and hold him under house arrest. Laurent was developing quite a collection of sons.

well someone has to be nice to children in this fucked up world

Then Laurent turned and saw him, and the pressure in his chest grew like pain as Laurent greeted him, half-stripped and bright-eyed. ‘How do you like my fort?’

laurent is especially fascinating as things really heat up between him and damen. it’s part cognitive dissonance, but also… i think damen has changed his mind. i don’t think laurent hates damen anymore. i think everything that seems to have developed between them, actually has developed both ways. even if laurent goes back on it later, and says mean things, damen has at this point completely changed laurent’s initial perception of him. damen is damen, who laurent knows and trusts, and not damianos. that’s where the cognitive dissonance comes in—not in any kind of false impression of damen himself. it’s, again, sad in a different way to read with the context i have. because laurent is being true here, despite the lie, and i just wish they could come by this with total honestly. but that would never have been possible for them, with their history. and the auguste thing will have to be reckoned with, eventually. laurent just has it on ice for now.

All right,’ said Laurent. ‘You see? I’m learning to take your advice.’ He spoke with an unselfconscious little smile that was wholly new.

i don’t think laurent is enjoying damen’s turmoil. i don’t even think he notices it. while he definitely respects damen, laurent still doesn’t expect him to stay past the point of his given freedom. and that’s why he flirts, and is friendly, and fucks him, despite the auguste thing. because it all ends tomorrow anyway, by damen’s choice. so laurent might as well enjoy it while it lasts.

of course, laurent underestimates damen’s devotion, as usual. even when he has sex with damen, i’m sure laurent thinks damen is counting it as just another conquest that he’ll forget about the day after. so it doesn’t matter, and it doesn’t have to matter—which good, because if it did matter to damen, it would matter SO MUCH to laurent as well. and laurent knows that his brother’s killer can’t matter to him, because that would be insane. so it’s good that damen just sees him as 1) partaking in an agreement that he (damen) will leave as soon as he’s freed and 2) a piece of ass. yep. that’s definitely it, laurent. good job.

He said, ‘What will you do next?’ ‘Bathe,’ answered Laurent, in a tone that said he knew perfectly well what Damen had meant, ‘and change into something that’s not made of metal. You should do the same. I had the servants lay out some clothing for you that befits your new station. Very Veretian, you’ll hate it. I have something else for you as well.’ He turned back in time to see Laurent move briefly to pick up a half-circle of metal from a small table by the wall. It felt like the slow push of a spear into his body, the awful unfolding inevitability of it, in front of servants, in this small, intimate room. ‘I didn’t have time to give this to you before the battle,’ said Laurent.

ohhh laurent’s going full delusional here, riding the high of his previous act. but this isn’t an act, not really. but it has to be an act, for laurent to be okay with it. just how laurent performed cruelty in book 1 with hate in his heart, he’s performing affection here with love in his heart. but it can’t be true—it can’t NOT be in some ways a performance, and laurent has made sure of that by keeping the lie going for this long. this man is in a heaven/hell of his own design. it’s honestly impressive how deeply he manages to complicate things for himself. he made his own bed and now he’s getting fucked in it

The last thing he heard was Laurent saying, ‘See to my Captain. Tonight he is to have anything that he asks for.’

HELL yeah he is

‘We are lucky the Prince’s messenger got through with his signet ring,’ Damen acknowledged. ‘What messenger?’ said Torveld.

lmaooo i think the messenger was about loyse’s whole reveal? like VERY long game?

‘I’m a Captain through your help. I owe you a great deal.’ Shyly, after a pause: ‘I told you that I would repay you. You did so much to help me in the palace. And . . .’ Erasmus hesitated, looking over at Torveld. When Torveld nodded that he should speak, he lifted his chin, uncharacteristically. ‘And I didn’t like the Regent. He burnt my leg.’ Torveld gave him a proud look, and Erasmus flushed and made obeisance again with perfect form.

eugh i haaaaaate the way the akielion slaves talk. it’s especially jarring after not having to see them for like an entire book. i know it’s supposed to be off-putting though so job well done i guess

Damen repressed another instinct to tell him to stand up.

buddy you're so close don't repress it!

He looked at Erasmus, the demure limbs and the lowered lashes. He had bedded slaves like this, as pliant in bed as they were out of it. He remembered enjoying it, but the memory was distant, as though it belonged to someone else. Erasmus was pretty, he could see that. Erasmus, he recalled, had been trained for him. He would be obedient to every order, intuit every whim, willingly. Damen turned his eyes to Laurent. A picture of cool, difficult distance confronted him. Laurent sat in brief conversation, wrist balanced on the edge of the great table, fingertips resting on the base of a goblet. From the severe, straight-backed posture to the impersonal grace of his cupped yellow head; from his detached blue eyes to the arrogance of his cheekbones, Laurent was complicated and contradictory, and Damen could look nowhere else.

LET'S GOOOOOO

As though responding to some instinct, Laurent looked up and met Damen’s eyes, and in the next moment Laurent was rising and making his way over.

‘It can wait. You just won me a fort,’ said Laurent. ‘Let me spoil you a little.’

yeah he’s just going all out he knows it’s over tomorrow nothing matters

‘That wasn’t a play against my uncle. That was a play against Nicaise. Boys are easy. At thirteen,’ said Laurent, ‘you could have led me around by the nose.’ ‘I can’t believe you were ever easy.’

an untraumatized 13 year old laurent would have been soooooo fucking weird around damen

‘Torveld tells me that in Akielos, it’s the slave who feeds the master.’ ‘That’s right.’ ‘Then you can’t have any objection,’ said Laurent, picking up the morsel, and lifting it.

laurent i think you forgot who’s the sl—you know what it’s fine they’re roleplaying again

He took a second bite. He didn’t look at the food, he looked at Laurent, at the way he held himself, always so controlled, so that all of his reactions were subtle, his blue eyes difficult to read, but not cold. He could see that Laurent was pleased, that he was enjoying the acquiescence for its rarity, its exclusivity. It felt like he was on the edge of understanding, as though Laurent was coming into view for the first time.

laurent really just said “fuck it i’ve got one night left time to be a freak about it”

Damen’s attention was on Laurent’s ivory and gold colouring, the overfine skin, the last traces of bruising from where he’d been tied up and hit. Damen’s gaze travelled, inch by inch, taking in the proud lift of his chin, the uncooperative eyes, the arch of his cheekbone, and dropping back down to his mouth. His sweet, vicious mouth.

Everything would be simple in the morning.

definitely

‘I thought you helped them out of compassion.’ ‘No, you didn’t,’ said Laurent.

He’d never stood against his father for anything. He’d never needed to, so closely had their values aligned.

damen please keep pulling at this thread and think about why that might be

‘I never questioned the way my father saw the world. It was enough for me to be the kind of son he was proud of. I could never bring shame to his memory, but for the first time I realise I don’t want to be . . .’ His kind of King.

YESSS GOOD JOB DAMEN

Father, I can beat him, he’d said, and he’d ridden out and returned to a hero’s welcome, to have his armour stripped by servants, to have his father greet him with pride. He remembered that night, all those nights, the galvanising power of his father’s expansionist victories, the approbation, as success flowed from success. He had not thought about the way it had played out on the other side of the field. When this game began, I was younger. ‘I’m sorry,’ said Damen.

the apology for auguste… ohhhhh my god. damen you’re having a character development!!!! you’re questioning things!!!!

Laurent gave him a strange look. ‘Why would you apologise to me?’

okay shut up let him have this you know why

He said, ‘I didn’t understand what being King meant to you.’ ‘What’s that?’ ‘An end to fighting.’

:)

‘I wish it could have been different between us, I wish I could have behaved to you with more honour. I want you to know that you will have a friend across the border, whatever happens tomorrow, whatever happens to both of us.’

damen you behaved with an insane amount of honor. and don’t make promises you can’t keep

‘Friends,’ said Laurent. ‘Is that what we are?’ Laurent’s voice was tightly knotted, as though the answer was obvious; as though it was as obvious as what was happening between them, the air disappearing, mote by mote.

Damen said, with helpless honesty, ‘Laurent, I am your slave.’ The words laid him open, truth exposed in the space between them. He wanted to prove it, as though, inarticulate, he could make up for what divided them.

my reading of this line is that damen is admitting his metaphorical devotion to laurent. like forget the cuffs or whatever, he’s just helplessly down bad. not suuuure if that’s the point of the line, though. the last line also implies that he wants to be with laurent as if they're equals, despite the power imbalance, soooo badly that he doesn't even care about the power imbalance

The touch he offered was accepted as it had not been last time, fingers gentle on Laurent’s jaw, thumb passing over his cheekbone, soft. Laurent’s controlled body was hard with tension, his rapid pulse urgent for flight, but he closed his eyes in the last seconds before it happened. Damen’s palm slid over Laurent’s warm nape; slowly, very slowly, making his height an offering, not a threat, Damen leaned in and kissed Laurent on the mouth. The kiss was barely a suggestion of itself, with no yielding of the rigidity in Laurent, but the first kiss became a second, after a fraction of parting in which Damen felt the flicker of Laurent’s shallow breathing against his own lips.

all the little details of laurent’s reactions continue to really touch me. for reasons previously mentioned. the contrast of words like “gentle” and soft” with “tension” and “rigidity” is very good

It felt, in all the lies between them, as if this was the only true thing. It didn’t matter that he was leaving tomorrow. He felt remade with the desire to give Laurent this: to give him all he would allow, and to ask for nothing, this careful threshold something to be savoured because it was all Laurent would let himself have.

a kingdom or this babyyyyyyyyy

do you think laurent is thinking something similar? it seems like he’s been thinking that all evening. this is the only true thing, and damen may be leaving tomorrow, but it isn’t tomorrow yet

They broke apart at the voice, the burst of sound, of nearby footsteps. A head was cresting the stone steps. Damen took a step backwards, his stomach twisting. It was Jord.

is this a lamen hr complaint? they did go somewhere private, it’s more of a jord hr complaint, like he’s at fault here. i won’t count it.

[emmalostinwonderland]

5 Things You Can Find In My Writing!

thanks for the tag, @suseagull5914!

Music - I tend to title my fics with song lyrics, and I've also been working on a series of FirstPrince fics inspired by different Royal and the Serpent songs. Butterflies and Tummy Aches is one of those (still unfinished... but it's coming along!), but I'm gonna rec 'never been so weak (never felt so incomplete)' this time since I wrote legit song lyrics for it. For those unfamiliar, it reimagines Henry in a more punk rock style, and is pretty much a "right person, wrong time" AU featuring smut that I'm kinda proud of.

Food/Cooking - Sharing a meal is the definition of love of all kinds to me, and I love to have my characters cook and eat together. The most obvious example of this is the sense-share soulmates AU, Butterflies and Tummy Aches (again, still WIP), in which Alex and Henry can 'taste' what the other is eating.

911 Calls - it's no secret that I'm a 911 operator and police dispatcher, and I do most of my writing while at work. I have 2 posted works featuring a 911 center, 1 draft in my google docs, and a mafia AU that started as a detective thing. I want to rec The Hazards of Falling In Love, which is my Steve/Tony fire dispatch AU.

Mouth Stuff - christ on a bike I hate phrasing it like that, but. It's true! I just think it's more interesting to write than other aspects of smut since I rarely delve into kink. Here's a fic I wrote for @cactusdragon517 in which Henry tries distracting Alex from an online bidding war with his tongue - The Village Idiot.

David the Beagle - my literal favorite character in RWRB, hands down. I won't even begin to pretend otherwise. I put him in as many fics as I can. Including this one, A Good Boy For a Bad Day, which is kind of a Henry&David origin story and was a present for @thedramasummer.

I'll tag the two friends already tucked into items 4 and 5, @louikazooie, @jackzimmermemes, @itsmaybitheway, and @materassassino. And fuck it, open tag too!

[kurlyfrasier]

Informative Stuff Masterlist

Just an FYI: If I didn't add credit after the link; there are multiple people who added to the original post I reblogged.

I have likely not added many that I've reblogged to this list. Please feel free to roam my blog and/or ask/message me to add something you'd like to see on this list!

How to add links to your description cuz I always have to google it. Thank you Quick Guide.

What to do when you lose work on google docs cuz I imagine it will happen eventually

Through a Rapist’s Eyes: an article by Neena Susan Thomas found on @echolessvoid (save a life)

CPR Resources through the American Heart Association (save a life). I was an EMT-B and a 9-1-1 Dispatcher, so please believe me when I say I firmly believe everyone should know CPR/It saves lives. Quick CPR Template that was posted by @sometimes-men-need-help-too 

You CAN Do Push-ups & Balance Ab Exercises with Hip Flexor Stretches made by @hybridcalisthenics He has lots of others too! I personally am trying the pull-ups. I’ve always wanted to be able to do one and basically thought it impossible before this guy!

Bored Much? OR: Do you miss StumbleUpon too?

How To Instantly Feel Better and Progress Looks Different Daily posted by @thoughtstherapy

Skip Google for Research by @s-n-arly

Google: The Most Powerful Tool in the World

Substances that Neutralize ADHD Meds

Are You Dying From Period Cramps? That is NOT NORMAL.

Mixing Paint on a Palette posted by @bugofmanynames

Book Bans: A Comic posted by @saywhat-politics Why books should not be banned.

[latinitium]

Introduction to Titanic's First Class Dining Saloon

"We were stationed amidst the luxury by some great stroke of luck, for every table had been booked. It spoke volumes about the extensive number of guests. So great was the number of place settings that one might have found it reasonable to suppose that 554 passengers could congregate there. Perhaps, those seated there were consumed by the belief that they had never embarked on a journey at all, by virtue that such comfortable dining conditions were reserved for land. The great outdoors was a mystery to those in the dining saloon, as the leaded-windows concealed portholes that gave away the vessel’s nature, the mark of an opulent ship that challenged the mechanical and eminent criterion of its time. Titanic was her name. Her majesty dispatched all ideas of grandeur in a visual regard as she did in nomen, and those compelled to match her excellence with other ships  found that dignity and stateliness were lacking qualities in comparison. Indeed, her sister ship Olympic was of a very similar disposition and Titanic had founded her elements from it, but the argument was made, and generally so accepted, that Titanic was an improvement upon those borrowed aspects."

-From the Depths of my Google Docs

[the-blind-assassin-12]

Survivor Blues

Part One : Fight or Flight 

A/N: I am equally excited and terrified to finally be sharing this story, but here goes nothing! This has been in the works for close to a whole ass year now, and it all started when @something-tofightfor sent me a link to the cutscenes of TLOU I & II, casually suggesting I “get to know Joel Miller”, which lead to me having the strongest reaction to a fictional character that I have had in AGES, having a little emotional breakdown about it, and then immediately diving into a google doc to do something with all of my emotions. This is the result. I want to warn you that it does stick to canon timelines as well as themes, so the same darkness and danger that was present throughout the games is still (mostly) in tact here. It’s not a straight up angst pile, but you’re certainly going to have to buckle up if you choose to get on this ride. You’ve been warned. (please enjoy!!) 

Warnings: language, violence, death, apocalyptic themes, mother effing mushroom headed freaks, mentions of illnesses, brief mention of sexual assault - no description whatsoever (please feel free to ask me before  reading if you are unsure)

Word Count : 5,145 

Summary: Twenty-four years after the cordyceps outbreak ravaged the world, you find yourself wondering what could possibly be left for you that was worth fighting for. Lost, alone and having seen better days, you just want to find a place to rest. You end up finding more than you bargained for - or more accurately, more than you bargained for ends up finding you. 

SPRING 

April - 2037

You’d been making your way through the trees, boot soles landing one in front of the other over mostly melted snow and muddy terrain when you felt it - the eerie tingle that started near the base of your skull and traveled down your spine, telling you that something was wrong. The hair stood up on the back of your neck and you froze, eyes  widening to try to locate what had triggered your innate sixth sense. Though sometimes the foreboding came well before the danger was visible leaving you to warily wonder what to be on the lookout for, this was not one of those times. 

As you carefully scanned the landscape ahead of you, you saw them. Stalkers, judging by the way that they were moving and the low croaking sounds you could hear them making, two of them. 

Crouching behind a boulder before they spotted you, you swore to yourself. It had been a long time since you’d dealt with any infected at this phase, most of the ones you’d dispatched in the past few years either well beyond this stage of the cordyceps infection or else still freshly turned. These still had their sight, could employ strategic attacks, and were physically strong, and you were not looking forward to a confrontation with them. But they were wandering through a clearing roughly fifty yards away and directly in your path, blocking you from where you hid and the abandoned house you were hoping to find supplies in, so you were faced with an ultimatum: turn away and hope that your retreat would go unnoticed - and that you would soon find another place to seek shelter and much needed supplies - or stand your ground and take them out. 

Fight or flight. 

Those were the choices that almost everything in the world came down to anymore. Every decision you made was weighed on that scale, calculated by measuring risks against benefits. You had taken both routes at different times, depending on what the situation called for - fight when you had to or when it was one you could win, flight when running was the safer option. There was no such thing as dignity or pride when it came to these matters, only survival and protection, and you had fully adapted to that system years ago.

But now? You were tired. Bone tired, mentally exhausted, and neither seemed like the better option. It had been days since you’d eaten anything more substantial than dried berries and half a strip of squirrel jerky, weeks since you’d slept somewhere with a wall at your back or a roof over your head. You were desperate for a break, absolutely starving for just a spec of relief, and the thought of either engaging rogue stalkers in hand to hand combat or else rolling the dice and running away - possibly directly into another threat - made you want to crumble to dust or dissolve into tears. Before you could stuff your sleep deprived emotional response and make an intelligent choice, you were in motion, right hand grabbing for the pistol tucked into your jeans and whipping it out as you charged from behind the rock and directly towards the two creatures you’d spotted.   

Shit. 

You ruined it, the deep silence of the slowly thawing wilderness you were traveling through. With two quick pulls of your pointer finger, you had shattered the stillness that twenty years of societal decay and natural reclamation had brought to the neighborhood-turned forest you’d stumbled upon. Two deafening cracks sent a spray of blackbirds into the air from the branches they’d just begun to nest in, and then a pair of solid thuds hit the ground immediately after. Holding your breath, you waited for the world to swallow up the echo and go back to the quiet you’d interrupted, hoping the sound hadn’t carried down into the valley that you’d been skirting, or to any other infected that might be in the area. 

Gun still extended out in front of you, it shook in your hand. Why the fuck did I do that? You really shouldn’t have fired your gun. It wasn’t smart to make that much noise in unknown territory. Especially not when you were alone, and definitely not when you only had three bullets left. Why did I fucking do that? Adrenaline pulsed behind your eyeballs, your heart pounding in your chest as you failed to answer the question and strained to listen for the silence that would tell you that your mistake hadn’t been a costly one. 

Above the whoosh of blood in your ears though, instead of the thick quiet you’d hoped for, you heard a string of clicks and groans coming from just beyond where the two stalkers had been. Gritting your teeth, you watched as the hunched form of a clicker, its face grotesquely split in two by the growth eating through its skull, stepped out from behind a rusted out and overgrown car, another line of patterned sounds leaving it’s mouth as it searched for you. You blinked and willed your breathing to slow or at least to fall back into an even rhythm while you reassessed the situation and how best to move forward. You knew that if you stayed stock still the thing wouldn’t be able to find you and you’d be able to buy a few more seconds of time to make a plan. 

But it seemed that you were not done paying for lapse in good sense as yet another stalker ambled jerkily out from behind a dilapidated shed that you hadn’t seen at first. It's one bulging eye swiveled around and locked on to you almost instantly, and playing statue was suddenly no longer an option. Releasing a screech, the thing suddenly launched itself in your direction, leading its blind counterpart by sound.  

Oh, fuck. 

Gripping your gun with both hands to steady your aim, you waited until you had a clear shot on the faster of the two - the stalker - and took it as soon as it was clear. Just like the others, it went down hard and fast leaving only the clicker, but the echo of your weapon told the snarling thing exactly where you were. Having just fired your last bullet, you were down to the hunting knife tucked into your boot and any rocks or branches you could find to use in your defense. No matter what you’d have to get within reach of the creature to kill it, and that meant that it would be able to reach you, too. You knew that it was stronger than you were in that moment, that its crude drives could power its body far more forcibly and effectively than your depleted muscles could. Making a quick judgment call, you decided that you would have better luck trying to get past it unscathed. 

Without pausing to stow your pistol, you ran, gun still in hand, sprinting towards the house and trying to give the clicker in your way as wide a berth as you could. You knew that it would be on your heels as soon as it could find you again - a snapping twig or sliding gravel underfoot would give your position away eventually - and after a few strides it did. 

Damnit. 

You could hear the thing gnashing its teeth behind you as you leaped over one of the dead stalkers, and you did your best to keep your pace even as your body begged for you to stop. Every desperate gasp tore at your throat, the cold air searing your lungs as the sound of your own frenzied breathing filled your ears. Keep… Eyes on the ground a few feet ahead of you, you extended one leg to jump over a fallen tree trunk. Ignoring the splinter of pain that shot through your ankle and shin as you landed, you ran through it, as hard as you could. Keep moving. You sucked in another sharp gulp of chilled air, panting as your aching chest emptied, puffs of vapor bursting from your lips. Thighs burning with the caustic buildup of lactic acid, you let out a grunt and forced them to turn over again and again, denying your body’s demands for you to stop, to rest. 

I can’t. The thing behind you wasn’t stopping. The vacant shell of a person that was chasing you at breakneck speed wasn’t resting. Can’t stop. You knew what would happen if you did. If I stop I’ll die. Despite knowing that, you couldn’t keep the next question from cropping up. 

Would that be so bad? 

It was the worst possible time for you to have an existential crisis, but it happened nonetheless. Frost bitten leaves and blades of grass crunched under the treads of your boots as your oxygen deprived brain tried to offer you an out. You could stop. You could choose to let yourself get caught. Ducking under a low hanging branch without slowing down, you considered what it would mean to make that choice, to let twenty years of inevitably to finally catch up with you - to stop fighting and running altogether. 

For a long time it hadn’t been an option, stopping. Not while you had Kyle and Laura and the others to look out for, or Gavin to get back to- not when you still had a family. But you were alone now, and you had been for months. Alone, with no one counting on you or waiting for you or hoping you were safe. No one who needed you, no one who wanted you or loved you, no one to wrap your arms around or to wrap theirs around you. You were alone, and you were so tired. 

Would it be so bad? For it to be over? 

You weren’t even sure what scared you anymore, what drove you. When you were younger you wanted to be fearless, like the characters in your favorite books and movies. They were unafraid of tackling any obstacle, ready to run headlong into the fray and fight for what they believed in, to protect who and what they cared about. As a kid you’d always equated fearlessness with bravery. But now you knew that they weren’t the same. Bravery required something to fear. Being fearless, you’d realized, just meant that you had nothing at all. Nothing to protect or hope for, nothing to lose or have taken from you.  

Death had stopped scaring you years ago. Over the past two and a half decades you’d been forced into close quarters with it, becoming intimately acquainted with the inevitable. You’d fought with all you had to stay alive for the people you loved, but that became harder with each one that you lost. Your parents and your siblings, friends and coworkers and everyone you knew before the outbreak, then Ty, Ryan and Brayden, Gavin, Laura. By the time it was just you and Kyle, your only fear was turning. Not because you worried about what it was like to let the cordyceps infection take root in your brain. You’d seen it happen enough times to know that it was just like a switch being flipped - one minute the person was still in there, struggling against the takeover, and the next they were gone, all traces of who they were erased entirely. Compared to the years of degradation you’d watched your grandfather go through in his battle against Alzhiemer’s, it didn’t seem nearly as heartbreaking or traumatizing for the person being turned. The only reason you found that prospect terrifying was because you didn’t want anyone you cared about to be saddled with the moral burden of putting you down. But now you were free from  that fear, too, because there was no one left that you cared about, and no one left who cared about you. No one left to suffer your loss. 

Before you could convince yourself to surrender, the toe of your boot caught on a rock that was still snow covered and hidden, and you tumbled, rolling and skidding over the ground to land on your side. The thing chasing after you took advantage of your situation and closed in on you, and in those final seconds before its jaws snapped and caught your arm or shoulder or any other part of your body between them, your brain released one final reserve of energy and self-preservation. With a yell, you rolled to your back and reached for the handle of your blade, unsheathing it from your boot as you planted that same foot in the creature’s hip joint. Planting your other foot in the opposite hip, you used your legs as a frame to control the distance between you and your demise. When you were ready, you bent your knees to your chest, bringing the attacking clicker closer to you as you thrust your blade up under its chin, burying it to the hilt. 

The second your knife pierced the decayed bone and cut through the main stem of fungal growth that had replaced the former occupant’s brain, it became a limp sack of dead weight hovering over you. With a grunt, you kicked your legs straight again and pulled back on the handle of your blade, the defeated clicker slumping off of you as you turned your face to avoid the ooze of dark blood that leaked from its fatal wound. Panting, your chest caving in and expanding so rapidly you felt yourself going dizzy, you wanted to just lay there in the muddy snow. Your fingers were still curled around the leather straps wound around the knife’s grip, throbbing with how tightly you held it, and your limbs vibrated with overuse. 

But that last ditch effort of your survival instincts wasn’t done yet, that same thing that had taken over and handled the clicker screaming at you to get up, to get inside the house. It's right there, just a few more steps away. There might be something useful in there - food even, or fresh clothing. You haven’t seen anyone in weeks, that house might be untouched. It could be a gold mine. You could lay down in a bed. Just get up and get yourself inside. 

It wasn’t until you’d dragged yourself up to the second floor, sobbing through your soreness and fatigue, that you realized it was Gavin’s voice in your head, bargaining with you to keep going when all you wanted to do was quit, not your own. Limping and shuffling through the first of three doors at the top of the stairs, you shouldered the door open as tears streamed from your eyes. Of course it was him that would remind you to fight. Of course it was him that would urge you to keep fighting, even the memory of him was so strong that he wouldn’t let you quit. You fell into a shaking, sniffling heap on the dust covered bed, uncaring of the filth that coated your skin and the blankets you laid on. Reaching under your shirt, the fingers that had been clutching your knife closed around the chain that hung around your neck, the blade tucked back into your boot. You squeezed until you felt two smooth, round metallic bands pressing into your palm, and then you let go - of the rings, of your tears, of your consciousness - and let sleep fall fast and heavy over you. 

In your dreams, he came to you. Not just his voice, not just his insistence that you keep finding reasons to fight, things to live for, but him. Your Gavin. In your dreams, the world hadn’t ended twenty some odd years ago, and he wasn’t sick or weak. When you slept, you saw him, felt him the way you most loved to remember him - smiling and warm, grabbing your hand to twirl you through the kitchen before the restaurant opened or wrapping both arms around you to pull you down into the bed with him. In this particular visitation, he was sitting with his back to the trunk of the big maple tree that overlooked his grandfather’s farm, your spine pressed to his chest as the two of you watched the summer breeze sweep over the fields before it tickled your skin. You felt his lips at your ear as he whispered his love for you, felt the tips of his fingers flex against your body where he held you. “Don’t want to let you go,” he murmured, nuzzling into your hair. “Don’t want to say goodbye.”  

You turned to tell him that he didn’t have to, but instead of his face all you saw was the tree bark. Swiveling back around, you saw him standing in front of you instead. Hmm? How did he- 

Before you could piece together that this was a dream and that the laws of physics didn’t matter, Gavin knocked the toe of his sneaker against your foot, your heel rolling in the grass. “C’mon, time to get up.” 

“Uh-uh, Gav,” you protested, reaching your hands out to try to grasp his and urge him back down to the soft grass with you. “I want to stay here with you.” 

He gave you a sad smile and shook his head, toe knocking against your foot again. “You can’t, sugar. You can’t stay with me, you have to get up now.” 

Another nudge to your foot jogged you from the dream and dropped you back into your body, eyes flying open to see the muzzle of a rifle as it poked at your boot. Oh, shit. Adrenaline spiking again, you sucked in a breath as your heart pounded against your ribs. Gun. That’s a gun. Drawing your knees to your chest you sat straight with your back against the headboard and held your hands up, empty palms facing away from yourself, a slight shake in your fingers. Shit, what do I- Wincing, you swallowed the panic that threatened to rise and forced reason into your thoughts, convincing yourself that since you hadn’t been shot on sight, maybe the situation was worth trying to talk your way out of. 

Fight or flight… or surrender. 

You exhaled slowly and lifted your gaze to take in the figure of a broad shouldered man in a canvas coat, the weapon gripped in his gloved hands trained loosely on you though his trigger finger was relaxed, resting on the guard. His face was partly obscured by his gun, but you took in a pair of dark umber eyes weighing you with each blink, the bags beneath them sagging into his cheeks which disappeared under a graying beard. From the looks of him, he’d only been out on the road a day or two, jeans worn but clean, a scarf bundled around his neck and a bag strapped to his back that seemed full, as though he had packed it recently. He didn’t look hungry or ragged like you knew you must appear to him, but you didn’t know if that had any significance or if he’d just been lucky and happened upon a cache of food in another nearby house. Maybe he’s like me…just passing through, just looking for- 

“You’re gonna need to start talking.” His gruff voice broke the silence to make you realize that it wasn’t silent, a second pair of footsteps ascending the creaking staircase. Shit, there’s more of them. 

Nodding, you decided that the best course of action was to earn his trust, show him that you weren’t looking for confrontation. “There’s a knife in my boot and a gun in my bag.” You swallowed, eyes darting down to the pack that was on the floor next to the cot you occupied. “There’s no ammo in it, you can check.” 

“Which boot’s got the knife?” He asked, chin jutting out as the other pair of steps grew closer. 

“Right,” you answered quickly, licking your dry lips and extending your right leg out so that he could disarm you without having to come any closer. Using one hand, he found the handle of your hunting blade and carefully drew it from the sheath you had tucked between your shoe and your sock, dropping it behind him to clatter noisily on the floor. 

“You bit anywhere?” He stepped back, again putting space between him and you but blocking your path to the door. “Saw those infected out there. Any of ‘em get you?”

“No.” You crossed your arms over your chest. You knew he had to ask for his own safety. If you had been bitten, there might only be a few hours before you started devolving into a soulless vessel for the infection, before you turned and became a monster yourself. 

“You lyin’?” He pushed, though not any more aggressively than you would have if the situation was reversed. 

You swallowed, recalling a handful of times when you had come upon strangers that you weren’t expecting to find and how you’d actually been more aggressive than this man was when you’d questioned people. “No,” you answered again. Eyes moving to where he’d thrown your knife, you went on. “I would have taken care of things if I’d gotten bit.” A flash of understanding in his eyes told you that he got your meaning. You may have been out of ammunition for your gun, but if that clicker you’d dealt with had managed to sink its teeth into your flesh you would have followed the bite with your blade and ended things before the infection could take hold. “Look, I’m not… I just-” 

You stopped speaking as you heard the second person, another man, speak from the hallway. “Joel? What’s goin’ on in there?” He hurried into the room then. “I heard-” The second man’s eyes landed directly on you, widening as he took in the sight of the first man stooping to pull a small revolver from your backpack. “Well, shit.” You watched him tighten his grip on his own weapon even though he kept it lowered. “Who do we got here?”

“I dunno Tommy,” the first man, Joel, answered as he stood, returning his eyes to yours and tilting his head to one side so that the longer strands of his salty grayish hair flopped over his forehead. “We didn’t get that far.” 

“And we don’t have to go any farther.” You held your hands up in front of you again and proceeded carefully. “I was just… I needed to rest. I’m not looking for trouble or anything. I’m sorry if this is your place. I just… I’ll go. And you won’t see me again.” 

The two men looked at one another, silently conversing with their eyes and facial expressions, and you realized that they looked alike. The younger of the two had longer hair that was slightly lighter in color and struck through with fewer grays than the older one, but their bone structure was similar and their eyes were the same shade of brown. Brothers, some part of your subconscious told you, or cousins. Definitely family. You weren’t sure how or if you could use that information to get them to let you go, but you filed it nonetheless. You focused on listening for any signs of others but heard none, though you did catch a sound that you thought might have been the whinny of a horse. 

Before you could try to piece anything together, the younger man, Tommy, lowered his weapon to his side, Joel doing the same but kept his eyes trained on you. “You don’t have to high tail it now,” Tommy said, giving you a slight grin. “And forgive me for saying this ma’am but you look like fifty miles of bad road and if we let you go without offerin’ an alternative I’m fairly sure we’d be finding your corpse up here next time we come through, and that’s not what any of us want.” 

You narrowed your eyes at him and weighed the man’s words. You knew you looked like shit, and you knew that the two strange men who had stumbled upon you could probably tell that you hadn’t had a decent meal or a full night’s rest in far too long just by looking at you, so you knew that you couldn’t bluff and say that you weren’t in need of whatever they might be offering. But you’d also heard first hand about groups of men who sought out women just to have their way with them - you’d met Ty after she had escaped from one of those settlements, the woman never fully recovering from her time spent there. If that was what they were offering you, you’d take your chances with the infected. “Why should I trust you? I don’t know you. I really just… I needed a place to crash and-” 

“You need food.” Joel stated, head tilted to one side. “You’re a few days out from starving, I can see it on your face.” That shut you up, because you knew that he was right. “We have a place not far from here. It’s safe. There’s people, we have plenty of room.” He finally stowed his rifle back over his shoulder, completely disarming himself and locking eyes with you. “It's not just men, either. There’s women, kids.” He shook his head. “Long as you don’t try anything stupid, we’re not gonna hurt you.” 

You thought again about what they were offering. If they had wanted anything from you they had already had plenty of time to take it. If they’d wanted you dead you would be. “I…” You licked at your chapped lips and tried to come up with a reason not to accept their offer. But after the brush with mortality you’d just suffered and the heaviness of being alone at the end of the world, you simply couldn’t. “Alright,” you nodded. “Just-” 

“Alright then,” Tommy moved his head up and down one time and turned for the door as Joel stooped down to pick up the knife he’d taken from you along with your empty gun. He picked up your bag as well, putting both items inside and keeping a firm grip on it. You stood from the molded mattress and extended a hand out to take your things back from the man, but he clicked his tongue and shook his head. 

“I’m gonna hold onto these ‘til we get where we’re goin’. You’ll get ‘em back once everything’s sorted, yeah?” 

You didn’t see what choice you had so you sighed. “If you say so.” He gave you a look that said that he did in fact say so, and you nodded, realizing that he was waiting for you to follow the other man out of the room and down the stairs. “Alright.”  

His hefty footfalls followed your lighter ones as you descended the rotting steps that you’d somehow made it up without injuring yourself on, and then you were back outside, the late afternoon light already starting to fade. “Is it far?” You asked, turning to the man behind you. 

“Not too far,” he answered. “An hour maybe. We were out on a standard perimeter run when we heard gunshots up here and found you.” 

You felt yourself deflate a little at the thought of walking for an hour, especially when you realized that what you thought was the sound of a horse had actually been two horses - one for each of the men. Tommy was already sitting in his saddle when the two of you stepped up to where the second horse, a chestnut colored one with a long black mane, stood. “What’s the plan, Joel?” He looked down at you and then up at the other man as he too stepped into his stirrup and climbed atop his horse. 

“She can ride with me.” The man answered as he leaned forward, running his large palm over the horse’s shoulder before patting the animal twice. It wasn’t a suggestion so much as it was a decision, his tone firm and his eyes fixed securely on you as he sat back in his saddle. He wants me in front of him where he can see me. Smart. It was that more than anything that made you relax enough to start to trust him - he didn’t underestimate you, which meant that he wasn’t an idiot. 

The other man nodded once, clicking his tongue in his cheek. “Alright then.” Gripping the reins in his hands he pulled them, his horse turning so that the animal was facing the direction of what must have been a road at one point, the asphalt reduced to gravel by the tree roots that had broken through to reclaim it. “I’ll take lead since you got,” he waited until you had climbed up and taken your place in front of Joel the man’s large gloved hand closing securely around yours to help hoist you up and, then raised one eyebrow so that it disappeared under the hair that hung over his forehead. “Extra cargo.” 

You stiffened at that, narrowed eyes trained on the younger man as he turned. Cargo? I’m not… I’m a person. You remembered Ty telling you that the men who had kept her and the other women captive had often referred to them as cargo. People aren’t cargo. I - 

“He doesn’t mean it like that.” Joel’s voice came from behind you as though he could sense your unease at Tommy’s words. “He just meant since there’s two of us he’ll take point so I can keep an eye on you.” He reached around you to grab the reins, his thick arms coming around your body. “We done a lot of bad shit to survive, Tommy’n me.” You didn’t turn around, but you felt the movement as the man shook his head. “But we would never do what you’re thinkin’. I promise.” You felt yourself release some of the tension in your muscles and then he was speaking again. “You don’t have to tell me your name if you don’t want to, but like I said. We’re not gonna hurt you. What we’ve got? The place we’re taking you? It’s safe, and all we’re tryin’ to do is help.” 

You thought for a few seconds about giving him a fake name but decided that there was no point in that. Giving him your real one, you thanked him for everything that he had said and all that the two men were offering, and though Tommy had been quicker to fall into a smile in front of you, you heard the barest hint that there was one on Joel’s face as he let out a stunted laugh. “Thank me once we’re in Jackson and you’ve met Maria.” 

With that he flicked the reins and the horse began to trot off in the direction Tommy had gone, leaving you to wonder exactly what was in store for you when you arrived.

.

.

.

Thank you for reading! If you would like to be added to or removed from the tags for this or any of my stories, please feel free to let me know! You can also fill out the form on my masterlist! 

Tags: @something-tofightfor  @littlemisspascal @mishasminion360 @nyctophiliiiiaaa @practicalghost @amb11 @mindidjarin @jk7789 @tentacruels 

[bangtanpurplearchive]

BTS Archive Purple

Welcome to my blog. 

I’ve spent some time archiving as much BTS content as possible and putting it into chronological order.  There is navigation page to make looking for previous years easier. BTS Bangtan Archive Website  ( Here you can find all of this content plus a calendar and regular updates ) has all the content on there and is regularly updated as is the BTS Picture archive.

2013                2014                 2015                2016                2017

2018               2019                  2020               2021                 2022       

 2023              2024                  2025

Fansigns              Interviews               Awards               Music shows    

Festivals and Shows                Runs and Gayos          Logs and Vlives

Promotions                          Concerts, Musters and End of Year Gayos. 

Festas         BTS Comebacks          BTS Exhibitions            Birthdays

Naver/Dispatch and  Magazine features

The google docs are a detailed chronology with everything I could find and it includes twitter posts, fancafe content etc...basically everything they’ve done that I could find. I’ll post some of it in the main post but most including pictures etc are in the docs. These are links to content. I do not own or profit from any of the content. This is for the sole purpose of getting as many people to watch OG content. 

All the documents are also in my twitter pinned post

Here is the link to the BTS Picture archive. 

The Website is now live. If you can please help to keep it running through https://ko-fi.com/btsarchive81987

Credits/ copyrights belong to owners, see watermarks and links.

 If there are any broken links, please let me know and I’ll try and fix them. Thank you and happy viewing. 

[at-thestillpoint]

to get to the heart of things (sometimes, you have to cut through) the pitt | abbot/walsh | e | 3.2k words

She should let him leave, but in the end, the deep lines carving worry into his forehead force her to move. Emery takes a final half-step forward as she brings one hand to the side of his neck and the other to steady herself on his arm.  “What do you need?”

[becomingkatie]

Are you willing to share more about your outlining, writing, and editing processes?

Sure! I'll also start by saying that this process has evolved a little over the course of my three books and I'm sure it will continue to evolve as I become a more seasoned writer and my needs change.

I tend to do a very thorough outline. I call it my prototype draft because it's really something more than an outline but not quite a complete draft. This is approximately 10-20k words and I use Randy Ingermanson's snowflake method for the most part to get there. I start with a paragraph-level summary and grow it from there. Writing short synopses from the points of view of most of the main characters helps me to add depth and refine my synopsis, and then I move into a scene-level breakdown.

At the scene level, I pull out my copy of Save The Cat Writes a Novel. I usually really struggle with the portion of the story between the midpoint and the ~80% mark, but I make myself get it right at this stage instead of just diving into writing. I've tried the "I'll just start writing and figure it out when I get there" approach, and it didn't work for me.

I use Plottr and/or Google Sheets to make a list of major characters, locations, and plot points, and mark which ones are in each scene. Then I have a little visual that helps me see how often a character or subplot is brought up, and whether it's too much all at once or too sparse. This also helps me make sure I wrap up all the subplots and don't forget about them.

At this point, I've got anywhere from a sentence to two paragraphs per scene. Something like: "Opens at Virginia's birthday. Marney and Lawrence are there, and she's screening calls from her children. Forgets the cake in the oven and her kids show up just as Lawrence puts out the fire. Jack tells Virginia she should consider moving into a retirement home (gives her a binder of options he's researched) and uses the fire as evidence in his favor. Virginia kicks them out, but when she shuts the door behind them she finds a foreclosure notice on the door."

The above is a condensed version of the opening scene of my first book. When I have this for all of my scenes, I print it out and read through it. This is my prototype: it's a complete telling of the whole story, but without the prose or dialogue. I can work out problems with the story here, cutting scenes that aren't moving things forward, or adding or moving scenes where needed. I usually do two or three passes of reading and making notes/changes to my prototype.

Then I write it.

The writing is just a matter of butt-in-seat, which is really frickin' hard to make myself do, but at least when I sit down to write I know what I'm writing. I also use asterisks in my manuscript that I can ctrl+f and come back later, so if I can't think of a word or if something feels awkward, I don't have to disrupt my writing flow to address it in the moment. The worst thing for me to try to figure out later is a timeline, and yet I never remember to do this first. But thinks like, what day of the week is it, how many days has it been since whatever previous scene, etc... I always end up with notes to go back and figure this out in edits.

My edits include finding and fixing places where I put asterisks in the draft, addressing anything else I wrote in a "notes" doc to myself during the draft, running it through proWritingAid, then sending to my editor. I found my editor through a facebook group of authors. I only do one pass with her. After I send it to her, she turns around comments and corrections in under two weeks, and then I go through and make changes as needed. Sometimes it's big (she's a former police dispatcher and her comments on one scene led to a near-complete re-write of that scene), but most of her comments usually aren't.

And then I format my books for ebook and print using Vellum.

I hope this massive info-dump was helpful!

[chris-evanslover]

SNL

OFC Aria Samsen is a writer for Saturday Night Live in New York City. She works with all the hosts on their sketches, including this weeks guest, Timothée Chalamet. What will happen when she accidentally mixes business with pleasure?

Shit! I’m gonna be late if I stop for coffee, but, if I don’t stop for coffee I won’t be productive. Talk about a slippery slope. I quickly duck into the coffee shop by the subway station I need to take to get to work and order a large iced coffee, Monday’s are usually rough. I thank the barista and rush to catch the A train to work. 

Speaking of work, my job is definitely an interesting one. I am a writer for SNL and it’s been such a dream these past couple of years. I’m 25 and starting to really take off in terms of my writing, I’ve been offered the position to become a part-time cast member multiple times on the show but I don’t think my anxiety would agree with that. I arrive to work a little late with my iced coffee (even though it’s the middle of December) and I make a beeline for my office, which I share with Pete Davidson, who happens to be one of my closest friends. Pete and I are complete opposites if that gives you any context on me.

 “You’re late” Pete laughed as I walked in. 

“Yeah yeah I’m aware, what are you working on?”

 “I’ve had this jets fan club idea for a while and I’ve been waiting for the right host”

 “I didn’t get a chance to check the schedule before leaving Saturday night, who’s the host this week?” 

“Seriously Aria? It’s Timothée Chalamet, he’s actually a friend of mine” 

“Oh sweet, I like his movies”

 “Thank you!” I heard an unfamiliar voice from behind me coming from the doorway. I glare at Pete who’s trying not to laugh, and turn around to face the owner of this voice. Timothée stands there with a smile on his face and reaches his hand out to me, “Timothée, nice to meet you-?”

“Aria” I fumble around placing my coffee, phone and keys down and shake his hand.“Nice to meet you too” Timothée let’s go of my hand and I feel Pete slip past me to dab up (or whatever guys do idfk) Tim. 

“It’s been a minute man how are you?” Pete asked him. “I’ve been great dude, I’m excited to host although I am pretty nervous” “Don’t be, you’ll do great” I smiled at him. Why did I say that, he clearly isn’t having a conversation with me. Great he’s going to think I’m weird now and not want to talk to me or work with me and this whole week is going to be horri-“Thank you Aria” he smiled and locked eyes with me, I felt my cheeks getting hot and averted my gaze to my stuff on Pete’s desk, picking up my drink before taking a sip, stepping back towards my desk.

“I gotta go talk to Colin Jost and Michael Che..can you guys point me in the right direction?” Tim asked. Pete looked at me and smirked saying “Yeah Aria can show you I’m in the middle of a pitch” Tim looked at me and said “Sounds great, lead the way”. I put all my stuff down before sneaking a glare Pete’s way, he knew how nervous I got around guys I didn’t know and he was using me as a pawn in his own enjoyment game. I’m gonna kill him for this.

“Follow me” I said, Timothée started walking next to me. “So, you’re a writer a presume?” I laughed a little bit. “Yeah I write some of the stuff for weekend update and some other sketches as well” “That’s so cool, I’ve been watching the show since I can remember, you should be really proud” “I am, thank you, that’s sweet” he nodded and shoved his hands in his pockets. 

“So you and Pete? Are you guys close friends or dating or-?” If I was drinking something at the moment, I’m positive I would’ve choked on it. Did he just ask if I’m dating Pete? Why would he want to know that?

“No, no! Just close friends is all, Pete’s like an older brother to me” Tim smiled at this and let out a laugh. “That’s nice, Pete’s a great guy” I stopped in front of Colin and Michael’s office and turned to him. “Yeah he’s alright I guess, anyway here’s there office, I’m sure you’re gonna be busy all day but you’re probably slotted to sit with Pete and I at some point during the week so I’ll see you around”. How I managed to get all of that out without stuttering terribly over my words is well beyond me.

I went to walk away when I felt Timothée grab my upper left arm, I turned towards him with what I presume looked like a look of confusion on my face, “Thank you for walking me, I hope I see you around sooner rather than later” he smiled and walked into the office, leaving me to contemplate what he just said. 

As I walked back to my office, I couldn’t help but think about him. Sure, I’ve met celebrities but there was something completely disarming about his charisma. He was down to earth, I could just tell. I opened the door to find Pete sitting at his desk, smiling bright at me when he saw I walked in. 

“You spent 5 minutes with Timmy and you already have a crush on him”

I rolled my eyes “I do not have a crush on him, shut up Pete”

“If you don’t yet, I bet you will by the end of the week” What the hell does that mean? I’ll have a crush on him by the end of the week? Well it looks like that trains boarding as we speak, not long till it leaves the station. I couldn’t help myself but go sit at my desk and Google him. 

Timothée Chalamet

Born: December 27, 1995 (25 Years Old) New York City, NY

Height: 5’11

Parents: Nicole Flender, Marc Chalamet

Siblings: Pauline Chalamet

Education: LaGuardia Arts High School, Columbia University, MORE…

Upcoming Films: DUNE (2021), The French Dispatch (2021), MORE…

“I dO nOt HaVe A cRuSh On HiM” Pete imitated me (horrible imitation, by the way). I jumped out my seat, not even noticing he was behind me, looking over my shoulder at my computer. My head fell into my hands as I let out a loud groan of frustration as Pete made his way back to his desk laughing.

“You’ll thank me when I make this happen.”

“Shut up Pete.”

A/N: I decided to go ahead with this multi-part series, not sure how many parts I'm gonna make it but I definitely want to try for 3 or 4, maybe 5, depending on how many ideas I can come up with. Sorry this was a little short but I’m happy to be back to writing, I took a break for a while and It feels great to be back! Ill be adding a Timmy section to my taglist on the google docs at the top of my master list if anyones interested. Im gonna stop rambling, I appreciate feedback or ideas for the rest of the series :) 

Tagging these who responded to my original post about doing this series but I won’t tag you next time if you don’t want me to! @elarasstardust​

[voltrontranscript]

VLD S7E8: The Last Stand, Part 2

Season 7, Episode 8: The Last Stand, Part 2

Transcript by @dragonofyang

Episode Summary: Sendak’s forces launch an assault on Earth, and Sam Holt, Admiral Sanda, and Commander Iverson fight back, but Earth loses ground against the advanced technology of the Galra fleet. The MFE pilots go on a mission for supplies, and the last of Earth’s free inhabitants prepare to make their final stand against the Fire of Purification.

[Google Doc]

[Man on PA] All personnel, proceed to your command stations immediately.

Sendak: Assessment.

Hepta: Scanners have yet to detect any signs of a sub-orbital defense system. Planetary surface reports indicate offensive capability, extremely low.

Sendak: Begin the assault. Fire.

Unnamed soldier: Move, move, move!

[Cut to Galaxy Command Center.]

Sanda: Power the surface-to-air blasters. Dispatch the first wave of Garrison fighters. Prep the next wave immediately.

Sam: Wait! We can’t use the standard defenses.

Sanda: We’re going to hit those aliens with hundreds of thousands of pounds of thermobaric missiles and finish them off with the best pilots the world has to offer.

Sam: They don’t stand a chance out there. We need to scramble the MFE fighters.

Sanda: The pilots of the MFEs are just cadets.

Sam: So are the pilots of Voltron.

Sanda: Launch base defenses according to protocol. Commander!

Iverson: I know you have wartime authorization, but maybe we should listen to--

Sanda: That’s an order! We can’t risk the planet on untested military weaponry piloted by cadets.

Iverson: This is Commander Iverson. Initiate base defense protocol, Beta-Five. I repeat, initiate base defense protocol, Beta-Five.

Adam: You heard the man, we’re up.

Sam: You’ve just doomed those men and women.

[Cut to the air above the Garrison.]

Adam: Our weapons have no effect!

Man: Evasive maneuvers!

Adam: Wildcat’s gone. Titan’s not responding.

Woman: I can’t shake these things. He’s got me on target lock!

Man 2: Hang in there! I’m heading your way!

Woman: I can’t--No!

Woman 2: Be aware, another Galra fleet is launching and approaching.

Woman 3: I’ve got target lock! No!

Adam: [screams]

Sendak: This is Commander Sendak of the Fire of Purification. I am here for the Voltron Lions. Turn them over to me or I will destroy your planet.

Sanda: Open a line.

Veronica: Yes, Admiral.

Sanda: This is Admiral Sanda of Earth. We have received your communication requesting the Voltron Lions. Please be advised that our planet is not harboring them nor do we know where they are.

Sendak: We’ll see.

Sam: Tell all Garrison bases to call back fighters.

Veronica: All Garrison bases are under attack. They’re not responding. They’ve already scrambled fighters.

[Scene change to Sendak’s ship.]

Sendak: Battle report.

Hepta: The planet has offered little resistance with the exception of this single location. It appears to be utilizing particle barrier technology.

Sendak: Focus all firepower on that shield. The ion cannon will make short work of it.

[Scene change to the Galaxy Garrison command room.]

Veronica: Sir, it looks like the alien ships are focusing in on our location.

Sam: Scramble the MFE-Ares fighters. Begin powering up the fusion cannon.

Iverson: Yes, sir.

Sanda: I will court-martial you if you utter one command against my orders.

Iverson: There won’t be a court to try me in if we don’t listen to Commander Holt.

Iverson on PA: MFE-Ares pilots, begin loading sequence. Activate interlock.

Griffin: Dynotherms connected.

Rizavi: Mega-thrusters are go.

Griffin: We’re ready to depart on your mark, Commander Iverson.

Iverson: Three… Two… One… Mark!

Hepta: They’re scrambling fighters, Commander.

Sendak: Fire the ion cannon.

Hepta: The particle barrier shows no signs of structural damage.

Griffin: Okay, team, we’ve trained for this. We know their maneuvers and have the firepower to knock them out. Leifsdottir, you’re my wing.

Leifsdottir: Ten-four.

Griffin: Rizavi, you and Kinkade keep those fighters off our back.

Rizavi: Copy.

Veronica: Fusion cannon online.

Sam: Fire!

Veronica: Direct hit. Target destroyed.

Sam: Fusion cannon status report.

Veronica: It’s drained substantial power. Estimating enough for two more shots before recharge, sir.

Sam: Sendak doesn’t know that.

Hepta: The cannon appears to be charging for another shot.

Sendak: This is the only place on the planet well-defended. Fall back out of its range. We will attack where they are vulnerable.

Veronica: The entire fleet is pulling out. They’re focusing their attacks on the remaining cities.

Sam: Update the rest of the globe. They need to evacuate to safe zones immediately.

Sanda: We should go after them. Your weapons actually mounted an offense.

Sam: The fighters are only short-range and the cannon is immobile. If we leave its proximity, we’d be decimated.

Veronica: Sir, communication with all of Western Europe has gone dark. Russia. China. India. East Coast Base, please acknowledge, over. Can anyone on the East Coast respond? Over. Please?

Hepta: Scouting reports show no signs of the Voltron Lions. Shall we continue the occupation, sir?

Sendak: Yes, the Paladins will return. And we’ll be waiting for them.

[Scene change to Garrison command center.]

Veronica: Commander, we are no longer receiving responses on any channels. What are your orders?

Sam: The Galra just delivered a critical blow. I know many of you in this room feel we should press our attack, and believe me when I say I wish we could. Even with all we’ve accomplished, we’re still not ready to fight the Galra head-on. However, while this base stands, Earth still has a chance. I believe in each and every one of you. You made it here because of your ability to overcome adversity, and now the freedom of planet Earth is dependent on that ability. Everyone break to their sub-commands. I want a full status update of this base. We will prevail.

Sanda: When this is all said and done, I’m going to have you both stripped of your rank and thrown in the brig for defying my orders.

Iverson: Yes, ma’am.

Sanda: Now, we don’t have the Lions. Why is Sendak still invading?

Sam: You don’t understand the Galra. They’ve been conquering the universe for over ten thousand years. Sendak must have a plan.

[Scene change to the Galaxy Garrison meeting room.]

Veronica: Supplies are limited. We don’t have enough food to sustain us for more than a couple of months.

Sam: And construction materials? Do we have enough to complete the IGF-Atlas?

Veronica: Negative.

Sam: Quiznak. We can’t give up. Voltron will come. We just need to get supplies and wait out Sendak.

Veronica: Well, there is a supply depot not too far from here. It was abandoned during the initial attack and the Galra haven’t occupied that area yet.

Sanda: But how would we transport the supplies?

Veronica: We could use the underground tunnel system. It’s an older setup from World War III. The trains haven’t been used since, but the tunnels are sound and the tracks are still intact and run directly beneath the base. If we were to send a small team, we could load up supplies onto one of the old trains, repair it, and ride it directly back here.

Sam: What does Galra activity in that area look like?

Veronica: None currently, but judging by the Galra’s movements, that won’t last long. It’s hard to give an exact estimate. Their occupation efforts seem to be focused on major metropolitan areas, but they’re scattering out in what look like random patrol patterns.

Sam: Then our team will have to move quickly.

[Scene change to a hangar.]

Griffin: Okay, I’ll drive.

Veronica: I’m coming with you. Name’s Veronica. I’m an analyst and your handler.

Griffin: We don’t need a handler.

Veronica: Do you know how to get to the depot?

Griffin: Well, no, but, you know, I’ll just use the guidance system.

Veronica: That uses the world communication network. Which, oh yeah, these tunnels were designed to block. And Cadet Rizavi should drive. She has the highest marks with the AW-Cruiser.

Rizavi: I like her.

Veronica: Oh, and shotgun.

Rizavi: I really like her.

Veronica: Left here.

Kinkade: All clear.

Veronica: Right. These tracks are a straight shot to the depot. Let’s get to work.

Rizavi: They left her in pretty good shape. I think we’ll have her running in under an hour.

Griffin: Griffin checking in. What’s your status?

Veronica: Supplies are ninety-five percent loaded.

Rizavi: Rizavi here. Almost done with repairs.

Griffin: We’ve got company, just south of the Cruiser.

Rizavi: Copy. On our way.

Griffin: Our weapons have no effect on them!

Veronica: Go! Get the train running. I’ll hold them off.

Griffin: You two get this thing started. Kinkade, you’re with me.

Rizavi: Train’s up and running. Let’s go.

Griffin: Veronica, get in here! Veronica! What are you doing?

Veronica: Just go!

Griffin: We’re not gonna leave her. Stop the train. No!

Kinkade: She saved the mission. And us.

Rizavi: Does anyone know how to get back?

Leifsdottir: Two lefts, two rights, left, middle tunnel, right, left, and then one more right.

Sam: Thank goodness you’re back. Wait. Where’s Veronica?

Griffin: She… She didn’t make it.

Sam: Her sacrifice will not be in vain. We have a chance now.

Griffin: A chance for what? We just bought ourselves time. What is that gonna do for us?

Sam: Voltron will come.

Griffin: You really believe that?

Sam: Yes. And in the meantime, we need to finish our work on the IGF-Atlas and figure out a way to power it. She’ll be sorely needed when we liberate the planet.

[Scene change the Galra fleet orbiting Earth.]

Sendak: Begin the next phase of the assault. Destroy their communications network.

Hepta: Forgive me for questioning your orders, but why are we cutting off their communications? Do we not want Voltron to hear the distress signal?

Sendak: When you hear an animal crying out in pain, you proceed with caution. Silence promotes haste.

Sanda: He’s destroying all of our satellites.

Sam: He’s cutting off our communication with the outside world. And all we can do is watch.

Hepta: Commander, how should the fleet proceed regarding the last stronghold?

Sendak: Time will conquer them for us.

[Scene change to the Galaxy Garrison meeting room.]

Sam: It seems we will have enough raw material to complete the superstructure for the IGF-Atlas. How’s morale?

Iverson: It’s low. We’re using every trick in the book to keep spirits high, but when the world is in the shape it’s in…

Sanda: If the IGF-Atlas becomes operational, do you think it could defend Earth?

Sam: She’s been outfitted with all our most advanced weaponry, but it’s still just one ship, and an untested one at that. This is Commander Holt, over.

Man: Sir, you’re gonna wanna come to the hangar to see this.

[Scene change to the Galaxy Garrison hangar.]

Sam: Veronica, you’re alive! How?

Veronica: These people saved me. I’ve been working with an underground resistance network. The network is small, but highly mobile, and they’ve gathered a great deal of intel and supplies that could prove extremely useful to us. Their intel even led me to my family. So I led them here. I thought we should be working together.

Sam: Your brother would be very proud of you.

Veronica: Speaking of Lance… have you heard anything? From Voltron?

Sam: No. Not yet. And supplies are getting dangerously low. What you’ve brought will certainly help, but only for so long.

Veronica: I’m afraid I’ve got more bad news to add to that. I have some intel from the resistance network. The Galra have begun to group able-bodied citizens together into work camps. They’re utilizing them for manual labor. Reports indicate that construction has begun on multiple Galran installations around the globe.

Sam: We need to get one last message out to Voltron.

[Scene change to Galaxy Garrison command center.]

Man on PA: Commencing launch in ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four…

Sanda: Let’s hope you’re right about this.

Man on PA: ...three, two, one. Liftoff.

Hepta: Sir, the base has launched a projectile.

Sendak: Destroy it.

Woman: Yeah! We did it!

Sam: He fell for it.

Hepta: I’m picking up a signal. They’re broadcasting. They’re microtransmitters, millions of them, spreading throughout the sector.

Sendak: What are they broadcasting?

Sam on transmitters: To any beings who receive this message, planet Earth has been overrun by Galra. Most of the citizens have been captured. Those of us remaining are making our last stand. If you get this message, please get word to Voltron. We need help.

Sendak: So they do think Voltron will return.

[Scene change to a Galaxy Garrison hangar.]

Sam: Earth has been conquered. We are the last holdout in an evil occupation. And we must face facts. Our supplies are running out. They’ve hammered us and hurt the ones we love. Our backs are completely up against the wall. And nothing makes us more dangerous. We only have enough resources for one last stand. Regardless of the outcome, if we stand united, we will let them know that planet Earth, our home, will not go down without a fight.

[Cut to Voltron.]

Keith: Well, what are we waiting for?

[a-totally-legit-farm]

The Hunt (Nikoma Drabble)

drabble - nikoma | read on google docs

Nikoma had been losing his mind as of late – it had started in his compulsory excursion to Zuzu, being cooped up in supercooled office spaces and hotel rooms. He still got to drink, and smoke, but he had… More requirements. The man sighed, like he had just got a hit of nicotine or a mouthful of good whiskey –

His broadsword cleaved the leaf clad golem in twain, splitting its core, its tacky sap tarnishing the usual sheen of the carbon-greyed steel. The creature moaned in faux pain as its form dissipated, becoming little more than bark, leaves and ichor. As it gurgled, he flicked the weapon in a swift, clean motion, the force from the twist flinging his victims’ lifeblood into the dirt.

It always felt good, removing that little bit of magic from the world. After all, Nikoma reasoned with himself, it was magic that killed my dad. This was something he had come to tell himself in his years of monster hunting. He remembered the autopsy results clearly – nothing was wrong with his father; it was a freak heart attack. The only conclusion a young Nikoma could come to, in his rage-filled, sorrow-riddled mind, was that his father had been the victim of some sort of magic.

The bushes ahead rustled, and from it, poured more monsters. A pair of golems and a small fleet of giant bugs rushed his position. Nikoma pushed forwards, the man’s steps placed with powerful intent, propelling him towards the blood that his sword hungered for. The sword was something else. Nik had always been an excellent fighter, a force of nature that would take enough damage to kill a man and still march on the offense, but this sword, Vice, was a different creature. The ouroboros engraved above the cross guard was telling of its nature – self-destructive, forever hungry.

The first bug was dispatched with a well-placed front kick, his black combat boots tearing through carapace and fluorescent gore, shattering the exoskeleton of the mindless creatures.  The buzzing quieted slightly as the pink mist settled on the insect’s comrades – Vice swung left and low, through the pivot point in the closest golem’s knee, the green, spellbound husk toppling to the dirt. Nikoma followed the sing through as he was dive bombed by another beetle, leaping into a roll to try and regain his footing.

Beetles poured in from every direction now, with a golem leading each wave of insects. Again, he darted in, the six-foot tall man moving like a lightweight boxer, each footstep and sword slash carefully timed to wreak maximum havoc among the growing ranks of enemies. It was tiring work; Vice was not a small sword, yet each swing clipped at least one foe, never wasting energy in missed attacks. He cleaved through the horde of beetles, taking only superficial damage from their kamikaze-style dive bombs – it was rare for a bug to leave Nikoma’s reach once it had entered it. It was the golems Nikoma was weary of, the dense bark that made up their exterior was like rock and being punched was not in the swordsman’s list of things that were fun.

Vice spearheaded upwards as Nikoma lifted, the blade’s navy-grey steel piercing up and under the golem’s chest plates, his sword shattering the core inside, as its dead weight was lifted into the air, limbs limply dangling. It was a show of pure strength, as Vice relished the sticky ichor leaking from the now defunct golem. Again, that rush of adrenaline, that nicotine hit feeling, and a soft quenching of that ever-present bloodlust. Nikoma sighed, as he shrugged the golem off his sword.

It was quiet now, the cacophony of carapaces clacking silenced for the first time in what felt like forty minutes. Discarded exoskeletons and that bright bug meat littered the forest floors, piles of sap and bark and leaves piling amongst the corpses. It was a brilliant sight of awesome violence, and Nikoma reveled in it for slightly too long. It wasn’t what he had come into the forest for, but it was what he needed. His cuts and bruises pulsed and ached, a trail of red running from his eyebrow to his jawline. The pain was good.

He closed his eyes and sighed.

That was a mistake.

The iron grip of a golem wrapped around his ankle – it was the second he had faced, the one he had lopped at the knees. It was a rookie mistake not to destroy its core. He twisted, in an attempt to stab at it from above, but vines lashed around his right arm from the surrounding scrub, as he heard the uttering of a Fae language.  Son of a motherfucker… His irritation spiked as he realized what had happened. The reason he was here had happened.

Nikoma was aware of a rumor, relating to a possible Spriggan sighting in the deep woods. Spriggans were fae of fables, renowned for their affinity of the woods, and known master manipulators. Good thing Nikoma didn’t care for trees. He had set out, Vice crying to taste the organs of a faerie, and Nikoma willing to do the deed. After all, he was a monster hunter. And now, his target hovered just two meters in front of him. It garbled its disgusting dialect at him, and he felt the digits of the golem grow and stretch and harden around his left leg.

It was a curiously grotesque creature – its skin tone was a pasty green, with what seemed to be wrinkled leaves making up some sort of garment around the faerie. Its face was long, its nose bridging in a very inhuman way, creating deep wells for its golden sliver-irises to sit in. Atop its head was a moss that did not seem to be a part of the Spriggan itself, instead its own, independent organism, moving slowly despite the lack of breeze.

“Human, who are you to encroach upon my territory?” The Spriggan’s voice was like wind blowing through leaves, whispy and whimsical, yet the tone behind the words was sinister and menacing – and Nikoma couldn’t help but scoff at the monster. A typical fae trick, to ask a human their name. There was a lot of power in a name.

“Get fucked, monster.” Clearly the faerie did not take the insult lightly, but whether it was the f-bomb or the monstrous insinuation, it wasn’t clear – regardless, the golem and vine’s grip on Nikoma grew tighter. The man could feel the plant matter cutting into his skin, rubbing and burning as friction held two of his limbs tight in place.

 The creature’s eyes narrowed as it muttered more gibberish, “Gweles’m neb eghen’gas…” Nik spat at the faerie, saliva and blood intermingling as his disrespect landed on the fabled being. “You think yourself higher than us, gowygyon fethesik, yet you don’t realise you lunch with monsters worse than I.” Nikoma gritted his teeth – the fairy was monologuing now, great. The words had weight to them, however – magical weight, the Spriggan’s powerful persuasion pushing its rhetoric into his head. “The flame-haired one, she is a monster, duwesow’a chatelydheith , not of race nor magic, but a monster nonetheless…” The Spriggan hissed his words at Nikoma, hovering in and out of Vice’s possible strike range as his speech filled the air.

“You know this, yet you only strike us down… Pystyon…”

Nik growled, slowly rotating his sword in his right hand – and not bringing attention to his left, barely moving it at all, for he was still not fully restrained. Clearly the Spriggan had not fought a human before, despite all its wisecracks. “You know this to be true, gowyow soudoryon. Are you fine with dining with monsters, yet killing innocent peoples?” His growl turned into a snarl as his teeth become bared, and the fae retreated a few meters, in expectation of more bodily fluids.

Instead, that same flick of the wrist this time sent Vice up into the air, and with a precise strike Nikoma had caught the handle and degloved the golem clutching his ankle, and following the momentum through, slashed the vine holding his good sword arm. In a flash, he sprinted at the faerie, who had frantically begun chanting its putrid dialect. Roots burst from the ground and vines lashed from the trees – they managed to catch hold, but the warrior was a force unstoppable. Clay cracked and crumbled as the root tips ripped out, and trees creaked as the vines pulled on the smaller branches.

Nikoma leaped, screaming, sword ready to thrust into that sickly green skin. The closer he got, the more biological chains he felt halting his decent. He closed his eyes, and he heard Vice. Push now. Feed me. He thrust the blade forward – just as he came to a complete stop. His amber eyes opened, to meet the Spriggan’s golden gaze. Through its chest was Vice, soaking in a soft ambrosia gushing from the mortal gash.

He was suspended by a harness of roots and vines, now completely immobile, yet his blade pierced the ground, via the fae’s internal organs. One final rush of that satisfaction hit Nik, as he watched the life drain from his latest victim. As it died, the Spriggan uttered one final phrase.

“A-barth Duw, gwitha fleghes rag an euthvil ma…”

Its final words was its final mistake. As his organic shackles became limp and unrestrictive, Vice spoke – also for the final time. The creature has kin. They must be removed. Nikoma grunted – normal people’s swords don’t talk to them. He wiped the warm, golden blood on the bark of a nearby tree, before trekking off into the woods. He sheathed Vice, and retrieved his flask of whiskey, gulping down the bronze liquid with ease.

Oh well.

Guess he was off to kill some more fairies.

[taskade3]

Free Notion Alternative

Nonappearance of regard email drafts, notes applications and plan for the day chiefs: Taskade does all that and that is only a diminished gander at something more observable

Everything that I require to keep my life moving perseveringly on the web. Some spot. I can't discover it.

I'm destroying all the record numbers, meeting notes, plans for the day, contact data and piece drafts I have to see each day. Other than the plans I need to cook, wines I have to try, and YouTube accounts I should watch. An aspect of that stuff lives in my email inbox, and some in Google Docs. By then there are my Pinterest sheets, clashing bookmarks and the Evernote account I can never make reasonably. Free Notion for School

On a key level, the web makes it more clear than at whatever point in late memory to keep all that I need a few taps away. Genuinely, the web has a point of view for pulling back our lives. Undoubtedly I floated everything in a journal and reasonably become inebriated, kept up a key regular ways from each page and proposed them in better places around my home.

Taskade makes an astounding instrument for boss plans for the day, and you can utilize photographs, emoticons and stock workmanship to tidy them up.

Photograph: David Pierce/The Wall Street Journal

Over the level of late weeks, an application called Taskade has helped me change into request. Taskade joins evident the best highlights of Google Docs, Excel and Dropbox, near heaps of undertaking the heads and legitimate instruments. Taskade Labs Chief Executive Ivan Zhao depicts the thing as "the raised level season of Microsoft Office," which is a little hyperbolic and a ton faltering. Notwithstanding, it is the best life-alliance contraption I've attempted.

Taskade blends the highlights of a note-taking application, an undertaking the heads application and a spreadsheet mechanical social affair the way that Steve Jobs joined an iPod, a cellphone and a web program into the iPhone: All these contraptions take a centrality to make something more than its parts.

I should show that Taskade is truly crazy: It has a continued relating structure, and expenses $8 enthusiastically for titanic use. Considering, it may pay for itself in the applications it replaces, and I've discovered it pleasingly worth the expense.

I starting at now have a page with all my plane and lodging commitment numbers in a bulleted list, over a photograph of my dental security card and a superb control with holding tight for my dental ace's office. I made information bases with all the motion pictures, books, TV shows, and YouTube accounts I have to get to—every cell opens to a rich report with my notes and encounters. Taskade has all the social occasions, research material and structures for my zone. I'm getting hitched soon and am taking a gander at my private a touch at a time plan persistently.

Explanation behind reality the freshest locale is an information base contraption, which you can see as a table, a structure and the sky is the limit starting there.

Photograph: David Pierce/The Wall Street Journal

I used to require five separate applications to keep so much stuff straight. Absolutely it's all in Taskade, two or three snaps or a central intrigue away.

Square by Block

It may be less shocking to consider Taskade a super-key site skilled than a stunning position application.

Unequivocally when you open another page in the application, you're genuinely making a sensible plot onto which you can put and sort out on a chief level anything. The application's key space is the square, which could be a hint of text, a bulleted list, a table, a picture, a code bit, a YouTube video, a PDF no insufficiency. You present squares with a tap or solace head course, and a brief timeframe later reorder and psyches these paying little notice to a goliath level of you may require. You can if all else fails change the chance of a square, other than. For example, you can pick a titanic degree of text and change it into an a touch at a time plan.

Taskade's focal part is the square, which takes different structures: text, joins, pictures, bookmarks straightforward as can be.

Photograph: David Pierce/The Wall Street Journal

Taskade looks like chess: simple to learn, hard to star. The application itself looks genuinely standard, with a sidebar on the left and your open page on the right. It has a few rich amazing occasions, similar to the choice to add a spread photograph to the head of any page.

Essentially when you first open the application, in any case, it doesn't do what's basic to assist you with seeing all that it can do. In any case, after quite a while of utilizing Taskade enterprisingly, I'm fundamentally starting at now understanding the most titanic approaches to manage regulate oversee administer supervise direct control brilliant things while endeavoring to abstain from settling on amazing structure choices. Do I genuinely require a full-page photograph inside my structure for the day? My proposition: Make epic utilization of Taskade's relationship, since they help you with spreading out pages and show what the application's set up to do.

There are neighborhood Taskade applications for Windows, Mac and iOS. Mr. Zhao says an Android application ought to be open inside weeks. The web application works consummately on work zone and flexible, in like way, and it's really a general experience offering little appreciation to which stage you're utilizing.

Taskade is made arrangements to web straightforwardness. It works disconnected astoundingly with pages you've opened beginning late while related—which proposes all that you can do is cross your fingers each time you open Taskade on a plane. On the upside, you can present tweets and YouTube records, even whole site pages, inside a Taskade report.

Photograph: David Pierce/The Wall Street Journal

Despite the way that I use Taskade to keep clear over my own work and life (and you ought to in like way), Taskade is proposed for business parties. It offers decided changing, inline remarks and fundamental contraptions for controlling consents and dispatching attempts. On the off chance that you utilize Slack, you can get alerts each time somebody remarks on or changes a Taskade report. Is in no way, shape or form at all, in any way shape or form, in any way in any way at all, a substitute for Slack or Salesforce, yet it can vanquish a monster number from getting the mechanical social occasions unbelievable affiliations use to store and offer data.

In all cases resource

Matt Galligan, facilitator of the Picks and Shovels Co., a modernized money affiliations startup, offered an anticipated portrayal for Taskade. He says utilizing the application takes in the wake of shopping on Amazon. Beginning at now, "stores unequivocal," he passed on, "and they worked unfathomably." Then Amazon followed and amassed everything. It perhaps wasn't the best store for any single thing, paying little psyche to the one-stop comfort made it energizing.

That is melding it: Taskade isn't as epic a spreadsheet instrument as Excel, and it doesn't have an aspect of the undertaking the board highlights I need—when an undertaking is standard, I may require an alert, for example. (Taskade says that is coming.) Yet the application has helped me shave the spots I hold stuff down to only two. I can't shield email from coming in; I can put everything else in Taskade.

Photograph: David Pierce/The Wall Street Journal

There's packs left for the Taskade get-together to do, clearly. Vindicating task pulls in, it's in like way organizing framework sync, PowerPoint-style introduction consolidates, a web trimmer, better confined assistance and that Android application. It's other than hoping to help relationship, for example, Zapier and If This Then That (IFTTT), which help move information between applications. Regardless, it beginning at now accomplishes more than any of its foes.

For a guaranteed long time, I've ricocheted around different note-manhandling contraptions, never completely happy. Evernote makes it simple to get data, offering little thankfulness to I never adored the interface. Google Docs and Keep don't offer enough highlights. Trello, Asana and other endeavor the managers programming don't work for note taking.

Taskade wires the best of each—and others—into a stunning renaissance application, capable in massive strategies for portion for creation and plot. I can't put a cost on the authentic quietness that begins from an unfragmented life. Check, yes I can: It's eight bucks every month.