hush pen

pip told the hotel receptionist over the phone that the reason for our visit was… a tree fell on our house

and of course they told all their coworkers so ALL THE STAFF KNOWS US and they’re being SUPER NICE which is really sweet, but also, kind of hilarious. we’re famous. a tree fell on our house.

anonymous asked:

I ask this since I know you love Elsa, what is her life and role like post G.U.


Elsa is particularly interesting in all of Auradon as she’s one of the few “True” Princesses that buck the Disney Stereotype, and thus their entire society’s tradition:

  • She is unmarried, has absolute power over her dominion, and none of her people look any less of her because of that
  • She’s one of three who rules over a traditional kingdom without a husband, the other two being Queen Elena of Avalor, and Queen Merida of DunBroch
  • She bucks the trend of princesses needing to be demure and traditionally lady-like, waiting to be saved by a brave hero, and the medieval standard that women should only stand to the side and cheer on the men as they go off to do work, and be there to welcome them back with dinner and a company in bed when they return

This is particularly impressive in that alongside Agrabah and China, Arendelle is one of the major economic centers of Auradon, one of the biggest centers and facilitators of international trade, an invaluable link in the global supply chain of the country, and having a LOT of influence and sway because of all the taxes and tariffs they produce for the country, and goods that are endemic to her country, the most famous being their chocolate.

(You may think I’m joking, but royals of Auradon take their sweet treats VERY seriously.)

Keep reading

The Gentle Hum of Growing Up 

          You lay on your bed in the dark, late at night, and you listen, and at first you don’t hear anything, but then you hear a sound that you can’t quite place, something beautiful that grates on your nerves and strains on your senses, something ugly that sings in your heart and keeps you up all night, something that sounds like nothing and like everything, and yet may also be silence. You think you have heard it somewhere before, but you can’t say where, though you know you have heard it everywhere.

It’s the sound of the dial tone when you pick up your phone, and you mean to call your father, but you can’t do it, so you just stare at the number and think about how your father loves his dog more than he loves himself, and about how you might too, but your building doesn’t allow pets, so you keep nothing, and you don’t make the call, and when you go to bed, you dream his voice on the other end of the line.

It’s the sound of that lifeguard you wanted to kiss last summer, gasping as he breaks the surface of the water, twice as strained now he’s swimming for two, a little boy under his arm who might have died, and all you can think is you wish he were touching you instead.

It’s the sound of cars in the distance, of wheels on asphalt whispering as people you love and people you’ll never meet take turns that might lead them to collide, or might just lead them to their destination, and how you can never know if the sound of a far-off collision will keep ringing in your ears until the morning after it first hits.

It’s the sound of whispers in the back of the classroom in ninth grade, when you weren’t sure about love yet, but there were already people your age, just a few seats behind you talking about the sex they had already had, their voices hushed with the suppression of danger, secretly wanting to get caught, and how you know now that they weren’t any more sure than you were, and no less scared either.

It’s the sound of your mother crying downstairs after you got in that fight last week, and how you can’t remember what you were arguing about, just the terrible thunder of the barely audible whimpering and whispering of a woman who sees too many people hurting to let herself hurt, but there she was, crying, and there you were, knowing it was your fault, so you didn’t let yourself cry along, not because you didn’t want to (the tears were stinging in your eyes like acid and fire), but because it felt like you didn’t deserve to.

It’s the sound of the silence in that lecture hall on campus where you took your SAT, the silence that wasn’t really silence at all, but seemed to be, despite all the tapping of pens and hushed conversations and shoes scuffing on the dirty linoleum, because you were hearing it through the filter of a hundred strangers who you had gone to school with your whole life, all of them holding their breath at once, and it was a miracle you didn’t hear their anxious heartbeats.

It’s the sound of the madman on the bus you used to ride home every day, talking too loudly to people who didn’t want to listen, railing against the government, and using words you didn’t understand back then, but now they all make sense, and you think about how you sat down on the bus the other day, that same bus, and you started using those same words in a conversation you were having, with a stranger who didn’t want to hear it, and now you just wonder when you became the madman, or if maybe he was never mad to begin with.

It’s the sound of the first time you ever broke a glass while you were washing dishes, and it seemed deafening, so you hid the broken shards in the bottom of the trash, and hoped no one noticed, and you hid it so well that no one ever did, and it stayed at the bottom of the bag until the bag got changed, but a few weeks later, when your mother asked where her favourite glass had gone, you could almost feel every single piece of that glass inside of you when you said you didn’t now (and you still can).

It’s the sound of nervous laughter and short intakes of breath, the first time you kissed that boy you were so in love with, even after he wasn’t a boy anymore, and even after you weren’t in love with him, but you were still in love with the idea of him, even then, you could still remember that sound, and it was the sound you were in love with, so you kept kissing him, or you kept kissing the person who lived in his body then, and you kept hoping he was in there, but he wasn’t, so the kisses tasted like the last pages of a book you can’t quite bare to finish yet.

It’s the sound of everything in the world being muted after the sound of a splash when you jumped into the pool over and over again as a child, and how you always opened your eyes when you were under the water, even though the chlorine stung them; even though you knew it would make them burn, because you loved to see the world distorted, and you loved to listen to people talking from above the surface, so you could hear just the voices, and none of the words.

It’s the sound of your cat scratching at the door, when you’re too tired to get off the couch and let him in, and even though it’s raining outside, and even though you know you will feel better if you stand up, and even though you want to feel his fur under your fingers, and smooth away the water, and smooth away all the thoughts that you just can’t stop having, you still don’t get up, because you can’t use your legs, and they feel broken, and you feel broken, so you don’t get up, and you just listen to him scratching, and listen to the the rain falling, and you think about how you don’t deserve him, or the rain, at all.

It’s the sound of every girlfriend you’ve ever had saying whatever she said that meant she wasn’t your girlfriend anymore, and how “i think we should just be friends” is the biggest lie you think you know, because only once did you lose love and not lose friendship, and you don’t think there’s anything ‘just’ about being friends to begin with, but you kissed her, and then you didn’t, and now you’re nothing to her at all, and you wish you had stayed just friends to begin with, but your heart is too hungry to resist the tantalizing temptation of change.

It’s the sound of lost children, crying for their mothers in a crowd, and of dogs who don’t get taken on enough walks, barking at you when you pass the fences that hold them in, and the first few seconds of that commercial your sister hates playing before she finds the mute button, and it’s the sound of waves whispering on a shoreline that seem to be begging you to drown, and of whispers waving you into a corner in the library to catch secrets between classes, and it’s the sound of pills rattling in a plastic bottle, and bottles clinking together in the bottom of your backpack, and drawers closing, and doors slamming, and people calling you names that never should have belonged to you your whole life, and it’s the sound of your alarm clock waking you up from a good dream to live the nightmare of being awake, and it’s the sound of your resume being slid into a file that you know it will never be slid out of again, and it’s the sound of your upstairs neighbours yelling at each other every single night, and how you just wish you had someone to yell at for once, because the silence is oppressive, and the loneliness is too, but at least you have an apartment at all, and at least you can hear other people living the life you’re not, at least you can hear it, even if it hurts your ears, at least you can hear it.

          You lay on your bed in the dark, late at night, and you listen, and at first you don’t hear anything, but then you hear a sound that you can’t quite place, something beautiful that grates on your nerves and strains on your senses, something ugly that sings in your heart and keeps you up all night, something that sounds like nothing and like everything, and yet may also be silence. You think you have heard it somewhere before, but you can’t say where, though you know you have heard it everywhere.


like UGH the buildup to the second season is so good? let’s talk about the lamp episode, where the lamp has mytho’s heart shard of ‘affection’, and wants people to care for and be useful to and illuminate, and wants to be cared FOR, but since it was abandoned and left alone these feelings have gotten twisted up and are being expressed in unhealthy and abusive ways, to the point where it’s willing to trap someone and keep them with it just to have someone to illuminate


Fakir wants to 'protect’ Mytho (and to not feel useless and powerless!!) and Rue loves Mytho and wants to be loved but they both act on these desires in abusive ways that deny Mytho any personal agency

AND RUE IS TERRIFIED WHEN MYTHO STARTS TO GET HIS HEART BACK, ESPECIALLY 'AFFECTION’, BECAUSE SHE’S SCARED THAT HE WOULD NEVER ACTUALLY LOVE HER IF HE HAD! ANY!! REAL CHOICE IN THE MATTER!!! screams!!! rue ;_; rue who has been fed poison and told all her life that no one could ever really love her, she’s SO SCARED. ugh! ugh!! so when the “love” heart shard is found she has to try to keep it from him. because. she’s scared. ugh!!!!!!

and of course the big difference with Ahiru is that yes, she loves and wants to help Mytho, but she cares about his personal agency above that, so above all she goes with what HE wants. When she thinks he doesn’t want his heart returned, she stops. When he tells her he does, she continues. AHIRU IS SUCH A GOOD CHILD. AUGH.

addendum: several times when I’ve successfully pulled off the “I don’t want to talk about this subject” tactic, the person I’m talking to will throw back “well, what DO you want to talk about” in a sort of… GOTCHA tone, like they’re saying, “what else IS there to talk about” or “you don’t actually HAVE anything to say”

listen. we’ve got miniature goats. I will talk to you about pip’s goats for hours, joyfully