mind all the letters



Presenting one of the nerdiest things I’ve ever spent three hours on: 

Fordese. Exactly as seen in Journal 3, but as a font. You too can confuse your work partner, twin brother, and dream demon arch-nemesis by simply typing on the keyboard as normal, no pen needed!

I must thank @picnokinesis and the fics they wrote in code for putting the random inspiration in my mind to do this, ahahah. XD 

The font includes all coded letters from A-Z, both in uppercase and lowercase. (They’re both the same, though- I just figured it wouldn’t hurt to double up.) It has a full set of numbers, and the most common punctuation. Some of the letters are annoyingly close to each other, but it couldn’t easily be helped. 

But hey, if anyone actually uses this and makes a post, please feel free to tag me in it so I can see! And if anyone tries this out and there’s any major issues with it, let me know and I can try to fix it! :D

You can find the font right here!

Sticky Fingers

Host shambles through his library, cane in one hand and a book in the other. It’s peaceful, far more peaceful than today’s meeting. It was really just a shouting match about Anti’s latest antics and what the Egos should do about it. The Host is glad to be back to his usual peaceful surroundings.

Dark wants the Host monitoring all the Anti theories online and keeping him updated on them. As much as Dark dislikes sharing the limelight, he also needs to know what the glitch has up his sleeve, and the fans are typically quite good at sniffing such things out. Host is so tired of listening to the droning computerized voice reading out the posts to him, however, and he would much rather settle down quietly with one of his books.

Host drops into one of his armchairs with a sigh, rubbing his forehead and kicking up his feet on the little ottoman. He’s just getting good and relaxed when Wilford comes in stewing about Dark. “That no good attention hog. Not to mention what Anti might be doing to Jack and the others right about now. And what if he decides to come after us in the mean time?” Wilford ruffles his hair and twists his bowtie. “It’s exasperating!”

Host chucks a book at him, and Wilford catches it, absolutely shocked that Host would do something like that. But the Host just smiles. “Read a book.”

Wilford looks down at the lump of paper in his hands and makes a face. “I don’t know, Host. Books aren’t really my thing…”

“Books aren’t really my… Oh, Wilford! Don’t ever say that again.” Host covers his ears and pouts. “Books are filled with tons of things you’d like. Swordfights, pirates, treasure, all right there in that little book.” Host points at the leather-bound volume in the pink Ego’s hands.

Wilford’s eyes sparkle a bit as he flips through the pages. “There are pictures?”

“In that one,” Host smirks. “It’s a special edition, one that I paid a lot of money for. So no sticky candy fingers, got it?”

Wilford nods, turning to the first page and settling down into one of Host’s chairs. “I… I’m really slow at reading.” He glances up at the Host, but the blind man is still smiling.

“Take your time.” Host leans his head back and folds his hands in his lap. “You can read out loud if that helps.”

“Really? You wouldn’t mind?” Wilford looks down at the book again, at all the neat little letters all in perfect rows, but sometimes they just don’t want to behave properly. And he finds himself floundering to make them out.

Host traces his fingers along the needlepoint stitching of his armchair with a sigh. “Just softly, please.” Wilford nods and begins to read. He stumbles through a few chapters before the Host falls asleep and begins snoring softy, and Will keeps reading even after that for a few more minutes.

Once even he can’t keep his eyes open anymore, he takes a quick nap right there in the library and dreams of pirate ships sailing on storm-whipped seas and islands where buried treasure is hidden among the jungles. When he wakes up, he starts perusing Host’s library for more books. Once he has a sizeable stack, he pokes the Host’s shoulder until the other man stirs from sleep. “Can I borrow these?”

Host runs his hands over the spines of the books. “That’s quite a few, Wilford. Don’t you want to…” But he can sense Wilford’s excitement, as yellow as sunshine at first light. Host smiles. “Sure, take as many as you want.”

Wilford bobs onto his toes with a snicker. “Awesome!” And then he scampers off with the books piled up under his chin. Host shakes his head and gets up to check the latest Anti theories. Wilford returns the books after a few days, and the Host is somewhat pained to feel some of the pages stuck together with sugar. Though he wonders what else he expected from Wilford, the Ego always stuffing his face with candy.

So when Wilford comes back wanting more books, Host surprises him with a stack of his own. “Really? I can keep them?” Host nods, but Wilford suddenly goes silent.

“What’s wrong? Don’t you want them?” Host tugs at his bandages.

Warfstache shakes his head. “No, that’s not it! I just… I feel like I should do something for you now.”

Host smirks. “Don’t worry about it, Will. Really.” Wilford pauses for a minute and then gives Host a quick hug before the other Ego can protest and runs off with his books.

Why is school the only part of my life you care about?
Why do you ask me about my test scores but not about my feelings?
Why do you tell your friends how you’re proud of my grades,
but not my kind heart or creative mind?
The fact that the first thing you ask me at dinner is
how my finals are going is so sickening
I almost stopped eating right then and there.
The night those college letters came,
you happily announced my PSAT scores to my father
before suggesting I go study some more,
then changing your mind and telling me to read
all the letters out loud to the family instead.
I still can’t believe that happened.
The whole thing was insane,
and I was the only one who could see that.
I’m more than a number.
I’m not just a bit of small talk you can
brag about to your friends.
You couldn’t hear the malice in my voice
as I read those letters.
You couldn’t tell I hated every syllable
printed on that crisp white paper.
All you can see are the numbers on my report card,
and those are mattering less and less to me every day.
—  sincerely, your straight A daughter // c.r.h.


I want you to go have a beer with your friends, for you to be hungover the next morning and ask me to join you anyway because you feel like having me in your arms, for us to nuzzle against one another. I want to talk in bed in the morning about all sorts of things, but sometimes, in the afternoon, I want us to decide to take different paths for the day.

I want you to tell me about your evenings with your friends. To tell me that there was a girl at the bar who gave you the eye. I want you to send me text messages when you’re drunk with your friends, for you to tell me unimportant things, just so you can be assured that I think of you, too.

I want us to laugh while we’re making love. For us to we start laughing because we’re trying new things and it just doesn’t make sense. I want us to be with our friends, for you to take me by the hand and take me to another room because you cannot take it anymore and you feel like right there you have to make love to me. I want to try to stay silent because there are ears that could hear us.

I want to eat with you, want you to make me talk about me and for you to talk about you. I want us to rant about the North Shore vs. South Shore, West suburb versus East. I want to imagine the loft of our dreams, knowing that we will probably never move in together. For you tell me about your plans with neither head nor tail. I want to be surprised, for you to make me say: Take your passport; we’re leaving.

I want to be afraid with you. To do things I would not do with anyone else, because with you I am confident! To return too drunk after a good evening with friends. For you to take my face, kiss me, use me like your pillow and squeeze me so tightly at night.

I want you to have your life, for you decide on a whim to travel for a few weeks. For you to leave me here alone bored and wishing for the small Facebook pop-up with your face that tells me “hi.”

I don’t always want to be invited for your evenings out and I don’t always want to invite you to mine. Then I can tell you about it and hear you tell me about yours the next day.

I want something that will be both simple and at the same time not so simple. Something that will make sure that I often ask myself questions, but the minute I’m in the same room as you, I know. I want you to think I’m beautiful, for you to be proud to say that we’re together. I want to hear you say you love me and I especially want to tell you in return. I want you to let me walk ahead of you so you can watch my bottom swing from left to right. For you to let me scrape the windows of my car in winter because my butt wiggles and it makes you smile.

I want to make plans not knowing whether or not they will be realized. To be in a relationship that is anything but clear. I want to be your good friend, the one with whom you love hanging out. I want you to keep your desire to flirt with other girls, but for you to come back to me to finish your evening. Because I will want to go home with you. I want to be the one with whom you love to make love and fall asleep. The one who stays away when you work and loves it when you get lost in your world of music. I want to live a single life with you. For our couple life, would be the equivalent of our single lives today, but together.

One day I will find you.

—  Isabelle Tessier
The Love Letters
  • A while back at the Garrison
  • Shiro: Where did you get all those love letters?
  • Keith: *throw letters away in a trash bin* They aren't "those love letters." They are my letters.
  • Shiro: Who's the lucky girl?
  • Keith: ...It's a guy
  • Shiro: .....
  • One Year Later/ The Present
  • Lance: *reading an letter* Dear Lance, I love you. From your secret crush. Check yes, Definitely, ABSOLUTELY if you will go out with me.
  • Keith: ...Lance, where did you get that letter?
  • Lance: Oh, Shiro gave it to me. He told me it was from someone he know at the Garrison who had a crush on me but never once got the chance to give it to me.*Gave the letter to Keith* But man, that guy need to work on his confession. He could have just confess in front of me instead of writing this stupid letter. I don't mind checking all three though. I mean, I will go out with this person if he confess.
  • Keith: *turning red* SHIRO!!!
I breathe a new shade

I’m not always
the person I
want to be
I know I’m the stained skull
peeking between your
hung jackets and dresses,
I know the growl under
your bed frame makes you sleep
in the fetal position so your ankles
won’t dangle,
I know when you wash your face
in the morning
my smile hangs in bent light
until you turn around

if I could think
and act with my heart
I wouldn’t need to stab
it with my pen, to write you
letters to right all those times
my mind decided to just walk away,
we may be different now
we may be less sunshine
we may be more broken,
our jagged pieces always
completed a better picture
combined together than glued alone
your name still remains the only way
I know how to spell Home

I look at old pictures every day,
taste your cheeks through
the transparency of your smile
feel your fingers in mine under
blankets of midnight molecules,
smell the color of your heartbeat
in the empty cavity of my chest,
two thousand one hundred
ninety days unhealed
peeled scabs drop to the floor,
cycling two hands forward
rooting both feet in place

I want these words
to be more than words
I want them to be an ax,
open your closet
split the frontal,
smash the parietal,
let the dust catch the wind
from your 9AM window,
make these words an island,
silence the snarls
skin the thing that wears
my old smile,
sleep in a way your dreams
walk in your hands to morning,
let them enchant your rituals
let them banish my old shadow
let them reinvigorate,
plant seeds for a new
spelling of today,
drown yesterday in
cursive mascara soap

every word bleeds hope
that one day you can
spell Home
with the colors
we share

I’m still a monster
but now I only scare

the dark away

Functions as board games

SUBMITTED by Steve (Fe/Fi added by Charity)

Introverted Sensing (Si): Trivial Pursuit

This game literally rewards whoever has gone through their lives collecting the most amount of pointless information in their mental database, ‘nuff said! Just don’t take it the wrong way when your defeated opponents yell “Well at least I have a life!!” at you. It’s quite possibly true, but it’s also coming from a place of anger. 

Extroverted Sensing (Se): Operation

No strategy at all, just excellent hand/eye coordination. If it’s too intense, try Hungry Hungry Hippos, if it’s not intense enough, go with Twister. 

Introverted Intuition (Ni): Battleship

The ultimate game of blind guesses. “Dave is WAY too OCD to put two ships right next to each other. Unless he expects me to think that! Hmmm….”  ’'I just got this vibe from him when I tried G-5, I betcha I narrowly missed his patrol boat.“

Extroverted Intuition (Ne): Scattergories

Start with one letter, let your mind go crazy finding all the words you can think of with said letter. Ne-Doms might try to push their luck here though. Sorry, but I’m just not accepting ’'Twerking” in “Works of art”.

Introverted Thinking (Ti): Chess

This game is tailor-made for Ti. “What’s my best move?” “What’s my next move after that?” “What will be his move if I do this?” From personal experience I can tell you all Ti’s I have played against have indeed mopped the floor with me. And yes, this includes ESTPs. You may think they’re too cool for chess, but the truth is, if these bastards try it, they fall in love with it and instantly become really good. True story. 

Extroverted Thinking (Te): Monopoly

Every Christmas, that ESTJ in your family wants to cut all the sentimental crap and pull out Monopoly so he can brag about winning all night. You know it. Making money, managing money, buying real-estate, managing real-estate, bankrupting your friends etc. Cue Chandler Bing: “Could this game BE more Te??” Granted, some NTJs out there might find that real-estate is too small-scale for them, so I hope you have the game of Risk handy.

Extroverted Feeling (Fe): Charades

It demands group participation, emotional engagement, broad (and often hilarious) gestures and good “connections” to other players to be effective. It works best when both teams are in sync with their teammates.

Introverted Feeling (Fi): Chinese Checkers

Both a game of strategy and chance, Chinese Checkers is one of the least-mean multiple-player games on the market, where everyone gets a fair chance to win and no one is ever sent home. This game requires putting your pieces first – you have to get across the board! But if everyone is playing just for themselves, the board turns into a disaster zone and no one gets anywhere. The key element of winning is choosing who to help, and who not to help, while all the time aiming to win yourself.

Duly Noted

Request: i love your writing so much!! i was wondering if i could request a newt x reader imagine, where the reader has a learning disability like dyslexia and newt asks her to read an excerpt from his notes and she begins to get frustrated because she’s trying to read it and understand it without newt finding out about her LD but he eventually figures it out and tries to find spells that’ll help her with her LD and an overall fluffy ending 

Word Count: 2,067

Pairing: Newt x Reader

Tag List: @dont-give-a-bother @red-roses-and-stories @caseoffics @myrtus-amongst-the-stars @ly–canthrope @benniesgalaxy @studyforthreehands @thosefantasticbeast2 @whatinbenaddiction

Almost forgot: Special thanks to @drdanwrites for helping unstick this stuck story. Lots of love!

You groan, pulling a pillow down around your ears in a weak attempt to block out the rattle of the alarm clock nearby. Unfortunately, your pillows aren’t the fluffiest and your clock isn’t the quietest, so you’re forced out of bed, feet landing on the cool wood of the spare bedroom Newt’s let you crash in.

“I know, I know. It’s time for work.” You grumble, running a hand over your face and standing. The day’s starting and you have plenty of work to do, but you aren’t ready. December’s the worst month, the cold leaking into the room from unseen cracks and crevices, constantly nipping at your cheeks and hands and nose, forcing yourself into oversized sweaters and fuzzy socks.

Slipping into that outfit now, you pad out into the hallway, fully expecting to see Newt standing in the kitchen with his back to you as he works on tea. He isn’t there.

Instead, in the spot usually reserved for his various research notes and equipment, you find a slip of paper. Your chest sinks. Reading.

Only a couple of paragraphs fill the paper, but Newt’s handwriting isn’t the easiest to read in the best of circumstances, and when the letters are mixing around, it becomes nearly impossible to decipher exactly what he’s saying.

Determined to understand, you lift the paper to your face, staring it down and focusing as best you can. The letters swirl, mixing and flipping and dancing all around.

Minutes pass before you’ve made sense of the first few sentences. I have an errand to run. The case is in the back room, but you don’t need to worry about feeding the creatures, no matter what Pickett says.

Tears fill your eyes as you scan the rest of the sheet. There’s so much more he wants you to know, so much more he expects from you. And, honestly, so much more you expect from yourself. How hard, after all, should it be to read a few paragraphs? Even children can do it. Why can’t you? Why can’t you just get the letters to stay in their place? Why can’t you figure out why you mind won’t work the way it’s supposed to? More tears gather in your eyes as you stare down at it. Words. So many words you should understand, all a jumbled mess of letters and words and sentences. What’s really the point? You’re not going to understand anyway.

Growling in frustration, you drop the note back onto the table.

At the same time, the front door clicks open, and the unmistakable sound of Newt’s boots creaking over the floorboards sounds. He holds a small, white bag in his hand, not setting it down even as he shimmies out of his jacket.

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You’re Learning

Originally posted by roadtoriverdale

A/N: Cheryl because Cheryl. Also half of this is just my interpretation about how the squad would meet the serpents…like most of them, I don’t know I got carried away with the start but that’s okay because I’m the one writing it so I’m allowed.

Summary: Cheryl meets the serpents for the first time, and immediately catches the attention of one girl in particular. What could go wrong?

Word Count: 3,048

Warnings:none??? there’s some smokin’ and some drinkin’, some of which can be assumed is underage but they’re in a gang so it’s to be expected yes.

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Foxy ( p.4 ) // Sirius Black // requested

Request : could you do a young!sirius where the reader is american and transfering to hogwarts and he sees her in the train and basically becomes infatuated with her?? maybe you can do a part 2 where they reunite after Azkaban or something too?? + can you do a jealous sirius ?!?

Two requests that turned into something more.

<< Part Three 

Pairing : Young!Sirius Black x Fem. American Reader

Word Count : 4,484

Warnings : smut… ? Kinda… ? Idk.

Requests are closed. xx 

Originally posted by nellaey

Originally posted by kissing-pleasure

Originally posted by foxyconda

What gets wetter as it dries?

What gets wetter as it dries?

My eyes shot open and I quickly sat up in the bed, tugging the comforter closer to my body.

“Towels!” I shouted before losing my balance and falling out of the bed. 

“Very graceful.” Remus chortled, looking at me with a smirk.

“Why are you in my room?” 

“You’re actually in my room.” 

I looked around, nodding my head, “that is correct. My blanket isn’t this color. Okay. Let’s not talk about me falling out of the bed.” I mumbled, crawling back into the bed I fell out of. 

Burying my head in the pillow, I stretched and snuggled closer to a pillow, “where’s Sirius?” I asked in a muffled voice.

“How should I know? I thought you were his keeper.” 

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I Always Knew [Part 2 of Please, Stay]

Part One is here!!

Imagine: Several months have passed since you and Newt have separated. Once reunited in an unexpected situation, neither of you can deny the feelings that were left behind.  

Word Count: 1574

Tagging: @blunish101 @once-upon-a-walking-wolf-demigod @awesomenessfeet @kindafantastic-kindabeasts @kissyjubz @hamilsyd704 @credence-peaches @thesweetestdaydreams @rock-n-magick @nerdypersongladiator @ohokaybyethen @jinxkatkazama @senpaipineapple

Author’s Note: Thank you so much for all the positive feedback for part one, I felt so much pressure with part two, I hope it’s as good as you were all hoping!! Also, thank you guys so so much for reblogging, liking and following me!! 921 followers ???? I’m so overwhelmed, I love each and every one of you!! P.S listen to ‘I Always Knew’ by The Vaccines while reading this, it made me smile and sort of cry. Enjoy x

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This is a love letter for someone who don’t know me at all. I wish I could see how stunningly beautiful you are today. I wish to see you somewhere in an unexpected time. When we’re both slowly walking and treasuring each and everything that surrounds us. I wish to hear how wonderful your day was and what makes it even more special. I wish you can tell me all the things that bother your mind.

This is an apologetic letter for someone who don’t know me at all. I’m sorry I couldn’t go there and give you a tight hug and tell you that everything is going to be alright. I’m sorry I wasn’t able to block your way and smile at you and make the corniest joke that’ll make your stomach ache from laughter. I’m sorry if my words can’t lessen the pain you’re feeling right now. I’m sorry that some people doesn’t feel sorry at all—for the bad things that they have done to you. I’m sorry if there were no stars and moon tonight. I’m sorry if life is hard and the world seems to suffocate you.

This is a gratitude letter for someone who don’t know me at all. Thank you for being there when no one else seems to pay attention at everything I wrote. Thank you for listening to each and every little words I say. Thank you for not giving up on life and for doing everything you can just to reach all of your dreams. Thank you for saying “hi” and “hello”. Thank you for asking me if everything’s fine and if life’s kind to me. Thank you for breathing and existing in this world. I just wanted to say thank you so much for being so special and unique, that you give another meaning to the life that I am living. I am so thankful and glad that you’re still fighting and you’re proving that you’re brave enough to hold on. You’re strong enough to keep moving on.

—  ma.c.a // A Letter For You
I’ll Be Around For You

Remember how last week’s was really sad? This is me trying to balance it out with a sweet moment between Philip and Freckles <333 (Wanna read the other parts of the series?) 

PART SEVEN: Philip’s world turned upside down


“I know he’s busy, but I just feel like I never see him anymore.” Philip was walking the pathways of New York City, kicking any spare pebble that was in his way. John Laurens was hovering right beside him.

“He’s always been this way,” John admitted.

Philip paused to give one pebble an extra strong kick. “You’re always saying that. It’s like you knew him or something.”

John sighed. He knew this conversation had to happen some day. In fact, he’d been putting it off for some time, really. Any time Philip showed any curiosity, any interest, in John’s past, John was quick to shut it down.

But Philip was a teenager now. He was starting college soon. More than that, John felt like he had a right to know. He just hoped and prayed to whoever may be listening that Philip wouldn’t hate him once he could out the truth, that he wasn’t Freckles, his imaginary friend who’d stuck around way longer than other kid’s imaginary friends do.

“Well, I did know him,” John admitted.

“Were you his imaginary friend, too?” Philip furrowed his brow at John.

John motioned his young friend over to a grassy spot under a nearby tree. The two sat, Philip leaning against the tree’s trunk, fiddling with a blade of grass. John thought of him and Alexander sitting beneath trees late at night, after their work for the day–– or at least next few hours–– as Washington’s aides de camp was done. He thought of the one time that they’d done more than just sit there. The one time he’d gotten Alexander to shut up.

He pushed that thought from his mind. While he wanted to be honest with Philip, Philip certainly did not need to know that.

“No. We were real friends. We were in the war together.”

“The Revolution?” Philip asked, his eyes widening.

John nodded. “Alexan–– your father, I mean, was my closest friend. We were aides to Washington together. We fought at Yorktown together.”

John looked down at his translucent hands. He remembered a time when those hands had taken Alexander’s in an attempt to comfort him after a particularly vivid nightmare, induced by the thunderstorm that was rattling the fragile windows of their sleeping quarters.

“What happened?” From the way Philip asked, John had a feeling the boy knew the answer. He, of course, told him anyway.

“Your father came home after Yorktown because the war, essentially, had ended. But it had not officially ended. So I stayed on, moved down to South Carolina, where there was still a good amount of fighting.”

He looked up at the leaves, large and green, at their brightest now, during the height of summer.

“You were born months after Yorktown ended. I got one more letter from your father, and then, that August…”

He shook his head. How could he have been so stupid, to squander his youth, his life, like that? To crave death?

“Oh my god,” Philip said, eyes widening. “You’re John Laurens.”

It was John’s turn to be shocked. A million questions raced through his mind, but all he could do was stare at Philip.

“Pops has this letter, well, he’s got a few actually. One is from your father, stating that you’d died in August of the year I was born.”

“The others?” John asked breathlessly. He couldn’t help himself. He’d thought Alexander would have forgotten him by now, now that he had such a large and loving family.

“They’re from you.”

John swore that if his heart was still beating, it would’ve beat right out of his chest.

“He keeps them in the top drawer of his desk. The one that’s usually locked, ya know?”

“How’d you get in?” John eyed his young friend suspiciously.

Philip smirked in response. “You’ve said it yourself. I’m like my father.”

John rolled his eyes, but he couldn’t keep that damn smile off of his face. The longer he thought about it, about Alexander keeping his letters all these years, still revisiting them, still thinking of him, he found that he didn’t want to stop smiling.

For the first time in a long time, since baby Philip had seen him that day in the informal living room at the Schuyler’s mansion, John felt something like hope.

anonymous asked:

Hi. I've always wondered if Greta was really a lesbian? It may be a strange question but I'm very curious about her and it would be nice if you could answer that. I know that nobody today can safely say what really happened but it would be great if you told me what you think about that. Thanks in advance! :)

Hey, anon!  This isn’t a strange question at all. :) And you’re right, nobody today can ever really know what happened; Garbo herself was so secretive, anyone involved is long since dead, and Garbo’s surviving family is so uncomfortable/ dismissive and refuses to answer any questions about her sexuality.  But there are plenty of anecdotes that (in my mind) show that she was probably some shade of queer; here’s a handful:

-She refused to get married or agree to a studio-arranged marriage for the sake of publicity.

-She had a long-running relationship with Mercedes de Acosta; de Acosta and friends of both confirmed the nature of their relationship, and their letters to one another do the same (in a roundabout way; even in her personal writing, Garbo *was* rather guarded*).

-Other probable relationships (& flings) include Lilyan Tashman & Tallulah Bankhead, & Louise Brooks (Tallulah and Louise both claimed to have slept with Garbo; Garbo never talked about any of this, of course). There’s also some debate about whether or not she and Marlene Dietrich met in Berlin and had an ill-fated affair there before either starred in American films (this is one of the central points in “The Girls: Sappho Goes to Hollywood,” which is absolutely fantastic and contains a lot of info on Garbo’s sexuality.)

-Biographer Barry Paris wrote in his book that, from what he found, it seems like Garbo was “technically bisexual, predominantly lesbian, and increasingly asexual as the years went by.”

- Presentation/fashion isn’t inherently linked to sexuality, but Garbo did prefer tailored suits, slacks and a more “masculine” look. She also often played around with gender/pronouns— for example, she often referred to herself as a “bachelor” & would say things like “when I was a little boy…”

-The most heartbreaking, in my mind— Garbo’s letters to her friend Mimi Pollack. They all read like a tragic, Garbo-esque romance…. and to some (myself included) it seems like she never really got over the one-sided crush on her friend.  Amusingly, when Mimi wrote Garbo to tell of the birth of her child in 1930, Garbo replied:

“Incredibly proud to be a father"

And (the one I find most heart-wrenching) from one of Garbo’s letters earlier that same year, a response to Mimi telling her she was pregnant:

“We cannot help our nature, as God has created it. But I have always thought you and I belonged together.”

These are just some of the anecdotes I can remember offhand; there’s a lot of info out there, and while it is near impossible to confirm anything… I do think, yes, given what we know, that Garbo was probably sapphic/queer.

(If you want to know more, get your hand on a copy of “The Girls: Sappho Goes to Hollywood,” quite a bit of which is devoted to Garbo.  Kate Swenson’s biography [Greta Garbo: A Life Apart] is a long read, but contains quite a bit on Garbo’s sexuality, too.  Barry Paris’s bio of Garbo wasn’t quite as good, but also had a bit on her sexuality, too.  Also, if you haven’t already, watch Queen Christina; her performance in that movie… it’s kind of revealing/the most queer performance we have, and it’s perfect. *sigh*)

Chris Evans Imagine

I stood in front of the mountain of flowers sitting on my kitchen table. And a letter in my hands. A letter I had read already 4 times.  What do I do? I thought to myself as I looked down at that small piece of paper in my hands.

It had been a hell of 3 months.

3 months ago. I was so happy. I was staring to date Chris. Yes, it had been just few dates and few stolen kisses, but it was so real. It was so passionate. We liked each other there was no doubt about it. We had said it already. Yes, it was hard to even start to date and not because he was an actor, but because his “friend” was in the way of us being together. Even after all, of that we were happy to have each other. Then it all suddenly turned to dust. Just few words shattered my whole life and heart.

I was leaving work when I saw Chris standing by my building looking at his own feet. Even from a far, I could tell something was on his mind.  

“Hey, You” with a smile on my lips I walked up to him and hugged Chris. He smiled and it all began.

“Could we talk?” when someone says words like those, you know it is not good, you know it is not going to end with laughs and flowers. And this time was no different. As those words left his lips, my heart already broke. I did not say anything just nodded.

“I think we shouldn’t go out. I think it all should stop.” There was a heart breaking silence. It seemed like even the streets had went quit. “So yeah. Bye”

That was it. I got a bye and nothing else. I had no explanation as to why this was all happening. All those 3 months I was thinking about what I had done or what I didn’t do. At the same time, I tried not to think about it or him. It was so damn hard. It was hard not to think about all the smiles and sweet words he gave me. Just as I was almost over all of it, just as I was finally able to live on without all these questions on my mind….I get these flowers and a letter.

Dear, (Y/N)

I know it has been a long time since we last spoke or had seen each other. Maybe I don’t deserve this but please come to our spot. I really need to talk to you.


So I stood there thinking of all the reasons as to why I should not go. But there one strong reason for me, to know I had to go. I wanted to know why. Why did he leave? Why did it end? I deserved to know.

After a 30 min cab ride I got to our spot. The place where we first kissed. It was a spot near by the Hollywood sign. As I was walking closer I saw him leaning on the hood of his car. Chris heard my foot steps and quickly turned to me. He smiled, I didn’t respond.

“You came.” He walked closer to me, but I took a step back. Chis stopped and he started to speak. “I don’t know were to start. I guess I should start from the beginning. I’m sorry for what happened.”

“Yeah, I deserve an explanation to all of that.” I could feel the anger boil in side of me. “All this time I was blaming me. And that was because you didn’t tell me why. I mean..” all the anger and pain I had been holding in was now coming out. “What the fuck Chris. You come to me say it’s done and leave. Who does that? Was all that dating like a joke to you? Was it like a bet, and when it came to an end you dump me?” I was now yelling at him. I didn’t care if it was wrong of me. I was too damn angry. I looked at him and there was no answer.

“You know Chris. For get it. It took me 3 months to not be in pain after you left. And I was good. So you know? I don’t care. I really don’t care why. Just don’t care” I turned around and started to walk away. Deep down I wanted to know why it had ended but knowing it could hurt I didn’t want to go back to all that pain.

“I love you” Chris yelled after me and made me stop in my track. I turned around

“Excuse me?” I walked back to him “You love me?”

“Yes. I fell in love with you and..” he wanted to say more but I stopped him.

“So you left. You loved me so you dumped me. That is some bullshit coming out of your mouth Evans. That makes no fucking sense. No normal man would dump his girlfriend because he loved her. God Chris. Is it really hard for you to tell the real reason?” my heart was racing, my mind was going crazy. Was he telling the truth?

“It’s true. I love you.” I laughed and turned away from Chris but he walked around me and kept talking. “I know it’s stupid and I’m the biggest asshole there is. But I am not lying to you. I realized I was in love with you and got scared. When I Came to see you that day I was going to say I loved you but I freaked out and…and I broke up with you.” At this point I wasn’t looking at him. Looking down at my feet to keep me from crying was all I was doing now. “When I walked away from you my whole world came down. I didn’t know what to do, so for the past 3 months I’ve been at my parents house. I’ve been trying to for get about you, but I can’t. I love you and I know I’m an ass and I don’t deserve a second chance but please. Please (Y/N). Think about it at lease. I don’t care how long it takes I’ll wait for you. Just..think about it.” A tear left my right eye. I looked in his eyes and I could see it. I could see the pain he had. And the love he was talking about. It was all there. With just one look of love all the pain was gone. My brain stopped working but my body was still moving. I leaned closer to him, just as our lips was an inch away from each other, just before kissing him I slowly whispered

I love you too”

Oh my darling one, how long you wander from me, how weary I grow of waiting and looking, and calling for you; sometimes I shut my eyes, and shut my heart towards you, and try hard to forget you because you grieve me so, but you’ll never go away, Oh you never will – say, Susie, promise me again, and I will smile faintly – and take up my little cross again of sad – sad separation. How vain it seems to write, when one knows how to feel – how much more near and dear to sit beside you, talk with you, hear the tones of your voice - give me strength, Susie, write me of hope and love, and of hearts that endured.. I don’t know how I shall bear it, when the gentle spring comes… while the frost clings to the windows, and the World is stern and drear; this absence is easier – the Earth mourns too, for all her little birds; but when they all come back again, and she sings and is so merry – pray, what will become of me? Susie, forgive me, forget all what I say, get some sweet little scholar to read a gentle hymn, about Bethleem and Mary, and you will sleep on sweetly and have as peaceful dreams, as if I had never written you all these ugly things. Never mind the letter Susie, I wont be angry with you if you dont give me any at all – for I know how busy you are, and how little of that dear strength remains when it is evening, with which to think and write. Only want to write me, only sometimes sigh that you are far from me, and that will do, Susie! Dont you think we are good and patient, to let you go so long; and dont we think you’re a darling, a real beautiful hero, to toil for people, and teach them, and leave your own dear home? Because we pine and repine… Never be mournful, Susie – be happy and have cheer, for how many of the long days have gone away since I wrote you – and it is almost noon, and soon the night will come, and then there is one less day of the long pilgrimage…My darling; I must leave you now – “one little hour of Heaven,” thank who did give it me, and will he also grant me one longer and more when it shall please his love – bring Susie home, ie! Love always, and ever, and true!
—  Emily Dickinson in a letter to Susie, February 1852