she's wild at heart

My 12 Lives

Aries - A whole new world

In Pisces she wept and fell to sleep, a mermaid tail drifting in a sea by her side. All was calm, and then began the storm. A fireball in the sky,
a new season, a new beginning, a hurricane to drop a child inside. From the storm the Aries was born, learning to walk and talk, forgetting the mermaid tail she took 12 lifetimes to sew. She looks for magic behind every corner, always expecting something astonishing and new. Through fierce suppression or taught shame, her spirit becomes poisonous, because she is a wild heart, free and untameable, as young as the spring, as pure as the wind. And she may hold violent secrets, or act of some destructive urge that sings a song of impulse. Instant self gratification is important, consuming the world is important. Everything seems so foreign as if nothing ever existed before she was born. Now she is in a world that seems to have forgotten her, a princess of the night through her last lifetime. Her scarlet aura conducting fires in the horizon, a child chasing shapes in the clouds. Twinkle twinkle little star
now I know who you are

Taurus - Rest and Rectitude

It had all been so loud, so busy, so exhausting. Pushed from one frantic lifetime to the next, the Taurus woke up tired, her body seeming to be entwined with vines, her ears buzzing with the sound of wildlife. She walks through the forest to find hideaways opening just for her
a priestess of the flowers, a mother to the earth, a reflection of pure beauty, an earthy Aphrodite. Her eyes glaze with the glassiness of still waves, her hair matted with herbs, it’s time to rest now, to flourish in a world that suddenly became soft to touch and delicious to taste. She could never truly cherish her surroundings before, life past through her in such a frenzied flash
sometimes there are old anxieties that creep in, reminding her of chaos and carnage, hitting the walls of a palace she has built
founded on integrity, diplomacy, and the laws of nature. She approaches the day with sleep still in her eyes, often relying on caffeine to adjust to human life. If she could flitter through life on natural time, she would sleep for days, and cherish the stillness of night



Gemini ~ Wings of a Butterfly

She cocooned herself into a flower bed last time around, like a chrysalis. The tired Taurus and a breath of fresh air was blown from heaven, the Gemini awoke, a butterfly with a golden helmet on her mind. Energy released in erratic form, the only way was to spiral upwards with the other winged creatures
sending messages through ether, delighted at making sounds, twists and turns with words. Suddenly the mind leaves the body behind, she is a floating balloon
Full of wonderful tales and facts and insights, illuminating the light behind her eyes when her mind is alive. And she can stay awake thinking for days, stimulated by internal conversation. Her responsibilities and plans can vanish,
as if she has completely forgotten. She can find herself in a mess of paperwork and clothes, unable to escape the hold of her mind, deciding with one personality but in conflict with another, split memories of life revealing themselves untimely. And she can be chastised for her scattered mind, often forgetting the most basic of things yet she can keep you captivated for hours under the spell of conversation, whisking words in her mind like a magic maze, every age and time in a myriad of marvellous mental somersaults



Cancer - Timeless Woman

The incessant chatter of Gemini drifted into the back of her mind, turning into long conversations on the beach, the tide washing words with memories. In cancer time, every minute could be a moment, there is the possibility for growth, enlightenment, and meaning in every experience, the pinnacle events of life felt with a reverent glory, to marry, to love, to held, to be held, to be welcomed home, and be kissed as she leaves for the world.
She is not bound indoors, but rather makes a presence and a home out of everything, constructing hideaways in secret fantasies and re illustrated memory. Before it was all about learning and squeezing facts out of life, now it is about withholding life, or giving birth to beautiful life, whether it be her own, a child, or something or someone she cherishes. People are stain glass windows to her lunar sculpted eyes, their feelings moving like colours, their psychic activity enveloping her like a heatwave. And you wonder why she can’t sleep, when its something her spirit so desperately needs. But your worry is her worry, and you give it to her while you fall asleep


Leo ~ Harlequin and Heroine

Wielding light at her command, this was a woman who formerly ruled the Moon. Illuminated from the heart, a golden child of the cosmos
an heiress of the day, almost sick on sunbeads. The whole charade can be in disarray, born into a kingdom of chaos and neglect. Her howl is enough to spin the earth so the sun burns nearer
feeling temperature creep into your chest, and that’s the feeling of her breath. Sun honey, a crown made of maple syrup whipped by stars. Before she had given life, and wept, and provided for. She taught to love and how to feel. And now she is all these sensations in her own side show riel
A cast selected by the heavens. A script written by a royal soul. A child at heart forced to be an actress on a stage, garnering adornment and command, painting an image with colours drenched in soul tie-dye
Tonight she fades away, but she comes to life on stage, or in your eyes, or lying with your heartbeat by her side. She feels music and cinema, she can see a part of herself in every character. Life fades as quick as fame


Virgo - Butterfly Mind

Sunburn punctures through her, a coursing burn shivers, her mind on fire, alive with anxiety and thoughts dancing in intricate design like butterflies. Charring burn down her tummy, more tension inside, stings on their wings, nervous sickness. The Leo spotlight was so loud and chaotic, the audience applause become deafening screeches in her ear, pride longing for the recognition. But the show has ended, and the Virgo has been left behind
only a shadow for company in genius that has lost its mind. The show has ended and the only audience member remaining is the critic, ready to spit his words of venom, turning up the houselights and shining them right on pretend flaws. And the only way to leave was to get down on her knees, to begin repairing herself, to scrub the world clean. The celebration is over, and now she is stuck in her mind, desperately trying to settle a million anxious butterflies


Libra Lightshow

To be a perfect mannequin, oh that was the dream. As a Virgo she sewed threads until her lungs couldn’t exhale. But now she is the dreamer of dreams, the writer of romance novels, and the personification of art. Mirror mirror on the wall, who is the most loved by all? Libra is ruled by Venus, the Goddess of Beauty, sweet Aphrodite, rising from a watery clam into the airy clouds. This is where Libra dwells, painting the sky with her thoughts, dazzling like diamonds in the sun. With a pen feather in her hands she narrates the law of the land, reigning in on righteous justice and morality. Her body moves in harmonious symmetry, graceful, her expression warm and then glacial, for she is a woman born under the air swords, so intellect rules, beauty is in the eye of the beholder
and the mind is the beholder, so sharpen your wit before you challenge her judgement, she may be vague when she enters the story she reads
But she can be a woman scorned to those who threaten her allegiances or breed toxicity, the illusion and the glamor of a hall of mirrors, each face of a flower petal projecting through entrancing display. Daughter of the equinox, blessed with a cherubin face and allure, sorely misunderstood, she is not a flirter but a lover, a woman who finds parts of herself in everyone, parts of herself she longs to love, so she longs to love you, let her love you, it will be the most exquisite thing you ever do



Scorpio - Sea Siren

She plummeted from a jewel high in the sky, the cotton candy of Libra
free falling into the bottom of the ocean. Surrounded by all sorts of strange creatures, sea entities wearing the faces of demons, fighting to survive, born inhaling poisonous water.  And so life seems like a swim upward, but the pressure so harsh, the voices of ghosts are only under the surface, surrounded by hollow mermaids, sailors who have lost their life, between two worlds, the alive and the passed. She learned to love in Libra, but now she is forced to love the darkness, to cherish the beasts in herself  that claw at the inside of her skin, to be an instrument of light infusing with shadow. The sun shining through the cracks, the burn she can feel on her shoulder blades in quiet moments, it seems like sun from the bottom of the ocean, but that is soul, that is her soul, radiating across a hidden treasure island.


Sagittarius - The End and the Beginning of Everything

Waking from what seemed like eternal death, a lifetime of dying over and over as a Scorpio, becoming a phoenix, and now dancing in the dazzling sky, like jade diamonds. Flying over all the lives she has seen, every experience fills her mind with another location, another tropical island filled with mythological secrets and opportunity. She learned the art of psychic activity as a Scorpio, and now she is in tune with cosmic timing, living in a future arranged by vision, light, and prophecy. And yet it can all feel so incomplete, having kissed death and returned to reunite with a godly lover, through wind, trees, snow, and sea. One part of her body longs for the soil of the ground, the taste of real love, the human experience, grand and simple. And yet the spirit source caresses her to elevate higher, leave the lower mind behind and anybody who dwells there, for she must meet God face to face, with no church or temple or orgasm to hide behind. Ah, this is the essence of life. To believe what she has not seen, but to believe she will, so from the sky angels dwell but concealed by her own will. Sometimes she is too scared of her own greatness, she is after all, a hunter, one whose heart is reserved for the highest priestess.



Capricorn - What Becomes of Unfulfilled Dreams

The celebration of Sagittarius was over, the room was dark, and it’s almost like
performing a whole night of making up for the night before, or the life before. The Capricorn shakes on the ledge of the highest cloud, a mere push of
invalidation or discredit enough to send her tumbling roughly onto earthly concrete, the whisper of success in her ear flying kites in the sky. Between two worlds she seems to live, seemingly forced into responsibility from the
moment she took her first breath. Every experience and achievement forced through some sort of harsh institution, a secret life where she is berated
by her own volatile voices, and a life where is must play every role with
infinite ease, displaying qualities beyond human.
Echoes of children’s laughter play like violins in her ear, a harsh reminder of a life she was never permitted to know. A world alone. The rings of Saturn the karma she is forced to bear, undertaking the duty of confronting all the madness and the  pains of the Gods. And you want her to love you? You criticise her for not showing heart? That’s all she has ever shown.



Aquarius - Bleeding Rainbows

The world was loud and cold when she took her first breath, the lingering
shadow of life as a Capricorn haunting as she shook right to her bones. Tip toeing between clouds she tried to balance the crown on her head
all she had ever known was trying to survive and now she was a mother, a lover, a guardian to every child. When she laughs rainbows from the sky appeared, she is the angel of righteousness, truth, and humanitarianism. But the responsibility is heavy, and the crown becomes straining, alone she dwells, waiting for something to change, for people to change and find their hearts, and soul, and spiritual mind so she can descend and be free, so she can live on her vibrational harmony. As a Capricorn she had already walked the temple with Saturn, and now she had been summoned for another round, and her heart was already tired, and the voices were still so loud. She had achieved so much and yet how could she feel so empty and alone? She felt betrayed by their hatred and love of war and destruction. But there was soul and she could feel it, so
her mind sang with electric impulses of spiritual nectar
a milkshake of elevation for every being. You can sometimes catch her jumping from cloud to cloud, leaving a trail of teal flickering lanterns behind



Pisces - Mermaid Mirror 

After waking from what seemed like eternal sleep, she tumbled quickly,
plunging into deep water, taking a breath, but it wasn’t
water, it was air, it was earth, and she choked. Eleven times this happened, and the 12th time she realised this was life, 11 other spirits dwelling inside. The smell of heaven and everythingness seduced her from the invisible, whispering in her ear to come home, to shut her eyes and leave this world behind. She tried to walk but never really got her balance, the floor always slipping below her, her feet only having the memory of a mermaid tail. Everything can seem directionless and unsafe, like nobody could truly ease the sores in her spirit. She constantly attempts to swim away in oblivion, but a silver cord tugs her back to earth, reminding her of intense spiritual obligation, contracts she wrote with angels and demons. She has divine truths whispered in her ear, she also has lies, the trickster’s bride. As an Aquarius she had lifted humanity, she had raised a global generation of pure heart, she swung her legs off  the clouds, but now she was burned out, longing to fall asleep again, but she needed more energy than anybody to satisfy 11 other spiritual energies. 

-Cherry

okay. okay i can’t just start this and not talk about my expectations from tv!lyra
i usually try not to have expectations of any kind (see my approach to doctor who) but it’s impossible when it comes to my all time favorite female character
so, @bbc - 

  • give me a lyra who’s wild
  • give me a lyra who’s got torn, worn hand me down clothes and dirty knees and bruises and scratches all over
  • give me a lyra with twigs in her hair and stars in her eyes
  • give me a rude lyra, a lyra who yells, a lyra who doesn’t (and frankly, can’t) hide her emotions
  • give me a leader lyra, give me a decisive and arrogant lyra
  • give me a lyra who lies without hesitation, who lies like she’s been doing it all her life because she has, give me a deceiving and cunning 11 year old child
  • give me a lyra who’s still CHILDISH as hell, who looks up to the adults she admires like they’re magic, who bluntly acts like she can blend into societies she admires with varying degrees of success (mrs. coulter’s lifestyle, the gyptians, bolvanger - depends on how hard she’s trying to lie and whether she’s just trying to have fun or actually lying for her life)
  • give me lyra’s and pan relationship - something deeper than anything else
  • yet give me a lyra who seems so different from her daemon - from responsible, planner, voice of reason pan who always has to look out for her
  • YET give me lyra and pan who are children and play together and laugh together and act as the one whole being that they are
  • give me the lyra who drove jordan scholars mad
  • give me lyra who lad gangs of street urchins into wars
  • give me lyra who earned the respect and admiration of iorek byrnison, lee scoresby and serafina pekkala (two of which are monarchs)
  • give me lyra goddamn silvertongue
Sansa and her “Stark connection”

Since the fandom is always saying how Sansa is not a Real Stark ™    I wanted to  make a post in which I explain why Sansa, born in the Winter (unlike Arya or Bran or Rickon born in the long Summer), in Winterfell (unlike Jon or Robb born in the south) will always be a Stark ( no Lannister or Baelish or whatever…), no matter who she is forced to marry (to survive I might add..). 

 In AGOT Sansa (before her father died, and when she was meant to marry joffrey) is already very proud of her Stark origins. 

Alyn carried the Stark banner. When she saw him rein in beside Lord Beric to exchange words, it made Sansa feel ever so proud.

While prefering The Seven (like her mother) she does admire the poetry of the old gods. 

Besides, even if she could leave the castle, where would she go? It was enough that she could walk in the yard, pick flowers in Myrcella’s garden, and visit the sept to pray for her father. Sometimes she prayed in the godswood as well, since the Starks kept the old gods.

By the time she reached the godswood, the noises had faded to a faint rattle of steel and a distant shouting. Sansa pulled her cloak tighter. The air was rich with the smells of earth and leaf. Lady would have liked this place, she thought. There was something wild about a godswood; even here, in the heart of the castle at the heart of the city, you could feel the old gods watching with a thousand unseen eyes.

While she is called little bird, or little dove (when people want to undermine her), she is called wolf  too.

Tyrion found himself thinking of his wife. Not Sansa; his first wife, Tysha. The whore wife, not the wolf wife.

“Your Grace has forgotten the Lady Sansa,” said Pycelle.

The queen bristled. “I most certainly have not forgotten that little she-wolf.” She refused to say the girl’s name.

And Sansa herself when she is in put  a hard position takes courage in her Stark origins. Its something that gives her  strength:

Do as you’re told, sweetling, it won’t be so bad. Wolves are supposed to be brave, aren’t they?

“Brave. Sansa took a deep breath. I am a Stark, yes, I can be brave.

"Winterfell?” Robert was small for eight, a stick of a boy with splotchy skin and eyes that were always runny. Under one arm he clutched the threadbare cloth doll he carried everywhere.

Winterfell is the seat of House Stark,” Sansa told her husband-to-be. “The great castle of the north.”

“Do you require guarding?” Marillion said lightly. “I am composing a new song, you should know. A song so sweet and sad it will melt even your frozen heart. ‘The Roadside Rose,’ I mean to call it. About a baseborn girl so beautiful she bewitched every man who laid eyes upon her.

I am a Stark of Winterfell, she longed to tell him. Instead she nodded, and let him escort her down the tower steps and along a bridge. 

 Petyr put his arm around her. “What if it is truth he wants, and justice for his murdered lady?” He smiled. “I know Lord Nestor, sweetling. Do you imagine I’d ever let him harm my daughter?

"I am not your daughter, she thought. I am Sansa Stark, Lord Eddard’s daughter and Lady Catelyn’s, the blood of Winterfell.

"As was bringing me here, when you swore to take me home.”She wondered where this courage had come from, to speak to him so frankly. From Winterfell, she thought. I am stronger within the walls of Winterfell.

I will tell my aunt that I don’t want to marry Robert. Not even the High Septon himself could declare a woman married if she refused to say the vows. She wasn’t a beggar, no matter what her aunt said. She was thirteen, a woman flowered and wed, the heir to Winterfell.

.His seamed and solemn face brought back all of Sansa’s memories of his time at Winterfell. She remembered him at table, speaking quietly with her mother. She heard his voice booming off the walls when he rode back from a hunt with a buck behind his saddle. She could see him in the yard, a practice sword in hand, hammering her father to the ground and turning to defeat Ser Rodrik as well. He will know me. How could he not? She considered throwing herself at his feet to beg for his protection. He never fought for Robb, why should he fight for me?

From the high battlements of the gatehouse, the whole world spread out below them. Sansa could see the Great Sept of Baelor on Visenya’s hill, where her father had died. At the other end of the Street of the Sisters stood the fire-blackened ruins of the Dragonpit. To the west, the swollen red sun was half-hidden behind the Gate of the Gods. The salt sea was at her back, and to the south was the fish market and the docks and the swirling torrent of the Blackwater Rush. And to the north …She turned that way, and saw only the city, streets and alleys and hills and bottoms and more streets and more alleys and the stone of distant walls. Yet she knew that beyond them was open country, farms and fields and forests, and beyond that, north and north and north again, stood Winterfell.

but personally my favorite line about Sansa being always a Stark and belonging North in Winterfell  (Never a Lannister! , no matter who she marries) is this quote by Ned: 

When it was over, he said, “Choose four men and have them take the body north. Bury her at Winterfell.”

“All that way?” Jory said, astonished.

“All that way,” Ned affirmed. “The Lannister woman shall never have this skin.

Sansa whole story (to me) is about her journey retaking her Stark origins which were stolen from her in the worst of way, just like they killed her wolf Lady. But just like Lady remains, Sansa place is and always will be in the north, as a Stark of Winterfell. 

She was never crazy.
she just didn’t let her
heart settle in a cage.
she was born wild, and
sometimes we need people
like her. For it’s the
horrors in her heart
which cause the flames
in ours. and she was
always willing to burn
for everything she has
ever loved.
—  r.m. Drake

beatrice-babe  asked:

I'm working on an assignment about how we could modify the way we teach Shakespeare so students understand it. In combing through JSTOR (our lord and savior) I found two articles both discussing how damned difficult it is to teach Shakespeare. Each is titled 'Teaching Shakespeare'. One is from 1942. The other is from 1893. It is 2017, and we still don't know how the fuck to teach this shit so people get it. Academic struggles all day every day and literally nothing has changed

University was a dream come true for me. I had amazing lecturers and the class had a three-pronged approach:

1. Explain the historical context of the play, how it was originally performed and how it was received

2. View different modern adaptations (at least 2-3, sometimes more, and ideally look at some from other cultures and in other languages) and compare and contrast how they interpret the same text

3. Encourage students to interpret the text in their own way. Wanna make A Midsummer Night’s Dream about two lesbians, Lysander and Hermia, running away from a homophobic society? Go for it. Now explain why you chose to do that and how you would stage it.

We would have lectures that were theory-based, interrupted by the professor playing some clips from different adaptations. Later in the week we would meet in a theatre space and work with the text physically, vocally, and have an open and honest discussion about what we were studying. We got through one play every two weeks over a 12 week period and came out with a solid understanding of each one. Extraordinary stuff.

Now, compare this approach, which is interesting, engaging and relevant to the modern era and our own experiences, to how it’s traditionally taught in high school.

You sit.

In a room.

You read the play.

You’re stuck with it for weeks and weeks.

You have no fucking clue what’s being said or why you should care. 

Your teacher then asks you to write an essay on a topic that will have some ludicrously long title that you barely understand.

You go away hating Shakespeare and viewing it as horrible and boring. 

And you completely miss what the text is about and what it can be about.

The thing that was really powerful at uni, and what we should endeavour to bring to teenage students, was looking at other people’s adaptations. Reading Shakespeare as a 15 year old, or indeed at any age, can be a struggle. It feels like you’re reading gobbledegook. How the hell are you supposed to understand Elizabethan slang? How are you supposed to engage with the story if you keep reaching for a dictionary every 2 seconds? But that’s where skilled actors and directors come into it, because these guys do the work for you. For example, The Globe theatre is a massive draw for tourists around the world. They perform plays in the original language in a way that is hugely accessible and entertaining for all people, no matter their background. They use voice, action and gesture to make sure you understand. It’s an old maxim that Shakespeare is meant to be seen and not heard, and it’s true, so let your students watch the professionals act it out. Let them watch two or three! Maybe more! And once they start to grasp the text, aided by historical context, get them up and get them speaking and performing. And if someone’s shy and doesn’t want to perform? That’s totally fine! They’re now the director, and they can come up with ideas that others will put into practice. 

Get people talking. Start arguments. Shakespeare’s plays will say something different to each different person. What is it about this text that you latch onto? Which adaptation did you like best? How do you think it should come to life? And when you assigns essays and assessments, let them write and argue about what they are passionate about. I fucking hate those essay prompts that box you in and allow no room to put forward your own feelings, which make you talk about the theme of forgiveness or whatever when you think fuck you, this play wasn’t about forgiveness at all, it was about (x).

Even with the little stuff, there’s no point just saying “so the definition of iambic pentameter is…” and moving on, you should be up there with your hand on your heart, making them tap along to their own heartbeats, ba-DUM, ba-DUM, ba-DUM, Two HOUSE-holds BOTH a-LIKE in DIG-ni-TY - great! You feel it, don’t you? You feel those 10 beats in your heart, and now what happens when you recite a line that’s slightly irregular? Sometimes you’ll get a weird line that’s 9, 11 or 12 syllables where everything else is 10, sometimes you’ll get the stressed syllable in a different place than it should be, and you can feel that as you’re reciting - it’s as if your heart suddenly started beating faster or skipped a beat, and you have to listen to it and ask - why did Shakespeare want me to stress that? Why did this character suddenly falter and slip out of rhythm? Same with things like assonance, alliteration, repetition, juxtaposition and all those others words that make students’ eyeballs melt out of their heads. Don’t just make them memorise an arbitrary list of definitions, show them what they can do.

For example: repetition in Much Ado About Nothing. Beatrice and Benedick will often choose a word or an idea and then hit it back and forth like a shuttlecock until one of them drops it. But it’s the repetition of the word heart that is most striking, and the image of Beatrice’s heart in particular. Beatrice has a “merry heart,” she has a “wild heart,” Margaret jokes she should lay Carduus Benedictus to “your heart,” Benedick declares he wants to “live in thy heart.” The word crops up close to forty times throughout the play, associated with love, happiness, sexual ardour - nice things, in other words. In the confession scene we see:

BEATRICE: I was about to protest I loved you.

BENEDICK: And do it, with all thy heart.

BEATRICE: I love you with so much of my heart none is left to protest. 

And then, all of a sudden, just a few lines later, Shakespeare pulls the fucking rug out from under us. Remember all that nice heart imagery? Throw it out the window, and listen to what Beatrice has to say about Claudio, the scumbag who disgraced and almost killed her innocent cousin: I would eat his heart in the marketplace.

HOOOLY SHIT DUDE

Do you see that? One word, one image, one idea and suddenly it’s like the the roof has caved in. Claudio said he loved her cousin, and then he nearly killed her. And Beatrice, with her loving, merry heart, the heart that Benedick wishes to live in, says I would eat his heart. If hurting women is what Claudio intends to do with his love and his heart, then by God she will fucking pull it out of his chest and eat it where everyone can see so they know what should happen to men like him. 

Feel it, listen to it, live it. Those definitions will seem abstract and alien when you read them on the page - who cares if a few words start with the same letter? What does it matter if he repeats a couple of words? But you have to get into the text and really hear and see, viscerally, what these techniques are capable of. They should make the hairs stand up on the back of your neck. 

Historical context is another issue I won’t go too far into, but suffice to say that it’s something that deserves far more attention than it gets. Apart from anything else, it’s interesting! People got up to crazy stuff in Shakespeare’s time, we should know about the world the Bard lived in.

I apologise for ranting, but yes. Shakespeare is often taught in an inadequate or inappropriate way, and for the sanity of high school students everywhere we should endeavour to teach teachers how Shakespeare should be taught.

I: God she had that laugh that made you wonder whether you woke up because you had to or because you wanted to.

II: She had a smile that made you want to overlook everything bad that ever happened in your life.

III: She paraded around with battle scarred arms, never trying to hide them because they showcased the war she fought with herself.

IV: And of course I was a sure fool to try and think I could love her, that I could tame her wild heart.

—  She lived on the sun by (KJ)
3

Do not turn…away my friend…like a willow…I can bend…

—–

(With Stevie Nicks at the Prudential Center. Photographs by Riff Chorusriff. April 2, 2017….

After finishing “Stand Back,” Nicks interrupted the show. The late Prince Rogers Nelson was on her mind. While she clung to a scarf tied around her mic, a single spotlight stilled the auditorium. She still couldn’t believe he was gone. When she feels nervous before a performance, she admitted that she often calls on him to be with her. And he is. 

Nicks met Prince at a party in 1979 where she regretted advising him to be more social. She was grateful he didn’t mention it years later when she had to get in touch with him. Would he mind listening to something she just recorded in the studio? Prince said sure, he’d be right over. As fate would have it, he was only 20 minutes away.

After hearing his “Little Red Corvette” on the radio, Nicks was so inspired she substituted her own lyrics and composed a whole new song. She played it for him. Prince thought it was great. He even added some synth to the verses and a guitar part in the middle–the finishing touches to what became track six on her “Wild Heart” album: “Stand Back.” An hour later, she walked him to his car. As she recalled, it was an appropriately hued purple Camaro. 

Over the years, they grew closer. Prince used to call her up when he was worried about her. They’d speak for hours. In the midst of Nicks’ well-chronicled drug addiction, he was there for her. She wishes she could have been there for him too. Continuing to tug at another scarf, she asked the audience to do her a favor. Whenever spinning “Stand Back” or “Little Red Corvette” in the future, notice how they dovetail. And, most importantly, remember her friend.

When she resumed the concert with “Edge of Seventeen,” Nicks honored Prince with a slideshow. It rendered him floating across the stage again like a white-winged dove. The whole thing was bittersweet and transcendent. I snapped the images above from the tribute.)

F a n t i n e & C o s e t t e

In the depths of Fantine’s nature, we know dwelt modesty and virtue. She had a vague feeling that she was on the eve of falling into distress. She must have courage, she had it, and bore up bravely. 

There was in Cosette’s veins the blood of the bohemian and of the adventuress who goes barefoot. It must be remembered that she was rather a lark than a dove. She was wild and brave at heart.

I can’t believe Stephanie Cordato Patrick accidentally ended up at a sketchy Halloween rave party in an abandoned warehouse without a floor.

I am incredibly interested in how she ended up there, especially considering she said you had to pay some guy on a street corner for a map.

You’ve Got Mail: An OQ AU

Robin Locksley is a small business owner, and Regina Mills is a corporate raider who has set her sights on his store–and both are completely unaware that they’re falling in love.

For @inutilidadesbytamara who AGES AGO requested a fic that was loosely based on the plot of You’ve Got Mail; and for @emmaswanchoosesyou who requested a fic in which love letters that Robin and Regina get mixed up with letters Ruby and Belle have been exchanging. 

Thanks to @lala-kate, @glindalovesshoes, @umbrellagates and @x-wishes-on-fallen-stars-x who all helped with this, in one way or another.

Keep reading

Beauty and the Beast AU

Merry Christmas, @sourwolfsparking!! <3

Wherein a young prince Derek, betrayed by his betrothed, falls into grief and isolation following the murder of his family. When a passing stranger comes to his palace doors asking for shelter, he coldly turns her away. The visitor – a druid of considerable power called Baccari – curses him for his cruelty. Recognizing the emptiness of his cold, bitter heart, she plucks a plant of wild wolfsbane from the earth and uses it for her spell, trapping him in the form of the Beast raging inside him. His servants, she spells into the shapes of inanimate objects, in the hopes that he will recognize how his cruelty affects those dependent on him.

However, she is not without mercy. She works her spell so that it will break once the prince’s heart is healed by learning to love and earn love once again… so long as he does so before the last flower from the wolfsbane plant falls.

Some few years later, in a nearby land, a young man named Stiles dreams of leaving his provincial town to find love and adventure…