the king of the forest

8

We need more examples of genuinely happy, healthy relationships on TV and in books and in films. No more of this bullshit about how real, epic love is painful and impossible or deadly. Love should not break you! Love should make you stronger. (insp)

jalapeno--business  asked:

So whenever I read trc, I'm always overwhelmed by this almost pathological desire to experience the same feelings of wonder and beauty and magic that you describe in the series. Yes, I understand that there is no sentient, magical forest to discover, and no sleeping king that I can search for, but I still have this urge to have similar feelings and experiences in my life. So how do you experience a similar kind of magic and wonder that you describe in your books, in everyday life?

Dear jalapeno–business,

Are you listening closely?

As an author, I travel a lot. At one point, I was on the road one day out of every three — planes, hotels, rental cars. There’s a rhythm to it, like running up a very long flight of stairs. You figure out how many stairs you can take in a jump, and how to breathe-in-breathe-out to keep from wasting your lungs, and you learn how to tell when you have to stop to rest your knees or you just won’t make it to the top. 

The airports and the planes and the people can all start to seem the same after awhile, if you’re looking at them wrong. If you let them. Anything in life can sound ordinary if that’s all you’re listening for.

Back in 2014, I was in a Texas airport. The night had that glittering senseless jitter to it that happens when you’re tired but going home, finally going home. I was early for my flight and sitting several gates away from my real gate, listening to music. A young man sat down two seats away. Ordinarily, tired and occupied with the peculiar every-day magic of the music in my headphones, I wouldn’t have noticed him, but a moment later, a phone rang. He asked if it was mine; it wasn’t. Someone had forgotten it on the seat between us. 

We both looked at it.

It rang again for someone who didn’t know to pick up, and then he took it away to one of the United desks for them to give it to someone who would listen. He didn’t return.

Two hours later, I went to my real gate to board. Full flight. Everyone was checking and double-checking their seat assignments as they defended their right to aisles and windows. When my seatmate settled himself next to me, I looked up, and it was the guy from the waiting area. He had a tilt to his chin that telegraphed that he thought he was hot shit and a grin that said he recognized me. 

“Hey.”

“Hey.”

We laughed ruefully and applied our headphones — we both knew the routine of polite air travel. But the agreeable tingle of the coincidence still ate at me, and I could tell it ate at him, too, because after a few moments, he offered me a truffle from his bag. I told him I couldn’t take it because of my allergies, but the headphones came off. We started to talk.

And he was a big talker. He was cocky. A surgical resident. He told me how he loved the hell out of taking internal organs out of people. He described how he listened to sixty-minute epic soundtracks in his ear buds while he removed appendixes and gallbladders, kidneys and stones. He told me of watching Dateline by himself at the end of seventy and eighty hour work weeks, and he told me about his Hyundai, which I made fun of. Confidentially, he whispered to me about a surgeon he knew who had the goal of removing every gallbladder in Texas. Two hours into the flight, the conversation tilted toward spirituality. He’s hot shit, he confessed, and works hard, but he sometimes wonders if he’s allowed to want to be successful, or if that makes him a bad person. Because he’s working a lot of hours in a week, and he’s tired, but he’s pretty sure that he’s hot shit, but maybe that’s not allowed.

I was watching him fumble his fingers over each other. He was scratching a hole in his own palm.

And all at once there was a phone in my head, and it was ringing just for me. 

“One of your parents has obsessive-compulsive disorder,” I told him. “Maybe both.”

The shimmering grin slipped. “How did you know? How could you know that?” 

I asked him if he was getting treatment for it.

He said, “No, no, I’m over it. How could you know that?”

Because in a foggy way, that phone was still ringing between us, and now, I recognized the number.

I said, “Don’t kill yourself.”

He replied, “No way,” and then he started to cry. 

The shit-eating grin had vanished. He told me how he’d made up his mind that he didn’t want to make it to 35. He’d researched all the ways to make sure he didn’t. Over the next hour, I told him about my OCD, and how I thought his uncertainty over wanting to be successful but also wanting to be humble was a function of his OCD’s spiritual obsession. That he wasn’t over OCD, that you never were, but that his agony didn’t have to be a real thing. He could be both humble and successful. It wasn’t against the rules of goodness to be proud of what you’d done, as long as you were doing things for the right reasons. I told him how once I bought a race car, but I’d given it away to someone who could use the money, because I realized I was only racing to look sexy in a car, and not because it was really making me happy. 

I told him he didn’t have to worry about looking sexy in a Hyundai, though, and he replied that he would look sexy in anything, and then he cried a little more. 

Everyone else in the plane was asleep, but we were wide awake.

When we got off the plane in Virginia, the surgical resident gave me an awkward side-hug, and he wiped his face. Then he dug in his bag for the wrapper from his truffle. As the other travelers shuffled past us sleepily, he pressed it into my hand. He didn’t want to give me his name, he said, but he wanted something for me to remember so that when we ran into each other again in 15 years, I’d know who he was.

After we’d parted ways, I turned my phone off airplane mode, and a text came in that had been sent while I was in the air. It was from the person I’d given the race car to. I hadn’t heard from him in nearly six months. The text said only: thank u maggie i have such a hppy life bc of u

Magic.

You have to be listening closely. Phones are ringing all over the world, and sometimes they look like magical forests, and sometimes they look like race cars, and sometimes they look like surgical residents.

urs,

Stiefvater

how to make friends for life (lit edition)

the secret history: get high, do a bacchanal and start a series of plans to cover a murder that lead to a second murder

the raven cycle: try to find a dead welsh king in a magical forest dreamed by your farmer roommate

the foxhole court: stop hiding from your mobster father to play an unpopular sport and let your teammates protect you

flickr

red deer laurel leaves on head by Peter Warren

anonymous asked:

Hi, I love your blog. I was wondering whether you can recommend me some good supernatural or magical AU fanfiction. I love those types of fics but I don't know where to start. Thank you :)

Thank you for this request! I’ve read some fantastic magic AU fics, and I’m more than happy to recommend some to you! 

(⊃。•́‿•̀。)⊃━☆゚.*・。゚

Originally posted by brendachanblr


Magic AU


Expomise by thankyouforexisting, Teen, 68k
YOI/Hogwarts crossover that is too pure for words. First year muggle-born Yuuri get paired up with the Victor Nikiforov in potions class. Filled with after school study sessions, magic, pining, and skating! LOVE!

You Charm Me by Yuechum, Gen, 1.8k
Magic AU where Victor is a human pining for the witch, Yuuri. Quick and cute fic filled with fluff and magic!

A Thread of Silver by orbitdorsi, Teen, 23k (WIP)
Once upon a time, Yuuri got lost in the woods and met a fairy named Victor, who helps him find his way. Years later, they meet again.. but Yuuri doesn’t remember that night so long ago. Stunning fairy AU!

Worth War by flippednique, Teen, 36k (WIP)
What makes Yuuri Katsuki so special? Why are they sending General Viktor Nikiforov to save him? I LOVE THIS FIC

Strange Magic by mandathegreat, Explicit, 13k
In which Viktor Nikiforov is the Pride of Durmstrang and the Seeker for Russia, Yuuri is Hufflepuff’s Hero and a Hot Mess, and there is a Triwizard Tournament, which is a shame because Yuuri really needs to play Quidditch this year, and he doesn’t really have time to fall in love. SO GOOD JUST READ IT!!

Magic on Ice by chibilysis (xyrilyn), Teen, 30k (WIP)
Yuuri’s first accidental magic took the form of a miniature snowstorm in his room. By the time his parents realised something was off, Yuuri’s bedroom was one feet deep in magical snow. Hogwarts/YOI crossover that is amazing!

Mismatched by orion_keep_me_company, Mature, 60k (WIP)
Viktor Nikiforov has spent two thousand years without a soulmate, having given up centuries ago. Yuuri Katsuki has to struggle with leading thousands of werewolves despite being the youngest leader in werewolf history. Very intense magic AU! Thumbs up!

That’s the trouble with us by heygorgeous, Teen, 6.3k (WIP)
Viktor Nikiforov is a legend. That, anyone within a five mile radius of the porcelain demigod can tell; the fact that there’s a statue of the man smack in the middle of the institution’s courtyard goes to show exactly how deeply regarded he is. One of the best magic AUs I’ve read!

The Hour by orphan_account, Teen, 18k (WIP)
Yuuri opened his eyes. That was the last thing he remembered – the coolness enveloping him starting from where long, pale fingers were pressed against his cheeks and rippling throughout his feverish body, and then crystal blue eyes locking into his. I couldn’t stop reading this omg

Enchanted by FlishFlash121, Teen, 5.8k (WIP)
Viktor Nikiforov is the eleven king of an enchanted forest. Mortal Katsuki Yuuri finds himself on a mission in said forest. Lovely magic AU!

Eros in Progress by trixiechick, Teen, 61k (WIP)
Becoming soulmates was just the beginning of the story. Amazing soulmate/magic crossover!