My commentary whilst watching Buzzfeedblue’s “The Strange Drowning of Natalie Wood”
I was gonna sleep
(ha… me, sleeping.) and then I remembered they posted a video. So i go check
it out and 5 seconds in Shane calls Ryan baby… Guess im just doomed to a
sleepless eternity because of these dorks. humph.
1. I ship them, if you don’t that’s cool with
2. This post is super long
3. I long for the day I no longer have to
cross out the boy in boyfriend when it comes to these two. this will be
abundantly clear by the amount of times i do
4. After a little bit i will stop putting full
names, so just know.
5.I recommend watching the video along with or
before going through this post, because if you haven’t seen it you will be
Summary:You’ve just moved to a new apartment and are totally crushing on the guy who lives in 2F. Now if only you could remember to catch his actual name…or see him anywhere outside of the laundry room for that matter.
Warnings: A couple swears I think thats about it
Word Count: 1,453
Notes: This stems from so many mini prompts that I’m not going to mention them all. Also I suck at titles and descriptions. Whoops?
Still being a newbie in your apartment, you haven’t quite had the time to get to know any of your neighbors. While getting mail one day you’d met the guy who lives in 2F and had a great conversation about his work and your recent move, but then stupidly you left without getting his name. Now every time you see him in the lobby or in the hallway, you’ll exchange pleasantries by addressing each other with your apartment numbers. Sure he had said to swing by any time if you needed anything, but he probably, no he definitely didn’t mean if you needed his name and number because you thought the only neighbor you’d met so far was cute as all hell.
Summary: In which Will is a baseball player, Nico’s just looking for some alone time, and they both end up stumbling on each other. (Of spring nights, star-watching, and the particular rhythm of falling in love.)
For the record, the situation is not weird until Jason makes it weird.
The thing is, the clearing out behind the baseball field is Nico’s clearing. It has been for years. There’s a shortcut to the high school cutting through the woods in Nico’s backyard, and the trail passes right through this circle of trees where the light filters golden through the branches and the ground is carpeted in thick, soft moss, interwoven with tiny purple flowers.
The clearing is where Nico goes in the evenings to think. It’s where he goes to breathe. It’s where he goes to sketch, to cry, to try and forget himself.
And, now, it’s where he goes to watch Will Solace play baseball.
“The world is a mess, and I just need to rule it.” “Wow, sarcasm. That’s original.” “A man’s gotta do what a man’s gotta do.” “I’m just a few weeks away from a real audible connection.” “Did you notice that he threw you in the garbage?” “Dude. You are NOT my nemesis." "And these.. are not the hammer.” “You’re driving a spork into your leg.” “What a crazy random happenstance!” “Do I even know you?” “Goodness, look at my wrist, I gotta go.” “I hate the homeless…ness problem that plagues our city.” “I have a PHD in horribleness.” “I hear it’s better the second time, they say you get to do the weird stuff.” “Give my regards to St. Peter. Or whoever has his job, but in Hell.” “Oh I’m in pain… I think this is what pain feels like!” “Everyone’s a hero in their own way.” “I won’t feel a thing.”
I just realized that amanda probably doesn’t know todd has pararibulitis yet…. he was on the phone with her when it first happened but with the way things had been going in his life for the preceding weeks I don’t think him screaming would immediately make her think ‘oh he actually has the disease now, too! what a crazy random happenstance!!’
and then I started thinking… what if he tries to tell her later and she doesn’t believe him and thinks he’s just trying to get on her good side again ;__;
In the sixth months since I first kissed him, tangled up in that careworn hand-stitched quilt, I managed to convince Marco to drink my blood exactly twice. He’d contracted his own personal brand of freckly - vampire sunstroke on both occasions. The first time a dog, this ridiculous little head on collision between a corgi and some form of collie-ish thing, got clipped by a car on the main road and limped up the alley into our lot and he spent the two hottest hours of the day coaxing the whimpering, snapping mess into a box to get her to the vet. (“Why the hell didn’t you just call me?” “I don’t think straight when there’s cute things!”) The little gray-and-black corglie left a couple of holes in my hand during the process of transporting her to the vet school, and by the time I’d finished filling out forms and come home he was once again a shivering heap in his big four-poster bed, stomach full of an ice-cold AB+ slushie and it wasn’t too hard to crawl into his nest and convince him to lick away the scabs forming on the (thoroughly disinfected okay) holes in my wrist.
The second time I got a text at around 4 am announcing, without preamble, that the last time he saw a sunrise Jimmy Carter was president and at 8 am I more or less scraped him off his front porch with a spatula.
They spread lilies on your grave, the petals surrounding the base of your headstone like tears. They spoke over your empty tomb and cried when the earth yawned and swallowed you up, not knowing that it was the sky that had whisked you away so far from home and gulped you down whole. Body on the ground. Head in the clouds. Typical.
Years went by and The flowers wilted, the soil by the grave became sunken and beaten by the same pair of men’s shoes, the weather beat the marble slab emblazoned with your name and a fake history until cracks appeared and the weeds began to grow. Vines, roots, nettles stinging and sharp and angry, rising from the dirt they banished your name to; fighting back, taking claim of the land that punished the memory, a message of return. The grave no longer passive, or quiet, but rumbling and planning and desperate. Returning, Perhaps now a bitter thing. A worried, anxious thing. But flowers still bloom along the edges of the disaster after the rain has been - white, hopeful.
The files that mentioned your name were burned by delightful hands that were wiped clean on pristine handkerchiefs once the deed complete and messages of condolences delivered to your mother with a painted frown. Existence is futile, resistance is impossible; a life confined and defined forever in explosions. First cars, now extremely expensive space travel vehicles- what a crazy random happenstance. Tortured, Turned into a lonely voice on the end of a line that nobody picks up, words drifting on the breeze already forgotten, unheard; a world deaf to the sound of your screaming. A meagre gravestone on the edge of town visited routinely by a kid some say is yours, but she doesn’t confirm it. A kid getting weaker; the promises they made you are as empty as your coffin. They have muffled you, and this is, in some part, a blessing, something to be grateful for, but they have not cut the chord completely. The worst punishment of them all - a half assed job. The voice rambles for eternity, rotting, perpetual, insatiable, unanswered: “am I alone now?”
Death pulled you into its grasp and spat you back out, still burning with the fires of hatred and Hell. The stench of it lingers in your hair and on the records that were destroyed, the lies that they gorged the media and the crew with until they were fatted and gullible. The snarl that curls your mouth bares teeth ready to bite the hand that tries to silence you, body tense and eager to strike. You will walk the earth again in flames if you have to, drag yourself across the dirt they didn’t even bother to bury you in, blood on your hands and feet and maybe not all of it yours. The globe will shake and the ocean will swell to the sound of your voice: ‘I’m coming for you, you fucks.’ Death shrinks back from you, cowers in the shadows as you push evil into the light to combust, and it terrifies you. It grips you in the night and you try not to be buried alive under the weight of your own trauma, try to swim against the currents of fear and danger that threaten to push you back. That is how they defeat you- lock you up inside your head. So Be a big girl, don’t die, survive and shout about it. The world awaits.
Below the cut is my best effort at putting the events shown to date in chronological order, some guesses about timing intervals, and editorial comments. I generally update this the Monday after the show airs.
Note: For numbering purposes, I have treated the two-hour episode in 4a as a single episode.
Also Note: The dates assigned to most Camelot events make no sense. I have ignored them, therefore, and put the ones I could guess at in logical order.
5.16 Hades and Zeus have a bit of an argument. Zeus ends up ruling Olympus; Hades ends up “ruling” the Underworld with a heart that doesn’t beat, unable to feel any of the kinder emotions.
SOMEONE ON ANON asked me which GREEK GODS i thought the boys would be but THAT has been done and is boring so i’m going to say WHICH GREEK HEROES instead (also bc im tired and want to cheat and i already have 4/5 named in my tags….sorry….rip). “HEROES” is being interpreted LOOSELY.
HARRY is GANYMEDE bc like “ah lol im just minding my own business being a hot normal guy oops whats this im on mount olympus now and all i have to do is hold a cup and get boned sometimes, sweet, what a crazy random happenstance *smug dimple at camera*”
zayn is HYACINTHUS bc im PRETTY sure if zayn ever had to play frisbee we’d see him die please protect zayn from disc throwing
LIAM is ORPHEUS and if u dont know WHY liam is orpheus go listen to hadestown and then come back and be like WOW WADE u BEAUTIFUL GENIUS ur RIGHT liam is ONLY ORPHEUS EVER all the time.
NIALL is IOLAUS mainly bc i had a HUGE crush on him in the tv series BUT for real niall is THESEUS but like minotaur-era theseus, not post-minotaur sack of limp dicks theseus
LOUIS is the minotaur. OR geryon. my little red boy with his little red dog. NEITHER of those is a hero bUT guess what this is my list and i said so. (fart noise). if he ISN’T EITHER of those bc ur BORING then he’s patroclus. but like actual iliad spitfire jackass patroclus not wet rag tsoa patroclus.