Just over a month to go before exams. Attempting to take small steps now, to mitigate the eventual “fuck exams where the hell did
the semester go - did WE EVEN LEARN THAT WTF” dread that will hit me like a freight
You weren’t sure just how Bucky
Barnes had managed to get into your panties and put a ring on it, but here you
were, three years later, on a verge of a civil war between your two best
friends and a baby boy to look after whilst your husband tried to sort things
out between Tony and Steve.
Sighing softly, you watched your
(colour) haired baby boy run around in the garden, carrying his toys along with
him with the biggest toothed grin on his childish face you had ever seen. Smiling,
you glanced at the book you were reading – a boring text book about
bioengineering and neuron analyses that you had to polish up on for your job at
It seemed like your son, (B/Name),
not only inherited the looks from his father, but also his personality and
Bucky’s knack of getting into trouble. It only took a second for you to look
away and he was already swaying to the street, giggling whilst he chased a bug.
Upon noticing the absence of your pride and joy you stiffened, frantically
scanning the backyard and throwing the book to the side. You halted on your feet,
feeling dread settle in you – where did (B/Name) go?!
Horrible scenarios of HYDRA
kidnapping him rushed in your head, spreading like poison. Hurriedly, you bolted
to the front yard, nearly colliding and tumbling over your husband.
“Are…You okay?” He asked, playfully,
raising a brow at your flustered state. You released a heavy, relieved sigh
when you noted (B/Name) safe in Bucky’s arms, chewing on his plastic toy with
the same, beaming grin.
You ‘gently place’ the remaining tattered, dust-gathering books into your bag. Stumbling towards the library exit before Madam Prince can scream for Filch. Of course, she’s a respectable librarian…she just strongly dislikes you. It’s not the first time you’ve fallen asleep in the library until past curfew.
You see the door only two metres away from you and run. Naturally, you trip over your overly long robes in the process and fly ‘as gracefully as a swan’ out the door. Caught up in a cocoon of your own robes, you don’t notice the hurried footsteps come to a halt in front of you. “What the bloody hell happened to you?” a familiar, arrogant voice asked. Laced with their utter amusement at your clumsiness…or rather misfortune. Swatting your (h/l) (h/c) out of your face, you glare up at him. “What does it look like to you?” you huff, scrambling to your feet.
“Like you had a leg-locker curse cast on you.” ‘Mr I’m superior to all you peasants’ joked. Laughing hysterically while wheezing and clutching his stomach at the horrendous situation.
“Seems like you know the feeling, Malfoy. It was obviously amusing for you. Why don’t I give you another first-hand experience, hm?” you say with a smirk. That stops him short. A look of shock flitting across his delicate features. Closely followed by his signature Malfoy smirk.
“Feisty AND witty. Tell me, are all (your house) girls like this? Or am I just lucky?” he asks flirtatiously.
A series of impatient, whiny meows erupt from the corridor closest to you, cutting off your reply. Closely followed by the unsteady, yet surprisingly quick footsteps of Filch.
Simultaneously, both you and Draco turn to face each other. Identical looks of dread and horror mirroring on both of your faces.
“Shit.” you breathe in unison. You’re rooted to the ground as though the Whomping Willow has captured your feet in its gnarled clutches. Both of you stand in a daze. The dread somehow increasing your mass.
“Where did Blondey go, my sweet?” Filch pants to Mrs Norris. Almost near the corner to the corridor.
“Run.” Draco hisses. A scowl on his face at the nickname. You’re yanked forward by his veiny, masculine hand pulling you after him. Snapping back to reality, you sprint with him. Hearts pounding and fear gripping your chests, you and Draco run through corridor after corridor. The loud thuds of your footfalls echoing off the walls. You are sure Filch is headed after you both. You have no idea where you are headed.
“Dr-Malfoy! Where are we going?!” he glances at you, his smirk in place.
“WHAT?!?!” you shriek.
“Did you hear that my sweet? I think we’ve found Blondey…and his accomplice.” Filch says from the corridor ahead. Probably with that creepy smile of his.
How the hell did he get there?!? Accomplice?! Whats going on?!?!?!
“Dray-oomph!” you are cut off by a sharp tug on your hand that drags you into a secret passageway hidden in a wall. You soon realise you’re pressed chest to chest with Draco. Both of you pant heavily. Beads of sweat run down your faces. You take in Draco’s appearance. The flush on his usually pale skin, his platinum hair plastered to his forehead,his unusually bright grey eyes boring into your own (e/c) irises and his lush, pink lips.
You feel yourself trapped under his piercing gaze. You blink. Only to find that you have both unconsciously moved closer. You are inches apart. His hot breath fans across your face.
“What did Filch mean by accomplice…Blondey?” you ask him.
Laughter bubbles in your chest at the nickname. You try to keep a straight face but one look at Draco’s hilariously embarrased face sets you off. Once you start laughing and you can’t stop. “B-blondey.” you stammer. You can’t breathe you’re laughing so much it physically hurts. You look up and see Draco…smiling. At you. Smiling. Draco Lucius Malfoy does not…smile. But it makes your heart flutter. You never realised how handsome and sexy he was due to his usual sneer.
“When did you get so hot?” you whisper. Not able to stop the words.
“Always have been, sweatheart.” he says with a wink and pushes you against the cool wall. His face moves closer to yours until your lips are an inch from his.
He smirks that devilishly sexy smirk of his and captures your lips in his. Immediately you kiss back. Soft, sweet and gentle. He swipes his tongue on your bottom lip, seeking entrance. But you don’t give it to him. The kiss soon turns into a full on rough, make out session.
You wind your fingers into his soft hair and tug. Getting a sweet moan in return. Draco bites your lower lip and pulls. You groan and allow him entrance. Both your tongues fight for dominance. Draco’s skilled hands find their way to your bum and he breaks away to whisper, “Jump.” Before your lips latch onto each other again. You oblige to his command and wrap your legs around his waist and arms around his neck. He begins to grind on you and you feel his hard member between the items of clothing. Both of you let out a groan in response.
Draco pulls away. A soft whimper escapes your swollen lips and he smirks. “Don’t worry love, they’ll come back.” he says laughing lightly before beginning to kiss down your jaw line. You groan and rest your head against the wall. Your eyes roll into the back of your head and moan leaves your lips when he starts to nibble. Draco plants a quick peck on your awaiting lips before moving, you still clinging to him.
“Where are we going?” you whine. “You can’t just leave me while i’m…” he kisses you softly.
“We’re going to my dormitory. Sound good to you?” he asks smirking again. You rest your head on the crook of his neck in reply and he opens the wall. “Filch will be on the 7th floor by now..we shouldn’t get caught.”
“What did he mean by accomplice, Draco?” he stops walking and stares at you.
“Carry on calling me Draco from now on, I like it.” he says then carries on walking.
“And he said that because…I pulled a little prank is all.” he says smugly.
“A prank? You?”
“The Weasel twins aren’t the only pranksters in this school.” Is all he says.
“What did you do?” you ask excitedly.
“You’ll find out tomorrow no doubt.”
“Draco…” you whine.
“I’m not giving in.” he says adamantly avoiding your gaze.
“I’ll tell you a secret about Harry.” you say in a sing-song voice.
“Deal.” he says evily.
You soon arrive to the Slytherin common room and begin your ‘love making’ and secret telling. Apparently Draco made a few…adjustments to the layout of the Great Hall. The teacher’s chairs have been replaced with shrunked copies and placed under a charm to innable them from being changed. Poor Hagrid…
Though little does Draco know that Harry’s ‘little secret’ is really a lie of your fabrication. I mean Harry obviously doesn’t doodle about Draco in his school books…That’s just absurd. Their little fights are nothing but cooped up sexual tension which you are helping relieve…*smirk*
Screenwriting: The Romantic Comedy, Part 1. What Happened?
I came across an article a few weeks ago that discussed which genre had the most original screenplays. In an industry rife with remakes and sequels, I assumed it was the world of low-budget horror where the most original works were to be found. I was wrong. It was romantic comedies that held that title.
I have a hard time accepting this because for the most part, there really hasn’t been a more derivative or lifeless genre in the movie industry for the past twenty-odd years. Sure there have been one-off successes (Bridesmaids comes to mind, but it’s a stretch to call it ‘romantic’) but for the most part as a genre it’s been pretty flat out awful.
But here’s the thing - it’s an insanely profitable genre. Ever since the industry came up with the idea of counter-programming, i.e. giving the sophisticated ladies something to watch while their knucklehead boyfriends watch the latest installment of Transformers, there’s been a need for romantic comedies to be churned out. And since there’s a ton of knucklehead movies, there’s gonna be a ton of romcoms.
With pretty much every Nicholas Sparks novel being exhausted and every holiday ruinously exploited (Valentines Day, New Years Day - both AWFUL), desperate Hollywood and Indies alike have decided to hit below the belt and go after that most uncomfortable of targets - women’s self-esteem.
Hey ladies! Can’t find a man? Unmarried by the age of 33? Can’t conceive? Feeling fat and ugly? Overworked with kids? Don’t know how she does it? Unrecognized at work with a nagging misogynistic boss who for whatever reason you feel the desire to fuck? Let’s have 99-lb Kate Beckinsale with mussed-up hair and no makeup play you and show a remarkable transformation via expensive clothing, soft lighting, five layers of Spanx and “empowerment” in the form of a swift knee to the boss’ crotch.
In the past week I’ve sat down with Netflix and negotiated the treacherous psychological minefield of the Romantic Comedy queue. Movie after movie was women denigrating themselves, calling themselves stupid, fat, ugly, hopeless, not worthy and undesirable. Almost universally it took a handsome bohemian man to let these ladies know that they are in fact the opposite of what they believe, this despite a quasi-fugly female / gay bestie comic relief who eventually comes around the end and tells our newly made over (and owner of her newly opened flower shop!) heroine to “go get him.” Ensue comidic running / driving / general humiliation that culminates in a choice - should be with the male model asshole or the male model bad-boy-with-a-heart-of-gold-who-keeps-it-real, because, you know, there’s only two guys in the universe. Guess who she ends up with.
One after another. Low-budget indie to multimillion dollar star vehicles, it was this same derivative crap. And they’re not funny, they’re mean spirited, with humor coming in the form of humiliation and insults. I’ve seen the true face of nihilism and it’s not No Country for Old Men, it’s the collective works of Katherine Heigl, Jennifer Aniston and Gerard Butler. Paint the face of human tragedy with a pregnancy test and a fake eHarmony profile. It’s dreadful.
Where did it all go wrong? Poor Nora Ephron and John Hughes are spinning in their respective graves. There is a very rich and beautiful history of romantic comedies, from classics like Roman Holiday to the penultimate When Harry Met Sally. Movies that made us laugh, made us think, made us cry. Romcoms today are like the cold steel of grandpa’s shotgun put between our teeth. They exist to point out our shortcomings and propose “solutions” that are based on superficiality and psychological placebos.
I want to see great romantic comedies again, and I know so many men and women want them too. They’re the stories of our lives, our pursuits of love and happiness, and sometimes they don’t always work out (cue Audrey Hepburn with that look, the one that melts my heart every time).
The commonality to all these great romcoms is a dose of sadness, with either love unrequited or the pains of separation, be it permanent or temporary. Perhaps this is the missing element to today’s romcoms, which tend to focus on a woman somehow gaining all that she perceives that she lacks (a good man, a solid career, the ability to balance life and love), whereas romcoms of the past (and by past I mean the 80s and previous), it is not about the practicality of love, rather it is a portrait of how messy and impractical love can be.
It’s important to always remember that a key element to comedy is tragedy. It’s a basic tenet displayed in the universal symbol of the theater with the masks of Melpomene (Tragedy Mask) and Thalia (Comedy Mask). The two are inextricably linked, as Nietzsche famously stated “beneath the conformist, there lives the satyr.” Dante called The Inferno a part of “The Divine Comedy,” implying a sentiment best coined by Jules Renard which is that if we “look for the ridiculous in everything, eventually we shall find it.”
The notion of romantic love in and of itself is absurd, that we’re at times willing to risk life and limb for nothing but a mere “feeling.” It is that absurdity, that impracticality, which makes it so inspiring. It speaks to our crazy, irrational selves, the reckless abandon that invokes the freedom of youth, the liberation that comes with naivety. Love is about not always doing the right thing, it is sloppy, it rarely makes sense. The greatest romantic comedies understood this.
Reality Bites, one of my faves.
The modern romantic comedy is desperately trying to create order from chaos, trying to make sense of messy lives and label and compartmentalize them, trying to find practical and marketable solutions to impractical problems. They are giving us practical fantasies, whereas the best romantic comedies gave us impractical realities.
What befuddles me more is that a vast majority of these romcoms are being written by women, and yet these stories are relentlessly cruel to women, and show women being relentlessly cruel to each other while the men stand by and watch. It’s like those girlfights in high school where one girl finds out her boyfriend has been cheating on her, and instead of going after the guy she goes after the other girl. Never made sense to me. Men in romantic comedies get away with murder while it is the women who suffer. If that’s meant to be a mirror of society, then well, we’re seriously fucked.
To repair the genre, we have to acknowledge three things. The first is that romantic love presents no easy solutions, and the second is that people should not be cruel to each other, because fate and destiny provide enough cruelty to handle. The third thing to accept may sound radical but it really isn’t, and that is to accept that romantic comedies are not the sole voice of women. Romcoms are not women’s stories, they are simply stories. Pandering to the insecurities of women is violence in the written word, and it needs to stop. Misery loves company, and it makes for rotten art. Think of all those Photoshopped covers of women’s magazines that accomplish nothing but instilling insecurity in women and false expectations in men. They are lies about what is considered life, they are fabrications of the highest order.
One of these people exist.
Armed with these three revelations, in the next segment we’ll talk about how to approach writing a romcom. In the meantime I urge you to watch a few romcoms, both modern and classic, and see if these observations I’ve made ring true. I’d love to know your take on it.
i’m so tired to ppl’s entitlement over fanfics on this site
“i demand more super long fics/authors should have a much higher word count requirement for x” “where did all the fic go?!” “i dread the day when destiel fic stops being written it’s thinning out so much”
first of all, between ao3, tumblr, and LJ there’s probably a new damn destiel fic published into existence every damn day. i find them all the time! holy crap! i can’t keep up!
also, there is PLENTY of long fic out there
alSO FIC WRITERS ARE WRITING FOR FREE AND HAVE LIVES AND FAMILIES AND NEED TO DO THINGS SO THEY CAN MAKE MONEY TO DO THINGS LIKE EAT AND HAVE MEDICAL CARE AND PAY BILLS AND OWN THE COMPUTERS THEY WRITE WITH AND HAVE THE INTERNET THEY NEED TO POST FIC AND ALSO DO FUN THINGS AND HAVE AN EMERGENCY SAVINGS!
AND 50K IS LONGER THAN A LOT OF NOVELS!!!!!!! IT’S A LOTTA DAMN WORK!!!! for almost NO recognition nowadays. seriously. people will complain and complain and complain about fics not updating or lack of fics, but won’t take a damn second to like, reblog, fave, leave kudos and comments (WITHOUT haughty entitled demands or other rudeness) tO ACTUALLY SHOW THEY APPRECIATE WHAT THE AUTHOR IS DOING AND READ THEIR THING AND LIKED IT
why would fanfic authors want to continue laboring over novels and short stories to only receive nothing and/or rudeness and/or more demands with no thanks in the end??? honestly???
bring back appreciative attitudes towards fic authors 2k16