Ok Frost I’m only halfway through Andor rn BUT I am already getting ready to update my Star Wars Soundtrack Top Hits playlist after I finish it so I gotta know— what are your faves from the soundtrack I should definitely have on there?
you are so sexy for asking this Sabrina thank you. Nicholas Birtell is a madman for this soundtrack.
in no particular order:
Past/Present Suite
Pilgrim
Climb!
The Cassian Way
Niamos! (there are several mixes of this one and they’re all bangers)
Heroes
My Name is Kino Loy
Your Mother is Dead
Clem’s Stone
Manifesto
Forming Up/Unto Stone We Are
Cassian Will Find Us
Kill Me
every episode opening has a different theme, and i highly recommend all of them.
volume 3 of the ost kind of wins, honestly. also the music from the finale all goes so hard it had no right.
i know that’s too many but i couldn’t pare it down anymore than that. hope this helps love!
Author: elizaham8957/ stilesssolo
Rating: Mature
Fandoms: Game of Thrones (TV)
Relationships: Jon Snow/Daenerys Targaryen
Characters: Jon Snow, Daenerys Targaryen, Rhaegar Targaryen, Margaery Tyrell, Robb Stark
Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, werewolf!Jon, and hunter!dany, it’s a teen wolf au okay because I am TRASH, high school setting, First Love, Angst, Fluff and Angst, I suppose, the major character death is NOT JONERYS, who do I look like d&d???, Jonerys Remix 2020
don’t you ever tame your demons
SUMMARY: “It must be a serial killer,” someone whispers in her history class. Sort of right, Dany thinks. “What other kind of person would be psycho enough to murder a bunch of people and then tear their bodies up?”
Someone who’s not really a person, she thinks. Gods, it’s almost sad how uninformed the people of Winterfell are.
They’ve gone and made the school mascot a direwolf, their town is on the edge of the Wolfswood, and still no one seems to realize that there are werewolves lurking in their small town.
People are closed minded, she supposes. Most of them don’t even realize the supernatural world exists. And that’s their first mistake.
I’ve talked about this THREE times in the past week, why are all my friends running on the same wavelength? 😂 This is always a hard question for me, since I really don’t look for myself in characters, for some reason. I guess I identify most with Merlin from the BBC series—snarky, quiet but mouthy, secretive (but not good at it) only trustful of a few people irl, and fiercely protective.
H: How would you describe your style?
Hmm, I feel like this depends on what part of a fic I’m writing. When I’m describing a setting, the backdrop for a scene, I’m incredibly minimalist. I hate describing rooms and surroundings and worlds (that’s why writing my Star Wars AU has been so hard!) so I spend as little time as possible on that. Emotions and introspection, on the other hand, is the driving motivation behind anything I write. Those parts tend to be long and flowery—I wouldn’t go so far as saying poetic, but they’re pretty rambly.
L: What’s the weirdest AU you’ve ever come up with?
I can’t think of any AU that’s super weird, but I’ve come up with some for very, very strange reasons.
For instance, my Teen Wolf AU Cold Bones came into being because I had the image of Lydia lying on the floor burned into my brain. Then it turned into an almost dystopian story where I killed nearly every Teen Wolf character? Just because I could.
Then for SPN, I always wanted to write wingfics, but I could never bring myself to do it in the canon ‘verse, it would seem too weird. So I ended up constructing an AU in which Jack was raised in a lab with manifested wings—all because I wanted a SamJack wingfic. (I haven’t actually posted or even written this yet)
M: Got any premises on the back burner that you’d care to share?
Good lord, my back burner is so cluttered (and also on fire)
I’ve been chewing on a Stydia college fic with deaf!Lydia for over a year now.
I don’t care how dead The Originals fandom is, I’m still writing for it. I want to write a Klope AU that fixes that pesky time-jump between seasons 4 and 5. I’m also developing a modern AU with the Mikaelsons as foster kids.
And all my friends already know about the SPN/Star Wars AU that I’ve been writing for the past...8 months or so? That one I’m actively working on, but I’m 40k in with no end in sight! 😅
P: Are you what George R. R. Martin would call an “architect” or a “gardener”? (How much do you plan in advance, versus letting the story unfold as you go?)
I’m VERY much a planner! I had to map out the entire Star Wars AU until I could start writing any of it. Even now, I won’t write a scene without mapping it out in detail.
The ONE exception to this is my TO fic Entre Tus Alas, which barely counts since it’s so short. But I planned the story with no plot twists, and one just naturally occurred to me as I wrote it. That’s the only time something unplanned has happened in my story and it’s actually worked. All those posts about writers not being able to control their characters? I can’t relate—characters in my fics are on a very tight leash!
Tessa gets momentarily distracted as her eyes linger on his forearms, the muscles contracting as he presses his hands together in front of his mouth.
Hold
He wraps his hands tightly around her waist again and she tries to hold in her gasp but it’s falling from her mouth anyway. “So you like that,” he says to himself smugly.
“Dad, this is the third chipotle you’ve passed!” Stiles yelps, smacking his hand against the window of the cruiser. His father ignores his bleat of protest with a mere glance in Stiles’ direction, speeding past the restaurant and towards Beacon Hills. Stiles sighs, slumping against his seat dejectedly.
“And I told you the first time,” his father replies patiently, “that I have dinner for us at home.”
“But I haven’t had chipotle since August!” protests Stiles in a last ditch attempt to convince his dad to turn around.
“I know for a fact they have Chipotle in D.C., kiddo,” says the sheriff. “You’re gonna have to try another tactic.”
“Were you this stubborn when I left for college?”
“Yes,” his dad says firmly.
Stiles grumbles under his breath, finally giving up in favor of staring at the palm trees outside his window. The flight from D.C. to California always feels much longer than it is, probably because he’s so desperate to get off the plane. Beacon Hills is by no means his favorite town in the world, but it’s still his favorite place to be. It’s where his real bed is, where Scott is, and it’s the place where he knows the streets so well, it’s almost like he’d paved them himself.
Plus, it’s Christmas, and while Stiles hates the fact that California doesn’t have snow, he much prefers their weather to the cold. The further away he is from freezing, the better.
They pass Scott’s street, and Stiles looks wistfully down the road to where he knows his best friend is. Scott’s been back for a week, and Stiles itches to drive over and hunker down in their favorite bean bag chairs, play video games, and talk about nothing. They’re nineteen-years-old, but some things never change, and Stiles knows that for him and Scott, stuffing their faces with cheese puffs is going to be one of those things.
But moments later, they’re turning down Woodbine Lane, and then they’re in front of the house and suddenly Stiles doesn’t miss Chipotle or Chick Fil A or In ‘N Out. Everything is exactly as it was when he left in August, but somehow, having been gone for so many months, he’s filled with a love for this house that he hadn’t felt since his mom died.
So much had happened in this house, and around this house, and because of this house. God, he’s glad to be home.
“Home sweet home,” Stiles says as his dad unlocks the door.
“Go put your suitcase down in your room,” his dad instructs. “I’ll call you when dinner’s warm, okay?”
“Sure,” Stiles says easily, and he only knocks into the wall a few times as he drags the suitcase to his room, which Stiles would consider to be a victory.
His room is exactly how he left it— bed unmade, desk a mess, sunglasses placed on the chair where he’d accidentally forgotten them when he’d left for school. Stiles leaves his suitcase by the door, kicking it to ensure that it knows his place, and then reaches into his messenger bag to pull out his phone charger.
That’s when he hears the small, emphatic coughing noise from his bed.
If he knew the voice any less intimately, maybe he would have jumped. But as it is, Stiles simply stills for a moment, testing his own mind, trying to figure out if he had imagined it. Finally deciding that it’s at least worth an investigation, Stiles turns around to see if maybe, just maybe, Lydia Martin is in his bed.
She stands up when he turns around, rising from the bed slowly, like she’s letting him adjust to the idea of her presence.
“Whoa,” he says, blinking three times. “Are you why my dad didn’t let me stop for Chipotle?”
Lydia rushes to him, wrapping her arms around her neck as she presses her mouth against his. He’d forgotten, Stiles thinks, how much he loves kissing her. He’d known, at least intellectually, that he loves kissing Lydia Martin. But the reality of it is flushed in color, in heartbeats, in the flutter of her tongue against his and the taste of remembering what she tastes like in the first place. He lifts her off the ground without thinking, hands on her ass as she winds her legs around his hips, and she groans into his mouth in response.
“I keep forgetting how strong you get during school,” Lydia sighs, tossing her hair over her shoulder so that it’s out of their way. “Remind me some more.”
Stiles chuckles, purposefully kissing the side of her mouth, getting half of her cheek. It’s goofy, and affectionate, and it makes her smirk, digging his fingers into his hair and wiggling herself over his cock.
“God, not fair,” he mutters hotly against her neck.
“‘Fair’ when out the window when you picked me up,” Lydia says, tilting her head for him. “That was not fair.”
The way she emphasizes her words makes her tongue linger on the roof of her mouth, and Stiles huffs low in his chest, knowing what it feels like to have that same tongue tracing his lips, the shell of his ear, his neck, his hip bones, his dick.
They fall onto the bed with a loud clamor and a surprised shriek from Lydia, who throws her head back and laughs. She winds her legs around him again, pulling him down on top of her, and Stiles can’t help but slide his hand up her sweater, feeling the warmth of her stomach against the palm of his hand.
Conveniently, there’s a suddenly loud clamor from the kitchen that causes both of them to startle. They pause, staring at each other in concern, waiting to see if Stiles’ dad enters the room. When he doesn’t, Lydia relaxes into the sheets, and Stiles lowers his lips to hers again, trying to keep the urgency out of his kisses.
“How’d your finals go?” he asked, mouth smushed against hers.
“Mmph, good, I—” She trails off when his hand finds the material of her bra, squeezing lightly, relearning what it feels like in his hand. “…what were we talking about?”
“Your classes,” says Stiles, scraping her neck with his teeth. “You were about to say a bunch of words I only half-understand.”
He shudders as he feels Lydia’s foot slide up the back of his leg, her hands sliding inside of his jeans and his boxers.
“We’ve been talking every night for the past two months,” she murmurs. “I’m momentarily sick of talking to my boyfriend. I think he’d better do something else with his mouth.”
Stiles moans, heart quickening at the idea of what he could do to her. He could suck on her tits; draw her nipples into his mouth and lave at them like he’s been wanting to do all semester. He could kiss her until they’re both weak in the knees. He could fuck his tongue into her and watch her melt against the sheets above him; fall apart on his tongue. Or he could—
“Dinner’s ready!” his dad yells, pulling him back to reality. “Get out here, kids!”’
“Oh.” Lydia’s disappointment is evident even in that one word.
“Yeah, my dad’s here.”
“You forgot too?”
“We haven’t had sex in two months. Of course I forgot.”
She kisses him, chaste this time.
“After dinner, then?”
Stiles sighs in exaggerated dreaminess, flopping onto his back.
“I’m gonna give you the best one minute and forty seven seconds of your life, Lydia Martin.”
“A tall order,” she teases. “And oddly specific.”
“I’m a detail-oriented person,” he explains. “You may have heard that, once or twice.”
“It was on your resume when you applied for the position of ‘boyfriend.’”
He groans at the word ‘position.’
“Speaking of which—”
“We can spend those however you want to. But I have to warn you that I will probably need one minute and fifty two seconds, so you’d better work your ass off to make up for the disparity.”
“You know I’d do anything for you.” He grins, sweeping some hair away from her face. “God, I missed you so much.”
“I missed you too,” she replies serenely, eyes skidding back and forth across his face like she’s trying to take everything in.
“It didn’t occur to you to tell me that you’d be in my room when I got home when we were talking last night?”
“You were packing. And sleepy. I didn’t want you to get…. distracted.”
“I mean, that’s a cute thought, but you know you’re basically distracting me twenty-four hours of the day, seven days a week regardless. What was it really?”
Lydia shrugs, expression thoughtful as she gazes up at him.
“I don’t know. I guess maybe… I know it’s something you would do for me. So I wanted to do it for you too.”
“Oh,” he says, suddenly just as knocked-off balance as he was when she’d first shown up in his bedroom. Lydia doesn’t say anything, just keeps looking at him, and then he has to kiss her, he’s got no choice.
“STILES!” hollers his dad from the kitchen, sounding twice as irked as he had the first time, and the two of them part guiltily mid-kiss.
“The jeep. After dinner,” Lydia promises, with a seriousness that would imply they’re about to go on a secret mission.
“Okay.” He gets out of bed, then helps her up too, hand on her back as he guides her through the door frame. “But in the meantime, get ready for a round of under-the-table-footsies that’s gonna rock your world.”
Hi! So I feel like I saw a while ago that you went and saw Amelie, and I was just wondering— what did you think of it? I'm going to NYC this weekend with my family and we're trying to pick a show to get rush tickets to. I saw Pippa last summer in Hamilton so I know she'll be amazing, but what did you think of the music/ plot/ show in general? (Also if I'm wrong and you didn't see it please feel free to ignore this lol) Thanks!! :)
OH MY GOD I’m so so so so so so sorry I never answered this! FUUUUUCKCKKKKK FUCK FUCK my inbox is the worst and so am I.
For the record, i thought the show was adorable but that it had pacing problems. I went to see it in LA and it felt incredibly top-heavy to me. Also pretty isolating to audiences that weren’t #musicaltheatretrash, music-wise. It’s very New Age Broadway.
But I loved the characters, the humor, the story, and the imagination that went into the show. it really captured the magic.
(And they might have changed the pacing problems since they went to Broadway.)
