Lizzie Bennet diaries spoilers ahead.

Read More

mumblybee replied to your post: NaNoWriMo is just three days away…

AUGH YOU ARE WAY MORE PRODUCTIVE THAN ME EVEN YOUR LIST IS MORE PRODUCTIVE AKJBDSKGHK D:

BUT YOU ARE HAVING HURRICANE FIVE, SO YOU TOO CAN MAKE LISTS AND PRETEND TO BE PRODUCTIVE.

Seriously, I’m addicted to planning. I’m allergic to following through with said plans. Will report back progress tomorrow morning or something.

I’m going to need to shut myself in with hot cocoa this next month to get any writing done. And throw my phone down a bottomless well while I’m at it.

This deserves to see every light of every day ever.

mumblybee left this in my inbox because she is made of rainbows and puppies.

Once upon a time, Ree was walking along feeling a bit under the weather. This was partially because of the weather itself, which, as weather does, had defied expectations and inconvenienced everyone around (and within?) it. Ree sighed and bowed her head in great and tragic sorrow. Then Agent Washington came out of a bush. “It’s been a bit rainier here,” he said, “if you know what I mean.” He tried to raise one eyebrow at her but ended up with both. Ree blinked and said, “Wash, get back in your webseries where you belong.” But Wash did not move. He did not move at all, for he was inexplicably encased in cement. “I can’t,” he said woefully. Ree surveyed his situation, and came up with the perfect plan. She went and beat up a small child and stole his skateboard, and then lifted Cement Wash with her super strength and deposited him onto the skateboard gently, like a summer breeze depositing a feather onto a daisy. “Wait,” Cement Wash said, “this isn’t going to —” The rest of his sentence was inaudible, because Ree had made a dreadful miscalculation. They were on a hill, and Cement Wash was rolling away into the sunset. Ree sighed. “That plan never does work,” she muttered to herself, and went walking on her way. Then out of the bushes appeared York, who immediately offered her his hand in marriage. Ree politely declined because she’d had many prior betrothals in the RTumblr area (?), but said she would love to grab coffee sometime. He accepted. The End.

Emma, AJ, I love you guys being my internet wives, but if York ever asked for my hand in marriage, I don’t even know you two. Coffee is a good start, though…

mumblybee:

Well! That quickly became possibly the worst day ever of all time! Not going into work tomorrow after all, too much fucking emotional trauma in one goddamn day. So I’m going to go ahead and ramble forever about RvB in order to not have another fucking mental breakdown.

Regarding the new RvB episode - I fucking love Carolina even though she’s batshit.

Read More

First off, massive, massive amounts of hugs. All of them. All the electronic hugs. If you’re not feeling them yet, give it a second because I’m sending them ALL.

Secondly, I agree. Wholeheartedly, with every point, and that is why I will always, always love Carolina. Because sometimes, for all her flaws and impulsiveness and everything, thinking “what would Carolina do” really helps. Because sometimes you need to be fucking boss like she is, and I just feel really close to her character. And I love her so much.

And seriously. All the hugs.

mumblybee:

I’M SORRY THIS IS SO LATE OH NOOOOOOO HERE I HOPE YOU LIKE IT ANYWAY

IT IS EXTREMELY FLUFFY I HOPE THAT IS OKAY

————

York + Carolina + Coffee + Hogwarts AU 

~a birthday fic for Ree~

          

            “Welcome to the Hufflepuff coffee lounge,” said York smoothly, one hand at her back and the other making a wide arc across the common room. Carolina stepped forward, looking around for signs of life, but there didn’t seem to be any Hufflepuffs lounging about the way the Gryffindors tended to do in their tower. It certainly looked comfortable enough for lounging – the room was circular and cozy, with plush yellow-and-black couches and an overall sunny atmosphere (literally, and to the point that Carolina wondered if there was some sort of charm cast on the room to keep it so perfectly sunlit).

            “Your coffee lounge doesn’t seem very popular,” Carolina told York, turning back to find him smiling proudly at her. He was dressed in just the half-untucked button down shirt and slacks, his black and yellow tie hanging loosely around his neck. This combined with his ruffled hair and slightly manic smile made him look, Carolina thought, like he’d just returned from a high speed police chase.

            “I got everybody to clear out,” York told her. “Gave ’em some fireworks so they could put on a show out by the lake.”

            Carolina raised her eyebrows. “That seems likely to result in your imminent detention,” she decided.

            York shrugged. “Yeah, Professor Sprout told me I’m the only Hufflepuff to ever get this many detentions in my first year,” he said happily. Of course he was happy. He took pride in his pranks. “So, you want some coffee?”

Read More

THINGS I LOVE INCLUDES THIS RIGHT HERE.

Man, I thought I reblogged this when I liked it a few days ago I’M SORRY BUT IT’S STILL ALWAYS RELEVANT AND OH MY GOD. YES. GOOD.

York/Carolina/coffee is best. Huffleyork/Griffinlina/coffee is somehow even better.

This fic gives me all the happy feelings and smiles. Thank you <3

mumblybee:

reeberry

Did you move or delete that Carolina Rated D for Depressing story I loved so much but hadn’t gotten to reblogging yet? D:

I deleted it because I decided I was unhappy with it, but here, I’ll repost. (And thanks.)

———————

In her nightmares she sees all of them, even before Wash details to her the methods of their deaths. Her imagination had done the job well enough before, and now that she knows the facts, it only has to embellish. Add the sweat beading on North’s brow as he lies there with his blood draining away. The defiant expression (so familiar, so familiar) on South’s face – South, who never could keep her mouth shut until that bullet entered her brain. (And how to reconcile this with the South who shared her breakfasts with North in the mess hall, who gave him half her eggs simply because he liked them?)

            She sees Maine, or what’s left of him, trudging along in a decomposing shell of a body, with each step forgetting everything he ever wanted or feared or loved.

            But most often in her nightmares she finds York. Unarmored, always, so she can see in excruciating detail the two small wounds torn into his upper left side, the thick streams of blood flowing so fast from his body. The light, quivering breaths that turn to coughs – and in her dreaming there is no Delta to guard him, to ease away the pain as he dies. There is only York, gasping until he’s choking on the blood that spills from his mouth, his good eye searching and finding her and pleading.

            On these nights she wakes up sharp and shaking, tears stinging at her eyes. She reminds herself that it didn’t happen that way. Delta was there, she tells herself. Delta was there. It becomes a strange singsong refrain in her head and she curls up with the pillow curved around her ears, trying to block it out. Sometimes it works. But tonight the mantra continues, and morphs.

            Delta was there. Delta was there. York was there. York was there but he isn’t anymore. York was there but now he’s dead. York is dead. It’s my fault. York is dead. They’re all dead. It’s my fault. It’s my fault. I’m not dead. It’s my fault.

            She shoves the corner of the pillow into her mouth to muffle a scream; a long, silent scream that shudders up through her spine to her ribs to the knuckles of her clenched fists.

            When Wash asks, come morning, if she’s feeling all right, it is with the wearied gaze she has seen on her own face in the mirror.

            She wants to ask him whose death he dreams. Does he watch CT take her last breaths, or perhaps come across her decomposing in the desert sand over and over? Or is it Epsilon’s loved ones who suffer and die before his eyes? Does he watch himself in dreams, forced to replay every cruel act he’s ever committed, every halfway innocent life he’s taken with a measured aim of his gun? Does he fight like she does to contain the screaming, or is he silent after all these years?

            Instead she tells him, “I’m fine.” Because she is now. As long as she stays awake.

            He doesn’t press it. So she doesn’t press him. And they continue like that, reliving their own private terrors each night. They never acknowledge it. But sometimes when she wakes, Carolina hears Wash already pacing the floor of his room, already shaken from his rest.

            Somehow, it’s comforting.

Now that it’s rebloggable, I will do just that!

Man, I love every idea in this, and how they’re presented, and you should write more D-rated Carolina and Wash interactions plzkthxbai.

“Ready for training?” York asked, clapping Wash on the shoulder in the process with a little more force than necessary.

“Sure,” Wash coughed out. “Yeah. You know, it wasn’t my fault that you got run over by another car last mission.”

York scoffed his sarcastic agreement. “What kind of friend would I be if I held onto a thing like that into the next training mission?”

Wash gave this some thought. “A vindictive, cruel, takes-a-joke-way-too-far, unprofessional, total dick kind of friend?”

“See?” York said enthusiastically. “I am none of those! Well, maybe some of them, but not all of them.”

“Yeah,” Wash answered, unconvinced, and the mission started.

It pleasantly surprised Wash that the oddest thing about the training mission turned out to be his teammates. Of course, with the exception of York, who behaved himself quite well and maturely and Wash was now convinced that his friend had something even more sinister planned.

North was first, when he passed Wash at the start of the mission he turned around and clapped his hands together as he said with a very noticeable mocking smile, “we always hoped you two kids would get together!”

His twin wasn’t far behind as she muttered “about damn time, too,” and left it at that.

Wyoming spoke towards the middle of the mission, while he was reloading his gun and Wash was covering him. “It’s great that you two finally felt comfortable enough to make it public.” By the time Wash thought to ask what the hell he was talking about, Wyoming had already jumped over his cover, gun at the ready, and ran into battle.

Carolina, right at the end, grabbed Wash by the shoulder while they waited for the others to catch up to their safe point and said, very flatly, “don’t think this changes anything,” before rushing off to finish the objective.

“What did you do?” Wash whispered to York as they were walking back to the locker room.

“What?” York said. “I was professional! Did you see how professional it all was? I didn’t even hit on Carolina while I opened the lock!”

“Exactly.”

“Oh, give me a break, Mr. Paranoid,” York muttered and Wash could clearly hear the eye roll which accompanied the words. Wash dropped the subject.

It was only after Wash removed his shoulder plates that it all clicked into place, and when his head shot up looking for the offender, he found that York had perfected almost-light-speed armor removal because he was no longer in the locker room. The back of Wash’s left shoulder had a very white, very obnoxious sticker that read “Team I LOVE NY!”

((Inspired by this post.))

So I promised (a long while ago) mumblybee, completelysane and shaherazade that I would make penguins sad. Here it is:

“Do you get it?” Wash asked eagerly. Connie smiled her uncertainty and shook her head. “They mate for life! Don’t read too much into it, I just thought it was, you know, cute. So I have one and you have one and…Connie, there’s no need for that face.”

She smiled, genuinely this time, and said, “it’s just…sometimes it really is like you stepped out of one of those really cheesy movies. You’re giving me a little penguin figure and talking about how they mate for life and, Wash, do you even listen to yourself? I feel like I should be in a musical number or something. Birds should comb my hair every morning.”

“What’s wrong with that?” he asked, pressing the small ceramic penguin into her palm. She kissed him.

“Nothing. It’s just unexpected.”

A few weeks later, after they had exploded so spectacularly that both of them could still see fireworks whenever they were in the same room, she walked up and handed the little figurine back to him.

“I looked it up,” she said as he stared at the small penguin. “Those are emperor penguins.”

“Yeah,” he confirmed, still staring at the figurine.

“They mate for a season, Wash. And then they move on.”

He swallowed his response and looked up at her, expecting softness or compassion or even pity. He found, instead, that she was staring at him in some form of cruel, superior triumph, and his words came back to him as he said, “maybe it’s better that way.”

She looked as if he had hit her, and then, unexpectedly, hit him with anger and indignation and a fist, and walked away as he held the future bruise she had just branded him with. The figurine had fallen and shattered on the ground, and he stepped over the forgotten pieces on his way to get an ice pack.

On this Independence Day, I’d like to remind everyone (ahemNemahem) that the Empire State Building is 273.9 m taller than the Washington Monument. And that height difference itself is already 104.6 m taller than the height of the Washington Monument.

So, really, I guess I could understand why some people would be worried about size. It must be a complex or something.

<3

silver-tabby:

mumblybee:

[Collaboration with Shaherazade-21c! She wrote the last three songs and helped enormously with the…er, what passes for a plot in this thing.]

            Wash woke up a bit later than usual – seven-forty-five rather than five-fifteen. Normally this would have horrified him, but today the Director was off-ship on business and so normal operations were temporarily delayed.

            In other words, they had the day off.

            This did not particularly please Wash; he preferred action and structure to a day of aimlessly wandering the ship in search of something useful to do. He rolled over in bed and sighed, looking for Maine, but his bunk was already empty. Wash frowned a little – usually Maine took any opportunity to sleep in. He sighed and sat up. Better get out there, grab a cup of coffee, and see how badly everyone had messed up the library in the common room.

Read More

Okay, I hope you don’t mind me reblogging this twice, but, I just did something that was super rushed and dodgy and weird, but I thought you may or may not like to see ;v; Here.

I’m sorry if I’ve stepped on any toes, sdfjshfs. I JUST, I LOVE THIS A LOT, AND you write the best best best lyrics ;__;

So, not only is the story one of the best things I’ve read in a while (making exception in my semi-hiatus for musicals. Because musicals are always the exception.)

But then Arisu and her awesomeness and collaboration and

and it’s a musical, guys.

And now it has actual music for it, too.

AND IT’S A MUSICAL.

You are all fantastic.

(via yinxiing)

mumblybee:

Chapter One of the Red vs Blue Hogwarts AU is finally up on AO3!

http://archiveofourown.org/works/407643

This mostly just establishes (my extremely convoluted and ridiculous) backstory. Next chapter is the Sorting and all that fun stuff. =D

yesyesyesyesyesyesyeysyesyesyesYES

this crossover is full of win. and everything I wish my brain could be.

I love York in this SO MUCH. So, so much!

York gives everyone nicknames is also a thing I am always a fan of. Always <3