Tony Nominations As Decided by DroughtofApathy
These are not my predictions for who and what actually gets nominated. These are my personal choices for what I'd like to see in an ideal world where it's about quality and not commercialism. I'm also not predicting (male) actors because I'm just not that invested, and I'm leaving off design/tech awards for now. Realistically, I don't see many of these things happening.
Best Play:
Grey House
Jaja's African Hair Braiding
Mother Play
Mary Jane
Stereophonic
Best Musical:
Days of Wine and Roses
Illinoise
Suffs
Best Play Revival:
An Enemy of the People
Doubt
Purlie Victorious
Best Musical Revival:
Merrily We Roll Along
That's it. Just Merrily. The Wiz is tacky, Gutenberg is horrid, Cabaret is a fucking nightmare, The Who's Tommy is ableist, Spamalot is an anemic replica of the original.
Best Leading Actress in a Play:
Laurie Metcalf (Grey House)
Jessica Lange (Mother Play)
Rachel McAdams (Mary Jane)
Best Leading Actress in a Musical:
Kelli O'Hara (Days of Wine and Roses)
Maryann Plunkett (The Notebook)
Shaina Taub (Suffs)
Best Featured Actress in a Play:
Celia Keenan-Bolger (Mother Play)
Kara Young x5 (Purlie Victorious)
Sarah Pidgeon (Stereophonic)
Zenzi Williams (Jaja's African Hair Braiding)
Best Featured Actress in a Musical:
Amber Iman (Lempicka)
Bebe Neuwirth x100 (Cabaret)
Hannah Cruz (Suffs)
Jennifer Simard (Once Upon a One More Time)
Lindsay Mendez (Merrily We Roll Along)
Best Original Score:
Days of Wine and Roses
Stereophonic
Suffs
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Some bits of predictions for future Marvel projects as a stall for time to watch Quantumania:
At some point, they will have an Emily Dickinson reference, specifically around Kate Bishop, as a reference to Hailee Steinfield's role on Dickinson. It'll probably be a quote on a wall or something. Hopefully, it's from her poem, "I've got an arrow here."
If Riri Williams has not met Tony Stark, then Peter will probably tell her, "he would've really liked you."
If Riri Williams has met Tony Stark, she'll probably tell Peter, "he was really proud of you, you know. Talked about you all the time." Or something in that lane.
During some big multiversal crossover, there will be a meta joke made about how the Eternals are unlikable. Then Morbius will show up, and the Eternals will seem a million times better by comparison.
Before a big battle, Kamala will mutter, "Bismillah," to herself and activate her powers.
When Kate, Riri, Peter, and Kamala all meet each other, the movie will grind to a halt for a full minute while they all compliment each other's costumes. Someone else (probably Eli Bradley) will have to remind them to focus.
At some point, the Young Avengers will be at Kahmer Taj, probably meeting up with America Chavez, and Emil Blonsky will just be chilling in the background.
At the end of the first Young Avengers movie, Skar (Hulk's son) and Love (Thor's daughter) will show up in the end credits scene, probably to look really cool and vaguely threatening.
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Portspa [11] please!!!😍🤩
in retrospect i doubt you were expecting this from that prompt, but uh. i've been on an angsty binge lately. and i like giving toni issues. so...
Sobriety
Empty bottles are dotted around the room. João has been in Antonio's home for all of a minute, and it's obvious: he was right to be worried. He was right to travel to Antonio’s home to see him, because things have gotten bad. Worse than he thought, in fact. And as João looks towards the defenceless Spaniard, bleary eyed, semi-dazed, a bit unsteady on his feet, he remembers that he could have been there sooner.
“Don’t say it," the other begs. "Please… don’t say it.”
“You promised,” João says all the same, however, regardless of his protests. “You promised me…”
Antonio is suddenly unable to look at him. He sighs in that way he only does when he has truly, truly surrendered, despondent, and he ambles over to the sofa, where he sits down and stares at the rug on the floor.
It brings an unease to João. He has seen him like this many times in the past, but they were never good times, and he has been trying so hard to avoid seeing it again—to avoid letting Antonio feel like that again. Yet, here they are. And as bad as he feels, there is no point being annoyed at him, no point in trying to lecture him, no point in telling him he’s disappointed. Because Antonio knows. João knows that Antonio knows, and therefore, the words are simply redundant.
Instead, João takes a seat next to Antonio. He doesn’t say anything—not right away—and remains there in the hopes that the other will be reminded that he is there for him. If Antonio wants him to go, then he’ll go. But if he does not demand he leave, then… João will stay. That is certainly the outcome he would prefer.
All the while, time passes by. Seconds, and then minutes, trickling past them as an endless stream. Antonio’s objections never come. João, in turn, does not move. And then, Antonio glances towards him, still not quite able to look him in the face, and he says, “I’m sorry.”
But João doesn’t want him to apologise. There is nothing to apologise for, really. He can’t entirely blame him for his actions; the world makes him want to drown his sorrows most days, too. He’d join him, in fact, if he didn’t think that one of them needs to stay sober…
At the same time, however, that promise had been important. It was not a promise to not drink, to not be upset, to not succumb to old demons, but rather, a promise to simply let João know when he is starting to wobble. Because João cares about him. Because João doesn’t enjoy seeing Antonio genuinely hurt, in pieces, a wreck—much like he is now, staring up at the ceiling and silently, statically crying.
No, no. João doesn’t want him to apologise. Antonio is already suffering enough…
In a bid to remedy this, João calls over to the other and pulls him from what little moment he is having, muttering to himself, to the ceiling, to God. Antonio looks at him through glassy eyes and reddened cheeks, and… and João knows, at least, that he really is sorry. And that will do.
“Come here,” he invites as he amends his own position, turning himself to rest against the sofa arm and welcoming an upset and in-desperate-need-of-comforting Antonio up onto him.
The offer is not refused; Antonio clambers over—stumbles, slips, fumbles—and plants himself (a little abruptly) down on João’s chest. Between the two of them, some further adjustment is required to get comfortable, but, in the end, they find that perfect position and settle.
Hands find Antonio’s hair, João’s back, Antonio’s waist, João’s shoulder. A kiss lands amongst soft, ticklish locks. Infrequent tears begin to dribble onto foreign fabric.
“I’m sorry,” Antonio manages to say again, sniffling as he shifts and fidgets. “I… I-I didn’t know what else to do…”
There are worse decisions he could have made, however. For the alcohol, João is therefore somewhat grateful, even if he is in a sorry state.
Still, “I’m not upset with you,” he assures the other as he strokes his hair and helps him fight his shame. “Are you feeling okay? As in, you aren’t feeling sick or anything?”
Antonio shakes his head as best as he can, while simultaneously trying not to move. “Just stupid…”
“Ah. Nothing new, then.”
The other whines, almost like a child, and João makes up for it with another kiss to his head. While there, he gently breathes in—breathes in Antonio and that distant smell of oranges that seems to cling to him—and then breathes out again, feeling… a bit calmer than he had done when he arrived. He only hopes Antonio starts to feel better soon, as well.
"Next time," he then begins to say, "when you're feeling down about something, you should let me know, Toninho. We made that promise to each other, didn't we? To make each other happy?"
"And you do," Antonio replies, sullen as he is. "I'm… glad you came…"
It brings a warmth to João's chest, a feeble smile to his face. It feels good to hear him say that so openly—to admit such a thing, no matter how inebriated. He never tires of it. Though, he reminds the other, "I would have been here sooner if someone had thought to call me," which naturally earns another sigh.
"I know…"
"So…"
"So…?"
"Are you going to tell me?"
Antonio struggles. He glances up at João and finds kind eyes holding a glint of understanding. Yet, he is unable to say anything. It's as though he wants to, but fears doing so, or perhaps cannot cope with the shame of whatever it is that has dragged him down so low.
Even then, however, João doesn't want the silence to remain. He wants openness for them both, so that he can help to bring the light back into Antonio's usually brilliant eyes. He seems so… unlike Antonio without it—his light, his spark, his shine. That is what makes Antonio Antonio, after all; his radiance, his warmth, his sunny, sunny smile…
"Dime," João duly presses, searching for what they've both lost, "por qué el sol está tan triste."
"Ele não é," Antonio slowly, carefully, quietly replies as he settles back against João's chest, "agora que está com sua lua…"
[ final wordcount, 1050; prompt lists here & here! ]
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