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mollyrealized · 2 months

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How Michael Met Neil

original direct link [MP3]

(Neil, if you see this, please feel free to grab the transcript and store on your site; I had no easy way of contacting you.)

DAVID TENNANT: Tell me about @neil-gaiman then, because he's in that category [previously: “such a profound effect on my life”] as well.

MICHAEL SHEEN: So this is what has brought us together.

DAVID: Yes.

MICHAEL: To the new love story for the 21st century.

DAVID: Exactly.

MICHAEL: So when I went to drama school, there was a guy called Gary Turner in my year. And within the first few weeks, we were doing something, having a drink or whatever. And he said to me, “Do you read comic books?”

And I said, “No.” I mean, this is … what … '88? '88, '89. So it was … now I know that it was a period of time that was a big change, transformation going through comic books. Rather than it being thought of as just superheroes and Batman and Superman, there was this whole new era of a generation of writers like Grant Morrison.

DAVID: The kids who'd grown up reading comic books were now making comic books

MICHAEL: Yeah, yeah, and starting to address different kinds of subjects through the comic book medium. So it wasn't about just superheroes, it was all kinds of stuff going on – really fascinating stuff. And I was totally unaware of this.

And so this guy Gary said to me, "Do you read them?" And I said, "No." And he went, "Right, okay, here's The Watchman [sic] by Alan Moore. Here's Swamp Thing. Here's Hellblazer. And here's Sandman.”

And Sandman was Neil Gaiman's big series that put his name on the map. And I read all those, and, just – I was blown away by all of them, but particularly the Sandman stories, because he was drawing on mythology, which was something I was really interested in, and fairy tales, folklore, and philosophy, and Shakespeare, and all kinds of stuff were being mixed up in this story. And I absolutely loved it.

So I became a big fan of Neil's, and started reading everything by him. And then fairly shortly after that, within six months to a year, Good Omens the book came out, which Neil wrote with Terry Pratchett. And so I got the book – because I was obviously a big fan of Neil's by this point – read it, loved it, then started reading Terry Pratchett’s stuff as well, because I didn't know his stuff before then – and then spent years and years and years just being a huge fan of both of them.

And then eventually when – I'd done films like the Underworld films and doing Twilight films. And I think it was one of the Twilight films, there was a lot of very snooty interviews that happened where people who considered themselves well above talking about things like Twilight were having to interview me … and, weirdly, coming at it from the attitude of 'clearly this is below you as well' … weirdly thinking I'm gonna go, 'Yeah, fucking Twilight.”

And I just used to go, "You know what? Some of the greatest writing of the last 50-100 years has happened in science fiction or fantasy." Philip K Dick is one of my favorite writers of all time. In fact, the production of Hamlet I did was mainly influenced by Philip K Dick. Ursula K. Le Guin and Asimov, and all these amazing people. And I talked about Neil as well. And so I went off on a bit of a rant in this interview.

Anyway, the interview came out about six months later, maybe. Knock on the door, open the door, delivery of a big box. That’s interesting. Open the box, there's a card at the top of the box. I open the card.

It says, From one fan to another, Neil Gaiman. And inside the box are first editions of Neil's stuff, and all kinds of interesting things by Neil. And he just sent this stuff.

DAVID: You'd never met him?

MICHAEL: Never met him. He'd read the interview, or someone had let him know about this interview where I'd sung his praises and stood up for him and the people who work within that sort of genre as being like …

And he just got in touch. We met up for the first time when he came to – I was in Los Angeles at the time, and he came to LA. And he said, "I'll take you for a meal."

I said, “All right.”

He said, "Do you want to go somewhere posh, or somewhere interesting?”

I said, "Let's go somewhere interesting."

He said, "Right, I'm going to take you to this restaurant called The Hump." And it's at Santa Monica Airport. And it's a sushi restaurant.

I was like, “Right, okay.” So I had a Mini at the time. And we get in my Mini and we drive off to Santa Monica Airport. And this restaurant was right on the tarmac, like, you could sit in the restaurant (there's nobody else there when we got there, we got there quite early) and you're watching the planes landing on Santa Monica Airport. It's extraordinary.

And the chef comes out and Neil says, "Just bring us whatever you want. Chef's choice."

So, I'd never really eaten sushi before. So we sit there; we had this incredible meal where they keep bringing these dishes out and they say, “This is [blah, blah, blah]. Just use a little bit of soy sauce or whatever.” You know, “This is eel. This is [blah].”

And then there was this one dish where they brought out and they didn't say what it was. It was like “mystery dish”, we had it ... delicious. Anyway, a few more people started coming into the restaurant as time went on.

And we're sort of getting near the end, and I said, "Neil, I can't eat anymore. I'm gonna have to stop now. This is great, but I can't eat–"

"Right, okay. We'll ask for the bill in a minute."

And then the door opens and some very official people come in. And it was the Feds. And the Feds came in, and we knew they were because they had jackets on that said they were part of the Federal Bureau of Whatever. And about six of them come in. Two of them go … one goes behind the counter, two go into the kitchen, one goes to the back. They've all got like guns on and stuff.

And me and Neil are like, "What on Earth is going on?"

And then eventually one guy goes, "Ladies and gentlemen, if you haven't ordered already, please leave. If you're still eating your meal, please finish up, pay your bill, leave."*

[* - delivered in a perfect American ‘serious law agent’ accent/impression]

And we were like, "Oh my God, are we poisoned? Is there some terrible thing that's happened?"

We'd finished, so we pay our bill. And then all the kitchen staff are brought out. And the head chef is there. The guy who's been bringing us this food. And he's in tears. And he says to Neil, "I'm so sorry." He apologizes to Neil. And we leave. We have no idea what happened.

DAVID: But you're assuming it's the mystery dish.

MICHAEL: Well, we're assuming that we can't be going to – we can't be – it can't be poisonous. You know what I mean? It can't be that there's terrible, terrible things.

So the next day was the Oscars, which is why Neil was in town. Because Coraline had been nominated for an Oscar. Best documentary that year was won by The Cove, which was by a team of people who had come across dolphins being killed, I think.

Turns out, what was happening at this restaurant was that they were having illegal endangered species flown in to the airport, and then being brought around the back of the restaurant into the kitchen.

We had eaten whale – endangered species whale. That was the mystery dish that they didn't say what it was.

And the team behind The Cove were behind this sting, and they took them down that night whilst we were there.

DAVID: That’s extraordinary.

MICHAEL: And we didn't find this out for months. So for months, me and Neil were like, "Have you worked anything out yet? Have you heard anything?"

"No, I haven't heard anything."

And then we heard that it was something to do with The Cove, and then we eventually found out that that restaurant, they were all arrested. The restaurant was shut down. And it was because of that. And we'd eaten whale that night.

DAVID: And that was your first meeting with Neil Gaiman.

MICHAEL: That was my first meeting. And also in the drive home that night from that restaurant, he said, and we were in my Mini, he said, "Have you found the secret compartment?"

I said, "What are you talking about?" It's such a Neil Gaiman thing to say.

DAVID: Isn't it?

MICHAEL: The secret compartment? Yeah. Each Mini has got a secret compartment. I said, "I had no idea." It's secret. And he pressed a little button and a thing opened up. And it was a secret compartment in my own car that Neil Gaiman showed me.

DAVID: Was there anything inside it?

MICHAEL: Yeah, there was a little man. And he jumped out and went, "Hello!" No, there was nothing in there. There was afterwards because I started putting...

DAVID: Sure. That's a very Neil Gaiman story. All of that is such a Neil Gaiman story.

MICHAEL: That's how it began. Yeah.

DAVID: And then he came to offer you the part in Good Omens.

MICHAEL: Yeah. Well, we became friends and we would whenever he was in town, we would meet up and yeah, and then eventually he started, he said, "You know, I'm working on an adaptation of Good Omens." And I can remember at one point Terry Gilliam was going to maybe make a film of it. And I remember being there with Neil and Terry when they were talking about it. And...

DAVID: Were you involved at that point?

MICHAEL: No, no, I wasn't involved. I just happened to have met up with Neil that day.

DAVID: Right.

MICHAEL: And then Terry Gilliam came along and they were chatting, that was the day they were talking about that or whatever.

And then eventually he sent me one of the scripts for an early draft of like the first episode of Good Omens. And he said – and we started talking about me being involved in it, doing it – he said, “Would you be interested?” I was like, "Yeah, of course." I went, "Oh my God." And he said, "Well, I'll send you the scripts when they come," and I would read them, and we'd talk about them a little bit. And so I was involved.

But it was always at that point with the idea, because he'd always said about playing Crowley in it. And so, as time went on, as I was reading the scripts, I was thinking, "I don't think I can play Crowley. I don't think I'm going to be able to do it." And I started to get a bit nervous because I thought, “I don't want to tell Neil that I don't think I can do this.” But I just felt like I don't think I can play Crowley.

DAVID: Of course you can [play Crowley?].

MICHAEL: Well, I just on a sort of, on a gut level, sometimes you have it on a gut level.

DAVID: Sure, sure.

MICHAEL: I can do this.

DAVID: Yeah.

MICHAEL: Or I can't do this. And I just thought, “You know what, this is not the part for me. The other part is better for me, I think. I think I can do that, I don't think I could do that.”

But I was scared to tell Neil because I thought, "Well, he wants me to play Crowley" – and then it turned out he had been feeling the same way as well. And he hadn't wanted to mention it to me, but he was like, "I think Michael should really play Aziraphale."

And neither of us would bring it up. And then eventually we did. And it was one of those things where you go, "Oh, thank God you said that. I feel exactly the same way." And then I think within a fairly short space of time, he said, “I think we've got … David Tennant … for Crowley.” And we both got very excited about that.

And then all these extraordinary people started to join in. And then, and then off we went.

DAVID: That's the other thing about Neil, he collects people, doesn't he? So he'll just go, “Oh, yeah, I've phoned up Frances McDormand, she's up for it.” Yeah. You're, what?

MICHAEL: “I emailed Jon Hamm.”

DAVID: Yeah.

MICHAEL: And yeah, and you realize how beloved he is and how beloved his work is. And I think we would both recognise that Good Omens is one of the most beloved of all of Neil's stuff.

DAVID: Yes.

MICHAEL: And had never been turned into anything.

DAVID: Yeah.

MICHAEL: And so the kind of responsibility of that, I mean, for me, for someone who has been a fan of him and a fan of the book for so long, I can empathize with all the fans out there who are like, “Oh, they better not fuck this up.”

DAVID: Yes.

MICHAEL: “And this had better be good.” And I have that part of me. But then, of course, the other part of me is like, “But I'm the one who might be fucking it up.”

DAVID: Yeah.

MICHAEL: So I feel that responsibility as well.

DAVID: But we have Neil on site.

MICHAEL: Yes. Well, Neil being the showrunner …

DAVID: Yeah. I think it takes the curse off.

MICHAEL: … I think it made a massive difference, didn't it? Yeah. You feel like you're in safe hands.

DAVID: Well, we think. Not that the world has seen it yet.

MICHAEL (grimly): No, I know.

DAVID: But it was a -- it's been a -- it's been a joy to work with you on it. I can't wait for the world to see it.

MICHAEL: Oh my God. Oh, well, I mean, it's the only, I've done a few things where there are two people, it's a bit of a double act, like Frost-Nixon and The Queen, I suppose, in some ways. But, and I've done it, Amadeus or whatever.

This is the only thing I've done where I really don't think of it as “my character” or “my performance as that character”. I think of it totally as us.

DAVID: Yeah.

MICHAEL: The two of us.

DAVID: Yes.

MICHAEL: Like they, what I do is defined by what you do.

DAVID: Yeah.

MICHAEL: And that was such a joy to have that experience. And it made it so much easier in a way as well, I found, because you don't feel like you're on your own in it. Like it's totally us together doing this and the two characters totally complement each other. And the experience of doing it was just a real joy.

DAVID: Yeah. Well, I hope the world is as excited to see it as we are to talk about it, frankly.

MICHAEL: You know, there's, having talked about T.S. Eliot earlier, there's another bit from The Wasteland where there's a line which goes, These fragments I have shored against my ruin.

And this is how I think about life now. There is so much in life, no matter what your circumstances, no matter what, where you've got, what you've done, how much money you got, all that. Life's hard. I mean, you can, it can take you down at any point.

You have to find this stuff. You have to like find things that will, these fragments that you hold to yourself, they become like a liferaft, and especially as time goes on, I think, as I've got older, I've realized it is a thin line between surviving this life and going under.

And the things that keep you afloat are these fragments, these things that are meaningful to you and what's meaningful to you will be not-meaningful to someone else, you know. But whatever it is that matters to you, it doesn't matter what it was you were into when you were a teenager, a kid, it doesn't matter what it is. Go and find them, and find some way to hold them close to you.

Make it, go and get it. Because those are the things that keep you afloat. They really are. Like doing that with him or whatever it is, these are the fragments that have shored against my ruin. Absolutely.

DAVID: That's lovely. Michael, thank you so much.

MICHAEL: Thank you.

DAVID: For talking today and for being here.

MICHAEL: Oh, it's a pleasure. Thank you.

#neil gaiman #michael sheen #david tennant does a podcast with...#good omens #aziraphale #crowley #sushi #whale #the cove #oscars 2010 #coraline #mini secret compartments #howneilmetmichael #howmichaelmetneil

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dyns33 · 2 years

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Flowers

Yes I did a Nathan Bateman soulmate story

The name appeared when she was eighteen.

Nothing abnormal so far, the names of soulmates always appeared when we were eighteen, it was an important day, the most important in life, the most awaited.

Y/N hadn't slept all night, staring at her wrist, ready to receive the name of the person she was going to have to look for, whom she would love and who would love her.

As the letters appeared, she couldn't help but smile, happy and excited.

Then she read the name. Her smile froze, before becoming a grimace.

Because she knew that name.

It was less normal, knowing your soulmate before knowing they were the right one.

It happened, and most of the time it was wonderful. Like a fairy tale. No need to run around to find love, and often they already loved each other, praying that the other would be the one for them.

Y/N had never met her soulmate, but she had heard of him.

The whole world had heard of him.

Nathan Hamlet Bateman.

Founder of BlueBook, when he was only thirteen years old, famous computer genius, as rich and a playboy as Bruce Wayne.

And a real asshole.

That was the first thing Y/N thought the first time she read an interview with him. Then the others, and she heard him speak on the radio, and saw him on television.

Oh, he was quite handsome. He was clearly very smart, smarter than most people. He seemed to have a bit of a sense of humor, cracking a few jokes.

But he was really obnoxious. Egocentric. Insulting, vulgar, mean.

And above all, he had said a sentence that had marked her, when he was asked a question about his private life.

"I don't need anyone. I mean, if I feel like fucking, I'll find someone for the night, but that'll be it. Love doesn't exist. Human relationships are a waste of time. Humans aren't interesting enough, not good enough for me anyway."

"But..." continued the journalist. "And your soulmate ?"

"Oh, this bullshit ? You believe this bullshit ? I'm the master of my destiny. Like I said I don't need nobody, nobody. This... I didn't even read the name to say the truth. I could have burned it but I put a bandage on it and forgot it was there, because I don't need it. I don't want it. I don't care. I don't have time for that."

Nathan Hamlet Bateman, then.

Why did the universe have to hate Y/N for her soulmate to be such a horrible guy, who didn't want her, without even trying to find out who she was ? It was like a bad Shakespeare's play.

But maybe it wasn't him. There were certainly other Nathan Batemans in the world.

Y/N could have searched, found the right one and been happy.

But after turning on her computer, she hesitated.

She was afraid.

Nathan Bateman was a genius. There were rumours that he was able to hack absolutely anything. Some said he had done it before. That the data of all users was collected and accumulated by Blue Book, even if you did not use its creations.

If she typed his name into a search engine, into a document, into a message she sent to friends, he might see it.

And maybe he wouldn't. Since he didn't care abouther. But maybe not, and Y/N was afraid of that, so even though he didn't see what she was doing online, even though he might not be her soulmate, she decided not to take any risk.

Until she felt really alone. There was also curiosity.

The interview she had read dated from a few years ago, he might have changed his mind in the meantime. But if that had been the case, he would no doubt have contacted her.

So she wrote a long letter in which she introduced herself, she explained to him that she thought he was her other half, even if she didn't really understand why because they seemed to be very different, and even that they risked not get along, but that she thought it was more okay to give him a chance and let him know who she was.

Then she put the letter away in one of the drawers of her desk, having stumbled across a very recent new interview where Bateman talked about his type of women, who were her exact opposite.

Then there was the incident with the robots.

Well, the AIs, like the genie insisted every time someone happened to see him and tell him about the assault he had suffered, one of his fabrications deciding to stab him and trying to hide among humans .

He had been lucky to survive. At the end, leaving alone, away from society and people, wasn't such a good idea. It was another human, a young engineer he had invited, Caleb Smith, who had managed to regain control of one of the computers to call for help.

Even though she still didn't know him, even though she repeated to herself that she shouldn't care, or just as much as he didn't care about her, Y/N was scared when she heard the news. She was a bit sad for him, imagining how he must have felt, almost getting killed by what he loved the most in the world, his job.

She was relieved that he was alive.

It was stupid, but she decided to send him flowers, along with a get well card. Something simple. Which she did not sign. No doubt he wouldn't even see them and they would be thrown in the trash, but that didn't matter.

Y/N closely followed the developments of the case, the discoveries in Bateman's house, what it meant for humanity, the arrest followed by the destruction of 'Ava', and the discharge of Nathan from the hospital.

After that, she went back to her normal little life, in her normal apartment, with her normal job, normal friends and normal family.

Even though she wasn't like him, Y/N wasn't stupid. She might have been able to do more, if she had wanted to. But she didn't want to. She didn't need the money, the fame, the sexy robots trying to stab her in the back.

Y/N just wanted to be happy.

It would have been great if she had her soulmate but too bad.

It was a real surprise when he came to see her at work. He stood in front of her, saying nothing, his cold eyes staring at her behind his glasses, showing no emotion.

The doctors had shaved him when he was hospitalized, and during his coma his hair had grown back. Y/N knew because she had seen a photo.

Obviously, Nathan Bateman didn't like this look at all, he had shaved his head before coming, and his beard was growing back slowly, but surely.

They remained silent, until he sighed.

"You know who I am."

It was not a question.

"I should ?" she decided to say, trying to stay calm.

He sighed again, before reaching into his pocket, pulling out a piece of paper and placing it in front of her.

The card she had sent with the flowers.

"You are Y/N Y/L/N."

"And you don't need me, if I remember correctly. I'm not good enough compared to your dear robots. Sorry, AI. I heard they were very good at cooking."

It was a bit mean. But hey, Bateman had survived. And he had really said horrible things about his soulmate, about women, about humans.

Why did all these creations all look like sexy models ? Journalists claimed that there were videos of the genius fucking them. Great.

But it was still a bit nasty. He had almost died, alone, in a hallway, in the middle of nowhere. Y/N opened her mouth to apologize, but he chuckled, a small smile appearing on his face. "Maybe I deserved this. More than the flowers. Nice flowers. Always hated it, too expensive, too high maintenance, only to fade in the end. But that was the only splash of colour in my hospital room. No one came to see me except my investors, my lawyer and my accountant. I wasn't sure what to make of those flowers."

"The other option was a balloon."

"Even worse. I couldn't have burned it. Yes, I burned the flowers, they pissed me off. You could have come to see me." he said as if that would have been the logical thing to do.

"I didn't have time for that. I don't understand what you are doing here."

Nathan Bateman sighed again, losing his smile.

He was acting like he always was with everyone, indicating that Y/N was annoying him, not being clever enough to act the way she should, according to his standards.

Still, she really didn't understand what he was doing here.

"We are soulmates."

"I know. I also know that you are, I quote from memory, the master of your destiny, who does not believe in love or that bullshit, and who does not need anyone, so even if horrible things happened to you, I'm sorry about that and I hope you're feeling better, I don't see why you would want to meet me now. Unless you took a blow to the head ? You saw your life flashing before your eyes and decided to change ?"

"No. I still think that's bullshit. I'm going back to my job as soon as possible and I won't let a name force me to be with someone."

"So what ?" growled Y/N, who was also beginning to get impatient.

"You sent me flowers."

It was just that.

The gesture had intrigued Nathan Bateman. A simple friendly gesture, full of kindness, which expected nothing in return, since she had not left her name.

It had taken him several days to find that it was her, then two more days, during which he had been drinking a lot, to decide if he wanted to meet his soulmate, since it was obvious that it was her.

During those two days, he had been researching her. He had noticed that she had never mentioned his name anywhere, ever, which was both very clever of her and very suspicious. She had also been smart enough not to attempt to contact him, thinking to change his mind about love, or to try to get money or recognition.

Nathan would have taken it very badly. He would have destroyed her.

Since she had never done anything before, it seemed like she didn't feel obligated to send flowers. She had wanted to. She had wanted to please him.

And she had been the only one in the world to do that, as his empty hospital room had made clear. As his empty house indicated. His empty private mailbox.

Shit, Nathan had thought.

Shit, because it was still a little sad, knowing that if he had died only one person on Earth would have been a little emotionally affected.

No friends, no family. The only beings he had known so far were his soulless machines who had tried to assassinate him. Before, he wouldn't have given a damn.

But there had been the flowers.

He had liked the flowers. He had stared at them for hours, not knowing what to think about them, what to feel, and then he had burned them because he didn't like not knowing how he felt.

Now he wanted Y/N to be his.

"I prepared a contract." he declared calmly, putting the document next to the card, which he quickly retrieved to put it back in his pocket. "It's a standard contract."

"... No."

"You can take the time to read it before signing."

"No."

"We can discuss the terms if some don't suit you."

"No."

"I lied, I read the name as soon as it appeared, I was scared because I don't understand humans, these unstable and tiring imbeciles. Happy ? You want me to tell you that I need you and from what I've read about you, you're not too bad ?"

"Not too bad ?"

"It's... Fuck. Why does it always have to be complicated ? Listen, you sent flowers, I have a contract. What do we do now ?"

"... I can cook too. We can have dinner."

It was stupid. Like the flowers, the reason they were in this situation now. But he was her soulmate. He had difficulty with people, partly due to his intelligence, the rest due to his bad manners.

He had almost died.

She was curious.

So they could try. At least they could chat while eating. Then they would see. Nathan said he still considered love to be bullshit. But he had lied saying he hadn't been intrigued by her name.

He stared at her, looking for the joke, before nodding, collecting the contract she wouldn't sign, and leaving without asking for her address.

A few minutes later, Y/N received a message anyway, to know what time he should come, and saying that he would bring some good expensive wine. She didn't ask him how he got her number.

It was not normal. But Nathan Bateman wasn't normal, so it wasn't surprising. Y/N had always wanted a normal life. But she went home anyway to prepare the meal, she put the letter she wrote him year ago in his plate, and wait for him.

He arrived with the wine, and some stupid flowers.

#ex machina #nathan bateman #nathan bateman x reader #nathan bateman imagine #nathan bateman fanfiction

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literal-comments · 1 year

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DISCLAIMER- I DO not claim to have full rights to any quotes that I post. They are presented under the Fair Use Act, for the education and information of the public.

PLEASE READ: If you do NOT want spoilers, PLEASE SKIP THIS POST. I will be posting spoiler free reviews at a later time.

Literal comments on “Long Live The Pumpkin Queen” by Shea Ernshaw, Chapter 2:

- I’m surprised that trees with green leaves aren’t just a little more surprising to Sally, considering all she’s ever lived around in HalloweenTown.

- when did Jack learn what time zones are?

- “Apparently, Valentine’s Day is a holiday that happens every February. And humans surprise one another with sweets and roses and poorly written love poems.” BRUH, JACK JUST FRIED ALL OF HUMANITY, WE NEED ALOE-

- Okay, Sally’s reaction to Valentine’s Day is getting more believable.

- Sally’s description of Cupid/Eros is like that first time a player encounters the dolls on American McGee’s Alice: Madness Returns. I’m enjoying that…

- a bleeding heart equates to a broken heart…? I thought a bleeding heart would just be one that was deeply in love…? I wonder who else equates a bleeding heart with a broken one…?

- HOW DARE SOMEONE INSINUATE SALLY ISNT BEAUTIFUL THE WAY SHE IS-

- what… how has Jack never heard of Shakespeare…? Sure, he’s most famous for his romantic side but let’s not forget, the dude also wrote Hamlet and Macbeth… WAIT. “To recite Shakespearian quotations”- JACK DOES KNOW WHO SHAKESPEARE IS WTF

- okay he remembered the author. I was really worried there for a moment.

- Sally, no! Don’t you dare doubt yourself!

- “Why does no one come to Halloween Town to visit?” Good question, Sally. I would be wondering that myself. Yours was one of my favorite movies when I was a child…

- I’m trying not to reveal too much but the cutest thing just happened between Sally and some cupids…!!!!

- Jack really said “let’s hijack a boat” and I’m in HYSTERICS. I still love this skeleton!! 😂

- CHOCOLATE FIGHT!!!! 😂🤣😂🤣

- NOOOO YOU CANT DO THIS TO ME!!! WHYYYYYYYY!!!! I was so interested and then bam, it’s morning!!!! 😭😭😭😭😭 #ItsCuzItsADisneyBookIsntIt

- THE HONEY MOON IS ALREADY OVER?!?!

I mean… like… I didn’t even expect THAT but now that we got it, MY MIND IS RACING-

#literal comments #book #books #reading #books and reading #Disney #Tim Burton #Henry Selick #The Nightmare Before Christmas #TNBC #shea ernshaw #long live the pumpkin queen

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raskolni-kin · 3 years

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may i present you

penguin pingu classics

#the penguin classics cover generator is the best thing ive ever used #wait i just noticed i did the hamlet one wrong nvm #okay hamlet wrote shakespeare i said what i said #pingu #classic lit #literature #literature memes #the great gatsby #crime and punishment #hamlet #the picture of dorian gray #moby dick #english literature #ap lit memes #william shakespeare #f. scott fitzgerald #oscar wilde #charles dickens #dr. jekyll and mr. hyde

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karamazovdmitri · 3 years

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What Russian movies would you recommend?

oh my god where to even start!! i really love soviet cinema so this is most of what i will suggest probably (im kind of meh on most recent mainstream russian cinema, even tho it has great pieces of guilty pleasure movies lmao) alright so settle in well okay lets start with the classics: andrei tarkovsky is my favorite filmmaker, literally anything and everything by him (just dont watch nostalghia first, but i highly recommend the mirror, stalker, solaris if you like SF, or hell even andrei rublev if thats your jam bc personally it is and i LOVED), very contemplative and slow movies though, like. you will need patience to get through his stuff, but personally i always say it feels like someone recorded a dream and you're watching that. it feels really oniric and its like you dont exactly grasp it all and when you try to explain it you cant really but good god its good

then! i will recommend one of my all-time favorite movies, and i mean it, of ALL times, the ascent by larisa shepitko. its about two soldiers during wwii who are sent off to find food, and its one of those war movies that arent really war movies you know but they are about it, and moreso, they're about like Humanity™? anyway one of the most haunting, beautiful and devastating movies i've seen ever. just beautiful in the cinematography, in the acting, in just everything honestly, its raw and profoundly human and also if youre like me and youre all about that religious symbolism? youre in for a... sad sad treat, but a treat nonetheless. it really like. got me deep like i didnt know what to do with myself after watching it but its a masterpiece 10000% (also while im there... also watch larisa sheptiko's other movie, wings)

now another classic is of course the cranes are flying, everyone knows but i need to reiterate it really lives up to the hype... just. some of the most beautiful cinnamon tography ive seen ever. like ill be honest even if i love cinematography in general i rarely go look up a cinematographer specifically but for this movie i HAD to bc some camera shots are INSANE. just one of the most gorgeous movies ive seen ever

if we're still going about aesthetic bc why not... if you liked hamlet by shakespeare, you HAVE to see the 1964 Hamlet movie its sooo gorgeous and such a good adaptation in my opinion like i just think this movie understands EVERYTHING about the essence of the play

now the next one i wouldnt necessarily put on the same scale as the others but good god is it a good watch, and its ballad of a soldier yes its another classic idc the soviet classics arent classics for nothing. this one is a really nice watch. just felt..... really nice and once again war movie thats not really showing you the war itself, i dig this hardcore

okay also ! not soviet lmfao but HUGE mention to alexander sokurov, you probably know of russian ark, if you dont, its not only a fucking prowess of cinematography, its basically one single continous shot for the entire movie and not like. a fake one like 1917 -tho dont get me wrong, loved what 1917 did-, like its deadass. press record, do the entire fucking movie, press stop. its INSANE and its BEAUTIFUL and im in love with sokurov's style, not as well known but i also loved francofonia, tho its a lot more experimental imo and is more documentary than movie, but also not documentary per se, i guess an essay of sorts, kind of confusing but i enjoyed it

i could not do this without of course mentioning one of my comfort movies™, which is я шагаю по мосве (translated as different things, like walking the streets of moscow or i walk around moscow) just a short and really sweet and light movie about . life i guess. LMAO its vague but theres really no real plot in there just a good time and very genuine and also has one of my favorite final scenes ever quick special mentions: courier, which was not my favorite but a really good movie still and it gets me bc its 1980s russia aka my jam, crime and punishment 1970 IF youve read C&P bc umm its an entire vibe, and remember when i said modern russian cinema guilty pleasure? okay well i rewatched движение вверх recently and like. it still slaps. if youre wondering (???) i need you to know i havent watched a zvyaginstev movie since i was like 16 so i dont have a concrete opinion on his stuff lmao)

sorry i wrote like SO fucking much but jaksfbajfbajsfh i hope this can provide you with some stuff of interests and btw a lot of these movies can be found with russian film hub, which basically like searches youtube and whatnot for you since mosfilm are actually pretty cool and do put their movies online

#asks #anon #me? writing insanely long replies instead of studying for my exam thats in 6 hours? Yeah #ANYWAY!! i know i didnt really ummm suggest any obscure gem or anything but tbh im still making my way into soviet cinema #so like........ yeah one day i'll find the obscure gems #and theres also like big titles i havent mentioned and thats fine too lmao but thats gives u an Idea of what i vibe w i think #also i probably forgot movies bc u know how it is someone asks ur favorite thing and suddenly you forget everything youve seen but yeah!#rus tag #Anonymous

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andguesswhat · 3 years

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The Fool on the Hill - Chapter 4

The secret behind the Two Gentlemen of Verona and the beginning of Lokius...

Their story on the Archive

Between the shelves

Tom’s fingers slid over the spines of the books along the shelves.

MayaAngelou...

William Blake...

Robert Frost...

Ah there we are Shakespeare's poems...

He took an edition of Shakespeare’s poems before 1640 out of the shelf and sat cross legged on the floor.

Camera and lights had to be relocated for the shoot in the library and Tom thought he might spend the break doing something useful.

“Sir?” he heard Owen’s voice imitating a stern security guard, “I’m afraid reading on the floor is prohibited. I have to ask you to get up immediately.”

Tom looked up to a smiling Owen and smiled back. “Why don’t you come down?”

And he did. Owen sat down, leaning at the book shelf opposite, his legs drawn up, smiling at Tom.

“So Shakespeare again?” his head pointed to the book Tom held in his hand.

Tom laughed softly. “Yes, the conversation yesterday got me thinking again.”

Owen nodded and smiled in amusement. “Maybe I get myself a copy of Hamlet to read before bed. What do you think?”

“Good choice, good choice,” Tom reassured him.

And he couldn’t help smiling either. They had been doing this a lot lately. Talking and constantly smiling at each other.

Owen leaned forward to search for the right book, his fingers now also sliding over the spines.

“Ah look at that!” He pulled out a copy of Two gentlemen of Verona and waved it in his hand.

“I read this in college. I always thought: this is about two bisexual guys, right? And the teacher was like,” he mimicked an older Brit, “oh no, this is Shakespearian English, it’s a bit different than you are used to, I guess. He was from England and wanted to show me that I as a stupid kid from Texas could not understand Shakespeare...”

“And oh how wrong they were about you...” Tom remarked and hoped, it didn’t sound like he was blushing.

He imagined Owen in high school and how he got underestimated just because of the way he was. Tom certainly would have loved being Owen’s friend back then.

Owen opened the book. “Aaah, I remember it now. Cease to persuade, my loving Proteus:

Home-keeping youth have ever homely wits.” He looked at Tom. “That already sounded somewhat gay to me. All these sweet words they have for each other…”

Tom’s heart began to pound. He had been looking for the right moment to tell Owen.

He had talked with Owen about Loki before they began shooting and of course he had mentioned that Loki was bisexual. Owen had been surprised but not in a bad way. He had said something like “Okay, good for him.”

So Tom could assume that Owen wasn’t homophobic. But still, what would he say when he knew Tom was bisexual himself? And Tom even wondered about Owen himself?

Tom had the feeling that Owen was flirting with him. But Tom had flirted with his straight friends, too, so that could mean absolutely nothing. And he would hate it for the flirting to stop just because Owen was suddenly insecure about knowing Tom was bi.

So Tom just said, “Look, this is interesting as well,” and showed Owen the book with the poems. “These are the poems by Shakespeare. And this is an edition with the original text, where a lot of poems are directed to… men. And later they were published again by a publicist called John Benson. But he changed most of the pronouns from he and him to she and her.”

“Wow…that’s… outrageous! I didn’t even know that... You really know a lot of that stuff. Not just Hamlet.” Owen smiled at him. “Maybe we should start a new lecture, the Shakespeare lecture.”

Tom laughed in embarrassment. He knew he was a nerd and got on people’s nerves with this whole stuff.

“You know, I always could kinda relate to Shakespeare somehow.” Owen said, looking at him, intently. “I always felt we shared some similar… feelings. It felt somehow familiar.”

Tom felt a little dizzy hearing this.

He still could be misinterpreting this.

But he had heard Owen say that and he thought he just had to act on it.

So he looked a bit left and right to see if there was anyone near them and said, “I know what you mean, I always felt the same. Because he wrote for both, you know. For women and for men.”

He cried out inside. Why was this still so hard to just say it? He was 39 for Christ’s sake.

But he probably got it right after all, because Owen nodded slowly, his face all soft, his smile reassuring, knowing.

“It was nice, by the way, there at the table. I loved that," Owen said after a little pause. "That Loki would sleep in front of Mobius.”

Tom became a little embarrassed. “I just felt that it would fit. Because he trusts Mobius. That’s new for him. And there’s a scene later on with Sylvie where he says that he can’t sleep around people he can’t trust. So… I wanted this to match. I’m glad Kate went along with it.”

The look that Owen gave him was kind of mischievous…

“I think we should talk about the relationship between Loki and Mobius a bit more… dig a bit deeper. Because I think there is a lot to show that’s not necessarily in the script. You know I was lying in my bed yesterday, imagining Mobius lying in his bed, thinking about Loki. Yes, he’s obsessed with him but I think there’s so much more. He really cares for him, you know.”

And the way Owen said “he cares for him”, God, Tom’s heart immediately began racing again. And he thought he would burst. He felt so much joy and so much love and so much excitement that he was probably grinning like a clown.

Yes, they already talked about the relationship between Loki and Mobius a lot, how much these character could give to each other… but they hadn’t taken it to another level… yet. Honestly, when he first read the script, he didn’t see it either. But with Owen now here on set… it was getting better every day.

“I’d love that,” he said softly.

And Owen just smiled at him. And then something happened that Tom hadn’t expected. Owen leaned his head back on the shelf and began to talk quietly.

“You know, there was this boy. Charly. We were best friends, from a young age, you know sandbox friends. And we were doing everything together. And one day when we were like 9 or 10 or something he asked me ‘Should we kiss?´ like he would ask me `Wanna go for a ride?´, as if this was just something you just do with a best friend. So we kissed.” Owen smiled in memory of this. “And it was nice… It felt good… So now and then we would make out… And… a few years later he would ask me `Should be jerk off?´ and I again was like ´Why not´… so we jerked off together” He shook his head as if he himself couldn’t believe that really had happened. “So until we were 18 we pretty much did everything one could do in this… area. We had girlfriends from time to time. We were crazy about them. But with Charly… it felt always different, more like coming home, something you could always go back to. It was comforting. And all the time it felt like it was the most natural thing in the world.” He sighed and looked at the floor, lost in thoughts. “If there hadn’t been the people to tell you otherwise…”

Tom didn’t know how to breathe, didn’t know what to say. He was so overwhelmed about Owen’s endearing story, and the sadness behind it. And that he had shared it with him….

“TOOOM? OWEN??” Lea, the production assistant, was searching for them and calling their names until she finally found them between the shelves. “How should I find you here?” she reprimanded them. “It’s all set up!”

“Sorry…” Tom and Owen answered simultaneously and helped each other get up.

Owen straightened himself and turned to Tom.

“Meet me at section F for Fitzgerald at the next break?”

Tom laughed softly. “Sure!”

And while he said this, his heart fluttered in his chest excited about what would happen in section F.

#hiddlewow #widdlewow #rpf #loki fanfiction #widdlewow fanfiction #the fool on the hill #chapter 4 #loki series #tom hiddleston/owen wilson #tom hiddleston #owen wilson

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armageddonouttahere · 3 years

Text

Consolation

Title: Consolation

Summary: Takes place after “Putting Others First”, in which Roman sinks into his room and doesn’t leave for a while. Logan is the only one not preoccupied enough to come and lure him out, but in this he has to face emotions he’s been putting on the backburner for a long time.

Pairings: Romantic Logince, background platonic Moxiety

Warnings: Crying, self-doubt, insecurity, negative thinking

Rating: General Audiences

Genres: Fluff, Hurt/comfort (with a happy ending)

Word count: 2,500

A/N: Here we are, at last! I had cranked out the last couple paragraphs of this fic just an hour ago, and I’m very excited. This had gone from a little Logince comfort drabble to a fic of 2,500 words (exactly, though I didn’t do that on purpose). I hope anyone who sees this enjoys it, and everyone who’s been waiting for it likes it even more, after all this suspense. Taglist will be at the end, under the cut.

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Logan was at a loss. The aftermath of Janus’ name reveal left all the sides shaken and fragile. Especially Roman. Logan wanted to help, he wanted to be able to tell Roman with certainty that he will be okay, that everything will be alright. Logan needed to be able to look Roman in the eyes and know that the words that came out of his mouth are truths.

But he can’t. So, Logan focused on the problems he could solve. He endeavoured to keep Thomas in working order, though on the inside he may be struggling. Virgil seemed to have taken a backseat, focused on watching over Patton. The most he’d seen of the anxious side was weekly updates and reports on Patton’s condition, how he was feeling, which Logan appreciated greatly. He needed all the positive data he could get.

As the logical side, Logan was somewhat attuned with the other sides’ reasoning and thought process. He needed this information to be accurate in order to know how Thomas works, how he functions. He knew how the other sides try to solve problems, how they understand things. When something or someone throws a wrench in the system it’s one of the few things that affected Logan physically.

In the aftermath after Roman sank out Logan had migraines for weeks. Roman’s flawed logic- his flawed perception of himself- is the one thing that has caused Logan the most physical pain. Roman’s view of himself shifted so drastically to the negative end that Logan felt… sorry? For him?

He felt… he- he felt. Roman made him feel. What did he feel, exactly? Empathy? It was true that Roman’s emotional pain gave Logan physical pain, but the shared anguish went further than that. Logan knew what it’s like to feel wrong, to feel unheard. He related to Roman. He knew what he’s going through.

Their opinions may differ, but Roman still needed consolation. Logan won’t further his belief that Janus is the villain, but Roman doesn’t need a scolding or a lecture, skewed though his viewpoint of Janus may be. He needed someone to listen to him, someone to comfort him.

Logan was aware that he’s no optimal candidate for the matter, not the first choice for consolation (nor the second). He does not possess the endless cuddles and comfort food of Patton, nor does he have the quiet understanding and listening ears of Virgil. His only way of reassuring the prince is through data, probabilities, and chances. Inadequate. Unsatisfactory. Definitely not enough.

Logan made a plan. A plan to make Roman feel better. A plan to get Roman to open his door, something he hadn’t done in two weeks. He gathered things he believed he would need in order to cheer Roman up: the Sherlock screenplay Roman had gifted him at Christmastime, Logan’s book of Shakespeare’s plays (Hamlet being pre-marked with a red sticky-note, in case Roman is feeling increasingly dramatic and macabre), his journal for note-taking, vocab cards, and his laptop- which has a playlist compilation full of ‘cute’ animal videos at the ready. All of this was needed for Logan to get up the courage to knock on Roman’s door. He felt as if he’s putting on an armour of sorts. Preparing himself for battle.

It’s quite funny- the logical side needs bravery and courage to step outside his area of expertise and comfort the prince of the group.

May 17th, 2020. 1830 hours. Attempt #1: Prologue.

Roman has not left his corner of the mindscape for 16 days, 6 hours, and 28 minutes. Virgil has just given an update on Patton’s condition, which is thus: Patton’s “room” has slightly lessened in its intensity of upsetting emotions. The picture frames’ rate of showing unfavourable memories has decreased. Patton has not cried yet today. The Dark Sides, Remus and Janus, seem to be keeping on the “down-low”. Thomas has not had any intrusive dreams in many days. Virgil has been too preoccupied in keeping tabs on Patton to give him anxiety over much. Thomas’ motivation has gone down. His restlessness has gone up. Roman’s unconscious contributions to Thomas’ everyday life have gone down significantly. Thomas has stopped daydreaming. He has stopped thinking about the future, what he has to do tomorrow. He is becoming forgetful and apathetic. As the logical side, there is only so much I can do to keep Thomas in working order without help from the others, that much I can admit. I have put off trying to help Roman in case things only become worse, but the stakes are too high at this point. Action must be taken. I will record the results of this 1st attempt later.

Logan steeled himself, books tucked under his arm. He took a deep breath and knocked on the door.

Around nine at night, he wrote down the results. Roman had been unresponsive to polite requests for entry, knocking, attempts to start a conversation, small-talk, even a referencing desire to build a snowman. He had not responded to propositions of reading from plays or poetry, or any of his favourite literature. In summary, it was almost like speaking to a “brick-wall” (almost, because the door to Roman’s room was made of mahogany).

“Really? Things must be bad,” was Virgil’s response as Logan recounted the events to him later that evening. It was late, almost time for Logan to get some shut-eye after organizing Thomas’ duties for tomorrow. Logan had entered the kitchen hoping that Thomas would get a good night’s sleep so he could have the highest level of productivity the next day, but judging by the Monster Energy drink resting in Virgil’s hands he supposed that was not the case.

“It is certainly concerning. I tried… if not everything, at least a substantial amount of options.”

“Yeah, and if Roman doesn’t answer to a Disney reference… I’m worried about him. Do you want... me to try?” he said, fidgeting. Logan realized he looked uncomfortable with the idea. Virgil must felt a little guilty for not showing up at all during the argument.

“No, I believe that more attempts should be made. To wear him down, in a way. I’m planning to try again tomorrow.”

“Same Bat Time, same Bat Place?”

“An interesting way of putting it, but that’s the idea.” Logan rubbed his eyes and began making a list of all his tasks once he returned to his room.

“Alright. I’m gonna go see Thomas.” Virgil said, getting ready to sink out.

“I assumed you were. And Virgil?”

He popped back up. “Yeah?”

“Please at least try to motivate him a bit, if through fear? I don’t want to deal with a gloomy, unproductive Thomas tomorrow.”

“You got it. I won’t screw him up too much. ‘Night, Lo.”

“Good-night, Virgil.” He was alone.

“Roman?” Logan knocked once more. “Roman, would you be open to company? I wish to speak with you.”

Nothing. He sighed, pushing his journal farther into his pants pocket. He decided to come with substantially less things this time around. To come as he is.

“I’m not entertaining visitors or guests at the present. Please come back another time, thank you,” came a weak and muffled response.

The sound of Roman’s voice gave Logan an ache in his heart which he didn’t want to name. He ignored it, for the moment.

“I just want to speak with you. You’ve been decidedly quiet these past few weeks. Your input, both in-person and in Thomas’ subconscious has dropped a considerable amount. As far as I am aware you have not made your presence known to me or any of the other sides in over two weeks.”

Silence was his response. Facts were getting Logan nowhere. Logan sighed, struggling with himself. Did he tell Roman what he thought in simple terms, what he was trying to say through his data? How could he bare himself to Roman’s listening ears, let himself be known?

“In all honesty, Roman, I’m- I’m…” He took a breath. “I’m worried about you.” He said this in a rush, letting it all out in one breath. Like a Band-aid, as Virgil had stated. The silence that still followed both frightened him and spurred him on.

“Roman, I- I haven’t spoken to you in weeks. I’m afraid of what will happen if you stay isolated for much longer. You’re a necessary part of Thomas’ life, for me to have things to maintain and keep in order. But more than that, more than duties of mine, I mis- I’m… finding your absence upsetting.”

Logan faintly realised his hands had begun to shake, and he clenched them.

“You… mean a lot to m- the Mindscape, to Patton, to Virgil… to everyone. No one means you harm. We need your input on discussions, and revel in your ideas and thoughts. We... miss you.”

Just gotta rip it off.

“I- I miss you, Roman.” Logan shut his eyes, forcing out the idea that he had become emotional enough to begin producing tears. Logic does not cry. “We bicker sometimes and both of us are wrong on occasion, but I would rather have arguments with you than nothing without.”

“Seeing your vibrance and excitement in brainstorming, your happiness in Disney movies and romances, watching your brilliance when creating plays and stories and… being you, I- I find myself… swept up- metaphorically, of course- in every emotion you give off when you’re around me. Seeing you productive and happy gives me more of a reason to work to the best of my ability.”

“It’s… it would be difficult for me to ever say these things in the hearing of the other sides, but… I miss the feelings you bring me when you are around. It is something greater than a job well done, Crofters, or puzzles and murder mysteries being solved.”

“The emotions I feel when you are around are something more than a simple pleasure in watching, in the aesthetical enjoyment of seeing things fall into place. When I’m with you, I feel… spurred into action.”

“Roman, I- I can’t… I can’t bear your absence any longer. I’m worried about you, but more than that, I’m worried that should you keep to yourself, I’ll never… I- I won’t…” Logan swept aside a few tears that had run down his face. His throat ached so much that he feared he wouldn’t be able to get any more words out. The words he spoke next came out in a hoarse whisper.

“Without you I’m afraid I’ll never feel anything again.”

A shuddered gasp tore itself from Logan’s throat as he took his first proper breath in a few minutes. Tears slicked their way down his face freely now. This was, Logan supposed, because such a long drought of emotion had rendered him virtually unable to control any that did overcome him.

“However,” Logan began once more after a few more minutes of silence, his voice quieter now. If anyone else had heard it, they might have said he sounded ashamed. “Should you wish to remain alone for… whatever period of time, I won’t stop you. Asking you to open your door for my sake is extremely selfish of me. I’m… I’m sorry, Roman.”

Logan took one more breath before turning around to leave. He had no idea what the effects of his speech would be, and that scared him. He was in an entirely new territory. This was an unprecedented event, with no similar experiences to compare it to. He had ‘boldly gone where no man had gone before’, so to say.

Logan was so wrapped in his own panic, for that is what it was, he almost missed the imperceptible click of Roman’s door opening as he walked away. Every muscle in Logan’s body tensed, and he prepared for angry words and scathing insults. Logan would face it, however. He turned around, and was met with a sight for some very sore eyes.

Roman held open his door an infinitesimal amount, peering through the crack. Through the small open space Logan could see the prince out of his usual outfit, the beautiful swath of his hair, and one very tearful eye. Logan opened his mouth without knowing what would come out, but the air was knocked out of him.

Roman flung the door open wide and his socked feet ate up the steps between them as he flung his arms around Logan, the force of his embrace almost tipping Logan over. An embarrassing ‘oof’ escaped him at the impact and his hands went up to grip the back of Roman’s jumper after only a second of hesitation.

Logan’s mind filled incredibly fast with all sorts of information: the scent of Roman’s hair, the warmth of his body, how Roman buried his head in Logan’s neck and the slight wetness that came from tears. The way Roman’s nose jutted into his neck, the almost imperceptible touch of Roman’s lips on his shirt collar. Logan’s body betrayed him in an audible catch of his breath as Roman clung to him harder.

“Roman, I-” Logan began in a faint whisper, but Roman only shushed him and tightened his grip, rocking them from side to side ever so slightly.

They stayed like that for Galileo knows how long when the prince peeled himself from Logan. Roman looked upon Logan with eyes so bright from unshed tears Logan would have believed there were stars in them.

“You never said anything. Not a word.”

Their conversation was as hushed as could be, the Mindscape and the world beyond it ceasing to exist and zooming in on the two of them, in this moment.

“I’m not good with words. When it comes to talking about feelings, I mean. You know this.”

“Don’t lie, Specs. That was one of the most eloquent and beautiful things I’ve ever heard.”

Logan scrambled to find a breath within him as Roman smiled up at him. For one of the few times in his life, he found himself with nothing to say.

“It was moving, and heartfelt-” Roman continued, taking Logan’s hand and stepping back, towards his room. He paused in his motions and looked at Logan once more.

“-and it was incredibly romantic.” He said softly.

“I’m- I’m glad.” came Logan’s strangled reply. Roman smiled at him again and led him into his room. There they would sit and talk for hours, and Logan would hold Roman to his chest. They would confess to things bothering them and their hopes, dreams, and fears for the future. It would grow late, and Logan would give in and begin to card his hands through Roman’s hair as the prince drifted off to sleep.

There, in the black-blue of the sky of Roman’s window, scattered with stars and the slanting rays of the moon, Logan would look down upon the prince’s sleeping head and realize, though he had first doubted his abilities, he had been enough. Enough for Roman and for himself. He had been enough.

________________________________________________________________

Taglist:

@count-woe-laf @psychedelicships

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butchhamlet · 4 years

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i cannot BELIEVE you would expose me like this alkdhslghdsd but edmund/hamlet really is the final form of my bad shakespeare shipping. anyway if you have any more ideas on how that trainwreck would end........i am Looking

okay i absolutely adore what you wrote in your tags about how they might have met at wittenberg & how edmund could possibly fit into an AU version of the plot. unfortunately i cannot take anything that i enjoy seriously, ever, so i present the cursed modern AU version of this

yes they do meet in college and they notice each other bc both of them are smart as HELL and good at reading people and they have edgy loner solidarity

edmund knows hamlet is like... RICH rich so he makes Contact. probably by, like,,,,, approaching him at a party or smthn when hamlet is standing in the corner with his coat buttoned all the way up while everyone else has fun

edmund has been methodically sleeping his way through their grade (are they still called grades in college i don’t know what tf i am talking about) and horatio - who is ALSO a good judge of character but also a little scared of edmund - has him pretty much figured out and he’s like “hamlet. listen to me. do not sleep with him”

“don’t worry horatio i know”

“this is just like with laertes you have a thing for men who could obliterate you -”

“don’t WORRY horatio i’m not gonna sleep with him it’s FINE”

[jump cut to hamlet waking up in edmund’s dorm room]

i know calling hamlet an emo teen is a flattening of his character but i still imagine all modern AU versions of him as goth-adjacent anyway because i think it’s funny. and i think edmund has the power to be, like, punk

what i’m saying is they share punk clothes and maybe go to a concert together

i do not think hamlet has ever had a fling with someone without falling for them completely (it happened with laertes. it happened with ophelia. it probably happened with fortinbras but we don’t talk about that) and edmund is not... entirely used to this? but he’ll admit to himself that it’s kind of nice to have someone who seems to actually value his opinion/thoughts as much as his body. also hamlet writes him terrible terrible love poems and edmund is flattered but also... like... WHAT is he supposed to do with these. these aren’t even good enough to plagiarize

i mean, what is he supposed to do other than learn hamlet’s handwriting but that’s a given --

(horatio knocking his head against the wall noises)

(he’s not going to get involved goddamnit whatever. WHAT ever just let it happen. maybe hamlet will learn something. but probably not)

in the end i don’t think anything awful happens i just think they break up because edmund loses his patience with hamlet’s need to Think About Everything So Much All The Time.

i personally hc hamlet as having ocd (CANNOT find the post i reblogged about it now but i have ocd and like. see a lot of myself in him. they call it the doubting disorder for a reason <3)

but either way, i think he’s a very thoughtful person, sometimes to a degree that stresses him out, even before his father dies -- and edmund is just... not that way. at all

and look! it gets exhausting! hamlet thinks edmund’s reckless and edmund just doesn’t wanna go THROUGH it all with him man like we don’t have to make another fucking flowchart about where to go to dinner or whatever --

plus there are. some things about hamlet that remind him a little bit of edgar sometimes and like. THAT’S not a thought you want to have about your hook up partner!

AND like you said, macy, they have totally different ways of showing affection - hamlet is much less expressive about affection, physically or verbally, even though he takes it more seriously on an internal level, and edmund just... that is not his love language! physical touch is HUGE for him and there’s kind of a disconnect between them there

PLUS plus part of edmund’s motivation in the first place was “rich kid” because he can’t be normal about relationships. but hamlet, like, doesn’t talk about his family anyway and kind of pretends they don’t exist. and honestly edmund does the same thing with regards to his family so they can’t even bond over the weird family dynamics in their life because they’re just both like... [covering their eyes]

so they break up

but when i say they “break up” i mean that edmund ghosts him for two weeks to go hook up with other people because he never took the whole thing very seriously anyway

and hamlet shows up at his dorm to figure out what the fuck is going on and they have a whole argument because hamlet is really, really good at making conversations into arguments and also was fully convinced he was edmund’s Boyfriend, capital-B

and hamlet ends up sobbing on the phone about it to horatio

who is, like... kind of vindicated but he knows saying so would be unnecessarily mean. but in his head he’s like. did i tell you or did i tell you

“no offense, my lord, but did you actually think this was going to happen differently -”

hamlet, in tears: “YES”

at some point in the following months edmund hooks up with laertes and it’s the worst day of hamlet’s life

#max.txt #ARE YOU PROUD OF ME? ARE YOU PROUD THAT I WROTE... i don't even wanna KNOW how many words this post is #hamlet #edmund #lear #GHGBDBDBD. truly living up to my brand #max butchhamlet prince of denmark and bad posts on tumblr dot com #asks #suits-of-woe-main

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omgrachwrites · 4 years

Text

Schooled (Bucky Barnes)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes/OC

Summary: After the passing of Ava’s father she starts acting out which drives her right into the arms of one gorgeous Professor Barnes.

Warnings: fluff, lil bit of angst, mentions of dr*gs

Words: 2260

A/N: Can you guys believe I’ve posted twice in one week?! I don’t think I’ve ever typed the word ‘Shakespeare’ so many times and on Shakespeare day as well, its pretty fitting! I hope you guys all enjoy this, please let me know what you think and if you would like to be tagged just shoot me an ask! I love you guys very much! xxx

Part Four - Halloween

Bucky sighed to himself as again he marked another unsatisfactory essay, he couldn’t believe those essays were written by the students in his class. The first few were okay but barely, the next couple had just been plain rubbish and the essay that he had marked before this one was downright plagiarised. He looked up at his students who were working on their projects with the exception of Ava and Loki; they were passing notes to one another. Bucky thought that he should say something but he didn’t want to single out Ava. Again. He remembered how embarrassing that was from his own college days.

He raked a hand through his fluffy hair as he looked back down at the pile of essays that he should have marked weeks ago. Now was the perfect time to get the marking done before the work load piled up. Turning over the top essay he saw that it was another one on Shakespeare. He was pissed off with himself, why the hell did he put Shakespeare on the syllabus? The last essay he had marked on Shakespeare there was an author’s note at the bottom of the page, explaining why they thought that Shakespeare was a ‘cool guy’.

Bucky was sure that being a ‘cool guy’ wasn’t very high on Shakespeare’s list of what he wanted to leave behind. Massaging his temples, Bucky looked at the name that was at the top of the essay and saw that Loki had written it. Loki had transferred from Cambridge with a glowing recommendation and now it was Bucky’s chance to see if he lived up to his expectations.

From the first paragraph of the essay Bucky was hooked, it was probably one of the most engaging essays that he’d read about Shakespeare. It was plainly obvious that Loki was passionate about Shakespeare and that was what Bucky wanted in a student, somebody with a bit of passion. By the time that Bucky had reached the end of the essay it was obvious that this was the highest mark on a paper so far. It was so good that Bucky would have even allowed an author’s note about how cool Shakespeare was and it would have even made him laugh.

“Mr Odinson,” Bucky started and Loki looked up with wide eyes, Ava also looked up at him, “I really enjoyed your essay about Shakespeare, it’s the best one I’ve read in a while.”

Loki looked slightly confused and hesitant but he smiled all the same, “well, thank you very much sir,” Ava nudged Loki’s arm and gave him the most dazzling smile that Bucky had to look away.

“Right guys and gals, get going and please enjoy your weekend. Next time we’ll be picking up Shakespeare, Hamlet to be exact,” his announcement was met by an influx of groans but Loki looked excited, “oh, don’t sound so glum, according to Mr Owens, William Shakespeare was a cool guy,” he grinned and there came a whoop of agreement.

“Yes! Right on sir!” Bucky laughed and dismissed the class; Ava shot him a faint smile on her way out.

As Ava walked out, Steve was walking in and did a double take when he saw Ava, “wait, what the fuck?” Steve mouthed and he backtracked himself into the hallway.

Groaning, Bucky stood up and followed his friend out of the lecture hall, “Steve come on! Don’t,” Bucky pleaded but it was too late.

“Ava?” Steve called out, way to keep a low profile Bucky thought, Ava turned around at the mention of her name.

“Steve? Is that you?” she laughed and narrowed her eyes, “I’d ask what you’re doing here but obviously by the look of those shorts you’re the gym coach,” she gestured at his outfit, causing Steve’s ears to go red, “is Sam here too? Maybe we could have ourselves a lovely little reunion,” she rolled her eyes at Bucky.

“I thought that you had graduated university,” Steve said slowly, pointing out the obvious and he looked from Ava to Bucky and Bucky shrugged nonchalantly.

“Yeah Steve, so did I, I mean that is what you told us right Ava? Or at least that’s what you implied,” Bucky knew that he was acting like a child but it was hard for him not to feel offended. Especially when she looked so beautiful in ripped blue jeans and an oversized green sweater.

“Oh my god Bucky, all I did was lie to you! I didn’t realise that it was a crime, maybe your pretty face kept you safe from women lying to you but we’ve all got to start somewhere,” she walked up to him, “so please, stop treating me like a fucking war criminal, alright?” she snarled, jabbing him in the chest.

This girl certainly was a far cry from the woman that he’d met in Greece, “it was good to see you though Steve, really it was,” she looked around the corridor to make sure no one was coming before she stood up on her tiptoes and kissed Steve’s cheek. She shot an angry look at Bucky as she walked off down the hallway.

Steve looked amused and was about to say something but Bucky shot him a venomous look that made him shut up. Bucky sighed and the two best friends walked off down the hallway together and into the car park.

“So,” Steve started, deigning it safe to speak as they squeezed themselves into Steve’s tiny vintage car, “tough break huh, where do you want to go for lunch?”

Bucky was starting to get a migraine from all the marking he had done and the frustrating encounter that he’d had with Ava in the hallway, “yes Steve, it is a tough break, I must have been especially wicked in a past life to deserve this, and honestly, I don’t mind. As long as they sell Irish coffee, I need some sort of alcohol,” he sighed, rubbing his temples.

Steve nodded as he started the car and when he spoke, his voice sounded a little weird and high pitched, “I know the perfect place, I’ll call Sam on the way and see if he’s free to meet us.”

About ten minutes later Steve was pulling up outside a little café, it was absolutely packed inside so Steve and Bucky sat outside – it was a pretty nice day – to wait for Sam. When Sam turned up there were a group of girls that giggled and swooned at Sam as he walked to Steve and Bucky’s table, he was still in his firefighter uniform. Bucky rolled his eyes and grinned as Sam sat down opposite him, he couldn’t see why Sam just couldn’t get changed into regular clothes before he came out on his lunch break.

“Sam, you could have at least gotten changed, you’re making the rest of us look bad,” Bucky chuckled and Sam shrugged, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Sorry Buck, I just can’t help it if the ladies love me,” Sam winked, “how are you and that incredibly hot TA?”

Bucky shrugged, shaking his head as he nervously began to rip up the napkin that was in front of him, “that incredibly hot TA and I can be nothing but good bed mates,” Sam was saved from replying because at that moment the waiter came to their table to take their order.

“Just three coffees please man,” Sam said to the kid who nodded and scrawled it down in his notebook.

“Make one Irish,” Bucky smiled and turned to look at Steve who looked crestfallen which was pretty out of character, he was staring at his shoes. Bucky was about to ask him what the matter was but a lightbulb went on in his head and he smirked, “oh my god. It’s here isn’t it? She works here,” at Bucky’s words Steve’s head whipped up and a dark flush spread out across his cheeks which confirmed Bucky’s suspicions.

“Who works here?” Sam frowned, on the wrong page from everybody else and Steve gave Bucky a threatening look which Bucky promptly ignored.

“The girl he’s got a crush on, I hear she’s an English beauty,” Bucky chuckled and clapped Steve on the shoulder, “I just can’t understand why you won’t ask her out.”

Steve looked at his best friend like he’d just suggested the most outrageous plan, “what the hell are you talking about Buck? I can’t just ask her out, a woman as beautiful as her must have a boyfriend. She could do a lot better than me anyhow,” Steve shrugged, he’d been nervous around girls ever since high school.

“Seriously man, our local bar is throwing an early Halloween party tonight. How about you invite her to that?” Sam suggested reasonably and Steve rolled his eyes shaking his head.

“It’s three weeks till Halloween; it’s completely ridiculous celebrating it this early!”

“Yeah, that wasn’t really my point,” Sam sighed, “but never mind,” Steve fell silent almost instantly when their coffees were brought out.

They were brought out by a pretty woman with short dark hair and by the look on Steve’s face this was the woman that he’d been lusting after. Steve was hopeless when he was around women that he liked, that was made plainly obvious as Steve wouldn’t say a word to the waitress when she came outside to collect cups and plates. She even smiled at him once which caused Steve to completely lose his head and spill coffee all down himself. When Steve went to the restroom Buck wrote Steve’s name and number down on the bill.

“He’ll thank me one day,” Bucky said to a smirking Sam.

——————————–

Ava walked out of her room, her heels clacking on the hardwood floor and she stood in front of Loki, turning on the spot, “what do you think about my sort of costume?” she giggled, she was going to an early Halloween party with Wanda and MJ tonight. She had decided to go as a princess but she made her outfit casual so it could be seen as normal party attire.

Loki leaned back on the couch, raising an eyebrow appreciatively as he looked her up and down, “you look fantastic.”

Ava giggled and flushed slightly at the compliment, “are you sure that you won’t come? It won’t be the same without you.”

“I might come later on but if I don’t, have a wonderful night love and stay safe,” he smiled and Ava nodded, blowing him a kiss before she headed out of the door.

Ava met MJ and Wanda at the bar and Wanda held up a sandwich bag with cookies in the shape of ghosts inside, “they’ve got pot in them,” she giggled, during the first three weeks of their final year Wanda had taken up a new hobby, “senior year of college is fantastic!”

“Maybe later Wand,” Ava giggled, shaking her head, “do you girls want some cocktails then?”

Soon enough the three girls – after one too many cocktails – were dancing in the middle of the room, drinks in hand. They’d also had a little nibble of Wanda’s homemade pot cookies but they weren’t really giving any effects at the moment.

“I still can’t believe that Bucky is your goddamn professor!” MJ shouted down Ava’s ear as she sucked her iced cocktail off the stirrer. Ava giggled, playing with the ends of her hair, not getting a chance to reply as Wanda spoke up.

“Are you going to start sleeping with him again though?” she asked and Ava shook her head, too much had happened between them.

“No, I’ll get us some more cocktails shall I?” she didn’t wait for an answer before she walked over to the bar, desperately wanting to get away from the conversation. While she was at the bar she felt a hand on the small of her back, she turned to see that it was Loki. He looked so handsome. He’d sprayed his curly blonde hair black and he was dressed in Victorian attire.

“Loki! You came!” she giggled and gave him a hug; he chuckled as he kissed the top of her head.

“Are you drunk?” he asked.

“Loki,” she gasped playfully, “however did you guess?”

“Well Miss Stark, your cheeks are perfectly rosy from the liquor and you look undeniably beautiful,” Ava giggled at his words and gave the gorgeous boy another hug. Over his shoulder she saw Steve – with a beautiful woman – Sam and Bucky. Bucky had some beautiful blonde perched on his knee. Despite herself, Ava couldn’t look away.

Loki pulled away from the hug and followed Ava’s line of sight, “ah, do you fancy Professor Barnes?“ he smirked.

“Something like that,” Ava thought there was no point in lying about it; she was still attracted to Bucky.

“And, he’s looking this way, how about we give him a show?” he winked and Ava nodded, wondering what he could mean.

In a flash Loki had her in his arms, leaning her back slightly, “I hope this doesn’t make things awkward between us,” he murmured before kissing her. She was pleasantly surprised but only for a second before she kissed him back, running her fingers through his thick curls. Loki grunted into the kiss as Ava pushed up against him before pulling away and the pair turned to look at Bucky.

The woman was now sitting beside him instead of on his knee and he was looking at Ava and Loki with a mingled look of amusement and perhaps something else, Ava couldn’t be entirely sure.

——————————–

< previous part next part >

@void-imaginations @theonelittleone @leclerc-stan @thejemersoninferno @allthingswildareshy @mikariell95 @charles11700 @writingkeepsmewhole @lovely-geek @white-wolf-buckaroo @goodolbucky @rosemoonmist

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writingamongtheroses-archive · 4 years

Note

Happy WBW! If your story became a movie -animated or live action- or a play or an audiobook with a full cast, who would you want to play/vocalize certain characters?

I remember that I wrote this out for Bride of Loki before, but only for the gods. (Still have no idea for the humans and I’m taking suggestions.)

David Tennant: Okay, so his performance as Crowley sold me for Loki, but he is also overdramatic enough to the point where he used the actual human skull that the Shakespeare Company used for practice in the actual Hamlet scene. (It was Tchaikovsky's skull, which he donated for that exact scene. The Company then claimed they got rid of it after people found out.) He’s also shown to be good at accents and has no issue playing genderfluid characters.

Britney Spears: I love her songs but what sold me for her as Sigyn was how well she tries to take care of her kids, even with the difficulty in doing so. Sigyn is someone who is well used to bullshit and is well versed in patience from her husband’s antics. She would be a good balance to Loki’s overdramatic and good maternal support to Kari.

Jack Black: I did some digging and ended up deciding that this was Freyr, who is Mabelle’s pact god. (He helps her find love, she helps him make sure his wife is safe.) Plenty of his movies have his character supporting kids, but Freyr would be like R.L Stein- a person who used to love what he did, but things fell apart and he’s left in the wreckage dealing with it. Instead of anger, Freyr instead obsessively paints his wife and halfheartedly helps Mabelle.

Peyton List: The youngest in this, she would play Idun, Miks’ haunter. Idun was the goddess of youth who guarded the gods’ golden apples of youth before she was seduced by Loki to be handed over to a Jotun. She has amnesia from her death but will try her best to mess Loki and Sigyn up once she does regain her memories.

Johnny Depp: I finally settled on Depp for Baldar, the big bad of the series. As said by thetoptens.com: “His role in a movie is often rather big. His character is often on the “loopy side” and his character being in a darker state of mind, etc.” Despite being associated with periwinkle blue and white, Baldar is the darkest character in the series: killing surviving immortals, manipulating thousands of people in a hopeless reach for perfection, manipulating Alpha One to a self-destructive degree, etc.

#Worldbuilding Wednesday #Bride of Loki

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darkcozyforest · 5 years

Text

Poetry By Dead Men

Pairing: Sonny Carisi x Reader

Word Count: 2.1K

Warnings: Angst, Mention of guns, shootings, etc.

Author’s Note: Hi guys! It has been a long time since I have posted a fic and I am excited to try and get back in the groove of writing! This is my first one in two years and it is full of angst which is new for me! It will have a part two posted soon! Please enjoy and as always feel free to send in your requests! I hope to get working on them soon!

“Dominick Carisi, I swear to God if you quote one more dead guy I will walk out that door and you will never see me again.”

You got up from your spot on the couch and walked over to the kitchen. You needed to do something. You were angry, and when you were angry, you always felt like you needed to find something else to focus on or you would start crying, and that was the last thing you wanted. You began to fill the sink with soap and water and started scrubbing at the dishes that had been neglected over the last two days.

“What are you talkin’ about? You used to love it when I read ya those poems and stories.”

“I do. I did. I…that’s not the point! You’re not listening to me. This last time you could have been killed. Some maniac held a gun to your head and you respond by quoting Hamlet? This isn’t one of your stories. This is your life.”

“First of all, I didn’t quote Hamlet…I quoted Julius Caesar. And technically, I didn’t quote him, I quoted Shakespeare who wrote Julius Caesar. And all I was tryin’ to do was take the edge off. It was a joke.”

You slammed the plate that was in your hand down into the sink, effectively sloshing the water everywhere. You whipped around and stood motionless, staring at him for a minute. You could feel the tears coming to your eyes. You hated that you cried when you were angry or were involved in any kind of confrontation.

“A joke?”

The word came out in a higher pitch than you would’ve liked. It left this feeling in the air reminiscent of all of the close calls and maybes and sleepless nights that you were left with no phone call or text or smoke signal that he was okay, that he was still breathing the same air as you. That he was going to come home to you. That those sirens weren't for him. That he wasn’t ‘cutting off twenty years of life to cut off so many years of fearing death’ as he had so painstakingly thought to “joke”.

You could feel the warmth from the tears begin to soak your shirt. You looked over him, trying to memorize every detail that you could. Trying to commit to memory every line in his face and curve of his hair and vein in his arm. Then, you tried to look anywhere but him. Frantically looking around his apartment to try and find anything but him.

There’s a spot on the couch that you begin to look for and as you find it your mind begins to wander. Trying to find the words to respond to his “joke” and give yourself a chance to calm down. As you find the spot, you think about the night Sonny told you he was considering quitting and becoming a writer. The night that the spot had originated when you spilled your full glass of red wine in shock as he expressed this to you. That he was ready to lay down his weapon and his badge for you. That he had wanted to come running home to you and stay there for as long as possible.

When you had first met him during those night classes at Fordham, he wasn’t even sure being a lawyer was even what he wanted to do. He had considered being a writer for many years. He went on and on about it after the case he had with one of his favorite authors who had died. You would sit in the library, at his apartment, at a coffee shop around the corner from your work and just listen to him read you story after story, poem after poem. Always picking up right where you left off. You would end it the same way every time. “And that’s where we’ll stop” you would say as he would beg to continue. “Guess that gives you an excuse to come back to me and finish the story.” It was your way of telling him to be safe on the job without actually saying it. It was one of the main reasons you were scared of getting into anything serious with him in the first place. The constant fear and anxiety that he wouldn’t come back to you. That he wouldn’t finish the story.

“A joke?”

You said it again, but this time it came with an anger. You tried to calm down but it only made the fire inside your stomach grow larger. You were shaking now, like an animal trapped in a cage who was both angry and scared. And just like that animal in the cage, all your instincts were telling you to attack.

“I have been sitting on this couch, crying my eyes out and waiting for any form of communication to let me know that you were okay ever since I saw the news saying there was an officer involved shooting, and you think this is a joke? Is that what this is to you? A joke? Is this whole relationship just a joke? Are my feelings just a joke!?”

You were yelling now. Unable to control the ferocity of what was spewing from your lips and the tears streaming down your face.

“Well you know what? Let me deliver the punchline then! I’m leaving! Hook, line and sinker!”

His eyes went wide. He hadn’t expected those words to come out of your mouth and he thought had misheard. He crossed the living room to come stand next to you.

“What are you talking about? What do you mean you’re leaving?”

You were almost in as much shock as he was that you had said it. But you couldn’t stand by and watch anymore. You ran into the bedroom and started throwing the things you had in his bottom drawer into the bag that you kept in his closet for trips. Only this time, you weren’t going to be coming back.

“You heard what I said. I’m done. I can’t do this anymore.” You were shaking even harder now and couldn’t stop the flow of tears running down your face. You pushed past him into the living room and moved towards the desk you both shared. You searched for the key that you had hidden and unlocked the only drawer that Sonny wasn’t allowed to look in. You began rummaging through it and pulled out the gift wrapped package you had been saving for later in the week.

“You don’t take me seriously Sonny. You don’t take the danger of your job seriously. And if you think I’m going to sit around and wait for Liv to call me saying that you got shot, like Alice did with Dodds, you are sadly mistaken.”

You went back to the bedroom and grabbed your bag and came to stand back in the kitchen. He hadn’t moved from the spot by the desk since your reaffirmation that you indeed were leaving. His hand seemed glued to his hair and he hadn’t blinked in what seemed like hours.

“How long ago did we sit here on this couch and… and….”

You were speaking between sobs now, trying to catch your breath in between. You felt like the air was being squeezed out of you. He started to cross towards you, reaching out his hand to try and calm you when you shouted.

“No! Don’t touch me! You don’t get to do that! We sat here and you told me you were ready to give it all up. That you were done. Do you remember that? And now I’m left waiting by the phone, crying myself to sleep some nights, so worried about whether or not you’ll come home to me, whether or not I’ll see your crooked smile and hold you in my arms. But you don’t care! You joke! Because this is all just some joke to you! Is that it? Am I laughable, Sonny? Is that why you told me all of those things? Was that all just a joke too?”

“Yes I…no it wasn’t a joke, but I remember saying it. But I…I…I don’t know. What am I supposed to do? If I’m not a detective, what would I do? What could I do? I’m not good at anything else.”

“That is a bold faced lie and you know it Dominick Carisi. You know it. I know it and Penguin Random House knows it.”

You stormed over to him and handed him the package, shoving it into his chest. He reached out for you but you pulled away, returning to the safety of your side of the living room closest to the door. He stared down at the package in his hands, unable to meet your gaze. His sea-blue eyes now a melancholy grey to match the clouds outside.

“What did you say to me on the day we met? Do you remember how you introduced yourself to me? It was the first thing you said to me in that library at Fordham. You said--”

“I said, ‘what do you get when you put a detective, a lawyer and an author together in a room? A mess from Staten Island named Sonny Carisi, nice to meet ya.’ I remember. You said I should put that on my business card. So what?”

“So...I knew you were already a detective, I was sure you would pass the Bar to become a lawyer, and the only thing left on that list was the author.”

“You asked me where you could find any of my books in the library if I was some ‘fancy author’.”

“You said ‘Not today but someday, you’ll see my books lining the shelves’.”

He ran his hand through his hair again. You were sure if he pulled any harder, he would have a chunk of hair missing the next time.

“I still don’t understand what any of this has to do with you leaving.”

“Open the package Sonny.” You had your hand on the strap of your bag as if it was the only thing keeping you from floating out of this world and into the next.

He ripped the paper off in sections, tossing them to the floor. He pulled the leather-bound book out and turned it over to the front, running his hand over the shimmering embroidered letters of the cover. It took him a second to register that the name on the cover was his own.

“What is this? How--”

“I sent a friend from Penguin House a few of your poems and short stories. Naturally they loved them just like I did. I’ve been collecting them from you as you write them and putting them together and they turned it into a book. I was going to show it to you later this week. Saints and Chaos by Dominick Carisi Jr. is set to hit shelves by the end of the month. It just needs the dedication.”

You turned and reached for the door. You stood facing it with your eyes closed and forehead leaning against the cool wood. You turned back to face him. He was closer now and looked as if he wanted nothing more than to pull you to him and never let go. You wanted to nothing more than to let him do just that.

His eyes searched for something, anything to get you to stay as they started to turn red from holding back tears. You both stood there in silence until finally you broke it with one last remark.

“I don’t know if you have some hero complex or death wish or what it is. I know that I love you and I will always love you. God, I love you so much Sonny. But I can’t keep living like this. I wanted to be yours from the moment you introduced yourself to me in that library. But this…ghost or shell of you…it…it’s not the man I fell in love with. So congratulations Sonny. You became that ‘fancy author’ just like you said you would. But I will not stand by and watch you become just another dead poet that people obsess over after they’re gone.”

You quickly reached for the door and ran out, heading as fast as you could for the elevator. You knew if you lingered you would change your mind. The last thing you saw before the elevator door closed was him, on his knees broken in the middle of the hallway. The look on his face is not something you would ever forget, the painstakingly beautiful mess of Staten Island, a crumpled mess in the hallway.

#My writing #Sonny Carisi x Reader #Sonny Carisi #Sonny X Reader #Carisi #Angst #Domanick Sonny Carisi Jr #Carisi Imagine

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a-cai-jpg · 4 years

Text

I feel like this is to assure myself and no one else.

It has recently come to my attention that real people actually read this blog.

That sounds a little stupid, given that I religiously advertise it on both Snapchat and Instagram, but there was a part of me that assumed it would fly over the heads of most (see: all) people. And it's inherently contradictory, but I did not think a Real Person would take time out of their lives to read my utterly irrelevant musings.

I am terribly grateful to my friends and then some for deeming me important enough to click into this site. I am thankful for their validation when they don't just do it silently, lurking amidst the sans serif. One quoted my own words back at me in ALL CAPS, another sent me a video zooming in on my disgruntled face on the sidebar, and more mention it casually in passing conversation, jolting me into the reality that yes, this is A Thing.

But as I laid in bed and typed up the post two days ago, I'm suddenly reminded of why I rarely made my writing public.

I sound like an ungrateful little shit, and I'm truly happy whenever someone mentions The Thing (i just don't like the word blog), and I want to share The Thing with the world because it's a little scary thinking about how all your time and effort and words and emotion could be lost somewhere in the void, like an unread letter that's wandered off the post-trail, but.

Writing digs into the most vulnerable flesh of your heart and mind. I recently saw a quote, "We are writers, my love. We don't cry, We bleed on paper." And there are variations of this quote from others: "I don't think all writers are sad. I think it's the other way around: all sad people write;" "I didn't write it down to build a poem. I wrote it down because that is what I do with the things that unravel me. I drag them across a page."

I don't mean for this to take a maudlin turn, but writing is a salve for aches in the soul. I'm by no means a writer, but I like to think I write (s/o to my soulmate, jackson wang, who said, "i'm not a rapper...i just rap). And sometimes, sharing what I've "dragged across the page" is turning my skin inside out.

I'm definitely more comfortable with sharing my vulnerability through words on a sheet of paper (or words on a WordPad document) than through words spoken to another Real Person.

In my junior year of high school, I sat in a hotel room in Sacramento with words stuck behind my clenched teeth. It was the most peculiar feeling, like if I loosened my jaw, I would vomit the words from my chest and they would tumble off the bedsheets and onto the floor, staining the hotel carpet. But the tension never snapped, and I scrawled them onto a torn sheet of paper instead.

Even now, I express the deepest parts of my emotions through letters. I think a large part of it is because I don't want to see the emotions unfold on someone's face. It's not that I don't want to see them, but I don't think I--this emotionally constipated individual--am capable of responding to them in a way that's not, "Uh. Yeah. Okay. Lol bye." And I feel like that's just not appropriate or sufficient in some circumstances. Better to just avoid the potentially awkward situation.

(yes this is not the most mature way to deal with emotions but spare me the lecture.)

And so, when I am writing, and not saying words at someone's face, I pull out the most intimate intricacies of my heart and twist them into phrases and sentences. And I like to do it without a filter.

But when I was writing these past few days, I was conscious of an audience. I began crafting sentences through the lens of what would this specific person think of this and oh my god what if this person reads this and fuck it ok just kidding we can't just fuck it sos. It was a dangerous balance between editing and re-editing and declaring, "Fuck the world, I write for me, and I'm going to write recklessly and with abandon."

This the main crux of the problem: there is me, the person that you know and talk to and maybe have grown up with, and then there is me, the person who spits words out onto The Thing. And sometimes the two me's mesh perfectly like a pattern overlaid on another to produce an image, and sometimes they don't.

It's kind of like when you go clubbing with a childhood friend for the first time, and you've only known them as the youth group-going, favorite child of all Asian parents, and then y'all are in the club and damn okay they just took seven shots in a row.

(I'm not speaking from personal experience.)

There is a moment of reckoning when you try to reconcile two facets of a person.

(Or maybe this is a me problem, but bear with me here.)

A few months ago, I took a trip with two of my closest friends to San Diego, to visit the college town where one of them spent four incredibly formative years. It was fun and beautiful and very, very disorienting, because in my egocentric point of view, I had forgotten that we lived these four years separately. Suddenly, he was introducing to me a different life, a different history that I wasn't part of, and I couldn't help but feel like I was sitting in the passenger seat of a stranger's car, listening to a crude imitation of a familiar playlist.

The feeling began somewhere on the 5 freeway, when he navigated the unfamiliar lanes with a practiced ease, and swelled as the sun set and he told stories about Mount Soledad and him and his friends.

And it was weird, because I felt like an intruder, even though I had been invited into his memories, and the unease took shape as silence and stilted words until he asked, "Are you okay? You seem weird." And the feeling was spilling onto the back of my hands as I gripped the skirt of my dress, but I couldn't beat it into words, so I unclenched my fists and fastened my seatbelt and choked out a, "Nah, I'm just tired."

I think I'm still in the process of working through this reckoning. It doesn't happen for all of my friends, and it's not always so discomforting. Sometimes, I scroll through Instagram pages with a sort of curious hunger to fill the years I’ve missed, and other times, I take the new information, file it as: Yeah okay, I could've predicted that. But then, there are the times where I can only search someone's face in silence, lump in my throat as I rewind our histories and try to find where one of them snagged and became out of sync.

The different facets of the self should, all in all, unveil the most authentic self. The more you get to know a person, the more you really know a person. I imagine it like you're building a three-dimensional sculpture, and with each new piece of information, you add another bit of plaster to it. Yet, I sometimes lose sight of what I'm trying to build, and when I see the blueprint again, I realize I've veered wildly off course. It's scary, every time I run into a moment like this, because it's like the person I knew, the friend I've had for a decade, was actually just someone I created in my mind, a person who overlapped at the edges with the Real Person, but ultimately, were not the same. And when the illusion disappears, I'm left with a stranger.

I'm exaggerating, but.

I'm a little scared this is what you will feel as you read this. I'm scared there will be no separation between the writer and the writing, and although writing reveals the deepest, most intimate parts of a person, is it really the authentic self? It's only a slice, a slice I had cut with carefully chosen words.

So I want to assure you, if you are someone like me who thinks they view the world on a wide-angle lens but really, only through a slit, and you are someone like me who reels when the cover is yanked away and you're left staggering through the new vista, that every sentence is a part of me, but who you know and who you talk to and who you message is a larger piece of me. And maybe we will never get to know each other fully, because that kind of privilege is saved for but a few, that doesn't make either of us any less authentic.

I sometimes wonder what character development looks like in the real world. When I was a sophomore in high school, I cringed so hard when my favorite English teacher tried to use my essay as an example in class that he almost immediately pulled it out from underneath the Elmo projector and used someone else's. In freshman year of college, I wanted to join a creative writing club, but after realizing that I wouldn't be able to submit my work for peer-editing anonymously, I banished that notion. Yet, for some reason, in my senior year, I decided I wanted to take a fiction writing course. On the day of my first workshop, my hands shook so much that I had to sit on them to stop trembling.

In the beginning of the class, I, myself, had a very difficult time separating the writing from the writer. I think especially in an intro class, students use facets of their own life to create fiction. I think even advanced writers do the same, because ultimately everything you write is you. And I did my fair share of speculation--why did she write about a sibling rivalry does she have a sister, hey did this guy study abroad in hong kong with you because he wrote about that, and huh i wonder if she grew up in florida this is beautiful.

It's the kind of speculation we do with the Greats. Did Shakespeare write Hamlet for his son, Hamnet? Who was Sonnet 18 written for? Was Shakespeare gay? Because see, in this one bit, he wrote.....

(i was a very bored AP lit student ok)

It's the same kind of speculation my friend did when she finished listening to a new song by Crush and said, "Oh, he must be dating." Or the speculation all the YouTube comments had when Jon Cozart and Dodie Clark released duo songs titled "Tourist: A Love Song from Paris" and "a non love song from nashville." It's the kind of speculation you do when you are given a slice of someone's soul, and suddenly, you want to understand the whole thing.

But that kind of scrutiny is uncomfortable. We're okay with doing it to Shakespeare, because the dude's dead. We're okay with doing it to big name artists because hello, Crush is not going to hear my friend talking about him. We're less okay with doing it in the public realm of YouTube comments because they are read by the content creators who explicitly said, "pls don't speculate." We are even less okay with doing it to our peers, and we are not okay with other people doing it to us. Okay, maybe I should just speak for myself.

My trajectory in that fiction writing class was backward. My first story was about a white male living in New Jersey. My last story was about a Chinese American woman who used to live in the suburbs of Los Angeles.

It wasn't planned.

It's as if my subconsciousness drew up barriers the minute I stepped into that classroom, and wrote a story as far removed from who I am as possible.

Because really, who is going to think that the gas jockey with a hunger for divine power is me?

(sike.)

But I guess character development is becoming okay with vulnerability and with potential speculation, and as I wrote, I began writing closer and closer to the heart, pulling the words from the east coast to the west.

When the last workshop rolled around, I was calm, sitting at one of those awful, plasticky chairs with tiny, useless desks attached to one arm. I was neither defensive nor uncomfortable, like I thought I would be, just at peace and humbled as I listened to my classmates discuss the craft of my writing.

And I think that's the ultimate lesson: once you write something, or create something, and release out into the wild, it no longer belongs to you. It's an argument I used to make in my art history class, but it's an argument that John Green often makes when his readers ask him about the meaning behind his books.

I don't quite mean it like he does, when he says, "Books belong to their readers." I think that before the writing is consumed by the reader, it is its own entity, existing independently of both writers and readers. And when it is eventually taken up by the reader, the writer shouldn't feel a sense of possessiveness or vulnerability or fear about the content.

And shit, that really fucks up my other thing about trees falling in forests but anyways.

There are a load of other things I have to consider when suddenly, the dumb spools of thoughts in my brain become free content for the Internet. Like, privacy rights? Am I allowed to talk about this one thing my unnamed friend said, but wait, you can definitely tell who it is, oh fuuuuuu-. At what point is it oversharing? Do I get to decide the line between okay and TMI, or does me declaring that I am writing this for myself mean there is no line?

But, in the end, I just want to say thank you.

I’m really used to, as I’m sure many people are, presenting just one facet of my whole self to people. Every individual has a number of different roles, and each role comes with its own set of rules and norms. The sociological part of me says that this discomfort I’m feeling has a lot to do with the breaking down of norms. There is a certain playbook people go by when they lower their barriers, but this circumvents that.

And honestly, maybe I’m just thinking too much into it and all of this is for naught, but it was cathartic writing this all out, even if I had to take two very lengthy breaks to get my thoughts in order.

(just kidding, one of them was to watch Kingdom season 1).

There are so many things I am grateful for, and I fear that in the past week, I have been battling bad vibes and have forgotten how incredibly privileged I am.

So, here is List 16 of The 52 List Project (that my friend made me start legit in 2016 and I'm still on list 17)

List 16: List your Essentials 1. Family & Friends ✔ 2. Affirmation & Love ✔ 3. Achievement ✔ 4. Happiness ✔ 5. Hope & Dreams ✔ 6. Phone ✔ 7. ID/Card holder ✔ 8. Plush blankets ✔ 9. Stuffed animals ✔ (so many!) 10. Inspiration from a boy on skates ✔ (see: hope & legacy) 11. Good music ✔ (i gotchu fam, here's ur r&b fix) 12. Good books ✔ (go check out a book) 13. Good conversations ✔ 14. Thoughts ✔ 15. Creativity ✔ 16. Music ✔ 17. Possibilities ✔

#beep boop beep boop beep boop beep boop skrrt skrrt

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pocket-luv101 · 5 years

Text

Dramatic Blond || Part 2

Fandom: Servamp Ships: LawLicht (main), KuroMahi (side) Characters: Hyde, Licht, Kuro, Mahiru, Lily

Summary: Hyde enrolls in Juilliard to win back his ex. But then he meets Licht who helps him discover a new dream. He will become a famous actor and show his ex that he’s someone serious. (Legally Blonde AU)

Part 1 || (Part 2) || Part 3 || Part 4

“I thought you were going to help me practise my improv, Angel Cakes. You’re paying more attention to Dr. Jekyll. He’s cute and all but I asked you to come over to help me with my improv class. You can pet him and read lines from a hat at the same time.” Hyde waved the upside-down hat in front of Licht. When he didn’t respond, he tapped the hat against his nose.

Licht swiped the hat from him and used it to lightly hit him as retaliation. Slips of papers flew into the air between them and Hyde waved them away. He picked one of the papers from blond hair and unfolded it. “Scenario: You are a demon who patrols the underworld. One day, you see an angel on the other side of the gate. What is the first thing you say to this angel?”

“I don’t remember writing that as a prompt.” Hyde took the paper from him and found that it said something different. He chuckled and said: “Of course, you would make something up with angels and demons, Lichtan. Can’t you take this seriously and read the lines like I asked you to?”

“You asked me to help you with improv and that’s what I’m doing. These prompts are from your textbook so you already thought of lines in response while you wrote them down. This is the best way to help you create a scene on the spot.” Licht told him. His reasoning made sense to Hyde so he nodded. “The angel tells you that he intends to break down the gate. How do you respond, Demon?”

“With a declaration of peace and love.” He cupped his hands around Licht’s. “Sweet angel, there’s no need to be so violent. Give us a chance before you decide we’re all evil demons. I will open the gate for you and show you the Demon Realm. We’ll go wherever your heart desires. Maybe you’ll discover that we’re not so different and decide to stay with us.”

“Demons took the love of my life. I cannot forgive them for their crimes against angels.” Licht said to change the direction of the improv skit. Even if he was merely practising his acting, he felt flustered by his light flirting. Hyde was attractive and he could easily picture him on a large stage. More than his looks, he was talented. His eyes appeared sincere and his smooth voice was almost able to trick him.

“Your angel left you for a demon? Then there’s only one thing we can do, Angel Cakes. Let’s date and make your ex jealous! So, what do you say?” He asked but Licht’s response was to hit him with a pillow. Hyde managed to catch the pillow and tossed it back to him. He chuckled and gathered the loose papers. “I guess I went too far. Let’s pick another scenario.”

“Give me a second to think of one you can’t turn into a cheesy rom-com. Do you have any suggestions, Jekyll? Squeak, squeak.” He spoke with the hedgehog as if it could understand him. Their interaction made him chuckle. He could almost believe that the two were having a conversation. He was certain that there wasn’t anyone else like Licht though.

His hedgehog hopped off his lap and scurried into an opened closet. Licht stood and followed the small animal. He guessed that it wanted to explore its new home and it was drawn to dark places. He pulled a cardboard box out of the closet so he could find Jekyll. As he set the box aside, he noticed a colourful scrapbook inside. He didn’t think Hyde would own something so childish.

Hyde noticed him staring at the scrapbook and he took it out of the box. He sat next to Licht and opened it on his lap. “I made this when I was a kid. My baby brother must’ve put it in here when we were packing. Lily is pretty sentimental. It’s a scrapbook of my dreams. My drawings haven’t improved since I made this so it would be impossible for me to get into Juilliard on my art skills.”

“Your drawings aren’t the best but these dreams are interesting. Is this a farm of hedgehogs?” Licht found Dr. Jekyll and petted him fondly.

“A petting zoo, actually. I planned to only have hedgehogs in my zoo. They’re the cutest animal in the world so you don’t need anything else.” He told him but he was a little embarrassed of his six year old self. Licht didn’t laugh at his silly dream though. He pointed to the next picture and Hyde told him, “That’s me building a fortress on the moon. I also want to find a talking whale and befriend him.”

They continued to go through the scrapbook together. He flipped to the next page where there was a stage drawn in crayon. “I forgot about this one. I wanted to star in a production of Hamlet with my friend, Ophelia. We planned to rewrite the play and have Ophelia actually team up with Hamlet. They would pull an elaborate prank on the Uncle. The ghost dad helps them too.”

“You read a Shakespearean tragedy like Hamlet when you were a kid? I can barely understand those plays at this age.” Licht didn’t know if he should be impressed or question how a child discovered the play. “You know a lot of quotes from Shakespeare’s plays. Did you practice them with Ophelia like what we’re doing right now?”

“She joined the drama club in high school and I would help practice her lines. Ayato didn’t like me hanging out with her though. I tried to tell him that Ophelia and I were just friends but he was pretty possessive. Ophelia and I eventually stopped talking and we drifted apart.” He shrugged but Hyde now regretted losing that friendship.

“Isn’t that a big, red flag?” Licht understood that it was difficult for the person in the relationship to see those flags in the moment. His mother dated demons because she thought they were fallen angels. She was a hopeless romantic and believed she could fix them. They broke her heart more often than not. It taught him that demons won’t change until they want to improve themselves.

Hyde closed the book. “My new dream is for Ayato to see me on that stage and regret dumping me.”

“Why is your new dream still centered around your ex when you have this scrapbook of better goals?” Licht leafed through the pages. He thought that it was a shame he gave up on himself long ago. He didn’t know if he could say anything to dissuade him. “Greedy isn’t the worst thing to be, as long as you’re honest and work hard to get what you truly want.”

Hyde’s phone buzzed and he checked the email. “They just posted the audition dates and requirements. It looks like we have to cancel our study session next week. I have to pick a monologue and memorize the short scene they sent me. This is going to take up my weekend and I probably won’t get a big part.”

“Only if you act half heartedly. Print out that script and I’ll read through it with you.”

Mahiru hummed softly as he polished a trumpet. He considered himself lucky to have a music shop close to Juilliard but it kept him very busy. At least he managed to find free time that day. He was expecting a visit from Hyde and Licht since they agreed to have lunch together. He loved both cooking and music. Mahiru offered to cook for them and they were out buying groceries.

The door chime rang, signalling that someone had entered his store and he looked up. It wasn’t Hyde or Licht though. Mahiru didn’t recognize the man. Due to his blue hair, he assumed he was also attending Juilliard. He put on a professional smile and greeted the man. “Welcome. Is there anything you’re looking for? I would be happy to help you.”

“Are you Mahiru?” The question made him pause but he nodded. Mahiru didn’t know how the man knew his name before he gave it. Then, he said: “Hyde told me about you. I wanted to talk to you about him.”

“You must be Ayato.” His brown eyes narrowed. Hyde had only told him about one other man in his life that went to Juilliard. He had to admit that he looked different than he imagined. The man was handsome but much older than Hyde. He appeared to be only a few years older than Mahiru. When he started to speak, Mahiru raised his hand.

“Let me stop you right now. Hyde told me about you, Ayato. It was wrong for you to string him along and I won’t let you do that again. Hyde is my friend. Whatever you want from me, my answer is no. So, please leave my store right now.” Mahiru gestured to the door but then he noticed Hyde’s car in the store window.

Mahiru tried to think of what to do as Hyde parked his car. He was worried that Hyde would cause a scene once he sees his ex-boyfriend again. Before he could, Hyde spotted them as well and waved happily to them. He walked inside and yelled: “Hi, Nii-san! You came earlier than I thought he would.”

“Nii-san?” Mahiru repeated in shock. He looked between the two and Kuro nodded. He couldn’t find a family resemblance between them. Yet, it was clear that the two were siblings by the way they interacted with each other. Hyde poked Kuro and then hugged him briefly. After he talked with Kuro, he faced Mahiru to introduce his brother.

“It looks like you already met my brother, Kuro. Is it okay if he joins us for lunch? I accidentally agreed to hang out with him today without realizing it’s the same day we were supposed to have lunch. Kuro doesn’t drive down to New York often.” Hyde explained. Mahiru felt guilty for his earlier assumption and readily nodded. “It looks like Licht needs help with the bags. You two talk while I help him.”

“Just put the bags on the counter. I’ll start cooking in a minute.” Mahiru waited for Licht and Hyde to leave until he apologized to Kuro. “I am so sorry I mistook you for Ayato. Hyde didn’t tell me he had a brother but it was still wrong of me to make assumptions. I was planning to cook ramen. Is there anything special you want in your bowl? It’ll be my way of apologizing.”

“Don’t worry. I know the family resemblance is hard to see.” He was glad to see that Kuro was understanding. “I’m happy that Hyde has a friend who would defend him. Honestly, I was concerned about him enrolling in Juilliard. It would be troublesome if he started dating Ayato again. He’s an adult but I still worry about him. Actually, I wanted to ask about him and Licht.”

“They’re close friends despite their differences.” It was clear to Mahiru that he cared for his family. He smiled up at Kuro and placed the trumpet in a case. “But they do need supervision or else they’ll find something to fight over. Go join them upstairs while I flip the open sign. You and your brother must have a lot of catching up to do.”

“I’m pretty sure Hyde has a lot more to tell me than the reverse. I don’t get the chance to meet interesting people often. Well, today might be an exception.” He said before he walked away. Mahiru could feel himself blushing as he watched Kuro leave. He didn’t know if he was flirting with him but his subtle smile was rather charming.

Hyde stayed behind while his brother walked up the stairs. He looked between the two and a knowing smile spread across his face. After Mahiru locked the shop door and flipped the open sign, he approached him. In a teasing voice, Hyde said: “What do you think of my brother? He seems to like you. It’s rare that he’s taken with someone so quickly. You should have another lunch with just him.”

“Kuro seems like a good guy but I don’t know if I’m ready for a relationship.” He told him. “Anyways, I’m busy with my music shop. I don’t know if I have a lot to offer him in a relationship.”

“Don’t say that, Mahiru.” Hyde clapped his hand on his back. While he and Licht were neighbours, he doubted they would’ve become so close without Mahiru’s advice. He thought he could repay the favour. “We’ve known each other for a few months now but I rarely see you go out. Close the shop on a Sunday and go on a date with Kuro.”

“I doubt he’ll ask me out.” Mahiru shook his head.

“Let me show you a trick! It’s called the ‘bend and snap’. When you want to catch a guy’s attention, pretend to drop something. You bend down, wait a few seconds and then stand up like so. It shows off your ass and he won’t be able to take his eyes off you. Now, follow me.” He dropped a pen on the ground. Hyde bent down but then he heard a loud clatter behind him.

He looked back and saw that Licht was struggling with a drum set. He must’ve accidentally walked into the instrument. Hyde went to help him and straightened the drums. He laughed and asked him, “Are you okay, Lichtan? You’re not the clumsy type who walks into things.”

“It was nothing!” He insisted with a blush. He hoped Hyde wouldn’t be able to see how flustered he was. Licht didn’t know how Hyde would react if he told him that he distracted him and made him walk into the drum set. He couldn’t meet his red eyes so he turned to Mahiru. He changed the subject and said, “I came down to ask if you want any help cutting the vegetables.”

“That would be great.” Mahiru smiled at his friend. “I’ll have lunch ready in twenty minutes.”

“I’ve never been to a musical before. It was more fun than I thought it would be but it’s a little too flashy for my tastes.” Licht told him as they walked out of a small, local theater. The sunlight made him wince after sitting in the dark for an hour. A shadow fell over him when Hyde held a textbook over his head. He grinned down at him and lightly tapped the book against his hair.

“Lighting and other technical things are the unsung heroes of a production. They enhance the actor’s performance. I guess you wouldn’t feel the same since you want to be a concert pianist. You’re the type who prefers working alone too.” Hyde said and replaced his textbook in his bag. “I picked the musical so what do you want to do next?”

“I need to stretch my legs after sitting for so long. Let’s walk through the plaza and look around.” Licht suggested but he was already walking forward. They fell into step next to each other and discussed the musical. He was rarely about to pull himself away from his piano but going to the theater was a fun change of pace. Hyde’s company made it better than he would admit.

Licht left his class and his attention was drawn to a crowd across the courtyard. He was curious about what had their attention. “What’s so interesting about this wall?”

“Our professor must’ve just put up the audition result.” He took his hand and pulled him towards the crowd. Hyde thought that it was best to wait for the crowd to thin before he checked the list. He did his best at the audition but he doubted he got a large part. “Will you come watch me even if I’m just an extra on stage?”

“Did you see what part you got already?” Licht stood on his toes in a vain attempt to see past everyone to the audition result sheet. The text was too small for him to see at a distant. In the corner of his eyes, he noticed Hyde shake his head. “Then why would you say you’re an extra? You’re hopeless, Shit Rat. I’m interested in seeing that play though. What is it?”

“Romeo and Juliet. I like that play but I was hoping that they would put on one of his lesser known plays. Maybe a comedy like…” Hyde trailed off. Licht noticed his gaze appear far away and he turned around to see what caught his attention. A man approached them but he didn’t recognize who he was. He saw how Hyde stiffened. “Oh, Ayato. I don’t see you around campus often.”

“I switched programs a week ago.” Ayato told him. Licht found himself stepping in front of Hyde slightly. He didn’t know why he felt protective of him.

“You switched majors in the middle of the semester?” Licht didn’t hide how doubtful he was.

“His parents are influential people in the music industry and they’re almost as wealthy as my family. Almost.” Hyde whispered into his ear. Licht rolled his eyes at Ayato and it was clear that he was far from impressed by the man. “I didn’t see you at the audition. What part did you try out for?”

“My fiancé and I auditioned to be Romeo and Juliet.” He answered. The short answer echoed in Hyde’s mind and he felt himself froze. Fiancé? They dated for nearly seven years yet Ayato proposed to someone else shortly after their break up. A few months ago, the news would’ve devastated him. Hyde neither felt sad nor upset now.

“Shit Rat, who’s Tybalt?” Licht interrupted them. He faced them and tapped his knuckles on the piece of paper. “You’re playing him and not an extra. I don’t remember much from high school English class but I think he’s important.”

“I got the part?” Hyde knew Licht wasn’t the type to lie but he was still in disbelief. He skimmed his finger over the names until he found his own. Next to his name was ‘Tybalt’ in black and white. He read it a few times and a smile slowly spread across his face. Suddenly, Hyde hugged Licht. He spun in a circle and his feet was lifted off the ground. “I got the part!”

“I know, Shit Rat. I was the one who pointed it out to you. Put me down before all this spinning makes me puke. I will throw up on you.” He warned. He felt dizzy when he placed him on his feet again. Licht wasn’t angry after he saw Hyde’s large grin. He had never seen him so happy or proud. That smile had a charm that made his heart skip.

“I wouldn’t have been able to get the part without you, Lichtan. Thank you. I’ll take you out for dinner as a treat.” He took Licht’s hand and started to pull him away. He faced Ayato and said, “You’re playing Mercutio. I can’t wait for our big scene together.”

Hyde grinned at Ayato before he walked away with Licht.

#servamp #lawlicht #greed pair #kuromahi #sloth pair #servamp hyde #licht jekylland todoroki #servamp kuro #mahiru shirota #fanfiction

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roxilalonde · 5 years

Note

you said the magic H word (hamlet) so im here to see if you have any take on that tumblr post thats been circulating around saying the word “sweet” in hamlet is like. gay and horatio was intended to be gay. also i read this really cool analysis book and it said that shakespeares contemporaries often used similar language (sweet/gentle) to describe him so like (points mic at you) does shakespeare is gay???

okay so listen....hamlet and horatio have the most important positive relationship in the play and all their scenes together are basically brimming with the most incredible showstopping tenderness i’ve ever seen put to page. from “and i will hold him in my heart’s core, as i do thee” to the infamous “sweet prince” line hamlet and horatio have very real husband vibes throughout the play. it’s also important to note that i don’t think authorial intention matters basically at all so what shakespeare intended per the meaning of “sweet” or w/e when he wrote them doesn’t necessarily influence the truth, which is that hamlet and horatio ARE boyfriends whether billy shakespeare knows it or not

#Anonymous

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an-otome-cally-correct · 5 years

Text

As Written (Part I)

This... This is gonna be a wild ride and a long one because what the fuck is a schedule. Tagging @ladygacha as per request~ You said you wanted to see this when I finally get around writing it lmao and unfortunately, it’s gonna be a series. And let it be put on record, that I wrote this before Shakespeare’s route was released so I’m pretty much free wheeling. If you wanna read more of my stuff, then check here. Warnings: slight mentions of corpses and exhuming

Rarely did Shakespeare ever have visitors drop by, and even rarer were they from the mansion. Of the lot, only Vincent - and every once in a blue moon, the Count himself - bothered to spare him any of their time, not that he cared much for their company in the first place. What he did care for, however, was how the invisible strings of fate would tangle and unravel around the likes of them, their existence an aberration that not only broke the laws of nature, but of reality as well.

In his long existence, Shakespeare found great joy and inspiration in the struggles and the triumphs, the highs and the lows, the comings and the goings that surrounded them, all instruments for this play that was set to run for all of eternity, and to him, the mansion’s newest arrival was nothing more than another prop for the next act. There was no doubt in his mind that her presence would set interesting things into motion.

Shakespeare just hadn’t expected it to begin with him meeting the woman herself, at his doorstep one day.

“Are you sure it’s okay, Vincent? I don’t want to be a bother.”

“I’m certain he wouldn’t mind. He doesn’t come by the mansion often, you see, and this is a good opportunity to finally introduce him to you,” Vincent answered, offering her both a reassuring smile and an outstretched hand to the woman that walked by his side. “Now, why don’t I help you with that?”

She appreciated the gesture, but with a firm shake of her head, she pulled the pastry box away, just out of Vincent’s reach. “No, no, no. Thanks, but I can carry it. It’s not heavy in the first place. You just lead the way.”

“But we’re already here.”

Blinking, the woman looked away from the painter and was met by a series of steps hewn from stone, and at the very top - albeit much more modest than the Count’s - stood a beautiful home. Partially obscured by shrubs and vines that had long spilled over the lattice fence, it was almost as if the owner had no care for the garden, but if she had to be honest, the overgrown greenery only added to its charm.

“After you,” Vincent hummed, pulling her back to the present, as he gestured at the stairs.

Humming her thanks, she went up, with him following behind her. He did her the favor of knocking on the door for the both of them. Three beats on the knocker and a few moments later, the door swung open, and she found herself standing in the presence of a man with the most peculiar pair of eyes she had ever seen-

A vibrant yellow that seemed to pierce through the soul, and a muted red that simmered with secrets better left untold.

Between the two, she couldn’t tell which one drew her in more. What she did know was that it was rude to stare, so she shifted her attention back to Vincent as they exchanged pleasantries.

“Good afternoon, Will. It’s good to see you well.”

“Likewise, Vincent, likewise,” he replied, an amiable expression settled on his features until he noticed they weren't alone. With an arched eyebrow, the man considered her for a moment, before a smile pulled on his lips. “Forgive me, but I don’t believe we’ve met.”

Vincent, ever gracious, introduced them to each other, and to be polite, she stretched out a hand for them to shake. But to her surprise, he took her hand, only for him to gently press his lips against her knuckles. Heat bloomed across her cheeks, and with the way he looked at her with those mismatched eyes of his? She could have sworn she had forgotten how to breathe.

“A pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

“Ah, the… the pleasure’s all mine, Mr. Shakespeare.”

“Please, call me Will. A friend of Vincent's is most definitely a friend of mine.”

Her cheeks grew all the more warmer. “Then, Will it is. ”

A quiet chuckle slipped his lips as he let go of her hand, sending a slight shiver running down her spine as he did so. For a moment, she wondered what that could have been, what that small chill that took hold of her meant, but the moment passed, and she and Vincent were invited inside - the thought, completely forgotten.

Friendly chatter echoed as they settled in the living room, each of them with a fresh cup of tea and a generous slice of cherry pie. It was all a lively affair, with curious stories and interesting truths going around and coming to light, and she came to appreciate what Sebastian had told her once before - that they were in an extraordinary position, to be able to know these people in a way different from what history had made them out to be.

Chitchat aside, however, Vincent actually had a reason for coming to see the playwright - something about a painting Shakespeare wanted, if she recalled correctly - and once they had all downed a cup of tea each, the two men excused themselves to discuss the details in another room. Shakespeare assured her they wouldn’t take long and insisted that she make herself at home, but once she was left alone, she couldn’t help but feel uncomfortable in the sudden silence she found herself in.

She continued to pick at her pie as she scanned the room, hoping to distract herself by taking note of the little knick-knacks that adorned the space. But of all the paintings and photos and books and trinkets, what stood out the most was the skull that sat on one of the shelves. As strange - if not morbid - a piece as it was, she couldn’t help but be curious and decided to take a closer look. She doubted it was fake. however, which was why she didn’t dare touch it. The idea of touching someone’s remains wasn’t exactly an appealing one, after all.

But, she couldn’t look away as she wondered who it could have been, where it could have come from and what it could have gone through, to end up in Shakespeare’s home.

However, just as her mind began to wander, Shakespeare’s voice echoed in the quiet room, bringing her back to the present.

“Vincent wants me to tell you he’ll only take a few more minutes and…” Shakespeare trailed off, noticing how intently she stared at the skull. “My apologies. The sight of it must be a terrible thing for you to stomach.”

Shaking her head, she turned to meet his mismatched gaze. “No, not exactly really, I guess…”

“Why not?”

“Why not?” she echoed, and if she had to be honest, she wasn’t entirely sure. “Maybe because I’m just more curious than anything else?” At her answer, Shakespeare’s eyebrows shot up and she couldn’t help but feel self-conscious. “It’s probably strange to hear that but I’d really like to know… Is it real?”

“I assure you, you are the farthest thing from strange, and… I would love to tell you the skull is not real, if it would put you at ease,” he began, the corners of his lips curving into a wry smile. “But I cannot - in my good conscience - lie to a lady, so I must admit that it is.” For a moment, his smile faltered. “I can put it away if you’d like.”

“Oh no, that’s not necessary,” she immediately told him. “I’m just… curious.” She spared the skull another glance. “Where did you get it?”

“From a gravedigger, some time ago.”

“He just gave it to you?”

“I bought it from him, for a reasonable sum,” he replied. “He had already been dug up, to make room for others, and I found it a waste for him to just to be tossed to the side and be forgotten.”

She pulled her eyebrows together. “Did… Did you know the owner of the skull?” With Shakespeare being a vampire, she supposed his long life could make it possible. But the cold that gripped her earlier returned, and the idea of having him keep the remains of someone he knew in such away…

Frankly, it unsettled her, and the smile he gave her did nothing to help.

“His name was Yorick.”

She blinked once, and then twice, the name oddly familiar, and when it finally hit her, she couldn’t help but scowl - the anxiety she felt, replaced by mild annoyance. “‘Alas, poor Yorick’… Did you really just make a ‘Hamlet’ joke, Will?”

Shakespeare chuckled. “Ah, so you have heard of my work.”

“It’s kinda hard to escape your influence,” she admitted with a shrug, only to realize that he had tried to change the subject. “No, but seriously. Where did you get the skull? The truth, this time.”

“I bought it from a gravedigger, that much is true.” Shakespeare picked up the skull, his fingers tracing along the seams at the very top of it. “His was an unnamed grave, and with no visits from family and friends over the years, they had decided to donate his remains to scientific endeavors.” He then turned his eyes back to her. “And that, my dear, is the truth in its entirety. I hope you forgive me. Did I frighten you?”

“A bit,” she admitted. “But I suppose I should have expected it from some who has a reputation for killing off his characters.”

There was a pause, and she feared she might have offended him, only to be surprised to hear him break into laughter. “You’re an honest one, aren’t you?”

“I’d like to think that isn’t a bad thing.”

“It truly isn’t,” he assured her as he put back the skull on the shelf. “It’s refreshing, if I might say so. It’s not often that I have the pleasure of being in such wonderful company-” Gently, he took one of her hands in both of his. “-so I do hope we get to see each other again.”

His touch was unexpected but not at all unwelcomed, when she noticed just how warm he was. He was peculiar, no doubt, but he was kind and mischievous in his own way. She supposed he could give him a chance. “If you don’t make any more morbid jokes again, then I don’t mind.”

His lips curved into a satisfied smile. “Consider it done.”

#ikemen vampire #ikevamp #william shakespeare #fanfiction #vincent van gogh #oooooh boy #this is going to be a problematic one #gonna put the yan in yandere #forgive the joke #i have a soft spot for hamlet #what the fuck do i even tag this with #i mean #what genre #which is always the question when i write shakespeare apparently

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niceprophecies · 5 years

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“[…]the characters who get much more of the spotlight are unarguably the most adored by Good Omens fans—the demon Crowley (played to hissing, sashaying perfection by David Tennant) and his angel co-conspirator Aziraphale (an utterly cherubic Michael Sheen). Having said that, the execution of the duo’s story was something of a shock for a fan like me, who will freely admit to shipping the heck out of the pair for ages, and even reading and writing fanfic to that end. A bunch of it. And also to dressing up as Crowley and Aziraphale for Halloween with my partner. It’s well known that Crowley/Aziraphale shippers are a sizable contingent of the Good Omens fandom, to the point where both Gaiman and Pratchett had made note that they were aware of it, with Gaiman recently noting that fanfiction and its ilk is also Making Stuff Up, which is the same as all writing—though they did say that making the duo a couple was not their intent when they wrote the book.

Which is fascinating because this miniseries is emphatically a love story.

I know, I know: They say they’re friends, what’s wrong with friendship, you friend-hating fiend. But there are endless stories dedicated to platonic friendships between two male friends. (Or male-seeming in this case, as they are truly an angel and a demon, which then ultimately begs the question of whether conventional sexuality or gender should even apply for the two of them, and it likely shouldn’t, but that’s a fairly long digression…) While modern fiction seems to have a hard time understanding that it’s possible for men and women to “just be very good friends”, the precise opposite can be said for queer people. We’re always presumed to be “just very good friends” and nothing besides. Having said that, it is entirely possible for people of the same (or similar) gender to go from being true best friends to being in a relationship of some sort. It is also possible to say “you’re my best friend” and actually mean “I love you” or even “I’m in love with you.”

Exhibit A, when Crowley is making his way to Aziraphale’s flaming bookshop (he doesn’t know about the fire yet), the Bentley is playing Queen’s “You’re My Best Friend”—which is not an ode to frienship in general, but in fact a love song written by Queen’s bassist for his wife. Immediately thereafter, Crowley arrives and opens the doors to the bookshop, and being unable find the angel, promptly has a complete breakdown over the what he assumes to be Aziraphale’s death. It’s not the shock or disbelief over losing a friend that we can see in Crowley’s face, but utter desolation. “Somebody killed my best friend!” he screams, slumped on the floor in anguish. (Again, I remind you, John Deacon’s friend in the song that served as the cue for this whole scene was his spouse.) Crowley then immediately goes to a pub to get trashed, forgetting his plans to escape the Earth before the true Final Countdown because he’s just lost the most important person in all of creation to him… wait sorry, that’s Creation with a capital ‘C’.

The point is (as Crowley would say, drunkenly, before beginning a long-winded aside about dolphins), the entirety of the Good Omens miniseries unfolds with all the beats you’d expect of a romantic comedy/epic, and that is very much the hinge on which its enjoyability swings. It’s not just the song selection—“Somebody to Love” starts playing when Crowley exits the bookshop, believing that he’s lost Aziraphale; violins swell when the demon reveals to the angel that he has saved his beloved books from a bombing during the London Blitz in 1941—but the entirety of the plot. These alterations to the story seem to reach some sort of zenith during the deep dive into Crowley and Azirapahle’s “Arrangement” in episode three. The opening half hour of the episode works hard to create greater context for their six-thousand-year partnership, tracking them through the ages, and finally closes out in 1967 with the angel handing over a thermos of holy water to his dear friend, saying sadly “You go too fast for me, Crowley.”

He’s talking about Crowley’s driving. But of course he isn’t, because there is no context on this earth in which the words “you go too fast for me” are about being in a car, friends.

This is the part where the usual suspects roll their eyes because culture has endlessly enforced the idea that queerness is conditional and that “slash goggles” (i.e. viewing not-canonically-comfirmed characters as queer) should be derided and that the only person who should get a say in the sexuality of characters is the author—unless the author flat-out says their characters are queer, in which case, they should have made it more obvious if they expected anyone to believe that.

But this pairing is pretty damned (sorry, blessedly) obvious. It’s obvious in the way the Aziraphale bats his eyelashes at Crowley and grumps about the fact that his pristine old jacket now has paint on it, then smiles beatifically when the demon vanishes the stain by blowing gently on his shoulder—both of them knowing full well that Aziraphale can remove the stain himself with angelic will. It’s obvious in how angry Crowley gets when Aziraphale claims he’s “nice”, and Crowley shoves him up against a wall in a standard intimidation tactic that the angel barely registers as fury. It’s obvious in the way that Crowley sits across Aziraphale with a drink every time they’re out, and simply watches the angel indulge in rich foods. It’s right there even at the start, when the Angel of the Eastern Gate shelters the Serpent of Eden from the world’s very first rainstorm with one of his wings, through they both have a perfectly functional set to themselves.

We’re at a point in time where more and more writers and creators are perfectly aware that fans will see characters as queer whether they are written explicitly that way or not. Being aware of this—and not having anything against queer people—many of them say something to the tune of “you can view this relationship however you like, we’re cool with that”. It’s very nice. To some extent, it’s even incredibly helpful, because being okay with the queering of characters goes a long way in telling homophobic people that their vitriol toward queerness isn’t welcome. But when a huge swath of a fandom is queer, and certain characters are commonly rendered as queer to most of those fans, and then we are given a version of the story in which interpreting those characters as just great buddies is honestly taxing to one’s logical faculties… well, it’s hard not to wonder at what point the “straight” view of said characters is likely destined to become a minority interpretation one day.

Which is precisely where I found myself while watching Good Omens.

This clarity kept turning up and tuning in, even in the terms of their dear Arrangement; after Crowley suggests that they start doing work on each other’s behalves during a run-in in the 6th century, another meeting at The Globe in Shakespeare’s day sees Crowley bringing it up again, only to have Aziraphale try and shoot the idea down. “We’ve done it before… dozens of times now,” the demon wheedles, and he might as well be saying “But we’ve made out a lot lately, I think it’s time to accept that you like hanging out with me.” To make up for sending Aziraphale to Edinburgh, he agrees to infernally intervene to ensure that the Bard’s latest play (Hamlet) is a rousing success—and again, the angel offers up that ethereal smile and Crowley takes it as his compensation, as though it’s all he ever wanted in the world.

People may cry, stop shoving your sexuality in other people’s faces! (They always do, like a reliable clock striking the hour with a very irritating chime that you can’t seem to turn off.) But that’s hardly the point, is it? Because I didn’t say anything about sex, I said they were in love. And I’m having a very hard time finding any evidence to the contrary.

Critics and most of the internet have noticed how romantic the show is. The actors did as well, and talked endlessly of it in interviews. The series gives us longing glances and a messy breakup and drunken mourning and a canonical bodyswap (the stuff of fanfic dreams, my lovelies) where Aziraphale strips Crowley’s body down to its undergarments for the purpose of taunting Hell. At the point when everything threatens to blow up in their faces, Crowley asks—sorry no, he begs—Aziraphale to run away with him. And then when it’s all over, he invites the angel to spend the night at his place, and Aziraphale’s response is “I don’t think my side would like that” which is basically divine-speak for “I came out to my family and they’re not cool with it, so I’m not sure this is gonna work.” This has all the markings of the sort of Shakespeare play that Crowley appreciates: the funny ones where no one dies. And it ends on our couple having a lovely lunch in a fancy locale while a swoony love standard plays on in the background.

It’s odd to think that the fact that it took over two decades to produce a Good Omens series is part of the reason why the romantic aspect seems more unabashed than ever; in the book, plenty of people think Aziraphale is gay and that the angel and demon are a couple, but it’s done with that wink and nudge that was common around the turn of the century. These days, teasing at the idea that your core duo might seem a little gay to onlookers doesn’t constitute a ready joke because there’s nothing particularly funny about that suggestion when queer folks are fighting so hard to be seen and represented. And the lack of those winky moments, the way the story simply takes their codependency as a sweet given, makes Aziraphale and Crowley read even more genuinely as a pair. But if you had told me this was the version of Good Omens that I’d see in 2019, I’d have never believed a word. I was ready for extra background, more story, different jokes, but not this. Not confirmation that there are other angels and demons exchanging information and working together in Crowley and Aziraphale’s reality, but Heaven and Hell have a specific problem with their partnership because they clearly love each other too much.

And sure, you can read the story differently. You can choose to ignore those cues and enjoy a story about two very good friends who help to avert the apocalypse. I’m sure for some, that’s a more enjoyable take. But I’m more curious about whether or not, in twenty or thirty years time, people will think of the Good Omens series as anything but the story of an angel and a demon who spent six millennia figuring out that they should probably buy that cottage on the South Downs together.”

#good omens #review #spoilers #love this

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