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hey-august · 3 months

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Turn off the lights and turn off the shyness

Word count: ~1.5k Warnings: NSFW, MDNI, buggy x GN!reader, no use of Y/N, insertion sex, love "confession" during sex, a bunch of sappy lovey-dovey mush. A/N: This is my last minute Valentine's gift to you all! Or, if you're not fond of Valentine's Day (valid), this is my appreciation for all of you. ❤︎❤︎❤︎

Title from "Of All the Gin Joints in All the World" by Fall Out Boy

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗ ✩ ˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗ ✩ ˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗ ✩ ˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

Buggy talks a lot. A lot. Words and crumbs fall from his mouth while he eats. Days are filled with endless narration of thoughts and actions that are tuned out by most. Even during slumber, his mouth is awake and whispering along with dream-state monologues. The only times Buggy is quiet is when he’s kissing or drinking, and even then, he’s not silent for long.

And one of his favorite topics is you. He’s turned many conversations into soliloquies about you. It’s a skill of his, really. A mystery glinting on the horizon is no match for the sparkle in your eyes. Running low on rations is a problem, although there is plenty of your favorite food, so it’s not an urgent issue. Yeah, that was a funny joke, but listen to this one that had you laughing even hours later.

With the stampede of words forever running out of Buggy’s painted mouth, there were three words his lips haven’t uttered in a specific order - I love you.

He’s come close many times. You are his favorite thing to talk about, which includes talking about all the things he loves about you.

“I love your smile.” “I love how the moon is reflected in your eyes.” “I love it when you yell at me.” “I love your morning breath. Not.” “I love the stupid face you make when you’re concentrating.” “I love how you taste.” “I love the way you say my name.” “I love your butt. Lemme smack it, sweetcheeks.”

But he hasn’t said that he loves you. You. Buggy has only shared his adoration for the things you do. How you look. Just pieces of you, not the whole.

You didn’t expect to hear those words you craved while being pounded on top of the captain’s desk.

Your ass hung off the wooden edge as Buggy pressed his hips into yours. Each hard thrust jostled the desk, knocking over pens and paper, and sending shockwaves through your sensitive body. The slap of damp skin making contact overlaid the sporadic deep creaks of wooden legs moving against the rough floor.

Buggy’s humid breath tickled your neck and fell down your chest, with the cotton breeze dragging across your hard nipples. His tongue trailed along your skin, the taste of salt filling his mouth. Puffy, kiss-bruised lips graze your racing pulse, keeping track of how quickly you were approaching the finish line.

His desire to consume still unsatiated, Buggy sank his teeth into the meat of your shoulder and wrapped you in his embrace. A strong hold full of heat and fire.

Desperate to throw yourself into the flames, you fell into him. You melted against Buggy’s body, against his touch. All you wanted was to feel him. To feel his hardness deep inside. To feel his passion. To feel his devotion.

Buggy groaned deeply as your body continued to mold to his movements, pulling him further inside. His lips moved on your skin, saying everything and nothing. Bountiful praises, filthy adoration, lewd and lustful comments laced with profanity. How much he loves your body. He loves how you feel. He loves how well you take him. He loves…

“I love you.”

His voice was clear and the words were finite. They’re not followed by anything else. And he repeated them. Again and again, with each thrust. Filling your mind, body, and soul to capacity, until you overflowed. Until tears leaked from your eyes. Until you clawed at Buggy’s shoulders, pulling him ever closer. Until you cried his name. Until you exploded.

You erupted with an intensity that triggered a chain reaction. Buggy let out a choked moan as he released inside you with stuttering thrusts that slowly came to a stop.

Your body trembled with aftershocks that Buggy tried to soothe with gentle kisses. One to your neck. Your cheek. And your forehead. With the third kiss, you let out a long exhale and your body relaxed.

Later, you two laid entwined in bed. Buggy used your shoulder as a pillow with long blue hair fanned out behind him. Your arm was wrapped around him, not yet numb from the position. The pirate had hooked one of your legs between his, which he rubbed lazily like a cricket. A comforting weight from his crooked arm rested on your chest. His large hand rested just below your other shoulder, also moving idly. Pat, pat, pat, then a soft swipe back and forth, followed by another trio of light pats. A calming pattern that would often lull you to sleep. But not tonight.

“You know, that was the first time you said you loved me…” you murmured.

It was a comment. An observation you wanted to share with him. Not to complain that you hadn’t heard it before - you knew he loved you - but to acknowledge the milestone.

“Mmmh…” Buggy’s voice was rough as he pulled back from the sleep that was enticing him. He rubbed his face against your skin, grinding into his cushion of hair. You could just barely feel the scratch of his facial hair as he moved side to side to side. “First time out loud, I guess.”

The response didn’t make sense. Maybe Buggy was more tired than either of you realized. His hand was still moving, in the same slow pattern of hand-pats. You kissed the top of his head and inhaled, welcoming his warm, lightly musky, scent. He hummed softly and tilted his face to respond with three quick kisses. He seemed conscious enough, so you prodded further.

“What do you mean by out loud?”

Buggy pulled away just enough so he could look you in the eyes. Confusion was plastered across his unpainted face and he searched for understanding.

“With words. But I’ve told you loads of times that I love you,” he said, nodding slowly as he finished speaking - as if you needed the reassurance.

Rebounding his confusion with a squint, you responded in a measured tone, “I don’t know what you mean.” You two stared at each other, thoughts traveling on opposite, parallel tracks. “Buggy, what do you mean? How do you say it without actually saying it?”

Buggy scowled. “What do you mean? You’re the one that started it.” He had been following your lead. Why were you acting like you didn’t know? Like he hadn’t been professing his love to you every single day?

“I-I still don’t understand. Explain it to me,” you asked. “Please?”

Ocean eyes stared into yours, looking for shadows of insincerity. But there were none. You really didn’t know. You hadn’t heard his silent proclamations.

“I tell you like this,” he said in a gruff voice, patting your arm with more intent. Pat, pat, pat. “Or like this…” He leaned in and gave you three kisses on your forehead. “Like this…” He rubbed a hairy leg against your trapped one, three times again. Always three. I. Love. You.

“When you say it, you always squeeze my hand or rub my back or give me kisses three times. I thought that…” A surge of embarrassment overcame Buggy, drowning the rest of his words.

He saw the comprehension on your face as he spoke, but not recognition. You weren’t doing it intentionally. That’s why you didn’t realize. He just made it up.

Feeling a prickly heat travel up his chest, burning his cheeks and the tips of his ears, Buggy sat up. He hid behind his hands and wallowed in the awkward silence.

“Is that why you always put 3 sugars in my tea?”

He nodded.

“And you sneak me three cookies?”

Another nod.

“Three flowers…” Nod. “Is…is that why there’s 3 pillows on the bed?” Nod. “When you hug me, you squeeze three times…” The statement was followed with another nod.

He was right - Buggy always told you he loved you. Within every touch and every thought that involved you was his love. If his hand was on your shoulder, his thumb tapped in bursts of three. When he smacked or pinched your butt - threes. You thought it was a quirk of his, not something he chose to do. But he did.

Your heart was bursting at the seams, and the excess emotions that did escape trickled out your eyes. Bowling over the morose clown sitting on the bed, you knocked Buggy back and began to smother him in kisses and tears. Most of which landed on the hands still covering his face.

“M’sorry, I didn’t know.” Kiss. “-was just so happy to hear it out loud.” Kiss. “I love you so much.” Kiss. “I’m sorry, Buggy.” Kiss. “Thank you for telling me.” Kiss. “I love you so so much.”

You paused and tallied up the kisses. Five. Tugging his hands down, you deliver the final kiss on his lips. Six. Double threes. I love you, times two.

“Please, don’t ever stop. That makes me really happy, Buggy. It makes me feel loved…”

Buggy nodded. Three times. The blush that continued to deepen on his face managed to spread to yours. Two crimson-faced fools in love.

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Definitely had @feral-artistry's blushing Buggy art in my head during this. ❤️❤️❤️

#buggy smut #buggy x reader #buggy the clown x reader #buggy the clown #buggy x you #x reader #buggy op #opla buggy #one piece buggy #buggy the clown smut

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ssahoodrathotchner · 11 months

Text

I’m Lost Without You

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Fem!Reader

Summary: when a case goes wrong, Aaron’s the only one who can get you out of your head

Word Count: 1.5k words

Warnings: swearing, angst, blood, canon-typical violence, hurt/comfort, Aaron being sweet

A/N: aaaaaand i’m back again with some angst. This idea literally wouldn’t leave me alone so here we are. Somewhat inspired by lady macbeth’s “out damned spot” soliloquy but like only in the hand washing and not the actual stabbing of a guy bit

Masterlist

---

There’s blood under your fingernails and it won’t go away.

The fluorescent lighting of the police station bathroom illuminates the red under your nails, taunting you with the results of your failure.

You scrub harder, bordering on frantic as pink water swirls its way down the drain.

Your fault.

---

It was too easy.

Women in their twenties going missing from a college campus after attending events put on by the history faculty.

Narrowing down the lists of professors, students, and staff led to three possible unsubs, one of which had a previous record for assault and battery six years prior.

It was too easy.

Everything was seamless. Reid’s geographic profile, Garcia’s information on the unsub’s records, Emily and JJ’s deductions based on victim type all led you to believe that you had the right person and prevented her from finding the next victim.

The team cornered the unsub in her office during a meeting with her TA, who was part of the whole takedown operation—your idea.

But.

Your fault your fault your fault.

As soon as Morgan breached the doorway the professor, Dr. Jennifer Coleman, pulled a handgun from her desk and shot her TA. Point blank. In the chest.

The rest of the takedown is a blur.

Immediately, you pushed past Morgan and began assessing Celia – the TA, her name is Celia—while the rest of the team swarms in around you to subdue Dr. Coleman.

Erratic heartbeat, stuttering breaths, wide eyes. Wide green eyes.

Your hands go to her chest, pressing down on the wound, staunching the blood as much as you can with your bare hands.

Not enough not enough not enough.

It’s not enough.

Celia Townsend is declared dead on the arrival of the EMTs, weeks from graduating with her masters in anthropology.

She was twenty-seven.

Your fault your fault your fault.

You watch as the body bag is zipped up.

There’s blood under your fingernails.

---

The door creaks open behind you, and your eyes flash up to the mirror to see who’s joined you in your futile attempt to rid your hands of the blood.

“Hey.”

It’s Emily.

You meet her eyes in the mirror before turning your attention back to your hands.

“Hey,” you say softly.

“You’ve been in here a while,” she starts, cautious. “Are you okay?”

“I’m—” your voice catches.

You scrub harder.

Your fault your fault your fault.

“Hey,” she says again, moving to catch your elbow. “Hey, careful, careful. Your hands…” She trails off as you take a moment to look over at her.

“There’s…” you pause. “The blood. Under my nails. I can’t get it to go away.”

Gently, Emily takes one of your hands in hers and holds it up and you can see it. See the stains under your nails, the signs of your futile attempt to save the life of Celia. The girl you sent to her death.

You hold your breath as Emily tilts your hand under the light, the blood a dull red where you haven’t scrubbed hard enough.

“I have just the thing,” she states, squeezing your hand before ducking back out the door.

You turn back to the sink and immerse your hands once again as the door swings shut.

The blood is still fucking there.

---

It’s Aaron who comes through the door after an indeterminate amount of time has passed.

You glance at him in the mirror before turning your attention back to your hands.

Your fault your fault your fault.

He moves until he’s next to you, silent. Watching.

“Sweetheart—” he begins softly. “Can you take a step back for me?”

You exhale sharply. “Not until it’s gone.”

“Until what’s gone?”

“The blood, Aaron. Celia’s blood. It won’t come out from under my nails,” your voice shakes as you pause and watch the water swirl down the drain under your hands.

“Sweetheart,” he tries again. “There’s no more blood.”

What?

“No, it’s—right there, it’s there, Aaron, see?” you frantically point at your hands, the red under your nails, the red that’s haunted you since watching the ambulance pull away. “It’s right there!”

Why can’t he see it?

Aaron’s hands engulf yours and he pulls them to his chest, turning your body into his as he steps closer until your head is tucked under his chin.

The water shuts off, but you can still feel it running over your hands, through your fingers. Warm. Incredibly warm and real and red—

“Take a breath, Sweetheart. The blood is gone, it’s gone,” he says, holding both your hands in one of his you he can tilt your chin up until your eyes meet.

“But—”

“Shhhh it’s gone. It’s all gone, Sweetheart.”

Aaron studies your face for a moment before something in his own expression fractures and he wraps both arms around you, tucking his face against the top of your head as the gently rocks the both of you.

You let your eyes close and you lean into his body, grasping weakly at his jacket.

He presses a kiss to the top of your head and the two of you don’t let go of each other.

Then the tears start.

Between one moment and the next your breath catches and tears start to seep from under your closed eyes. Face buried in Aaron’s chest, you give in and let yourself cry.

You cry for Celia, for the life she could have lived. For your own guilt and the weight that’s been steadily crushing your lungs since your hands made contact with Celia’s blood.

You cry for yourself. For the knowledge that you can’t save everyone, no matter how hard you try or how good your plan is.

You can’t.

Not your fault.

You become vaguely aware that Aaron’s muttering reassurances into your hair, and you listen closer to hear a litany of “You tried, Sweetheart, it’s okay. You got the blood, you got it. Take a breath, darling, it’s okay. I love you, and it’s okay.”

It’s easy to lean further into his embrace, to insistently push your head under his chin and exhale slowly as you let the tears finish tracking down your cheeks.

“Please don’t leave me,” you whisper, “I know you won’t, not now, but. I just. I don’t want to be alone,” you take a shaky breath. “Please don’t leave me.”

“Never,” you feel him breathe against the top of your head. Aaron pulls back to press a long kiss to your forehead. “Never, Sweetheart.”

“Thank you, Love,” gratitude evident in the way your body loses its tension.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Aaron asks hesitantly, hands tightening around your body.

“Not now,” you respond immediately. “I can’t—it’s just—not now. Later, I think. Later.”

“That’s fine, Sweetheart. Later is fine. Or never, but I’m always here if you want to talk.”

He pulls you closer for a moment before pulling back to tip your head up, placing a kiss on your cheek before turning your face to repeat the action on the other side.

You open your eyes, prying apart eyelids that feel too heavy, and look directly into the warm gaze that awaits yours.

“…I want to go home,” you confess. “I can’t be here any longer, Aaron.”

“So we go home, Sweetheart. I’ll tell the team to rally and we’ll have the jet ready in two hours. They should be wrapping up the interrogation shortly,” he responds with a soft smile.

The relief that spreads through your body is a welcome reprieve from the frantic terror that had taken over your mind for however long it’s been.

A thought strikes you “My hands—the blood,” you start.

“—Isn’t there anymore, Sweetheart. Take a look,” Aaron consoles you, pulling both of your hands into your field of vision. “The blood is gone.”

Slowly, you let your vision drift to your hands, expecting to see the reddish stain that you haven’t been able to escape and yet—

It’s gone.

The red is gone.

You pull away from Aaron completely, holding your hands up to the light, twisting them back and forth to catch every possible angle and it’s gone. The blood under your nails is finally gone.

Slumping forward, you close your eyes as your face falls into the crook of Aaron’s neck, shuddering through your next few breaths.

“It’s gone,” you mumble.

“It is, Sweetheart,” he answers. “Let’s go home.”

“Home,” you agree. “Let’s go home, Love.”

Pressing another kiss to your forehead, Aaron takes a moment to swipe a damp paper towel across your face and take away the dried tear tracks, tenderly turning your head back and forth to make sure he got all the remnants of your breakdown.

You lean forward, slowly, letting Aaron meet you halfway in a kiss that soothes your nerves in its familiarity. Wrapping your arms around his neck, you pull back enough to let your lips rest lightly on Aaron’s, enough to brush his as you smile for the first time in what seems like an eternity.

“Thank you, Love,” you say softly. “I love you.”

“I love you more, Sweetheart,” he responds, just as gentle.

And you know that Aaron, always Aaron, will be there on the good days and the bad no matter what.

--- Taglist: @hotch-meeeeeuppppp @averyhotchner @prentisswrites @mylovelysnowflake @hqtchner @fakin-it-til-i-make-it @emlynblack @clarawatson @andromedasstarship @madamsnape921 @mac99martin @midsummernightdream @itsmytimetoodream @homoose @whosscruffylooking @agentaaronhotass @thenewnormalforensicator @myloveofcmreid @ssahotchie @romanogersendgame

#andi writes #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x fem reader #aaron hotchner x female reader #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotchner #aaron hotch hotchner #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #cm fanfic

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atozfic · 6 months

Text

a twist of the knife.

pairing. ghostface!wooyoung x fem!reader. synopsis. halloween night and you're all alone, boyfriend far from home. you've got plans- big plans- with a fully charged vibrator and a phone. what a shame you forget to check the number before picking up. warnings. slasher fic! pwp, daddy kink, noncon cheating, noncon (don't like it? don't bite it!), masturbation (f&m), sex-toys, degradation, name-calling, dirty talk, knife kink?, mask kink!, implied stalking, mentions of murder word count. 4.6k hyde’s input. listen, kids, sometimes mother (me) can't serve a three coursed meal, ok? sometimes, all mother (me) can serve are dino-nuggies and overcooked chips. just eat your meal and flush your shit when you're done (aka, this is lazy writing and i'm not 100% satisfied with this fic but i'm also too tired to try harder i'm sorry <3)

truth be told, you’ve started without him.

you’d waited, a whole twenty minutes longer than you were supposed to.

twenty two minutes and you sent a text.

babe?

the message was delivered.

no reply came your way.

another text, from you.

i should be naked by now :(

and then another.

come make me cum, u loser.

and a final message, once more from you.

or i’ll get someone else to do it <3

minutes passed, no reply came, and you stayed true to your word.

technically.

because, technically, nowhere does it say you can’t be that someone else who makes you cum.

spread on your bed, body draped in pretty black lace, only the light of a single lamp- a cheesy plastic jack-o-lantern bought by your dearest boyfriend- to shadow your movements.

the shadow dances in time with the fingers that brush down your soft skin, the drag of your sharpened nails bringing a thrilling chill down your spine.

your fingers settle, at last, on your heaving chest. they slide over the delicate fabric, scratch at the skin beneath. graze over one of your nipples, and pause.

you try to mimic his movements, memorise the perfectly choreographed routine he uses to drive you wild.

it’s hard to achieve, no matter how much you pinch and roll the hardening bud between your fingers, when your hands are not his.

too soft, too textured.

too small, too big.

too everything.

you miss the brush of his hardened fingertips, and the callous ways in which he teases you. and his gravel-deep, chocolate-smooth voice, echoing soliloquies of filth. and his thinly-dipped hips, flowing with yours in a demonstration of true poetry in motion.

suddenly, your ire grows tenfold.

because damn him for being miles away, partying in a city you’ve never been.

and damn his friends for suggesting the “boys” trip.

and damn him even more for agreeing to go and leaving you all alone.

it works in your favour, this ire, stealing away a pinch of the guilt from not waiting on him and replacing it with a heavy dose of vengeful craving.

you’d asked him to spend halloween with you house-sitting your childhood home, he made plans with his friends instead.

he’d asked you to let him see the first time you cum tonight, you’re making plans with your mirror instead.

opening your bedside drawer, you blindly reach in and find what you’re looking for: a pretty, soft, purple rabbit. it’s fully charged, in preparation for the night your boyfriend had promised you.

a night he’s now thirty six minutes and four texts late to.

you shimmy yourself further down the bed, till your feet dangle off the edge and the reflected version of you is positioned at just the right angle to witness the gathering wetness between your thighs, dampening the overpriced panties.

spreading your legs a little wider, you press the bunny to life.

in pulsing rhythms, it vibrates in your grasp, teasing the pleasure it aims to deliver as soon as you place it against your core.

instead, you switch it off.

decide you’re not ready yet.

he wouldn’t be ready yet.

a teaser, he’s a man who takes pleasure in watching you squirm, plead, beg for something, anything.

the mere memory of your boyfriend is enough to have your hips rolling up against the air, nothing but the squeeze of the fabric against your cunt to soothe the burn. a finger, middle- always the middle-, slips past your lips.

welcoming it, you feel it growing wetter at your touch, swirling your tongue around it.

your eyes fall shut. you try to picture him and his pretty-boy grin, remember just the way he likes it.

get daddy’s fingers nice and wet, pretty girl.

that’s what he’d say, because that’s what you are.

his pretty girl.

the prettiest girl.

pathetic and for your ears only, a whimper falls as you pluck your hand from your mouth. skipping over the part where he tortures you with feather-like brushes of his hands down your body, blunt ends of his nails scratching up goosebumps and leaving behind thing trails of red markings, you instead shoot directly for your core.

in the mirror, your legs inch a little wider and your teeth latch onto your bottom lip as the contrasting chill of your hand cups over the burning heat of your cunt. the scratch of red lace between your skin grows your arousal by tenfold, the cooling wet of your saliva slickened finger pressing the soaked fabric against your dripping seam.

you push a little more, hooking the tip of your finger at your entrance and squirm as the lace pinches tighter at your hips, digging marks into your skin that you’ll later compare to the one’s he so often leaves.

in the orange hue of your room, you let your mind trail off once more as you shift to sit up, knees pressing into the mattress, legs bent backwards and both feet tucked under the swell of your ass.

the image in the mirror is pure pornography: your hair still damp from an earlier shower, red lace covering pretty skin, nipples poking out against the fabric of your bra, your manicured nails resting at the apex of your thighs, teasing their way over soaked panties.

you look hot.

fuckable.

eyes slipping shut briefly, the image of him conjures behind you. his broad chest pressed against your back, his large hands roaming over your waist, his soft lips pressing indecencies into your neck.

as quickly as it appears, it disapeears, and your eyes reopen to the reality of your lonely bedroom and your lonely bed, no one upon it but you.

and the purple toy.

it’s in your grasp in a count of three seconds- no less- and buzzing to life with the delicate press of a button.

in the mirror, your thighs clench.

loneliness leads to anger leads to action, readjusting your legs a little wider and guiding the pulsating toy over your lower stomach and inching it’s way down, down, down under the hem of the expensive thong.

a fire stroked to life, the heat that comes along in the initial seconds of pleasure has your spine shooting up straight, knees digging further into the springs of the mattress as your clit welcomes the new feeling pulsing against it.

watching as your reflection cants her hips up, chasing after the waves delivered by the toy, you set to find a rhythm in all your blues.

you push aside the fact this should be your boyfriend’s mouth on your cunt, tongue lapping at your clit and fingers burrowing in between your clenching walls, and not some rubber toy.

you ignore the inherent shyness and discomfort that comes with watching yourself in this position, making eye-contact in the mirror as you fantasise about another pair of hands.

you lay to rest the stress that no contact from your boyfriend brings you, a sting of tears threatning you if you let your mind wander too far into the attrocities of life, the attrocities riddling your college campus over the past few months.

a senior, stabbed to death in his dorm.

a freshman, found discarded at the side of the road.

your friend, wide-eyed and lifeless, slumped against your bed in your dormroom-

no.

you press at the toy again, it’s pulses grow more intense, more rapid, full throttle on your pleasure till it clouds you in that heady scent of sex and drowns you in the need for release.

just as you grow closer by the minute, the sweetest little whines making their way past your bitten lips, your ringtones blairs.

loud, and clear.

it’s murder on the dancefloor, familiar lyrics echo in the small room, screen lighting up behind you. you’d better not kill the groove, dj gonna burn this goddamn house-

you don’t look, just grab blindly at where you’d left it, tossed aside and forgotten in your frustration.

hit accept, press the phone to your ear and wait.

to hear his apology, his excuses, his ways to make it up to you.

but there’s only breathing.

heavy breathing.

it reminds you of your own, thighs still shaking and the toy still faintly brushing over your slick coated clit.

“took you long enough,” you’re the first to break the ice, praying you don’t sound as shaky as you feel.

a huh rings down the line, grainy. poor signal.

he must still be out, you figure.

“i thought you’d never call,” you’re pouty, purposeful in you approach to teasing him before you deliver a killing-blow to his ego: you’ve started without him. “and i was getting so lonely.”

for effect, you press on the button again, listen as the toy gets louder as it vibrates more intensely, waves rippling your skin even as you pry it back from your clit, enjoying it’s pleasure only in the way it moves against your panties.

you wonder if he hears it too.

you want him to hear.

there’s a sharp inhale, spanning a handful of seconds and leaving you with the imagery of his head falling back, fingers pinching the bridge of his nose.

it says nothing, yet everything.

he’s frustrated.

he’s chastising.

he’s turned on.

“why’d you make me wait, daddy?” you say it and hope it hits a nerve. hope he’s squirming in his seat, surrounded by his friends and praying not a single one notices the tent being pitched in his pants. “that wasn’t very nice of you.”

you give an experimental roll of your hips, feeling the buzzing toy nudge against you once more, coaxing back to life the orgasm you’d let down.

a dramatised gasp leaves your mouth, aiming for him to take notice of it and just think about what you’re doing to yourself.

“no,” he finally talks and you hate how quickly your anger is to melt away, one foul swoop of his smooth voice and you melt into a puddle, waiting to be splashed around by him. “wasn’t nice of me at all, was it?”

the toy between your legs continues to hum away, coaxing you to try another roll, dip your hips down onto it.

a moan- admitedly, a bit exagerated- fills the room.

there’s no doubt he heard it.

“you sound a bit weird, baby,” in the mirror, you watch yourself tilt your head to the side, pressing the phone between your ear and your shoulder. it frees up your other hand to roam freely over your breasts, rolling one of your nipples through the lace. “is the connection bad?”

he doesn’t answer.

down the line, you pick up on more heavy breathing.

it makes you long harder for him, visualising him there, pressed up against you, heavy breathing in your ear as the tension builds between you, culminating in the buckling of your knees and the grabbing of your ass, propping you up at his desired height to pile-drive his cock into you.

in a desperate appeal for his attention, you dip the vibrator lower, pressing it’s nub against your opening, squealing at the foreign intrusion.

“d’you hear that, daddy? my pussy’s all wet,” a filthy squelch rings true as you replace the toy with your finger, squeezing it’s way into your hole. “she’s all tight with no one to stretch her out.”

the possibility that you’re setting feminism back by several centuries crosses your mind, but it’s quickly pushed aside for images of your boyfriend forcing you onto all-fours and taking you from behind, pulling at your hair to force you to stare straight ahead at the very same mirror that used to display you playing dress-up as a little girl, now displaying the way you’re sweaty and defiled.

“now, that’s just not true, pumpkin,” his voice tuts down the phone, and the disapproving tone is enough to have you slipping a second finger into your cunt. “and no one likes a liar.”

if you weren’t knuckles deep in yourself, fingers scissoring you open as you give the occasional brush of the buzzing toy over your clit, maybe you’d know what he was talking about.

instead, all you can muster is a breathless what.

“c’mon, pretty, i’ve seen that video of you taking it like a champ. stretched that slutty pussy out on all ten of those bright pink inches.”

oh.

truth be told, you wondered if he’d even seen that video you’d sent him, all shy and bashful, wanting to show off the new toy you’d gotten yourself. he’d merely reacted with a heart- and then never once brought it up, ever again.

“are you going to keep me waiting?”

you should say yes.

tell him it’s his punishment, for ignoring your texts, and partying too late, and not being beside you on the bed.

but you’re a sucker for him, caving in at his rougher than usual tone.

scurrying off your mattress, you press the phone closer to your ear and listen to the rustling of fabric on his end.

a zipper is undone.

it’s followed by a sigh of relief, one that has you picturing him freeing his cock from the confines of his too-tight jeans.

“chop, chop, pretty! i’m losing my patie-”

“i found it!” you exclaim, louder than you should.

but who cares, when you’ve got your hand wrapped around the bright pink dildo, pride flushing over your face.

“so you can fetch,” he mutters it. it’s hard to hear him, really, but you don’t want to complain. don’t want to risk him hanging up and leaving you high and dry- well, high and wet. “good to know you’re good for something.”

it’s addictive, his passiveness, coaxing you to squeeze your thighs together.

your panties are sticky with your own residue, your nipples are hard within their circumferential coffins, your fingers are soaked as they grip the pulsing toy.

you’ve still not turned it off.

“now, sit yourself down in front of that mirror and show daddy how you ride it.”

you’re across the room in a matter of seconds, slipping down so easily onto your knees, right in front of the floor-length mirror. pressing the dildo down on the ground, you listen as the suction cup sticks it in place, standing bright, and pink, and tall.

“i’m-” the call drops before you can finish your sentence.

you’re left in silence, once more, humming down the line.

it doesn’t last, phone screen lighting up once more.

only, this time, it’s a face-time call.

you waste no time on patience, blindly hitting accept and admiring the way you come in to view, back camera on and pointed directly at the your reflection.

you’re on display, down on your knees and awaiting his next command.

tearing your ego away from the small square you occupy on the screen you audibly whine at the view from his camera.

lowlights, casting shadows around him.

his head is out of frame, camera angled down onto his body.

his clothing is all black- his jeans, his t-shirt, the ring that sits round his index finger-, the only splash of colour coming from his tanned hand, curled around the base of his cock.

tugged out of his jeans, it’s red at the tip and leaking precum.

this isn’t the first time you’ve seen him this way, obviously, yet something is different.

something you like.

something that has your mouth watering and your tastebuds begging to taste the tangy, salty drip of his seed smeared all over them.

“well? get on with it, pretty girl,” tonight, he’s arrogant. demanding. “don’t quit while you’re ahead.”

staring forward, you make eye contact with yourself as you gather up the saliva in your mouth and let it drip down on to the plastic tip sitting in front of you. your free hand’s quick to wrap itself around the toy, soaking itself in your spit and working it’s way down the toy’s shaft, slickening the silicone.

on the screen, his own hand imitates yours, giving himself a slow stroke. it’s accompanied with a pleased hum.

“fucking look at you, a goddamn natural at touching cock,” his praise warms your heart and speeds up your hand, another glob of spit falling down onto the dildo, getting it prepped to nestle it between your thighs. “it’s what slut’s like you live for, ain’t it? taking it from anyone who’ll give it.”

god, you want to say no. you really do.

but you’re hardly in a position to argue your case, soaked panties and heaving chest, willing to do just about anything he asks of you.

“don’t be shy, c’mon, let me see how good that little pussy of yours is.”

inching yourself closer, knees dragging on the floor below, you grind against the pink toy, eyes rolling back as it brushes between your panty-clad folds, nudging at your clit.

“move them to the side,” miles away, and resigned to merely your cellphone, he puppets you, invisible strings tethered between his voice and your hands, willing and ready to move anyway he commands them too. “wanna watch you take it.”

you do as he says. hook your fingers into the red lace, slide it to one side and ignore the way it digs and scratches into your skin, bunched up tight against it.

first, you make sure you're in view, hand as steady as it can be and pointed straight ahead at the mirror.

then, you let yourself sink down.

take just the tip, feel it prod at your entrance and stretch you open, a greedy cunny willing to fit anything and everything to get the sweet release of friction.

you suck a breath in through your teeth, let it out through your nose.

in earnest, you’d forgotten the sheer girth of the toy and, eyeing your reflection and witnessing the offensively pink silicone cock beneath you fills you with a trickle of regret.

the plan this evening was just to use your vibrator and trusty fingers, not stretch yourself open beyond sense.

then again, the plan this evening had been for him to call you nearly three quarters of an hour earlier, blushy cheeked and wide-eyed, smiling down at you through his camera.

“pft, that’s pathetic,” he scoffs from within your phone screen, hand no longer working over his length. it rests, instead, beneath his balls, toying with the skin and rolling the heft of them over his veined hands. “you’re pathetic. ‘s that all you’re gonna take, huh?”

you take it like a challenge, just like he knew you would.

smoothing your free hand over your thigh, you feel the rigid muscles beneath and will them to relax, let go, give in to need to be full. moments later, you watch in the mirror as you sink further down on the toy.

it’s hard to recognise yourself this way and it sparks questions of if this is how he sees you, all dressed up and messed up, lips swollen at the hands of your own teeth, lashes damp with your own tears.

you really are the prettiest girl.

“tick-tock, time’s moving. keep going.”

as you sink down on the rest of the toy, heart in your throat as all your nerves spark ablaze, your eyes are on him, watching in grainy picture as he delicately runs his finger up the underside of his cock. he traces a vein and it has him jolting, a whimpered laugh quietly playing through your speakers.

“that’s it, knew you could do it for me,” it really is all for him, his praise merely a consequence of your compliance. “good to know you’re not a complete brain-dead idiot.”

the heat of your childhood bedroom is stiffling, choking you on it’s syrupy air, the heady stench of lust dancing up to your nostrils.

you wonder if his surroundings are the same: clammy, sex-smelling, erotic.

"tell me how it feels," he demands.

"full," is all you manage, head slumping forward and granting you the view from above of your puffy lips, squeezing around the toy’s base.

“for a slut like you? that’s nothing.”

he’s tempting you, cock on full display on your phone-screen.

it has you salivating, walls clenching around the pink silicone.

you’ve never wanted him so bad, needed him so bad.

in your hand, in your mouth, in you.

cock-hungry and touchstarved, you whine his name and beg for something you’ve yet to even understand.

all that you know is you need him, all of him, and you need him to feel the same.

“what’re you waiting for, an invitation?” oh, he growls, voice scratching on his ire and desperation. it’s spine-tingling. “start fucking the toy, princess.”

the first thrust is the deepest.

lifting yourself right off the toy, feeling the over-exaggerated tip of it resting between your folds, you sink back down with a single slam of your hips, hand jutting forward to grab at the mirror.

fingerprints on the glass, you try not to think about how you’ll have to clean it later.

“‘s that all you got?” he’s mean tonight, you think, his praise far more scarce than you’re used to. usually, you take an inch and he’s ready to throw you a parade. you like this side, though, like the fight for approval. “i’ve seen nuns take it faster than that.”

it’s hypochondria.

it’s a simile.

it’s symbolism.

it’s a lie.

but you let it get to you, let it fester down into your loins and build itself a nest within, infecting your bloodstream with it’s elusive possibilities.

you come down on the toy again, and follow it up with another quick lift of your hips, your own slick leaving it’s shiny residue on the dildo as you watch it slide out of you.

when you glance at the screen, you can see he’s started stroking his cock, shameless and unfiltered moans and whimpers coming from somewhere off screen.

usually, he’s a groaner, a grunter, snuffing out his little noises with presses of his lips to your skin, and teeth piercing into flesh.

this is another welcomed change.

matching the rhythm of his wrist, you begin to ride the plastic cock in earnest, letting yourself get lost in the fantasies of him beneath you, hands pawing at your waist and fingernails indenting your delicate skin.

his filth riddled rambles continue on, lyrics to the symphony of music created as you play yourselves like instruments, plucking the right string and stroking the right chord to make your music play.

“that’s it, pretty, fill that greedy pussy up.”

his hand speeds up.

your wrists chase to catch up.

“dirty slut, answering calls while she’s touching herself.”

up, and down.

and up, and down.

you’re fighting the muscle cramp in your thigh, and willing yourself to get rid of that hyper-aware conscious of yours, surrender yourself to ebb and flow of electric currents taking hold of your senses.

“just desperate for anyone to see you like this, aren’t you?”

you’re not even aware of your own head nodding, or the chants of yes, yes, yes that you’re giving.

you’re just living for the drag of the toy, in and out, filling you to the brim.

the reflection paints a portrait, an artwork for any eyes who dare witness. messy hair, running mascara, smeared lipstick. panties pushed aside, cunt on display, tits bouncing in lace confines each time your hips fall back down.

you watch as this sex-goddess version of you reaches out her hand, grasping fingers at the rabbit and bringing a burst of purple to the space between your thighs.

there’s no care to fix the setting, just a squeeze of a button and away you go, vibrator pressed to your clit as you fuck yourself on the toy again, and again, and again.

he hums in approval, calls you his smart slut, and you keen at his words, eyes glazing over with tears.

it’s all becoming too much.

too overwhelming.

you’re ready to crash and burn, open the floodgates to hell and throw yourself into the lakes of pleasure.

“hmm, pretty girl, y’know red really is your colour,” he’s embarrassingly more composed than you are. not a shake in his breath, not a stutter to his words. just the occasional moan, and the visible tightening of his fingers around his cock. “i’d love to see you dripping in it.”

everything comes crashing inwards. the length of the toy, ramming into you each time your hips crash down on it; the buzz of the vibrator, rippling your skin and stealing your sense; the erotic display of him, legs spread wide as he fucks up into his hand, tiny flecks of precum staining his skin. it’s all too much stimuli, sending you full throttle of the edge of reality.

you cum with a gasp, a cry, a shiver down your spine and a bust of warmth between your legs. like raging waters, the feeling flows, and crashes, and stains everything in it’s soaking madness.

it’s on your thighs, on the floor, even on the mirror, visual evidence of a climax you never knew was possible for yourself.

“fuck, fuck!” he’s still going, more desperate than ever, the repeated schlick-schlick of his hand taking over the beating of your heart. “d’you just squirt, huh? filthy, filthy pussy, got herself and all her belongings wet. go on, don’t be shy, lick your mirror clean-”

your phone buzzes.

it’s a fight through the orgasmic haze to read the screen.

yunho <3 - sorry babe, the guys keep buying rounds

yunho <3 - promise i’ll phone you as soon as i can

it takes reading it twice more to really read it.

process it.

understand it.

your heart drops to your stomach.

your lungs swell till they threaten to burst out your ribs.

your legs scramble off the toy, head shaking frantically.

no, no, no.

“what’s wrong, pumpkin?” god, you feel sick.

that’s not your boyfriend’s voice.

you watch the phone, paralysed in your own fear.

there he appears, in all his masked glory, haunting you straight out of your nightmares.

that very same mask, months ago, stood in your room watching over you, a blood soaked knife in his hand and your dead roommate at his feet.

“c’mon, silly girl, don’t tell me you didn’t know,” his words fill your throat with bile. because he’s right, how did you not know? “no, mister ghostface, i just thought my boyfriend’s cock got fatter! pathetic.”

oh god, oh god. yunho, you picture him now, sat among his seven friends, joking over alcohol infused delusions and awaiting his return to his hotel room, to call you and give you the night he’d promised you.

meanwhile, you’re naked, and afraid, and still reeling from the orgasm you’d let this crazed murderer prey witness to.

to make matters worse, you hate the way you’re not as scared as you should be.

or, really, that you’re as turned on as you are put off by the idea of this cruel torturer.

visions of riding that hollow-cheeked mask are fleeting, but vivid enough to have your eyes welling in shameful tears and your legs jumping in remorseful delight.

“you still want it, don’t you?” you should be looking away, hanging up, calling the police. not staring, wide-eyed and unblinking, as the man- the monster on your screen slaps the head of his hard cock against a toned stomach. and you definitely shouldn’t imagine him slapping the head of his cock against your asshole, teasing you with the fear of being defiled only to plunge deep into your cunt in one foul swoop. “yeah, you do. can see you rubbing your thighs together just at the sight of it. bet you’d like to know how’d it feel to be fucked nice and full of me while my knife’s pressed to your throat. just edging you between your orgasm and your deat-”

you hang up.

sit back.

count to ten.

ten.

nine.

eight.

seven.

your ringtone blares again.

unknown caller.

you hit ignore.

restart counting.

make it to four this time.

it calls again.

ignore.

you phone buzzes.

the notification reads unknown - 1 message.

messenger opens.

a picture.

of your house, taken from across the street. it’s dark, only the light of your bedroom and, within it, the blurred image of you. earlier, fresh out the shower wrapped in a fluffy white towel.

you phone buzzes, once more, and a text appears just beneath the image.

unknown- close ur courtains, u never know who’s watching.

you take a deep breath, stare out your window.

type out a reply.

curtains*

and block the number.

#ateez smut #jung wooyoung smut #ateez x reader #jung wooyoung x reader

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ineffably-smote · 3 months

Text

Macbeth, David Tennant - A very subjective, spoiler and emotion filled review

Just walking out of seing Macbeth at the Donmar and I have Feelings. Unsurprisingly, I primarily went to see it because David Tennant was in it. I love the play, big fan of Shakespeare but the trip to London was most certainly motivated by a very specific actor. Hence the highly subjective review. Fortunately, I also happen to quite like Macbeth. We studied it at school, and it holds a special place in my heart (back then, Hamlet was my favourite Shakespeare play but honestly, after tonight, I’m not so sure anymore. Anyway, I digress). It was my first time actually seeing an actor I’m a fan of in real life, so obviously the entire time my brain was just going oh my god that’s David Tennant oh my god that’s David Tennant like I actually could not comprehend it. The man I’ve spent hours staring at on a little screen is suddenly real, and right there. So yeah, that took me a hot second.

(Excuse the piss poor image quality, I took this with shaky hands without looking or bothering to focus the cam)

The Staging

Still starstruck and a bit dazed, one thing really really stood out to me: the staging. It was so, so good. I knew it was going to be minimal from the pictures I had seen, and it was, but it was also so insanely real. There were barely any decorations, and half the cast and the musicians were hidden behind a glass screen doing background noises and gestures. From where I was sitting I could not see them much, but could definitely hear them which added to the overall atmosphere. The stage was also really tiny, and the play benefitted incredibly from it. All the action was happening in one tight space that had been put to use incredibly well, particularly the banquet scene but I’ll come back to that because it deserves its own paragraph.

The way they chose to do the soliloquies was so fitting - all the actors start to move in slow motion - everyone else slowing down and just the characters speaking moving was so good, it made sense.

The Headphones

I’m a bit mixed about the headphones. They were amazing for the vibes, we could hear whispers and they really heightened some of the emotional speeches in the play - because when someone is struggling with guilt and trauma it makes sense for them to be mumbling rather than yelling. So that was really great. However, especially in the scenes where the actors where yelling/ loud I preferred to take them off a bit cause it felt more real that way. I’m so used to hearing actors voice on recordings, it does hit different when you can hear them for real. But, as I said, personal preference and that’s what’s nice, you can take them on and off as much as you want.

Famous Speeches

There were three speeches I was quite interested to see how they were going to be adapted - scorpions and dagger for Macbeth, and out damned spot for Lady Macbeth. These are classic, everyone knows the words, the plot but they managed to make it feel real in a new and touching way. I think here the headphones were quite helpful because they allowed the actors to actually whisper parts of those lines. They were so subtle, so embedded in the text they felt so natural which imbued them with all their power. I saw in a review Cush Jumbo’s out damned spot speech be described as “haunting”, and I wholeheartedly agree.

The Macbeths

I didn’t like Macbeth, the character, very much when I first learnt about him. His actions didn’t make sense to me, I couldn’t quite comprehend in my 21st century little brain how he went from I’m super loyal to the King to I will freely murder children for shits and giggles. But now, now I understand. It makes sense, it’s believable. And that’s a mix of the acting choices and teh overall setting. Like the opening scene, instead of presenting Macbeth as a glorious hero, he is presented to us as a traumatised hero. He spends the first few minutes washing the blood of his clothes, haunted by noises from the battlefield. And that sets the themes quite nicely, not ambition, as Tennant specified in an interview, but guilt and trauma. There are so many ways to interpret Shakespeare, that’s the beauty of it, and I think this version of Macbeth just resonated more with me (maybe because ambition I don’t quite understand but guilt I am intimately familiar with? Or maybe because it was David Tennant? I don’t know, probably a bit of both). Tennant delivers a convincing Macbeth. Yes, you can see his ambitions play out, but also his fears, his guilt, and that makes him into a complex three dimensional character that you want to understand.

And I absolutely loved this version of Lady Macbeth. Not just a powerful woman who bullies her husband into become an evil murderer (because again, here we can see traces of that in Macbeth from the start), but an ambition woman in love, with her husband, with power, and not quite healed from the trauma of loosing her child. Again another review said she is more of an enabler than a manipulator and I quite liked that description.

My Favourite Scenes

God the banquet scene. The one with the ghost of Banquo. An absolute masterpiece. I did not expect that scene to hit that hard. It was raw, it was powerful and even if Tennant was facing away from where I was sitting, even without seeing his face I could feel the emotion, the whole audience could. In a video essay on Tennant, @davidtennantgenderenvy highlighted how in almost every role he played, there is it is the classic Tennant breakdown moment, and breakdown moment it was. Not with tears, not as expressive as he sometime is but just enough for a King trying to hold it together but fear and guilt breaking through. I was absolutely overwhelmed and it was beautiful. The set up for the scene was amazing too - there were ceilidh, celebrations, I adored the contrast between these fast pasted scenes and guilt ridden whispers of the couple. And the way everyone sat down around the stage and suddenly it looked like a banquet table ? Just perfect.

Another really cool moment, less on the emotional side but more on the visuals was when Macbeth goes to get the second prophecy from the witches. Almost the whole cast is there, running around, moving, almost dancing and it gives the whole thing a mystical atmosphere. There’s smoke, Macbeth falls, is carried up high Jesus style, cowers, rises, it’s so busy and insane all the while there are whispers and whispers in the headphones - it manages perfectly to feel like a mystical moment.

Descent Into Madness & other cool things

For Macbeth, having the kid running around scene after scene, haunting him, and then scene where he kills him - GOD it’s powerful. Lady Macbeth’s descent into madness was so well characterised, I also loved the glass on the background that locked away some of the cast. Just wild. The actor that played Malcom actor was also really cool, and Macduff and Ross, big fan of all of them.

Overall I am overwhelmed with emotions. Tennant is truly one of my favourite actors - from Good Omens to Staged, Jessica Jones, even Harry Potter but also Mad to be Normal, Nativty, There She Goes, Around the World in 80 days, Doctor Who (god I’ve started a list, never start lists cause you’ll forget people) and so, so many more, I was truly beside myself with excitement and expectations for tonight. And it did not disappoint. I do not want to leave the theatre and I pray they release a recording of this because I want it imprinted on my soul.

(Side note: I don’t know how to use tumblr very well, for some reason whenever I try to reply to ppl it posts from my other blog? Anyway @raquel-and-sergio is in fact me)

#david tennant #Macbeth #donmar macbeth #review #sort of #more like therapeutic ranting for me #because i love this Scottish man so much #and i dont want this moment to be over yet #or ever for that matter #good omens #tenth doctor #fourteenth doctor

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bestworstcase · 4 months

Note

You've said before that RWBY's writing can be non-formulaic other than the 3 Act structure that it follows. What is it then that makes RWBY's story and writing so different (especially from more typical pop culture writing) in that regard?

to be completely honest i think a significant factor is that rwby is written by people who care about telling a story and have a very clear vision of what story they want to tell that they are resolutely sticking to no matter what. rwby is pretty remarkable in its sheer indifference to 1. what the fandom wants and 2. mass market appeal. paraphrasing but isn't one of the writers on record saying that they keep an eye on the fandom and if they see a lot of people not getting something they try to make it more obvious in the text? <- i think about this all the time.

bc like. before V9 i tried really hard to manage my expectations because i didn't feel sure, at all, that i wasn't just reading around a bad case of protagonist-centered morality—like i could count on one hand the number of people besides me whose writing on salem aligned with my interpretation and what i thought was going to happen thematically in V9 was so DRASTICALLY different than what the fandom largely seemed to expect and when you're that far off the common thinking then it's kind of like, is it really everyone else who's wrong or is it just you?

and then it turned out i was right. i was in fact so right that i underestimated how hard V9 would go on delivering what was set up in the first eight volumes.

which is fucking mind-boggling to imagine from the writers' perspective. the fucking guts it take to have a finger on the pulse of this fandom and not budge an inch on what this story is about!

<- being formulaic is safe. it is easy. it's palatable. for all that everyone loves to complain about unoriginality, there are a lot of people who just want to be entertained by something familiar. rwby doesn't give a damn whether you like it or not, it's going to keep being the story that it is, you know?

so they're very willing to take creative risks. that's really the heart of it. but there are a few specific like, technical aspects of the narrative that make rwby what it is:

#1, the narrative status quo gets turned on its head not just once, but repeatedly. the fall of beacon, the lost fable, the fall of atlas, the ever after. and by my count there are at least two more key changes before the story ends. it's not all that common for stories to upend the narrative status quo once, let alone multiple times, but rwby is a story about change and the structure of the narrative reflects that. (this also synergizes quite well with the three-act structure.)

#2, the characters are wrong about all kinds of things in all kinds of ways, constantly. some of them lie. some of them make very confident, very wrong assumptions. all of them are working with incomplete information. the ancient immortal character who's spent millions of years alone is cryptic and awkward. half the cast belongs to the keeping secrets cult. the goddamned avatar of knowledge is an unreliable narrator because ruby asked specifically for ozpin's side of the story. the narrative blithely informs the audience in V5 that "truth is hard to come by" is an important enough theme to say it out loud and then throws the lost fable down like a gauntlet. good luck.

#3, related to the above, in most stories the heroic characters know (or learn) and believe the story's themes and the villainous characters reject the theme and embody the anti-themes. in rwby, theme/anti-theme is decoupled from narrative role: ozpin is on the heroic side, but he represents many of the story's anti-themes (fear, distrust, lack of faith in humanity, blind obedience of authority); salem is the main villain and notional big bad, but she believes the theme—so much so that the fandom regularly quotes her soliloquy to express the core theme: "even the smallest spark of hope is enough to ignite change," and "there will be no victory in strength." this opens the door to a lot of really interesting character complexity and is critical for making "salem wins by negotiation" narratively possible at all.

#4, the story takes fairytales seriously. what sets rwby apart from a lot of "deconstructed fairytale" stories is that the point of taking the fairytale logic apart is not to be clever or edgy or grimdark or hyperrealist or cynical about it; the conceit is a tragic, broken fairytale that keeps going forever until it's mended because fairytales are not real but they are true. rwby rejects the moral and emotional simplicity of fairytales in order to weave a fairytale about lifelike characters rather than archetypes. that's a lot rarer than darker and edgier retellings or irreverent parodies by a wide margin.

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attapullman · 5 months

Text

whodunit? / prologue

Summary: Meet Bob & Fanboy, the nosy kids on the block who now solve mysteries in this sleepy little town. When they're not cracking beers by the pool, you can catch them at the diner down the road hitting on waitresses and cranking the jukebox. But what's going on at the bank? And why do you look so upset?

Word Count: 1.4k

Warnings: f!reader, food and alchohol mentions, 80s inaccuracies

mo's note: thanks for checking out this silly little 80s sleuth!au series the infamous bathroom photos sparked in me! and biggest shout to @bobgasm for letting me talk an ear off about these heart-stealing hometown heroes!

prologue / whodunit? masterlist / one

*clink*

The sun had barely bathed the modular, dusky pink apartment complex in a warm glow when Bob and Fanboy tapped their celebratory mid-morning beers in a cheers. The best friends, in their mismatched lawn chairs next to the apartment’s kidney pool, glug down a sip before resting back to enjoy the sun. Another mystery solved, another ‘solved it’ beer opened.

Fanboy chugs down half, wiping his mouth on the sleeve of his King Kong long-sleeve. It’s been a minute since they’ve allowed themselves the good beer. There hadn’t been a case for a while before this week’s dropped in their lap.

That was part of the issue of only solving mysteries in a town no bigger than a postage stamp - there wasn’t a lot of crime. The occasional police consulting helped keep the bills paid, but mostly it was a few odd dollars to track down who was having an affair with who. Something Fanboy’s mom could figure out, the township’s gossip hive very well informed.

Beside him, Bob was quiet. Not out of the ordinary, but normally he had some sort of soliloquy about helping out the townsfolk. It had taken them three days to figure out who was taking the Patterson mail every day: interrogating the neighbors, talking to Phil the postman, sneaking into the back of the small post office. Only for the Patterson’s son to be the culprit to hide his report card. Twenty bucks later, they had the rest of the afternoon off and a six-pack of the good beers.

Bob finally clears his throat, pushing back the hair curling around his neck, aviators slipping down his nose. “Another good job, man.”

Always a man of few words.

It was small town mysteries like missing mail that kept them in business. Mickey “Fanboy” Garcia and Robert “Bob” Floyd had grown up here, two overactive boys whose mothers wanted them out of the house away from their Star Trek and quarters collections. What else was there to do outside than figure out why Mrs. Palomino and Mr. Altman down the block always seemed to both come home from lunch at the same time?

Spoiler: The discovery of the extra-marital affair had gotten them grounded for a week, but had given them both the sleuthing bug they could not shake.

Now it was decades later. There was hair on their chests (kind of - Bob’s was so pale you needed the right light to see it) and they were somewhat making a living out of their boyhood pastime. Move over Hardy Boys, Fanboy and Bob have got this town covered.

It had been Mickey’s idea to make their boyhood sleuthing shenanigans an actual money maker. Bob was helping his old man fix cars - how he’d gotten his ’65 Mustang with the cream interior Fanboy wasn’t allowed to drive - and it had taken little convincing to put up fliers advertising the were open for business.

A car horn pierces their relaxing morning, shattering whatever calm a 10AM Sierra Nevada Pale Ale provides.

A neighbor walks by, fresh off their night shift. They raise their morning beers in greeting before turning back to the half-empty pool before them. The apartment complex was…okay. Better than living with their folks, though. Their unit had peeling paint and the water heater took the entire length of Fleetwood Mac’s “Hold Me” to produce any hot water. Not quite the place to take a sweet thing home, but made do. Between Bob installing transmissions and Fanboy’s city hall maintenance gig, solving small town mysteries in their off hours, the best friends were making a life in their hometown.

After wasting the morning talking movies and girls, lunch was at the diner a few blocks down. Checkerboard floors and vinyl booths greeted customers over the sounds of Soft Cell and Michael Jackson. The boys settled themselves in a booth near the counter, where Fanboy could get a better look at the new waitress with the slick ponytail and glossy smile. She was stunning and he was smitten.

Before she started they maybe ate at the diner once a week, opting for fast food or the bistro with a much better reuben. But now they were here nearly daily, Fanboy always making some excuse for fries, a Coke, or a chocolate shake so he could flirt and show off his curly mullet. His best friend and business partner was a good wingman, otherwise he would have lost it by how many times he’s heard Blondie’s “Call Me” this month.

That had always been their dynamic - Fanboy leading the battle with where to go, what to do, who to see, and quiet Bob picking up any pieces his bud dropped along the way.

As a Sunday with no responsibilities, the two enjoy their burgers and Cokes, laughs stuck on their faces. Bob teases his friend about his crush (not that Robert is much more of a ladies' man) and the two keep her busy with innocent questions about music and whether a banana split or chocolate sundae is better. Fanboy insists a chocolate sundae is the only option. Other customers join on the debate, the jukebox providing a lively soundtrack.

Just another chill Sunday in a sleepy little town.

It takes a firm grip on his upper arm and a pointed look to finally get Fanboy to leave the diner and his crush. The late afternoon sun assaults them as they push open the doors, Bob quickly pulling down his shades to cover his sensitive baby blues. To his side, Fanboy lights a cigarette, tapping the ash into the pavement on their way home.

A squad car catches their eye, not a regular sight in this part of town. They wave as the police captain rounds the corner, the father of a former classmate. The man is all business and nods back with his serious frown before turning back to the building.

It’s only then the amateur sleuths realize it’s not just one squad car, but several that are littering the street between the diner and the local bank. Officers marching in and out of the older building, heads pulled together in hushed voices. One navy-clad patrol officer strings bright crime scene tape across the glass door that’s been welcoming customers since 1894. Since it’s Sunday there are no customers, so where’s the crime?

The hometown heroes cross the street, trying to blend in despite Fanboy’s bright green ball cap. They’ve almost fully integrated themselves into the scene when a loud voice booms, “Where do you two think you’re going?”

The police captain’s bark is one they know well. From being told to butt out when they’ve gotten a little too nosy, to helping out on investigations, Bob and Fanboy have spent their fair time with the burly man with the impressive mustache who likes to yell. He tolerates their presence on a good day, rues their existence on a bad one.

“What happened, Captain?” Fanboy tries to look inside the bank, but it’s just more officers milling around. No employees seem to be in the vicinity. What was going on?

And that’s when Bob spots you. Sitting on the bench behind your father, head in your hands, eyes weary with stress. His lieutenant sits beside you - also mustached, Bradley would grow a tail if his captain did - trying to take your statement like he has for the past hour. But you don’t know anything, you’re just an assistant manager.

It’s your day off. You forgot your paycheck from Friday in your locker and used your opening key to quickly run the errand before dinner. There was no one around. The security officer was on break. The vault was open. And the massive pallet of cash being picked up first thing tomorrow is gone.

You raise your eyes from your trembling hands and shake your head. This cannot be happening. Your dad is beside himself, already screaming at one officer who insinuated you knew anything about the stolen money. A glimpse of battered cowboy boots - does Bob Floyd wear anything else? - and that’s when you catch the eye of the crime-solving duo you’ve known since childhood.

“Mickey? Robert? You have to help me.”

taglist: @bobgasm @roosterforme @bradshawsbaby @just-in-case-iloveyou @bcarolinablr @petersunderoos96 @yuckosworld @maryelizabeth13

join the taglist for whodunit? and more

#top gun: maverick au #top gun: maverick fan fiction #mickey fanboy garcia fan fiction #mickey fanboy garcia fic #robert bob floyd fan fiction #robert bob floyd fic #mickey fanboy garcia #robert bob floyd #mickey garcia #bob floyd

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heartinportuairk · 3 months

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I went to the final performance of Macbeth last night and I wanted to make some notes for myself so I would remember some things. I only use this account for lurking but I am making this public in case anyone scouring the David Tennant / Macbeth tags is interested in my musings for some reason.

I had been lucky enough to have seen this production three times already before last night - twice in December and once in January - so I have been able to track its journey and pick out what changes night on night and what doesn't. I have found that fascinating. Any changes were minor and pretty much exclusively found in simply the way a line was spoken. For example, the brilliant Noof Oussellam (Macduff)'s "but I must also feel it as a man" was impassioned and angry the first and last times, but the two times inbetween I found it to be more subtle. More sadness, more despair than anger. I guess it comes down to how the actor is feeling it in that point in time and I think it shows a great understanding of the character that they play them in the moment and don't just mimic themselves night after night.

The other great thing about going multiple times is viewing it from different angles. I saw it from all sides, twice from the stalls and twice from the front row of the circle. Honestly, circle was better, especially for Macbeth's death in the closing moments. You do not get the effect of the blood seeping out from under him from the stalls and I tell you now, that image from above sears itself onto your brain.

All of the actors are incredible and have been from the start, but there were a few times last night where I could feel them step up their game. Like they knew it was the last time they were going to say that line (at least for a while) so they were going to give it their all.

One of those times was Macbeth's "tomorrow and tomorrow" soliloquy which had always been brilliant and very moving, but about which something was a little different last night. The quiet, raw emotion in that speech felt as though it had been ramped up (or down??) a notch and was so palpable that it brought a tear to my eye.

Another moment came from Lady Macbeth's sleepwalking scene. Again, always brilliant and always moving but somehow desperately sadder this time around. I wanted to give that murderous, conniving fiend a big hug.

The Porter:

The porter scene is funny but obviously not as much when you know what's coming. Which is why when somebody in the audience yelled out "who's there?" right before he got a chance to say his "ok seriously do none of you understand the concept of a knock-knock joke?" line last night, it was both a shame and a blessing. I felt a bit bad for the guy!

"Alright, you've seen the show before! That was my favourite-... and it's the final show!"

But what followed was a hilarious bit of improvisation and it changed things up a bit, especially as Laura the sound engineer proceeded to make his job even harder with the timing of the sound effects that followed. It meant I was able to enjoy the porter scene as much as I did the first time, but like I said, I did feel a bit bad that his favourite line got taken away from him! (It wasn't me who called out, by the way.)

David bloody Tennant:

I've not seen much Shakespeare live (I want to remedy that, I have become completely obsessed), but I can believe people when they say David Tennant is arguably the greatest Shakespearean actor of his time. You can tell he feels and understands completely the meaning behind the words he is saying. He's not just reciting, not just reeling it off. The pauses, the intonations, the passion, sadness, grief, guilt behind every line just shows his deep understanding of the character and his innermost thoughts. On that stage, he is Macbeth.

What's more is you can tell he absolutely delights in it. Anybody who knows anything about DT knows he loves Shakespeare and it is glaringly evident when he is out on stage. He puts everything he has into it and it is wonderful to witness.

He is truly an amazing actor and a treasure and I have been so delighted to watch his career somehow continue to hit new highs of late. Everything he touches seems to turn to gold. As many have said before me, this really is David Tennant's world and the rest of us are just living in it.

The bows:

The reception this group of actors received at the end of the performance was phenomenal and no more than they deserved. Everybody on their feet, whooping, cheering. A lot of noise coming from such a small audience. The cast were both playful and tearful. To see some of the actors get a bit emotional was very touching and I hope that was, at least in part, due to the love and admiration pouring out of us and on to that stage.

An aside:

So I turn up to the theatre and head straight for the toilets on the first floor. There is one person waiting outside them because it's full inside so I wait too. Within moments, out pops DT from a set of double doors right in front of me. He quickly checks if there's anyone in the other set of toilets (there is) and disappears back through the doors again. It's fleeting, and the only other person in the queue is facing the other way and doesn't see. I keep quiet, obviously. It's just over half an hour until the performance is due to start. He's not in costume yet and the man just wants to go to the bathroom. My point is, I've now watched him live on stage in a very small theatre for approximately 7 and a half hours and at no point in that time have I actually concluded that he is real, except in those brief four or five seconds outside the toilets of the Donmar Warehouse in Covent Garden, when we're just two people who needed a wee.

#david tennant #davidtennant #macbeth #cush jumbo #donmar warehouse #donmarwarehouse

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petermorwood · 8 months

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Interesting to see this post cross my dash again.

I was watching a movie late last night and, with that post's criticism of unbroken long speeches and suggestions of how to break them, here's an example of how a very famous one was done.

The movie I was watching was "Jaws", and the long speech is The Indianapolis Monologue. There are several YouTube clips, but a couple of them leap straight in at the start of the speech.

The clip below has the lead up to The Speech which, IMO, matters a lot in preparing for what follows; there's not just a Mood Whiplash - cheery drunk to OMG Whut - to make the viewers pay attention, but also what I mentioned in the other post, an entirely legitimate reason for an "As You Know" speech.

One character, Hooper, knows the significance of "USS Indianapolis" - his shocked-almost-sober reaction makes that very plain - but the other character, Brody (and the audience he represents), doesn't know and needs told.

In addition (also as mentioned in the other post) despite being a single-character monologue, the speech is "broken" by cutting away from the speaker, Quint, to reaction shots from the other characters present. Even when Quint is on-screen he isn't centre-screen, Hooper is visible in the background where his silent, apprehensive attention accompanies the story he's hearing.

*****

This can be done in words, too: inserting other actions or reactions by means of paragraph breaks is the equivalent of visual cut-aways, and serve the same functions - making a lot of words from one character into several smaller groups of words, while showing the cumulative effect of all those words on other listeners.

Even a soliloquy with no-one else listening benefits from occasional breaks describing what the speaker is doing, how their emotions show, where they are etc. It's all far better than A Wall Of Text.

youtube

The entire speech is 438 words, and Robert Shaw delivers them over 3 min 34 sec.

I've got three PDF versions of the "Jaws" screenplay, all different, and this speech varies in every one but are never what's in the movie, so I constructed mine as a transcript from several listenings, and have used paragraph breaks to try matching Shaw's delivery.

Also, as an Exercise For The Scholar (me, anyway) I've inserted and timed the cuts where Quint isn't on screen or speaking to show how short they can be.

CUT TO BRODY (3 sec) then BACK TO QUINT WHO TAKES A DRINK (2 sec)

They didn't even list us overdue for a week. Very first light, Chief, sharks come cruisin'. So we formed ourselves into tight groups. You know it’s ... kinda like old squares in a battle, like you see in a calendar, like the Battle of Waterloo, and the idea was, shark comes to the nearest man, that man he start poundin' and hollerin' and screamin’, an’ sometimes the shark go away. Sometimes he wouldn't go away. Sometimes that shark, he looks right into you. Right into your eyes. You know the thing about a shark, he's got lifeless eyes. Black eyes, like a doll's eyes. When he comes at you, doesn't seem to be livin'. Until he bites you, and those black eyes roll over white and then, ah, then you hear that terrible high-pitched screamin'. The ocean turns red, and despite all the poundin' and the hollerin' they all come in an’ they... Rip you to pieces.

CUT TO BRODY (2 sec) then BACK TO QUINT

Y’know, by the end of that first dawn, lost a hundred men. I dunno how many sharks, maybe a thousand. I dunno how many men, they averaged six an hour.

CUT TO BRODY (3 sec) AS QUINT CONTINUES OFFSCREEN

On Thursday mornin', Chief...

BACK TO QUINT

I bumped into a friend of mine, Herbie Robinson from Cleveland. Baseball player. Bosun's mate. An’ I thought he was asleep; reached over to wake him up. Bobbed up an’ down in the water, was like a kinda top. Upended... Well, he'd been bitten in half below the waist.

CUT TO BRODY (2 sec) then CUT TO HOOPER (2 sec) then BACK TO QUINT

Noon the fifth day, Mister Hooper, a Lockheed Ventura saw us, he swung in low and he saw us - a young pilot, a lot younger than Mister Hooper. Anyway he saw us and he come in low, and three hours later a big fat PBY comes down and start to pick us up. You know that was the time I was most frightened. Waitin' for my turn. I'll never put on a lifejacket again. So, eleven hundred men went into the water, three hundred and sixteen men come out, the sharks took the rest, June the 29th, 1945. Anyway, we delivered the bomb.

*****

For comparison, down below is what it looks like without any paragraph breaks, speech instruction (gravely / incredulous etc.) or screen direction (track right / dolly in / close on / match cut etc.).

(BTW, some of these effects can be used when writing prose, to good effect, but that's for another time.)

This is the Wall of Text effect, and it sometimes turns up on the internet, courtesy of people who don't know how to use Enter except when they're sending a post.

I'm not saying this is how the speech would have looked in the real shooting script, but it might. From my own screenwriting experience, actors don't like being told how to deliver their lines and directors don't like being told how to set up their shots.

There's a bit more flexibility when writing animation, but in both cases crafty writers write so that the way they want a thing done works out as the best way to do it.

Sometimes this trick even works... :->

*****

Here's the Wall Of Text:

Japanese submarine slammed two torpedoes into our side, Chief. We was comin' back from the island of Tinian to Leyte. Just delivered the bomb. The Hiroshima bomb. Eleven hundred men went into the water. Vessel went down in twelve minutes. Didn't see the first shark for about half an hour. Tiger. Thirteen-footer. You know how you know that when you’re in the water, Chief? You tell by lookin' from the dorsal to the tail. What we didn't know was our bomb mission had been so secret, no distress signal had been sent. Huh. They didn't even list us overdue for a week. Very first light, Chief, sharks come cruisin'. So we formed ourselves into tight groups. You know it’s kinda like old squares in a battle, like you see in a calendar, like the Battle of Waterloo, and the idea was, shark comes to the nearest man, that man he start poundin' and hollerin' and screamin’, an’ sometimes the shark go away. Sometimes he wouldn't go away. Sometimes that shark, he looks right into you. Right into your eyes. You know the thing about a shark, he's got lifeless eyes. Black eyes, like a doll's eyes. When he comes at you, doesn't seem to be livin'. Until he bites you, and those black eyes roll over white and then, ah, then you hear that terrible high-pitched screamin'. The ocean turns red, and despite all the poundin' and the hollerin' they all come in an’ they rip you to pieces. Y’know, by the end of that first dawn, lost a hundred men. I dunno how many sharks, maybe a thousand. I dunno how many men, they averaged six an hour. On Thursday mornin', Chief I bumped into a friend of mine, Herbie Robinson from Cleveland. Baseball player. Bosun's mate. An’ I thought he was asleep; reached over to wake him up. Bobbed up an’ down in the water, was like a kinda top. Upended. Well, he'd been bitten in half below the waist. Noon the fifth day, Mister Hooper, a Lockheed Ventura saw us, he swung in low and he saw us - a young pilot, a lot younger than Mister Hooper. Anyway he saw us and he come in low, and three hours later a big fat PBY comes down and start to pick us up. You know that was the time I was most frightened. Waitin' for my turn. I'll never put on a lifejacket again. So, eleven hundred men went into the water, three hundred and sixteen men come out, the sharks took the rest, June the 29th, 1945. Anyway, we delivered the bomb.

#writing #writer advice #wall of text #using paragraphs #Jaws #The Indianapolis Speech #Robert Shaw

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stil-lindigo · 8 months

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Comics Masterpost (organised by collection)

Please heed relevant content warnings on each post. Completed collections have physical and digital copies available for purchase on my store.

Soliloquy Down to Three [COMPLETED]

Soliloquy down to Three is an anthology of dark sapphic comics, all of which are a mix of both old and new inspiration. Its title is a line from 'craters', indicating that the phrase "I love you" manages to fit a whole monologue worth of feeling into three words.

The compiled version contains exclusive illustrations for each couple, as well as a secret ending to 'craters'.

1. fishing twine 2. hook, line and sinker (sequel to 'fishing twine) cw: suggestive imagery 3. RED cw: suggestive imagery, blood, murder with an axe 4. RED - epilogue cw: blood 5. patchwork canary cw: mouth + neck mutilation, blood 6. craters cw: implications of suicide

♢♢♢♢♢♢♢♢♢♢♢♢♢♢

10PM [COMPLETED]

10pm is a collection of introspective comics that covers feelings of aimlessness, alienation and finding joy in creativity again. Its full title is "It's 10pm. Do you know who you are?" which is a twist on the old PSAs that used to play on American TVs reminding parents to check up on their children.

1. the parade

2. the elevator

3. the machine

4. the candle

5. the stone

6. the dredger

♢♢♢♢♢♢♢♢♢♢♢♢♢♢

Hearteaters [COMPLETED]

Heart-eaters is an anthology about the ugliest, gory-est, most heartfelt and most brutal parts of love. Sitting at a whopping 180 pages, Heart-eaters is the longest anthology I've made yet, and took over a year to finish in full.

The compiled books available for purchase on my store contain an exclusive joint-comic to "Shallow Grave" and poem named "Laozi's bowl", as well as 9 original full-page art splashes unique to their assigned stories.

1. the sunset cw: gun violence, death, blood 2. the calamity cw: eye scarring, blood, eye mutilation, gore (minimal) 3. seeing clearer (epilogue to 'the calamity') cw: biblical references 4. shallow grave cw: gravestone imagery 5. bite of winter (joint comic to 'scorched earth') cw: gore, blood, death, cannibalism, dismemberment 6. scorched earth (joint comic to 'bite of winter') cw: blood, death, burning alive, beheading 7. ashes to ashes (prequel comic to 'scorched earth') 8. little dove (prequel comic to 'scorched earth') 9. warmth 10. the fox god cw: emotional manipulation, animal abuse 11. the fields cw: blood, animal death, mild gore and blood

#took me far too long to make a post like this if im being honest #i hope this makes it easier for you all to find my stuff in the future #and ill update this as i go #thank you for your support #and as always #thank you for reading #sapphic art #comic art #queer art #stillindigo art #soliloquy down to three #its 10pm #hearteaters

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doomspiral · 19 days

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Doom's Movie Rec List

Some of these are bangers, some of these are the worst thing I have ever seen in my life, but I think they are all worth watching and enjoying one way or another. Sometimes the enjoyment is cringe and sometimes its staring at a wall for three hours. <3

The seventh seal (1957)

Classic chess game with Death film, I presume the entire thing is Bergman staring into the soul of the viewer in dead silence until you can read his mind.

The cabinet of Dr. Caligary (1920)

Strange, lurching, I watched this in German without knowing enough to keep up and I believe my confusion added to the experience.

Atomic blonde (2017)

This is my favorite movie. This is the one that I can't stop rewriting in my fics. I can't get the "lies" soliloquy out of my mind. My soul is tied to this fillum. Hot insane woman does a lot of violence, kisses women, beats up a guy who truly deserves it. Iron Curtain Spy Nonsense.

Hackers (1994)

Am I depressing you? Good, watch Hackers to experience child-like wonder and also see a grown man skateboard down a foggy street in the middle of the night to harass the homosexual teenagers (and slim shady) he's beefing with.

The core (2003)

This is not a good movie. But there is a little freak in there named "Rat" who I am obsessed with.

Angel's egg (1985)

This is the kind of movie where you have to not try to figure out what's going on and instead let it take you by the hands, just experience it, just keep your mouth shut and your mind at rest and you can consider the implications afterward when its safe.

Princess mononoke (1997)

I watched this as a child and saw those beasts dissolve into bloody worms and apparently that left a lasting mark on my brain.

Nausicaä of the valley of wind (1984)

I actually read the manga for this one but this is a movie rec list, so please go watch this for the death and rebirth vibes, and some mild foeyay yuri.

Invasion of the body snatchers (1978)

Horror movie that's odd and disturbing and clearly betraying some better dead than red fears, worth it for the horrible despicable freakish noise the guy makes at the end while pointing at the viewer.

Strange days (1995)

Please read up on this before watching it, it revolves around a fictional, then-futuristic critique of the adult film industry, HEAVY focus on the capitalistic dehumanization and devaluing of human life.

Underworld (2003)

Bad asses in leather fighting monsters. Core memory.

Blade (1998)

Bad asses in leather fighting monsters but maybe you need a break from how white this whole movie list is overall. That's okay, I see you, this vampire flick fucks severe.

Fright night (1985, 2011)

The first movie is pretty campy (fun) but the remake dug into my actual stressors and fears and scared the lights from my eyes for a day or two. Welcome... to FrrrighT NighT.

Dracula (1931, 1992)

First movie is a classic, this is thee one with the guy crawling around like a lizard and there's armadillos for no reason. The 90's version has no business being as deranged as it is and for this it is a core personality trait movie.

Fast&furious: Tokyo drift (2006)

Not sure I would say this is peak cinema but it's a racing movie that falls in line with the F&F tradition of being clearly in love with the entire premise, location, and cast. Rent free.

Drive (2011)

I like this movie because it is not about the guy getting the girl, it is about doing the right thing every single time because that's what it takes to be a real human bean. being. whichever. I was so obnoxious about this movie when I watched it with my now-ex gf that I wish I could siphon the memory of it out of her brain, because I kept pointing at actors I knew.

Green room (2015)

This is the best punk parable I can think of. Litany against not reading the room, litany against being the hero when there's no one to save, litany against thinking shared trauma is gonna get you any pussy.

Lords of chaos (2018)

I'm obsessed with the band Mayhem there is no other explanation.

There will be blood (2007)

WILD WEST TOXIC YAOI. I'm not apologizing for this summary and I'm not elaborating.

Butch Cassidy and the sundance kid (1969)

I don't know. I watched this in the wee hours of the morning with my best friend and actually cried about it. Doomed criminals and a famous final stand.

Saw (2004)

I used to watch Saw movies when I lived in the trailer park while hiding from my family in a neighbor's place so I don't know if these movies are good or if I needed to watch tortureporn to relax bcs the roof leaked on my bed when it rained? But I think everyone should at least watch the first movie or how are you going to play any games?

Chernobyl diaries (2012)

I walked out of this movie shaking head to toe and couldn't think about anything else for months. I don't think I'd be as scared now but I can't say if that's because I'm not 16 anymore. Warning against going into a dangerous situation with a guy you met off Craigslist.

Constantine (2005)

Demon hoards, evil angels, catholic bullshit, 9/10.

The neverending story (1984)

Well after all that let's reinstate some whimsy into our souls again bcs this is the Jim Henson Power Hour. This one is just a solid entry point into "puppets are fun and practical effects are my best friend".

The dark crystal (1982)

My babysitters put this on for me as a bed-time story when I was five (5) years old and I do not believe I slept, I think they regretted this and had to tell my parents what they did. But now I will never stop making Skeksis noises at people I love.

Labyrinth (1986)

Y'know the phenomenon of alt teens and preteens dating young adult men who are total and complete losers, including actual band members? It's not that this pre-dates any of that, but I believe it does a good job representing it through the lens of a modern fairy tale. Like when you watch this you have to realize this is wish fulfillment for people who want to be Sarah because their age-gap goth boyfriend in the real world is a manipulative disappointment.

Pacific rim (2013)

Love letter to the mecha and kaiju genre(s). Makes no sense, compels me though.

Eurotrip (2004)

This is the movie "Scotty doesn't know" is from. Some high schoolers fuck off to Europe and have the most misadventure possible. It's somehow exactly the kind of cringe humor you would expect from the 00's without being cruel or overly disgusting. I used to watch a lot of really bad 00's comedies and this is a good one I promise. Scussie.

Hamlet (1996)

Personality point, I think this is the best version on film because the guy actually looks like how I envisioned Hamlet. Ignore your girl! Avenge your dad!

Advantageous (2015)

This movie goes in on the connection between race and class in a sci-fi future where you can change the former through predatory, dangerous cosmetic surgery.

Gravity (2013)

This is my go-to movie when I need to sob like a sick little baby. Space travel as a metaphor for motherhood, spaceships as the womb, scientists are the babies who left their babies back on earth. It's about what you give up in the name of fulfilling your human urge for the unknown.

All clear on the western front (2022)

Thee anti-war fillum. Very well done. I never recovered from one of the final scenes to the point I wrote a final paper on it. Without spoiling it, the Ending gave me the feeling of when you're a kid and you want to go play, but you're grounded and you fall asleep listening to your friends outside in the street. I hope this sentence ruins your life if you watch this movie.

Inglorious basterds (2009)

They lock some nazis in a theatre and set them on fire, good cinema.

Shadow dancer (2012)

Domhnall Gleeson in one of his classically pathetic twink roles but its about British imperial violence and Irish reactionary violence.

Logan (2017)

Good art film, a story about dementia, legacies, and why putting children in cages is fucking evil.

The batman (2022)

Weird art film, next question.

Joker (2019)

I do not care about the opinions of straight men who watch things uncritically, this is a good movie because of the depictions of poverty in the US. I don't believe this needed to be about the DC Joker this should have been a standalone art film about a mime.

Dragonheart (1996)

Medieval era dragon nonsense, I will never be convinced this is a bad movie.

Sleeping beauty (1959)

Personality trait was rooting for the dragon.

Snow dogs (2002)

I'm not defending this one it stands on its own, please watch this movie if you wanna see Cuba Gooding Jr. bite a husky's ear so it'll stop ruining his life.

Luck of the irish (2001)

This movie is genuinely so bad I have considered it some kind of hate crime since the day it came out, because I watched this the day it was a direct-to-TV movie. I think I was too young to feel insulted but I was deeply, deeply bemused.

Black swan (2010)

There is a woman inside her and she is trying to crash the plane. Can I get away with calling this foe-yay yuri also? I'm going to.

I, tonya (2017)

Sufjan Stevens' song "Tonya Harding in Eb major" makes me so unreasonably emotional, so one day I watched this movie and then the film of the 1988 Calgary Olympics in the living room while all of my housemates had to sneak around in the dark. This is just a solid movie about ambition, betrayal, abuse, tragedy, and having to get over it and move on because you're not dead yet.

Phantom of the opera (2004)

Whatever was going on in Labyrinth, this is the adult version. Weird man in a sewer possessing a soprano. I think there's some gender happening here but it gets a little lost under the love(?) triangle.

A knights tale (2001)

Just go watch some more medieval nonsense, it's good for you, its fun.

White chicks (2004)

I'm not defending this choice, it's a good movie. "You were thinking it" "Yeah but you said it" there are some phrases you could use to see if I had been replaced with a body double and this is one of them.

Heathers (1988)

Ouughhgh ough oh. Personality trait. Watched this because I kept listening to the musical soundtrack, love both but agree the themes are much tighter in the movie. This is just a fun schlock to tell teens life is stupid and difficult and bad things will happen, so don't abandon your friends.

Priscilla queen of the desert (1994)

Classic homo fillum, if you wonder why I write Gilbert Like That it's partially because of the mean little fruit from this movie. It's about the Aussie drag scene and who belongs in the queer community.

300 (2006)

I'm not sure that I would call this a "good" movie, but it's a classic as far as I'm concerned. This is the "THIS IS SPARTA" movie.

The foreigner (2017)

I actually don't remember the plot of this one too solidly but the suspense and action were solid, and I enjoyed the setup. Good for if you wanna be really pissed off for two hours.

Conan the barbarian (1982)

Look at me. Look into my eyes. You're going to watch this movie. You're going to think about the wheel of pain and you're going to go wow, this is so stupid. Don't look away I'm not done. You're going to watch this movie and then you're going to get a couple of paper towel tubes and find someone to beat the shit out of each other with the tubes.

Law abiding citizen (2009)

I don't know I think watching this movie changed my brain chemistry in very special ways. Guy fucking loses it and becomes a problem for his local community by kidnapping and torturing people who killed his family. Cathartic and vile.

Black dog (1998)

:D DO YOU WANNA WATCH AN ACTION MOVIE ABOUT AN 18-WHEELER?

The hunt for red october (1990)

Almost forgot this one. Lithuanian Submariner off the shits, goes rogue, I'm not sure what accent Sean Connery is going for, I get the impression he just showed up to gigs and did whatever he wanted.

#long post #movie recs #mein #If nothing else this is just the 'why is Doom like that' list

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brandyllyn · 11 months

Text

Lucky Stars

Ezra x GN!Reader

Summary: “And are you a good man?” “I like to believe myself a man of good intentions.” Words: 3.3k.

My Masterlist

Rating: Teen. Warnings: None? Canon injuries.

I asked for some inspiration and Jen came through with “A kiss for luck” with Ezra. Also, I’m like 80% sure I stole an Oscar Wilde joke in here somewhere.

The first time you met Ezra was coincidentally your first time out on the sling. As the drop engineer, your job was to oversee the operations of each drop ship. To ensure ships weren’t dropped into the same flightpath and to time out the release to be sure that all ships could make it safely to their destination at whatever planet was below.

You’d worked a few of the inner rim planets already - mostly dropping pleasure cruisers onto sunny tropical paradises you could never afford to visit. But the money was crap and the competition was almost always the nephew of some contractor who needed a place to stash their busted ass relative.

The long-haul flights paid bank. Mainly because no one wanted to spend spans at a time out on the circuit. The time, however, suited you just fine.

Your work station was central to the shipyards, a view of all forty-eight pods docked for this trip available between sightlines and video feeds. It sat a few feet above where the corridors came together. Visitors weren’t uncommon, a few credits slipped into your hands to get a better place in the drop zone or to get picked up first on the trip back.

You didn’t handle pickups but their chits spent all the same.

All that is to say that when a shaggy mop of brown hair with a blonde tuft popped into view just below your desk you weren’t surprised. The Green was coming up - a mining planet that had been attracting people from across the eight reaches for some time now - and you’d already had three people asking for advice or information on where to land, where lodes might be and whatnot.

“Well I’ll be,” his soft drawl crawled up to you. “You’re a damn sight better looking than Old Rodge was.”

Checking your monitors once more you leaned forward, giving a smile to the man standing on the platform below your workstation. Handsome, recently groomed - probably his last haircut for a while - and wearing a faded set of work overalls.

Definitely not his first sling.

“What can I help you with, sir?”

“No need to stand on formalities, starshine, we’re all friends here.”

Cocking an eyebrow you gave him an appraising look. “Friends huh?”

He nodded solemnly, taking a step up onto a cable buttress and settling his forearms on your desk. He wasn’t quite eye to eye but it allowed you to lean back in your chair a bit. “I think it would be a singular pleasure to be counted as your friend.”

“The first three drops are locked in.”

His eyes narrowed and he cursed. “Do you think my attentions are so mercenary?”

“Oh, were you just saying hi?”

“Hello. Bonjour. Nǐ hǎo.”

“Ezra.”

Both of you looked at the man coming down the corridor, although your companion’s face was far more disgruntled.

“What?”

“Did you get us a new drop slot?”

Your lips twitched and the man who could only be Ezra turned back to you with a sheepish shrug of his shoulders.

“It is possible that I arrived with an ulterior motive, starshine, but it is only secondary to meeting you at this point.”

“Prophet’s nutsack,” his companion grumbled, shoving at Ezra and forcing him to step down from his perch. A hand appeared, dropping a small array of chits in front of you. “What’ll this get us?”

You glanced over the pile quickly. “Fifth.”

“I thought you said the first three spots were spoken for?” Ezra cut in.

“I did.” With a sweep of your hand you palmed the chits, tucking them into your own work overalls. “If you want better than fifth it’ll cost more. I already moved you up a spot for being cute.”

Ezra preened, mouth opening on what you were sure would be a lovely soliloquy about your charms but you cut him off with a quick jerk of your head to his partner - who was paying no attention to you at all.

Giving a mock huff of indignation Ezra bowed, sweeping his arms out and adding a roguish wink.

“Until we meet again, starshine.”

The second time you met Ezra was another drop-off, four sling rotations later. Yours wasn’t the only sling working the route, each pass taking months to complete.

“Missed you on the pickup, starshine.”

Frowning you pushed your chair back, leaning around the edge of your pod to see who was standing at the step up. When it didn’t spark any recognition for you he pouted.

“Do not tell me you have forgotten me so quickly - such disregard is likely to drive a man to commit acts of singular madness.”

You may not have remembered his face but the voice was impossible to forget. That particular cadence and slow drawl. Giving him a grin you motioned him to step up and he did, finding a place he could perch and nearly look you in the eye.

“An invite into the inner sanctum? I am honored.”

Snorting you flipped a toggle to realign a drop pod. “That is my outer sanctum at best, cowboy.”

He grinned in return. “And yet sacred nevertheless.”

“What can I help you with?”

Another pout. “I seem to remember you doubting my motives on our last meeting as well, starshine. Have I really made such a poor impression on you?”

“Miners only ever want three things. Stone, stim, or-” you cut yourself off, shifting your eyes away and pretending to be busy with a screen he couldn’t see.

“I beg of you to finish that sentence, starshine.” His eyes were glittering with mischief, the corner of his lips twitching up. You shook your head and he laughed. “Well seeing as I am on my way to find stone, and I do not partake of the stim, I suppose all that is left is the…. presence of a lovely companion.”

“I bet you say that to all the crew.”

“A blow!” A hand flew to cover his heart. “You are whatever a moon has always meant - and whatever a sun will always sing is you.” At your confused frown he sighed, “You are not a connoisseur of poetry I suppose?”

“There once was a man from the rim…” you started and he laughed.

“A person of refined taste,” his brown eyes twinkled at you. “A connoisseur of a much maligned art form.”

You couldn’t help your answering smile. “You have any luck?” He raised an eyebrow and you clarified, “On your last run, to the Green. Any luck?”

A heavy sigh. “A few small stones, barely enough to make the run worth it.”

“And yet you’re going back,” you pointed out.

“Ah, but I have a new crew. And a special charm for luck.”

“Oh?” Your eyes caught on an alert and you cleared it absentmindedly. “What kind?”

“Why, an utterly captivating dropship engineer.”

A snort escaped you before you could stop it. “I seem to recall seeing you off to your last drop as well.”

“Ah, but I came to you then with questionable motives.” He spread his hands wide, showing you open palms, “Now I am but a supplicant, worshiping at your altar and hoping for your favor.”

“Do those lines really work on people?”

A casual shrug, “They don’t not work.”

Your console gave a beep and you nodded at it. “Gotta take that.”

He nodded in return. “Until next time, starshine.” He hopped down and started away as you reached for the button and then paused.

“Wait.”

He turned back, a bemused look on his face. “Yes?”

“What was your name again?”

He made a small bow. “You, my dear, may call me whatever you’d like.” You rolled your eyes and he grinned. “Ezra, starshine, my name is Ezra.”

“Ezra,” you tried the name out and his grin deepened. “Interesting name.”

“Well I like to think I’m an interesting man.”

The third time you met Ezra you could not really be said to be meeting him per se. You recognized him and remembered his name so it was really more of an acquaintanceship renewal than anything.

“Ah for you are yet the symphony of the stars.”

You couldn’t help the smile at the sound of his voice, turning to see him waiting patiently at the edge of your work pod. You motioned him and he bounded up like a man half his age, finding a place to stand where he could perch a hip on the edge of your desk. He looked positively smug and you couldn’t help a laugh.

“Hello Ezra.”

His grin was wide, a new scar cutting across one eye. “starshine you are as captivating as always.”

“I take it you had a good trip?”

The Green was a few spins behind you, the last pickup locked in as the sling made its way to its next destination. You didn’t really need to be at your station, but you liked getting a head start on the landing patterns.

“A fruitful conquest,” Ezra was saying, his fingers tapping on one thigh. “Enough to whet a man’s appetite for more.”

“That good, huh?”

“I could certainly treat you in the style to which you are accustomed.”

You glanced around at the dirty workbench, the ancient equipment, your ragged overalls. “Low bar.”

“And one I am happy to clear.” His cheerfulness was contagious, eyes bright even with the sharp red scar cutting through one. You wondered if he expected you to ask about it.

“You sticking to the Green then?”

He shrugged, picking at one nail. “I have a new crew and some ideas as to a new excavation, although I suppose you’d have more information than me about that.”

Nodding you reset a fuel calculation. “Someone found a motherlode, went back to the Ephrate for supplies last I checked.”

His attention was suddenly fully on you. “Is that so, starshine?”

“Mmhmm,” you pretended to ignore his intense scrutiny.

“And is the location of the lode information you might be willing to share?”

“Well,” you tapped a button and glanced sideways at him from under your eyelashes, “that would depend.”

“A share I take it?”

You snorted. “Like I could ever hold you to it.”

“Ah,” he demurred, “you have not had much experience with good men I take it?”

“Out here,” you gestured at the ship, “I’m lucky to find mediocre ones.”

The tips of his fingers briefly touched the back of your hand before he pulled away. “The good man watches our bogus roses, our rank wreath.”

Another quote from someone you didn’t recognize. “And are you a good man?”

He hummed thoughtfully. “I like to believe myself a man of good intentions.”

“Yet you’d rob some unsuspecting miner?”

“That my dear starshine is just good business.” He looked so affronted you had to laugh. “And a business opportunity for us both.”

“Aurelac.”

He paused, head cocking, considering you. “How much?”

You cupped your hand a little. “Just one, yay big. And I’ll drop you dead center of the guy’s camp.”

“You wouldn’t lie to me would you, starshine?”

You gave him your most innocent expression, fluttering your lashes for good measure. “Who, me?”

The gem was plopped onto your desk without ceremony, the messy head of distinctive hair soon following.

“I likely would have gifted you this for a chance for your company, starshine.”

It was a little bigger than you’d asked for, the center a beautiful gold that caught even the dim lights of the ship. With barely concealed awe you cupped the aurelac in your palms, feeling the warmth that naturally emanated from it.

“Are you serious?”

He’d stepped up, leaning on your desk. “Were you?”

You pointed at the holo of the planet, “Just north of there, about five clicks. Like I said, I can set you down dead center.”

“And you say there is a bounty of gems there? Just how much is a bounty?”

Carefully wrapping the aurelac into a kerchief you tucked it safely inside your shirt. “The guy was going back for a crew of six, so enough he didn’t mind sharing.”

Ezra nodded thoughtfully. “A worthwhile venture then. And you are sure you do not require a cut?”

“I got mine.” You patted your chest, noticing how his eyes lingered on your chest for a moment - as though imagining what was beneath. “‘Sides, I might never see you again.”

“Surely the universe would not be so cruel.” He clutched a hand over his heart, giving you a pleading look.

“Do you annoy Laquon with your attentions when it’s not me here?” you asked, mentioning the drop engineer working one of the other slings.

“Laquon will not speak to me,” Ezra replied. “Not since the night I took half his wages in a sharps game.”

“Did you cheat?”

“You wound me!”

“That’s not an answer.”

“No, I suppose it wasn’t.”

The console beeped, announcing you were moving into orbit around the Green. “You should go get your crew ready.”

“Ah, a too quick end to our lovely repast.” He leaned towards you, eyes bright. “A kiss for luck, starshine?”

Giving him a nudge with your foot you shooed him away. “You make your own luck Ezra.”

His amused chuckle stuck with you for some time to come.

It was the last of the day’s pickups at the Green and you were absolutely not supposed to be working. Pickups weren’t your job, drop offs were. You’d already let a dad and his kid down yesterday - two people you were sure you’d never see again - and they were the only people dumb enough or desperate enough to take the trip down to the Green on the last sling.

The last sling ever.

It felt odd, the end of an era. You’d spent the better part of five orbits on this route. The Green, Delphi VI, an asteroid that had a long string of letters and numbers but the miners just called Dave… pit stops and drop ships. The sling’s crew of nine would be dispatched to new routes. You were planning to take some time off - maybe back to one of those paradise planets for a bit.

Yesterday’s drops should have been it. No more work. Just hanging out in your too small bunk while you dreamt of how to spend the credits you’d been saving up.

But that was without the alarm. Or the Captain’s voice on comms.

“Bay 26 has an emergency beacon on.”

Groaning, you punched the intercom. “How is that my problem?”

“Janus is down with whatever flu he caught from the last scrapyard we were at. I need you to check on it.”

With a grumble you knew the mic would pick up you grabbed your pants. “Fine, but I wanna be paid.”

“Yeah yeah,” the intercom cut out and you squeezed out of your bunk to the hallway beyond. Bay 26 wasn’t too far, and there was a shortcut through the anterior cooling room. You moved a little faster than you might have let on to the Captain. It was an emergency beacon, although odds were it’d been hit by accident or was a malfunction.

“Occupants of pod 438-Alpha, are you in distress?”

You waited while the door to the ship sat silent.

“Occupants of pod-”

A face appeared in the window and you yelped. Young, blonde… the kid who’d dropped yesterday. She tried to get the door to open but the safety mechanism held it in place.

“You have to decontaminate,” you told her through the speaker. “Unless it’s a medical emergency you-”

“He’s dying!” she shouted back, hand scrambling at the controls on her side and suddenly her voice boomed through. “He’s sick and I think it’s infected. You’ve got to let me get him to medbay.”

“What kind of infection?” You tried to ignore her frantic movements. The safety of the crew came first. If they had picked up a virus or something you wanted nothing to do with it.

“His arm,” she was making an effort to sound calm. “He got hurt but it’s infected. He needs antibiotics.”

That didn’t sound too bad. Fairly normal - not like some alien chestburster. “Are you sick?”

“No, it’s just his arm.” Her eyes met yours through the tempered transparisteel. “Please, he needs help.”

You weighed your options. The Green was considered a toxic planet, requiring a decom before disembarking. But it was because of something in the air that could stick to clothes. People lived down there with minimal protections. Worst case you’d have to take some antihistamines.

That was assuming this infection was what she said it was.

“Into your suit,” you announced through the door. “And get him into his. Neither of you breathe our air until I can check you’re not contagious. Deal?”

The girl nodded emphatically and disappeared. A few moments later her head popped up again, covered by a helmet. You could see the edge of someone leaning heavily against her.

“Please.”

Regretting it already, you punched the override code for the door. Practicing an abundance of caution you stepped away quickly as they stumbled out. “Follow me to medbay. No sudden movements. Nothing comes off until I give it the all clear. Got it?”

The girl nodded and you led them down the narrow corridor as quick as they were able to pace you. Her dad was in bad shape, head hanging down as he seemed to concentrate on walking. He wasn’t as put together as the last time. Something must have happened to his suit on the Green and he’d scavenged a new one.

“C’mon, just a little further,” you heard the girl encouraging him.

The medbay was empty, no surprise, making it easy for you to find a spot for the girl to set him down. “I have to make sure you haven’t brought anything on board,” you told them, gesturing for her to join him near the scanner.

“I wouldn’t dream of bringing you anything but jewels, starshine.”

Your head jerked around, meeting his slightly hazy gaze. “Ezra?”

“In the flesh,” a sigh and a groan, “such that it is.”

You picked up speed. Not that you’d been dawdling, but your hands began to fly over the controls, waiting until you got the green light before rushing to his side and helping the girl remove his helmet. “What in the seven seals happened to you?”

“A small accident,” he sat up with your help and you pushed his suit down to his waist. A soft curse made you stop and re-evaluate.

“Ezra,” you asked as calmly as you could, “are you missing an arm?”

“A minor inconvenience.”

“Prophets balls,” you muttered, turning away to find the anesthetic. “How long ago?”

“A spin?” He cast a look at the girl and she seemed to be trying her best to not look guilty. “Maybe less.”

“Okay, well, this is going to hurt.” You didn’t wait for his reply, setting the hypospray to his shoulder and injecting it. He hissed through his teeth and then relaxed.

“Much better, I thank you starshine.”

“We’re not out of the asteroid belt yet, hand me the scricorder?” You gestured and the girl handed it to you. It made several alarming noises as you put in a small sample of Ezra’s blood.

“I believe I did warn you of this, starshine.”

Working on autopilot you gave him a quizzical look. “Warn me of what?”

“That something dreadful was going to befall me.”

You rolled your eyes, inputting the medications needed into the replicator so it could spin you up the cocktail you needed. “I seem to recall you being quite cheerful about your prospects last time I saw you, Ez.”

“I believe I did inquire as to some spare luck, however.” The man was an unrepentant scoundrel, twinkling at you even as he fought not to sway from the drugs in his system.

“Are you suggesting that if I’d kissed you you’d still have an arm?”

“I suppose we will never know,” he shrugged. “But I must insist before I go anywhere else that you indulge me in my superstition. Losing one arm can be chalked up to tragedy - two reeks of carelessness.”

A full laugh burst from you as you readied his meds, setting the hypospray to his neck and pulling the trigger. “I’ll tell you what. You come through this all right and we can have a whole conversation about luck. Over drinks. How does that sound?”

“Well that sounds mighty fine, starshine. Mighty fine indeed.”

For updates on stories please follow and turn on notifications for @brandyllyn-writes

Tagging in Jen specifically though for coming through with the inspo: @writeforfandoms

#ezra x you #ezra x reader #ezra prospect #ezra prospect x reader

127 notes · View notes

klaineccfanficlibrary · 4 months

Note

hi!! can you recc some fics set between 4x10 and 4x14, aka what happened behind the scenes that lead kurt and blaine to the car makeout after their christmas in new york?

Hi - you asked! There's a long list to follow, most are reaction fics to the episodes. ~ Jen

4X 10

Baby, It’s Cold Outside by whyitisyou

Kurt and Blaine end up spending the Holidays after their first break-up together in New York. They use the time to talk and they have to deal with the fact that they still feel warm about each other.

~~~~~

If The Fates Allow by flaming muse

Blaine is feeling a lot of things. He adds cold to the list.

canonical, set just after 4x10 (“Glee, Actually”), no spoilers beyond

~~~~~

If the Fates Allowby Keitorin Asthore

Blaine desperately wants to do something, but he’s at a loss. And then Burt has a favor to ask him. Reaction fic to the Kurt plotline in “Glee Actually.” Klaine. Oneshot. COMPLETE.

~~~~~

Soliloquy By flamingmuse

The clock says it’s two-thirty-six in the morning when Kurt finally decides he isn’t going to sleep. He sits up slowly on the couch and rubs his hands over his face. His limbs feel heavy with fatigue, but it’s not just physical exhaustion that weighs on his shoulders tonight.

Dialogue-free, angsty Kurt introspection set during Glee 4x10 (“Glee, Actually”) in the wee hours of Christmas morning.

~~~~~

Time to dissolve by misqueue

Set over episode 4x10 "Glee Actually". There's little about Christmas this year that Kurt would choose. That's not necessarily a bad thing. A story of family and friendship and transforming grief into hope.

~~~~~

Are We Ever Gonna Be Okay Again? by @justgleekout

An alternate timeline in which Kurt did go to Lima for Christmas and he and Blaine had that much-needed heart-to-heart.

But uh-oh! It's angst and they cry.

~~~~

Merry and Bright by SiderumInCaelo

Kurt and Blaine, ice skating.

~~~~~

Missed by BlurglesmurfKlaine

Super short (like blink and you'll miss it) reaction fic I wrote immediately after Glee, Actually aired because I have a LOT of feelings about that episode.

~~~~~~

May your days be merry and bright by ShanleenKinnJaskey

Blaine surprises Kurt with his Christmas gift, and of course there's singing, kissing, and ice skating.

~~~~

Pocket Dial by nachochang

Blaine and Burt have a series of phone conversations that result in Blaine going to NYC for Christmas. Post-Ep for 4x10, Glee, Actually.

~~~~~

4.11 Sadie Hawkins

Fragile Gifts by @wowbright

4.11 reaction. Blaine loves three different people in three very different ways.

and

Unexpected gifts By @wowbright

4.11 missing scene fic. Tina takes Blaine home from the dance. She's quite the gentleman even though she might rather be a rake.

~~~~~

Seneca Falls, Selma and Stonewall by flaming-muse

Blaine watches the inauguration alone in his house, a bowl of microwave popcorn cooling on the coffee table and a glass of soda fizzing gently by his hand.

set in the canonical present, so assumes through 4x10 (“Glee, Actually”) with no spoilers beyond, takes place on January 21rst, 2013

~~~~~

You Are Here and So Am I by Edwardina

Glee kink meme fill. Takes place circa 413. Blaine and Kurt are in touch. Kurt senses Blaine is down and manages to wheedle out of him that he has a crush on Sam. Kurt can sympathize because he’s been there. Their conversation about Sam morphs and Klaine end up having a pretty hot phone sex session.

~~~~~

One More Night by trufflemores_Glee_fic

Blaine has a crush on Sam. It’s not subtle.

~~~~~

Reassurance by NikkiEvans

A short phone call between Kurt and Blaine reveals why Sam is Blaine’s crush. It has a lot more to do with Kurt than anyone realizes. OneShot 4.11 reaction fic.

~~~~~

4.12 Naked

Bare by Flaming_muse

Kurt and Rachel get a surprise package in the mail from Tina.

set in canon, episode tag for and spoilers through 4x12 (“Naked”), with no spoilers beyond

~~~~~~

Those stumbling words by misqueue

Set between 4x11 "Sadie Hawkins" and 4x12 "Naked". In a phone call after the Sadie Hawkin's dance, Kurt has something to tell Blaine. For klaineadvent 2013

And I breathe by misqueue

Set during 4x12 "Naked". Lonely, Blaine goes to Scandals looking for a human connection, but what he finds isn't what he expects.

~~~~~

I'll be Looking at the Moon by misqueue

Blaine's surprised when Kurt texts him after his first date with Adam. It didn't go how Kurt expected. Set around 3x12 "Naked" and immediately following And I Breathe".

~~~~~

Tiny Imperfections By @wowbright

4.12 missing scene +. No teacher tells Blaine to go see Ms. Pillsbury, and his boyfriend doesn't drag him there. But he goes to talk to her anyway, because he wants to.

~~~~~

Long way home by pene

It can take a little time to find your way home. Warning: Finn’s death is referenced throughout the story.

This is alternate canon, splitting off somewhere around Glease. It is a love story foremost, but some chapters are possibly a bit sad, particularly the first one.

~~~~~

Less Than Decent Exposure by @lady-divine-writes

Rachel and Kurt get a copy of The Men of McKinley calendar in the mail from Sam. Its arrival is met with mixed reactions. Rachel is fine with it, Kurt is appalled…until Rachel directs him to two months in particular - January and December.

Written for the Klaine Advent Drabble prompt ‘indecent’. Takes place during the episode ‘Naked’.

~~~~~

4.13 Diva

Diva Love Fest by Flowerfan

After Blaine sings “Don’t Stop Me Now,” the Glee club reflects on his Diva-hood and, as Artie calls it, his "sexy stylings."

Support by trufflemores_Glee_fic

Blaine isn’t having the best week, but it’s improving.

~~~~~

4.14 I do

Best to look at the library tag for this one! Lots of choice!

It's Too easy By insighfulinsomniac

Missing Moments/Episode Expansion of 4x14 “I Do.”

Kurt was confident that he and Blaine could have a repeat of Christmas — a shared holiday and a sweet duet that means nothing more than two friends enjoying each other’s company. That lasts about as long as one duet practice session at Blaine’s house the night before the wedding.

After that, it’s all too easy for Kurt to reach out for Blaine, to re-establish a connection that’s never truly left them.

And maybe, just maybe, it might change things between them. But one thing’s for sure — as much as he wants to pretend it’s not true, Kurt still loves Blaine.

~~~~~

Shut me up and tie me down by milopoli

A peak behind the curtains of hotel room 206 after Will&Emma's wedding reception aka a Klaine smut fic in three acts.

~~~~~

Thought you should see this by slayerkitty S&C sign in needed

This is a combination reaction fic to 4.15 and 4.16, then goes completely AU for 4.17 onward, though I do incorporate some spoilers for 4.18 (One section of this will talk about there being a possible school shooting at McKinley - I don't go into detail, but if this is triggering for you at all, please don't read it). Ultimately, this is a Klaine reunion fic. This is a combination reaction fic to 4.15 and 4.16, then goes completely AU for 4.17 onward, though I do incorporate some spoilers for 4.18 (One section of this will talk about there being a possible school shooting at McKinley - I don't go into detail, but if this is triggering for you at all, please don't read it). Ultimately, this is a Klaine reunion fic.

~~~~~

A Ton of Twitterpation by @wowbright

Kurt has coffee with Adam the day after he gets back from Lima. Kurt notices that the barista has a crush on Adam, and Adam notices … well, you'll see.

~~~~~

Voice of Experience by flaming_muse

For once, Blaine knows something Kurt does not.

set within 4x14 (“I Do”), with no spoilers beyond

~~~~~

Shining Down for me by misqueue

Set within 4x14 "I Do". Kurt comes home for Will & Emma's wedding

~~~~~

Blaine Absolutely Knew He Was In Love by Corriebird

“Blaine steps forward and whispers in Kurt’s ear, "If it’s not exclusive, then what’s to stop you?” Kurt’s eyes flare and he inhales sharply, so he steps back and heads to the bathroom without looking back. This is what life is, right? This is what it means to be alone, to be lonely. Taking what you can get. Sucking the marrow out, even if it’ll break your heart later.“ 4.14 fic!

Also

99 Perspectives on a Single Love story By @spaceorphan18

The Story of Kurt and Blaine told through the eyes of everyone else but them. Each chapter is a different perspective in the ongoing tale of their love story.

Chapters 54 The Photographers (Glee actually)

Chapter 55 Tine Cohen-Chang (Sadie Hawkins)

Chapter 56 Brody Weston (Naked)

Chapter 57 The Sychophants (Diva)

Chapter 58 Marley Rose (I Do)

Chapter 59 Adam Crawford (Girls and Boys on Film)

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Enjoy!!

#klaine fanfiction #fic finder #reaction fic #4X10 #4X11 #4X12 #4X13 #4X14

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kwiwrites · 4 months

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FIRST LINE OF 2024 BUT ITS A RANDOM LINE BECAUSE I FUCKING FORGOT WHAT I WROTE

Thank you to @drowninginthoughts27 @214lilacsky @kat-xox @showyoumine for the tags

They argue over breakfast. James is unsurprisingly good with a knife, and he manages to make fried eggs with vegetables in record time. Regulus ignores how his knees go a little bit weak everytime James swings his knife around, gesturing angrily as he talks. “You didn’t kill me. This is all your fault, and now you have to sort it out.” Regulus says, stabbing into a carrot with vehemence. Across the table, James levels him with an incredulous look. “Did you want me to kill you?” “I wouldn’t have objected.” He shrugs. “Fuck.” James mutters. “You’re mental, the whole lot of you.” “What’s that supposed to mean?” Regulus bites out, and narrowly avoids sending a damp egg flying at him, out of sheer frustration. “You- your brother.” James says. “Saying concerning shit and then refusing to seek therapy.” He’s mouthing at his fork now, trying to dislodge a piece of bell pepper stuck between the tines. “It took me three years to wear him down enough for him to see a counselor, you know?”

FIC: I AM BECOME DEATH

Npt tags (I think everyone has been tagged already so im so very sorry if you've been tagged already) @messymoony @rweoutofthewoods @soliloquy-dawn @avorra @veryinnovative

#jegulus #marauders #regulus black #james potter #marauders era #fic: iabd

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withasideofshakespeare · 3 months

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An AMENDED Rundown on the Absolute Chaos That is First Quarto Hamlet

O, gather round me, my dear Shakespeare friends And let me tell to ye a tale of woe. It was a dark and drizzly winter night, When I discovered my life was a lie... This tale is a tragedy, one of Shakespeare sources turned into gardening websites, "misdated" quartos, and failed internet archives. It is also a story of the quarto itself, an early printing of our beloved Danish Prince's play, including an implied Hamlet/Horatio coffee date, weird and extremely short soliloquies, and Gertrude with a hint of motivation and autonomy.

But let us start from the beginning. Long ago, in the year of our lord 2022, I pulled a Christmas Eve all-nighter to bring you this post: https://www.tumblr.com/withasideofshakespeare/704686395278622720/a-rundown-on-the-absolute-chaos-that-is-first?source=share

It was popularish in Shakespeare circles, which is why I am amending it now! I returned to it tonight, only to discover a few problems with my dates and, more importantly, a mystery in which one of my sources miraculously turned into a link to a gardening website...

Anyhow, let us begin with the quarto! TL;DR: Multiple versions of Hamlet were printed between 1603 and 1637 (yes, post-folio) with major character and plot differences between them. The first quarto (aka Q1) is best known for its particular brand of chaos with brief soliloquies, an extra-sad Hamlet, some mother-son bonding, weird early modern spelling, and deleted/adapted scenes with major influences on the plot of the play!

A long rundown is included below the cut, including new and improved sources, lore, direct quotes, and my own interpretations. Skip what bores you! And continue... if thou darest!

What is the First Quarto? Actually, what is a quarto?

Excellent questions, brave Hamlet fan! A quarto is a pamphlet created by printing something onto a large sheet of paper and then folding it to get a smaller pamphlet with more pages per big sheet (1). First Quarto Hamlet was published in 1603 and then promptly lost for an entire two centuries until it was rediscovered in 1823 in the library of Sir Henry Bunbury. Rather than printed from a manuscript of Shakespeare, Q1 seems like it may be a memorial reconstruction of the play by the actor who played Marcellus (imagine being in a movie, memorizing the script to the best of your ability, writing it down, and then selling "your" script off to the print shop), but scholars are still out on this (2).

Are you saying that Hamlet comes with the stageplay equivalent of a “deleted scenes and extra credits” movie disc?

Yep, pretty much! In fact, there are even more of these! Q2 was printed in 1604 and it seems to have made use of Shakespeare's own drafts, and rather than being pirated like Q1, it was probably printed more or less with permission. Three more subsequent quartos were published between 1611 and 1637, but they share much in common with Q2. The First Folio (F1) was published in 1623 and its copy of Hamlet was either based on another (possibly cleaner but likely farther removed from Shakespeare's own text) playhouse manuscript (2, 3). It was an early "collected works" of sorts--although missing a few plays that we now consider canon--and is the main source used today for many of the plays!

The versions of the play that we read usually include elements from both Q2 and F1.

So... Q1? How is it any different from the version we all know (and love, of course)? What do the differences mean for the plot?

We’ll start with minor differences and build up to the big ones.

Names and spellings

Most of the versions of Shakespeare's plays that we read today have updated spellings in modern English, but a true facsimile (a near-exact reprint of a text) maintains the early modern English spellings found in the original text.

For example, here is the second line of the play transcribed from F1:

Francisco: Nay answer me: stand and vnfold your selfe.

For the most part, however, the names of the characters in these later versions (ex: F1) are spelled more or less how we would spell them today. This is not so in Q1.

Laertes is “Leartes”, Ophelia is “Ofelia”, Gertrude is “Gertred” (or sometimes “Gerterd”), Rosencrantz is “Rossencraft”, Guildenstern is “Gilderstone”, and my favorite, Polonius gets a completely different name: Corambis.

(This goes on for minor characters, too. Sentinel Barnardo is “Bernardo”, Prince Fortinbras of Norway is “Fortenbrasse”, Voltemand and Cornelius--the Danish ambassadors to Norway--are “Voltemar” and “Cornelia” (genderbent Cornelius?), Osric doesn’t even get a name- he is called “the Bragart Gentleman”, the Gravediggers are called clowns, and Reynaldo (Polonius’s spy) gets a whole different name--“Montano”.)

2. Stage directions

Some of Q1's stage directions are more detailed and some are simply non-existent. For instance, when Ophelia enters singing, the direction is:

Enter Ofelia playing on a Lute, and her haire downe singing.

But when Horatio is called to assist Hamlet in spying on Claudius during the play, he has no direction to enter, instead opting to just appear magically on stage. Hamlet also doesn't even say his name, so apparently his Hamlet sense was tingling?

3. Act 3 scene reordering

Claudius and Polonius go through with the plan to have Ophelia break up with Hamlet immediately after they make it (typically, the plan is made in early II.ii and gone through with in III.i, with the players showing up and reciting Hecuba between the two events). In this version, the player scene (and Hamlet’s conversation with Polonius) happen after ‘to be or not to be’ and ‘get thee to a nunnery.’ I’m not sure if this makes more or less sense. Either way, it has a relatively minimal impact on the story.

4. Shortened lines and straightforwardness

Many lines, especially after Act 1, are significantly shortened, including some of the play's most famous speeches.

Laertes’ usually long-winded I.iii lecture on love to Ophelia is shortened to just ten lines (as opposed to the typical 40+). Polonius (er... Corambis) is still annoying and incapable of brevity, but less so than usual. His lecture on love is also cut significantly!

Hamlet’s usual assailing of Danish drinking customs (I.iv) is cut off by the ghost’s arrival. He’s still the most talkative character, but his lines are almost entirely different in some monologues, including ‘to be or not to be’! In other spots, however, (ex: get thee to a nunnery!) the lines are near-identical. There doesn’t seem to be much rhyme or reason to where things diverge linguistically, except that when Marcellus speaks, his lines are always correct. Hm...

5. The BIG differences: Gertrude’s promise to aid Hamlet in taking revenge

Act 3, scene 4 goes about the same as usual with one major difference: Hamlet finishes off not with his usual declaration that he’s to be sent for England but with an absolutely heart-wrenching callback to act 1, in which he echoes the ghost’s lines and pleads his mother to aid him in revenge. And she agrees. Here is that scene:

Note that "U"s are sometimes "V"s and there are lots of extra "E"s!

Queene Alas, it is the weakenesse of thy braine, Which makes thy tongue to blazon thy hearts griefe: But as I haue a soule, I sweare by heauen, I neuer knew of this most horride murder: But Hamlet, this is onely fantasie, And for my loue forget these idle fits. Ham. Idle, no mother, my pulse doth beate like yours, It is not madnesse that possesseth Hamlet. O mother, if euer you did my deare father loue, Forbeare the adulterous bed to night, And win your selfe by little as you may, In time it may be you wil lothe him quite: And mother, but assist mee in reuenge, And in his death your infamy shall die. Queene Hamlet, I vow by that maiesty, That knowes our thoughts, and lookes into our hearts, I will conceale, consent, and doe my best, What stratagem soe're thou shalt deuise. Ham. It is enough, mother good night: Come sir, I'le prouide for you a graue, Who was in life a foolish prating knaue. Exit Hamlet with [Corambis/Polonius'] dead body. (Internet Shakespeare, Source #4)

Despite having seemingly major consequences for the plot, this is never discussed again. Gertrude tells Claudius in the next scene that it was Hamlet who killed Polonius (Corambis, whatever!), seemingly betraying her promise.

However, Gertrude’s admission of Hamlet’s guilt (and thus, betrayal) could come down to the circumstance she finds herself in as the next scene begins. There is no stage direction denoting her exit, so the entrance of Claudius in scene 5 may be into her room, where he would find her beside a puddle of blood, evidence of the murder. There’s no talking your way out of that one…

6. The BIGGEST difference: The added scene

After Act 4, Scene 6, (but before 4.7) comes this scene, in which Horatio informs Gertrude that Hamlet was to be executed in England but escaped:

Enter Horatio and the Queene. Hor. Madame, your sonne is safe arriv'de in Denmarke, This letter I euen now receiv'd of him, Whereas he writes how he escap't the danger, And subtle treason that the king had plotted, Being crossed by the contention of the windes, He found the Packet sent to the king of England, Wherein he saw himselfe betray'd to death, As at his next conuersion with your grace, He will relate the circumstance at full. Queene Then I perceiue there's treason in his lookes That seem'd to sugar o're his villanie: But I will soothe and please him for a time, For murderous mindes are alwayes jealous, But know not you Horatio where he is? Hor. Yes Madame, and he hath appoynted me To meete him on the east side of the Cittie To morrow morning. Queene O faile not, good Horatio, and withall, commend me A mothers care to him, bid him a while Be wary of his presence, lest that he Faile in that he goes about. Hor. Madam, neuer make doubt of that: I thinke by this the news be come to court: He is arriv'de, obserue the king, and you shall Quickely finde, Hamlet being here, Things fell not to his minde. Queene But what became of Gilderstone and Rossencraft? Hor. He being set ashore, they went for England, And in the Packet there writ down that doome To be perform'd on them poynted for him: And by great chance he had his fathers Seale, So all was done without discouerie. Queene Thankes be to heauen for blessing of the prince, Horatio once againe I take my leaue, With thowsand mothers blessings to my sonne. Horat. Madam adue. (Internet Shakespeare, Source #4)

First of all, the implication of Hamlet and Horatio's little date in the city is adorable ("Yes Madame, and he hath appoynted me / To meete him on the east side of the Cittie / To morrow morning.") It reads like they're going out for coffee!

And perhaps more plot relevant: if Gertrude knows of Claudius’s treachery ("there's treason in his lookes"), her death at the end of the play does not look like much of an accident. She is aware that Claudius killed her husband and is actively trying to kill her son and she still drinks the wine meant for Hamlet!

Now, the moment we’ve all been waiting for! My thoughts! Yippee! On Gertrude: WOW! I’m convinced that she is done dirty by F1and Q2! She and Hamlet have a much better relationship (Gertrude genuinely worries about his well-being throughout the play.) She has an actual personality that is tied into her role in the story and as a mother. I love Q1 Gertrude even though in the end, there’s nothing she can do to save Hamlet from being found out in the murder of Polonius and eventually dying in the duel. Her drinking the poisoned wine seems like an act of desperation (or sacrifice? she never asks Hamlet to drink!) rather than an accident.

On the language: I think Q1′s biggest shortcoming is its comparatively simplistic language, especially in 'to be or not to be,' which is written like this in the quarto:

Ham. To be, or not to be, I there's the point, To Die, to sleepe, is that all? I all: No, to sleepe, to dreame, I mary there it goes, For in that dreame of death, when wee awake, And borne before an euerlasting Iudge [judge], From whence no passenger euer retur'nd, The vndiscouered country, at whose sight The happy smile, and the accursed damn'd. But for this, the ioyfull hope of this, Whol'd beare the scornes and flattery of the world, Scorned by the right rich, the rich curssed of the poore? The widow being oppressed, the orphan wrong'd, The taste of hunger, or a tirants raigne, And thousand more calamities besides, To grunt and sweate vnder this weary life, When that he may his full Quietus make, With a bare bodkin, who would this indure, But for a hope of something after death? Which pusles [puzzles] the braine, and doth confound the sence, Which makes vs rather beare those euilles we haue, Than flie to others that we know not of. I that, O this conscience makes cowardes of vs all, Lady in thy orizons, be all my sinnes remembred. (Internet Shakespeare, Source #4)

The verse is actually closer to perfect iambic pentameter (meaning more lines have exactly ten syllables and consist entirely of iambs--"da-DUM") than in the Folio, which includes many 11-syllable lines. The result of this, however, is that Hamlet comes across here as considerably less frantic (those too-long verse lines in F1 make it feel like he is shoving words into too short a time, which is so very on-theme for him) and more... sad. Somehow, Q1 Hamlet manages to deserve a hug even MORE than F1 Hamlet!

Nevertheless, this speech doesn't hit the way it does in later printings and I have to say I prefer the Folio here.

On the ending: The ending suffers from the same effect ‘to be or not to be’ does--it is simpler and (imo) lacks some of the emotion that F1 emphasizes. Hamlet’s final speech is significantly cut down and Horatio’s last lines aren’t quite so potent--although they’re still sweet!

Horatio. Content your selues, Ile shew to all, the ground, The first beginning of this Tragedy: Let there a scaffold be rearde vp in the market place, And let the State of the world be there: Where you shall heare such a sad story tolde, That neuer mortall man could more vnfolde. (Internet Shakespeare, Source #4)

Horatio generally is a more active character in Q1 Hamlet. This ending suits this characterization. He will tell Hamlet’s story, tragic as it may be. It reminds me a bit of We Raise Our Cups from Hadestown. I appreciate that this isn't a request but a command: put up a stage, I will tell this story. Closing notes: After over a year, it was due time this post received an update. My main revisions were in regard to source verification. Somehow, in the last year or so, one of my old sources went from linking to a PDF of Q1 to a garden website (???) and some citations were missing from the get-go as a result of this being an independently researched post that involved pulling an all-nighter on Christmas Eve (but no excuses, we need sources!)

I have also corrected some badly worded commentary implying that the Folio's verse is more iambic pentameter-y (it's not; in fact, Q1 tends to "normalize" its verse to make it fit a typical blank verse scheme better than the Folio's does--the lines actually flow better, typically have exactly ten syllables, and use more iambs than Q1's) as well as that the spelling in the Folio is any more modern than those in Q1 (they're both in early modern English; I was mistakenly reading a modernized Folio and assuming it to be a transcription--nice one, 17-year-old Dianthus!) Additionally, I corrected the line breaks in my verse transcriptions and returned the block quotations to their original early modern English, which feels more authentic to what was actually written. A few other details and notes were added here and there, but the majority of the substance is the same.

Overall, if you still haven't read Q1, you absolutely should! Once you struggle through the spelling for a while, you'll get used to it and it'll be just as easy as modern English! If you'd prefer to just start with the modern English, I have also linked a modern translation below (source 5). And finally, my sources! Not up to citation standards but very user-friendly I hope... 1. Oxford English Dictionary 2. Internet Shakespeare, Hamlet, "The Texts", David Bevington (https://internetshakespeare.uvic.ca/doc/Ham_TextIntro/index.html) 3. The Riverside Shakespeare (pub. Houghton Mifflin Company; G.B. Evans, et al.) 4. Internet Shakespeare, First Quarto (facsimile--in early modern English) (https://internetshakespeare.uvic.ca/doc/Ham_Q1/complete/index.html) 5. Internet Shakespeare, First Quarto (modern English) (https://internetshakespeare.uvic.ca/doc/Ham_Q1M/index.html)

And here conclude we our scholarly tale, Of sources, citation, and Christmastime too, Go read the First Quarto! And here, I leave you.

#shakespeare #hamlet #first quarto #first quarto hamlet #classic literature #revisions #hey look at me #having some scholarly merit #i have so much left to learn #which is a darn good thing #how else would i spend my evenings?#the worst part about this #is that it all started because i thought a got a date wrong #but it turns out i didn't #so HA!#but then i realized i got everything else wrong so....#corrections it is!

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