corpatrem

[corpatrem]

PROMPTS FOR PRE ESTABLISHED CONNECTIONS AND CREATING HISTORY BETWEEN CHARACTERS *  assorted dialogue for giving your characters a history and giving them past things or events to talk about, adjust as necessary

do you remember what i told you last time?

have you been doing well since i saw you?

that's not what you told me back then.

when was the last time i saw you?

you were shorter then.

i'm picking the restaurant this time.

we've known each other since we were children.

always knew i could count on you.

that time was different. this is worse.

you're not going to let me live that down, are you?

i seem to remember a conversation we had back then.

so you changed your mind about it?

do you remember our encounter in paris?

you should know me by now.

am i the only one that knows the truth?

we had a lot of help back then.

your mom told me to look out for you.

you just love bringing that back up to annoy me.

maybe don't mention my past indescretions?

this was never going to work out between us.

i told you not to get attached.

i know more about you than you think.

i was there, remember?

i'm not about to forget all the shit you put me through.

you told me you were going to try and make this work.

remember what i said to you?

the last time i saw you, things were good between us.

you never mentioned this before.

that was the longest flight of my life, and you made it worse.

can i still trust you after all that?

at least we tried to make something work.

we never discussed what happened between us.

okay, but i'm driving the car this time.

i haven't forgotten what you said last week.

i'm still thinking about your comment.

i didn't realize it was you when i first saw you.

you seem to make a lot of enemies around here.

there's not much for us to talk about.

we worked it out last time.

i know you far better than you know yourself.

we have a long history.

is that the shirt you were wearing last time?

what don't i know about you?

i haven't told them about us.

you were the only person i could go to.

you know me.

this is bigger than both of us.

i can't stand your driving.

are you taking me to the place we had dinner last time?

that's not at all what you said.

didn't we agree on that?

i thought i made it very clear where i stand.

are these the same people that came after you last time?

are you still going on about it?

can we talk about it?

staying silent about it won't help.

you're the only person who knows the real me.

this is a bad time to talk about your problems.

[corpatrem]

“Sure, sure, sure!” He claps once, jumping up out of his chair as he straightens his bow tie and looks well-pleased. “I’m sure you’ve got plenty of questions. Question number one —“ He holds up one finger for emphasis, “Why is the Boss Man -“ fixes his bow tie again with a wide smile, a little shuffle and click of the heels, “Here to greet you personally?” Okay. So technically, he’s not the Official Big Man, but he’s official enough.

[corpatrem]

His fingers find the inside of his coat pocket and grazes the heavily deflated tennis ball within it. Carl picks it up anyways, squeezing whatever life he can out of it as his other hands comes up to rub his brow. His therapist says it helps. The tennis ball — it’s supposed to calm him, help him focus or something.

Lets go of the ball, keeps it hidden in his pocket as he turns away from the wall and walks back into the center of the room. He feels the chill of the air and his eyes glance up at the heater system making death rattles and the cough of a thirty year smoker.

“I’m not a private investigator,” He finally says, doing his best impression of what he would suppose is a friendly grin. “I mean, I suppose if you’ve got the money, you can go about asking whoever you’d like, but the answer still remains the same.” Carl nods, gesturing. “I’m sure someone upstairs can give you a list of some private eye for your…inquiries.” He’s definitely intrigued, watches the way this stranger holds him in their gaze, but he shrugs, taking another step towards the desk as he sits on the edge. “Murder club, me. Been on the news twice this week as an un-hinged cop. I doubt that’s what you’re looking for.”

[corpatrem]

alright so plan. a revamp - possibly letting go a handful of dads (no - it’s not abandonment), thinking about adding carl morck, of course, and more thoughts of pulling teddy over here cause they just asked me to reset the password and I don’t remember the email…

[corpatrem]

*taps softly on the mic* is this thing on?

[corpatrem]

My therapist says this is a toxic relationship. ❜ - @yoakkemae

“And my mommy says I shouldn’t talk to lesbians but here we are.” He frowns, not so much at her, but in the general ‘good start to the day’ he had going with this sudden revelation.

“So then leave; cut your losses.” He says this easily as if without a thought behind it. “Everyone is replaceable and god forbid if I ruin your inner zen.”

[corpatrem]

Keri Russell and Rufus Sewell as Kate and Hal Wyler in THE DIPLOMAT Created by Debora Cahn

[corpatrem]

hi.

hal. wyler. editing to add… the corinthian. woooooo daddy vibes

[corpatrem]

Albus Dumbledore, a gay disaster

[corpatrem]

me, finally watching secrets or dumbledore: 🤯🤯🤯 … hmmmm the dumbledore brothers..

[corpatrem]

❛ This simple thing that you thought you were looking at, it suddenly takes on layers and depth so complex, it gives you vertigo. ❜ @aspirinqs the fun killer

The metal balls continue their miraculous clacking and Sam’s grin keeps getting bigger and bigger. Blows out a puff of air as he shakes his head, marveling at just how fun the sound was. “Boy, it --... look at ‘em go! Clack-clack-clack -- ha!” He turns to Diane, shaking his head and pointing a finger in her direction, “Don’t you go ruining balls for me now.”

[corpatrem]

#pure

[corpatrem]

GLASS ONION: A KNIVES OUT MYSTERY (2022) SENTENCE STARTERS

❛ You can’t keep making excuses for every one of [name]’s insane whims. ❜

❛ Genius always looks like insanity at first, though, right? ❜

❛ Hey, please stop fire-spinning inside. ❜

❛ I say it like I see it, no filter. If people can’t handle it, that’s their problem. ❜

❛ You’ve got to stay off the Twitter. ❜

❛ Are you mocking me? ❜

❛ This can’t Shazam. It’s a lamp. ❜

❛ Where’s my speargun? I gotta pack. ❜

❛ He told me you haven’t left the bath for a week. ❜

❛ My mind is a fueled-up racing car, and I got nowhere to drive it. ❜

❛ I need danger, a hunt, a challenge. ❜

❛ There’s someone here for you! With a box! ❜

❛ Hello, stranger danger. ❜

❛ Excuse me, I love your accent. I had to try it. ❜

❛ You must be very special. ❜

❛ When you throw a murder mystery party, you do it right, buddy. ❜

❛ I’m not here. ❜

❛ He’s just staying here. He’s going through things. ❜

❛ This rich-people shit is weird. ❜

❛ This is stretching my stride-taking abilities. ❜

❛ Okay, let’s stop talking and actually start hanging out and having fun. ❜

❛ Why is it on the roof? ❜

❛ I wanted to ask, what are you doing here? ❜

❛ Is this part of the game? ❜

❛ I’ve learned through bitter experience that an anonymous invitation is not to be trifled with. ❜

❛ You really try. I like that. You really make an effort. ❜

❛ You never know when shit’s gonna go down. ❜

❛ I’m uncomfortable. I’m gonna go for a swim. ❜

❛ It’s true. I say it like I see it. ❜

❛ If you want to shake things up, you start with something small. ❜

❛ That’s the place where you have to look within yourself and ask, “Am I the kind of person who will keep going?” ❜

❛ That was some real red-pill stuff. ❜

❛ Every single one of you is holding on for dear life to [name]’s golden titties. ❜

❛ Wow. That was so real. ❜

❛ I’m a truth-teller. Some people can’t handle it. ❜

❛ It’s a dangerous thing to mistake speaking without thought for speaking the truth. Don’t you think? ❜

❛ Are you calling me dangerous? ❜

❛ A few cocktails before I’m murdered. ❜

❛ Halle Berry! That has a kick. ❜

❛ This simple thing that you thought you were looking at, it suddenly takes on layers and depth so complex, it gives you vertigo. ❜

❛ Every time we’ve gotten to the point where I’m going to strangle you, you pull something like this, and it’s magic. ❜

❛ I wanna be responsible for something that gets mentioned in the same breath as the Mona Lisa. ❜

❛ This is reckless. And you’re gonna get somebody killed. ❜

❛ It’s been a memorable weekend already, to be sure, but now the real fun starts. ❜

❛ Tonight, in this very room, a murder will be committed. ❜

❛ Well, to be clear, I mean, I didn’t know what a “blood diamond” was so… ❜

❛ What am I supposed to do now? Play Yahtzee all weekend? ❜

❛ I like the Glass Onion as a metaphor. An object that seems densely layered, but in reality the center is in plain sight. ❜

❛ It’s like putting a loaded gun on the table and turning off the lights! ❜

❛ Well, I’m out of here. Tomorrow morning. Gone. ❜

❛ You’re murdering my vibe. ❜

❛ So you come here, in your Gucci flats, telling us that we owe you? ❜

❛ What do you want? A check? You want performative pity? ❜

❛ I want the truth! ❜

❛ But me, I’m tired of pretending like you’re the victim in this game. ❜

❛ That changes things, right? ❜

❛ Have we ever not pulled through? Pulled it off? ❜

❛ We won’t know the cause of death without an autopsy. ❜

❛ Listen, I must insist that nobody touch the body or disturb anything around it. ❜

Are you treating this as a crime scene then? ❜

❛ I’ll pay you one billion dollars to tell me which one of them tried to kill me. ❜

❛ Oh, fiddlesticks. ❜

❛ Is that a speargun? ❜

❛ Oh, hell’s bells! Just, everybody, just stay here! ❜

❛ I can peel back the layers, I can take it to a point, but what lies at the center, only one person can tell us who killed [name]. ❜

❛ You’re not in the bath again, are you? ❜

❛ Heavens, the dog ate the caviar again. ❜

❛ It’s a stupid idea, right? ❜

❛ Listen, I want to be clear, huh? I am not Batman. ❜

❛ Any feelings of reverence or respect that you had for me when you crossed my threshold, buttress those feelings now. ❜

❛ Yeah, I’m trying real hard to buttress, but this sounds nuts. ❜

❛ Is this safe? ❜

❛ I shouldn’t be here. This is nuts. But I’m here. So let’s do this. ❜

❛ The reality-distortion field ends here. I can’t let you do this. ❜

❛ Look me in the eye! You know it’s a lie! ❜

❛ You must be really great at Clue, huh? ❜

❛ I’m very bad at dumb things. My Achilles’ heel. ❜

❛ This is your last chance to back out. ❜

❛ I think it’s really shitty what they all did to you. ❜

❛ I sold my soul for this. ❜

❛ I thought you said you didn’t drink? ❜

❛ That’s hard kombucha. That’s Jared Leto’s hard kombucha. ❜

❛ We’re running out of time! ❜

❛ Please. Think of the danger here. You gotta step back and let me handle this. ❜

❛ I never email anything that I wouldn’t want to see on the front page of The Times. ❜

❛ I think maybe you should take up drinking. You’re just killing it. ❜

❛ Something is just teasing the edge of my brain. ❜

❛ Oh, if I ever meet Jared Leto, I’m gonna whoop his kombucha-brewing ass. ❜

❛ My therapist says this is a toxic relationship. ❜

❛ We will do what we always do. Deny, half-apologize, and then go silent awhile. ❜

❛ Please tell me you did not think sweatshops are where they make sweatpants. ❜

❛ I will do whatever I have to do to save myself, and he is my only lifeline. ❜

❛ This never happens in Clue. ❜

❛ He’s a son of a bitch. Leave his ass. ❜

❛ I don’t feel sorry for him. He deserved what he got, and you are better off without him. ❜

❛ Please don’t kill me! Oh my God, please don’t kill me! ❜

❛ I’m not trying to kill you, you crazy bitch! ❜

❛ Shitballs! ❜

❛ It hides not behind complexity, but behind mind-numbing obvious clarity. ❜

❛ A veritable minefield of malapropisms and factual errors. ❜

❛ Oh, please. Just tell us who tried to kill me. ❜

❛ Nobody tried to kill you, you vainglorious buffoon. ❜

❛ What is reality?! ❜

❛ Does he keep a vial of poison in his tooth or something? Is that a rich person thing? ❜

❛ Oh, it’s so dumb, it’s brilliant. ❜

❛ No! It’s just dumb! ❜

❛ You dim-witted, brainless jackass! ❜

❛ Your one murder, with any panache at all, and you stole the whole idea from me. ❜

❛ Wow! We got some big accusations flying around here. ❜

❛ You need evidence, and you’ve got nothing. ❜

❛ Anywhere you go, it’s going to be your word against mine. How do you think that’s gonna go? ❜

❛ There’s nothing I can do. Except maybe offer you some courage. ❜

❛ I hope your little bitch tantrum gave you closure ’cause it accomplished nothing! ❜

❛ You’re ruined. ❜

❛ Did you get the son of a bitch? ❜

[corpatrem]

chauvesourisnoire​:

     Very seldom does he meet his match in vitriol, and House always manages to come back at him harder, with more heat. That biting order actually gets him to shut up, the silence only disrupted from the dripping pipes and eerie echoes in the abandoned Wayne Terminal that has become his slowly developing command center as Batman. A quiet huff blows through his nose at the mention of rescuing felines. 

      “Funny,” he replies dryly, no hint of amusement at all. To Bruce’s credit, he does stay still even as House gets to work. Fingers curl around the edge of the low workbench he’s taken up a perch on and squeeze. His breathing is slow and controlled, and the pain he’s experiencing is only evident in the tension of his jaw and an involuntary flinch or two when House gets to the nastiest bits of the sterilization process. Not even Selina Kyle on her worst day could do this kind of damage to his shoulder, not through layers of tactical armor and Kevlar. “It was a croc actually.” Killer Croc goes unsaid. 

And for better or for worse, he can’t help but be a little intrigued. The man had on enough equipment he could be his own personal SWAT team, and yet the gashes that were in front of him seemed... more animalistic than human-made. A pause as House pauses, hopping over to his bag as he pulls out a bag of whiskey and hands Bruce the bottle. “Drink up, kid. This part isn’t going to be fun. For you. Well, for me, either, but hey, what else do people do at three in the morning if not patching up a rich kid who has dreams of being the Crocodile Hunter?”

Needle through thread, and without much grandeur, House begins to stitch Bruce Wayne up. If only Cuddy could see -- would never let him do clinic duty again, he’d bet. A nice fantasy, if anything. Although, if he were talking fantasies, Cuddy would be in a cheerleader’s outfit telling him that he was her hero...

        “Pennyworth’s got a hell of a lot more sense, so I take it that this was your bright idea?”

[corpatrem]

He huffs a whisper of a laugh, arms wrapped tight around her. If only he could freeze this moment. A brief lull of peace and love in an otherwise unforgiving situation they once again found themselves in. The phrase I’m getting to fucking old for this runs through his mind more than once, but if Joyce had found a way to save his ass in Russia, then the very least of what he could do was get it together and get them out. Get them home. Or at the very least, make sure that she got back to her boys safe and sound. 

There is so much in Jim Hopper’s life that he regrets. There is so much that he wished he could have done differently, and there is much that hangs around him now: a man dead in the water, and yet to those around him, they found his worth, they needed him, they...loved him. He needed to live up to their expectations; didn’t want to be selfish, and wanted to make sure that without a doubt, they could trust him until his last breath on this damned soil.

“Let’s find some water, first. Are you warm enough?” He can only hope that the cogs he’s set in motion will play out in their favor, but Jim wasn’t holding his breath. “Can’t settle for anything, but I will get you out of here, ok? You just gotta..well, you just gotta believe in me.” He tells her, offering her a wry grin.

❛ we just can’t seem to get it right, huh? ❜

She likes to think she had a plan for everything at some point in her life. Maybe get to a point where she wasn’t just scraping by, watch her boys go off to good colleges, maybe find some little cul-de-sac where she won’t have to live in fear of something or someone showing up at her doorstep to sweep everything out from under her feet … yeah. Joyce has gotten used to that feeling she gets deep in her gut, when she knows something’s up, or something’s wrong; it’s led her deep into a world opposite theirs, pulling the government curtain back, and now the cold, unforgiving tundra of Russia. Point is, Joyce doesn’t really think there was ever a right way. This is just the way things are.

Despite the undeniable, frozen pit of hopeless return they found themselves stuck in, it’s a genuine smile that she gives. Eyes closed, like it could simply transport them back home when she opened them again. The warmth of his chest, the gentle beating of his heart, it’s the most comfort she’s had in such a long time. Joyce could dream on the what ifs all day, but she’s no longer the type of woman to let anything keep dragging her through the worst of times. She’ll claw her way out, one way or another. 

“ It’s not for a lack of trying. ”  She and @corpatrem always seem to dance around it, dance through their lives like they don’t think they’re allowed to get what they truly want. What they deserve.  “ But at this point, I’ll take anything. ”

[corpatrem]

softersinned​:

I believe in his ideals. Interesting. There’s an unexpected burst of smug pride — I’ve been around longer than you have — at that, though Astoria refuses to give it voice. She sits as she’s commanded, and she turns a sweet smile Moira’s way. “This is so kind of you,” she insists, and she means it. “Especially with me showing up uninvited and with that bombshell. Really, I’m sorry to have broken the news with no warning.” I really thought he told you. She knows things aren’t good in the family, and the more she gets to know Chris the more obvious an explanation there seems to be for that. “Thank you for all of this, really.” 

          A polite upbringing instructs her to take a little bit of everything. The knowledge of what a mother looks like when she desperately wants to mother an absent child has her smile growing after the first bite. “Don’t tell Ben,” she says, voice dropping to a stage whisper, “but between the two of you, I think you’ve got him beat. This is wonderful.” She almost feels bad about it, trying to wrap Moira around her finger when she’s so warm, so generous, but something feels off about this place. 

          Maybe it’s Chris and his stern gaze and the tone of his voice. Maybe it’s Moira, going through the motions of being a good wife, a good mother, when there are obviously things she’s unhappy about. Maybe it’s the house, put together like a museum showroom, something almost sterile to the decor, as if it hasn’t been particularly lived-in to this point. Maybe, maybe, maybe. She could spend hours trying to peel back the layers and understand the how and the why. If she’s going to use her big lie like this, she wants it to be effective. 

          “He’s been trying to teach me. My maternal grandmother was Italian. She taught me a handful of dishes and I’ve never really had any talent beyond that, and with my job demanding so much time I never felt like I could devote my attention to learning to cook beyond that. I always wanted to, though.” Step one: make Moira feel seen, appreciated. Homemaking is so often ignored as real work that she wouldn’t be surprised if it’s been a while since she heard any admiration for it. “It’s so many moving parts, and there’s just that — that instinct for it. When to stray from a recipe because you know better, when to follow…” Her tone becomes a little hopeful, and she lets it hang in the air, as if to say, what if there are things I could learn from you? What if there’s a benefit to our lives intersecting? 

        She offers up a guilty little smile, now, and she shrugs one shoulder. “If you have questions about anything, I can answer them now. Might as well, right?” Step two: make her feel like there is an intimacy between them, a trust. She’s not excluding Chris, but her attention has shifted.

Moira couldn’t have been more elated. Ben was her first born, and no matter how old he got... still and forever her child. It was perhaps not delusion that made Moira Callahan act in the way of a perfect housewife and mother, but it was to the idea that if she just kept at it long enough...

            “Well I would love to teach you anything you’d like! Pick a recipe and we’ll set a time.” The affection and the warmth is genuine. “We’re finally about to have another woman in the family, I’m so glad I’m not terribly outnumbered anymore!” She finally sits, pouring herself some coffee, smiling brightly at Astoria. “I do love my boys, but --” and she reaches out, hand grasping Astoria’s with a firm hope in her touch. “Having a daughter will be a dream come true.” She pats Astoria’s hand before releasing it, and she’s no fool -- the tension that comes from Chris is thick, but she’d be damned if she’d overcome that with her own style.

“My goodness - you’re going to have to fill me -- us in with everything!” And if there is a sadness there, a hurt, Moira was able to hide it well enough. “Did he get down on one knee? Where has he been hiding a gorgeous girl like you without telling his mother?” A brief beat, “ --- Have you two set a date?”

[corpatrem]

softersinned​:

Men are exhausting, she decides, but particularly men with consciences. Back in the good old days — like two weeks ago before she found herself drawn into this — you could expect a degree of self-interest from the people around you. Go on a little trip, they said. Help save the world, they said. He’s very charming and you’ll enjoy working with him, they said, and it’s all true, it’s all very good to know, but she’s really had it up to here with this and they’ve barely gotten started. 

          “Probably not. I don’t think Indiana Jones was prepared for the Indiana Jones-ing. Do we have a choice?” But Astoria grins even as she says it, relieved that she isn’t going to have to continue trying to talk him into the bare minimum of self-preservation. The noise from downstairs is audible even where they are, and it’s only through a miraculous degree of composure that she manages not to flinch at the sound. It’s not that she relishes death; far from it. She’s heartbroken to imagine what they must be going through down there, but, well. If it’s up to her surviving, or them, she’s going to choose herself. 

          And since James is her best chance at survival… Astoria pauses just long enough to step out of her heels before she takes the offered hand. She’ll take literal leaps of faith over debating the ethical implications of leaving even one person they could help behind, and she’d rather not have broken ankles at the end of it. The French doors leading to the balcony are already open — and there it is, a sad little thing floating in the water a story below them, and they’ll have to time this right — 

          — she releases his hand and hitches the skirt of her dress up, swings a leg over the railing and then the other, sits on the wrought iron for a moment more while she waits, and then she jumps. It’s second nature, now, to know how to fall, to roll at the landing to minimize injury, and she manages without much fuss; thank a childhood in ballet for that, or more likely an adulthood of reckless behavior. There are some scrapes along her arms, and she can see where a bruise is going to form on her shin, but all things considered it’s not bad.

          Her eyes immediately turn towards James when she hears a huff of breath and the shuffle of movement, and she shifts to sit. “Do you do that often?” she asks, and then — “Any chance they have spare shoes?” And then, voice a little softer, eyes a little wider, she asks, “This is just going to keep getting tougher, isn’t it?”

As soon as he brushes off some of the dirt and soot on his suit -- more of a habit than anything, the suit had seen better days, and there’s a small voice in his head slightly impressed that his coat is in more or less one piece. But it’s a flashing thought, gone the moment the captain heads them out fast, and gone even still when he turns around to look at the wreckage left behind.

He is quiet for a moment longer, question heard, but he didn’t want to give an answer. Not yet, really. The price of having a... partner. Response was necessary. 

“Jumping onto boats? Oh, I haven’t been able to do that bit for a couple of months. Last week was a train.” It’s half deflection, half honest truth, though even he isn’t sure which one takes priority at the moment. The 007 agent walks near the back of the boat, reaching underneath one of the seats as he pulls out a box, “-- They’re mostly men shoes, so you may just have to wait until we reach land.” 

Bond takes off his watch, setting a dial and twisting a knob as it beeps and he looks across over to Astoria, shaking his head. “Every day.” He tells her, gesturing for her to have a seat. “It’s never the same, and people tend to --... find new ways to kill each other.”