#I-I forgot about Warwick... Completely forgot about him...

[sapphire-rb]

So, turns out, whatever google translated from korean as 'Rick' is not, in fact, Pastor Al, but Warwick instead. Who would have thouuught....

Anyway on a completely unrelated note, here's albino Warwick on a post Khrumbul-Dun save.

So, you know how monsters have white hair when you use the mod rod...?

*Spoilers from Furrowfield here* (I don't think you can revive Al. Unless there's a list of all non-story npc IDs somewhere, 'cause if you add Al with his story ID he just lays on the ground half-dead.)

[endlessmidnightparade]

Institute Scientists Need Humanities Classes

I don’t know where the first one is. But I’m sure I’ve posted my thoughts about Fallout 4 at least two times prior to this. This will contain spoilers, but this game has also been out for nearly a decade now.

So anyway, I’m on my umpteenth playthrough of Fallout 4 and I just got to the Institute again. I’m doing the lil quest and it’s interesting talking to everyone down there. It’s interesting hearing their perspective on the commonwealth and the role they think they have in shaping it. They all very much have this “ends justify the means” point of view but also an extremely distorted and limited point of view akin to the Brotherhood in the sense that they think they’re the only ones who can “save” the commonwealth. But they do this “saving” by kidnapping and killing people. I think it’s interesting that all major factions of FO4 almost have that viewpoint except the minutemen. I digress tho. I’ll talk about that in another post. This post is about the Institute and how they’re the embodiment of what happens when STEM kids aren’t required to take humanities classes.

They justify deception, kidnapping, killing, disrupting local governments in the name of science. Just take the Warwicks for example. They kidnapped Roger Warwick and replaced him with a Synth. There aren’t any records of his current location, nor do we see him walking around happily in the institute. So he’s dead for all intents and purposes. They murdered this innocent man JUST because they wanted to test some seeds. Aside from his blood on their hands, they are perfectly happy with letting this family devolve into madness. Yeah Roger wasn’t the nicest guy, but he also doesn’t deserve to be replaced.

If there was an Advanced Systems, BioScience, Facilities, Robotics, Synth Retention AND a Humanities division in the institute, it wouldn’t be known as the Commonwealth Boogeyman.

Reposting cus I forgot to add the bonus pic of one of my favorite and most complete Sanctuary Builds

[nofraildoll]

Arcane Season 2 Predictions 2/2

• The 'Pretty Boy' (Ambessa's prostitute) would be the boy Caitlyn meets in the brothel: there is indeed an air of resemblance According to a YouTube video, he would be the brother or friend of the revolutionary Zaunian during the war between Piltover and Zaun and whom  Ambessa had assassinated. He would therefore approach the Medarda for revenge (and has a connection with the death of Mel's brother ?)

• Hope we find out more about the feud between Vander and Silco and the revolt.

• Vander has a too perfect role for me, while everyone thought Vander was the good guy and Silco the bad guy, I would like Vander to actually be the bad guy to make the character more complex, less perfect and more human, after while looking at Silco's memories, one can easily guess that Vander attacked him, betrayed him as he says. Plus, if Vander is Warwick, Singed confirms he just revealed the monster sleeping inside him. 

• Oh my God, I completely forgot that Ziggs could become Jinx's friend so my creepy-but-sweety babygirl would be no longer alone. Knowing that Heimerdinger is a yordle too, Ziggs and him might know each other and so ironically Ekko would be friends with Heimerdinger and Jinx with Ziggs

Can you give me more predictions please ? I’m dying of restlessness T_T

[hello-robin-goodfellow]

SHAKESPEARE AND THE PRETTY SPEECHES OF A KING

@ardenrosegarden @amalthea9 @lioness--hart @princesssarisa @hmmm-what-am-i-doing @suits-of-woe @malvoliowithin @noshitshakespeare

I was once watching Brows Held High review of Laurence Olivier’s Henry V (1944), where the reviewer, Kyle Kalgreen, analized how it faired in the context of British World War II Propaganda Machine,  as a Shakespeare film adaptation and in comparison to the Kenneth Branagh 1989 Film Adaptation. 

There is a moment he pauses to analyze the most popular speech of the play, wich is the Saint Crispin’s Day Speech:

What’s he that wishes so?

My cousin Westmoreland? 

No, my fair cousin.

If we are marked to die, we are enough

To do our country loss; and if to live,

The fewer men, the greater share of honor.

God’s will, I pray thee wish not one man more.

By Jove, I am not covetous for gold

Nor care I who doth feed upon my cost;

It yearns me not if men my garments wear;

Such outward things dwell not in my desires.

But if it be a sin to covet honor,

I am the most offending soul alive.

No, faith, my coz, wish not a man from England.

God’s peace, I would not lose so great an honor

As one man more, methinks, would share from me,

For the best hope I have. 

Oh, do not wish one more!

Rather proclaim it, 

Westmoreland, through my host,

That he which hath no stomach to this fight,

Let him depart. 

His passport shall be made,

And crowns for convoy put into his purse.

We would not die in that man’s company

That fears his fellowship to die with us.

This day is called the feast of Crispian.

He that outlives this day and comes safe home,

Will stand o' tiptoe when the day is named

And rouse him at the name of Crispian.

He that shall see this day, and live old age,

Will yearly on the vigil feast his neighbors

And say, “Tomorrow is Saint Crispian.”

Then will he strip his sleeve and show his scars,

And say, “These wounds I had on Crispin’s day.” 

Old men forget; yet all shall be forgot

But he’ll remember with advantages

What feats he did that day. 

Then shall our names,

Familiar in his mouth as household words, 

Harry the King, Bedford and Exeter,Warwick and Talbot, 

Salisbury and Gloucester,

Be in their flowing cups freshly remembered.

This story shall the good man teach his son,

And Crispin Crispian shall ne'er go by,

From this day to the ending of the world,

But we in it shall be rememberèd—

We few, we happy few, we band of brothers;

For he today that sheds his blood with me

Shall be my brother; be he ne'er so vile,

This day shall gentle his condition;

And gentlemen in England now abed

Shall think themselves accursed they were not here,

And hold their manhoods cheap whiles any speaks

That fought with us upon Saint Crispin’s day.

(William Shakespeare. Henry V: Act IV, Scene III)

Beautifull. Powerfull. Lie.

Because, as Kyle Kalgreen apoints, while the Laurence Olivier had to cut it to make Henry V more simpathetic, the original Shakespeare text and the Kenneth Branagh Film Adaptation have this scene following the Saint Crispin’s day speech, where the young king reads a list of the english man who died in battle: 

Edward the duke of York, the earl of Suffolk,

Sir Richard Ketly, Davy Gam, esquire;

None else of name, and of all other men

But five and twenty. O God, thy arm was here,

And not to us but to thy arm alone

Ascribe we all! When, without stratagem,

But in plain shock and even play of battle,

Was ever known so great and little loss

On one part and on th' other? 

Take it, God,For it is none but thine. 

(William Shakespeare, Henry V: Act IV, Scene VIII)

The death nobleman are named, while the death common soldier is just ‘None else of name’. The death nobleman is ‘so great loss’. The death common soldier is ‘so little loss’. Contrary to what King Henry V promissed, not everybody who died fighting on his name in France will be considered his brother, remembered and mourned by him.

And them later, we watch the consequences of the reign of his son in the Henry VI trilogy of plays, and in Henry VI Part III, our new protagonist gives this beautifull speech about the blessing of a commoner’s life while sitting over a molehill:

This battle fares like to the morning’s war, 

When dying clouds contend with growing light, 

What time the shepherd, blowing of his nails, 

Can neither call it perfect day nor night. 

Now sways it this way, like a mighty sea 

Forced by the tide to combat with the wind; 

Now sways it that way, like the selfsame sea 

Forced to retire by fury of the wind: 

Sometime the flood prevails, and then the wind; 

Now one the better, then another best; 

Both tugging to be victors, breast to breast, 

Yet neither conqueror nor conquered: 

So is the equal of this fell war. 

Here on this molehill will I sit me down. 

To whom God will, there be the victory! 

For Margaret my queen, and Clifford too, 

Have chid me from the battle; swearing both 

They prosper best of all when I am thence. 

Would I were dead! if God’s good will were so; 

For what is in this world but grief and woe? 

O God! methinks it were a happy life, 

To be no better than a homely swain; 

To sit upon a hill, as I do now, 

To carve out dials quaintly, point by point, 

Thereby to see the minutes how they run, 

How many make the hour full complete; 

How many hours bring about the day; 

How many days will finish up the year; 

How many years a mortal man may live. 

When this is known, then to divide the times: 

So many hours must I tend my flock; 

So many hours must I take my rest; 

So many hours must I contemplate; 

So many hours must I sport myself; 

So many days my ewes have been with young; 

So many weeks ere the poor fools will ean: 

So many years ere I shall shear the fleece: 

So minutes, hours, days, months, and years, 

Pass’d over to the end they were created, 

Would bring white hairs unto a quiet grave. 

Ah, what a life were this! how sweet! how lovely! 

Gives not the hawthorn-bush a sweeter shade 

To shepherds looking on their silly sheep, 

Than doth a rich embroider’d canopy 

To kings that fear their subjects’ treachery? 

O, yes, it doth; a thousand-fold it doth. 

And to conclude, the shepherd’s homely curds, 

His cold thin drink out of his leather bottle. 

His wonted sleep under a fresh tree’s shade, 

All which secure and sweetly he enjoys, 

Is far beyond a prince’s delicates, 

His viands sparkling in a golden cup, 

His body couched in a curious bed, 

When care, mistrust, and treason waits on him.

(William Shakespeare. Henry VI Part III: Act II, Scene V)

Also a beautifull and powerfull speech, if a bit revealing of a romanticized view of the poverty that Henry VI never lived. And also a lie, or, at least, a half truth for Henry VI himself.

By contrast to the Molehill Speech, here is the dialogue exchange between him and two keepers, in the next act:

Second Keeper

Say, what art thou that talk'st of kings and queens?

Henry VI

More than I seem, and less than I was born to: A man at least, for less I should not be; And men may talk of kings, and why not I?

Second Keeper

Ay, but thou talk'st as if thou wert a king.

Henry VI

Why, so I am, in mind; and that's enough.

Second Keeper   

But, if thou be a king, where is thy crown?

Henry VI

My crown is in my heart, not on my head; Not decked with diamonds and Indian stones, Nor to be seen: my crown is called content: A crown it is that seldom kings enjoy.

Second Keeper

Well, if you be a king crown'd with content, Your crown content and you must be contented To go along with us; for as we think, You are the king King Edward hath deposed; And we his subjects sworn in all allegiance Will apprehend you as his enemy. 

Henry VI

But did you never swear, and break an oath?

Second Keeper

No, never such an oath; nor will not now.

Henry VI

Where did you dwell when I was King of England?

Second Keeper

Here in this country, where we now remain.

Henry VI

I was anointed king at nine months old; My father and my grandfather were kings, And you were sworn true subjects unto me: And tell me, then, have you not broke your oaths?

First Keeper. 

No; For we were subjects but while you were king.

Henry VI

Why, am I dead? do I not breathe a man Ah, simple men, you know not what you swear! Look, as I blow this feather from my face, And as the air blows it to me again, Obeying with my wind when I do blow, And yielding to another when it blows, Commanded always by the greater gust; Such is the lightness of you common men.

(William Shakespeare. Henry VI Part III: Act III, Scene I)

We can perceive here a condescending tone that King Henry VI has when he talks with two members of the people. He is surprised to see that they don’t believe in a divine right that gives him a “natural kingly aura”. They don’t see him as a superior, wise and benevolent saviour, but only as a man who once weared a crown, but now, without the crown, they don’t have any obligation to obey him. 

And Henry VI can’t accept that.

Later, he is rescued by Clifford, Warwick and Clarence from imprisoment under King Edward IV’s rule. And when those three man offer him back the crown and title of king, he don’t refuse it to live the simple commoner life he described as more beautifull in the Molehill Speech. He accepts it. Even if he intends to let the actual work of ruling to Warwick, Clarence and Queen Margaret, he still wants the sense of superiority, the privileges and the confortable life offered by the title of king that he grew accustomed to since he was nine months old.

By justaposing those speeches and scenes, Shakespeare pulls us of the rug in our view of those two characters, who want the people to believe they are good, heroic and chivalrous kings, anointed by God himself, when in reality what anoints them is their money and their armies.

Intentionally or not, with those plays, Shakespeare was at the same being a precursor and subvertor of the Relatable Royal Trope, showing that those people with the title of kings are like us... but not really.

They feel sadness, fear, anger, love, envy and jealousie like us, but they are more rich, powerfull and privileged then us.And they don’t really  want to renounce that power, because it will take away their sense of being superior to us.

To paraphrase Kyle Kalgreen: 

Beware pretty speeches

(Kyle Kalgreen. Brows Held High: This Day is Called the Feast of Crispian, a review of Laurence Olivier’s Henry V. October 26th, 2018)

Specially if they come from a person that wears the crown of a king.

[lucifers-favorite-pen]

A Simple Request (Lucifer x Blair)

Fandom: Obey Me!

Pairing: Lucifer x Blair Warwick (my MC)

Genre: Fluff. Lots of fluff. A little NSFW

Warnings: none

Word Count: ~3k

--

Hey guys! This is my second go at writing for Obey Me! I decided to write this based off an ask about Lucifer proposing received on Blair’s rp blog @miss-blair-warwick. I almost wrote this as a reader-insert fic, but idk I just really needed content of my girl and her mans tonight lmao. I do take requests for reader-insert stuff though, if you’re ever interested. Ok that’s it, enjoy!

--

Saturdays were the one day a week Blair was guaranteed to have time with Lucifer. They both were very busy people. Lucifer was occupied with his work, and Blair with her studies, so they didn’t see a lot of each other during the week. Only the soft moments between the pair when they woke up in each other’s arms each morning, and the steamy nights when Blair would fight off the fatigue of the day to wait up for Lucifer to come to bed. As well as the daily event of Blair bringing Lucifer a cup of tea late at night, and attempt, usually in vain, to get him to come to bed early with her. 

Saturdays, however, were his day off. Every Saturday, Blair was promised a date night of some sort, multiple opportunities to...make up for lost time, and a morning to sleep in with him on Sunday. 

Saturdays also meant: bath time 

Both of them thoroughly enjoyed bath time.There usually wasn’t any “funny business” during bath time. The amount of splashing and sloshing that would occur would make a huge mess and neither of them wanted to deal with that. No, there was only soaking in his huge bathtub, and relaxing away the stress of the week prior. Lucifer would put a record on in their bedroom that could be heard softly from his bathroom, and the two would relax in complete silent bliss. Her back always rested on his chest, as she felt and listened to the steady rise and fall of his breathing that never failed to relax her. 

Tonight he was different though. He still carried a little bit of tension in his shoulders, and the little furrow in his brow would appear when he was lost in thought and didn’t think she was looking. They had both finished washing themselves, and Blair made it a point to try and massage the rest of the tension out of his shoulders while rinsing the suds off of his muscular frame. 

It wouldn’t go away. 

Weird, she thought as she settled her self to her usual spot between his legs, on his chest. Blair closed her eyes and applied two little jelly eye masks under her eyes that Asmodeus gave to her. This was his way of telling her the bags under her eyes were getting out of hand without hurting her feelings. She took a deep breath, and tried to focus on the sudden cold, slimy feeling under her eyes instead of what was bothering Lucifer. 

She really tried her best, but how could she focus on anything except for his incessant light tapping on the side of the tub where his arms were draped, and his weird, uneven breathing pattern? Blair sighed, peeled the eye masks off her face, and flicked them to the ground on either side of the tub, resting her arms right in front of Lucifer’s. The masks never worked anyway.  

“Are you doing ok?”, she finally asked him, snuggling a little deeper into his chest and the water. 

“Hm?”, he responded going to rest his arms on top of hers. He wrapped his hands around the backs of hers, and intertwined their fingers. Lucifer placed a light kiss on her temple and almost whispered in her ear, “I have all I could ever want within my reach,” 

He lightly nibbled her ear.

“A healthy family. Annoying as all hell, but healthy none the less,”

She chucked at him as he placed a kiss on the side of her neck. 

“The most perfect being in all the three realms owns my heart and is sitting in my bathtub,” 

She felt the heat rise to her cheeks as he placed another kiss on her shoulder, and felt his fingers untangle from hers to start tracing light lines up her arms. 

“And Chopin is in the other room, quietly scoring this perfect moment,” 

Lucifer traced his way up her arms and rested his hands on her shoulders, lightly massaging out any tension gathered. 

“I am doing, fantastic, my dear,” he purred in her ear. 

Blair knew he was being overly affectionate to cover the fact he was lying through his teeth, but as his hands worked themselves over her shoulders and neck, and as his soft, perfect lips landed on her cheeks and her neck, she found herself forgetting. He had a way of melting away any sort of worry or turmoil that nestled its way into her body, simply by touching her. 

She hummed and leaned back into him, tilting her head back and up to look up at him. He had a content smile set on his face, but there was something else hidden in his eyes. Worry? No, nerves. 

What was he nervous about?

Blair smiled sweetly up at him, “Ok, I believe you,” 

He returned her smile, and cupped her small face in his hands. “Mm, good,” he said before kissing her forehead. 

“Now, let’s get out before we get pruny, yes? I’ll meet you in our room in a couple minutes after I clean up in here,” said Lucifer before lifting himself to his feet and stepping out of the tub. Blair stayed there, knees to her chest, cheek resting on top of her knee. She admired the way his back muscles tensed and relaxed as he toweled himself off.

“I can help you clean up in here. You we both took a bath, you shouldn’t have to clean it all up yourself,” Blair said absentmindedly as she watched the water droplets fall from his beautiful raven hair on to his shoulders and down his back. 

He secured the towel around his waist, turned and sauntered over towards her. He looked almost menacing, towering over her as he stood on the small rug outside the bathtub, looking down at her with amusement. 

Like a cat playing with his food. 

He knelt down, and reached over to softly run a knuckle over her cheek before taking her jaw between his fingers and forcefully pulling her face, and as a result the rest of her body, toward him. She let out a surprised squeak as she fell forward on to her hands with a splash , and her breathe caught in her throat when she noticed her lips were mere centimeters away from his. He cocked an eyebrow and smirked at her. He loved the way her heart was pounding in her chest. He loved the way he could feel the breath hitched in her throat, and see the surprise laced with fear and excitement in her beautiful, baby blue eyes.

He loved her.

“Or,” Lucifer purred as he ran his thumb over her bottom lip. “You could follow directions, and wait for me in our room like a good girl,”

Blair bit her lip and raised an eyebrow at him, mischievously. She then sighed and looked up at him, “I guess i could do that,” she whispered, defeated. 

Lucifer’s smirk grew into a smile as he guided her chin towards him for a passionate kiss. His hands found their way into her inky black hair, and he deepened it just enough, for just enough time, to leave her gasping her more when he suddenly pulled back. “Good, I’m glad to here it,”

Blair didn’t know she was white-knuckling the edge of the bathtub until her fingers started cramping. She let go, and flexed her fingers, smiling to herself as Lucifer stood up to retrieve a towel for her. She took a deep breath to steady herself -mainly her heart- as she stood up and stepped out of the tub. Lucifer met her and wrapped a soft towel around her body, tipping her chin up to meet his gaze. 

“I’ll see you in ten,” 

~~~~~~~~

Blair stood wearing a silk bathrobe in front of the vanity/dresser in Lucifer’s bedroom, lost in thought. She was admiring the small, dainty necklace that rested slightly below and between her collarbones. It was a silver “B” charm, with sparkling diamonds along the straight line of the letter, hanging on a thin silver chain. A present for their first anniversary. 

Her eyes drifted to Lucifer’s pact mark that sat just to the left of the necklace, below her collarbone. She stopped playing with the charm to instead trace the lines with the tip of her finger, a small smile resting on her lips. 

She felt him lightly tug on the pact, and watched him approach her from behind in the mirror. He was wearing only a pair of green and blue plaid pajama pants, an article of clothing surprisingly mundane for the Fallen Morningstar of Heaven, but comfortable none-the-less. He wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her backwards into his chest. She felt shivers fall down her spine as he nuzzled his face into the crook of her neck, breathing in her scent and placing loving kisses up her neck to her ear. 

When he finished making her feel like she was walking on a cloud, he closed his eyes and hummed contently, resting his chin atop her head. His arm was still securely resting across her chest and lightly tracing circles on her upper arm. 

“You looked stunning tonight,” he said, referring to how she looked when she descended the House of Lamentation stairs to meet him for their date just hours earlier. She smiled at him in the mirror, and rubbed his arm. 

She began to spin around to look up at him, “It’s because you have great taste in dress-”

Her eyes landed on the ring held delicately between his index finger and thumb. 

She forgot how to breathe.

She probably would have fallen over had Lucifer not placed his other hand on the small of her back, securing her in place. 

The ring was the most beautiful piece of jewelry she had ever seen. A big, but not obnoxious, princess cut diamond sat on top of a shiny silver band. The setting came up and curled around it, like a throne for the gem. It was simple, and beautiful. It reminded him of her. 

“Blair, breathe,” coaxed Lucifer, snapping her back into reality. She gasped, and swallowed the air, bringing a shaking finger up to point at the ring. 

“Wha-. What-. What’s tha-. Wha-”, she stuttered. Trying to form any sort of sentence to communicate what she was feeling. Lucifer chuckled at his stuttering, trembling girlfriend and teased, “I believe that’s the wrong finger, darling,” 

Blair’s laugh was morphed with a sob as she felt tears rise in her eyes. She covered her mouth that was opening and closing like a fish gasping for air with both of her hands as she looked up at him, waiting for some sort of explanation. 

“There was something amiss earlier when you asked me during our bath. While i didn’t lie about how I felt about my life, and you,” he said pausing to touch the ring to her nose on the word ‘you’.

“And while it is true that I have everything I could ever want right here, there is something else I want. A simple request, really,” he continued. 

Blair was trying to control her joyful sobs long enough to let him speak. The small circles he was rubbing into the small of her back with his thumb were helping substantially. She nodded frantically, urging him to continue. 

Lucifer took a deep breath, and steadied himself. He would never admit it to anyone, not even her, that he was so nervous he felt like his heart was going to burst from his chest. His pride simply would not allow such an admission. Instead he looked into her eyes, the eyes that could steady any storm that wracked him. 

“Marry me,” 

It was a miracle those two words didn’t trigger the flood gates to open, successfully making Blair lose the grip she had on her emotions. Instead she gasped at the words, even though she knew they were coming, and slowly let the breath out. She swallowed the sob forming in her throat and brought her hands from her face to rest on his chest. It took her a solid twenty seconds to remember how to speak, and try to speak without letting the sob in her throat loose. 

Finally, she spoke, raspy and strained, “Well, if you insist,”

Lucifer smiled, and giggled at her response. It was all he could do not to pick her up and spin her around the room right then and there, but he was patient. There was one thing left to do. 

“Then allow me,”, he said, slowly dropping to a knee. 

That did it. That triggered the flood gates. Blair laugh-cried as she covered her mouth again with her right hand, her left taken by Lucifer. He looked down at her small hand, and ran his thumb over her soft, perfect skin. He moved his hand down a bit, so her fingers lay flat on his open hand, and he slid the ring on to her ring finger.

A perfect fit, he thought.

He kissed each of her knuckles lovingly before standing and was immediately pounced on by Blair. She flung her arms around his neck, and brought him into a tear-filled hug. He wrapped his arms tightly around her middle, and started joyfully laughing. The feeling welling up in his chest was one he hadn’t felt before. Was this true happiness? Was this what it was like to be genuinely excited? How had he been around since the beginning of time, and not felt this before? 

Whatever it was, he liked it and leaned further into the feeling. He felt his eyes start to crinkle in their corners as he relaxed into a toothy smile and picked Blair up by her waist and spun her around the room. They were both smiling and giggling like children as they spun around the room to Chopin. Blair brought her legs up and wrapped them around his torso, wanting to be as close to him as possible to him in this moment. He stopped spinning around to pry her face from his shoulder. 

He wanted to look at her. 

She was at eye level with him now, her legs wrapped around his middle. He removed a his hand from one of her thighs to wipe the tears away from her red, puffy cheeks. Tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, he rested his hand on the side of her face. She leaned into his touch before taking his face in both of her hands and crushing his lips to hers. Lucifer moved his hand from her face back down to her thigh, making sure to touch and document every curve this hand found through the silk of her robe. He pulled her legs more tightly around him, as he pressed her body flush against his, walking backwards to sit them on their bed. 

He wanted to feel all of her. 

She felt him hungrily tub at her bottom lip, and then move to pepper her jaw, neck and collarbone with wet, hungry kisses. A small, blissful moan escaped her lips as she entangled her fingers in his damp hair. She rested the side of her head against his, letting him completely fill her senses for the moment. He smelled like cinnamon and campfire, with a hint of rose from their bath. She kissed his temple, right before having her lips enveloped by his in another desperate, passionate kiss. 

They both pulled away at the same time, breathing heavily and letting their hands lazily roam over the other’s body. Their foreheads were pressed together in a moment mutually agreed upon silence as they realized they had promised themselves to each other. Forever. 

Blair tugged at their pact just as a smile tugged at her lips, and brushed her nose over his, pulling away to look into his eyes as she twirled the hair at the nape of his neck around her middle finger. His dark crimson eyes, met her icy blue ones, and he couldn’t help but smile back at her. It was one she hadn’t seen before. It was pure, almost childlike happiness. It was rare that she would get to admire a toothy grin from him, so she took a mental picture. 

Lucifer closed his smile back down to a small grin and ran his finger along her jaw. She was the the peak of beauty and perfection to him. Nothing was more perfect than her, and she just agreed to be his. This made the feeling that he couldn’t explain return to his chest, and he brought both his hands up to cup her face. 

“I love you more than I understand,” he admitted, his voice slightly cracking on the last syllable while his eyebrow furrowed. Blair smiled sweetly at him, her heart swelling at his words. She took both her hands and rested them on top of his, still cupping her damp cheeks. She tenderly kissed his palms, then leaned in to press a gentle kiss to his lips. “I love you too,” she whispered just over his lips. 

Lucifer felt a pressure rise in his throat and heat grow behind his eyes. 

Was he about to cry? 

Lucifer just further furrowed his brow and nodded his head quickly before wrapping his strong arms around her waist and pulling her flush to him again, encasing her lips in his while falling backwards on the bed with her on top of him.

After all, it was never too early to start practicing for their wedding night. 

[lady-plantagenet]

♦▼ for clarence and ☼☯ for anthony woodville!

Asked via the Headcanon Meme: https://lady-plantagenet.tumblr.com/post/634584063141920769/headcanon-meme. Thank you darling! X (at least I sprinkled a bit of history in all this).

George Duke of Clarence

♦ - quirks/hobbies headcanon

- One Hobby/Quirk headcanon -

According to household accounts and information about his education, George knew how to play the harp and the lute. I headcanon him as continuing with those hobbies well into his adulthood. I don’t know if it’s maybe the fact that George had far less presence in the battlefield than his brothers - only Barnet and Tewksbury he actually fought in and his troops are never on the main battle charts which indicates they were not the most important, he was given the largest retinue to lead to France but as we know, there was rather more talking than bloodshed there ahasjd. Or if it’s maybe the fact that his actions and phrases denote an unusually emotional man... but I always saw him as rather sensitive and that also reflecting in his hobbies. I also headcanon him as being rather particular with his clothing (exposed to great finery since the age of 12), and so relished spending hours badgering his tailor over the smallest details regarding colours, designs, patterns etc. At some points even Isabel gets a headache ahashj.

He also had great taste for elaborate architecture (historically, there were many designs he had in mind and renovations for Tutbury and Warwick castle, to make them less fortressy and more palatial but died before they could be completed), so I think that links. As for the harp and lute, I headcanon him as having great proefficiency in them but not interested in showing that off and so just playing when in his own homes and heard by very few people there. Not because he was modest or something (quite the contrary) but because he did not like to do anything competitively because he did not like being seen as bested by others, or worse being seen to fail because well.. pride and self-importance. He never participated in jousting for example, because he knew he could not handle the shame if he were beaten by the likes of Richard Woodville or Anthony or the score of prominent jousters. Also as a typical aristocrat, he never saw the point of having to ‘prove’ his gifts, nor work at them enough to be truly talented.

▼ - childhood headcanon

I’ve had this discussion at some point with a mutual about when George left Ireland, I think the conclusion was that he may have very well stayed there quite a bit, at least maybe until Richard III was born in Fotheringhay in 1452, or even later (for his own protection or as an enduring symbol of his father’s importance there and piece between Earls Ormond and Desmond, as his baptism was all about uniting those two godfathers). I have to look deeper into this but the truth is next to nothing is known of George’s life pre-1460.

I see his sister Margaret being with him until 1452 or so (I think Ashdowne-Hill put the possibility that Margaret accompanied their mother to Ireland), and treating him as her baby as four + year olds have been known to do, creating the link. But while she returned to England (most likely), he would stay there for a one more year or so, with the occasional visits from the godfathers for goodwill. And goodness, both James Butler 5th earl Ormond & Wiltshire and Thomas FitzGerald 7th Earl Desmond had something of a similar spirit to their godson: always up for a gallantry whether that be rebellion (a contemporary saying something similar regarding gallantry about pre-1469 George - I think it was Crowland), reputed handsomeness (with some vanity):

“Gregory records, at the First Battle of St Albans in 1455, Wiltshire "fought mainly with the heels, for he was frightened of losing his beauty" ahahaha idk why gives me some Clarence vibes

or personalities that attracted support, eager patrons. With the facts of an absent real father this headcanon, just sort of clicks whether it has any bearing in reality (yet I recall an Irish castle where he spent his early years in being mentioned, but forgot the name). I also headcanon him as having spent a part of his infant years with James FitzGerald around, though, he may have been a couple years older (birthdate not given). As they were god brothers and both from Yorkist families, of course this is the same James that gets executed under Edward’s name in 1467 (godfather Ormond gets executed after the battle of Towton). In addition to him, many other companions that were relatives and nephews of his godfathers I suppose would have been selected as the 5/6 year olds’ companions. I headcanon George as charming them all, leading to him being remembered fondly by the Irish because though records of his going there in his adult life contradict each other, he seemed to have left an impression somehow. Of course, all this attention and preening has contributed to his deluded self-image as a very very important man. I also headcanon him as picking up quite a bit of the native tongue, but like most young children, what is quickly learned is quickly forgotten.

Anthony Earl Rivers

☼ - appearance headcanon

When it comes to my story, I’m tempted to make him the ‘golden-haired’ knight that he tends to get depicted in fiction because thematically it drives home the whole George/Anthony foil thing we spoke about and intend to hint at.

But for me, this will always be my mental image of Anthony. With a very kind yet clever looking face, like in here. I also always headcanoned him as heavily resembling his sister, perhaps, because of their strong sibling bond (this depiction capture that too with the heart-shaped face, small thin nose, round eyes and cheekbones (come to think of it also the mouth) .

Like in his contemporary depiction [Him presenting the Dictes and Saying of the Philosophers] I see him as having a warm brown eyes and light brown hair, but with a twinge of auburn (whereas Elizabeth Woodville is more full on red-gold). Because of his keeping with a hair-shirt underneath, I tend to see him as rather thin and tall (nearer to Edward and Margaret’s height than Richard or George’s).

࿊ - likes/dislikes headcanon

- Likes - (aside from what we know: philosophy, poetry, literature, religion, tournaments)

As a result of: That bit in one of his works where he (with great wit and subtlety) calls Plato out for his misogyny, him being a reader of Christine de Pizan (the only man at that time who I can recall), his strong relationship with his mother, sister and friendship with Margaret of Burgundy... I’ve headcanoned him as having a deeper appreciation and ‘like’ (more like respect) for womenhood than most of the others. And with an interest in the discourse that must have been going on post-De Pizan and Joan of Arc.

I also have this weird headcanon of him getting an insane fascination with Wales, the people, the Celtic remnants in its folklore - that is, once he establishes there with his nephew. And tried to absorb as much of it as possible. Particularly because he strikes me as one who though a great appreciator of beauty, is more attached to the natural, less ornate rather than the florid and goldeness of the london courts. As he was a well-traveled man this isn’t so far-fetched I suppose. I also headcanon him as a massive fan of Arthuriana (he did after all have all the features of chivalry) and would see himself as a Merlin to Prince Edward’s Arthur.

- Dislikes - (aside from war apparently)

I always saw him as taking a profound dislike to Edward’s debauchery later in his reign, especially, when it pertained infidelity to his sister. As somewhat of a stoic (not to say emotionless or robotic), he obviously did not say anything about it, but the disillusionment welled up in him, and he would find any excuse to not have to deal with it. By the time it came to leave for his guardianship, he was grateful for not having to see it. Of course, there remains mutual respect between him and Edward, during his pilgrimage I headcanon him as praying for Edward’s soul and for him to be guided back.

I always headcanoned him as never quite clicking with his wife. For some unknown reason e.g. perhaps she was a bit ignorant, dull or cold? We know very little about that marriage and it was quite brief nonetheless. There were no children and we never hear of them ever being in the same place, or references to mourning etc. Of course, since marriage is a sacrament and a way to connect with god, he feels a bit regretful about it, only in later life to realise, that some men are like Gawain, better suited to bachelorhood. But while respectful of women, few attain to his marianistic expectations (partly stemming from the image his sister projects). Overall, a dislike for this sort of inner-conflict.

[ballistic-lipstick-dream-machine]

can you tell me any random facts about joe, people are always calling him silly or the memes he has dumbass energy but im just curious im new to the dl fandom :)

I COMPLETELY FORGOT ABOUT THIS ASK BECAUSE I SAW IT WHILE I WAS AT WORK IM SO SORRY D;

a bunch of random facts about joseph thomas elliott:

his favorite color is red

he dressed in drag (at least once) to get into a mott the hoople concert

his record collection is [probably] as big as a record store itself

did ecstasy in dublin with ricky warwick and spent 8 hours just looking at girls saying “i don’t feel anything…she’s good looking…still don’t feel anything…beautiful women here…what time is it…”

got bullied for liking glam rock because it was “gay”

wrote his first song when he was eight; it was about a girl leaving him

he’s ambidextrous (he calls it bidextrous)

thought drinking milk before singing was a good idea

showed up to the wrong funeral home on the day of phil’s dad’s funeral; he met the cousin of steve priest from the band sweet [at the wrong funeral home]

went to see ac/dc on his 21st birthday

once said he’s very good at screaming

saved brian may from being destroyed by pyrotechnics on the pyromania tour

hurt his back in a game of football (soccer) with vivan the day before shooting the two steps behind video; to get through the pain to shoot the video, he drank so much brandy to help with the pain he doesn’t really remember shooting the video

for the foolin music video, he spent 6 hours on a horse on a beach in new jersey, but the footage was never used

when he first met the guys from atomic mass, he quietly led them into his bedroom to show them his record collection 

quit drinking for the hysteria tour after coming off stage the first night hyperventilating and vomiting 

shortly after meeting phil and the rest of the members of girl, he left them sleep over at his house; his mum freaked out the next morning because she saw makeup on the sheets and thought it was because they snuck girls into the house, when it was really phil and his friends 

claims the weirdest place he’s ever had sex was an airport bathroom 

got shamed by the director for the foolin music video for not wearing underwear 

got mumps T W I C E 

once called his wife kristine “wifey” 

once played a semi-professional dutch football (soccer) game while recording hysteria, but he was posing as an actual player for the team who was out sick; he scored two goals 

in top notch uncle style, he bought rory (phil’s son) a drum kit for his third birthday 

joe admits that he didn’t know how to sing when he first joined the band; he learned after joining, and wouldn’t recommend it to anyone 

plays drums, piano, and guitar; claims to suck at all three 

got fired from his first job for playing cricket in the basement

#professionalactor 

favorite song of all time is all the young dudes by mott the hoople 

sends “filthy” memes to david coverdale 

came up with the name “deaf leopard” when he was 15; he made fan art and fan reviews for the band before they were even a thing

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

Superheroes By Day (Queen fic)

Summary: Queen are rock stars by night, superheroes by day. Each member has his own exceptional powers. They assemble for an important mission cerca 1986. Also, cellphones exist.

Inspiration: Totally random, pure ridiculousness, plz enjoy.

Warnings: Language.

Link to all my writing HERE

My burner phone rings. They always call me. I’m the only one who can be trusted to pick up.

“This is John.”

Freddie always loses his phone; he would lose his moustache if it wasn’t attached. Brian spends too much time frolicking with and rehabilitating forest creatures, so his phone goes dead and he can never charge it because surprise surprise, there are no wall sockets in the fucking woods. Rog is hopeless, hopeless. Last time they gave him a phone it ended up at the bottom of a jacuzzi tub in Morocco. I’ll let you try to figure that one out.

I listen to our latest mission, jotting down a few notes with the pen and notepad I keep in my fanny pack. Yes, I use a fanny pack. You would too if you had four kids. Shut up about it.

“You are tasked with assembling the others.”

I sigh, quite dramatically. “Can’t you...I don’t know, send limos or something?”

“Complete the mission, John.” They hang up. Superheroes get a lot less fanfare than rock stars.

I sprint outside and jump into my Mercedes-Benz 190E. I turn the key in the ignition. Nothing.

“No!” I gasp. I try again. Nothing. “No no no!”

I rush back inside the house. Veronica is taking fish sticks out of the oven and forking them onto plates for the kids.

“Babe, there’s something wrong with the Benz!”

“Oh,” she replies, unbothered. “Well I can take it to the shop tomorrow.”

“But I need it now! I have a mission!”

She peers out the kitchen window and into the driveway. “What’s wrong with the minivan?”

I follow her gaze, horrified. “Babe, love of my life, I cannot pick up the band in a Plymouth Voyager.”

“Why not?” she replies innocently. “Kids, lunch is ready!” I hear the stampede beginning upstairs. Veronica looks at me with her eyebrows raised. “Do you want the van or not?”

I tug at my permed hair in exasperation. “Okay, okay, I’ll take the van!”

She tosses me the keys and I’m out the door like a bolt of lightning. The Voyager roars to life without any hesitation.

I arrive at Brian’s house first. I honk precisely six times: the secret honk, the we-have-a-mission honk. A neighbor lady leans out her window, shakes her fist menacingly, and calls me a barmy wanker. Thanks, lady.

Brian toddles out of his house looking very sensible: button-up shirt, slim white trousers, general demeanor of a brooding academic. And then there are the clogs.

“You, ah, you’re not going to trip in those?” I venture.

He glares at me and slips wordlessly into the passenger’s seat. The Plymouth Voyager pulls out of his driveway. I fumble with the radio, and eventually find a good song. It’s disco. I bop my head and sing along, entirely offkey. Brian stares sullenly out the window and presumably wishes for death.

Roger is next. Six honks.

“Good god, there must be a more practical way to communicate in this day and age!” Brian says.

“I could try turning up the disco,” I suggest. He is not amused.

Rog is wearing all black, including his prescription sunglasses. He climbs into the back seat. “Good morning, gentlemen!” he announces cheerfully. He reaches into the pocket of his sweatpants and produces an entire bottle of tequila.

“It’s 2:37 p.m., Rog,” Brian informs him.

Rog recoils, bewildered, then shrugs. He knocks back a few swallows of tequila and glances around the minivan. “Ooo, there are cupholders!”

I return to singing disco. Brian peers back at Rog. “Give me a swig of that.”

Freddie is waiting at the curb with a lit cigarette between his fingers. I roll up beside him. He appraises the Plymouth Voyager.

“Um, excuse me, but what the fuck.”

“I know, I know, the Benz wouldn’t start. Why are you out here already? Did someone call you? Did you actually know where your phone was?”

“Oh no, darling, the cats just don’t like me smoking indoors.”

“Whatever you say, Fred.”

“Miko sneezes terribly!”

He crawls into the back seat with Rog. They immediately begin giggling and shoving each other and inventing drinking games.

“Okay,” Freddie instructs, “every time Bri says something pretentious you have to take a shot.”

“Fred, I’ll fucking die!”

Brian buries his head in his hands. I clear my throat as I speed through traffic. “Um, is anyone actually interested in the mission?”

They settle down. “Oh yeah,” Roger says. “Go ahead, Deaks.”

“There is a family in Ealing whose dog, Mr. Doodles, has been stolen, probably to be held for ransom. We’re in pursuit of the burglar.”

“Wait, isn’t he going to be, like, way ahead of us by now?” Bri asks, ever the skeptic.

Roger rolls his eyes. “Fortunately, we happen to have...” He does jazz hands. “Superpowers!”

“Right. I’ll find him.” Freddie rubs his temples and closes his eyes in concentration. He has a dash of telepathy, but it only works on bad guys. Thank god for that, or the constant bombardment of space nonsense and disjointed basslines and naked women and car engine revs from us would completely drown out anything useful. “He’s heading west on Warwick Road!” 

I put the pedal to the metal and within a few minutes we’ve spotted him. The Plymouth Voyager squeals to a halt along the sidewalk. All four of us dive out of the van and into the street.

The burglar is tall and burly and wearing a black ski mask, how original. He’s also cloaked in a tremendously tacky mustard yellow coat and carrying a satchel that likely contains the aforementioned Mr. Doodles. He sees us and pulls a gun out of his international fashion crime of a coat.

Roger unleashes a sonic scream—“aaaaaAAAAAAAhhhhAAAAAAAAAA!”—and the gun flies out of the burglar’s hand. He curses in frustration.

“Avian friends, attack!” Brian calls out. A flock of ducks descend upon the burglar, swooping and pecking at him. He attempts to smack them away clumsily.

Freddie flies to the burglar’s side. Did I mention Freddie can fly? Well, he can fly. Short distances, anyway. “That coat is awful and you should feel bad about it.”

Now it’s my turn: snark so savage it can incapacitate a wrongdoer in seconds.

Freddie, reading the burglar’s deepest thoughts and darkest fears, gives me the information I need. “Deaky, he’s still traumatized from middle school algebra! Talk about algebra!”

“Quadratic equations! Polynomials!”

“Ahh!” the burglar screams, crumpling to the ground. He loses his grip on the satchel, and a small white ball of fluff tumbles out. Mr. Doodles barks, panicked and disoriented, and Brian rushes over to comfort him.

I shout: “If x times seven equals 49, what is the value of x?!”

“Please stop! I’ll do anything!” The burglar writhes helplessly, vanquished.

Brian laughs, cradling Mr. Doodles in his arms. “Pathetic!”

I unzip my fanny pack and sift through the stationary and toast crumbs. “Oh dammit, I forgot the handcuffs!”

“I got it,” Rog says. He reaches into the pocket of his sweatpants and pulls out a pair of fuzzy pink handcuffs. He clicks them around the burglar’s wrists and flashes a grin. Oh my god. Did I really just see that? Oh my god. “Do you need a blindfold too—?”

“No, Roger.”

The police arrive to take the thwarted burglar away and return Mr. Doodles to his rightful owners. Brian thanks the ducks kindly and feeds them cracked corn from his outstretched palm. Roger argues with the police because he wants to be sure he gets his fuzzy handcuffs back.

“Alright, darlings.” Freddie claps his hands together. “Job well done. Back to Garden Lodge. I’ll have Jim put some cookies in the oven for us.”

Roger raises his tequila bottle into the air and winks. “I’ll make the tea.”

[artduclown]

Becoming Claude Warwick

Chapter 6

The rest of the night of the night was spent getting to know the witch and her sons, I was surprised by the witch, she was nicer than I thought, Jack made her sound cold and harsh but she was warm and welcoming to me. Maybe it would’ve been different if I went to her first.

The witch’s name was Margot, an old immortal with enough power to make the world shake, her oldest son a young immortal named Mike and her youngest son was Matt, a mortal.

I was confused when I found out Matt was mortal, I thought an immortal’s children would be born immortal but no. Margot pulled me aside and told me about her sons.

******

“A long time ago I split away from my coven, I was no longer happy with the leadership and I wanted out before we were found and killed.. well my old friends didn’t like that so one of them sacrificed themselves to curse me”

Margot told me about the curse the witch casted on her and her body. Any child to come from her womb would die at the age of twenty two, the age when she left the coven, each year their health would decline and get worse and worse until they died, I asked why she didn’t try to lift the curse but she couldn’t, the curse could only be lifted by a spell with the witches blood but the witch burned down her home with herself inside.

Once her children hit puberty she told them about the curse and what would happen, Mike almost immediately wanted to become immortal to escape his fate but Matt chose to stay mortal against his mother’s wishes.

******

During my time I became close with Matt, he was kind and caring, he always asked me if I was okay or got me something to drink when I was thirsty. Matt became my first best friend while I was there and I almost completely forgot about the curse until our dinner was interrupted by one of Matt’s coughing fits, his white napkin was stained red by the time he was done. Matt changed during the months I was there, his tan skin became more pale, dark bags grew under his eyes and he became more thin. I noticed his brother tried ignoring what was happening to Matt, even Margot tried to ignore it but they knew just as much as me, Matt’s birthday was coming, in just two months time the curse would take its first victim.

I never asked Matt about the curse and why he chose to remain mortal but seeing him withering away infront of me but with everyday the need to ask him was growing stronger. Why would a someone choose a painful death over living forever? I needed to ask him.

[halethestilinskis]

Guys, my husband bought a computer duster thing that came with a thing of gel that you can use to clean in between your keys, so naturally, I used it. Only, it wouldn't go between the keys, it just kind of sat on top, so I let it sit for a bit to go in between the keys, and then I went to go finish making dinner. Anyways, I forgot about it until the next morning, and I was like no big deal, took the keys off, cleaned them, cleaned in between them, shut my computer down at the end of the day.

I turn it on first thing in the morning, as I usually play a game while I work or at least scroll through Facebook- none of the keys light up. Eric mentioned that I might just need to update it, so I did, and it worked, my keyboard is back. So I go to type a message, thinking I dodged a bullet on a $120 keyboard...nope. The left side shift, z, x, c do not work. The letters I wasn't worried about but when you play games on mouse and keyboard, shift is important. I think, whatever, I don't need to buy one right away, but best buy is having a sale and that keyboard is $90. I waited a couple of days, and the keyboard just kept getting worse. The v and b keys stopped working and then later in the day, I went to go type so see if any others went out, and it started typing random letter and random combinations, caps lock stopped working as well, but sometimes when you hit a different key, it turned it back on.

The slime didn't go into any of the switched but if you have a HyperX Elite Alloy 2 keyboard, just know, under the space bar is a large hole that goes directly to the motherboard, so it completely shorted it out. By the end, the left shift, z,x,c,v,b,a,s,d,f and 1,2,3,4 stopped working, and caps lock, and it wouldn't type anything readable.

So I go to best buy to buy a new keyboard and they didn't have the hyperx one, so I got a razer one, because Eric has one, so I knew I'd like it. Came home, it's not even remotely the same, and I hate it. The lights aren't bright and I can't figure out how to use the stupid light system to make my keyboard pretty. I got so frustrated I went to go lay down until Eric got home and then complained to him. He looked up the one he has and of course, the only place that has it, is in Warwick, RI, which is 30 minutes from us. I told him I didn't want to go alone, tried to get a friends to go with me but she was busy so he sighed and said he's go with me. Went all the way there, returned the dumb keyboard and picked this one up for like $54 bucks, which is MUCH cheaper, and I love this keyboard.

Moral of the story, don't use slime to clean your keys.

[neowitcher]

In-depth film review of MALCOLM & MARIE (2021)

FILM REVIEW MALCOLM & MARIE, 2021

Drama/Romance, 1h 46m 

Dir. Sam Levinson

Cast: Zendaya, John David Washington

Summary:

A director and his girlfriend's relationship is tested after they return home from his movie premiere and await critics' responses. (IMDB)

My review: (SPOILERS !!!)

I’ve seen Malcolm & Marie advertised as a love story multiple times but the only kind of “love” that was shown was the make-believe romance of a toxic relationship. There is nothing truly romantic about this film that makes you fantasise about your soulmate, nothing you might wish to emulate. Despite that, I think this portrayal of an abusive relationship is important because it occurs more often than one might realise. 

The film contains a cycle of verbal abuse where Marie, played by Zendaya, and Malcolm, played by John David Washington, each take turns in an attempt to hurt one another. Whenever Malcolm initiates intercourse with his girlfriend, Marie seems to have something on her mind that gets Malcolm in an overexaggerated argument with her where both sides hurt each other and end with that same attempt of going to bed together. I’ve seen multiple reviews complain about this but it was absolutely vital to the story: the constant cycle the couple is stuck in where they fight and make up whilst being entirely aware of it. They realise they care about and need each other but whether that could be considered romance is a whole other story. The constant tossing around of “I love you’s” when they are coming to the end of another argument shows how these words can be rendered meaningless if there are no loving actions to match them. 

The acting was impeccable on both sides. I could draw from reality and see people from my own life in the two characters. Zendaya managed to put on this look on her character’s face showing complete inner emptiness that hits you in the face. Likewise, Washington made it seem as if Malcolm was truly convinced of him being in love despite throwing around hurtful accusations and stories that he cannot take back. Throughout the film, you can go back and forth between feeling for a character and absolutely hating them. If you finish the film feeling nothing but hatred for one or both characters, that is very valid because that might mean you realise their relationship is harmful. That is a good thing. 

The acting is accompanied well with amazing camerawork. Especially at the start, there is a scene where Marie is sitting on the toilet and there are also scenes shot looking into the house from the outside. These kinds of scenes set the tone for the film: an intimate, ultimately heartbreaking occurrence between two lovers that shouldn’t be for the viewer’s eyes. Real-life instances of abusive relationships aren’t always public knowledge and thus being allowed to see their night unfold, you’re truly able to examine something very private. The focus on the character’s faces during arguments, both on the giving and receiving end, is simply powerful and once again enforces the strength of both actor’s skills. In particular, the bath scene was painful because it was incredibly well-acted and shot, I nearly had to hold my breath while watching it. One thing to note is that if the film wasn’t in black-and-white, it would not have come off the same way. The aesthetic, the use of light and dark, it might have even looked a bit sloppy were it in colour. 

Another amazing use in the film is that of music. The soundtrack is generally very much up my own alley but it also seems to be a way they converse with one another when they’re too angry to speak and it truly hits the mark. When Malcolm sings along to “I Forgot To Be Your Lover” by William Bell, assuming that will be enough of an apology, Marie asks him how that could make her feel better about their relationship. Returning to that cycle I touched upon earlier, they also seem to mimic each other’s actions continuously even after criticising them. This is quite obvious when Marie also uses a song to “talk” to Malcolm, this time “Get Rid Of Him” by Dionne Warwick, which has a much more passive-aggressive undertone. It seems to be a way of telling him he is undeserving of her yet she stays by his side because she “loves” him and that he should be thankful. 

Thankfulness, or lack thereof rather, is eventually the cause revealed for the rather dramatic evening. Marie claims she simply wanted a “thank you” but in the process in getting that, dare I say well-deserved, thanks, more issues are put to the foreground. Marie also claims how she wanted the role of Imani in her boyfriend’s film and now that it’s out there with another actress, she lost her chance to tell her story. It being “her story” is another element that brings about a whole discussion even though it eventually does seem to be hers. But the fact that there’s clearly more going on makes it such a weird ending. Malcolm says his thanks right before they go to bed even though by now, their relationship should have long been broken and staying simply doesn’t seem reasonable. Yet they are shown together at the final scene. Will they break up or do they stay together despite everything? It is quite unclear. I truly hope people realise that what they have is not healthy at all and that sometimes, a late “thank you” cannot save everything. But the uncertainty of that ending was still absolutely beautiful. They both have their faults, their traumas, and the open ending gives the viewer a chance to question, “What would I do in this situation?” But as Malcolm explicitly pointed out, “Cinema doesn’t need to have a f***ing message. It needs to have a heart and electricity.” And in that sense, this film could have just been an innocent invite to look inside the life of a couple with a damaged relationship. Sit back and enjoy the rollercoaster and even then, this film is absolutely amazing. I would love to see more like this. Finally, I don’t feel qualified to comment on Sam Levinson telling the story of a Black director but aside from the controversy surrounding that, the man can for sure direct a stunning film.

⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐

[a-royal-obsession]

The Prince of Wales to Prince Frederick

Queen’s House, 20 Jan. 1781

I have been waiting with anxious expectation for a letter from you; one of our packet boats was obliged to throw the mail overboard, and I fear there were some letters in that to yr. friends here. Alas!, my dearest Frederick, I have been obliged to part with my best friend, Lake*. He is set off for America. The ships, as soon as the wind is favorable, are to sail to Cork. He is still at Portsmouth expecting every hour to be summoned on board. Our parting, as you may suppose, was a very severe trial to us both, especially as we had received so great a shock in our late separation from you**. You know how much I love him, & therefore will easily conceive what a loss he is to me at the present moment, more especially as I have not you, my dear brother, with me, from whom I could always meet with disinterested advice...

I am to see Warwick Lake*** tomorrow about buying two fresh horses for you. I am packing up yr. writing box with a few new things wh. I think you will like to have abroad when you see ym. I have ordered you two plain frocks & some black breeches wh. will go by the messenger. Pray present my best love & affection to dear Joan**** & tell him he may expect a letter from me in a post or two when you receive yr. next from me, wherein I shall treat him comme il faut. Adieu, my dearest brother. I have not another moment to spare to write to you for I must attend our usual circle of old tabbies...

P.S. I forgot to mention to you yt. I wish you wd. enquire what will be the best method for your phaeton to travel over to you.

* Gerard Lake, Viscount Lake (1744-1808), of the 1st Regiment of Foot Guards, one of the Prince’s earliest friends; he was his First Equerry 1780-6 and 1787-96, and from 1796 until his death he was Gentleman attendant on the Prince.

** Prince Frederick, recently gazetted a Colonel, had left for Hanover on 30 December 1780. There he was to study German and French and complete his military education. At their parting the Prince of Wales ‘was so much affected with the misfortune of being deprived for so long a period of the sole companion of his youth, that he stood in a state of entire insensibility, totally unable to speak or to express the concern he felt so strongly’.

*** Gerard Lake’s younger brother.

**** Colonel Richard Grenville (1744-1823), one of the Prince’s friends and for many years at the head of the Duke of York’s Household. Described by Fanny Burney in 1787 as ‘a silent, reserved valetudinary’.

[greetingsfromthebottomofthewell]

THE PUPPETMASTER’S REGIME: ACT I

[directory]

things could go exactly how you want it. and i could be exactly how you want me to be.

[source] [triggers]

Have you ever heard of the musical "The Puppetmaster's Regime"? Most likely, you haven't. In fact, most die-hard theatre lovers are often unfamiliar with this little production. It was a 1934 stage musical written by anonymous authors of the music, lyrics, and book. It starred upcoming performers such as Timmy "cutie-pie" Wright, Sally Wilkes, Henry Gregory, as well as many others. At the time, it was the most expensive show to date. It was said to be the biggest, most spectacular stage show to San Francisco and back.

From the testament of Tyler Warwick (1901-1983) "I went to see the show about a week after I turned thirty-three. The ticket was a gift from my sister, who knew how much I loved the theatre. I remember the signs, they were huge and rather gaudy. Oh, and the playbill--it was just a single red dot with a doll-like face on it. It seemed a bit melancholy for what I assumed was to be a musical-comedy, but I didn’t pay much attention. I was going to see a Broadway show."

From the testament of Georgina Long (1911-1984) "The cast was made completely of 'new' people. Young children and adults alike who were longing to get back on stage after Vaudeville became old news--it was quite charming really. But I did take a bit of notice to that odd little playbill...all the playwrights and lyricists and everyone were all unnamed, and that design...it was a little red drop with a peculiar little face in it. Not even a title, just that little red dot. I had come to New York with my parents on an impromptu vacation after my grandmother had died...a Broadway musical seemed just like what we needed. (…)"

From the testament of Carl Hannigan (1920-1993) "I do recall most of the first act. Then again, who could forget? The story was a little hard to follow at first. There was a little boy who lived in a puppet shop, or maybe he lived down the street--no, no, he worked in the puppet shop, but he was homeless, so they provided him with a home there. The kid's name was Mori..Mortim...something weird...oh yes, it was Morietum...no, Morietur. Morietur, yes.

Anyways, Morietur's employer was this old man named Mr. Obcisor. I remember his name because his character was unimaginably unsettling--bouncing all around and getting angry and the little boy, all while keeping this nasal, gigglish voice. Anyhow, the production opened to Morietur and the odd fellow getting into an argument over the boy not doing his work, then two of them sang this peculiar number about puppets...it wasn't a normal song...or at least, the musicality wasn't normal. The lyrics were very enchanting, and the music did this odd flowing thing about the room…instruments would get very quiet without losing any power to it; maybe it was just the acoustics--I'm most likely explaining it all wrong. Oh well. But...in time, we got used to it, and the show progressed..."

From the testament of Gabriel Johnston (1919-1976) "This youngster, Mori- Morietur, something like that, was quite insecure about his stay in the puppet shop--very paranoid that his boss would throw him out. I was an aspiring lyricist at the time, and I'd done the lyrics to a few original community theater projects, so I was fascinated with the wording in these songs. I scribbled down a few lyrics after I’d went home. Unless I'm remembering wrong, the little puppet-shop-boy and Mr. Obi-something had a introductory duet, and then Morietur went off and had a short lament in a different, much more somber tune:

If I stay, and do everything right I can live in the day, and steer (stay?) clear of the night Out there in the night, in the dark, there’s a world of why’s (lies?)… I can hear them whisper… And sometimes I can see their eyes…

The ‘eyes’ comment confused me for a moment, but then I assumed that he was meaning the stars. It seemed as though the number was unnecessarily tragic and poorly situated within the show, but it was a minor quibble.

Now, Morietur had a girl friend named Trahunt and a boy friend named Adolebit. After interrupting the final note in his lament, they all gushed about how much they loved puppets...but they couldn’t afford one from Morietur’s guardian’s shop. and so they transitioned into this vibrant little song about joining forced to raise money so they could afford to build their own puppet. After this, the three all headed for school, and the story took a sharp turn in a different direction.

(After several attempts to begin again) Now...they had this really nasty teacher or headmistress named Madame Reperio, or something like that. They had a reprise of the song from before and she overheard them, and at first her remarks about the children's fantasies were somewhat comical...but then the light fixed on her and she sang this heartbreaking little song. What the song was about was up for interpretation. It was somewhat about love, but it had all these strange puppet metaphors. The only lyric that’s stayed with me is ‘Stroll through the wood-cracks, show them your pains/The hole in your throat and the strings in your veins’

Then, she just went on this little breakdown--I assumed it was a poorly-conceived character trait. She started singing off key and went to beat one of the kids. The curtain fell, and there was a scuffle heard onstage. People whispered to each other, but a rising new orchestra piece silenced us. The curtain rose again, and we were right outside the puppet shop."

From the testament of Louis Roberts (1905-1967)

"Morietur and his friends went into the town and sang a song about selling...dolls, I think it was. Because the little girl made dolls in her spare time, and she had to sell them. I remember those strange background characters. The company was so absolutely monotonous...they all wore some form of dark clothing, and each of them were very, very tall. I can remember how they all had their faces covered up by hair or hats or veils...none of them spoke. None of them even sang during the course of the show. They just walked in perfectly straight lines, as if they weren't even part of the production. Anyways, this strange song about buying dolls...it had absolutely no life. But for some reason, these children were putting their all into it. I could see the pain in their faces as they hit those high notes. And something else...as the lyrics went on...they seemed to...get...a little...it is so hard to explain. They all looked like they were...hurting a little. They looked so pale and nervous all of a sudden. Coming from a stage family, I convinced myself it was only stage-fright, but it still made me just a tiny bit anxious."

From the testament of Carrie Laurie (1921-1995)

"The kids all got their money from this strange man in cloak who sang a simple little tune...I still remember the lyrics:

Despite the fall of rain, little kiddies, Everyone needs a little song- Wooden dolls give you pain, little kiddies, Go on, little kiddies, run along...

His character was never really explained. But I remember how truly gripping the melody was...so haunting, it got you right there in the gut. Even the little kid actors seemed a bit unsettled by the new turn of the show. They all kept stuttering over their lines as they spoke and sang, and then a light bulb over the stage went out. Everyone kind of gasped and one man I think even laughed. The noise it made really spooked the little girl, little miss whatshername. All the names were so very strange. All I know is that light bulb had gone out, and the actors were stumbling across the stage...and the whole thing looked like a terrible flop.

When the children reentered the puppet shop, they presented Mr. Obcisor with the puppet pieces they’d acquired when the audience wasn’t looking, singing a braggedy sort of chant, ‘we done/we done/diddy-diddy done-done did it!'. It was obnoxious, but thankfully brief. After that, the light fixed on Morietur, and he began another tune. The song was a dud, and all I remember was that he flubbed the last line. The lyric had something to do with 'the final stroke of light', or some sort of long-winded moon-based metaphor. All I know is that he forgot the words, and all that could be heard in that theater was the sounds of car horns outside the building. The boy...he didn't seemed shocked or embarrassed or nothing, but his posture improved out of the blue, and the orchestra stopped. He projected half of the word ‘sorry”, then suddenly he burst forth in wordless vocalization. The music resumed, and the other characters began to join him.”

From the testament of Marcus Edger (1918-1968)

"...So after that bulb went out, the whole set started falling apart. We, the audience, tried our best to ignore it. But it was near impossible. I saw two sets of very angry attendees get up and leave. The set piece for the puppet shop screeched its way onto the stage, and we could see in the far back the paper sky background falling down. The lights went dim in what we assumed was an attempt to hide the malfunctioning set pieces. The kids, with the help of an oddly monotonous Mr. Obcisor, constructed the puppet...and this strange song played. To this day I don't know what they were saying. It sounded vaguely like Latin, but I went on to study Latin in college the next year, and found that guess to come out flat. I remember how it enchanted me, though. It enchanted all of us. We all began to feel this...thing...course through us. I remember a few people around us who were humming in an attempt to rid themselves of the sound, and I could hear people in the front rows crying out in what sounded like pain.

The actors themselves sounded as though they were about to pass out at any moment. They were doing this odd sort of ballet and they were tripping all over themselves, and a few more lights started flashing and breaking. We all sat and waited for the song to end, when...when...I'm sorry. (pause) I'm so sorry...I can't..."

From the testament of George Frank (1899-1999)

"...The lights were going on and off at random, and we were all praying the damn song would end soon. It had this force going with it...it was sucking us in. We could feel it. The little kids and the puppet man were dancing all around when...well, you see...(pause)...I really thought I could do it. I thought I could do it...I was right there in the fifth row, so I saw…but I can't..."

From the testament of Carolyn Mark (1901-1949)

"...The lighting was completely out of control. It was a mess. And that song...it was awful. But something about it...it was powerful. It had a force. I watched intently as the dancers began to skip around and...and...we...I thought they were...the lights..."

The actual events of the final scene of Act I of "The Puppetmaster's Regime" has been up for debate for many years. Not many people are willing to speak out about what happened on stage during those final moments. Many believe that there is no actual record of an interview with somebody who was willing the tell the story…this is not true, as one testament survives from a Billy Prescott, who was only six at the time of the show. At such a young age, one might assume he was less affected by what he recalls happening:

"...I was just a kid, so I don't remember much. All I can vaguely recall is that song...it was giving me a headache. I turned to my father to ask him if we could leave, when suddenly I saw the stage illuminate with this bright red light. The music stopped as one instrument after another died out, and swear I heard pounding underneath the stage. Everyone was questioning what was happening...even the actors. I remember that teacher lady being pushed through the door of the shop...and then everyone else came flying in from offstage, toppling on top of each other like rag dolls. There were people there who didn’t fit the design scheme of the production--stagehands and technical workers, I assume now. I remember the little girl screamed at the audience, then ran behind the shopkeeper while other actors continued singing. A few people started crying right there on the stage when suddenly this...curtain...came forward.

It's hard to describe what it looked like. It was a clear plastic wall, and it came down from above. Several years later I saw "Carrie: The Musical" on Broadway during one of its few runs...that thing that came down on the promgoers when Carrie was using laser lights to kill everyone? It was just like that. A bunch of set pieces from earlier scenes came down on the sides of the stage, trapping all of the actors in the center. Then chaos erupted.

The actors stopped singing, and were pounding on the plastic wall. Then, for some reason, they began to back away. As if some unseen assailants were coming towards them, they fled to the back of the stage--all except the little boy. The little boy who hadn’t stopped singing. Then, amid all that screaming and crying and shooting, the curtain flew out, and everything was in silence.

Due to that odd abruptness, the audience thought it was just a horrible ending to a terrible musical. We were about to get up when suddenly the curtain opened up again, revealing the stationary plastic wall upon which was a single light fixed on the little boy, Morietur. He had clawed his way through the plastic wall...we could see the blood on his hands...but…(pause)…the way he looked was…(…)

There were strings attached to every part of his body. We could all see his stomach...or lack of, anyway. It was like somebody had put a huge ice cream scooper in his belly. He was sobbing all over the stage, twitching and swinging around. It was a sight so unnatural looking, so painful and twisted and wrong...even now, I can't seem to wrap my head around how, but...(pause)...and so...and so everyone looked at him, not knowing what to do...and then he spoke...

"Help me...please...help me..." was all I could make out, and then he vomited and suddenly collapsed. The plastic wall lifted, and lights all came on. We saw the rest of them.

They were all dead. Every one of them looked exactly like the little boy. Everyone had those strings attached...and we watched as all of them, even the little boy...as their strings were pulled on. Their lifeless bodies rose on cue, and they bowed."

However, we cannot be certain that this a credible account...but unfortunately, it's all we have to work with. "The Puppetmaster's Regime" sparked horrible debate among the theatre companies. Several audience members had to be treated to special therapy for years to come...and the show itself was covered up by the police. For years to come the theatre company, as well as the police department, who had never managed to solve the gruesome murders of the cast and crew of the show, denied that the play ever existed. However, in recent years the story has resurfaced...sparking much new debate on the subject.

The theater that housed the musical still refuses to acknowledge the show's existence, and most theatre historians know nothing about the show in general. To this day, the identities of the anonymous lyric and music writers are unknown, and (to our knowledge) all recordings of the songs and police reports have been destroyed. However, through certain pieces of historical documentation, we can gather a bit of information on the production: The show itself had its first workshop in London in 1928. One of the songs, "Get A Puppet" was recorded with vocals by twelve-year-old Garris Creely. However, this recording has been lost, but is supposedly available in the black market of the internet. Other than that, no official records were ever made. Some ancient accounts say that an illegal audio taping of the final scene of Act I was recorded from backstage, but we cannot be certain that this is anything but a rumor.

As for any official memorabilia, very little of anything has survived. Until her death in 1994, theatrical historian Gladys Masters kept two large-scale posters, which she displayed at charity events--but these have since disappeared. Early costumes by Alice Lively, who had been the costume designer on Puppetmaster until she quit after payment disputes, are on display at the Pickett-Dahny Theatrical Museum in Dover, England. Other than that, playbills from its premiere night were given out, but most audience members destroyed their copies after seeing the show. Legend has it, around ten to twenty survive.

On another note, over the years the show has grown a small cult fan base, and here recently, an off-Broadway revival has been scheduled to premiere soon.

[next]

[mulder-isms]

The tour (A sorta fairytale) - Thorcid fanfic

A\N: Hey there! First fic of the year! In the light of the events of the season 8 tour I decided to write what happened in between days :)

This is a multi chaper fic, and part I happens during few weeks before the tour and how the idea for this dress come to life

Talk to me and tell me what you think, feedback is always welcome and heartily appreciated  ❤

“I’m the worst boyfriend to ever exist”

Shane groaned as the piercing and throbbing pain hit his temper. The familiar aspects of a terrible hangover were kicking in.

He took a sip of the water inside the mug, the little waves of the liquid making his head spin. His hips were leaning in the kitchen counter, and the water was reaching though his shirt but he didn’t mind.

Alvy, his roommate was sitting in the kitchen table and pursed his lips shaking his head not bothered by his zombie friend. He was having a bowl of cereal while going through a magazine. He knew Shane’s flair for drama very well.

“What did you do now?”

He inquired before taking in a huge spoon of cornflakes. Shane was still groaning, staring blank at the kitchen tiles in front of him.

“Yesterday was Beckie’s birthday and I was at the bar with the girls, and you know, I haven’t seen them in ages. I drank too much and passed out. When I woke drooling on the table it was like 3 AM. I simply forgot”

Shane confessed trying to conjure Alvaro’s sympathy using his lowest and trembling voice. He joined his friend on the table and analyzed his face. Alvy just kept peacefully eating.

“I haven’t got the courage to check my messages. Jamin is going to kill me. Ugh.”

Then he crossed his arms and hid his face inside, making a huge thump sound, like a sleeping student during a chemistry class.

Alvy deep sighed placing the bowl in the previous position before Shane’s little earthquake.

“He is not going to kill you. That bitch is whipped. He won’t do anything and that’s scary for Acid Betty. I saw him letting people have it for way less. But you’re an asshole. You need to make it up. Like, REALLY make it up”

Shane raised his head fast, maybe too fast as he winced in pain. Then his face lit up as he had the most brilliant idea.

“I need to suck his dick for two days straight” he suggested as a plausible solution.

Alvy wasn’t impressed.

“No. You would enjoy that too much. You need to do something that will make you suffer but will make him very happy.”

Shane thought about all the BMDS scenarios and it was like Alvy could see through his eyes.

“Not that you sick fuck. Just think about something nice and cute. Jamin is the best boyfriend you ever had if you screw this up, girl, I swear…”

“Okay, something cute and not sexual. Riiiight. Are you sure it can’t be sexual? I give the best mouth anyone could ever have and he loves when-”

“SHANE!” Alvy interrupted and then continued eating and Shane’s engines were working already. He was feeling his blood flow running faster, his levels of anxiety building up.

The phone was there on the sink and he didn’t want to look at the damage.

The beginning of the new year didn’t mean the beginning of a new Shane. He was still trying to kick some old habits.

A year ago, he was full of hope that his life was going to change forever, he was going to be recognized for what’s been his passion, his job, his fire to live.

He’d gain fans and travel around the world with his Ru sisters.

He never thought even for a second he would gain love. The most unexpected gift. That Jamin was going to be home. A home way bigger than his tiny and busy Brooklyn apartment. The constant song in his head.

These first weeks with no gigs were pure domestic bliss. Jamin, being older and supposedly wiser, was constantly teaching Shane “how to couple”.

Shane was a regular presence in his apartment so he needed to adjust to his rules.

Jamin likes his bedroom tidy. He loves cold showers and Shane loves the water boiling. When they kiss still fresh from the water their temperatures balance each other. Jamin loves old 80’s cartoons and has a collection of suspicious underwear.

He is not a talker in the morning and quite moody when something at the design agency goes wrong. He is an excellent brother. He is always paying attention to what Shane says even when he is just whispering to himself. And Shane is always surprised by that because he used to people stop listening to him at some point.

Shane thought about all that while he was staring at his mug of water.

*

Jamin hated being sick.

Being sick meant increasing getting worst at some point and then getting better. Or going to the hospital. His most dreadful place.

He was lying on his couch all covered in a blanket watching TV. Beckie’s leftover beers were still on his coffee table.

The symptoms of a possible cold were all checking. He was feverish, feeling his breathing uneven and his voice was sounding more nasal. He reached for the phone on the coffee table and browsed to check Shane’s last messages again.

11:05 pm

“When I get home we’re gonna finish watching Willow. People are judging me because I said I would sleep with him.”

1:03 am

“TELL BECKIE THAT I LOVE HER!1!! I’M LEAVING IN 10 minutes ”

1:40 am

“I can’t make make it………. don’t be mad girl. I love you. God I fucking love you. You still love me, right? ……..Woooo?”

Jamin groaned feeling the anger building up. He still loved him very much, which made him even more annoyed.

He tossed the phone on the armchair when suddenly the doorbell rang. Beckie had left not even an hour ago. He gathered all the strength to be up, his whole body aching and dragged himself to get the door. He was wearing only his pajamas shorts, so he fetched a dirty t-shirt that was resting on the armchair and put it on.

He didn’t bother to look at the magic eye because he knew it was Shane the other side. Shane’s energy was constantly surrounding him and he could feel it from miles away. He had the keys to the apartment, it didn’t make sense to ring the bell. Jamin shook his head, preparing himself to not forgive him, and open the door in one quick move.

“Hey!” Shane opened a cheap smile in front of him. He was wearing Acid Betty’s merch, the pink t-shirt, and holding a bakery box full of donuts, and pillow donuts were on his arms like bracelets too.

Jamin was a bit overwhelmed by the Katy Perry music video set up but he recovered quickly.

“I don’t know what’s happening here…” he uttered in a low voice and coughed a bit and Shane’s happy expression melt down and he approached Jamin, that back away. “But you’re not getting away with this” he reassured coughing between the words.

“You’re sick? I told you to get some pills when your throat started scratching…” Shane responded worried placing his palm on Jamin’s sweaty forehead and Jamin tilted his head annoyed, resisting the touch.

“Shane, where the fuck were you last night? Beckie was expecting to see you. You told her you were going to play. And you kept drinking your ass off anyway. You’re a fucking asshole” he answered in all his I’m-really-pissed persona, but sounding quite tired.

“I’ve already talked to Beckie. I just came back from her apartment and I intend to pay dinner and play her a serenade. You know I love her, right?”

Jamin crossed his arms in front of his chest still not fully convinced. Shane seemed hurt, but he wasn’t going to shake it off that easily.

“You always do this. You think these little things don’t matter but they do. You can’t just ditch people or forget important things and expect them to not be mad. You live in your own planet but you need some Earth manners”

Shane looked like a puppy that was caught after destroying his owner’s favorite couch. He held an apprehensive expression of someone that was expecting his final sentence and yet completely adorable. Covered in donuts, the cheeks and nose still rose and drowsy puffy eyes. Fuck, he loved hangover Shane.

“I’m really, reaaally sorry. I swear I tried to leave. But the girls were there and I haven’t seen them in ages and-

Jamin opened his mouth to preach him again but Shane raised his hand as a gesture to continue.

“And I know I-I should just have messaged you” and then he started walking in circles and gesticulating. “You know, explaining that I wouldn’t be able to make it. I don’t even remember if I texted you anything?” he asked stopping to move rubbing his forehead, the bracelet donut sliding down on his forearm.

Jamin chuckled.

One scrape of ice just melt down. Shane’s charms were the worst.  He hated himself for that chuckle.

“Anyways I’m sorry, there’s no excuse, I’m an asshole but I’m still learning this whole relationship thing. It’s…it’s a sorta fairytale. It makes me stunned most of the time and please just-

Jamin interrupted him putting one finger on his mouth.

“You texted me several times, you dummy. We’re supposed to finish Willow today. You confessed you have the hots for Warwick Davis to the girls”

Then he picked up the donuts box and let Shane in. He tried to recollect anything from last night but the conversations were a blur.  

“I don’t remember anything” he replied following him and taking off his shoes. “And I was too afraid of checking my phone”

“Yeah, you always afraid of that” Jamin scoffed and groaned as he lowered himself to sit on the floor in front of the coffee table. He propped himself with crossed legs and took a bite in the chocolate donut covered by a pornographic baker’s sugar topping.

Shane winced with him and sat by his side. Watching carefully his reaction.

“I hope these donut bracelets are for me” Jamin noticed with full mouth, a bit of the topping resting on the corner of his mouth. Shane took the bracelets off and put them on the table.

“Yes, they are! I noticed that donut dress you’re making I thought it would be a great asset?” Shane replied excited showing off the donuts. “Donut first!” he pointed one in the opposite direction and then let go a soft giggle.

Jamin smiled. He was learning to pay attention after all. He couldn’t be mad with him for more than 10 minutes. It was ridiculous.

“My throat is so sore, ugh. I can’t taste the chocolate in all its glory” he complained chewing slowly.

Shane continued looking at him feeling a little bit hesitant. Knowing Shane he was probably feeling guilty even about Jamin’s nasty cold.

“What?” Jamin asked impatiently with his gaze.

“You have a thing on your…” then Shane put his hand one the corner of his own mouth to show Jamin the spot he needed to clean.

Jamin wasn’t bothered. He knew Shane was hesitant to approach him. He wanted to make him suffer a little bit more but his desire for him was bigger.

“Come clean it up” he simply answered rolling eyes with his own weakness. Shane reacted as if he was finally out of the discipline corner.

Jamin nodded in agreement as a permission for him to scooch. He opened a broad smile and crawled to kiss Jamin.

It was soft and slow, lingering on Jamin’s lips to taste the chocolate on his saliva. Then Shane opened his mouth a little, smiling and feeling Jamin’s heavy breathing. He kissed the corner of Jamin’s mouth, licking it slowly like a languid kitten, placing a quick peck on the spot as a final touch.

Jamin was motionless drinking the sensation. Their eyes met and Shane giggled again proud of his work.

He grabbed one donut and laid next to Jamin, using his lap as a pillow. Jamin was browsing his phone on the coffee table and the other hand unconsciously reached to play with Shane’s dreads.

“These are really good. Fuck. Mucus and crispy cookies chocolate should be a new flavor. Let’s sell it in Whole Foods” he replied full mouth laughing.

Jamin completely forgot he was sick. He thought about saying sorry but Shane didn’t seem to care about it and it was too late so he just shrugged.

“You are so warm. You’re probably feverish” Shane talked again almost finishing his donut.

“I need to get better. Next week we’re hitting the tour” he replied absently but Shane glanced up at him opening a huge smile and clapping hands.

“Our first together. We must set some ground rules. First one: no sex while we’re in drag. You don’t tuck but I do, bitch” he replied standing up to get some water in the kitchen and Jamin took the chance to get back to the couch and cover himself up again.

Shane kept talking alone in the kitchen as he started to fix himself some bread with cream cheese too. “I know, I know you don’t care about people knowing about us, but I do think our private life is still private. Bob and Naomi know and that’s enough for me. I think Kim Chi probably knows too because Naomi tells her everything.” Then he started laughing remembering of the Christmas incident “Well, Pearl doesn’t know she knows. The information it’s probably somewhere in the back of that bitch’s stoner head”

Shane ate the bread fast and when he got back to the living room Jamin was wrapped like a taco and already snorting, in heavy sick sleep.

He observed him for few seconds and sighed relieved. He approached him and felt his forehead again, placing a kiss afterwards.

“I’m here if you need anything. I swear” he whispered in his ear and Jamin didn’t move. But he listened like a sweet lullaby. He was always listening to Shane.

[the-coolest-mallard]

Homework Woes

Yes, you guessed it. Louie and his experience with homework.

Words required for Lena: 2006 exactly

There were days like today where Louie desperately wished he could just drop out of school and become a gangster. Or maybe he’d ditch school and join a circus. Or somehow out of the blue he’d make it big in a rock band and never have to study for any test or do any homework ever again. Oh how badly he wished he could do any of those things instead of stare down the assignment that Mr. Lyons had given them because he hated his students. Louie was sure the guy had to be hating them.

And okay, Simba Lyons was a cool dude when he wasn’t teaching. But teaching meant that he gave Louie stuff to do, and Louie didn’t like stuff. Especially not stuff about the medieval times and the days where people smelled really bad and thought kings were the shit. Maybe the kings had the shits, but Louie was fairly sure not a single one of those old farts was any good. The only dude that was interesting was one of the Henrys, and only because he went full psycho!

But no, here was Louie, stuck writing a paper on some asshole King Richard III. Well, he was doing his best. But Uncle Donald was working, and Huey was off doing who knew what, so Louie didn’t really have any good helpers to make sure his work made sense so far. As he glanced down at what he had, he couldn’t help but be dismayed by his efforts.

Rihard the third was burn the youngest sun and was considred to be a loser. No one cared.

Well, at least Louie could kind of sympathize for the dude. Like Louie, he was the youngest probably talentless guy who nobody really cared about. Though he would guess that this Richard dude could probably spell better than Louie could. His letters were all over the place. He was all over the place. He was pretty sure this Richard dude caused a big family drama, but he wasn’t sure that he had the right family drama written down. He knew about the Henry that chopped heads off, but that wasn’t the Henry that Richard’s family was against. At least he was pretty sure. Why did English history have to have so many repeated names for royalty? It was so damn confusing!

Okay focus Louie. Focus! He told himself, eyebrows furrowing as he glanced at the textbook he had, as well as extra material he’d researched on academic sites online. Well, he’d found an article or two before he’d completely lost focus and started playing games on his computer. But he was getting there. Slowly. Probably. Well he had like two sentences written in his draft. That was two more than there had been an hour ago. God help him. Louie was going to die writing this paper, he was sure of it. 

For a moment Louie found himself tempted to try to reach out to Mark. Maybe he’d text Mark about how the next guy to die by crazy medieval death would be Louie! Or he’d text Mark and tell him that he couldn’t do anymore of this paper and that he should come over. Or he should send Mark cool pictures of himself and insist Mark send some back. Anything other than actually work on this medieval paper for History class. “Okay...okay if i just add this part here. This part is important I can do that and it’ll be...yeah.”

Richard’s bro Edward became King of England after people bitched about who was sposed to be King. He becm King Edward IV on March 4th, 1461. This made our guy Richie a royal prince.

Louie dropped his pen and sighed, staring at the tragic abyss that was all the blank space of his notebook. He’d had to ban himself from his computer to write it (though it would have good spellcheck, because there were just too many ways to distract himself on there) and now he felt like his hand was going to die. He’d only written a few sentences. God, why couldn’t Louie be smart like his brother? Or at least let him be smart for these occasions where it kind of mattered? Louie dreamed of getting through this paper with minimal crying.

His head jerked up at that, and he found his fingers already twitching for his phone. Speaking of crying, Louie should text Tae and see how bad off he had it with this whole thing. He was pretty sure Tae would hate this just as much as he did. Louie debated over what to say, before he grinned and just sent: ‘couldn’t give a fuck bot dis Richard dude. Howre u doin with ur old fart paper?’ Louie then forced himself to set his phone aside again and stare at the words on his computer screen. This Richard dude dealt with a fucked up situation. That part Louie had been able to focus on. It was just hard to write about said fucked up situation without writing it terribly. 

He already knew what comments he’d get with this: decent fact finding, but could stand to write in a more academic way. This is a research paper, not a casual conversation among friends. Stuff like that. He’d probably get more shit than that, but Louie was pretty familiar with all the red marks and comments he got for his shitty work. “Ugggggggggggggggggghhhhhhhhhh,” Louie whined, throwing his head back and slumping in his chair. How did smart people do this? Louie struggled so hard to get through a paragraph!

Maybe he should try music. Louie hadn’t considered that option yet, but it was definitely one that could potentially get him through his paper. Music had to be it! After all, spotify had all kinds of study playlists and shit, things to help someone get through the work they were trying to do. Maybe Louie would do that. So he went ahead and switched on one of those study playlists and started reading stuff on this Richard dude again. But then the music was so calming, and Louie’s eyelids started drooping. His head started to drop, and then the next thing he knew he was jerking awake and looking at the clock.

“Oh shit! You slept for an hour Louie? Oh goooood why am I such a fucking idiooooot,” he moaned, putting his head in his hands and shaking his head desperately. This was so bad. Louie was so doomed if he didn’t get this paper done by midnight. He had four hours left or something, but he needed every damn second of that time. Writing all of this was so much harder for him than other people. Other people didn’t struggle to keep focused on one thing for as long as Louie did. He was going to fail and end up as a horribly sad janitor and everyone would laugh at him. Louie could see a tragic future.

So he decided he was going to pep up his mood a little. He took a nap? Now it was time to play some lively music and get back into it. Louie turned on Green Day. Louie started bobbing his head enthusiastically, glancing over at his computer to see what he could add about this Richard guy. If he were truly honest, the history was kind of interesting, but Louie still couldn’t keep himself focused enough to get through it more efficiently. He was on to the next little segment for himself, eyebrows furrowing as he debated how to put it.

Richie becm duk of gloucster n a knight of the roun table? or just a knight? something bout a garter. He was placed in a house of the kingmaker guy and grew to be an adult there i guess. ADULTS WERE 16. means im an adult and-

Louie cut himself off. Not important for the purposes of the essay, but he did debate over coming at his uncle with that. Like, ‘listen Uncle Donald, I know there are some dumb rules here, but I’m an adult in the medieval world. I can do what i want!’ Yeah, that probably wouldn’t go over very well, but Louie liked to believe he could have more control over his life. It gave him a satisfying feeling. Or the pretense of satisfaction. Much more satisfying than working on this thrice cursed paper for History. 

He tapped his pen against his chin, tilting his head as he tried to review some more notes and stuff when an absolute bop of a Green Day song came on. “Oh shit, gotta turn that up.” Louie turned up the volume for his speakers and got to his feet, dramatically playing the guitar for the song. It was too good to ignore! “I walk a lonely road the only one that I have ever knowwwwwwwn don’t know where it goes but it’s home to me and I walk alone!” Louie belted it out, not caring about who would here because well, apparently none of his family was around to help him suffer less. He rocked the air guitar, letting his head rock with it and himself pretend he was the amazingly talented Mike Dirnt. He forgot himself for a song before sighing and heading back towards his table and misery. Why did history have to suck so badly?

“Okay Richard, man...couldn’t you help a guy out and write this for me?” Louie suggested with a laugh, shaking his head as he glanced down at what he’d written. He really didn’t have much at all. He was doomed to a life of failure and crime probably. While his brother Huey became Prime Minister or some shit one day, Louie would be nothing. A no good hoodlum or a janitor or a tragically broke musician or something. The longer this went on the more depressing his future looked. He could cry. “Right so so...war of the roses started again right? It stopped chilling out....when.” His eyebrows furrowed, glancing at his paper and the computer with a sigh.

The rose war started up agin in 1469 when Richard and King Edwrds bro n the kingmaker guy Warwick were like ‘f u Edward’ n seized control of Eddie an his gov. Our dude Richie stayed loyal cuz he wasnt a piece of shit bro.

Louie glanced over what he wrote and shrugged. Was it informal? Yes. Did he basically know the history of this dude? Sort of. Mostly. Honestly, at least Louie was making the story more accessible. Maybe this paper could be his Hamilton. He was just offering it to the masses. The masses wanted information that wasn’t horribly bland and basic! Louie was totally delivering on that. In his opinion anyway. He was still probably going to fail this paper. 

But he had made it so far, so Louie let himself keep trying, figuring he still had a few hours leeway to make it sound more “academic” and “boring” rather than his actual writing and thinking style. Why were academic people so lame? Louie sighed, leaning over his paper again to start writing.

Warwick n the dumbass bro reinstated one of the Henrys...3? 4? who the fuck evn knows? 5? Before our man Richie and his bro King Eddie came back n KICKED ASS MAN. Took the throne back after a year lol bitches u tried.

Louie rubbed his eyes tiredly, getting up to go grab himself a snack. He was working hard. He was doing better than usual. Usually by now he’d have given up and just started playing games (or called Mark to do something actually fun). Instead Louie brought himself some crisps, a can of soda, and some chocolate for when it got too depressing to last without sweetness. He could do this! He could do this right? As it got later he started to debate the merit of selling his soul and offering it to Mr. Lyons. Maybe then the dude would go easy on Louie’s best effort. He really had tried.

[beliefisabeautifullarmour]

Sunday Night 11:38, 21/10

Life has been quite hectic recently. On rare occasion do I end up tuck in bed before 12, hence the luxury of this post. The past 2 nights I went out drinking. Pushed myself to the limit on Friday, Saturday was just “chill-ish” I guess. Friday was kind of a rollercoaster night. Drinking hardcore was definitely not in the books from the getgo. I started the day picturing myself having dinner at home and then playing dota or watching tv series until the wee hours of the next day. However, a quick 2 pints after work led to a session at beer factory, that led to a cash studio sesh with the football guys. I totally forgot about the dinner plans with the Warwick gang gang tho. 😔😔😔

Also, JB plans to cheer Lester up went up in smokes because his grandfather passed that day. :(

I’m still really curious about the sitch with Lester and Nicole. Can’t remember if I did an expose about his, not so complicated, but toxic relationship. But I hope that he has/will be able to see the light soon.

Saturday was another unintended night full of surprises. Turns out you meet a lot of old friends when you go out drinking... anyway, the plan was to stay at home and dota. I was doing pretty good for the afternoon and dinner portion of the day. It was all going as plan. Save the money, save the calories, save the lungs. It was going to be a smoke free weekend. But I was unfortunately summoned into donning my battle gear and headed out. Unsurprisingly, I didn’t have a lot of fun. It was kind of a... neutral mood. Wasn’t worth the harmful substances going through my body. I think I was too tired. In bed early today to hopefully fix all these issues before the start of the week.

I can hear faint thunder sounds as I write on. O weather gods. Please please please grant me good sleep, refreshed eyes and a hungry motivational spirit. You know I need it.

I feel kinda -ish about abruptly leaving things in a bad place. While it has only been a few days I feel it biting at me. The answer I give myself is give it time. But I know from experience... sometimes giving things too much time would only make them irreparable. The number of people who I have chosen to give up on completely simply because I felt them guilty of letting time get in the way... it’s pretty fucked up how I deal with people. Giving myself reasons to kick them out of my life simply because I hold them to my standards. (I guess the real debate is whether or not my standards are reasonable or not).

Take for instance, Lester. When Nicole was in Shanghai. He felt that things were off. She wasn’t giving off her usual enthusiasm and interest in him. She berated him for being too sensitive and not trusting. Turns out, she was “cheating” behind his back and playing him like a puppet.

My ex. Same thing. I told myself, since she said it’s not me. It isn’t. I chose to go against instinct because of the trust I had for her.

While fact remains that this is a sample size of 2. Nonetheless, I am convinced that people act out for a reason. While I am miles of away from being in such a situation (is it tho?), I think the same logic pretty much applies.

BAAAAAM think too much about shit like this and being hyper sensitivity about things. That’s why I’m single and will be until 50.... haha...