#i love u shakespeare.

[sound-of-ocean]

Credits : Lyra Wren on TikTok and Instagram

[kindercelery]

Frog man

[incorrect-ikevamp-quotes]

So was anyone going to tell me Faust is a bigger menace than EVERYONE in the game put together or like. Was I supposed to play the Impossible Choices event (Vincent and Charles ver) myself. I LOVE that he's the definition of: 'being smarter doesn't make me more mature or helpful, it just makes my inherent lust for chaos/entropy all the more unstoppable' This shit FUCKS

I think this is the first time I've ever seen a character make Shakespeare's life a living hell and the latter didn't expect/see it coming, that was AMAZING. Mf was out here like "What the hell??? You lot don't make me suffer I make YOU suffer. Let a man obsess IN PRIVACY" and then nobody cared. Peak comedic interaction, no notes everyone pack it up

[hampterguts]

forever amazed and confused at how often transformers franchise just straight up depicts suicide attempts. like not even considering the superhero trope of "i have to save everyone!!! by choosing to die!!!!!" thing. like. non-allow-yourself-to-die-to-stop-a-thing-from-killing-everyone-immediately type situations. which tbh i wish more ppl talked about but not the point here

like. sure mtmte, a comic abt mentall illness and war, i expected it to be aware of the concept. but its not handled well and mostly used for shock value or "im better now i swear! i have a husband and everything" BUT ITS IN THE KIDS SHOWS TOO??? MY BESTIE G1 RODIMUS?? BEAST WARS DINOBOT???

[phantom-does-a-thing]

I am a dying breed (actually enjoys most of the stuff we read in English)

[lilypads17]

i fucking love kill la kill bc it's a very good example of a satire from a place of love and affection. it doesn't make satire for the sake of pointing fun, it makes satire to build its story upon. it makes you care about its characters, even a fucking talking sailor uniform.

its not "boo this sucks" its "this sucks but i love it anyway" its "this sucks but what if you cared. what if you cared so much. what if you loved and loved and what if it was so so silly, and maybe love was just a feeling, but still saved the world anyway?"

[whimsicalcotton]

[revasserium]

I'm sending a Leon request with a prompt that has tickled the back of my mind ever since I read it on list of gesture prompts. I know you can find a way to make this magic:

possessive hand-holding

ikemen reqs r open u__u thank u @violettduchess i hope u like this... mess LOL

these hands, like gods

leon; 1,059 words; so very nearly nsfw... but not rly... oh yeah, and i simp shakespeare in case yall didnt know...

it always comes back to shakespeare, the damnable bard, a poet to end all poets — a storyteller, a truth-seeker, a dream-spinner; leon used to have to try to stay awake with a book propped in his lap. and now, he wishes his dreams could be half as breathless as all his momentary realities.

“so… they both die at the end?”

you laugh, pressing a finger to his lips; he catches it in his own hand, skimming a kiss by your wrist.

“shh… spoilers!”

leon blinks, still chasing shivers up the length of your arm, kissing you till you’re breathless and his lips are at the base of your throat.

“i thought it was a classic — doesn’t everyone know how it ends already?”

you crinkle your nose, and he kisses that too.

“you didn’t, and it says so in the opening paragraph!” and though there’s nothing accusatory in your tone, he still cocks his head and smirks.

“i do now — and what can i say? i’m hooked,” he says, his voice a bone-deep rumble as it works up through his chest into yours, “you should take responsibility.”

“f-for what? making you more cultured?”

leon scoffs then, propping himself up on an elbow as he lays next to you, the pair of you for once blessedly alone in your chambers, the now-finished play about star-crossed lovers lying face down on the sheets next to you. languidly, almost lazily, he draws his hand up over your arm, tracing an absent finger along the ridge of your collarbones.

“hmmm… i don’t know if cultured is the right word for it,” he muses, and for a moment, you’re caught in the sweep of his dark lashes, in the knife-sharp intensity caught behind his eyes, like shards of shattered glass, making fractals of the afternoon light. “more like… creative.”

and his fingers find yours, lacing one through another, curling, pressing, the movement slow and sure and somehow sensual in a way that you never realized that hands could be. but of course — of course they could be. and you love his hands, don’t you? you love the wide and warmth of them, the length of his fingers, the tan of his skin, the quickness and the certainty with which he wields sword and shield both.

you press your palm to his and smile.

“then…” you let your eyes flutter closed as his other hand trails up the back of your neck, fingers twisting in your hair, tugging ever so gently; you swallow, you gasp, you let yourself be pressed into the soft of the silken sheets, “get creative.”

leon hums, and there’s dare buried somewhere deep his throat, curling up like a purr or a growl or something smack in the middle and just as delicious.

“yeah… what was that line you liked so much again?” he asks, grazing his lips along your cheeks, pulling your hand above your head to pin it there.

“a-and palm to palm,” you recite, your breaths coming quick in your chest now, a burning, twisting heat curling up into the soft of your face, making the tips of your ears go hot, “is h-holy palmer’s kiss — ah —”

you bite your lips as leon grazes his teeth along your neck.

“mhm… then let lips do what hands do… right?” he leans back if only to catch your lips in his, the world falling away in the gravity of him and you, the push and pull, the rise and fall of bodies and breaths, and it is chasing and catching and kissing and breathing, and it is letting go too — but never your hands. always, they stay closed, twisted, entwined. even as one kiss breaks into another, and another, the friction of palm on palm never ceases.

they pray… lest faith turns to despair…

“but no despair for you, i think,” leon had said when you’d first read him the passage aloud, admitting that it’s one of your favorites, and you’d blushed like you do, because of course — of course. what else had there been to do?

“and no death for you, either,” you’d chided, because that was always a more pressing concern.

leon had shrugged, grinning as he looks back at the text, tracing his fingers beneath the well-inked lines.

“well… there’s one kind of death i wouldn’t mind…”

you’d frowned, watched him carefully. but his grin had been cat-like, almost leonine.

“a kind of death?”

“yes — ‘la petit mort’ — you know what it means?” and by now, his smile had gone cheshire-wide and it takes you a moment before you’d squawked and tried to bury your face in the nearest soft thing. which had, incidentally, been your hands.

“leon!”

and he’d laughed, breaking over the sound, leaning back, his shoulders shaking, his eyes cast up and closed, the sound of it sweet and warm as honey.

but now, like this, with your hand held in his, pinned over your head, his lips pressed to the pulse of your heart, your throat bared, your mind unwinding and askew as he trails his free hand along the bend of your waist, you can’t help thinking that he’s right.

if there is a kind of death to pray for… it would be this.

no despair for either of us, you think rather defiantly, only pleasure.

you make yourself that promise as you tug leon up for another soul-searing kiss.

and no death but this one kind, you think as he grins against your lips, striking fire inside you as kindling to a flame, setting you ablaze.

“look at me,” he says, his voice gentle, and you do. you look at him, and in him you find everything — everything you had ever searched for, every truth, every poem, every fairy-tale ending. every story that your body had ever wanted to tell.

“kiss me,” you say. and he does.

and as his hand slowly makes it’s way back up the side of your body to tug at the layers still keeping you apart, you let yourself be lost. you curl your fingers around his, feel the heat of his palm against yours.

you close your eyes — and pray.

[bedforddanes75]

wips!!! talk to meeeeeeee about them <3333

-b

tbh it was just the one and im gonna rant because I Have Been Prompted x

for whatever mentally ill reason its gatty so apologies but basically its dlid era, and about 20k words of george being In Love and In Denial but hes silly leave him alone:( in those 20k its just RIDICULOUS tho. it is soundtracked to literally anything angsty BUT... also songs and instrumentals by adrianne lenker because that's where i got the title from LMFAO. i also made a pinterest board of it and thats mostly what i wanted to bring up because its so like omg the vibes are so AAA. anyway have...a snippet. so. hoe this is scary how do u do this OKAY dude omg im stressed ALSO Maybe consider this nsfw idk he starts talking shit about matty wanking So um. whatever ALSO sorry tw for homophobic slurs :<

They're fine, stood alone, until someone walks past and shoves Matty with his shoulder, mumbles something about 'What a fag', then looks at him, sniggering. Matty looks down at his hands, fiddling awkwardly.

George glares at the boy, then grabs his shoulder, yanking at him so they're face-to-face.

“Something to say about your boyfriend? Boyfriend who looks like a girl?”

George gives him a hard look, clenching his jaw, balling his fists.

“He’s not my boyfriend. But yeah, I do, actually. Don’t you fucking call him that.”

“Oh, makes sense that you’d say that. Cos you're one too, aren't you? Fucking queer,” he spits, attempting (and failing) to square up, having to tilt his head back an embarrassing amount just to look George in the eye.

The next thing George knows is someone's on the floor in front of him with a bloody nose and his knuckles are pink.

“George, what the fuck!” Ross shouts, suddenly appearing from some door or other.

He can't reply, just stares at the boy on the ground, accepting as people cheer for more and Adam and Ross pull him away.

He's a little unsure of what happens for the next while, all he knows is he doesn't enjoy it, sitting, walking, explaining what happened over and over again, because all he can think of is the look on Matty's face after he spoke. The way he'd looked so hopeless, pulling his hat down further. All he knew in that moment was that he never wanted to see it again.

His mother questions him about what happened as she drives him home, in shock about the fact her (usually quite docile) son had just punched someone. And he tells the truth. He tells her about how sad Matty had looked, how he just wanted to hug him, but something just made him want to hurt the kid.

She believes him, of course, knowing the lengths they’d go for each other, but decides to stay quiet about the fact George got himself almost punched just for the sake of his friend, and what that might mean, especially with their conversation the night prior.

Once they get home, George hides in his room, sitting on his bed and staring at his hands. He can't believe he actually punched someone, the only acts of violence he'd ever shown otherwise were to his friends, playful, nothing genuinely harmful. The sight of that kid on the floor, nose all red and bloodied, made him feel uneasy, knowing he could do that. He knew he was intimidating to most people, with a resting face that looked almost empty, and a stature of six foot something, but he didn’t think he had it in him to give another reason to be scared.

He just can't stop thinking about how happy Matty had seemed before, his smile, those crooked teeth that he loves oh so much, his stupid giggles. The fact he's thinking about his best friend's smile and blushing to himself doesn't fail to make him even more uncomfortable.

George puts his head in his hands, squeezing his eyes shut tightly behind his palms, and lets his shoulders dip down. His mind races with thoughts of Matty, and he feels sick. The thoughts don't stop at just his smile either, and he finds himself thinking about Matty's bare body, thinking about his skinny torso and bony arms, thinking about Matty touching himself, wondering what he would do, what he thought about, who he thought about, whether he'd fuck up into his fist.

He whines, distressed, feeling like a kicked dog, unsure of what to do.

The worst part about it, though, is the fact he's now fully aware of the fact he's getting hard. Over Matty, his best friend, who is also a boy. He wants to cry, he's not gay, so why is he thinking about Matty like that? Especially since Matty is very much a man.

um. anyway. bragging is cool guys show me every wip you have Immediately... also if this sucks then suck my dick and prove it

[definitelynotshouting]

I just binged your whole hunger au and your prose and structure and literally everything is so masterfully done AHHHHH!! eagerly looking forward to the next update! do you have any particular inspirations for your writing/storytelling style?

🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺 THIS IS SUCH A SWEET MESSAGE WAUGH THANK YOU ANON,,,,

oh gosh honestly i get inspiration from all over-- my style was sorta cobbled together from a bajillion different sources that i cherrypicked what i liked from and then evolved it from there. A lot of it probably comes from growing up on fantasy books published in the 70s-80s, tbh; theres a very particular cadence to many of them that i think echoes in my writing quite a bit. I also uh, read Beowulf when i was 11, so that may have had something to do with it too 😅😅😅

Its funny looking back on things from my childhood and seeing where a lot of inspo comes from-- i also grew up reading norse and greek mythology so im pretty sure some of the poetry of those storytelling conventions rubbed off on me. I definitely know there are a few fic authors out there whom i shamelessly incorporated bits and bobs of their writing styles into mine because i loved them so much. But yeah its basically a giant melting pot of different inspirations in here SKDNWKDNSKS thank you for the question!! :DDD

[imabiscuitinthousandworlds]

i'm going to he so fucking insufferae about theatre btw. just started my job at the theatre, with which i'm already obsessed bc their plays and stuff are just plain brilliant i could go on rants for hours and boy am i gonna know these plays by heart once i've sat through one half a dozen times. AND i joined a theatre class at school. with four other people but. i'm so incredibly motivated. i NEED. anyway it's tumblr y'all know i regularly go full obsessed nerd on things i am a Freak when it comes to these things and BOY is it gonna be Bad with the theatre

[icklewolfiekins]

songs from musicals that are the same but also one of them is a good person and one of them is my personal enemy something something anyway it’s Hard to Be the Bard from Something Rotten and Moving Too Fast from The Last Five Years have such similar energy??

[mackmp3]

obsessed with the person who circled a line in this copy of macbeth and wrote 'terrible pun' in the margin of the book

[blackcatarts]

no worries if not but the Macbeth witches in 5H or 4D pretty please

pov yr life is abt to be ruined

[corvidaedream]

friend in the costume dept at work handed me a really cool idea to draw out and im reinvigorated

[callixton]

not that i don't adore bill as a companion and am glad we got her, but narratively i sort of wish we'd gotten clara right before thirteen, bc i'd be a lot more willing to buy that her complete shut down of truly letting her companions into her life was a result/reaction to twelve's relationship with clara