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endless-ineffabilities · 6 days

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chemical override (10)

Ewan Mitchell x actress!reader

a/n: as dictated by the results of poll #6, this chapter will include stunt training, clubbing, and an accident. Plus, you've got tub anon to thank for... well... the tub scene :) Oh, and this is kind of 18+. Just a tad.

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Matt and the reader eagerly explore the uncharted waters of their budding relationship. Ewan is booked and busy with the preparation for his new franchise. Will Ewan and his darling even find time for each other, or should they just take this opportunity to let go?

The internet, ever so informative, lets you know that Ewan and Jenna’s arrangement is in its initial stages before he even calls to tell you.

Their first interview with Josh Horowitz is immediately followed by another feature on the movie set, with the two talking about the pre-production, what they liked about the script, and their chemistry, which according to them, came naturally and did not require much work at all. It was practically the thing they had to work on the least. How lucky.

A lighthearted reprieve came in the form of a meme that started circulating not long after their interview with Josh. In it, Ewan is caught looking like he's either malfunctioning or deep in a philosophical crisis. The internet ran with it, with captions like, ‘When you realise you left the oven on at home’, to comparing him to an NPC glitching out.

When you asked him about it, he quickly stammered that he simply spaced out. Sure. It was hilarious, nonetheless.

Your publicist Mallory had commented that soon Ewan and Jenna would be obliged to go on pap walks, something that would appear casual and separate from the confines of the project that they’re working on. Something that signals that their relationship is making it into the real world.

“That whole casual ‘just friends hanging out’ vibe they’re gonna push? It’s all part of the gig,” Mallory shared. “Next thing you know, they’ll be taking long walks on the beach or grabbing coffee in some trendy LA spot.”

You’d be lying if you said it didn’t sting. Even just a little. Sure, you know what the business is like. You’ve been on the same end of that deal just recently, with your own film’s PR efforts. But this arrangement that Ewan has doesn’t seem like the usual short-term fling to drum up buzz. It feels… heavy, like something that might actually stick.

“I’d be lying if I say I don’t find it all annoying, darling, but I try to look at it now as part of the job, you know?” he had said, when he phoned you one evening – his afternoon – to let you know that his stay in LA would be much longer than expected.

You responded with, “Oh, yeah, I completely understand.” What else can you do? You aren’t together – you don’t have a claim to him, and vice versa. You thought that would make things better – easier – but you’re still waiting for that sense of comfort to kick in.

This is for the best, you would remind yourself every time a new headline surfaces.

It’s only been a month since you last properly saw Ewan, since that night on the rooftop. In the early days, he messaged every day, called whenever he had a spare moment. But slowly, the calls have become shorter, more sporadic – chalked up to his increasingly busy schedule. Your tones have become more dispassionate – he blames it on his exhaustion, profusely swearing that he misses you so fucking much, but something feels different.

Your job keeps you busy, with your commitments related to the new season of House of the Dragon, event appearances, and gearing up for the release of your film with Jacob. You are even invited to the upcoming Vanity Fair Young Hollywood Ball, an exclusive party to be held in New York.

And Matt is a more than welcome distraction.

Matt, who has begun spending more time in your apartment after Ewan’s temporary move to LA. Matt, who brings you flowers that are apparently ‘beautiful, but pales in comparison to you’. Matt, who is unfailingly a gentleman, respecting your boundaries and not making a move since that time on your couch after your first date, when you told him to wait.

He sits with you by your kitchen counter, in a disarmingly tight white shirt that leaves little to the imagination, one sturdy hand nursing a cup of coffee and the other on the small of your back to support you as you sit on the high stool, and you suddenly don’t want him to wait anymore.

“Have you decided on what you’ll be wearing to the screening tonight, love?” he asks.

“Why? Does it have to be pre-approved?” you playfully quip, narrowing your eyes at him.

“Ah,” he nods, smiling, playing along, “of course, of course. You think I’m an easy man to date? You’ve got to keep up with my standards, as beautiful as you already are.”

You laugh, playfully mussing his hair, and he catches your wrist before it drops back on the counter. He says, “I ask because I wanted to match you, so to speak. We’d be like two peas in a pod.”

“Oh,” you snort softly, “or you know, like Tweedledee and Tweedledum?”

“Funny girl,” he muses, before leaning forward and capturing your lips in a soft kiss, caffeinated and warm and Matty. You notice that his hand on your back is pressed firmer – he didn’t want you to slip when you leaned in.

Charming bastard. He isn’t making things any easier… or maybe he is.

Maybe he’s it.

But the moment’s broken by a loud, offended-sounding meow. You look down to see Sansa, staring at Matt like he’s personally responsible for all the world’s problems.

“Hey, babygirl,” Matt croons, extending a hand toward her. Sansa, the biggest diva of a kitten, just gives him a slow blink before trotting off, clearly unimpressed.

“Calling her babygirl isn’t going to make her warm up to you,” you tease.

“She already doesn’t seem to like me,” he replies, scoffing. “Which is a shock, pretty much, how can she not?”

“So humble, Matthew.” You smile at his effortless charm, his easy personality. That’s all you seem to be doing nowadays. Matt is like your personal ray of sunshine.

“I’ll win her over,” he declares confidently, sitting upright. “Anything for my lady.”

You roll your eyes. “How very Daemon of you.”

“Actually,” he laughs, “Daemon would probably feed her to Caraxes for being difficult.”

“Matthew!”

“I’m kidding!”

Sansa meows even louder, bounding away towards your bedroom.

“Leave my Sansa alone,” you say, pointing at him accusingly.

He gives you a sly grin. “I will… if you come here and give me another kiss.”

Before you can respond, he slides your stool closer to his with a smooth movement, catching you off guard. You find yourself practically in his lap, his thighs pressing against yours as he waits, looking entirely too pleased with himself.

“Okay,” you sigh deeply, narrowing your eyes, unable to mask the smile that graces your lips. “One kiss, but only for Sansa.”

“Oh, shush and kiss me already, love.”

The film screening had been a private event, by invitation only from those who worked on the film. Edward Bluemel, Matt’s good friend, is a fellow actor marking his directorial debut with this film. For a first go, it was impressive, gripping from start to finish. Almost as much as Matt’s hand resting just above your knee, his thumb absentmindedly tracing soft circles into your skin.

Your cheeks had flushed when a particularly steamy scene came on the screen, and it might have been the nervous gremlins in your mind, but you swore Matt’s hand inched higher up your leg.

Now, on your couch, his hand is even higher. He hovers over you, his breath heavy and uneven as his fingers tease at the warmth between your thighs, so close to where you’re already aching for him.

Maybe it was all the dirty martinis you drank at the open bar after the screening, or maybe this was a long time coming. Either way, you want him, and from the way his lips move urgently against yours, he wants you too.

It dawns on you that the tension is no longer something you can talk yourself out of.

He pulls away, and you protest with a mewling whine, your body arching into him. He nearly growls in frustration, the unspeakable sound you just made having a direct line to his hardened cock. With a gentle tug at the nape of his neck, you pull him back down to your lips, but he resists.

“We have to slow down,” he chuckles mirthlessly. “Because we’re about to cross a line that I won’t be able to hold back from, love.”

“Matt – ”

“I understand – ” He licks his lips, letting out a slow and controlled breath. “ – that you want to wait – ”

Your confession comes out slow and measured, letting him know that this is what you really want. “Maybe I don’t want… to wait anymore.”

“Say that again,” he says slowly, his eyes darkening in lust.

“Maybe I… I want you to fuck me.”

“Maybe?” he whispers, his voice rough, practically pleading.

“Oh, just fuck me.”

That’s all it takes for him to snap.

He undresses you in record time, ripping off every item of clothing from your body with an eagerness that betrays just how hungry he is for you.

Neither of you even bother to travel to your bedroom. At some point, your entwined naked bodies slip off the couch and onto your plush carpet.

And you have a heated… What was it called again?

Oh right – a damn good roll in the hay.

The water is still warm in your deep clawfoot tub, steam rising gently from the surface. You lean back, head resting against the porcelain, that blissful post-sex daze settling over you.

Matt slides into the water opposite you, his movements slow, deliberate. His eyes haven’t left you since he stepped in, and you can feel the weight of his gaze lingering on your skin. It isn’t just the remnants of your earlier intimacy – though that heat still hummed in the air between you – it’s something more. Something you can’t name and maybe you’re afraid to, but it tugs at you all the same.

A small smile plays on his lips, the kind that made your chest tighten – half teasing, half dangerous.

“Enjoying yourself?” he asks, voice low and smooth.

You exhale a soft laugh, running your fingers lazily through the water, trailing small ripples across the surface. “I’m not exactly complaining, am I?”

“Good. Wouldn’t want you to have second thoughts.” His tone is light, but the undercurrent of meaning isn’t lost on you.

You close your eyes, letting the warm water soothe your tired muscles, but even with the comfort of the bath, you can’t quite escape the one person lingering in the back of your mind.

Matt isn’t Ewan, but he’s here, his presence steady, his charm disarming. He makes you laugh, makes you feel wanted in ways that are simple and uncomplicated, and maybe that’s what you need right now. Maybe it was okay to let yourself enjoy this, to live in this moment without overthinking what it meant.

“Penny for your thoughts?” Matt asks, leaning forward.

You open your eyes, catching the glint of amusement in his. “Just... thinking.”

“Dangerous territory,” he teases, reaching for your hand.

“Hmm, maybe,” you murmur, meeting his gaze. “You’re too charming for your own good, you know that?”

He chuckles deeply. “I’ve been told. But I like to think it’s part of my appeal.”

You roll your eyes, though you can’t help the smile tugging at your lips. “Cocky bastard.”

He grins, leaning in even closer, his breath warm against your cheek. “Takes one to know one.” His hand travels to your leg underneath the water, massaging gently.

“I’m serious, though,” he says softly, his voice taking on a more earnest tone. “I don’t want you overthinking this. We’re good, yeah?”

You nod, but there is a flicker of something else in your chest. Guilt, maybe? But Matt is right here, and he isn’t asking for anything more than what you could give, and for now, that is more than enough.

“We’re good,” you whisper, leaning in to press a soft kiss to his lips.

He smiles against your mouth, his hand moving to cup the back of your neck, pulling you in closer. “Good,” he whispers back, his voice a low rumble that sends a shiver down your spine. “Because I’m not done with you yet.”

You laugh, the sound muffled as he kisses you again and positions you on top of him. You shuffle forward and discover a very obvious indication that he’s ready for round two of rolling in the hay. Or in the tub. Whatever works.

He looks absolutely enraptured when you ride him, your motions causing tremors in the water.

And in the sheer pleasure he gives you, surrounded by flickering candlelight and the smell of lavender, you allow yourself to let go.

The event has the industry buzzing - an exclusive event by Vanity Fair celebrating the rising stars of Hollywood. A masquerade party, the notion of which excited you to no end. You’d only read about such in books, in its medieval iterations, all poofy skirts and velvet waistcoats, the whole concept full of prestige and mystery.

You spent days prepping with your team, the anticipation building until it felt like a living thing inside you. Your dress, a beautiful piece from Atelier Versace, fits like a glove, one side made of draped black sequins shimmering like liquid night against your skin. The theme is Midnight Elysium, and you look every bit the part - dangerous and glamourous and untouchable.

Your makeup team did an impeccable job. Your eyeshadow resembles a swirling galaxy, a blend of silver and noir. Your lipstick is a perfect nude shade that matches your skin tone and your features.

But then there was the mask. The final, necessary touch. Delicate black lace that settles over your eyes, framed with gold filigree and flecks of silver – sharp and ethereal at once. It was a piece of art, something you personally commissioned from a local designer in your hometown.

In a room where everyone claims to know everyone, a mask can be more than just a costume piece. It can be a weapon – giving you the freedom to be both seen and unseen.

Stepping into the nightclub is like slipping in between worlds. Black velvet drapes line the walls, catching the glow of the minimal lighting – gold and silver chandeliers hanging like constellations. The bass from the music pulses underfoot, sending vibrations through your veins. Faces are obscured by extravagant masks, but you are able to recognise some of them if you look close enough. Milly is speaking to someone by the bar, and you remind yourself to pull her aside for a chat later. Timothee is introducing his date to a small flock of people. And Jacob is bounding right for you the moment you make eye contact.

“There’s my leading lady,” he greets cheerfully, swooping down to kiss you on both cheeks. He’s wearing a metallic silver vest and trousers, along with a white mask that covers one side of his face like The Phantom.

“Wow,” you say, making a show of appraising him, looking at all 6 foot 5 inches of his figure up and down. “You look like a handsome disco ball.”

He laughs, the sound unmistakable even in the bustling nightclub. “And look at you! What are you, a cyberpunk witch? A sleek dominatrix?”

“Careful now,” you warn him, “or I might just hex you into getting me a drink.”

“Coming right up,” he says, but his attention is pulled by someone calling his name. “Hold on a sec, I have to introduce you to some of my friends.” You let him lead you further into the room, and you’re swept into the rhythm of it all, moving through the crowd as if you belong – because you do. You’re slowly getting used to the weight of eyes on you, but tonight, it feels as if there’s a shadow you can’t quite shake.

Your personal shadow in a room full of masked shadows. Your skin prickles, an awareness blooming under your ribs. In all the fuss leading up to this event, you hadn’t really bothered to check the full roster of attendees.

After several rounds of conversation, you excuse yourself for a moment and stand off to the side to take a breather.

And then you see him.

Ewan stands across the room, a drink in hand, his black leather overcoat tailored to perfection. The mask he wears, a sharp cut of black and gold, adds a dangerous air to him. His effortlessly tousled hair sports a smattering of gold embellishments, like streaks of pale blonde hair. You take him in, every inch of him, that mischievous curve of his lips and the glint of his blue eyes underneath that mask.

It hits you like a tidal wave, like a fucking hurricane, the longing you’ve tried to suppress for weeks.

You shouldn’t want him this much, not when you both agreed to the break. To keep some distance. His fake romantic arrangement had made sure of that. And after everything, you knew that some separation was what you both needed.

But seeing him now, looking at you like he’s starving… it’s enough to unravel every careful thread you’d stitched together since you last touched. You want to look away, pretend that this is just another night, that he’s just another fellow actor among the crowd. But the pull is too strong. It’s as if your legs move on their own volition, and you slowly move through the crowd, almost subconsciously drawn to him.

He steps deeper into the shadows of the club as you approach, disappearing into one of the more secluded alcoves draped in heavy black velvet. No one will see you there. No one will know any better.

The world narrows down to just the two of you, and the music becomes a distant hum. It’s quieter, darker, and for all the trappings of the Hollywood elite, Ewan is far more intoxicating.

“You’re here,” you whisper, half in question, half in disbelief.

But he’s already moving towards you, his eyes dark and hungry behind the mask. The air between you crackles with an undeniable need – weeks of distance, of longing, building up to this moment. He’s close enough that you feel the warmth of his body through your dress, and you so badly want to forget that this is a bad idea.

“I can’t stay away,” he says, his voice low and raw, like it’s costing him to hold back. “Not tonight.”

You swallow, your heart pounding in your chest, every rational thought slipping away as his fingers skim the bare skin of your waist through the slits in your dress. “We… we can’t,” you manage to say, but even to your own ears, it sounds weak. Oh, who are you trying to fool?

“How can I not? Fuck, how can you look like that and expect me to just walk away?”

You want to say something, something sensible, something to remind him of the stakes. But nothing comes to mind, not when his hand brushes up your arm, raising goosebumps in its wake. His other hand slips to your waist, pulling you closer until there’s no space between you. He dips his head down, breathing against your shoulders and your neck, taking you in like a vice.

“Ewan,” you finally croak. “We agreed not to – ”

“I don’t bloody care,” he cuts you off, his mouth inches from yours. “We agreed to give it some time, sure, but I never agreed to stop wanting you. Besides, I make good on what’s asked of me. I play the part. I deserve to be rewarded, don’t I? And you’re the only prize I desire.”

His words hit you hard, melting any resistance you’d been clinging to.

“Oh? So… so I’m just a prize now?”

He only smiles. “The only one worth winning.”

Before you can think, before you can stop yourself, you pull him closer and crash your lips into his.

The kiss is hard, fierce, his mouth feverishly attacking yours. He tastes bittersweet, all hard bourbon and cigarettes. You’re certain that the lipstick your makeup artist painstakingly applied would be wiped clean off. His hands grip you harder, fingers digging into your flesh, pulling you closer, deeper, like he can’t get enough.

You break apart, gasping for breath. His lips are slick, shining in the occasional flicker of neon blue and red lights, his mask casting shadows across his sharp features.

A bright flash from the party's official photographer erupts in the corner, thankfully not pointed in your direction. Still, it momentarily shakes both of you back to reality.

“Come with me.” His hand slips into yours, fingers curling possessively as he pulls you away from the cacophony of the club. You barely have time to react before you’re being led down a narrow, dimly lit hallway. He pushes open a door, leading you into a smaller room bathed in that same cold, electric blue. Plush seating is arranged haphazardly in the corners, but the space is mostly empty. The low hum of the bass still thrums in the distance, but it’s reduced to a faint echo. The smell gives off cigarette smoke and spilled liquor.

“Smoking area,” he says with a half-smirk, glancing around the room as if seeing it for the first time himself. “I think.”

“You think?” You raise an eyebrow.

He shrugs, utterly unconcerned. “Who cares? It’s just us in here.”

You shoot him a look, glancing back at the door. “Someone could walk in.”

He chuckles, stepping closer, that familiar heat radiating off him like a furnace. “It’s a party, darling. They’re probably wasted out of their minds. And besides…” He taps the edge of his mask, his eyes glinting mischievously behind the black and gold. “The masks?”

You bite your lip, trying to maintain some semblance of control. “And if someone does walk in?” you ask, arching a brow. “What then?”

He steps closer, crowding into your space, the tension thick between you. “Then they get a show,” he says, his voice playful and teasing, but laced with something darker.

“Are you fucking serious?”

“You can still walk away, darling,” he offers, trying to bait you when he knows full well that he already has you hooked. “Or, you can just shut up and kiss me.”

So much for giving it time. Ewan’s lips find yours once more, just as desperate, and you barely notice when he directs you to the seating, your back colliding with its velvet exterior. His low groan sends a wave of heat pooling in your stomach, and you think to yourself, this was a terrible idea.

Your hands roam, finding the planes of his chest. He smoothly takes off his leather overcoat, revealing his bare torso underneath. The sight of it makes your head spin, and you croak unsteadily, “Ewan… not here, baby, we can’t – ”

“I know, darling,” he croons, his hand cradling your face. “I just wanna kiss you. I just want you… to touch me…” His other hand takes yours and drags it down the firm lines of his stomach, a desperate plea in his eyes. “Please, just – ”

The moment is abruptly shattered by the sound of giggling from the hallway, getting louder. Suddenly, the door opens and in stumbles a pair of girls, one of them you recognise to be Jenna.

“Oh!” The other girl exclaims, clearly delighted by the situation she’s just walked into. She pulls off her mask, revealing herself as Emma Myers. “We found him! We finally found your date.”

Your heart plummets, right down on the liquor stained carpet.

“Hi,” you manage to squeak, getting to your feet and smoothing down your dress which had ridden scandalously higher up your thighs. “I’m – ”

“Oh, I know who you are,” Jenna says, shaking your hand, not the least bit bothered by the state she found you and Ewan in. “I love your work. I’m Jenna.”

“Oh… thank you – ”

Emma steps in, grinning. “Hi! I’m Emma. I’m such a fan.”

“Oh my god, I should be saying that to you guys!” you blurt, feeling a rush of relief at their easy demeanour. “I love Wednesday.”

They both gasp, and soon the three of you are exchanging compliments like old friends, chatting about each other's work with enthusiasm. Ewan, still seated, watches the scene unfold with barely concealed frustration. He eventually stands, shrugging his leather coat back on, and glances at Jenna.

“One of our producers is here,” Jenna explains cheerfully. “She’d love to chat with both of us.”

Right. Ewan’s her date. The word echoes in your mind, but the jealousy you expected to feel is oddly muted now.

Ewan speaks, addressing only you, “Darling, will you – ”

“I’ve got her,” Emma declares, looping her arm around yours. “I’ve got so much I want to ask you!” Before you know it, she leads you out of the room like you’ve been best friends for years.

Ewan’s eyes stay on you, full of frustration and yearning, even as he and Jenna follow you out the door.

But you barely see him for the rest of the night.

The party is a blur of celebrities and conversations, but your mind keeps drifting back to that stolen moment in the blue-lit room. Eventually, your social battery runs out, and you slip out of the club early, unnoticed by most.

Back at your hotel, you peel off your dress and drop onto the bed, staring up at the ceiling as the events of the night replay in your head. The feeling of his hands on your skin, the heat of his body pressed against yours – it’s all too much.

Your phone buzzes on the nightstand, snapping you out of your thoughts. Ewan One-Eye flashes across the screen.

You hesitate, thumb hovering over the screen, but you pick up. His voice is low, almost cautious. “You left early.”

“I was tired,” you reply, voice soft. “The party was great but it was... a lot.” Mainly because of him.

A beat of silence follows, and you wonder if he's wrestling with what to say next. “Are you okay?” You can almost picture him running a hand through his hair, jaw clenched, eyes dark with worry.

“Yeah, I’m okay,” you say, unable to hide the tremble in your voice.

Another long pause, with only his slow breathing on the other end.

“I hate this,” he finally says, voice barely above a whisper, the raw emotion in his words hitting you like a punch to the gut. “I fucking hate that he gets to have you, and I don’t… and I can’t… ” He cuts himself off, and you hear the snap of his lighter followed by his sharp exhale.

You bite your lip, your throat tight with emotion. You’ve both been so careful, dancing around each other, pretending that you could stay apart.

“I’m flying back to London tomorrow night,” you blurt out, the words rushing out before you can stop them. It feels like a confession, like you’re admitting defeat.

“I need to see you before you go.”

“Ewan, we agreed – ”

“Fuck what we agreed!” His sudden outburst takes you by surprise, and you hear the raw need in his voice. “I don’t care about the arrangement, I don’t care about the distance. I just... I need you.”

You want to tell him that you need him too. You want to throw caution to the wind and agree to being together in secret despite the false romance he has to portray to the world. But you can’t.

“I...” Your voice falters. “We’ll see each other soon.” It doesn’t feel like enough. With a soft sigh, you add on a lighter note, “Alyna still has to kick Aemond’s ass, you know.”

A beat passes, and then you hear his tired laugh on the other end. “Right,” he chuckles softly, the sound both comforting and heartbreaking. “Wouldn’t want to keep the fans waiting for that.”

“Yeah, well,” you say, trying for casual, trying not to let your voice crack, “someone’s got to put Aemond in his place.”

“Hmm, well if that place happens to be right in Alyna’s arms, I doubt you’ll hear any complaints about the script from me this time.”

You can’t help but smile at his teasing, but it only deepens the ache in your heart.

“Ewan…” you begin, but the words hang in the air, unspoken.

“I know, darling,” he replies, his tone resigned yet gentle. “I miss you too.”

The training room is alive with the sounds of clashing swords and laughter, but you can’t help but feel a different kind of electricity buzzing in the air. Maybe it’s just the way Matt looks at you, as you rehearse a scene where Daemon helps Alyna brush up on her sword fighting.

You lunge forward, initiating the first move with confidence, and he counters effortlessly, the blades clashing in a symphony of steel. The practice moves are intense, each swing bringing you closer. His eyes darken with focus as he follows your movements, and for a moment, it becomes easy to forget the rest of the stunt crew in the room.

“Nice footwork,” Matt compliments, stepping in closer. His body brushes against yours, sending a rush of heat through you. Ever since your night together, he has only been more brazen with his affections. “But you’re leaving yourself open here.” He demonstrates, his sword brushing against your side as he adjusts your stance.

“There,” he says, his voice dropping lower, “feel that?” You swallow nervously, grateful that the stunt coordinator had moved on to Harry in the far side of the room.

“I think I might be too open,” you manage to say, trying to keep your tone light.

“Maybe,” Matt murmurs, stepping back slightly but keeping his gaze locked on yours. “But I can’t help but want to close the distance.”

As you move through the choreography, you both fall into a rhythm, and almost inevitably, the fight turns into something more playful. You circle each other, exchanging faux blows and laughter, the distracting banter causing the stunt director to approach and get you both back on track.

Next up, you have to train for Alyna’s pivotal scene where she attempts to mount Caraxes as per Daemon’s command.

As you practice the mounting technique on the mechanical dragon, you’re hyper-aware of every movement. The crew watches closely, ready to offer guidance. You grip the handles tightly, adrenaline coursing through your veins, and for a brief moment, you lose yourself in the character, feeling the thrill of the scene.

But then it happens. The Buck jolts unexpectedly, throwing you off balance. Time seems to slow as you feel yourself slipping. You try to brace for impact, but it’s too late. You land hard, the pain shooting through your ankle as it twists at an unnatural angle.

There is a stinging sensation too, by the side of your head, and all you think is – oh fuck. The world around you fades to a blur, just as chaos erupts.

When you finally regain consciousness, the sterile scent of antiseptic fills your nostrils. Your surroundings come into focus slowly, and your heart races when you realise you’re in a hospital room. The steady beep of a monitor is the only sound, punctuated by the faint rustle of fabric.

You feel his hand on yours before your eyes even land on his figure, slumped on a chair beside your bed. His head rests on his shoulder, his grip still lightly holding your hand. His brow is furrowed in worry, even in sleep.

You feel lightheaded, and for a moment you worry that your concussion might be worse than it is, but no. It's just him.

Then, the sound of your movement catches his attention. He stirs, his eyes fluttering open, and when he meets your gaze, relief instantly washes over his features.

“Love… you’re awake.”

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Some notes in the margins...

Well, well, well. Yous were convinced that Matty would get the clubbing scene, helped by the red herring of his dancing video. Alas!

Is that Matty at the end there? Or a certain Mitchelly man? Hmm... one wonders. 💖

Complaints? Refund requests? Please direct your thoughts in the comments section below. I can 100% guarantee a satisfying solution. Or 70%.

Or, you know, bugger it. We're all in this together, better or worse ❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥

#ewan mitchell #ewan mitchell imagine #ewan mitchell x reader #ewan mitchell fanfiction #matt smith #matt smith x reader #chemical override #aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen x reader #house of the dragon #hotd

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igotlovestruck · 9 months

Text

storiesforpeanut [ lando norris ]

[ 𝗣𝗔𝗜𝗥𝗜𝗡𝗚 𝗔𝗡𝗗 𝗖𝗛𝗔𝗥𝗔𝗖𝗧𝗘𝗥𝗦 ] — bf!lando norris x pregnant gf!reader . ⊹ ✶ ㄔ 🫂 °. *

[ 𝗗𝗘𝗧𝗔𝗜𝗟𝗦 & 𝗪𝗔𝗥𝗡𝗜𝗡𝗚𝗦 ] — soon-to-be-parents, fluff, mentions pregnancy, no specific timetable . ⊹ ✶ ㄔ ℹ️ °. *

࣪˖ 💭 .. 𝗘𝗬𝗔’𝗦 𝗡𝗢𝗧𝗘𝗦 ⌕ this is inspired by a filipino actor, ryan agoncillo’s instagram hashtag, #storiesforlucho ! something about dad!lando makes me feel so soft >_< i’ll post this first before posting the written version of fine line (bc i am in a deep pit of writer’s block) anyway, enjoy <3

this work is purely fictional. names, characters, places and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. © httpsuniverse, 2023. do not steal, repost in other platforms, translate and/or claim this work as your own.

[ x . com ]

[ instagram . com ]

storiesforpeanut

5 likes

storiesforpeanut the day mum and dad went to the hospital to make sure if the tests were true, if you were true. and you were. mum and dad are both confused, scared, but are confident that they could take care of another human being. peanut, the moment we saw this sonogram, our hearts were filled with joy.

this is the day dad called you ‘peanut’ because look at how little you were, my peanut. dad even convinced mum to name you peanut, but mum shut that idea right away. our little peanut, this account is dedicated to you, so you can look at our memories as a family.

peanut, mum and dad loves you so much. you may have changed the trajectory of our lives, but we are still grateful enough to have you in our life. we love you, peanut.

love, dad.

storiesforpeanut

8 likes

storiesforpeanut you were getting bigger day by day, peanut. bigger and stronger that mum was starting to show. mum never left my side, never missed a weekend supporting whatever it is dad was doing. she started wearing bigger clothes to avoid people seeing. not that she was embarrassed, but because mum was afraid that something would happen at the early stage of your growth.

mum did not believe in superstitions during pregnancy, but when you were growing inside of mum, she didn’t want to jinx anything that might harm you, peanut. avoiding the public eye was hard, but heck, your mum did such a good job doing so.

we love you, peanut. and we will protect you from any harm. we will protect you for the rest of our lives.

love, dad.

storiesforpeanut

16 likes

storiesforpeanut our first day back in abu dhabi after a year. mum got ready for our friday schedules and we arrived earlier. people were shocked to see her, after hiding her bump with oversized clothes for at least two months while accompanying dad. people took photos of mum and dad, people started congratulating the both of us.

we hid you for a little while, peanut. that’s because of dad’s work where almost everyone in the world is staring at us and that scared mum and dad. that someone might mob the both of us and could cause you and mum harm.

negativity aside, peanut, your aunts and uncles were excited when they saw mum. everyone, including dad’s big boss had a huge grin on their faces. everyone was happy to meet you, peanut. even though it will still be a few months until we meet you personally.

we love you, peanut. we can’t wait to meet you here.

love, dad.

storiesforpeanut

20 likes

storiesforpeanut mum and had has two moods: beach mood and winter mood. this is taken after our weekend in abu dhabi. we stayed for a few more days, exploring the beach and enjoying the sun before going to a cold place to spend some time with dad’s friends (and ski! which mum can’t do as of the moment, don’t want to harm you, peanut).

you won’t believe it, peanut. mum threw a snowball on dad's head, her revenge because i insisted we call you peanut.

mum enjoys the sun and winter, peanut. those are her favourite season. dad, however, loves all seasons as long as he gets to spend it with mum and you, as well, peanut. mum and dad will experience these seasons with you in a few months.

we love you, peanut. we can’t wait for you to experience your first snow, first beach, first autumn and first spring.

love, dad.

storiesforpeanut

29 likes

storiesforpeanut taken while mum and dad are on their way to maccy d’s in the middle of winter. mum said she wanted fries without the salt. /fries without the salt/. even though that was a weird request, can’t deny mum her weird cravings. after all, she’s growing a literal human inside her–which is you, peanut.

also, mum only ate three pieces of fries and made me eat it while she watched. that i didn’t like. but you know what? dad is ready to give you everything you want. you and mum. be it a weird craving, late night feed or nappy change–i will be there for you and mum. always in all ways.

we love you, peanut. we can’t wait for you here.

love, dad.

storiesforpeanut

37 likes

storiesforpeanut mum took this video. the very first time you kicked, and dad was in the shower (unfortunately). mum and dad are visiting mum’s family where mum reunited with her childhood dog. mum’s pup, poppy, immediately went to her and checked. poppy sensed your existence, peanut. even poppy was excited to meet you.

mum and dad’s family are delighted to have you, peanut. especially your grandmums. they now named themselves, nan from dad’s mum and granny from mum’s side.

we love you, peanut. we are all waiting for your arrival.

love, dad.

storiesforpeanut

55 likes

storiesforpeanut 30 weeks in, and we finally saw your beautiful face, peanut. mum and dad haven’t gotten over the first time they heard your heart beat, felt your kicks, yet here you are... so beautiful as mum’s doctor showed us your face.

peanut, mum and dad were scared the first time we found out that mum was pregnant. but seeing you now, all those fears are gone and we feel confident that we can do this–together.

you are such a happy baby, peanut. you even got dad’s dimples, said mum. you are a perfect balance of mum and dad.

we love you, peanut. 10 more weeks until we finally meet. we can’t wait for that day to come.

love, dad.

storiesforpeanut

79 likes

storiesforpeanut last week of mum’s beautiful belly. any day now, we will finally meet you. you’ll have your first breath, first cry. mum and dad and other family members cannot wait to finally meet you, peanut.

the last nine months has been crazy, peanut. it was crazy, but it was fun. brought mum and dad closer than ever. you’ll be so loved, no, you are so loved already, peanut. and a little spoiled because some of dad’s friends from work have sent you numerous toys and clothes and even diapers to last for the next year or two.

we love you, peanut. we’ll see you soon.

love, dad.

storiesforpeanut

249 likes

storiesforpeanut well, it’s nice to meet you, peanut. mum and dad are delighted to finally see you. mum laboured for almost 24 hours, and by the time stroked at exactly 04:49 am, you were born.

dad almost passed out during your birth (for some reason), but dad got through it. mum was so brave, dad held her hand throughout the procedure and never left mum’s side.

peanut, the second they returned you to mum and dad after cleaning you and helping mum, we couldn’t stop looking at you. how could we make such a beautiful baby like you? said dad.

we love you so much, peanut. welcome to the real world.

love, dad.

yourusername

liked by mclaren, lilymhe, landonorris and 1,839,937 others

yourusername baby olivia norris checking in 🫣👩‍🍼

view all 23,961 comments

mclaren congratulations, y/n and lando! 🧡 welcome to the world, olivia 😍

landonorris my girls ❤️

user OMGGGGG shes hereeeeee

user congratulations 😭😭😭😭😭😭

user shes so tiny!!! 😭😭 so cute

lilymhe congratulations girl!! 😍 can’t wait to officially meet ms. olivia and see you soon 🤗

yourusername thank you babe 😚 you and alex can visit us anytime

alex_albon on our way NOW

yourusername dont bring any more toys ok

lilymhe aww why not :(

yourusername WE HAVE NO SPACE ANYMORE

landonorris

liked by oscarpiastri, carlossainz55, maxfewtrell and 1,990,827 others

landonorris me 🤜 🤛 peanut

view all 45,839 comments

maxfewtrell will i be able to hold olivia 😁

landonorris no

maxfewtrell ☹️

yourusername lando be nice

landonorris ok fine

user let him hold olivia!!

landonorris 😐😐

oscarpiastri congratulations mate 🫡 on my way to give gifts

landonorris thank you and pls dont bring anymore

oscarpiastri it’s a koala bear

landonorris ...

landonorris ok fine i guess

oscarpiastri 🐨🐨🐨

user no way lando’s first picture with olivia is them doing a fistbump 😭

user why are there two babies in this pic

storiesforpeanut and landonorris

908,729 likes

storiesforpeanut on your very first boat ride, dad had the courage to finally ask mum an important question. a question dad has been wanting to ask mum since he saw your very first sonogram. and guess what, peanut? mum finally agreed to marry dad!

you may not remember this at all, peanut. but it was a day to remember, indeed. dad really wanted this to be perfect, and he got what he wanted. this is a year full of surprises.

we love you, peanut. we love you so much.

love, dad.

view all comments

user omgomgomgomgogm

user LANDO GETTING MARRIED JFJFHFJF IM CRYINGGG

user OLIVIA MAY NOT REMEMBER IT BUT SHE JUST WITNESSED HER PARENTS GET ENGAGED AND GET MARRIED IN THE SAME LIFE TIME

user congra😭😭😭😭tula😭😭😭😭tions

yourusername

690,857 likes

yourusername beach days with the loves of my life 🌅

view all comments

user i love this family so much

user THE KITTLE FINGERS

user PEANUT’S SMALL FINGERS IM CRYIGN

landonorris i love you babies

yourusername we love you, daddy

landonorris 😳😳😳

yourusername sleep on the couch tonight

landonorris I WAS JUST KIDDING

landonorris BABE

landonorris PLEAAAASEEEE

#lando norris imagine #lando norris fluff #lando norris one shot #lando norris oneshot #lando norris instagram edit #lando norris insta au #f1 imagine #f1 fan fic #f1 one shot #f1 instagram edit #f1 instagram au #f1 x you #f1 x reader #formula one imagine #formula 1 imagine #formula one x reader #formula 1 x reader

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irisbleufic · 4 months

Text

REVIEW

Gatsby: An American Myth (Welch, Chavkin, Bartlett, Majok, & Tayeh; American Repertory Theater)

Something that most adaptations of Gatsby get wrong, whether film or stage, is the treatment of characters as archetypes rather than individuals. Symbolism drowns out most genuine attempts at capturing emotional connections and conflicts of personality. They forget that this story is not only a failure of the so-called American Dream; first and foremost, it’s a tragedy of failed roles and relationships. Almost every one of the players is attempting to be someone they are not, and even as they reach for what they believe they should want, they reveal with increasing fervor what they actually want. This is the heart of what makes Welch’s new adaptation so devastatingly, disarmingly unique, so true to its source.

The set design is literal wreckage. Crushed and warped automobile chassis scaffold the moving staircases, and concealed trap doors. The backdrop shows no clear incorporation of the infamous Eckleburg billboard; rather, it is made up of a dotted grid resembling headlights. These play out effects ranging from a downpour to camera flashes to, briefly and only once, a pair of eyes that make no effort to hide behind the owlish frames of glasses. The only thing infusing this jagged framework with meaning is the people who move through it.

The lighting design works with the set’s incongruences, deepening or excavating shadows as needed. The brightness, when it flares, is blinding. Jewel tones either enhance or diminish a costuming scheme that is composed of either very pale or very dark shades, no in between. And whether it’s the post-apocalyptic black and gray cabaret garb of the ensemble or the wealthy protagonists’ pale suits or the gunmetal and gray denizens of the wasteland, everyone’s trouser and skirt hems are conspicuously rimed with reddish dust. The visual effects are nearly impossible to describe without sounding like I had some kind of desperate fever dream.

So far, I realize that these descriptions of the set and lighting design sound like this production is about to fall into the trap of overplaying symbolism, but please bear with me. With all of that established, I can focus on what’s truly extraordinary here, what’s meant to and does shine unhindered. The acting, musicianship and vocals are all so precise that it was hard for me to believe this show is still in previews. It feels Broadway ready, West End ready, major international tours ready. If I was the production crew, I’d turn this loose on a massive scale from the get-go without a second thought.

Much like with Hadestown, the musicians are not down in an orchestra pit. They’re characters in their own right, present on the stage from start to finish on tiered risers that run up from the center on each side from one of the catwalks. I’m sure Chavkin’s involvement as director has everything to do with why this show feels so much like, moves so much like Hadestown. The company is on an equally small scale, about 23 - 25 people including the principals.

Costuming among the ensemble is delightfully gender agnostic. I mention a cabaret aesthetic earlier in this review, and I’m not kidding. If you had shown me the ensemble costume designs without showing me the principals’ designs, I would have assumed I was looking at a Cabaret revival. They’re the most talented dancers I’ve seen occupy one stage in more than a decade. The choreography relies on movements in eerie unison for a significant portion of the show, but not without allowance for individual flair within those constraints. The guy sitting next to me, when I spoke to him at the intermission, said he works as a choreographer in regional theater, and he’d never seen anything like this. I couldn’t agree more; the dancing is singular, and as impressive as the musicianship is, the dancing and unusual body movement are maybe the greatest achievements of this show on the living, breathing end of things. I could have watched the dancers for those three hours without any dialogue or vocal intervention and still understood the story. That takes so much fucking doing.

As for the principal cast, they’re constantly among the ensemble; when I say these are all triple threats in the purest sense of that terminology, I really mean it. You always expect a few of the principals to be less dance and movement focused, more polished on the acting and singing side, but this show gives you terrifying proficiency from every angle. Even the guy playing Meyer Wolfsheim is at the center of what I think is the most memorable dance number in the piece. I’ve just never seen such versatile principals all in one production. What’s even more extraordinary is that I had never heard of or previously seen any of them, and that takes some doing given how much live theater I’ve consumed in several decades of life.

Ironically, the musical composition is the one aspect of this production on which I’ll be spending the least time. I need not tell you why Welch and Bartlett were perfect for this job. They understood the assignment, and then some. There’s not a single weak number among the track listings, and I desperately hope they release a recording soon. The standout numbers all have something in common: they showcase Soleia Pfeiffer as Myrtle Wilson. You can tell that’s the role where Welch sank most of the sound that’s considered her signature style. I don’t even need to describe it; you already know what I’m talking about. What’s impressive otherwise is the restraint, the lack of over-reliance on that signature style.

The principals are fucking perfect. I’ve kept this review tautly professional without meaning to thus far, but from here on out is where I start bleeding feels all over the post. If you don’t already know who my blorbos are due to my writing history with a Gatsby-related novel (The Pursued and the Pursuing, 2021), you’re going to know by the time you’re done reading this. You’re going to know exactly who I love and why, who I hate and why, who I ship and why. But you’ll also know that I approach all three of those elements from a place of enjoying every moment of those characters, even the ones I hate. Nobody’s performance put me off or struck the wrong tone when taken in context of the novel and how the tragedy of how their relationships play out.

For a long time, I’ve been saying that there are certain support roles, certain sidekicks, that make or break the higher-profile person to whose side they’re stuck, ride or die, until the bitter end. Horatio is a great example that I’ve ranted about before; if your Hamlet production has a lackluster Horatio, then it doesn’t matter how good the Hamlet is. You have nothing if you don’t have the binary star system at the heart of that harrowing universe. I’ve seen other adaptations of Gatsby consistently fall apart because Nick Carraway is treated like the kind of voyeur who doesn’t matter, the kind of voyeur who serves as the audience’s eyes and ears, and nothing else. Anyway, this is all to say: Ben Levi Ross as Nick might be the most compelling argument I can make for the fact that the creative team behind this show understood the assignment. He’s awkward, warm, sincere, and reactive in all of the ways you need Nick to be. He’s not a passive observer; he’s in the middle of everything, and he knows it. There’s a self-deprecating response he makes when one character, Jordan if I’m not mistaken, quips that maybe he’s the reason for Gatsby’s parties for all he knows. “Maybe I am,” he says, and the tongue-in-cheekness belies a gutting meta-sincerity. We believe Daisy is the point, Gatsby believes Daisy is the point, but what’s borne out every breathtaking moment of this production is that Nick is the point. He always was. He’s also given his due as a gay man in context of the story for the first time ever. I might make some folks mad when I say Nick has always been gay; I’m going to point you to Myrtle’s apartment party and the hookup with Mr. McKee as textual evidence in the novel. The kiss with McKee, the hookup with McKee, is unapologetically here. His lack of belonging everywhere else he’s ever been, because he is gay, is unapologetically here. One of the most memorable numbers in the show hinges on the hope feels at being able to be himself in New York. Queer fans of Gatsby have been waiting a long time for this. Anyone who’s read the text closely and understood him has been waiting a long time for this. I’ve been waiting several decades as a reader, and I would’ve waited forever to have Nick so fully, lovingly realized.

One of the other things that Gatsby adaptations have persistently gotten wrong is the titular character himself. The invention of Jay Gatsby hides the underlying James Gatz, makes it feel as if that old self is truly subsumed, as if it never mattered. But Isaac Powell gives us a Jay who’s exactly as he should be, who can’t hide beneath his own attempt at artifice and reinvention worth a goddamn. He’s young (as young as Nick; they’re 32 and 30 respectively both in the novel and here), painfully earnest, and just barely keeping a handle on the criminal shit he’s had to do in order to get where he is. When he says old sport to Nick, it’s not an affectation; when he says it to Tom, it becomes a biting insult. This is a Jay who knows where and why he’s vulnerable; he latches onto Nick like a not because he sees a man close to Daisy that he can exploit, but because he sees another young man who’s equally vulnerable, equally an outsider, equally haunted by the things they had to do in the war. From the moment they meet, they are almost always touching—a hand on the shoulder, on the back, getting in social harm’s way for each other, eyes seeking each other without cease in the most crowded of settings. When Jay takes Nick to lunch to meet Wolfsheim (who has in this production taken on the function of Dan Cody as well), it’s not to have somebody else vouch for the artifice of who Jay Gatsby is. It’s taking Nick to meet his fucking father-figure, and all of the messy, sincere “if you hurt my boy, I’ll kill you” sentiment that Wolfsheim aims at Nick was the moment I knew just how much the Nick’s loss by the end was going to hurt. Jay’s love for Daisy is a ghost of itself, even if as painfully earnest as everything else about him. Meanwhile, his attachment to Nick is so disarmingly genuine from the start that you understand the true tragedy you’re about to watch untold: these men who need each other, maybe even were made for each other, each prove unable to step outside their parallel distractions from what they truly are to each other. Jay’s interactions with Daisy and Nick’s interactions with several male and/or gender ambiguous members of the ensemble have something in common, which is a shocking level of physicality. This show had an intimacy coordinator; that’s the level of no holds barred we’re talking about. When you look at Tom and Myrtle, you can see why that was merited, too.

Speaking of Tom (Cory Jeacoma), the treatment of him here is every bit as scary as it should be. There’s no attempt to make him palatable, unlike what I’ve seen done with him in other adaptations. He towers over everyone else in the cast, I mean everyone, to a physical degree that’s uncomfortable. The way his wife, lover, and friends all flinch when he gets too close to them speaks volumes to the fact that he’s an abuser in every sense of the term. Even Nick, the prodigal college friend from Yale, is on eggshells around him (which, by the hotel blowup at the end of the show, becomes a sneering, reckless contempt, one of the driving forces that drives Nick to put himself between Jay and Tom whenever real harm is on the table). At the same time, this is a Tom who sincerely loves his wife and was only ever using Myrtle as a fling. You can tell he never meant any of the promises he made Myrtle. When Daisy tells him she didn’t stop the car on purpose, it’s as if his wife’s unapologetic act of manslaughter (“It was her or me!”) is the thing that wins him back. They aren’t careless people; they are people who consciously choose, day in and day out, to use others until they’re bored or done with them. The ruthlessness of Tom and Daisy as a couple is impressive, played up to a level that I feel more adaptations should do without fear of exaggerating the text.

As mentioned above, Daisy (Charlotte MacInnes) is no delicate, nervous creature who can’t help her actions under duress. She knows what she’s doing every bit as much as Tom knows what he’s doing. They use people, hurt people because they get bored and restless and enjoy it. I respect a Daisy who’s in control of her actions every step of the way even if I don’t like her; it’s better than trying to depict her as weak and at the mercy of the men around her. She’s a pragmatist and a survivor. So many of her songs are about choices and being conscious of those choices. She is a person you should fear every bit as much as you fear her husband, and even Jordan knows she’s not safe in Daisy’s orbit.

As Jordan, Eleri Ward is one of the neatest personalities on stage. Like Tom, she’s noticeably taller than most, which gives her a commanding physical presence. She has no romantic interest in anyone; I fucking love that this production show her and Nick bonding on the basis of being queer and tired of everyone else’s shit. This is a more likable, relatable Jordan than I’ve seen in the past. This is a Jordan whose relationship to Gatsby is much more familiar and warm, much more akin to the friendship she forms with Nick. In fact, the queer-and-tired vibes that roll off several of the principals in this production are palpable.

Myrtle and Wilson (Matthew Amira) aren’t always played as effective foils for Daisy and Tom, but here? They unquestionably are. They do actually love each other in spite of the things they’ve done to hurt each other, and it’s a constant dance of daring each other, challenging each other. The most memorable duet in the entire show is between them, during Act II. The confrontation is positively electric. These are two people with deep, complicated history. Of all the couples in the show, they feel the most real, the most alive. It makes the loss of Myrtle so much more wrenching; she’s not just a plot device emblematic of the bad choices they’ve all been making. She’s not shallow or frivolous or anything like that. She’s a shrewd woman with complex motivations, and for the first time ever I find myself loving her and caring what happens to her. She’s thrust even further into the action in that one of her part time gigs is working as a maid at Gatsby’s parties, a conceit that works shockingly well and hastens the devastating consequences of her affair with Tom.

I’ve made mention of Meyer Wolfsheim’s (Adam Grupper) uniquely enhanced role previously, so I’d be remiss if I didn’t comment on him again. This is a man who does, in fact, seem to give a shit about Jay above and beyond using him as a tool in his criminal empire. It’s not necessarily a healthy father-son dynamic, but Wolfsheim is usually played as ruthless, opportunistic, inhumanly calculating. Here, he’s a charming, but unquestionably dangerous man moved by a young soldier’s plight. He seems conflicted between his love for Jay and his need to have Jay continue to hold the party line within their business relationship. Wolfsheim is deeply conflicted about Jay in a way that I haven’t seen any Wolfsheim be played previously. And, as I mentioned earlier, the actor has a showstopper of a song and dance number. That may be the #1 “I wasn’t expecting that, but I’ll take it!” moment for me in this show. And I say “may be” only because the moment that truly stopped my heart, will stay with me until everything else fades from memory, is perhaps only understandable in the context of my engagement with the text of Gatsby as a writer of transformative works.

Daisy’s and Tom’s daughter, Pam Buchanan doesn’t always appear in adaptations because she’s a toddler. Even in the novel, she a throwaway mention plus a single scene near the end where the nanny brings her out to meet Jay and Nick. She’s most often left as a throwaway mention without even grave of the scene where she appears. The scene in the novel, however brief, is memorable—and has been captured in all its fragile beauty for the first time in this adaptation. Jay and Nick both pay bewildered, wondering attention to this kid when she’s brought out. Jay drops to his knees and takes her hand when she greets him while Nick looks on in a moment of singular focus on both of them. The child who plays Pam here has a spark, an expressiveness that made me choke up even though she’s only on stage for a few minutes, if that. The tableau is one in which you can feel the shock of reality, however brief, touch on these men—Daisy’s and Tom’s reckless actions may yet do harm to someone who’s barely even begun to live her life, but who is just conscious enough to be a participant in it. They recognize that they, like this child, are probably in for a word of ruin—and that they have let it go on for so long that there’s now nothing they can do about it. For me, the deepest tragedy was watching Nick and Jay throw off that moment of heartbroken, horrified recognition prompted by Pam and return to the parts they’d decided to play out until the moment one of their hearts stopped.

Speaking of grief, of Nick’s grief since he’s the one who loses so much: there is only one person who loses more, and that’s Mr. Gatz, Jay’s father. They preserve his arrival at the house when Nick is the only person who stays around to carry out Jay’s funeral and burial. And when he arrives, the visceral shock of seeing his dark skin, braids, and beaded elements of Native regalia in juxtaposition with his otherwise period-typical Western garb underscore the tragedy of what young Jay was running away from, of what he never quite succeeded in erasing from himself. The burial scene shows Nick reverently bringing several of Jay’s folded shirts from the house and handing them down into the grave to Mr. Gatz, who places them reverently as possessions to accompany his son into thereafter. The cultural ramifications are all at once understated and devastating. Nick has moments with each of Jay’s father figures that are among the most complex and moving in the show. The program does not make clear the name of the ensemble member who takes on this most memorable of all Mr. Gatz appearances, and this erasure in and of itself is both unfortunate and telling. This is a world that never belonged to the majority of those who inhabit it, and Nick realizes it with heartbroken clarity after having this final interaction. Even though he’s an outsider, he’s part of a world that has erased and betrayed the man he loved so much at every turn.

The closing number, “We Beat On,” felt like it needed something more, but it utilized the final line of the novel to a deeply moving effect. The lights go down suddenly as the last word is sung; it feels like the song is half finished. When the lights came up, Nick and Jay were center stage in each other’s embrace, just withdrawing from each other as the entire company transitioned into final bows. That’s how I’ll remember them, always: touching even when they’ve already lost each other, borne ceaselessly back into each other’s arms. If Nick is Orpheus, then I have no doubt that he, too, will tell this story again and again until someday, somewhere, something gives.

#the great gatsby #gatsby musical #florence welch #gatsby #natsby

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psychotrenny · 3 months

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I don't think "Fascist" is a very useful or accurate thing to call Caesar and his Legion (from Fallout: New Vegas) in the context of the game world itself. Like there are a lot of aesthetic similarities and basically all of their unironic real world fans are some sort of Nazi Nerd, but when talking about their place within the context of fictional post-nuclear Nevada it just doesn't work. Like Caesar's whole deal is that he's a Social Scientist who, living in a world that's been "blasted back to the Stone Age", figures that society must evolve through the same stages if it wants to properly return to modernity. The Legion is basically comprised of "Primitive Communists"* who've been forced into a Slave Society. His criticisms of the NCR boil down to them being a moribund remnant of/reversion to Old World Capitalism rather than something organically adapted to the post-Nuclear world. He repeatedly talks about how the Legion isn't meant to represent an ideal society but simply a stepping stone onto something better (the thesis that will clash with it's antithesis and evolve into a superior synthesis). His interactions with the Courier heavily imply that the Legion's Misogyny, Homophobia, Tech aversion etc. are much more tools of social organisation and control than values that Caesar personally holds. The Legion isn't just some band of mindlessly violent reactionaries but the product of very deliberate Social Engineering; a peculiarly post-nuclear sort of scientifically planned society

Now I'm not defending the Legion as a "good" choice or anything; Caesar's plan has a lot of problems, it's not hard to poke holes into and in terms of unadulterated cruelty The Legion is easily the most morally repugnant of the main factions. But the thing I really love about The Legion is how, within the specific context of Fallout's setting, it makes sense. Like once you really think about it you can understand why someone in Edward Sallow's position would arrive at these conclusions, and there are good reasons why (if you take your roleplaying seriously and don't treat the Player Character as an extension of yourself) someone living in this world might chose to side with him. The Legion may be terrible but it's not evil for the sake of evil; there's genuinely a compelling ideology behind it.

It's why I get sad when I see so many people dismiss them as the "dum dum fascist slavers" because there's so much more to them than that. Like I think the best part about The Legion is how ridiculous they first appear ("These raiders dress like Ben-Hur extras?????) but once you find out more about them then it all starts to click ("Oh I see their leader is trying to assimilate them into a distinct and alien culture in order to maintain their loyalty; severing their previous connections and giving them a whole new identity"). So it sucks to see so many people get caught up in the first part and never make enough connections to reach the second. Like in general, Fallout: New Vegas is very messy and flawed and yet it's full of all these interesting little nuances and I think that's worth appreciating it. It's why, time and time again, I keep walking down that dusty road

*in the very broad sense that Fallouts "Tribals" are meant to represent people who have reverted back to some sort of pre-state society; of course there are countless problems with how Fallout treats this matter (including but not limited to incredible amounts of racism) but in order to understand Caesar we're forced to meet the game on it's terms

#fallout

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chosolala · 3 months

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jjk characters at american highschool ˙⋆✮

i’ve been seeing this silly headcannons all over tiktok for other anime so i thought i’d make a jjk version but here’s the type of student i think characters would be at an american school :]

characters: yuji, megumi, nobara, gojo

yuji itadori

never has a ride and failed his drivers test

genuinely tries to pay attention but never has any idea what’s going on

“class clown” but is actually kinda funny unintentionally

wears sports brands for all his clothing

goes off campus for lunch everyday even if he isn’t supposed to

gets invited to every party but never ever goes

“i’ll do it for a dollar”

does no extra curricular school activities despite a bunch of his peers asking him to join their teams and stuff

tiktok shop fidget toy victim, bro has a pop it phone case

constantly getting caught for being on his phone in class

hes the type of guy whos phone will randomly start blasting music bc he forgot to mute it

dont ask him if he has a pencil

megumi fushiguro

mansplains

actually so sassy at first, like if you talk to him and he had no prior intention on reaching out to you he doesn't wanna talk to you

type of guy to do all the work on the group project in one night because he doesnt trust you

brings local business iced coffee to school every day in first period

has a car and only gives people rides in return for favors

probably in like theater but works behind stage

takes really good notes, ppl ask to take pictures to study

like the entire school knows him but he ONLY knows his friend circle dont ask him abt anyone else

probably randomly gets philosophical during the conversation

makes tiktoks where he just stares into the camera and ruffles his hair a few times with a lana del rey song in the background (half his comments are lana stans calling him a poser or something)

tries to put girls onto his niche music taste and its just like birds dont sing by tv girl

nobara kugisaki

buys into every microtrend ever but is always trendy

always drinking those bottled starbucks frappes you can get in vending machines

everyone thinks she might be gay

makes tiktoks in school of her and her friends dancing and stuff and you are DEF in the background like passed out or picking your nose lol

talks over the teacher despite them shushing her and her friends multiple times then is shocked when she gets kicked out of class

she is the ultimate girls girl, shes so nice to girls despite looking mean but she will jump a man so quick if he steps out of line

probably like on the track team

goes to the mall sometimes during lunch instead of eating

has skipped in the bathroom and had to hide with her legs on the toilet before

satoru gojo (as a teacher)

extremely unprofessional

sometimes when he doesnt feel like teaching he puts on like wall-e and just has a movie day

literally all in everyones business, students come to him with their problems before they tell the school counselor

like he has some of his students numbers and they gen vent to him and are like friends with him

NEVER teaches, he just posts power points online and gives test every few weeks

orders kfc for lunch

maki zenin

everyone thinks she and nobara are girlfriends

takes all her notes on her ipad

she does NOT play about school field day

always brings medicine, feminine products, deoderant, anything you might need maki has it

kind of the mom friend

probably in like cross country

has the fattest hydroflask water bottle and is constantly getting up to refill it

very organized school supplies

has college stickers on all her stuff

gen takes school seriously

sometimes goes out to eat with the others but often spends lunch alone in the library reading or studying while she eats

brings a tote bag instead of a bookbag

inumaki toge

also always has medicine

will text you at 2am on a school night asking u to get on duos

his mom packs his lunch for him and the group picks on him for it

he is the funny friend nobody is checking up on

for some reason he speaks fluent spanish (he is not hispanic in case you didnt know)

texting during class but never gets caught

also skips class sometimes but actually goes off campus with people instead of the bathroom

sometimes makes brainrot comments

will ask to copy your homework but will let you copy his next time as a thanks

has the worst handwriting ever almost unreadable, ts has teachers breaking down the syllables and stuff trying to decode his essay

also vents in his english essays

kento nanami (as a teacher)

openly talks shit about the principals and higher up staff to his students literally any chance he gets

constantly breaking school rules he does not gaf if he gets fired

leaves the class alone sometimes to go talk to other teachers

all the girls lowkey have a crush on him (he has no idea)

has a seating chart but for like 3 students, so if youre unproblematic he keeps you with his friends

probably has a class pet, like a hamster even though he isnt allowed to, he dont gaf

still gives all his assignments on paper

leaves a gold star sticker if you score a 90+

always messing with higher up staff any chance he gets

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byoldervine · 5 months

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Writing Tips - Beating Perfectionism

1. Recognising writing perfectionism. It’s not usually as literal as “This isn’t 100% perfect and so it is the worst thing ever”, in my experience it usually sneaks up more subtly. Things like where you should probably be continuing on but if you don’t figure out how to word this paragraph better it’s just going to bug you the whole time, or where you’re growing demotivated because you don’t know how to describe the scene 100% exactly as you can imagine it in your head, or things along those lines where your desire to be exact can get in the way of progression. In isolated scenarios this is natural, but if it’s regularly and notably impacting your progress then there’s a more pressing issue

2. Write now, edit later. Easier said than done, which always infuriated me until I worked out how it translates into practice; you need to recognise what the purpose of this stage of the writing process is and when editing will hinder you more than help you. Anything up to and including your first draft is purely done for structural and creative purposes, and trying to impose perfection on a creative process will naturally stifle said creativity. Creativity demands the freedom of imperfection

3. Perfection is stagnant. We all know that we have to give our characters flaws and challenges to overcome since, otherwise, there’s no room for growth or conflict or plot, and it ends up being boring and predictable at best - and it’s just the same as your writing. Say you wrote the absolute perfect book; the perfect plot, the perfect characters, the perfect arcs, the perfect ending, etc etc. It’s an overnight bestseller and you’re discussed as a literary great for all time. Everyone, even those outside of your target demographic, call it the perfect book. Not only would that first require you to turn the perfect book into something objective, which is impossible, but it would also mean that you would either never write again, because you can never do better than your perfect book, or you’ll always write the exact same thing in the exact same way to ensure constant perfection. It’s repetitive, it’s boring, and all in all it’s just fearful behaviour meant to protect you from criticism that you aren’t used to, rather than allowing yourself to get acclimated to less than purely positive feedback

4. Faulty comparisons. Comparing your writing to that of a published author’s is great from an analytical perspective, but it can easily just become a case of “Their work is so much better, mine sucks, I’ll never be as good as them or as good as any ‘real’ writer”. You need to remember that you’re comparing a completely finished draft, which likely underwent at least three major edits and could have even had upwards of ten, to wherever it is you’re at. A surprising number of people compare their *first* draft to a finished product, which is insanity when you think of it that way; it seems so obvious from this perspective why your first attempt isn’t as good as their tenth. You also end up comparing your ability to describe the images in your head to their ability to craft a new image in your head; I guarantee you that the image the author came up with isn’t the one their readers have, and they’re kicking themselves for not being able to get it exactly as they themselves imagine it. Only the author knows what image they’re working off of; the readers don’t, and they can imagine their own variation which is just as amazing

5. Up close and too personal. Expanding on the last point, just in general it’s harder to describe something in coherent words than it is to process it when someone else prompts you to do so. You end up frustrated and going over it a gazillion times, even to the point where words don’t even look like words anymore. You’ve got this perfect vision of how the whole story is supposed to go, and when you very understandably can’t flawlessly translate every single minute detail to your satisfaction, it’s demotivating. You’re emotionally attached to this perfect version that can’t ever be fully articulated through any other medium. But on the other hand, when consuming other media that you didn’t have a hand in creating, you’re viewing it with perfectly fresh eyes; you have no ‘perfect ideal’ of how everything is supposed to look and feel and be, so the images the final product conjures up become that idealised version - its no wonder why it always feels like every writer except you can pull off their visions when your writing is the only one you have such rigorous preconceived notions of

6. That’s entertainment. Of course writing can be stressful and draining and frustrating and all other sorts of nasty things, but if overall you can’t say that you ultimately enjoy it, you’re not writing for the right reasons. You’ll never take true pride in your work if it only brings you misery. Take a step back, figure out what you can do to make things more fun for you - or at least less like a chore - and work from there

7. Write for yourself. One of the things that most gets to me when writing is “If this was found and read by someone I know, how would that feel?”, which has lead me on multiple occasions to backtrack and try to be less cringe or less weird or less preachy or whatever else. It’s harder to share your work with people you know whose opinions you care about and whose impressions of you have the potential of shifting based on this - sharing it to strangers whose opinions ultimately don’t matter and who you’ll never have to interact with again is somehow a lot less scary because their judgements won’t stick. But allowing the imaginary opinions of others to dictate not even your finished project, but your unmoderated creative process in general? Nobody is going to see this without your say so; this is not the time to be fussing over how others may perceive your writing. The only opinion that matters at this stage is your own

8. Redirection. Instead of focusing on quality, focusing on quantity has helped me to improve my perfectionism issues; it doesn’t matter if I write twenty paragraphs of complete BS so long as I’ve written twenty paragraphs or something that may or may not be useful later. I can still let myself feel accomplished regardless of quality, and if I later have to throw out whole chapters, so be it

9. That’s a problem for future me. A lot of people have no idea how to edit, or what to look for when they do so, so having a clear idea of what you want to edit by the time the editing session comes around is gonna be a game-changer once you’re supposed to be editing. Save the clear work for when you’re allocating time for it and you’ll have a much easier and more focused start to the editing process. It’ll be more motivating than staring blankly at the intimidating word count, at least

10. The application of applications. If all else fails and you’re still going back to edit what you’ve just wrote in some struggle for the perfect writing, there are apps and websites that you can use that physically prevent you from editing your work until you’re done with it. If nothing else, maybe it can help train you away from major edits as you go

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leporellian · 4 months

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actually i could write a whole essay on why referring to opera productions as '''traditional'' is not only a nonsense term but an actively revisionist one when concerning the history of opera.

when people SAY 'traditional', what they actually MEAN are productions that employ late 19th century standards of realism. while realism had existed as an art movement starting in 1848 (the year everything happened), the conceptualization of it applying to theatre really started around the 1870s. the realism movement, in opera, became what we now call verismo. (there's some kind of lesson here in how even the verismo operas have batshit premises like murder clowns and flowers that kill you, but that topic of conversation is for another day.)

anyway, so if you're staging something like tosca which was part of that verismo movement, then yes, you could reasonably stake the claim that going about it from the angle of 'everything is meant to happen as if it were happening in real life with real people' is the traditional one. but that leaves 272 years of opera history in which 'realism' didn't exist, and therefore... there were 272 years in which 'traditional' productions as we know them didn't really exist.

let's whip around to an opera that 'traditional' staging is particularly egregious to apply to: our good old, fairy-tale-potential-allegory friend, the magic flute!

'what the fuck is happening in that image? is it racist?' no, IN THIS CASE the magic flute is not being racist. those dubious dark shapes are meant to be animal costumes. this is part of a set of early engravings by the schaffer brothers of the first magic flute production, which are invaluable both in researching this opera and opera production history as a whole. this is the scene in which tamino charms the animals with the titular flute, in the year of our lord 1791, and they decided to have it look like this!

anyway, once romanticism kicks into gear in a couple decades magic flute productions start taking a turn with it. remember at this time 'the magic flute is meant to happen in egypt' was still something everyone was sticking to, so we end up with these interpretations of magic flute set designs:

you've probably seen at least a couple of these before because that one on the top left is one of the most famous opera set designs ever. anyway, the design philosophy here between these productions, because there's at least two included here, is weird. there's like 3 things going on: you've got the aptitude for spectacle, this vague orientalist approach towards ancient egypt that was influenced by then-recent discoveries but still very obviously rooted in exoticism, and the cosmic abstraction you can see both in the famous hall of stars and sarastro's temple.

all very interesting! but still not 'traditional'! these, at the time, were a radical re-interpretation of mozart's work- compare them to the above engraving. but because these illustrations have a gorilla grip on the public consciousness they superseded the original 'a bunch of skintight suits constitutes animal costumes' production, and now when an opera company wants to go 'traditional' with their magic flute they do this:

hello my good friend august everding! anyway this is seen as the 'traditional' production out of the two magic flutes in repertory at the berlin staatsoper and yet this isn't what the opera originally even looked like- this is a negotiation with the later early romantic illustrations of the work. sure, it's 'traditional' in the sense that you look at that and immediately know what opera that is meant to be. but at the same time was it ever mozart's intention to stage the magic flute on this grand a scale? is this 'traditional' production really in the spirit of the mozart opera designed for a much smaller stage and with a much smaller set? famously mozart is dead so we will never know.

but then that brings us to the question of What would an actually 'traditional' magic flute look like? well we have multiple options here. first, we have ingmar bergman's film version of the opera, which is sort of the equivalent direction-wise of an opera nature cam. modeled after the drottningholm theatre, this recording tries as hard as it can to emulate the magic flute as it might have been seen in the 18th century:

i mean that does look very 18th century, and wouldn't be out of place with the above engraving. but there's still a fatal flaw here: the magic flute was written as an opera for everybody, and was performed not in the drottningholm (which belonged to the swedish royal family and which resides in their palace) but in the theatre auf der weiden, which was, while certainly impressive (trap doors! fly systems!) also a commoner theatre where everyone could just go hang out and watch fairy tale operas. this is a great snapshot in time of what a 18th century magic flute should have looked like. but what would a 21st century magic flute that still adheres to the original 'vision'- no grand sets, no massive theatres, performed by a cast that isn't even entirely opera singers, done with a bunch of jokes meant to appeal to an everyday audience- look like?

well the good news is we might have an idea with the matchbox magic flute, which is on tour right now and which i hope continues to run on said tour.

the matchbox magic flute is the magic flute. it's also not really the magic flute. this is technically an adaptation. it's also not really though. this is the closest i have ever gotten to being in a theatre, watching this opera (which i have seen many times at this rate) and thinking 'shit, yeah, this is what the theatre auf der weiden must have been like all those years ago'. the matchbox magic flute scales down the whole thing into a very small orchestra and ten singers, who alternate roles like crazy. it is designed for very tiny theatres. most of the cast do not sing opera! they have a few classically-trained singers in there but it's actually sung, in modern english, mostly by musical theatre performers. the jokes are regularly updated; since i saw it in chicago, there were jokes about the evening commute on lake shore drive. parts of the plot are entirely updated or worked around.

and yet, it reflects the original design vision of the original magic flute and what mozart and schikaneder set out to accomplish so perfectly, i almost WANT to say that in some way this too is traditional.

(also, they should put tamino in a dress forever and ever. he gets to twirl it even. really good.)

So, what have we learned here. well for one thing 'traditional' productions, as a catch-all category, don't exist. is a traditional magic flute the one based on the early 19th century designs, or the one based on what 18th century theatre would have been like exactly, or the one that tries to reflect its original spiritual vision?

It's all of them because traditionalism as a term is an inherently reactionary term that upholds a time in operatic history that never really existed and which rapidly changes meaning based on the personal values of who is ascribing it, often forgetting that every opera production represents a negotiation and not a reproduction and that the notion of how it ought to be is one of the most dangerous ideas someone in the arts can have. Go watch who's afraid of modern art by jacob geller on youtube and come back to me.

#opera tag #the magic flute #rambles

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ragnvindrgf · 8 months

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fontanian men and empty places pt.1

☆ pairings: neuvillette x afab reader, wriothesley x afab reader, & lyney x afab reader

☆ warnings: glove kink (?), petnames, dubious consent, mentions of a relationship with a power imbalance, sex in public spaces

nsfw under the cut

neuvillette - in front of the oratrice mecanique d'analyse cardinale (pre 4.2)

usually, if he’s feeling bold, you’ll fuck in his office at palais mermonia. rarely ever HERE. but, on the rare occasions that you do…

it’s a rare quiet day at the opera epiclese. no trials and no shows held by the beloved magician twins. but, neuvillette still had to come down to oversee some maintenance done on the oratice mecanique d’analyse cardinale (omac for short plz).

“mon coeur, i don’t know why you can’t just assign the overseeing to some garde or melusine. you and i both know there’s no issue with its ability to create indemnitium.” you stand at the center of the stage, pouting with your arms crossed.

the silver haired man chuckles softly, “i know i could. but you and i both know this isn’t a delicate matter, it requires special attention no matter what,” neuvillette moves close to you and leans down to kiss your cheek, “somewhat like you.”

“please, you pay this hunk of metal more attention than me some days,” you scoff. you were exaggerating, you both knew it but neuvillette still raised a brow.

“oh? has my sirène been feeling neglected?” the hydro sovereign pauses, you feign puppy dog eyes and look up at him, your eyes meeting his soft azure blue ones.

“wouldn't hurt to show me how special i am,” you say with fake sniffles

neuvillette cups your cheeks in his hands and your lips meet in a desperate need, lust clouding over you both so quickly. eventually, you part gasping for breath as you hazily look up at him silently pleading for more.

just as you open your mouth to ask neuvillette to take you home, the man is pushing two of his glove clad fingers past your lips and down your throat. you gag around the intrusion but don’t pull away, keeping eye contact even if your vision blurs with tears.

“indeed, allow me.”

wriothesley - in an abandoned production zone

you and the fortress of meropide’s administrator have a hard and clear rule, keep it under wraps, no telling anyone and definitely no pda. so imagine your surprise when the duke himself is walking towards you in the middle of your evening patrol.

“oh- sir, i was just in the middle of my patrol. did you need assistance in something?” you ask, putting up a facade to any other gardes that may be nearby.

wriothesley puts a hand up, signaling the coast was clear. “no need for that, princess. it’s just us here,” he grins at your body relaxing, “did you check this area out already?”

you look back, an abandoned production zone. nothing but boxes of unused gear for clockwork mekas, “yeah, all clear back there.” you peer into the man’s icy eyes, wondering what he was doing here. wriothesley was usually in his headquarters’s at this time, or really just sleeping. the confused look doesn’t go unnoticed.

the duke guides you deeper into the empty tunnel, “what, i can’t check up on my princess?”

you flush at the pet name. despite you being a mere garde in the fortress, wriothesley insisted on calling you such pet names. “no- i mean yes you can but-“

you’re interrupted as you hit the wall behind you, now noticing how deep into the tunnel you are and how close wriothesley is to you. the man flips you around with ease and presses you against the wall, your back firm against his chest. “i got tired of filling out paperwork, i need a break,”

your eyes widen when you feel his hard cock strain against his pants and push into the small of your back. “oh,” you breathe out.

“think you can help me unwind?” the duke doesn’t even wait for your answer and begins unbuckling his belt, the sound of the light metal making you press your thighs together searching for friction.

you lift up the skirt of your uniform and push down your panties, spreading apart your legs so the bigger man can fit in between them. wriothesley groans in approval at your eagerness, “such a perfect princess.”

lyney - behind the bushes at café lutece during nighttime

do not trust this magician’s innocent face, this man is EVIL!!! i fully believe he has an intense exhibition kink and gets off on the thrill of almost getting caught (poor melusines)

so, deep into the night when the usual bustle of fontaine court is now quiet, hiding from the sight of gardes, lyneys tugged you by the hand, all giggles and shushes, towards café lutece.

“the café is closed, lyney. what’re we doing here?” you question the perky blond.

“oh but we’re not here for the cafe, ma cherie.” lyney continues to tug you, now behind the bushes near the walls surrounding the building, “i just though this would be the perfect place to make some magic of our own,” lyney winks at your puzzled face, softly pushing you against the walls and hiking your leg up his waist.

‘l-lyney! Have you gone mad?!” you gasp, trying to push off your insane boyfriend. yet, there was little force.

“hmm c'mon now, we’ll be quick,” his hands have already hiked up your skirt and are now toying with the hem of your panties, fingers dipping in between your thighs just quick enough to leave you longing for more.

your heart skips a beat and you bite your lip to keep from making any noise as lyney gets bolder, his fingers slipping past your now wet folds.

lyney grins against your neck where he’s been placing sweet kisses, “see, ma belle? just enjoy the show.”

to be continued whenever more fontaine males are released :3

#౨ৎ my works #genshin smut #gi smut #genshin impact smut #genshin x reader #neuvillette x reader #neuvillette smut #wriothesley x reader #wriothesley smut #lyney x reader #lyney smut

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aristotels · 9 months

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look imma say this and then im gonna go do something productive bc this is taking up way too much of time.

do i think usamericans are inherently stupid or evil? no, i dont. i dont believe you are any less capable or dumber than the other people in the world. i do, however, think you have more responsibilities.

does it matter if a brazilian doesnt know where croatia is? not really. brazil doesnt have monopoly on world production or currency. brazil didnt instigate the fall of yugoslavia. brazil cant veto an un resolution. does it matter if a dalmatian grandma raising donkeys in vrlika doesnt know where laos is? not particularly; she doesnt vote for a president who has power to influence the global politics. croatian president cant stage a coup in venezuela. balkan countries dont dominate social or political discourse, they dont dictate economy, trends, or inflation. they dont dominate media, films, music, culture, language.

usa however does. the president of the usa has very real power to fund a genocide and single-handedly keep an apartheid existing. people from usa should know the effects their choices have.

imperialism isnt only visible in politics either. cultural hegemony is a huge part of it. oscars, online algorithms, social media, language - these all have influence on the rest of the world. the ways other countries are viewed in the usa is important. its REALLY not about "haha stupid usamericans", its about responsibility you have as a part of imperial core.

and before anyone goes like "wHy ArE yOu NoT cALLiNg OuT wEsTeRn EuRoPe" its not what this particular discourse is about. ive talked about it before. ill talk about it again because germany has more effect on my life than the usa. pls stop deflecting responsibility this way

edit: no this does not mean "please vote for genocide joe" it means the opposite holy shit this is the core reason for this entire fucking globegate or whatever. if youre voting for dems bc theyre "lesser evil" pls learn where palestine is and that to them there is NO lesser evil jesus christ biden is literally bypassing congress and vetoing un resolutions and sending billions of dollars and weapons and missiles to kill children on the other side of the planet. youre all insane if "vote blue" was your takeaway from this post

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cosmicflw3rr · 6 months

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cash in.

dominik mysterio x fem! reader

summary: you cash in at wrestlemania.

A/N: this is inspired by damian’s cash in, just something to put out while I work on my other things! btw pls request stuff I need to unleash my creativity 😈😈

btw in this short fic, for the inst post at the end im using pics from liv’s cash in, and a pic of bianca and montez but you can imagine yourself however you want it’s just pics i chose for the post :)

your nerves were jumbled up as you watched bayley and iyo sky fight for the title. their feud had been going on for a while now and was finally going to be resolved at the grandest stage of them all.

what they didn’t know was that tonight you’d finally cash in the money in the bank contract you'd been clutching for months. you had never found the perfect moment to make your move. yet, something in the air felt different, electric. today was the day you'd cash it in; you could just feel it.

you had to look away from the screen at the amount of close calls the match had, you moved away from the monitor sitting down on the couch in the little spot the tv crew had for the judgement day. damian, finn, jd and rhea also watched the match intently.

you held your head with your hands, sighing. your leg bouncing up and down anxiously. dominik, your boyfriend sat down next to you placing his hand on your knee to stop it from bouncing.

as soon as dom's hand touched your knee, you paused and locked eyes with him. "hermosa, talk to me," he urged, understanding the weight of the evening on your shoulders, yet not wanting you to be overwhelmed by stress.

leaning back, you let out a groan, the frustration clear in your voice. "what if it doesn’t work? what if I can't cash in the contract?" you shared your fears, the pressure mounting. "I might not get a chance like this ever again." the uncertainty of it all was eating at you.

you were convinced this was a once-in-a-lifetime shot, but dom saw things differently. he knew just how incredible you were in the ring, how you owned every match you fought and put your heart into everything you did. so to hear you think you weren’t ever going to get an opportunity like that again hurt, because he knew you would.

“listen amor.” when you wouldn't meet his gaze, he gently tilted your chin up, eyes meeting yours, and saw the worry glistening there. with a soft, reassuring smile, he whispered, "amor, don't worry. you've got this. you're one of the best wrestlers out there, and no matter what happens, there will be more chances. believe in yourself like I believe in you." his words were the comfort you didn't know you needed.

you eyes met dom’s as you nodded, understanding flickering between you. suddenly, the bell echoed, one, two, three times. your head whipped around to the screen, and there it was—bayley's victory. the members from your faction turned to you, their faces a mix of surprise and disbelief.

aithout a second thought, you grabbed your briefcase and bolted towards the gorilla, heart racing. "I'm cashing in! I'm cashing in!" you shouted at the top of your lungs. the production crew exchanged quick glances, barely able to process your words as you grabbed a referee by his shirt and charged onto the stage, adrenaline fueling your every step.

running down the ramp as your theme blared through the arena, the crowd erupted in cheers, instantly recognizing the moment unfolding. You reached the ring sliding into it with the referee on your heels. you turned thrusting the briefcase into his hands, “I’m cashing in!” you yelled.

he looked down at the briefcase his voice tinged with uncertainty, "are you sure?"

without hesitation, you shouted back, "yes, I'm cashing in, do it!" your hand came down hard on the briefcase, affirming your decision. the buzz from the crowd surged through you, adrenaline coursing wildly through your veins.

bayley staggered to her feet, unsteady. you bounced on the balls of your feet, ready, and as the bell chimed for the third time, you quickly delivered your finisher, the ripcord flatliner.

she hit the mat, motionless. yet, the roar of the crowd told you to keep going. you quickly pulled her to the ring's center, seizing her legs and cinching in a figure four lock, the cheers growing impossibly louder.

the excitement from the crowd was electric and the adrenaline in your body was hard to contain.

with the figure four perfectly locked in, bayley was trapped, dead center of the ring with no hope of grabbing the ropes. you yelled, teeth gritted, tightening the hold. then, the moment came—bayley tapped out, the bell sounding three times.

your music blared out as you released her, you scooted back, your spine meeting the ropes, shock written on your face. your hands flew to cover your eyes, tears leaving paths down your cheeks as you sobbed, the crowd's roar drowning your thoughts, the reality of the moment not quite sinking in.

wiping your tears, you turned to the referee, who held the championship title towards you. grabbing it from, you sat there dazed, just gazing at the title, a fresh wave of tears blurring in your eyes as pride swelled within you.

you got to your feet, lifting your arm, and the cheers from the crowd grew even wilder. you let out a smile, wiping away those involuntary tears. just then, at the top of the ramp, you noticed the judgement day coming out, cheering you on.

without missing a beat, you slipped out of the ring and bolted up the ramp. reaching the top, you found dominik first, waiting for you. the two of you collided into a tight embrace, him lifting and twirling you off the ground.

when your feet touched solid ground, you stepped back, locking eyes with him briefly, then sharing a tender kiss. after the kiss, you both melted into another warm hug, your arms around his neck and his on your waist.

“I’m so proud of you baby. I told you everything would work out.” he whispered, stirring fresh tears in your eyes. you nodded against his shoulder.

"I love you so much," you choked out, voice trembling, tears streaming down. breaking from the embrace, he tenderly held your face, wiping away the tears, then kissed you once more.

a smile broke through as he stepped aside, revealing the judgement day, all hyped up. In an instant, they swept you and dom up in a massive group hug.

you all erupted in cheers, bouncing around with excitement as each one expressed their pride in you, bringing a beam to your face. the group hug ended, and everyone turned towards the ring.

in a swift move, dom and damian hoisted you onto their shoulders, your hands clutching the title as you raised it high, pyro blazing in the background.

with a joyful shout, you took in the cheering crowd. after soaking in the moment, they carefully lowered you back down. you lifted your hand in triumph one last time before Dom draped his arm over your shoulder.

backstage, away from the roaring crowd, the intimacy of the moment enveloped you and dom as the judgment day trailed behind. you wrapped your arms around dom once more, this hug deeper, more personal.

tears freely flowed as the weight of your victory hit you, and dom was there, a comforting presence, rubbing your back gently. "I am so, so proud of you, amor. you've earned this and so much more," he whispered, his words a soothing balm to your overwhelmed emotions.

pulling back from the embrace, you brushed away the lingering tears, offering him a tender kiss. "thank you, babe. for everything," you murmured with heartfelt gratitude.

"this was all you," he replied, his pride in you evident.

"maybe, but your support has been my rock, the thing that's kept me pushing forward," you said, your voice laced with appreciation. his smile then met yours, and he leaned in to seal your shared moment with another kiss.

LIKED BY DOMINIK_35, RHEARIPLEY_WWE, ARCHEROFINFAMY, YAONLIVONCE & 5 MILLION OTHERS

y/n: and your new…

tagged: dominik_35

VIEW COMMENTS

dominik_35: so proud of you amor❤️

y/n: ❤️❤️❤️

rhearipley_wwe: all rise!!

y/n: judgement day is ALWAYS on top!!💜⚖️

yaonlylivonce: so happy for you! you deserve it!! 🥹❤️❤️

y/n: thank you so much liv! I love you so much!!🤍

archerofinfamy: proud of you chiquita💜

y/n: 💜

samanthairvinwwe: by far my fav name to call out tonight! congrats girl! you deserve it!! 👏💗

y/n: shhhh🤫 don’t let them know you have favorites😏

wwelover: was in sm shock watching! congratulations!!

y/n.vsp: the edits I alr have lined up for this😝

wrestlingstan: I KNEW SHED CASH IN! OMG!

WWE: your new women’s champion!

y/n: thank you to all of you who gave me the opportunity❤️.

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