#Eight Bit Theatre

[spark-circuit]

yippee! my Final Fantasy pins arrived from Etsy! :) i swear i was hearing voice earlier so it must've been Santa! how lovely!

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(Meanwhile, while Spark's out of the room...)

[bitronic]

his phone doesnt have a screen

[steddiealltheway]

(So, idk if anyone has ordered or seen the Scoops Ahoy costumes from Amazon or whatever, but the shorts for Robin are tight and short. But the shorts for Steve are like the ones seen in the show. Which leads me to this thought…)

Steve’s first day at Scoops Ahoy is… alright?

Actually, it’s pretty miserable.

Scooping ice cream is way harder than it looks. And for some reason he can’t get that perfect rounded shape. It just comes out in pieces that he has to mash into cups and balance on top of cones.

Plus, he’s pretty sure his coworker hates him.

Her name is Robin, and she scowls and dramatically points at her name tag when he asks for it. To make matters worse, they apparently went to high school together, but he doesn’t have the vaguest memory of her. (To be fair, they did not run in the same social circles with her being in band and even theatre and with Steve being “King Steve.”)

But for some reason, she loves to poke fun at him especially when he fails to get any girl’s number. It’s like the Harrington charm radiates through his hair which is blocked by the stupid hat.

But what he really notices only an hour into their eight hour shift is the way she’s tugging at her shorts. She digs her fingers under the elastic band around her thighs as if trying to stretch them out, and she’s constantly trying to pull them down as they begin to ride up.

And really, Steve not trying to perv or anything, but she’s make quite a bit of a fuss with the whole thing, cursing under her breath and obviously really uncomfortable.

So, when the store is fairly empty, Steve turns to her and asks, “Do you want to change shorts with me?”

For the first time, Robin laughs. Loudly. She even snorts at the idea. But her laughter quickly dies down when she realizes Steve isn’t laughing. “Wait, you’re serious?”

Steve shrugs. “Yeah. You look uncomfortable. And hey, I’ve worn way worse to basketball practice, plus I had to wear speedos when I was on the swim team.”

Robin’s nose scrunches up. “Gross.”

Steve puts his hands on his hips and huffs, “Do you want to switch or not?”

She takes a few seconds to stare at Steve, clearly suspicious of an ulterior motive. But then, she curses and starts tugging at elastic band again. “Okay! Fine. But we’re not getting change in the same room.”

Steve rolls his eyes as he heads to the back room. “I wasn’t suggesting that.”

In the end, Steve is left to change in the damn freezer storage area while Robin gets the whole break room. But he doesn’t want to make her uncomfortable, so he sucks it up and doesn’t complain. (Although he really really wants to.)

He waits for her to knock on the door to signal she’s ready, looking down at the shorts. They’re not horrible, but he can understand why Robin was uncomfortable - as they’re already stretching over his ass and thighs while starting to ride up beyond mid thigh.

Even after she knocks, Steve asks, “Ready for me to come out?”

He thinks he hears her laugh about that for some reason before she answers, “Yeah!”

He steps into the room and glances down at her new shorts momentarily before nodding. “Better?”

Robin smiles slightly and nods before heading back out to the main area.

Steve follows behind her. “Hey, they gave me two pairs of these. I can give you the extra pair to wear and keep during our next shift together.”

Robin turns to him and narrows her eyes. “What are you asking for in return?”

“Nothing,” Steve says, eyebrows furrowed. He hopes she understands that he really means it and won’t hold this over her head like an asshole.

She just stares at him for a few seconds before almost wondrously saying, “Huh.”

Luckily, she seems to relax for the first time since their shift started.

After this, the teasing from before has less of an edge to it, but it becomes relentless. Steve almost thinks that maybe this is the start of a wonderful friendship. But Robin would never want that from him.

He only changes his mind about this later when Eddie Munson walks into the store while Steve is cleaning the tables. He accidentally knocks over a napkin and bends over to pick it up, feeling his shorts ride up.

When he stands up, he’s met with a pink faced Munson who stares at him - or rather his ass - with wide eyes.

“See something you want to sample?” Steve asks honestly a bit against his will because it’s part of the Scoops Ahoy greeting. (Only for some reason, he’s unable to get any other part of the greeting out.)

Eddie’s pink face turns red as his eyes snap up to Steve’s. His mouth opens and closes a few times before he quickly breathes out, “I need to leave.”

When the boy practically runs out the store, Steve naturally glances over his shoulder at Robin, trying to gauge if she just saw what he did.

She’s already laughing behind the counter saying between bouts of laughter, “See something you want to sample?”

Steve huffs and feels a blush rise to his cheeks. “Shut up,” he mumbles out, throwing the napkin away before returning behind the counter. “I’m never asking that again.”

But as Robin continues to laugh, Steve can’t help but join in a little, wondering if maybe she would like to be friends and if Eddie will ever come back.

So, maybe his first day wasn’t pretty miserable or just alright. Maybe it was perfect.

[terastalungrad]

Sometimes, you’re a comedian with a touring show to promote, so you do an interview with a regional newspaper.

I think that’d be the funniest possible time to reveal a big scoop, wouldn’t it?

Stewart Lee is currently touring, and to promote his Yeovil performance, gave an interview to Blackmore Vale Magazine.  According to Wikipedia, the Blackmore Vale is an area of north Dorset, south Somerset and southwest Wiltshire.  According to the comedian Jake Baker, the magazine would cover his school sports day as he grew up in Dorset.  That’s the level of news you’d expect.

The questions are friendly and easy, from a journalist clearly familiar with Lee’s work and history.

The first question is about the show’s angle.  Lee describes the nature of the show, and here’s an excerpt:

So it looks like stand-up, and sounds like stand-up, but it’s actually a kind of character piece about a desperate person who’s frightened and trying to organise the world in a way that puts them in control. And I guess you could argue that’s what a lot of stand-ups are doing anyway. Ricky Gervais to me looks like a very frightened man. He’s frightened of transgender people coming after him, the act is a defensive wall.

Fun!  This is a Ricky Gervais hate blog, so it’s nice to see a sudden, unexpected attack in an unrelated promotional interview.

Lee mentions Gervais again in response to question four.

Sometimes I become bitter and think ‘I get all this good press, why can’t I get 10 million quid for a TV special like Ricky Gervais?’ But on the other hand, I wouldn’t want that audience, it wouldn’t allow me to be better.

And then again to question eight, where Lee explains why he spends six months running new shows in the relatively small Leicester Square Theatre (as opposed to arena comics who might do 10 warmup shows followed by 60 tour dates).

You can still run it like a club gig, you can interact with people in real time. Also, you wouldn’t get better at the show because you wouldn’t have done it as many times. You can see this with an act like Gervais. Those shows have not been run in, they’re not fluid, they’re a succession of inflexible statements that would snap like twigs if the pressure of an unforeseen event was applied to them.

The journalist finally addresses this head on.  It really is worth reading the entire article - there’s a lot more than I’m quoting, including an interesting story about Sean Lock:

But here are my favourite bits:

[Gervais] still kind of copies me though, which is the weird thing. There’s still a lot of cadences of what I do but they’re used in the service of evil. In Star Wars, he’s Darth Vader and he’s taken the force, which is me, and used it for evil purposes. He was a fanboy, he was actually the booker at University of London and used to book me and Sean Lock all the time. And when he became famous for the Office, he wrote an hour-long act that was so indebted to us it was awkward. [...] If he’d come up through the circuit that would have been rubbed off him because you find your own voice doing club gigs. It took me two years of gigging five nights a week to come through the mesh of things I liked. But he didn’t have that experience in the same way. [...] Funnily enough, in his first show there were bits I’d never recorded that he’d do almost verbatim. He’d clearly remembered them. I went to see him at the Bloomsbury – on his invitation actually – with my then girlfriend and she was very concerned for me. I’d given up at that point due to lack of interest, and she was concerned for what it felt like to see my act being done to hundreds of people, it was quite weird. On the other hand, that sort of did make me think I don’t want it to be consumed into someone else’s vocabulary. And also, I think because he had a residual sense of guilt, he would always credit me in interviews as being an influence – that helped me in 2004 to get the audience back.

This is, to my knowledge, the first time Lee’s ever claimed that Gervais stole his material.  He’s certainly talked about Gervais clearly taking influence from him (though in the past, he downplayed this compared to the account given in this interview).

It’s a pretty big thing to accuse a comic of stealing material.  That’s a big taboo.  I reckon this is partly because Lee wants to discourage fans of Gervais from coming to the show.

Anyway, let’s finish by quoting the end of the interview:

It must be strange to have that level of financial remuneration and those audience figures but not really a single good review. And I expect what that does for you is create a cognitive dissonance where you have to manufacture a worldview by which the whole world is wrong and you’re right. Which can’t necessarily be very good for your mental health, although I expect the money’s nice.

[runningfrom2am]

leveling the playing field VIII

summary: you didn't meet the requirements for the plinth prize, only to find out that you're not just missing out on that- you're missing out on the opportunity of a lifetime. your friend wants to help, because maybe you can help each other.

pairing: coriolanus snow x fem!reader

wc: 3.2k

tags/warnings: capitol brat!reader, maybe slightly ooc coryo, idk i tried my best. do they love each other or hate each other? who knows (we do, kind of). abuse, so read with caution!! also a little bit of swearing but that's neither here nor there

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a/n: omg so this is the final part of the first like, section of this story! i probably should have not called them parts bc idk what to do for the second like.. bit. season? maybe?) yeah sure, season two coming soon!! lol

thank you guys so much for being here and reading this and enjoying it as much as i have enjoyed writing it! it truly means so much to me :)

next part

You hear footsteps and turn around in the seat, hoping desperately that it's Coryo, and you are relieved to see that it finally is. He had been gone for close to an hour. You stand quickly, going to meet him halfway, what you had to tell him couldn't wait. "Coryo," You say quickly, before launching into the full story. "Lucy Gray came back, the others were chasing her and she hid in that vent and she's still in there, they're trying to figure out how to get in. She's stuck."

You follow him back to the desk, his eyes wide now too. "That's good... I think that's good." He's scanning the arena again, as if there's any inch of it he hasn't committed to memory, trying to see if there was any way Dr. Gaul's snakes could reach her in the vent you pointed to.

"No, no it's not good because I don't think there's another way out of that one except the way she came in." You dig into your bag as it hangs at his side, pulling out the notebook that you drew the map in. "Yeah, look- it's pinched off about thirty feet in." You point to the page, holding it out for him to see.

"She just has to wait them out." He insists, pushing your hand down. "Put that away- you shouldn't have that."

Why is he so calm about this? Lucy Gray was trapped, and this time there was nothing either of you could do to help her. "Yeah, but that's not going to work for much longer." You say, watching as the three make a plan to push her farther into the vent and try and get her out from the bottom.

Hurriedly, you close your notebook and put it away so you don't have to look away for long.

"Just a little longer, Lucy Gray..." Coryo mutters to himself and grips onto your hand at his side. At this, you reach across your body and rub his arm with your free hand. His whole future could collapse in a matter of moments if Lucy Gray doesn't survive. Yours could too. But as you watch Coral thrust her weapon up into the pipes that you know Lucy Gray is inside, you flinch, not knowing how much longer Lucy Gray can hold out.

You can't even process what is happening to Treech and the outcries of his mentor and people in the theatre, wondering what happened to him as he collapses with a bloody nose. You knew, so you avoided even looking in their direction as Lucy Gray tumbled from the now shredded vent, landing directly on top of Coral before making a run for it. You're sure Coriolanus isn't even breathing.

You aren't either when every one of the tributes freezing and the wind starts whipping Lucy Gray's hair around her face and her dress around her sides. Everyone watches as a large tank is lowered into the arena and dropped delicately on top of the pile of debris in the center.

"What is that?" You wonder out loud, and Coryo just shakes his head as you look up at him.

"C'mon Lucy Gray, get out of there..."

"Wouldn't it be funny if it was candy?" Lucky jokes and you stifle a laugh.

At this moment, the young girl from District Eight wanders out into the clearing, pale and skinny. "Is it over?" She asks no one in particular, making your smile fade.

"Wovey..." Reaper warns her from where he's kneeling next to the bodies he had covered with the flag.

"Can we go home now?" You clutch your hand back to your chest as she walks toward the tank- you don't know what was in the tank, but you know it wouldn't be good.

"Wovey." He warns again, more stern this time with a slight shake of his head.

The tank starts to splinter, cracking steadily along all sides until it bursts open. You gasp at the amount of snakes that come out. A wave of moving, rainbow destruction crashes over the floor and completely engulfs the little girl in a fraction of a second, as everyone else starts to run.

As Lucy Gray and Coral make a break for the walls, trying to get up to the stands, Reaper seems to just accept his fate. You feel... bad. He could have taken your offer made days before, he could be winning right now. At least he and Wovey didn't suffer.

As Lucy Gray pushes herself backward up the pile of rubble away from the fast moving snakes, Coral starts speaking to her. You can't hear what she's saying, but you can see she's crying- maybe pleading for Lucy Gray's help, maybe just saying her goodbyes to this world. It didn't matter, Lucy Gray was the last one alive as Coral's body got surrounded by the snakes.

Please work. Coriolanus begs the universe, hoping that the cloth he had used to wipe her tears and the one she used to wipe away the dirt from her skin before the interview, which he took from your bag and shoved into slots in the tank would be enough to save her.

"She won!" You grin, shaking Coryo's shoulder as he stands beside you, eyes still locked on Lucy Gray.

That's when she starts to sing, just as the snakes catch up to her. Why aren't they letting her out? It was over.

"Why aren't they getting her out?" You ask him, confused as everyone watches intensely, entranced by her voice.

"I'll be along, when I've finished my song..."

Coryo and you both turn, facing the audience now and all eyes immediately lock on Dr. Gaul. "Dr. Gaul, she won." He says, as if somehow she's missed it- surely she had. Surely she's not watching the same thing you are.

"When I've shut down the band, played out my hand..."

"It's over, let her out!" You shout, attempting to draw her attention.

"Paid all my debts..."

"Why aren't they attacking her?" You hear someone ask, noticing the snakes are almost entirely covering Lucy Gray's shirt now.

"Have no regrets, right here..."

"It must be the singing," Coryo replies, and you look up at him. You don't know that that's true, but you won't ask. "It's calming them."

"In the old therebefore..."

"She can't sing forever."

"Then let her out!" You yell, looking pleadingly up at Dr. Gaul in the stands. "Dr. Gaul!" You demand her attention now, stomping your foot down.

Your blood is boiling when she still won't look at you and the sound of Lucy Gray's voice fills the theatre. "Look at me!" You scream, and clearly, people are getting annoyed at you for interrupting Lucy Gray's song. "Look at me now or let her out!"

She does neither, not until Lucy Gray's song moves everyone else to match your cries for her to be released. Only then does Dr. Gaul look at the two of you, and you drop Coryo's hand.

The doctor sighs, leaning over to her assistant. "Get her out. Now." She says, and cheers erupt in the room previously filled with emotional tears.

"I did it." Coryo says, and you have to lean close to hear it over everyone's delight.

"You did it!" You laugh, throwing your arms over his shoulders. You scream in excitement as he hugs you back, lifting you up and spinning you around as people crowd the two of you. You don't think you've ever been happier.

As he lets you down gently, grabbing your cheeks and pressing a kiss to your forehead, you wonder if your parents are watching. You can't wait to get home, to see your family and let them sing your praises for Coriolanus's success in the games. Well, Lucy Gray's success that the two of you get to reap the rewards of.

Then, he's gone, leaving you to gather your things while he goes to see Tigris. You smile, sighing to yourself as you watch. It's likely your father has already sent the car to collect you, so you should probably get going. You're in dire need of a celebratory bath, anyway.

Last night, you had the best sleep you had gotten in weeks. A full eight hours- a privilege you didn't know you missed so bad. Even when you had to get up for school around six, you felt so well rested you knew you could take on the world.

That was until you walked downstairs for breakfast. "Good morning." You grin, skipping down the last couple of steps only to be met with your father hanging up the phone, storming over to you, and shoving you back onto the staircase.

"Sit down. Listen to me." He spits as you groan, holding your head from where it hit the railing and adjusting yourself so you are sitting properly on the stairs.

"Ow... What did I do?"

"You know what you did, Y/N." He hisses, pacing in front of you. "Un-fucking-believable! They went out on a limb for you, and this is how you repay them? Do you even realize what you have done? To me? To this family?"

The poison.

"Dad, I didn't do anything! I had no say in it! Coryo gave her the compact empty- it wasn't our business what she did with it!" You argue, standing up only to earn yourself a slap across the face.

"You were to give her nothing. You knew that." You hold your cheek while he lectures you, and you just nod.

"Yes, sir." You sniff, rubbing your jaw to soothe the sting of your already burning skin. "I'm sorry."

"Don't apologize to me- you will apologize to Dean Highbottom first thing this morning and hope he's smart enough to forgive you. Now, go."

You pull your bag back over your shoulder, avoiding eye contact with your little brother and your mother sat at the table as you walked out the door. It looks like you're walking today.

You make it to your first class, obviously not feeling too excited about the concept of speaking with the Dean. Coryo walks in just a few moments after you, stealing the seat at your side. You can't even look at him.

"Good morning." He whispers, pulling his textbook out of his bag. He's in good spirits it seems, but you know that won't last long. "You left in a hurry after the games yesterday, I was hoping we would celebrate together."

When you don't respond, he furrows his brow. Were you mad at him? Had he done something? "Wow, you're a ray of sunshine this morning, aren't you?" He asks, disguising his hurt as a joke. His intention was to come back to you after speaking with Tigris, he wanted to see if you would like to go for a walk or something and discuss everything. He didn't really have a plan, but he didn't want you to leave his side, not yet. The games had ended all too quickly, and you had yet to even discuss what had happened with the kiss you shared. He couldn't let you slip back into a routine of only seeing each other in class and during breaks, he couldn't bear the mere idea of it.

You slam your pen down on the desk, turning to look at him now. "We are in such deep, deep shit, Coriolanus." You hiss, taking notice of everyone looking at you so you quiet down.

"Your... your cheek." He just mutters, leaning in to look closely at the other side of your face and the maroon bruise that now adorned it. Even under your makeup he could see it. "What happened?" He reaches out to gently brush his hand over your jaw and you flinch away quickly.

You sigh, looking around quickly before leaning in closer to whisper to him. "They know, about the poison. We're done for, enjoy your final moments of freedom." You move away quickly as your professor starts speaking and the world begins to crash down around your best friend.

He sits back, face pale as his stomach turns. How could they know? They must have found the compact on Lucy Gray- it must not have been empty. Or was it the cloths in the tank? Those would be easier to find, probably, but how could they be traced back to you?

"We need to borrow Miss Y/L/N and Mister Snow, please." A peacekeeper says as he knocks on the open door frame, eyes quickly finding the two of you.

"It was nice knowing you." You sigh, quickly gathering your things and making your way down to the door.

He follows quickly behind, and for once, your classmates are silent.

A group of three peacekeepers lead you down a quiet hallway of the school, and stop at an open door gesturing for the two of you to enter.

"Ladies first," Coriolanus says softly, stepping aside for you to enter.

"Oh, so now I'm a lady." You scoff quietly, walking into the large open room, the high biology room, with nothing but a table in the center. The table is adorned only with the compact he had given to Lucy Gray, and two handkerchiefs. One of his, and one of yours. How did they get that?

"Kids." Dean Highbottom greets the two of you as the door slams shut behind you.

You open your mouth to speak, taking a breath and he stops you before you get the chance. "I don't know how many times I have to tell you this, Y/N, but I don't want to hear it."

"No, I think you do." You protest, "Because my-"

"Your father?" He cuts you off. "What about him? Because I just got off the phone with him this morning, and judging by the state of your face, I would argue that I am in agreement with him."

You swallow, fighting the urge to look down and avoid his gaze. If you had any chance of walking out of here without being in too much trouble, you had to prove that you were not afraid.

"Don't you think that she's been punished enough?" Coryo argues, looking between the two of you.

"Coriolanus." He ignores his plea, tapping the table next to the compact. "How many times did I see your mother pull this from her handbag to check her face? Your pretty, vapid mother, who'd somehow convinced himself that your father would give her freedom and love. Out of the frying pan and into the fire, as they say."

"She wasn't." Coryo protests, referring to the Dean's insinuations about his mother. You look at him, but he won't meet your gaze.

"Only her youth excused her, and, really, she seemed fated to be a child forever. Just like the opposite of your girl, here." He gestures to you. "Eighteen going on thirty-five, and a hard thirty-five, at that. Your songbird, too."

"She gave you the compact?" Coriolanus asks, the sadness of betrayal evident on his features at the idea of Lucy Gray handing it over.

"Oh, don't blame her. The peacekeepers had to wrestle her to get the thing. Naturally, we do a thorough search of the victors when they leave the arena." Dean Highbottom explains, tilting his head as he looks between the two of you. "So smart of her, to poison the water Dill drank and dust it over Treech the way she did. If I didn't know better, I would have thought I was watching you, Miss Y/L/N."

You take a sharp breath, making an effort to straighten your posture.

"She claimed that the poison was her idea, that the compact was nothing but a token." He adds.

"It was." You state, though he is likely speaking to Coriolanus.

"Oh, I'm glad to see you got your story straight." Highbottom nods at you, voice dripping in sarcasm. "But I don't believe you. Even if I did, what am I to make of these?" He taps next to the handkerchiefs now next to it. "One of the lab assistants found these in the snake tank last night. Everyone was baffled at first, checking to see if it was one of their own that they had dropped. Until we noticed the initials. Not yours. Your father's. So delicately stitched into the corner..."

You look at Coryo, who is fighting to keep a straight face through his urge to vomit. "Why haven't you made this public?" He asks.

"I know why." You say, crossing your arms and looking the Dean up and down, who just rolls his eyes.

"I was tempted," He ignores you. "Believe me, I was. But the academy, when expelling students, has a tradition of offering them a lifeline. As an alternative to public disgrace, Coriolanus, you may join the peacekeepers by the end of the day."

Coryo's heart drops, as does yours. "The other one, it's hers." He points suddenly to the other cloth, next to his father's. Your jaw drops. How dare he throw you under the bus like that?

"I was getting to that." The Dean sighs as you shoot glares into the side of Coriolanus's head.

"I didn't do that! He took my bag, he took it and put it in the tank- I didn't know anything!" You argue, and he once again raises a hand at you to shut you up.

"Coriolanus, you better hurry. The office closes in twenty minutes, if you run you can make it in time." Highbottom says to your classmate, who just nods and turns for the door. "Oh, and what's that?" He asks, looking up at the skylight. "It's the sound of Snow, falling."

Coriolanus glares at him, pacing quickly out of the door and slamming it behind himself.

You're in shock still over why he would do that to you, but you don't have the time to process it before the Dean is scolding you. "Now, what will happen to you, huh?" He asks, raising an eyebrow and crossing his arms. "Be honest, did you know?"

"No, sir." You reply, giving a firm shake of your head.

"That's a shame. He really threw you under, huh?" He laughs, mocking you. "After what I saw the other day, I was expecting he would defend you tooth and nail... but no. I mean, he is a Snow, after all."

You don't say a word, just glaring at the man in front of you and waiting for him to tell you your fate.

"Anyway, if it was up to me, you would already be undergoing the necessary procedures to become an Avox. Oh, how I would love to see you without a tongue." He muses, sighing in disappointment. "But I know your father would be embarrassed so I think it best to leave your punishment in his hands, would you agree? Outside, of course, your expulsion."

"You can't expel me!" You shout, fists clenched around the sleeves of your coat.

"Enough of your tantrums, Y/N. You're too old for this. But, alas, you're right. I'm obligated to extend you the olive branch too." He concedes. "You are allowed to graduate under the condition that you work in service for the next ten years. Although keep in mind, your father won't like that."

"Fuck your olive branch! How dare you threaten me like this! I did nothing wrong, we won!" You fire off, practically twitching with anger at this point. "If you won't go public with it, I will! I've got nothing to lose now, the whole country will know what you and my dad are doing! What you're selling! I'll tell everyone! You'll be executed for treason!" You didn't even notice when you started grabbing anything you could reach and launching it in his direction until the peacekeepers were grabbing the back of your arms and dragging you away kicking and screaming. "You'll hang for this!"

You hardly make it to the door before you feel a stab in your neck, and the world fades to black around you.

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[starcrossedmusings]

Phantom Touches (Teaser)

Pairing: opera ghost!yeosang x f!reader WC: 397 Warnings: suspense, yeosang is only a little bit creepy

Summary: Your fascination with the famed Paris Opera House had started as a child, and now even the opportunity to work under the new owners on the housekeeping team has you thrilled. Your first week of work is full of mystifying moments, including an encounter with a certain masked phantom.

A/N: First fic on the new blog is in the works! I dreamed this up while watching Phantom of the Opera with my friend the other day and absolutely could NOT get it out of my brain. I hope you all enjoy the teaser, especially all of my theatre atiny out there ♡

Entering box eight felt entirely forbidden based on the rumblings you'd heard among the ballet girls, but Madame Giry had insisted that you had nothing to fear--the opera ghost likes his space to be kept tidy she had barked out to you, best to not agitate him, girl. As you crossed the threshold into the private suite, you noticed a lingering smell that had become familiar to you this week--that wafted by in empty hallways and whispered past darkened corners--roses and old parchment paper. Your gaze swept over the space, finding no evidence that anyone had been up here recently. This was unsurprising to you of course, you imagined ghosts couldn't make that much of a mess, even if they wanted to. Taking a deep breath and shaking out any lingering nerves, you began your initial dusting of the room, paying special attention to the baseboards and intricate moulding toward the top of the space.

You were entirely alone in this wing of the opera house...until you weren't.

You felt before you heard. The presence buzzed in the air, making the little hairs at the nape of your neck stand on end. And the smell--roses and parchment--intensified. The feeling of someone standing behind you overwhelmed your senses and you turned around to find...

Nothing. Absolutely nothing. A shiver ran it's way down your spine as your gaze once again scanned the room for whoever had clearly entered, but whoever they were, they must have vanished as soon as they came. The smell had also quickly disintegrated back to it's mild counterpart. You felt crazy. Hell, maybe you were crazy.

And yet, maybe you weren't.

Because now there was something laying on one of the plush velvet-lined seats. Something that most certainly hadn't been there before you entered the box. A note sealed with wax, and a single dark red rose. Your name was written on the outside with scrawling flourish. You carefully opened the note, looking around wearily before peering at it's contents.

My Dear Y/N, I do hope you pay more mind to my space than the last maid they assigned to my box. She was dreadfully incompetent. Madame Giry assures me you are much better suited for the role. And much more attractive. Do not disappoint me. ∼Opera Ghost P.S. I do hope you will sing for me. Giry also assures you have talent worthy of my time.

[dodger-chan]

This bit absolutely delighted me

The thing was billed to start at eight o’clock, so I rolled up at ten-fifteen, so as not to have too long to wait before they began.

Nothing ever started on time.

All of Bertie's observations about theatre feel especially funny knowing Wodehouse had his own Broadway career, as a lyricist.

[our-flag-means-love]

welcome to elliot flagmeanslove's

STEDE BONNET OUTFITS TOURNAMENT

do you have Opinions about stede bonnet's outfits and need to make your voice heard? well you're in luck! there's now a bracket for that!

round one (left half) starts around midday EDT on saturday, july 27th, and each round will last a week.

please consider reblogging to spread the word!

idk if this has been done before but i don't care i'm doing it anyway <3

additional info, guidelines, and image description under the cut!

i'll be tagging all the polls with "ofmd" and "stede bonnet", but if you're not interested and don't want them clogging up the tags, you can block "stede outfits tournament".

voter fraud all you want, i'm not a cop.

there will be no variations of the same outfit (e.g. nightgown with cap compared to nightgown with eye mask) with ONE exception that felt important, which was the full godfrey thornrose outfit and the outfit in the "you wear fine things well" scene, aka godfrey minus the jacket and wig.

there are a few variants with the battle jacket and depression robe, and i didn't want to narrow it down to just the ones with the nightgown or just the ones with a shirt and breeches, especially because those overlap with other entries too, so the battle jacket and depression robe are both just In General.

there were also a few minor outfits i just plain had to cut in order to reach a power of two. sorry to the outfit from when stede left home and both of his childhood flashbacks, maybe next time.

these were seeded partly randomly but mostly by my own judgment, because ime random seeds always feel even less fair. i first sorted them based mostly on aesthetic appeal and general fandom opinions—but also importance of scene(s) to a lesser extent—into groups of four (all the #1 seeds, all the #2 seeds, and so on), then randomized which would be in each quadrant, then played around with them a bit to make them pretty from there (roughly even distribution of s1 vs s2, not all episode 4 flashbacks are in the same quadrant, etc). if you have a problem with this, no one's forcing you to participate.

[ID: A tournament style bracket. It has "Stede Bonnet's Outfits Tournament" written at the top. The background is a half-opacity photo of the bow of The Revenge. The bracket is made up of a series of rectangular white bubbles, connected in pairs. On the left half of the bracket, the first column has sixteen bubbles, the second has eight, the third has four, the fourth has two, and the fifth has one. This arrangement is mirrored on the right half. In the center of the image is one larger bubble with "Winner!" written under it.

Only the thirty-two total bubbles in the outermost columns contain words. From top to bottom on the left are: turquoise suit (1.1); nightgown (1.6-1.8); blankets only (wink emoticon) (2.7); wedding suit (1.4); steve irwin (1.7); dream (2.1); depression robe (1.7-1.8); run me through (1.6); goldfish (2.3); peach suit (1.6); brown suit (1.8); theatre kid (1.6); slut era (2.6-2.8); act of grace (1.9); ed's leathers (1.4); and naval academy (1.9). From top to bottom on the right are: cursed suit (2.5); meeting mary (1.4); back home suit (1.10); battle jacket (1.1-1.6); godfrey thornrose (1.5); anniversary (1.4); cut-open shirt (1.2); red flag (2.2-2.3); YWFTW (1.5); long may he roam (1.10-2.5); blue suit (1.5); fab pants (1.4); ran aground (1.2); treasure map (1.7); white suit (1.3); and british uniform (2.8). All of the inner bubbles are blank. /End ID.]

[moonshynecybin]

one thing i think about in the fco au is if maybe vale would have warned marc not to race immediately after the first surgery which marc obviously does not take well and it leads to this huge fight where he’s accusing vale of not wanting him to race bc he doesn’t want marc to succeed anymore and break his records (or maybe he doesn’t go that far ? not sure where their relationship is at at that stage.. but something similar!) and vale calls him a danger to himself and others etc and marc rides anyway and well his arm swells etc etc and he’s so regretful so ashamed and is in so much damn pain + things are awkward with vale and it’s just a nightmare

oh oh and (not very related) but did they ever like set a time for when they would stage a breakup? or did they just deicde to take it one day at a time and overtime they were both too scared to mention it and then one day like some reporter asks marc if he’d ever considered retirement and just living out his days at the ranch and that gets marc thinking about like what he and vale would do once he actually retired bc then he wouldn’t have to be the only gay rider on the grid, he wouldn’t even be on the grid, and maybe there wouldn’t be need for all this theatre anymore and in the times he’s not thinking about the championship he’s only ever thinking about this, and is anxious to the point of straight up asking vale like. how will we break up. and the electrical circuits in vale’s brain start smoking and explodeee

jerez fight would go CRAZY like genuinely such a nadir in their relationship where marc after that REALLY regrets not listening to vale. like hes constantly living with it thinking like. if i had just listened to him i wouldnt be in pain everyday and having to rehab my arm and wasting years of the most competitive i will be in my short career. and VALE... lowkey also thinks that but feels more guilty about it. because hes hurt marc a LOT in this universe and hes not even the one in pain so what right does he have to even be resentful (<-incredibly traumatized man by way of motorcycle racing injury/fatality)... and i think that to overcome it they decide to set up an agreement between them where vale has more input in deciding if marc is healthy enough to ride. like he has to call and check in after a crash kinda deal. again like working as a unit. and of course he unionizes with alex in situations like uh. malaysia 2022 probable concussion highside. and then its a bit better

and the original plan for FCO au is a pretty contained story-- one year of fake dating (where they start fucking like MONSTER TRUCKS again about halfwayish through) and then hondayamaha pr gives them the okay to breakup at the end of the year and vale has like eight insane internal meltdowns about it while marc closes himself off like gangbusters cuz he thinks theyre going back to square one. and vale realizes he misses him and that’s enough leverage to get him out of the self destructive pits of horrendous guilt and GOOOOO to his twink

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

WIBTA if I quit my school play?

Tl;dr at the bottom!!

For context, I’m 15f and was just cast in my school play. I had never been in one of my school’s productions, so I figured I’d give it a try and make some new friends (I transferred to this school). I really enjoy theatre, and I’ve been in productions since I was around seven or eight years old; I’m no stranger to it.

Well, it turns out the amount of interest for the school play was a lot bigger than they thought, so there were limited roles. Thankfully, I did manage to get into the main cast, so I was like, yay me (even though it was a smaller role, which I was wholeheartedly expecting, albeit a tad sad about)!

Yesterday, we finally started rehearsals and read from the script once, to get a feel of our characters. I didn’t know much about the role, since it was a lesser known play and all that was in the description for my character was ‘foreign housekeeper’. All I knew is that I’d have to have some kind of accent (something I’m not too good at, but I figured it would be fun to get out of my comfort zone a bit), so I had been practicing some kind of accent at home to try out with the script.

But when I was reading through my lines, I quickly discovered that this was NOT what I thought it was going to be.

My character, putting it lightly, is a blatantly xenophobic stereotype. They are a completely one note character whose only personality trait is, ‘foreign’. She can’t speak English very well, and tends to ‘mix up her words’, which the other characters tend to berate her for. She also never speaks in more than four words at a time, and the script goes out of its way to never have her speak in more than one syllable at a time. It’s disgusting, and I fucking hate it!

Here’s a direct line from the play so you can see one of the worst examples.

MY CHARACTER: No nuts in this house!

CHARACTER 2: Do you realize what you did, [my character]? You put all the words in the correct order! That’s wonderful! We’ve been waiting so long for this day!

MY CHARACTER: You thank.

CHARACTER 3 (and this character is the goddamn LEAD): Well, she’s bound to get things right once in awhile.

It just..makes me so uncomfortable. I want to get out of my comfort zone, but playing this character takes me out of it and places me one hundred miles away in the open desert.

The worst part I think is that this show is a goddamn murder mystery, and my character has no fucking purpose. They don’t even end up dying; they’re just there for ‘comic relief’, and it’s all fucking xenophobia! And at the end, it’s revealed that they’re stealing from their bloody employer.

I also think, based on their prior recorded performances, they’re going to put me a costume I’m not comfortable in…so I’m really considering quitting right now.

Here’s why I think I may be the asshole for quitting.

I technically signed a contract (not knowing about the characters but assuming it wouldn’t be more than a few swears and some sex jokes here and there) that I would play any character they cast me as…so I would be breaking that promise if I quit. There IS an understudy, so I won’t technically be fucking them over with this…but god, I am such a people pleaser that I’m thinking about just sucking it up and playing the part.

My parents told me I’m overreacting on the part and that I just need to ‘make it fun’…but fuck, I just can’t with it. I want to cry every time I’m at rehearsal because I feel like I’m condoning xenophobia with it.

So, do you think I’d be the asshole if I quit the play?

Tl;dr: WIBTA if I quit a show I signed a contract for (although there is an understudy) because I don’t feel comfortable with playing a character that is an xenophobic stereotype?

What are these acronyms?

[anxiousgaypanicking]

Oreo

Synopsis:  As a joke, Roman's forced to ask Virgil out after losing an oreo. Flustered, and somewhat embarrassed and humiliated by the connotation that dating him would be such a bad thing, he says yes out of impulse, and must now deal with what being Roman's "boyfriend" entails. Taglist: @renys @falsemood

Part Eight: Movie Theatre Mayhem Masterlist

“He’s running late,” Virgil hisses as he sits on Logan’s porch. Janus sits next to him on his phone, and Logan sits next to Janus with a book out. 

“He’s not running late,” Logan objects, flipping to a new page. “The movie doesn’t start until six. It’s only 5:30.” 

“That doesn’t even factor in the previews,” Janus adds, nudging Virgil playfully in the side. “The trailers and advertisements start at six; the movie itself probably won’t even play until a quarter past.” 

Virgil’s leg jumps as he sits. “I’d still prefer we leave early.” 

Janus gives him a smirk. “Why? Excited to meet up with your boyfriend? It was very kind of him to offer to pick us all up; you might want to consider thanking him somehow. Like with a kiss, perhaps-?” 

Virgil shoves Janus away, scooting away from both him and Logan. Janus snickers openly at his groan of disgust, while Logan presses the back of his hand to his mouth in order to hide his amusement (though, in Virgil’s opinion, he’s doing a terrible job). 

“What movie are we seeing anyway?” Logan asks, though he doesn’t really sound like he cares - more like he’s just trying to move on. “I believe we decided against the horror one?”

“Roman said it’s called ‘The Misadventures Of Ms. Marjorie,’ or something,” Virgil answers, pulling his knees to his chest. “I think it’s some stupid kids movie, but there isn’t really anything else playing.” 

“It’s a musical,” Janus further explains, turning to Logan. He shows Logan his phone, which has a synopsis of the film pulled up. Logan sets his book down on his legs in order to properly read through it, and seems to glance back up at Janus, before nodding in appreciation. 

Virgil meanwhile pushes his head into his hands with a groan. “Is it?” he responds, sounding more aggravated by the minute. “I can’t believe that’s what you and Roman decided on.” 

“It’s less stupid than plotless gore,” Logan replies. “It would have been dull watching poorly-achieved special effects splatter around what’s supposed to be a bloody scene. That, or outright bad computer-generated imagery used to create what could otherwise be done ten times better with props. At least a kids movie will have a story to follow along.” 

Grumbling under his breath, Virgil really has no counter and so just makes a few angry noises to just his discontent, though he’s mostly ignored by the other two. 

His phone sits right beside him, and he subconsciously keeps his hand rested on it, waiting absentmindedly for any vibrations. And when it does vibrate, he has it up within seconds, unlocking it and pulling down his notification bar in hopes Roman has some explanation for why he’s still not here… twenty till. 

Instead, there’s a message from Virgil’s father. 

‘I’m sending you grocery money. Extending my vacation by another week or two. Love you,’ followed by Virgil getting another notification of money being sent to his account. It’s enough to cover groceries - enough to cover a month’s worth of groceries in Virgil’s case - and it makes Virgil click his phone off and drop it back onto the porch, pulling his legs tighter to his body as he tucks his face into his knees and stares barely over them out towards the road. 

Janus and Logan are talking quietly beside him, as they’ve both set down their entertainment in favor of each other’s company, but Virgil can’t find the energy to join them. 

At 5:50 is when Logan starts to look a little antsy, and leans forward a bit to direct his words to Virgil as he asks “any word from Roman? At this point we’re set to miss the trailers, and I’m not too thrilled with that notion.” 

Virgil gives a half hearted shrug. “I don’t know.” 

Logan raises an eyebrow. “Can you check?” 

Staring at him, Virgil feels the brash impulse to chuck his phone at Logan and make him check, or ask why they can’t communicate with Roman considering they had no qualms regarding tagging along, but instead he just bites his tongue and lifts his phone briefly. Seeing no new notifications, he curtly responds “he hasn’t said a thing.” 

Reaching towards Virgil, Janus sets a comforting hand on his upper arm, which encourages Virgil to take in a deep breath. 

Focusing on breathing for just a moment, Virgil immediately finds himself feeling a little better, and so adds quietly “I’ll… I’ll send him a text, and ask what’s taking him so long.”

“You did remember to give him Logan’s address, right?” Janus jokes, which has Virgil frowning at him, but relaxing nonetheless. 

But as he pulls up Roman’s contact in preparation to text, a familiar white car comes rolling slowly into view, with it parking on the curb shortly after. As it stops, Logan and Janus look towards Virgil for affirmation that this is in fact Roman, and the flush on Virgil’s cheeks says everything they need to know. 

“¡Mi vida!” Roman calls, waving towards Virgil, and hurries towards the porch. “I’m sorry I took so long.” 

Virgil stands immediately, and avoids Roman’s affectionate hands, making a beeline towards the car instead. “It’s fine,” he sharply replies, in a way that lets Roman know it’s in fact not fine. “Let’s just hurry and get there before we end up missing the movie.” 

He gets into the passenger seat and watches Roman through the window as he talks a moment more to Logan and Janus, before they follow suit to the car as well. Janus and Logan slide in the back, while Roman gets into the driver’s seat, buckling up and checking around to make sure everyone’s done the same. He then flashes Virgil a sweet smile that Virgil responds to with a piercing glare.

“I am really sorry I’m late,” Roman begins again, as he starts the car. He speeds a bit down the block in an attempt to make up for lost time, though it just makes Virgil feel carsick as they hit a few turns too fast. “Remus’s tutor ended up having to cancel, and there was a whole issue between our mom and dad involving… custody stuff.” Roman looks uncomfortable, even while walking through the rather vague explanation. It has Virgil actually turning to him with a bit more curiosity, but Roman stares straight ahead at the road, lips pressed shut. Displaying visible discomfort, Roman didn’t look as though he was going to elaborate any further. 

And so Virgil shifts away again and musters up a meager “okay.” 

The car ride is silent past that point, with not even Janus and Logan making conversation in the back. The air is thick, and Virgil’s fingers run along the window’s buttons, debating whether or not he should roll them down to try and make things feel less hot and cramped. 

However, he doesn’t get the opportunity to before they’re pulling into the movie theatre parking lot. 

“Ha!” Roman exclaims, as he shifts the car into park. “We’re here! And with five minutes to spare! That’s plenty of time to get concessions and get settled!” 

“I’ll pass on the concessions,” Logan says, as he steps out and onto the asphalt. “I’d rather get into our auditorium as soon as possible.” 

Circling around the car, Janus stands a bit too close to Logan as he nods and says “I’m with Logan on this one. I’m not necessarily hungry for oversalted popcorn anyway.” 

Roman smiles at them as he moves towards Virgil, bringing out his wallet and pulling out two twenty dollar bills. Passing them to Janus and Logan, he explains “I assume we’re all going to sit together, but because I’d like food you guys can just buy your tickets separately. That way you won’t have to wait up.” 

Janus immediately plucks the money from Roman’s hands, as Logan can’t help smiling and thanking him for his consideration. Virgil frowns. 

With Logan and Janus walking ahead of them, Roman keeps at Virgil’s sluggish pace, and links their fingers together without hesitation. The action causes Virgil to whip his head towards Roman, hissing out an embarrassed “what the hell do you think you’re doing?” which just has Roman giving him a shy smile. 

“Well,” Roman answers, cheeks pink, “this is like a date.” 

“We’ve already been on a ‘date’ asshole; I don’t understand why you’re smiling like a dope.” 

Roman shrugs. “That was like… a trial date. This is like a date date.” 

“There’s no difference.” 

Cheesing from ear to ear, Roman responds “there totally is.” 

By the time the two of them step inside, Logan and Janus are already making their way down the hallway in line to their theatre, though Virgil watches Janus glance back and smirk at them as he sees their hands intertwined. Virgil is almost tempted to rip free of Roman’s hold, but doesnt, and instead lets Roman lead him to the concession counter. 

Virgil pulls out his phone while Roman strikes up a short but friendly conversation with the worker, before he tells Roman what seats Logan and Janus got so they can sit by them. Getting a good look at the concession screen, Virgil can see the theatre is completely empty, which does make him feel a little better. Then Roman’s ordering a large popcorn and two drinks, before nodding towards the candy racks. 

“Hungry for chocolate or anything?” he asks, though he seems more like he’s encouraging Virgil to grab something as opposed to just merely asking. 

Virgil doesn’t answer him verbally, but reaches over to grab sour Airhead bites, which he tosses onto the counter with a grunt. 

Seemingly pleased, Roman hands Virgil the two empty cups. “Could you please get me cherry coke? And then you can get whatever you’d like,” which has Virgil walking off immediately to go do as he’s told, giving them both a little ice and a lot of soda as Roman finishes up his transaction. He comes over while Virgil’s pressing the lids on and then trades Virgil the drinks for the popcorn. 

“I’m not sure how you like your popcorn, so butter and salt how you’d like!” 

“I don’t care how it’s done.” 

Roman seems to soften a bit, and his smile falls as he places the drinks on the counter. He sets a hand on Virgil’s upper arm. “If you don’t want to be here, we don’t have to be. We can go home if that'll make you happier.” 

Virgil feels guilt swell in his gut as his head falls away from Roman’s gaze. Wordlessly, he pushes the tub under the butter machine, and moves it around so that the entire top layer is coated. He then gives it a little shake in an attempt to mix it around, before adding a few dashes of salt and setting it before Roman, as if presenting it to him. 

“The stuff underneath won’t be as good, but whatever,” he says, which again has Roman frowning. 

“Virgil, I’m serious. We don’t have to stay.” 

Uncomfortably shifting his weight back and forth on his feet, Virgil wraps his arms around himself. “Are you wanting to leave? Because I never said I wanted to.” 

“You just…” Roman trails off, and then also looks away with a sigh. “You just look miserable. If you stay here while upset, you're just going to end up associating this place with feeling upset. Or… or me with being upset. I don’t want to be the first thing you think of when you feel bad, and I never want to keep you somewhere that’s making you feel that way.” 

Roman’s phone vibrates in his pocket, which briefly throws him off, but he ends up shrugging it off and pushing Virgil’s drink towards him. 

“Please… do you actually want to stay?” 

Virgil stares at the drink, and then takes it. Though it’s difficult, he ends up giving Roman a small smile. “Yeah. I want to stay. There’s just… a lot going on.” 

Groaning playfully - seemingly relieved by the tonal shift - Roman goes “tell me about it,” and then chuckles to himself. His ease regarding the situation does help alleviate some of Virgil’s own tension, and he watches as Roman grabs three straws. He gives Virgil one, and takes one for himself of course, before winking at Virgil as he slides the third into the popcorn. Then, he very carefully positions it under the butter dispenser and pushes the button, causing the butter to spill down and into the straw, where it’s efficiently and cleanly transported to the popcorn at the bottom of the tub. And Roman lifts the straw slightly until he’s sure the middle is coated too, and then gives the tub a few more shakes. 

He then proudly lifts the tub up. “There! Now it should all be just as delicious as the top!” 

Virgil can’t help but snicker at his dramatics. He grabs his coke and candy, and walks with Roman to their theatre. “Where’d you learn to do that?” 

Roman doesn’t answer for a moment, his smile seeming a bit more forced now, before blinking twice and responding “my mom. She was a stickler for making sure the popcorn was all properly coated. Before the butter machines were moved to the self-serve counter, she used to terrorize the concessionists to make sure they did it right. Everyone was relieved when it became a do-it-yourself thing.” 

Virgil bumps lightly against Roman’s side as they walk, and neither of them say anything more. 

Once they get to their seats, the lights have already dimmed and the trailers are playing. Janus and Logan are talking between each other, but both greet the duo when they arrive. Virgil sits between Janus and Roman, with Roman and Logan sitting on the outsides. They’re in the middle of this otherwise completely barren auditorium, making it feel a lot more vast than it actually is. 

All of the previews that play are brightly-coloured, animated PG films that Virgil really has no interest in, but Roman sets the popcorn in his lap and then whispers in his ear a variety of praises, ranging from “the animation in that one is extremely experimental, and I really like it,” to “the CG there looks kind of average, but I’ve heard the story’s going to be really good,” which encourages Virgil to pay more attention to the preshow. He starts to notice the nuances in character movements he wouldn’t have picked up on otherwise, or certain words that the characters say that apparently allude to earlier movies, and when the previews end, Virgil almost wishes they weren’t late getting here so he could have seen more of them. 

The lights in the theatre darken completely as the movie starts, with all four of them reclining their seats back to get comfortable. Janus reaches over to take a handful of popcorn. And then the studio’s logos flash across the screen, leading into a live-action film with a very bubbly undertone, similar to Mary Poppins but somehow even more whimsical. 

“What’s the plot of this movie again?” Virgil quietly inquires as the main character - presumably Marjorie - starts singing. 

“Marjorie falls into another world and has to adjust to the crazy rules implemented there,” Roman explains, as he takes a sip of his coke. “Think about like… Where the Wild Things Are but with less of a ‘home is where the heart is’ moral. This is more so about how being curious is a good thing, with a dash of learning to question authority.” 

Virgil raises an eyebrow. “That feels like a rather complex message for a musical.” 

Roman smiles wide. “I know, right?! People think kids are a lot dumber than they actually are. A lot of them internalize the actions of those they look up to, including figures in media! If they see Marjorie questioning ‘well, why do we do this?’ then they’ll mimic it, which’ll help them learn more about the world! It’s actually really thoughtful…” 

Sensing there’s more to that sentence, Virgil goes to ask Roman to elaborate, but he hears Roman’s phone vibrate against the seat before he can. 

Roman’s cheeks go red in embarrassment as everyone turns to look at him, and he apologizes as he quickly fumbles to pull it out. He doesn’t silence his phone as he clicks it on, instead checking a notification. Virgil doesn’t mean to snoop, but can’t help noticing a message that says ‘You have to come over. You’re a kid, Roman, you have no choice in the matter.’ 

Roman’s Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows the spit in his mouth before he shuts his screen off and slides it between his thighs, so that he can feel it if it goes off again, but so it won’t make a noise. He then turns back to Virgil with a weak smile. 

“Sorry,” he says, “what was I saying?” 

“Kids will echo what they see in movies?” 

“Right! Yes, well… not every child has a good role model to look up to, which is why some kids grow up acting… bad.” Roman sounds like he has someone in mind. “Of course, you’re responsible for the things you choose to do, but not everyone knows better, if that makes sense. Sometimes it’s all they’ve seen. And that’s why people like Marjorie-” Roman waves his hand towards the screen, where Marjorie is in the middle of skipping through her daily routine, smiling at the people she walks past and buying a hot dog for a kid who lost his money, “ -are more important than people realize.” 

Staring, Virgil just watches the way Roman’s eyebrows crease. He’s still smiling, but he doesn’t look happy. 

“... Do you wish there were more people in the theatre?” Virgil then asks. 

Seemingly surprised at the question, Roman doesn’t have an immediate answer, but after a moment nods his head. “I do. Though, this movie has been out for a while. There was a chance it was popular when it first came out, and the lines slowly dwindled as more and more people came to see it.” 

“That makes sense.” 

Roman seems pleased at Virgil’s understanding, and then turns back to the movie. He takes some popcorn into his hand - letting Virgil keep the tub even when Virgil attempts to give it back - and tries to stay focused on the screen. 

But as Virgil watches Roman in his peripheral - weirdly focused on him instead of the film - he watches as Roman checks his phone again. And then again twenty minutes later. And the third time it happens, and Roman unlocks his phone, Virgil can’t help but read over his shoulder. 

He can’t see well in his current position, but he does see ‘...if you don’t, I’ll take David back to court’ followed by ‘do you not love me? Is that why you won’t come?’ and then ‘it’s that failure of a brother of yours poisoning your mind. You know I love you, Roman, I just want what’s best.’ 

Roman starts typing, but his thumbs quickly still. When Virgil looks up from his phone and to Roman’s face, he sees tears welling up in Roman’s eyes. 

Hearing the faint vibration in Roman’s hands, he turns his attention back to the screen to see ‘I’m your mother, Roman.’ 

Phone screen shaking slightly, Virgil can see that Roman’s trembling. His other hand is pressed over his mouth, and he’s fighting back tears - a feat that is only impressive for a few seconds until inevitably they fall past his cheeks and onto his laps with every blink of his eyelids. He’s silent, but that doesn’t mean he’s any less… terrified. His chest rapidly rises and falls, as if he’s struggling to breathe. If Virgil could hear him, he’s sure Roman would sound like he was gasping for air. 

Before he realizes what he’s doing, Virgil reaches over and sets his hand atop Roman’s, subsequently covering up the screen. 

Roman immediately turns to him with wide eyes, and is quick to turn away again to wipe his face. He smiles at Virgil - a smile that’d be rather convincing under different circumstances - and opens his mouth to apologize, but Virgil is shoving the half-empty popcorn tub into Roman’s hands before he gets the chance. 

“Let’s go get a refill,” he whispers, and Roman shuts his mouth and nods. 

Virgil grabs both of their drinks as Roman carries the tub out, and they convene at the self-serve counter. Roman’s quiet, and Virgil is at first as well, until he’s done filling their drinks up. 

“Are you… going to take the popcorn up for a refill?” Virgil asks, which has Roman - who was just staring at the tub - nodding absentmindedly. His thoughts are clearly elsewhere, and Virgil can imagine why, so he walks beside Roman as they pass their popcorn to the concessionist. It’s filled and handed back, but instead of going back to the movie, Virgil guides Roman to sit on a bench right outside their auditorium. 

He then passes Roman his coke. “Drink,” he instructs, and Roman does. Then, he picks up a few pieces of popcorn and brings it to his own mouth, before motioning for Roman to do the same with the simple encouragement of “eat.” 

That has Roman shaking his head. “I’m not hungry right now,” he replies, sympathetically. 

“Eat,” Virgil further pushes. “Trust me… just for right now. At least a handful. And then you won’t have to eat anymore if you don’t want to.” 

Roman looks unsure of Virgil’s words, but he doesn’t seem to have the energy to argue, and so does as Virgil wants and eats a handful of popcorn. He chews slowly, and wipes the excess salt on his pants, but after he’s swallowed he looks back towards Virgil. 

“Why’d you want me to eat?” he asks, and Virgil can see that though Roman’s eyes still shimmer with noticeable wetness, they’re at least not filled with full-on tears. 

Sighing, Virgil scoots a bit closer to him on the bench, letting their shoulders touch. “It’s… it’s like…” Virgil struggles for a moment, as he places his own drink between his thighs, resting his hands on the sides of it and rubbing over the condensation that drips slowly down the sides. “It’s like… a grounding mechanism? Typically when people get anxious or panicked it triggers a primal fight or flight response, even if there’s no one to fight and nothing to flee from. And because it’s a response that we had hundreds of years ago to protect us from danger, there are sometimes really simple ways to calm down following it. So your brain thinks ‘hey, if we’re running from something, we don’t have the time or safety to stop and eat,’ so if you sit down and eat something, it can help calm you down because your brain will realize that if you’re safe enough to eat, then you’re safe overall…” Virgil folds his hands around his cup, and weakly adds “does that make sense? Logan could probably explain it a lot better than I could… but it typically helps me, so I thought maybe it’d help you.”

Roman’s quiet, but after a moment eats another few pieces of popcorn, and then gives Virgil a closed-mouth smile. “Yeah. It helped.” 

Virgil glances towards him, away, and then towards him again. 

“We can… we can go back into the theatre if you want. Or we can stay out here. It’s up to you.” 

Roman smiles wider, more embarrassed this time. “It’s up to you, actually. I’ve seen this movie before.” 

“You have?” 

Roman nods. “I didn’t want to just tell you outright because I didn’t want you to think I’d be bored by the film or anything, but I came to see it when it first came out. I love animation of course, but I also love musicals, and this movie was getting high reviews from critics so I thought I’d come and see it myself.” 

Virgil reaches for some popcorn. “And you liked it enough to come see it a second time?” 

“Yes.” 

When Virgil doesn’t respond to that immediately, Roman awkwardly laughs and ends up further insisting “but really it’s only because there was nothing else playing. If you and Janus and Logan didn’t come to the movies, I probably wouldn’t have bothered with it.” 

“If you like it, then there’s no problem with you coming to see it again.” Virgil squeezes his coke, and ends up playing with the straw with his fingers. “When I was little, I used to have a stack of burnt DVDs. Apparently they belonged to my mom, but a lot of the movies were kid films, so they were entertaining enough to keep child me occupied. Well, one of the DVDs was The Nightmare Before Christmas. I don’t know if you can tell, but that’s exactly the kind of movie I would like.” 

Roman chuckles at Virgil’s words, and so Virgil relaxes further against him. 

“I watched it over and over again on loop. Of course, there were skips caused by scratches on the back of the disc - I was a child after all, and was left with a DVD that had no case to go with it - but it was watchable for a good long while. So believe me when I say I get wanting to watch a movie you like a few times over. Sometimes multiple watches help you appreciate nuances you didn’t see before.”

Roman’s hand creeps into Virgil’s lap, slowly guiding Virgil’s fingers away from his cup and entwining their digits together. 

“I think you’re very smart,” Roman says, quietly. “Thank you for sitting out here with me. Even though I totally would have generously gone and got us refills myself if you’d have let me.”

Virgil snickers, and pushes Roman away, saying “well, in that case, I’m sure you won’t mind properly buttering the popcorn then.” 

Huffing, Roman stands with the tub. “You just want to get me off the bench.” 

“Oh? Are you not feeling so ‘generous’ anymore?” 

“You’re lucky I-” 

Roman cuts himself off abruptly, cheeks going dark red, and gives Virgil a proper, cheeky smile as he scoots off without another word. Virgil watches him from afar as he heads down the hallway, and leans a bit to try and catch bits of Roman’s body peek into view as he moves about the self-serve counter. 

He’s so caught up with watching, in fact, that he doesn’t notice Janus and Logan leaving the theatre until Janus taps him on the shoulder, startling him and causing him to nearly crush his drink between his thighs. 

“You missed the end of the movie,” Janus says, as he grins at Virgil’s embarrassed display. 

“Got too caught up talking,” Virgil admits in reply, grumbling under his breath. “Didn’t realize how long it’d been.” 

“Shame,” Janus says, “Mary’s growth throughout the movie was truly spectacular.” 

“Marjorie,” Logan corrects, “but I’m inclined to agree nonetheless. I really admire her inquisitive attitude. I think it’s very realistic to question rules in a new environment, especially considering how odd some of them were.” 

“What about the music?” 

“For an original soundtrack, not too bad,” Janus answers. “I think jukebox musicals are guaranteed to sound great if proper music is picked out, so I’m always a little skeptical when a movie makes its own songs, but these ones weren’t horrid. Maybe a bit too cheesy, but nobody’s perfect.” 

Logan reaches for Virgil’s drink, which Virgil hands to him. “I personally didn’t care much for the music. I never understood why characters will randomly burst into song and everyone will treat it like it’s normal… it’s absurd!”

“It’s fiction,” Janus says with a laugh, as Roman comes back to them. 

“Oh…” he breathes, as he sees everyone convening around the bench. “Is the movie over already?” 

“It seems that way,” Virgil responds, as he pushes himself to his feet. 

Roman frowns, but it’s a very overdramatic pout as opposed to any real disappointment. “Well that sucks! Though, I guess now we have popcorn for the road…” he hums in thought as they begin walking towards the exit. Janus and Logan - having stolen Virgil’s cup - fill it with what they want before they leave, and then they all get to Roman’s car. 

It’s only once the car’s turned on that Roman suddenly lights up, and turns in his seat so that he’s facing everybody. 

Motioning wildly to the popcorn tub he’d set on Virgil’s lap, he excitedly proposes “what if we all came back to my house for a movie night?! My dads and I can hook up a sheet in the guest room, and I’m confident we have a bluetooth projector somewhere! And that way we can play whatever we want!” 

He looks between each of their faces with cute anticipation, which has Virgil brushing his bangs out of his face as he’s the first to answer “sure. I don’t have anything else going on tonight.” 

With Virgil’s confirmation, both Logan and Janus answer with affirmative “sure, why not?” and “that sounds pleasant” respectively, which has Roman happily patting his hands against the steering wheel in a rapid battering pattern. He’s nearly shaking with sheer delight, which Virgil can’t help but smile at as he relaxes in the passenger seat and pops a few pieces of popcorn into his mouth. 

Roman opens his phone to put on some music for the ride home, connecting it to the speakers and setting his phone carelessly in his cup holder. It’s unlocked, and the screen is on. 

Halfway through the first song, Virgil barely hears the phone vibrate over Roman’s belting to some cheery love-song, and instinctively glances towards it. When he does, he sees the words ‘I’ll see you next weekend’ followed by a singular period - sent separately from the prior sentence - only for the message notification to disappear up into Roman’s notification bar, reduced to just a little text icon. And suddenly Virgil’s prior pleased mood melts away, because something about that message has his hands clamming up. 

It makes him feel uncomfortable. It makes him feel sick. It makes him feel dread.

[intothedysphoria]

It took a while but Steve eventually got Lola to put on her socks and go into daycare.

To say that Lola was a precocious child would be putting it mildly. Lola Harrington was one of the oddest four year olds Steve had come across and he could admit that as her father.

Her current mission was a “pre-school boycott”. Steve still wasn’t sure where exactly she’d learned that word. It was nothing bribery couldn’t solve though, and with the promise of yogurt, Lola was finally through the maroon doors and Steve could go to work.

By the time he came to pick her up, she’d already figured out a new demand and the new one was much harder to avoid.

There had been a revelation in the world of boisterous toddlers. A revolution even. A new favourite adult had emerged during a class trip to the movies and now Lola was insisting on rewatching Inside Out 2 to speak to the funny man selling the tickets.

Steve thought it was going to be a problem in that the man would be sickeningly sweet and refuse to address Steve by name. Instead, Steve was greeted with the kind of guy who’d reject him a nightclub back when he still went clubbing.

His voice was the kind of voice Steve would dream about as a teenager and he was definitely wearing mascara. Steve may have had the more lucrative career but this guy had definitely won the genetic lottery.

He was also charismatic in the kind of way that Steve could see deals being sold left and eight if put in front of the right person. Steve may have been a cynic but he could definitely see himself being swept away by that silver tongue.

The name tag said Billy and Steve already knew that name was going to haunt him for at least the next 6 months.

Billy certainly didn’t disappoint. He had a way of sticking in Steve’s life, especially after Steve found out that he also had a job at the local coffee shop he frequented.

It felt like madness, being so consumed by a person who he’d only spoken to twice. Four times if you counted polite small talk in professional settings. He did seem to have a soft spot for Lola’s forthright nature but nothing particularly special towards Steve.

Not that he seemed to have anything particularly against him but he didn’t really have anything for Steve either.

The first time they spoke without Lola, Steve had left her with Robin so he could watch Deadpool and Wolverine. No date, just Steve.

Billy had dyed his hair green and was wearing very thick eyeliner. More in the realms of emo than traditional beauty. He was also swearing under his breath as he tried to get the coffee machine to work.

Steve, being Steve, offered to help and Billy actually accepted.

He was apparently a bit of a technological Luddite and anything made past 1997 seemed to hate him. Steve could relate and they made a few minutes of mindless conversation about hopeless technology fails.

There was a point where Billy’s hand brushed across his, just a little and Steve felt his stomach start dancing with butterflies.

It was probably nothing. Billy was talking to him more now but it was probably nothing.

Lola continued to obsess over Billy to the point where Steve had to explain that Billy was just someone they knew in the context of him being at work and they didn’t have infinite money to spend on movie theatre tickets.

Billy decided to disprove Steve’s point by both giving them discounted tickets and his number. Landline because he didn’t have a mobile.

Steve listened to a lot of Chappell Roan that weekend. She just suited his vibe.

Considering her track record for acidity, Carol was uncharacteristically engaged while listening to Steve’s plight. That may have been due to her planning to hook up with Chrissy Cunningham but Steve took what he could.

She also told him under no circumstances was he to fall back into “high school Steve” because in her own words “he was a colossal bitch and you aren’t that babe.”

Those words were echoing in his head still when his car came to a standstill on a quiet road, hours away from home. There wasn’t a gas station or mechanics anywhere near and there was no way for Steve to contact Lola’s babysitter because his phone was out of battery.

He was at the point of sobbing of frustration when a literal bright light saved him.

Billy in his fast car, stopped by Steve’s Beemer and asked if he was ok. Well, Steve had certainly been better.

Instead of just taking Steve’s word and driving off, Billy sent a ‘wait there’ hand gesture and started fiddling before making a satisfied grunt and watching the engine come to life again.

Billy was explaining with a lot of mechanical jargon what exactly was wrong with his car but the stress had made Steve lose his head. Because he kissed him.

Billy kissed back even more intensely so Steve guessed he wasn’t exactly opposed to Steve’s little crush.

And judging by her face when she found out, Steve was almost completely sure Lola had been planning getting them together since the beginning. She really was such a crafty four year old.

For @dragonflylady77 happy birthday Guin ily ❤️❤️❤️ ( I think I’ve timed this correctly for UK to NZ time)

[jeffreyprynce]

This was written about a year ago, posted to Substack. I’ve since migrated Substack posts to Tumblr.

Spirit of America,

My brother and I are freakishly alike. There’s a four-and-a-half year gap between us — I’m the oldest — but friends and family have remained perplexed by our similar physical traits, personal beliefs, philosophies, hopes and dreams, and other miscellaneous things that make us tick. We’re basically twins with a chunk of time between us.

Such as it is, we’ve had this… thing… where when something meaningful happens in our collective presence — something significant enough to give us pause — we look at each other. It sounds trivial, but it’s anything but. At such a time, we are indeed compelled to look at each other and hold each other’s gaze. I’ve come to refer to this as our moment.

Our moment is a phenomenon that happened often throughout our childhood as we watched shows and movies. If something particularly cool — or gruesome, in the case of horror films, which we were huge fans of then and continue to be today — happened, it would undoubtedly occur. I remember one such moment in 2000 as we watched The Exorcist: The Version You’ve Never Seen in a theatre. Immediately following the spider-walk scene, infamous at the time for its removal from all previous versions of the film (the wires used to suspend Linda Blair’s stunt double were a bit too visible, requiring computer-generated assistance for their erasure), we had a moment. I recall it vividly, that as the guttural growl and subsequent reverb of the possessed Regan MacNeil faded away, we looked at each other in the semi-dark of the theatre.

I had goosebumps. I’m sure he did, too.

It’s just like me to insert horror pop culture into a seemingly unrelated post. Ask my friends and family: you can’t talk to me for long before I bring up some paranormal or supernatural event or miscellaneous ethereal “coincidence”. You’ll have to excuse me.

The moment I’m here to really dissect is one we had on the evening of November 4, 2008. We were in Toronto, eight years out from a thirteen-year stint at trying to make a life for ourselves in the U.S. They were often good years, often tough years. They were dramatic years, frustrating years. They were years filled with the kind of ups and downs often experienced by black folks trying to thrive in America. Having thrown in the towel, even being Canadian born, we felt — my brother and I — a certain obligation to know and care about what was happening in the U.S. It was a curious sense of commitment that we harbored, and still do; that having escaped (back) to the more black-friendly north, we remained concerned about the loved ones we’d left in our dust. It was like leaving your family behind when they were in a pickle; in a third-world country, perhaps, where dreams of better places, better situations abound, or a war-torn region, where just as the enemy had begun to encroach upon your own neighborhood, you’d been scooped up and swept away to what amounted to paradise in comparison. We hurt for our good-hearted allies, of which there are many.

So it was that when Barack Obama was officially projected to be the next president-elect, we converged upon the living room that evening after dinner in our Scarborough, Ontario home, my mother and stepfather embracing on the couch, my brother and I standing, so riveted were we. And there was something about seeing Barack on that stage, with his supporters surrounding him, trying (and failing) to control the volume of their cheers in anticipation of the truly momentous speech to come. The convivial contrast of a cool November night beyond them made the image dream-like, and my brother and I had a moment. It had happened: a black president of the United States had been elected in our lifetime.

There were a number of images that came to mind in that moment, and they were all of the same theme: Martin Luther King’s dream had finally come to fruition in full. We were no longer trudging uphill, faces stonily set against cold winds emanating from cold, bigoted hearts. It was a downhill journey from that point on, no exertion needed. From that point on, the election of a black president of the United States (and a good man, an exceptional man), would carry us through to the promised land. Right?

As one Donald Trump derisively intoned as he leaned in to the microphone on his podium during a debate with Hillary Clinton, pursed lips resembling a pink puckered anus: “Wrong.”

Incidentally, I wonder if any of you remember a certain thread of discussion that was making the rounds on social media platforms just after his election. It can be summarized essentially thus: Black folks been knew, and white folks didn’t listen to us; have never listened to us.

Immediately post-election, all over Twitter, black folks young and old were nodding and smirking and shaking their heads, saying, “We warned you.” And with some context and education, you came to know what we meant then, but I fear you’ve since forgotten, that what’s happening to your country right now is, quite literally, all about race. Had you heeded our collective call that white nationalist racism was coming to a boil, and that the nation was the proverbial frog thus slowly, insidiously being cooked, you could’ve mobilized. You could’ve prodded that frog; gave it a little poke; jump, Mr. Toad, jump.

Here you have Donald Trump at an about-face. He’s back. And I don’t think it’s going to be a landslide victory for the Democratic Party come November, if it does manage a victory. If the Democrats do win, it’ll be a victory they eked out; a tight squeal, like that thin, wounded sound that seeps from the pinched orifice of a balloon.

I do pray that you won’t wake up on November 6, 2024 with Donald Trump as your revenge president-elect. I pray he won’t spider-walk into your lives as commander-in-chief once again. Though, do take heed that after an exorcism, the exorcee is grandly advised by the exorcist, himself weary and battle-scarred, to be spiritually on the defensive. Always. Because he knows that if the demon returns, it won’t come alone; it’ll come with seven others. Seven devils. And the state of the body again possessed will be worse than it was the first time. Much worse.

In an architectural sense, do not be mistaken: Donald Trump’s reign over the Republican Party is not being held up by politics. It is not being propped up by a desire for a better future for all Americans. It is not innocent. It is being propped up by a hatred for people who are not white. Yes, it is indeed that simple. If you think otherwise, ask yourself this: If you could rewind society to what it was in, let’s say, the late 1980s, when cultural and racial diversity were less visible and whiteness was the order of the day everywhere you looked, do you think Donald Trump would be on the ballot, let alone seeking a second term?

I don’t think so.

I think Donald Trump would be in New York, doing Donald Trump things; wheeling and dealing in real estate, managing hotels and casinos, running fake establishments (universities, et al.), appearing on WWE Smackdown, that sort of thing. As it is, in today’s society, he is a living martyr and a wrecking ball for the kind of people who get together to uniformly wear Polo shirts and clutch tiki torches, chanting, “You will not replace us!”

For further clarity, look no further than the words of Toni Morrison, as they appeared in The New Yorker ten days after Donald Trump was first elected:

“These sacrifices, made by supposedly tough white men, who are prepared to abandon their humanity out of fear of black men and women, suggest the true horror of lost status.

“It may be hard to feel pity for the men who are making these bizarre sacrifices in the name of white power and supremacy. Personal debasement is not easy for white people (especially for white men), but to retain the conviction of their superiority to others — especially to black people — they are willing to risk contempt, and to be reviled by the mature, the sophisticated, and the strong. If it weren’t so ignorant and pitiful, one could mourn this collapse of dignity in service to an evil cause.”

Morrison wrote of the extremes white nationalists have gone to in an attempt to “restore whiteness to its former status as a marker of national identity”. She wrote that “Unlike any nation in Europe, the United States holds whiteness as the unifying force” and that “These people are not so much angry as terrified, with the kind of terror that makes knees tremble.” Given that she wrote the essay in response to Trump’s election, you’d do best to print it out and pin it to your wall or your fridge, or, at the very least, to fold it up and tuck it into a folder or journal for easy reference when your conservative peers and/or family members say or do things that confound you.

Only when you understand this and accept it will you have a chance at staving off the storm Trump is riding in on, like some apocalyptic herald. Because when you’ve accepted it, you’ll see it all around you. Little fires everywhere. Then and only then will you be able to stamp them out before they conjoin. With your friends. With your family. And, most importantly, those independent voters, the ones on the fence who will see the Republican Party for the repugnant, shambling thing it has become, and subsequently tip the scales.

As of my writing this, there’s still time. The drive to suffocate racism in America is the banner under which you’ll find victory; if not for this election, for the soul of your nation. I shudder to think of how a vengeful second term of Trump in the White House will affect the conflicts in Gaza and the Ukraine, for example, or South Sudan, Ecuador, the Congo. And I'd be remiss to remind you that in terms of the bloodshed in Gaza, of the two candidates, Donald Trump is the one who is least bendable in terms of seeking to end the wholesale murder of innocent Palestinian people. While Harris is prone to listening to those of us who plead for Palestinians, and prone to scolding Netanyahu as Biden did ("Bibi, what the fuck?"), Trump is not. Quite the contrary, Trump has said he will side with Benjamin Netanyahu unwaveringly.

Lately, when my brother and I see each other, now as Canadian men having mostly recovered from the constant, hovering threat of racist white Americans, we inevitably have our moments about what antics Trump has been up to. We never have much to say about him and his enablers anymore. Not like we did in 2016. Because there’s nothing new under the sun, is there? What we understand is that y’all still aren’t getting it. We handed you the keys and you fumbled them once again, unaware that they’d long since tumbled into that cold, damp manhole sewer of blissful American ignorance.

And yet I wish the best for you. I hope for a miracle, fingers and toes crossed, prayers up, and incense lit.

From Canada with love,

Your Wayward Son

[dr5amatic]

THE AGONY OF UNMADE DECISIONS ,

a sentence starter prompts list comprised of quotes from the novel if we were villains by m.l. rio. please be advised that this list may involve topics including, but not limited to, murder, death, and violence. change verbiage as needed.

why are you here? you should know by now i’m not going to tell you anything.

seems safer to let sleeping dogs lie.

it must eat you alive, not knowing. not knowing who, not knowing how, not knowing why.

you’ve kept your secrets all this time. it would drive anyone else crazy. why do it?

want to come out for a smoke? might help you relax.

your time will come to be the tragic hero.

let’s go skinny-dipping! i haven’t been swimming all summer.

seems like just yesterday my dad was shouting at me for throwing my life away.

you can’t do good work if you’re hiding, so we’re going to get all of the ugliness out in the open.

if you haven’t made any enemies in life, you’ve been living too safely.

you make a surprisingly convincing villain.

i know what you’re doing. you’re baiting me.

i don’t know about you, but i want to get cleaned up and go to bed and pretend this didn’t happen for like at least eight hours.

i think we were all fucked up from the start.

you promised me you wouldn’t say a word, so don’t.

i’m sorry, what the fuck just happened?

you know, people aren’t going to put up with your bullshit for much longer.

you’re probably the only person he’d listen to.

where’ve you been all night?

i was making the rounds for a while, but i got overwhelmed and snuck upstairs to do some reading.

i’m done with this fucking party, with all of them down there. what do you want?

why don’t you just tell me what happened? no performance. no poetics.

we can’t just stand around arguing about how it happened, we have to do something.

look, i know you have a pathological need to play the hero, but right now you need to stop and ask yourself if that’s really what’s best for everyone.

someone’s dead and you don’t know where you were?

before last night, everything was fine.

i care about you, and what might happen if you carry on like this.

he wasn’t an easy person to like, but he was an easy person to love.

what do you do? ignore your grief, or indulge in it?

maybe every day we let grief in, we’ll also let a little bit of it out, and eventually we’ll be able to breathe again.

i’m not going to kick you out of your own bed.

it doesn’t add up. we’re missing something.

you look like you might need someone to carry you.

i’m going to bed unless you’ve got something to say.

i’ve had enough of your sexual misadventures for one year, thanks.

it’s fucking freesing and i’m not leaving you out here alone.

when did we become such terrible people?

why don’t we get a drink or something? just us. i can’t think straight with everyone watching like we’re a reality show.

i just–maybe it’s because you’re you, and i mean, look at you–but i don’t understand. why me? i’m nobody.

you know, everyone calls you ‘nice,’ but that’s not the word. you’re good. you’re so good you have no idea how good you are.

we carry on as usual, or they’re going to want to ask all kinds of questions we don’t want to answer.

are you going to cold-shoulder me all night?

what’s gotten into you? you don’t sound like yourself.

you’re smarter than this. 

i’m not keeping any more secrets for you.

you can justify anything if you do it poetically enough.

you’re just going to leave me?

i think hell may have frozen over.

when you enter the theatre, there are three things you must leave at the door: dignity, modesty, and personal space.

anything can feel like punishment if you’re taught poorly.

you can’t quantify humanity. you can’t measure it–not the way you mean to. people are passionate and flawed and fallible. they make mistakes. their memories fade. their eyes deceive them.

i want so badly to be so mad at you that i could kill you, but i can’t, so i’m mad at myself instead. do you even understand how unfair that is?

i don’t know what’s wrong with me. i want to hurt the whole world.

why don’t you sit, and i’ll pour tea?

he was my friend—much more than that, truthfully—and that was enough. i didn’t need to know why.

can i help? i still–i want to help.

let me put myself back together and then i’ll come find you.

it’s like i look at you and suddenly the sonnets make sense.

tell me you didn’t do it.

i never wanted you to look at me the way you’re looking at me right now.

we have to go back and act like nothing’s wrong. we’ve got to get through tonight, and then we’ll worry about it. all right?

you know, it’s not too late if there’s another version of the truth you want to tell me.

will you rest easier with one less mystery on your mind?

you were real to me. sometimes i thought you were the only real thing.

[james-a-b]

the TATINOF experience

ok so. i've wanted to make a post about this for a While now; i feel like a lot of people don't really understand or appreciate how unprecedented TATINOF really was, and for me, watching it in Seattle in 2016, it was the best day of my life.

So here we go.

(I've put the rest below a readmore bc this is an 18 paragraph post lmao)

On March 26th, 2015, Dan and Phil revealed TABINOF via a trailer set in the distant future. The book itself was not entirely unprecedented- other youtubers had written and were writing books, but for the most part (at the time) these were either fictional works or serious biographies; TABINOF was a time capsule of Dan and Phil's youtube brand, and a glimpse into parts of their lives we hadn't seen yet. (For example; Phil's hamster breeding adventures) But tucked into the pages of the book in the trailer were a pair of tickets to The Amazing Tour Is Not On Fire. This was insane. No youtuber had ever gone on tour before, save perhaps for a few musicians; no one had done a stage show. No one knew what to expect.

And, as they asked the audience of each show not to share spoilers, most of us went on not knowing what to expect until we'd seen it ourselves.

I saw the show on June 18th, 2016, near the end of the US leg of the tour. I went in knowing three things:

There were set ways in which we the audience could participate: there was Crafty Corner, Weird Kid, Phone Support Hotline, and a 7 Second Challenge submission box. (I submitted art to Crafty Corner, and I was thrilled just knowing they'd see it)

The set was a giant microwave. What this meant, I could not imagine.

Everyone who'd already seen the show said it was incredible.

I remember having had a dream that I was at the show like a week before it actually happened, and I woke up just as the show was about to start in the dream because my brain couldn't come up with anything they might do onstage lmao.

I can't even begin to put into words how incredible the atmosphere was before the show even started. Phannies were lined up for two blocks outside the theatre, and I'd never felt so welcome anywhere in my life. The doors opened. I believe Cornelia was working the merch stand pre-show, though I don't remember for sure- I got a signed copy of TABINOF and then I took my seat.

The set was incredible, and the pre-show playlist was amazing. Everyone sang along to every song, and when Troye Sivan's Wild came on, everyone screamed. Seriously, if you've never looked at the pre-show playlist for TATINOF you should. Finally, All Star by Smash Mouth played. Everyone was singing along, and laughing because of course Dan put that in there, and then, halfway through the song, the music stops and the lights go out. Everyone screamed, and the opening sequence began to play on the microwave. I understand why they opted to edit that directly into the beginning of the recording, because it would've been a little difficult to see in the recording otherwise, but at the same time it hit so much better when it played directly on the microwave.

And then they came out on stage, and they were so much more awkward than I expected. Dan kept squatting slightly, like he was trying to be shorter, and Phil moved almost like a marionette. They said their hellos, and then they addressed the microwave being there, and the plot started to become apparent- Phil had microwaved his laptop.

I'm not going to get into too much detail on every bit of the show, because I've already written about eight paragraphs and I could write about twenty more going play-by-play through every aspect of the show, but that's not the point of this essay, so I'll attempt to keep things at least a little shorter than that.

The first truly unprecedented thing was when Dan said they were "having a bit of a domestic" when Phil said he couldn't get off the lion. This was the very first time they'd come anywhere near addressing the elephant in the room (their relationship) publicly since the V-day vid. Obviously, compared to the things they've said in 2024 (we've never fucked on youtube, etcetera), "we're having a bit of a domestic" is incredibly tame, but this was huge. Everyone screamed.

And then, shortly after, Phil started singing, and everyone screamed much louder. They did little songs all the time in baking videos or while playing the sims, but this was different. This was on stage, with a spotlight and everything. It was not a surprise to me when Dan cut Phil off; I thought the song was for sure a joke, that there was no way they'd come back to it (spoiler alert, they did).

And then there was the 7 Second Challenge bit, and Reasons Why Phil Was A Weird Kid, and Uncle Dan's Phone Support Hotline, and the PINOF 75 bit. And it was all weird and crazy and amazing. But the next thing I really want to focus on is Fanfiction Live.

Fanfiction Live was... absolutely insane. My show chose cowboys on the moon, and the script they wrote for it was.... so undeniably gay? Like. "Should Phil draw Dan like a French girl"? Are you kidding? This really happened???? They wrote this in 2015. Four years before they came out. This was so far beyond unprecedented. This was unthinkable.

And then, immediately following this insanity, they began Smashing Plates and then they were like "IT'S DIL" and by this point i was hoarse from screaming but when I tell you I screamed...

And then Dil said all those things about Dan feeling like nothing he did was worth anything, but that it meant a lot to Dil and to the audience, and that Phil felt like he had to change who he was to please others but that we appreciated him for who he is... I melted. It was a moment of such genuine honesty, and they'd saved my life, and I loved them so, so much.

And then Phil started singing again, and Dan didn't stop him, and Dan started singing too, and the song was so them, ironic yet genuine, and I was out of my mind because I couldn't believe they were Singing On Stage like that, like, they were youtubers. Not professional singers. No one asked or expected them to go that far. But they did it.

it was the best day of my life.

[thedepthsoffandomminds]

The guest - PT 2

Jack Dawkins x fem reader fic. Requested story.

PT one here.

You rushed through the town to the hospital, finding Jack walking out.

"Doctor Dawkins? Excuse me doctor?" You call out to him. Upon hearing you he turns, a smile drawing across his lips.

"Hello Miss y/l/n. A bit late for you to be put isn't it?" He asks, sauntering over to you.

"I'm sorry Doctor. I just needed to ask if you're heading to a poker game?"

His eyes narrowed at you.

"Yes."

You sigh, "okay. Do me a favour, do not take the twenty six pound bet. Fold and leave." You implore him.

"What do you mean?" He asks.

"I can't tell you how I know but please trust me. Darius will cheat you. Please just do this for me." You ask. Jack looks at you curiously.

"I don't know how you know but sure, I'll fold if it goes to twenty six pounds." He replies, a small grin on his lips, "I don't suppose you'd like to come with me would you?"

In all honesty, yes you'd love to go with him, but you figured it would be better if you returned to the Governor's house. You bid him a goodnight and darted away from him again. Making your way back to the house and resting back on the guest bed.

*_*_*_*

Jack sat around the table.in the captains quarters a hand of cards held between his fingers. He glanced around at his opponents. The sun was coming up outside, causing a dim glow around the room. Jack looked at his pocket watch, a surgery was scheduled for.in twenty minutes. He had a good hand but your words were playing in his mind. Looking at the pile of coins in front of him Jack chose to fold his hand.

"Oh come now, Doctor. I thought you had bigger balls than that." Darius laughed.

"We can discuss the size of my manhood another day, I have to save a life." Jack quipped, spinning on his heel.

The awaiting crowd chanted in the theatre as Jack ran up to Sneed. The two doctors waltz into the operating room and Jack turns to the crowd.

"Gentlemen. The Royal Hospital somewhat proudly presents Dr. Rainsford Sneed and the much celebrated Dr. Jack Dawkins." The crowd cheers, "Now, we have a fine one for you today, gents. A leg, shattered. Falling down a mine shaft, was it?" He looks to Hetty the head nurse, "The question, though, is who cuts?" He and Snees take their places either side of the table and Jack flicks a coin into the air. Hetty captures it and announced the heads.

"Me." Jack threw up his arms to his sides before sweeping round to the other side.

"I bet you can't do it under forty three" Sneed whispers.

"A pound says twenty nine." Jack grins.

"When have you ever had a pound?"

"As soon as you lose. Gentlemen! Dr. Sneed here seems to think that I can't amputate this leg in less than his record of forty three seconds. Well, I beg to differ!" Jack played up for the crowd, he wouldn't admit it out loud but he loved the adoration. He turns to the patient.

" Mr. Champflower, this will be the worst thrity seconds of your life, but I promise, I will make it as quick as I can. Your favourite memory. Take your mind there now." The operation begins and within twenty eight seconds the leg had been amputated and seen up. Jack gave Mr champflower a drink of medicinal whiskey as Hetty began wrapping the leg in a bandage.

"Come on hot shot, we have a new shipment of convicts to deal with." Sneed explained as the two men gathered their medical bags and made their way outside. Two tables had been set up for them with a line of English convicts waiting their turn. Hours passed him by as he mindlessly gave each one a health check.

A young woman stepped up to his table, Jack felt putty for the girl, her round face reminded him of the girls he had known as a child.

"Name?"

"Milly Wince."

" And your crime?"

" I stole clothes for me baby, but he died on the way over."

That made Jack sad, pitty swept over him.

"What was his name?"

" Benjy."

" She can help the schoolma'am." He says to the redcoat behind her. Hetty wrote down the girl's name and new job in the book beside Jack.

" But I can't read." She whispers to him.

"It's all right, they'll teach you." He says with a small smile, " All right, next."

A man dressed in old, dirty clothing steps up, his hands bound in iron chains. Jack looked up, his world shattering in an instant.

"Hello, Dodge. Been a time? Dog got your tongue?" The old.man laughed. Jack jumped up grabbing the man's shoulder and dragging round a corner.

"You're dead. They hanged you 15 years ago in Newgate." He says shakely, pushing Fagin to the wall.

"Surprise, surprise." Fagin chuckled, looking around himself, "What are you? Why are they all salutin' you like you're royalty?" He asks.

"I was a navy surgeon, an officer." Jack explains and takes a step backward.

"Oh. You've done well for yourself, boy. I'm proud of you."

"What are you doing here, Fagin?"

" Well, Her Majesty and I thought that I could benefit from a bit of quiet time in the colony." He laughed again.

" Now, listen to me. I can decide your fate with a stroke of my pen, so if one word gets out about our past..." jack begins, Fagin throws up his hands.

" No, I would never do that. Never. Never. To even think it hurts. No. I'm here for you, just as I hope you're here for me. Because sometimes, a covey gets pushed into a corner like a rat, and the only way out is to bite. So, don't make me bite you, Dodge." Fagin says.

"What do you want?"

"Well, a little bird flapped in and whispered to me that you'd escaped from prison in London. Do they hang escaped convicts here? I'll take that as a yes. Don't fret, I'd never give you up, just keep me off that chain gang." Fagin almost thinks of begging.

Gaines appears around the corner, "Dawkins. Everything all right?"

"Yes. I thought he might have something contagious, but it's just his stench." Jack lied quickly.

" Where's he going? I need another on the chain gang. Doesn't matter if he doesn't last that long." Gaines asked eyeing Fagin.

"No, I was thinking of making him my convict servant."

*_*_*_*

The trip to the seamstress had gone well and you stood with Belle in a new pastel green dress. You had to admit, though the corset was foreign to you it felt nice to be such a lovely dress. The two of you walked out of the shop towards the carriage, the two of you laughing together. It was nice speaking with her. Sharing your medical knowledge with her, making sure you didn't give too much away.

"You have to tell me about either. Do they use it in the hospital you're from?" She asks. The driver giddied the horses and it pulled away.

"Oh l, yes. It's brilliant, in full use. We use it for all the surgeries." You say happily. Outside the driver is calling out to the people on the streets when you feel a bump, more than a bump. The whole carriage rocked and you were sure it was close to toppling. It stopped and you got out as fast as you could knowing what must have happened.

Just as you'd thought the boy, Charlie was lying on the road, his leg split open. You drop down beside him and tear at the material of his trousers leg before tying it just below the knee. Glancing quickly around you grabbed the thick hat pin from your new hat and used it to tighten the tourniquet. As you worked people gathered and were chatting loudly one woman called out for a doctor. Jack appeared beside you.

"I've tied a tourniquet, but it isn't tight enough."

"that must have hurt your arm." He says looking between you and the child. You grinned but didn't reply.

"It's all right. I'm gonna sort you right out." He said to Charlie reassuringly. His tone was even softer than you remembered from the show.

"Can you fix it?" Belle asks.

" I'll need to amputate."

"no." You breathe out.

" What about Bircher's procedure to save it?" Belle questioned.

"Miss, please, To do that, I would need to drill into his leg bones, and insert pegs to knit them back together again. He would die of shock and pain." He argues his case.

"Not if you take the pain with ether." You interject almost to yourself.

" The Yankee Dodge?" Jack looks at you curiously .

"Yes." Belle becomes excited.

"That is unproven." He remind sher.

" Except for Morton in Boston and Liston in London. Do you even read The Lancet?" She bites at him.

"Not while I have strength, no. Anyway, that chump of a Governor has banned ether, so Prof wouldn't let it near the hospital." Jack explained

" That's just idiotic." Belle scoffed. Look, I've got-"

"Look, m'lady, one of us is a qualified surgeon and the other one is carrying a bloody parasol. So, thank you, but would you mind awfully sodding off." He cut her off and you sniggered under your breath.

"Okay enough, look Jack, Fagin get the boy in the carriage, Belle has an idea." You grinned at them and got to your feet, pulling Belle to the side.

"What are you talking about?" She asks in a whispered tone.

"You have everything we need at your house. Get us there quickly." You say raising your eyebrows at her. Belle's smile was wide with mischief and excitement. Behind you Jack had gotten Charlie into the carriage and jumped in. You and Belle got in alongside them, Belle sat beside Charlie's head meaning you had to squeeze in beside Jack, your hip bumping his as you did. He glances at where you touched him before raising his eyes to meet yours. A whimper from Charlie pulls his attention away.

"Hey, it's not too bad, Charlie boy. I've seen much worse at sea. Plus, you're gonna have a terrific scar." He attempts to reassure the lad.

"A stump." Belle scoffs, "Instead of using ether, you're going to butcher the boy and condemn him to beggary?"

" Thank you. Wonderful bedside manner you've got. You've got a knack for it." Jack sneered at her.

"Someone's got to stick up for him. If only you'd listen." She tried to fight back. Charlie grabbed for Jack's arm.

"You're not gonna take it?" He asked.

" I promise, I am going to save your life." Jack spoke softly to him, then turned his attention back to Belle, "You listen to me, you upstart. I'd give anything to trial that surgery Anything. Surgery without pain would revolutionise medicine."

Your hand comes out to take Belle's, "The biggest risk to any surgeon is the addiction to feeling like God. You are gambling against death with only your wit for ante, and that is bloody exhilarating. But the risk is not yours. There is a person beneath your hands. And the moment the cutter forgets that, and gives into his ego, then the patient is lost." You explain to her.

"A surgeon is lost." Jack adds as she Huff's at you both.

"Might I suggest you find your backbone?" She bit, folding her arms over her chest.

Jack felt the carriage turning to the left instead of right, "the hospital is that way!" He spoke out.

"We aren't going to the hospital." Belle quipped.

"Why, he doesn't have much time, you ridiculous woman...this is the Governor's house." Jack realises.

"Yes it is." You say pulling Jack's eyes to you.

"This is your idea?" He asks, almost impressed.

"Not really. Belle, go in and get your supplies. I'll make sure the way is clear." You say to her as the carriage is pulled to a stop.

You jump out a little too quickly and feel your breath catch in your lungs. Jack is beside you, concerned .

"I'm fine, just getting used to this corset." You say brushing him off and running into the building. You can hear the Governor's gathered guests upstairs and hoped everything would work out just as it did in the show.

Belle came running to you, her surgeon's kit tucked under her arm.

"Here give it to me, go get them." You say grabbing the equipment from her and placing it on the side board behind you. As quietly as you could you emptied the table and pulled it forward into the space beside the stairs, just as they were carrying Charlie in.

"Here we'll have to do it here." You say calling them over.

"Not ideal." Belle scoffs as she nervously checks up the stairs. Her father was already bringing his guests down. You stop at the head of the table, one hand beside Charlie's head and the other reaching to your chest.

@fandomfan-102 @deanstolemydragon