#i HAD to hold it toggle in theatre

[crookedkryptonitebeliever]

Thank you so much @yandere-paramour for commissioning me.

Commission description: I got in a freak accident where in hs where I was in theatre rehearsal and basically a 4x4 fell directly onto my head and I was severely concussed for the Next month. Can you write this happening to Reader and Yves cannot prevent it in time? and he's very upset and angry at himself and Reader is just absolutely fucked up and nearly helpless.

tw: injury, yandere themes

(2632 words)

He oversaw your entire hospital residency. Yves didn't trust the doctors and nurses that were there, he would be the one to administer any treatment. Yves would also be the one to give you bed baths and clean any messes you may have made due to losing some control over your bladder or bowels. Yves had seen all of you.

All he needed to do was talk to a few people, pull some strings, forge a few signatures, and erase a handful of records.

You were in deep throbbing pain, only made manageable by the painkillers you were made to eat. But you couldn't think straight either, everything is just too hazy and foggy. The slightest bit of light bothers you to no end, luckily you were vaguely aware Yves was around to be with you. He knew what to do, he always knew what to do.

You could make out your boyfriend's hushed voice as he spoke through the phone. Squinting your eyes, you could discern a blurry image of Yves holding his smartphone in one hand, and the other typing away on his laptop. You had always found his voice soothing, but it sounded like he was upset, it didn't help that you were barely registering the words he was saying.

Noticing that your drugs are slowly wearing off, Yves quickly ended the call and walked over to you in large strides. You closed your eyes and he didn't say anything, only the shuffling and rustling of what you think came from the medical equipment reached your ears. Occasionally, you open your eyes only to close them again, catching glimpses of Yves toggling with your cannula and a filled syringe.

You were too concussed to question why Yves is doing the nurses' or doctors' job, or if he was even qualified to do so. You were just glad that he was by your side.

Soon, you felt the relief and newfound wooziness from the freshly administered IV painkillers and something else. You were sent to your own world when Yves pulled himself away to clean up and put everything back in place.

You felt him caress your cheek and kiss you on the forehead. After that, you felt the mattress of your hospital bed dip as Yves got on, he tucked himself under your blanket and spooned you from behind.

It was baffling how that wooden plank dislodged itself from somewhere and hit you. Just you, out of all the people present there. He does routine checks on the places where you frequent, the theatre didn't appear to be dilapidated, nor did his numerous tests yield any conclusions that could help him predict this outcome. That damned building passed all his safety checks, likewise, your coworkers weren't a threat to your life.

He buried his head in the crook of your neck, closing his eyes as he breathed in your scent. Yves was deep in thought while he tenderly rubbed the palm of your hands, it's not foul play. If it was, he already knew from the footage from a few dozen cameras he hid around the theatre. Moreover, he did his research on every single one you knew or knew you. The idea of someone trying to end your life is possible, but not plausible.

Yves had replayed that one video over and over again to try and discern the cause of the wooden plank falling from the top. It seemingly... isn't caused by anything. No matter how he digitally enhanced it, no matter how many times he watched it until it was positively seared into his brain, Yves found nothing of note. It just detached from the ceiling and fell. He frowned each time he had to remember the instant it slammed right into your head.

He even paid the theatre a visit just to investigate the site of impact itself. Bewilderingly, he could discern advanced signs of weakness in the surrounding areas that weren't there a day before but would have taken a few months to form through natural means. He swabbed everything and all his tests came out nothing. Yves was undetected by the owners of that building or the authorities because he broke in during the dead of night and scaled the beams quietly and skillfully. He balanced himself on a taut rope while he snapped pictures of the sites.

He called up people who he thought could give him advice and more information about the matter, but to no avail. It's almost like this was caused by something paranormal, there were no conceivable reasons as to how or why this happened. Even if there was, it defied the laws of physics in this reality.

Regardless of how strange and unexpected this event was, Yves was upset that he didn't think of a failsafe for this. He thought of everything but not this, because it was just so implausible.

You groan in discomfort, nothing feels right and you want your mind back now. However, there really isn't anything Yves could do and all the other relatively instantaneous healing methods he knew of would cause more significant harm than good. So, for now, you're stuck like this.

He sighed, murmuring that he was here to assure you. Well, at least this has given him a new set of data that he otherwise wouldn't go out of his way to induce and collect; there is at least that silver lining.

Yves frowned as he parted away from you, despising the cold nipping at him without you as his soft heater. But he has a lot to do, he has to maintain the life that you built for yourself while you're out of commission for at least a month.

He pressed a kiss on your forehead once more, ensuring that you were completely passed out from the drugs before taking out his phone again to make a few more important calls.

-

He transferred you to his humble abode a few days later, after determining that you were stable enough for him to resume your care outside of the hospital. You could barely walk, talk, or open your eyes, you were entirely helpless. Mumbling semi-incoherent words to try and communicate your needs and wants. Luckily for you, Yves clearly knew what you wanted just by your body language alone, so you were never too angry or frustrated that he couldn't understand you.

Unfortunately for your friends and family who would visit you from time to time, you were babbling in a language from another planet. They're either too loud, too panicky, or too pungent-smelling to be around with. It's as if the air was ruined by their presence. Your poor, concussed mind thought everyone else was just idiots and Yves is the only intelligent lifeform there.

Such an attentive man, he is. Yves would politely shoo them out of your shared bedroom when they got too much, he would then spend a few more minutes entertaining them with small talk downstairs before ultimately making them leave the property. The ones who truly care about you are glad you are under Yves's supervision.

However, if you were just lucid enough, you would question how Yves knew that you wanted a blanket from your heavy slurring, how he knew that you wanted to be hugged at that very moment by just watching you blink, how he knew what hurts by an incomprehensible grumble.

A few times, you did catch yourself realizing that you may have been completely unintelligible in verbalizing your wants. Still, he gave you exactly what you needed before you could correct yourself.

You always look forward to meal times, as he would never fail to whip up something delicious yet nutritious enough; packed chock full of vitamins, and minerals to your healing process. The best part was that he would spoon-feed you while sitting on his lap, it's ridiculously comfortable and you felt like absolute royalty. Strangely and fortunately for you, it never once felt degrading or patronizing. At most, you felt heavily nostalgic and had a strong sense of sadness that you couldn't conjure up an idea as to why. But it would all ebb away with every spoonful Yves fed you or every kiss he gave to show his appreciation for your cooperation.

Yves wouldn't allow you to use your phone or watch the television, he wouldn't allow anything in his house to emit too bright of a light. Which you were grateful for since it reduces the pain dramatically, and he would keep you fully engaged by reading stories from his library. They're always so exhilarating to hear as the protagonists always possess a wonderful personality that closely matches yours, allowing you to immerse yourself in whatever whimsical and fantastical world of his storybook. His smooth, baritone voice lulled you to sleep more times than you can count, letting you continue the story in your dreams.

Sometimes, you want to experience that particular story again, so you would pick up the book Yves read from. Only to find that its' pages are seemingly filled with illegible graphite chicken scratch. Asking him about it will lead him to tell you he wrote each and every single one of those pieces, they're all based on your proudest achievements and your life journey.

When Yves promised that he would take care of you to the fullest, he meant it. He wouldn't allow you to shower on your own, nor did he let you stand too long. He prepared a stool for you to sit on as streams of warm water washed over your nude body, Yves would roll his sleeves up and clean you up while you merely remained there in a daze; you didn't have to do anything, Yves would work up a lather on your hair and massage your scalp, he would gently scrub your skin with his smooth hands and apply an impossibly long list of skincare products that leaves your skin happy and glowing.

Yves is rarely apart away from you when you're this needy. And he enjoys it, savoring every second he spends with you. Yves would take his time styling your hair, stroking it, and collecting any strands you may have shed for data. Applying hair oil and caring for your body, he wouldn't have had the chance to do this when you're perfectly healthy, as you would either get too uncomfortable, bored, or too busy for him to do this for you.

In many ways, this accident was a blessing in disguise. For you to make up for all the missed bonding times with him; it's not that Yves is elated with you being severely concussed, but he isn't too upset over it either.

"Is this the color you want for your base?" He asked, ensuring his voice wasn't above the volume threshold. Yves brought up a bottle of nail polish in your favorite color.

You gave him a thumbs up, as nodding can cause you pain.

"What design would you like?" Yves continued asking, putting the polish away so he could begin to prep your fingernails. He had your hand limply resting on a towel draped over his thigh.

You opened your mouth to speak, but it was gibberish and garbled. But you were so used to talking like this and your brain is still healing from the damage, that you couldn't tell something was wrong.

Yves merely hummed in response while he skillfully pushed your cuticles in, they were softened by some cuticle oil he applied earlier. He needed no extra enlightenment even though you spoke in a tongue that no human could ever comprehend easily, Yves already knew what you wanted. He only asked that to give you an illusion of control.

You relaxed to the soothing music playing in the background while Yves continued with his manicure on you, skillfully using his tools to create intricate works of art on your nails. It's amazing how he could do that with laser precision in dim light.

Perhaps you tried holding a conversation with him, and you did. Albeit one-sided, Yves seemingly responds to your words normally as if he truly understood. But he was actually doing some very complex "guesswork" that was apparently accurate all the time. However, if there is one thing for certain, he memorizes all the sounds that left your mouth and movements you made no matter how random or unnecessary.

If thinks that you're getting too under-stimulated, he will recite one of the many stories he wrote for you to listen to and immerse yourself in. Yet, he wouldn't get distracted, continuing his work with elegance and expertise.

You were mesmerized by how he would hold his brush, how he would administer a graceful stroke, and how he would do the details of such an impossibly beautiful masterpiece.

You smiled and cheered when you saw your nails, all that there was left for you to do was wait for the polish to dry. The corners of his lips were also pulled up into a pleased grin, feeling absolutely delighted to see you beaming like that. He couldn't resist pecking you on the apples of your cheeks, as he might accidentally squeeze you out of his cuteness aggression if he didn't at least expel some of it.

He cleaned up after himself and put the items away. You were still giddy over your nails and he was in joy too. Yves then sat right next to you, resting his head on your shoulder and letting his silky, jet-black hair tickle you in the nose.

Yves closed his eyes and relaxed at the sound of your heavenly giggles, nuzzling his head further into the side of your neck to keep the playfulness alive. He would occasionally litter your shoulder with kisses too.

Eventually, the atmosphere calms back down to a gentle lull, where you would be lying on his lap as Yves runs his fingers through your hair. A soft smile graced his face as he watched you stare at his artwork, feeling flattered and honored that you liked it.

Yves always knew the potential of himself enjoying the aftermath of such a tragedy happening to you was there. But he didn't anticipate that he loved it this much. As bad as it sounds, Yves is unwilling to think about the time when you will inevitably heal and leave him alone all over again to live your life.

His smile faltered a bit thinking how you're most likely going to go back to that theatre to work again, cutting the time that he's used to have with you short by a drastic amount. He is going to miss tender moments like these so awfully...

Yves paused when he noticed that you drifted into slumberland, softly breathing as your lips were slightly parted and drool running down the sides of your mouth. Yves chuckled a bit as he wiped them away with his thumb.

He blinked as he thought about the situation at hand even more.

You are such a strong, resilient person, who endured far worse than a measly headache. And it seems like your recovery process isn't too agonizing for you to bear, you're fine.

And, you would definitely be fine if Yves extended that duration for a few more weeks; he needs to make sure that you're fully healed before allowing you to go back into the real world. You would also be fine to consume a bit more sugar than usual, he knows you better than yourself.

Yves brought your hands and grazed his fingertips against your nails to see if it was fully dried. They were, and he gave them each a kiss.

The next few hours were spent with Yves watching you sleep, his green eyes were unblinkingly trained on you.

[endgame-steve-is-not-real]

The opening fight scene in Shang chi with Wenwu and Yiang li is the physical representaion of bisexual panic. I stg I'd just pass away if they looked at me like that.

[violet-author]

A Nice Night For Spinel(18+ Only)

Written as a challenge to myself, to see if I could put out a good longer work in a short timeframe. As always 18+ Only.

Your first love and your first kiss, stolen by one who left when they knew you bereft of experience. It isn't your fault you hadn't trusted anyone to hold you so directly, you were a pair of delicate flowers, in soul and in body, green as the leaves and ready for a lovely embrace. Sadly for you, the locals seemed a cavalcade of infinitely ignorant scraps you were embarrassed to be near, and even more so to realize one whom you assumed cut of a better cloth turned out to be naught but a ratty rag. It's not your fault the folks 'round you seemed so terrible, that you were beaten down to see all as grey, and grey, and grey. it's not your fault the color faded from your life as you went on. It's not your fault that your cozy home felt so much more welcoming than the bars, clubs and theatres that lay scattered around the city to beckon you into their snare of a promise of a good time and perhaps even... love. You felt nothing for the dull and callous masses you passed by every day. but... you heart remained kind, soft, the look in your eyes though sad most times always had that little glimmer of hope for a better tomorrow, you hoped... and hoped... but going on into adulthood you... you didn't see a change. and tried retreating back into yourself one night. during a midnight walk away from the others you heard footsteps along the same path you took, and at the corner... under that one light that worked, the amber shine, that golden honey colored dim brightness bathed her face in it's auspicious embrace. She was different. She was new. She was... colorful. You felt like you could breathe again, and into a daze you went at her gorgeous face... until she spoke. "er, you ok there pal? You're seemin in a tizzy there over somethin." You snap back to the wonderful reality of her, embarrassed about spacing out. And give a shy smile at her, you warn yourself not to mess this up.., you say you're fine, and ask if she is as well. "Well...", she rubs the back of her neck... Seeming sad, she turned her eyes to the ground, seemed she was hesitant about opening up to a complete stranger, but the full moon does odd things to people. So she spoke. "I've been havin ta deal with someone... leavin me behind. I don't know what I did... they said we were gonna go for ice cream when they came back... it's been weeks now...", she sniffles, a tear welling up in her eye, one quickly wiped away. "But I'll be fine. I think..." The lines of faded mascara down her cheeks said otherwise, and the frizzed out ends of her pigtails collaborated with her makeup against her claim. But she had to let it all out somehow. She needed to. she'd explode otherwise. You felt you needed to help her. You tell you story, similar to hers, but yours came with a reason attached, your own love left you from knowing you've never made love, and shattered the love you had for them. You told them how long ago it was, only a couple months, and how it still hurt to this day, how it tore you up inside. how it- She interrupted with a hand on you arm, a gentle hand, a knowing hand, you felt her grip through the thick coat you wore, and looking into her eyes the makeup was smudging even further, the hurt expression on her face, clenched teeth and quivering lips under streaks of tears. Slowly she moved in closer... you let her. You let her in closer. Closer to you. Closer to your heart. And she embraced you, a comforting hug, a loving hug, she nuzzled her face into the crook of your neck, and her hair brushed by your cheeks, the light scent of sweet cherries from her pink hair... your heart beat swift from it. and you held her right back, feeling your own waterfall coming long down your sorrowfully contorted face, and under that golden light you wept in each other's arms, a pair of abandoned lovers finding solace in the witching hour beneath the blue moon. and now, neither of you are alone. You let each other go, and she took your hand. "Might seem weird but... wanna head to my place?" You don't hesitate to respond, a sure yes echoing briefly in her ears, and a sincere grin creeps onto her face, and run you did with her, running, running, you heart leaping and bounding with this new thrill, taking by the hand by a pink haired darling dame, her pigtails fluttering in the breeze of her speed, you struggled to keep up, and by the end of it she had you panting and catching your breath, but you weren't tired, you had more energy now than you ever thought you did. After a few short breaths... she held your chin in the curl of a finger, her thumb gently gliding over your lips as she looked down at yourself, hunched over as you tried to still your wild soul and drumming, thumping heart. She brought you up with a finger as she did your chin and pulled you in sweetly, right before she opened the door... it happened. She took it back from the jaws of your memory, this was a real kiss, not the half hearted peck that that other person gave you. this was your first real kiss. gratitude, affection, understanding, desire, true desire... you felt a rainbow of emotions from this embrace of the lips and her other hand fumbled about to open the door with a heart shaped key, and once it was open, she broke the kiss and let you into her home. it was decorated cutely, with figurines and colors befitting pretty pink princess, the heart shaped pillows on the couches, the bouquets of flowers, the roses of which were mysteriously cut up... the small portraits of fluffy animals chaotically adorning random parts of each wall, and it was clean as well. strikingly so. "By the look on your face I guess I either made ya space out again, or you really like how my place looks! Come on, my bedroom's upstairs!" Being responsible you close the door behind you, and give the lock a toggle to keep yourself and her safe and sound, and the clonk of your shoes on the rosewood floors made a pleasing dull thudding as you followed your new flame to paradise, one you hope will last... "My rooms a little messy, hope you don't mind!" Getting up there, her 'mess' is only a few shirts and pants strewn about, as well as her underwear, which she give a teasing little giggle about while she picks a pair of panties up and waves it at you with a smirk. "Bet you'd like to see how this looks on me huh toots?" You stammer for an answer, she shushes you with raised hand. "Relax hun, We already had ourselves a little feelings jam out there in the cold, and seein as it's so warm in here... we're gonna be lookin at a lot more of each other, sooooo...." She takes a bit of a wide stance and tears her jacket open, turning her head to the side with a pleased look, and her eyes on you, the pop of the buttons adding an appropriate sound effect to your shock, she only had a thin halter top under that garment, and it could plainly be seen that she had no bra. "You like what you see?" You don't even bother talking, and just nod with a thumbs up, trying to hide the fact that your face is burning up from the blush. You try to hide that fact, but she catches on pretty quickly. "Well it's your turn babe! get that thing offa ya!" You chuckle nervously, even though you just met her, you feel like you've been friends for ages, and you unzip your coat, you weren't wearing anything under it. you hadn't planned on even talking to anyone tonight. She looks surprised at first, her cheeks flushing softly from looking at your bare chest, and wordlessly takes off her own top, leaving the both of you topless. "well uh.... it's only fair I strip too I guess since uh...", she gulps awkwardly, " since you're the first one to do it! uh... you uh... oh geez this is... this is weird..." You briefly motion to get your coat back on... you feel like things will all come crashing down... But she holds you up. "Hey! I didn't say I don't like it I'm just not used to bein like this with someone. it's kinda been a long time!" You soften up once more, and let go of your coat. "So... wanna go further?" You carefully nod, and she follows your motions. Firstly, you help her take her boots off after you kick off your sneakers, the laces undone first, and ran backwards through the hooks... looking up at her as you do this, you sort of feel like you're proposing to her, and once you're done she holds you by the hands and pulls you up on top of her, and once there she slips her stick mitts down to your hips and locks them against hers, pushing up and grinding against you confident in the pleasure she can provide, and by the look on your face her pride isn't misplaced, she has you squeaking from just this. She rolled the both of you over and wriggled herself out of those skinny jeans of hers... and you got to see how those panties looked on her after all, the way they cutely cradled her nethers, they seemed tighter than you would have thought, the way they revealed the slight curves of her sensitive body and dug into the surprising plumpness of her slender frame. You were captivated by her every motion... and she wasted no time trying to get you into the same state of undress as she, so she fiddled with your belt and pulled it off, tossing it to the side and letting herself slide off the bed with a grip of your loose pants, and with one tug she had you in just a pair of underwear, you could practically see the hearts in her eyes... and just as her fingers reached the waistband of her panties, you stared, leaning in... you were hypnotized... The rest of the night was a blur of pleasure, Spinel's rusty skills gaining a much needed shine as she played with you all through the night, and just as the run did, she left you breathless... but the fatigue was welcome, the aching from activity a sweet pain to possess, and warm it was as the both of you lay tangled in each other's arms in a sweaty heap, once breath was caught madly did she pull you back into her arms for a barrage of lip locking, and once done, "Oh it's official honey... You an me... We're totally gettin married!"

[quartercentry]

contemporary black theatre: making a seat at the table

     For my senior project (this is essentially a baccalaureate thesis) I’ve decide to write an argumentative research paper. It will focus primarily on the nearly 200 years history of African American Theatre and why it is significant for African American performers to know about it. I will pair this research paper with a short one-act play, incorporating African American Theater history and personal life experiences. It’s a massive endeavor and I’m still working out the kinks. 

     I have been thinking about this project for a good two years, since I transferred and found out I had to do it. It has gone through many iterations; I’ve toggled between Ideas, how and what to do with it but, now I have to make a choice. Since I am graduating next year I figure it’s now or never. 

     I want to document this process for two reason: to hold myself accountable and to track my process. I have often struggled with academic writing and  I wanted to use this project to help me with that as well. 

     So, over the summer I’ve decided to write the bulk of it so, I can preview and workshop it during the Fall 2019 semester, with a final performance it at the end of the Fall. I will be posting about it pretty consistently, hopefully, along with my other summer projects, and want a place for it on my blog. So fair warning. 

(Under the cut you will find all the links related to my senior project.)

Masterlist  

The Ground On Which I Stand

More is coming just you wait!

If you would like to follow my journey I will be using the tag #black theater project 

[hansolmates]

hoshi; strawberry bubblegum (m)

feat. sex shop worker!Hoshi x female reader 

genre/warnings: terrible generalizations of college parties, playful interaction, phone sex, slight dom themes, use of penetrative sex toys, squirting but honestly idk what this is really how on earth did we get here *hangs up*

word count: 3.6k

“I’m just looking,” you say, trying to swallow through your dry mouth.

Your tongue lays flat against your mouth like sandpaper as you watch Soonyoung from the counter. His elbows are perched across the glass display table, looking at you like a stray birdie who’s lost their way. “Looking for?” He asks.

“Just, some mints.”

“Oh, so breathplay?” He dives under the counter and picks up two tins, one blue and one red. “Hot or cold?”

“No, no.” You shake your head violently, “Like, actual mints. Spearmint. Wintergreen, y’know?”

Stupid stupid stupid. You know this isn’t a Wal-Mart or Rite-Aid and they aren’t selling Altoids, but then again, it never crosses your mind that Soonyoung would be the one behind the register of your local mall’s sex shop.

Really, there’s nothing wrong with him working there, of course there isn’t. A job is a job and sex is something that deserves to be respected and treated to your own devices. But of course, Soonyoung is the reason you ended up here in the first place.

Soonyoung is a friend of a friend, one you’d make the occasional joke with at parties and exchange obscure memes with in your friend circle’s large group chat. On a much grander spectrum, he’s the theatre department’s star pupil. Sure, Junhui has unlimited power in the way he controls his limbs. Minghao sways like water and his body is absolutely mesmerizing and while Chan may be the cleanest dancer out of all of them, there’s something so captivating about Soonyoung that has you constantly craving more.

It’s what made those stupid college parties that much more bearable. Your vision blanks out to last week, where a very inebriated Soonyoung grabbed you in the middle of your tantrum because Seungkwan spilled his sangria down your shirt. You were painfully sober and wanted to go home, but Soonyoung wouldn't relent and spun you to an empty corner of the dance floor.

God. Soonyoung had moves. You remember the way he grabbed your hips like the sweetest sin, telling you to stay a little longer.

Could he tell you weren't drunk? Probably not, because his dancing was sloppier than usual, more focused on pressing his hips to yours, his hot lips fanning over your neck.

“You smell so sweeeet.” Soonyoung had slurred into your hair. “Like strawberries.”

“That’s the sangria,” you had reasoned into Soonyoung’s ear as his head droops along your shoulder. You feign drunkenness, leaning unceremoniously on his sturdy body when he tries to swing the both of you to the music.

“Mm, nope. That’s just you,” the warmth of his fingers bled through your waist, his honeyed voice leaving you molten. “I bet you taste just as sweet, too.”

Lord save me.

Ever since then, you’ve been nothing short of a mess. You don’t know where you and Soonyoung stand, and you’re too nervous to ask. You prefer to dance around the topic, and by that, ignore him at all costs until the next party. Anytime your group chat pings to Soonyoung or you pass him in the halls, you can’t help but be reminded of what could’ve been. The way he was rubbing circles along the dip between your shirt and waistband, and you, needy and attracted to him, was ready to pull him upstairs and show him how much you’ve wanted him all this time. Just as you were about to propose the idea, Seungkwan threw up and nearly passed out, and both of you begrudgingly scrambled with the rest of your group to take him home and care for him.

The hairs on your body are probably all standing up despite your warm sweater. This circumstance is entirely upon realizing that during your journey through the sex shop, a certain (the only) cashier has been eyeing you throughout.

Definitely not in a weird way, but in an all-too familiar way that makes your cheeks warm and your skin tingle.

Soonyoung is still leaning against the glass display case, elbows propped up and the heels of his palm tucked between his cheeks. There’s nothing particularly interesting about this, he looks like a regular student trying to get through his shift, dressed casually in his athletic clothes. The only thing that bothers you is the flicker of light dancing in his eyes, looking straight at you. 

“You’ve been pacing the entire floor for the past ten minutes,” he drawls, tilting his head to the side. “I’m sure you’re not looking for just mints.”

You twitch, fisting a ballfull of fabric in the pocket of your hoodie. “Can you not tell that I’m kinda-sorta-seriously embarrassed that you’re here?”

“Oh, so it’s my fault?” Soonyoung points to himself, the bottom of his cotton candy pink lips jutting out in a way that makes your heart thump. He hops off from his place at the register, striding over to you with an eager smile.

Yes, it’s your fault. Your fault that I’m here because last week we could’ve spent the night and fuckin’Seungkwanjusthadtobarf–

“Not your fault,” you say archly, jutting your chin. “I’m just, frustrated.”

“Mm,” he hums, running his hand across the long line of products, you had no choice but to follow him. “What’re you looking for?”

“Just, a vibrator.”

“Size? Length? Width?” He suddenly pulls you to the end of one aisle, filled with vibrators. “Color?”

“Soonyoung,” you giggle nervously as he pulls out a box situated on the top shelf. “I can do it on my own.”

“As a worker, I’d nod my head and tell you if you need any help, I’m right over there,” he waves vaguely in the air, the other hand swinging around a neon studded dildo, “But as your friend. I’m telling you, let me help. Now, big or small?”

You freeze, biting your lip. “B-big.”

He doesn’t say anything to that, but instead throws the dildo back on its display. Soonyoung swings over to pull out a drawer on the floor with various boxes, picking and poking through them. You start to fidget in you place, nervously looking around the shop even though you are absolutely sure no one else is in the store. Soonyoung is picking out sex toys for you.

“Going to BTS tonight?”

“What?”

“Hobi’s throwin’ a banger.” He says into the drawer, threading through boxes of all sizes. “Yoongi and Jihoon are finally mixin’ together too. It’s gonna be a hell of a night.”

“Depends on Seungkwan’s stomach tonight,” you reply honestly, and you can’t help the satisfied smile on your face when you hear him chuckle, “Are you working all night?”

“Not all night, I’m coming late though.” He pulls out the box he wants with a satisfying “aha!” and hands it over to you. “Found the one.”

The box fills up both your hands, and you hold onto it as if you were holding a half-foot sub. With a little bit of toggling you flip open the top and pull out a long baby pink vibrator, with ridged edges and a heart shaped button. “It’s pretty.” You say, twirling the smooth silicone in your hand. It may just be Soonyoung’s job to help customers pick out something to satisfy their fantasies, but it certainly is perfect.

“And, it’s rechargeable.” Soonyoung pops in brightly, pointing to a little USB port. “Ah, the power of digital.”  

“How much?”

“Nothing. It’s yours.”

“Wait, what?” You cry, handing it over to Soonyoung like it’s a game of hot potato. “If you let me take this without paying, you’re a terrible worker.”

“I’m not giving it to you as a worker, I’m giving it to you as a friend.” He insists, pushing it back in your grip. “You can’t not be in love with it, I mean, it’s cute as fuck.” He points to the little heart button in the middle.

“Yeah, but–”

“If you’re so concerned, Venmo me in the morning.” He looks a little bothered that you’re fighting so hard, because you and him both know it's absolutely futile. “But for now, just take it. Think of it as insurance.”

“Insurance for what?”

There’s nothing like betrayal from a person as attractive as Kwon Soonyoung. The smile that’s once teasing, even playful from having a casual conversation over vibrators is suddenly darkening. His eyes scan the room, as if there’s someone watching the both of you. If there’s a co-worker watching the security cameras or something, he doesn’t mention it as he leans down, his hot breath kissing your ear. “No matter what, I’m not planning on leaving you high and dry tonight,” he murmurs smoothly, his hand covering yours to tighten the plastic in your grip.

It’s officially 2:44AM and you’re currently tucked in your bed. Alone.

You don’t want to even move because you’re wet, mildly drunk, and very disappointed. You didn’t even put in the effort to change out of your party clothes, only putting in enough energy to shuck off your too-tight jeans and dive under the covers.

Trying to feign exhaustion, you close your eyes. To your chagrin all you can think about is Soonyoung, finally showing up after work and bringing a breath of fresh air to the overcrowded house. Shining like a little star in the middle of the floor as he slides up to you, hands automatically attaching onto the sliver of skin where your t-shirt ands and your jeans barely begin. Just like last week, but without a drip of liquor. He didn’t even take one shot, you note gleefully as his wet lips glide over your neck, feeling nothing but genuine, mutual pleasure from the both of you. The song playing in the back isn’t the smoothest, but Soonyoung’s nothing but swave as he says “you missed me?” while swaying his hips against yours. The way he flips you around to wrap his arms over your waist, pulling you closer as he rubs his length against your ass.

The vibrations of your phone break you out of your reverie, and to your sheer amusement, it’s Soonyoung.

“I fucking knew this was gonna happen again.” He snarls in the line, and you can already imagine him childishly shaking his head.

You both laugh, the tinkly sounds bouncing nicely off each other. “Not my fault. Chan was apparently your responsibility.” You say.

“Yeah, well. Chan can barely stomach three rounds of chocolate milk, I should’ve known he can’t even hold his alcohol.”

“Is he okay?”

“He will be. Passed out on the toilet and I had to carry him back.”

“That’s good.”

A beat of silence, and you hear a door click shut on the other line. “But are you good?”

“I’m good.”

“You would’ve been more than good if you came home with me tonight.” He mocks regrettably, and you’re reminded of the dampness between your legs. “Do you still have your insurance?”

Your eyes trail over to your nightstand, where the pink vibrator sits on a towel. Absentmindedly rubbing your legs together, you exhale into the line, “Yeah. I just cleaned it.”

“Really, just cleaned it? It’s like you knew this was gonna happen.” Soonyoung chuckles, “What a good girl.”

He’s toying with you. “It would’ve been better if I had the real thing.” You murmur into the line, giving him a taste of his own medicine. “Maybe you’re too much of a good boy to come over here and finish what you’ve started.”

Soonyoung curses into the line, and satisfaction swells in your body. There’s a bloated, palpable sexual tension that excites you, and while having Soonyoung with you would probably be better, this would suffice for now.

“Everyone went back to the party,” Soonyoung says in a last ditch effort, “And Chan’s out like a light.”

“I’m too wet,” you reply instantly, adding a whine for effect. And it isn’t a lie, you can feel your panties cling to your folds. “I’d be dripping down the entire road before I get to your place.”

“That sounds adorable.” Soonyoung says as if he’s talking about the weather. “But I guess hearing your pretty moans will do for now.”

“Will do?” You scoff into the line, sitting up straight.

He sputters into the receiver, and you can tell he only just realized how off-putting that backhanded compliment was. “Wait, I’m sorry–”

“I could hang up the phone and let you rub one off all alone, and in the lucky chance, Chan might puke before you’re able to come.” You say sharply, “Kwon Soonyoung, my moans better make you burst through your fucking pants.”

If it’s possible, you hear him gulp. “Will do.”

And a brief, frustrated sigh bubbles to your lips, and you run a hand through your hair. “I’m sorry, I wish we could’ve finished what we started earlier.”

“Mm,” he’s a little sad, a little longing, but you can tell that he’s trying to pick up from where he left off. “Your legs looked killer in those jeans. I couldn’t keep my hands off of you. I’m still hard, just thinking about you rubbing your cute ass in those jeans, right against my dick.”

Slowly but surely, you spread your legs, a finger rolling up and down your dampened panties. “I almost soaked through my jeans, feeling your bulge ride against me.” You bit your lip, swirling your fingers. “Those dancing pants, they’re thin.”

“Not thin enough.” He husks, and you can hear the static and the sounds of rubbing into the receiver, probably him pressing his lips closer to the screen. “Do you still have my gift?”

“Y-yeah.” You say softly, momentarily distracted by the way your fingers glide smoothly through the fabric.

“Fuck, are you touching yourself already?” You whimper in reply, and you hear him breathe into the line, trying to form a level response. “Be a good girl and grab the vibrator for me.”

Unless you put the phone on speaker, you had to use your other hand to grab the vibrator. In the fear of not wanting to accidentally hang up on him by putting your phone down, you reluctantly pull away from your clothed core, reaching for the rosy toy, cool to the touch.

“Now, put it on top of your clit.” He instructs delicately, and you quickly oblige. “Push the button into to the third setting.”

You think nothing of the instructions he gives you, and like a videogame you click at the diamond encrusted heart rapidly to three.

Suddenly, the vibrator springs to life, and you almost drop it because it is so strong. You initially pegged Soonyoung as someone who’d want to play around a bit, not cut straight to the chase. It buzzes so fast that you have a hard time pressing it firmly to your bud, feeling your whole body go into inferno.

“S-Soonyoung!” You cry, your phone trembling in your grip. “Too much!”

“Press it twice.”

You do so, and to your relief the tool rumbles to a semi-comfortable vibrating pattern. It’s enough to keep you riled, but not so hard that it burns a hole through the cotton. “Jeez, Hosh,” You say the nickname breathily, “Let a girl breathe.”

“Yeah but, I bet your panties are so soaked that you have to take them off.”

To your chagrin, he’s right. You rub the vibrator up and down your folds, “Yes. They’re staining my sheets, and I’m all sticky,” You lift the vibrator a centimeter off, the material glistening. “My juices are sticking to the toy.”

“Fuck, that’s so hot.” Soonyoung rasps. “I’d love to taste you right now.”

You press your phone to your ear, quickly using your free hand to shed off your underwear and throw them in your laundry basket. “Yeah?” You press the object against your folds again, but this time without the barrier of your panties. It feels even better. “What else do you want to do to me?”

“I want to kiss every fucking inch of you,” he grunts, the sound like dark chocolate melting  through your ears and straight through your core. “And use my tongue to lick that sweet pussy of yours until you come. And then I. Wouldn’t. Stop. I’d keep going all night just so I can hear those pretty little whines of yours.” He says slowly, deliberately, making sure you get every dirty detail. “Are you pretending that my tongue is that little toy? Does it feel good?”

On cue, the vibrator manages to wedge itself onto a particularly sensitive spot, and you moan into the receiver. “Y-yes Soonyoung.” You say breathily, “It feels so good, I, I want more.”

“You want more, baby girl?” He asks, and you can practically hear him smirking through the line, his pink tongue licking across his lips. “Press the button again.”

This time, the pulses are more drawn out, but powerful. Each wave sends you into another length of yearning, and you throw yourself against the pillows, clutching the sheets so hard that your knuckles lighten. “Sssssoonnn,” you cry, shaking your head, your hair probably buffing up the receiver. “Mmmp–”

“Do you hear this?” You press your phone closer to your ear, and you hear the faint, slick sounds of his hand pumping his dick. It’s in a rhythm mirroring the pattern of your vibrator, and it makes you even more aroused. “Do you hear how much I want you?”

“Fuck, Soon, I,” You twirl the vibrator closer to your entrance, “I wish we cut right to the chase when we had the chance. You could’ve fucked me against the wall in front of all your brothers and I would’ve been satisfied.”

“Careful,” he coos, but you can feel him stuttering in his hold, “God, I want to fuck you right now. Wanna–” he pumps faster, the sticky sounds bringing you closer to your high, “Wanna–ngh, wanna feel your walls clench around my hard dick, and milk me out.”

“Y’know, you’re the reason I went to that–ah–sex shop in the first place,” Sweat beads at your hair, and you click another button on the vibrator, eliciting another cry. You hear a low, sexy groan coming from the base of his throat, “I burnt out my old vibe, too busy thinkin’ about how different things could’ve been last week.”

“I’m glad,” he says shamelessly, “That way, every time you use your new one, you can think of me fucking you.”

“I wish, I wish this was your dick fucking me. I wish you could just hold me down and take me and clench around you so hard that you cum so deep inside that my walls cream–”

“Put it inside you,” he groans throatily, impatient, “I want you to put that vibrator in your pretty little pussy and pretend it’s my dick fucking you. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

“Y-yes,” You put your phone across your thigh, bopping the speaker key before positioning the pink vibrator against your entrance. You hope he hears the slick sounds of the silicone slipping  inside your core, “C-can you hear that, Soonyoungie?” You say, pumping the object in in a slow rocking motion. “Can you–ah! Can you hear the vibe go deep in, my walls are dripping against it, it’s so smooth and wet.”

“Such a damn tease,” but you know he loves every second of it, as you hear his breaths burn harshly into the speaker. You let your eyes flutter shut, pretending Soonyoung really is in the same room as you. “I’m gonna come,” Soonyoung rasps. “I want you to push your vibe in and out exactly as you can. I fucking wish that could be my dick right now, fucking your little body raw. Be a good girl and take my dick?”

You can imagine how engorged his length must be now, his thumb flicking across the beads of moisture lapping at the tip, rubbing with the other hand like rapid fire. How Soonyoung’s strong hips and thighs are bucking into his hand with an utter loss of control, all because of you. Pleasure is like a blue flame, ripping through your folds. “I’m your good girl,” You echo, taking your other hand to rub circles into your clit, “I’ll take your dick whenever and wherever.”

“I’m coming,” Soonyoung grunts your name, and you bounce against your toy faster and faster, trying to meet his high as much as yours.

No one speaks, only the sounds of breathy moans and thick squelching. You hear both your bed springs rock, and you imagine how rough you two would both be and how fast you could break either of your mattresses with your combined weight. Within seconds, Soonyoung moans, the sound coats from the back of his throat, indicating that he’s finishing himself off. It encourages you to keep going, the thought of his come dripping off of his dick, landing on his belly and the rise and lull of his chest is enough to spark you wild.

You see white and black spots supernova into your vision, and your hand moves on its own, despite the extra dampness and the vague awareness that you’re coming, much more than usual. You moan out for Soonyoung, your legs shaking and the entirety of your body trembling like an autumn leaf.

You let the vibrator out with a “pop”, shutting it off and throwing it across your duvet. Your eyelids flutter open and regain its vision, and you note that something is dripping from your hand and your bedsheets are more absorbent than they let on.

“Soonyoung,” you whisper in disbelief, “Are you still there?”

“Mm, are you okay?” he asks throatily.

“I think I just squirted,” you say in awe, running your hand over the large damp spot, “I’ve never done that before.”

“Fuuuuccckkkkk,” you imagine him smacking his head against the headboard, “That’s so sexy, I can’t believe I missed that.”

“Not very sexy when you’re alone and have to clean up the mess,” you put your pillow over the spot, deciding you’re too tired to take care of it right now.

“I swear, once Chan wakes up I’m shoving him two Tylenols and booking it to your place. No way in hell am I going to let you get away again.” Soonyoung promises.

“I sure hope so.” You giggle tiredly, melting deeper into your sheets, “But the  vibe you picked out is actually pretty sweet.”

He snorts, “Wait ‘till you have the real thing, it’s sweeter.”

[newyorktheater]

  “We have to make this moment last,” Lin-Manuel Miranda sings near the beginning of “Hamilton,” referring to revolutionary fervor but also apparently youthful vigor; then he immediately corrects himself: “This is not a moment, it’s the movement.”

Now that the film of the  stage musical  has started streaming on Disney+ this Independence Day weekend, this theater about the “ten-dollar Founding Father without a father” embodies for me three moments that feel like movements.

There is of course its chronicling of the moment a new nation came into being, a sweeping story that Miranda chooses to tell through the life of  Alexander Hamilton – a wise choice.

“In all probability, Alexander Hamilton is the foremost political figure in American history who never attained the presidency, yet he probably had a much deeper and more lasting impact than many who did,” Ron Chernow writes in his 2004 “Alexander Hamilton” a 700-page biography that inspired and informed Miranda’s musical.

Right-hand man to George Washington during the Revolutionary War,  the first Secretary of the Treasury, the main architect of the American banking system,  Hamilton had his hand in so many national events in the three decades between his arrival in New York as an orphaned teenage immigrant from the Caribbean right before the American Revolution, and his death by duel in 1804, that the musical can’t even include all of them. (He also founded both the United States Coast Guard and the New York Post, for example)

But many people now know all this about Hamilton – thanks to the five years that “Hamilton” has been embedded in American popular culture, a presence so powerful that it upended the federal government’s plan to replace Hamilton’s face on the ten dollar bill.

If it’s striking that a Broadway musical charging as much as $1,000 a ticket would so thoroughly enter the public consciousness, it speaks to the moment in which it was born. Recall that Miranda’s first public performance of what became the opening number of “Hamilton” was in the White house in front of Barac Barack and Michelle Obama four months after Obama took office.  It feels like more than a coincidence that it was in the Obama years when the casting of this new musical primarily with performers of color – many descended from slaves, portraying America’s founders, many of whom owned slaves — signaled in effect a new generation saying: We’re America too.

A century and a half after Walt Whitman proclaimed “I hear America singing,” Hamilton and his peers were singing a generous mix of American music –  rap, yes, but also jazz, r&b, Broadway ballads, even a sampling of operetta

Even the willingness to incorporate straight-ahead civic lessons into a popular entertainment — rap battle about the national debt! – speaks to a moment that promised more widespread civic engagement.

Now, we are in a new moment. There is a lot going on these days, but let’s focus on the timing of  Disney’s launch of this film, live-captured from the stage of the Richard Rodgers Theater in three days in June, 2016, with the original Broadway cast still intact.  At first scheduled for a release in movie theaters in October, 2021,  the pandemic changed the plan. It is now up a day before the Fourth of July, but, equally significant, presented four months after the shutdown of physical theaters, into  world in which “online” and “theater” have become synonymous.

This online presentation of “Hamilton” hardly pioneers the genre of online theater: Theater artists have been experimenting fruitfully since March, and films of stage musicals have been presented on Web-based subscription services like BroadwayHD for years. This doesn’t even include National Theatre and Canada’s Stratford Festival which have routinely videotaped their productions, and have been putting them online for free during the pandemic.  But in offering this massive Broadway hit online, “Hamilton”  gives the genre great attention and remarkable validation.

It’s arresting how much hype and genuine enthusiasm has been generated because  this  five-year-old musical has gone online – how many new articles have been written and read…including by me!

I stayed up late to catch “Hamilton” right when it debuted online at 3 a.m., although I first saw it live on stage Off-Broadway in February, 2015, then a couple of times with the original Broadway cast

my video review in 2015

and last saw it on Broadway in March, 2019

It gave me a start to see at the outset of the Disney+ screening the Disney castle logo with the animated fireworks, and the PG-13 rating,  but Disney disappears right away.

I can report that some things are better about seeing it online, some worse, but it definitely holds up. Angelica Schuler sings “You want a revolution? I wanna revelation.” With “Hamilton” online, we get one.

What’s most gained by putting “Hamilton” online comes from the close-ups and the captions.

In the number “Satisfied,” after Angelica Schuyler in effect has given up Alexander Hamilton to her sister Eliza,  the close-up of Reneé  Elise Goldsberry’s face drives home what this has cost her.

Indeed, though I always grasped that the musical toggled between the personal and the political, the close-ups somehow make the personal feel more prominent than they seemed on stage, especially the relationship between Hamilton and Eliza, and among the Schuyler sisters.

The editing here is generally first-rate, but the use of these close-ups largely assigns the ensemble’s thrilling and inventive choreography to the periphery.  Perhaps this is unavoidable, but it’s a loss.

Having the easy option of captions allowed me not just to follow every word – including the famous three-second rap explosions from Daveed Diggs as the Marquis de Lafayette (“I’m never gonna stop til i make ‘em drop, burn ‘em up and scatter their remains, I’m….”)–  but also to register in real time some of the many clever samples and allusions…to Macbeth and the Bible, Gilbert and Sullivan and Biggie Smalls.

I plan to see “Hamilton” again, soon (another advantage of its being online.) In the meantime, a confession: I cried. And not just at the sad parts, but in the opening number! I’m not sure why. Maybe it was in recalling those two previous moments (now both historical) that it embodies; maybe because it opens up a new moment of possibility for theater.

Hamilton on Disney+ Written by Lin-Manuel Miranda; Inspired by the book “Alexander Hamilton” by Ron Chernow Directed by Thomas Kail Choreography by Andy Blankenbuehler Cast: Daveed Diggs,Renée Elise Goldsberry,Jonathan Groff,Christopher Jackson,Jasmine Cephas Jones,Leslie Odom, Jr.,Anthony Ramos, Phillipa Soo Carleigh Bettiol, Ariana DeBose, Sydney James Harcourt, Sasha Hutchings Thayne Jasperson, Emmy Raver-Lampman, Jon Rua, Austin Smith,Betsy Struxness, Ephraim Sykes Rating:PG-13 Running Time: two hours and 40 minutes (That includes a one minute intermission, and nine minutes of curtain call and credits.)

Hamilton on Disney+ Review: The Third Moment That Feels Like a Movement “We have to make this moment last,” Lin-Manuel Miranda sings near the beginning of “Hamilton,” referring to revolutionary fervor but also apparently youthful vigor; then he immediately corrects himself: “This is not a moment, it’s the movement.”

[homeloanreport]

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