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lids-flutter-open · 6 years ago

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gay goth boy trans ftm4ftm story chapter 4 under cut.

content warning: f*g used by gays in punk songs/underage substance use

Chapter 4

Goat Mansion already had a lot of people sitting outside when I got there, which was way too early. The sun was still on the edge of the horizon. I parked my car two streets away, since I don’t like being a designated driver for more than my friends. I walked over to the house, approaching from the street side, and saw the gaggle of people from half a block away. They were sitting on the sidewalk and gathered in a little circle near the fence that divides Goat Mansion space from the edge of the public lands by the train tracks. The teenage goth kids were fraternizing with some crust punks and some people who might have been homeless teenagers from the group that lives in the train tunnel downtown. I didn’t recognize anyone, which made sense because OVID was coming from out of town so probably brought out different fans. One of the teenage goth kids had a thing of cheap boxed red wine but had taken the wine bag out of the box and was passing it around to her friends, having everyone chug, shouting BLOOD BLOOD BLOOD. One of the girls with her let the wine overflow her mouth and run down to soak into her black mesh shirt. They were all about my age or a little younger. I thought it looked like fun, but I don’t like drinking, so I didn’t get too close as I made my way around the house to the back. I knew people would be starting a bonfire.

Bonfires in late summer are hard, because lately there’s been a burn ban for longer and longer into the autumn. This September, there hadn’t been enough rain to totally put everyone in the clear. And nobody wants to start a wildfire. But Goat Mansion has a rock pit that’s pretty big, and it’s easy to put out the fire with sand and water if it gets too much or starts sparking. When I got there, Acorn was piling the logs up and working with a piece of flint to spark it. Xie doesn’t use any gasoline because, again, too much risk for a big burn that gets out of control.

“Hey,” I said to Acorn. “Seen anyone from Rocketpizza yet?”

Acorn turned. “Oh, hey, James,” xie said. Xie nodded hir head towards the sliding doors at the back of the house. “Just Ian. I think he was with Ken earlier, but Ken said something about 4Lokos and walked to the store and hasn’t come back.”

“Who’s buying Ken 4Lokos? That sounds like a bad start to the night,” I said. “Has anyone here brought up that sober space thing they’re trying at Fleur’s North? Suggested having a sober only show sometimes?”

“No, we’ve always kinda been a party house. Not likely to change. Somewhere needs to be messy. People don’t like it, they move. Why?”

“There’s definitely some visible and intense public underage drinking happening out front right now.”

“Shit,” Acorn said. “Is it those goth kids?” Xie pushed hir hair out of hir eyes. Acorn has really long hair and a beard that increases in both length and glossy volume every time I see hir. Xie wears mascara to shows. Tonight xie had on a Carly Rae Jepsen shirt and a plaid skirt.

“Yeah,” I said. “Nobody from Compton, but definitely under eighteen. You want me to go tell them to come back here and be more discreet?”

“Just like, get them some water and tell them to chill. They’re gonna pass out before the show even starts, or start moshing and hurting someone. I hate when there’s too many teens at shows. No offense,” xie added. “I forget you’re a teen because you’re chill.”

“I don’t drink much. If I did I’d probably be rowdier. It is a teen band tonight. Or like, two, actually. With Quince Quest.”

“Maybe I’ll make some food and cultivate a chill pre-show vibe and get some calories in the kids. Some bread. It’s not that I don’t want them to enjoy music.” Acorn prodded the little fire that was starting in the pit. “Just like, read the agreements for the space that we put on all the doors of the space, you know?”

The agreements, for Goat Mansion, on all the doors, were as follows:

NO NAZIS OR RAPISTS.

DO NOT fucking come to a show looking to start a fucking fight.

NO COPS

Don’t get fucking wasted before 10 PM.

Don’t touch anyone without asking

NO SMOKING OR DRINKING ON THE STOOP. Come to the backyard.

DO NOT MESS AROUND ON THE STREET! Come to the backyard.

IF YOU MAKE A MESS HELP CLEAN IT.

IF THERE IS NO TOILET PAPER, OR THE TOILET FLOODS, PLEASE YELL FOR ASSISTANCE. DO NOT SNEAK AWAY.

FOR REAL ABSOLUTELY NO DRINKING OR SMOKING ON STOOP. FOR REAL. THERE IS A BACKYARD.

It was a pretty concise list that covered most things that anyone cared about. And it was pretty easy to follow, though of course I had no way of knowing if any nazis or rapists ignored the first bullet point.

I went around the corner of the house and into the kitchen. I filled a big old plastic pitcher that seemed relatively clean with tap water and grabbed a sleeve of plastic cups from under the sink. I knew where everything was here, even though I didn’t have any friends who lived here any more except Acorn. Last year I had been the one to clean the kitchen for the first time in a decade and stock it with plastic cups. If you don’t have cups everyone ends up drinking out of the tap like dogs or just getting disgustingly dehydrated.

“Hey,” I called to the goth kids, stepping out on the front porch, “You all look like you might need some water soon.”

“Thanks,” the mesh shirt girl said.

“You’re starting early. Can you bring the party around back? We don’t like annoying neighbor people too much. They call the cops sometimes,” I said. “There’s more room back there, too.” I felt okay bossing them because none of the goth kids would have the nerve to question the authority of someone who was wearing safety pin earrings like they were.

“No problem,” the girl holding the blood bag of wine said. She giggled to her friends, probably about how messy they were being.

I sat around with the goths by the smoking baby bonfire and smoked a bowl alone before I saw Ian. He was walking quickly around the corner of the house, looking like the human embodiment of that cat meme where the cat is grimacing. I got up and jogged after him.

“What’s the deal with Ken?” I asked, catching him by the elbow. “Heard he like left and didn’t come back?”

“Don’t fucking ask,” Ian said. He had glitter makeup on, which I thought was cute, if a little 2012. He looked really good. “Ken’s fucking gone as far as I’m concerned. Which is whatever. We knew this day was coming.”

“Wait, Rocketpizza is still performing, right?”

“Yeah,” Ian said. “Some kid from Centralia who’s playing drums for Quince Quest is here, she said she’d do drums for me. We went over the basic stuff with the songs earlier. She can’t be any worse than Ken would be. He was getting plastered at noon when I went over there today. I have no idea where he is.”

“Dude, that fucking sucks,” I said.

“I mean, you guys were all absolutely correct about him. I’m stressed right now but I’ll be fine.”

“Where’s swimmer boy?”

“We broke up.”

“Shit, dude.”

“Don’t wanna talk about it. I’ll process with you tomorrow.”

“You need help with merch?”

“Yes, absolutely. Later, though. No point right now. After the show. Right now we’re doing music setup shit since we’re on first.”

“At least you’ll have a crowd.”

“These druggy Seattle kids?” Ian rolled his eyes.

“They’re just drunk. I’m working on hydrating them.”

The sun was going down, and more people were arriving. I put Ian’s merch in a taped up box underneath the table by the door that had been set up to collect people��s pay-what-you-can donations to Goat Mansion. I wanted to talk to him more, but it was clear that wasn’t gonna happen. I sat with the table. Acorn was drawing smiley faces on the hands of people who paid. People who didn’t pay and didn’t get smiley faces wouldn’t get kicked out, but they might get snarked at by someone if they were being obnoxious and they wouldn’t be allowed to drink any house alcohol. Everyone expected the show to start one to three hours after the posted start time, but everyone turned up at the time on the posters anyway to smoke or catch up with people or drop their backpacks and walk eighteen blocks away to the store to buy beer. The sun slanted through the windows like liquid gold and someone put a VHS of Fire Walk With Me on in the living room, where it already smelled like cigarettes. It was all cis men in there, who seemed like they all knew each other and might be shitheads, so I stayed outside once the merch was set up. Everyone in the backyard was vivid shades of gold and pink and brown against the bright green of the trees. The smoke was rising more and more out of the fire pit. That was when I saw the guy from King David’s. Orsino. He was getting out of a pickup truck.

His hair was still fucked up and wispy orange and crackly from bleach, and he had a fucked up little mustache still, but he was wearing a different stupid shirt. This one was black, had a big gray alien head on it, and it said ROSWELL. It was tighter around his chest and stomach and arms than the dolphin shirt had been at the diner. He was wearing ripped up pants that terminated just below his knee. They looked like they’d been chewed by dogs. His calves were thick and covered in dark hair. He had on hiking boots with wool socks. He didn’t see me. As soon as he got out of the car, he turned back and started talking to someone on the driver’s side of the car. He was still somewhere between pretty hot and extremely hot.

I saw the person get out on the other side of the car and realized that it was Jukebox. Jukebox had a guitar case with them and stuck around for just a second before heading into the garage, where I knew that Ian was setting up. Orsino said something to them and then walked toward the house, lighting a cigarette as he went.

I wondered what Orsino’s personality was like. I didn’t know Orsino at all. But I felt something about him already—something sort of like what Therese feels for Carol when she first sees Carol in The Price of Salt by Patricia Highsmith or Carol (2015). When her eyes go wide and she knows it doesn’t matter what happens next, because the important thing has already happened. She’s seen her. Or maybe that was dramatic, but like, I was a little stoned. I wondered if I should go say hi.

“James!” Opal shouted at me from across the yard.

I looked over to see Opal and Barb and Goober coming towards me, accompanied by a dude I didn’t know. Opal was wheeling their chair over the mangled grass. I hoped that there weren’t any nails around that might puncture the tires.

“Oh hey,” I said, waving.

“Jamie!” Barb rushed in and gave me a hug. She has pink short hair and lots of sun freckles and deep wrinkles around her eyes. If you ignore her skin, she looks like she’s about sixteen. She’s always sort of manic and I think she’s really smart but you probably have to wait until four in the morning for her to start talking about smart people things. She reminds me of a version of my mom that took up dance and punk music and boxing instead of becoming a teacher.

“This is Duke,” Opal said, raising an eyebrow and gesturing to the man. I looked up at him. He didn’t look trans. He had a really curly head of long back hair and a thick beard and a lot of tattoos and smiley eyes. He looked like a biker that a country singer would date.

“Sup,” Duke said. “Nice to meet you.”

“You’re meeting everyone tonight,” Goober said, throwing her blond hair over one shoulder. “James works at Compton House too, with the teen council thing.”

“Hey Duke,” I said. “Nice to meet you. You like OVID?” I gave him a man handshake, with a firm grip. He looked like he would respect that.

“Yeah, since they got started I’ve come to almost every show,” Duke said. “Me and Stacey go way back.”

“Barb used to date Stacey, right?” I asked. “Is that how you guys know each other?” I wasn’t going to allude to the fact that Barb and Duke were fucking.

“Kind of,” Barb said. She sat down on a stump next to me. “I love that we’re all here at this show together. I feel a great kind of continuity.” She grinned up at Duke, who looked at her with the most disgustingly lovey gaze I have ever seen in this world. I looked at Opal, who shrugged.

“You seen Ian yet?” I asked Opal.

“No. What’s up?” Opal could tell in my voice that something was wrong.

“Ken is drunk somewhere and Ian is gonna do the show with a replacement drummer,” I said.

“What? Who?”

“Some kid from the other band. Quince Quest.”

“The fuck he is. I’m gonna drum for him. I have to join his band,” Opal said. They started rolling their chair backward and pivoting it toward the garage.

“Maybe later,” I said. “Not tonight. He’s stressed. Swimmer boy troubles. Drummer troubles. Too much. He’ll snap at you.”

“I know his songs, dude,” Opal said. “I know he’s stressed, but I can do it better than a quince kid. I’ve been practicing on the drums at Barb’s.”

“Do you need help getting to the garage?” I asked. There was a lot of gravel between here and there.

“I’m good, dude.” Opal turned away from me, and I felt a little abandoned.

“Do you want backup?”

“Let them go talk to him,” Goober said. “You’ll be all touchy feely and Opal will just boss him. That’s what he needs.”

“You said it,” Opal yelled over their shoulder.

Duke turned to me. His eyes were irrepressibly crinkly. “So James. Barb talks about you and Opal and Compton House all the time. How long have you been on the Compton House teen council? What do you think of it?”

I shrugged. I didn’t want to give this guy too much of a leg up on the competition if he was really applying to be director. “I mean, it’s very important. We did an awareness training for a church two weeks ago about mental health and teens. I feel like I’m connected to local politics and stuff, even if it means I know the dirt about everyone.”

Barb laughed.

“You remind me of me. I was involved in the first committee for Ladyfest when it happened here in 2000,” Duke said. “I was on security. I sat in on all the meetings for planning.”

“That’s nice,” I said. “Continuity.”

I looked away from Duke and Barb, hoping they’d see someone they knew and go talk to them.

***

It was two hours later when word spread slowly through the mass of people that the show was starting. The sun had gone down and I had three mosquito bites, even though it should have been too cold. There was standing water in one of the barrels behind Goat Mansion, and that always meant the mosquitos survived longer here than anywhere. Everyone but me was getting drunk. I hadn’t gotten any closer to Orsino, though he’d caught my eye just before everyone went down to the garage and crowded in through the single side door. I thought I saw him smile, but I could have been wrong.

The room was dark and ugly and packed. There are lights on the stage and then a tangle of wires near the stage that some fire safety expert was supposed to probably evaluate at some point after the Ghost Ship fire, but I don’t think it ever happened. There’s a lot of random piles of shit near the door that should be a main point of egress, and people sit on it like it’s benches at a ball game. It’s definitely not structurally stable. The lights that shine down on the tiny little stage are beautiful. Tonight there was pink and red gels over them, so it looked like a sex party or a weird pretty Hell.

Ian was wearing his fishnet arm wraps, a lot of glitter, and Goober’s leather miniskirt that that she’d worn to Pride in June. His wrists were covered in bangles. His chest was bare. His hair was sort of flopping over his face. He was fumbling with a lot of wires onstage. Opal was behind the drums. I hadn’t actually heard Opal play before, since they’d only started after they moved to Barb’s house. I didn’t know if they were good or not, but I guessed that they might be if they were going up. Opal was pretty clear-headed and wouldn’t put themselves on the spot if they thought they’d fail. Devon had on his normal clothes and looked pissed as fuck, but he was tuning his bass just the same.

“ROCKETPIZZA!!!!!” Barb yelled. Some of the goths yelled too, as did the cis men who had been watching a movie inside. There were suddenly a lot of people around me, and I was worried about my feet getting stepped on by the dudes with the steel toed boots. I’m not dumb enough to wear non-sturdy footwear to a show, but I’m small.

Ian looked into the crowd, squinting. I don’t know if he knows Barb’s voice well enough to recognize a screech. He dropped some wires and stepped to the mic.

“HEY BITCHES AND BABES AND FAGGOTS,” he yelled into the crowd. His voice got soft on the last word. There was a mix of cheers and uncomfortable muttering. Ian was oblivious to the latter. “HOW ARE YOU DOING?”

Barb and Duke both bellowed at the stage, incoherent jumbled exuberance. Old punks at least know how to bellow.

“I’LL TELL YOU HOW I’M DOING,” Ian yelled into the mic, which twanged painfully over the speakers. “MY BOYFRIEND AND I JUST BROKE UP AND I LOST MY OLD DRUMMER BECAUSE HE IS A DUMBASS.”

There were some confused boos and apologetic noises, particularly from the goths near the front of the stage. All the teen goths were pretty far gone. I saw one of them swaying in her heels.

“BUT THAT IS OKAY,” Ian continued. “ROCKETPIZZA DIED TONIGHT. I LOOK GREAT. OPAL LOOKS GREAT ON DRUMS. GIVE IT UP FOR OPAL.”

I yelled at the top of my lungs, feeling like it was a kind of weird ecstatic prayer. The guy with a beard next to me moved away from me in surprise.

“WE ARE A NEW GROUP NOW. OUR NAME IS MISS SAN JUAN AND THE DUSTIES. YOU’RE HERE TO WITNESS THE BIRTH OF A GOOFY NEW QUEERCORE BAND. ISN’T THAT EXCITING?”

Ian was good at riling up a crowd. People were getting more interested in this seventeen year old twink yelling at them.

“ALSO YOU WILL PROBABLY WITNESS THE DEATH OF MY VOCAL CHORDS BECAUSE I AM ABOUT TO SCREAM MY GUTS OUT. THIS IS A NEW SONG. IT IS CALLED FOOLSLUT IN RETROGRADE.” Ian shook his head and smiled and blinked in the way that had made me fall sort of in love with him when we were fifteen.

The drunk baby goths went hog wild, and I screamed at the top of my lungs again and whistled through the gap in my teeth, like my grandmother had taught me to do when I was five.

Then Ian opened his mouth to sing.

(insert here: a piece of torn notebook paper, with the title: FOOLSLUT IN RETROGRADE LYRICS)

THOUGHT YOU WERE GONNA SHAKE ME

FROM THE POOL OF BLACK INK

ATOP YOUR FIRE ESCAPE

I BREATHE IN THE STINK

OF YOUR SMELLY BALLS

I FEEL NOTHING AT ALL

THE PLANETS WERE ALIGNED

NOW WE’RE BADLY COMBINED

SOLO QUIERO LLEVAR TUS BRAGAS

SOLO QUIERO TOCAR TU BOCA

SOLO QUIERO TENER TUS LLAGAS

PARA TERMINAR ESTA EPOCA

I’M IN PAIN I’M INSANE

WE ARE SMASHING THE WORLD

I’M IN PAIN I’M INSANE

YOUR DEPRESSED BITCH GIRL

BOY

SHUT UP YOU DON’T KNOW ANYTHING

BOY

SHUT UP YOU DON’T KNOW ANYTHING

FILL MY MIND WITH SMOKE

SMOKE IT IN YOUR BONG

GET THE FUCK OUTTA HERE

SO LONG SO LONG

WE DON’T WANT IT OR NEED IT

I NEED YOU TO BEAT IT

END THE WORLD

FUCK

(end paper)

When Ian’s set ended fifteen minutes later, the pit had fully opened up.

People were swaying and had been punching and pushing into each other. I’d gotten slammed against the wall twice and had been shoved into someone’s armpit four times. Which was like, not normal for an opening band. Usually people just stood awkwardly staring with their PBRs in their hands, rocking a little or jamming their heads if the band was good. But some combination of everyone already being wasted and of Opal’s drumming—which was actually really good—and of Ian jumping fully into the air…everyone got electrified somehow. I felt my B.O swelling up toward the ceiling with everyone else’s and the heat from us all supercharging the air like it was some kind of ancient magically charged sweat house made of old cedar in the deep wilderness of the Russian steppe. Ian’s glitter was dripping down his chest in waves. I felt my own shirt soaking with the sweat. My lungs hurt from yelling, and I was reeling still. I watched Ian turn and unplug his amp and walk offstage just before the crush of bodies trying to get out into the cold air totally obscured my view of him. I tried to keep my head above the crowd, thanking god that I wasn’t super sensitive to noise, smells, or sensory overstimulation.

“That was incredible,” a voice behind me said. I didn’t recognize it. I turned slightly. Jukebox January was behind me, smiling. Their chin hairs were darker than I remembered them. They were shorter than me. They had smudged pink eyeliner in one long band around their eyes. Their shirt was torn so I could see one of their nipples through the fabric.

“Yeah,” I said. “It got so hot in here so fast. We gotta wait a bit for the air to cool down before yours, huh.”

“That set!” Jukebox exclaimed. “Like, that was phenomenal! So good and raw but also like, they’re real! They’re so good. We gotta get this kid a record deal so fast if he wants to sell out! He’s your friend, right?”

I smiled. I felt so happy for Ian. He loved OVID. Tonight had been hard, but it was going to turn out so good for him. “Yeah,” I said. “I’m James. We go to school together. I’ve known him a long ass time. He’s so good.”

“What’s going on with the band?” Jukebox asked. Their teeth were all showing in their smile. “Some shuffling stuff? Do you think the current situation will hold together? They literally sounded so so good.”

“I literally don’t even know,” I said. “But he loves you, he loves OVID. Like he and his followed you to the Gorge this summer and then down to the Bay when you were on tour. You should talk to him.” I was glad I was able to be so chill when my heart was pounding into my ears from the adrenaline.

“Let’s go,” Jukebox said. “I gotta touch base with my bandmates in a second but I wanna give him props. What’s his full name? Does he go by Miss San Juan? Or she?”

“Ian,” I said. “Ian Arroyo. And he uses he/him, at least for now.”

“Cool. What about you?”

“James,” I said. I led Jukebox out into the yard. The cool night air with the smell of decay and everything hit my skin and my mouth all at the same time. It was a second before I saw Ian over by the truck with Opal in the dark. Opal was smoking, and Ian was moving something in the bed of the truck. I screamed loud and high pitched as we got close so he could hear me.

“That was incredible, bitch!”

Ian turned. He smiled weakly. “I’m so so so shaking,” he yelled back. His bare chest was getting goosebumps in the cold. He was so beautiful.

“Look who I brought,” I yelled, thrusting a thumb back at Jukebox, who lifted a hand in greeting. Ian stood up immediately. He leapt over the side of the truck bed to land on both feet in the gravel in front of us.

“Hey,” he said.

“Hey,” Jukebox said. “That was incredible. I wanted to make sure you knew. I’m Jukebox.”

“I know,” Ian said. “I can’t wait for your set. I’m so so tired but I’m gonna stay here till the end.”

“I literally haven’t ever played drums live before,” Opal said.

“You were great for all that,” Jukebox said.

I turned away from them and turned toward the bonfire. I tried to make out through the dark who was still here that I knew. People were dancing a little near the fire and there was a cluster of lit cigarette ends floating in the shadows just beyond my field of vision.

“Come hang out with me,” Jukebox was saying to Ian. “My friends are over here. My girlfriend Robin was loving your set too, but she has issues with moshing so had to step out when it got intense. Someone threw a bottle and it nearly hit her.”

“Oh, that sucks,” Opal said.

We moved over toward the patch of the yard where Jukebox’s friends were. I could smell the smoke and the blackberries and the wood and sweat and smoke and I felt like I was still on some kind of crazy high. Orsino was sitting there, like I knew he would be. There was a space next to him on the log he was sitting on. He looked up and smirked at me and I sat down next to him without a second thought.

#writing #long post #long text #James and orsino #ya #trans

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oliver-chris · 4 years ago

Video

youtube

Thanks to National Theatre at home! This blog exists because of this great initiative.

#oliver chris #one man two guvnors #stanley stubbers #twelfth night #orsino #a midsummer night's dream #oberon #theseus #james corden #gwendoline christie #hammed animashaun #david moorst #tamara lawrance

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ronnola · 6 years ago

Photo

I would love to see that Feste! @lost-spook - maybe at least a photo exists?..

#james maxwell #twelfth night #feste #robert hardy #orsino #wish it was available

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ao3feed-jily · 3 years ago

Text

What You Will

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/ZQ4xbIY

by Kris678

Marauders Twelfth Night AU?? James as Orsino and Lily as Olivia? And Regulus as Viola?? Don't you forget Snape as Malvolio, Sirius as Sebastian and Remus as his "friend" Antonio (oh yeah, you bet I'm getting on that). This is an absolute fever dream, my friends, but that's twelfth night, right???

Words: 739, Chapters: 1/18, Language: English

Fandoms: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling

Rating: General Audiences

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Categories: Multi

Characters: James Potter, Lily Evans Potter, Regulus Black, Sirius Black, Remus Lupin, and the rest of the gang, Horace Slughorn, Albus Dumbledore, Poppy Pomfrey, Severus Snape

Relationships: James Potter/Lily Evans Potter, Regulus Black/James Potter, Regulus Black/Lily Evans Potter, Sirius Black/Remus Lupin

Additional Tags: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Shakespeare, Twelfth Night - Freeform, Written as a play, How do I tag that, butchering shakespearean classics, making the queerest shakespeare play even queerer, seriously how do I tag this, Humor, Attempt at Humor, Parody

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/ZQ4xbIY

#ao3feed #fanfic #Harry Potter #Jily #James Potter #Lily Evans #Lily Potter #Lily Evans Potter

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oliver-chris · 4 years ago

Text

Yes! Plus Emma., Trying, Silent Witness and some random photos :)

Oliver Chris: Master of the side-eye

#oliver chris #green wing #boyce #nick medhurst #bluestone 42 #breathless #dr richard truscott #orsino #twelfth night #john knightley #emma #trying tv series #freddy #silent witness #dr james sabiston #lydia wilson #richard goulding #office #ricky howard

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capeshifters · 3 years ago

Text

bold your muses preferences. repost, don’t reblog!

Tagged by: @orsino-the-enchanter thank you”

Adam Hawke

roses / cherry blossoms / orchids / tulips

winter / summer / autumn / spring

thunderstorms / sunshine / snow

indoors / outdoors

meat / fruit / sweets (fruit IS sweets, right)

extravagance (as a treat) / traditionalism / minimalism

god fearing / non god fearing

cats / dogs / horses / birds

sunrise / sunset

day time / night time

fire / earth / water / wind

reading / writing

rising early / sleeping late

wine / ale / neither

fur / silk / satin / lace

rubies / pearls / sapphires

horse back / walking / carriages

love / power

having company / being alone

lakes / rivers / oceans

knife / sword / bow / poison / staff

gold / silver

tagging : @thebloodychampion for carolus, @scarred-by-monsters for Matty and @agentjadelance for Jade and @justasimplesecretary for James

#about adam

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shakespearenews · 4 years ago

Link

Rob Weinert-Kendt, editor-in-chief, American Theatre

I sent these along as examples to all those I sought answers from, with admittedly much stronger emphasis on the “who” I’d like to see than the reason why I’d like to see these particular two plays again; neither have been scarce on our stages, I would say with good reason. I chose them primarily because they’re personal favorites I happen to have worked on or appeared in, and hence know better than just about any other two plays in the literature. Also, as I never tire of seeing them, I will eagerly return to whatever theatre can stage them in whatever future time it’s possible, even if they can’t quite line up these actors.

Twelfth Night by Shakespeare

Olivia: Elizabeth Stanley Viola: Phillipa Soo Orsino: Lance Reddick Malvolio: Matthew Macfadyen Sir Toby: Jon Hoche Aguecheek: Philip James Brannon Feste: Andrew R. Butler Maria: Bonnie Milligan

#shakespeare #william shakespeare #casting #dream cast #theater #theatre #rob weiner-kendt #american theatre #twelfth night #matthew macfadyen #phillipa soo

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tortoisesshells · 4 years ago

Note

Esteemed Madam! ⭐ for their dance at the ball, please?

Equally Esteemed and Honorable Madam, you may indeed ask, for that Sequence remains a Particular Favorite of mine.

(let me preface this by admitting there was a brief moment of insanity where I thought, huh, I wonder if I should stick the ball on the Garland for the hell of it before realizing that would never work, logistically, and having both learned to polka and tried to teach the fundamentals of contra dancing on the deck of a tall ship during one of the less mis-spent parts of my youth, I really couldn’t imagine where you’d safely stick more than one or two sets at a time. so that went by the board, with me sadly mourning a sequence that would have been impossible but also deeply Aesthetique.)

The Dance! This started as an Austen pastiche, and by golly, The Dance had to happen and it had to be good. At one point, The Dance was going to be the minuet, but since Nellie’s opening a ball for the first time in her life, she’s more concerned with dancing flawlessly than interesting banter. And given that Lieutenant Nibley’s recent actions have made the squadron even more controversial, Norrington’s got to be very careful here, too. So, not much room for revelations or revealing conversations - scratch that, and back to the drawing board, until I hit on the much-later-in-the-ball sequence.

There’s a particular dance I had in mind for this, and for a few different reasons: Mr. Beveridge’s Maggot. First, it appears in a 1695 edition of Playford’s The Dancing Master, so I felt okay using it in a 1738 ball. Second, this is an Austen pastiche, and a version of this dance features at the Netherfield Ball in the ‘95 P&P. Third, “maggot” doesn’t actually refer to larvae, but a whimsy or a fancy (obsolete definitions sure are fun!) - but the double meaning allowed me to stick in an atrocious pun AND a probably-obnoxious allusion to Viola-as-Cesario’s speech to Orsino in The Twelfth Night (which Norrington referenced earlier anyway) about Viola-as-Cesario’s imaginary sister, who would not express her love, and died from the grief it gave her. Surely a speech about love from someone pretending to be someone they aren’t has nothing whatsoever to do with the plot! Surely said speech being about the hazards of bottling up one’s emotions is not relevant to Nellie “I can and will avoid my grief and it will absolutely just go away!” Treat and James “if I refuse to acknowledge my emotions I don’t actually have them!” Norrington!

But in all seriousness, I wanted the Dance to give Nellie and Norrington individually a better idea of who the other is, and both of them vaguely refer to parts of their life that helped turn them into the people they’ve become. Norrington alludes to his experience of being brought aboard ship as a five year-old by his father while editing out the terrifying parts; in response, Nellie, who is horrified by the idea of a five year old being intentionally stuck in a place where they could be shot, makes a crack about not being trusted with anything but the most menial of tasks as a girl of five. Nellie doesn’t know about Norrington’s (debatably canonical) abusive father & the time where Jack Sparrow’s own father saved kid!Norrington from drowning (and doesn’t understand why Norrington’s so relieved that the most recent time he’s nearly drowned, he owes a life debt to a “respectable matron”. Irony is a cruel mistress.); Norrington doesn’t quite pay attention enough to wonder why the well-to-do and respected Mrs. Elinor Treat’s childhood included more manual labor than one would have expected if she had married into the same class she was born in.

By the same token, both of them pick up on - but don’t note out loud - something about the other: Nellie realizes partway through that Norrington has painful associations with this particular dance (even if, in his internal narration, he stops short of admitting to himself who he had been dancing with that makes the memory difficult, in the same way that Nellie never uses her late husband’s first name to refer to him), though she doesn’t follow through to wonder why on earth he’s in the set with her now. Norrington, via an observation from Groves (which matches up with a previous encounter with her), picks up on Nellie’s nervous/upset tell while she’s speaking to Mr. Loring, but refrains from admitting as much to her when she asks how he knew she needed an out. And therein lies the problem! The better Norrington knows Nellie, the more of a threat he becomes to her economic survival; the better Nellie knows Norrington, the better equipped she is to try and stay one step ahead of him - although she does have a deep-seated sense that using his grief against him is a bridge she doesn’t want to cross.

And so by the end of it, they’re both greater threats to each other’s goals, though only Nellie is aware of it.

One last thing I realized while re-reading this section! Norrington thinks to himself “the flash of her earrings must have caught his eye” when he realizes Nellie’s in a conversation she wants out of, but doesn’t feel she can prudently escape. This ended up being a dangling reference to a cut segment - initially, Nellie was going to narrate the start of the ball, and Norrington the end of it, and so I had a long section about Nellie getting dressed, where Nellie hesitates to put her earrings in because they were a gift from her late husband. The earrings are pearl drops, which aren’t exactly “flashy” in the same way that, say, gems (real or paste) would have been; implying that Norrington has been paying closer attention to her than either he realizes or is admitting to himself. Whoops.

[send a ⭐ for director’s commentary on fanfic]

#polkaknox talks #customs and duties #brother can you spare an ask?#thank you elle!!! I loved this sequence and it's one of the few parts I can't think of anything I'd change about it

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newcaptainofsquad9 · 5 years ago

Text

The Shakespeare Substitute {1} Kim Taehyung x black! fem! reader(College AU)

Pairing: Taehyung x reader

Summary: When your Shakespeare professor happens to be absent for the week due to illness, a handsome, yet familiar man steps in to teach for him. This happens to be Kim Taehyung, an old friend of yours back in high school, and an old crush of yours. He can’t help but stare at you throughout class, leaving you an anxious mess until the fifty minute class period is over.

Genre: Fluff, Angst, Romance, College AU, Smut(in later parts)

Word Count: 1, 973

Warnings: None for this chapter anyway

Author’s Note: I know, another series! This one will be short (at least three parts) I promise! I’m open for requests for BTS and EXO hope you enjoy!

I did a double take on my phone as I blink back up at the doorway. It’s already 2:07 and Mr. Green hasn’t shown up for class yet.

“Did he send an email?” I ask, turning over to my friends James and Stacy.

James turns his nose up before running a hand through his mini fro.

“Look woman,” he scolds, “I checked it four times, refreshed and everything-it’s nothing!”

I frown at his tone. I can’t tell whether he’s being sarcastic or if there’s something upsetting him.

“You good?” I ask, “can’t really tell if you’re joking or not.”

James sighs while pushing the glasses up on his face.

“Sorry Y/N/N, I’m just a bit overwhelmed,” he says.

I nod.

“Classes already getting the best of you?” Stacy counters.

James shakes his head vigorously.

“The classes aren’t the fucking problem,” he groans, “Valentines day is coming up and I’m trying to decide on the fucking venue for Cody and I to have dinner! Got it all planned out and everything.”

I deadpan at his words. Is he seriously this worked up over a God damn date?

“Are you for real?” I ask.

James pops his neck at me.

“Of course it is,” he growls, “I don’t expect you to understand Ms. I’ve never dated a guy in my life.”

Of course he exposes me like this. A few of the girls in the front rows turn, they look disinterested, yet I’d like to keep this in my enter circle of friends. This may be a university setting, however rumors still spread like a fucking plague. And here I thought the high school tendencies would cease, I had too much faith in humanity to even fathom that.

“You want to tell the entire class,” I say, “keep your voice down.”

Stacy scoots her desk closer, a sly grin and a hand below her chin.

“Is he for real, Y/N? You never had a boyfriend?” she asks.

I open my mouth, then close it as James gives me a “yeah go ahead and lie, I’mma spill the tea anyway” look. I’d rather tell them something before Mr.Green arrives and class actually starts.

“Technically no,” I explain, “I’ve never dated anyone, well there was this guy back in high school, but he was way outta my league.”

James rolls his eyes while Stacy gasps.

“Out of your league?” she exclaims, “he’s got to be a Greek God, because you’re gorgeous.”

I shake her complement off.

“Thanks, but when I tell you he’s out of my league he is,” I say, “he was from Korea, and dressed like your typical international student: wearing Gucci and Chanel as if it were Nike for us.”

“I own a pair of Gucci slides,” Stacy says.

James chuckles.

“That doesn’t count, you got rich ass grandparents!” he hisses.

“Anyway,” I say, “all the girls wanted him, those preppy white ones especially, no offense Stacy, but yeah-he was also a grade above me so..”

Stacy sips her latte in confusion.

“That still doesn’t explain how he was technically almost your boyfriend?”she asks.

And here I thought she’d forget. Curse James and his big mouth.

“Yeah, about that, uh well, we kinda became friends over lunch and ah,” I pause, the memory hitting me extremely fast and abruptly.

Taehyung with that boxy smile of his as it fell. My heart lurched as he rubbed my shoulder.

“I-I’m going back to Korea,” he said.

“S-So is it over? Did we even have anything?”

I barely got to ask as Taehyung’s lips met mine. It lingered prior to him pulling back.

“Yeah, we did, but I don’t want you to hurt if it doesn’t work while I’m away,” he said.

“Um, Y/N,” Stacy says, breaking me from the painful memory. “she, good?”

James leans across his desk to take my hand.

“I can tell the rest,” he reassures, “if you’d let me?”

I nod and inhale.

“Ok, so!” James starts like the complete Drama King that he is. “this kigga had the nerve to admit his feelings for Y/N during prom while his date was making out with the Physics professor!”

“Physics professor?” Stacy asks.

“It’s a long story,” I say, “he was like in his twenties, she was 19, but it was still weird.”

“Oh, so, did he like you or-”

“Aparently so,” I say, “like he could have told me that he was going away, uh, I don’t know a few weeks or months before graduation!”

James pats my hand.

“It’s ok sweetie,” he says, “he’s out of your life now.”

“What’s his name?” Stacy asks.

“Kim Tae-”

My words are cut off as someone enters the room and it isn’t Mr. Green. Instead, taking Mr. Green’s usual spot behind the brown colored podium is someone more youthful, and taller. His hair is in unkempt, medium length and jet black, matching his black turtleneck, blazer and pants.

I look to his face again as the breath gets knocked from me. Taehyung. I reach over and tap James’ arm, forcing him to break from his fixed glare on the familiar man that just walked in.

“James, James, snap out of it,” I urge.

“W-What girl! Do you see this sexy man?”

I try to answer but I’m interrupted.

“Hello class!” he greets, “Mr. Green fell ill so I’m here to teach Shakespeare in his stead!”

A collection of groans fall throughout the class while I’m still in shock. How is he here? He’s a sub? How the fuck?

“Now, now, it’s nothing serious, he should be back next week, but I’ll ensure that your final lessons on Twelfth Night run smoothly-ah! How could I forget, my name’s Kim Taehyung, I’m your sub for the week, but you can call me Taehyung.”

James’ smile drops as he turns to me.

“Oh shit,” he says, “oh shit, Y/N!”

Stacy turns my way as I lean down into my seat.

“W-What?” she whispers.

James glances Taehyung’s way before at Stacy.

“That’s Y/N’s almost ex,” he whispers.

Stacy opens her mouth, then covers it. This is my life now apparently.

“Taehyung!”

A hand shoots up from the front, from here I can see the long strands of blonde hair.

“Yes?” he asks.

“Uh, h-how old are you, uh, I mean you look young enough to be a first year university student,” she teases, “I-I mean not to be rude or anything.”

James rolls his eyes.

“Of course she fucking did,” he says.

I shake my head and watch as Taehyung chuckles.

“No, you weren’t, it’s a simple observation, I’m 24 and I’m currently working on my masters, thus being a substitute is great experience for it.”

The class nods in appreciation while all of the women and some men in the classroom admire Taehyung. God, can this class period end any sooner.

“But enough about me,” Taehyung says, “let’s go through roll.” He pulls out Mr. Green’s grading book, so he must know him personally, or at least got it through the school. My heart quickens as he goes down the line: James answers with an overly enthusiastic ‘here’ and Stacy with a sliver of one. My eyes go forward as Taehyung stops for a moment prior to calling my name.

“Y/F/N Y/L/N,” he says it as if I weren’t real, like he has a hard time believing I’d take a damn Shakespeare class.

“Here,” I say and sink back down into my seat.

Taehyung steps around the podium and our eyes meet. He wets his lips as if to say something, but I look away. I can feel his eyes lingering on me before he goes back to roll.

“And, Jessica?”

The same blonde haired girl who asked Taehyung that question shot her hand up again.

“Here,” she says rather softly, a little too softly for my liking.

God, why am I caring? Taehyung and I were hardly dating, I shouldn’t care.

“A-All right, so let’s pick up with Act IV scene one,” Taehyung says as he glances around the class as every pulls out their copies of Twelfth Night.

He stares at me once more prior to moving over to the whiteboard to write out the characters names.

“Ok, who’d like to read for the part of Olivia?”

Jessica’s hand shoots up again, of course.

...

Fifty minutes manage to crawl by, leaving us finished with Twelfth Night.

“That shit was sooo convenient,” Stacy groans as she tosses her bag over her shoulder.

James nods.

“Right, like Viola was a dude the entire time and suddenly Orsino’s got feelings,” he says, “he’s got to be bi at least.”

Taehyung grins.

“Thanks for being so cool about this guys! Start reading Hamlet for Wednesday!” he announces.

Everyone floods to the door at once, of course Jessica flutters her eyes at him before leaving. James and Stacy push through next, I try to keep up, yet I drop my water bottle.

Taehyung crouches down quicker than I can react, scooping my bottle up into his arms. Our eyes meet again, this time I hold his black eyes and notice the somber nature within them. He looked the same way during graduation, as if I was fragile, like I couldn’t handle what he was going to tell me. I didn’t at the time, but now I’m over it.

“Y/N,” he says my name carefully.

I glance back down at my water bottle in his hands.

“Can we talk, please?” he asks.

“Can I have my water bottle?” I counter.

Taehyung glances back down at it, bites his lip and stares back at me.

“Y/N, just five minutes of your time,” he says.

“I-I don’t have that long, I-I got class,” I lie.

Taehyung smirks.

“If you had a class next then why were you chatting it up when the period ended,” he teases.

“For fucks sake, of course you were watching,” I groan.

Taehyung moves to shut the door, leaving me to stare at him incredulously.

“C’mon, just hear me out,” he urges.

“Ok, then,” I let out as I slump down on top of a desk, “let’s talk.”

Taehyung sits on the desk across from me, biting his lips again before running a hand through his dark locks.

“God, it’s so crazy seeing you here,” he bellows, “I-I mean, how have you been?”

I shrug.

“Living, classes are going ok, been to a few clubs on campus, nothing really life changing,” I answer simply.

Taehyung shifts up from his desk.

“Don’t be that way, can you look at me?”

I look his way and almost recoil at how close he is now, nearly hovering over me.

“T-Taehyung-”

He leans down against my ear.

“I missed you,” he admits, “I may have called it off, but I never forgot about you.”

Is he serious?

He pulls away and our faces are inches away, his smoldering eyes holding mine again.

“Here,” he says handing me the water bottle back, “and this.”

Taehyung scurries back over to the podium, tears out a piece of paper and writes on it.

“If you want to talk, here’s my number, “ he says, “if you want this to stay in the past, it’ll stay there. I’ll play the well behaved sub.”

His words bring a smile to my lips and I can’t help but make the connection.

“We only kissed once and now you want to be well behaved?”

Taehyung chuckles.

“I wouldn’t jump the gun too far, Y/N,” he says, “does that mean we can talk, again?”

I bite my lip at how eager he is. I don’t think he’s ever showed me this much attention in the past.

“Maybe, let me see how much time I got after homework,” I say.

Taehyung grins, opening the door, allowing me to step out.

My false sense of bravado disappears as I begin to panic.

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