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superblysubpar · 10 months ago

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I hope this isn’t too personal but would you tell us how your screenwriting process was? I saw that you submitted WCIL as a screenplay and as someone whos scared to stop I’d love to know how you did it

Um this not too personal AT ALL. I really wanna chat about things with you all, whether that's dumb stuff or serious stuff or whatever. My inbox is open 💛 Also, I am SO sorry this is so fucking long 💀

My #1 piece of advice is to decide to take the leap. Which, I get, is easier said than done. I had dreams of doing things for the movies one day since I was little, I just let society and myself convince me that dreams like that don't pan out -- except how would I know if I never try?? And it's scary. I have a degree I'm proud of that took me a long time to get for a job I am not pursuing and don't really want to again. It's scary to change directions and take a leap into unknown territory, especially one that's centered around the arts - often looked down on by other people with "real jobs". It's taken a very long time to get here, this community is largely to thank for the chance at this dream, as well as people I've met through this Fandom. I would have never taken the leap without the encouragement of people in this fandom, especially @loveshotzz & @sweetsweetjellybean . But ultimately, I had and have to be the one who has faith in myself.

#2, follow some accounts on Instagram, where ever, listen to some podcasts, etc. A ton of how I found out about these contests is just from listening to The Screen Writer's Life podcast and hearing them mention contsests. Then I googled contests, and found their accounts on Instagram which led me to more, I'll post a few pictures below of some beneficial ones - pay special attention to rules of contests and also the validity of an account - who else follows them, what info can you find about them on Google, can you submit material that's submitted to other contests etc.

#3 - in terms of the actual screenwriting process, I will say I am largely winging it 💛 but here's a few things that may help:

I have this book I'm reading (picture below) which turned out to be a pretty standard for the industry? People like Tina Fey have talked about reading this book and then just doing the damn thing in interviews.

I had a few film studies courses over the years, so this helped me understand a little bit of the language used when critiquing film and studying screenplays - but I don't think this is necessary. There's a ton of lower cost online courses, masterclass, free YouTube videos and more if you Google.

Reading other screenplays. Do you have a genre you want to write specifically? Or how about your favorite movies? While there is a sort of standard way to write a screenplay, it's amazing how when reading a variety of scripts, you can see each screenplay Writer's individual voice and vision. Many are free online to read just by googling, at least a version of the script potentially in its early draft stages.

I used the software, free version, Celtx to write WCIL. It was very user friendly and easy to pick up, and I think gives you a great gateway into how to write a screenplay. However, the free version was pretty glitchy, and now that I know I want to do this more, I'll be investing in Final Draft (pretty standard in the film industry from what I can tell). Aside from this sort of teaching me the layout, Google and interest and like I said, reading other scripts, got me into the flow of how to write one.

I had a pretty clear vision of WCIL because of already writing the fanfic. For me, having the clear outline helped immensely. And then, for me, it helped to do the straight dialogue from beginning to end, with no action or scene headings, THEN I went back and filled these pieces in. From all my research (and that book I'm reading) dialogue is the most important part of your screenplay. As the writer of a movie, it is not your job to descibe the setting and the emotions and the costumes in immense detail. Your job is the story, and it's everyone else's job to bring it to life. So that leads to - just letting things go - realizing "hey as much as I love this scene, is it important to the story? Why or why not. What needs to be cut for it to fit? Do I need this piece of action or is the dialogue enough Etc."

Lastly, honestly just googling questions I had - anything from page numbers (a page typically equals about a minute for example, which is why the standard maximum page number usually is 120) to how to show an interruption in dialogue, to what should be capitalized and what shouldn't - Google is your friend. The screenplays of other movies are your friend. The more resources you read the more you learn and absorb.

I really hope any of this helps!! If I can do it, you can do it! Good luck 💛💛💛

Highly beneficial accounts to follow to start off with. But there's so much more!

The podcast I listen to:

The book 💛

#taylor talks about screenwriting things 💛#<- another tag for you to block if you're not interested #taylor's asks 💋

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werewolfbansheelove · 9 months ago

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Funk

(I’m excluding all scenes with Sue and Will together because CRINGE!!! Also the sheet n things will be excluded.)

Artie, Kurt, Mercedes and Tina were walking down the hallway.

Mercedes: Is it just me, or does it feel like we have a real shot at Regionals next month?

Artie: The Ohio Show Choir chat rooms have all been buzzing about how Vocal Adrenaline has lost a step.

Kurt: I agree-- the judges know all of their tricks and now that we have Jesse, they’ve lost their best performer.

Rachel rush up to the four. Rachel: You guys have to come to the auditorium-- it’s an emergency!

They entered the auditorium where the rest of the New Directions were but what’s more shocking was that Vocal Adrenaline was in their stage and...

Rachel: Jesse? What are you doing up there with them?

Jesse: I’ve transferred back to Carmel High, Rachel. I’m sorry that it’s come to this, but you guys were awful to me. You never accepted me, you never listened to my clearly superior ideas.

Finn: Why are you here in our auditorium?

Jesse: The blogs and the chat rooms say that we’re finished, and that you guys are ripe to topple us. We just wanted to show you a something we came up with a few days ago to see if you agree with that assessment.

Bum, bum, bum (Jesse: Ooohh - Let’s go!)

Jesse: Steve walks wearily down the street with his brim pulled way down low Ain’t no sound but the sound of his feet. Machine guns ready to go, are you ready (Vocal Adrenaline Boys: Hey!). Are you ready for this, are you hanging on the edge of your seat? Out of the doorway the bullets rip to the sound of the beat.

Jesse with Vocal Adrenaline Girls: Yeah!

Vocal Adrenaline Boys (Jesse with Vocal Adrenaline Girls): Bum, bum, bum (Another one bites the dust) Bum, bum, bum (Another one bites the dust; And another one gone). And another one gone (Another one bites the dust, yeah) Hey, I’m gonna get you to

Jesse with Vocal Adrenaline (Vocal Adrenaline Girls): Another one bites the dust (Oooh, ohh!) (Vocal Adrenaline Boys: Yeeaah!)

Jesse (with Vocal Adrenaline): How do you think I’m gonna get along (without you when you’re gone?). You took me for everything that I had and (kicked me out on my own)

Jesse with Vocal Adrenaline Girls: Are you happy? Are you satisfied, how long can you stand the heat? Out of the doorway the bullets rip to the sound of the beat

Jesse with Vocal Adrenaline: Look Out!

Vocal Adrenaline Boys (Jesse with Vocal Adrenaline Girls): Bum, bum, bum (Another one bites the dust)

Giselle: Thanks for letting us borrow your auditorium, guys. It’s quaint.

–—–––

The kids walked down the hallway, quiet surprised and crushed.

Artie: It’s a Carmel High tradition. They psych out the competition a few weeks before the big show. They call it a funkification. Meaning they show us what they’ve got, and we spiral into a deep black funk.

Finn: Yeah. Yeah, we used to do the same thing to other football teams. You know, try and get inside their head before a big game, pull little pranks to intimidate them.

Puck: Yeah, well, the difference was our football team sucked. Those guys are golden.

Kurt: Come on, keep your heads up, guys. It’s going to take more than that to get us into a funk.

The club went to the choir room but was in shock as their choir room got TP.

They all started to clean up the mess, Vocal Adrenaline left.

Tina: I feel so violated. It’s like someone broke into our home.

Will: Look, it was just a lame little prank. And the fact that they’re trying to get to us means maybe we got them spooked.

Mercedes: Uh-uh, Mr. Shue. They aren’t afraid of anything. That number they did was fantastic. You know, which doesn’t make any sense. They had all that equipment. How did they even get in?

Sue (enter): I gave 'em all keys. Helped them do a sound check over the weekend. Hey, this way, fellas. Let’s punch out this wall here. They’ll pen up the space a little bit.

Will: Sue, what are you doing?

Sue: I can’t talk to you now, William. Drafting class is helping me redecorate around here. You see, I have Nationals over the weekend, and I expect to return with a comically large first place trophy for which I have absolutely no room in my trophy case. As soon as you hurry up and lose at Regionals, this choir room will become my official trophy annex. You know what it has to look like? Elvis' gold record room at Graceland. Except I’ll be wanting far fewer morbidly obese white women waddling around and crying.

Will: Sue, get out of my room.

Sue: Glee Clubbers, for you those of you whose hearing has not been damaged by massive doses of Acutane, listen up. In a few weeks, Glee Club will be finished. Now how do I know that? Well, I recently checked the odds with my Vegas bookie, who told me that you’re 40-1 underdogs at Regionals. You are going to lose, and your dreams will be crushed.

Will: Sue, can I see your trophy?

Sue: Sure, Will. Hope and dream.

Will (threw the trophy against the wall that made made everyone but Finn and Puck flinch or jump.): You dropped your trophy, Sue.

Sue: You know, for me, trophies are like herpes. You can try to get rid of them, but they just keep coming. You know why? Sue Sylvester has hourly flare-ups of burning, itchy, highly contagious talent. Enjoy your last few days here. This room is mine.

–——––

Will (enters the choir room, Rachel was sitting at the piano.): All right, guys, today I want to talk to you about regrets.Who has some?

Rachel: Giving my heart to Jesse, just to have it crushed like the stage floor at a performance of Stomp.

Quinn: Thinking "trust me" was a sensible birth control option.

Will: We all have them. I just finalized my divorce. I regret living in a relationship that wasn’t working. Letting her put me in these deep funks and not fighting back.

Santana: Besides creeping us out, why are you telling us this?

Will: Because if we lose to Vocal Adrenaline at Regionals, none of us are going to regret it. We will have given it our best shot and we won’t look back. But we will regret letting them get the best of us before the competition. Which is why we need to hit them back just like they hit us.

Quinn: So you want us to TP their choir room?

Will: Whatever the better, cooler version of that is. Like, uh, maybe-maybe we should steal their school statue.

Kurt: Their school statue is a giant bronze of a great white shark eating a seal pup. It weighs three tons.

Will: Okay, how about this one. All right, we get like...

Puck (voiceover): Everyone knows this is going to come down to me. Revenge, fear, the merciless infliction of pain. These are my kingdoms. First time I gave a wedgie to a kid, I was four years old. Finn and I may still hate each other for some reason, but we both know that defending the honor of New Directions is going to be our dirty job.

This leads to Puck and Finn lashing tires to the Range Rovers to all Vocal Adrenaline Kids. But leads them to Principal Figgins office.

Puck: Yeah, I did it. And I’m proud. All I did was step up and be a man. They got what was coming to them.

Shelby: A few of my students TP'd your choir room. You slashed the tires on the Range Rovers of all 26 of my performers. Those were gifts for our win at Sectionals. That’s 200 times 26 times four equals I don’t have a calculator.

Will: I’m sorry, you bought all your kids Range Rovers?

Shelby: We have a very active booster club.

Will: Look, nobody got hurt. It was a harmless prank.

SUE: That’s what they said about a young man in Chicago in 1871, who thought he’d play a harmless prank on the dairy cow of one Mrs. O'Leary. He successfully ignited its flatulence and a city burned, William. That young terrorist went on to become the first gay president of the United States, Abraham Lincoln.

Figgins: Enough. These students have committed a felony. They are hereby expelled.

Shelby: Look, I don’t want anyone to get expelled. I’m not going to press charges as long as you pay for the damage.

Will: You can take it out of the glee club budget. We don’t have that kind of money.

Finn: We’ll get jobs. Give us a month. We’ll pay you back, Ms. Corcoran, I promise.

Shelby: Fine.

Figgins: Ms. Corcoran, you are as wise and magnanimous as you are beautiful.

Shelby levees but Will whispered. Will: Thank you.

Sue: Well, you just can’t win, can you, William? You never have, and you never will.

––—–—–

Will wrote the ‘Funk’ on the whiteboard in Glee.

Will: Funk. Use it in a sentence. Come on. Rachel.

Rachel (sadly): This cheese smells funky.

Puck: That’s because it’s "from-unda" cheese.

Rachel: Shut it, Puckerman!

Will: Okay, okay. I was thinking more along the lines of Vocal Adrenaline has sure put us all in a funk.

Kurt: I’m so depressed, I’ve worn the same outfit twice this week.

Will: What if I told you I knew how we could shove it right back down their throats? New Directions is about to make their funk the P-Funk. We are going to get funked up. The only way to do that is to beat them at Regionals. Vocal Adrenaline has never once done a funk number. They’re a machine, a collective, synthesized, soulless beat. Funk is soul meets anger. Its passion is in its emotion. And Vocal Adrenaline doesn’t perform with any. So you have your assignment. I want you guys to turn McKinley High into Funky town!

Mercedes: You guys can relax, I got this one covered.

Artie: Cool.

Quinn: Hold on a second. I-I want a chance to get funky, too.

Everyone laughed at Quinn especially Mercedes.

Mercedes: Good one, Quinn. It even sounds funny when you say it.

Quinn: You said funk was about soul and anger. I have plenty of both. Look at me. Look at my life. I’m furious!

Mercedes: Let’s be honest. When white people try to be funky, you end up with KC and the Sunshine Band. (She laughs)

Artie: I love "Boogie Shoes."

Quinn: Mercedes' racism aside, I will have something prepared tomorrow.

Will: All right, Quinn goes first. (Bell rings, Will looks at Rachel.) Rachel, can I see you

in my office?

In his office. Will: You seem to be taking this Jessie thing pretty hard.

Rachel (angrily): I want him to be eaten by a lion.

Will (sighs): Jessie, cared about you.

Rachel: No, he didn’t. Our entire relationship was just some diabolical plan. They knew if they broke my heart close enough to the competition, that I’d lose my will to live, and then New Directions would have no chance at winning Regionals. It’s textbook; You destroy the heart of the team's heart and you destroy the team.

Will (voiceover): Sandy told me how to beat Vocal Adrenaline, and now Rachel was inadvertently telling me how to beat my other nemesis. Suddenly, I wasn’t feeling nearly as depressed.

——––—

In the choir room, it was time for Quinn’s performance.

Will: Okay, Quinn, it’s your day to show us your funky side. So, take it away.

Quinn: For some of us just simply getting to class takes a little bit longer. When you’re pregnant, you’re responsible for two lives. And you’re walking down the hallway oppressed by the man.

Mercedes (mumbles): Oh, my goodness, she is not about to go there.

Quinn: Hearing people call you fat. Sometimes it hurts. Sometimes you have to stop and hold that precious life and say no.

Artie: This is offensive. Who are these girls?

Quinn: We’re the "Unwed Mothership Connection". And that’s what we’re here to sing about.

Quinn: This is a man's world, this is a man's world. But it wouldn’t be nothing, nothing, without a woman or a girl.

Quinn with Unwed Mothership Connection harmonizing: You see, Man made the cars to take us over the road. Man made the train to carry the heavy load, man made electric light to take us out the dark. Man made the boat for the water, like Noah made the ark.

This is a man's, man's, man's world, but it wouldn’t be nothing, nothing. Without a woman or a girl (Unwed Mothership Connection: Without a woman or a girl)

Quinn with Unwed Mothership Connection: Man thinks about the little baby girls and the baby boys. And after man make everything, everything he can. Do you know that man makes money? (Unwed Mothership Connection: He makes money). To buy from other man (Unwed Mothership Connection: To buy from other man)

Quinn with Unwed Mothership Connection:

This is a man's world

Quinn (Unwed Mothership Connection): But it would be nothing, nothing, Not a one little thing (Nothing, nothing). Without a woman or a girl. He’s lost (Huh-uh) in the wilderness, (oh) He’s lost (Ooh) in betterness. (Huh-uh) He’s lost, lost somewhere now in loneliness.

–——––

Will entered the school but saw Santana sobbing. Will: Santana, are you all right? What?

She ignored him and sat down on the floor, still crying.

Will them approached Kurt. Will: Kurt, what is going on around here?

Kurt (closed his locker.): Coach Sylvester won’t get out of bed. We haven’t had practice in days. I’m fine because I have Glee, but these girls have sort of lost it. No Nationals means that four of the girls will lose their college scholarships. The rest are just depressed and confused.

Like some Cheerios had their hair all messed up. Brittany was walking past clinging onto Jacob Ben Israel who was weirded out. Brittany: Please, please, love me, please.

Kurt: It’s really hard to feel bad for Sue Sylvester, she doesn’t need another trophy but some of these girls, they really do.

––——–—

In the choir room, Puck and Finn were dressed up like gangsters.

Finn: Mr. Shue, Puck and I would like to show the class the true meaning of funk. With a little help from our special guest Mercedes.

She stood up and stand in between Finn and Puck. Artie, Kurt and Tina cheered for her.

Puck: Fasten your seat belts, people. It’s going to be a funky ride.

New Directions Guys: Uh-uh (Puck: Yeah; Can you feel it, baby?) Uh-uh bam, bam, bam, bam, bam, bam, bam, bam, bam, bam (Finn: Come on; swing it). Uh-uh bam, bam, bam, bam, bam, bam, bam, bam, bam, bam (Finn: Come on; swing it). Uh-uh bam, bam, bam, bam, bam, bam, bam, bam, bam, bam (Finn: Come on; swing it).

Puck: Yo, it's about that time to bring forth the rhythm, and the rhyme-. Imma get mine, so get yours I wanna see sweat comin' out your pores

Finn: On the house tip is how I'm swinging this, strictly hip hop, boy. I ain't singing this

Bringing this to the entire nation Black, white, red, brown, feel the vibration.

Finn and Puck: Come on; come on Feel it; feel it. Feel the vibration

Mercedes (New Directions Guys): It’s such a good vibration (Bam, bam, bam, bam, bam, bam, bam, bam, bam, bam). It’s such a sweet sensation (Bam, bam, bam, bam, bam, bam, bam, bam, bam, bam) It’s such a good vibration (Bam, bam, bam, bam, bam, bam, bam, bam, bam, bam). It’s such a sweet sensation (Bam, bam, bam, bam, bam, bam, bam, bam, bam, bam).

Puck: The vibration's good like Sunkist many wanna know who done this. Pucky Puck, and I’m here to move you Rhymes will groove you. And I’m here to prove to you (Santana, Rachel laughed). That we can party on the positive side and pump positive vibes. So come along for the ride making you feel the rhythm is my occupation. So feel the vibration.

Finn and Puck: Come on; come on Feel it; feel it. Feel the vibration

Puck: Finnie D, break it down...

Finn (New Directions Guys): Finnie D's on the back up (Bam, bam, bam, bam, bam). Drug free, so put the crack up (Bam, bam, bam, bam, bam) no need for speed (Bam, bam, bam, bam, bam) I’m anti d-r-u-g-g-i-e (Bam, bam, bam, bam, bam) (Rachel laughed). My body is healthy (Bam, bam, bam, bam, bam) and rhymes makes me wealthy (Bam, bam, bam, bam, bam). And the funky bunch helps me (Bam, bam, bam, bam, bam) to bring you a show with no intoxication (Bam, bam, bam, bam, bam) Come on; feel the vibration (Bam, bam, bam, bam, bam) (Everyone clapped along with the beat.) Yeah can you feel it, baby? I can too.

Will: All right. Great job, guys, but that’s not funk. I mean, the group is called Marky Mark and the Funky Bunch, but that is a rap song.

Puck: A kick-butt old school rap song.

Artie: Does it really matter, Mr. Shue? We’re so clinically depressed, we’re doing the wrong songs. We’re in a deeper funk than ever.

–——–—

Quinn was in a classroom, all alone then Mercedes entered sitting across her.

Quinn: Mercedes, I'm so sorry.

Mercedes: You may not be a minority, but you certainly get how it feels sometimes.

Quinn: For nine months. You’ve had to deal with this your whole life. People making assumptions, calling you names. I seriously can’t understand why don’t feel like yelling at people all the time.

Mervedes: What’s the point in getting angry?

Quinn: Because it’s infuriating. I hate all the looks at school. Don’t even get me started on Puck's mom.

Mercedes: You’re not angry. You’re hurt. You just need someplace safe where you can dig through all that rage. Get to the pain beneath it. So it’s decided. Saturday you move out of Puck's house and you move in with me. (Quinn looked at her, surprised.) I already talked to my mom about it. My brother went off to college and we have an extra room.

Quinn: Mercedes... she was so honored.

Mercedes: It’s cool. Us sisters got to stick together, right?

They fist bumped but Quinn slowly didn’t make it boom. But they both laughing softly.

—––—–—

Rachel walked down some stairs as her cell phone rings. She answered it. Rachel: Hello.

Jesse: Meet me out in the parking lot.

Rachel went outside to the parking lot where she saw Jesse. She ran up to him missing a smirk on his face, where Vocal Adrenaline throws eggs at her.

They all laugh at her.

Giselle: I hear you’re a vegan, Berry. The souls of those poor egg fetuses are all on your conscience now.

Vocal Adrenaline all laughs.

Giselle: Do it, Jesse. (Jesse had a eye in his hand.) Are you with us or not?

Rachel: Do it. Break it like you broke my heart.

Jesse: I loved you. He smashed the egg against Rachel’s forehead, letting the yoke drip down her face. Vocal Adrenaline got in their vehicles.

–——––—

Rachel had changed her outfit and told everyone what happened to her.

Rachel: Now nightmares of all of the mothers of the little baby chicks coming after me for revenge.

Puck: Oh, this is bull! Finn, Mike, Matt, come with me.

Finn: Right on. It’s time for less talking and more punching.

Will (enters the room): Hey, what’s going on?

Finn: We’re on our way to go all Braveheart on Vocal Adrenaline.

Will: Guys, violence is never the answer.

Puck: It is when the question is "What’s the best way to mess up that Jessie kid's face?!"

Kurt: Mr. Shue, Rachel's one of us. We’re the only ones who get to humiliate her.

The boys went to leave but Will snapped. Will: Stop! Get back here and sit down! (Kurt immediately did that.) Look, I know from experience that making someone else suffer doesn’t make your pain go away. You’re all amazing, no matter what Vocal Adrenaline says or does. We just need to find a way to remind ourselves of that.

Finn: We can’t just let Vocal Adrenaline get away with turning Rachel into an omelet.

Will (growls): We’re not. Rachel, dial Jesse's number on your phone.

Rachel pulled out her phone.

Santana: You haven’t deleted his number yet?

Rachel hands her phone to Will.

Will: Jessie St. James? Will Schuester here. You and Vocal Adrenaline need to meet at our auditorium Friday, 3:00 sharp.

––——–—

Vocal Adrenaline were in the WMHS auditorium where Rachel stood in front of them where there was a backdrop behind her.

Rachel: Thanks for coming. After your brazen escalation of our growing dispute, which we were willing to put to rest, we decided the only way to truly funkify you is to show you the one thing we know you can’t do. So enjoy.

Kurt: Roof off, we’re gonna tear the roof off the mother sucker. Tear the roof off the sucker, tear the roof. We’re gonna tear the roof off the mother sucker. Tear the roof off the sucker.

Finn and Mercedes with Tina and New Directions (with Kurt): You’ve got a real type of thing going down, getting down. There’s a whole lot of rhythm going round. (You’ve got a real type of thing going down, getting down There’s a whole lot of rhythm going round)

Finn, Mercedes, and Tina with New Directions: We want the funk, give up the funk. We need the funk, we gotta have that funk we want the funk, give up the funk. We need the funk, we gotta have that funk Na-na-na-na-na. Doo doo doo doo doo doo doo, ow. Na-na-na-na-na. Doo doo doo doo doo doo doo, ow

Artie and Mercedes with New Directions: We’re gonna turn this mother out (New Directions: We want the funk, give up the funk). We’re gonna turn this mother out (New Directions: We need the funk, we gotta have that funk) (Mercedes: Gotta turn this mother out). We’re gonna turn this mother out (New Directions: We want the funk, give up the funk). We’re gonna turn this mother out (New Directions: We need the funk, we gotta have that funk) (Mercedes: We're gonna turn this mother out hey!)

Finn and Mercedes with Tina and New Directions: Na-na-na-na-na, Doo doo doo doo doo doo doo, ow (Mercedes: Doo doo doo doo na yeah). Na-na-na-na-na (Mercedes: Da-na-ta-ta-na ..Sing it now!) Doo doo doo doo doo doo doo, ow (New Directions: You’ve got a real type of thing going down, gettin' down). You’ve got a real type of thing going down, gettin' down. There’s a whole lot of rhythm going down (Mercedes: Whole a lot of rhythm going down down get it!). You’ve got a real type of thing going down, gettin' down There’s a whole lot of rhythm going round (Mercedes: A real type of thing).

Mercedes:

Yeeaahh!

Finn and Tina with New Directions: We want the funk, give up the funk We need the funk, we gotta have that funk (Mercedes: Funky!) We want the funk, (Mercedes: Yeahhh!). Give up the funk, we need the funk, we gotta have that funk. We want the funk (Kurt: We’re gonna tear the roof off the mother sucker) (Mercedes: Funky funky!) (Kurt: Tear the roof off the sucker). Give up the funk (Kurt: Tear the roof off) We need the funk (Kurt: We’re gonna tear the roof off the mother sucker). (Mercedes: Get down man!). We gotta have that funk (Kurt: Tear the roof off the sucker). (Mercedes: Heey) We want the funk, give up the funk, we need the funk, we gotta have that funk.

Mercedes: Heeeeeyyy!

Puck: See you punks at Regionals.

Jesse: They did a funk number. We’ve never been able to pull off a funk number.

Giselle: Well, that’s because we’re soulless automatons.

Jesse: I’m so depressed.

#transcript #glee

0 notes

tartrazeen · 4 years ago

Text

Starlight

Hank wants to see the stars. Connor tries his best. Some post-revolution, Rated-PG-13, pre-HankCon fluff as they figure this out. (Rough draft, reader beware.)

This is an idea I had, but since I don’t have time to write as its own fic, I thought I’d share it by describing what would happen: Picture Hank, some time before he and Connor get together. Imagine the two of them in the same house after Connor’s deviancy. Everything’s following the canon. The revolution came, the fear is there, and silence always feels like the calm before another storm. It’s tense for everyone, and Hank and Connor have quietly agreed to make their home some sort of escape: they don’t talk about it. It works about as well as any of Hank’s ways to cope. Not talking means it isn’t getting worse, even if those thoughts are looming in his mind. He’s curious – he wouldn’t mind knowing what Connor’s take is on the situation, if Connor sees light at the end of a long tunnel, or if Connor’s only going through the motions – but he isn’t going to ask. That might break something. He’s perfectly aware he can’t lose Connor over this, even if the ‘why’ hiding underneath is part of the tension he can’t touch. There’s nothing special about the night that it happens. Maybe it was on Hank’s mind those last few nights they were walking Sumo – Connor wants to be outside as often as he can, as if he’s overcompensating. Hank doesn’t mind the air and Sumo could sure as hell use the exercise. It’s a different escape. It takes a minute, but once they’re outside, the silence just becomes… … peaceful. He can see the stars. Hank notices Connor looking around at the other houses and streets. Never up. Just around. He didn’t realize he’d been paying attention to where Connor wasn’t looking before then. They’d made it to the park and the sky was clear, but Connor seemed calmly focused on the trees. So he asks. Well. Almost. He asked about as well as he ever asks anything. “Nice sky,” he says. Then he waits for Connor to give his take. Connor agrees. That’s all Hank needed to hear.

He brought it up again the next time. It wasn’t a lie; it was another nice night. Connor picked up on that enough to offer to stay. And they do for a little while. It’s Connor who brings it up the third time. It’s Connor who takes it further. They’re almost home again – after they’d again agreed it was a nice night – when Connor asks him if he’d like to go another walk once Sumo’s inside. They can look at the sky. That seemed harmless. It wasn’t as peaceful as before, but it was close enough. The tension wasn’t the same as the kind he’d been shrugging off from the weight of the revolution. They looked at the sky. Hank saw the stars. That was it. He doesn’t mean to shuffle back inside the house as quickly as he does, but he wants that escape from talking again. He gets braver for the time after that. Hank outright asks if Connor wants to look at the stars that night. No Sumo this time either. Connor gives his almost-smile and assumes the sky must be nice. And it is. Sorta. Some clouds, but they aren’t too in the way. He strikes up a conversation. “Very nice.” He forgot that he’s an idiot. Luckily Connor was more of an idiot, because he asked, “The clouds?” The stars. An almost-smile. The tension turned awkward. Then uncomfortable. Hank asks if Connor wants to go in and Connor agrees to whatever Hank wants to do, and they’re outside. Their agreement was for inside. “I thought the point of being deviant was doing what you wanted,” he says. Too much bite. Less of a smile than almost one. They could go back in and leave it there. “I’m out here because I want to be,” Connor replies, not leaving it. “The rest was for your benefit.” Tension turned awkward turned uncomfortable turned bitter. But Hank knows how to cope with that. They escape inside the house and Connor agrees to leave him to it. That should be a bad sign. Instead, Hank appreciates the time it gives him to think. He’s not far into his second drink before he feels brave. “Think the clouds are done. Or – gone or… whatever.” Fourth drink, then. That was usually Hank got bad at math. And apparently bad at the weather, because when they’re outside, there aren’t any stars to be seen. He’s pissed and ready to turn around. Connor’s looking at the sky. “What are you doing?” It’s a gray mass up there. Hank checks again in case he’s a bigger idiot than he thought. No stars. “I’m watching the satellites,” Connor reports. Less bite. More awkward. “I’m sorry. We can go if you want.” Hank’s not angry – despite what’s probably still on his face – and he says as much, then asking, “You can see those?” Yes. “How many?” A lot. “Is that interesting?” Connor gives an almost-smile – more awkward, no bite – and says, “I like to track their patterns.” The patterns tell each satellite’s age and purpose, even its origin. When they stutter, it can mean they’ve hit trash. The newest ones make corrections around that. They’re ‘elegant’, apparently, and Connor likes to analyze whether each correction had to do with the amount of debris floating up there or the equipment’s sophistication. He’s named what he thinks are the trash piles – based on how many satellites have stuttered or curved around – after the problems they are. Three got named after Gavin. Connor’s been doing this for more than a night. “I meant to just keep busy while you were looking,” Connor admits. Embarrassed. “It got fun.” Relaxed. “I think I can understand why humans do it.” Hank points out that he’s been looking at stars. Humans can’t see satellites. Embarrassed. Connor offers to go. He must’ve really been on his fifth drink, because he stays. It’s not cold out, and maybe it’s a crappy night for him, but if Connor’s enjoying it, who’s Hank to take that away? “Would you like to see?” Connor takes Hank’s phone. The screen changes to black, with a series of lines streaking across in a dozen directions. Connor explains that’s from tonight. The screen changes, and Connor talks about the time they ran out of creamer in the breakroom and Gavin threw a fuckin’ fit for twenty minutes. Eight lines veer deliberately around some sight unseen – except for one, which plows through. Connor’s named the satellites too, of course, and that one’s Ben. When the screen changes for a fourth time, that’s Hank finally looks up from his phone to see Connor still staring up. Hank’s curious. He reaches out. He grabs Connor by the jaw and points his head a different way. The screen changes. A live-stream. Then Hank sees himself. “Sorry you didn’t get to see anything,” Connor says, watching him. The stream ends. His phone goes back to its default wallpaper. Hank deliberately waits for another crappy night. “Figured… th’screen – y’know…” Five drinks out of the gate. “S’bigger.” Connor streams the satellites on Hank’s TV, since Hank took the effort to haul it outside. They name a few other trash piles, since Hank’s also a fountain of knowledge on Gavin’s fuckin’ tantrums. He’s so involved that he almost forgets to check the sky himself. Stars. Patches of them. It’s clearing up again. “Guess we’re not gonna see as much now.” Not that he doesn’t like stars. They were why he’d stayed out with Connor in the first place. He’d just been enjoying their time as it was. “You can look at them,” Connor offers. “I’ll let you know if Jeff and Tina survive.” Someone took Gavin’s ‘best’ mug from the kitchen. Good luck to Jeff and Tina – Jeff was apparently set to plow through. “When it’s a nicer night, we’ll rename some normal constellations,” Hank says. Connor almost-smiles. Hank notices Connor had been smiling. “I can load a reference,” Connor reports. “If we put it on the TV, I can map the satellites against a star chart.” “Or we can point at ‘em.” More awkward. Tense. Hank’s uncomfortable. “Just figured I��d save you some work.” “We can try that,” Connor says. “You’d be doing the pointing.” Hank’s an idiot. “All that CyberLife tech and you can’t point?” Uncomfortable. Bitter. “I’m not exactly designed for stargazing.” And they were outside. “I can work with a chart.” The stream had ended, but the sky had been clearing up before that. There weren’t any stars while Hank had been watching. “Oh.” Connor helps him inside. It’s a different kind of embarrassed. “Why not?” He’d been feeling particularly brave the next morning. “It takes a certain sensitivity and steadiness to capture objects that faint. Some androids might be designed for it. Most can’t since it’s not necessary. I was built with other targets in mind.” Oh. “Pretty sure my phone can –” Connor wasn’t a phone. He reminded Hank of this as frankly as he could, considering their no-talking rule. There weren’t many other nights he could wait for. Finding a ‘good’ one seemed… bad. They just took Sumo for his walk and occasionally lingered outside of the house until it got too tense. He thought he could pick a day and surprise Connor – surprising Connor seemed to be a thing for Hank lately – but it went about as well as any other surprise. In that it didn’t. Connor, for his part, kept to their unspoken agreement. Hank didn’t pry even if he’d wanted to. It seemed uncomfortable. Things didn’t change until a sunny afternoon, when Connor announced that Ben had died. That stupid almost-smile was practically a grin as Hank twisted to find the context. “When’d that happen?” Today. “You get a newsletter or something?” Connor saw it at lunch. That’s what he looks at lately. It’s not as if he can eat, and Hank – oddly enough – doesn’t appreciate the cholesterol updates. He doesn’t mean to drive home as quickly as he does. He just reminds himself that he’s an idiot. Sumo gets all of two minutes of their time before Hank throws Connor back in the car. They don’t talk about it, even as the tension gets awkward. Even as it gets uncomfortable. Even as it gets bitter. By then, any questions that Connor could’ve asked were answered by the planetarium itself. So Hank asks his own. “You wanna… see?” They go back to awkward. Connor agrees. That’s all Hank needed to hear. The tour was kinda hokey. It was informative in that pity-for-the-parents way. But the star projections were why they were here. Everything should’ve bright enough for an android to see, including one that was built with other targets in mind. Sure, it wasn’t the same but… Close enough. “We should get a dome,” Connor says. Relaxed. “Sumo might like it.” ‘We’. “Where exactly do you think we’d get a dome?” “We could take their dome,” Connor suggests. They’re outside. They could talk about it. “Pretty sure that’s illegal,” Hank says in the meantime. “What are you, a cop?” “Sometimes.” He’s on the edge of breaking something. It feels tense, suddenly. Awkwardly. “I could quit, you know. I’ve got that option. If I wanted it.” Uncomfortable. “Just because I’ve been one way, it doesn’t mean I can’t be something else. That’s… free will for you.” He’s an idiot. Hank’s trying, but he’s an idiot. “You’re sweet.” Oh. More of a smile than not this time. “We’re still taking their dome.” “… Now?” No. It could wait, according to Connor. The forecast said it’d be clear tonight and that had usually set their plans. They could relax together. In their own way.

#dbh #detroit become human #hankcon #hannor #hank x connor #fic #rough draft #connor is a good ol' murder-bot #my stuff #good job tartra

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scripts4dreamers · 6 years ago

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Royal Duty pt. 1

AN: Royal!Theseus Scamander AU, the reader is queen of a powerful nation, the daughter of a secretive and wise king. However, the nobles around her insist that she must marry if she is to rule, as her father had wanted.

Characters: Theseus Scamander, Newt Scamander, The Scamander Parents, Leta Lestrange, Tina Goldstein

Pairings: Theseus x reader, Leta x Newt, Tina x Newt

Prompt: just a genius idea from the phenomenal @quid-ditchcaptain loosely based on The Princess Diaries 2.

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You groaned and collapsed back onto the chaise lounge, pressing the heels of your hands against your eyes. Leta smirked and sat down beside you, elegance dripping from her every pore as she stroked your hair comfortingly.

“Oh come on, Y/N,” she smiled, enjoying your suffering a shade too much, “it’s not that bad.”

“Yes it is,” you countered, “I have to get married, Leta, married! Otherwise they’re gonna take away my crown.”

“Going to,” Leta corrected gently, “not ‘gonna’. Also the house of lords can’t actually dethrone you, they’ll simply pass a series of laws that seriously limit your power to make autonomous decisions regarding the future of the country, that’s all.”

You huffed and shot Leta an annoyed look. She positively oozed nobility; every action, every word, every lilt of her smooth voice was imbued with the kind of confidence that only came with having been born and raised to be royal. In comparison, you looked infantile and crass; the lowly daughter of a king who had kept his marriage to your mother a secret up until his recent passing. Compared to Leta lestrange, you looked like a commoner.

You sat up on your elbows and sighed, feeling the events of the past few days like a physical weight on your shoulders. You looked up at the portrait that hung on the wall beside your bed, the image of the handsome, smiling man whose eyes crinkled at the corners the same way your did, sending a sharp pang of sadness through you.

“Oh, that’s all, is it?” You replied, your voice dripping with sarcasm as you forced yourself to sit up straight, “Come on, Leta, you know that that wasn’t the future my father had envisioned.”

Leta followed your gaze and made a soft, understanding noise in the back of her throat.

“Your father was a great king,” she said kindly, “and he loved you very much, but I don’t think he expected any of this.” She paused and in her silence you could hear the echoes of what everyone else had been saying.

He’d expected to have a son, he’d expected a suitable male heir to take over the throne after he’d died. He’d expected to have more time. He’d never expected you to rule.

You looked up at the portrait again and felt the familiar wash of tangled emotions rush through your body. You’d loved your father, truly, but you were also so angry at him. Why had he never told you that he was king? Why had he never declared his marriage to your mother? And why, why had he never prepared you for any of this? You blinked back tears of anger and grief and took a deep breath in, turning to face Leta.

“No,” you told her, trying to imbue your words with authority, “no, my father may be gone but I’m still here. Whether it was his intention or not, I’m queen now, and it’s my job to keep this country strong, and I can’t do that if the house of lords disempowers me.” You explained, steeling yourself for what had to come next, “If putting a king on the throne beside me is what it takes to make sure that that doesn’t happen, I’ll do it.”

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Your carriage bumped and jostled down the cobblestone path, the green lawns of the massive estate rolling passed the window. In the distance you could just make out a looming castle, and your stomach dropped. The nation of Burgundy was rich and powerful, everyone said so, and with two single, unbetrothed princes of marrying age they were the natural choice for any marriage treaty. It was logical, it made sense. Drafting the courtship agreements had taken weeks, your advisors had told you but, luckily, Burgundy was in dire need of allies to protect them from their more expansive neighbours. Your own country, Sokovia, rich and powerful in its own right, had a famously strong military, both on land and by sea. It was a match made in heaven. Theseus Scamander, Duke of Southrey and heir to the Burgundian throne, was to be your husband, if all went well and, through your marriage any...children you may have would inherent both crowns.

You stroked your skirt carefully and swallowed hard, trying to distract yourself from what you were doing by marvelling at the beautiful fabric. It was gorgeous, brand new and it reminded you of something that the great queens of the past would wear. Your mother had said that it was supposed to make you feel powerful and strong but right now you just felt anxious and slightly queasy. You looked up at Leta and sighed. As usual she looked totally unbothered, lounging elegantly against the velvet seats and watching the scenery go by without so much as a nervous glance.

“I can feel you burning a hole in my head, Y/N/N,” Leta said, her eyes not leaving the window.

“Sorry,” you sighed, “I’m just nervous.”

“Nervous about what?” Leta scoffed, “You’re a queen, these guys are just princes. If anything, they should be nervous about meeting you.”

You sat up a little straighter, swelling with quiet pride at Leta’s words, but deflated again quickly, “Yeah, but their crowns don’t depend on them making a suitable match, mine does.”

Leta shrugged and turned to catch your eye, “So? They don’t know that. For all they know, you’re just a young, beautiful queen looking for a good marriage alliance.”

“But surely-”

“Y/N/N!” Leta interrupted with an incredulous laugh, “You’re the fucking queen, you’re my queen” she laughed, “you’re a noble now and perception and public opinion need to be your new best friends. Truth is a luxury we can’t afford. The best way to maintain your position and pacify the lords at the same time is to let little prince Theseus know as little about your political situation as possible.”

You worried at the inside of your lip, uncomfortably aware of the castle looming closer and closer, “Is that any way to start a marriage though? With lies and deceit?”

Leta rolled her eyes at you fondly, patted your knee and leant back in her seat, her eyes firmly fixed back on the scenery, “Worry not, dear queen,” she said, “I have no doubt that your future husband will be quite adept at keeping secrets of his own.”

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It was a beautiful place, you thought to yourself as your ladies-in-waiting helped you from your carriage. The air smelled like roses and honeysuckle, and the sky was so blue it nearly hurt to look at. Under the bright summer sun, the castle’s stone facade seemed to glow and some small, silly part of yourself though that maybe you could be happy here. In a flash though, that thought vanished in a trumpeting of horns and a wallop of loud, cheerful applause.

You looked up and forced yourself to smile through your queasiness and wave, trying your best to look serene and regal. It looked as though the whole castle had been dragged out and scrubbed clean for your arrival. Nearly two hundred men and women were cheering your name, applauding and welcoming you to Burgundy. You tried not to scan through the crowd with your eyes, reminding yourself that you were a queen, not some nervous schoolgirl arriving to her first dance. As was custom, the royal family of Burgundy were amongst the crowd, standing on a raised platform and cheering politely.

After a respectable time, the royal family dismounted and made their way towards you, trailed after by a band of finely dressed nobles, all of whom were whispering cheerily to one another, no doubt already dissecting every detail of both you and your entourages’ appearance. You smirked quietly to yourself at the sight. It seemed that no matter where you went, noble families behaved much the same.

“Welcome to our humble home, your majesty,” The king of Burgundy greeted warmly, giving you the respect of a deep bow, “we have been anxiously awaiting your arrival.”

You curtseyed and smiled warmly, “Thank you for the warm welcome, your grace,” you replied, “your nation is beautiful. I am truly humbled”

“Ah, Your Grace, it is Burgundy that is humbled by you. Your beauty has not been exaggerated.” he complimented, making you blush. The king was a handsome, cheerful looking man with twinkling eyes and an easy smile, you instantly liked him. He smiled and continued, “let me introduce you to my wife, Queen Margaret and my sons, princes Theseus and Newton Scamader.” Your gaze was drawn quickly to the tall, wavy haired man standing beside the king, his piercingly blue eyes boring into you.

This must be him, you thought to yourself as he stepped towards you, your future husband. He was certainly handsome, you admitted, but cold and distant looking, like a prince of stone. His hands were folded behind his back, and he looked more like he was heading to an unpleasant lesson than to meet his future bride. You searched his eyes for something, anything to betray how he felt, and smiled shyly at him, trying to commiserate over the uncomfortable situation. But your smile withered quickly, as you were met with nothing but cold, clinical indifference.

“Your Grace,” Theseus greeted, taking your hand and bowing low, his voice pleasant but unfriendly, “welcome to Burgundy, it is a pleasure to welcome you to our home.”

You swallowed hard but curtseyed, plastering a smile on your face that felt terribly fake.

“The pleasure is all mine, prince Theseus,” you replied, quietly enough that only he could hear, “but Queen Y/N is fine, or even just Y/N, since we’re to be married.”

Theseus stayed in his bow for a moment too long and, when he stood, you thought you saw a flicker of irritation cross his face.

“I don’t think that’s appropriate, Your Grace,” he countered, his eyes focused on somewhere above your head.

Theseus offered you his arm and you took it, your stomach dropping as you began to walk, Theseus still avoiding your gaze. Behind you, you could hear the younger prince, Newton, greeting Leta, and other noble men taking the arms of your other ladies. None of that mattered though because, as Theseus steered you towards the castle, his father cheerfully calling out to you, you were painfully sure of one thing. Theseus Scamander did not want to marry you and, as you looked at the cold, stern faced man beside you, you weren’t sure that you wanted to marry him.

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ask-joyce-byers · 6 years ago

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Fic thought: Jim asked Joyce to dinner and made it an open invitation - she doesn't have to go if she isn't comfortable. She thinks she isn't going to, but shows up at last minute (Based on those TRAILER GIFS...)

{I am so sorry this took me AGES. Hope it was worth the wait!}

He’dasked at the worst possible moment. Not only had the house been tornapart beyond anything that the demogorgon could have caused, butJoyce had been unable to negotiate any kind of early leave fromDonald and found herself at the pharmacy until 6 each day, hurryinghome to check in on Will, Jonathan, and Nancy who was more often atthe house than naught, lending a hand with the packing and generallybeing an all-around sweetheart. She’d made sense of eons old junkthat Joyce had forgotten they had, merrily joined Jonathan intorching the cache of Lonnie’s crap that had been forgotten in thetop of a backroom closet, and by the time she arrived home on thefirst Thursday in June, the house was ghostly bare, their stuffhaving been packed and taped and hauled out to the trailer boughtcheap from the McCorkle’s. It was a long drive to Ohio and thecousins of hers, kids of her crazy Aunt Darlene, rest her soul, butit would be good for Will. Good for all of them, to live quietly, ina town not pervaded by the sinister and otherworldly, to have a breakat last. Lord knew they all deserved it, Will especially.

Thetiming was even worse considering that Jonathan was waiting for her,something she’d been expecting these past few months, his weightshifted to his far foot, offish, ready to bolt in the way she knewall too well, and she got out of the car with the words ready on hertongue.

“Justtell me.”

Andhe’d gone in to embrace her, murmuring tearful things about how hecouldn’t leave Nancy, how he didn’t want to be separated, to not gowith Will, but that she needed him, and he needed her, and as Joyceheld him close and felt her own tears soak his tshirt she knew it wasright. He was making his own decisions, and didn’t want to stop him.

“Haveyou talked to Will,” was all she managed, and when he nodded shefelt some relief at that. The two of them were close, closer than anyother brothers she knew notwithstanding the age difference, and ifWill had been alright with it, then so was she.

Andthen the clock had read nearly seven and she swore under her breath,lighting a cigarette instead of stopping for dinner, dragging thelast of the boxes from her bedroom to the living room, untaping onethat was unlabeled and searching futilely through for what kind ofmethod her madness had been the day she packed it, when a knock onthe doorframe came behind her, and a voice she’d know anywhere.

“Helloo?”“Hop,it’s not a good time,” she began, turning round, and when she didshe froze in place for a moment, taking him in head to toe.

“What’reyou dressed up for?”He shrugged, the surest way to know that afib was coming, and he smoothed the creases of a bright printedsummer shirt, only halfway covered with a light blazer, the shoulderstoo narrow for his broad build, the sleeves too short, like hisuniform shirts.

“Figuredyour last night here needed to be something special.”“Hop, Idon’t have time for something special, I have to get all this loaded,and I have to help Jonathan get his stuff sorted out, take his boxesover to the Wheelers, and then I have paperwork to drop off at thelaw office, and – damnit, I knew we had stamps somewhere, now whereare they…”

“Joyce.”His voice was low, measured. “You’ve worked all day long, you canafford to take a few hours off for dinner.”

“Dinner?”Her eyes were wide when she spun to look at him, cigarette forgottenbetween her fingers. “Oh, I don’t need dinner, there’s too much todo.”“Then let me help you do it, and then we’ll go todinner.”“No.” Her words were firm. “Hop, just….” Thelump grew in her throat unbidden, and she turned away to hide thetears that threatened to swim in front of her vision, wavering himinto a tall mess of pink and teal and blazer. “I gotta get thisdone. We leave first thing, Tina and David are expecting us.”

“Andyou’ll leave first thing. Just… lemme help you.”

Hergaze snapped to his when she heard his voice snag, the same lump thatnow threatened to overwhelm her own voice catching in his throat, andshe shook her head, blinking back the tears.

“No.Oh, no…”

“Joyce,”he began, and it was more a haggard whisper than a name. “You’resure about this.”

“Hop,we’ve been over this, I can’t – we can’t go back now.”

“Youcould. You could stay.”

“Youpromised you wouldn’t try to change my mind.” She stabbed a fingerthrough the air, voice catching, a breathy huff that was half a laughand half a sob. “You promised.”

“Ipromised I wouldn’t try to talk you into staying for me,” he began.“ But what about for you. For Will -”

“Willis the reason I’m doing this,” Joyce began. “He deserves a placewhere he can be safe. I’d give up anything to give that to him.Anything.”

“Iknow.” Hopper’s eyes were shadowed, dark pupils nearly overblowingthe blue. “I know because I’d do the same for El. I just wanna keepher safe. I want to keep all of you safe.”

Joyceshook her head, lips folded tight. “You can’t,” she managed atlast, voice pure air. “You can’t… promise anyone that. Especiallynot me.”

Ifhe looked hurt at that, she didn’t see, turning back around to thebox and wrestling the flaps closed, finding her marker and scrawlingon the top MISC, which now accounted for at least seventy percent ofthe boxes on the trailer, and dragging a stretch of tape across theopening. He didn’t speak again until she had finished, and she didn’tturn, simply heard his voice reach across the empty, echoing livingroom.

“Alright,then. But if you change your mind… I’ll be downtown. Come over ifyou can.”

Joyce’seyes wilted shut. Words came to the tip of her tongue and then leftagain, and she heard him turn in the doorway, boots loud on theporch, descending the steps, and then she heard the rattle of theBlazer backing from the driveway, and heading back along the mainroad toward Hawkins.

Onlythen did she really cry. The house was empty, Jonathan had gone tothe Wheelers to get Will, and every shred of what this place used tobe was stripped from the walls. Even the hole she’d hacked had beenpatched better, better than Lonnie’s bullshit boards nailed in place,Hop had made sure of that to increase the value of the house. ClaudiaHenderon had recommended a realtor from Loch Norah, they had comedown and appraised it, and none of it seemed real until now. Herhome. The home she’d fought for to make payments every month, thehome she owned at last to raise her boys in, the town she’d neverleft. Had graduated high school with Jim Hopper, had watched him goto war, lose a child, come back and gain a family all over again. Andit felt like something in her had died, that they were uprooting now,and moving to Ohio. Someplace for Will to be safe.

Andthe sorrow turned to anger, anger at those who had caused this placeto be so unsafe, who had put her boy through hell and back and whowere now responsible for the reasons she had to leave her home andthe only place she’d ever wanted to call home. Clenching her fist,she buried it in the cardboard of the box by her side, and all sheaccomplished was a sharp pain through her knuckles and a small dentin the box, and Joyce sat down on the floor, knees pulled up to herchest, and let the silence of the place overwhelm her. One last time.

He’dreally asked at the worst possible time. The clock neared nine by thetime she’d loaded the boxes, sorted out Jonathan’s and helped Willfind what he’d need for the drive north. She was still in her workclothes, exhausted, overwrought, and gotten everyone set up in theirpallets for the last night in their house. Jonathan had agreed tostay, one last night, and had curled up beside Will, their pillowsnearly touching, breaths synchronous in sated sleep.

Andso she’d gone to the mirror still hanging on the inside of her closetdoor and fingered her hair into some semblance of order. She’d takenoff her lab jacket and folded it on the empty window sill, remindingherself to drop it by Donald’s tomorrow on their way out of town. Hemight be able to use it for a new employee, who knew, and she had topick up her final paycheck, a hundred fifty dollars if she was lucky.They’d need it for gas.

Smoothingjust her undershirt, wishing she’d kept out something nicer than thejeans she intended to wear tomorrow for the drive, Joyce took in adeep breath, and pressed her eyes shut. Memories flooded back, of thenight before all the boys who had been drafted shipped out, of beingtwenty and intrepid, of knowing that Jim Hopper would do anything toavoid extra homework but refused to evade his country’s draft. Matterof honor, he’d said, as if hiding from Mr. Cooper had been anythingelse. She hadn’t gone. The send-off party had been alcohol andcheering, American flags and tear-stained hankies, and she hadn’tfelt up to it. To see him kiss Chrissy Carpenter, and throw her awink, when the week before they’d sprawled on blankets at the quarryand fallen asleep in each other’s arms. When he’d whispered, “Yougotta forgive me, Joycie. It’s never been anyone but you.” She’dforgiven him, but she hadn’t gone. And every time she thought of justhow many boys had died over there and wondered if he would be next,she regretted it.

Shewasn’t going to regret not going, this one last time.

Clamberinginto the car, she drove straight to Hawkins downtown, the spots hecould be limited, and her luck held sway when she pushed open thedoor to the sandwich bistro and spotted him there in a far booth,dressed in that damn white blazer, sitting up at her entry, his eyesalight.

“SorryI’m late,” she murmured, making her way over, clenching her pursefar too tight. “Had… a lot to get done. And sorry I’m not dressedup. Everything was packed.”

Hestood as she approached, taking her in from head to toe, his facegiving away nothing but admiration, and Joyce felt the color mount toher cheeks.

“Stop.I look like a mess.”

“Youlook beautiful,” he returned, reaching his arm out and drawing herclose, pressing a kiss to her forehead. Leaning back, he met hereyes, and an apology fell from Joyce’s lips again. “You reallydidn’t have to wait for me -”“Been waiting twenty-six years.What’s a few more hours.”

“Nowthat’s a lie, Jim Hopper,” Joyce retorted, rolling her eyes.“Twenty-six years….”

Andbefore she could protest further, he leaned in and sealed his lips tohers in a kiss, holding her close, nothing in the room existing butthis moment. Joyce felt her breath catch, and her eyes wither shut,melting into his embrace and when they finally broke for air, shesearched his gaze with something near disorientation, a laugh makingits way from her throat.

“Ifyou do that anymore I might have second thoughts about Ohio afterall.”

“Thatwas the plan,” he murmured, and kissed her again.

#ask joyce byers #fic #jopper #joyce byers #jim hopper #chief hopper #st3

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magziraphale · 7 years ago

Note

Not sure why but I need to see Newt with bags under his eyes. We have so many exhausted Percivals out there. Where’s my over worked, tired and stressed Newt?

I am very very with you on this anon. I imagine Newt has a real tendency to put everything above his own care and probably isn’t used to anyone really noticing his tiredness.

I’m not sure if this is what you were thinking, but hope you like it anon.

In recent months, Tina had become a lot more used to Percival Graves, partly because of everything that had happened and partly because of the rather unorthodox friendship he seemed to have developed with Newt Scamander. He seemed to be more open in discussing things, asking her opinions, but it still was not a usual occurrence to see him hovering at her door looking rather like a lost pup.

“Tina, have you seen Newt anywhere?”

She thought. Newt kept his own, constantly shifting, schedule, so it wasn’t unusual for him to disappear randomly.

“Uhh…actually no, he hasn’t been by in a few days now.” That, admittedly, was odd, especially without a note of some kind rambling about some new baby creature acquisition.

“Hmm.” The lost pup look became more hangdog.

“I take it you haven’t seen him either?”

“No, not since last Friday. No one has seen him around Woolworth at all it seems.”

“Well, he’s still staying in that flat MACUSA put him up in. I imagine you know the address - you could pop round and check?”

Graves shook his head (sadly). “No, no. I’ll wait, I wouldn’t want to intrude. Thanks Tina.” And with that he left.

Honestly, men.

“Dougal, darling, not now. Mummy’s busy.”

Newt was furiously trying to revise the chapter on Graphorns - the diagrams just were not right and the wording, the wording was key - the last thing he wanted to do was to put dangerous ideas into peoples’ heads that might threaten any potential repopulation programmes. It was so bloody difficult to anticipate how people might interpret his words, when all he wanted was to provide important factual information.

“Dougal, really - I gave you a treat earlier and I know that you know damn well where they’re kept. What is the issue?” He wasn’t tugging like it was urgent; he was always very clear when it was an emergency. He was just generally whining and poking at him for attention. Which, Newt was all too happy to provide, in reasonable doses. But he’d been up all night - at least he thought it was night? - with the new occamy hatchlings who had developed a nasty skin rash and the smallest two didn’t seem to be eating properly, and his publisher had sent him a few rather pointed owls already over the final draft. Thank Merlin nothing from MACUSA had come through.

He just- just wasn’t in the mood for going in to MACUSA at the moment. Wasn’t in the mood to see people at all really. He’d thought a few times that he might send a note to Tina or Percival just to keep them informed, but really, they had enough to be getting on with. They probably hadn’t even noticed he wasn’t there.

And it was maybe for the best he had a little distance from Percival. The Director was a very important and busy man. It was one thing to spend time with Newt while he was recovering and on a lighter workload, but eventually he would run out of free time. And, if he was quite honest, Newt could already feel himself getting…attached.

“Oooff! What-?”

A scrambling weight dropped into his lap. He looked down to see Niff with a little mournful look on his face, pushing what looked to be a rather elaborate tie pin at his chest.

“Hello. Are you in on this together then?” Niff kept pushing the tie pin towards him. “Is this for me? Well thank you very much darling, though I dread to think what you’ve done that calls for such a present!” Newt took the pin, carefully attaching it to the pocket of his half-opened shirt as he certainly wasn’t wearing a tie. Niffler looked slightly more satisfied but didn’t move to get off his lap. “Watch where you’re walking love.” The furry bundle curled himself up then, a little more carefully than before, after sharing a look with Dougal.

“Half an hour more, Dougal, and I’ll come play with you.”

Dougal nodded, lifting careful fingers to Newt’s hair before moving away.

Percival Graves was distracted. He’d been reading the same paragraph for twenty minutes now and still had no idea what it said.

Get a grip, Graves, you’re like a fucking teener.

It wasn’t like Newt - Scamander - was obliged to come into the MACUSA offices. He had been given flexible working arrangements due to his rather unique position, only having to come in when summoned for an assignment. But Graves had gotten rather used to his presence over the past couple of months, as the man had taken it upon himself to pop in and out at his leisure, often stopping by to share lunch or coffee. Graves was actually eating like a relatively normal person these days, which was some kind of miracle.

What if he’s hurt? What if something’s happened in the case? But there were measures in place to alert them if there was an emergency. What if he’s just tired of your company? Wouldn’t be the first time.

The downward spiral of his thoughts was interrupted by something butting his leg. He looked down to see Newt’s niffler climbing up his trouser-leg, far more nimbly than any creature with such a behind had any right to. The little menace plopped himself on Graves’ desk and looked up at him. The little face actually looked worried and Graves’ stomach dropped.

“What’s the matter? Where’s your mom?”

Niff began squeaking and pulling at Graves’ sleeve pointing at the door.

“You want me to come with you? Is he at home?”

Niff nodded and Graves picked up his furred companion and apparated without a second thought.

He arrived at the door of Newt’s flat and knocked loudly. Niff didn’t bother waiting and squeezed his fat little bottom under the door. Graves sighed and opened the door with a murmured spell.

The case was open on the floor of the living room. Niff pointed down into it before throwing himself down the ladder. Graves followed him, down into the space that smelt of earth and wildness, round to the side of the little shed that Newt called home, where he found the man himself sorting through bags of feed.

Niff proceeded to run up Newt’s leg all the way up to his shoulder, patting his face. He got a faint sputter and laugh in return.

“Well hello again. Honestly, what’s gotten into you- oh. Hello Percival. I’m so sorry if he was out causing trouble.”

Graves’ initial reaction upon seeing Newt had been one of sheer relief. He was alive, all limbs intact and seemingly normal. When he faced him, however, he frowned.

“He wasn’t causing trouble, he just came to get me. And I think he might have had a point - when was the last time you slept Newt?”

On a good day, Newt had what could kindly be called an eclectic fashion sense. Today, though, he was wearing threadbare clothing that had quite a few suspicious stains over them. It was enough to distract Graves from the fact that the shirt wasn’t even really buttoned. Newt’s hair, which typically resembled a shiny bird’s nest, was lank and greasy. He was starting to wonder if the man had showered in days. But it was Newt’s face that made him worry.

His eyes were red-rimmed and swollen, dark circles like purplish bruises making him look gaunt and unwell. His freckled skin lacked its usual colour, pale and sallow.

“Newt?” Graves took a step forward, slowly and carefully, as Newt was looking at him with wide, frightened eyes. “Newt, are you alright?”

Newt shifted, wringing his hands. “I- I’m quite alright really, just- just a busy few days I suppose. I’m sorry for my appearance.” Morgana, the man actually looked upset.

“You’ve seen me look worse.” He moved to cup Newt’s shoulders, stroking gently with his thumbs. Niff and Pickett were making cooing noises from around Newt’s head. “Come on, why don’t I make you a cup of tea hmm?”

He led Newt back into the little shed and waved his hand to get the tea started. Newt let himself be pushed into a seat. When Niff climbed down to his lap he began to run his hands through the soft fur; it gave his hands something to do.

Graves poured tea for both of them, cooling it just enough to be drinkable.

“Now then, why did it take this little one to come and ask for help? You know there are people who care about you Newt. Merlin, you’ve took care of me enough times.”

“I’m fine really, and- and you’re an important man, you can’t come running just because I’ve got myself in a tizzy.” Newt still wasn’t looking at him.

“Newt. Hand on heart, I would much rather come help you down here than slog through that paperwork on my desk. I thought we were friends.”

“Well, I had rather hoped.” A flicker of eye contact.

Graves smiled, reaching out to clasp a hand over Newt’s. “Then we are. Settled. Now drink your tea first, then we’ll work on getting you sorted.”

They sat for a few minutes in silence, just drinking their tea. Graves caught sight of a rather shiny addition to Newt’s odd ensemble.

“A new fashion?”

Newt looked down and smiled, small but real. “Oh, this. Someone thought I needed cheering up.” Niff preened and straightened the tie pin.

“Good job little guy. Let’s see if I can’t do something too, huh?”

Niff nodded, pleased as punch, while Newt shifted a little closer, leaning some of his weight on Graves.

“Thanks, Percy.”

Feeling warm and brave, Graves pressed a kiss to Newt’s stringy curls.

“Always.”

#replies #asks #fic #my writing #gramander #hurt-comfort #newt scamander #percival graves #niffler #dougal #tina goldstein

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dragonbagel · 7 years ago

Text

rhack single dad AU that i forgot to post here

Rhys is pretty good at handling shitty situations. He's managed to balance climbing the cutthroat Hyperion corporate ladder and paying for his lunch-leeching best friend's lunch for years, all while raising his daughter on his own after his fiancee (and the mother of his child) jumped ship.

With all his amazing skills, a stupid crush shouldn't even put a frown on Rhys' pretty, pretty face.

Except for the fact that this crush happened to be on Handsome fucking Jack.

you can read it on ao3 (there are multiple chapters)

Rhys had a crush on Handsome Jack.

He tested the weight of the words out in his mind. Rhys, a middle manager turned PA, had a crush on Handsome Jack, the terrifying CEO in charge of an entire space station.

Yeah, he was fucked.

He’d denied it at first, those strange, fluttery feelings in his stomach whenever he was around Jack. It was just nerves, it had to be. He’d never had feelings for another guy before, and the whole thing was kind of freaking him out. He’d always thought of himself as straight, and tried to remind himself of that in an attempt to will away his stupid fucking crush.

But he knew what it meant when his heart rate picked up, when his hands felt clammy and he acted even more awkward than usual. He may have spent the past few years single, but that didn’t mean he’d forgotten the signs.

Rhys had a crush on Handsome Jack.

He sighed as he gathered up his belongings and exited the office. There was no way this would end well for him; but Rhys had always been a sucker for making bad decisions.

“Dad, pay attention! I asked if you wanted any more tea.”

“Hmm?” Rhys said, snapped out of his embarrassing thoughts of Jack and back into the reality of his daughter’s imaginary tea party that he was attending.

“Daaaaaad,” she whined, and Rhys flashed her a grin.

“Right, right. I’ll have another cup, your majesty.”

Tina huffed. “Well, that’s too bad, because I just gave the rest of the tea to Zer0.”

She gestured to her Vault Hunter stuffed animal, which was seated next to Rhys. He snorted; her stubbornness reminded him of himself.

“Well, if I go make you some grilled cheese, would you maybe consider getting more tea for me?”

Tina mulled the offer over for a moment before her stomach growled loudly, and Rhys laughed as he stood up from the table. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

He hummed as he set about preparing dinner, glancing up every few minutes to make sure Tina was still pretending to make tea and not getting herself into trouble. Raising a kid on his own had allowed him to perfect the art of multitasking, especially now that Tina was nine with a tendency for mischief.

Well, Rhys thought he had a knack for multitasking. The smoke alarm suddenly going off proved otherwise.

“Shit!” he said, nearly burning himself in his haste to take the grilled cheese off the stove and waving away the smoke.

“Dad, you said a bad word!” Tina said, looking up from where she’d been adjusting her Axton doll in its seat. She wasn’t really fazed by the burning food, considering her dad wasn’t exactly a master chef.

“Sorry, sorry,” Rhys said quickly, scrambling to turn off the still-beeping smoke alarm. “I was too busy thinking about how excited I was for that tea.”

The real reason for his distraction was too embarrassing to admit, even to himself: I was too busy thinking about Handsome Jack.

“I’ll order us some pizza, okay?” He pulled out his ECHOcomm, entering the number he knew by heart (he’d already said he wasn’t a great cook, alright?).

“Mhmm,” Tina said, yawning as she poured imaginary tea into Rhys’ glass; he hoped the pizza would come soon, because dealing with his cranky daughter was the opposite of fun.

He slid into the seat across from her, blowing on his “tea” before miming taking a sip. “You’re too good to me, my queen.”

Tina smiled, showing off a few missing teeth. “I know.”

Rhys was exhausted when he came into work the next day. Tina had run into his room in the middle of the night hysterically crying from a nightmare, and Rhys had spent hours trying to calm her down before she finally fell asleep in his bed next to him.

“Mornin’, cupcake.”

Rhys looked up from where he’d been unloading his work bag to see Jack standing before him, flashing him with a grin.

“Hey Jack,” he said, yawning.

“You look tired,” Jack said, stating the obvious.

“Yeah, just, um, give me a sec to finish my coffee, then I’ll be good as new.” Rhys ended his sentence with a yawn before bringing his travel mug up to his lips, attempting to hide the blush on his face.

Really, Rhys? “Good as new?” What kind of lame bullshit is that?

“You’d better be,” Jack said, bringing Rhys back from his mental chastisement. “Hyperion needs you, Rhysie.”

His words sent Rhys’ mind reeling in the sappiest of directions, and he quickly nodded before he had the chance to say any more stupid crap to embarrass himself with.

“Oh, and make sure to look over that email we’re sending out to Torgue.” Jack had returned to his desk, spinning around in his chair like the hyperactive man-child he was.

“You mean the one telling them to go suck a kraggon’s dick and stop trying to copy our designs?” Rhys replied as he opened the file.

“Yep,” Jack said, laughing. “That’s the one.”

Rhys hated that Jack’s laugh sent fuzzy feelings through his entire body, even if it was at the expense of the childish email that Rhys would later have to draft an apology for.

The office was soon filled with silence aside from the clicking of keys, and Rhys wasn’t sure how much time had passed before Jack put a hand on his shoulder.

Rhys had startled at the touch, having been so engrossed in his work that he hadn’t even noticed Jack approaching him.

“Hey, kitten, why don’t you take the rest of the afternoon off? I’ve got an… appointment coming in for a little chat in a few minutes.”

Rhys had worked for Jack long enough to know that this was code for “some asshole is coming in and he’s not making it out alive,” and he wondered who the poor soul was this time.

“Oh, um, okay, sure. Thanks for the heads up.”

Rhys fumbled for the work he needed to finish at home as he packed up his bag, acutely aware of the fact that Jack hadn’t removed his hand from his shoulder.

“I know you’re not a huge fan of the whole bloody murder thing,” Jack said, chuckling.

Rhys shivered at the sound, praying that Jack couldn’t tell. “That’s an understatement.”

He stood up as he heard the doorbell to the office ring, frowning slightly at the loss of physical contact.

“See you tomorrow?”

Jack shot him finger guns as he exited the office, sidestepping an antsy, vaguely familiar guy from accounting (he was pretty sure Vaughn had bitched about him at one time or another). “You know it, kitten.”

Rhys was glad he was out of the office, because the obvious redness of his face was cringe-worthy in its unprofessionalism. He stopped in the Hub of Heroism to grab food, having forgotten to go on a lunch break as usual. He even bought extras to reheat for dinner that night, considering the fiasco that had been his attempt at cooking the previous evening.

The apartment, when Rhys finally arrived home to it, felt empty without Tina inside. She was usually home earlier than him, playing games with Vaughn or Yvette once they picked her up from after-school daycare. It wasn’t Rhys’ fault Handsome Jack overworked him, and he couldn’t exactly complain about his job; he had two people to support on his paycheck, and living on Helios wasn’t exactly cheap.

He watched TV as he ate his meal, then took some time to catch up on dishes and other housework that needed to be done. Tina was like a tornado tearing through the house, and her definition of “cleaning” was very different from Rhys’.

Even after his extensive cleaning, he still had a few hours before he could surprise Tina and Vaughn when they arrived. Despite all the coffee he’d had earlier, he really was exhausted, and a nap sounded heavenly.

He stripped down to his boxers and sank into the mattress with a sigh; it had been a long time since he’d been able to properly indulge in the “treat yourself” mindset. This was probably why he ended up jerking off before falling asleep.

And while he hated himself for it, he couldn’t deny that he’d done it while thinking about Jack.

Rhys was roused from his nap by the weight of a child crashing down onto him, knocking the air out of his lungs.

“Daddy, you’re home early!” Tina cried excitedly, hugging him as Rhys looped an arm around her back.

“Yep,” he said, groaning. “I think you broke like half my ribs, kid.”

“Oops!” Tina said, easing off of him but looking anything but apologetic.

Rhys grinned as he pushed her onto the sheets next to him, tickling her stomach as she screamed at him to stop. Tears had sprung in her eyes as she laughed, and she was weakly pushing at Rhys.

“What’s going on in here?” Vaughn appeared in the doorway, an amused look on his face.

“Someone just tried to crush me, so I’m getting payback.” Tina shrieked as she giggled, kicking her legs out wildly and accidentally hitting Rhys in the crotch.

Rhys stopped his attack with an “oompf,” and Vaughn had to cover his mouth to stop from laughing out loud.

“Come on, Tina,” Vaughn said, holding his hand out. “Let’s give your dad some time to get dressed. I found some Chinese food in the fridge we can eat.”

Rhys mouthed a “thank you” to his bro before shouting, “Don’t touch the tofu triangles, those are mine!”

“Nobody wants to eat your disgusting rubber food!” Vaughn called back, and Rhys heard the unmistakeable sound of his daughter’s laughter.

He rolled his eyes as he forced himself to get out of bed and put some clothes on, his stomach rumbling. He really didn’t thank Vaughn enough for all the help he’d given him, especially after…No. Don’t think about her. Don’t even think her name.

Vaughn and Tina were eating stir fry and watching cartoons when Rhys entered the kitchen, and he smiled appreciatively at his own plate of reheated food at the table. Tina had arranged the little triangles into a heart, and Rhys only hoped Vaughn had reminded her to wash her hands first.

Oh well. If he was going to die of food poisoning after this meal, it wouldn’t be such a horrible way to go.

#rhack #rhack fic #Rhys the Company man #Handsome Jack #borderlands #borderlands fanfiction #trash writing

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