#the only people who seem to have copies of the tape are the actors and directors themselves

[stfrancisprayer]

STILL STRUGGLING (1986) is a lost feature film "about the pitfalls of acting". Some information about the film and its title sequence was posted on Facebook and some BTS footage was uploaded to YouTube, but much of the information about the contents and plot of this film are lost to time. STILL STRUGGLING is a film by Graham Fletcher-Cook, Dexter's late brother. Dexter Fletcher is listed as a co-producer. His brother, Steve Fletcher, also makes an appearance in the film.

[ratsoh-writes]

Hello y’all! Let me introduce you to baubletale!!!

This au is an underground au with a twist! After nuclear warfare decimated the land above, monsters moved underground putting up a barrier for protection. However over the years, supplies grew scarce, but any who dared leave and venture above quickly succumbed to the elements

Over time, some clever monsters found out a way to posses their creations. But there was a trade off. You change your magic to the new possession style, and and loose your ability to perform magic without your creation. However survival trumps their love for their own magic, and after a few generations every monster was a bauble creator. It became the norm for their magic, and kids born no longer preformed their own magic, only being able to transfer it to their baubles

How it works: simular to how the nomads use a sliver of their soul in enchanting their tools, the bauble monsters use a sliver of their soul in animating their creation when they finish making it. What happens afterwards is:

They can move the item, see through it, and in some cases speak and feel through the item as well.

The item aside from being possessed and mobile does not have any other special features, they are only as durable as the materials used to make them, therefore the majority of bauble monster creations are temporary

Bauble creations can also be programmed to do certain tasks without needing the monster directly controlling it. But it takes a large amount of energy and requires being renewed regularly

After the crash, with their possessed creations no longer needed for survival, many bauble monsters began creating for the sake of expression. Nowadays these monsters are associated with all kinds of services like doll cafes, animated servants, acting, and sometimes just plain old art.

Now let’s introduce y’all to the boys!

Stitches (baubletale sans)

Stitches is a tiny skeleton monster, standing only at 4’8 feet tall and aged 40. He has peachy pink magic and the swirly marbled magic of a bauble monster. He recently had braces put in to correct his crooked teeth from malnutrition growing up.

Stitches is…. Well he’s a character. He’s an eccentric monster who seems to adore the strangest things, yet is bored by others that the majority of people consider important. He struggles a bit with boundaries having been pretty isolated most of his life. He’s sweet and cuddly, but sensitive as well can can have his feelings hurt easily. Many perceive him as childish due to his personality, but he’s plenty capable.

Stitches is a voice actor!! His father had saved many tapes of old cartoons, movies and audio books for his sons before his passing. Stitches idolized many of the characters, learning to copy their voices and getting quite good at it. Nowadays he has a gig as a voice actor for a popular kids cartoon. He’s voices the sidekick, love interest and the little brother of the show. He’s also had one of his creations starred in a movie of said cartoon.

Because he is a bauble monster, he has no magic weapon or ability to create and summon one

Stitches special ability is what he calls “sticky hands”. He can stretch the ecto of his left arm up to two feet to grab things out of reach!

Things he loves: bright wild colors, especially neon pink, tie dye clothing, vintage cartoon tapes and dvds, vintage cookie jars, thrift shopping, toy instruments, playing the keyboard, dyed rainbow roses, corn dogs, 80s pop and disco, crazy printed leggings, squishmallows

Tinker (baubletale papyrus)

The younger twin by a few minutes, he’s a 5’11 foot tall skeleton monster with pinkish purple eyes and the marbled swirled ecto of a bauble monster.

Tinker is a monster of few words. He’s always got his head in the clouds daydreaming about this and that and has trouble staying on track in long conversations. However when talking to a creation he’s possessing, he’s quite focused responding easier. He’s a very calm monster and is good at keeping his cool in scary situations.

Tinker owns an online shop where he sells crochet, embroidery and knit wear. Everything is an original piece, he never makes the same item twice. And he takes commissions! He also has a side hustle as a dishwasher for a restaurant he does on weekends. He of course sends a creation to do it as he hates the feeling of wet food on his hands.

Because he is a bauble monster, he has no magic weapon or ability to create and summon one

Tinkers special ability is that he can posses up to three items at the same time that he made. When he does this though, he can’t move, and can only keep it up for about three hours before getting migraines.

Things he loves: the color dark purple, jello and boba teas, violet flowers, yarn yarn and more yarn, string in interesting colors, vintage clothing patterns, rag dolls, vintage lighters and brooches, old records, record players, jazz music

Side characters

Jigsaw: (baubletale Asgore) jigsaw almost didn’t accept his place with the royals, ashamed at how little he and his people had to give, but he was convinced by marionette and now works with the medical board. He funds and manages organizations that research cures and treatments for magical diseases like dimming and LV sickness. Jigsaw is a frail monster, but incredibly kind and compassionate

Marionette: (baubletale toriel) jigsaws best friend and his royal advisor before the crash, marionette convinced him to continue to take the title of royal, and was offered one for herself in turn. Marionette is a regal elegant monster with a heart of gold. She works closely with monsters researching fertility treatments and cares deeply for the humans coming into ebott. She’s one of the main royals who advocates for more immigrant rights

Nook-aster: (baubletale gaster). Technically aster died decades ago. Sick from the radiation on the surface, aster knew she wouldn’t live past her sons first birthdays, so she poured her whole soul into a tin doll she created. The doll, named nook, is merely a reflection of who aster was, it speaks like her, can preform basic tasks, but as time goes on, it’s magic fades away without its creator. Aster did end up living till her son’s second year of life, before she fell down and nook took over. Nook the doll did its best to raise the boys, it fed them, cleaned them, taught them to read and write, and even simple crafts. Thankfully the boys were intelligent, and as nook began to wear and slow, they filled the gaps learning more from the tapes aster left them. Nowadays the doll moves slowly, and only speaks a little at a time. But the boys still adore it and treat it as a true family member

[honoringthehorrific]

I watched Barbarian so you…might not have to?

🍼As always spoilers under the cut 🍼

First can I say this was beautifully shot? I loved the looming leering shots that really make you feel like a voyer. I want to be clear i did not hate this movie but i can tell its something that wont be everyones cup of tea. It deals heavily with themes of sexual assault and its got plot twists every turn. Every monster you think is the bad guy, isn’t. We get some really interesting commentaries on what i think is trying to speak about sexual assault. To be honest with you, i would ‘does the dog die’ this movie and go in blind and then come back here because even though I’m on the fence about it it’s still a good watch.

We start off with Tess, our final girl, she is shaky as she finds out that the air bnb she is at double booked her with Keith. Keith is this creepy…typical nice guy type? He’s very pushy and he is genuinely kind but he just wont take no for an answer. I love how the movie keeps throwing you red herrings, someone Tess is interviewing for her job when she says where shes staying for the air bnb says she shouldn’t be there but does not elaborate further.

The horror truly begins in the basement. A basement that continues to go farther and farther with each persons story we get to see how far it goes. Tess finds the filming room, which we later find is where the original owner brought women to rape them and film it. However she doesn’t get far beyond the filming room as she encounters a person i can only with good conscience call mother, and mother promptly dispatches of Keith. We cut to AJ, a Hollywood actor and rapist and who owns the house now, or well the deed. See AJ is everything a typical rapist seems like? He’s this stupid charismatic dude bro who, when confronted by an old friend, admits that the girl “took a little convincing.” His attorney advises against him leaving California to go to the air bnb but he does so anyways. When he gets there he finds Tess and Keith’s things and calls the people who rent it out to ask who the hell it is thats been staying here because he thinks its squatters. The woman on the phone tells him no one has been there in Two Weeks he gets aggressive with her and we sorta watch his decline. He calls the girl he raped, leaving her a backhanded apology for a voicemail. Now, AJ is crazy stupid and through the movie you might consider “oh he’s had a change of heart-“ I want you to nip that in the bud now. I think this movie makes it clear that a rapist is an irredeemable person and I honestly agree.

Something i think to be interesting is when we find Tess, she survived because mother just wants to pretend you’re her baby. Not to dig in where commentary might not be made but seeing AJ be so resistant to the rules to survive, the rules that helped Tess live, it sort of reminds me how as girls you have to learn to protect yourself at a young age, you have to learn to survive quickly while men, sort of just get to breeze by. And thats what happens…

We slowly find out that mother lives in this basement collecting people because she wants babies. The original owner has holed himself away in a deeper part and…mother wont approach his door when AJ finds his room. We are told mother is the result of the original owner breeding with his offspring over and over after raping women and them having his children. She is “a copy of a copy” whats shocking is that AJ when met with what hes done from an outside perspective, watching this disgusting old man’s tapes, he asks him what the fuck is wrong with him. The old man’s response is to kill himself with a gun that AJ promptly takes. See, in this time, Tess got free, Called the cops (who did nothing and i think thats also an interesting comment on rape), got help from a homeless man from earlier, hit mother with her car, and went back in to help AJ. And what happens when she goes back? He shoots Tess. Tess is brought out of the house with him but mother is gone and she is bleeding out fast. It is getting dark which mind you is one of the only times mother comes out. They make it to the homeless mans shelter who tells them he’s been living there for years and shes never bothered him here, however i assume because he has her babies, its different now. She attacks the man.

The final climax starts as AJ and Tess race up a water tower with mother in pursuit. AJ like the butterfingers he is drops his gun when trying to shoot her. Despite his heroic speech at the homeless shelter, he tells Tess HE can survive, but she will have to slow her down. He grabs Tess and throws her to which mother promptly dives after her ‘baby’ AJ runs down to grab his gun and finish the job but when he sees Tess is alive he immediately deals her excuses, and issues blame on her. “I didn’t even shove you you just started slipping, you understand right?” However once Tess slips off of mother, AJ comes to the rude awakening that mother also survived her landing and she promptly dispatches of the man who hurt Tess. We come to this final scene which ill be honest made me cry…

Tess grabs the gun while mother tries to motion her back to the house. Tess cannot be moved because of her wound and keeps telling her she cannot go back. She keeps trying to rub her face and say mama…she keeps nudging her to try and help and Tess shoots her point blank in the head… and while in some capacity i knew it had to happen it made me cry… mother had saved Tess’s life yet she had to die. She couldn’t live any other way…I’m not sure who the real monster is in this story wether its men like AJ or men like the original owner or maybe rapists in general. I don’t think mother was ever a bad guy…

I give this movie a 10/10. Even if i don’t fully understand it. It was gorgeous, the gore was great and looked great, it made solid commentary, and threw you for a loop every step of the way. I recommend watching it even if its hard to stomach at times. Over all it was a good movie and a good scare. The monsters truly are the friends we met along the way 💕🍼

[narratingvoice]

Dude I have literally counted like eleven entities at the very least in the Parable. Or adjacent. Or whatever. And I Keep Forgetting Someone!

The copy machine. Look at those papers on the floor. I think the poor thing is suffering.

Stanley. Ofc

You.

Creepy dude. Have you talked to Aman (as he's known in the files) yet?

Mariella. I usually forget her.

Curator. She left a lasting impression on me when the mod came out and I spent YEARS trying to find out where a voice begging me to stop playing as somebody wandered a broken level came from.

Roman or 432. Essentially went mad then ascended. Doesn't like you very much.

The Stanley Parable Adventure Line(tm) a creature that can go against it's own creator and get confused when they ask it(tm) to find the story when you are already in one is its(tm) own person. I will fight for line( tm) rights! Also is the only thing you initiate or create on screen so may be considered your child.

The bucket is alive and may or may not kill you if you bring it to the apartment.

There is a hypothetical wizard that may or may not exist and may or may not have killed the next guy. Gambhorra'ta is the name.

The tapes have this dude getting offed by a wizard after he speaks of monetizing the bucket. The creators seem to consistently say that's Joe in the AMA and a podcast so he might be joe. he'd be named after the voice actor then.

Stanley Jr., a small low poly rat model, has started to be seen in various places after a recent update. He may or may not be your son because of that..

Always forget Divine art! No I haven't gotten the ending and it's the only one I haven't. Pure torture, that.

Yeah. I know too much. I'll probably remember who I forgot later and two of those may not exist. Either way you are infested, my dude! And with vermin as well!

Well there you have it. We could practically put on an off-Broadway show in here. Maybe I could throw that birthday party after all. Even so, most of the time it feels like it's just Stanley and me. I guess a story written by a loner would end up full of characters who are loners, too. It does feel isolating sometimes, and yet I wouldn't want the Parable to be filled with voices that aren't mine. Other people are.... difficult sometimes. No offence to you, I just mean in general. I don't do well when I'm not dominating the conversation.

Oh no, you put the bucket on this list? For the last time, it was a joke! A running gag that ran a little too far. The bucket is not alive, it cannot talk, and it certainly has no means of killing anyone! I refuse to consider it a character and I will not entertain arguments to the contrary. Gambhorra'ta and the tape person are also part of the joke. None of this has any bearing on the story, it's just silly sequel content.

[borrowedtimeandspace]

Sunday Morning Research

12. Borrower

From this list of gt prompts.

AU: Unknown BAU; Sizeshifter!Stan storyline

NOTE: I had a lot of low-hanging fruit I could pluck from with a prompt like borrower. I went for a less obvious take that would give me a chance to gush about an adaptation of The Borrowers that I don't see talked about very often: The BBC mini-series!

If you've never heard of it, it can all be found on Youtube along with its sequel Series The Return of the Borrowers. They're six episodes each and follow the plot of the books pretty closely imho. Not to mention it stars Ian Holm and Penelope Wilton as Pod and Homily-- yes, Bilbo Baggins and Harriet Jones have to deal with all Arrietty's shenanigans, and they kill it! If it wasn't obvious, I highly recommend lol

~~~~~~

"Sta-an, it's on!"

"Coming!" Hastened by his older brother's teasing call, Stan Baker scrambled from the kitchen to the living room. The teen had a notebook tucked under one arm and a bowl of cereal in hand that nearly spilled as he skirted around the couch and plopped down in the middle of his brothers.

"Steady on!" griped Seamus, instinctively holding out an arm to shield his own book from potential milk splashes. "You don't have to rush, you know. We are taping it."

Stan shushed him, sitting forward so he could listen to the telly. The first few seconds of each episode were a recap from the previous one, but sometimes there was something new and Stan didn't want to miss a moment. Not if he could learn something.

Under the soft theme wafting from the television came the title card: The Borrowers.

Stan had always been a fan of the property, ever since he was young. He owned the whole book series and read it through dozens of times before he was quite suddenly able to become only a few inches tall.

Just over a year had passed, and while Stan had a stronger grasp on how to control his shrinking than he did in the beginning, he was no closer to finding answers for why. He was the only one out of his brothers who could do it; the other four had tried, and Stan even attempted to shrink one of them with him once. That one still stung to think about. Nothing about it made sense, and there was very little credible research to follow.

Taking notes on the silly little BBC adaptation of an old book series about tiny people was the closest thing.

Obviously there wasn't much for Stan to glean about changing sizes, but there was plenty he could learn about navigating the world while standing inches high. Stan knew most of the lore about the borrowers themselves from the books, and mostly he took notes on the little details. The materials used for tools, how the tiniest and seemingly most useless things could be adapted, what was safe for them and what wasn't.

Even Stan's brothers paid attention in the hope of learning how to best handle their occasionally tiny youngest brother. Though, they didn't grow up as closely with the books as Stan, so they had plenty of questions for him.

"Are they saying 'human beings' or 'human beans'?" Seamus had asked early on in the series. Stan explained that it was sort of both, and it was like that in the books.

"Is that what we look like to you?" the softspoken second youngest of the Bakers, Levi, wondered as the show went on. Stan had to admit that the camera angles were well chosen to illustrate just how large humans looked to people so small. The special effects, cheap as they were on occasion, did wonders to put the human actors in such a perspective that they seemed to actually be tiny.

Simon and Dylan, the two oldest, suggested on different occasions that they could totally make Stan a rope like the grapples Pod and Arrietty used in the series. "Knot it up, make it nice and safe, should be easy-peasy!" Dylan had insisted. Even so, Stan was reluctant. He couldn't say exactly why. It felt...odd to copy something used by people who were strictly tiny and had no choice but to climb everywhere to reach what they needed.

Fictional people, at that.

Levi was thinking along those lines during the latest episode. He brought it up during a commercial break.

"Do you think they could actually exist?"

He posed the question to the lot of his brothers, and based on their expressions, they'd been wondering the same thing. All eyes eventually turned to Stan, who flushed pink.

"I dunno," he mumbled, staring down at his notes. "Sometimes I think they must do. Or something like them. There's gotta be a reason I can be as small as them."

"A bit smaller, even," Dylan helpfully corrected. "That lot look about six inches high, and you've only just started measuring over three."

"Thanks very much, Dylan," said Stan flatly, giving his next-to-oldest brother a playful kick.

Dylan, the more athletic of the Bakers, snickered and easily blocked the kick with his own foot. "I'm just saying!"

"Whether they do or don't," Simon's gentle voice cut in, drawing the attention of his siblings, "we could all learn a thing or two. They might not be borrowers, but they've certainly put a lot of thought into all this."

Stan smiled as the show came back on. He had to admit that even if he weren't taking notes, he'd be enjoying himself. For all its occasionally cheesy tone, it had a lot of heart and was quite a faithful adaptation to the books. Stan noticed certain lines or scenes almost lifted directly from the page, and plenty more that were new material but never felt out of place. Everyone involved put in the effort to make the characters feel so real.

Stan couldn't ask for better research material.

[okayto]

Mini-Review: Love, Chunibyo & Other Delusions!

I’m so glad @littlestartopaz​ recommended this to me, because it was SO GOOD.

Yuta wants to start high school afresh: new school far from home, new classmates who don’t know he spent middle school acting out the fantasy of being the mysterious and magic “Dark Flame Master,” new him. But one of his classmates has delusions of her own, and after she accidentally discovers his embarrassing past, Yuta is unwillingly drawn into her life and a growing circle of friends with their own quirks.

The “chunibyo” of the title basically means “8th grade syndrome;” a phase in middle school where some kids inhabit and act out their own fantasy stories, positing themselves as dark magicians, magical girls, and other wielders of magical powers.

I had avoided this for a while, until it was specifically recommended to me, because honestly, it sounds embarrassing, right? It sounds like it’s gonna be an embarrassing manic pixie dream girl scenario. But what it actually contains is the story of how a mixed bag of students--some actively chunibyo, others not--become friends and develop very endearing close relationships, while arguing and frustrating each other because that’s what friends do.

Now, the idea of being the star of what’s essentially your own fantasy-action anime is embarrassing, but what’s notable is that the show doesn’t really hold the chunibyo characters up for mockery. Sure we might laugh at them, but hey--it’s funny to watch friends be silly together. And most viewers, just like some of the characters who have moved on from their chunibyo phases, probably easily understand the mix of soul-wrenching embarrassment and (mild?) fond sentiment that comes with remembering our middle school selves.

But let’s be real: the reactions the two former chunibyo students, Yuta and Shinka have to being reminded of middle school, are #RELATABLE

Rikka, our title chunibyo, in particular uses her fantasy in part to cope with grief, coming from an extended family that (without getting spoilery) didn’t help a young girl to deal with a very hard and life-changing time. Now that she’s in high school, her older sister blackmails Yuta (using an a voice recording of one of his chunibyo speeches) into helping deal with Rikka and things (like the cat she wants to adopt) that pop up.

One thing the show is very good at, though, is not making a single thing the reason behind a character’s chunibyo. One may have started their fantasy inspired by another person, or prompted by an event, but it’s also (while active) part of their personal narrative that influences how they spent their free time, how they see the world and keep blogs or diaries, etc.

But at the same time, they’re still teenagers, and their inner view of themselves...doesn’t always translate skills.

I said the show is primarily about friendship. A lot of that friendship is between Yuta and Rikka, but they accumulate a little group, mainly through Rikka’s attempt to start a magic club. Recruit 1: Kumin, a polite, quiet senpai with no chunibyo history or aspirations.

Kumin starts off seeming like a background character, but by the second season it’s clear she’s not just there for jokes about how she’ll take a nap anywhere. She’s perceptive, and genuinely enjoys watching the others act out their scenarios.

Compared to the other characters who are boisterous in their chunibyo activities (Rikka, Deko, Satone), or vociferously trying not to get drawn in to chunibyo activities (Yuta, Shinka), Kumin is happy to watch and offer encouragement, but she’s also willing to participate if a chunibyo scenario calls for a group.

Incidentally, the show does a really interesting thing where occasionally, we’ll be drawn “inside” the chunibyo world, seeing what Rikka/Deko/whoever see: a fantasy land, big magical weapons, anime-grade magical attacks. Occasionally we’ll also see what this “really” looks like--a couple people running around waving umbrellas at each other--but often we only get the fantasy version. It’s clear that Rikka and co. are legitimately on some level engaging in a shared imagination, and the times when a reluctant character (particularly Yuta or Shinka) willing steps in to the shared illusion are genuinely sweet.

Speaking of, Shinka (aka Morisummer) became one of my favorite characters. Like Yuta, she was chunibyo (”Morisummer the magician”); like Yuta, she chose a high school where she didn’t know anyone expressly so she could reinvent herself as a normal teen. And like Yuta, she’s getting dragged kicking and screaming into chunibyo again.

It would’ve been so easy to make her a bad character. She’s pretty, puts a lot of effort into being popular and likable at school, trying to keep up a good teen girl image, despite being fairly sarcastic at her core. And as loathe as she is to admit it, she likes her friends (even if she won’t admit they’re friends, even if half of them are actively chunibyo, even if she says she’s only hanging around so she can make sure all traces of chunibyo-Morisummer are erased from the internet).

Shinka gets drawn in to the group through Rikka’s apparently only pre-existing friend: Deko, a fellow chunibyo who follows Rikka (or “Eye of the Wicked Lord Shingan”) as her master, and is extremely devoted to the great magician Morisummer. So devoted, in fact, that she has several physical copies of Morisummer’s book containing all her wisdom...aka Shinka-Morisummer’s blog, which Shinka has tried to erase all trace of.

Needless to say, the two don’t seem to get along great.

Deko’s dedication to chunibyo and Morisummer irks Shinka; Shinka’s claim to be Morisummer irks Deko, who refuses to believe the great magician could ever be this sarcastic, mundane girl. Deko’s refusal irks Shinka, bringing out the sarcasm and bluntness Shinka tries to hide from the school at large.

Obviously, they actually become close friends, but heaven help you if you actually say so.

The entire series is an exploration of relationships, and Yuta’s developing closeness with Rikka (hey, we knew it was going to happen) is also sweet. He’s a genuinely likable boy, embarrassed by the vestiges of his former self he sees in Rikka, but often willing to meet her on her level, and both of them also learn/reaffirm the importance of doing things their way, and keeping both of them comfortable, rather than acting a certain way or performing specific acts just because their classmates think their relationship status mandates it.

Speaking of classmates--and I know this is getting long but I CAN’T HELP IT, I LIKED SO MANY ASPECTS OF THIS SERIES--the characters aren’t ridiculed at school. Sure, some people think they’re weird, but there’s no shunning, no arc involving teasing or bullies. Rikka’s often content as a loner, but when she attempts to join in a social circle, she’s welcomed. Shinka’s obsessed with reinventing herself and appearing normal and seems to think that otherwise she’ll be cast out, but multiple characters mention that others at the school notice how she behaves (oddly, on occasion) and there are no social repercussions. Truly nice for a show that has characters spending quite a lot of time in school.

Verdict

English dub? Yes, and it’s got strong performances. Rikka’s voice actor in particular does a fantastic job capturing the difference between chunibyo!Rikka’s confidence and command, and regular!Rikka’s, well, normal awkward teenageness. (Plus, I also found her lower-than animegirl-average voice enjoyable.) (Double plus, I honestly think her English voice is better than her original Japanese voice at showing the difference between her emotions and chunibyo/reality.) Deko’s VA is fantastic showing the enthusiasm of the 9th grader (and what enthusiasm, Deko is like the Energizer Bunny), and Shinka’s VA manages to show her alternating annoyance, cheerfully sweet ideal self, and organizized leader voices.

Visuals: Fine, and I really liked the chunibyo designs for each character’s chunibyo phase. The contrast between chunibyo-vision (giant magic weapons; mysterious lights, fantasy landscapes) and reality (an umbrella or soup ladle; a strip of lights taped to the floor; a local park) was really well done.

Worth watching? Yessss. It’s very manageable--two 12-episode seasons--and while each season contains its own arc (you could stop after the first one, but why), together they make an excellent story. Heck, I think the second season is equal to, if not better than, the first, because the friend group is well-established and even more fun to watch.

Where to watch (USA, as of October 2020): Netflix (dub, sub); Crunchyroll (sub), HIDIVE (sub & dub, plus OVAs and film)

Click my “reviews” tag below or search “mini review” on my blog to find more!

[hamburgerhelpersotherhand]

Could you write an imagine were Yandere Randy Meeks being obsessed with an GN actor that stars in horror movies mostly?. He has posters , magazines of photoshoots that the reader has been in .Also he owns every movie that they've been in.

The reader goes to his school ,but since they're even more popular than Billy and Stu ,they never talk. One day the reader goes to one of Stu's parties , Randy finds the reader making out with Tatum (who is single)

I hope you accept my request!!!

Thank you for requesting! I’m really into Scream so, of course I’m jumping on any opportunity to write about it 😔💝

It’s cut pretty short but I hope it still meets your expectations 💕

Warnings: Stalking, mentioned non-con, and loose ending.

You weren’t a big name out there— in Hollywood- but you were the biggest name in Woodsboro.

You were this small town’s very own celebrity and you were one of the good ones, too. Not like those who move to big cities to follow even bigger dreams, no. You always came back for the new semester and you always stayed humble.

It’s admirable, really. And that’s just what Randy Meeks is doing... admiring. He’s a cinephile, after all. A movie buff. He’s gotta see every film at least once before he dies, so it’s a no brainer he’d see yours eventually.

You’re a horror actor. One the studio picked up to surprise audiences— nobody suspects the unknown actor to be the last one standing, after all. And holy shit do you look good covered in blood.

When your movies were turned into vhs tapes, Randy stocked them on the shelves of the local video store he somehow still worked at. He’d pocket a copy every time. You never stepped foot in there, to no surprise. During the fall season, your face was plastered on nearly every surface. It would creep him out too, if he was you.

Randy doesn’t read much, but he grew an unhealthy habit of buying any magazine that would simply mention your name. The teen issues always had posters. He liked those, but he enjoyed the exclusive photoshoots even more. They were mainly to promote the movies you starred in, but boy were they something else. You just can’t get away with the same stuff on a magazine poster. He kept those under his bed. To, you know... admire. But— you- you were never suggestive in any of them. The real teasing was from the movies themselves.

On a particularly cool night, Stu decided to host a party. Randy almost declined his invitation, ready to stay home and binge a series he’d seen more than once, until he heard you were making an appearance at the Macher residence. He doesn’t know how you had agreed to any of it— you always seemed like the type to avoid parties and you didn’t know a single person from his circle- but he was all for it. There was no other greater opportunity to approach you than that very night.

The party started off slow, not a lot of people were keen on arriving early (or while the sun was still up), but sure enough the number of guests soon snowballed. Randy had spotted you when you had arrived and kept his eyes glued to your head. You were greeted by so many people, it was almost impossible to miss.

Randy took a swig of his beer.

Tatum split from her friend Sidney quick and approached you quicker. Her hands were all over you in a second, dragging you around the house. It was supposedly to show you around, but Randy didn’t feel good about it.

He followed at a distance, pretending to converse with Stu’s other friends.

Tatum was basically glued to you the entire night, giving Randy no room to get you alone. It made him want to squeeze his glass bottle ‘til it popped.

Before he knows it, you’re drunk and she’s sitting you on the couch.

At this point, people had started to leave. Things were settling and Stu wanted to pop in a movie while everyone else finished up the snacks.

As Stu was fiddling with the VHS, Randy watched Tatum gradually get closer and closer. Way too close.

You both lean in... and there’s a peck.

Randy has a white knuckle grip on his drink as he watches with widened eyes. He’s mad.

Sidney grabs his arm, only partially taking his attention off of the events unfolding on the couch.

“Have you seen Tatum?” Sidney asks him.

Randy points with his drink and Sidney spots the two of you getting a little too comfortable out in the open.

She sighs and pulls on his arm again.

“Could you drive me home? Tatum was my ride.”

“I hitched a ride with Stu. Don’t have a car.” Randy replies in an almost whispery fashion. He wouldn’t want to drive Sidney home anyway, not when Tatum is taking advantage of you like that. It boils his blood to see it, but he hasn’t the courage to intervene.

Stu finally gets a movie playing and snatches the remote. He plops down on the sofa, right next to the couch where you and Tatum are having your disgusting little make-out session.

It’s not the beginning of the film, actually very close to the end. The scene... he’s watched your films so many times that he recognizes it almost immediately and it would seem you do too.

You pull away from Tatum, while she attacks your neck with love-bites, and watch the screen.

The scene before you is from a movie you’ve starred in. And it seems to be making you uncomfortable.

“Oh, that’s in poor taste.” Sidney says, watching the television.

The contents of the scene are very graphic, Randy would even go as far as to say the implications at the end are even worse. But... the sequel lets you make it out alive, give or take a couple sanity points.

Stu sees your discomfort and laughs.

“Look at the way the big bad groped you! Doesn’t feel like acting to me.”

“Stu, leave them alone. You’re making things weird.” Tatum speaks out, probably because Stu’s butting into her kissing session.

All the while Randy is watching your reaction to the screen. You genuinely look hurt as you watch the scene play, it makes him wonder what really happened on set.

“I’m going home.” You finally state and Randy’s heart starts beating again.

Tatum whines, tells you she’s sorry about Stu and Stu just gives you a haunting grin. Sidney doesn’t talk to you, just waves, and neither does Randy, though he doesn’t wave. They then watch you get up, grab your coat, and leave.

But, this is his chance. Randy could approach you right now and comfort you. Could he do that? Does he know how to comfort someone right now? He’s not sure but, a couple minutes after you leave, he tells everyone he’ll be right back.

On his way out the door, he wonders if he’s a bad liar.

[hopetofantasy]

CPM REWATCH - SEASON 3 - VLOGS (1)

Ah, yes, the season everyone is waiting for. This one was less focussed on the socials and real life events, but more on the Broerrrs YouTube channel. So why don’t I start with an analysis of them? Yup, here we go!

°

Vlog 1: ‘Can you stick someone to the wall with duct tape?’

Perfect parallels: 

Jens and Robbe goofing off in the alley (climbing the wall, teasing each other) in this vlog before S3, Sander and Robbe doing the same (hanging off the ledge, taking weird pics) on their insta after S3. 

Robbe’s “It smells kinda like graffiti here, doesn’t it?” and him starting off his season with a graffiti spray session where Sander spots him.

Nod to the OG: Robbe hanging like Jesus on the wall and Jens stating ‘It smells like sins’, both references to the religious undercurrent of the original S3 (birth, rebirth, homosexuality seen as a sin, Isak’s religious mom, OHN, ...)

Oop, there it is, the homophobia / heteronormativity: Moyo deliberately touching Robbe’s private area ‘as a joke’. Him also making ‘duct tape tits’.

Robbe’s clumsiness meter: +2, falling off the wall whilst ripping out his leg hair with the tape.

Blink-and-y’ll-miss-it: Robbe mouthing "Help" towards the camera. 

°

Vlog 2: ‘Can Robbe and Moyo actually dance?’

Perfect parallels: Jens referencing Fortnite as a game they like to play in this vlog, seen by the various scenes in S1 and in S3 where they mention/play the game.

Blink-and-y’ll-miss-it: Moyo catching the dance moves pretty quick, mainly because the actor (Noa) is a professional dancer - yet tries to act like he can’t.

°

Vlog 3: ‘Can you make a rapsong with random words?’

Perfect parallels: 

The boys making the rap ‘Eenvoud’ in this vlog because of the random words challenge, but actually producing the music video later on.

Jens saying "Is it Friday already?", because he does ‘#vettigevrijdag’ on his insta, where he eats fatty stuff on Fridays. Which Robbe and Sander later stole after S3 with #vettigezondag (= 'fatty sunday').

Lost in translation: 

Almost all words rhyme in Flemish, but not in English (= Broer-Roer, Wisselkoers-Broers, Wijzers-Ijzers, Sneeuwwitje-Ritje-Hitje).

“Ik heb slaaptekort, want ik slaap te kort”: Meaning he has sleep deprivation (’slaaptekort’), because he’s sleeping ‘too short’ (’te kort’). It’s a play on words and doesn’t rhyme if translated to English.

“Matti’s” is slang for the dialect word ‘maten’, meaning ‘buddies’.

Funny coincidence: The words they pull out: ‘sleep deprivation’, ‘creative’, ‘iron’ (surname: ijzermans - ironman), ‘Saint-Nicolas’, ‘Broerrrs’ coincidentally refers to a lot of things in Robbe’s season. 

°

Vlog 4: ‘Can you eat a sandwich while wearing a mouthpiece?’

C is for culture: 

“Uw moeder is een hoer” (= "Your mom’s a whore"): A wildly spread expression to either joke with your friends, hurt people's feelings or try to stir up fights. It’s the Flemish equivalent to the ‘yo momma’-jokes.

"Sandra Kim": The only Belgian winner at Eurovision Song Contest. She won with ‘J’aime La Vie’ in 1986, while she was only 13 years old. To this date, the singer still holds the record as youngest participant/winner, because they lied about her age before any restrictions were implemented. 

Lost in translation:

“Breedbek-kikker” (= "broad mouthed frog"): slang for someone who is very talkative and boast about themselves (= has a ‘large mouth’).

“Pollepel” (= "ladle"): dialect word for serving-style spoon.

Robbe’s clumsiness meter: +1, spilling on himself during the challenge.

Oop, there it is, the homophobia / heteronormativity: Moyo and Jens joke that Robbe wants to show his D to the boys and viewers.

Blink-and-y’ll-miss-it: The sandwiches are with choco (spread).

°

Vlog 5: ‘Do Robbe and Moyo have make-up skills?’

Where’s Wally? Moyo mentioning Keisha, it’s been a while since we’ve seen/heard of her.

Oopsie: They’re claiming that it’s Keisha’s make-up, but in reality she would’ve had a different color of foundation, because of her darker skin.

Oop, there it is, the homophobia / heteronormativity: Jens scoffing to Moyo “Are you sure this make-up isn’t yours?”, because he’s got some applying skills.

Blink-and-y’ll-miss-it/Robbe’s clumsiness meter: +2, Robbe blowing on the eye shadow at the beginning, getting some in his face and coughing. Smudging his own cheeks with mascara.

°

Vlog 6: ‘Which hypes are overrated?’

C is for culture:

“Wat hebben we geleerd vandaag?” (= “What have we learned today?”): A catchphrase made famous by Piet Huysentruyt, a former tv chef. In his program ‘S.O.S. Piet’, he went to people’s houses to try and fix the mistakes in their recipes. He always ended every episode with a summary on what they learned. 

The planes flying over so closely: An indication that they’re near the airport in Deurne (district of Antwerp). This is the smallest of the five Belgian airports. There has been controversy around this infrastructure, since it’s build too close to residencies (a lot of noise/carbon emissions) and originally planned to be removed. However, in recent years, more airlines chose the airport as an option and thus got more visitors. The future of Antwerp Airport remains unknown.

Perfect parallel: Jens calling Robbe a ‘biologist’ since he seems to know a lot about lemons in this vlog, him studying biology with Yasmina in S3. 

Oop, there it is, the homophobia / heteronormativity: Moyo copying Robbe’s hand movements, because he did it in a ‘feminine’ way.

°

Vlog 7: ‘How agile are Moyo and Robbe?’

Funny coincidence: Robbe saying “Who do you think I am? Spiderman?”, whilst his surname translates to ‘Iron Man’, another Marvel character.

Oop, there it is, the homophobia / heteronormativity: Moyo and Jens joking that it’s *again* Robbe who knows what ‘downward facing dog’ is. Both of them making subtle, underlying innuendos, due to Robbe's weird face when Moyo rubbed his temples. Jens' “That’s how you like it”, when Robbe said “I’ll be the bottom one”. 

Robbe’s clumsiness meter: +3, Robbe hurting himself whilst somersaulting, constantly falling backwards in a yoga seat position and falling down hard from Moyo’s hands. 

[bunnymcbunnister]

SPN Spoiler Sheet, Update 8/15

Since filming is underway this week, this seemed like a good time to put this back out there. I don’t see the utter hysteria on here about the ending, (particularly involving Cas) on Tumblr here like I do on Twitter but why not have this be out there in the universe for all instead of only on my google account where I hoard spoilers like a squirrel. 

I am a teacher prepping for online learning, so I haven’t had time to link sources other than “I saw this on social media” so DON’T TAKE THIS TOO SERIOUSLY FOR F*UCKS SAKE. Also, if you could not copy and paste this unto your bullshit journalism site, that would be awesome. Ahem. Certain person. 

Under the cut...

DISCLAIMER: This is gathered info from various sources. This is not confirmed information. Stuff in this WILL be wrong. Don’t take this too seriously. This is for fun. Also, if you use this info for another publication, please let me know as a courtesy. Don’t be a dick. It's all out there, but it hurts to see my same phrasing on other publications after all the work I’ve done to consolidate it…  

General Info (oldest to newest). This is a blend of pre-COVID and post COVID, so some might change. 

They are adding a whole extra day to filming to do the final scene. They will film the final scene last.  (Implies logistics- lots of returning people?) PRE COVID SPOILER,I would imagine that is no longer the case

In an interview, Kripe indicated that the series ending would have “peace” for Sam and Dean

Not much new at the TCA’s, but it was said it is “unlikely” Jeffery Dean Morgan will be back since his last appearance was such a good end note. There were some jokes about a Castiel spin off. 

There will be a special tribute ep (Post COVID talk seems to indicate this will still happen)

Misha will be in 15 out of 20 episodes this season (he’s missed 3 so far and I suspect will miss 14 and 16, unclear about 19). 

Cas’ deal with the Empty may come up later in the season. 

Jack will be a critical part of the ending of the show

Dean and Amara’s connection will be explored

There will be a bunker themed episode (MarySue article)

In one of his cookbook interviews, Misha used the word “we” several times when talking about the final scene of Supernatural. He said that would be the last scene they shoot. It seemed to imply that he was in the scene, but that could be open to interpretation. 

JaxCon/Vegas Con spoilers: 

Misha said the ending was “happier than he expected” but also had some sadness. He later used “sad and redemptive”

Misha mentioned that Claire will be mentioned on the show, but as of yet not appear. 

Dean says the line “stop killing my people” (to god?)

Jensen said he doesn’t see how the story could continue past this season, but Jared said its more of “a see you later”

Misha confirmed he’s in the final scene, but he also indicated he had one week of filming left (total?) PRE COVID SPOILERS

Al Cal posted a pic of a “thrown away” call sheet that seem to indicate Micheal, Lucifer, and a character named “Betty” interacting in the bunker. Unclear as to the validity. 

There will be a flashback episode

Charlie (original flavor) will return

Filming will resume on Aug 18th. Per Canadian policy, they must quarantine for two weeks. Those quarantining seems to include:

Fairly Clear: Jared, Jensen, Jake Abel (Micheal), Rob Benedict (Chuck/God)

Unclear/Rumored: Misha (he is being deliberately cagey), Alex Calvert (Jack- AlCal lives in Vancouver so does not need to), Mark Pelligrino (Lucifer), Osric Chau (Kevin- but likely for another project, he was a week ahead of everyone else)

Reasons Unlikely: Sam Smith (chemo treatment), Kim Rhodes (working at a camp during quarantine)

Jensen said sp 19 is more of a season finale, while 20 is a series finale. Repeated in interviews/livestreams. 

Megan Fitz. (Dabb’s former assistant/writer) complimented both Dabb’s and Glynn’s writing on twitter. Not sure if it is in reference to rewrites or the special retrospective that is planned. 

Jensen indicated that the ending did change per COVID protocols. Unclear how much.

Misha is being very, very cagey about where he is. Some live streams seem to indicate he is not at home, but he has yet to confirm- his presence in 19/20 is hard to track.  In an interview with Metaverse, he was in bed in a hotel looking space and you could see mountains in the background. 

Misha has thrown around the words “final”  and “what he <Misha> would have wanted” per Cas’ ending, “Sad/Proud” and “poignant” were also used. 

Episode 15x14

Title: Last Holiday

OFFICIAL SYNOPSIS: MAKING UP FOR LOST TIME – Sam (Jared Padalecki) and Dean (Jensen Ackles) discover a wood nymph (guest star Meagan Fey) living in the bunker who is determined to protect her family, at any cost. Eduardo Sanchez directed the episode written by Jeremy Adams (#1514). Original airdate 3/30/2020.

Written by: Jeremy Adams

Director: Eduardo Sanchez

Filming Dates:1/15- 1/24

Airdate: unknown- October?

Photos: 

Promo:

Sneak Peak:

Castiel ? eh… I don't think so Jack ? yes

Guest stars: 

Other Spoilers/info:

Misha mentioned being at an airport the first day of filming, maybe he’ll miss this one

The director shared a BTS shot with AlCal’s chair in the background. He also posted on that looked like the statues in hell. Lots of filming at the bunker. A few impala shots were shared as well. 

In an EW article, a mysterious woman gives Sam and Dean every holiday they ever missed. Based on the title, I’m guessing this!

 Episode 15x15

Title: Gimme Shelter

OFFICIAL SYNOPSIS: 

Written by: ?? Davy Perez???? They seem to be keeping it under wraps for some reason

Director: Matt Cohen

Filming Dates: 1/27-2/5

Airdate: unknown. October?

Photos: 

Promo:

Sneak Peak:

Castiel ?yes  Jack ? Yes

Guest stars: 

Other Spoilers/info:

There was some filming done at the crossroads with only Misha. 

Alex and Misha filmed together

It seems as if J2 didn’t film at all the first week, Misha filmed six or seven days, this is a Cas centric ep

Episode 15x16

Title: Drag Me Away (From You)

OFFICIAL SYNOPSIS: 

Written by: Megan Fitzmartin

Director: Amyn Kaderali

Filming Dates: 2/6-2/17

Airdate: unknown

Photos: 

Promo:

Sneak Peak:

Castiel ? I think so… briefly? Jack ? not sure either. 

Guest stars:  IMDB credits Lisa Berry (Billie/Death)

Other Spoilers/info:

Alex got a cast of his face around the filming of this- so this ep or the one after

Looks like we get Dean in a robe!

They filmed at Rooster’s Sunrise Hotel for 3 days/nights

This might be the flashback ep

Episode 15x17

Title: Unity

OFFICIAL SYNOPSIS: 

Written by: Meredith Gylnn

Director: Catrion McKenzie

Filming Dates: 2/19-2/28

Airdate: unknown

Photos: 

Promo:

Sneak Peak:

Castiel ? yes Jack ? yes

Guest stars: Rob benedict and Emily Sparrow

Other Spoilers/info:

Chuck and Amara trailers were seen on set when filming in a garden

Jensen was in NOLA Friday, possible Monday

“Uriel” was around for filming (Post COVID update: Misha seemed to indicate that this was because the actor was nearby filming? Not sure if this is to cover up the spoiler or the truth)

Alex and Jensen filmed in the imala

Episode 15x18

Title: The Truth (this might have changed?)

OFFICIAL SYNOPSIS: 

Written by: BOBO

Director: Speight

Filming Dates: 3/2--3/11

Airdate: unknown

Photos: 

Promo:

Sneak Peak:

Castiel ? yes Jack ? yes

Guest stars: 

Other Spoilers/info:

Misha and Alex filmed near the impala. J2 showed up later that night. This was the source of the “last time they all filmed on set” photo)

An really emotional scene was filmed with Misha and Jensen. Jared was definitely not there, but Alex was on the flight they took with Rich, so its possible he was too. This was revealed at a con in which the four of them were on a plane that had an in-flight problem.

Filming watchers saw a bro hug

Tape Ball posted a shot of field that looks like were dean came back from hell

Misha indicated this was his “favorite episode” in a recent interview

Episode 15x19

Title: Inherit the Earth

OFFICIAL SYNOPSIS: 

Written by: bucklelimg

Director: 

Filming Dates:: 3/12-3/23/cancelled for COVID and then 8/18-8/26?? Unclear if they could use the two days they filmed or not

Airdate: unknown

Photos: 

Promo:

Sneak Peak:

Castiel ? Jack ? 

Guest stars: 

Other Spoilers/info:

Production shut down as a precaution for coronavirus on 3/13, two days into filming. It is scheduled to start again on Aug 18th. 

Jensen indicated there might be some re-writes for this ep to account for COVID protocols.

Episode 15x20

Title: Carry On

OFFICIAL SYNOPSIS: 

Written by: I assume Dabb

Director: 

Filming Dates: 

Airdate: unknown. November per Misha. 

Photos: 

Promo:

Sneak Peak:

Castiel ? maaaaybe? Jack ? maaaaybe?

Guest stars: 

Other Spoilers/info:

Misha is in the final scene, per pre COVID interviews. 

Jake Abel used a “we” when he tweeted about getting back to work as soon as the virus scare ended, indicating Adam/Micheal would be part of the finale. He is quarantining, so this seems likely. 

[hollywooduniversityalumnus]

7. all filled up with things benign

🎬🎬🎬🎬🎬

Much like any other university, Hollywood University required a metric fuck-ton of paperwork to be submitted for approval of an extended leave of absence from classes. However, unlike most universities, Hollywood U encouraged such leaves, under the condition that they were for career-related endeavours, like a six-week film shoot overseas or back-to-back tapings of a new television show being optioned for one of the many streaming services. Not only would the student receive invaluable “real world” experience, a credit for their resume, and financial compensation, but the university could leverage the experience for positive publicity (and, therefore, receive financial compensation as well).

Though Hollywood U professors stressed the importance of finding work in the industry while studying, most of the students attending the university stuck to using their class projects as resume builders and spent their free time partying and cavorting around California. Those students typically found themselves scrambling to find work once they did graduate, as they had not built enough connections and rapport to be personally contacted for a job. It was sad to see aspiring directors and actors with untapped potential head back home with their heads down and dreams dashed.

Still, Thomas thought, if Hollywood U wanted faculty and students alike to enthusiastically take part in school-sanctioned leaves, they ought to consider making the paperwork less tedious.

He stared down the stack of paperwork that Miss Schuyler had so kindly left for him to deal with. It wasn’t as thick as the stack Priya had once left him – a list of complaints and observations about the students she shared with him, which he promptly recycled, because even he had a limit to his negativity – but it was daunting to look at, especially since he knew that he had to carefully read every word of it to ensure that his student’s participation in Penn Cattrall’s yet-to-be-titled film wasn’t going to end the same way her experience with Clash at Sunset did.

And, of course, to see what he had to do to keep her on track with the rest of her peers. Of all her professors, he had been the obvious choice to administer the work she would need to complete whilst filming, and he was not looking forward to the extra work he would have to do for it.

Knowing there was nothing else to do but dive in, he set down his mug of coffee and situated himself in his seat, taking a moment to adjust the lamp on his desk before pulling down the first of the many stapled stacks.

🎬🎬🎬🎬🎬

Two and a half hours later, Thomas set down his third coffee refill and rubbed between his eyebrows. Behind him, the world beyond the window grew dimmer, and the hallway around his office swallowed up in silence. Certain he was the only one still in that wing of the school, perhaps even on that side of campus, he took a moment to get up and stretch, mind still whirring over everything he had read.

She was due to leave in three days’ time for France. The contracts he read didn’t say anything about the plot of the film she was leading, but he guessed by the extra paperwork regarding health and safety liabilities while filming in the catacombs of Paris that it had something to do with the horrors of being lost in a claustrophobic, labyrinthine setting surrounded by the dead.

Along with the liability clauses, there was a lot said about the safety of the stunt work she’d be performing herself, which he’d flagged with a sticky note. More sticky notes were used to mark certain lines that he needed further elaboration on, and parts of the contracts that seemed impossible to enforce from far away.

It had taken him what felt like eons to get to what was the most relevant part for him: the continuing education contract.

But the words that were so important for him to digest, as he would be the one to hold her to them, swam in front of his eyes as he quickly became lost in thought. Still stuck on the tidbits of information sprinkled within the documents, breadcrumbs that piece together a vague picture of what Miss Schuyler was to be doing during her six-week leave. It bothered him that he was so bothered, but he couldn’t help it.

How was she going to react to being in the depths of the catacombs? She had difficulty just sitting in the dark for too long.

And then: does she even know what she signed up for?

Penn Cattrall should’ve given her a copy of the script. Should’ve given her a head’s up of what was expected (including the stunts that she was apparently doing herself). Should’ve gotten to know her before giving her such a challenging role.

Thomas’s fingers hovered over the keyboard of his laptop before he even realized he’d opened it.

I should warn her, he thought. What if she doesn’t know?

And then that pesky second opinion in his head, another side of himself, countered, She has to know already. After everything that happened with Anders Stone and Richard Sheridan, she would have read everything Penn Cattrall’s people sent over with a fine-toothed comb. She wouldn’t agree to this without knowing.

But what if she did?

Thomas slowly lowered his laptop’s screen and stared at the brand logo on the back. The edges of a small sticker, one from his college days that he’d stumbled upon when sorting his attic, were peeling off, and he pressed his fingers down to try and flatten them. It was a simple rectangular sticker of a quote. A memory of Yvonne purchasing him that sticker at a street fair near their campus bubbled up, but he pressed down with his fingers as if to pop it.

The enemy of art is the absence of limitations.

Though he was remarkably awarded for a fairly new director, Penn Cattrall did not yet have the power behind his name to blow dozens of millions of dollars on a single film. It had taken Thomas two films and just as many Audrey Awards to get there himself. Though the estimated five million dollar budget for the film was nothing to scoff at, Thomas knew that, after taking into account the portion of the funds that would be exchanged for access to the off-limits areas in which they’d be filming, as well as all the equipment that would be used to capture the film and keep the cast and crew safe down below, the true budget of the film was going to be quite tight indeed.

That would be a limitation, a box that would force Penn Cattrall and his crew to think outside of it without breaking the bank or disrupting the production. It could be done; after Spielberg and the Jaws crew sunk so much money into creating the mechanical shark that famously rarely worked, the director’s decision to omit the sighting of the shark until much later in the film became one of the most memorable techniques to build suspense in film. Limitation worked then.

But Margot . . .

Since that night on that gaudy set, he wondered how she coped with the memories of her past. He’d seen her sitting in darkened rooms before – like in the auditorium watching Spencer Yamaguchi’s one-man musical – but there were still light sources, still a feeling of being among a crowd, of safety. But he’d also seen – well, heard - her on that set, crying to herself.

How would she react to long hours of being deep below ground, surrounded by the remains of those who passed long ago? Penn Cattrall wouldn’t be so cruel as to make her film in complete darkness, but the catacombs definitely weren’t known for making people feel safe. Nor, Thomas guessed, would the characters be in the catacombs with perfectly working light sources, if this was a horror film like all his others. Sure, there had to be breaks where they came up for air, food, and sunlight. But what of those hours of filming in near darkness, amongst death and decay?

Was her past her limitation?

More importantly, would – could – she work with it?

🎬🎬🎬🎬🎬

“Miss Schuyler. Thank you for arriving on time for once.”

Displeased with being called into his office on a Friday morning, Margot lazily fell into the chair opposite his desk, her hands already tapping mindlessly on her thighs. Immediately diverting his gaze from her thighs – and the skirt she somehow considered appropriate enough to wear for such a meeting – Thomas cleared his throat.

“I’ve read through the paperwork for your extended leave,” he began. “Most of it is in order. I’ve already forwarded the very little I have issue with to be further reviewed by Penn Cattrall and Hollywood U’s lawyers.”

“Great,” Margot said, her voice flat and tired. “Is that all?”

He narrowed his eyes at her. “I do hope you don’t show this kind of attitude to Penn Cattrall, or you’ll be fired and blacklisted in this industry faster than Megan Fox in her Transformers days. This is a tremendous opportunity for any actor, and even more so for a newcomer.”

In the silence that followed his words, her head lowered. Her lower lip trembled. And his stomach twisted.

Where was the confident, cocky young actress determined to take Hollywood by storm? It was almost as if they were back on that damn set, drinking Snapple and letting their guards down little by little. This time, he could see her face, and he knew that the issue was not what he had just said to her, but something else. Something had been bothering her before she’d even come into the room.

His voice softened. “What happened?”

Margot immediately shook her head. “Nothing.”

“I know you,” he said before he could stop himself. “This ‘nothing’ is a ‘something.’ What is it?”

And when she finally looked up at him again, he stood at the sight of the tears spilling from her eyes. He moved quickly, taking the box of tissues he had set upon a shelf and maneuvering around his desk until he was standing by her side. Handing her a tissue, he leaned against the desk and took in her body language, noticing with grim certainty that she had been feeling off long before he’d even thought to discuss the paperwork with her.

She blew her nose. Then, with another tissue, she dabbed at her eyes and swept under the lower lashes, the tissue picking up some makeup on its way.

“Take your time,” he said.

Take your time? a part of him repeated. Since when did you get so soft?

Margot let out a deep, shuddering breath. Then, focusing more on the steadily growing pile of tissues she accumulated in one hand, she spoke.

“Up until a week ago, Penn Cattrall was sure that we were going to be filming entirely on a sound stage.” Her voice trembled, and she took a deep breath. “I – I was fine with that. A sound stage means that the lights come up, you step outside for some light, you know, no problem at all. But then . . . I don’t know how he got permission, but . . .”

She promptly pulled another tissue from the box and blew her nose into it. Thomas crossed his arms over his stomach, holding in his impatience.

Don’t rush her; let her find the words.

“I don’t think I can do it,” she admitted, and then it was a rush of words like a flood headed downhill. “I’ve been trying – I mean, I’ve been practicing, rehearsing in my room in the dark, just a headlamp and a flashlight, all by myself but – I can’t do it, I can’t do it in my own bedroom, let alone the fucking Parisian catacombs with the bones and the tunnels and – what if I get scared and then lost? What if – he said we’d be safe, but no one’s ever been permitted to film in the off-limits areas till now, and I – I’m terrified.” She buried her head in her hands. “How can I call myself an actress if I can’t get over this?”

He looked over her in silence.

“I’m going to ruin my career, and it’s just begun.”

Her words fell on deaf ears. Thomas began breathing slowly, deeply, and, while it clearly annoyed Margot, she caught on to what he was doing and matched his breaths. Inhale, hold, exhale, hold, repeat. Inhale, hold, exhale, hold, repeat.

When it seemed like she’d finally calmed, Thomas sighed. “The pressure you’re putting on yourself is not helping you. You will gain nothing from considering yourself a failure from the start. Your performance will be impacted by your thoughts. You will lose your starring role if you let this go on.”

“How do I stop it?” Margot cried. “You’re my teacher. Teach me.”

Thomas grimaced at the reminder.

“How do I get over this?” she asked.

“You don’t,” he said bluntly. “You simply learn to roll with it, as many other actors and artists before you have.”

Margot rolled her eyes. “Oh, great, another anecdote from your days on Battlefield Earth. I would’ve thought you’d told them all in class by now.”

“Mar- Miss Schuyler.” Thomas blinked a few times, reminding himself of decorum, of the rules he had to adhere to as a faculty member speaking to his student. “You’re not the first, and certainly not the last, actor working with their traumas and fears to complete a production. A simple Google search will tell you that a multitude of actors admit to feeling emotionally and mentally drained from the work they do that involves at least some aspect of their fears. For some, it is claustrophobia when filming in confined spaces for the majority of a film. For others, it is continual exposure to creatures or things that they may associate with terrible memories or have faced before and nearly lost. Fear of heights in an action film. Fear of large bodies of water and drowning after seeing such a thing happen in their childhood. And yes, fear of the dark and the unknown shrouded within it.”

She dabbed at her eyes with another tissue.

“You are not alone in your feelings. More to the point, you are not – and will not be – alone. You will never be alone like that again.”

She nodded.

And Thomas, quickly turning back to his desk, procured some papers from his desk and changed the topic.

“So, about your homework . . .”

🎬🎬🎬🎬🎬

Production Progress Journal Entry 1:

Within the Parisian catacombs, there is a sign that says (according to Penn Cattrall, who translated it for me): “Stop! This is the Empire of the Dead.”

They are not wrong.

To say that I am far beyond my comfort zone is an understatement. More accurately, I’m far beneath it (twenty metres or so, in fact; thanks, tour guide Jack/Jacques).

Penn had arranged a special tour for the cast and crew, which was done in staggered batches of ten with a guide in front and a guide at the rear to keep everyone together. Honestly, they didn’t need to arrange it like that; I doubt that anyone, when within the Empire of the Dead, would branch away from the group when surrounded by dust and bones and stale air. The tour was apparently the same as any regular tour, though the “special” part of it came into play once we had reached a certain point within the catacombs, when the guides took us through a clearly marked off-limits area to show us one of the many places we’ll be working in under the direct supervision of several officials and safety officers.

You think, once you’ve walked around in a cavern made of cadavers for forty or so minutes, you’d be relatively numb to the sight of another area stacked high with bones.

I just . . . didn’t expect the first shots we’ll be filming to take place within such a microscopic tunnel.

🎬🎬🎬🎬🎬

Thomas Hunt’s comments on Production Progress Journal Entry 1:

I am not surprised to hear of the extensive security and safety detail.

I am surprised that you didn’t expect to film in areas that may trigger claustrophobia.

Have you done anything at all to help mentally and physically prepare for the shoot?

🎬🎬🎬🎬🎬

Production Progress Journal Entry 2:

On the plane ride to France, I’d started listening to the podcast “How to Find Peace Within Yourself: A Guided Meditation to Alleviate the Darkness and Manifest the Light.” Once settled in my temporary hotel home for the next six or so weeks, I made space on the floor and did partake in some of their suggested activities, including mindfully making a cup of tea and waking up at ungodly hours to sit in front of the window and focus on how the light of the sunrise felt creeping up my body.

At about seven in the morning today, we made our first descent of many for this film into the catacombs.

Approximately nineteen minutes later, a safety officer had guided me out, where I’d narrowly managed to reach a trash bin before I’d vomited up my breakfast.

Manifesting the light through mindful tea making is bullshit.

Thank fuck it was only a rehearsal.

🎬🎬🎬🎬🎬

Production Progress Journal Entry 2.5:

Just got out of a last-minute meeting/admonishment talk with Penn. From what memory serves, he told me that he was worried we’d both bitten off more than we can chew with this ambitious project. I know he’s trying to soften the blow of the underlying warning of his words.

He is unimpressed. He has every right to be.

Whatever he saw in me when he chose me is not present now, and I don’t know how to come back from this.

I am not the only cast member who has to take frequent breaks from below; my co-star, Oliver Abel, is extremely claustrophobic. He has a scene planned for filming tomorrow that involves him squeezing through the aforementioned tunnel, and I honestly don’t know how he’ll pull it off.

I hope he can do it.

I hope we all can do it.

I don’t want to lose this opportunity.

🎬🎬🎬🎬🎬

Production Progress Journal Entry 3:

I don’t know if I can do what Oliver did.

He’s managed to use his fear to power his performance, sobbing desperately and clawing at the tunnel walls. First take, best take, and while I’m proud, I’m also nervous.

The past few days, Penn has allowed me to focus mainly on above-ground scenes while the crew gets more comfortable with working underground. But we’re running out of filler scenes to film. Soon, it will be my turn to wiggle atop a pile of bones (supplied by Penn’s affiliated prop company, and not the real bones of dead citizens) and plea for mercy.

I don’t know how I’m going to do it.

Especially if my headlamps malfunction, plunging me into darkness, as mentioned in the final draft of the screenplay I got a few hours ago.

Help.

🎬🎬🎬🎬🎬

Thomas Hunt’s comments on Production Progress Journal Entry 3:

You are too busy worrying about yourself that you are not learning from those around you.

🎬🎬🎬🎬🎬

The phone call came just before eight p.m.

Thomas had reclined in his favourite armchair, beat after a day of marking subpar assignments. His red pen had run out of ink halfway through an essay that was more a waste of paper and ink than an acceptable analysis on auteurist theory, and he’d had to switch from coffee to scotch after ripping apart Lance Sergio’s paper on Sophie’s Choice.

Really, how is that boy still enrolled?

The floor lamp positioned by his armchair went dark, and Thomas turned his head to look at it. He’d have to buy a new bulb for it. Been meaning to for a while now. Another thing to add to his ever-growing list of responsibilities and errands.

He blinked slowly at the shrill noise that broke the comfortable silence, realizing seconds later that it was his cell phone ringing. A number he didn’t recognize, with an area code he couldn’t place off the top of his head.

Still, he answered.

“Who is this?” he asked simply, leaning back into his chair.

Her hushed voice had him jolting straight up again.

“I can’t do this. Help me.”

Though he felt as though his blood has run cold, he kept his voice even as he asked, “How did you get this number, Miss Schuyler?”

“I have my ways.” She sounded on the verge of tears. “I’m scared. I don’t – I don’t think I can do this.”

And Thomas, being the level-headed, critical, highly regarded and rewarded director, actor, professor, and screenwriter that he was, sucked in a deep breath before replying.

“Yes, you can.”

“I can’t, I-”

Thomas’s voice was stern. “Margot. Did I not stand for you during your hearing? Do you think I said any of those things falsely? You have shown tremendous growth in such a short time. You led and assisted in multiple school projects. You have acting and producing credits for films that have been nominated – and won – awards.”

“I never had to do any of those things underground,” she argued, her teary voice giving way to a spark of anger. “I’m fine in front of a camera and behind it. I’m happy to be in the spotlight. But I can’t cope with this. Have you ever been to the catacombs? How lonely and suffocating it is to be so far below, hidden away from the world? I close my eyes for too long and it’s like I’m right back in that fucking shed my mother pretended was a house.” Her voice broke on the last few words, and Thomas’s chest tightened.

Her words were met with silence until he had gathered his thoughts on how to assure her.

“The camera crew is there. Mr. Cattrall will be there. You will not be alone. At the first sign of distress, they will halt filming so you can regain composure.” His voice hardened. “You cannot quit now. You have just begun to soar.”

“I’m going to plummet face-first into bones and debris.”

Thomas huffed. “Perhaps. But you will get up again.”

She sniffled.

“Have you considered a therapist?”

“It’s a little late for that.”

“It’s never too late to take care of yourself,” Thomas admonished. “A podcast and meditation are good starts, but the way you react to things that remind you of your trauma is rather unhealthy and will stunt the growth – both personal and craft-wise – that you have already made.”

She said nothing.

He cleared his throat. “Does Mr. Cattrall know?”

She snorted. “All he knows is I’m a failure. I can practically hear him calling for my replacement as we speak.”

Thomas checked his watch, then strained to remember the time difference. Eight p.m. here was . . .

“Are you calling me right before your shoot starts?”

He heard her take a sip of something. “I could barely sleep. I’ve felt sick to my stomach all night.”

“Margot, you are not making this easy for yourself.”

She snorted again. “It’s not going to be easy, period.”

Thomas sighed, running his fingers over one of the arms on his chair. “You need to tell Mr. Cattrall. A good director knows their performers. I’m sure he’ll be more lenient on you if he knew.”

“And be called a crybaby?” Margot snapped. “No, thanks.”

Thomas let out a huff of annoyance. “Margot, why are you even calling if you don’t want any of my advice?”

“Because . . . I don’t know anyone else who would care.”

Silence.

“Margot-”

“Miss Peaches is gone, and I can’t remember the breathing technique she taught me.” Her voice grew higher, hysterical. “I sleep with a lamp on because I can’t handle the feeling of being abandoned again. The few things I’ve filmed in darkness were done surrounded by dozens of crew members on sound stages where everything is predictable and there’s no threat of cave-ins or collapses.”

“Margot, listen-”

“You heard me that night on the set. You know how it makes me feel.”

“I do. I did hear you. I know what you’ve been through.” Thomas’s voice, once again, became strangely soft, soothing. “Margot, you cannot let this hold you back forever. You will face it again and again. It’s not something one simply ‘gets over.’ You have to learn with work with it, and make it work to your advantage.”

She sobbed, and his throat went dry. “How?”

Thomas closed his eyes. His fingers pressed firmly against the arm of his chair, as if smoothing down the edges of a peeling sticker.

“‘The enemy of art is the absence of limitations.’”

He hadn’t realized he’d said it out loud until Margot spoke again, her voice shaky but still understandable.

“Orson Welles.”

He hummed. “He was my father’s favourite filmmaker. My parents rarely let me stay up to watch movies, but when a Welles was on, well . . . he made the popcorn, I sliced the jalapenos, and we sat together under his spell. It was one of the few times we actually got along.”

“You put jalapeno slices in your popcorn?”

Thomas smiled. “Don’t knock it till you try it.”

“I’ll stick with Reese’s Pieces, thanks.” She sounded a bit more upbeat, which he found encouraging.

So, while it wasn’t something he normally advertised, he admitted, “My father named me after him, actually.”

The sound of Margot’s laugh was like a burst of sunlight on his skin, warming and comforting. “Really? How so?”

“Orson is my middle name.” Thomas failed to keep the smile out of his voice. “I understand why he did it, given Welles’s impact on cinema, but it was tough just learning how to spell it when I was a boy.”

“I’m trying to imagine you as a child. All I see is a scowling little boy in a suit.”

“You wouldn’t be very far off.”

“So you’ve always worn suits?”

“My mother dressed me to impress. And to get made fun of.”

Every time she laughed, the weight on his chest lifted a little more. And he found that he couldn’t hold back his own laughter, even as he shook away the memories of playground bullies kicking dirt at him and scribbling on his sleeves with markers.

“Thomas?” Her laughter had died down, and her voice was timid.

“Yes?”

Margot sighed. “Thank you. I feel a little better now. I’ll try to remember what you said, about taking care of myself and getting up again.”

He nodded, as if she could see it. “Don’t forget the quote.”

“Right.”

There was a pause.

“Could you . . . elaborate further on that?”

Thomas rolled his eyes good-naturedly. “Limitations breed creativity. They foster growth beyond its restrictions. Take your co-star for example. Claustrophobic, yet he filmed his scene well. You wrote that his fear powered his performance, made it stronger. You feel limited by your trauma. But could you work with it and use it to add verisimilitude to your character’s journey?”

Margot, wherever in Paris she was, took a deep breath that sounded like a gust of wind into his ear. “I – I’m not sure.”

“You’ve fuelled your performances before with your pain.” Thomas thought back to the first acting project she’d helmed since Clash at Sunset’s premiere, when Anders Stone tricked her out of millions of dollars. She’d played a fiery sidekick to her classmate Erik’s cliché cowboy, effectively stealing the show with how genuine her actions seemed to be. “You’ve used anger to your advantage. Pain is part of that realm. You do not have to be sure. You only have to try.”

In the background of her side of the call, he could hear someone talking to her. Then, Margot’s voice came back on the phone, apologetic.

“I have to go. It’s time.” She paused, then added, “Thank you. Really. I’ll try to make you proud.”

Thomas smiled to himself and said, “Don’t forget to do your progress report.”

🎬🎬🎬🎬🎬

Long after she’d hung up, he stared at his phone in silence.

I’ll try to make you proud, she’d said.

You already have, he wanted to reply.

🎬🎬🎬🎬🎬

He poured three more fingers of scotch into his glass and carefully selected two perfect ice cubes from the steel container on his drink cart. Flicking on a random channel, he attempted to absorb the film that was already midway through. Instead, it was a flashy, action-packed thing for his eyes to watch while his mind whirred behind them.

He wished he could stop replaying their phone call in his head. The way he’d told her his middle name, admitted he’d been bullied for being different, and encouraged her to use her vulnerabilities to her advantage.

The sound of a gun firing temporarily shook him from his thoughts. Shaking his head to clear his mind, he raised his glass to his lips.

🎬🎬🎬🎬🎬

There had been a time when, if Thomas strained his ears enough, he could hear the echoes of Yvonne’s laughter, her voice crooning for him to join her on an impromptu adventure as an attempt to make him socialize more. He rarely willingly tortured himself with the memories, but on a night like this, with too much scotch in his system and the living room’s burnt-out lamp bulb shrouding him in partial darkness, he settled into his seat and closed his eyes, expecting his mind to conjure up the image of the woman he had once loved and chose to lose.

He saw his fingers running through her long dark locks that stretched far beneath her shoulders, framing her face in gentle, inky waves that shone impossibly beneath the night sky.

Her eyes, framed by dark lashes, dark brown irises shockingly bright and intent on his face.

Her cheek pressing into his palm, eyes fluttering closed as she leaned into it further, as if his touch soothed.

A silver-blue gown’s skirt twirling around her legs as they danced.

A different ethereal silver-blue gown rendered diaphanous by the rainfall.

Her angular face, flushed from breathless kisses, illuminated by the bright colours of the fireworks display.

Her voice was a whisper that reverberated within his skull, words overlapping with different emotions.

“Hunt?”

“Please, Thomas . . .”

“My feelings for you are not fake.”

His eyes shot open.

No.

No, no, no.

What did Yvonne look like?

What did she sound like?

What was her last name again?

Does it matter anymore?

🎬🎬🎬🎬🎬

Production Progress Journal Entry 4:

A wise man once told me that another wise man said, “The enemy of art is the absence of limitations.”

(Orson Welles, in case I have to give credit. This is a school thing, right? Do I need to put this in MLA/APA/whatever?)

The things I associate with darkness, particularly being along in darkness, are my limitations. They make me feel sick to my stomach, bring tears that burn in my eyes until they fall, and make me want to avoid any and all scenarios in which I’d have to face them.

I’ve fueled performances with my emotions before. I’ve used heartbreak to write a best-selling song and anger to light up a performance about a vengeance-seeking cowgirl. Certainly, I could do it again with this emotion, this sadness and pain.

And I did.

The pile of bones scene was terrifying, especially with the headlamp flickering on and off. But I knew I wasn’t alone, that despite the setting we were filming in, I was safe and seen. I was still scared, but I knew my character would be, too. I’d spoken to Penn Cattrall before filming the scene, and he’d told me that the pain I felt, if translated as well as Oliver’s claustrophobia was to his performance, made the struggles of my character real. He’s rewritten Oliver’s character to be claustrophobic, and he’s going to work on mine so that I can work through my fears.

In half an hour (I’m on break with Oliver right now; enjoying a panini from a nearby café) I’ll be filming a scene with Oliver in another area of the catacombs, a microscopic chamber with a hole in the wall. We’re both terrified. And we’re both excited to try.

🎬🎬🎬🎬🎬🎬🎬🎬🎬🎬

Author’s Note:

Hi, friends. It’s been a while, I know. “Real life” got a lot busier than I expected.

But anyway, just wondering if it’s worth it to keep posting the chapters of this story on Tumblr. I’m already posting it on AO3 as it is, and to be quite frank, there’s really no engagement here so I’m not sure if I’m just clogging the tags.

Please let me know what you think :)

[babbushka]

Mind & Soul (4/10)

The story of how one man fell out of love and into it again

Charlie (Marriage Story) x Reader

word count 4.5k ; warnings: Angst, Fluff, Cheating/Affairs

                                                      -----------------

One year ago…

 He stands, on the stage.

It’s empty, always empty when he’s there, these days anyway. He comes too early and stays too late. They call him a workaholic, and they’re not wrong.

They’re not wrong.

They don’t know that he’s running though, they don’t know that he’s flying, leaping, begging, desperate to be free, to cut himself free from this tether he’s tied around his own waist, around his own finger. He looks at his finger, sees the ring there, wonders when he’ll get rid of it. He could get rid of it now, if he wants.

He’s already getting rid of so much, gotten rid of so much.

“Fuck!” He shouts, loud loud loud in the empty theater, one o’clock in the morning, no one there but the ghosts in the rafters.

Oh, those ghosts. How they mock him. How they laugh and titter.

How they weep.

Or is it him, who’s weeping?

He paces the stage, restless. He’s so restless.

Nicole’s been distant, lately. Nicole’s been distant and he’s been terrified of why, of what he did wrong to make her hate him like this. She hates him, she said as much on the phone the other day. Maybe in not so many words, but she said it. She’s distant, wants Charlie to sleep out on the couch now. Doesn’t want him in the same bed, won’t let him touch her. He doesn’t want to touch her, not anymore.

He’s been spending so much time with you, lately. You, just next door, in your pretty clothes and with your warm smiles. You babysit Henry when they’re out at parties. They got rid of that other babysitter, Charlie always thought she was kind of strange. And you’re right there anyway, you’re right there.

He’s falling in love with you.

He doesn’t regret it.

He’s terrified.

You spend all your time together, these days. Writing in coffee shops, take-out dinners of Chinese or Thai, from the vendors right on the street. You’ll walk up and down Times Square together, point out different people, make up characters for them and laugh when they’re outrageous, or awful, or too good to forget. You’ll sit together on the subway, and you always tell him that the stop is coming up, because if you don’t, he’s not paying enough attention to know.

He spends a lot of time at your house now. He likes how it feels like a home, like home. He likes the furniture and the art on the walls and the general décor. He likes how it’s neat, but lived in. Not messy, like his house always seems to be. Even when Henry is over and you’re watching him for the evening, and you two paint or build legos, or play with his action figures and cars, and there’s shit all over the place, it never feels messy.

He spends so much time with you, it feels like he’s only ever spent time with you. And that’s dangerous, that’s a dangerous feeling, because you are not his wife. You aren’t his wife, but god. God how he wishes sometimes you were.

Charlie paces the stage, restless.

He knows Nicole is home, knows she’s with Henry. He should be too, he should be. But it’s so fucking tense in the house now, with him sleeping on the couch. Henry looks at him funny now, like he knows what’s going on. Charlie doesn’t even feel like he knows what’s going on.

So he can’t bare to face him, or her, or anyone, and he’s here, at the theater.

One o’clock in the morning, at the theater.

He figures, since he’s here, he might as well fuck around on stage, might as well do some work. He’s been working on and off the past few hours.

It’s a new play, one he was working on with Nicole. But then she stopped caring, stopped wanting to help, stopped wanting to work in theater, and suddenly she wasn’t around anymore, and he had to find someone new. One of his other actors, no one special.

He asked you, but you turned the offer down, too busy with your own work. You’re a writer too, like he is, but for film. And it’s different, but not really, but different enough to keep you busy. You were the first person he asked, when Nicole left.

You’re special.

It’s a story about an affair, ironically enough.

He and Nicole wrote it a long time ago, back when things were still good. Maybe they were never really good, but at the very least, when they were okay. When they were fine. When they had some semblance of happiness, they wrote it. Charlie remembers them laughing about how difficult the characters are being, how if they could just talk to their partners maybe none of this would have happened.

Charlie wonders if that’s why Nicole bailed on the play, because then she’d be confronted with the same thing, confronted with how she and Charlie keep making these same mistakes.

The story of a married man and a married woman, both leaving their spouses behind to be together, and all the painful, grizzly, awful messy details that come with it.

Charlie wonders if he had some sort of sixth sense, because he’s been thinking of having an affair. He’s been thinking of having an affair ever since Nicole slammed the door in front of your pretty face, a year ago when they moved into your neighborhood. He’s been thinking of having an affair with you, if you’d let him, if you’d want him.

That was always the scariest part, always the thing that stopped him, whenever he thought about it.

What if you didn’t want him, and you’d tell Nicole, and then the whole fucking can of worms would be out right there?

He paces the stage, figures, what the hell, might as well get some blocking done.

He has the script in his hands, the pages wrinkled and water-stained and ink smudged and lined crumpled. It’s a scene between the main characters, a fight scene, and he clears his throat, stands where he thinks he should stand, where he directed Frank to stand earlier, before everyone left him.

Before everyone left him.

“I can’t do this anymore.” He says, speaking the words on the page, speaking them and meaning them.

And then it’s time for the other character, the woman, to respond, but he’s alone. He’s alone, so he shifts his body to the empty space next to where he was, steps into her shoes.

“Can’t do what?” He asks himself, asks the audience of ghosts, empty theater chairs, too late at night.

“This, us.” Charlie steps back, feeling stupid, feeling like a moron, getting choked up on the words of his own script, “I can’t do us anymore. I can’t face the day like this, wake up like this, go on like this. I can’t do this. Can’t you know I can’t do this? Don’t you know?”

“Oh fuck, this isn’t fucking working!” And then he’s shouting, throwing the script down hard onto the stage floor, pacing pacing pacing.

He runs his hands through his hair, pulls tight, paces some more.

Paces until he slips on the pages of the script and is flying backwards, landing on his ass, right on the edge of the stage. He swings his legs over it, dangles them off the stage, and shoves his face in his hands and cries. He doesn’t know what to do, he’s so torn.

He loves you so much. He loves you.

He loves you.

He doesn’t know if he can have you, but he’s desperate for you. Just to hold you, to kiss you, touch starved.

And he knows now that he’s losing it, losing his mind, when he feels hands on his shoulder. Soothing, rubbing circles there right on the tense parts of his shoulders. He feels the body that the hands belong to bend down and pick up the script, feels the pages being rifled through next to him.

“Where are you?” You ask, voice soft, and he turns his red-rimmed blurred vision towards you, up to you, because of course it’s you, come to rescue him from himself.

“(Y/N).” Is all he can say, but you’re only frowning through the lines.

“Can’t do what?” You ask, ask both as the character and as yourself, asking if that’s the right spot, and he blinks his tears away, blinks and blinks but you’re still not disappearing. You’re no apparition or ghost or dream, you’re real.

His throat tightens, he needs to tell you, needs to ask you.

He’s terrified to ask you.

Because up to this point, it’s been a year of him developing these feelings for you with no way to know if you feel anything for him at all, feel anything at all for him. You know he’s married, Christ of course you know – you babysit his kid. But sometimes, sometimes he feels like it could work, it could be something, you both could be something.

Nicole doesn’t want him anyway, if the way she’s sleeping without him, working without him, living without him is anything to go by.

You’re waiting.

“Yeah, that’s – yes.” He reaches on the side of the stage for another copy of the script, and stands on wobbling knees, weak knees, knees weak for you. “Stand here?”

“Here?” You ask, going right to the mark on the floor, the small x made in white tape.

“Yeah, that’s good.” He nods, and he doesn’t know what to do, doesn’t know where to look. His hands are sweating, and you’re so beautiful, and you’re waiting. He leaves through the script to get back to where he was, “Okay. ‘I can’t do this.’”

“Can’t do what?” You ask, and even though you swear you’re not an actress, he can feel the emotion in your voice.

“This, us.” He recites, moves around you, the two characters moving, circling around one another. He never wanted the scene to be static, never wanted it to be so still. And with you here, he’s moving, he can move as he reads, “I can’t do us anymore. I can’t face the day like this, wake up like this, go on like this. I can’t do this. Can’t you know I can’t do this? Don’t you know?”

“I don’t, I didn’t. I won’t let you give up on me that easily, surely you know that?” And then you’re chasing him, chasing him around and around, “Can we talk? Can we just talk? There’s too many questions back and forth and no answers. Just talk, talk to me.”

“I don’t know what to say! I don’t know how to say anything around you anymore, all of it gets so jumbled up, all mixed up. You mix me up, and I’m so fucking afraid of what that means.” He throws his hands up, desperate, as the two of you make your way across the stage, behind the antique couch he had just picked up just for this, the one he hides behind when he says, “You talk first.”

You flip the page of the script, bite your lips for a minute.

“I told him, just now, that I’m leaving him.” You say softly, and that’s strange, that’s not at all how he envisioned the lines being read – but he doesn’t stop you, there’s no way in hell he’d stop you now, not when you’re already continuing as you sit on the couch, “He doesn’t know why, I haven’t said that part yet. I figure that’s not fair to him, not yet. But he knows I’m leaving, knows I left. I left and came right to you.”

“You did?” He asks, hands hesitating, reaching out for you. That’s not in the lines, not in the script, and he wonders if you’ll point that out, if you’ll stop him.

You don’t stop him, not when his hand cups your cheek, when he remains standing behind the couch. No, you don’t stop him, instead you tip your head back against his stomach, turn your face into his palm, your lips hot and wet as you mouth at his fingers before looking at him – really looking at him.

“I did. And I feel free. And I feel happier than I’ve felt in a long time, and now you’re telling me you can’t do this, but why? You’re scared. I’m scared too! Can you imagine how scared I must be too? At any moment you could throw me away, I know that. At any moment you could walk away from me, from this, and find yourself someone new.” And you’re yelling, crying, you’re up off the couch and delivering this small speech to the empty theater, and he’s stunned, because he didn’t envision it like this, not like this at all.

But he doesn’t interrupt, goes with it, and the thrill of the performance fills him with hope, that maybe it isn’t just a performance.

“I don’t – ” He starts, chasing after you now, crowding behind you at the edge of the stage, arms winding around your middle as you both look out into a spotlight he turned on just for this scene.

“I’m not saying you would, I’m saying you could. And I wouldn’t keep you. I wouldn’t force you to stay. That’s the worst part. You could walk away and I’d let you, because otherwise I’d be just like her.” You mourn, mourn the possibility of what could be, what could have been.

And suddenly, he gets it, the character. Gets it more deeply than he ever did when he and Nicole were writing it.

“You’re nothing like her. Nothing.” Charlie insists, but this…he isn’t so sure is acting. This he isn’t so sure is make-believe, is pretend.

“I know, but we’re all the same, in the end. We’re all the same, even if we’re nothing alike.” You say, and this is the part where he can’t help but get choked up.

He gets choked up now, because it’s so real, all of this is so real.

Why did things have to happen this way?

“I love you.” He confesses, “I loved her, once upon a time. I tell myself that, that I loved her. But now it feels like maybe I only loved the idea of her, the idea of someone to be beside me, to support me, to love me back. She didn’t want any of that, and that wasn’t fair of her, but she never said anything, she never told me – how was I supposed to know?”

“And me?” You ask, and there are tears in your eyes, and your chin is wobbling, and he brushes his thumb across your bottom lip to soothe you, the two of you forgetting the stage, forgetting the theater, forgetting everything.

“You?” He asks, and this is going to go off script, it has to, there’s no way you can stay like this, read these lines with the intensity that you are and not mean them for your own self. He doesn’t know what to do, what to say, he’s free falling.

“Do you love the idea of me, or do you love me?” You search his eyes, flip the page, “Do you love what I can do for you, or for who I am? Is it stupid? To think you could ever love me? Am I being stupid?”

“What…?” He shakes his head, because now this is for him, this is all him. No lines, no script, just feeling, just him.

Just you.

“You cheated on her, how do I know you won’t cheat on me too?” You read, but you’re really asking, you’re asking as you, asking him as you.

“It’s not, you’re not, being stupid. You’re not.” And he answers, meaning it both ways, meaning it as him and as the character he’s playing on this empty stage, “I won’t. I don’t know how I can prove that to you, but I won’t. I love you. I love everything about you.”

“What is it about me? That makes you want me more than you want her?” You ask, and the dance is back, the chase, as you walk away, as you walk around and around the stage.

You’re pacing.

“I don’t want her, not anymore.” Charlie says, and the words sting his throat when he says them but they’re true – all of this is true.

“Wanted, then.” You clarify, and he sits on the couch.

“You’re here.” He explains, and you laugh dryly, and you realize now why Nicole had laughed when he had first proposed it.

“Here?” You ask, and he can understand now, can understand how that makes it seem like he only has an interest in you because you’re around, but that’s not what he means, that’s not what any of that means.

“Here.” He takes his turn to clarify by jabbing his chest, beating his hands against his ribcage, and he’s standing again, starting to sweat from all the up and down. Somewhere far away is a world outside, but in the small theater, it’s just the two of you, and he pleads with you, begs you to see, to understand, “In here, you live here. You work here, you breathe here, you laugh and cry and smile and shout here. In me, in my soul. You’re fair and practical and selfish and stubborn just like me. You’re realistic and fantastical and have daydreams and goals and you’re here. You’re here.”

“What happens when I’m not anymore?” You demand, terrified.

“You’ll never not be, don’t you see?” Charlie gets on his knees in front of you, falls down to his knees which have given out in your presence, too overwhelmed with all of this, with having you so near like this, “When the sun rises when it rains when it snows I think of you. Of your laugh and your jokes and your fears, deep and dark and just like mine. You’re just like me. And you drive me crazy in the best ways, in all the ways that matter, and some of the ways that don’t. But you love me, and I love you. And it isn’t stupid.”

“In what ways?” You ask, and now you’re crying.

“The way you take up too much of the bed when you sleep in late, the blankets. I always wake up cold but I’m not really cold, not really. Not when I have you, when you’re there next to me. You’re warm. The way you tell me when my work is bad, when my choices are bad. You always tell me, but you don’t try and change me, don’t try and fix me. You don’t try and force me, but you tell me when I should try – does this make sense?” He asks, breaks character at the end – or was the character broken a long time ago?

“Keep going.” Is all you answer, and he nods.

He goes off script.

“I hate when you chew gum but I love how you always offer me a piece. You make sure everyone is taken care of, all the time, everyone including yourself. You’re not a doormat, you don’t let people walk all over you. You don’t let me walk all over you, when I don’t realize that I am. You call me out on my bullshit, and it’s shit to hear it, but I need to hear it. I need it. I need you.” He looks up at you, and you realize that he’s gone off page, you realize that the script is fluttering softly against the floor somewhere off stage where he’s tossed it.

Because this is him, laying himself bare to you, opening himself up to you, terrified that you’ll reject him, and you realize that.

“Do you need me, or do you want me?” You ask, reaching a hand out for him.

You help him stand, and now it’s just you, you and Charlie, because you’ve tossed your script down too.

“Why can’t it be both? Who says it can’t be both? It’s both.” Charlie says, so quietly, “It’s both.”

“What happens now?” You ask, licking your lips, unsure of where to go. “In the script?”

You’re both so unsure.

“They kiss.” Charlie replies, and you nod.

You swallow hard, and take a step towards him, towards Charlie.

Your faces are so close, as you slowly, slowly crane your neck up towards him. Your eyes slip closed, and he can feel his heart hammering in his chest, because there is a year’s worth of buildup leading up to this moment.

He wonders if he’s dreaming, if he’s actually passed out in the theater seats somewhere, and this is some sick and twisted figment of his imagination. But you’re so warm in his arms – when did he wind his arms around you? – so comforting and safe, and you’re licking your lips again, but this time it’s to wet them for Charlie, just for Charlie.

“We can stop.” Charlie says, even though it would kill him, it would probably kill him, if you stopped right now.

“I don’t want to.” You shake your head and that act saves him.

He doesn’t wait a moment longer, before leaning down the last remaining inch and meeting your lips in a searing, bruising, longing kiss. And when your lips part for his tongue, when the chorus breaks through his veins and his blood is singing and he’s electric, he’s on fire, he can’t help but let out a big laugh against your lips. He’s relieved, so relieved, elated, soaring, higher and higher as he cups your face, slides his arm around your waist.

“I love you.” You confess when you pull away, needing to breathe. You’re laughing, putting your hands on the side of your head, on your temples, like you’re fighting a headache or a dizzy spell, “I feel sick about it sometimes, how much I love you.”

“How long?” Charlie asks, because he needs to know.

“I…” You’re embarrassed, ashamed.

“How long, (Y/N)?” He asks again, soft, gentle. He’s fucked up so much in his life, he wants to do right by you, wants to be gentle with you.  

“Since the very first day. It’s awful, I know. I know it is. I can’t stop thinking about how awful it is, wanting you, a married man. But…but then you kept being so wonderful, you know? And you kept caring, and being kind and funny and a genius and handsome. And you kept talking to me, and we became friends, and I couldn’t snuff out the part of me that wanted you so badly, so it festered and grew and broke my heart. You broke my heart before you could even hold it in your hands, isn’t that pathetic?” You’re crying again, looking up at him with wet eyes.

Charlie feels like he’s high, feels like he’s drunk, like he’s crazy, all at once. He’s never been more thrilled, never been more excited –

“You make me feel alive.” He realizes, and then he’s crying too, because “Fuck, you make me feel like I’ve never felt before, and I know it’s a cliché, but I feel like I’ve never been in love before, not the way I am with you. All of that, all of it was true, even if it wasn’t meant to be, even if they were just lines – things have changed for me, and all of it was true. All of it was for you.”

“What are we going to do?” You ask, and he likes that, likes the way you talk about ‘we,’ (in the present, he still think about it, about how even from this very first night, you’ve always talked about ‘we’), “I don’t know…I don’t know if I can be apart from you, not now. Not after this.”

“I don’t want to, I don’t ever want you far away from me, even now, even this is too far.” Charlie says, and you laugh when he brings you closer and closer, until you’re stepping on his shoes, standing on his feet, chests glued together through your thick woolen sweaters, “Why shouldn’t we both be happy? Why shouldn’t we do something for ourselves, just once, just this one thing?”

“Charlie, I need to know what you mean, exactly what you mean.” You say, with too much hope in your voice.

“I love you. I want you. I need you. I never want to be apart from you, and you feel the same. So why deny ourselves each other, why suffocate this one chance of happiness we might have? I know the play, I know how it ends, what they go through to get there. And it’s worth it, all the bullshit is worth it, (Y/N), if it means we can have one another.” He promises. He hasn’t made a promise like that in years, one he’s hell-bent on keeping.

“We’ll have to be quiet about it, no one can know.” You say, and he just might black out, “We have to do this the least painful way, the way that hurts everyone the least.”

“Nothing really has to change, if we don’t want it to. We can still spend time together, no one has a problem with that. No one suspects anything’s wrong with that. We can spend time together and then some more, and maybe some more, and some more after that too.” He says, rushes to say, lists off the things that he wants, presses his forehead against yours.

“You want me? You really want me?” You ask, going cross-eyed to look at him.

He feels like he’s never been looked at so much in his life.

“I feel like the stupid one, I’ve been so afraid, so scared, for a whole year, that you wouldn’t want me.” He whispers, takes your hand in his and runs his thumb over your knuckles, cups your cheek with his other one, “We could have had this for so long.”

“What happens now?” You ask, but this time, you’re asking for real, asking life, asking him.

And he takes a step back and stares at the ghosts who are silently watching, judging, betting on what he’ll do. And he looks back down at you, and he finds you’ve moved your gaze skyward yourself, searching for something that he doesn’t know.

He doesn’t know anything, not really. But he can try, try to find out. The both of you can, together.

So he looks at you, and tilts your chin to meet his once again, and you smile so wide when he licks his lips and says,

“Now we kiss.”

                                                     ---------------

Tagging some Charlie lovin’ friends!  @driverficarchive​    @adamsnackdriver​ @dreamboatdriver​ @kyloxfem​ @solotriplets​ @tinyplanet-explorers​ @candycanes19​ @callmehopeless​ @kylo-renne​ xsister-serpent @girlyisthatweirdkid phoebewalker04 @stylelovechild​ @formerly-anonhamster​ ��@magikevalynn​ @ccorleones

[danganronpaheadcanons]

Theory: Danganronpa 53 wasn’t made by the actual stakeholders of the show, it was a “copycat” ‘dark web’ show made by people who were dissatisfied with how the show ended in season 52.

-In prologue, Rantaro is the first one to catch on what a group of high school students, particularly 16 students being gathered could mean.

What he says in reaction to seeing Monokubs is that is “けど、誰の仕業なんすか？どうして、こんなふざけた真似事を―” (“Kedo, dare no shiwaza nansuka? Doushite, konna fuzaketa manegoto wo―”) which was translated as “But who’s behind all this? Why the ridiculous theatrics―” in the NISA translation, but “真似事” (manegoto), wherever you look it up, has the meaning of “1. imitation; copy; make-believe; pretence; sham​

2. doing something in a way that only superficially resembles the real thing​”

Which points to him both recognizing “highschoolers suddenly kidnapped and trapped” setting AND seeing the “knock-off Monokuma” Monokubs, which points to someone making a “knock-off Danganronpa”, so asking who was behind it.

He also reacts “I can give you my name. My name is Rantaro Amami. Let’s leave it at that for now.” which, seems like a weird thing to say, as Kaede responds with “Huh? Um… Okay.” but would make sense if he was in Danganronpa 52, an actor in an actual reality TV show before the franchise ended, so being used to people asking for a signature or more, worrying about a possible fangirling/fanboying reaction that would distract from the situation at hand.

-During Trial 6, some comments talks about they have been waiting for a long time, one in particular saying “It’s been three years!” which points to 3 year gap in between Season 52 and 53, which wouldn’t make sense if it truly was a franchise so popular and still going strong, loved by the world, like Tsumugi claimed.

-It would also make sense with the “copycat criminal/cosplaycat criminal”, as Tsumugi would have run a copycat crime of Junko Enoshima, a fictional character in a franchise she is obsessed with. If “deaths” up to V3 were just “acting”, something similar to Survivor in our universe, it would make sense for someone so obsessed with the franchise being one of the people advocating for a “Real Killing Game”.

-It would also make sense with why everyone seems to be from a different school in the prologue. If it was indeed made by people who are connected on the web, fans of this show, with possible profit angle to it as a dark web show, if they kidnapped people they know to have some talent they are working on and are fairly good at (as Kaede says she has a talent she devotes herself to but wouldn’t call herself amazing at, as unlike what the translation translated it as, the term “Ultimate” doesn’t come up until Monophanie says they look more like Ultimates post wardrobe change, and Kaito and Shuichi says it’s same for them as well) from completely different places, so that it would be harder to track who was behind all those seemingly unrelated kidnappings.

-Alternatively to the last point, they could have auditioned to be in Danganronpa 52 or 53, again the Survivor audition type of “talking bold about things they would do to get accepted into it”, but with the company going bankrupt/people losing interest in the show at that point and the show sizzling out, if they weren’t a really big fan of the show, they would have forgotten about that.

In either case, whether their 'pregame videos’ were recorded by a cosplaying Tsumugi who cosplayed as a version of them that doesn’t exist in the real life, therefore a “fictional” character, or if they were real, would mean that their prologue selves still were their “real” selves, as an audition tape for a show you know to be scripted and acted wouldn’t say anything on what you would do and feel in a real death or life situation.

Tl;dr With Rantaro’s reactions in the prologue, added to it taking a bit for others to recognize the setup and giving not exactly most positive reactions to it, added to fan comments at chapter 6 and Tsumugi’s own comments of being a “copycat criminal” who was “cosplaying”, it is a plausible scenario where “Danganronpa being a popular show not everyone is a fan of but heard of exists”, “V3 cast didn’t join for an actual killing game and their reactions in the prologue were genuine” and “Rantaro gives reactions of someone who is fairly familiar with the setting, acts like a celebrity that’s going 'no pictures’, calling the setup a 'ridiculous knock-off/sham/imitation” can coexist together, with a slight twist.

[goodbye-toallthat]

David Byrne - How Music Works

The constraints make the piece vs the “romantic” notion of creativity

“I believe that we unconsciously and instinctively make work to fit existing formats.”

“In a sense, the space, the platform, and the software “makes” the art, the music, or whatever.”

“It seems that creativity, whether birdsong, painting, or songwriting, is as adaptive as anything else. Genius—the emergence of a truly remarkable and memorable work—seems to appear when a thing is perfectly suited to its context. When something works, it strikes us as not just being a clever adaptation, but as emotionally resonant as well. When the right thing is in the right place, we are moved.”

“We do express our emotions, our reactions to events, breakups, and infatuations, but the way we do that—the art of it—is in putting them into prescribed forms or squeezing them into new forms that perfectly fit some emerging context.”

On performing and its relation to recorded music

“What was originally a simulation of a performance—the recording—has supplanted performances, and performances are now considered the simulation.”

On the power of music: 

“Music tells us things—social things, psychological things, physical things about how we feel and perceive our bodies—in a way that other art forms can’t. It’s sometimes in the words, but just as often the context comes from a combination of sounds, rhythms, and vocal textures that communicate, as had been said by others, in ways that bypass the reasoning centers of the brain and go straight to our emotions. Music, and I’m not even talking about the lyrics here, tells us how other people view the world—people we have never met, sometimes people who are no longer alive—and it tells it in a non-descriptive way. Music embodies the way those people think and feel: we enter into new worlds—their worlds—and though our perception of those worlds might not be 100 percent accurate, encountering them can be completely transformative.”

“Not only could recordings bring distant musical cultures in touch with one another, they also had the affect of disseminating the work and performances of singers, orchestras, and performers within a culture.”

“Classical music has been piped into 7-Elevens, the London Underground, and the Toronto subways, and the result has been a decrease in robberies, assaults, and vandalism.”

Responsibility in the creation of music: 

“It would be impossible for the listener to establish at which point the authority of the performer gave way to that of the producer and the tape editor, just as even the most observant cinema-goer cannot ever be sure whether a particular sequence of shots derives from circumstances occasioned by the actor’s performance.” - said by pianist Glenn Gould

“Just as theater is an actor and writer’s medium, and cinema is a director’s medium, recorded music often came to be a producer’s medium, in which they could sometimes out-auteur the artists they were recording.”

On lyrics in a song: “When some phrases, even if collected almost at random, begin to resonate together and appear to be talking about the same thing, it’s tempting to claim they have a life of their own. The lyrics may have begun as gibberish, but often, though not always, a “story” in the broadest sense emerges. (…) But at times words can be a dangerous addition to music—they can pin it down. Words imply that the music is about what the words say, literally, and nothing more. If done poorly, they can destroy the pleasant ambiguity that constitutes much of the reason we love music. That ambiguity allows listeners to psychologically tailor a song to suit their needs, sensibilities, and situations, but words can limit that, too.”

What is music? 

“…before recording technology existed, you could not separate music from its social context. It was pretty much all tied to specific social functions. It was communal, and often utilitarian. You couldn’t take it home, copy it, sell it as a commodity (except as sheet music, but that’s not music), or even hear it again. Music was a singular experience, something connected to a specific time and place. It was part of the continuum, the timeline of your life, not a set of “things” that lived outside of it.”

“Music is made up of sound waves we encounter at specific times and places: they happen, we sense them, and then they’re gone. The music experience is not just those sounds waves, but the context in which they occur as well. Many people believe that there is some mysterious and inherent quality hidden in great art, and that this invisible substance is what causes these works to affect us as deeply as they do.  This ineffable thing has not yet been isolated, but we do know that social, historical, economic, and psychological forces influence what we respond to—just as much as the work itself. The arts don’t exist in isolation. And of all the arts, music, being ephemeral, is the closest to being an experience more than it is a thing—it is yoked to where you heard it, how much you paid for it, and who else was there.”

On art

“Dissanayake writes that art that engages the mind and the hands, that is not just passive connoisseurship, can act as an antidote for our contagious and alienated relationship to our own societies. She sees art making as capable of instilling self-discipline, patience, and the ability to resist immediate gratification. You invest your time and energy in your future. … There’s a growing movement, a real turning away not just from the passive absorption of culture, but from art and music as mere vehicles for expressing concepts. The hand has been brought back into the lives of a new generation.”

For the Japanese tea drinking was art - “There’s a lot for a cup of tea, but one can see that elevation of the mundane in a lot of areas of daily activities in the East. The poets, writers, and musicians of the Beat Generation were inspired by the Eastern idea. They too saw the transcendent in the everyday and saw nobility in the activities of ordinary people. This is an almost Cagean view of the arts—that it’s all around you if you merely adjust the way you look and listen.”

[gayboysero]

god its been like ten years since i watched naruto but you know that one arc where they’re taking a test and the point is that you have to use your ~ninja skillz~ to cheat without being caught?? well imagine that but with 1-A

(and like the goal instead of being “pass on ur own” is that all 20 members of the class have to pass)

ofc the point is that the questions are so ridiculously hard that there’s no way anyone can answer them legitimately (except yaomomo but we’ll come back to her in a minute)

like midoriya and iida and bakugou realize that they’re fucked just from looking at the problems, so they’re trying to figure out what angle aizawa is playing at, but while they’re doing that kami and mina begin their standard cheating operation. midoriya watches sero kick a note to kami when he realizes. they have to cheat!

he coughs a few times which uraraka picks up as the Dekusquad Distress Signal. she starts absently humming the girls’ panic tune, so mina and jirou also realize whats up. mina makes a lil “WE HAVE TO CHEAT” sign which she passes to kami, who (using sero’s tape) sticks it to the back of ojiro’s tail so the rest of the class can see.

so yeah they’re all working together to share momo’s answers with everyone. momo starts making little answer cards pop out of her legs, which dark shadow picks up and distributes to the people around him. jirou uses her earphone jacks to hear yaomomo mouth the answers, while shouji splinters a bunch of tiny eyes off behind him to peek, then hands to write.

baku doesn’t like relying on the rest of them, but his explosions aren’t gonna help him so he decides to make a distraction. he asks to go to the bathroom and once he’s outside he swallows his pride and texts todoroki to come outside as well. todo is a shit actor but he tells aizawa he’s feeling sick and uses his quirk to heat his face up so it seems like he has a fever. right as he’s leaving the room baku comes back in and purposely bumps his shoulder, then he starts getting bakumad about it and pulls todo out into the hallway, ostensibly to fight. it’s not super convincing but it does make aizawa go outside for a few seconds to stop them.

while that’s happening, tsu,  shouji, and dark shadow distribute tiny answer cards momo made to everyone and they all start frantically copying. they’re all gonna do great- except todoroki, who can’t actually finish the test because he’s at the nurse. however, in the few seconds aizawa was out of the room, sero had grabbed his test and managed to fill it out for him. the only issue is that they have to get it back onto todoroki’s desk.

people start passing in their tests- iida and kouda first, then aoyama. but as aoyama turns around to go back to his desk, he sees sero with todoroki’s test give him an Uh Oh look. so he whips his lil ass around and tells aizawa he has to ask a question about one of the problems. aizawa says he already finished and he can’t un-hand it in, so aoyama starts arguing with him. its only a few seconds, but its enough to let sero underhand todoroki’s test to dark shadow who flings it onto todoroki’s desk.

and they all pass!!