#tina coins | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

running-with-kn1ves · 3 months ago

Text

Your Private Dancer

A/N: Everybody say thank you Tina Turner; man I really am just a mixture of everything I’ve seen and heard.

CW: Dancing for money, sex work/ prostitution mentioned, using money as manipulation, Reader wears makeup n' heels lmao

Synopsis: You work at the downtown peep show dancing for quarters, trying to get out of the rough patch you’ve fallen into. Seemingly, a man out of your usual customer regulars has business with you.

Tonight, a habitual fear bobbed its way inside your head, just as it had the night before. The idea of your boss’s beige, neatly ironed trousers becoming ever-so visible from under the slowly rising black curtains was making an appearance, his aged face slick with sweat, with desire behind the see-through plastic shield.

Again, the same scene but with a distant friend on the other side of the decaying plastic that separated you from your… clients. They’d be popping in the coins you worked for-- mere quarters, often giving you barely enough to buy a drink for the night.

This line of work could be greedy, could sap all energy and self-worth you had-- but for some, it had led to better lives; ones where they could purchase groceries for their kids or nice handbags if they decided to skimp out on dinner that week.

Never you, though. How long has it been since you started working at the peep show, two months? You barely made enough to cover rent, and that was primarily paid for by your office job handling phones and directing clients to your bulging boss’s office.

Taking a swig of some bottom shelf vodka you so sneakily hid into a mug, you drank the thoughts away, waiting patiently for the electric blue lights to come on. If you had any less self respect, you’d dare to sit on the yellow tile beneath your studded heels, legs aching from standing ten til’ two waiting for some man or another off the street to feed your coin box something of substance. You prayed for whoever came next-- if anyone-- they wouldn’t try to shove another piece of gum or arcade coin in as a cheap ploy. You thought they did it more to fuck with you and get a free show than a true lack of being able to pay for their lust.

On the brink of lighting an unused cigarette left next to your mug, the lights of your five-by-five room soon became illuminated by the cobalt blue lights of the client room across from you. Velvet curtains rose to show a pair of black slacks, left knee impatiently bouncing. The blue never bathed the entirety of your small room; it was just an illusion for the paying customer, making everything in front of them turn an electric shade that used to burn your eyes; now, you wished you were doused in that blue, instead of witnessing the yellow stains on the walls beside the see-through window, the dirty circles formed on the green walls from put-out cigarette butts.

The curtains rose to his neck, and you knew it was time to start dancing. You were by no means a professional-- hell, you never moved this much unless it was in this room. But you were pretty good at making yourself consumable, as if the men on the other side could have you-- could taste the way your hips gyrated and how you grabbed at your chest, stroking and fondling yourself in a desperate attempt to keep the money coming. For some of those who worked the peep show, it was liberating; no man could touch them, and they could rake in all the money they’d need. For you-- it was just a step above demeaning yourself to being touched.

You started slow-- sensual. He was looking at you, of course-- but he hadn’t even gotten his pants down yet. You rarely get these kinds of men, the ones who just liked to stare, maybe smoke a cigarette and put the rest of their quarters in their pockets to leave with a frown of boredom.

You let your hands rise from your hips, gracefully dancing up your stomach, to your chest. You circle around your shapes of hard and soft, letting each curve flow beneath your fingers as if it were his hands touching you.

You hadn’t gotten a good look at the man, watching him from the corner of your blurry eyes as he brought a hand to his mouth. He stroked his jaw before bringing the cigarette between his fingers to his lips. He scrutinized, a small line creasing under his eye as his gaze traveled the intimate way you swayed your hips.

He occasionally took a drink from an engraved scotch glass saved for VIP members, those who made monthly payments in cash that the owner hoarded in his liquor cabinet. Not many paid such a hefty price unless they routinely took clients or coworkers here-- and even then, the existence of powerful businessmen in such a grimy part of the city like this, with a less than clean business-- was so rare you were suspicious.

But your suspicions were buried as soon as he left your dancing cell, your mind quick to focus on electric bills and the next few nights of eating dry pasta and watching bad reality TV, slaving away at the office and more early mornings at the peep show. It almost didn’t surprise you to see him at your dance room again a few days later-- until he started showing up multiple times a week. Like clockwork at 11:02, he was sitting across from you with a cigarette or an indulgent glass. Sometimes, he’d merely watch. You had a few regulars, but none like him… not ‘this’ regular.

Even with keeping your eyes glued on your own reflection, you’d catch the dark blacks of his own trained on you, his face bathed in blue and zoned in on your expression. He never unbuttoned his pants, never lingered his eyes on one area for too long, even if he scanned you up and down with a sultriness.

You couldn’t deny that you felt like you needed to impress him, to make him react or find a reason to keep seeing you; he was allowing you to afford paying rent, putting coins in to last for a 30-minute session before he’d disappear into the night. But you never spoke to him, never had any kind of interaction besides that unspoken ritual.

Another month at the peep show passed, and you found yourself fixing up your makeup in the vanity, trying desperately to get a thick layer of eyeliner right. A thick knock rapped against the dressing room door, a foreign sound; none of the workers knocked, finding no reason to. Your boss stuck his head through the gap, his receding hairline shiny and his thin silver chain looking dull from the overhead light. For such a sleaze, he was kinder than most when it came to treating his employees fairly. Maybe because he was keen on avoiding complaints and federal eyes.

“Got a visitor for ya.” He chewed a thick wad of gum, talking in a voice lower than you had ever heard him speak in. “This one’s a big fish, alright? Don’t do anything to piss him off-- he’s the reason you’re getting such a good payout tonight.”

Payout? You didn’t get paid in anything other than quarters once the night ended, unless someone was looking for further services of which you were not interested in providing.

Your boss leaves the door open a crack, his mumbles traveling in as he spoke to someone outside. The door was knocked on again, but no one came in.

“It’s open.” You say, a little thrown off by the way your voice cracks a pitch higher.

The door opens fully, closing behind the stranger as he moves forward. You look in the mirror to see him, but are forced to turn around to believe your eyes.

“It’s you.”

You look at him-- nice suit, pressed and finely tailored, with even a small handkerchief in its breast pocket.

His hair isn't dark like you had imagined under the blue light, but rather a gold brown, deep and cool-toned. For being so young, he had deep creases below his eyes, as if he had been worried since birth.

“I’ve paid for your shift tonight. “ He stares at you, direct but with some underlying, concerned thought. “Your manager says there’s a room upstairs, where we can be alone-- privately.”

You’re disgusted by the mention of anything above the underground cells you’ve danced in, recalling the thin walls of faked moans and foul dialogue you’d tried to avoid.

“I’m not a prostitute,” You say brusquely, watching the stoicism on his expression falter. “You can have your money back, I don’t want it if that’s what you’re expecting.”

“I’m not.” He says, sounding a bit off guard and adjusting his tie almost habitually. “I want.. To talk, If you can believe that,” His hard gaze shifts to minute worry, as if this wasn’t how he expected it to go. “This isn’t… I want to help.”

You’re more so puzzled than offended now, staring at the pool of his ink-like eyes, no traceable ounce of debauchery behind them. If you said no, it almost seems like he wouldn’t care less, besides for another crease layered under his eye.

“What for?” You question, guarded and fiddling with your absurdly short low-rise shorts; the discomfort was part of the appeal, supposedly.

“I have a proposition for you-- a deal. You don’t have to accept it, of course. Just listen to what I have to say.”

He lifts his eyebrows, trying to gauge your reaction, your potential interest. You continue to squint at him, realizing now you were near past the start of your shift; You were losing money as you sat here.

“Maybe this will convince you; I already let your manager know not to bother us.”

Like a true businessman, he rummages through the inner pockets of his suit in an attempt to find something hidden. Finally reaching into the left side he pulls out a thin, blank envelope.

With two hands, he brings the envelope towards you with unnecessary formality, and you waste no time taking it. Besides overdue bills and unpaid bank statements, you rarely opened any other kind of unmarked envelope.

It wasn’t even closed when you tried to open it, the top un-licked and sticky. You looked inside, not needing to take out the content to understand what was in it. Several fifties were lined against each other, scarce in their numbers but large in what they equaled together.

“What… is this for?” The shock you gave with your agape mouth almost made him grin a bit, fascinated. He rarely felt pleasure in the wide-eyed stare his clients would give him at the same sight, but you weren’t them. Oh no, you were far from them.

“Just a talk. I can pay you more afterwards.”

Your gut senses danger-- perhaps he took pleasure in luring unsuspecting victims from low places with money, killing them for sport. But, he looked too clean-- too unmotivated.

You should say no, should turn away and finish putting on your makeup and tell him you aren’t looking for a pimp.

You pocket the money, crumpling the envelope and putting it on your vanity.

“I don’t do anything under the clothes; I can give you a lap dance at most and that’s it.”

You lead the man out of the dressing room, not bothering to close the door.

He leads the way upstairs, watching the grimy pictures decorating the walls with feigned interest, some in black and white, others grainy and full of half-naked women. You kind of wish you had led the way now; atleast then you wouldn’t feel like you’re following an omen to your doom, farther deep into the velvet hallway.

“My name is Dakota.” He utters, quiet and firm.

You brush past him, getting in front to open the door at the beginning of the hall. “What, no last name?”

You still wonder if you should turn back, even if it means losing your job. But you persevere, holding a dramatic hand towards the now opened room as if you were a doorman.

“I imagine you aren’t interested in my last name,” He stops to take a short view of the client room before settling his eyes back on you. “And regardless, I’d much rather know yours.”

You open your mouth to speak, but are quick to be cut off as he walks past you into the creaky, red-pink room.

“I know you won’t tell me, a part of the show-room code, or so I’m told. but it doesn’t matter; I already know.”

He reads your mind again as you barely get a moment to protest.

“I’m accustomed to going through unnatural ways to find the information that I need, but don’t bother asking for why or how, I won’t tell you.”

Your body tenses as you shut the door behind you, the red lowlights of the bedroom making your heart pound just a little louder.

“You can’t just say something like that and not expect me to want to know-- it's my privacy damn it,” You’ve forfeited any sexy walking as you come closer. “If you’re some kind of creepy stalker--”

“I guess I could be labeled as that.” Dakota slumps to sit on the edge of the bed, sinking into the dipping mattress. He almost relaxes, shoulders drooping along with his eyes, uncharacteristically so.

“I’ve come here to offer you a chance for safety,” He loosens his tie, watching as you stand there, tensing your back and one step directed toward the door.

Dakota wasn’t blind to your hesitation, your unease. But you were wrong to think he’d let you go just because of a little fear; you had a lot to learn about him.

You watch him look at you, waiting expectantly for him to go on. But he doesn’t and you realize he’s waiting for you to start-- to do something of which he paid copious amounts of cash for. So, you do what you do best, and what you feel safest doing, where no man can touch or stroke you.

It’s not as extravagant of a dance as when you’re in the coin-operated cell, but it's intimate enough.

You keep your eyes to the floor, only looking up at Dakota to egg him on, letting your feet drift you in a rhythm. He looks entranced for a moment, offering a stare that was far from innocent-- but not as hungrily disturbing as you had expected.

“Your co-workers won’t be given the same option, this is an opportunity directed at and intended only for you.” You come closer, small struts as Dakota completely unties his tie. “I’ve got a variety of apartments across the city, most of which are rented out or used as a small place to come back to when I've got business farther out. And no-- I won’t tell you what kind of business I do.”

You almost grunt in frustration, keeping your eyes on him.

You’re nearly toe to toe with him now, watching from above as he puts his hands back on the bed.

“One of these apartments is not too far from here,” He squints his eyes, deliberating. “A few blocks away, I'd say.”

Your hands slow as you drop them to the front of your hips, Dakota’s eyes following them.

“It can be yours. If you’d like.”

“What?”

You stop, dropping your arms and watching the pink glow from under the bed cast a shadow up to Dakota’s cheeks.

“Some people call this kind of an arrangement “sugar babying” but that’s a bit too crude for my tastes.” His eyes are still traveling from your wrist to your forearm. “You’ll be on an allowance, of course. But it means you won’t have to work here anymore.”

The way he said ‘here’, it was clear what he thought of it.

“You can quit that desk job too; or keep it, if you want. But I can’t imagine it being much fun. Either way, you won’t be working here anymore. Not with the kind of men who are looking at you while I’m away.”

Dakota’s gaze finally met your own, his tired hand coming up to stroke his curved jaw.

“You’re not actually being serious, are you? This is some kind of sick joke?” You let out a short laugh, lacking in humor.

Even with him dressed to the nines in a suit that no creature who stepped foot in this place could afford, you wouldn’t allow yourself to believe it. You shake your head in ridiculousness, taking a step back.

“Sorry, I have other customers to attend to; I can’t be dealing with this shit right now.”

You turn to walk away, feeling less safe than you ever had; if he was delusional, or some kind of sick sadist who thought he could buy your life-- he had another thing coming.

“Hold on,” Dakota grabs at your fingers, almost desperate in his grasp. His eyes were void of anything other than concern. “I’ve booked you for the whole night, I don’t recall asking for you to leave.”

Booked? You were under the impression you just received a little extra bonus from this stranger. Just how much were your manager’s morals worth? Did he care AT ALL what he might’ve ‘sold’ you for?

Dakota held on, even with you hesitantly shuffling back to where you stood.

“You don’t have to accept what I’m offering-- just consider it,” He stays seated, bringing your hand palm-up towards him. “Though, I’ve been told I'm quite persuasive.”

“Look man, whatever you’re selling, I'm not buying. I’ll have you know I’m perfectly content with my job, and I’m not looking for some kind of ‘savior’ if that’s what you’re trying to be.”

You could feel your own lie cutting deep into you, and by the looks of it Dakota didn’t believe it either. He looked at you, a kind of benign glare leaving from his oaky eyes.

“Call me by my name.” He says, barely above a whisper.

“...Huh?”

“I’m not just some ‘man’. Call me by my name.”

Dakota ran his thumb down your palm to your middle finger, keeping your hand hostage between both of his own. He looked to you, then back down to his grasped treasure. He looked like he didn’t really know what to do with it, but that it was something intimate he didn’t want to let go of.

“Wha--okay fine. Dakota. This isn’t some kind of game,” The name felt weird coming out of your mouth, but watching who it belonged to’s reaction was even stranger.

He shivered. Physically shivered at the guttural hearing of his name, of the consonants and vowels sliding off your tongue.

Dakota looked down, avoiding your gaze as he memorized each line and indent in your fingers. You wanted to pull your hand away, to recoil in disgust and fling him off like some kind of bug. But in a way, he looked small sitting there, head down and entranced at the details of your fingers, the ridges of your palms, the shaking pulling at his shoulders as he asked you to say his name again.

“Dakota.” You mutter, wondering if this was some kind of kink.

With the way he stopped a groan midway from slipping, you were sure you weren’t too far off. But whatever he was into, now was not the time for discovery.

“This is, just ridiculous. Were you listening to me, at all?” You tilt your head, trying to catch his eyes to see if you could see what the hell he was so captivated by.

His thumb pressed hard against your palm, short nail digging just slightly to leave a crescent shape.

Without the response, you were starting to get fed up. You pulled your hand away, sliding smoothly out of his warm, dry grasp.

At this, his head shot up, watching you with a kind of look as if he had come from out of a panicked daze.

“I’ve wondered what my name would sound like from your mouth-- I could never hear anything from the other side of the glass.”

“...Right.” You aren’t sure if you should still be worried, but his fascination with you made you feel a little concerned.

Dakota propped himself up again, seemingly realizing his recent lack of finesse.

“Take my business card.” He seemed to say all of a sudden, searching blindly in his inner-jacket pockets like he did to give you your payment for the night. He seemed a little scattered, padding up and down to look for his cards before finding one in his breast pocket. “Here.”

You grab it, finally getting an inkling of answers to who he was besides the money and his name.

Unfortunately for you, the card didn’t offer much else from what you already knew. There was his name in ink-black font, ‘DAKOTA--VERIDIAN FIRMS’ and a small phone number, barely readable beneath.

“That’s my personal number. Day or night, don’t hesitate to call. I’ll answer.” He looks at you with an inappropriate level of intensity.

“Okay.”

“Now that that’s squared away--” He sighs, relaxing backwards again, watching you hold the business card. “We can return to business as usual;” He keeps his eyes on yours, displaying a kind of tension and expectation. “I believe you were dancing, and I was enjoying your company.”

You can’t imagine spending the rest of your shift solely dancing for one man, in this dreary far-too cold room that had seen too much. You don’t move, not ready for the rest of tonight to continue.

Dakota brings out another small envelope, this time with ease. Looking at it expectantly, he then looks back to you.

You began to move your shoulders to the rhythm of the thumping music from downstairs, using it as a way to distract your thoughts. Dakota puts the envelope on the bed, letting out a sigh as he voyeured in novelty, watching you gaze at the heart-shaped headboard behind him.

You tried to keep your thoughts empty, but it was near impossible. How much could you be bought for, and how much more would it take for you to agree to be his?

546 notes · View notes

royalarchivist · 1 year ago

Text

Tina: I'm rich, rich! Nobody's gonna stop me.

Phil: Rich, I tell you! [Leans into the mic] 64 coins.

Tina: Rich! [The admins start taking the coins back] NOOOOO! Stop-you wouldn't, you wouldn't! No! Please! I was meant to be rich!

Phil: [Tries to get more coins out of the ATM] Ohhh, quickly, before it's too late!

Tina: I was made to be rich! You... you don't want to see women succeed, do you?

Phil: [Cracks up]

Tina: This is fine. I understand! Let the men be rich! Let Badboyhalo take it all in a week! I understand! Fine! Oh my god.... This is unbelievable. I deserve this money! I cheated the system fair and square!

#TinaKitten #QSMP #Philza #Phil #Tina #February 3 2024 #AND SHES RIGHT

1K notes · View notes

fairestbeard · 2 months ago

Text

THE BEAR IS A DIRTY MOVIE:

Pt 1: Carmy vs Ball Breaker.

Despite all protests of it "not being that kind of show", The Bear is preoccupied with sex. By The Bear, I mean, the show itself is preoccupied with sex and so inadvertently its protagonists are. And why not? So much of our working world is consciously or unconsciously shaped by sex. Let's be real, the only reason you and I are here in the first place is because of sex- even if you are a test tube baby, you're still here because of sex- and it's failures thereof.

So The Bear has sex on it's mind. It doesn't spell it out in bold letters but it doesn't hide it either and there's no part that does this as loudly as season 1. Using symbolism, there are several filters you could put on this show to create new meanings and interpretations in a gift that keeps on giving and viewing it with a sexual filter makes it even more interesting.

*In Kdots voice*

Storer is a sick man

With sick thoughts...

Because The Bear season one IS dirty! It's filthy!

In the best possible way!

Ball Breaker

It is quickly established at the beginning of the pilot that the goings-on of the BB machine is of no small irritation to Carmy. It is the first thing that gets him to snap to the point of him considering pulling the plug (pun intended). Tina is there to warn him that "if you unplug it, it won't work again" with Carmy protesting he knows how it works.

After watching season 1 and this opening a gazillion times, I'm throwing out the theory that BB is a part of or a mirroring of Carmy's subconscious mind, kind of like intrusive thoughts that he finds uncomfortable but can't do away with anyhow. And Carmy might be, quite unfortunately (for him, not me), unintentionally porn brained.

First, the way BB is designed. It is supposed to be a "Norwegian knockoff of Mortal Kombat".

Why Norwegian, though?

Norway is a Scandinavian country known for having a very relaxed sex culture. Their culture allows and even encourages casual sex, so it's no wonder that a game coming from them will display so much raunchiness. Mortal Kombat is a fighting game and so is BB. With MK, it's blood and gore-ish images, while BB is wrought with the most hilariously insane lewd images- from a dirty map of America, player avatars with BBL butts, penises and balls name ribbons, scrotum faces, players transported in semen, etc.

BB highlights Carmy's struggle as sex starved, sexually repressed and frustrated young man. He wants to pull the plug- he'd rather kill those tendencies (some kind of castration) than have to deal with it. After Tina warns him about not unplugging BB, it shows an image of a player castrating another with the castrated player covering his genitals; in pop culture, the infamous "cock shame" reference. The machine says "boneless" to that. Carmy realises the machine might be backed up with coins and needs to be emptied, "Cream pie", BB interjects.

Cream pie= slang for ejaculating in a woman's vagina.

Even the way the scene plays out with Carmy hovering over the machine while it ejaculates coins is very sexually suggestive.

After this he tries to trade the coins with Chichi for some meat along with some vintage denim, Chichi says "what am I, a Coinstar?" Coinstar is a kiosk that trades coins but this is also a play on the word "pornstar". Ironically, what Chichi is doing in that moment is selling (his) meat. If you know you know.

You could also interprete that scene as a metaphor for sex or how Carmy's sex life will play out. The coins (representing sex) and other random offerings couldn't seal the deal, and only when Carmy offers Mickey's jacket (something of sentimental value) does the deal go through. So sex for the sake of sex will never be enough, at least for Carmy.

A manifestation of Carmy's psyche.

It's very interesting to note that Carmy is the only one bothered by BB. The machine is literally the loudest when Carmy is there, making rude and lewd interjections. Other people in the restaurant don't seem to notice or even mind it and it's mostly just background noise, whereas with Carmy it's driving him to insanity.

For contrast, in season 2, we see how calm Carmy is with the crawl space alarm going off. He doesn't need earplugs like Syd and Nat, he says to Cicero that he doesn't mind it even though the sound is driving everyone mad, including us viewers. He also initially thinks it's something in his head, pointing to the chaos always going on in his head.

Our introduction to BB at the opening sequence in the pilot of The Bear is also interesting. Notice where the BB sound plays and where it stops. We see it loudly mixed up with the opening music while he seems to be going through it, trying to find his footing for the day. Then when he takes a breather before meeting Syd, everything stops!

But, does it?

The only time BB is actually completely silent in that opening is when Carmy calls Nat. At that point, nobody knows who she is to him. He refers to her as "sugar" which could be a romantic term. Naturally, the audience might assume it's a romantic partner until further clarified. BB initially starts to make some noise but a voice from the machine says "Ah!", as if to halt them. Then it is completely silent while Carmy speaks with Nat. Then when Sydney walks in the sound resumes more quietly and we can here the BB theme playing in the background while they are introduced to each other.

Carmy's personal troll

Ball Breaker acts as Carmy's personal troll, mirroring his unconscious, commenting and antagonizing him about his mental state and sexual frustrations. We see that displayed in several instances.

In "System", apart from the "boneless" and "creampie" incident, we see BB describe the blood stain where Carmy had cut himself as a "cum stain".

In "Hands", the machine chooses the most unfortunate time to start skipping (mirroring Carmy's anger and irritation against Richie) causing him to lose his temper and lash out at Neil Fak to "fix it!".

In "Brigade", during the introduction to the brigade system, there's is an image of penis right behind Carmy as he tells them he isn't trying to be an asshole and mess up their system. The machine says "fuck you", because, of course he's bullshitting. He is upending the existing system for better or worse. When he introduces the new system, the french brigade, BB says "french press!"

French press literal meaning is a coffee maker, but it is also a slang for a sex position:

(The french press is also strictly an anal position not vaginal).

Now, in the french brigade system, the hierarchy puts Sydney directly under Carmy. Talk about suggestive!

Also if we want to go there (optional) with the BB psyche theory, this might be suggestive that a fully realized sexual Carmy would be anything but a vanilla kind of guy. Infact, he might be into or open to some kink.

Then, when Richie comes in and dumps all over Carmy's french brigade idea, BB says "cock blocked".

BB also shows the penis sketch when Syd takes over the meeting with a message "poot tutor available", which also a plays on the idea of anal sex:

Now this one kinda broke my brain a little bit and I might need to circle back to it in a different meta.

Fak and Ball Breaker

(sidebar: Didn't want to make this a subject on it's own but the whole BB fiasco also kind of takes a dig at gaming culture as a whole, with Fak being styled like your typical basement dwelling gamer bro)

Ball Breaker makes Carmy crazy. But he needs it so he calls Fak to fix it. As the designated handyman of the restaurant, Fak is always the one fixing the machine and spends a lot of time with it.

Fak's relationship with BB is so interesting because not only does he claim (and can) to know the inner workings of the machine, he displays an actual relationship with it. There is a scene where Fak directly speaks to BB and it responds back, suggesting that BB is not just a machine, it is actually sentient.

If you consider the concept of sex, it can be considered a machinery because it involves a set of objective rules and mechanisms to work and it is also a cog in the machine of life. But it is also sentient, in that, it is subjectively affected by certain conditions; physical, mental, emotional, psychological, socio-political, etc.

Fak is also shown to have inherited the BB machine, kissing it while taking it home and saying to it "your home is my home". So it is very interesting indeed that Fak has a major hand in how Carmy's sex and love life goes in season 2 and beyond, especially with the theory out there that Fak is living vicariously through Carmy.

_________________

One genius aspect of The Bear is how they use entwining metaphors through out the show. In other words, one thing might be a metaphor for something that is a metaphor for something else, making it possible for the show go just anywhere or even nowhere.

Using Ball Breaker as a tool to make a statement about the innate human nature as sexual beings is both loud and understated. It's the closest thing to just having porn playing in the background while making sure to not take away from the main storyline.

And it's funny as fuck!

#the bear #the bear meta #the bear hulu #the bear fx #sydcarmy #carmy berzatto #sydney adamu #carmy x sydney #sydney x carmy #syd x carmy

51 notes · View notes

melannen · 1 month ago

Text

Turnchetta playlist for @lesmisshippingshowdown

This is for @lesmisshippingshowdown which allows fanworks to give extra points in the polls. We are trying to get the very canonical and important pairing of Turning Woman #3 (a chorus member from the 2012 movie) and Musichetta (Joly's never-onscreen girlfriend from the book) onto the next round.

Even if you don't have a clue what Les Miserables is, can you vote Turnchetta here? As a favor? And if you're not sure, maybe this playlist will convince you of their deep canonicity and long-term importance to the fandom. Or just do it for chaos. Either one as long as you do it.

Spotify playlist:

Tracklist

Three Coins in the Fountain - Connie Francis

Musichetta stupidotta, scanzonata, innocente - Commenti Sonori

My Baby Loves A Bunch of Authors - Moxy Fruvous

What's Love Got To Do With It - Tina Turner

You Turn The Screws - Cake

Turn, Turn, Turn - Dolly Parton

Who Will Shoe Your Pretty Little Feet - Tennesse Ernie Ford

The World Spins Madly On - The Weepies

Sunday Bloody Sunday - U2

飛哥跌落坑渠 (Teddy Boy in the Gutter) - 李寶瑩, 鄧寄塵, 鄭君綿歡場三怪

Turn Around - They Might Be Giants

Tangled Up In Blue - Indigo Girls

Heartaches by the Number - Cyndi Lauper

Three Times a Lady - Sissel

Let's Face The Music And Dance - Diana Krall

Turn The World Around - Womansong

Liner notes and Youtube links under the cut. (Fanmix liner notes means "write a synopsis of an entire hypothetical musical" right? That's how I've always done it.)

These are largely old standards, which meant I had a range of cover options, and I went with women's covers most of the time.

Three Coins in the Fountain - Connie Francis

This was the first song I thought of for a Musichetta and Three mix! You can read this either as the three being Musichetta, Joly and Bossuet, and only one of them gets a happy ever after - or you can read it as Musichetta, Three, and one of their other working woman friends, and only one of them ends up marrying rich.

2. Musichetta stupidotta, scanzonata, innocente - Commenti Sonori

We needed an actual musichetta on this mix. The title translates as "Musichetta stupid, carefree, and innocent" - this is her in her early days, working, spending time with the girlfriends of her youth like Three, dreaming of a superb future.

3. My Baby Loves A Bunch of Authors - Moxy Fruvous

Here she is as she gets more involved with the students, gets drawn into the artistic world, goes to fancy parties, becomes someone's mistress, falls in love with literature and books.

4. What's Love Got To Do With It - Tina Turner

That world of surface romance and semi-transactional sex starts to harden her, even as she has one (two?) boys who delight in her and she in them.

5. You Turn The Screws - Cake

In the full musical version this would be a duet between Three and Musichetta where they are growing apart as she draws further into the political, literary, and bourgeois world of her students and Three commits to staying as she is and they both become scornful of each other's priorities. They see each other in passing around the Corinthe and don't speak but don't forget. (This is probably happening around the time of the July Revolution, with red, white and blue everywhere.)

6. Turn, Turn, Turn - Dolly Parton

And time passes and everyone gets older, and maybe it can go on like this forever but time passes and it won't, but it's always been that way. (This song is a quote from the book of Ecclesiastes which is very good poetry to read when you're disillusioned with the world and not sure what the point of keeping going is when it's just more of the same and always getting worse.)

7. Who Will Shoe Your Pretty Little Feet - Tennessee Ernie Ford

There start to be ominous undertones in Musichetta's world. It feels like July 1830 only somehow not the same. Her sweet boys fuss over her but at the same time start making noises about what she'll do when they're gone (but with very little understanding of what she *will* do if they're gone. She doesn't disillusion them of course.)

8. The World Spins Madly On - The Weepies

This song plays while both Musichetta and Three are holed up in their separate apartments across town from each other, hearing the gunshots go off and staying in bed, Musichetta thinking about how she's abandoned her boys to fight without her and Three thinking about how she's let Musichetta get involved in all that without her.

9. Sunday Bloody Sunday - U2

They wake up and go down to the Rue Chanvrerie and get blood all over their pretty little feet and their eyes meet while they sing and work together but separately.

10. 飛哥跌落坑渠 (Teddy Boy in the Gutter) - 李寶瑩, 鄧寄塵, 鄭君綿歡場三怪

This is a reprise of the first song, courtesy of 1960s Cantonese cinema which rewrote the lyrics as being about a girl of the town finding her boy stinking and disgusting in the gutter. I think it's supposed to be a scathing parody and he's just drunk and wearing too much perfume, but to the extent of my ability to translate the Cantonese, I think it also works here, as Three and Musichetta find the remains of her boys and Three is scornful of her squeamishness while hiding her compassion for her grief.

11. Turn Around - They Might Be Giants

Trauma. They don't deal well with the survivor's guilt.

12. Tangled Up In Blue - Indigo Girls

This is the key to the whole love story, I knew this song in the Indigo Girls cover first, so it's always been a song about star-crossed lesbians to me; they knew each other once, and they weren't even that different in class, but one of them ended up drifting and taking whatever manual work she could to get by, and one committed to spending time with college boys and reading medieval Italian poetry and doing sex-work adjacent work when she couldn't get anything else, and they keep coming together and separating again because they can't stay apart but they can't compromise with each other either. This is Three's song for Musichetta (how the specific incidents in the song line up with the plot is up to the person who ends up writing the book.)

13. Heartaches by the Number - Cyndi Lauper

This is Musichetta's song for Three - from her POV Three keeps leaving and breaking her heart while she stays still, even though at the time Three left she thought it didn't matter and she didn't care, looking back from this end she can't stand it, and she's determined the next time she sees Three she makes it clear how much it hurt her.

14. Three Times a Lady - Sissel

And here she finally meets up with Three again but instead of pouring out her hurt she ends up pouring out her love instead!

15. Let's Face The Music And Dance - Diana Krall

Well, says Three, the world is awful and nothing we do matters, so we might as well keep trying to make it better (this is Three admitting that she loves Musichetta too, and her boys and their lost causes weren't all wrong.)

16. Turn The World Around

(Couldn't find the version on Spotify on Youtube, so this is a random women's community chorus.)

With Musichetta's and Three's views reconciled, they realize that the key is to forget everyone's old grievances and come together in solidarity to make the world better for everyone with everyone's skills and resources together, and it does matter even though it doesn't matter, and they lead the Turning women (who have also all paired off now) in this song instead.

Curtain call!

#turnchetta #les mis #lmss steal #lesmishippingshowdown #also please vote even if you don't care about les mis. for me.#we need a turnchetta/eposette final in this #.2 points please

31 notes · View notes

glass-noodle · 2 years ago

Text

lab merman AU part 8! 💚💙

Word gets around. Tina and Gavin won't leave Hank alone. Connor follows Hank everywhere — almost like a partner — flashing him a goofy, toothy little grin whenever Hank catches his eye. Sometimes it seems like he's moving extra slowly and sinuously through the water, letting the light catch his scales and ripple off his fins as he twists and weaves gracefully. If Hank didn't know any better, he'd say the kid was showing off.

On their breaks, Connor barely seems interested in the fish that Hank brings anymore, preferring to haul himself onto the deck and bat those huge doe eyes at Hank until he starts talking to Connor, or plays a game of coin toss with him, or shows him more pictures of Sumo. Hank knows the situation's still not ideal — Connor's still trapped in a fucking tank, after all — but he can't help but feel better than he has in a long time. Connor makes him feel better.

(Bonus:)

[prev] Part 8 [next]

Taglist under the cut!

@dokidokisadness @extraordinaryandroid @dirty-droid @bluewolven @maddsmallow @aesthetichoney2111 @marilady @iwonderwh0 @rurousha @thatsgoodweather @famouswolflamppaper @clocks-declaring @shaed @binxwells @nothinggathers @treeffles @akakonight @djeris @timebird84 @averyshittyseal @jayfirebird @username-is-required @go-flow-bro @leelany-world @ray-the-orbiter @cosmogyral-cat @a-space-in-the-void @flitewulf @canofworms95 @fandomhell97 @toriisnerdy @reality-was-stolen @kibikikou @justsenarra @dickgraysonloml @celinamcm @zenithier @kibze @neverlet @idlebirdsparagon @nekojetto @unstablerk800 @fearlessjones @basenikon @brxnd0nur-1e @jei-rifni @isu0 @nota-deviant @leon-lemon0 @tartrazeen @ranunculus-bloom @katlakitty

Thank you so much for reading!! 🫶 All my love and hugs.

Feel free to let me know if you would like to be removed from the list at any point. If you would like to be on the taglist for this comic, please click here!

754 notes · View notes

nicestgirlonline · 8 months ago

Note

Tell me a little more about Hot to go?

Thank you for asking!! It's one of my fanfic for The Bear, my less angsty and sad one haha. It takes place starting in S1 and the reader is a new front of house cashier. She’s very sweet and bubbly, offsetting the stressful environment of the Beef. She fits in like a little sister type to most of the others. I pictured her as an unlucky in love gal, always having a bad boyfriend or going on lame Tinder dates and it burns Carmy up inside but he’s too introverted/trying to stay focused on work to say anything. Of course eventually the jealousy gets to a breaking point ;)

Here’s an unedited snippet from it!

Carmy heard the yelling in the dining room over the bustle of the kitchen but it seemed wrong. He wasn’t sure he had ever heard you yell before, now like that at least. If Richie wasn’t right in front of him, goofing off with Tina, giving him a headache, he’d assumed it was him up front. He heard a clattering of something on the floor and a loud

He burst through the door to the register, “Yo, what’s going on here?” He immediately took in the scene. The large, red in the face man who was screaming at you, while there were coins all over the counter and ground.

“You the manager? She’s got a fucking attitude problem, she is mouthing off to customers willy nilly.”

“Don’t talk to my employees like that. Are you going to order or are you going to leave?” He quickly slid in front of you at the register, making sure he was between you and Mr. Karen.

“What the fuck is this kind of place? Whatever happened to the customer comes first?”

“That only applies to non assholes. It's on the wall.” He pointed to a faded sign that said “no assholes” that hung over the men’s room.

“Now you’re giving me lip, small fry? First this bitch now --”

It all happened at once, Carmy leaping across the counter to shove Mr. Karen to the wall, the rest of the guests scattering and shrieking at the sudden violence. Richie finally decided to poke his head out, baseball bat in hand, ready as backup. You ducked beneath the counter as the two of them removed the man.

You heard the jingle of the door. Richie spoke to the rest of the customers, trying to lighten the mood and assure them everything was back in order. He gave you a nudge with his foot when he took his place behind the register again.

“Take a fifteen kid,” He said softly. “Yo, next customer. Step up, let’s keep it going -”

You slunk to the back, to the small place by the dumpster where you knew you could be completely alone. You’d never been so rattled at a job before. You were ashamed you lost your temper, ashamed of how scared you’d felt, and embarrassed that you had such little control you needed your boss to kick out a customer for you.

You sat with your head in your hands, trying desperately not to cry. You could cry when you got home.

“Hey uh, you good?” Carmy poked his head out, he had his hand in his hair, not really making eye contact.

“Yeah, yeah I’m fine…are you ok? I’m really sorry about all of that. ” He let out a half chuckle, half sigh.

“It was nothing.”

“Richie grabbed a bat.” you pointed out. He rolled his eyes and took a seat on the curb next to you.

“So look, next time if a customer is giving you trouble and you can’t handle it, just come and get me ok?” He leaned in close to you, his big blue eyes sucking you in.

“I’m going to handle my shit I promise. I mean it, I can handle a rude customer. He just started to fly off the handle over nothing and I’m sorry I couldn’t de-escalate”

“Don’t apologize for customers. I know they’re mostly assholes.”

“He was right though.”

“Huh?”

“It is weird we have spaghetti on the menu.”

Carmy laughed. You started to laugh too.

“I do agree with that. I have no idea what Mikey was thinking with that one. Might have to take it off the menu, to keep my cashiers safe.” He grabbed a cigarette from his apron and offered you one. You shook your head. His mouth twisted for a moment, then he lit his own.

That was the first time he had ever brought up Mikey in front of you. You knew a little bit about the story, Mikey used to own the place before Carmy. Nobody really liked to bring it up and you weren’t looking to pry. You knew it was his brother.

The two of you sat in silence while Carmy smoked. You didn’t feel like crying anymore and you were grateful for that.

#wip game #thanks for the question #answered asks #carmen berzatto x reader #carmy berzatto x reader #the bear fanfiction #Hot to go! sneak peak #mutals

46 notes · View notes