#yes I'd like to see Eliot in drag

[ft-nostalgia]

So I started rewatching The Van Gogh Job and was saying (to myself) how I was so excited for a roller derby episode, but it isn't really. Which means we can still steal a roller derby! Put it on the list, someone!

[theimpossiblescheme]

👀🔥🌙📌

What’s your LEAST favorite song? Why?

"Growltiger's Last Stand"--we all know why. Fuck you, T.S. Eliot, and fuck you, ALW, for not having the good sense to leave it out.

Share one (1) hot take/opinion about the show/fandom/etc.

No more London-style replica designs--society has progressed beyond the need for London-style replica designs. More Broadway replicas or, better yet, Hamburg replicas, you absolute cowards.

Do you think Cats has a theme/message? If so, what is it?

I do think it has one, albeit not one that I think its creators were aiming for. The original poems have a distinct element of British classism to them, i.e. "these cats' jobs/roles in the household constitute their entire lives, and there is nothing else notable about them" (yes, that is partially me projecting based on what I know about T.S. Eliot as a person, but I'm not wrong, am I?), which you still do get some of in the musical. But by nature of almost all of the cats being onstage the entire show, we do get to see that these cats have more to their lives and relationships than just their human-designated jobs. And for all the "Hal, it's about cats" of it, there is quite a lot in the show about the importance of community and acceptance and cherishing our lives and loved ones while we still have them and how growing old is something that happens to all of us with the only difference being how we handle it and how others treat us. I wouldn't call it a message so much as a theme, but I'd say if there is a central one, it's (to paraphrase a certain poem) "sing, dance, and be merry for tomorrow we die."

What was Cats 2019’s biggest mistake, in your opinion? (OTHER than 'bad cgi’) If you don’t think it made any notable mistakes, what’s your favorite thing about it?

I think so many of its flaws can be laid at the feet of Tom Hooper as the director. The dude clearly does not know how to handle a show like Cats (he barely knew how to handle Les Miserables, and that's me being generous), and I'm still baffled that he wanted to inject more realism into it, like... my guy, it's about singing and dancing cats. Realism has left the building. Not only that, but the movie feels like it has a certain amount of contempt for its source material, like it's having a laugh alongside everyone who thinks Cats is weird and bad, which would have made for a mean-spirited and bizarre-in-a-bad-way watch even with a more competent director. I don't hate the Cats movie--I'm not overly fond of it, given all those reasons, but I think all the hyperbolic hate for it got really tiring really fast. If anything, I feel protective of it--if you're gonna criticize the movie, criticize it on its own merits, and don't drag Cats as a whole down with it.

[hazelandglasz]

Klaine Soulmate AU: "The first words your true love(s) will say to you are tattooed on you and why the fuck are their first words something really ridiculous like ‘I’ll pay you a tenner to punch me in the face’ or ‘quick what’s your favourite animal’ or ‘fucking shit hell holy fuck wow oh my god jesus h Christ fuck me’ etc." - and I'd really love to see your rendition of the 'punch me' or the 'fuck me' one! ❤

On AO3

Until the age of thirteen, Blaine used to think a lot about his Words. What they would be, if it would be short and sweet or long and heartwarming.

Being a big fan of Disney movies, he hoped for something romantic and meaningful.

For a solid week after his first time watching Aladdin, he hoped for a “do you trust me” to appear on his skin on his thirteenth birthday.

But on the morning of said birthday, when he woke up with a long sentence etched on his skin—around his wrist, like a bracelet—Blaine lost his illusions of romance.

“Oh Wow, Jesus Christ, Fuck. Me.”

Punctuation and all.

What kind of True Love would say that upon meeting him, Blaine wondered as he went to the Soulmate Office to get his cuff. Because that was not romantic, and that was not meaningful either.

When some older boys at his school managed to corner him and remove the cuff, they decided that his Words were blasphemous and beat Blaine until a teacher stopped them.

His parents quickly made him change schools, and that’s how Blaine ended up at Dalton, where there was a strict no-cuff touching policy. But deep in his heart, Blaine resented his True Love.

Why couldn’t their first words be something neutral or at least not something as risqué as “fuck me”?

Over the years, though, when it became obvious for Blaine that his True Love would be another man, he started to feel differently about his Words, and he grew to be excited about them.

Because those words have an obvious meaning: his True Love, wherever he is, will think Blaine is hot upon meeting him.

Blaine is not vain, per se, but it’s good for his sense of self to know that he will be, at some point, one very attractive specimen of a man (especially during the hardest years of teenagehood, when nothing makes sense and it feels like your limbs are not coordinating their growth).

When he arrives in New York, Blaine is lucky enough to find a roommate who takes good care of him. Eliot is slightly older, but he doesn’t mind Blaine’s innocence. He introduces him to the best New York has to offer, and particularly, brings him along on his Saturday night outings.

Blaine doesn’t know how, exactly, Eliot manages to find the best parties in the city, but every Saturday is better than the previous one, allowing him room to dance and mingle and create a social circle of his own.

And yet, Eliot doesn’t seem satisfied. 

“If only I could get Hummel to come with us,” he bemoans, head thrown back over the arm of their couch. “I’m sure you two would hit it off!”

Blaine snickers, preparing himself tea and getting a can of Diet Cherry Coke for Eliot.  “Yeah, sure. Though you do know my motto, don’t you?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Eliot says, rolling his eyes fondly at his roommate. “Nobody but True Love, I get it. Spoilsport. But still, Kurt and you would make a perfect couple. Of friends,” he adds in a rush before Blaine can protest. “You’d make the best of friends.”

“Hm, sure.”

“Here, let me take a picture of you for him, maybe that will be incentive enough to drag him out of his office.”

“Eliot, come on—”

Click.

“—you’re being ridiculous.”

“And you manage to still look good even though I took a picture mid-sentence. That’s so unfair.”

“Is there a compliment somewhere that I lost on the way to your jealousy?”

“Maybe. Don’t fish for compliments, Blaine, it’s really unattractive.”

“I don’t fish, and you know I am.”

“Cocky.”

“Knowledgeable.”

Eliot bursts out laughing before being interrupted by his phone pinging in his hand. “Well, hm. Kurt will be one of us tonight.”

“What did he say?”

“Like Hell I’m telling you. Just know that he will be at the club, so, you know...”

“Look good?”

“Look amazing.”

---

Kurt loves his Words.

What kind of teenager doesn’t enjoy knowing his True Love will say “Fuck yeah” upon meeting them?

He does wonder what he says to provoke such a response, but if anything, that means his True Love is an enthusiastic one, and a life filled with passion looks like one Kurt would enjoy.

Ever since he arrived in New York, Kurt has met plenty of enthusiastic guys, plenty of passionate people, but none of them said those words upon meeting him.

One said “fuck me,” which could have been close enough, but unfortunately for her, Kurt was decidedly not interested.

Mercedes is still his best friend, though, so it ended up well for all parties involved.

But Kurt is not worried. When it’s time for his True Love to find him, it will be the right time and he will be allowed to let his romantic self thrive in this passionate relationship.

For now, he enjoys his life as a busy New Yorker and builds a circle of friends and acquaintances and chosen family members.

Amongst whom, Mercedes, of course, and Eliot “Pain in The Ass” Gilbert.

(There is nothing that can save Kurt from them when they decide to join forces, but God does he love them.)

And right now, they are both being the most annoying people Kurt ever had to deal with.

“Come out with us.”

“I’m busy.”

“You don’t have a life, come on, just one drink.”

“To paraphrase the good philosopher Iliza Shlesinger, that sentence is the way to the party goblin and I don’t have the time for that.”

“Kuuuuurt!”

“Mercedeeeeees.”

“You’re no fun. What will I do without you to stop me from dancing on a table?”

Kurt glares at the window where Mercedes’ face is pouting at him. “You will dance on a table, sprain your ankle and invade my living room for a couple of weeks to keep me as your nurse.”

Mercedes bursts out laughing. “Doesn’t sound so bad when you put it that way, damn you.”

Kurt smirks. “I know how to make a compelling argument.”

Mercedes sighs and shrugs. “Alright, I give up. If you change your mind, we’ll be at ‘Pumpin’.”

“Classy.” Kurt smiles more gently. “Have fun, ‘Cedes.”

“Will be more fun if you join us! Love you too, boo.”

Mercedes hangs up, and Kurt stares blankly at his screen for a moment. He’s in his twenties, after all. It wouldn’t hurt to go out with his friends, would it?

His eyes land on the rest of the screen, where his article still waits for him to write it.

He has the title, which is already something, but he can’t possibly go out when he has to deliver this piece to Isabelle’s desk before noon tomorrow and it could be his big break to move from P.A. to P.A./Columnist.

With a deep sigh, Kurt returns to his notes in order to write his first draft. If he works quickly, he will be able to rework it and have a final draft to propose to Isabelle before the night is over.

His phone beeps right as he reads through his plan.

“What now,” he mutters, picking it up and opening Eliot’s message.

And then, his words and his breath get stuck in his throat, because…

Because there is no message, per se, just a picture of a man obviously in the middle of a sentence and looking absolutely stunning.

“Kurt Hummel, meet Blaine Anderson,” Eliot sends immediately after the picture.

For months now, Eliot has tried to arrange a meeting between Kurt and his new protégé from NYU, and for months, Kurt has had to excuse himself from all of them.

But now that he sees who this Anderson guy is, Kurt wants to smack his past self.

Holy young Montgomery Clift, is this man handsome or what.

“Are you coming or what?”

Kurt snickers as he types his reply one-handed, saving his work with the other.

“Am about to just from that pic.”

“xflkbdfbhofd”, is Eliot’s interesting reply, followed by the address of the club.

“You win,” Kurt writes, rushing to the magazine’s Closet to snatch a shirt that will elevate his outfit.

He has to make a good first impression. Nay, a memorable first impression.

The Adonis now saved in his phone may not be his True Love, but there is no rule forbidding Kurt to appreciate his aesthetic while he waits for Him to show up.

---

Blaine had his own outfit but one pre-clubbing alcoholic drink on an empty stomach somehow convinced him to let Eliot dress him up, and he barely recognizes himself in the mirror.

He looks awesome. Like the baddest bitch version of himself, sure, but still. Far fetched.

“Own it, Blainey!” Eliot shouts at him as the club’s doors are opened and the music fills their ears.

Instantly following the rhythm, Blaine throws his head back and struts to the dancefloor.

In the distance, somewhere, he hears Mercedes, Eliot and Kitty wolf-whistling for him and he smiles, closing his eyes and throwing the fluffy jacket toward the sound. He slides his hands down his jacket, over the smooth leather and, yes, lives the fantasy.

Eliot is dancing nearby, his hands on some guy’s hips, thus how Blaine hears him calling Kurt’s name.

“Kurt is here!”

Blaine smiles, still shaking and dancing like nobody’s watching (and like he knows everybody is). “I figured!”

“Kurt, over heeeere!”

Blaine chuckles, looking over his shoulder for the newcomer. 

“Oh Wow, Jesus Christ, Fuck. Me.”

Blaine freezes, using his momentum to turn and face the man who just uttered those words.

The man, Kurt, is, without a doubt, the most beautiful man Blaine has ever seen.

Lucky him, if the man is indeed his True Love.

“Fuck yeah,” he manages, taking a step toward Kurt.

Whose eyes—those mesmerizing blue eyes, shining surreally in the strobelights of the club—widen as the words leave Blaine’s lips.

“What did you just say?” he asks, moving closer too.

It’s impossible for them to have this conversation here, on the dancefloor, when the words are only audible because they managed to say them during a lull in the playlist.

Blaine doesn’t hesitate or pause to think about his gesture, he reaches out to take Kurt’s hand and pulls him across the room, toward the more quiet rooms in the back of the club, under Eliot’s laughter.

The whole process feels like it happens in slow motion, but Kurt’s hand solidly grips his, and it’s warm and soft under Blaine’s touch.

Blaine closes the door when they get to the room and smiles at Kurt, the music now only a vague background.

“Hi.”

“Hi.”

Kurt’s voice really is as beautiful as Blaine thought when he heard it.

“Can I see your wrist?” Kurt asks, voice soft and shy, in total contradiction with his earlier words.

Blaine may have been influenced by his borrowed outfit until now, but he is feeling a bit nervous himself. “S-sure.”

They both reach for their cuffs at the same time. Blaine holds his arm up, next to Kurt’s.

Sure enough, Blaine’s Words and Kurt’s respond to each other in a perfect conversation.

Well, perfect—perfect for them, it would seem.

“I am really sorry,” Kurt says, a blush appearing on his face. “I am not that crass, usually. It’s just—you were just, I mean you are so—wow.”

Blaine scratches the back of his neck. “This isn’t my usual way to dress,” he mutters. “Eliot insisted.”

“I knew I recognized that waistcoat,” Kurt laughs, gesturing at Blaine’s top. “Though I feel like you inhabit it way better than him. Don’t tell him I said that,” he adds precipitously, making Blaine laugh.

“I am really glad I found you,” he says, still giggling, before he can stop himself.

Kurt blinks and smiles so tenderly at him that Blaine feels like they just had the most sensual experience while still being dressed. “Me too,” he replies simply, holding up his hand.

Blaine immediately takes it, letting Kurt pull him closer.

“Can I kiss you?” he asks, brushing his knuckles along Kurt’s jaw.

“Fuck yeah,” Kurt breathes with a smile Blaine cannot wait to taste any longer.

In total contradiction of their first exchange, the kiss is soft and tentative and gentle and, yes, romantic.

Blaine lets his lips slide against Kurt’s, happy to kiss him this way forever if he is allowed to, until Kurt reaches for his cheek, tilting his head to the side and opening his mouth to caress Blaine’s with his tongue.

Blaine moans into the kiss, placing his hands on Kurt’s waist to get him as close as humanly possible while keeping upright. Truth be told, the kiss is so earth-shattering that Blaine’s knees are close to buckling.

Kurt’s hand on his cheek is still soft, but the one on his shoulder tightens its grip.

Blaine pulls away because, in this moment, as much as he enjoys kissing Kurt, he needs to see Kurt.

“Hey,” he says breathlessly as they part, caressing Kurt’s cheek until he reaches to cup the back of his head, bringing their foreheads together. “There you are.”

[all-things-skam]

hiii. for the prompt thing, I'd love it if u wrote 11 or 12. idk if it was requested already but,,,.

Please continue to sent requests from this list of prompt!

11. “If we were in a movie, this is where we’d kiss.”

12. “Enough beer for you. You’re drunk.”

Title: I wanted it to be you

Ship: Skam France | Lucas Lallemant and Eliot Demaury (Elu)

It was barely 10pm and Lucas was beyond drunk.

Now that he and the boys had joined Daphné’s foyer, they were forced to come to dumb events like this Valentine’s Day ‘party’ which was beyond boring. At least, on Lucas’s side.

Arthur had found a cute brunette to exchange saliva with and Basil at the buffet table, desperately trying to get Daphné’s attention. Poor Basile, he’ll never get her…

That left Lucas with Yann. The latter had found a way to sneak beer in, making the night more interesting. Until Yann abandoned him for some blonde he intended hooking up, leaving him alone with Chloé. Chloé who was his ‘valentine’ as she called it. Chloé who Lucas didn’t want to dance with although he had told her he would. Chloé who kept getting in between him and Eliott.

Eliott.

Lucas’s lips curved at the thought of the blue eyes brunet with soft, messy hair - he hadn’t touched them yet but, they looked very soft. And he smelled good. So good. He was handsome too. Very handsome. And-

“- Lucas, are you listening to me?”

“Uh?”

Chloé let out a breath, sighing. “I was saying, we should go take pictures in the photo booth.”

Lucas wrinkled his nose but let her pull him to the photo booth. Chloé instructed Lucas to go in first and sat on his lap without even asking just as Bruno Mars’s Just the Way You Are started playing.

The first click went off and Lucas squinted at the bright light, making him see colorful dots afterwards. He sat there as Chloé smiled bright and kissed Lucas’s cheek, leaving a red lipstick mark on his skin.

After the photobooth, Lucas announced he was going to the bathroom. By 'bathroom’, Lucas meant the janitor’s closet who was right next to the boys bathroom, aka where Yann had hidden his backpack - who was filled with beers.

“It’s the sixth time,” Chloé pointed, annoyed. “Can’t it wait?”

“I have a very small bladder…”

Lucas exited the foyer.  He dragged his feet on the floor, trying to waste as much time possible, dreading to return inside. The music was bad - too pop for his taste -, the punch was too fruity and Chloé- Don’t get him started on her.

Honestly, he’d rather spend the night in the janitor’s closet, downing beers by himself than at the foyer with the rest fo the group. Lucas got inside the janitor’s closet, took one beer out of Yann’s backpack and pulled the pin, opening the can. He took one large gulp and was hit with a  need to pee. Lucky for him, it was right next door.

Lucas put his beer on the sink and did his business, humming to some tune. He finished and when to the sink to wash his hands, catching his reflection in the mirror while doing so. His eyes were droopy from the alcohol and he had a lips stain on his right cheek. Lucas smiled sadly to himself. He looked like shit.

He wiped his cheek, smearing the lipstick mark Chloé left there. Why do girls do this? It takes forever to wipe off and, even then, you can still see it. He pulled his eyebrows in frustration, rubbing furiously at his cheek, knocking his beer down in the way.

“Shit.” Lucas put the can back up, frowning at the spilled beer on the counter and dripping down the floor. He lifted his beer up, wiggling it around to check how much there was left in before drinking the remnant of his beer.

“So this is where you’ve been hiding.”

Lucas lifted his eyes, catching Eliott in the mirror’s reflection. He was wearing a button up and a pink bowtie, following perfectly Daphné’s red and pink dress code.

“I’m not hiding.”

“Tell that to your valentine.” Lucas gave him a puzzled look. “Chloé.”

“Oh.”

“Where did you get this?” Eliott asked, nodding at the beer.

Lucas grinned. “It’s a secret.”

Eliott pulled a thick cylinder from behind his ear, raising an eyebrow. “I’ll share my joint with you if you give me one.”

Lucas brought Eliott to his secret stash, taking two beers out and handing one to Eliott, almost tripping on some stray broom.

''Careful,'' Eliott warned, grabbing Lucas's arm to steady him before he could fall. He looked around and noticed all the empty cans on the floor. ''How many did you have?''

He was at his fourth beer...or, was it his fifth? Lucas shrugged. He lost count after Yann left him.

Eliott plucked the beer can from Lucas's hold.

''Hey! Give that back!'' He reached for the beer but Eliott held it higher. Sucks to be short, uh?

''Enough beer for you. You’re drunk.''

''I'm not drunk!'' Lucas protested.

''Is that so? How many fingers am I holding up right now?'' Eliott asked, lifting all five.

Lucas squinted his eyes, concentrating. ''Erm...three? No, four! Ugh, can you stop moving them? I can't count.''

''That's it, you're drunk. I'll take you home.''

.

All the alcohol Lucas had consumed kicked in during the bus ride. His eyes felt heavier and he almost fell asleep with his cheek against the window. How cute.

When they reached their stop, Eliott made Lucas lean on him to prevent him from falling on the sidewalk. With a little of struggle, they made it to Lucas's shared apartment and into his bedroom without any casualties.

Eliott turned on the small lamp on the nightstand and instructed Lucas to sit on the bed and take off his shoes. He did as told, slowly pulling at his laces while Eliott fetched him glass of water, knowing he would need it when he wakes up.

''Can you take off your jeans and jacket too? You'll sleep better without them.''

Lucas pulled at his jeans, trying to take them off and whined when it didn't work. Seeing his struggle, Eliott chuckled and went to his side, helping out of his clothes and placing them neatly on his desk chair, leaving Lucas in his tee shirt and boxers. Free of any constricting items of clothing, Lucas got in bed, sliding under his grey comforter.

Eliott tucked him and a content smile spread on the intoxicated boy, sinking deeper into his soft pillow. ''Can you stay with me for a bit?''

The request took the brunet by surprise but he nodded and sat on the edge of the bed, right by Lucas. ''Yeah. Sure.''

From his position, Lucas had a perfect view of Eliott's face. His bushy, perfectly shaped eyebrow. His warm blue eyes. The slight hump on the bridge of the nose. And, even his five o'clock shadow.

His beauty was unsettling.  

Eliott reached to tuck a piece of hair behind Lucas's ear and Lucas smiled softly, flicking his gaze up to meet Eliott's. ''If we were in a movie, this is where we’d kiss.''

It was the first time Lucas ever flirted or hinted his interest for Eliott and, you know what they say: drunk words are sober thoughts.

Eliott chuckled. ''Sorry to crash your plan: we're not going to kiss.''

''You don't like me?'' Lucas asked, looking as if he was about to cry. Drunk Lucas is very sensitive.

The brunet shook his head, running his hand through Lucas's hair. ''No. No, that's not- I don't kiss drunk people.''

''Will you kiss me in the morning? When I'm not longer drunk?''

''If you still want me to: yes.''

''Okay.'' Lucas closed his eyes, eyelids too heavy to stay open. ''What time is it?'' he asked with a soft yawn, making Eliott smile fondly.

''Almost midnight,'' he replied, checking on his phone.

Lucas scooted back on his mattress, lifted his blanket and patted the empty space. Getting the message, Eliott undressed to his boxers and slide in beside the younger boy after turning off the lamp.

Instantly, Lucas cuddled to his side, small arms finding their way around his middle.

''You know,'' said quietly, nuzzling into Eliott's bare chest. ''I didn't want Chloé to be my valentine tonight. I wanted it to be you.''