#and I watched his Richard II for the first time

[edgarallennope]

I work very hard internally to resist the thrall of parasocial relationships, I work to keep a distance (almost a professional distance) between myself and the people's who's work and art I admire, to remind myself that I do not know them and that to presume I do so is odd and invasive.

My friends I am working overtime right now not to get myself emotionally attached to multi award winning actor, family man and outspoken queer and trans ally David Tennant in this particular rough patch I'm going through I am fighting so goddamned hard.

#david tennant #been rewatchng a lot of comfort stuff and much of that has involved him #like good omens #staged #around the world in 80 days #and I watched his Richard II for the first time #and I listened to the podcast clip of him getting choked up talking about pride month and how worried he is about the rise of homophobia #and i know about his non-binary pin for his kid #and the 'you are safe with me' pin #and I AM FIGHTING THE THRALL #because i do NOT know this man so HOW is he providing me with so much comfort in these Hard Times #i also went through my entire teen years not having a crush on David Tennant and SUDDENLY NOW #have y'all seen his Richard II???? that could have sped up some realisations i had to have as a teen

[emilybeemartin]

A whopping, like, 2.6 people have expressed interest in my recent adventures in watching Bean films, which is all the encouragement I need to present to you:

An Incomplete Guide to Sean Bean Roles (Investigation Ongoing)

Our guy has a vast filmography, and I'm not even close to being halfway through it, but I've watched a lot of his significant ones in the past few weeks thanks to a perfect storm of illness, injury, and lapses in client work. Crucially, I have created superlatives for a variety of them and present them here for your benefit. Disclaimer: many of these films are violent! Or have butts and/or tits! Some have dick! Some have dated bits that didn't age well! So, if you have triggers or are watching with young viewers, do your research first! Also, these are just the opinions of one solitary millennial! Nothing is objective! Nothing is real! I care not!

Okay, CYA done, let's begin. I'll get the two most obvious ones out of the way up front, otherwise they'll dominate half the categories:

ACT I

Greatest Bean: Fellowship of the Ring. I've said it before and I'll say it again, he achieved more pathos with Boromir than a lot of his other roles have allowed for, and every note he hits just sings. No debate.

Best Bean for Your Buck: Sharpe. For the best confluence of quantity, quality, physicality, emotion, humor, and action, you can't beat Richard Sharpe.

Favorite Dramatic Bean: Time; he earned that BAFTA fr

Softest Bean: The first date scene in Stormy Monday, where Brendan shyly gets to know Kate, slow dances with her, lends her a shirt and strokes her back after she asks if they can just go to sleep instead of have sex.

Most Dashing Bean: Vronsky in Anna Karenina, that uniform cuts, damn

Swooniest Bean: I know I'm supposed to say Chatterley, and he is undeniably sexy as Mellors, but there are parts where his character is actually kind of off-putting. I'll lay a good chunk of the blame on the weirdly ominous score, the very of-the-time depiction of dubious consent, and Joely Richardson's tendency to look like she's having the worst time of her life while shagging the hot gamekeeper. No, I'm giving this category to Stormy Monday again. He's just so gentle and genuine in this one, without some of the obligatory "heartthrob" overtones of his nineties stuff. He never raises his voice at Kate or manhandles her. He really does feel like some kid who just wants to be sweet to his girlfriend.

Laddiest Bean: When Saturday Comes, specifically the strip club and bathtub scenes.

Favorite Sad Bean: As a collective, he has some great grief scenes in World on Fire, but! The railroad track scene in When Saturday Comes?! That was RAW.

Favorite Mad Bean: Black Death; there are plenty of movies where he doesn't smile at all, but unlike some others, his grimness and anger felt proportionate to the story, rather than just rage because he's good at rage.

Favorite Bad Bean: There are so many great Bean villains (Goldeneye, obvs), but I think my favorite is Patriot Games. Bonus points for all the different hairstyles he has in this film (long locks-shag-shag ponytail!-buzz-wet spiky buzz). Also HUGH FRASER AAAA

Favorite Dad Bean: Wolfwalkers, where Bill Goodfellowe literally turns his own convictions and beliefs upside-down in order to protect and support his daughter.

INTERMISSION

A note on GoT: I haven't watched it. When season one was first coming out, it was during a time where I really couldn't handle watching any kind of sexual assault onscreen, and while I have a higher tolerance now, I just... don't want to. I like seeing gifs of Ned Stark and appreciate that it's one of his great roles, but I just can't make myself take the plunge.

ilysm you grizzled dead wolf man

ACT II

Favorite Costumed Bean: Odysseus in Troy: curls, leather, thighs.

Favorite Un-Costumed Bean: He strips in quite a lot of his films, so let's give it to Lady Chatterley for sheer screentime, exertion, and the bonus of being naked and wearing a flower crown. Honorable mention to When Saturday Comes for the totally not homoerotic amount of butts and also dick in the locker room bathtub scene.

Hurtin'est Bean: Bravo Two Zero. Oof, don't watch this one if you have an aversion to seeing pain, although---you're a Sean Bean fan, and we all know one of his MOs is being GREAT at pain. This one was directed by Tom Clegg, who directed Sharpe. Also lol at the sickle-shaped wound on his shoulder, which is covering his 100% Blade tattoo (he gets a lot of sickle-shaped wounds on his left shoulder).

Best Inside References: The Frankenstein Chronicles, where he plays a former Peninsular soldier, and every reference to his service is a reference to Sharpe, including shots of his greenjacket, pistol, sword, and flogging scars. Honorable mention to The Martian for the Council of Elrond line.

Most Unsettling Bean: Cleanskin for moral grayness, The Frankenstein Chronicles for body horror

Most Inefficient Use of Bean: Black Beauty. Despite getting high billing he's only onscreen for about two minutes and I'm convinced the long shots are a body double. Criminal.

Biggest Missed Opportunity: We were robbed of a Sean Bean Odyssey. R o b b e d

Funniest Bean: Deploying Bean for comedy is woefully underused, but he made full use of his ~15 seconds in The Vicar of Dibley ("Spring" episode). He's also hilarious in Wasted, though I haven't watched the show, only the clips he's in on YouTube, where he plays a mock version of himself serving as a spirit guide for a stoner. IMO, though, Sharpe gives him the most room for humor.

Favorite Character Quirk: In World on Fire, when Douglas is having WWI flashbacks and really coming apart, he kept putting his hand to his mouth. My modern brain first read this as talking into a phantom radio, but of course that wasn't right, and then I realized--he was reaching for a phantom gas mask. CHILLS. AMAZING. (Honorable mentions to the Mouth Rub and the Tongue Thing [pictured above]).

Most Nostalgic Bean: National Treasure. The concept may be utter silliness, but you have to admit, this is a fun movie to watch.

Best Dismount from a Horse: Henry VIII, he goes pshwing out of the saddle

Best Swordplay: You may think there's no possible answer to this, but there is---two moments, specifically: the preparatory sword-spin he does at Balin's tomb just before the goblin attack in Moria, and the four lunges he does at 1:26:22 of Sharpe's Battle. It's just facts.

Prettiest Bean Film: Wolfwalkers, hands downnnn

Favorite Bean Death: All right, you knew we had to eventually end here. It's Boromir, obviously--- nothing tops that. But if we're looking at other roles, I think Patriot Games is my favorite, followed by Goldeneye.

So! That concludes this installment of Bean films, though I'll be continuing the labor, and I hope you will, too. What are your favorites?

#sean bean #fellowship of the ring #lord of the rings #sharpe #stormy monday #lady chatterley #patriot games #world on fire #goldeneye #bravo two zero #troy #wolfwalkers #black death #national treasure #anna karenina #time #gifs #flashing gifs

[devious-little-milkmaiden]

The existence of Doctor Who in the Good Omens universe implies one of two things:

a) Crowley occasionally dyes his hair brown and dons his stage name of David Tennant to pick up some parts whenever he feels like it (I mean, honestly--The Internet's Principal Scottish DILF would be a temptation of MYTH) because he likes playing wacky little characters and can pass it off as a form of temptation whenever Hell starts sniffing around, or,

b) There happens to be a Scottish actor named David Tennant who shares an exact likeness with Crowley, save for the red hair and snake eyes. Crowley gets told that he looks and sounds like David Tennant a lot and is quite tired of hearing about this bloke. Aziraphale thinks it's funny.

If we're going with Route B, imagine that since Aziraphale is well aware of who David Tennant is (since he likes bugging Crowley about it so much) and also because he is a lifelong Shakespeare fan, some time in 2013 he finds a recording by the Royal Shakespeare Company of Richard II, starring David Tennant as the lead role. He's super giddy about this and calls Crowley to ask if he wants to watch it with him on his television or antique projector or whatever a Southern pansy like Aziraphale would have. Aziraphale can't help but mention that David Tennant is playing the lead role and at the mention of Tennant's name Crowley rolls his eyes (Aziraphale can sense it through the phone) and tells him to enjoy it by himself. Aziraphale is giggling as he hangs up.

So Aziraphale puts on the play and can barely contain his excitement, though he is a little disappointed that it doesn't look exactly how it did when he saw the first showing all those years ago, but what can you expect? He conjures up a bowl of grapes, for old time's sake. He starts cackling when a long, auburn-haired David Tennant finally appears. He looks so much like Crowley that Aziraphale nearly phones him again, but decides against it--he doesn't want to miss a thing.

Aziraphale finishes his bowl of grapes some time near the end of Act II--most of the excitement has worn off and he's now just sitting and enjoying the play. Act III starts, scenes one and two carry out, and then it comes to scene three. Aziraphale's giddiness returns, because this contains one of his favorite speeches. "Northumberland comes back from Bolingbroke," The Duke of Aumerle says, and Aziraphale hasn't realized he's scooted to the end of his armchair. He gives a little "wahoo!" as Richard II starts into his monologue.

And then, as Richard is consoling the Duke of Aumerle, something unexpected happens:

Aziraphale never mentions the play again.

#good omens #richard ii #doctor who #crowley #aziraphale #crowley x aziraphale #ineffable husbands #tenth doctor #david tennant #aziracrow

[foundmywei]

I finished reading "If we were villains" a few hours ago, so while I'm still going through the 5 stages of grief, here are the gayest scenes between Oliver and James that I made sure to save while reading even though I had no idea at first if it's going anywhere or not.

1. Oliver unconsciously leaning in when James was pretend-hitting him during class. (ACT I - scene 9)

2. James covering Oliver with the fake blood on Halloween. (ACT I - scene 12)

3. Oliver staying with James after the Halloween incident. (ACT I - scene 12)

4. "I wanted to give Richard ten bruises for every one he'd put on James." (ACT II - scene 2)

5. Oliver waking up next to James. "The strange sudden thought that I didn't want to move struck me." (ACT III - scene 10)

6. Oliver kindly informing us that he's the only one who knows every inch of James. (ACT III - scene 18)

7. "I desperately wanted him to stay, seized by the nonsensical idea that if he left, I would lose him, irretrievably.", "Forget to think of her." (ACT III - scene 18)

8. Oliver being blindly, savagely jealous while watching James and Wren kiss during R&J. (ACT III - scene 18)

9. Oliver thinking about James after having sex with Meredith. (ACT IV - scene 1)

10. Oliver going to spend the night with Meredith in the hopes that it'll help him forget about James. (ACT IV - scene 1)

11. Oliver yelling at James that he can't be mad at him or hate him. (ACT IV - scene 7)

12. Oliver having a crisis while watching James and Meredith kiss. (ACT IV - scene 9)

13. "He was my friend—much more than that, truthfully", "My infatuation with James transcended any notion of gender." (ACT V - prologue)

14. ""You didn't tell me." I didn't realize until it was out of my mouth that that alone was worse than any of the rest of it.",

"I never wanted you to look at me the way you're looking at me right now." (ACT V - scene 5)

15. "Worthy prince, I know't." and of course, the not so brotherly kiss. (ACT V - scene 6)

16. "Of course, the only person I really wanted to see was James." (ACT V - scene 7)

17. "You know why.", and James begging Oliver to let him make things right and kissing his hand the last time he went to see him. (ACT V - scene 7)

18. "But more than that—you must know—more than anything, I just need to see James." (Epilogue)

19. Oliver admitting at least to himself that he still is in love with James. (Epilogue)

#if we were villains #oliver marks #james farrow #during the whole book i kept saying I'll go insane if these two don't kiss but i still went insane considering how that ended for them #i got the kiss but at what cost

[purplelupins]

Happy Together

Part I Part II Part III

|The Black Phone|

Albert Shaw x Fem!reader

Summary: Nothing like a new city. You just wanted a fresh start, and something comfortable, but what happens when you start to see the exact same patterns in Denver as you did before?

Warnings: the following warning are for the full fic, and not just this first chapter. PLEASE READ THEM. This is a DARK fic.

Dub-con (note that this is a link so it is actually wanted), Daddy kink, size kink, pet names (princess, kiddo, sweetheart, honey and more) mentions of death (including murder, torture etc), cumming in pants, overstimulation, multiple orgasms (f and m) begging, breeding kink, innocence kink, biting, adultery, infidelity, stalking, mentions of kidnapping, home break-in, fighting (verbal and physical)…more will be added.

MINORS DO NOT READ THIS. IF YOU ARE A MINOR AND READ ANY OF MY WORK ILL TAKE IT AS DISRESPECT FOR MY BOUNDARIES. GO TOUCH GRASS

Notes: yes we know I’m bad at summaries. This is an extended fic request for my dear friend @mandowifey

There is an original character in this story named Richard and the face claim I am using is Hamish Linklater (specifically his role in Tell Me Your Secrets)

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Albert Shaw.

50’s.

Single.

Egg and sprite enthusiast.

Hypnotic.

Part time magician.

You watched him leave for work almost everyday now; taking notes of his tendencies and quirks as if he were an animal in the zoo. Now that you had spent a sufficient amount of time around him, you had seen Al laugh, and smile briefly at Samson, but you couldn’t bring yourself to see anything but a predator showing off it’s canines before it plunges them into the unsuspecting prey. But you, of course, were not unsuspecting in the least. Certainly your little heart beat away in your chest like it would run to safe ground if you let it -and oh how you wished you could- but you knew you couldn’t just run, if you ever confirmed your suspicions.

You wondered if Albert Shaw had ever seen another person like him, or if he had taken the city of Denver as his territory. You wondered if he even knew what he was, and if those tendencies were still dormant. What you did know, however, was that seeing eyes like those still startled you to this day. Hell, you still remembered the first time you had seen a predator amongst the sheep like him.

Washington, 1974.

University of Washington Library.

He was handsome, and had a charming smile; not terribly tall or intimidating. In fact he looked like the ideal “perfectly nice young man”. Someone you would see at a neighbourhood cookout, or a birthday party.

But just like the man pulling away in his black van 20 feet from your window, he too had had those blue eyes that had made your fight or flight instincts go haywire. He had driven a Volkswagen Beetle though, not a van.

It wasn’t that you even spoke to one another- you had been in too deep of a conversation with a professor, but a glance was all you had needed.

Lifeless eyes.

It didn’t matter how many crinkles formed beside them or how sweet the laughter was, the eyes of a killer were and remain all the same. Devoid, and homicidal.

Not to be confused with the stare of a person who had given up on life like a mother of too many children or a middle aged man with an erectile disfunction.

But you had wandered into the handsome wolf’s den, so to speak, and getting out would be no easy task. You knew your heart still beat too hard when you saw that tall lean frame of Albert Shaw, you couldn’t lie to yourself, but a predator was a predator, and you couldn’t just roll over and beg that he didn’t hurt you. He’d go right for your jugular if your perception of him was correct.

-

“And would you like whipped cream with that, sir?” You asked sweetly, jotting down the man’s order as his wife glared unnecessary daggers into your head. Evidently friendliness was not something that was taken as a virtue in Denver…or perhaps it was just amongst unhappy couples. The poor man looked like he had the life sucked out of him, while his wife resembled a preened peacock; you knew he could use some extra kindness, even if it cost you a tip.

His wife inhaled sharply as she tapped her spoon on her coffee cup from stirring it. “No he-“

“Actually- yes I think I’ll uh…indulge. Thank you sweetie.” He barely even registered that his wife had tried to interject, and you paused for a moment to see if she would erupt into flames, but ultimately wrote down what you were told before you spun on your heel and ripped off the paper for the cooks.

A low-volume quarrel behind you was enough to tell you that this would not be a pleasant table to wait on. But while you contemplated caring a little less, you considered that little look of joy in the man’s eyes when you asked if he wanted the whipped cream, and you really couldn’t make his life any more miserable- not without regretting it.

“Phil?” You called to one of the cooks through the window to the kitchen.

“Yea hunny?” He turned and smiled. Phil Hander wasn’t a tall man, but he was round, and had red cheeks that reminded you of Santa.

Nice man. Loved his food.

“I just put in an order for table 6 over there, but can you add a little extra whipped cream to the pancakes? I think the poor soul could use some.” You winked, and he cracked a smile.

“You got it.” He said before turning back to the eggs he was frying.

You gave your thanks, and let out a long sigh that sat in your lungs as you turned back to the long wrap-around counter. Once you made the full turn, however, you found yourself nearly leaping out of your skin at the sight that greeted you.

“Fancy seeing you here, kiddo.”

That voice had you bolted to the spot for only a second before you recovered and fixed your smile.

What the heck is he doing here?

“Mr. Shaw! Can’t say I’ve ever noticed you coming to this side of town- do you work nearby or is this just a little coincidence?” You asked, getting him a cup of coffee like a good girl.

“No.” He rasped.

A blank answer- something he did often, you had noticed.

You wanted to fidget.

To roll your eyes.

To do something at his short and inconsequential answer…but you couldn’t.

So you just laughed and said “Alright. Can I get you anything? Eggs?” You asked. Your food suggestion had you nearly crying from laughter inside at your own joke. That man had enough eggs to feed an army in his fridge, certainly he wouldn’t eat more when he went out for food?

“Just the coffee.” He said, looking down the bar at nothing in particular.

Again, you nodded. “I’ll check on you in a few.”

And while you held your composure and did your best to put yourself at ease, you were squirming on the inside. The hairs on the back of your neck stood on end; your muscles felt tight; your hearing felt too sharp. You were on high alert- senses peaking too fast just like they had in Washington.

You didn’t even know why really. It wasn’t as if you had actually seen him do anything or say anything of consequence since meeting him. If anything, he was very indifferent and tired of all of Max’s talk of that person- The Grabber and his many conspiracies. But there was just…something there. Something wrong.

You made your rounds with the steaming pot of coffee in your grip, including a stop at table 6 which earned you another harsh look, and a sharp intake of breath from the wife as she no doubt prepared a snide remark about you taking your time. Not that you gave her the time to do so before you were bouncing away to table 3.

All the while, however, you couldn’t help but feel those predatory eyes on you. Blue and sharp. You knew he was watching you. You wondered if he knew you knew…he had to. Why else would he be there? Was he trying to snuff you out before you could substantiate your gut feeling?

Once you had stalled enough in talking to one of your many regulars, you went back to the kitchen to retrieve a few orders, and cast a smile at the man hunkered over his coffee as he read a newspaper. “Still doing alright, Mr. Shaw?” You chirped to him.

“Unless you have coffee that tastes like peaches, I think I’m doin’ fine.” Al drawled, not even looking up from the forth page of the newspaper.

Jerk.

“Can’t say we do!” You tried to lighten the mood up to bo avail.

“Then I guess I’m doing just dandy.” He murmured, and scratched at the light stubble on his chin.

Then why are you staring at me, fucko?

“Great!” You forced out, and left him to serve the warm food in your hands.

This went on for a good ten minutes. You would top up your coffee pot, take orders and serve food that came through the window- almost like normal if it weren’t for the very big thorn in your side.

You took the newly finished order for table 6, and just as you had asked, there was a beautiful cloud of cream on top of the man’s pancakes, and you smiled genuinely as you walked to the table.

You couldn’t care less about how his wife’s food turned out, but regardless you served her first and relayed her order to ensure it was correct, then when she gave you a passive aggressive smile, you placed the pancakes down.

“And there you are sir! I’ll have you know the cream is fresh this morning and,” You looked at his wife quickly before lowering you voice just for him, “I may or may not have put a couple fingers into the bowl myself.” You winked and put your finger to your lips as if you were telling a deep secret, “Don’t tell anyone okay?” You whispered.

The man stared at you and you swore you saw his ears go pink. “Won’t tell a soul.” He murmured.

“Richard we need to be there fo- you haven’t started eating yet?” His wife burst, finally paying attention to her spouse just as you pulled away from his ear.

The man, Richard, jumped in his seat. You smiled at them both and said, “Enjoy your meal!” Before walking back to the counter.

You had half hoped that when you went back, a certain Mr. Shaw would no longer be there, but to your dismay, he was indeed still sat on one of the stools. This time, however, the paper was nearly finished, and you found yourself nervous that he might attempt a conversation…as if you would be able to hold one and remain normal.

“You must really enjoy your job, hm?” He murmured from behind you as you placed a new pot of coffee on the brew.

Your brow furrowed and you turned back with a slight tilt to your head in question, “It isn’t that bad. Can’t complain.” You shrugged your shoulders.

Then, Al finally folded the newspaper and looked up at you, and you got the same “deer caught in the headlights” feeling.

“That wife might.” He nodded over his shoulder.

Your hair began to stand on end. This sort of condescension and allusion wasn’t new to you at all…it was a good tactic for a predator like him to ensnare his prey, so to speak. Make them want to prove something to him, seek his approval. Tell him that “No I’m a good girl!” just like he would want to hear.

You blinked and straightened your back. “There isn’t anything wrong with being friendly, Mr. Shaw. Maybe you should try it.” The words were out before you could stop them. You were a nice person, but you definitely knew how not to be one, too.

“You might want to try and watch what you say. Some people don’t take kindly to a lack of manners.” Al rasped, and drank from his cup.

You sighed, but kept that practiced smile on your face, “I probably should. Good thing you’re not my daddy or I bet you’d have me bent over your knee.” It was most likely not the smartest come-back you could have made to Albert, but it his eyes widening and jaw clenching made it a little more worth it; even if it did put your head on the metaphorical or literal chopping block.

It seemed luck was on your side when you heard the bubbling of the coffee pot, marking its readiness; you grasped it with without looking, and sent him one more smile before making about your rounds again.

Albert ground his molars, and sipped at his coffee a little too harshly.

Brat.

The click of your shoes on the checkerboard tile calmed you, and gave you something to focus on as you stretched that smile of yours. You were starting to believe that Al was just a disgruntled older man who needed to get out more; each interaction felt akin to a kitten playing with a ball of yarn…though sometimes you had to wonder which one of you was which.

Then you came back around to the table with the nice man and his intimidating wife, and perched your hand on your hip as you held your pot, “How are you two doing over here? Everything alr-“

“Coffee.” The wife snapped and tapped her cup.

Your smile didn’t falter. “Sure thing.” You poured it a little too full and half considered making it overflow just to see her shriek, then turned to the man staring up at you with eyes that rivalled a puppy. “And how are you doing sir? Was I right about the cream?” You asked gently.

A smile fleeted over his face before he schooled it when his wife shot him a look and checked her wrist watch. “It’s very good thank you, sweetheart. Can’t say I can blame you for trying it.”

You laughed and poured him a little more coffee, “Well I’m glad you’re both enjoying.” You chirped, and ducked your head slightly to hide your pink cheeks.

“The bill please.” The woman said, checking her watch again.

Your eye twitched and a string of nasty words sat in your mouth.

Hope you’re going to court to get divorced.

“I’ll be right back.” You opted for.

Again, you hoped that when you turned around, Albert would have vacated his spot. However, that luck you had felt before evidently was washing away when you saw he was watching you quite unabashedly. His legs were spread comfortably and he braced an elbow on the counter. It was like he wanted you to know that he as trying to make you uncomfortable. If it weren’t for the fact that you were at work and that you heart was beating a mile a minute, you would have loved to give his attitude right back to him.

He needed to touch some grass and listen to a bird chirp.

The devil inside you made you look between his thighs -as if you could avoid it with him sitting so promiscuously- and you couldn’t help but note that there was a noticeable protrusion down the side of one of his thighs. Perhaps it was just a bunch in the seam, but you let you mind wander to less than innocent places for just a moment before you snapped back to reality and passed him by to get the bill the couple asked for.

Seriously, y/n?

“Blue suits you.” He said passively. Seemed he didn’t notice your slip-up.

You nearly laughed nervously as you wrote; you wondered if he meant the uniform dress or that you’d look nice all blue after he strangled you-

Calm down.

“Thank you very much, Mr. Shaw.” You smiled again, looking up at him quickly. It was hard to ignore the fact that he was watching you so intently.

He didn’t smile. Or nod. Or wink. He just sat there.

At his insistent silence, you sucked in a breath and began to walk back to the table waiting for you. You had just made it a few paces past the older man when your pen dropped right out of your hand and landed on the tile. With a mental string of curses singing loudly in your brain, you sighed out the air in your lungs, and bent over to retrieve it. The simple fact that your dress was short and you were bent at the waist went against your own common sense to kneel down is read, but you were getting frustrated and you were not thinking completely straight. Just as you stood back up quickly, you suddenly heard a squeak of one of the stools at the bar. Once you righted yourself, you turned back a little and noticed that Albert had turned back to reading his previously discarded paper far more intently than before.

What a strange man.

You tried to ease your nerves by focusing on the couple before you, and remind yourself that you might just be overreacting.

“There you are. No rush, I can get you two a piece of pie to-“ You started as you laid the slip of paper on the table.

“No, thank you.” The woman said a little less aggressively now that she was fed.

You nodded, and smiled, “Well then it was a pleasure folks. Hope to see you soon.” The last part was spoken mostly to the man- Richard, you corrected yourself. You heard him reply with a very soft “Thank you.” And you gave them one last nod of thanks before leaving the table one last time.

When you went to go back to your station by the pie and coffee, you were greeted with an empty stool and a finished coffee cup on the bar. You looked around quickly to see if Albert was still lingering somewhere out of your immediate sight, but there was nothing. You only spotted him when you turned to the window and caught his back as he disappeared out across the street and into the crowd. A sigh of relief washed your mouth of that horrible taste of discomfort.

You shivered again. You didn’t like him showing up like that, especially since you had only seen him a handful of other times, namely around your home and neighbourhood. Neither of which were odd anymore since you had started spending more time with them. But this one was.

This time was different.

Usually when you saw the Shaws, it was Max talking your ear off, and Al standing there arms crossed like an impatient father with a toddler. As nervous as the older man made you, you couldn’t help but giggle at how accurate the image was.

But seeing Al just show up at your work without Max or you even telling him where you worked made your stomach churn.

Had you told them accidentally?

Was it a coincidence like he said?

Had he followed you?

Were you being paranoid?

It wasn’t like he hadn’t grown up there…Al had probably been to that diner alone many times in his life. And it wasn’t as if it was illegal to eat there or try a new place to eat. For all you knew he might have been driving by and seen you and thought he would try and spook you a little.

No harm in that.

God, get yourself together…

Your mind ran far too fast as you absentmindedly began wiping down tables and clearing them away. Then, just as you were about to crumble up one of the napkins from that couple’s table, you noticed something slipped inside. You paused and placed your tray down to get a better look, and as you opened the white paper, your heart stuttered.

Inside was a $50 bill, and a business card.

Richard Orson.

History teacher.

Your brows found your hairline and you stood there for a long moment in shock. Never in a million years did you ever think you would receive such generosity; the poor man must have felt terrible for the way you had been treated by his partner…and the lack of tip with the cheque. A genuine smile crept over your face, though you bit your lip to keep your face from betraying too much excitement; you knew how your regulars liked to stare and gossip.

All thoughts and worries of the potentially homicidal magician faded as you pocketed the tip, and card. In fact your thoughts faded so much that you didn’t even register that the tip left by the said magician under his coffee cup was in fact equal to that of Mr. Orson’s. You didn’t even notice it until you were gathering up all of your tips from the day, and saw double.

Two $50 bills given to you in one day, what were the odds?

Perhaps the same odds of a certain Mr. Shaw watching that nervous history teacher slip that bill and card into his napkin when neither you nor his wife was looking. The same odds that a bitter, unfavourable heat burst under Albert’s fingertips at the sight.

The very same odds, that Albert Shaw was in fact, just a little jealous.

But jealous of what, however, was what bothered him the most. He didn’t know what he was jealous of. Albert had decided that he would try to pick you apart- this strange girl who was so damn comfortable everywhere. The girl who had settled so easily into his quiet life; the girl who got along with the nosy biddies on their block.

The girl who scared the shit out of him.

Yes, you scared him. You scared him because no one had ever looked at him like you did. Like you could see past skin and muscle and see inside him. His mind and his memory. Like you could see what he had done, and knew what he was capable of.

He had seen the recognition and terror in your eyes…and something else he couldnt quite place. He hated how little he knew about you. Hell, he’d beaten all the information on you he could out of Max’s empty head. All he knew was what you had told his brother, and a few little things here and there that you had said…but Al wondered how much of those things were even true.

You had no reason to tell them the truth…based on how odd you were, he was fairly certain that you making up a story to tell them wouldn’t be beyond your imagination.

And indeed it was not beyond your imagination to concoct a false backstory, but recently you found it easier now to just tell the truth. Most of it. Parts of it…

You pondered your strange day, and and turned the steering wheel of your blue Ford pinto at a leisurely pace. The rear lights of the car in front of you glowed red, and you followed suit to stop.

Go.

Stop.

Go.

Stop.

It was at the fourth intersection that you felt the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end. This had become a regular feeling for you, whether you liked it or not. Just like always, you checked around you, but saw nothing out of the ordinary. Yet another reason why you thought you must be getting a little too paranoid.

You tried to chalk it up to being tired and still a little on edge from your visit from Albert, but the further you went and the closer to your home you got, the more uneasy you felt. Your eyes wandered briefly to your rear view, but with the night so dark and the lights so bright, you couldn’t tell if the vehicle behind you was new or had been behind you all along. Your gut churned, and you felt bile rise into your throat at the very thought of someone following you. But your rational brain tried to chime in; tell you that you drove a very popular route, and that even if the person behind you was the same since you left downtown, it was most likely just a coincidence.

But you didn’t like coincidence or most likely. You wanted yes or no. Fight or flight.

Sweat began to well on your skin as you fought with yourself internally, and you couldn’t deny the fact that you were scared. You veered off your way, and began down a side street. At first, you breathed a sigh of relief when there was no light behind you…but then after a few seconds, the car that had been behind you turned as well.

Your stomach fully dropped.

You shoved your foot down on the accelerator and turned haphazardly onto the next road and peeled down it to take a left, then a right then another right, then straight.

But every time, even if it took a second or two, those god damn headlights came back. It was no small car too, you could tell. A truck or a-

You swallowed.

A van.

You didn’t even care if you got a ticket or lost your way, you hit the gas as hard as you could and your little car screamed at you as you did. It took off down the road, and received a few middle fingers and honked horns, but you didn’t care. You drove through neighbourhoods until you found a house that looked to be tucked to bed, and you pulled into the drive way and shut off your engine and hid. And waited.

And waited.

And waited.

You heard a dog bark, and laughter one from the houses; a porch light switch on, and the rhythmic sound of a bicycle wizzing past, but nothing else. Fear gripped you so tight that you were certain your breath would never come back; you feared that if you looked up from your spot shoved down against the seat, the person you were running from would be right there.

A boogeyman.

Or worse, maybe that vehicle would be waiting down the street- illuminating the road with its bright headlights as if to taunt you and tell you to run. That it’s fun. Because it’s all a game.

Your hands shook, but you knew you couldn’t stay there all night. So against your better-or perhaps just terrified- judgement, you slowly crept up to look over the edge of the window; eyes wide.

Only to see an empty dark street.

There was nothing. Not even a strange car parked on the side of the road.

You swallowed and checked every window and side of your car to see if you had missed anything, but again, there was nothing. A nervous laugh bubbled up in your throat as your strung-out nerves began to settle, and you placed your hand on your forehead. Had you imagined it? Did that even happen? Were you just so spooked by your day that you had let your tired mind run away and get lost in your deepest fears?

The air in your lungs gradually returned, and you started to feel your heart slow to a steady, healthy beat. A half hour passed before you finally turned the key to start your car- the sound alone was loud enough to make you jump. You drove slowly, and cautiously; you didn’t care that you got home well past 6pm, or that your stomach was howling at you. All you found yourself caring about was that there were no headlights behind you for more than a few blocks at a time.

Your home called to you as you pulled in, and you nearly cried with relief. But in the back of your mind, there was an itch. An itch that demanded to be scratched. An itch that reminded you that whoever’s car you had seen or thought you had seen behind you had been a large car of sorts.

You very slowly got out of your car, and jerkily looked down one direction of the road, looked then looked down the other…but still saw nothing. Then, you reluctantly moved your gaze across the street to 7742 Irving Dr. That black van you saw everyday was parked, and the house was still. The entire street was fairly still, in fact.

You knew you should just leave it be and go into your home and sleep it off, but you couldn’t help yourself. Sleep would evade you if you didn’t check, and you would be haunted by your cowardliness.

So you forced your stiff limbs to move, and slowly wandered across the street. You rubbed your clammy hands against your skirt as you approached the large van, and walked to the hood; with each step you took, you checked that there was no one watching you or someone creeping up on you. Then as you stood there, with nothing holding you back, you stared at it for a long moment, debating once again just going home, but you couldnt. Your palm hovered over the metal for a long minute, but then you bit your cheek and placed it down on the hood.

The sensation your hand was met with made you breathe out an incredulous laugh. You very slowly removed your hand, and walked back to your home at a leisurely pace; relaxed right up until your front door was closed. That night you locked your doors and windows like you always did, but instead of simply letting sleep take you, you found a few sleeping pills you had kicking around, and swallowed them with a sip of water. Your nerves were shot from the day you had had, and letting your paranoid mind take over had been the final straw.

As you laid there staring up at your ceiling, your hand was still fuzzy from touching the hood of that van, and still just as warm. You were certain you would never forget the shiver that made every vertebrae in your back freeze when you felt the metal; it had been so warm…as if it had just been shut off just moments before you pulled into your driveway.

A few days passed without incident.

The morning following that night was evidently the most difficult to get through. You had half expected to wake up in a warehouse, strung up like a pig to bleed out, or tied up in the forest; something so horrible that the fear from the experience might be enough to kill you…but nothing like that happened at all.

On the contrary, things seemed to go oddly smoothly.

You coffee tasted extra rich, the milk you were certain had spoiled was good for another week, and your aging car had started on the first try. Even when you finally laid eyes on the elder Shaw brother for the first time since that fateful afternoon, he had given you a simple wave as he carried his paper bags of groceries inside without even a hint of mischief or ulterior motives.

You had stood there, mail in hand, for an extra five minutes to see if he would come to his front window and peer out at you; march up to you and stab you or drag you by the hair into his house. The sick part of you hoped he would, actually; if he did, then you could confirm your worst fears and either die knowing you had been right, or try and escape.

Yet every time you thought you would be able to catch Albert Shaw and prove to yourself that he was the psychotic man you thought he was…he would prove you wrong.

It drove you nuts.

You felt that you couldn’t even believe your own mind, let alone your eyes or ears or common sense. Everything felt upside down and flipped front to back no matter how you tried to look at it.

Indeed, the hood of Albert’s black van had been warm -that you did not deny- and certainly, there was something in him that made you go on very high alert. But there was a nagging in the back of your mind that said “Take a deep breath and calm down.”

If you were honest with yourself, you felt a part of you begin to experience a deep seeded guilt. Had you been wrong? Were you overreacting to everything? Had you really seen that deadness in Albert Shaw’s eyes, or were you just startled by his handsome face and were looking for something so terribly wrong with him; the poor man was probably just dead tired and had no life left in him from looking after his hyperactive, adult brother.

The guilt settled into you almost immediately after you had woken up after your horrible night, and you let yourself feel that guilt; the more you did, the more you realized how nice of a man Al was -albeit very rough around the edges. Perhaps nice wasn’t the best word for him…perhaps altruistic would suit him better. While he did not show a great deal of outward care and kindness, he did show a certain level of helpfulness and openness with those around him. He said hello to his neighbours, and you noted how Harriet called him Bert; you also noticed him cringe at it which made you cough up a laugh. He held doors open and helped old ladies with their groceries; threw kids balls back when they landed on his yard and would make sure Max had his car keys when he left the house.

Three days after you had let the guilt envelop you, just when you were about to head to work for a morning shift, your car wouldn’t start. As fate would have it, the one person you were so uncertain about had been taking the trash out in a large black bag, and had just so happened to look up and see you.

You had been so focused on trying to get the Ford to start that you had jumped and subsequently honked your horn by accident when you glanced out your window and saw him leaning down to it; you didn’t know if you had been so engrossed with the car that you hadn’t heard him, or if he had just been that quiet. The satisfied smirk he had poorly hidden made you want to replace his eggs with rotten ones, but to his credit, he had fixed the issue within 10 minutes. While you had told him you didn’t need any help -determined to figure it out yourself- it had felt…nice to receive a hand from him.

Albert also had the decency to not mentioned how red your face was after embarrassing yourself so badly at 6 am.

In keeping with honesty, however, you had to have a very real conversation with yourself about the great unease you had begun to experience nearly every day. It felt so cliche to admit that you felt as if you were being watched, but it was the truth, and you hadn’t the faintest idea why you felt it. Everywhere you went it was as if someone was breathing down your neck, specifically when you were out alone. Walking, driving, sitting in that coffee house talking to regulars you saw- even grocery shopping.

It didn’t seem to matter how many times you were able to rationalize what you were experiencing, it always came back to the fact that something felt off. It didn’t matter how many times you told yourself that it was just that baby in the shopping cart staring or even an elderly man with a loose gaze. A festering unease began to grow in your stomach, and you started to wonder if perhaps you had been a touch too friendly with someone in town, and they now thought it was within their rights to pursue you. You knew there was a fair share of deranged people in the world, and wouldn’t put it past any of them to take it upon themselves to follow you after giving into their delusions, or worse…

No.

No you couldn’t think like that.

Saturday was your day to treat yourself without errands or obligations. It had been a few weeks now that your time to explore the city had been cut short by Max, and now with what you hoped would be a free day, you wished to do just that; see Denver properly, minus any ice or snow. With summer right around the corner, you took the little joy you felt for the warmer weather and wore a sun dress to brighten your mood. Then, you found yourself in that coffee house you so enjoyed, sipping away at a caffeinated beverage that the waitress had suggested.

Your peace, however, ended quickly as a crowd began to form inside, and your personal space was intruded upon repeatedly. Claustrophobia began to get the better of you, and you found yourself finishing your drink quickly; making quick work of weaving between tables and bodies until you were outside and taking a deep breath. You squared your shoulders, and set off down the street to a main road, and let yourself get lost amongst shops and barbers and mechanics and grocers. Streets and avenues led you deeper and deeper until you-

Crashed right into someone.

Your gaze had been locked on a particularly beautiful view of the mountains and had completely missed a very tall person walking opposite you, and evidently they had missed you too.

“Oh- I am so sorry, I can’t believe I-“

“No, no please that was my fault. Are you alright-“

You talked over one another as you righted each other, and ensured neither of you were hurt, only for you both to finally look up and pause and laugh.

“Hello stranger.” You smiled up at those brown eyes you had seen so recently.

Sure enough, this was no stranger, not really. He had given you his card and a $50 tip after all.

“Oh! H-hi. Gosh…um, I- I’m sorry I didn’t uh…get your name.” Mr. Richard Orson managed to get out. You hadn’t realized just how tall he was when you had served him and his wife, but now as he stood before you, he dwarfed you completely. Not that he was large- he was quite lanky really, but very tall. Easily a foot or more on you.

You smiled and laughed, “I told you- good whipped cream will make the world melt away. Y/n. My name’s y/n.” You held your hand out to him, and noted that his long fingers wrapped around your hand comically. His hands were a little clammy, but warm.

“Richard.” He smiled a little nervously, though he seemed happy to see you, not displeased.

“I know…thank you by the way.” You said sincerely, “You bought my groceries for this week and next!”

His ears went red and he ducked his head, “I apologize for that, I didn’t want to just leave the money so I left my card too, and then I felt a bit ridiculous because I think people only do that in the movies… I…I just felt so awful for how my wife was treating you. We were just in a rush and I burned the toast that morning, and she was- well…it doesn’t matter.” He sighed and looked around, a little exasperated.

He wasn’t in a suit, and you found yourself enjoying how relaxed he looked- he seemed to be the kind of man to need relaxation. You hoped he was taking the day to do just that…though with how tight his shoulders looked, you had a hard time believing that.

“You’re a nice man, Mr. Orson. I’d be happy to see you there again.” You smiled, and touched his arm to remind him that not everyone was going to snap at him. It seemed like he existed on eggshells.

You watched him move his gaze from your face down to stare at your hand, then looked back up at you again, “You’re a very nice girl, y/n.” He grinned slowly, “I…-“ he started then shook his head.

“No- what is it?” You asked, suddenly concerned you had overstepped, and removed your hand.

His ears began to go pink again.

You hadn’t expected him to ask something like that…but you couldn’t say no, not when he looked like a kicked puppy.

“You know…I did just have a coffee.” You started, and his shoulders seemed to shag a little, “But I would love another one…can’t say the one I had was very enjoyable.” You laughed lightly.

His brows rose up and he grinned, realizing you had been teasing him, “You’re sure? I’m- I’m not interrupting your day?”

You shook your head, “Not at all, I was actually going to explore the city a bit…I just moved here in January.”

“January? God you must have been freezing.” He said, finally loosening up, “Well I- if you need a guide I was born and raised here.” He rubbed the back if his neck.

“I’ve seen worse.” You laughed and shrugged, “I would actually love a guide…can you promise to avoid all Baseball stadiums and anything including a hike?” You pleaded.

At that, he laughed. Properly.

“I think I can do that.” He grinned, and gestured for you to continue on your way, side by side.

It had been a wonderful day, and you couldn’t remember the last time you felt so at ease around someone; there was, however, that feeling in the back of your mind that simply would not leave. Like eyes watching you at every moment, or a hand hovering over your back about to snatch you. Your eyes would quickly darted around your surroundings in an attempt to pin-point the perpetrator, but to no avail; each time, in fact, that gentle voice of the older man in your company would bring you back with his concern. Asking if you were alright, or if the food wasn’t good, or if you were bored of a certain site he took you to.

Such a nice man.

You truly wondered how his wife would treat him so poorly; it seemed that at every turn he was trying to ensure that everything was right, nothing out of place. It was strange to have someone care so much for your well-being even though you were practically strangers, and you knew you shouldn’t be so enamoured with a man wearing a gold ring on his finger, but that hollow part inside you was head-strong and stubborn, and you could only fight it for so long.

That night, when he walked you to your car, that was still parked in the city by the coffee house, you kissed his cheek, and the blush that covered his face made it worth it.

“G-goodnight y/n.” He had stuttered out and waved as you darted away to your vehicle before you said something stupid. You had your head in the clouds like a teenager walking home from the school dance; it was ridiculous and unrealistic and perhaps invasive into their marriage…but a girl would dream. If you were playing the devils advocate with yourself- he even admitted himself that there was no love left there…hadn’t been for a long time.

So really, no harm done, right?

On Sunday, you ran your usual errands. Groceries, cosmetics, and anything in between. Really, you were aimless. While you did indeed have a list to do, you found yourself wandering through shops once again with no end in sight, and just like every other time, you began to feel the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end, one by one. In the back of your mind. You briefly wondered if you had some kind of condition that made you so sensitive to being in public, but no matter how much you tried to blame yourself, you always came back to the same conclusion. Your paranoia had been growing. So much so that even Albert had made a jab at you about it.

Of course he knew exactly why you had that feeling. In fact he was surprised that you hadn’t noticed him acting as your shadow for weeks now- you seemed so perceptive, but perhaps he was wrong. However, he had noticed that you had the tendency to convince yourself of conclusions in order to…cope. He knew you were well aware of his little brother’s cocaine habit, but always asked if he was sick when he would sniffle or sneeze uncontrollably. Or how you were positive that the family down the road was having marital issues, despite having seen only a little tiff between husband and wife.

Very much in your own mind. Perhaps a little lost, if Albert was honest with himself.

Albert could see you from his spot, parked down a small street that was practically an alley, or could have been a service way. He made a note that now as the weather was warming you tended to avoid the heat peaks and often wore the sweetest little sundresses that made watching you all the more worth it. He had an entire filing cabinet in his mind with your little name on it- hobbies, habits, likes and dislikes, speech patterns, body language…

He could see you standing there having just stepped onto the sidewalk, a shopping bag over your shoulder. There was a breeze that toyed your hair, and lifted your dress ever so slightly. Then, Albert watched you go completely still. With such a sudden change in your demeanour, Al had half expected you to turn around and look right at him; as if you could sense he was there. You did that often, but never spotted him. Even when he had followed you and that man from the diner, you never saw him.

Albert’s thoughts were cut off when he realized he had zoned out and gotten lost in thought. When he refocused his eyes, he froze- you were gone. Albert kicked himself for letting himself slip like that-

“Fancy seeing you here, Mr. Shaw!”

Now Al was not usually one to jump, but when your face was suddenly right outside his open window, he did just that. Nearly shook the entire van.

Your brows pinched in concern when you saw how startled he was, “Oh my gosh I’m so sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you!” You said, putting your hands on the window ledge.

Albert let out a bothered sigh, as if you were one following him. Making him uncomfortable.

“What the hell are you doing out here, hm?” He rasped, crossing his arms over his thick chest and looked out at the streets.

He didn’t like how your eyes followed his every movement- at least he had the decency to do it when you didn’t know he was there.

“Oh you know- this and that.” You shrugged, “I was about to get something to eat if you want to come. Always happy to have the company.”

Al looked down at you like you were a cheeky child and shook his head, “Don’t be out late again.” Your eyes went wide at the statement. And with that, he went to put the key in the ignition, but then that spike of fear you often felt crept up your spine.

You didn’t know why you did it, but the words were out before you could stop them. “Would you mind giving me a lift?”

This stopped him. Albert blinked, but didn’t look at you, “I’m not your dad, Kid.”

You rolled your eyes good-naturedly and smiled, “Haven’t you heard of being neighbourly? You don’t have to be my daddy to give me a ride.”

Albert’s eye twitched.

Cheeky brat.

But when you didn’t move, Albert sighed and started the van, “Get in.” He rasped.

You smiled and ran to the other side, and hoped inside. “Thanks a lot! Thought I was going to get stuck in the heat later.” You didn’t want to tell him about the fact that your nerves were unsettled again, lest he crack another joke or ‘old man’ statement about it.

Albert didn’t say anything as he pulled out, and started down the road towards home. As you drove, you remembered the cold treat you had sitting in the bag you had tossed just behind your seat and found your mouth watering at the the thought of it. You quickly unbuckled your seatbelt, turned, and started rifling through the bag- smiling when you found the box.

“Sit back down.” Al grumbled behind you. He wasn’t about to have you fly through the windshield if he slammed on the breaks.

Not that you saw how his knuckles had turned white on the steering wheel or how he had rolled down his window even more to let in fresh air and distract from the intoxicating smell you had. Now as you were bent over, your dress had ridden up, and he had made the mistake to look over. Just like he had at the diner. And just like at the diner, you only had on simple black cotton panties under that goddamn summer dress. Albert looked out the window and forced his thoughts away through gitted teeth and heavy breaths.

“Hold on old man.” You teased him, finally coming back to sit with an orange popsicle in hand. “Let a girl cool off, would ya?”

Al looked back at you and nearly slammed on the breaks to tell you to get out. “Don’t you go making a mess with that, its already dripping down your damn arm.” He rasped and nodded to the mess you were already making.

You blushed and smiled. “Come on give me a little credit- I won’t let a single drop go to waste!” You licked the sweet trail down your arm, to your palm, and smiled sweetly, “See? No mess.”

But Albert could barely look at you. Seeing a young thing like you with her dress riding up her soft thighs, and happily sucking on a popsicle as it dripped down your arm made him nearly snap the wheel in two. He could feel his pants grow tighter and tighter, and he felt a wave of rage move through him; like he was being reduced to a hormonal teenage boy by some strange girl in a dress. His jaw hurt from clenching it so tightly.

Beside him, you had started babbling on about something Albert could only go “mhmm” to every so often lest he snap and drag you-

No.

No you weren’t right.

He shook his head and took a deep breath of the fresh afternoon air.

“- Mr. Shaw?”

Finally, Al snapped back into his body. “What?”

You blinked, sucking on the wooden stick, “I was just asking you about work…noticed you’ve been having more free time.”

He could have throttled you right there. Smart brat.

“Yeah, and why does it matter?” He rasped, turning onto Irving street.

“N-nothing- uh it doesn’t. I just…was curious. Maybe you can work on those nice wood carvings you told me about!” You chirped. Indeed he had told you offhandedly about a hobby of his that included wood work.

Albert pulled into his driveway, and sighed, “Need me to carry you to your house too?” As he opened his door and stepped out without waiting for an answer.

A warmth came to your cheeks, but you shook your head and hopped down to the pavement unbothered; your bag in hand and stick in your mouth- though it had lost its flavour.

“Thanks for the ride, Mr. Shaw!” You called to him as he disappeared towards the door; you could hear Samson barking for him already.

“Don’t make it a habit.” He called back. You couldn’t see it, but the older man was about to rip the door off its hinges to get inside and deal with the aching cock between his legs.

You lingered for a moment, and your smile faded when he entered his home without a second glance. But Albert wouldn’t be around you longer than he needed to. Couldn’t.

It wasn’t even that you had seen him, that startled him so much. It was how quietly and quickly you had snuck up on him. He hadn’t heard or seen you at all before you were right on top of him. Was he getting old? Had you been calling his name the whole time, and he just hadn’t heard you? Or had you spotted him and slipped under his nose to scare him?

He didn’t know, but he sure wasn’t about to find out.

Your evening had been a quiet one. You had settled into bed early, and even started on a new book that had been staring at you for a month. Which was why you were so startled at around 10 pm when a loud argument outside in the street broke out. You nearly leapt up when the sound roused you from your lull, and you drew the side of one of your curtains back in your living-room.

At first all you heard was yelling, mostly one voice but a little of another; then you looked outside and listened carefully, and found that these voices were ones you knew fairly well.

Your eyes widened when you saw both Max and Albert Shaw come out from their backyard. Max’s voice raised especially. You couldn’t even pay attention to the words he was saying before you noticed lights from other houses turning on in response to the row. Before you could think, you were out the door in your nightie, slippers and a robe. You were just past your gate when Max, who was now pointing his finger in Al’s face, punched his brother clean in the jaw.

You froze, and watched as Max made a beeline for his car and peeled out down the road. In his anger, he didn’t even see you.

Albert did though. He walked to where you stood, and cast a weary eye around the neighbourhood as a few heads poked out from their doors.

“The hell are you doing?” He rasped out, and took your arm, pulling you from the middle of the road and to his gate. You didn’t even see the car driving down the road that he took you out of the way from.

“I-I heard your fight and wanted to see if you were alri-“ you looked at his face in the light from his house and saw the mottled pink and red on his cheekbone from his brother’s punch.

He seemed to understand what you were staring at, and he took a breath to calm himself, if only for a moment.

“Sorry folks…just a brotherly quarrel. Have a good night.” He called to the last of the old biddies who wouldn’t go inside; you wondered if this happened often. You gathered it must have, what with the two of then being so drastically different.

He looked back at you, but said nothing. Albert simply turned around and walked back inside his house, calm as ever.

You were torn between just leaving it be, and keeping your nose out of their business, but these two men were a part of your life now…and you weren’t about to pretend a violent fight didn’t just happen. So you took a deep breath and followed after the older man.

Inside, you saw that there was indeed evidence of a fight. The board Max used to organize his thoughts and theories was hanging by a corner, there was a dent in one of the walls, and a mess of cocaine on the coffee table.

Ah.

“You can’t just leave things alone can you?”

You jumped and spun to face Al who was icing his knuckles…which you now saw were bruised and bleeding.

“Not like you really left me a choice…” you said, already walking over to him. “Sit.” You pointed to one of the dining chairs.

Albert stared down at you, and relented after a moment, sighing as he settled into the seat. You brought a chair in front of his, and took the ice from him before positioning it better over the open and purpling skin.

“What happened?” You asked.

“The wall bit me.” He said dryly.

You fixed Albert with a look. “Like how Max’s fist bit your cheek?”

You swore then, that you saw the tiniest of smiles on his face for just a second.

He was silent for about three minutes, and you didn’t say a word either. If you wanted to know what had happened, you needed to let him tell you.

So you waited.

“He doesn’t know when to stop.”

You looked up at Al, and saw him looking at Samson.

“Stop with…?” You prompted.

“Everything. His brain…the drugs, the people, the whores…he just…he’s an idiot.” He sighed.

“He’s your idiot though.” You breathed out a laugh.

Albert nodded and you saw that little smile again. “He is.”

You could tell he was softening towards you, and if you were honest you felt your heart beat a little faster.

“Well, I think I’ve done all I can here…I have a pretty extensive first aid kit at home if you’d like to come over?” You posed your question, and found it difficult to meet his eyes.

“Oh do you? Clean up lots of accidents?” He asked. You could feel his eyes on you and his gaze burned. There was something behind his eyes right then that made the air in your lungs feel heavy. It was as if he was asking one thing but was demanding to know something else, and you didn’t like just how sure he seemed of himself. Like he knew something you didn’t.

“I- safety first you know? I tend to be a bit clumsy.” You blushed and bit the inside of your cheek, as you fumbled a little.

“I noticed.” He rasped, leaning towards you slightly onto his knees. His voice dropped then. “I don’t think I’m quite right for you though, am I?”

Your brows knit together and you felt the hair on the back of your neck rise, “No-not right? What do you mean, Mr. Shaw?” You tried to meet the older man’s gaze, but you couldn’t. Your eyes flitted around his face instead.

This time he smiled. Actually smiled. And your stomach plummeted.

“I’m not married…got no kids. Pretty sure I’m a little older than what you’re used to as well.” He tilted his head to the side.

You flushed. Did he think you were trying to seduce him?

“M-mr. Shaw please I’m just trying to help-“

“You’re good. Smart…cute even. But I’d rather not be another body in your trunk, thanks.” His breath fanned across your face as he spoke.

The blood from your face drained, and you began to draw away from him as fear clutched at you, but he caught your arm in a tight hold before you could run from him.

“Ah ah, you’re not going anywhere.” He tsked you. “What do you use, hm? I hear ladies are partial to poison…but you…no. You don’t seem like the poison type.”

“Mr. Shaw you’re scaring me.” You whispered, trying to pull away as hysteria set in.

“What about…a bat? Or a hammer? An axe?” He pushed. “Come on, I’ll tell you mine if you tell me yours.” He was completely in your space now. Your breathing came in short, fast gasps- your anxiety raging as all of your fears came true right before your eyes and you couldn’t even run. Your hand gripped your thigh like a lifeline-

Then it all stopped. You breathed.

“A knife.”

He paused. Your voice dropped, and you went eerily still, just as he had seen you do in the parking lot that same day.

All frightful doe gone.

You smiled.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

@dogmatic255 @wayward-persephone @ethanhoewke @honeycovered-bandaids @dancingisdangerouss @tuttifuckinfruttifriday @theroadreader @lxdyred @eth1calcannibal @al-shaw @ebiemidnightlibrarian @katehawke @blep-bloop @astroo-babe @Ixdyred @ethanhawkestan @ratpackash @doc-blu @al-shaw @possessedjoker @destiel394 @darkvoidz @belladonnaaura @ang311te @pecter-specter

#ethan hawke #the grabber #albert shaw #the grabber x reader #the black phone #Albert Shaw x reader #slasher x reader #slasher

[artist-issues]

Hello!

What is your opinion about the animations Cinderella II: Dreams Come True and Cinderella III: A Twist in Time?

Would you like live-action versions inspired by these animations with actors Lily James and Richard Madden?

@reescrever-as-estrelas I am so sorry for the late answer, I thought this ask got deleted when I lost connection trying to post it, but I just found it safe in my drafts! I saw Twist more often than Dreams, so my opinion might be stale! But I liked both movies when I was younger. Then when I re-watched them, I liked them even more.

After seeing movies like Ever After my knee-jerk reaction to seeing a "Cinderella" character that does covert rebellious acts and works to do things her own way is to get indignant. Because Cinderella doesn't do that. Other characters can do that. But Cinderella obeys her stepmother's wishes and works to make things pleasant for others, even when they're cruel. She doesn't hit back. She doesn't disobey. That's not her.

So when she's doing things her own way instead of The King's (Prunella's) way, or creeping around the castle trying to fight back against the stepmother in Twist, I'd usually be like "no, that's the thing, she's kind and does what would make others happy!"

But see. That's only Cinderella before she marries the Prince. Once she's his wife, she becomes the head woman of that household. Then all of the loving, kind, gentle, caring virtue she always had is meant to turn that household (it just so happens to be a palace and a kingdom, now) into a place of welcome and comfort.

Also, she becomes responsible for the Prince's heart, and the King's, now that he's family too, and living in her home. So the Stepmother and Prunella can't just waltz in and make life harder l, or simply not-as-good-as-it-could be, same-old-same-old, for the men Cinderella's loving. Cinderella is now responsible for them just as much as she felt responsible for the mice, and keeping them safe from Lucifer in her own kind, peace-making way.

It's very in line with her character, once she's part of that family and has the role of "wife" and "Princess," to take those new responsibilities and act accordingly—she's still the kind of girl who tries to make things better for everyone, even her enemies or rivals.l

That's what I love about the Anastasia storyline (which everyone loves, I'm not alone in that.) Cinderella is always kind to Anastasia. She is the only person who sees the good in Anastasia, because she's the kind of girl who's already looking for "her good points." Like she tells Bruno to do about Lucifer in the original. That's the thing I think people don't get about the Disney Cinderella—she doesn't just dream of a happy life where everything is beautiful. She dreams of the best version of the people around her.

Anyway, back to your question! I think a Live Action with either of these plots would work, but personally, I wouldn't want to see Twist made Live action. I don't think Disney would keep Cinderella's kindhearted, selfless character intact if they're given any kind of chance to make her an "action" hero, and having Cinderella sneak around the castle trying to get a wand, confronting her Stepmother, and wrestling her way out of a demonic pumpkin is a little too much chance. But I'd love to see Kit jump out the window.

If I ever got the chance to write a sequel to Cinderella 2015, I would go in a totally different direction. The movie said the stepmother and stepsisters left the Little Kingdom and never stepped foot in it again. But I'd have them go to Zaragosa with the banished Grand Duke (that's the slightly sinister kingdom that wanted Kit to marry their Princess in the first movie.) Then I'd have them try to bring trouble to the Little Kingdom from there.

And I'd probably just put Ella under more strain to do the right thing and be kind to her stepfamily, even now that she's a Princess. And I'd make it harder for Kit to be courageous.

I'd do that by doing two very risky kind of things. The first thing is, I'd have Ella lose her first child during pregnancy, like Anne of Green Gables does. And I know that's a very heavy topic. But I think I would hint that it's because of how half-starved (remember when the servant girl said "you don't look well miss. Not well at all. Why do you stay there when they treat you so?") and poorly treated she was, and how her health had been taking a hit, right before getting pregnant, before she got out of Lady Tremaine's reach. Then, Ella is forced to realize that her stepfamily kind of indirectly were responsible for this new heartache, when she expected everything to be happily-ever-after.

Then I would put Ella in danger from something else. Either her health continues to be poor, or (and I like this better) she goes to Zaragossa under false diplomatic pretenses and gets trapped there by the stepmother. Because after the scare with the miscarriage, plus being in danger, then Kit, the newly married King, would struggle to figure out how to do the right and courageous thing without acting out of fear for his wife's sake. Meanwhile she's trying to figure out how to be kind now that her stepfamily's making trouble for her again, and their harsh treatment caused her to lose a child.

That sort of ups the anti, and the challenge to "have courage and be kind." Because I think one of the kindest and most courageous things you can do is forgive, and not take revenge. And we know Ella said "I forgive you," to Lady Tremaine, but it's very hard to live out forgiveness when you wind up seeing the person again, or they won't quit making a nuisance of themselves.

And then I'd end it VERY happily, where Anastasia and Drisella (at least) get a sort of happy ending of their own, and Ella's skill as a nurturing Queen would come into its climax, and she and Kit would be EVEN kinder and EVEN more courageous in the face of EVEN worse circumstances.

That's what I would do. But I don't know, maybe that's all too dark for the fairy-tale-Pride-&-Prejudice vibes the first movie had.

#Cinderella #asked #answered #Cinderella: A Twist in Time #Cinderella: Dreams Come True #Lady Tremaine #Cinderella 2015 #Cinderella 2015 sequel #AU #animation #live action remake #Ella #Kit

[hellframe]

T. S. Eliot & The Secret History. Part II.

In the juvescence of the year Came Christ the tiger In depraved May, dogwood and chestnut, flowering judas, To be eaten, to be divided, to be drunk Among whispers

I found it quite curious to read these lines from 'Gerontion' in relation to Henry's suicide.

We see here the same inverted Christian imagery as in TSH, although in the novel it is entwined and overlaid with the Greek mythology.

It's possible that Tartt reconceptualized some of Eliot's ideas.

'Christ the tiger'

The following note to this line in Eliot's poem explains the origin of such a strange image:

the notes and the full text of 'Gerontion' here

In Bible wild-cats, lion and leopard, are the agents of divine wrath, sent to punish people for their transgressions, to slay and to watch (Jeremiah 5:6). Leopard is a measure of extreme swiftness (Habakkuk 1:8). And there's four-headed leopard (Daniel 7:6) which sometimes is interpreted as a symbol of Ancient Greece.

Wild-cats also scared Dante in the beginning of Divine Comedy, forcing him to step on the pass to hell.

'Christ is no wild-cat'. Yet, in TSH we deal with Dionysus who is strongly associated with wild-cats.

Jesus and Dionysus are juxtaposed in comparative mythology as gods with similar inventory: god disguised as a man, born by a human woman, usage of wine, rebirth/resurrection, ritual purification, etc. In a sense, Dionysus can be called the wild-cat Christ, or 'Christ the tiger'.

It reminds me of Henry's 'tigerish grace and swiftness', that surprised Richard (chpt. 8). And there was another comparison to a feline: 'Henry, generally, was clean as a cat' (chpt. 4).

On the other hand, in Christian tradition Jesus is usually depicted as a lamb. In TSH we see lambs only served up on a plate. It happens three times: the first dinner with twins; Richard's lunch with Julian; and Henry's last dinner at Albemarle hotel. Each of these meals preceded a death.

'In the juvescence of the year' 'In depraved May'

Back to the previous note. Lancelot Andrews suggested to celebrate Christmas in season of Easter as a more convenient time in terms of weather, because actual time isn't important for a mystery. Henry did the same when decided to set the bacchanal earlier in the autumn. [Dionysian mysteries were held two times a year: winter for the country festival and spring for great celebrations in the city.]

In TSH time is quite a tricky thing: there's no difference what time of year actually is, because Henry is always Winter — the season of bacchanal and Christmas. [We can think of the bacchanal as Dionysus Christmas.]

Such frozen time is an essential feature of afterlife, particularly in underworld like Hades or hell. But we can also consider annihilation of time in rituals and sacred mysteries, when time is frozen in a cycle.

[Cycle is basically a circle, the main element of construction in Dante's hell. Hell can be interpreted as cycles of suffering (like human life in Buddhism). There are nine circles of hell to pass — cats have nine lives.]

The Classics group lived in a stilled routine, which Richard named 'cyclical, Byzantine existence' (chpt. 2) — in cyclical time.

Henry killed himself when this cycle was ruined for good: time became linear, unfrozen, real.

Henry killed himself in May, the month when he at last started to live without thinking. It was personal spring of his life: time of love and resurrection of senses. But when the spring comes, Winter must end.

Winter met spring, the cycle of Dionysian mysteries was completed.

dogwood and chestnut, flowering judas

Dogwood is an important symbol in the novel. Dogwood flowers appeared in Richard's sight right before Bunny's murder, on the way to ravine and near it. Dogwood apparently contributes to the motif of dogs that recurs across the story.

Besides, earlier Richard compared Bunny to an old dog as he was fond of walks (chpt. 2) and had a specific manner of shaking wet hair (chpt. 5); and to a gun dog in his humiliating behaviour towards others (chpt. 5).

This association with dog looks quite curious in view of cat-and-dog relationship between Henry and Bunny.

Bunny was killed in the first day of 'dogwood winter', a short period of cold weather in the spring (acc. to Collins dictionary).

[In dogwood winter a dog-like guy was killed by a cat-like guy Winter in the woods behind the Cat-aract mountain. It's a crazy novel.]

When snow suddenly started falling to cover everything, including their crime, a curious dialogue took place:

It's Easter and spring, time for resurrection of nature and spiritual resurrection. But if flowers, an important element of this renewal, are killed, no resurrection will happen. Flowers can be interpreted here as a spiritual symbol, virtues of human soul.

Chestnut was mentioned only once, as a part of idyllic landscape around the country house in October (chpt. 2), some time before the bacchanal. Greeks called chestnut Zeus acorn. [Zeus is father of Dionysus, who gave him birth after keeping encased in his thigh.]

According to George Ferguson, in Christianity chestnut was a symbol of chastity, 'a triumph over the temptation of the flesh.' Etymology of this word is derived from Middle English 'chesten', and look at the meanings (b) and (c):

Source: Middle English Dictionary

Flowering judas-tree doesn't appear in TSH. But in the Classics group everyone is a traitor, one way or another. However, in Albemarle drunk Charles accused Richard of betrayal to his face. And earlier, in emergency room, Francis gave him 'a glare of hatred: et tu, Brute.'

The line 'To be eaten, to be divided, to be drunk' recalls how Julian described Dionysiac ritual: 'let God consume us, devour us, unstring our bones. Then spit us out reborn.' In Christianity god sacrifices himself, but in TSH god becomes a predator. Self-sacrifice of Christ the tiger doesn't bring redemption or salvation.

'Among whispers'. All that secretive whispers during the year, and whispers after Bunny's death. And the last whisper to Camilla.

[angusbyrne]

ANGUS BYRNE ( CALLUM TURNER ) is a THIRTY-THREE year-old SENATE STAFFER in WASHINGTON, DC. They were brought under Richard’s care when they were only FIFTEEN years old. They are known as THE PROTECTOR because they are VIGILANT but also CONTROLLING.

BASIC INFORMATION

Full Name: Angus Peter Byrne

Nickname(s): His little brothers would call him Gus, but he would not appreciate anyone else using it.

Date of Birth: September 23, 1971

Age: 33 (almost 34!)

Occupation: Legislative Director for a U.S. Senator

Current Residence: Washington, DC. (Albany part-time for work reasons)

PHYSICAL APPEARANCE

Hair: Brown

Eyes: Blue

Height: 6’2”

Notable Features: Beautiful long nose, freckles, slay cheekbones, sticky-outy ears, generally fae face

PERSONALITY & BEHAVIOR:

Strengths: Detail-oriented, loyal, professional, protective, diplomatic, and cultivated.

Weaknesses: Stubborn, insensitive, strict, invasive, secretive, and manipulative.

Quirks: Always popping Advil and Tums (tummy ache survivor <3), carries an expensive fancy lighter with him, always wears an expensive watch, has glasses but wears contacts every day because God forbid anyone sees him wearing them when he’s not prepared, used to bite his nails so they’re cut short, misophonia sufferer!!!

Vices: Brandy, expensive cigars, his personal art collection (which he doesn’t display in his home)

INTEREST & HOBBIES:

Interests: Fine art & art history, expensive spirits, expensive cigars, expensive cars, architecture, politics, law, boring WWII books and docos, etc.

Hobbies: Making meticulous lists, going to the gym, boxing, cooking, reading Agatha Christie novels (not that he’d admit it…), watching old film noirs, going to his tailor lol, other individual sports like golf and tennis, being boring/invisible/not drawing unnecessary attention to himself, etc.

Special Skills/Talents: Lyinggggg <3 and he grew up taking a lot of music lessons at his dad’s behest so he’s got a pretty good singing voice (church choir experience) and plays the violin.

MISCELLANEOUS

Pinterest I / Pinterest II

Playlist (vibes version -- because Angus primarily listens to his white noise machine)

BECOMING A WARD

The Byrnes resided on a large, sprawling property in the foothills of the Adirondack Mountains of northeastern New York – not too far from Woodrow House. There, they kept sporadic hobbyist farm animals – goats, miniature horses, pigs – that didn’t produce much but a means for Angus’ mother, Maren, to spend her time and keep busy (Marie Antoinette’s pastoral ideal vibes). Angus’ childhood was lush and green, filled with fresh air, fairytale books, and skinned knees from wrestling with his two younger brothers Malcolm and George; it was also marked by being the lesser-favorite son, and the only one who ever caught a glimpse in his adolescence at the extent of what his father did for work. Spoiler alert: it was, at times, not totally above board.

It was through work that his father, Peter, met Richard Woodrow. Peter Byrne was by and large an antiques and art dealer and owned a gallery outside the city. Their business dealings were totally, definitely, absolutely above board (I mean, as far as Richard knew – so that must be true, right?). Richard became close with Peter, first in a professional setting and then later personally. Their holidays mingled; they visited each other’s homes; the Byrne brothers called him Uncle Richard soon thereafter. Angus came to be one of Richard’s wards after his family was involved in a car accident – he was the sole survivor. When Angus was orphaned, Richard stepped up and brought him into his care to honor the Byrnes. 

LIFE AS A WARD

Very few fellow Wards experienced what Angus was like when he first came to live at Woodrow House. For the first few months, he was rude, agitated, paranoid, and combative. He accused the House’s staff of stealing, moving, or just touching his things; he didn’t want anyone near his room for days at a time; and he punched more than one hole in his bedroom wall (not that he advertised that fact to anyone beyond Richard and Mrs. Tristan; Angus learned to hide the products of his frustrations quite well). But then, suddenly, one day a switch flipped. Though things remained a little tense with Richard, from that day forward, Angus was outwardly neat and well-mannered – and all up in the other Wards’ business.

Going forward, he took the role of a pseudo-kinda-big-brother seriously and always did what he could to help the other Woodrow House residents and did what he thought was best for them, even if that meant frustrating some of them in the process. He wears a mask of his own face – boring, straitlaced, and stiff – and that is how most of the Wards know him. Still, that agitated, argumentative energy thrummed under his skin, like he’d gone full circle and speedran the spiraling anger and swallowed it whole so it made its home in the center of his chest – waiting for its moment to bubble back over. It's a good thing he always had a punching bag.

AESTHETIC

Angus is very well-dressed and has taken a page out of Richard’s book so that the most casual he’s ever dressed are classic Brooks Brothers and Ralph Lauren fits. 75% of the time he’s in a suit, honestly, or in a semi-deconstructed suit (not wearing a tie, first couple buttons undone, jacket on and sleeves rolled up, etc). He has carefully controlled curly-ish hair, which he keeps in check with product. His hair is basically only out of place when he’s at the boxing gym. Regarding signature accessories, Angus wears the crucifix he had received for his Confirmation from his mom a few months before she died and is always wearing a watch from his extensive collection (something also inspired by Richard, who gifted him his first). Ultimately, Angus’ goal is not to stand out. He does not wear bold colors or loud patterns; he does not try to look different from any other suit in D.C. The more inconspicuous he is, the better.

EDUCATION

Angus was due to attend a boarding high school about 4 hours away from Woodrow House when he first became a ward. The year he was taken into Richard’s care, he instead spent his freshman year in a homeschool environment on Woodrow House grounds, but when the next year rolled around he insisted that he return to what he considered a proper school. Angus finished high school at a nearby private Catholic school in upstate New York, about a 45-minute to 1-hour commute from the house. After he graduated, he attended Georgetown University in Washington, DC. where he majored in PoliSci. After completion of his Bachelor’s, he attended and graduated from Yale Law School. 

EXTRACURRICULARS 

Sports-wise, Angus primarily took up boxing and was on the wrestling team at school. He very casually dabbled in tennis. In a more creative realm, as a kid, his dad had all of his sons taking music lessons, so Angus also continued his education in violin at Woodrow House. He’s not fantastic but he was in the school orchestra all through high school. 

THEIR LIFE NOW

Since leaving Woodrow House, Angus began a career in politics. From starting as an intern for a State Representative to an advisor and manager for various politicians, a legislative assistant, and now the Legislative Director for a US Senator. The goal, ultimately, is to become the Chief of Staff for a Senator – or hey, maybe even the CoS for a President one day.

A couple of years after college, everything seemed easy-breezy all things considered until someone came knocking at his door. Literally. They were a former affiliate of his dad’s… and they weren’t happy. Since then, for about a decade, Angus has had to contend with various loose ends re: his now-deceased father’s business, only slugging through it all because of the the promise of an end to all the business dealings altogether somewhere on the horizon. The world of art and antique dealing wasn’t always squeaky clean, that was for sure, and Angus kept that side of his life extremely under wraps – for both his safety and his sanity.

He lives alone in a DC townhouse, which has been gutted and cleanly modernized inside. Slick, shiny surfaces and no personality: just the way he likes it. In Albany, he keeps an equally clean, modern, and personality-less one-bedroom apartment. You can sense a theme here and the theme is boring. His romantic life has always been defined by the seemingly endless line of blonde Ashleys, Ambers, and Christinas that are getting their Master's at GW or working in marketing. None of those relationships seem to last very long. That is also just the way he likes it.

IRT to the other wards, Angus tries to keep in contact with most if not all of them. He wants to see all of them on a good life track – happy, healthy, successful (not jobless or directionless), the whole shebang. Historically, he's known for keeping tabs, hovering a bit, keeping track of their friends, reaching out to them regularly, offering to be a reference for work, offering to help get them a job (preferably closer to where he lives), etc etc. He’s fought their battles for and with them, championed them, and stood up for them (and also talked down to them and judged them and fought with them…)

So Angus doesn’t appreciate radio silence and he doesn’t appreciate disrespect when he’s trying so hard and is so committed to, in his way, taking care of the Wards. So though he has plenty of experience in this role so far, that doesn’t mean he deals with those frustrations super well. If you're on the same page as him re: what's good for you, then most of the time things are pretty fine and dandy, but if you're not, well. I'm sure quite a few disagreements have cropped up... but he just really really cares. Just, you know… don’t tell him it may be all deeply rooted in anxiety because that would be sooooo annoying for him. 

#wrhq.intro

[anarchywoofwoof]

In ancient times all kings had at their courts a court fool.

And sometimes it probably was true that the fool was a crazy person who had a peculiar capacity for making inappropriate remarks. And there’s something about inappropriate remarks that can be very funny.

I remember, as a child, we used to play a game in which we had, first of all, a booklet with a story in it, but every now and then a word was left blank. And then you were given a pile of cards that were shuffled ’round the players, and in turn, as the story was read by one person, the players turned up whatever card they had and said the word. And the most extraordinary things happened. And in this way, of course, the person who could make inappropriate remarks at the right moment can sometimes bring the house down.

But actually, as time went on, the function of the fool became more sophisticated than that, and he became a person whose function was not simply to make jokes and to be a funny man, but to remind the monarch of his humanity so that he would never, never get too stuffy. You’ll remember, perhaps, the lines in Richard II, where the king says:

Within the hollow crown That rounds the mortal temples of a king Keeps Death his watch and there the antic sits,

—the antic being the court fool—

…and there the antic sits, Scoffing at his state and grinning at his pomp, Allowing him a little time, To monarchize, be fear’d and kill with looks, And then at the last comes death, and with a little pin Bores through his castle wall, and farewell king!

See, that was, in a way, the function of the fool.

He was reminding you of your finitude; of your mortality; and death, at the end—in somewhat the same way as monks used to keep, on the desks in their cells, a grinning skull.

And all this is, of course, nowadays thought very morbid, because today we repress death very, very strongly. And the whole function and role of the mortician in our culture is to pretend in some way that death doesn’t happen. He’s a husher-upper. He sweeps you under the carpet at considerable expense.

Alan Watts, The Joker

#philosophy #society #alan watts

[heartstringsduet]

2023 Character Wrapped

IIII should be doing so many other things but my blood pressure is up and I gotta unleash somewhere. This list isn't ranked truly. they are all my precious and lol if it was only 2023 it would be 90% 911 LS characters. thanks for tagging me @welcometololaland @goodways 💕

Tyler Kennedy Strand. This lil guy. Just came and kicked in my door and set a fire in my heart (what a bad firefighter/paramedic). I just love how caring, scrappy, beautifully complex he is. My obsessions are eternal so welcome to eternity with me TK.

Naruto Uzumaki. Listen? Find someone more golden-hearted and stupidly in love with his best friend. My first true character love.

Kurt Hummel. Sung his way into my heart, appalled me with most of his fashion choices and is an overall forever favorite.

Robin Scherbatsky. I don't think we'd ever get along in real live but I loved to see the portrayal and growth of her throughout the series and to see strong women be so nuanced.

Vi. I just love her entire arc of being a big caring sister who makes mistakes and constantly fights to keep the people she loves safe.

Carlos Reyes. Only wanted to do one character for a show but sorry, his cow-eyes made me rethink. Gotta love a character who is so wonderfully supportive and anxious and flawed but never not loving.

Dipper Pines. Realizing I like so many animated characters? But yeah, I was the kid who always thought she was soooo smart and be so uncool at the same time lol

Richard Gansey III. Gansey, mein ganzes Herz. Looking at Dipper and him, yeah I like my nerdy explorer characters huh? Favorite book character (besides Jude St Francis but don't make me spiral about him too)

Elenor Shellstrop. Watched the last season of The Good Place finally and like, how can you NOT love her and her arc? Also, funny Lola same actress different troublemaker with a good core character I tag whoever wants to do this &

@herefortarlos @alltheprettyplaces @lutavero @thebumblecee @wtfuckevenknows @lightningboltreader @carlos-in-glasses @cold-blooded-jelly-doughnut @liminalmemories21 @ladytessa74 @lemonlyman-dotcom @alrightbuckaroo @strandnreyes @reyesstrand @freneticfloetry @wandering-night19 @thisbuildinghasfeelings @whatsintheboxmh @inkweedandlizards @actual-sleeping-beauty @carlos-tk @louis-ii-reyes-strand @reasonandfaithinharmony @orchidscript @birdclowns @chaotictarlos @decafdino @guardian-angle22 @paperstorm @noxsoulmate @danieljradcliffe

#michelle was tagged #characters wrapped #I have a million characters I love #this list could go on and on #honorable LS mentions: Grace Judd Marjan Owen Gwyn Nancy Paul

[emotinalsupportturtle]

I had to watch this production of Richard II twice to properly appreciate it because I was too busy staring at his beauty the first time.

RICHARD II (RSC) 2013

#richard ii #shakespeare #david tennant #whoever decided on the hair and the long gowns was a genius #He looks otherwordly #and speaks so pretty #graves worms and epitaphs #academia aesthetic #dark academia #androgyny #wtf he looks like a renaissance painting

[landwriter]

✨️🌹 or x20 ✨️ your pick

Love your writing! And I hope you are doing okay!

Hob loves the way language changes.

He loves how words are picked up and passed along from one group to another, like a lump of unbaked clay taking on a different shape from each set of warm hands that hold it. He only wishes, sometimes, that he could hold onto it for a little longer.

It’s a foolish wish, because if it was granted, he knows he would find himself wishing again to hold it for a bit longer still. Granting it even once would only make him want more, and more, want to clutch a word for as long as his hungry heart beats on from one century into the next.

It would be impossible regardless - he can no sooner speak all his language at once than he can live all his lives at once. It is a gift enough to keep living, he reminds himself, and a gift enough to be able to watch the language changing around him.

Still - he can’t help himself. He misses odd little things. Words and euphemisms and endearments spread out over six centuries and a small slice of the continent, heaped onto his plate next to all the language of the United Kingdom too, clear back to when it was just Engelonde.

Most of them are attached to people he once knew, friends and associates and lovers, which must surely be part of pang of it: the bright wonder of hearing a turn of phrase from someone dear for the first time, whether it was popular or their very own invention; the warm familiarity of associating it with them if he ever heard it elsewhere, after leaving them, as he always did, ever dying off to keep on living somewhere else and someone else; and, inevitably, ending up the last man standing with their words, clinging onto the memory of them by stubbornly using it still, clutching fading ember of it in his bare palms until it's finally too queer and cold and dead within the living blood of language to keep on using.

Sometimes he gets a few decades out of it. Sometimes more, sometimes less.

He’ll share them, of course, if he finds it in a primary source somewhere, but by the time language makes it to print, it’s not on Hob’s shoulders alone to remember it anymore. The dearest ones have no documentation he can dredge up. He’s looked. But he chips in anyways, because it’s the closest thing. He presents them as a little gem of trivia in one of his introductory courses, a weekly Saying Of Yore at the start of his slides, and has the kids guess what it might mean first, to warm them up a bit into participating more, offering their ideas, which are so often refreshing and wildly bizarre that Hob remembers why he puts up with the rest of academia. From a pedagogical perspective it’s all very justifiable. From a personal perspective, he just hopes they’ll catch anew again, that someone will steal it, and breathe it to life again when they tell a friend.

The rest, he stores away. The rest, he slowly forgets. The rest, he translates.

---

i mean u know my pick, u all know my pick lmao. here's the opening (currently) of the death of translation. y'all are draining me of my unpublished words like thirsty little vampires and i am INTO IT!! although the only thing i really have left is yet more of this fic which i should ideally just finish writing and post hahaha. thank you so much, also, the ghost of richard ii, for your kind words!! i am sore today but my heart is full, winter is beautiful, and i am happily taking a day or two of breather before embarking on a car hunt.

#asks #the sandman #dreamling #dream x hob #the death of translation #wip excerpt #i should probably stop taking the rose asks but if you want to hear more of 1001 nights au or academic au or any other wips #lemme know! #my ask box is VERY open for that #and always for meta <3

[thealogie]

I reread Richard II based on a vague memory that it was by far my favorite of Shakespeare's history plays out of the ones I was assigned to read in school. Gotta say I stand by high school me's opinion. I do find some of the political plotting a bit dull, but I am intrigued by Boilingbroke and something was in the water when Shakespeare made up Richard II (the character). Haven't put my finger on why yet, but every time that dreadful silly little guy shows up I'm riveted. Man who thought God was in his every finger twitch discovers that uh oh! he is Just Some Dude. A revelation he will not be bearing with grace but he will be funny about it (sometimes even on purpose). He's jarred into humanity for the first time at thirty and he doesn't know how to walk. His only skill is being bitchy and dramatic and he'll wield it for as long as he has left. He sucks so bad and I'm not rooting for him to win at any point but I'm pretty sad when he dies

Anyway I'm off to watch the DT version, which surely will leave me feeling very normal about this play.

I love that play too and haven’t read it since high school. You’re making me want to though!

[denimbex1986]

'It's the biggest night for British film in the calendar and, like clockwork, the BAFTA Film Awards are returning to Southbank Centre’s Royal Festival Hall in London with a very special host.

Fresh off the back of the success of his return to Doctor Who, David Tennant will be hosting this year's BAFTAs, which will likely be another evening of unforgettable accolades recognising the stellar film talent of the past year.

Of course, Tennant was most recently on our screens as the Fourteenth Doctor in the very special slate of Doctor Who's 60th anniversary episodes, where he surprisingly "bigenerated" with Fifteenth Doctor, Ncuti Gatwa. While there are "no plans" for Fourteen to return to the Whoniverse, Tennant will be returning to our screens in this exciting new presenting capacity.

Aside from Doctor Who, Tennant is known for his starring roles in Prime Video's Good Omens, Broadchurch and in theatre productions of Much Ado About Nothing, Richard II, Hamlet, and, currently, Macbeth.

This marks the first time the Scottish actor has presented the inaugural honours event and commenting on the announcement of the news, Tennant said: "I am delighted to have been asked to host the EE BAFTA Film Awards and help celebrate the very best of this year's films and the many brilliant people who bring them to life.”

More recently, Tennant became the talk of last year's BAFTA TV Awards when he and Catherine Tate jointly presented the award for Features.

During the preamble before the presentation, fans of Tennant were shocked to learn that the acclaimed actor has never received a BAFTA nomination.

While Tennant has been nominated for BAFTA Scotland and Wales, he has not received a nomination from the main BAFTAs. Well, while this isn't a nomination, fans of the actor will undoubtedly be excited about his new BAFTA news.

Jane Millichip, CEO of BAFTA, also said: “We are over the moon that David Tennant will be our host for the 2024 EE BAFTA Film Awards. He is deservedly beloved by British and international audiences, alike.

"His warmth, charm and mischievous wit will make it a must-watch show next month for our guests at the Royal Festival Hall and the millions of people watching at home.

"The EE BAFTA Film Awards recognise exceptional films and the talented people who make them. More than 7500 of our BAFTA members – creatives from all corners of the British and global film industry – have been voting over the holidays and we will be publishing their chosen longlists later today.

"We hope it will inspire people to watch more films and encourage everyone to join in the conversation on who should win a BAFTA next month.”...

The big event itself, which Tennant will be at the helm of, will be held at the Southbank Centre’s Royal Festival Hall in London on Sunday 18th February, being broadcast on BBC One and iPlayer in the UK.'

#BAFTA Film Awards #David Tennant #Doctor Who #Bi-generation #Ncuti Gatwa #60th Anniversary #Much Ado About Nothing #Richard II #Hamlet #Macbeth #Catherine Tate #Good Omens #Prime Video #Broadchurch

[finduscore]

Richard II (2013) still has me in a chokehold. I could watch this scene forever 🥺 I love the kiss but everything else is so beautiful and so intense as well. like, there is so much passion in the kiss but when richard tries to comfort aumerle it's a bit awkward, feels like he would be doing this for the first time (probably that's what this is). the way dt plays him makes me feel like richard suddenly senses that there might be other important things than being a king. people who matter to him, who he doesn't want to hurt. i feel like this moment informs the rest of the play in such an important way. richard then bears his misery, keeping his countenance, comforting the people close to him ( the duke of york, the queen). I just wanted to capture dt's expression here which is so tender, mixed with confusion and vague realisation. I think I did an okay job ^^"

#richard ii #david tennant #shakespeare #shakespeare fanart #theatre

[wessexroyalfamily]

{Location: Taunton House, Winchester City Residence of The Crown Prince}

Crown Princess Margaret of Wessex: What are you doing in here?

Crown Prince William of Wessex: Spending time with this little nugget, before I have to leave.

Margaret: You need to get going. We wouldn't want daddy to be late for his first day.

William: You're probably right, the Watcher knows father will expect me there before the others.

Margaret: Remember what we talked about last night.

William: I go it. It will be fine don't worry.

Margaret: I just know how those old men can babble on about tradition.

William: And what? You don't think I can take on a group of pre-geriatrics, ehh?

William: You just take care of Richie and I'll see you tomorrow morning.

Margaret: You're not coming back?

William: No, David's stag night will probably run late. I don't know when I'll be back, so I don't want to wake you or Richie.

Margaret: So I'll be alone here until the wedding tomorrow?

William: You'll be fine. The governess is coming at 9am, and she's already staying the night to watch Richie during the day tomorrow.

Margaret: ... I ...

William: That should give you some time to yourself. Remember what the doctor said, you have to get back into the things you enjoyed before the pregnancy. I have to go.

Margaret: (inner thoughts) Much easier said than done.

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

{ Location: St. Christopher's Palace, Winchester Residence of The Queen }

Prince Christian, The Earl of Gloucester: There you are. I was expecting you earlier for your first meeting.

William: I thought I was?

Alexander Worcester-Scott, The Earl of Hyannis: Leave the boy alone. Finally some new blood to get these old crones in their place. How are things?

William: Good. Richard is growing so fast already, it was nice to have these last few months off for just the three of us. How is David? Is everything on track with the wedding?

Alexander: Everything seems to be going accordingly, it was quite kind of the Queen to allow David to use the chapel for the ceremony.

Christian: My Privy Gentleman and Ladies lets begin. Good morning everyone. The Queen is still on her tour of Cornwall with The Duke of Uxbridge, so today I'll be running the meeting of the council. I'd like to welcome our newest Privy Council member, His Royal Highness Crown Prince William.

Christian: Before we start with the formal agenda, is there any business for open discussion?

William: I do have an order of business to address with the council.

William: myself and Margaret would like to forgo the Recognition Ceremony.

Lady Anne Cornwallis, The Countess of Somerville: The recognition ceremony is a cornerstone of Royal Life. Every member of the royal family has been formally presented by the Sovereign and blessed with holy water by the Bishop of Winchester since the reign of Queen Anne I.

William: I understand. And we both felt that it made sense to keep in line with tradition. But the people are looking to us modernize with the times.

Alexander: Modernize?

Anne: I think the people would value tradition over modernity.

William: We could still have the Queen extend her blessing, just without a formal ceremony. It makes no sense to have Richard paraded around so many people just months old.

Alexander: The monarchy is a continuity of the past. The people appreciate the fact it is unchanging and steeped in tradition. I understand what the Prince is saying, but the monarchy is not a stick to be bent, if we bend too much towards modernity, we will surely break.

Bianca Walton: I'd have to agree with Lord Hyannis, the ceremony is more symbolism than anything. Your grandson is in the direct line for the throne. Showing the continuity from Queen Anne II, to William, then to Richard is more important than anything.

Christian: Yes, I'd have to agree the Recognition Ceremony is a symbolic part of every Royal's life. Both for the child and parent.

William: But...

Christian: All in favor of the recognition ceremony continuing as planned...all opposed. The Is have it. We'll keep with tradition. William be sure to have your staff send out the invites.

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#sims 4 royalty #sims 4 royal simblr #sims 4 royal family #sims 4 royal #sims royal legacy #sims 4 royals #sims royal family #sims royalty #sims royal story #sims royal #princessecret