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#i will suspend all disbelief for it

draconym · 6 months

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Live theater in the His Dark Materials universe must be wild. Surely an actor's daemon also has lines to recite, so their daemon's form probably also factors into casting decisions. Maybe some plays have vague character descriptions for daemons, but I bet other plays have really specific or central daemon characters. And sure, big-budget theaters can afford to hire a separate actor with a particular daemon to stand backstage while their daemon plays its part onstage, but community theaters don't have those kinds of resources.

Like if you're casting for Julius Caesar, surely the real historical Caesar had a pretty iconic daemon, right? Are you going to cast an actor with a pigeon daemon as Caesar and just have everyone suspend their disbelief that it's Caesar's lioness, ἁμαρτία?

#his dark materials #for the record I do think daemon-blind casting is the way to go #theater is all about suspending your disbelief after all

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ickypuppi3 · 1 year

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be mine.

billy sighs. rests his forehead against the cool metal of his locker. tries to ignore the hum of people talking around him. holding hands. cuddling. it’s a shitty day. it’s a shitty day and billy knew it was going to be a shitty day before it even started.

he knew because he had been the one to say it. yesterday. to tell steve that they’re not- that billy doesn’t need to be treated like a fucking girl. that they’re just screwing around. that he doesn’t give a shit if steve wants to fuck someone else today.

that steve might as well go crawling back to wheeler because billy sure as shit can’t hold his hand or call him sweetheart in the hallways. that he gets enough heat at home without the whole of hawkins high knowing how much of a queer billy hargrove is.

and then billy had walked off. slammed the door behind him and gone home. had picked a fight with neil just to top it off.

all because he was scared.

is scared. scared of steve harrington with his preppy fuckin’ polos and dumb hair. his pretty eyes and pretty smile and ability to tilt billy’s world on its axis just by looking at him. scared that steve will get bored of him. that he’ll realise billy isn’t worth the effort.

scared.

billy sighs again. shuffles back slightly and glares down as he twists the lock. the door swings open and billy is halfway to grabbing the book he needs when something falls out. a scrap of paper. no bigger than the palm of his hand. a note.

it lands on billy’s boot.

he looks around. wonders who had felt brave enough- dumb enough to shove a note through billy’s locker on a day like today. he bends down. picks it up. reads the words in front of him.

quarry, 9.

there’s a little heart scribbled on the top right hand corner. billy traces the familiar writing with a thumb. feels that all too familiar feeling in his chest. he clenches his fist. hears the crinkle of paper as he does.

then he looks up again. into his locker. really looks, this time.

a pack of marlboro reds lay on top of his books. unopened. new.

next to those, something smaller. candy, billy realises. a sweetheart, specifically. the words kiss me etched in pink.

billy smiles. can’t help it, really. it’s restrained. barely there. just a small twitch of his lips but a smile nonetheless. his first smile of the day. credit to steve fuckin’ harrington and his inability to leave well alone.

billy smooths the note out. places it next to the reds. next to the heart. tries to tamp down on the butterflies swarming in his chest. he takes a deep breath before stuffing the cigarettes and note into his pocket.

his hand hovers over the sweetheart.

“hey.”

billy pulls his hand back. fast. as if he’d been burned. he looks to his left. locks eyes with the boy now standing next to him. feels his heart stutter. “hey.”

steve gives him a knowing smile. “good day?”

“no.” billy frowns. you already knew that. “pretty shitty actually.”

steve leans. folds his arms. “that bad, huh?”

better now that you’re here. billy swallows. turns away from steve. back to his locker. “did you want something, harrington?”

“nah, just..” steve smirks. reaches out. billy feels his breath hitch. steve’s smile gets wider. he flicks billy’s earring. once. before turning on his heel with a see you around thrown billy’s way.

a promise. something deeper to them but. casual. friendly to anyone watching.

billy watches him leave. wonders if steve might be okay with them having to do things differently. wonders if this might be enough for steve. for them. wonders if he could be enough for steve. hopes-

billy jumps when the bell rings.

they meet up later. at the quarry like steve had said. neil under the assumption that billy’s seeing some girl. steve’s parents likely thinking the same.

billy feels as though a weight has been lifted as soon him and steve tumble into the back of the beemer. all cold hands and fumbling with belts. awkward limbs and steamed up windows. and billy lets it happen. lets himself be held. lets steve be sweet to him.

billy lets it happen. finds himself thinking that today might not be all bad. and that he might be more than a little bit in love with steve harrington. he pushes the second thought down. focuses on winding a hand into steve’s hair and sucking a mark into the soft skin just below his jaw, instead.

not all bad.

later finds them huddled under a blanket in the back of steve's beemer. sharing a cigarette. marlboro. red. steve nudges billy after a few minutes. doesn't say anything just. nudges him. billy tilts his head to the side. gives steve a look. steve just looks down as his hand finds billy's under the blanket.

then he presses something small into the palm of billy’s hand.

billy raises an eyebrow in question but steve’s already looking away. staring out into the night. cigarette glowing in the dark. billy rolls his eyes. wiggles his arm free and holds the object up to the window to get a better look.

be mine.

he laughs. loudly. tries to hide the racing of his heart. calls steve a fuckin' cheese. and a sweetheart. waits until steve turns to face him again before pressing the candy to steve's lips and pulling him in to exchange kisses that are almost too soft. too sweet for whatever this is. whatever they agreed for this to be.

steve pulls back first. whispers against billy’s lips “hey, baby?”

“yeah?”

“happy valentine’s day.”

“…yeah.”

almost.

steve grins and reaches out to play with one of billy’s curls. billy laces their fingers together under the blanket.

or maybe it’s just right.

#billy ‘i’m too hard to love’ hargrove and steve ‘i’m literally so in love with you’ harrington #the queers are queering #billy hargrove #steve harrington #harringrove #my words #i was thinking of those love heart sweets we have here and found out sweethearts are a thing so here we are #i haven’t done my research so idk if they were a thing then but i assume they were #so #suspend your disbelief if you must #anyway #i think it’s fun to imagine steve’s biggest gripe being his sexuality crisis at the begging of them hooking up #but once that’s out of the way he’s just got billy on the brain #but billy’s problems come later when he has to be like #vunerable with his emotions #and he immediately tries to build the walls he knocked down back up #because it’s safer that way #but steve just won’t have any of it #yeah that #also he feels bad because steve can’t be all steve with him in public and it’s like #a thing #but steve finds ways to work around it

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cleo-serotonin · 6 months

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h2o so perfectly encapsulates teenage girlhood and all the good and bad that comes with it. like building the greatest friendships of your life but also losing friends you once thought were close. your parents divorcing but gaining a new parent. growing up to see the best in your parents and becoming closer to your family. getting boyfriends but knowing they come second to your girlfriends. drinking juices and shit talking and knowing you would swim to the ends of the earth for these people, because they get you in a way no one else ever will.

#and the soundtrack does as well!#oh h2o my beloved #(for the getting boyfriends part lets just put aside the fact they are gay for a moment to suspend our disbelief and allow for me to make #this connection. i speak in a canonical way. which is rare as i love to live in delusion as taylor swift once said. thank you)#h2o just add water #h20 just add water #2000s nostalgia #2000s tv #nostalgia #re: losing friends you thought were close - emma was friends with basically the whole swim team and we see them in a grand total of one #episode #yes part of it was her pulling away but also they clearly never put in effort other than coming to a party SHE organized #like;; it mustve hurt #what emma lost is definitely the saddest out of them all

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the-commonplace-book · 11 months

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Walked into my roommate's room halfway through watching XO Kitty to tell her about how it was an enjoyable silly new Netflix show but that they weren't giving the queer relationships as much development and screentime as their straight counter parts.

Finished the season and had to burst into her room again to correct myself because HOW WRONG I WAS. I could not have been more wrong about the queer rep. Holy shit was I wrong.

#xo kitty #actually good bi representation???#in which her relationships with and feelings for boys and girls are treated as equally valid??#so incredibly rare and i'm living for it #this show is narratively a bit of a mess and you have suspend a lot of disbelief #but it's cute and fun #and I really hope we get a second season #after all the strikes :) when netflix and the other production companies will hopefully be paying and treating their workers better #(support the WGA DGA and SAG-AFTRA strikes my friends)

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tanjir0se · 2 months

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One of the absolute worst things in my opinion about the live action ATLA remake is the removal of Sokka’s sexism. “Oh the things he said were ‘questionable’ so we ‘updated’ his character”

Wow it’s almost like the character. Had a flaw. It’s almost like he was raised in an extremely patriarchal society where what he was saying was the norm. And it’s almost like he had to unlearn these behaviors as he traveled and became exposed to more ways of life.

Yknow

Like a character arc or something

And don’t even get me started on what this does to the Kyoshi Island events. In the original, it’s meaningful that he wears Kyoshi’s uniform, a woman’s dress, after being so certain that a woman could not be a skilled warrior and did not deserve the respect afforded by the uniform.

And I’m absolutely CERTAIN the new show runners will see this scene and think it will be enough to pay lip service to the ‘woke’ idea of a man in a dress as like a “wow a man in a dress how woke” moment to try to garner the goodwill and sympathy of a younger hipper audience. Except ITS GOING TO RING ENTIRELY HOLLOW because Sokka is not learning anything by doing it! He’s not growing in any way!! It’s literally just. “Haha what if Sokka wore a dress” which is the OPPOSITE of what the original conveys!!!!!

I am BEGGING you absolute sheeple to let this piece of shit flop. It’s disrespectful to the original and honestly just cheap, lazy writing. If you want a good Avatar the Last Airbender: JUST FUCKING WATCH THE ORIGINAL!

#and it goes back to the notion that animation is inherently inferior to live action #which is a. wrong. b. stupid. and c. the reason we have so many dogshit live action adaptations of things #ITS ISNT INHERENTLY BETTER. IT IS USUALLY INHERENTLY WORSE.#the original is a masterpiece on every level and pretending it needs improvement is disrespectful as fuck to the original cast and creators #why do you need to see CGI fire and elements effects #why can’t it be enough to watch the original’s beautifully traditionally animated elements and feel all the love and work that went into it?#are you that much of a little baby that you can’t suspend your disbelief and need everything spelled out to you in shitty computer effects??#all I can say to that is:#skill issue #idiot #atla #avatar the last airbender #live action atla #come fight me about it you fucking dipshits

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writing-good-vibes · 2 months

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Bestie! Can I please have number 4 from the steamy prompts for your valentine's day drabbles? I'm thinking an expansion on or a similar scenario to the thing with the waitress in Dirty Domestic Bliss. Definitely a post-Michael!Corey but you can decide if you want it to be cunningmyers!Corey or a distinct iteration. Thank you, happy Valentine's Day! <3

bestie, thank you for the req !! ahh the way i'm kinda kicking my legs, twirling my hair that you brought up dirty domestic bliss 😈 it's not necessary to read that story first, but this is the (un)official sequel. i hope you enjoy because this spiralled !! 💗

WARNING for corey x f!reader, smut, flirting, a tiny little bit of angst because i couldn't resist, and the fact this is technically set in the cunningmyers au (but michael only makes an appearance emotionally lol). 2.5K word count.

🍓very cute divider by @/animatedglittergraphics-n-more 🍓

taglist: @ethanhoewke @voxmortuus (just let me know if you want to be added or removed !!)

You finish wiping down the counter after a very, very busy night. Valentine's day always brings in more customers, even to the roadside diner you have no hope of leaving anytime soon.

You're on shift for the next four hours alone, but you're thankful that it should be a quieter from now on, with most couples heading back home to relieve their babysitters or to make the most of the rest of their night in the comfort of their own beds. All that remain are stragglers and harmless ne'er-do-wells who have nowhere better to be at this hour.

Around 1 am, you hear the bell over the door jingle and you look up from the counter to see a young man walking in.

If anyone saw the intensity of your doubletake, you would have been mortified.

He sits at a booth towards the back of the diner, but in clear view of the door. He's polite when you go over to take his extensive order -- a coffee with creamer and sugar, a club sandwich, side of fries, a plate of bacon and eggs, with hash browns if you have any -- and thanks you earnestly when you bring out his food.

He keeps to himself, and you'd almost be able to forget he was there while you served the couple of other patrons, if it weren't for how striking he was. Dark hair, tousled but naturally curly, and even darker eyes. Eyes that look almost black even under the harsh halogen lights. He holds his cutlery tightly with broad, bruised hands.

He ate like he was starving; you'd seen plenty of men with eyes bigger than their stomachs, but he seemingly wasn't one of them. All of his plates are cleaned when you take them back to the kitchen.

The reserved atmosphere between you makes you question if this is really the same guy. He has to be, right? The possibility of someone else like him was slim to none, with his curly hair that you desperately want to pull on again, his broad, handsome features that you could stare at forever and never get bored of, and his Levi's jeans that hug him in all the right places.

Returning to his table, you ask, "Can I tempt you with dessert?"

"I think you can. What would you recommend?"

"The cheesecake is my favourite, but I'm biased because I make the strawberry drizzle for it." You lean your hip against his table,

"Strawberry? I normally pick chocolate."

"We have a great chocolate cake too?" you suggest instead.

"No, let's try strawberry. I'll have a slice of cheesecake, please."

"Sure thing," you smile. When you turn back to the counter, you glance over your shoulder, catch him watching you. The sway of your hips is unintentional, should anyone ask.

You draw a few love hearts in strawberry sauce around the edge of the plate. There's something wrong with me, you think, but you don't get a new plate.

He turns the plate slowly once you put it down in front of him, considers each strawberry heart. Then his eyes turn up to you, and it's almost like those strawberry hearts are reflected in his dark, dangerous eyes. "Would you sit with me? Please?"

"I'm working," you smile, but still you linger at his table, waiting for him to convince you.

"I'm sure they won't mind," he says, nodding towards the other weary patrons, nursing steaming coffees, filling in crosswords with blotchy pens, or reading the sports pages.

No one gave you a second glance as you slid into the booth across from him.

You watch while he eats, his pretty pink lips closing around each bite. There's a comfortable silence between one, one that you could get entirely used to, if given the chance.

"It's nice to see you again," he smiles around the food in his mouth. You'd rather get used to his voice though.

Breaking into a grin, "I thought it was you!"

"I've been thinking about you," he half-drawls "Every day since I last saw you."

The last time you saw him was a couple of months ago -- six, maybe? -- sat at what might of been this very same booth. He was just as bruised and timelessly rugged as he is now, and you remembered him being with a another man -- older, more weathered, but rugged in the same sort of way. This guy, your guy, had ordered for the both of them, and seemed relieved to find his companion where he left him after your back alley escapade.

"This is really good," he compliments. "And it's your favourite, right? Have some," He offers you a piece of cheesecake on his fork, smeared with extra strawberry sauce that had dripped down onto the plate.

You open your mouth, lips closing around the fork just where his lips -- his soft, pink lips -- had been, and take the bite from him. You chew slowly. Even without the strawberry sauce you labour over making in the kitchen, the cheesecake really is good.

He watches you closely, and you find that you don't mind at all. He's not like other men, whose stares bore into you because they want to take something from you. No, no he looks at you like he wants you to take something from him.

The palm of his heavy-knuckled hand, the one that isn't still holding his fork, feels rough against your skin when he catches your chin; the pad of his thumb is slightly weathered when he swipes it over the corner of your mouth, catching a stray spot of strawberry drizzle. Pulling his hand back, you watch him -- his eye contact never wavering -- as he sucks his thumb into his mouth, licking it clean.

"When do you get off?" His question catches you off-guard, startling you from your fleeting thoughts of his lips and tongue and hands.

"Um," you try and remember your shift. "4 am." You glance at the clock on the wall and silent curse. Still two hours to go and there's no way he's going to wait for you, why would he? This perfect stranger with his split knuckles and pretty lips and --

"I think you deserve a break, don't you?"

You don't think this is like last time. This won't a quick smoke break endeavour. "I still have --," you're about to gesture at the other customers, but when you turn around, you find the diner empty. You hadn't even noticed them leave, you'd been so caught up with...

Shit. "I don't even know your name."

"Corey," he answers, and his accent swells stronger on his name than you'd noticed during the rest of your conversation.

You give your own name in return, giggling because you can't quite believe any of this is real. Because a beautiful boy walked into your diner and made you fall for him, and you never even thought to tell him your name.

Corey stands from the booth, not quiet as smoothly as you think he might of wanted to because his hip catches on the edge of the table. You're not surprised, he's built like a bull, all broad shoulders, broad hips, broad hands that trailing along the table top as he walks past. Even so, he wanders to the door, flips the open sign to closed and twists the lock.

The backroom is pretty small, the table has been wobbly for as long as you've been working there and no doubt for longer, and you distantly register that you never closed the door behind you, so you have a mostly-clear view into the diner, all the way to the locked front door, but you don't really have time to think about any of that. The only thought your mind can conjure up is please!

Corey is somewhere under your sunshine-yellow skirt, there's a sharp sting at your hip when he snaps the elastic of your panties against your skin, then his teeth biting so gently at the flesh of your thighs that they could be kisses instead. Desperate to see his face, you pull your skirt up to your waist and moan involuntarily at the sight of him, flushed and focused, between your legs.

His eyes glint impossibly dark, pupils blown wide, and he doesn't stop look at you. Reaching down, you twist your fingers through his tangle of curls, making him moan into your heat.

When he kisses you, he tastes just like you remembered, like cigarettes and something distinctly boyish, but now he has the sweetness of strawberries on his lips, like chapstick, and on his tongue there's the heady taste of your own arousal.

Corey's cock is pretty and pink just like the rest of him. (How can even his cock be pretty?) Grazing your entrance slowly, you angle your hips to encourage him, tightening your legs around his hips to pull him in.

"Is this okay?" he asks, tip pushing just enough to make you clench on him. His rumbling voice right by your ear makes you shiver, with anticipation, with need, with downright desperation.

"I've been thinking about you too," you say in lieu of any other answer. "Every night since I last saw you. Wanting to see you so bad."

Sinking it your wetness, Corey groans, sounding almost surprised. You clench around him to draw out the sound, louder and longer, until he makes himself pull back out, only so he can thrust back into you. The table rocks beneath you precariously, Corey's thrusts making it shudder an inch across the bubbling lino.

Corey's as good as you expected and even better; he's heavy on top of you, covering your torso with his, until there's nothing between you. His smell all around you, and you hope it seeps into your skin, taints you forever with the smell of the storm that he carries with him. His lips pressing wet open-mouthed kisses anywhere he can reach, along the soft line of your jaw and scattered on your neck, trickling down, down, down as he unbuttons your yellow shirt.

And his pretty cock isn't just for show; heavy inside of you, coated in the wet mess between your legs, hitting just the right spot to make you squirm and clench and rock your hips up against Corey's, his auburnish hair providing the most delicious, burning friction on your clit.

The tinny radio in the main diner is barely audible in the break room over the sounds you both make. Every thrust drawing a breath, or a groan, or a moan. Corey starts low in his throat, a rasp of a groan always on his lips, until he gets closer, and high little breaths spill out of him like he's going to cry if he doesn't finish right now.

You pull up your panties and catch Corey following your hands along your curves. He seems... cuter, somehow. Before he was a powerhouse of confidence, every bit the All-American rogue you daydream about walking through your diner doors. But now he's more modest; bashful as he tucks himself away.

The shift in personality brings your confidence back, and as the endorphins hums pleasantly under your skin, you feel like you did back then; taking a chance on hoping a pretty boy might make out you by the dumpsters.

You smile slyly at him as you straighten out your uniform, lip caught between your teeth. There's a string of hickies around your collar, you can feel them already. You want to poke and prod at them to stop them fading.

"I gotta go," he mumbles, doing up his fly and buckling his tarnished-silver belt buckle.

There's a long pause between the two of you. Uncertainty.

"Sure," you say. You chew your lip as you head back out to the diner, with Corey following behind. "So, um... will I see you around again?"

Corey shrugs, seeming genuinely unsure, "Maybe, maybe not. We might have to leave soon or... I'll see."

You decide not to push him on it, and there's too many reasons, too many different situations and scenarios for you to even start speculating on what might make him so skittish about sticking around. The thought forces an ache through your chest anyway.

"Well," you force a smile. "Whenever you come back, I'll be here waiting with a slice of cheesecake for you."

His smile lights up his whole face, tugging up one corner of his mouth and then the other in a dimpled grin.

Corey pays in cash and another kiss, before walking out of your life as if he didn't just ruin it.

You could recognise him anywhere. Anywhere, any place, any time. You'd recognise Corey by the sound of his boots on the lino, or by the smell of his cigarette breath, by the accent that cradles his words, or by the bruises that paint storms across his sunset skin.

He walks through the door, bell jingling cheerily at his arrival, and sits at a booth towards the back of the diner, shrugging his leather jacket off.

It'd be embarrassing how much his reappearance disarms you, if your mind could think of anything other than how you need to keep your promise.

There's a plate in your hand, a slice of cheesecake covered in strawberry drizzle sits pretty in the centre. You hardly remember crossing the diner; Corey's dark eyes watch the way your sunshine-yellow uniform hugs your hips as you walk.

Sliding into his booth, you place the cheesecake in front of him and press a fork into his scarred palm.

Pretty pink lips pull up into a broad grin that he almost bites back before giving in; his smile is glorious on his bruised face. His knuckles are split. His throat is ringed with yellowing bruises that shift when he swallows.

Your hand finds his on the table top. "Welcome back."

He eats slowly, even though you can tell he's hungry. After this, you'll fix him all the food he wants, plates upon plates of it until you're sure he's happy and well-fed.

"You in town for long?" This time, goes unsaid.

Corey's smile falters, his dark eyes reminding you that you probably can't even begin to imagine what it is he does, and where he goes and how he lives his life outside of the witching hours you spend with him in your diner.

"Yeah," he says, boyish smile returning. "I think I am."

on the topic of restaurant sex, you should also read [warnings apply]:

good boy by ghost (@/ghostwriterforghosts). corey and reader go out for dinner and he is very, very fun to tease.

#corey cunningham x reader #💗💌 corey's love letters 💌💗#take a shot every time i mention his lips (the prettiest softest pinkest lips in the world) 💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗#or when i describe him as broad 💗💗💗💗💗💗#also listen we all have to agree to suspend our disbelief for the next 2000 words. reader is a perfectly capable waitress *and* chef #and shift buddies don't exist in this universe. neither does cctv 😎😈#corey will never go hungry on my watch and that is a bona fide anna promise #cunningmyers #<< arguably. if you want to interpret it that way #maybe that's where corey has to run off to after your break room tryst. back to michael like always.#if anyone wants to know where i think michael is at the end?? ask box is always open babyyyyyy

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kelliealtogether · 3 months

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Thinking about Hennessy, the (probably) first-time tattooist, giving Ronan a sleeve of snake scales in an undefined (most definitely too short for a full sleeve) amount of time with ink that is probably (most definitely) not tattoo ink in an (incredibly) unsanitary environment, and then Ronan running out to fight Nathan Farooq-Lane with a bloody arm wrapped in plastic. That shit is gonna heal horribly. 😌

#i can suspend a lot of disbelief #but this is where i draw the line #good luck with all the touch-ups you'll need Ronan ✌️

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