Tumgik
#stage - screen and tv star
mariocki · 6 months
Text
Tumblr media Tumblr media
Acting legend Peter O'Toole makes his screen debut as lowly '1st Soldier' in The Adventures of the Scarlet Pimpernel: A Tale of Two Pigtails (1.4, ITP, 1955)
#fave spotting#peter o'toole#the adventures of the scarlet pimpernel#1955#itp#itc#classic tv#actual acting royalty here! fresh from RADA and without a penny to his name. i actually knew he would turn up in this series at some#point but i still didn't recognise him‚ it was dad that picked him out. i think it's his nose? did he break his nose at some point? idk it#just looks different and as a result his whole face does. perhaps it's a fake nose‚ tho i have no idea why he'd wear one for this small#role. Peter would soon be winning rave reviews on the english stage‚ and from there film work and screen immortality#beckoned. unsurprisingly this would be O'Toole's only ITC credit (and before they were even called ITC)‚ although he did make a handful#of other tv appearances (mostly single plays in drama strands) before Hollywood claimed his as their own#his brief appearance here is quite fun and he gets to mug quite mercilessly to Stanley van Beer's villainous Chauvelin#alas i can't with clear heart recommend the ep to anyone looking to see a baby Peter; it is alas Hella Racist. not his scenes‚ but#the later body of the episode‚ which features star Marius Goring playing a Chinese character in yellowface (as well as the Pimpernel in#yellowface impersonating the Chinese character‚ a sort of meta racism??)#it's pretty awful‚ as is the accent and the dialogue choices.#imdb lists this as the 18th and final ep but wiki and network place it 4th and i suspect imdb is following the US transmission#bc they list the show under its overseas title of simply The Scarlet Pimpernel
8 notes · View notes
squiddlysquoo · 3 months
Text
Just heard the news about the Murderbot tv show. I suppose the books will always be there !
3 notes · View notes
tearlessrain · 9 days
Note
please help me- i used to be pretty smart but i’m having so much trouble grasping the concept of diegetic vs non-diegetic bdsm!
gfkjldghfd okay first of all I'm sorry for the confusion, if you're not finding anything on the phrase it's because I made it up and absolutely nobody but me ever uses it, but I haven't found a better way to express what I'm trying to say so I keep using it. but now you've given me an excuse to ramble on about some shit that is only relevant to me and my deeply inefficient way of talking and by god I'm going to take it.
Tumblr media
SO. the way diegetic and non-diegetic are normally used is to talk about music and sound design in movies/tv shows. in case you aren't familiar with that concept, here's a rundown:
diegetic sound is sound that happens within the world of the movie/show and can be acknowledged by the characters, like a song playing on the stereo during a driving scene, or sung on stage in Phantom of the Opera. it's also most other sounds that happen in a movie, like the sounds of traffic in a city scene, or a thunderclap, or a marching band passing by. or one of the three stock horse sounds they use in every movie with a horse in it even though horses don't really vocalize much in real life, but that's beside the point, the horse is supposed to be actually making that noise within the movie's world and the characters can hear it whinnying.
non-diegetic sound is any sound that doesn't exist in the world of the movie/show and can't be perceived by the characters. this includes things like laugh tracks and most soundtrack music. when Duel of Fates plays in Star Wars during the lightsaber fight for dramatic effect, that's non-diegetic. it exists to the audience, but the characters don't know their fight is being backed by sick ass music and, sadly, can't hear it.
the lines can get blurry between the two, you've probably seen the film trope where the clearly non-diegetic music in the title sequence fades out to the same music, now diegetic and playing from the character's car stereo. and then there are things like Phantom of the Opera as mentioned above, where the soundtrack is also part of the plot, but Phantom of the Opera does also have segments of non-diegetic music: the Phantom probably does not have an entire orchestra and some guy with an electric guitar hiding down in his sewer just waiting for someone to break into song, but both of those show up in the songs they sing down there.
now, on to how I apply this to bdsm in fiction.
if I'm referring to diegetic bdsm what I mean is that the bdsm is acknowledged for what it is in-world. the characters themselves are roleplaying whatever scenarios their scenes involve and are operating with knowledge of real life rules/safety practices. if there's cnc depicted, it will be apparent at some point, usually right away, that both characters actually are fully consenting and it's all just a planned scene, and you'll often see on-screen negotiation and aftercare, and elements of the story may involve the kink community wherever the characters are. Love and Leashes is a great example of this, 50 Shades and Bonding are terrible examples of this, but they all feature characters that know they're doing bdsm and are intentional about it.
if I'm talking about non-diegetic bdsm, I'm referring to a story that portrays certain kinks without the direct acknowledgement that the characters are doing bdsm. this would be something like Captive Prince, or Phantom of the Opera again, or the vast majority of bodice ripper type stories where an innocent woman is kidnapped by a pirate king or something and totally doesn't want to be ravished but then it turns out he's so cool and sexy and good at ravishing that she decides she's into it and becomes his pirate consort or whatever it is that happens at the end of those books. the characters don't know they're playing out a cnc or D/s fantasy, and in-universe it's often straight up noncon or dubcon rather than cnc at all. the thing about entirely non-diegetic bdsm is that it's almost always Problematic™ in some way if you're not willing to meet the story where it's at, but as long as you're not judging it by the standards of diegetic bdsm, it's just providing the reader the same thing that a partner in a scene would: the illusion of whatever risk or taboo floats your boat, sometimes to extremes that can't be replicated in real life due to safety, practicality, physics, the law, vampires not being real, etc. it's consensual by default because it's already pretend; the characters are vehicles for the story and not actually people who can be hurt, and the reader chose to pick up the book and is aware that nothing in it is real, so it's all good.
this difference is where people tend to get hung up in the discourse, from what I've observed. which is why I started using this phrasing, because I think it's very crucial to be able to differentiate which one you're talking about if you try to have a conversation with someone about the portrayal of bdsm in media. it would also, frankly, be useful for tagging, because sometimes when you're in the mood for non-diegetic bodice ripper shit you'd call the police over in real life, it can get really annoying to read paragraphs of negotiation and check-ins that break the illusion of the scene and so on, and the opposite can be jarring too.
it's very possible to blur these together the same way Phantom of the Opera blurs its diegetic and non-diegetic music as well. this leaves you even more open to being misunderstood by people reading in bad faith, but it can also be really fun to play with. @not-poignant writes fantastic fanfic, novels, and original serials on ao3 that pull this off really well, if you're okay with some dark shit in your fiction I would highly recommend their work. some of it does get really fucking dark in places though, just like. be advised. read the tags and all that.
but yeah, spontaneous writer plug aside, that's what I mean.
12K notes · View notes
fordhampr · 9 months
Text
MEET RAVEN DAUDA, MULTI-TALENTED, MULTI-AWARD WINNING ACTOR/WRITER/DIRECTOR...AND TAEKWANDO EXPONENT!
Whew…what else can I saw about this amazing woman?! I met Raven Dauda over ten years ago when producing/directing a special web series during the Toronto Int’l Film Festival, and have followed her career throughout her stage and screen projects that include…take a big breath….the following TV series: Sue Thomas F.B.Eye, Odyssey 5, The Firm, Rookie Blue, Orphan Black, Heroes…
Tumblr media
View On WordPress
1 note · View note
astroboots · 8 months
Text
Punch-Out Love
Tumblr media
Artwork by @guruan
FIGHT NIGHT
Pairing: Miguel O'Hara x female reader
Summary: You're lucky enough to score ring-side seats at a boxing match on Friday night. Getting the best view in the house of boxing champion: Miguel O'Hara.
Word count: 1,500
Next Chapter
Spiderverse Masterlist | Astroboot’s Masterlist 
Tumblr media
You know fuck all about boxing.
About the only thing you know about the sport was from the glimpses you caught watching scratched up old recordings of Muhammed Ali fights on the boxy mini-tv of your old childhood friend's house.
It always seemed barbaric. The practice of watching two human beings beat the shit out of each other for spectator's entertainment. It seems like something that was better left in the Ancient Roman times. Have we all human beings as a society, really not come further some 2,000 years later?
Your bestie used to get mad at you for this. Constantly defending the sport from your criticism, because (according to him) it's not just about smashing each other's faces in. Supposedly, there's an art to the sport. Boxers are taught to respect their opponents and adhere to the principles of good sportsmanship. It takes great mental discipline, dedicated work and years of hard and punishing training to master boxing.
You never saw any of that in the matches he showed you. All you saw were two men needlessly being hurt, sustaining brain damage for rich people's enjoyment.
Then again, he was more than a little bit biased, considering it was his dream to go pro one day. Tall and gangly, with his scrawny antelope legs, thick-rimmed glasses and big-ass braces, he looked like he couldn't punch his way out of a paper bag, much less another person. You never understood how exactly he thought he was going to make it as a boxer.
But you never found it in you to burst his unrealistic bubble when he used to point at the screen excitedly, drawing your attention to Ali's footwork and the artistry in it. 
"It's like he's dancing," he used to say.
Except dancing is done with swelling music in the background. In dancing you often have a partner. It's an embrace. It's gentle and kind.
Boxing... was not that.
So you don't know how you managed to find yourself in the ringside seats of a local boxing match on a Friday evening, staring up at the boxing ring with the glaring ring lights shining into your eyes.
"Aren't these seats amazing?" Jess shouts excitedly over the familiar lyrics of ‘We Will Rock You' being belted out by Freddy Mercury on the loudspeaker.
You smile, and nod, because boxing-fan or not, she's right, these are some amazing seats. And considering you didn't have to pay a dime for them, personal aversions aside, you're never going to turn down free stuff.
Jess' husband tested positive for covid at the last minute, and you're the only one in your social circle that is anti-social and single enough to not have any plans on a Friday evening.
On the monitors above you, the menacing headshots of the two fighters swish into view.
"The first guy is an old reigning champ," she explains to you, as she leans in, shouting into your eardrums (and yet you can still barely make out what she's saying over the music). "The challenger is some new kid on the block. Has an amazing track record. Zero losses in the season. He's something else."
You look up at the gigantic screen, at the sharp cut cheeks, strong thick brows and the intense pitched brown eyes staring down at you.
Angry looking dude.
...Handsome too.
With a face like that, surely he could've gone into other careers. Calvin Klein model, movie star, or a news anchor. You wonder what makes a guy voluntarily have his face bashed in for money as a career.
"Ladies and gentlemen," a loud booming voice announces from the stage.
You jump in your seat from the suddenness, as you see a bald and overly formal dressed announcer in the middle of the ring. 
"Welcome to the electrifying boxing showdown of the century! Are you ready to witness some knockout action tonight?"
The crowd around you cheers with a pandemonium of shouting and whistling.
"Introducing our first fighter, a true hometown hero! With an impressive record of 20 wins, 15 by knockout, and only 2 losses, standing at 6'3 feet, and weighing in at 340 pounds of determination and strength, give it up for ‘the Knockout King’ Bobby Kane!"
You watch as the reigning champion walks down the tunnel to the midst of adoring cheers as he waves and gestures at the crowd like royalty.
Every inch the king that he is nicknamed, he jumps over the rope and stands tall and proud over the ring.
The man is huge, bulging with almost grotesque muscles. He's so large that you almost expect each of his steps to send a reverberation throughout the hall, as if this was Jurassic Park and he's a T-Rex.
"Now, entering the ring with the confidence of a warrior, fighting out of the red corner, with 15 wins, 10 by knockout, and no losses, standing at an astounding 6 feet 9 inches, and weighing in at 310 pounds of raw power, let's hear it for tonight's challenger, ‘Steel Jaw’ Miguel O'Hara!"
Wait what? You do a double take at the announcement. Six foot nine?!?! What kind of giant is that?
From the far corner of the hall, you see his silhouette emerge, and your eyes go wide at the sight of him. Tall doesn't even begin to describe him. 
There's a 200 year oak tree at Central Park, and with the shadow this man casts, you think their height must be nearly comparable. If you thought the Knockout King was tall, the "King" is practically tiny compared to this challenger.
You watch, as the man with cheeks so sharp they mind as well be blades (and god never has a nickname made more sense to you) as he strides towards the stage. He reaches the rope and barely even has to climb over it with how tall he is.
He's leaner than his predecessor. Every inch of him is cut muscles and tanned gorgeous skin as he stands in front of you. His presence is electric. The air crackles where he stands, towering over the stage.
You swear that his towering height blocks out the ring lights with it, casting the stage in the darkness of his tall shadow.
Somehow, he's even prettier in person compared to the still image of him blown up and plastered on the big screen. Soft brown curls and pouty lips. You don't understand in what world a man like that is a professional fighter.
From this distance, with the way that the light refracts from his irises, his eyes almost glow with a scarlet red that takes your breath away as you look up at him and meet his eyes.
If you didn't know better, you'd think he was staring at you.
The bell rings out, but he's not looking away. The intensity you find there is enough to make you swallow your tongue. Your face prickles with heat and for several long moments you forget to breathe, until the air seems to thin around you and your vision starts to swim.
Then he turns to face his opponent.
You're not quite sure where to look. There's so much happening at once. For his size, Miguel O'Hara is surprisingly deft on his feet. His footwork is somehow both unpredictable yet intentional all at once.
The King throws a strong punch, as he lunges forward, after his tall opponent. But O'Hara dodges them seemingly without effort. It's followed by punches so quick, the movements blur together.
Strike after strike. The King is giving it his all. But none of it properly connects. With every failed hit, you can see him growing increasingly more frustrated.
Your heart is in your lungs, and despite how close you are to the stage, you almost want to get up from your seat for a closer look.
Safe as you are behind the ropes, adrenaline rushes through your veins with a fury. You can't recall the last time you felt this ecstatic about... well, anything.
With each punch O’Hara dodges, you feel yourself lurch back in your seat, trying to dodge the punch with him.
It's titillating.
Exciting.
O'Hara's movements are precise and honed with intention despite the ferocity in his movements. Each one is measured and intricate and if you didn't know any better you'd almost call it graceful.
You think back to those moments in your childhood friend's home, and his excited words buzz in your ears now. For the first time ever you finally understand what he had meant.
It is like a dance.
Before you, O’Hara's eyes cross over in your direction and for a split of a second, you swear your eyes connect again. His gaze holds you there, pinned to your seat, and excitement shoots through the entirety of your spine until you feel lightheaded from the attention.
Then he finally steps forward, no longer evading.
It's brutal and efficient.
An uppercut that connects cleanly to his opponent's jaw.
Spit and blood flies out from the man's mouth, the flabby flesh of his cheek vibrating from the impact as he lands on the floor with an ear-shattering thud.
Then the guy is out.
Barely even eight minutes in. 
There's a stunned and shocked silence. The crowd seems both enthralled and disappointed at how fast it all went. On the ring floor, you can practically see the circle of cartoon birds flying above the defeated King's head.
You may not know anything about boxing, but you know that this man is not getting up anytime soon, no matter how far the referee counts.
Tearing your eyes away from the motionless body splayed out on the ground elevated above you, you can see the victor towering menacingly over the body.
But Miguel O'Hara isn't even looking at his defeated opponent
No, his eyes are staring straight into the sea of awestruck spectators. Except he’s not looking at them.
He's looking at you.
~ Next.
Tumblr media
Author's note: What's that you say? CiCi wtf are you doing starting another series when you already got one going on? ... Idek man. But I hope you guys enjoy it, cause I had a blast writing it, smut will ensue in later chapters I promise!
Dedications and Credits: Buckle up it's gonna be a big one!
Firstly to @guruan when I say she's my muse THIS IS WHAT I MEAN! Look at that beautiful artwork. I am drooling into my panties. I am crying between my legs. I am so damn horny! I cannot thank this amazingly talented genius enough. Please please give this wonderful brilliant human your love by following her, and drop by her KO-FI SHOP cause the art this woman bless us with is UN-fucking-REAL
Then to @djarinsbeskar who put this idea into my head. In my mind she is the OG Boxer AU champion and mastermind. If you are in the mood for more boxing content, she has a wonderful, devastatingly sexy series Boxer!Din AU that is just woof woof bark bark.
2K notes · View notes
mizgnomer · 18 days
Text
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
Behind the Scenes of Wild Blue Yonder - Part Three
Excerpt from Benjamin Cook's article on Bernard Cribbins in DWM #598
It’s a crisp Monday morning in Camden Market, and all is OK with the world. Because it’s 16 May 2022 and, just for one day, Bernard Cribbins is back on Doctor Who. “Wilfred Mott! Now I feel better,” declares the Doctor, stepping out of the blue police box parked up on the cobbles. “Now nothing is wrong. Nothing in the whole wide world. Hello, my old soldier.” A pause. “Shall I give you a hug,” asks David Tennant, “before I say, ‘Hello, my old soldier’?” “Yeah, why not,” replies Bernard, sat in his wheelchair, centre stage, framed against the iconic TARDIS. “Give us a cuddle!” Clad in Wilf’s cozy brown coat and flat cap, Bernard is rehearsing the final, climactic scene of Wild Blue Yonder, the second of Doctor Who’s three 60th Anniversary Specials, alongside David Tennant and Catherine Tate. None of them knows it, but this will be Bernard’s last working day in a TV, film and theatre career that spans almost 80 years (he started work aged 14, at Oldham Rep in January 1943). It’ll also be Wilf’s final bow. “I never thought I’d see you again,” he tells the Doctor, welling up. “After all these years. Oh, Doctor, that lovely face.” A chuckle. “It’s like springtime… Is it David’s face I’m looking at?” queries Bernard. “Yes, you haven’t seen him in years,” the director, Tom Kingsley, jumps in, “and you could not be happier. You’re playing it just right, Bernard.” “Well,” says Bernard, “no acting required.” He’s genuinely delighted to be reunited with his Doctor Who co-stars, for the first time, on screen, in 13 years. “And that is just materialising, is it? – that thing?” he asks of the TARDIS. “Wilf’s been here, waiting?” “That’s right,” says Tom.
For other posts in this set, please see the #whoBtsWBY tag. The full episode list is [ here ]
Thank you to everyone who shared filming photos!
458 notes · View notes
mediocredreams · 2 months
Text
Tumblr media
You Could Be Mine - Pt 1
Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader
Read Part 2 here
Summary: When you move to Hawkins you meet the metalhead of your dreams. There’s only one problem, he’s not looking for love. 18+ only
Word Count: ~1k
Warnings: Fluff, swearing, everyone is 18+
Dividers by saradika-graphics
Tumblr media
From the moment you first laid eyes on Eddie Munson, you wanted to jump his bones. And that wasn’t you being crude, it was just a fact.
You weren’t sure what magnetic pull the quirky metalhead possessed, or how it drew you to him so forcefully, but you guessed it might have had something to do with your undying love for hair metal.
Growing up, while your girlfriends drooled over the preppy guys in the Brat Pack, you’d sit at home watching a shirtless David Lee Roth prance across the TV screen in tight spandex, his cocky lips pursed as if mocking you from afar. You didn’t know why it made you feel funny inside, but you knew that you liked it.
You loved the painted-on leather pants the rockers wore. How their penchant for spandex showed off their masculine physique, accentuating their tight asses and lewd bulges. You salivated over their leather jackets and chains. The head scarves and the long, wild hair. Oh lord, the hair.
You would record concerts from the TV onto VHS and then play the same footage over and over until you practically wore out the tapes. Watching as the men smirked and swaggered about the stage while droves of feral women showered them with bras and panties.
And yeah, you totally got it.
There was just something about a man with rock and roll charisma.
As you watched Eddie Munson strut his stuff through the Hawkins High cafeteria, you thought he looked just like the guys in the music videos they played on Headbangers Ball.
And much the same as the rockers you idolized, Eddie had an effortless charisma that practically radiated from his being. A BDE that made you bite your lip and drenched your panties.
Eddie usually wore a cut-off denim battle vest over his leather jacket, with hand-sewn patches that displayed allegiance to his favourite bands. His hair was long, thick and wavy. Locks that would be the envy of any wannabe rock star. And though his hair wasn’t backcombed to the same extent as some of the rockers you watched on TV, it was delicious all the same.
Perhaps most importantly, Eddie was the vocalist and played lead guitar for Hawkins’ only local metal band, Corroded Coffin.
That pretty much sealed the deal for you.
You knew that as long as you were stuck living in dead-end Hawkins, dating Eddie Munson was the closest you were going to get to having your very own David Coverdale.
There was just one small problem:
Eddie Munson wasn’t looking for a girlfriend.
Tumblr media
You had moved to Hawkins during your senior year of high school, a nightmare in its own right.
At your previous school you had been effortlessly popular, but upon landing in the small town you had struggled to find your groove. Your attempts to grasp the intricacies of the Hawkins High social hierarchy had proven mostly fruitless, so you typically ate lunch alone in the library. That was, until a couple of girls from one of your classes invited you to start having lunch with them in the cafeteria. And that was how it all started.
It took a few days of frequenting the cafeteria for you to finally take note of Eddie, which in retrospect was almost hard to believe. He wasn’t exactly someone who blended in with the crowd.
You weren’t sure why it took you so long to realize he existed, but as soon as you did it suddenly seemed like Eddie Munson was everywhere you looked.
Every day at lunch his deep, booming voice would carry across the cafeteria and draw your attention to his table. He’d sit there like the intimidating dungeon master he was, holding court and commanding his little sheep to do his bidding. You had to admit, seeing him boss them around really did something to you.
Eddie wasn’t like anyone else you’d encountered in Hawkins, and because of that he seemed to be a bit of a social pariah. You could tell that a lot of the other students feared him. Because even if they didn’t like him, most wouldn’t dare lay a finger on him despite his fondness for riling them up.
All Eddie had to do was walk up behind a group of jocks in the hallway and shout “Boo!”, and they would scatter like a colony of scared rabbits.
Just the thought of having a menacing guy like that on his knees begging for your pussy, well, that was a whole other level of hot.
And you planned to make him beg for it. You just had to figure out how.
Because, unfortunately for you, the word around town was that Eddie Munson was not the dating kind.
The girls at school talked of course, whispering their secrets in the gym locker rooms and hallways. You’d hear tales of who he’d hooked up with and when, but very few details. The consensus seemed to be that Eddie was only interested in one-night stands, and when a girl got too clingy or tried for a second date she’d get shot down. Hard.
Rumor also had it that Eddie was good in bed. Like, really good.
You didn’t consider yourself very experienced, but you had fooled around with a few different guys, all to unsatisfactory ends. Hearing that Eddie had certain talents made you even more determined in your mission to get into his pants heart.
The thing was, you wanted to be with Eddie, but you weren’t willing to be just another notch on his bed post. No, no. You weren’t going to settle for anything less than the total devotion of the heavy metal lover of your dreams.
You just had to win him over. How hard could it be?
484 notes · View notes
thvlouvre · 9 months
Text
[Teaser]
The Bodyguard — Min Yoongi
Tumblr media
✔︎ Summary: Your loyal and committed bodyguard who sometimes spends more hours a day of what you pay him sticking beside you starts to catch feelings for you. ✔︎ Trope: Yandere bodyguard x popstar female reader ✔︎ Warnings: yandere behaviour, over protection, possessiveness, smut, grooming, dom! yoongi, sub! reader, bratty! reader ✔︎ thvlouvre's note: THIS IS TOTALLY BASED ON WHITNEY'S THE BODYGUARD, YES! This one will definitely come after the persephone fic, I promise 😭 I just need to know if you like the idea of an overprotective yoongi taking care of the bratty pop star who needs to be settle down. He is also hiding his dark past and trying to have a seconds chance in life 🙊 ✔︎ MY MASTERLIST.
Tumblr media
The darkness of your living room surrounded Yoongi's exhausted silhouette. For a strange reason, being in your hall where pictures of you, magazine covers, platinum discs, awards and posters with your face gave him peace.
He could find himself losing his gaze on the Vogue Magazine cover poster you had hanging from your wall for hours. He would read every inscription of your awards and memorize the year, the category and the ceremony they gave them to you. He also had seen every picture you had, because you were the most egocentric little brat that he had ever met, of course you would have a million pictures of you everywhere; if he was half as beautiful as you he would be worst.
But his top activity he loved to do in your living room when no one was watching, when you would be peacefully sleeping was to turn on your TV and watch you on it. He would play all, music videos, live performances, live sessions, whatever. The only thing he wanted was to keep himself awake so he could protect you, and your voice was a vitamin shot.
He poured himself a glass of whiskey, turning on the screen and trying to choose what video play first. He recently loved the performance where you were simply standing in the middle of the stage with a white sparkling dress and a mic stand. No backup dancers, no bizarre lights or difficult choreographies, just you shining alone.
He couldn't explain to himself why he found peace at watch you sing, when on daytime you and him were always trying to gouge out each other's eyes. You had a not so peaceful personality, you were annoying and childish as fuck and he was dry and stiff. You were always losing yourself on parties, getting drunk and forgetting the normal rules of decent human behaviour and he was always behind you, ready to take you out before you could do something stupid.
He never thought he would end up like this, carrying the shopping bags of a stargirl after a five hour marathon at the boutique. He used to have a dangerous and exciting job, he used to have a family, not a blood related family, but a society that would care for him. He had to make a choice to save himself and now there he was, drinking cold whiskey in your pink couch, watching you sing.
He thought you didn't know, that you haven't noticed how he sneaks out of his dorm and go to your living room where he plays your videos, but you had. You noticed it almost from the beginning and you found it so endearing.
That's why you enjoyed making him mad on daytime, because deep down you knew he had a weakness for you. You started to use more revealing clothes in front of him, you would ask him to help you with your sunscreen on your back, you would tease him every time you could.
You would make him fall; but Yoongi knew he had already fallen.
And he would risk his life in a heartbeat to save your silly and bratty existence, and he would hurt anybody who dared to touch his stargirl.
Tumblr media
✔︎ thvlouvre's p.s. this is unedited and a midnight impulse, I have to work in six hours so wish me luck everybody 😗✌🏻 remember english is not my first language so be kind and stream min yoongi 💋
2K notes · View notes
simp-ly-writes · 1 month
Text
"I'll have you know..."
Tumblr media
Ask: who was a feared overlord that decided to eventually take a backseat in the power struggle and everything? Because of how long ago she was on top of everything, others tend to forget how evil they are...
Pairing: Vox x overlord!Reader
Warnings: mentions of blood and suggestive themes.
A/N: Sorry for the delay @matrixbearer2024! Hope you all enjoy~
Masterlist | Taglist | un-edited.
Hazbin Hotel Masterlist
Tumblr media
↳ Back before television was trying to kill the radio star, you were on the up and up becoming one of hells most feared overlords- picking your way up through the ranks and eventually demoting many names before you in hells history. Yet overtime the constant displays of killing, blood stained underneath your fingernails and lack of social life ate away at you- forcing you to drop it all much to the publics shock and awe
↳ Over the next few years, many other up-and-coming overlords did their best to come take over your position and you allowed them to think they did because in the meanwhile you were finding much richer entertainment than their potential screams while sitting in the audience to one of your closest fellow overlords, Vox.
--
Without the need for the laugh and clapping cue to play, you were rolling around in your seat to his dry humor and... interesting threats. The crowd was forced into a hypnotic state alongside all the viewers tuneing in for the night while you shook your head, fighting to keep the smile off your face as they cut to a commercial break, Vox waves you up on to the stage with a smile.
He helps you up the last few steps before guiding you into his chair as he leans against the desk to converse with you, "So, what brought the smile out earlier in the crowd?" The TV man asks you as you raise your brow, "just amused with your," you wave your hand around Vox's appearance, "displays of power. Remember how well that went with me the first time," you giggle out as Vox groans, hands moving to cover his screen with embarrassment.
"I was just trying to... impress you then," he tries to redeem himself while looking through his fingers as you crack your head back now, cackles coming out from the back of your throat as Vox thanks himself for hypnotizing the crowd earlier so they would not see the feared overlord like this. "Erm- impressed is one way of putting it love," you read out and pull his hands away from his face as you calm one another down by rubbing small circles to the back of his gloved hand.
"And on that note, we are coming back from commercial break in 20 seconds, back you go now" Vox pulls his hand away with a small smile, ushering you off stage as you mockingly protest with a grin to his laughter before sitting in-behind the camera crew.
"Welcome back, now on tonights news- the Radio Demon appears to be back! And who gives a shit, do any of you?" Vox points towards the silent crowd as they all lifelessly stare back at him with open mouths. "By the sounds of that, no one gives an absolute fuck- just as any sane mind should!" You roll you eyes at the statement, thinking to yourself, he really is not over that lost contract- is he?
--
↳ When you and Vox are out on the streets one night together grabbing a bite to eat with the rest of the Vee's. A group of up-and-coming overlords swarm your group- trying to force you all into the sewers below them.
You are doing your best to not lose control of your power- of the souls you had collected in that past life of yours but as you soon become overwhelmed, watching as Vox's screen fractures against a brick wall with nowhere to escape to- your mind gives up control in that moment.
Shoving the guys off you- you call forth a few souls linked in contract to you that join the battle as your size only grows with every last breath of the enemy. Stopping and laughing to the sounds of skulls cracking against your boots, twirling around your fingers to strangle another while devouring their very soul. On-lookers run away in horror at the sight, the once feared overlord was feared one more with such hellish displays of power.
Yet Vox, beated, bruised, and trying to pick of the peices of glass in order to repair himself later was out of breath at the sight of you in your true demonic form. His heart hammered in his chest, fuck you look so fucking hot like this, drummed in his head like a broken reccord as Valentino casted him a questioning glance while shooting down another swarm coming up from the sewers.
"Everything alright there Vee?" The studio director asks while reloading his weapon as Vox staggers to a stand, brushing off his coat tails before they both duck out of the way as your claws sweep across the street, a horror-filled amusement park ride the attacks were on while you flung them around and into the side of a building without a second thought.
Twisting back around, you send Vox and ensemble a wink before turning down the street to find the organizer of this attack. Velvette turns around from snapping one of their necks, waving her hands in disgust as she calls for Valentinos handkerchief.
Hands clean she points a finger to Vox, signaling up and down with her eyes, "You may want to sort that out, darling. Does not look good for our image- being all stood proudly and that- would steal from Valentinos side, no?"
Going bright red, Vox forces himself into the wire systems and back to the headquarters where you are already sitting, waiting for him in the living room, freshly showered and a set of coffee on the table. "Do hate the smell of blood, gets in the way on my appetite, what about you?" you casually ask while patting the seat next to you as Vox waddles his way over with wide-eyes.
"Umm... yeah," Vox manages to output, not meeting your eyes as you tilt your head at him in confusion, his breath hitching as more of your skin is exposed as you mutter an ah. Now understanding the issue, "If I had known my true form got you this riled up- sweetheart this would become a weekend special~" you tease, looking the way his screen flickers and his system overheats.
Valentino and Velvette soon burst into the room just as you reach over Vox's lap to grab a blanket for the man. Letting out one last wink, you smile widly at the remaining members as you recall your old stories.
Tumblr media
↳ Taglist: @jtcat305 @amarokofficial
157 notes · View notes
laduenadelswing · 2 months
Text
My star
Tumblr media
The chaotic realm of Hell, pulsated with a frenetic energy as Vox, the suave master of the TV waves, gracefully navigated the bustling streets. His screens projected a dazzling array of colors, each hue a testament to his control over the infernal airwaves. Tonight, however, a singular frequency resonated with him—a presence that shimmered amidst the sea of lost souls.
Y/N, a striking model whose essence transcended the ordinary, became the focal point of Vox's attention. Drawn to her like a moth to a flame,or Valentino to Angle dust, Vox envisioned her as the star of his upcoming TV show. The backstage of Vox's studio buzzed with otherworldly energy as Y/N prepared for the spectacle that awaited her.
Vox, watching her every move through his screens, couldn't help but feel a magnetic pull. She embodied a rare blend of beauty, confidence, and an untamed spirit that resonated with his own desire for control. No wonder she made it through Velvet.
The atmosphere backstage crackled with anticipation. Vox, ever the showman, orchestrated the visual feast that would unfold on the screens of the City. The cameras, guided by his meticulous vision, captured Y/N's every angle and expression, turning the backstage chaos into a masterpiece that amplified her captivating frequencies.
As the show reached its crescendo, Vox descended onto the stage himself, his screens displaying a kaleidoscope of admiration. "Y/N, my dear, you're not just a model. You're a masterpiece in the ever-shifting canvas of Hell," he declared, the words echoing through every TV set in the city.
Y/N, caught in the mesmerizing atmosphere Vox had orchestrated, met his gaze with a playful glint in her eyes. "Well, Vox, you certainly know how to put on a show."
The backstage chaos faded as Vox and Y/N retreated into a more secluded area, away from the prying eyes of the studio crew. The air crackled with an unspoken tension, the boundary between the curated TV spectacle and the pulsating reality of their connection blurring.
Vox, usually in control, felt a surge of something uncharted. The lines between the TV demon and the model began to blur as they exchanged playful banter, their laughter echoing through the backstage corridors.
In a moment of irresistible impulse, Vox closed the distance between them, his lips meeting Y/N's in a passionate kiss. The backstage chaos faded into the background as they lost themselves in the intensity of the moment. The allure of Hell seemed to dissipate, leaving only the connection between Vox and Y/N—a symphony of desire and an unexpected union behind the scenes. He lost himself in the kiss with his model, superstar and masterpiece.
As they broke the kiss, Vox's screens displayed a spectrum of colors, reflecting the tumultuous emotions within him. Y/N, with a mischievous glint in her eyes, whispered, "You really do know how to surprise, Vox."
The airwaves of Hell buzzed with the frequencies of their connection, the backstage now transformed into a haven where desire and control intermingled. Vox, still captivated by the enigmatic model, smiled. "In Hell, my dear, surprises are the spice of existence."
"Your so beautiful." He whispered.
"Maybe I should give a private Show." She replied playfully.
142 notes · View notes
sparklejamesysparkle · 3 months
Text
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
Carleton Carpenter as flamboyantly gay photographer Russell Paxton tells Ann Sothern (as Liza Elliot) and Luella Gear (as Maggie Grant) all about the gorgeous male model he has in his studio in the television adaptation of Kurt Weill's Lady in the Dark, originally broadcast by NBC on September 25th, 1954. This was a very early example of lgbtq+ representation in mainstream media and Carleton's over-the-top portrayal of the character was daring for the era, leaving viewers with no other option than to accept that his character was gay---not "ambivalent 1950s, is he or isn't he?" gay, but in your face "I lust over men, tra-la-la-la-la-la! I don't care if you like it or not" gay. Carleton, who was openly bisexual, clearly ran with the part, camping it up and having fun while imbuing the character with the freedom he gave himself in his personal life during the buttoned-down 1950s.
Tumblr media
Born in Bennington, Vermont in 1926, Carleton caught the acting bug early after serving as a Seabee in the U.S. Navy during World War II (where he fell in love for the first time with a fellow Seabee named Costello, a relationship which was emotionally intense but never consummated). Arriving in New York City in January of 1944, Carleton soon after scored a part in the David Merrick Broadway play Bright Boy. Instantly grabbing attention in the opening scene when he walked out wearing nothing but boxer shorts with a towel around his neck and stepped across a bunch of beds to look out a window, his long legs carrying his lanky six-foot-three frame across the stage like an Olympic sprinter caught everyone's eyes. Garnering laughs from the audience, his good looks also earned him both male and female admirers, with one wealthy older bachelor offering to pay his way through college. "He kept calling backstage," Carleton later recalled with a laugh. "All the guys would group around and say, 'Your old guy that wants to send you to college is on the phone!' One of them said, 'Well, that's what you get for coming onstage with nothing on but your shorts and a towel around your neck when the curtain goes up!'" Unbothered by the attention, Carpenter (nick-named "Carp") was fully aware that he liked both women and men and already had experience with both under his belt. "I slept with as many women as I did men, I guess," he stated in a 2017 interview with Matthew Rettenmund for the Boy Culture website, adding with a laugh, "I really didn't keep count." Entirely comfortable with who he was, Carleton never attempted to hide his bisexuality. When asked if he ever worried that being open about it would hurt his career, he breezily replied: "Never crossed my mind."
Tumblr media
Working in early TV shows, modeling for magazines, and cast in a number of Broadway plays in the late-1940s after the success of Bright Boy, Carp was surprised one night when a famous screen star made a visit to his backstage dressing room. "I was taking my wig off and somebody knocked and there stood Cary Grant! My feet wouldn't move. He's saying how much he enjoyed me in the show and going on and all I could say was 'thank you'. He climbed three flights of stairs and I'm waving my wig at him. He said he would like to take me out and buy me a drink. In the meantime, I'm looking over at my rotten jeans on my dressing table and I thought, 'My God.' And I did have a date. I wanted to tell him I had a date but maybe all three of us could go out, but as soon as he heard the word 'date,' the door slowly began to close and he was gone. I've thought about maybe he wanted a piece of ass — he might very well have. He was a gentleman's man as well as a ladies' man."
Tumblr media
Carleton was brought to Los Angeles by producer Louis de Rochemont to play a supporting role in the movie Lost Boundaries in 1949. Signed by MGM shortly afterwards, he made a splash singing the novelty song Aba-Daba Honeymoon with Debbie Reynolds in the musical Two Weeks with Love in 1950, a song which Carlton sneakily introduced to the film's producer and which earned a gold record for the pair when it reached number three on the Billboard charts in 1951. Among his eight films for MGM, one of his leading roles was starring in the 1952 Stanley Donen comedy Fearless Fagan opposite Janet Leigh. Based on a true story, Carleton played a young man who raised a lion cub and tried to hide the full-grown lion on a military base after he was drafted into the army. He also starred with Jan Sterling in the 1952 MGM western Sky Full of Moon as a cowboy named "Tumbleweed" who arrives in Las Vegas and gets caught up in the world of gambling.
Tumblr media Tumblr media
After leaving MGM in 1953, Carp continued working in stage, television, and radio productions. He also established himself as a successful songwriter, composing the numbers Christmas Eve, I Wouldn't Mind, Ev'ry Other Day, Cabin In the Woods, A Little Love, and Come Away in addition to writing special material for Marlene Dietrich, Kaye Ballard, Hermione Gingold, and his pal Debbie Reynolds. Remaining lifelong friends with Debbie, he attended events with Reynolds and her children Carrie and Todd after her divorce from singer Eddie Fisher in 1959, and Debbie presented Carleton with his lifetime achievement award from the Hollywood film organization Cinecon in 2012, joking with him onstage by saying: "You know, you and I are gonna be singin' Aba-Daba Honeymoon when we're both a hundred years old!" Devastated by her passing in 2016, he later said: "It was awful. I had over a hundred messages on my machine when I got home, and I was very sick."
Tumblr media
During the 1960s and 1970s, Carleton continued to work on stage and in films, appearing in the groundbreaking lgbtq+ play The Boys in the Band in 1968, and starring as "Miss Untouchable" opposite Rue McClanahan, Fannie Flagg, and transgender actress Candy Darling in the gay-themed movie Some of My Best Friends Are... in 1971. He also became a successful author in the 1970s and 1980s, writing the popular mystery novels Deadhead, Games Murderers Play, Cat Got Your Tongue?, Only Her Hairdresser Knew, Sleight of Deadly Hand, The Peabody Experience, and Stumped. His last work as an actor was in a play in 2015, and he published his autobiography The Absolute Joy of Work: From Vermont to Broadway, Hollywood and Damn Near 'Round the World the following year. Remaining healthy and active into his 90s, Carleton passed away peacefully of natural causes at his home in Warwick, New York on January 31st, 2022 at the age of 95. "I just loved the work, honey," he stated about his long and varied career near the end of his life. "That was always the thing with me — I didn’t care anything about all of the glop that went with stardom."
Tumblr media
151 notes · View notes
mariocki · 10 months
Text
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
Edward Woodward guest stars as Jack Liskard, Prime Minister of an unspecified African country and the target of multiple assassination attempts, in The Saint: The Persistent Patriots (5.15, ITC, 1967)
#fave spotting#edward woodward#callan#the saint#the persistent patriots#1967#david callan#classic tv#eddy is the named guest star for this episode but actually he wasn't really the household name he would become at this point#in fact this ep was the first Saint episode to air in the uk in 1967 on January 6th‚ setting off a banner year for Woodward that would#be the making of his career. he'd done a few guest spots (Sergeant Cork and Mogul among them) and yes he'd had some stage success#but 67 was his year; around the same time as this Saint appearance he could be seen on the BBC's celebrated drama strand Theatre 625 as the#lead in a multi episode adaptation of Evelyn Waugh's Sword of Honour‚ and almost exactly a month later he'd be making his first screen#appearance as Callan in the Armchair Theatre pilot A Magnum for Schneider‚ the beginning of tv immortality and bigger and better things for#the actor. here he's... well he's serious and he's sullen (two of Ed's strengths as an actor) in a role which.. is FINE on the surface but#absolutely begs some deeper questions. he's the prime minister of an unnamed African country‚ in London to negotiate the independence of#said country from the UK. it's.. a complicated issue (which this single Saint episode absolutely fails to address but I'd have been truly#astonished if it had). i mean yes we're all anti colonialism here of course (even if Simon does seem suspiciously morose about the prospect#of losing another colony in his opening voice over‚ he at least appears to be on Eddy's side through the episode) but there's a kind of#deafening silence throughout this ep: Ed is of course white. his various ministers and other government officials who oppose him are all#also white. the titular 'patriots' who oppose him and make attempts on his life and to prevent the process of independence are all white#the most obvious comparison to be drawn (and presumably the main inspiration for the character) is Rhodesian prime minister Ian Smith#who had led the white minority government of what is now Zimbabwe from 1964 and had been involved in similar negotiations with the british#government (that fell apart in late 65 as Smith's government announced Rhodesia's unilateral independence; the country then became an#unrecognised state subject to economic sanctions that lasted more than a decade). the thing is‚ Smith was a racist piece of shit; the whole#reason those negotiations broke down was because of his refusal to secure black representation in Rhodesia's governance#which makes the complete absence of any black characters in this episode a major red flag. but Ed's character isn't presented as the#villain of the piece; the episode is adamant that the work he's doing is selfless and for the betterment of his country‚ and it isn't as if#Smith was a particularly popular figure in the uk at this point for the ep makers to be painting a positive portrait of him. idk#it's messy. at best tone deaf and at worst.. well. i wish Ed had had a better ep to guest star in that's all im saying
7 notes · View notes
muzzlemouths · 10 months
Text
what remains after ruination
Eclipse adjacent // Wordcount: 2,045
A year had passed by. Not a day later and no sooner than that since you stepped foot in this dreaded building.
Only in part due to your own resolution. It’d been all over the news; Freddy Fazbear’s Pizzeria, Gone Up in Flames! A week’s worth of synonyms for accident-destruction-fire-disaster-ruin dribbling out from between reporter’s teeth like crumbs from their stale blueberry muffin breakfast, the story already old news by the time their shirt collar caffeine stains between coffee breaks were well and dry.
After all, there was nothing of value to mourn. “It’s nothing short of a miracle that no one was harmed,” they fed the public scripted lines, little white lies on big tv screens, “a shame the ‘bots are a bust,” another chimed in, “but we’re grateful to have avoided a real tragedy.”
And where were you when the fire broke out? Safely at home, on your couch, shoveling the powdery remnants of dry breakfast cereal into your face, phone in hand, uniform on, and an alarm set to leave in ten minutes. Your favorite generic sitcom played at half-volume across the room having just returned from a commercial break when the news struck, every station within a hundred mile radius offering their briefest condolences to the franchise’s demise. As always, you received your information secondhand, the dry voice of your boss confirming that what you were seeing on the screen was the truth, your phone call interrupted by the jarring ring of your alarm in a gut twisting fit of irony.
“Don’t bother coming in,” they told you, “you’ll receive your final check in the mail by the end of the week.”
“What about the others?” You’d asked on baited breath, hopeful.
“The others… you mean the animatronics?” A beat of silence, and only that, “they’re gone,” management answers, “everything is gone.”
You didn’t want to believe it. For weeks after, you did nothing but fight the information, distancing yourself from the memory of it all together. It was nightmarish, a plague of guilt which circled you like vultures in the night.
You had been there, only a night before the fire. You had been there. Made small talk with the staff bots. Had gossiped with the Glamrocks. And in the Daycare – in the Daycare you had made friendship bracelets. Silly, stupid, trivial, the thought of it makes you want to scream, now knowing what you do and how better you could have spent your last night with them.
Sun had bragged about a new shipment of pony beads and convinced you to sit and help him sort. Sorting them turned into stringing, which turned into knots. You had a pretty pastel lineup by the time he was satisfied, and they had two. One bracelet for each of them, yellow and blue. Your own boasted two stars and a heart, childish additions that you couldn’t bring yourself to argue against at the time, but especially now. It would hurt less to simply throw the gift out or stuff it into a box and stuff that box into a closet, and lock the closet door for the rest of your life. But you don’t do that. You keep the bracelet on your wrist like one keeps a locket against their heart, and you pretend it means nothing.
How impossible it is to find solace in the death of something that leaves no trace behind. You have no grave to visit, no ashes to mourn except the old remnants of a crumbling building they refuse to tear down, no final goodbye.
“See you in the morning,” they’d said, something heavier weighing on their tongue. Ultimately, they decided against the words and offered you a parting smile, instead. Warm, doting, it had felt like home.
It’s the last thing you have of them.
And you try to get past it. You run through every stage of grief like it’s a marathon and you’re late for the next race already, but you have no trophies to show for it, no rewarding fulfillment. The wound is fresh and raw. The gaping cavern of hopelessness no less enormous. You are as bitter and traumatized as the day you received that call.
Maybe that’s why you’ve found yourself here again, on the doorsteps to the plex, three-hundred-and-sixty-five days since you last dared to look in its direction. What you need isn’t medication or a therapist burning through your pockets, it’s closure. You need to see the body.
This suffering will not recede until you’ve convinced yourself there is nothing to return to.
There’s a sixth stage of grief they don’t want you to meet. If you remain a stranger to its siren call then you really, truly, will start to feel better. That’s what they say, time and time again, and it’s what you believed for a long while, but you’re through with fighting this emotion and through with pretending it doesn’t rule your every waking moment. Its name is lunacy, and it tells you to duck beneath old, yellow tape and take a brick to the building’s rotten structure.
The shattering of glass falls on deaf ears. You march through the opening with purpose, giving no thought to the nicks and scrapes and beads of crimson that form along your skin as you make your way further into the depths of this desolate building. No life stirs from its festering core, nor light from the smoldered ceiling, blackened with old soot. Debris crunches beneath a pace that refuses to slow until you find yourself standing before the two doors most familiar to you, and only then, do you stop.
Everything stops.
Sanity winds you with its return, startling you into questioning what the hell you’re doing here. They’re dead. You know that, don’t you? Really, deep down inside, you know it to be true. You know there’s nothing that could evade such devastation as this. You know they are gone. For good. Forever.
Still, that minute, resilient hope continues to pulse with a beat of its own desire, and you haven’t the strength to put an end to it now. After a year of waiting, of wailing, of walking into circles that lead to nothing but more agony, you can’t bring yourself to call it quits. Not after you made it this far. You had to know, once and for all, or the question would drive you over an edge you’ve been skirting beyond recognition.
Your hand outstretches and comes to a halt at the doorknob, fingers twitching a flick of the wrist away, and there it sits, hesitant, terrified, until desperation spurs it forward the remaining way and the rusted knob is turned ever so gently to the right.
The door springs open with a force that drives you backwards, tumbling stumbling fumbling through the air, knees buckling, you land on your ass with a hardy thump and stare, aghast, at the wreckage that stands between the open frame.
A familiar face stares back.
The animatronic bursts from their entrapment like confetti out of a canon, claws drawn and eyes aglow with a menacing half-grin, only reeling themselves back a step upon the sight of you, where they go completely still.
The scream that rips through your throat does not come unbidden; they are not your beloveds but something else entirely, a grotesque assortment of gears and torn fabric, disheveled beyond belief, splayed about with the same obscenity of exposed bone. They are not Sun and they are not Moon and they are not someone or something that you can easily recognize, simply a horrifying by-product of disaster.
Even still, your fear appears to force them back a cautionary second step, and then a third, as if taking on the frail hope that they won’t scare you so terribly in the dark. That if you can’t see them past the shadow, maybe you won’t look at them that way.
“Ffr…rrrr...fri…f...”
You swallow hard around the lump in your throat and attempt to make sense from any of this. The word it– he– they attempt to speak is as familiar as it is foreign, and you can feel an immediate shift in the way your lunacy becomes hysteria, and you laugh. You laugh even as tears well up and begin to river down your cheeks. You laugh as their arm outstretches to meet you—
“Don’t!”
–and then you stop, and they stop, too, and all falls silent.
The expression they make is beyond your understanding. Where before you could reasonably find human emotion in their mechanic smirks and smiles, now all you see is barren metal. Loose gears with sharp edges. It creates a nausea that builds and builds until you want to roll over and relieve yourself of everything you’ve ever consumed.
Rather than try again, their arm recoils ever slowly and instead lifts to point at the wrist of their other, gesturing with great hesitance to the two bracelets found there. One blue, and one yellow.
“Ff...fri…e-end?”
Your stomach lurches and then drops as it comes to a conclusion. Quickly, your gaze snaps toward the pastel beads that sit so neatly on your own wrist, the string keeping them together now old and fraying. Your eyes return to their wrist and see perfect color among the blackened metal. The string beneath it still holds up despite its surroundings having burnt hopelessly. The implications of this – that they protected it to the very end – immediately severs any remaining instance of fear.
You move blindly through the tears, climbing back to your feet with every intention to try again. The creak and screech of crooked metal can be heard as they retrace another step backward in response, flinching from your approach, allowing you greater space between them. It makes your heart plummet to the very pit of your stomach.
“They told me you were dead,” you cry, “they told me there was nothing left to save,” a daring step forward has you that much closer to them, and then another, and another, slow and shaky as it goes, “they told me not to come looking,” your feet stop directly before their own, bare-toed silver against scuffed rubber. You share their shadow and in their sorrow, mourning the short distance still between you and the distance of the days you’ve spent apart. They wait for your lead, paralyzed with anticipation, as you raise a doubtful, trembling hand to cup their ruined cheek. “Is it really you?”
The stillness is suffocating, no less agonizing than the phone call, because any answer beyond the one you seek will feel like death all over again. You can’t imagine yourself content in life with the knowledge that the one you care so deeply for – even without recognition, without ever having said the words – is nothing more than a husk of who they once were. It would ruin you.
And what remains after ruination?
Love remains. Love remains and it is a slow, sure nod. It is a cold hand cupping with meticulous care over your own and refusing to let go. It is them. And they are yours.
A sob breaks from your throat before you can stop it, greater and louder than you've allowed yourself to feel to the day. Relief floods your chest until you think it might burst.
The hand at their cheek pulls back if only to wrap around their waist, fingers bunching desperately into the remaining fabric of their collar and smearing the ash at their back, holding so tight that you hear their frame begin to creak and moan, followed immediately by their own arms cradling your body against them with an equally bone-crushing weight, one you for once don’t fight. Rather, you would be content to stay like this forever.
It isn’t the pins and needles in your arms or the pungent smell of smoke that eventually forces you out of the position, but instead, the sudden forming of a plan and your intention to immediately put it into action. When you pull away it’s to take both of their hands in your own, and only then do you step back from the door, guiding them toward you.
“Come on,” you smile, because at last there is reward for your hope, “…let’s get you home.”
426 notes · View notes
flanaganfilm · 1 year
Note
I tend to get obsessed with scenes where actors have a particularly outstanding performance. I find myself revisiting them over and over again just to relive the moment. Several examples of this, but one that I just love is in Midnight Mass when Kate and Zach are on the rowboat. What's it like experiencing that live, during production? Are you aware in the moment of how special it is or does that become more evident in post? Love to hear any and all details behind the scenes of how those get made. Also curious what scenes from your favorite movies/TV standout as particularly compelling performances by the actors.
This scene is a strange one, because it was the first thing we shot of the whole series. We had been shut down since March 2020 when the initial COVID lockdown hit, and were the first show in North America to go back into production that summer. We didn't know how to do that, and were juggling constantly evolving safety protocols as we tried to figure out how to shoot in this new world. Because a lot of our sets weren't ready to shoot when we came back, we opted to start easy - on our stages, with blue screen work. The boat scene is shot entirely on blue screen, we didn't even have water - the boat was gently rocked back and forth by grips. Kate and Zach were asked to do this huge, heavy, insanely difficult and emotional scene ON OUR FIRST DAY. I had asked them a few weeks prior if they'd be okay with that, as I was worried - they hadn't built their characters yet. They hadn't put a single scene down to draw from. But both said they'd do it, and so we threw them into the deep end.
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
(That's DP Michael Fimognari in the boat, trying to adjust lighting through his goggles) It was a VERY weird day. We were all wearing KN95 masks and goggles, the actors had to wear full masks and face shields when we weren't rolling. It was absolutely surreal and just about impossible for anyone to get into any headspace that felt like we were doing scene work. I had been fitted with modified motorcycle goggles, as I needed eye protection to be near the actors (it was all more than a bit ridiculous.) There was a ladder on set - you can see it behind Michael in the picture above - and I started the day by climbing it to address the cast and crew. About ten words into my speech, my goggles completely fogged up and I couldn't see anymore. I had to be helped down the ladder by several grips. I remember the first rehearsal was insane because the actors weren't allowed to take off their masks, per Netflix safety protocols. I was also required to wear my mask and goggles throughout, so giving direction to actors who couldn't see my face was a brand new and deeply strange thing (I'd continue to work this way for the next two years, we all got used to it, but this first day was fucking WEIRD). Kate and Zach couldn't even really hear each other through the masks to rehearse, as it was such a quiet and intimate scene. I was standing a few feet away and couldn't hear a damn thing. It was additionally weird because all of the elements of the scene outside of the boat wouldn't be added for many, many months as we got into VFX. There was no water, no stars, nothing at all to look at but hanging blue curtains and masked crew members. I don't know how Kate and Zach were able to put all of that aside and deliver the performances they delivered - oh wait, I suppose I do know. It's because they are exceptional actors. Kate later told me she was so outside of her comfort zone that she had to just dive in and trust every single thing around her. The scenes in the boat ultimately came together beautifully, but I did apologize to both of them later in the shoot. It wasn't fair that we asked them to do that, to start like that, without letting them build any foundation. But both waved it off. Production is chaos, and that particular production was the very first out the gate with COVID, so everything was crazy. They took all of that vulnerability and uncertainty and discomfort and fear and turned it into a handful of scenes that roar with honesty. It's among my favorite moments in what may always be my favorite Intrepid series.
587 notes · View notes
drewharrisonwriter · 8 months
Text
Is that alright?
Pairings: Henry Cavill x Singer Reader
Summary: You are a musical guest in The Graham Norton Show on an episode that also features your ex-boyfriend, Henry Cavill. You play your latest single that you've written when you were 18 and in love with Henry.
A/N: Implied previous relationship. I don't think there are any more warnings, except the delusional situation that I've concocted. LOL This is based on the song Is That Alright? by Lady Gaga from The Star Is Born movie.
Check out my fic masterlist.
Tumblr media
As the stage lights dimmed, the audience of The Graham Norton Show erupted in applause, eagerly anticipating the next musical guest. The cameras panned to the artist nervously waiting in the wings. You took a deep breath and stepped into the spotlight, gently sitting down on the chair and placing your hands on the ivory keys.
With grace and confidence, you began playing your latest single which took you nearly 10 years to release. A song you've written when you were so deeply in love with the love of your life, Henry Cavill.
As you began to sing, your voice resonated with a depth of emotion that captivated everyone in the room.
youtube
When the last note faded into silence, the applause was thunderous. 
You took a gracious bow and went over to the red couch where the guests for the night were all on their feet, applauding as well and congratulating you on your heartfelt performance. 
Henry, being a guest as well that night, caught your eye as he extended a hand to shake yours. You gave him a warm smile as you shook his hand. 
"Y/N, that was absolutely stunning." Graham began when the greetings and applause were over. "This single is truly heartbreakingly beautiful. Tell us about it!" He asked enthusiastically.
You glanced at Graham, taking a moment to collect your thoughts. This was the question you were both expecting and dreading.
"Thank you, Graham." You began nervously. 
It wasn't that it was your first ever TV guesting, but it is the first time you were sharing the screen with your now excessively famous ex, Henry Cavill. Talking about the song you wrote about your relationship with him nearly ten years ago is a bit embarrassing on your end. 
"Yes, 'Is That Alright?' is a very personal song for me. I actually wrote it when I was 18 years old, so like almost ten years ago when I was deeply in love with someone who meant the world to me."
The audience watched intently, unaware of the connection between you and the other guest on the show, Henry Cavill. But Henry, caught off guard by your revelation, nearly choked on his Martini but tried to play it cool as he waited for you to continue. 
"Ten years?!" Graham exclaimed a little exaggeratedly. "Why did it take you that long to release this gem?" 
You laughed a little, hoping you looked cool and calm enough. 
"The long answer or the short answer?" You joked and everyone laughed. 
Even Henry was laughing, you were always funny, and he was amazed you were able to preserve your humor and wit despite the nerve-wracking fame you've garnered over the years. 
"How long will the long answer take?" Graham quipped.
"However long it takes the crew to give me five shots of tequila." The studio erupted with laughter, Graham was laughing behind the cards in his hands. 
"No, I'm sorry." You began, "Okay. So for real, this song holds immense significance to me, it’s a sort of love letter, you see… and these are the words I wanted to let the person I wrote it for know but I never had the chance to.” 
You saw Henry bit his lower lip and look down on the drink in his hand. 
"Why weren’t you able to give this ‘love letter’ to them?” One of the guests asked as you were drinking.
“He broke up with me.” You said shyly and laughter ensued once again. 
“How old were you again when you wrote this?” One of the older guests on the couch asked, an actor, that you can’t remember the name of but looks an awful lot like Nearly Headless Nick from Harry Potter. 
"Just 18. I was so young when I wrote it..." 
"You were binge drinking at 18, you were not THAT young," Graham said in jest and everyone laughed once again. 
You chuckled along with the audience, appreciating Graham's lightheartedness amidst the delicate subject. From your peripherals, you saw that Henry was looking in your direction, he was laughing, too. 
The conversation flowed, everyone on the couch asked their question or complimented your latest single, except for Henry. Graham, noticing how awfully quiet he was, asked, “And Henry, how do you find Y/N’s latest single?” 
You felt a lump form in your throat, you did your best to swallow your drink and as Graham asked Henry.
Henry chuckled, looking down at his drink a bit before looking at you and saying: “It’s beautiful.”
“Awfully unfeeling.” Graham quipped with a fake whisper and eye roll and laughter ensued once again. 
You laughed at Graham’s remark, too and thanked Henry. 
When the show ended, you made your way backstage to hurriedly gather your things when you heard someone clear their throat behind you. You turned to find Henry standing at the door of your dressing room. “Hi…” He said softly. You said a quiet hello and asked him to come in. 
“I’m so sorry, but…” He began as you zipped your bag. “Do you have any plans for tonight?” 
You straightened up and faced Henry, blinking fast trying to absorb what he just asked. 
“Uh…just go back to the hotel and that’s it. Order room service, maybe.” You answered honestly, feeling your face turn warm in slight embarrassment for your lack of fun plans for the night. 
He chuckled lightly, “May I interest you with a Pint?” 
You might have stared at him a little too long before answering, because you saw him lightly cock his head to the side. “Uhm… sure.” You managed to say, finally. 
“Perfect. Meet you outside in 10 minutes?” He said with a huge smile, and you only nodded in reply. You watched him walk out the dressing room, the smile never leaving his face. 
You were a bit shocked.
It’s been nearly a decade since you’ve last seen or spoken to Henry. But the last few minutes… they didn’t feel like much time passed. You sat down and breathed, you can do this… 
It’s just Henry. 
It’s just Henry.
TBC...
307 notes · View notes
chanlix-honey · 5 months
Text
The Attention You Deserve (I.N.)
Tumblr media
WARNING: smut (+18), pet names, daddy kink, fingering, choking, crying, jeongin being a tease and we’re here for it, (light) degrading,,,meaning MINORS DNI!! Please and thank you!!!
word count: 1.6k
a/n: HAPPY ROCK-STAR DAY EVERYONE!!! In honor of the new album release, I have decided to post the full one shot I teased a few days ago. This is my first skz smut post!! Pls be gentle!
Tumblr media
Read at your own risk! Again, minors DNI. Enjoy!
Tumblr media
“Let’s play a game, hm?” he pulls off the blanket that’s covering your sex, and your pleasured smell pulsates the room. “Since you wanted to be a bad girl, daddy’s going to correct this for you.” He brings your soaked hands to his mouth to lick the pleasure off of you. “I’m going to give you the night of your life. Maybe even the best. And you’re not going to cum once.” He tugs at your shirt, asking you to take it off. You do so obediently. “Good girl.” He plunges two of his fingers into your wet cunt.
“You obey me—and quickly—daddy rewards you. If you don’t listen..well,” You moan, the length of his fingers not giving you any let up. “I’m thinking of fucking you until I cum. How does that sound my dumb baby?” He chuckles, giving you a sly smile.
You couldn’t help yourself. Jeongin has been coming home from work later and later these days. He does his best to let you know that he and the boys won’t be done for some time, but he is an idol after all. He always has something to do. If it’s not vocals with his teacher and Seungmin, it’s practice with Danceracha, or executing lyrics with Channie-hyung (his favorite nickname for Bangchan, that he has passed down to you. Though he doesn’t like telling him in person).
When you text him throughout the day how excited you are for movie night, he can’t help but feel bad to try and remember the last time you and him spent time together. This would be good to get some of that quality time that you were both missing. And to treat you deliciously tonight. He misses your moans and your pussy, so he hopes to make up for it too. He feels his cock twitch at the thought of being coated in your juices and filling you up. He shakes the thought away to make sure he’s not sporting a hard-on before he goes back to Minho leading practice and replies to you. Be sure to wear that purple lace for Daddy tonight, I want to treat you to dessert…be a good girl and wait for me until I get home to give you the attention you deserve.
And tonight isn’t any different. You order pizza for the two of you once he texts you that he’ll be home in an hour—in hopes that the cheesy dinner arrives just as he does. By the time he comes home, he’s too tired for the weekly rom-com-roasting movie night that you and him had planned. He greets you with a good evening forehead kiss and lets you know that he’s going to take a little nap before you get the movie queued up. You smile at his sweet gesture, but can’t help to notice that your heart pangs at the kiss, disappointed that his lips missed yours.
Thirty minutes pass by. Then an hour. You continue to stare at your phone, as the screen is the only thing illuminating the room. You turned off the tv fifteen minutes ago. The barely-eaten pizza stares at you, as the box is only slightly open. You dejectedly scroll through TikTok, skipping fan edits of your boyfriend performing on the multitude of stages all over the world. You skip all, except one. A fan edit of his teasing lip-licking moments on stage, and the pit of your stomach feels engulfed by the flames of arousal. You let the video play once. Twice. Three times. Before you know it, your fingers are rubbing your clit to the ever-playing fan edit, desperately wishing your hand was his mouth and that teasing tongue.
“Ah, ah, daddy~” you mumble. You wouldn’t dare wake him up with your lewd sounds. Last time you made a mistake—let’s just say you couldn’t get out of bed the next day and a half.
Yet, your voice fails you and you squeak when you accidently pinch your clit, and your body shivers. You choke at your clumsiness and tears roll off your cheeks. Daddy-! You tremble, just about to cum.
Consumed in your pleasure, you don’t hear your boyfriend getting up from bed. He woke up from his nap just before you made the terrible decision to play with yourself. First, he heard you watching tiktoks—specifically the one that aroused you in the first place. And then he heard it again..and again. Like you stopped scrolling. Then, he started hearing your pretty little moans. Once he arrived in the phone-illuminated living room, he put the pieces together. He had actually been standing around watching you as he heard your cute little whimpers begging for a release. It seems that you weren’t as quiet as you thought.
“My, my, babygirl..did the words ‘wait for me’ slip your mind?” you yelp.
Suddenly, you feel one of his hands snake around your chin to tilt in his direction, and the other pinning your wrists away from you—stopping your movements.
Which is what brings you to this point. Him fucking you on his fingers in slow agony. It was supposed to be a night he was meant to take care of you. And you couldn’t wait until you had his full attention? He was not going to let that slide. Instead of giving you pleasure until your release, he had other ideas in mind.
“Y-yes daddy,” you shiver.
“Oh good, you do listen. Now tell me—” he begins, his fingers ever so slowly pump in and out of you, stretching you out.
“—What were you thinking when you stopped on that video darling?” He watches you writhe in pleasure. With your pupils blown, your body twitching in response to his oh so slow movements, and your hands grasping at air—pinned down by his large veiny hands at your wrists—he can’t help but look at you like an angel. How gorgeous you are…he thinks, smirking like the fox he is.
“I was thinking..mmh! About your t-tongue inside me daddy—fuck,” you gasp.
“Go on, princess, tell me how much you need me.” He groans. He can feel pre-cum soaking his sweatpants, his cock throbbing for you, begging to be released from the clothed prison.
“So bad. S-so b-bad. Your p-pretty pussy is aching for your mouth inside me ah~”
“You taste so good, daddy can’t help but to make you feel good to taste more of you..” He gropes your breast in one hand while his mouth is on the other, giving your clothed tits most of the attention—still finger fucking you ever so slowly.
You start to see stars. His fingers in you are already too much, despite the pace. How you’ve missed him touching you like this. But he’s slow. Way too slow. It feels like minutes pass before his fingers slip out again. Every second, you feel less than a milimeter’s worth of his two fingers occupy your gummy walls. Yet, you can’t help but take it all in. You’re drunk on his movements, you’d let him do anything to you at this point.
“You even dressed up in the purple lace I love so much,” he thumbs one of your sensitive nipples for it to perk up, pinching at it slightly. You groan, getting frustrated that you haven’t been able to cum yet.
His thumb grazes your clit. Barely even a graze, it’s almost as if his thumb makes contact by accident. It’s not enough to apply pressure, but enough for you to notice he’s toying with you. Making sure you know he’s doing it on purpose. The fucker. He hears you choke on your own breath every time he gives your clit a little bit of attention.
Jeongin coos, high on your moans. He leans in to you. “You think I wouldn’t notice baby? And now you’re on punishment for playing with daddy’s pussy..do you think I’m an idiot that would let you get away with it, slut?”
Biting between your ear and the skin just below it. “F-fuck…” you groan. He hums in success. He knows how you like to be fucked. Your body is very telling, and your voice lets you down everytime. Every frustrated huff, moan, and whine he takes from you. He’s barely doing anything and you’re already such a mess for him. He’s eager to try more, drunk on your fucked out sounds.
Before you know it, a moan slips out from your lips. “D-daddyyy..” you beg. You feel so close. And then, your body echoes to you. The pit of your stomach begins to tighten and your pussy throbs quickly. Tears brim at your glassy eyes, threatening to roll down. You mewl and moan, unable to control the next words to come out of your mouth. “Please! I c-can’t-t. I can’t I can’t I–” he stops. He removes his slender coated fingers from your tightening hole. A squelching sound fills the room.
Then, your heartbeat slows. You begin to catch your breath. Your tears spill. Your mind is not yet clear, but your senses kick in. You whine the moment you feel your cunt clenching around nothing, and you hear tutting. “My baby’s so close..too fucked to hear what I said, hm?”
You pause. No. No, no, no, no. You scramble to give him an answer quickly after you didn’t respond immediately.
“Daddy…mm..no! N-no I didn’t think—” He interrupts you.
“—Hush hush, it’s ok baby. Too blissed out on my fingers to think quickly.” Tears engulf your eyes, being denied a release.
“I’ll fuck you right to correct this behavior, don’t worry. For now, it’s my turn.”
142 notes · View notes