and then suddenly shakespeare

anonymous asked:

I need the story of the Underground Shakespearian Ring

Okay, so the school I went to for 9th grade had this really bizarre grading setup that I still don’t understand- for some reason, instead of the teachers writing up and grading tests and exams and the like, all the work was sent to an unknown third party for them to grade??? It made no sense.

Now, for the most part, the school had decent teachers, and they would just teach the curriculum correctly and then you wouldn’t run into problems with the grading. My English teacher was not one of those teachers.

So like, she hated me pretty early on- she was my homeroom teacher and thought it was disrespectful that I slept in homeroom in the mornings (I was on sleeping pills and they never wore off completely until around 10am), I never had the vocab homework in on time (someone kept breaking into my locker and stealing my vocab books I had to buy a new one like five times), she thought it was “inherently pessimistic and stuck up” when she caught me reading a book called ‘Ninth Grade Slays’ (it was about vampires, not her?), and during our Greek Mythology unit I kept correcting her about the name pronunciations of the gods (she pronounced Hephaestus as Hepatitis one time holy shit). 

Anyway, her feelings on me aside, her teaching skills were shoddy at best. But I had had way worse teachers, so had the rest of the class, and Greek myths are pretty straight-up in what’s going on, so no one really had trouble with the third-party tests.

Then we get to the Romeo and Juliet unit.

Now, fun fact: Shakespeare has always come pretty easily to me. Like, to the point where I sometimes forget/fail to understand that other people have an incredibly hard time translating his works. (I told this whole story to my friends in the school I went to for 10th/11th/12th grade and when the drama department put on ‘Midsummers Night Dream’ one year, more than half the cast tried to get me to translate their scripts and monologues for them lmao).

So, anyway, I’m just a girl, reading Romeo and Juliet and digging how it’s going…and then the teacher starts ‘translating’ it.

Um.

I cannot sift through all the bullshit this woman was spewing, but let’s just say that my favorite part is during Romeo’s spew about Rosaline, there’s one part where he says something like ‘with cupid’s arrow/she hath diane’s will’, and the teacher was taking this to mean Rosaline was a Super Lesbian who was breaking the law or something and running away with her lover Diane, which would be a rad storyline, sure, but like…I’m just raising my hand like “Um Ma’am, Diana is the Roman goddess of chastity. What Romeo meant is that she told him she’s sworn off love and is probably becoming a nun?” and this woman just got. So angry. Like, excuse me, you are a student, you’re here to learn, so you clearly don’t know anything about this (I read Romeo and Juliet for the first time in like preschool whoops). Anyway, she continues on making up her own plot to the play, and I…well I was basically Hermione Fucking Granger at this point I couldn’t just sit there and listen to someone be this wrong about something omfg??? She just got angrier and angrier and stopped calling on me after a while.

So for a couple lessons I’m just left to seethe quietly, but one day after class this girl I knew since grade school came up to me and was like “Could you…? Tell me what the hell we’re supposed to be learning?” and I didn’t even like her but I liked the validation of being someone’s Chosen Teacher so I wrote out a summary for her of everything we had covered so far so she could actually write a comprehendible essay for our homework that night.

But THEN the during the class when we got our essays back, she made a HUGE DEAL, like ‘oh Molly, it wasn’t bad enough that you’ve been failing this course material, now you have to drag your friends into it by trying to re-write the play?’ (l m a o). Like this bitch had literally tried to fight me on ‘Paris is the guy Juliet’s father wants her to marry’ and she didn’t even put a grade on my essay where I said the play only ended in tragedy because of how young and naïve the kids were, that if they had taken a breather and thought things through it probably would’ve been fine (it was a damn good essay and I stand by it). But anyway, she’s trying to make me out to my classmate’s as someone who’s trying to sabotage their education for laughs.

This backfired on her.

See, it dawned on people one by one, that she was only teaching the wrong material -> so they wouldn’t know the right material -> so when they eventually would take the exams they would only have her crazy answers -> which the third party graders wouldn’t know about -> everyone fails this course that’s like half the overall grade of the year.

Most students consider that a problem.

So suddenly the class has decided I’m the fucking Shakespeare Whisperer or something, and one by one start begging me for help. At first I was confused, because as I said, it’s so easy for me that I didn’t realize literally the entire class was lost out of their asses here. omfg. So I was really getting hassled here but I didn’t want my entire class to fail you know???? So I started meeting with people during study halls or texting them after school so they knew what was going on. And then they started telling people in this teacher’s other classes, including upperclassmen who were lost as fuck, so this was quickly spiraling out of control on my end, but overall people were really starting to understand the plays better!! So I was feeling really great.

But then, the teacher noticed that none of the homework getting handed in to her matched up with her crazy translations, and knew I was the sole person to blame (naturally). She literally tried to get me suspended over this, she went to the school’s disciplinarian!

Note: This guy, Mr. C, knew I was a God damn angel- my science class was off the charts, inappropriately awful, so every time one of our science teacher’s wanted to give the entire class detention, instead of calling Mr. C up to the class room as was the rule, they’d send me down to get him so he’d know to write up every student except for me. So when my English teacher dragged me in there he was looking her like “What on Earth could this girl have possibly done to piss you off?” 😂😂

And when she explained he looked at her for a very long moment, glanced at me with a signature ‘Office’ Reaction Face™ , turned back to her and was like “You want her suspended…for starting a study group?” and I was CHOKING.

So that really pissed her off and they started fighting and this was a very overworked and Done man so at some point he gave up and was like “I’m not suspending her but fine we can put a ban on the study group if you leave my office” omfg. So all the other students get notified and now they’re back to freaking out about the upcoming exams.

So like two days later, I’m at lunch, complaining about this to one of my friends who had a different English teacher and thus no problem, and I’m on this whole angry rant (Because I’m pissed, a bunch of kid’s grades are gonna get fucked up because of this! They just wanted to do well! I just wanted to help them!) and my friends staring at me quietly the whole time and when I finish I’m like “What?” and she’s just like “…Molly did you literally start up Dumbledore’s Army in our fucking school?” and I died on scene.

But then I started thinking about the comparison and I was like? You know fucking what? If Harry Potter can get those kids to pass their fucking DADA test I can help kids pass their fucking English Exam. Bring it the fuck on, Umbridge.

So I started Spreading The Word that anyone who needs help with their Shakespeare course can still get help, we just all need to meet up once to hash out the details. After some back and forth notes and deliberations, we ended up meeting in the school library, which was hilarious for a few reasons:

1) It was directly across the hall from this teacher’s classroom.

2) It was actually a converted janitors closet, way smaller than all the other classrooms, and there were like 50 people shoved in there; Not exactly an ideal Room of Requirement

3) The library carried no Shakespeare texts, but had the entire Harry Potter series on display to see when you first walked in

But anyway, despite the fact that we were literally three feet away from her door while we were doing this, our teacher was none the wiser of the meeting. We worked out a game plan- everyone writes out bullshit essays that align with what the teacher’s expecting. After she grades those and gives them back, they get them to me- slipping them in my locker, handing it to me discreetly in the halls or in another class, what have you. I then try to power through the dizzying amount of confusion radiating out of the teacher’s mouth and onto these papers, and more or less write out better translation of what was going on in whatever scene they covered, what the highlights they needed to know were, stuff like that, and then slip it back to them in similar discreet fashion (so the teacher/disciplinarian wouldn’t see me and get suspicious ; also because I was like 15 and wanted to feel like a super cool secret agent). They would then keep my copies and use them as study guides for the upcoming exams, where they would then answer all the questions correctly, the way the third party graders would mark correctly, and pass the exams + the bullshit essays would get them high marks in the teacher’s homework grades. The teacher never caught on to what was happening, just thought her students finally started paying attention to her.

All in all, it was a complicated mess, but it fucking worked. I don’t think anyone failed their exams that year. Will I ever be cooler? No. I think I fucking peaked when I was 15.

hoomding  asked:

In regards to the recent "Why did Hamlet kill Polonius so easily?" ask, is it also possible that the physical act was easier because he couldn't see his victim? Besides his doubting the ghost, I've always thought there was a touch of cowardice holding him back, but it doesn't take near as much courage to stab a curtain it would a person

For those who didn’t see the original post, this is in response to this ask.

Your suggestion is a logical possibility if you think of Hamlet as a real person, but given that there’s no textual evidence for such an interpretation, it does have to remain at the level of conjecture. Doesn’t mean you’re wrong, it’s just that there’s no way of proving it. 

As for cowardice… it’s a valid interpretation; many scholars agree that Hamlet does have a touch of cowardice, but it’s not an argument I personally agree with. Hamlet is the only one who calls himself a coward (on three occasions), and he’s pretty hard on himself. The first time it’s because he’s not entirely certain what’s holding him back, and cowardice is one of his conjectures: ‘Am I a coward?’ (2.2.506) – he’s just not sure. In second instance he claims he’s a coward because of his conscience: ‘thus conscience does make cowards of us all’ (3.1.82). What this shows though, is not so much that he is a coward as that Hamlet is stuck in between two systems of value: that of Christian virtue, and the code of honour. His Christian conscience frustrates his ability to abide by the code of honour and avenge his father’s death. After all, from a Christian point of view, revenge is still murder, and forgiveness is the greater virtue. This means he’s only a ‘coward’ from the perspective of the honour code, and the difficulty is that it’s incompatible for him to be both virtuous and honourable. The third time (only found in Q2) is the only time he says it after he’s got ‘evidence’ of Claudius’ guilt. This one combines his feelings about the honour code and his confusion about what stops him:

Now, whether it be
Bestial oblivion, or some craven scruple
Of thinking too precisely on th’event
(A thought which quarterd hath but one part wisdom
And ever three parts coward) I do not know
Why yet I live to say this thing’s to do,
Sith I have cause and will and strength and means
To do’t. (4.4.38-45)

It’s not only that the expectation that he should abide by the honour code makes Hamlet feel guilty about not murdering someone. His problem is also that he has a perfectly good reason to be uncomfortable with his situation, but is only half conscious of why he’s feeling so disturbed by the role he’s been forced into.

And one of the things that really shows how all this talk about cowardice is more in the contemplation than in reality is that he has no trouble later in the play stabbing and forcing Claudius to drink poison, which is far from squeamish in the face of murder. For that matter, he seems perfectly aware that it was a person behind the arras when he kills Polonius, because when he says ‘I took thee for thy better’ (3.4.30), he indicates that he actually thought it was the king.

Altogether, I’m not fond of interpretations of Hamlet that puts his delay in revenge down to indecision or cowardice (the ‘get on with it’ argument, as I call it) because that kind of interpretation suggests that murder is bravery and that one should be able to kill someone on a whim. But isn’t it strange to vilify someone for not killing another person? Would it have been better for Hamlet to act on impulse and kill Claudius with no evidence or premeditation? It completely misses the point of the complex dilemma that Hamlet faces about death, religion, and his existence in the kind of society that encourages murder under certain circumstances.

suddenly-im-helpless  asked:

Prompt #1 with Steve

1. “Did you just quote Shakespeare at me?”

Requested by @suddenly-im-helpless


You smiled to yourself as you wrapped your body around Steve’s, your face nestled firmly in his neck as his strong arm cradled your shoulder and back. His hand drawling pattens across the patch of skin he had hiked your shirt up to gain access too. It was the middle of the night and neither of you could sleep, conversations ranging from the mundane to the more deeper variety. Blanketed by comfortable pauses, just like the one you were floating in now. No one in the team knew of your relationship with Steve, you both agreed keeping a low profile on your budding romance  it was for the best. After everything that had happened with the Accords, it just wasn’t the right time to be going public. 

“I just wish we could tell them” you sighed as Steve pressed his lips to your hair, breathing in the sent of your shampoo he hummed in agreement. His hand stilling on your skin, squeezing your hips in a gentle reassurance. 

“We will (Y/N) one day, soon I promise. I… I just can’t loose you. Not again, not after..everything” You raised your head to look at him, you brief time in prison was enough to understand. Not to mention his childhood best friend was currently back in cryo freeze only days after reuniting with him again. 

“I know, baby. I know..I just.. I wish I could talk to Natasha about this, we use to be so close” you sighed sadly, the thought of your best friend sent a deep pang on pain and guilt in your chest. You didn’t know where your relationship stood with the Russian, you had fought against her in what they were calling ‘a civil war between the Avengers’. You felt Steve’s hand travel up your back as he tangled his fingers in your hair. 

“I guess the course of true love never did run smooth” you hummed in agreement, before jerking back slight. 

“Wait.. Did you just quote Shakespeare at me? Who knew you were such a thespian Steve” You couldn’t help the soft giggles that passed through your lips as Steve shook his head at you pulling you down in a sweet kiss. 

“I’ll quote all the great’s for you doll” 

Kat Distraction

MariChat May 4th: ‘Romeo, Romeo…’

(ao3)


“Do you think the reason why Juliet was so desperate to get away to Mantua was because of her love Romeo? Or because of her need to get away from her overbearing fa-family?”

Marinette looked up from where she sat at her desk to see chat hanging upside down from the rails of her bed.

“Where in the world is this question coming from? Also how did you get there without me noticing?” Sure she could see him being weirdly into Shakespeare (at least the love stories anyway) but to suddenly show up from nowhere and ask a question about it seemed a little much.

“Eh? If it seems too sudden just forget about it.”

She frowned as she studied him. It was a bit hard to tell, with him being upside down and all, but he seemed to be feeling down. It may have looked like a smiley face from her perspective but he was definitely frowning. She nodded to herself. The question must be important to him and that was unquestionably a good enough reason for her to answer it.

Her forehead creased slightly as she thought hard about her answer. “I’m not sure… maybe they both just wanted to get away? I think that they definitely thought it was to be able to love each other in peace though.”

Chat didn’t really look satisfied with that answer. Marinette sighed.

“Look Chat, I’m not really a fan of Romeo and Juliet anyway. I can barely remember the plot as is.”

“I know… I just thought… it might apply a bit to u-I mean me.”

She frowned at how unsure he sounded. Chat was much deeper than she had thought when he had first started showing up, but this was definitely the most uncertain she had ever seen him.

“You want to get away? From your family I mean.” She quickly clarified when he started looking confused.

“Ye-no, I mean I shouldn’t want too.” He confessed. His sad eyes stared into hers. He was also still hanging upside down and it was making her a bit woozy.

Marinette didn’t really know what to make of what he was saying. She felt really out of her depth. But Chat was her friend and she wanted to help. She needed to wipe that look off his face and the best way to do that when she couldn’t think of anything else was a distraction.

“Hey Chat…” She move her face closer to his.

“Y-yes?” He said caught off guard by the shift in tone.

She moved closer and under his watchful eyes pressed her lips gently to his forehead.

“How 'bout we play some games to take your mind off its problems?”

Unfortunately Chat Noir was far more impacted by what she had done than she had expected. He came tumbling down onto her. The impact caused her to fall of her chair as well and ended with both of them sprawled on the floor in a heap. Both felt a wave a deja-vu at the situation. Looking at each other they ended up laughing and both forgot about the heavy conversation they were having.

As Marinette waved him goodbye later in evening, after an intense gaming session, she wondered if she had helped him enough.

“Humans are complicated Marinette. Trust me I would know.” Tikki giggled the small Kwami coming to rest on her shoulder.

“How can you read me so well?” Marinette pouted.

The god of creation laughed. “Come on Marinette let’s get dinner! No need to worry yourself over something that can’t be changed.”

“You’re right Tikki. I just hope Chat will eventually be able to explain to someone what’s wrong.”

With an optimistic prep to her steps Marinette managed to trip down the stairs quicker than usual to eat dinner.

As he headed home Chat sighed. He didn’t even know why he tried to explain his home situation to someone who couldn’t know his secret. He had just wanted her to understand. He shook his head and smiled. It didn’t matter anyway-so long as Marinette was around to cheer him up.

The problem with cisgender people playing transgender roles is that it encourages dialogue like “he looks really good as a woman” or “he’s pulling off that dress well” (all quotes I just heard) which, while they might be intended as compliments, continue to perpetuate the idea that a transwoman is nothing more than a man playing dress up. Viewers don’t see a woman but a man pretending to be a woman, and while shows like Transparent may have done some good things for the trans community in raising awareness and starting dialogue, when the rhetoric revolves around “ Jeffrey Tambor is a great actor dressing up like a woman like that” or “Eddie Redmayne, he makes a pretty woman” or whoever is playing a transwoman now or next and getting credit for being “brave enough” to dare dress up as a gender that is “not their own” we’re still removing agency from transwomen as women: not playing a role, not playing dress up, but being their authentic selves as women

And the same can be said for cisgender women playing trans-men, continuing the idea that they’re “just tomboys” and suddenly the narrative gets dismissed as a Shakespeare-esque “woman dresses up as a man to engage with male society”. While stories of women defying the patriarchy are great and needed, it that is not this story, and transmen should not continuously have their narratives erased and turned into the story of “a girl being one of the boys” or the story of a woman proving she can do anything men can do because this means removing transmen from the story as men. Too often, transmen’s identity is erased entirely because it is a cisgender female playing the role and viewer reaction goes straight to women’s beauty standards, interpreting the story as a woman’s right to wear pants or cut their hair short or play boy’s sports (all of which are great and true but not this story!)

anonymous asked:

Can you write a bughead oneshot where they don't talk about the first kiss and dance around it for a while. Suddenly their schools Shakespeare company is doing a production of Romeo and Juliet (ironically) but the thing is Juggie doesn't get the role of Romeo (like Reggie or Archie does) and he interrupts the show midway through by reading the dialogue at the first meeting scene. Sorry it's super specific but I love your oneshots

This one was really fun to write, hope you enjoy it!

“I need everyone to quiet down!”

The theatre director stood backstage in the middle of chaos - costume pieces flying every which way, scripts fluttering across the hardwood floor, actors and actresses practicing their lines in their not-so-inside voices.

“Reggie, stop putting the props in Chuck’s ear, what did I say after the last time?” She hurried over to the boys standing by the props table, her long hair whipping over her shoulder as she frantically ripped the tiny object out of Reggie’s hand.

“I can’t believe we’re being forced to perform such an archaic piece of literary garbage. It’s so outdated,” Veronica whined, tossing her script onto a folding chair by the side of the stage. “I mean what teenager nowadays would climb up to someone’s window as a way of declaring one’s affections for them?”

Betty’s eyes went wide as she glanced at Jughead, her heart beating rapidly in her chest.

“No one,” Betty said almost too quickly, fiddling with a fraying piece of fabric on her costume and avoiding Veronica’s gaze.

“Exactly, B, glad to see you’re on my side on this one,” Veronica beamed at Betty before pulling on the arm of her dress and frowning. “Although, the fact that you’re our Juliet isn’t really helping the cause.”

Jughead gently pulled Betty away from Veronica, leaning in close to her ear so no one else could hear them.

“Bets, are we ever going to talk about it?” Jughead whispered. “It’s been weeks.”

“Talk about what?” Betty feigned confusion as she turned away from him to busily flip through her script. 

“You know what,” Jughead muttered, lowering his gaze to give her a knowing look.

“Alright, that’s enough!” The director’s voice rose above the chatter, signaling to to the group that it was time to meet with her in the center of the stage. “Gather around everyone, we don’t have a lot of time!”

“You said to pretend like nothing happened,” Betty reminded Jughead, looking back at him struggling to keep of with her as she hurried to join the rest of the group. “So that’s exactly what I’m doing.”

“I didn’t mean-”

“Jughead, honestly, the faster you’re done wasting my time, the faster I can be done wasting yours,” the director sighed, turning to the students staring at her with bored expressions and taking an annoyed breath. “As you all know, our first performance of Romeo and Juliet is tomorrow. You all have put a lot of work into this and I expect that you will treat the performance with as much respect as it deserves. In other words, if you make a mockery of this program, I will see you in detention for an entire month - I’m looking at you Reggie. Okay, let’s get this over with!”

“Betty, I didn’t mean for us to skirt around each other like we were never even friends,” Jughead explained, taking her by the elbow and spinning her around slightly to meet his gaze. “I miss talking to you.”

“I miss you too, Juggie,” Betty admitted, her lips twitching into a faint smile as she allowed herself get lost in his eyes for a moment.

“Juliet, wherefore art thou Romeo? I know that’s not what that really means, but- oh never mind,” the director stammered, but stopped abruptly when she realized a dozen eyes were staring at her like she was crazy. “Seriously, Betty, where is he?”

“I’m here, Ms. Machin!”

As if on cue, Archie Andrews burst through the stage door to join the rest of his classmates on the stage.

“Sorry, I had music rehearsal with the pussycats and-” Archie struggled to catch his breath as he quickly tried to explain himself, but was cut off by an aggravated Ms. Machin shoving his costume in his face.

“Oh, I’m so glad you’ve put so much time and effort into other activities, Archie, but we have a performance tomorrow,” Ms. Machin reminded him. “So can we please run through this play before I start ripping my hair out of my head?”

“Yikes,” Veronica winced. “Sounds like someone needs a good long bath and a bottle of merlot after this horrid play is over and done with. And I don’t just mean me.”

“So are we okay?” Jughead asked, turning to Betty as she watched the group disperse in front of her. “You and me?”

“That depends,” Betty shrugged. “What did the kiss mean?”

“Bets, why do we have to decide that right now, I don’t-”

Rolling her eyes, Betty turned away from Jughead, already tired of hearing this answer, and made her way across the stage to look up at Archie putting one arm through the jacket that accompanied his costume.

“Arch, can we go over the blocking for our last scene together one more time?” Betty asked. “I just want to be sure I have it down perfectly.”

“Yeah, let’s do it,” Archie agreed, tugging on the hem of his jacket and smiling down at her as they headed off to a quieter location to practice.

“Okay, what is going on with you two?” Veronica emerged from somewhere behind Jughead, gesturing towards Betty with a raised eyebrow. “You’ve been dodging each other for weeks. Seriously I watched Betty dive into the girl’s bathroom just to avoid running into you last week. Something happened between you two didn’t it?”

“I don’t know,” Jughead muttered, rubbing the back of his neck uncomfortably and staring at a spot in the hardwood floor. “Maybe.”

“Oh my god, I knew it!” Veronica exclaimed, her face brightening at the thought of an unexpected romance. “But wait, then what’s the problem?”

“A few weeks ago, we kind of had…” Jughead fidgeted in his spot, lowering his voice so he couldn’t be heard by any unsuspecting ears. “A moment.”

“Meaning?”

“We kissed,” Jughead admitted. “And afterwards I kind of… freaked out.”

“Like you ran screaming in the other direction like a five-year-old afraid of those people in the creepy character costumes at an amusement park?” Veronica asked, her brows drawing together as she tried to comprehend what he was saying.

“No,” Jughead sighed. “I just - I panicked and didn’t think she wanted it to happen. I mean, it was kind of out of the blue. But then again, it really wasn’t. Anyway, I told her just to pretend like it didn’t happen and now…”

“Now she’s treating you like you’re a piece of gum on the bottom of her shoe,” Veronica finished for him, nodding as if she understood exactly what he was talking about. “I mean you try to ignore it, but it keeps making itself known every time you walk and it sticks to the floor.”

“Kinda harsh,” Jughead scoffed. “But essentially - yes.”

“Well lucky for you, Ronnie knows how to fix even the direst dating woe,” Veronica assured him, her lips curling into a devilish smirk. “And believe it or not, this situation is not that dire. Here’s what you need to do - you need to show her that you really do want to be with her. Make some grand gesture, do whatever it takes to get her to believe you.”

“Well, how do I do that?”

“That part’s up to you my friend,” Veronica told him, placing a reassuring hand on his shoulder as she turned to Archie and Betty at the other end of the stage. “But if I were you, I’d do it soon. Her Romeo is literally her dream Romeo, so I’d act fast.”

With that, Veronica crossed the stage to talk to a few of the girls in charge of the set decoration, leaving Jughead to watch as Betty laughed at something Archie was saying from across the stage.

“But he’s not,” Jughead muttered to himself, thinking back to the day he crawled into her room and kissed her like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“Okay, let’s run through the balcony scene before we do a complete run-through!” Ms. Machin directed the group, gesturing for everyone to get into places with frantic hands. “Let’s go, people, the clock is ticking!”

“Okay, Juggie, it’s now or never,” Jughead whispered under his breath. “You might not be her Romeo in the play, but you were her Romeo when you climbed through her window the other day.”

“Alright, Act 2, Scene 2,” Ms. Machin clapped her hands together as the actors began to file into their positions. “Juliet appears on the balcony above, Romeo is below when he spots her and-”

Archie stepped onto the stage, glancing up at Betty with a look of longing as he began to deliver his lines.

“But soft! What light through yonder window breaks? It is the-”

Jughead couldn’t wait anymore. Before he could talk himself out of it, he hopped out from behind the lighting booth and made his way onto the stage.

“It is the east and Juliet is the sun,” Jughead finished the line for Archie, causing dozens of eyes to look to him with curious -yet intrigued- expressions.

“Jughead Jones, I will not have you make a mockery of-” Ms. Machin’s face was beet red from anger, but Veronica stepped behind her to place a gentle hand on her shoulder.

“Let him finish!” Veronica insisted, nodding for Jughead to finish the line as he stood in front of the balcony, looking up at Betty.

“Arise fair sun and kill the envious moon, who is already sick and pale with grief, that thou fair maid art far more fair than she,” Jughead continued, meeting Betty’s gaze with a look of regret and sorrow. “I messed up Bets. I should have told you how I felt about you a long time ago, but I was scared. I wasn’t sure if you felt the same way so I kind of - freaked out.”

“Juggie, all you had to do was talk to me,” Betty told him, taking a step closer to the edge of the balcony and leaning over it to smile down at him. “You can talk to me about anything.”

“I know,” Jughead met her smile before turning to everyone watching them and taking a deep breath. “So I’m asking you this now, in front of our entire class - will you go out with me?”

“Of course I will,” Betty answered, and a roar of cheers coming from the cast made an embarrassed giggle escape her lips.

Before anyone could protest, Jughead started climbing up the ladder meant to look like vines crawling up the side of the building and hoisted himself up and over the balcony to join Betty.

“Mr. Jones, that set it to be handled with care don’t you-” Ms. Machin yelled from the stage, but Jughead was already up and over before she could finish her sentence.

“Now, that’s the kind of play I would be excited about performing,” Veronica muttered to herself, clapping her hands together happily as she watched her friends smile at one another with goofy grins.

“Feel familiar?” Jughead asked as they stood in front of the hand-built window, his hands on her waist as she took a step closer to him.

“No yet,” Betty breathed before closing the space between them and placing her hands on his cheeks, their lips meeting with a kiss that was even better than their first.

About being an Artist...

Unfortunately there will always be people who don’t grant others their ‘glory’ or skill. It’s not like you go to bed like: “I wish I could draw/paint like Picasso or Dürer” or “write like Shakespear” and when you wake up -oohh suddenly magic happened! No. It’s years and years of experience, practice, ups and downs, tears and nearly given up moments. Nothing comes from doing nothing and I guess I speak for many (if artists or writers) that we do have such moments and are annoyed by the believe we could just swing a wand a -swoosh- awesome works. BUT of course and luckily there is also joy! Let’s see the bright moments e.g. when people tell you or you notice that you seem to inspire and motivate others… So to all the artists and writers out there: Don’t let anyone stop you! Keep going! And to all newbies: It’s all about practice! You can do it! Nobody has the right to limit you. Life is so short why don’t even try and do what you want?

Originally posted by usedpimpa

I was given a surprise seat upgrade at my third visit to Falsettos today, and my goodness… the show is in such beautiful shape I cannot wait for the PBS taping to air so everyone can see it. Christian’s hair is roughly the same length as it was in Something Rotten! now, so I was very amused that Marvin suddenly looked a lot more like Shakespeare. :)

Everyone’s performances continue to blow me away. I’m still especially moved by Christian’s career-defining performance as Marvin. I’ve never seen him more in love with Andrew’s still-excellent Whizzer, or as emotional with Anthony Rosenthal’s Jason, or as chummy with Betsy and Tracie’s lesbians next door than what I saw this evening. And Stephanie J. Block… can we just FedEx her a Tony six months early? I gave her a standing ovation after “I’m Breaking Down” - and a couple people joined me!

Seriously though, if you can make it to Falsettos’ final week on Broadway, GO. It’s truly a perfect revival of a perfect musical.

(Slightly unrelated but I ran into John O'Farrell, cowriter of Something Rotten!, at Falsettos… so I’ve seen Karey and Wayne and John already this trip!)

I work at Arkham Asylum as a janitor. The other day I was practicing lines for a Shakespeare play as I mopped the hallway, and suddenly I heard someone say “with more feeling to it, don’t just spout the lines”. Turns out Victor Fries is an amateur acting coach. #guessvillainshavetobedramatic #hewasreallyhelpfulthough #theplaywasasuccess #onlyingotham

It was summer vacation of freshman year and I was home from college with my fam in North Carolina.  I went up to Dartmouth and was learnin all sorts of shit – New Hampshire’s a pretty libertarian state, I mean they don’t pay taxes, but also lots of liberals.  I was always well behaved, a good reader, kinda bookish, smart enough to know that studying was my way out of a small town.

Well of course I got caught up in what I was being taught in school and became a cultural critic and political salvationist like they all are.  So I smarted off to my conservative dad that summer trying to show off what I’d learned.  Big mistake. We had it out and argued for a month – I knew I was right.  He even slapped me at one point after pinning me to the floor, and the next damn day after that he pulled me from school, said he wouldn’t pay for it anymore, and drove me right down to the ROTC and made me sign off.

No more liberal in the making for me.  Sayonara to Shakespeare and Camus – suddenly I’m sleeping in dorms, lickin boots and doing pushups.  I cried a lot at first, complained and wrote letters, but pretty soon it starts taking effect and my body starts changing from boot camp.

Like my t-shirts start feeling snug, and before I know it they don’t even fit right anymore – one time I tried to pull one on and I ripped the sleeve off.  The guy on the bunk next to me, he tosses me a medium and suddenly I’m wearing a medium.  I’m now a medium, I think, dazed.  Only they don’t let up.  They work me all summer with physical labor and more of the facile – I think that’s what I called it – instructions from my drill sergeant that are just meant to build you up.  I’m still wishing I were at Dartmouth pursuing my dreams when, by the end of the quarter, even a medium doesn’t fit me so well.  I can see my pecs pushing out against it, the seams tight on my shoulder – and before you know it I’m a fucking large.  Holy shit, I’m a fuckin large.  I’m turning into a muscle dude or somethin.

Hardly even recognize myself with the high and tight.  Getting so vascular, I can’t help but take in what all this exercise is doing to me.  They’ve always got me working up a sweat and showering it off, I’m hungry all the time.  Hair even starts sproutin up on my abs and across my chest before I hardly even realize it’s growin in.  Never had any before all the constant working out jacked my T and made my hormones run wild.  My legs got hairier, too.  My lower legs did for sure, and never really had any hair on my thighs before at all.  Now I do.

They got this new recruit across the bunk from me now just this morning and he says he doesn’t think he wants to be here.  I start telling him, dude, I know what you’re goin through, I’m not supposed to either as I wipe my brow with a towel.  He goes “yeah but you got the body for it, I don’t”.

“Yeah?” I say, kind of feeling cool that he’s impressed with this.  I flex for him and smirk a little, friendly though.  "You think I’m getting there?“

I end up pattin him on the back tellin him he’ll do great, that I was his size when I started, and then I go hit the showers.  They got a mirror in the bunker back where they store a lot of dry goods so I go check myself out.  Holy shit.  I gotta flex for this – it’s like I really like this, maybe.  I mean I’m undeniably more handsome.  Took some getting used to, for sure.  But by the end of the year I’m actually comfortable walking around without a shirt on.  What’s more, I kinda love doing that, just kind of casually to show off and enjoy the fresh air.

I go home on the next summer break and I even walk around downtown in a tank top or go jogging shirtless every morning just to keep it up.  Only thing is my hormones are fuckin out of control, like pent up, I haven’t had time to get started with a girlfriend at camp or anything like that, and haven’t really been wanting to, honestly.  So one night I get drunk and before you know it me and this local punk – some nobody with a mohawk – I don’t know, he’s cocky and different and fun to argue with because he thinks he can give me shit or knows me.  Something about that attracts me, so I take him back to my dad’s barn after I promise to drive him home and end up making out with him in his har.  Anyhow I get him to the barn with the lights off in my car so nobody hears and fuck the shit out of him right in the straw.  Like I pump that ass so full of cum.  He’s a muscular little punk too, scrawny but must work out a bunch.  I make him swear to God not to tell anyone and he’s fine with it, like yeah, he fuckin loves it, I figure I can trust him or nobody would ever believe it anyway, not like he knows my last name.  I give him this sloppy kiss goodbye – sick, right – and smack him on the ass and tell him maybe again sometime if he sees me out.

Fuck, only thing is I’m craving sex again like almost the next day already.  That was so hot last night.  Can’t let my parents find out, but fuck!  It felt so good.  I wish there were more gay football players or just regular dudes.  Sometimes when I jog through the town in the morning I see other runners and check out their asses.  Just want to hook up with a hot jock almost every morning, now, but haven’t had the change.  I think I admitted to myself I’m gay, though I’d never call it that.  Sometimes I have to beat off in front of a mirror and am even gettin in to twistin my own nipples and finger fuckin myself, but I gotta butch look and make it hot, I’m not some weirdo about it.

When I’m back on the base I’m gonna try and see if there’s any guys who swing my way.  I really want to bang with a jock this summer first, though.  When I’m out of recruitment for good I can go off base and do that all the time but I gotta get ready to go back soon so there isn’t much time left in the summer.  Fuckin in love with my body, dudes.  So glad they got me away from being a smartmouthed wimp.  I never was this horny before they sent me to bootcamp, so I guess it backfired on them, probably would have stayed in the closed too. Just wouldn’t have been as compelled to have to start busting this nut.  I totally didn’t plan it in that bar or even going, but couldn’t help myself almost, you know?  Plus look at me, it’s like my whole body is meant to get it on.

Can’t help feelin this way, my hormones are just way stronger than when I was in college.  I think about pecs, bis, ass, scruff on a dude constantly now.  Kinda don’t know how I’m gonna keep it in check.

Markiplier.

Markiplier is a bird: Storkiplier.

Markiplier visits a park: Parkiplier.

Markiplier pops the cork off a sparkling cider bottle: Corkiplier.

Markiplier is snarky: Snarkiplier.

Markiplier is incognito: Clarkiplier.

Markiplier is now a predatoral fish: Sharkiplier.

Markiplier does Shakespear: Harkiplier.

Markiplier is suddenly Iron Man: Starkiplier.

Markiplier is secretly an extra-terrestrial: Zarkiplier.

3

30 days of Krista and Becca Ritchie: day twenty four ~ a shakespeare quote

Connor slides beside me on the bed, his legs nestled against mine. He fingers my diamond necklace, smoothing the thin chain and inadvertently tickling the hollow of my collar. I glasp his hand before the sensation makes me squirm.

He stares at me deeply, whispering. “Love all, trust a few, do wrong to none.”

One of my favorite quotes. I turn a fraction, just enough so that our lips don’t suddenly collide. “Shakespeare,” I breathe.

“Very good.”

My thoughts migrate to my heart. A kiss is at a breath’s distance, and despite my sore body, I want a repeat of last night.

Love all. Love. I’ve accepted Connor for who he is, even his anti-love beliefs. But why the hell did he have to choose that quote?

“You can’t seduce me with Shakespeare.” I command my thoughts to return to my brain. Come back, Non-Gooey Rose. I put considerable amount of distance between our lips, scooting to the right. “Especially with a quote about love.”

“Darling, I don’t need to seduce you,” he says, “I already have you.”

When beggars die, there are no comets seen;
The heavens themselves blaze forth the death of princes.

/suddenly gets massive hamlet/horatio feels

imagine that horatio has heard this before but he’s like i’m a scholar i don’t believe in such superstitiion 

and then after hamlet dies he goes outside and sees a shooting star and he’s suddenly reminded and just

agh my feels

Chaste as Ice

words: 2278

rating: T? idk Kristoff says ‘damn’ a lot for some reason and there are veiled references to sexual subjects. 

Kristoff Week prompt: Family

Chaste as Ice

“Be thou as chaste as ice, as pure as snow, thou shalt not escape calumny.” –  Hamlet, Act 3, Scene 1 – William Shakespeare

“Kristoff,” Elsa asked suddenly, “what happened to your hand?”

He paused, his arm checked in its reach for the decanter, and shared a brief, panicked look across the table with Anna.

“Uh. Ah, I just…had a little accident when I was up in the mountains.”

The queen raised an eyebrow. “You went into the mountains since this morning? Your hand was fine at breakfast.” She glanced from Kristoff’s reddening face to Anna’s excessively innocent one. “Well? What actually happened? I suppose it will explain why you were late to dinner.”

Kristoff looked at Anna. Anna looked back at Kristoff. Kristoff looked down at his hand—he must have broken the scabs open somehow, because blood had soaked through the bandage that had so hastily been wrapped around his knuckles. He wished desperately that he was a better liar, because Elsa had settled back in her chair, her own hands folded neatly in her lap, her face calm and expectant and dammit, he was going to have to tell her. Something about that quietly interested expression dragged the truth out of people, which had been very useful as Arendelle improved its diplomatic position but which was inconvenient for certain ice harvesters with skinned knuckles. Damned inconvenient, because he was going to tell her the whole thing, and he already knew that she wasn’t going to like it. He was in so much trouble.

Keep reading

Tonight, about 20 people from my college Shakespeare troupe suddenly decided to all change our profile pictures to our friend Dan, as the unfortunate placement of his jacket made his t-shirt appear to say “Top Bitch.”

It escalated quickly

Dan’s response: