because i still sit here after all that time AND I'M ASTOUNDED

HiddleHamlet: A firsthand account (Part II)

It’s 5 days later and I’m still suffering from what @hiddleston81 calls the Hiddleston Hangover.

This second half is now days late, oops, so a lot of this has already been said by now, but I still want to record it for posterity. Fair warning, this post is going to be a disorganised mess of my thoughts - swinging between genuine observations about play/performance and completely shameless fangirling - so, the usual. That’s what you’re here for, right?!

Here are some more things I want to remember about Tom’s Hamlet:

Tom’s already much-discussed perfect hair was just like in the programme photo above, but at a few key points, one lock of hair would escape from the slicked back gorgeousness and fall over his forehead. Yes, that’s right - an errant curl. And somehow I’m still here to tell this tale.

Dancing. IT HAPPENS. Only for a minute, but it is glorious. The first entry of Rosencrantz and Guildenstern comes with a beats pill playing danceable music (Kendrick Lamar, I think?) and they all bust out a few moves. I gasped. Snake-hipping, y’all! In the middle of Hamlet! Bless you, Sir Kenneth Branagh.

There’s one bit where Hamlet dives underneath the carpet and tunnels along and then comically pops out the other side. Another where he gets excited and leaps on and then over the back of the couch. He wears facepaint and wraps himself in a Danish flag. He does silly voices on behalf of the skull in the “Alas, poor Yorick” scene (a Scottish accented one, even - swoon). Tom was such a playful Hamlet in these moments, delighting in being unhinged. I loved that he was let loose like this - he had these offhand chances to laugh and play, while still being clearly and primarily defined by his grief and fury. Those contradictions seemed so human. I think, more than anything, Tom’s Hamlet is the most relatable one I’ve seen (I mean, apart from those times when he gets all murdery. But you know.)

His anger and sadness, though, were harrowing to behold. The scene in the very beginning where Hamlet comes out onto a nearly dark stage to play piano and sing is haunting - his pain is palpable, and the entire audience was hanging on his every word and motion. It was like a shot straight to the heart to begin the production. I recall reading some review that slightly criticised him as “obviously not a singer” in this scene, and I agree that it wasn’t his usual standard of vocal performance, but I would venture that this was intentional. I thought he still sounded rather lovely, but his voice was imperfect, thin and cracking with grief. This is supposed to be Hamlet alone in his sorrow, not performing for anyone as he does in other scenes throughout the play. The moment feels incredibly authentic, illustrating perfectly Hamlet’s current frame of mind, and it sets the tone for Tom’s entire performance.

I kept becoming mesmerized by the little details of him - a consequence of him being so close, in the flesh. It was impossible not to focus in on his overwhelming physical presence. He was so lean, lithe and yet all muscles, with this energy radiating off of him every time he moved. I couldn’t stop noticing and trying to memorize every tiny thing about him. I could see the veins in his hands, the freckles on his forearms, the sheen of sweat under the curls at the back of his neck. The pattern of his stubble and the little muscle clench in his jaw (urrghhh) and the way his eyes shone with tears in the stage lights. JFC, is he a beautiful human.

Originally posted by topless-tom


In his first scene (after the piano one) when he turned to our side of the stage, he did lock eyes with me and held it for a second, so I think that might’ve been him registering recognition. There will never be any way to know for sure…which means I am of course just gonna go ahead and believe my version, because why the hell wouldn’t I. Tom totally recognised me - IT IS CANON - at least in my head, forever, the end.

He did that face-cupping thing that he does to Ophelia in the scene where they kiss. His long, beautiful fingers stroking her cheek. Fucker. And the way he was looking at her…well, you can imagine it. Hamlet’s love for Ophelia in this scene is tangible, and the whole thing made my insides melt completely. Sighhh.

Oh, also - he PICKS UP tiny Rosencrantz and twirls her all the way around his body. It is literally the cutest thing and I nearly choked on my own saliva for how badly I want this thing that I’d never even thought of before, being grabbed around the waist by Tom and swung entirely around his body. UM GIVE ME THAT PLEASE. They were pretty adorable together and caused @hiddleston81 to immediately start shipping them (I would’ve too if I were a shipper, but I’m only able to ship my real-life crushes with one person, and that’s meeee). 

Hamlet and Horatia had great chemistry too - they really seemed like comfy best friends, but with a good degree of physical affection between them as well. Basically, Hamlet has sexual tension with every woman in this play. Or maybe I’m projecting.

Oh, let’s talk about the leather. It comes out right at the end, for the incredible fight scene. There’s the already-beloved leather jacket of course, but also - leather gloves. The time he spent putting on the gloves was probably only 20 seconds, but it seemed like a slo-mo 5 minutes in my head, with imaginary sexy music playing in the background (wee-wee-wowww). After he gets the gloves on, he immediately runs them through his hair to slick it back all the way, and it is maaaybe the hottest thing I’ve ever seen. I somehow didn’t burst into flames. Amazing.

Little tummy peeks happened a couple of times throughout the show, which were just too damn delicious for words. Again, he looked so good in his clothes! When on top of that, his shirt would occasionally ride up a bit over his tight, low-slung jeans and show that bit of skin, uhhh…heavenly powers, restore me.

Hamlet’s death scene is heartbreaking, obviously, and my eyes were full of tears. But still it was impossible not to notice that his shirt had ridden up again and his lower abs were on display, creating a complicated and weird mix of emotions, ie I am very sad but also extremely turned on, what is wrong with me?? He was also so close that you could see his chest rising and falling with his breathing, which is just so intimate, and I couldn’t stop drinking it in with my eyes. I never could take my eyes off him for a single second when he was onstage, even when the action would move elsewhere.

The older lady sitting beside me leaned over before it started and said, “Well, we couldn’t get any closer than this, could we?” and I thought, “Aw how nice, a sweet theatre-loving lady who wants to chat.” Then she said “Tom Hiddleston will be practically on top of us!!” and I thought “OH NO SHE’S A KINDRED SPIRIT.” This was proven true at the intermission when she asked me if I was “enjoying the view of Hiddleston’s butt.”

Originally posted by letlovebyourenergy

Me (in my head) I LOVE HER

Me: It’s like a chorus of angels singing in my ears. 

Her: And his legs!! 

Me (getting too worked up) HE’S SO LEGGY

Her: Have you seen The Night Manager?

Me: OH GIRL

One last thing. I know I got to be in Tom’s presence once already, in a completely astounding circumstance, but it was really special to be in the same room with him for this particular experience. I feel extremely grateful to have had the chance to be there, and do not take it at all for granted. His talent, charisma and grace as an actor shone in this role. He was utterly moving. He came alive on stage, and it was absolutely thrilling to witness. As someone who has seen all of his work and adored him from afar for years, this was something new. Being there with him, in this intimate setting, in his element…was beautiful. I’ll never forget it.

The Voicemail, Part 2

Written for @xfficchallenges dialogue-only challenge.  

Timeline: Post-IWTB, Pre-Revival
Rating:  Strong R for language and adult themes
Author: @kateyes224
A/N:  I’m sorry.  This is Scully’s response to the things Mulder said to her in The Voicemail by my bestie and baeta, @piecesofscully, so read that first otherwise you’ll have no context for this.
TW:  Suicidal ideation


“…not going to say this over a voicemail.  Goddammit.  Mulder, you are such an asshole.  

“You know what?  Fuck it.  Guess what I did tonight, Mulder?  I finally said yes when that 35-year-old neurosurgeon who’s been sniffing around for the last few months asked me to dinner again.  And we had dinner.  And it was marginal.  Not great, not terrible, but fine.  FINE.  I know how much you hate that word.  And then he left.  He left me sitting here on this curb.  And now here I am, drunk off a bottle of wine that probably costs more than one of my first paychecks, and Walter fucking Skinner of all people is coming to pick me up and take me home.

“How dare you leave me that scathing, awful…that message was quite possibly the worst indictment of who I am as a person that I’ve ever heard, Mulder…and keep in mind, Bill Junior still calls me regurlarly to remind me what a royal fuck-up I am and I don’t think he would dare to say the things that you said to me the other night on your stupid fucking voicemail.

And I don’t give a SHIT, Mulder, about the other twenty messages you’ve left in the meantime apologizing to me for those disgusting, hateful, terrible things you said.  Because you know what, Mulder?  In vino veritas, and in case you don’t remember Latin, you prick, that means ‘in wine, truth.’

“The truth.  You know everything there is to know about the truth, don’t you?  You’ve been chasing after yours for so long you probably forgot what everyone else’s version of it looks like, and that unlike time, which is a universal invariant, truth is relative.  So here’s one for you that I bet you never saw coming.

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Pynch week! Day 5: Northern Lights/ Dreamscape/ Stars

It was easy for Ronan to forget that his childhood was different than most. Not because of the Animal that roamed around the barns. Not because money was plenty and there was never any need for want. But because of the little things that couldn’t possibly exist in the home of a normal family. The picture books that would read aloud. The coloring books whose illustrations moved around the page. Fireflies that glow with all the colors of the rainbow.

Some things he learned were abnormal through trial and error like during art class in kindergarten when his crudely colored purple tiger refused to stalk around the crayon field. The first time he used the freezer in Monmouth he was astounded to find that the juice he placed on the top shelf was still liquid when he checked back five minutes later. Other things were less obviously different like how the chime of the microwave going off didn’t silently search through the warehouse to tell him his food was ready but loudly beeped until it awoke Gansey from a much-needed nap but failed to make its way through the walls to his room. Or how store bought alarm clocks didn’t blare out the song that was stuck in your head and “Ronan, the shower isn’t sound proof! Noah and I can hear you singing your lungs out.”

He was aware that many of the objects that he was raised with were creations straight from his father’s and sometimes even his own dreams but sometimes it really hit him just how much of his life was was the product of imagination. 

“What’s that?” Adam asked turning around on the couch to sit on his knees and peek out the window behind him.

“Come on Parrish, I thought you were the smart one here. Those are the Northern Lights.” Ronan watched as Adam turned to look at him incredulously. “What? It happens all the time." 

Adam broke into a fit of laughter, pulling the blanket covering the two of them around his shoulders. He calmed for a second to take in the confusion on Ronan’s face then fled from in a fit of giggles.

Ronan stared after him for a moment now alone and cold, then he grabbed his jacket and followed.He trailed behind Adam who strolled through the field ahead of him, blanket billowing around him like a cloak and head turned to the night sky. Ronan thought he had grown used to the lights that occasionally graced the night sky but like with most experiences, Adam’s presence enhanced it.

The soft glow that seemed to surround Adam from his spot atop of the hill. He glances at him for a moment and Ronan swears he’s never seen something so ethereal. He doubts that he even understood the true meaning of the word until he met Adam and yet here he is continuing to redefine it with every new memory they create together.

"The Aurora Borealis isn’t visible this far south, Lynch. Maybe if we lived in Northern Virginia but down here? This kind of view is only possible here at the barns.”

It takes a moment for his words to sink in but even when they do Ronan finds himself unsurprised that this magical night light he grew up with is just that, magic. And he takes a moment to wonder if the vision of Adam standing below the heavenly glow would be just as perfect as this one. A magician bathed in magic. Perhaps he’ll find out one day.


In the maps I looked at the lights only reached the northern tip of Virginia but I don’t know much about the Aurora Borealis so ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ but that’s fine. Also not the proudest of this artwork but I do like the little story so you win some ya lose some.

anonymous asked:

You accidentally chained your bike to mine and I can’t leave until you get back au percabeth please

A/N: Sorry that it’s so short, but hope you enjoy! This is unbeta-ed so all mistakes are mine! Title Credits to Passenger.

This is celebrating 800 followers on this blog (even though we’re three short, I’m celebrating preemptively). You guys are incredible :)

PATIENT LOVE

Annabeth swears that when she finds the moron that did this, she’s going to punch him in the face. It’s probably the best scenario for him if she’s being honest, considering she’s already cursed his firstborn child to twenty-five years of bad luck and imagined about thirty different ways to murder him. She even knows where she’d hide the body.

(There’s a river nearby and she’d be lying if the thought didn’t cross her mind…)

Her breath comes in puffs around her and every time it does it makes her angry because, oh, it’s ten o’clock at night and hardly forty-five degrees and some asshole chained his bike to hers.

She kicks at the chain with her boot uselessly, cringing in pain as her already frozen toes sting upon impact. Her teeth chatter and she wrings her hands inside her hoodie pocket, wishing more than anything that she had worn a proper jacket or a hat or mittens or something to help her conceal the little body heat she has remaining. She’s probably near hypothermic. She’s probably near death.

She swears that if she dies she will come back to earth as a ghost and haunt this guy’s soul for the rest of eternity.

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CS ff: “Shake Your (Cotton) Tail”

A/N: A few days ago, I got into a conversation with @pompeiiablaze​ about Emma and Killian celebrating Easter. Pom wrote a thing, and posted it with the picture at the end of this post (picture used with permission). I was already working on my own, and noticed some hilarious similarities that existed outside what we’d already talked about. So consider this the extended version of the accompanying ficlet to the picture, with some detail changes. Happy Belated Easter, friends! I feel like this could’ve been much smuttier but I went with what the muses gave me. 

Rating: sMut. sMutty sMut. 

Summary: Killian has some questions about the logistics of egg hunts and mascots, but Emma convinces him to stop asking questions with the promise of an enjoyable evening.


“So we’re hiding eggs. From the Easter Bunny?”

Emma hums out an affirmation from a few feet away where she’s diligently hiding the bright plastic eggs in question. While Henry is firmly in the “non-believer” category, despite being the Truest Believer, there are still plenty of children who still wake up on holidays believing that their treats have been delivered by some magical creature. And while it’s not entirely impossible that these creatures truly exist, they are still creeping about town hiding eggs for the youngins to find later during the Storybrooke egg hunt.

“Then why the bloody hell is the deity a rabbit? We have them searching for eggs, would it not make sense for it to be the Easter Hen?”

“No. No, it’s not actually about the bunny, Killian. It’s actually about Jesus.”

“Oh! The man you’re always cursing out?”

“Je – no. Yes. Well, kind of. But I’m not really cursing him out, I’m just – “

“Relax, love. I’ve read your Bible. I know who the man is. Also, isn’t one of those commandments about taking the Lord’s name in vain?”

She pinches the bridge of her nose, fully pausing in the task of placing a green egg on one of the chairs on Granny’s patio. He reaches out to stroke her hair in an attempt to sooth where he’s just riled her up, but she speaks before he even makes contact. She turns to him as she does, and he knows what that expression on her face means.

“Do you want the sexy bunny costume later tonight or not? You’re bordering on ‘not’ territory right now.”

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a little louder for the people in the back: clexa matters

I’m going to say it again, because even though it’s been said several times there seem to be a subset of The 100 fandom that can’t grasp why Clexa matters as more than a preference, as more than one side of a ship war.

If you don’t fall under the queer umbrella and you’re white you’ve likely not given much thought to representation in the media, and that really isn’t necessarily your fault- you’ve never had reason to. You see yourself and people like you everywhere on television and in mainstream media.

Do you know what it’s like to not know why you can’t relate to these characters everyone loves? I mean, you find yourself relating in some ways, but something is missing.

It took me 22 years to realize I was queer. I grew up in the era of Xena and The X-Files. I was fascinated with Captain Katheryn Janeway at age eight.

And you know why it took me 22 years?

Because I didn’t realize that women could be sexually, romantically, attracted to other women. I didn’t see it anywhere. Not overtly. I honestly thought that everyone found women attractive, and that boy crazy was a thing that happened to all girls… eventually. Maybe I should have picked up on that fact when I was sixteen and still making up crushes on boys.

I didn’t.

Sure, by the time I hit college The L-Word had already started, and was rapidly popular, but I didn’t watch it. I didn’t realize that I was like those women… because everyone finds women attractive, right? That doesn’t make me… gay? Does it?

I mean. All we see, every day in advertising, in the media, is the hypersexual representation of women. Sex sells. Scratch that, women being sexual sells. So if our culture is so enamored of the naked, sexual, being that is a women… that means everyone is infatuated with them. Right?

Wrong.

Twenty-two years old and I finally realized that my crushes on my female friends were valid and real and meant something. There was no aha! moment, just a slow steady dawning that only time can bring about; that the reason why I’d never been interested in any of my male friends was because I was never interested in men.

And I started looking around and I couldn’t find myself in mainstream media. It took me until Twenty-seven to put my finger on it, because I didn’t think much of it for a while. I was too busy with other things. I realized I didn’t care about media the way my peers did because I didn’t relate.

I got back into fandom after a ten year hiatus. I’d given up because something didn’t feel right (where were all the queers. In hindsight I get why). But I found myself on tumblr because of Once Upon a Time and the idea that they might actually make a woman Belle’s beast, not only that but the beast would also be Little Red Riding Hood. It was like a childhood fantasy come true. Of course it didn’t happen.

But tumbling back into fandom I found my people. I found other people like me, trying to find our stories represented.

And then The 100 happened.

I knew from the pilot that Clarke was queer (I mean come on her jaw nearly dropped faster than Jasper’s when Octavia stripped). 

(gif via bobbymorse)

So when the Clarke/Finn/Raven triangle happened I thought maybe we’d end up with Clarke and Raven. We didn’t, but that was okay. Don’t get me wrong I’ll ship princess mechanic forever and ever.

Then they introduced Lexa.

And Lexa kissed Clarke.

(gif via perky-psycho)

And that was more than I ever expected to get from a fairly mainstream show on a pretty major network. It wasn’t queer baiting. It wasn’t manipulative. It was honest. It was raw and real, and no on screen kiss moves me like that one does. It’s been nearly a year and The Nose Thing TM still gets me every time.

Then season 3 started.

Those of us who ship non-canon ships, the ones that will never be canon, we joke about wanting to see our fanfiction played out on screen. We joke about it so much that when episode 3x03 aired there was a collective scream in our little corner, because this was the kind of scene we had only dreamed about seeing.

(gif via perky-psycho)

Is this what it feels like to be straight? To see the characters you love falling in love, and maybe fucking up along the way… but working toward making things right and saving the world? Is… is this what representation feels like?

Because for once I can look at the TV and connect my own feelings to what I see on screen, the frantic heart tripping beat where you realize that this is it. This is what everyone else feels like when the lead man makes the grand sweeping gesture for the leading lady.

So when we keep telling you that Clexa matters. We really mean that it does. I can only imagine being in the younger half of the demographic for this show and seeing these characters play out their pain and sorrow and love and seeing a bit of myself in them. I can only imagine if I had seen this at sixteen, when I was just starting to question my resolute stance on, ‘I’m not boy crazy yet’ and thinking all the while that my best friend was attractive… and how that would have changed my life if I had been told it’s okay to feel the way I feel.

If I’d seen someone like me in the mainstream media when I was a teenager I wouldn’t be sitting here at almost thirty shaking and wishing half the fandom would realize why this is important.

Clexa matters.

It isn’t about the ship wars, or which character is better. Writing about who’s made the better decisions, is the least troublesome would be another whole essay (scratch that, it’s Gina, she was sunshine and sass and now she’s dead)

Clexa is important because we have a bisexual and a lesbian falling in love as the part of the main cast, as part of the main story. Yes, Alycia Debnam-Carey is “only” a guest star — but Lexa is integral to the plot however many or however few episodes she is in, because Lexa rules the ground. The Skaikru stepped into her world.

This is a plot line we would normally see reserved for a heterosexual couple.

We’ve never gotten to see this play out between two women, especially not on a genre show, not without toxicity or lesbian character death or fridging women.

Let us have this, so maybe another generation doesn’t have to grow up wondering what’s wrong with them. Let this show be a stepping stone in equality. And trust this incredible team of writers to deliver us an astounding story, because that’s what they do week after week. This show isn’t even about a love story, and that’s kind of what makes Clexa even better.


written by @dreamsheartstory

p.s. thanks to @the100writers for creating such an incredibly engaging show that goes so far beyond the romantic relationships it portrays. your storytelling really does wow me each week and i’m ecstatic to see where this all ends up regardless of who ends up with whom.