I roll over
I close my eyes
And beg sleep to take me
I am so tired
Day after day
The bags under my eyes are proof
So I give in and get up
Exhaustion weighing me down
As I pull myself through another day
She’s the type of girl I’d wake up at 6am for just because there is a 3 hour time difference between us. She’s also the girl I stay up till 2am writing poetry about. She’s the type of girl that doesn’t make me lose sleep because I’m wondering if our relationship is going to make it- quite the opposite actually. I lose sleep because I never have to wonder about the “what if’s”. I want her as much as she wants me and that’s always going to be a good enough reason for me.
Okay guys. Here goes. I’m going to try to remember and describe as much of the experience as possible, so you can all feel a little piece of it too. This is your warning… this is going to be a long post.
Disclaimer: this review is going to be very little about the play, and very lots about how mindblowingly gorgeous and excellent Tom was in the play. If you’re not in this to hear a dissertation on that man’s thighs in his tight-ass jeans, don’t read further. I love and deeply appreciate theatre (this is the 14th play I’ve seen since moving to London 10 months ago), but this is tumblr and I’m not really here to be a theatre critic or to dissect various interpretations of Shakespeare. I’m here to drool over sexy men. It’s right there in the title.
So, to get that boring, non-thigh-centred discussion out of the way first - the play was seriously great. I enjoyed it hugely, even apart from the magic of Tom’s Hamlet (and somehow in spite of the distraction that was my brain screaming “HE’S RIGHT THERE!!!” for 3 hours straight). I saw a similarly intimate staging of Hamlet back in January, which I found… overly intense. This one was much better. I especially liked the touches of humour throughout, which helped to break up the heavier moments and moved the story along in a nice rhythm, and brought out the humanity and likability of the characters. The cast were all fantastic, and the sparseness of the stage worked well - the focus was fully on the actors and the words they were saying.
We were sat in the front row, far stage left…which was basically on the stage. The theatre is teeny, with no raised stage, which meant the actors were walking by us close enough to touch. Being that close to Tom for an extended period of time was full-on exhilarating. When he’d run by us, we’d get a waft of air and could actually smell him. I didn’t get to last time, so I breathed in deep this time…and it was absolutely delicious. I’m sure we were visibly swooning after each inhale.
(I’m really sad that only a limited number of people will get to see this, and I know there’s been much discussion over the supposed “exclusivity” of this show, but I must say, in being one of the lucky ones who got to be there, that it was magical how intimate this was. It was immersive - a unique and beautiful theatre experience. I feel incredibly grateful.)
Important things must be addressed, so: couch humping. Was SO FUNNY. It wasn’t a full-on dry humping (oh god…I just had to take several minutes to think about what that would be like. I’m back now) but rather a couple of energetic thrusts. Which was enough. This was met with laughter and tons of quietly imploding vaginas, I assume.
In this same scene (a great scene), Hamlet sits on the recently-violated couch with Polonius and laughs loudly with him. It’s rather forced (he’s putting on a show here), but also - seriously adorable. Because Tom. It gifted us with a huge Hiddles grin, which is so damn infectious (as you well know). In the third bout of this laughter, Hamlet dissolves into tears. One of the best things about Tom’s Hamlet was how perfectly and naturally he navigated the quick shifts in his mood - swinging wildly between grief, rage, lunacy, amusement, earnestness - and it all felt incredibly deft and real. Also, that man is gifted when it comes to crying. I think there were real tears in his eyes for about 75% of the performance. At one point, you could see the tears falling, illuminated by the stage lights. It was beautiful. I managed to stay seated and not run to throw myself on him and cover him in kisses, which was obviously what first instinct was telling me to do.
Okay…let us talk about how good he looked. IT IS GROSS, AND MAKES NO SENSE. My brain can’t compute this level of attractiveness, and I have no appropriate words to convey it. It’s even worse in real life. And truly, this is Peak Tom, look-wise. I missed probably large sections of dialogue due to thinking about his hair (I wish this was a joke). I could not stop staring at it. The curls are entrancing. It is perfection. I will cry when he gets a haircut. THIS IS THE HAIR HE WAS BORN TO HAVE. Also, THE JEANS. Holy fucking hell. I could write a Hamlet-length soliloquy about those jeans. Maybe it was because I was on the side, so I spent a good amount of time looking at the back of him, but…I have never appreciated a view more. Those jeans were, um, very tight, and I have zero complaints. I think I could actually see his thigh muscles flexing through them. I was equally entranced by his legs and thighs throughout the whole thing. My stream of consciousness went something like this: hair-legs-thighs-jaw-eyes-voice-words-legs-ass-kill-me-now…!
Yeah… his ass in those jeans. Specifically when he was moving or jumping around a lot. I leave it to your imagination.
Overall, there is truly just something about him. We have not been imagining that. His physical presence is undeniably, overwhelmingly attractive. He’s all legs and cheekbones and curls, and the way he moves is impossible to look away from. He’s so damn FIT. His body, his face, his every movement…it’s all just sex incarnate. I can’t be eloquent about it. What the fuck do you say about this. Just. Ugh. Fuck me up.
Will you look at this? GOD.
Wardrobe stuff: I love his new peacoat. It’s really nice and looks so soft, so he looks super huggable in it. I will continue to swoon over the upturned collar look on him - it works so well with his long neck and impeccable jawline. I also like how well he rocks the hoodie-and-peacoat combo. Really, is there anything that doesn’t look good on him?! Oh, and…there was no appearance, sadly, of the beloved grey boots (those boots are like a secondary celeb spotting for us by now). He was wearing dark brown boots through the whole thing. But they looked really good too no duh, so, no big loss.
Uh-oh… this post is already very long, and I have at least 26 more things to say about all of this. I’m think I’m gonna stop here for tonight and write a part two tomorrow. Coming up: tummy peeks, dancing, leather gloves and the opinions of the lady sitting next to me on Tom’s ass in those jeans (you didn’t think I was done talking about that yet, did you?)
The exhaustion is setting in, my eyes burn and sting. Yet I cannot sleep. Too many thoughts. So much going on. I feel like I am on sensory overload. My head, gah, it hurts immensely. Throbbing, pounding, quaking intensely. Sick. Sick. Sick. So sick. Days. It’s been days since I’ve slept. Really slept where I have rested. I feel. Oh, how I feel every little thing. My mind. Turn it off, even if for just a moment.
Insomnia and the Episodes that Follow- intimatemermaid
Author’s Note: So I’ve heard from a few people on Twitter who wished the goodbye scene was longer/explained more about why Abby chose to take off the necklace with Jake’s ring. Since I agreed, I decided to write a short (well okay, close to 4,000-word) thing about it from Marcus’ perspective. So basically, this is my interpretation of how the goodbye scene could have gone down if the writers hadn’t chosen to cut away after the kiss.
Rating: M-ish? I’m TRASH and hyped up on The Scene, so of course there’s sexytimes.
It was dark in the tower, save for the flickering of a few
candles aligned at the sides of the hallways: hardly enough to fend off the
blackness of night. Striding through the empty corridors, Marcus mused on the
iciness of the streets below. The danger that lurked in every shadow, the
hatred hidden in glares and deciphered through threats. His chest ached,
remembering the ambassador’s hatred of Skaikru, his refusal to choose diplomacy
over violence. A stab of pain so intense that it might have been he, not the
Ice King, who’d been shot.
Marcus had tried.
decisively he’d failed.
There has to be another way, he’d
thought, urging Roan to delay his battle in favor of negotiations. And he’d
been so sure he could do it – so confident they would see his side, cherish
life over bloodshed – that the ambassador’s refusal had knocked the breath from
his lungs like a punch to the gut. Diplomacy, he knew, was far from an exact
science. There were no guarantees. But to have failed now, at such a crucial
time…he could hardly offer himself forgiveness when regret was the only
barely looked at him after that; instead of remaining with him, she’d chosen to
seek out Indra. Since midday, he hadn’t so much as glimpsed her. Marcus thought
he’d seen something pitying in her gaze – something that spoke more than her
words ever could, something that implied she blamed grounder politics and not
him for his shortcomings – and as small a gesture as it was, he appreciated it.
If nothing else, at least she’d been willing to give peace a chance.
breeze blew through an open door, and Marcus breathed out a soft sigh as the
coolness of the night wind washed over him. As loath as he was to admit it,
there was nothing more to be done. He would have to accept whatever came in the
morning, swallow the bitterness of self-loathing that had burbled again inside
him when the boy mentioned what the chip had forced him to do. Focusing on what
came next was easy when hope was abundant, but in its absence his mind turned
back to territory it had explored a thousand times before, terrain he and his
people had mapped out so well.
It was a
land of remorse.
the past did him little good, but in times like these it became harder to
construct a dam strong enough to hold back their tide. A few more seconds, and
he could have taken Bellamy’s life. Had ALIE’s hold over him not been broken in
time, had his hands not relaxed and his composure returned, his story might
have been an echo of the young grounder’s. Their hatred for Skaikru might have
been pronounced, but the boy had no inclination of how alike they really were.
The shame they shared.
If he’d told him what he’d been
forced to do, a member of Skaikru equally torn by his actions under the
influence, would it have helped? Could it have saved whatever fractured bond
they might have with the grounders? More importantly, could he even trust his
own voice to recite so sensitive a memory?
He could still feel it; the
sickening agony of looking down and seeing the eldest Blake sibling on the
dusty throne room floor, gasping for air, his face bruised and bloody. The look
in Bellamy’s eyes shone forgiveness mixed with fatigue while his own blurred
with tears, appalled with himself for what he’d been forced to do. What his
hands and legs and arms had done without his consent, all because of a woman in
a red dress and a computer chip.
He remembered something else then,
drifting back to him through the listless fog of misery. A gun pointed to
Abby’s head. She’s still here, he
reminded himself. Bellamy’s still here,
Clarke’s still here, Octavia’s still here. There is still hope.
And hope, as he’d come to know from
the woman who held his heart in her hands, her smile, her sigh, was everything.
Don’t even know I Or the things I try How do I help anyone? When I don’t know my own mind Anybody I care for I could do them no good Forever in the wrong town The wrong neighbourhood Maybe in another life I would learn to give Rather then just receive As another sunny day comes my way Lord give me the strength to stay The strength to do another day
I tried sleeping and failed miserably. I tried working and got confused before even starting. I wanted to be in silence and the voices got louder. I wanted to be alone and the thoughts wouldn’t leave. I only wanted to find me and I was losing myself, very promptly.