man i thought it was wesley

8

“What are your best memories from shooting The Vampire Diaries?” - Vampire Attraction Con 2016 (x)

Daredevil preference: you go missing

Matt: It had been two days since he had last seen you at Josie’s, but he had no idea where you could’ve been. Did someone know he was Daredevil and come after you to get to him? Or were you hurt, laying up in a hospital somewhere? The possibilities overwhelmed him. To his relief, there’s a Jane doe matching your description at Metro General. It turned out you had fallen, hit your head, and had been unconscious for a day. He feels like it was his fault because if he’d walked you home, you wouldn’t have gotten hurt. When you wake up, he’s there holding your hand, and first thing he says to you is “I’m sorry”.

Wesley: You two had had a fight so he wasn’t surprised that he hadn’t heard from you, but when he stopped by your apartment to no answer he became concerned. He opened your door to find your apartment a mess and he instantly knew the Russians had something to do with it. For once in his life, he asks Fisk for a favor; get you back no matter the cost. On the exterior he appears cool and confident knowing that Fisk will get you back home safe. On the inside, he has to face his fears wondering what life would be like without you. When you are freed, he does his best to make sure you know you’re loved and safe.

Vladimir: He’d go ballistic and order all his men to go out looking for you wherever they could. He’d be breaking shit just to get his frustration out. When they finally find you, Vladimir would never let you out of his sight again. He’d always have a set of men outside your door to protect you when he wasn’t there and he’d teach you how to fight.

Frank: Frank would be devastated. He would be so scared you had been hurt by your captors he could barely function. The only thing that’s clear to him is that he needs to hurt the people who hurt you. When he finds where they’re holding you he kills every last man in the joint. By the time he comes to untie you he’s covered in blood and nearly having an anxiety attack. “Oh, fuck, I thought I lost you too,” he’d cry before taking you into his arms.

Creepypasta #1072: What Makes A Dog A Dog?

Length: Super long

I’ve made a lot of mistakes in my time. I made the most in a row about two years back, when I got myself a new neighbor.

I live in a good neighborhood in Pennsylvania. You’ll meet a lot of farm boys and good, christian folks. We’re pretty docile out here, long as you stay away from the things we claim for our own. You know, typical property stuff and privacy. I’m a good fellow, I like to think. I have a field full of cattle and a mutt of a cattle dog to get their fat asses going to the dairy.

But this ain’t about me, it’s about the new neighbor. He started this, and I hate his guts for what I know now. When he first moved in next door, I was as friendly as could be. Hospitality is a big deal, you know. You gotta be polite to the new people around here, or they’ll think they’ve gone and made a mistake coming around to live here.

He arrived in the evening in the house not ninety yards from mine. Squat, chubby city fellow who carried his boxes in one at a time. He ignored me the whole time I walked over to help. Max stuck at my heel like a good boy, ears up to meet the new guy next door. 

“Evening, sir.” 

He had gray hair and mine’s just starting to turn, but I was taught as a boy to call everyone sir or ma'am. He went right on ignoring me. I called to him again.

The man jumped and turned, startled behind his glasses. He looked like a spooked owl. “What do you want?”

I gave him a friendly smile, Max laying down on the man’s porch. He got tired of waiting, and wanted to go back to rounding up cows for the dairy. “Well sir, it looks like you could use some help unloading all them boxes.”

He just squinted at me like I had some ulterior motive in mind. “Why do you want to do that?”

I shrugged. “Right thing to do, I suppose.” I stuck out my hand for a shake. “Name’s Richard.”

He stared at my hand for a second or so, then took it. He wasn’t much of a man, but he gave one hell of a handshake. “Wesley.”

We moved boxes in near silence. He wasn’t much of a talker at any rate, just telling me to set the boxes in the kitchen. I set a large box on the kitchen counter and asked, “So, Wesley Where’d you come from?”

“Shadowcrest, Maryland.”

“Shadowcr-”

He turned on me, nearly dropping his box. “I didn’t name it.”

Jumpy fellow. “Well… you need anything, I’m in the house that way. Ain’t no one on your other side, though you might hear a mooing.” I grinned at my try at a joke, but Wesley blinked at me. He looked tired.

“You farm cows.” He wasn’t asking.

“Yup. Dairy cows. Uncle owns the dairy down the road a ways.” I tried again to get that man to say something, or crack a smile. “What’s your job, if you don’t mind me asking?”

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« I was amazed by Bill’s body language. I wanted this wall-eyed thing — the eyes looking in different directions, I thought we’d have to use VFX, but Bill’s like, ‘Oh, you mean like this?’ He could already do it perfectly! I’m thinking, ‘Man, you just saved me $200,000’ » — Andy Muschietti on Bill Skarsgard.

Thoughts so far on the DS9 main cast:

(I’m partway through s1)

Sisko: majestic. team dad. somehow the best possible combination of kirk and picard without really being very much like either of them 

Kira: stole my heart. I love her. marry me. i’m so gay 

Odo: fountain of salt. I want to give him a big hug but I’d be afraid of insulting his dignity 

Dr. Bashir: thirstiest man in star fleet. spends more time hitting on people than james t.

Dax: definitely kira’s girlfriend. did you see them in Dramatis Personae? gay.

Jake: way better than wesley crusher, but I can’t tell if he’s gonna become the wesley of this show

Quark: terrible, but the rapport he has with odo is A+

i’m thinking about selling some of my analog and digital photography on etsy to help pay for top surgery. I just opened an etsy shop and I have one listing up now, but I’m planning on adding more soon. i’m not completely sure about it though. would anyone be interested if i started to sell my prints? i was also thinking about offering a gift for people to donate to my top surgery. I thought that I might offer a shoutout on tumblr or personalized posts or something, but I haven’t decided what I wanted to do yet.

Episode where Danny feels like trash because something really bad happened, Sam and Tucker aren’t there for him(probably kidnaped and also the reason he is feeling horrible), and he has no powers. Then Wes shows up, asks what is going on and Danny explains the situation.

Wes hits his face

“wHAT THE HELL WAS THAT FOR??”

“You’re giving up??? YOU’RE GIVING UP?!?!?!? YOU HAVE BEEN PUTTING UP WITH SO MUCH. I’VE SEEN YOU AT SCHOOL WITH SO MANY PAINFUL-LOOKING SCARS. YOU SMILE EVERY DAY EVEN THOUGHT YOU KNOW IT COULD BE YOUR LAST. AND NOW YOU’RE FREAKING GIVING UP BECAUSE YOU DON’T HAVE YOUR STUPID POWERS?!”

“But Wesley, I-”

“Shut up. Shut the hell up. I don’t want to listen. You’re strong, man, stronger than anyone I’ve ever seen. You go through a lot of stuff. I know you can do this, Danny, you’re way better than you think you are.”

anonymous asked:

Holy crap I think I might be genderfaun, that post you just made, I feel like sometimes I'm a man and sometimes I'm not and sometimes I'm nothing or sort of a man and I'm comfortable being referred to neutrally or masculinely but when people call me a girl I feel sick and I always thought I was just faking because I usually feel masculine so I thought I was just a trans guy but???? Genderfaun sounds exactly like me??? I think I just made a revelation about myself thank you???!!

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Mod Wesley

Always a Gentlemen (James Wesley)

Smut-ish Warning 

Also it contains a lot more language than is usual for me so heads up on that.

This ended up A LOT longer than intended.. Good or bad it’s basically a novel. 

Lastly I really hope everyone here feels in character, idk but I feel like if Wesley were trying to feel you up under the dinner table Vanessa would know about it. Maybe that’s just me.


Wilson Fisk was not the man you thought would be playing matchmaker, especially not when he was your employer but here you were on what could only be classified as a double date.

Fisk and Vanessa sat across from you and Wesley. Usually you’d be ensuring that everything was perfect while Wesley ensured nothing interrupted Fisk’s date; the last person to interfere flashed across your mind and a shiver ran up your spine involuntarily. 

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day out

Words: 2376 words of something is probably incredibly terrible 

Characters: James Wesley, Reader

Prompt: the last one of these

A/N: please please for the love of god i hope this doesn’t come off as ooc. this is mostly a set-up for the relationship i’ll be using for future wesley fics and  i need to go set up my headcanon page for the daredevil characters so you can see how i’m going to write them but jfc i’m this close to not posting this bc it seems so idk i hope you like it

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Poussey: Man, I thought special guests meant like Mo'Nique or Wesley Snipes or somethin’. Not some cigarette-hawkin’ fuck-nut reminding us that the only people who want to hire felons are already hated by everybody else.
Black Cindy: Nah, see, they ain’t so bad. See, people can decide for theyselves if they wanna smoke. The real evil are them companies killin’ us without consent. Monsanto. Rio Tinto. Big Pharma, BP, Halliburton. I been readin’ there’s some dark shit goin’ down. Not that any of ‘em motherfuckers ever wanna hire us. But the real criminals, they don’t bother with us small-timers.
—  Poussey Washington and Cindy Hayes - 02x02 Looks Blue, Tastes Red
10

“I think about you much more than any self-respecting man would like to admit, and I’m insanely jealous of Tucker - something I never thought I’d say. Moving on after you is impossible. No other girl can keep me on my toes the way you can. No one else makes me WANT to embarrass myself by writing sappy letters like this one. Only you.”
Kody Keplinger, The DUFF: Designated Ugly Fat Friend 

Little things I live for in Star Trek

> Spock calling Kirk ‘Jim’

> Sisko calling Dax ‘Old Man’

> ‘I’m a doctor, not a…’

> Data tangents

> ‘Shut up, Wesley!’

> Data and Jordie friendship goals

> Captin Kirk/Picard/Sisko/Janeway have thoughts. Sit down! listen! no bathroom breaks!

> Warf and Spock lowkey shade at their human counterparts

> McCoy

For Charlie

olAnna had woken up with excitement. She had been waiting for this day since she’d arrived in Ireland. In typical, fashion she had filled the two weeks she had been there with activities. Focusing on getting her room the way she wanted it. Hanging pictures, painting walls and thrifting furniture to go with the aesthetic she had in her mind. The rest of the time had been focused on hunting for a job in her desired field to little success but she had, to some degree, expected as much. In spite the set back it was easy to say the teen had hit the ground running. Determined to get things done.

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Title: Hummingbird Heartbeat

Author: Mod Nyx

Characters: Matt Murdock x reader, James Wesley, Foggy Nelson, Karen Page

Words: 1225

Prompt: (x)

Notes: I know the title is a Katy Perry song and idk why I decided to name this after the song, since it has practically nothing to do with the fic, but I LOVE THE SONG SO PLS DON’T JUDGE ME. Anyway, I’m back. I’m going to try to write some more, sorry for being so absent!

 

Things had been building up in Hell’s Kitchen for a while, and everyone in the city knew it. Honestly, you were just waiting for it to boil over and for the city to completely melt down. Maybe then the superheroes who saved New York would save Hell’s Kitchen.

You tried to keep your bag neat, but ended up putting the gym clothes in all scrunched up. After your long-time friend Karen had introduced you to her newest friends, Matt Murdock and Foggy Nelson, you’d tried to be friends with them as well. Luckily, Foggy wasn’t hard to win over after you’d told him a little bit about your childhood. Matt seemed more suspicious of you, but if he truly distrusted you, he hid it well. Every single time you two met, he’d greet you with a polite smile and ask how your day was. Karen was happy you got on with her new friends.

It had gotten to the point where you were as close with the two boys as Karen was, and you didn’t even work with them. Karen tried to keep you as to date as possible with everything happening in the workplace, but Matt filled you in on details that she missed.

Due to the tension throughout all of Hell’s Kitchen, you’d mentioned that it might be nice to know how to fight. Foggy had given Matt a look that everyone knew he couldn’t see.

“Matt knows how to fight,” He’d said, matter-of-factly. Matt had looked over to Foggy with a look you couldn’t place, then back to you with a nod and shy smile.

“I’d be more than happy to teach you how, Y/N.” Your mouth opened and shut without any words coming out. Karen smiled to herself as she organised papers from a case they’d finished previously.

“Are you sure? I don’t want to distract you from any work you might have,” Matt let out a breathy laugh, whereas Foggy laughed loudly, without restraint.

“We’re lucky to get a case a month.” Foggy supplied, rolling his eyes.

“Then, sure.  When do we start?” That was the beginning of your boxing sessions with Matt at his regular gym.

You pushed open the door with a quiet creak and Matt turned his head, putting his glasses down.

“Hey,” You spoke, smiling towards Matt, even though he couldn’t see it. He smiled back, though.

“Hey. Ready to get started?” He asked.

“Give me five minutes? My boss kept me back after work and I didn’t have time to change at home.”

“You could just fight in whatever you’re wearing.”

“I could, but I don’t imagine that a skirt is the best thing to throw a kick in.”

“Good point. I’ll be waiting.” You promised you wouldn’t be long, grabbing your gym shorts and muscle tank and rushing off to the bathrooms. It didn’t matter that Matt was blind, you still felt mildly uncomfortable changing in front of him.

You emerged a few minutes later, seeing Matt wrapping and unwrapping bandages on his hands. You took care in keeping your clothes neat, so that your skirt and top wouldn’t be wrinkled when you left later on.

“Let’s go, Murdock. I’ll fight you, I swear to god.” You teased, grabbing his arm. He stood up and let you help him into the ring.

“That’s the point of being here, Y/N. To teach you how to fight.” He smirked.

“Don’t get cocky, now. I’ve been practicing. Been beating up my pillows nightly.”

You and Matt sparred for a while, along with him trying to teach you new moves that, more often than not, ended up in you on the floor, panting.

“You suck at this,” He laughed, wiping his forehead and holding out a hand to you.

“You suck,” You muttered, grabbing his hand and hauling yourself up.

“That’s enough for tonight. Go get changed, I’ll walk you home.” Matt laughed quietly, like he’d heard your petty insult. You ducked into the bathroom and came out a little while later, groaning.

“I think you broke my back. My back is definitely broken.” You groaned as he held the door open, walking under his arm.

“How could I have broken your back?” He chuckled.

“I don’t know, maybe from throwing me on the ground every few minutes? Jesus, Murdock, take it easy on me. I’m a manager, not a pro-wrestler.” You and Matt both laughed as he grabbed onto your upper arm, squeezing lightly.

“Well, training’s working. You’ve got muscles, now. Don’t lose them, Y/N.” You scoffed.

“I am perfectly capable of keeping my muscles on my body, Matthew. Don’t make me fight you again.”

“We both know you’ll lose in under a minute.”

“Yeah, but you don’t have to be rude about it.” You walked closer to Matt as a group of teen girls walked past, talking and laughing loudly.

You came to a stop outside your apartment a few minutes later.

“Thank you, Matt. Not only for walking me home, but for training me as well.” You said, sincerely.

“You’re Karen’s friend. Can’t let her down.” You punched his arm lightly.

“Shut up, you know you love me.” You said with a smile.

“Excuse me, Y/N?” You turned at the sound of your name and saw a man about Matt’s height in a suit, glasses on and looking very professional.

“Yes?” You asked warily, turning around to fully face the man.

“My name is James Wesley, I got in contact with you last week about Daisy endorsing something of ours?” So this was James Wesley. You didn’t recognize his voice, but now you did. Now you knew his face too, the same man that was beside Wilson Fisk every time Fisk was on TV. Karen had let you know about their investigation into Fisk and now that you were face-to-face with who you assumed was his right hand man, your heart thumped against your chest.

“Oh, yeah. Nice to meet you, James.”

“I was just wondering whether you’ve thought any more about our proposition.” You nodded.

“I still have to talk to Daisy about it some more, then get in touch with the producers, of course, but as soon as everyone is notified and we’ve come to a decision, I promise that you will be the first to know our choice.” You said, hoping he didn’t notice your occasional stutter on words, or how nervous you felt. He must not have, seeing as he smiled charmingly after you’d finished speaking.

“That sounds fine. Thank you very much, Y/N. I hope to hear from you soon.” You nodded and shook his outstretched hand and he walked off in the opposite direction. You breathed out a sigh of relief, your heart still banging against your chest like crazy.

“Are you alright, Y/N?” You whirled back around to face Matt, nearly forgetting he was still there. You exhaled.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m good. Just a little freaked, after what you’ve all told me about Fisk and how you think he’s Fisk’s right hand.. just.. freaky.” Matt obviously knew better, hearing your heartbeat like a drum right next to his ear. He nodded and accepted your answer, not wanting to explain to you his heightened senses.

“Have a good night, Y/N. Call me if you need anything.” You smiled shakily, for once glad he couldn’t see you.

“’Kay. Night, Matt.”

Rare Opportunity (James Wesley)

You were in a bit of disbelief. Your brother had called you and demanded that you break thing off with the man you’d been dating for several months. He had seen him on TV standing next to his employ-, Mr. Fisk, you reminded yourself, and determined that the well-mannered, proper boy you were seeing was going to end up getting you hurt.

You pleaded with your brother to see that nothing had changed and that Fisk was true to his words of only wanting to improve the city but your brother wasn’t having it, continuing to insist that you split, as he put it “for your safety”.

The irony was that James Wesley had the ability to make you feel safe in a city overtaken with drugs, gangs, and violence. Not to mention the masked devil or whoever running around. You were usually pretty willing to comply with your brother, he had a way of making you see things his way but not this time. You eventually just settled the matter by telling him that James would be home soon and you weren’t going to be screaming at your brother about breaking up with the very man when he arrived.

You slammed the phone down irritated but then you thought about it. Until a couple days ago Wesley had always referred to Fisk as ‘his employer’, you didn’t know much more than the fact that he worked as an assistant and translator. That and his highly irregular schedule left you room to question but you shrugged it off. He was just a rather closed off person, you both were.

Realizing you had actually had a full out fight with your brother about your boyfriend you began to tear up a little. You loved your brother, but, you were forced to realize that despite his occasional moodiness and distaste for your more childish side you’d grown to love a lot more than the sharp looks of James Wesley. He was a lot different with you than he was Fisk, you’d learned that yesterday when Mr. Fisk himself had invited you and Wesley on a double date with him and his lovely girlfriend Vanessa. As you thought about the date even more anger towards your brother filled you. Mr. Fisk was a true gentleman, not a danger; hell, you ate dinner with bodyguards around the table, doesn’t get much safer than that. Then you realized you had to eat inner with bodyguards, why would Fisk need protection?

Your confusion only escalated your desire to cry tears spilling out a rather rapid pace and you tried to calm your mind to no avail.


James Wesley spoke many languages, woman however, was not one of them. SO when he came home to you sobbing on the couch he had to fight the instinct to leave and say he had worked late, he did have that thing to discuss with Leland. 

“Y/N?” He questioned holding a breath.

You jumped and Wesley cursed himself for scaring you in an obviously fragile state.

“My apologies, I didn’t intend to scare you.” Wesley muttered adjusting his suit jacket.

You didn’t mean to but a giggle escaped your lips as you realized he’d slipped into his “professional self”.

Despite laughter being a generally good sign Wesley just raised an eyebrow, from crying to laughing he did not understand women.

“Are you okay?” He asked sitting besides you on the couch, his softer side coming out at the sight of your distress.

“Yeah, I’m fine James, I’m sorry, I’m sure you’ve had a long day, don’t mind me.” A small smile spread across his lips.

“Well, in the middle of translating today I learned Mr. Fisk speaks mandarin so I actually had a pretty easy day, I think I can make time to hear about what has you sobbing on my couch.” Wesley’s undeniable charm had taken over the conversation reminding you why you fell for him in the first place.

“My brother and I got into a fight.” You stated simply unsure whether or not to tell him the subject of the argument.  As per usual when confused, especially due to lack of information James’ left eyebrow raised silently asking you to continue.

“He thinks you’re not safe.” you mumbled but he had heard you his face not giving away any emotions he felt on the topic.

“Well, not so much you as being associated with you.” Wesley’s lips pressed together, her brother had a point he couldn’t deny that but there was no way he’d admit that to you, or your brother for that matter.

“Y/N he’s your brother isn’t he supposed to worry about you? I mean you live in Hell’s Kitchen.” He added not hiding his distaste for the city as he did.  

“Yeah…, but he’s never had a problem with my boyfriends before, he’s worried about me and I screamed at him.” You sighed overwhelmed with the situation especially now that James was involved personally.

“It is your life, would you like me to talk to him?” The multiple ways for that scenario to play out crossed through your mind, you knew James was a gentleman, but didn’t know how he and your brother would handle this situation.

“No, no, it’s my problem not yours.” Wesley sighed not sure how to continue, showing genuine emotion was not his strong suit. 

“But it made me realize that I don’t that much about you..” You both sighed, you finally confessing something that had bugged you long before you’d been able to to admit and him because he’d finally have to address the issue that had slowly become an elephant in between them.

“I mean I know you’re smart and charming, you look amazing in suits and you’re Mr. Fisk’s assistant but I don’t even know what he does, why do you need to translate Mandarin and Russian? Not to mention your hours are horrible irregular for an assistant, the body guards, how you wouldn’t say his name until a few days ago.” He sighed once again knowing that you were onto the true details of his occupation, he didn’t want you in any danger, your brother was right about him and he hated it. He almost hated that he cared so damn much about you.

“James, I honestly think I love you but how can I love you when I don’t even know you? Wesley, i just, I need some answers, tell me my brothers wrong, or that he’s right for all I care, just tell me something.” You pleaded needing some assurance you weren’t falling in love with a stranger.

Wesley however was taken aback, he’d always turned his nose up at the notion that hearing ‘I love you’ could inspire any special emotions but when you said it he felt it and almost felt like he might be sick.

He removed his glasses and took off his tie, you knitted your eyebrows in confusion but he felt that removing them would help him be as honest as possible, removed his professional image. He just made you look him in the eyes and you had to admit they were better without lenses covering them but that wasn’t important right now.

“Y/N,’ he paused gathering his thoughts how he wanted them.

‘I thought by not telling you things I was protecting you but obviously I was wrong. Fisk does things that aren’t exactly safe, occasionally not legal.. I have a dangerous job, I can’t lie there.” A million things crossed your mind, was Wesley working for a mafia boss? More questions flashed through your mind but his voice drew you from them.

“I may be in danger a lot but I promise you are never in danger, I won’t let that happen because I too think I might be in love with you. I could not allow my work to cause you harm.” He gently pressed a kiss to your temple, a very affectionate gesture for him.

“Fisk wants to rebuild the city, make it something beautiful, we can have a life then, I won’t be in danger anymore but until then we need funds to be able to fix the dump that is this city.” You always found humor in his hate of the city but not while the ways for them to acquire enough “funds” to rebuild a city flashed through your head.

“The Russians-’ he started to elaborate but you cut him off pressing your lips to his.

“I don’t want to know, I don’t need to. I just wanted honesty, no more questions.” You smiled content with his sharing.

“I don’t care what you are at work, because I know who you are when you aren’t wearing thousand dollar shoes and I like that James Wesley, my James Wesley.” You smiled and he did too, something about you calling him yours made him incredibly happy. 


The thought that this was what Fisk felt for Vanessa crossed his mind but then vanished when you kissed him once again. Making him want to forget all about the man he’d essentially dedicated his life too existed. He felt your hands work their way into his hair not even caring that it would undoubtedly make it rather messy. 


“I love you James Wesley.” You said looking right into his eyes finally glad you were getting the rare opportunity to see the real Wesley.

“I love you too.” Wesley replied, the words feeling a bit foreign on his tongue, foreign but somehow comfortable. Unbeknownst to either of you was the fact that the “rare opportunities” would soon be anything but rare.

2

“Bad” (1987)

Jackson and iconic director Martin Scorsese teamed up for an 18-minute, big-budget epic. Filming near condemned Harlem buildings, Scorsese paired Jackson with a young Wesley Snipes for a dramatic black-and-white confrontation – then the video’s second act bursts to life with a West Side Story-style combat dance staged in a Brooklyn subway station. “We went over schedule; it was two and a half weeks of the dance sequence alone,” said Scorsese. “I was mesmerized by it. The video monitor made us all dancers.”

Martin Scorsese, director: I remember meeting him at a bungalo at the Beverly Hills Hotel. He was very quiet. The first thing he asked me was, Do you know about Michaelangelo? And I said, Yes! And we started talking about Michaelangelo. He’d just discovered his paintings – the Sistine Chapel and the sculptures. He was taken by all of that.

It was a different form for me. The big issue really was the temptation to do this really major dance piece with camera moves and cutting which we had planned on page based on his choreography. And working with Michael Chapman, who choreographed the fight scenes in Raging Bull. Shooing the big dance scene was the allure of it. Michael was never a person who was overly enthusiastic. He was quiet. Accepting. How should I put it? He was very precise about what he wanted in the choreography. He was concerned, like with any great dancer, they like to be seen full figure. But that wasn’t the case because I’d planned other things. The use of close-ups, and tracking him. Eventually he understood that. There was never any resistance, but questions. He was open to everything.

The most interesting thing about it, is when we cast the picture, Wesley was the man. Michael went through those scenes in the film and he was toe-to-toe with every one of those aators. It was quite moving and powerful performance I thought. Like that scene in the hallway. We did that maybe 40 times. He stood up to Wesley, and Wesley is a wonderful actor. Formidable. Strong presence. And Michael did it. It was quite something.

We shot it in Harlem, and when he goes home to his apartment, he was very quiet looking around. The apartment was quite nice, actually. But it was in Harlem. Across the street the buildings were torn down or condemned. He took me aside, “Do peole live here?” I said, Well, yes, this is actually a well-done apartment!…I think he was overhwlmed by what he saw…These tenements had, when you come in the front hall, there’s an apartment in the back on the ground floor. There was an unfortunate person in there, in bed prety much, coughing and seemed like on his last days. Michael said, Do you see what’s in there? And I said, Yeah I know. He was in the place and it worked for him. It worked for him as a performance, but his compassion for the people came through. It was very moving.

He was very sweet. He came to our apartment. My mother cooked dinner. He was very easy to be with. There was a genuine sweetness about him. And treating everybody the same way. Didn’t matter who it was — my family, the crew. The only time he expressed [a production demand], and again it was out of compassion — the older man is getting mugged and gets pushed at one point. And we did it a couple of takes and he was nervous about that. He didn’t want anyone to get hurt. We didn’t know if we had it on film and we said, Let’s do it again. And he begged me not to do it again. He said, ‘Please, this shouldn’t be violent.’ So I didn’t do it.

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Hi! i have written a thing! also, THANKS SO MUCH TO professor-maka AND amberlehcar! PROMA IS THE BEST, SHE CORRECTED EVERY DAMN MISTAKE I MADE! AND AMBER GAVE IT SOME READ THROUGHS!! THANK YOU BOTH!!! Seriously man, I am super proud of this, thanks!  So, I hope you enjoy!

You can also read it here

Summary: Wesley Evans stared at the television, enthralled. The television was currently covering the Battle of the Moon. It was interesting, Wes noted, but only mildly interesting. Or at least he thought so until it was his brother’s face was on the screen.

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Wesley Evans stared at the television, enthralled. He was in his evening class on current events at the university (a high class individual like him must know what’s going on in the world) and the television was currently covering the Battle of the Moon. It was interesting, Wes noted, but other than the fact it was a fight to create the new ruler of the world, Wes didn’t really care all that much; rulers came and went, it would not affect him to directly.

That was until one of the Death Weapons was interviewed. The Death Weapon was a stern women with black hair and glasses. Wes didn’t catch her name but what he did catch was that the the only people who remained on the moon other than a pack of children were one death scythe and some of the intelligence division, who could not partake in the aerial battle.

Children. Kids who were about his brother’s age, kids way too young to be carrying the fate of the world. But they were.

Wes’s focus was drawn out of his thoughts to the television once again when he saw the faces of the kids on the screen.

A blue haired boy, a black haired girl, a boy with stripes in his hair, blonde haired sisters and names to accompany them. Wes felt sorry for them, but they were just faces and names; they meant little to him.The last picture caught Wes’s attention though. The picture held two teenagers, a boy and a girl. The girl had dirty blonde hair and green, green eyes; she looked 15 or 16. It was  the boy next to her made Wes freeze though, his heart in his throat. It was his brother, the boy standing with his arm around the girl. He was taller now, his white hair styled into effortless spikes, his red eyes warm with a light he had never seen at home. Death scythe Soul Eater and his Meister, Maka Albarn. Both 15. Too young for this.

Wes missed Soul. A lot. He had not spoken or seen him in such a long time, over five years.  His letters had been returned and his phone calls left unanswered. He remembered when his little brother was just a young child, all those many years ago, Soul was always getting hurt over trying to keep up with Wes and his friends; climbing trees with them, biking too fast with them, playing sports with them because Soul could not make any friends his age; they were all scared of him. He always teared up when he got hurt but tried to play it off, to be cool; it was only when Soul was alone with Wes that he cried. Wes knew it was his brother’s insecurity that chased him away from the soft life of a musician to the violent life of a DWMA student. But here he was, Soul, his younger fragile brother on the Moon, fighting for his life and the fate of the world.

The woman on television was worried but she hid it well, her expression neutral and her posture straight. If Wes was not as skilled with people as he was he would never have attributed the steel in her spine and her tightly folded hands to worry.

But he was, so he did.

The interview went on. Wes was now very interested in the topic and he really wanted to hear about the status of the kids on the moon. Were any hurt? Were any (please no) dead? The news did not have what he wanted to hear;  he wanted to hear that the kids were ok.

Class was over too soon. The program had not yet ended and Wes wanted to know what was happening. He rushed to the car that was waiting to take him home and turned on the in car television, halting any conversation the chauffeur could have tried to have with him. Wes watched as the women was replaced with a soldier who had been on the the moon, only to be removed after the immortal werewolf Free and the witch Mabaa had extracted all the soldiers, leaving only the children and four adults, along with many, many enemies. The soldier spoke of the bravery of the young heroes of the DWMA and never called them children. They were not supposed to be on the moon; they had been searching the world for the child with black blood when their target had gone to the moon, pulling them into the fray.

The soldier explained that the heroes were all prepared to die in this fight, that all members of the DWMA were. The anchor appeared shocked at this answer -those heroes were still children, much too young to die. The soldier disagreed.

At this the anchor looked shocked, even horrified. Wes felt the same- these kids were far too young for such a preparation. The soldier, feeling the general unrest of the audience, explained.

The sisters raised themselves in the streets of New York, their mother having abandoned them before the young death god with the stripes in his hair had taken them in. Ever since then they had been on many dangerous missions; they were seasoned and competent despite being so young.

The blue haired boy was a descendant of the infamous Star clan, one of the lone survivors. The girl was a descendant of the first human weapon. Together, they were assassins, shadows in the night, the dark sky and the scentless flower.



The girl and his brother were strong as well. Soul was now at the at the level of a Death Scythe, as Wes had heard from the many newspapers that had covered the event (Wes was more than a little hurt that Soul had not told him in person or at the very least over the phone). The pair had gathered the necessary number of souls twice, a great feat for ones so young. The girl was the daughter of a three star Meister and a Death Scythe, the current weapon of Lord Death. She herself was a three star Meister, she and the other two star meisters having received and emergency promotion while on the battlefield in case they didn’t make it back. This precaution made Wes’s eyes burn with concealed tears; her weapon was a death scythe, and if having that title was any indication, they were strong. Soul was his brother, they would make it back.

Wes always knew that his little brother would be great at something, even when he showed no particular genius with conventional music -Soul was still very skilled with his own dark style, being one of the best young musicians in the world- classical music and dinner parties just weren’t his style. Regardless, Wes knew he would find a path that suited him. When he found out Soul had weapon blood, he thought this was the perfect opportunity for Soul to grow and learn something new he could excel at, something no one in their family had done before, something no one would dare look down on him for as second best.

But he was still too young for this fight, in Wes’s opinion. Much too young.

When Wes arrived home, he shot out of the car and ran into his family’s mansion, leaving his bag in the car and almost pushing over a maid. He rushed in to the main living room. There his mother and father sat, riveted to the same interview he had been watching in the car. His mother had a tissue to her face and sniffed softly into it while his father had his arm around her. Wes was not surprised that they were watching; yes they were upset that Soul was not following the family tradition of becoming a musician but they still loved him.

His mother had every article of news about Soul and his lovely young meister (her words, not his) printed out and placed in a scrapbook, which was often dragged out to show off to company (willing or otherwise). It was most often brought out around people who mocked Soul, saying he was not a good musician, that he would not amount to anything or something similar to that. Their mother would then drag out the large scrapbook and show the offender every single article from all over the world, in every imaginable language, about Soul.

They had received only two phone calls regarding Soul during his time at the academy.The first was from a doctor who told him that Soul was hurt- he had gotten into a fight with the demon sword Ragnarok and his meister. The demon sword was too strong for them, only being a one star pair at the time, and had almost killed Soul. They were told he was in the ICU but would most likely make it. His mother had cried for days before they received the second phone call while his father upheld a mask of stoicism.

If Wes was being completely honest, they were all dreading the second phone call or a knock on the door, the one that would tell them that Soul had died in action. The one so many parents of DWMA students received.

But this phone call or visit never came. A different phone call did.

This one was from a young girl, probably about Soul’s age, they later found out that she was Soul’s meister. She told them that Soul was alright, his operation had been a success, that he would be ok. The girl had apologised, over and over and over, had said it was all her fault, how she was so, SO sorry.

Wes’s mother hardly ever lost her temper, but she did then.

She had yelled at the girl, told her that her son wasn’t stupid, that he knew exactly what he was doing and that he wouldn’t like her blaming her self over this, not in a million years. He was not a weak boy, he could protect himself and if he chose to protect her over himself then she must mean a lot to him and that she should stop moping and apologizing and get on with her life.

The girl seemed a lot happier then. She thanked his Mother many times before hanging up the phone. His mother, from that time forward, had seemed a lot more comfortable with Soul going out on dangerous missions if that darling young girl would be there with him (his mother had taken to calling them Soma, a ridiculous combination of their names, Wes thought she shipped them or something strange like that).

Wes was pulled from his memories only to notice the interview was ending now. The Death City News station promised to share anything new they learned about the Battle of the Moon. His mother got up, followed by his father to go to the grand dinning room to eat their dinner. Wes refused to leave the couch. He stayed seated in the pale blue armchair that matched the rest of the room, that almost matched his and their mother’s eyes.

The news had no new information for hours, yet Wes refused to leave his spot on the couch, his fear and anxiety continuing to gnaw at him as he awaited for word, any word, of his long lost little brother. Was Soul ok? Was Soul alive? Were Soul’s friends ok? Were they alive?



———————-

It was at 5 in the morning that there was news about the Battle. The moon and the enemy had been sealed in a sphere of black, the heroes  barely escaping.They had all made it!

Wes yelled with delight as Mother and Father rushed down the stairs, tears in their eyes not for the first time that day. They watched together as the heroes were reunited with the people on the ground.  The weapons became people, supporting their heavily injured Meisters as they all moved forward and embraced their family and friends, some near collapse. The blue haired boy had a broken spine as well as having fractured various other bones, and his face was almost swollen shut. Soul’s Meister was being supported by him, a six inch stab wound outlined in blood on her shirt, the skin of her stomach behind it curiously scarred but otherwise clear. The young death god’s stripes went all the way around his head now and he was as bruised and bloody as the other two. The weapons fared better than their Meisters but not by much; they were bruised and scratched, but they were smiling.

They were happy and proud, Wes realized, as the group from the moon stood together smiling, hugging each other (it did not escape his notice that Soul held his Meister tighter and longer then any of the others, and if the happy noise his mother made was any indication, she noticed too. It was good Soul finally had someone he cared about).



Wes was relieved. Soul was ok. Soul was alive. Soul had friends.

Soul was a hero.

Next to that, what good was a musician?

Wow. Okay. Let's do this.

Look. What follows is 100% my own opinion. People are likely to have issues with it, and that’s okay. But I’ve thought long and hard about this as a writer, a feminist, and a fan. And here’s what I’ve discovered about myself.

My problem with Seven of Nine isn’t the catsuit. It’s the fact that a man put her IN the catsuit and then smirked and patted himself on the back for how aesthetically pleasing she was in it. Sure, there’s some throwaway line in the reveal scene about the suit supporting her internal organs or something, but you know what I heard? I heard the Doc, a character I had liked up to that point, saying to the audience, “Look what I created? Isn’t it smokin’ hot?” Can you imagine Bashir or Sisko saying something like that about Kira or Dax? Can you imagine either of those men taking credit for their female coworkers’ appearance – or their competence on the job, or anything about them? Because I sure can’t. The line about the internal organs is there 100% because the writers knew exactly what they were doing: Objectifying her. 

If there had been a scene, even a stinking line, about Seven having chosen the catsuit for herself, I might have been okay with it. But there wasn’t, and I wasn’t. I hate to get all film theory here, but that character was created and presented entirely for the Male Gaze. I knew it, my husband knew it, even my 10-year-old niece knew it. Seven was there primarily to be looked at; the Doc even told us so, just in case anybody didn’t catch the significance of the slow pan over her figure, her attire, her sky-high heels. (Oh man, the heels. If there was EVER an indicator that Seven was there for the Male Gaze, those heels are it. Because no self-respecting doctor in this century would tell anyone to walk around in heels all day. It’s wildly out of character for the Doc, who in the first season was telling everyone to drink more water and take better care of themselves. At this point, the only conclusion I could draw was that the writers weren’t even trying anymore. They just wanted more young male viewers, characters be damned.)

So yes, maybe Seven was supposed to be all about discovering one’s humanity and coming into one’s own agency, and maybe in the end she achieved some of that. But in the beginning… The very first thing those writers did after they removed her from the Collective was present her as a living centerfold with no agency at all. She didn’t choose to be liberated. She didn’t even choose her own dang clothing as far as the audience knew. She got some of her agency back eventually, but I can never, ever forgive those writers for presenting her the way they did. The fans didn’t objectify Seven; the writers did, and they used the Doc to do it. As a young woman who loved Voyager, and I mean LOVED IT, I was horrified and terribly disappointed. I stopped watching about a year later. I didn’t want every episode to be about Seven saving the day any more than I had wanted every episode of TNG to be about Wesley saving the day.

Which brings up another good point: Would people adore Seven so much if she had been portrayed by an equally talented but very plain woman? A barely post-adolescent young man with zits and an unpredictable voice? A middle-aged person of color? Or would people have wondered why this interloper was taking over their favorite show? Just asking. Likewise, I have asked myself if I would be so conflicted about Seven if she weren’t so gorgeous. You see? I’ve thought all of this through very carefully. My conclusion, though, is that my primary problem – I have other, much more literary ones – with Seven is the way she was initially presented, and what that said about the writing staff at the time. Things did change over the course of the last few seasons…but it was too late for me. I had moved on to other interests.

tl;dr:

It is feminist to support women in wearing whatever they hell they want. It is also feminist to make sure they are able to make that choice for themselves, and to cry foul when they cannot.

Basically why I love Stefan/Stelena

Let’s be rational.

And in relation to all this Stelena/Delena business…

Dobsley’s chemistry conquers all. Don’t even try to argue with me on this.

And the inevitable road that all SErs must have gone down at least once- thinking Elena doesn’t deserve Stefan anymore. Heartbreaking.

Looking at all the things DErs say really makes me lose faith in this society we’re living in today, where people keep defending a man who doesn’t want to be defended (Damon).

But looking at all the Stefan supporters here on tumblr, youtube, or any other social site, boosts my faith. I think “YES, not all people are blinded by attractive things! YESSSSS!” I appluad you all, SErs, because you give me faith in true romance, true love.