the belated honeymoon

LIW Review: Nothing Much To Do

Posted (late) in honor of the third anniversary of the first episode on March 26th. 

Nothing Much To Do has been the gold standard in literary-inspired webseries for close to three years. The series won eight out of ten awards (best supporting actress, best costume and set design, best ensemble cast, the honorary award, best script, best actress, best actor, and best LIW) at the first-ever literary-inspired webseries awards in 2015.

NMTD was created by The Candle Wasters, a group of four young women from New Zealand who decided they’d like to create a Shakespeare adaptation. They chose Much Ado About Nothing and set it at Messina High School in Auckland, New Zealand, where Beatrice Duke has moved to stay with her cousin Hero while her parents are in Australia. Bea decides to take up vlogging, and that’s where the story starts.

Plot Overview:

Beatrice Duke’s parents move to Australia, and she chooses to spend her last year of high school at Messina High with her dear cousin Hero, her old friend Pedro, her arch nemesis Benedick, and the rest of the gang. Hero has a crush on soccer goalie Claudio, and when it starts looking like things might be on track for the pair of them, the characters decide, led by Pedro, to get Beatrice and Benedick together. The result is a romantic comedy musical of Shakespearean proportions, with the occasional flamingo or bathtub thrown in, just for good measure.


The series takes place across three YouTube channels, all of which are essential for understanding the entire story. The main channel is Nothing Much To Do, home to Beatrice and Hero’s weekly vlogs. Once he sees Beatrice doing it, Benedick decides to take up vlogging as well. His channel is called benaddicktion. The third channel, Watch Projects, is home to Ursula’s film projects, Verges and Dogberry’s detective show, and Balthazar’s music videos.


NMTD was the first webseries in which all of the content on all YouTube channels was equally important to the plot. The description boxes on every video were written in character and were often as important as the content of the videos themselves (see “An Ode” and “one foot on sea one on shore one in the boiling hot lava”). The titles of the videos also reflect the personalities the person uploading them (Benedick, for example, gives all his videos one-word titles that are thematically linked in his mind to the contents of said video). 

The Candle Wasters stayed up late to upload videos when the characters would have. The characters interacted with the audience (and once with each other) in the comments section. Beatrice also had a Twitter account, Hero had an Instagram, and Ursula had a Tumblr, and the transmedia supplemented the story but was not necessary for understanding it. 

Also, these people act both like the characters in the play and like actual high schoolers, which is rare in any sort of adaptation, much less one with no budget.


The only non-white character is Ursula, who is of Asian descent, but the LGBTQ+ representation is strong, especially for 2014. Hero and Leo have two moms, who are off on their belated honeymoon for the duration or the series. Balthazar is openly gay (though he never actually uses that word). There’s also another semi-surprising and very satisfying coming out in one of the final episodes.

Film Quality:

Astonishingly good for not having a budget, because The Candle Wasters put in the extra effort to borrow good film equipment and to edit skillfully.

My three favorite things about NMTD:

1) Benedick’s bathtub vlogs

2) The music. Seriously. These people deserve many awards for the music in this show.

3) “one foot on sea one on shore one in the boiling hot lava” – you have to watch it to know why.

While I personally don’t find any faults in this webseries, there are a few things about it that are difficult for other people. The Candle Wasters have a hatred of exposition, so a lot of background information is late, vague, or nonexistent. It can also be hard to understand all of what’s going on if you don’t read the video descriptions, which is an extra step not required by many other webseries. Racial diversity, as I said, is low, but considering the resources The Candle Wasters had at the time, I can’t fault them for that. Besides, every last one of their casting choices was perfect. 

The verdict:

NMTD takes a famous Shakespeare play and, while staying completely true to the story, manages to bring in discussions of slut-shaming, create queer representation that doesn’t even go against canon, AND make the whole thing a musical. They explored the vlogseries format almost to its limits. And the characters are just so loveable. 

I would recommend this webseries to anyone and everyone with any interest in Shakespeare, feminism, musicals, literary-inspired webseries, or a whole load of other things. My love for NMTD is eclipsed only by my love for the sequel, Lovely Little Losers, so stay tuned for that review soon.

5/5 stars. And I probably won’t be giving out many of those.

Wow, that got long. I wouldn’t have written a review this long for anything else, I swear.


Harriett Maire @harriettstella as Beatrice Duke, aka Queen of the World

Pearl Kennedy as Hero Duke, her cousin, “practically perfect in every way”

Jake McGregor @jakeasaurus–rex as Benedick Hobbes, Brit, Whovian, bird enthusiast

Matthew J. Smith as Claudio, long-time bachelor and soccer player extraordinaire

Caleb Wells as Pedro Donaldson, “all round great guy”

George Maunsell as John Donaldson, Pedro’s shifty half brother

Holly Parkes as Verges, has to wear the suspenders to prevent the Devil from infiltrating her

David Hannah as Dogberry, Sherlock fan and adorable little muffin

Jessica Stansfield as Margaret “Meg,” aka Queen of Scream

John Burrows as Robbie, Meg’s boyfriend

Reuben Hudson as Balthazar, the most adorable, precious, talented, non-confrontational person in all of webseries history

Lucie Everett-Brown as Cora, John’s shifty friend

Tina Pan as Ursula, lovely girl behind the camera

Alex MacDonald as Leo, older brother of Hero and coach of the soccer team

Created by The Candle Wasters @thecandlewasters

Running time: 

Approximately five hours

You can watch the whole thing on YouTube here:

Or here with links to the transmedia elements:

anonymous asked:

Yes, ma'am, I know it's 2 am and your tired. You already told me you have your 3 kids with you. I am aware that you just drove 8 hours and you need somewhere to sleep. I understand that you didn't think the hotels in town would be this busy. I'm still completely sold out of rooms. Maybe you should've called 8 hours ago? Or, y'know, a month ago when you actually planned this vacation.

I don’t get why some people don’t plan ahead for shit like that. My husband and I go on our belated honeymoon weekend at the end of next month and you bet your ass we’re setting reservations within a week as soon as we find the perfect place.It’s common sense to ensure you won’t be shit out of luck when the time comes. -Abby

mashed potatoes and milk runs

Written for the Laura Hale Appreciation Week Day 4: Bickering Besties

On AO3

Laura Hale is an awesome human being. Most of the time. Stiles has no idea how he was lucky enough to end up as her best friend, but occasionally he just wants to lock her in the bathroom. With love.

“… but Stiles, you can’t just stay here. It’s Christmas.”

“I live here.” He grumbles. They’ve had this argument at least once a day since Thanksgiving and it was old before December first.

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NaruSaku Event 2017 - Day 2

A.N: Yippie!!! My first actual contribution to this amazing event. I am feeling really euphoric right now:D

Dedicated to all the lovely members of our precious little community. Long live Heaven and Earth!!!

Theme: Serendipity

Relationships: NaruSaku/Team Seven

Genre: Humour/Romance

Rating: T

Serendipity: The occurrence and development of events by chance in a happy or beneficial way.

“You did WHAT?”

The two muscular shinobi in the room mentally winced at the volume of the screech bellowed out by their petite pink-haired comrade. Sakura looked ready enough to perform homicide, suicide, or preferably, both. In quick succession. 

“It was a honest mistake, Sakura-chan! We were experimenting with this really cool new jutsu Teme came up with and by the time we could put out the fire, the damage was do–”. Naruto’s voice died as he felt the waves of fury emanating from Sakura practically scorch his face. He gave a desperate glance towards Sasuke who was standing in an apparently contrite silence. Naruto knew better. The wily bastard was using his his emo mystique to weasel his way out of the whole situation which was all because of him in the first place!

“And you!” Sakura turned to Sasuke with an expression of clear disbelief etched across her face. “You couldn’t do anything? I understand this idiot messing up”– Naruto’s spluttered indignation was quelled by a piercing glare from Sakura–“but you too? You better have an explanation Uchiha!”

Sasuke’s voice didn’t betray the slightest trepidation. “It was a simple miscalculation, Sakura. Dobe jumbled up the sequence–”

“Simple? The conference is in one freaking week, Sasuke! And you idiots set fire to the research material it took me a whole damn month to collect. Do you even have any idea what this means? I’m presenting the very first paper for goodness sake!”

“We’ll help you Sakura-chan! Don’t worry at all. The conference will be a blooming success, believe it!”, Naruto gave an exaggerated nice-guy pose. “Right, Teme?”

“Actually the idiot will be the only one helping you, Sakura. Itachi-nii is scheduled to return today and Chichue has an important clan meeting planned. My presence is essential. I had hoped to complete the jutsu before all that business but… Anyways, I’ve to leave now. I’m really sorry Sakura.“ Sasuke sauntered out of the room with characteristic nonchalance, no trace of guilt visible in his countenance.

“Conniving bastard…”, Naruto muttered. 

Sakura fixed a stony glare at the retreating figure of the Uchiha before mentally bracing herself for the herculean task she now had to accomplish. “Prepare your lazy ass Naruto! For the next seven days, you are my personal slave, got it?” 

"Yes Ma'am!”, Naruto replied rather cheerfully for someone just condemned to one hundred and sixty-eight hours of unquestionable servitude to a notorious workaholic and slave-driver.

Sasuke’s face sported a triumphant smirk as he strolled towards the Uchiha compound in a pace that suggested he had all the time in the world.


Two years later Sasuke badly regretted manipulating his pig-headed best friends when he was left to babysit a terribly rambunctious baby Shinachiku as his parents left for their much belated honeymoon. The orthodox one, that is.

P.S: Sasucakes makes one really reluctant godfather:P

M is for Marriage

According to the laws of England, you must be married a full year before you can file for divorce.

Harry’s well aware of this, as is Eggsy, because it comes up during their briefing several times, offered up as a point of contention if Eggsy so wishes to protest against this ludicrous mission.

“It’s a full year of being legally married,” Merlin warns, “under your real names.”

Eggsy shrugs. “It’s just on paper, yeah? It’s not like it’s going to change anything important.”

“Of course not,” Harry says, and the words are cold and sour on his tongue.

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It’s been awhile since I’ve been on tumblr and a lot has changed!
Left Picture (Highest Weight): 302 lbs
Right Picture (Current Weight): 252 lbs
Goal Weight: 185 lbs

After going on my belated honeymoon in May, I reached out to my doctor for help with losing weight and getting healthy. She recommended an anti-inflammatory diet (no gluten, no added sugar, no eggs, no dairy, no corn, no soy) which has worked wonders! Not only did I lose 50 lbs in 4 months, but I feel like myself again (only better). So here’s to never giving up even when it seems impossible!

Twisted fairy tales: Cinderella's glass slippers

Cinderella discovered quickly that wearing glass slippers was not as glamorous as it seemed. Glass cut skin just as easily when it was shaped into a shoe as when it was scattered in shards across the kitchen floor. To dance in glass slippers, one must be nimble and step lightly, hardly letting one’s feet touch the ground, lest trails of blood flow. Dancing at the Prince’s Ball three nights in a row taught Cinderella all she needed to know about being nimble and light-footed. She found she could walk behind her stepsisters and stepmother without them hearing a single footfall beside their own, and she soon made a game of it. After all, Cinderella’s stepmother always said that children should be seen and not heard, and stepchildren shouldn’t be seen or heard at all.

Becoming a Princess had never been Cinderella’s dream. It was beyond reach and an implausible thought, and while she was hopeful and sometimes optimistic, for the most part Cinderella was a realist. The most she thought she would get out of life was to marry someone from town just to escape her stepsisters and stepmother, or if she failed to catch a man’s eye from the confines of her late father’s house, she would work and scrub and clean until she died. Being a Princess had never been a dream of hers, especially not after her father’s death when she was merely nine years old. The day of her father’s funeral had Cinderella (merely Ella back then) serving drinks, pastries, sandwiches, and cakes to the guests at the wake. It was at the request of her stepmother who couldn’t bear to move in her grief and needed her help, and hers alone. Wouldn’t she be a dear girl and help her poor, grieving stepmother? (Cinder)Ella had agreed, of course, and since that day, she had never stopped.

Except for the few hours she slept at night, Cinderella hadn’t time to herself for almost eleven years. She hadn’t read a book in that time either, much to the chagrin of the castle tutors who were expecting a maiden of twenty years to have a far higher reading level than Cinderella possessed. She had no idea what most of the history books said, could barely read the law books that others swore were written in English, and had difficulty reading the charming letters her new husband sent her. (Her handmaiden refused to read the second letter; the first had the poor girl blushing for days.)

Despite all of this, Cinderella flourished in the castle. She could read people far easier than pages; she understood everything they said, and more to the point, what they didn’t say; and after years of veiled words and threats, of anticipating raised hands and voices, Cinderella had an unparalleled understanding of even the subtlest body language. Within weeks of living in the castle, Cinderella accidentally revealed three affairs, foiled an assassination, and discovered the Prince’s cousin’s hiding place in mere minutes after the castle had been in an uproar for the day, thinking the young royal had been kidnapped.

The Queen had recognised Cinderella’s talents, commended her on dancing in glass shoes for three nights, and had offered a job beyond that of Princess and wife to the Prince. Eager to do something that wouldn’t result in either tutors yelling or courtiers glaring at her, Cinderella accepted.

A month later, she was sent to a neighbouring kingdom in the guise of a belated honeymoon with the Prince, who took the honeymooning part very seriously. Cinderella still couldn’t manage more than a few hours of sleep, but the Prince was a heavy sleeper and he never noticed his wife’s absence. An unfortunate accident befell the King days after their arrival, the guards confirmed their guests had been in their room all night, and it was deemed he stumbled down the stairs in his old age, breaking his neck on impact. Without a son, his daughter was crowned Queen, and a treaty was struck between the two kingdoms in the days following the late King’s funeral.

A few weeks later, a visiting dignitary belittled the staff in the castle; he sneered about the Queen and Cinderella when he thought he wouldn’t be heard; he kicked the horse when he failed to follow a simple instruction from the riding instructor, and then yelled at the instructor too. A day later, he fell victim to an unfortunate accident as well. The dignitary had been alone in his room, so it was presumed that he’d drunk too much wine and fell off his balcony in a drunken stupor. No one missed him.

As she packed for her next job, Cinderella mused about her husband. She suspected that the Prince knew what she did, but he never brought it up, and she knew better than to offer the information herself. While it was suspicious to take her glass slippers on their so-called holidays, Cinderella liked the nostalgia that accompanied wearing them, nimble and light steps that never left a trace. Her nostalgia was not for the Prince’s Ball, as most might expect, but for her first kill: her stepsisters and stepmother where, on the night of their mysterious deaths, no one was seen or heard at all.

anonymous asked:

Not sure if you're still taking prompts (I've loved all your ficlets!!), but I'd love a Holsom AU with the prompt: Are fake dating to join a contest for couples only because they know everything about each other but then feeeeelings

This is actually the bro-iest thing I have ever written, I hope you’re happy with yourself. 

“It’s three weeks, it’s fully paid, all inclusive, in the Caribbean. There are scuba lessons, there is horseback riding on the beach, there is an open bar,” Ransom lists. “Bro. This is like the perfect, perfect, most perfect ‘you just graduated what are you doing with your summer before starting real life’ vacay ever.”

“Seriously though,” Holster agrees.

“Literally all we have to do is prove we love each other more than other married couples,” Ransom says.

Holster blinks. “Uh, bro? We’re not married.”

“Nah, but like it’s a contest for newlyweds,” Ransom says. “And to be honest, we’re a little married.”

“I know, I love it,” Holster says. “Okay, so what do we have to do?”

The first part is that they have to send a video to the producers of the show describing why they are the most qualified to receive this gift. That part’s easy. They borrow (a very concerned) Bitty’s video editing skills and have the video off well before the deadline.

“Hi, we’re Adam and Justin!” they say, grinning at the camera. “We got married earlier this spring at Niagara Falls, but because we just finished college, we didn’t have time to go on our honeymoon!”

Part one, done.

The next thing they have to do – once they pass the first part, which they do – is play the Newlywed Game with the other contestants.

And they fucking own.

Because Brad and Jenny don’t know each other’s favourite dish soap smells (Ransom prefers lemongrass, Holster likes a nice apple); Tina and Sharon have conflicting answers about which boy band is the best (Backstreet Boys, hands down, both answers); and Mack and Jackie totally blow it when it comes to fictional characters (Holster completely prefers Liz Lemon, Ransom knows this better than he knows his own birthmarks).

“Alright boys, but before we send you off on your vacation, at least give us a kiss for the camera,” the producer says.

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As part of their belated honeymoon after the war, Bill and Fleur went to Craters of the Moon in Idaho. As Bill stood on a crag of basalt, looking out over the land, Fleur was struck by the harsh beauty of it all. Not minding her robes, she lay down on the cold, black rock. She could feel the magic in the land pulsing underneath her, the volatility that came with shifting earth. For the first time since the war, she was truly at peace. She was comforted with the knowledge even the solid rock where she lay would one day be submerged in wild magic and lava.

(photo source)

Ten years ago today I lost my dear friend John Glick.

A year ago, as I often have, I attempted to musically eulogize him. These will always remain feeble and unworthy stabs in the dark.

John died stupidly. A young woman in throes of some kind of a state I find hard to dignify, no matter how miserable, drove her car 100 mph into a car containing John and his two close friends, Michael Dahlquiston and Douglas Meis, on  a lunch break from where they worked at Shure microphones,  each of them embedded deeply in the Chicago music scene. A tree of misery was born from their death, its branches extending far beyond their immediate friends and family. Their car was  stopped at a red light.

John was my roommate at college, the one and only year it could barely manage to contain me (I tried to drop out after one semester). I was suffering from horrible, debilitating anxiety. And John was never not there for me and it, this thing that was suffocating me there. John and I sang together, got drunk together, made little films together, along with our other pal James Leaver. We videotaped entire dinners we made for each other, the stars of our own My Dinner With Andes. The pasta we threw to the ceiling to see if it was al dente, remained throughout our brief tenure there. We glued the chairs in the kitchen to the ceiling in the middle of the night. We smoked awful ineffectual pot, then smoked Earl Grey tea through a Vitamin C bong that James made for us. We were both a little hooked on Nyquil I might have got him on that kick. Mostly we played each other music we loved, a disproportionate amount played for me – as he introduced me to the likes of Brian Eno, X, The Minutemen, Roxy Music, on and on. I know when he walked in the door, that first day in 1988, and saw his crates of vinyl, and Elvis Costello’s “Armed Forces” peaking through, we were gonna be okay. Somehow, all off this light, in the shadow of all this anxiety that was so badly afflicting me. All this, with John.

John and I probably saw each other a total of maybe 20 times since college, but our friendship endured and transcended the distance between us. He’d always call from Chicago or Wisconsin or Maine on New Years and tell me, in Los Angeles, how the world looked in the future. After he died I couldn’t help but be sadly struck by the irony that he came to know such an unknowable future, far too soon.

This here is bullshit, this attempt at  due diligence to honor the memory of a man whose spirit and contribution to the lives of others is ineffable.

In searching my inbox I found an email John wrote me in 2005, a condolence regarding the passing of my dog Jack,  eerily only 6 months before we lost John. It’s something of John. And it’s much better than anything I can muster…because it’s John.

Oh Adam. I’m so sorry. He was way too young. It doesn’t matter how or when it happens – it’s still the same – but hopefully there can be some solace in, as Rio brings to mind, he didn’t experience the kind of prolonged pain that some of us will always associate with the passing of our pets. Can there be solace in that? I don’t know; probably not now, right?

Becky and I are thinking of you guys. I still owe you a response from a month ago, I think. Leave it to fucking grief to bring us out from under our rocks. Where we’ve pretty much been since September. Now’s not the time for an update though. Suffice to say we went to St. Martin last month for our belated honeymoon…but enough about us. All our thoughts and love to you, C.  and the Sherriff.


Made with SoundCloud
Belated Honeymoon


After a flurry of packing, arranging a sitter and making reservations, Lyla slept soundly that night. So soundly in fact that when morning came, she really did not want to wake up. Even though she felt Jax stirring beside her, her eyes remained resolutely closed.

Considering that the hands of the wall clock are semaphoring five-thirty in the morning, there really should not be so much noise coming from the balcony.

Steve fancies himself a reasonable, tolerant person. Now that he’s no longer living alone, there are always noises coming from one odd corner of the house or another, noises that ought to make him jump but don’t. The hiss and slither of Natasha’s ball python, Therapy Snake, whom she refuses to rename. The bang of the door as Natasha herself returns from one of her mysterious after-dark errands. (”I’m not a spy today, Steve, I can make noise if I want to, and what do you mean you were asleep? You’re an artist, you’re supposed to keep artist hours, not go to bed at ten-thirty.”) The beat of metallic wings, followed by the thud of running feet on the roof, punctuated by the occasional loud curse. (”I was being chased by killer wasps, Steve, stop laughing and help me oh my god.”)

The trouble is that Sam and Natasha are supposed to be in Bangkok this week, having a belated kind-of-honeymoon-but-not-really-I-mean-is-it-a-honeymoon-if-we’re-not-actually-married? And when Steve pads into his bathroom, thinking he might as well brush his teeth and go for an early run now that he’s already up, he realises that his toothbrush has vanished.

This would be annoying in the daytime. At an ungodly hour like right now, it’s preposterous.

Steve storms towards the balcony. “Sam, have you seen my toothbrush? Or Nat, or whoever you guys invited into my house, because I sure as hell didn’t say you could borrow my–”

He stops dead on the threshold of the balcony door. Then, with all his ex-showman eloquence, he says, “Oh.”

Bucky Barnes, dead man and occasional ghost, is crouched on the balcony, sniper rifle set up on its tripod and pointed somewhere down the street. What Steve can see of him is approximately one part unwashed hair to three parts menacing shadow. It would be an alarming sight, if Bucky wasn’t also contorted into some sort of odd yoga pose in an attempt to reach the grooves on the back of his cybernetic bicep. With Steve’s toothbrush.

“Awkward,” says Steve. Because, really, the last time they’d met, Bucky had been trying to beat his face in. While crying.

Bucky doesn’t so much as blink. Neither does he relinquish the toothbrush. “I need to shoot the guy that lives across the street,” he says in his creaky, disturbingly uninflected rasp. “HYDRA. I promise. So I need your balcony. And later you gotta help me bury the body.”

“O… kay?”

“And my arm’s got sand in it. So.”

Bucky waves the toothbrush in an almost-sheepish, almost-apologetic gesture. Steve knuckes the bridge of his nose. He wants to cry, or laugh, or do both at the same time, but it’s far too early in the morning for hysterical reunions. For heaven’s sake, he hasn’t even gone for his run.

“You better buy me a new ‘brush,” he says at last. He stomps over and plops himself down beside the rifle scope. “Shove over, lemme see this HYDRA neighbour.”

[send me a number + pairing!] [list of prompts]