year of the colleagues

i’m about to tell you the actual funniest thing i’ve ever heard.

i’m training to become a sign language interpreter, and today i asked my mentor about weird jobs she’s been on. like has there ever been one that when she left she was like “what the actual fuck just happened to me?” and i swear her soul transcended this plane of existence for a few minutes while she told me this story.

a few years back she and a colleague got an interpreting assignment from the agency that said “spice party”. so it was like a tupperware party where someone works for a company that sells a product, and they invite people into their home to show them the product and then the guests can place an order and buy the products and in this case it was spices.

they get there, and ring the doorbell. the host opens the door and tells them that the guests haven’t arrived yet but that they’re welcome to go into the other room to look at the products so they’ll know what will be discussed during the night.

so these two interpreters were like pfft spices?? lmao we don’t need to look this up, there’s salt pepper and chilli like how hard can it be. so they walk up to the door. open it. look into the room where this spice party is supposed to take place. and stop dead in their tracks.

flashback to when the interpreting agency got the order from the host of the party. apparently it said “it’s a party where they can order products from a company called something something spicy”. so this old little lady that handles the orders just thinks “hey, it says spicy, so that must mean spices right?” she rewords the order and sends it to the interpreters.

fun fact. that company did NOT sell spices. these two interpreters open the door expecting oregano or some shit and they get dildos. just. everywhere. dildos. lube. vibrators. condoms in 75 different sizes. it was a sex toy party.

the guests arrive. this is a small ass town. the interpreters know everybody at this party. throughout the night the guests can go into a private room with the host to place an order, and the interpreters have to come along because the host is the one who is deaf. to this day they see these people on the street and have to be like “hey :)” because it’s a small town, everyone knows everyone, and they have to say hi to people knowing that they have a two foot dildo and licorice flavoured lube at home.

anyway what i got from that story is that i picked the right profession.

Masterpost: Yana Toboso’s blog/twitter post translations

People who visit my blog on PC probably know that there’s already a masterpost of all my past blog/twitter post translations, but the majority of people seems to use the mobile version of tumblr and therefore have no access to it (?), so here’s a masterpost that is hopefully accessible to everyone! Also, I’d appreciate it if you could check this masterpost *first* before asking me “Has Yana ever talked about XX on her blog?” xD

Disclaimer: I’m not a professional translator but just a normal Japanese Kuro fan with intermediate English skills, and I primarily translate all these Kuro related posts for myself, namely to improve my English! All posts marked with * are proofread by my precious, lovely friend minacchin though (thank you for your help<3), so you can expect a flawless English translation :)

Yana Toboso:


Kuroshitsuji/Black Butler:


Sebastian Michaelis:


Ciel and the Phantomhive household:


Lizzy and the Midfords:


Grim reapers:


Other characters:


Musical:


Live action movie:


Drama CD:


“Nijishitsuji2” scanlations in cooperation with frederickabblerline:


Tips: If you don’t know where to start reading, here are some tips. The posts in bold are the ones that got over 1000 notes. And the ones in italic are my personal faves that I found funny/interesting and definitely recommend you to read! :)

And finally, thank you to all those people who read and liked my translations and sent me lovely, encouraging messages in the past 2.5 years! ♡♡

Originally posted by nitratediva

Have fun reading Yana’s posts<3

If Marvel movies were written by women

-Peggy Carter’s funeral would have been more than 3 minutes long.

-Tony Stark would have given a eulogy to Peggy, having grown up admiring her, his dad’s colleague of many years, a tremendously strong female role model (the woman who approved Pepper’s hire, of course).

-Steve Rogers would not have put the moves on Peggy’s niece within a day of burying Peggy.

-Black Widow would have gotten her own movie by now.

-A big part of Bucky’s backstory/flashbacks would have been told through Natasha’s viewpoint, her memories of either working with or against The Winter Soldier in Russia and the East. 

-Pepper Potts would have been in Civil War, speaking for herself.

-Wanda’s grief over her brother would still be very present.  Her feelings of loss and mourning would be front-and-center for her character.

-Black Panther’s woman bodyguard would have had more than one line. 

-Natasha would have told Steve that she was at Peggy’s funeral in part because she didn’t want him to be alone, but also in part to pay respects to the great Peggy Carter.

-There would be way more women in these movies.  There would be women of many ages, ethnicities, sexual orientations, and nationalities in these movies.  There would be many scenes of women talking to women.  There would be many more scenes of women talking.  And doing.  And feeling.  And being. 

so i work at lush and the most famous person i’ve served so far is adele. one day i’m just standing there moving some bubble bars and pretending to look busy when suddenly this lady comes in with her child. i think “she looks like adele if adele didn’t wear make up” whilst i go over to greet her. she asks me what a bath bomb is. i think “hmm, she is very unexpectedly cockney, like adele.” halfway through my description of bath bombs i realise holy fuck it’s actually adele, and i end up saying “so these are bath bombs, you drop them in the water mnnnnnnand theychangecolour n fizz…..do stuff……..” and i think she realises i suddenly know who she is because she gently but firmly tells her son to pick a bomb. she gets some for herself as well. i put her through the till and i realise she looks very tired, so i don’t want to bother her, but holy fucking shit this is adele. i’ve ugly cried so many times while warbling her beautiful songs. she’s unwittingly been there through some bad times for me. i want to say something but i’m not sure what, so i fixate on her bright woolly vest and blurt out “i like your vest!” and she immediately replies, very chipper, “aw fanks it makes me look like a rare bird!” she departs and i stand there shaking while i whisper to my colleague that that was adele. this reaches the back of the shop where a birthday party for a bunch of 14 year olds is going on and my 19 year old colleague just shrieks “WHAT” at the top of his voice. all the girls clamour asking if we have security cameras to prove it actually was her and i’m like, the proof is that i have suddenly become 10 times emotionally stronger after being in her presence. i have absorbed her self love and all of my exes have crumbled into dust, dissolving away like the bath bomb she’ll be using later on that very night

4

I’ve always had a lot of respect for you, kid.”

A little idea I’ve had for a while. After the last Animaniacs production wrapped up, the Warner siblings get removed from the lot once the eldest sibling becomes an adult. Yakko meets up with Bugs, a colleague he’d known for years, while waiting for Wakko and Dot to get dropped off from school. Real-life issues and whatnot.

Sorry for some panels looking so much better than others. I never intended to get the whole thing nice and polished.

3

What a wild ride that stream was omg. You guys come into MY house and you bloody KINKSHAME me. I’m so mad.

Highlights from Talks Machina (Episode 105)

Again, covering for @eponymous-rose​ while she continues her international vacation! Sorry for missing last week–things got crazy! Tonight’s guests: Darin de Paul, Taliesin sporting a lovely scarlet mohawk, and Travis. Brian starts a story that ends with him forging several signatures, and off we go.

  • The new campaign guide comes out soon! Taliesin is now worried about messing up the history of a character he invented.
  • Darin loves D&D as a long-form improv exercise and is happy he was able to get moments with each of the cast members.
  • Right after college, Darin was an apprentice at the Burt Reynolds Theater in Florida (a year-long program for theater students). One of his co-apprentices was Matt’s mom, and Matt’s grandmother was the director’s assistant. Matt’s father was part of the writing room. During the run of Darin’s last show (Fiddler), a clarinet player said they were going to play D&D and invited Darin. Matt’s mother was also in the group; they were all new to the game, so they rolled on a table for names and played four sessions. Last year, Darin was hired by Blizzard to do various voices, which is where he and Matt became friends. Later, Matt realized his mom had a picture of herself with Darin de Paul, and discussion of that picture led to the conversation of their D&D game. It’s been 37 years since Sprigg’s original campaign.
  • Matt was worried about fitting Sprigg in until Darin mentioned he was a hermit. The hobgoblin TPK was canon! Sprigg, a chaotic evil illusionist thief, was the only one to survive; the last moment of that campaign had him fleeing on a cart with wolves chasing him, abandoning the rest of the party to their deaths. Travis and Taliesin ask if he really was chaotic evil; “Why do you think he was so interested in redemption, dear boy?”
  • The first episode Darin saw was the Trials of the Take episode when the carpet was destroyed. He’s wanted to be on the show ever since.
  • Symmetra’s voice actor, Anjali Bhimani, also plays D&D. My heart skips a few beats.
  • Vex and Percy eloped over the year break. Laura and Taliesin kept it secret out of pique at first (Taliesin doesn’t remember why they were piqued). He’s not surprised the others are annoyed.
  • Grog was extremely impressed by Sarenrae and hasn’t thought much about Kord giving him any boons.
  • Darin has been a fan of the show and watching for some time. Taliesin says he is the most prepared guest they’ve ever had.
  • Very few people were present at Vex & Percy’s wedding. They did not intend to ever bring it up on their own.
  • The plane of books is the worst possible plane for Grog. Only the plane of shopping would be worse.
  • As soon as Darin walked into the studio last Thursday, Travis immediately asked him if he was a god. Travis still thinks he might be.
  • Percy would rather have a thousand years with Vex than a thousand years with Ioun’s library.
  • Travis wants a “positive, upbeat resolution to all the drama that is a-hanging in the air.” Me too. Travis does not read the Player’s Handbook to help keep Grog dumb, so he never knows what’s going on.
  • Travis loves how prepared Darin was. He offered the Deck because he thought Darin was looking for something specific after Sprigg deflected the weaker offerings.
  • Darin loved the emotion in the room during the plane shift and the strong moment with Marisha in particular. He also likes the movie Gargoyles.
  • The hardest thing about playing Sprigg after so long was finding him again. Brian gets very sentimental about the long journey that brought Sprigg back to life, including Darin becoming friends and colleagues with Matt so many years later.
  • Darin will be back on the next episode and is visibly excited about it.
  • Darin used to read tons of D&D books (mentions Drizzt by name) and used to paint minis as a hobby. He still has some of the figures and wants to donate them to the show.
  • Darin’s wife was part of Taliesin’s parents’ circle, so he’s known her for a long time. Taliesin and Darin exchange memories of meeting Roddy McDowall, and Darin says part of Sprigg’s concept of memories being the most important came from a conversation he had with Roddy while Roddy was dying of cancer.
  • Percy’s current distrusting attitude towards the gods came directly from his interaction with the Raven Queen. However, he didn’t know there was a god of knowledge and has been “chewing on it a lot, and what it means to have faith in knowledge.” He sees the library as a testament to faith in humanity and the good works of life and how important memory is and is blown away by it. “Books have always been about finding meaning and this whole library thing has changed him.” Taliesin expected Percy to be much more resistant to Ioun and was surprised at how quickly the books sold him.
  • Darin felt as the scenes progressed that his role was to “illuminate” CR as to where they were and what they could be. Taliesin and Percy both wondered if he was Scanlan from the future. Darin had the choice of being Scanlan’s dad, but declined.
  • Percy picked Vesper because her namesake was the last person he’d talked to in real life.
  • The only place Travis can think of worse for Grog is if the books were replaced with clothing & a For Sale sign. “Grog has a beatnik poet inside him waiting to get out.”
  • Darin’s advice to Keyleth was total improv. He almost cried when she touched his hand. He loves funny characters that can become sad and/or touching.
  • Marisha has no idea how to get Keyleth out of her emotional nosedive. Watching Marisha break character from Keyleth at the end of an episode is one of Taliesin’s favorite things because they’re such different people.
  • Percy would seek out the lifebooks for all his family & ancestry because he’s fascinated with legacy, and Whitestone is full of ghost stories. He had lots of stories he’d planned to give as part of the gnomes’ tour, and tells one about a woman forced into a marriage who slowly poisoned her husband over a number of years.
  • Sprigg feels he is what Scanlan might become. He did not expect to survive the episode.
  • If they were really in Ioun’s halls, Travis would love to see the books of his family and of JFK. Darin would like to see his father’s book. Darin also likes wearing suits, which is why he wears suits. He only wears t-shirts at the gym. (At one point Darin’s family also owned 20 horses???). He wishes his parents could see him now because they were so supportive when he was growing up.

Honor! Justice! After Dark, After Dark, After Dark!

  • If the challenge for Ioun involves any physical activity, Grog will fight Percy for it.
  • Bucket lists: Travis wants to swim with a great white shark. (Darin’s biggest fear is great white sharks.) Taliesin wants to travel to India. Darin wants to learn to tap dance, and casually drops that he used to dance with Cirque du Soleil.
  • Darin’s favorite color is black. His favorite season is winter.
  • There’s a video somewhere of Darin de Paul and Steve Blum pretending to be zombies and running towards the camera.
  • Travis and Darin do Reinhardt “impressions” by talking in high-pitched baby voices. Taliesin does a pretty decent actual impression! Darin likes that there’s heroes for every playstyle.
  • Darin hasn’t told Matt’s parents he brought back Sprigg. He also used to have a crush on Matt’s mom.
  • If Darin could pick any character from VM to play, he would play Scanlan. Brian teases the entire world by saying he would play “the character Pike’s in love with.”
  • Darin’s twitter flooded after last Thursday and he wishes he could respond to all of the kind messages.
  • Darin once shared floss with Gilbert Gottfried as part of an old bit.
  • Darin feels his whole history has led to this moment last Thursday where he had the chance to create a story with people he loved.
  • Laura read the Game of Thrones books as they came out, well before the show started. Brian just found the copy of the first book she lent him in 2010, which he still hasn’t read.
  • If Sprigg could fight any D&D monster, it would be a hobgoblin.

anonymous asked:

I can't help but hate levi///han now that levi is a dick to hange and doesn't deserve her I read this theory that questiong thing from this month means they are not even friends anymore bcoz levi doesn't feel comfortable enough to call hange by the nickame he had for her anymore and that's sad and also makes me angry because hange is always so nice to him and levi is a douche

Eh, that’s not how I see it.

IMO him dropping that nickname means 1) he legitimately respects her new position and wants to place an emphasis on that by example (humanity’s strongest soldier respecting the new commander is a big deal), and 2) he’s actively trying not to be a dick by throwing out a nickname that is NO LONGER APPROPRIATE – not just due to her rank, but, you know, the fact that she’s lost/damaged/ruined one of her eyes, now. 

The situation that ruined her eye was extremely traumatic: it got her work assistant killed–not to mention all of her colleagues: people’s she’s known for years of her career. This includes Erwin, whose shoes she has to fill right away. I doubt she wants the reminder of that terrible day spat out of Levi’s mouth like it’s some kind of a funny joke when there’s very little chance of her being able to see it that way anymore. I know everyone thinks Hange would take it with a grain of salt and all that (cracking jokes galore), but she has feelings and again: the situation was very traumatic. You don’t see Levi cracking jokes about his traumatic experiences, do you?

Fandom conveniently forgets that Hange is a person who experiences human emotion because they’re desperate to keep the ship dynamic for levihan the same forever.

And look, until we got this information, I think interpreting Hange as the sort of person who wanted normalcy there to distract from the depressing and painful reality was believable and realistic.

But with this information it seems that’s not actually the case.

And that’s okay! There’s nothing wrong with that. It’s okay for your headcanons to be proven wrong on occasion.

And listen to me, here: people change. They grow, and it’s not always apart. Sometimes they grow together, especially after they’ve been through something rough. The fight in Shiganshina was a rough experience. 

Hange has been through a surprising lot, though she’s barely focused on during those chapters. Almost the entire military branch she works in was wiped out. She lost countless acquaintances and friends. Now she has to lead what’s left of it…and without an eye. I wish fandom would stop laughing it off like it’s a cute “fun” injury because it looks “cool.” It was probably highly traumatic and painful for her, not just in the moment, either. The fact that it took so long for her to get treatment might have even been the real reason she lost it. The eye loss is associated with all kinds of trauma, both physical and mental. She’s a soldier, she’s accepted that something like this could happen, but that doesn’t make it easier to deal with; it doesn’t make any of her losses less painful.

So let’s talk about the responsibility that’s instantly clamped down on her shoulders after this, because Hange doesn’t even get a second to herself to just, you know, mourn or be sad. She’s the commander now. And while the SC might have sealed the wall(s), it was at a great price (and still under Erwin’s command almost entirely). Hange is going to have to fight for respect from pretty much everyone. Mission accomplished and all, but now that the walls are sealed, humanity is safe again lmao fuck the Survey Corps do we even need that branch anymore? Hange is going to have to present a case to save humanity and exterminate the titans and she’s going to need all the respect she can get to do that. She’s going to need more soldiers because <10 isn’t going to be enough. She’s going to need money and supplies and gear. I hate saying this, but it might not be something she’s capable of presenting on her own merit because she’s largely unknown by the people. (Her newspaper shenanigans help her case but only in that specific area.) However, humanity’s strongest soldier has pretty much all the respect from everyone in this world. If he has her back and is standing proudly at her side, it probably helps her case immensely. (He believes her, he believes in her, this isn’t some kind of a sick joke.)

I want to remind everyone, too, that when the newspapers start telling “the truth” of humanity’s situation, it’s like a 50/50 split? Lots of people think it’s bullshit. That doesn’t help Hange. Like I said: she needs all the respect and the backup she can get. Literally every ounce.


IMO, Levi dropping the nickname “shitty-glasses” was the best thing that could have happened to the ship. I know people think it means they’re not “equals” anymore, but everyone’s focusing on the wrong thing, here.

Up to this point in the manga we’ve seen Levi treat Hange more or less equally, but even in his attempts to comfort her he’s rough. He calls her by a rude nickname that we’re never sure is supposed to be endearing or not. For all we know, he means it in the way a coworker might call the fat guy in the group “porkchop” or other kids might be mean to a classmate by calling them “four-eyes.” Speculation and headcanons aside, canon hasn’t ever really given us a clear idea of what that nickname meant to Levi, let alone to Hange. She lets him call her it, but that doesn’t tell us much. For all we ever knew, she was used to being treated poorly by her peers.

However, with this new information, it sounds much more like the nickname “shitty-glasses” was, coming from Levi, an awkwardly endearing nickname–one he meant no harm with.

And we see that because he drops it. He goes out of his way to consciously stop a habit of his that would seem disrespectful to other people regardless of what it originally meant between them. Levi respects Hange and this is how he shows it. That’s a big deal.

I’d also like to point out, again, that it’s very likely he does this out of more than just respect for his commanding officer. Levi is hardly one to follow conventions, after all.

Hange is his friend. He cares about her safety and we’ve seen this (beneath the chapel). We’ve also seen him clumsily care about the place she’s in mentally (post-Nick’s death). I don’t think it’s a stretch to say that he cares about her feelings, too. And if this nickname drudges up emotional backlash and trauma for her, then by dropping it he’s showing that he cares about her and respects her as his friend.

Well, it’s like imagine you work at McDonald’s. You push your manager into a chute compactor and then a year later you decide to go back dressed as one of the colleagues. It’s not the best situation. There’s a lot of chasing, there’s a mission that needs to be completed but that isn’t necessarily something that doesn’t come without a fight and it’s something that he’s gonna have to face for himself. But it was fun for me. I always wanted to go undercover. Star Wars undercover is different because you wear a hat and all of a sudden no one recognizes you. … I’d be thinking to myself walking in one of those scenes, isn’t anyone gonna go, ‘Wait, isn’t that Finn?’ Do you know what I mean? But such is the magic of Star Wars. It’s fun. It’s fun to do. It’s cool.
An All-Inclusive Guide to Making Your First Year in Practice Not Suck As Much As Wayfaring’s

Hi there, just curious if you’d share what things you were looking for in your first job vs what things you value now, now that you’ve been working out there on your own. Anything that must be in the contract that wasn’t there before (or vice versa)? Tips for future graduating residents?

Yaaaaasssss so many advices. So many things. This ask has been in my inbox for months because I have too many things to say about it and I can’t seem to organize it properly. 

Let’s break it down into 3 sections: 1) What I thought I wanted 2) What I needed and didn’t know to ask/look for 3) What I want now. Here goes.

What I thought I wanted:

  • big dolla$$$
  • super sweet signing bonus
  • moving allowance
  • loan repayment assistance
  • regular 40 hour work schedule
  • nice patients
  • independence / autonomy in decisionmaking
  • ability to practice the way I was trained - with up to date guidelines and procedures and equipment


What I wanted and didn’t know to ask for:

  • Supportive colleagues - In your first year of practice out of residency you lose every ounce of confidence that you gained as a senior resident. You question minor decisions and are constantly afraid of killing people or being sued. It is extra hard to practice in a new town when your partners in practice are not supportive. Sometimes you need someone to lay a fresh set of eyes on a wonky EKG or a weird rash, you know? I didn’t have that option. It made me study harder and somewhat be more cautious and definitely more creative in my practice. But having a colleague to commiserate with at the end of the day or to consult on difficult cases would have been really nice. You don’t have to be BFFs with your colleagues, but they have to be people you can agree/get along with and trust to take care of your patients in your absence.
  • Friends - This sounds obvious, but I moved to a new town that literally has no people anywhere close to my age. Even having one person I knew and could confide in would have been wonderful. One person to go to a movie with or watch a football game with would have been a sanity saver for me. Find a place where you can find other people like you. 
  • A reasonable amount of time off - I got less time off in my first job than I did as a resident. That was unacceptable to me. This would be fine if my practice didn’t act like they were going to go bankrupt if I took an unpaid day or even a half day to go to the doctor, but they did. You need a place where you can take one week off every 3-4 months if possible, even if all that time isn’t paid. Medicine is such a stressful job. Make sure they’re giving you rest time.
  • A non-toxic work environment - I knew going into my job that I was replacing a workaholic and that I was joining a workaholic. What I didn’t realize was that I was also expected to be a workaholic and anything less than killing myself was seen as laziness. Pay attention to the culture at your new job. Ask the docs what they do for fun or to relax and more importantly when the last time was they did that thing. If they don’t have any answers, they’re too busy. 
  • Diversity. This may just be me, but I went into family medicine because I get bored easily. I need variety of patient types and disease types and socioeconomic groups and everything else. I realized quickly in my practice that most of my patients were privately insured elderly white people. As in, the most boring demographic for Wayfaring
  • A Balanced schedule. I figured that when I joined a practice that had been established for 30 years that the workflow kinks would have been worked out and it would run like a well oiled machine. In reality I would have 8 physicals a day and 5 of my most complicated patients in hospital follow ups back to back, all scheduled for just 15 minutes. There has to be balance in the schedule. You have to be able to take a little extra time here and make it up elsewhere. 


What I want now: 

  • fair dolla$$$. In actuality, what’s fair is actually considerably more than what I was making in my first job. I was grossly underpaid, particularly considering this being a rural area where nobody wants to work (typically those jobs are paid much higher). It’s not about the bottom dollar value for me. It’s about compensating me in a way that is comparable to my peers. 
  • Colleagues who can be both friends and mentors. See above. 
  • Good benefits. Two years of no dental or vision sucks when your most expensive problems are dental and vision related. Life insurance and retirement plans aren’t something most 30 year olds think of, but they’re really important, and I didn’t have those to start with. 
  • A flexible schedule. The whole world doesn’t need to fall apart if I need to switch my regular day off or if I need a half day to go to the doctor. 
  • Administrative time. Preferably a full week day, but a half day is great too. I’m happy working 4 10 or 12 hour days a week to have one week day off to catch up on work I’m behind on or get my hair cut and get my taxes done and see my psychiatrist, you know?
  • Knowledgeable and helpful staff. I need staff who don’t perpetuate old wives’ tales and notions like “you need a zpack for that cold”. I need to work with people who will ask if they don’t understand something rather than just make something up and who can help me educate my patients. I need folks who are prompt and who can anticipate some needs. 
  • To not be responsible for other peoples’ paychecks. In private practice, if I take time off or scale back, the practice loses money and thus our staff lose hours or money too. The staff in my first job were horribly underpaid and I don’t like the idea of the entire burden of the practice’s finances hanging on my shoulders. Sign me up for that hospital-owned practice, please.
  • To not have to turn patients away based on payer source. This is a national problem and is definitely not limited to my first job. But my first job wouldn’t let me take Medicaid patients at all. It made it completely impossible for me to build any sort of pediatric or OB practice in our town. I don’t like the idea of turning away a patient because their type of insurance doesn’t pay as well. I want to just treat patients and not have to worry about their payments. Hello, single payer healthcare system. Get on it! Obviously I will still have to worry about whether my patient can afford their meds or whether their insurance will cover their meds, but I won’t have to pick and choose what patients I accept based on their payer source. 
  • To deliver quality, up to date care. To work with people who will back up my evidence-based decisions and not practice based on feelings and patient satisfaction. To work with people who will encourage me to learn more and do new things. 

There you have it folks. A lil summary of what I want, what you might want, and what I’ve learned in these first (almost) 2 years of practice. Here’s to better future jobs for us all!

4

This whole storyline that started this season about Cam and Arastoo adopting has seriously warmed my heart, but in all honesty, the one thing that gets me about the whole thing is that at the end of the day, Cam went to Brennan of all people to discuss about their adoption plans (you can tell from her ‘you ready to tell them?’ remark earlier that Brennan knew about Cam and Arastoo’s plans all along - and it brings back memories of all those years ago, when Cam first started working at the Jeffersonian and both Brennan and Cam clashed so much, and it was that one conversation in the diner about Brennan being a foster child which led them to working out a plan to function better as a team and colleagues, and all that has led up to this moment now. That she can now confide in Brennan, and Brennan in turn, was there to offer her the advice and support required, is what makes this entire scene even better for me. Because it shows just how far these two have come after all these years, from colleagues who couldn’t get along, to becoming dear friends. And in all honesty, that is all I could have ever asked for with these two. ❤️

Helping Hands

Reid x Reader smutty smut smut

“No. You cannot go to a gig dressed like that”

Your best friend and colleague Spencer Reid looked down at his outfit and then back up at you. He was dressed in smart slacks and a shirt, with dress shoes on his feet. You on the other hand were dressed in a denim skirt, leggings, a vest top and an oversized hoody. Converse hi-tops completed your look.

For your last birthday Spencer had presented you with two tickets to see your favourite band Muse performing. They didn’t tour America that often so when they’d announced a tour, you’d been desperate to get tickets only to discover that they’d sold out pretty much straight away. Reid however had been one step ahead of the game knowing it was your birthday in a few weeks. He’d set Penelope Garcia on to the case, her somehow jamming the server for other users until she’d purchased two tickets. Naturally, you’d chosen to take him.

“What’s wrong with my outfit?”

You shook your head, it wasn’t that he didn’t look nice. He just looked….. “It’s too smart, too over dressed for a gig”

You marched him back down the hallway to his apartment, striding into his bedroom and throwing open the closet doors. You knew he owned jeans, you’d seen them at least twice before. You found them eventually, slinging them at him and searched for a t-shirt finding a plain black one which would do and tossing that at him as well. Spying a grey cardigan on the back of the closet door, you instructed him to wear that, along with his converse and you left his room so he could change.

He emerged five minutes later looking like a completely different guy. He looked good though, he hair slightly messier from tugging the t-shirt on and the jeans hugged his frame nicely. You nodded your approval and the two of you set off to the gig.

Four hours later and you were grinning from ear to ear as Spencer drove you both home. Your ears were ringing, your lower back was on fire from standing up for so long but you’d had the best time ever. The band had been amazing, belting out all of your favourite tunes and the atmosphere had been so intense and enjoyable. You’d been overcome with emotion during Unintended, one of your all time favourite songs, and you’d grasped hold of Spencer’s hand as you swayed with the rest of the crowd.

He’d seemed to enjoy it as well, actually singing along to the songs although you knew all he’d had to do was listen to them once whilst reading the lyrics and he’d have them all memorised.

The ride home was short, the gig hadn’t been too far from home so you invited Spencer in for a few beers, groaning as you slumped down onto your couch, flicking the TV on.

“Everything okay?” Reid asked you slightly louder than normal. He dropped down next to you, handing you an uncapped beer which he’d pulled from your refrigerator.

“I’m good. My back just hurts a bit, I’m getting too old for this shit.”

Taking a pull of his beer, Spencer set it down and then turned to you.

“Y/N turn around. Where does it hurt?”

Adjusting your positioning, you crossed your legs and turned on the couch so you were sitting sideways on with your back to him. “It’s just at the bottom, it aches like a mother fucker.”

Spencer chuckled and then gently placed his hands to your lower back, slipping them under your hoody and pressing his thumbs into your spine, softly kneading the aching area. It felt surprisingly good and you leant forward slightly, pulling your hoody off to allow him better access.

Spencer’s lithe fingers worked along your spine and lower back hitting all of the pressure points with precision and you found yourself enjoying his touch so much so that a soft groan escaped your lips causing Spencer to freeze his movements and your eyes to fly open and your jaw to drop.

“Sorry…. ” he started to say and you shook your head.

“You didn’t hurt me Spence. It just felt….really REALLY good.”

“Do you want me to carry on then?” he asked tentatively, a slight edge to voice.

“Erm….only if you don’t mind?”

“I don’t mind…. But could we change positions? It would be easier for me if you sat between my legs in front of me.”

You understood what he was saying and could appreciate how it would would be more comfortable but it still didn’t stop you from saying, “Christ Spence, how long have we been friends for and you’re only now telling me you want me between your legs?”

His cheeks flushed pink and you immediately regretted it. He coughed, clearing his throat, “Do you want the damn massage or not?”

You did, it was doing wonders to ease your suffering. You scooted from your seat and waited for Spencer to part his thighs, settling on the couch between them and waiting for him to start up again. He did and you leant into his touch, his hands working on your spine as you tried to keep your little grunts of satisfaction to yourself.

Adjusting your position slightly, you rolled your neck on your shoulder wincing as you heard a crack. Spencer’s hands immediately moved up your back to your shoulders, pressing against the hard knots that had formed and working to loosen to them. The sensation was magical and you allowed your eyes to close again, your breath hitching in your throat as his thumb brushed over a particularly sensitive spot on your neck. This time Spencer didn’t pause, he just shuffled his body forward slightly, his thighs trapping you between them. His fingers continued their dance over your sore muscles, brushing over that spot again and earning another groan from you. When he did it again moments later your mind began to wander. It was THAT exact spot on your neck, the spot that when touched correctly would send tingles right down to your groin. And Spencer’s fingers kept sweeping over it in just the right way….

Did he know? Or was it just an accident? When it happened again, his finger tip actually lightly circling the spot and making your downy hairs stand on end as a low gasp left your chest, you realised he must know.

Which was extremely interesting.

You and Spencer had been friends as well as colleagues for a few years now and you’d always wondered whether there perhaps was something more between the two of you. He was attractive, very much so and you’d be lying if you said you hadn’t wondered briefly what it would be like to kiss his plump pink lips. But you’d always pushed the thought aside. It was Spencer after all. Spencer didn’t have girlfriends, half the time he rarely seemed to even notice if an attractive looking female was in the room. It was only six months ago when you’d both been babysitting Henry together that he’d actually expressed desire to find someone. You’d talked to him for a while, surprised by how insulted he was when you’d told him that you didn’t think he was bothered about finding a partner. When you’d asked him what his ideal woman was though, he’d appeared awkward and eventually just shrugged the question off, not giving you an answer.

Had there been a reason he hadn’t given you an answer?

The next time his finger dashed over that spot on your neck you made sure that your groan was louder, leaning back slightly and placing your hands onto his thighs. Spencer stiffened slightly but carried on with his slow kneading of your shoulders and neck. Feeling bolder and just damn curious, you softly stroked his thighs feeling him sit up straighter at your touch. The air was almost crackling with tension right now, both of you waiting for the other to give some sort of signal that you wanted more. You inched your hands higher on his thighs hearing Spencer’s breath catch, his hands stilling their movements momentarily before changing track. This time they moved to your sides, trailing up and down your rib cage tickling you sensually through the thin cotton fabric of your vest. You shuddered, heat starting to flood your body as you dug your fingernails lightly into his thighs, not enough to cause pain. On the eighth lap up and and down your torso Spencer’s hands lingered inches from your breasts and you could feel him closer to you than before, his breath on the back of your neck. Wanting to give him a sign but not to outright tell him that this was okay, you reached up to your hair and pulled it to one side, exposing your neck to him.

Reid received your message loud and clear and a pair of warm lips pressed against your neck, his hands creeping around to your front and splaying across your abdomen. Spencer peppered the side of your throat with kisses, his tongue poking out and swiping over the shell of your ear, his hands not moving from their spot on your tummy.

“Is this…. is this okay? That…. that I’m doing this?” came a whisper in your ear, Spencer’s voice a few octaves lower than what you were used to.

“Uh huh….You’ll know if it’s not okay, Spencer. Trust me,” you whispered back, surprised by the slight croak to your own voice. You turned your head to the side, your eyes connecting with his, both of you realising there was no going back from this once you took the next step.

You ran the tip of your tongue over your lips watching Spencer do the same. But still, neither of you moved an inch.

“Spence. The ball’s in your court here. If you want this then…. ”

You didn’t get chance to complete your sentence because his lips were suddenly upon yours, the pressure light to begin, still unsure. When you didn’t pull away he deepened the kiss, his head tilting to the side and his lips parting. Allowing your own to part, your tongue slipped out to meet his as you twisted your body to kiss him properly.

Spencer’s kisses were both everything and nothing like you expected them to be, igniting a passion in you that you hadn’t felt for a while; a desperate need to be closer to someone, to feel them pressed against you. You suddenly had the urge to kiss Spencer everywhere, to taste him and to drink him in. If one kiss could make you feel like this, God only knows what would happen once this went further.

You pulled away from his mouth, breathless and gulping the air down as his face searched yours for signs that he’d done something wrong. Smiling, you tucked your hair behind your ear and then turned your body completely around, Spencer’s eyes widening as you straddled his lap, your skirt riding up as you changed positions, the denim waistband uncomfortable against your stomach. You grimaced.

“Did…. I do something wrong?” Spencer clocked it and you shook your head.

“It’s the skirt and the position I’m in.”

“You could…. Erm, take it off?” his cheeks were already flushed so you couldn’t tell whether the colour deepened or not but knowing Reid the way you did, you’d be surprised if it didn’t. You stood directly in front of him, taking his hands and placing them on the waistband.

“Or… You could take it off for me.”

Only a few seconds passed before he answered but it felt like an age.

“Y/N, if I remove your skirt, I’m not sure I’ll be able to stop with just that.”

“So don’t stop then.”

Taking a deep breath and seemingly having a word with himself, Spencer’s fingers quickly moved to the button on your skirt, unhooking it and then sliding the material down your legs. You stepped out of it, kicking it to one side and then stood, waiting. You weren’t going to take charge here, you wanted to see what he’d do. Rising to his feet and towering over your small frame, he slipped his fingers under your vest, gripping the hem and tugging it upwards, peeling it off your body.

You didn’t think you looked like the most attractive person standing in your bra and leggings but the way Spencer’s eyes were trailing over your torso, made you feel like a goddess. He rolled his lip between his teeth before dropping to his knees in front of you and slowly dragging your leggings off, lifting your feet one by one and then moving them to the side. Running his hands up and down your legs you were shocked and pleasantly surprised when he moved them to your ass, squeezing your buttocks through your panties.

You were even more surprised when he slipped his hands into your panties, pressing them against the bare skin of your butt.

“I really, REALLY want to have you naked and laid out in front me so I can see and kiss every inch of your body, Y/N.”

Those were words you’d never in a million years expected to hear from Spencer Reid but yet they’d just left his mouth and you felt yourself becoming even more turned on than you were before.

Cocking your head towards the bedroom, you did your best to cross the room in what you hoped was a sexy walk, hoping to God that Spencer was actually following you. Almost as soon as you were through the door, his hands were on you again, not quite as gentle as before. His movements were fuelled by a passion inside of him and it showed. You didn’t mind though. Your bra was unhooked in seconds, being pulled down your arms and being tossed somewhere onto the floor as Spencer dropped to his knees again to drag your panties off leaving you entirely naked and exposed.

He started to place wet open mouthed kisses up your legs, starting at your ankle and slowly working up to the tops of your thighs, before crossing over to the other leg, avoiding your most sensitive area. Your legs felt shaky and you tangled one hand into his luscious hair doing your best to not fall over.

“So beautiful… ” you could hear him murmuring into your skin as he repeated his kisses up and down your legs, a hand pressed firmly against your butt cheek and lightly squeezing.

“Spence….” your leg shook again and Reid pulled away from you shuffling forward on his knees and forcing you to walk backwards until the backs of your legs hit the bed.

“Lie down,” he whispered, remaining on the floor and looping a hand around your ankle, making it so that you were laying with your butt on the edge of the bed.

“This hardly seems fair that you’re still dressed. Even the playing field a bit please?”

Spencer obliged and you saw his tee shirt whiz over your head as he removed it and threw it into the corner of the room, still knelt between your legs. Gripping your thighs, he pushed them wide open opening you to him completely. You could feel how wet you were already, knowing he could see it too. Spencer ran a finger teasingly up and down your slit and you watched open mouthed as he then bought that finger to his lips, tasting it. Not that you’d ever imagined what Spencer would be like in the bedroom but if you had, you were sure it would have been a far cry from what was actually happening.

Lowering his head, Spencer kissed and nipped along you inner thigh again. This time though, he didn’t stop. You glanced down to the end of the bed seeing his eyes locked on yours as he placed the flat of his tongue on you, licking a thick stripe from bottom to top, flicking your clit. You gasped as he briefly hit the spot. He did it again, this time placing his hands on you and using them to very gently pull the fleshy skin back, so he had clear access. His tongue stayed on your pulsating clit though this time rather than flicking off it and you gripped the bed covers as he started to circle it, using the exact amount of pressure you needed.

Your moans became more frequent and louder, your appreciation spurring him on as he worked you with his tongue, moving the sensitive nerve bundle from side to side, back and forth. When he slipped first one, then two fingers inside you, curling them against the pebbled area of your inner front wall, you knew it wouldn’t be long and less than two minutes later you were gasping out his name as your hips bucked off the bed, forcing yourself harder against his mouth as you came.

You felt Spencer retract, you suddenly feeling very empty as you watched him wipe his glistening mouth with the back of his hand before standing and pushing his jeans and underwear down. You tried not to stare at his impressive length as he crawled onto the bed, hovering over you.

Reaching your hand up, you tugged him down to you, crashing your lips against his and tasting the slightly bitter taste of yourself on his mouth. Spreading your legs, you locked them around Spencer’s waist so that he was forced against you, his cock nudging at your entrance.

Pulling his lips away it was Spencer who remembered the all important question. “Condom?”

“Contraceptive implant. Definitely clean though so it’s entirely up to you.” You hated condoms hence the implant and regular testing. You were quite certain Spencer would be okay too but you waited for his confirmation.

“I am too, can we… go without then?”

You nodded and quickly slipped your hand between your bodies, grasping him and lining him up, your mouths opening simultaneously as he pushed inside, inch by inch.

He began to move slowly at first and then gaining pace as you moulded to his shape, bucking your hips up against his.

“Fuck….oh fuck,” Reid groaned, trying to shake his hair back out of his eyes. You reached up and pushed it back behind his ears. Wriggling, you raised your legs higher trying to feel him as deep inside as you could. He shifted, moving one leg at a time up over his shoulders.

“Jesus fucking…. Oh God,” the new position had him hitting directly against your sweet spot as he thrust in and out, your walls clamping down around him. It made it tighter for him too and you could see him struggling to last.

“Harder please” you rasped out, knowing you weren’t going to come again but enjoying the feeling nonetheless.

“I’ll… I’ll come if I do,” Spencer whispered, sweat shimmering on his forward.

“So? You’ve already made me come with your mouth. It’s your turn now. Hard and fast, just the way I like it.”

He obliged, slamming into you with a renewed ferocity that had you crying out in pleasure. No more than thirty seconds and his face contorted in that telltale grimace, his body juddering and his breathing ragged. Spencer allowed your legs to drop to the mattress, as he lowered his body down, resting his head on your chest as he panted.

You stroked his hair lightly, then enormity of what you’d just done hitting you.

“So…. That was some massage”

Reid chuckled, his body shaking against yours as he did causing him to slip out. You winced, hating the feeling of liquid seeping out onto your sheets. You’d live with it for the moment.

You continued stroking his hair, waiting for him to speak. He opened his mouth a few times, closing it again as he tried to figure out exactly how to respond. Things had escalated extremely quickly and now you both had to deal with the aftermath.

You just hoped he didn’t think it was a mistake.

“Y/N….. In case it wasn’t blindingly obvious by what we just did, I like you.”

Finally….

“Well that’s good. And in case you didn’t already know, I’m not in the habit of allowing guys I don’t like to give me that type of massage.”

He chuckled again and you grinned. Spencer raised his head, looking you directly in the eyes.

“So we like each other then”

You nodded at him, “I’d say so. Funny how that happens.”

“So…. Maybe tomorrow we could go out for dinner?”

“Or you could stay and we could go for breakfast. Or breakfast in bed.”

“Or we could do that. I fully support that option.”

“I thought you might,” you smiled at him.

“You’re sleeping on the wet patch though….”

little art academia

akko – first-year animation student. can hardly draw a stick figure, admitted for tenacity and dreams of creating a children’s show. fave animation: Shiny Rod

lotte – first-year sculpture student. builds with reclaimed antiques/trash, explores feelings of fleeting sincerity and empathy in work and life. fave sculpture: Fresh Widow

sucy – first-year film student. an absolute snob who only watches paracinema, secretly dreams of directing a flashy lesbian romance. fave movie: Mulholland Drive

diana – first-year photography student. classically-trained prodigy from a line of famous artists, shoots and processes 10 rolls/20 plates per week. fave photographer: Sally Mann

hannah/barbara – first-year undeclared students. talented designers but too busy partying, tasked with carrying diana’s view camera/film bag at all times. fave artist: Andy Warhol

andrew – second-year historian/curator. heir to the world’s greatest private collection, questioning the morality of collectors to father’s dismay. fave work: The Starry Night

amanda – second-year painter. complains about “the institution” and gets bad grades on purpose, creates masterful oil portraits that are rarely revealed. fave painting: Madame X

ursula – first-year art history professor. struggles to gain respect of students or colleagues, secretly tutors students instead of grading papers. fave work: Venus of Hohle Fels

croix – visiting professor of new media. uses neural sensors to create “procedural visual realms” through an unknown process, in extremely high demand among institutions and corporations alike. fave artist: Hatsune Miku

chariot – sole animator of web series Shiny Rod. enigma who garnered millions of views on an original magical girl series, disappeared in disgrace after a major network bought it out. fave work: ???

Ferus Ferrum

It would be difficult to secure funding for a literary journal in a standard university - at Elsewhere, most professors wouldn’t dare. Going to the Dean to beg for money, it would be too much like a deal, a favor owed - even if the Dean wasn’t one of them, you didn’t make tenure at EU by taking unnecessary risks.

So it’s difficult, but not impossible - which is why everyone is slightly in awe of Professor Howell, when the petite, soft-spoken poetry professor announces to her classes that she’s looking for volunteer readers and editors.

They call the journal Ferus Ferrum, and their submissions come from across the country. The staff are all English or Creative Writing majors - they know the Rules, and Professor Howell trains them well. The editors learn how to create an email database, how to solicit submissions without “please” or “thank you”; they choose pen names and debate different weights of paper and call the printers to ask if their toner contains iron oxide.

When the first issue is printed they have a release party, with pizza and cake and a tray of vanilla pudding from the dining hall tucked into the corner. There is a palpable but unspoken amazement in the air that they made it, that the journal is sitting in front of them finished, and no one was mysteriously disappeared or even “borrowed,”, and everyone is filled with awe and pride and a fierce kind of victory over the particular entropy of Elsewhere.

So of course, at the end of the party Professor Howell makes an announcement to her staff: she’s leaving.

Not for good. They’ve never known a professor to leave EU, although they don’t think about it particularly hard. She’s pregnant, she tells them, and she’s going to take the next year off for maternity leave. She’s convinced a colleague to take over advising Ferus Ferrum, Professor Chapel, and he’s new.

As they walk back to dorms and parking lots, Howell takes her editors aside. He’s new, she tells them, and they nod, but they don’t understand. They’re writers and they learned the Rules quick, and they all secretly believe that the people who don’t realize the strangeness of Elsewhere are hiding something.

Professor Chapel walks into the first editorial meeting of the next year and the poetry editor looks to the nonfiction reader on her right and they both think, “Ah, he’s new.” Chapel grins freely and stammers and bleeds apologies. He has a tattoo that is a reference four-places removed from a Dickinson poem, and he gushes at length about an obscure short story he read in his first year of grad school. He’s a wonderful professor, and an excellent advisor, and he hasn’t the faintest clue about the Rules. The Ferus Ferrum staff, new and old, take one look at him and realize he’s a sitting duck.

With the steel resolve of their first issue backing them, the head copy editor immediately begins organizing the troops. Two fictions readers who work together at a cafe smuggle out salted bagels and a photo editor delivers them to Professor Chapel’s office every morning. Someone produces a fountain pen with a ring of iron below the grip and hands it over as a welcome present. In meetings they make sure to rib him when he missteps around the “school traditions,” and make an inside joke of talking to the crows. He is constantly puzzled by the salt packets that make their way into his bag, his coat pockets, the corners of his office.

It’s a massive undertaking, and requires almost as much coordination as putting the journal itself together. Which is why it’s so disappointing when “Professor Chapel” walks into a meeting late with sharp teeth and golden eyes.

(They give him back a couple days later, thankfully. At least he doesn’t complain about the salt packets anymore.)

[x]

New interview with The Telegraph (I posted the entire article for those without access)

‘Edgar Wright could have fired me and got Michael Caine instead’: Kevin Spacey on loss, life and Baby Driver

By Robbie Collin, Film Critic

1 July 2017 • 7:00am

Kevin Spacey is a man who knows when to get on his bike. Take the morning of our interview, a balmy Wednesday in June on which central London is even more than usually snarled with traffic. In transit to our meeting place – a chic West End hotel – he abandons his taxi and leaps on a rental bicycle, or so I’m told by a neatly dressed man with a moustache and clipboard whose job entails keeping abreast of Spacey’s movements, for today at least.

Minutes later, Spacey glides in sweat-free and bang on time, despite having made an iced latte pit stop en route. Smiling hungrily, and dressed in a sharp navy blazer, striped tie and chinos, he looks like a crocodile disguised as a Rotarian. But as he slouches into an armchair and amiably lobs the screwed-up wrapper of his drinking straw towards a wastepaper basket in the corner – a near miss – I start to wonder if my wary first impression was entirely fair.

It was certainly swayed by the fact that Spacey’s career is currently in the sixth fruitful year of its death-dealing control freak phase, a character type at which the 57-year-old actor has proved remarkably adept. First came his three-month stint as Richard III at the Old Vic – a production of the Shakespeare play, directed by Sam Mendes, that was called the crowning glory of his 11-year creative directorship at the London theatre.

Next came six seasons of Netflix’s glossily rancorous political serial House of Cards, in which Spacey plays President Frank Underwood – a character whose original incarnation, in a series of novels by the British author and Conservative peer Michael Dobbs, was partly inspired by Richard III and Macbeth. And this week, we have the first film Spacey shot since leaving the Old Vic in 2015: Edgar Wright’s Baby Driver, a car-chase thriller in which he plays Doc, the dark mind and barbed tongue behind a madcap Atlanta bank-robbing crew. It’s a role, like those other two, that turns on the classic Spacey bark/bite conundrum: you think his character can’t possibly be as scary as he sounds, and then he actually gets to work.

There were hints of that in his performance in The Usual Suspects, too: the first in a quartet of towering film roles that made his reputation and won him two Academy Awards in five years flat. (The others were Se7en, L.A. Confidential and American Beauty.)

This kind of actor-audience tension reminds Spacey of Shakespeare – a lot does – and specifically, the way theatre-goers around the world reacted when, as a raging Richard III, he directly addressed members of the audience while pouring out his nefarious schemes. (The theatrical technique was adopted by House of Cards, to similarly chilling ends.)

“In 12 different theatres in 12 different cities around the world, I was looking into the audience’s eyes and seeing the same extraordinary reaction everywhere: ‘This is so awesome, I’m in on it, I’m a co-conspirator!’” he recalls. “And they kept totally supporting him, right up until the moment they find out he murdered the kids. Then when I looked at them it was like, ‘Oh, f—,’” he beams.

Spacey sets about his work with a steely resolve and says his sense of purpose has redoubled following the deaths of a number of close friends, not least the actor Tim Pigott-Smith, in April of this year, and the theatre director Howard Davies last October, both of whom worked with Spacey on the 1999 Broadway revival of The Iceman Cometh.

He says he’s spent the last year-and-a-half “working with a whole series of experts, doctors and others, because I have watched, over the last six years, colleagues and friends of mine drop dead at 52, or 56, or 65. It doesn’t mean that you’re not going to get one of the five things that men over 50 are getting, but maybe you can hold it off until your 80s or your 90s. So I’m working on extending my life and not shortening it.”

For one thing, he still has so much to do. He’s written letters asking directors he admires – Martin Scorsese, Woody Allen, Wong Kar-wai – to bear him in mind for future roles. (“I keep opening the paper and reading that Woody Allen’s doing a film with Alec Baldwin,” he mock-splutters.) He wants to find a new creative director-like role that will “advance [his] love and appreciation of theatre” – another Old Vic gig, essentially – albeit “with the caveat that I don’t want to run a building again.”

Then this tantalising prospect: “I have a gigantic project for television,” he says. “Once House of Cards is finished. This is a very specific project that will be the next big thing I do.” He declines to elaborate, so I ask if it will reunite him with David Fincher, the director who, along with the playwright Beau Willimon, helped bring House of Cards to Netflix. “It is not a Fincher production,” he replies. “It’s mine.”

There is also his ongoing mission to open up theatre to a younger, broader crowd. At the Old Vic he relentlessly raised funds to keep the theatre running without public subsidy, while simultaneously fighting to bring its productions to new audiences – specifically, youngsters who wouldn’t have otherwise wandered through its doors.

In fact, he’s just returned to England from New York, and a restaging of his penultimate Old Vic production – David W. Rintels’ intimate one-man show Clarence Darrow, about the American civil rights lawyer – in a 23,000-seater tennis stadium in Queens, designed to bring in a crowd for whom Broadway is alien turf. Critics didn’t exactly take to the idea, with the New York Times branding the exercise a “folly”. But for Spacey, the bragging rights are in the numbers: 200 student tickets sold every night, and a further 250 given away free to 18 to 25-year-olds. “And yes, my producers don’t like me, but in the end we still make a profit,” he says, lacing the word “like” with pure venom. “We just don’t make as big a profit.”

This nose-thumbing single-mindedness considered, it’s perhaps surprising that Spacey enjoyed working on Baby Driver as much as he did. The film is so tightly choreographed – most scenes unfold in snappy sync with a musical accompaniment – that Spacey had to act out entire scenes with an earpiece keeping time, to ensure his every line and gesture fell on the beat.

“Let me put it this way,” he says. “Every time you work with a director, you have something to lose and something to gain. Some directors, when you’re doing a play, like to get up on their feet on day one and block the first act, and you’re like, ‘I don’t f—ing know who I’m playing yet, let alone why they would walk from here to there.’ And others sit down at a table and you spend a week examining Shakespeare before anyone gets on their feet.”

What did he have to lose on Baby Driver? “I could have been fired and Edgar could have got in Michael Caine instead,” he deadpans. Spacey is an accurate and merciless mimic – see YouTube for details – and says he would sometimes drop into the British actor’s accent on set, “just to make Edgar smile.”

He does this throughout our conversation too: reminiscences of Ian McKellen’s Widow Twankey at the Old Vic’s Christmas pantomime, for example, come with a note-perfect impersonation attached. In fact, interviewing Spacey often feels as if you’re in the front row for a one-man show of his devising. He doesn’t converse so much as monologue, and adjusts his tone and posture with a slinky precision while moving from one point to the next. And when he talks about losing Pigott-Smith and Davies, his words are so tender, and his delivery so wrong-footingly serene, I find myself welling up.

It’s not that you feel that Spacey is being insincere so much as suspect that for him, this might be what sincerity is. Perhaps it’s an up-close-and-personal version of Diderot’s paradox of the actor: you can either convincingly express an emotion or feel it for real, but never both at once.

While hosting the Tony Awards a few weeks ago, Spacey joked about the long-running rumours around his sexuality – but again, at a cautious remove. During the opening skit he dragged up as Norma Desmond, from Sunset Boulevard, and trilled a line from the musical – “I’m coming out!” – before hurriedly backtracking, to laughter from the crowd.

Spacey doesn’t talk publicly about his personal life, perhaps after being burned by a 1997 magazine interview that heavily insinuated he was gay. Given his long-standing decision not to discuss any of this, did he feel odd joking about it on the stage of an awards show?

“I really don’t think that anything isn’t a subject for comedy,” he shrugs. “In many ways, political correctness has made comedy really difficult. We were just trying to have fun, and poking fun at oneself as much as anyone else. I said pretty early on that I was not interested in turning the evening into a political opportunity, and I wanted to do things that would be surprising and different.” He mentions another gag, about the Hillary Clinton email scandal, which many might have thought his long-standing friendship with her husband, might have precluded: again, not so.

If we can’t make fun of ourselves and others, and even people we might agree with versus people we don’t agree with, then I don’t think that’s good for comedy.”

One of his inspirations in life, he says, has been Jack Lemmon. The two met when Spacey was a timid 13-year-old – the youngest of three siblings – at an acting workshop in Los Angeles. Lemmon was “an idol” – someone he’d marveled at on countless cinema trips with his mother Kathleen Ann, who instilled her own love of classic films and theatre in her youngest son.

Spacey recalls the older man laying a hand on his shoulder after the class and telling him: “You’re a born actor, and you should go to New York and study this, because you were meant to do this with your life.” The advice took. At 19, Spacey was accepted by the Juilliard School, and in his mid-20s, he was cast opposite Lemmon in a Broadway production of Long Day’s Journey Into Night, as the elder actor’s son. During rehearsals, he told him the story of their first meeting when he was 13. Lemmon remembered every detail.

Spacey describes Lemmon, who died in 2001, as a “father figure” (his actual father Thomas, a technical writer and frustrated novelist, passed away in 1994). He lost his mother to a brain tumour in 2003.

The shy teen who got that vital dose of Lemmon aid more than four decades ago may be long gone, but Spacey remembers him well – along with the precise point, two years later, when he fully understood what acting was.

“Something shifted,” he explains, during a school production of All My Sons, the Arthur Miller play. Before then he’d primarily enjoyed acting because it put him at the centre of attention, but as he stood on stage, the 15-year-old realised the faces in front of him – parents, classmates, strangers – weren’t actually looking at him, Kevin Spacey, at all.

“I realised they were responding to the character I was playing,” he says. “That it wasn’t about me.”

  • Me before Rise and Shine: Aww! Mei and Winston like each others' glasses! They're cute, and I'm sure they're good friends.
  • Me after Rise and Shine: Winston is who gave Mei the strength to hike across Antarctica all alone. Mei heard Winston's voice, the first familiar voice she'd heard in 9 years, surrounded by her dead friends and colleagues, and it gave her the determination she needed to carry her data through the snowy wasteland back to civilization. Winston pretty much saved Mei, or at least pushed her to save herself. The first thing Mei did when she got back to the mainland was walk right up to Gibraltar, knock, and hug the shit out of that gorilla.
Moonlight Reign (Ch. 1)

A/N: Okay, my first series (since Snowfall All Year is only a two parter I need to finish) I’ve been wanting to write a mafia!au for the longest time, and I am crazy late on the trend but fuck it. Hope y’all enjoy and give me some love!

Originally posted by myjaebutt

Pairing: Mafia boss! Yoongi x reader (hopefully it’ll stay that way)

Word count: 2.7k

Genre: Angst, fluff, maybe some smut

Summary: Some things in this world are dangerous, and you, him, and the world you once lived in that now belongs to him are just some of many you can’t be free from, but do you even want to be?


“It’s time to go now, y/n.” 

1, 2, 3, 4

“Five years after the fall of the underground power family, Moon Corporation, people still suspect an even more powerful company has taken their place since…”

1, 2, 3, 4

“The color red doesn’t suit this house well.”

1, 2, 3, 4

“The exposure beheld more answers than questions, but on the five-year anniversary of the suicidal explosion that killed the head, Mun Byungyeol and his daughter, the, as ordered to remain anonymous, green haired 13 year old. Colleagues mourn in secret and establishments fear an anniversary heist…”

1, 2, 3, 4

“Locals have several theories on the big conglomerate that now controls Seoul’s business, underground and above, with mafias and gangs running rampant, people fear the government is under their thumb as well…”

1, 2-

You inhaled deeply, as if just surfacing from the drowning body of water residing in your brain. Your fingers stilled from the tapping, a  desperate attempt to make you surface, a sorry technique therapy drilled into you.

Four was too perfect of a number for such an ugly world, a world you had to feign blind to now.

Your palms retracted from their firm placement on the wall you leaned on, relaxing you. Releasing your slightly curled fingers, you stifled a laugh at the desperate attempt to grasp onto something. 

Your little episode was finished as you settled your mind with the news continuing to drone on. Looking at the time, you decided it was time to get ready for your study session with Jungkook. 

Jungkook was a guy in the same university as you, he was older, but you were a year ahead, so you were in the same class. He was your neighbor in this adequate apartment complex that you kept via a crappy waitressing job. He was the regular party boy always at clubs and coming home at ungodly hours of the night. 

You weren’t exactly a social butterfly, so if you found one friend in Jungkook, you figured it wouldn’t be such a crime.

You faced the mirror, patting down your hair, “The green didn’t suit me well at all,” You mused, fixing your natural shade of hair, “Although the forest green was a nice shade on my skin.”

After gathering your study material, Jungkook knocked on your door and you studied like usual. He would always get distracted halfway through, though.“Why do you still have the news on?” 

You looked at the TV and shrugged.

“I guess I forgot,” You spoke, “Now what did you think this-”

“Mafias and gangs…” He mused, “Aren’t they the same?”

The pencil in your hand stilled. Absolutely not. Gangs were pawns, the mafias in this world were the players. As a little girl, that was the first thing you had learned, how to play chess outside a casual park bench, how to play chess crushing people in your hands as you moved them.

“Like I care.”

“You aren’t scared of these guys at all?”

“Failing class is scary, that,” You gestured to the TV, “Is a cheap haunted house in comparison to the hell of getting a D for my semester grade.”

Jungkook stifled a laugh, “I’m thanking every divine being if I pass, but it’s worth it as opposed to only studying and working.”

You rolled your eyes, “Sorry I’m not a child of the night.” Not anymore, at least.

—-

A few days later exams went well for you, and you finished your semester and had a solid two months off. All was well and it was peaceful in the dead of night.Too bad your body rejected sleep.This week was a big week.

////

“Dad?” You whimpered as a strong hand patted your head to calm you, or soften the blow of what’s to come, “Tell me you didn’t.”

Mun Byungyeol was a rough man who took you in as a young child. His men killed your parents for revenge and a nearly-dead 3-year-old suffering from starvation and cigarette burns was found at the scene. Initially resistant to your arrival, he got right to training you to be the heiress to replace the heir he never received.

He may have been rough, but he was a caring dad, even if you had never been his priority.

Not unless you could be used as currency.

“Y/n, it’s time for us to go,” He sighed, “I let this greed consume me, and I’m afraid it’s begun eating me alive now.”

Your mind couldn’t comprehend his words. The news was drowning out the comfort he attempted to give you. “…such evidence is linking the Moon Corporation to heinous mafia activities painting them as a possible syndicate, but no arrests have been made or criminal investigation on Mun Byungyeol himself, but many workers are being targeted due to possible involvement…”

Everything was dying. All your training was never for anything but fuel for his greed. You should be angry, shocked, appalled, but you weren’t. He’s been cashing out for so long on the blood of his family and foes that you didn’t even flinch when he said it. You did, however, flinch when the whole world highlighted it.

“If I just cash out and retire, we could never live in peace,” He shook his head as he switched off the TV, “But Uncle Byungjoo has a plan that I think might just work, but you and I won’t meet for a few years-”

He was going to abandon it. Cash out one last time, and leave. You were too surprised, you had put an inkling of faith in his heart to love this empire, like a fool. Your eyes widened at the notion of him abandoning you too. All you knew was his presence. All you knew were your father figures, “But the empire-”

“We were never an empire,” His self-loathing clung to each word, “I treated this organization as a bank, a money maker, it was inevitable that the paper I cradled would catch fire.”

You didn’t scream, yell, or cry. At least you hadn’t, yet.“Then who will rule Seoul?” You wondered aloud.

“A real syndicate.”

“Who will stay with me?”

He smiled warmly at you for the third time in your life, “One day, a real human.

////

You woke up with a start from a bang on the door, but considering the 4 am hour, you chalked it up to city noise. Five years ago today, you saw the match light. In two days, it will have been five years ago you saw the flames engulf your home, your family, and everything you were. Each year, this week was chaos for the city of Seoul. Each day was accompanied by an event that slowly grew more and more above ground. It was almost mocking the past, the surfacing of dirty secrets. Secrets the world knew, but never wanted to see, cowards.

The new syndicate at the top of the kingdom was known as Bangtan to the underground scene, but with a “Group” tacked on after the ominous name, they were also the kings of the business world. They were much better at actually hiding their identities, hence why most average people assumed there was no such syndicate anymore or that the “law” took care of it. As if the “law” wasn’t under the thumb of the kings. 

The only reason you were aware of their presence was because getting out of the game was easy, but you could never fully burn the console.

Another bang on your door startled you out of your thoughts, “I knew I shouldn’t have let you go alone to the bar before such a big day- where are your keys?!” 

An unfamiliar voice spoke through your door.

“Ask, y/n,” Jungkook’s slurred voice rang out in a yell as you flinched at the volume, “Y/n! I need stitches!” 

This wasn’t the first time Jungkook was yelling outside your door, most likely bleeding on your doormat. You never really asked questions, you just patched him up and left him on your couch.

“Is this even your door?! Did you lead me to one of your whore’s places?!”

“Bangtan!” Jungkook chanted in response.

This made you huff as you hopped out of bed in your large t-shirt and shorts and ripped the door open. You were faced with a blonde haired man in a three-piece suit accompanied by a trashed Jungkook with a short, but deep, cut on the corner of his forehead. The blonde-haired handsome man stopped struggling with Jungkook as he looked at you with the most pristine judging face, “Look, just forget we were-”

“Y/n!” Jungkook cheered before he passed out.

“He lives next door,” You remarked flatly, “No, I’m not one of his whores, more like one of his classmates, but I’ve seen those lines get blurred with him a lot, so I understand the assumption,” You looked at his forehead again, “And he does need stitches.”

The man narrowed his eyes, “Do you usually play nurse for him?”

“Only when his blood is dripping on my doormat, for the third time this month,” You angled your head down for the man to see, “Bring him in, you aren’t the first friend of his I’ve met-”

“But-”

“Anymore blood on that mat and I’m making you pay for it, now come on,” You snapped as he walked in and sat Jungkook in a chair around your table. You shut the door as you pulled your first aid kit out, “You have to sit him on the floor or the couch.”He complied to the couch, 

“Why does he-”

“When he wakes up, he attacks whoever is in front of him,” You spoke, preparing the needle and thread, “And I can’t stitch and hold him down at the table,” You explained, settling your knees to lock on both sides of Jungkook’s legs and your elbows pressing on his shoulders.

“Aren’t you scared he’ll hurt you?” The man asked as you began stitching.

You scoffed, “The only thing that scares me are failing grades.” You chuckled, “Plus Jungkook hurting me? Yeah, right. He has the fight of a peanut.”

Eventually, you just went on stitching in silence until the man broke the silence, “Who are you?” The man spoke mid-way through your stitching.

You paused for a moment, “Didn’t you hear Jungkook? I’m y/n, and who are you?”

“None of your concern,” He stated.“You’re bleeding on my hardwood floor, that has me pretty concerned.” You gestured to your hand to show him the small cut on his, “Concerned for my floor I mean.” You clarified, “The other two told me their first names at least.”

You thought back to the much pluckier and grateful Taehyung and Jimin as they smiled at you before taking Jungkook away.

He sighed, “Namjoon-”

You were tying the final knot when Jungkook snapped his eyes open. He immediately dove at you, pushing you to the floor, making the needle in your hand scratch your forearm before you threw it across the room to avoid the tempting notion of stabbing him with it. Namjoon was trying to find an opening to cut in between the struggling as Jungkook was sloppily throwing his fist down and you were moving your head to dodge each blow. Though his moves were sloppy, they were still fast, and Namjoon ended up watching in awe as you fearlessly slammed your forehead on his fresh stitches to make him stop to register the pain. You took advantage of the opening as you effortlessly pinned his arms down with your knees planted on his upper arms, “Jungkook!” You snapped as Namjoon watched his younger friend finally recognize you in his drunken haze.

“Y-Y/n?” He questioned, his tongue thick in his mouth, “You hurt my head- hey, you’re bleeding on my shirt!”

Your arm had a gash the length of a half ruler, it was shallow, but still dripping blood, but you didn’t flinch, “Wonder who made me hurt both my arm and their head, jackass,” You muttered, examining his stitches to make sure the impact didn’t affect the new suture, “And you got your blood on my doormat and my forehead, so let’s call it a draw.”

Namjoon was beginning to suspect you were more than a college student. With the sheer fearlessness and those fighting skills, you had to be something or someone who was anything but a regular student. Upon this realization, he then felt enormous regret wash over him for telling you his name. Yoongi would be livid if the empire was affected by Namjoon’s poor judgment, even in the most minuscule of ways. This string of thoughts prompted his mistake of grasping your wounded forearm to make you stand so he could properly question you. What he didn’t calculate in that movement was the fact that he grasped your fresh cut, which hurt like a bitch. This pain made you bring your other forearm to his neck, pressing firmly into his trachea as his back hit the wall with a bang, “Don’t ever manhandle a lady, Namjoon,” You seethed as you released him, “Care to explain yourself?” 

Namjoon regained his composure, impressed by your reaction time and ability to weaken his pride in such a short matter of seconds, “Who are you?” His tone was rougher in comparison to when he first asked the question.

“None of your concern,” You mocked, “Now take your sloppy friend, an alcohol pad and go-”

Your anger was cut short by a cloth that smelled an awful lot like chloroform engulfing your senses and releasing you from consciousness.