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carryonmywaywardcaptain · 4 years

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Imagine...finding out there’s fanfic written about you--and even Charlie ships you with Dean

CarryOnCap’s Masterlist

Warnings: Fluff? Crack? A dramatic fanfic within a fanfic that I got carried away with haha.

A/N: This is kind of ridiculous, but I had fun with it! Also, I’ve never actually seen GoT but it seemed like a reasonable reference from what I’ve heard about it.

“Hey, look who I found!” Sam’s voice echoed through the War Room.

Dean glanced at you from across the table in the library, sharing your surprised expression as you both pushed your chairs away and stood.

“‘Sup, bitches?” Charlie grinned, making her way up the steps toward you.

“Hey! We were expecting you guys to come in through the main door. We’ve been keeping an ear out.”

Charlie stepped into your outstretched arms and pulled you into a tight hug. “It was a spur of the moment decision, but I decided to stick around a day or two longer than planned! Sam said I could go ahead and park in the garage.”

She let go of you and turned to give Dean a hug too. He smiled softly with a look that was uniquely reserved for her, cradling the back of her head while she pressed her cheek against his.

“Good to see you, Charlie. You know you’re always welcome to stay as long as you want.”

An involuntary smile crept onto your face as you watched them. You couldn’t help the way your heart swelled at the low rumble in his voice when he said her name. There was an undeniable protectiveness in his tone when he spoke to her--the sister he’d never wanted, as he affectionately called her.

When you shifted your attention to her, you noticed she was watching you. Before you could decipher the knowing glint in her eye, she suddenly twisted out of his arms and glanced back and forth between you and Dean. She began swinging her arms awkwardly before opting to cross them over her chest.

“You okay?” Dean asked, furrowing his brow.

“Yeah! Of course...Totes chill...cooler than a pack of peppermints.” She bobbed her head and flashed a nervous smile, twisting her hair around her finger as she struggled to act nonchalant. “It’s just that I remembered something. A story I read a while back--completely random. Totally unrelated to anything--I mean, now I’m starting to ramble. Hah! So how’ve you guys been? Still saving the world from evil sons-of-bitches?”

“Uh, yeah…” Sam answered, scrunching his eyebrows together. “We stay busy.”

“So what’s on the agenda tonight?” you piped up, changing the subject.

You were hoping to avoid swapping monster stories for a night. Charlie typically assumed the role of introducing you to popular and noteworthy fandoms during her visits to the bunker and, even if the boys weren’t as vocal, the three of you appreciated her knowledge of all things geeky and nerdy.

“I was thinking Marvel. Y/N, you’re obviously well-versed in the MCU because of your obsession with Steve Rogers--and, you know, clearly you’ve got a thing for the strong, righteous, self-sacrificing hero type. Dean, you could stand to branch out from the Batman references and, Sam, you’ve got this whole Thor kind of vibe going on.”

While Sam and Dean began teasing each other and arguing over “Batman versus Thor,” you gaped at Charlie, wondering what she’d meant by her remark about you having a “type.” You couldn’t help feeling like she was trying to insinuate something, but you shrugged it off and decided maybe it was all in your head.

***

After getting Charlie settled into one of the extra bedrooms, the four of you settled into the Dean Cave and agreed to start with the first Captain America movie.

Last Christmas, you and Sam had teamed up to surprise Dean with a couch for the Dean Cave. He had originally only had two La-Z-boy recliners and you’d found him fast asleep in the stiff old chairs on more than one occasion. Dean had been over the moon about the extra seating and the three of you had rearranged the furniture so the recliners were angled toward the tv on either side of the couch.

“Dibs on this side of the couch!” Charlie said, diving toward the furthest end from the door.

Although it was subtle, you knew there was still something off about the way Charlie studied all of you. There was definitely something on her mind she was trying to keep hidden from all of you.

“You know, we should probably have some snacks,” you said slowly. “Charlie, you want to come help me grab some stuff from the kitchen?”

“But I’m already comfy in my spot.” She frowned, wiggling her hips to make a point of sinking deeper into the spot she’d claimed on the couch. “Why don’t you have Dean help you?”

When you narrowed your eyes suspiciously, Sam cleared his throat. “Dean, why don’t I help you grab some snacks while Y/N and Charlie...catch up, er, whatever…”

You heard the boys leave the room and waited until their footsteps faded down the hall before you started interrogating her.

“Alright, Charlie--what the hell is going on with you?”

“I don’t know what you're talking about,” she muttered, scrolling through her phone.

“Bull. We lie for a living and I know there’s something you’re not telling us. So spill.”

“Fine,” she sighed. “Okay, so remember the Supernatural books by Carver Edlund?”

“Yeah…”

“The series obviously kind of had a cult following when it was in print, right? Well ever since the unpublished works got uploaded, the following has really taken off. Every once in a while a new one still pops up and the fans love them. And you’re in them now too!”

“I’m...what?”

“I mean it’s just insane and totally got sucked into it too. It’s brought on this whole new wave of fanfiction--”

“What’s fanfiction?” you cut in, struggling to keep up.

“It’s fiction made by the fans about the series. Sometimes they put themselves in the stories and write about working cases and fighting monsters with you guys--”

“Why would anyone want to pretend to do this crap with their lives?”

She stared at you for a moment and frowned. “Because you guys are heroes. I mean, yeah, there’s the whole depressing side of monsters and death and trauma and world-ending apocalypses--but you guys save people. You go on these exciting adventures of good versus evil and a lot of times you win. You save people. The fans really look up to all of you.”

Your gaze fell to the floor as you let her words sink in, but she didn’t give you long before she was rambling again.

“But that’s not even the best part! Everyone ships different OTPs--” she paused, noticing your puzzled expression “--uh, one true pairing… So everyone has a favorite couple they think are soulmates and belong together. There’s stories about Sam with Eileen or Jess, Dean with different people--you get the gist. Sometimes they even make up characters or do these ‘reader inserts’ and imagine themselves with the boys or you but, hands down, everyone’s favorite couple they want to end up together is you and Dean.”

“...what?”

Your eyes grew wide. It was hard enough to wrap your mind around the fact that strangers who didn’t know you were a real person were reading about your life, but learning they imagined you in different relationships? You’d never admit it out loud, but had it bad for Dean. And hearing you weren’t the only one that wanted the two of you together...

“I’ve gone deep into the fic and I can’t believe I didn’t see it sooner!” Charlie shook you from your thoughts. “You and Dean are perfect for each other. For serious. I usually stick to the fluffy stuff because, you know, your entire life is kind of angsty and I don’t like to read about you guys being in pain or, like, dying...again. Although I definitely have to admit I kind of stumbled into some of the smutty stuff and, wow, that was something else.”

You opened your mouth to ask more questions, but she kept rolling.

“Right, you probably don’t know what that means either. Fluff is the cute stuff that gives us all feels, angst is kind of just what it sounds like, and smut is, well...the sexy stuff.”

“You mean people out there in the world write about me and Dean…”

“Going at it like an episode of Game of Thrones? Oh yeah,” she responded, unlocking her phone. “Here. Here’s an example.”

Swallowing audibly, you took a seat next to her on the couch as she extended her phone toward you. Gnawing your bottom lip, you began reading the words on the screen:

Y/N took a deep breath, holding it in briefly before she exhaled and began walking toward Dean’s room. Ever since they returned from the hunt, Dean had hidden himself away in his room--no doubt blaming himself for everything that had gone wrong.

When she arrived at his door, she raised her hand to knock. She hesitated, almost retreating at the thought of him turning her away, but she had to try. She had to get through to him somehow.

She rapped her knuckles on the raw umber barrier and opened the door of Room 11 before he could tell her to go away.

She spotted him leaning over the sink, staring at his reflection in the medicine cabinet on the wall. His jade eyes flickered to where she stood in the doorway, their reflection somewhat distorted by cracks that spiderwebbed from where he had struck the mirror.

Her heart seemed to drop into her stomach as she imagined him lashing out, knowing he punched the mirror because he hated the reflection staring back at him. Knowing he always carried the weight of the world on his shoulders when he didn’t need to.

Y/N carefully shut the door and locked it behind her--the click of the deadbolt deafening in the silence. Her eyes never left Dean, who refused to turn and face her. She inched toward him, closing the distance until she could reach out and touch him. Gently placing her hand on his shoulder, she guided him to turn away from the mirror. Still, he refused to meet her eyes.

“Dean…” she breathed, voice barely above a whisper as she cupped his face in her hands. “It’s not your fault.”

He squeezed his eyes closed, face contorting with grief and guilt. The ghosts of his past refused to let him go, but she was determined to make him believe that he was worthy, no matter the cost.

Curling a finger beneath his chin, she tilted his head up, waiting patiently for him to meet her gaze. When his dark green orbs finally met hers, she was surprised to see that they were full of longing and desire. They flickered to her lips, making her breath tremble under the intensity of his gaze. Time seemed to slow until it froze altogether.

Anticipation hung heavy in the air as they both struggled against their desire to maintain the friendship they’d always had and the desperate need to finally cross that line. To succumb to the magnetic pull that had always been evident between the two of them.

Dean swallowed thickly before suddenly rushing forward, crashing his lips to Y/N’s as he pulled her into a searing kiss. He wrapped his strong arms around her, trapping her to his chest, afraid it was all a dream and she would soon disappear. But she gladly melted into his embrace, feeling like she was finally returning home, to a place she’d spent her life searching for.

A moan slipped past her lips as he walked her backward, pressing her up against the wall. She gasped, feeling his--

“The snacks have arrived!”

You jumped in surprise, a small gasp of surprise escaping as the boys appeared with armloads of snacks. Confusion and worry painted Dean’s face as he surveyed your flustered expression. Between his scrutinizing gaze and the content you’d practically been caught reading, your cheeks grew warm.

“Did I miss something?” Dean asked.

“Nope,” you responded much too quickly.

Charlie’s phone had fallen into your lap and, when she began cackling, you whipped your head in her direction and flung the phone at her thigh. You grimaced and the two of you had your own silent conversation as the boys spread the food across the bar Dean had built on the far wall.

“I was just telling Y/N how pumped I am about seeing my favorite OTP tonight,” she giggled.

“Your...what?”

Dean’s arm brushed yours as he plopped down on the other side of you. The accidental contact sent a wave of chills over your skin, making you shudder. You could feel his eyes on you again, but you refused to look at him.

“Oh, I’m so going down with this ship,” Charlie whispered under her breath before continuing in a louder voice. “Nothing--nevermind! Don’t mind me, just thinking out loud...”

“It says here an OTP means...one true pairing?” Your eyes grew wide as you looked to where Sam was reading his phone from where he sat in one of the recliners. “So, uh, ‘in the fandom realm, OTP refers to the coupling of characters--usually from the sci-fi or fantasy genres--by fans who think they make a great romantic duo and envision their lives together and share their imaginings with other fans.’”*

Charlie doubled over, beside herself with laughter. With your lips pressed into a firm line, you glanced at the boys to gauge their reactions. You knew there was no way they could possibly know what you and Charlie had been talking about, but that didn’t stop you from worrying about what Dean might think if he ever found out about the feelings you harbored for him.

“So...you’re looking forward to Cap and his girl in the movie? I’m so freaking confused,” Dean grumbled.

“Yeah…” Sam agreed, making his way to the tv. “I’m just, uh...I’m gonna start the movie now.”

“Good idea.” Charlie peered at you out of the corner of her eye. “Plenty of time to read and talk about all those ships later.”

Although you glared at her, trying to hide your amusement, nothing could deter the smug smile etched upon her face. As Sam turned the lights off and you settled in for another relaxing night with your favorite people, one thing was certain:

You were definitely going to have to take another look at that fanfiction.

CarryOnCap Crew (Forevers):

@abswritesfandoms @amanda-teaches @cosicas-cuquis @crist1216 @droidyouseek @emoryhemsworth @ericaprice2008 @flawless-disaster @janeyboo @jenn0755 @ksgeekgirl @maresmiley @memyselfandmaddox @notyourtypicalrose @randomparanoid @rynabarnesrogers @sandlee44 @scarletsoldierrr @shann-the-artist-moon @sheerioasteroidpanda @shynara51 @someday-when-you-leave-me @star-spangled-man-with-a-plan @thisismysecrethappyplace @torntaltos @waywardbaby @waywardrose13 @weebid @whimsicalrobots @wintersoldierbaby @wintersoldierissucharide @yesfanficsaremylife

Cap’s SPN Crew:

@adoptdontshoppets @akshi8278 @alexwinchester23 @chevyharvelle @deangirl7695 @dean-winchesters-bacon @fandomoniumflurry @pisces-cutie @supernaturalenchanted @superromijn @waywardnerd67 @x-waywardaf-x

#supernatural imagine #spn imagine #dean winchester imagine #supernatural reader insert #spn reader insert #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x you #dean winchester x y/n #dean winchester fanfiction #dean winchester fic #dean winchester fluff #supernatural fluff #dean x read #dean x y/n

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skellebonez · 3 years

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Smoke, Flasks, and Unfinished Tasks: Chapter 7

AO3 Link!

Chapter 1 Link!, Chapter 2 Link!, Chapter 3 Link!, Chapter 4 Link!, Chapter 5 Link! Chapter 6 Link!

Summary: We return to the world outside the Calabash and someone regrets their life choices.

Warnings: Mild accidental self inflicted violence, after effects of the smoke from the last chapter.

Author’s note: A bit shorter than I intended since I was unhappy with how the additions to this chapter flowed and I rewrote them entirely, there are no spoilers for the special (I had removed or edited them into something unrelated) but there will be some allusions to it in the coming chapters.

Chapter 7: Real Feeling Illusion

Mei let out a yell of surprise as she felt cold metal settle into her hands, something that should be familiar but felt brand new despite that.

Her eyes snapped open to green, green and more green, every shade surrounding her as she stared into the gazes of her ancestors. The same judgemental gazes that she had already faced once before.

"Wh-what?"

The only thing that answered her were the glowers and whispers of the dragons above her, sneering, chastising, questioning.

“This has already happened... I’ve already done this...”

----------

"Monkey King!?"

Red Son gasped, eyes opening to a sight he wished to never see again.

"Come to take me? Find me?"

His breathing quickened, shaking his head as he took a step back.

"I will not let that simian abomination triumph again!"

This couldn't be happening again, it had to be a trick of the Calabash. Red Son had to believe it was as he watched his father scream over the screens showing MK and his friends coming closer and heard the whispers of the White Bone Spirit on the wind.

----------

"Hey, kid? You paying attention?"

The voice calling him made MK's blood run cold as his eyes snapped open, a far too familiar derelict dojo greeting his vision. And one very familiar, amused, dark furred monkey.

"No..." MK breathed quietly, holding his staff tighter. "No no, this isn't possible. It can't do this can it?"

"What's wrong?" Macaque asked, spinning a training staff in his hand with an easy friendly smile, practiced he now knew. Practiced to trick him, trap him, get what he wants out of him. It went softer, faker, kinder, and it hurt. "You look like you've seen a ghost."

----------

The air within the Bull Family's current abode was tense, Wukong's words weighing it down heavily. No one dared do more than breathe until the Demon Bull King or Princess Iron Fan reacted first.

While Iron Fan's face had fallen into disbelief and some form of concern, DBK's face was nearly unreadable. Eyes closed, arms crossed, the most emotion showing was the faintest furrowing of his brow.

"Darling?" PIF said softly, running her hand down his face in a soft display of affection that felt odd to watch for the group on the ground.

"I will assist you," DBK offered suddenly, turning to his wife with a soft rumble. "What wi-"

"I am helping," she answered instantaneously, features hardening as she turned back toward Wukong and the rest of the group.

"I should have assumed as much," DBK chuckled out, smiling softly for a split second before his features hardened once again. "I know my son, if you cannot find him then he is either hiding himself and his-" he growled deeply, spitting out the next word like poison. "-friends on purpose, which I doubt he could do for long with you searching of all people, or someone has made the mistake of angering the wrong family."

"Unfortunately we have no reason to assume it is anything but the later now," Wukong said, tone noticeably more relaxed but still more even and businesslike than normal. "This is what we know so far..."

Pigsy breathed out a sigh of relief, albeit the smallest possible any living being could manage, as Wukong began to explain to Red Son's parents in great detail exactly what they had done and what they had learned so far. There was something... off about it, however.

DBK was too calm. Almost... solemnly so. Now, normally he wouldn't be surprised if Iron Fan had been around to keep him calm, but she was hardly doing anything but sitting on his shoulder and talking to him in a hushed voice. Pigsy didn't know him all that well but every single time he had interacted with him, and from some stories from Wukong's younger days, he had always had a temper that put Red Son's fiery one to shame.

"Pigsy?" Tang said softly, laying a hand on his shoulder for a moment before frowning and squeezing it gently. "What's on your mind?"

"Somethin' ain't right here," he said with a shake of his head. "Somethin' really ain't right. Wukong can tell too, look at his tail. It's all puffed up on the back. Those two are hiding somethin' from us.” He turned to Sandy, who silently nodded in agreement.

Tang hummed softly, his grip on the pig demon’s shoulder tightening past gentle reassurance to a grounding firmness. “I trust your judgement, Pigsy. Let’s hope we can trust Wukong’s too, ok?”

Pigsy nodded himself, reaching up to grasp the scholar’s hand in a firm grip as they watched on from the sidelines still, waiting for anything to happen now. They didn’t have to wait too much longer before a gust of wind rushed past them and lifted PIF of her husband’s shoulder, setting her on the ground to the side of the two men.

“I will see what I can do with the equipment Red Son has left behind,” she said firmly, standing tall and looking all the more like a leader to an army than anything else at the moment. “While the Bull Clones will not likely be of any help, he left enough that should at least prove somewhat useful for a more delicate mission.” She frowned for a moment, looking up at her husband. “And... tell them. It might help.”

DBK startled, looking down at his wife with wide eyes. Now that was a look Pigsy had never seen on his face before. “Are you sure?”

“You and I both know that is the sole reason we need to find our son,” she said, frown deepening for just a moment before she wiped all expression from her face and allowed the wind to carry her off deeper into their hideout.

Now everyone was just confused, looking at the hulking demon lord as he scowled and ran a hand down his face. He turned to look at the group, taking them all in before focusing on Wukong again with a growl deep in his throat. “I had hoped we could convince him to return of his own accord and you would not find out about this,” he said with a deeper growl, scowling down at the Monkey King before sighing and seeming to relax ever so slightly. “But now... it has been so long I am doubting that is even possible now.”

“What are you talking about?” Wukong asked with a raised brow, fur bristling more noticeable as he tensed. “We knew you had been trying to get him to come back to your side.”

“Do you know why he left?” DBK continued, scowling even deeper than before. “Did you ever wonder why he chose to go to you?”

“...No,” Wukong admitted after a while, dropping his arms down to his sides. “I wanted to say that yeah we did, and no that doesn’t matter, but he’s never exactly been open about what made him come to Flower Fruit Mountain that day. Why?” He narrowed his gaze, watching the larger demon closely. “Wait... wait, you don’t mean-”

“Oh yes,” DBK said flatly, the sound of his teeth gritting together reverberating through the room and making everyone wince. “Ever since the Lunar New Year festival, Wukong. And it backfired spectacularly.”

----------

“Let!” Thunk. “Me!” Thunk, a cough. “OUT!” Thunk. “AGH!” Crack. “FUCK!”

Jin let out a screech of pain as he felt something in his hand give way, a knuckle or maybe a full finger bone. It didn’t matter either way, in only a few seconds it had fixed itself just as painfully as it had broken and left him with a fully intact hand for the third time.

“You’re one sick fox lady, you know that?” He yelled into the air, scowling even more as he changed tactics to attempting to kick himself out of containment. Trapped in what appeared to be the same little room he had left Yin in when he last saw him.

He may have the appearance of the Monkey King at the moment, and it may have given him access to some of his powers because of that, but physically he knew he was still Jin. The Gold Horned Demon. Not Sun Wukong, The Handsome Monkey King and The Great Sage Equal to Heaven. The Calabash itself knew this, could only go so far in the illusion, and not having breakable bones was apparently outside of the abilities of his and his brother’s device. Though he knew he was not actually being hurt, physically, everything that happened here was an illusion.

A very real feeling illusion. Unlike... unlike what could be happening to Yin...

At the thoughts of his brother in possible peril, Jin sighed, stopping his assault on the door to sit down on the makeshift cot they had been relegated to. He felt his tail (still a new and odd sensation to know he had one that moved of its own accord) drop down beside him, looking as deflated as he felt.

What if Princess Jade Face was hurting Yin? What if she had already hurt him? Was she using the new smoke on him as well or the sleeping smoke? His mind rushed through thought after thought of what she could do to hurt his brother while he wasn’t there to protect him... not that he had been doing a good job of it in the first place, all this being his fault in the first place.

He coughed again, throat aching from the after effects on whatever the new smoke was. His eyes burned and his head swam in lightheaded weightlessness. He wondered if it was supposed to hurt like this or if it was the combination of smokes, wondered if the trio trapped alongside him was feeling this or none or even worse. He wondered if they were safe.

“Safe?” He asked himself with a scowl. “Don’t tell me you’re actually giving a damn about those three outside of surviving yourself, me.”

He didn’t want to think about it, didn’t want to wonder what that meant. The only people he worried about were his brother first and then himself. And he would get the hell out of here, broken hands or legs or not.

#stuff is going to really pick up next chapter and some actual answers will be revealed #monkie kid #lego monkie kid #sfaut #smoke flasks and unfinished tasks #fanfiction #mk #Qi Xiaotian #mei #Long Xiaojiao #jin #monkey king #sun wukong #pigsy #dbk #pif #dbk and pif #secrets

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ruensroad · 4 years

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sweetheart, they’re suspecting things

Just a little idea I had at work, enabled by @this-solaris-life. Heavily inspired by the song/lyrics “People Will Say We’re In Love” from the musical Oklahoma! by Rogers and Hammerstein.

Part one of two, which will be Jin Ling’s POV.

---

“...giving Jin Ling his ribbon! Doesn’t A-Yi know better?”

The words had been stuck in his mind since he’d first heard them, cutting like a hundred knives in his ribs, all the sharper in the knowledge it had been a friend to say such a thing. To doubt him so greatly. And just when he’d thought Zizhen of all his friends would be the most open to his romance with the Jin Sect Leader, sentimental type as he was. Not so, apparently.

But the worst part was not Zizhen’s disbelief. Oh no. It’d been that he’d been talking to Shizui, and that Shizui had agreed.

Did they really doubt Jingyi so much? Doubt Jin Ling?

It was unfathomable, unbelievable, but the evidence was plain. And just like that, all his plans for this Conference to finally come out to his family and friends as Jin Ling’s partner, to announce their intentions to one another publically… such golden dreams shattered so easily.

He’d waited so long for this day, only to find that he was the only one who wanted it, besides Jin Ling himself.

Oh gods. Jin Ling. What was he going to think? All his hard work, all the time they’d spent loving in secret so he could fix his sect, raise it back up into something to be proud of? What would it do to his confidence that their friends still found him wanting?

How could they, anyway? Jingyi knew, in some part of him, that it didn’t make enough sense to be true. But panic had overtaken such logic not long after he’d heard Shizui agree in his soft voice, nod along with a sad, pitying look. And that was that.

He could not stand in front of them now, not when they were blind to Jin Ling’s accomplishments. Did they see him as the temperamental mistress still? How could they not see how he’d grown into himself?

They’d seen his love, despite his efforts, but they couldn’t see the why?

It was baffling and frightening. But most of all, disheartening. How could he fix this?

“If you pace a hole in my rug, I’m going to make you replace it,” Jin Ling’s voice reached him, amused and low, as the man leaned in the doorway of his rooms. Their rooms. “I know you Lan can afford it.”

The usual jab did not bring a smile, as it would have before this terrible evening had begun, and Jin Ling’s own smile vanished quickly, seeing his face fall. “What is it?”

It was a crime, absolutely illegal to have to bear such bad news with Jin Ling looking so open and handsome, ready for bed in his soft robe and hair down. Jingyi was weak for it and Jin Ling knew it.

“We need to talk,” Jingyi started, wanting to pull his hairpin out in frustration. He settled for carefully inching it out and very much not stabbing it into the table. Jin Ling raised an impressed eyebrow before crossing over to him, steps light.

“That never bodes anything good,” Jin Ling told him, voice deceptively calm. Jingyi knew him well enough to know when he was screaming in panic on the inside. Even his carefree crossing of his arms was to hide a tremble in his hands, Jingyi knew. He hated his choice of words immediately.

“Zizhen and Shizui know,” Jingyi started with, since that was an easier in than and they hate us. “I don’t know how, but I heard them talking in the garden.”

Jin Ling’s shoulders relaxed a fraction, then he caught himself, brow furrowed adorably seeing Jingyi’s own coiled tight straightness. “And… that’s bad? We are going to tell them in two days anyway…”

“They…” Jingyi’s jaw worked around a sudden spike of anger. He never thought he’d want to knock Zizhen’s head to Shizui’s before, but here he was, shaking with the need to do just that. “They don’t approve.”

Jin Ling went stiff, eyes wide with disbelief and hurt and Jingyi immediately stepped into him to bury his face into his chest, breathe in his smell and feel his warmth. Slowly, Jin Ling held him the way he wanted, focus drawn in.

“But I’m going to fix it,” Jingyi swore before Jin Ling could react. “They’re wrong about you. We just have to show them.”

“Jingyi,” Jin Ling sighed and braced him with hands on his arms.

“Don’t even say it,” Jingyi warned before any talk of backing out of what they had could happen. He glared up at Jin Ling until the sect leader wilted. “I’m not giving you up that easily, I warned you. Push me away all you want, I will just stick to you harder.”

To his relief, Jin Ling relaxed to hear that, though his brow remained furrowed. Jingyi leaned up on his tiptoes to smooth away the crease with a kiss. “I’ll fix it,” he swore again.

“How?” Jin Ling asked, eyes dark with resignation, but still willing to go along with Jingyi’s plan. Whatever that plan was.

“How indeed.” Jingyi stepped back a little to pace and think, though he didn’t miss the amused flash of smile it got him. “We need a good way to showcase your skills as a sect leader. And as my sworn brother.”

Jin Ling moved up behind him and caught him by the arms again, halting his abuse of the poor rug. “But how,” he asked again. “I’m already doing what I can.”

“I know, which is why none of this makes sense!” Jingyi huffed, frustrated, and heard the echo of his friends’ callous words in his mind again. “Maybe… it’s just our relationship that’s the problem?”

“Because I’m not worthy of you?” Jin Ling wondered and Jingyi hated that he sounded like he believed that. “Or because we didn’t announce our intentions from the start?”

“Maybe…” Jingyi gave him that, though it didn’t feel correct. Then again, none of this did. “Maybe… maybe we need to stop this.”

Jin Ling flinched and he wanted to kick himself at the pain that flashed through those eyes he loved so much. “You just said -”

“Not for real!” Jingyi spun in his arms and covered Jin Ling’s mouth, pleading. “Just, hear me out. We pretend they are wrong, that we aren’t together. You are my sworn brother and the sect leader of the Jin. Let that be what they see and not what we didn’t tell them. We can figure out the rest as it comes, but if we can show them how good we work together without our courtship in the mix, then maybe they’ll be more open to us being together in the future?”

Jin Ling sighed and kissed his palm, a sign to remove it. Jingyi did, already hating the plan, but really, what other choice did they have?

“And how exactly are we supposed to pretend that?” Jin Ling asked, deadpan. “That we haven’t already done?”

He was clearly not happy with the plan, which could be a problem. There were few men in the world as bull headed as Jin Ling.

“Don’t worry, I have some rules to guide you along,” Jingyi said and tiptoed to kiss him again, this time softly on the lips. Gods, would this be the start of the last of their kisses for the rest of the Conference?

“Rules,” Jin Ling echoed, amused, and Jingyi smacked his stomach lightly.

“Yes,” he huffed, nose in the air, and stepped back all the further, voice dipping into the register he used when he taught the juniors back at home. “Rule number one: stop with the flowers.”

Jin Ling laughed. “I only give you those in secret.”

“And I’m too happy afterwards!” Jingyi put his hands on his hips, fighting his own smile to hear Jin Ling laugh so freely. Honestly, how could anyone not fall in love with such a man? Gods’ sake. “It’s suspicious.”

“Fine, no more flower giving,” Jin Ling rolled his eyes and Jingyi nodded, satisfied.

“Rule two: don’t flatter Zewu-jun and Old Master Lan more than you do everyone else. That could be seen as currying Lan favor, which we don’t want.” When Jin Ling nodded, more serious that time, Jingyi knew he was on to something. “Rule three: try not to laugh at my jokes. I know I’m amazing at them, but if you laugh too hard then people will know you’re biased.”

Another amused eyebrow. This time, when Jin Ling crossed his arms, it was all teasing. “And just who laughs at your jokes?”

“Rule four!” Jingyi raised his voice a little as he hurriedly ran over that nonsense, getting a fond chuckle from the man. He told himself he wasn’t puddling on the spot. “No gazing at me for too long. Rule five: no sighing, either, lest you sound like your love-struck Uncle Wei.”

Jin Ling snorted at that. “I’ll try to refrain,” he said, dry, but his eyes had grown soft, very much already breaking rule four. Jingyi sighed, then wanted to smack himself for breaking rule five. Damn it.

“Rule Six,” Jingyi continued, determined, but as Jin Ling drew in close again he felt too soft, too wanting, because Jin Ling was already breaking rule six and that was not good for his heart. “Stop looking at me like that.”

“Like what?”

Jingyi licked his lips and forced himself to look away. “Like you love me.”

Jin Ling pressed a kiss to his shoulder, softening him further, and Jingyi had to push him away before he was derailed entirely. “Stop it, I said,” he huffed, tapping Jin Ling’s nose like he was a bothersome child. “Rule Seven: stop collecting weird things that remind you of me.”

A laugh. “Like what?” Jin Ling said, like he didn’t totally horde the random paper animals Jingyi folded, or his calligraphy brushes or his extra jade pendants. Ridiculous man!

He told him as such and held out a hand, gesturing to where one of those very pendants swung off his belt. “Give it back.”

Jin Ling looked pained and he immediately felt bad for it, but refused to take the words back. It was for the greater good, after all. “A-Ling. I’m sorry, but if they suspect -”

“Here then,” Jing Ling pressed the pendant into his hand, an old good luck charm he’d given to him at the start of their courtship, during an archery tournament. He’d never seen it off Jin Ling’s belt since.

Guilty, Jingyi held it to his chest and wondered why this suddenly felt even more wrong. Why did he have to force the man he loved to give more of their relationship up to secrecy, just because of the opinions of others? If Jin Ling’s reputation wasn’t at risk, he’d never -

“I have some rules too, since you seem so firm on this,” Jin Ling broke through his thoughts, and that smile on his face was nothing but trouble. Jingyi narrowed his eyes at him immediately.

“Oh?”

“So suspicious,” Jin Ling said, voice a near purr, and stepped into him, closer and closer until Jingyi had to move backwards to not be crowded. In no time, his back was to the wall and he felt his stomach swoop. It was all too clear by that pleased gleam in his eye, Jin Ling was more than aware of what he was doing. “If you get to regulate my actions, it’s only fair I get to do the same to yours.”

It was fair, damn it, but that didn’t mean Jingyi had to trust it. He crossed his arms, preparing. “Let’s hear them then.”

“Rule one: don’t praise me overmuch,” Jin Ling said and yes, he was definitely enjoying this. Asshole. “I know I’m charming, but what will people think if you started to show favoritism?”

Jingyi smacked him in the stomach again, getting another laugh, then Jin Ling’s hand was beside his head on the wall and he was leaning in, body bracketing his own and effectively stuttering out his brain a moment.

“Rule two: don’t think you can get away with looking so damn beautiful and not having me break your stupid rule five and six,” he huffed and Jingyi was pretty sure he was blushing from head to toe at his words. Jin Ling smirked in victory, then moved in closer, forehead pressing to Jingyi’s ribbon. “Rule three: no dragging me out at some ungodly hour because it’s raining and you want to dance in it.”

Jingyi sputtered. “That was one time! The music in the rain woke me up!”

Jin Ling laughed, full and sweet, and took Jingyi’s hands. He knew, right then, that all his rules were about to be ignored, at least tonight, and felt his body sizzle in response.

“Rule four: be careful how often you touch me, even if it’s just my arm. It’ll give me ideas,” Jin Ling warned, sincere about it, and lifted Jingyi’s hand to his lips. “What if I start holding your hand because of those ideas?”

“You’re impossible,” Jingyi huffed, stepping on his foot in retaliation. Jin Ling winced, but kept on grinning, and in the next moment he had Jingyi pulled in and balanced on his feet.

He was swept around in a dance and it took everything in him not to bark out an embarrassed, adoring laugh. Jin Ling had no such issue.

“And we definitely can’t dance like this,” Jin Ling goaded, breath hot against his ear, and Jingyi maybe wanted to punch him for how perfectly romantic he was being, even if he was insufferable about it too. Damn it, damn it. “What will people think then, seeing me breaking all your rules in one fell swoop?”

“That we’re in love,” Jingyi sighed, wilting, before he was kissed, slow and soft, and nothing else seemed to matter.

“I can only promise I’ll try,” Jin Ling said, sighing too, and Rule Five was doomed to be forever broken, wasn’t it? “For you, I’ll try.”

“It’ll work. It has to.” Jingyi just wished he could care about it much more, but then he was being kissed again, and again, and in feeling like they were the last for a long time to come, he fell into them, greedily stealing them all.

This was going to be the longest Conference of his life.

#ruenwrites #people will say we're in love au #jinyi #jin ling #lan jingyi #they are in their twenties here #the untamed

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keptin-indy · 6 years

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Exalted: Saigoth Gates 52

Last time, Ardor attacked Mnemon during a a stalled negotiation and despite West’s best efforts to save his grandmother, Krait disintegrated her in front of his eyes. West swore vengeance after the Never Was threat had been dealt with and the circle split up to lay low in the immediate aftermath of their political assassination.

Previous installments

The circle (minus Krait, still in hiding) settled on a more dramatic variation on that plan and entered the Imperial City, which was in the midst of a celebration. As the only two remaining candidates, Cathak Cainen had officially adopted Tepet Ejava and named her his Shogun, making him Emperor by default with her as his heir. Shashaka snuck into the remaining parts of the Palace Sublime, carrying Krait’s amulet into the private chambers of the Mouth of Peace. During the Mouth’s daily prayers to the five Dragons, when she approached the altar of Mela, Shashaka activated the portal, which opened in a bright circle, wafting incense and heavenly hymns (courtesy of Ardor). Through the portal stepped Mela in her human form, radiant and dignified (and actually West in supernatural disguise). Mela gave a short speech, declaring that she had sacrificed her time in the mortal world in order to redeem the souls of the Solar Exalted, for they would be needed in the coming war. She further declared that any Solar who fought for Creation against the Never Was would have their sins forgiven and commanded the Mouth to spread this message before dropping a blue jade token with the seal of air and leaving back through the “heavenly” portal. The Mouth of Peace was awe-struck and made a quick prayer to Mela to say that her will would be done, but since it wasn’t the real Mela she had been thinking of, the prayer instead went to a very confused West. The Mouth announced the revelation she had been granted, causing many to question this sudden about-face, but thanks to Kes’ quick efforts to quietly stoke a pro-Solar faction amongst the peasantry, little outright hostility was voiced. The first Solars who publicly presented themselves for the Mouth of Peace’s blessing were actually followers of Ejava’s general, Cynis Avaku, who had evidently been shielded by their patron for some time. The circle went as a group and returned (some of) the artifacts that they had taken from the defeated Wyld Hunt in Medo, including Peleps Deled’s famous direlance, the Sting of Dana’ad. Mnemon Antares was officially forgiven for the crimes Mela had attached to his name in exchange for his help rebuilding the Palace Sublime. In celebration, Naran slept with Kes again, who was much happier now that his nation was no longer threatening civil war. Naran also instructed his Creation-spanning merchant empire to make sure the amnesty offer was spread quickly and beyond Realm territory. West asked Kes to make sure the other Houses didn’t jump on House Mnemon’s holdings now that their matriarch was gone, but Kes pointed out that the Mouth of Peace - also a Mnemon - now had a pack of “tame” Solars which no one was eager to challenge. Official House leadership would likely be determined via martial arts tournament in the nearish future, since so many Mnemon elders were Immaculates.

With the Realm finally (more or less) stabilized and made less hostile to the Solar members of the war coalition, the circle headed back north to tell the Bull they’d achieved a quiet takeover and that he should abandon any plans to invade. Ardor disembarked the ship like a victorious general and publicly proclaimed their success with the Immaculate Order and their new acceptance of Solars. The Bull agreed to call off his invasion provided the Realm acknowledged his sovereignty by not interfering with him. The circle thought that the Bull and the Realm ignoring each other was the best possible outcome and chalked it up as a win. After some barbarian carousing (and Ardor privately wondering how to get out of marrying the Bull when this was all over, as that appeared to be what he was angling for), they returned to the Vengeance to find a very short list of chapter headings from Talespinner, this time for the West (the direction, not the Twilight). They collectively decided not to try and recruit “The Dragon of Water” after the debacle of dealing with Mela, leaving only “The Skullstone Archipelago”, which an unhappy West explained to the others as being a relatively new nation ruled by something that was almost certainly a Deathlord, where the undead were a part of daily life. West and Shashaka weren’t thrilled about the prospect of negotiating with them, but the rest of the circle was curious what the so-called Silver Prince was like, and so they steered toward the Northwest corner of Creation, as far as it was possible to get from their ultimate goal in the Southeast. Along the way, with more time in between landings than usual, West completed his sorcerous working to make Typhoon into a real elemental dragon, fulfilling the thunderbird’s lifelong ambition, but also making him too big to carry around in West’s anima anymore.

Upon reaching the archipelago, the Vengeance did an invisible reconnaissance fly-by, finding that the entire place was a shadowland and that all the tasks normally relegated to the working class were here performed by mindless undead (leaving some of them to wonder what had happened to all the living peasants). They disembarked and entered the capital city, Onyx, where both the living and the dead dwelt in surprising comfort, even to the point that the living corpses were enchanted not to stink. The ruling class seemed to be made up exclusively of intelligent undead and both the living and dead worshipped someone called the Bodhisattva Anointed by Dark Water, who the circle eventually figured out was another name for the Silver Prince. Naran worked his business magic and arranged a meeting with the Prince the next day, leaving the circle the rest of that day to explore the unexpectedly utopian city: Ardor got herself drafted into an opera performance while West and Shashaka decided all of it must be a sham masking some secret hideous atrocity. The next day, the circle entered Onyx’s central palace and met with a striking man in a silver mask that betrayed no expression. The Silver Prince greeted them as Solars, but hadn’t heard of their specific exploits. Naran gave him the practiced rundown of the situation, which the Prince hadn’t heard about since the trouble was on the exact opposite side of Creation, and he agreed that horrors from beyond crushing all individuality and ambition would be bad for the world (and, by implication, the Prince’s plans to take over said world). He said that he had an armada he could lend to the cause and insisted that it could get there in time through unspecified methods. Naran asked about his feelings on the Mask of Winters and the Prince said that they were rivals, but that he was willing to work with the Mask against a common foe, provided the Mask extended him the same courtesy of not betraying him. Ardor set about discussing the tactical deployment of his Black Fleet, roping West in for his specific knowledge of ships, despite his distaste for their owner. The discussion revealed that this was no regular armada, but one made of artifact ships to rival the glory of the First Age, except made entirely of soulsteel, which had extremely ominous implications for their source, no matter how affable the Prince was being.

["Mela's" revelation to the Mouth of Peace (written in approx 10 minutes during game:

My time here is brief, so heed my words and do your duty for peace and the will of the Dragons. In my recent time in the mortal world, I came to an understanding that the time for dividing our forces has come to an end. There are forces arrayed against Creation that are beyond any individual peoples' ability to defeat and even enemies must band together to save the whole. To this end, I have sacrificed my time in this mortal realm in order to cleanse the blight of the Anathema from their souls. ��Their dread power is needed in the coming struggle, and those who lend their might to this righteous war may prove themselves worthy of throwing off the stains on their souls. Therefore, I declare an indulgence of sins for those Solars who fight for the good of Creation, paid for with my own loss. Spread this revelation to the faithful, that my will be done and our world shall be saved.]

#exalted #exalted: saigoth gates #actual play #game #livejournal replacement

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larryland · 5 years

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For theatre goers “of a certain age”, the mention of Sunset Boulevard may very well conjure up images of beloved comedienne Carol Burnett’s loving homage to this classic 1950 Billy Wilder film. Burnett’s entrance as the faded Hollywood film star Norma Desmond slowly –at first—descending the staircase of her mansion to the applause and adulation of her faithful butler (played to perfection, of course, by the stalwart Burnett sidekick Harvey Korman) remains one of her many “Most Memorable” moments.

With this production of Sunset Boulevard, veteran Mac-Haydn Producing Artistic Director John Saunders has created his own Most Memorable offering; indeed this show may very well turn out to be the crown jewel of the season. With a glorious score by Andrew Lloyd Webber, and book and lyrics by Don Black and Christopher Hampton, performances soar as high as the HOLLYWOOD sign that looms over the set.

Intertwining the stories and lives of long-forgotten silent film star Norma Desmond and the desperate and virtually poverty-stricken screenwriter Joe Gillis, the plot develops, unfolds and ultimately unravels to a tragic conclusion . Underscoring the seduction of the young screenwriter by of the fading film star is the “B reel” plot of Joe’s attraction to, and eventually reciprocated, love for Betty Schaefer, and of course we cannot overlook the faithful to a fault Max , butler-cum ex-husband to the vulnerable, delusional, Norma Desmond as he protects with unwavering loyalty “The Greatest Star” who lives in a world where only she hears the echos and whispers of the applause that surrounded her in her heyday.

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As the aging, faded from glory and memory silent film start Norma Desmond, living in a mansion as dilapidated and tattered as the shreds of the wardrobe she clutches around her, Elizabeth Ward Land’s performance is a true tour de force. From her entrance as she intriguingly inquires “Are there any laws against burying him in the garden?”, she captures and mesmerizes the audience, who are not released from her spell until the final flicker of spotlight leaves her face at her last “close-up.” Her hand gestures through the performances are absolutely mesmerizing—the flick of a wrist, crook of a finger, wave of a hand– each and every movement adds a depth to the character she has become.

Her voice is as perfect as her presence, capturing the pathos and the delusion of the world in which she lives. Her vocal presentation more than holds its own against the Norma Desmond’s who have gone before her …Patty LuPone, Betty Buckley, Glenn Close —yes, Glenn Close ! In what is probably the “signature” musical number of the show, her performance of “As if we never said Goodbye” is a show stopper in the truest sense of the word. As Norma arrives at Paramount Studio, which long ago and far away was her home and her life, she is both labored and sustained by the illusion that her triumphant return to film is upon her. She gives voice to the memories of her glory days and the soon to be unrealized dreams of a triumphal return in an opening night performance not soon to be forgotten. The single split second of total silence at its conclusion, before the audience, rightfully, gave her the applause due such a bravura performance, and testified to the magic of the moment. For 2 1⁄2 hours, Land IS Norma Desmond, and the audience in Chatham ARE the adoring fans she remembers from her glory years.

As the ultimately doomed screenwriter Joe Gillis, Pat Moran holds his own against Land’s Norma. His spiraling ascent and descent from a slightly jaded, debt-ridden screenwriter on the run from debt collectors to “a kept man” who ultimately shatters the mind and the life of his keeper is well-played and believable; he has both the voice and the presence to play against Land’s larger than life Norma. Their scenes together are fraught with increasing ardor—on Norma’s part-, and a gradual abandonment of principle and to some extent self-respect, as Joe yields to the pathetic passionate yearnings of the aging star, clinging desperately to the remembered vestiges of the youth she long ago left behind. In a rather awkward ending to Act 1, Joe yields himself to Norma following yet another suicide attempt thwarted and tended to by the faithful Max. As the music swells, and the lights begin to dim, the “couple” come together in an embrace that leaves little to the imagination as to its inevitable climax. Cue the less than subtle hints of writhing undulations…and was that “Mrs. Robinson, You’re trying to seduce me” we heard as the lights faded to black? A little more subtlety, a little less graphic detail would have made the point of the moment sufficiently.

In the almost obligatory sub-plot romance, the relationship between Joe and would-be screenwriter Betty Schaefer develops almost as slowly as the movie script they attempt to write together. Fortunately for the audience, the chemistry between Moran and Rachel Pantazis provides a much-need touch of reality and innocence amid the decay and delusion swirling through Sunset Boulevard and beyond. Their duet “Too Much in Love” showcases Pantazis’ lovely voice already on display in “Boy Meets Girl”. Hopefully Pantazis will offer her talents in other roles during the season.

James Zennelli as the faithful- to- a- fault Max guards the faded star and her memories with the intensity of a pit bull; you can almost hear the merest hint of a growl should anyone dare to threaten the fragile mindset of his beloved “Madam”, as she lives in her world of fan mail (that comes no more) and fawning, adoring fans (who never call). With relatively few musical moments, Zennelli nonetheless creates a full-bodied character whose presence is as essential to the production as it is to Norma Desmond.

As frequently is the norm at the Mac, production values hold their own against the performances. Original productions of Sunset Boulevard were encumbered and in some cases hampered by the huge and expensive set pieces, including a grand staircase which is essential to the plot and the “look” of the piece. Saunders has worked with Scenic Designer Erin Kiernan to use the theatre’s in-the round space to best advantage. The staircase integral to plot and action dominates in its permanent placement off to one “side” of this theatre in the round, and occasionally “doubles” as Betty’s office on the movie lot .

For the most part scene changes are made effortlessly if occasionally a bit slowly . Such is almost a necessary evil in the available space. Clad in black, stage crew shift the center stage from the house on Sunset Boulevard to Paramount Studios to with relative ease.

Jimm Halliday’s costuming is especially noteworthy, with his almost exclusive use of black and white attire for Norma Desmond, subtly reflecting her past and passed life in the silent film era. Costumes for the ensemble cast, representing the would be stars and starlets, casting directors, and players in the Hollywood business world perfectly capture the 1950s “movie biz” atmosphere. Special kudos go to the staging, choreography, direction, and costuming efforts that went into the “transformation” of Joe when “The Lady is Paying” for a new wardrobe for her soon-to-be lover. A full and complete change of clothes, top to bottom, inside and out, was performed with an ease and grace that would make many a backstage dresser envious.

Lighting designer Andrew Gmoser generally “shines” with his use of lighting to capture both the teeming, cut-throat world of Tinsel Town in 1950 , and the decaying, faded glory of Norma Desmond’s mansion. The classic “HOLLYWOOD” sign towers over Sunset Boulevard and the theatre in the round stage, reminding all comers they are living in a world where the camera rules, records, and cannot repair or , a world of illusion and of dreams both realized and shattered.

There are, however, several literally glaring miscues which not only detract from the impact of the scenes underway, but have the potential to negatively effect audience members with a particular sensitivity to their use. Strobe light effects throughout the performance, particularly in Act 2, are strident and overly extended, causing more than one audience member to remark on the almost painful impact. The use of the strobe is so prevalent and so frequent that perhaps it would be valuable, in a program note, or even included with the pre-show announcement, to let the audience know of its heavy and frequent presence. In another unfortunate moment, lighting in the final climactic murder scene is entirely too harsh; a spotlight aimed directly into the audience effectively blinded those unfortunate enough to be seated in Section 2. If I had not already been familiar with the action taking place in this moment, I would be left wondering “what happened?”

Also somewhat perplexing is the over-zealous use of atmospheric haze effect, which permeates the theatre from pre-show through curtain call. While a fan of the effect, in moderation, it seems in many moments of this production to be more gratuitous than

Under the guidance of Music Director David Maglione, Andrew Lloyd Webber’s soaring score is given the tender loving care this production needs and deserves. With violin, reeds, percussion and horns, the orchestra does justice to Webber’s work; it is always astounding how big a sound comes from the tiny corner of the theatre where the musicians ply their trade and their instruments.

Despite its few flaws, Sunset Boulevard at Mac-Haydn is a must-see show. Big, bold, and over the top in performance and production, this IS classic musical theatre done almost to perfection. The standing ovation given Leading Lady Land on opening night was more than justified; hers was a triumphant performance. The cast was collectively and individually a match for her talents, performing flawlessly with energy and empathy from start to finish. As a side note, the English major/Grammar Nazi was thrilled to hear cries of “Brava”, rather than the typical “Bravo,” as Land took the accolades and applause so rightfully earned .

A trip to Sunset Boulevard, via Route Route 203 in Chatham, is highly recommended. Almost assuredly, this production will be remembered and talked about for quite some time.

Sunset Boulevard, Andrew Lloyd Webber, and book and lyrics by Don Black and Christopher Hampton, directed by John Saunders, runs from June 20-30, 2019, at the Mac-Haydn Theatre in Chatham, NY. Musical direction by David Maglione, set design by Erin Kiernan, lighting design by Andrew Gmoser, costume design by Jimm Halliday, sound designer Corbin White, props designer Joshua Gallagher, hair and makeup designer Matthew Oliver. CAST: Elizabeth Ward Land as Norma Desmond, Pat Moran as Joe Gillis, James Zannelli as Max von Mayerling, Rachel Pantazis as Betty, and Gabe Belyeu as Sheldrake.

The Mac-Haydn Theatre is located at 1925 NY 203 in Chatham, NY. 518-392-9292; http://www.machaydntheate.org

REVIEW: “Sunset Boulevard” at the Mac-Haydn Theatre For theatre goers “of a certain age”, the mention of Sunset Boulevard may very well conjure up images of beloved comedienne Carol Burnett's loving homage to this classic 1950 Billy Wilder film.

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