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hockeyboysimagines · 5 months

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Practice makes perfect

Warnings: Unprotected sex, please be responsible (that’s all this is really haha)

Ask and ye shall receive. A fun little Matt and Hallie piece for you guys, inspired by the last game. Expect chapter 3 of Fuck me like I’m famous to be out in. Day or so.

Enjoy!

“Does it hurt?” Hallie asked, leaning down to peer at his eyebrow and the bridge of his nose. There was little blood and the beginnings of a bruise but he seeemed fine otherwise.

“Nah. You’ve hit me harder than this before.” He said with a smile, eyes twinkling.

She rolled her eyes, embarrassed and crossed her arms watching as he got it cleaned and butterfly stitched.

Fighting in hockey never bothered Hallie, but watching him get jumped like that wasn’t exactly her favorite thing in the world either. She and Chantal had immediately grabbed hands when they saw him fall to the ice, and she hadn’t breathed until he was back up and yelling at Brady from center ice.

She hadn’t even planned on going to this game, but had been talked into it last minute, and was able to find care for the kids. She’d not expected the game to explode the way it did and she was a little surprised. She’d watched Matthew and Brady play one another before but this game was a little different. They both had the unique ability to agitate the other team but sometimes it just went too far.

Either way she was glad he was okay.

Especially after what happened during playoffs.

Watching him go down after the hit during the finals, and then stumble when he tried to get back up was probably the scariest thing that had ever happened to her. She was frozen in her seat, unable to move and when he didn’t return to the bench immediately she knew something was wrong. Though she argued with him, she couldn’t stop him from playing in the next game, and a huge blowout resulted when she found it was a broken sternum, and not a broken arm like he told her it was.

It was the first and only time since the first time that she considered leaving him and taking the kids. But then Hallie remembered what her life was like without him and she definitely didn’t want to go back to living that way, but he’d promised her that he would never do that again.

This thankfully was only two small cuts to the face and nothing more. He hopped off the table, gave everyone a small wave goodbye and they headed out of the medical room and down the hall.

“Who has the kids?” He asked after a second, glancing at her from the corner of his eye.

“Carly. She’s visiting for the week.”

“Oh so the kids are at home.”

“That’s what I said. Why?”

“No reason. Just wondering if you wanted to make another one is all.”

Hallie’s mouth fell open and she let out a breath “Matthew-“

“Great. Glad we’re on the same page. Your hotel room or mine?”

Hallie spent the short ride from the arena squirming in the backseat of a cab. She’d jumped and gasped a little when she felt Matthew’s hand slide between her legs, fingers moving over the paper thin fabric of her leggings.

“What are you-?” She hissed eyes moving towards the cab driver, but Matthew refused to look at her. He was smiling a little, eyes not moving from the window as they drove.

She was biting her lip so hard she was sure it was bleeding as they pulled up to the steps on the hotel she was in, and he waved pleasantly to the driver and they walked in together. Her heart was in her ears as he stared at her from across the elevator, almost unblinking.

“Stop.” She said finally, eyeing him as the elevator moved agonizingly slow.

“Stop what?”

“Having eye sex with me from across the elevator. That’s what.”

He chuckled “Don’t worry. There will regular sex to be had soon, and if it wasn’t for that.” He nodded above her head at the camera “We’d be having it now.”

Hallie felt redness come to her face and coughed “In an elevator? What do you take me for.”

“What I take you for.” He said pushing off the wall and taking a slow step forward “Is the same girl who once let me fuck her in a bar bathroom, and then went back out like nothing ever happened. And that same girl also stuck my hand under her dress at the winter gala surrounded by important executives.” He same to stopping in front of her “Should I keep going?” He leaned down so he was eye level with her. He was giving her one of those nasty smirks he always did right before he ruined her.

She opened her mouth to respond and then closed it, shaking her head.

“That’s what I thought. After you.” He waved a hand forward towards the elevator door, which had now opened, and followed her out, down the hall and towards her hotel room door. She stopped and turned to pull out her key card, when she felt a hand slide across her abdomen, and warm breath under her ear. Hallie nearly dropped the key twice as his lips ghosted over the skin of her neck.

“The key won’t work.” Hallie said smacking it against the sensor on the door, sucking in a breath as his hand sank below the waistband of her leggings “I can’t get it to unlock-“

“I’ve got a key for your lock right here.” He whispered in her ear, body pushing her up against the door, sensor beeping as they almost fell in when the door unlocked suddenly. He had one hand on either side of her waist, spinning her to face him as he kicked the door shut and pulled her forward, lips finding hers in the dark.

Kissing her never got old, like each time was the first. He yanked her jacket off, tossing it away as she pulled off his tie and suit jacket.

“Take this off.” He breathed out against her mouth, pulling at the jersey she was wearing. As much as he loved seeing her in that Tkachuk jersey, he needed to see her in nothing. He couldn’t get her out of her clothing fast enough, ripping the jersey over her head and then tossing her down on the mattress. He grabbed the waistband of her leggings and pulled, yanking them down before he pulled his own dress shirt off, surprised when he felt her hands on his arms and she quickly spun him, seating him down on the bed.

“What-“

“Shhhhhhh.” She said holding a finger up to quiet him “Let me take care of you.”

She reached forward, eyes still on his and slowly unbuttoned his suit pants, before removing them, his shoes and socks, and then leaned him backwards. He felt his heart rate pick up a little. Usually after a particularly rough game, Hallie let him get a little wild. It wasn’t often she took control but when she did.

It was always fun.

She was half in shadow as she stood, adjusting the band on her underwear and nodding for him to move up the bed. When he did, she reached forward, eyes flicking up to meet his as she leaned down and pressed a wet open mouth kiss on his lower abdomen. She gave him a better head rush than any fight or elbow ever could.

“Hallie I-“

But he was silenced when she stretched the length of his body and moved her mouth across his jaw and down his neck. She had one hand splayed across his chest and used the other one to tilt his chin back.

“So about that baby…” she whispered in his ear.

He had her flipped over on her own back before she could even finish her sentence. He was smiling, pinning each of her arms by her head and leaned into her face.

“Oh is that what you want.” He ran his hand down her arm, and across her stomach, and down into her underwear.

She jumped, back arching up and smiled a little with a shrug “I mean if you wanna give me one.”

“Another one?”

“How about we just maybe get some practice is?” She said tugging her hand free and running them down his back to the lower part, nails digging into his skin.

“Good plan. You can never have too much practice.” He whispered leaning down to kiss her.

She opened her mouth allowing him to push his tongue inside and she felt a heat erupt in her stomach that started to creep through her as he pushed her underwear down her legs and settled in between them. Her head fell back and her eyes closed as he pushed inside of her, for probably the 200th time, but the feeling it gave her never got old. His tongue slid across her neck, teeth biting down on her skin as his hand moved up her waist, fingers splaying across her ribcage. He pulled out and pushed back in, his own head falling forward into the crook of her neck.

He ran his hand under her knee and pulled her leg up, hitching it around his hip, pushing deeper as he did. She gasped and let out a moan. Her nails drug across the skin of his forearms, as she watched the muscles begin working in his abdomen. There was nothing in the world quite like him. “That’s the prettiest noise I’ve ever heard.” He whispered.

He pulled her up by the back of the neck to kiss him, crushing her mouth with his own. He threaded his hand through her hair, the thick silky strands wrapping around his fingers. Her body felt hot and tight and she was a little bit dazed when he pulled away to look at her.

“God you’re beautiful.” He whispered, eyes never leaving hers. He’d been saying that to her since day 1 and it never failed to make her melt into a puddle of goo, and today was no different.

She watched as he leaned forward resting his forehead on her chest and pushed inside her again this time deeper and faster than before. Her head fell back as she pushed her hips up to meet his, legs spreading wider. He had a firm grip on her left hip as he started thrusting harder, and faster. She felt white heat building between her legs and her body was tired and felt heavy. It she never wanted him to stop. He braced an elbow on the mattress next to her head and started to push faster.

“Matty oh my g-“ but her words became jumbled and she felt herself fall apart as she got hit with an orgasm that made her toes curl.

“Shhh kiss me.” He pulled her forward hurriedly, kissing her right through both of their orgasms until their breath had slowed, and she had no more air to give to him. He finally pulled away and let his head fall into the crook of her neck, trying to slow his breathing down. He gave a little shiver as he pulled out of her and laid next to her in silence.

“Well you’re welcome for the baby.” He said after a few minutes of the sounds of breathing filling the room.

Hallie started laughing and he smiled at the sound. He could only see her profile silhouetted against the lights coming from behind the curtain, but he had seen her smile at him enough to know what she looked like.

“You’re awfully sure of yourself on the first try.”

“I’m 2 for 2 babe. It’s not confidence, it’s just skill.”

“Well since you’re so skilled, I guess we don’t need anymore practice.” Hallie pulled the blanket up and turned from him.

“Woah whoa whoa, now hold on.” He reached across her to turn on the lamp “I’m confident in my abilities but that doesn’t mean mistakes can’t be made. We could always do it again, to be on the safe side.”

She smiled and looked at the ceiling in thought “Well. If you really think so then I guess we should. You know…for the safe side. You’re the expert after all.”

He reached forward and ran a hand over her collarbone, thumb stroking the base of her neck “What’s that saying? Practice makes perfect?”

“Yes.”

“Well since we’re already perfect…” he said with a large cheesey smile.

She rolled her eyes and grabbed him by the chain “Shut up and kiss me you idiot.”

He reached past her and grabbed the pull chain on the lamp, intending to spend the rest of the night doing just that.

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divinefem · 2 years

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a list of feminine names i’ve adored and complied over years . please note the names are from a variety of origins and it’s best to research , in accordance to naming your character appropriately .

A ⸻ alaia . aliya . adèle . adella . adely . adira . aellai . aera . aimée . alessia . alice . alisha . amal . amara . amina . amor . anais . angelique/angie . anita . antonia . anya . arden . arnela . arya . asia . aspen . audrey . aurelia . aurora . avery .

B ⸻ bella . bianca . blair . blanca . briar . brielle . brigitte . bristol . bruna .

C ⸻ calliope . calista . camille . carina . carmel . carmen . carmine . cassia . cataline . chantal . charlène . chelsea . cher . chérie . cheryl . cheyenne . chiara . chiasa . cindy . cecelia/celia . celina . céline . cipriana . clara . clare . claudia . cleo . clover . colette . cordelia . cornelia .

D ⸻ dahlia . daisy . danika . davina . delaney . denise . devon . diana . diane . dione . dominica . donata . donatella/donna . dulce .

E ⸻ eden . elara . eleonora . elle . elliana . éloise . emory . erica . esha . esmé . estela . ester . eve . evangeline .

F ⸻ faith . faiza . fallon . farrah . faye . fenna . florentina . francesca . francia .

G ⸻ gabriela . genevieve . giada/gia . giovanna . giselle . giulia . garcelle . grace . graziella . gwen .

H ⸻ hadiya . hafsa . halle . halima . harley . hazel . helen . hélène . hermosa . honey . hiba . hina .

I ⸻ iffat . iman . imani . imogen . inara . inaya . indiana/india . ines . irina . iris . isadora . isabel . isla . isra . italia . italina . ivory . ivonne . ivy .

J ⸻ jade . jamila . jasmine . joanna . jocelyn . joelle . jolie . jordana . jordan . josephine . jovi . juliet .

K ⸻ kajal . kalila . karina . katia . kennedy . kenya . kimberly .

L ⸻ labani . lacey . lavender . lavinia . leona . liberty . lisette . livia . london . lourdes . lilliana . lucia/luciana . luna . lydia .

M ⸻ mabel . madelaine . madeline . madina . maeve . mahima . malia . maisha . maiya . mariana . marisa . marisol . meghana/megan . melina . mercy . mia . milan . minka . monica . monique . montana . marjorie . michelle .

N ⸻ nadia . nadine . naisha . nannette . naomi . nara . naressa . natalya . natascha . naya . neelam . nisa . nikita . noelle . noemi . nyla . nicolette .

O ⸻ odette . onima . oparna . orion . olivia . olympia . ophelia . opal .

P ⸻ paloma . pandora . paola . pari . peony . pareesa . paris . paula . paulina . pearl/pearla . petra . peyton . piera . poppy . prairie . priscilla . priya/priyanka .

R ⸻ raquel . ravenna . rayne . regina . renata . renee . rhea . rima . rita . rochelle . romana . romina . romy . rosa/rosalia . rosella . rosie . rowan . ruby . river .

S ⸻ sabelia . sabine . safiya . sahar . santana . saorise . sasha . saskia . savia . saya . sayena . scarlet . selene . serena . serenity . shelby . sheridan . shannon . sienna . sita . sloane . sofia . soléa . soleil . sonia . soraya . sorcha . surina . sutton . svea . sylvia . summer . suzanne .

T ⸻ tahira . tamara/tamar . taryn . telese . trishna . thalia . thea .

V ⸻ valentina . valencia . vanessa . venice . venus . vera . verona . veronica . vienna . violet . vitöria . vivian/vivienne .

W ⸻ wahida . winona . whitney . wren .

Y ⸻ yadira . yael . yalina . yara . yasmina . yesenia . yuliana . yuri . yvette . yvonne .

Z ⸻ zahra . zaria . zhenya . zoya .

#*#* ── 🐝 𝐆𝐔𝐈𝐃𝐄 . ⁞ writing.#writing help #name help #female name masterlist #name masterlist #rph #rpt #resources

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wyvernquill · 8 months

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Finally some more Dreamling Anastasia AU!

(Obligatory link to the masterpost with all the other posts in this AU - it's also pinned at the top of my blog!)

So, it's been... a while... but I've recently finally got some motivation to write a bit more of this. Apologies to everyone really looking forward to the finale/resolution - I've decided to go all the way back to the start of the story, instead. I hope you'll enjoy it nonetheless!

(Tag list: @10moonymhrivertam @martybaker @globglobglobglobob @anonymoustitans @sunshines-fabulous-legs @dreamsofapiratelife @malice-kingdom - since it's been a, uh, really long time, please let me know if you're no longer interested in this AU/fandom and don't want to be tagged anymore, I won't mind! On the other hand, if someone else would like to be tagged in future updates, please let me know!)

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“Sister… it’s me.”

The man on the dilapidated theatre’s stage shrugs a heavy, moth-eaten velvet coat off his narrow shoulders. It crumples into a dark semi-circle around him, releasing a dramatic cloud of dust.

“Dream… of the Endless~”

“Ah. Hm.” A somewhat fussy older gentleman in the empty space usually reserved for the audience adjusts the small circular glasses on his nose, grimacing in a polite and distinctly English way - which he has, once, after first coming to this realm and taking this form, spent hours practising in the mirror - while checking a long list in front of him. “Mr… Carter, was it…?”

“Oh, please.” The man on stage flicks back his white-streaked bangs. “Call me Hal.”

“Yes. Of course, Mr. Hal.” The gentleman purses his lips. “That was… not, er. Not terrible, I suppose. And we’re pleased to note that you appear to have… brought your own cloak.”

“Don’t get used to it. Zelda and Chantal only let me borrow it for the audition.”

“Well, it is a lovely cloak. Only, ah, while Dream of the Endless was known to have quite striking eyes, I do think that, perhaps a little less eyeliner…”

“I could tone it down, I suppose, but I really think the performance would lose something without the makeup.” Hal sighs melodramatically. “I can sing and dance too, if you need it for your… what is this audition for, actually? Play? Music hall show? Ooo, one of those moving pictures?”

“Er.” The gentleman fidgets with his cane, grass-green eyes flickering around the empty theatre. “Well-”

“Thank you, Hal.” The younger man beside him interrupts with a winning smile that only barely covers the boredom and frustration lining a rather ruggedly handsome face. “We’ll let you know.”

“Hm.” Hal, clearly enough of an old hand in the acting business to know a polite “you’re not getting the role, piss off” when he hears one, frowns, and bends down to gather up the borrowed cloak, stalking off towards stage exit right with his head held high, not deigning either of the two men with even one more look.

“...I really do not think this will work, young Robert.” The older man mutters, decisively striking through Hal Carter’s name on his list. It is the last. “None of them look even remotely like him. And the voice-”

“I know, Gil. I know.” The younger man, Hob - only Gilbert is proper and precise enough to call him Robert - rubs at his temples, as if to stave off a headache. “They never manage to get the voice right, do they.”

“Ah, if it were only that…” Gilbert sighs, setting the list down. His eyes are soft and unfocused, seeing far into a past that has long since been razed to the ground. “His Lordship, he… he had a certain air about him, you understand. An otherworldly strangeness. He was the dream-maker, and dream-made, and to look at him was to gaze upon infinity.”

A soft scoff.

“Even if we claim that he has been greatly reduced by being turned into a meagre human - no offence, dear friend - as long as he does not have some spark of endlessness about him, nobody who has ever met him would fall for the ruse. And we are attempting to con his family. I simply cannot see any viable path to success.”

Hob does not respond, for a moment, picking up one of the flyers on their table.

It reads:

SEEKING Actor, slender, pale, tall, dark-haired, in the 20-40 age range to play the role of Dream of the Endless (method actors preferred). Generous pay and further benefits await. Auditions each weekday at 6pm at the Old Whickber Street Theatre, Soho. Ask for Hob and Gil.

“We’ll find him.” Hob insists. “The perfect pretender. He’s out there, I just know it.”

“We are not the first fools who have attempted a, a caper of this sort.” Gil points out, almost gently. “None of the others ever succeeded.”

“Yes. Well. None of the others managed to find and correctly identify the late Dream’s own pouch of genuine dream-sand on sale at the black market.” Hob shoots back, gesturing at the cord just barely peeking out from under Gil’s collar. (They’ve decided it would be safer if Hob comes into contact with the sand as little as possible, and Gilbert has taken to carrying it as closely to his heart as he can manage.) “It’s hard evidence, Gil, it’s a sign, it’s our chance - and it might just be enough. The trick with a good con is really making it look like you’re giving the mark exactly what they desperately want… and there’s nothing in the world Death of the Endless wants more than to have her brother back.”

(She wants it so desperately, in fact, that she’s offering immortality to any sentient being who manages to procure Dream for her.

And, well.

There’s nothing in the world Hob wants more than to live forever…)

“Your word in- or, well, kept out of Destiny’s ears, young friend.” Gil sighs, collecting his lists and notes and the remaining flyers, tucking them into his coat and reaching for his cane. “In the meantime, how about we go down to the public house and have a bit of a snifter to wash away the memories of all those atrocious performances, eh, my lad?”

“Best idea you had all day, Gil.” Hob grins, clapping a hand on Gilbert’s shoulder. “Are you buying?”

Gilbert raises one grey brow. “At the risk of provoking a joke regarding my non-human status: in your dreams, Robert.”

Hob laughs; and, together, they step out into the winter night, old snow crunching under their shoes and new flakes beginning to drift, gradually, down from the sky.

It has been a decade since the end of the Endless’ reign.

Ten years since humanity tore Destiny’s book from his hands and burned it.

Ten years since Destruction abandoned his siblings, hiding away in his own, separate exile.

Ten years since Despair’s first aspect was killed, and another took her place.

Ten years since Delight went mad with grief and became Delirium…

And ten years since Dream of the Endless was captured, bound, turned human, and killed.

People still whisper about it. Still speculate, trade gossip and hearsay back and forth. Some insist that the Dream King yet lives, hidden away, turned human, just biding his time, waiting for an opportunity to return to his siblings.

It’s a lovely legend, Hob supposes. A fitting end and non-end, for the Lord of Stories, to live on in one… but that’s all it is. A pretty tale, which will breathe new life into a myth only for as long as it’s being told. It isn’t true…

…but now, ten years later, Hob and Gil will damn well make it so.

Ten years is also, coincidentally, all that a man a few streets down from the old theatre can remember of his life.

Ten years since he was found, naked and emaciated and bleeding, in a ditch next to some countryside road in East Sussex.

Ten years of fighting his way through a life in poverty, with no family, no friends, no-one to care for him, except perhaps the birds.

Ten years of strange and haunting dreams, blurred faces calling out to him with names he can never remember later but knows are his; ten years of waking every morning with tears on his face and a longing for someplace - and someones - he wishes he could remember; ten years of a woman’s voice begging him night after night to come home to her, to them.

Ten years of being much too busy starving and freezing and barely surviving to spare even a single thought to the dying legends of the Endless.

This man turns his face up to the sky, snowflakes catching in his dark hair and on his coat like stars glinting in the night; and he shivers, his breath clouding mist-white in the air, curling thin arms around a narrow torso.

(For a moment, just a moment, his eyes glow dark and infinite, a mirror to the night sky and the endless universe beyond.)

And then, he ducks his head down into his scarf, shivers again, and continues on through the snow.

Ten hard years have taught this man better than to waste his time standing about and daydreaming.

#WyWrites #dreamling #the sandman #anastasia dreamling au #it's been 84 years......#i've got a rough draft of a scene or two after this too #endlessly busy with uni of course #and getting back into Good Omens my old love #but i've been feeling like dabbling with this au again lately so why not #and i just HAD to give you Hal doing the iconic coat drop scene #he would have been iconic as drag Dream of the Endless just saying #Hob and Gil are missing out #and the first glimpse of Murphy... I can see it in my mind's eye so clearly #him looking up at the sky with the stars in his eyes and the snow in his hair #and Death forever calling out to him in her sleep #gosh have i missed this au #can't guarantee too much more #but a few more bits are definitely in the works!

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honeyjars-sims · 3 months

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2.13 A Lot to Learn

[Chantal is in the hall at work. Suddenly yelling is heard near Ambrose’s office. A crowd starts to gather and murmur]

Ambrose: That underhanded, conniving little bitch! I'm going to ruin her!

Chantal: [to co-worker] Lilian, what’s going on?

Lilian: Oh, you didn’t hear? Kayla Flemming went off on Ambrose in an interview. It's all over the internet.

Chantal: The fitness influencer? They know each other?

Lilian: Yeah, according to Kayla she and Ambrose started this company together, but Ambrose backstabbed her and kicked her out. She said Ambrose turned it into some “woo woo bullshit” and said she’s unethical…she really dragged her about it.

Chantal: Wow, no wonder Ambrose is upset.

Lilian: [lowers voice] You don’t think it could be true, do you? I mean, Kayla’s saying Ambrose is cutting corners to save money. I would hate to find out that’s what kind of company we’re working for, wouldn't you?

Chantal: Yeah, hopefully it's just a personal grudge.

Lilian: I'd rather do more than just hope.

Ambrose: [yelling] Nico, do something about this. You know better than anyone what a vicious little snake she can be!

Nico: I'm on it.

[Chantal sees Nico heading to his office and follows behind him]

Chantal: I'll talk to you later, Lilian.

Chantal: Hey Nico, I--

Nico: It’s not a good time, Chantal.

Chantal: I know, I’m sorry. It'll just take a minute. I heard about what happened and I was wondering…well, I don’t need to be worried, do I? What Kayla’s saying isn’t true, right?

Nico: Look, let’s just say I wouldn��t put too much stock into anything Kayla says. Jealousy is an ugly trait. She’s just bitter because the company is succeeding and she can’t get any of her projects off the ground. That’s all this is.

Chantal: If you’re sure. She was throwing some pretty big accusations around, so–

Nico: Chantal, you’re obviously well educated, but the thing about academia is that it doesn’t account for more...practical matters. You have a lot of opinions for someone who still has a lot to learn here. Trust me, I know more about this situation than you do.

Chantal: Of course you do, I wasn't trying to say you don't know what you're doing.

Nico: [sighs] Hey, come here. Don't be sad, beautiful. You know I didn't say that to be hurtful. I just see a lot of potential in you and I don’t want you to waste it.

Chantal: It's ok. Thanks for being so willing to teach me about this stuff.

Nico: No problem. Well, I have to figure out how to deflect all of this. Do you mind taking care of a few things for me? It would help a lot.

Chantal: Sure, whatever you need.

Nico: Thanks, you’re the best!

[Lilian watches Nico and Chantal intently from the hallway]

Previous | Beginning of story | Beginning of chapter | Next

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orionsangel86 · 1 year

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Watching The Sandman again for the hundreth time and I know everyone always loves to focus on Dreamling, but can we talk about Rose Walker for a moment?

The Sandman is often applauded (and complained about) for being an extremely gay show, but I particularly love how even the characters who aren’t canonically gay come across as extremely gay.

Take Rose Walker. The main character of The Doll’s House story. Neither the show nor the comics ever give Rose a sexuality, but there are some very glaring factors that heavily support her being queer.

The first time we see Rose is in episode 5 24/7. Judy, the lesbian at the diner who has had a fight with her girlfriend Donna, calls Rose and asks if Rose knows where Donna is. We know that Rose considers both Judy and Donna close friends and has a picture of Judy in her apartment.

Rose’s only other friend that we know of besides Lyta Hall (who she got to know via proximity since they were neighbours) is her friend Carl who she clearly is close enough with to let him house sit for her (even though he has sex with The Corinthian on her bed!).

So her closest friends are a lesbian couple and a gay man. I know I know straight people can be friends with queer people but statistically speaking queers flock together. Its more likely that Lyta is the token straight in the friend group than Rose AND Lyta both being straight.

I also question her choice of seeking out accomodation in Cape Kennedy. Isn’t it interesting how she ends up in a very strange B&B also managed by a gay drag artist and filled with colourful characters including Chantal and Zelda (I know their relationship is supposed to remain ambiguous but imo the show also leans more into them being lesbians due to Chantal’s dream where she calls them “soul sisters” and “gothic brides” and I dunno I just think the fact she refers to them as brides is pretty telling!)

Of all your accomodation choices in Florida, this in particular seems like the kind of place one would go to if they were specifically looking for somewhere advertised as “LGBT friendly”. All the characters staying at the B&B are either canonically queer or heavily queer coded.

Gilbert/Fiddlers Green isn’t technically human, but his whole aura is distinguished older gay man - he’s played by Stephen Fry after all!

Also I could go on about Barbie (who I theorise found the accomodation for her and Ken) but without revealing any comic spoilers, she also later surrounds herself with basically all queer people. I know in the comics she is strictly heterosexual, but nah she dreams like a queer theatre kid on speed or something lmao. That girl is a bisexual disaster all the way and yeah I may be projecting on her as a fellow blonde overly dramatic dreamer and disaster bisexual but I claim her for my own okay just let me have this.

So yeah, the queer friendship groups, the specific seeking out of an LGBTQ friendly b&b in Florida, and the fact that she literally wears rainbows in her hair and I think its clear enough that that girl is a baby queer if ever I saw one.

Due to the merging of Rose and Lyta’s stories in the Netflix show, we should actually get to see more of Rose in future seasons. In the comics, after the Dolls House book, she doesn’t appear again (unless she turns up in the Wake since I haven’t read that far ahead), but by making her Lyta’s companion in the show, we know she will appear again since Lyta and the baby (Daniel not that he has been named yet in the show) are reoccuring characters throughout the entire Sandman comic run.

Maybe I just crave more lesbian and bisexual women rep in my fave shows, but sitting here watching this show again it just tickles me that in the entirety of season 1, it is so easy to view practically every major female or female presenting character as queer. Joanna Constantine and Rachel, Judy and Bette, Lucifer and Mazikeen (bring on the make out scene in season 2!), Chantal and Zelda, and in my opinion, Rose Walker, Barbie, Lucienne, and Gault are all queer coded WLW.

(Lucienne and Gault is just a ship I love okay but you can’t deny there was some flirting in episode 10!)

It’s been such a crappy year for lesbian rep with lesbian shows getting cancelled left right and centre. I just think lesbians should therefore claim the Sandman as theirs. if nothing else, claim it out of spite. It’s a fantasy show with a pathetic wet cat emo boy as a main character who literally surrounds himself with lesbians, is probably in love with his best friend, and considers a slutty gay serial killer with teeth for eyes his greatest ever creation. It just seems to me like the kind of show that should appeal heavily to WLW okay! Plus there are more lesbians coming in season 2! Encourage your lesbian and bisexual friends to go watch The Sandman now!

#The Sandman #rose walker #lgbtq #queer coding #queer coding in the sandman #please talk to me about this show #i love it and i really wanna talk about it now #even the non queer characters are queer #the angry straights were right when they said every character in the show is gay #even the non gay characters are gay #its the gay fantasy show to go with the gay pirate and vampire shows #my stuff

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slafkovskys · 5 months

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So we know Baby Henry and Baby Halle love Uncle Brady but how does them meeting the other Uncle Chucky go? I feel like Baby Halle is just giggling around him. It’s definitely before or after the Tkachuk Bowl when they meet.

i see it happening at brady’s rehearsal dinner. with josh a groomsman and henry the ring bearer, they have to be there and mom brings along little halle as well. chantal is showering the youngest norris with all of her attention when brady pops up at the table, a mischievous look on his face as josh looms behind with henry in his arms, “josh already said no, but i figured you would say yes.”

“no, you cannot arm wrestle my one year old brady. my husband is perfectly capable,” mom sighs and brady rolls his eyes.

“i would wait until he’s two to even try, thank you very much. gotta give him at least a shot, but anyway, can introduce the kids to matthew? please?” he’s staring at his mother who’s cradling halle in her arms, “he doesn’t believe that i actually have kids who like me.”

“yeah, that’s fine. just don’t let him convince henry that florida’s a better place to live,” she jokes, watch as josh hands henry off to brady before taking halle off of chantal. the little girl easily curls into her fathers chest and clutches his tie in her tiny hands. she hands josh a rag and a bottle, “since you’ve got her now.”

josh raises an eyebrow as he takes the bottle from his wife, watching as she clinks a wine glass with chantal. he follows brady over to where matthew had huddled up with some of their friends and immediately their attention goes to the two kids the men are holding. matthew reaches out and pokes at henry’s side, “and who’s this?”

“henry,” brady says before looking at the small boy, “and who am i?”

“unca b!” the boy says loudly and the men cheer.

brady looks over to where josh was feeding halle her bottle and nods, “this is halle. she likes emma more than me, but i think that’s because her mom gossips about me when i’m not around. she squeezes my finger though!”

“she does that to everyone, brady,” josh mumbles, messing with the tulle on his tiny daughter’s dress. he looks at matthew, “henry’s favorite is timmy. don’t let brady tell you differently.”

“hey!”

#josh norris #baby norris series #soft thoughts sunday

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bropunzeling · 10 months

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🐀 + relief

Leon tries not to panic. Not when she books a flight, accepting the red-eye with two stops because it will still get her to Florida faster than the one leaving tomorrow morning. Not in the airport, sitting in one of the uncomfortable chairs that seem to litter every airport in North America, with no room to stretch out and sleep. Not on the first flight, or the next, or the next, watching as many action movies and terrible TV shows as she can stand because it means she's thinking about the awful CGI effects instead of--

She's not panicking. She's going to be calm. Holding it together. She's not allowed to panic yet.

Getting into the Uber and watching the streets pass through the back window, Leon yawns, then digs her nails into her thigh, just above her knee. She's not allowed to sleep yet, either.

There's a few unfamiliar cars in front of Matthew's house when she gets out. Makes sense; his parents are here, siblings too, and she bets they don't all want to do the same things. She drags herself and her carry-on past the rental cars and up to the front door. Knocks a few times.

The person who opens the door is familiar mostly through photos, and the occasional FaceTime. Taryn squints at her, like Leon's a mirage instead of an actual person. "Leon?" she says very slowly.

"Hi," Leon says. In the minute it took to get out of the Uber and to the front door, she's tipped from sticky-slow tiredness to jittery exhaustion. Her leg is shaking under her. "Can I come in and see him?"

Taryn's squint gets more pronounced. "Did -- I didn't know you were coming."

"I texted," Leon says. Matthew, this morning -- last night? -- she doesn't remember. It happened, though. This wasn't the plan -- the plan was to meet up later in the summer once the playoffs were over, spend some time together before Brady's wedding and training ate up all the available hours, and, never said but still true, to let Leon get over her own frustration with how her season ended before she said something she regretted.

But then Matthew took a bad hit, and sounded completely out of it when she finally got through to him. The plan changed.

"Okay," Taryn says. She's still blocking the door.

"Look, I -- I need to see him," Leon says. Her voice is getting higher, words crackling and snapping. Panicking. She clenches her fist so hard her nails bite her palm. "Can I come in?"

Taryn's face does -- something. No idea what. Leon's never actually met her, after all. But she takes a step to the side.

As soon as she's in, Leon dumps her bag in the hall and makes a beeline for Matthew's bedroom. On her way there, she hears voices -- one of them is definitely Brady's -- and passes a woman who has to be Matthew's mom in the hall. Chantal says something -- hi? Might be hi. Leon says something back, she doesn't know what, hopefully it sounded polite. Polite-ish. She kind of doesn't care, though she probably should. She needs to get past her. It's five steps to the bedroom. Three. One.

Matthew's room is dark, shades most of the way drawn. She walks quietly as she can to the bed, tries not to stumble on the rug. There's a chair next to the bed that might have been dragged in from the living room. She sits down heavily and lets herself look.

Matthew's asleep. He looks like shit. Big bags under his eyes, hair unwashed, face paler than she's ever seen it -- but he's here, right in front of her, and his chest is rising and falling, and he's asleep, and she knows that he's fucked up, but at least now she can see that for herself.

Matthew's left hand is resting on the side of the bed. Leon grabs it, squeezes it. Probably too hard. Her heart is pounding hard in her throat. It might be the adrenaline crash finally hitting, or perhaps the exhaustion catching up with her, or just --

He's here. He's here, and she can touch him, feel his fingers between her own, the beat of his pulse when she moves her thumb down against his wrist. She can lean forward, brace her elbows on her knees, and hold his hand to her mouth, and feel her heart unclench in her chest with bittersweet relief.

#ask meme #we have absolutely chat ficced this but it needed to be done!#girl!leon wip :)

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notallsandmen · 8 months

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Ask game, fren! D, K and/or M, whichever many pleases you!

D - A pairing you wish you liked but just can't.

Calliope and Oneiros/Dream.

They are so BEAUTIFUL together, but they just make me so damn sad.

K - What character has your favorite development arc/the best development arc?

I wouldn’t say it’s my favourite, because I hate her and her actions, but Lyta Hall definitely has one of the most interesting character arcs. It’s not often female characters get to really lose their shit and go on a full Medea rampage

M - Name a character that you’d like to have for a friend.

Zelda and Chantal. I want to wrap them in Victorian lace and protect them from canon.

Ask game here

#ask me anything #ask game

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thirdrowcentre · 4 months

Text

It's that time again. A few years ago I decided I would try and watch two films I'd never seen before each week. This year I've watched 374.

These are some of the ones that stood out.

JANUARY

The Leopard (dir. Luchino Visconti, 1963). Watched 1.1.23 at BFI Southbank

Benediction (dir. Terence Davies, 2021). Watched 11.1.23

Gangubai Kathiawadi (dir. Sanjay Leela Bhansali, 2022). Watched 17.1.23

The Swimmer (dir. Frank Perry, 1968). Watched 30.1.23.

Comizi d’amore (dir. Pier Paolo Pasolini, 1964). Watched 31.1.23

FEBRUARY

Ugetsu Monogatari (dir. Kenji Mizoguchi, 1953). Watched 7.2.23

Wings (dir. Larisa Shepitko, 1966). Watched 22.2.23

Mirror (dir. Andrei Tarkovsky, 1975). Watched 24.2.23

MARCH

Born in Flames (dir. Lizzie Borden, 1983). Watched 2.3.23

Yi Yi (dir. Edward Yang, 2000). Watched 5.3.23

Taste of Cherry (dir. Abbas Kiarostami, 1997). Watched 6.3.23

Jeanne Dielman, 23 quai du Commerce, 1080 Bruxelles. (dir. Chantal Akerman, 1975). Watched 11.2.23 at BFI Southbank

Judex (dir. Georges Franju, 1963). Watched 12.3.23

Transit (dir. Christian Petzold, 2018). Watched 14.3.23

A Man Escaped (dir. Robert Bresson, 1956). Watched 19.3.23

Bellissima (dir. Luchino Visconti, 1951). Watched 31.3.23

APRIL

Army of Shadows (dir. Jean-Pierre Melville, 1969). Watched 2.4.23

Jacquot de Nantes (dir. Agnès Varda, 1991). Watched 10.4.23

Where is the friend’s house? (dir. Abbas Kiarostami, 1987). Watched 13.4.23

John Wick: Chapter 4 (dir. Chad Stahelski, 2023). Watched 16.4.23 at BFI IMAX

Charulata (dir. Satyajit Ray, 1964). Watched 27.4.23

Night and Fog (dir. Alain Resnais, 1956). Watched 28.4.23

MAY

Thirst (dir. Park Chan-wook, 2009). Watched 3.5.23

Return to Seoul (dir. Davy Chou, 2023). Watched 7.5.23 at Curzon Hoxton

The Eight Mountains (dir. Felix van Groeningen, Charlotte Vandermeersch, 2023) Watched 12.5.23 at Curzon Hoxton

The Five Devils (dir. Léa Mysius, 2022). Watched 24.5.23

Nostalgia for the Light (dir. Patricio Guzmán, 2010). Watched 31.5.23

JUNE

Citadel (dir. John Smith, 2021). Watched 1.6.23

It’s Always Fair Weather (dir. Stanley Donen, Gene Kelly, 1955). Watched 10.6.23 at BFI Southbank 35mm.

Service for Ladies (dir. Alexander Korda, 1932). Watched 11.6.23 at BFI Southbank 35mm *nitrate*

And Life Goes On (dir. Abbas Kiarostami, 1992). Watched 14.6.23

Be Natural: The Untold Story of Alice Guy (dir. Pamela Green, 2018). Watched 19.6.23

King and Country (dir. Joseph Losey, 1964). Watched 20.6.23

JULY

London (dir. Patrick Keiller, 1994). Watched 3.7.23

Conquest of the Planet of the Apes (dir. J. Lee Thompson, 1972). Watched 14.7.23

Barbie (dir. Greta Gerwig, 2023). Watched 21.7.23 at BFI Southbank

Oppenheimer (dir. Christopher Nolan, 2023). Watched 23.7.23 at BFI IMAX. 70mm IMAX

I’m Not There (dir. Todd Haynes, 2007). Watched 28.7.23

AUGUST

Three Blind Mice (dir. William A. Seiter, 1938). Watched 17.8.23

Corridor of Mirrors (dir. Terence Young, 1948). Watched 22.8.23

World of Apu (dir. Satyajit Ray, 1959). Watched 26.8.23

L’argent (dir. Robert Bresson, 1983). Watched 31.8.23

SEPTEMBER

Past Lives (dir. Celine Song, 2023). Watched 3.9.23 at Curzon Soho.

Austenland (dir. Jerusha Hess, 2013). Watched 8.9.23

Lady Vengeance (dir. Park Chan-wook, 2005). Watched 19.9.23

News from Home (dir. Chantal Akerman, 1977). Watched 20.9.23

Edge of Tomorrow (dir. Doug Liman, 2014). Watched 28.9.23

OCTOBER

Killers of the Flower Moon (dir. Martin Scorsese, 2023). Watched 8.1.23 at Royal Festival Hall. London Film Festival

Judgement at Nuremberg (dir. Stanley Kramer, 1961). Watched 12.10.23

The Stranger and the Fog (dir. Bahram Beyzai, 1974). Watched 14.10.23 at BFI Southbank. London Film Festival. 35mm

I am Not a Witch (dir. Rungano Nyoni, 2017). Watched 26.10.23

Contraband (dir. Michael Powell, 1940). Watched 30.10.23 at BFI Southbank

NOVEMBER

Uncle Boonmee Who Can Recall His Past Lives (dir. Apichatpong Weerasethakul, 2010). Watched 9.11.23.

Anatomy of a Fall (dir. Justine Triet, 2023). Watched 15.11.23 at Curzon Hoxton

Citizens Band (dir. Jonathan Demme, 1977). Watched 21.11.23

DECEMBER

Oh, Rosalinda!! (dir. Michael Powell, Emeric Pressburger, 1955). Watched 2.12.23 at BFI Southbank. 35mm

How to Have Sex (dir. Molly Manning Walker, 2023). Watched 10.12.23 at the Garden cinema.

Tish (dir. Paul Sng, 2023). Watched 22.12.23

Fallen Angels (dir. Wong Kar-wai, 1996). Watched 29.12.23

----

Other highlights included: Stop Making Sense (twice!) on BFI IMAX. Tears of joy, dancing in my seat. Black Narcissus on nitrate at the BFI Southbank. Crying all the way through The Life and Death of Colonel Blimp at BFI Southbank. Showing someone L’Atalante and I Know Where I’m Going, two of my favourite films, in my favourite cinema (again, BFI Southbank). The terrible Fast X, in Vue Leicester Square with one of my best friends. Walking through Shoreditch on a Saturday night, maybe the most heterosexual place imaginable, to watch Bottoms at Curzon Aldgate. Talking and crying about Jonathan Demme at a house party with a stranger. Sitting and sobbing, breathless, after How to Have Sex - steeling myself and walking home thinking about my life, the lives of all the young women I know. Watching Aftersun for the second time at the beginning of the year with my youngest sister, floods of tears overtaking us both. Seven Samurai on the BFI IMAX with my best friends. The Hunger on 35mm at the Prince Charles Cinema, with more of my best friends. And screening Some Like it Hot on 16mm in the tiny theatre at the back of Ümit and Son in Clapton, surrounded by loving, beautiful people who make me who I am.

#new year #films #2023

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antonomase · 8 months

Text

PÀL du Pumpkin Autumn Challenge 2023

Encore une pile que je ne respecterai pas !

AUTOMNE FRISSONNANT

Viens flotter avec nous : T. KINGFISHER, Thornedge (2023) ✔️

L’enfer des backrooms : L. E. HARPER, Kill Your Darlings (2023) ✔️

Perfectly Splendid : Katie LUMSDEN, The Secrets of Hartwood Hall (2023) ✔️

AUTOMNE DOUCEUR DE VIVRE

Something Wicked This Way Come : Meg CABOT, Enchanted to Meet You (2023) ✔️

Poupée de souvenir automatique à votre service ! : François BÉGAUDEAU, l'amour (2023) ✔️

La Dame Chouette des Îles Bouillantes : Naomi NOVK, The Last Graduate (2021) ✔️

La loi fondamentale de l’échange équivalent : Sangu MANDANNA, The Very Secret Society of Irregular Witches (2022) ✔️

AUTOMNE DES BOIS ET AU-DELÀ

Pomme alors ! C’est le goût de la tarte aux amaudes ! : Chris VUKLISEVIC, Du thé pour les fantômes (2023) ✔️

La Légende de la Hache Noire : Simon JIMENEZ, The Spear Cuts Through Water (2022) ✔️

La mélodie infernale de la corne de chasse : Rick RIORDAN, Percy Jackson and the Chalice of the Gods (2023) ✔️

Rocket Raccoon on the Run : Yoon HA LEE, Ninefox Gambit (2016)

AUTOMNE RAYONNANT

We’ll Always Find a Way : Shelley PARKER-CHAN, He Who Drowned the World (2023)

L'esprit indomptable de Jo March : Laure de CHANTAL, Les Neufs vies de Sappho (2023) ✔️

Siúl A Rúin, Maureen : Shauna LAWLESS, The Children of Gods and Men (2022)

#PumpkinAutumnChallenge #PALduPAC #french side of tumblr #bookworm

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zurich-snows · 1 year

Photo

Walking with Nandita

By Moyra Davey

Here was the soup. It was a plain gravy soup. There was nothing to stir the fancy in that. One could have seen through the transparent liquid any pattern that there might have been on the plate itself. But there was no pattern. The plate was plain. —Virginia Woolf, “A Room of One’s Own” (1929)

New York City, 157th Street

I am trying to think “language or hunger,” but I inevitably supplant hunger with eating, not eating, and shitting, all of which differ from hunger. Hunger is abstract, and my mind goes to things that are concrete.

Alejandra Pizarnik’s Diarios are pure poetry. I made the rounds of Paris bookstores till I found a single copy of the beautiful José Corti paperback with Pizarnik’s face on it. She is pulling a book off a high shelf and staring back at the camera, at us. I kept this book on a skinny Chippendale bookcase next to my bed with the cover facing out for several years so that I might meet her soulful gaze daily. I read a hundred pages or so before standing the book up like that. I was blown away by the diaries, but they are also inescapably dark. For Pizarnik, suicide was not a question of if but when, and she wrote about it almost daily, as though death was her little friend. She envied Virginia Woolf.

Hungry, thirsty, in need of stimulants, Pizarnik’s appetites and cravings were outsized. She hated herself after lunch and dinner, and wrote: “To not eat I must be happy. And I cannot be happy if I am fat.”

In my bones I understand Pizarnik’s tautology, but my mind needs to metabolize it over and over. I memorize it; it slips away.

Here is Alison Strayer’s lovely spin (Pizarnik’s idea somewhat teased out): “to write, driven by inspiration, you have to be thin and fleet, and to be thin and fleet you have to write, driven by inspiration. A conundrum.”

In her 1975 film Je tu il elle (I, You, He, She), Chantal Akerman shovels powdered sugar into her mouth while writing lying down—she is composing and revising a very long letter. The entire bag of sugar is ingested, spoonful by spoonful, to fuel the manic, around-the-clock writing. As viewers of her film, we bear witness to what is surely one of the most sustained and inspired moments of self-abuse in the service of avant-garde, materialist cinema.

Conversely, when Virginia Woolf succumbed to periods of so-called madness, the treatment consisted of denying her both language and hunger. She was not permitted to read or write, and she was made to consume excessive quantities of meat and milk. Her intellect was starved, and her naturally thin frame was fattened against her will. According to her great-niece, Emma Woolf, the regimen consisted of: “Four or five pints of milk daily, as well as cutlets, liquid malt extract and beef tea.”

Woolf appears gaunt in some of her photographs. Like many writers, she probably didn’t experience hunger when she was writing. She was prolific, and it is likely that language evacuated bodily hunger for a good portion of her life. Her great-niece has speculated that Woolf was anorexic, but if that’s the case I’d wager only in the sense that she had no appetite. Though who knows. Forced to bulk up, she might have developed a fear of fat.

Woolf wrote about food, most famously in “A Room of One’s Own.” She describes the bland meal served in the dining hall of a women’s college and speculates on the necessary (and there absent) connection between stimulation of the palate and stimulation of the mind. In “Evening over Sussex” she describes the comfort food that awaits her after a long day of travel and walking, and no doubt writing parts of the namesake essay in her head.

In the episode of Ulysses known as “Calypso,” which begins with a very large printed “M,” Leopold Bloom, after his breakfast of grilled kidneys, famously retires to the outhouse where he reads two columns of the newspaper and produces one or two excremental pillars of his own. Evacuated and grateful, he nonetheless envies the writer of the article who was paid “at the rate of one guinea a column.”

American artist Pope.L masticates the Wall Street Journal and allegedly washes it down with milk while sitting atop a toilet perched on a tower.

Canadian poet Elizabeth Smart, living in England, makes a New Year’s resolution list for the year 1945. Below are the first seven items listed:

1) Keep a diary or Daily Notebook. 2) Keep Accounts and never spend more than £20 a month on living (and partly living). 3) Keep the children Prettily dressed always. 4) Keep Everything Clean. 5) Answer all letters within three days. 6) Keep bowels open. 7) Have a baby. [checked] Sebastian 16 April 1945.

Discipline, money/frugality, cleanliness, punctuality, open bowels (which I’m sure Smart meant literally, but I’d also infer an implied wish for writing to flow more readily), and having a baby form the top priorities. Smart had four babies all by the same man, George Barker, who’d never consent to live with her, nor would he let her go, thus keeping her in a decades-long state of unrequited craving and misery.

Writing at the end of her life, in a state of relative isolation, photographer Julia Margaret Cameron was clear about her needs: “I feel it is as necessary to give a hungry heart a letter as a hungry body a slice of bread.”

continued...

#moyra davey #walking with nandita #documenta14

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