#cheesy as hell but too lazy to rewrite

[kybabi]

can you please do a scenario where the boys have been distant and closed off which makes their s/o sad :(( they've tried talking to them but they dismisses the reader. and one day when the boys were coming home from practice, they accidentally hear their s/o talking to their friends and their friends convincing them to break up with the boys because of how distant they've been acting. could you please do this with sakusa, ushijima and bokuto? lots of angst and to fluff please! thank you so much ily <3

hearing their s/o talk about breaking up with them

w/ ushijima and sakusa!

(a/n: ahhh i love this prompt sm :’) i’m not sure if you’re the same anon who sent this a couple months ago but i did get the same request a while back and planned to write for it ! i tweaked it just a bit; i hope you don’t mind! i’ll put bo in another part, dw :))

anyways, thank you for requesting :) these scenarios are written in the timeskip. ily all!

p.s. if any of y’all read my recent sakusa drabble (the one with mini sakusa) this is what i imagine the little bedtime story to be like :’))

ushijima

he hadn’t meant to get so defensive

and in retrospect, it’s clear that you were completely right

after coming home hours after he promised to, you were upset

“i barely even see you anymore! it’s like you don’t even wanna be with me.”

and he was tired, and irritated, and didn’t want to deal with you

so he snapped at you

“yeah? maybe i don’t.”

he didn’t miss the way your eyes filled up with tears as he walked out, going for a walk to clear his head

he knew he was being unreasonable and you didn’t deserve to be treated so terribly

and frankly, he missed you too

he missed your warmth and affection greatly, and he wanted to be with you more than anything

so he went back to your shared place to apologize

but what he heard made his blood turn to ice

ushijima opens the front door softly, the sound quiet in case you might be asleep.

he pads over to the bedroom softly, peeking in. he sighs in relief. you’re still here.

he’s about to say something when you sniffle, attempting to stifle a sob. his heart breaks.

“i don’t know what to do, fumi,” you mumble helplessly, words shaky. it’s then that he sees your phone on the bed next to you, the speaker on. quickly, he hides against the wall.

your friend, fumiko, sighs from the other end. “oh, babe.”

“it’s just... i feel like i’m putting so much energy and time and love into this relationship and he doesn’t even care,” you sniffle, burying your face in your hands. “i love him so much, you know? but i don’t even know how he feels anymore.”

don’t... know how i feel? he thinks, confused.

yet another sigh comes from her end, and there’s a pause. wakatoshi moves a little closer to hear better.

“y/n, i know you probably don’t wanna hear this, and whatever you decide to do is your choice, which i will wholeheartedly support. but,” she takes a second, “don’t you think... if he’s not putting any effort into this relationship, is it even something he wants?”

you break into another sob at that, hands helplessly wiping at your cheeks.

ushijima frowns. of course your relationship is something that he wants. how could you ever even think differently?

“i know, i know,” you mutter shakily. “i just— i love him,” you whisper dejectedly.

i love you too, he wants so badly to say, but he stays quiet against the wall.

“i know you do. but if he doesn’t even care enough to just show up, i don’t think you should either,” fumi says gently. “i don’t know much about your relationship, but i care about you and i want you to do the best thing for yourself. and if that means removing yourself from situations like this, it might be best to move on.”

move on?

wakatoshi feels like he can’t breathe, throat tight with panic.

he doesn’t want you to move on. he wants to wake up every morning to see your sleepy smile. he wants to cuddle with you when the winter comes and it’s too cold to go out. he wants to spend the rest of his life by your side.

his hands are uncharacteristically shaky, and he balls them up into fists and waits for your answer nervously.

you sigh, defeated. “i know. you... you’re right,” you mumble, and wakatoshi’s chest aches painfully at your reply. “i just need time to think about it.”

“i get it. and i’ll support you in whatever decision you make, okay?” she says on the line. “just— just try not to get hurt, alright?”

a watery laugh escapes your throat and you sigh. “yeah. okay. thanks, fumi. i’ll call you later.”

you’ve hung up, but wakatoshi feels like he’s stuck to the floor, feet glued to the hardwood.

and then suddenly you’re in front of him, eyes widening at his presence, and he can’t find his voice. all he can do is take in the hurt in your red-rimmed eyes; watch as you swipe at them awkwardly in an attempt to make them look like you haven’t been crying for the past hour.

“toshi?” you whisper, and he’s swallowing nervously.

“you,” he mumbles lowly, “you don’t want to be with me anymore?” you look away sadly, stepping back a little.

“i, um. i don’t really know...” you trail off, uncomfortable.

the entire exchange is awkward, and wakatoshi realizes that it’s entirely his fault for that. if he had just been better to you, none of this would have ever happened...

“what do you mean you don’t know?” he asks, brows furrowed. you sigh, frustrated, and look away.

“it’s not like i want to break things off, i just— i don’t really see a point to continuing if you’re just going to keep pushing me away like this,” you explain, and he swallows nervously. “i just need time to think about—”

but then he’s reaching for you, hand wrapped around your wrist, and you pause.

“i’m sorry. i never meant to hurt you,” he mutters guiltily. “and i know i did, but i don’t want to be without you. i love you.”

the confession makes your heart stop. you’d forgotten how it’d felt to hear those words. you turn away, eyes filling up all over again.

“i can’t keep doing this if you’re just going to keep tossing me to the side like this,” you murmur shakily, and he shakes his head, desperate.

“i-i’ll do better, okay? i’ll be better for us, just— just let me prove it,” he pleads, and you’re surprised to see that his own eyes have gone glossy. you don’t think you’ve ever seen him look so desperate in your life. “please.”

fumiko may have been right, but with the way he’s trying to fix your relationship, you think that it might be worth fighting for.

you sigh. “alright. but you can’t walk out on me like that again, okay? it really hurt my feelings,” you mumble, pushing your head into his chest, and he sighs, relieved.

“okay. i’m sorry,” he mumbles, cradling you softly. you offer him a gentle smile and a nod to let him know you accept his apology, and he kisses your forehead.

you know there’s still much to discuss, and many difficult conversations to have. but for the first time, it feels like things will be okay.

sakusa

sakusa wasn’t planning on having an argument with you, but it ended up happening anyway

you were fed up with the way he’d been treating you and it all just came out

you pleaded for him to just listen to you, but all you got was stubbornness and harsh words

after a while, he simply refused to talk to you, too angry and exhausted

“what, you’re just gonna go to bed now? is this conversation not important to you?”

he’d scoffed, not even bothering to look back at you

“maybe it’s not. maybe i’m fucking tired of always having to hear you talk.”

it’s not like he actually meant it, but he was tired, and so he snapped at you

so you locked yourself in the bathroom and cried while he drifted off to sleep

kiyoomi groans, rubbing at his eyes tiredly. he checks the clock on his bedside table. 1:28 am.

he looks over to see light peeking out from under the bathroom door. shit, he thinks. you’re still up?

he sighs guiltily, face falling into his hands. he really hadn’t meant to snap at you like that. in fact, having a conversation with you about your relationship really was a good idea anyway.

kiyoomi knows he’s been treating you terribly. he’s been coming home ridiculously late and forgetting to answer your texts. and frankly, he’s just been a terrible boyfriend.

but today was exhausting, and he’d just been so tired, and everything just got to him. so he said things he didn’t mean and shut you out.

he sighs again, looking towards that light from the bathroom. he doesn’t want to go back to sleep feeling like this, so he gets up and tiptoes toward the door. he’s about to knock on it gently when he hears you let out a sob.

he can feel his heart breaking at the sound, and the guilt from earlier increases tenfold.

“i just wish things could go back to the way they were,” you cry, sniffling loudly, and he presses his ear to the door.

“i know, i know,” a voice soothes quietly, and kiyoomi vaguely recognizes it. it’s your friend, emi.

“and i don’t know what i did wrong to make it this way,” you sob sadly, and he swallows regretfully. he wants so badly to tell you that it’s not your fault, that he knows he’s been neglecting you, that he wants to be better for you. but he longs to hear more, so he stays put.

“hey. this isn’t your fault, okay? you can’t put all of this on you,” emi says, and you sniffle.

“i know, but,” you mumble. “if i was a better partner, maybe he’d still want me.” kiyoomi gasps softly at that, confused. it takes everything in him not to open the door and wrap you up in his arms, to reassure you that he wants you more than anything in the world.

“i get it, y/n, and i know you’re hurting. but nothing you could’ve done would make him treat you better. you always strived to be the best partner for him. i know you did,” she reassures you. “but he hasn’t been putting in the same effort, and i think you deserve better.”

he grits his teeth in frustration. he knows she’s right. he wishes she wasn’t.

“maybe you’re right. i-i don’t know,” you mutter softly, and there’s a pause. “i think it might be time to move on.”

kiyoomi’s blood turns cold at that and he blinks erratically, trying desperately to dispel the thought of losing you.

“i don’t think he’s willing to try anymore. i’m just...” you sniffle quietly. “i wish it didn’t have to end this way.”

he steps back, hands shaking, and quickly threads them into his hair as he attempt to find a way to make everything okay. he paces frantically, head spinning, and everything comes to a stop when he hears the door open.

“kiyoomi?” you whisper tearfully, turning the light on. “i—i thought you went to sleep...”

he swallows, suddenly not knowing how to act. he fumbles with his hands, shoving them into the pockets of his sweatpants. “i, uh. i did. i just woke up.”

“oh.”

there’s an awkward, tense silence. kiyoomi understands what you meant when you said you wished everything could go back to the way it was.

“i want—”

“i’m just gonna head to bed for the night,” you mumble, refusing to look at him, and walk into the bedroom. he starts to panic, grabbing your wrist before you can go.

“wait! let’s just,” he says frantically. “could we talk for a minute?”

you turn around, bitter. “now you wanna talk? i thought i wasn’t important enough for that.”

he winces, trying to find the words to respond and coming up blank. you scoff, turning and walking away.

“i love you!” he blurts, and you freeze. your eyes widen, filling up with tears and overflowing.

you miss him terribly.

“i’m sorry. fuck, i’m so sorry. i never meant to make you feel like you weren’t important to me. and i didn’t mean to push you away, but i did, and i hate myself for doing that to you,” he says, praying that you won’t go. “i love you. more than anything in the world. and i should’ve shown you that.”

it’s quiet for a while. and then he can hear you sniffling, and he yearns to comfort you, but he knows he can’t.

you turn around, and he holds his breath.

“i never asked for much. i just wanted you,” you whisper, and he looks down shamefully.

“i know,” he mutters. “i’m so sorry, baby.”

you nod, and he takes a few cautious steps until he’s standing right in front of you. you look up, and he swallows nervously.

“just— just give me a chance to show you that i can be better. i know it’s selfish, and i know i don’t deserve it, but i want to try. please.”

the past few weeks have been rough. but now that he’s looking into your eyes for the first time in what feels like forever, you feel like things might just be okay soon.

you know there’s a lot to say and more hurt to come, but now you know that he’s willing to go through it with you. and you don’t feel so alone anymore.

you take his hand and gently place it on your chest, resting your head on his.

“okay.”

for the first time in a long time, you sleep snuggled into his chest, his arms safely wrapped around you.

the feeling is familiar, and you can finally remember just what it is.

yeah, you smile softly.

home.

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#cheesy as hell but too lazy to rewrite #pain #anyways #kybabi!drabbles #haikyuu #haikyuu angst #haikyuu fluff #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu headcanons #ushijima imagines #ushijima angst #ushijima wakatoshi #ushijima fluff #ushijima x reader #ushijima headcanons #sakusa kiyoomi #sakusa headcanons #sakusa x reader #sakusa fluff #sakusa angst #sakusa imagines

[kunt-dracula]

Everybody Loves A Clown

Supernatural Rewrite.

OC, Sam, Dean

TW: Cursing...that's about it.🤣

I pull my leather jacket on as I bound down the staircase, denѕe boots thumping against the old wood. I call out to Sam—repeating his name when I receive no response. He must be out in the yard with his brother.

I make my way into the kitchen upon hearing clinking plates.

"Sam outside?"

Bobby doesn't look up from his aggressive scrubbing of a cast iron pan. "Nope. He and Dean left."

I raise my brows. Hm. Guess they caught wind of another case. Hey, if it means I don't have to drag them along with me on mine, I'm not complaining at all.

Without asking any further questions, I hoist my backpack further on my shoulder "Well, guess I'll see Ellen and Jo by myself."

"And while you're there tell those boys that the next time they eat here they gotta wash the dishes. At least then they wouldn't be completely freeloading."

I twist my body back to Bobby. "I thought you said they left?"

Bobby shuts off the faucet. "They did leave. They went to the Roadhouse."

"What!? Dammit, I told them to wait!"

Instantly becoming angry I spin on my heels and rush to the door, swinging it open. I hear Bobby yell something behind me, but I can't hear him over my feet stomping against the gravel in addition to my heavy breathing.

I yank the other strap of my backpack on the other arm, securing it. Since the case was in-state, I decided on riding my bike.

I throw my leg over the pillion of my 2005 Triumph Rocket III and drop my weight onto it. Keeping it up is pricey; hell the bike itself is expensive, but I managed to do both for free.

-

How I got this piece was I took it from the leader of this werewolf biker gang. After I killed him and a few of his goons, I looted them for some things. They were too nice to go to waste. The dead gang members didn't have much honestly. There were three of them—with the exception of the leader— and I only got a little less than three hundred bucks. But the leader...oh man, a holy grail.

I couldn't boost the fairly nice house from him. But not only did I get this motorcycle off him, but I also got this badass 2005 Dodge Ram 1500—as well as some nice jewelry. I could tell it wasn't his, so I instantly concluded that he had done some stealing himself. Not being aware of who the owner was I pawned the jewelry off under a false alias and got a few stacks for it.

Shoving my right foot against the kick-start lever—undoubtedly using more than likely with more force than necessary—the bike roars to life. Fairly new motor purring loudly, vibrating vigorously between my thighs.

I snatch my helmet off the front of the bike—almost forgetting to put it on—pushing my head into it. I kick up the kickstand with the heel of my boot, and peel through the yard, leaving a trailing cloud of dust behind me.

*12 MINUTES LATER*

Upon turning into the parking lot, I spot the beat-up, poorly maintained minivan I gave Sam the keys to earlier this morning. It was the only functioning car Bobby had. It was bad off, but I had fixed it up to where it'd get you where you needed to be.

Haphazardly parking my bike, I shut off the engine and remove my helmet—hanging it from the right handle. 

The wood groans under my weight as I ascend the few steps to the paint chipped door. I push it open, only a fraction surprised at what I see.

Jo was holding a rifle on Dean, who was holding his nose, and Ellen had a handgun pointed at Sam.

"See this is why I told you to wait." I couldn't help but sound 'matter-of-fact.' Hell I told them, but they didn't listen, and I knew how Ellen and Jo were with strangers showing up unannounced.

Four pairs of eyes instantly snap to me. "Hi Ellen," I nod "Jo."

"Hey sweetie, don't mind us, just some guys wandered in, looking to score probably." Ellen narrows her eyes at Sam who was looking back and forth between the 9mm pointed at his face and me, a pleading look in his eyes.

I shrug my bag off, setting it on the table. "They didn't come to steal. I know them. They're Sam and Dean, or dumb and dumber—which is quickly becoming a good replacement."

"Sam and Dean? Winchester?" Her face softens. I nod, confirming.

"Son of a bitch." She mutters.

"Mom, you know these guys?" Jo asks.

"Yeah, I think these are John Winchester's boys." She lets out a laugh, lowering the gun. Jo slowly does the same. "Hey, I'm Ellen. This is my daughter Jo." She gives Dean a smile.

"You're not gonna hit me again, are you?" Dean questions, nasally. She fills a hand towel with ice and offers it to Dean, without saying a word.

"Bobby called said you had a case for me. You needed help with something?"

"Yeah," she leans an elbow against the bar. "Demon. Heard he was closing in on it."

"He? He who?"

"John Winchester. I actually called you when he didn't return my calls."

"Ah. I see." Aware of where she kept files, I rounded the bar and slid the file cabinet drawer open. Flicking through the row of folders until I found what I needed. I open the Manila folder and frown. A lot of the writing from these newspaper articles are small. And I don't have my reading glasses. My vision is really good when pin pointing objects or when something's out of place but if it's words? Sometimes I catch hell. Glancing over at the drying rack an idea pops into my mind, and I lift a small shot glass from the rack.

"What, was there an article in the Demon Hunters Quarterly that I missed? I mean, who are you? How do you know about all this?" Dean demanded.

I slam the drawer closed with my hip. "The same way you do, genius. She's not new to the world of hunters." I circle my way back from behind the bar. I'm rewarded a dirty look from the man.

"I just run a saloon. But hunters have been known to pass through now and again. Including your dad, a long time ago. John was like family once." Her lips curl up into a small smile as she reminisces.

"Oh yeah? How come he never mentioned you before?" Dean questioned, skeptical. Ellen's response was a mere shrug. "So why exactly do we need your help?"

"What's with mister moody over there?" I glance up from the open folder in my hand to see Jo slinking to stand next to me. She mirrors my position of leaning back against the hard wood of the bar.

"Their dad got off'd by a demon a few days ago," I whisper back, my eyes falling back on the newspaper article. "I'm not sure they know it was a demon though. Dude reeked of sulfur, but I'm pretty sure I was the only one that could smell it." I run the glass, rim-down across the page, the words becoming magnified.

"Have you told them about your 'abilities'?"

"Hell no! I barely know them. The only reason I'm around them is that Bobby wants me to. The old geezer's suddenly scared something's gonna happen to me."

"Well, you are like his daughter Essie." God, I hated when she called me that. "From what you've told me, he doesn't have anyone except you." I huff. I'm getting lectures left and right.

"Ash!" Me and Jo can't help but jump at Ellen's abrupt shout. Ash, who was asleep on the pool table jerks up with a start. Honestly, I'm not surprised I didn't notice him before. I've been coming here for years, and I'm so accustomed to seeing him drunkenly sprawled out, I just consider him furniture. "What? It closing time?" He grumbles, looking around in a daze.

"That's Ash?" Sam questions in disbelief.

"Yep." I walk past him, plucking the thick folder from its spot on the table in front of him before he has time to react.

"He's a genius." Jo smiles, pushing off the bar and walking behind it. I snicker.

"No," I grab the glass of water from the bar and saunter over to where he was. "These guys and I need your help with some info." I slide the water to him, and he looks up at me, his lips spread in a lazy smile. Here it comes.

"Well for you I'll help any way I can, Darlin'." As always, his eyes almost instantaneously fall to my breast. He goes to lean an elbow on the table but, misses and begins to fall until I grab his forearm--steadying him. "See I'm fallin' for you." I can't help but break into a smile at his cheesy flirting.

"Stop flirtin' with Essence and read the damn notes." Ellen scolds, but it's obvious she's amused as well.

"You've gotta be kidding me, this guy's no genius. He's a Lynyrd Skynyrd roadie." Dean states.

Ash smiled. "I like you."

"Don't doubt him." I did the same when I first met him, and he shocked the hell outta me. "Just give him a chance." I add.

"Alright. This is about a year's worth of our dad's work, so uh, let's see what you make of it." Dean watches as Ash opens the folder and skims through it.

"Come on, this crap ain't real. There ain't nobody that can track a demon like this." Ash scoffs.

"Apparently so, their dad seemed to be able to do it." I shrug.

"There are non-parametric, statistical overviews, prospects, and correlations, I mean, damn!" He wheezes.

"These are omens." A piece of paper catches my eye, I drag my fingers across the lines.

"Basically if you can track these, you won't have much of a problem tracking the demon behind it." I glance up at the boys to see a mixture of both impressed and confused expressions. 

"Yeah." Ash nods in agreement. "You know like, crop failures, electrical storms...You ever been struck by lightning? It ain't fun." he trails off, picking up another sheet.

"Can you track it or not?" Sam asks.

"Yeah, with this, I think so. But it's gonna take time, uh, give me," he ponders briefly. "Fifty-one hours." He stands to leave.

"Hey, man?" Dean stops him.

"Yeah." He turns to face us again.

"I, uh, dig the haircut."

"All business up front, party in the back." I chuckle as he flips his hair and shrugs before leaving the room.

"Hey, Ellen, what's that?" Ellen looks back at the space behind her before looking back at Sam.

"Well, that's Essie's police scanner she left here a year ago and never took it back." I scrunch my face.

"Hey now, first of all, I left it because I got a new one. Secondly, I left it so you could be more aware of what's going on and keep tabs on things."

With Ellen's folder still in my hand, I move over to the bar and slide on the stool next to Sam. "Hey, look at this, " I open the folder and place the first few pages of the article between us. I could see that in big red marker it had written on it:

COUPLE MURDERED

CHILD LEFT ALIVE

MEDFORD, WISC.

"Read over this again. I already did but, I don't have my reading glasses, so my vision is fucked up when It comes to words. You might see something I missed." He nods and grabs the sheets.

I fixate myself with something I have no problem seeing clearly. Photos of the victims, their information, etc.

The bar was all-around quiet. Except for Dean and Jo who were having an indistinct conversation on the farther side of the room, next to the windows.

"So uh," Sam starts. "How have you been. Its been what... five or six years since we last saw each other?" He asks with humor.

"Seven actually," I respond dryly, not lifting my eyes from the photos. "We were freshmen." I flip one and move to the next. "As for me, I've been fine. Grown accustomed to being alone." I murmur adding a shrug, more than likely to keep from visibly cringing at the statement I had unintentionally let slip from my lips. I could hope he hadn't heard me, but I already know he has by the way he's looking at me. Although I've still failed to make eye contact with the guy I can still feel his eyes staring at the side of my face.

"Dean," I call him over, not quite because I wanted too but, I needed to change the subject before it progressed any further. "Come take a look at this." At this statement, Sam leans closer to me, and Dean stands next to me, leaning his body against the bar. I frown at the uncomfortable closeness. "Too fucking close." I shake my head. They both mumble a 'sorry' and put some distance between them and me.

I roll my eyes. "A few murders not far from here Ellen caught wind of. And with my expertise, this damn sure looks like a hunt."

"Since when are you an 'expert' in hunting?" I turn my head towards the eldest and shoot him a harsh glare, before shifting my expression into one of smugness. "Since I saved your tight ass—not once but twice since we met less than a month ago." I slide off the stool and brush past him to the table I left my bag on, but not before gauging the look on his face. I can tell Dean's taken aback by my response at the way his brows furrow deeply. He clears his throat, crossing his arms. "So what's your point?"

"My point, Sweetcheeks, is that we're taking the case." I stuff the folder in my bag and pull out my Mossberg 500 12 Gauge Shotgun. Although I had intended on riding my bike to—what I thought was a nearby town in South Dakota but is actually a town in Wisconsin, I should go and swap out for my truck. Another good reason is the center of what's going on isn't really familiar to me at first mention, so who knows what and how many of it am I going to need to take it out.

"No, absolutely not." He protests. "You're not tagging along with us. Give me the folder." With my instincts, I hear his heavy feet approach me, and I turn, gun in hand. I grip the pump and flick my wrist harshly, gun clicking as it cocks. He immediately stops in his tracks.

"You really wanna try taking it from me?" I tilt my head. He's highly annoyed but shakes his head regardless. "Smart boy." I smile and the bag over my shoulder, shotgun still in my right clutch.

"Now come on," I pat his stubbled face with my hand and walk past him yet again. "Got a lot of work to do."

#supernatural #supernatural imagine #supernatural imagines #supernatural rewrite #everybody loves a clown #sam winchester #sam supernatural #dean winchester #dean supernatural

[everythingisgreenandsubmarine]

"It" (2017) Review

SPOILERS FOR IT (2017) BELOW

It is a mammoth novel. At over 1100 pages, containing a huge assortment of characters, and spanning over 200 years of mythos, you can imagine just how hard this novel is to adapt. It's not just an issue of plot, it's an issue of time. While King has over 275,000 words to tell his story (the equivalent of a 4,500 hour film, if 1 script page is equivalent to one minute of film time) Andy Muschietti has given himself roughly four hours -- around 240 pages -- to adapt both halves of these novels.

The 1990 miniseries showed that this novel is both incredibly hard to adapt, and impossible to water down. While Tim Curry shines through, in that adaptation, as Pennywise, the rest of the film around him is rife with bad acting, poor writing, stilted dialogue, and cheesy effects. This miniseries covered the entirety of the novel, but even its three-hour runtime wasn't enough to effectively adapt King's story. Additionally, this adaptation avoided almost all of the violence, sexuality, and dark humor that made the novel unique, and memorable.

Andy Muchietti's It suffers, too, from this inability to capture the temporal expansiveness of King's novel. The first chapter of the film, clocking in at a little over two hours, covers the majority of the plot points contained in about half of King's novel. However, it fails to capture the depth, and the intricacies contained within those pages. Furthermore, its horror is executed in the most lazy, and frustrating, way: jump scares.

Let's begin with the writing, though.

This adaptation of It was originally written by Cary Fukunaga and Chase Palmer. Fukunaga was originally attached as writer/director for a long time. You may know Fukunaga from his directorial efforts on films like Beasts of No Nation and Sin Nombre, along with his directing work on the first season of the HBO show True Detective.

Fukunaga was fired from the project after it had been mired in development Hell for quite some time. After being fired, he shared some details about why he was given the boot, and what the producers wanted his film to be.

"I was trying to make an unconventional horror film. It didn’t fit into the algorithm of what they knew they could spend and make money back on based on not offending their standard genre audience. Our budget was perfectly fine. We were always hovering at the $32 million mark, which was their budget. It was the creative that we were really battling. It was two movies. They didn’t care about that. In the first movie, what I was trying to do was an elevated horror film with actual characters. They didn’t want any characters. They wanted archetypes and scares. I wrote the script. They wanted me to make a much more inoffensive, conventional script. But I don’t think you can do proper Stephen King and make it inoffensive. The main difference was making Pennywise more than just the clown. After 30 years of villains that could read the emotional minds of characters and scare them, trying to find really sadistic and intelligent ways he scares children, and also the children had real lives prior to being scared. And all that character work takes time. It’s a slow build, but it’s worth it, especially by the second film. But definitely even in the first film, it pays off. It was being rejected. Every little thing was being rejected and asked for changes. Our conversations weren’t dramatic. It was just quietly acrimonious. We didn’t want to make the same movie. We’d already spent millions on pre-production. I certainly did not want to make a movie where I was being micro-managed all the way through production, so I couldn’t be free to actually make something good for them. I never desire to screw something up. I desire to make something as good as possible. We invested years and so much anecdotal storytelling in it. Chase and I both put our childhood in that story. So our biggest fear was they were going to take our script and bastardize it. So I’m actually thankful that they are going to rewrite the script. I wouldn’t want them to stealing our childhood memories and using that. I mean, I’m not sure if the fans would have liked what I would had done. I was honoring King’s spirit of it, but I needed to update it. King saw an earlier draft and liked it."  -- Cary Fukunaga

Ultimately, Fukunaga and his producers were trying to make two different films: Fukunaga wanted to make something akin to The Shining, or Rosemary's Baby, whereas his producers wanted him to make the next Conjuring film.

When Fukunaga was booted from the project, the producers hired writer Gary Dauberman (writer of Annabelle and Wolves at the Door) to make extensive changes to Fukunaga and Palmer's script. They also hired Andy Muschietti, writer/director of the 2013 film, Mama, to replace Fukunaga in the director's chair.

Sadly, what Fukunaga divulged in that interview is completely true. While some elements of his script has been kept, much of it was re-written to fit Muschietti's vision (which, in turn, fit Hollywood's vision). By this I mean to say that Muschietti's It is full of poor dialogue, jump scares, and very flat characters.

Part of this stems from what I mentioned above -- trying to adapt a huge novel into a relatively short script. Supporting characters, like Henry Bowers, or Beverly Marsh's father, are fleshed out in the novel, and given compelling backstories. In the film, they are defined by very rigid, and thin motivations. Henry Bowers, for instance, is a bully because his father is a violent drunk. That's it. That is the entire motivation behind this bully's extremely violent, and destructive tendencies. Beverly Marsh's father has no motivation, nor any backstory. He's just a looming, abusive figure that is shrouded in darkness.

The real issue with the writing of this film, though, is the depiction of Pennywise the Clown. Obviously this character is essential to the novel, and to the overall story.

Bill Skarsgård is fine as Pennywise, though he is very forgettable. His performance can be summed up as "forced" -- a combination of whisper-talking, and overacting. Pennywise's horrific actions are augmented by poor CGI, which takes away from both the character, and the Skarsgård's performance.

Furthermore, this Pennywise never feels like an organic part of the story. Pennywise is an old entity, spanning well beyond the lifespan of the children. Yet we never get a feeling for that age beyond some vague dialogue which speaks to it. Furthermore, because of all of the jump scares, Pennywise never feels scary. In fact, all of the scares in the film feel very forced, and inorganic to the atmosphere Muschietti attempts to set up.

The main cast is good, though, and they are the saving grace of the film. While Pennywise, and the fear surrounding him, feel inorganic and forced, the interactions and chemistry between the core characters is strong. They are funny, endearing, and realistic. 

The real standout performance in this film comes from Finn Wolfhard, who plays Richie Tozier. Carrying the majority of the comedic relief on his shoulders, Wolfhard is able to punctuate each scene he's in with authenticity and endearing realism. 

The rest of the cast works well, even if they don't quite fit the character descriptions we remember from the novel. In this respect, while they may not replicate the characters we have envisioned, they certainly embody them. The performances are all solid.

In fact, ironically enough, the younger performances are much better than their adult counterparts. Part of this could be from the shallow writing, or the stilted dialogue the adults are often stuck with, but it is worth mentioning.

The real issue with this film comes from the jump scares, though. Jump scares, by themselves, are not inherently evil. They are most certainly lazy, but they aren't the worst thing ever. A horror film can still be very good if it has a couple of jump scares in it. However, like many other things in the filmmaking world, less is more. 

Muschietti does not abide by this adage, as everything from Pennywise's interaction with Georgie to the climactic third act are rife with forced jump scares, grating musical cues, and dramatic lighting. 

That first interaction with Georgie helps set up the entire film, both in terms of tone, and in terms of scares. The script has jarring shifts in tone, which are best exemplified by Georgie chasing his boat down the street happily, running into a road block, and then meeting Pennywise. In a matter of a minute or two, we change the entire tone of the film three times, and without warning. This happens throughout the film continually, with varying degrees of success (blending horror and comedy can work, it just depends on how you do it).

My opinion of Skarsgård's performance is complicated, and this scene perfectly encapsulates why. There are fleeting moments where he captures the essence of Pennywise as a character -- this lure for children that is used so he can feed -- and there are moments where he feels like he is trying to be scary (which, as we all know, generally doesn't work; just like when someone is trying to be funny, it comes off as forced).

Skarsgård oscillates between these two positions frequently throughout the film. When he releases some balloons to reveal his face to one of our core characters, it feels forced. It's supposed to be scary, but it isn't. When he is playfully tortures Eddie, who has broken his arm, he inhabits the comedic, and terrifying, nature of Pennywise as a character. I don't know how much of this is Skarsgård's performance, and how much of it is the writing, but Skarsgård as Pennywise is wildly inconsistent, to say the least.

I guess those are the two terms I would use to best illustrate my feelings about this film: forced, and inconsistent.

None of this is to say that the film is unwatchable -- if you don't mind jump scare horror, similar to what James Wan provides (though Muschietti is not nearly as skillful as Wan when it comes to delivering said type of horror), then you will probably like this film. 

However, from my perspective, as a filmmaker and a film lover, Muschietti's It is the kind of film that exudes all of the issues the horror genre currently has. It's full of forced scares, and light on depth and characterization. That doesn't mean it can't be enjoyed, nor does that mean it's devoid of any quality; it just means that, as an adaptation of its excellent source material, and as a film, it fails in a number of capacities.

#review #it #stephen king #film review #movies #horror movies

[onhowtobecrazy]

Sweet  Shot of Kerosene - SQ Week

Written for Day 2: Coffee Shop

A/N. So... I started watching Wynonna Earp. And THAT scene happened. Of course I had the irrepressible urge to rewrite it in a Swan Queen way. So you get awkward idiot Emma and absolutely-not-subtle at flirting Regina. Yeah, the result is probably terrible but it’s GAY, so indulge my friends!

There aren’t a lot of advantages in being the only other waitress below fifty working in the only drinking place of a small town in Maine, but Emma Swan sure enjoys the lazy afternoons where Granny’s pub/dinner/coffee shop/whatever the hell goes through that old woman’s head is not open yet and the only thing she has to care about is sweeping the floors and cleaning up the counter while swinging her butt to some of her favorite tunes—without the usual nuisance of catcalls and leers of her beloved clientele.

The people of Storybrooke are not a bad bunch, to be honest, she’s known worse, but that doesn’t mean she particularly enjoys Whale making a pass at Ruby and her every chance he gets, or having to kick out drunk Leroy after yet another broken glass on someone else’s head.

Still, Storybrooke’s her home, she’s made her peace with that.

It’s not like she has anywhere else to go, anyway.

She’s humming to herself, some cheesy folk tune on the radio, and as she sways in rhythm, her elbow accidentally hits one of the clunky beer tap, instantly showering her with foamed, sticky brew.

“Shit!” she groans as she turns around and fumbles blindly to put a stop to the violent spraying, effectively drenching her front as well as her back in the process.

“Shitshitshit you goddamn cockfucker—”

“Well, that was an interesting display.”

Emma whirls around at the sound of a voice she doesn’t recognize, and meets the amused brown eyes of the intruder.

A quite stunning intruder, one might say, sleek gray dress and bold high heels, dark short hair framing a troublingly intense face. The woman—who could be anywhere between her early to late thirties, Emma guesses—stands out singularly from the usual crowd.

“Hi, um… yeah, sorry about that. I’m not the most skilled person with my, uh, limbs, I guess.”

“Really?” the woman retorts, eyebrows raised mockingly as she moves down the stairs to the counter behind which Emma makes clumsy attempts at soaking up as much of the damage as she can with the dishtowel (she’s got beer running between her breasts and down her belly, great, fucking great, what a perfect fucking—). “You appear to be quite skilled with your tongue, though.”

Emma stares at the woman for a second, pausing in her rather useless task, her mind drawing a blank. Did she just—

“Ah, well. Sorry about that, too. Didn’t mean to shock anybody.”

“Oh it would take more than that to shock me, Miss…”

She waits a little too long for Emma to supply, her mind still mulling over that weird hot flash that last interaction just gave her, and she stumbles over her words when she eventually catches up.

“Right! Emma. Swan. I’m, I’m Emma Swan.”

She hesitantly shakes the hand the other woman offers her, sheepish about her clammy coldness when the palm that presses against hers is smooth and warm.

“I’m Regina. Nice to meet you, Em-ma.”

She says her name in a certain way, lingering just a little on the middle, dragging it through her lips, and it does weird things to her that makes her withdraw her hand quickly and take a step back.

“Yeah, you’re nice too—I mean, you’re nice to meet—wait I mean, nice to meet you.”

She’s seconds away from face-palming herself and her stupid mouth, but Regina laughs, not unkindly, and that sounds is so delicious, deep and low, that Emma finds herself laughing along, just so it can last longer.

“Now, do you think I could have some coffee? Black, no sugar.”

“Oh, yeah, sure—wait, hang on, we’re not actually open yet, I’m sorry…” Emma cringes, nodding towards the folded chairs and altogether completely deserted place.

“Oh,” Regina says simply, as if it hadn’t been obvious. “Forgive me, I hadn’t realized. The door was open… and when I want something, I don’t like to wait.”

Emma pauses for the second time, barely suppressing a shiver as Regina’s very dark eyes encapture her own.

She has no idea what is happening. This is not what her life looks like. She’s not the type of girl who has intense encounters with beautiful strangers. She gets average, sometimes good, sometimes mediocre, kind of boring. But not this.

One thing she knows, though.

She doesn’t want it to end.

Of course, her body chooses that moment to give a violent shiver, reminding her that she still very much looks like a drowned rat and she should do something about it before catching a stupid cold.

“Shit, I’m sopping wet… uh, do you mind to—I mean, I kinda need to change my shirt, so…”

Emma gestures awkwardly at Regina and the woman nods knowingly.

“Right, of course.”

She slowly turns around, the smirk she’s been wearing through the whole conversation still haunting Emma as she turns her back as well.

She starts lifting her shirt, her heart beating erratically in her chest and making her movement clumsy, feeling strangely disappointed that Regina had complied so readily to her request for privacy. She pulls the shirt over her head—and feels a painful tug on her skull as one of her long lock gets stuck on one of the buttons.

Oh no.

She struggles and desperately tries to wrench free but it only causes her to nearly scalp herself and lash out in colorful expletives.

“Everything alright?” Regina’s tries her best at sounding nonchalant, but Emma can definitely hear the amusement in her voice. She winces.

“Uh… actually… I think I’m stuck. Think you could—”

She barely has time to finish her sentence than Regina is behind the counter with her, hands carefully searching through the opening of her shirt and untangling the stubborn lock, helping Emma finally ease out of her top, flushed and wild-haired.

“There,” Regina smiles, her voice very soft. “All better.”

Emma feels herself melt at the sound of that voice, chuckling uneasily as Regina hands out her shirt to her.

“Lucky you’re not a guy, right, that’d make things really… awkward.”

Regina’s smile becomes cryptic, her eyes scanning curiously over Emma’s body, lingering on her chest. She blushes a shade deeper and slowly brings her soaked shirt to her chest to conceal her now possibly see-through bra.

“Anyway. Thanks, I owe you one.” She tries joking it off but Regina’s eyebrow rises in interest.

“Hmm. Well, maybe you could buy me that cup of coffee. Maybe tonight.”

Emma lets a smile spread on her lips, she feels herself falling deeper and deeper under the spell of Regina’s alluring voice, her confidence, her plain desire. Her mouth opens to say yes but reality crashes back in just in time as she eventually answers: “Y—No I can’t. I mean, I’d love—like to, but I’m working, and then I got… plans. I’m a big… planner, yeah, I always know what I’m gonna do at least three… hours in advance. So.”

“I understand,” Regina says, apparently undeterred, but Emma is not done putting her foot in her mouth as far as she can’t reach.

“I’m in a relationship,” she adds forcefully—too forcefully. “Well—sort of. I mean, it’s a boy. Man.”

“A boy-man?” Regina leans in with a laugh shivering at the corner of her lips, and her finger reaches up gently to wipe off a bit of foam still lingering on Emma’s neck, while she confesses in her ear: “I’ve been told it’s the worst.”

She drags her finger until it brushes the top of Emma’s bra as she takes a step back, then walk away.

“Well, Miss Swan,” she drawls, emphasizing the Miss mockingly. “If you ever want to upgrade… I’ll be around.”

She drops a square little white something on the counter, fingers sliding teasingly just as they’d done on Emma’s skin a few seconds ago.

“Wait,” she asks as Regina nears the entrance. “So, you just moved in to Storybrooke?”

Regina pauses, her hand on the handle, then turns around with a smile that manages the feat to be both gleeful and slightly frightening.

“I guess the word hasn’t been around yet. I’m the new Mayor.”

She waves mockingly at Emma as she makes her exit, letting the door close slowly behind her. Emma rushes to the card she’s left on the counter and reads, in an elegant handwriting, Regina Mills, and a phone number.

“Mayor Mills. Well, I’ll be fucked...”

She groans in embarrassment as she puts her head between her arms.

Then she smiles.

...Hopefully.   

#sqw #sqw 8 #sqw 8 au #coffee shop au #swan queen #sq ff #wynonna earp xover #regina mills #emma swan #lolymoon writes #ouat #ouat shorts