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greenorangevioletgrass · 11 months

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given the circumstances (part 1) | b.r.b.

pairing: Bradley Bradshaw x actress!reader

summary: your relationship with Bradley goes from 0 to 100 after a little happy accident. [Part of “The Actress & The Aviator” universe]

word count: 5.9k

Warnings: established relationship, language, pregnancy, mention of vomit/nausea, accidental pregnancy, fluff, smut [unprotected sex, oral (f receiving), dirty talk, daddy kink, hint of mommy kink?, breeding kink, size kink, creampie]

notes: they’re back babeyyyy! This is set about 1.5 years after the events in “It’s Classified”, and it fills in the gap of the blurbs I did a while ago. But you don’t have to read it first, this can be read as a standalone. I have missed writing for them so much, and I hope you enjoy reading this! <3

✨ follow @ficsbygreenorangevioletgrass to get notified for my latest words <3 happy reading and please reblog if you liked it! ✨

PART ONE

You’ve been New York-bound for six whole months, doing two shows on Broadway back-to-back. Bradley came to visit you for your musical’s opening night about two months in (and again for your second show, a modern take of Romeo & Juliet), but with your shows and his sudden deployment to God knows where for three months, the time and space apart was killing you.

Which is why you’re determined to take some time off as soon as you’re done, just to be with your stupidly handsome fiance at home in the stupidly sunny California.

Your first month or so was a bliss. You would wake up to the smell of your coffee, and saunter into the kitchen where Bradley would kiss you good morning. There’s no rigid structure to your days, save for the occasional work meetings. Most of your time is spent playing house with your fiance, redecorating the house you both barely lived in before you were called off to work. Wandering around and jotting down inspirations for your new screenplay. Treating yourself to frozen yogurts and manicures. Adjusting to life in the San Clemente neighborhood of Orange County.

(Bradley made a joke about you joining The Real Housewives soon, which earned him an elbow to the rib. Whatever. He was more Housewife material than you anyway.)

But halfway through your second month, you started feeling lethargic and just… off. You chalked it up to the weather and exhaustion, since you’ve been back to work, going to pre-production meetings for your upcoming movie. You tried to brush it off with vitamins and heartier meals, powering through for a couple of days.

“You sure you’re okay? You don’t look so good…” Bradley looks at you in concern when you shuffle into the kitchen that morning.

You’re really not, but you blatantly refuse to acknowledge that. “I’m fine. Still tired, is all. I just need some…” the coffee scent wafts in the air—the same scent that always woke you up in a good mood these past six months—and you gag. “Oh fuck.”

Bradley’s voice calling out your name sounds distant as you dash towards the bathroom, barely making it to the toilet before you puke your guts out.

“Hey…” he holds your hair back with one hand while the other rubs your back patiently. Staying calm despite his head is running a mile a minute in panic. “What happened, sweetheart?”

Everything feels like hell from your mouth to your stomach, and you groan as you pull the flush. “I have no idea. I just… I could smell the coffee and suddenly…” you motion at the toilet. “I mean, what the fuck?”

He sighs, wiping off sweat from your forehead and brushing the strands of hair sticking on it. “Maybe it’s stress?” he guesses, although they both know it’s unlikely. You’ve been keeping it relatively chill since you got here. “Or a stomach bug? Or…”

You look up to find his brown eyes softly gazing at yours, in worry and concern and… “Or what?”

He grimaces almost apologetically, and you slowly catch what he means.

“No. No way. Nuh-uh.” you shake your head so quickly, you give yourself a headache. “I’m on birth control. I’ve never missed a day…” That’s not true. As the words leave your mouth, you remember the surprise trip Bradley took you to Big Sur one weekend where you forgot both your pills and condoms…

Fuck.

“Babe… What date is it?”

He stammers for a bit, “Um, the— it’s the 18th.”

You do the mental math, counting the time gap between today and the Big Sur trip, and your last period… and your eyes widen. Your head is swirling, and so is your stomach.

“Sweetheart, do you think you might be—”

Before he can say the damned word, you feel the bile rising again. Your pointer finger lifts up in wait, as you bury your face in the toilet and throw up once more.

His heart catches. You’ve talked about having a baby, and you’ve talked about wanting to have one… some time in the future. He didn’t expect it to happen so soon. Butterflies fill his stomach at the possibility of you carrying his baby right now at this very moment, but the sight of you looking so… defeated by your own body is enough to create a nasty pit in his gut.

“What can I get for you, baby?” he asks softly, caressing the back of your neck.

There’s absolutely nothing else to empty from your stomach at this point. It’s basically just water and dry heaving, and your eyes are tearing up from the terrible sensation.

“Ginger ale from the fridge…” you manage between heavy breaths, “...and some test packs from the pharmacy, please.”

“Okay, sure. Got it. Come on, let’s get you back to bed.” He offers both his hands and gently pulls you up. If he’s nervous or excited or both, he does a pretty good job of not showing it. He pulls up some tissues from the bathroom counter and wipes your mouth without batting an eye.

He lays you down on your side, getting you all nice and comfy, before disappearing into the kitchen, returning with a can of ginger ale and a puke bucket, just in case.

“Sweetheart?” his hand is soft and warm on your cheek, and his voice even more so. “Drink up. Hope it’ll settle your stomach a little bit.”

You sit up a little, and take small sips from the can. At least it helps alleviate the bitter aftertaste in your mouth.

“I put your phone on the bedside. Call me if you need me, alright? I’m just gonna run over to CVS. Be back before you know it.” He kisses your forehead, and you make a face in protest.

“I’m gross right now!”

“I don’t care,” he chuckles. “Just rest up. Love you.”

Of course he knows what to do. Picture perfect Bradley Bradshaw, who knows how to be caring without being overbearing. Who kisses your clammy forehead after you puke your guts out. Who is literally running to the nearest drugstore to get her pregnancy test packs right now, for fuck’s sake. He’s just… perfect.

You lie back down and smush your face into the pillow, faced with the fact that you’ll never be able to live up to that. And if you can’t… how the hell are you supposed to raise a child? How the hell are you supposed to pull your weight when your fiance can already do it so well?

“Babe?” He calls out upon entering the house a few short minutes later. “I’m back. I got the…” his words trail off as he walks into the bedroom and sees you in tears. His whole features soften up as he approaches you gingerly, sitting by your side. “Hey… what’s wrong?”

You shake your head as you sit up, sniffling a little. “What are those?” You nod at the paper bag he put down on the foot of the bed, hoping it’ll divert the conversation a little. It’s a little too big for just a bunch of pregnancy test sticks.

“The tests. And some snacks I thought might help with your stomach.”

And with that, the tears burn the corners of your eyes again and your lips quiver as they fail to hold back the cries.

“How are you so good at this?!”

He pauses in confusion, and then… it dawns on him. An amused glint appears in his eyes. “Are you… crying because I got a good bedside manner?”

Your hands fly up to your face, hiding it from view. “I’m not! Shut up!” You really were, but he didn’t have to say it like that… and your reaction only confirmed his speculation.

Bradley chuckles. God, he loves your silly little antics. “I mean, I had to take care of my mom all through high school, so…” he shrugs sheepishly.

You wipe your tears with the back of your hand. An uncomfortable awkwardness sets in as you remember his late mother’s terminal illness, right in the peak of his high school years. “Right. Sorry.”

“It’s okay, baby. I’m just… glad I’m doing it right?” He smiles in reassurance, wiping what’s left of your tears and kissing your nose. He lifts up the ginger ale can to your hand again. “You lost a lot of fluids to make up for. Drink up some more, and we’ll do the tests, yeah?”

You glance at the paper bag again, watching him fishing around… “How many pregnancy test packs did you get?”

“I got three just to be safe.”

You want to laugh, but you probably would’ve ransacked the test kits too, if you were the one to buy it. So instead, you nod slowly, ponderously. “Three is… three is good.”

You know how these test kits work, they’re all the same, but you insist on reading the instructions pamphlet anyway. With two other test kits to spare, Bradley simply takes another copy from another box to read.

“Pee on a stick, wait for up to 5 minutes.” You put down the pamphlet on the counter. “Easy enough.” You sigh like it’s the hardest thing you’ve ever had to do.

And it is. Every tick of the clock feels louder and farther from the one before, and you’re trying your damnedest not to look back onto the counter where the blue-tipped sticks are lined up. Inspecting it up close and see the lines that appear.

You sigh in exasperation, breaking the stilted silence. “I don’t even know what I’m hoping for, if I’m honest. Is that weird?”

He shakes his head a little. “Not at all. This is a weird situation to be in, I think it makes sense if we’re still not sure what we want.”

“Do you know what you’re hoping for?” You turn your head towards him. Maybe you’ll know it when you hear it.

“Honestly? No.” Yes. He knows exactly what he wants. He just doesn’t want to admit it and freak you out even more. “I’m just thinking about you. About us…”

“What about us?”

“Just that… whatever happens, we’ll figure it out together.”

Bless him. It would be infuriating if you weren’t so comforted by it. Leave it to Bradley to always know just the right thing to say.

And he means every word of it too. Yes, he wants a baby with you now, but you don’t, or if it doesn’t turn out to be now, then… he can stand to wait a little more. For as long as you need.

“How long do we have left?”

Bradley joins your gaze towards the nautical clock on the wall. A silly little gag gift you gave him last Christmas, for your favorite flying seaman.

“Three minutes and fifteen seconds…?”

“That’s about the average length of a pop song.”

He grins. “Exactly. One pop song, and we’ll find out.”

You nod. Listening to the tick, tick, tick of the clock. It drones on and on, and it seems to lull slower as it goes. Fuck Einstein and his theory of relativity. You pick the first random song that pops into your head and holds onto it for dear life. It’s your only way of keeping track of the time, at this point.

“I took my love, I took it down…” you sing under your breath, tentatively.

Bradley snorts. “It’s a good song.” That’s an understatement. He adores Fleetwood Mac, and this is the first song he learned on the guitar when he was 10.

“Climbed a mountain and I turned around…” you throw him a side-eye, a more than obvious invitation to join you.

Bradley has his eyes closed, though. But he nods along and sings along in his warm voice, “And I saw my reflection in the snow-covered hill…”

“‘Til the landslide brought me down.”

The two of you are singing with your whole chests now, belting out the chorus to drown out your nerves, forcing yourself to stay on tempo even when you feel like rushing it to the end. Right now, it’s more like Nick Miller’s nervous singing from New Girl than a beautiful bathroom jam session, but you don’t care. Bradley is vocalizing the guitar solo part like the back of his hand, playing the air guitar and everything, and you’re so, so happy that out of all the people in the world, you’re doing this with him.

And at that moment, you realize that your worries earlier today were misguided. Yes, Bradley knows how to take care of you, and he probably knows a thing or two about babies. But he’s on your side. He’ll be pulling the weight with you. Being good parents is not a competition—you know he’ll cheer you on like he is doing right now. He knows you’ll do the same for him, too.

Well I’ve been afraid of changes

‘cause I’ve built my life around you

But time makes you bolder, even children get older

and I’m getting older too

You didn’t notice it at first, but Bradley also softens up on the final chorus, lost in his own thoughts. He has built his life on self-preservation, protecting himself from the lies of the people he loved, and depriving him of the love and family he’s always wanted. But maybe it’s age or the wounds healing (or you swooping into his life at just the right moment)… but he’s not gonna live forever. He knows in his heart of hearts that he wants this baby. He wants this life with you.

When you ask him to look and tell you the results, he doesn’t even flinch. He just nods, kissing your temple as he reaches for all three test kits behind you. His hand shakes a little as he picks them up, though, flipping to see the indicator side. One line for negative, two for positive.

And there it is.

“They’re…” his throat catches, his face unreadable. “They’re all positive…”

“What?”

He shows you the test kits, two blue lines all across the board. His voice wavers, with tears and smiles at the same time. “We’re having a baby.”

“Oh my God…” you walk into his arms in a daze, still not sure what you’re feeling. Are you relieved because you simply know the answer, or relieved because it’s true? Are you terrified because you want it or you don’t?

Bradley cups your face with both hands, tucking unruly strands of hair behind your ear. His brown eyes brimming with tears, blurry as he admires your beauty. The mother of his child. Gosh, he can’t believe his luck.

“How do you feel, honey?”

It tugs at your heartstrings, just how soft he is. So brave, and so gentle at the same time. You have no idea what kind of parent you would be, but you know he would make a great one. “Shocked,” you admit. He nods. “Scared.” This time, you’re a bit embarrassed, but he completely empathizes. “But…” you put your hand over his, closing your eyes as you lean your cheek against his palm, so warm and soft and right, “…happy.”

***

And after two months of a relatively slow life, things are going from zero to 100 very quickly.

Bradley manages to duck out of work early and take you to the doctor that very afternoon. Everything seems to be in order. The baby is, indeed, there— a 7-week-old blob as big as a blueberry with a heartbeat.

Heartbeat.

Your heart all but stops beating when you first hear it, much stronger than you thought it would. But there it is. Strong. Alive.

There.

“That’s… that’s our baby…” You choke up, staring at the ultrasound screen in awe. His hand brings yours to his lips for a loving kiss.

Gosh, you must’ve cried about six times that day. Bradley twice as much (He would deny it to his grave, but you kept count.)

And then, once the novelty wears off a little and the new situation sets in… the two of you get to work.

Bradley updates the entire kitchen inventory and goes into a research (or, as you like to call it, a rabbit hole) into what you can or cannot consume during your pregnancy. You’re constantly on the phone with your agent to rearrange your schedule for the next year (he sounds happy that you’re expecting, but a little inconvenienced that he has to move some things around and even cancel your involvement in a few projects). Conversation topics at mealtimes now include baby names, nursery ideas, and childcare plans.

Bradley comes home to you huddled over your laptop one evening, brows knitted in focus. The AC is cranked up to the max in the summer heat, and you’re all bundled up in the throw blanket. He wants to squee over how cute you look. He puts down the takeout bag of Pad Thai on the coffee table.

“Whatcha got there, my little cocoon?”

“Insurance, mostly.” You look up to kiss him briefly, before you continue typing on. “I’ve been talking to them all afternoon, going through the birth plans and sorting everything out. Very exciting stuff.”

“Hell yeah! Paperwork! The thrill of calling up an insurance company on a Tuesday!” Bradley counters your deadpan with an overexcited cheer, flopping himself on the spot next to you with another big kiss. “Anything I can help you with?”

“Well,” you take a thoughtful deep breath, going through your mental to-do list and realizing… you’re pretty much all set. “How about a back massage?” You give him the puppy eyes, as if you needed it in the first place.

“Copy that, Ma’am.” He throws her a lazy salute and tugs the throw blankets off of you. He starts on your shoulders, noticing the tension under your skin. “Jeez, babe. How long have you been hunched over here?”

Before you can answer him, he’s already working the knots on the base of your neck, you don’t even know you were so tense there, and you respond with a resounding moan.

He raises his eyebrows. “I’ll… take that as a compliment, then.” He grins, ever so proud that he’s eliciting these sounds out of you.

It’s not like you were playing it up or anything. You really were tense, and his hands really do feel good. And while it does make you moan and sigh blissfully, it’s hardly your fault that it makes him think of something else, right?

“Baby…” his voice sounds like a gentle warning.

“Yes?”

His hands stop. “Don’t test me.”

“Oh, okay. Would you prefer this instead?” you grunt oafishly, a piss-poor impression of him in bed, “Fuck baby, that’s it. That’s it. Good girl…”

“Hey!” he pokes his fingers to your side and cage you in his arms so you have nowhere to go. Nowhere to avoid his ministrations.

You giggle uncontrollably, squirming as he gets on top of you, peppering kisses all over your face. A mere distraction to his real tickle attacks. “Stop! Stop! Roo-roo!”

He pins your arms over your head, his cheeks tinged pink with mischief now. “Yield?”

“I’m willing to negotiate.” You flash him a coy smirk.

He frowns. Go on.

You raise an eyebrow. You know what I’m talking about.

He raises his, mirroring you. Interesting…

You tilt your head slightly. Well?

And just like that…

“Deal.”

Your lips meet each other halfway in a searing kiss. The pregnancy hormones are kicking in in full gear, and you’re needier. Much needier than you already are. You want Bradley all the time, in whatever form he’s in, in whatever situation you are in. He knows this, and he finds this endlessly adorable. He would poke fun at you for that…

If only he wasn’t so god-fucking-damned enamored by you for it.

He tears off your dress, reveling in the sheer sight of you. Your curves growing softer, more pronounced in the past month alone. The very subtle but steadfast roundness of your belly. Your breasts, as they grow fuller and—

“Oh…” you whimper as he rolls your nipple between your fingers.

More sensitive to the touch.

“God, you’re so beautiful like this…” he leans down to kiss you again; on the mouth, and on the neck… his tongue gliding across your collarbones, forming the shape of your mounds, one after another…

“Roo, take me to bed…”

“Or what, lose me forever?”

He grazes the outer parts of your nipple with his teeth and teasingly licks at the hardened tops, and you cry out. Such a small little thing, but you feel the sensation in your fingertips.

Bradley smiles. A soft look despite how the situation is escalating. “C’mere, baby.”

With your legs wrapped around his waist, he lifts you up off of the couch. You think it’s just to get you up on your feet, but then he’s not letting go. “You’re not seriously thinking about carrying me all the way upstairs, right?” A teasing frown sets on your face as he hauls you out of the living room.

“Are you assuming that I can’t carry my beautifully pregnant wife to our room?”

“I’m not your wife yet, you know— oh shit!” He pins you against the wall right by the stairs, one hand cradling the back of your head, ever so caring.

He mouths your neck in teasing, his breath fanning against your bare skin. “No? So I don’t have to perform my husbandly duties now, since you’re not my wife?”

It’s kind of hot… but you can’t help but make a face at his choice of words. “You need to stop watching Downton Abbey. Just say ‘fuck.’ It’s not that hard.”

He pulls away, his comeback locked and loaded and ready to go. “You can’t tell me what to do. Who are you, my wife or something?”

“Ugh!” your jaw falls open in a mock offended expression, and you smack his ass playfully.

In turn, he squeezes yours back. Tight. Possessive. There’s a shift in his gaze, a tiny sliver, a darkening—the kind that makes you feel even more naked than you already are. You look at him with unbridled lust, and he kisses you like it’s the only way he can breathe. Like he’s been holding his breath until he can get his hands on you.

And by God, you would let him have all the air you have left to give.

He carries up to the bedroom slowly, carefully, and you hold onto him tight. Reveling in how strong he’s built, all muscles and abs and everything, and how gentle he handles you as he sets you down on the edge of the bed. The epitome of a gentleman, as he kneels down between your legs.

You can feel the heat emanating from him—or is it you?— and you try to unbutton his khaki uniform. “Baby, don’t you wanna take off your…” your words die out as his chest moves out of reach. There is only his hair between your thighs.

His tongue between your folds.

“Fuuuuck…” you bite through your teeth. And once his finger joins in, you’re done for.

You make no effort to hold back your obscene moans, but the wet sounds coming from your pussy are still louder. Your face grows hot as the noise bounces through your bedroom walls.

Bradley pulls his mouth away for a moment, smirking devilishly at you from between his legs. “Well well well… What’s got you this soaking wet, honey?”

You bite your lip, trying to keep it together. But you’re teetering dangerously closer to your release, and you whine out, “You, Daddy…”

He chuckles darkly. “Daddy’s got you all worked up, huh?” The use of the moniker has significantly increased since the news of your pregnancy, but you’re hardly complaining. It does hit different now that he’s actually gonna be one. “I’ve been home for two minutes, and you’re already dripping down your legs…” he slaps the inside of your thigh and you’re keeling into it. “So fucking cute.”

He watches you fuck yourself on his fingers and it makes you dizzy. “Please…”

“Please what?” His mustache tickles your clit, and it drives you wild. “Please stop?”

You whimper in protest.

He adds another finger into you, and raises an expectant eyebrow. This fucking asshole. A snide remark sits right at the tip of your tongue, but the only thing that comes out is,

“Please fuck me.”

He stops, straightening up with an intrigued look about him. Then, being a little shit, he comes back up to you with a kiss. “Good girl. There we go. That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

You taste yourself on his lips, his mustache wet from your arousal, too. In any other case, you would be more proactive, more feral in returning his sentiment—tearing off his clothes and stuffing your mouth full of his cock. But lately you’ve been feeling more… submissive. So easily drunk on climax that you just surrender your pleasure to your man, knowing he’ll take care of you.

Bradley stands up to his full height, towering over you. He toes off his shoes, unbuttoning his uniform. It’s hardly a striptease routine, but there’s something insanely hot about him undressing when he’s about to fuck you.

His shirt drops to the floor, and the white undershirt soon joins. You perk up at the sound of his belt unbuckling, pants rustling down. And as his hard cock springs free from his boxers, you swallow thickly at the sight.

“You ready?” He pumps his fist around his hard-on a few times, as he settles between your legs, still standing on the side of the bed.

A quiet little please escapes you, and then a gasp, as he pulls your hips to the edge of the bed. Lining up his cock against your entrance. He’s big, and your pussy is still aching after he edged you moments ago. It’s gonna be a tight fit.

“Honey, go slow. Please. Slowslowslowslow… ahh!” His cock slides into you in one swift movement, sending a blinding wave of pain and pleasure as it stretches you out.

He doesn’t tear his eyes off of you. He watches your face fall under his undoing, and he moans. “You feel so good, baby…” he says between heavy breaths. You’re always so strong and bold and ballsy, and it gives him a fucking power trip to see you look so… small taking on his cock.

You let out a pathetic whimper as he starts to shallowly thrust in and out of you.

“What is it, baby?” He coos, caressing your hip gently.

“Y’too big…”

“Too big?” Bradley looks down to level your gaze, a seed of a shit-eating grin plastered on his stupid face. “You want me to stop? Is that what you want?”

“No!” You buck up into him as soon as his hips halt, desperately trying to maintain the pace.

He chuckles, that cocky fuck, before he finally continues driving his dick up your inner walls again. “No? You want me to keep stretching you, then?”

You nod. Every thrust feels bigger, deeper, more than the rest, hitting that spot of pleasure just barely, and you’re willing to do anything to stay there.

“Been so needy since I got you pregnant…” he kisses your neck. “Want Daddy more now that I made you a mommy, huh?”

Fuck. The words—the exact order of the words he said sounds batshit insane. You never considered this kind of dirty talk to be hot, but Jesus…

“God, I can’t wait to see your belly all big and round… your tits too, fuck…” he groans as he squeezes your soft flesh, rubbing your nipples with his thumb. “Gonna be a mommy and show everyone who you belong to, huh?”

“Mmh…” You’ve seen Bradley being possessive, and you’ve seen him tap into his primal side, but not like this. This is a whole other beast, and it shocks you how much it turns you on.

“All mine, huh?”

“I’m all yours, Daddy. I’m—fuck. Fuck!” Your whole body is shaking. The band in your core is wound up so tight, and it’s threatening to snap.

And through it all, he doesn’t let up. Bradley keeps that rhythm, pounding into you hard and deep. “Shit, that’s it… that’s it, baby. Come on my cock. God, you’re so fucking tight…”

There’s no stopping it now… your pussy gushes and clenches around him, as shocks of pleasure wave through your system. Your mind goes blank, and for a hot second, nothing is registering in your brain. Nothing but your man, as obscenely as he is fucking your brains out right now,

“Need your cum inside me, Roo…”

“Don’t wanna come anywhere else. Just you, just your pussy…” he breathes out. He’s close, that much you can tell. His pace is erratic and his mouth runs wild. “Gonna keep pumping you full of my cum. Gonna keep fucking babies into you until you can’t anymore.”

You would laugh. You would tease him for being such a caveman about it. But as he comes deep inside you, his hips stuttering one, two, three more times as he rides out his orgasm… you don’t only surrender to the idea; you welcome it.

Maybe you’re completely fucked out. Maybe you’re going soft and mellow, but nothing—and you mean nothing— is hotter than what he wants to do to you.

What he is doing to you now.

The room falls into a pleasant silence as you come down from your high. Bradley pulls out of you, and you gush out with your own release and his. His mouth falls open in awe. “Fuck, that’s hot…”

“Huh?” You lift your head from the bed, trying to see what he’s looking at.

“Nah, it’s just…” he shakes his head with a grin. “Good thing we’re already pregnant, huh? If we weren’t, that might’ve just done the trick.”

You roll your eyes as he gives you a sweet peck on the cheek. “I think the dirty talk alone was enough to do it.”

He blushes, a deep shade of red. He absolutely can’t take it when you quote back the things he said to you during sex. “Nope! Not a single word. La-la-la-la…” he closes his ears with his fingers, waddling over to the bathroom comically.

The sound of water trickling into the toilet coincides with your laugh in the bedroom… and then it gets drowned out with the flush. It’s a mundane little snapshot of your intimate lives together.

He comes up to you and offers his hands. “Come on…” he helps you get up. “You go ahead and clean up. I’ll change the sheets.”

Leave it up to Bradley, to always take initiatives to do the small things, like changing the sheets and ushering your ass to the bathroom after sex.

As you clean up and put on some clothes in the bathroom, Bradley singing Take My Breath Away to himself in the other room, you wonder how all of this will turn out. Change is inevitable—your belly is getting bigger, this new stage of relationship is getting more real— and you’re desperate to get a grasp on these things. It’s strange to be so anxious after such a lovely evening. But it’s been so good so far… too good, maybe… and you can’t help but wonder if the other shoe might drop.

“Everything alright?” Bradley pops up by the bathroom door, already in sweatpants and a t-shirt. You must’ve been in there for a while.

You nod absently. “Yeah, just… changing.” And you’re not sure whether you’re talking about the clothes you just put on, or the body you inhabit.

“I think you look beautiful,” he says so simply. Wrapping his arms around you, feeling your small bump. He smiles into your hair and whispers, “My beautiful wife…”

“Not your wife yet…” you remind him pointedly, teasingly. It’s one of your favorite pastimes, keeping him on his toes.

He turns you around to face him, a tender look seemingly permanent on his face whenever he sees you these days. “I mean, you’re here, with me, in our house, carrying our baby…” he kisses your nose, “As far as I’m concerned, that makes you my wife, doesn’t it?”

Well, when he puts it like that… you take a deep sigh, not hating the idea. But not quite ready to concede to his argument yet. “Apart from a piece of paper.”

“Ah well. That can easily be arranged, hmm?”

Truth be told, he’s got a point. The only differentiating factor to your status right now is a little certificate, and both your signatures on the dotted lines. Not a big party or a horrendously expensive dress that everybody would have an opinion on. And to be more truthful, it was never what you wanted in the first place.

You only ever want to be together.

And you’re free to decide how you want to be together.

“Should we just do it?”

“What?”

You look up at him with a tentative smile.

His eyes light up, and his heart leaps. “I mean, sure.” He chuckles. “We can go down to the courthouse. Or, hell, I’ll drive us to Vegas right now.”

It gets a giggle out of you. Of course he would jump at the opportunity to marry you right away. “Or… we can just celebrate it with our closest friends and family? Rent a beach house somewhere, and just… make a fun weekend out of it?”

“And just… what, get a justice of the peace to marry us?”

You shrug with an easy smile. “Or we can make Mav cry and ask him to officiate.”

He chuckles, but trails off as it sinks in. It has never occurred to him that that was an option. He’s always imagined it the traditional way. A church ceremony followed by a reception in a hall somewhere. Walking under the arch of swords. Looking dapper in his dress uniform. But with his work obligations and yours, and all the nightmare logistics of guest numbers and venues and entertainment and the fucking publicity that comes with your fame, both of you are well aware that it’s a hassle.

And it’s not even the most important part.

The most important part is you. You’d be the one meeting him at the altar. You’d be the one saying your vows and making him cry happy tears.

You would be the one.

For him.

Forever.

“Let’s do it.” Bradley nods resolutely. “Just you, me, and our closest people. We can get married in our jammies, for all I care.”

“Maybe not jammies…” you roll your eyes in amusement. “I still wanna look nice for our wedding, you know.”

“You look nice in your jammies.” He glances down at your tank top.

“Roo.” You cover his line of sight indignantly.

But he tugs your hand away, eyes still glued to what is arguably one of his favorite sights in the world. Your cleavage. Plays it off really coolly as he teases you. “No, no. I’m serious. You look really nice in your jammies. I really wouldn’t object to—”

You swat his hand, only half-serious. “Bradley.”

“Alright, fine!” He raises his hands in surrender. “So long as I get to call you my wife.”

“Not your wife yet…” you saunter out of the bathroom, knowing full well he doesn’t care.

To be completely honest, you’re not even sure that you do, either.

#bradley bradshaw #bradley bradshaw imagine #bradley bradshaw smut #bradley bradshaw x reader #rooster imagine #rooster smut #rooster x reader #the actress & the aviator #ava writes #top gun maverick

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creepycrawliesanonymous · 1 year

Text

a/n this is way too long, it started as a blurb and then the spirit of the reader-insert goddess possessed me and this is what I have to show for it, totally could've been longer but I restrained myself, so if the masses want a part two just shoot the message my way

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You had a feeling most people your age would be more excited about the prospect of sharing a house with an up-and-coming rock band in Los Angeles. Perhaps you yourself were more excited leading up to your move, packing up your bare essentials and your typewriter, sipping a cocktail in the smoking section of the plane, listening to David Bowie in the taxi over to the house. And what a house it was! You were given the run-down over the phone by the woman who put the listing out, Camila Something (never great with the last names, you were), not put off by the alleged haunted-ness of the house. If anything, the various ghosts and ghouls would serve as inspiration for your screenplay. There was not much that could dampen your spirits at this point, lugging your bags towards the front door and rapping your knuckles on the wood.

Except, of course, the obvious.

Moving from your parents' house to a college dorm had been, as you recall, a bit of a shock to the system. If that was the case then, it was nothing compared to moving into the closet-like space that was the remaining bedroom. You had gotten an apologetic smile from Camila... Alv- shit, Alvaro? It was leaving your head already. You felt bad, she had been nice enough to welcome you into the house and shown you to your shoebox of a living space.

"None of the boys wanted this room, so you should be left alone most of the time. Warren swears it's the epicenter for all the ghosts...," she nervously chuckled, "and whatnot." You took a nibble of the chocolate-chip cookie she gave you. "So just, take all the time you need to settle in, the group is out rehearsing for a gig tonight so you'll be on your own for dinner." She paused. "Unless you'd like to come see them, which would be more than fine! They're all so excited to meet you, especially Karen I think. She's been dying for some more estrogen in the house, me as well."

You swallowed. "I think I'll just stay in tonight, thank you." You cringed at yourself as she visibly faltered.

"No problem, uh, there's some leftover beer and pizza in the fridge if you get hungry, just help yourself to whatever you need." She was a saint, you thought, taking whatever awkwardness you possessed in stride. She even helped carry in your bag, setting it carefully on your twin bed. You insisted on taking in your typewriter yourself. It now lived on one of the cardboard boxes in the corner of your room, presumably left over from the group's initial move. "I'll get Billy to move those."

"It's fine." You had no desk. This was actually preferable to writing on the floor.

Camila gave you one last warm smile before returning back to the living room. You waited until she was out of earshot, stood up, and closed the door behind her.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You were on your own late into the night, into the small hours of the morning. Camila had left the house at around 8:30, after which you snuck out of your room to rummage through the fridge. True to her word, there was a box of pizza within the fridge, with two slices remaining. Considering you were now sharing a place with four boys, this seemed like a small miracle to you. You ate both of them cold, sitting at the dining room table. While you ate, you took the time to take in your surroundings.

The kitchen, frankly, was not in the best shape. Pots and dishes piled up in the sink and the counters looked like they needed a serious scrubbing. The living room had beer bottles littering the floor, and the couch looked distinctly tread on.

You took another bite of your frozen pizza. This would do just nicely.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Tired from your day of travel (and the handful of plane cocktails you had ingested) you retired to your bed relatively early. It would seem in this house, early meant any time before 2 a.m., and on-time would be closer to 4, which was around the time you were startled awake by a car pulling up and a small crowd of people piling through the backdoor into the kitchen.

"I swear there was pizza left over this morning."

"Eddie, we have a new roommate." That was Camila. "She needs to eat, too."

"Yeah, where is she?" A British voice piped up, moving from the kitchen roughly towards the living room. "Don't tell me she's in bed already."

"Just because you rock-and-rollers like to stay up doesn't mean everybody does," Camila laughed out. "Speaking of which, I'm beat. I'll see you all tomorrow."

"Right behind you." A deeper voice sounded, and two sets of footsteps walked off presumably to their bedroom. You suspected that was Billy.

"Should we go find her?" You felt as if your spine had been doused in cold water.

"Don't be stupid." British again. Someone moved around the living room, a record needle scratched and the quiet sounds of Credence Clearwater Revival started playing throughout the room.

The house started to mellow out after that; you expected the rest of them went to bed, and the ones that stayed out were smoking. It was at that moment that your bladder started to call for your attention in earnest. Weighing your options, you decided venturing out of your bedroom would be less treacherous than pissing your bed on your first night.

The journey to the bathroom you managed to avoid other people, it was the journey back that you slipped up. There was only one person in the living room, and there was only one of you in the hallway, so there was no mistaking that when he was waving, he was waving at you. To make matters worse, he was strikingly handsome, and you were deeply sleepy. Before you could stop yourself, you waved back. He held up the joint he was smoking in your direction. You shook your head. He gave you an exaggerated pout, wiping an invisible tear off his cheek. Not totally convinced that what was happening to you was real, you quietly slunk off back to bed.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

There was a small window in your room, the sill lined with small potted plants. The morning sun beamed through that window, casting a glowing light onto your bed. You reached your hand around looking for your pillow to throw over your head, prying your eyes open to see it lying on the floor next to your headboard. Groaning, you sat up, resigning yourself to the morning.

The house was quiet. 9 a.m. was evidently too early for anybody except you to be awake. You tiptoed your way into the kitchen, searching for a loaf of bread or an oatmeal pack. What didn't escape your notice, was the man sleeping soundly on the coach in the living room. The same man, you saw, that your had encountered last night. In the morning light you were able to get a better look at him. You were right to see that he was handsome, with his curly brown hair and his strong nose. Taking a bite of your buttered bread, you let yourself stare at him for just a few moments. Too many moments, in fact. You realized this when suddenly the boy on the couch was staring back at you.

"You didn't come smoke with me last night."

At that moment, you felt more empathy for deers in headlights than any other living soul on the planet.

"Good morning."

"Is it?" He looked over to the windows streaming in light. He beamed. "It is."

You hurried back to your room, the piece of bread squished within your clenched fist.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Your first few weeks you spent writing. It was very clear that you kept a very different schedule from everyone else in the house, except for maybe Camila. By virtue of being the only two in the house for long stretches of the day, she was the one in the house that you became the closest to the fastest. In the afternoons she would encourage you to bring your typewriter out into the dining room to keep her company while she poured over photographs from the night before. You would both slip into a comfortable silence, save for the clacking of your keys.

When you weren't writing you were watching TV. Camila had gotten Billy to drive you downtown along with a list of groceries, where you purchased for yourself the smallest television set you could find. While Billy and you said the equivalent of about three sentences to each other that trip, he had carried it into the house for you and even helped set it up in your room. The tiny screen sat in the corner on top of one of the cardboard boxes, consistently tuned to CBS so you could watch re-runs of Scooby Doo.

There was another television set in the living room. It was slightly bigger than yours, too. Maybe it even got more channels. You didn't use it.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Camila greatly appreciated your company. She adored the band that she lived with, and she loved Billy with all her heart, but she couldn't deny that uprooting herself from Pittsburgh and moving across the country wasn’t an easy change. Putting out ads looking for a roommate, while being somewhat financially motivated (only so much pocket toast could be eaten by one household), was, perhaps subconsciously, a yearning for companionship, for a friend to fill the hours where the house would otherwise be empty.

And she adored you. You may have been a tough nut to crack, she slowly but surely got you to open up, got you talking about films coming out that you wanted to see, your childhood dog that would puke all over your room, your favorite classes in high school. The little things that were once guarded under layers of uncertainty and self-isolation. She would ask for your opinions on the photos she took, and you would ask her about your word choice. Before heading out for the night, she would always ask you if you wanted to come with, and she was sure she was getting closer and closer to the day you would say yes.

She was also pretty sure you had a thing for Warren. Like, 99.8% sure.

You never brought him up. She started dropping his name in your daily conversation, and would watch as your fingers would still on the keys of your typewriter. You would stutter for a few seconds before taking a breath and composing yourself, nervously glancing over at her to make sure she didn't notice. She never gave you any indication that she did, but of course she noticed.

She also noticed how Warren would scan the audience every night from behind his drum kit, and how his face would subtly fall when he couldn't spot you. Or how he started nagging the group to go home earlier than usual, and would drag his feet a little more in the early afternoons before leaving for rehearsals. The final straw on the camel's back came when he had bought a tiny ceramic kitten and asked her to give it to you.

"She likes cats, right?" It was close to three in the morning when he had cornered her in the kitchen, holding up the small black cat in the light of the oven lamp. "It seemed like something she'd like."

"You know, you can be asking her these questions yourself."

"I don't wanna spook her." He shrugged like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

"Playing the long game, huh?"

"I've got time." He froze, eyes slowly widening. "I mean, I don't know what you're talking about."

She plucked the cat from his hands, patting him on the shoulder. "Go to bed, Rojas."

She slid the cat over to you the next morning while you were eating your cereal.

"What is this?" You gingerly picked it up.

"It's from Warren." You quickly set it back down. "It's for you."

You don't think your face has ever been hotter than it was that day. The cat lived on you windowsill, next to the potted plants. Every time you watered you felt a warmness blooming in your chest, running a finger delicately over its head.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Hey, you know what channel M*A*S*H airs on, right?"

On a rare day off, the band had settled in around the television in the living room; Camila and Billy sharing the chair in the corner, Graham and Karen lying over each other on the floor, with Eddie perched on the stool in front of the set, his hand on the dial. Warren had spread himself out on the couch, lying down comfortably smoking a joint.

"Uh, yeah." You paused in the doorway. "Yeah, sorry, uh, it's on CBS."

"Great, thanks." Eddie fiddled around with the set before standing up. "Are you gonna join us? I mean, you can join us if you want to."

"Oh, um," you're eyes wildly scanned the room for any hint of disapproval. They landed on Warren, who was hazily looking at you with an easy smile on his face. "Yeah, sure."

"Warren, move your legs," Camila spoke from across the room. Still looking at you, Warren lifted his legs off the couch, inviting you to sit down. As you took your seat, he lowered his legs back down on your lap. He held out the joint, in a movement reminiscent of your first encounter. Never not one for consistency, you shook your head. He shrugged and stuck the joint back between his lips, turning his attention to Alan Alda on the TV. Unsure of what to do with your hands, you tentatively rested them on his calves. You didn't notice, but right next to you the corners of Warren's mouth ever so subtly turned upwards.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

M*A*S*H, as groundbreaking of a show as it was, was not enough to hold the attention of 7 adults for an extended amount of time. Camila left the group first, but not before dropping you a wink as she left the room. Slowly but surely, the rest of the group left to go putter around in their respective corners of the house, before it was just you and Warren, who had finished his joint and transitioned to laying his head in your lap. His face was looking up towards you, but his eyes were closed, looking so relaxed he reminded you of a cat showing their belly. Not fully aware of yourself, you had rested one of your hands on the side of his waist, while the other was running through his hair. The scene was so intimate you were practically choking on it.

"Will you come to our show this weekend?"

Your hand stilled.

"Hmm?"

"I'd like you to, if you want to." He reached his hand up to yours, nudging it to get you to resume your petting. "I'll buy you dinner afterwards."

"You don't need to do that."

He cracked open his eyes, his face splitting into a grin.

"Girlie, I'll take you to dinner any night that you let me."

You barked out a laugh despite yourself. You felt like you were dreaming. He started giggling, too.

"I will!" His thumb was rubbing the meat of your forearm, drawing small circles on your skin. "I'll get you another little cat, too. My finances aren't robust but I'll find a way." The heart eyes he was sending your way were overwhelming.

"I- okay!"

"Really?" Warren sat up, eyes scanning your face, grinning wildly. Not trusting your voice, you nodded emphatically. Looking slightly awestruck, he reached over and cupped your face. "You won't regret this, honey. I'm gonna treat you so well." Someone called him from another room, and reluctantly he let go of you. Subconsciously you started reaching for him. As he stood up, he leaned over and took your hands in his, kissing your knuckles.

"I'm gonna name a boat after you!"

After he left the room, you breathed out a holy cow, and then another quiet chuckle.

Warren Rojas was gonna be the death of you, and you were counting on it.

#warren rojas #warren rojas x reader #djats x reader #if this gets one note i will write the date fic #i will like this myself if i have to

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epiclamer · 2 years

Note

hero is going to a movie alone. they're having a good time until villain sits down right next to them. medium to low horny (here have food and also pls drink water 🥞🥞)

Mmmm thank you anon!! This one also reminds me of my girl sooooo @save-the-villainous-cat here you are babes!

Cw: a little smutty

(No reposts but reblogs appreciated <3)

Movie Night

Hero let their eyes flicker across the screen mindlessly, barely paying attention. The movie was mediocre at best, they just needed something to do to get their team off their back, besides they weren’t really looking forward to another lonely night in their apartment anyways. The nights we’re getting cold and watching people double up and enjoy the holiday season was getting on Hero’s nerves. They weren’t a jealous person, but watching everyone strive in a domain they could hardly play in, it bubbled up inside them. They just wanted to live that cute romantic stuff.

The seat next to them moved, catching their eye, someone choosing to sit themselves directly to the right of Hero in a movie theatre that was practically empty. So much for any good time to themselves, now they had find a new row or convince the other to move.

Hero turned to face the newcomer, bracing for an argument and still debating whether or not they should just take their things and leave. “Hey-”

“Hey.”

Villain. Villain was here. Sitting next to them. In this dark and almost empty theatre. They were grinning at Hero, a bag of popcorn in hand and a drink in the other as they shuffled their butt in their seat.

“Mind if I join you, pretty?” The nickname wasn’t what somehow compelled Hero to nod, but they were sure that it helped. They would’ve never agreed to let their nemesis sit by them casually and watch a movie, but in a sense it calmed the raging loneliness in Hero’s heart.

“What? You want to keep staring at me, or do you want to watch this movie?” Villain never faltered, throwing Hero their sultry gaze as they munched on their snacks. Hardly giving Hero the time of day, staying focused on the movie but splayed out enough in their seat to have their arm rest against Hero’s.

The other quickly corrected themselves, eyes immediately turning back to the film playing on the big screen and a small blush creeping to their cheeks. Villains arm pressed delicately against their own and as much as they wanted to deny it and ignore the sensations it provoked inside their frozen heart; they wanted so much more.

Hero wanted to feel the villain, touch them, toy with them, tease them, whatever. As long as their hands could be on Villains body and Villains could be on theirs. They craved that feeling of mutuality. They practically wanted to flip themselves around and press their bodies together in this exact moment. They were falling apart and they needed the warmth of Villains lips on theirs.

“Enjoying the movie, hm?” Villain joked, watching Hero startle from their zoned out state. They were only teasing, but in reality they hadn’t been very focused on the screenplay either. Villain shrugged, feeling Hero’s eyes on them once more. “I give it… four out of ten.”

Hero scoffed, rolling their eyes at the other. “You’ve been here for like five minutes. You can’t make a judgement on a movie not having seen the whole thing!”

Villain smirked, listening to Hero ramble on about how film is an art and must be taken seriously, blah blah blah. It was adorable. And even throughout their mindless blabbering about cinema and the messages behind it, they kept their voice low as not to bother any of the other watchers. God, if Villain didn’t have their hands full right now they would’ve probably grabbed the hero and kissed them. But they decided on a softer approach.

Propping their popcorn bag on the floor and sliding their hand over to Hero’s inner thigh, Villain squeezed gently which seemed to stop the other in the tracks of their speech. Halting completely and blinking up at the villain with eyes like saucers.

“Hero, why don’t you tell me all about cinema back at my place?” When the crime-stopper shied away from a response, Villain continued. “Don’t worry, we can do it with my head between your thighs and your hands in my hair if that makes it any better.”

Now, how could Hero decline such an offer?

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professorspork · 3 months

Note

I hope this doesn’t come across as like a pushy “update pls” I promise that’s not how I mean it. I’m curious at what point you feel like a multi-chapter fic is ready to post? Do you write it in its entirety and then edit chapters in between updates, write and edit it in its entirety, write most of it and continue writing the rest between updates? I’m very curious about your process since you’ve been writing some monster word count fics

I really appreciate you asking!

The short version is that I've learned over time that what works best for me is completing a work in its entirety before I start posting; above all I like posting on a reliable schedule for my audience, and I simply do not write quickly enough (or coherently enough) to do that any other way. There are a lot of reasons for that and I WILL ELABORATE ON THEM AT LENGTH:

I have several multi-chapter WIPs from the Glee days-- when I was in college-- that I never finished because I'm a delicate hothouse flower when it comes to maintaining hyperfocus, and I found a new fandom to be in before I could complete them. Back then especially, I was much less disciplined about writing sequentially: I would write parts of the story wildly out of order, focusing on whatever interested me most at the time. That means my hard drive is a graveyard of unpublished content, which sucks-- not only did I never give my audience the resolutions they were looking for, but I never got to receive feedback on parts of the story I was really proud of. I found that really dispiriting.

Going to grad school for screenwriting really helped me focus on telling a story in order, because there is literally no other way to write a screenplay than one scene at a time; it's far too reliant on momentum and consistency to jump ahead to "the good bits" and come back. I also did several projects-- writing my multi-chap Frozen&Tangled polyamory epic for a friend's birthday; pre-writing all my 2015 Cartinelli Week one shots far in advance so I knew they'd be perfect come posting day-- where I had a deadline I wanted everything Done By, which got me in the habit of writing to completion before posting. It wasn't something I thought I was going to be capable of because I'm like Tinkerbell, Finn, I need applause to live feedback is incredibly motivating to me, but having the ability to go back and change things in chapter 2 if I realized they weren't adequately setting up what I wanted to do in chapter 5, or whatever, proved to be just as powerful a motivator in a different way-- it meant I could tell the stories RIGHT, if I took my time with them. I also learned to get at least one cheerleader I could leak snippets to as I went, so that I still got the dopamine hit of the feedback even though I'm ages away from posting for real.

I also found that, as a reader, I always really appreciated when authors could stick to an update schedule so I could look forward to new chapters like I would episodes of television. It's not a standard I expect from anyone, but it is something that makes me really happy-- and the two ways to do it are to either write fast enough that you're just constantly churning out new content (not an option for me, especially on the occasions when I'm actually employed and can only write on weekends) or to pre-write and then slow release. it gives me a feeling of... mastery, I guess? Like "hey everyone here's a gift I'm giving you," as opposed to writing and updating when I can, which makes me feel like I'm always chasing something (BEING chased by something?) and risking losing my audience/my own fickle concentration if I were to wait too long.

My "ONLY post after everything is done" rule is a new one, because I burned myself on rely on certain certainties, the last D/s epic I wrote (lmao can you tell this topic interests me). I worked on that for a year and was 132k in with no end in sight when I started posting, but I was part of a Kristanna discord at the time, and I wanted to seize the audience I had before it disappeared-- which is always the danger of movie fandoms, which never have as much staying power. I had hoped that because I had such a big buffer I could keep writing ahead of the updates as they came up from behind, but I tapped out at 172k when I finished the end of an arc. That kills me, because I have SO MUCH unreleased content for that story which will never see the light of day, because-- again-- I'd let temptation win and wrote ahead to The Juicy Bits instead of forcing myself to go in order.

So, two things I've learned:

Only ever outlining the juicy bits that come late in the game, instead of lovingly finessing their every word, is a great way to trick motivate myself into continuing to write in order so that I can GET to the juicy bits, full stop; if I don't exorcise them they keep haunting me and that helps me stick it out until the end

By holding stories back until they're complete, I give myself the ability to complete them because I'm able to dig myself out of holes I've written myself into. In the old days, if I got stuck because I realized the real root of my issue had come chapters earlier and that's why it's not working now, I'd just... be stuck at that wall, unable to move forward, and that would be that. The idea of going back and editing a published story for narrative content is mortifying to me and something I personally could never do, so-- this way I'm giving myself more tools and options, so that I can tell the story I want to tell and tell it right.

In terms of my actual process, I tend to work like this: my most productive time is when my ADHD meds are at full power, so in an ideal world I am writing new content from like 10am to 3pm or so, getting as far as I can in New Content. Evenings, when I'm no longer in Hyperfocus Productivity Mode, I'll go back and reread things-- sometimes chapters from much earlier-- both to entertain myself and to make edits and changes. Often, that's just moving words around here and there for cadence and flow; rarely, it's adding whole new moments or thoughts to the chapters. I try to write In Order as much as possible, getting chapters beta'd as they're completed. I'm a nitpicky perfectionist, so keeping a hold on my early chapters until everything is posted means I can change them over and over and over again without anyone knowing but me, which I love-- and those changes are getting made right down to the wire. even when the fic is "complete" and I'm "only posting" I'm still making edits; some of people's absolute favorite parts of Newsbees were added literally the night before, when it was the "get everything into AO3 and do the final pass for typos and formatting" stage. Like, Penny writing sudokus on the fly for Ruby at the hospital? Ruby thinking in Adam Font? Those were 11th hour strokes of genius.

So yeah-- that's a very long-winded way of saying that I've found writing to completion first not only makes me more likely to actually finish my WIPs, but it makes my WIPs BETTER because it gives me far, far more time with them. I know it's not something that works for everyone, but in terms of my own sense of like, duty and responsibility and goal-setting, it keeps me on track without risking Guilt completely paralyzing me-- which is what happens when I post as I go and then get interrupted.

THANK YOU FOR COMING TO MY RAMBLE.

#on writing

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justlookatthosesausages · 5 months

Text

"Frozen 3 is in the works and there might be a Frozen 4 in the works too. (...) Jen Lee is hard at work with her team at Disney Animation, on not one but actually two stories." - Bob Iger, Walt Disney Company CEO on GMA

I'm actually really curious about this. Clearly it wasn't WDAS' plan to make a Frozen 3 AND 4 at once in the beginning. It's during the writing process that they went "Oh, we'll make a 4th movie".

I wonder what it means. Did they have an idea for a final, definitive ending for the saga and thought "Wait, we'll need more than a hour and a half to get to that"? Did they plan a huge plot for Frozen 3, and with time through the screenplay writing they realized they could never make it fit in one movie and will do a sort of "Frozen Final Chapter - Part One and Part Two"? Will Frozen 3 AND 4 be marketed in one and only trailer, with epic, dramatic editing, with 'GET READY' 'FOR THE FINAL CHAPTER OF THE STORY' in big capital letters titles?

We shall see we shall see. I can't wait for the first trailer to drop!

#frozen 3 #frozen 4 #THEY KEEP ON GIVING #frozenverse #disney #wdas

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dewdrop-writes · 2 years

Text

From the ashes

Hiiii so....I'm back....kinda!! I'm gonna try to work on this and some requests but also I'm gonna be doing university entrance exams soon (animation and screenplay writing) so if I disappear in the beginning of July that's why! Other than that...enjoy?

<< First | < Previous | Next >

Length: 2.1 k words

cw: mentions of past injury, reader has a bit of a breakdown?

The room around you chilled, a sudden wave of shivers running through your body in jolts as you faced the man before you.

The corners of his lips twitched upwards awkwardly.

"Good morning," he spoke, leaning forward in a mockery of a bow.

Your gaze darted around the room rapidly, going over possible escape routes, but before you could force your frozen body to move, you were stopped by a warm hand upon your tense shoulder.

"It's alright, your Grace. He's on our side," you heard the low voice of Diluc speak behind you. You glanced at him, briefly focusing on the warmth lingering on your shoulder.

He was quick to retract.

"My apologies, I didn't mean to frighten you." He walked towards Kaeya, head held high and a barely hidden distaste lingering on his face.

"He insisted on meeting you," Diluc added, pausing beside the other, yet leaving a considerable distance between them.

"I...see," was all you managed, awkwardly wringing your hands. You were unsure what to do. Or what to say. What was there to say anyway? He'd simply allowed for you to be sentenced to death, had he not?

"Would you like some tea?" Diluc offered, his crimson eyes studying your reaction with utmost care.

You briefly shook your head.

"I think I'll just go get some fresh air," you mumbled, swiftly turning around and hurrying towards the front door. The light robe draped across your frame flittered behind you as you made your exit, leaving two stunned brothers in your wake.

As you escaped the sudden confines of the house, you gulped in the fresh air as though you'd been denied it for eternity, eagerly inhaling the fresh scent of nature around you.

Why did you freeze up like that? Why couldn't you just tell Kaeya to leave?

You sank to your knees, allowing the wet grass bleed its moisture into the hem of your cotton pants.

Was Diluc telling the truth?

Surely, he wouldn't bring over Kaeya of all people just to mess with you.

You sighed, head swimming with jumbled thoughts.

Should you head back inside and hear Kaeya out?

Maybe, but you weren't quite sure you could. Not now, at the very least.

You stared up at the yellowed sky, the sun still climbing its way out from over the horizon. You sat back, paying no mind to the coldness of the ground below you, watching the colors bleed into the sky, watching the clouds draw shapes and tearing them apart. It managed to ground you, at least a little. Absently, you picked at the grass below you, carelessly plucking out blades and allowing them to regrow at your fingertips.

Finally, the front door creaked open behind you, and you could feel a rush of cold air slip out from inside. You flinched, already figuring who exactly was stood in the doorframe.

You glanced over your shoulder, confirming your suspicions.

Kaeya, looking apprehensive, took small yet steady steps towards you.

You were quick to rise to your feet, your gaze falling upon the sheathed weapon on his waist. You were ready to retreat - ready to allow the woods to part for you, ready to flee even in this feeble state of dress.

Anything to escape reliving the experience you'd been greeted with.

He seemed to realize this, and with slow movements, he unhooked the sword, allowing it to clatter to the ground.

"Your grace," he spoke uncharacteristically softly.

Your eyes snapped up from the discarded weapon, meeting his icy gaze. You could feel the radiance of his vision from even where you stood as it seeped into every crevice of his being, leaving you covered in goosebumps.

"Kaeya," you managed to utter, your body tensing up.

"My apologies for...well, everything," he spoke quietly, casting his gaze to the ground as a bitter smile overtook his features.

"Okay..." your brows furrowed. You weren't quite sure what to make of this. What to make of him.

"But know, I would not turn my back on you so easily-"

You cut him off.

"But you did. You did exactly nothing when everyone was ready to kill me." Your words were dripped in the rage that you'd buried deep - the betrayal of your favorites abandoning you, the pain of the wounds inflicted upon you - all of it seeping to the forefront of your mind.

And suddenly, you could no longer hold back your thoughts.

"I was locked up - people hunted me for sport! Look at me!" you hissed, motioning to your bare legs - to the golden lacerations littering them. "And you're saying you would not turn your back on me?"

A disbelieving smile forced its way onto your face, more reminiscent of a grimace - all teeth and spit.

"You're only saying this now. Now that I am this Creator or whatever! But you were all but ready to kill me along with everyone else!" Tears sprung into your eyes, threatening to spill and clouding your vision.

You choked back a sob as you turned away, unwilling to let him see you crumble so easily.

"Your grace-" he reached out a hand towards you, one that you were quick to flinch away from.

"What?!" you snapped, the first hot tears streaming down your face like an angry river.

"I get why you're angry," he started, running a hand through his hair - a motion that wrought a flinch from you. He grimaced, lowering his hand slowly.

"But I assure you - even when I had no idea who you truly were - I had no intention of letting....that happen to you."

You bit down on your lip, closing your eyes briefly to close the floodgates pouring down your face. A metallic taste slowly bled into your mouth from your lip, forcing your eyes open once more.

Hesitantly, you brought a hand to your lip, dabbing at the spot your teeth had just worried at. Golden liquid coated your fingertip, the sight of which briefly grounded you.

Kaeya said nothing throughout, watching you with a concerned frown.

"It sure seemed like that," you managed to say at last, wiping away the golden ichor into the pants of your sleepwear, leaving behind a metallic stain that spread into a golden spot on the white cotton.

"I know," Kaeya sighed, taking a step closer.

Exhausted, you stayed still, playing with the leg of your pants, observing the shimmer of the stain glisten in the golden hues of the morning.

"But I had to. Had to play along so I could help orchestrate your escape the next morning."

At that, you froze - feeling the icy frost of his vision wash over you.

"What?" you snapped your gaze to meet his, your shoulders tensed as you bore into his visible eye.

There was no sign of the usual trickery hidden behind sweet smiles and teased words. There was a childish sincerity within the depths of his blue eye.

"It was no coincidence that the guards were distracted and someone just happened to drop the key," his lips tugged upwards as he spoke, drinking in the surprise on your features.

"That was you?"

The smile morphed into a smirk.

"Maybe, maybe not."

A nervous laugh spilled past your lips.

"Wow...I...thank you..."

"You're very welcome, your grace. I didn't know it was truly you until last night though, if we're being honest." He rubbed the back of his head sheepishly. "I feel foolish ever having doubted it."

You shook your head, tears once again spilling across your cheeks.

"I don't care about that. What matters is that you helped me. I'd probably be dead if it wasn't for...you, I guess."

You thought back to that night - the early hours of the morning. Having wept yourself to sleep the previous night, haunted by nightmares throughout the few winks of sleep you managed to get - coldness seeping into every crevice of your being.

That was when it had happened. A loud commotion - shouting - the falling of footsteps.

And a sudden, fateful clatter of something hitting the ground near your cell.

Something that glinted under the light of the flickering torch on a nearby wall.

Something shaped like a key.

You had scrambled to your feet, ignoring the soreness coursing through your body in jolts, ignoring the chafing of the darkened welts on your body - grasping between the bars. Reaching - desperately - for the item.

And then you had snatched it.

The ticket to your freedom.

As you fled the city, you had been surprised no one was immediately on your trail, but you'd been too grateful to whatever god had granted you this mercy to truly think that hard on it.

Now, it seemed much less like a simple coincidence.

You took in a shaky breath, before stepping closer to Kaeya.

Before he could react, your arms looped around his waist - your body colliding with his hard chest as you buried your face within it.

Kaeya's whole body froze, his arms held up in surprise as he stared down at you.

"Thank you," you whispered again, voice raspy as the tears seeped into Kaeya's clothes.

You released an awkward chuckle, before backing away. You used the sleeves of your robes to dab at the shimmering tears still lining your eyes, before taking note of the stunned man's shirt.

"Sorry about that...and for suddenly hugging you," you laughed nervously, feeling anxiety crawling back up your throat.

When you finally felt brave enough to look Kaeya in the eye, you were surprised to see the man's cheeks flushed with a tinge of pink.

"No....that's...more than fine..." he muttered, suddenly finding the ground interesting as his gaze was glued upon it.

You released another nervous laugh.

Before either of you could say another word, the door creaked open once more.

Your gazes snapped towards it in unison, being greeted with the somber face of Diluc.

"I'm very sorry to disturb, your grace - but breakfast is ready, should you want any."

You stole a glance at Kaeya, whose features displayed a subtle annoyance, before diverting your attention back to Diluc. The crimson pair of eyes was glued to Kaeya, a similar, yet more poorly hidden, expression had taken seat upon his features.

"Um...yes, breakfast sounds good...." you spoke nervously, causing both men to focus their attention to you. With a small bow, Diluc stepped aside, allowing you entry into the house. Kaeya followed suite, shutting the door behind him.

As you sat down for breakfast, a new tension had thickened the air. One between Kaeya and Diluc. You picked at your food quietly, eyeing the two men sat on either side of the table as you had been seated at the head. There appeared to be a silent battle raging between the two, if the flames in their gazes were anything to go by - and you were somewhat intimidated by the prospect of interrupting.

Still, the two managed to wring themselves free of their silent battle of wills, as you took the last bite of your meal.

"So, what's the plan next, your grace?" Kaeya asked, propping himself up on the table with his arms, leaning closer to you.

You frowned.

"Next?"

"Well, we can hardly allow the situation to stay as it is. I doubt you wish to live a life of shadows - hiding your true nature and cowering before those that treated you unjustly?" his tone was light, but there was a menacing glint in his eyes. Something rebellious, hidden underneath the pleasantries and rule-abiding of being a knight of Favonius.

You bit at your lip.

"I don't know..."

Diluc cast you a sympathetic glance.

"There's no hurry to do anything, you're more than welcome to stay here as long as you'd like."

Kaeya laughed bitterly.

"It's not like you to tuck your tail between your legs and hide. Besides, didn't you seek me out to make sure the others pay for this?" He motioned out the window. "Teyvat is already punishing the world on your behalf. Now all you need to do is rise like a phoenix from the ashes - or something like that." He cast you a playful smirk.

You ran a hand through your hair.

"Well...I suppose I would like to let the others have a taste of their own medicine...at least a little bit."

Kaeya grinned, baring his teeth like a chesire, ready to pounce.

"Then, allow me to gather up a few allies. Trust me - not all of Mondstadt is against you."

You shot him a shaky smile.

"Alright."

TAGLIST

#teyvat's wielder #genshin impact #genshin #genshin x reader #sagau #genshin sagau #genshin cult au #sagau villain au #diluc x reader #diluc #kaeya x reader #kaeya alberich #kaeya #diluc ragnvindr #diluc ragnivindr x reader #diluc x gender neutral reader #kaeya x gender neutral reader #genshin x gn reader #genshin x gender neutral reader

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1997thebracket · 5 months

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Round 2B

Note: this is our threeway matchup to even the numbers going forward! The two highest-voted films will both proceed, and the third will be eliminated.

Space Jam: Come on and slam, and welcome to the jam! What happens when one of the biggest athletes in the world tries his hand at acting-- alongside the Looney Tunes, no less? A confusing but lovable cinematic treasure. In the half-animated comedy Space Jam, basketball legend (oft-cited as the Greatest of All Time) Michael Jordan and the Tune Squad face off against the dastardly Monstars for their intergalactic freedom. Space Jam was the first film produced by Warner Bros Feature Animation, and although it was first released theatrically in the US in November of 1996 it would go on to gross over $250 million during its global run into 1997, making it the highest-grossing basketball movie of all time until 2022. From the slapping soundtrack to the classic jersey designs now coming back into retro-rotation, Bugs and his crew could not feel more firmly planted in the sensibility of the decade. Space Jam also features Wayne Knight of Seinfeld fame flattened in a truly haunting use of crude CGI. Look up 'flat Newman' if you've forgotten.

Austin Powers: Let’s keep this bracket groovy, baby! Austin Powers: International Man of Mystery is a spy spoof film released in 1997, written by and starring Mike Myers and featuring Elizabeth Hurley, as well as known names in the spy movie business Michael York and Robert Wagner. It was the first introduction of the titular icon-to-be Austin Powers, a free-loving secret agent who was cryogenically frozen in the 1960s, returned to us in all his velvet-suited snaggle-toothed glory in the ‘90s to face his nemesis once more. Parodying James Bond and copycat spy films as well as '60s pop culture, the movie would spawn two sequels and novelizations all sharing a similar sense for fashion, gags, and Austin’s recognizable catchphrases. As completely goofy as the film and its legacy is, critics were mostly favorable, with the New York Times writing "The film's greatest asset is its gentle tone: rejecting the smug cynicism of Naked Gun-style parodies, it never loses the earnest naiveté of the psychedelic era." (This is presumably an embarrassing typo: it’s shagadelic, Yorkie baby!)

Men In Black: Fifteen hundred years ago, everybody knew the Earth was the center of the universe. Five hundred years ago, everybody knew the Earth was flat, and fifteen minutes ago, you knew that humans were alone on this planet. Imagine what you'll know tomorrow. Men in Black is a sci-fi comedy, starring Will Smith and Tommy Lee Jones, which would go on to spawn a franchise after the success of the 1997 film. It centers around a secret government agency known as the Men in Black, tasked with monitoring and regulating extraterrestrial activity on Earth; these agents, notably our protagonists Agent J and Agent K, protect humanity from aliens living among us and ensure the world remains oblivious to their existence. The franchise was praised by critics and audiences alike for its unique screenplay, action sequences, and the humor and chemistry of the lead actors. Over the years, Men in Black has expanded to include multiple sequels, an animated series and spin-offs, all contributing to its enduring popularity as a cheekier take on the sci-fi genre.

#austin powers #mike myers #men in black #will smith #tommy lee jones #space jam #michael jordan #the looney tunes

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byneddiedingo · 3 months

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Tim Roth and Edward Furlong in Little Odessa (James Gray, 1994)

Cast: Tim Roth, Edward Furlong, Moira Kelly, Vanessa Redgrave, Maximilian Schell, Paul Guilfoyle, Natalya Andrejchenko, David Vadim. Screenplay: James Gray. Cinematography: Tom Richmond. Production design: Kevin Thompson. Film editing: Dorian Harris.

James Gray's debut film, Little Odessa, is a chilly movie about a dysfunctional family, set in wintry Brighton Beach, the Brooklyn neighborhood adjacent to Coney Island. Gray uses the seasonally shut down amusement park and boardwalk as a correlative for the frozen lives of the Shapira family, for which a reviving spring will never arrive. The film won more favor from European critics, winning an award at the Venice Film Festival and praise from director Claude Chabrol, than it did from Americans, who have less taste for grimness. And Little Odessa is almost unrelievedly grim in its account of what happens when the older son, Joshua, returns to the home where his mother, Irina (Vanessa Redgrave), is dying of cancer. He hates his father, Arkady (Maximilian Schell), who is having an affair with a younger woman while tending to Irina in her final days. Joshua feels close, however, to his teenage brother, Reuben (Edward Furlong), who dutifully helps his father run a small newsstand and look after his mother, but he has secretly stopped going to school, hiding the letters to his parents from the school in his sock drawer. Joshua is a hitman for the Russian mob. He has avoided returning home, but he can't refuse an order to rub out an Iranian jeweler with a store located in Brighton Beach. There are violent consequences not only for Joshua's target but also for his own family. The Shapira family is not so poetic and articulate as the Tyrones of Long Day's Journey Into Night (Sidney Lumet, 1962) but they have a similar lacerating candor that gives actors free rein to perform. And it's mostly the performances that justify spending 98 minutes with them (as compared to the nearly three hours we spend with the Tyrones in Lumet's film). Redgrave, as always, is a marvel, all fragility and grit and love for her family, and Furlong demonstrates the kind of promise as an actor that his personal problems have never allowed him to fulfill. I think Schell is somewhat miscast as the father, who gets the blame for what has happened to his sons, but he gives the role substance if not the undertones of selfishness and desperation that it needs. The real star is Roth, an undervalued actor who always performs to the mark and beyond. Gray's screenplay is a touch too melodramatic, especially in the final confrontation of Joshua and his father, but with the help of Tom Richmond's cinematography and Kevin Thompson's production design, he maintains the oppressive mood and gloomy milieu effectively.

#Little Odessa #James Gray #Tim Roth #Edward Furlong

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ericmicael · 8 months

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Perhaps my most controversial take on "Frozen": I don't like that KristAnna is canon in "Frozen 1".

I don't think this kiss is natural.

For me, it would have been much better if it had just stayed with the kiss on the cheek, hinting that they could become a couple in the future.

The reason is quite obvious and simple: one of Anna's arcs in F1 is precisely related to her romantic feelings and being "confused" between two guys, the prince she met for a few minutes before agreeing to marry him and the poor man that she met for a few hours... If there isn't yet a KristAnna fanfic of "Titanic", do it. I put the word "confused" in quotes because I have my doubts that she would care about Kristoff if Hans didn't act stupid at the end, but whatever.

This arc ends with Hans for some reason not wanting to kiss Anna and preferring the more difficult path that would need a lot of luck to work (and there are still people who say he is one of the smartest Disney villains, I'm curious what the level of the least smart then). And since Hans didn't want to kiss her and perform the act of true love, she tries with Kristoff, but in the end she also ignores him and sacrifices her life to prevent her sister from being decapitated by the sociopathic prince. And then reveals that the act of true love that would save Anna is an act of love between sisters.

Okay, beautiful message. But then why the kiss at the end between Anna and Kristoff? Anna considering Kristoff as an option for an act of true love already makes her feelings clear and the kiss on the cheek also confirms their future relationship. Was the kiss on the mouth just to make it clear that a kiss can happen for no particular reason other than the will? It would come as no surprise to me if someone who wrote the screenplay for "Frozen 1" reveals that the kiss on the mouth was a Disney imposition because that cliché could not be missing from the film.

But I like KristAnna. If "Frozen Heart" made me consider Hans as something more than an NPC and understand when Jeniffer Lee called him a sociopath, "Forest of Shadows" made me like and root for the KristAnna romance.

In the book that presents the first officially lesbian characters in the franchise and has Elsa making her disinterest in men clear (and some say that there is still doubt about Elsa's sexual orientation lol), the KristAnna romance is extensively explored and especially Anna's initial feelings. Although Anna and Kristoff had been together for almost 3 years, the romance still seemed to have some doubts that end up being resolved in the book. And don't consider this to be a mistake, if you consider the Frozenverse to have very little KristAnna content, most of the time if you consider them just best friends it wouldn't be so wrong.

Sometimes it even seems that Elsa is the sister more connected to the romance and not Anna: we had the quasi-affair with Marisol, the secret admirer and even the man from Weselton who seemed romantically interested in her. Elsa's love life, ironically, has always had more substance than Anna's.

#frozen #frozen 2 #kristanna #queen anna of arendelle #kristoff #forest of shadows

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princesssarisa · 11 months

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I just finished watching Maleficent (2014), which I had never seen before. I'll post a review within the next few days.

Overall, there were some things I liked about it, other things I didn't care for, but for now I'll just make these comments, because there probably won't be room for them in my full review.

(1) I like the concept of Maleficent getting to know Aurora, learning to love her in spite of herself, and ultimately breaking her own curse. That's all good. But the climactic awakening kiss isn't as original as it wants to be: it is derivative, both from Robin McKinley's novel Spindle's End (where the sleeping beauty is awakened by a kiss from her female best friend) and from the ending of Frozen. And I am annoyed by the way other characters from the animated Sleeping Beauty are dumbed down so Maleficent can fill their roles. Worst of all is the way the three good fairies, the protagonists of the 1959 film who play just as active a role as Prince Philip in saving the day, are reduced to blithering idiots so Maleficent can become Aurora's mother figure instead, but it's also too bad that Phillip, the most heroic, witty, gallant, and likable of the three Walt-era Disney Princes, is reduced to a one-dimensional pretty-faced dork. Wouldn't it have been possible to build Maleficent up without tearing those four characters down?

(2) For King Stefan's death, Linda Woolverton ripped off her own screenplay of Beauty and the Beast, didn't she? The villain and hero(ine) battle at the top of a castle. The hero(ine) finally has the villain at his/her mercy at the edge of the parapet, with his/her hand at his throat, but then chooses not to kill him. But once freed, the villain tries to attack the hero(ine) from behind, only to fall to his death as a result. Just replace Gaston with King Stefan and the Beast with Maleficent, and it's basically a cut-and-paste!

#disney #maleficent #2014 #live action film #comments

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fearsmagazine · 29 days

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GHOSTBUSTERS: FROZEN EMPIRE - Review

DISTRIBUTOR: Columbia Pictures

SYNOPSIS: In the shadow of the iconic New York City firehouse, the Spengler family reunites with the original Ghostbusters. In a new location in Queens they delve into a top-secret research lab, where advanced ghost-busting technology awaits. However, an ancient artifact's discovery unleashes a horde of ghosts, plunging the city into a deathly chill. The only hope for salvation lies in the combined forces of the old and new Ghostbusters as they battle to protect their home and save the world from a looming second Ice Age.

REVIEW: Set after the events of "Ghostbusters: Afterlife" in 2021, "GHOSTBUSTERS: FROZEN EMPIRE" is a compelling addition to the franchise. It deftly blends elements from the original characters, the animated series, and the computer games, resulting in a movie that caters to both longtime fans and newcomers alike.

In the sequel to the Ghostbusters franchise, Gil Kenan and Jason Reitman's screenplay skillfully interweaves original and new characters, allowing each one to shine. The ghostly threat in this film is a formidable and epic menace, similar to a Bond villain. A variety of new and classic ghosts provide diverse challenges. Key locations include the firehouse, Ray Stantz's Occult bookshop, and the New York Public Library on Fifth Avenue.

At the heart of the story is Phoebe Spengler's struggle to balance being a teenager, a Ghostbuster, and her family relationships. This dynamic adds depth and substance to the narrative as the new characters become integrated into the Ghostbusters universe. The film offers a highly satisfying tale and includes numerous Easter eggs that fans will appreciate.

The production values of the movie are superb, featuring a mix of practical and visual effects that bring depth to the Ghostbusters universe. Winston Zeddemore's company offers a blend of old and new equipment, along with Phoebe's unique technological creations. The props are meticulously designed and crafted to enhance visual aesthetics. The ghosts are a well-executed combination of computer-generated imagery and enhanced puppets. The cinematography, framing, and editing contribute to the film's atmosphere and energy. Composer Dario Marianelli delivers a score that pays homage to Elmer Bernstein's original composition while introducing new elements. The music complements the action, creates ambiance, and adds depth to the characters. And of course, no Ghostbusters movie would be complete without the classic theme song by Ray Parker Jr.

The original cast members have aged gracefully, and the screenplay caters to their strengths. Bill Murray remains eternally youthful, embodying an older version of Peter Venkman with the familiar snarky attitude. Dan Aykroyd exudes the wisdom of an old sage, Ernie Hudson grounds the group, and Annie Potts delights as a witty yet mellowed Janine Melnitz. Their combined presence transcends fan expectations.

Contrastingly, the Spangler family—composed of Paul Rudd, Carrie Coon, Finn Wolfhard, and Mckenna Grace—portrays a natural family dynamic. Paul Rudd tones down his performance from his Marvel character Scott Lang, resulting in a more genuine and organic comedic portrayal. However, the spotlight shines brightest on Mckenna Grace as Phoebe Spengler. She portrays a complex teenager grappling with various issues. Her character is fresh, intelligent, and sympathetic, clearly reflecting her lineage as Egon Spengler's granddaughter.

The latest installment in the Ghostbusters franchise, "Frozen Empire," surpasses the accomplishments of "After Life." It reunites the original cast and introduces new characters, resulting in an exciting adventure that also delves into the backgrounds of the characters, bringing them up to date. The movie sets the groundwork for the establishment of the "Ghostbusters Corps" through the character of Winston Zeddmore, broadening the universe and creating opportunities for future narratives. Given the popularity of episodic storytelling, it's plausible that a Ghostbusters spin-off series could emerge on streaming platforms if the fans turn out for this film. If not, there is likely at least one or two more films in the works.

Regardless, it’s an exciting and gratifying ride that I plan to take a few more times while in the theater.The anticipation and excitement that accompanies the thrill ride is palpable from the moment I step into the theater. The atmosphere is electric and charged with a sense of adventure that captivates me. As I settle into my seat, my heart races with anticipation, knowing that I am in for a wild and unforgettable experience.

GHOSTBUSTERS: FROZEN EMPIRE’s twists, turns, action and suspense left me exhilarated. The special effects create a vivid and awe-inspiring spectacle. The sights, sounds, and sensations all come together in perfect harmony, leaving me mesmerized and fully engaged. As the credits came to an end with a final musical touch of the Bernstein score I was left with a mix of emotions – a combination of exhilaration, satisfaction, and a lingering sense of wonder with a touch of sadness. As I left the theater, I carried with me the residual effects of the cinematic experience – a renewed sense of energy and a profound gratitude for the opportunity to have embarked on an extraordinary adventure with Ghostbusters young and old.

CAST: Paul Rudd, Carrie Coon, Finn Wolfhard, Mckenna Grace, Kumail Nanjiani, Patton Oswalt, Celeste O’Connor, Logan Kim, Bill Murray, Dan Aykroyd, Ernie Hudson, Annie Potts, and William Atherton. CREW: Director/Screenplay - Gil Kenan; Screenplay - Jason Reitman; Based on the 1984 film “Ghostbusters” an Ivan Reitman film written by Dan Aykroyd and Harold Ramis; Producers - Ivan Reitman, Jason Reitman & Jason Blumenfeld; Cinematographer - Eric Steelberg; Score - Dario Marianelli; Editors - Nathan Orloff & Shane Reid; Production Design - Eve Stewart; Costume Designers - Alexis Forte & Ruth Myers; Special Makeup & Live Action Creature Effects Designer - Arjen Tuiten; Special Effects Supervisor - John Van Der Pool; Visual Effects Supervisor - Geoffrey Baumann; Visual Effects - Clear Angle Studios, Sony Pictures Imageworks, Industrial Light & Magic, Barnstorm VFX & Territory Studio

OFFICIAL: www.ghostbusters.com FACEBOOK: www.facebook.com/Ghostbusters/ TWITTER: twitter.com/ghostbusters/ TRAILER: https://youtu.be/X7Di42uUaF0?si=sHPmJzSYD7TwLKbn RELEASE DATE: In theaters March 22nd, 2024.

**Until we can all head back into the theaters our “COVID Reel Value” will be similar to how you rate a film on digital platforms - 👍 (Like), 👌 (It’s just okay), or 👎 (Dislike)

Reviewed by Joseph B Mauceri

#film review #movie review #ghostbusters frozen empire #columbia pictures #gil kenan #jason reitman #mckenna grace #paul rudd #bill murray #dan aykroyd #ernie hudson #annie potts #Patton Oswalt #horror #supernatural #thriller #joseph b mauceri #joseph mauceri

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