this is pretty much my hyperfixation blog! currently centered around dazed and confused, but the url and content of the blog is subject to change
i plan to post my thoughts on dazed, its characters and actors, and maybe some fanfic! (if i ever finish it!) i draw from various sources such as the movie, the original script, interviews, etc.! i'll try to either post links in each post or make a masterpost where you can find all the sources i use!
im very bad at tagging on other blogs, but i'll try to keep a good system. as i start posting more, i'll add my most used/relevant tags somewhere in this post, as well as any masterposts i end up making!
Warnings: jealousy, possessive behavior, alcohol & cigarette use, minor unwanted touching (brief), intense slow burn, bratty reader, heated argument, loaded silences, filthy talk, rough sex in a car (PIV, unprotected - wrap it up), fingering, overstimulation, marking (bruises/hickeys), name calling (playful), strong language, emotional tension, 70s vibes turned all the way up
Summary: You’ve always been part of the crowd, just on the edge of it. Too sharp to chase anyone, especially not Randall “Pink” Floyd. But Pink’s been looking at you like you’re already his, and when Obannion gets too handsy at yet another sweat-drenched party, Pink finally stops pretending. One ride in his car later, and the truth spills out faster than either of you are ready for — angry, breathless, jealous truth. You’ve spent months pushing his buttons. Now he’s going to show you exactly what happens when he snaps.
A/N: wow is crow actually finally finishing her Kinktober? Yes. Yes I am. Anyway take thiissss, I don’t see nearly enough Fics for dazed and confused and would love to write more because it is my favorite movie of all time. Active fandom so small we could all fit in my car 🫶
The music is already bleeding out into the neighborhood by the time you walk up the drive, that warbled, blown-out kind of loud, like the speakers are barely holding together. You can’t tell if it’s Foghat or Zeppelin until you’re closer. Everything sounds like a guitar being strangled through humidity.
It’s hot as hell. Even this late, the air is syrupy-thick, clinging to your arms and the back of your neck. You can smell beer and weed and charcoal drifting out from behind the house. Laughter. The hiss of a lighter. Someone yelling “Don’t be a bitch, just shotgun it.”
You hover outside the gate a second too long, then push it open and slide in.
The backyard’s full but not chaotic yet. The kind of party that’s still warming up, voices low, people pairing off in lawn chairs or leaning against railings. Just bodies and smoke and the thrum of bass rolling across dry grass.
You catch Jodi’s eye near the back porch. She’s holding a drink in one hand and waving with the other.
“You came,” she calls out, half-grinning like she wasn’t sure you would.
“Yeah, well,” you mutter when you reach her. “It’s Friday.”
She hums, eyes flicking toward the porch behind you. “He’s here.”
You sigh. “Don’t.”
“I’m just saying—”
“Jodi.”
She raises both hands in surrender. “Alright, alright. You’re not here for him. Not like that.”
“I’m not,” you insist, and it’s not a lie exactly. Just not the whole truth.
You’ve known Pink forever. He’s always just… been around. Football games. Parking lots. Parties like this one. He’s in your world, but not really in your orbit. You’ve never even told Jodi how he makes your stomach twist when he looks your way. You barely admit it to yourself.
Because guys like him — loose-limbed, easy-smiling, wanted — don’t look twice at girls like you.
And if they do, it doesn’t mean anything.
⸻
Still, you feel it when he looks at you.
Later, by the cooler, while you’re cracking open a warm beer, you glance up, and there he is. Leaned up against the porch railing, a cigarette burning between two fingers, his head tilted just enough to be watching you.
You freeze for half a second. Try not to let it show.
He doesn’t smile. Doesn’t look away either.
Just holds your gaze like it’s no big deal.
Like he’s been doing it all night.
⸻
O’bannion shows up like a sour gust of wind.
He’s already buzzed, voice too loud, shoulders too squared, ratty tank top clinging to his sunburned neck. You don’t acknowledge him when he first walks past, but he still brushes behind you close enough that his hand skims your back.
You flinch.
He doesn’t apologize.
“You clean up alright,” he says over his shoulder like it’s a compliment.
You roll your eyes and mutter, “Jesus.”
⸻
There’s a circle forming out back — folding chairs, a half-smashed beanbag, a patch of dry grass. Someone’s rolling a joint. Someone else is swatting at mosquitoes. Jodi drags you over by the wrist.
Pink’s already sitting down, long legs stretched in front of him, one hand resting lazily over his knee.
You end up on the grass across from him. Not directly, not with him, but close enough to feel his presence like heat off asphalt.
The joint makes its way to you. You inhale, pass it to Jodi, and let your head tilt back. The stars are half-drowned in the haze.
When you glance forward again, Pink’s watching you.
Not obviously.
Just enough.
You exhale slow. Look away. Try to listen to whatever Don is rambling about.
But Pink’s eyes stay on you.
⸻
O’bannion sits down in the circle halfway through.
You stiffen when he flops into the dirt too close beside you. He reeks of sour beer and gasoline. His elbow brushes yours. He leans in when he talks.
“You don’t smoke much, huh?” he says, like he’s been waiting for the moment.
You don’t answer.
“You should let loose,” he adds, grinning. “Bet you’re fun when you stop actin’ like a nun.”
“Get a hobby,” you mutter, shifting away.
Pink’s still across from you, unreadable now. Silent.
O’bannion watches your eyes flick toward him. Follows your gaze.
He laughs under his breath.
“What, he gonna tell you what to do now?” O’bannion says low in your ear.
You shoot him a glare.
Pink tilts his head. He’s watching now. Not pretending otherwise.
O’bannion leans back and stretches, arm knocking into you again.
Pink’s jaw flexes.
But he doesn’t move.
Not yet.
⸻
Later.
It’s darker now, the porch lights yellow and sickly, the grass wet with spilled beer and humidity. You slip inside to cool off, maybe find another drink.
The kitchen is half-empty. Just the hum of the fridge and the clink of ice in a cup.
Then the door creaks open behind you.
O’bannion.
Again.
He doesn’t say anything right away. Just leans back against the doorframe, blocking it with his shoulder.
“You runnin’ off on me?” he asks, voice thick with liquor.
“I’m getting a drink.”
“I got somethin’ better.”
You don’t look at him. Just open the fridge.
He steps closer.
“I saw the way you were lookin’ at Floyd.”
You shut the fridge. Turn. “Back off.”
O’bannion grins. He steps in anyway.
“C’mon,” he says, dropping his hand to your hip. “Don’t be like that.”
You push it away.
“Stop touching me.”
“Why? He’s not even—”
But you don’t hear the rest.
Because suddenly — sharply — Pink’s there.
And before you can react, he’s got O’bannion by the shoulder.
And shoves him back.
Hard.
O’bannion stumbles, nearly hits the counter.
“What the fuck, man?” he spits.
Pink doesn’t yell.
Doesn’t even raise his voice.
He just stands between you and O’bannion, body solid and still, eyes narrow and dark.
“She said no.”
O’bannion laughs, trying to save face. “You’re real brave now, huh?”
Pink steps forward once.
O’bannion flinches.
And that’s enough.
He mutters something under his breath and storms out.
Silence.
Pink breathes out slow. Runs a hand over his mouth like he doesn’t know what he just did.
You stare at him — stunned.
Because Pink doesn’t do that.
He doesn’t lose it. Doesn’t grab. Doesn’t shove.
But he did. For you.
⸻
Pink doesn’t look at you at first.
He just stands there in the kitchen, shoulders tight, jaw locked like he’s biting down on something he doesn’t trust himself to say. The room feels smaller than it did a minute ago. The fridge hums. Somewhere outside, someone laughs too loud, like the party doesn’t know it just crossed a line.
You’re still staring at him.
At his hands—flexing once, then curling into fists before he forces them loose again.
Pink exhales through his nose. Hard.
“C’mon,” he says.
It’s not a question.
He reaches for your wrist—not rough, but not gentle either—and starts walking before you can answer. You stumble half a step to keep up, heart slamming so loud you’re sure he can hear it.
“Pink—” you start.
“I’m takin’ you home.”
“What?” You twist your wrist, trying to slow him down. “I didn’t ask you to—”
“I know,” he cuts in, not looking back. His voice is tight. Controlled. That’s what scares you more than if he were yelling. “You’re still leavin’.”
People glance over as you pass through the living room. Jodi’s eyes widen when she clocks Pink’s expression—sharp, unfamiliar. You try to catch her eye, but Pink’s already pulling you out the door, into the thick night air.
The cicadas are screaming now, loud enough to feel like pressure against your skull.
His car is parked crooked at the edge of the yard. He opens the passenger door and all but ushers you in, slamming it shut before rounding to the driver’s side.
The engine roars to life.
He doesn’t pull away yet.
He just sits there, hands gripping the wheel, chest rising and falling fast. The dash lights glow soft orange. The radio crackles with static before he shuts it off.
Silence.
Except for him.
You can hear his breathing. You can feel it, heavy and uneven, filling the car.
“What the hell was that?” you demand.
He laughs once. Short. Bitter. “You mean back there?”
“You shoved him.”
Pink finally turns his head and looks at you.
Really looks at you.
His eyes are dark, jaw clenched, something raw and unfiltered flashing there before he reins it back in.
“He put his hands on you.”
“I told him to stop,” you snap. “I didn’t need you dragging me out like—like I’m a kid.”
He stares at the windshield again. Swallows.
“I know.”
“Then why—”
“Because I couldn’t stand it,” he says, quiet but fierce. “I couldn’t fuckin’ stand watchin’ him touch you like he had any right.”
Your chest tightens.
“That’s not your call.”
“No,” he agrees. “It’s not.”
Another breath. Slower this time. Like he’s forcing himself to calm down.
But then he adds, softer, more dangerous:
“Doesn’t mean it didn’t make me see red.”
You turn toward him fully now.
“Why?”
He doesn’t answer right away.
The silence stretches, thick and humming, cicadas drilling into it from outside. Pink drags a hand down his face, thumb catching on his lip like he’s about to say something and hates himself for it.
“Because,” he says finally, “I’ve been wantin’ you since before I knew what to do with that.”
Your heart stutters.
“That’s not funny.”
“I’m not jokin’.”
You stare at him. “You’re the quarterback.”
He huffs a breath that almost sounds like a laugh. “Jesus Christ.”
“That’s not—” You shake your head. “You don’t look at me like that. You never have.”
Pink turns toward you then, fully. One arm slung over the back of the seat, body angled in like he’s closing the distance without touching you yet.
“You think I don’t notice you?” he asks, low. “You think I haven’t been clockin’ where you are at every damn party since sophomore year?”
Your throat goes dry.
“You don’t act like it.”
“Because if I did,” he says, voice roughening, “I wouldn’t be able to stop.”
Something in his tone—honest, stripped bare—makes your breath hitch.
“You don’t get jealous,” you say quietly.
He meets your eyes. Holds them.
“I do,” he admits. “I just don’t usually lose my shit.”
His gaze drops to your mouth. Lingers.
“I did tonight.”
Your pulse is everywhere now—neck, wrists, thighs. The car feels too small. Too hot.
“You don’t get to decide what happens to me,” you say, but your voice wavers.
“I know,” he repeats. “But I had to get you outta there.”
“Why?”
He leans in just a fraction more. Close enough that you can smell smoke and beer and that clean, familiar scent underneath.
“Because I was about two seconds away from breakin’ his nose,” he murmurs. “And I didn’t wanna do that in front of you.”
Your breath stutters out.
“And what,” you whisper, “are you gonna do now?”
Pink’s jaw tightens. He hesitates—just for a beat.
Then his hand comes up, slow, deliberate, knuckles brushing your cheek like he’s testing whether you’ll pull away.
You don’t.
“That,” he says softly, “depends on whether you tell me to stop.”
You should.
You don’t.
Instead, you grab the front of his shirt and pull him in.
The kiss is nothing like you imagined.
It’s not sweet. It’s not careful. It’s heat and frustration and months of things unsaid crashing together. Pink groans into your mouth, hand sliding to the back of your neck, holding you there like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he lets go.
He kisses you like he’s been waiting.
Like he’s been denying himself.
You gasp when his mouth drops to your jaw, your throat. His breathing’s still uneven, fingers digging into your side, anchoring himself.
“Tell me this is a bad idea,” he mutters against your skin.
You clutch at his shoulders. “It is.”
He pauses—just barely.
Then: “Tell me to stop.”
You don’t.
You kiss him again, harder this time, and that’s all the permission he needs.
He shifts, pulling you across the console, settling you into his lap. The seat creaks under the movement. His hands are everywhere now—urgent but not careless, learning you like he’s memorizing something he’s been scared to touch.
Your fingers slide into his hair. He groans, low and wrecked.
“Fuck,” he breathes. “I wanted this so bad.”
You kiss the corner of his mouth. “You should’ve said something.”
His eyes search your face like he’s still trying to reconcile this with the version of the night he thought he was gonna have.
Then he kisses you again—slower now, deeper, hands steadying, grounding.
The anger bleeds off him, replaced by something heavier. Hungrier.
Pink kisses you like he’s starved.
Not desperate — he’s not out of control — but consumed. Like now that he’s tasted you, he’s not going to pretend anymore. Not going to hide it behind smirks and glances. The restraint’s gone.
His hands are everywhere. One braced tight around your waist, pulling you fully into his lap, the other sliding under the hem of your shirt like it belongs there. He palms your back, fingers spreading wide, dragging you flush against him.
“You got no idea,” he mutters against your mouth. “How long I’ve wanted this.”
You try to answer, but he kisses you harder, swallowing your reply like he already knows.
You feel the heat of him through his jeans — hard and straining beneath you — and it makes your head spin, the realization that this is for you. That Pink’s like this, breathless and hungry and pressed against the seat, because of you.
He kisses down your throat, slow at first, then sharper, teeth grazing that spot just below your ear.
“Pink,” you breathe, fingers digging into his shoulders.
“You say my name like that again,” he warns, voice wrecked, “I’m not gonna last.”
You grind your hips just slightly, testing him, and he groans — head falling forward, hands tightening on your waist.
“Fuck,” he says, low. “You tryna kill me?”
You shake your head, dizzy. “Thought I’d return the favor.”
He laughs, but it dies in his throat when you kiss him again, slower now, hips rolling with more intention. He grips your ass hard enough to bruise, pushing you down against him, and for a second, it’s too much — friction and heat and pressure and everything you’ve both been choking down for months.
His voice drops into a whisper, teeth against your jaw.
“You don’t let guys touch you.”
You freeze, breath catching.
“No,” you say, quiet. “I don’t.”
His mouth trails back to yours.
“But you let me.”
You nod, barely.
“Yeah.”
Pink kisses you like that means everything.
His hands slide up under your shirt, warm palms against your stomach, dragging slowly toward your chest. He doesn’t rush — just watches your face as his thumb brushes the underside of your breast.
You suck in a breath. He groans.
“You’re fuckin’ unreal,” he murmurs. “You sit across from me every goddamn party, lookin’ like that. Laughin’ with Jodi. Starin’ when you think I don’t notice.”
“I didn’t think—” you start, but he cuts you off with a kiss.
“You thought I didn’t see you,” he says between kisses. “That I didn’t want you.”
You nod. It’s all you can do.
He growls, soft but possessive, and lifts your shirt over your head. The warm air rushes over your skin, your bra still on, and Pink just stares at you for a second — jaw slack, eyes blown wide.
“Jesus,” he says, like he forgot how to breathe.
Then he leans in, mouth hot on your collarbone, hands sliding up your ribs as he mouths at your skin. His hands tremble slightly. Like he’s trying to take his time but doesn’t know how.
“I should’ve done this sooner,” he mutters. “Should’ve told you.”
“Why didn’t you?”
He looks up at you, hair messy, lips red.
“Because I thought you’d tell me to fuck off.”
You laugh, breathless, and he kisses you again — deep, bruising.
You’re the one who reaches between you, fumbling for the button of his jeans. He hisses through his teeth when your hand brushes him through the denim.
“Shit.”
“You okay?”
Pink grabs your wrist, stilling you.
“Don’t ask me that,” he groans. “Not when I’m two seconds from blowing it.”
You kiss his neck, lips dragging down to his pulse.
“Then don’t wait.”
That’s all he needs.
Pink reaches between you, undoes your jeans, pushes them down just far enough to get his hands where he wants them. His fingers slip into your underwear, warm and confident, and you jolt against him when he finds you soaked.
“Fuck me,” he says, voice low, reverent.
“You first,” you mumble.
He grins, but his fingers start moving — slow, teasing circles that make you gasp and cling to his shoulders. His other hand tangles in your hair, pulling your face close so he can watch you fall apart.
“You’re killin’ me,” he whispers. “You got no idea how fuckin’ good you feel.”
You rock your hips, chasing it, and he speeds up, mouth grazing your neck, your jaw, your shoulder.
“I want you inside me,” you whisper. “Now.”
Pink groans like it hurts. He’s flushed and desperate, yanking his jeans down enough to free himself. He fumbles a little, then catches your hips in his hands, steadying you.
“You sure?” he asks, even now — still Pink, still checking.
You nod.
He sinks into you in one slow, aching push.
You both gasp — too loud for the car, too sharp for the night outside.
“Shit,” he pants. “You’re—god.”
You grip his shoulders, forehead pressed to his. He thrusts up slow at first, testing, hands gripping your waist like he’s holding himself back with everything he’s got.
“Don’t,” you whisper. “Don’t hold back.”
Pink growls and thrusts harder — and finally the last bit of restraint cracks. His hands are everywhere, pulling you down against him, his mouth on your throat, your chest, your lips, his hips snapping up into you like he can’t get close enough.
You moan his name and he responds with a curse, slamming you down harder, the rhythm raw now, urgent.
“I wanted this,” he pants, “so bad. You don’t even know.”
“I wanted you,” you gasp. “Since forever.”
He groans — deep, wrecked — and kisses you like it’s the only way he knows how to say thank you.
It’s messy. It’s fast. It’s too much. You come first, gasping his name, body arching, clutching at his arms like you’re falling.
Pink follows seconds later, biting down on your shoulder, muffling his groan into your skin as he spills into you, shaking.
⸻
The car is silent afterward. Just the tick of the engine cooling. The fog on the windows. The sweat on your neck.
Pink hasn’t moved.
You’re curled against his chest, one hand pressed to his ribs, still catching your breath.
His thumb traces lazy circles on your thigh, slow and grounding. Not like before—there’s no urgency left, just something quieter. Warmer.
You don’t say anything. Neither does he.
Then, softly:
“You okay?”
You nod.
“Yeah.”
He exhales, brushing your hair back behind your ear.
“Didn’t think I’d ever get to do that,” he says, voice low, almost like he’s still unsure it happened.
You shift to look at him, your palm resting flat over his heart.
“You could’ve,” you murmur. “I’ve been right here.”
Pink smiles—small, a little crooked, a little stunned.
i know the gray man fic is NOT winning, but it's where the dopamine took me, ok? I'll probably end up writing the other two anyways, but for now, here's the unedited or proofread beginning to the six/claire's brother!reader fic... (I write using an OC's name that I replaced with Y/n for this excerpt, but I'll probably end up changing to second person, maybe depending on the results of a future poll? idk lmk your thoughts just be gentle)
"Donald, we don't need a babysitter." Y/n rolls his eyes. "You left us alone for that business conference last year, and we were fine!"
"When I came home, you had circles under your eyes so dark that I thought you were auditioning for the KISS revival concert." Y/n's uncle gives him a pointed look across the across the kitchen island, where he's peeling potatoes.
Y/n takes the cutting board and turns around to slide the carrots he had been dicing into the crock-pot on the stove. He shrugs and says, "You're exaggerating. Who cares if I pulled a few all-nighters? The security cams broke, what was I supposed to do? Besides, Claire was fine, I took good care of her! Got her to all her appointments, and we had a great time! She still talks about how awesome it was when we took all the pillows and made a big island in the middle of the living room."
Donald takes the knife and cutting board from Y/n to chop the potatoes. "You pulled more than a few all-nighters, and that was for two weeks, not two months. I know you can take care of your sister, that's why I'm hiring some people. You do too much, and I don't need you stressing yourself to sleep every night— believe me, I already have that covered. What I need is to know that my kids are both safe and happy, and not worrying about whether or not the security cam guy is going to kidnap them or not."
"Okay, you would've called the cops, too, if a guy claiming to be there to fix your security camera was wearing a hard hat. I mean, come on, that's obviously a huge—"
"—lapse in judgement brought on by a severe lack of sleep and excess amounts of stress?" Donald raises his eyebrow, and his nephew opens the fridge to avoid his gaze. "Y/n," Donald continues, "that's exactly what I'm trying to avoid this time. Six is a friend, he'll take good care of you guys. "
"Don, we both know I've never been a fan of the company you keep. I'd feel safer with it being just us, without some deeply disturbed ex-con that owes you a favor creeping around our house!"
"Y/n, last time I left, our address was still one of the best kept CIA locations in the Eastern Hemisphere, and now it's an auto-fill search on Google Maps. I'm sorry, but I'm hiring security whether you like it or not."
Y/n knows he's losing the war, but there's still one more battle to fight. "Well, what do we need a nurse for, huh? I know how Claire's monitors and pacemaker work, I can go to the pharmacy, I'll be at all her appointments, anyways—"
Don puts the lid on the crock-pot, and starts wiping up the counter. "Things have been rough since she got the pacemaker. Can you hear when there's a minute irregularity in her heartbeat that a monitor wouldn't catch? What if her pacemaker has another issue, or you have to administer intravenous medication—"
"Okaaaaay, Don, I get it!" Y/n shuts the fridge and takes a bag of grapes with him to the living room, waving his uncle off.
"Get over here and help me with the dishes, Mr. I Can Do It All By Myself."
Y/n turns on his heel before he even makes it to the couch and grabs a sponge. After a few minutes of scrubbing, he says, "I can't believe I have to spend two months living with some 'roided up, alpha-male, 'I'm so stoic and mysterious and no one will ever love me' ass old dude looking over my shoulder 24/7."
The summary of the previous "security men" he'd hired makes Donald chuckle. "Six isn't like that."
Y/n deadpans. "His name is a number. What's more mysterious than that?"
"Well, he's only 40, that's not that old."
"I don't think you get to decide what counts as old, Donald."
Donald's smile widens. "You know, you two would get along, if you'd try. He thinks he's funny, too, just like you."
Despite himself, Y/n smiles. The few dishes are done, and he grabs his bag of grapes in celebration. Donald follows him to the couch. "I am pretty funny, aren't I?" Y/n smirks, then frowns. "This guy isn't gonna try to bang out a tight five with me, though, right?"
"No, but you'll probably want him to bang something else tight." Donald pops a grape in his mouth, wincing and scoffing at the filth that had come out of his own mouth.
Y/n chokes on the grape he'd been chewing. "Holy shit, dude!"
"You set me up, dude!"
"Well it sounds like that's what you're trying to do with me and Mr. Sierra Sixty-Nine, apparently."
Donald swallows an entire grape without chewing. "Y/n!"
"You started it!"
Donald clicks on the TV. "No, you started it when you used my new satin pillows for that pillow fort."
Silas blanches. "How did you— I mean, you can't prove that!"
Donald smiles, and points the remote at the wooden duck on the shelf above the TV. "Not all the security cams were broken."
—
"Silas, Claire, this is Nurse Mandy." Donald stands next to the front door, his suitcase at his feet and a security guard outside. "She'll be here every morning and night at 9 to check Claire's vitals and give her her meds. If you have any issues, you call her."
"Any time of day, or night." She's trying to sound comforting, but there's not enough warmth behind her eyes for Y/n's liking. Despite the fact that she was a personal recommendation from Margaret Cahil, he doesn't like the way she keeps looking at Claire like she's going to fall over if the AC kicks on too hard.
Y/n purses his lips in a polite smile. "Nice to meet you."
"What's the biggest size needle you have in there?" Claire gestures to her bag.
The nurse repositions her arms behind her back, tucking the bag out of reach. Donald chuckles, and ruffles Claire's hair. "I said I'm not getting your ears pierced, and that means you're not doing it yourself, either."
"Yeah, but you didn't say anything about Y/n's ears." She wraps her arms around her uncle's middle, and smiles a little too wide at her brother.
Y/n sticks his tongue out at her. "Maybe it's a good thing we're gonna have somebody with big guns around. Who knows what would happen if this one got a hold of lethal drugs."
Donald chuckles, but the nurse looks less amused. "There will be no bloodshed or drugging of any kind while I'm away." Y/n swallows, and Donald pulls him into a hug. "I'll be on the plane when Six gets here, but I'll call as soon as I land."
Y/n nods against his shoulder, his grip a little tighter than he meant it to be. "Fly safe, old man." It's not quite calling him dad, but it's close enough for both of them.
Don pats his back a couple times before he pulls away, and points between the siblings. "Behave, you two."
—
Y/n opens the door. "Really? Six o'clock?"
The man in the suit before him shrugs. "This is just when he told me to be here."
"Who did?"
Six sucks his teeth. "Yeah, he said you're not thrilled at the idea of having company. Just so we're clear, I'm not here to babysit you, or your sister."
"Claire."
"Yeah, I know her—" Six steels himself when he notices the faintest upturn to Y/n's lips. "I'll do regular checks on the security systems, patrol the property twice in the morning and twice in the afternoon at different times, and once before bed. I've already reviewed the blueprints and identified all potential points of entry, but I'd like a more in-depth tour, if you don't mind, so I can—"
Silas turns and gestures behind him. "This is the hallway."
"I see that." Six takes a deep breath. "What's it lead to?"
Y/n's hand drops to his hip. "Thought you already looked at the blueprints."
Six purses his lips. "Just being conversational."
"Riveting stuff."
"Well, you're not exactly giving me much to work with, here."
Y/n nods his head in a gesture for Six to follow him. They make their way to the end of the hallway and into the open floor plan with the living room to the left and kitchen to the right. Y/n points to the far corner of the kitchen. "Door to the backyard is over there. Whole wall is fiberglass, and this one's the same as the front door; passcode on the outside to ask for me or Claire to use our thumbprints to open it from the inside."
"Pretty neat."
"Kinda annoying when we have to bring in groceries."
Six waits until Y/n's back is turned to crack a smile, and follows him back into the main part of the house. "Bathroom is over there," he gestures to the other end of the kitchen while he crosses the living room and continues, "and bedrooms are through here. Your room is at the end of the hall, mine is on the left. Don's is on the other side, and this is Claire's." Y/n knocks on the door. "Six the hitman is here. Wanna meet him before your untimely, but well-deserved execution?"
"Only if he wears a hood!"
Y/n laughs sharply and opens the door. Six is surprised at the subtle care he takes not to crush any of the records strewn across the bed, despite the unceremonious way he flops on top of the comforter next to his sister.
"Just the two exits?" Six asks.
"Yeah," Y/n idly replies, picking up some of the Polaroids Claire had been messing around with. He's pretending to seem bored, but everything about his body language says he's nervous. He's been picking his cuticles since he opened the front door, and his foot is bouncing against the end of the bed.
"Six is an odd name," Claire says, barely looking up from the viewfinder of her camera.
"Yeah, well… 007 was taken." Six makes an effort not to follow the way Y/n tries to hide his smile, but he can't control the small sense of pride it gives him.
"Are you chewing gum?" Claire asks.
"…yeah," Six replies, a sliver of uncertainty creeping into his tone.
"We don't chew gum in this house," she says, matter-of-factly.
Six stares back at her. "I wasn't… briefed, won't happen—" Claire snaps a picture of him. "…again."
"Your composition is improving," Y/n says, and his smirk is so much like his sister's that it makes Six question if he's really cut out for this job.
"Okay, well… I'll try to stay out of your way. Do you mind?" He takes the Polaroid from the foot of the bed. "Hmm. May I?"
"Sure," Claire says, and Y/n raises an eyebrow at her.
"Thanks," Six pockets the picture, and nods. "Nice to meet you both," he says before promptly leaving the room.
When Six is gone, Claire shakes her head. "I didn't know Uncle Don ordered a robot security guard."
Y/n laughs. "I think you short circuited him."
Claire stands up and stretches her arms above her head. "I'm pretty sure it was the way your shirt rode up that did it."
"You liar!" Y/n stands and adjusts his shirt.
Claire cackles. "I speak nothing but the truth!"
Y/n rolls his eyes, and turns to leave, hiding his blush in the process. "Okay, Cassandra. I'm gonna go make a grilled cheese."
"Who's Cassandra?"
"…some girl."
—
After the nurse leaves at the end of the night, Silas pokes his head into his sister's room. "Night, Claire."
"Night, Y/n. Sleep tight, don't let the radioactive cockroaches I hid beneath your mattress bite. Who knows what they'll do if they get a taste of human flesh."
"Love you, you little psychopath."
"Love you, too."
Y/n closes the door, and almost jumps out of his skin when Six seems to appear behind him. "Shit!"
"Sorry, I was just getting ready to walk the outer perimeter. I'll need you to let me back in, I haven't programmed my fingerprint into the security system yet."
Y/n nods. "Can I change first?"
"Go ahead. I'll be right here."
"Oh, you don't have to—"
"The perimeter hasn't been cleared yet, it's better if I stay close." Y/n's eyes widen slightly, and Six adds, "Just in case."
"I'll be quick."
"Take your time," Six assures, and the gentle edge to it somehow makes the pit in Y/n's stomach a little smaller.
A few minutes later, Y/n walks out of his room in sweatpants and a tank top and follows Six to the back door. The idea of standing alone in the living room waiting for Six to walk around the entire property while his sister plays an unnecessarily eerie tune on her record player doesn't sound too appealing. "Six?"
"Hmm?"
"Can I walk with you?"
Six shakes his head. "If someone is outside—"
"I don’t want to wait to find out when they knock you out and break into the house."
Six's lip twitches upward. "I don't go down that easy. I need you to wait inside. I'll be quick." Silas nods, and shifts nervously back and forth, wrapping his arms around himself. Six opens the door, and pauses. "Would you mind making me some tea?"
"Donald's the only one that likes tea, and he only keeps these super fancy artisanal ones around, but… we have some hot chocolate?"
"That sounds great. Thank you."
Y/n watches Six stalk—that's really the only way to describe it—across the yard until he can't see him anymore, and then makes his way to the kitchen. The menial task of heating up milk on the stove (Claire always insists it tastes better that way, and Y/n is inclined to agree) keeps him distracted. Instead of looking out the window and letting his eyes convince himself that he saw the shadow of a person outside, Y/n adds some vanilla extract to the saucepan and starts hunting for the marshmallows. A couple minutes later, Y/n lets out a breath he didn't notice he had been holding when he hears the beep of the keypad, signaling Six's return. He makes his way over to the door, and hands Six one of the mugs he'd poured.
"Thanks." Six sits down at the kitchen table, where his laptop is set up with the security feed pulled up.
Silas is tempted to sit down, too, but opts to down the rest of his mug, instead. "You can just leave your cup on the counter. I'll get it in the morning."
Six has his back turned, but he raises his mug above his head in acknowledgement. "Goodnight."
"Goodnight, Six."
—
The next morning, Y/n wakes up to an empty sink. He shakes his head, and starts making breakfast. "What's got you so grumpy already?"
"Being awake," Y/n answers. "Do you want blueberry or chocolate muffins?"
"What do you think?" Claire replies.
"Okay, sassy. Blueberry it is, then."
"No, wait!"
Y/n chuckles. He's about to reply something like, 'too bad, so sad,' before he hears a knock at the door. His brows furrow. It's not even 8:30 yet, and the nurse didn't seem like the type to show up early and unannounced. "Six?" He calls through the house, and gets no response.
i am still working on this!! i'm going back to my summer job and thus packing and moving and all that, but i should have more time to write once i get settled here in a week or so!
in the meantiiiiime, should i post the edited and slightly expanded version of this? or would you rather i wait and drop the first chapter once it's finished? i have a lot planned for this fic, most of it taking place before lloyd even comes in (to play up the slowburn) so it'll likely be pretty lengthy!
which would you prefer?
wait and drop the whole first big chapter once it's all done
drop the longer + slightly edited version of this please!!
i didn’t think i’d ever have to say this but do not upload my fics to character ai. in no way have i ever given permission for anyone to put my work into ai. it’s basic human decency not to steal other people’s work, but uploading it to another site under your name with no credits is insanely disrespectful.
do not steal my fics. i do not give permission for my fics to be uploaded anywhere, especially without credits or links back to my blog and especially not to ai sites. my ao3 is linked on my blog and from now on everything will be cross-posted there.
i know the gray man fic is NOT winning, but it's where the dopamine took me, ok? I'll probably end up writing the other two anyways, but for now, here's the unedited or proofread beginning to the six/claire's brother!reader fic... (I write using an OC's name that I replaced with Y/n for this excerpt, but I'll probably end up changing to second person, maybe depending on the results of a future poll? idk lmk your thoughts just be gentle)
"Donald, we don't need a babysitter." Y/n rolls his eyes. "You left us alone for that business conference last year, and we were fine!"
"When I came home, you had circles under your eyes so dark that I thought you were auditioning for the KISS revival concert." Y/n's uncle gives him a pointed look across the across the kitchen island, where he's peeling potatoes.
Y/n takes the cutting board and turns around to slide the carrots he had been dicing into the crock-pot on the stove. He shrugs and says, "You're exaggerating. Who cares if I pulled a few all-nighters? The security cams broke, what was I supposed to do? Besides, Claire was fine, I took good care of her! Got her to all her appointments, and we had a great time! She still talks about how awesome it was when we took all the pillows and made a big island in the middle of the living room."
Donald takes the knife and cutting board from Y/n to chop the potatoes. "You pulled more than a few all-nighters, and that was for two weeks, not two months. I know you can take care of your sister, that's why I'm hiring some people. You do too much, and I don't need you stressing yourself to sleep every night— believe me, I already have that covered. What I need is to know that my kids are both safe and happy, and not worrying about whether or not the security cam guy is going to kidnap them or not."
"Okay, you would've called the cops, too, if a guy claiming to be there to fix your security camera was wearing a hard hat. I mean, come on, that's obviously a huge—"
"—lapse in judgement brought on by a severe lack of sleep and excess amounts of stress?" Donald raises his eyebrow, and his nephew opens the fridge to avoid his gaze. "Y/n," Donald continues, "that's exactly what I'm trying to avoid this time. Six is a friend, he'll take good care of you guys. "
"Don, we both know I've never been a fan of the company you keep. I'd feel safer with it being just us, without some deeply disturbed ex-con that owes you a favor creeping around our house!"
"Y/n, last time I left, our address was still one of the best kept CIA locations in the Eastern Hemisphere, and now it's an auto-fill search on Google Maps. I'm sorry, but I'm hiring security whether you like it or not."
Y/n knows he's losing the war, but there's still one more battle to fight. "Well, what do we need a nurse for, huh? I know how Claire's monitors and pacemaker work, I can go to the pharmacy, I'll be at all her appointments, anyways—"
Don puts the lid on the crock-pot, and starts wiping up the counter. "Things have been rough since she got the pacemaker. Can you hear when there's a minute irregularity in her heartbeat that a monitor wouldn't catch? What if her pacemaker has another issue, or you have to administer intravenous medication—"
"Okaaaaay, Don, I get it!" Y/n shuts the fridge and takes a bag of grapes with him to the living room, waving his uncle off.
"Get over here and help me with the dishes, Mr. I Can Do It All By Myself."
Y/n turns on his heel before he even makes it to the couch and grabs a sponge. After a few minutes of scrubbing, he says, "I can't believe I have to spend two months living with some 'roided up, alpha-male, 'I'm so stoic and mysterious and no one will ever love me' ass old dude looking over my shoulder 24/7."
The summary of the previous "security men" he'd hired makes Donald chuckle. "Six isn't like that."
Y/n deadpans. "His name is a number. What's more mysterious than that?"
"Well, he's only 40, that's not that old."
"I don't think you get to decide what counts as old, Donald."
Donald's smile widens. "You know, you two would get along, if you'd try. He thinks he's funny, too, just like you."
Despite himself, Y/n smiles. The few dishes are done, and he grabs his bag of grapes in celebration. Donald follows him to the couch. "I am pretty funny, aren't I?" Y/n smirks, then frowns. "This guy isn't gonna try to bang out a tight five with me, though, right?"
"No, but you'll probably want him to bang something else tight." Donald pops a grape in his mouth, wincing and scoffing at the filth that had come out of his own mouth.
Y/n chokes on the grape he'd been chewing. "Holy shit, dude!"
"You set me up, dude!"
"Well it sounds like that's what you're trying to do with me and Mr. Sierra Sixty-Nine, apparently."
Donald swallows an entire grape without chewing. "Y/n!"
"You started it!"
Donald clicks on the TV. "No, you started it when you used my new satin pillows for that pillow fort."
Silas blanches. "How did you— I mean, you can't prove that!"
Donald smiles, and points the remote at the wooden duck on the shelf above the TV. "Not all the security cams were broken."
—
"Silas, Claire, this is Nurse Mandy." Donald stands next to the front door, his suitcase at his feet and a security guard outside. "She'll be here every morning and night at 9 to check Claire's vitals and give her her meds. If you have any issues, you call her."
"Any time of day, or night." She's trying to sound comforting, but there's not enough warmth behind her eyes for Y/n's liking. Despite the fact that she was a personal recommendation from Margaret Cahil, he doesn't like the way she keeps looking at Claire like she's going to fall over if the AC kicks on too hard.
Y/n purses his lips in a polite smile. "Nice to meet you."
"What's the biggest size needle you have in there?" Claire gestures to her bag.
The nurse repositions her arms behind her back, tucking the bag out of reach. Donald chuckles, and ruffles Claire's hair. "I said I'm not getting your ears pierced, and that means you're not doing it yourself, either."
"Yeah, but you didn't say anything about Y/n's ears." She wraps her arms around her uncle's middle, and smiles a little too wide at her brother.
Y/n sticks his tongue out at her. "Maybe it's a good thing we're gonna have somebody with big guns around. Who knows what would happen if this one got a hold of lethal drugs."
Donald chuckles, but the nurse looks less amused. "There will be no bloodshed or drugging of any kind while I'm away." Y/n swallows, and Donald pulls him into a hug. "I'll be on the plane when Six gets here, but I'll call as soon as I land."
Y/n nods against his shoulder, his grip a little tighter than he meant it to be. "Fly safe, old man." It's not quite calling him dad, but it's close enough for both of them.
Don pats his back a couple times before he pulls away, and points between the siblings. "Behave, you two."
—
Y/n opens the door. "Really? Six o'clock?"
The man in the suit before him shrugs. "This is just when he told me to be here."
"Who did?"
Six sucks his teeth. "Yeah, he said you're not thrilled at the idea of having company. Just so we're clear, I'm not here to babysit you, or your sister."
"Claire."
"Yeah, I know her—" Six steels himself when he notices the faintest upturn to Y/n's lips. "I'll do regular checks on the security systems, patrol the property twice in the morning and twice in the afternoon at different times, and once before bed. I've already reviewed the blueprints and identified all potential points of entry, but I'd like a more in-depth tour, if you don't mind, so I can—"
Silas turns and gestures behind him. "This is the hallway."
"I see that." Six takes a deep breath. "What's it lead to?"
Y/n's hand drops to his hip. "Thought you already looked at the blueprints."
Six purses his lips. "Just being conversational."
"Riveting stuff."
"Well, you're not exactly giving me much to work with, here."
Y/n nods his head in a gesture for Six to follow him. They make their way to the end of the hallway and into the open floor plan with the living room to the left and kitchen to the right. Y/n points to the far corner of the kitchen. "Door to the backyard is over there. Whole wall is fiberglass, and this one's the same as the front door; passcode on the outside to ask for me or Claire to use our thumbprints to open it from the inside."
"Pretty neat."
"Kinda annoying when we have to bring in groceries."
Six waits until Y/n's back is turned to crack a smile, and follows him back into the main part of the house. "Bathroom is over there," he gestures to the other end of the kitchen while he crosses the living room and continues, "and bedrooms are through here. Your room is at the end of the hall, mine is on the left. Don's is on the other side, and this is Claire's." Y/n knocks on the door. "Six the hitman is here. Wanna meet him before your untimely, but well-deserved execution?"
"Only if he wears a hood!"
Y/n laughs sharply and opens the door. Six is surprised at the subtle care he takes not to crush any of the records strewn across the bed, despite the unceremonious way he flops on top of the comforter next to his sister.
"Just the two exits?" Six asks.
"Yeah," Y/n idly replies, picking up some of the Polaroids Claire had been messing around with. He's pretending to seem bored, but everything about his body language says he's nervous. He's been picking his cuticles since he opened the front door, and his foot is bouncing against the end of the bed.
"Six is an odd name," Claire says, barely looking up from the viewfinder of her camera.
"Yeah, well… 007 was taken." Six makes an effort not to follow the way Y/n tries to hide his smile, but he can't control the small sense of pride it gives him.
"Are you chewing gum?" Claire asks.
"…yeah," Six replies, a sliver of uncertainty creeping into his tone.
"We don't chew gum in this house," she says, matter-of-factly.
Six stares back at her. "I wasn't… briefed, won't happen—" Claire snaps a picture of him. "…again."
"Your composition is improving," Y/n says, and his smirk is so much like his sister's that it makes Six question if he's really cut out for this job.
"Okay, well… I'll try to stay out of your way. Do you mind?" He takes the Polaroid from the foot of the bed. "Hmm. May I?"
"Sure," Claire says, and Y/n raises an eyebrow at her.
"Thanks," Six pockets the picture, and nods. "Nice to meet you both," he says before promptly leaving the room.
When Six is gone, Claire shakes her head. "I didn't know Uncle Don ordered a robot security guard."
Y/n laughs. "I think you short circuited him."
Claire stands up and stretches her arms above her head. "I'm pretty sure it was the way your shirt rode up that did it."
"You liar!" Y/n stands and adjusts his shirt.
Claire cackles. "I speak nothing but the truth!"
Y/n rolls his eyes, and turns to leave, hiding his blush in the process. "Okay, Cassandra. I'm gonna go make a grilled cheese."
"Who's Cassandra?"
"…some girl."
—
After the nurse leaves at the end of the night, Silas pokes his head into his sister's room. "Night, Claire."
"Night, Y/n. Sleep tight, don't let the radioactive cockroaches I hid beneath your mattress bite. Who knows what they'll do if they get a taste of human flesh."
"Love you, you little psychopath."
"Love you, too."
Y/n closes the door, and almost jumps out of his skin when Six seems to appear behind him. "Shit!"
"Sorry, I was just getting ready to walk the outer perimeter. I'll need you to let me back in, I haven't programmed my fingerprint into the security system yet."
Y/n nods. "Can I change first?"
"Go ahead. I'll be right here."
"Oh, you don't have to—"
"The perimeter hasn't been cleared yet, it's better if I stay close." Y/n's eyes widen slightly, and Six adds, "Just in case."
"I'll be quick."
"Take your time," Six assures, and the gentle edge to it somehow makes the pit in Y/n's stomach a little smaller.
A few minutes later, Y/n walks out of his room in sweatpants and a tank top and follows Six to the back door. The idea of standing alone in the living room waiting for Six to walk around the entire property while his sister plays an unnecessarily eerie tune on her record player doesn't sound too appealing. "Six?"
"Hmm?"
"Can I walk with you?"
Six shakes his head. "If someone is outside—"
"I don’t want to wait to find out when they knock you out and break into the house."
Six's lip twitches upward. "I don't go down that easy. I need you to wait inside. I'll be quick." Silas nods, and shifts nervously back and forth, wrapping his arms around himself. Six opens the door, and pauses. "Would you mind making me some tea?"
"Donald's the only one that likes tea, and he only keeps these super fancy artisanal ones around, but… we have some hot chocolate?"
"That sounds great. Thank you."
Y/n watches Six stalk—that's really the only way to describe it—across the yard until he can't see him anymore, and then makes his way to the kitchen. The menial task of heating up milk on the stove (Claire always insists it tastes better that way, and Y/n is inclined to agree) keeps him distracted. Instead of looking out the window and letting his eyes convince himself that he saw the shadow of a person outside, Y/n adds some vanilla extract to the saucepan and starts hunting for the marshmallows. A couple minutes later, Y/n lets out a breath he didn't notice he had been holding when he hears the beep of the keypad, signaling Six's return. He makes his way over to the door, and hands Six one of the mugs he'd poured.
"Thanks." Six sits down at the kitchen table, where his laptop is set up with the security feed pulled up.
Silas is tempted to sit down, too, but opts to down the rest of his mug, instead. "You can just leave your cup on the counter. I'll get it in the morning."
Six has his back turned, but he raises his mug above his head in acknowledgement. "Goodnight."
"Goodnight, Six."
—
The next morning, Y/n wakes up to an empty sink. He shakes his head, and starts making breakfast. "What's got you so grumpy already?"
"Being awake," Y/n answers. "Do you want blueberry or chocolate muffins?"
"What do you think?" Claire replies.
"Okay, sassy. Blueberry it is, then."
"No, wait!"
Y/n chuckles. He's about to reply something like, 'too bad, so sad,' before he hears a knock at the door. His brows furrow. It's not even 8:30 yet, and the nurse didn't seem like the type to show up early and unannounced. "Six?" He calls through the house, and gets no response.
*there's only so many characters in poll answers, but everything will also include mutual pining, slow burn, hurt/comfort, probably some smut, and im incapable of writing a sad ending, so definitely fluff, despite how angsty the descriptions might be!
Engineer!Reader, who remembers that he had known what Stratt was going to do if Ryland refused, and is incredibly guilty. He starts having stress dreams, and when his lack of sleep leads to him almost dying on a space walk, the truth comes out. Grace is shaken and upset, but will he really be able to hold a grudge against the one person who had truly loved him back on Earth?
Claire's Older Brother!Reader, who feels like it's his fault their parents died, and spends every second of his life trying to "make up for it." While watching over them, Six admires how hard Reader works to keep his remaining family together, and finds himself increasingly compelled to do the same for Reader. Too scared to let someone else he could lose into his heart, Reader distances himself from Six when he goes back to the CIA. When he and Claire get taken to separate locations by Lloyd, Reader is convinced that Six isn't coming for him.
Wire Operator!Reader, who was supposed to be the one working the wires the day Colt fell, and doesn't question it when Colt kicks him out of his hospital room. When Jodi insists that the both of them work on her movie, Colt and Reader are unexpectedly reunited in the middle of a highly risky stunt. Their very public argument ends in some misunderstandings getting sorted out, and some feelings coming to light. (K, so. Admittedly, I haven't finished the movie, but I AM kinda nerdy about belaying mechanisms and height safety, so this one will mostly likely be a little shorter and possibly more ooc.)
PLEASE do yourself a favour and check out this wikipedia-styled template for google drive, made by @ Rukidut on twitter
I decided to try to sort my ideas and whats canon regarding my ocs with this and ITS PERFECT. IT ALL FEELS SO CONRETE. and i sure as hell AM Going to continue to use this with every single OC I have until google drives is set ablaze- Just!!!!!!!!
Also; link directly to the doc, just copy the file and you have your own lil template!!!!
“kids spend too much time on their devices” well what else are they supposed to do? there’s no corner shops with pinball machines in them on every corner anymore. there’s no malls or stores in small towns for teens to hang out in without being suspected of shoplifting or kicked out for loitering. sidewalks are too broken for them to ride their bikes and there’s no bike lane in the street to make it safe for them. i just don’t understand where they expect these kids to go when they keep taking places away from them. and yes having no safe public places for them is what leads a lot of teens into addiction if they end up at a place where people aren’t truly looking out for them.
i think the reason dazed works so well (or, more specifically, feels like there aren't any loose ends, despite the fact that there ARE) and is so re-watchable, is because all the loose-ends are momentarily resolved as soon as they're introduced.
the scene/line that never fails to make me think about this idea is mike's "i wanna dance!" scene. he spends an entire monologue talking about how he doesn't know if he actually wants to work with the general public, be a lawyer, or WHAT. (all very valid, real, and relatable concerns, ESPECIALLY in a movie about high schoolers, who are about to start applying to colleges and planning their careers) instead of dwelling on it or exploring it more, though, we get a silly one-liner and immediate cut-away that makes us forget/not worry about it for the rest of the movie.
another time this happens is right before the gang goes to the football field. instead of wondering what will happen with jodi and pink, pink says "you win some, you lose some." he's not only speaking to wooderson in this instance, but also the audience. we don't need to worry about what happens, because it doesn't matter in the grand scheme of things.
mitch doesn't end up in hot water because his mom ends up being pretty chill about the whole ordeal, and even the fact that he comes home drunk doesn't seem to lead to any harsh punishment, so we're good there. tony and sabrina get their little resolution. the huge end-of-the-year party at pickford's gets shut-down, and carried on as a bit, until it gets replaced with the beer bust. a dude calls the cops waves a guns in the character's faces, and they just drive off!
even the pledge sheet, which is pretty much the main plot, gets resolved with one sentence: "i might play ball... but i will never sign that." does that actually resolve anything? i mean yes and no. we know that pink doesn't sign the pledge, but we don't know if he's even allowed to play, if he quits, if he gets "demoted" to a different position, put on the bench until he actually signs, or what.
and it's the same thing with the other plots! we don't actually know what mike goes to school for, we don't know if pink and jodi end up together, or if pink and simone break up, we have no clue how mitch turns out, we don't know if the mailbox guy filed a report, and we don't know if pink actually does play ball. but you know what? we don't need to.
because dazed isn't about tying up loose ends, or masterfully pulling off an intricate web of connected plotlines. it's about high school, and it's about how things feel like the end of the world but really aren't. and more than that, i think it's about showing a group of fully-fleshed out characters (because we know linklater spent a good amount of time making mixtapes for each character, and had the actors answer interview questions as their characters, so we know the characters have more to them than what we get to see on-screen) on one particular day that, while significant and memorable, is ultimately trivial compared to what they each have going on in their lives.
i like to think of it like looking through a window. dazed is the window. what you see just by looking straight into it is the movie. but sometimes, you can turn your head and see more of the room. that would be the original script, the character interviews, the mixtapes, etc. etc. all that gives us the impression that these characters are complete, and that if you look hard enough, you can see something you might not otherwise have caught. and then linklater's brain is the house, because he lives there and he's the only one that knows "everything" there is to know about dazed.
I would like to add The Birdcage (1996) to this list of drag queen movies (mind you, it's based on a French stage play from 1973).
Which starred Nathan Lane as a drag queen just two years after he had voice Pumba in "The Lion King":
And we ESPECIALLY need to remember Victor Victoria from 1982 (during the REAGAN administration) which is SET IN THE 1930S and stars everyone's favorite curtain-sewing nanny as a struggling soprano who decides to pretend to be a boy doing drag (DOUBLE THE DRAG FOR YOUR MONEY). I mean look at this photo:
Count Victor Grazinski isn't putting up with your transphobia (or you being a dick to Robert Preston).
Unfortunately, the representation of drag and female impersonation (as it was often called pre-Stonewall) is scant in mainstream American cinema due to the Hayes Code. There are definitely more, but these are biggest, "family-friendly" names I can think who have starred in major motion pictures as drag performers.
Some Like It Hot (1959), it got in trouble with censors and still went ahead, but it featured a lot of Gender and a character getting really into this whole “being a girl for real” thing, as well as the implication of a a gay engagement being on the table
but like? It has Marilyn Monroe in it and banger music and it’s a classic! I only know from my mother bringing it up and also a tiny bit of exposure to russian tv channels, but I think it was also popular in the Soviet Union? So she’d seen it as a child and loved it so much she watched it with me when I was also just a child.
(not to mention big traditions of children’s theatre with drag performance)
2005 movie adaptation of 1996 Pulitzer Prize-winning musical! Lesbian couple! Kind-of-gay-kind-of-het-with-a-side-of-trans-it-was-the-90s-the-definitions-are-squishy couple! Every single couple in it is interracial!
1999 teen comedy satire about being a lesbian! Ridiculously fucking funny!
YOUR MOM'S CHICK FLICK COMEDY-DRAMA!! 1991!! The woman on the top left was in love with the woman on the top right! It's implied that the woman on the bottom right is the elderly woman on the top left! In the book the two women on top are explicitly lovers! It won two Oscars and three Golden Globes! This movie passes the Bechdel test basically every thirty seconds!
YOUR MOM'S ROMANTIC FANTASY-DRAMA! 1992! A young bride switches souls with an old man and she and her newlywed husband have to figure out how to connect! Those are two of the biggest stars of the era on that cover!! You will notice the word "joke" appeared nowhere in this description!
1994! The only "it's a man in a dress" humor comes from a male bus driver developing a crush on the titular character! There's nothing dark or deviant about the fact it's Robin Williams in drag even if the plot wouldn't pass muster today! The comedy comes from a very cishet American dude trying to navigate life both as himself and a "cishet British nanny who's a widow" at the same time!
1982 comedy! Christmas release! Similar plot to the abovementioned Victor/Victoria! Main character actually learns and grows due to his experiences as a woman!
Legal drama! 1993! You probably STILL know the names on this poster! That's Tom Hanks playing a gay man with AIDS who's suing his former employer for sexual discrimination! That's a Black man playing his lawyer!
1973! If you're wondering what the fuck a Jesus movie is doing here, it portrays Judas as being in love with Jesus! Judas is Black! He's also a sympathetic character who's doomed by the narrative! My mom remembered seeing it in theatres and told me there were massive protests, not because of Judas, but because Jesus is shown being royally pissed off! And by the way...
THEY DID IT FUCKING TWICE!! The remake is from 2000 and it kinda sucks but it also garnered basically no outrage (except from musical theater fans pissed about the weak casting) in spite of the fact it's significantly more explicit than the original and suggests that whole "in love" thing was reciprocal!
Now let me tell you what ties all of these movies together, except for the second Jesus Christ Superstar and also But I'm A Cheerleader because my mom was deeply biased against teen comedies:
THEY WERE ALL ON MY SHELF WHEN I WAS GROWING UP. A VERY AVERAGE MIDWESTERN FAMILY OWNED ALL OF THESE.
And you'll notice I didn't mention Angels in America, The Rocky Horror Picture Show, Brokeback Mountain, Jennifer's Body, Saved!, Hedwig and the Angry Inch, Flawless, or Torch Song Trilogy. I only provided movies my family owned.
In many ways, we have moved forward. But in a very real way, here, we also need to go back.
Also the Reagan years. And you can lean into the fact that the guy is in a relationship he has to hide because people wouldn't understand it, but the real standout is the character of Hollywood Montrose.
He's not gay. He's thrilled. And yes, it's played for laughs-- but he is very much the Gay Best Friend to a male character, and the only person who says anything negative about him is one of the villains, who is nothing but an assholes, and gets called a bigot to his face by the lead. (And is too dumb to realize that it happened until he walks away.)
Another honorable mention, since it wasn't as mainstream as those other films, but this honest-to-gosh gay RomCom took a humorous and heartfelt look at gay culture at the height of the AIDS crisis (Patrick Stewart, playing a gruff gay elder, is predictably, brilliant):
Jeffrey (1995), tagline "Love is an adventure when one of you is sure and the other is positive"
okay so actually i think pink didn't sign the pledge just bc he doesn't want to swear of partying, but also (or even mostly) because he doesn't want to make football his whole personality. by signing the pledge he would be saying it's the most important thing to him, when he very clearly has other interests he wants to be able to explore. somebody ask this boy about his art im begging
