#Enter Macbeth

[thoughtfulfangirling]

They have to give up the spacious card playing room, well stocked kitchen, cozy TV room, and library for their safety. All the nice things we saw them doing in their down time at the beginning of the episode is longer easily available to them, and I really like this small nod to the fact that leaving the castle was harder than simply leaving a place. It was their comforts and routine and the familiar, and those are no small losses, something I think Goliath definitely understood. But there is good reason to believe that they won't have tampered with electronics they don't understand influencing them brazenly nor unknown enemies greeting them with violence upon waking, and they can assume they will live through the day to see another night, and as hard as the practicalities of that reality may be, it's all worth it. I like that things don't have to simply be all one way in this show. It can be both a duller and less inviting place to live and a better place to thrive and grow.

[movies-tv-more]

Special Edition & Steelbook Releases for June 25, 2024

[bellshazes]

multiple people in class today said "theater is dying" and "it's an expensive treat" and "people who see themselves as theater-goers are kinda full of themselves" and I have never felt more like an alien. ATL is not even doing Christmas Carol and opening their season with drag daddy productions and that's the fucking regional theater. There's a $10 gay android murder play at Highfield this month AND it's only half the show the other half is baggage claim relationship drama from the luggage POV. I can fix you people get weird get local save yourselves!!!!! Jesus christ we live in a golden era what the FUCK are you on about

[agirlnamedhagrid]

I am going to apologize in advance for the somewhat sudden reactivation of my blog before I likely reenter my lurking den where I dispense likes as if i were a fairy princess and cache drafts like an ancient squirrel on a glacier.

I also offer my regrets to any and all accounts suddenly receiving reblogging notes on long-dead and well-forgotten posts.

Welcome to the shit show :D

[matelothot]

Macbeth Act 1, Scene 3

Thunder. Enter the three Witches.

FIRST WITCH:

[therosepetalrps]

『✣』 The concern pulled harder at his features until he was frowning. Nowhere to go? His gaze turned somewhat speculative. Was she a runaway? He'd dealt with a fair number of those — mostly teenagers who were ready to turn back home before the sun even set. Maybe she was fleeing a boyfriend or husband. Or she was on the run from the law. That seemed particularly unlikely. Hamish had seen stranger things, though. In any case, he was hardly about to interrogate the poor woman.

❝ 𝐖𝐄𝐋𝐋, 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐒𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐋𝐄𝐒 𝐈𝐓, ❞ he said, wiping rain away from his eyes with his sleeve as though mopping up sweat. ❝ 𝐘𝐄 𝐂𝐀𝐍 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐘 𝐀𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 𝐔𝐍𝐓𝐈𝐋 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐅𝐈𝐆𝐔𝐑𝐄 𝐒𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐎𝐔𝐓. ❞

It wouldn't be the first wanderer who used his station as a hotel and it wouldn't be the last. And she seemed to be of far sounder mind than the ilk he typically babysat.

❝ 𝐈 𝐂𝐀𝐍 𝐏𝐎𝐏 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐈𝐑 𝐈𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐁𝐀𝐂𝐊 𝐎𝐅 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐋𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐑𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐑, ❞ he said. He gave her a reassuring smile and joked, ❝ 𝐈 𝐖𝐎𝐍'𝐓 𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐍 𝐌𝐀𝐊𝐄 𝐘𝐄 𝐒𝐋𝐄𝐄𝐏 𝐈𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐂𝐄𝐋𝐋. ❞

Even though she was tired and In pain, Belle wanted to keep going before the storm got worse and she wasn't able to go any further. The problem was she was so cold that she wasn't able to move at the moment, Belle didn't know how long it had been since she ran, but she had a feeling that it had been at least an hour maybe longer.

When she heard the sound of a car door close, Belle jumped a little and then watched as Hamish approached her. Even though she wanted to say something, Belle was shaking violently so she was having trouble speaking that being said, the young girl watched him as he expected the wheels on her wheelchair.

"Y-Yes I agree so you should head home and get warm... I-I don't think anyone besides u-us is out in this weather." Belle replied as she wrapped her arms around her small frame.

When he asked if she was staying in the village and then offered to give her a lift, Belle looked into his eyes. "N-No, I-I'm not ... T-Thank you for the offer constable, b-but I'm afraid I don't have anywhere to go." Belle said softly.

@therosepetalrps

[lorde--of--the--rings]

SPOILERS! On Solavellan in DA4

Prefacing this in saying i’m giving my own take (not fact or fiction or right or wrong just my take) on this. I really love this community because I get to read other people’s thoughts and feelings about this game we all love. so just hoping to join the dialogue for a moment on this.

Sollavellan is a big part of the veilguard ending if you let it be/want it to be-- but I'm not convinced that this is because of the ship itself, but the fact that their relationship (romantic or platonic) is important to Solas's development as a character. I played this game and interpret solas’s part in the narrative of the game as a representation of regret, shame, and what regret and shame can drive us to when we let them— really thinking of the line in Macbeth where he remarks  "I am in blood 1440. Stepp'd in so far that, should I wade no more, Returning were as tedious as go o'er…." (3.4 134-136)

Bro is so far into his own despair and shame that he can’t see any other way out-- he's tied up in the logical fallacy that to be good now would be a "betrayal" of those he wronged before; he can't imagine any other end to the story than to "right" his previous "wrongs" by fully "fixing" the world he sees as broken.

Enter the inquisitor, a total wildcard who disrupts his plans in DA3 and the domino effect we play out in Veilguard. Whether or not you romance Solas in DA3, Quizzy is still a blindsiding character that disrupts solas and his worldview. Here is a person with immense power and influence, who, unlike Mythal, actually wields it to protect those they love and patch up a world that THEY had a hand in breaking (rather unintentionally,… sounds familiar?) 

But more importantly-- they're able to be redeemed in a way Solas imagines to be impossible for himself.

Quizzy represents who Solas was, or could be, without his pride and without the influence of Mythal. They fit in as a puzzle piece in his transformation WITH OR WITHOUT romance, and with or without friendship.

This is why Solas having the opportunity to be redeemed in DA4 makes so much sense to me, he is effectively forced by what he lives through in DA3 to question his own plans and approach, or at the very least become aware of his own infallibility in comparison to an alternative and restorative type of problem solving. This all sets the scene for Rook and Varric once again foiling him (you meddling kids! and speaking of foils, Varric/Rook and Solas are as foily and foil characters get…) 

Oh and your ex (lover, leader, friend/foe) just appears out of the blue and is like ok bro party’s over. Confronted with all of this, with Varric’s fate, with Mythal’s memory if you choose that path, and oh, hey, look it’s Quizzy….

I know he’s the ancient elven god of trickery, but isn’t it so much more interesting that he could also be the ancient elven god of resistance, of thwarting power and authority, and in that vein be redeemed and live out this alternative side of himself? Rather than being the god of pride he can live as the spirit of wisdom he was before Mythal, and in that also resistance— resisting the toxic urge to destroy in order to create/redeem.

We know these "Gods" aren’t really "Gods," so why not let them occupy this grey space?

[anyarose011]

Too Late To Turn Back Now {Angus Tully x Reader}

Summary: A dislocated shoulder, an insult to end all men, a few lies, going out to eat, and an unwanted revelation about Angus Tully. What a perfect way to celebrate Christmas Eve-Eve.

Part 4 of ?? (Masterlist)

Warnings: Swearing, descriptions of arm injury, mentions of underage drinking, minor harassment, and discussion of cancer.

This was one of the more lighthearted and fun as hell chapters to write, so I hope you all enjoy it!

Word Count: 5.0k

Apparently, Angus Tully had gone on another adventure without you. One probably shouldn’t call it an adventure if he went to the chapel, and merely stared at the photo of your dead friend for hours on end.

“Do you think he was praying?” You asked Mary after she told you that while you were helping her make lunch.

“I think he’s just as religious as you.”

You scoffed. “He’d never become a priest.”

“You’d make a lousy nun.”

“I’d be a fun one.”

Once the four of you sat down to eat, your father tried to give you cookies you knew for a fact were given to you by Miss Crane. You also knew they were a week old at this point. Still, to spare your father’s feelings, you broke off a piece. You then put it in your mouth, nodding with a smile before bringing your napkin to your lips as if to clean them, when really you just spat the cookie into it.

Immediately, Angus asked to go to the bathroom, and you knew he wasn’t doing that, but you couldn’t blame him.

“I’m trying.” Your father shrugged, and all you and Mary could do was laugh.

You helped her was the dishes after that, and went back out to the dining hall, still seeing your dad sitting at the same table, alone.

“Everything alright?” You asked.

“Yes, just waiting on Mr. Tully.”

“You honestly can’t force him to learn today.” You scoffed, leaning against one of the chairs. “It’s Christmas Eve-Eve.”

“You always had lessons on Christmas Eve-Eve, and you didn’t complain.”

“I did.” You laughed, rolling your eyes. “Several times.”

He sighed. “I’ll let him out early by an hour; if you attend as well.”

“Never mind, let him rot.”

“I thought so.” He got up from his chair. “Where on God’s green earth is that boy?”

You watched him leave through the doors Angus took ten minutes ago, and as you were about to go into the kitchen to (lovingly) bother Mary some more, you heard shouting. Now of course, you were (and still are) a nosey bitch, so you had no choice but to also go through the doors leading out into the hallway. You heard Angus first.

“There’s nobody here, okay? Just us two losers, a grieving mom, and your-.”

His face and words fell once he saw you enter, and your father turned to see you standing in the doorframe, looking as if you wandered into something you shouldn’t have. Then, you threw on the attitude.

“What am I now?”

He looked away. “Nothing.”

“Oh, wow!” You began with fake enthusiasm.

“I didn’t mean-.”

“-No, no of course you didn’t.”

Your father stepped in. “That’s enough from the both of you. Mr. Tully, I can forgive you for using the phone without permission if-.”

“-If what?” He interrupted. “No, let’s cut the shit: You stay out of my way, and I stay out of yours.”

Of course, your father had detention slips in his back pocket, and of course he threw one up. “That’s a detention.”

Angus pushed past him, groaning and walking fast down the hall. You pursed your lips. “You really showed him.”

“Stuff it, Lady Macbeth.” He scolded, then called Angus. “You just earned yourself a detention, sir. Now, get back here!”

Angus looked back. “Being here with you is already one big fucking detention!”

“Son of a bitch, that’s another detention!”

In response, Angus knocked over a trash can, which caused your father to run like you’d never seen him run before. You should be ashamed that your first instinct was to laugh, but you weren’t and you still aren’t.

You should also have felt like a fool for deciding to run after them as if it were a game. Again, you didn’t feel like one then, and if you were to do it again as an old woman, you would in a heartbeat.

You saw as Angus tore off posters from the wall and would stop at corners just to taunt your father. Then, after running around more than half the school (you had no idea how much honestly, but it was enough for you), you stopped outside of the gym with the both of them. Even with Angus’s back turned, you knew he was contemplating the unthinkable.

“Don’t you even think about it, Mr. Tully.” Your father warned, panting from running. “You are a hair’s breadth from suspension. I’ll wash my hands of you, you hear me? Wash my hands.” Angus ignored him, stepping into the gym.

You followed your father as he kept going. “Stop right there, you know the gym is strictly off limits. This is your Rubicon. Do not cross the Rubicon.”

Angus took one look at the gym equipment, then back to the two of you. “Alea jacta est.”

He winked at you before springing towards the trampoline, bouncing off of it and over the balance beam. When his body landed with a hard ‘thud!’, you and your father were stricken with tense silence.

Which was then broken when an inhuman scream ripped from Angus’ throat.

Still, as your father looked on in horror, you said (being completely unbothered). “He’s faking it.”

When his screams didn’t subside, and you only heard them grow louder and he threw in more explicate language, your smile fell. It was when he got to his knees did you see how mangled his left arm looked, and you felt like you were going to throw up.

Angus Tully was one step ahead of you in that department, and that’s all we should say about that (not that he nearly puked on you; if anyone ever says that, they’re lying and should be shot on sight).

So, that was how, on the afternoon of Christmas Eve-Eve, you came to be standing outside of your father’s shitty 1964 Nova. You and Angus, who was crying while wearing half of his jacket, were shivering violently, waiting for your father to scrape off the car.

“Hurry up!” Both you and him would beg.

“I am hurrying!” Would be your father’s only response, and you saw his face grow redder every time either of you would yell.

Luckily, he managed to (somehow) scrape it all off and you three piled into the car. Even though you were going to anyway, you father insisted you sit in the front (more than likely because he knew you and Angus would probably try to kill each other in a high tense situation, and who would’ve figured he was right).

“I was on thin ice already.” Your father panicked at you as he stepped on the gas to the hospital. “If Woodrup finds out, the facts won’t matter, he’ll make it my fault.”

“It is your fault!” Angus cried from the back of the car, trying to hold his mangled arm up. “You were supposed to be looking after me!”

“I told you to stop!”

“You said you washed your hands of me!”

“No, I meant it metaphorically!”

“Of course you meant it metaphorically. What were you gonna do, actually go and wash your hands?!”

Your father turned back to the road. “Unbelievable. Unbelievable, I said I will wash my hands, never once did I say it in the present tense!”

“I don’t know, Pontius Pilate.” You shrugged. “This Jesus guy makes a good point.”

When he hissed your real name, you nearly shrank into your seat. “I don’t need any more of this from you. You were the one to tell me he was faking it anyway!”

“You said that?!” Angus yelled. “Jesus, I knew you hated all men.”

“Not true.” You turned around to look at him. “I would’ve said the exact same thing about a woman, especially if I heard her screaming from your room!”

Out of all the times you made a man cry and left him speechless, this one was and forever will be your favorite (obviously he was crying from his arm, but you liked to think your comment also did that). Your father scolded you for your foul mouth, but it was 100% worth it.

There you three sat in the emergency room, waiting for over an hour for a nurse to let you in, when your father started monologuing to himself.

“This is the end. They’ll inform the school, who will inform your parents, and then it’s curtains. You’re gonna get me fired; you.” He looked at Angus, then you. “I hope you like sleeping in the snow, Josephine.”

“I love it more than life itself.” You rolled your eyes.

Angus grumbled. “I’m the one about to lose an arm and all you can think about is yourself.”

“Hey, he was worried about me.” You pointed out.

He turned and glared at you, and you actually felt bad for the first time that day.

A nurse soon approached you, handing your father a clipboard and pen. “If you could just fill this out, please. Admissions and insurance.”

Your father, hesitantly, begins to fill it out. It sounded like a joke at first, having to sleep somewhere else, but honestly what were you going to do? You and your father lived in the faculty housing ever since-.

“-Excuse me?” Angus asked the nurse as she was walking away. “Is there any way we could skip this whole insurance thing?”

“It’s just standard procedure.”

“I understand. But look, we were over at Squantz pond playing hockey, and I slipped on the ice.”

Your father whispered. “Angus, what are you doing?”

But he kept going, glancing at you for a moment. “Our mom told him not to take us, but I made him. Our folks are divorced, and we don’t get to see each other very often. She’ll be mad as a hornet if she finds out.”

The nurse still didn’t let up. “Okay, that’s your business. But we just have certain protocols.”

“Yeah, protocols.” Your father tried to warn.

Angus didn’t listen to either. “Please, we ever get to see my dad. It was my fault, all mine. I don’t want to get him in trouble.” He looked at you. “We can’t have her dragging him to court again.”

You shook your head, swallowing a pretend lump in your throat. “No. Last time was…oh god.”

He looked back at the nurse.  “Can we skip the whole insurance thing? We can pay cash. Right, Dad?”

What a sucker; it took you and Angus to do ‘Kicked Puppy” eyes for a minute, and she was brining the three of you in to the see the doctor in three.

When they were removing his shirt, they told him first look away from the arm, but they didn’t inform you.

“Is it that bad?” He asked upon hearing your audible disgust.

“Not the worst thing I’ve seen in a hospital.”

Your father slugged you, but not hard enough for it to hurt. Still, the whole thing was a blur as they popped Angus’ arm back into its socket. It was dislocated, not broken, and a part of you selfishly wish that it had been just to spare you from the disgusting noises. That and also Angus’s screaming, as if you hadn’t been objectified to that enough.

The three of you were leaving after Angus' arm was tied in a sling, when your father spoke up.

“Barton men don’t do that.”

“Do what?” Angus asked, readjusting his sling.

"Lie."

“Well, I had momentum.”

“Mhm,” he looked at you. “what’s your excuse?”

You shrugged. “I don’t go to Barton, and I’m not a man. Thank God, by the way, considering I hate all of them.”

Even though you said that sarcastically, neither of the men said you were wrong.

When you three made it to the pharmacy, and your father handed over the prescription, the pharmacist went to search for it. Angus lowered his voice, saying to your dad.

“You said that if Woodrup finds out, you and her screwed. So now he won’t find out.”

“What if your parents ask?” You questioned.

“Never going to happen. Trust me.”

Your father raised his brows. “Okay, then. This all remains entre nous. Got it? You know what entre nous means?”

“Oui, monsieur.” He smirked “Now you owe me.”

“Owe you?” Your father gasped. “Do not try to leverage me, Mr. Tully.”

“All I’m looking for is little thank you that I did something nice for you. That’s all.”

You shrugged, deciding you wanted a treat too. “It is Christmas Eve-Eve.”

Your father took you all out to ‘The Winning Ticket’; the classiest tavern within 50 miles. Classy being the less dingy, place in Barton. As your father and ‘Friend of Some Sort’ had a minor debate on underage drinking, you saw the last waitress you wanted approach.

“Miss Crane, as I live and breathe.” Your father sounded amazed as if he saw Aphrodite herself. “What are you doing here?”

“Oh, hi guys!” She laughed “Yeah, I always pick up a little extra work over Thanksgiving and Christmas.”

“Well uh,” he gestured to Angus. “This is Mr. Tully.” Then to you beside him. “And this is-you already know my daughter.”

“Yes,” she nodded. “quite well. My niece knows her too if you can believe that.”

He laughed a little louder than he should have, and you wanted to crawl under the table and bang your head against the metal support until you split your skull open.

“Oh, and sure, I know you.” Miss Crane nodded to Angus.

“Angus Tully,” he smiled. “we met outside of Dr. Woodrup’s office. I was wrongly accused of blowing up a toilet.”

“Well, I didn’t know about the ‘wrongly’ part. I just know that miss Hunham talks a lot about you when she visits.”

Aaand now you wanted to just take any of the silverware off the table (even the spoon would work) and stab yourself.

“Does she?” He teased.

You were quick with a comeback. “About how ridiculously annoying you are. I was baking cookies and Elise nearly crawled into the oven because the things I said about you were just too horrible for her to hear.”

“Now be nice.” Your father said.

“When have I never?”

The three of you ordered (after another discussion about alcohol and underage drinking with Miss Crane this time), and it did not escape you or Angus how your father’s eyes were still on her even after she left.

“Ouch,” Angus smiled. “you two have chemistry.”

“That’s the Percodan talking.” Your father pointed out.

“I don’t know, seeing her like this, I think she’s pretty attractive.”

You gagged, not even having the will to come up with a good comeback, you were so disgusted. Thankfully, your father had one.

“Listen, you hormonal vulgarian, that woman deserves your respect, not your erotic speculation.”

You never gave it much thought; your father dating women after your mother died. He just never truly seemed that interested in anyone, and he said it himself, he never goes out. Still…while you do want him to be happy, the woman of interest is your best friend’s aunt-.

Angus pursed his lips. “May I at least go to the bathroom? Sir? “

“You mean the payphone?” Even when he saw Angus’ eyes darken, your father still was not stirred. “Jo March, accompany him, please.”

You sighed. “Why do I have to be his keeper?”

“Because I, Pontius Pilate, washed my hands of him, remember?”

With that being said, you walked with Angus over to the bathrooms, and waited outside with your arms crossed like a child being punished. After a few minutes, he came back out, and the first thing you asked was.

“How’d you lie so easily?”

He gave you a look. “When?”

“The hospital.” You clarified. “You came up with a whole story on the spot that was so convincing, you had a nurse wrapped around your finger within a minute.”

Angus shrugged, beginning to walk away. “You were honestly the icing on the cake.”

“Oh, thank you.” You spoke with sarcasm, following him. “But honestly, you-.”

“-Are you any good at pinball?”

Okay mister ‘Trying to Change the Subject’, you’d play this game (literally and figuratively). “Yeah, I think so.”

He grabbed two dimes from his pocket. “Wanna bet?”

“I guarantee you that’s all the money you have, so there’s nothing to bet.”

“Not exactly.” You both wandered over to the machines. “If I win, you owe me something, and vice versa.”

“And if I wanted you to get out of my life?”

“Done and done, but only If you win, which you won’t.” He put the dimes on top of the machine a guy was playing on.

“Sorry, kid. Next game’s taken.” The many said.

Angus furrowed his brow. “But I just put some dimes down.”

“Don’t care. My buddy’s up next.”

“That’s not how it works.”

“That’s how it works in here. Why don’t you go shoot the other fuckin’ machine?”

“Because I don’t want to shoot the other fuckin’ machine.”

You put your hand on his non-injured arm. “Angus, it’s fine.”

Before he could retaliate, the man lost the game, sighing. “Thanks for fuckin’ up my mojo. Kenny! You’re up.”

“Bullshit.” Angus shook his head. “I put my dimes down, so we’re up next.”

“What was that?” You both looked and saw ‘Kenny’, a drunk man with a hook for his right hand. Shit… “Hey, kiddies,” he snapped his fingers at the both of you. “my eyes are up here.”

His friend snorted. “Look at these fucking kids; spoiled little Barton boy and his prissy girlfriend.”

Not the first nor the last time you were a smartass to a man where it will almost get you killed. “I’ll have you know, gentlemen, he is not my boyfriend; he is the reason I hope every day I become an only child.”

“You know what?” Angus stepped in before Kenny could respond. “You can just take my dime.”

“Take it?” He taunted. “You want me to take your dime? Like it’s charity?”

“No, what I mean is, we could play together.” and let this be known that Angus Tully was not always great at thinking on his feet. “Yeah, you could be my left arm.”

“The fuck did you just say to me?!”

Flinching at his tone, you decided to actually use your brain, for once. “Oh my gosh, I think I hear Dad calling us.” You took Angus’ hand without thinking. “Come on Fitzwilliam, you fucked everything up as always.”

You didn’t care that two, pissed off men were following and yelling at you, you didn’t even care that you were holding Angus’ Tully’s hand and having him trip over his own feet as you pulled him back to your table, you just needed to get out of there.

“Papa,” you call out to your father. “can we go please?”

He hummed at your arrival (and the term of endearment, which you only use if something has gone array).  “Why?”

“Our favorite asshole got us in trouble.”

“Hey!” Kenny shouted at you and Angus. “Why’d you run off? We were just talking to you. Do they teach you manners at that school?”

Hook for hand be damned, your fight or flight instincts kicked in when he put his hand on Angus and you were about to be the reason he’d lose it. Then, Miss Crane stepped in.

“Kenneth, leave them alone, they just came in for some food.”

Still, he looked like he was about to charge the both of you.

Your father stepped in next. “Kenneth, is that right? I don’t doubt that he did something to offend you. It’s his specialty. Perhaps I could purchase you gentlemen something to imbibe, and we could let whatever this unfortunate incident is go the way of the dodo.”

“The what?” The first guy playing pinball asked.

“The dodo,” Angus said. “it’s an extinct bird.”

“What he’s trying to say is,” Miss Crane translated. “he wants to buy you guys a beer.”

It didn’t take long for the two men to consider it. Kenny nodded. “Yeah, okay.”

“Same here.” His friend agreed. “I’ll have a Miller.”

“The champagne of beers.” Angus smiled, nodding.

It was when everything final cooled down, and as the two men and Miss Crane left to get their drinks, did you notice you were still holding Angus’ hand. Which you let go of as if you were holding fire in the palm of your hand.

He went back to his moody self after that, as you were walking back to the car after finishing dinner (no connection of course).

“Why’d you buy those guys beer? They’re assholes.”

Your father shrugged. “That’s one way to look at it. Here, catch.”

He tossed him the keys, which he caught. Your father continued his lecture, walking ahead of both of you.  “How many boys do you know who have had their hands blown off? Barton boys don’t go to Vietnam. They go to Yale or Dartmouth or Cornell, whether they deserve to or not.”

Angus glanced at you. “Except for Curtis Lamb.”

“Except for Curtis Lamb.” Your father repeated his words when they stood outside the car.

“Were you ever in the military?”

“Yes, I tried to enlist in ‘41, but was rejected-I have to get in over there.” He said after failing to open the door on the driver’s side. He walked over to the passenger’s (which you begrudgingly allowed Angus to have this time) side that Angus unlocked. “They made me an air raid warden. Gave me a whistle and everything. Helmet. Arm band.”

You opened the back door and slid into the seats, but Angus stayed outside, asking. “Before we get going, can I be candid with you?”

Your father already was used to that question from you, so he didn’t even look scared when he hummed his approval.

“You smell.” He got into the car. “And it’s really noticeable toward the end of the day. I even smell it on your coat. Mind if I crack the window?”

He didn’t even wait for his response before rolling the window down anyway. Before you could say something snarky to defend your father, he spoke first. “Trimethylaminuria.”

Angus furrowed his brow. “Huh?”

“Trimethylaminuria.” He repeated. “Means my body can’t break down trimethylamine. That’s the smell. And uh, yes, more toward the end of the day.”

“Wow…your whole life?”

Your father nodded.

“No wonder you’re afraid of women.” Angus said your name, glancing back at you. “How did he marry your mom?”

Your jaw dropped, and only inaudible noises came out at first before you settled on. “I’m too sober for that conversation.”

“For the record,” Your dad interrupted, stunned. “I am not afraid of women, and you shouldn’t be asking a girl personal questions after insulting her father. Jesus.”

Angus nodded. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have said anything. Dr. Getler says I should give more consideration to my audience.”

“Who’s Dr. Getler?” You asked.

“My shrink.”

Your father decided to jump in. “Has Dr. Gertler ever tried a good swift kick in the ass?

He scoffed. “Okay, now your turn. Go ahead, tell me something about me. Something negative.”

“Something negative about you?”

“Sure, just one thing.”

“Just one?” You and your father questioned.

He nodded, preparing for the absolute worst, but it never came. Your father merely turned back to the front, started the car, and began to make the long drive back to Barton. You weren’t even out of the neighborhood when Angus then asked.

“Fitzwilliam?” He looked at you. “What kind of name is that?”

Your father snickered. “That’s what you called him?”

You shrugged. “The guys thought he was a stuck-up rich boy, but he’s really awkward and looks like he wants to kill himself every time someone looks at him, I had to.”

“He strikes me more as a Hamlet.”

To anyone who didn’t know anything about Shakespeare, that would be a compliment. To you and your father specifically, it made you laugh. Of course Angus Tully would be one of the most overdramatic characters in theatre.

“Seriously,” the boy in question said tiredly. “who the hell is Fitzwilliam?”

Your father shook his head. “My advice, Mr. Tully? Brush up on the classics; Pride and Prejudice would be a good place to start.”

None of you had the strength to do much more that night besides spending time in your rooms before bed. It was as you were a few chapters into Little Women, did you wonder.

“Why were you and my dad yelling at each other this afternoon?”

Angus looked up from his copy of Popular Mechanics to see you in the doorway once you asked that question. You both were both just wearing your pajamas and socks; outfits you had only seen each other in for either a short number of times, in dimmed lighting, or with jackets over.

It felt different this time…stranger, even.

“Hello to you too.” He greeted, setting the magazine down.

“Well?”

Pursing his lips, he didn’t look at you at first before saying. “I was calling a hotel.”

“Your mom’s?”

“No, one in Boston.”

“Why would you…?” The look on his face said it all. That look of regret and pity that you didn’t understand what he meant right away. “Oh…”

You wanted nothing more than to have said it with disgust, but it was disappointment that laced the word. Then, with a mix of anger and even hurt.

“Am I that insufferable to be around?”

He shot his head up. “What? No.”

“Seems like it.” You scoffed, beginning to pace around the room. “What happened to ‘Friends of some sort’? I asked you if we were fine because I felt like you’d gone quiet, and you said we were. I get it; you asked me to tell you the craziest thing that happened to me, and I should’ve just said ��I got slightly drunk at a party’, not everything. You barely tell me anything about yourself, and then I just go and throw out the shittiest things that have happened to me. It’s not fair, and I’m sorry-.”

“-My father’s dead.”

Nothing could’ve gotten you to shut up faster.

It caused you such a shock, that you sat down on the bed beside him, staring at him. His gaze changed in a matter of seconds; when he first told you and you looked at him, you’d never seen anyone surer. Then, as shock settled into you, discomfort did for him. You let the quietness between you linger for a moment, terrified of your own response.

“I…I had a feeling.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

You were expecting him to immediately respond, but he didn’t. You debated on just sitting in the silence, or crawling back into your room and pretending this didn’t happen, when Angus finally spoke up.

“I was thirteen, he was…really, really sick for some time but then it just happened so fast and…I don’t really like talking about it, I’m sorry-.”

“-No, I shouldn’t have pressured you-.” You relented first, and ff the circumstances weren’t bleak, it would be funny how you both spoke over each other.

“-You weren’t, you told me something about yourself and I should’ve-.”

“-You aren’t in debt or some bullshit to share anything with me-.”

“-I just haven’t really told people that before-.”

“-Your arm wasn’t the worst thing I saw in a hospital.” You decided to break the loop, and it was successful. “My mother was sick too and…” You chuckled, but felt tears prick your eyes all of a sudden at the thought. “God, she’ll haunt me for this, but she was so skinny the last time I saw her…Cancer. She and my dad were debating on if I should see her like that before she goes, and I won the argument in the end that, yes, I needed to say goodbye. I’m glad I did, no, that’s not what I think of when I think of her but…it scared me. I was eleven.”

He nodded, listening without interruption; a skill that seemed he only acquired during these small moments of vulnerability. Well, you wouldn’t necessarily call yourself vulnerable; you were merely answering his questions truthfully based on your experiences (of course; no vulnerability whatsoever. You didn’t open yourself up to others outside of your father and Mary, why would you to Angus Tully?)

“I went to the chapel before anyone else woke up and I just couldn’t stop staring at the picture of Curtis Lamb…I can’t even say it got me thinking about death or anything like that I just…I don’t know.” He shook his head. “I felt weird and wanted to run away.”

“I get that.”

“I’m sorry for trying to get a hotel by the way,” he apologized again. “if that matters.”

You gave him a smile. “It does.”

For the first time in a while, you thought you saw him smile too; a genuine one, mind you, not the shit-eating grin he often gave you and everyone else. It was then you decided to get up and head to bed, bidding him goodnight. Then, again, you stopped in the doorway from another thought.

“What were you going to call me?”

“Huh?” He perked his head up.

“When you were crying about being stuck over here for Christmas?” You alluded. “You and my father are losers, Mary’s a grieving mom, but what am I?”

His eyes drifted in thought, then back to you. “‘Your know-it-all daughter.’ That’s what I was gonna say.”

“Yeah,” you nodded, smiling as you backed out into your room. “I do know all, Angus Tully.”

You couldn’t see his face anymore when you went to your bed, but you heard his sarcastic ‘Goodnight’ with him saying your full name, and your chest felt lighter than it did the night prior to talking with him.

…What the hell was happening to you?

You were giddy, you giggled to yourself about nothing and had to hide your mouth under the blanket so Angus wouldn’t hear you in the other room. For a moment, when asking him what he would’ve called you, you wanted him to say ‘pretty’. So much shit happened that day, but the one thing, the one thing that your mind goes back to is taking his hand, and not letting go until you realized-…

…No…

No…

Oh, what the fuck?!

Oh god!

Once you were happy about having a newfound crush on Angus Tully, and now you were in absolute agony.

What a wonderful way to spend Christmas Eve-Eve.

[blazinginsquids]

Arcane and Macbeth, and what this means for Caitlyn, Ambessa, Jinx, and Isha Theory

Somebody on Reddit mentioned that this image from the season 2 intro of Caitlyn looked like a Macbeth poster. Obviously I wasn’t the first to notice this, but I did decide to make this post explaining what this means.

Caitlyn being in the position of Macbeth immediately tells us something- She’s in a position of power. One she feels guilty for being in- The guilt eating her alive. After killing King Duncan, Macbeth begins frantically washing his hands in water, and comes to a sudden realization that becoming king comes with the cost of guilt for the unjust way he obtained his power-

“Will all great Neptune’s ocean wash this blood clean from my hand? No, this hand will rather the multitudinous seas incarnadine, making the green one red” (Act 2 Scene 2) the literal meaning of this quote is that no amount of water can wash the blood off his hands and that his attempts to clean himself would turn the entire ocean red. Taking this metaphorically, he’s saying he’ll never be free of his guilt and anything he does to try and save himself would just poison the world around him.

I see people wondering if Caitlyn will have her own “pitfighter Vi” moment. I think the Macbeth symbolism is proof she will. Following the parallels, Caitlyn will act in ways to try to rid herself of the guilt she feels for hurting Zaun, and for hurting Vi. Whatever she does in an attempt to rid herself of guilt will backfire and hurt the people closest to her, and Piltover as a whole.

Based on LoL lore and the fact Caitvi are canonically together by then, I have a hard time believing Caitlyn won’t get an onscreen redemption arc, meaning her similarities to Macbeth end there. However I think this could still give us insight into how Ambessa, Jinx and Isha will fair the rest of the season.

I’ve already seen people compare Ambessa to Lady Macbeth, given that she’s the pulling the strings, the one who convinces Macbeth to kill King Duncan and take the throne. Lady Macbeth goes mad of grief throughout the play. Act 5 Scene 1 shows her sleepwalking and revealing the truth as she speaks. This could possibly indicate that Ambessa herself isn’t as unfazed as she first appears to be, and will reveal the truth through an unintentional admission of guilt. I personally don’t see Ambessa doing this, but I thought I’d mention it regardless since I’ve seen others draw parallels.

Now, something I haven’t seen mentioned at all is that there’s one key thing stopping Macbeth’s future lineage from becoming king: A vision that Banquo’s children will become the future kings of Scotland. After obtaining power, it becomes Macbeth’s mission to eliminate Banquo and his son- A parallel I think best suits Jinx and Isha. Jinx has become the defacto leader of Zaun and represents every bit of grief Caitlyn feels. By killing her- She solves “the problem”. But if Jinx became leader in place of Silco, her father figure, who takes Jinx’s role? Logically, a child who looks up to her. enter Isha, the stand in for Banquo’s son.

In the play itself, Banquo is killed, but his son survives. Do I think this means Caitlyn will succeed in killing Jinx, but not Isha? I can’t say. I feel as if these parallels exist solely to set up the way Caitlyn feels/reacts in Act 2 as opposed to a step by step instruction on how the plot will move forward (Hence why I’m hesitant to claim Ambessa revealing the truth as akin to Lady Macbeth seems like a stable idea- It does not). I do however think there is intentionality behind adding in Macbeth symbolism, and I fully believe that some parts of the play will parallel with the plot of season 2.

[weirdgirlsparrow]

i like to imagine lark & sparrow in private still speak to each other in that strange shakespearian cadence they did as children, and the second another person enters the room they start speaking casually again

when terry's class was doing macbeth, he tried mimicking that cadence with them as a joke and it took the twins a full minute to respond cause they didn't know whether to brush it off or play into it

[sweatervest-obsessed]

Violent Delights Have Violent Ends - Part 2

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!reader

WC: 1.8k

TW: Serial killers, murders, blood, referencing to infidelity, descriptions of dead bodies, bugs

A/N: Enjoy part 2 babes!!!!

Part 1

The worst part about a crime scene was not seeing the dead bodies, it was smelling them as soon as you entered the house. However, seeing them was not exactly great either. 

This would have been much better advice than Derek telling you seeing a dead body for the first time can be a bit freaky. 

You don’t really know why you agreed to go to the crime scene, but God did you fucking regret it now. Your eyes were starting to water and your hands were ever so slightly shaking. It was clear to you that all the profilers around you knew what you felt. Even if you were hard to read, they would have known just by the way you stopped talking. 

Hotch gently put his hand on your arm, causing you to jump slightly and give him a small smile. He led you both to the kitchen to sit down for a moment, giving you a moment away from the whole scene. 

Looking at the pictures was so different than seeing it in person. Someone actually dipped their hand in the neck of someone else and wrote on the wall in their blood. And they were cold and calculated enough to put gloves on first so there was no DNA left behind. Fucking psychopath. 

“Y/n?” 

You looked up from your hands and let out a curt laugh when a tear fell down your cheek. “Shit. Sorry.” Quickly wiping it away, you looked back down at your hands. “Sorry, I just….”

“It’s a lot.” 

“Why–why do you need me here Hotch.”

He nodded and looked back at the living room. “Because we have a feeling the way he’s positioning the bodies might help us figure something else out, and you are our resident expert.” 

“Don’t let Reid hear you say that. He might just have an aneurysm.” You muttered, a small smile on your face. 

It got Hotch to smile in response. “He knows that you know more about this than him. Don’t worry. Can you get back in there or would you like us to take pictures and send them to you?” 

You shook your head and stood up. “I’m fine. Just an initial shock I guess. Thank you, Hotch.” 

The two of you walked back into the living room, and you were still grateful that you decided to forgo lunch, not giving your stomach any ammo in case it decided to evacuate your body. 

The scene was gruesome. The wife’s body was lying on the floor in front of the fireplace arms above her head as if she was lifting something. Her blonde hair had been stained red, almost purposefully with blood, and braided into two long braids that came down the front of her chest. The only indication of any blood on her body, besides the gaping wound on her neck, was that the palms of her hands were coated in now-dried blood. 

“It’s um.” You closed your eyes for a second. “It’s John Singer Sargent.” 

“The famous painter?” Spencer turned to look at you from across the room where he had been talking to Prentiss. 

You nodded. “His, uh. Ellen Terry as Lady Macbeth, where she um, lifts the crown onto her head…It’s massive, like seven feet tall, four feet wide, at the Tate Britain in London.” 

“What does this have to do with her.” Derek gestured to the corpse on the floor. Spencer, who noted that you really couldn’t take your eyes off of the body, pulled out his phone and quickly found the painting you were referencing. 

“Oh wow,” Morgan muttered. “He even dressed her in the same shade of green…”

“It’s one of the most famous portrayals of Lady Macbeth out there. Her dress was decorated with….” Your eyes widened. 

“With what.” Hotch walked over to you and looked between you and the body, and then over to Spencer. “What was her dress decorated with.” 

Spencer quickly made his way over to you and kneeled next to the wife. “Oh my god.” 

“Will someone tell me what’s going on?” Derek crossed his arms, unamused by the lack of information being spread around. 

“Beetles. Ellen Terry’s dress was decorated with the wings of beetles.” You spoke up.  _________________________________________________________

Spencer had volunteered to drive you back to the station so that you could look at the actual bodies of the previous victims to see if you could find more details that they had missed. 

“This one, Spencer, she’s uh…” You bit your lip, looking at the first set of victims. “This was the Romeo and Juliet one right? Because she’s draped on top of him like every production and painting of Romeo and Juliet I’ve ever seen. If we have to go specifics then I would say probably “The Reconciliation of the Montagues and Capulets” by Leighton. And the um…” You placed that image down and hunted for another one. 

“And this one is the Hamlet one since she’s positioned exactly like Ophelia in Sir John Everett Milais’ painting. The Pre-Raphelite one with all the flowers. Look at the sheet the unsub placed her on, it’s completely floral, and did the autopsy come back saying she had drowned, or was drowned and then resuscitated or something?” 

Spencer nodded. He was honestly in awe of you. The way you reset your head when you left the crime scene. The urgency you had developed. The sheer breadth of knowledge you possessed just continued to make him fall head first for you. Not that he could ever do anything about it since you lived in London half of the time, and he was always traveling around the US with no sort of set schedule. 

“And…uh, where is it.” 

“What are you looking for?” 

“The one with the, uh, um. What the fuck was that guy’s name?” 

Spencer looked at you with a furrowed brow. “Are you talking about Caesar?” 

“YES. God. I always forget his name. Portia. She swallowed hot coals to kill herself right? But in the picture…” You pulled the photo out of the depths of the pile. “There’s a wound on the wife’s leg. Her cause of death was bleeding out, right? With the way she’s draped on the bed, and her husband is in the other room, it’s not the show. I think it’s the baroque piece of Portia by, uh, um…oh shit what was her name….” 

Watching you work literally made Spencer’s heart want to bleed. He would actually propose to you on the spot if it wasn’t an extremely insensitive time to do so, and also you weren’t even dating. It was baffling to him that he had only known you for three days.

“Elisabetta Sirani!” You pulled out your phone and looked up the picture, and lo and behold, it matched the body. 

“I think that it’s an art student, or someone heavily involved in art. Some of these are famous paintings, sure, but others? There’s a history there Spence. I only know these paintings because of my Ph.D. Sirani is not as common an artist as she should be.”

He sputtered at the nickname but quickly recovered. “I’ll call Hotch and let him know.” 

You smiled at him and he smiled right back at you. 

There was too long of a pause. It shouldn’t have happened at all really. But the sheriff knocked on the door, misinterpreting the stare for something more aggressive. “I don’t mean to break up whatever yelling session is about to happen, but the autopsy report came back…those were real wings.”

You looked back over at Spencer. “Tell him to get the team back. You guys need to give the profile.”  _____________________________________________________________

“I just don’t understand where someone even gets that many beetle wings. It’s not like you can order them online and have them shipped to your house.” 

“That tells you how premeditated this was then.” 

“Woman, where have you been all our lives.” 

You laughed and Derek smiled over at you. 

“No, seriously Y/n. I never thought Art history could be so…”

“Violent?” You guessed, smirking slightly and shaking her head. “There’s a painting I think yo should look up Derek. Well a few of them—Saturn Devouring His Son by Goya is a favorite of mine, and then Judith Beheading Holofernes by Virmiglio has a shit ton of blood in it…or if you want some heartbreak, I am personally fond of Caleron’s Broken Vows, or anything portraying the Kiss of Franchesca and Paulo.” 

“I just don’t get how you can store all of this in your head.” Derek pulled up to the college campus and flashed his badge at the campus security, who let him through the gate. 

“Well, I don’t know how to take apart a gun, and then put it back together, let alone fire it. We all have our different skills.” 

This caused Derek to laugh. “Touche.” 

The two of you pulled up to the building with the offices of the Art History faculty and looked around the campus. “This is a massive campus, Derek. I’m pretty sure they have an MA and a Ph.D. in Art History beyond undergrad…”

“Believe it or not, this is not our first murderous college student case.” 

You rolled your eyes. “Great. It’s good to know the youth of America are doing alright.” 

That caused Derek to crack a smile. “Well. Let’s go find this professor and see what we can find out.”  

The trek across campus brought you back to your college days. It was kind of nice to see that kids still hung out on the lawns and with one another, not just staring at their phones and laptops all of the time. 

The both of you made your way up to the stairs of this slightly blocky building. It felt a bit like a museum with the amount of artifacts that they kept on the first and second floors, but as you walked through the fifth floor offices, your face started to fall. 

“Derek what was the name of the professor we were supposed to talk to?” You whispered, slowly moving to a stop. 

He turned and looked at you. “uh…Doctor Kolek, why?” 

You pointed to the door you stopped in front of. 

It was slightly ajar and looked as if the lock had been busted. Morgan quickly, pulled out his gun and shoved you behind him, calling out the woman’s name as you both held your breath. 

When there was no response, Derek slowly pushed the door open. Her office was a wreck, as if someone had taken a sledgehammer to it. Papers were scattered, there were frames on the floor, and a dent in the wall as if someone had tried to throw something at someone. You called out the woman’s name again, only to gasp. Derek turned and faced the same way you were looking. 

Doctor Kolek was face down on the floor. There was no blood around her, and the room didn’t smell like death, so that was a good sign, but she was clearly unconscious. Derek quickly rolled her over and checked for her vitals. 

“She’s still breathing. Call a medic.” 

You scrambled to pull out your phone, dialing 911. 

[thoughtfulfangirling]

I adore Broadway shoving himself between Elisa and Goliath. And he does have to shove himself! And he does in Goliath's direction! He doesn't move Elisa at all. He pushes his leader back! BROADWAY! Who has never once stepped into danger without provocation from his clan or threat of harm, who likes to stay out of conflicts, who has no inclination to take the lead in things.

lkjdflkjsdfokjioe

I am of course going to attribute a lot of this act for his feelings of loyalty and affection toward Elisa after what happened in the events of the last episode. I am team Broadway+Elisa friendship all the way!!

But also, perhaps of all of the gargoyles, I think Broadway values safety and security more than any of the others, and living at Castle Wyvern in New York has been utter chaos for him. Even before waking up there in New York, he'd woken up to vikings having infiltrated the castle and starting the night with battle followed by waking up to most of his clan destroyed during the day.

Broadway is done being stupidly, brashly brave for the sake of holding onto something from their old lives when those he care about don't need to stay there to be in his life. It is time to move on.

I am absolutely going to have to pay attention if any of the gargoyles go harder than Broadway here in defying Goliath (before Angela at least) because you don't see it much, and you would think Broadway would be the last of them to do. And YET!!

AND I LOVE THAT SO SO SO MUCH!!!

[cantheykillmacbeth]

Could Gonzo the Great from The Muppets kill Macbeth?

Yes, Gonzo aka The Great Gonzo from The Muppets could kill Macbeth!

It is a recurring gag that Gonzo is a "whatever" in regards to both species and gender, and in one such bit, he walks past a men's restroom, a women's restroom, and then enters a restroom labelled "whatever." Since he deliberately passes up the men's restroom in this, I would say that this is enough evidence to conclude that Gonzo does not personally identify with the term "man" despite his use of he/him pronouns, meaning he applies for the Gender Clause!

The movie Muppets in Space also aims to give some backstory to Gonzo, establishing that he is of an alien race. However, from what I can tell, the movie never establishes how this race reproduces or identifies, so we can't determine how Gonzo applies for either birth-related Clause.

Thank you for your submission!

[rosencrantzsguildenstern]

Best Shakespeare Adaptations Tournament

THE BRACKET!

the final round will begin soon!

all tournament related stuff, including the polls, will be under the tag 'tournament'.

"what is 'best'?" that's up to you, but what i'm hoping for is people judging more on individual quality rather than accuracy!

lineup

SIDE A

Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are Dead (Hamlet)

Elsinore (Hamlet)

Hamletmachine (Hamlet)

Lion King 1.5 (Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are Dead)

Fat Ham (Hamlet)

To Be or Not To Be (Hamlet)

Haider (Hamlet)

Fortinbras (Hamlet)

My Own Private Idaho (Henry IV & Henry V)

The Prince (Henry IV and Hamlet)

American Moor (Othello)

Enter the Body (King Lear, Hamlet, Romeo & Juliet)

Nothing Much to Do (Much Ado About Nothing)

10 Things I Hate About You (The Taming of the Shrew)

Requiem of the Rose King (Richard III & Henry VI Part 3)

Teenage Dick (Richard III)

SIDE B

Gnomeo and Juliet (Romeo and Juliet)

All Shook Up (Twelfth Night)

She's the Man (Twelfth Night)

Duodecimal (Twelfth Night)

These Violent Delights (Romeo & Juliet)

West Side Story (Romeo & Juliet)

Teen Beach Movie (West Side Story)

Prince of Cats (Romeo & Juliet)

Ran (King Lear)

A Thousand Acres (King Lear)

The Witch From Mercury (The Tempest)

Return to the Forbidden Planet (The Tempest)

Love's Labors Lost (same— musical adaptation)

Foul is Fair (MacBeth)

ShakespeareRetold MacBeth/MacChef (MacBeth)

Throne of Blood/Kumonosu-jō (MacBeth)

[thesleepyfable]

~ SWTD: Still Here AU Season 2 Chapter 1: ~

The Haunting in the Red Barn:

Merry Christmas, everyone. Here's a little gift for this amazing fandom.

'Okay, are we live?'

'Yeah. Go.'

Jack held up the Muir family camera, balancing it on his shoulder, pointing it in Cait's face. Cait held up a microphone and adjusted a tie she found that hung awkwardly from her polo-jumper.

'We're here at Muir Farm and Land,' Cait began, trying and failing to keep still like many news reporters she was pretending to be. 'Where evidence of a strange creature lives in this barn behind me.' Jack adjusted the camera to bring the barn into focus. 'Locals say a monster lurks inside, and no one is brave enough to go in. Let's see what they have to say.'

Static

Roy leaned on the fence. A piece of cardboard at the bottom of the frame said: Roy McNair. Aka. Best Uncle.

'Oh, I hear it every night,' he said in a dramatic way, as if he was on stage performing Macbeth. 'Scittering across the floor like a giant centipede.'

'Have you seen it?'

'No. No, and I advise you don't either. You might go crazy like him over there.' Roy pointed off frame. Jack turned and saw he was pointing at Caz, trying to hide himself from Suze as he lit up a cigarette. He saw the group out of the corner of his eye and turned, looking like a deer in the headlights.

'Tell your ma Cait, and you're grounded.'

'WHAT-?'

Static

Another cardboard sign. It said Mr. Terry, where it was originally spelt with an I and not a Y, before being scribbled out, Innes. A grump. Loves Muir.

'Looks kids-'

'Please, we're grown adults, Mr. Innes,' Cait corrected off camera.

A heavy sign from Innes, who clearly wasn't used to being around children for so long. He was also heavily hungover with bloodshot eyes, bags under his eyes that could hold a weeks worth of shopping and unkempt hair. 'Okay,' he grumbled. 'My advise,' he said with a terrible Texan accent. 'You go in there, and you'll never come out again.' And back to his usual voice. 'Happy?'

'Delighted.'

Static

Cait and Jack stood in front of the barn. Maidie was now with them, standing in an overcoat that basically drowned her, holding a Sherlock Holmes pipe in her hand. Not lit, of course. 'And now, it's time for us to enter this haunted building and discover the truth. With us is Professor Maidie.' Again, Jack moved the camera to focus on the young girl, who broke character and waved a giant sleeve to the lens. 'Please, professor, what do you think we'll find in there.'

'I bet a biiiiig,' Maidie practically screamed in excitement as she spread her arms wide to express the monster's size. 'Creature that'll try and scare us off.'

'Should we be worried?'

'Yes. But, I think it'll be scared of us not being scared.'

'Only one way to find out.'

The doors creaked open. It was dark inside. The windows had been blocked with towering stacks of hay. It was quiet. Too quiet. Could the witnesses be wrong? The trio quietly stepped in. Jack scanned the interior, trying to capture anything that could resemble this creature. Professor Maidie clicked her fingers and knelt down beside what appeared to be a footprint.

'Over here.' Jack zoomed in. 'Looks new...'

A loud yet slow creaking, again, from the barn doors caught their attention. Jack quickly turned, getting a glimpse on the sunlight vanishing. For a split second, a tendril was spotted before vanishing from view, but it seemed none of them noticed.

'We should go,' Jack shivered.

'Not until we get some actual evidence,' Cait hissed.

'But we have some. Right there.'

'That could be any footprint.' Professor Maidie wandered off and began kicking at the hay, calling for the monster to show itself. 'Just remember, we can't be scared.'

A scittering noise filled their ears and sent a shiver up their spine. They turned, but it could be anywhere as the building echoed.

'Can we be scared now-'

'No. The professor will keep us safe. Right, professor?' No answer. 'Professor?' Nothing. She was gone. 'Okay, we should go.'

Slowly, a figure rose behind Cait, hay falling off its body. Jack slowly backed away. Cait turned and saw the towering figure. It held the Professor in its tendril, roaring and making guttural noises. Drool dripped. It slammed a tendril besides the duo who screamed and scrambled to make a quick getaway.

Professor Maidie screamed not to be left behind, but it fell on deaf ears. Cait and Jack bolted for the doors, opened but didn't have time to slam it shut. Cait tripped and felt herself being pulled back by her leg. Her microphone fell into the knee-deep snow.

'JACK!'

'CAIT!'

'Don't leave me!'

Then, she was gone. Dragged back into the shadows.

Screams became laughs from all parties. Jack stepped back into the barn, picking up the microphone. Gibbo put the sisters down into the hay and, when seeing the camera, made his best attempt at a bow.

'Thank you. Thank you.'

'Was I good, Cait?' Maidie asked as she rolled down the hay, getting briefly caught up in the coat. Either Cait didn't hear or she was too excited. She clambered over the hay and dashed for Jack.

'Did you get it everything?'

'Yep. Thanks, dad.'

'Thanks, Mr. Gibbo.'

'Anytime.'

The children left the barn with their spirits high. Now all they had to do was give it to Simon so they can watch it back later this evening-

'BOO!' Rennick jumped out of hiding. The trio screamed and dashed for the house, leaving the former manager proud of his little prank. 'Scared good,' he giggled.

[withasideofshakespeare]

Woah no way?? People (completely unprompted /s) want to hear my trans Shakespeare headcanons?? You bet I can do that.

I’ve done this once before:

But I have even more thoughts now!!

In no particular order:

Puck (A Midsummer Night’s Dream): Every single pronoun possible. He/she/they/it + all of the neopronouns and xenopronouns that exist currently or will ever exist. Fairy gender is always weird but Puck’s is extra weird.

Oberon (A Midsummer Night’s Dream): Fairy gender. Probably he/they/it?

Titania (A Midsummer Night’s Dream): More fairy gender. She/they/it?

Titania’s fairy attendants (Midsummer): Get a hat and fill it with various pronouns and draw them out at random for the fairies.

Benedick (Much Ado About Nothing): Could go either way, but I really like the idea of transfemme Benedick. Or he/him lesbian Benedick.

Beatrice (Much Ado About Nothing): The she/they to end all she/theys

Viola/Cesario (Twelfth Night): Could be trans in literally any direction. I made a post about this too at some point. My suggestion is all of the directions: they/she/he

Sebastian (Twelfth Night): He/him, transmasc. I also made a post about this at some point.

Feste (Twelfth Night): I saw a great she/her Feste last summer.

Orsino (Twelfth Night): Specifically the himbo variety of he/they

Margaret of Anjou (Henry VI trilogy and Richard III): If I ever play Margaret, I will use she/they pronouns.

Catesby (Richard III): Just played Catesby with she/her pronouns and it worked!

Richard II (Richard II): Tell me Richard isn’t the most they/he or he/they guy alive (or… dead).

Hal (1 Henry IV-Henry V): Saw Hal played with she/they pronouns last summer and it was great. Could also see he/they Hal. Very nonbinary vibe overall. I personally believe that going by Hal rather than Henry for two whole plays is their way of pulling the “going by the first letter of what my name used to be instead of picking a name from scratch” nonbinary trick. He probably pretends to be cis after his dad dies and he becomes king—one more element of Hal’s lifelong identity crisis.

Hotspur/Harry Percy Jr. (Richard II & 1 Henry IV): He/they in denial.

Kate Percy (1 & 2 Henry IV): She/they, not in denial. (Also Katespur should be bi4bi)

Ned Poins (1 & 2 Henry IV): Transmasc Ned Poins?? Maybe he doesn’t actually have a sister and Nell is just his deadname. Ned Poins’ failed scheme to flirt with Hal.

Romeo (Romeo & Juliet): he/they (t4t R&J!!!)

Juliet (Romeo & Juliet): she/they (t4t R&J!!!)

Mercutio (Romeo & Juliet): they/he(/it?). Vibes alone. Look at them. Just look.

Nurse (Romeo & Juliet): she/her, transfemme!

Cassius (Julius Caesar): Would love to see a they/them Cassius

Hamlet (Hamlet): he/they. I’ve made multiple posts about this theory and I still love it.

Ophelia (Hamlet): she/they. As she should.

Laertes (Hamlet): she/him and NOT just because Laertes used she/her pronouns the first time I saw this play.

Rosencrantz (Hamlet): he/they/she. Vibes. Sometimes goes by Ros/Rose. Probably genderfluid.

Malcolm (Macbeth): they/he or they/them. Also vibes.

Lady Macbeth (Macbeth): stolen straight from my last post because this is still my HC: she/they; would insult you for “having pronouns in your bio” and then turn around and punch you in the face for using their pronouns incorrectly.

Angus (Macbeth): she/her, transfemme. (t4t Ross/Angus. I will die on this hill… Dunsinane Hill.)

Ross (Macbeth): he/him, transmasc

Caithness (Macbeth): she/they lesbian

Mark Antony (Julius Caesar and Antony & Cleopatra): I would not bat an eye at he/they Mark Antony

Edmund (King Lear): they/he, nonbinary, sexiest man (/gn) alive.

Edgar (King Lear): he/him. Transmasc Edgar is slowly becoming canon To Me.

Cordelia (King Lear): she/her, transfemme.

Goneril (King Lear): she/they. I would let them kill me.

Coriolanus (Coriolanus): transmasc OR transfemme Coriolanus is!!!! The butterfly/metamorphosis motif! Name changes during canon! Discomfort with scars/body! Lack of autonomy granted by society! This is THE transgender play. (Other than Twelfth Night)

Imogen (Cymbeline): Tell me she doesn’t want to be a she/they so bad.

Florizel (The Winter’s Tale): he/they(/she?). Literally just a vibe. I have a pet rock named Florizel.

Perdita (The Winter’s Tale): she/they. I also have a pet rock named Perdita.

Ariel (The Tempest): Similar to Puck, probably they/she/he? Even my conservative English prof consistently rotates between she/her and he/him for Ariel (possibly not intentionally? I’m not convinced he knows what her canon pronouns are.)

Ferdinand (The Tempest): she/they. PLEASE give me transfemme Ferdinand. PLEASE let Miranda realize she’s a lesbian during canon.

Miranda (The Tempest): she/they. Ariel taught them about the existence of she/they pronouns and she immediately started using them.

So in other words… every Shakespeare character should be trans, actually.