#all because macbeth is stuck in my head like???

[sirjo-esque]

sorry i had a vision

[thebestandworstdayofjune]

everybody’s goin’ off the deep end (s.h. x reader)

A/N: Long time no see! I wrote this in the midst of Steve Harrington brain rot, I hope you enjoy! If you prefer, you can find it here on Ao3!

Summary: Your life has always been simple. Not necessarily easy, but simple. You know your way around the world you live in. You love your dad, your friends and your exceedingly nerdy babysitting charges. When you’re assigned to be Steve Harrington’s tutor because he is one step away from being kicked off the basketball team, you can feel things beginning to shift in your small town. And that’s just the beginning.

Friday, November  4, 1983

“I think it’s time we admit that this is hopeless.” Steve Harrington looked positively morose, hunched over his Hawkins High School issued copy of Macbeth for the third Friday in a row.

You did your best not to laugh, but he just looked so ridiculous leaning back in his chair far enough that the front legs rise off the ground, shoulders slumped and pencil tapping against the table rapidly. “It’s been ten minutes, and we’ve only made it through two pages.” If you hadn’t been anticipating the slam of the front two chair legs on the floor, you would have jumped out of your seat. You had several times in the past few weeks, even. 

But by now, you had the routine down. For the first fifteen minutes, Steve would joke and grumble, hoping that you would offer to cut your session short. Had he been assigned any other mandatory tutor during the meeting with Ms. Chen, the school counselor, and two out of three of his basketball coaches, he would have had a shot. But you’d had one too many reluctant students stuck in front of you at a library table in your time to give in to his whining. 

“Exactly!” He tapped his pen against the copy of Macbeth in front of him on the desk, accentuating his point. “Two pages in ten minutes is a horrible track record!” His eyebrows drew together, as they always did when he was particularly pouty. “Besides, Mrs. Brown already spoiled the whole thing.” You raised your eyebrow, continuing to make notes in your already  extensively annotated copy. “Calling it a tragedy in class kind of ruins the ending, you know?” You missed the way Steve’s eyes sparkled as you threw your head back in laughter. 

“That’s just the type of play, Steve. There’s comedies, tragedies, like Macbeth, and histories.” You glanced over to see Steve slumped over the table, his cheek resting on his hand. “It might be helpful to write that down.” He blinked, seemingly confused for a moment. “For the test?”

“There’s going to be a test?” Steve looked mournful. 

“I know that Mrs. Brown went over the syllabus on the first day of class. And there have definitely been tests over the other two books so far. What do you mean what test?” You looked up from your folder, where you had been shuffling through past syllabi to find a lopsided smirk on Steve’s face. “You can’t do that, Steve!”

“I’m offended you bought that! You know I’m taking this seriously.” He looked slightly sheepish at the realization you might not believe him. You took a moment to consider. You’d started studying together a few months ago, and Steve had been remarkably punctual, and had yet to cancel a session. He’d only forgotten to bring his work once and remained apologetic the whole session, even when you’d reassured him that it was fine. You’d spent the hour hunched over your notes with him beside you, you providing insight into the short story from class while Steve did his best to make you laugh. 

“You’re right, I’m sorry.” 

Steve’s eyes grew wide, mock astonishment clear on his face. “An apology?” 

“Oh my god, shut up, Harrington.” You playfully roll your eyes, before sliding your own copy of Macbeth towards him. “Trade me.” 

Steve glanced down at your copy, grinning. “Do they know you’re defacing school property, Ms. Clarke? I’m not sure that your father would approve.”

“My dad spends all day trying to convince middle schoolers to retain information about layers of the Earth’s crust. He’d just be glad I am taking an interest in an academic pursuit.” 

“Even if it’s English?” 

You smile to yourself, remembering the year you had to admit to your dad that your Science grade was not what it should be. You’d built being that daughter of Scott Clarke, science enthusiast and Earth and Biology Teacher extraordinaire of Hawkins Middle, up in your mind to be a heavy burden to bear. You’d been so afraid to hand your report card over, but he’d diligently ignored your C- and instead waxed poetic about your perfect English score. “Finally, someone to round out the knowledge base in this house!” He’d beamed and loaded you into the car for ice cream with an urgency unbecoming of the situation. 

“Especially if it’s English.” You leaned over the table, quickly finding where you and Steve had left off in your copy and pointing it out to Steve. “Start there, let’s try again.” You made it through the next two scenes, with only minor detours, usually when Steve found one of your annotations particularly amusing. 

The door to the library squeaked open, breaking your focus. Nancy and Barb hurried over to your table, crowding around your study materials. “Macbeth cannot possibly be so interesting that you forgot we had plans.” Nancy joked, Steve’s arm settled over the back of the chair. Nancy insisted it ‘wasn’t anything serious’ but you caught them making moon eyes at each other the last few times that your tutoring sessions ran over, and you could have sworn that last week he slipped his number into her notebook when he thought no one was looking. 

You glanced up at the clock, cringing internally when you realized you were, in fact, fifteen minutes late to meeting your best friends in the parking lot. Across the table, Steve let out a heavy sigh. “We were a little too into the ghost of Banquo in here.” 

Barb gave Steve a weird look. You were almost sure that she was going to say something, her eyebrow was quirking up in the way it usually does when she is about to be snarky, but the moment passed, somewhat awkwardly, but passed all the same. “I’ll see you next week, Steve.” You stood up from your chair,  Nancy and Barb following your lead. Steve started to slide your copy of Macbeth back to you across the table. “Keep it, maybe you can get through a few chapters on your own before I see you again.” 

“You firing me, Clarke?” 

“I don’t think I have the power to fire you from mandatory tutoring, Harrington.” 

Steve gifted you a rarity, one of his genuine smiles that makes the corners of his eyes crinkle slightly before standing up and heading for the library doors. “See you on Monday, Ladies!” He offered the three of you a joking salute and a wink before heading for the parking lot. 

“Doesn’t he know we are all going the same way?” Barb said, breaking the silence of the library. The three of you dissolved into giggles, and you took your time packing your book bag, not not in the hopes that you would avoid running into Steve again in the parking lot. As much as you loved Nancy, it was almost painful for you and Barb to watch her try to keep whatever is going on with her and Steve from the two of you.

______________________________________________________________

“What about this?” Nancy held up a pink blouse off the rack, eyebrows raised. 

“It’s nice, Nance, but I just can’t understand the urgency.” You laughed. The three of you’d had plans to head to Benny’s for milkshakes, as you did every Friday, but on the way Nancy had begged to stop at Pam’s, the clothing store downtown. Reluctantly, you’d parked your dad’s car out front and let her drag the two of you inside. Nancy ducked her head, blush taking over her cheeks as she put the shirt back. Her dismissive muttering could barely be heard over the store’s speakers, blaring the new Cyndi Lauper single. 

“Oh come on, Nance.” Barb rolled her eyes, snatching the blouse off the rack again. Nancy’s eyes were wide as her head snapped up to meet Barb’s gaze. “You are horrible at this. Just tell us what’s going on with Steve!”

Nancy grabbed for the shirt, but Barb was holding it over her head while you did your best to hold in your laughter. “I don’t know what you’re talking about!” Nancy grabbed for the shirt, looking back at you over her shoulder clearly asking for help. All you could do was shrug. 

“We saw him put his number in your notebook, and the last two times I called your line was busy! It’s never busy!” Nancy’s blush was creeping down her neck. She gave up the fight for the blouse, looking at you accusatorially. Another shrug, and a nod had her looking like she was going to stomp her foot. 

“I just-“ she paused, taking a deep breath “I need to make sure that Steve Harrington isn’t going to steal both of my friends.” 

“Barb what are you talking about?” On some level, you could understand why she was worried about Nancy. It wasn’t typical for the three of you to have secrets. But you’d tutored countless people, or joined different after school activities, and she’d never worried about the state of your friendship before. 

Barb hesitated, suddenly looking ashamed. “Nothing, it’s-” she dropped the hanger back on the rack, her hands twisting together nervously. “It’s nothing, swear.” Her smile didn’t reach her eyes. You and Nancy shared a look, not entirely convinced. 

Without a word, the two of you wrapped your arms around Barb sandwiching her between the two of you as you had done since preschool whenever someone was having a hard day. It had been a while since you’d had reason for a best friend sandwich, but when Barb wrapped her arms around the both of you, leaning her head on top of Nancy’s, you knew you’d made the right choice. “You should get the shirt, Nance. I think Steve will really like it.” Your voice came out muffled, and you couldn’t see Nancy’s face because it was smushed into your arm, but you would have sworn that you felt her smile.

______________________________________________________________________________

You pulled into the Hawkins Middle parking lot doing your best to keep your smile from turning into a grimace. Nancy had been stuck debating between two options at Pam’s for a solid twenty minutes, and after Barb’s minor breakdown, you hadn’t felt it was the time to rush anyone. You threw the car into park and barely managed to stop yourself from sprinting as you headed for your dad’s classroom. The tension left your chest when you heard the screaming from down the hall. In any other situation it would have had the opposite effect, but hearing the AV Club chattering away meant that even if you were running late, your dad is running later. 

“Like I said boys, it should be here next week but there is just no telling for sure.” Your dad had run the Hawkins Middle AV Club for as long as you could remember, but he had never had such an enthusiastic membership. In years past, you’d stop by a meeting or two after outgrowing the appropriate age for club participation, but you’d babysat for a few of the kids before, and you had a special soft spot for them. The unanimous, synchronized exclamations of “Bea!” as you rounded the corner led you to believe the feelings were mutual. 

Bea was a nickname that had pulled double duty since you were little. Bea, as in short for Beatrice, your middle name after your grandmother who had passed long before your arrival, and Bea as in bumble bee. You were a Bea to everyone, but when your dad used the name, you both knew the difference. You gave everyone a warm smile and a small wave, plopping down in a desk close to the door. 

“As soon as it comes in, you all will be the first to know.” 

“And the only ones to care.” Mike muttered, causing you to hid your smile behind your hand, in an effort not to encourage them. The boys almost instantly began to speak over one another, calling dibs on who got the first go, where they should call first. Your dad gave you a smile that said ‘there’s nothing I can do about this’. 

You coughed a few times, gaining the boys’ attention. “You guys do know you are cutting it close if you want to be somewhere with cable, so you can catch the new episode of that Dungeons and Dragons show. It comes out on Fridays, right?” The room was so quiet you could hear a pin drop, before they started hastily shoving books into backpacks and tearing out of the room. You stuck your head out of the doorway, calling after the boys to remind them you would see them at the Wheeler’s on Sunday. You were planning on studying for your chemistry test with Nancy. You had probably fifty vocab words to make flashcards for, not to mention the equations and elements you needed to know for your test next week. They waved without turning around before sprinting out the doors of the school. 

______________________________________________________________________________

Sunday, November 6, 1983

You’d been able to hear the boys screaming in the basement from your spot on Nancy’s bed for the last few hours. You had a rare weekend off from babysitting, as most of your regulars were currently 9 hours deep into a Dungeons and Dragons campaign in the Wheeler’s basement. Weekends without a babysitting gig were more frequent now that the boys were old enough to bike home from school alone. You would watch Lucas’s little sister on occasion, and Holly more regularly, but it was far more common to end up at the Wheeler’s with Nancy for a while and then offer give the boys a ride home. They would take you up on it if the weather is bad but more often than not, they preferred to race home. 

You and Nancy had been pretending to study for the same amount of time. You’d arrived with the best of intentions, your bag heavy with notecards and textbooks, but Nancy had a new copy of Tiger Beat, and then she’d launched into an hours-long grievance against Steve having yet to take her on a real date. Apparently, grabbing a milkshake after school didn’t count, “we do that all the time anyways”, and a makeout session in his care was not cutting it either, “besides it was only like, one time”. Ever since Barb had weaseled the confession out of her at Pam’s, it was like the dam was broken. You’d managed to corral her into focusing on studying for all of ten minutes  while you secretly contemplated if it was over stepping to bully him into just asking her to go steady if it meant you got your study partner back, when her new blue phone started ringing on her bedside table. She popped up to answer it, and you resisted the urge to roll your eyes. You’d made double the note cards she had and you still had two chapters to go. You’d largely tuned her out until you heard Steve’s name. 

Your eyes snapped to Nancy’s, a blush already having taken over a vast majority of her face. You heard some murmuring from your spot across the bed, but nothing that you could make out clearly. Maybe he was finally working up the nerve to invite her on a proper date. Her shoulders deflated, and the blush was quickly receding from her face when she looked at you. Without a word, she held the phone out to you. 

You frantically shook your head, she shoved the phone farther across the bed, causing the base to tumble onto the floor, pulling the handset out of her grasp with it. You both scrambled for the phone but Nancy was quicker, snatching it off of the floor and holding it up to your ear. “Hello?” You asked, wincing when your voice came out squeakier than you were used to. 

“Hi, I, uh, I called the number you gave me but your dad answered. Said you’d be here.” Steve sounded almost bashful, which was not something you were used to hearing from him. 

“Did my dad say something to you?” Nancy leaned her head closer to the receiver, and you adjusted to make more room for her. 

“Just that learning is a voracious and exciting river, and you have to give yourself over to the current, or something.” Nancy started to giggle, you gently shoved her back against her pillows. 

“Yeah, that sounds like him. Did you,” you pause, struggling to sound less surprised than you were, “need something, Harrington?” 

“I just,” he paused, and you could almost see the way his gaze gets stuck on the ceiling while he tries to work up the nerve to say something he is worried will make him sound stupid. “I needed to know what was up with Lady Macbeth’s weird bloodstain monologue. All you had in the margins was that she was ‘wickedly fucked’. Don’t get me wrong, you’re right, I think anyway, but why is she so crazy all of a sudden.” 

You sighed. You’d given him your number after he’d canceled a session during lunch after you and your dad had already arranged the car schedule one too many times, and begged him to call if he knew he wouldn’t be able to make it as soon as he could. It wasn’t exactly for study emergencies, not that you had ever really expected Steve Harrington to have one. “She and Macbeth have swapped how they were at the beginning. Remember how you said he was being a bitch and she was a badass for plotting Duncan’s murder?” You could hear his hair rustling against the speaker, and you could picture him nodding through the phone. It didn’t seem like the time to remind him there was no possible way you could see him. “Well, now she is regretting rushing in and being brash, and he has fully accepted what the witches said at the beginning.” “That it’s his destiny to be the king?” “Yep, you’ve got it. The whole thing is about how power and ambition is corrupting.” More rustling. “Steve, are you nearly done with the play?” “I finished it, that one part was bugging me that’s all.” 

“You finished it?!” You winced at the surprise that was clear in your voice. Nancy had not looked this confused since the time you told her the boy’s campaign had actually been interesting the last time you watched them as a group after Joyce got called in for a last minute shift, and Jonathan had photography club, rendering him unavailable. You shrugged, not sure how to explain it. 

“Your notes were really helpful, and funny. I didn’t mean to but, yeah.” 

“Oh.” 

“Oh?” 

“I just, you said that reading Macbeth was worse than taking sandpaper to your eyes.” He’d looked like Mike when he was ten and realized that you had tricked him into finishing the steamed broccoli his mother had left for dinner, the picture of theatrical disgust. 

“I said your notes made it better, didn’t I?” 

You blinked a few times as Nancy scooched back to your side. “Well, I guess we will have a lot to talk about on Monday, then.” “Yeah, yeah. Um, tell Nancy to have a good night.” He went silent for a moment, and you searched for the right words. “And you too.” He added, derailing your train of thought. 

“Sure, Steve, goodnight.” You placed the phone back on the base as if it were a live bomb. “What was that?” 

“What do you mean what was that? You’re the one he was calling!”  

You gasped. “If one of us is more accustomed to receiving phone calls from Steve Harrington, it’s going to be you!” 

Nancy rolled her eyes, a signal as clear as ever that she was gearing up for what she liked to call a lively discussion, and you hated to admit was an argument. Before she could, the phone rang again. You held your breath, preparing to hear Steve’s voice through the phone. Thankfully, it was Barb calling to ask if Nancy needed a ride to school tomorrow, she did, and if they had been studying for Kaminsky’s test, sort of. The conversation quickly devolved into talking about Steve after Barb asked if Nancy had heard from him. Nancy was recounting the awkward conversation you’d just finished and you were doing your best not to help when there was a knock on the door frame. 

You glance up to see Dustin standing at the threshold of Nancy’s room, holding a pizza box. He shook it enthusiastically. “There’ two slices left if you want ‘em, sausage and pepperoni!” 

You are about to nod enthusiastically when Nancy tells Barb to hold on. She leaves the phone on the bed and shuts the door in Dustin’s face. “Nance!” You frown at her, and you’re off the bed and out the door before she can respond. “Dusty, wait up!” You call when you get to the top of the stairs, catching a glimpse of his hat disappearing around the corner. You find him in the kitchen, depositing the pizza box on the counter. “Did you finish the campaign?” 

“Nah, we just got to the fight with the-”

“With the demogorgon? Mike was telling me about it when I was here watching Holly last week. He seemed pleased with the planning.” Dustin shrugged, looking unusually gloomy. “Is this about Nancy?” Another shrug. You throw an arm around his shoulders, walking him to the backdoor. “She didn’t mean it, she’s having a weird night.” 

“Seems like she’s been having a weird year.” He mumbled, pulling the door and stepping outside. “There’s something wrong with your sister,” he announced, making his way over to his bike, where it sat in the Wheeler’s garage. 

“What are you talking about?” Mike huffed, exasperated. 

Lucas was quick to chime in. “Yeah, it’s because she’s been dating that douchebag, Steve Harrington.” His gaze shifted to you, looking guilty. 

You held your hands up in the air in surrender. “Don’t look at me, I’m just trying to keep him from getting kicked off the basketball team on account of his English grade.” A touch of mirth made it’s way into your eyes. “Didn’t you hear, we might actually have a shot at State this year.” The boys dissolved into giggles, kicking up the stands on their bikes, fully aware that you had never the willpower to know anything about the school’s sports teams. 

“The day that you care about the basketball team is the day that Will rolls two nat twenties in a row.” Lucas laughed. Will was a notoriously bad roller. 

You ruffled Will’s hair, discreetly checking to make sure all of the boys had their bags and the flashlights on their bikes turned on. You’d been called late at night over forgotten homework one enough that you did your best to confirm they had anything before they got too far down the street. Lucas rolled his eyes. “We have everything mom.” The rest of the boys shook with laughter. 

“Let’s see how you feel being woken up at eleven o’clock over missing math homework, and then we can talk. Are you sure you guys wouldn’t rather have a ride home?” The boys shook their heads in unison, rebuffing you when you asked fi they were sure.

They confirmed one more time that you had no updates about the new radio your dad had ordered for the AV club, before beginning to pedal away. “Be safe, boys!” You called, stepping inside, leaving Lucas and Dustin’s unified “We will!” And the sounds of Mike and Will talking softly drifting in from the garage behind you. 

You quickly said your goodbyes to Mr. And Mrs. Wheeler, stuck your head in to say goodnight to Nancy and gave Holly a hug before heading out to your car. By the time you got home, your dad was in bed, a note on the fridge reminding you about your early wake up time for tomorrow, so that he could be at Hawkins’ Middle to receive a package. You were thoroughly tired by the time that your head hit the pillow, but somehow, a pit had formed in the bottom of your stomach. It wasn’t often you tossed and turned, but when you did, you were an old pro. You lasted fifteen minutes before crawling out of bed and setting yourself up on the couch, a cup of tea and a worn old copy of A Wrinkle in Time your dad acquired in high school. It was your favorite bedtime story growing up and it usually did the trick even now. You read until your eyes got heavy and your tea grew cold, before dragging yourself back to bed in the hopes of feeling more like a well rested, responsible, functioning human in the morning. If you were being honest, the chances of that were slim. 

next chapter

[the-deadrobin]

Jason Todd Headcannons

I will probably add more later, because I surely forgot a few.

Half of these don't make sense, but they're fun.

Jason is a huge Literature nerd and an even bigger Jane Austen fan. He's also a huge romance lover. But he likes the wholesome cutesy shit. (I also think he just loves poems) But even so, he likes Shakespeare especially the tragedies like Macbeth.

He is the only Bat Alfred allows in the kitchen. Jason used to learn to cook from/help cook with Alfred back in his Robin days. Thus he is a surprisingly good cook, second only to Alfred.

Jason smoked when he was an Alley kid before being Robin and he still smokes as Red Hood. He also smokes on rooftops while Bruce has his Galas and the press are all over it.

This one is kinda funny but I love the idea of the Wayne family being like the Kardashians of Gotham (just much more useful) and Dick and Jason are absolute heartthrobs. (I'm so going to elaborate on this with detail in another post)

The Bat-fam don't know about the all-blades, or the all-caste. Because the situation just never called for it.

Anesthesia or sedatives either don't work on him, or wear off him much faster than normal. Same with alcohol.

Being a Gothamite, a Bat, and trained with the League Of Assassins, I imagine Jason has trained himself to have immunity to poisons and toxins (mostly but not all) (I believe its called Microdosing)

Jason has that good old white tuft of hair. Whether from head trauma or the Lazarus remains a mystery.

Jason is dramatic as hell. And extremely petty too. Spite drives this man. He does everything he can (no matter how small or big it might be) to spite Bruce.

Most of his younger siblings don't prank him unless they're looking for all out war, in which him, Dick and Steph form an alliance and go batshit insane (pun not intended)

Leading me to my next point: Jason is very competitive.

He's also a horrible role model because whenever any of the siblings fight (namely Tim and Damian) he just makes shit worse and watches the chaos he helped create.

Jason is big on revenge. He has a list is all I'm saying.

Jason probably has claustrophobia (what with being stuck in a damn coffin and all that)

I think that all of the bat siblings (except Dick, because he has the Big Bro power) has a blackmail list on everyone in the house. But no one can seem to find blackmail for Jason just because Jason is so damn good at covering up what he does that even if it was obvious he did something, there'd be no evidence of it.

Which leads to the fact that I think Jason is an extremely good liar. And he uses that to make his lies really weird and borderline crazy but people still believe him because he's just so convincing. Like, whenever he lies to Bruce, Bruce just believes it. And the other batkids are in the corner like: what??? It wasn't even a convincing lie!! But then they find out about an instance Jason has pulled this shit on them and realise how believable it actually is. (And that was only when he was caught) but Jason never does this to Alfred, because no matter what Alfred can always catch his lies.

Jason regularly has tea time with Alfred. They talk about books, food, Jason's schemes to fuck with his family and Alfred secretly gives him ideas. But everyone else in the family aside from Bruce and Jason always think Alfred is this innocent old man.

Also one of my favourites is that Jason jokes about his death. A lot. Everytime he sees an opportunity he takes it. Bruce and Dick (and to some degree Tim) are so uncomfortable everytime he does it, but Steph and Damian find it the funniest thing ever. Duke has absolutely no clue why Jason keeps making these jokes about dying, because no one told the poor guy. Cass is as clueless as Duke and Babs is always caught so off guard by it. Alfred is always mortified but he doesn't show it because he knows its Jason's coping mechanism.

I wholeheartedly believe that Jason drops off the face of the Earth occasionally. He just goes completely off-grid, no one (except sometimes Roy or Steph) know how to contact him or where he went. Not a single bat can find him when he does this. And that half the time he's doing this, he's just going to the Fields Of All to hang out with Ducra and some monks, or having mother son bonding time with Talia. Then the other half he's either having a nuch needed vacation in the beach, or going on a extremely dark and broody conquest to solve a large case and ultimately failing into its rabbithole and never attempting to get out. (He hates to admit it, but it's a lot like Bruce sometimes)

When Jason is out as Jason Wayne he totally wears makeup. Either just foundation to cover up his scars, or when he's feeling it maybe some black eyeliner and eyeshadow for Galas. So almost nobody recognises him as Jason Wayne while he's in normal civvies and he can wander Gotham freely. (Unlike Dick, who has to style his hair differently, wear a cap, change his wardrobe and still gets paparazzis)

Jason regularly quotes book and poems and the only person who has a chance of understanding him is Alfred.

This whole tumblr post.

Jason died before the Internet became as huge as it is now. So, Jason is the least technologically advanced in the family. He's the equivalent of a grandfather. Barely can use a computer without yelling for someone. Goes into Gaslight, Gatekeep, Girlboss mode upon realising the stupidity of the scenario. It drives Tim and Babs insane. More of that here.

Everyone knows he loves Wonder Woman. He has Wonder Woman clothes, a bottle, a figurine, comics, etc. Once, he got a small tattoo of her logo under his ear mainly to spite Bruce. (Because he has accepted that, that's half his life purpose at this point).

But secretly, under the Wonder Woman jackets and tucked in between the pages of the comics are Green Arrow shirts and bookmarks. Only because he knows Bruce notices these small things and it gnaws away at him because Jason has never touched Batman merch since his ressurection. Roy does the same thing but with Batman merch.

Jason and Damian met in the League Of Assassins and were pretty close before going to Gotham for entirely different reasons. No one in the family knows about this and always wonder why they can communicate so well without using a word. (They did that a lot while sneaking around Nanda Parbat so Ra's wouldn't notice).

Jason and Steph are absolute besties. They're a chaos duo who love tormenting Bruce and are practically bff soulmates. But it's strictly platonic.

He's the kind of guy who would unironically recite a monologue from Macbeth without a hit him, just to motivate his goons.

This post

Also this post

Also, also, this post (I'm sorry, its just these posts are on point)

This one too-

[moistvonlipwig]

I really want to ask both Chuck/Jimmy dynamic and mcwexler? *uwu egirl finger pointing*

mcgill bros

THEY.......to be honest as a family-skeptical only child i tend to not vibe with sibling stories about siblings who just love each other and stick together no matter what. to me siblings as a concept are kind of existentially horrifying like what do you mean there's another guy who lives in your house but is not your parents. so i love when siblings are fucked up and bad. so chuck and jimmy are like catnip to me like yes hahahaaa this is the kind of sibling story i like.

chuck and jimmy's relationship really does define so much of the show and so much of jimmy in general. like chuck truly does Haunt The Narrative he's not one of those fake narrative haunters who just dies and then people are sad no he is in full narrative haunt mode. not even just in how jimmy seeks out chuck-like people like waltuh to bully him but even in how he responds to kim with people-pleasing behaviors. i truly do think the one-two punch of chuck telling jimmy he never mattered all that much to him (LIAR) followed by chuck immediately killing himself was the thing that haunted jimmy the most in his life because frankly how could it not be. especially followed by howard being like hey i think chuck killed himself because of [thing jimmy did]. not helpful howie!!!

and the thing is as much as chuck's emotional abuse of jimmy makes me furious at him i do actually kind of sympathize with where he's coming from because he clearly is just not a naturally likable person no matter how smart he is or how hard he works. whereas jimmy is. and that is actually quite sad. like in crazy ex-girlfriend when rebecca's begging her mailman patrick to tell her about the manual that surely everyone else has that tells you how to be a normal person and fit in. jimmy was born with that manual in his head and chuck wasn't and i get why that stuck in his craw. but also he absolutely makes it worse for himself with his own behavior and instead of looking inward he blames and berates jimmy which uh. is less sympathetic shall we say.

it was so interesting to me in the finale when jimmy was like. i wish i had done more in my relationship with chuck because he was limited. because like. chuck obviously conceives of jimmy as the person in the relationship who makes bad decisions and is never going to change. but truthfully i think it is chuck who was never going to change, not because he was incapable of it -- obviously everyone is theoretically capable of change -- but because admitting he was wrong was so anathema to him. whereas jimmy does change. and it's not fair, of course, that the onus should all be on jimmy to be the bigger person, but it's also true that in life some people are just too limited to change and you have to learn to accept that. so i thought it was so interesting that part of his self-reflection in the finale was accepting that about chuck. in some ways (although the situation is very different) it reminds me of the adventure time s6 finale where finn has to just kind of accept that his father is the worst and will never change, and make peace with that.

i will say it does make me crazy that so many people say stuff like "chuck was right" like helloooo did you watch the finale. or like. the show. he was literally not correct. about anything. incorrect king.

mcwexler

them!!!!!!!! one of the best m/f ships everrrrrr. they're bonnie and clyde. they're macbeth and lady macbeth. they're something out of an old movie and they seem to know it too and lean into it and have fun with it. they like each other soooo much and they're so ride or die for each other but also crazily they do not really talk about that. they're just like We're getting married so no one can make us testify against each other no other reason don't worry about it. okay. yay. <3 i love that they make each other better AND worse. but either way they Make each other. it's so crazy and funny to me that the breaking bad prequel ended up being a love story just because of the sheer power of kim wexler. she did that.....also their soundtrack goes so hard. "shared smoke"/"shared sentence" is soooo. oof. and speaking of smoking they make smoking look so good and cool even though i am a smoking hater because i have sensitive lungs. in real life i bet they would smell terrible because they are always smoking but on tv jimmy and kim always look so elegant and romantic when they're taking cigarettes out of each other's mouths.

also i love that their story despite being tragic ultimately ends with hope and love. because yes obviously kim is going to keep visiting him and try to reduce his sentence she is not leaving him there forever BOB. listen to rhea. also i love that even though it was kim that inspired him to tell the truth in the end, he didn't do it to protect or save her. interesting contrast to waltuh in "ozymandias" who has put skyler in a horrible position and then lies to try to protect her; he always has the agency and upper hand in that relationship. but jimmy and kim are equals and always were and jimmy knows that so he doesn't try to cover for her or save her from cheryl because he knows she would not appreciate it. respect 🫡

final note: woe, fic rec be upon ye! imo anyone who likes the mcgill brothers dynamic and mcwexler should be reading how to disappear completely and never be found by cthene because it is sooooooo good and captures those dynamics so wonderfully. one of my all time favorite fics ever in any fandom ^_^

[andmaybegayer]

Last Monday of the Week 2025-02-10

I do make the rules and I also enforce them

Listening: Two songs have been stuck in my head all week, #1 is I Got My Tooth Removed from 10,000 gecs by 100 gecs.

If I'm honest I've primarily had this sequence stuck in my head

My head's like a ton of bricks, but this dumb bitch still learns new tricks I fuck with fire, burn my dick, play violin on sinking ships I woke up and was down, horrendous, think I need to see the dentist

#2 and I think the theme here is "attractive use of rhythm and rhyme" because it's Vampire State off Your Majesty by Michael Guy Bowman

I know this one has featured already. As mentioned, I make and enforce the rules. I like a lot of the stupid puns in here! It's a very smug song, very self-satisfied. Also making me so badly want to get a bass guitar.

Watching: Busy week! First up Macbeth, the 2024 West End performance film release.

It has been a hot second since I have seen Macbeth although I pregamed this with the Ian McKellen and Judi Dench one from the 70's which I kind of half-listened to while making dinner.

Macbeth is not as dense with like Good Lines as Hamlet but it is tied for like, how fun it is to watch. Relies very heavily on your Lady Macbeth driving everything forward.

There's a lot of gender in here! Everyone is constantly saying whether they're a man or a woman and they're totally not lying they promise.

Also, at Bad Movie Night: Flash Gordon, which. Is not like Macbeth.

Flash Gordon has some really killer outfits! My only knowledge of Flash Gordon is secondhand through parody and I was not prepared for how all out the sets and costumes went, thank you movies.

Multiple lost technologies on display here. We don't make t-shirts that tight anymore, and we also lost this kind of big semi-earnest comedy sci-fi technology. The closest thing to this is I guess Jupiter Ascending, which is Very Tropey in a similar way but that's like, ten years old now?

Reading: Going back and forth between Pale Fire and other things, mostly the little Nabokov collection I picked up. Little to say, Pale Fire continues to be fun but in the same way as before.

Making: Printing around the house, more design stuff around the TV. Starting to work on a lapboard-ish thing. Currently I use the steam desktop mode which is very good, like, genuinely quite handy, which combined with being able to send links from my phone to the handheld is pretty much complete, but it would be nice to be able to a) type and b) play 3D games without having to learn how to use a controller. I am not a picky gamer when it comes to my keyboard and mouse, I've beaten Star Wars Republic Commando on a trackpad more than once, but I do want a mouse.

This involves figuring out what I want to do with Galena. I've run into problems! Galena suffers from "not the same kind of layout as the keyboard I type on all day at work", a problem that has two possible solutions, 1) build a Galena copy for work, or 2) build a work copy for home. I kind of like my work layout (Logitech K860) more than the strict ortho of Galena so it's possible I'm going to tear her down and rebuild her. If I do do this what I might do is figure out how to get time on the makerspace CNC mill so that I can build a swoopy complicated case out of wood, I do like having a wooden keyboard, but it'll probably at least start out as a printed project. It's also possible that much of Galena will become the lapboard and I'll build something new for the desktop.

Additionally: remembered I have that whole LED project. Got save slots working on the API and backend side of things.

Playing: Cyberpunk, I am presently in Phantom Liberty which is a very sharp change of pace, much more focussed, it feels almost like a linear campaign in many ways. Enjoying it but hoo boy that division feels artificial. It doesn't help that I basically waited until everything else was wrapped up to go there, although I am enjoying having some latitude to deploy my top level skill tree in the wild.

Tools and Equipment: I got a really really long wool coat the other day and I cannot overstate how good it is for cold weather because it covers your legs. Combined with my ridiculous chaps this is perhaps the most comfortable I've been outside all winter.

[fandomsnstuff]

This is for that au roulette thing i reblogged uhh yesterday

AU: Community theatre

Barry's in hell. He died in a horrific car crash and everything that's happened in the last hour has been the universe punishing him for stealing Alex J's cupcake on the last day of 3rd grade. This is the only explanation.

It couldn't possibly be because he's smitten for a very pretty girl he's known only since he forced himself to socialise and volunteered to do lights at the city theatre. How long has it been? Three weeks? Twenty years? Fifteen minutes? 

But she caught him singing to himself and convinced him to sing to her for real. Then when the guy playing the titular character turned out to be an absolute jerkwad, he was shoved into an audition room and now he's sitting in a chair trying not to cringe as Taako paper machés half his face. 

Why they decided to do Phantom of the Opera, Barry will never understand. Their funding is about 20 dollars and a paperclip, but the things Magnus can rig up with some plywood and a quick trip to Home Depot are truly magical. 

The dressing room door opens and in the mirror he sees Lup come up behind him, very obviously suppressing a smile. 

"You're laughing at me," he deadpans.

"No I'm not!" She looks offended at the notion. "It just looks silly before the mask is painted." 

He chances a look at himself, and she's not wrong. There's some glue-water dripping down his chin, he has a makeshift cotton-ball-and-medical-tape eyepatch, and there's a full colour Garfield comic across his forehead. "I can't believe I agreed to this." 

"You'll do great." 

He resists the urge to shake his head as Taako puts another strip of paper on his face. Moving too much is what got him stuck with Garfield. "I haven't been on a stage since I was thirteen. I'm a backstage kind of guy."

"Who can sing like a leading man." 

His face flushes, and even with his half vision he can see Taako roll his eyes. "I'm just glad Greg's finally fucked off," he says. "That guy was getting way too into it." 

Barry frowns. "Really? How?" 

Taako snorts. "You know that guy who played the joker who left, like, gross shit on people's doorsteps?" 

"Nnnnno? I'm not really a celebrities kinda guy." 

Taako covers up the Garfield strip with the last of the newspaper (probably because he knows Lucretia would throw a paintbrush at him if she had to cover a full colour comic with the theatre's mediocre paint) and starts washing his hands. "Well some dude was being a freak about playing the joker cause he's "method" and Greg was also being a freak." 

"It was like he was trying to be the phantom of this theatre," Lup says, "but he didn't seem to realise it doesn't work when we all know he's doing it." 

"Well, I, uh," Barry clears his throat, "I promise I won't be a freak? But, you know, who's gonna do lights now? I mean I-" 

"Magnus," Taako says, flicking the water off his hands. 

"He couldn't take over the phantom?" 

Taako barks a laugh. "Trust me, you do not want to hear Maggie sing." 

"He's not that bad," Lup defends.

"He's not that good either. He's better off sticking to Shakespeare and woodworking." 

Barry's eyebrows raise. "Shakespeare?" 

"Face," Taako scolds. Barry drops his surprise back to neutral. "But yeah, the guy can't sing for shit, and he won't be acting in any blockbusters any time soon, but jeezums can he recite a soliloquy." 

"I can actually understand ol' Willy Shakes when Magnus does it," Lup says. "He was Macbeth last year." 

"Oh, I remember that!" Barry says, "my mom and I came, and afterwards she kept saying how-" 

He's cut off by loud, thundering steps out in the hallway. Somewhere outside the door a booming voice shouts, "TO BE, OR NOT TO BE," the door's thrown open and reveals Magnus, "THAT is the question." 

The three of them stare at him, bewildered. He smiles, "I heard someone say Shakespeare?"

[sneakykpopblog]

Purple Everywhere

(Inspired by what Hobi said, I’m sorry, I’m on a road trip and feeling very creative)

Sickie: Hoseok

Caretaker: Yoongi

1k words

Warnings: Vomiting, alcohol, drunkenness

Yoongi should have known better than to let Hoseok have “one more sip” (not a sip, and not just one) of wine. Not when his eyes were already that droopy and he had only spoken three words in the past twenty minutes (“yeah”, “uh-huh”, and “yep”, respectively).

Now he looked even more out of it, and Yoongi feared he might not be feeling well because he’d stopped idly snacking and was just sitting there like he was in a trance: a distinctly unpleasant one.

“Are you okay?” Yoongi hardly dared to ask at this point.

“Yeah…”

Not a minute later, Hoseok bolted up from the table and ran. He disappeared around the corner, but that didn’t stop Yoongi from hearing the sickening splatter that meant he hadn’t quite made it. Yoongi got up as well to find Hoseok braced with one arm against the wall, almost falling into the brightly-colored mess on the floor.

“Oh.”

Hoseok heaved again, and Yoongi wrinkled up his nose. Purple, all over his nice rug, and the floor, too. Ha. Purple. And a little on the baseboard, too, how nice.

“Sorry,” Hoseok rasped.

“Are you done?”

“Hmm…”

“Bathroom.” Hoseok didn’t move. “Bathroom, Hoseok.” Yoongi took him firmly by the arm and half-supported, half-dragged him into the bathroom and lowered him to the floor in front of the toilet. “Stay here. If you need to throw up again, right there.”

Hoseok looked mournful.

“I’m coming back,” said Yoongi, just in case his drunk friend got any ideas of trying to stand up and follow him. “Stay right here.”

It wouldn’t be the fist time Yoongi had cleaned vomit off a floor because someone had overestimated their ability to run to a bathroom in time. (Sometimes that someone had been himself. And poor Jimin after the American Fried Fish Incident)

“I can- I can clean,” Hoseok called from the bathroom in a voice as wobbly as a candle flame on a windy day.

“You’re drunk.”

“Okay.”

The floor and the baseboard were easy. The rug… Yoongi didn’t like its chances to not be purple forever, but maybe a thorough deep-cleaning could salvage it. At least it wasn’t white.

Hoseok sounded pretty miserable in the bathroom, and Yoongi stuck his head in to make sure he wasn’t dying. He wasn’t. He was, however, hunched over throwing up again, thankfully over the toilet this time. Yoongi moved the rug to be better dealt with later, threw away his cleaning gloves, and scrubbed his hands like Lady Macbeth. Then he got a cup of water from the kitchen and went back to Hoseok.

“I threw up again,” said Hoseok sadly.

“Yeah.” Yoongi offered him the water. “Rinse your mouth.”

Hoseok shied away from the water and gagged over the toilet again, this time only bringing up a little purplish liquid. It sounded painful anyway. Yoongi rubbed gently between his shoulder blades.

“Ew,” said Hoseok eloquently when he was done.

Yoongi offered him the water again, which he made a face at.

“Just rinse your mouth.”

Hoseok looked bewildered. “Like mouthwash?”

“Exactly.”

Hoseok struggled to get up, but he didn’t get very far.

“Where are you going?”

“To rinse?”

“Right here.” Yoongi succeeded in getting him to take the cup.

“The sink…”

“You can spit in the toilet. It’s okay.”

Hoseok made a disgusted face at it. “That’s gross.”

“You already threw up in it.”

“You’re right.”

He rinsed his mouth without any further complaint, but Yoongi knew the hardest part was still to come.

“I bet you want to sleep,” he said sweetly.

“Yeahhhh…. I’m so floppy.” Hoseok demonstrated this by flopping over and forcing Yoongi to catch him. Water sloshed out of the cup in his hand. “Oops.”

“Don’t worry,” said Yoongi. “Two sips of that and you can lay down.”

“Don’t wanna.”

“Well, you need to.”

“Can I blow my nose?”

Yoongi gave him a tissue for the purpose and tried to ignore him, which was hard with Hoseok still leaning awkwardly into him.

“Ugh, did I puke through my nose?”

“Probably a little. That’s pretty normal,” he added quickly. “Drinking water helps.”

“Don’t wanna throw up again.”

“You won’t,” Yoongi (probably) lied.

Hoseok looked incredulous, but he was drunk and trusting, and he drank a few sips of water without further argument. After a moment’s thought, Yoongi helped him to his feet and led him by the hand to his guest room, where he made him sit down on the bed and tucked him in in his clothes.

“I can sleep on the couch,” said Hoseok.

“It’s easier to change sheets than to clean a couch. I’m much happier this way.”

“Mmm.” Hoseok snuggled a pillow.

“I’ll be right back. Stay awake.” He brought a trash can to put by the side of the bed and water for the bedside table. “If you need to throw up any more, try to use the trash can.” As a precaution, Yoongi dragged the other rug out of harm’s way.

“Okay. Are you mad at me?”

“I’m not mad. I’d just rather not have to clean my floor again.”

“Okay, thanks. Sorry.”

He was too cute to be mad at anyway. Yoongi smoothed his unruly hair. “It’s okay.”

Hoseok leaned a little into his touch. “Staying?”

He should probably keep an eye on him. “Okay. I need to change real quick.”

He felt a little guilty for making Hoseok sleep in his clothes, but helping someone that drunk change was outside Yoongi’s skill set. He expected Hoseok to already be asleep when he returned, but he was still awake to make grabby hands at him when he climbed into bed. Yoongi indulged him and gave his hand a warm little squeeze.

“You’re so niiiice.”

Yoongi felt a little flash of warmth. “You’re easy to be nice to. Go to sleep.”

“M’really drunk.”

“Yeah. Face that way, I’ll rub your back.”

Hoseok gave him a dopey smile.

“You have to turn around, though.”

It took a minute for Hoseok to register what he’d said, but eventually he did flop ungracefully onto his other side. Now hopefully safer from the possibility of being thrown up on in the night, Yoongi lightly scratched Hoseok’s back until he fell asleep, which was only about a minute.

In the morning, a mostly lucid and very apologetic Hoseok offered to get his rug cleaned, and Yoongi took him up on it.

[bitletsanddrabbles]

WIP Okay It's Wednesday Now!

Off all the short pieces I wanted to get finished this month after the novel, the 'Phillip arrives on the Island' piece I have going for @alex51324 's Island of the Gays is at the top of the list.

Hell of the Island pieces I have going, that's the one I want to finish most.

I think the boys know that, because while they will argue along nicely when I'm not in a position to write, the second I have a keyboard or a pen or anything, they clam up and sulk like the little brats that they are.

Yesterday, though, Rouse managed to coax a bit out of Thomas, so I thought I'd share...

...it actually being Wednesday and all.

-

-

“Hey Thomas, what’s going-oh.” He turned to find that Gordon had stuck his head out from the press room and was now giving Rouse dubious looks. “It’s you.”

“It’s me.” The doctor agreed.

“It’s him,” Thomas added, feeling that a moment this ridiculous called for some actual comedy. With a deep breath he said, “I’m going to go with him for a bit. He and Dr. L. want to talk to me.”

“Wot about?” the Printer’s Devil asked, scrunching his nose up as if the idea actually stank.

Thomas gave Rouse a quick side look and replied, “Just some questions I’ve had lately. It shouldn’t take too long.” He handed the oil and rag over to the younger man. “Here, put these by the press, alright? I’ll deal with it when I’m back.”

“Awright.” Taking the items in question, Gordon vanished back through the doorway.

Thomas turned to Rouse. “You win. Lead on, MacDuff.”

“Thank you.” It might have been Thomas’s imagination, but the doctor sounded almost grateful. He turned and opened the door to the Beacon, stopping and holding it for Thomas to walk through. Once they were both out of the building, he seemed in less of a hurry, stopping to fish out his cigarettes and light one. “Want one?” he asked, offering Thomas the pack.

Thomas took one without a word and lit it with his own lighter.

“By the way,” Rouse said, blowing smoke into the air. “Never say that to toffs, or the Theater crew for that matter.”

“Never say what?” Thomas asked, reviewing the conversation, trying to figure out what he could have said that would offend either party.

“Lead on, MacDuff,” the other man replied. He turned and started to walk toward the main house, although once again, he didn’t hurry. It was as if for all of his insistence, he didn’t want Thomas to talk to Phillip either. Thomas fell into step beside him. “I know it’s what most people say, but it’s wrong. It’s ‘Lay on’, because MacBeth and MacDuff are about to get into a sword fight, you see? You don’t want your enemy to have the lead there, because it gives them an edge. ‘Lay on’ is just a challenge.” He took another drag. “Those that know the right way can be supercilious arseholes about it, and I’ve enough on my plate without you and Syl going at it again.”

Thomas could only imagine what Syl would say about an error like that, and frankly, he was in no mood to stir that particular pot. “Good to know, thank you.”

[winterpinetrees]

The Gap Years part 5

The road trip kids wake up on the first real day of their adventure. Plans are considered, elf society is rightfully mocked, but mostly I just infodump. :)

i am beating back the cringe emotions with a stick. this is the cringe website. let me post about my homegrown blorbos, brain.

June 11th 2019

Lakeport, California

The realization of where he is and what is going on hits Brian in waves.

He’s a good sleeper (he travels enough that he has to be), but this doesn’t seem to be his room. Brian lifts his head and his chest hurts, and it’s not a falling off of a dirt bike/surfboard into a tree/sandbar at a frighteningly fast velocity type of hurt either. He winces, and his arm hits something else.

Ah. The second realization. He’s sharing a bed. Contrary to popular belief, he does not do this very often. Light is already pouring in through the curtains, so it doesn’t take Brian long to realize that the other person is Clay. He still looks asleep. That makes sense. Brian has always been an early riser. He sits up in bed and looks around. Cheap curtains, beige walls, a blurry photo of a lake? They must be in a motel. Yes. He’s just graduated high school and now he’s going on a road trip with his friends. Brian swings his feet onto the ground and stands. He walks to the bathroom, but sees something else on the ground between the two twin beds. A pile of clothes? He approaches. It’s a person under a blanket. That’s when he remembers the magic, the sword slash, and the blood that might still be under his fingernails because he refused to spend half an hour washing it off like Lady Macbeth. The person on the floor is a prince. Brian is responsible for his safety and by extension the fate of the world. How the hell did he get here? (He enthusiastically volunteered, that’s how.)

Over the next few minutes, Brian cautiously wakes up both of his friends. They have some things to discuss that they don’t want Marin to overhear. They move to the other side of the small room and gather in an awkward huddle.

“We are harboring an alien prince,” Clay types out onto his cell phone. He guessed that elves had very good hearing, and convinced everyone else to do the same. “We need some plan for if he turns on us. He can control our minds”.

They’d asked Marin last night if there was any visible sign that someone had been charmed. He said yes, but only if the charmed person was aware of it, which never happened unless the attacker was overconfident or rushing. Not very reassuring.

“Like what? There’s very little we can do about that”. Sierra replies. She is typing on that infamous computer, and doing it very quickly.

“Maybe we agree to talk to each other and call out weird stuff? S, we've already been doing that“. The girl nods. Clay was taking forever to type anyway.

Brian understands. He's the only one who's trusted Marin at all. “So the plan is to be skeptical of everything”.

“That way we'll be aware of anything that is changed”. Clay wears glasses that are a little too big and stubbornly refuses to do anything with his long brown hair. He looks perfectly ordinary, a bit disheveled, and it’s entirely on purpose. He puts the phone down and starts speaking. Apparently, this bit isn’t classified. “What do we know so far?”

Among other things, they know that Prince Marin Sondaica is 86 years old, stuck in between physical adulthood at 81 and full social adulthood at 108. (Just like how they’re all old enough to vote and drive but not drink or be considered separate from their parents). The elf world is parallel to theirs, with the capital existing in the same place as San Francisco. It’s a single global dictatorship with two associations of noble families fighting for control. Marin's family was reasonable enough, but Gens Mercuralis did a coup and is trying to take over the world. They should have a year or two until elves become common knowledge and the status quo collapses.

Then Sierra adds what she knows from years of university lab internships and overheard conversations. If you see a flash of color, especially green, prepare to run or fight or die. Magic is enough like radiation that a modified geiger counter can tell you if danger is near. Elves seem to avoid fighting underground. They’re very careful to not get caught on camera.

Brian turns his head and sees a cat’s eye glow in the dark. Their new friend is awake. Sierra and Clay seem to think there isn’t anything special about Marin, but he knows better. Brian is very familiar with how people move, and Marin is just a bit too quick. More than that, he moves very quietly. It reminds him of how he’s heard friends talk about parkour (land quietly, work with your body, reduce the impact on your joints), and he wonders again just how fragile elves are.

The prince approaches the group and they talk. They need a plan to stay alive, and they’re kind of a mess. Marin explains that they shouldn’t be attacked unless they are either alone, or somewhere elves can plan an ambush and keep things secret. It’s counterintuitive, but they need a human shield. Marin also has some ideas about elven settlements in the human world that might be sympathetic to them. Elves who love wild humanity will probably oppose the new government’s plan. Unfortunately, that means that Ishtar has probably sent soldiers to subdue them. Every visit will be a gamble. They might find allies, but they could also very easily get killed. Maybe it would be better if they traveled on their own for a bit.

...

So they get in the car and drive again. They eat breakfast at the most crowded place they can find and drive towards a hardware store where Sierra can buy a geiger counter. They come up with a system. Brian drives, Clay rides shotgun with the concussion rifle under his seat, Sierra googles things and tinkers with the geiger counter, and Marin tries his best to cast a more permanent illusion over the car. They listen to music from whatever radio stations they’re driving by, pester Marin with questions about his past, and plot a jagged course up California.

“Who else was in the human world when the coup happened? If you can switch between worlds so easily, there must have been some other people who got away”. Brian is a student of history. He knows a bit about how coups go, but mostly he's just curious about the magical society next door.

Marin stares out the window at miles and miles of farmland. “I can’t be sure. Genus Sondaica had over twenty people in it before the coup, and four of them were about my age. Those are the ones that were most likely to escape. We’re old enough to defend ourselves, but not influential enough to be primary targets”. His voice is very level. “But our genus also has allies. Each of those has even more people, but there’s no way of knowing who’s… left.”

A few seconds pass before Sierra speaks. “Yeah, but who was here before the coup? You didn’t know anything had happened, remember? You just brainwashed us for fun. Who else would do that?”

“The only one I'm certain of is Zerada Adust, my betrothed”.

Woah. Hold on a second. Brian knows that the elves have a hereditary noble class, but his betrothed? “You're betrothed to someone?”

“Ah. That’s not a Western concept anymore, is it? Most of the high nobility are betrothed to someone. It is important for keeping the nobility strong”.

Brian blinks. “Arranging marriages to try and keep an elite class 'strong' has caused some pretty big problems on earth”. Like, the fall of several dynasties.

Sierra rolls her eyes. "Marin, if you're using how messed up your society is to avoid talking about your girlfriend, it's working".

He looks around at the car. “Magical power is mostly genetic,” he adds as if that makes the statement more acceptable instead of less.

“And that's eugenics. That is also not good. Clay, are you still in favor of the elves taking over the world?” Brian adds. He does not know what to do with this information.

She laughs. “And they’re a monarchy too, remember that?”

“I was under a lot of stress!” Clay replies. "Between that and proposing a quest, I think what I said was a lot more normal".

Brian laughs to clear the air, but it sounds fake. Despite his family history, He doesn't believe in taking the easy way out. There's nothing wrong with choosing to stay and fight. They can't afford to be fighting now though, so he lets the conversation continue and keeps his eyes on the road.

[landscaping-your-mind]

I was tagged by @cyeayt (the Jontim guy :D) (is guy cool with you?)

Ten people I want to know better (think this is the section where we tag the people we want to do it): @bigender-sliver-of-straw, @pocketsizedquasar, @an-aura-about-you, @once-upon-a-reblog, @cryptidinyourwalls, @jonathanentertainmentsims, @scarandjoelenthusiast (uh i mean i know you well already ajshshd), @viky-somebody, @itsnotjustgibberish, @mapleejay.

Favourite Colour: I pick green on uquizes (because TMA) but… maybe a pink-yellow sort of colour, like it looks yellow and it looks pink. Enchanted gold armour.

Song stuck in my head: A weird mashup of Drowning Lessons and Our Lady of Sorrows by My Chemical Romance.

Last song I listened to: Drowning Lessons by My Chemical Romance. Right now, I’m listening to Drop Dead by The Mechanisms.

Favourite food: I like baked macaroni and cheese, lasagna, baked potatoes, basically any kind of potatoes, most types of pasta dishes really.

Last thing I googled: “tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow macbeth” on my personal account, and “nunavut land agreement” on my school account.

Dream trip: I used to really want to live in Germany with my online friends on a “Gay Farm.” Uhhh now… probably back to Ireland? I want to visit Ballyadams Castle and actually remember it. My family actually used to own Ballyadams Castle, way back in the day, but one of the guys decided gender equality was the way to go and gave it to his eldest child instead of his eldest son. So. No more castle

Thing I want right now: To have 25 dollars and know where the post office is and have the willpower to go there all at once. Please. Alternatively I’d like to play Tears of the Kingdom rn, that’d be fun. Alternatively alternatively I’d like to watch the Romeo and Juliet ballet again bc it was so bloody good actually.

[daffelreign]

Macbeth commentary. Because I’m bored. And judgemental. (Pt. 1)

Background information: Personally, the most I had heard about Macbeth prior to actually having to read it was a lot of students complaining about how hard it was to read and debating over Macbeth and his wife’s relationship. So the bar was pretty low to start.

Just like my thoughts, this has no structure. I hope it is comprehensible enough to be funny.

Anyways, (Act I: Welcome to the show)

Act I (scene 1):

I don’t know how I expected this to start, but witches were not it. Initial shock aside though, the only thing that stuck out to me was the familiars. I understand that people are supposed to watch the play performed on stage (so some things are meant to be implied), but I have no idea how or why the familiars were included. We’re never going to hear about them again, are we? Le sigh.

Act I (scene 2):

A lot of this scene is just background context and character introductions--- nothing very exciting. However, I have lost all faith in the modern text translation. The captain explaining Macbeth’s prowess on the battlefield is supposed to be important--- to showcase what kind of brutality Macbeth is capable of, and build onto his aforementioned status. But instead of that, my brain was entirely focused on the phrase “unseamed him from the nave to th’ chop”. I got the general premise--- big cut= big ouch--- but I was convinced that the navel was part of the forehead?? And I was trying really hard to wrap my head around why on EARTH Macbeth would cut someone from forehead to chin and then cut their head off to put on a steak.

By the time I figured out what the navel actually was, my attention was entirely spent for the scene. So all I can say is that the modern translation should’ve said ‘belly button’ for those of us less cultured in anatomy.

Act I (scene 3):

The witches gossiping is so not important to the plot, but so entertaining to me. They’re actively plotting revenge while idly waiting for Macbeth, and I love that for them. Anyways, enter: Macbeth! And Banquo too, I guess. The besties are not-so-silently judging the witches just before the witches’ rock their world. I think the witches got some satisfaction from that--- just a little. It’s the feminine urge for spite.

Speaking of spite, Macbeth is going to be king but Banquo will be happier? Banquo’s descendants will be king? Doesn’t that mean that either 1. Macbeth doesn’t have children, or 2. Macbeth doesn’t remain king (which in terms of literature, usually means killy killy- stabby stabby). That thought doesn’t seem to hit him, apparently. I’m sure that’ll have consequences.

More boys enter the chat! Here for plot convenience to tell Macbeth that the witches were right. Who would’ve guessed? It’s not like they disappeared into thin air like some abra cadabra witchy-woo. We should just brush them off--- totally. Except now, with Macbeth’s new title, the besties start reconsidering their disbelief. Not quite looking at the big picture yet, but don’t worry--- I’m starting the murder board for them.

Murder board (who I think is going to die): Banquo is the first on the board as an eventual victim once Macbeth realizes that Banquo’s kids are gonna be a problem (so better to snuff out the source, right?). He’s gonna destroy their friendship bracelets :(

Act I, (scene 4):

This is where things start to get interesting (from a plot standpoint, anyways. I didn’t find it all that interesting, but it is important to move the story along). Macbeth gets his second title from the king, and is very surprised that the prophecy the magical-non-human-witch-ladies told him is now coming true. Shocker. Macbeth has also started to think about how he could become king, and what stands in his way (cough cough, the newly appointed prince).

Which is why we have a murder board update!

Duncan, Malcom, Banquo

Duncan is an obvious kill, since Macbeth needs to get rid of him to be king. Malcolm is on the murder board for the same reason, as he is now set up to be the next king, and that’s kinda what Macbeth is supposed to be. Both would need to come before Banquo’s death since Banquo’s only leg up on Macbeth is a problem he can deal with at a later time. (Aka, the murder board is in chronological order for who would need to go first).

Act I, (scene 5):

The girlboss has arrived. Right off the bat I already love and hate Lady Macbeth (I hate what she’s up to, but love the way she’s characterized). She comes off as very elegant and kind, but very quickly turns out to be one of our main antagonists. I am very interested in how Macbeth and Lady Macbeth’s dynamic will play out, since the typical role of the wife is a supportive person who loves the main character and has a generally positive effect on them (and that is not what is happening here). I can’t see those two getting along for much longer, especially after her instant reaction to being told her husband might be king is ‘murder is a valid option’.

Which is why I return with the murder board.

Duncan, Malcom, Lady Macbeth, Banquo

I think Banquo will outlast her simply because he’s not attempting to manipulate Macbeth in any way, and I can’t see him trying to do that in the future. I think he’ll turn on Macbeth at some point because of his conflicting personality, but I think Macbeth will get sick of his wife before he does his best friend. Hopes and prayers for the girl boss.

Act I, (scene 6):

I love that this scene opens with Duncan and Banquo admiring the scenery, and then it instantly turns into “Oh hey, we’re invading your house. Aren’t you lucky?” as soon as Lady Macbeth shows up. I think that didn’t help Duncan’s cause any. It probably snuffed out what little sympathy she might’ve had for him.

Macbeth seems to be having an existential crisis, and has decided that murder isn’t a good idea (you know, like any rational person would). Unfortunately, this does not comply with what Lady Macbeth wants, and she badgers him with insults and strangely graphic imagery until he agrees to it.

He says that Lady Macbeth should only have male children, but by the way she described killing her own baby, I don’t think she should be allowed to have children at all. I wouldn’t even let her hold someone else's baby, just in case. Her homicidal tendencies seem to have no limits as long as she can justify it to herself.

Also, Macbeth is starting to acknowledge the murder board, hello???

[ikeservant]

Hi! It says you’re doing hc requests and your asks are still open, so could you do something for warlords and an MC who is a theatre kid? Singing, dancing, even costumes for her performances? I would live Nobu, Hideyoshi, Shingen, Kenshin, and Mitsunari especially if not everyone. 💖💝

Since in my mind’s eye thinking of this, I picture mc as a highschooler so all these are platonic/fluff and gender neutral (also sorry I am a novice to theater but I know a little so bear with me)

Nobunaga- It’s canon that he knows traditional dance choreography and is probably versed in the arts and entertainment with being the lord of a castle and all, but golly was he surprised when he asked mc to come to his room to interrogate this stranger that popped up out of nowhere. Mc told him everything since he was scaring them, but hearing their stories of their time intrigued him and when he asked what they liked to do in their time, mc lit up and talked about musicals and theater. Now every night he invites mc to his room and in exchange for konpeito they tell him about a play or teach him a song. When mc catches him sneaking in the kitchen he likes to quote Hamilton “If I can prove that I never broke the law, Do you promise not to tell another soul what you saw? No one else was in the room where it happened.” while giving them a piece to silence them as they both snicker and hang out. If mc wanted to host a play, he would snap his fingers and let them do whatever. Make the other warlords participate, give all the fabric access for costumes, make mc the director, have a whole makeshift stage and audience chamber. Anything to make his lil pal smile.

Hideyoshi- When he was suspicious of mc and followed them around, he noticed that they were constantly humming or singing unfamiliar tunes while doing chores and seemed so happy, making his guard go down. When he asked mc about what they were singing, mc lit up and went on a tangent about musicals and it made him warm up to them since they were like an excited kid talking about their passions. When he started inevitably going big brother/ mama hen mode and escorted them around, he often got their tunes stuck in his head. Every time it rained, he would start humming ‘singing in the rain’ and if he saw hills while riding he’d start lightly humming ‘the hills are alive with the sound of music’ because his brain is now hardwired from being classically conditioned by mc to sing/hum along with them. Would always be mc’s audience and supporter if they wanted to host any performances in the castle. If Mitsuhide tries to tease mc about their performances or quirky dances, Hideyoshi is not afraid to pick a fight and defend his new adopted child and their sengoku broadway dreams.

Kenshin- Does not get it or care when mc starts bringing up musicals and plays. “What’s the point if there’s no violence?” “Well, there is one about the French Revolutionary War.” He heard war, he is now intrigued. Mc could only really talk about plays with violence in it to gain his attention, but he got the appeal and liked how people can get creative with murder. Would even catch onto some song quotes, but brings them up in the worst times. The first time mc saw him murder someone, he thought it’d be appropriate to say “He ran into my knife. He ran into my knife 10 times.”, thinking Chicago’s Cell Block Tango would make this modern day teenager brush it off. It did not. When he’s grumpy and doesn’t have sake, pickled plums, or anybody to stab, he asks mc to entertain him with Sasuke acting out fighting scenes in plays, liking a lot of Shakespeare Hamlet and Macbeth but only the violent parts. It makes him happy seeing mc happy, especially when they’re talking about violence, even if its just about a play. Mitsunari- Is really intrigued when mc starts talking about plays and musicals since they’re like stories and poetry from a foreign and distant time. This scholar wants to whip out a scroll every time mc talk about a play or musical so he can record it to read for later. He loves learning about it all. Cats the musical? “Cats can sing in the future?!”. He loves hearing mc sing and dance. They tried getting him to do a dance from Newsies and it ended in a bookshelf collapsing and the sliding door to break over innocent passerby Ieyasu, who further cursed Mitsunari. He would love to help mc rewrite and be a scribe for their new play idea of Azuichi Hamilton Shingen- Wanting to make a nervous mc ease up, he asked them about their favorite hobby or entertainment. Coaxing mc to talk, they started going on a ramble of musicals and plays. He’s hooked on Phantom of the Opera and Grease cuz he’s a romantic at heart and loves the drama and the fluffiness of the Grease story. Obviously mc had to add context due to the time period difference, but he got the gist. Wants to learn the duets of the songs so he and mc can have their dramatic musical outbursts to cut off Yukimura fussing Shingen or make Yuki jump with a “SING ONCE AGAIN WITH ME”. Shingen would kind of be like Hideyoshi but more with a cool uncle vibe. Would brag about mc’s talent of remembering plays and knowing so many songs to sing. Kennyo wants to shrivel away when Shingen goes on a ramble of their amazing adopted teen, thinking that he would’ve been done after Yukimura. Nope, my man trained a warrior, he’s gonna train a performing star.

[delimeful]

you cant go back (2)

warnings: fear, miscommunication, guilt, mentions of theoretical gore/injury, dehumanization, referring to a person as 'it', general angst

-

For the fourth day in a row, Lady Macbeth had spurned him.

Roman frowned, pulling the strap of his messenger bag over his head and tossing it over the back of a kitchen chair.

Lady was old, smug, and occasionally very cranky, but she wasn’t deaf like Ophelia-- she always came prancing over once she heard his keys rattling in the lock, delighted at the opportunity to smear cat hair all over his pants and get her claws stuck in his shoelaces.

Yet here he stood, catless.

For the past few days, too, she hadn’t been in the house at all when he got home. He’d been downright worried that first day, uneasy until she strolled back in at dusk.

They had an expansive backyard that their younger cats took delight in frolicking in, but their second-oldest cat was a rare visitor to the outdoors. Lady was first and foremost a homebody, and she preferred a warm body to sit on. Their squishy heat-generating human bodies were the only reason she hadn’t assassinated them all in their sleep by now, according to--

Roman cut the thought off sharply, feeling familiar grief pit up in his throat. He shook his head, the motion harsh enough to make his neck twinge. There was no time for standing about and pondering! He had a cat to locate!

A determined jut to his chin, he grabbed what supplies he would need for this perilous journey-- cat treats, a catnip toy, even a tempting cardboard box-- and strode confidently out the backdoor.

For the next half-hour, he wandered around the acres of their property, greeting each of the goats and chickens by name as he checked all the most common cat hidey-holes.

He’d almost given up by the time he stumbled across the old barn, pant legs covered in burrs and the beginnings of a sunburn across the back of his neck. Whatever delightful cat secrets Lady was so busy with, surely he could discover them when it wasn’t the middle of summer.

Just before he could turn around, though, he noticed that one of the doors was just slightly ajar.

Roman felt his brow gradually scrunch up the longer he stared at it. It had been locked up after the last of the old supplies had been moved from it, hadn’t it? The last big storm had proved it wasn’t weather-worthy, his dad had plans to take it apart for timber, ones that had seemingly been forgotten after… afterwards.

Petty inconveniences of getting there forgotten, Roman crept closer on light feet, grip tight on the catnip mouse in his hand. The wind died down at an eerily perfect moment, and he strained to hear beyond those old wooden walls.

Not everything is a grand conspiracy, a voice in his head reminded him, sounding suspiciously similar to Specs, it could simply be someone without housing that took the opportunity for shelter provided by the abandoned barn.

Roman sidled halfway through the ajar door, and froze at the sight of an upright humanoid figure only a few meters away. Something about it wasn't right, instantly putting him on edge. He kept staring, waiting for his eyes to adjust.

(“I’m telling you, these lights were strange even by my standards! Almost… alien.” An unsettling grin that was a beat late.)

The figure’s head was dropped forward, but he could tell even from this distance that it wasn’t human, with shiny purple-grey segmented skin and legs with knees facing the wrong way. It had spiky shoulder joints, but its arms seemed to be tucked behind it.

(Roman had shoved him off the couch, sour about being taken in by one of his tales, and he hadn’t brought it up again.)

Most alarming of all, there were four long, spindly limbs stretched out into the air behind it, seemingly spawning from its back. The legs were spider-like in nature, but shiny instead of hairy, and each one ended in a sharp point. As he watched, he could see the limbs shifting slowly, pairs of them lifting and falling in odd synchrony with the creature’s slow breathing.

(Roman had been freaked out, and his brother had dropped the subject. He should’ve asked, he should have known something was wrong--)

“Miaow.” A plaintive voice called, nearly startling Roman out of his skin.

He tore his gaze away from the (alien) mystery intruder, and felt his jaw drop as he took in Lady Macbeth’s current position. Loafing on the feet of an insidious intruder?!

For shame, he mouthed silently at her.

Lady blinked slowly and continued to purr, unbothered by his accusatory stare. One of those spider limbs shifted again, making Roman swallow nervously. He really didn’t want to see what sort of automatic reaction an extraterrestrial’s stabby-arms would have to finding a cat in its space.

He waved the catnip mouse enticingly. Lady gave him the bland look of a cat who had preferred those expensive feather toys for as long as he had known her. Roman resisted the urge to facepalm.

The insanely dangerous method it was, then.

Putting all his sneaking skills to use, he sidled further into the barn, dropping into a crouch and beginning to creep across the dirt floor as slowly as possible. Each step was carefully placed, almost entirely silent, and whenever those freaky appendages twitched, he froze in place for a full thirty seconds.

The alien’s head remained lax (asleep?) as he drew closer, but Lady refused to entertain his desperate motions for her to leave her ill-chosen bed. At this rate, he’d have to pick her up off of it, and hope that she didn’t complain too much on the way out.

He shifted his weight forwards, and suddenly all four of the arms were still, almost taut in the air. Only a couple feet away, the alien’s head bobbed slightly. His time was up.

Clenching his teeth, Roman made a gamble.

He tossed the little mouse toy directly at the space above the alien’s head and dove for Lady.

There was a whistle, like a whip or an arrow sliding through the air, and Roman made the mistake of glancing up as soon as he had his hands securely around Lady’s body.

All four of the spider limbs had jabbed into the same point, skewering the toy from several different angles. The alien was certainly awake now, and it had four times as many eyes as any one person could reasonably need. Between one heartbeat and the next, those huge dark irises went from staring at the poor mutilated toy to staring at Roman.

Terror shot through him and he gave up on subtlety, throwing himself back as hard as he could and hoping that he made it out of range.

He landed on his back with a whomp that knocked the wind out of him, and flinched as that terrifying whistling sound split the air again, ending in a muted thump. He was so wired with adrenaline that he couldn’t tell if he’d been hit or not. Locked in his arms, Lady writhed and complained loudly.

“Not going anywhere,” Roman wheezed, “you little fiend, con-- consorting with the enemy.”

There were several more whistle-thumps, which was either very good or very bad for him. He rolled to his side, pushing himself up on an elbow and taking stock of himself, braced for the worst.

The alien was still standing there against the central support beam of the barn. Half a foot from Roman’s leg, it's very sharp extra arms had left holes pierced in the hard-packed dirt of the barn’s floor.

“But no holes in me,” Roman cheered weakly, and then shifted Lady to the crook of one arm and flipped the alien off. “Nice try, Space Invader.”

The alien made a deep clicking rumble, but stopped trying to impale him. Instead, it moved to hold all those limbs high up in the air menacingly, ready to stab down at any point. The remains of the toy mouse sat near its feet, cotton innards spilling everywhere like a grim warning.

Roman got to his own feet, wincing at the feeling of Lady’s claws poking into his ribs as she attempted to kick her way to freedom. He took a moment to stare once he was back upright.

The alien’s skin plates had gone completely pitch-black, only the slightest hints of purple between the plates to prove that there’d ever been any color to it at all. Roman was abruptly glad that he hadn’t encountered it in the dark of night.

Its eyes were just as dark, with only the slightest difference in shades of black to indicate the difference between iris and sclera. Despite his artistic eye for color differences, even Roman couldn’t tell where its pupils were. If it even had pupils.

It also was still stuck in one place, despite its legs seeming totally operational. Roman slowly shuffled to the side of it, making sure to keep a few good steps clear of stabbing range, and found that it did in fact have normal arms and hands.

Well. Mostly normal. There were five fingers, but they were all way too long and ended in thick, claw-like points. He thought they also maybe had one or two too many joints.

More to the point, the alien couldn’t do anything with these arms because they were bound together at the wrists and tied tightly to the central support beam of the barn. It was stuck there, and going by the aggressive rumbling it was doing, it knew it.

Roman pulled out his phone and managed to take a shaky video of the alien, circling around it to both get a better angle and prompt it to threateningly twitch those back limbs some more. He knew his sci fi tropes, including the one where the alien mysteriously disappears the moment the plucky protagonist tries to tell anyone about the danger. He wasn’t going to be called crazy again.

Once he was content with the amount of evidence he had, he made the trek back to the house at a near-sprint, the cat in his arms protesting all the way. He burst through the back door, letting the screen fall shut behind him, and finally allowed Lady to walk on the power of her own four paws. She beelined for the screen door, stood up on her hind legs, and rattled it expectantly.

“Absolutely not,” Roman told her firmly, nudging her away. “I don’t know what it is with you and courting death via Xenomorph, but you are henceforth banned from the outdoors.”

If angry little kitty looks could kill, Roman would be as dead as King Duncan.

Shaking his head, he went over to the ancient landline phone in their kitchen, lifted the phone from its cradle, and paused.

Who was he going to call?

He’d had some half-conceived notion of calling his parents, or that infuriating police officer, or even just 911. What would he even say? ‘Hello operator, my emergency is that I have an alien in my barn, I promise this isn’t a prank’? Even the dial tone wouldn’t believe that.

And what if they did get someone out here to verify that there was a real alien? There was little doubt in his mind that law enforcement and then the government would quickly step in, whisking the evil version of E.T. away into some distant Area 51 lab. Roman would never see it-- or get any answers from it-- ever again.

He hung the phone up with a solid click, and turned to face the kitchen.

If he was going to interrogate a hostile alien, he needed to arm himself.

---

Shockingly, when he returned to the barn, the alien was still there.

He had crept up quietly again, hoping to catch it unawares, but this time it had been staring unerringly at him from the moment he peeked through the door, those smaller, rounder eyes wide open under its main ones.

He pushed the door open further with a dramatic flourish, pretending like he hadn’t been sneaking at all.

“Alien scourge,” Roman greeted, wincing at the crack in his voice. He cleared his throat, ignoring the way the alien’s dark gaze sent chills down his spine. “I don’t know how you ended up here, but I do know that you’re going to give me the information that I need.”

He pointed the end of his weapon of choice for emphasis, and the alien recoiled with a hiss, quickly jabbing out at it with those back arms.

Just as he’d hoped, however, putting vegetable oil on the already-slick plastic handle of the kitchen broom had made it basically impossible for those single-pronged limbs to stab or grab it. He grinned triumphantly, poking the alien with the end of it. The playing field had officially been evened.

“Now, unless you want me to introduce you to the Earth concept of piñatas, you better tell me what you’re here for.”

The alien was entirely silent, watching him with those shiny, pitch-black eyes. Behind it, its spider arms were vibrating with tension, probably in preparation to stab out the moment he slipped up.

“I’m serious,” Roman warned, poking it a little harder and getting exactly nothing for his efforts, not even a glare. “I know what I saw that night, and there’s no way it’s a coincidence that now you’re here. It was an abduction."

He paused for effect, and the alien let out a series of clicks and low, warped sounds that sounded like meaningless nonsense.

"I don't speak alien." Roman frowned. "Tell me what happened. Why were you-- or, your-- your brethren or your shipmates or whatever, why were they taking people? Where did they take them?”

The alien made what sounded like the same exact series of noises. Roman groaned in frustration.

“In-- In English! You understand what I’m saying, don’t you? If aliens are real and have the technology to infiltrate Earth without being detected, they have to have some way of communicating! An insta-translator or telepathy or math nonsense or something!” He threw his arms out in frustration, making the alien twitch.

He paced back and forth for a moment, before coming to a stop in front of the alien again and leveling it with an accusatory stare. “You’re faking it. I don’t believe that you can’t understand me.”

The alien just kept staring at him, flat plates where its mouth should have been, not a single expression visible on its face. It was about as convinced by Roman’s argument as everyone else in his life, which was to say, not at all. He felt a surge of white-hot anger, and levered the broom at its neck threateningly.

“Tell me, right now!” he demanded, stinging tears building up at the corner of his eyes. “Tell me where my brother is!”

He shoved the broom further forwards, and the alien snapped its limbs forwards and knocked it away, startling him into stumbling back. It hissed at him again, stabbing at the ground like a warning. He scowled, swiping at his face with a sleeve, and swung the broom handle at it sharply.

The swing went wide, more than a foot from touching any of it, but the alien showed the closest thing to emotion he’d seen so far, half of its eyes flinching closed in anticipation. Roman felt a sickening twist in his gut, some odd mix of guilt, anger, and vindication, and he turned away sharply.

Not for the first time, he wished he’d been the one that had been taken.

Remus wouldn’t care if the stupid cops didn’t listen to him, if their parents didn’t believe him, if the whole town thought he was insane. He would know how to convince an alien to talk, would threaten to-- to crush its extra eyes or cut off limbs or do something Roman was too squeamish to even think up.

If it was Remus, it wouldn’t matter if he didn’t know what to do. He’d at least do something.

He wouldn’t be going through the motions of life like everything was the same.

Pretending had always been Roman’s specialty, after all.

Roman cast a furious glare over his shoulder at the alien, resentful that it was still staring at him even as he was in the middle of a breakdown, and tossed the broom into the corner.

“I’ll be back tomorrow,” he said, swallowing back the thickness in his voice, “and every day after that until you tell me.”

Threat delivered, he stormed out of the barn and slammed the doors shut behind him.

[blessednereid]

Pity the Living

Daniel Sharman x Reader Series

A/N: The Much Requested, and By Requested, I mean @rogershoe wanted me to write this, MY DANIEL SHARMAN FANFICTION!!!!!! The character that Y/N plays is based on my OC for FTWD and is not an actual character in FTWD. Basic Premise of the setting for this chapter is that they're in high-school/ secondary school. But for the majority of the story(minus flashbacks) it's set in 2016/17 when s3 of FTWD was filmed.

Story Summary: When (Y/N) (L/N) reunites with a high-school friend on the set of the job she's been working on for the past 2-3 years, not only is she excited to work with the guy who inspired her to go into acting, but to hear about what he's done since she's seen him. But the more they talk, the more she realizes, this reunion is not going the way she had planned.

CW: Cursing? brief mention of alcohol, anxiety, mentions of food, fake dagger, fake blood, bets,

☆◦ 。＼｜／。◦☆

Career Day

☆◦ 。／｜＼。◦☆

Most of the students around you were chorusing to the tune of your school anthem, but not you. You had heard the melody and sung it almost a million times. Whether you were exaggerating or not, not even you knew. Instead, you were whispering and laughing with one of your best friends, Daniel Sharman.

You met Daniel when you first came to the school. You didn't know many people. You didn't even know yourself in this place. It was a completely foreign experience, but he stuck by your side and showed you around.

Since then, you had made friends, joined the swim team, learned your way around the school without ending up in the boys' restrooms instead of the girls' ones. Despite not needing Daniel to show you around anymore, he still provided plenty of comedic support and pick-me-ups and was a great mate all around.

Your teacher had just finished introducing all the parents who were presenting at career day. The assignment being after the presentations were finished, you were supposed to think about what you wanted to be in the future. You had no idea what you wanted to be. But of course… Daniel did.

"An actor."

"An actor?" he nodded. "Like Macbeth?"

"No, Macbeth is a character. An actor is a person who plays the character."

"Why an actor?"

"Dunno. Just seems right."

You frowned. "Huh, that's nice. Knowing what you want to be."

"You could always try acting. It's worth a shot."

"Hah, if I ever tried acting, it would probably be when I'm old, senile, and look like Betty White."

"Oh, come on. You're a great actress!"

"What's that supposed to mean, Sharman?" you gasped.

"Just that you tell fibs and stories as if they were the truth. That's all acting is."

"I DO NOT!"

"How did you convince your mum that your dog jumped onto the table and ate the cake without making any noise last weekend, then?" You opened your mouth to speak before closing it.

"Cat got your tongue?" he teased.

"Shut up, Sharman."

☆◦ 。＼｜／。◦☆

L/N Residence

☆◦ 。／｜＼。◦☆

You and Daniel were both swimming in the pool in your backyard when Daniel asked you the question.

"Did you think about it?"

Still floating, you asked, "About what?"

"Acting."

You laughed incredulously. "You were serious?"

"Of course I was." He swam closer to you and pulled your leg down, making you flop around and splash water.

"WHAT THE HELL!"

"Was just trying to get your attention," he remarked innocently.

You coughed. "You had it."

"Picture this," he waved you off. "Us, on the red carpet-"

"Who's red carpet?"

"Does it matter? We'll be each other's dates anyways."

"Why is that?" you asked.

"Because we're best friends."

"What if one of us has a boyfriend or girlfriend?"

He shrugged. "Ok, whatever. We're on the red carpet separately. It's both of ours red carpet-"

"So, does that mean we're in a movie together?"

"Yes, Y/N," he muttered exasperatedly.

"But that's impossible?"

"Why do you say that?"

You leaned closer to his ear. "BECAUSE I'M NOT BECOMING AN ACTOR."

He jumped away from you, proceeding to splash you with water.

"Mark my words. I know talent when I see it."

You sighed. "Could this just be you not wanting to be lonely in the acting world?"

He jutted his lip and spoke in a whiny voice. "Maybe…"

You laughed before splashing a giant wave of water at him. While he still had water in his eyes, you dove under and pulled him down.

He flailed around before his head popped up, and he calmed down.

"WHAT THE HELL!"

"PAYBACK, SHARMAN!"

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Announcement

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The intercom gave a heavy buzz, and static-y noises ran amok over the building before a voice actually came through the speakers.

"Hello, Teachers, Students, and Faculty. Welcome back to school. We hope that you all enjoyed your holidays and got the rest you needed to pay attention in class today," the last part was passive. Your principal gave more announcements for clubs and sports around the school, such as upcoming games or reminders for students to buy the school yearbook.

You were nodding along interested, or looking for interest really when something caught your best friend's attention.

"The school will also be hosting its first-ever play, Romeo and Juliet. Interested people should report to the music room before the end of the week to receive information."

You saw Daniel's eyes widen only moments before he spoke up. "Hey," he waved at you. "You should audition!"

"Daniel, are you insane?"

He chuckled, "No, but I think you'd like it."

You tried arguing, but he wasn't taking no for an answer. "You're the one who said you didn't know what you wanted to do after you graduated. Doing this cannot hurt."

"Yeah, it can't hurt until I trip on my costumes and break my neck!"

"That rarely ever happens," he said exasperatedly. "Ok, how about this? You audition, and if you end up getting a role and actually doing the play, I'll give you fifty pounds."

You squinted. "Do you even have fifty pounds to give me?"

"Do you even have to ask," he feigned shock in the accusation? You gave a sour face before he truthfully answered. "Fine, I don't have it now. But I will by the time the play comes around."

"What do I get just for auditioning?"

"I'll convince my mum to make that cake you like."

"Fine."

"BUT!" he exclaimed. "You have to audition for Juliet."

"You're kidding?"

He laughed. "No, I'm not. You have to audition for Juliet."

"I hate you," you mumbled before sighing a whispered 'fine.'

He gave a toothy smile. "Then we have a deal."

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Auditions

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You reluctantly walked onto the stage, Daniel's widening grin so visible in the audience. He said that he only put his name on the audition sheet so he could watch the auditions. He would've already been gone by the time it was his turn.

"Hello, My name is Y/n L/n, and I am auditioning for Juliet," your lips pressing into a straight line after saying the sentence.

You stammered through your first few lines. "Sh-Shall I speak ill of him— that is my husband?" You said with a laugh.

"Ah," you paused and clicked your tongue. "Poor my lord, what tongue shall smooth thy name… When I, thy three-hours wife, have mangled it?"

You said your following line in an accusatory manner. "But wherefore, villain... didst thou kill my cousin?" you said, though your voice squealed trying to pronounce 'didst.' "That villain cousin would have killed my husband."

"Back, foolish tears, back to your native spring!" Your voice rose and fell several octaves. "Your tributary drops belong to woe, Which you, mistaking, offer up to joy." Fake tears spring to your eyes, your voice cracked, and you began slowly falling against an invisible wall.

You looked down at your paper for what to say next. "My husband lives, that Tybalt would have slain; And Tybalt's dead, that would have slain my husband. All this is comfort; wherefore weep I then?" You wiped your cheeks dramatically.

"Some word there was, worser than Tybalt's death, That murd'red me. I would forget it fain;" your lips quivered, and you sucked in deep, heaving breaths before speaking your line.

"But O, it presses to my memory. Like damnèd guilty deeds to sinners' minds! 'Tybalt is dead, and Romeo--banishèd!" You shouted.

You stood back up in a startling jump, and with a proud smile, you said triumphantly, "And Scene!"

The directors and some students in the audience, especially Daniel, gave a round of applause before the director dismissed you.

You took the steps to the stage and sat next to Daniel as the director called the next student to audition.

"You were amazing! The director might as well have given you the role right then and there."

You laughed, "Hang on, charmer. There were a bunch of Juliet's who literally said that entire thing so… fluently. I stammered through the whole thing."

"But you showed more emotion than anyone else. You only had a week to prepare. The actual show will be like child's play."

"They want people who can memorize and recite. The emotion can be added later, but it's worth nothing if they forget their lines."

"There is such a thing called improvising for a reason," he reassured.

"Who in their right, bloody minds wants to improvise Shakespeare?"

He turned his head and chuckled before waving a five-pound note in front of your face. "Here, I got to go before they call me, but you earned this at least."

"Five pounds for being forced to audition for a stupid play so you can prove a point? Wow, you must really fancy me, huh, Sharman?" you said sarcastically.

"Goodbye, L/n," he whispered before sneaking out the back door of the auditorium.

"Alright, next up. Daniel Sharman!" The director shouted your friend's name a few more times before giving up.

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Headmasters Office

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A week after your audition, you were called to the headmasters' office. Thus is the cause of the curious looks from your classmates. Oohs and Aahs flooded your ears as you grabbed your bag and headed out the door to the front of the school.

When you got to the front of the building and went into the headmasters' office, you saw the Theatre director, Ms Parker, standing behind the desk. "Headmaster Leo allowed me to use his office to do this. Isn't that cool?"

Ms Parker was one of the younger teachers in school. She was twenty-four, and this was her first year teaching after receiving her bachelor's degree in education and a master's degree in music production. A fact she could astoundingly ramble about for fifteen minutes. As proven at the auditions.

"I didn't want to call you to the theatre room. That would be too predictable, correct?" You'd come to realize she was a very eccentric woman. "I have called you in here to inform you that you have been selected to perform in this year's play of Romeo and Juliet."

A wave of shock coursed through your body, and you were sure it reflected on your face. "Are you sure?"

"Darling, I'm positive!- your audition was totally spectacular! So brilliant-in fact- that I am completely sure in my choice to make you our female lead- Juliet!"

"What!" Your eyes widened into a blank stare. Your thoughts were running rampant in your mind. You thought that performing on the stage would be a breeze when you weren't the lead.

"Ms Parker, I didn't actually want the part of Juliet! It's just that my friend dared me to audition for Juliet! Is there no way I can get a smaller part? I'm no Juliet. The show would be ruined," you rambled.

The directors' facial expressions softened, "Darling, you are the only choice. None of the other people who auditioned can even compare to the amount of passion you produced in that audition. I am determined to have you as our Juliet."

You whimpered out an "Ok." Professors had a strange way of convincing you to do extra credit assignments or things that aren't necessary.

"We have a chemistry read for you and a few of our other choices for Romeo after school today. Do you need to contact a parent to let them know where you'll be?"

"Uh, yes, please."

After you made your call, you walked back to your classroom with shaky hands. The class period was almost over, but you had to tell Daniel that you had gotten a part in the show. Not just any part- THE PART!

You shuffled into the classroom reluctantly. All eyes were on you as every student had assumed you'd been in trouble. Either suspended, expelled, or told your parents were going to have a sit-down with the headmaster.

You took your seat next to Daniel before taking out a piece of paper and writing out a note, encompassing the words, "I got the part!"

You slid the sheet discreetly onto his desk. When he read it, his eyes widened, and he quietly moved his hands toward yours, beckoning for a high five.

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First Rehearsal

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After the chemistry read, the role of Romeo was given to a kid named James Mercer-Allen got the part. Though it was more because the directors were starting to become tired.

The next day was the first rehearsal. Swimming season was last semester, so there was no clash in schedules with the play.

"Alright, this rehearsal is to get acquainted with the stage, your fellow actors, and directors," she insisted. "Now, let's introduce ourselves. Can our Romeo please stand up?"

James stood up and gave a brief introduction. You were called on next. You stated your name, "I was on the swim team last semester, and I'm in my thirteenth year. I hope I can do this role justice."

More students stood up to introduce themselves. The entire process took more than thirty minutes.

The next thing to happen was that the rest of the students were called to recite lines for various roles. The only parts that had been cast preliminarily were Romeo and Juliet.

You and James had sat on the wooden stools unless there was a scene going on that needed Romeo and/or Juliet.

By the end of the first rehearsal, the majority of the speaking roles were cast. You went home exhausted but not expecting the conversation that waited for you.

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The Talk

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"We're moving?" you shouted at your parents from your seat across from them in the sitting room. "What do you mean we're moving."

"Honey, your dad got a job in the states, so we have to move," your mother argued.

"But what about school? No school will take me in the middle of the year, and it's my last year of secondary school. I don't want to spend the rest of my last year knowing nobody."

Your dad, the man of the hour, spoke up. "Dear, we're moving at the end of the year. After school ends."

"But- What about Uni?"

"You said you were taking a sabbatical year!"

"Yes, so I could intern in London!"

"Can't you intern in California?" Your mother whined.

"We're going to California? It's the furthest state?"

Your dad attempted to reassure you but failed. "Darling, it won't be that bad. Maybe you'll like it there more than you like it here!"

"I could never like anywhere more than I like it here!"

You agreed to go to your room and spent the rest of the day there. Later on, after you finished moping, you ringed up your closest friends to tell them you were moving. You did that until you were so tired you fell asleep on the phone with Sarah before you even called Daniel.

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Confrontation

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"Why am I hearing from everyone besides you that you're moving?" Daniel appeared out of thin air behind you, and the accusation was an assault on your conscience.

You could lie and tell him that you wanted to reveal that to him in person, or you could just tell him the truth- say you fell asleep. Mix-and-Match? You ended up just telling the truth. "I fell asleep when I was making some of my other calls. I was going to tell you, I swear!"

"Why didn't you call me first. I'm your best friend?"

"That's why! It was too hard. I kept putting it off and putting it off and putting it off because I didn't want to tell you, I don't want it to be true, and telling you of all people would make it feel real."

"Why can't you stay for Uni?"

"I already told my parents I was taking a gap year. I didn't apply to any colleges."

"Crap!" he sighed. "Ok, well, we're going to have to make the most of it. And! You're getting a going away party!"

"Daniel, I don't need-"

"No debate! You are getting a going away party!"

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Opening Night

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Four months later, after all the rehearsals and memorizations of lines. After much running around the entire film department, it was finally opening night, and your nerves were shot.

You were scrambling all morning to find everything you needed. All your costumes were at the school, but you still needed to bring your black leotard, skin-coloured tights, and wear your hair in an up-do style.

You decided to do your skincare routine, but your panic got the best of you, and you forgot what every single product was used for.

Daniel came over and helped you get ready but found you practically hyperventilating.

Your parents drove you both to the theatre, and when Ms Parker told you that Daniel couldn't be backstage, you promptly told her that he was your emotional support. After much arguing, she finally let him backstage.

Around an hour before showtime, the director told Daniel that he had to go wait in the audience if he already bought his ticket or that he had to go do it now.

Before he left, he gave you a pep-talk. "Hey, so one time, I was in this play, and the idea was that I was expelled, and there was a piece of paper I had to give my 'mother,' but I lost it. So we had to improvise, but I couldn't find the paper, and I felt horrible. So just know, even if you forget your lines, you must improvise, and remember, it still probably won't compare to the embarrassment I felt that day. So you can laugh at my humiliation. "

You chuckled, "I will. Ok, go before you get in trouble."

"Ok, me, our parents and all your friends will be in the front row. I've already reserved the entire row. I brought a whole bag of jackets just for that reason!"

"You can't do that," you said in between cackles.

"For you, I'll do anything," he grinned.

A few hours later and the show was almost done. "What's here? A cup, closed in my true love's hand? Poison, I see, hath been his timeless end," you wept.

"O, churl! Drunk all and left no friendly drop to help me after? I will kiss thy lips; Haply some poison yet doth hang on them, to die with thine restorative." You leaned over James and let your hair fall to the side of your head to cover your face. You pulled back without actually kissing James.

"Thy lips are warm."

A whispery voice came from offstage, "Which way?" The cue for you to take the poison, which was actually cranberry juice.

"Yea, noise? Then I'll be brief. O happy dagger!" You grabbed the dagger and brought it near your chest. "This is thy sheath;" you drew the fake knife back three inches from your chest and stabbed it to where the bag of more cranberry juice was and punctured the bag. 'Blood' soaked through your dress. "There rust, and let me die." You fell dramatically onto the altar and waited for the scene to end as the crowd cheered.

After the show, you dashed into the crowd where your friends and family waited for you. Ovations and Applauses were passed, lauded boxes of chocolates and gorgeous roses were given.

When you got to Daniel, he practically tackled you with a hug. "I actually thought you died for a split second. The blood looked so real."

"Daniel, most people don't bleed that fast, do they?"

"I don't know but fear kicked in, and I couldn't make sense of anything."

You grinned and almost went to your parents before Daniel grabbed your arm. "You don't have a date to the Leavers ball, do you?"

"No, I don't. Why?"

He sighed. "Well, I was thinking that you could go with me. I don't have a date either."

You squinted, thinking there was some ulterior motive behind his actions. "Ok, I'll go with you if you give me the money you owe me before then."

"It's right here," he smiled.

Your face scrunched up, but you reluctantly agreed. You only had a month of school left, and you might as well spend it having fun with your friends.

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The Leavers Ball and the Getaway Party

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You were dressed in a light blue, pleated, Mikado prom dress that cut off at mid-thigh. You had black wedges on your feet and a black pearl-beaded bracelet on your arm.

You were wearing a half-up, half-down style that framed your face and a silver necklace with a circle-shaped diamond.

You were sitting in the parlour when Daniel rang the doorbell. He was ten minutes late.

"Sorry," he said when your dad answered it. "I know I'm late. I was picking up Kat and James."

Kat and James were your and Daniel's respective friends who'd started last year after you and Daniel introduced them.

"Hi," you popped out of the shadows. "Alright, Mom, Dad, we're late, so we're just going to get goi-"

"Wait! I have to take pictures! Go get Kat and James."

"No, Mom. No pictures!"

"It's only right. I just want a few. We can take it outside."

You sighed but reluctantly caved into your mother's will.

The four of you took pictures outside of Daniel's Jeep Wrangler. You took ones with silly faces, just girls, just boys, and ones with all four of you before your parents allowed you to leave.

You were forty minutes late, and the ball was already in full swing by the time you got there.

You got on the dance floor immediately because one of your favourite songs was playing, but the DJ switched the song as soon as you found a decent spot. It was a slow song. You chuckled, and Daniel put his hands on your waist.

"Well, this is awkward."

A few minutes later, Daniel posed an interesting question.

"Did you know that I had a crush on you when you first came to school?"

"Uh, you stammered. "No, I didn't know that."

"Yeah, I did. It was short, though. Surface-level."

"Oh," you said. "Should I take offence to that?"

"What?" His eyes widened in realization with what he said. "No, that's not what I meant. You have an amazing personality. I just meant that… I just meant I like you more as a friend than to ruin that with any of those feelings."

"Oh, ok. You wouldn't have, though."

"I wouldn't?"

"No, everyone needs an ego boost every once in a while."

"Haha!"

"And besides, I've had feelings for you at one point too. But it was very cliche, so I tried to shake it as hard as I could."

"Oh?" He raised his eyebrows. "And did you?"

"Like I said, as hard as I could. If it's still there somewhere, it's buried very deep, so much so that I was embarrassed."

"Embarrassed to like me?"

"I mean embarrassed to try and make my life seem like some movie."

"Oh, well, if you did, it would've just made you that much better as an actress. Speaking of that, would you consider acting in the least?"

"Maybe, now that I'm leaving, it's basically the last thing I have to connect me to you."

"No," he said, pointing to your bracelet. "You have that."

You had forgotten that it was Daniel who gave it to you, but the realization brought a smile to your face. "Oh yeah, I'll never take it off."

Later on, long before the ball ended, you saw many of your friends leaving.

"Hey, are you ready to go?" Daniel approached you.

"Where is everyone going?"

He wriggled his eyebrows. "Afterparty!"

"But it's not over?"

"Quit being a party popper and just come with us, L/N!"

You gave in, something you did a lot, and you all started driving. When you got there, you realized you were at Daniel's house.

"The afterparty is at your house?" you asked.

"Well…" James answered.

Kat joined in. "It's really an afterparty!"

"This is your going away party!" Daniel finished.

"But I'm not going away for another month."

"Well, now you have an entire month for people to give you gifts and stuff, and you don't have to worry about the party!" He reasoned.

"But why did it have to be after the Leavers ball?"

"Because you're already in a dress, and it has to be a surprise! Surprise!" Kat exclaimed.

"Alright, fine!"

The entire night you partied and danced, and though you didn't drink alcohol, plentiful amounts of pop and mocktails were passed around. The music was a delight to your ears with all your favourite songs. There were chips and pizza with all your favourite toppings.

"This party is awesome!"

Daniel grinned. "Well, I am an amazing party planner if I do say so myself."

☆◦ 。＼｜／。◦☆

Airport

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Daniel's parents drove your family to the airport. Your parents had sold the car. Your dad would return in a week to close a deal on the house. Everything was official, and now you were leaving.

You got out of the car, and the tears forcefully began to fall.

"I'm really gonna miss you, jerk," you said disdainfully to Daniel.

He chuckled. "I'm going to miss you more."

"Impossible!"

He wiped the fallen tear from your eye, and for a moment, you could see every single multi-coloured speck in his eyes and noticed how sometimes they looked blue, and at others, they looked grey or green.

You noticed the curvature of his smile and the chisel of his jawline.You saw the hurt in his eyes that said, 'why do you have to go? You're killing me,' and wanted to never move from that position.

He continued to rub the tears that fell onto your cheek, and the sad moment was as sheltered as it could be. You felt safe with him, in his arms, just looking at his face and being reminded of how he comforted you in a place that felt as familiar as Oz felt to Dorothy.

"What am I gonna do without you?" you whispered.

"Get at least one acting job, get an assistant and an agent, I'll do the same thing, and then either one of us has our assistants reach out to our agents, so we get back in touch in case we ever lose touch."

He sounded so grave that you couldn't help but laugh. "That's assuming I do become an actress, Daniel."

"You're right," he whined. "But don't forget me."

"I promise."

And you tried to keep that promise. Throughout your first year, you interned at UCLA, working in the lab. You then applied to go to school there, and you still tried to keep Daniel in your mind. Maintaining a social life on campus combined with schoolwork already wasn't easy. However, you still wouldn't let yourself forget your best friend.

It wasn't until you entered your senior year and you were about to graduate that he started to wane in your memories. The things you did together became obsolete as new friends and memories replaced the old. The things he taught you were thrown out to make space for the new lessons you learned each day.

Even when you did become an actress, you never really remembered why you decided to. You remembered that your friend pushed you to do that play, but it was almost ten years ago, and for the life of you, you couldn't remember his name.

But you did do it, first as an extra, then a body double, and then you started getting l roles on smaller shows. But your big break was getting a quasi-lead role on the spin-off of a big television show, The Walking Dead. For two years, you enjoyed going to conventions and playing the complex character, Valeria Bishop, and you thought you had it all figured out.

But life has a funny way of coming full circle and throwing you a curveball that knows you off course and changes your life.

[wrenhyperfixates]

Secret Santa

Pairing: Loki x reader Summary: When you pick Loki’s name for Secret Santa, you are at a loss for what to get him. Some quality time with the God of Mischief sheds some light on the situation. Warnings: pure, unadulterated fluff; very long A/N: It’s almost Christmas now; less than a week to go! And a big thank you to my best friend @lokistan​ for writing the beautiful poetry for this story. I love you my bean! Happy reading all :)

Tag List: @lucywrites02 @frostedgiant​​ @lunarmoon8​ @twhiddlestonsstuff​ @lokistan​ @thelokiimaginechroniclesficrecs​ @gaitwae

Disclaimer: Gif not mine

“Oh my gosh, thank you Nat!” you said, throwing your arms around her shoulders in a hug. She had been your Secret Santa and gotten you the expensive jacket you’d been wanting for months. “It’s perfect.”

Christmas Eve in the Avengers Tower was full of laughter and drinks as the team exchanged Secret Santa gifts. Tomorrow morning you’d be opening regular presents, so it was tradition to set this aside for the night before. It was more fun that way, maybe because you could focus solely on the excitement of learning who had picked your name.  

“You’re welcome. I know you were nervous about being able to pull it off, but it’ll look great on you,” she reassured, hugging you back. “Ok, now it’s your turn.”

You shot a nervous glance at Peter, who flashed a thumbs up. Thor, who was sitting next to you, pat your back. You stood and picked up the carefully wrapped package, all decorated in gold and green. You were nervous about what you had picked, but whether the recipient liked it or not, you were happy that this anxiety of if it was good enough or not would be over. You’d rather know. After all, you’d been feeling this way ever since you’d picked the name a week earlier...

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

“Alright everyone,” Tony said, holding a stocking filled with little pieces of paper. “It’s time for Secret Santa. And remember, if you get me, cash is accepted.”

You gathered around with the rest of the team as they started to pick names. You said a little prayer that you would get Peter, your best friend, seeing as you already had about thirty different gift ideas for him. Wanda would be pretty easy, too, as you were also really close with her. In fact, looking around, you were able to come up with at least some scrap of an idea for almost everyone. Almost being the operative word.  By the time Tony got to you, there was only one slip left. As you stuck your hand in the stocking, you made a silent wish that it wouldn’t be the one person you had no clue what to get for.

Please, you thought. Please be someone I know. Please don’t be...

Loki.

“And that concludes the name picking process,” Tony announced as you cast a dismayed look at the four-letter name on the paper. “You have a week to figure it out, so good luck.

“Remember, no swapping!” Steve added as the group began to disperse.

You looked around for the trickster, wondering why he was even participating. It’s not that you didn’t want him to, just that it didn’t seem like his kind of thing. From the way he was clenching his fists and scowling, you still guessed it wasn’t. Not like you really knew him all that well, unfortunately. When he’d come to the Tower, Loki seemed like he preferred the solitude. You often wondered if you should have made more of an effort to be his friend, wished that you had. There was this one time you were both reading Macbeth in a common area and had gotten into a very animated discussion about it. Nothing more ever really came of that, though, as he left for a mission the next day and didn’t return until two weeks later. By then, you’d both moved onto different books.

Later, you made a trip to the library, hoping to solve the enigma that is the God of Mischief. You were the only two people who went in their regularly and more than half the conversations you’d had with him had been held in that room. Granted they were all short, but you figured it was a start. In fact, you found yourself rather wanting to have a conversation with him right now. Yes, because of the Secret Santa thing, but also because they’d been getting more frequent recently. With every one, you realized how much you enjoyed talking to him. Unfortunately, he wasn’t in his usual spot by the crackling fire. You considered just leaving, but decided you should at least make some use of this trip. You’d seen him reading some works by James Joyce most recently, and you went to go look for the one he’d had last. Maybe seeing what he likes to read could give you some gift ideas. Your eyes scanned the shelves, but you couldn’t find it. It was possible you were just remembering the cover wrong. Just as you were about to give up, someone tapped your shoulder.

“Pardon me,” Loki said as you whipped around. “I think you may be looking for this.”

He held out the copy of the book you’d been looking for and raised an eyebrow when you just stared at him blankly for a second. Who could blame you, though? He was standing rather close, and he was... Well, quite frankly, he was hot. With his raven black hair framing his smooth, pale skin, and with striking blue-green eyes that stare into your soul, he was the most handsome man you’d ever met. Then again, he wasn’t really a man, was he?

“Oh, uh, yes. Yes I am,” you said, coming to your senses. “Thank you. Did you enjoy it?”

“Very much so. I have read it five times now. I apologize for that, if you were looking for it.”

“Don’t worry about it. You have nothing to apologize for.” He looked rather surprised that you would say such a thing, and you briefly wondered how many times people had made him apologize unnecessarily. “You could even just keep it if you want.”

“No, that is alright. At least, not until you have gotten to read it, too. Perhaps we could discuss it?” he said hesitantly, like he wasn’t sure if he was overstepping.

You looked at the title in your hands. Dubliners. You’d read a few of the short stories in high school and hadn’t enjoyed them much. But you were older now, so maybe your tastes had changed. Either way, you couldn’t pass up the opportunity to have another conversation with Loki. That slight smile and those intelligent eyes were just too captivating.

“That’s a wonderful idea. May I ask what your favorite is?”

“A good question. I think I will have to say Eveline. The way she ends up trapped, the mere emotion in the implication... It’s exquisitely done.”

“Wow, Loki, you have such a way with words. You’re beautiful,” you told him without thinking. As his eyes widened, you realized what you’d said and tried to cover it up. “I, um, I meant that that’s beautiful. The, ah, way you weave words. Sorry, I obviously don’t have the same ability.”

“It is quite alright. They do not call me silver-tongue for nothing, you know,” he said, though he was blushing now. “Still, I look forward to hearing your thoughts. But for now, my dear mortal, I must bid you goodbye. I have a sparring session with my brother to get to.”

He swept into a small, princely bow that made your heart stutter. Hugging the book to your chest, you waved goodbye, feeling much more awkward than he had been. You were also about a hundred times more determined to get Loki a perfect gift. You looked at the book again. It was a special first edition, unfortunately, and you couldn’t really do better than that. Besides, you got the impression he appreciated books more when they were well-loved. So, you could scratch that idea off the list.

You sighed and headed to your room for the night. Maybe an inspiration board could help you figure things out. Unfortunately, that led to you having a poster board with pictures solely of Loki. You’d meant to add other things, but you’d gotten so caught up in how beautiful he looked with his soft pink lips and carefully styled hair and... Ok, maybe you had the slightest, tiniest crush on the trickster god, but it was silly. You’d hardly even been friends for half a year. And yet, he was very hard to resist. You ended up destroying your project, cringing at the idea of anyone finding it and taking it the wrong way.

The next morning you woke up just as idealess as you had been the night before. You had been hoping that you could figure something out if you slept on it, but to no avail. Frustrated, you kicked your blankets off and got ready to attack the day. You absolutely hated the fact that you couldn’t come up with a gift idea on your own, and the last thing you wanted to have to do was ask someone else.

Splashing some water on your face, you had another idea that you quickly shut down. You’d thought for a second that maybe you could buy him some cologne, but then you realized you had no idea what scent or brand he used. In fact, you weren’t sure he used and fragrance at all. The smell of leather, pine, and old books that he had just suited him so well you couldn’t help but wonder if it was just a natural thing. Either way, he always smelled so safe, so wonderful. You cursed yourself for letting your thoughts take that turn again. It was a lot easier to ignore this crush when you didn’t have to be thinking about him 24/7.

Traipsing into the kitchen, you found Peter and Thor having an animated conversation about what was better, pecan or pumpkin pie. You wondered if you could bake something for Loki as a gift, then you realized that still required knowing what he likes. You would get him tea, but you already knew for a fact that was what Thor had gotten him as a regular present. Plus it was a special Asgardian blend, so there was no way you could top that.

“Good morning, guys,” you greeted as you tried to decide what to eat for breakfast.

“Morning,” they chorused back.

You bit your lip, coming to a split second decision. “Can I ask you two a question. It’s about Secret Santa.”

“Sure, go ahead,” Peter said while you took a seat across from them.

“Ok, this is top secret, right? So don’t tell anybody.” They both eagerly nodded their heads. “I know you’re both friends with Loki, and well, I picked his name. I have no clue what to get him, though. Any ideas?”

“I have the perfect idea!” Thor declared as you motioned for him to keep his voice down. “Get him some causal Midgardian clothes. You have excellent taste, I am sure he will love whatever you pick out.”

You wrinkled your nose. “Are you sure that’s not just what you want for him? I mean, he seems plenty happy to wear his Asgardian clothes around the Tower. And there’s nothing wrong with dressing up when you go out.” You sighed when Thor just seemed confused by your words, not understanding that his brother had embraced the Midgardian style as much as he wanted to. “I’ll just consider that a back-up plan for now. What about you, Peter? Any thoughts?”

“What if we just went shopping together?” he excitedly suggested. “Then if we see something we think is good, we can just point it out.”

You hurriedly agreed, anxious to get the gift-buying out of the way. The plan was to head out right after your training session with Nat and Steve. Unfortunately, that meant you were distracted nearly the whole time, leaving you with a few more bruises than normal. You loved your teammates to death, but boy did they ever need to learn how to ease up a little in practice. You stayed a few minutes extra to do some cool down stretches, and in waltzed the trickster god who had been occupying so much of your brain space recently. The way he was flipping and catching his daggers as he walked was slightly mesmerizing.

“My apologies,” he said, noticing you. “I did not think there was anyone else in here. I can come back later if you still need the space.”

“No!” you shouted as he began to turn away. It was a bit louder than you had meant to say it, and you mentally kicked yourself. “I mean, I was just on my way out, so please, stay.”

He smiled and set his things down on the bench next to yours. You eyed the daggers that had just been wielded by his expertly trained hands moments ago.

“May I?” you asked, gesturing to them.

He picked one up and handed it to you. Turning it over in your hands, you noticed that handles were slightly worn, but it was still excellently crafted. The blade had obviously been sharpened a great number of times before and was looking like it might need to be again. You’d never personally used a dagger in battle, but the way Loki was so graceful with them made a part of you want to.

“To be very precise with such a weapon,” Loki began as if reading your thoughts, “requires great focus and skill. There is no room for error when used to block another’s attack, and to deliver a powerful blow, you must strike in just the right spot.” A shiver of excitement shot down your spine as he picked up his other blade and began adeptly demonstrating, moving like a flowing river as he sliced the air. “It is much smaller than most weapons, sure. However, it is just as deadly. And if the sword is an extension of your body, the same can be said for the dagger tenfold.”

You blinked a couple times, beyond impressed by his majestic, fluid movements. It was breathtaking. He was breathtaking. Now you just had to find a way to say that without sounding obsessed.

“Wow, Loki,” you finally gasped, unable to hide your amazement. “I don’t know how you do it, but you even make weapons sound beautiful. And you’re very talented, too. I could never,” you nervously laughed.

“You are too kind to me, my dear mortal,” he said, and you felt a spark of pride in your chest that you were making him blush yet again. “You are not kind enough to yourself, though. I am certain you would be excellent. Perhaps you just need to find a teacher.”

“Would you teach me?” you asked, oddly worried to do so. You tried to calm your swelling nerves.

“Well, I did not mean to imply that I should be your instructor, for I fear that I would not be very good at it.” He watched your smile falter just the tiniest bit and found himself rushing to bring it back to full strength. “However, if you so desire, I can certainly try. I must warn you, it will not be easy.”

“Loki, you’d really do that for me?” Your heart beat a little faster in your chest as he shyly nodded his head yes. “I would love to. And don’t worry about going easy; I want to be as good as you.”

“Excellent! We shall have out first lesson, say, at the start of the New Year?”

After the plans were set, you excused yourself so you could meet your friends for shopping. You were late as it was, and you still had to go freshen up. The whole reason for the trip was you, and you’d feel bad to keep them waiting much longer. Still, you stole one last glance at Loki before exiting.

Hours later, you still had no gift for Loki. You barely even had an idea, much to your dismay. Peter and Thor kept pointing out little trinkets, a couple of which you did pick up as a regular gift for him, but your Secret Santa gift had to be a showstopper. Something about him drew you in, and you wanted to give him the most amazing present you could. If only it weren’t so difficult.

You were walking down a street when you happened to notice the trickster god himself in one of the store windows. You waved your companions on with the excuse you wanted to check something out for one of them and entered the shop Loki was at. For a second you considered just watching him to try to get some ideas, but that was quickly dashed when he let out a sigh of frustration. He just looked so perplexed and adorably aggravated.

“Hey, Loki,” you greeted after clearing your throat. “Funny running into you here. Are you alright?”

“Hello, my dear mortal. Thank you for asking,” he said. “I am alright. It is just this blasted Secret Santa.”

“I know what you mean,” you replied before you could help yourself. “But I’m, uh, not going to say who it is. I mean, you can tell me if you want to, but I’ve already told so many people it’ll hardly be a secret if anyone else knows,” you covered your tracks.

“Ah, I see. It is supposed to be a secret, and I do so ever hate to crack under the pressure, but I find myself in dire need of assistance. Do you suppose you could help?”

You beamed at him as you realized you’d talked with him more in the past few days than you had in the last three weeks. If there was one thing you knew, it was you had better be careful, or you’d get addicted to the sound of his voice. You were on thin ice with this crush as it was, you really shouldn’t let it blossom into more.

“Sure! I’d love to. Who do you have?” you finally said, looking around the store. “Wait, let me guess. Steve?”

“Stark.”

“Oh. Well, he did say cash was fine,” you giggled.

“Believe me, I was tempted,” Loki chuckled along with you. “But I promised Thor I would make more of an effort this time around. I do not know what he is talking about, though. Bruce loved his socks last year!”

You slapped a hand over your mouth as your loud laughter garnered a few stares from other shoppers. Loki’s eyes held only soft admiration, though, and your hands got a little sweaty from how nervous that made you. You subtly wiped them on your pants as you calmed down.

“Well, it you want to get something more personal, I might have an idea.”

“By all means, do tell,” he urged.

“You know that tool set he was talking about the other day?” you questioned, but were met with a blank stare. “I’ll take that as a no, but he was saying he didn’t want to get them because he doesn’t actually need them.”

“When has that ever stopped him before?” Loki scoffed.

“I guess he’s trying something new,” you shrugged. “But anyway, if you got them it would show you were thinking about what he actually liked and stuff. Or maybe that’s dumb, sorry.”

“No, no, it is a splendid idea!” he was quick to reassure you. For a second it seemed as if he was going to reach out and touch your shoulder, but then he thought better of it. “You do not happen to know where they are sold, do you?”

You nodded and led him out of the store you were in, towards the place where he could buy them. You were waiting at a corner for a light to change, amicably chatting. Nothing groundbreaking, just small talk. Regardless, it made your heart beat just a little faster. Still engrossed in the conversation, you took a step out into the crosswalk when the light said it was safe to go. You didn’t notice the car speeding towards you until Loki grabbed your wrist and pulled you back into his chest. You gasped as he glared after the driver, who gave no acknowledgement or apology to you. The god’s arms were wrapped around you in a protective manner, and you looked up at his face, appreciating his beauty at this close angle. Given what had just happened, probably not the thing you should be focusing on.

“My dear mortal,” he fretted, looking down at you, not yet letting go. “Are you alright? You are not injured at all, are you? Shall I take you to the hospital wing to make sure?”

“I’m ok,” you reassured him, though a part of you didn’t want to. He seemed about ready to scoop you up and use his godly strength to carry you home. Alas, your moral compass decided that wouldn’t be very fair to him. “Just a little shaken, but you saved me. Thank you, Loki. That doesn’t really cut it, but thank you so much.”

“Do not mention it. I am just glad you are alright,” he replied, though his voice did still have a tint of worry to it. Maybe you were imaging it, but he seemed almost reluctant to let you go from his tight embrace. “Now, you may carefully lead the way. Carefully,” he emphasized.

With a giggle, you brought him to the store where the tools were. After browsing the aisles for a few minutes, the two of you found the shelf they were on. With a frown, you examined the price tag.

“Sorry, Loki,” you said. “I didn’t realize how expensive it was.”

“It is fine,” he replied, looking at the cost himself. “This is actually plenty within my price range.”

You waited outside of the busy store while he made his purchase and checked your phone. You felt a pang of guilt as you noticed a number of missed texts from Peter and Thor.

Sorry guys, you texted the group chat. Ran into someone I know and got carried away. Carry on without me.

Don’t worry, came Peter’s reply. See you back home :)

You pocketed your phone as Loki walked back out, giving you a smile. You looked at the ground to keep yourself from saying something stupid.

“I hope I am not keeping you from anything,” he said as you started walking back towards the Tower. “Is there any shopping I can assist you with?”

You lamented the irony of the situation. Despite the entire point of this venture being to buy a gift for Loki, you were still empty handed. It was tempting to try to ask him what he wanted, but you were sure he was far more clever than you were subtle.

“No, I’m good, thanks. But if you don’t mind my asking, how do you have so much money?” you asked to satisfy your curiosity. “I mean, Tony’s always complaining about how you use his credit card.”

“That, my dear mortal, is simply because I can,” he replied as you both laughed. “I have been around for much longer than you might imagine. I have amassed a certain amount of wealth in my many years.”

“Wow, that’s pretty cool, actually. You’re making me wish I was an immortal being,” you joked.

“And tell me, my dear mortal, if you were to treat yourself to something nice, what would it be?”

You thought about it for a moment. “Maybe I’d go to a nice restaurant,” you finally said. “It doesn’t have to be anything too far from home. Oh! Like, Nobu has really good sushi.”

“Well then, perhaps I will have to pay for us to have a meal there sometime.”

“Yeah! I bet the team would really like that.”

“Actually,” he sheepishly said, bringing you to a stop on the sidewalk, “I meant for just the two of us to go. That is, if you would like to. Maybe one day after we start our training. You are not obligated to say yes, though. The offer for me to pay is still open if you would like to take another friend instead of me.”

“Loki, no. That’s so generous, of course I’d love to go with you,” you reassured him, settling a hand on his arm. Though, admittedly, you were beyond flustered, especially when you realized how that last sentence sounded. “I mean as friends, of course. It sounds amazing, thank you.”

“Well then, I look forward to it.” He brought his hand to rest on yours, and goosebumps erupted on your skin, not only from his cold touch, but the wave of excitement you felt. “And speaking of our lessons, I was thinking you may want some daggers of your own. We do not have to get them now but-”

“That’s it!” you suddenly shouted, then apologized for cutting him off. “Can I borrow your daggers, Loki? To go get myself a pair?”

He offered to come with you, but you waved him off, saying you’d be fine on your own. It was a little suspicious, he thought, but decided to drop it. Handing you the weapons, he bid you goodbye. As soon as he was out of eyesight, you examined the daggers, trying to get a clear picture in your mind of what you wanted.

A few quick stops later, and after gaining permission from Tony, you were in the lab, carefully crafting Loki’s gift. It took a few days, and you were by no means used to doing this kind of thing, but you were finally satisfied with the finished product. You wrapped it and then hid it with the rest of your presents, just waiting to be given to their recipients. With only a few days left until Christmas Eve, you were filled with an anxious excitement to give Loki his gift. There was nothing left to do but hope that he likes it.

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

...You looked everywhere but at Loki as you approached him, nerves bubbling in your stomach. By the time you reached him, his mouth had curled into a soft smile. It occurred to you that you’d never seen him look that way at anyone but you. Building on the confidence that thought brought, you held out the gift.

“Here, Loki,” you told him, averting your gaze again. “This is for you.”

You perched on the edge of the coffee table across from him as he accepted the package with a thank you. There was some light chatter coming from the rest of your teammates, but it felt like the only people in the world at this moment were you and Loki, his fingers skillfully unwrapping the present. You sat on your hands to keep from fidgeting with them. It took all your focus to keep your eyes on Loki and not wandering the room in anticipation. As he opened the lid of the box and revealed what was inside, his mouth formed into a surprised “o”.

He picked up the gift, a pair of new daggers, each with a gold hilt. His name was engraved on it, and there was a band of emeralds at the top and bottom. You’d made them the same dimensions as his old ones.

“My dear mortal,” he breathed in awe, his eyes full of sincerity, coming up to met yours. “This is so thoughtful, so beautiful. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, Loki. I’m really glad you like it.”

“I do. I love it,” he replied, taking your hand in his for the briefest of moments. He pulled away before anyone could really think anything of it. Neither of you said anything else, instead just staring into each other’s eyes.

“Ok, Reindeer Games,” Tony said, interrupting the moment you were sharing with Loki. “Now it’s your turn. So, who’d you get?”

“Well, actually, I picked your name, Stark. Here,” he said, nonchalantly handing over the gift. Though he seemed completely uninterested, you could tell he was a little nervous. “For you.”

“Alright, let’s see what it is. I swear, this better not be socks or-” Tony cut off, seeing the very thing he wanted. “Wow, Rock of Ages. This is really thoughtful. Thanks. I had no idea you actually listened,” he finished with a laugh.

“You are quite welcome,” Loki said, but he was more looking at you than Tony.

Later that evening, after all the gifts were given out, you were sitting by the fireplace, waiting for the flames to completely die out. You were curled up in the corner of the couch, your feet pulled up next to you, a blanket draped over your shoulders, and a book open on your lap.

“My dear mortal,” Loki’s voice suddenly said as he appeared in the doorway, pulling you from the words on the page. “I thought you were supposed to be in bed, lest Santa skip this house and move onto the next.”

“Yes, but I have to make sure the fire goes out so he can get in,” you laughed, playing along. “As long as I’m up, I wouldn’t mind some company. Care to join me?”

Wordlessly, he sat down, and you closed your book. The both of you just stared at the dying flames in a peaceful silence for a while. Your mind seemed to be content to be filled with thoughts of Loki; the way he was sitting so close, the way his hands kept brushing his hair away from his face every few moments, the way he’d looked at you earlier when he’d received your gift. After you weren’t sure exactly how long, he gently said your name, bringing you out of your thoughts.

“Yes?” you replied.

“I truly do your love your gift. It is beyond lovely, your generosity and thoughtfulness a true reflection of what is in your brilliant soul.”

“Loki, I can’t even express how happy I am to hear that. And thank you for your beautiful words.”

“Speaking of,” he nervously said, “the gift that I have for you, it is, well, my words. A poem. I am sorry to say, I would be a little self-conscious to give it to you in front of everyone else. Would I... Would I be able to recite it to you now?”

“Of course, Loki. Whatever you’re comfortable with. I’m just grateful that you’re willing to share it with me.”

“Alright then, my dear mortal. Here goes nothing.”

You shifted to a more position as he took a deep breath and opened up a journal. You waited with bated breath as he began to speak.

“From your eyes that shine as the brightest stars, to your smile that's a reflection of your radiant heart. From your gentle hands that fit as though they belong in mine, to your laugh that stops my perception of time. You've shown me kindness when I didn't feel I deserved it, you welcomed me into your world with a caring embrace and showed me I am not my mistakes. My heart beats stronger for you, the love that I feel couldn't be more true. If you will have me, I will show you the world, for you have shown me the universe, the place also known as your touch, as your mind, as your heart, as your soul. You, you are my universe.”

He looked at you expectantly, but with a hesitation understandable given what he’d just confessed. You wanted to tell him how you felt just as eloquently, but were dumbstruck that the feelings were even reciprocated.

“Loki,” you said, holding his cold hands in your warm ones. “That’s so beautiful and I-I love you, too.”

He seemed just as shocked as you that the feeling could be mutual. He squeezed your hands, at a loss for words for the first time since you’d known him. With no one to interrupt you this time, you remained lost in each other’s emotion-filled eyes. It was Loki who broke the silence.

“My dear mortal, I... May I kiss you?”

You answered by surging forward and pressing your lips to his. His hands came to cup your cheeks, and yours found his hair, tangling themselves in his dark locks. He tasted like heaven, and you sighed against his mouth. You could have stayed that way forever, and yet it could never be enough. Sadly, you had to pull away, but Loki was quick to pull you against him, holding you to his chest as if he didn’t believe you’d stay, didn’t believe he could have something so wonderful.

You stayed like that for a while, conveying things even words couldn’t say in the silence, just holding each other. Eventually, you began talking, enjoying the way a light conversation was flowing between you. Your eyes were drooping shut as you snuggled against his chest, the final embers of the fire going out. You glanced at the clock and saw that it read midnight.

“Merry Christmas, Loki,” you whispered. “There’s no one I’d rather be with than you.”

“Merry Christmas to you too, my dear mortal. I could write you a thousand poems, and still I would never properly express how much I feel the same.”

As sleep slowly claimed you, it occurred to you that you may have never even admitted how you feel without the whole Secret Santa ordeal. It seemed that it had revealed more secrets than you’d ever expected, and for that, you’d be forever grateful.

[swinging-stars-from-satellites]

✨🧣🍓

alright you get three different WIP discussions bc you gave three different emojis and also I love you (/p) shdhdhsjw

✨- "I'll show you mine if you show me yours," a joke that mayhaps I don't need to make but it's literally a joke that Mulder and Scully have canonically made with each other (referring to working theories on a case shdjsjsks). in this case, it's referring to uh... literally checking each other for mind-controlling alien parasites. basically, I'm rewriting part of the episode "Ice," which is very early on in the series and the first real test of their tentative trust. I also like to refer to it as "the Alaskan Bull Worms" episode, so the dark vibe of this fic may end up having more humor than it has any right to shsjsnsk.

basically I'm just like... what if instead of walking away and going their separate ways after the first sign that something is Wrong, Scully and Mulder instead stuck together and talked through their emotions (*gasp* communication?!). like, how would that change the events of the episode and also their relationship in that early stage. they're both SO scared in Ice, and it both pushes them apart and ties them together. idk, I just like exploring very early MSR lol

🧣- I'm working on another TXF fic also, based around the idea of Mulder's sister Samantha actually surviving and growing up way differently than what's established in canon. I made a post about it a couple months ago on a whim bc I was thinking about it, and how much I like the actress who plays the idea of an adult Samantha in a few episodes (Colony, End Game, Redux II, and Amor Fati), and it turned into this whole fic concept. I was just trying to write her based off of that actress in the show but I think I ended up developing her in a way that reads as like.. probably autistic, tbh. the entire fic is based around some metaphors involving fae and changelings, just because... a child is taken, a child is returned, but Different, ya know?? Samantha is so lost and searching and not exactly who she once was. she has questions and she wants them answered.

🍓- lol I'm halfway working on an actual essay on Heathers (like, the film mainly, which means I probably need to watch it... 😅) based around the concept of it being in a lot of ways a Shakesperean type of story. like, a lot of stuff parallels very closely with Macbeth — Veronica as Macbeth himself and the Heathers as the three witches (as well as Heather Chandler probably also filling the role of Duncan, but I need to read Macbeth again to really figure it all out). JD as Lady Macbeth, instigating and guiding the darkness Veronica/Macbeth falls into. if I remember right, though, Shakespere's Macbeth is a tragedy, while Heathers is technically a dark comedy??

idk I just have this thought in my head that won't let go, that it's still tragic (though mayhaps this is the little voice of Barrett Wilbert Weed in my head, singing that broken broken refrain of the Dead Girl Walking reprise, talking), that even though unlike Macbeth, Veronica doesn't die in the end, but maybe a part of her has. in the film, she winds up far closer to the cold person she calls JD than in the musical where she turns more into a blazing fire or raw open wound; she seems not to care as much in the film, which probably has to do with the semi-flippancy of the genre and the way musical adaptations tend to lean into deeper looks at humanity and angst (lol), but it does seem as if a part of her has either died or irrevocably changed.

send me an emoji and I'll ramble about one of my WIPs!