#god what i wouldn’t give to be in a shakespeare tragedy

[eucalyptgem]

some notes about the production of macbeth i saw tonight, because it was wonderful!

- The performance was set in the early 1920s, and whilst this didn’t seem to have any effect on the story interpretation, it made for some wonderful costumes and set pieces (I was particularly fond of Lady Macbeth’s pantsuit)

- Banquo was played by a non-binary person, who absolutely killed it! They brought such a tenderness to Banquo’s relationship with Fleance and a genuine, joyful care for Macbeth that was slowly tainted by concern as time went on.

- Speaking of performances, Lady Macbeth was incredible. Also, Lady Macbeth top rights for the win. Straddled Macbeth and pinned him down as soon as he got home and then when he got excited, slapped him in the face (“Your face, my Thane, is a book where men / may read strange matters”) and then just got up and left him on the floor lmaoooo

- Jumping ahead a little but after the Macbeths’ argument post-murder, Macbeth flinching away from Lady Macbeth when she goes to hold his blood covered hands.

- For almost the entire show, the entire cast was on stage. Instead of leaving they would all stand at the edges facing away from the audience. Instead of having the audio cues like screams and knocking in some of the scenes, the cast would simultaneous make these jerky movements to draw the attention. This also made the few times the stage was genuinely empty stand out.

- The whole banquet sequence was incredible, but particularly Macbeth’s manic giggles upon seeing Banquo. Banquo standing stock still for the first half before rushing to grab Macbeth’s face, and then standing right up against him in his second appearance. Macbeth’s actor was absolutely fantastic and when he started scuttling around the stage backwards on all fours whilst yelling like the girl from The Ring i was Very Unnerved.

- Macbeth just… curled in the foetal position for a solid 5 minutes. Same.

- Lady Macbeth KILLED it with the sleepwalking sequence. Love love loved that on the last “come, come, come, come, give me your hand” bit she became considerably gentler and crouched down, beckoning as though to a toddler learning to walk.

- Macduffs gasps and sobs when hearing his family was killed :( really made the “I will feel it like a man” line hit harder

- Macbeth just became entirely, manically insane for the last section. His whole breakdown, including wearing his jacket incredibly weirdly and crawling all over a chair like gollum, was emphasised through the very stark lighting casting his face in shadows.

- When brought the news of the moving forest he FULLY tackled the messenger to the ground and just sort of… enveloped the poor dude? Lying right on top of him

- Also at this point all of the chairs and tables from around the stage were haphazardly stacked in a mess in the corner. Something something the stage physically representing the breakdown of Macbeth’s mind.

- The final duel being with bayonets was a nice touch

overall i had a great time! while i think there could’ve been more done re: interpretation of some of the character dynamics (macbeth and banquo, macduff and malcolm), and some of the musical scoring and fight choreography came off as a bit cheesy, the actors pulled off a wonderful performance

[allegra-j-joann]

The Agency of women in Shakespeares Tragedies and Comedies

Women have more agency in Shakespeare's tragedies than in his comedies. Are large aspect of the Puritan/protestant revolution, particularly around the 1590s was the foregrounding of marriage as the most appropriate lifestyle, the puritans encouraged their clergy to lead by example and be married with children, as opposed to the catholic clergy who prized virginity above all else. In his comedies, Shakespeare promoted this new way of life that didn’t vilify women as sexual villains and temptresses and in fact, we get a glimpse of their idea of a world where women and marriage were the key to salvation. The difference between tragedies, which follow a downward arc often with cynical moments of levity, and comedies, which follow an upward curve without being the light silliness that we know comedies to be today, is reconciliation. In a comedy, the conflict ends in marriage, the communal spirit of the characters is regenerated, and they have a path to salvation, meanwhile, in tragedies, the promise of regeneration and reconciliation dies, often alongside the women.

In Hamlet, Ophelia is a disempowered character, but if Hamlet had listened to her, and not mistreated her, and if her father hadn’t controlled every aspect of her life, then perhaps she wouldn’t have had to die. The final scene of carnage is prompted by Laertes and Hamlet furiously grappling over her corpse. When Ophelia dies, any chance of reconciliation dies with her. The world collapses in on itself. Peter Brooke’s production of Hamlet physically places Ophelia lower than other characters, staging her to be constantly throwing her at the ground in front of male characters while trying to make them listen to her, Much Ado About Nothing alternatively pivots around a woman’s anger over the abuse of her innocent cousin. If the men were left in charge in this play, no one would be married at the end, and it would certainly end in tragedy. But Beatrice stands up and rails against men for their cruel conduct towards women and says that famous line - oh God, that I was a man! I would eat his heart in the marketplace. Robert Delamere’s production gives Beatrice even more power through Catherine Tate, staging her standing front and centre whenever she speaks, standing taller and speaking louder, making it impossible for the characters or the audience to ignore what she says. And Benedick, her suitor, listens to her. He realises that his misogynistic view of the world is wrong and he takes steps to change it. He challenges his male friends for their conduct, and parts company with the prince, and by doing this he wins his lady’s hand. The entire happy ending is dependent on the men realising that they must trust, love and respect women. Ending in a society that is worthy of being perpetuated.

[blackspoon99]

A Night at the Theater

Sherlock x Female! Reader

Halloween Special 

TW: Fighting, Near-Death Experience, Mentions of Murder 

Masterlist

A/N: This fic heavily references Macbeth, so if you are unfamiliar, here’s a link if you want a brief plot summary: https://www.shakespeare.org.uk/explore-shakespeare/shakespedia/shakespeares-plays/macbeth/?gclid=CjwKCAjw2vOLBhBPEiwAjEeK9iW79c8ZMqs_KOz0bCq1tipDrKUrHcdEree1tJ1jj42S-BJEC7k6HBoCMWsQAvD_BwE

Hands down, Halloween was your favorite holiday. You especially loved Halloween in London. The cool air, the warm drinks, and the spooky history. The moment you felt a chill in the air at the end of the blistering heat of summer, you were your truest self. Not everyone felt the way you did. Your boyfriend, Sherlock for one. Imagine trying to get Sherlock Holmes to dress up in a Halloween costume.

You walked through the door of Sherlock’s Baker Street flat, grocery bags in hand. Sherlock and his flatmate John usually couldn’t be bothered to buy food. Despite your constant reminders, Sherlock often let the fridge go empty without even noticing. Eventually, you just took it upon yourself to shop for them once a week. Struggling with the bags, you walked up the stairs and eased the door open with your shoulder.

“Hello Sherlock,” you called, walking into the kitchen. Sherlock was seated by the windows, staring intently at his laptop. His posture was slightly hunched over, and he was still wearing his pajamas. His hair was disheveled, and he had deep purple under eye circles and bloodshot eyes. Those were clear signs he’d been sitting in that exact spot for a while. You weren’t even surprised when he gave no response. You placed the heavy paper bags onto the kitchen table and moved to hang up your coat by the door.

Sherlock made no indication that he even recognized your presence. You calmly walked behind him and leaned down to kiss him gently on the cheek. He flinched slightly, startled, and looked at you over his shoulder.

“I said, hello, darling,” you repeated softly into his ear. You leaned back and smiled at him.

“Not now, I’m working,” he said, giving you a look that made your knees weak.

“When aren’t you?” you said, fake pouting. “Have you thought about what I asked you?”

“I didn’t need to think about it. I’m not going to Lestrade’s Halloween party.”

“Come on, Sherlock, he invites us every year, and besides, now that we’re… together I thought you might want to come with me this time.”

“Oh god—” he stood up from his chair, walked to the kitchen, and started going through the grocery bags. You followed him.

“Oh, but I’ve already bought our costumes,” you teased. “And you’d look so great in the policeman’s costume I found. It’s got a little hat and everything.” Sherlock side-eyed you, horrified, trying to tell if you were serious. You immediately started laughing when you saw his face. “Relax, I’m only joking. However, it wouldn’t kill you to stop in and say hello.”

Sherlock snatched an apple from the brown paper bag. “Darling, I’m afraid I disagree,” he said, inspecting it. He tossed it up in the air and caught it before taking a bite. “Besides, I already have plans for us that night.” He turned on his heel and walked straight back to his chair.

You sighed and walked back into the living room behind him. “Okay, I’m intrigued. Tell me more.” You sat yourself down across from him at the table by the window. Sherlock took another bite of his apple and tossed you a newspaper. The headline read “A Shakespearean Tragedy Come to Life: Actor Slain Mid-performance”

“Actor Harry Wells was stabbed to death with what was supposed to be a fake dagger during the assassination scene of Caesar. Several actors on stage, no one saw a thing. Killer disguised himself as a cast member and no one seemed to notice.”

“Now that’s what I call method acting.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes at your wordplay. “It’s going to happen again, and I think I know where and when. In short: we’ve got a date at the theater.”

--------------

7:00 pm, Halloween night

Sherlock had predicted the next murder would happen during the annual masquerade performance of Macbeth on Halloween night. It was a long-held tradition at the Theatre Royal Drury Lane, London’s most haunted theater and opera house. You’d always wanted to go to this event, and you were inappropriately excited about sneaking backstage.

You met Sherlock at his flat and the two of you headed over to the theater. Once you arrived in the cover of darkness, people were beginning to enter the theater through the front entrance. All of them were dressed in costume, as was tradition for the event. It sort of made you wish Sherlock would dress up with you one Halloween. Well, there was always next year. You’d wear him down eventually. Sherlock approached the ticket box.

“Two tickets listed under Holmes, please”

“Ah, yes, there you are. Holmes, party of two. Enjoy the performance.”

“Oh, we will,” he said with a smirk. You nudged him.

“Could you be any more suspicious?” You asked with a smile. He winked at you and offered his arm to escort you inside. As you walked into the main hall, you were in complete awe. Marble columns and dramatic arches lined the hallway. The lights were dimmed, and the room was filled with lit floor candelabras. You looked up towards the high ceiling and saw three-dimensional projected silver specters drifting across. “Wow,” you said in amazement. Sherlock pulled you back to reality with a gentle tug on your wrist.

“Come on, it's time,” he said and gestured towards the theater. Amongst all the activity, you and Sherlock easily slipped into a side door and made your way backstage. You crept through the labyrinth of hallways until you could hear the distant noise of the actors getting ready to perform. You leaned your head around the corner to see actors rushing around dressed in medieval costumes, each with a mask obscuring most or all of their faces. You turned back to Sherlock, and he pointed to a room across the hall labeled “Costume Storage”.

You nodded at him and quietly rushed towards the door, hoping no one would catch you. You swiftly threw open the door and Sherlock hastily shut it behind you once he’d made it in. You looked across the room and saw racks of clothing, trunks of accessories, and old stage sets all clustered together in a small, cluttered room.

“Now what?” You asked Sherlock.

“We blend in.”

You nodded, still unsure of what his plan actually could be. You browsed through the costume racks, looking for anything appropriate for a masked performance of Macbeth. You found a scarlet off-the-shoulder chemise dress and an un-boned corset belt. You threw the loose-fitting chemise over your head and secured the corset around your waist to fit the garment to your body. Now you just needed a mask. You turned to rummage through a small trunk of accessories and finally spotted a red mask to complete your costume.

You peeked over the clothing rack. Sherlock had removed his wool coat and blazer and he just wore his purple dress shirt, sleeves rolled up to his forearms, and his black dress pants. He wore a black mask with gold trim that obscured the top half of his face. He stood, looking in a floor-length mirror, securing a prop rapier to his right hip.

“So, this is what it takes for you to wear a Halloween costume?” you asked, emerging from behind the clothing rack.

“It’s not a costume, it’s a disguise—” He stopped abruptly when he turned to look at you. You immediately fell silent as your tongue felt as if it were glued to the roof of your mouth. Even from behind the mask, you still felt the full impact of the way he was looking at you. You blushed and lifted your mask to your face. “Allow me,” Sherlock said as he moved behind you. You held the mask to your face. He slowly secured the black ribbon of the mask behind your head.

“Thank you,” you said, your voice barely a whisper.

“You’re welcome,” he said, his low voice echoing in the quiet room. He finished tying the knot and slowly dropped his hand. He lingered for a moment at the nape of your neck. He then abruptly removed his hand, as if he had just become aware of what he was doing, and awkwardly cleared his throat.

You finally broke the silence “What’s the plan? This is Macbeth. There are about six murders. The killer could strike during any of them.”

“I’ve determined that the only way to catch the murderer is to watch the actors closely. I’ll be able to spot which one has the real sword and catch him before he makes it on stage.”

“So do we just wait in the wings and keep an eye out when the murder scenes are coming up?”

“More or less.”

“Well, I appreciate the honesty.”

“We shouldn’t stick together; we would draw more attention to ourselves that way. You stay to the left wings, find a corner, and watch the actors closely. I’ll be on the right wing. Tell me if you see anything out of order. If you think you spot our man, do not engage with him. Text me immediately. When it comes down to it, let me handle it.” He had genuine concern in his voice, so you reluctantly agreed.

“Okay, I will. Be careful, Sherlock.”

“You as well.”

------------------

You and Sherlock silently left the storage room and went your separate ways. As you made your way to the left wing, an actor raced past you, trying to make it to opening places. Much to your surprise, in all the chaos before a play, no one even noticed an unfamiliar masked woman wandering around backstage. As you walked, you felt the buzzing energy of the moment before the performance. Three women dressed as the witches walked past you, going over their lines for the iconic Act IV scene

“Days and nights has thirty-one Swelter'd venom sleeping got, Boil thou first i' the charmed pot.”  

“Double, double toil and trouble; Fire burn and cauldron bubble.”

You weaved through frantic actors, crew members dressed in all black, and a very flustered woman with a headset and a clipboard. You even saw the two actors playing Macbeth and Macduff blocking out the stage combat for the final duel where Macbeth meets his end.

You finally made it to the wings and found a dark corner where you were unlikely to be noticed. You could see the entire stage across. The sound of audience chatter was audible even through the closed thick velvet curtain. You looked over to the right wing, hoping to spot Sherlock backstage. Through the shadows, you could barely make out his silhouette, watching intently and waiting.

As if on cue, the lights backstage and onstage immediately switched off and the curtain began to rise slowly. You felt a jolt of nervous energy as the audience cheered and applauded. With all the excitement, you’d almost forgotten you were there to prevent a murder.

The lights gradually went back up as the three witches walked onto the stage. They wore floor-length scarlet hoods that completely obscured their faces. Once they reached the cauldron at the center of the stage, they lifted their hoods and began the first scene.

------------------

You watched intently all the way through acts one through four, communicating discretely with Sherlock. Nothing had happened yet, and the tension was slowly building. You got the creeping feeling the murder would happen at the very end, at Macbeth’s end. You watched as the actors began to play out the storming of Macbeth’s castle. You watched anxiously as prop weapons clashed in a hurricane of stage fighting. You received a text from Sherlock, almost as if he sensed your nerves.

Not yet. You’ll know when it’s time.

Why was it that he never just gave you the whole explanation? Eventually, the play moved into the eighth scene of the fifth act. The moment you’d been anxiously anticipating.

MACBETH:

With thy keen sword impress as make me bleed. Let fall thy blade on vulnerable crests; I bear a charmed life, which must not yield To one of woman born.

MACDUFF

Despair thy charm, And let the angel whom thou still hast served Tell thee — Macduff was from his mother's womb Untimely ripped.

The man playing Macduff raised his rapier to initiate the final duel scene. This had to be it. Why hadn’t Sherlock said anything?

Suddenly, from the right wing, Sherlock raced onto the stage and pulled the actor playing Macbeth by the back of his shirt and threw him off the stage. The actor playing Macduff cried out in a rage and attempted to strike Sherlock. He reached up and blocked it, using his prop rapier. Suddenly, Sherlock was using a prop in a real sword fight.

Sherlock blocked the man’s attacks with expertise. Among many other things, your boyfriend just happened to be a master fencer. Although everything seemed to be heading in Sherlock’s favor, your whole body was screaming at you to move, to intervene. The only thing holding you back was your promise to Sherlock not to get involved.

Your heart dropped as you watched Sherlock lose his footing as the actor threw him to the ground. You watched the masked man playing Macduff raise his rapier above his head, aiming to strike Sherlock.

Without thinking, you ran onstage towards the man and threw yourself at his back. You leapt on top of him and tried to wrestle the rapier from his hand. The man spun to the left, his arms flailing, trying to throw you off. The audience members laughed, assuming it to be a part of the production somehow.

Suddenly, he threw his upper body forward and flipped you over his head and onto the stage floor. The air left your lungs as your back made impact with the hard wood. You let out an inaudible groan of pain. You looked up and saw the man standing over you menacingly, his eyes seemingly glowing behind his mask. He once again raised his rapier over his head to strike.

Before he could follow through, Sherlock struck him over the head with the hilt of his prop. The man collapsed to the ground, his weapon landing beside you with a clang. Your chest heaved up and down as you tried to get your breathing under control. You propped yourself up on your elbows and looked up at Sherlock.

He extended his hand down to you. You took it and he pulled you to your feet and held you tightly to him. Your head spun slightly as you got your bearings. The audience cheered in amusement. You spotted who you assumed was the director shoving past audience members trying to yell over the crowd. You looked up at Sherlock with pure relief, thankful he was alright. The stage manager emerged from the wings and barked “Close the damn curtain!”. The curtain dropped abruptly from the ceiling and landed with a thud.

------------------

In the aftermath, it was quite difficult to explain to the theater staff why the two of you had stormed the stage mid-performance and assaulted one of the actors. Once the police had arrived and confiscated the weapon, you and Sherlock finally were relieved from answering questions.

The man had used the masked performance as an opportunity to knock out the original actor playing Macduff and take his place before the duel without anyone noticing. Unfortunately for him, Sherlock noticed. Once he came to in handcuffs, Sherlock approached him, snatched off his mask, and addressed him by name.

“James Hughes. Thrown out of the London Academy of Music and Dramatic Art for dealing and using illegal drugs five years ago.” He turned to the officers “Since the end of his short prison sentence, James has been making the rounds and getting revenge on the man who reported him, and a few other classmates he chose to blame. He made his first hit last week. Harry Wells: the student who reported him to the dean.”

Hughes scowled and looked away. “They deserved it. They ruined my career and now they get to play the leading roles? The croaking raven doth bellow for revenge.”

“Thespians,” you said, rolling your eyes.

“I believe you have your man, detectives.” He turned to you. “Shall we?”

You nodded him and followed him off the stage and back through the hallways. As soon as you were out of sight, he grabbed your hand to stop you. He then immediately leaned down and kissed you. After he eventually pulled away, you stood there stunned. Sherlock never opted for public displays of affection. Emphasis on the public aspect. To your confusion, he looked upset with you.

“I thought I told you not to intervene under any circumstances. You could have been killed.”

“I wasn’t going to stand idly by when you’re in trouble. I understand you’re concerned, but you can’t expect me to just sit and watch.” Sherlock frowned. “You were there to save me, and I was there to save you. That’s what we do. I’m safe as long as I’m with you.”

“In that case, I suppose the only logical way to ensure your safety is to always be by your side.”

“I can live with that.”

You strolled through the hallways and into the main hall.

“This was fun,” you started. “I will say, this was a really great date. Good luck topping this one.”

He chuckled. “It doesn’t have to be over.”

You tilted your head in confusion. Sherlock looked down to check his watch then looked back at you. “Look at that. You know, if we head over now, we could still make it to Lestrade’s party.”

You looked up at him in shock. “Did you hit your head when he knocked you over?”

“Come on, let’s make his night. Besides, we’re already in costume.” He pulled his mask out of his pocket and put it back over his face.

A huge smile stretched across your face as you reached down to hold his hand. Sherlock Holmes did have his moments.

“Really? You mean it?” you asked.

“I will admit,” he said with a smile, “This costume is really growing on me.”

“You do look quite handsome,” you agreed.

“Actually, I was talking about yours.”

Your eyes widened and you playfully pushed him away.

A/N: Hello! So sorry for the extended absence. This fic was partially inspired by my new favorite book: If We Were Villains. DW there’s no spoilers in here. Also fun fact, Benedict Cumberbatch went to the London Academy for Music and Dramatic Art so I had to put that in here. Anyways, I wish you a very spooky Halloween!

[multiplefandomsblog]

Kazuichi, Byakuya, Gundham, Rantaro, Gonta, Leon, and Toko with an ultimate Broadway actress s/o

Desc; headcanons of kazuichi, byakuya, gundham, rantaro, gonta, leon, toko with an ultimate broadway actress s/o

Warnings; i tried to make this spoiler free, fem!reader, reader uses female pronouns, i guess this takes place at hope’s peak academy? pre-tragedy?? i dont really know about the v3 boys, haven’t finished the game lmao-

Gundham:

◊ He already knows a bunch about Musicals; especially the darker ones.

◊ He thinks your Ultimate is amazing, he loves all your plays.

◊ Neither of you know which between the two of you is more dramatic.

◊ Your dramatic personalities often intertwined, merging the two of you and making you both into one huge drama queen.

◊ It gives everyone a headache as you both scream, “My toe hurts!-” “My king’s toe hurts! Someone bring an ambulance, stat!”

◊ “Someone get the fucking chlorofoam-” “Hiyoko no-”

◊ This is a bad example, but you get my point-

◊ He enjoys Shakespeare and dark love story plays/musicals.

◊ So he would definitely enjoy acting one with you on stage, if you let him.

◊ He’ll somehow incorporate his Dark Devas into the play just for an excuse to bring them with him on-stage.

◊ Once he was playing Romeo and abandoned Juliet to save Cham-P after he ran offstage to eat a sunflower seed someone dropped on the floor.

◊ Fuck Juliet, mans knows his priorities.

◊ He’s kind of a musical theatre nerd, he enjoys discussing the message behind musicals you’ve played.

◊ Throwing in some compliments about how well you perceived the character, and how pretty you looked.

◊ He is always extremely proud and amazed at your ability to sing, dance and act so well all at the same time.

◊ He believes you don’t get enough credit for doing what you do, so he makes sure you know how proud he is of you.

◊ He sometimes quotes Shakespeare or some other dark musical while you two hung out, it was kinda cute seeing him geek out like that.

◊ “As said in ‘The Merry Wives of Windsor’, Better three hours too soon than a minute too late." Gundham quoted, pride laced in his words as he was proud of remembering that. “Gundham... it’s literally 5 am in the morning, the party starts at 12 pm. Go back to sleep.” Gundham blinks and nearly falls asleep where he stood. “Mmkay.”

◊ If he saw you dress up as the witch in Wicked, he would be whipped.

◊ His evil queen? In an evil costume? A dream come true!

◊ He thinks you look absolutely fabulous and praises you a bunch after the show, telling you how pretty you looked while you acted.

Kazuichi

◊ He wouldn’t know much about musical theatre, since he’s more into machines.

◊ But when you told him to come to a play you were going to star in, he jumped at the offer.

◊ 90 minutes of you? He must be the luckiest guy in the world!(Nagito would be proud)

◊ After watching his first play, he decides he is obsessed with musical theatre now, going to all your shows.

◊ He loves all the romance based musicals, he’s a sucker for romance what can he say?

◊ He’d obsess over all your plays, going into a lot of detail about his favourtite parts.

◊ He’s kinda like, your #1 fan.

◊ He has posters of musicals you’ve starred posted around his dorm room, just a bunch of merch of you and all the musicals you starred in.

◊ When you tell him he has a backstage pass because he’s your boyfriend, he is overjoyed. 

◊ He actually trained a bit to be one of the backstage crew members.

◊ He learned how to fix your make up during intermissions, fix a loose stitch on your costume, all that good stuff.

◊ Though every time he sees your face up close for make up, he goes speechless.

◊ He wonders every time, how the hell did he get someone like you?

◊ Though his hands are shaking from how nervous he was, he still managed to make you look absolutely amazing.

◊ He’d blast a bunch of musical soundtracks while he works on his machines, screwing on and unscrewing things with a bop.

◊ I can imagine Kazuichi jamming with you in the car. The car moving violently as you two bounced to the rhythm like mad men.

◊ I think he’d get pretty insecure if he saw you with a love interest, he would think that when you two shared a staged kiss or scene, that it was actually full of love and not fake

◊ But when you cheer him up and tell him how much you love him, he realizes he was being silly over nothing.

◊ After watching many many romance musicals, you notice he gets more romantic; most likely mimicking the love interests.

◊ He is still a bit insecure, but if he does more romantic things, you’ll love him right?

◊ You enjoy the silly grand gestures of love, but you try and assure him constantly that you don’t need any of it.

◊ You only need him <3

Rantaro:

◊ w o a h

◊ He’d love the fact that you’re an actress

◊ He thinks it’s so cool like-

◊ constant fanboying after shows

◊ He’s always bringing you flowers once you’re off the stage, showering you with praises and affections

◊ He’s literally so proud of you wtf??

◊ i think he’d be the type to show you off a lot

◊ “Hey you!” He points at a naked passerby(this is an inside joke, i am so sorry), “Guess what? My girlfriend’s a Broadway actress!” “Rantaro stop, people are staring-” “Are they? hEY YOU! YEAH, YOU STARING!! MY GIR-”

◊ if you ever started spitting out hamilton raps, he’d be the one beatboxing in the back ground for you.

◊  “Pshh, packow, psshh psshh, packow!” “How does a bastard, orphan, son of a-” 

◊ you two would jam out to musical soundtracks in your dorm, dancing dramatically as you did.

◊ you two kinda become like a duo of musical theatre kids.

◊ if you stood on a table and started belting lyrics, he would hop on and join you

◊ unless it was a solo, he would never steal your thunder.

◊ if you ever felt a bit nervous before a big show, he would assure you that’d you’d do great and tell you how much he believed in you until you felt better.

◊ he’s your charger before and after a big show.

◊ if you felt exhausted from acting and dancing around the stage, he’s always there to give you what you need most.

◊ whether it’s water, food, flowers, or just him and his cuddles, he always has it ready for you.

◊ the most recent musical soundtrack that you’ve played will be stuck in his head.

◊ For example, if you recently played in Hairspray, ‘Mama, I’m a big girl now!’ will be stuck in his head until the next play he watches.

◊ you’d catch him humming it during everything he does, 

◊ and it’s actually so fricking adorable.

◊ if you heard him sing a familiar tune, you would hum along with him.

◊ “Hmm, mmwhen I was, just a kid ♪” 

◊ Your ears perked up at the familiar tune, slowly you turned around to face him.

◊ “♪....You never let me do just what the older kids did…♪” You joined in quietly, Rantaro whipped his head towards you, a rising smile on his face.

◊ “♪ But lose that laundry list of what you won't allow ♪,” His voice rose slowly in excitement, pointing at you with a big grin across his face.

◊ And at the same time, you both sang obnoxiously loud, as if it was rehearsed, “♪ 'Cause mama, I'm a big girl now! ♪” Running to each other with excitement, 

◊ You let out a fit of giggles as Rantaro picked you up, “MY WIFE, PLEASE BE MY WIFE!” 

◊ This is how you two met and you can’t tell me otherwise-

Gonta:

◊ Gonta wouldn’t know much about Broadway musicals- which to you, a broadway actress, was unacceptable!

◊ so you made it your mission to get him to watch as many musicals as he possibly can.

◊ You’d tell him to come to all your plays, him excitedly agreeing despite not knowing what a play is.

◊ You’d do extra good knowing that Gonta was in the crowd watching you, wanting to give him the best first experience with musicals.

◊ He’d applaud at the end of every scene, trying to show his support the best he can.

◊ for his first play he watches, he ends up clapping a bit too early.

◊ he cheered and applauded super loud when he saw you on stage, but stopped when he realized everyone was staring at him.

◊ Though it was a bit embarrassing for both you and him, you felt your heart flutter at how his first instinct was to clap for you when you walked in stage.

◊ You’d introduce him to various musicals, beauty and the beast being his favourite.

◊ He definitely starts to obsess over the more ‘gentlemanly’ characters.

◊ his first impressions of the beast were bad; Denying that old lady shelter? How ungentlemanly!!

◊ so when the dude got cursed, he cheered lmao

◊ but as he kept watching, he could see the beast wasn’t too bad. 

◊ The beast had some flaws, but he obviously cared for belle, he thought.

◊ Oh but he hated Gaston, he really really hated him.

◊ If you acted with someone who played Gaston(and you as belle), he would have to hold back and not rip his face off every time Gaston said something idiotic or sexist.

◊ He had to keep reminding himself that, that Gaston wasn’t real(and thank god for that, real gaston would’ve been torn to shreds.)

◊ the dancing scene was his favourite part for sure.

◊ He’s sad he doesn’t get to play beast with you, but he still enjoys the scene nonetheless.

◊ something cute I can imagine him doing is surprising you by dressing up in a prince costume from the musical and asking you for a dance. 

◊ It’s the cutest thing ever oml-

◊ It’s such a beautiful moment, you two just dancing together in a random room with no care in the world.

◊ Your arms wrapped his extravagant costume and his arms wrapped around your pj’s.

◊ He’s a bit shy to be so close to you, but he tries his best to be confident and as princely as he could so he pushes his anxiety aside.

◊ As his stomach fills with butterflies, he becomes slightly confused and concerned, ‘Did Gonta eat butterflies??’ He slightly panics-

◊ ‘Those poor butterflies!!’

◊ He’d watch a lot of videos on how to ballroom dance in advance for this moment.

◊ He’s actually not that bad!

◊ Well- as long as you dance with your feet on his, so he doesn’t crush your toes.

◊ If you ever did some beauty and the beast scenes for him, he would be so happy. 

◊ He’d be even happier if you let him play the beast with you.

◊ He’d be smiling the entire time during a fight/sad/serious practice scene.

◊ *almost gets stabbed* “Haha oh no!” 

◊ When you sing during one of the scenes, he kinda just-

◊ becomes a puddle of a gentleman.

◊ his heart melts and disintegrates(haha what) of love for you. 

◊ he absolutely loves your voice, and would beg for you to sing him one of the soundtracks from beauty and the beast before bed.

◊ He’s really proud of all your plays, and is extremely happy that you–of all people–are his girlfriend.

Byakuya Togami

◊ In all honesty, he thinks your ultimate isn’t all that great.

◊ But as he watches one of your plays, his mind ultimately(see what i did there?) changes.

◊ He becomes impressed and dazzled from how passionate you look when you act, not noticing how you had him sitting on the edge of his seat.

◊ After watching you act, he literally cannot watch another play unless you are in it, finding it unworthy of his time and money.

◊^^this is before you two got together,

◊ you two got together after you found him in your crowd, applauding like the rest of them with the same bewildered expression on his face.

◊ You confronted him and he attempted to compliment your acting, but he accidentally let his feelings for you slip out instead, “I find you truly captivating- Wait no, I-I meant your plays. Your plays, they are truly captivating.” You watched in amusement as he stumbled with his words, eventually interrupting him with an, “Are you available right now?”

◊ So yeah, eventually you two get together, and good for Togami! Because now he doesn’t have to secretly applaud you as a fan, he can applaud you whenever and as your lover.

◊ After shows, he’d give you a single rose as a congrats or applause (so romantic!)

◊ If you ever decided to be chaotic and start belting out lyrics, he would just sigh and let you finish.

◊ Very rarely, you would catch him humming a small tune of a musical song you sang.

◊ But very very rarely. If you ever catch him and confront him about it, he will deny it completely.

◊ I think he’d probably like the more serious plays, he enjoys the meanings and emotions of them more than the sillier and playful ones.

◊ If he ever watched Mean Girls, he would start to slightly mimic Regina George.

◊ “Byakuya wha-” “Get in peasant, we’re going shopping.” 

◊ It’d be lowkey hot when you hear him sass you like Regina George tho-

◊ He’d have more big dick energy after watching Mean Girls, emitting his dominance to everyone.

◊ Makoto during a class trial: “So we know that she was at the scene of the crime, right?” “Shut up.” Byakuya flipped his imaginary long hair as Makoto stares at him in confusion, silence filling the room. “Shut up!” “I didn’t even say anything-”

◊ “The new motive is going to be-!” “Whatever, I’m getting cheese fries a book.” Byakuya sighed, turning on his heels and catwalking away.

◊ ...

◊ “IT’S PUNISHMENT TIME-!” “MONOKUMA WAIT NO-”

Leon

◊ Would go to every one of your shows.

◊ Would act like an absolute mom in the crowd.

◊*holding a video camera* You’re doing great sweetie!.

◊”That’s my girl!”

◊ You’d get embarrassed every time he does that.

◊ Hypes you up when you get nervous before going on stage.

◊ In back stage, he’d praise you and give you a bouquet of flowers.

◊ Where did they come from? When did he have time to get flowers when he was yelling in the crowed??

◊ Helps you rehearse lines even if he has no idea what they’re about.

◊ Will fight anyone that makes mean comments towards you.

◊ Even if it’s just constructive criticism, he will take it as an insult.

◊ “Hey s/o! You did great! Maybe next time you could-”

◊ Leon: “WHAT DID YOU JUST SAY PUNK!? DO YOU KNOW WHO SHE IS?! I HAVE FRICKING ARMS OF STEEL, I WILL-”

◊ Will take every chance to pick you up and call you a queen.

◊ When you guys watch other plays together, he always says how you’d play a better role or that you’d do so much better.

◊ He is pretty jealous of your talent, he has always wanted to be a singer instead of a baseball star, but his ultimate wouldn’t allow that.

◊ So if you let him sing some musical song duets with you, his heart will be so full.

◊ You make him so happy, he almost breaks into cries.

◊ You two of weekly karoake nights, always singing some Heather’s duet together.

◊ One time, you, Sayaka and Leon sang the Candy Store song, Leon being Heather Chandler, Sayaka as Heather Duke, and you as Heather McNamara.

◊ It was... amazing.

◊ Everyone was cheering, clapping and it praising all of you.

◊ You made Leon feel alive, and he really, really loves you for that.

Toko

◊ She loves your ultimate, and fangirls over you a bunch.

◊ She’s amazed at your confidence to go up in stage, knowing she could never do that.

◊ She thinks your confidence is kinda hot, and decides she is in love.

◊ Likes to add a character in her books that are a lot like you, maybe making them a broadway actress-

◊ She thinks about you a lot, sometimes accidentally blurting out how pretty you were in your last performance in front of everybody.

◊ You confronted her for it, and she almost passed out.

◊ “W-w-why d-do you think t-t-that? D-d-do you th-think you’re b-better than m-me or so-something?” 

◊ You already know her and her inferiority complex, so you don’t take offence to what she said, simply replying with, “I think you’re really cute.”

◊ Toko goes silent, except for a few “!??!??” noises that came out of her.

◊ “... U-uh, a-are you j-joking, be-because that isn’t f-funny!” She flushes, denying that you complimented her.

◊ “I’m not joking, here’s my number! Call me, kay?” You grinned before turning on your heel.

◊ She’s kinda dumbfounded, did her crush just ask her out??

◊ She denies it hard at first, not believing that you asked her out.

◊ Thus, not calling you.

◊ Well, I mean, she kinda did.

◊ She dialed your number one day, feeling a bit lonely.

◊ But as she heard your morning voice, she squeaked and hung up quickly.

◊ She felt her face turn into a fireball, her thoughts going into overdrive from how attractive your voice sounded.

◊ Your voice, she was attracted to your voice.

◊ The next day, when you ask her about what that call was about, she denies it and calls you stupid.

◊ Sprinting away while she screamed, “I-i-idiot!!”

◊ Acts like an absolute tsundere around you.

◊ You constantly flirt with her, trying to get her to accept a date with you.

◊ Being the dramatic hoe you are, you try and give her a declaration of your love.

◊ Knowing she is the Ultimate Writer, and into poems, you write one for her.

◊ You declared your love during one of your plays, knowing she sat in the crowd somewhere.

◊ You interrupted a scene and jumped off stage, “Toko Fukawa!”

◊ Her head perked up in surprise, eyes widening as she saw you on one knee for her.

◊ “W-what are you d-doing!?” She yelped, moving her legs away from you. 

◊ “I am in love with you. Completely and utterly in love with you, everyday when I see you so immersed in writing a book, I believe I am looking at an angel.”

◊ The crowd stared at the both of you, gasps and aws filling the air.

◊ Toko flushed, you watched her while she wrote?

◊ “For every time you’ve told me I was a fool, an idiot, you weren’t wrong. Because I am a fool, a fool in love with you.” You had one had on your chest, looking into her eyes sincerely.

◊ Her eyes glossed over so slightly you couldn’t see, looking around at the crowd before uttering out, “Y-y-you r-really love m-me, h-huh?” Her face contorting into a lopsided smirk, watching as you giggled.

◊ You laughed out, “Absolutely.” 

◊ WHY DID THIS TURN INTO A ONESHOT WHAT WHY WHAT WHYYY

note; thank you so much for reading and sorry for the wait!! we tried our best to finish these together, thank you so much for your patience.

[thespamman24]

I’m usual an easy going guy. However, I have limits, and when they are broken I can get very, very mad. Thankfully, these limits very rarely get broken. However, I start to lose my cool when I decide to order a nice, box of pizza for dinner and then twenty minutes later the pizza man shows up with a copy of Shakespeares unpublished masterpiece; it follows a young Vinetian  prince named Selvitico and Mardico, the son of an aristocrat of a neighboring kingdom. The play is notable not just in that it is neither comedy nor tragedy, but in the way that he strays from all other Shakespearean comedies in it’s craft and story telling. 

                            Act One. Scene One, a Crowded City Street.

Watchman: Hark! What stranger from the night goes here!

Levidico: No need to beware, for even though thy am a stranger to the night, I am a friend to the day.

Watchman: Hark! I said stranger from the night, not to the night.

Levidico: Well, it’s very hard to come up with these witty wordings on the spot!

Watchman: Hark! Excuses are for tired old men, and tired old dogs, and people that make excuses.

Levidico: Why you barnacle bouting son of a breaking borfins! 

{He stabs him}

Watchman: Now it is time to reveal my true form!

{He turns into a watch}

Watchman: I am the watchman!!!!

Levidico: Aah, beans.

Watchman: It is time for you to catch these hands!

Levidico: Oh god, my worst weakness, clock puns!

{he dies}

Watchman: Yes! I am the watchman!!!!

Watchwoman: Honey, please come home!

Watchman: No!

Watchboy: Daddy! My bush has been stolen!

Watchman: I care not!

Ibradigigiooo: Shut up!

[he punches the watchman]

Watchman: Oh, I am slain! Oh tempora! Oh moores! Thou hast been punched, punched like a thief in the night, or a crook in the night, or a day in the night, or a night in the day! Oh! Thou shall breathe thy last breath and then thy shall breathe no more breaths! Though has used up all thy breaths! Though went to the breath bank for a loan but they said I was overdue on my payments from my last loan and now I’m in breathe debt! 

[He dies]

Ibradigigiooo: Well, my work here is done.

[He dies]

[Levidico re-appears]

Levidico: Thee has becometh a zombie! Thee crave thy sweetnees of thous brains!!!! Thou brains!!!!

[Everyone screams, and then dies]

[Selvitico walks on stage with Astrastia, Rosylin, Haryambodius, two attendents, and Tim]

Selvitico: Why are there so many dead bodies here?

Haryambodius: Idk man, probably the plauque or something.

Selvitico: My god the white stuff on teeth?

Haryambodius: No. The disease

Selvitico: Aw. My god the disease?

Selviticos god: You called?

Selivitco: Yes, give me the disease!

Selviticos god: Whatever you say, boss.

[selviticos god gives him the disease]

Selivitco: Behold! The disease!

Astrastia: Isn’t that dangerous?

Selivitco: Silence, wench!

Astrastia: Why ist thou like this?

Selivitco: Thy sun is dumb and ugly, and thy is but a drop of ice! 

Astrasia: Surely though jest!

Rosylin: [to astrasia] Oh sister, can you not see that Selivitco is in a fowl wind, to fowl to jest? He jests not.

Selivitco: Shut up! I jest! I jest so hard, thou wouldn’t believe it!

Rosylin: See? Thou has caught win of some fowl manner as of late,  and for no other reason except maybe that your father turned into ten thousand rats!

Astrasia: Ah! But the sun!

Haryambodius: The sun! Dost it not peek through the blinds of the clouds?

Selivitco: Tis be true, but thou has not seen the last of storms and other such diseases wrought upon the skin of the sky. Boils and parasites, of which no leeches can conquer wrought even the highest of heavens, so that even the stars themselves are ill with fevers and maggots!

Astrasia: Ah! Why what blasphemy dost thou speak of!

Selivitco: Blasphemy? Thy hath no blasphemy but thy undergarments! Thy bones are paved with purity, it is the road that it paved with sin! However, your feet can not smell, and so you can not detect the stench of the street! But, thy can because thy dost have noses on thy feet.

[Everyone looks down to see that Selivitco indeed, has noses on his feet]

Haryambodius: It is a fool of a man who doth wear his noses like bracelets.

Selivitco: Why, but if noses were golden then we would all wear them bracelets!

[hauntedhikingsociety]

God i’m having thoughts now i got so blindsided by that goddamn merlin post

merlin could have been a well written tragedy. it could have been cathartic instead of rushed or unsatisfying, the elements were there.

my top most tragic ending for merlin is like, midway through season 5, merlin’s magic gets revealed. and arthur’s pissed, he’s angry, he banishes merlin (even though deep down he doesn’t want to he’s just reeling and upset about not knowing before) and then the knights and gaius and gwen all come to their own conclusions and convince arthur that he was wrong to banish him and magic isn’t evil. and arthur goes “>:( okay, i guess you’re right let’s get merlin back”

but merlin has been on his own adventure, possibly been picked up by morgana who doesn’t know he’s emrys and is willing to forgive and forget if merlin joins her side and somehow, he discovers the latest plot to take down arthur and camelot. and he stops it just like usual, but this time, he dies in the process. arthur gets there just in time to see merlin die for him.

naturally this changes everything for arthur knowing that merlin risked his life for him after being so poorly treated. in a dramatic gesture he goes back on all the laws against magic and the last few episodes involve a few battles that create albion and it’s all great and happy ever after.

if you are thinking “hey well that’s not very tragic” you know what breaks the immersion and makes the ending of merlin a lot less hard hitting? the fact that the prophecy of arthur uniting the land doesn’t come true. arthur uniting the land to become the greatest king that camelot has ever known was a hard fact for the whole first four seasons and the fact that it doesn’t come to fruition in any kind of satisfying way is what makes the ending of merlin frustrating instead of sad. look at fucking macbeth. all the prophecies in that believably come true even through loopholes. the merlin writers really said fuck the conventions of tragedy we can do worse.

the prophecy had to come true for the ending to feel complete. the tragedy had to come from another angle so in this angle the tragedy is that merlin is dead. no prophecy ever said that merlin would be alive to see albion. and merlin has spent five seasons fighting tooth and nail for this kingdom where he would finally be safe, only to die believing arthur had forsaken him, thinking that he’d failed. how would you emotionally recover from that?? you simply wouldn’t.

i also like this idea more because merlin spends five seasons going “oh well if arthur knew. if he knew all i’d done” and this offers the opportunity for arthur to say “if merlin knew.” it gives us a bit of long awaited role reversal which the canon ending did not give us.

at this point i’m just spitballing things i would have liked to see but the tl;dr—

s5 of bbc merlin is a poorly written tragedy and maybe if the writers had a little more appreciation for shakespeare and/or the tragic conventions they would have been able to write a better finale.

[suits-of-woe]

can you do a gay two gentlemen of verona?

(aka the post where i try to find some emotional coherence in the worst line in the canon)

well. can you do a gay two gentlemen of verona?

a. yes

b. but should you?

honestly, i'm really not sure. this play is bad. really, really bad. i assume most people reading this post know how it ends, but let's just be crystal clear: (cw rape) proteus, one of our supposed romantic heroes, tries to rape silvia after she rejects his advances. valentine stops him, but after proteus apologizes, valentine, our other hero and silvia's love interest, offers to give silvia to the man who just tried to rape her in an act of friendship.

so no, i don't think this interpretation (or any interpretation) can make that moment okay. even if it somehow could, it's just one moment, and misogyny is baked into almost every part of this play. and no, i absolutely do not mean to suggest that interpreting characters as gay can be used to excuse any of this, or that gayness is somehow an explanation for violent misogyny.

that said, we live in a world where this play exists. people talk about it and write about it and perform it fairly frequently, and since that's not changing any time soon, i do think it can be worthwhile to see what we can do with it. my interest is not in sanitizing anything but in creating some emotional coherence out of something that just feels nonsensical at first glance.

phew. so. can you do a gay two gentlemen of verona? does it actually make the play more compelling? i think it could.

you really don't have to look that far for homoeroticism in this play. i mean jesus, the first line is valentine calling proteus "my loving proteus." we get shit like this, which feels like it's just begging to be played as tender unrequited love:

PRO: [...] If ever danger do environ thee, Commend thy grievance to my holy prayers, For I will be thy beadsman, Valentine.

VAL: And on a love-book pray for my success?

PRO: Upon some book I love I'll pray for thee.

individual lines aside, the whole first scene is just...a lot. proteus has clearly been begging valentine not to leave and trying to delay their parting as long as possible. valentine makes it very clear that he wants proteus with him and he wouldn't be leaving without him if it weren't for the fact that proteus is in love. it's all just very...yeah.

so here's the interpretation i think works best: proteus and valentine are in love. they have been for a long time. valentine is aware of it. proteus isn't. he's deep, deep in denial, fixating on julia to avoid the feelings that are harder to acknowledge. and valentine's decided it's finally time to stop waiting around and let go.

so valentine goes to milan. he starts to move on. he finds genuine love with silvia (valentine is definitely bi in this interpretation), and maybe she's not proteus and he's not quite over the situation, but they're good for each other and they're happy. at least, until proteus shows up.

and proteus takes one look at valentine and silvia together and hates it. he's instantly very, very upset by that relationship, even if he can't quite put his finger on why. there's even a line where he wonders if his fixation on silvia is specifically because of the way valentine talks about her:

Is it mine, or Valentine's praise, Her true perfection, or my false transgression, That makes me reasonless to reason thus?

but it's because he loves silvia. obviously. that's the source of that jealousy. no need to investigate that any further.

and valentine is too easily falling back into old habits. we get shit like this from him:

Forgive me that I do not dream on thee, Because thou see'st me dote upon my love.

forgive me that i do not dream on thee? hello?????

meanwhile, proteus is having his own crisis. mostly about how he's betraying both julia and valentine through this, and hm, isn't it weird how those betrayals feel like the exact same thing? i mean

To leave my Julia, shall I be forsworn; To love fair Silvia, shall I be forsworn; To wrong my friend, I shall be much forsworn

the exact

Julia I lose and Valentine I lose: If I keep them, I needs must lose myself; If I lose them, thus find I by their loss For Valentine myself, for Julia Silvia.

same

I will forget that Julia is alive, Remembering that my love to her is dead; And Valentine I'll hold an enemy, Aiming at Silvia as a sweeter friend.

THING???

then we get to the part of the play that i think needs the least interpretation, because it's basically just the same. proteus is still proteus and proteus is still awful to everyone around him, just this time with the added context of all those layers of denial. valentine is still devastated to leave silvia, because he does love her, and she's the first positive force in his life in so long, and he was just starting to try to move on.

side note: ymmv with regards to silvia, she doesn't have to be in the know for this interpretation to work, but i think it works better if valentine has confided in her about proteus, at least if we want a chance at an ending that doesn't feel like pure tragedy. she knows what he's going through, knows proteus isn't good for him, and is trying to help him get past that. i think it could make the way she berates proteus for betraying valentine extra compelling, because she knows how desperately valentine cares for this man who didn't think twice before ruining his life.

and then we get to. the scene. proteus, at this point, is desperate and volatile in his obsession with control. he's convinced himself that if he just has silvia, that will be it, and he'll finally be happy. and thank god, thank god valentine is there to stop him. but valentine is also seeing his friend for the first time in a long time, and he still has this weak spot that never fully went away, and even with the absolute horror of the situation, proteus is there and proteus is apologizing and there's still a part of valentine that wants so desperately to forgive him.

Then I am paid; And once again I do receive thee honest. Who by repentance is not satisfied Is nor of heaven nor earth, for these are pleased. By penitence the Eternal's wrath's appeased: And, that my love may appear plain and free, All that was mine in Silvia I give thee.

this line can't not be appalling, but this is the only way i can see it making sense to me. it's not an actual offer, it's more just a recognition of how desperate valentine is in this moment, how much he hates himself for still caring after everything. this line spat out through angry tears, as in "fine, fine, take her if you really want her so badly, if she's really the one you care about, because for me it's always been you, so fine, take her if you really just want to take everything from me."

as for the ending, i really don't know. maybe there's a long moment when valentine and proteus hug, or almost kiss, or even just stare at each other, and maybe it seems like proteus finally gets what he's been denying the entire time.

and then proteus' page faints. the moment is broken. and then it all comes out, and face to face with julia, proteus slides right back into that comfortable denial.

i think you could maybe make the valentine/silvia ending work, if you set it up well enough. if she understands what he's been going through the whole time and is willing to forgive him, to try to move on and heal from this man who's hurt them both so much. it's messy and upsetting but maybe it's enough.

on the other hand, though, i don't know how you could preserve that emotional coherence without cutting at least some of the lines from this mess of an ending. i really don't know how you make proteus and julia getting together again anything other than horrifying. maybe you cut that part. maybe you lean into the horror. maybe- WHAT'S THIS? IT'S CRAB WITH A STEEL CHAIR

all that to say, i don't think this (or anything) can really "fix" two gentlemen of verona. and if i'm conveniently disregarding a lot of lines in favour of finding a story that i hate a bit less, well, here we are. but i do think this version could potentially make something compelling out of shakespeare's greatest trainwreck.

[tenderloincherub]

Red, White and Royal Blue (Casey McQuiston)

My thoughts on rwrb, a thread (I do know this doesn’t work by threads but it’s such an opening quote)

It’s been a bit more than a week since I finished this book, and it gave me * feelings * but if I let more time pass I’ll forget what I want to say about it. So this is a sort of review/opinion/basically-my-thoughts-on-it

I love how dreamy it can be. I know it may not be realistic but that’s somehow the point of it -to picture a world where Alex and Henry us queer people could be together and accepted and happy and carry on with our lives. I read it along with a friend, and she told me she disliked the ending because things solved too easily -I disagree, we have the right to see such world. I mean, from the beginning it was obvious it wouldn’t be a tragedy, you know?, like it’s that dreamy-happy from the beginning. We human beings have the right to read to daydream and feel hope, just as much as we read to learn and reflect upon the world and upon ourselves. It’s valid, and it’s always bee: that’s why we have Shakespeare’s both tragedies AND comedies, that’s why we have The Count of Monte Cristo (sorry, that one’s not happy for me) AND Jane Austen’s novels too. Literature’s point is also to give hope, to turn on lights. Like Dickinson said: “ The Poets light but Lamps — [...]”

The beginning didn’t really get me, that part did feel like a Wattpad-enemies-to-lovers-trope. I am sorry. I mean the part of the Cake-Gate and how they’re suddenly forced to fake to be friends. BUT I read Casey’s annotations and she wrote: 

“One thing I loved doing with this book is taking tried & true romcom tropes – like forcing two people who “hate” each other and trapping them in a small enclosed space – and making it gay.” (So she convinced me.)

Alex’s sexual orientation crisis just hit me when I was having a crisis on my own. I loved his growth (as a person, in his relation with his bisexuality, his feelings, his relationship with Henry, as a to-be-politican), and it was quite honestly portrayed.

Ok, but Henry. Henry, oh, my. Oh, sweet, poetic, tender, beautiful, strong, brave-hearted, (hot), breathtaking Henry. He’s the one who made me wish to be a gay poet prince. His character is the most beautiful one that could have been written. I’m sorry, I just love him so much. He was so soft all the way in his love for Alex, he was so self-less but had also his growth to take the reins of his life and the way he wrote. Sorry, I sort of fell in love with him but also projected myself in his interests and some stuff. This friend with whom I read the book actually told me: if you were a character form the book, you’d be Henry. And that was * flattering *.

Well, all the characters. There was such diversity but all (most) of them lovable. And the dynamics between them. *chef’s kiss*

Rafael Luna was the portion of reality this book needed. His story was unfair, but his character was so strong, I could picture him in real life, actually. I loved his character as well, all the way long, I hurt for him but I admired him more.

There is this one thing that I didn’t like. Before saying it, I’ll make clear that I’m not into politics, not in the way that they don’t interest me or anything, but that I don’t know about the topic. Now, I feel the way it portrays American and English government is a complete polarization. Okay, I get monarchy is outdated and that democracy is actualized, but you can’t tell me one is black and the other white. I feel Casey portrayed American government flaws being on the people that run it, and English government flaws being on the system (so that, no matter the people, everything is wrong with the crown). *I’m not deffending England, just feeling it gives a sesgated idea.

Back to stuff I love: I am mexican, and Alex’s mexican side was satisfying. I mean, I’ve seen tons of latin characters in books, movies, and tv shows, and they rarely step out of some stereotypes. Alex’s sudden bursts of Spanish, appearance and cultural traits were so natural and meaningful and real. I really loved it.

Besides that, the way Alex’s religion and bisexuality converged was also beautiful. The passages where he compares holding Henry’s face with holding the Bible, and the mail where he talks about sacred places, and the prayer he remembers... Just beautfiul and meaningful. 

“Henry lets Alex take him apart with painstaking patience and precision, moans the name of God so many times that the room feels consecrated.”

Alex’s narration is so deeply Catholic, which I think all Catholics can relate to. (Another annotation from Casey)

Their letter-like mails, the excerpts from historical characters letters were so romantic, poetic, heartachingly beautiful. This really was my favorite thing from the book. It’s a complete new way of communication, that goes so profound into their hearts and feelings, and gives a whole new perspective, exploring Henry and Alex’s relationship so deeply. [Also, I really hated when they were outed and their letters became public :( my babies deserved better). I’ve been searching for Michelangelo’s letters since and because of them. 

So, wow, this why I never write on goodreads, but I feel more liberty and just comfortable here on Tumblr. I won’t extend into my favorite quotes and my playlist and stuff that reminds me of this -there’ll be more entries for that.

Thanks for reading this, and feel free to share your thoughts on my thoughts.

Sending love.

[iwriteforthetincanman]

Undetected

TRIGGER WARNING: THERE IS MENTION OF ATTEMPTED SUICIDE (no direct or detailed description), MENTION OF DEPRESSION, ANXIETY, SELF HATRED.

PLEASE READ AT YOUR OWN RISK

Requested by: @robin-the-enby​

Abe admired you for many different reasons. One of them being that you were a talented witch. Another being that you didn’t fall into any particular category of witch, you could do all kinds of magic and more if you wanted. 

But lately...you seemed a bit off. You’d lost that spark in your eye, you took less care of yourself, you threw yourself into your work effectively cutting yourself off from the rest of the team and...more sadly, you barely paid any attention to your boyfriend anymore.

Being the only significant other Abe had ever had, he wasn’t quite sure what to do. Sure, he was well read in the romantic era of writing but that didn’t mean they had all the answers. He couldn’t just ask around, especially since the only ‘healthy’ relationship he could think of was HB and Liz. 

No, asking Red for advice about relationships, especially in this context, might be a bit too embarrassing for the poor fish man. He had tried talking to you directly, that’s what Liz had told him to do. But you were always busy, dashing about with ingredients or some sort of sacrifice to the spirits on your lips.

Gods above...when was the last time Abe even got to kiss you? 

Maybe work was getting to you...maybe he wasn’t the one at fault here. Perhaps...you were thinking about ending things? All the signs pointed to a breakup...oh no, Abe couldn’t handle that. Not only did you live in the same place but it would be awkward and just...heartbreaking. 

Ever since you started going out with him, you’d both gotten into a rhythm of what a real relationship was like. You’d both never been in one before so of course HB warned his blue friend that he had to be careful, calling it ‘puppy love’. Abraham felt like it was more than that. If the relationship could be properly nurturing and taken care of then maybe...just maybe he could see spending the rest of his life with you. 

Or at least the rest of your life…

That got him thinking. He had been busy overthinking all the signs and fretting over your relationship he hadn’t realised they were also a sign for something else...a cry for help. Standing up suddenly, Abe raced out of the library. He needed to see you immediately. He needed to take care of you, whether you liked it or not. 

He forgot the most important part of your relationship.

You look out for each other no matter what’s going on. 

Ever since he met you, he had felt a connection, some sort of force driving him to impress you and become his friend. A few years went by...and that relationship blossomed into something more. Something infinitely more beautiful than Abe could ever describe. 

Austen, Brontë, Hawthorne…

Shakespeare. 

All these romantic tragedies came crashing down in Abe’s imagination of your future together as he slammed his finned fists into your door. 

No response. 

“Y/N! Please love, I really need to talk to you, it's urgent!” 

Still no response. 

He contemplated knocking the damn thing down...but what if he was overthinking and you were okay? That would give you a reason to break up with him, coming up with an outrageous excuse for infringing your privacy…

But was he going to risk it all just because he’s worried about you? Because he, someone who has walked the earth longer than the average man, someone who has been considered to be the missing link, someone who had fallen deeply in…

“Y/N...please open the door, I’m worried about you and I was losing my mind over it. If I’m reading too much into this then I’m sorry, but I’m not leaving here until I at least get to see your beautiful face, your smile that puts the stars to shame...I’m only worried because I care for you and I-I’ve fallen deeply and passionately in love with you Y/N Y/L/N.” 

Quiet filled the air...embarrassment began to prickle underneath Abe’s scales as he realised he’d just confessed how he truly felt to a door of all things... 

Then the door started to creak. 

Your room was in total darkness, Abe could see that much, but what really scared him was how red your eyes were, how sullen and frail you had become...you had lost some weight he noted. He hadn’t held you in so long he couldn’t begin to tell when you started to wear more baggy clothing and refused physical contact so subtly. 

These were all warning signs and Abe had completely bypassed them.

The thing that scared him the most was the small blade you held in your hand. Sure, the BPRD allowed weapons to its agents. But this one hadn’t been issued by the BPRD…

“Y/N? My love...please put the knife down.” If Abe had tear ducts...he knew he would be crying by now. The love of his life had just been about to...gods, he couldn’t begin to imagine what would’ve happened if he had been just a moment too late. 

“Oh...Blue.” Everyone called him blue all the time. But the way you said it just then...no happiness or joy in your tone. It broke him. 

Throwing his arms around you, he didn’t care about the blade as it dropped carelessly to the floor, the further away you were from that thing the better. 

“My stardust, why didn’t you say anything? I...I would’ve helped you in any way that I could’ve...you know that right?” Abe’s soft tone came across as caring, helpful, loving. 

But the way the monsters in your head twisted and barbed the meanings of his words forced you to think that he was blaming you for what just occurred. 

“I...I didn’t think anyone wanted to help me...these voices in my head kept screaming all these horrible things. It hurt Abe. It hurt so bad. I didn’t even notice when I stopped feeling altogether.” You got the words out, but the way Abe heard them felt like pin pricks. How long had this been going on for? How long had you been suffering in silence while he just stood there? Focusing on missions and dates and what he was going to eat that night?

How dare he not realise you hadn’t been eating at all. 

“Y/N, listen to me, I’m only being strict with you now because I care and if you heard a single word I said before it’s because I love you. But you need help. If not from me then...a professional...don’t you want to feel better?” Abe attempted to bargain. 

“I...did for a while. Then it felt like things were getting worse no matter how hard I tried, no matter how many medications I started taking, or counselors and psychiatrists I saw. I felt like this dark place was just...growing inside of me. Trying to take everything I cared about away...away from me.” Your tone was watery, even though Abe was a literal fish out of water, he wanted to find some sort of way to stop you from sounding like that. 

He needed to see you smile again. No matter how long it took. 

“I wanted to end it all…”

These words broke him down even further. 

“Y/N...if you did that I don’t even know how I would recover. You, you’re so special and I love everything about you. Liz, Red...Professor Broom. They all love you...if Broom were here now, what do you think he would say?” Just the mention of the loving old professor caused a familiar, faded kind of pain to bloom in Abraham’s chest. 

“...He wouldn’t be happy with me that’s for sure.” The sulk on your face convinced Abe he wasn’t convincing you. 

“...Please Y/N. I know you’ve been trying for a long time now, but could you please just try one more time? If not for anything or anyone else then...for me?”

As you looked up into your loving, doting, blue, scaly, handsome boyfriend. All the memories of you two came rushing back. It was a very small dose of serotonin, but it pulled you towards the light all the same. Perhaps it was only a subtle grab of the hand, guiding you to a different kind of door. 

But you knew exactly who was guiding you back into the world.

“...For you? Of course Abe.”

[bellasweetwriting]

Fix His Broken Heart

Jess Mariano x f.reader

(not my gif)

masterlist

request: Hiii, i want a jess fic🥺 theres not enough jess mariano fics here, how about after rory goes to visit him at truncheon he meets the reader and she helps him move on from rory and he falls in love with reader. 💞💞

requested by: @beautiful-thinking

note: I’m a big literati shipper so this was hard but also fun to write I really love this

warnings: movie references, drinking, gilmore girls s2,s3 and s6 spoilers, some fancy vocabulary, Logan hate

word count: 1,7k

reading time: 7 min

And he saw her walk away to his arms. She found comfort in another guy. She moved one.

He hated himself for realizing that after all these years of knowing this person, still, it isn't enough. He and Rory evolved separately, they don't have the same goals or the same resources. As much as they try, it seemed like destiny didn't want their paths to cross one another.

He realized that he lost her as soon as she walked out of that door. She was gone. What now?

He'll probably see her again at Luke and Lorelai's wedding; hell, he'll even see Logan there also. The way he despited that guy. He cheated on her, and still, there she was, madly in love with him.

Logan is better than him in Rory's eyes, and he couldn't do anything to change that. He was a forgotten part of her story, an item locked inside a box that she opens when she feels lost. She probably doesn' think of him anymore like she used to.

But he thinks of her at least once a day. When he walks through the bookstore and notices the new edition of Dawn Powell's My Home Is Far Away, or when his friends bring coffee and offer to him, reminding him of her slight coffee addiction. Who's he kidding? There's nothing "slight" about Rory Gilmore's coffee addiction, it's concerning.

Any little thing reminded him of her and the fact that now he's sure she doesn't think of him anymore... saddens him.

Everyone was celebrating the success of the event that day, while Jess drowned his sorrows in a cold beer, also glancing over the girls that walked past him.

"I should warn you that if you are planning to Kurt Cobain on my bar, don't." That expression provoked an immediate reaction on Jess's face. "Not a fan of dark humor?"

"Not when it comes from the mouth of a stranger, not," he replied, making the girl chuckle. "Do you always attend your costumers like that, Rick Blaine?" Asked Jess naming the main character of Casablanca, who happened to owned a bar/restaurant in the 1940s.

"Rick Blaine? Don't tell me you are one of those guys who listen to The Clash on repeat and think they are better than the rest of the world because they know references from black and white movies and have read at least one book by Bukowski in the last three months." Jess drank from his beer, making the girl opened her mouth widely. "Oh, God, you are! A living Danielle Steel novel main character drinking alone in my bar." He laughed.

"I used to be that guy," Jess corrected her. "I've changed."

"A girl?"

"A breakup with a girl, to be fairer. I work at a little bookstore called Truncheon. We are all independent writers, and to give you some credit, some of us do look like Danielle Steel's characters. Not that I have read anything by her, though."

Jess wasn't like that. He didn't tell people he doesn't know about himself or his personal life, but for some reason, probably the effects of the alcohol in that beer were making him loosen up a bit with this complete stranger. Yeah, a significant event has happened in his life. The girl he thought he was going to be with forever decided to be with someone else rather than him, and he hasn't thought of anyone else romantically. He's so used to being alone, so used to not having anyone to actually talk to, that, maybe, liberating his internal thoughts and regrets with someone he isn't going to see again is probably for the best.

Not a therapist or a friend, just, someone external who isn't going to dig dipper in his subconscious to understand his situation and actions or someone who is involved in the story; someone who just―listens.

"You read one, you read them all." She commented. "Independent writers, huh? Have you published anything I have written?"

"Probably not," he said with that typical modesty he has earned through the pass of the years. "I just have one book out, is a self-published, so..." She nodded. "I actually did a little road trip, trying to make independent bookstores like mine to put them in the store. Probably, by the end of the month, I'll have twenty bucks and a sticker that says: «keep trying, champ.»"

"How poetic," the barista murmured, and both chuckle.

"Do you have a copy of your book?" She asked, and he nodded, giving it to her. "The Subsect, by Jess Mariano. Truncheon Books," she read before turning it around and reading the back cover. "«A self-published, prominent and dark-humored coming of age short novel following the unique life of J., a seventeen-year-old with no place to call home.» That's dark. How much for it?"

"Twenty bucks and a sticker," she chuckled, "or, a free beer."

"Sounds like a fair deal, Jess Mariano." He smiled at the mention of his name. "I'm Y/N."

"Nice to meet you, Y/N." She placed the book inside her apron with a tiny smile. "So you work here."

"Oh, you said that because of the apron and the fact that I'm behind the counter? No, I'm just a big fan of... college bars in Philadelphia." The sarcasm in Y/N's voice made Jess grin. "My brother owns the place. He lets me live upstairs while I go to college, and I pay rent by working here. The books you see behind me are mine. I study on my break."

"What are you studying?"

"English. I want to be a screenplay writer." He sighed before shaking his head. "What?"

"A film writer? Why?"

"I love films. I love watching them, reviewing them, analyzing them. I want to write masterpieces. What's wrong with that? At least I'm not writing coming of age short novels."

"It's not a coming of age novel, that's just the hideous synopsis that my poet friends come up with for the book. It's actually a lot deeper than that."

"The only way of finding that out is reading it, right?"

"Right."

Both looked at each other for a few seconds before she asked for his glass to refill that free beer she offered him.

"How about... if I come tomorrow, take you out, and you buy me that beer? How about that?" Y/N chuckle before agreeing.  He didn't believe it actually worked. He had tried to ask girls out in the last two years, but they've always said that they weren't interested. But there was something different and intriguing about Y/N that had caught the young writer's attention. "At what time do you finish class?"

"Pick me up at eight here, I'll wait."

"Cool."

"Cool."

...............................................................................................................................

He was nervous.

A date. Jess has never even been on one before. Not even with Rory. He never took Rory on a date like a dinner or a movie before they started going out. He used to tease her, and she fell for him, God knows why.

He took Rory on dates when they were dating, although if you count the car ride as a date. No, it wasn't a date. She was Dean's girlfriend at the time, and he crashed her car.

Why did she even like him? He crashed her car for God's sake. If he was Rory, he would have hated himself.

He hated himself already.

It wasn't like in books. Girls are complicated, and the male writers he is so used to reading about usually don't talk about dates and how to get a girl; the girl is already in love with the main character.

She did mention Danielle Steel. Did she read that kind of dramas, like Nicholas Sparks and John Green, where the characters just die in each other's arms like a shoddy Shakespeare tragedy imitation? Did she like that? He didn't know how to be a "romance" kind of guy. He still used the "bully her because you like her" technique, and maybe that's the only part of him that hasn't changed with the years.

He still didn't know how to communicate and express himself. He still wasn't used to talking about his emotions or being in a healthy relationship where there's no such thing as privacy. He wasn't born to assist to cotillions and balls, wear tuxes like James Bond and use fancy words gentleman-like, such as "Farewell," "Luxury," "Eloquent," and "Hope you had a marvelous evening, thanks for joining us in our humble and splendid gathering."

But that was Rory's world. Probably Logan used words like that without even knowing the meaning of them.

He quickly noticed that thinking about his ex-girlfriend before a date wasn't a good sign.

Maybe he should stand her up? No, that is an old Jess move. He is a changed man, he doesn't treat girls like that anymore. He is better, he is more mature, he wants to achieve something, actually becoming a better and selfless person who thinks about the consequences before acting. He wasn't going to stand Y/N up.

By a quarter past eight, he was standing on the bar's entrance, making eye contact with the barista from the previous day. Y/N smiled at him before saying goodbye to the guy next to her, grabbing her purse and walking towards Jess.

"Thought you wouldn't show up, Romeo."

"Can't believe you took me for a coward."

"In my defense, I saw you drinking your problems away yesterday." He nodded before putting her coat on her shoulders for her, making Y/N smile. "What a gentleman."

"There are so many things you don't know about me. You would surprise yourself."

"Oh, let me guess: you've never been on a date before."

"What? Why would you say that?"

"Well, because we are walking instead of driving."

"I have a dark past with cars and girls. You wouldn't want me to be behind the wheel while you are inside the car after you hear it, believe me."

"Good to know." Both laughed as they walked under the streetlights of Philadelphia. "I've never been on a date either," she admitted, taking him by surprise, but not as much to make a comment about it.

Jess has never felt more comfortable. Next to her, he felt like he was free of judgments. Starting a new story, blank page, blank notebook. He felt safe, and he hasn't felt safe in another person's arms in such a long time.

This was good for him. To finally... move on.

And who better than her to fix his broken heart.

[hadtochangemyurlquick]

57 and 10 for shoni ?

Rules: Send me two (2) tropes from this list + a ship and I’ll describe how I’d combine them in the same story.

Forgotten First Meeting  & Airport/Travel AU 

so i've gotten a couple of anons bugging me about poet!toni so here is the beginning of an au i'm chewing around with. this is more actually an au of an au, as this won't actually be a scene in it, it was just me dicking around with the characters. Basically, shelby and toni play sisters in king lear and also toni's poetry is slowly driving shelby up a wall and has been since they first met in an airport and shelby robbed toni of her notebook but toni forgot she existed and shelby has hung onto the notebook ever since. The first poem is an original, the second is an excerpt from my girl adrienne rich. it's barely an airport au, anon i'm sorry, but suck my dick <3

It’s a little leather bound notebook, moleskin and only half full.

Toni Shalifoe!!

Don’t read!!!!!!

Email me here!!!! tshalifoe@zoobah.com

It’s something of a haiku, which is line with the first poem, also pretty intensely structured.

There is one apple left on the old apple tree

Fall

Winter

Spring

Summer

My golden color turns to brown

Bite by the squirrels chews me down

There is only a core

Left of me

On that old apple tree

But my seeds are planted

And I have left

A legacy

Shelby reads every single poem in there, disregarding the first entry begging her not to. The scrawl is childish but she thinks the girl must be old, middle school or something. She never shows her parents and she never emails to return the notebook.

It was in a Minnesota gate anyway, what was she gonna do, mail it?

The poems are odd, one is about climbing a mountain, another about the angel of death, a third about an apple tree. Shelby never quite gets them and she decides the writer doesn’t really either. Toni. Whoever she is.

She’s only a fourth grader and she’s not allowed to use a computer without parent permission anyway. So she doesn’t think about it.

Years pass.

King Lear is the worst Shakespeare play Woods could’ve chosen for the fall production. For one thing, it’s not a history like Richard is, so it won’t get cool and bloody. That wasn’t a problem for her but if they wanted guys to audition, blood and gore was necessary. It wasn’t a comedy like Twelfth Night nor was it famous like Midsummer, meaning audiences would be bored and ticket sales would go down. Again, not a problem for her but they were already operating a shoe string budget, ever since the football team got that new scoreboard.

Shelby wasn’t saying the football team didn’t deserve that scoreboard! Andrew might not have thrown a completed pass since the ninth grade but football was an important sport. They needed it.

The one thing that pissed Shelby off about King Lear was that it wasn’t a romance. Call her basic but she was a sucker for love stories. King Lear was just a tragedy about some king losing his throne. There was nothing interesting or important or applicable and she didn’t get how she was supposed to play Cordelia. Cordelia refused to say she loved her father, that was her whole thing. She was just a pretty girl who didn’t love her father.

“Shelby,” Woods said. “This is your sister, Goneril,”

Shelby looked up from the script to the antagonist, a short women with a furrowed brow. “Have we met?”

“I don’t think so,” Shelby held out her hand. “Shelby Goodkind. Pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

“Toni Shalifoe,” Toni Shalifoe said. She took Shelby’s hand and Shelby kept her expression clear, continuing to grin brightly at the girl’s who’s poems had haunted two years of her life. It had to be a different Toni. What were the chances?

“Toni here,” Woods clapped her shoulder, “Just moved from Minnesota.” Frick. “I thought maybe you could show her around.”

Shelby smiled wide. “I would love to.”

How did some random no one from nowhere become Goneril? One of the biggest parts in the show? That wasn’t fair to Cindy, who’d been auditioning every year! Probably because Toni was a senior or something, had to be it. Or maybe she’d been held back? Shelby had been so sure the writer was older than her.

“So,” Shelby said, once Woods walked away to harass the orchestra. “Do you like Texas?”

“Fuck no,” Toni said.

“It’s not that bad,” Shelby tried.

“Literally what��s to like?”

“Clearly you’ve never been to a dude ranch.”

Toni rolled her eyes. “Hard pass.”

“That wasn’t an invitation,” Shelby said.

“Thank god,” Toni said.

She sorted through her lines, brow furrowing again as she made notes and Shelby watched her, wondered if she was still brilliant. If she was the same age as Shelby, which she seemed to be, surely she still had to be writing right?

“At least we’re doing a decent play,” Toni said.

Shelby blinked at her. “You think King Lear is decent?”

“Duh,” Toni looked up. “It’s like—one of his best? C’mon, don’t tell me you don’t get it.”

“I guess I don’t get it,” Shelby said. “It’s just about some crazy king giving up his throne. Divine right to rule and like not democratic.”

“It’s about three daughters struggling to figure out what to do with their parent in his old age,” Toni said. “It’s about the sick and dying not being taken care of and being cheated by their kids.”

“Okay,” Shelby tried. “So?”

“So,” Toni said. “Eventually you’ll have to decide what to do with your parents. Whether to put them in a home or have them stay with you or whatever. They’re gonna get old and sick eventually.”

“I know that,” Shelby said.

“So why don’t you like King Lear?” Toni said. “Let me guess—you prefer Romeo and Juliet?”

“I’m a sucker for a good romance,” Shelby said. “Sue me.”

“Romeo and Juliet isn’t a romance, it’s a treatise on the importance of letting your kids be happy,” Toni said.

“What?”

“If Romeo’s parents had realized how deep heartbroken he was, or if Juliet’s parents realized she didn’t want to marry Paris, they both would’ve been and probably wouldn’t have fallen in love,” Toni said.

“Hold on,” Shelby said. “You’re saying the greatest love story ever told was actually teenage rebellion?”

“If that’s your greatest love story, I’m sorry for you,” Toni said.

Shelby got up and walked away.

Later, and she wasn’t proud of this, she realized Toni had left her bag behind. She knew it was Toni’s because she had to open it to find out who it was. And when she opened it she saw a little spiral notebook.

Property of: Toni Shalifoe

toni.shalifoe@gmail.com

Please email me if you find this.

There was no instruction not to read so…

I dreamed you were a poem,

I say, a poem I wanted to show to someone…

and I laugh and fall dreaming again

Of the desire to show you to everyone I love,

to move openly together

in the pull of gravity, which is not simple,

which carries the feathered grass a long way down the upbreathing air.

Shelby slammed the journal shut, shoved it in the backpack, and raced out of the auditorium. Hopefully, Toni would return for her own backpack.

[juurensha]

tag game: fic writer interview

Tagged by @bittermoonswrites​

Name(s): juurensha

Fandom(s): Ahahahaha, honestly too many to count, but the ones I’m writing for right now I guess are JJK, BNHA, Scum Villain, TGCF, Tianbao, and Fear Street.

Where you post: Ao3, and I have a very old ff.net account under a different penname (wouldn’t advise reading that one, that was stuff from middle school when I was just starting out)

Most popular one-shot (by kudos):  whether or not we’re fated, we’re meant to be (BNHA), my soulmate mark TodoDeku AU, which was really created because I thought it’d be interesting to explore a world where soulmate marks were tied to quirks and what that would mean for Deku and Deku’s soulmate given that Deku was quirkless and then wasn’t.

Most popular multi-chap (also by kudos): darling, thank god it’s this universe we’re in (and you can annoy me as much as you please) (BNHA)

Somewhat hilariously when I first wrote this, I was actually worried, because most DabiHawks fic back then was angsty canon-compliant pieces, while what I wanted was a fluffy childhood friends AU that basically made sure most of the tragedies in their lives didn’t happen and then making them get together. It was also a pretty self-indulgent piece in many ways because I just added OC’s willy-nilly everywhere (in my defense, BNHA does not have many canon characters who aren’t pro-heroes, and I needed to flesh out the world a bit) with their own side plots, but people actually really seemed to enjoy it!

Personally, I think it came down to the timing of the fic in many ways, but I am glad so many people enjoyed my fluffy childhood friends AU! (And that since it’s AU, I don’t have to worry too much about canon ruining anything about it)

Favorite story you’ve written so far: Hm, so that’s a pretty difficult question since I change my mind about which fics I love best all the time, but let’s see--Divorce AU holds a special place in my heart obviously, but I think my three favorites today are: be all my sins remembered and more (GOTG), a pretty personal fic exploring Mantis and her relationship towards Ego’s other children and the GOTG crew, and was also the fic that really got me back into the writing grind. my heart goes doki-doki for you (and other fucking annoying things) (BNHA) as my very first BNHA fic that of course I did rarepair ShinIida for, and Knock me off my pedestal (and entangle with me on the ground) (TGCF) because it’s the QuanYin fic that I wrote to completely satisfy my own QuanYin tastes, and I’m happy every time I reread it. Oh and Dead Devotion (Hannibal) because I tried to make it as purple-prosey as the show, and I thought it was one of my more beautiful pieces.       

Fics you were nervous to post: I mentioned that I was a bit nervous before posting darling, thank god it’s this universe, but other standout times were Merry Christmas Gege (GHFOD) since that was the first smut fic I’d written, and Running Home to You (DCU) because it was my first time writing from a African-American man’s perspective.

I actually do have a few drafts/ideas that I haven’t finished just because I’m kind of nervous about posting them, including a Critical Role BeauJester piece and a Captain Marvel Yon-Rogg piece.

How do you choose your titles: Depending on the fic, sometimes I go for themes, like with my MCU pieces, I tried to riff off of famous Shakespeare lines, Hades and Wonder Woman I sort of tried to go for lines from the Iliad, and my FMA piece is a Bible quote. But as you can sort of tell, a lot of fics are just song lyricy type titles that I come up with by trying to think about how the character who the fic focuses on would maybe title it. But sometimes, I also just go for more jokey titles if the piece is lighter.

Do you outline?: I generally have a bunch of dialogue snippets in the rough order that I think they’ll go in, and I usually have a very general outline in my head of certain scenes that I want to happen.

Complete: A couple of zine fics that I can’t post yet.

In-progress: Actually somewhat in progress: last chapter of FMA fic, a Shiniida vampire/werewolf AU, a Fear Street Cindy/Alice fic. On hold with half a draft and hopes that I’ll finish eventually: JJK ItaFushi bookstore AU, Scum Villain/TGCF 79 actor AU, a BNHA ShigaNatsu gamer AU, and a Critical Role BeauJester piece

Coming soon: Maybe hopefully the last chapter of FMA fic and the Shiniida vampire/werewolf AU???? Or maybe the Fear Street Cindy/Alice fic will win out first, who knows, not me.

Not started: DabiHawks Asian Idol AU (I know, I know, once the FMA multichap is done, I hope to start on it), vague ideas for a Hawks rebirth fic, or a transmigration fic where Touya ends up in a game where Hawks starts off as a hero but ends up as a villain, and Touya wants to stop that from happening.

Prompts?: Very rarely, mostly for server events

Upcoming work you’re most excited about: Fear Street Cindy/Alice fic because they have no fic at all, and that’s a travesty! I’m going to let them live and give them all the realizing comphet-ness and bi panic they deserved!

Tagging: @mistystarshine @ohmoka @draphrawrites if you feel like doing this!

[five-miles-over]

New Girl (High School!Commodus x Reader)

Summary: You are a new student at Institutum Romanus Educational (which is supposed to be Latin for “Roman Educational Institute”) and come across some fascinating characters (I mean classmates). Sort of based off a ‘Gladiator’ AU listicle. Hope you enjoy it!

Warnings: A cheesy meet-cute scene

Word Count: 1,663

When you’d came to Rome to visit your father during your winter holiday, you had only hoped it would be a temporary break from your mundane life back in your hometown. Perhaps you’d get a chance to see the quaint streets covered in frost, or visit the Tiber River. And like most children, you would get a present - maybe new clothes, or a gadget. A brochure for a new school was certainly not what you were expecting as a gift.

Yet here you were, on your first day of the new semester in January, walking to your first period. All you were hoping for was nothing but a peaceful end to your 10th year. You were now to be a student at the Institutum Romanus Educational, or IRE as many playfully called it. It was perplexing to you why a school would insist upon retaining its Latin name, but your parents said it was reinstated by its current principal Marcus Aurelius. He was supposedly an admirer of the Classics and wanted his children to have a good understanding of ancient languages.

The first period of the day was Physics, which you never had a huge affinity towards, but were certainly not averse to. The teacher was kind, and he seemed to be quite enthusiastic about the content he was talking about. After being armed with two problem sets about electromagnetism, you had to walk across the entire building to your next class - English.

Throughout the hall, many of the sights weren’t very different from your old school - there were cliques of people talking to each other, and a few couples making out in front of the lockers. Campaign posters of a girl named Lucilla Aurelius were plastered across the wall. You were lucky enough to catch a glimpse of her on your way to class and by gods, the posters did not do her justice. She was gorgeous.

Flanked by two “minions” or girls wearing blouses and skirts similar to the pink-and-white combination she was wearing, she held a box of buttons that said, “Vote for Lucilla, Vote for Rome” on them. With a charismatic grin, she was passing them out to various people and telling them to vote for her for their Student Body President.

Another voice rose from the cacophony in the hallways. “I wouldn’t even know if a rat had chewed off the ends of her thin strands, that’s how ugly that girl’s haircut is.” A bald boy wearing an Assassin’s Creed shirt loomed over a girl with a pixie cut, who was crying.

He was answered by a larger boy, a seemingly more bulky one. “Quinn, I don’t think that’s how to get over being dumped. Just leave her alone.”

“Hagen, you piece of meat.” Quinn grumbled, leaving the tiny girl to pick up her books from the floor. Hagen gave her the rest of her things and sent her off to class.

When you entered your English class, you heaved a sigh of relief that you were on time. The board saying ‘Hamlet’ assured you that you had reached the correct classroom. The seats were almost all filled except for one placed in front of a green-eyed boy with cropped dark hair.

He was probably the perfect mix of gothic and preppy - his bangs were long enough to fall over his brow, and he wore a barely noticeable layer of eyeliner. His crisp, black button-down, paired with his skinny jeans and black designer boots, served as a stark contrast to the sweat pants and hoodies many of the other male students wore.

You waved politely only to find him idly writing something in a journal. It looked like something in elaborate cursive, and you would’ve looked further if the teacher didn’t begin taking attendance. And if it doing so wouldn’t make you look completely creepy.

Within moments, the teacher began lecturing about one of Shakespeare’s most famous tragedies, calling upon various students to read scenes out loud for the rest of the class. A few kids named Gregory and Falcon read for the parts of Polonius, the chamberlain of Denmark, and Laertes, the son of Polonius.

You were nearly caught by surprise when the teacher invited you to read Ophelia’s lines in front of the class from Act 1, Scene 3 of the play. It wasn’t exactly on your agenda to attract much attention on your first day, but you decided to accept anyways. Standing in front of the class, you read Ophelia’s lines loud and clear while your green-eyed mystery, named Commodus, read Hamlet’s lines with passion. He seemed like he was born for this role.

“Thank you, both of you.” Your teacher applauded both of you after the scene was completed. When you returned to your seat, you saw a hand reach towards you from behind, holding a yellow sticky note. Quickly taking it, you tucked it under your knee before you could get caught.

“Commie’s passing notes in class again,” Gregory taunted, leading the entire class to laugh with him as the boy sitting behind you fumed with embarrassment. “Infatuated with the girl reading Ophelia, he seems to forget when the stage ends and when real life begins.”

The teacher’s eyebrows furrowed at Gregory’s remark. “Y/N, is this true? Did Commodus give you a note?”

“No, not at all,” you lied for him. “He didn’t give me a note at all, I just dropped my sticky notes and he gave them back to me.” Ignoring Gregory’s eye-rolling, the teacher reluctantly accepted your alibi and continued to lecture until the bell rung.

“Nice reading voice.” A boy in a burnt orange jacket offered you a kind smile as you both left the classroom. “You, uh, the new girl?”

“I am, thanks,” you nodded. “And you are?”

“The new boy,” he joked. “Sort of - I came here a few months ago from Australia. Actually Spain’s my homeland - I was born there.”

“So you’re a Spaniard?”

“No, I’m Max, but Spaniard works,” he winked, eliciting a laugh from you. “Want me to walk you to your next class?”

“If it’s not too much trouble for you,” you answered. “You wouldn’t by chance happen to know where World History is?

Max grinned. “That’s just where I’m headed. You looked confused when you entered - thought you could use a friendly face on your first day.”

“Thank you for making me feel a bit more welcome, Max.” You replied, letting him lead you through the crowd of students. Unbeknownst to the both of you, a pair of jealous peridot eyes followed the two of you until you turned the corner and disappeared.

Later that day, when lunchtime came around, your eyes widened at the color and variety of the flavorful dishes being served. It was almost like they were being prepared by gourmet chefs. You couldn’t help but smile at how pretty your tray looked; penne with a creamy tomato sauce, arugula salad with a balsamic vinaigrette, a piece of bread, and freshly cut fruit.

Deciding against the crowded cafeteria, you decided to take a chance to explore some of the other hallways in your new school. You wondered just how big your new school could possibly be. Did they have an indoor pool, a large gymnasium, a library,…or an auditorium? Holding your tray close to your chest, you walked into the large theater. In the center of the breathtakingly colossal stage, you found Commodus sitting cross-legged next to his shoulder bag and a thermos.

“Hello,” you quietly greeted him, approaching the edge of the stage and climbing up.

“Shouldn’t you be eating in the cafeteria?”, he asked, slightly perplexed, looking up from the book he was reading.”No,” you replied, placing your backpack down. “It wasn’t really my scene at my old school. I used to eat in the library or the music room.”

Commodus hummed in acknowledgment, returning to his copy of Dracula and his thermos of black coffee. “Where’s your lunch?” You asked, sitting next to him.

“I don’t usually eat any. I’m too busy.”

You pushed your tray towards him. “Would you like to share some of mine?”

“Yes, thank you.” He ripped off a piece of the bread and dipped it into the pasta sauce before chewing it. Commodus allowed himself a few more bites partially because he didn’t want to seem rude and…you seemed likable.

A few moments of silence took place while the two of you ate before you glanced at the clock. “Well…it’s time for me to go to my next class,” you commented.

“Oh…” His eyes looked slightly downcast when you told him you had to leave. “You look lovely!” You froze at his sudden compliment. “That…that was what I hoped to tell you in that note I gave you. That you look exquisite - your hair, your lips, your eyes- it reminded me of Lady Ophelia when you read her lines. You’re…you look more beguiling than she would be.”

“That’s quite sweet of you, Commodus.” You said with a small smile, flabbergasted. “Thank you, I…I’m quite flattered.”

“I was afraid you wouldn’t like it. Most people don’t understand my references or my vocabulary.” Commodus stammered, relieved that you didn’t find him disturbing for comparing you to a Shakespearean heroine. “Thank you for sharing your lunch and your time with me, Y/N.”  

“Of course,” you extended your hand, expecting to shake his. “It was nice meeting you, Commodus.”

Accepting your gesture, he clasped your hand and softly kissed your knuckles, causing you to blush. Usually, princes from fairytales would do something so chivalrous. “It was nice meeting you too,” Commodus replied.

“I’ll see you later, then.” You carried your tray and backpack and began leaving the auditorium. Commodus watched you leave, hoping that perhaps you wouldn’t be like many of the other new kids, pretending to be nice before getting swept away by the popular students. That perhaps you would be…just as special as he already thought you were.

[harry-hook-me]

Notes

Writer - @harry-hook-me (myself)

Request - @addictofsupernatural

Disclaimer - I do not own any of the Descendants characters or scenes from the movies, all credits goes to the creators and producers of Disneys descendants.

Summary – Harry Hook is the new VK arriving at Auradon, after meeting the reader in his English literature class and receiving help from her to catch up he begins leaving small gifts for her at her dorm room door. The reader catches him out and two are able to admit their feelings for each other.

Warnings – None

Prompts – “It was you the whole time”

AN- I forgot to proof read (couldn’t really be bothered) so please excuse any spelling or grammer mistakes - Lou x

Word count - 1802

Being invisible isn’t all bad, I mean the lack of friends is a bit boring but it’s not completely terrible. I’m the daughter of Princess Anna, my only two friends are the daughter of princess Jasmin, Jessie, and the Son of Tiana, Travis. The three of us have been best friends for years, ever since we were very young, we’ve all always felt as though we don’t belong here, none of us are the preppy, pastel, princess or prince type, were more… well, us.

Jessie, Travis and I all walk down the long corridors of Auradon prep, “well, I’m off. See you guys at lunch” Travis says turning the corner to get to his geometry class. “see ya”, “bye” Jessie and I say in sync as we continue walking to out spate classes. “so have you heard the news?” Jessie asked me “what news?” I asked looking puzzled “y/n, as if you didn’t know. There are two new VKs joining the school today!” she says excitedly. Jessie has always had a fascination with the villains over on the isle and says she’d love to cross the barrier to see what life is like over there. “which kids?” I questioned. “nobody knows, guess we’ll see when they arrive. Anyway, I’ll see you a lunch” Jessie says before going into her history classroom. “see ya then” I say while continuing to walk down the corridor to my English literature class.

English lit has always been one of my favourite subjects, the poetry and the novels, love, tragedy, misery, it’s all just so appealing. I walked in, quite early as I was the first one in. former Queen Bell was our lecture, since her son and mal took over the crown, she takes up her spare time teaching English due to her love of books. “Good morning your majesty” I say before taking my seat at my desk and getting out my note book, pen and copy of Romeo and Juliet, the book were currently studying. “Good morning y/n” Bell replied, soon after people began to enter the classroom, nobody really paying attention to me, as usual. Yet another day in class sat alone, at the back.

Around half way through the lesson, Fairy God Mother walked in. “sorry to interrupt, but I have someone to introduce you all to.” She said to us all before guiding a tall boy into the class room. “Everybody, this is Harry Hook, he’ll be joining us here at Auradon Prep and will be attending this class. I’m sure you all will welcome him with open arms”. Harry Hook, must be the son of Captain Hook. I observed the boy stood in the doorway, tall, dark messy hair, beautiful eyes, dressed in pirate get up complete with a long red leather jacket and a silver hook in hand.

I was pulled from my thoughts by a Scottish accent “may I sit here”, I looked up to see harry stood by the empty chare next to me. “er- sure” I stuttered, the pirate sat beside me and smiled. “Harry Hook” he said, holding out a hand for me to shake, “y/n, captain hooks son I’m guessing?” I ask. “Your guess is correct, and you?” harry asked smiling and looking into my eyes “daughter of Princess Anna.” I replied, “ah, a princess, well I must say, you don’t look like the princess type” Harry chucked, I looked down at my lap, “I like it” he added with a cute grin applied on his face, I looked up to meet his gaze blushing slightly.

“Mr Hook, I’m afraid I don’t have a spare copy of the book so if you wouldn’t mind sharing with y/n” bell asked from the front of the class, Harry and I nodded. I opened up the book the page we were at and showed Harry. “I’m guessing you’ve never read Romeo and Juliet before?” I asked Harry. “Who?” Harry questioned, I chuckled, “Romeo and Juliet, it’s a play written by someone called William Shakespeare, it’s about two people from two different families that have been feuding for centuries but they fall in love, but end up dying right at the end. It’s one of my favourites” I explained to him. Throughout the lesson, Harry and I chatted and got to know each other a bit better, I could tell he wasn’t understanding hardly any if the lesson so I offered to give him some help with catching up with the play so far. I also invited Harry to join me, Jessie and Travis at lunch to give him the opportunity to make some new friends, to this he agreed.

I showed Harry to the area outside where Jessie, Travis and I would always go to a lunch and free periods, it’s under a great willow tree right at the back or the school grounds where no one ever really goes. “Hey guys, this is Harry Hook, Harry this is Jessie, daughter of Princess Jasmin, Travis, son of Tiana, and… oh who’s this?” I asked as there seemed to be a new boy sat with the two, “Gil!” Harry shouted, hugging the tall blond boy with a bandana over his long hair. “I never knew you’d been invited here as well” Harry said to him. “Well I’m here” Gil giggled back. “y/n, this is Gil, hes new here, he’s in my history class, son of Gaston” Jessie explained to me, I nodded back. “Gil and I were a part of the same crew back on the isle, we go way back” Harry explained to me, “Well its nice to meet you Gil, I’m y/n, Welcome to Auradon.”

Its been three weeks since Harry and Gil arrived at Auradon and I’ve been getting to know harry more and more, we sit together at the back of every English Literature class and I’m still giving him some extra help with catching up with the play. Through all the time I’m getting to know him better though, I’m beginning to develop feelings for him. So what that he’s from the isle, he’s sweet and funny and we get along so well, but there’s no way a great guy like him would ever be interested in  a loner like me.

Jessie and I walk back to our dorm rooms after a long day of classes. Stood before the door was a bunch of beautiful Sun flowers, my favourite, and an envelope with my name written on it. I picked up the flowers and envelope and turned to Jessie. “who’re they from?” she asked, “I have no clue” I replied looking down at the bright yellow flowers and opening the door before walking in. I place the flowers down on my desk by the window, and walk over to sit on my bed before opening the little envelope still in my hand. Inside was a little note. The note read ‘I am drowning in a sea of desire, and the only one who can save me is you.’ No name was left, just the short poem. “well, who’s it form?” Jessie asked from her bed on the other side of the room. “no name” I replied eyes locked on the hand written poem. “oooo, looks like someone’s got a secret admirer” Jess cooed while winking and shaking her shoulders at me. “Shut up” I laughed back, throwing a pillow in her direction.

As the days went on, I continued to receive more small gifts and poems. On the Wednesday I received a small teddy along with another poem reading, ‘it’s as if every atom in my body gravitates towards you’ once again without a name. Thursday, I received a small beaded red and black bracelet along with yet another poem reading, ‘You. You are my good days.’. I received about six more poems that I pinned to my cork bored in my room, all made me smile.

“I have an idea” Jessie said to me after I had finished reading my sixth poem I had been sent. “whats that” I asked, turning towards her. “let’s go on a stake out. We’ll wait in the room until we here whoever it is at the door, and then open in. simple” she explained, “I love it” I replied all excited. I’ll finally be able to discover who this person, who uses words so beautifully, really is.

We’d been stuck in the room for four hours waiting when we heard it. “No Gil, shh. Shut up.” ‘harry?’ I thought. “Why are you doing all of this anyway harry” Gils voic rang from outside the door as jess and I pressed our ears against it to get a better listen. “because I really like her, and she deserves something to make her smile everyday. I, I just hope I’m able to do that.”. “open the door” Jessie mouthed to me. I stared blankly at her, “or I will” she added. “okay, okay” I replied before grabbing  the door handle. With a deep breath I turned the nob to come face to face with Harry. His cheeks flushed red as he stepped back, looking down and rubbing the back of his neck. “Harry, it was you the whole time” I asked smiling at him. He looked me in the eyes for a split second, “uh yeah, um, how much did you hear” he asked looking nervous. “all of it” I replied.

Bending down, I picked up the note and small box that Harry had placed in front of my dorm room door. I opened the little white box to find the most beautiful silver neckless with a small wave charm on it and a ‘H’ charm next to it. “Oh Harry, it’s beautiful” I said in awe of the gorgeous accessory Harry had given me. I looked up to him, a smile lay perfectly on his face, with a sweet dimple popping put on his cheek. Next I unfolded the note, it read, ‘What’s in a name? That which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet.’ My favourite line from Romeo and Juliet. He remembered.

I took a step closer to him. “Could you help me?” I asked passing him the neckless, he took the piece of jewellery from my hands and I turned around, moving my hair out the way. Harry put the neckless on, I turned back to face him, my hand clutching the neckless. Looking him deeply in his ocean blue eyes. “I – I like you too Harry”, with this, Harry’s face lit up, “you do?” he asked, almost as if he was in disbelief. “I do.” I smiled at him. Slowly rising up into my tippy toes to reach harry, as he bent down, somewhere in the middle our lips touched in our first of a lifetime of kisses.

[fuckofffuckofffuckoffloveme]

Runaway - Part Four

~Masterlist~

Concept: Hazel Richards is a twenty-year-old woman living in London. When she meets a mysterious time-travelling alien known only as the Hunter, she’s thrust into a world of wonder she could only have imagined.

Warnings: swearing, follows S1 of Doctor Who.

The girls had decided to have some rest before embarking on another trip, but the next morning, they were at it again. "Hold that one down!" the Hunter ordered as she and Hazel flew the TARDIS.

"I'm holding this one down!" Hazel protested. The other button was halfway across the console.

"Well, hold both of them down!" the Hunter retorted, giving her a grin.

Hazel rolled her eyes, holding the other button down with her foot. "You asked for it."

"Oi!" the Hunter exclaimed, readjusting her foot to better hold down the button. "I promised you a time machine and that's what you're getting. We've done the future, now let's have a look in the past." She thought for a second. "1860. How does 1860 sound?"

"What happened in 1860?" Hazel wondered, having to shout over the time rotor.

The Hunter grinned. "Haven't the slightest! Let's find out! Hold on, here we go!" The TARDIS hit its bumpiest part of the ride, and the two girls were thrown to the floor side by side when it finally calmed down.

"Blimey!" Hazel laughed.

"You're telling me!" the Hunter agreed, still smiling from her adrenaline high. "Are you all right?" she asked, standing up and holding out a hand to help Hazel do so to.

The younger girl accepted. "Yeah, I think so. Nothing broken. Did we make it? Where are we?"

"We did it," the Hunter confirmed, checking the view outside on a monitor. "Earth, Naples, December 24th, 1860."

"That's so weird," Hazel breathed. "It's Christmas."

The Hunter smiled. "All yours, Haze."

"But it's like... Think about it. Christmas, 1860. Happens once, just one, and then it's gone, it's finished, it'll never happen again. Except for you. You can go back and see days that are dead and gone a hundred thousand sunsets ago," Hazel sighed. "No wonder you never stay still."

"Not a bad life," the Hunter shrugged.

"Better with two," Hazel smirked, turning to walk to the doors. "Come on, then."

"Hey, hey, hey, where are you going?"

She frowned. "1860."

The Hunter looked her up and down and raised her eyebrows. "Go out there dressed like that, you'll start a riot, Barbarella. There's a wardrobe through there. First left, second right, third on the left, go straight ahead, under the stairs, past the bins, fifth door on your left." At Hazel's bewildered look, she grinned. "Off you pop!"

***

While Hazel made her way through the TARDIS to the wardrobe, the Hunter took a different corridor to her bedroom. There, she changed into a simple black button up and grey trousers, with a tan trenchcoat and a grey beanie for warmth. Then, after smiling at a framed picture of the Doctor, she went back to the console room to start fiddling with the circuits for the light bulb on top of the TARDIS. She made to get up when she heard footsteps, but banged her head on the underside of the console.

"Ow!" Hazel laughed as the Time Lady got up, rubbing her forehead. "Blimey," the Hunter admired, looking over Hazel's nineteenth century attire.

"Don't laugh," Hazel said shyly, still smirking.

"No, you look beautiful, considering," the Hunter assured her.

Hazel raised her eyebrows. "Considering what?"

The Hunter shrugged, winking. "That you're human."

"I think that's a compliment," Hazel muttered, rolling her eyes. "Aren't you going to cause a riot, wearing trousers, and a hat like that?"

"Well, a bit of chaos never harmed anyone. Besides, I said you'd start a riot, not me." The Hunter brushed her coat down, stepping forwards. "Come on."

Hazel held up a hand to stop her. "You stay there. You've done this before. This is mine." She opened the door, stepping out into the snow gingerly.

The Time Lady followed, locking the door and putting her hands in her pockets. "Brr. Ready for this?" she asked, looking around. "History."

***

Hazel was listening to the carol singers happily while the Hunter bought a newspaper. The woman walked over to her, wincing a bit. "I got the flight a bit wrong," she admitted.

"I don't care," Hazel shrugged, enjoying the Christmas vibes.

"It's not 1860, it's 1869," the Hunter reported.

"I don't care."

"And it's not Naples."

"I don't care."

The Hunter eyed Hazel's expression as she spoke. "How do we feel about Cardiff?"

The girl's smile dropped, before she raised her eyebrows. "Right," she sighed.

Both of them looked round when they heard screams coming from a nearby theatre. The Hunter's face split into an excited grin. "That's more like it!" She ran off, and Hazel followed, holding her skirts up so she wouldn't trip.

***

"Fantastic," the Hunter nodded as she saw a blue gas-like creature floating around the ceiling in the theatre. A lone woman was standing with her mouth wide open while the rest of the crowd fled, but she soon collapsed as the Time Lady made her way up to the man on stage. "Did you see where it came from?"

"Ah, the wag reveals herself, does she? I trust you're satisfied, miss!" the man snapped. The Hunter blinked, affronted.

Hazel gasped as a man and his serving-girl picked up the woman's body, carrying her out. "Oi! Leave her alone!" she yelled, to no avail. "Art, I'll get them."

The Hunter nodded. "Be careful!" She watched the girl run out before turning back to the man. "Did it say anything? Can it speak? I'm the Hunter, by the way."

The man looked her over. "Hunter? You look more like a navvie."

"What's wrong with this hat?" the Hunter frowned.

***

"What are you doing?!" Hazel demanded as she caught up with the serving-girl as she was about to close the doors on a carriage with the woman lying inside.

"Oh, it's a tragedy, miss," the girl made up. "Don't worry yourself. Me and the master will deal with it. The fact is, this poor lady's been taken with the brain fever, and we have to get her to the infirmary."

Hazel touched the woman's wrist, and flinched. "She's bloody freezing. She's dead! Oh my God, what'd you do to her?" She yelped as the man snuck up behind her and put a cloth over her mouth, holding it there until she passed out.

***

The Hunter watched as the blue entity disappeared into a gas light. "Gas!" she realised. "It's made of gas." She ran outside, closely followed by the stage man, and was shocked to find no sign of her companion. "Hazel!"

"You're not escaping me, miss!" the man stated, tapping her on the shoulder. "What do you know about that hobgoblin, hmm? Projection on glass, I suppose. Who put you up to it?"

"Yeah, mate, not now, thanks," the Hunter dismissed, seeing a hearse being driven away from the theatre. She jumped into a nearby carriage "Oi, you! Follow that hearse!"

"I can't do that, ma'am," the driver said apologetically.

"Why not?" she frowned, narrowing her eyes.

"I'll tell you why not," the man from the stage fumed. "I'll give you a very good reason why not. because this is my coach."

The Hunter rolled her eyes, pulling him in. "Well, get in, then! Move!" The driver cracked the whip, and the carriage started moving. "Come on, you're losing them."

"Everything in order, Mr Dickens?" the driver called down. The Hunter froze, her eyes widening.

"No! It is not!" Dickens snapped.

"What did he say?" the Hunter asked.

"Let me say this first," Dickens requested. "I'm not without a sense of humour."

"Dickens?" the Hunter interrupted.

"Yes."

"Charles Dickens?"

"Yes," the man himself confirmed.

"The Charles Dickens?"

"Should I remove the lady, sir?" the driver called.

The Hunter smiled in awe. "Charles Dickens? You're brilliant. Completely one hundred percent brilliant. I've read them all. Great Expectations, Oliver Twist, and what's that other one, the one with the ghost?"

"A Christmas Carol?" Dickens guessed.

"No, no, no, the one with the trains. The Signal Man, that's it. Terrifying!" the Hunter enthused. "The best short story ever written. You're a genius!"

"You want me to get rid of her, sir?"

Dickens eyed the Hunter's excited face. "Er, no, I think she can stay."

"Honestly, Charles. Can I call you Charles? I'm such a big fan."

"A what? A big what?" Dickens asked, frowning.

"Fan. Number one fan, that's me," the Hunter repeated

"How exactly are you a fan?" Dickens questioned. "In what way do you resemble a means of keeping oneself cool?"

The Hunter shook her head. "No, it means fanatic, devoted to, but forget about that." She banged on the roof. "Come on, faster!"

"Who exactly is in that hearse?" Dickens wondered.

"My friend. She's only twenty," the Hunter stated, looking down. "It's my fault. She's in my care, and now she's in danger."

Dickens' eyes widened. "Why are we wasting time talking about dry old books? This is much more important. Driver, be swift! The chase is on!"

"Yes, sir!"

"Attaboy, Charlie," the Hunter patted his shoulder anxiously.

He frowned. "Nobody calls me Charlie."

She winked. "All the other ladies do."

***

Hazel woke up, sitting up groggily to find she had been lying in a coffin. She yelped, jumping out, and saw a young man sitting on the next table. "Are  you all right?" she asked. he looked up at her, and she realised he was dead.

***

The Hunter hammered on the door to the undertaker's, standing on the porch with Charles. A young serving-girl answered the door. "I'm sorry, ma'am, sir. We're closed."

"Nonsense," Dickens declared. "Since when did an undertaker keep office hours? The dead don't die on schedule. I demand to see your master."

"He's not in, sir," the girl tried.

"Don't lie to me, child. Summon him at once," Dickens ordered.

"I'm awfully sorry, Mr Dickens, but the master's indisposed." Behind her, a gas lamp flared, not going unnoticed by the pair at the door.

"Having trouble with your gas?" the Hunter asked, before pushing past the maid.

"What the Shakespeare is going on?" Dickens wondered.

***

"You have got to be kidding," Hazel muttered, as the corpse climbed out of its coffin and started shuffling towards her. "Okay, that'll be a no." She ran for the door. "Let me out! Open the door!"

***

"You're not allowed inside, ma'am," the maid tried, to no avail.

"There's something inside the walls," the Hunter mused, pressing her ear up against the plaster. "In the gas pipes. Something's living inside the gas." She looked up as she heard a familiar shout. "That's her!"

"Please, please, let me out!" Hazel cried. The Hunter followed her voice, running into the undertaker, Mr Sneed, as she went.

"How dare you!" Sneed gasped. "This is my house!"

"Shut up," Dickens told him shortly.

Sneed turned to his maid. "Gwyneth, I told you!"

The Hunter kicked the right door in just as the corpse grabbed Hazel, flanked by the old woman's body. "Actually, I think this is my dance," she decided, pulling Hazel out to hold her outside the door, not taking her eyes off the corpses.

"It's a prank," Dickens reasoned. "It must be. We're under some mesmeric influence."

"No, we're not. The dead are walking," the Hunter told him brusquely. She glanced over at Hazel, who was clutching onto her, breathing heavily, and flashed a small smile, rubbing her arm a little. "Hi."

"Hi," Hazel smiled. "Who's your friend?" she asked, glancing over her shoulder at the writer.

"Charles Dickens," the Hunter stated.

Hazel's eyes widened. "Okay."

The Hunter turned back to the corpses. "My name is the Hunter. Who are you? What do you want?"

The pair replied with multiple child-like voices at once. "Failing. Open the rift. We're dying. Trapped in this form. Cannot sustain. Help us." They then screamed, the gas leaving the bodies to return to a gas lamp as the corpses collapsed.

***

Awhile later, the Hunter was watching with amusement as Hazel chewed out Mr Sneed in front of Charles Dickens, Gwyneth pouring out some refreshments for them all. "First of all you drug me, then you kidnap me, and don't think I didn't feel your hands having a quick wander, you dirty old man."

"I won't be spoken to like this!" Sneed protested.

The Hunter rolled her eyes. "Oh, shut it!"

"Then you stick me in a room full of zombies!" Hazel continued. "And as if that ain't enough, you swan off and leave me to die! So come on, talk!"

"It's not my fault," Sneed sighed. "It's always had a reputation. Haunted. But I never had much bother until a few months back, and then the stiffs -" Dickens glared at him. "The, er, the dear departed started getting restless."

"Tommyrot," Dickens snorted.

Sneed shook his head. "You witnessed it. Can't keep the beggars down, sir. They walk. And it's the queerest thing, but they hang on to scraps."

Gwyneth handed the Hunter her cup. "White coffee, ma'am, just how you like it." The Hunter smiled politely, then frowned as Gwyneth moved away. How had the maid known she didn't have sugar? And how had she known to do coffee when she gave everyone else tea?

"One old fellow who used to be a sexton almost walked into his own memorial service," Sneed continued. "Just like the old lady going to your performance, sir, just as she planned."

"Morbid fancy," Dickens scoffed.

The Hunter rolled her eyes. "Oh, Charles, you were there."

"I saw nothing but an illusion," Dickens maintained.

"If you're going to deny it, don't waste my time, just shut up," the Hunter cut him off bluntly, before turning to Sneed. "What about the gas?"

"That's new, miss. Never seen anything like that," Sneed told her.

"That means it's getting stronger," the Hunter realised. "The rift's getting wider and something's sneaking through."

Hazel frowned. "What's the rift?"

"A weak point in time and space. A connection between this place and another," the Hunter explained. "That'll be the cause of ghost stories, most of the time."

Sneed nodded. "That's how I got the house so cheap. Stories going back generations." Dickens slammed the door as he left, and the Hunter rolled her eyes again. "Echoes in the dark, queer songs in the air, and this feeling like a shadow passing over your soul. Mind you, truth be told, it's been good for business. Just what people expect from a gloomy old trade like mine."

***

The Hunter watched from the doorway of the Chapel of Rest as Dickens searched the dead man's coffin. "Checking for strings?" she asked, walking closer.

Dickens jumped. "Wires, perhaps. There must be some mechanism behind this fraud."

"Come on, Charles." The Hunter sighed. "All right, so I shouldn't have told you to shut up. I'm sorry. But you've got one of the best minds in the world. You saw those gas creatures."

"I cannot accept that," the writer shook his head.

The Hunter arched an eyebrow, nodding at the corpse they stood next to. "And what does the human body do when it decomposes? It breaks down and produces gas. It's the perfect home for these gas things. They can slip inside and use it as a vehicle, just like your driver and his coach."

"Stop it!" Dickens pleaded, then sighed, replacing the coffin lid. "Can it be that I have the world entirely wrong?"

"Not wrong," the Hunter assured him. "There's just more to learn."

Dickens shook his head. "I've always railed against the fantasists. Oh, I loved an illusion as much as the next man, revelled in them but that's exactly what they were: illusions. The real world is something else. I dedicated myself to that. Injustices, the great social causes. I hoped that I was a force for good. Now you tell me that the real world is a realm of spectres and jack-o'-lanterns. In which case, have I wasted my brief span here, Hunter? Has it all been for nothing?"

The Hunter regarded him with a small, but genuine smile. "I don't think anyone could call what you've done a waste."

***

Gwyneth gasped as Hazel stated washing up in the pantry. "Please, miss, you shouldn't be helping. It's not right."

Hazel scoffed. "Don't be daft. Sneed works you to death. How much do you get paid?"

"Eight pound a year, ma'am," Gwyneth replied dutifully.

"How much?" Hazel gaped.

"I know," Gwyneth smiled. "I would've been happy with six."

"So, did you go to school or what?" Hazel asked, unsure of how things worked in the nineteenth century.

Gwyneth looked shocked. "Of course I did! What do you think I am, an urchin? I went every Sunday, nice and proper."

"What, once a week?" Hazel frowned.

"We did sums and everything," Gwyneth nodded, before looking left and right furtively. "To be honest, I hated every second."

Hazel snorted. "Oh, me too."

"Don't tell anyone, but one week, I didn't go, and ran on the heath all on my own," Gwyneth confessed, giggling.

"I did plenty of that," Hazel smiled. "I used to go down the shops with my mates. We used to go and check out the goods, if you know what I mean." She winked.

Apparently she did, because Gwyneth blushed. "Well, I don't know much about that, miss."

Hazel raised her eyebrows expectantly. "Come on, times haven't changed that much. I bet you've done the same."

"I don't think so, miss."

"Gwyneth, you can tell me," Hazel grinned. "I bet you've got your eye on someone."

Gwyneth allowed herself a small smile. "I suppose there is one lad. The butcher's boy. He comes by every Tuesday. Such a lovely smile on him."

"I like a nice smile. Good smile, nice bum," Hazel nodded.

"Well, I have never heard the like."

"Ask him out," Hazel suggested. "Give him a cup of tea or something, that's a start."

The maid looked at her oddly. "I swear it is the strangest thing, miss. You've got all the clothes and the breeding, but you talk like some sort of wild thing."

"Well, maybe I am," Hazel shrugged. "Maybe that's a good thing. You need a bit more in your life than Mr Sneed."

Gwyneth frowned. "Oh, now that's not fair. He's not so bad, old Sneed. He was very kind to me to take me in because I lost my mum and dad to the flu when I was twelve."

Hazel blanched, her breath catching in her throat. "I'm so sorry," she whispered.

"Thank you, miss," Gwyneth nodded. "But I'll be with them again, one day, sitting with them in paradise. I shall be so blessed. They're waiting for me. Maybe your mum and dad are up there waiting for you too, miss."

"Who told you they were dead?" Hazel asked quietly, looking haunted.

"I don't know," Gwyneth lied. "Must have been the Hunter."

"My parents died years back," Hazel sighed, shaking her head.

"But you've been thinking about them lately more than ever," Gwyneth stated, not making eye contact.

"I guess." Hazel frowned. "How do you know all this?"

"Mr Sneed says I think too much," Gwyneth said quickly. "I'm all alone down here. I bet you've got dozens of servants, haven't you, miss?"

Hazel was somewhat dazed, half caught up in memories of her parents, back when they were still parents. "No, no servants where I'm from."

"And you've come such a long way," Gwyneth said, looking at her strangely.

"What makes you think so?" Hazel wondered.

"You're from London," Gwyneth murmured. "I've seen London in drawings, but never like that. All those people rushing about half naked, for shame. And the noise, and the metal boxes racing past, and the birds in the sky - no, they're metal as well. Metal birds with people in them. People are flying." She fixed her gaze on Hazel, whose eyes widened. "And you, you've flown so far. Further than anyone. The things you've seen. The darkness, the big Bad Wolf." Gwyneth caught herself. "I'm sorry! I'm sorry, miss!"

Hazel hushed her, thinking over what she'd said. "It's all right."

"I can't help it," Gwyneth cried. "Ever since I was a little girl, my mam said I had the sight. She told me to hide it."

"But it's getting stronger, more powerful, is that right?" Both girls turned to see the Hunter leaning in the doorway, frowning a little.

"All the time, miss," Gwyneth nodded. "Every night, voices in my head."

"You grew up on top of the rift. You're part of it," the Hunter realised. "You're the key."

"I've tried to make sense of it, miss. Consulted with spiritualists, table rappers, all sorts," Gwyneth assured her.

The Hunter nodded appraisingly. "Well, that should help. You can show us what to do."

Gwyneth frowned, glancing at Hazel nervously. "What to do where, miss?"

"We're going to have a séance," the Hunter announced. "Off you pop to the living room." Once Gwyneth had left, she looked over Hazel with concern. "Are you all right? You're very pale."

Hazel nodded, taking a deep breath, before joining her at the door. "I'm fine."

***

Everyone had gathered around a circular table in the dining room, and mostly everyone was seated. "This is how Madam Mortlock summons those from the Land of Mists, down in big town," Gwyneth declared. "Come, we must all join hands." She took the Hunter and Sneed's hands, while Hazel took the Hunter's right hand.

Dickens, on the other hand, was refusing to sit down. "I can't take part in this," he shook his head defiantly.

The Hunter rolled her eyes impatiently. "Humbug?" she asked, mocking him. "Come on, open mind."

"This is precisely the sort of cheap mummery I strive to unmask. Séances? Nothing but luminous tambourines and a squeeze box concealed between the knees," Dickens stressed. "This girl knows nothing."

"Charles," the Hunter raised an eyebrow sternly. "Sit. We might need you." The man did as ordered, joining hands with Hazel and Sneed. "Good man." She turned to the maid. "Now, Gwyneth, reach out."

Gwyneth closed her eyes. "Speak to us. Are you there? Spirits, come. Speak to us that we may relieve your burden."

Hazel looked around, her eyes wide, as a whispering filled the room. "Can you hear that?"

"Nothing can happen," Dickens maintained. "This is sheer folly."

"Look at her!" Hazel was watching Gwyneth as gas tendrils floated around behind her, rising to circle around above their heads.

"I see them. I feel them," she murmured.

"What's it saying?" Hazel asked, looking to the Hunter, who was watching the gas with narrowed eyes - the way she usually looked when she was concentrating on something.

"They can't get through the rift," the Time Lady translated, glancing back to the maid. "Gwyneth, it's not controlling you, you're controlling it. Look deep. Allow them through."

"I can't!" Gwyneth protested.

The Hunter squeezed her hand. "Yes, you can. Just believe it. Make the link. I have faith in you, Gwyneth."

"Yes," Gwyneth whispered as bluish outlines of people appeared behind her.

"Great God!" Sneed exclaimed. "Spirits from the other side."

"The other side of the universe," the Hunter corrected, raising an eyebrow coolly.

The figures spoke with child-like voices again, and this time, Gwyneth spoke with them. "Pity us. Pity the Gelth. There is so little time. Help us."

"What do you want us to do?" the Hunter demanded, eyeing them carefully.

"The rift," the Gelth replied. "Take the girl to the rift. Make the bridge."

The Hunter narrowed her eyes even further. "What for?"

"We are so very few. The last of our kind. We face extinction."

"Why?" the Time Lady questioned. "What happened?"

"Once we had a physical form like you, but then the war came." The Hunter blanched, and Hazel squeezed her hand tight, brushing her thumb over it the way Jason had used to do when she was younger.

"War?" Dickens repeated. "What war?"  

"The Time War. The whole universe convulsed. The Time War raged. Invisible to smaller species but devastating to higher forms. Our bodies wasted away. We're trapped in this gaseous state."

When the Hunter spoke, it was with a harder voice than usual. "So that's why you need the corpses."

"We want to stand tall, to feel the sunlight, to live again. We need a physical form, and your dead are abandoned. They're going to waste. Give them to us."

"But we can't," Hazel protested. "It's not right."

The Hunter winced. "It could save their lives."

"Open the rift. Let the Gelth through. We're dying. Help us. Pity the Gelth." The apparitions flew back into the gas lamps, and Gwyneth fell face down on the table.

Hazel ran round to check on her as the Hunter helped her sit back up. "Gwyneth? Are you okay?"

"All true," Dickens muttered, shaking his head. "It's all true."

***

A little later, Gwyneth woke up from where she had been laid on the chaise longue. Hazel smiled down at her. "It's all right. You just sleep."

"But my angels, miss. They came, didn't they?" Gwyneth asked. "They need me?"

The Hunter tilted her head, standing next to them. "Well, you're their only chance of survival."

Hazel shot her a look. "I've told you, leave her alone. She's exhausted." The Hunter raised her hands in surrender and backed away, smirking. "Drink this." Gwyneth sat up to drink the glass of water Hazel handed her.

Sitting in his armchair across the room, Sneed frowned. "Well, what did you say, Hunter? Explain it again. What are they?"

"Aliens," the Hunter replied shortly, taking a seat and crossing her legs.

"Like foreigners, you mean?" Sneed assumed.

"Pretty foreign, yeah," the Hunter allowed, pointing to the ceiling. "From up there."

"Brecon?" Sneed guessed.

The Hunter raised her eyebrows at Hazel before looking back to the man. "Close. And they've been trying to get through from Brecon to Cardiff, but the road's blocked. Only a few can get through, and even then they're weak. They can only test drive the bodies for so long, then they have to revert to gas form and hide in the pipes," she explained.

Dickens nodded. "Which is why they need the girl."

Hazel scowled at him. "They're not having her."

"She can help," the Hunter sighed, making a face. "Living on the rift, she's become part of it. She can open it up, make a bridge, and let them through."

"Incredible," Dickens breathed. "Ghosts that are not ghosts but beings from another world, who can only exist in our world by inhabiting cadavers."

"It's a solid system, I'll give them that," the Hunter evaluated.

"You can't let them run around inside of dead people," Hazel exclaimed, gaping at her.

"I wasn't planning on it," the Hunter assured her. "I couldn't give up a corpse if it were that of one of my own people. I can't ask you to do so either." Hazel's gaze softened.

"Don't I get a say, miss?" Gwyneth piped up.

Hazel glanced at her impatiently. "Look, you don't understand what's going on."

Gwyneth sighed. "You would say that, miss, because that's very clear inside your head, that you think I'm stupid."

"That's not true!" Hazel protested.

"Things might be very different where you're from, but here and now, I know my own mind, and the angels need me," Gwyneth told her, before looking to the ginger. "Hunter, what do I have to do?"

"You don't have to do anything," the Hunter told her.

"They've been singing to me since I was a child, sent by my mam on a holy mission," Gwyneth snapped. "So tell me."

The Hunter closed her eyes for a second, rubbing her forehead, before opening them and sighing. "We need to find the rift. This house is on a weak spot, but there must be a spot that's weaker than any other. Mr Sneed, what's the weakest part of this house? The place where most of the ghosts have been seen?"

"That would be the morgue," Sneed replied dutifully.

Hazel rolled her eyes. "Couldn't you have said gazebo?"

***

The Hunter pulled her coat tighter around her as she looked at the corpses under sheets in the morgue. "Brr. Talk about Bleak House."

Hazel frowned, keeping close to her. "The thing is, Hunter, the Gelth don't succeed, cause I know for a fact there weren't corpses walking around in 1869."

"Time's in flux, changing every second. Your cosy little world can be rewritten like that." The Hunter snapped her fingers. "Nothing is safe. Remember that. Nothing."

Dickens shivered. "Hunter, I think the room is getting colder."

"Here they come," Hazel muttered.

The Gelth's blue form slipped out of a gas lamp by the door and flew over to hover under a stone archway. "You've come to help. Praise the Hunter. Praise her."

"Promise you won't hurt her," Hazel said as Gwyneth stepped forwards a little.

"Hurry! Please, so little time. Pity the Gelth."

The Hunter narrowed her eyes at the apparition. "I'll take you somewhere else after the transfer. Somewhere you can build proper bodies. This isn't a permanent solution, all right?"

Gwyneth sighed happily. "My angels. I can help them live."

"Okay, where's the weak point?" the Hunter questioned.

"Here, beneath the arch," the Gelth replied.

"Beneath the arch," Gwyneth repeated, going and standing where the apparition hovered.

"You don't have to do this," Hazel reminded her.

"My angels."

"Establish the bridge. Reach out to the void. Let us through!"

"Yes, I can see you!" Gwyneth smiled. "I can see you. Come!"

"Bridgehead establishing."

"Come to me," Gwyneth called. "Come to this world, poor lost souls!"

"It is begun. The bridge is made." Gwyneth opened her mouth, and blue gas tendrils floated out. "She has given herself to the Gelth. The bridge is open. We descend." The calm, blue apparition morphed, turning into a fiery red thing with teeth as sharp as knives. It's voice deepened and hardened, sounding much more forceful. "The Gelth will come through in force."

"You said that you were few in number," Dickens spluttered.

"A few billion," the Gelth corrected. "And all of us in need of corpses."

The bodies stood up, their white sheets falling to the ground, and they started moving towards the humans and the Hunter.

"Gwyneth, stop this. Listen to your master. This has gone far enough. Stop dabbling, child, and leave these things alone, I beg of you -!"

"Mr Sneed, get back!" Hazel yelled, her eyes wide as a corpse snapped his neck from behind. A Gelth zoomed into his mouth, and he turned to face them.

The Hunter cursed, grabbing Hazel's arm and pulling her back with her. "I have joined the legions of the Gelth," Sneed hissed. "Come, march with us."

"No," Dickens declined politely, backing away towards the entrance to the morgue.

"We need bodies. All of you, dead. The human race, dead."

"Gwyneth, stop them!" the Hunter ordered. "Send them back now!"

"Three more bodies. Convert them. Make them vessels for the Gelth."

Sneed back the Hunter and Hazel up against a metal gate, pressing ever closer. "Hunter, I can't!" Dickens exclaimed apologetically. "I'm sorry. This new world of yours is too much for me. I'm so-"

The Hunter ignored him, opening the gate and pushing Hazel through, closing it when she herself had gone through too. She locked it with her sonic screwdriver, so the corpses couldn't reach them.

"Give yourself to glory. Sacrifice your lives for the Gelth."

"I trusted you," the Hunter shouted. "I pitied you!"

"We don't want your pity. We want this world and all its flesh."

"Not while I'm alive," the Hunter declared bravely, glaring at the corpses.

One of them seemed to smile. "Then live no more."

"But I can't die!" Hazel protested. "Tell me I can't. I haven't even been born yet. It's impossible for me to die. Isn't it?"

The Hunter refused to meet her eyes. "I'm sorry."

"But it's 1869," Hazel reasoned. "How can I die now?"

"Time isn't a straight line," the Hunter replied quickly. "It can twist into any shape. You can be born in the twentieth century and die in the nineteenth, and it's all my fault! I brought you here!"

Hazel shook her head. "It's not your fault. I wanted to come."

"What about me? I saw the fall of Troy, World War Five, I pushed boxes at the Boston Tea Party. My brother and I inspired an entire civilisation, and now I'm going to die in a dungeon. In Cardiff." The Hunter looked disgusted.

"It's not just dying," Hazel reminded her. "We'll become one of them." She sighed. "We'll go down fighting, yeah?"

"Yeah," the Hunter agreed.

"Together?"

"Yes." She took Hazel's hand, and the girl squeezed tight. "I'm so glad I met you."

"Me too," Hazel admitted.

They were interrupted when Dickens ran in, holding a handkerchief to his mouth. "Hunter! Hunter! Turn off the flame, turn up the gas! now, fill the room, all of it, now!"

"What're you doing?" the Time Lady demanded.

"Turn it all on," Dickens repeated. "Flood the place!"

The Hunter's eyes widened. "Brilliant. Gas."

Hazel looked at her with narrowed eyes. "Are you crazy? We'll choke to death!"

"Am I correct, Hunter? These creatures are gaseous," Dickens stated.

"Fill the room with gas, it'll draw them out of the host. Suck them into the air like poison from a wound!" the Hunter agreed.

Dickens blanched as the corpses gave up on the Hunter and Rose and started shambling towards him. "I hope, oh Lord, I hope that this theory will be validated soon, if not immediately."

"Plenty more!" The Hunter made a swiping motion with her left hand, and a gas pipe ripped itself from the wall, causing the Gelth to leave the corpses, floating around the ceiling angrily.

"It's working," Dickens realised.

The Hunter opened the gate, and she and Hazel walked towards Dickens and Gwyneth. "Gwyneth, send them back. They lied. They're not angels."

"Liars?" Gwyneth inquired.

"Look at me. If your mother and father could look down and see this, they'd tell you the same. they'd give you the strength. Now send them back!" the Hunter ordered.

"I can't breathe," Hazel muttered, holding a hand to her chest.

"Charles, get her out," the Hunter requested immediately.

"I'm not leaving her," Hazel protested.

"They're too strong," Gwyneth whispered, sounding strained.

The Hunter looked at her imploringly. "Remember that world you saw? Hazel's world? All those people. None of it will exist unless you send them back through the rift."

Gwyneth shook her head. "I can't send them back. But I can hold them. Hold them in this place, hold them here. Get out." She pulled a matchbox from her apron pocket.

"You can't!" Hazel cried, her eyes widening.

"Leave this place!" Gwyneth cried.

"Hazel, get out," the Hunter ordered, squeezing the girl's hand before letting go. "Go no. I won't leave her while she's still in danger. Now go!" Hazel nodded shakily, before leaving with Dickens. "Come on, leave that to me," she told Gwyneth. When the girl didn't move, she frowned, feeling for a pulse in the human's neck. "I'm sorry," the Hunter sighed, kissing Gwyneth's forehead. "Thank you." Then the Hunter ran for her life, just about managing to reach the street before the house exploded. The force of it sent her flying into the snow, and she groaned, before getting to her feet and walking over to Dickens and Hazel.

"She didn't make it," Hazel sighed.  

"I'm sorry," the Hunter muttered, rubbing her ribs. "She closed the rift."

"At such a cost. The poor child," Dickens frowned.

The Hunter put her arm round Hazel's shoulders as they started walking. "I did try, Haze, but Gwyneth was already dead. She had been for at least five minutes."

Hazel frowned. "What do you mean?"

"I think she was dead from the minute she stood in that arch," the Hunter told her.

"But she can't have," Hazel reasoned. "She spoke to us. She helped us. She saved us. How could she have done that?"

"There are more things in Heaven and Earth than are dreamt of in your philosophy," Dickens mused. "Even for you, Hunter."

Hazel glanced back over her shoulder at the ruins of the house. "She saved the world. A servant girl. No one will ever know."

***

The Hunter sighed as they reached the TARDIS and she grabbed her key out of her pocket. "Right then, Charlie boy, I've just got to go into my, uh, shed. Won't be long."

"What are you going to do now?" Hazel inquired.

"I shall take the mail coach back to London, quite literally post-haste. This is no time for me to be on my own. I shall spend Christmas with my family and make amends to them," Dickens smiled. "After all I've learned tonight, there can be nothing more vital."

"You've cheered up," the Hunter noticed.

"Exceedingly," Dickens agreed. "This morning, I thought I knew everything in the world. Now I know I've only just started. All these huge and wonderful notions, Hunter. I'm inspired. I must write about them."

"Do you think that's wise?" Hazel asked, raising an eyebrow.

"I shall be subtle at first," Dickens assured her. "The Mystery of Edwin Drood still lacks a ending. Perhaps the killer was not the boy's uncle. Perhaps he was not of this Earth. The Mystery of Edwin Drood and the Blue Elementals. I can spread the word, tell the truth."

"Good luck with it," the Hunter smiled. "Nice to meet you. Fantastic."

"Bye then, and thanks." Hazel shook his hand, then kissed his cheek.

"Oh my dear. How modern." Dickens frowned. "Thank you, but, I don't understand. In what way is this goodbye? Where are you going?"

The Hunter smirked. "You'll see. In the shed."

Dickens sighed. "Upon my soul, Hunter, it's one riddle after another with you. But after all these revelations, there's one mystery you still haven't explained. Answer me this. Who are you?"

"Just a friend passing through."

"But you have such knowledge of future times. I don't wish to impose on you, but I must ask. My books, Hunter, do they last?" Dickens wondered.

"Oh yes!" the Hunter assured him.

"For how long?"

The Hunter smiled. "Forever. Right, shed. Come on, Haze."

"In the box?" Dickens asked. "Both of you?"

"Down boy," the Hunter winked. "See you." The girls entered the TARDIS.

Hazel frowned, closing the door behind her. "Doesn't that change history if he writes about blue ghosts?"

"In a week's time it's 1870, and that's the year he dies. Sorry," the Hunter stated, draping her trenchcoat over one of the weirdly shaped coral columns. "He'll never get to tell his story."

"Oh no. He was so nice," Hazel mourned.

The Hunter smiled at her. "But in your time, he was already dead. We've brought him back to life, and right now, he's more alive than he's ever been, old Charlie boy. Let's give him one last surprise." She threw the lever for dematerialisation, and the girls watched on the monitor as Charles Dickens' face split into an ecstatic grin.

Hazel threw her arms around the Time Lady. "Merry Christmas, Art.

"Merry Christmas, Haze," the Hunter returned, smiling happily. "And may we have many, many more."

~~~

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[presumenothing]

living, fast and slow

OK SO who remembers marvel au? no? well you’re getting it anyway because i went spelunking in my eternal wips today and found this sitting around basically done. so there

(AO3)

Shinichi doesn’t bother looking up when Hattori flops down beside him on the park bench, two cans of cold milk tea balanced precariously in one hand. “So, neechan seems ta think that you’ve been all broody over something lately.”

“Which one?”

Hattori frowns as he passes one of the cans over. “Which what?”

Shinichi gives him the most unimpressed look he can muster – what did Kazuha see in this man, honestly. “You call almost all of the women ‘neechan’, Hattori. Real specific of you.”

“Well, it works just fine, doesn’t it?” Hattori says with a shrug. “And it pretty much is all of them this time, anyway. Stop stalling, Kudo, unless you actually want your neechan going all Murder Soldier on ya.”

And that, well – aye, there’s the rub, Shinichi’s mother would’ve said.

At least Shakespeare’s still a thing in the future, he thinks.

Shinichi toys absently with the ring tab before pulling it up carefully (they’ve lost track of how many cans he’s ruined by yanking too hard). He doesn’t need any enhanced senses to feel Hattori staring a hole through his head, but he ignores it and takes a long drink.

It’s not fair at all, really, getting asked things like this when he can’t even get drunk.

“...damn,” Hattori says, eventually. “It is bad, isn’t it.”

Shinichi doesn’t answer, doesn’t trust his voice to, only reaches into his pocket to pull out a small wooden box that weighs heavy on his palm.

Hattori’s hesitant at first, but takes the box at Shinichi’s slight nod, turning it over in his hands. “A puzzlebox, Kudo? You really like your mysteries, don’t ya.”

Shinichi shrugs, this time, and leans back on the bench, eyes drifting closed.

It’s almost pleasant, listening to Hattori sliding the patterned panels this way and that, muttering to himself under his breath as he tries to figure out the sequence that Shinichi could’ve remembered in his sleep. To pretend, just for a while, that there’s nothing more to this than a puzzle, rather than the most important mystery of his life.

“That’s – ”

He’s managed to render Hattori Heiji, patron saint of banter, completely speechless. Kazuha would probably call that an achievement.

“...wow, um. That’s one hell of a thing, Kudo.”

Shinichi manages to quirk a smile at that – Hattori’s literally incapable of beating around a bush if his life depended on it, but apparently understatement is at least on the menu.

“They found it in my personal effects, after we – ” his voice cracks. “After. Either they didn’t realise what it was, or they never managed to figure out how to open it. Maybe they assumed that the mechanism had gotten damaged during a fight or something.”

Shinichi doesn’t bother entertaining any illusion that whoever had the box wouldn’t have at least tried opening it. The headlines of history didn’t allow for such things – The last tragedy: War hero planning to marry made for better news than Cap’s final secret remains unsolved.

(If it’d been anything else, anyone else, Shinichi might’ve been mad at that implication, that a bunch of strangers had looked at this and seen only another piece of history to be decoded, the last problem of his life on display.

This once, though – he’s just. Numb.)

“I was gonna propose to her once the war was over.” Shinichi laughs, bitter, and swipes one hand impatiently across his eyes. “Look where we are now.”

Hattori’s quiet for a long while – they both are.

Shinichi finishes his milk tea in the silence.

“Did she know?” Hattori asks.

“Only about the box, not what was inside.” Shinichi lifts the ring out of its hiding place, running a finger over the inscription, but leaves the box where it is. “Most of the people in my unit knew, probably – I kept it in my pocket every time we got sent out.”

Though he wouldn’t be surprised if some of the Howling Commandos had guessed – it was unsurprising, the amount of things you learnt about people when you regularly fought Nazis with less plans than grenades.

But they’d kept the knowledge to themselves if they had. Shinichi’s read the opinions from various sources – the speculation is wild, to say the least, but it means something that there are guesses about the box containing the last of the supersoldier serum but nothing even close to hitting the truth.

“Not that it ever blocked a bullet or anything, I had the shield for that, but it still felt like – ”

(Shinichi’s clenched his hand around the empty can without quite realising it, and he forces himself to let go, to uncurl his fingers from the metal.

He’s broken too many things already.)

“ – like a good luck charm, y’know? Like everything would be fine as long as I had it. And don’t laugh, I know you carry that omamori from Kazuha with you everywhere we go.”

“Do you see me smiling, Kudo?” Hattori retorts, and it’s true; he looks serious, more than Shinichi’s ever seen him. “I don’t – jeez, man, how long have ya been keepin‘ a lid on this?”

Shinichi bites his lip, and locks the box again with a soft snick.

“Oh my god,” Hattori mutters under his breath, and Shinichi smiles despite himself at how incredulous he sounds. “For the record, I’m deeply offended on all of our behalfs – behalves? Is that even a word? – our collective behalf that you actually thought we wouldn’t take you seriously. Even the robot neechan, and you know she doesn’t believe in this stuff unless she’s got another super lucky fortune from the shrine again.”

“Yeah, well. Didn’t work out so well in the end, did it.” Shinichi hasn’t thought about the train in a while, what with all the ruckus that’s happened – it both hurts more and less, knowing everything he does now.

He hadn’t even been able to look at the box without flinching, after the train. Almost been tempted to leave it in that bombed-out shell of a bar, though he’d settled for hiding it amongst his belongings instead. Regretted both choices when first the arctic ice then the twenty-first century had rushed up to meet him in turn.

He’s not sure which would’ve been the better option, even now.

(Sometimes, it feels like his entire life has been a catenary chain of afters: after the serum, after Azzano, after the train. After the ice. After the people they’d once been and could never be again.

He wonders what this will be, after.)

“And to think, this only happened ’cause someone gave ya infinite money and orders to get out of her sight.”

“Or a team of lawyers and free reign to bully every single memorabilia collector into submission, more like.” Shinichi snorts. “If Miyano wants to keep me out of her lab, she ought to invest in better locks. Most of the Tower’s made careers out of spy work – hell, the Commandos invented stealth missions, for goodness sakes’.”

“Like you don’t just bash locks with your shield until they break, Cap,” Hattori says between snickers.

Shinichi kicks him in the shin. “Say what, birdman?”

“Better me than Hawkeye. And no kicking with supersoldier strength, ow!”

“Right, no kicking,” Shinichi says, and shoves him bodily off the bench.

Hattori falls onto the grass with a loud yelp. “Who’s on your left now, you – ”

“I thought you could fly, Falcon!” Shinichi hollers back.

(The box is a familiar weight in his pocket as they walk back together; Shinichi can still remember the hot-cold flash of shock when he’d seen it listed among the inventory of his possessions that’d survived the end of days only to end up in some private collection. “Did you know, I’d almost forgotten about it until Miyano’s mafia of lawyers made me that list?”

“No,” Hattori says with conviction, looking directly at him, “you didn’t.”

And Shinichi’s too tired to laugh, only swallows back a sigh and says, “no. No, I didn’t.”)